The Oxford Handbook of Applied Ethnomusicology 9780199351701, 0199351708

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T h e Ox f o r d H a n d b o o k o f

A P P L I E D  E T H N OM U SIC OL O G Y

The Oxford Handbook of

APPLIED ETHNOMUSICOLOGY Edited by

SVANIBOR PETTAN and

JEFF TODD TITON

1

3 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford New York Auckland  Cape Town  Dar es Salaam  Hong Kong  Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016

© Oxford University Press 2015 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Oxford handbook of applied ethnomusicology / edited by Svanibor Pettan and Jeff Todd Titon. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–19–935170–1 (hardcover: alk. paper) 1.  Applied ethnomusicology.  I.  Pettan, Svanibor, 1960– II.  Titon,Jeff Todd, 1943– ML3799.2.O94 2015 780.89—dc23 2014041243

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

Contents

List of Figures and Tables  List of Contributors  About the Companion Website 

ix xiii xix

PA RT I   A N I N T ROD U C T ION TO A P P L I E D E T H N OM U SIC OL O G Y Section 1. Applied Ethnomusicology: A Descriptive and Historical Account  Jeff Todd Titon 

4

Section 2. Applied Ethnomusicology in the Global Arena  Svanibor Pettan

29

Section 3. An Introduction to the Chapters  Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan

53

PA RT I I   T H E OR E T IC A L A N D M E T HOD OL O G IC A L C ON SI DE R AT ION S 1. Transcending Researcher Vulnerability Through Applied Ethnomusicology  Dan Bendrups 2. Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology  Klisala Harrison

71 93

3. Cultural Engagement and Ownership Through Participatory Approaches in Applied Ethnomusicology  Tan Sooi Beng

109

4. Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage: Understanding “Ecosystems of Music” as a Tool for Sustainability  Huib Schippers

134

vi   Contents

5. Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management for Applied Ethnomusicology  Jeff Todd Titon

157

PA RT I I I   A DVO C AC Y 6. Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist: Assessing Capacity, Developing Initiatives, Setting Limits, and Making Sustainable Contributions  Jeffrey A. Summit

199

7. Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool: Some Experiences from the Last 25 Years of Minority Research in Austria  Ursula Hemetek

229

8. Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism  Michael B. Bakan 9. Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists in Longer Traditions  Brian Schrag 10. Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia  Zoe C. Sherinian

278

317 348

PA RT I V   I N DIG E N OU S P E OP L E S 11. Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology: “Story-ing” the Personal-Political-Possible in Our Work  Elizabeth Mackinlay

379

12. Andes to Amazon on the River Q’eros: Indigenous Voice in Grassroots Tourism, Safeguarding, and Ownership Projects of the Q’eros and Wachiperi Peoples  Holly Wissler

398

PA RT V   C ON F L IC T S 13. The Role of Applied Ethnomusicology in Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities  Erica Haskell

453

Contents   vii

14. The Study of Survivors’ Music  Joshua D. Pilzer 15. Music and Conflict Resolution: The Public Display of Migrants in National(ist) Conflict Situations in Europe: An Analytical Reflection on University-Based Ethnomusicological Activism  Britta Sweers

481

511

PA RT V I   E D U C AT ION 16. Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector for Applied Ethnomusicology  Susan E. Oehler Herrick

553

17. Sounds Humane: Music and Humanism in the Aga Khan Humanities Project  John Morgan O’Connell

602

18. Intersections Between Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music  Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins

639

PA RT V I I   AG E N C I E S 19. Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology  Dan Lundberg

671

20. The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist: Ethnomusicological Practice in the Context of a Government Agency in the United States  Clifford R. Murphy

709

21. Applied Ethnomusicology in China: An Analytical Review of Practice  Zhang Boyu

735

22. The Problem and Potential of Commerce  Alan Williams

772

Index 

803

List of Figures and Tables

Figures 1.1. Tote Tepano, dressed for Tapati festival participation, carrying tape recorder.  81 1.2. Paulis Puriņš (center) with Miervaldis Altments (far left) at a Christchurch Latvian community celebration in the mid-1980s. 

86

2.1. Musical value systems exist in a continuum in complex society (elaborating Robbins, 2013b). 

104

3.1. Community performance Opera Pasar; children performing the clog dance at the market, 2008. 

124

3.2. Siamese in Penang performing the menora at the Heritage Celebrations, 2013. 

122

4.1. Ecosystems of music. 

141

4.2. Screenshots from the online survey to identify possible areas of concern for sustainability on soundfutures.org. 

153

5.1. Location of Old Regular Baptist Churches in the Southern Appalachian region. 

183

6.1. Map of Uganda by Dan Cole, GIS Coordinator, Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, in Delicious Peace: Coffee, Music & Interfaith Harmony in Uganda (SFW CD 50417), 2012. 

201

6.2. Worship in the Moses synagogue on Nabogoya Hill, Uganda. 

206

6.3. The Peace Kawomera Growers Coop sign. 

213

7.1. Ruža Nikolić-Lakatos, 1994. 

241

7.2. Ceija Stojka, 1991. 

242

7.3. Poster for the event from 1990. 

246

7.4. Serbian Roma women dancing at the event, 1990. 

248

7.5. Ševko Pekmezović, 1995. 

252

7.6. Religious backgrounds of immigrants from Turkey in Vienna. 

261

7.7. Logo of the Saz Association. 

262

7.8. Mansur Bildik playing the saz in Amerlinghaus, June 7, 2014. 

263

x    List of Figures and Tables 7.9. R-Kan. 

264

9.1. Ethnomusicology articles treating ethnolinguistic minority musics. 

337

9.2. The Create Local Arts Together (CLAT) methodology. 

338

12.1. Digitized archives returned to the Queros-Wachiperi community. Estela Dariquebe is the only elder still living who recorded with Patricia Lyon in 1964 and 1965. 

405

12.2. Two US tourists with three Q’eros, learning about the Q’eros pinkuyllu flutes.  407 12.3. A Q’eros couple sharing music with US tourists from inside an Inca niche. 

413

12.4. A young US high school student from a National Geographic student group tour in Peru learns a Q’eros song. 

415

12.5. A Q’eros man gives a “high five” to a US student from a National Geographic student group tour who has sung a Q’eros song with him. 

416

12.6. Estela Dariquebe, Carmen Jerewa, Manuel Yonaje: the three elders of the Queros-Wachiperi community who remember the traditional songs. 

428

12.7. Carmen Jerewa, the only active healer and esüwa singer in the community of Queros-Wachiperi. 

431

12.8. Front Cover, Wachiperi CD: Cantos Wachiperi: Familia linguística Harakbut, Grupo étnico Wachiperi. Photo of the Queros (Q’eros) River in the background. 

437

12.9. Back cover, Wachiperi CD. CD song contents. 

438

12.10. Manuel Yonaje listens to Patricia J. Lyon Wachiperi archive recordings. 

442

15.1. The Polyphonie der Kulturen CD cover. 

520

15.2. Excerpt from the exhibition flyer with Mandi Lutumba and Nada Müller. 

522

15.3. Khaled Arman teaching at the Institute of Musicology in Bern. 

523

15.4. Share of migrant communities in Rostock (2004) [6,598 persons = 3.2%]. 

526

17.1. A professional dancer at a wedding in Bartang. 

605

17.2. A professional musician at home in Khorog. 

608

17.3. A praise singer or madahkhan in Khorog. 

611

17.4. A Mevlevî sema in Turkey, ca. 1890. 

613

17.5. Janbaz Dushanbiyev performing a mortuary dance in Khorog. 

616

17.6. Abdulvali Abdurashidov playing the sato in Dushanbe. 

619

17.7. Musicians from the Academy of Maqâm in a workshop. 

622

17.8. A musician playing a maqamboland in Wahan. 

624

17.9. A skylight or chahar khaneh.  626 17.10. Rafique Keshavjee in Dushanbe. 

627

19.1. Krišjānis Barons’s cabinet on display in the National Library in Riga. 

677

List of Figures and Tables    xi 19.2. Wax cylinders from Karl Tirén’s yoik collection in Svenskt visarkiv, 1913–1915.  680 19.3. Polska from Ore, Dalarna, in the FMK collection. Transcribed by Nils Andersson, 1906. 

688

19.4. The music collector Nils Andersson in the home of the fiddler Ante Sundin.  694 19.5. The ladder is an illustration the value scale of FMK. 

699

21.1. Finnish Jazz musicians playing at the Financial Street in Beijing. 

740

21.2. Folk instrumental ensembles competition held in Jincheng city, Shanxi province, in 2013. 

745

21.3. Villages in Wuan county, Hebei province, joining a local opera performance during a Taoist temple affair. 

745

21.4. A choir holds its regular rehearsal at the Temple of Heaven Park in Beijing on a Saturday morning. 

752

21.5. A choir holds its regular rehearsal at Zizhuyuan Park in Beijing on a Sunday morning. 

753

21.6. Musicology Department students at the Central Conservatory of Music giving their first public performance at the Recital Hall of the Conservatory during the World Music Days, 2010. 

755

21.7. Foreign professors and musicians visited Quantou village at the Baiyangdian Lake region, Hebei province, and played folk music with the folk musicians during the World Music Days in 2007. 

757

21.8. The Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre at the Central Conservatory of Music. 

761

21.9. A set of copied bells exhibited at the Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre at the Central Conservatory of Music. 

761

Tables I.1. Comparative Musicology, Folk Music Research, and Ethnomusicology.  2.1. Robbins’s Value Continuum Applied to Music. 

37 100

4.1. “Ecosystems of Music”: A Framework for Understanding Aspects of Sustainability.  145 7.1. Ethnic Minority Groups in Austria. 

235

7.2. Roma in Austria: Major Communities. 

241

9.1. Number and Integrality of Gbaguru Enactments, Mono Community. 

331

15.1. Track List of the CD Polyphonie der Kulturen.  527

List of Contributors

Michael B. Bakan  is Professor of Ethnomusicology and Head of World Music at Florida State University, Tallahassee, USA. He has published widely on the ethnomusicology of autism, Balinese gamelan music, and world music pedagogy, and serves as series editor for the Routledge Focus on World Music series. His current work aims to advance the epistemological positions of autistic self-advocacy and neurodiversity through musical engagement and ethnography. Dan Bendrups  is Deputy Director (Research) of the Queensland Conservatorium, Griffith University, Brisbane, Australia. He is known for his work in Polynesia, particularly the music of Easter Island, and has research interests in traditional music, popular music, and music diasporas across South America, Australasia, and the Pacific. He edited (together with Graeme Downes) Dunedin Soundings: Place and Performance (2011), which was the first book to focus on practice-led music research in New Zealand. Patricia Shehan Campbell  is Donald E. Peterson Professor of Music at the University of Washington, in Seattle, USA, where she teaches courses at the interface of education and ethnomusicology. She is involved in writing and curricular projects pertinent to Mexican-American musical expressions, the repatriation of Lomax recordings to communities in the Mississippi hill country, and on cross-cultural issues of music, diversity, and education. She is Chair of the Advisory Board of Smithsonian Folkways and President of The College Music Society. Klisala Harrison  (Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies, University of Helsinki, Finland) is the current Chairperson and founding Vice-Chairperson of the Study Group on Applied Ethnomusicology for the International Council for Traditional Music. She has co-edited one anthology and published five international, peer-reviewed articles on applied ethnomusicology method, theory and practice. Dr. Harrison’s areas of ethnographic research include music and well-being, music and poverty, music for theater and film, and indigenous musics of Canada and northern Europe. Erica Haskell  is an Assistant Professor of Ethnomusicology at the University of New Haven, USA She holds a Ph.D. and MA in ethnomusicology from Brown University. In her research, she has explored the politics of music, applied ethnomusicology, the involvement of international humanitarian organizations in cultural events and projects in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and the humanitarian intersections between postwar and postcatastrophe environments.

xiv   List of Contributors Ursula Hemetek  is Associate Professor and head of the Institute of Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology at the University of Music and the Performing Arts in Vienna, Austria. The main focus of her research is the music of minorities in Austria, and her publications in the field of ethnomusicology focus on Roma, Burgenland Croats, and recent immigrant groups. She is currently Chairperson of the ICTM Study Group Music and Minorities. Susan E. Oehler Herrick is an independent educational consultant based in Cleveland, Ohio, and a part-time faculty member in Humanities at Lakeland Community College in Kirtland, Ohio, USA. While managing K–12 educational programs of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum and consulting for other nonprofits, Herrick edited a special issue on popular music pedagogy for the Journal of Popular Music Studies (2009). A specialist in the history of African-American music and culture, she authored “The Blues in Transcultural Contexts” in the edited volume African American Music: An Introduction (2006). Lee Higgins  is the Director of the International Centre of Community Music based at York St John University, United Kingdom, and an Associate Professor of Music Education at the Boston University School of Music. He has worked on prison and probation service, youth and community service, and orchestra outreach on four continents in university, school, and health settings. He is the senior editor for the International Journal of Community Music and author of Community Music: In Theory and in Practice (Oxford University Press, 2012). Dan Lundberg is Chief Librarian and Archive Director at the Swedish Statens musikverk (Music Development and Heritage Sweden). He is also Associate Professor in Musicology at Stockholm University in Sweden and Åbo Academy in Finland. Between 2004 and 2007 he held a position as Professor of Music and Cultural Diversity at Gävle University in Sweden. His main research areas today are music and identity and music collecting and ideology. Elizabeth Mackinlay is an Associate Professor in the School of Education at the University of Queensland, Australia, where she teaches Arts Education, Indigenous Education, Qualitative Research Methods, and Women’s Studies. She completed her Ph.D. in Ethnomusicology in 1998 at the University of Adelaide and was awarded a second Ph.D. in Education from the University of Queensland in 2003. She is currently the co-editor of the Australian Journal of Indigenous Education (AJIE). Clifford R. Murphy  is the Director of Maryland Traditions, the folklife program of the Maryland State Arts Council, and is an adjunct lecturer in American Studies at University of Maryland Baltimore County, USA. He is the author of Yankee Twang: Country and Western Music in New England (University of Illinois Press) and coauthor of Ola Belle Reed and Southern Mountain Music on the Mason-Dixon Line (Dustto-Digital) with Henry Glassie and Douglas Dowling Peach. He holds the Ph.D. in Ethnomusicology from Brown University.

List of Contributors    xv John Morgan O’Connell  is Director of the Program in Ethnomusicology at Cardiff University, United Kingdom. A graduate of Oxford University, he completed his doctoral research on Turkish music at UCLA. He has published extensively on the musical traditions of the Muslim world, acting as a music consultant for the Aga Khan Humanities Project in Central Asia. He also has a specialist interest in applied ethnomusicology, having completed relevant research on music and conflict in Ireland, Turkey, and Tajikistan, among others. Svanibor Pettan  is Professor and Chair of the Ethnomusicology Program at the University of Ljubljana, Slovenia. Initiator and first Chair of the ICTM Study Group on applied ethnomusicology, he authored and edited studies in various formats, addressing applied work in regard to minorities, conflicts, and education. Serving as President of the Cultural and Ethnomusicological Society Folk Slovenia and as Secretary General of the International Council for Traditional Music, he actively contributes to the advancement of applied ethnomusicology. Joshua D. Pilzer  is Associate Professor of Ethnomusicology in the Faculty of Music at the University of Toronto, Canada, and a specialist in the anthropology of music in modern Korea and Japan. His interests embrace the relationships between music, survival, memory, traumatic experience, marginalization, violence, and social movements. He is the author of Hearts of Pine: Songs in the Lives of Three Korean Survivors of the Japanese “Comfort Women” (Oxford University Press, 2012). Huib Schippers  has a history of some three decades of action research into a wide variety of aspects of music, including music education, community music, performance, the music industry, and arts policy. He was the driving force behind the $20 million World Music & Dance Centre in Rotterdam and the five-year international research collaboration “Sustainable futures for music cultures: Toward an ecology of musical diversity.” He is the Director of the, Australia. Queensland Conservatorium Research Centre at Griffith University in Brisbane. His book Facing the Music (Oxford University Press, 2010) is regarded as a landmark in both music education and applied ethnomusicology. Brian Schrag is SIL International’s Ethnomusicology and Arts Coordinator, and founder of the Center for Excellence in World Arts (Dallas, USA), a graduate program in applied ethnoarts. He has performed sustained ethnomusicological research in the Democratic Republic of Congo and Cameroon, and holds a Ph.D. in Ethnomusicology (UCLA), an M.A. in Intercultural Studies (Wheaton, IL), and a B.S. in Cognitive Sciences (Brown University). He actively promotes artistic creativity for healing and education in communities affected by Huntington’s Disease. Zoe C. Sherinian is Associate Professor of Ethnomusicology at the University of Oklahoma, USA. She has published the book Tamil Folk Music as Dalit Liberation Theology (Indiana University Press, 2014), as well as articles on the indigenization of Christianity in Ethnomusicology, The World of Music and Women and Music. She has also produced and directed a documentary film on the changing status of outcaste drummers

xvi   List of Contributors in India, This Is a Music: Reclaiming an Untouchable Drum, and is in the process of making her second film on Dalit women drummers of the Sakthi Folk Cultural Centre. Jeffrey A. Summit  holds an appointment as Research Professor in the Department of Music and Judaic Studies at Tufts University, USA, where he also serves as rabbi and Neubauer Executive Director of Tufts Hillel. His research focuses on music, identity, and spiritual experience, both in the American Jewish community and with Muslims, Jews, and Christians in Uganda. Since 2002, he has been involved in advocacy projects in Uganda supporting university education, Fair Trade, and interfaith cooperation. Britta Sweers is Professor of Cultural Anthropology of Music at the Institute of Musicology and Director of the Center for Cultural Studies at the University of Bern (Switzerland). Having studied at Hamburg University and Indiana University (Bloomington), she was Junior Professor at the Hochschule für Musik und Theater, Rostock (Germany), from 2003 to 2009. Her reserach interests include the transformation of traditional musics (particularly on the British Isles and the Baltic Countries) in global contexts, music and nationalism, and applied ethnomusicology. Tan Sooi Beng is Professor of Ethnomusicology at the School of Arts, Universiti Sains Malaysia, Penang. She is the author of Bangsawan: A Social and Stylistic History of Popular Malay Opera (Oxford University Press, 1993)  and coauthor of Music of Malaysia: Classical, Folk and Syncretic Traditions (Ashgate Press, 2004). Tan is actively involved in engaged theater combining music, dance, and drama, aimed at educating young people and revitalizing traditions among the multiethnic communities of Penang. Jeff Todd Titon  is Professor Emeritus of music at Brown University Providence, USA, where for 27 years he directed their Ph.D. program in ethnomusicology. Widely published, he is well known as a pioneer in developing phenomenological approaches to ethnographic fieldwork, ecological approaches to musical and cultural sustainability, and an applied ethnomusicology based in reciprocity and friendship. In 2015–2016 he will hold the Basler Chair of Excellence for the Integration of the Arts, Rhetoric, and Sciences at East Tennessee State University. Alan Williams  is Associate Professor of Music and Coordinator of Music Business at the University of Massachusetts Lowell, USA. He holds a Ph.D. in Ethnomusicology from Brown University, and a B.M. in Third Stream Studies from the New England Conservatory of Music. In addition to published works focusing on his ethnographic research into recording studio practice, he has a broad range of experience as a performer, producer, and record label manager, and currently leads the ensemble Birdsong At Morning. Holly Wissler, originally from the United States, is an applied ethnomusicologist residing in Cusco, Peru. She works in applied projects in cultural and musical preservation and representation, repatriation and use of audiovisual archives, and indigenous tourism with the Quechua Q’eros of the southern Andes and the near-extinct Wachiperi of

List of Contributors    xvii the Amazonian Harakbut linguistic group. Holly is lecturer for National Geographic Expeditions and various US university study abroad programs in Peru, and has published widely, in English and Spanish, about her work with the Q’eros and the Wachiperi. Zhang Boyu  is Professor of Ethnomusicology at Department of Musicology, Central Conservatory of Music; Vice-Chairman of Chinese Traditional Music Association and China’s World Music Association; member of Academic Advisory Board of Humanities Faculty of Helsinki University (2011–2014). He is the author of five books and over 80 articles in both Chinese and English. His research is cross-cultural and interdisciplinary, focusing mainly on the meanings of traditional musics in their societies.

About the Companion Website

www.oup.com/us/ohae Oxford has created a website to accompany The Oxford Handbook of Applied Ethnomusicology. Audio recordings and color photographs, which cannot be made available in a book, are provided here. The reader is encouraged to consult this resource in conjunction with the chapters. Examples available online are indicated in the text with Oxford’s symbol . The list of sound recordings available online is given below: Sound 12.1. “Wiquntuy” (pukllay taki—carnival song). Recording: Holly Wissler, February 2, 2007. Singer: Inocencia Quispe Pinkuyllu: Lucio Chura. Sound 12.2. “Kapiro” (Welcome song, Great egret). Recording, Holly Wissler, December 10, 2010. Singer: Manuel Yonaje. Sound 12.3. “Kapiro” (Welcome song, Great egret). Recording, Patricia J. Lyon, July 17, 1965. Singer: Mariano Dariquebe.

T h e Ox f o r d H a n d b o o k o f

APPLIED E T H N OM U SIC OL O G Y

Pa rt  I

An Introdu c t i on to Appli e d Ethnom u si c ol o g y Our Introduction to this volume consists of three sections. Although applied ethnomusicology is practiced now in many regions of the world, it has developed differently in various times and places, just as ethnomusicology itself has. We begin in Section 1 (by Titon) with a focused statement on applied ethnomusicology as it has developed from a single representative area (the US), and then broaden out in Section 2 (by Pettan) to a global perspective, where a greater plurality of voices and viewpoints may be observed, so that we may end with the understanding that applied ethnomusicology is no single field but is instead an ever emergent movement, responding differently at various times and places, by means of music-centered interventions, to different cultures, histories, needs, and conditions. Indeed, this volume as a whole offers just such a plurality of voices and viewpoints. In addition to discussing histories and developments in national and global perspectives, particularly in the contexts of the US-based Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) as well as the UNESCO-affiliated International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM), the co-editors also each offer personal perspectives, based in many years of involvement. Section 3, jointly written by Titon and Pettan, offers an introduction to the chapters that follow. We wish to thank many people who have made this work possible. Suzanne Ryan, music editor at Oxford University Press, supported this project from the outset and helped us to understand how to shape the volume in conformity with Handbook expectations. The anonymous external reviewers read perceptively and made many useful comments and suggestions. For guidance, vision, and support along the path to applied ethnomusicology, Titon would like to thank colleagues and teachers Alan Kagan, Mulford Sibley, Charlotte Heth, David McAllester, Dennis Tedlock, Burt Feintuch, Erma Franklin, Loyal Jones, Elwood Cornett, Kenneth Irby, Maryanne Wolf, Sandy Ives, Archie Green, Bess Lomax Hawes, and Daniel Sheehy. Pettan would like to single out Samuel Araújo, Anthony Seeger, and Kjell Skyllstad, three important visionaries in applied ethnomusicology (among many more), who continue to inspire his own thinking and doing, and the contributors to this volume,

4   Jeff Todd Titon with whom it was a true honor and pleasure to join forces in creating this essentially important Handbook.

Section 1.  Applied Ethnomusicology: A Descriptive and Historical Account Jeff Todd Titon Ethnomusicology and Applied Ethnomusicology I like to think of ethnomusicology as the study of people making music (Titon, 1989 1992b: xxi–xxii). People make sounds they call music, and they also make ideas about music. Those ideas form the cultural domain called music. They include what music is and is not; what it does and cannot do; how it is acquired and how it should be transmitted; what value it has; what it should (and should not) be used for; what it has been in the past and what it will be in the future; whether it should be encouraged and supported, or discouraged and repressed; and so forth. Just as music differs among individuals and social groups throughout the world, so do people’s ideas about it differ, and this has been so throughout history. Applied ethnomusicology puts ethnomusicological scholarship, knowledge, and understanding to practical use. That is a very broad definition. More specifically, as it has developed in North America and elsewhere, applied ethnomusicology is best regarded a music-centered intervention in a particular community, whose purpose is to benefit that community—for example, a social improvement, a musical benefit, a cultural good, an economic advantage, or a combination of these and other benefits. It is music-centered, but above all the intervention is people-centered, for the understanding that drives it toward reciprocity is based in the collaborative partnerships that arise from ethnomusicological fieldwork. Applied ethnomusicology is guided by ethical principles of social responsibility, human rights, and cultural and musical equity. Although some ethnomusicologists regard applied ethnomusicology as a career alternative to academic work—and indeed, it can be—it’s not always helpful to make that distinction, because ethnomusicologists who do applied work are employed both inside academic institutions, such as universities and museums, and outside them in government agencies, nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and client organizations directly. In other words, the place of employment does not determine whether the ethnomusicology has any application outside the world of scholarship. What matters is the work itself: how, where, and why the intervention occurs, and the communities to whom we feel responsible (Titon, 2003; Dirksen, 2012). Putting ethnomusicological scholarship, knowledge, and understanding to practical use and terming it applied implies the usual distinction made in the sciences between

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    5 pure research, or the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake (as it is often called), and applied research, or knowledge put to practical use. It is possible to minimize this distinction, claiming that the moment a researcher circulates knowledge within a scholarly community it is being put to beneficial use. Classroom teaching is of course another kind of use. Besides, the phrase knowledge for its own sake appears oxymoronic, for in what sense can knowledge possibly be for its own sake if knowledge cannot logically be an agent or a self? If all ethnomusicological knowledge is put to use in one way or another, then the term applied ethnomusicology is redundant. All of this may be so, but for strategic reasons the editors of this volume find the term useful, in order to highlight a certain kind of activity and distinguish an ethnomusicology based in social responsibility where knowledge is intended for beneficial use in communities outside the academic world from an ethnomusicology which is meant to increase and improve the storehouse of knowledge about music and circulate it among scholars. In the absence of this distinction, as I will argue later (see below, “Applied Ethnomusicology in the United States: A Brief History”), applied ethnomusicology has been marginalized or ignored in the definitions and histories of our field that circulate among ethnomusicologists. Indeed, examination of ethnomusicology curricula reveals very few, if any, courses devoted to applied work at the doctoral level. The Ph.D. is a research degree, after all, and the chief criterion for career advancement in the university remains research that enjoys a high intellectual reputation among scholars. Fortunately, however, a sense of social responsibility motivates an increasing number of ethnomusicologists, employed inside and outside the academic world, who find ways to integrate it into their scholarly research, and to apply it in the public sphere. Readers who wish to know more about my personal involvement with, and views on, applied ethnomusicology are invited to consult Titon 2003 and various entries on applied ethnomusicology on my blog at http:// sustainablemusic.blogspot.com. This volume is not meant as a “how-to” handbook, like the Girl Scout Handbook. Rather, in keeping with the other Oxford Handbooks in this series, it offers a sampling of current scholarship related to its subject, with contributions from some leading exponents. Applied ethnomusicology is a field of practice and theory, rather than a discipline with a bounded subject and an established, universally agreed-upon methodology. A branch of the academic discipline of ethnomusicology, its scope is still expanding. While its practitioners are in broad agreement over putting ethnomusicological knowledge to use rather than simply pursuing it as an end in itself, we differ in emphasis, whether in definition, method, or purpose (Harrison 2012). Readers may look here for a variety of subjects, approaches and models.

Applied Ethnomusicology in Contemporary North America: A Brief Overview What kinds of activities are applied ethnomusicologists involved in? Where, typically, do we intervene in the public sphere? The co-editors of this volume, one active in North America, the other in Europe, have determined to write about these activities in the

6   Jeff Todd Titon areas they know best. As I am most familiar with activities in the United States, and the professional organization based there (the Society for Ethnomusicology, or SEM), what follows in my part of this Introduction highlights US-based applied ethnomusicology. I will discuss the history (and prehistory) of applied ethnomusicology, and its reception, in the United States since the late 1800s. But before sketching that history, I describe applied ethnomusicology as it is practiced today. What are applied ethnomusicologists doing now? What are our goals, and how are we positioned within the larger world both within and outside the academy? First, we are involved in promoting traditional music, dance, and other cultural expressions in order to benefit artists, traditions, and communities. Whether undertaken by ethnomusicologists acting primarily on their own behalf, or whether supported by cultural organizations, these cultural policy interventions are among the oldest types of applied ethnomusicology and remain one of the most common, particularly as directed toward minority, immigrant, and otherwise underserved populations within developed nations, and among indigenous peoples throughout the world. Sometimes, but not always, these musics are considered threatened or even endangered. Lately, sustainability has become the generally accepted policy goal, whether the musics are endangered or not (see Schippers, Chapter 4, and Titon, Chapter 5, in this volume). Cultural trauma has often been an important motivating factor, particularly when cultural renewal appears important in the face of political and economic stress (see Haskell, Chapter 13 in this volume). Examples of these interventions include the settlement schools in the southern Appalachian mountains, begun more than a century ago to promote the arts and crafts of mountain folk culture; the immigrant folk music and dance programs for children and adults in large cities such as New York and Chicago, which involved settlement schools and included festivals as well as adult recreation groups and additions to the public school curriculum; national radio broadcasts undertaken by Alan Lomax shortly before World War II to bring the songs and stories of ordinary citizens into media circulation; regional and national festivals such as the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, begun in the 1960s; policymaking and granting agencies that promote community arts, such as historical societies, arts councils, and the National Endowments; and NGOs devoted to expanding the creative economy through musical heritage and cultural tourism, sometimes with a view to recovering from ecological disasters such as hurricanes, urban blight, and mountaintop removal. In the twenty-first century, UNESCO has become the major international force in cultural policy, with its treaties encouraging the preservation of what it calls intangible cultural heritage. The United States has not signed these treaties, but outside the United States many ethnomusicologists are involved with UNESCO activities and indeed, some North American ethnomusicologists participated in the planning and ongoing review stages. Ethnomusicologists have worked as consultants, arts administrators, ethnographic fieldworkers, festival presenters, radio and television producers, podcasters and Internet site developers, educators, facilitators, mediators, writers, expert witnesses, and in various other capacities formulating and administering cultural policies whose purpose is sociocultural, economic, and musical benefit. Ethnomusicologists also have

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    7 been among those theorizing cultural policy interventions, and have contributed to a growing critical literature evaluating these practices. Many of the chapters in this volume comprise a part of this ongoing scholarship concerning applied ethnomusicology. Another area of practice is advocacy, either on behalf of particular music-makers or a music community as a whole. Rather than adopting the role of the neutral, objective, scientific observer gathering information, the applied ethnomusicologist assumes the role of a partisan, working in partnership toward goals that are mutually understood and agreed upon. Indeed, the most successful advocacy usually arises after ethnomusicologists have visited and listened to the musicians articulate their concerns and what they would like to achieve. Seldom has partnership worked when the ethnomusicologist plays the role of expert and imposes solutions to problems perceived from a distance, or fails to understand the musical community’s perspective. Advocacy includes grant-writing on behalf of individuals and communities; writing promotional and press materials; acting as an agent to arrange performances; facilitating community self-documentation initiatives; repatriation of recordings and musical artifacts from museums and archives; political lobbying for arts spaces; facilitating community arts education projects; researching the history of musical traditions for the community; acting as an intermediary between cultural insiders and outsiders; long-term planning for the sustainability of community music cultures; and in general working in partnership and on behalf of musicians and their communities. Advocacy usually arises from relationships developed over time, when an ethnomusicologist is attracted to particular musicians or music cultures, visits them for research purposes and returns, and determines to make a commitment that goes beyond mere study. Academic ethnomusicologists undertaking long-term fieldwork in a community are well-positioned for this, but while an increasing number do become advocates, some prefer to remain neutral observers. A third area of practice involves education. Often educators themselves, applied ethnomusicologists work with other educators designing curricula, and to bring musicians into the schools to demonstrate, teach, and perform; they also facilitate visits to performance spaces where youngsters may observe and participate in music-making activities. Music education once prepared youth to participate mainly in the culture of classical music, or as US academics call it these days, Western art music. As cultural pluralism and multicultural initiatives in North American schools gained traction in the last third of the twentieth century, musical pluralism increased, introducing popular music, jazz, and the music and dance of ethnic communities to the school curricula. Ethnomusicologists have been active in making musical activities more inclusive, fostering interest in local musical artists and traditions, particularly from newly arrived cultural and ethnic groups. In this way, music is viewed as a way to increase intercultural understanding. Other areas of contemporary practice include peace and conflict resolution; medicine; law and the music industry; libraries, museums, and sound archives; journalism; and environmental sound activism and ecojustice. Peace-related applications are more frequent outside North America, but work of this sort has been done in Canada in

8   Jeff Todd Titon disputes between First Nations communities and the Canadian government, while music has been an important part of labor and civil rights movements in the United States since the nineteenth century. Among the projects of medical ethnomusicology are HIV-AIDS work in Africa, therapeutic work with post-traumatic stress survivors, and music within the autism community. Legal applications have involved ethnomusicologists testifying as expert witnesses, particularly in music copyright infringement cases, and work on copyright and intellectual property issues as the question “who owns culture” becomes increasingly important when money is to be made and cases of exploitation have been documented. Ethnomusicologists have served as advisors to the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), a UNESCO-sponsored group attempting to arrive at laws for protecting intellectual property rights in the international arena. Ethnomusicologists are contributing to ecological studies of the soundscape, and of the effects of environmental noise on physiological and psychological health. We are involved in political action opposing sound pollution, such as noise from ocean vessels and military activities that affect whales, dolphins, and other sea mammals. Applied ethnomusicologists are contributing to the new discipline of ecomusicology, which involves music and sound in a time of environmental crisis. Journalists educated in ethnomusicology bring to world music a broadly informed historical and geographical perspective. Some are writing for newspapers, magazines, and online publications; many are active in promoting music, and some are performing musicians ourselves. Ethnomusicologists working in the music industry serve as consultants, ethnographers, technical assistants, and producers. Many libraries, museums, universities, and other institutions maintain sound archives where archivists with ethnomusicological training offer expertise in acquisition, cataloging, grant-writing, preservation, and outreach. Since the 1990s, when applied ethnomusicology became a recognizable force within ethnomusicology, other names have been advanced to describe some of the work that applied ethnomusicologists do; but they ought not to be confused with applied ethnomusicology, which is the covering term.1 Public sector ethnomusicology describes applied ethnomusicology that is practiced by people employed by public-sector, taxpayer-funded (i.e., government) institutions such as (in the United States) the Library of Congress, the Smithsonian Institution, the National Endowment for the Arts, and state arts councils; and whose efforts are directed to the public at large while often targeted at particular communities within it. By definition, “public sector ethnomusicology” is unable to include applied ethnomusicology as practiced by those who work in the private sector, in NGOs such as museums, historical societies, foundations, and various non-profit organizations, even when part of their funding comes from government grants; nor does it describe the work of applied ethnomusicologists in corporations and client organizations. Public ethnomusicology is a better name for this activity, insofar as it focuses on applications in the public arena. But both terms, public sector and public, neglect the private sphere and perpetuate an unhelpful distinction between academia and the world outside of colleges and universities. As I have pointed out, applied ethnomusicology is practiced by those employed inside the academic world as well as outside of it. Ethnomusicology appears to be in danger of replicating the same terminological

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    9 virus that has infected American folklore studies since the 1980s, one which American Folklore Society President Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett labeled a “mistaken dichotomy” (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1988).

Applied Ethnomusicology: Being, Knowing, and Doing Some ethnomusicologists are attracted to applied work, and others not so much. Most ethnomusicologists, I’ve observed, do share certain characteristics, however. Sound and music are immensely important to the way we orient ourselves. As humans, we are beings “in the world” through all of our senses, but we are particularly aware of vibrations that come to us as sound. Epistemologically, we feel that knowing sound—and knowing by means of sound—is essential to being human in the world and is one of the most important avenues through which to understand the human condition. Certainly it is our special avenue. Where we diverge, somewhat, is in what we do as a result of this ontological and epistemological orientation. Some of us are most interested in pursuing and increasing knowledge about sound and music in the world, the music of the world’s peoples. This is the usual end of scholarship. Scholars feel a special responsibility to present, discuss, debate, and circulate this knowledge among colleagues and students in the institutional world of universities and professional associations of ethnomusicologists. Others, those of us who practice applied ethnomusicology, also feel a responsibility to help put this knowledge to practical use in the public arena; and so either in addition to our research, scholarship, and teaching within the university world, or instead of it, we also involve ourselves in interventions into musical communities, for public benefit. Some 45 years ago Mantle Hood wrote a textbook about the nature of ethnomusicology, but instead of titling it “Ethnomusicology” he named it The Ethnomusicologist (Hood, 1971). In the Introduction he described an ideal ethnomusicologist’s background, education, skills and aptitudes, and personality. It was an unusual emphasis for a graduate textbook in ethnomusicology, but then this was an unusual book, often written in the first person, and to some extent reflecting, I think, the California social and intellectual atmosphere of the 1960s that had also produced public figures like Stewart Brand and Jerry Brown. Although the influence of personality on an ethnomusicologist’s accomplishments is not often written about, it is sometimes discussed among ethnomusicologists, especially when we reflect on ethnographic fieldwork, that rite of passage in which ethnomusicologists (like their counterparts in cultural anthropology) traditionally travel to a different, and sometimes strange, culture and while there, try to learn something of the musical universe among that group of people. It is difficult, sometimes alienating, even psychologically traumatic, work (Wengle, 1988); and ethnomusicologists tend to think that certain personality types are better able to accomplish it than others. Applied ethnomusicologists like to interact with our field subjects, not just observe them. We feel a desire to give something back in exchange for what we are learning, and this impulse leads us not only to research but to work directly for the benefit of those we visit. And so although most ethnomusicologists are in the world ontologically

10   Jeff Todd Titon and epistemologically in similar ways, we differ somewhat over what we should be doing with those ways of being and knowing. It should go without saying that applied ethnomusicologists engage in research and contribute to the growth of knowledge. Our Ph.Ds are research degrees, after all, and many of us have made substantial scholarly contributions to the flow of knowledge inside academia. But we also feel a social responsibility to put that knowledge to use in the public arena.

Applied Ethnomusicology in the United States: A Brief History As the co-editors worked on this volume and saw it through an eight-year period of invitations, proposals, abstracts, essays, reviews, revisions, and yet more reviews and more revisions, it became increasingly and unsettlingly clear that many US contributors thought of their work within a local and national context but knew relatively little about the history, ideas, and accomplishments of applied ethnomusicologists living outside the United States. Non-US contributors were similarly knowledgeable about applied work in their spheres of activity outside North America, but generally unaware of the history, projects, scholarship, and cultural policies generated by applied ethnomusicology in North America. Ideas that had been theorized, practiced, and thoroughly critiqued in some localities were being introduced in others as if they were newly discovered. More than once, contributors seemed to be reinventing wheels. Many whose work would benefit from an exchange of ideas with others involved in similar projects elsewhere were not taking advantage of that possibility. Although we believe that the reasons for this insularity have more to do with institutional histories and geography than with any serious divergence over assumptions, approach, and goals, one of the happy consequences of this volume, we hope, will be to increase the dialogue among practitioners of applied ethnomusicology no matter where they work, so that each becomes aware of the ways in which similar problems have been faced, and solutions attempted, elsewhere, while problems and issues that had not even occurred to some will become apparent after reading about the work of others. Another consequence of this insularity, however, was that it became impossible to sketch a unified history and description of applied ethnomusicology apart from those considerations. For that reason, in this section I construct a history of applied ethnomusicology in the United States, related to the growth of ethnomusicology and its professional organization, SEM, founded in 1955. (Svanibor Pettan writes in Section 2 of this Introduction about the communities of applied ethnomusicologists associated with the International Council on Traditional Music [ICTM], and its earlier incarnation, the International Folk Music Council [IFMC, founded in 1947].) In doing so, I draw on a graduate seminar in the history of ethnomusicological thought which I led at Brown University from 1988 until 2013. Reflexivity, postcolonial ethnomusicology, efforts to sustain musical genres and cultures, collaborative ethnography and advocacy, tourism and the creative economy, archival stewardship and repatriation of field recordings, applications to medicine and

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    11 to peace and conflict resolution, proper roles for government in the arts, the place of world music in education—these are not new themes in our field, but the timing of their entrances, their reception, and their use in applied work has not been uniform among the North American, European, Asian, African, Australian, and Latin American communities of applied ethnomusicologists. Strictly speaking, the history of ethnomusicology began in 1950, when Jaap Kunst invented the term and it entered scholarly discourse (Kunst 1950). I prefer to think of the pre-1950 period as ethnomusicology’s prehistory, paying particular attention to the two disciplines, comparative musicology and cultural anthropology, that combined in the 1950s as ethnomusicology.2 I find prototypes of US applied ethnomusicology among nineteenth-century ethnologists and folklorists whose field research in music exhibited both social responsibility and collaborative involvement with musical communities for their benefit. Music was an integral part of early folklore and anthropology, not an afterthought. From the very beginning, scholars writing for the American Anthropologist and the Journal of American Folklore showed much interest in people making music. The second issue of the former contained an essay by Washington Matthews (1843–1905) on a Navajo sung prayer (Matthews, 1888), for example, while the inaugural issue of the latter featured an article on Kwakiutl music and dance by Franz Boas (1858–1942), the most influential North American anthropologist of his generation (Boas 1888). Boas’s article described some of the group’s music, stories, and their ideas and behavior in relation to them; it contained musical transcriptions, and mentioned his 1886 music collecting trip with the German comparative musicologist and music psychologist Carl Stumpf among the Bella Coola. Nothing in Boas’s article might be considered applied ethnomusicology per se, but Boas undertook a public anthropology project of enormous import in the early twentieth century when he opposed so-called scientific racism and helped establish the idea that differences in human behavior result from learned cultural, rather than fixed biological, traits. Matthews’s work was aided by a deeply collaborative relationship in which he underwent Native rituals and may have married a Hidatsa woman. Collaborative relationships in which the parties work toward mutually agreed-upon goals became a hallmark of applied ethnomusicology, but their roots may be found in people like Matthews, as well as Alice Cunningham Fletcher (1838–1923), whose collaborative work moved more clearly in the direction of social and economic benefits that would be recognized today as applied ethnomusicology. Fletcher, who became President of both the American Anthropological Association and the American Folklore Society, as well as Vice President of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, lived with the Sioux in 1881, and collaborated with an Omaha, Frances La Flesche, whom she took into her household from 1890 on. Falling ill with a severe case of rheumatoid arthritis in 1883, she was nursed back to health by her Native American friends, who sang to her while she lay recovering. Then, she wrote, “the sweetness, the beauty and meaning of these songs were revealed to me” (Fletcher, 1994: 8). Like the others, Fletcher undertook ethnographic studies of Native music; but she also worked tirelessly on behalf of Native American education, integration, and advancement into mainstream culture.

12   Jeff Todd Titon “Giving back” is the usual term North American ethnomusicologists employ to identify this reciprocity, which has taken various forms over the decades. However, Fletcher’s efforts at aiding Native Americans are characterized today as attempts to Americanize them, a “grievous error in the administration of Native American lands and peoples” according to a Smithsonian Institution author (Smithsonian: Fletcher). Ethnomusicologists consider it unfortunate that the Omaha songs she collected were published with Western harmonization, added to them by the musician John Comfort Fillmore, who convinced Fletcher that these harmonies were implicit in the Omaha melodies (Fletcher, 1994). Nonetheless, Fletcher may be understood in her time as a progressive. The principal alternative to Americanization (or Christianization), after all, had for nearly three centuries been genocide. And prominent American composers such as Edward MacDowell were quoting, transforming, and harmonizing Native American melodies in their musical compositions. Daniel Sheehy and Anthony Seeger trace the history of twentieth-century pioneers in applied ethnomusicology, such as Robert Winslow Gordon, Alan Lomax, and Charles Seeger (Sheehy, 1992; Seeger, 2006). In terming them applied ethnomusicologists, Seeger, Sheehy, and others combine ethnomusicology’s historical and pre-historical periods. Certainly, these ancestors would have been called applied ethnomusicologists if ethnomusicology proper had come into being prior to 1950. To some extent their work was related to that of early anthropologists such as A. L. Kroeber and others on endangered Native American languages. The Lomaxes’ folk music collections were meant for the general public, to supply a kind of people’s alternative to the art music that was being taught in the public schools. Alan Lomax insisted that the treasure trove of folk music should be made accessible through media production, which in the 1940s and 1950s meant radio programs—he produced dozens of them for national broadcast. He issued an appeal for “cultural equity” that articulated many of the principles under which he had been operating for decades (Lomax, 1972). Lomax’s “Appeal” may be the single most often-cited document in the literature of US applied ethnomusicology. Charles Seeger, Anthony Seeger’s grandfather, had issued a call in 1939 for an applied musicology that would follow from government involvement in the arts, a vision in some ways similar to the situation in China today (Seeger, 2006: 227–228; also see Zhang, Chapter 21 of this volume). Seeger and his wife Ruth Crawford Seeger, John and Alan Lomax, Herbert Halpert, Zora Neale Hurston, and others were involved in efforts to encourage folk music (as the authentic popular music of a democratic society) during the Roosevelt administration. These activities, of course, diminished greatly as the United States concentrated during the 1940s on mobilization for World War II. But Sheehy concludes that “there is a tradition of applied thought and purpose that should be included in the history of ethnomusicology,” as well as “an evolving sense of strategy and techniques for action that has flowed through this thought and that demands our attention as ethnomusicologists” (Sheehy, 1992:  329). Anthony Seeger entitled his 2006 essay “Lost Lineages” in the history of ethnomusicology and, like Sheehy, called for a more inclusive history of the field.

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    13 The usual historical accounts of ethnomusicology in the United States are not so inclusive: applied ethnomusicology is treated either as a peripheral activity or, more often, ignored entirely. These mainstream accounts trace ethnomusicology’s roots to comparative musicology, a scientific project of the European Enlightenment. They do not pay much attention to its roots in folklore and cultural anthropology. In 1885 Guido Adler defined comparative musicology as “the comparison of the musical works … of the various peoples of the earth for ethnographical purposes, and the classification of them according to their various forms” (Haydon, 1941: 117). Comparative musicology began in the latter part of the nineteenth century with the systematization of music knowledge, which proceeded with the measurable, classificatory, and comparative procedures borrowed from philology, embryology, and other sciences, generating various hypotheses concerning origins, growth, diffusion, and function. Aided by the recording phonograph and efforts of various music collectors, it included the comparative work on the musical scales of various nations accomplished by the Englishman Alexander Ellis, and the research of the German Carl Stumpf and others in music psychology (or psychophysical science, as it was then called). Comparative musicology was further developed as a research discipline in early twentieth-century Berlin by Stumpf ’s younger colleague Erich von Hornbostel, Curt Sachs, and others, with related scholarship accomplished by Béla Bartok in Hungary, Constantin Brailliou in Rumania, and others in the fields of comparative musical folklore and the sociology of music. Comparative musicology arrived in the United States in 1925 in the person of George Herzog, who had been von Hornbostel’s assistant in Berlin. He went on to study anthropology with Franz Boas at Columbia University, specializing in “primitive music,” as it was then called. Herzog received his doctorate in 1931 under Boas’s supervision and pursued an academic career at Yale, Columbia, and Indiana University that lasted until the mid-1950s. He was recognized during this period as the leading authority on “primitive music.” Among his students were two of the founders of SEM, David McAllester and Willard Rhodes. Bruno Nettl, who has written knowledgeably about Herzog’s contributions to comparative musicology, was another of his students (Nettl and Bohlman, 1991: 270–272; Nettl, 2002: 90–92; Nettl, 2010: 168). Herzog’s writings exhibited an empirical, scientific method that required large amounts of reliable data, a high standard to which he held himself and others. “All evidence,” he wrote, “points to the wisdom of dispensing with sweeping theoretical schemes and of inquiring in each case into the specific historical processes that have molded the culture and musical style of a nation or tribe . . . . So little is actually known … that the main attention of this field [of comparative musicology] is devoted to increasing that little, and collecting more material before it all disappears under the impact of Western civilization” (Herzog, 1936: 3). He had learned the importance of fieldwork and data-gathering from his teacher Boas, and he insisted on that, as well as musical transcription and analysis, from his students. His methods added Boas-styled ethnographic research to the comparative analysis that characterized the work of Horbostel and the Berlin school. A useful summary of comparative musicology, with due attention to Herzog’s prominence in the United States, appeared in Glen Haydon’s graduate-level

14   Jeff Todd Titon textbook, Introduction to Musicology (Haydon, 1941). As outlined there, its purpose was to increase knowledge of the music of the world’s peoples. Academic research was the means to that end. The work of numerous comparative musicologists, chiefly European, was described, and their most important publications referenced. But comparative musicology soon underwent a facelift. Historical accounts date this to Jaap Kunst’s book Ethno-Musicology (Kunst, 1950, and two subsequent editions), which defined ethno-musicology as the study of “all tribal and folk music and every kind of non-Western art music. Besides, it studies as well the sociological aspects of music…” (ibid., 1950: 1). Although he is usually credited with inventing the term ethnomusicology, Kunst’s argument for the name change rested chiefly on redundancy of the word “comparative.” All good science, he argued, is comparative in nature; disciplines like linguistics and embryology had, after all, dropped the adjective for the time being. His argument was persuasive, and some comparative musicologists began to adopt the new name, while others who wished to place more emphasis on the cultural study of music and less on musical analysis welcomed the name change and saw opportunity in it. However, comparative musicology remained the ancestral predecessor for Kunst and in later US historical accounts of the discipline, chiefly by Bruno Nettl (1956, 1964, 1983, 2002, 2005, 2010) as well as others. For nearly 60 years these historical accounts have informed generations of ethnomusicology professors and graduate students, in the United States and elsewhere. Despite increased theoretical sophistication and a growing recognition of historical relativism (e.g., Nettl and Bohlman, eds., 1991; Nettl, 2010; Rice, 2014), different subject emphases by other authors (e.g., Hood, 1971; Merriam, 1964), and an enlarged cast of characters (McLean, 2006), these mainstream histories continue to construct ethnomusicology as a research discipline almost exclusively centered in the academic world. Applied ethnomusicology seldom appears; when it does, it usually is treated with some reservations. As long as comparative musicology remained ethnomusicology’s central occupation, applied work would be marginal at best. The founding of the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) in 1955 not only provided an opportunity for a new emphasis on the cultural study of music, but might also have moved applied ethnomusicology to a more central position. Why it did not do so, at a time when applied anthropology was becoming important within US cultural anthropology, is an interesting question. In large part, as this brief history will show, the answer has to do with the founding generation’s desire to establish and expand ethnomusicology as an academic discipline, on a firm institutional footing, throughout the university world. In so doing, they missed an opportunity to integrate applied work into the agenda of the new Society. It was left for the next generation to do so. The early period of SEM was, predictably, taken up with debate over the direction of the discipline. In its first 15 years or so, the SEM journal, Ethnomusicology, was filled with essays by many leading practitioners who attempted to define the discipline and influence its course. Research in ethnomusicology’s first two decades (ca. 1950–1975) has been characterized as falling broadly into two approaches, one musicological and the other anthropological (Kerman, 1986: 155–181). This is an oversimplification, but

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    15 it is useful in highlighting the legacies of Hornbostel and Herzog, which in SEM could be seen in the work of Herzog’s former colleague Kolinski, William Malm, George List, Mantle Hood, and Nettl, among others. Their focus was on collecting, recording, transcribing, describing, classifying, analyzing, and comparing music in order to increase the music knowledge-base and to test theories concerning musical distribution, diffusion, and acculturation. Like Herzog, most were interested also in the ethnographic study of cultural contexts for music (“music in culture”) and in comparing and contrasting music’s functions within cultures. Unless one thinks of the polymath Seeger as a comparativist, these comparative musicologists were not represented among the four SEM founders; but their work was prominent in monographs and in Ethnomusicology, where they advanced their scholarship and their view of what ethnomusicology ought to be. They also played a major role in establishing ethnomusicology as an academic discipline at the graduate level in US universities during the first 20 years of SEM. On the other side of the debate over the future of ethnomusicology were the anthropologists, dance ethnologists, folklorists, and various other scholars who shared an interest in music and had been attracted to the new field. Most prominent among these were the anthropologists Alan Merriam and David McAllester, both among the four founders of SEM. Herzog was noticeably absent from SEM’s origins, and it is worth asking why. Nettl, who writes movingly and generously about Herzog, observed that Herzog already was behaving erratically in 1952 (he would be hospitalized from the mid-1950s onward, with occasional time off, until his death in 1983, for what we would now call a bipolar disorder) and attributes his absence to this (Nettl, 2002: 90–92; Nettl, 2010: 168; Nettl and Bohlman, 1991: 271–272). No doubt this is correct; but it appears that the founders also wished to escape Herzog’s dominance over the field. McAllester reported that as far as he knew, he was the only student ever to complete the doctorate under Herzog’s supervision. “The campus was littered with the bodies of failed Herzog students,” McAllester said. Herzog’s habit was to demonstrate to them time after time that they could not meet his standards. “He never failed them in so many words,” McAllester continued, “but they had a very hard time ever getting an appointment with him, and when they finally did, it was all at such a high level that they felt sort of defeated. If they brought in a transcription, it was so bad that he went over it note by note to show them and said, now see if you can’t, now that you’ve had this practice, do better next time. Then a month or so later, when they caught up with him again, then the same thing would happen again.” Rhodes was one of the dropouts, but he was already a full professor at Columbia and did not need the degree; yet it remained a sore point with him and his friend McAllester both. Even before Herzog moved from Columbia to Indiana University in 1948, he had been showing signs of the mental instability that would institutionalize him (Memorial Resolution, 1983). Herzog was Nettl’s dissertation supervisor at Indiana, but before Nettl could complete his doctorate, Herzog’s erratic behavior forced him to move to a different supervisor. “Bruno studied with him [Herzog] when he went out to Indiana, and he [Nettl] had a professor for a father, and so he

16   Jeff Todd Titon had a strong position,” McAllester said. (Paul Nettl, Bruno’s father, was a professor of musicology at Indiana University.) “And he [Nettl] demanded another teacher, and he finished his Ph.D. with Carl Voegelin, the linguist. He left Herzog, but most of us couldn’t do that. We were with Herzog and it was do or die, and many died” (McAllester, 1989). No wonder then, given McAllester’s and Rhodes’s opinion of him, that Herzog was not invited into the inner circle of SEM founders. At that time they may have been less aware of Herzog’s illness and decline than Nettl and the others who worked with Herzog at Indiana. But that must be only part of the answer. The other part is that McAllester, Merriam, Rhodes, and Seeger wanted to take a new direction, to move away from comparative musicology and Boasian ethnography, and toward an ethnomusicology that would make room not only for a greater variety of authoritative voices but also for more emphasis on the cultural study of music. Reaching out to scholars throughout the world, in 1953 the four founders initiated an ethnomusicology Newsletter, and two years later they founded the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM), designed to foster communication and research in the field. SEM immediately began publishing a journal, Ethnomusicology, which since its inception has served as the flagship research periodical for the discipline. It is worth pausing for a moment to examine what the founders themselves thought they were up to. Nettl, reminiscing about this early period, the name change from “comparative musicology” to “ethnomusicology,” and the founding of SEM, recalls that he (and others, he thinks) regarded these events more as a “revival” of a great scholarly tradition (comparative musicology, which had been all but eliminated in Europe during the Nazi era) than as a revolution (Nettl, 2010:  160–162.). Inclined toward his teacher Herzog’s understanding of that tradition, Nettl’s subject position is understandable. Still a graduate student at the time and not directly involved as a founder, he had nevertheless set his course and was already a major stakeholder in the new field. His memoirs (Nettl, 2002, 2010, 2013) of this transitional period are both charming and invaluable, filled with information unavailable elsewhere and required reading for anyone interested in the history of ethnomusicology. In these memoirs, he tries to deconstruct the “myth” of SEM’s “grand entrance,” as he puts it, arguing that its historical significance and the importance of the four founders has been overrated (Nettl, 2010: 160–165). In retrospect, it is apparent that comparative musicology continued to exert a strong influence upon ethnomusicology during its first few decades (ca. 1950–1980). But the new Society, the new name, and its founders’ orientation toward anthropology is a historical fact that signaled a significant and enduring new direction for the field. Let me try to reconstruct something of that significance as I  believe it to have appeared to the founders at the time. (In so doing, I  rely in part on my conversations with Rhodes, Merriam, Seeger, and especially McAllester about that period.) McAllester recalled that after Herzog was finally confined to a mental hospital, he could no longer exercise his former control over degrees, grants, and publications in the field. “He became so ill that he had to be in an institution, and then the lid was off and the Society [SEM] could be established” (McAllester, 1989). For the four founders,

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    17 SEM represented a move away from comparative musicology, not simply as an escape from Herzog’s iron grip, but in establishing a new interdisciplinary field: ethnomusicology. The founders resisted efforts from other Societies who tried to dissuade them from starting a new Society. The American Musicological Society sent representatives to their early meetings and “announced that we should not be a splinter group, but that we should be part of the American Musicological Society . . . . And we said, if we joined them, the AMS, there were a whole bunch of people that would not be any longer members. We had folklorists, anthropologists, ethnologists, acousticians, physicists… and they would have dropped out if we had become a part of the American Musicological Society.” These same scholars likewise would have left SEM had they allied themselves with the IFMC, McAllester reported. “Maud Karpeles came and pleaded with us to become a wing of the International Folk Music Council…. Alan Merriam particularly, well, Charlie Seeger too, they were both very insistent that it not get into the hands of… the International Folk Music [Council]. So when we started the society, they [the IFMC] soon got wind of it, and they were very upset because they had their American branch and they were afraid we would simply split their society and draw membership away from them…. There were scholars among them, great scholars among them, but they were not anthropologically oriented. And it just happened by the way we operated, that the Society for Ethnomusicology began with an anthropological orientation” (McAllester, 1989). Nettl agreed: “The beginning of the SEM was deeply rooted in the anthropological background of its most influential leaders” (Nettl, 2010: 143). McAllester recalled the excitement that accompanied the founding of SEM, along with the possibilities of new directions for the Society. For Merriam even more than for McAllester, that direction was to be cultural anthropology. Eventually he termed this direction “the anthropology of music” rather than “comparative musicology,” and he lobbied hard for the study of music, not in culture, but as culture, a phrase (“music as culture”) that Merriam referenced to his earlier “unpublished thoughts” (Merriam, 1977: 204). According to Merriam, music was not something that existed within a cultural context; it was culture in the anthropological sense itself, with its own domain of ideas, behavior, and sonic dimension. Obtaining a full professorship in anthropology at Indiana University in 1962, Merriam was not only a founder but a forceful presence in SEM from the very beginning until his untimely death in an airplane crash in 1980. His area interests were in indigenous musics primarily, Native American and African. A former jazz musician, he had little use for the study of folk music, and even less for bi-musicality, about which more shortly. When I taught a summer session in Indiana’s Folklore Institute in 1977, he invited me to his home a number of times. He had just remarried, and was in an expansive mood. Relevant for this historical sketch is the attitude he expressed toward the IFMC. He affirmed that the founders had refused Maud Karpeles’s invitation to join the International Folk Music Council rather than form their own Society. Nettl attributed Merriam’s reasons for objecting to the IFMC to “his perception of the IFMC as specifically interested in music alone, the notion that folk-music scholars were interested in only a

18   Jeff Todd Titon small segment of the music of any society; and the idea that the IFMC included a substantial practical component, that is, was in large measure a society of folksingers and dancers” (Nettl, 2010: 143). Merriam’s views had evolved since then, for in 1977 he told me the IFMC as a group was insufficiently objective and scientific about music as a human phenomenon. If they had been, they would have been concerned with all music, not mainly the oldest layers of music in what were then regarded as folk societies (Redfield, 1947). And if they had been, they would not have been so concerned with authenticity and so worried about salvaging this music for archival preservation; or worse yet, reviving it for a sophisticated urban audience. Merriam took some pleasure in noting that Indiana University’s Folklore Institute did not share this attitude toward musical revivalism; indeed, Richard Dorson, the head of the Institute, had coined the term “fakelore” to describe it, and on the advice of George List, the senior ethnomusicologist in the Folklore Institute, Dorson would not permit amateur folk musicians in their doctoral program to undertake music research unless they had had sufficient formal training in Western music theory and history to be admitted to ethnomusicology courses. As Indiana was one of only a very few universities in the US granting doctoral degrees in folklore, the amount of academic research in US folk music during the Dorson-List-Merriam era was severely diminished as a consequence. For Merriam, ethnomusicology was revolutionary insofar as it elevated anthropology to a position of equality with musicology in birthing the new offspring, ethnomusicology. The ethno- prefix (derived from the Greek ethnos [=people with a common culture]) firmly established it as a new discipline that was properly part of “the scientific study of man,” as anthropology had long been defined. Merriam assiduously pursued this goal, which he called “sciencing about music” (Merriam, 1964: 25 and passim). With SEM established on the promise of interdisciplinarity and new directions, particularly from anthropology, one might have expected that the new organization would have been hospitable to applied ethnomusicology. Anthropologists had by then started putting their knowledge to use in solving social problems. John Van Willigen dates the rise of a socially committed applied or “action” anthropology to 1945, although he notes that anthropologists had for decades previously taken on community consultantship roles (van Willigen, 2002). But this exciting, albeit controversial, development in anthropology did not cross over into SEM with any success until decades later. The reasons, in retrospect, are not entirely surprising. To establish ethnomusicology within the most secure of institutional bases, that is, within universities, it was necessary to position it as a research science, aiming to increase knowledge of the music of the world’s peoples. Musicological and anthropological ethnomusicologists might disagree over the discipline’s emphasis, but they agreed that scholarship and the production of knowledge were its goals. Applications of that research in the public arena might be well and good, but the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake had always been valued most highly in university settings, where it could be protected from outside forces. In 1950 ethnomusicology itself was a fringe discipline in the United States, with only a few courses being offered (sometimes

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    19 in anthropology departments, sometimes music) and only a few professors available to advise doctoral dissertations. For ethnomusicology to expand inside the university world, professors must succeed in establishing courses, programs (especially graduate programs), tenure tracks, and recognition of the discipline as a legitimate academic pursuit. The proven strategy to advance the discipline in the university world would be through research, emphasizing that study of the music of the world’s peoples would add to the store of knowledge about human behavior and achievement. Research “for its own sake” was then, and remains, regarded in the academy as more elegant, of higher and “purer” disinterested purpose than research driven by applications. In the arts and humanities, where contemplation of the pure aesthetic object was required for philosophy, literary criticism, and art history, disinterested acts of scholarship were experienced as pleasurable in themselves. Eventually, one could hope, every music department, every music school or conservatory, and every anthropology department would have at least one ethnomusicologist doing research and offering music courses with a worldwide scope; and some would have more than one and would establish graduate programs training future generations of ethnomusicologists as the discipline would expand. Professionalization of ethnomusicology as a research discipline, and with that a need to distance it from well-meaning amateurs who also engaged in music research, was a second reason. Applied work might be done by those who lacked the proper scientific attitude and scholarly training to conduct credible research: missionaries, for example, who had historically put music to use in attempting to convert indigenous peoples, or amateur collectors who became partisans on behalf of those whose music they recorded. I believe that a third reason was the distrust, among this generation of scholars who came of age during or soon after World War II, of social engineering, whether for political, cultural, or musical ends. Applied research put to practical use in musical or cultural interventions, despite intended benefits, was something Americans might well oppose, particularly given the uses to which music was put during the Nazi regime, and was being put in the Soviet sphere during the Cold War. Many in the previous generation of US music scholars had been born in Europe and had fled to North America to escape Nazi persecution and establish a musical scholarship inside the university world where they would be free from political interference. I do not mean to suggest that a cell of ethnomusicology professors drew up such a plan, but rather that they were inclined by personality and training to move in that direction. Partly as a result, in its first two decades, ethnomusicology became more firmly established as a scholarly discipline; but applied ethnomusicology languished inside the US academic world. Merriam was perhaps the first US ethnomusicologist to recognize an applied ethnomusicology by that name, although he did not favor it. The phase “applied ethnomusicology” did not appear in the SEM Newsletter or journal until Merriam’s 1963 review of Henry Weman’s African Music and the Church in Africa. Merriam wrote that this book is “perhaps most accurately described as a study in applied ethnomusicology, for his principal concern is how African music can be used…” in missionary work (Merriam,

20   Jeff Todd Titon 1963b: 135). Merriam expanded on his comments a year later in The Anthropology of Music, and it is worth looking at them in detail:  … the ultimate aim of the study of man… involves the question of whether one is searching for knowledge for its own sake, or is attempting to provide solutions for practical applied problems. Ethnomusicology has seldom been used in the same manner as applied or action anthropology, and ethnomusicologists have only rarely felt called upon to help solve problems in manipulating the destinies of people, but some such studies have been made [here he references Weman’s book] and it is quite conceivable that this may in the future be of increased concern. The difficulty of an applied study is that it focuses the attention of the investigator upon a single problem which may cause or force him to ignore others of equal interest, and it is also difficult to avoid outside control over the research project. Although this problem is not yet of primary concern, it will surely shape the kinds of studies carried out if it does draw the increased attention of ethnomusicologists. (Merriam, 1964: 42–43)

Here, as elsewhere, Merriam privileges “knowledge for its own sake.” In criticizing applied work for its narrow focus, Merriam is appealing to the idea that ethnomusicology should study music as a whole; but “outside control” may be viewed as a threat to academic freedom, while the phrase “manipulating the destinies of people” expresses that distrust of and distaste for the political and cultural interventions of applied anthropology and, by extension, of applied ethnomusicology. Several books and articles critique recent interventions, especially those resulting from UNESCO initiatives to preserve intangible cultural heritage (e.g., Weintraub and Yung, 2005). But this tradition of critique may be traced to Merriam’s “white knight” label for those ethnomusicologists who feel called to “function as knights in shining armor riding to the defense of non-Western music” (Merriam, 1963a: 207). Skepticism toward applied ethnomusicology is also evident in Bruno Nettl’s histories and descriptions of the field. Nettl, more than anyone else among the founding generation of SEM, shouldered the responsibility to construct a history of ethnomusicology, something which he has come to call his “elephant” (Nettl, 2010). The sole active survivor of his generation of ethnomusicologists, Nettl early on assumed the mantle of spokesperson for the discipline, and today he is recognized in the United States and elsewhere as its elder statesman. As intellectual history is his central concern, he devotes relatively little attention to applied ethnomusicology. His most influential book, The Study of Ethnomusicology, treats applied ethnomusicology within the context of applied anthropology:  “In the course of the 1950s there developed a concept and a subdiscipline, ‘applied anthropology,’ whose task it was to use anthropological insight to help solve social problems, particularly those occasioned by rapid culture change in the wake of modernization and Westernization.” Applied anthropologists also were consulted in attempts to solve economic problems such as third-world poverty. They advised government organizations such as the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), on interventions involving democratization, agricultural modernization, and

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    21 economic development. Rapid social change and cultural upheaval was the result of the intervention, not the original problem to be solved. No wonder then, as Nettl continues, that although “Anthropologists wanted to help [they] frequently ended up offending the local population and doing what was perceived as harmful. As a result, in the late 1960s and early 1970s they were widely attacked for doing work of no relevance to social problems, of mixing in local politics, of spying. Ethnomusicologists shared in this criticism….” Here, applied ethnomusicologists’ efforts to conserve traditional music and culture are conflated with applied anthropologists’ efforts meant to aid in the modernization of traditional culture. The implication is that, like applied anthropologists, applied ethnomusicologists were criticized as offensive, harmful, and irrelevant; and that they barged into local politics and were accused of being spies. But if this critique of anthro-colonialism is accurate about interventions meant to bring about modernization and development, it does not follow that it applies to interventions by applied ethnomusicologists meant to conserve traditional music. Nettl then balances the critique with a somewhat more positive view: the picture [of applied anthropology and ethnomusicology] is not entirely negative. Some societies are happy to have outsiders come, appreciate their efforts, their respect for the traditions, and their help in restoring vigor to rapidly disappearing musics. Persian and Indian music masters are proud to have Western scholars as students, for it raises their prestige locally and legitimizes their traditional art in the face of modernizing doubters. Even so, there is often the feeling that members of the society itself, given the right training, equipment, and time, could do it better. (Nettl, 1983: 297; repeated in the 2nd edition, 2005: 206).

Nettl points out that some ethnomusicologists “espouse fieldwork in which informants become collaborators, the members of a community being studied in effect becoming co-collaborators” (ibid.). Yet Nettl’s deep usease with applied work as social engineering is embedded in the tone and weight of his discussion and in the examples he offers; and it is apparent where he thinks the majority of ethnomusicologists stand. For the first edition of this book (1983) this was a correct assessment, but by the second edition (2005) it was not. Indeed, in a recent interview he acknowledged applied ethnomusicology’s considerable appeal to a new generation (Fouce, 2014: 1).3 A few ethnomusicologists in SEM’s founding generation were involved in applied projects during the 1960s and 1970s, yet they did not call it applied ethnomusicology. No doubt they thought of these as proper activities for an ethnomusicologist, but to my knowledge they did not think of them as part of a subfield where research was directed toward the public interest. Some, most prominently SEM founder David McAllester, took an advocacy role in educating music teachers and broadening the kindergarten-through-high school curricula to include examples of the musics of the world’s peoples. McAllester worked through the Music Educators’ National Conference to accomplish this goal, and he advised several graduate students in the Wesleyan University world music program who went in this direction, among them Patricia Shehan Campbell (see her Chapter 18, coauthored with Lee Higgings, in this volume).

22   Jeff Todd Titon Another prominent ethnomusicologist in the founding generation, Mantle Hood, undertook applied ethnomusicology projects in Indonesia. He related the story of his successful intervention to revive Javanese gamelan gong-making (for the large gong ageng), which had nearly gone extinct. However, he also reported that his intervention resulted in some unintended, negative consequences. He offered another example, when he was called on for suggestions to improve gamelan educational practice—what innovations would he recommend? But here he stepped back from applied ethnomusicology and refused to interfere, thinking that Western influence would not be good for the tradition (Hood, 1971: 358–371). His major work on ethnomusicology ends with a section on cultural exchange through music and the arts as part of a program to further international understanding—putting ethnomusicological knowledge to practical use for a clear and intended social benefit. Thus it could be fairly said that SEM’s founding generation concentrated their US efforts in two areas: first, on research in order to increase knowledge about music and to circulate it among scholars; and second, to secure an institutional base for ethnomusicology within the academic world. In the latter, they were more successful in the music divisions of the universities and colleges (variously called music departments, schools of music, conservatories, and the like) than in anthropology departments. Growth within music divisions allied the discipline more closely with musicology than anthropology, and although the SEM founders envisioned a broadly interdisciplinary field with a new emphasis on the cultural study of music—and achieved this at SEM conferences and to some extent in the SEM journal, Ethnomusicology—the institutional growth of the discipline favored the musicologically oriented scholars. Ironically, however, it was not by positioning ethnomusicology as a research science that institutional growth was achieved; rather, in the last half of the twentieth century ethnomusicology benefited from a combination of external circumstances that the founding generation did not foresee. The most important of these were, first, the meteoric rise in the popularity of world music among the general public, and especially the young, which began in the 1960s. Second was the reversal, in US cultural mythology, from the idea that the nation was a melting pot that produced a single American type, to the acceptance of cultural diversity and pluralism, which in the field of education broke the Eurocentric hold on curricula and opened it to a variety of minority voices in the humanities: literature, fine arts, music, and history. Youth cultures became deeply involved in alternative musics, including folk music, blues, and bluegrass. World music began to enjoy widespread popularity, as George Harrison of the Beatles studied sitar in India, and Hindustani musicians Ali Akbar Khan and Ravi Shankar went on extended annual tours throughout the United States. Recording companies such as Nonesuch released world music recordings and targeted both indigenous as well as Asian art musics to an appreciative public. Young men and women turned to world music as one of many paths toward personal growth. Fueled by the rising popularity of world music, master musicians from Ghana, North and South India, the Arab world, China, Japan, and Indonesia soon were in residence as world music performance ensemble directors at American colleges and universities where ethnomusicologists were already

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    23 teaching. Performance was attracting students into the field. Mantle Hood, director of the Ethnomusicology Institute at UCLA, spearheaded this movement, advocating on behalf of what he called bi-musicality. Just as serious study of a foreign language could turn a person bilingual, so serious study of a foreign music could make one bi-musical and impart a knowledge of that music that was otherwise unavailable. Some senior ethnomusicologists tempered their enthusiasm for world music performance ensembles, however, and for decades they were conspicuously absent at the University of Illinois and Indiana University. Nonetheless, the possibility that world music might be learned intrigued many, and some went on to enroll in graduate programs in ethnomusicology, resulting in more degrees, professors, and programs. By 1970 it was possible to study ethnomusicology and obtain the doctorate by studying with Hood at UCLA, Fredric Lieberman at Brown, George List and Merriam at Indiana, Nettl at Illinois, Robert Garfias at Washington, William Malm at Michigan, and McAllester at Wesleyan, among other universities. Moreover, those with doctoral training in ethnomusicology had begun teaching at other colleges and universities, and SEM’s US membership had increased. Diversification and expansion of the US college and university music curriculum created a demand for professors who could teach the new courses. Within music divisions, this meant the end of the near-complete domination of Western art music (or classical music, as the American public calls it). Now popular music, jazz, and the music of the world’s peoples took their place among the course offerings. Gradually, ethnomusicologists began to realize that they could take a proactive role and convince university administrators that one way to accomplish their goal of affirmative action toward so-called American minority groups (something which ethnomusicologists by and large supported) was through greater diversity of music offerings, which would also mean more ethnomusicology hires. As programs and departments were established in African American studies, Native American studies, Asian American studies, Hispanic American studies, and the like, it became apparent that the music of American minorities, along with world music, had an important role to play in the expanded curricula. Of course, ethnomusicologists were far from the only ones to benefit from diversity, cultural pluralism, and affirmative action in the academic world; but while the popularity of world music has ebbed and flowed since the 1960s, the movement toward greater cultural diversity within US higher education has been persistent. The folk music revival, rising popularity of world music, and the positive value now attached to ethnic roots and cultural pluralism brought about a renewed emphasis in applied ethnomusicology outside the academic world before it had much impact inside it. Because Alan Lomax embodied this public work in applied ethnomusicology—not only as a collector, writer, and promoter, but also as an advocate for cultural democracy and musical pluralism—it is instructive to ponder his encounter with none other than George Herzog, who also believed in the value of musical diversity and had devoted his life to the study of folk and “primitive” music. Herzog, as noted, embodied comparative musicology in the United States during the 1930s and 1940s. After Lomax had been “Assistant in Charge” of the Archive of American Folk Song at the Library

24   Jeff Todd Titon of Congress for several years—field-collecting, acquiring from others, and curating recordings—he decided to move his base of operations, from February through June of 1939, to Manhattan to obtain “more systematic academic training in anthropology and in the anthropological approach to primitive and folk music.” He hoped to study with Herzog and other anthropologists at Columbia, and also “to study music with private instructors” (Cohen 2010: 115). A recently published collection of Lomax’s correspondence reveals the encounter with Herzog—from Lomax’s viewpoint, of course—to have been less than successful. Herzog would not let Lomax into his course, insisting that he must take his two courses in sequence—primitive music (offered in the fall) followed by folk music (in the spring). Herzog would not budge from the requirement. To Harold Spivacke, his supervisor at the Library of Congress, Lomax then wrote, “I met a very much surprised Dr. Herzog at Columbia this morning, a Dr. Herzog who told me that I had made a great mistake in coming to school to take his course this term, that I should have come next term, should have come next year and for a whole year. Such a neurotic little academic man you never saw before” (Cohen 2010: 121). Although Lomax had a marvelous ear, outstanding musical taste, and broad knowledge of folk music, he had little formal musical education and could be regarded as a well-meaning amateur in search of professional training. In some scientific disciplines, such as ornithology and astronomy, serious work by amateur researchers is highly valued; and in the early history of science, the majority of natural historians and natural philosophers were amateurs and proud of it. But Herzog was wary of amateur music research. Their confrontation, exacerbated by their prickly personalities and strong convictions, can be understood as a sign of incompatibility between public and academic ethnomusicologies in an earlier era; today, as mentioned earlier, more practitioners of applied ethnomusicology are employed within academia than outside it. Indeed, the growth of US applied ethnomusicology from the 1960s through the 1980s owed much to Alan Lomax’s continuing influence, his call for cultural equity, the work of public folklorists, and the establishment of government institutions that supported cultural pluralism within the arts. At the federal level were the Office of Folklife Studies at the Smithsonian Institution, the Folk Arts program of the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Archive of Folk Culture at the Library of Congress, enlarged from the former Archive of American Folk Song, which Lomax had directed, and under the aegis of a new Library division, the American Folklife Center. Regional, state, and, in some cases, city arts councils also were established, funded in part by the National Endowment for the Arts, and by the end of the 1980s most of the state arts councils employed at least one folklorist and a few employed ethnomusicologists (see Murphy, Chapter 20 of this volume). Folklore in the United States, while conservative in the academic world, enjoyed a tradition of populist activism outside it. Each of these government agencies employed scholars as consultants, and some employed them as arts and humanities administrators; thus, a large public outreach and concern for the health of expressive culture within various US communities was put in place, with a growing number of ethnomusicologists involved in public folklore, most often as consultants, but sometimes as advocates and collaborators, doing applied work. Several ethnomusicologists worked as presenters at

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    25 folk festivals, their prior fieldwork having identified and documented some of the musicians who performed there. Music was the most prominent among the arts singled out by public folklorists for identification, documentation, and presentation. As arts administrators, ethnomusicologists were employed by the Smithsonian Institution (Thomas Vennum, Charlotte Heth) and by the Folk Arts Division of the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA; Daniel Sheehy), which also hired numerous ethnomusicologists as consultants to sit on panels recommending funding for various community music projects as well as for apprenticeships and heritage awards (see Titon, Chapter 5 of this volume). Bess Lomax Hawes held an informal session at the SEM conference most years during the 1980s to inform ethnomusicologists of the opportunities for submitting applied ethnomusicology project proposals to the NEA. This activity, known in the 1970s and 1980s as public sector folklore, in the 1990s became known simply as “public folklore,” and influenced the course of applied ethnomusicology in the United States profoundly. Academic ethnomusicologists involved in public folklore thus began to think of their work as applied ethnomusicology, but SEM remained chiefly an organization devoted to communicating research among scholars. It was not until most of the founding generation aged and gradually relinquished leadership that applied ethnomusicology was able to enter SEM in a significant way. But it was not merely a changing of the generations. A significant change within academia resulted from the growing critique of science, fomented by post-structuralist and critical cultural theory, and culminating in the so-called “science wars” of the 1980s. North American graduate students in ethnomusicology during this period—beginning in the late 1960s—could not help being affected, as were cultural anthropologists and folklorists. The result, particularly among those attracted to the study of music as culture, was a turn in ethnomusicology from science toward cultural critique, from the musical object to the musical experience, from analysis to interpretation, from explanation to understanding. As a result, US ethnomusicology took a humanistic turn, and the cultural study of music moved to the forefront until, by the end of the 1980s, ethnomusicology had assimilated the humanistic cultural anthropology of Clifford Geertz, Dennis Tedlock, James Clifford, George Marcus, Vincent Crapanzano, Paul Rabinow, and others, a far cry from the empirical anthropology Herzog had championed. Much of this ethnomusicological humanism eventually achieved theoretical expression in the “new fieldwork” (Barz and Cooley, 1996) of reflexivity, reciprocity, and advocacy. Meanwhile, the scientific ethnomusicologists were in gradual retreat. A review of the essays in Ethnomusicology since about 1976 shows the balance point moving in the direction of music as culture rather than as form and structure. In 2010 the musicological ethnomusicologists came together outside SEM to form their own scholarly association (Analytical Approaches to World Music) with its own journal.4 Ethnomusicology’s humanistic turn led a growing number of North American ethnomusicologists toward applied ethnomusicology in one form or another—advocating on behalf of individual musicians, musical communities, and musical life in particular places. The new fieldwork had become experience-centered, with ethnomusicological monographs such as those by Berliner (1978) and Keil (1979) reflecting this

26   Jeff Todd Titon first-person turn to reflexivity. Kenneth Gourlay’s 1982 essay in SEM’s journal, “Towards a Humanizing Ethnomusicology,” offered a theoretical basis for the new direction, along with a strongly worded critique of Merriam’s insistence on science (Gourlay 1982). In that same issue of Ethnomusicology, Charles Keil’s essay, “Applied Ethnomusicology and a Rebirth of Music from the Spirit of Tragedy,” charted a path toward work that “can make a difference” through “an insistence on putting music into play wherever people are resisting their oppression” (Keil, 1982:  407). Keil’s 1982 essay caught the spirit of the postcolonialism that was central to cultural critique in the new anthropology, and to critical theory in cultural studies. And because applied ethnomusicology did not become a movement until the era of decolonization, it could (and did) oppose colonialism, orientalism, and other manifestations of the arrogance of Western power, while answering (if not avoiding) the critiques of colonialism that were being (and that continue to be) leveled at applied anthropology. Meanwhile, an ever-increasing number of US ethnomusicologists were becoming involved in public folklore and were realizing that there was much good work to be done for music in the public arena. A humanized ethnomusicology thus made it possible for a resurgence of a postcolonial applied ethnomusicology, manifesting itself not only in a new fieldwork based in reciprocity leading to advocacy, but also through institutional gains within SEM. Applied ethnomusicology went mainstream within SEM during the 1990s. As the program chair for the 1989 SEM conference, I invited colleagues from my years in the early 1980s as a consultant for the NEA Folk Arts Program to present papers on a pre-planned panel. Entitled “From Perspective to Practice in ‘Applied Ethnomusicology,’  ” the panel included the following presenters and papers:  Robert Garfias, “What an Ethnomusicologist Can Do in Public Sector Arts”; Daniel Sheehy, “Applied Ethnomusicology as a State of Mind”; Charlotte Heth, “Getting It Right and Passing It On:  The Ethnomusicologist and Cultural Transmission”; and Bess Lomax Hawes, “Practice Makes Perfect: Lessons in Active Ethnomusicology.” When in 1990 I became editor of Ethnomusicology, this panel formed the starting point for a special issue entitled “Ethnomusicology and the Public Interest,” which featured articles by Daniel Sheehy, Bess Lomax Hawes, Martha Ellen Davis, and Anthony Seeger. This was the first time that applied ethnomusicology was featured in the SEM journal. In my introductory article for that special issue, I wrote that ethnomusicology in the public interest “is work whose immediate end is not research and the flow of knowledge inside intellectual communities but, rather, practical action in the world outside of archives and universities” and that “as a way of knowing and doing, fieldwork [which is constitutive of ethnomusicology] at its best is based on a model of friendship between people rather than on a model involving antagonism, surveillance, the observation of physical objects, or the contemplation of abstract ideas” (Titon, 1992a: 315, 321). Sheehy’s article there began the process of constructing an alternative history for ethnomusicology in the United States, one in which applied work was more central (Sheehy, 1992). Hawes was invited to give the plenary Seeger Lecture at the 1993 SEM conference, and this autobiographical talk, meant in part to attract listeners to applied work as a calling, was published two years later in Ethnomusicology (Hawes, 1995). In 1998 Keil, continuing in the vein of

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    27 postcolonial critique, called in the SEM journal for an “applied sociomusicology” that, by reclaiming participatory music-making “for the vast majority,” would help engender a revolution in consciousness that would overturn the global corporate capitalist world order and reverse the coming eco-catastrophe as we move toward “sustainable futures” (Keil, 1998: 304). At the 1998 SEM Conference, Doris Dyen and Martha Ellen Davis convened a meeting to assess interest in proposing a standing Committee on Applied Ethnomusicology to the SEM Board. Until that meeting, a single name for this activity had not yet risen to the surface; among those in circulation then were “applied,” “active,” “action,” “practice,” “public,” and “public sector” (Titon, 1992a: 320–321). As applied ethnomusicologists themselves, with experience in the public sector and in the academic world, Davis and Dyen felt the time was opportune for organizing something more formal to bring together those with common interests in working for the benefit of musical communities in the public sphere. Thirty-eight hopeful founders (the editors of this volume among them) attended, their proposal was accepted by the SEM Board, and the Committee was established, with a variety of definitions of applied ethnomusicology. In 2000, Dyen and Davis, who had taken on the role of chairs of the Committee, appointed a deputy chair, Tom Van Buren, and successfully petitioned the Board to recognize the group as the Applied Ethnomusicology Section. Dyen and Davis stood aside in 2002 while appointing co-chairs Ric Alviso and Miriam Gerberg to join Van Buren, who stepped down in 2004 in favor of Mark Puryear. Alviso was succeeded in 2008 by Jeff Todd Titon, Gerberg in 2009 by Kathleen Noss Van Buren, Puryear in 2010 by Maureen Loughran, and Noss Van Buren in 2014 by Michael Bakan. During the Committee and Section’s first decade, the co-chairs worked to make the group a comfortable space within SEM for ethnomusicologists employed outside of the academic world. To that end, they organized practical panels on non-academic careers for ethnomusicologists, such as the “Ethnomusicologists at Work” series, organized by Gerberg; and on strategies for survival both inside and outside official institutions. Co-chairs Gerberg, Puryear, and Alviso established Section prizes for outstanding presentations at SEM, and awards for travel grants to the conference. In the new millennium, as applied ethnomusicology has become increasingly popular among graduate students and welcomed inside academic institutions, the Section has become an SEM meeting-place and platform for applied ethnomusicologists based both within and outside academia. Most recently, the Section has sponsored panels involving themes such as music and politics, community advocacy, activism and “giving back,” conflict resolution, ethics, repatriation of artifacts from archives and museums, medicine, the environment, and social justice. It also sponsors presentations from guests who do not normally attend the SEM conferences but who have worked in applied ethnomusicology either independently or in extra-academic institutions. For example, at the 2011 conference, Debora Kodish, public folklorist and director of the Philadelphia Folklore Project, led a Section-sponsored discussion among traditional music and dance activists and community scholar-practitioners from the African-American and Asian-American communities in Philadelphia, showcasing a model for ethnomusicologists seeking strategies for

28   Jeff Todd Titon work in community-based institutions. With 300 members, Applied Ethnomusicology is now one of the largest and most active among the SEM Sections, exceeded in membership only by the student and the popular music Sections. As might be expected of a practical endeavor, theorization of applied ethnomusicology lagged behind practice, but recent years have witnessed an increasing number of publications and events centered on applied ethnomusicology itself. These included an international conference on applied ethnomusicology organized by Erica Haskell and Maureen Loughran, at Brown University (Invested in Community 2003), a special issue of Folklore Forum devoted to applied ethnomusicology (Fenn 2003), a section to devoted to applied ethnomusicology in an issue of Ethnomusicology Review (2012), and a book of essays, Applied Ethnomusicology: Historical and Contemporary Approaches (Harrison, Mackinlay, and Pettan, 2010). Rebecca Dirksen authored an excellent overview of contemporary practice, with an emphasis on work by US-based ethnomusicologists, while Timothy Rice’s book-length “very short introduction” to the discipline devotes the last two of nine chapters to what is in effect applied ethnomusicology (Dirksen, 2012; Rice, 2014). This Oxford Handbook continues in this vein, offering a cross-section of contemporary international work in the field. Concluding this sketch of applied ethnomusicology in the United States, I do not mean to dismiss entirely the critique that applied ethnomusicology may be used for undesirable ends. Knowledge is not innocent; cultural information has a long history of being put to use for military purposes and colonial conquest. Music used in the service of a social or musical benefit may turn out to have negative consequences, or what looks like a benefit to one political entity may be a harm to another. Merriam’s charge that applied ethnomusicologists are engaged in “manipulating people’s destinies” is one way of looking at missionary work, for example, and it is a fact that missionaries have put their knowledge of music to use for that purpose for many centuries. Today, faith-based organizations such as SIL put ethnomusicological knowledge to use in aiding local artists in indigenous communities, with the goal of a “better future: one of justice, peace, joy, physical safety, social continuity and spiritual wholeness” (SIL). Other forces are intervening:  corporations, governments, technology, the law, and so forth. Social responsibility requires social justice, cultural equity, and decolonization. I believe there is no self-correcting “invisible hand” in the marketplace or anywhere else that would permit scholars the luxury of research without social responsibility. Nor would scholars be well advised to accumulate knowledge and then supply it to those who in their ignorance would put it to use. SEM has been slow to adopt a more active role, but recognition of the need for the organization to enter the larger political sphere has gradually come. For many years, SEM took the position that while ethnomusicologists were of course free to express their personal political views, the organization itself must not take a public political stand. But in 1976 the SEM Newsletter editor refused to print an employment advertisement from a university representing a government that practiced apartheid, an early harbinger of change. Not long afterward, SEM began endorsing resolutions supporting the rights of scholars detained by governments for political reasons, and the rights

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    29 of musicians to travel freely internationally. It has passed position statements on rights and discrimination, copyright ownership and sound recordings, and ethical considerations. Finally, in 2007, in response to a request from the SEM Ethics Committee, the SEM Board of Directors approved a “Position Statement against the Use of Music as Torture.” Arising in response to numerous reports of music as part of the torture arsenal employed by US military and intelligence agencies and their allies against suspected terrorist detainees, it reads in part that the Society for Ethnomusicology “calls for full disclosure of US government-sanctioned and funded programs that design the means of delivering music as torture; condemns the use of music as an instrument of torture; and demands that the United States government and its agencies cease using music as an instrument of physical and psychological torture” (SEM Torture). The position statement on music as torture was a significant step in SEM’s evolution. It recognizes that ethnomusicologists are citizens of the world with social responsibilities, and that our professional organization has not only the right but also the duty to represent the profession’s ethical beliefs and act upon them.

Section 2.  Applied Ethnomusicology in the Global Arena Svanibor Pettan An Introductory Vignette In 1975, a documentary film about hunting, Ultime grida dalla savana (internationally known as Savage Man Savage Beast) was released. The authors intended to document the phenomenon of hunting in different spatial and cultural contexts. The viewers can see not only animals hunting animals and humans hunting animals, but also animals hunting humans, and finally, humans hunting humans. The scenes in which lions eat a tourist and in which humans mutilate the bodies of caught humans were received with particular controversy. The filmmakers Antonio Climati and Mario Morra were filming all the scenes with the clear attitude of detached observers, documenting the multifaceted footage in the domain of their professional interest and showing no intention whatsoever to intervene. The basic symbolic standpoint of this film brings up a number of useful questions concerning the attitudes in the field of ethnomusicology in its both temporal and spatial contexts, and highlights the stance of intervention in positioning applied ethnomusicology.5 The stance of the above-mentioned filmmakers reflects the attitude prevalent in the ethnomusicological mainstream within the past decades, which can be summarized in the following way: studying music as it is, not as a researcher or anybody else would want

30   Svanibor Pettan it to be. I vividly recall an example from my doctoral studies at the University of Maryland Baltimore County, in which the professor pointed out a music producer of an African music CD, who insisted on removal of those parts from the musical instrument that were responsible for the production of a buzzing sound. The producer’s opinion was that the recording without them would be more pleasing to the ears of international audiences, which would consequently increase the profit expected from the final product. Of course, such an uninformed and disrespectful intervention into the aesthetics of the musicians invoked laughter and criticism among the students, with no need for further discussion. The question, which I considered essential, that is, whether “those who know” (us, the ethnomusicologists) would actually consider making a step beyond the level of an academic debate and try to intervene, by providing the ignorant producer who misused his power over the musicians with arguments against his action, was left unanswered. The two cases (the film and the CD producer), extreme as they are, raise at least two useful points: a. The decision whether to intervene or not has moral implications. b. In order to be successful, intervention has to be based on knowledge, understanding, and skills.

What Is Applied Ethnomusicology, and What Isn’t It? As will be discussed later, definitions may vary according to the parameters such as time, place, research tradition, and individual preference, but the essence is captured in the wording created and accepted at the 39th World Conference of the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM) in Vienna in 2007, suggesting that “[a]‌pplied ethnomusicology is the approach guided by principles of social responsibility, which extends the usual academic goal of broadening and deepening knowledge and understanding toward solving concrete problems and toward working both inside and beyond typical academic contexts.” Characterization of the ICTM Study Group on Applied Ethnomusicology that follows provides further clarification, suggesting that it “advocates the use of ethnomusicological knowledge in influencing social interaction and course of cultural change.” The introduction to the book Applied Ethnomusicology: Historical and Contemporary Approaches (Harrison, Mackinlay, and Pettan, 2010) analyzes this definition part by part and also addresses three common misconceptions about applied ethnomusicology, which are worth mentioning in this context: 1. Applied ethnomusicology does not stand in opposition to the academic domain, but should be viewed as its extension and complement.6 2. Applied ethnomusicology is not an opposition to the theoretical (philosophical, intellectual) domain, but its extension and complement.7 3. Applied ethnomusicology is not an opposition to ethnographic, artistic, and scientific research, but their extension and complement.8

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    31 The introductory article to the above-mentioned volume ends with a quotation of Michael Birenbaum Quintero: “Apply your ethnomusicology or someone else will apply it for you,” which once again points to intervention as a key notion. There is a rich myriad of opinions about applied ethnomusicology among ethnomusicologists worldwide, from those who claim that all ethnomusicology is in fact applied, to those who feel that applied ethnomusicology does not enjoy necessary respect within the academic discipline and therefore should not be discussed at all. It is easy to agree with Daniel Sheehy’s belief that “all ethnomusicologists have at one time or another been applied ethnomusicologists” (Sheehy, 1992: 323). But “applied ethnomusicology as a conscious practice,” says Sheehy, “begins with a sense of purpose, a purpose larger than the advancement of knowledge about the music of the world’s peoples” (ibid.). This is why I started my part of this Introduction with the crucial question of intervention, or in other words, with the conscious decision-making of a researcher whether or not to step beyond the mere study of the selected phenomenon and affect the researched circumstances. It is the sense of purpose, rather than any specific topic, that defines applied ethnomusicology. There are “sensitive topics,” such as, for instance, the roles of music in the Israeli/Palestinian divide, in which the author of the book (for whatever reason) does not even mention applied ethnomusicology (see Brinner, 2009), and there are seemingly “neutral” topics, for instance the lullabies in Slovenia, which are from their initial conceptualization “applied,” thanks to the author’s strategic intention to incite change with them (for more, see Juvančič, 2010). There are many more or less known individuals, organizations, projects, and publications known for promoting the use of music for the betterment of human condition. Their work, though inspiring, if not rooted in ethnomusicological research should not be considered “applied ethnomusicology.” Venezuelan musician, activist, economist, and politician José Antonio Abreu and his El Sistema, Argentinian/Israeli/German pianist and conductor Daniel Barenboim and his West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, Irish musicians and activists Bob Geldof (Live Aid) and Bono (ONE Campaign), Musicians Without Borders, Young at Heart, Studio MC Pavarotti, most articles in the journals such as Music and Arts in Action and Sounds in Europe are just a few examples, among many more. Some ethnomusicologists express concern about the power imbalance in projects that fit within the realm of applied ethnomusicology (e.g., Hofman, 2010). The title of my first conference paper on the topic, presented in 1995, started exactly with the same notion:  “Ethnomusicologist as a Power Holder?” The sentence with the question mark looks even more bizarre in the light of Deborah Wong’s reminder that “[e]‌thnomusicology is marginalized in most music departments because its radical relativism challenges logocentric thinking about music” (2013:  348). In my conference presentation, based on the work with Bosnian refugees in Norway (see below), I addressed the issue of power share with the participants in, to the extent possible, equal, horizontal terms. The (later) article by Samuel Araújo and members of the Grupo Musicultura (2006), inspired by Paolo Freire’s dialogical pedagogy (1970), is a good example of the same intention. There is, however, the other side of the coin, which

32   Svanibor Pettan should not be overlooked. If a certain kind of knowledge and/or access to power holders in a society for the benefit of the people in need is the comparative advantage of an ethnomusicologist, and there is a consensus between the interlocutors and the ethnomusicologist that he or she should use it, I can hardly think of counterarguments. This is how Antony Seeger benefited the Suyá community in Brazil and Ursula Hemetek the Roma people in Austria. In Harris M. Berger’s words, one should be aware of the dual nature of power:  Power is, in one sense, the power to act, the ability to bring forth events in the world. But because our action is always social—always something we achieve because of and with others, past, present, future—the potential for domination is inherent, even ripe, in the entirety of social life, and even the most mundane, equitable, or convivial practice is informed by larger social contexts and the legacies of domination that they entail. This is as true of practices of music making, teaching, research or public sector work as it is of any other kind of activity. Seeing the social life of music as a domain of coordinated practice that is inherently, rather than contingently, political is one way of coming to terms with these difficult issues. (Berger, 2014: 319).

A Personal Stance Just as Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco did in her Epilogue to the seminal volume Music and Conflict (O’Connell and Castelo-Branco, 2010), let me add to this Introduction a personal stance that should define my own position. In my opinion, every scholar should be free to decide whether to make a step beyond the usual goal of deepening and broadening knowledge, understanding and skills, and consciously intervene into the human and cultural environment of his or her research interest. While doing fieldwork in the 1980s on the East African islands of Zanzibar and Pemba for my B.A. thesis (University of Zagreb, Croatia) and in Egypt for my M.A. thesis (University of Ljubljana, Slovenia), my clear intention was to affect the self-focused folk music research in what was Yugoslavia at the time and to relate it to the much larger international community of ethnomusicologists, which I  was learning about mainly from the periodicals (Yearbook for Traditional Music, Ethnomusicology, The World of Music). My goal was clearly not the mere scholarly work based on the data from elsewhere in the world, but the conscious intervention into the essence of the discipline as it was understood in my home country at that time. Between my B.A. and M.A. studies, I was obliged to serve for a year in the Yugoslav People’s Army. Following my research interests, I  asked the military authorities in Croatia to be sent to serve in the multicultural city of Prizren in far-away Kosovo, which was the most politically unstable part of what was Yugoslavia in the early 1980s. After becoming the instructor for cultural affairs, I came to the position not only to conduct fieldwork (by using a military tape recorder), but also to take it a step further: to bring regularly together youngsters from different ethnic communities and fellow soldiers

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    33 into a choir. Obviously, research was beneficial to the work with the choir, and contacts established through the choir activities had a positive impact on my research. Following the end of my doctoral studies (University of Maryland) in 1992, I  was faced with the dilemma of whether to try to find a position in the safety of American academia or to return to my disintegrating, war-torn country. I decided once again to cross the boundary of intervention and use my capacities not only to study “music and war at home,” but also to explore whether my knowledge, understanding, and skills could in any way confront the growing hatred and help reducing the suffering of the people affected by the war. My interlocutors in Croatia were highly unusual for any type of ethnomusicological inquiry known to me at that time: they included refugees and internally displaced people, soldiers, people in shelters, representatives of NGOs, radio editors, producers and sellers of music cassettes under both official and black market circumstances, members of the diasporas, and nonetheless musicians—amateur and professional, representatives of diverse musical genres and with diverse political orientations. Popular music was at the forefront, but my research encompassed folk and art music, as well. What was the essence of my intervention beyond the limits of research? My ethnomusicology students in both Zagreb and Ljubljana received assignments to work on joint performances with refugees in refugee camps in order to develop a sense of compassion and togetherness, and their seminar projects—for instance, one about music in various local religious communities at the time of political calls for unification (one ethnicity, one religion, one language, one territory)—clearly aimed for more than a mere broadening and deepening of knowledge. Invited to teach for a term at the University of Oslo in Norway in the mid-1990s, I took the opportunity to implement a project, together with my senior host Professor Kjell Skyllstad. A few years earlier he envisioned and carried out a project named The Resonant Community (Skyllstad, 1993), the first case in my experience that had all elements of an applied ethnomusicology project. In the period from 1989 to 1992 music of various origins (African, Asian, European, and Latin American) had been successfully used in some elementary schools in Norway in order to foster “interracial understanding.” Included and affected by this project were the teachers, pupils, and their parents, for whom teaching kits were created; some of the best musicians from four continents shared their arts with them. The evaluated and confirmed impact of The Resonant Community inspired us to put together the Azra project, an innovative proactive attempt, with the focus on Bosnian refugee musicians and Norwegian music students, which has been already presented elsewhere (e.g., Pettan, 1996; Skyllstad, 1997; Pettan, 2010), and thus not need to be described here. Therefore, I will dedicate just a few words to its methodological aspects. I believe the Azra project fits into what Sheehy refers to as “conscious practice” and “sense of purpose.” It is a “horizontal” (not “top-down”) project, driven by the clear wish for intervention by well-intended scholars and their collaborators who together, in Angosino’s words, “had a concern for using their knowledge for the betterment of the human condition” (Angrosino, 1990:  106). The goals of the project were as follows: (1) strengthening Bosnian cultural identity among the refugees from

34   Svanibor Pettan Bosnia-Herzegovina in Norway, and (2) stimulating mutually beneficial cross-cultural communication between the Bosnians and the Norwegians involved. The project was envisioned as a triangle consisting of three principal domains: research, education, and music-making. Its realization was carried on in four stages: (1) recognition of the problem and definition of the goals and basic strategies; (2) collection and analysis of data, plus refinement of the strategies; (3) intervention; and (4) evaluation of the results. Work on this project made me aware of two distinctive types of mediation, which I termed indirect and direct. Indirect mediation means that the scholar gives the results of his or her research to those in a position to apply them. Direct mediation means that scholar himself or herself actively participates in the application of scholarly knowledge, understanding, and skills. Skyllstad and I used both categories in the Azra project. While mediating indirectly through conference papers, lectures, articles, and interviews, using the synthesis of empirical fieldwork and relevant literature to encourage other people to act, we reached the limits with no insight into the consequences of our involvement. Direct mediation proved to be more useful and far-reaching. For instance, within the Azra project, Skyllstad and I were able to shape its goals and contents, observe its flow and modify it when needed, and evaluate all its stages, including the final results. My series of publications in different formats (books, articles, CD-ROM, film), accompanied by proactive lectures and picture exhibitions (all dedicated to Roma people, largely silenced victims of the war in Kosovo in the 1990s), can be seen as yet another application of ethnomusicological knowledge, understanding, and skills. The publications include those with scholarly rigor and those aimed at communication with general audiences (more in Pettan, 2010). One of the professional involvements that I highly value, but have never written an article about, is my role in the advisory committee at the Slovenian annual state review titled “Let’s sing, let’s play musical instruments, let’s dance” for children and youngsters with special needs. To summarize, like many other fellow ethnomusicologists, I am involved in projects of public interest. Not everything I do in ethnomusicology has an applied extension. In my invited lectures on applied ethnomusicology, I often encourage scholars in the audience to think of research that goes beyond the broadening and deepening of knowledge in the direction of benefiting the people they study. Some become inspired, while others simply do not want to think in these terms. And it is right to be so. For me, this is the clear line between ethnomusicology and applied ethnomusicology.

“Applied” in Other Disciplines It is a common practice that scientific and scholarly disciplines have their applied domains. To mention just some, there are applied mathematics, applied physics, applied biology, applied geography, applied sociology, applied anthropology, and then (surprisingly seldom) applied musicology, partly substituted by the category of applied music. If hydrology, for instance, is the study of water and encompasses “the interrelationships of geologic materials and processes of water” (Fetter, 2001: 3), then “applied

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    35 hydrogeologists are problem solvers and decision makers. They identify a problem, define the data needs, design a field program for collection of data, propose alternative solutions to the problem, and implement the preferred solutions” (ibid., 11). Applied sociology refers to “any use of the sociological perspective and/or its tools in the understanding of, intervention in, and/or enhancement human social life” (Price and Steele, 2004), while applied anthropology refers to “any use of anthropological knowledge to influence social interaction, to maintain or change social institutions, or to direct the course of cultural change” (Spradley and McCurdy, 2000: 355). Curiously, neither the International Musicological Society nor the American Musicological Society have sections focused on applied musicology. UCLA musicologist Elisabeth Le Guin points out that the reason might be that “in the institutional structure of the discipline’s most prestigious academic society,9 a stigma lingers around the idea of ‘putting music to use,’ as the SEM describes applied ethnomusicology: a ghost of the old idea, coeval in its origins with my undergraduates’ obdurately anti-verbal Romanticism, that music should amount to something more than its use-value” (LeGuin 2012; http:// ethnomusicologyreview.ucla.edu/journal/volume/17/piece/599). A recent book with applied musicology in its title refers to “using zygonic theory to inform music education, therapy, and psychology research” (Ockelford, 2013). According to The Oxford Companion to Music, applied music is an American term for a course in performance studies, as opposed to theory. It is worth inquiring about the independent scientific and scholarly societies that have the adjective “applied” in their names, which implies that they have already answered the “ultimate aim” in Merriam’s terms, that is, whether “one is searching out knowledge for its own sake, or is attempting to provide solutions to practical applied problems” (Merriam, 1964: 42–43) in favor of the latter. In general, “applied societies” are international and are far from being small outfits of the main disciplinary bodies; some count their members in the thousands.10 Although the aims of these societies are defined in the disciplinarily determined ways, the great majority of them make clear that they promote the outcomes of their disciplines with the intention that the public benefits from their efforts.11 This is particularly clearly emphasized by the Society for Applied Anthropology, active since 1941, whose “unifying factor is a commitment to making an impact on the quality of life in the world” (www.sfaa.net).

A Brief Worldwide Overview It is quite fascinating to observe engaged scholarship within the Australian ethnomusicological realm, from Catherine Ellis (1985) to the newest books of Grace Koch (2013) and Catherine Grant (2014). High ethical stands and participatory work promoted by the research institutions focused on indigenous people of Australia, such as Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies (AIATSIS), as well as the active/activist involvement in Aboriginal rights issue by several leading Australian ethnomusicologists, provide inspiring lessons for applied ethnomusicologists worldwide

36   Svanibor Pettan (see Newsome, 2008). The contributions by Elisabeth Mackinlay (Chapter  11), Dan Bendrups (Chapter 1), and Huib Schippers (Chapter 4) in this volume make a strong Australian contribution to the applied work with the Aborigines, other minorities, and carriers of music cultures in various parts of the globe. “The practice of ethnomusicology has been central in the professional lives of ethnomusicologists in Southeast Asia,” claims Tan Sooi Beng in her article about activism in Southeast Asian ethnomusicology, pointing to a project of empowerment of youth in Penang, Malaysia, to revitalize traditions and bridge cultural barriers (2008: 69). For her, and for many colleagues elsewhere in Asia, to be an ethnomusicologist means not only involvement in scholarly activities such as teaching, documenting, publishing, and organizing conferences, but also application of the ethnomusicological knowledge toward solving particular cultural problems “so as to bring about change in their respective societies” (ibid.: 70). Terada Yoshitaka provides yet another good example of sensitive work in various formats (e.g., 2005, 2008, 2010, 2011). In this volume, Tan and Zhang Boyu present Asian views and approaches from within, while John Morgan O’Connell, Joshua Pilzer, and Zoe Sherinian complement them from outside, covering at least some other parts of the world’s largest continent. Practical aspects of ethnomusicology are very much present in Africa, too, from indigenous teaching approaches to music education, preservation of cultural roots, building of musical instruments, to diverse uses of music against xenophobia and prejudices related to HIV/AIDS. The work of Daniel Avorgbedor (1992), Angela Impey (2002), Bernhard Bleibinger (2010), Kathleen Van Burren (2010), along with Andrew Tracey, David Dargie, and Patricia Opondo, to mention just a few, points to a rich diversity of approaches. In this volume, Jeffrey Summitt and Brian Schrag provide their own views and experiences in applied ethnomusicology in Africa. South America is certainly the site of some of the major ongoing developments in applied ethnomusicology. This is the case thanks to two extraordinary thinkers in the field, Brazilian Samuel Araújo and US-based Anthony Seeger, whose particularly important work and scholarly formation is related to Brazil. Araújo intends “to highlight the political substance and epistemological consequences of new research contexts and roles as one area with potentially ground-breaking contributions toward the emergence of a more balanced social world, i.e. one in which knowledge will hopefully emerge from a truly horizontal, intercultural dialogue and not through top-to-bottom neo-colonial systems of validation” (Araújo, 2008: 14). Seeger’s work could justifiably be discussed in any geographic context, as his articles and keynote addresses resound on all continents (2006, 2008). In this volume, dedicated US ethnomusicologist Holly Wissler demonstrates how applied ethnomusicological projects affect two South American communities, one in the Andes, and the other in the Amazon. Maureen Loughran noted that some leading ethnomusicologists in the North American context, such as Alan P. Merriam (1964), Mantle Hood (1971), and Bruno Nettl (1964, 1983) largely ignored the work of applied ethnomusicologists while presenting the major developments within the discipline.12 The co-editor of this volume, Jeff Todd Titon, has presented in Section 1 of this Introduction the history of ethnomusicology in North America from his perspective, as he lived and lives it, adding previously

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    37 unknown aspects and enriching the general understanding of the discipline. Besides him, several other authors refer to various extents to applied ethnomusicology in the North American contexts, including Klisala Harrison, Jeffrey Summitt, Michael Bakan, Susan Oehler Herrick, Patricia Shehan Campbell, Clifford Murphy, and Alan Williams. My own firsthand experiences are largely linked to Europe, where I was born and where I live and practice ethnomusicology. This is why the following section will be about Europe. The authors linked in various ways to Europe in this volume include Ursula Hemetek, Erica Haskell, Britta Sweers, Lee Higgins, and Dan Lundberg.

Some European Views: Ethnomusicologies The fact that there is no single, ultimate definition of ethnomusicology suggests that we may consider the coexistence of ethnomusicologies, not only in different parts of the world, but also within a single, no matter how small, location. For instance, while I may find the definition proposed by my US colleague Jeff Todd Titon (“the study of people making music”) acceptable, my Slovenian colleague, folklorist Marko Terseglav, defines it very differently, as “a discipline, researching spontaneous folk vocal and instrumental music, its characteristics and development” (Terseglav, 2004: 124). In a sharp contrast to Vienna in neighboring Austria, which figures as one of the two cradles of comparative musicology13 and is at the same time home to the lasting legacy of folk music research, ethnomusicology in Slovenia is rooted exclusively in folk music research. Table I.1 points to the major distinctions between the two and relates them to the current ethnomusicological mainstream.14 Table I.1  Comparative Musicology, Folk Music Research, and Ethnomusicology Comparative Musicology

Folk Music Research

Ethnomusicology

From late 18th century Peasant music

From 1950s People making music

How? Who? Where?

1885–1950s Musics of “primitive peoples” and “high Oriental cultures” “Armchair” “Other” people Elsewhere

Fieldwork (long-term) Any people Anywhere

Why?

Knowledge

Fieldwork (short-term) “Own” people Within own ethnic/ national realm National duty

When? What?

Understanding

In an article, in which she compares the features of comparative musicology and folk music research in Vienna in the early twentieth century, Ursula Hemetek points to some other important distinctions, for instance, recording with phonograph by the former and notation by ear by the latter; music as text with no context versus music as text with context; interdisciplinarity related mainly to natural sciences versus interdisciplinarity

38   Svanibor Pettan related mainly to humanities; and (particularly important in this context) the association of comparative musicology with the academia-based “ivory tower” versus folk music research’s “highly motivated volunteers outside academia” and application of (research) results (Hemetek, 2009: 62). The multitude of languages and nation-state ideologies affected research within the European space differently than in North America and Australia. By far, not all of the European countries came under the umbrella of comparative musicology, but all contributed to the legacy of folk music research. Distinctive developments of the discipline in politically, geographically, historically, demographically, economically, linguistically, religiously, and nevertheless culturally diverse national contexts within Europe inspired studies that testify primarily about the specifics of European ethnomusicologies; put together, they enable comparisons and insights into common features. Interestingly, with a few exceptions (e.g., Clausen, Hemetek, and Saether, 2009; Ling, 1999), Europe was encompassed as a whole primarily by ethnomusicologists from North America (e.g., in Bohlman, 1996, 2004; Rice, Porter, and Goertzen, 2000). Some authors discussed them within the theoretical frame of nationalism (e.g., Bohlman, 2011), some pointed to the shared developmental periods (e.g., Elschek, 1991); yet others inverted the historical trends by placing those seen in Europe a century ago as the inferior Others (Roma and Jews; comp. Wallaschek, 1893) to the forefront of contemporary Europe by naming them “transnational ethnic groups” (Rice, Porter, and Goertzen, 2000). In the post–Cold War Europe of the 1990s, national ethnomusicologies received considerable attention, including those of Denmark (Koudal et al., 1993), Finland (Moisala et  al., 1994), Latvia (Boiko, 1994), Italy (Giuriati, 1995), Spain (Marti, 1997), Croatia (Pettan et al., 1998), and many more. This research trend continued in the 2000s, as reflected in the symposium National Ethnomusicologies:  The European Perspective (Cardiff University, 2007)  and the plenary roundtable under the same name at the ICTM World Conference (Vienna, 2007), both organized by one of the authors in this volume, John Morgan O’Connell. Let us now take a closer look at the micro-plan of Croatia and Slovenia, since 1992 two neighboring independent European countries, which spent the period of the formation of ethnomusicology first as the parts of the multiethnic Austro-Hungarian Empire (1867–1918), and then as the constituent parts of what later became known as Yugoslavia. As in many other parts of Europe, ethnomusicology in Croatia and Slovenia grew from the national awakening of the nineteenth century and the sense of importance of a nation’s “own” folk song for the creation and affirmation of national identity. The characteristic procedure, through the first half of the twentieth century, included extensive fieldwork, notation and analysis of the collected songs, publishing collections, and writing syntheses based on the analysis of collected materials. The aim was to define specific national features, different from those of the neighboring peoples, which would in turn provide the basis for the development of national culture. In Croatia, the key figures, such as Franjo Kuhač (1834–1911) and Božidar Širola (1889–1956), were musicians, to whom the novelties in the field of comparative musicology were known. Kuhač

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    39 was interested in collecting and writing about folk songs of South Slavs (not exclusively Croats), comparing their features with those of non-Slavs (Germans, Italians, Turks). Širola, himself a composer, even earned a doctorate under the mentorship of comparative musicologist Robert Lach in Vienna, and used comparative methodological procedures in dealing with Croatian folk music. In the Slovenian cultural space, at about the same time, the initiative was taken by two widely trained linguists with Viennese doctorates and an interest in ethnology: Karel Štrekelj (1859–1912) and Matija Murko (1861–1952). Just like their predecessors, as far back as the late eighteenth century, they focused primarily on language in the folk songs. In contrast to Štrekelj’s emphasis on Slovenian repertoire, Murko did research (with phonograph) of sung epic poetry in Bosnia, as well. The next generations of principal researchers included Vinko Žganec (1890–1976) and Jerko Bezić (1929–2010) in Croatia, and France Marolt (1891–1952) and Zmaga Kumer (1924–2008) in Slovenia. Žganec, doctor of law and musician, and Marolt, himself a musician, were typical representatives of folk music research in a cultural historic sense, who institutionalized the discipline in Croatia and Slovenia, respectively. Kumer and Bezić earned their doctorates within the discipline. In contrast to Kumer, who became one of Europe’s best and latest representatives of the folk music research domain, Bezić was systematically broadening the scope of ethnomusicology in Croatia by opening the space for research of urban music phenomena and in general of influences from abroad. Thanks to the interaction with his multidisciplinary institutional colleagues in Zagreb, influenced by both American (e.g., Alan Dundes, Dan Ben Amos) and Russian (Kiril Chistov) folklorists, he defined the subject of ethnomusicology as the so-called “folklore music,” referring to musical communication in small groups (more in Marošević, 1998). The next (current) generation of ethnomusicologists in both countries is actively involved in what can be called mainstream ethnomusicology. Within what was Yugoslavia, practically each constituent republic had its own “school of ethnomusicology,” with unquestionable commonalities, but also distinctive features. Each of these “schools” was thematically focused primarily on the material from within its own political unit and its own people in the ethnic sense. While the folk music research paradigm was the unquestionable basis, each “school” had a different stance toward the developments of ethnomusicology elsewhere and used the results of the “mainstream” at different paces. Aware of the discrepancy caused by the lack of comparative musicology at home and even more by the lack of their own interest in studying the Others, Serbian ethnomusicologists decided to translate, with a considerable delay, two books rooted in comparative musicology. The translation of Fritz Bose’s Musikalische Völkerkunde (1953) was published in 1975, and Curt Sachs’s The Rise of Music in the Ancient World East and West (1943) as late as 1980 (Saks 1980).15 These books became a window to “folk music from other parts of the world” for generations of students of ethnomusicology in Serbia. The translation of John Blacking’s How Musical Is Man? (1973) was intended to be a contribution to/from the Sarajevo “school” in Bosnia-Herzegovina (Bleking, 1992).16 In Slovenia,

40   Svanibor Pettan the translations include Curt Sachs’s Eine Weltgeschichte des Tanzes (1933) in 1996, Roberto Leydi’s L’ altra musica (1991) in 1995, and Alan P. Merriam’s The Anthropology of Music (1964) in 2000. The other “schools” felt self-sufficient and did not translate any foreign books with a wider scope of the discipline. According to Bohlman, “Folk music and folk song as objects have not disappeared from the practices of European musicians and scholars, but have instead provided them with complex ways of connecting tradition to modernity, and of emblematizing the past in the present” (1996: 106). Elschek suggests that in this process, “cooperation with anthropology and ethnology has been more successful than with historical musicology” (1991: 101).

Applied Ethnomusicologies One could argue whether various colonial expositions and other showcases involving comparative musicologists should be identified as a part of the early history of applied ethnomusicology and to what extent comparative musicology in general contributed to the “public sector” of the discipline.17 At the same time, it is clear that the other branch of European ethnomusicology—folk music research—was throughout the previous century linked to the applied domain. The principal goal of many folk music researchers, that of protection of their national heritage, implied practical application of their findings. Besides scholarly procedures that usually included field research, transcription, analysis, archiving, and publication, they often actively engaged in the popularization of folk music and dance. Important channels for this were state-sponsored folklore ensembles in Eastern Europe and less formalized revival ensembles in Western Euruope. Ethnomusicologists assumed various roles in these processes: providing the ensembles with musics and dances collected in the field, writing musical arrangements and/or choreographies, singing, playing instruments and/or dancing, leading the ensembles, and touring with them. An increasing influx of immigrants in Western Europe in the second half of the twentieth century gradually raised interest in their musical cultures among ethnomusicologists. In addition to important studies on immigrant musics (e.g., Ronström, 1991) and cultural policies (Baumann, 1991), several ethnomusicologists, particularly in Sweden, became involved in applied projects such as the Ethno camp for young musicians in Falun and music-making within the ensembles such as the Orientexpressen.18 In Norway, Kjell Skyllstad initiated the above-mentioned three-year project named The Resonant Community in several elementary schools in the Oslo area in 1989, bringing together ethnomusicology and music education in paving the way to better appreciation between Norwegians and the immigrants from Africa, Asia, and Latin America through their respective musics (Skyllstad, 1993). Multicultural education, which in the United States “grew out of the ferment of the civil rights movement of the 1960s” (Banks and McGee Banks, 2001: 5), gradually became recognized and also debated in

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    41 Europe. Krister Malm was actively involved in two relevant events in the 1990s: the European Music Council’s conference Aspects on Music and Multiculturalism in Falun in 1995 (Malm et al., 1995)19 and in the first world conference on music and censorship in Copenhagen in 1998, where the organization Freemuse was established (Korpe and Reitov, 1998). Ursula Hemetek was beginning applied work with various minorities in Austria (Hemetek, 1996), which would later lead to official political recognition of the Romani people in Austria (Hemetek, 2006). My applied work with refugees from Bosnia-Herzegovina in Norway, Croatia, and Slovenia, with the internally displaced victims of the war in Croatia, and with Romani victims of the war in Kosovo has been presented earlier. In 2003 Italian ethnomusicologists organized the ninth international seminar in ethnomusicology in Venice, titled Applied Ethnomusicology: Perspectives and Problems. While recognizing that “setting up museums, service within administration of colonial empires, organization of concerts, divulgence by means of publication of writings and recordings”… were part of the professional profile of comparative musicologists at the beginnings of the 20th century, they also noticed recent “significant developments” and pointed to issues such as intercultural education, music in relation to diaspora, immigration, and refugees, “spectacularization” of traditional music, and cultural cooperation projects.20 One of the curiosities of this seminar is the absence of folk music research. The further conference-related developments of applied ethnomusicology in Europe are largely linked to the framework of the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM). They will be systematically presented later in this text. Let us now, just as in the previous section, turn our attention to the micro-plan of Croatia and Slovenia in order to discuss the stances of the most representative Croatian and Slovenian researchers toward application. Certainly, the publication of national folk song collections was not the final aim of the researchers. Either the early musically trained researchers themselves or other musicians harmonized (e.g., Kuhač) or otherwise “improved” the songs in order to create nationally distinctive art music. Marolt was known for arranging the collected songs for his acclaimed choir and for adjusting the collected dances for the staged performances by his own and other folklore ensembles. Application was somehow seen as a natural extension of research by many of these early ethnomusicologists. In fact, Jerko Bezić in Croatia and Zmaga Kumer in Slovenia were the first ones who restrained from applications, trying “to affirm ethnomusicology as an autonomous discipline based on fieldwork, theorizing, evidence and debate, detaching it from requisite utilitarity” (the original quotation is referring to Bezić only; Ceribašić, 2004: 6).21 Today’s ethnomusicologists in both countries complement their research activities by serving in juries at the reviews of folklore preformances at local, regional, and national levels; serving in the organization of festivals, symposia, and other discipline-related events; Croatians are involved in the UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage agendas.. Staff at the research institutes in both Zagreb and Ljubljana comprises specialists in several disciplines, including ethnochoreologists. Inspired by the developments in

42   Svanibor Pettan applied ethnomusicology, at least one researcher, Tvrtko Zebec, theorizes about applied ethnochoreology (Zebec, 2007). Joško Ćaleta, an ethnomusicologist in Zagreb, in whose work research and performing applications are closely intertwined, claims that applied activities are often paying his research activities (interview, July 14, 2014), which is a meaningful point to be taken into consideration. This section ends with a complementing view from the other side of Europe, from the United Kingdom. In the words of Kathleen Van Buren, “Ethnomusicologists need to think more deeply about how to serve others, not just ourselves, through our work. This means listening to people within communities where we live and work, allowing their perspectives to help guide our choice of our topics and activities, trying to collaborate and respond to their needs when we can, and empowering them rather than ourselves” (2010: 219).

The International Council for Traditional Music Perhaps the most efficient access to applied ethnomusicology in the global arena is through the principal international association of ethnomusicologists, which is the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM), with current representation in more than 100 countries and regions on all continents. The association was established in London in 1947 under the name International Folk Music Council (IFMC). We should keep in mind that the establishment of IFMC precedes Kunst’s book Musicologica:  A  Study of the Nature of Ethno-musicology, Its Problems, Methods, and Representative Personalities (1950) and the wide acceptance of the term ethnomusicology that followed.22 It was an era of comparative musicology and folk music research paradigms, which were affecting each other in various ways and to various extents in various places. IFMC’s roots are clearly in the folk music research paradigm, which is evident from the following description: In her capacity as Honourable Secretary of the International (Advisory) Folk Dance Council, Maud Karpeles (1885–1976) organized the International Conference on Folk Song and Folk Dance, held at the Belgian Institute in London, 22–27 September 1947. Delegates from twenty-eight countries participated, mostly appointed by the governments of their respective nations, as well as a UNESCO representative…. On the afternoon of Monday, 22 September 1947, the Vice Chairman of the conference, Stuart Wilson (1889–1966), proposed “that an International Folk Music Council be formed.” (www.ictmusic.org; see also Karpeles, 1971).

The article in which Karpeles offered her reflections on the 21 years of existence of the Council says a lot about its intellectual climate, including the sentences “In all parts of the world the traditional practice of folk music is disappearing—gradually in some

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    43 regions and rapidly in others—and if we are to save our musical heritage for the benefit of our own and future generations, it is necessary to act quickly. Collecting activities are, of course, being carried on, but these must be intensified if precious material is not to be lost. As the saying goes, ‘It is later than we think’ ” (Karpeles, 1971: 29). The attitudes of this kind were later largely discredited in the mainstream of the discipline as “salvage ethnomusicology,” pointing to “romanticism, paternalism, and hegemony” (see also Grant, 2014:  80). Cultural relativism and the absence of value judgments became, at different paces in different parts of the world, the sine qua non of modern ethnomusicology.23 The objectives of IFMC were the following: (1) to assist in the preservation, dissemination, and practice of the folk music of all countries; (2) to further the comparative study of folk music; and (3) to promote understanding and friendship between nations through the common interest of folk music.24 What matters particularly from the point of view of applied ethnomusicology, besides the applied overtones in the presented objectives, is the envisioned work of the newly established Council. The list of proposals included “the holding of conferences and festivals; the publication of a catalogue of recordings, bibliographies, a manual for collectors, and an international collection of folk songs; the promotion of national and international archives; the institution of a general method of dance notations; and the development of a guide to the classification of folk tunes” (Karpeles, 1971: 17). In the course of 1950s and 1960s, IFMC indeed published several catalogues, bibliographies, dictionaries, manuals, collections, statements, and songbooks. In order to accomplish these aims, the structure of IFMC included not only National Committees, but also the Radio Committee, Folk Dance Committee, and more, the names being subject to change from time to time. The intention of the IFMC in the post–World War II years was to bring together composers, researchers, and other specialists interested in folk music and dance into a truly international association; even the intention to be related to UNESCO was there from the very inception of the Council. Maud Karpeles’s principal source of inspiration was Cecil Sharp, the founding father of folklore revival in England in the beginning of the twentieth century. Within the newly established Council she became secretary under the presidency of Ralph Vaughn Williams, renowned art music composer and English folk song collector. Members of the first Executive Board likewise included various specialists—by far, not all of them researchers—each from a different country. While referring to legacies of the previous editors, the new editor of the Yearbook of the IFMC, Bruno Nettl, noted their determination to “present scholarship of the highest quality and to exhibit samples of what was emanating from research carried on in all parts of the world” and that “[s]‌cholars from the many nations and cultures of the world do not always think, study, and write in the same style, and the editor of an international publication must tread the thin line between rigid standardization and chaotic diversity” (Nettl, 1974: 7). He intended to broaden the coverage of research to those parts of the world that had not been represented in the Yearbook and its predecessor the Journal of IFMC thus far.

44   Svanibor Pettan A particularly important shift that must be mentioned here is the change of the name of the Council after more than three decades of its existence, strongly argued within a heated discussion by the new Secretary General Dieter Christensen at the 26th World Conference in Seoul, Republic of Korea, in 1981. Erich Stockmann recalls the consequences of this change: “It worked like magic and opened up doors in regions where the word ‘folk music’ had a somewhat pejorative ring” (Stockmann, 1988: 8).25 The immediate result was new members in countries on all continents (see also H. M., 1983: 3). The current official presentation of ICTM ends up with the sentence significant for this Introduction: “By means of its wide international representation and the activities of its Study Groups, the International Council for Traditional Music acts as a bond among peoples of different cultures and thus serves the peace of humankind.” The year 1947 marked the start of both the Council and the Cold War period. Until the end of the Cold War in 1991, ICTM was actively involved in crossing the political, administrative, economic, lingual, cultural, and other boundaries set by the two military alliances, while also including in its framework those countries that proclaimed themselves “neutral” and “nonaligned.” The Council authorities, including the Presidents, were from any of these politically delineated territories, and the World Conferences, Study Group Symposia, and Colloquia were intentionally taking place in all four of them (NATO, the Warsaw Pact, Neutral, Nonaligned). Let me document this practice with two extraordinary examples. The first of them takes us to a symposium on Traditional Music in Asian Countries, organized as a joint venture with the International Music Council in 1983. The symposium took place in Pyongyang, DPR Korea, and was attended by scholars from Afghanistan, China, India, Indonesia, Japan, DPR Korea, Mongolia, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, Philippines, the USSR, and PR Yemen. The second example refers to the 28th World Conference, hosted jointly by Stockholm (Sweden) and Helsinki (Finland). Its closing ceremony took place on the other side of the Iron Curtain, in Leningrad (USSR; today’s St. Peterburg in Russia). The older members of the Council are aware of this legacy and for a good reason proud of it. Out of the total of 42 World Conferences, 17 took place outside Europe: two in Africa (Ghana, South Africa), six in Asia (Israel, Republic of Korea, Hong Kong, Japan, twice in China), five in North America (three in the US, two in Canada), one in Central America (Jamaica), two in South America (Brazil), and one in Australia. Of those taking place in Europe, four took place in the countries on the Eastern side of the Iron Curtain (Romania, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, German Democratic Republic), one in the nonaligned Yugoslavia, and six in the neutral countries Switzerland, Austria (twice), Finland and Sweden (jointly). The sites of smaller-size IFMC/ICTM gatherings, such as the Colloquia and Symposia of the Study Groups, point to the inclusion of many more countries from the world’s political spectrum (e.g., Cuba, Oman, Tunisia). Serving as a communicational channel across any boundaries continues to be the conscious strategy of the Council, which justifies the view that the Council itself is a project in applied ethnomusicology. The ongoing enlargement of the ICTM World Network is a part of the same frame of thought.

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    45

The International Council for Traditional Music and Applied Ethnomusicology Despite its international aspirations, IFMC was for a long time considered a primarily European association. Europe was the place of its foundation and residence, and Europe was home to most of its members, conferences,26 and publications27—even “folk music” in its name was largely seen as a European marker. As suggested earlier, the name change from “folk” (IFMC) to “traditional” (ICTM) broadened the acceptability of the Council worldwide in the 1980s. The current frame of interests within the ICTM clearly exceeds “traditional” music, but the name of the Council remains the same, for better or worse.28 Search for the first mention of applied ethnomusicology in any ICTM context led to the 27th World Conference in 1983 in New York, where Ghanaian ethnomusicologist Daniel Avorgbedor presented a paper titled “The Effects of Rural-Urban Migration on a Village Musical Culture: Some Implications for Applied Ethnomusicology.”29 The next instance took place six years later, at the 30th World Conference in 1989 in Schladming (Austria), where German ethnomusicologist Artur Simon presented his paper “The Borneo Music Documentation Project (Northern Nigeria). Aspects of Documentation, Field Research in Africa, and Applied Ethnomusicology.” The author of the first mention of applied ethnomusicology in the Bulletin of the ICTM was John Baily. In his report on the UK National Committee, he included the following, published in April 1988:  Members of ICTM UK have a particular interest in music in the multi- (or inter-) cultural school curriculum, and we have established a sub-committee to look into the question of teaching resources available in the UK. . . . With the same objectives we are represented on the UK Council for Music Education and Training, which is in the process of setting up a standing committee to look into the place of non-Western music in our education system. . . . Ethnomusicologists, like all other academics in contemporary Britain, have to look to their “performance indicators”; and seek to justify their existence, in part, through this form of applied ethnomusicology.

The next instances were my report on ethnomusicology in Croatia (Bulletin of the ICTM #90 from April 1997), in which applied ethnomusicology was related to organization of folklore festivals and amateur musical life; and Cynthia Tse Kimberlin’s and Pirkko Moisala’s In memoriam (Bulletin of the ICTM #91 from October 1997), where they indicated applied ethnomusicology as one of the areas of interests of Marcia Herndon. The first article with applied ethnomusicology in its title published in the Yearbook for Traditional Music was authored by the Austrian scholar Ursula Hemetek: “Applied Ethnomusicology in the Process of the Political Recognition of a Minority:  A  Case Study of the Austrian Roma” (Yearbook for Traditional Music, vol. 38, 2006). The next major development was the special section, with a group of eight authors, on Music and Poverty, put together by the Finish/Canadian ethnomusicologist Klisala Harrison

46   Svanibor Pettan (Yearbook for Traditional Music, vol. 45, 2013). One should of course be aware that the lack of the wording “applied ethnomusicology” does not imply the absence of the articles relevant for the current discussion in the earlier years, with Angela Impey’s 2002 essay “Culture, Conservation and Community Reconstruction:  Explorations in Advocacy Ethnomusicology and Action Research in Northern KwaZulu” serving as a convincing evidence. As far as the ICTM scholarly gatherings are concerned, the 15th Colloquium, titled Discord:  Identifying Conflict within Music, Resolving Conflict Through Music, organized by John Morgan O’Connell in Limerick, Ireland, in 2004 can be interpreted as anticipation of what is to follow. Although music and conflict make a suitable ethnomusicological topic and applied ethnomusicology was not particularly emphasized in the colloquium documents, several presentations pointed to “ethnomusicology as an approach to conflict resolution.” The articles developed from this event form the representative ethnomusicological volume on music and conflict (O’Connell and Castelo-Branco, 2010). The 38th World Conference of the ICTM that took place in Sheffield, England, in 2005 featured applied ethnomusicology and ethnochoreology as one of the themes, pointing to “situations in which scholars put their knowledge and understanding to creative use to stimulate concern and awareness about the people they study.”30 Presenters were invited to consider issues of advocacy, canonicity, musical literacy, cultural property rights, cultural imperialism, majority-minority relations, application of technologies such as the Internet and their effects on music and dance. One plenary session explicitly featured applied ethnomusicology,31 and yet another plenary session considered it among the other subjects.32 A symposium titled Ethnomusicology and Ethnochoreology in Education: Issues in Applied Scholarship took place in Ljubljana, Slovenia, in 2006. The members of the ICTM’s Executive Board, who came to Ljubljana for their regular annual meeting, and the other invited scholars presented and evaluated their immediate experiences and visions of the efficient transfer of scholarly knowledge into educational domains. Presentations from contexts around the globe discussed modalities of connections between theory and practice, methods of promoting, teaching, and learning of traditional music and dance, and the strategies of preparing textbooks, recordings, and other materials for various stages of educational processes (see the report by Kovačič and Šivic, 2007). The ICTM’s 39th World Conference in Vienna in 2007 featured two important events: a double panel, The Politics of Applied Ethnomusicology: New Perspectives, with six participants, each from a different continent,33 and a meeting at which 44 members agreed to establish a study group with a focus on applied ethnomusicology.34 Following the adoption of the definition and mission statement, the Study Group on Applied Ethnomusicology was approved at the Executive Board’s meeting in Vienna on July 12, 2007. The next year, in 2008, Ljubljana hosted the first symposium of the newly established Study Group on Applied Ethnomusicology, which was well attended by scholars from all continents. Anthony Seeger delivered the keynote address. This event featured the history of the idea and understandings of applied ethnomusicology

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    47 in worldwide contexts; presentation and evaluation of individual projects, with an emphasis on theory and method; and applied ethnomusicology in situations of conflict. It is worth mentioning the use of the Native American “talking circles” as one of the means of communication within this Study Group. The international intentions of the Study Group continued at the symposia in 2010 in Hanoi, Vietnam (jointly with the Study Group Music and Minorities), in 2012 in Nicosia, Cyprus, and in 2014 in East London—Hogsback—Grahamstown, South Africa.35 Thematic frames of the symposia are trustworthy indicators of the dynamics of the Study Group and, to a smaller extent, of the interests of local organizers. In Hanoi, the emphasis was on definitions and approaches to applied work in various geographical contexts; on proactive roles that ethnomusicology can play in contributing to the sustainability of performing arts through archiving, disseminating, contributing to policies, understanding socioeconomic factors, developing audiences and markets, and empowering communities to forge their own futures; and on performing arts in building peace, negotiating power relationships, and strengthening identities through formal and informal education. Note that the use of the term “performing arts” is a manner of paying respect to the perspective, which is widely shared in Southeast Asia. The symposium in Nicosia featured applied ethnomusicology in the contexts of social activism, censorship, and state control; in relation to various types of disability, pointing to human rights and the making of disability politics and including disability research, special education, and music therapy; and in relation to diverse social configurations of conflict, including interpersonal and intergroup, interethnic, interreligious, and interclass, with emphasis on the divided island of Cyprus. The symposium on three locations in South Africa opened up the question of institutions, usually associated with formal and informal rules, procedures, and norms, from schools and festivals to large international bodies such as UNESCO, including instituting and institutionalization issues; and the question of media and their social, political, and cultural impacts on applied work. As far as the publications related to ICTM are concerned, two edited volumes can be recommended to the readers. First, the earlier mentioned double panel that took place at the ICTM World Conference in Vienna in 2007 inspired the creation of the thematic issue of the Muzikološki zbornik/Musicological Annual, 46(2), entirely dedicated to applied ethnomusicology (Pettan, 2008).36 Five ethnomusicologists reflect on their experiences linked to Brazil, Australia, the United States, Malaysia, and former Yugoslavia; the volume also serves as a Festschrift on the 80th birthday of the aforementioned Norwegian scholar Kjell Skyllstad, an important early thinker in applied ethnomusicology. The second edited volume resulted from the inaugural Study Group’s symposium in Ljubljana and is titled Applied Ethnomusicology: Historical and Contemporary Approaches (Harrison, Mackinlay, and Pettan, 2010). Its 13 essays, by authors from Africa, Australia, Europe, and North America, are widely used and quoted, in this volume as well, so no additional presentation is needed here.

48   Svanibor Pettan

Individual Views How else could ICTM contribute to better comprehension of the emerging field? By means of its wide international representation, it can provide us with the perspectives from different geographic and cultural environments. The answers to my five essential questions were provided by five ethnomusicologists, each from a different continent.37 Some of them are more inclined to applied ethnomusicology than the others, but together, they provide a useful global myriad of perspectives about the field. I asked for anonymous, individual views, therefore they are indicated as “A view from Australia,” “A view from Asia,” and so on.

1.  How would you define applied ethnomusicology, or at least what is its essence in your opinion? A view from Australia:  The application of ethnomusicological method and theory to addressing practical issues. A view from  Asia:  If we define applied ethnomusicology as research activities with social conscience and political involvement, I think whatever we do as ethnomusicologists should be applied ethnomusicology at least in some ways. A view from South America:  I can only see a matter of degree in its definition, acknowledging an aspect, which is inherent to any research, namely its potential to be applied to different purposes. However, in most of what has been termed as such in the humanities one finds embedded ideals of social justice and equity, sometimes of reparation and/or reconciliation, all of which also subject to different and even contradictory perspectives. A view from  Africa:  Generally, how our practical work in the field is applied in an academic environment. Music is not taught in an European or abstract way, that is, by explaining music with words, but holistically, by doing—listening, imitating, and playing. Based on that experience we teach African music theory practically on instruments. It is much more appropriate and easier for people to understand musical concepts doing it that way. A view from  Europe: I do not subscribe to the term “applied ethnomusicology,” although I understand why it is necessary. I think the engagement of scholars with the communities they work with should be/is a given.

2.  Have you done any project(s) that would fit into your notion of applied ethnomusicology? Australia:  Preparing indigenous people’s land claim is the obvious example, that is, applying knowledge of their musical culture to demonstrate rights over land using an indigenous conceptual system. I was one of three researchers (with an anthropologist and a linguist) who prepared one of the largest such claims. During the hearing of the case (by a Supreme Court judge) songs and dances were performed to demonstrate ownership of the land according to their own system of land ownership.

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    49 Asia:  Following what I mentioned above, I would like to think all my projects are within the realm of applied ethnomusicology. South America:  They have ranged from short-term documentation projects related to safeguarding and revitalizing traditions perceived to be vanishing to long-term horizontal collaborations with grassroot organizations, forming research groups working on music and social justice among residents of areas affected by patterns of injustice and inequity. Africa:  We also understand applied ethnomusicology as offering of our expertise to people in order to develop a musical environment. This can be in form of workshops, teaching in schools, music projects, community outreach, and curriculum development, which takes the background of people and local needs into consideration. In our current curriculum African music components are for instance compulsory. We just brought new streams and modules to respond to local needs; for instance the course Basic Music Literacy for students from villages who have problems with music theory and music literacy, and the streams Music Technologies and Production and Music and Arts Administration. The two streams aim at providing students with practical skills which make them more employable, and which enable them to start their own business within the music industry. We hope that these two new streams will in the future help to improve the musical infrastructure in the region. Europe:  I was involved in the application of projects to the UNESCO representative list of Intangible Cultural Heritage and served on an advisory committee to the Ministry of Culture on ICH matters. For over 20 years, I also promoted the founding of a national sound archive. Finally, I consider the publication of an encyclopedia—an all-encompassing research project with a wide outreach among musicians, cultural politicians and scholars—as “applied ethnomusicology.”

3.  Is the distinction between “academic” and “applied” work present in your working environment? If so, how is the “applied” domain valued compared to the “academic” one? Australia:  When I worked at the institute it was required of researchers to demonstrate the benefit of the proposed research to the community. This resulted in a blending of scholarly and applied research. Later, when I was working in the university environment, there was much more emphasis on scholarship for its own sake, and the application of research results was not highly valued. Asia:  There are theorists so to speak who are mainly concerned with the refinement of theoretical explorations. I  respect such endeavors as long as they have applicable dimension. The “applied” domain has been treated unfairly as activities conducted by less qualified/serious scholars, partly because of the narrow definition of the “academic” domain, but also due to the inability on the part of “applied” ethnomusicologists to advance a new vision of theory construction. South America: No.

50   Svanibor Pettan Africa:  A distinction between academic and applied work is still there (for instance when you have to teach different research methodologies or history of ethnomusicology), but the boundaries are quite blurred. A lot of our academic research is based on applied work and—as explained earlier—theory is thought practically (which is the direct application of knowledge obtained in the field). Europe:  I try to avoid making this distinction. But, in my institution we have many projects that can be classified as applied: museum expositions, digitization, community work, projects in schools, etc. I would say 40% applied.

4.  Is the “applied” domain present in your teaching curricula? Australia:  I always tried to show the relationship between applied and theoretical ethnomusicology. Asia: Whenever I  teach I  emphasize the importance of socially engaged research activities. South America:  Yes, in the obligatory bibliographies of both undergraduate and graduate courses as well as in systematic outreach and research programs. Africa:  We do not offer a degree program or specific modules on applied ethnomusicology. Yet, as already explained, indigenous music is compulsory, theory is taught practically, and articles on applied ethnomusicology are discussed in class. Thus, although not formalized in terms of specific modules, applied ethnomusicology is a reality here. Europe: In my seminars, I  discuss researchers’ social responsibilities and the many spheres of ethnomusicological work. But, we do not have a course on “applied ethnomusicology.”

5.  Do you know of any university offering a course in applied ethnomusicology or applied ethnochoreology? Australia: No. Asia:  There may be, but not that I know of. South America:  No, but I know several universities that offer opportunities to both graduate and undergraduate students to engage in applied research in the sense I outlined before, as well as portions of their curricular components devoted to applied approaches. Africa:  This is a tricky question. Applied approaches differ from institution to institution, and the motives and conditions are hardly comparable. Unlike other universities in the country, our Music Department had hardly any resources. We had to build up from zero, which means that applied ethnomusicology was a necessity and therefore a reality. At another university, applied ethnomusicology was simply understood as building up an African ensemble. Elsewhere, there was some teaching of indigenous instruments, but not applied ethnomusicology in our understanding. At Kwazulu Natal you find a completely different situation with Patricia Opondo, who is a very focused and an internationally trained academic. Applied ethnomusicology is officially part of the curriculum.

An Introduction to Applied Ethnomusicology    51 Europe: No. What can we make of the replies of these five ethnomusicologists? All of them are well established as professionals and work in either university or research institute settings. Their representativeness is balanced in terms of geography and gender, as well, but none of them belongs to a young generation of scholars, which is seeking for more radical solutions, such as active involvement in applied projects as a part of the study curricula. At this point I would like to add that a course in applied ethnomusicology, which counts to the obligatory master level courses, exists for the third consecutive academic year at the Department of Musicology of the University of Ljubljana.

The International Council for Traditional Music and the Society for Ethnomusicology In contrast to the eight years younger Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM), which is defined as “a U.S.-based organization with an international membership” (www.ethnomusicology. org), IFMC/ICTM was envisioned in international terms in all respects. Its Secretariat moves its base periodically from one country to another; it has so far been based in the United Kingdom, Denmark, Canada, the United States, Australia, and Slovenia. Both past and current membership figures suggest that SEM, which is the US National Committee of ICTM, is larger than ICTM, but also that the single country with the largest number of members in ICTM is the United States. Several accounts point to the historical difference between the financially unstable IFMC and the SEM, which grew up in a rich country. More important for the present discussion is the difference in intellectual histories and the resulting theoretical and methodological paradigms. In words of Dieter Christensen, SEM and ICTM are both unique in their roles, and they complement each other; SEM as the regional organization in North America that represents the interests of professional, academic ethnomusicologists in the USA and Canada, and at the same time serves the field of ethnomusicology world-wide through its publications; and the ICTM as the international organization in the domain of traditional music including ethnomusicology that serves scholarship with an emphasis on the mutual recognition and understanding of diverse inquiring minds. (Christensen, 1988:17).

IFMC/ICTM cherished various languages in its scholarly publications until 1985, when the last article so far in a language other than English was published in the Yearbook for Traditional Music. From 2006 on, the Yearbook’s general editor Don Niles reintroduced the practice of adding abstracts in native languages of those people who are the principal subjects of the articles. This practice was originally introduced in the 1980s, following Yoshihiko Tokumaru’s proposal.

52   Svanibor Pettan Jeff Todd Titon has described in Section 1 of this Introduction how the four founders of SEM, led by Alan P. Merriam, rejected Maud Karpeles’s invitation to join IFMC and instead decided to keep SEM as an independent society. IFMC reported about the new society in the following manner in its 11th Bulletin from 1957: “On November 18th, 1955, at the 54th Annual Meeting of the American Anthropological Association in Boston, the Society for Ethnomusicology was founded for the purpose of establishing communication among persons in primitive, folk, and oriental music, and for furthering research and scholarship in these fields. The Society plans to continue publication of the Ethno-Musicology Newsletter three times yearly, to meet annually in conjunction with societies of anthropologists, folklorists and musicologists, and to engage in other activities of benefit to members” (Anon., 1957: 6). According to Erich Stockmann, one of the Presidents of the Council, Maud Karpeles was sensitive to occasional criticisms and used to ask him anxiously several times in the course of the 1950s:  “Are we really not ‘scientific’ enough? She knew my answer” (Stockman, 1988: 5). Dieter Christensen, Secretary General of the Council for 20 years, noted that the “American issue” and the “scientific issue” were clearly related (Christensen, 1988: 14). There are several important connections between the two societies that should be mentioned here. At the inauguration of IFMC in 1947, seven US “correspondents” were identified, among them Curt Sachs, Percy Grainger, and Alan Lomax. The “Liaison officer” (single national representative) of the United States in the IFMC for 10 years (1952–1962) was Charles Seeger, one of the SEM’s founding fathers. Following Seeger’s mandate, the United States was uninterruptedly represented in the IFMC/ICTM by the “National Committee” until 1999, starting with Charles Haywood and ending with Ricardo Trimillos. After a five-year break, Timothy Rice, then the SEM President, re-established the connection and SEM became officially recognized as the ICTM’s US National Committee. The first SEM President, Willard Rhodes, later became ICTM’s fourth President, while councillor in the first SEM nomenclature Bruno Nettl later served in a variety of roles in both societies, as did (and still do) many other scholars, from the United States and from the other countries. It is appropriate to complete this section of the Introduction by pointing to a joint Forum, scheduled for September 2015 in Limerick, which is expected to bring together the two major ethnomusicological associations—ICTM and SEM—around the theme of importance for applied ethnomusicology: Transforming Ethnomusicological Praxis through Activism and Community Engagement. This historical event, an applied ethnomusicological initiative by Beverley Diamond, is the first such collaboration between ICTM and SEM. The Forum will focus on ethnomusicological praxis and collaborative strategies in different international contexts and political situations. While there is now a long history in ethnomusicology of initiatives that have sought to address problems of inequality, disparity and oppression, and a shorter history pertaining to such matters as health and environmental change, the symposium will focus, not on the problems per se, but on the methodologies that could best enable our work to have greater social impact. We are interested in critically assessing and finding strategies and best practices of collaboration, communication and policy formulation. (from the Call for papers)

An Introduction to the Chapters    53 The envisioned joint event convincingly testifies about the current intellectual climate in both major associations of ethnomusicologists, which is very much in tune with the ideas presented in this Handbook.



Section 3.  An Introduction to the Chapters Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan

In the Introduction we have identified several activities of contemporary applied ethnomusicologists. The chapters in this volume illustrate a range of these. Cultural policy interventions are discussed by Murphy, Haskell, and Zhang as they review the role of government agencies, NGOs, and the arts in the United States, Bosnia-Herzegovina, and in China. Since the early twentieth century, US government agencies have supported the arts, including traditional music. Murphy’s Chapter 20 chronicles the work of the ethnomusicologist-as-public-folklorist in the United States, explores disciplinary connections between applied ethnomusicology and public folklore, and asks the question, “How can an applied ethnomusicologist work meaningfully within the institutional and intellectual framework of public folklore?” Haskell’s Chapter 13 concerns cultural policies in relation to the arts when communities recover from conflicts and natural disasters. In their wake, cultural aid workers bear much needed resources for music and other expressive cultural activities as they facilitate conflict resolution and cultural development. Zhang’s Chapter 21 offers a lively discussion of cultural policies surrounding traditional music in China. Properly balancing the inheritance, protection, development, and utilization of Chinese traditional music has been the subject of discussion among Chinese scholars for a long period of time. This has led to increased attention and effort from government at all levels, a development that reflects the distinctive nature of applied ethnomusicology. His chapter addresses the application of ethnomusicology in China from the perspective of ethnomusicology’s social practices (the macro level) and personal practices (the micro level). Many of the authors discuss cultural policy interventions through UNESCO’s initiatives in safeguarding intangible cultural heritage; these include Wissler (Chapter 12, Peru), Zhang (Chapter  21, China), Hemetek (Chapter  7, Austria), Schippers (Chapter 4, Australia), and Titon (Chapter 5, chiefly theoretical). The mixed record of success is leading applied ethnomusicologists to agree that the best outcomes occur in small-scale projects resulting from long-term partnerships and mutual goals. Local and regional cultural differences require that policies adapt to varying conditions.

54    Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan Top-down, bureaucratic solutions are apt to be less successful and more likely to have negative consequences. Such best practices have characterized most, if not all, successful applied ethnomusicology projects, whether cultural policy interventions or not. Advocacy for social justice underpins most of the contributions to this volume. Merriam’s “white knight” critique of ethnomusicologists who feel it is their duty to champion the music and music-cultures they research mocked the impulse to sound the trumpet for musical justice, but it is social justice that characterizes much applied work today, while musical and cultural equity is understood as a given. Bakan’s Chapter 8 reveals how music may become part of an agenda for social justice among autistic youth. He proposes an ethnographic model of disability as a potential alternative and complement to the existing social and medical models, arguing in turn that the ethnographic and relativistic tenets of applied ethnomusicology hold the potential to effectively promote neurodiversity and autism acceptance. Summit’s Chapter 6 shows how musical activism can become peace activism based on economic cooperation. He asks what happens when our experiences in the field conjoin with ethical, moral, and religious imperatives to pursue social justice and give back to the people with whom we work. His chapter addresses issues and offers a framework for ethnomusicologists to consider when moved to partner with the people whose music we study, who so generously help us and sometimes become our teachers and our friends. Chapter 9 by Schrag and Chapter 12 by Wissler reveal how musical advocacy can bring about mutual social and political benefits. Schrag urges ethnomusicologists to re-engage with practitioners of multigenerational artistic traditions among ethnolinguistic minorities. Many of these art forms are at risk because of globalized communication. He guides arts-in-culture scholars through an approach anchored to event analysis and relationships, leaning toward enactments of traditional genres rather than liminal fusions. He offers practical tools that communities may use in their steps toward more lively artistic futures. Wissler shows that collaborative applied ethnomusicology projects based in shared experience and executed in small groups are just as valid and often are more effective than large-scale organizational projects. Two case studies show how grassroots approaches support the effectiveness of indigenous voice and representation in regard to the uses of traditional music in tourism, safeguarding, and music ownership via CD production. Sherinian, in Chapter 10, shows advocacy’s potential as a revolutionary political force that can not only aid the politically oppressed but also re-center marginalized musics within ethnomusicology itself. Using phenomenological methods and dialogical processes from two case studies of Tamil Dalit (former outcaste or untouchable) folk music from her fieldwork and ethnographic filmmaking in India, Sherinian argues that engagement with the meaning and value of marginalized South Asian music forces us to recognize and deconstruct local hegemonies of musical style and ethnomusicology’s contributions to

An Introduction to the Chapters    55 the perpetuation of them, not only in fieldwork, but also in teaching content and academic/community programming. She examines methods (including filmmaking and participant activism) to approach contexts where the oppressed use music to assert identity and cultural politics of revaluation against local hierarchies of musical value that contribute to Dalit Action Theory: that is, politicized agency of the oppressed asserted through the arts, necessitating an activist ethnographic methodology focused on collaboration, dialogue, and reciprocity. Transformation often accompanies advocacy, not just musical, social, and political but also personal, as Bakan’s and Summit’s chapters reveal. Education is a concern of many of the contributors. Herrick, in Chapter 16, discusses strategies for success in educational institutions where partnerships with cultural organizations require collaborative decision-making for successful outcomes that link formal instruction to daily life. Strategies negotiated among collaborative decision-makers may most effectively apply ethnomusicology in horizontal pathways that dialogically engage and respond to varied social communities, particularly in areas where large, urban public school districts face substantial challenges. The context of Cleveland, Ohio, provides an example, where partnerships for arts education in the city’s public schools date to 1915, and twenty-first-century programs for arts integration have drawn national attention. Her argument asserts that strategic process is central to both definitions of applied ethnomusicology and educators’ efforts to link formal instruction to music in daily life. Murphy’s review of applied ethnomusicologists working in the world of public folklore also includes partnerships among educational and cultural institutions to provide community “artists in the schools” and broaden the educational curriculum to include the music of local ethnic groups. In Chapter 18, Campbell and Higgins extend educational applications into college and conservatory levels of instruction, and also to a practice in “community music,” a specialized terminology not to be confused with the looser way in which applied ethnomusicologists utilize the phrase to describe music among a group that shares commonalities. They address ways in which ethnomusicologists blend musical and cultural understanding into educational practice, and they describe cases that illustrate facets of their linkages into, and facilitation of, community music activity as these are relevant to learning and teaching—with particular attention paid to North American and United Kingdom–based circumstances, settings, and sensibilities. In Chapter 6, Summit also describes an educational initiative in a Jewish community in Uganda that is characterized by long-term reciprocity, contrasting it with failed projects that resulted from well-meaning but short-term visits and superficial understandings. O’Connell, in Chapter 17, develops a hermeneutic approach to music education by exploring the relationship between music and humanity, based on the Aga Khan Humanities Project educational program in Central Asia. Following a precedent in ecology, the Project recognized music as a sustainable art in its balanced promotion of economic development and ecological

56    Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan conservation. O’Connell envisions the space for applied ethnomusicology in particular under war-affected circumstances, when music furnishes a humanistic locus for understanding conflict and a “humane-istic” focus for promoting conflict resolution. Educational aspects play an important role in the approaches of several other authors as well. Sweers, in Chapter 15, points to the importance of intercultural education, and to the efficiency of the didactic teaching aid against right-wing extremism, which raised the attention of local teaching institutions, political institutions, and even the parliament, to her activist project Polyphonie der Kulturen. Hemetek, Lundberg, Mackinlay, and Pilzer (Chapters 7, 19, 11, and 14) also recognize the activist aspect of education. For Schippers (Chapter 4), the educational realm is identified as one of five clusters in his ecosystems of music model. Harrison (Chapter 2) recognizes teaching as one of her four principal ethnomusicological activities. Tan (Chapter 3) realizes the importance of non-formal education in Asia in addressing the issues, such as conflict resolution, peace building, gender sensitization, raising awareness about social inequality, heritage conservation, health campaigns such as AIDS prevention, and more. Peace, conflict resolution, and cooperation among peoples is another area that appeals to many of the contributors. Summit (Chapter 6) discusses how he helped promote the work of an Ugandan fair trade coffee cooperative that brought together Jewish, Christian, and Muslim growers in an interfaith operation in common cause. Haskell’s Chapter 13, centered in Bosnia-Herzegovina in the recent postwar period, offers lessons from resilience efforts in the face of conflicts and disasters, where international development prioritizes socioeconomic and political issues while neglecting cultural landscapes. Important aspects of conflict management are imbedded in the studies provided by Harrison (class conflict and conflict of values), Hemetek (with focus on three distinctive minority cases), Sweers (conflicts caused by xenophobia and right-wing extremism on the one hand and a marginalization of the victims on the other), and O’Connell. Medical ethnomusicology, in which ethnomusicologists ally themselves with health-related therapeutic interventions, has a separate Handbook in the Oxford series, which readers are advised to consult. The name is a formation derived from the subfield of medical anthropology, considered a branch of applied anthropology. Given its established identity and a growing literature of its own, the editors have not emphasized it in this volume; nevertheless, examples here include Bakan’s work in the area of music and autism (Chapter 8), and Pilzer’s work with survivors (Chapter 14), which inspires us to go beyond the specific case of Japanese military “comfort women” system in Korea and engage in work with survivors of wars, domestic violence, child abuse, and sexual violence, to mention just a few. What should be the approaches in applied ethnomusicology to the pertinent issues rooted in colonial history and attitudes? Contributors such as Bendrups (Chapter 1), Harrison (Chapter 2), Tan (Chapter 3), Sherinian (Chapter 10), Mackinlay (Chapter 11),

An Introduction to the Chapters    57 Pilzer (Chapter 14), and O’Connell (Chapter 17), remind us in various ways, to various extents, and in various contexts that work under postcolonial circumstances still requires immense sensitivity from the researcher. This notion is particularly emphasized in Mackinlay’s chapter, based on her work with the indigenous people of Australia, in which the distinctive form of presentation contributes to the strength of her discourse. Pilzer’s argumentation refers to the period of Japanese colonialism in Korea (1910–1945), which more than half a century later still leaves some wounds open. O’Connell and Tan point to the consequences of the presence of Russian and British rulers in Central Asia and Malaysia respectively in the not so distant past, while Bendrups excercises a critical approach to neocolonial attitudes of Chile toward its “dislocated property” Rapanui. Harrison’s work with indigenous peoples also fits in here and forms one of the useful contexts for her proposed model for studying value systems, reconsideration of the value judgments, and an envisioned ethnomusicology of values. Nationalism is yet another phenomenon that applied ethnomusicologists have to consider. Lundberg, in Chapter 19, discusses its formative aspects and its impact on research and documentation, with the Folk Music Committee’s value scale, which many of us would easily recognize in a number of different national contexts. Tan, in Chapter 3, is convincing in her critique of the concept of national culture in Malaysia. The second smallest continent, Europe figures as the second continent according to the number of nation-states, and remains the location of the most devastating wars in human history. Ever increasing migrations from other continents create new challenges to which applied ethnomusicology, as demonstrated by Hemetek and Sweers, has some efficient replies. A short-term, temporary form of migration, tourism, has offered a major opportunity and challenge for applied ethnomusicologists. Many have been employed as consultants and culture workers in bringing traditional music to an audience extrinsic to the musical community, as music plays an important role in cultural tourism, which many think can be a driver of local and regional economies while it also sustains older layers of music that are in danger of losing, or have lost, their original cultural contexts. Not only in Europe and the Americas, but also in China, musical tourism is thought to constitute a creative economy, but here the applied ethnomusicologist has played the role of critic as well as consultant and advocate. Tourism often has followed UNESCO’s safeguarding initiatives, which single out particular musical communities for preservation efforts. But ethnomusicological knowledge is sometimes at odds with the kinds of publicity that attracts tourists, while it may also be incomplete and unreliable, as occurred when the Chinese guqin tradition was designated as a masterpiece of intangible cultural heritage (Yung, 2005). Related to the tourist industry is music as commercial product in general, which has had an unsavory reputation among ethnomusicologists who traffic in authenticity. It has also led to an important

58    Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan branch of applied ethnomusicology involving music and law, forensic ethnomusicology. Commodification is anathema to those ethnomusicologists who believe that music has a cultural and artistic value that must remain beyond price. But, as Williams argues in Chapter 22, properly utilized it can be a valuable ally for the applied ethnomusicologist seeking to create social and economic capital for underserved communities. Finally, sustainability is a theme that unites most of the chapters in this volume. Musical, and sometimes also cultural, sustainability is a goal of many arts policy initiatives today. It is often one of the ends of advocacy, and has long been one of the chief reasons for music education. For example, advocacy based on cultural equity and musical rights moves toward sustainability and a kind of musical justice as well as social justice. Schippers’s Chapter 4 is far-reaching in this respect, laying out a model for sustainability strategies. Global implications of these strategies were tested within the framework of a mega-project, Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures: Towards an Ecology of Musical Diversity, encompassing the range from Australian Aboriginal music to Western classical opera. Titon’s chapter builds on his pioneering work in music and ecology, which he began by likening music cultures to ecosystems; that is, the flow of music within music cultures may be conceptualized as like the flow of energy in ecosytems (Titon, 1984: 9). In Chapter 5 of this volume, Titon discusses sustainability both in terms of its forerunner ideas (preservation, conservation, and safeguarding, with particular attention to their implementation in the US) and by re-examining the uses of sustainability in the two discourse universes where it is most prominent: environmentalist conservation ecology, and economics (Titon, 2009a, 2009b). Pointing out that sustainability is a goal rather than a strategy, he concludes by proposing resilience theory as the appropriate strategy for achieving musical sustainability, and offers two case studies that examine those characteristics which make particular music cultures resilient and therefore sustainable. Sustainability is a recent concept for ethnomusicologists, while resilience is even newer. Their widespread use (and abuse) today requires that applications in various fields of endeavor be undertaken with great care, while values from the humanities provide an appropriate context for thinking about sustainability and resilience in all contexts (see O’Connell, Chapter 17 of this volume).

Notes 1. Its recognition was signaled in 1992 when the Journal of the Society for Ethnomusicology devoted a special issue to the subject (Ethnomusicology 36[2]‌). 2. In Kunst’s definition ethnomusicology was chiefly a new name for the discipline of comparative musicology. But as we shall soon see, US cultural anthropologists interested in music saw opportunity in the new name, founded the international Society for Ethnomusicology in 1955,

An Introduction to the Chapters    59 and were prominent among its leaders. Thus by 1955 ethnomusicology could be described as a new and interdisciplinary field, not just a new name for an older academic discipline. 3. In a 2013 interview he characterized as one of four “new, or newish developments in ethnomusicology” a “widespread concern with the need to do things that benefit the peoples whose music and musical culture are studied” (Nettl 2014: 1). 4. In the new millennium, science is making a small comeback as music theory and comparative studies are applied in these analytical approaches to structural features of world musics. Science is manifest also in a growing interest among ethnomusicologists in neuroscience and music psychology, and questions concerning music and human evolution. 5. Controversy over the genre of exploitation documentary, so-called mondo films such as this one, suggesting that the genuine documentary footage is sometimes mixed with staged sequences, does not impact the film's symbolic standpoint. 6. The practitioners are scholars whose professional positioning may vary from universities and other schools, research institutes, archives, museums, media, and nongovernmental organizations, to freelance status. 7. Applied ethnomusicology is about how musical practice can inform relevant theory, and about how theory can inform musical practice. Knowledge of data, theories, and methods of ethnomusicology, as much as ethical concerns, are essential. 8. There is a need for increased critical reflection on political agendas, moral philosophies, and ideologies of applied ethnomusicology projects, as well as on the role of personal agency in applied ethnomusicological work. 9. Here she refers to the American Musicological Society. 10. For instance, the Society for Applied Spectroscopy, founded in 1958, has more than 2,000 members worldwide. 11. The aim of The Society for Applied Microbiology is to advance for the benefit of the public the science of microbiology in its application to the environment, human and animal health, agriculture and industry. The aim of the Society for Applied Philosophy is to promote philosophical study and research that has a direct bearing on areas of practical concern, such as law, politics, economics, science, technology, medicine, and education. 12. Timothy Rice’s book Ethnomusicology: A Very Short Introduction, to the opposite, ends with the chapter titled “Public Service” and points to the fact that “[e]‌thnomusicologists are increasingly asking themselves the question ‘Ethnomusicology for what purpose?’ ” (2014: 120). It is my hope that this volume will encourage ethnomusicologists to seek answers to this question, both inside themselves and in the world that surrounds them. 13. The other being Berlin. 14. For some useful current views on comparative musicology, see Schneider (2006), thematic issue of the Polish journal Muzyka 1 (2009), and the website http://www.compmus.org. 15. In case of Sachs, the German version titled Die Musik der Alten Welt in Ost und West (1968) served as the source for translation. 16. The translator Ljerka Vidić Rasmussen used to study there under the mentorship of Blacking’s former doctoral student Ankica Petrović. Petrović was widely regarded the first representative of “mainstream ethnomusicology” in what was Yugoslavia. Introduction of new disciplinary paradigms met many obstacles in the intellectual environment rooted in the strong folk music research school established by Cvjetko Rihtman. 17. This section uses parts of one of my earlier articles (Pettan 2008) and provides updates.

60    Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan 18. For instance, Dan Lundberg, Owe Ronström. 19. The proceedings contain articles by Kristof Tamas, Max Peter Baumann, Mark Slobin, and Krister Malm. 20. This seminar took place just a month prior to the conference Invested in Community:  Ethnomusicology and Musical Advocacy, which took place at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, featuring “applied ethnomusicologists (who) work as musical and cultural advocates, using skills and knowledge gained within academia to serve the public at large. They help communities identify, document, preserve, develop, present and celebrate the musical traditions they hold dear.” 21. This does not count for their institutional colleagues, who continued to supply the arrangements for musicians and choreographies for the dancers in folklore ensembles. 22. The Ukrainian/Soviet folk music researcher Kliment Kvitka (1880–1953) proposed and described the term as early as 1928 (see Lukanyuk, 2006). Interestingly, the second, enlarged edition of Kunst’s book was published in 1955 under the auspices of IFMC. 23. See Chapter 2 by Harrison in this volume, calling for a reconsideration of this issue. 24. The third objective clearly referred to “recognition of the painful fact that the Second World War had created deep rifts between nations and peoples” (Stockmann, 1988: 2). 25. Paul Rovsing Olsen, the Council’s President at that time, provided the following comment:  “.  .  . we hope to have found a name which, much better than the original one, explains what our Council stands for in the world of scholarship—and in the world of international organizations. The IFMC has been concerned, from its beginnings, with all kinds of traditional music, not only with ‘folk music.’ This has not always been understood by outsiders” (Rovsing Olsen, 1981: 2). 26. The first IFMC conference took place in Basel, Switzerland, in 1948. 27. The first issue of the Journal of the International Folk Music Council (predecessor of the Yearbook of the International Folk Music Council from 1969 and of the Yearbook of the International Council for Traditional Music from 1981) was published in 1949. The other publication was the Bulletin of the International Folk Music Council, starting in 1948. 28. In the forthcoming part of this section I gratefully acknowledge the assistance of ICTM’s Executive Assistant Carlos Yoder. 29. A later version was published in 1992 in the journal African Music. 30. Applied ethnomusicology (and ethnochoreology) became one of the conference themes 22 years after Avorgbedor first mentioned it in his ICTM conference paper. 31. Applied Ethnomusicology and Studies on Music and Minorities—The Convergence of Theory and Practice with Ursula Hemetek, John O’Connell, Adelaida Reyes, and Stephen Wild. 32. Including war and revitalization in Croatia of the 1990s and early 2000s. The session was organized by Naila Ceribašić. 33. Organized by Samuel Araújo (South America) and me (Europe); the other panelists were Maureen Loughran (North America), Jennifer Newsome (Australia), Patricia Opondo (Africa), and Tan Sooi Beng (Asia). 34. I initiated the Study Group and became its first Chair; Klisala Harrison became Vice-Chair, and Eric Martin Usner became Secretary. 35. As I became Secretary General of ICTM in 2011, Klisala Harrison assumed the duties of the Study Group’s Chair, Samuel Araújo became Vice-Chair, and Britta Sweers became Secretary.

An Introduction to the Chapters    61 36. Scholarly journal, published by the Department of Musicology of the University of Ljubljana. It is available at (http://revije.ff.uni-lj.si/MuzikoloskiZbornik/issue/archive). 37. Section 1 of the Introduction, by co-editor Jeff Todd Titon, covers North America, so I did not include it here.

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62    Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan Bose, Fritz. (1953). Musikalische Völkerkunde. Freiburg in Breislau: Atlantis. Bose, Fritz. (1975). Etnomuzikologija. Belgrade: Univerzitet umetnosti u Beogradu. Brinner, Benjamin. (2009). Playing across a Divide:  Israeli-Palestinian Musical Encounters. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Castelo-Branco, Salwa El-Shawan, ed. (2010). Enciclopédia da Música em Portugal no Século XX. Lisbon: Círculo de Leitores/Campo das LEtras. Ceribašić, Naila. (2004). “Double Standards: Negotiating the Place for Ethnomusicologists in Croatia.” Conference paper. Christensen, Dieter. (1988). ‘The International Folk Music Council and the Americans: On the Effects of Stereotypes on the Institutionalization of Ethnomusicology.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 20: 11–18. Clausen, Bernd, Ursula Hemetek, Eva Saether, eds. (2009). Music in Motion:  Diversity and Dialogue in Europe. New Brunswick, NJ, and London: Transaction Publishers. Climati, Antonio, and Mario Morra. (1975). Ultime grida dalla savanna (film). Rome: Titanus. Cohen, Ronald D., ed. (2010). Alan Lomax, Assistant in Charge: The Library of Congress Letters, 1935–1945. Jackson, MS: University of Mississippi Press. Dirksen, Rebecca. (2012). “Reconsidering Theory and Practice in Ethnomusicology: Applying, Advocating and Engaging Beyond Academia.” Ethnomusicology Review 17. http://ethnomusicologyreview.ucla.edu/journal/volume/17/piece/602 (accessed July 1, 2014). Ellis, Catherine. (1985). Aboriginal Music: Education for Living. Cross-cultural Experiences from South Australia. St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press. Elschek, Oskar. (1991). “Ideas, Principles, Motivations, and Results in Eastern European Folk-Music Research.” In Comparative Musicology and Anthropology of Music. edited by B. Nettl and P. Bohlman, pp. 91–111. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Fenn, John, ed. (2003). Folklore Forum (Special issue on applied ethnomusicology) 34(1–2): 119–131. Fetter, C. V. (2001). Applied Hydrogeology. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall. Fletcher, Alice C., with the assistance of Frances La Flesche. (1994 [1893]). A Study of Omaha Indian Music. Lincoln, NE: Bison Books. Freire, Paulo. (1970). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Herder and Herder. Grant, Catherine. (2014). Music Endangerment:  How Language Maintenance Can Help. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Giuriati, Giovanni. (1995). “Italian Ethnomusicology.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 27: 104–131. Gourlay, Kenneth. (1982). “Towards a Humanizing Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 26(3): 411–420. H. M. (Hahn, Man-young). (1983). “Preface.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 15: 3. Harrison, Klisala. (2012). “Epistemologies of Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 56(3): 505–529. Harrison, Klisala. (2013). “Music, Health, and Socio-Economic Status: A Perspective on Urban Poverty in Canada.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 45: 58–73. Harrison, Klisala, Elisabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, eds. (2010). Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Hawes, Bess Lomax. (1995). “Reminiscences and Exhortations: Growing Up in American Folk Music.” Ethnomusicology 39(2): 179–192. Haydon, Glen. (1941). Introduction to Musicology. New York: Prentice-Hall.

An Introduction to the Chapters    63 Hemetek, Ursula, ed. (1996). Echo der Vielfalt/Echoes of Diversity. Traditionelle Musik von Minderheiten—ethnischen Gruppen/Traditional Music of Ethnic Groups—Minorities. Wien: Böhlau Verlag. Hemetek, Ursula. (2006). “Applied Ethnomusicology in the Process of the Political Recognition of a Minority: A Case Study of the Austrian Roma.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 38: 35–57. Hemetek, Ursula. (2009). “The Past and the Present:  Ethnomusicology in Vienna. Some Considerations.” Muzyka 1(212): 57–68. Herzog, George. (1936). “Primitive Music.” Bulletin of the American Musicological Society 1: 2–3. Hofman, Ana. (2010). “Maintaining the Distance, Othering the Subaltern:  Rethinking Ethnomusicologists’ Engagement in Advocacy and Social Justice.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elisabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 22–35. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars. Hood, Mantle. (1971). The Ethnomusicologist. New York: McGraw-Hill. Impey, Angela. (2002). “Culture, Conservation and Community Reconstruction: Explorations in Advocacy Ethnomusicology and Action Research in Northern KwaZulu.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 34: 9–24. Jordan, Judith V. (2001). “A Relational-Cultural Model: Healing Through Mutual Empathy.” Bulletin of the Menninger Clinic 65: 92–103. Juvančič, Katarina. (2010). “Singing from the Dark: Applied Ethnomusicology and the Study of Lullabies.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elisabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 116–132. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars. Invested in Community:  Ethnomusicology and Musical Advocacy. (2003). Conference on Applied Ethnomusicology, Brown University, March 8–9. Videotapes of presentations by applied ethnomusicologists and community scholars from Europe, the United States, and Native North America may be viewed at http://library.brown.edu/cds/ invested_in_community/. Karpeles, Maud. (1971). “The International Folk Music Council: Twenty-One Years.” Yearbook of the International Folk Music Council 1: 14–32. Keil, Charles. (1982). “Applied Ethnomusicology and a Rebirth of Music from the Spirit of Tragedy.” Ethnomusicology 26(3): 407–411. Keil, Charles. (1998). “Applied Sociomusicology and Performance Studies.” Ethnomusicology 42(2): 303–312. Kerman, Joseph. (1986). Contemplating Music:  Challenges to Musicology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara. (1988). “Mistaken Dichotomies.” Journal of American Folklore 101(400): 140–155. Koch, Grace. (2013). We Have the Song, So We Have the Land: Song and Ceremony as Proof of Ownership in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Land Claims. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, Research Discussion Paper No. 33. Korpe, Maria, and Ole Reitov, eds. (1998). 1st World Conference on Music and Censorship. Copenhagen: Freemuse. Koudal, Jens Henrik, et  al. (1993). “[Three articles by different authors (Koudal, Torp and Giurchescu, Hauser) on selected ethnomusicological issues in Denmark].” Yearbook for Traditional Music 25: 100–147.

64    Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan Kovačič, Mojca, and Urša Šivic. (2007). “Ethnomusicology and Ethnochoreology in Education: Issues in Applied Scholarship, Ljubljana, September 21–25, 2006.” Bulletin of the International Council for Traditional Music 110 (April): 67–69. Kunst, Jaap. (1950). Musicologica:  A  Study of the Nature of Ethno-musicology, Its Problems, Methods, and Representative Personalities. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Leydi, Roberto. (1991). L’ altra musica. Giunti: Ricordi. Leydi, Roberto. (1995). Druga godba: Etnomuzikologija. Ljubljana: Studia Humanitatis. Ling, Jan. (1999). A History of European Folk Music. Rochester, NY:  University of Rochester Press. Lomax, Alan. (1972). “Appeal for Cultural Equity.” The World of Music 14(2): 3–17. Loughran, Maureen. (2008). “But what if they call the police—Applied Ethnomusicology and Urban Activism in the United States.” Muzikološki Zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 51–67. Lukanyuk, Bohdan. (2006). “Do Istorii termina etnomuzikologija” (On the History of the Term Ethnomusicology). Visnyk Lviv Univ. 37: 257–275. Malm, Krister, et  al. (1995). Aspects on Music and Multiculturalism. Stockholm:  The Royal Swedish Academy of Music. Marošević, Grozdana. (1998). “The Encounter Between Folklore Studies and Anthropology in Croatian Ethnomusicology.” The World of Music 40(3): 51–82. Marti, Josep. (1997). “Folk Music Studies and Ethnomusicology in Spain.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 29: 107–140. Matthews, Washington. (1888). “The Prayer of a Navajo Shaman.” American Anthropologist, 1(2): 148–171. McAllester, David. (1989). Unpublished videotape of seminar at Brown University, transcribed by Lisa Lawson. Accessible from the author, and from the American Folklife Center, Archive of Folk Culture, Library of Congress, Washington, DC. McLean, Mervyn. (2006). Pioneers of Ethnomusicology. Mamaroneck, NY: Aeon Books. Merriam, Alan. (1963a). Review of Henry Weman, “African Music and the Church in Africa.” Ethnomusicology 7(2): 135. Merriam, Alan. (1963b). “Purposes of Ethnomusicology:  An Anthropological View.” Ethnomusicology 7(3): 207. Merriam, Alan. (1964). The Anthropology of Music. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Merriam, Alan. (1977). “Definitions of ‘Comparative Musicology’ and ‘Ethnomusicology’: An Historical-Theoretical Perspective.” Ethnomusicology 21(2):189–204. Merriam, Alan. (2000). Antropologija glasbe. Ljubljana: Znanstveno in publicistično središče. Moisala, Pirkko, ed. (1994). “Ethnomusicology in Finland (eight articles by different authors).” Ethnomusicology 38(3): 399–422. Nettl, Bruno. (1956). Music in Primitive Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Nettl, Bruno. (1964). Theory and Method in Ethnomusicology. Glencoe, IL: The Free Press. Nettl, Bruno. (1974). “Editor’s Preface.” Yearbook of the International Folk Music Council 6: 7–8. Nettl, Bruno. (1983). The Study of Ethnomusicology:  Twenty-nine Issues and Concepts. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Nettl, Bruno. (1988). “The IFMC/ICTM and the Development of Ethnomusicology in the United States.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 20: 19–25. Nettl, Bruno. (2002). Encounters in Ethnomusicology:  A  Memoir. Warren, MI:  Harmonie Park Press.

An Introduction to the Chapters    65 Nettl, Bruno. (2005). The Study of Ethnomusicology: Thirty-one Issues and Concepts. New edition. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Nettl, Bruno. (2006). “We’re on the Map: Reflections on SEM in 1955 and 2005.” Journal of the Society for Ethnomusicology 50(2): 179–189. Nettl, Bruno. (2010). Nettl’s Elephant: On the History of Ethnomusicology. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Nettl, Bruno. (2013). Becoming an Ethnomusicologist:  A  Miscellany of Influences. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. Nettl, Bruno. (2014). “Fifty Years of Changes and Challenges in the Ethnomusicological Field.” Interview by Héctor Fouce. El oído pensante 2(1): 1–11. http://ppct.caicyt.gov.ar/index.php/ oidopensante (accessed March 16, 2014). Nettl, Bruno, and Philip V. Bohlman, eds. (1991). Comparative Musicology and Anthropology of Music. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Newsome, Jennifer. (2008). “From Researched to Centrestage:  A  Case Study.” Muzikološki Zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 31–49. Ockelford, Adam. (2013). Using Zygonic Theory to Inform Music Education, Therapy, and Psychology Research. New York: Oxford University Press. O’Connell, John Morgan, and Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco. (2010). Music and Conflict. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Pettan, Svanibor. (1996). “Making the Refugee Experience Different: Azra and the Bosnians in Norway.” In War, Exile, Everyday Life: Cultural Perspectives, edited by Renata Jambrešić Kirin and Maja Povrzanović, pp. 245–255. Zagreb: Institute of Ethnology and Folklore Research. Pettan, Svanibor, guest ed. (1998). The World of Music 40(3) (Music and Music Research in Croatia). Berlin: Verlag für Wissenschaft und Bildung. Pettan, Svanibor. (2008). “Applied Ethnomusicology and Empowerment Strategies:  Views from across the Atlantic.” Muzikološki Zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 85–99. Pettan, Svanibor. (2010). “Music in War, Music for Peace:  Experiences in Applied Ethnomusicology.” In Music and Conflict, edited by John Morgan O’Connell and Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco, pp. 177–192. Urbana-Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Price, Jammie, and Steve Steele. (2004). Applied Sociology—Terms, Topics, Tools and Tasks. Boston: Ceenage Learning. Redfield, Robert. (1947). “The Folk Society.” American Journal of Sociology 52(4): 293–308. Rice, Timothy. (2014). Ethnomusicology:  A  Very Short Introduction. New  York:  Oxford University Press. Rice, Timothy, James Porter, and Chris Goertzen, eds. (2000). Garland Encyclopaedia of World Music, Vol. 8: Europe. London: Routledge. Ronström, Owe. (1991). “Folklor:  Staged Folk Music and Folk Dance Performances of Yugoslavs in Stockholm.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 23: 69–77. Rovsing Olsen, Poul. (1981). “Summing Up the Conference.” Bulletin of the International Council for Traditional Music 59: 2. Sachs, Curt. (1933). Eine Weltgeschichte des Tanzes. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer/Ernst Vohsen. Sachs, Curt. (1943). The Rise of Music in the Ancient World East and West. New York: Norton. Sachs, Curt. (1968). Die Musik der Alten Welt in Ost und West. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Sachs, Curt. (1997). Svetovna zgodovina plesa. Ljubljana: Znanstveno in publicistično središče. Saks, Kurt. (1980). Muzika starog sveta. Belgrade: Univerzitet umetnosti u Beogradu.

66    Jeff Todd Titon and Svanibor Pettan Schneider, Albrecht. (2006). “Comparative and Systematic Musicology in Relation to Ethnomusicology:  A  Historical and Methodological Survey. “ Ethnomusicology 50(2): 236–258. Seeger, Anthony. (1992). “Ethnomusicology and Music Law.” Ethnomusicology, 36(3): 345–359. Seeger, Anthony. (2006). “Lost Lineages and Neglected Peers:  Ethnomusicologists outside Academia.” Ethnomusicology 50(2): 215–235. Seeger, Anthony. (2008). “Theories Forged in the Crucible of Action:  The Joys, Dangers, and Potentials of Advocacy and Fieldwork.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology, edited by Gregory Barz and Timothy J. Cooley, pp. 271–288. Oxford: Oxford University Press. SEM Torture. Society for Ethnomusicology Position Statement on Torture. http://www.ethnomusicology.org/?PS_Torture (accessed July 1, 2014). Sheehy, Daniel. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 323–336. SIL. SIL International is a US-based, international Christian missionary organization. Formerly the Summer Institute of Linguistics. http://www.sil.org/arts-ethnomusicology (accessed July 1, 2014). Skyllstad, Kjell. (1993). The Resonant Community. Fostering Interracial Understanding Through Music. Oslo: University of Oslo. Skyllstad, Kjell. (1997). “Music in Conflict Management—A Multicultural Approach.” International Journal of Music Education 29: 73–80. Smithsonian: Fletcher. Foreword to “Camping with the Sioux: The Fieldwork Diary of Alice Cunningham Fletcher.” Smithsonian Institution, Department of Anthropology. Online exhibit at http://anthropology.si.edu/naa/exhibits/fletcher/foreword.htm (accessed July 1, 2014). Spradley, James, and David W. McCurdy, eds. (2000). Conformity and Conflict: Readings in Cultural Anthropology. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Stockmann, Erich. (1988). “The International Folk Music Council / International Council for Traditional Music—Forty Years.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 20: 1–10. Tan, Sooi Beng. (2008). “Activism in Southeast Asian Ethnomusicology: Empowering Youths to Revitalize Traditions and Bridge Cultural Barriers.” Muzikološki Zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 69–83. Terada, Yoshitaka. (2005). Drumming out a Message: Eisa and the Okinawan Diaspora in Japan (documentary film). Terada, Yoshitaka. (2008). “Angry Drummers and Buraku Identity:  The Ikari Taiko Group in Osaka, Japan.” In The Human World and Musical Diversity: Proceedings from the Fourth Meeting of the ICTM Study Group ‘Music and Minorities’ in Varna, Bulgaria 2006, edited by Rosemary Statelova, Angela Rodel, Lozanka Peycheva, Ivanka Vlaeva, and Ventsislav Dimov, pp. 309–315, 401. Sofia: Bulgarian Academy of Science, Institute of Art Studies. Terada, Yoshitaka, (2010). Angry Drummers: A Taiko Grop from Osaka, Japan (film). Terada, Yoshitaka, (2011). “Rooted as Banyan Trees: Eisa and the Okinawan Diaspora in Japan.” In Ethnomusicological Encounters with Music and Musicians:  Essays in Honor of Robert Garfias, edited by Timothy Rice, pp. 233–247. Surrey, UK: Ashgate. Terseglav, Marko. (2004). “Etnomuzikologija.” In Slovenski etnološki leksikon. Ljubljana: Mladinska knjiga. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1984). Worlds of Music: An Introduction to the Music of the World’s Peoples. New York: Schirmer Books.

An Introduction to the Chapters    67 Titon, Jeff Todd. (1989). “Ethnomusicology as the Study of People Making Music.” Paper delivered at the annual conference of the Society for Ethnomusicology, Northeast Chapter, Hartford, CT, April 22. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1992a). “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(2): 315–322. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1992b). “Preface.” In Worlds of Music, general editor Jeff Todd Titon. New York: Schirmer Books. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2003). “A Conversation with Jeff Todd Titon.” Edited and conducted by John Fenn. Special issue on applied ethnomusicology. Folklore Forum 34(1–2): 119–131. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2009a). “Economy, Ecology and Music: An Introduction.” The World of Music 51(1): 5–16. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2009b). “Music and Sustainability: An Ecological Viewpoint.” The World of Music 51(1): 119–138. Van Buren, Kathleen J. (2010). “Applied Ethnomusicology and HIV and AIDS: Responsibility, Ability and Action.” Ethnomusicology 54(2): 202–223. Van Willigen, John. (2002). Applied Anthropology (3rd ed.). New York: Praeger. Wallaschek, Richard. (1893). Primitive Musik. An Inquiry Into the Origin and Development of Music, Songs, Instruments, Dances and Pantomimes of Savage Races. London: Longmans, Green and Co. Weintraub, Andrew, and Bell Yung, eds. (2009). Music and Cultural Rights. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Wengle, John. (1988). Ethnographers in the Field:  The Psychology of Research. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press. Wong, Deborah. (2014). “Sound, Silence, Music: Power.” Ethnomusicology 58(2): 347–353. Yung, Bell. (2009). “UNESCO and China’s Qin Music in the Twenty-first Century.” In Music and Cultural Rights, edited by Andrew Weintraub and Bell Yung, pp. 140–168. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Zebec, Tvrtko. (2007). “Experiences and Dilemmas of Applied Ethnochoreology.” Narodna umjetnost 44(1): 7–25.

Pa rt  I I

T H E OR E T IC A L A N D M E T HOD OL O G IC A L C ON SI DE R AT ION S

Chapter 1

Tr anscending Re se a rc h e r Vul nerabilit y T h rou g h Appl ied Ethnom u si c ol o g y Dan Bendrups

Success in field work depends on the combination of three things: technical know-how, substantive knowledge of subject, and a great sensitivity to the values and feelings of other human beings—these listed in inverse order of importance. M. Hood (1982 [1971]: 202)

These words, buried deep within Mantle Hood’s seminal text, The Ethnomusicologist (1982 [1971]), articulate an awareness of the intimate, emotional dimensions of fieldwork, reliant as much on subject knowledge as on interpersonal engagement. They appear in the preliminary discussion of Hood’s first fieldwork project in West Africa, which had the somewhat applied aim of producing a film documentary about a performance culture that was otherwise largely absent from, or misrepresented in, the Western gaze. As his description of the research process unfolds, Hood’s personal interactions with his collaborators are revealed as playing just as important a role as his technical training in achieving his research aims. Indeed, were it not for his resourcefulness in managing relationships with others, one is left with the impression that the fieldwork may have been over before it began. Such impressions are not unique to Hood’s experience—they are woven through ethnomusicological discourse from A(ubert) to Z(emp), and they continue to be significant for research in the twenty-first century, where reflexive discussions of interpersonal relationships (whether beneficial or problematic) are now a standard expectation. Nevertheless, Hood’s earlier narrative is of particular interest because, in the course of explaining his project’s success, he also reflects on its challenges, revealing in the process the extent of his own vulnerability and uncertainty about the direction his work was taking at the time.

72   Dan Bendrups I open with this reference to Hood because his experience exemplifies, in my view, an aspect of applied ethnomusicology that is deserving of greater exploration: the potential for applied research outcomes to assist in transcending researcher vulnerabilities and uncertainties in fieldwork. While applied ethnomusicology is frequently framed as being responsive to the needs and vulnerabilities of research collaborators, especially in indigenous and postcolonial contexts, I would argue that it can also serve to provide researchers with a platform for more effective engagement with their research collaborators, and that applied ethnomusicology should therefore be considered not just as a methodological choice, but as an ontological means of enhancing and improving ethnomusicological practice in general. This consideration provides the impetus for this chapter, which is, in turn, concerned with how such processes play out in circumstances of professional and personal vulnerability. I leave the definition of researcher vulnerability deliberately vague, as different researchers will experience vulnerability in different ways, and always in a manner that is relative to their research context and personal circumstances. As others have observed, researcher vulnerabilities can stem from political interference (Levin, 1996) or natural disaster, to constructs of race (Radano and Bohlman, 2000) and gender (Babiracki, 2008), and even factors such as personality, musicality, physical ability, or ideology. I therefore propose “vulnerability” not as a corollary for weakness or deficit, but as a state of being in which the discursive barriers we erect around our personal and professional selves are revealed and made permeable. This differs from the “confessional” mode of ethnography (cf. Van Maanen, 1988; also Titon, 2008: 34–35) because the objective is not to indulge in the researcher’s experience of vulnerability, but to pragmatically acknowledge that vulnerabilities and uncertainties exist, that this is normal, and that practical measures can be taken to overcome the barriers that these vulnerabilities may produce. I contend that such an approach is required because, despite the excellent reflexive writing already mentioned, fieldwork is still often constructed and communicated in terms of its successes, underscored by the occasional reticence of ethnomusicologists to reveal problematic experiences, lest these be interpreted as resulting from personal inability, deficiency, or unpreparedness. This focus on researcher vulnerability was inspired by two particular contributions to the second edition of the seminal Shadows in the Field (Barz and Cooley, 2008): Deborah Wong’s candid approach to revealing her own thought processes when experiencing Asian American performance from an Asian American perspective (2008:  79), and Nicole Beaudry’s openness in describing the particular vulnerabilities she faced in her engagements with far north American indigenous communities (2008). However, this chapter is also a direct manifestation of what I and others have described as a typically Antipodean approach to the discipline of ethnomusicology (Bendrups, 2012; Corn, 2009; Wild, 2006), in which applied outcomes are often situated at the forefront of research engagement, especially where marginalized and endangered indigenous music practices and communities are concerned. It begins with a short discussion of applied ethnomusicology that considers the paradigm shift (Kuhn, 2012) that this approach to ethnomusicology has engendered, before providing a targeted overview of influential

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    73 ethnomusicological works in which various contrasting instances of researcher vulnerability may be observed. It then presents two case studies of applied responses to vulnerability drawn from my own past fieldwork. These examples have been included not because they are particularly important or special, but because they provide an opportunity to be explicit about some of the ways in which researcher vulnerability can be experienced, with a degree of candidness that would not be possible if the discussion were to attempt to deconstruct the work of others. The first of these case studies relates the circumstances surrounding my efforts to establish a digital sound recording archive on the remote Pacific island of Rapanui (Easter Island). The second explains the process surrounding the production of a CD recording containing the intangible cultural heritage of the small community of post–World War II Latvian refugees in Christchurch, New Zealand. These two case studies present many contrasts, yet they both invoke questions of identity and ethnicity, of musical ability and utility, and the blurring of boundaries between professional and personal agency.

The Applied Ethnomusicology Paradigm Applied ethnomusicology has been enthusiastically embraced by scholars worldwide, and mobilized in diverse research settings, colloquia, and publications. Whether defined as a subdisciplinary field, a research method, a set of principles, or something else entirely, it embodies an epistemic rendering of the reflexive research practices that underpin contemporary ethnomusicology. While it has been correctly pointed out that the component parts of applied ethnomusicology have always been apparent in ethnomusicology, and that applied aims exist as a matter of course in ethnomusicological research, serving to inform the research process (cf. Merriam, 1964; Seeger, 2008: 286), it is nevertheless significant that scholars have only recently sought to systematize the discourse surrounding this practice by giving it a disciplinary identity. This process reflects what philosopher Thomas Kuhn has described as a disciplinary “paradigm shift”—a process that he considered crucial to the progress and development of scientific ideas. Kuhn describes a “paradigm” as a set of achievements “sufficiently unprecedented to attract an enduring group of adherents away from competing modes of scientific activity” but, simultaneously “sufficiently open-ended to leave all sorts of problems for the redefined group of practitioners to resolve” (Kuhn, 2012: 10). When conceptualized in this way, there are a series of paradigm shifts that can be perceived in the development of applied ethnomusicology. An enduring example of a paradigm shift in ethnomusicology is the gradual change in research focus from idealized nineteenth-century perceptions of “pure” ethnology toward research practices that respond to an ever-widening array political, social, and economic coercions.

74   Dan Bendrups Anthropologists Satish Kedia and John van Willigen assert that their own discipline developed on an applied basis, evidenced by the role of English anthropology in training civil servants for colonial posts and in gathering data about colonized and indigenous peoples for the purposes of better governance (2002: 4). Arguably, similar principles underpin the training of at least one key Southern Hemisphere ethnomusicologist (Araújo, 2008: 16). In circumstances where ethnomusicology has been tied more closely to music schools and conservatoria, the trend toward embedding ethnomusicological practice within performance practice, as epitomized by Hood’s advocacy for bi-musicality (Hood, 1960)  constitutes another paradigm shift, positioning ethnomusicology within the heavily vocational world of the professional performer or composer—a different yet no less influential “applied” research paradigm. This has resulted in ethnomusicologists engaging with musicians from other cultures on an idealized common ground of music making, leading to a research paradigm in which applied objectives, aimed at providing the researchers’ collaborators with financial reward, prestige, and/or international exposure, have emerged. This is especially the case in interactions with the commercial music industry and in projects centered on recording and sound reproduction (see especially Feld, 1996; Feld and Crowdy, 2002; Meintjes, 1990; Zemp, 1996). Kedia and van Willigen signal that an important change in the notion of applied anthropology occurred around the time of World War II, as anthropologists began to respond to the needs and aspirations of the (often disenfranchised and marginalized) people with whom they worked (2002: 8). Similar concerns were voiced in ethnomusicology, and have become ingrained in the discipline’s concern for endangered musical practices, as well as the actions of ethnomusicologists as advocates. As Daniel Sheehy poignantly asks, “What ethnomusicologist has never gone out of his or her way to act for the benefit of an informant or community they have studied?” (1992: 323). In current practice, some ethnomusicologists (and anthropologists, as well as ethnographers in other disciplines) have expanded on this paradigm by using the term “applied” to signify a social activist agenda. Indeed, Kedia and van Willigen define applied anthropology as “the application of anthropological knowledge, methodology, and theoretical approaches to address societal problems and issues” (2002: 1). This may be conceptualized in the ethnomusicological context as an “approach to the approach to the study of music” (Sheehy, 1992: 323), but in actuality, “applied” ethnomusicologists often extend their work into outright and open advocacy for particular musics and peoples, drawing on wide interdisciplinary frames of reference in the process. As Sheehy notes, applied ethnomusicology is a conscious practice that “begins with a sense of purpose [that is] larger than the advancement of knowledge about music” (1992: 323). Thus, the current paradigm of applied ethnomusicology, which incorporates these various preconditions, is sufficiently new and complex to be thought of as a discrete disciplinary entity, even though its parameters and boundaries are yet to be completely defined.

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    75

Professional and Personal Vulnerability A further understanding of “applied” research concerns the deliberate positioning of the researcher within the description of the field, as reflected in Stacey Holman Jones’s attempts at blurring the boundaries between writer and subject (2007), or Ruth Behar’s arguments for erasing the line between observed and observer (1996). In both of these examples, the “applied” aspect of the research implicates the researcher herself as an agent or protagonist within the research setting, and in both cases, the researcher is revealed as occupying a somewhat conceptually (if not physically) vulnerable position. Immersive ethnographic fieldwork is a particularly challenging line of work because it necessitates that the (trained) professional undertake her practice in the same space as that in which she is domiciled. It also depends very much on the establishment and maintenance of productive interpersonal relationships, further blurring the boundaries between professional and personal spaces. In these circumstances, seemingly minor misunderstandings can have dramatic consequences, not just for the people and community under the research gaze, but also for the researcher. Nicole Beaudry provides an evocative example of this, in which her polite rejection of a drunk acquaintance’s amorous advances inadvertently led to him denouncing her as a “government spy” on local radio, resulting in many of her collaborators temporarily or permanently disengaging from her research (2008: 240). While much professional attention has rightly been paid to recognizing and minimizing the negative or coercive impact of field research on research participants (especially those who are vulnerable because of histories of marginalization or colonial disenfranchisement), the reflexive critique that underscores this attention has a tendency to position the researcher in a relatively uncritical position of power. Yet, as many reflexive fieldwork narratives emphasize, it is not always the case that researchers feel particularly empowered while in the field, and in many cases, the success of their work depends on the complete surrendering of power. There is, therefore, a contradiction between the potential powerlessness of the fieldwork experience and the empowerment and authority experienced by researchers upon obtaining or resuming their professional places as writers, interlocutors, academics, or performers. While discourses of power and professional or personal vulnerability have engaged quite extensively with gender as a factor of potential significance to fieldwork interactions, they are still far from conclusive. As Carol Babiracki has observed, “those aspects of doing field research that were most closely related to the experience of being female in the field were, and to a large extent still are, discussed not in the official discourse about field research but in a sort of unofficial, underground discourse in which women (and sometimes men) shared experiences and advice about managing sexual miscommunication and harassment…” thus maintaining the illusion of the “ungendered scholar” (2008: 170). I would argue that

76   Dan Bendrups this underground discourse also extends to researchers who are un-familied, uncompromised by health or well-being concerns, and unburdened by economic hardship. Unfortunately, these invisibilities both deny the vulnerabilities that may be experienced by field researchers and conceal potential opportunities for interpersonal engagement on levels other than those pertaining directly to the object of study. Thus, these important aspects of successful relationship building are also consigned to unofficial discourse. The personhood of the researcher is, nevertheless, revealed in some contexts as a rich contact zone for interpersonal engagement, especially where accompanying family members are also implicated. This is reflected, for example, in Anthony Seeger’s introduction to Why Suyá Sing (1987), in which the opening narrative explains the manner in which both he and his wife Judith were taken in by the community, and the particular nuances of their reception as a couple and as individuals. I had a similar experience returning to Rapanui with my wife and infant son some years after my initial fieldwork there. Their presence led to my inclusion in family discussions and domestic contexts (particularly with women) that were previously inaccessible to me as a single, young, male researcher years before. The richness of the domestic space as a site for research is well established. An excellent example of this is provided by Pacific anthropologist Kalissa Alexeyeff, whose study of dance and music in Rarotonga situates the domestic environment as the primary locus of her ethnography (2003). Anthony McCann (2007) takes the domestic frame of reference further, advocating for an approach to ethnography that directly responds to real or constructed notions of family and connectedness, in which interpersonal relationships are not just recognized but foregrounded, in which older collaborators are conceptualized as (cherished) family members, and in which collaborators are valued not just in terms of the knowledge they hold (i.e., as “culture bearers”) but also in terms of their life experience: [It is] very important for me at the moment to consider this relationship with the people in the communities where I live.… [To] consider the ways in which, as an academic, I have been conditioned and trained to write in ways which could often be regarded as very disrespectful if I were to be standing here speaking to them. (McCann, 2007)

McCann rallies against the eradication of uncertainty from knowledge, reflecting that “[o]‌ften, it very much involves simply eliminating people from our work… keeping people and the richness of their lives away from the heart of our work” (2007). While they may not always be subject to theorization, these discourses of personhood, family, domestic space, empowerment, and vulnerability have permeated ethnomusicological writing since the 1970s (see especially Berliner, 1978; Kisliuk, 1998; Levin 1996, 2006). For example, Paul Berliner’s account of engaging with Shona music and musicians opens with a personified explanation of the pitch structure of the keys of the mbira, with the lowest pitch designated “father,” the octave above that “mother,” then “child,” and so on (1978: 1). His discussion of empowerment in his relationship with

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    77 master performer Bandambira, meanwhile, is a rather acute example of vulnerability, in which “[Bandambira] decided that I was worthy of being entrusted with the single piece of information that I sought to collect from him only after six years of studying mbira music, three trips to Africa, and many rigorous tests (1978: 7). Theodore Levin’s ethnographic monograph (1996) begins with a depiction of a different kind of vulnerability: brawling and death threats on the train en route to his research site, before his fieldwork had even begun (1996: 2). His recollections of 1970s Tashkent leave the reader in no doubt about the disconcerting starkness of Soviet-era urban planning in Central Asia, which is later contrasted to the richness of the music he encounters. Levin also provides an example of shifting between scholarly and non-scholarly applied engagement with his field, becoming, for a time, a tour and concert promoter as a means of remaining and earning a living in the (former) Soviet Union (1996: 5). These experiences sit among many other anecdotes that evoke the importance of interpersonal engagement and the political, cultural, and geographic complexities faced by the Bukharan Jewish community and others with whom he worked, yet the overall tone of these narratives—and, indeed, the monograph’s subtitle, “Musical Travels”—perpetuates a focus on the author as an explorer, vulnerable but resilient in the face of danger and difficulty. Michelle Kisliuk’s various discussions of her engagements with BaAka music and dance (1998, 2008) reveal much more about her own personal vulnerabilities in the field, with extensive segments of writing devoted to instances of confusion, of not knowing what to do during a particular ritual and her inner analysis of what options were available in the moment, or of the challenge of reconciling what she expected of herself with what others expected of her. In one example, she relates her reaction to an unknown woman’s request for help tending a cut on her leg during a rare ritual dance: I felt squeezed within a paradox. My experience as a researcher of music and dance helped me feel close to the BaAka as performers, while strangers like the woman beside me resisted my efforts to move beyond being stereotyped. She approached me as though I were a nurse-on-demand, undermining, I felt, my developing role as an apprentice [of dance] by insisting instead that I conform to her image of white people with medicine. (2008: 187)

Kisliuk is, nevertheless, aware of the potential for such reflections to become self-indulgent, and suggests that the way to decide what should be included or excluded from an ethnographic narrative is to “ask ourselves whether an experience changed us in a way that significantly affected how we viewed, reacted to, or interpreted the ethnographic material” (2008: 199). It is with this advice in mind that I now offer the two case studies of applied research engagement mentioned at the start of this chapter, with the intention of revealing how, in each case, the particular set of vulnerabilities I experienced led me to the pursuit of applied research outcomes, which, in turn, allowed me to transcend the barriers I had faced. Both examples relate to communities that were (and are) marginal and, to some extent, endangered, but in very different ways. The first example, the creation of a digital

78   Dan Bendrups music archive for Rapanui, pertains to an indigenous people on an island of around 6,000 inhabitants of whom less than 3,000 are active Rapanui language speakers. As Rapanui traditional music is a repository of language, history, and cultural knowledge, traditional songs are very highly valued in Rapanui society, which faces continued neocolonial pressure from Chile—the South American nation to which Polynesian Rapanui belongs. The second example, the production of a CD of Latvian community music in Christchurch, New Zealand, pertains to a small population of World War II refugees whose numbers have not been replenished through further waves of migration, and whose children and grandchildren have mostly moved away to live and work in larger metropolitan centers such as Auckland or Sydney, consigning the original population to a slow process of disappearance as community members gradually succumb to old age.

Case Study 1: The Creation of a Digital Music Archive for Rapanui In January 2002, after six months of precedential study and fieldwork planning, I arrived on Rapanui with the intention of documenting the music culture of this remote and often misrepresented island. The paucity of extant English-language writing on Rapanui music had made me convinced of the intrinsic value of the doctoral research project I had planned—filling an obvious gap in extant knowledge—and I naïvely assumed that my attempt at music-culture documentation would be supported and embraced locally. However, before reaching the point of being able to make any such contribution to knowledge, I went through a slow-burn trial by fire that many outsiders who work with marginalized, colonized, or otherwise disempowered communities will recognize. This engagement happened gradually over time in dozens of fragmented conversations and encounters, and the following is but one of many that illustrate the interpersonal challenge of conducting community-engaged fieldwork on Rapanui. In February 2002, the annual Tapati Rapa Nui cultural festival was in full swing, and I undertook to record its musical aspects for reference purposes. On one of my walks to the open-air festival site, I found my path blocked by a six-foot man with a feathered crown that elevated his already grand stature, aggressively wielding an au (ceremonial fighting staff, and ancient signifier of authority). A conversation ensued: I’ve seen you around, recording things. Are you a journalist? No, I’m here to do research. I’m a musicologist. Who sent you here? I just decided to come—I am interested in Rapanui… So, what makes you think you can just come here and record things? Lots of tourists are recording things—all public performances… But you don’t have permission. To record?

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    79 No, permission to be on Rapanui. Whose permission do I need? The people. Me. You need my permission. You need to give me something back if you are taking things away. What can I give you? Right now you can give me your cigarettes, but it’s up to you to make up for what you take from here. I’ll be watching you. You will need a better answer the next time I stop you, or you’ll be off this island.

I was perplexed by this encounter, and retold it to some of the musicians with whom I had begun to collaborate, who were at once amused, embarrassed, and in agreement with the sentiments their compatriot had expressed. While this man’s confrontational approach to a “guest” grated with their sense of cultural protocol, the notion that recording equates to “taking” was widely agreed with, as was the invocation of reciprocity, particularly negotiated acts of reciprocity between individuals, as a pathway to permission. In time, I learned that my confronter was a social agitator and activist known for his quirkiness and aggressiveness, publicly tolerated and sometimes encouraged by the wider community, but rarely afforded formal endorsement by Rapanui cultural and political authorities. This man’s intense reaction to my mere presence stuck with me for a long time, and I decided that I would not be comfortable with my presence on Rapanui until I could demonstrate reciprocal intentions that even he would consider appropriate. I set out to answer his challenge by taking stock of what I was actually capable of contributing to the community, and to my horror I quickly realized that I didn’t really have very much to offer. Traditional music is important to Rapanui culture because it is a repository of ancient language, of histories, legends, and beliefs, making it a conduit to the ancestors. In the twenty-first century, traditional music also serves political purposes, as a reminder to current political elites that a pre-contact Rapanui once existed. Contemporary music is likewise important as a marker of an independent cultural identity, as a vector of language and performance practices that demark Rapanui culture as being both related to other Polynesian cultures and yet unique. For these reasons, culturally engaged Rapanui music research is complex and demanding, requiring either the ability to materially support the work of musicians, or to make in-kind contributions that add value to the local music scene in ways that serve artistic as well as social and political needs. As a (mere) PhD student, working independently and outside any larger research-funding framework, my capacity to make any significant financial contribution to Rapanui cultural needs was negligible. Rapanui is a lightning rod for boutique cultural tourism because of its unique archaeological heritage, and many of those who work and travel there are either generously funded or independently wealthy. Lacking stores of personal wealth from which to draw, I could only offer my time and skills in return for the investment of time and knowledge that my research collaborators were investing in me. As a conservatorium-trained trombonist, freelance performer, and school music teacher, I  was confident that there may be some outlet for my musical expertise on Rapanui; however, this was not immediately the case. Contemporary performance culture on Rapanui revolves around the guitar, and as a brass specialist, my instrumental skills had

80   Dan Bendrups no place in the context of local music making. I eventually found opportunities for collaborative performance with local reggae-influenced bands, but within the wider music community, any credibility I might have had as a musician and possible music teacher was countered by the fact that I was useless on guitar. Partly because of these perceived shortcomings as a contemporary musician, I found my research focus gravitating toward more traditional musical forms that were not so guitar-focused. This led to an apprenticeship of sorts with renowned music expert Kiko Pate, of whom I have written elsewhere (Bendrups, 2007), resulting in my acquisition—in memory and on record—of around 130 songs from his repertoire, some of which had been handed down to him directly over generations. Kiko transmitted this knowledge to me in 2002 and 2003, and I  was desperately eager to pass it on to others in the community, but there were two barriers. First, as a non-islander and non-resident, I was incapable of taking up any kind of formal or informal teaching role in Rapanui society, and I could not hope to replicate traditional teaching methods. Second, Kiko was concerned about his repertoire being passed around the community without his direct guidance (I believe he initially consented to teach me because I was an outsider, and therefore unburdened by the intricate internal politics of authority and ownership in Rapanui music). So, having acquired a deep understanding of some rather ancient aspects of traditional Rapanui music, I was not yet authorized to make much of a contribution to the sustainability of this music through further dissemination and transmission. However, having now amassed a substantial collection of field recordings in the course of my daily investigations, my thoughts turned to the field collections of others, and I began to investigate the whereabouts of earlier field recordings taken from Rapanui. If I was ever to answer the question of what I could do for Rapanui culture, then this was surely it: I decided to hunt down every remaining historical recording with a view to securing their digitalization and repatriation to Rapanui. This plan had quite a few barriers. First, I had no resources from which to seed the beginnings of an archive. Second, I lacked specific training in sound archiving (though many years of performing in commercial music contexts and as an occasional studio musician meant that I had a working understanding of sound recording and production). Third, I had no idea of the actual extent of historical field recordings from Rapanui, or the manner of their preservation in overseas collections. Nevertheless, I suspected that I may have found a moral and ethical justification for my presence on (and “in”) Rapanui, and I confirmed this suspicion in multiple conversations with Rapanui musicians and culture brokers, including the confronting individual mentioned earlier. I began to explore the institutions that existed on Rapanui in the hope of finding one with appropriate facilities for hosting a digital music archive. The Father Sebastian Englert Anthropological Museum (MAPSE) was one of two such places (the other being the municipal library), and the museum’s capacity to manage archival records had expanded in 2003 with the construction of the William Mulloy Library, funded and built in the famous archaeologist’s name, to house his collection of print and media records from his own Rapanui fieldwork in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. The library had new computer terminals, as well as a climate-controlled archive room. State-funded, MAPSE is an incredible resource for such a small island, and I had made occasional research visits there through

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    81 2002 and 2003, so I was aware of its value as a repository of cultural heritage. I was also aware of a perception among parts of the Rapanui community of the museum as a neocolonial institution run by Chileans, responding to Chilean government priorities, and therefore “not very Rapanui.” I approached MAPSE about the potential of hosting the music archive because of their new facilities, on the one hand, but also because I thought that the music collection might be a way of enticing more local people to frequent the museum, and that this might help to break down some of the barriers between the institution and the community it served. Thus, the choice of the collection’s location was not just a matter of facilities, but also an opportunity for improving community engagement with these facilities. MAPSE was sympathetic to these observations, and offered to house the (future) collection. I proposed that a computer terminal could be loaded with free audio software (iTunes, only recently available for PC in 2003), which would serve as a database for the collection, and that a set of high-quality DVD backup disks and a portable hard disk would take up very little space in the archive room. With this agreement in place, I  began to look for the field recordings that would complete the collection. I found the first lot closer than expected, in the hands of Rapanui islander Tote Tepano (Figure 1.1).

Figure  1.1  Tote Tepano, dressed for Tapati festival participation, carrying tape recorder. Photo by the author.

82   Dan Bendrups Tote was (and is) an unconventional individual for Rapanui. Unmarried, and unburdened by family responsibilities, he dedicated much of his time to causes on the periphery of mainstream community interest, such as caring for stray dogs and pursuing environmental improvements. He was not involved in regular paid employment at that time, but was an adept carver of replicas of traditional artifacts, which he occasionally sold at the artisan market. He was also interested in sound recording—a pursuit facilitated by a cassette tape recorder given to him by a tourist many years before, and supplies of tapes and batteries donated to him on request by the mayor’s office. Tote had been my recording companion at the Tapati festivals of 2002 and 2003, and he had made it clear that, while outsiders like me were very welcome, it was also important that these events be captured by a Rapanui person, with a Rapanui perspective. Indeed, Tote had an established reputation on the island as an eccentric but enthusiastic recorder of events, and he made a small amount of money each year selling duplicates of his cassette recordings to anyone who wanted them. He hoped that this would ultimately develop into a more financially rewarding enterprise over time, as future generations would surely place great value on the intangible cultural heritage he had captured and which he alone possessed. When I informed Tote of the plan to create a digital archive, he invited me to the small tin-roof shack in which he lived so that I could see the full extent of his past recording efforts. Lined up before me were multiple polystyrene cargo boxes full of cassettes, stretching back to the early 1980s. As far as he was concerned, the archive already existed: boxed up in his comfortable, yet completely unsealed dirt floor home. Having never received any education in the handling of tape, Tote was unaware of the susceptibility of his tapes to humidity, fungus, and rot, and my initial attempts to convince him of the precariousness of his collection were met with skepticism. This was, after all, his lifelong project and retirement plan. I did what I could to explain how the island humidity and sea air might cause the tapes to corrode, and eventually he began to realize that there were factors beyond his control at play in the preservation of his collection. Tote agreed to allow some of his collection to be digitized and made accessible to the public, in return for permission to store the rest of his collection at the museum, and to be given a space at the museum in which to carry out his recording work. Digitizing Tote’s collection was a far greater task than could be easily achieved on Rapanui. Serendipitously, however, back in Sydney, the Pacific and Regional Archive for Digital Sources in Endangered Cultures (PARADISEC) had been established in 2003 with a mandate to protect recordings of endangered languages. With a native speaker population below 2,000 people at that time, Rapanui was clearly within the “endangered” range, and PARADISEC generously offered to make their facilities available for the digitization of Tote’s tapes. With help from MAPSE and from the Rapanui branch of CONADI (the former Corporación Nacional de Desarollo Indígena [National Corporation of Indigenous Development]), I secured funding from the Chilean government to enable Tote to fly to Sydney with a selection of his recordings, and for six weeks, he shared a one-bedroom suburban Sydney apartment with my wife and I while we went about the digitization process.

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    83 The decision to work in this way with Tote was a challenge, not only because of the impact of his presence on my home and study spaces, but also because of how it might be perceived by others on Rapanui. Tote was not someone with whom I had previously shared a close working relationship, and I was concerned that my efforts to work with him instead of some of my closer collaborators and, by this stage, friends, could be a source of confusion or even insult. On my return to Rapanui in late 2004, some musicians expressed concern about my efforts to bring him to Australia, rather than a culture bearer of higher prestige or experience, or someone with established cross-cultural credentials who might be a better ambassador for Rapanui. Indeed, Tote almost didn’t make it to Sydney: he had boarded his flight in Chile adorned in traditional regalia, including a crown of feathers and natural fibers that Australian customs officials would not normally permit into the country. At the border inspection, Tote’s lack of English and his unusual baggage (consisting of one box of cassettes, one change of clothes, no cash, and no credit cards) were cause for concern, and it was only by pure chance that a bilingual Chilean passenger, who was familiar with Rapanui, saw his predicament and stopped to advocate on his behalf with customs and immigration inspectors. Thankfully, both he and the cassettes he carried were cleared, and soon entered into the PARADISEC collection, with copies to be returned to Tote and to the MAPSE library archive for public appreciation. Digital copies of formal archive collections were much easier to obtain. I had met Archive of Maori and Pacific Music director Richard Moyle through my association with the International Council on Traditional Music (ICTM), and he readily made the Rapanui content of the AMPM available for digital duplication. Two other collections of Rapanui sound recordings belonging to previous ethnographic researchers Jorge Urrutia Blondel and Margot Loyola Palacios were available in university collections in Chile, and thus were easy to access via formal channels. By the end of 2004, I had accumulated a digital collection containing more than 30 hours of historical recordings, much of which had never been heard on Rapanui, and I  set about assembling the archive using the free software and computer facilities mentioned above (a more detailed description of this process is provided in Bendrups, 2005). In the hope that future recordings might be added to the collection, I adapted and translated the accession and permission documentation used by PARADISEC for MAPSE purposes, and subsequently set about promoting the digital archive within the Rapanui community.

Outcomes More than a decade has passed since the Rapanui music archive was first envisioned, and in that time, technological change on Rapanui has resulted in far greater media engagement than could have been imagined in 2003. The island has gone from having sporadic satellite-dependent landline telecommunications access to a widespread proliferation of mobile phones and Internet cafes, making the fixed-location digital music collection format seem a little outmoded. Nevertheless, certain beneficial outcomes can

84   Dan Bendrups be observed. For the Rapanui community, the archive provides assurance that (some of) their intangible cultural heritage is protected, as well as providing symbolic affirmative resonances of repatriation. Over the last eight years, few of my close research collaborators have actually made use of the archive—they are largely confident enough in their own knowledge of repertoire that they do not seek affirmation from historical sources—but they are glad simply to know that it is there. For Tote Tepano, being involved with MAPSE has provided more stability for his recording work, and as his contribution is acknowledged directly by name, his role in contributing to the preservation of Rapanui cultural heritage is therefore readily recognized, lending greater prestige to his efforts.1 For MAPSE, the music archive is tangible evidence of the museum’s commitment to sustaining and preserving Rapanui culture, and has already facilitated further sound recording preservation and repatriation work, such as the Fonck Museum’s Felbermayer project in 2012 (see Bendrups, 2013). The music archive’s role as a conduit to engagement with the community has, however, been outshined by a subsequent (and considerably better-funded) digitization project dealing with historical photographs of Rapanui people and places, which are more numerous, more tangible, and of more immediate and direct relevance to many more individuals in Rapanui society. Nevertheless, the music collection remains prominent in the museum library’s organizational structure, and has gone from being a fringe project occupying one computer terminal to an integrated part of the library’s collection. For me, the archive represents a tangible act of reciprocity, and I remain convinced of its value and appropriateness as a response to my inability to contribute meaningfully in other ways to Rapanui music and society. It also provides me with a place to deposit new items as I continue my commitment to returning extant field recordings to the island as and when I find them. As this discussion has revealed, however, the archive was not the original aim of the research, nor was it conceived through any actual expertise or interest in archiving. Rather, it came about as a result of my deficiencies and vulnerabilities in other areas. Furthermore, it was achieved through a skill set drawing not from ethnographic or archival training but from commercial performance experience, through the exploitation of personal contacts, the goodwill of senior scholars in my region, and the forbearance of my wife and research collaborators in supporting an outcome deemed to be of service to the greater good.

Case Study 2: Uz Tēvu Mājām and the Christchurch Latvian Diaspora In 2004, I obtained my first real job in academia, migrating to Dunedin, New Zealand, to take up a position in ethnomusicology and popular music at the University of Otago, where my Rapanui research resonated with the university’s strategic goals in Pacific

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    85 cultural research. A  broad requirement of Otago academic staff was (and is) that their research should have some element of local community engagement, and in the process of developing this, I became aware of the community of Latvian migrants in Christchurch, not far from Dunedin. As extant sources assert, music has historically been of enormous significance to the maintenance of Latvian cultural identity (cf. Boiko, 2001), and this was especially the case for these post–World War II exiles confronted by the political reality of a homeland that had been subsumed into the (former) Soviet Union. As a descendant of post–World War II Latvian refugees in Australia, I was notionally a cultural “insider” in this community, and my Latvian surname alone is sufficient evidence of this for anyone within the Latvian diaspora. However, as a child of a family that chose to assimilate into Australian society, discarding a homeland language and many other customs that my grandparents perceived as being of little use to a future in Australia, my cultural competency is somewhat lacking. Indeed, I have clear memories as a teenager of being shunned at Latvian community events because of my Latvian language deficiencies. For a child of Latvians to be unable to communicate in Latvian would certainly have been perceived as a tragedy by the more conservative first-generation members of the migrant community. Consequentially, up until the events recounted here, I had little further interaction with the Latvian diaspora community. My interest in Latvian music had been rekindled on Rapanui. One afternoon in late 2004, having worked together over the course of two years to transcribe, rehearse, and record his songs, Kiko looked at me and said “That’s it. That’s all my songs. There are others, I guess, but they won’t come to me now.” I made us some tea, and we sat for a while watching the clouds gather over the Maunga Terevaka volcano. Then with a slightly capricious tone, Kiko said, “So, I’ve taught you my songs… why don’t you teach me some of yours?” I initially laughed at the question, as there is no real equivalent of the Rapanui concept of songs as treasured possessions, passed down through families over generations, in Australian settler society. Similar ideas may exist in indigenous Australian music traditions, I replied, but these were outside my experience and capacity to communicate. Otherwise, Australian songs were mostly bastardized Irish ballads or insignificant novelty items referencing typical Australian fauna. That night I continued to reflect on Kiko’s question, as I did not feel that I had given him a very good answer, until I realized that perhaps I did possess songs after all: those brought from Latvia and maintained in exile over 60 years, if not by my immediate family, then by my uncle, a choral director, and his many choristers. I resolved to return to Kiko in the near future with a better knowledge of these songs. It was from this position of vulnerability in my cultural competency that my engagement with the Christchurch Latvian community began, and it was through yet another process of negotiating vulnerabilities that I arrived at the applied research project that is the focus of the following discussion. I ultimately found the Christchurch community to be very welcoming, completely unlike my teenage experiences in Melbourne,

86   Dan Bendrups but I was initially very nervous about making contact. This nervousness abated with the birth of my son in 2007 (and subsequently, my daughter in 2010), who became the nexus of my interactions with the community, as he, and then she, drew attention away from me at community events. Bearing identifiably Latvian names (Boriss and Maija), my children symbolized the continuity of the Latvian diaspora community in the eyes of some elders, and they were young enough that (unlike me) no level of cultural competency could really be expected of them (and, indeed, still young enough to be taught). As they became a little older, they were able to interact with other Latvian community children, giving me an opportunity to interact with their parents and grandparents without needing (uncomfortable) justifications for this interaction, or for asking questions about musical practices that that I should, if I were culturally competent, already have known. As such, my children became vital collaborators in my research process, helping to compensate for some of my own vulnerabilities. It was through these interactions that I became aware of a tape recording that had been made in the early 1980s, featuring the guitars and voices of the community’s original songmen, Rūdis Krauze (Rudi) and Paulis Puriņš (Paul). Rudi and Paul had been active musicians in Latvia before the war, and after their arrival in Christchurch they became the mainstay of the community’s celebrations. That role was subsequently handed over to their protégé Miervaldis “Merv” Altments (in his sixties at the time of writing), who has a particular gift for the more raucous songs in the folk repertoire, and

Figure 1.2 Paulis Puriņš (center) with Miervaldis Altments (far left) at a Christchurch Latvian community celebration in the mid-1980s.

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    87 whose presence at each celebration ensures the continuity of live music performance for the community at the time of writing (Figure 1.2). The recording had been made at the behest of Rudi’s son Karl, who arranged for the duo to use up some spare time in a friend’s recording studio. The resulting tape contained a number of well-known Latvian folk songs from the 1930s and 1940s, but also an original composition by the duo, Uz Tēvu Mājām, “To Father’s House.” This particular song is a poignant representation of the Latvian diaspora experience, articulating the sense of disjuncture felt by many in the community, exacerbated by the observation that their “fathers’ houses” had, by this stage, been collectivized and reallocated to Russian immigrants, as dictated by Soviet policies that sought to erase privilege but also to dilute the ethnic Latvian population to a point where they could no longer lay claim to ethnic difference from Russia: Uz Tēvu Mājām, “To Father’s House” (Translation by the author) Uz Tēvu Mājām, sirds man tiecās To Father’s house, my heart will travel Kur mātes balss man mīļi teic My mother’s loving voice I hear Tie skaistie meži ezeri un kalni The beautiful woods, lakes, and mountains Tie aicinā uz dzimteni They call to me from my homeland Tur bērzu birzes tāpat vel zaļos The birch copses are still green Un saule druvās zeltu lej The sun pours gold on the wheat fields No tālienes es dzirdu zvanu skaņas From afar, the mellow sound of bells can be heard Un nopūtas kas skumjas pauž And the sigh of sadness Tur meža vidū, tēva mājās In the middle of the forest, [in] my father’s house Kur mātes soļus atceros Where I remember mother’s footsteps Tur tagad staigā daudzi sveši ļaudis There now walk many foreigners Tas bij kādreiz mans dzimtais nams In the house where I was born.

The cassette was not commercially released, but was copied and distributed freely throughout the diaspora community, with many copies ending up in Australia, and some possibly reaching the larger Latvian communities in the United Kingdom and

88   Dan Bendrups Canada. It was also played on New Zealand national radio, with an added verse in English. In this way, Uz Tēvu Mājām became known well beyond the rather limited and isolated geography of the Latvian community in Christchurch. When I inquired as to the whereabouts of a copy of this tape, a worrying realization was made: it appeared that there were no copies left, or that those that did exist were worn out or otherwise unplayable. Once again, it occurred to me that I could play a beneficial role for this community if I could obtain a copy of the tape to digitize. This time, however, I had the full force of my university department’s well-appointed recording studio behind me, and funding for the professional production of a CD, including studio mastering and commercial printing. And once again, this initiative would rely on skills in an area of the music practice (studio recording and production) that was not part of my ethnomusicological training, nor encompassed within the usual ethnographic parameters of a small migrant community study. Karl eventually provided me with a copy of the tape (his last one). Meanwhile, I had approached Merv about recording some of his songs in the recording studio in Dunedin, a project he became quite enthusiastic about. This initiative became the basis for a theoretical exploration of “doing” fieldwork in a recording studio context (see Bendrups, 2011) but also was an opportunity to “give back” to the community by digitally remastering the much-loved recording of Rudi and Paul. The resulting double CD Lai Atskan Dziesmas (“Let the Songs Resound,” encompassing both the new and the old) was released to coincide with the sixtieth anniversary of the community’s arrival in Christchurch.

Outcomes In this second example of applied ethnomusicology, a typical commercial music production process took the place of other, more traditional approaches to ethnographic fieldwork. The ethnographic engagement happened in the recording studio context, enabling an interpersonal dynamic based less on a dichotomy of researcher-researched, and more on musicians as co-creators of a musical product. While initially unfamiliar with the studio context, Merv had control over the product, and responded well to the opportunity to review and re-record take by take. This process also enabled him to make suggestions about other elements of the recording, such as adding kokle (Latvian zither) to certain tracks. I did this myself, as there were no other kokle players in Dunedin. The studio production process allowed me to do this in multiple takes, which was necessary because my kokle playing skills are very basic, and certainly not sufficient to perform effectively in a live recording context. More important, the research process resulted in the remastering and repackaging of the community’s sole historical recording, now commemorated and preserved in a more sustainable medium, and presented alongside the contemporary performances of Merv Altments.

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    89

Conclusion Both of the case studies presented here reveal researcher vulnerabilities that were either pre-existing or that became apparent during the course of fieldwork, and both demonstrate the potential for practical, applied projects to provide a means of transcending the barriers that these vulnerabilities can create. In both cases, access to a wider network of sound recording production (whether for archival or commercial purposes) proved to be vital, though this reliance on production facilities may simply be a matter of coincidence. Where Tote Tepano was once the only Rapanui islander to be regularly recording performances in his community, legions of Rapanui youth armed with smartphones and other digital recording devices now record local performances, uploading many of them to open-access mass-media Internet sites like YouTube, and making recordings of their unique performance culture more readily accessible and widely dispersed than ever before. Where the Latvians are concerned, it is unlikely that the Christchurch community will ever seek to produce another CD, and professional Latvian musicians elsewhere in the diaspora have no trouble procuring recording opportunities when the need arises. So, while I was able to mobilize support for this particular community recording project, this sort of process may be less relevant in the future, as communities around the world have increasing independent access to digital recording facilities. In the example presented here, commercial-quality record production was never intended as a primary research aim, and was not informed by any particular expertise or skill on my part—it just became the most obvious pathway to achieving objectives that would benefit the community in each case. In other circumstances, I’m sure that I would have found other ways to make myself “useful,” and that these would have similarly involved tapping into my private, personal, familial, and communal resources. As long as ethnomusicology continues to be defined by the centrality of fieldwork to the discipline, there will be interpersonal terrain to negotiate, and researcher vulnerabilities to be acknowledged and confronted. As the case studies presented here demonstrate, the incorporation of applied objectives into the research process can provide an effective way of ensuring that the research is responsive to interpersonal factors and justifiable in its own terms as an act of public or private (interpersonal) good. If anything can be gleaned from the experiences I have recounted here, it is that applied ethnomusicology has a role to play in enabling and embodying fieldwork reciprocity, regardless of whether the research context is in a remote or metropolitan setting, and regardless of the degree to which the research is contributing to broader cultural sustainability. While the Rapanui example presented a music culture with far greater sustainability needs than that of the Christchurch Latvians (whose music culture is, of course, also sustained in Latvia itself), both communities were receptive to the outputs resulting from the research. I would argue that this is not just because of the cultural value of the digital archive collection or the CD production, but because in each case the outputs were arrived at through a process

90   Dan Bendrups of negotiation in which both my interests and the interests of my collaborators were considered. Within days of my initial arrival on Rapanui, I realized that my research priorities may not entirely coincide with the interests and priorities of those whose culture I had come to study, and that this was itself a source of substantial vulnerability, as I could be simply asked to leave or desist at any moment. In subsequent research, I have drawn from this experience by trying to establish common ground with research collaborators from the beginning, and it is the epistemic construct of “applied” ethnomusicology, in which mutually beneficial and often tangible outcomes can be foregrounded, that makes such negotiation possible.

Note 1. See http://www.museorapanui.cl/Biblioteca/LaColeccion.htm

References Alexeyeff, K. (2003). Dancing from the Heart:  Movement, Gender and Sociality in the Cook Islands. PhD dissertation, Australian National University. Araújo, S. (2008). “From Neutrality to Praxis: The Shifting Politics of Ethnomusicology in the Contemporary World.” Muzikološki Zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 13–30. Babiracki, C. (2008). “What's the Difference? Reflections on Gender and Research in Village India.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by G. F. Barz and T. J. Cooley, pp. 167–182. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Barz, G. F., and T. J. Cooley. (2008). Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Beaudry, N. (2008). “The Challenges of Human Fieldwork.” In Shadows in the Field:  New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by G. F. Barz and T. J. Cooley, pp. 224–245. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Behar, R. (1996). The Vulnerable Observer:  Anthropology That Breaks Your Heart. Boston: Beacon Press. Bendrups, D. (2005). “Returning Borrowed Goods:  The Motive for Establishing a Rapanui Music Archive.” In Refereed Papers from the 1st International Small Island Cultures Conference, edited by M. Evans, pp. 2–13. Kagoshima; Sydney: SICRI. Bendrups, D. (2007). “Easter Island Music and the Voice of Kiko Pate: A Biographical History of Sound Recording.” The World of Music 49(1): 112–127. Bendrups, D. (2011). “Lai Atskan Dziesmas: Latvian Music and Cultural Identity in Twenty-First Century New Zealand.” In Music and Identities: Baltic Sea Region in the 21st Century and New Approaches to Music Analysis (Mūzikas Akadēmijas Raksti 8), edited by B. Jaunslaviete, pp. 25–33. Riga: Jazeps Vitols Latvian Music Academy. Bendrups, D. (2012). “Popular Music Studies and Ethnomusicology in Australasia.” IASPM@ Journal 3(2): 1–15. Bendrups, D. (2013) “Sound Recordings and Cultural Heritage:  The Fonck Museum, the Felbermayer Collection, and Its Relevance to Contemporary Easter Island Culture.” International Journal of Heritage Studies, doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/13527258.2013.838983.

Transcending Researcher Vulnerability    91 Berliner, P. F. (1978). The Soul of Mbira: Music and Traditions of the Shona People of Zimbabwe. Berkeley: University of California Press. Boiko, M. (2001). “The Latvian Folk Movement in the 1980s and 1990s: From ‘Authenticity’ to ‘Postfolklore’ and Onwards.” The World of Music 43(2–3): 113–118. Corn, A. (2009). “Sound Exchanges: An Ethnomusicologist’s Approach to Interdisciplinary Teaching and Learning in Collaboration with a Remote Indigenous Community.” The World of Music 51(3): 21–50. Feld, S. (1996). “Pygmy POP: A Genealogy of Schizophonic Mimesis.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 28: 1–35. Feld, S., and D. Crowdy. (2002). “Papua New Guinean Music and the Politics of Sound Recording.” Perfect Beat 5(4): 78–85. Holman Jones, S. (2007) Torch Singing: Performing Resistance and Desire from Billie Holiday to Edith Piaf. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Hood, M. (1960). “The Challenge of Bi-musicality.” Ethnomusicology 4(2): 55–59. Hood, M. (1982 [1971]). The Ethnomusicologist (2nd ed.). Kent, OH:  Kent State University Press. Kedia, S., and J.  van Willigen. (2002). “Applied Anthropology:  Context for Domains of Application.” In Applied Anthropology: Domains of Application, edited by S. Kedia and J. van Willigen, pp. 1–32. Westport, CT; London: Praeger. Kisliuk, M. (1998). Seize the Dance! BaAka Musical Life and the Ethnography of Performance. New York: Oxford University Press. Kisliuk, M. 2008. “(Un)doing Fieldwork:  Sharing Songs, Sharing Lives.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by G. F. Barz and T. J. Cooley, pp. 183–205. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kuhn, T. (2012). The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (4th ed.). Chicago:  University of Chicago Press. Levin, T. (1996). The Hundred Yhousand Fools of God: Musical Travels in Central Asia (and Queens, New York). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Levin, T. (2006). Where Rivers and Mountains Sing: Sound, Music and Nomadism in Tuva and Beyond. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. McCann, A. (2007). “Crafting Gentleness:  The Political Possibilities of Gentleness in Folkloristics and Ethnology.” Paper presented at Reflecting on Knowledge Production: The Development of Folkloristics and Ethnology, Estonian Literary Museum and University of Tartu, Tallinn, May 17–19. Meintjes, L. (1990). “Paul Simon’s Graceland, South Africa, and the Mediation of Musical Meaning.” Ethnomusicology 34(1): 37–73. Merriam, A. P. (1964). The Anthropology of Music. Evanston: Northwestern University Press. Radano, R.  M., and P. V.  Bohlman. (2000). Music and the Racial Imagination. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Seeger A. (1987). Why Suyá Sing:  A  Musical Anthropology of an Amazonian People. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Seeger, A. (2008). “Theories Forged in the Crucible of Action: The Joys, Dangers and Potentials of Advocacy and Fieldwork.” In Shadows in the Field:  New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by G. F. Barz and T. J. Cooley, pp. 271–288. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sheehy, D. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 323–336.

92   Dan Bendrups Titon, J. (2008). “Knowing Fieldwork.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by G. F. Barz and T. J. Cooley, pp. 25–41. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Van Maanen, J. (1988). Tales of the Field:  On Writing Ethnography. Chicago:  University of Chicago Press. Wild, S. (2006) “Ethnomusicology Down Under:  A  Distinctive Voice in the Antipodes?” Ethnomusicology 50(2): 345–352. Wong, D. (2008). “Moving: From Performance to Performative Ethnography and Back Again.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by G. F. Barz and T. J. Cooley, pp. 76–89. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zemp, H. (1996). “The/an Ethnomusicologist and the Record Business.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 28: 36–56.

Chapter 2

Evaluating Va lu e s i n Appl ied Ethnom u si c ol o g y Klisala Harrison

Evaluating the purpose and effectiveness of applications of music, music knowledge, and ethnomusicology is currently the focus of much applied ethnomusicology research. Most applied research does not explicate values, even though they are inherent to the work. The term “values” refers here to value judgments that are epistemological in nature or that are experienced ontologically or metaphysically. There is no way that an academic can avoid having values shape what he or she studies and works on, although some social scientists would argue that one should not let values influence the conclusion of research (Weber, 1949: 112). Nevertheless, a growing number of ethnomusicologists assess the success of the interventions they make, sometimes with collaborators, thus promoting the pursuit of what they value. Others assess musical interventions that aim to correct problems such as conflict, poverty, or the erosion of intangible cultural heritage (Harrison, Mackinlay, and Pettan, 2010). Although a number of scholars have called for further theorization of the nature of evaluation in applied work (Lomax Hawes, 1992; Titon, 1992), such theories remain underdeveloped regarding research practices. In this chapter, I argue that applied ethnomusicology projects should be evaluated in terms of how they navigate the value systems of the people they engage. Applied ethnomusicological work could be much clearer about its values. The study of these value systems—in other words, an ethnomusicology of values—should inform the design and assessment of projects. Such study would contribute to research in applied ethnomusicology and theorize the ethical stances taken in applied work. As the basis for a new model for studying value systems, I propose a return to the idea of value judgments from early ethnomusicology. I illustrate how my model might be used via ethnographic examples from my research, service, teaching, and performance projects on popular music, indigenous Canadian music, and music theater in the urban poverty context of the Downtown Eastside neighborhood of Vancouver, Canada. I also ask and answer questions about evaluating values in applied ethnomusicology. For example, whose values does applied work support?

94   Klisala Harrison

Applied Ethnomusicology Research Ethnomusicologists who research applications of music and musical and ethnomusicological knowledge seek to further understand those applications; any increased understanding ideally informs future applications. Such applied ethnomusicology research is undertaken by ethnomusicologists, and by ethnomusicologists together with non-ethnomusicologists, students, and practitioners engaged in the field (Araújo, 2008). Evaluation of how applied ethnomusicology projects navigate the value systems of the people they engage can develop in various kinds of social forums. Forums of applied ethnomusicology include all sorts of public presentations (for instance, academic and non-academic publications), social interactions and networks, and the analyses of people’s participation in the applications. Needless to say, applied ethnomusicology research always includes projects that engage participants. In academic publications that present research results, many evaluations now comprise a “planning and testing praxis” that includes reflection on applications as well as relevant descriptions and analyses of cultural patterns (Keil, 1998:  303–304). Recent examples include the edited volume Music and Conflict (O’Connell and Castelo-Branco, 2010) and the special half-issue of the Yearbook for Traditional Music titled Music and Poverty. The former questioned how music has defined conflict differently in different circumstances (e.g., in war or after human displacement); how music can be used to promote peace; and how ethnomusicologists can mediate and resolve conflicts. The latter examined the relationship of music to poverty in Nepal, Brazil, Canada, Haiti, India, and the United States. As editor, I asked contributing authors to begin to theorize music and poverty relationships, with attention to how music may or may not influence aspects of living in poverty (Harrison, 2013a, 2013c). Non-academic publications evaluating the use of music, music knowledge, and ethnomusicology in solving concrete problems likewise present results of research, for example, in “gray literature” such as year-end reports of nongovernmental or governmental organizations, and in end-project reports for granting agencies. On the other hand, research processes and analyses unfold in social interactions and networks, and in researchers’ own analyses. These could be especially influential forums for an ethnomusicology of values. There, applied ethnomusicologists and practitioners address interventions-in-progress to a greater extent than in academic and gray literatures. Outside academe, ethnomusicologists interact as volunteers or employees at public, private, or third-sector organizations, where they may evaluate and intervene in music’s relationship to an issue or issue area. Such activities inform or shape research. For example, during the course of my research on music in the Downtown Eastside, I served on the Advisory Committee on Cultural Diversity to the Mayor and Council of the City of Vancouver. Committee members offered input to the council on whether local cultural activities, including music, taking place in and funded by the City met the needs of Vancouver’s population.

Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology    95 Inside academe, academic institutes, networks, and conferences facilitate applied ethnomusicology research and related analysis. At the symposia of the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM) Study Group on Applied Ethnomusicology, for example, so-called talking circles discuss applied interests of symposium speakers. These circles are efforts to raise the level of scholarly discourse on topics of applied ethnomusicology research and practice by providing a forum for the cross-fertilization of ideas, finding a common ground of shared meanings and experiences, and formulating pertinent questions and issues for further research. What ethnomusicology professors identify as applied ethnomusicology for their mentees and students influences the future of the field (O’Connell and Castelo-Branco, 2010: 250). Teaching can be an intervention that stimulates applied research in students. For instance, when I gave, as a Ph.D. student, a guest lecture on indigenous music in the Downtown Eastside for Jeff Todd Titon’s world music class at Brown University, he told me that I was doing “applied ethnomusicology research.” Other examples of applied ethnomusicology research, and their social forums, are not easily classifiable as academic or non-academic, or as research results or processes overall, except in specific cases. The “head work” of applied researchers, which produces critical evaluations and research processes and results, falls into this category. Other examples may include an evaluative part of a musical performance, of a recording (including liner notes as well as the music), of teaching music or about music, or of a museum exhibit—when research lies behind the evaluation.

The Role of Values in Ethnomusicology and Applied Ethnomusicology Applied ethnomusicology scholars have claimed that the field is reflexive, including in the field’s social forums and in research. Titon stated in 1992 that applied ethnomusicology attempts the reflexive theorizing of practice that is aware of the consequences of situating ethnomusicology both inside the academy and outside of it, one that, in the words of Habermas, “investigates the constitutive historical complex of the constellation of self-interests to which the theory still belongs across and beyond its acts of insight,” yet one that “studies the historical interconnectedness of action, in which the theory, as action-oriented, can intervene” (1974: 2). (Titon, 1992: 319)

Explicating values that are relevant to applied ethnomusicology, which heretofore have been implied, would benefit self-reflection in applied ethnomusicology scholars as well as in other cultural workers making relevant applications.

96   Klisala Harrison In the following, I explicate some values of applied ethnomusicological work on musical sustainability. Through this and a second example, I argue for a fuller consideration of values in applied ethnomusicology research. This would include reviving the idea of value judgments from early ethnomusicology. Efforts and evaluations toward musical sustainability focus mostly on musical sounds, tools, practices, and people (Titon, 2009). Such undertakings include, for example, sound archive projects (e.g., Thram, 2014), museums including musical content and instruments, audiovisual documentation works aimed at preservation (e.g., Simon, 1991), or businesses that make traditional musical instruments (e.g., African Musical Instruments in South Africa; http://www.kalimba.co.za). Some research also theorizes what sustains musical expressions (http://soundfutures.org; http://sustainablemusic. blogspot.com). Musical sustainability initiatives and evaluations pursue the values—although ethnomusicologists usually do not identify these as such—of sustaining musical genres and instruments and people making music, rather than, for example, respectively censoring, destroying, and discouraging them. These opinions may seem difficult to disagree with, but they do not acknowledge the value systems of all people who either cause a need for, or undertake, sustainability activism and scholarship. A main limitation of the implicit valuation in applied ethnomusicology today is that it sometimes risks shutting out other valued approaches, even though they may be engaged by the project. This critique can be made of much applied work that takes one particular perspective on an issue—for example, of minority rights or conflict—and tries, through applying music, musical knowledge, or ethnomusicology, to work toward resolving the issue. My second example—which its author does not identify as applied—is Steven Feld’s project Jazz Cosmopolitanism in Accra, which refers to a book (Feld, 2012), and to the recording of 15 DVDs and CDs between 2005 and 2010.1 Nonetheless, ethnomusicologists often identify the production and dissemination of recordings as actions of applied ethnomusicology (e.g., Seeger, 2006: 223; Sweers, 2010). I use this example to suggest that future work in applied ethnomusicology could theorize values more inclusively as well as more thoroughly. Jazz Cosmopolitanism in Accra approached recording and values through Feld’s notion of acoustemology. Acoustemology refers to the “epistemology of sound” and “sound as a way of knowing and knowledge production” (Feld, 2013). Values locate within epistemologies. I will focus further on one CD, Bufo Variations, described in the book. This recording features master drummer and jazz experimentalist Nii Otoo Annan, who improvised—on diverse melodic and percussion instruments, including xylophone, guitar, drums, and bells—12 tracks while he listened on headphones to a looped recording of toads croaking. The CD concept emerged after Feld, when walking in Accra one evening, heard Bufo regularis toads singing in the polyrhythm of 3:2:4:6. Feld wondered whether this acoustic environment could have influenced the polyrhythms of Ghanaian music. Before Feld recorded Annan to the track of the toads croaking, he also played to him Bach’s Goldberg Variations (Annan, 2008; Feld, 2013).

Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology    97 Feld stimulated a cosmopolitan music not only inspired by the experience of nature in the world, but also by human experiences of sound and music across culture, place, and time, of immediately known and unfamiliar beings, human and not human. Feld’s approach to research and action on acoustemology includes the possibility of diverse acoustemologies, and therefore values and value systems, which is what I would like to highlight here. How can applied ethnomusicologists begin to better understand the different values engaged by their projects? Reviving the idea of value judgments, pioneered by early ethnomusicologists, especially Alan Merriam, provides a basis for addressing the question. In The Anthropology of Music (1964), Merriam wrote that early ethnomusicologists made sets of judgments derived from the sound structure studied, unless the culture they were studying already had an elaborated theory of musical sound. In Enemy Way Music, for example, David McAllester (1954) had summarized how Navajo music both reflected values across generations and led to value formation. Just after Merriam published his book, Charles Seeger published “Preface to a Critique of Music” (1965). This essay, which elaborates the basic idea found in Merriam (1964), outlined the sorts of human relationships that inform the value-inclinations of the musicologist, as well as the tools that the musicologist used to assert values, which Seeger identified as speech and, less often, music. Seeger also described sources of evidence for value judgments about music—individual taste, collective taste (general and musical), history (general and musical), sciences (non-musical and musical), and law—with the aim of theorizing the criteria and modalities of critiques made about music in musicology. While Seeger worked with value judgments on a theoretical level, Merriam wrote about methodology. After observing that ethnomusicologists had neglected folk theories about music, Merriam encouraged them to undertake “folk evaluation” as well. Folk evaluation referred to “people who create things and ideas… assign[ing] values to their actions” (Merriam, 1964: 31). The idea of value judgments also gave rise to ruminations by future ethnomusicologists about how ethnomusicology methods might approach values. The work tended to identify values as “issues” (Nettl, 1983) within culture, but did not recommend empirical approaches to researching values. Empirical research, including the possibility of reflexivity, could be especially useful for achieving more comprehensive understandings of values of applied ethnomusicology today. The research, in a larger sense, would also promote better understandings of the processes and effects of applying music, musical knowledge, and ethnomusicology. Yet such research may seem complicated to do. In applications, different values may be engaged: those of an ethnomusicologist; those of the people applying the music, music knowledge, or ethnomusicology, if different; those of other people possibly participating in applications; those of people affected by applications; and those of institutions financing and otherwise supporting applications. Because applied work can involve so many parties, many possible values can be present. Think also of the huge variety of applied ethnomusicology projects and activities, all variously relating to valued local, societal, national, or global processes (see Seeger, 2006). Thus, research methods need further consideration.

98   Klisala Harrison

A New Model for Applied Ethnomusicology Research on Values There are many solutions to what I see as a need to study how applied ethnomusicology engages values explicitly and empirically, and to develop this approach in the field’s interrelated research contexts of public presentations and associated feedback, social interactions and networks, and analyses by academics and practitioners. Some approaches might study in depth one topic of valuation by different actors. Others might find ways of defining the multiplicity of values in action among different people putting music, musical knowledge, and ethnomusicology into practice. Value systems may even be studied. In order to stimulate thinking in the latter direction, I shall present a new model for ethnographic research on value systems: my adaptation of a model proposed by Joel Robbins toward developing the anthropology of the good (Robbins, 2013a). Robbins suggests that empirical and ethnographic research can be used to elaborate the value tendencies that have been identified in political philosophy. Philosophers have identified so-called monists who believe that all values are reducible to one supervalue, such as pleasure, in that each sub-value, for example entertainment, then contributes to the overall supervalue. Pluralists assert that more than one value exists. Sometimes these values conflict with one another, and pursuing one means not pursuing others (Lassman, 2011). Other social formations do not have any hierarchy of values. Robbins, when addressing the practicalities of how to do research, takes inspiration from some of anthropologist Louis Dumont’s observations about the nature of values (Dumont, 1980, 1986). Robbins’s model maps four key points in what he calls a “continuum of configurations” (Robbins, 2013b) between more monist and more pluralist social worlds in order to argue that all societies include tendencies toward both value monism and value pluralism (ibid.). I will illustrate Robbins’s categories of value systems with examples from indigenous music programs and multi-ethnic music theater and popular music jams in the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, where I have spent 15 years studying, performing in and organizing formal music programs offered by organizations, often supported by a combination of funds from the public, private, and third sector. In the three poorest sub-areas of the Downtown Eastside (total population:  approximately 6,500), 84%–85% lived below Canada’s low-income cut-off dollar amounts in 2001 (Statistics Canada, 2011). Music programs aimed at the poor, especially in music therapy, popular music, and indigenous music, addressed problems that often accompany urban poverty, such as ill health (including addictions) and crime. Over the years, gentrification has intensified in the neighborhood, bringing in affluent residents and displacing the poor. Related performing arts projects have emerged that aim to develop creative industries, consumed by people who can afford them, including festivals and music theater productions.

Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology    99 My data suggest a slight but possibly significant elaboration of Robbins’s model. I will briefly explain one origin of this suggestion before giving my musical examples—another inspiration for my elaboration. Robbins illustrates his model with distinctive cultural groups from different parts of the world with strong traditions of value, referenced below. This highlights, possibly unintentionally, historically continuous and separate value systems. Music groups in the Downtown Eastside. However, do not have the same degree of continuity or value separation. Formal music programs have emerged as unique local formations in my indigenous cases only 10–15 years ago. The popular music programs developed over about 25 years. Different value systems exist side by side in different music groups; individuals can usually participate in the different music groups and their value systems. Table 2.1 traces the four different value systems that occurred in musical examples from the one neighbourhood of the Downtown Eastside, within cultural subgroups. The two columns on the right point out that my examples of multiple values involved more than one time period, or individuals participating in more than one type of musical group. I shall consider indigenous music groups, popular music jams, and music theater productions. Each type of music group tended to have one dominant value, but individuals participating in numerous group types over time created additional subgroups and value systems. The first point on Robbins’s continuum is strong monism in the Dumontian sense. This refers to “a monism that does not fail to recognize values other than its paramount one, nor to assign them levels of their own, but which appears wholly to subordinate all these other values and their levels under a single paramount one” (Robbins, 2013b: 106). Robbins gives the example of Hasidic Jews in Brooklyn who predominantly value the redemption of Jews. Hasidic male activities of worship and studying religious texts support this supervalue. Even though Robbins’s ethnographic examples (2013b) come from relatively bounded cultures, Dumont’s work includes value systems and relationships between domains of social action in society as small as the family. In other writings, Robbins states that he does not limit the identification of values and value systems to bounded cultural contexts, but embraces the study of values in all social formations, large and small (Robbins, 2014). The openness of Robbins’s model to “dimensional complexity” (Robbins, 2013b: 112) makes it useful for various ethnographic approaches to values, including subgroups like those I discuss. Subgroups are rarely studied ethnographically and explicitly in relation to their values in anthropology (Robbins, personal communication, July 9, 2014) and (applied) ethnomusicology. Strong monism existed in “cultural healing” programs for indigenous Canadians that I researched in the Downtown Eastside. Through the singing and drumming of powwow and hand drum music, these programs seek in part to address a Canada-wide situation in which drug and alcohol addictions disproportionately affect indigenous people compared to non-indigenous people. Their musical sounds combine musical heritages of a diversity of indigenous peoples living in Vancouver. Like parallel pan-indigenous Canadian and American musics, they insert local styles into types of music disseminated throughout North America. For instance, the powwow music (Browner, 2002)

Table 2.1.  Robbins’s Value Continuum Applied to Music

Type of Value System

Definition

Strong Monism

All values support one paramount value or supervalue Two values are hierarchically ordered, but each value is sovereign within its confines

Monism with Stable Levels

Stable Pluralism

Unsettled Pluralism

More than one value exists and the values are stable* or not in conflict Two value systems conflict

Musical Examples: Indigenous, Music Theater and Popular Music Groups in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside

Time Period(s) (#)

Type(s) of Music Groups Participated in by Individuals (#)

Indigenous Canadian “cultural healing” groups using music value well-being re substance misuse

1

1

One cultural healing group at one organization values different stages of well-being re substance misuse during the music, at different times: people able to abstain from substance misuse, thus being somewhat “healed,” in 2003 versus people on drugs or alcohol seeking valued “healing” in 2007. Officiating elders always recognized and valued each stage of recovery, but placed them differently in a value hierarchy. Usually without conflict, different supervalues exist in the cultural healing programs and in the music theater productions involving indigenous people** Different supervalues exist in popular music jams and music theater productions. The values conflict in a larger class conflict.

2

1

1

2

1

2

*  “Relatively stable pluralism” refers to the values being unstable or conflicting only sometimes. **  Any occasional, minor conflicts of value resulted in relatively stable pluralism.

Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology    101 combines local and regional Pacific Northwest Coast First Nations singing timbres and microtonal systems and melodies with dominating musical techniques and repertoires from the Plains. Elders who supervise music making in the organizations typically have the agency to choose a value system to facilitate. I have documented how elders used powwow and hand drumming to encourage indigenous people in the Downtown Eastside to replace what some of my interviewees called a “culture” of drugs and alcohol there, with spiritual and cultural norms associated with the music. In prayer circles that always preceded music making, the officiating elder burned sacred plants, and participants took turns speaking about how a hybrid type of spirituality guided “healthy” identifications. The spirituality combined Christianity together with indigenous spiritual elements indexed by musical sounds, songs, instruments, and ritual paraphernalia (Harrison, 2009). I do not mean to suggest that the idea to replace, via music, one value system with another is not complex, problematic, or even, at times, unfeasible. It can be all of these things. I intend only to point out that as rituals, the cultural healing programs stressed a supervalue of well-being (specifically, experienced absence of addiction). In general, a lot of rituals are monist (Robbins, in press). The second point on Robbins’s value continuum is monism with stable levels. Monism with stable levels refers to a system in which two values are hierarchically ordered in a social group, but each level is comfortably sovereign within its confines. Monism with stable levels can mean that people experience monistic commitments to different values at different times, and that these different values do not conflict in the same individuals (Robbins, 2013b: 107–108). In my next field example, I show that the valuation of well-being in cultural healing took two forms at two times in recent history, yet occurred in one music group at one organization. In 2003, the officiating elder tended to prevent people who were drunk or on drugs from singing or drumming. This elder highly valued the “healed”—or those well into addictions recovery—over addicts seeking “healing.” By 2007, a different elder led the music group. He allowed active addicts to sing and drum together with people who were able to abstain from substance misuse. Healing, not having healed somewhat already (or being able to abstain), became the supervalue. Some people sang and drummed from 2003 and after 2007. They experienced monism with stable levels in the two contained fields of ethics. These ethics did not conflict because they happened at different times. Robbins cites an example of people experiencing stable monism: Priestless Old Believers in the Russian Urals, who devote the beginning and end of their lives to religious values, but middle life to the worldly pursuit of producing and exchanging material goods. The third point in Robbins’s value continuum is stable pluralism (ibid.: 109–110), in which more than one value exists and the values are stable. Robbins’s example comes from the Avatip community of Papua New Guinea’s East Sepik province. Generally, in pre-contact Sepik societies, a men’s initiation cult highly valued a specific ritual hierarchy. Its religious structure valued adult men above women and younger men, who in turn ranked higher than enemy neighbors. A secular sphere of Avatip life, though,

102   Klisala Harrison involved an equality marked by sensitivity to others and the goal to achieve equivalence through reciprocity. Robbins questions whether this configuration has changed post-contact, but finds no reported evidence of substantial change, hence its relatively stable pluralism. In the Downtown Eastside, when indigenous people participated in not only cultural healing but also other sorts of music events in the neighborhood, they experienced relatively stable pluralism. The other events included multicultural theater productions that aimed at developing creative industries through trying to improve participants’ socioeconomic situations and artistic skills. One performing arts company, for example, offered mentorship in acting and singing during rehearsals for theater productions that paid actors and sold tickets. The main value was (professional) showmanship. The music theater contributed to the highly conflicted process of gentrification, as I shall discuss further about unsettled pluralism. Why do I say that indigenous people participating in both the cultural healing and arts development experienced value pluralism? Indigenous showmanship may not seem the opposite value to healing, but certainly it can be enjoyed in such a way that contradicts some elders’ teachings during cultural healing. Gary Oleman, a Salish elder, often talked about the need to “love people not power” (Harrison, 2009). Conversely, gaining training in the arts if it ends in professional or paid artistry means gaining socioeconomic status, which by definition refers to social positions within hierarchies that include music as well (Harrison, 2013b). And why relatively stable pluralism? I could see no pressure for cultural healing programs to give up their values for those of arts development or vice-versa. Both types of initiatives, undertaken concurrently by different organizations, welcomed indigenous people to participate because they were indigenous. The same individuals could access each type of initiative, and participate for free, or for pay for instance in the theater production, although arts development performances typically had the gatekeeping process of auditions. Indigenous characters were in high demand; indigenous people were typically granted onstage roles, even if these possibly amateur actors did not learn lines or attend all rehearsals. I call the situation relatively stable pluralism because if an indigenous performer auditioned for a back-up band without also auditioning for an acting role, he or she (like a performer of any ethnicity) was rejected, for instance, if life circumstances did not allow for regular attendance of band rehearsals. This tendency did not accommodate, for example, musicians who did not have enough money to buy food, and had to stand in a food line for hours, therefore missing rehearsal, or people who slept on the street and had more pressing concerns, like getting a bed for that night at a local shelter. The musician was forced to choose which was more important to him or her: making music or surviving physically. Producers of music theater, for their part, wished to professionalize as many production values as possible, starting with musical accompaniment, lighting, staging, and costumes, but working toward professionalizing acting and onstage singing. The fourth point in Robbins’s value continuum is unsettled pluralism (Robbins, 2013b: 110–111). Unsettled pluralism refers to when a person or people—Robbins tends to

Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology    103 discuss social and cultural configurations more than personal experiences, but he would not preclude the latter (personal communication, July 8, 2014)—experience two different fields of values but these values conflict. Robbins offers an example from his research on Urapmin Christians of Papua New Guinea. Urapmin people define Christian salvation as something that they must attain on their own by avoiding sinful thoughts and behaviors. Robbins defines the primary value of Urapmin Christian experience as one of individualism whose goal is the saved individual. However, individualism played little if any role in traditional Urapmin life, which centered on the production and maintenance of relationships—in other words, relationalism. Urapmin Christians who also have ties to traditional lifeways experience extreme value conflict (ibid.). In my research material, extreme value conflict did not exist in the options for indigenous people. However, unsettled pluralism existed if I shift my view to people of all ethnicities and cultures who participated in popular music jams as well as music theater. The values of these two types of music groups conflict. On the one hand, the music therapy sessions and popular music jams had healing from addictions as their supervalue too. I conducted research in five music therapy practices that prominently encouraged addictions recovery for active addicts using the contestable approach of behavior modification via music. I also investigated, and participated as a violinist, in numerous popular music jams offered at community centers, health centers, and festivals. Most of these events discouraged or prohibited drug and alcohol use. On the other hand, the music theater productions—which include pop operas or theater productions using locally popular songs—have the supervalue of showmanship or professionalization. Popular musicians who make up the poorest of the poor, but who successfully audition for music theater productions (most successfully in singing and acting roles), experience conflict for one main reason tied to gentrification: the Downtown Eastside increasingly turned into an arts district. As this happened, the popular music jams and music therapy programs closed as their funding dried up. The closures rarely targeted indigenous programs. At the same time, performing arts projects like music theater aimed at generating creative industries received funding from pro-development private and public sectors. This gave birth to class conflicts between the poor, who valued addictions recovery through popular music, and the proponents of gentrification, who valued professional arts productions supported in part by affluent new residents. Both collaborated in the music theater productions. At this point, I can suggest an elaboration of Robbins’s model to suit applications of music in complex society, of which the Downtown Eastside provides a case study. Even though Dumont, Robbins writes, intended “to capture and help explain what can be seen as the routine existence of both monist and pluralist tendencies in all societies” (ibid., 103) and Dumont ended up describing “domains of social action” (ibid., 112), what this all means for taking social action remains unexplored. When examining the model from the perspective of social action taking place through music or applied ethnomusicology, it can be elaborated as follows. In complex society, individuals have the possibility to access different value systems. In the best case—that is, absent cultural rights violations—individuals can choose to participate in

104   Klisala Harrison

Strong monism

Monism with stable levels

Stable pluralism

Unsettled pluralism

Figure 2.1 Musical value systems exist in a continuum in complex society (elaborating Robbins, 2013b). The arrow represents the possibility of individual musicians to choose between different value systems, and the possibility of groups of musicians to move between value systems.

one, or more than one, value system. Individual musicians, then, can choose between different value systems that musical activities and groups support, create, and articulate. Yet groups of individuals can also move between value systems, which can happen at one point in time when groups of individuals participate in different music groups that support different value systems. Over time, a musical group also can change the type of value system engaged (see Figure 2.1). Reflecting on such an empirical study of value systems that exist where an application has taken place, or is to take place, can help to make future interventions more precise in terms of intended and actual result.

Which Value System Should an Ethnomusicologist Support? When making an application of music or ethnomusicology, which value system or systems does an ethnomusicologist choose to support? I have faced such decisions when applying music and ethnomusicology in the Downtown Eastside. For example, in the applied ethnomusicology course that I  taught at the University of British Columbia in 2009 and 2010, I arranged, with a student, for Gary Oleman to offer an indigenous Canadian singing workshop that emphasized healing. In our workshop, the elder enacted the supervalue of healing that I described as being present in my example of monism with stable levels. On another occasion, I  honored a request from organizers of a music theater showcase to involve my students. The students, all training to be arts professionals, became singers in a choir and musicians in a band of otherwise hired musicians for the DTES (Downtown Eastside) Music Theatre Showcase. Students took on the roles of audio technician and assistant stage director. Several film majors made a documentary that aired on local TV. I felt glad about arranging work experience

Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology    105 placements at a time when government funding cuts to the arts made hiring professionals difficult for performance organizers. Yet I despaired that our arrangement still left no places in the band—even minor roles—for instrumental musicians who could not attend rehearsals regularly due to poverty. After I reflected with the students on the values that we supported, I felt frustrated by my inability to confront value systems that my politics did not support. I had problems with going along with the unsettled pluralism of the music theater showcase. In addition, my reflection confronted me with unintended consequences of one applied project. It actually changed value systems (my examples of strong monism and monism with stable levels) supported by my politics—mostly because I did not think through the valued consequences and ask the right questions of collaborators beforehand. The value shift resulted from spin-off activities, made possible by Oleman’s singing workshop. The idea for the workshop emerged when a Ukrainian choir director, who knew that I researched indigenous Canadian music, asked me to link her with a local indigenous singer because she or the community center where her choir was located—I did not ask which one beforehand—wanted to enhance indigenous collaborations. I connected her with Oleman, but also asked if one of the students could help her—hence our workshop. The workshop, her idea, was for her choir members. Subsequently, the community center and choir director invited Oleman to offer more workshops, and, with the choir director, to perform in concerts with workshop participants at the community center. These events, though, impacted the overall value system across Oleman’s music offerings—which always involved cultural healing values—due to rules for entering the Carnegie Community Centre. The center prevents anyone drunk or on drugs from entering its building, monitoring the building entrance closely with security guards. This institutional context “forced” the supervalue of Oleman’s practice to shift from valuing the participation of active addicts to including only people abstaining from drugs and alcohol. Several indigenous people participated from day to day in music making facilitated by Oleman, at various organizations in the Downtown Eastside that did and did not ban people drunk or on drugs. Their music making toggled between the supervalues of healing and healed detailed earlier (see my paragraphs on monism with stable levels). I worried if these contrasting values ever caused any value conflicts or unsettled value pluralism for participants. I routinely heard about addicts staying sober in order to take part in music at the Carnegie Community Centre, but I also heard that they found that difficult. People undertaking applied work with music must not only limit their analysis to which values they support, but also investigate which values and value systems their efforts change and contest, as well as the consequences.

Conclusion In this chapter, I  have called for more work on values in applied ethnomusicology research, which has the possibility of opening up discussions and practices of method

106   Klisala Harrison and evaluation relevant to applications. Such work would emerge in the current social forums of applied ethnomusicology research—public presentations, social interactions and networks, and analyses of scholars and practitioners. It has the possibility of complementing the previously implicit approaches to values in applied ethnomusicology. I also have introduced the possibility of an ethnomusicology of values that revives the idea of value judgments from early ethnomusicology. Through empirically investigating values systems of music, such an approach could produce new understandings relevant to applications. Adjusting a model for research on values from the anthropology of the good (Robbins, 2013a), I have emphasized that music groups over time, and individual musicians (forming other subgroups) in complex society, can and do move between value systems that musical practices support, create, and articulate. I have detailed how one can research value systems of music and applied ethnomusicology, and have provided examples. In closing, I shall ask what further use is empirical research on values and value systems for ethnomusicology and applied ethnomusicology. For instance, an ethnomusicologist can use such research to identify value systems by asking questions like Which value systems are present in social groups in a given worksite? In complex society, for instance, where do value systems overlap? How do individuals engage them via music? When applying music, and musical and ethnomusicological knowledge, it also is important to think critically about the choice of a value option of music. It is also important to analyze critically those situations that block value choices. I discussed what was relative about my example of relatively stable pluralism, which involved indigenous people accessing cultural healing yet also auditioning for music theater roles in arts development programs. Those who could act and sing generally got onstage roles; if they auditioned as instrumentalists for a back-up band but could not attend rehearsals, they were turned down. Identifying and evaluating the value systems of a given application and application context can promote critical reflection, for instance, on whether one would choose a similar course of action for a future application. An ethnomusicologist can therefore ask, does an application support, change, or contest what certain social groups (and which ones?) consider good and valued? What are the implications and politics of the applications’ value content? Answering such questions can result in future applications that are better informed as to their value content and probable effect.

Acknowledgments Special thanks to Pirkko Moisala (University of Helsinki) and Joel Robbins (University of Cambridge) for their inspiring, thoughtful, and constructive comments on this chapter.

Evaluating Values in Applied Ethnomusicology    107

Note 1. When I  e-mailed Feld that I  wanted to mention his work in this chapter, he reflected that he has not called his work “applied” due to negative connotations of applied anthropology, which serves as a basis for some types of applied ethnomusicology (Harrison, 2012: 506–507). He admitted, though, “all of my recordings are implicit and explicit forms of advocacy, i.e., forms of representation that are made collaboratively, and that principally benefit (financially as well as otherwise) the musicians or communities rather than solely benefit researchers and commercial organizations” (Feld, personal communication, December 26, 2013).

References Annan, Nii Otoo. (2008). Bufo Variations. VoxLox. CD produced by Steven Feld. Araújo, Samuel. (2008). “From Neutrality to Praxis: The Shifting Politics of Ethnomusicology in the Contemporary World.” Muzikološki Zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 13–30. Browner, Tara. (2002). Heartbeat of the People: Music and Dance of the Northern Pow-wow. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Dumont, Louis. (1980). Homo Hierarchicus: The Caste System and its Implications, translated by Mark Sainsbury, Louis Dumont, and Basia Gulati. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dumont, Louis. (1986). Essays on Individualism:  Modern Ideology in Anthropological Perspective. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Feld, Steven. (2012). Jazz Cosmopolitanism in Accra: Five Musical Years in Ghana. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Feld, Steven. (2013). “Listening to Histories of Listening:  Collaborative Experiments in Acoustemology.” Lecture, University of Helsinki, May 5. Harrison, Klisala. (2009). “ ‘Singing My Spirit of Identity’: Indigenous Music for Well-being in a Canadian Inner City.” MUSICultures 36: 1–21. Harrison, Klisala. (2012). “Epistemologies of Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 56(3): 505–529. Harrison, Klisala, ed. (2013a). Music and Poverty. Special half-issue of the Yearbook of Traditional Music. Harrison, Klisala. (2013b). “Music, Health and Socio-economic Status: A Perspective on Urban Poverty in Canada.” Yearbook for Traditional Music: 58–73. Harrison, Klisala. (2013c). “The Relationship of Poverty to Music.” Yearbook for Traditional Music: 1–12. Harrison, Klisala, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, eds. (2010). Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Keil, Charles. (1998). “Call and Response: Applied Sociomusicology and Performance Studies.” Ethnomusicology 42(2): 303–312. Lassman, Peter. (2011). Pluralism. Cambridge: Polity Press. Lomax Hawes, Bess. (1992). “Practice Makes Perfect:  Lessons in Active Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 337–343. McAllester, David. (1954). Enemy Way Music. Cambridge, MA: Peabody Museum, Harvard University.

108   Klisala Harrison Merriam, Alan. (1964). The Anthropology of Music. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Nettl, Bruno. (1983). “We Never Heard a Bad Tune.” In The Study of Ethnomusicology: Twenty-nine Issues and Concepts, by Bruno Nettl, pp. 315–322. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. O’Connell, John Morgan, and Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco. (2010). Music and Conflict. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Robbins, Joel. (2013a). “Beyond the Suffering Subject: Toward an Anthropology of the Good.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 19: 447–462. Robbins, Joel. (2013b). “Monism, Pluralism, and the Structure of Value Relations: A Dumontian Contribution to the Contemporary Study of Value.” HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 3(1): 99–115. Robbins, Joel. 2014. “Pluralismo Religioso E Pluralismo De Valores: Ritual E A Regulação Da Diversidade Intercultural” [Ritual Pluralism and Value Pluralism: Ritual and the Regulation of Intercultural Diversity]. Debates do NER 2 (26): 15–41. Seeger, Anthony. (2006). “Lost Lineages and Neglected Peers:  Ethnomusicologists Outside Academia.” Ethnomusicology 50(2): 214–234. Seeger, Charles. (1965). “Preface to the Critique of Music.” Inter-American Music Bulletin 49: 2–24. Simon, Artur. (1991). “The Bornu Music Documentation Project: Applied Ethnomusicology and Cultural Cooperation in Northern Nigeria.” In Music in the Dialogue of Cultures: Traditional Music and Cultural Policy, Intercultural Music Studies No. 2, edited by Max Peter Baumann, pp. 199–204. Wilhelmshaven: Florian Noetzel Verlag. Statistics Canada. (2011). Low IncomeLines, 2009–2010. Income Research Paper Series. Ottawa: Income Statistics Division. http://www.statcan.gc.ca/pub/75f0002m/75f0002m2011002-eng. pdf (accessed April 11, 2013). Sweers, Britta. (2010). “Polyphony of Cultures:  Conceptualization and Consequences of an Applied Media Project.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 214–232. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Thram, Diane. (2014). “The Legacy of Music Archives in Historical Ethnomusicology: A Model for Engaged Ethnomusicology.” In Theory and Method in Historical Ethnomusicology, edited by Jonathan McCollum and David G. Hebert, pp. 309–335. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1992). “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 315–322. Titon, Jeff Todd, ed. (2009). Music and Sustainability special issue. The World of Music 51(1). Weber, Max. (1949). The Methodology of the Social Sciences, edited and translated by E. A. Shils and H. A. Finch. New York: Free Press.

Chapter 3

Cultu ral Eng ag e me nt and Owne rsh i p Throu gh Part i c i patory Approaches i n A ppl i e d Ethnomusi c ol o g y Tan Sooi Beng

Introduction Many applied ethnomusicologists engage in action research, a methodology that aims at solving concrete problems rather than hypothetical ones. Besides conserving folk traditions, applied ethnomusicologists have been involved in other areas of action research, such as conflict mediation (O’Connell and Castelo-Branco 2010; Pettan, 1998, 2008), intellectual property rights (Seeger, 1992), post-disaster reconstructions (Fisher and Flota, 2011), ethics and indigenous rights (Ellis, 1994; Newsome, 2008), representation of minority cultures (Hermetek, 2010; Zebec, 2004), and peace building (Tan, 2008, 2010). In the developing countries of the Global South, where large sections of the population still live in poverty, ethnomusicologists work with local nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), performing and visual artists, educators, and communities, applying their musical skills and training to challenge social and cultural inequality, monolithic representations of national cultures, and other development-related issues (Dirksen, 2012). The conservation of traditions, including music, in these places often intersects with the struggle for basic rights such as indigenous identity, health, education, housing, land, and other issues. Through social engagement, ethnomusicologists have had to reassess their research methodologies and adapt from other relevant disciplines. Collaboration among the ethnomusicologists, NGOs, and other stakeholders has also

110   Tan Sooi Beng resulted in the creation of alternative approaches in research and advocacy that are participatory and that empower communities to make transformations in their own lives. Nevertheless, ethnomusicological scholarship about these participatory methodologies in action research for addressing development issues that have evolved in the countries of the South remains sparse.1 One such initiative was a collaborative project conducted by Samuel Araujo and students from the Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro Ethnomusicology Lab, together with youths of the Grupo Musicultura, an NGO created by the residents of Mare, a slum area in Rio de Janeiro that has problems of violence, drug trafficking, and unemployment. One of the aims of the project was to document the sounds and music of Mare and their meanings. Participatory strategies motivated by Paolo Freire’s “dialogic research” were employed:  planning, identifying issues, and devising research themes were carried out by the students together with the residents as co-researchers. As a result of the collaboration, new kinds of information about the various forms of violence and the sounds associated with them were developed. The process of research and the creation of a local music resource center led to increased self-esteem among the youths involved, as well as new knowledge in music and other related performing arts in the area. Conducting research also allowed members of the local research team to move around the neighborhood more freely and to gain respect from the other residents (Araujo and the Grupo Musicultura, 2006, 2008, 2009). Angela Impey’s collaborative documentation project involving the residents of the Dukuduku Forests of the Greater St. Lucia Wetlands Park, South Africa’s Northern KwaZulu-Natal province, is another applied ethnomusicology project that uses participatory action research methods for development purposes. The residents were evicted from the park in the 1950s by the white Nationalist government. Having returned to their homeland after apartheid was abolished, the residents are among the most impoverished in the province. Impey worked together with young volunteer researchers of Dukuduku to conduct interviews and to document and conserve the cultures of the residents, which depend on the natural resources of the forests. She adapted the participatory methodologies influenced by Freire’s participatory learning and action strategies, which have been applied in development projects, particularly in the areas of health, agriculture, and environment in other developing countries (Chambers, 1997). The process facilitated discussions about the meaning of tradition and identity among the residents and how to represent themselves to visitors. This led to long-standing presentations for tourists, which were organized by the community. Collaborative research fostered sustainability of the traditions, self-representation, and decreased poverty among the Dukuduku. Not only did the project promote cultural tourism, it benefited the residents as well (Impey, 2002: 403). This chapter contributes to the few written works in engaged ethnomusicology regarding the use of collaborative and participatory action research methodologies to deal with development issues in countries of the South. The chapter first investigates the alternative participatory approaches that have been created in the “theater for development” in Asia, a type of theater that uses various media, such as music, drama, visual

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    111 arts, photography, or video, to initiate and facilitate discussion and understanding of critical issues affecting the development of communities (Eskamp, 2006). Theater for development has made a long-term impact as a tool used by NGOs for social intervention in Asia. Following this investigation is a discussion of how I have adapted the participatory approaches of theater for development in two main areas of applied ethnomusicology for development work, particularly the organization of the annual Heritage Celebrations and children’s music advocacy projects in George Town, Penang, which are aimed at self-representation, recovering of multiethnic histories, and peace building. Learning from the praxis of theater for development, I argue for the promotion of an applied ethnomusicology that is engaged and participatory. For any cultural development project to be sustainable, communities must be empowered and gain confidence to take action in order to make changes in their lives. There is also a need to democratize research and promote collaboration between the researcher and the community so that the latter is engaged and feels a sense of ownership in the entire process for change. For engagement and ownership to occur, participatory approaches for planning, training, research, mapping of issues, analysis, and presentation, drawn from ethnomusicology and other disciplines, such as development studies, cultural and performance studies, applied anthropology, folklore studies, and oral history, need to be developed.

Participatory Development, Theater, and Issues of Concern In the 1970s and 1980s, following criticisms of state-directed, top-down development, the World Bank and other agencies of the United Nations began to endorse decentralization and to promote what came to be known as “sustainable development” in the Brundtland Report (WCED, 1987: 43). This resulted in a move toward participatory development, which is seen as the collective responsibility of all the stakeholders, including the government, the corporate sector, and civil society. A distinction was made between the conventional and participatory approaches to development. NGOs involved in civil society developed participatory ways of working that proved to be more effective than the top-down methods. Primary stakeholders were involved in the planning of their own development and participated in designing, implementing, and evaluating projects in education, health, culture, agriculture, and other sectors. Participatory training and research methods using local knowledge were developed to facilitate stakeholders to identify their own needs. The participatory activities helped the primary stakeholders to become more confident and to overcome the feeling of being powerless. Participation created stakeholder ownership of the activities, which led to pilot projects being transformed into sustainable and long-term initiatives that were taken over by the communities themselves. In development policy, it has been acknowledged that the participation of civil society and ownership of programs

112   Tan Sooi Beng are crucial for any project to be sustainable. Critical evaluation is essential to enhance engagement and empowerment (Chambers, 1997; Eskamp, 2006). Many NGOs involved in civil society development projects in the South have employed the participatory methodologies of theater for development as strategies for bottom-up self-development since the 1970s. Often referred to as participatory theater, process theater, community theater, people’s theater, or theater for liberation, the methodologies of theater for development have been successfully adopted by artists and educational groups to encourage learning, discussion, analysis, and understanding of critical issues affecting communities and ways to deal with specific problems. Even though the term “theater” has been used, it is understood that different forms of creative arts and popular media (such as music, dance, drama, visual arts, storytelling, video, or photography) are employed. Local forms of performing and visual arts are encouraged in this kind of theater. In the last 40 years, the participatory methods of process theater have been adapted in non-formal education in Asia to address issues in relation to conflict resolution, peace building, gender sensitization, raising awareness about social inequality, heritage conservation, and health campaigns such as AIDS prevention, as well as to help children and adults cope with trauma caused by war or natural disasters, such as the 2011 tsunami in Aceh, Indonesia, and improving the lives of the disadvantaged. Some active theater for development groups include the Manila-based Philippines Educational Theatre Association (PETA), which represents one of the pioneers of process theater in Asia. Politicized by the repression of the Marcos regime, PETA held theater workshops among student groups, labor unions, teachers, farmers, workers, and other communities throughout the Philippines in the 1970s, where they explored a variety of social issues through drama, dance, music, and visual arts.2 At the turn of the millennium, the Philippines network of theater for development is wide, and there are grassroots groups in all of the islands, which have initiated their own programs and methodologies (Gaspar et al., 1981; Samson et al., 2008). These groups ensure that the network is not centralized in Manila or controlled top-down by a few activist-artists.3 In Yogyakarta, Indonesia, Teater Arena (a political theater group) and Studio Puskat (an audiovisual institute sponsored by Jesuit priests) have been making videos advocating grassroots development and social change. Concerned that only a small urban minority is benefiting from top-down development, the two groups came together and ran community theater projects in the rural areas of Indonesia in the 1980s. In the theater project at Tanen, cardboard puppets were used for participatory discussion of the social structure of the community, while the local operatic form kethoprak and local dialects were employed for the final presentation. Through the interactive theater activities, the community gained the confidence to express their needs and realized the power of collective action. An important outcome of the workshop was the supply of electricity for all the households and the building of canals for irrigating the rice fields in Tanen. At the leper colony of Lewoleba, the theater practitioners encouraged lepers to perform their experiences about being outcasts in society through storytelling, music, and songs, which they composed themselves. This resulted in greater understanding of the plight of

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    113 and sympathy for the lepers among the other residents (van Erven, 1992; personal communication, Tri Giovanni, 2008). Maya and Makhampom are two active process theater groups that grew out of the Thai pro-democracy movement in the early 1980s. They use performances to encourage dialogue and to raise awareness regarding development-related issues among specific target groups. Employing various puppet theater forms, Maya has conducted theater workshops for teachers, students, and communities in the rural areas of Thailand. Interactive and participatory strategies were developed to enable the rural people to gain confidence to speak up, raise issues such as pollution, corruption, malnutrition, and drug abuse, and take action to solve the problems. In the last decade, Maya has developed an Experiential Activities Plan (EAP) through the “Children in the Know” Project, which took place in schools in various parts of Thailand. Participatory activities that included problem identification, individual explanation, group research, and communication through performances and creative arts were created. These activities stimulated the children to learn about maintaining good health, eating the right type of food, living together, not being influenced by social vices and advertisements by the mass media, anti-consumerism, and community spirit (Children in the Know Curriculum, n.d.; personal communication, Chitrachinoa, 2008). Makhampom runs workshops on team building and conflict resolution using process theater at their Living Theatre Centre at Chiengdao. In partnership with the International Rescue Committee (IRC), they have employed participatory theater approaches to explore issues regarding gender-based violence, peace and conflict, and HIV/AIDS at three refugee camps at the Thai-Burma border. For Makhampom, theater and participatory activities are tools to “explore social issues as a group,” “build trust and relationships,” “begin discussions,” “understand different types of conflict,” and “make positive changes” (Kellock, n.d.: 7–8; Barber, 2008). As conflict is marked by a lack of trust, team-building activities are important to encourage the participants to participate in dialogue and work together (personal communication, Barber, 2009).

Pedagogy and Participatory Approaches in Theater for Development As in many participatory strategies for development, including those described by Araujo and the Grupo Musicultura (2008, 2009) and Impey (2002), community process theater has been influenced by the ideas and pedagogy of Brazilian educator Paolo Freire. Freire was critical of the Western pedagogical principle that he called “The Banking Concept of Education,” in which knowledge is “a gift bestowed by those who consider themselves knowledgeable upon those whom they consider to know nothing”

114   Tan Sooi Beng (Freire, 1972). For Freire, a pedagogy for liberation requires a new kind of teacher who believes in the creativity and knowledge of the oppressed. By analogy, a theater of liberation also requires a new kind of actor who activates the inherent creativity of his or her target group. Freire emphasized that communication in the form of dialogue between the trainees themselves and their trainers are crucial in empowering communities to be in control of their own development. His concept of “conscientization” is widely used in community theater and participatory development to refer to the process of raising awareness though collective inquiry, dialogue, and action. Participatory theater has also adapted Augusto Boal’s pedagogy of “theater of the oppressed,” in which the main objective of theater is to “change the people” from “passive beings” into “subjects, actors, transformers” through dramatic action (Boal, 1979). For Boal, the audience should be involved in the creation and performance of a play. Active participation of the audience will support awareness training and problem-solving at the community level. Despite differences depending on the issues, sociopolitical contexts, indigenous knowledge, and performing/visual arts of a particular community, theater for development groups in Asia share common participatory activities in the process of creating theater for problem-solving through team building, collaborative research, dialogue, and action: i. A range of games and theatrical practices promote participation from all members of the target group and help to build self-confidence, trust, and social cohesion, as well as stimulating self-expression and awareness of the possibility of taking action to solve the problems of the community; ii. Through participatory research, mapping, and analysis, the stakeholders determine the issues that concern them and brainstorm ideas to overcome them collectively; iii. The participants portray these issues and the possible solutions through a performance/creative work they devise together; iv. The performance is a community forum where audiences are engaged in the discussion and exchange of ideas with the performers and facilitators. Very often, the final product can be a video, artwork, exhibition, workshop performance, or combinations of different forms of presentations. Indigenous forms of art, dance, music, puppet theater, storytelling, masks, and visual arts known to the community are often employed. In theater for development, the process of creating theater is more important than the performance, although local aesthetics are significant. Through the participatory way of working, the stakeholders are empowered to make positive decisions about their lives and turn these decisions into action. In a way, process theater can be seen as a form of action research in which the stakeholders collectively gather data through research, analyze the data, discuss, and take action to improve their conditions. These participatory

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    115 methods cannot solve the problems of the communities or the inequities of power immediately. Nevertheless, action programs are more likely to continue, even without the presence of the theater facilitators, if the stakeholders or communities have been engaged and have acquired ownership of the entire process of theater making, problem mapping, analysis, and making decisions for change.4

Adapting the Participatory Approaches of Process Theater in Applied Ethnomusicology for Development As an applied ethnomusicologist concerned about development, I have been inspired by the praxis of action research employed by the participatory theater groups in Asia, which involves the collective gathering, interpretation, analysis, and application of knowledge by the community members and seeks to advance their own defined goals. Ethnomusicologists can indeed facilitate to bring about change in the communities they study if they apply the participatory approaches of process theater, which promote dialogue and research for problem-solving, and build confidence and social cohesion. The following section illustrates how these participatory approaches have been adapted in two cultural projects that I have been involved in to provide spaces for the communities of George Town, Penang, Malaysia, to address their concerns regarding top-down cultural centralization by the federal government and racial tensions in the country. As participatory methods for action research cannot be analyzed in isolation from the sociopolitical context, issues, and cultural roots of a place, let me begin with a short description of the social and cultural concerns of the Penang communities.

Sociocultural Context and Concerns of the Residents of George Town, Penang Malaysia has a multiethnic and multireligious population of 28.3 million. The citizens consist of 67.4% Bumiputera (translated as “sons of the soil,” which comprise Malays and other indigenous groups such as the Orang Asli, Kadazan, Bajau, Bidayuh, Melanau, Penan, etc.), 24.6% Chinese, 7.3% Indians, and 0.7% others (including Arabs, Eurasians, Indonesians, etc.) (Department of Statistics, 2010). Since the colonial days, Malaysia has been characterized as a plural, society where “two or more elements or social orders… live side by side, yet without intermingling, in one political unit” (Furnivall, 1948: 446). Ethnicism and racial anxieties have prevailed until recent times.

116   Tan Sooi Beng During the past four decades, the Malaysian state has tried to bring the different ethnic groups together as a nation by centralizing the arts and creating top-down policies pertaining to culture. The National Culture Policy was formulated in 1970 for purposes of national unity following the 1969 racial riots when ethnic relations broke down in Malaysia. In 1971, it was decided at a congress that the national culture should be “based on the cultures of the people indigenous to the region,” that “elements from other cultures which are suitable and reasonable may be incorporated,” and that “Islam will be an important element” (KKBS, 1973: vii). Consequently, a Ministry of Culture and the infrastructure to implement this national culture were created. Selected Malay forms of music, dance, and theater were streamlined so that they were in keeping with the national culture policy. These streamlined forms were promoted through workshops, competitions, festivals, schools, and universities.5 Since the 1990s, there has been a movement toward the creation of a Bangsa Malaysia (Malaysian Race) and more recently, OneMalaysia, which rests on the cultural identities of the various ethnic communities. The multiethnic extravagant but stereotypical performances organized by the State Culture and Tourism Departments, known to the world as “Malaysia Truly Asia,” represent the more recent top-down narratives of multiculturalism in Malaysia. Spectacular cultural shows with representative dances from all the states and ethnic groups have also been created as icons of development, modernity, and harmony. This is exemplified in the annual Citrawarna (Colours of Malaysia) street parades organized by the Ministry of Heritage and Tourism, and in the annual Merdeka (National Day) celebrations, including performances by the Malaysian People’s Drum Symphony, in which over a thousand Malay, Chinese, Indian, Kadazan, Iban, and other traditional drums play together in unity (Tan, 2003). The creation of the national forms of culture has facilitated the homogenization of selected traditional performing arts genres. Certain forms are chosen as representative of an ethnic group and are decontextualized so that they become part of national culture. While the expression of multiculturalism appears to be promoted by the state, the kinds of cultural differences that can be portrayed are defined by administrators. A kind of stereotypical representation of each ethnic group is promoted, which does not encourage self-expression and exploration at the community level. Indeed, it has become a challenge for community artists to maintain the vitality and creativity of their traditions. At the same time, ethnicism continues to persist in Malaysian society.6 Unity cannot be imposed through the creation of a national culture based on the culture of one ethnic group or through standardized representations of specific cultural traditions. The cultural issues presented above predominate on the island of Penang where I live, as the island has been a meeting place for diverse ethnic communities and cultures even before the British colonized the island in 1786. As Penang port developed in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the trading of spices and the export of tin and rubber attracted settlers from the Malay Archipelago, Thailand, Burma, Hadhramaut, India, China, and Europe. Penang was also an important stopover for pilgrims going to Mecca. The meeting of different peoples in Penang is manifested in the multiple places of worship situated near each other in the inner city, eclectic food and architecture, languages

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    117 spoken, street names, festivals, and performances. Penang’s current population of 1.6  million people remains multiethnic:  Chinese of various dialect groups make up 41.5%, Malays originating from different parts of the Malay Archipelago 40.9%, Indians from various parts of India 9.9%, others (including Arabs, Eurasians, Indonesians, Thais, Burmese, and so on) 0.7%, and non-Malaysian citizens 7.0% (Penang Institute, 2015). Cultural borrowing and mixing has occurred as the diverse communities live together in close contact and interaction (Tan, 2011). The monolithic national culture and stereotypical representations of the ethnic groups promoted by the Malaysian state are in contradiction to the lively organic eclectic ethnic cultures on the ground. Having carried out extensive research on the traditional performing arts of the various ethnic communities in Penang, I  am obligated to work with the communities, including musicians and performing artists from whom I have gained information, to address these concerns. Together we have attempted to (1) create spaces for all ethnic communities to represent themselves, recover their multicultural histories, deconstruct stereotypical ethnic representations by the federal government, and show their cultural diversity; and (2) revitalize traditions, bridge cultural gaps, and promote tolerance among ethnic groups, including children, in Penang. We have tried to achieve these objectives through two main projects, namely, the organization of the annual George Town Heritage Celebrations and advocacy heritage programs for children of the city. As illustrated in the following sections, the challenge lies in making these community projects sustainable. Furthermore, the ethnomusicologist not only needs to work in the area of music, but has to include other areas of culture such as theater, dance, crafts, visual arts, rituals, trades, and other cultural assets of the communities.

The George Town Heritage Celebrations The Heritage Celebrations are held annually on July 7 to celebrate the inscription of George Town, the capital city of Penang, as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.7 Taking place in and around the historic streets of George Town, the Heritage Celebrations are inclusive and participatory events that aim to provide the multiethnic communities an opportunity to showcase and represent their own heritage to each other, and to Malaysian and international visitors. The community-oriented festivities feature street celebrations of performances, food and crafts, exhibitions, interactive games, open houses, architecture, heritage trails, public talks, and workshops with the participation of all the ethnic communities of George Town. The two- to three- day festivities and events give a public presence to the histories, cultures, endangered traditions, and art forms of the diverse communities, including those of underrepresented cultural groups that are not projected in national culture projects. Capacity development, knowledge transfer, and the sustainability of the multiethnic cultures and art are the projected outcomes. The celebrations are coordinated by George Town World Heritage Incorporated (GTWHI), the Penang state agency for heritage, which is responsible for heritage conservation and managing the World Heritage Site of George Town. The core organizing team comprises visual and performing artists and educators who act as program

118   Tan Sooi Beng curators; the production team consists of lighting designers, stage managers, technical expertise, and crew. There is also a group of volunteers of young people (mainly from universities, colleges, and high schools) who help to run the celebrations as production crew at performances, information counters, and food and craft stalls. The celebrations are funded by the Penang state government8 as well as by private corporations. The local communities are at the heart of the celebrations, as co-organizers, stakeholders, presenters, participants, and carriers of tradition. The organizers envision the celebrations together with the local communities to incorporate indigenous knowledge and perspectives about performance, research, documentation, and presentations. We work with three types of community groups with different levels of participation from each of them: Group A: Formal religious, cultural, and clan associations that have been established by the different ethnic groups in Penang to take care of the concerns and welfare of their members. They include (1) the Qaryah Masjid Kapitan Keling (community members of the Indian Muslim9 Kapitan Keling Mosque, the oldest Indian Muslim Mosque in George Town); (2) Gabungan Liga Muslim (The United Muslim League, an association of various Indian Muslim groups, which provides a platform to raise issues of social concern); (3) Penang Chinese Clan Council (comprising the main Chinese clan associations of Penang); (4) Indian Chamber of Commerce, which represents the business operations of the Indians of Penang; (5) Badan Warisan Masjid Melayu, Lebuh Acheh (Heritage Body of the Malay Mosque, Acheh Street, that was set up to preserve the history and heritage of the Malay mosque at Acheh Street); (6) Yayasan Agama Islam Pulau Pinang (Islamic Foundation, Pulau Pinang, whose mission is to promote the Islamic faith); and (7) Persatuan Sejarah dan Warisan Melayu Pulau Pinang (Malay Historical and Heritage Association, Pulau Pinang, which aims at preserving the Malay heritage of Penang). These groups are encouraged to plan and organize their own cultural activities for the Heritage Celebrations. Group B: Residents of George Town who present and exhibit their family histories, traditional trades, open their houses, and talk to visitors about their lives and work in the heritage enclave; and Group C: Cultural practitioners and performers of the various ethnic groups who participate in the curated shows and share their knowledge with multiethnic audiences through demonstrations and performance items. In order to ensure that this community festival is sustainable and that capacity development takes place, the organizing team has employed participatory approaches and action research methods adapted from process theater and participatory development. These methods are aimed at empowering communities to represent themselves so that they are engaged in change and become proactive agents in their own development:

Participatory Planning, Training, and Bottom-Up Organization Planning, training, and organization are done together with all stakeholders, including the community groups. The workshop is a neutral space for capacity development.

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    119 We initiate team-building exercises and interactive activities in the locations of the celebrations, and provide tools for research and analysis of the cultural assets of the communities. These activities help the communities to develop the potential to make representations of their own cultural heritage, plan and organize their programs, and stimulate intercultural understanding among all the groups. Training of facilitators from the community takes place.

Participatory Research to Identify Needs, Problems, and Action We emphasize experiential learning in the heritage zone so that the communities are able to map their own cultures and histories. The formal associations (Group A) take the workshop participants for walks in their own cultural enclaves, identifying the histories, cultures, trades, festivals, food, performances, and crafts that are still being practiced. Participatory mapping and analysis of the cultures and histories from the walk and other secondary sources are carried out. Cultural mapping and interpretation help to create awareness and appreciation of the cultural assets, histories, and environment of each community. The participants find out about their cultural similarities and differences and discover that cultural mixing has taken place in the food, performing arts, music, and languages of the communities. By creating maps, they reveal their perceptions about their identities and think about how to represent themselves at the Heritage Celebrations. The main organizers and representatives of the communities are taken on a research trip to Petchaburi, Southern Thailand, to witness, experience, and learn from the community festival held there annually. Petchaburi is known for its traditional crafts such as stucco decorative art, painting, and woodcarving. The George Town representatives get new ideas about the organization, programming, layout, and capacity building of the community festival in Petchaburi, which is inclusive and engages the entire village in the celebrations. Group A  community organizers and festival facilitators interact with each other intensively during the visit. The Petchaburi festival organizers (including community members) also make a trip to Penang during the George Town Heritage Celebrations as part of the learning experience and exchange. For the residents and performers of the city (Groups B and C), such as the owners of recycle shops, lantern makers, hawkers, photographers, or performers, oral interviews are conducted by volunteer researchers to document the histories of their lives, trades, crafts, and performance genres. Photographs and other documents about the family histories, trades, or art forms are collected. The interviewers set up connections with the wider community through relatives, neighbors, and friends.

Participatory Presentations At the end of the workshop, the different stakeholders of Group A come together to share their experiences and projected programs for the heritage celebrations. The content is related to the living environment, history, and experiences of the target communities and is of direct relevance to them.

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Participatory and Interactive Activities during the Celebrations Group A: “Community Celebrations” During the heritage celebrations, the communities present their research findings and cultural activities in various forms, which engage the audiences interactively. For example, in 2013,10 the Penang Chinese Clan Council held its celebrations in the vicinity of Meng Eng Soo (translated as Memorial Hall of Heaven) at Rope Walk, which was the ancestral hall of the Ghee Hin Chinese Secret Society11 built in 1890. The building has been restored and is managed by the Penang Chinese Clan Council today. Street interactive activities were organized by clan members to invite audience participation. The community members compiled the history of the Chinese clans in Penang, which was exhibited on posters and has recently been published as a book. They set up pavilions where visitors could search for the origins of their family names. Audiences could also visit the Meng Eng Soo building, where there were ancestral worshipping demonstrations. They could taste traditional Chinese food and tea (prepared by the community members), purchase artworks, or take part in street cultural performances. In 2013, the Indian Muslim community of the Kapitan Kling Mosque exhibited old photographs and descriptions about the historical development of the community around the mosque and the early development of Arabic and Tamil education among the community since the nineteenth century. Built in 1801, the mosque is named after Kapitan Kling, the first superintendent of the mosque, which used to serve the Muslim section of the Indian troops brought by the colonial British government. During the heritage celebrations, the members of the community also demonstrated the cooking of Indian Muslim traditional cuisine, which could be tasted by visitors. Visitors could also try out the traditional way of grinding (giling) spices and beans using grinding stones, make tea called teh tarik (translated as “pulling the tea”), play traditional games, watch performances of qawwalli (a form of Sufi devotional music), and participate in the longest roti canai (a type of bread which originated in Malaysia) competition. At Queen Street, one of the streets of the Indian enclave known as Little India, a nasi kandar (type of Indian Muslim food) festival was organized by the United Muslim League together with all the nasi kandar restaurants in town. The history of nasi kandar and the meaning of the term were made known to visitors through announcements. In the past, hawkers balanced a pole on their shoulders (kandar) as they carried the plain rice (nasi) with spicy curry dishes (meat, seafood, vegetables, boiled eggs) and sold them in the streets of Penang.12 During the Heritage Celebrations, visitors could choose from the best nasi kandar stalls, which lined the entire street. The historic Malay community around the Acheen Street mosque presented traditional arts and crafts, cakes (kuih), Malay games like playing with tops, nasyid (cantillations in praise of Allah and the Prophet Muhammad), qasidah (classical songs based on poetry), and talks about the Islamic faith. Acheen Street was the site of the earliest Arab urban community in Penang and the center of the spice trade. It was also known as the Second Jeddah, as pilgrims from different parts of Southeast Asia waited for their boats to Jeddah and Mecca in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Built in 1808, the

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    121 Acheen Street mosque was the center for prayer and Islamic teachings preparing pilgrims for their journey to Mecca. Islamic literature was printed by the printing presses that emerged in the area around the mosque. The streets near the mosque were alive with shops, hotels, and shipping ticket counters to cater to the pilgrims. Kollatam stick dance, horse and peacock dances, and Indian martial arts were presented by the Hindu Indian community at the Mahamariamman Temple, the temple of the goddess Mahamariamman. Built in 1833, the temple is known for its festivities, which include dances and music, when the goddess is taken around the neighboring streets of Little India during the Navarithri festival. Additionally, the 2013 heritage celebrations were enhanced by the Indian classical Bharata Natyam and Gujarati folk dance, and music performances organized by the Indian Chamber of Commerce at a nearby space in Little India.

Group B: Residents of George Town: “Up Close and Personal” To encourage community participation in constructing the local history of George Town, GTWHI conducted a pilot oral history documentation project, entitled Cherita Lebuh Chulia (1945–1970) (Story of Chulia Street), with the residents of the street in 2013. Chulia Street was one of the first streets constructed in George Town by Francis Light, a British trader who founded Penang in 1786. Home to many ethnic communities, this street was the main commercial and residential street, and the core road for local transport since the nineteenth century. As such, it was the principal route for festivals and cultural processions such as the Maulidur Rasul (birthday of Prophet Muhammad), Thaipusam (festival during which Hindus take a vow to offer the kavadi, a physical structure balanced on the shoulders of the devotee, to implore for help from, or in thanksgiving to, Lord Murugan, the Hindu God of War and Victory), and festivities of Chinese Gods such as Toa Peh Kong and the Nine Emperor Gods, when decorated floats line the streets. Activities were organized along Chulia Street during the heritage celebrations, including an interactive exhibition featuring three-dimensional maps, videos, printed panels, and a printed comic book. Big board cutouts of the main personalities and events led audiences to the actual sites. Video screenings of the documentation were held at selected coffeeshops (kopitiam), where residents could share their memories and experiences in a relaxed manner. The video recordings also acted as tools for getting feedback from the community and for giving voices to the old people who have lived in the city for many decades. Special walking tours to visit the local residents in Chulia Street, such as the key maker, hair dresser, soy milk maker, photographer, and watchman, were held. Audiences were invited to share their impressions at a chit-chat corner. Elsewhere, visitors from and outside Penang were taken on walks to visit traditional traders such as the lantern maker, printing press owner, religious bookseller, signboard maker, tombstone engraver, and many more, who demonstrated and told the stories of their lives to the visitors.

122   Tan Sooi Beng Group C: Curated Shows: “Stories under the Stars” In the evening, free outdoor multicultural folk performances by local artists of all ethnic backgrounds were curated at two main open-air sites at the heritage enclave, where the communities and residents of the city as well as outsiders came to watch and celebrate together. Some of the performances included the Malay boria (skits, dance and music), Thai menora (musical dance theater, see Figure 3.1), Peranakan Hokkien rhymes, Malay/ Thai wayang gedek (shadow play), and Teochew rod puppet theater.13 All the groups interacted with the audience through demonstrations and explanations of the historical development of the forms, which were all documented on video. For instance, the Peranakan (local-born Chinese who have adapted to Malay customs and culture) taught the audience how to sing Peranakan rhymes as part of their presentation. The performers were encouraged to make representations of their own cultures without having to adhere to any cultural policy. The show ended with the audience participating in dance together with all the performing groups. In 2013, a Taiwanese glove puppet troupe, the Taiyuan Puppet theater, known for its innovative movements, was invited to join in the celebrations. This was to inspire local practitioners with new ideas. Following the celebrations, a workshop was held for the local practitioners of the glove puppet theater and the Taiwanese troupe to foster exchange and learning.

Figure  3.1  Siamese in Penang performing the menora at the Heritage Celebrations,  2013.

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Participatory Evaluations Evaluations using questionnaires and focused interviews were carried out to get feedback from the communities and volunteers about the organization of the celebrations, use of space, problems faced, and ideas about how to improve future heritage celebrations.

Social Impact and Outcomes Through the participatory processes involving research, members of the communities are engaged in the heritage celebrations and are empowered to represent and revitalize their own cultures. Even though the problems of cultural representation cannot be completely resolved through the celebrations, the communities are able to showcase their own cultures, which offer variations to the stereotypical ethnic representations by the federal government. The communities become aware of the possibilities of contesting state representations through the performances and events they organize. The communities acquire ownership of the festival as they take part actively in its planning, research, and implementation, and they are inspired to continue to organize and participate dynamically in it annually. Cultural gaps are bridged as the different ethnic communities are exposed to each other’s cultural resources and come together for discussion at workshop meetings. The organizers of the workshop and celebrations (including the ethnomusicologist) act as facilitators in the participatory processes in order to have a shared understanding of community needs and to provide the tools for research and presentations. As part of the process, they also train younger volunteers, who are included and engaged in the planning, organization, management, and running of the celebrations. Capacity building and skills development take place through cultural documentation, mapping, and presentations. These projects have also helped to bring performances, visual arts, food, and crafts out of buildings and back to the streets and public spaces where they were traditionally enjoyed by the communities at large. Multiethnic audiences are also able to access the presentations in a relaxed manner, and yet learn about, and experience how traditions can be used in new ways.

Advocacy Projects with Young People In addition to working with adult communities, it is also important to educate young people to reclaim their multiethnic histories and traditions, promote diversity, deconstruct cultural stereotypes, and enhance tolerance, as they represent the future members of civil society. To this end, I have worked long-term on musical-theater projects with children and youths of mixed ages, gender, and ethnicity, to provide a venue for them to address issues of identity and heritage, and to acquire skills in the traditional performing arts. The target group comprises young people (aged 10–19) from different schools inside and outside the city of George Town. The facilitators include multiethnic musicians, dancers, dramatists, visual artists, lecturers, and students of the university (Tan, 2008).

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Figure  3.2 Community performance Opera Pasar; children performing the clog dance at the market,  2008.

The young people also explore other issues important to the communities in George Town through these musical theater projects. Recent performance projects include Kisah Pulau Pinang (The Penang Story, 2006), Ronggeng Merdeka (Independence Ronggeng, 2007), Opera Pasar (Market Opera, 2008; see Figure 3.2), Ko-Tai Penang (Penang Ko-Tai, 2009/2010), Ceritera Lebuh Carnavon (Carnavon Street Story) (2011), and George Town Heboh—Streets Alive (2012). These musical theater projects have investigated the alternative people’s histories of Penang, which are not found in school history textbooks, such as the gentrification of heritage buildings, saving the wet market, and environmental issues, as well as stimulating other community interventions. Adapting and localizing theater for development, the performance-oriented projects use participatory approaches that focus on local needs and interests, are performed in public community spaces, and engage the multiethnic communities in the processes of doing art. These approaches include the following:

Participatory Planning We collaborate with different stakeholders and involve community participation in the children’s advocacy projects. While funding is mainly from the Penang state government and other private firms, interested parties involved in the initial planning include university lecturers, students, historians, teachers, craftsmen, traditional artists and

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    125 performers, conservationists, and clan associations. They provide information, skills, knowledge, workshop space, or musical instruments.

Participatory Training The process theater workshop provides the site for participatory training and learning activities. The training design involves team building, skill building, and capacity building. During all the stages of training, a variety of drama games and exercises are used for ice breaking. Warm-up sessions help the participants and facilitators to get to know one another and establish a sense of ensemble and trust through games and group dynamic activities. These activities also help to instill confidence for self-expression. Participants undergo skill training in selected traditional and contemporary art forms with artists. They are also given tools for research, such as methods of conducting oral interviews and participant observation. This is to enable them to collect their own data regarding specific cultural assets of the community (such as music, movements, festivals, craft, architecture, food) and to connect them to present-day cultural, religious, and social contexts.

Participatory Research, Learning, and Mapping The city and its people provide the actual environment for experiential learning. Besides talks and watching audiovisual resources about the history and context of a particular location to be studied (such as the market or a street), the youths are taken for guided walks where they observe, listen, and record sounds using MP3 players and video cameras, movements, and conversations. They interview specific people, including their own grandparents, uncles, and aunts, about the topics they are studying. In Opera Pasar (a story about conserving the heritage market at Campbell Street), the young people talked to the traders of the market such as the vegetable seller, fishmonger, chicken seller, and butcher about their trades and the history of the market. Participatory mapping of the locations of the stalls and the conflicts and issues that occurred in the space over time were then carried out. Cultural mapping and participatory analysis of the oral histories, photographs, and audiovisual recordings helped to create awareness of the issues and appreciation of the wet market. Once they got over the smell of fresh fish and wet floors, the young participants (many of whom are accustomed to shopping at supermarkets) became crusaders to preserve this old market with its beautiful façade.

Participatory Creation and Performance The participants then collectively put together what they observed and collected from their fieldwork with the musical skills they learned in the form of a dramatic musical dance composition. The stories, issues, and maps were used by the children in the storytelling, song lyrics, and movements of their musical theater. In the Opera Pasar project, communicating what they learned to the community at the market itself added to the excitement of the young participants. The site-specific performance juxtaposed local folklore with festivals, the past with the present, animals with humans. It mixed the different local languages of Penang with the eclectic musical

126   Tan Sooi Beng traditions from Malay dikir barat (folk-singing genre), Hokkien rhymes, Chinese opera, and jazz. There was improvisation of the music, which combined the use of everyday objects and junk materials with more traditional instruments such as the gamelan, and various types of storytelling. The young dancers used their bodies to convey their impressions of the market, ranging from chickens being slaughtered, fish being caught in the sea, mutton being hung, or buying and selling in the market. The participants were involved in different forms of border crossings in the learning and production process, which helped in integration. The story, music, and movements employed were based on experiences of real-life people of various ethnic backgrounds in the inner city of Penang. The characters mixed Hokkien, Malay, English, Tamil, and Mandarin phrases, embodying typical conversations at the Malaysian marketplace, coffeeshop, homes, and schools.

Participatory Evaluations Critical evaluations regarding the workshop process and content are carried out based on focused interviews and questionnaire evaluations. This is to find out what the young people and communities think about the project, the problems faced, and what they have learned. This allows for improvements in future projects.

Social Impact and Outcomes Besides the investigation of local cultures and concerns, the entire participatory process of the musical theater (as exemplied by Opera Pasar) has promoted the spirit of goodwill and building bridges among young people of various ethnic origins. It has encouraged cross-cultural understanding and interaction by incorporating participants, artists, and facilitators from different ethnicity and class backgrounds. The young participants have been given a safe space to relate intensively with others outside their own racial group. Through participatory research, the young people learn about each other’s history, religion, and culture. Through intensive interaction during the workshop and performances, they learn to appreciate and mix with children of different backgrounds. This contributes to peace building. By crossing stylistic and ethnic boundaries, that is, by representing themselves in ambiguous ways (shown by blending languages, singing, and dance styles, which occurs in their daily lives), the young people subvert the essentialist ethnic representations of the state. They begin to appreciate cultural differences and develop perspectives that are more inclusive. The practice of “making theater” is also extended to the community, focusing on issues relevant to the community. The participants not only “give back” to the communities (from whom they obtained their research materials) but create new knowledge by bringing their energy, creativity, and insights through performance. The experience is empowering, both for the performers and the community. In the midst of the Opera Pasar project, the young people found out that several tenants in the vicinity of the market were being moved out, as they could not pay the high rents. They discovered that George Town’s living cultural heritage faces a threat as traditional communities who have been living in the inner city since World War II are being forced to vacate their

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    127 premises to make way for upmarket businesses like boutique hotels, pubs, and restaurants. This not only gave the young performers extra motivation to tell their story but a channel for the tenants to make known their plight. The Campbell Street heritage market still stands, and the traders have been able to continue selling their goods today. However, many of those renting houses in the vicinity have been moved out to make way for new restaurants and coffee houses. Nonetheless, an exciting outcome is that in having contributed to the research, making of the compositions and performance itself, the young people develop a sense of affinity to the predicaments of the traders and the wet market. They gain ownership of the reconstructed musical traditions, and begin to internalize traditional music through new and engaging channels. Empowerment and ownership ensure that musical traditions will be conserved in their traditional sociocultural contexts of performance, and not just in the archives.

Toward a Participatory Applied Ethnomusicology for Social Intervention This chapter sees applied ethnomusicology as a type of social intervention in which the researcher mediates problem-solving and cultural or social conflict among the disadvantaged or marginalized (Harrison, Mackinlay, and Pettan, 2011). As ethnomusicologists take on new roles in the field, their research methodologies and approaches need to be evaluated and changed. I  have tried to show in this chapter that conventional ethnomusicological undertakings, such as fieldwork and research through interviews, participant observation, audiovisual recordings, analysis, skill training in performing traditional instruments, and other forms of local theater and dance, remain important tools for cultural conservation. Nevertheless, for social intervention to take place, participatory approaches that can strengthen the self-esteem and confidence of the target groups by self-expression, interaction, and involvement need to be incorporated. These approaches are often interdisciplinary and are drawn from other fields such as development studies, performance studies, pedagogy, anthropology, and oral history. In order to bring about change in society, it is necessary to develop an alternative participatory applied ethnomusicology that is inclusive, plural, and interdisciplinary in approach, and that incorporates the diverse voices of the people with whom we work. Learning from the practice of process theater for development, this chapter advocates a shift from the neutral objective collection and analysis of ethnographic data14 toward action research, which is participatory where the researcher collaborates with the community in all aspects of the research that aims at improving the quality of life of the community. The community then becomes an active participant in the dialogue,

128   Tan Sooi Beng investigation, decision-making, and action taken, rather than remaining “the Other.” The multiplicity of voices reduces the power of any dominant voice and breaks down hierarchies. Through the examples of the Heritage Celebrations and children’s music advocacy programs in Penang, I have shown that the participatory methods of process theater, such as participatory planning, training, mapping, learning, analysis, and presentation, are practical instruments of participatory action research and applied ethnomusicology. Participatory methods are tools for promoting dialogue and building self-confidence and community. The participatory approach of working is based on the following: 1. Participation of all stakeholders, which includes contributing ideas, reflecting, and taking initiatives for action collectively; 2. Research and mapping of issues and locations as a group; 3. Dialogue and exchange of ideas together through the process of creating and presenting theater or creative work; 4. Stakeholder ownership of the process and content of the research; 5. Decisions for action to be made by all stakeholders whose lives will be affected by the action; 6. Adaptability and creativity in methodologies, as there is no single rule for problem-solving; 7. Facilitator training among the community for follow-up work; and 8. Networking with other groups with similar interests and strategies as part of the exchange and experiential learning. The overall effect of these creative participatory processes is “empowerment”; communities and young people gain the capacity to make positive choices about their future and transform these decisions into action. They gain access to knowledge through research so that they can take part in the democratic process. The stakeholders gain confidence to enter into dialogue with others, and take practical action as individuals or as a group. They are able to generate new knowledge and to challenge conventional history and cultural representations by the more powerful. As soon as action research becomes participatory in nature, the researcher’s position becomes equal to that of the other participants. The stakeholders collectively conduct research, mapping, analysis, and interpretation of social problems within the community, which ultimately aim at the improvement of the quality of their own lives. Once engaged in the entire process of planning, research, analysis, decision-making, problem-solving, and the creation of artworks, the stakeholders make the activities their own, feel committed to the objectives, and can carry on even without the presence of the ethnomusicologist outsider. The collaboration and project are then likely to succeed. In participatory action research, there is a delicate relationship between empowerment of the community and the role of the ethnomusicologist researcher. The applied ethnomusicologist needs to find a balance between his or her own needs and the needs

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    129 of the community. Ethnomusicologists act as facilitators or catalysts, providing the tools for participatory research, spaces and forums for dialogue, methods for capacity building, and the training of other facilitators. They must respect and acknowledge the resources, experiences, and skills of the participants. As facilitators, they need to cross disciplines and move between music, dance, theater, crafts, other creative arts, politics, history, and other fields, depending on the cultural assets and concerns of the community. They must be compliant and creative in adjusting their topics and methods depending on the social and cultural factors at play. In the context of community development, as I  have highlighted earlier, creative participatory processes are vehicles for participation and a forum for raising and analyzing local problems. A major outcome is the empowering of community members who, prior to participating in these projects, had little or no say in decision-making. Nevertheless, there is a need to emphasize that participatory methods can only act as tools for intervention in communities striving for self-reliance and change. These methods do not resolve problems such as the inequalities, racial tensions, or problematic representations totally, but they help to illustrate and expose the issues. Group discussions and evaluations serve as interventions or problem-posing strategies, which can lead to further action. The case studies of Penang also illustrate that research and documentation are essential tools for social intervention. As Arjun Appadurai (2006: 175, 176, 177) has written in his article “The Right to Research,” it is important for the “bottom thirty percent of the world’s population in poor countries who might not get past secondary schools” to “make independent inquiries about their own lives and worlds. Developing the capacity to document, inquire, analyze, and communicate results has a powerful effect on their capacity to speak up as active citizens on matters that are shaping their city and their world.” Writing, photography, drawing, creating videos, singing, and acting are ways to communicate research findings and analysis to the public. He cites the Mumbai-based Partners for Urban Action and Research (PUKAR) as an example, where young people are taught certain forms of research and analysis to enable them to study their own lives and the cities where they live, and to disseminate their results through various types of media such as photography or writing.15 Finally, the processual and participatory way of working toward the organization and running of the Heritage Celebrations and children’s advocacy musical-theater projects may be viewed as a step toward the democratization of cultural research and learning. Acquiring the ability to conduct research, investigate, analyze, and communicate findings in creative ways can help communities and young people to voice their opinions regarding issues that are affecting them and their communities.

Notes 1. It should be noted that participatory action research has been established in applied anthropology and public folklore much earlier than in ethnomusicology. As an example,

130   Tan Sooi Beng theater, music, and film have been used by activists in the southern Appalachian Mountain region of the United States as participatory action research with community leadership since the 1970s. For further information, see the website of Appalshop, a media, arts, and education center in Whitesburg, Kentucky, http://appalshop.org/about/ (accessed January 13, 2014). In the field of ethnomusicology, Jeff Todd Titon has written about participatory action research with Old Regular Baptists of Southeastern Kentucky, in the United States. In collaboration with the Indian Bottom Association of Old Regular Baptists, he has co-produced two Smithsonian Folkways albums of their music. For more information, see Titon (1999), Fenn and Titon (2003), and the website http://www.folklife.si.edu/resources/ festival1997/baptists.htm (accessed January 13, 2014). 2. See van Erven’s (1992) seminal study on the Philippine, Korean, Indian, Indonesian, Thai, and Japanese theater for liberation networks in the 1970s and 1980s. Based on research in these countries, he has written about the practitioners, methodologies, and content of the theater for liberation workshops and the scripts of plays performed by the prominent groups in these countries. According to van Erven, the impact of these theater programs has been so powerful that theater practitioners in some countries have been threatened with guns and even imprisonment. 3. This section about the programs and approaches of the theater for development groups in Asia is based on personal research and interviews with established groups and practitioners in the Philippines, Indonesia, Thailand, and Japan. The research was funded by the Asian Public Intellectuals (API) Fellowship, Nippon Foundation, Japan in 2008–2009. 4. See Tan (2009) for a report of how various groups in Japan, Thailand, Philippines, and Indonesia have used the arts and other forms of popular media to empower young people to understand and deal with issues, concerns, and changes in their lives. The API project report discusses the role of communication media in democratic expression, team building, participatory processes, and engagement of the stakeholders and youths of the communities in the projects. 5. See Tan (1990) for a discussion of the Malaysian government’s efforts to create a national culture in the 1970s and 1980s and the responses from the various ethnic and social groups involved in the arts. 6. I analyze the processes of cultural centralization, effects of the national policy on the traditional performing arts, and the re-creation of tradition by arts administrators from the 1970s until the turn of the millennium in Tan (2003). 7. The state government of Penang has sponsored an annual month-long festival of arts and culture known as the George Town Festival since 2010 to celebrate the inscription of George Town as a world heritage site (together with Melaka). The community-oriented Heritage Celebrations are among the core events of the month-long festival. 8. It should be mentioned that Penang is one of the few states of Malaysia governed by the opposition party, the Democratic Action Party (DAP), and the chief minister is a Chinese from DAP. Consequently, the people of Penang are given more opportunities to challenge federal cultural and other policies that are perceived to be discriminatory. 9. The Indian Muslim community has emerged as a result of the marriage of Malays and Indians. 10. For more information about all the programs of the heritage celebrations, see www.heritagecelebrations.info or www.facebook.com/GeorgeTownCelebrations.

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    131 11. Secret societies are triads or brotherhoods of sworn association, that engage in activities outside the law and share a common system of signs and initiation rites. Secret societies were banned by the British colonial government in Malaysia in the early twentieth century. 12. See Tan (2011) for more detailed descriptions and video recordings of the multicultural performing arts, crafts, festivals, and food of Penang. 13. See Tan (2011) for more information about the diverse performing arts of Penang. 14. Araujo (2008) is critical of colonial narratives that inform the traditional methods of ethnomusicological research based on “conventional ethnography,” that is, based on “participant observation,” “analyzed and presented in a neutral way.” This type of research fails “to produce real engagement with the researched.” For him, the discourse of academia reduces the power of people in defining, preserving, and presenting their cultures. 15. Appadurai (2006: 167) states that it is the right of the poor to “claim the right to research.” He argues for the need to “de-parochialize the idea of research,” which should not be seen as an activity of those with certain training and class background. Rather, research should be made available to ordinary people, as it is a way to increase their knowledge in relation to some goal or task.

References Appadurai, Arjun. (2006). “The Right to Research.” Globalisation, Societies and Education 4(2): 167–177. Appalshop. http://appalshop.org/about (accessed January 13, 2014). Araujo, Samuel. (2006). “Conflict and Violence as Theoretical Tools in Present-Day Ethnomusicology: Notes on a Dialogic Ethnography of Sound Practices in Rio de Janeiro.” Ethnomusicology 50(2): 287–313. Araujo, Samuel. (2008). “From Neutrality to Praxis: The Shifting Politics of Ethnomusicology in the Contemporary World.” Musicological Annual, Ljubljana XLIV(1): 13–30. Araujo, Samuel. (2009). “Ethnomusicologists Researching Towns They Live In:  Theoretical and Methodological Queries for a Renewed Discipline.” Musicology 9: 33–50. Barber, Richard. (2008). The Art of Peace:  A  Toolkit of Theatre Art for Conflict Resolution. Bangkok: Makhampom Foundation. Boal, Augusto. (1979). Theater of the Oppressed. New York: Urizen Books. Chambers, Robert. (1997). Whose Reality Counts? Putting the First Last. London: Intermediate Technological Publications. Department of Statistics, Malaysia. (2010). http://www.statistics.gov.my/portal/index. php?option=com_content&id=1215 (accessed September 17, 2013). Dirksen, Rebecca. (2012). “Reconsidering Theory and Practice in Ethnomusicology: Applying, Advocating, and Engaging Beyond Academia.” Ethnomusicology Review 17, http://ethnomusicologyreview.ucla.edu/journal/volume/17/piece/602 (accessed September 17, 2013). Ellis, Catherine. (1994). “Powerful Songs: Their Placement in Aboriginal Thought.” The World of Music 36 (1): 3–20. van Erven, Eugene. (1992). The Playful Revolution, Theatre and Liberation in Asia. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Eskamp, Kees. (2006). Theatre for Development: An Introduction to Context, Applications and Training. London: Zed Press.

132   Tan Sooi Beng Fenn, John, and Titon, Jeff Todd. (2003). “A Conversation with Jeff Todd Titon: Interviewed by John Fenn via e-mail, January 2003.” Folklore Forum 34: 112. Fisher, Joseph P., and Brian Flota, eds. (2011). The Politics of Post-9/11 Music: Sound, Trauma, and the Music Industry in the Time of Terror. Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing. Furnivall, J.  S. (1948). Colonial Policy and Practice:  A  Comparative Study of Burma and Netherlands India. New York: New York University Press. Freire, Paolo. (1972). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. London: Penguin. Gaspar, Carlos, et  al. (1981). Creative Dramatics Trainors’ Manual. Hong Kong:  Plough Publications. Harrison, K., Mackinlay, E. and Pettan, S, eds. (2010). Applied Ethnomusicology: Historical and Contemporary Approaches. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Hermetek, Ursula. (2010). “Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool:  Some Experiences from the First 25  years of Minority Research in Austria.” Proceedings of CAIR10, the first Conference on Applied Interculturality Research, Graz, Austria, April 7–10, 2010. Impey, Angela. (2002). “Culture, Conservation and Community Reconstruction; Explorations in Advocacy Ethnomusicology and Action Research in Northern KwaZulu.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 34: 9–24. Kellock, Willow. (n.d.). Understanding Theatre as a Tool for Peace:  An Introduction for Community Workers on the Thai Burma Border. Chiengmai: Makhampom. KKBS (Kementerian Kebudayaan, Belia dan Sukan Malaysia or Ministry of Culture, Youth and Sports Malaysia). (1973). Asas Kebudayaan Kebangsaan [Basis of National Culture], Kuala Lumpur. Newsome, J. K. (2008). “From Researched to Centrestage: A Case Study.” Musicological Annual, Ljubljana, XLIV(I): 31–50. O’Connell, John Morgan, and Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco, , eds. (2010). Music and Conflict. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Penang Institute. (2015). Quarterly Penang Statistics, Population. http://penanginstitute.org/v3/ resources/data-centre/122-population (accessed February 12, 2015). Pettan, Svanibor, ed. (1998). Music, Politics, and War: Views from Croatia. Zagreb: Institute of Ethnology and Folklore Research. Pettan, Svanibor. (2008). “Applied Ethnomusicology and Empowerment Strategies:  Views from Across the Atlantic.” Musicological Annual XLIV(1): 85–99. Pettan, Svanibor. (2010). “Applied Ethnomusicology: Bridging Research and Action.” Music and Arts in Action 2(2): 90–93. Samson, Laura L., et al. (2008). A Continuing Narrative on Philippine Theatre:  The Story of PETA (Philippine Educational Theater Association). Quezon City: PETA. Seeger. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 323–336, Special Issue: Music and the Public Interest. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1997). “Articles from the 1997 Festival of American Folklife Program Book.” http://www.folklife.si.edu/resources/festival1997/baptists.htm (accessed January 15, 2014). Titon, Jeff Todd. (1999). “ ‘The Real Thing’:  Tourism, Authenticity, and Pilgrimage among the Old Regular Baptists at the 1997 Smithsonian Folklife Festival.” The World of Music 41(3): 115–139. Tan, Sooi Beng. (1990). “The Performing Arts in Malaysia: State and Society.” Asian Music 21(1): 137–171.

Cultural Engagement and Ownership    133 Tan, Sooi Beng. (2003). “Multi-Culturalism or One National Culture: Cultural Centralization and the Recreation of the Traditional Performing Arts in Malaysia.” Journal of Chinese Ritual, Theatre and Folklore 141: (237–260). Tan, Sooi Beng. (2008). “Activism in Southeast Asian Ethnomusicology: Empowering Youths to Revitalize Traditions and Bridge Cultural Barriers,” Musicological Annual, Ljubljana, XLIV (I): 69–84. Tan, Sooi Beng. (2009). “Participatory Arts and Creative Media in Asia:  Engaging Communities and Empowering Youths For Change.” In Confluences and Challenges in Building the Asian Community in the Early 21st Century, The Work of the 2008/2009 API Fellows. Bangkok: The Nippon Foundation Fellowships for Asian Public Intellectuals. Tan, Sooi Beng. (2010). “Crossing Stylistic Boundaries and Transcending Ethnicity through the Performing Arts.” In Building Bridges, Crossing Boundaries: Everyday Forms of Inter-Ethnic Peace Building in Malaysia, edited by Francis Loh Kok Wah. Selangor: The Ford Foundation, Jakarta, and the Malaysian Social Science Association. Tan, Sooi Beng. (2011). The Multicultural Performing Arts, Crafts, Festivals and Food of Penang (DVD set and book). Pulau Pinang: School of the Arts, Universiti Sains Malaysia. World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED). (1987). Our Common Future. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Zebec, Tvrtko. 2004. “The Challenges of Applied Ethnology in Croatia.” The Anthropology of East Europe Review 22 (1): 85–92.

Interviews Barber, Richard, May 30, 2009, Makhampom Living Theatre Centre, Chiengdao, Thailand. Chitrachinoa, Santi, October 29, 2008, Maya, The Art and Cultural Institute for Development, Bangkok, Thailand. Tri Giovanni, August 13, 2008, Yayasan Puskat, Yogyakarta, Indonesia.

Chapter 4

Applied Ethnomu si c ol o g y and Intangibl e C u lt u ra l Heritag e Understanding “Ecosystems of Music” as a Tool for Sustainability Huib Schippers

In 1964, William Kay Archer published “On the Ecology of Music,” a five-page essay in Ethnomusicology (8[1]‌: 28–33), in which he argues: In a time when the total pattern of musical dissemination, consumption and response is undergoing extraordinary changes, it may be as fruitful to consider sources of raw materials for instruments, patterns of leisure, technological developments, musical “listening-spaces” and the like, as to consider the music itself. (Archer, 1964: 28–29)

Although he does not develop this idea in any great detail (Archer primarily focuses on social and aesthetic considerations in the following pages), it does help trace back the “wellsprings” of explicit ecological thinking on music over half a century. In the five decades since, a number of authors have invoked ecology as an approach or metaphor for thinking about music cultures. Most notable among these is Jeff Titon, who developed this view over a period of 25 years through his writings, his lectures, his blog (http://sustainablemusic.blogspot.com/), and a themed edition of The World of Music on ecology and sustainability that he edited in 2009. In that volume, he strongly links ecological understanding to sustainability and, outlining the contents of the volume, provides a much more comprehensive list of factors in the ecosystem of music, including the following:

Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage    135 Cultural and musical rights and ownership, the circulation and conservation of music, the internal vitality of music cultures and the social organization of their music-making, music education and transmission, the roles of community scholars and practitioners, intangible cultural heritage, tourism, and the creative economy, preservation versus revitalization, partnerships among cultural workers and community leaders, and good stewardship of musical resources. (Titon, 2009a: 5)

Critiquing cultural heritage management initiatives that approach preservation statically, he argues that stewardship in relation to musical ecosystems “offers the most promising path toward sustainability in musical cultures today” (ibid.:  11)  as “living heritage ‘masterpieces’ are best maintained by managing the cultural soil surrounding them” (2009b: 124). That is a leading thought throughout this chapter. Other authors have explicitly or implicitly invoked the ecology metaphor to elucidate the network of forces that impact the sustainability of specific music genres. Daniel Neuman (1980) was probably the first, by dedicating a full chapter to “The Ecology of Hindustani Music Culture,” covering “the producers of music, the consumers of music, the contexts of music events, and the technology of music production and reproduction” (1980: 203). Other includes Slobin (1996) for Eastern and Central European music, Ramnarine (2003) for Finnish folk music, Sheehy (2006) for Mexican Mariachi music, and Howard (2006a, 2006b) for Korean music, to name just a few. In that way, factors that influence musical vibrancy have been identified in specific cultures for several decades. However, they have hardly been explored systematically across genres and cultures. In one way, this can be explained from the fact that each music genre is best approached in its own right, as well as an aversion to comparative approaches in our discipline—which have been passionately discredited since the 1950s. This was arguably more due to conceptual and ideological weaknesses rather than to structural flaws (cf. Nettl, 2010: 71, 82), although Lomax’s Cantometrics probably failed to gain broad support from the 1960s due to the latter, overclaiming correlations between musical characteristics and societal structures (Lomax, 1976). In the current debate concerning sustainability, however, I would argue there is an argument to revisit comparative approaches without a strong Eurocentric bias, which can assist in exploring links between music sustainability and ecology from a contemporary, holistic, and global perspective.

Ecosystems of Music There is a 65-year gap between the time that Haeckel introduced the concept of ecology in 1870 as “the study of all those complex interrelations referred to by Darwin as the conditions of the struggle for existence” (quoted in Stauffer, 1957: 140), creating

136   Huib Schippers a fertile, practical philosophical and metaphorical framework to explore sustainability, and the launch of the term ecosystem, which I would argue invites more concrete reflections on the forces that affect a phenomenon. While the latter developed in biology as well, the term ecosystem is both derived from and applicable to a wider intellectual space. A. G. Tansley borrowed from the sciences when he first used it, arguing to consider the whole system (in the sense of physics), including not only the organism complex, but also the whole complex of physical factors forming what we call the environment of the biome, the habitat factors in the widest sense. Though the organism may claim our primary interest, when we are trying to think fundamentally we cannot separate them from their special environment, with which they form one physical system. (1935: 299)

Ecosystems have since been used to describe animal habitats, resources, cities, and increasingly other environments, which can “include humans and their artifacts” to the point “that it is applicable to any case where organisms and physical processes interact in some spatial area” (Pickett and Cadenasso, 2002: 2). That provides fruitful ground for looking at music cultures. Arguably, ethnomusicology—and to some extent historical musicology—have already used this approach: primarily in regard to localized genres, with a wealth of focused ethnographic studies from the 1960s, and regarding individual music cultures and genres more in their diasporic and global contexts since the 1980s. Individual musicians, instrument makers, communities, educators, the music industry, opinion leaders, and public authorities are among the direct actors, while not only the physical environment and climate, but also war, discrimination, and disease are among the indirect forces in such ecosystems. Undeniably, it is both easy and tempting to appeal “to natural imagery to justify critiques of the detrimental impact of transnational industry practices on sub-dominant music cultures and styles” (Keogh, 2013: 11), and to make facile links between music ecosystems and sustainability efforts, imbibed with a sense of moral justness, perhaps much like the word authentic is used in music performance contexts (cf. Cook, 1998: 11–13; Schippers, 2010: pp. 47–50; Taylor, 2007: p. 21). Similarly, it is easy to succumb to a historically and intellectually unsound tendency to impose a static, preservationist approach on music genres as objects. While many archiving efforts, recording projects, festivals, and even the highly visible Masterpieces of Intangible Cultural Heritage initiatives of UNESCO still seem to approach music genres as artifacts rather than organisms, there is increasing consensus that a dynamic approach to processes of music sustainability and change is imperative. It is broadly acknowledged that instruments, styles, and genres have been emerging and disappearing throughout history and across cultures as a largely “organic” process.

Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage    137 In fact, the concept of ecosystem fits current thinking on how music sits within its environment remarkably well, almost to the point that can be considered literal rather than metaphorical. We don’t have to stray far from Tansley’s (1935) description to define a music ecosystem as the whole system, including not only a specific music genre, but also the complex of factors defining the genesis, development and sustainability of the surrounding music culture in the widest sense, including (but not limited to) the role of individuals, communities, values and attitudes, learning processes, contexts for making music, infrastructure and organisations, rights and regulations, diaspora and travel, media and the music industry. (Schippers after Tansley, 1935: 298)

It is easy to argue in parallel with Tansley that, though historically music genres may have claimed our primary interest, when we are trying to think fundamentally, we cannot separate them from their special environment, with which they form one physical system. That in turn invites a brief discussion of the terminology and rhetoric of sustainability. In music, as in many other disciplines, ecosystem does associate with sustainability in the context of other widely used terms such as preservation, safeguarding, salvaging, and maintaining. The first three of these run the risk of coming across as defensive and patronizing. They imply risks of stasis, ossification, and even strangulation of living traditions, as well as disempowerment and other risks of government interventions or institutionalization. The term maintaining (commonly used in the context of preserving languages internationally) is much less harsh, and perhaps the strongest competition for sustaining. Maintaining does suggest aiming for a status quo, however. Etymologically, maintaining means holding in the hand, (Fr., maintenir), while sustaining implies holding a hand under something for support (Fr., soustenir). Therefore, I would argue that the term sustaining has the best chance at transcending any “tradition under siege” associations, suggesting a gentler process, and leaving room for taking into account more than a single force working on a phenomenon—while it is still allowed to breathe. If sustainability is the preferred terminology, three key questions need to be answered: whether (any—or all) music needs to be sustained; what is to be sustained; and finally, how this can be operationalized. This will be the focus of much of the rest of this chapter. While some may believe that all music should be preserved, it is clear that over the course of history thousands of music genres have emerged and disappeared due to “natural” causes. Not all of us are in arms about this at every single occurrence. For instance, the rise and decline of crooning (McCracken, 1999) was a process that that did not cause indignation from a sustainability perspective. In addition, it is useful to keep in mind that much music does not need additional support. Most music cultures adapt successfully to changing environments, and often benefit from them. Music genres once

138   Huib Schippers constrained to a single locale are now available across the planet. The issues of markets, power, and perceptions of prestige that underlie this reality have created shifts in musical dynamics that benefit many, but threaten the futures of other forms of musical expression. Arguably, this occurs well beyond the evolutionary processes that have predominantly governed musical diversity in earlier periods. Anthony Seeger expresses his concern about global risks to certain categories of intangible cultural heritage succinctly: The problem is it’s not really an even playing field: it’s not as though these are just disappearing, they’re ‘being disappeared’; there’s an active process in the disappearance of many traditions around the world. Some of them are being disappeared by majority groups that want to eliminate the differences of their minority groups within their nations, others are being disappeared by missionaries or religious groups of various kinds who find music offensive and want to eliminate it. (QCRC, 2008)

Other factors that can be beneficial or detrimental—often without a particular aim or focus on music—include technological developments, copyright legislation, infrastructural challenges, socioeconomic change, wars, disease, and educational systems, as well as developments in travel, migration, business, and communication (cf. Letts, 2006; Malm, 1993; Taylor, 2007; Titon, 2009a). Considering all these factors, the focus of sustainability in this context is not necessarily the preservation of all forms of musical expression, but a future for those that musicians, communities, and other stakeholders feel are worth preserving and developing, and which are at risk due to a range of circumstances beyond their control. Some of these circumstances can be influenced to some extent (like funding or education); others are largely outside human control, such as conflict, disease, or natural phenomena such as the slow sinking below rising sea levels of the Takū Atoll (Moyle, 2007), which necessitates more creative lines of action to keep music vibrant in a changing environment. Next is the question of what is to be sustained. Is it the musical sound, the performance tradition, the transmission processes, the audience, the commercial value, the social, cultural, or spiritual context, or the musical practice at large, including its underlying values and attitudes? The balance between these differs from tradition to tradition and stakeholder to stakeholder, and they are often interrelated. While it is perfectly possible to “freeze” a specific musical expression on video or audio recording, for a practice to be sustainable it tends to need a combination of at least some of the following components: a robust transmission processes, strong links in the community, prestige, appropriate settings and infrastructure for practicing the music, supportive media, an engaged music industry, and laws and regulations that do not impede negatively on the genre, much in line with the Titon quote earlier in this chapter. For most genres and traditions, these do not form a neat and static set of characteristics, but a diverse and not always coherent one. This lack of coherence is not necessarily

Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage    139 a weakness: it potentially creates the resilience to deal with inevitable changes due to social and cultural change, globalization, commodification, and recontextualization. Efforts aimed at preserving music as an object or artifact risk creating a false sense of security: well-preserved recordings, carefully crafted slick presentations for broad audiences, and institutionalized education or performance practices can lead to ossification by not allowing change, or an artificial “new life” supported financially and organizationally, devoid of links with community or a creative lifeline to new ideas. “Hold still, let me preserve you” may be convenient from a logistical perspective, but it is an altogether inappropriate approach to sustaining a living tradition, and may lead to a “slow puncture” demise of the music over one or two generations (Schippers, 2009:  202). Howard (2012), among many others, argues that “cultural conservation needs to be dynamic” (p. 5), and conceived “as a way to organise ‘the profusion of public and private efforts’ that deal with ‘traditional community cultural life’ (Loomis, 1983, iv)” and which “we together with our constituents, share in the act of making” (p. 6). Related to this are the concepts of tradition, authenticity, and context. As I have argued elsewhere (Schippers, 2010: 41–60), static approaches to each of those concepts may have done more harm than good to the thinking on, education in, and practice of music outside the Western classical canon: “The nature of tradition is not to preserve intact a heritage from the past, but to enrich it according to present circumstances and transmit the result to future generations” (Aubert, 2007: 10). Similarly, as discussed above, authenticity is highly contentious and laden. Paradoxically, it had opposite meanings in the emergence of early music practice in the 1960s and 1970s (“Authentic is as close to the original as we can get”) and in rock music of the same period (“Authentic is as far from copying existing models as possible”). Moreover, the reference for authenticity, the “moment of authenticness,” may well be rather randomly or even self-servingly chosen by a self-proclaimed authority. In that sense, it is similar to the idea of “the right context”: virtually all music traditions reinvent, redefine, and recontextualize themselves as a matter of course. Hybridization and transculturalization are not exceptions, but the norm in virtually all music that we know, even though few realize as they enjoy a symphony that if one were to exclude all influences from the Western orchestra that can be traced back to the world of Islam—which includes, strings, reeds, percussion, and brass—there would be little left on stage. All of this presents a potent case for regarding the past, present, and future of musical practices as part of a complex and often delicate ecosystem. The final key issue in the discussion of “What is to be preserved?” is defining the scope of ecosystems of music for the purpose of this discussion. The literature on ecosystems at large (e.g., Pickett and Cadenasso, 2002) allows room for both very narrowly prescribed boundaries as well as working on a vast scale. In some cases it makes sense to draw a narrow circle around a valley in the Swiss Alps or a Pacific island that harbors the community, is the birthplace of its composers, teachers, and performers, has provided the raw materials for instruments, and is the site of transmission processes, performance, and other aspects of what Small calls “musicking”: “to take part, in any capacity, in a musical performance, whether by performing, by listening, by rehearsing or practising, by providing material for performance (what is called composing), or by dancing” (Small, 1998: 9).

140   Huib Schippers In such a scenario, influences from beyond the circle are seen as intruders into the ecosystem, like an oil spill threatening a coral reef. However, as myriad external influences increasingly form an integral part of virtually all music practices, it may be more accurate and fruitful to regard all forces that impact upon the music as part of the ecosystem, including technology, commercialization, legislature, globalization, and media. As Wong (QCRC, 2008) reminds us, we are working in “environments which are going to be commodified, and mediatized, and globalized.” This allows for a much more comprehensive picture of both potential and challenges for sustainability. It also assists in addressing one of the concerns of Keogh (2013: 6) and others: that the applied ethnomusicologist who works toward preservation or sustainability interferes with the ecosystem. I would argue that this is not the case in the approach proposed here: ethnomusicologists who strive to preserve—aspects of or certain approaches to—a particular genre or tradition are part of the ecosystem. As Pickett and Cadenasso point out, the concept of ecosystems “now supports studies that incorporate humans not only as externally located, negative drivers, but also as integral agents that affect and are reciprocally affected by the other components of ecosystems” (2002: 7). The core in this approach lies in not excluding any factors from the ecosystem. Mapping key clusters of forces working on any music genre within a wider music culture generates a simplified graphic representation of a music ecosystem, with the genre at the center, surrounded by factors impacting it, positively or negatively, single or multidirectional. Figure 4.1 represents five clusters of possible factors influencing the sustainability of a music genre, starting with community-related ones on top, then those relating to education, those involving infrastructure and regulations, media and the music industry, and finally contexts, values, and attitudes. For any specific tradition, the importance of each of those (the size of the balloon, if you will) will vary: paying audiences and formal curricula may be irrelevant to many forms of religious music, and country music survives excellently without grants and legislation. Often, the forces within a cluster will interact (music programs in schools invite formal curricula and the development of pedagogical materials), and forces between clusters may interrelate:  the high prestige of opera leads to interest by broadcasters and recording companies, with the exposure triggering grants and subsidies for performances and buildings, extensive learning opportunities, and high social status of opera singers. Absent from this diagram is explicit mention of well-recognized forces on music sustainability, such as globalization and conflict. In this model, these are best regarded not as single influences, but as ones that may have effects across the clusters: globalization influences industry, institutions, values, and attitudes; while conflict may affect places to perform and create, ethnic and gender issues, and community engagement (ranging from abandoning a music genre to finding new resilience).

MUSICIANS AND COMMUNITIES C O N T E X T S A N D C O N S T R U C T S

Diaspora and cross-cultural connections

Community engagement with music and musicians

Social/ritual settings and contexts

Community leaders

Patronage and philanthropy

Sense of identity and well-being

Prestige, stigma, and prejudice Postcolonial values and attitudes

Role, position, and availability teachers/ culture-bearers

Remuneration and recognition

MUSIC GENRE

Media exposure (of musical sound)

Printed, broadcast, & online press

Independent labels and broadcasters

World wide web

Places to perform and create

Paying audiences Major recording companies

Commodification and commercialization

MEDIA AND THE MUSIC INDUSTRY

Informal learning practices

Music programs in schools/community

Conservatoires Opinion leaders

Availability and accessibility of music material for learners

Pedagogical approaches

Attitudes toward music making Aesthetics and cosmologies

Position/status of musicians and related professions

Collaboration with/ between musicians

Ethnicity and gender issues

Approaches toward authenticity, tradition, and change

Level of interest in participating, learning, and performing

Formal curricula/ teaching practices

Music institutions and organizations

Music rights (eg IP), censorship, and other relevant legislature

Insurance, unions, & pension schemes

Availability of instruments and other “hardware”

Online resources and pedagogies

Philosophies and values governing learning & teaching

Grants, awards, sponsorship, and subsidies

Archives libraries, and museums

INFRASTRUCTURE AND REGULATIONS

Figure  4.1  Ecosystems of  music: Major forces working on the sustainability of music genres across five domains.

S Y S T E M S O F L E A R N I N G M U S I C

142   Huib Schippers

International Perspectives and Initiatives These ideas do not exist in a vacuum. The importance of sustaining—and the challenges to maintaining—global musical diversity have been widely recognized with increasing urgency, as borne out by a suite of UNESCO conventions, declarations, and initiatives put in place over the past 14 years, flowing from its Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity (UNESCO, 2001): the UNESCO’s Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage (UNESCO, 2003), the Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions (UNESCO, 2005), and the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (United Nations High Commission for Human Rights, 2007). While building on initiatives going back many decades in countries like Japan (since 1950) and Korea (since 1982; see Howard, 2012), and not unchallenged in all aspects (such as reducing music genres to artifacts), the UNESCO initiatives have caused a groundswell of awareness, interest, activities, and policies to stimulate the maintenance and diversity of intangible cultural heritage since the beginning of the third millennium. This is currently perhaps most notable in China, where Helen Rees signals “an avalanche of policies, procedures, regulations, projects, and concepts that have poured forth since China dived head-first into intangible cultural heritage protection around the year 2000” (2012: 35). While the intensity of recent efforts in this arena across Asia is striking, they are not limited in time and place. During the past decades, numerous initiatives (many sponsored by governments, NGOs, and development agencies) throughout the world have provided support for specific music cultures over defined periods of time, ranging from single events or festivals to projects running for a number of years. They constitute positive impulses for the cultures targeted, but their long-term effect is often difficult to demonstrate. Another way to counteract decline in musical diversity has been to document traditions that are in danger of disappearing. Across cultures and continents, this has occurred on a considerable scale for over 100 years, mostly by colleague ethnomusicologists (cf. Nettl, 2010). The results of these efforts are stored in various formats and locations, from local and regional repositories to archival networks like DELAMAN (Digital Endangered Languages and Musics Archives Network) and international centers such as the Smithsonian. In this way, the sound of many traditions is being preserved, allowing future generations to access and reconstruct if they wish (at least to some extent) musical styles and genres that have disappeared. In some cases these are invaluable as communities seek out lost repertoire, but often their reach is limited. Timothy Rice criticizes methods that are exclusively “aimed at their accurate preservation as sound, film, or video recordings.” He argues, “A corollary of this theory-and-method combination is that a practice has been preserved when converted into a recording, that is, into a fixed text or monument—perhaps analogous to the way jam preserves fresh fruit” (1997: 102). A further reservation is that archival recordings

Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage    143 often implicitly suggest authenticity, purity, justness, and even “museumness” (cf. Cook, 1998: 30) for a particular recording of a particular repertoire, and in that way may stifle the “natural” development of repertoire or interpretation. Similar arguments can be made for the creation of national troupes or orchestras mixing the music of different cultural backgrounds, for revivals, and for the institutionalization of training professional musicians. The first tends to objectify music, ignore cultural context, and harmonize divergent styles and even tonal systems. As Titon points out, the second embodies “a paradox: what is presented there as authentic cannot possibly be so, because it is staged” (2009b: 121). Feintuch firmly critiques revivalists who “assert that they’re bolstering a declining musical tradition. But rather than encourage continuity, musical revivals recast the music—and culture—they are referring to” (1993: 184). Finally, higher music education runs the risk of canonizing and ossifying music through fixing repertoire and curricula, and highlighting measurable aspects of music learning over more ineffable ones (Schippers, 2010: 61–75). Indeed, valuable as they are, such efforts do not always provide sufficient basis for the actual survival of musical styles as part of an unbroken, living tradition, which many will argue is a key condition for maintaining the essence (explicit and tacit, tangible and intangible) of specific styles and genres.

Five Domains This brings the discussion to the question of how? Given the situation described above, it seems there is scope for an angle complementary to existing, more narrowly focused preservation initiatives: for approaching music as governed by ecosystems, for exploring the sustainability of music cultures in closer collaboration with communities. This would be in line with the third of Dan Sheehy’s four proposed strategies of applied ethnomusicology: “providing community members access to strategic models and conservation techniques” (1992: 331). It also resonates with Titon’s idea of stewardship, which “repositions culture workers collaboratively, both as students of community scholars and music practitioners, and simultaneously as teachers who share their skills and networking abilities to help the musical community maintain and improve the conditions under which their expressive culture may flourish” (2009b: 120). Such an enterprise requires a framework to map not only their histories and “authentic” practices, but also their dynamics and potential for recontextualization in their contemporary environment. This includes considering new musical and technological realities, changing values and attitudes, as well as social, political, and market forces. The ethnomusicological literature of the past 50 years already presents a wealth of information on the nature and present state of many specific music cultures, based primarily on wide consultation with musicians and their communities. More recently, we find increasing attention for other stakeholders, such as public authorities, educational institutions, and the music industry, complemented by documentaries, press, policies, and

144   Huib Schippers data gathered from government sources, NGOs, educational authorities, cultural organizations, media, and business. An excellent example of this is the volume on East Asian Music as Intangible Cultural Heritage (Howard, ed., 2012), which includes essays dealing with tourism, top-down preservation policies, the role of the media, and political issues. With such a vast body of information, the key challenge is choosing ways of organizing and analyzing data and insights and their impact on music cultures. I propose that an attractive and insightful way of doing so is a framework of five domains that contain the crucial elements of most “ecosystems of music,” as represented in Figure 4.1 in this chapter: systems of learning music; musicians and communities; contexts and constructs; regulations and infrastructure; media and the music industry. Table 4.1 summarizes the key aspects of each of these domains in prose. These domains cover most key aspects relevant to the sustainability of almost any musical practice, irrespective of specific musical forms or content, and as free as possible from Eurocentric bias. Most of them are well documented. For instance, “musicians and communities” and “contexts and constructs” have been at the center of much ethnomusicological research for five decades. “Systems of learning music” and “media and the music industry” have gained increased attention since the 1980s. “Regulations and infrastructure” have attracted sporadic attention in the discipline, but have been the realm of public authorities and NGOs. For example, the International Music Council report on musical diversity instigated by UNESCO (Letts, 2006) provides a wealth of information on a number of important non-musical factors that affect the viability of specific music cultures, such as copyright, politics, and regulations. Television and radio broadcasting policies, like those that attempt to encourage or protect local music through laws that require they are allocated a percentage of airplay, have a wide and deep influence on sustainability. Several countries have employed legal provisions to protect folklore through copyright (e.g., Bolivia in 1968, Senegal in 1973, and Ghana in 1985), and some have a system whereby royalties are payable upon use of folklore for economic gain, which in turn are “sometimes earmarked for the preservation of traditional culture and/or the promotion of cultural creation” (Blaukopf, 1992: 33). These policies are of course dependent on politics, lobbying, and the ideologies of those in power, and consequently vacillate from country to country, and from governmental era to era. In order to understand the influence of these domains on sustainability, it is important to regard not only each individual domain, but rather the whole as the ecosystem. Each of the domains above overlaps and interrelates in how it affects music cultures. For example, change can be driven by a combination of changing values and attitudes, technological developments, and/or audience behavior. The manner of music transmission is often strongly determined by its institutional environment, and media attention, markets, and audiences can often be linked to issues of public perception and prestige. For example, Western classical opera may be argued to be one of the least likely genres to survive in terms of its almost insurmountable requirements in terms of infrastructure (a theater with excellent acoustics, a large stage, and a flight tower), highlevel training of the participants (soloists, chorus, orchestra, conductor, director), and

Table 4.1.  “Ecosystems of Music”: A Framework for Understanding Aspects of Sustainability 1. Systems of learning music

This domain assesses the transmission processes that are central to the sustainability of most music cultures. It investigates balances between informal and formal education and training, notation-based and aural learning, holistic and atomistic approaches, and emphasis on tangible and less tangible aspects of “musicking.” It explores contemporary developments in learning and teaching (from masterdisciple relationships to systems that are technology/web-based), and how non-musical activities, philosophies, and approaches intersect with learning and teaching. These processes are examined from the level of community initiatives through music education to the level of institutionalized professional training.

2. Musicians and communities

This domain examines the positions, roles, and interactions of musicians within their communities, and the social basis of their traditions in that context. It scrutinizes everyday realities in the existence of creative musicians, including issues of remuneration through performances, teaching, portfolio careers, community support, tenured employment, patronage, freelancing, and non-musical activities, and the role of technology, media, and travel in these. Cross-cultural influences and the role of the diaspora are also examined.

3. Contexts and constructs

This domain assesses the social and cultural contexts of musical traditions. It examines both the setting of music practices and the underlying values and attitudes (constructs). These include musical tastes, aesthetics, cosmologies, socially and individually constructed identities, gender issues, as well as (perceived) prestige, which is often underestimated as a key factor in musical survival. It also looks at the realities of and the attitudes to recontextualization, authenticity, and context, and explicit and implicit approaches to cultural diversity resulting from travel, migration, or media, as well as obstacles such as prejudice, racism, stigma, restrictive religious attitudes, and issues of appropriation.

4. Regulations and infrastructure

This domain primarily relates to the “hardware” of music: places to create, perform, practice, and learn, all of which are essential for music to survive, as well as virtual spaces for creation, collaboration, learning, archiving, and dissemination. Other aspects included in this domain are the availability and/or manufacturing of instruments and other tangible resources. It also examines the extent to which regulations are conducive or obstructive to a blossoming musical heritage, including grants, artists’ rights, copyright laws, sound restrictions, laws limiting artistic expression, and adverse circumstances, such as obstacles that can arise from totalitarian regimes, persecution, civil unrest, war, or the displacement of music or communities.

5. Media and the music industry This domain addresses large-scale dissemination and commercial aspects of music. In one way or another, most musicians and musical styles depend for their survival on the music industry in its widest sense. Over the past 100 years, the distribution of music has increasingly involved recordings, radio, television, and more recently, Internet (e.g., downloads, Podcasts, iTunes, YouTube). At the same time, many acoustic and live forms of delivery have changed under the influence of internal and external factors, leading to a wealth of new performance formats. This domain examines the ever-changing modes of distributing, publicizing, and supporting music, considering the role of audiences (including consumers of recorded product), patrons, sponsors, funding bodies, and governments who “buy” or “buy into” artistic product.

First published in Schippers (2010: 180–181).

146   Huib Schippers audience (sufficiently refined to appreciate the event, sufficiently affluent to afford tickets). However, the art form has survived for over 400 years, currently on carefully constructed prestige that inspires an elite community and associated markets (including governments, corporate sponsors, and philanthropists) to support it. Vulnerability due to high demands in Domains 1, 2, and 4 is counteracted primarily by maintaining high prestige (Domain 3). Other traditions without such demands, such as traditional Aboriginal music, are in peril, while others flourish in spite of a history of colonialism and drastic changes of context, such as North Indian classical music, having successfully survived centuries of colonialism and major recontextualizations from Hindu places of worship to Muslim courts, from the houses of courtesans to respectable middle-class audiences, and on to new listeners through broadcasting, recordings, and the diaspora, fed by a strong sense of nationalism (Bhakle, 2005). Over the past few years, several senior ethnomusicologists have commented on the desirability of a systematic study of sustainability across musical traditions to avoid “re-inventing the wheel every time we face a community that’s trying to preserve its own traditions” (Seeger, QCRC, 2008). Trimillos expressed interest in a “deductive approach” based on five predetermined categories of data “as opposed to so much of ethnomusicological study which goes to a culture and does it inductively” (QCRC, 2008). Speaking of globalization, commodification, and media, Wong argued what is needed is a “very practical and visionary approach to these matters” (QCRC, 2008). Meanwhile, Moyle reminded us that “our job as sympathetic and supportive outsiders is properly that of an on-request caretaker and facilitator, but not as an arbiter of what should be preserved and what should not be” (QCRC, 2008). Taking an approach informed by the considerations outlined above, detailed and realistic pictures can be deduced of threats and opportunities in relation to contemporary contexts, traditional and potential new audiences, approaches to transmission to next generations, as well as the presence or absence of community, media, commercial, institutional, and public support. Findings across these domains can be analyzed and turned into accessible online resources that are not only of value to ethnomusicologists, but specifically geared to assist communities in performing and developing the music they value in the way they value it.

Sustainable Futures From 2009 to 2014, an international research consortium was enabled by a large Australian Research Council Linkage Grant to extensively test this approach on nine diverse case studies:  Mexican Mariachi, Ghanaian Ewe music, Amami Shima Uta, Korean SamulNori, Hindustani music from North India, Vietnamese ca tru, Indigenous Yawulyu songs from Central Australia, Balinese gamelan, and Western opera. The

Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage    147 project made a deliberate choice to focus not only on “endangered” music cultures (as has largely been the practice), but equally on “successful” ones. The rationale for this was that while the former may provide profound insight into the main obstacles encountered by living music cultures in need of safeguarding, the latter can reveal possible pathways to removing such obstacles. So while Aboriginal music from Central Australia and Vietnamese ca tru would be “in urgent need of safeguarding” in UNESCO terms, Ghanaian Ewe music, Amami Shima Uta, and Korean SamulNori face much less fatal challenges, and notwithstanding issues in some areas, Hindustani music, Mexican Mariachi music, Balinese gamelan, and Western opera are largely thriving, according to most observers and stakeholders. On its website soundfutures.org, Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures: Toward an Ecology of Musical Diversity summarizes the aims of the five-year, $5 million project as follows: Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures celebrates the cultural diversity of our planet. It acknowledges that there are serious challenges to many music cultures that are the result of recent changes in ‘musical ecosystems’. It aims to identify ways to promote cultural diversity and ensure vibrant musical futures in line with those called for by organisations like UNESCO. Sustainable Futures seeks to counteract the loss of music cultures by identifying the key factors in musical sustainability, and making this knowledge available to communities across the world. In this way it aims to empower communities to forge musical futures on their own terms.

In order to structure the project across nine very diverse case studies, guidelines for the research teams were developed, featuring some 200 questions and subquestions across the five domains. These were carefully formulated by Research Fellow Catherine Grant, in collaboration with the teams, to ensure optimally compatible data. For example, the following questions structure the section on Domain 4 (Infrastructure and regulations): 4.1. What formal structures are in place to help musicians in your culture, with regard to creating; performing; learning; teaching; collaborating; touring; preserving or promoting the music culture? For example, which of the following exist: musicians’ unions; teachers’ associations or bodies; performers’ agencies; formal networks or societies; virtual spaces for collaborating / performing; cultural organisations or institutions; provisions for amateur / community music-making; awards and prizes? 4.2. How do musicians source instruments? Are they expensive / difficult to source? Are there physical or intangible restrictions on instrument-making? Who makes musical instruments? How are they trained, and by whom? Are there enough instrument-makers? Do they earn a living from their craft? How does this differ from five / twenty years ago? How is it changing now? Have there been significant recent changes in materials or design of instruments?

148   Huib Schippers 4.3. Apart from musical instruments, what other tangible resources, equipment, or paraphernalia are required for performing, creating, or transmitting your music culture? Are they expensive / difficult to source? How does this differ from five / twenty years ago? How is it changing now? 4.4. Where are musicians in your culture located when they perform rehearse / practise; teach / learn / create; record; publish; broadcast? 4.5. What other conditions are needed for performing, creating, or transmitting your music culture? Are they difficult to access / expensive? How does this differ from five / twenty years ago? How is it changing now? 4.6. Are there festivals and competitions for your music? What is their focus with regard to tradition versus innovation? What are the benefits or drawbacks with regard to their effect on performance practices? How are judges appointed? What are the criteria for excellence? Who decides? What is the role of the media in the festivals/competitions? 4.7. Which non-musical factors impact directly or indirectly on your music culture? Do any of the following play a role: level of poverty; government regimes; civil situation; health issues; land reform / land rights; displacement or population drift; environmental changes; climate; geographical distance 4.8. Which traditional authorities impact on your music culture? Are they local / state / federal or national / international / church or religious? 4.9. Are there issues of censorship or repression that impact on your music culture? Are these political, religious, gender-based, or other? Are artists / musicians given special ‘allowance’ to dissent, as their role, or even duty? Do musicians self-censor? If so, why? How would you describe the regulation of freedom of expression for your music culture, along the continuum from totally repressed to totally free? 4.10.  What are the copyright laws, if any, that affect your music culture? Are they enforced? If your music is ‘traditional’, is it considered free of copyright? If not, who owns it? 4.11. Which other government or government-induced laws and regulations exist that directly or indirectly affect musicians and music-making, either positively or negatively? Do you (have to) deal with artists’ rights; taxation laws; free trade policies; sound restrictions; work permits; censorship laws; education regulations (curriculum / other); royalty collection and distribution; broadcast regulations (quota of locally produced music / other); and/or venue restrictions (hours of operation / smoking / drinking / other)? What has been the general trend with regard to amendments or revisions to law and regulations affecting your music culture in the last, say, twenty years? Do they reflect a general tightening or relaxing of rules? How do you envisage the next five years in this regard? 4.12. What forms of assistance does the government provide to economically develop the music sector? If any, are they provided through state-owned entities; through subsidies; through tax concessions; through public/private partnerships; and/or through financial instruments (e.g. access to loan funds)?

Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage    149 4.13. Where are these forms of support directed? To live performance (including venues, cultural centres, festivals); record production and distribution; music video production; music publishing; broadcasting; internet and multimedia; improving business practices; building music exports; statistics collection; training; and/or other? 4.14. What is the position / status of your music culture, internationally? Are there formal recognitions of its value, such as UNESCO Oral Masterpiece / Intangible Cultural Property? What are the procedures that lead to such recognition? 4.15. How, if at all, do governments at any level seek to protect or promote: your music genre; other music genres within your country; music genres of immigrant communities? Does the government have a cultural plan in place that may impact your music genre? Are there publically available government documents or reports relating to your music genre? Are they widely known? What function do they serve? 4.16. What is the impact of the government’s attitude to cultural diversity and multiculturalism (or national cohesion/cultural purity) on your music culture? 4.17. What external support (if any) is required to be a successful musician? Is it government backing; sponsorship / grants / funding; institutional and community support (performance venues; resources); public support (audiences; purchase of recordings; radio airplay) (QCRC, 2010: 15–17) Researchers were asked to seek answers to all questions across the five domains, and emphatically indicate those that were not applicable, as they might indicate areas unexplored in the ecosystem. They did so by applying insights from (mostly many decades) of engagement with the specific culture, targeted fieldwork, and an average of twenty interviews per tradition across the domains. As became apparent in November 2013, when nine advanced draft reports were tabled before a gathering of 30 international scholars and musicians at a final working conference chaired by Anthony Seeger in the context of the 5th IMC World Forum on Music, this led to both obvious and unexpected early insights through and across the five domains, some of which include the following. Systems of Learning Music As could be expected, systems of learning music play a key role in every music culture, whether they are formal or informal, aural or notation-based, live or online, real-time or based on recordings, self-driven, community organized, or institutionally based. Striking findings were that in some cultures, such as Balinese gamelan and Ewe percussion, the learning process is so embedded in the lives of young people that they are likely to say they never “learned music.” Another notable insight across the case studies was that there is not necessarily a one-to-one relationship between highly formalized and highly structured. At a deeper level, there are similarities in terms of structured progression only when the learner is ready between learning opera at a conservatorium and

150   Huib Schippers community-based transmission processes such as those in Central Australia, although the nature of the “exams” may differ. Finally, there is an inkling that formal education is not necessarily always the ideal: while it has advantages in terms of stability and prestige, in some cases it could even be seen as a last resort if transmission within the community no longer meets the needs of the genre. Musicians and Communities Community engagement in the widest sense is at the heart of sustainability in many music cultures, from village squares to opera first night crowds. The drivers for this engagement range from entertainment to necessity, from shared beliefs to prestige. Recognition by the community (in money or otherwise) is of great importance for sustainability. There is a broad spectrum of levels of engagement between musicians and with the “inner circles” of the tradition, often containing important quality control mechanisms. In issues relating to sustainability, a single inspired individual or a small motivated group often plays a remarkable role in reinvigorating a tradition. Contexts and Constructs The contexts of some music cultures are stable, but most change over time, often drastically: many music cultures demonstrate remarkable adaptability. In that sense, recontextualization is an asset rather than a weakness. In terms of values and attitudes, a wide range of belief systems, from aesthetic to religious to political, can be either conducive or an obstacle to any music. Prestige in its various incarnations is possibly a central driver for sustainability, and resonates across the Domains. Regulations and Infrastructure Most cultures have access to some support for music in terms of infrastructure, media exposure, or funding. However, the correlation between funding and sustainability does not seem to be strong; not unlike formal education, dependence on grants is a potential weakness from a sustainability point of view. Specific legislation regarding music is most notable in the area of intellectual property, copyright, and performing rights. While these do not generally generate a substantial income stream for the vast majority of musicians, they do constitute an important moral recognition of their contribution. Other rules and regulations may affect music inadvertently, such as laws governing sound and public spaces. The need for dedicated infrastructure is low for most music genres: they often use spaces that have multiple functions: village squares, pubs, big houses. Only in rare cases—like Western opera—do the needs become so high that they can easily become a major liability to sustainability.

Applied Ethnomusicology and Intangible Cultural Heritage    151 Media and the Music Industry Since their first rise to prominence on the back of technological developments some hundred years ago, media and the music industry have played a significant supporting role in the dissemination of music and building the reputations of musicians. In spite of much talk about commodification, even at the peak of the record industry few world music genres generated a substantial income for many individual musicians or groups. However, there has always been a close, two-way relationship between media exposure and prestige, which in turn can open avenues to financial sustainability. After the collapse of the recording industry, online environments have created massive exposure, with an impressive scope for niche markets and online communities that may benefit “small musics” in decades to come. (QCRC, 2013) While each of the domains can be regarded to some extent as an ecosystem in its own right, the full picture emerges only when examining a music culture across the domains, following Pickett and Cadanasso’s suggested line of questions: “Exactly what components and entities are linked to one another? Which ones are only indirectly connected? What parts of a system are tightly coupled and which only weakly coupled?” (2002: 4). In examining music ecosystems, there are obvious and surprising connections. High-level practices tend to have a solid system of transmission, but not all do, and certainly not all have institutionalized transmission. Opera is strongly dependent on government support throughout Europe and Asia, but Hindustani classical music is barely supported by the Indian government. Probably the strongest correlation across domains is prestige, as mentioned before, which may inspire learners to seek skills in a music, communities to engage with it, contexts of music to be celebrated, infrastructure to be provided, and people to buy tickets or recordings.

engaging with communities A framework that provides such practical insights into the workings of the sustainability of music may help address one of the great challenges of (especially applied) ethnomusicology: building meaningful and mutually beneficial relationships with communities (cf. Harrison, 2012; Harrison, Mackinlay, and Pettan, 2010; Pettan, 2008; Sheehy, 1992). As practical, intellectual, and moral approaches to ethnography are becoming increasingly sophisticated (Barz and Cooley, 2008), most contemporary ethnomusicologists have moved far away from going into the field and considering their recordings and data their property to the point of commercializing them for their own profit. Attributing rights and making material available to individuals and communities are common practice now. But the range of this “giving back” is quite substantial and deserves scrutiny in this context:

152   Huib Schippers providing CDs of field recordings and musicological analyses of repertoire may not be the most meaningful—or even ethically sound—way of giving back to communities, especially if they do not possess the equipment, inclination, education, or frame of mind to make such artifacts useful to them. Many ethnomusicologists working with a single genre over a long period of time are addressing this by seeking appropriate ways of giving back by ongoing negotiation and progressing insight, in close consultation with communities. The ambition of the Sustainable Futures project was to make available the insights into ecosystems of music to communities in two ways: through targeted, community-driven initiatives, and through an interactive web resource. In the realm of the former, ca tru, one of the triggers for Sustainable Futures, four years of contact back and forth has helped to inspire a project to create a viable performance format and income source for musicians by linking the chamber music tradition to the high-volume international cultural tourism to Vietnam: Building on its 2009 recognition by UNESCO as Intangible Cultural Heritage in urgent need of safeguarding, Ca Tru Vietnam aims to create a context which reestablishes the refined urban expression of this genre in a sustainable environment. Combining the interest of refined Vietnamese and international audiences, this enterprise will open a ca tru house in Hanoi (once the home to many such establishments) on a commercially viable basis, using the high-end of cultural tourism to Vietnam as its primary market. This will reconnect the genre to its former basis of support, private patrons, providing a basic but stable income for up to ten ca tru musicians, technicians and cultural workers. Linked to this will be performances and lessons for Vietnamese audiences and young people, ensuring the intergenerational transmission of the genre without continuing dependence on external funding or state support. (Ca tru Vietnam project plan, 2010)

Such approaches can be developed tailor-made for many traditions, emphatically using an understanding of the entire ecosystem to forge new pathways in specific areas to make a genre stronger or survive. This process becomes much more challenging when making available resources that are not targeted at a single group, but at users from cultures around the world. As part of the Sustainable Futures project, an online resource has been developed for making available strategies and examples to communities across the world who are passionate about preserving music they value, aiming to assist in understanding, planning, executing, and evaluating specific interventions in musical ecosystems to increase sustainability (cf. Grant, 2014). At the heart of this tool is an online diagnosis tool that brings back the core of any music ecosystem to ten questions with up to five subquestions each, generating a tentative report that may inspire individuals and communities in the steps they choose to take and alliances they choose to form to ensure a vibrant future for their music (see Figure 4.2). While there are inevitable shortcomings to such an approach, it is a start. At the least, it can serve to build awareness among those who care most deeply about specific music genres, giving them more agency in deciding courses of action and partnerships rather than having these superimposed by scholars, NGOs, or public authorities.

Figure 4.2  Screenshots from the online survey to identify possible areas of concern for sustainability on soundfutures.org.

154   Huib Schippers The “five-domain ecosystem” approach can hopefully serve as an instrument to describe specific music cultures by scholars and doctoral students, with the potential of initiating fruitful discussions in the process with stakeholders to diagnose the condition of the genre, and strategize initiatives to optimally align all forces for a diverse, vibrant musical future for the planet. For all the reservations one may have regarding understanding music as ecosystems, the approach seems to resonate well with current approaches to caring for and understanding the sustainability of music genres and cultures, the desire to give more agency to individuals and communities within the culture, and the role of ethnomusicologists in the twenty-first century.

Acknowledgments This chapter is an outcome of the research program: Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures: Toward an Ecology of Musical Diversity (2009–2014). The project was realized with generous support from the Australian Research Council Linkage Program and partner organizations the International Music Council (Paris), the Music Council of Australia (Sydney), and the World Music & Dance Centre (Rotterdam). Nine research teams carried out the research, led by scholars at the University of Washington (Professor Patricia Campbell, Mariachi music), the University of London (Professor Keith Howard, SamulNori), the University of Lund (Professor Hakan Lundstron, ca tru), University of Otago (Professor John Drummond, Western opera), the University of Sydney (Associate Professor Linda Barwick, Yawulyu; and Associate Professor Peter Dunbar-Hall, Balinese gamelan), Southern Cross University (Professor Phil Hayward, Amami Shima uta) and Griffith University (Professor Huib Schippers, Hindustani music, who also led and coordinated the project through Queensland Conservatorium Research Centre). Website: www.usoundfutures.org.au.

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156   Huib Schippers Rees, Helen. (2012). “Intangible Cultural Heritage in China Today: Policy and Practice in the Early Twenty-First Century.” In Music as Intangible Cultural Heritage: Policy, Ideology and Practice in the Preservation of East-Asian Traditions, edited by Keith Howard, pp. 23–54. Farnham, UK: Ashgate. Rice, Timothy. (1997). “Towards a Mediation of Field Methods and Field Experience in Ethnomusicology.” In Shadows in the Field:  New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology, edited by Gregory F.  Barz and Timothy J.  Cooley, pp. 101–120. New York: Oxford University Press. Schippers, H. (2009). “From Ca Tru to the World: Understanding and Facilitating Musical Sustainability.” In Musical Autoethnographies, edited by B. Barlett and C. Ellis, pp. 197–207. Brisbane: Australian Academic Press. Schippers, Huib. (2010). Facing the Music: Global Perspectives on Learning and Teaching Music. New York: Oxford University Press. Sheehy, Dan. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 3–7. Sheehy, Dan. (2006). Mariachi Music in America:  Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture. New York: Oxford University Press. Slobin, M., ed. (1996). Returning Culture:  Musical Changes in Central and Eastern Europe. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Small, Christopher. (1998). Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Stauffer, Robert C. (1957). “Haeckel, Darwin and Ecology.” The Quarterly Review of Biology 32(2): 138–144. Tansley, A.  G. (1935). “The Use and Abuse of Vegetational Concepts and Terms.” Ecology 16(3): 284–307. Taylor, Timothy D. (2007). Beyond Exoticism:  Western Music and the World. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1992). “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 315–322, special issue on music, the public interest, and the practice of ethnomusicology. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2009a). “Introduction.” The World of Music 51(1): 7–13. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2009b). “Music and Sustainability: An Ecological Viewpoint.” The World of Music 51(1): 119–138. UNESCO. (2001). Declaration on the Promotion of Cultural Diversity. http://portal.unesco.org/ en/ev.php-URL_ID=13179&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201.html (accessed March 31, 2015). UNESCO. (2003). Convention for the safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage. http://portal.unesco.org/en/ev.php-URL_ID=17716&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201. html (accessed March 31, 2015). UNESCO. (2005). Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions. http://portal.unesco.org/en/ev.php-URL_ID=31038&URL_ DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201.html (accessed March 31, 2015). United Nations High Commission for Human Rights (2007). Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/DRIPS_en.pdf (accessed March 31, 2015).

Chapter 5

Sustainab i l i t y, Resilience, an d A da p t i v e Managem ent f or A ppl i e d Ethnomusi c ol o g y Jeff Todd Titon

Introduction Sustainability is a hard concept to avoid these days, and resilience is not far behind. We are urged to conserve energy, carpool, turn down the thermostat, use renewables, recycle our waste, lower our carbon footprint, and live sustainable lives to maintain a sustainable planet. Conservation ecologists and environmentalists manage ecosystems to prevent species extinction and maintain biodiversity. Developmental economists promote modernization and sustainable development, while ecological economists remind us about environmental constraints on trade, markets, corporations, and governments. Some business economists have argued that corporations will better be able to profit and sustain themselves if they think of their activities as taking place within an ecosystem consisting not only of predators and prey but also allies and competitors. In applied ethnomusicology, sustainability does not directly reference green energy or developmental economics, although it may involve them. Rather, it refers to a music culture’s capacity to maintain and develop its music now and in the foreseeable future. Applied ethnomusicologists today, as in the past, often try to aid musicians and their communities in sustaining their musical activities. Many of us have considered it an ethical imperative to do so, a giving back to individuals and communities we consider to be our colleagues, friends, and teachers in exchange for what they have given us—information, music, friendship and social life, pleasure, and in many cases the basis for the research that not only advances knowledge but also helps us advance our careers. Sustainability is a relatively new term for ethnomusicologists, but many ideas related

158   Jeff Todd Titon to sustainability have been with us for decades: documentation, archiving, and preservation; conservation, safeguarding, revitalization, and renewal. Resilience is an even newer term, not yet in common use among us; but it has many advantages and, I believe, deserves to enter the discussion surrounding applied ethnomusicology. One of the difficulties with sustainability and its related ideas is that they are ends, not means; they are goals, not strategies. Resilience, on the other hand, offers a strategy, a means toward the goal of sustainability. Resilience refers to a system’s capacity to recover and maintain its integrity, identity, and continuity when subjected to forces of disturbance and change. Insofar as music cultures are systems, they too exhibit resilience to a greater or lesser degree. Resilient systems share certain characteristics. Identifying what makes a music culture vulnerable, what makes it resilient, and ameliorating the former while strengthening the latter becomes, therefore, a practical strategy for enhancing a music culture’s sustainability. Resilience does not simply mean “learning to live with it,” as people new to the term mistakenly think. Nor does it mean hunkering down in a defensive stance. Rather, resilience implies a way to manage disturbance and change and guide the outcome toward a desirable end. This chapter is written to begin theorizing resilience as a sustainability strategy for applied ethnomusicologists. Just as conservation biologists intervene in the environment to restore, maintain, and develop ecosystems, so applied ethnomusicologists intervene in music cultures. Like it or not, we are committed to putting ethnomusicological knowledge and insight to practical use in order to improve musical life. We are guided by values. We are meddlers. We are experimenters, we live with uncertainty, we expect sometimes to fail, and we hope to learn from our failures. The strategy I am theorizing here for applied ethnomusicology has been called adaptive management by those who have been working with resilience strategies for a variety of systems, not just environmental ecosystems. Adaptive management is succeeding in strengthening resilience and decreasing vulnerability in social groups facing undesirable change, and in individuals facing stress and trauma. Applied to organizations, adaptive management not only enhances resilience but remodels behavior based on a new understanding: that organizations are not merely competitors, but rather exist interdependently with allies and competitors within larger ecosystems—think of the complex relations among Apple, Google, and Microsoft, for example. Sustainability is current, while resilience and adaptive management point toward the future of applied ethnomusicology. Much of it represents new thinking, while drawing lessons from applied ethnomusicology’s prior interventions, the decades-old ideas that have animated them, and the relationships between applied work in ethnomusicology and that of two of our sister, fieldwork-based disciplines, applied anthropology and public folklore. (I might also have considered applied sociology, but this sprawling chapter is already broad enough in scope.) Therefore, I treat the historical background of the ideas—preservation, conservation, and safeguarding—that both preceded and contribute to sustainability and resilience. As these ideas originated elsewhere—the conservation of natural resources, for example, and the historic preservation of material objects—I discuss them in their original contexts in addition to their later adoption in applied ethnomusicology and public folklore.

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    159 Finally, I turn to sustainability and then to resilience, again with reference to their origins elsewhere, in this case economics (sustainable development) as well as environmentalism, before moving to their applications in applied ethnomusicology. I concentrate on the United States because I am most knowledgeable about these policy concepts, strategies, and their histories in my homeland. Nevertheless, these ideas and their applications flow globally, and they move in different directions and at different rates outside the United States. The most prominent contemporary music sustainability project is based not in the United States but in Australia (see Schippers, Chapter 4 of this volume). UNESCO is the major player in the international arena, but their conservation rhetoric remains wedded to older concepts involving preservation and safeguarding heritage, while for them sustainability operates in the realm of economic development, not musical and cultural continuity.

Conservation: Natural, Cultural, and Musical Ethnomusicologists are conservationists, whether preserving and transmitting knowledge of music or, in the case of applied ethnomusicologists, conserving musical practice itself. In addition to documenting and preserving the music of the world’s peoples for research purposes, applied ethnomusicologists have sometimes intervened on behalf of music cultures to help them conserve music thought to be threatened and endangered, usually by modernization and development. In many ways, these musical and cultural conservation efforts have been modeled on those that preceded them in nature conservation, or the conservation of natural resources. Ever since the early Enlightenment, preservation and conservation have been closely related. Taken as near synonyms, their meaning is to maintain an object or system insofar as possible in its present state, to protect it from change, usually for contemplation, research, display, and perhaps for use. Conservationists who distinguish their activities from preservation emphasize conservation’s restorative aspects—restoring a historical musical instrument, for example, or a painting, or a dinosaur, or an ecosystem. Conservationists acknowledge change but try to manage it in order to prolong a desired state. Preservationists (who may nonetheless call themselves conservationists) think of themselves more as protectors. They sometimes criticize conservationists for setting an additional priority on yield or harvest or use, rather than interfering as minimally as possible in order to preserve the original object or system, as they would do. Preservationists would, for example, prefer to keep a historical musical instrument “as found” in a deteriorated state, for study, rather than to restore or repair it for display or use (Barclay, 2004). Although the debate between preservationists and conservationists is most prominent in the environmental movement (deep ecologists versus “wise use” conservationists), in this chapter I use conservation as the cover term for both preservation and conservation, distinguishing the two when desirable.

160   Jeff Todd Titon Nature conservation, or conservation of natural resources (they are not the same thing, for nature need not be regarded as a resource), is surely as old as the earliest hunters who realized they must not slaughter the entire herd, or the first growers who saved seeds. There is evidence of Italian violin-makers during the time of Stradivarius and afterward conserving the forest trees producing violin-tone wood, and of a plea from the Englishman John Evelyn before the Royal Society in 1662, advocating that trees be replanted to preserve the forests, which were being harvested at an alarming rate (Allen, 2012; Evelyn, 1664). German, French, and British conservationists during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries similarly worked for forest preservation based on scientific principles, and much was accomplished, particularly in British India throughout the nineteenth century (Barton 2002). The origins of the US conservation movement may be found in the writings of naturalists such as John (1699–1777) and William (1739–1823) Bartram, and Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), while novelists such as James Fenimore Cooper (1789–1851) expressed a preservationist philosophy through characters such as Natty Bumppo, who, like the Native Americans, used only enough natural resources to provide for basic needs (Cooper, 1823). In the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the writings of John Burroughs (1837–1921) and John Muir (1838–1914) were especially influential. Muir not only founded the Sierra Club, which became an important nature advocacy group, but also successfully lobbied the US Congress for the establishment of the first National Park, Yosemite, in 1890, the first in a succession of national parks, which came to embody the US conservation movement, and led to the establishment in 1905 of the US Forest Service, the state fish and game conservation departments, and so on. However, the split between preservationists and conservationists was already underway, as Muir (the preservationist) spoke out against the national Forest Service’s efforts to manage the US-owned parks and forests for timber harvesting. Gifford Pinchot, the Forest Service director, termed his scientifically guided conservation policies “wise use,” a phrase that has endured. A pragmatist, Pinchot’s idea of wise use was based in government management for the public good, which meant protecting the forests as a renewable resource so that the public would continually enjoy its benefits, including tree harvesting and mining as well as recreation (Miller, 2001). His successor, William Greeley, transformed the Forest Service into an agency whose principal function was to prevent forest fires, while enabling the timber companies to make enormous profits by clear-cutting huge tracts. The Sierra Club and other preservationists were outraged, but so was Pinchot. As the twentieth century wore on, the preservationist wing of the conservation movement was criticized on the grounds that purchasing natural areas in the Eastern states, or seizing them through eminent domain, forced removal of populations living on those lands, while their recreational use was limited chiefly to those wealthy enough to travel and vacation there. Today, when conservation heritage trusts buy up and set aside farmland and seashore, critics charge that this is accomplished at the expense of economic development and jobs. Conservation of cultural resources may be traced, among Europeans, to those Renaissance aristocrats of an antiquarian bent who traveled to observe ruins and kept

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    161 objects in private kunstkammer, wonder rooms or “cabinets of curiosity.” These little theaters were the precursors of museums and contained cultural relics of all kinds, as well as natural history specimens from the plant and animal world. Museums followed, and eventually a historic preservation movement (to use US terminology) arose to safeguard historically important buildings and monuments on their original sites. An example is Stonehenge in the United Kingdom, where such activities are termed “heritage preservation.” Artifacts of music cultures (e.g., ancient musical instruments) have been preserved over the years in cabinets of curiosity, museums, libraries, or repositories dedicated to instruments and, since the early twentieth century, to recordings and other media. Most ethnomusicologists maintain personal archives for research purposes, gradually passing them along to archival institutions. Museum collections may be found at the Musée de l’Homme, the Smithsonian Institution, and elsewhere. Examples of dedicated sound archives include the Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv (begun in 1900), the Archive of American Folk Song (1928) at the Library of Congress, and the British Library Sound Archive (1955). Repatriation, or returning recordings and other musical artifacts to the indigenous peoples from whom they were collected and taken, has underlined a third purpose: safeguarding (Newell, 2003). “Digital preservation” is yet another contemporary preservation activity, saving space and converting the printed or recorded artifact to a more easily maintained, perhaps more permanent, medium. However, digital preservation transforms the original medium; it does not protect it. Conservation, of course, has a strong preservation component, sometimes with additional elements such as restoration. Archives and museums practice conservation when they restore deteriorating artifacts closer to a presumably original state, as they do with dinosaur bones, paintings, and musical instruments. Conservation places less emphasis on protection and setting aside, and more emphasis on continuing utility, than does preservation. Demonstrating and exhibiting collections may also inspire conservation in music cultures. The director of the Smithsonian Institution, S. Dillon Ripley, conceived of performances at the museum in which the artifacts would be demonstrated in use, for the public. “Take the objects out of their cases and make them sing,” he wrote (http://www.folklife.si.edu/center/legacy/ripley.aspx). Although some of these demonstrations involved crafts and the application of traditional cultural knowledge, music was the most common kind of performance. The Smithsonian Festival of American Folklife, which began in 1967, is an example. Until then, most folk festivals exhibited marginal, dying, remnant traditions. But the Smithsonian festivals underlined a conservation element that encouraged the participants to maintain those traditions within their own cultural groups. “Cultural conservation” entered the US public folklore discourse in the late 1970s, partly in response to a change in the idea of American identity, from a “melting pot” in which immigrant cultures and ethnicities would forge a single new type of American, to a “mosaic” that recognized, honored, and thereby meant to conserve elements of American ethnic diversity and cultural pluralism. In that same decade, three federal folklore agencies were established that greatly influenced traditional arts policy, including music. Their mandate was to support the folk and traditional arts, which were

162   Jeff Todd Titon viewed as the expression of a culturally, ethnically, religiously, racially, occupationally, and regionally diverse set of communities that, taken together, made up the mosaic society of the United States. Music was an important community folk art, perhaps the most evident, along with foodways, dress, religious practice, language, and so forth. The three federal agencies were the Office of Folklife Studies at the Smithsonian Institution (the national museum for American history), the Folk Arts Division of the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), and the American Folklife Center of the Library of Congress. Each played a crucial role in developing cultural conservation, an early version of sustainability for the traditional arts. The Smithsonian’s involvement was the earliest of the three, and remained the most visible. The Smithsonian’s folk festival (1967–present) led to the establishment of a separate folklife division in 1980, now called the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage. Held in the nation’s capital, at first the Smithsonian’s festival followed the model of the Newport (Rhode Island) Folk Festival, which since 1959 had presented a majority of professional folksingers, making careers from their music in the folk revival, with other, lesser-known musicians who came to be known as tradition-bearers or source musicians. The former were later termed “revivalists,” which meant that they had not been born and raised within the musical communities that carried the music they performed now, from a stage for an audience. They had learned it from recordings, from other revivalists, or in some cases directly from source musicians. These latter, on the other hand, had known the music they performed from childhood, when it prevailed in their communities, and although they may have had professional careers at one time, most were not earning their living as performers at present. Many of these were from American minority groups, or from regions where modernization came late and the older folk traditions had lingered. Among the professional folksingers were Joan Baez, Oscar Brand, Peter, Paul, and Mary, and Bob Dylan; among the tradition-bearers were African American musicians such as Mississippi John Hurt, Cajun musicians such as the Balfa Brothers, and those from the Appalachian Mountain region of the American South, such as Clarence Ashley. In the early 1970s the Smithsonian festival stopped presenting the revivalists and in so doing unintentionally ghettoized authenticity in the folk arts by means of ethnic, class, and regional criteria. Those who produced the folk festivals began to hope that the national attention gained from the festival might enhance the prestige of these source musicians in their home communities, and help to preserve the musical traditions they represented. This notion of conservation differed, of course, from archival preservation, as interventions could be targeted to aid particular traditions. This goal was realized by the Folk Arts Division of the NEA, which was (and is) a funds-granting agency. Monies were (and still are) granted to folk artists in the form of fellowships, and to organizations involved in preserving and conserving the folk arts in various regional and ethnic communities throughout the United States. The Folk Arts Division guidelines articulated the program’s goal: to help folk artists and their communities value their traditional expressive culture and move into their futures, steadied by continuity with the past. In other words, the guidelines were meant to help folk artists and communities conserve their

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    163 traditional cultural beliefs and practices while becoming more modern. When I served on the Folk Arts Division’s grant decision-making panel in the early 1980s, for example, I realized that recent immigrants from Southeast Asia were a targeted group. Folk Arts staff told us that their abrupt removals to the United States following the war in that region had caused cultural trauma, and that in this crisis their folk traditions were liable to disappear within a single generation if nothing was done to help them. The American Folklife Center, established in 1976, was neither a festival-producing agency nor a granting organization. It combined the Library of Congress’s folk music archive, which had been established in the 1920s, with a series of public initiatives that involved partnerships with cultural organizations in various regions of the United States and that served to identify, document, and present the results back to the region, in an effort to strengthen regional and occupational folklife. Typically these initiatives began with surveys and culminated in a series of recommendations, along with a traveling exhibit. Today the Center defines its mission as to “preserve and present American folklife through programs of research, documentation, archival preservation, reference service, live performance, exhibitions, publications, and training” (http://www.loc.gov/ folklife/aboutafc.html). Surveys characterized their efforts in the 1970s and 1980s, while in the 1990s partnerships with other agencies, including the National Park Service, were undertaken for cultural conservation. In the 1980s the Folk Arts Division of the National Endowment for the Arts built an infrastructure of folklorists, employed chiefly in the state arts agencies. By the end of the decade almost every state of the union had at least one. They undertook state-based surveys to identify and document folk artists, and mounted exhibits and festivals to present them to the general public. The state folklorists’ functions also included grant-giving to local folk and traditional arts organizations. They hired contract fieldworkers to carry out some of the documentation and presentation activities. Where possible, they used the same authenticity criteria as the Smithsonian festival, seeking out tradition-bearing folk artists who had been born and raised with their community’s traditions, rather than revivalists who had come to them later in life. The result was a folk artist inventory that also served the Smithsonian’s folklife office, which had decided to give over one section of the festival to a different state of the union each year. Fieldworkers who had documented state folklife often were involved in presenting it in the nation’s capital. They also were available to the American Folklife Center for its various regional initiatives. As these efforts bore fruit, and not coincidentally employed hundreds of folklorists and some ethnomusicologists with graduate degrees, the leaders in this burgeoning field of public folklore began to reflect on what it was they were doing. Each agency articulated its goals with increasing precision, whether in terms of cultural equity, cultural pluralism, or—in what came to be the term most everyone eventually settled on—cultural conservation. In so doing, they increasingly defined cultural conservation in terms of heritage. In 1982 the American Folklife Center produced a book, coordinated by Ormond Loomis, entitled Cultural Conservation. They had been tasked with compiling a

164   Jeff Todd Titon report for the US Secretary of the Interior “on preserving and conserving the intangible elements of our cultural heritage such as arts, skills, folklife, and folkways” (Loomis, 1982: 1). The Department of the Interior was the appropriate government agency because they were responsible for conservation of public resources. For the distinction between tangible and intangible cultural elements, the document drew on the practice of Asian societies, particularly Japan, which identified “intangible properties” as resources to be under government protection, folk artists among them (ibid.: 13). This identification of exceptional traditional artists as “national treasures” had already been the impetus behind Bess Lomax Hawes’s successful 1980 proposal to the National Endowment for the Arts to establish and permit the Folk Arts Division to select the National Heritage Fellows, identifying a dozen outstanding American folk artists each year and offering them a cash honorarium of $5,000 and a ceremonial recognition in Washington, DC. This tangible/intangible distinction became much better known in its UNESCO incarnations. US folklorists ultimately came to critique it on the grounds that in the practice of folklife, tangible and intangible were inseparable (Hufford, 1994: 2). The Loomis document identified two components of cultural conservation: preservation and what it called “encouragement.” By preservation was meant activities involving planning, documentation, and maintenance; by encouragement was meant publication, public events, and education, in order that a healthy traditional expressive folklife culture would enable a community’s sense of integrity and enhanced identity to flourish. In this way, cultural conservation was to be more than simply preservation and maintenance. Encouragement looked to a cultural future in which folklife played an important role. Cultural conservation was more effective than preservation, for “preservation plans can divert undertakings that would disrupt normal cultural development” (Loomis, 1982: 10), and “to endure a group must pass on its distinguishing attributes from one generation to the next. Such attributes are the essence of cultural heritage” (ibid.: 3), and “it is possible, however, to temper change so that it proceeds in accordance with the will of the people, and not in response to the pressures of faddish trends or insensitive public or private projects. Conservation denotes efforts which… ensure natural cultural growth” (ibid.: 29). Leaving aside for the moment what “natural” cultural growth might be, this rhetoric reflects an anti-modernist agenda, opposed to materialism and consumer society and the cultural homogenization allegedly resulting from mass media and national brands. The Loomis document criticized identifying heritage items on a list, as UNESCO later was to do in compiling an inventory of world masterpieces of intangible cultural heritage (hereafter ICH) (ibid.: 16). Finally, cultural conservation drew the analogy between biological diversity and cultural diversity—if the one was good, so was the other (ibid.: 11). Thus many, if not most, of the arguments that would later surface in the cultural sustainability discourse in the new millennium had already been anticipated in this document. It became a working document for public folklore agencies in the 1980s. In the 1980s and 1990s the National Endowment for the Arts’ Folk Arts Division continued to support organizations, projects, and artists, and to grow the network of state

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    165 folklorists, who in turn initiated projects within their states and regions. These projects were aimed primarily at increasing opportunities for traditional folk artists to continue practicing their art. One of the most successful of these was the apprenticeship program, in which tradition-bearers were paid to teach younger members of their families, communities (and, in some instances, revivalists) their music, crafts, and so forth, in an effort to transmit the folk arts to the next generations. Its only problem was that it was chronically underfunded, which diminished its overall impact. Concerts and festivals not only showcased traditional music but also gave the tradition-bearers and source musicians recognition, acknowledgment, and prestige within their communities. The Smithsonian’s was the largest of these festivals. Another was the National Folk Festival, a Washington, D.C.– based festival since 1969, which also came to be advised chiefly by folklorists, and which in the late 1980s embarked on a new strategy of moving its venue to a new city every three years, in the hope that the city would continue supporting the festival after they moved on to the next site. A few cities did: Lowell, Massachusetts, has sponsored its festival for more than 20 years, while Bangor, Maine, has kept its festival going for more than 10. In the 1990s, the Smithsonian festivals took on an increasing international flavor, when one section of the festival was devoted to presenting the folklife of a nation other than the United States, resulting also in international cooperation among folklorists. In 1990, the American Folklife Center held a conference on “Cultural Conservation: Rethinking the Cultural Mission.” From that conference emerged the book Conserving Culture: A New Discourse on Heritage (Hufford, 1994). New was the emphasis on heritage, along with the realization that cultural conservation worked best when folklorists, applied ethnomusicologists, and other cultural specialists partnered with community leaders and organizations to work toward mutually approved and understood goals. In her Introduction, Hufford acknowledged that the cultural conservation movement places a value on both tangible and intangible culture marked for conservation, terming it heritage, something from the past which is both “ours” and worth preserving. Yet when folklife specialists began working with various constituencies to conserve heritage, it became clear that the separation of tangible and intangible heritage was misleading, particularly in those areas where the two were intimately bound up, such as intangible folk knowledge derived from interactions with the tangible environment. A second problem arose when folklife specialists attempted to “impose external standards on local communities” (ibid.: 2). A top-down approach could easily overlook or even discredit local knowledge, while outside experts imposed policies that proved unhelpful. A third problem arose in the “tendency of heritage planning to authenticate past cultures and environments [which] effectively reduced the power of present-day communities to manage the environments on which their dynamic cultures depend” (ibid.: 3). On the other hand, Hufford affirmed the term “conservation,” writing that it acknowledged the dynamic aspects of culture, whereas “preservation” implied constancy. In other words, heritage need not be a thing of the past. Hufford argued forcefully for cultural partnerships between folklife specialists and community members whose local knowledge was essential, so that the goals were mutual and the policies reflected broad agreement among all stakeholders.

166   Jeff Todd Titon Yet cultural conservation had its critics. Most prominent among these was folklorist Nicholas Spitzer, whose background included cultural conservation work for the Smithsonian Institution and a term as Louisiana state folklorist. Best known as the host of the public radio program American Routes, and now also a professor at Tulane University, Spitzer argued in a series of presentations beginning in 1987 that conservation bound public folklore to an “ethically problematic” organic metaphor in which cultures follow a natural cycle of birth, growth, and decay. At its worst, this analogy smacked of Spencerian cultural evolutionism. Rather than work as conservationists to rescue cultures from threat and endangerment, Sptizer wrote, it would be better to think in terms of conversations with cultures to further “continuity, equity and diversity” (Spitzer, 2007 [1992]: 95–96). Had Spitzer looked more closely at the environmental movement, he might have mentioned that nature conservationists were aiming to further continuity, equity, and diversity within ecosystems; and he must have known that public folklorists engaged in cultural conservation work had those ends in view as well. Nonetheless, Spitzer reminded folklorists to consider the limitations of the ecological trope: that culture does not necessarily behave like nature. Nor does nature necessarily behave like culture (Titon, 2008–, 2013). Cultural conservation was critiqued also, by several, on the grounds that it proceeded from a romantic and nostalgic bias toward the past, one which was ill-equipped to analyze correctly the contemporary forces propelling cultures forward. Nevertheless, for nearly 30 years cultural conservation remained the dominant paradigm within public folklore, while it also guided applied ethnomusicologists in their work on behalf of music cultures. If cultural conservation has given way in the new millennium to cultural sustainability, the two paradigms nonetheless have much in common. Applied ethnomusicologists and public folklorists today are beholden to the history of cultural conservation, whether they know it or not.

Safeguarding UNESCO is the major international force on behalf of cultural conservation today; but the word UNESCO chose for it is “safeguarding.” In the English language, safeguarding connotes preservation, not conservation. UNESCO had early in its history enacted Conventions (treaties that are binding only on nations that sign them) protecting historic sites, monuments, and architecture throughout the world, particularly against the ravages of war; but in the 1970s and 1980s their discussion turned to protecting traditional culture itself, usually termed folkways, folklife, and folklore. Eventually, in 1989, after years of international consultation, debate, and discussion, UNESCO issued a “Recommendation on the Safeguarding of Traditional Culture and Folklore” (http://portal.unesco.org/en/ev.php-URL_ID=13141&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_ SECTION=201.html). Many of the safeguarding ideas embodied in that cultural conservation document, and in its later implementation through two Conventions (in 2003 and 2005), could also be found in cultural conservation discourse that was occurring in the

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    167 United States (see http://www.unesco.org/culture/ich/index.php?pg=00006 and http:// www.unesco.org/new/en/culture/themes/cultural-diversity/cultural-expressions/). Indeed, the word “safeguard” had appeared in the American Folklife Center’s 1982 report on Cultural Conservation: “The ultimate aim of documentation and of the other strategies that combine in cultural conservation must be to safeguard and promote the community life and values of ethnic, occupational, religious, and regional groups by recognizing and protecting the treasured patterns that arise from their ways of life” (Loomis, 1982: 17–19; italics mine). Significantly, however, in its 1989 Recommendation, UNESCO defined preservation and conservation exactly opposite to the common US understanding of the two terms. For UNESCO in 1989, conservation was what those in the United States understand as archival preservation. It was “concerned with documentation regarding folk traditions and its object is, in the event of the non-utilization or evolution of such traditions, to give researchers and tradition-bearers access to data enabling them to understand the process through which traditions change” (http://portal.unesco.org/ en/ev.php-URL_ID=13141&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201.html) Meanwhile, for UNESCO preservation involved what we in the United States think of as conservation of living traditions. It was “concerned with protection of folk traditions and those who are the transmitters, having regard to the fact that each people has a right to its own culture and that [its culture] is often eroded by… the industrialized culture purveyed by the mass media. Measures must be taken to guarantee the status of and economic support for folk traditions both in the communities that produce them and beyond” (ibid.). The 1989 UNESCO Recommendation fell on deaf international ears, as only a halfdozen nations responded (Aikawa, 2001:13–14). As a result, throughout the 1990s UNESCO discussed ways of galvanizing international support, culminating in a 1999 conference sponsored by UNESCO and the Smithsonian Institution and leading to the 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage, which generated a mechanism for identifying outstanding examples of ICH (“world masterpieces”). In this document, the term folklore was replaced by intangible cultural heritage, and conservation was dropped while preservation and a host of other activities were subsumed under the cover term safeguarding, defined as a combination of “identification, documentation, research, preservation, protection, promotion, enhancement, transmission… and revitalization” of ICH (http://portal.unesco.org/en/ev.php-URL_ ID=17716&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201.html). UN members were asked to sign the treaty and then to begin nominating outstanding examples of their ICH for inclusion on a list of “world masterpieces.” If UNESCO approved the nomination, then the nation was obligated to undertake various actions to safeguard the ICH masterpiece, which they had promised in their nominating application. These usually included further documentation and interpretation, stimulus and promotion, and dissemination, which often resulted in cultural heritage tourism. Despite UNESCO’s good intentions, in the United States safeguarding carried the unfortunate additional purifying connotation of cleansing and deodorizing, derived from the name of a popular soap sold in the

168   Jeff Todd Titon United States and marketed under the brand name “Safeguard.” For political reasons the United States has not signed either of the 2003 or 2005 UNESCO ICH Conventions. US folklorists and ethnomusicologists have, of course, discussed the UNESCO ICH initiatives, but in general they have been critical of the results (Weintraub and Yung, 2009).

Sustainability In Theory Sustainability, as I have noted, has much in common with preservation, conservation, and safeguarding. Some advocates of sustainability emphasize that their attitude toward development is progressive. Conservationists, they say, would prefer to manage things to maintain present conditions or restore earlier ones; sustainability advocates recognize that change is both natural and inevitable, and seek to manage change in order to guarantee continuity, integrity, and resource availability for the future. The predominant sustainability discourses take place in economics, ecology, and environmental studies. Sustainability in economics means sustainable development; in ecology it refers to the stability of ecosystems; in environmental studies it centers on energy conservation and carbon emission reduction. Although the idea long preceded the use of the term, sustainable development appears to have entered public discourse first in the World Conservation Strategy of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN, 1980). Sustainable development also occupied a prominent place in Gaia: An Atlas of Planet Management (Myers, 1992 [1984]). But it was with Our Common Future (World Commission on Environment and Development, 1987), usually referred to as the Brundtland Report, for the UN, where the term sustainability, coupled with development, captured the imagination of the public policymakers. Particularly in the arena of developmental economics, where the chief problems were identified as third-world population growth, poverty, outmoded and inefficient agriculture, lack of industry, poor infrastructure, and so forth, sustainable development was viewed as a reasonable solution, famously defined in the Brundtland Report as “development that meets the needs of the present, without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.” Environmentalists interpreted the sustainability mandate as confirming their agenda: limits to growth, conservation of resources, safeguarding biodiversity, transitioning energy from fossil fuels to renewable sources, and so forth. Most economists, on the other hand, thought that sustainable development confirmed their belief that advances in science and technology would increase efficiency and solve third-world problems. The environmentalists placed their emphasis on sustainable, while the economists took comfort in development. In retrospect, of course, it can be seen that for economics, sustainable development is not a new concept, but rather a reinterpretation of the conservation concept of wise use and sustainable yield, which I have already traced to Renaissance Europe. For environmentalists, sustainability evoked the

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    169 old idea of the “balance of nature” or, as it was expressed by natural historians including Gilbert White, Henry David Thoreau, and even by Charles Darwin, “Nature’s economy”—the idea that, left to its own devices, nature tended toward efficiency as its parts worked together for the benefit of the whole (Worster, 1994). For ecologists, sustainability evoked the scientific version of natural balance, expressed in the idea that an ecosystem tended “naturally” to move toward a state of stability, or dynamic equilibrium, except when disturbed. Among applied ethnomusicologists and public folklorists, the ecologists’ understanding of sustainability has been the most influential. As pointed out earlier, in the new millennium cultural conservation has become cultural sustainability while musical conservation has become musical sustainability, in both cases continuing the eco-trope. However, developmental economics is not without influence. For example, UNESCO views safeguarding ICH as a part of the UN’s economic development mandate. Culture must be safeguarded not merely because it is part of our human heritage, but because culture is “the mainspring of sustainable development” (http://www.unesco. org/new/en/culture/themes/cultural-diversity/diversity-of-cultural-expressions/ the-convention/what-is-the-convention/). In addition, in the contemporary field of arts advocacy, one of the most powerful arguments advanced is that the arts are an economic engine (Throsby, 2010). In this vein, applied ethnomusicologists and public folklorists sometimes advocate heritage tourism (festivals, living history museums, historic tours, etc.) to fuel local and regional economies, believing that this will also give a boost to traditional music cultures and other arts. Sustainability carries with it the notion of finite resources that are in danger of exhaustion. Given infinite abundance, there would be no need to think in terms of using resources in a sustainable way. If it is acceptable to speak of music as a human resource, then plainly it is a renewable one. As long as people can sing, they are not in danger of using up the resources required to make music. But just as language itself is not endangered whereas individual languages have gone extinct and others are going extinct, certain musics—that is, music cultures—and genres and instruments are endangered. Of course, those engaged in salvage folklore and ethnomusicology were well aware of these threats; indeed, it could be said that the impulse to preserve music arises at least partly from sadness over impending loss. Among US folklorists, as we have seen, conservation moved out of the museums and into living (or, rather, supposedly dying) cultures with the object of renewal and revitalization. As I wrote above, only a small number of US ethnomusicologists took part in the cultural conservation movement led by US public folklorists. Most US ethnomusicologists continued to do their research outside North America, where their experiences with musical and cultural conservation were various and diffuse. Although sustainability did not make an impact in ethnomusicology or folklore until the new millennium, it is helpful to see how the concept was implemented in late twentieth-century developmental economics and the environmental movement, the two areas where it remains most deeply embedded today. Sustainability comes to ethnomusicologists with baggage from economics and environmentalism. Critics pointed out

170   Jeff Todd Titon that sustainable development that reduced overall short-term resource yield would only exacerbate third-world poverty in the face of population growth, but proponents argued that a combination of smart market regulation, wise political policies, and advances in technology would greatly increase efficiency, productivity, and ultimate yield, and that the rising tide would lift all boats. The results of sustainable development initiatives are mixed. Economic successes have occurred in some areas, failures in others. Cultural anthropologists working in indigenous societies critique sustainable development on the grounds that it is a new form of Western colonialism that destroys traditional knowledge, lifeways, and cultural integrity. Meanwhile, resource exploitation and environmental degradation continue, though perhaps at a lesser rate, while living standards rise in some nations and stagnate elsewhere, and while income inequality also is on the rise. Nonetheless, sustainability brought environmental considerations into economics as never before. The work of ecological economist Herman E. Daly has been notable within sustainable development. Daly was important not only as a theorist but also as an actor on this stage, for from 1988 to 1994 he was the senior economist at the World Bank. Daly began his career in the 1970s by opposing the possibility of continuous economic growth. He maintained that in their models economists ignored the environment at their peril. Constrained by the environment, the world economy was better viewed as a steady-state, dynamic equilibrium (Daly, 1991 [1977]). After the Brundtland Report, Daly endorsed sustainable development. He defined it in terms borrowed from “wise use” conservation practice, that is, as sustainable yield, in which the renewed resource is able to exceed the amount harvested or lost to disasters such as disease or fire. Alarmed at the way sustainable development was being used synonymously with sustainable growth, Daly argued that development need not imply growth. “When something grows it gets bigger. When something develops it gets different,” he wrote. “The earth ecosystem develops but it does not grow. Its subsystem, the economy must eventually stop growing but continue to develop. The term ‘sustainable development’ therefore makes sense for the economy but only if it is understood as ‘development without growth’ ” (Daly, 1993: 267–268). Unfortunately, Daly’s sensible distinction failed to influence most developmental economists. Not surprisingly, the business world also adopted the idea of sustainable development, but in their hands it became a synonym for sustainable growth. To corporations intent on global competition, growth seemed necessary for survival. Many corporations adopted “green” practices, such as recycling waste, at the same time that they continued using up finite resources while researching technology for more efficient productivity and wiser use. Daly was not the only economist to make use of ecology when discussing economy. In the 1990s, around the same time that Daly was proclaiming sustainable growth an oxymoron, James F. Moore argued that corporate leaders should understand their firms to be actors within ecosystems where they must not only compete but also cooperate in order to ensure the sustainability of the entire system and themselves within it. Just as predators and prey are interdependent in a natural ecosystem, so are corporations interdependent in a business ecosystem, even when they are rivals. His classic case in

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    171 point was the cooperation and competition between Apple and Microsoft (Moore, 1993). Whereas Daly’s distinction between development and growth was ignored by those economists, business leaders, and government policymakers who maintained a bias toward growth, Moore’s idea of business ecosystems caught on, augmented by Paul Hawken’s popular writing on the subject (Hawken, 1994). Today it is a commonplace to speak of the Apple ecosystem or the Google ecosystem. Daly and Moore believed that ecosystems were self-regulating and moved toward a stable, though dynamic, equilibrium. Ecological thought had little impact on folklore and ethnomusicology until the new millennium, but its effect on cultural anthropology in the past century was significant. In fact, the sub-discipline of cultural ecology gathered momentum in the 1950s and was well established a decade later (Netting, 1977). It treated human groups and their behavior from an ecological perspective (Rappaport, 1979). Modernization and progress in so-called underdeveloped nations in the post–World War II era had been a concern of developmental anthropologists all along, with some applied anthropologists working to further it, others critiquing it, yet others undermining it through action anthropology and by privileging local knowledge over a modern worldview. Sustainable development, as defined in the Brundtland Report, was useful to economic anthropologists concerned with the impact of modernization and progress on the environment. Cultural anthropologists used the sustainable development concept to probe the interface between the environment and economic equity as well as political ecology. John Van Willigen concluded in Applied Anthropology (3rd ed.) that “[s]‌ustainability has come to be expressed in a wide range of [anthropological] themes in addition to economic development. These include biodiversity, climate change, soil and water conservation, efficient and renewable energy use, air quality, solid waste, population planning, forestation, and alternative agriculture” (Van Willigen, 2002: 74). Yet, as I mentioned earlier, applied anthropolology is the target of a stinging contemporary critique coming from anthropologists specializing in indigenous studies, because of its historical alliance with developmental economics. The bad odor attached to it might threaten applied ethnomusicology, but it must be noted that applied ethnomusicology arose well after applied anthropology, during the period of postcolonial critique; and that applied ethnomusicology’s ideological stance is anti-colonialism. Concerns with sustainability and the environment were also, of course, central in the environmental movement, represented within the science of ecology by a growing sustainability discourse in conservation biology, which also came to be known as conservation ecology. Michael Soulé, the founder of conservation biology, defined its “proper objective” as the “protection and continuity of entire communities and ecosystems.” Conservation biologists are concerned less with “maximum yields, and profitability, and more [with] the long-range viability of whole systems and species…. Long-term viability of natural communities usually implies the persistence of diversity” and, because of human-made disturbances to these communities, requires redress through active management (Soulé, 1985:  728–729.) In emphasizing continuity and viability, Soulé is speaking of sustainability, but not of sustainable development. His de-emphasis on

172   Jeff Todd Titon yields underlines the major difference between sustainable development, which has an economic end, and conservation biology’s idea of sustainability, which concerns long-term endurance of ecosystems and maximizes biodiversity over yield. As conservation biology grew into an applied “crisis discipline,” some wished to adapt it for sustainable development; yet Soulé’s original vision of biodiversity remained central, while it impacted environmental activists and ecologists alike. Already in 1993, ecohistorian Donald Worster could write, “There is a widespread implication… that sustainability at bottom is an ecological concept: the goal of environmentalism should be to achieve ‘ecological sustainability’ ” (Worster, 1993: 148). Worster worried that sustainability carried economic yield connotations of conservation’s “wise use” back into the discussion, albeit under a new name. Furthermore, he pointed out the problems with the idea of ecosystem sustainability in the face of the changed ecological paradigm, which had abandoned ideas of stability and a balance of nature (ibid: 149–150). Nonetheless, the contemporary environmental movement embraces sustainability, to the point that it has become a vogue word for various eco-conscious activities.

In Applied Ethnomusicology As I  mentioned at the outset of this chapter, US ethnomusicologists and other culture workers helped to sustain musicians, musical traditions, and music cultures long before the term sustainability became operative in the late 1980s, and before it entered ethnomusicological discourse in the 2000s. In the 1890s a privileged, anti-modernist wing within the Progressive movement established settlement schools for the poor in New York and Chicago, as well as remote rural areas such as the southern Appalachian Mountains, where immigrant and native traditions were collected from elders and taught to youngsters. The well-known Appalachian singer Jean Ritchie (1922–) grew up near the Hindman Settlement School in southeastern Kentucky, where many of her sisters attended; after she left Kentucky for New York, she took a job at a settlement school, where her singing came to the attention of Alan Lomax and others in the folk revival scene, and her career as a tradition-bearer was soon launched (Ritchie, 1955). While it suffered from noblesse oblige, the Progressives’ uplift agenda for the poor favored the conservation of folk traditions, both rural and immigrant. Music and dance were prominent among those singled out for preservation and revival. Generations of American children learned them in school. This was not archival preservation, but sustainability within living cultural groups, in an effort to restore and maintain personal and cultural identity and integrity under the psychologically dislocating pressures of modernization. Other twentieth-century efforts at sustainability before the term gained currency were directed at individual musicians rather than cultural groups. Although most folklorists and ethnomusicologists believed that folk traditions were endangered and would diminish and eventually disappear, it might be possible to help outstanding musicians revive and maintain their careers, even if it meant bringing their music to a different audience, the urban middle class, whose ethnic and regional traditions had

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    173 vanished into the melting pot. Alan and John Lomax’s work in this vein with the African American folksinger Huddie Ledbetter (Lead Belly) is a case in point (Porterfield, 2001). In certain parts of the United States, folk festivals became occasions to reintroduce traditional musicians to their own cultures and bring them to the attention of a wider public, thereby stimulating them to maintain their musical skills and repertoires. Festivals such as the one started in Asheville, North Carolina (1928–present) by Bascom Lamar Lunsford are examples. In the 1950s and 1960s, rediscovered traditional blues singers and old-time string band musicians, as well as tradition-bearing folksingers, were promoted on the newly reinvigorated folk music revival circuit. Musicians such as the aforementioned Jean Ritchie, Son House, Clarence “Tom” Ashley, Bill Monroe, and Almeda Riddle—regarded as authentic representatives of their regions and musical traditions because they had grown up learning them—mingled with folk music revivalists in widely promoted folk music concerts, as well as festivals that drew many thousands of spectators. Many of the those who promoted the sustainability of musical genres such as blues and bluegrass in the 1960s were themselves young, folk-revival musicians, and some later became folklorists and ethnomusicologists. These included William Ferris, whose efforts to sustain blues in Mississippi included cultural tourism (especially for Europeans), a boost to the career of B. B. King, and promotion of the career of country blues singer Son Thomas. Ferris brought King to be an artist-in-residence at Yale, where Ferris taught as a professor of American Studies for a few years before returning to his native Mississippi to found the University of Mississippi’s Center for the Study of Southern Culture. From 1997 to 2001 Ferris was director of the National Endowment for the Humanities, the first and only time that a folklorist has held this position, the most powerful cultural post in the United States. Kenneth Goldstein and Roger Abrahams both collected, recorded, and promoted folk musicians in the 1950s and 1960s folk music revival; they became professors of folklore at the University of Pennsylvania. My own trajectory was similar. While a graduate student, I joined Lazy Bill Lucas’s blues band in Minneapolis in the late 1960s out of a desire to learn more about a music I had already been playing for several years. Soon, wanting to give something back, I saw that I could promote my new friend’s solo career, by publishing my interviews with him in fan magazines devoted to African American blues music, which led to a recording contract for him as well as an appearance at the 1970 Ann Arbor Blues Festival. David Evans’s path was similar to mine. He researched blues while in graduate degree programs in folklore, promoted some of the blues singers’ careers, and eventually became a professor of ethnomusicology, at the University of Memphis. The most significant relationship for what would become sustainability was that which developed in the 1960s between folklorist and bluegrass musician Ralph Rinzler (1934–1994) and Cajun fiddler Dewey Balfa (1927–1992). Their partnership ushered in a revitalization and revival of Cajun music beginning in the late 1960s within French Louisiana and elsewhere. Although the sustainability concept was not available to describe it then, it remains one of the most effective instances of a US vernacular musical and cultural sustainability intervention. I  have written about this

174   Jeff Todd Titon elsewhere, so a summary here will suffice (Titon, 2009c: 130–131). One of the promoters of the Newport Folk Festival, Rinzler had invited Balfa, among others, to perform at the festival. Balfa’s local newspaper had questioned whether that old-fashioned, “chanky-chank” music ought to represent the region at such an important festival. Surely Balfa and the others would be laughed off the stage, the paper had editorialized. But instead, the Newport audience would not let them leave the stage, calling for encores. Balfa returned to Cajun country so energized that he became a cultural ambassador and took his family band on tour throughout the world. But more than that, he led a cultural revival movement within his Cajun community that eventually extended even to a renewal of the Cajun French language. Whether or not Rinzler was responsible for doing anything more than galvanizing Balfa’s latent sustainability talents, he understood what could be accomplished by a partnership between culture workers like himself and community leaders like Balfa. When, a few years later, Rinzler founded the Smithsonian Festival of American Folklife, he spread this idea among the festival workers and the group of folklorists and ethnomusicologists who came to join him in Washington, D.C., in the 1970s, one that included Bess Lomax Hawes (1921–2009) and her brother Alan Lomax (1915–2002), as well as ethnomusicologists Daniel Sheehy and Thomas Vennum, along with folklorist Alan Jabbour, all of whom were to become deeply involved with the formation and early years of the National Endowment for the Arts’ Folk Arts Division, the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress, and the Smithsonian’s Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage. To a greater or lesser degree, all of this work was animated by this vision of the possibilities of cultural renewal and sustainability as a result of various interventions: grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Smithsonian’s festivals, and the American Folklife Center’s surveys and exhibitions. However, sustainability was not the operative term at the time, and as I discussed earlier, when in the early 1980s they began to theorize about what they had done and were doing and wanted to do better, they called it cultural conservation. But in defining it as “encouragement” along with preservation, they were thinking about sustainability. The founding generation of the Society for Ethnomusicology was interested primarily in basic research and scholarship, not applied work. However, David McAllester and Mantle Hood undertook some interventions that could be considered applied, even though they never discussed them in those terms. McAllester was active in the field of pre-college music education, working with the Music Educators National Conference to include world music in the curriculum for youngsters aged 6–18. His own research was with the Navajo, and although he was adopted by a Navajo family, he did not actively seek to influence the future of Navajo music, preferring to leave that to the Navajo themselves. Hood, on the other hand, intervened in Bali, both as a patron of the arts and in encouraging the revival of gamelan gong-making and performance. A section near the conclusion of his book, The Ethnomusicologist, is entitled “The Impact of the Ethnomusicologist” and concludes by reporting on the way his work and appreciation of their artistry raised the status of traditional musicians, and music and dance in their community, and gave them impetus to continue (Hood, 1971: 358–371).

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    175 Only a few US ethnomusicologists were involved in these musical and cultural conservation efforts, as noted earlier. At the Smithsonian Institution and associated in one way or another with the folklife office were Thomas Vennum and, in the late 1980s, Charlotte Heth, who had become director of their Native American museum initiative. A few ethnomusicologists worked as presenters at the Smithsonian’s folklife festival—I had done so in 1976, for example—and in 1988 ethnomusicologist Anthony Seeger became the director of the Smithsonian’s newly acquired operation, Folkways Records. Judith Gray, who had studied ethnomusicology at Wesleyan University, was hired as an archivist by the American Folklife Center. The Folk Arts Division of the National Endowment for the Arts involved the most ethnomusicologists. Daniel Sheehy, who received his Ph.D. in ethnomusicology from UCLA, was the assistant director throughout the decade, while the Folk Arts panelists who met four times per year to advise the agency and recommend grant and heritage awards included ethnomusicologists Charlotte Heth (serving 1981–1982, 1987), myself (1981–1983), Robert Garfias (1982–1983), Jacqueline Dje Dje (1983–1985), Ralph Samuelson (1984–1985), Hector Vega (1984–1986), Lorraine Sakata (1986–1989), Ric Trimillos (1987–1988), Adelaide Schramm (1988–1989), and Thomas Vennum (1989). A few more worked in state agencies such as arts councils, either doing contract fieldwork and festival and exhibit production, or as arts administrators. Each of us had a commitment to applied ethnomusicology and to musical and cultural conservation in our own academic and public work, but altogether we were only about 5 percent of the ethnomusicologists working in the United States at that time. The fact that most US ethnomusicologists researched music cultures outside the United States severely limited the percentage that might have participated, however. In short, while in the 1980s public (sector) folklore developed a strong US infrastructure, employing folklorists at the national and state government levels, there was nothing comparable in scope for US ethnomusicologists. The vast majority remained scholars aiming their research at colleagues while teaching students in the academic world. Some, however, were developing a commitment to applied ethnomusicology (see Murphy, Chapter 20 of this volume). Ethnomusicology’s involvement in sustainability during the 1980s came chiefly from commitments to musical individuals and communities that were resulting from fieldwork, not from alliances with public folklore. While it was true even then that almost all fieldwork conducted by US academic ethnomusicologists was accomplished for the purposes of scholarship and contributions to knowledge about the music of the world’s peoples, many ethnomusicologists were forming friendships with their principal informants (some of which led to marriage) and began asking how “giving back” might also be extended to communities. This was the same generation that had begun reciprocity of this kind in the 1960s as graduate students. Also, at this time, the “crisis” in US cultural anthropology was leading to a new reflexivity among North American ethnomusicologists who, in questioning their own subject positions and their rights to claim knowledge and authority, of necessity were considering the impact of their research on the communities studied, in addition to the impact of their studies on themselves. Notable in terms of their movement in the direction of

176   Jeff Todd Titon applied ethnomusicology and sustainability were second-generation US ethnomusicologists Paul Berliner, Steven Feld, and Anthony Seeger. Berliner’s work with Shona mbira music and musicians was unusually reflexive for its time, concerned as it was with the ethnomusicologist’s subject position vis-a-vis the people whose music he was learning (Berliner, 1978). Feld and Seeger undertook ethnographic fieldwork among tropical rain forest peoples, with scientific research as their principal goal; but each scholar gradually developed a sense of responsibility to help their subjects maintain their music and culture in the face of modernization. Feld’s efforts with the Kaluli in Papua New Guinea included a reflexive postscript to the second edition of Sound and Sentiment (Feld, 1990). Seeger began to investigate legal means of protecting Suya culture, including copyright for their music (Seeger, 1991). Some ethnomusicologists undertaking graduate study in the 1980s were strongly affected by the currents of experimental ethnography and applied ethnomusicology; among them, Michelle Kisliuk wrote a reflexive ethnography of another tropical rain forest people, the BaAka (Kisliuk, 1998). Alan Lomax should also be considered in this light. Although Lomax meant cantometrics to be scientific, aimed it at anthropologists and folklorists, and seldom was reflexive, his work on behalf of musical and cultural equity was implicit in this research, and explicit in his strongly-felt influence on the cultural conservation movement in US folklore (Lomax, 1972). It was conservation ecology’s notion of diversity, coupled with equity and ecojustice, that provided the basis for sustainability thinking in folklore (cultural sustainability) and ethnomusicology (music culture sustainability and the persistence of musical traditions) in the twenty-first century. Within ethnomusicology, “Music and Sustainability” was the title of a panel presentation for the 2006 annual conference of the Society for Ethnomusicology. A special journal issue on music and sustainability published three years later included the papers from that panel plus two others (Titon, 2009a). The essay introducing the special issue proposed that music is a biocultural resource, a sound-producing activity natural to humans that comes into being as music through sociocultural processes…. Efforts to sustain music are best directed at, and regarded as, sustaining selected sociocultural activities that encourage music’s production and maintenance. In short, sustaining music means sustaining people making music. Then if one grants that sustaining music is a legitimate public policy pursuit, a number of further questions arise: what are the wisest policies, how may they be achieved, and what role might ethnomusicologists play in defining them? (Titon, 2009b: 6)

The essays in that issue addressed music and sustainability from different vantage points, but all were concerned with music cultures in a state of revitalization. In the United States, these music cultures, particularly when regarded as expressions of ethnic identity, are cultural policy targets. Applied ethnomusicologists ask how healthy these musical cultures are, and what can be done to help them survive and flourish, while at

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    177 the same time honoring their traditional practices. Repatriation of archival recordings has been an enormous help to a number of them. In her essay for the special journal issue on music and sustainability, Janet Topp Fargion mentioned the Passamaquoddy recordings made more than 100  years ago by Jesse Walter Fewkes (Topp Fargion, 2009: 78). Wayne Newell, an educator and Passamaquoddy community scholar helping his nation to revitalize traditional music and language, uses these recordings and finds them invaluable (Newell, 2003). This way of thinking about preservation is critical to Topp Fargion’s holistic redefinition of field recordings. Recordings have always held a central place in ethnomusicological research. Yet among ethnomusicologists today, field recording itself may be becoming endangered. For one thing, it is increasingly difficult to keep pace with changing technological developments. For another, as social texts become more central to ethnomusicology, documentary field recordings recede in importance, along with musical transcription and analysis. Topp Fargion’s essay showed how a more inclusive approach to research, particularly for sustainability purposes, enables the field recorded document (ibid.). In that same special journal issue on music and sustainability, Mark DeWitt and Tom Faux both presented case studies of particular musical cultures in a state of revitalization. DeWitt portrayed a Creole music and dance scene in northern California that is largely self-supporting, based not only on a core of Creole (and to a lesser extent Cajun) out-migrants from Louisiana, but also on a group of folk music and dance revivalists who, although not growing up in Creole or Cajun culture, have joined it. Although some of the Bay Area musicians have received recognition and support from arts councils and other agencies, most have received little or none. The health of this scene does not depend on stimuli from external agencies. But as it is competing with an ever-compelling musical marketplace, its vitality can be lost in a generation (DeWitt, 2009). For that reason, “passing it on” is a major concern of arts policy. Apprenticeship, funded by arts agencies, in which younger members of an arts community learn from respected elders, is one of the most widely praised forms of intervention. And in those instances where the master artists are, or become, community scholar-practitioners, “passing it on” becomes an important internal consideration. The experiences of Don Roy as discussed by Tom Faux are a case in point. Unlike the Creole music and dance in northern California, Franco-American music in New England has received support from cultural agencies, particularly for festivals and tours; but, as Faux pointed out, Roy understood that these tourist-oriented expressions usually failed to foster the long-term, community social capital that sustains a music and dance scene. And so Roy teaches group lessons, and the teaching not only facilitates music but also encourages community-building. One of the reasons, perhaps, that Don Roy is uneasy at cultural agencies labeling him a Franco-American musician is that he understands that this music transcends ethnic boundaries and attracts contemporary contradance musicians in New England who are identified with “Yankee” (traditional British) rather than French culture (Faux, 2009). The ecosystem analogy that enabled the application of these principles to cultural management on behalf of musical sustainability has recently been subjected to a

178   Jeff Todd Titon critique by Brent Keogh. In a wide-ranging review of the ecological trope in ethnomusicological theory, Keogh concludes that in considering musical cultures as ecosystems, and in following the principles of natural management (that is, by “following nature” in privileging diversity, interdependence, and so on), we would be mistakenly attributing good intentions to nature, whereas “Nature does not care whether a particular species thrives or perishes and no one species is more important that any other…. Nature does not care about diversity, it does not manage its economy because Nature [sic] is not an agent” (Keogh, 2013: 6). Keogh confuses agency (action) with intention, because common language does in fact assign agency to nature, as in statements such as “canals carved by the agency of the river.” Granted, the Christian worldview that gave rise to the widespread Enlightenment idea of nature as the Great Economist saw a divine hand behind nature. And, indeed, certain conservation ecologists do attribute good outcomes to natural processes; for example, two of Soulé’s value statements for conservation biology are that “diversity of organisms is good” and that “evolution is good” (Soulé, 1985: 730–731). But there is a difference between good outcomes and intentions. Wetlands, for example, provide flood control, wildlife habitat, and so forth. One can say without violating scientific principles that flood control is the result of the agency of wetlands. Those of us working with the ecosystem analogy in applied ethnomusicology are not attributing good intentions to nature, pleasant as it is to entertain the fancy that nature “cares” when good outcomes occur. Of course, nature also acts destructively. Nor is nature indifferent. In the tradition of scientific realism, nature simply “is,” as an external reality. Where sustainability is a desired outcome, it does not require belief in agency within nature. It is neither necessary nor desirable for conservation ecologists to anthropomorphize nature when harmonizing human interventions in the natural world with ecological principles in order to maximize desired outcomes. Nor is it necessary for applied ethnomusicologists to attribute agency to nature when working with that ecological analogy in cultural policy. It would be difficult to conclude that applied ethnomusicologists who base management of musical cultures on an ecosystem resilience paradigm attribute agency to nature or, for that matter, to culture. Keogh’s critique of the eco-trope, like Spitzer’s critique of conservation, points to the limitations they believe arise from employing analogies between culture and nature. The relationship between the two is, however, complex, as is the history of that relationship (Titon, 2013). When back in the late 1970s I began exploring music cultures as ecological systems, the analogy I had in mind was between music and energy; that is, as energy flowed in a natural ecosystem in a feedback loop among so-called producer organisms and consumers, so in a music culture music flowed in a feedback loop among producers and consumers (Titon, 1984: 9). The analogy I have borne in mind is thus not merely at the system attribute level, but a more basic analogy between the driving forces in these two systems, namely energy and music. Indeed, ecological principles are derived from human constructions of the natural world to begin with. As we shall see in the next section, ecologists who favor the resilience paradigm not only deny agency to nature but also are skeptical of equilibratory constructions of nature.

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Resilience Within the larger discourse of sustainability among ecologists, a related term, resilience, has provided a different and, many think, more promising direction for ecosystem management. Advocates of resilience emphasize that whereas sustainability is a goal, resilience is a strategy. Like sustainability, resilience thinking has been taken up by economists, including business economists, and by psychologists and social workers, who recommend resilience to their clients as a response to disruptive change in their lives. To date, resilience has not had much, if any, impact in ethnomusicology, applied or otherwise. In this chapter I begin exploring how applied ethnomusicologists might employ resilience as a strategy. Nonetheless, resilience has already entered public discourse, where its use is becoming more frequent. Like sustainability, resilience has been used to mean two different, but related, ideas. In popular usage, resilience sometimes means resistance; but more precisely, resilience means the ability to bounce back. Consider a system such as a forest, a pond, a music culture, a computer, or a human being. To use a homely example, imagine a person on the verge of catching a cold. Persons may increase their resistance by boosting their immune system with echinacea, vitamin C, and so on. Resilience, on the other hand, refers to a person’s ability to recover after catching a cold. Going from not having a cold to having one represents a change in state or, as ecologists call it, a regime shift from one state to another—in this case from a more desirable equilibrium (health) to a less desirable one (having a cold). The more resilient a system, the more quickly it recovers, and the more fully it returns toward its previous state. Ecologists stress that a resilient system need not bounce back entirely to its previous state; in the face of disturbance it may—indeed probably will—change; but a resilient system recovers to the point where it is able to retain sufficient integrity to keep performing its core functions (Gunderson, Allen, and Holling, 2009: xiv–xvi.). Summarizing ecological thought about resilience, Philip S. Lake writes, “The capacity to weather a disturbance without loss is defined as resistance, whereas resilience is the capacity to recover from a disturbance after incurring losses, which many be considerable” (Lake, 2013: 20). Resilience strategies are meant to exhibit resilience themselves; that is, managing for resilience means living with a degree of uncertainty (although trying to minimize it). It means to experiment, sometimes to fail, and to adapt management techniques so as to learn from successes and failures. In the current phraseology, resilience thinking requires adaptive management. Adaptive management anticipates, and reacts to, changing circumstances, changes in values, and changes in knowledge. Resilience is meant to be pragmatic and realistic (Norton, 2005). Environmental studies professor Lance Gunderson explains that “Adaptive management is an approach to natural resource management that was developed from theories of resilience. Adaptive management acknowledges the deep uncertainties of resource management and attempts to winnow those uncertainties over time by using management actions as experiments to test

180   Jeff Todd Titon policy. Management must confront various sources of complexity in systems, including the ecological, economic, social, political, and organizational components of these systems as well as the interactions among system components…. Adaptive management attempts to bring together disciplinary approaches for analysis and assessment and then integrate those ideas with policy and government in the social arenas in a framework some describe as adaptive governance… [which is] a framework for managing complex environmental issues… the social and human context” (Gunderson, Allen, and Holling, 2009: xx). Resilience thinking is implemented through adaptive management. Restoration ecology is one area of application. Here, adaptive management attempts to increase an ecosystem’s resilience and tip it back to a more desirable state. Interestingly, many resilience advocates contrast resilience with sustainability not only by regarding the former as a strategy and the latter as merely a goal, but also by linking sustainability to the old “balance of nature” equilibrium paradigm, which has been abandoned by most ecologists, even though many conservationists, cultural and otherwise, still believe in it. In other words, the majority of contemporary ecologists no longer believe that ecosystems exhibit periods of prolonged stability as well as an overall tendency to move toward a single, balanced equilibrium, a climax state. Rather, they accept that in complex systems disturbances and changes are the norm, and that there is no natural balance at a climax equilibrium point, but rather any number of tipping points that, when passed, bring about regime shifts to different states of temporary equilibria, some more desirable than others (Pickett and White, 1985: 155–156). Resilience strategies are meant to achieve and maintain the most desirable states whenever possible. For some resilience advocates, abandoning the idea of stability in ecosystems also means abandoning a cornerstone of “wise use” conservation and sustainability thinking: that endangered renewable resources would “naturally” recover when harvest rates were reduced to a more sustainable level, as in a forest or fishery. Such recovery was predictable under the balance of nature paradigm, but it could not be anticipated after a regime shift to a less desirable state. The abrupt collapse of fisheries, without any real prospect of return, lends credence to the newer paradigm involving regime shifts, and indicates a need for a change in strategy and policy (Gunderson, Allen, and Holling, 2009: xiii–xiv). Gunderson continues: “A resilience approach opposes the preoccupation with increased production/yields/returns through increased efficiency… and control of natural variation. In contrast resilience thinking captures, and in fact embraces, the dynamic nature of the world. It recognizes the perils of optimizing for particular products…. It leads to an understanding of the critical thresholds in the systems we depend upon, and, once a system has crossed such a threshold into an undesirable regime, resilience thinking explains why it can be so difficult to move out of that condition, and what might be done about it” (Walker and Salt, 2006: 140). Resilience strategies also are employed in current economic practice, and they are not new. Diversification, a common resilience strategy for sustainability, is proverbial; most languages contain wise old sayings such as “Don’t keep all your eggs in one basket.” Farmers understand that monoculture is vulnerable to predators, disease, and erratic weather. Organic farmers work to improve the soil, which boosts resilience in the

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    181 face of disturbance. Investors are urged to allocate funds to more than a single type of asset. Business corporations employ similar resilience strategies, diversifying products, sources, and distribution channels. If they consider themselves part of larger ecosystems, they understand that alliances, even with competitors, build resilience. Insofar as applied ethnomusicologists follow business models, particularly when advocating for heritage tourism and the creative economy, they may choose to adopt resilience strategies similar to these. Diversification is an adaptive risk management technique. In putting ethnomusicology to practical use, then, applied ethnomusicologists would be wise to consider resilience strategies and adaptive management when partnering with cultural organizations where sustainability is a policy goal. Whether working directly with music cultures in participatory action research, sometimes as members of those music cultures ourselves, or whether working for, or with, government agencies, arts councils, museums, historical societies, and other nonprofit organizations with an agenda that includes sustaining, or restoring, particular music cultures, we would do well to recognize regime changes and implement resilience strategies. As usual in such cases, questions arise over what is to be sustained or restored in a music culture—repertoire, style, performance practice, function and context, feelings and experiences, careers, and so forth—and how best to sustain what is to be sustained. Many of these are questions of value as well as management strategy, and they involve trade-offs. Moreover, it is crucial to consider a sustainable music culture not as a stable, climaxed ecosystem but as a desired regime. In other words, strategies should not be aimed chiefly at removing supposedly “unnatural” distortions, as outlined in Cultural Conservation and quoted earlier in this essay (“… it is possible, however, to temper change so that it proceeds in accordance with the will of the people, and not in response to the pressures of faddish trends or insensitive public or private projects. Conservation denotes efforts which… ensure natural cultural growth” [Loomis, 1982: 29]). “Natural cultural growth” is a fiction; there is no reason to believe it any more than to believe in the balance of nature. Instead, resilience strategies of adaptive management respond to forces of disturbance and change, some good and some not so good, in an attempt to establish or restore, and then maintain, desired regimes. As directed at traditional music within ethnic communities, the cultural conservation and safeguarding movements discussed earlier usually claimed that their interventions were being done on behalf of music cultures that were threatened and were headed toward a regime change. “Safeguarding” assumes that the regime change has not yet taken place, that the heritage remains to be preserved. Sustainability, while more flexible in concept, also assumes that the tipping point has not yet been reached, and therefore that major aspects of the current regime are worth sustaining. In reality, many traditional musics had already undergone regime change to an undesirable state. The traditional aspects were at best a remnant, and therefore the desired end was restoration to a former state, rather than conservation or safeguarding of a present one, even if this could not be articulated or admitted as such. In other words, culture workers, particularly those dealing with heritage, are sometimes trapped in a preservation discourse that magnifies the presence, and importance, of a threatened tradition. If the tradition

182   Jeff Todd Titon already has largely succumbed, for political reasons the discourse may have to emphasize sustainability; but the strategies ought to be aimed at restoration and resilience. I turn now to ask what general characteristics of complex systems make certain ones resilient in the face of disturbance, and what make others vulnerable? After identifying some, I consider resilience in two contrasting amateur music cultures and see what kinds of strategies are likely to work and what may fail. Andrew Zolli and Ann Marie Healy point out five characteristics of resilient systems. These overlap to some degree. They are (1) feedback mechanisms to alert a system to an impending change; (2) built-in mechanisms for dynamic reorganization in the face of disturbance; (3) a structure consisting of modular components that can be repaired or replaced individually, thus preventing the necessity to repair or replace the system as a whole; (4) an ability to detach parts and diversify, thus localizing operations and reducing dependencies without undermining the whole; and (5) clustering, or the ability to aggregate under favorable conditions and grow. We may add (6) social capital, when the resilient system is a cohesive social group. “Resilient communities frequently [rely on] informal networks, rooted in deep trust, to contend with and heal disruption. Efforts undertaken to impose resilience from above often fail, but when those same efforts are embedded authentically in the relationships that mediate people’s everyday lives, resilience can flourish” (Zolli and Healy, 2012: 9–13). Other characteristics of resilient systems are (7) diversity, and (8) innovation (Walker and Salt, 2006: 145–148). Consider resilience and adaptive management in two contrasting music cultures, the Old Regular Baptists in the coal-mining country of the US southern Appalachian Mountains, and the old-time string band revival, dispersed in communities throughout the United States with some smaller groups elsewhere, such as Ireland. In more than 200 years, the music of the Old Regulars has not undergone a significant regime change. Old-time string band music has done so, although most revivalists persist in believing otherwise. Conditions within the two music cultures are significantly different, particularly in terms of geographical distribution, economic dependence, and social organization. Resilience strategies will reflect these differences and others. The Old Regular Baptists are a regional music culture, living in an area that includes the mountainous, coal mining portions of a few contiguous southeastern states, chiefly in southeastern Kentucky, southern West Virginia, and southwestern Virginia. Although a small number of out-migrated Old Regular Baptists have established churches in Ohio and Florida, 95% exist within this mountainous, coal-mining region (Figure 5.1). They are organized into 17 Associations. Each Association consists of anywhere from about 5 to 30 churches, each church with its own congregation and ministers. Altogether they number about 10,000 people. They possess the oldest English-language singing tradition in the United States, lined-out hymnody. This music proceeds without congregational song books and without musical notation. The tunes are in oral tradition. One of the men with the ability to lead songs sings out the words one line at a time, singing them to a special lining tune for each hymn. The congregation joins the leader to sing back the words one line at a time, to a tune that is related to but more elaborate than the lining tune. The hymnody is unaccompanied and in free rhythm, and is characterized by

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1 3

2

4

Figure  5.1  Location of Old Regular Baptist Churches in the Southern Appalachian region. Source:  Howard Dorgan, The Old Regular Baptists of Central Appalachia (Knoxville:  University of Tennessee Press, 1989),  p.  3.

melismatic melodic elaboration, each singer being free to “curve” the basic melody with more or fewer passing tones. The result is a thrilling heterophonic unison for the singers, in step but out of phase. To non-participants it may sound mournful and disorganized. This music has been described in more detail elsewhere, while field recordings also are available. It descends from the practice of the sixteenth-century English parish church, and was the “old way of singing” characteristic of the Massachusetts Puritans and their descendants until it was eclipsed by the reform efforts of music educators in the eighteenth century. Scholars of American hymnody thought it had gone extinct, but it was discovered in the middle of the twentieth century to have survived among groups of

184   Jeff Todd Titon old-fashioned Baptists in the southern Appalachian Mountains, where it persists most strongly among the Old Regular Baptist denomination (Dorgan, 1989; Titon, Cornett, and Wallhausser, 1997; Titon, 1999). For resilience, the Old Regulars have great strengths in many of the characteristics identified by Zolli and Healy. Feedback is one. They are self-consciously old-fashioned and safeguard their religious beliefs and practices closely. For at least 150 years they have carefully monitored possible intrusions from other religions, including such things as foreign missions, Sunday school, and the use of musical instruments in worship. They have resisted newer musical styles and repertories, most notably gospel songs and harmony singing. These remain tempting for some, but in fact the church leaders do not permit the congregations to sing gospel songs or to sing in parts. Modular structure is another resilience characteristic of this group. Their feedback mechanisms are reinforced by a hierarchically organized, modular structure in which each church functions as a single module. Their number rises and falls as some join the Association and others occasionally fall away, or go “out of correspondence,” as they say—usually over disputes in doctrine. The Indian Bottom Association, in southeastern Kentucky, has in fact gained churches and members during the 25 years that I have known them. Informal networks in a community of deep respect is another resilience characteristic of this group. Communication and trust among the Old Regular Baptists is facilitated by the habit of visiting: each church holds its worship service and a business meeting only one weekend per month. This means that Old Regular Baptists attend their home churches but once a month while visiting other churches three or four times each month. Ministers do the same, as do persons with the knowledge and ability to lead the songs. All of these aspects of church governance and organization, coupled with a close and caring social life, make the Old Regular Baptists resilient, and have kept them so for more than 150 years. However, in some ways the Old Regular Baptist music culture is vulnerable. Their total population is relatively small, and new church members must reside within a narrow geographic region. This region sees little in-migration and is gradually losing population. One does not join the music culture easily, by volunteering to do so; one must join a church, and the churches have membership requirements based on religious belief and how one lives one’s life. The songs are difficult to learn and sing until one has been immersed in the music for a while. Other church denominations in the region, with different, easier, and more modern-sounding ways of singing, compete with Old Regular Baptists for members. But their greatest vulnerability, I  believe, is economic dependence. They are concentrated in a region dominated by a single industry: coal mining. Since the 1930s, automation in the mines has gradually diminished the overall number of workers, but in the past few decades, strip mining and then mountaintop removal, which require many fewer laborers, have greatly accelerated this trend, increasing unemployment and poverty in the region. Low-paying jobs in fast-food restaurants and shopping centers are available, but they provide only supplemental income and cannot support a family, whereas coal mining, although dangerous, does not require much formal education and pays a living wage. The future of coal mining itself also is uncertain, given increasing environmental regulation, and the decreasing proportion of coal

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    185 in the US energy mix. Meanwhile, strip mining and mountaintop removal greatly disturb the mountain ecosystems, increasing flooding, earthquakes, and pollution in the land and water, causing illness and death. Black-lung disease from coal dust had been an ever-present threat, but with mountaintop removal the environment itself is endangered, along with all life in the region. How long the population can remain viable in that area is an open question; and if they had to disperse, it is not known whether Old Regular Baptists would out-migrate to areas in sufficient numbers to re-establish their churches and Associations. Resilience strategy for adaptive management would suggest addressing the economic and environmental problems of coal-mining dependence first and foremost. To help alleviate poverty and modernize the region, the federal government has undertaken economic projects ever since the War on Poverty in the 1960s. These efforts have improved roads, consolidated schools, and built hospitals; but the economic problems remain. In 2014 the federal government announced a fresh initiative, and couched it in the rhetoric of sustainability and resilience. In January of that year, President Obama announced that southeastern Kentucky had been targeted as one of the first “promise zones” for economic development. Details remain sketchy as I am writing this, but among the goals are job creation, growing small businesses, job training and retraining, all to implement a “sustainable economic effort across eight counties… focused on diversifying southeastern Kentucky’s economy to make it more resilient” (White House Fact Sheet, 2014). The outcome of this initiative will not be known for some years. Tourism, including eco-tourism, may be one industry targeted for expansion; the region has many lovely natural sites, but it also suffers from a reputation for poverty and violence that is unattractive to tourists. Heritage tourism, based on the region’s rich heritage of crafts and music (ballads, old-time and bluegrass string band music, the roots of country music, and so forth) would also be a possibility, but despite some efforts in that direction, it has not proved an economic panacea. And even if it did, Old Regular Baptists would not wish to participate as the regular objects of heritage tourism. As the moderator (elected head) of the Indian Bottom Association told me many years ago, “We’re not anxious to be studied.” Over the years, he said, a number of visitors had “flown in, taken a shallow look, and flown out,” and their impressions had been predictably shallow as well (Cornett, 1990). I believe that performing their music and worship (for to them, music is worship) regularly at heritage sites within the region could transform their worship experience and degrade it into something other than worship: an object for a tourist gaze that would be unacceptable to them. And, of course, the idea of turning it into an economic engine for profit is contrary to their religious beliefs. Ironically, the feedback mechanisms within the Old Regular Baptist communities are very sensitive to musical and cultural threats; but the threat of changing economic conditions is not within the domain of church governance. Outsiders who advocate today for economic alternatives tend to be dismissed as untrustworthy environmentalists who would eliminate coal mining entirely, thereby bringing the economy to an abrupt and disastrous halt.

186   Jeff Todd Titon Applied ethnomusicologists seeking to apply adaptive management strategies to help Old Regular Baptists sustain their music—which, by the way, they are eager to maintain—would not serve them well, then, by attempting to make them the objects of heritage tourism and the creative economy, even though that is the predominant strategy for cultural sustainability in the US traditional arts today, and an important strategy elsewhere in the world, particularly in Europe (Throsby, 2010). It might also occur to an applied ethnomusicologist to consider whether Old Regular Baptist music might be sustained in a revival mode, similar to the way a related traditional American music, Sacred Harp (or shape-note) singing, is currently being enjoyed and propagated. Old Regular Baptist music has, in fact, undergone a kind of revitalization and renewal within the Old Regular Baptist communities, partly as a result of attention from scholars and cultural specialists. But their music is not in a revival stage, in the sense that people from outside their communities are joining in and spreading and developing the music elsewhere. There are no folk music revivalists gathering to sing Old Regular Baptist songs, nor are there likely to be. A full comparison with the Sacred Harp revival is beyond my scope, but it may be useful to draw certain contrasts here. Sacred Harp, or shape-note, singing developed as part of a musical reform movement involving written notation in shaped notes (diamonds, triangles, squares, and circles) that made it easier for people to learn to read and sing from staff notation. In fact, this music literacy movement was meant to overcome the perceived problems in the “old way of singing,” which is to say the heterophonic, lined-out hymnody of the Puritans and their descendants (such as Old Regular Baptists) who, according to the reformers, were making an awful noise, not a joyful one. Although this movement to sing from notation gradually succeeded in New England beginning in the late eighteenth century, where it was put to use for part singing in standard Western choral harmonies, a grass-roots shape-note movement arose in the South during the mid-nineteenth century, and soon local amateur musicians were harmonizing traditional melodies (including many in the Old Regular Baptist repertory) for part singing in shape-notes, but in unconventional harmonies (employing parallel fifths, for example) and voicings. This way of singing and the songbooks associated with it, such as The Sacred Harp, became very popular among Baptist and Methodist denominations in the South, and eventually among gospel hymnodists, whose books later in the nineteenth century also were printed in shape-notation. Although this music was sung in churches, it also became popular among community singing groups, and in particular Sacred Harp singing groups arose, chiefly associated with Baptists but not as a formal part of worship or church activities. Eventually Sacred Harp singing became a community activity, with singing conventions of its own; partisans traveled considerable distances to participate in regional and state Sacred Harp singing conventions. Although these Sacred Harp sings gradually diminished in the first half of the twentieth century, during the waves of folk music revival that have occurred in the United States since the 1950s, Sacred Harp singing became a popular choral activity, to the point that there now are Sacred Harp singing gatherings in every state of the union, and most of them are not associated in any formal way with religious practice,

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    187 although the repertory is based in the Sacred Harp song book and the revivalists mingle with traditional singing groups that remain in the South (Bealle, 1997; Miller, 2008). Could Old Regular Baptist music undergo such an exogamous revival? To me, it seems highly unlikely. Although the music is attractive to a small number of outsiders, including some Sacred Harp singers, it does not exist in community sings outside church worship, in any formal sense. Old Regular Baptist families sing when they get together, but it is quite informal and different from a community singing event. Such “sings,” in other words, and singing conventions that became normal for Sacred Harp singers and provided a ready-made structure for revivalists, are absent in Old Regular Baptist practice. Of course, that could change. But whereas beginners rely on Sacred Harp songbooks for lyrics and music notation, they would be unable to use their music-reading skills to sing Old Regular Baptist music, because Old Regular Baptist song books lack music notation. Recordings could provide a model, but very few recordings are available. The melodies, particularly the lining tunes, would have to be learned by imitation and memorized. Unlike Sacred Harp music, which has a leader who swings arms to mark a steady meter, Old Regular Baptist songs do not have a conductor or exhibit a pulse beat. Nor is there a single melody; and although a skeletal tune does exist, a proper realization involves individual elaboration. Indeed, one learns to “curve” the melody appropriately only through long experience in singing it within an Old Regular Baptist community. An anecdote from my personal experience will illustrate. After spending much time with them and my recordings of their music, I had learned to sing along with them; I could follow the melodies and also sing some on my own, however tentatively. I invited two friends to come with me to an Old Regular Baptist worship service. Although they both were skilled musically, they told me they could not find the melodies in the sea of sound that the group made. Of course, after several visits they would have been able to distinguish them; but their experience reveals how inaccessible the music is for a beginner. The other music culture that here provides an example for resilience and adaptive management is the old-time string band music revival. The repertoire consists primarily of tunes played in the rural American South for dancing during the period from the Civil War to the period between the World Wars. Folklorists began recording this music in the 1930s, but the collecting accelerated in the urban folk revival movement that began in the 1950s. Now not only folklorists, but also musicians who wanted to learn this music, were recording it from the older musicians, most born before 1900, who remembered the repertoire. Some of this same repertoire had also been recorded on commercial 78 rpm discs in the 1920s and 1930s aimed at a Southern audience. In its heyday, this old-time string band music was performed, and the repertoire shared, by both white Southerners and African Americans. It developed primarily as an oral tradition over the course of 150 years, as more and more tunes were brought into the repertoire, others underwent modification, and all circulated locally and regionally. Starting around World War I, the music fell into decline with the older square and round dances it had accompanied, replaced by ballroom dancing and the music that was appropriate for that style. During the same post-1950 folk music revival that strengthened Sacred Harp singing, old-time string band music also staged a comeback, as the older tradition-bearing

188   Jeff Todd Titon musicians performed at festivals and college campuses and other venues and attracted a cadre of young musicians who had not heard this music before but who soon made it their own. Some of them moved south to live and work in the areas where remnants of the musical tradition remained, and beginning in the late 1950s they gathered in various old-time string band “festivals” at places such as Galax, Virginia, Union Grove and Mt. Airy, North Carolina, and more recently, Clifftop, West Virginia. Although the musicians call these gatherings “festivals,” they are unlike the folk festivals, where music is performed from a stage and for an audience. Instead, at an old-time string band festival, thousands of musicians gather chiefly to mingle and participate in hundreds of small, spontaneous jam sessions throughout the festival grounds. Sometimes, as at Galax, bluegrass jams are also part of the festival. It is a participatory, not a presentational music (see music e­ xample 5.1  ). Summer instructional camps also arose beginning in the 1980s, and as the revival has grown, their number has increased. At the beginning, they employed some of the older, tradition-bearing musicians as teachers, who showed how they played by demonstrating the music, sometimes slowly. As they passed away, some of the most skilled revivalist musicians took their places, leading jams and workshops and teaching classes. Although the string bands of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries had included various non-stringed instruments, such as harmonicas, organs, and whatever else was popular or handy, the revival string band musicians settled on fiddle, banjo, and guitar as the primary instruments, to which sometimes a string bass and/or a mandolin was added. Indeed, by the time the music began to be recorded in the 1920s, fiddles, banjos, and guitars were the most popular; however, the guitar was relatively new to the music, having entered late in the nineteenth century, long after fiddle and banjo had delineated it. In addition to this concentration of instruments, other changes resulted from the revival. Banjo players have narrowed the variety of picking styles that were prevalent before the revival to one dominant style, the so-called clawhammer (a down-picking) style, while the rhythms of the tunes have taken on a more modern syncopation and drive, sometimes referred to as “festival style.” Tunes played at festivals, aided by a combination of conviviality and stimulants, can put musicians into a quasi-trance during performance, as the tune may repeat 20 or 30 times and continue for as long as a half an hour, the groove shared by all players. And whereas the music’s primary function until the end of World War II was for accompanying the dance, today the occasion for the music is the jams. The word “jam,” borrowed from jazz, connotes the informal and fluid membership in any old-time string band session. The music is not improvisational in the way that jazz is; the melody is prominent at all times, with slight though meaningful variations introduced primarily by fiddlers. Jams have an informal, laissez-faire atmosphere, though an implicit etiquette prevails. Although the fiddle is the lead instrument, no single leader decides which tunes will be played; instead, different musicians, usually fiddlers, start tunes and when others recognize them, they join in—or if they don’t recognize them, they learn them as they play them. The jam as I have described it, particularly as it occurs at festivals and in people’s homes (often with pot-luck meals) or, increasingly, in public venues where it may be overheard by non-musicians, is an

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    189 informal gathering of whichever musicians are invited (or not) and show up. It is a musician’s music, done for the pleasure of the musical experience and the sociability of the occasion. The old-time string band revival exhibits resilience in certain areas but not others. New members are joining the music culture every year, coming from all US regions and walks of life. The number involved with old-time music fluctuates and is probably uncountable, but anecdotal evidence would place it around 15,000, not much larger than the total of Old Regular Baptists. The group is welcoming and there are few if any requirements, other than an interest in playing this music. By contrast, to join the Old Regular Baptist music culture one must live within a small region and profess and practice particular religious beliefs. In terms of accessibility, then, the old-time string band revival is much more resilient. Its structure is very different also. The music culture centers on a “scene,” or subculture, not a membership organization (Pfadenhauer, 2005). Unlike Old Regular Baptists, the old-time string band music revival has little formal organization and no hierarchical structure. It is an affinity scene, a loose collection of small, informal groups anywhere in size from two to about a dozen persons who gather to socialize and play music together. At the festivals, of course, people from many of the smaller groups travel to take part and roam from one group to another, looking for old friends and acquaintances, and for peak musical experiences in jams. The informal aspects of the music, and the high value placed on spontaneity and serendipity, make hierarchical social organization even more difficult. Such egalitarianism extends even to the food supplied at these gatherings, which inevitably results in a pot-luck in which everyone brings some food and all share. To be sure, organizations produce the festivals and the instructional camps, but insofar as the festivals are chiefly spaces set aside for informal gatherings and a great many spontaneous jam sessions throughout the festival grounds, the production does not extend much beyond planning activities, keeping order, and running contests, which many feel are peripheral and do not participate in. For the vast majority, the participatory jam sessions and the socializing are the reasons for festival attendance. The instructional camps exhibit a good deal more organization, with reservations, accommodations, wages for instructors and staff, food catering, lessons, and workshops, along with evening jams. Participants pay money to attend and expect to improve their musical skills. Although old-time string band revivalists are conscious of changes in the music culture, and some are concerned that these are not for the better, the scene has no hierarchy, no leaders to counter threats to its sustainability, no way in which individuals can manage more than a small part of the scene. In this voluntary association, leading by example is the principal means of influence. Any musician who fears that the music scene may be changing in ways not to his or her liking seeks out other musicians who share his or her preferences, and usually finds them, rather than attempting to influence the course of the music’s development. The musicians are dispersed across the United States and may be found almost anywhere—old-time string band jams are popular in Ireland, for example. For that reason, the jams exhibit an almost perfect modularity, except that aside from sharing repertoire, instruments, playing

190   Jeff Todd Titon techniques, and to some degree musical style and social rules, there is no whole system, only a scene with various parts. The parts are not like cells integrated into an organism, as Old Regular Baptist churches are integrated into Associations. Those parts—the social structures that come together for the jams, in home neighborhoods and at distant festivals—are by nature able to detach themselves, dissolve, re-form or not, and also to cluster, a feature of resilient systems. Such a system, without a hierarchically organized whole, exhibits a certain kind of resilience. It almost automatically self-reorganizes in response to change and disturbance. However, this flexibility also means that it can more easily change state, as it did when it entered the revival stage, significantly in those aspects mentioned earlier. The musicians themselves do not think of this as a regime change, because the repertoire, instruments, and playing styles exhibit continuity. The participants believe they are continuing a tradition, and many think that by playing the old tunes and keeping them alive they are preserving it. But at the same time, in the past 50 years they have modified the social aspects of the scene considerably. Jam sessions as well as festivals are the most important of these, but they are inventions of the revival, and without them the scene would not exist. Prior to the revival, the music was played principally for dances and in contests. Another, more recent innovation is the instructional camps. An applied ethnomusicologist seeking to help the music culture sustain itself through adaptive management would not encounter the main problem facing Old Regular Baptists, namely, dependence on a single, regional industry that is itself under threat and in turn threatens the environment sustaining the population in the region as a whole. But in attempting to aid the scene, applied ethnomusicologists would encounter difficulties not present among Old Regular Baptists. For example, an applied ethnomusicologist might conceive of the revival as a regime change and imagine that the participants would prefer to return to the older social forms; but most would not. The applied worker would need to bear in mind that the revival has its own way of carrying on a musical tradition but with newer social formations. Furthermore, whereas adaptive management could operate among Old Regular Baptists through their organizational hierarchy, there is in fact no way to “manage” the old-time string band music revival because it lacks the institutional structures and leaders to carry out such management. The self-organizing aspects of the revival are so strong that an applied ethnomusicologist might wonder whether aid and advice is desirable, let alone whether it is administratively possible. On the other hand, an applied ethnomusicologist might, in partnership with certain musicians, come to realize that threats to the ethos of spontaneity and serendipity do exist, particularly in the instructional camps. In the 1950s and 1960s, the early decades of the old-time string band revival, learning the music took place chiefly by informal imitation, whether of other musicians or of recordings, as it had done before the revival stage. Although a more experienced musician might demonstrate a technique to a learner, teaching in the form of lessons did not exist. This began to change in the 1970s, first through class lessons held at musical instrument shops, and not long after that in classes held at the instructional camps. These teachers usually instructed by

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    191 ear, going over a tune phrase by phrase, demonstrating techniques, without any musical notation to guide the students. Nonetheless, because the students pay money for this instruction, an atmosphere of middle-class expectation increasingly surrounds these camp activities, which now can include evaluation and critique and resemble art music pedagogy in certain aspects that exert pressure toward formalization. Under these conditions, the remaining old-timers who grew up in the pre-revival music culture usually do not make the most effective teachers, even though their playing exhibits the characteristics thought to be most authentic to the tradition and, for advanced musicians who can learn by imitation, they are the most desired teachers. Private lessons are becoming increasingly available, almost always taught by revivalists. Music camps now offer instruction in several different musical traditions more formal than old-time string band music. Some of these, like Scottish fiddling, have depended on tune books and music notation for more than a century. In others, such as contradance music, notation has always existed alongside oral tradition, but for instruction notation has become standard. Some in the old-time music community resist notation as they would resist an infection, thinking it works against the spontaneity they prize. Given that the instructional camps exhibit more structure than the jams or festivals, and given that the musical instruction influences the scene’s future, adaptive management to maintain the spontaneity and serendipity of the old-time string band revival scene might be appropriate. Ironically, public folklorists and applied ethnomusicologists’ efforts to manage and sustain old-time music, including string band music, have by and large confused and upset the revivalists. The culture workers did so in the 1970s by dividing the folk revival scene into tradition-bearers and revivalists, and the division persists. In making that distinction, they ascribe authenticity to the tradition-bearers and grant them funding support, while they deny both to revivalists. Revivalists seldom are hired to perform at the folk festivals or are funded in other ways. Given the cultural conservationists’ views that equate authentic traditional music cultures with ethnic minorities and working-class communities, it seems unlikely that the revival movement will be targeted for funding. Nor does it need such interventions, because among other things it is not endangered. Nonetheless, some of the revivalist musicians would like the honor of being selected to perform at these festivals. When they bother to consider it, they resent being categorized as inauthentic. They argue that because the tradition-bearing source musicians have adopted them into their communities, they have already been authenticated by those whose authentication matters most. In contrast, Old Regular Baptist communities, which fit the cultural conservationists’ criteria as tradition-bearers perfectly well, have gained much from partnerships with applied ethnomusicologists and public folklorists. They have become stewards of their music, and they understand that it is not only valuable to them for worship but also valuable to others who prize outstanding musical traditions as part of the cultural matrix of the nation. Yet the greatest threat to their musical and cultural future is economic and environmental, and here the role, if any, for applied ethnomusicologists and other culture workers is not yet well defined.

192   Jeff Todd Titon

Conclusion Resilience refers to a system’s capacity to recover its integrity, identity, and continuity when subjected to forces of disturbance. Insofar as music cultures are systems, they too exhibit resilience to a greater or lesser degree. Resilience and adaptive management have had a life within ecological thought and the environmental movement, psychology (not treated here), and economics. They offer promising sustainability and restoration strategies for applied ethnomusicologists, as for public folklorists. However, they must be understood with reference to the baggage they bring. “Yield” and “development” are not appealing concepts to many culture workers. And while “management” is an appropriate strategy for conservation biologists, it is not without its problems when human beings are subjected to it. Among those is the negative connotation that management has acquired when applied to ways in which entities such as nation-states or corporations attempt to control their citizens or workers. I have already alluded to the critique leveled at modernization and developmental applied anthropology as a new form of colonial management, from radical anthropologists working in indigenous studies. However, indigenous knowledge forms the basis for a bottom-up applied anthropology, just as in applied ethnomusicology (Sillitoe 1998). Foucault coined the term biopower to describe the way in which modern nation-states regulate their citizenry, particularly in reference to controls over excesses of the body (and body politic). Their disciplinary power is even more effective because the regulations become internalized as culture. Foucault is working in a tradition pioneered by Karl Marx, who wrote about the Protestant religion’s emphasis on bodily discipline (drunkenness, for example, as a sin), effectively providing efficient, submissive factory workers for the capitalists. George Orwell’s prophetic 1984 portrayed such a society as a police state. These, of course, are forms of management; and a quick response to this apparent problem is to say that the kind of cultural management I’ve been advocating (and practicing) for nearly five decades is not and never has been top-down, but rather grows out of a partnership between the culture worker and the community leaders and tradition-bearers. In an ideal case, the culture worker learns the music culture’s sustainability goals and helps its people plan and then implement a sustainability strategy in which they self-manage, relying on the culture worker as a collaborator and consultant, perhaps more in the role of coach than manager. In American baseball we call them managers, but in football and basketball they are called coaches. Of course, both manage the games, employing short- and long-term strategies, and by putting the players in positions where they have the best chance to succeed. Both coach their players, teaching them better techniques. Interestingly, coaches appear in contemporary Euro-American cultures in “the game of life”: people hire coaches for public speaking, for dress and appearance, for health, for social relationships, for business negotiations, and so forth. Many do not seem to mind being coached. Some want it, thinking it will advantage them. Why, then, the resistance to being managed, when one is willing to be coached? Perhaps the manager is thought to be impartial, whereas the coach is empathetic.

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    193 Marx, Orwell, and Foucault shared that resistance to management. It impinged on autonomy and freedom; it abrogated natural rights. Being managed meant being told what to do, what to say, even what to think, when one didn’t want to be told—and then being coerced to do it. The difference, with coaching, is the willing partnership: presumably we want to be coached, even if we don’t want to be managed, because we conceive of the goal as our own. Adaptive managing may be regarded as coaching, then, when applied ethnomusicologists partner for sustainability. Resilience and adaptive management abandon the questionable assumption that music exhibits “natural cultural growth” that proceeds to desired ends when freed from the fashionable and faddish trends that distort its true direction. Instead, resilience recognizes that perturbation, disturbance, and flux are constant characteristics of any complex system. Resilience theory and adaptive management practice therefore attempt to identify what makes a music culture vulnerable to regime shift, and what makes one resilient, and to ameliorate the former and strengthen the latter. Resilience theory and adaptive management offer promising directions for applied ethnomusicologists working toward sustainability in music cultures.

References Aikawa, N. (2001). “The 1989 Recommendation on the Safeguarding of Traditional Culture and Folklore: Actions Undertaken by UNESCO for Its Implementation.” In Safeguarding Traditional Cultures:  Global Assessment, edited by P. Seitel, pp. 13–19. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Office of Folklife and Cultural Heritage. Allen, A.  S. (2012). “ ‘Fatto Di Fiemme’:  Stradivari’s Violins and the Musical Trees of the Paneveggio.” In Invaluable Trees:  Cultures of Nature, 1660–1830, edited by Laura Auricchio, Elizabeth Heckendorn Cook, and Giulia Pacini, pp. 301–315. Oxford: Voltaire Foundation. Barclay, Robert. (2004). The Preservation and Use of Historic Musical Instruments. London: Earthscan. Barton, G. (2002). Empire Forestry and the Origins of Environmentalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bealle, J. (1997). Public Worship, Private Faith:  Sacred Harp and American Folksong. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Berliner, P. (1978). The Soul of Mbira. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cooper, J. F. (1823). The Pioneers. New York: Charles Wiley. Cornett, E. (1990). Elwood Cornett, interviewed by Jeff Todd Titon, Blackey, KY. Recording and transcript in possession of the author. Daly, H. E. (1991 [1977]). Steady-State Economics. Washington, DC: Island Press. Daly, H.  E. (1993). “Sustainable Growth:  An Impossibility Theorem.” In Valuing the Earth, edited by H. E. Daly and K. N. Townsend, pp. 267–274. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. DeWitt, M. F. (2009). “Louisiana Creole Bals de maison in California and the Accumulation of Social Capital.” The World of Music 51(1):17–34. Dorgan, H. (1989). The Old Regular Baptists of Central Appalachia: Brothers and Sisters in Hope. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press.

194   Jeff Todd Titon Evelyn, J. (1664). Silva: A Discourse of Forest Trees and the Propagation of Timber in His Majesty’s Dominions. London: John Martyn for the Royal Society. Faux, T. (2009). “Don Roy, Fiddle Music and Social Sustenance in Northern New England.” The World of Music 51(1):36–54. Feld, S. (1990). Sound and Sentiment. 2nd ed. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Gunderson, L. H., C. R. Allen, and C. S. Holling. (2009). Foundations of Ecological Resilience. Washington, DC: Island Press. Hawken, P. (1994). The Ecology of Commerce:  A  Declaration of Sustainability. New York: HarperBusiness. Hood, M. (1971). The Ethnomusicologist. New York: McGraw-Hill. Hufford, M., ed. (1994). Conserving Culture: A New Discourse on Heritage. Ubana: University of Illinois Press. IUCN. (1980). World Conservation Strategy:  Living Resource Conservation for Sustainable Development. International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources, Gland, Schweiz. A  pdf of this book is available on the Internet. https://portals.iucn.org/ library/efiles/documents/WCS-004.pdf. Keogh, B. (2013). “On the Limitations of Music Ecology.” Journal of Music Research Online 4: 1–10. Kisliuk, M. (1998). Seize the Dance. New York: Oxford University Press. Lake, Philip S. (2013). “Resistance, Resilience and Restoration.” Ecological Management and Restoration 14(1):20–24. Lomax, A. (1972). “Appeal for Cultural Equity.” The World of Music 14(2). Loomis, O., coordinator. (1982). Cultural Conservation. Washington, DC: Library of Congress, American Folklife Center. Miller, C. (2001). Gifford Pinchot and the Making of a Modern Environmentalism. Washington, DC: Island Press. Miller, K. (2008). Traveling Home:  Sacred Harp Singing and American Pluralism. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Moore, J. F. (1993). “Predators and Prey.” Harvard Business Review, May–June, 75–86. Myers, N. (1992 [1984]). Gaia: An Atlas of Planet Management. New York: Anchor. Netting, Robert McC. (1977). Cultural Ecology. Menlo Park, CA: Cummings. Newell, W. (2003). “Returning Sounds to Communities.” Panel discussion among Wayne Newell, Blanche Sockabasin, and Jeff Todd Titon. Invested in Community: Ethnomusicology and Advocacy Conference, Brown University, March 8–9. A video of this presentation is accessible at http://library.brown.edu/cds/invested_in_community/030803_session3.html. Norton, B. (2005). Sustainability:  A  Philosophy of Adaptive Ecosystem Management. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Rappaport, Roy. (1979). Ecology, Meaning and Religion. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic. Ritchie, J. (1955). Singing Family of the Cumberlands. New York: Oak. Pfadenhauer, Michaela. (2005). “Ethnography of Scenes.” Forum: Qualitative Social Research 6(3): n.p. http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/23/49. Pickett, S. T. A., and P. S. White. (1985). The Ecology of Natural Disturbance and Patch Dynamics. Orlando, FL: Academic Press. Porterfield, N. (2001). Last Cavalier: The Life and Times of John Lomax. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Seeger, A. (1991). “Singing Other People’s Songs.” Cultural Survival Quarterly 15(3): 36–39.

Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management    195 Sillitoe, Paul. (1998). “The Development of Indigenous Knowledge:  a New Applied Anthropology.” Current Anthropology 39(2): 223–252. Soulé, M. (1985). “What Is Conservation Biology?” Bioscience 35(11): 727–734. Spitzer, N. (2007 [1992]). “Cultural Conversation.” In Public Folklore, edited by R. Baron and N. Spitzer, pp. 78–103. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Throsby, D. (2010). The Economics of Cultural Policy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Titon, J. T., E. Cornett, and J. Wallhausser. (1997). Songs of the Old Regular Baptists: Lined-Out Hymnody from Southeastern Kentucky. Washington, DC:  Smithsonian Folkways CD SFW 40106. Titon, J. T., gen. ed. (1984). Worlds of Music. New York: Schirmer Books. Titon, J.  T. (1999). “ ‘The Real Thing’:  Tourism, Authenticity and Pilgrimage among Old Regular Baptists at the 1997 Smithsonian Folklife Festival.” The World of Music 41(3): 115–139. Titon, J. T. (2008–). Sustainable Music (blog). http://www.sustainablemusic.blogspot.com. Titon, J. T. (2009a). Music and Sustainability (special issue). The World of Music, 51(1). Titon, J.  T. (2009b). “Economy, Ecology and Music:  Introduction.” The World of Music 51(1): 5–16. Titon, J. T. (2009c). “Music and Sustainability: An Ecological Viewpoint.” The World of Music 51(1): 119–138. Titon, J. T. (2013). “The Nature of Ecomusicology.” Musica E Cultura 8: 8–18. Topp Fargion, J. (2009). “ ‘For My Own Research Purposes: Examining Ethnomusicological Field Methods for a Sustainable Music.” The World of Music 51(1):75–93. Van Willigen, J. (2002). Applied Anthropology:  An Introduction (3rd ed.). Westport, CT: Greenwood. Walker, B., and D. Salt. (2006). Resilience Thinking:  Sustaining Ecosystems and People in a Changing World. Washington, D.C.: Island Press. Weintraub, A., and B. Yung. (2009). Music and Cultural Rights. Urbana:  University of Illinois Press. White House Fact Sheet. (2014). President Obama’s Promise Zones Initiatives. http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2014/01/08/fact-sheet-president-obama-spromise-zones-initiative. World Commission on Environment and Development. (1987). Our Common Future. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Also available at http://www.un-documents.net/ocf-12. htm#I. Worster, D. (1993). The Wealth of Nature. New York: Oxford University Press. Worster, D. (1994). Nature’s Economy (2nd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zolli, A., and A. M. Healy. (2012). Resilience. New York: The Free Press.

Pa rt  I I I

A DVO C AC Y

Chapter 6

A dvo cacy and t h e Ethnomusic ol o g i st Assessing Capacity, Developing Initiatives, Setting Limits, and Making Sustainable Contributions Jeffrey A. Summit

Introduction While we are drawn intellectually to our research, what happens when our experiences in the field conjoin with ethical, moral, and religious imperatives to pursue social justice and give back to the people with whom we work? In this article, I address a set of issues and offer a project framework that ethnomusicologists might consider when we are moved to partner with the people whose music we study, who so generously help us and sometimes become our teachers and our friends. Many ethnomusicologists have made the decision that the role of scholar and the role of advocate are not mutually exclusive. However, the success of advocacy projects depends on a thoughtful negotiation between these roles. I believe that the model James Clifford suggests for participant observation can be helpful for those of us who have chosen to assume multiple roles in the communities in which we conduct our research. He describes participant observation as “tacking between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ of events on the one hand grasping the sense of specific occurrences and gestures empathetically, on the other stepping back to situate these meanings in wider contexts” (1988: 34). When deciding how, and if, to become involved in an advocacy initiative, I believe it is important for the ethnomusicologist to “tack back” and ask a series of questions: How do we assess our motivation and personal capacity when deciding if, and how, to engage in advocacy? How can we ensure that our advocacy makes a real contribution? With limited time and resources—and often unlimited need—how do we determine the personal, financial, and psychological limits to advocacy? How do we evaluate if, and how, our advocacy

200   Jeffrey A. Summit projects are sustainable? I explore these questions below in a way that is meant to be both personal and practical. For the past 13 years, I have been involved in two advocacy projects in Uganda. In the first, I am raising funds, and working with community leadership, to support more than 20 students from the Abayudaya (Jewish) community outside Mbale (see Figure 6.1) studying in local colleges and universities. In the second project, I’ve been promoting the work of a Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Fair Trade coffee cooperative that is dedicated to building and promoting interfaith cooperation. In both projects, the music I have studied and recorded, and the CDs I have produced for Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, undergird my advocacy work. From my experience, I present a number of scenarios that problematize our advocacy efforts and suggest points for consideration when we come to see ourselves as “partners in a common cause” with members of the communities in which we conduct research (Titon, 2003).1

Personal Motivation I was brought into advocacy work through a convergence of influences: my own spiritual tradition, my experience with service learning, the influence of colleagues who have engaged in advocacy, and the stated values—and support—of my university. In my own religious tradition, I have been influenced by the field of relational ethics and most profoundly by Martin Buber’s construction of the I-Thou relationship, an approach that sees our very existence as based on encounter (1970). Rabbinic traditions of social justice, with an emphasis on tikkun olam (our responsibility to “repair the world,” Hebrew), have influenced me as well.2 For example, the Talmud weighed the balance of action and learning in life. In the second century c.e., Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfon argued about the relationship between study and action. The core of their disagreement was framed by this question: What is more important, study or righteous action? If you could only focus on one area, should you concentrate on becoming educated or doing good deeds? Rabbi Tarfon answered, saying that action is greater. But Rabbi Akiva countered his argument and stressed that if you had to choose between the two, it was study that was the greater value (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Kiddushin 40b). For a society that cared deeply about ethical action and social justice, this seems like a strange decision. Should not doing righteous action be paramount? But the rabbinic tradition supported Rabbi Akiba’s decision and interpreted it in this way: If you only focused on doing good deeds, that might never lead you to become an educated person. But if you immersed yourself deeply in learning, your studies had to lead you to act ethically, to raise a moral voice, to be committed to repairing what was broken in the world. It was inconceivable to the rabbis in the Talmud that education would not lead to right action. That view has shaped my own understanding of the purpose of education:  education that connects teaching and research to advocacy; education that thoughtfully examines what constitutes

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    201

Figure  6.1  Map of Uganda by Dan Cole, GIS Coordinator, Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, in Delicious Peace:  Coffee, Music & Interfaith Harmony in Uganda (SFW CD 50417),  2012. Courtesy of Smithsonian Folkways Recordings.

effective activism; education that is committed to a university having an impact for good in our world. Even as we respect the religious and spiritual beliefs of the people whose music we study, I am very aware that the phrase “religious values” is itself a can of worms. I have found that my academic colleagues rarely reference or discuss their own spiritual beliefs. “Religion” gets painted with a wide brush in the university and is more often associated with narrow sectarian views than with a deep respect for the other. While my

202   Jeffrey A. Summit religious tradition has influenced my approach to advocacy, I situate myself in dynamic opposition to a legacy of colonialism and a history where religion has often been used as a means of political manipulation, economic oppression, violent homophobia, and cultural devastation for subaltern people in East Africa and beyond. Of course, one does not have to be motivated by a specific religious tradition to engage in advocacy. In his examination of the role of the “engaged university” and ethnomusicology in the United States, Eric Martin Usner writes, “I am in higher education to make a difference” (2010: 76). He speaks about how the music itself is a witness of something profound—“call it beauty, community or a sense of shared humanity; call it God.” Usner discusses how an engagement with the music nurtures understanding and compassion for being human, and from that vantage point, asks how to turn that understanding “into real world acts.” So, too, when Daniel Sheehy discusses the philosophy and strategic approaches to problems inherent in applied ethnomusicology, he begins his analysis from the assumption of interpersonal responsibility and connection. He asks, what ethnomusicologist has “never gone out of his or her way to act for the benefit of an informant or a community they have studied?” Sheehy states that applied ethnomusicology begins with a sense of larger purpose, “first to see opportunities for a better life for others through the use of music knowledge and then immediately to begin devising cultural strategies to achieve those ends” (1992: 323, 324). The fact that he does not place this commitment to social justice in a specific religious tradition does not make it any less grounded or powerful. The fact that I see a confluence between my own spiritual imperatives and current directions in applied ethnomusicology deepens my commitment to engage in advocacy. When Jeff Todd Titon introduces and frames the special issue of Ethnomusicology that he edited on “Music and the Public Interest,” he describes this approach as work that “involves and empowers music-makers and music-cultures in collaborative projects” and results in “practical action in the world” (1992: 315). Titon emphasizes that the nature of this practical action is relational, shaping our approach to ethnographic fieldwork as well. When he writes that “fieldwork at its best is based on a model of friendship between people rather than on a model involving antagonism, surveillance, the observation of physical objects, or the contemplation of abstract ideas” (1992: 321), Titon is describing the essence of fieldwork, in the language of Martin Buber, as an I-Thou, rather than an I-It relationship. So, too, when Kay Shelemay stresses the importance of ethnography “predicated on negotiated relationships” (2008: 153), she is teaching that with relationship comes responsibility. Shelemay’s perspectives developed from her experience doing fieldwork with Jews of Syrian descent who live in Brooklyn, New York. She examines the role of the ethnomusicologist “who, while seeking to document the transmission process, becomes a part of it” (2008: 141), moving the researcher into a reciprocal stance in relation to the people whose music one studies. Such directions in applied ethnomusicology have expanded how researchers understand and define reciprocity. In 2007, the International Council for Traditional Music established a study group devoted to applied ethnomusicology and sponsored a series of conferences. In the volume on applied

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    203 ethnomusicology that developed from their work, Ana Hofman considers ethnomusicologists’ engagement in advocacy and social justice, reassessing the role of reciprocity in ethnographic fieldwork. She examines this new ethnomusicological epistemology, with its understanding that the researcher “constructs reality together with social subjects” who become active partners and interlocutors, and calls for a re-evaluation of our responsibilities to the people whose music we study. She writes, “This approach includes the presumption of respect, equality and reciprocity among the research participants” (2010: 23). As I consider the interplay between these three areas, I have come to believe that reciprocity is a way to evidence my respect for the people whose music I study. It is also a way to address equality in a world where my privilege impacts my relationship with the women and men who have become my friends, teachers, and partners over the years that I have worked in Uganda.

Lessons from Service Learning As a chaplain at our university, I have been involved in social justice and service learning during my years at Tufts. My approach in developing advocacy projects in Uganda was also shaped by my interactions with Tufts students, and with the local organizations where they were volunteering while doing service learning in the Boston community. In their book The Unheard Voices: Community Organizations and Service Learning, Randy Stoecker and Elizabeth Tryon examine the service learning relationship from the perspective of the local agencies and projects that accept and work with student volunteers. Successful service experiences depend on repositioning the relationship, from “top-down”—where university students decide on service projects they will bring to local communities to “bottom-up”—where the communities play a key role in directing and shaping the students’ experience. Listening to the “unheard voices” of the agencies and the people being served was essential in building successful partnerships. Rather than viewing service learning as a linear cause-and-effect process, Stoecker and Tryon suggest that it be viewed as a dialectic organizational process in which feedback from the local community shapes the strategies and actions of those engaged in service (2009: 7; also see Usner, 2010: 81–86). Over the years, a number of key issues continually emerged in our discussions with students who were working with community organizations both locally and internationally. It was essential that students did not conceive projects in a social and organizational vacuum but rather in thoughtful collaboration with local agencies and communities. Even while doing direct service, it was important to consider larger dynamics impacting systemic social and economic change. We also found it essential to include broader education on the root causes of the issues we addressed through service initiatives, as well as integrating a commitment to sustainability for the programs we developed with a community. I have found this multi-tiered approach essential in developing service projects, as I discuss later in this chapter when I describe the CASES methodology.

204   Jeffrey A. Summit I have also been influenced and inspired by colleagues’ applied work as they engage in advocacy. Current epistemological approaches in ethnomusicology have, as examined in the work of Ana Hofman and many others, “destabilized the dichotomy between the “theoretical” and the “activist” (2010: 23). Many ethnomusicologists have decided that the role of scholar and the role of advocate are not mutually exclusive and made profound contributions to the communities they have studied. To name only a few, I would reference Anthony Seeger’s collaboration with the Suyá in Brazil to preserve and promote their culture (1987), Steven Feld’s work with the Kaluli in Papua New Guinea to prevent deforestation in the rain forests (1982, 1991), and Kay Kaufman Shelemay’s dedication to the transmission of pizmomim (paraliturgical hymns) and community advocacy with Jews of Syrian descent in New York (2008). Jeff Todd Titon’s broad contributions to our understanding of the ways that ethnomusicologists can contribute to cultural sustainability, social activism, community education, and cultural policy have helped me understand that a commitment to research and a commitment to advocacy can be mutually enhancing, rather than mutually exclusive (2003). Gregory Barz and Judah M. Cohen’s focus on the role of music and the arts in providing education, hope, and healing for victims of HIV/AIDS in Africa presents a range of examples of ethnomusicologists engaged in effective advocacy (2011). These scholars, and many others, have provided carefully conceived, community-grounded models that have inspired my own advocacy work in Uganda. I am also fortunate to work at a university whose mission stresses the importance of active citizenship. As explained on the website of the Jonathan M. Tisch College of Citizenship and Public Service of Tufts University, “An active citizen is a person who understands the obligation and undertakes the responsibility to improve community conditions, build healthier communities, and address social problems. He or she understands and believes in the democratic ideals of participation and the need to incorporate the voice, perspective, and contributions of every member of the community.”3 True to their mission, Tufts University has been supportive of my work in Uganda over the years, writing about my projects in university publications, mounting a major exhibition of my work with music, photography, and material culture in the university’s art gallery, and hosting coffee farmers from Peace Kawomera coffee cooperative to teach about their success developing this economic venture to address interfaith conflict and promote community development. I write about personal motivation at some length because I’ve found that a process of self-reflection, ideally one that cultivates humility and problematizes the efficacy of social justice work, is a good first step for anyone engaging in advocacy or direct service. I  have used Monsignor Ivan Illich’s address “To Hell with Good Intentions” to good effect with our undergraduate students. In this challenging talk, Illich, a cultural critic, philosopher, and religious leader, speaks to North American volunteers about to embark on a service trip to Mexico in 1968 and pleads with these privileged volunteers from North America to recognize their “inability,… powerlessness and incapacity” to do the “good” which they intend to do during short-term service.4 Ideally, a process of self-reflection helps disavow activists of grandiose ideas, inspires humility, and focuses

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    205 on the ways the advocate will be changed more than the ways he or she will change others. A clear understanding of the personal importance and self-motivation for advocacy is especially important in the academy, where faculty’s involvement in this work is often not recognized or rewarded by additional compensation, valued substantially toward tenure, or granted academic prestige. For all its rewards, advocacy is messy work. We swim against strong currents of economic and social injustice. Self-reflection is essential initial preparation before we commit and jump in.

Assessing Capacity and Conceptualizing a Project After understanding our personal motivation, the next step toward effective advocacy is assessing our capacity to contribute to a community. It often feels like we barely have enough time for our research, writing, and teaching, and it is a personal choice whether or not an ethnomusicologist invests time and energy in developing, implementing, and sustaining an advocacy project. In East Africa, many factors make any advocacy work feel daunting—unlimited need, a colonial legacy of imposed social and economic structures to “better” society, complicated histories of inter-family and inter-community jealousy and rivalry. I have often found myself repeating the dictum “no good deed goes unpunished” as I approach a difficult challenge or roadblock in one of the projects in which I am engaged. Once a researcher decides that he or she wants to develop an advocacy project, the first step is to conduct a personal assessment: In addition to our research skills and academic training, what talents, experience and personal commitments do we bring to the communities with whom we work? What resources at our universities can be helpful as we assess the opportunities and risks inherent in advocacy projects? Often an answer is clear, and a skill can have an immediate impact. In Uganda, I worked with a recording engineer who was also an electrician. During down times in our recording, John rewired the community’s primary school building. Other projects are easy and short term: Teenagers in the Abayudaya community had formed a music group and wanted to record a number of hip-hop songs they had written to forefront the community’s new generation of musicians. They lacked the funding to record in a local studio. I spent an afternoon recording them on my equipment and burned copies of a demo CD so that they could promote their music both locally and send it to international visitors who had expressed interest in their efforts. Quick, one-shot projects can make a contribution, but projects with long-term impact demand greater planning. I started working with the Abayudaya (Jewish people) in Uganda in 2000. This community of approximately 1,000 people living in villages surrounding Mbale in Eastern Uganda are practicing Jews (Figure 6.2). Many members scrupulously follow Jewish ritual, observe the laws of the Sabbath, celebrate Jewish holidays, keep kosher, and pray in

206   Jeffrey A. Summit

Figure  6.2  Worship in the Moses synagogue on Nabogoya Hill, Uganda. Photo credit:  Richard  Sobol.

Hebrew. There are other communities of indigenous Africans who claim Jewish lineage, such as the Beta Yisrael of Ethiopia or the Lemba of South Africa and Zimbabwe. The Abayudaya do not; they self-converted to Judaism in 1919. Moved by their belief in the truth of the Torah, the Five Books of Moses, the Abayudaya developed their Jewish practice and liturgy in the process of separating themselves from Christian missionary activity and British political rule. Their founder, Semei Kakungulu, a powerful Ganda leader, considered Christianity and Islam and then, according to community elders, asserted, “Why should I follow the shoots when I can have the root?” Since the community’s initial self-conversion and through the difficult period of Idi Amin’s rule, the Abayudaya have been distinguished by their commitment to following mainstream Jewish practice, an approach that has been amplified since their increased contact with Jews from North America and Israel beginning in the mid-1990s. Approximately half of the community went through a halakhic (Jewish legal, Hebrew) conversion in 2002 by a visiting beit din (rabbinic court, Hebrew) from Judaism’s Conservative Movement. In the course of my time with the community, it became clear that the Abayudaya’s needs in health, welfare, and education were substantial. Since their self-conversion to Judaism in the 1920s, the community did not attend local missionary schools, where conversion to Christianity was required for admission. Desiring to maintain their Judaism, the majority of the community had forgone secular education and had remained subsistence farmers. One nongovernmental organization (NGO) in particular, Kulanu (All of Us, Hebrew), was a model of thoughtful advocacy and was working with the community

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    207 to support primary and secondary school education, to secure sources for clean water, and to explore sustainable economic models to develop indigenous crafts to sell to the Jewish community in North America. But how could I contribute in a meaningful way and give back appropriately to the community for their generosity and hospitality? As an ethnomusicologist, I first worked to fulfill what we consider basic reciprocal requirements: I worked with local leaders and musicians to determine an appropriate level of compensation for the musicians I recorded. I made copies of my recordings and interviews for the community. I negotiated an agreement with the Abayudaya leadership counsel that directed royalties from my recordings, video, and writing back to the community. But still, it felt like there was more to do. After speaking at length with a broad range of people in the community, and with faculty colleagues at Tufts who work in the area of international development, I chose one tightly focused project that seemed doable. Two members of the community had been accepted to local colleges but did not have the funds to pay tuition. At that point, I assessed my capacity as an advocate. I do a lot of fundraising in my role as executive director of Tufts Hillel and have developed relationships with wealthy donors who are committed to social justice and engaged in many projects in the Jewish community. It costs approximately $3,000 a year for a student to attend university—a bargain when compared to Tufts but far beyond the reach of a farmer in Eastern Uganda. But raising $6,000 a year for four years felt possible. I dedicated all the profits from my Smithsonian Folkways Recordings CD to a fund for university education, and I committed to raising the balance of tuition funds to support university education for these two students studying in Uganda. Over the years, I have found that the path of social justice and community service with the Abayudaya was littered with the skeletons of unsuccessful advocacy initiatives. Students and other visitors from North America feel empowered by a culture of activism fostered by their high schools, universities, and religious communities. They jump in quickly to initiate social justice projects. Jews from North America visit the community for several days and are transfixed and inspired by their experiences with this Jewish community in Africa. In most cases, the passion and commitment of these individuals were not tempered by a fuller understanding of community needs and the experience necessary to implement a successful project. I learned this quickly on my second research trip to the community: Boxes of school textbooks from the United States languished in a corner of the Semei Kakungulu primary school building. A teacher from New England had run a textbook drive in his community and shipped these books to the Abayudaya. Unfortunately, he did not discuss what books were used in the curriculum with the school’s teachers and headmaster and they could not be integrated into the teachers’ lesson plans. But even more, the school had no money to build bookshelves for the books, and the roof of the school leaked during the rainy season. Wet books mildewed in their cardboard shipping boxes. In another project, a large weaving loom was locked in a mud brick building. Hopeful supporters had sent the loom, thinking that the community could develop an industry weaving and selling taleisim, Jewish prayer shawls. But this type of weaving was not an indigenous craft, and there were neither people to train community members nor much enthusiasm for a complicated craft project

208   Jeffrey A. Summit that felt foreign to the community. In another project, two well-meaning university students were able to have 12 laptop computers donated to the community. They carried the laptops to Uganda, and for six weeks, they conducted workshops with high school students to train them in basic computer skills. The program was well received by the high school students that summer, but the organizers did not work with the school’s administrators or with community leadership to ensure that the computer education project was sustainable. After the organizers left, the computers were sold off, one by one, to pay for more pressing community needs. I have come to understand that the success of any advocacy project depends on carefully conceived initiatives, determined with local communities, with thoughtful attention to the dynamics of on-the-ground implementation and sustainability.

The CASES Methodology I was part of a team working to develop a set of standards for social justice and community service work for International Hillel. We later refined this approach working in partnership with the NGO “Repair the World.”5 The CASES methodology grew out of our shared experience and involves five components that I believe are essential to consider when developing advocacy initiatives:  community partnerships, advocacy/activism, direct service, education, and sustainability. I discuss each component in greater detail in the following sections.

Community Partnerships Advocacy projects must be planned in thoughtful partnership with community organizations, leadership, and the people who will hopefully benefit from the project. Simply put, you cannot plan advocacy by yourself. Community activists and leaders represent important entry points for advocacy projects. It is also helpful to assess the agendas that local leaders bring to the table. The dynamics of community leadership often disenfranchise segments of a community, and broader discussions with community members are essential as one plans an initiative. Our professional training as ethnomusicologists positions us well when building community partnerships. Eric Martin Usner examines community service learning (CSL) and the “third revolution” in higher education in the United States—a renewed emphasis on active citizenship and civic participation—and stresses the value and applicability of our fieldwork training for the ethnographer about to engage in effective service. Participant observation, an understanding of the ethics and logistics of negotiating entry into a community, interview techniques, methods for reflecting on work in the field such as field notes, the ability to deal with culture shock and ethnocentrism, experience and theory for problematizing differences and

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    209 diversity—all are essential skills necessary for developing community partnerships that position an advocacy project for success (2010: 89). Our skills as researchers also help us examine the history and success of past and current projects, whether initiated by the community themselves or outside activists. It is essential to determine how these initiatives are funded, who is implementing them, and if community members see them as successful. Community members or leaders who administer projects in conjunction with outside agencies often have privileged access to resources, and it is important to understand how funding changes the dynamics of power and privilege in a community. Even a modest project can infuse a local community with more cash than a family makes in a year. It is important to conduct preliminary research to understand a community’s basic economics, the cost of local services, and market dynamics in order to understand the potential impact when new resources are brought into a village or town. As such, maintaining transparent communication is important so that community members understand how and where funds are allocated and who controls the flow of resources. When I was working on these projects in Uganda, I was watched carefully during every interaction that involved money. When I was recording various music groups of coffee farmers of the Peace Kawomera Fair Trade Coffee Cooperative, I first had long discussions with the elected leadership of the cooperative, and with local musicians, to determine fair compensation for the groups that I recorded. But the leadership felt that it was just as important to determine how the cash was presented to the groups. It was essential that the performers knew that the money was distributed equitably. After each performance, in a small ceremony, I thanked the performers and publicly announced the amount I was presenting to the group, handing the money to the group’s leaders in the presence of all assembled. In my experience, nothing foments community discord and division as quickly as the perception of misappropriation of funds or unfair distribution of resources. Providing compensation to these musicians is only one example; I work to maintain this level of transparency in the larger advocacy projects in which I am engaged as well. In a successful partnership, the advocate works in collaboration with the community to establish a shared vision and to set common goals to address community needs. Good community partnerships also have to be built on an advocate’s realistic appraisal of how much time and energy one can commit to a project. By our nature, advocates are positive and enthusiastic about the success we hope to achieve. It is better to under-promise and over-deliver. My first and foremost partnership in the Abayudaya university scholarship program is with the community itself. I work on the principle that while I am contributing to the Abayudaya’s educational vision, community leaders must direct and run this project. All the money I raise is sent to the elected Abayudaya leadership council, which includes women and youth representation. I do my best to make sure that my e-mail communication is transparent, copying in a broad representation of respected community leaders when I wire tuition funds or address issues. The local council administers and distributes the funds. While I am often approached by individual students for funding, I try to

210   Jeffrey A. Summit avoid dealing with individuals at all costs. So, too, when donors approach me and say they want to “adopt” a student, I do my best to discourage individual donor-student connections and encourage people to fund the larger project. Funding individual students invariably leads to personal requests for money, “end-runs” around community leadership, and then to jealousy and community discord. I feel conflicted because the “adoption” approach might generate more funds, but my experience has led me to believe that this will hurt the project in the long run.

Other Partnerships At the same time that I was working to partner with the leadership of the community, I had a number of decisions to make in regard to my relationship with NGOs that were already working on a range of projects with the Abayudaya. I had tremendous respect for Kulanu, the primary organization that was engaged with the community when I began my research in 2000. I spoke to and met with a number of their leaders, both to learn about their current projects and to have a deeper sense of the history, challenges, and success of past advocacy projects with the community. I wanted to make sure not to duplicate their efforts or work at cross-purposes. In addition, NGOs often compete for donors, and I wanted to make sure that my projects would not be competitive with their important initiatives in nutrition for schoolchildren and primary and secondary education. But I struggled with a larger issue: Should I conceive of my university education initiative as a separate project, or should I try to have Kulanu integrate it into their existing projects? Should I simply raise funds to send to them, rather than working directly with the community? On the positive side, having an existing NGO run and administer the project might make it easier for me: I would not have to deal directly with the community, be concerned with the details of fund transfers, or negotiate the logistics and priorities of the project with the Abayudaya leadership. Besides, I trusted this NGO, they had integrity and evidenced a strong on-the-ground understanding of the needs of the community. On the other hand, I wanted to be more in control of the substantial funds that I was raising and felt that I could engage donors in a deeper way if they were working directly in a project. I also valued my direct connection with the community’s leadership and with the students benefiting from the program. This advocacy work brought me into community discussions that strengthened my connections with members and taught me a lot about the community’s goals and priorities. In addition, I had experience conceptualizing and implementing community programs. I decided to run the project myself but maintain active connections with Kulanu, apprising them of the funds I was raising and the direction of the project. This partnership has been respectful and productive, and I often call on their leadership to discuss complicated problems and seek their advice and counsel. When writing about ethnomusicology’s responses and responsibilities to endangered music cultures, Klisala Harrison and Svanibor Pettan report that the International Council for Traditional Music’s study group on applied ethnomusicology stressed that

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    211 it was important to approach applied work with “a willingness to place oneself in positions of vulnerability, discomfort and sometimes even subservience, embracing unfamiliar and sometimes counterintuitive approaches to appreciate process and outcomes” (2010: 7). This has applicability to advocacy projects as well. I encountered this when the community leadership decided not to fund the education of a student who was engaged to a Christian woman. An explicit goal of the college scholarship program was to strengthen the Abayudaya, and the leadership saw intermarriage as a threat to community continuity. Leaders expressed that if the partner of the student was willing to convert, funding would continue, but if not, they did not want to support a student who they feared would leave the community. While I understood and respected the leadership’s role in making this decision, a number of funders of the project thought that this approach was exclusionary and, just as their liberal synagogues in the United States welcomed non-Jewish partners without insisting that they convert, so, too, the Abayudaya should exercise a similar policy. This issue became contentious when the student began to email donors directly, hoping to apply pressure on the community leadership. It was uncomfortable to become involved in the negotiations between the donors and leadership. My role became that of an educator, speaking with the donors about the challenges that the community faced to maintain their Judaism and why imposing their values on the community could undermine the success of the project in the long run. I also spoke to the community leadership to explain the donors’ perspectives, stressing that such policy decisions had to be made locally. In the end, the community leadership negotiated a solution with the student that enabled him to continue receiving funding while his financée studied for conversion.

Advocacy and Activism I often use a story from the book of Genesis to illustrate the difference between thoughtful advocacy and activism that focuses on a direct fix to social and economic problems. I say, “Imagine that you were an activist during the time that the Jews were slaves under Pharaoh. It was decreed that all the first-born baby boys would be killed. So imagine you are standing by the banks of the Nile and a drowning baby floats by! What do you do? Of course, you jump in and pull out the baby! You revive the child, give the child something to eat and drink! You’ve done something immediate and important. Now, that’s effective activism. But then another baby floats by and another and another and at some point, you have to walk up stream and see who’s throwing babies into the river, and why, and what it would take to stop them. That’s advocacy.” Focused activism addresses immediate pressing needs. I  was fortunate that other NGOs, and a few synagogue groups from the United States, were concentrating on health and welfare with the Abayudaya community. Malaria impacted many community members, and during the time of my early research in Uganda, several elders succumbed to the disease. Kulanu was working on a program to obtain and deploy mosquito nets throughout the community and to organize educational programming about

212   Jeffrey A. Summit malaria prevention and treatment. They were also raising funds to provide nutritious food for children in their primary school. The fact that other organizations and individuals were working on immediate issues of health and welfare freed me to consider a project that could contribute to community development from within. Ideally, the advocate is committed to work toward systemic change. Before I began the university education project, I engaged in a broad series of discussions to learn of the community’s vision for their future. I spoke with students in the high school, women’s groups, community leaders, and members living in more isolated villages who often felt ignored and cut off from aid projects that helped those in the community’s center. Many of the first songs I recorded were written by high school students and stressed the importance of education. Students sang of their commitment to education and the importance of completing their studies. The community also modified local Bagisu circumcision songs and added lyrics such as “You need to go to school before you obtain leadership positions” (“Maimuna,” track 18, Summit, 2003). High school students wore T-shirts with the motto “Education is the key to our success.” This focus led me, in consultation with the community’s leadership, to concentrate on university education and providing opportunities for the community youth who hoped to study law, medicine, engineering, tourist services, education, accounting, and other professions. Since the beginning of the project, the university graduates have contributed substantially to the community. Several received their degrees in education and have become teachers and administrators in the Abayudaya’s primary and secondary schools. A student trained in medicine staffed a local clinic. An engineer built houses, as well as a hotel that is used by visitors to the community. Another community member who received a degree in hotel management runs this community guesthouse. A student who received his degree in tourist services organizes tours of the community and local area. While this university education project often feels like a long-term investment, there are positive ways that it is impacting the economic strength, health, and daily welfare of the community. I have also been influenced by the work of John Paul Lederach in the area of peace building and conflict transformation. Lederach recounts his understanding of the power of music for transformation with a reference to the familiar story that he describes as “the fairy tale of the Pied Piper.” After the town’s elders go back on their promise to pay the Piper for ridding the town of rats, the Piper plays his flute, and all the children follow him away from town. Lederach says that when he first heard the story as a boy, its moral seemed clear: “when you give a promise, you had best keep your word.” But he recounts that when he revisited the story four generations later, he saw a different lesson: the power of the musician, the flutist, “to move a town, address an evil and move the powerful to accountability” (2005: 152). I have experienced this power in the course of my advocacy work with the Abayudaya. Muyamba Eria, the chairman of the Abayudaya’s Board of Directors, recently wrote to me from Mbale, reporting that over the years, this project has enabled more than 40 community members to earn bachelor’s degrees in different academic disciplines. While I play a role as an advocate, the project’s success is grounded in the community’s music. Both the community and I were thrilled when the CD received a GRAMMY nomination for best traditional world music album.

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    213 With Smithsonian Folkways Recordings support, we managed to have three members of the community attend the awards celebration in Los Angeles. This popular recognition generated both revenue and publicity that directly helped the university tuition project. Ultimately, the community’s music redressed a colonialist legacy that prevented these Jews from receiving an education, as they refused to attend missionary schools that require conversion for admission. As ethnomusicologists, we can also use our position and skills to leverage the impact of a community’s music. Svanibor Pettan describes “advocate ethnomusicology” as “any use of ethnomusicological knowledge by the ethnomusicologist to increase the power of self-determination for a particular cultural group” (2010: 16; also see Spradley and McCurty, 2000: 422; Pettan, 2008: 90). This was the nature of my work with the Peace Kawomera (Delicious Peace) Fair Trade Coffee cooperative outside Mbale (Figure 6.3). I saw the genesis of this interfaith coffee cooperative up close. J. J. Keki was one of the community leaders and prominent musicians whom I recorded and interviewed for my work on the Abayudaya CD. His vision for the cooperative grew out of seeing what can happen when religious conflict leads to violence. On his first trip to the United States for a lecture tour in 2001, he stayed at our home in Boston early in September before traveling to New York City. He was on his way to meet a friend who was going to show him the city from atop the World Trade Center and was actually walking up to the entrance when American Airlines Flight 11 hit the North Tower. When J. J. learned that the terrorists had been motivated by religious beliefs, he said, “I think we should begin something. We have coffee. Maybe we make a co-op of Jews, Muslims, and Christians, and

Figure  6.3  The Peace Kawomera Growers Coop  sign. Photo credit:  Richard  Sobol.

214   Jeffrey A. Summit then we can teach the world how to work together.” When he returned to Uganda, he walked from village to village, asking his Jewish, Christian, and Muslim neighbors if they would be willing to form a Fair Trade coffee cooperative, saying, “Use whatever you have to create peace. If you have a body, use your body to bring peace, not to cause chaos. If you have music, use your music to create peace. We are using coffee to bring peace to the world.” With the involvement of Laura Wetzler of Kulanu, they established a relationship with the Thanksgiving Coffee Company to buy and market their coffee. Coffee farmers compose songs to stress the positive benefits of interfaith cooperation, the transformative impact of Fair Trade prices and to encourage their neighbors to join the coffee cooperative. For example, in the song, “Educate our Children,” the Balitwegomba Choir sings in Lugisu about the economic benefits of Fair Trade and the impact this business model has on community education (track 15, Summit, 2012).6 In rural Uganda, the government pays special attention to the role of women in national development, and there are many women’s clubs and organizations. It is common for these clubs to have choirs as one of their activities. This women’s choir composed this song in the style of the Bagisu. This instrumental accompaniment is called luwempele, which refers to two sticks played on a wooden block. Selected lyrics are below. We are facing many problems. We look to Fair Trade to educate our children. We have cultivated coffee in order to educate our children. We look to Fair Trade and ask for a better price when we cultivate coffee, All members of Peace Kawomera, let us rejoice! God Almighty, thank you! Our children are going to school now! Thank you, Fair Trade! All these ladies are grateful!

In this next song, the Akuseka Takuwa Kongo Group sings in Lugwere, “Let All Religions Come Together” (track 10, Summit, 2012). Their lead singer, Saban Nabutta, is a master at improvising lyrics for special occasions, such as weddings, graduations, political gatherings, and celebrations to introduce a bride and groom to each other’s families. He sings in the traditional lyric-heavy style of the Bagwere, built around the lead singer’s vocal improvisation for the occasion at hand. The akadongo (lamellaphone), also called kongo, is played throughout Uganda. In this ensemble, we also hear the endingigdi (one-string tube fiddle) and nsasi (shaker). Selected lyrics are below. All religions, let us come together. So that we can succeed in this world. I am telling all religious leaders that God is the one who created us all. Our grandparents are Adam and Eve. We have the same ancestors. Let us not segregate each other: it destroys the world. Let us come together so we can overcome these troubles and promote development.

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    215 Many factors drew me to my research and recording with this coffee cooperative. I knew many of the Jewish coffee farmers from my work with the Abayudaya, and I was interested in the musical traditions of their Christian and Muslim neighbors. On a deeper level, I was personally inspired by one man’s response to the tragedy of 9/11. At a time when the world was becoming more insular and xenophobic, J. J. Keki and the farmers of the cooperative were sharing a broad vision of peace and interfaith cooperation. In his book The Moral Imagination, Lederach addresses the question “How do we transcend the cycles of violence that bewitch our human community while still living in them?” and states, “Transcending violence is forged by the capacity to generate, mobilize, and build the moral imagination” (2005: 5). He goes on to explain that “the moral imagination requires the capacity to imagine ourselves in a web of relationships that includes our enemies; the ability to sustain a paradoxical curiosity that embraces complexity without reliance on dualistic polarity; the fundamental belief in and pursuit of the creative act; and the acceptance of the inherent risk of stepping into the mystery of the unknown that lies beyond the far too familiar landscape of violence.” I was drawn to J. J. Keki’s audacity—and to the courage and commitment of the farmers—as they worked and sang together across religious, ethnic, and language boundaries to model a vision of interfaith cooperation. As I watched J. J. Keki encourage his Jewish, Christian, and Muslim neighbors to join the coffee cooperative, his work fired my own moral imagination. I asked, how was I positioned to contribute to the success of this work? In the volume of Ethnomusicology that addresses music in the public interest, Daniel Sheehy writes about how we can empower community members to become musical activists (1992). But for me, this worked in the other direction. When I saw that the coffee farmers were engaged in musical activism, to draw more members to the cooperative and increase the profits realized through Fair Trade, to teach a vision of interfaith harmony, then I realized that I, too, could use my skills to be a musical activist for their community. Their music moved me to become a partner in a common cause. I felt inspired by this project, but I also believe that an advocate must be dispassionate in accessing the integrity of community projects. I hoped the peace that the Peace Kawomera coffee cooperative was creating was real. I know how challenging interfaith cooperation can be. In my work as a chaplain at Tufts, I have been involved in Jewish, Christian, and Muslim interfaith work over the years. I was eager to explore the impact that Keki’s cooperative had on neighboring communities. Was their cooperation creating peace, or was it just a clever way to market Fair Trade coffee? Through scores of interviews and participation with the members of the cooperative, it became clear that this venture was changing attitudes and impacting the level of day-to-day social and economic cooperation among these religious communities. Many of the coffee farmers have taken the mission, and message, of the interfaith cooperative to heart. It is common to hear these farmers speak about the importance of separate religions coming together and becoming “one person.” They model this in the leadership structure of their cooperative, in their social interaction, and in the music that farmers are writing to convey the importance of peace, cooperation, and economic justice. To date, more than 1,000 farmers have joined the Peace Kawomera coffee cooperative. When these Jewish, Christian,

216   Jeffrey A. Summit and Muslim farmers stress the importance of interfaith harmony, write songs, and sing together, their music embodies the performance of peace. While Peace Kawomera has established a viable model of economic and interfaith cooperation, the success of the venture rests on the cooperative’s ability to sell coffee. I realized that a CD of their music and a video that told their story to a larger audience in the United States and Europe could both impact sales and present a viable model for interethnic and inter-religious economic cooperation. My first conversations were with the leadership of the cooperative: Did they want their story presented more broadly? Would this help the success of the cooperative? The chairman, secretary manager, and treasurer all stressed that they were telling the story of the cooperative every way they could: in local newspapers, to reporters, and to visitors committed to Fair Trade who visited Mbale. J. J. Keki was also scheduling a lecture tour to the United States and Europe. They were enthusiastic about a CD that would present the songs that the farmers were composing. Smithsonian Folkways Recordings also had a historical commitment to the role of music in social and economic justice dating back to Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger and were positive about the value of the project. The Thanksgiving Coffee Company in California, which markets their coffee, also saw value in the music’s ability to tell the larger story of the cooperative and connect their consumers to the lives and economic challenges faced by these coffee farmers. I spoke at length with Ben Corey-Moran, President of Thanksgiving Coffee Company, who stressed the power of Fair Trade to bring a healing and empowering connection to the people who produce items that we value in our lives. Of course, he wanted to sell coffee: this was the vehicle he was using to improve the economic situation of these farmers. But he believed that sharing the community’s music brought us more deeply into the lives of these farmers. He believed that once we understood the role that these men and women played in providing us with a product that we valued, how could we not want to use our purchasing power, habits, and daily practice in a way that gives life to the values we hold dear to our hearts: relationships, connection, quality, justice? Together, the components of this advocacy project involved recording the cooperative’s music, working with community members to translate their songs, contextualizing the impact of Fair Trade on the farmers’ lives, and facilitating the connection between the Thanksgiving Coffee Company and Smithsonian Folkways Recordings. In her discussion of the ethical dilemmas that arise when a researcher imposes his or her values onto the people in a research setting, Ana Hofman cautions that unintended consequences can arise when one engages in advocacy (2010: 28). I was conscious of this during my research and promotion of the coffee cooperative. There were extremist groups, hostile toward interfaith work in East Africa, that might target the cooperative, or specifically the Jewish community. But the community was clear that they wanted more publicity for their work, and they welcomed a reporter from Al Jezeera who produced a news segment about the cooperative. When I asked if they were concerned that publicity might make them a target for violence, they explained that they believed deeply in the importance of their interfaith model and understood the risks involved in interethnic and interfaith work.

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    217 Advocacy work with subaltern cultures that have a legacy of colonialism must be placed in a historical context where European efforts to “help” local communities by bettering their economic and cultural situations have subjugated and oppressed local people (Hofman 2010: 25). I am conscious that the dynamics of race, class, and privilege that provide me access to distribute the community’s music internationally and raise funds to support a university education project also position me in an unequal power dynamic with the community. Ana Hofman emphases that the very act of recording, writing about, and portraying people’s work is an act of domination and subjugation that maintains a power dynamic over people who are not representing themselves. While a careful definition of roles in a negotiated partnership can mitigate this situation, the dynamic stands. When a leader of the Abayudaya community wished to attend rabbinic school in the United States, to achieve the status of rabbinic ordination and increase the community’s connection to world Jewry, I used my contacts and connections to help him achieve that goal. I was using my power at the community’s request, but my academic credentials and professional access to the North American Jewish community clearly placed me in an unequal power dynamic with the community. I would also observe that digital technology is beginning to level this playing field a bit. The Abayudaya work strategically with a wide range of academics, activists, journalists, funders, and friends. It is becoming easier for them to produce and market their own music. They increasingly exercise their own agency in determining how, when, and where to present themselves and their music culture (Summit, 2008: 322). I also have come to understand how many members of the Abayudaya have in turn empowered me as an ethnomusicologist, through their trust, generous time, and willingness to work together on a range of my academic projects.

Service Direct service addresses pressing, unmet community needs: collecting and distributing food for the homeless, staffing shelters for abused women, tutoring grade-school children, and providing SAT prep for disadvantaged high school students applying to college. For many volunteers in university settings, direct service is the most common form of community volunteering. The indicators of success for direct service include demonstrating that the service has a positive impact on communities and the individuals served. Volunteers ideally work in collaboration with community members to determine that the outcomes are valued and deemed effective by those in the community. Direct service opportunities must be carefully matched with volunteers’ skills, interest, and availability. Much of the success of direct service projects depends on logistical details: managing volunteers’ schedules and transportation, and matching these with community members’ genuine needs. Even when community needs are great, it is common for direct service projects to recruit volunteers and not have sufficient work, or viable time blocks, to take advantage of volunteers’ schedules.

218   Jeffrey A. Summit In the course of my work in Uganda, I have participated in occasional direct service: teaching in the community’s secondary school and meeting with university students to discuss career direction and plans. There never feels like there is enough time, and I choose to focus that time on my research. After self-assessment, I have decided that my value is greater as an advocate. While direct service addresses specific community needs, I  believe that its value goes beyond that. Of course, as ethnomusicologists, we work to develop this deep cultural understanding through our fieldwork. Direct service can also provide opportunities for this close contact with members of a community. Spending time in people’s homes, teaching in a school, and being a resource during times of unexpected difficulty ideally strengthen relationships and bring us into deeper contact with members of a community. When I am raising money for the Abayudaya scholarship program from overstretched business people and professionals in Boston, often someone will look at pictures of the Abayudaya living in mud-brick homes, or carrying water in jerrycans, and say, “These people are so poor!” My response is shaped by my direct experience with the community. An understanding of the richness of a community’s cultural and religious life, a connection to close family structures, a different appreciation of the rhythm of days, months, and years in an agricultural community all help to problematize simple dichotomies such as rich versus poor or advantaged versus disadvantaged.

Education Ideally, an effective initiative includes a commitment to both learn and teach about the deeper social, economic, and historical contexts in which advocacy occurs. In both of my advocacy projects in Uganda, the music has been a core component of these aspects of education. While my research and recording of the Abayudaya’s music eventually focused on their liturgical and paraliturgical traditions, I  first recorded many songs that stressed the importance of education and community development. In the villages, important societal issues are commonly addressed through music. In his book on the role of music in HIV/AIDS education in Uganda, Gregory Barz discusses the “purposeful” nature of music and entertainment, and details the role of music in education, communication, and community outreach (2006, 2007). These songs reflected the Abayudaya’s community values and priorities that arose from their own strategic discussions about projects that would benefit their community. When their high school students sang about their commitment to education, punctuated with the chorus “We shan’t give up,” I trusted the music. I was also concerned that my research and recordings would open the community to more ethno-tourism from Jewish communities abroad. I wanted to make sure that the Abayudaya sought or would welcome such contact. In fact, they sang of their isolation and their desire to connect to the international Jewish community. Their songs, together with extended discussions with their leadership, helped me determine the direction of my advocacy projects. Similarly, when working with the Peace Kawomera Fair Trade coffee cooperative, their music helped define my

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    219 agenda as an advocate. The farmers sang about the importance of expanding the cooperative as a way to expand their market. They also sang about the impact of Fair Trade prices on community health and education. In discussions with the cooperative’s leadership, they stressed that if I could share these sentiments more broadly, I would help the work of the cooperative and have an impact on the farmers’ livelihoods. After determining that these projects were line in community desires and values, I set out to learn more about sustainable aid and advocacy in Africa. Here, I turned to the resources of our university. I contacted a number of colleagues at Tufts Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy and in the Medical School who had been involved in aid projects in Africa. I also spoke with a number of my former students who had worked in the Peace Corps. I posed a series of questions in regard to the educational initiative I was considering. In their experience, what projects worked, and which were doomed to failure? Was it possible to continue a project remotely after you returned home? How might one avoid the dangers and pitfalls when large sums of money were directed toward community projects? These discussions were extremely valuable as I  conceptualized the education project and considered how to partner with community leadership and the NGOs already working in the community. From my experience directing local service projects with undergraduate students, I knew that it was important to structure time for self-reflection on my involvement in this initiative. When I led sessions for students who were doing local community service projects, I began to speak more personally about my nascent work in Uganda and reflect on the problems and issues that I was facing. This process was helpful in thinking through and focusing my concerns. A number of my graduate students had experience in international service, and their reflections were especially helpful. In addition, I put together an informal board of advisors for this project, composed of colleagues and friends with international service experience and good common sense. I stressed that I needed friends who would be honest and would help me identify the mistakes I was making, the problems was I overlooking, and the issues that lay ahead. This help from colleagues and friends was invaluable as I launched the education project. The music also plays an essential role in my lectures and presentations on the Abayudaya community. The Smithsonian Folkways Recordings CD enjoyed commercial success, and I have been invited to lecture around the country in Jewish settings, at synagogues, schools, and community centers. I conclude my lectures with a description of the challenges and issues that the community is currently confronting, and I describe the impact of the university education project. I tell the stories of a few of the university students and mention how much it costs for a student to attend university in Uganda for a year. I ask if anyone is interested in the project and invite them to speak with me after the lecture. I am often approached by potential funders. So, too, a number of synagogues have taken on this project as one of their social justice initiatives. I build my presentation around my recordings of the Abayudaya’s liturgical and paraliturgical music. On one level, I do this because I love to challenge stereotypes and show that Jews are more diverse—culturally, racially, economically—than many in the North American Jewish community assume. On another level, playing the community’s religious music is a

220   Jeffrey A. Summit boundary-leveling strategy, a servable bridge, viscerally connecting to potential funders. Vojko Veršnik explores and applies the image of a bridge to both “connect and divide” groups of people in an ongoing cultural and educational exchange between Slovenia and Thailand and the musical interaction between younger singers and elderly pensioners in Slovenia. In both of these cases, Veršnik examines “the potential of music as a connecting tool within the realm of applied ethnomusicology” (2010: 135; Summit 2000: 140–142). So, too, I find that the Abayudaya’s liturgical music works as an effective connector, a boundary-leveling strategy with Jewish visitors from North America, one that has helped bring financial support to the community. Many North American Jews want to know if these Africans are really Jewish, and my recordings of the Abayudaya singing familiar liturgy in Hebrew set to rest questions of authenticity and establish a bond of peoplehood. I spoke to one woman active in her Conservative congregation who visited the community in 2009. She said, “There I was in Uganda, but I felt so at home in the service! We really are one people.” It should be obvious that the life of a Ugandan subsistence farmer and an upper middle-class American business women have less, rather than more, in common. Yet these shared liturgical traditions undergird a powerful sense of peoplehood felt by both communities when these Jews meet. When this woman returned to Boston, she became actively engaged in raising money to support the Abayudaya university education project. When I speak about the work of the Peace Kawomera Fair Trade coffee cooperative, I share the music that the farmers have written to educate their neighbors to the benefits of fair trade and interfaith cooperation. Coffee farmers singing about Fair Trade and economic justice has a deeper impact than a display in the local supermarket. Potential consumers and retailers are drawn into the story of the cooperative and often focus on the issue of Fair Trade with a new interest and intensity.

Sustainability How do we assess our long-term responsibility after we begin an advocacy project with a community? Are we obligated to be involved until we change the focus or location of our research? Are we obligated to be involved forever? While one can become enthusiastic about beginning an advocacy project, it is essential to develop a plan to ensure that an initiative is sustainable over time. It is natural to defer what feels like a distant problem when a project is just beginning, but it is important to discuss strategies for an initiative’s sustainability in the early stages of the project’s development. One should try to anticipate possible changes in community needs, organizational leadership, and related infrastructure. With the Abayudaya education project, it was essential to consider donor engagement and retention, as well as strategies to identify and involve new donors. For me, one of the most challenging aspects of the project has been managing the program’s growth and the community’s expectation to send increasing numbers of students to colleges and universities.

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    221 Certain advocacy projects can be designed so that they ultimately revert to community management and control. In certain ways, the Abayudaya education project has aspects of this approach. The community hopes to develop an educated, professional class that will provide a base for economic growth and development. Realistically, this is a long-term solution at best. For example, this program has trained a number of teachers who now work in the community’s primary and secondary schools, but their pay is much too low to send their own children to college. It is conceivable that larger community projects, such as a health center the community is developing in Mbale, could generate greater funds and provide a sustainable source of revenue. Together with the leadership of the community, I am about to begin an assessment of the impact of the scholarship program on individuals, families, and the community as a whole. A few years after I started the university education project, the two students completed their studies. One student became the headmaster of the community’s primary school and the second student completed his degree in engineering. But with the possibility of a college education, more students worked hard, hoping to attend college. Now there are 20 students supported by this project, and the tuition bill for last term was about $25,000. It is inspiring to spend time with these students as they realize their dream of attending local colleges and universities. Yet, I am losing sleep as I struggle to raise $50,000 a year for this project. I have managed to engage a few major donors, and while this has made the fundraising a bit easier, at the moment too many eggs are in one basket. When one of the major donors wished to decrease her contribution, I met with her and together we developed a four-year plan for a gradual funding decrease that would give me the opportunity to develop and enlist new substantial donors. Together with a small group of volunteers, I developed a donor retention plan. Once or twice a year, I ask the students funded by the program to write a brief report on their studies and email that to me. I edit their stories into an update and share that with our donors. On my last trip to Uganda, I solicited a member of our research team to make a short video for current and potential donors in which the students spoke about their studies and career plans. I have increased my fundraising efforts, reaching out more actively to local synagogues. The students’ success is inspiring, but I struggle to keep the program sustainably within my fundraising capacity. I am deeply committed to this project, but in many ways, it is now more than I bargained for.

Defining Limits and Managing Expectations One of the important resources that we need to preserve and sustain is our own energy and commitment to an advocacy project. Over-commitment seems to define our lives in academia, and it is essential to determine how much time and effort we can devote to an advocacy project before frustration sets in and we abandon our efforts. For those of us

222   Jeffrey A. Summit who do research in locations where needs are great, we simply must learn how to manage expectations and determine when “no” is the appropriate answer. For the first 10 years of the project, the funding and the number of qualifying students grew at approximately the same pace. It became more challenging when the resources for the project began to plateau and more and more students from the community were motivated by the opportunity to attend university. I  did a careful assessment of my capacity to raise more funds and decided that I needed to cap the amount I was able to raise at $50,000 a year. However, the elected leadership council of the community, who administered the funds, did not want to turn away qualified students. For several years, they decided to fund all the students who were accepted to local colleges and universities, distributing less money to each of them. Individual students began to email me and complain that it was difficult it was for them to succeed in their studies if they did not have enough funding for food and lodging. After discussions with the leadership council, they decided to reduce the number of students so that they could provide adequate stipends for living expenses in addition to tuition. It is challenging to manage the growth of this program. More students have been passing the entrance examinations for university, and this year the leadership council sent me proposed expenses for the project that exceeded the maximum I felt that I was able to raise. I went back to our lead donors and discussed the growth of the program. While the funders were committed to the project, they did not feel they were able to increase their donations. It was painful to have to say no, but I told the leadership council that I had to maintain funding at the stated level. The leaders were disappointed but decided that they would establish a waiting list, and when students graduated, new students would be accepted. This was a difficult decision for me. I knew a number of the rising students personally but felt I did not have the capacity to grow the project indefinitely.

The Difficulty in Setting Limits Even when we carefully define the scope and direction of a project, members of the local community can harbor different expectations. I  had been clear with the community leadership that the focus of this project was to provide university education for Abayudaya students studying in Uganda. However, one of the women in the community had a dream to pursue a master’s degree in education in the United States after successfully graduating from university in Kampala. She had carefully prepared for our meeting and detailed why, and how, pursuing her degree in Boston would be helpful to her and to the community. At the end of her presentation, she requested that I raise the funds to support her graduate studies in Boston. I considered her request carefully, and it is difficult to convey how painful it was to answer “no.” While it seemed possible to raise $3,000 a year to support a student’s education in Uganda, it felt beyond my capacity to raise $30,000 a year for one student and provide the logistical and personal support necessary for a student studying in a graduate program in the United States. I spoke at length with her about applying for graduate scholarships and other possible options,

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    223 but tears rolled down her face as I told her I simply was not willing to take on this large project.

Success Creates More Expectations A successful project will create more expectations within a community. When I produced the CD of the music of the Jewish, Christian, and Muslim coffee farmers of the Peace Kawomera cooperative, I explained to their leadership that I thought the greatest contribution of the project would be to widely publicize their story, and that, in turn, would increase coffee sales. This was of specific value because even through Thanksgiving Coffee Company committed to buying the farmers’ full production at the advantageous Fair Trade price, their coffee was marketed in two ways. All the coffee that could be sold under the Delicious Peace label generated an addition premium of $1 a package. The rest of the coffee was blended with other Fair Trade coffees and sold in various mixes. The cooperative could realize substantial profits if their brand sold a higher volume of coffee. At the same time, I decided to donate all of my profits from CD sales to fund educational initiatives for children of members of the cooperative. This amounts to 10% of the cost of each CD. The majority of the sales are digital downloads, which cost less than a physical CD and thus generate less profit. While I had explained this in detail to the cooperative, J. J. Keki’s expectations were shaped by the commercial success of the Abayudaya CD and the subsequent growth of the Abayudaya education project. Shortly after the Delicious Peace CD was released, the cooperative leadership emailed me to say that they had many students waiting to go to university and asked, when would I be able to wire the funds? It was difficult to have to tell them that if we wanted to think about a university education project, the funds generated from the CD would only be a small part of that budget. Even though I had tried to be transparent when I detailed how the recording project could be helpful for the community, the success of the other education project had created high expectations among members of the cooperative.

The Impact of Advocacy on Our Research My involvement in these advocacy projects has impacted my research in a number of ways. While I feel ethically and religiously obligated to this project, I am afraid that I spend too much precious time on fundraising, organization, and lecturing—time that should be devoted to my research and writing. On the other hand, this advocacy has led to a deep level of trust and connection with the community and has opened doors to further research. When I began my work on the music of the coffee farmers in the Peace

224   Jeffrey A. Summit Kawomera cooperative, I was known in the community. When we signed an agreement that profits from a CD, book, or film would be fairly directed back to the cooperative, the negotiations were fairly simple. I have established a reputation with this community, and they knew I was not going to cut and run. It is also helpful that people are very responsive to me when I am doing research. Every day that I am in Uganda, I get a lot of work done. In my role as rabbi and executive director of Tufts Hillel, I co-directed a five-campus project in which we received significant funding from the academic affairs section of the Department of Homeland Security to establish Jewish, Christian, and Muslim dialogue groups and education on campus. I allocated part of that funding to bring the leadership of the cooperative from Uganda to Tufts University so that we could learn from their example and experience, a move that enriched and complicated my research. I have set my sights on doing a larger project with video and a traveling museum exhibit that will bring this story to a broader public. This has made the project move more slowly as I work to secure larger funding. While I have some connections at Starbucks, I have been hesitant to bring the project to them. While they are a major buyer of Fair Trade coffee, the company is not fully committed to Fair Trade. I am afraid such an alliance might co-opt this project and challenge its integrity. At the same time, such a connection might provide a much larger audience for an important story of economic justice and interfaith cooperation. My research on the ground with coffee farmers has also given me a more nuanced perspective on the Fair Trade movement. I’ve learned that Fair Trade is great for farmers when the coffee market is low and during inevitable fluctuations in the market. But right now, the coffee market is high and large companies are offering farmers $.20 or $.30 a pound more than the Fair Trade price for their coffee. In the balance, I am a supporter of Fair Trade, but I need to be careful how and where I share my perspectives so as not to undermine the work of this, and other, Fair Trade cooperatives. I also want my research on coffee and Fair Trade to be seen in a larger context than in promoting the work of a specific cooperative and marketing a specific coffee. In the liner notes to the Delicious Peace CD I state, “While this recording highlights the music and impact of a particular Fair Trade cooperative, I believe that supporting Fair Trade in general is an effective way for consumers to bring fairer compensation to the men and women who produce products that we value and use in our daily lives” (Summit, 2012: 24, liner notes).

The Reciprocal Impact of Advocacy When I work with students engaged in service learning in Boston, I find it important to stress that they might be the ones changed more profoundly than the people with whom they are working. Like many, I was deeply impacted by the 9/11 bombings of the World Trade Center in New York. When J. J. Keki founded Peace Kawomera as a response to those attacks, I was inspired by his work. I am moved as I listen to Saban Nabutta, of

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    225 the Akuseka Takuwa Kongo Group, sing “Friends, let us be united so we can be as one!” (“Let All Religions Come Together,” track 10, Summit, 2012). Many of the coffee farmers have taken the mission, and message, of this interfaith cooperative to heart. When he found out that I was from America, the lead singer of the Mbiko Aisa Farmers Embaire Group, Katerega Alamanzani, gently lectured me, “I am sorry to mention it about the United States and Afghanistan, but why do you fight there? What is the problem? Come up with a resolution. Regardless of tribe, color or religion, be one person!” My research with the musicians in the cooperative moved me to deepen and expand my own efforts to promote Jewish, Muslim, and Christian dialogue on campus. In his introduction to a collection of self-reflective essays on the subject of American Jewish ethnography, Jack Kugelmass discusses the researcher’s need to reconcile interests that are “purely scientific” with “the personal quest” for authenticity and community. He states that this approach to research speaks to “the ethnotherapeutic value, the search for wholeness, that ethnography can bring to bear in postmodern society” (1988: 1,2). This sense of connectedness has had profound, and occasionally unexpected, effects on me in the course of engaging in community advocacy. Over the years, I  have tried to maintain a certain emotional distance from these projects. I gloss over the moving emails that I periodically receive from the students thanking me for my efforts. I am extremely uncomfortable when some students call me their “father.” Yet, when I returned to Uganda last summer, I was greeted by the first woman in the community to receive a university degree, shortly after she completed her education at Makerere University. I had known her since she was 12 years old, and I had seen her suffer through bouts of malaria in Uganda. This woman had stayed at our home in Boston when she visited the United States. I understood the dedication she had shown to her studies over the years. When she thanked me for raising the funds for her tuition, totally to my surprise, I burst into tears, caught off guard and overwhelmed by the impact of the project on this individual. I am familiar with the verse in the book of Proverbs that states “Charity (righteous action) saves one from death” (10: 2) but I simply had never understood the power and meaning of the concept as I wrote a check to the United Way or planned a project from the comfort of my office at Tufts. While advocacy is often understood as a means to impact the other, in unexpected ways, it is the advocate who is transformed by this work.

Conclusion I have been deeply influenced by the work of the rabbi and philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel, who taught that spiritual traditions begin “with a consciousness that something is asked of us.” That understanding led Heschel to “pray with his feet” as he marched with Dr. Martin Luther King in Selma. I often ask, what is asked of me as I work with these communities in Uganda? In a society that puts tremendous stress on the

226   Jeffrey A. Summit individual, I struggle to think in terms of “we” rather than “I.” As I do my work, I try to keep in mind the words of a poem by Adrienne Rich (“In Those Years,” 1995):  In those years, people will say, we lost track of the meaning of we, of you we found ourselves reduced to I….

It took me a long time to find my voice and to learn how to say “I” but that feels like the first step in a longer journey. I would not downplay the challenges or complications of advocacy, but in my experience, I feel that the spirit is enriched by thoughtfully engaging in this work and systematically putting into practice what it means to say “we.”

Notes 1. Jeff Todd Titon. “Closing Address” at the conference “Invested in Community: Ethnomusicology and Musical Advocacy,” Brown University, 2003. http://dl.lib.brown. edu/invested_in_community/index.html. 2. For a discussion of the meaning and historical development of the term tikkun olam, see Jane Kanarek, “What Does Tikkun Olam Actually Mean?” in Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call for Justice (Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2008), and Earl Schwartz, “Tz’dakah, Tikkun Olam, and the Educational Pitfalls of Loose Talk,” Conservative Judaism 63(1) (2011): 3–24. 3. http://activecitizen.tufts.edu/z-misc/tufts-students-are-active-citizens/ 4. http://www.swaraj.org/illich_hell.htm 5. Adapted from:  “Making the CASE,” a section of “Moving From Band-Aid Solutions to Systematic Change:  A  Service-Learning ‘How-To’ Manual for Hillel Foundations” (Hillel: The Foundation for Jewish Campus Life, 2001). 6. For liner notes, full lyric transcriptions and translations, see http://media.smithsonianfolkways.org/liner_notes/smithsonian_folkways/SFW50417.pdf.

References Barz, Gregory. (2006). Singing for Life: HIV/AIDS and Music in Uganda. New York: Routledge. Barz, Gregory. (2007). Singing for Life:  Songs of Hope, Healing, and HIV/AIDS in Uganda. Recorded, produced, and annotated. Various artists. Smithsonian Folkways Recordings SFW CD 40537. Barz, Gregory, and Judah M. Cohen, eds. (2011). The Culture of Aids in Africa: Hope and Healing Through Music and the Arts. New York: Oxford University Press. Buber, Martin. (1970). I and Thou: A New Translation with a Prologue “I and You” and Notes by Walter Kaufman. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Clifford, James. (1988). The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-Century Ethnography, Literature and Art. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Feld, Steven. (1991). Voices of the Rainforest. Audio cassette, RACS 0173, Ryko.

Advocacy and the Ethnomusicologist    227 Feld, Steven. (1982). Sound and Sentiment:  Birds, Weeping, Poetics, and Song in Kaluli Expression. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Harrison, Klisala, and Svanibor Pettan. (2010). “Introduction.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 1–20. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Heschel, Abraham Joshua. (1983 [1955]). God in Search of Man:  A  Philosophy of Judaism. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Hofman, Ana. (2010). “Maintaining the Distance, Othering the Subaltern:  Rethinking Ethnomusicologists’ Engagement in Advocacy and Social Justice.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 22–35. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Kanarek, Jane. (2008). “What Does Tikkun Olam Actually Mean?” In Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call for Justice, edited by Or N. Rose, Jo Ellen Green Kaiser, and Margie Klein, pp. 15–22. Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishing. Kugelmass, Jack, ed. (1968). Between Two Worlds:  Ethnographic Essays on American Jewry. Ithaca, NY; London: Cornell University Press. Lederach, Jean Paul. (2005). The Moral Imagination:  The Art and Soul of Building Peace. New York: Oxford University Press. Pettan, Svanibor. (2008). “Applied Ethnomusicology and Empowerment Strategies:  Views from across the Atlantic.” Muzikološki zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 85–99. Rich, Adrienne. (1995). “In Those Years.” In Dark Fields of the Republic:  Poems 1991–1995. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Seeger, Anthony. (1987). Why Suyá Sing:  A  Musical Anthropology of an Amazonian People. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sheehy, Daniel. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 323–336. Shelemay, Kay Kaufman. (2008). “The Ethnomusicologist, Ethnographic Method, and the Transmission of Tradition.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by Gregory F. Barz and Timothy J. Cooley, pp. 141–156. New York: Oxford University Press. Spradley, J.  P., and D. W.  McCurdy, eds. Conformity and Conflict:  Readings in Cultural Anthropology (12th ed.). Boston: Pearson Allyn and Bacon, 2000. Stoecker, Randy, and Elizabeth A. Tryon, eds., with Amy Hilgendorf. (2009). The Unheard Voices: Community Organizing and Service Learning. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Summit, Jeffrey A. (2000). The Lord’s Song in a Strange Land:  Music and Identity in Contemporary Jewish Worship. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Summit, Jeffrey A. (2003). Abayudaya: Music from the Jewish People of Uganda. Recorded, compiled, and annotated. Various artists. Smithsonian Folkways Recordings SFW CD 40504. Summit, Jeffrey A. (2008). “Music and the Construction of Identity among the Abayudaya (Jewish people) of Uganda.” In The Garland Handbook of African Music (2nd ed.), edited by Ruth M. Stone, pp. 312–324. New York: Routledge. Summit, Jeffrey A. (2012). Delicious Peace: Coffee, Music and Interfaith Harmony in Uganda. Produced, compiled and annotated. CD and video. Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, SFW CD 50417.

228   Jeffrey A. Summit Schwartz, Earl. (2011). “Tz’dakah, Tikkun Olam, and the Educational Pitfalls of Loose Talk.” Conservative Judaism 63(1): 3–24. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1992). “Introduction:  Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3); 315–322. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2003). “Closing Address.” Delivered at the conference “Invested in Community:  Ethnomusicology and Musical Advocacy,” Brown University. http://dl.lib. brown.edu/invested_in_community/index.html. Titon, Jeff Todd, with John Fenn. (2003). “A Conversation with Jeff Todd Titon.” Folklore Forum 34(1–2): 119–131. Usner, Eric Martin. (2010). “United States Ethnomusicology and the Engaged University.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 76–95. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Veršnik, Vojko. (2010). “Solid as Stone and Bone: Song as a Bridge Between Cultures and Generations.” In Applied Ethnomusicology: Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 76–95. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

Chapter 7

Appl ied Ethnom u si c ol o g y as an Intercu lt u ra l  To ol Some Experiences from the Last 25 years of Minority Research in Austria Ursula Hemetek

The discipline of ethnomusicology should definitely, by its very nature, have great potential to be used as a tool of intercultural mediation. Manifold are the approaches and publications in modern ethnomusicology to underline this aspect, such as the book Music in Motion (Clausen/Hemetek/Saether, 2009). I interpret applied ethnomusicology according to Maureen Loughran: “as a philosophical approach to the study of music in culture with social responsibility and social justice as guiding principles” (2008: 52). Intercultural mediation can be one aspect in this much broader concept. Minority research, on the other hand, is very much connected to applied ethnomusicology (see Hemetek, 2006; Pettan, 2008). This is the point of departure for this chapter, which is based on research activities in ethnomusicology focusing on the intercultural potential of music and some possible applications of this potential in the course of minority studies.1 As this work is the outcome of a long-term engagement, it also enables me to reflect critically on the role of the fieldworker with respect to active/passive, interventionalist/ non-interventionalist stances. The question will be raised as to how far the “partnership model of fieldwork” suggested by Ian Russell (2006) covers part of the task of applied ethnomusicology in connection with discriminated groups and intercultural mediation.

Theoretical Background Music and Minorities and Applied Ethnomusicology The history of ethnomusicology, a discipline that is said to have been founded by Guido Adler in Vienna as “comparative musicology” with the aim of comparing different music

230   Ursula Hemetek cultures, shows some a priori intercultural potential. This potential was not always visible or emphasized in the long history of the discipline, but this is not the focus of this chapter. For my topic, it is important to theorize especially one aspect that is specifically connected to applied ethnomusicology: music and minorities. Minorities, being exotic on the one hand, and underprivileged and discriminated against on the other, seem to be a central theme throughout the history of ethnomusicology. They were subject to ethnomusicological research very early on. Alice Cunningham Fletcher (1838–1923) was one of the pioneers doing fieldwork with Native Americans—a research topic that was located “on her doorstep.” She is also recognized as a pioneering anthropologist who advocated for both Indian reform and Indian education. One of her statements, quoted in Temkin (1988) illustrates her approach, which already seems to be connected to application of her findings: “Living with my Indian friends… I found I was a stranger in my native land. As time went on, the outward aspect of nature remained the same, but change was wrought in me. I learned to hear the echoes of a time when every living thing even the sky had a voice. The voice devoutly heard by the ancient people of America I desired to make audible to others” (as quoted in Temkin, 1988: 99). In Europe it was mostly the Jews and the Roma who were identified as exotic (see Schachiner, 2008), but within the tradition of European folk music research there was no room for serious research on minorities, except if they were seen as an extension of the nation. There are manifold examples of such approaches, for example the German Sprachinselforschung (see Kuhn, 1934) or research on the Burgenland Croats by Franjo Kuhač (1878–1881), among many others.2 One important precondition for establishing research on minorities in ethnomusicology in the modern sense—neither exotic nor nationalistic—was the recognition of heterogeneity, which is closely connected with urban areas as a field of research. Adelaida Reyes sees a clear connection between the concepts of research on minorities and those of urban ethnomusicology because in a scholarly realm built on presumptions of cultural homogeneity, there was no room for minorities. These require a minimal pair—at least two groups of unequal power and most likely culturally distinct, both parts of a single social organism. Homogeneity does not admit of such disparate components. . . . The conditions that spawn minorities—complexity, heterogeneity, and non-insularity—are “native” not to simple societies but to cities and complex societies. (Reyes, 2007: 22)

Adelaida Reyes was one of the pioneers of these ideas; as early as 1979 she had published an article on the topic, although in a sociological journal (Reyes-Schramm, 1979), especially focusing on definitions of minorities, which is of course crucial to the entire discourse. One scholarly conference that pointed toward a new thinking about minorities and ethnomusicology in Europe was a conference in Zagreb in 1985. Pettan (2012) writes about it:

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    231 To the best of my knowledge, the first ethnomusicological conference world-wide with the key words “music” and “minorities” took place twenty-seven years ago in Zagreb. The key person, the representative of the hosting institution—Zavod za istraživanje folklora Instituta za filologiju i folkloristiku (currently Institute of Ethnology and Folklore Research)—was Jerko Bezić. Those whom he invited to take part in this historical conference included his colleagues from Yugoslavia, from the neighboring countries (Austria, Hungary, Italy) and from Germany. Besides his programmatic contribution and those with a focus on institutional (Haid), fieldwork (Walcher [replaced by Hemetek]) and individual strategies (Tari), specific repertoires (Bašić), and comparisons of musical features (Boljunčić, Fracile, Habenicht), most of the participants reported either about their own minority national group (e.g. Starec on Italians in Istria, Sheholli on Albanians in Kosovo, Kmet on Slovaks in Yugoslavia, Logar on Slovenes in Austrian Carinthia, Strajnar on Slovenes abroad) or a minority group within their own territorial contexts (e.g. Pietsch on Croats in Austrian Burgenland, Petrović on Sephardic Jews in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Gojković on Romanies in Yugoslavia, Kovalcsik on Romanies in Eastern Europe). Most presenters tried to point out interethnic connections” (Pettan, 2012: 450).

There was a publication following that conference. (Bezić, 1985) I was privileged to attend the conference, which was my first international conference ever, being a young PhD student with no international experience, and what I remember best was the personality of Jerko Bezić, who was the most integrative figure of the entire event. Given the lack of professional interpreting, he actually did all that himself, being fluent in Serbo-Croatian, Slovenian, Italian, English, and German. He actually accomplished a great deal of intercultural communication by acting this way. This conference inspired the later foundation of the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM) Study Group on Music and Minorities in 1997.3 From the beginning, it seemed to be very important to define the word minority for the purposes of the Study Group. Definitions are manifold and very much depend on the respective political situation. The definition that was and still is used by the ICTM Study Group on Music and Minorities is the following: “Minorities = groups of people distinguishable from the dominant group for cultural, ethnic, social, religious, or economic reasons.” The definition was the result of intense discussion, of course, and it proved to be a key problem. It was suggested that discrimination be made the common denominator, which de facto is the case, because all minorities, however we define them, have this in common: there are some markers of “difference” with regard to the dominant society (language, habits, citizenship, outward appearance, religion, sexual orientation, and so on), and they face discrimination in one way or another. But to use “discrimination” in the definition would at that time have been too political for an international organization like the ICTM. So, finally, the discussions resulted in using the phrase “dominant group,” also in order to include the manifold different approaches from colleagues all over the world.

232   Ursula Hemetek The discussions taking place in the surroundings of this Study Group seem to be important, as they mirror scholarly discourses and thus provide a theoretical framework for the definition of who are the consultants with or for whom we work, the people we study. I would like to quote here from the first publication of the Study Group from 2001, which shows the discourse at that time: The discussion process reveals the wide range of interests and scholarly traditions with regard to minorities. The complexity of the topic itself calls for a variety of approaches and interdisciplinary connections. That minorities are defined in relation to majorities is unavoidable, but their relationship can be seen from different points of view. Is it primarily a relationship of power or a relationship of culture, of social circumstances, of ethnicity, religion, or economics? Sociologists tend to define it as power relationship, which has its effects on cultural processes, the majority requiring conformity and penalizing deviation ......... [Reiterer 1996]. On the other hand, especially in music, this deviation from the mainstream can also be instrumentalized by and integrated into the majority’s culture. Mark Slobin argues in his article Four Reasons Why We Have No Musical Minorities in the United States that dividing lines begin to disappear due to new identity constructions, and the outcome can be seen in musical production as well as in instrumentalizing musical styles in connection to political events (comp. Slobin 1995). (Hemetek, 2001a: 21)

Some of Bruno Nettl’s ideas from 1992 were very useful as well. He saw growing interest in the study of the music of minorities in modern ethnomusicology. “In particular, the fate of musics removed from their original home such as African-American, overseas Indian, European and Asian immigrants in the Americas, European and Middle Eastern repertoires in Israel have come to be of special interest” (Nettl, 1992: 380). He sees this interest as being mainly connected with two research concepts: urban ethnomusicology on the one hand—cities being multicultural centers—and long-term studies on the transfer of cultural systems into new surroundings (Nettl, 1992: 380). In addition, he sees a new attitude in ethnomusicology that pays special attention to minorities: “Ethnomusicologists increasingly have recognized that a society may be divided musically along various lines, and scholars have therefore begun to concentrate on the repertories and musical behaviour of segments of a population. Whereas they once looked at small samples of the songs of a tribe with the assumption that these examples signified a homogenous repertory, they have since come to study linguistic, religious and ethnic minorities” (Nettl, 1992: 380). While speaking of “linguistic, religious and ethnic minorities,” with regard to the sociopolitical circumstances in the United States and in Western European countries, Nettl refers mainly to migrant communities. No doubt, migrant communities were and are a particularly emphasized subject in the Study Group. In the words of Adelaida Reyes, Migration creates one of the largest, if not the largest, human groups out of which minorities emerge. What migrants bring with them as capital for building new lives in resettlement depends on what they had in the old life, the manner of their

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    233 departure and the reasons for it, what as a consequence they leave behind and what they take with them. How they deploy this capital depends on their vision of the present and the future, but it is a vision encumbered in their particular past. The lives they create in resettlement are shaped by all these, but not by these alone. For once in a new environment, they must interact with a host society, most likely a dominant one, within which, as minorities, they must now accommodate themselves. (Reyes, 2001: 38–39)

“The capital for building new lives” is not limited to ethnicity, ethnic tradition, or traditional culture. One of the key words in our discussions that came up in this context is identity. It is very common and has different connotations, such as ethnic, national, individual, collective, multiple, and cultural identity, among others. “Music, Dance and Identity in Minority Cultures” was one of the themes of the Study Group meeting in Ljubljana, and most papers concentrated on that. It is a fact that music and dance can obviously play an important role in the identity construction of minority cultures, and they could be interpreted as collective to a certain extent. But from the very beginning of our discussions, there were voices that rejected that way of interpreting the musical phenomena of immigrants, like Eva Fock in her study of young descendants of immigrants in Denmark, stating that, in the eyes of the majority, symbolic collective identities overshadow the much more complex and vulnerable individual identities of the youngsters. Without looking beyond what is served on a silver plate by media or public politics, the old stereotypes of “ethnic” and “traditional” youngsters as strangers in a modern world are maintained. In reality, the individual way of combining a clear personal preference with the ability to adapt to constantly changing demands, is typical for these youngsters. (Fock, 1999: 75)

In the meantime, the discourses within the Study Group have added new aspects, although the definition of the term minority has not been changed. The Study Group has followed the arguments raised by Eva Fock—collective identity as such is under discussion. Hybridity seems to be a new important aspect as well, and power relations are very much discussed. The topic “Race, Class and Gender” has been added, and the Study Group Symposium in 2014 in Osaka, Japan, included sexual minorities as one of the themes for the first time (see www.ictmusic.org/group/ music-and-minorities). Concerning applied ethnomusicology, there are to be found several approaches throughout the history of the Study Group. In a conference publication of 2004, the topic was explicitly raised. “Minorities are very often groups of people who are discriminated against in one way or other” (Hemetek (2004: 50). Martin Stokes says: “When we are looking at the way in which ethnicities and identities are put into play in musical performance, we should not forget that music is one of the less innocent ways in which

234   Ursula Hemetek dominant categories are enforced and resisted” (1997: 8). “Ethnomusicologists, seeing and realizing that minorities are often in the weaker position in these power relations when working with a group, very often feel the need for some action that crosses the borderlines of our discipline” (Hemetek, 2004: 50–51). At the World Conference of the ICTM in Sheffield in 2005, the Study Group organized a panel called “Applied Ethnomusicology and Studies on Music and Minorities:  The Convergence of Theory and Practice.” The relevance of applied ethnomusicology to the study of music and minorities, and vice versa, and what constitutes this relevance were explored. One follow-up of this panel was an article in the ICTM Yearbook (Hemetek, 2006). After the ICTM Study Group on Applied Ethnomusicology had been founded in 2007, a very successful joint meeting of the two Study Groups was organized in Hanoi in 2010, which again manifested the interrelatedness of the two approaches in ethnomusicology. Having outlined the development of music and minorities studies in connection to applied ethnomusicology by using the example of the Study Group, I will now give a political and historical background of the geographical and sociopolitical context of the following case studies. As we always deal with music in its social function, it goes without saying that the context is important. It is even more important in connection with applied ethnomusicology, because application requires a well-founded knowledge of the political and social circumstances of the people we work with in order to achieve some benefit for their situation.

The Austrian Minority Situation: Historical and Political Background Austria is the result or remainder of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy (1867–1918), which was a multinational country with many languages and cultures, including Czech, Slovakian, Ukrainian, Croatian, Polish, Hungarian, Slovenian, and Jewish, as well as Roma, cultures. Austria did not have overseas colonies and was not confronted with overseas immigration, as the United Kingdom, France, Portugal, and the Netherlands were, as a result of colonialism. Austria was formed by migration, but it was first of all an inland migration, within the Austro-Hungarian monarchy. During the last 50 years, however, there has been massive immigration from eastern and southern Europe. In the 1960s Austria needed migrant workers and thus began the immigration of Yugoslavian and Turkish people. Due to its location as a Western country on the border of several former communist states, there were also several waves of refugees from Hungary in 1956 (the “Hungarian uprising” against the Soviets ended up in violent restoration of the regime), from Czechoslovakia in 1968 (the so called “Prague spring” challenging Soviet control, which ended up in Soviet invasion), from Poland in 1981 (declaration of martial law following

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    235 the “Polish crisis” challenging Soviet control), and from Bosnia in 1992 (see later discussion in this chapter). The inland migration during the monarchy and the reduction of the territory after World War I resulted in the existence of so-called “autochthonous” ethnic minorities, those who have been living in a certain region for a hundred years or more. They are citizens of Austria and have been granted certain rights. They are also recognized as an ethnic group (Volksgruppe). The term Volksgruppe has only existed in Austria as a political category since 1976, due to the so-called Volksgruppengesetz (Ethnic Groups Act), and it includes only ethnic minorities with a distinct culture and language that have lived in Austria for at least three generations, thereby granting them certain rights. This law does not include immigrants of recent years, who therefore remain without such rights. Table 7.1 provides an overview on ethnic minority groups in Austria.

Table 7.1.  Ethnic Minority Groups in Austria Ethnic Groupsa

In Their Territory since

Slovenes in Styria Slovenes in Carinthia Hungarians in Burgenland Roma in Austria Croats in the Burgenland Czechs in Vienna Slovakians in Vienna Hungarians in Vienna

6th centuryb 9th century 10th century 15th century 16th century 19th century 19th century 20th centuryc

Foreigners: Immigrants and Refugees (Largest Groups)

In Austria since

From former Yugoslavia From Turkey From Czechoslovakia From Poland From Bosnia

1960 onward 1960 onward 1968 1981 1992

a. There are other groups in Austria that would be considered to be minorities, like the Jenische, the Trentinians in Vorarlberg, and, of course, the Jewish population. Jenische and Trentinians are not mentioned because, although ethnically defined, they are not recognized as Volksgruppe. The Jewish have officially denied any ethnic definitions, due to the Nazi ideology defining Jews as a “race.” The Jewish population in Austria suffers from a long history of discrimination; during the Nazi holocaust a high percentage of the Austrian Jewish community was murdered. The Jewish community in Austria today is very heterogeneous; there are different religious groups, ranging from very orthodox to liberal, and they are still exposed to racism. b. The Slovenes in Styria only have been recognized in 2003 as part of the Slovenian Volksgruppe. c. The Hungarians in Vienna—mostly refugees from 1956—were recognized as part of the Hungarian Volksgruppe in 1992.

236   Ursula Hemetek According to the latest census in Austria in 2011, the numbers of foreigners in Austria are as follows (see Statistik Austria, 2011: 35): Austrian population total: 8,404,252 Foreigners: 1,452,591 (that is, 17.3%) According to countries of origin (including Austrian citizens born in the respective country): Germany: 220,3304 Serbia/Montenegro/Kosovo: 208,809 Turkey: 184,815 Bosnia and Herzegovina: 131,128 Croatia: 69,654 Romania: 68,142 Poland: 59,753 Czech Republic: 45,213 Hungary: 41,348 Italy: 29,447 Russia: 27,149 Slovakia: 26,079 Macedonia: 23,127 Other groups: less than 20,000. The division into “ethnic groups” and immigrants seems to be outmoded in times of globalization and EU integration. Among other reasons that have to do with history, there is one to be found in Austria’s political self-definition: Austria does not want to be seen as a country of immigration, although de facto it is. Immigration is seen as more of a threat than as a necessity. Xenophobia is stirred up by some political parties that look for scapegoats in times of economic recession. And these are found in the form of immigrants. Immigrants in Austria are discriminated against on several levels. There is the labor market, housing, and structural discrimination by the law, not to mention having to face everyday racism. It is very difficult for them to obtain Austrian citizenship. The integration process—which I define by referring to Bauböck (2001: 14) as a “process of reciprocal adjustment between an already existing group and a settling group”—is not at all satisfactory. The reactions of immigrants themselves are to be found in different strategies, which are between—but also include—two extremes: One is withdrawal into the ghetto, the other is assimilation. In the case of withdrawal, immigrants limit private social contact to members of their own nationality, and find their niches in which to survive. This is of course understandable, but it does not lead to a successful integration process. But even in the case of assimilation, which I would define as the complete abandonment of ethnic markers like language and customs, there still is discrimination because of the visibility of “otherness” by skin color, accent, or a person’s name. The majority—the dominant group—reacts to the challenges of immigration not by adjustment but rather by rejection, thereby hindering the integration process.

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    237 I have tried to argue the reasons for this Austrian peculiarity of the division into ethnic groups and immigrant minorities in Austria. Nevertheless, it seems somehow paradoxical. In the meantime, a third generation of immigrants is living in Austria. They were born here, have hardly any contact with the homeland of their grandparents, but are still considered immigrants, or are referred to using the now-common expression “people with immigrant backgrounds.” All these groups are considered as minorities mainly for ethnic or religious reasons. But of course there are social and economic reasons as well, because certain immigrant groups are to be found in the lower social segment. There are other groups that would also be included in a minority definition that derives from power relations and makes discrimination the common denominator: for example, gay, lesbian, and transgender persons, as well as disabled persons. All these groups have representative nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and are more or less influential and more or less successful. The NGO minority scene is very diverse in Austria, and it is important to underscore that within all of the groups there is no homogeneity, neither in a political, ethnic, or social sense, nor in terms of political representation. One NGO in Austria, Initiative Minderheiten (Initiative Minorities), is and has been very important for music and minority studies. It is one of the very few minority NGOs in Austria that does not want to “represent” one or more minority groups, but tries to act as a platform for a broad range of different groups. The mission statement says the following: Since 1991, Initiative Minderheiten has been advocating and contributing towards creating a society that acknowledges and affords equal treatment and equal rights to minorities in their individual life concepts regardless of their ethnic, social or religious affiliation, sexual orientation or dis/ability. A society can only be considered to have acknowledged minority rights if it facilitates and supports different life concepts in a fair and equal manner. Initiative Minderheiten works towards creating minority alliances. Initiative Minderheiten defines a minority as people who experience discrimination based on their ethnic, social or religious affiliation, sexual orientation or dis/ ability. Politically, discrimination means excluding certain people from certain rights; socially, it means experiencing prejudices and exclusions. In Austria, legally recognized ethnic groups are also considered minorities, as well as migrants and refugees, lesbians, gays and transgenders, and people with dis/abilities. This definition is not based on a group’s number of members, but rather on their lack of power in comparison to that of the hegemonic majority. (www.initiative.minderheiten.at)

The means by which Initiative Minderheiten wants to reach these goals are based on intellectual capacities and use traditional as well as Internet media. It carries out applied research projects, exhibitions, art projects, and other smaller projects that are usually received very well by the public. Initiative Minorities does not do social work.

238   Ursula Hemetek Ethnomusicology was involved in some of their research as well as art projects from the very beginning. The theoretical discussions within this organization influenced minority studies in Austria to a certain extent. This is especially important because in Initiative Minderheiten, minorities function as researchers, not as “objects” of research. The application of results is intended, as the goal is combating discrimination, as well as structural improvement of the minority situation. This can serve as a model for applied ethnomusicology in minority studies and definitely influenced ethnomusicology research methods in Austria. In all of the following case studies, the political sense of responsibility was the guiding principle of the research and action; they also have been chosen in order to show that sometimes it is hard to draw a line between political activism and research.

Applied Ethnomusicology in Specific Minority Contexts: Roma, Bosnian Refugees, Immigrants from Turkey All three groups, as minorities in the Austrian context, face discrimination in one way or another. There are different strategies of applied ethnomusicology (see Pettan, 2008; Sheehy, 1992) involved in each of the cases, due to different sociopolitical circumstances. The three cases have also been chosen due to their chronological nature, thereby showing a certain development of awareness and discourse level in ethnomusicology, due to the fact that neither the term applied ethnomusicology nor a theory of it were available in 1989, when the engagement started. I hope to broaden the theoretical and methodological scope of applied ethnomusicology by analyzing the strategies involved in each of the cases. Here is a short survey of the three case studies: In the process of the political recognition of Roma in Austria (initiated in 1989 and the following years), their traditional music and its presentation in public contributed to proving that a group of people who had been discriminated against and who formerly were seen merely as a social minority were in fact an ethnic one, with a distinct cultural heritage of their own. Several research projects by Austrian scholars on Roma music formed the basis for activities in the broadly conceived field of applied ethnomusicology, yielding work in the areas of intercultural mediation, political activism, public promotion, and education. Public promotion of “ethnic” music was my main approach in 1990 and subsequently. Many of the former activities seem to be very outmoded today. Times and contexts have changed significantly, and a shift from “ethnic representation” to “intercultural encounters” (for example, in a Roma music school in Vienna) is noticeable. The example of the engagement with the Bosnian community was limited to the time of the civil war in the former Yugoslavia and afterward (1994–2000). From 1992 onward,

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    239 about 100,000 Bosnian refugees came to Austria due to the policy of “ethnic cleansing” by the Serbian as well as the Croatian army in Bosnia. They were merely seen as “poor” people by Austrians, and were associated with blood and tears. Many Bosnian intellectuals were in Austria at that time, among them many musicians. They were very unhappy with this public image and wanted to react by showing their potential. Ethnomusicology could function as a kind of midwife in documenting and presenting in public the cultural treasures that the refugees had brought with them. The genre Sevdalinka was chosen to represent the Bosnian intercultural heritage by the musicians themselves and by researchers. A program involving music and literature was presented to ethnically mixed audiences, and this enabled intercultural encounter to a certain extent. It was an activity that was necessary at a certain time due to political circumstances, initiated by the wishes of a community. From my experiences with the different communities of immigrants from Turkey in Vienna from 2003 onward, I have learned to be very careful with the label “ethnic” in music. The approximately 200,000 immigrants from Turkey in Austria are as manifold in their cultural expressions as the majority Austrians. In practice, “ethnic” music is just one of many music styles. Politically, immigrants from Turkey are the most discriminated group in Austria today due to rising Islamophobia and the xenophobic public discourses of most political parties in Austria. Ethnomusicological strategies to fight discrimination must take into account the fact that many musicians from the Turkish community do not want to be labeled according to their ethnic roots. Here, ethnomusicology has to advocate more on the level of opinion-leading via expertise in different majority institutions (involving music education, for example). In a critical analysis of some former activities in Austria, I will draw attention to the fact that applied work can have side effects that are quite unintentional and can only be noticed from a historical distance. This is only possible in long-term studies. What was intended in all three cases was to transform the research results into contexts where they might function as an intercultural tool, which was more or less successful, by using the methods of applied ethnomusicology for the benefit of the people we study. These contexts include political interventions, feeding-back models, public promotion, and strategies of influencing public discourse.

The Case of the Roma: Political Recognition and Ethnicity, or Political Intervention and the Invention of Ethnicity Europe invented the “Gypsy.” This is the somewhat modified title of a book published in 2011/2013: Europa erfindet die Zigeuner (Europe Invents the Gypsies), written by Klaus Michael Bogdal from the perspective of comparative literature. His primary sources are literary documents, and by analyzing these and other historical sources—always written by non-Roma—he shows how, from the fifteenth century onward, the myth of the “Gypsy” was constructed by non-Roma. It is an analysis of how non-Roma dealt with

240   Ursula Hemetek Roma, and it clearly shows the dichotomy within the construct: on the one hand, Roma were rejected, even hated and discriminated against, while on the other hand, Gypsy romanticism arose. This romanticism was strongly connected to music. It is evidence for the invention of the narrative that was constructed without any participation of Roma themselves. The answers to the question of how it is possible that a group of people can be reviled and their music adored at the same time are mostly to be found in these narratives. Music connected to Roma was constructed as a positive stereotype, and Gypsies were and still are thought to be the most gifted musicians in many societies. This is also due to the fact that Roma sometimes participate in their own stereotypification—mostly because stereotypes sell in the music business, a fact that Carol Silverman stresses in her recent book Romani Routes. Cultural Politics and Balkan Music in Diaspora (Silverman, 2012). The invented myth of a people who have no home and are constantly on the move has many consequences: one is that Gypsies are not considered to belong to any nation-state, and are always located on the margins of societies. In 1988 there was severe discrimination against Roma in Austrian society. The prevailing opinion among the majority society was that they were a group of people who steal, who wander about somewhere in the woods, who do not work, and who are mainly criminals. There was very little reliable information publicly available at that time. My first encounter was actually a documentary on Austrian TV that was titled Ihr werdet uns nie verstehen (You will never understand us). This statement, as well as the entire documentary, aroused my curiosity. I have written about that process elsewhere (see Hemetek, 2006); here is a quotation from that publication: The title of the film was a quote of one Sinto (one of the Roma groups living in Austria, see below) in the film, and he really meant what he said: that we as gañe, as non-Roma, could never understand the Roma, because we were so different from each other. But at the same time it was the film’s aim to make gañe understand—at least a little bit—who Roma are and how they live, because this was the first well founded information, the first serious documentary on the life of Roma in Austria there ever broadcast as far as I know. This film explained a lot about Roma in Austria, about their view of life, their living conditions and their history. A social and cultural dichotomy was emphasised with Roma on one side versus gañe on the other. There was a beautiful song at the end of the film which touched me deeply although I did not know anything about the music, its language or meaning. The film conveyed the following message to me and new thoughts started working in my mind: There is a people, living in my country, who are severely discriminated against, who are somehow mysterious, telling me “I would never understand them.” This was fascinating music completely unknown in public at that time, and I learned that the singer of the moving song lived in Vienna, only a short distance from my home. (Hemetek, 2006: 39–40) (Figure 7.1)

After I had started to make contacts in 1989 in order to learn something about the Roma and their music, the first singer I spoke to and interviewed was the Lovari (one

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    241

Figure  7.1  Ruža Nikolić-Lakatos,  1994. Photo by Gerhard Maurer. Archive of the Institute of Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology.

of the Roma groups, see below) woman Ceija Stojka (Figure 7.2). Ceija, who had survived the Nazi concentration camps, told me about her life, about her experience of prejudice and racism, and how Roma had to hide their ethnic identity to escape this discrimination. In spite of that, Ceija Stojka had decided to write a book about her experiences, and for the first time in Austria, in 1988, there was a Romani publicly outing her ethnic background (Stojka, 1988). My first interviews with her were about what music meant in her life and even what it had meant in the concentration camps (see Hemetek/ Heinschink, 1992). One of the findings of the research was that Roma in Austria are by no means a homogenous group, but are very diverse in terms of their history, their cultural identity, and what they considered to be “their” music (see Table 7.2).

Table 7.2.  Roma in Austria: Major Communities Name

In Austria since

Coming from

Burgenland Roma Lovari Sinti Kalderara Gurbeti Arlije

15th century 1900/1956 19th century 1965 1965 1965

Hungary Slovakia, Hungary Bohemia, Germany Serbia Serbia Macedonia, Kosovo

242   Ursula Hemetek

Figure  7.2  Ceija Stojka,  1991. Photo by Gerhard Maurer. Archive of the Institute of Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology.

I do not want to repeat what I have written elsewhere, but briefly, the social and cultural, especially musical, identification is very diverse; there is not just one “Romani culture,” one “Romani music,” but many different ones. The language, Romani, exists in many different variants, and some groups do not even speak it any more. The different Roma groups have been influenced by different cultural traditions, due to different locations of their stay before they came to Austria. Therefore, due to their specific history, the social structure of Roma is very different from that of other minorities. But in spite of all this, the movement of political and cultural self-representation of the Roma had begun in Austria, coinciding with the beginning of ethnomusicological research. The political aim was to be recognized as a so-called Volksgruppe (see earlier discussion). To acquire this legal designation, it is necessary to prove their ethnicity, to prove that Roma in Austria were an ethnic group. Now this was a new approach, a least in the public perception, because Roma were seen as a social problem, and not as a group with a distinct cultural tradition, although they were viewed by the general public as somehow racially defined and different. But the ascribed identity markers were rather bad habits, such as stealing. In 1955, when certain rights for ethnic groups were defined in the constitution, nobody would have thought of Roma; nor were they considered in

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    243 1976, when the Volkgruppengesetz as the legal instrument for these matters had been implemented. This ignorance reminds one of National Socialism, when the argument for killing and deporting Roma was their status of being so-called antisocial elements and criminals. Even after World War II, Roma who had been deported to concentration camps were denied compensation based on the argument that they had been arrested and deported as criminals. The first official argument to deny their recognition as a Volksgruppe came in 1990 when Austrian Prime Minister Franz Vranitzky said that he did not see any “cultural markers” that indicated an ethnic tradition, which was necessary for their recognition. This entire matter is influenced by the history and ideology that underlie the idea of the European nation-state. Nation-states in Europe from the nineteenth century onward were defined by ethnic criteria, and the nation was—and still is—seen as something of value. National identity is expressed in “national” cultural practices. Whereas all the other ethnic groups in Austria can claim some kind of “national” tradition, deriving from their “homeland,” the Roma lack these, because they have no common homeland, and the different groups have entered the territory from various neighboring countries. They have no common cultural tradition in the sense of a “national culture”—apart from, to a certain extent, the Romani language. But it was necessary to provide evidence for their ethnic tradition, and the Roma wanted to do this (see Hemetek, 2006). So this was the political agenda of the Romani political movement when ethnomusicology became involved by making first recordings and interviews. What was intended in fieldwork was what Ian Russell called the “partnership model of fieldwork” (Russell, 2006) in an article about his long-term study of carol singing in the Sheffield region. Russell writes: The present research is firmly set in the “home” world (Stoeltje, 1999, 160–161), where reciprocity is manifested through implicit obligation, and at times by negotiation. I see it as a process that develops hand-in-hand with the building of relationships and growth of mutual trust over an extended period of time (Georges and Jones, 1980). Humanity and friendship become paramount and the researcher and his or her associates, partners, or consultants build relationships that are both interactive and balanced (Hood, 1971, 222; Titon, 1995, 288). The common interest in the musical traditions becomes a shared interest, as the distinctions between insider and outsider become transcended or tend to disappear altogether. This process is understood as a partnership (Myers, 1993, 12–13), with the responsibility for the integrity of the relationship lying firmly with the fieldworker. (Russell, 2006: 16)

The aspect of where research is located seems to very important. If the fieldwork is based “at home,” and the consultants also live in the same country, geographically very close, experiences concerning the environment, the economic and political system, and so on, are shared. Consultants are well informed about research activities, and friendships develop out of mutual interests and long-term engagement. Thus it was easier to apply ethnomusicological results for the “benefit” of the Roma in Austria.

244   Ursula Hemetek

The Invention of Roma Ethnicity? There is a long tradition in European folk music research which is very close to a setting that Timothy Cooley describes beautifully in his “musical ethnography of a specific Tatra Mountain region called Podhale” (a region in southern Poland) (Cooley, 2005). At the beginning of his book he offers a striking image that is programmatic for all that follows: a monument from 1903, with a bust of Dr. Tytus Chałubiński, a renowned physician from Warsaw, who in the late nineteenth century set up a sanatorium in Zakopane and actively promoted tourism in the Tatras. Chałubiński organized guided tours, and the guides involved were locals, the so-called Górale (highlanders), who also provided music and dance for tourists. Jan Krzeptowski-Sabała, the doctor’s preferred mountain guide, is seated at the base of the monument in Górale in traditional costume, a folk violin in his left hand, a bow in his right. The intellectual with urban background and the “indigenous,” prototypical, old-world Górale symbolize the forces that until then had shaped cultural practices in Podhale. One product of that process was the “invention of Górale ethnicity,” according to Cooley (2005). Inspired by rising nationalism, along with the invention of the nation-state in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, folk music researchers throughout Europe tried to provide evidence of their national heritage by collecting authentic folk music. And they tried to prove its uniqueness and differences from the music of other nations. They were always intellectuals from urban centers who went to the countryside, to the rural areas that were so “pure, untouched by civilization, so authentic and romantic.” The people there were to a certain extent “exotic” and their music making seemed “untouched by the pollution of urban influences, of modernity, of change” (see Cooley 2005: 5). Of course, all these seemingly untouched musics had always been subject to changes. The folk music researchers intended to safeguard this national heritage by writing it down or using other media for documentation. There is an ideological aspect as well. Researchers convinced musicians that they were the pillars of national music tradition and that they should cherish that heritage. Musicians might have been astonished about that interest, but as these collectors were intellectuals and from a higher social class, were dedicated to their work, and proved to be aficionados, they were respected. The musicians might have obtained the feeling that their everyday music making had an additional quality besides its primary function in the community. This quality was underscored by the successful promotion activities of the researchers. They founded choirs and folklore groups in the urban centers to cultivate the heritage, they organized stage presentations and tours for the musicians, and they established institutions that promoted the music as well as research on and collections of this music. The development of tourism is an important aspect as well. The financial benefit obtained by the musicians themselves proved to be a very convincing argument, and they acted according to expectations. They saw their own musical practice from a new perspective, and the appreciation of certain aspects of their music making changed their own attitude toward it. The outsiders’ judgment changed the insiders’ attitude. What before had been everyday musical life now became a “traditional heritage” of special value.

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    245 Actually, the assumptions made here can be proven by many examples. Austrian examples include researchers such as Josef Pommer (1845–1918) or Konrad Mautner (1880–1924), urban intellectuals who discovered and promoted Alpine music, and by doing so invented what was probably not ethnicity, but at least a tradition. All this seems to be long ago, but I ask myself if it is really so different from the first ethnomusicological approaches in Austria to Roma, including my own. The similarities might not be striking at first sight, but while thinking about this chapter and rereading Cooley’s book, it came to my mind that there might be some. Ethnomusicologists present “their” musicians in public performances. The intellectual ethnomusicologist presents the—let us say—“authentic, prototypical” musician to an audience that probably hears this kind of music for the first time. The way this music is presented and the additional information that is given by the ethnomusicologist influence its perception and reception. This way of presentation also influences the musicians themselves. I would ask to what extent ethnomusicological activities have contributed to an invention of Roma ethnicity and Roma tradition. The Croatian ethnomusicologist Naila CeribaŠić says, “Scholars are nonetheless involved in the reproduction of their research subjects,” and she continues by turning to the field of applied ethnomusicology: “Scholars are unavoidably implicated in their research subjects, understanding and respect are inscribed in the foundations of ethnomusicology, interest is inevitably translated into valuation, and consequently scholarly work is, willy-nilly, a kind of applied work as well” (CeribaŠić, 2007: 4–5). Two aspects of applied ethnomusicology seem to be important here (as categorized by Daniel Sheehy, 1992): developing new frameworks for musical performance, and feeding back musical models to the communities that created them (Sheehy, 1992). Naila CeribaŠić is, like many other colleagues in Eastern Europe, constantly involved in festival productions of traditional music. To a certain extent, these are new frameworks for musical performance. And the feeding back of musical models also occurs constantly via the production of various media by ethnomusicologists.

Public Performance as a Promotion Model The first presentation of Romani culture in Austria in 1990 was called “Exceptional Gypsies” (Figure 7.3). The entire presentation was meant as a counterpoint to prejudices and as support for Roma political activities. The only Austrian Roma organization at that time—Roma Verein zur Förderung von Zigeunern—was involved in its preparation, although it was actually two non-Roma intellectuals and one Roma artist who did the job: Mozes Heinschink, a linguist and expert in Romani culture, Ilija Jovanović, a Romani poet, and me, an ethnomusicologist. The program consisted of different aspects of Romani culture: music, painting, literature, and film. The whole event lasted a month, for three evenings a week. The exhibition of paintings by Karl Stojka provided a background for film presentations followed by discussions, Romani literature with music, concerts, and a political podium discussion. The location was a gallery-pub of Vienna’s alternative scene, and there was free admission to all events. Additionally, we had a book exhibition and other informational material. The diversity of Romani culture

Figure  7.3  Poster for the event from  1990.

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    247 was presented by choosing four Romani groups: Lovari, Sinti, Burgenland Roma, and Kalderaš-Serbian Roma. Mostly the participants were Roma performers and artists living in Austria, but there were also some artists from abroad, including Mateo Maximoff from France and the ensemble Kalyi jag from Hungary. The title “Exceptional Gypsies” obviously stemmed from the sociopolitical situation of the time concerning Roma, based on clichés and ignorance. The organizers felt that they had to use the word “Gypsy” (Zigeuner in German), although it was pejorative; if they had used Roma instead, nobody would have known what the event was about. The subject of the poster again is a cliché—a dancing Gypsy girl—and was created on the basis of an ethnological photograph by Czech researcher Eva Davidová. It was about how non-Roma see the Gypsies; it was the external perspective of an ethnic group meant to attract non-Roma. It would be by no means politically correct or appropriate to advertise a Roma event in such a way today in Austria, and probably it was not at that time either. Austrian media covered the event very positively in general, but I do remember one article that criticized exoticism in particular, and of course this critique was correct. The posters of the events that followed over the years were somewhat different and politically more correct. This was also due to the fact that in the meantime the Vienna-based Roma organization Romano Centro had been founded (in 1991) and took over responsibility for the content of the events. What had not changed was the ethnomusicological approach. In the organizing team, I was mainly responsible for the music. What links the outcome to the above-mentioned folk music research tradition is that it was the aim to present what was thought to be the “real,” the “authentic” Roma music—music from internal musical practice that had not been performed for non-Roma before. One evening there was a presentation of the musical traditions of Serbian Roma. It was supposed to be spontaneous, and it was a kind of simulation of a wedding meal; pork was served, and there was a lot of dancing as well. Some Roma women were dressed very traditionally (Figure 7.4), and upon my request they did present some of the “old” songs. On the other hand, the musicians—a wedding orkestra—played music as they always did, a mix of melodies that appealed to the public and that were modern: El Condor Paso, or the film music from Dr. Zhivago, along with many Serbian dance tunes. The Lovari contribution was jazz for the opening of the event:  Harri Stojka, the best-known Lovari musician at that time, felt no need to present any “ethnic” roots and played jazz standards. But his aunt Ceija Stojka, on the other hand, did present some of the rich vocal Lovari tradition, songs that she had sung to me before, during interviews, and that I asked her to present in public for the first time. The process with the Burgenland Roma was similar. In preparation for the event there were negotiations with the consultants regarding what to present to the public. The outcome was a few songs in Romani, sung by Gisela Horvath, accompanied by the well-known Hungarian Gypsy music ensemble. This was also the first time that Burgenland Roma sang in Romani in public for a non-Roma audience. This Roma music from internal practice was very attractive for the non-Roma audience, and the presentations were successful.

248   Ursula Hemetek

Figure  7.4  Serbian Roma women dancing at the event,  1990. Photo:  Newald.

One aspect of this event was a display of ethnicity for the first time for a non-Roma public in Austria. Ethnomusicology was in search of “authentic” musical material, and to a certain extent this did contribute to the invention of one aspect of Roma ethnicity—invention not in the sense of creating something that was not there before, but in the sense of finding a new performance context and new meaning for the music. Applied ethnomusicology contributed to a process of identity construction in the outward self-identification of Roma, by using “otherness” as a trademark. It was the exotic element that was attractive. This happened in close cooperation with the musicians; they themselves thought that it was a good way to perform that “otherness” in order to make non-Roma understand something and to build bridges. Roma musicians have followed this road since then to a certain extent. Harri Stojka, the jazz musician who only presented jazz standards in 1990, has shown growing interest in “ethnic roots” and has produced CDs including traditional Lovari songs since then (for example, Gitan Cœur in 2000, or Gypsy Soul/Garude apsa in 2005; see www.harristojka.at); we now find Kalderaš weddings scenes in modern theater productions of Serbian Roma, like in Liebesforschung (see www.initiative.minderheiten.at), presented in 2007. What is most striking is the development of Ruža Nikolić-Lakatos, a Romni (Roma woman) from the Lovari group with a huge repertory of traditional songs (see figure 7.1.). She was and is very much appreciated among her group for her singing abilities. She was absent in the 1990 presentation, because she refused to perform. She thought that her

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    249 songs in the Lovari tradition were not meant for non-Roma. She was talked into changing her mind, and she became one of the most popular Roma singers in Austria. She performs old and new Lovari songs for non-Roma and she is appreciated for her “authenticity” and for presenting some “traditional heritage” of Romani culture. That is why in 2011 the Lovari songs have even been inscribed into the National Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage upon Ruža’s application.5 The UNESCO website describes them in the following way: Songs are an important part of the Lovara’s cultural tradition. The history behind the name of this Roma group leads us back to their former occupation as “horse traders” (Lovara). Their songs are mostly about the family and community, yet the role of the individual and the former ways of life of the Lovara are also mirrored in them. These songs are like a reservoir for their language, as they contain phrases and metaphors typical of the Lovara, which have now (almost) become extinct in everyday life. The songs of the Lovara encompass two main genres: the slow, lyrical song and the dance song. Thanks to outstanding singers, such as Mongo Stojka, Ceija Stojka and the applicant Ruzsa Nikolic-Lakatos, new songs are continuously added to the repertoire. (http://immaterielleskulturerbe.unesco.at/cgi-bin/unesco/element. pl?eid=77&lang=en)

Of course this inscription has a political component. The Austrian UNESCO Inventory contains 62 elements (2013). We find very disparate elements, for example the Landler of the Innviertel, the Sword Dance of Dürrnberg, Classical Horsemanship and the High School of the Spanish Riding School, the Ötztal dialect, as well as “Roman”— the language of the Romani people of Burgenland. That minority expressions included in this list are extraordinary compared to the inventories of other states. It indicates that Austria sees the cultural expression of minorities as an outstanding part of Austria’s culture, like all the other elements on the list. Maybe this is a first step toward inscribing Lovari culture into the cultural and collective memory6 of Austria. So the change from the times when the prime minister could not see any “cultural markers,” thus denying the Roma recognition as a Volksgruppe, seems to be quite remarkable. The preconditions were the recognition of the Roma as an ethnic group, which finally happened in 1993, although the appointment of the consultative body that realized the actual implementation did not occur until 1995. Although I looked very critically upon these activities in the past, there is evidence that applied ethnomusicology as an intercultural tool was to a certain extent successful. The public presentations themselves served as kind of mediation, because the audiences were mostly non-Roma and obviously wanted to learn something about Roma. As there was hardly any information available in public, the programs served as a tool to reduce prejudices and provide firsthand information to a certain extent. This was the beginning, and today the situation is quite different. Much has been published in ethnomusicology and other fields of research, and many Roma authors and artists in fine arts, film, and music are active in

250   Ursula Hemetek Austria. Researchers still are mostly non-Roma, although this also begins to change. There are now a few Roma in academia, and some of them are also politically active, for example in the above-mentioned NGO Romano Centro. The foundation of this NGO in 1991 was actually stimulated by Ausnahmsweise Zigeuner, because the need to have political representation in Vienna became obvious through this cultural presentation. Public interest, as well as cultural representation, was the stimulus for the foundation. Romano Centro has in the meantime become the best informed and most active Roma NGO, among many others that have since been founded in Austria. Its activities are manifold. The empowerment of Roma through political and educational approaches are on the agenda, as well as raising awareness of discrimination mechanisms in the majority society—historical and contemporary. In connection with music, there is an extraordinary initiative: In 2012 the Vienna Gypsy Music School was established by Romano Centro. It is still in a nascent state, but the main goals have been set. The school is open to Roma and non-Roma and tries to transmit some of the many different Roma music styles that are to be found in Vienna. The teaching methods will also draw from these traditions, which is quite a challenge because the models of transmission in Romani tradition and in Austrian music schools are as far apart as can be. But the students are also offered Western music theory in order to provide familiarity with the Austrian model of institutional music teaching. I do hope it will succeed, because for me it is a very convincing symbol of empowerment in the form of the institutionalization of intercultural mediation in music (for further information, see www.romano.centro.org).

The Bosnian Refugees: Sevdalinke as a Means of Relocation, or Nostalgia as a Tool for Indirect Intervention In research, there are different ways to deal with war and exile scenarios connected to the civil war in the former Yugoslavia. Among many, let me just mention the book War, Exile, Everyday Life: Cultural Perspectives, which gives excellent examples. Svanibor Pettan’s refugee project of applied ethnomusicology in Norway Azra—analyzed in this book—is very well known among ethnomusicologists as a model (Pettan, 1996). There are other approaches that include pedagogic activities, such as in refugee camps with children (see Pesek, 2009). I would call these “direct” interventions, as both have a clear target of integration. Additionally, Pesek’s approach is very close to humanitarian work. In the Austrian project presented here, a different strategy is involved. Having neither the infrastructure nor the framework nor the abilities to do something similar to the above-mentioned projects, this project was started with the main ethnomusicological method—fieldwork—and from that, a model was developed that I would call “indirect” intervention. Bosnian refugees were forced migrants. The reason for migration is important for the relationship people have with their native country. Adelaida Reyes calls for attention to be given to this phenomenon, because it has consequences: “In studies of migrant minorities, the majority is automatically assumed to be the host society. But when the

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    251 minorities under study are forced migrants, another majority forces itself into the picture. I call this a ‘shadow majority’ ” (Reyes, 2001: 39). Around 75,000 Bosnian refugees from the civil war in the former Yugoslavia, most of them Muslim Bosniaks, have been integrated in Austria since 1992. Integration does not mean that they have the status of Austrians; most of them still hold Bosnian citizenship. For many of the refugees, Austria seemed the best option because, due to working immigration since the 1960s, there were already a certain number of Bosnians resident there, and there were some family connections. Many Bosnian intellectuals fled to Vienna because they thought it would be a city that would give them an opportunity to survive intellectually. The memories of the Austro Hungarian monarchy and Vienna as a cultural and intellectual center for the Balkans seemed to play a role as well. Many of them were actually disappointed. Some of the refugees came in organized transports to Austria and could not choose where to go, and so many people who formerly lived in rural areas were transferred to cities, and the other way around. Most of them could not speak German and found themselves in living conditions that were absolutely new to them. The research activities began in 1994. From the very beginning there was probably an applied aspect of this research, because of personal involvement, which is very often a stimulus for application of results. Also influential were the activities of several NGOs that shared the regret of the disintegration of the former Yugoslavia and tried to argue and take political action to highlight the strong bonds between the different ethnicities, the obvious family ties between them, and the absurdity of neighbors shooting at each other. They were clearly opposed to the war and the violation of human rights. One organization was called Dialog, and many intellectuals from the former Yugoslavia were part of it. The research fellow at the Institute was a Bosnian ethnomusicologist, a refugee herself, who was deeply involved, mentally and physically, in the refugee and war scenario. Sofija Bajrektarević came to our institute in 1994. She was a refugee from the city of Banja Luka, which was controlled by Bosnian Serb forces, while her husband Anis Bajrektarević was from Sarajevo and had a Muslim Bosniak ethnic background. Their ethnically mixed marriage was the reason for their flight. Sofija had given birth to a son in Austria. She had studied ethnomusicology in Sarajevo with Ankica Petrović and was trying to find an opportunity to use her scholarly knowledge in the new surroundings. As our institute had already established a focus on music and minorities in 1990 with the projects on Roma research, this seemed to be a fitting new challenge. We managed to get funding for two projects about the documentation of musical activities of war refugees from Bosnia and Herzegovina in Austria. Sofija’s intention was to show that interethnic exchanges had been a fact for a long time in her country, especially in the field of traditional music. This approach was partly due to her own musical socialization, but also due to her ethnomusicological research in Bosnia. It seemed to be a very interesting proposition to investigate whether this was still the case in Austria in the Bosnian community. Sofija felt that this multicultural Bosnian musical soundscape was endangered by the war. One CD production by Ankica Petrović and Ted Levin suggested this in its title: Bosnia: Echoes from an Endangered World; this served as a model and as a point of departure for our research in Austria. Most of the recordings published on the CD stem from a fieldwork trip of the

252   Ursula Hemetek authors during the years 1984–1985. The war was a strong motivation to publish it. Ted Levin writes in his introduction: “The musical voices presented on this recording have for the most part been silenced. Some of the performers have died, at least one has been wounded and one taken prisoner, the rest are scattered amidst the carnage of the War, their fate unknown, and unknowable” (Levin, 1993). The royalties from the sale of the CD were donated to charitable organizations involved in humanitarian aid in Bosnia. The musical world that we were encountering among the Bosnian community in Austria was still alive, contrary to the “silenced voices” from the CD. And these voices wanted to be heard.

“When I Sing My Thoughts Fly to Bosnia” The sevdalinka genre proved to be a musical symbol of this endangered world during the field research. Among the refugees there were also traditional singers. Their music, especially the sevdalinke—traditional Bosnian urban love songs—obtained a new significance for them and for the whole community in migration (see Bajrektarević and Hemetek, 1996; Hemetek and Bajrektarević, 2000). They used it, as Martin Stokes calls it “to relocate” themselves (see below).

Figure  7.5  Ševko Pekmezović,  1995. Photo Rudolf Pietsch. Archive of the Institute.

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    253 The quotation “When I sing my thoughts fly to Bosnia” is from Ševko Pekmezović, one of these singers (Figure 7.5). He comes from Kozluk, a small village near the Serbian border, where the entire Muslim Bosniak community (1,200 people out of 1,500) were forced to leave by the Serbian authorities in 1992. This happened often during the war and was cynically called “ethnic cleansing.” What was formerly a multiethnic country was to be transformed into a monoethnic one by forcing people to leave or by killing or deporting them. The people from Kozluk fortunately stayed alive. By chance, all of them were transferred to Austria and achieved refugee status. Almost no one spoke German. They were taken care of by different NGO organizations in different parts of Austria. Most of them stayed in Austria and integrated themselves into Austrian society to a certain extent; some of them have Austrian citizenship by now. Sevdalinke very often deal with unfulfilled love, but also with concrete places or historical incidents. For a long time these songs have been associated with Bosnia; they were the form of Bosnian musical expression in general and people identified with them greatly, even before the war. During and after the war these songs were mainly associated with the Muslim Bosniak population of Bosnia, due to the “oriental” melismatic melodic structure and their emergence during Ottoman rule. Before the war, sevdalinke used to have an interethnic quality because there were sevdalinke in many towns, and Muslim, Croatian, Serbian, and other ethnicities in Bosnia all practiced sevdalinke. Therefore many of the refugees in Austria chose that genre for their musical identification. Another reason might be that there really are very specific places mentioned in them, places that people had been to and that they liked. So for them these songs symbolized their former home and functioned as a means of “relocation” (Stokes, 1997). Here is one example, sung by Ševko Pekmezović.

Dunjaluče Ševko Pekmezović: Voc.; Himzo Tulić: Saz Recording: December 14, 1995, Gerlinde Haid, cultural presentation in Vienna 1. Dunjaluče, golem ti si, Sarajevo, seir ti si Baščaršijo, gani ti si haj, a Vratniče gazil ti si. 2. Oj, Bistriče, strmen ti si Ćemaluso, duga ti si, Latinluče, ravan ti si, Haj, Bezistane, mračan ti si. 3. Tašlihane, širok ti si, lijepa Maro, lijepa ti si, dosta si me napojila, haj, od dušmana zaklonila. Oh World, Oh People 1. Oh world, oh people, how great you are

254   Ursula Hemetek Sarajevo, you’re so beautiful Baščaršija*, you’re so rich, ahay, but you Vratnik*, you’re gorgeous. 2. Oy, Bistrik*, you are so steep, Ćemaluša**, you’re so long, Latinluk*, you are so flat, ahay, you Bezistan***, you’re dark. 3. Tašlihan*, you’re so wide, pretty Mara, you’re so beautiful you made me drunk enough, ahay, you sheltered me from my foes. * Baščaršija, Vratnik, Bistrik, Latinluk, Tašlihan: the famous parts of ancient Sarajevo’s downtown ** Ćemaluša: the former main street of Sarajevo *** Bezistan: the Turkish-style marketplace under a single roof (from Bajrektarević and Hemetek, 1996: 61)

The three verses documented here manifest the special quality reflected in the city of Sarajevo. This is very concrete, although it is based on the past, but these texts make it clear why Ševko says that when he sings he has the feeling of a film being shown in his head and he can see everything he sings about. He did sing sevdalinke before he came to Austria, but now he sings them to remember home in the situation of displacement. Ševko also started to present these songs to an Austrian public, in order to make Austrians understand that Bosnia is not only a country of war but also of culture. This was actually the moment when the research work became applied work. Before that, we had documented his repertory, which was huge (about 300 different sevdalinke). There had always been the option of a publication, but it was still in the planning stage. Ševko liked the recording sessions. He usually came to the institute, because his housing conditions did not permit recording in his apartment. In order to be able to sing as an expression of enjoying himself, he usually brought some food and drink to simulate a “real” Bosnian evening. After a while, Ševko spoke about presenting his songs to an Austrian public. He had done so already on two occasions by including his songs in events that featured other contributions as well. He wanted to go on working with a format that would be dedicated to Bosnian music alone. Together with Ševko and other musicians whom we had met during the research, we developed a format of a cultural presentation, which in another article I labeled as an “informative strategy of intercultural encounter” in the context of minorities. One principle of this type of presentation is to let the majority participate and to try to make listeners understand the differences and similarities (Hemetek, 2001b). It was called a “Bosnian evening” and was first presented to the public on December 15, 1995, coinciding with the ratification of the Dayton agreement. It consists mainly of sevdalinke, several types of which are sung by different performers, none of whom had performed in public in Bosnia. The program was structured in such a way that we tried to create an atmosphere in which performers

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    255 and audience were both actively involved. We did this by using a specific performance concept with no clear distinction between stage and audience, by singing two songs together as part of the program (the texts and translations were passed around), and by avoiding amplification. The audience and the performers should feel as if they were part of a Bosnian gathering. There were pieces of music as well as pieces of literature, in German as well as in Bosnian, and the similarities as well as differences between the two cultures were pointed out. The bilingual concept was important, because Austrians as well as Bosnians were always meant to be in the audience. Here is one example from the program. The lyrics of the following song were actually written by the German poet Heinrich Heine. It was translated into Bosnian by an unknown author and it became one of the best known sevdalinke in Bosnia. We used it in the program because of its German roots, because of its contents, which characterize the atmosphere in Bosnia in the nineteenth century, and because our singer Ševko PekmezoviĆ liked to sing it very much. His performance gives an impression to the Austrian audience of the musical parameters of sevdalinke.

Kraj tanana šadrvana

Ševko Pekmezović: Voc.; Himzo Tulić: Saz Recording:  December 14, 1995, by Gerlinde Haid at the premiere of our program in Vienna Transcription: Sofija Bajrektarević Text Kraj tanana šadravana, đe žubori voda živa, šetala se svakog dana, sultanova šćerka mila.

256   Ursula Hemetek Svakog dana jedno ropče, stajalo kraj šadrvana, kako vrijeme prolazilo, sve je ropče blijeđe bilo. Zapita ga jednog dana, sultanova šćerka mila: “Kazuj momče odakle si, iz plemena kojeg li si!?” “Ja se zovem El-Muhamed, iz plemena starih Azra, što za ljubav život gube, i umiru kada ljube.” German original version by Heinrich Heine: DER ASRA Täglich ging die wunderschöne Sultanstochter auf und nieder Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunnen Wo die weißen Wasser plätschern. Täglich stand der junge Sklave Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunnen Wo die weißen Wasser plätschern; Täglich ward er bleich und bleicher. Eines Abends trat die Fürstin Auf ihn zu mit raschen Worten: Deinen Namen will ich wissen, Deine Heimat, deine Sippschaft! Und der Sklave sprach: ich heiße Mohamet, ich bin aus Yemmen, Und mein Stamm sind jene Asra, Welche sterben, wenn sie lieben. English Translation: By the Subtle Sadrvan By the subtle Sadrvan7, where the lively water hums, daily was the promenade, by the Sultan’s daughter dear. Every day one youthful slave, was standing nearby. So, as time passed by, the youngster grew ever more pale. He was asked one day, by the Sultan’s daughter dear; “Tell me, youngster, where are you from,

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    257 and to which tribe do you belong!?” “My name is El-Muhammed, of the old Azra tribes, who are prepared, in the name of love, to sacrifice their very lives, and die when they kiss.” (Bajrektarević and Hemetek, 1996: 63–64)

This program was invited to some festivals, was presented in Austrian villages to aid the integration of Bosnian refugees, and even was invited abroad by a Bosnian organization in Reutlingen, Germany. As a follow-up, some of the musicians were featured in TV documentaries and were invited to other festivals. But this only lasted up to a certain point in time. After the political consolidation in Bosnia and the integration of the Bosnian refugees in Austria, or their repatriation (a few cases), our program fell into oblivion. It did not seem to be needed any longer. Sevdalinke have other connotations today; they are very much used for the construction of “national” identity in Bosnia, and in Austria they have become part of the world music scene as well as the disco scene in various cross-over experiments.8 Ševko still sings “his” traditional sevdalinke, but no longer in public. In the case of this project, it is difficult to evaluate the results of indirect intervention. There were no political consequences, as in the case of the Roma; whether there have been any individual effects is difficult to judge, although I think public awareness of the musical abilities of the singers involved had a positive effect on them and probably helped them to cope with their difficult situation. Again, the whole project had a lot to do with the “partnership model of fieldwork.” The researchers were personally involved, and the consultants wanted to obtain the attention of the public. This went hand in hand with intercultural mediation. Sevdalinke served as a tool to improve the understanding of the cultural background of the Bosnian refugees among the Austrian majority. And we produced material that can be used in different areas: recordings, videos, photos, texts, and publications. Two students from our university who were refugees themselves wrote their master’s theses on the topic of sevdalinka, using part of our material (see Kovinjalo, 2007; Rešidbegović, 2002). We accumulated quite a lot of literature on the topic, and our institute is now known for its expertise in this field; in many cases we served as mediators in school projects. Our research culminated in several publications, one of which is now viewed as a historical document: the CD Sevdah in Vienna (Bajrektarević and Hemetek, 1996, with extensive notes in three languages). Some people are very happy when they find it, as it signifies nostalgia to them. University students of Bosnian origin like to discover their roots by using our archive. What we definitely achieved was the documentation of the musical expressions of an endangered world at a certain time, sensing the need that appeared under the given circumstances.

258   Ursula Hemetek

Challenging “Ethnicity”: Immigrants from Turkey in Vienna This section deals with research activities that focused on the urban area. The results come from research projects during the years 2005–2010, which means from a much later time period than the two case studies above. This reveals a shift of research interests within the institute, from research on certain groups with somehow defined constructed identities to the urban area, which is by nature in itself diverse, not only ethnically. The method of applying the results has also changed to a certain extent.

The Construction of Place, Ethnicity, and Identity Through Music in Diaspora “Amongst the countless ways in which we ‘relocate’ ourselves, music undoubtedly has a vital role to play. The musical event, from collective dances to the act of putting a cassette or CD into a machine, evokes and organizes collective memories and present experiences of place with an intensity, power and simplicity unmatched by any other social activity. The ‘places’ constructed through music involve notions of difference and social boundary” (Stokes, 1997: 3). What Martin Stokes says here is, of course, not only true for immigrants; it works for the dominant group as well. But especially in the situation of migration, when a person experiences dislocation, insecurity, constant challenge, unfamiliarity, and discrimination, it might become more meaningful and more important to “relocate” oneself by means of music. Stokes’s argument goes further when he says, “I would argue that music is socially meaningful, not entirely but largely because it provides means by which people recognize identities and places, and the boundaries which separate them” (Stokes, 1997: 5). My findings do confirm these theses, and I quote them because they say a great deal about the motivation behind the music making of immigrants. I would also argue that they say a lot about what kind of music these immigrant groups practice. I am far from proposing any essentialist interpretation, because music is what any social group considers it to be, and music styles per se do not represent any denoted ethnicity. But on the other hand, one cannot deny that ethnicity is represented by music. Ethnicity is, of course, a problematic term, and there have been many discussions about it, especially in a discipline that uses the prefix ethno- in its designation, like ethnomusicology. Adelaida Reyes argues that it should not to be omitted, but defined it in a way that makes it useful for interdisciplinary approaches. Reyes mentions this in connection with research in the urban area: “Groups labelled ethnic are a social reality and… they have come to constitute a structural category in urban social organization. It appears, therefore, that we may have to live with the term a while longer” (Reyes-Schramm, 1979:  17). Stokes does not question the term either, but he does question its definition: “Ethnicities are to be understood in terms of the construction, maintenance and negotiation of boundaries, and not of the putative social ‘essences’ which fill the gaps within them” (Stokes, 1997: 6). I share the opinion of many anthropologists (see Asad, 1973) that the construction of ethnicities can only be understood by including power

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    259 relations in the analysis. It is very important to consider insiders’ and outsiders’ positions in constructing ethnicities. In the case of discriminated people, the definition of outsiders very often contributes to their self-definition. The group in power—the dominant group—defines who is “different.” If a group is constantly perceived by others as “different” because of their ethnic background, its members might begin to stress markers of ethnic difference in their self-awareness. This might also happen in music making, and especially in public performance. Therefore performance in diaspora seems to me to be another very important aspect of the whole topic—the more so because performed music is very often the object of documentation by ethnomusicologists, including my own research. Musical performance often functions as a representation of ethnicity, “otherness,” and “difference.” One recent publication on the topic, the book Musical Performance in the Diaspora (Ramnarine, 2007), is very useful in this context because it provides profound insight into possible ways of interpreting the phenomenon of “administering ethnicity” by performance. And it is about “how identity is shaped and constructed through and as a result of performance” (Johnson, 2007: 71). But of course the concept of diaspora itself is ambivalent and needs critical analysis. We find a critical approach in cultural studies by Ien Ang (2001, 2003), who has argued that the diaspora concept paradoxically maintains the very logic of the state that the concept is meant to critique. She has written:  While the transnationalism of diasporas is often taken as an implicit point of critique of the territorial boundedness and internally homogenizing perspective of the nation-state, the limits of diaspora lie precisely in its own assumed boundedness, its inevitable tendency to stress its internal coherence and unity, logically set apart from “others.” Diaspora formations transgress the boundaries of the nation-state on behalf of a globally dispersed “people”… but paradoxically this transgression can only be achieved by drawing a boundary around the diaspora. (Ang, 2003: 142)

In her further arguments she draws the conclusion that, paradoxically, “the politics of diaspora is exclusionary as much as it is inclusionary, just like that of the nation” (Ang, 2003: 144). Tom Solomon builds on her arguments when approaching the communities from Turkey in Germany and says:  It is the tendency which Ang identifies to stress the ‘internal coherence and unity’ of diasporic social formations that makes it possible for people to confidently speak and write about, for example, a ‘Turkish diaspora’ (about 24,100 hits on Google for this phrase as of 1 March 2008) in popular and academic discourse. The problem emerges when this kind of analytic shorthand begins to take on a life of its own, as if it refers to a coherent thing out there in the real world that one can point to, rather than a useful abstraction for what is actually a complex social formation full of internal tensions and contradictions, with multiple intersecting histories, discourses,

260   Ursula Hemetek and practices. While paying attention to the sounds of diasporic groups as echoes of diversity within their host societies, we should not forget to listen for the voices of diversity within diasporic groups themselves. (Solomon, 2008: 78)

The attention to “voices of diversity” within a certain immigrant group is an important point of departure for the following findings.

The Urban Area as a Field of Research: Changing Perspectives Adelaida Reyes, one of the pioneers of urban ethnomusicology, gives a very useful theoretical background to the distinction between music in the city and music of the city (Reyes, 2007: 17). Whereas “music in the city” means that the city itself is no more than a passive ingredient with no significant role in explanation, “music of the city” requires a theoretical and methodological framework that gives full value to its complexity. The city is included in the research, either as the context or as the object of the study. Adelaida Reyes sees a clear connection between the concepts of research on minorities and those of urban ethnomusicology: due to immigration the urban area naturally consists of different, diverse groups. She suggests approaching this diversity as a single organism. The first research projects in our institute on the topic of music and minorities were more in the tradition of the “music in the city” approach. These were ethnographic studies, focused on specific communities. Both of the above-mentioned projects were located partly in the urban area (most of the Roma and Bosnian refugees also live in Vienna), but the city as a complex organism was not their focus. This approach has changed during the last few years, and in two more recent research projects we tried to grasp a little of the general complex reality of immigrants’ music making in the city and of the surrounding conditions and economic aspects as well. The first one, called “Music Making of Immigrants in Vienna” (2005–2006) served to a certain extent as a pilot for the second one: “Embedded industries—Immigrant Cultural Entrepreneurs in Vienna” (2007–2009). The latter was an interdisciplinary study in which ethnomusicology was the partner discipline of sociology and ethnology. The music making of immigrants from Turkey was part of these investigations, and I want to concentrate on this in the following section due to the fact that immigrants from Turkey are the main focus of xenophobia in Austrian society. Approximately 40,000 immigrants with Turkish citizenship reside in Vienna. Figures comparing various immigrant populations show that they are the second-largest group. About another 30,000 have been naturalized, which makes a total of 70,000. The officially verifiable heterogeneity of the Turkish population derives from different ethnic and religious backgrounds. Turks, Kurds, and a very few Armenians form three main ethnic and religious groups in Vienna that are registered officially as Turkish citizens. The three main religious backgrounds of immigrants from Turkey are Sunni, Alevi, and very few Christian Orthodox (see Figure 7.6; for further information on the Alevi, see, for example, Erol, 2008).

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    261

Immigrants from Turkey

70% Sunnis (Kurds and Turks)

30% Alevis (Kurds and Turks)

0.1% Christian Orthodox (Armenians)

Figure  7.6  Religious backgrounds of immigrants from Turkey in Vienna. From Sağlam 2007:  64.

Another significant difference among the immigrants from Turkey in Vienna is social class. Hande Sağlam is of the opinion that social class is more important in determining identity than ethnicity or religion (see Sağlam, 2007). There are immigrants with Anatolian backgrounds, with usually low educational status, as well as intellectuals from Istanbul. Most of these immigrants came to Vienna to work during the 1960s and 1970s. They were reunited with their families after some years and today we find second and third generations of these first immigrants. The intellectuals are mostly students who decided to stay. In spite of that diversity, there are prejudices among the dominant society against the “Turkish immigrant,” including the following: that they are backward and conservative, that the women are subordinate, and that they are Islamic fundamentalists—and therefore dangerous and not willing to integrate. These prejudices are not new, but they gained a new intensity after 9/11, when Islamophobia rose extraordinarily, and also after the renewed debate on Turkey joining the European Union (2006–2007). Certain political parties in Austria use xenophobia to collect votes, and we find highly racist posters and slogans before elections, such as “Wien darf nicht Istanbul werden” (Vienna must not become Istanbul) or “Daham statt Islam” (Home instead of Islam). Usually it is Turkish immigrants, as well as those from Africa, at whom this aggression is aimed. One can encounter these racist prejudices everywhere, even among Austrian students. One possible ethnomusicological strategy is to do some research on the music of these immigrants in order to have well-founded information to argue against these prejudices. Via the two research projects on immigrants’ music making in Vienna mentioned above, including a focus on immigrants from Turkey, Hande Sağlam, a researcher born in Istanbul, was integrated into the institute’s staff. This was extremely important, because her views and approaches added a great deal to the quality of the research. She challenged our former concepts of ethnicity and collectivity by insisting on considering individuality in music making to a much greater extent. She influenced the theories and methods, and also made contacts much easier because of her language abilities. Studies from Germany on the topic also served as inspiration. In Germany, immigration from Turkey started much earlier than in Austria, and the percentage of immigrants

262   Ursula Hemetek from Turkey is much higher.9 There is a lively exchange between the diasporic communities from Turkey in Germany and Austria. We found out that many of the immigrants’ organizations are active in fighting discrimination on very different levels. A few try to re-ethnicize and to fundamentalize their people as a reaction to discrimination. The majority try to promote intercultural dialogue on many levels, including teaching and promoting Turkish music. One of the research strategies was close cooperation with some musicians. The difference from the aforementioned projects is that there was already an infrastructure of very active NGOs, such as the Saz-Verein, an organization founded by Mansur Bildik, a virtuoso of the saz, the Anatolian long-necked lute. He is of Kurdish-Anatolian origin, his religion is Alevi,10 and he migrated from Turkey to Austria for artistic reasons. Mansur Bildik writes: In the 1970s my concert tours led me to Europe. By chance I came to Austria. I should have got married to a Turkish girl who lived, however, in Vorarlberg. But I ended up in Vienna. Since 1980 I have been living in this city and since 1990 I have been an Austrian citizen. First of all, it was the music which brought me to Austria: on the occasion of concerts, I was often approached by lovers of Turkish music, as there was a lack of saz players in Vienna at that time. (Bildik and Fuchs, 2008: 23)

Mansur Bildik dedicated his life to teaching the instrument that he appreciates so much. He uses it as a cultural “ambassador,” but it is important to note that his main approach is intercultural communication and some of the principles of his religion. Non-musical aims like humanity, respect and tolerance play an important role in his life. So does coexistence in music, and in this case he also attaches importance to innovative border crossings beyond traditional Turkish music; this aesthetic coexistence is for him a symbol of social living together. Mansur’s alla turca interpretations of Mozart (Flosdorf and Marte 2006, 21p.) and performances together with the folk group Hotel Palindrone or with the Austrian pop musician Rainhard Fendrich were exemplary for such crossovers.

Figure  7.7  Logo of the Saz Association.

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    263 (Fuchs 2001, quotation from Bildik and Fuchs, 2008: 26)

Self-organization on the basis of Austrian law means—as we have learned from the Roma case—to found an officially recognized organization (called a Verein in Austria; see Figure 7.7). So Mansur took this step in order to realize his visions. An important step on this way was the founding of the saz association 14 years ago, in 1993. The association organises saz lessons, workshops and concerts. The lessons and periodical student concerts take place in the Amerling-Haus cultural centre. It belongs to the cultural initiative Spittelberg, houses a museum and numerous alternative cultural associations and supports minority cultures. The saz association harmonizes with this concept of a socially engaged enthusiasm for cultural diversity. (Bildik and Fuchs, 2008: 25)

Mansur Bildik (Figure 7.8) continues his activities in the Amerling-Haus. Recently the center was seriously threatened by financial problems. Mansur was engaged in many cultural activities for fundraising and showing solidarity, for example in an event called “Vielfalt statt Monokultur” (Diversity Instead of Monoculture) in June 2014.

Figure  7.8  Mansur Bildik playing the saz in Amerlinghaus, June 7,  2014. Photograph by Ursula Hemetek.

264   Ursula Hemetek It is important to note that from the very beginning, teaching activities were the focus of Mansur Bildik’s interest. It is intercultural communication via an instrument that he seeks, and his professional musical ability enables him to use this tool. The applied aspect of our research was to promote Mansur Bildik’s activities on the university level and in other institutional contexts. The musical background of Mansur Bildik is traditional music from Turkey, although he crosses musical borders very frequently. But there are other musical activities of immigrants from Turkey that are far from the traditional context.

Wien 10 (Vienna 10) This is the title of a hip-hop song and refers to the 10th district of Vienna, where many of the Turkish immigrants live. They were part of the mass labor immigration from 1964 onward that followed the initial recruitment of workers by European countries. Now there is a second and even a third generation, and they are still seen as Turkish immigrants, although they were born in Austria. R-Kan [Figure 7.9] was born in 1987 in Vienna. He is the youngest son of a Turkish immigrant family. At primary school he was discriminated against because of

Figure  7.9 R-Kan. From http://profile.my space.com/, December  2006.

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    265 his immigrant background. At secondary school the situation changed completely because 98% of the pupils were foreigners, and he was chosen as the class representative. He started to write his own texts in 2002. Then he left school and was totally lost. Two years later, he changed his life completely and made a new start as a hip-hop singer. His lyrics show us the reality of life of a large part of the second generation and their so-called “public ghetto” in Vienna. (Sağlam, 2008: 43–44).

In one of his most successful songs he says: “Ich bin der Junge, den jeder hasste, keine wollte mich featuren, obwohl mein Rap passte” (I am the guy / that everybody hates / nobody wants to present me / even though my rap fits).” This sentence expresses his bicultural existence and its consequences very clearly. The “guy that everybody hates” is not just the protest of a young generation, but clearly points to the racism he faces every day in Vienna. R-Kan sings only in German. His German is better than his Turkish. In an interview he said that he is not really able to write and sing in Turkish. Here is one of his most successful songs, “Wien 10!”

Wien 10!, Private Recording by R-Kan in 2007 (from Sağlam, 2008: 44–45) R-Kan: Wien 10! Sprich mein Name richtig, es ist R strich Ja, ja stich dich Du kannst mich hassen aber fick dich Wien 10 und meine Jungs, mehr brauch ich nicht Du willst mich dissen aber Junge traust dich nicht Auch ohne Weinen fließen meine Tränen Ich halte meinen Kopf hoch meinen Rap kann mir keiner nehmen Ich bin der Junge den jeder hasste Keine wollte mich featuren obwohl mein Rap passte Ich bin weit gekommen, denn ich geh mein Weg Dersim 62 das ist meine Mentalität Ich weiß woher ich komme, bleib wo ich bin Otto-Probst 7, das ist mein Lebenssinn

R-Kan: Vienna 10! Say my name correctly, it is R-dash Yes, yes stab yourself You can hate me, but fuck yourself Vienna 10 (district) and my boys, I don’t need anything else You want to diss me but you don’t trust yourself My tears flow even if I don’t cry I keep my head up nobody can take my rap away from me I am the guy that everybody hates Nobody wanted to feature me even though my rap fits I’ve achieved a lot because I go my own way Dersim 62, that’s my mentality I know where I come from, I stay where I am Otto-Probst 7 that’s the meaning of my life

266   Ursula Hemetek Wenn ich sterbe, werden mir die Flügel wachsen Zu schnell gelebt, ich war schon zu früh erwachsen R strich Kann, merk dir diesen guten Jungen Wien das ist meine Stadt ich bums aus meine Lunge Dieses Jahr, dieses Jahr werd ich Star, werd ich Star Wien macht mich berühmt ich bin ein guter Junge Es wird hart, es wird hart, ich bleib stark, ich bleib stark Wien macht mich berühmt, ich bin ein guter Junge Dieses Jahr, dieses Jahr werd ich Star, werd ich Star Wien macht mich berühmt ich bin ein guter Junge Es wird hart, es wird hart ich bleib stark, ich bleib stark Wien macht mich berühmt, ich bin ein guter Junge Ich hab keine Lehre und auch keine Schule Was bringt mir Ehre, Mädchen schauen auf teure Schuhe Doch ich scheiß darauf und klettre weiter nach oben In meiner Nachbarschaft sind die Kids auf Drogen Mein Stadt war für mich ein großer Erfolg In Wien bin (ich) ein Star für das ganze Volk Egal welcher Bezirk, jeder liebt mich

When I die, I am going to grow wings Lived too fast, I was grown up too early R dash Kan, remember this good guy Vienna is my city I scream it out of my lungs This year, this year I’ll be a star, I’ll be a star Vienna is making me famous, I am a good guy It will be hard it will be hard, I stay strong I stay strong Vienna is making me famous I am a good guy This year, this year I’ll be a star I’ll be a star Vienna is making me famous I am a good guy It will be hard, it will be hard I stay strong I stay strong Vienna is making me famous I am a good guy I don’t have an occupation and no school either What brings me honour, girls look at expensive shoes But I don’t give a fuck about it and I keep climbing upwards In my neighborhood the kids are on drugs My city was a big success for me In Vienna I’m a big star for all the people Doesn’t matter in which district, everybody loves me (From: Sağlam 2008:44-45)

Musically, this is one style of Turkish hip-hop youth culture, an international phenomenon, common among Turkish immigrants of the second generation in German-speaking countries. Tom Solomon has done extensive research on the genre in

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    267 Germany. The development in Germany is important for the Austrian scene as well (see Solomon, 2008). The scene is diverse, different languages are used, and different ethnic backgrounds are involved:  Kurds, Alevis, Germans, and members of other nationalities/ethnic groups have been important in the creation of ‘Turkish rap’ in Germany. For example, a DJ often credited with popularizing the use of samples and motifs from Turkish folk music on a rap record, DJ Derezon from the (now-defunct) group Islamic Force, is the son of a German mother and a Spanish father (Kaya, 2001: 194). He was born in Kreuzberg, a district in Berlin especially known for having a high concentration of Turkish migrants, but also home to migrants from many other countries. “Turkish rappers” in Germany who do have roots in Turkey may in fact prefer to engage with local multi-ethnic hip-hop communities where German is the lingua franca, rather than privilege their “Turkishness,” and so, like rappers Kool Savas (whose father is Turkish and mother is German) and Eko Fresh (born in Köln of Turkish parents, grew up in Mönchengladbach near Düsseldorf), rap primarily or only in German, even if they are claimed by others as belonging to the community of “Turkish rappers” in Germany. (Solomon, 2008: 78–79)

Tom Solomon also points to the fact that a number of “Turkish” rappers in Germany are Kurds but choose to be “Turkish” in their artistic performance. R-Kan actually also has Kurdish roots. His mentioning of “Dersim” is a clear indicator.11 Solomon points out that rap music and hip-hop’s visual style function as a strategy for cultural intervention, using the “resistant” position associated with this style to make statements about racism and other social problems both in Europe and in Turkey. Rap music and its visual images are a strategy for cultural intervention. There is a “resistant” position associated with this style that makes statements about racism and other social problems (see Solomon, 2008: 85). This image of “Turkish rap,” first established in Germany, also is to be noticed in Austria. Actually, this music style obviously fits for expressing protest. There is a very clear message in the mentioned example. The political implication is very clear and outspoken: R-Kan is fighting for his right to be considered as a local, as a citizen of the country that is his birthplace. He fights by singing a song. These were just two examples within a much broader range of musical activities of immigrants from Turkey in Vienna: from Western classical music (e.g., university students) via all kinds of popular music, world music, and jazz, to Davul and Zurna played at weddings. Likewise, diverse is the self-definition of the human beings who are labeled as Turks by the majority. Why should someone who was born in Vienna, who has never been to Turkey, and who does not even speak the language be considered a Turk? Even Mansur Bildik, who identifies with the musical traditions that he learned in Turkey, feels Viennese and makes use of the musical possibilities of a city that has gained the label of the City of Music due to its musical diversity.

268   Ursula Hemetek

Challenging the Discourses It is not so easy to clearly identify and categorize applied aspects in this case. And of course it is debatable whether there are any. To my mind, the role of research in humanities is not to find out the “truth,” but to add new perspectives and different views to the canon of knowledge. In doing so, we should not avoid taking up clear positions. As Hermann Bausinger says convincingly, “If there are burning problems, hurting, scaring and depressing people and opening up old sores, there is no chance to escape to so-called pure science—you have to make options and say yes or no or you have at least to point to the practical implications of your scientific interests” (Bausinger, 1996: 288). There are burning problems in Austrian society, and immigrants from Turkey face them very often when confronted by exclusion, racism, and stereotyping, in relation to the employment situation, in housing, on a legal level, and in everyday activities. In the Austrian media we constantly find discourses using ideologically charged terms such as “Parallelgesellschaft” (parallel society) and “Leitkultur” (dominant/mainstream culture), and the discussion about “integration” tries to suggest that the “Turks” cannot be integrated because they are not willing to, due to their “Islamist” background. They are so different that it would be best to send them “home.” These are not only arguments used by the radical right-wing party in Austria; they are also part of the official language of politicians in office. I think it is important to participate in discourses—scholarly and public—in order to clarify some things at least. Our research results suggest that in Vienna there is no such unified category as “the Turks,” but rather a population with diverse backgrounds, cultural traditions, and senses of identity, including rural Anatolian as well as urban intellectual. We can also prove that the share of “Islamist” activists is about 2 percent and that 98 percent of the population of immigrants from Turkey do not much differ in their approach to religion from most Austrians who are Roman Catholic. In other words, many Muslims and Roman Catohlics in Vienna do not live active religious lives. And we can prove that for many people who are labeled “the Turks” there is no other “home” than Austria, because they were born here and do not have stronger ties to any other country. By doing this research and by making the results public, we try to add to discourses and to change attitudes. Of course, our studies are “only” about music. But, as I have tried to argue in this chapter, music is a powerful instrument on many levels concerning minorities. It is important to point toward individual identity constructions that are “hybrid” and “multiple,” as we have learned from cultural studies, and it is important to point toward the great potential of individuals who have had the experience of being socialized in more than one culture. Elka Tschernokoschewa puts it this way: . . . for me the defining feature of “minority culture” is the fact that it implies more than one perspective (i.e., it is multiperspectival). Minorities are in a position to look at a problem from more than one angle; they know that there is more than one truth. They know that the familiar and the unfamiliar are not diametrically opposed to one another, because one can appear within the other; familiar and foreign elements can merge and may even become inseparable.

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    269 (Tschernokoscheva, 2008: 20)

It is debatable whether studies of this kind can have an influence on political reality. I think it is important to find niches of application. In our case it is pedagogy. At our university we teach students of music pedagogy who will become music teachers in their working life. They will face a classroom situation with children of diverse “ethnic” backgrounds, and it is our task to prepare them for this situation. By conveying to them the results of our studies, we might contradict possible stereotypes in their minds; by providing personal contact with musicians like the aforementioned, we might open up their minds to appreciate musical diversity, and this might enable them to deal respectfully with immigrant children and make use of the great potential that lies in their “multiperspectival” qualities. Although this might seem a small-scale strategy, the preliminary evidence suggests that this research and application venue are profitable in the long term and deserve to be continued and further elaborated.

Conclusions I have tried to argue in this chapter that there is considerable potential in ethnomusicology, and especially in minority studies, for intercultural communication. Ethnomusicology is suited to working in this way, because music has proven itself to be a powerful instrument of constructing and conveying identities and of “relocation.” This potential can be used in applied ethnomusicology. The three case studies presented in this chapter show three different strategies embedded in their respective sociopolitical circumstances. They also show the development of discourses and methods within the discipline at one specific institution—the Institute of Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology at the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna—over a time span of the past 25 years. To a certain extent, they mirror the international discourses in ethnomusicology and minority studies. The relevance of minority studies in applied ethnomusicology (and vice versa) was another point of departure for this chapter. According to Svanibor Pettan (2008), the growing interest in applied ethnomusicology is often related to exactly those groups of people who are the focus of contemporary ethnomusicologists’ research, which he lists as minorities, diasporas, ethnic groups, immigrants, and refugees. This list is based upon the special situation of three states created out of the former Yugoslavia, but is of relevance for Europe as a whole. The common denominator for all these groups of people is that they face a dominant group, and suffer discrimination on different levels. Svanibor Pettan (2008) further argues that applied ethnomusicology has very much to do with the empowerment of such groups. Although the scope of applied ethnomusicology seems to be much broader, in relation to the aforementioned groups of people this is certainly one important aspect of applied work, if not the most important one. Therefore the

270   Ursula Hemetek development of the international forum for these discourses in ethnomusicology—the Study Group Music and Minorities within the ICTM—has served as a kind of model. Ethnomusicology deals with music in a social context, and to my mind we have now arrived at a level of discourse that is characterized by reflection on what we have done in the past, as well as what impact our work has on the people we are dealing with. Ethical considerations have come to the fore within the last decades, as Mark Slobin suggested in 1992: “individual soul-searching must be going on within the discipline constantly.” And “[b]‌y maintaining a continuous discussion of thorny issues and anticipating those to come, ethnomusicology will not solve its ethical problems—since in the nature of human activity this is not a possibility—but will shore up damage done and keep building a framework for future, carefully considered action” (Slobin, 1992: 336). And actually things have changed within the discipline since then, if one considers Bartz and Cooley’s Shadows in the Field (1997), a critical attempt to rethink the role of the researcher in the field. There are many other indicators of these changes, which are convincingly argued in the volume of Ethnomusicology (2006: 50, 2) to mark the fiftieth anniversary of SEM, and in many other works. There is a shift in topic and interests in ethnomusicology as well as in methods. Applied ethnomusicology, named as such since 1992, has obviously gained ground within the discipline. Timothy Rice’s article “Ethnomusicology in Times of Trouble” (Rice 2014) emphasizes the important role of ethnomusicology in conflict management.12 Within this time span, the ICTM Study Group on Music and Minorities and the ICTM Study Group on Applied Ethnomusicology were founded. The emergence of both was grounded in the development of the discipline, but on the other hand had a reciprocal effect on ethnomusicology and international discourses. Cooperation models between consultants and researchers, as well as different forms of “dialogical knowledge production,” seem to have become standards of modern ethnomusicology. The application of results “for the benefit of the people” we work with seems to come quite naturally, also out of the usually very close relationship that develops through fieldwork. The “partnership model of fieldwork” (Russell), including the application of results in presentation and publication, can be noticed frequently. The latter is not new, as it is part of the tradition of European folk music research, but there has been a considerable shift from promoting the musical traditions of “the people” to the “music of individuals.” We have not quite gotten rid of “ethnicity.” And it is not likely to happen in the near future. It is an important category in the three case studies presented here. In the case of the Roma, it seems to have been necessary to “invent” something like an essentialist ethnic identity. The development has shown that it was necessary at this stage of political empowerment. Carol Silverman describes this process as “strategic essentialism” in the course of political mobilization of the Roma and interprets it in the following way: “So we may understand the symbols of the Romani rights movement as historically placed responses to marginality” (Silverman, 2012: 54). I have tried to critically analyze the role of ethnomusicology in this process. In the case of the Bosnian refugees, one song genre symbolized not ethnicity as such, but rather the common musical heritage of people with different ethnic backgrounds who had shared

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    271 social and national identities. It was the war that destroyed these shared identities. So the song genre of sevdalinka served as a symbolic expression of a vanished world and as a means to survive in the situation of being refugees. Applied ethnomusicology served as a vehicle to promote this “nostalgia” to the Austrian majority in order to build bridges and to improve mutual understanding. In the third case, ethnicity is a category that is very problematic. We know from the discourses in cultural studies that identities are multiple and hybrid. Stuart Hall (1994) states that not only identities, but even all modern nations, are culturally hybrid, which is of course true from a certain perspective, but definitely not from the perspective of Austrian politicians. For immigrants from Turkey it seems especially important to raise the awareness of the possibility of individual choice in defining identity, because public discourse labels them ethnically and one-dimensionally. Although there is already a third generation living in Austria, they are still referred to as “Turks,” especially in media discourses and also in the speeches of politicians. The image of the “Islamist Turk” who does not want to integrate him- or herself into Austrian society is portrayed as a “problem.” In this case, application means, first of all, drawing attention to the music-making of immigrants from Turkey by making it into a topic of research, and second, challenging the public discourse by conveying a differentiated view based on research and not on prejudices. Changing public attitudes is not easy, and ethnomusicology does not have the power to do it immediately. It is more of a small-scale approach, by organizing symposiums and podium discussions, by promoting individual musicians, and by teaching students who will later be music teachers faced with children from immigrant backgrounds in their classrooms. My concluding quotation, which is from a time long ago but still valid, shows that the influential ethnomusicologist John Blacking had already thought about the application of results guided by social responsibility. And it also shows that although the discipline has changed considerably since then, we are still fighting the same problems: Intolerance and ignorance are not very far apart. And both seem to me to be among the roots of trouble in the world today. I had always thought that I might make it my life work to deal with the intolerance, relying on the work of others for the fight against ignorance. It now seems to me that I might be able to play a small, but more worthwhile part in the struggle against ignorance. (John Blacking, 1953, quoted from Byron, 1995: 5).

Notes 1. All of the research on which this article is based has been conducted at the Institute of Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology at the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna. Since 1990 there has been a research focus on music and minorities at the Institute in research, teaching, and publications. The major research projects conducted during recent years were the following. 1990–1992: “Traditional Music of Minorities in Austria”

272   Ursula Hemetek 1993–1995: “Traditional Music of the Roma in Austria” 1995–2000: “Music of Bosnians in Austria” 2005–2006: “Music Making of Immigrants in Vienna” 2007–2009: Project partner in “Embedded Industries—Immigrant Cultural Entrepreneurs in Vienna” Field research projects concerning immigrants in Salzburg (2004), in Innsbruck (2005), in Vorarlberg (2009), and concerning the music of Slovenes in Styria (1999–2001) 2009–2010: Bi-Musicality and Intercultural Dialogue. 2. More details on this topic, see Hemetek (2007). 3. About the development of the Study Group on Music and Minorities in detail, see Pettan (2012). The first symposium was held in Ljubljana in 2000 and since then symposia were organized every two years. The publications of the Study Group, all edited volumes, are: Pettan, Reyes, and Komavec (2001); Hemetek, Lechleitner, Naroditskaya, and Czekanowska (2004); Ceribašić and Haskell (2006); Statelova, Rodel, Peycheva, Vlaeva, and Dimov (2008); Jurková and Bidgood (2009); Hemetek (2012) Hemetek, Marks, Reyes (2014). 4. The group of Germans in Austria cannot be considered a minority in the sense of suffering from discrimination. Due to the common German language and the rather privileged professional positions of a high percentage of Germans in Austria, they do not have similar problems to the other immigrant groups. 5. The creation of a National Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Austria, as well as its continuous updating, are tasks that Austria agreed upon when it ratified the UNESCO Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2009. To explain what this means in Austria, I quote the UNESCO website: “Intangible cultural heritage comprises the practices, representations, expressions, knowledge, skills as well as the instruments, objects, artefacts and cultural spaces associated therewith, that communities, groups and, in some cases, individuals recognize as part of their cultural heritage. The intangible cultural heritage consists of five overlapping areas: • O  ral traditions and expressions, including language as a vehicle of intangible cultural heritage • Performing arts • Social practices, rituals and festive events • Knowledge and practices concerning nature and the universe • Traditional craftsmanship. This intangible cultural heritage, transmitted from generation to generation, is constantly recreated by communities and groups, providing them with a sense of identity and continuity.” (http://immaterielleskulturerbe.unesco.at/en/) 6. For discussion of the terms, see Assmann (1999). 7. Šadrvan: a Turkish wooden fountain, usually placed in squares. 8. This statement is not based on follow-up research but only on results from constant observations of the scene in Vienna. 9. Germany always was the main target country of Turkish immigrants in Europe, housing about 60% of the Turkish emigrant population, followed by France (6.3%), the Netherlands (4.8%) and Austria (3.8%).

Applied Ethnomusicology as an Intercultural Tool    273 10. Alevism is a religious belief based on ancient Turkish beliefs. It is a liberal and mystic form of Islam in which music, especially the instrument saz, is highly appreciated. 11. Dersim is the Kurdish (Zaza) name of a province in Anatolia that was formerly called Tunceli. There is a specific history connected to the place that includes the “Dersim Rebellion,” also known as “Dersim massacre” from 1934. Many immigrants in Austria come from there, and their ethnic background is Kurdish. Therefore “Dersim” can be used as a metaphor in a song, which will be understood by insiders. 12. Many of the other works that seem to be important for that development connected to my field of research have been quoted throughout the article, representing only a very personal selection, of course.

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References on the Web www.harristojka.at (2013) www.ictmusic.org (2013) www.minderheiten.at (2013) www.romano-centro.org (2013) http://profile.my space.com (2006)

Chapter 8

B eing Appli e d i n t h e Ethnomusi c ol o g y of Au t i sm Michael B. Bakan

Introduction Applied ethnomusicology, writes Jeff Todd Titon, may be defined as “the process of putting ethnomusicological research to practical use” (Titon, 2011).1 My purposes in this chapter are, first, to describe and critically examine how an ethnomusicology of autism might be conceptualized as a form of applied ethnomusicology so defined, and, second, to position this emergent area of inquiry in relation to relevant epistemological frameworks, including the autistic self-advocacy and neurodiversity movements, disability studies, and the anthropology of autism. To achieve these purposes, I employ a polyvocal narrative approach, weaving together my own words and ideas with those of children on the autism spectrum with whom I  play music, spokespersons from within the autistic self-advocacy movement, and scholars, scientists, and disability rights advocates representing diverse positions and epistemic communities (Harrison, 2012). I ultimately propose an ethnographic model of disability as a potential alternative and complement to the existing social and medical models, arguing that the ethnographic and relativistic tenets of applied ethnomusicology hold the potential to effectively promote neurodiversity and autism acceptance by helping to transform customary tropes of deficit, disorder, despair, and hopelessness into alternate visions of wholeness, ability, diversity, and possibility. The Artism Ensemble will be my principal ethnomusicological focus. Artism is a neurodiverse music performance collective comprising several children with autism spectrum diagnoses2 and their co-participating parents, along with a cohort of professional musicians and ethnomusicologists of diverse musicultural background. The ensemble is the cornerstone of the Artism Music Project, an Institutional Review Board-approved

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    279 applied ethnomusicology program that has been developed in accordance with all permissions, safety, and ethical requirements and recommendations of the Human Subjects Committee at Florida State University (FSU). I have coordinated and performed with the ensemble since its founding in 2011. In our collective commitment to fostering a musicultural world that builds foundationally from the agency, imagination, and preferences of the children in the group,3 Artism endeavors to privilege autistic ability over disability, supportively responding to the creative initiatives and impulses of children with autism, rather than trying to restrain, retrain, or redirect them.4 Artism additionally serves as a social model in its own right through its concerts and other performance events: a model of inclusive sociality, music making, and cultural co-production that promotes autism acceptance rather than autism awareness; that displays a productive and creative domain of musical praxis built upon the elimination of conventional generational, cultural, musical, and neurophysiological boundaries and barriers; and that in turn challenges traditional assumptions about musical expertise, musical value, and the ostensibly self-evident social hierarchies that exist within group music-making environments. Artism applies ethnomusicology to practical use in these multiple and interrelated ways. It enables people who have historically been disenabled, builds culture and community in environments where “conventional logic” would seem to deny the very possibility, and publicly performs autistic ability and sociocultural inclusivity as challenges and alternatives to autistic disability and exclusion. Yet it is undeniable that Artism, whatever its merits or aspirations may be, is also a product of the very hegemonic constructs that it resists and challenges. It highlights the staging of autism and the performance of disability. In so doing, it paradoxically resists and is co-opted by an essentially (and essentialist) pathologizing view which posits “autism” in contradistinction to “normal,” thus propagating the very constructs of exclusion and hierarchy it aims to overturn, at least in some measure. Like most manifestations of disability practice and discourse, the Artism Ensemble occupies a complexly contested space in which empowerment and appropriation are dialectically entwined; it invites critical consideration and evaluation. The following discussion endeavors to tease out some of this complexity, while ultimately concluding with the suggestion that Artism and like-oriented applied ethnomusicology projects are worth the effort, despite their inherent limitations and liabilities.

Applied Ethnomusicology, Music Therapy, and Medical Ethnomusicology It is important to establish at the outset that there are fundamental epistemological and practical differences between engaging musically with autistic individuals in the context

280   Michael B. Bakan of an applied ethnomusicology project like Artism, on the one hand, and treating autism spectrum disorders (ASD) through the use of music therapy–based interventions, on the other. As is explained in the 2012 online article “Music Therapy as a Treatment Modality for Autism Spectrum Disorders,” published by the American Music Therapy Association (AMTA) on its website, Music Therapy is the clinical and evidence-based use of music interventions to accomplish individualized goals within a therapeutic relationship by a credentialed professional who has completed an approved music therapy program.  .  . . Music therapy provides a unique variety of music experiences in an intentional and developmentally appropriate manner to effect changes in behavior and facilitate development of skills. . . . Music therapy can stimulate individuals [with ASD] to reduce negative and/or self-stimulatory responses and increase participation in more appropriate and socially acceptable ways. . . . Because music is processed in both hemispheres of the brain, it can stimulate cognitive functioning and may be used for remediation of some speech/language skills [in persons with ASD]. (American Music Therapy Association, 2012)

The field of music therapy is highly diverse. The approaches of its researchers and practitioners span a wide gamut, from behaviorism-based studies yielding quantified outcomes to ethnographic and phenomenological methods emphasizing qualitative findings and narrative reports.5 Yet for all the ways in which they differ, and despite the fact that the cited AMTA article is by no means representative of the discipline in total, I would contend that there is a unifying thread binding together the endeavors of music therapists on the whole: put simply, they are committed to using music for therapeutic purposes, and therapy, by at least one standard definition, is “treatment intended to relieve or heal a disorder.”6 This treatment-centered orientation is consistent with the AMTA position on ASD accounted for above. From that stance, ASDs are treated by music therapists using “music interventions” that aim to “effect changes in behavior and facilitate development of skills,” “reduce negative and/or self-stimulatory responses and increase participation in more appropriate and socially acceptable ways,” and “remediate some speech/language skills.” This is certainly a valid approach that has yielded benefits for many autistic people, improving quality of life and promoting the development of useful skills. Yet there are many other potentially fruitful approaches as well, and applied ethnomusicology in particular lends itself to a rather different set of epistemological priorities and practical methods. As an ethnomusicologist who works in the area of autism, my interests are in music making, not music interventions; my epistemological focus is on autism as a cultural way of being, not a disorder (cf. Straus, 2013); my aspiration is to comprehend and engage with people labeled “autistic” on their own terms to the greatest extent possible, rather than to effect changes in their behavior, facilitate the development of specific skills, or remediate their actions in social settings to bring them in line with normative expectations.

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    281 In short, my framework is ethnographic rather than therapeutic, musicological rather than pathological. I am not trying to provide treatment or to cure autism through musical methods or any other. Instead, I am trying to better understand and communicate with people identified as autistic by hanging out and making music with them, having conversations and listening well, and getting to know who they are and what matters to them. To the extent that this work is directed toward effecting change of any kind, its main purpose is not to change autistic people in any way, but instead to change the often misguided ways that non-autistic, that is, neurotypical, people and institutions imagine, think about, and respond to autism and people who “have” it. These priorities distinguish the approach of the present work not only from music therapy, but to a lesser degree from medical ethnomusicology as well. The progenitor of Artism, the Music-Play Project (MPP), which ran from 2005 to 2009 and was the subject of an earlier series of publications (Bakan et  al., 2008a, 2008b; Bakan, 2009; Koen et  al., 2008), was a medical ethnomusicology endeavor. Emphasizing both qualitative and quantitative measures of “social-emotional growth indicators” and gains in “response-ability,” MPP melded ethnographic and therapeutic priorities in a manner that aligned with the health and healing-oriented perspectives of much medical ethnomusicology (and indeed of much music therapy as well). Koen, Barz, and Brummel-Smith, in their introduction to The Oxford Handbook of Medical Ethnomusicology (Koen, 2008), define medical ethnomusicology as “a new field of integrative research and applied practice that explores holistically the roles of music and sound phenomena and related praxes in any cultural and clinical context of health and healing” (Koen, Barz, and Brummel-Smith, 2008, 3–4).7 The music-play protocols of MPP provided such a context in the therapeutic dimensions of their intent. Artism is a different case. It is a project that aligns much more comfortably with the basic tenets of applied ethnomusicology than with those of medical ethnomusicology. Accounting for this difference, at least in part, is a personal history of transformative experiences that traces back to a cathartic musical encounter I had in 2003. From there, the story runs through the life course of the Music-Play Project, then headlong into a moment of crisis in 2010. This, in turn, paves the way for the founding of the Artism Ensemble in 2011, and finally leads to a series of discoveries in the anthropology of autism, disability studies, and the autistic self-advocacy and neurodiversity movements that have subsequently reconfigured how I think about music, autism, and ethnomusicology.

Beginnings My path to becoming an ethnomusicologist of autism began in the year 2003, when a three-year-old relative of mine, Mark,8 was diagnosed with a condition called Asperger’s syndrome.9 I had never heard of Asperger’s and became quite concerned when I learned that it was an autism spectrum disorder. I had a rather fuzzy image of what autism was at

282   Michael B. Bakan the time, one formed mainly by Dustin Hoffman’s performance in the movie Rain Man and by occasional encounters with disturbing, sensationalist media images in which autistic children were shown isolated in corners of rooms, rocking back and forth incessantly, banging their heads against walls, erupting into violent tantrums. Mark certainly did not fit this image. Granted, he didn’t come across as your “typical” three-year-old kid either. He was often anxious. He carried his body kind of stiffly, clenching his fists and holding a lot of tension in his shoulders. He tended to avoid eye contact, except with his parents (especially his mother). His English-language vocabulary was large for his age, but he didn’t seem very interested in using it to actually communicate most of the time; rather, he spoke mainly in a language of his own invention, Skoofie, which was unfortunately unintelligible to others. When speaking Skoofie, he was very expressive and gestural, but when speaking English he tended to use a flat monotone and to stand or sit still, rarely employing hand gestures or body language. He did not like meeting new people—they scared him, made him anxious—and he would customarily retreat to the comfort of his bedroom whenever visitors came to his home, staying there until they departed. He had meltdowns and tantrums just like other children his age, but was prone to being inconsolable for rather long periods when they occurred. For all that, he was an adorable, bright, and endearing little guy, a lot of fun to be around except when he was feeling especially out of sorts, and that really wasn’t all that often since he was happy much of the time. His bond with his mother was extremely close—theirs was a very warm and loving relationship—and among those whom he knew well he could be affectionate, funny, and expressive. One night I was at Mark’s family’s house for a dinner party. He had sequestered himself in his room while the rest of us dined. This was as expected. My new Florida State University ethnomusicology colleague Benjamin Koen was at the gathering as well, and he and I decided to do some drumming together after the meal. Ben and I were improvising and getting into a nice groove. My eyes were shut, as is my habit when I play. I felt a light tapping on my leg and looked down to see Mark sitting beside me on the floor, looking up. I was surprised, but delighted. He shifted his gaze away from me toward a pair of bongo drums (one of many options in a room full of percussion instruments) that were sitting next to him on the floor. Then he looked back up at me. I surmised that he wanted to jam, too, and that he was asking for permission to do so. I smiled at Mark and nodded encouragingly. He jumped in and started to play, immediately taking the rhythm in an entirely new direction. Ben and I excitedly followed him there. Mark’s eyes lit up. Then he took us to another musical place and we went there with him. He lit up some more, and next thing we knew he was singing, too, in a strong, clear, beautiful voice I had never heard before, continuing to drum all the while. It was quite magical. And then it was over. Eight o’clock arrived, and right on cue Ben’s baby daughter melted down and started to cry. Moments later, the baby was bundled up and the Koens were off and away, headed toward home in their minivan. Mark disappeared for a few minutes and I assumed he had returned to the solace of his bedroom for the rest of the

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    283 night. But then he reappeared in the living room. My wife Megan and I were sitting together on the couch. Mark came over and started talking to us. I don’t remember what he said (I wish I did) but what I do remember is that he was like a different kid from the Mark I had known. He looked relaxed, he spoke to us lucidly in English and accentuated his speech with fluid hand gestures and body language, and the tension in his shoulders had melted away. He appeared altogether comfortable, at ease. Something about the social experience of drumming with Ben and me in the free, exploratory, improvisatory environment that we had spontaneously created together seemed to have tapped into something deep. Precisely what that something was I will never fully know, but at the time and up until the present I remain convinced that it had a lot to do with Mark’s sense that Ben and I were really listening to him, listening to what he had to say to us and how he wanted to connect with us through his drumming, his singing, his playing.10 We weren’t trying to tell him what to do or how to do it right; we weren’t directing the flow of the music or the course of the improvisation, though we were certainly contributing to it. We were paying attention, enjoying, responding, communicating, appreciating, intuitively reaching out to meet Mark where he was and wanted to be, and then traveling elsewhere with him from there. The extent to which we succeeded in these various ventures was not really the point, for I firmly believe that what mattered most for Mark was the simple fact that we were trying. And I firmly believe, too, that with the exception of his mother and a few select others, there had been far too few people in Mark’s life who had really done this, who had really tried to co-experience the world through his eyes and ears and thoughts and feelings, rather than assuming they had the right, even the obligation, to try to correct and normalize his “unusual” behavior or, perhaps even worse, to tune him out altogether.

Becoming Applied That evening of drumming with Mark and Ben had a transformative impact on me. I was inspired by it to move in a new direction as both a musician and an ethnomusicologist, one that would ultimately take me to the new frontier of becoming an applied ethnomusicologist of autism. A goal of capturing lightning in a bottle was central to that journey. The kind of experience that Mark, Ben, and I had shared was something I wanted to cultivate so that other kids on the spectrum—and other people generally—could enjoy it as well. I didn’t see this as a potential cure for autism or as a path toward “normalizing” autistic behavior; these kids were getting enough therapies and interventions already. I just wanted to help make things happen that would enable them to have fun, feel successful, and play and explore the way they wanted to, rather than according to everybody else’s rules all the time; and I wanted their parents to be a part of all that, too, both in terms of sharing in the experience actively and getting to see their kids having a good time doing

284   Michael B. Bakan something well, with “doing well” defined not in terms of the criteria of some test or standard of normalcy or functionality, but rather in terms of simply taking some pleasure in the experience of a meaningful activity undertaken in the company of others. These would appear to be rather modest goals, but in the domain of autism, bereft as it has historically been of the most fundamental measures of regard and respect for the integrity and value of autistic personhood, they turned out to be not so modest at all. From such goals and aspirations was born the Music-Play Project, or MPP, an interdisciplinary venture produced mainly under the banner of medical ethnomusicology and involving a collaborative team led by Benjamin Koen and myself and including autism research scientists, physicians, and a cognitive psychologist (Bakan et al., 2008a, 2008b; Koen et al., 2008, Bakan, 2009). Initially, the project took its name from a different acronym, CHIMP, which stood for the Children’s Happiness Integrative Music Project. We were dissuaded from the use of this name, however, when an anonymous reviewer of one of our first grant proposals expressed that it was dangerously suggestive of early experiments in “abnormal psychology” that relied on data culled from studies of monkey and chimpanzee behavior. The name CHIMP was summarily dumped, but not without regret on my part, as I had rather liked the emphasis on happiness and integration that the spelled-out version of the acronym stressed. So began what I now have come to regard as a process of progressive deterioration for the program, which from that point forward was known as the Music-Play Project. The more deeply I immersed myself in the medical-scientific literature on autism and ASD, with its heavy emphasis on deficits, disorders, and impairments—and on interventions, therapies, and cures—the more fully I was seduced into that literature’s paradigmatic assumptions insisting that measurable outcomes of benefits, preferably quantitative ones drawn from the analysis of data collected in randomized clinical trials with controls, would be the only valid measures of the project’s success. The more fully I was pressured into accepting the idea that the capacity of MPP to meet its “potential” and make a real “impact” were dependent on our success in securing grants from scientific research funding agencies and having our articles published by peer-reviewed scientific journals, the more I felt the core goals and aspirations that had inspired the project in the first place slipping away from me. As MPP moved increasingly science-ward, even as I grasped desperately at the evasive notion that this was being done in a synergistic way that did not compromise the project’s original intentions (Bakan, 2009), it progressively diverged from what it had been at the start and from what I had always believed it should remain. Try as we did to keep it from doing so, MPP became less about play, less about music, less about the kids and the families, and more about the results, the measures, the documentation of benefits and gains, and the potential impact beyond the immediate environment of the actual people involved. The Music-Play Project had begun in 2005 and continued, on and off, through several different phases and studies, until 2009. Many wonderful things happened during its course, but the growing disconnect between what had gotten me into it and what

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    285 it had become eventually became too great. To play in the sandbox of medical-scientific autism research meant to play by the rules of autism science. This translated into identifying and targeting specific areas of social, communicative, and behavioral deficit and impairment associated with ASD and developing testable methods for empirically determining what, if any, benefits our music-play programs were providing in terms of improving the symptoms and lessening the deficits of children participating in our project. In other words, the goal was to effect positive changes toward more “normal” and “functional” ways of acting, reacting, and relating on the part of these kids, which was precisely what I had not wanted this work to be about. This recognition was sobering and disheartening. I snapped. I didn’t want to do this anymore. I  didn’t want to “measure” these kids, “normalize” them, or “cure” them; I didn’t want to be doing therapy of any kind. I just wanted to play music with them and give them and their parents a chance to have some fun and blow off some steam, to be creative and social and engaged on their terms instead of somebody else’s, to be playful and imaginative without having to worry about measuring up. I craved the comfort and ease that Mark and Ben and I had shared on that pivotal night back in 2003, for the kids and their parents, and also for me. “Sciencing about autism” made no more sense to me than “sciencing about music” ever had, and it constituted a similar affront to my musical and humanistic sensibilities (Merriam, 1964; Bakan, 1999: 15). So I let it go. By 2009, Ben had moved to China and I had completed a major phase of the Music-Play Project, a randomized clinical trial measuring “social-emotional growth indicators” that was based on the SCERTS model of ASD assessment (Bakan, 2009; Prizant et al., 2006). I presented my findings at the 2010 Society for Ethnomusicology meeting and determined that it was time to close this chapter of my career and move on to something else. A couple of months later, though, I  received a call from Jennifer Hoesing at the Florida Department of State’s Division of Cultural Affairs (DCA). She was familiar with the Music-Play Project work and was calling to inquire about whether I might be interested in submitting a proposal for a DCA-administered, National Endowment for the Arts–funded grant in support of the continuation of my music and autism work. Immediately, I envisioned a new path forward. Arts and culture—these were my comfort zones; these were the places I lived as a musician, as an ethnomusicologist. What had been the Music-Play Project, mired down in the priorities of scientific autism research, assessment, and intervention, could potentially become something very different: the Artism Music Project. Artism would be about playing music and improvising, and about celebrating and modeling neurodiversity. In Artism, kids with autism would be the kinds of people and musicians they wanted to be, and they would call the shots. And it would feature a real band, the Artism Ensemble, made up of the kids, their parents, and a talented and diverse group of professional musicians who would together go out and play concerts—concerts where people would get to hear and see all of us having a good time being creative, being ourselves, and being together.

286   Michael B. Bakan More than any amount of statistical data or academic rhetoric, I reasoned, such a project had the potential to change public perceptions of autistic people for the better, to foster autism acceptance by presenting an alternative and affirming image of lived autistic realities and neurodiversity. Identifying people with labels like “autistic” or “disabled” inevitably creates frames in which particular biases or predispositions toward those individuals are activated. This applies to perceptions and assessments of musical performances as much as to anything else. Yet as the music education researchers Judith Jellison and Patricia Flowers have noted (1991: 323), “when the… actual performance is seen to be unlike that suggested by the label, initial biases have been shown to be overcome.” I was convinced that performances by the Artism Ensemble would do that kind of work, at once celebrating and defying the label of “autistic” in ways that countered all the entrenched mythologies of autistic tragedy and negation. Even more important, I was convinced that this imagined “Artism Ensemble” would offer opportunities and outlets for people with and without autism to experience special moments of comfort, joy, ease, and new understanding, as Mark and Ben and I had on the occasion that had launched the whole thing forward in the first place. I prepared the proposal and it was successful. The grant was awarded in 2010 and the Artism Ensemble came into existence in January 2011, continuing under the aegis of grant funding through the summer of 2013.11

Spinny Chairs “Come in,” I  say, inviting my twelve-year-old Artism Ensemble bandmate Mara Chasar into my office on a sweltering hot August afternoon in 2013. Mara enters with eyes downcast and sporting a mild frown. She seems nervous, or at least a bit uncomfortable. For three years now, the main context in which she and I have interacted has been the E-WoMP, or Exploratory World Music Playground, in Tallahassee, Florida. There, together with three or four other children on the autism spectrum, some of the children’s parents, and accomplished musicians hailing from locations as far afield as Peru, Bolivia, Trinidad, and China, Mara and I have met regularly to rehearse, play, and make music together. We have also taken the E-WoMP on the road, performing in Artism Ensemble concerts at venues around Tallahassee and in other parts of Florida. Mara and I have actually known each other and have been playing music together on and off for more than four years by this time. We first became acquainted in 2009 when she and her parents participated in a three-week program of the Music-Play Project. We then reconnected when I invited them to join the Artism Ensemble. They played in the group during its inaugural 2011 season, took a hiatus for a year in 2012, and rejoined in 2013. The 2013 season had concluded with a big concert in Orlando for the Opening

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    287 General Session of the annual conference of the Society for Disability Studies (SDS), just a few weeks prior to the present meeting in my office. Now here we are, sitting in the stillness of my fake wood-paneled digs in the College of Music at FSU, surrounded by computer and audio equipment and multiple shelves stuffed with books and folders. It’s got to be a bit off-putting for Mara, I think to myself. Maybe this was a bad idea. But things immediately change for the better the moment Mara feasts her eyes on the nice black office chair sitting adjacent to my desk. She plops herself down and gives it a good kick start. “Whee!!” she exclaims with glee as she tucks up her knees and whirls about in the chair, over and over and over again. The downcast eyes alight and open wide. The frown becomes a radiant smile and Mara’s laughter fills the room. “I love spinny chairs!” she shrieks. “Spinny chair! Everyone loves the spinny chair!!” She spins and spins, round and round, and she continues spinning as she quickly modulates from her playful tone to a more serious one. “So what do you want?” she asks me. I’m a bit thrown off by the question. “Want?” I say, pondering, searching for just the right way to put it. “Oh, what do I  want—well, I  just want to talk to you, about autism and Asperger’s and stuff like that,” I  venture, not sure how that’s going to go over. Mara continues to spin. “You know,” I continue, “you had such wonderful things to say about all that stuff during the question-and-answer session after our Orlando concert with Artism, and since then I’ve been reading this book written by autistic people—it’s called Loud Hands: Autistic People, Speaking (Bascom, 2012a)—and what you were saying is really in line with what they’re saying. So now I’m trying to write about music, and autism, and Artism and all that, and I think it would be great if you could write with me, because you have such amazing insights and I think having you share those would make the things I’m working on way better than anything I could write by myself.” “So you want me to help you write a book?” “Well, yeah, a book, some articles, a few different things actually. Is that OK?” “I think that sounds cool.” “Great. So how about you talk and I’ll type out what you say, or else you can just sit here at the computer and type yourself if you prefer. That’s fine, too.” “You type,” she says. “I like spinny chairs!” “Remember how our concert in Orlando was at that conference, you know, the one for the Disability Studies society?” “Yeah.” “Well, after the rest of you guys left, I stayed around for the rest of the conference. There was this one session that was run by people who do disability studies but who also have autism themselves, and they thought that our concert was sponsored by this big organization called Autism Speaks. It wasn’t, but they thought it was because I had handed out this questionnaire to the audience and one of the questions had to do with

288   Michael B. Bakan ‘promoting autism awareness.’ Well, it turns out that ‘autism awareness’ is a phrase that these people, and a lot of other autistic people, too, really hate. They think it’s offensive, because what they want is autism acceptance, not autism awareness; because a main mission of Autism Speaks is to find a cure for autism, to get rid of it, and these people with autism say they don’t want to be cured, they just want to be who they are and to be accepted for being who they are. So then—” “Who says autism is a bad thing?” Mara interjects in a tone of righteous indignation. “It sounds like this [Autism Speaks] organization is treating autism like cholera. Autism isn’t cholera; it isn’t some disease you can just cure. It’s just there. You don’t need to be aware of it; you just have to accept that it’s there. I mean, you can’t accept cholera; it’s a disease.” “You told me that a lot of people find this organization offensive,” Mara continues, “and honestly, you know, [from what you’ve said about it,] I  do too. Awareness and acceptance are a lot different from each other. Yeah. Awareness means you know it’s there, but acceptance means you know it’s there and it’s not going to go away. Of course, you can’t accept something if you don’t know it’s there, so I guess we have to be aware of it and accept it. So if that organization’s thing is ‘Autism Awareness,’ maybe they should change it to ‘Autism Awareness and Acceptance.’ And honestly, curing autism doesn’t come in some kind of a pill or medication. And there is no cure. There really isn’t. It’s just there, wound into your personality.” Mara has stopped spinning momentarily. Now she resumes. “Spinning chairs! Spinning chairs make everyone happy!” she sings. Then, in a mock serious tone, “I get distracted easily,” and after that, throwing back her hair and laughing wildly, “especially by things like this that are SPINNY CHAIRS!!” “You know,” I say to Mara, laughing along with her as she continues to spin away, “the scientists and the doctors and therapists and people like that who specialize in autism, and the people in those organizations like Autism Speaks, would say that what you’re doing now—spinning and spinning and spinning while we have this conversation—is an example of stimming, that it’s a ‘symptom’ of your Asperger’s or your autism or whatever.” “Stim-what?” Mara asks, seemingly confused. “What is that?” “Stimming,” I repeat. “It’s a word that they use to describe so-called ‘self-stimulating behaviors’ that autistic people do when they’re, I  don’t know, feeling stressed or uncomfortable or whatever, or maybe the scientists don’t know why they do those things but they know they do them and they say that’s one of the things that makes them autistic.” Mara’s laughter now escalates to a fever pitch. “That’s just ridiculous!” she states incredulously. “I mean, I bet that the president has a spinny chair and sometimes he spins around.” “Which president? The president of the United States or the president of Autism Speaks?” “Both of them,” she fires back. “I’m sure they look around and see if their security guards are around, and if they see the coast is clear they just kind of silently spin around

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    289 in their chair. They probably don’t laugh like I do because the president doesn’t laugh, or at least lots of people think that, but that’s just another stereotype—but still. Spinny chairs. I like spinny chairs.” There is a brief pause in the conversation as Mara continues to spin. “I like to talk a lot,” she explains, “but the president likes to talk a lot too. And he gives all those speeches, so why don’t they say that the president needs to be ‘cured,’ because the president talks a lot too. If he’s like me in any way, he needs to be ‘cured,’ doesn’t he?” I chuckle. Mara stops spinning, leans forward, and points to the spot on my computer monitor where I have just transcribed her last remark. “Just say that I said that sarcastically,” she insists. “I don’t want to offend the president.” “I have something else I wanted to say,” Mara announces after another brief pause, resuming her spinning at the same time. “You know, I think there should be a type of therapy that involves spinny chairs. There should be a room where there are rows and rows of spinny chairs, and a bunch of people would file in and sit down, and they’d all talk to each other and say, ‘I wonder what this new therapy is?’ And then the therapist would walk in and tell everyone to be quiet, and then he or she would say, ‘Now, spin around in your chairs really fast!’ and everyone would at first be really skeptical, but then someone would try it, whirling around and around. They’d say, ‘Hey, this is fun!’ and everyone else would start to do it, and then the whole room would be spinning around and around, or at least to everyone in the spinny chairs. Or a therapy where everyone gets together and just types or writes stories together. When I’m bored or sad or stressed, I like to sit down, ignore everyone, and just write for hours on end. “You know, when I  hear about people saying people with autism aren’t ‘normal’ and get surprised when we do things like use big words or do things they can’t, I just think:  We are normal. We learn things just like ‘normal’ people do, we talk when we feel like it to who we feel like talking to just like ‘normal’ people do, we play and dream and laugh and love just like ‘normal’ people do, even if we’re too shy to admit it sometimes. “Some of us have a few problems, but why do ‘normal’ people have to be the ones to ‘fix’ them?” Mara asks rhetorically, after which she instructs me to be sure to put scare quotes around each iteration of “normal” and around the word “fix” in the preceding section. “Why are all the therapists ‘normal’ and we’re not?” she adds. “In fact, the therapists should be people who used to have severe autism or Asperger’s, or whatever, and then found out how to deal with their problems. Having a Ph.D. in psychology doesn’t always make you an expert.” “What about people like me,” I ask, “you know, who aren’t autistic but work with people who are?” “Well, you people seem pretty nice,” Mara answers matter-of-factly, “and you seem to know what you’re talking about, so people like you would be pretty good for that role. But I still like the idea of doctors and stuff who have autism.”

290   Michael B. Bakan

Autism and ASD: The Official Story Autism spectrum disorder (ASD) is a range of complex neurodevelopmental disorders, characterized by social impairments, communication difficulties, and restricted, repetitive, and stereotyped patterns of behavior. Autistic disorder, sometimes called autism or classical ASD, is the most severe form of ASD, while other conditions along the spectrum include a milder form known as Asperger syndrome, and childhood disintegrative disorder and pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified (usually referred to as PDD-NOS).12 Although ASD varies significantly in character and severity, it occurs in all ethnic and socioeconomic groups and affects every age group. Experts estimate that 1 out of 88 children age 8 will have an ASD… . Males are four times more likely to have an ASD than females. . . . (NINDS, 2013)

So states the “Autism Fact Sheet” published on the website of the US National Institutes of Health’s National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke (NINDS). Later in the same document, NINDS declares: The hallmark feature of ASD is impaired social interaction. . . . Children with an ASD… have difficulty interpreting what others are thinking or feeling because they can’t understand social cues, such as tone of voice or facial expressions, and don’t watch other people’s faces for clues about appropriate behavior. They lack empathy. Many children with an ASD engage in repetitive movements such as rocking and twirling, or in self-abusive behavior such as biting or head-banging. They… don’t know how to play interactively with other children. Some speak in a sing-song voice about a narrow range of favorite topics, with little regard for the interests of the person to whom they are speaking. . . . (NINDS, 2013)

Elsewhere, the “Fact Sheet” provides a list of primary indicators leading to an ASD diagnosis, especially in individuals beyond the infancy/toddler years: impaired ability to make friends with peers, impaired ability to initiate or sustain a conversation with others, absence or impairment of imaginative and social play, restricted patterns of interest that are abnormal in intensity or focus, preoccupation with certain objects or subjects, inflexible adherence to specific routines or rituals, and stereotyped, repetitive, or unusual use of language. As for treatment options, there “is no cure for ASDs,” according to NINDS. “Therapies and behavioral interventions are designed to remedy specific symptoms and can bring about substantial improvement. . . . Most health care professionals agree that the earlier the intervention, the better.  .  .  . Therapists use highly structured and intensive skill-oriented training sessions to help children develop social and language skills, such as Applied Behavioral Analysis… .” (NINDS, 2013).

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    291

Deficit-centrism The official story on autism and ASDs, as represented by the NINDS “Autism Fact Sheet” and other research and informational sources deemed credible and authoritative, is mainly a bleak one. It is the kind of story that affirms anthropologist Olga Solomon’s assertion that there is “a remarkable silence, an absence of discourse about hope in biomedicine’s views on autism…” (Solomon, 2010a: 253),13 and that motivates comments from autistic activists such as the following one from Temple Grandin: I’m certainly not saying we should lose sight of the need to work on deficits. But… the focus on deficits is so intense and so automatic that people lose sight of the strengths [of autistic people]. If even the experts can’t stop thinking about what’s wrong instead of what could be better, how can anyone expect the families who are dealing with autism on a daily basis to think any differently? (Grandin and Panek, 2013: 180–181;italics in original)

How indeed? And even Grandin might be accused of not going far enough in her critique of rampant deficit-centrism, for in highlighting the plight of “the families who are dealing with autism,” she diverts attention away from autistic people themselves. Consider what the autistic self-advocate Penni Winter has to say on this matter: Our Autism is called a ‘tragedy’ or even, by some parent groups, ‘the enemy’ to be fought at all costs, and the [apparent] increase in our numbers is referred to as an ‘epidemic,’ as if Autism were some dread disease. We’re said to ‘ruin’ our parents’ lives and break up marriages, and we get discussed in terms of the ‘burden’ we are on our families, the ‘difficulty’ we cause others. What we might feel or think or want is hardly even asked—because, oh yeah, that’s right, we don’t have feelings or needs. It’s the parents and families who are focused on, because they are deemed to be the ones that ‘matter,’ not the individuals with Autism. (Winter, 2012: 119; square brackets in original)

There are exceptions to the pervasive tones of deficit-centrism and bleakness, even in the most mainstream contexts. The NINDS “Autism Fact Sheet” does hold out hope for people with ASDs across the lifespan, indicating that for many, “symptoms improve with age” to the extent that they “are able to work successfully and live independently or within a supportive environment” (NINDS, 2013). The website of Autism Speaks (Autism Speaks, n.d. “a”) presents a similar position and adds to it with the pronouncement that “all [people with ASDs] deserve the opportunity to work productively, develop meaningful and fulfilling relationships and enjoy life.” The same website now includes an “Autism Acceptance” page as well (Autism Speaks, n.d. “b”)—presumably a response to the attacks levied against the organization’s ubiquitous “Autism Awareness” campaign by autistic self-advocates. And the NINDS “Fact Sheet” includes a link to the

292   Michael B. Bakan website of Autism Network International (ANI), a leading autistic self-advocacy organization, on its list of resources for additional information. Despite such occasional nods to alternate viewpoints and priorities, however, the consistent message from the mainstream remains intact: where autism is concerned, nothing is good unless it gets better, with “good” and “better” equating to an ideal of “normal,” “indistinguishable from normal,” or at least “closer to normal.” Within such an epistemological quagmire, there can be no true achievement of what autistic self-advocates are seeking in their calls for autism acceptance; in their view, this needs to change. “It starts with the basic, foundational idea that there is nothing wrong with us. We are fine,” writes Julia Bascom in her foreword to Loud Hands.14 “We are complete, complex, human beings leading rich and meaningful existences and deserving dignity, respect, human rights, and the primary voice in the conversation about us” (Bascom, 2012b: 10). Building on this premise, Penni Winter explains: One of the biggest and most insidious maltreatements [of autistic people] involves the concept and practise of what I call ‘normalisation,’ which springs out of the belief that Autism is an inferior or ‘wrong’ state. Thus ‘becoming normal’ is seen by many parents and therapists as the ultimate goal… and the aim of all therapy is to make us ‘indistinguishable’ from our ‘normal’ peers. Autism thus becomes something to be got rid of, no matter what sacrifices must be made. Some would even rather see their child dead than autistic… [What advocates of normalisation fail to see] is the real cost of this normalisation, which can be very high indeed… they are subscribing to a huge fallacy—the one which says that the Autism is somehow separate from, and ‘burying’, the ‘real’ (i.e.: normal) person underneath. Not so. Autism runs all the way through. It’s a deep neurological difference. It can no more be stripped away or ‘cured’ than our gender or race can be ‘cured’ or taken away. It’s that central to our being [cf. Sinclair 2012 [1993]: 16–17]. (Winter, 2012: 115–117)

The autistic author and activist Ari Ne’eman, who serves on the US government’s National Council on Disability and is the President and co-founder of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, problematizes and nuances the issues raised by Bascom and Winter in the following passages from an essay he wrote on the future of autism advocacy: Sadly, the traditional autism community has been driven by a set of priorities different from our own. Led almost exclusively by those not on the autism spectrum, it has made harmful decisions without our input. . . . It is our belief that the traditional priorities of autism advocacy, which focus on eliminating the autism spectrum rather than pursuing quality of life, communication, and inclusion for all autistic people, need to be reset. . . . The object of autism advocacy should not be a world without autistic people—it should be a world in which autistic people can enjoy the same rights, opportunities and quality of life as any of our neurotypical peers. . . .

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    293 Does this mean that we should not be engaged in trying to ameliorate the many challenges associated with being autistic? Of course not. What it does mean is that, first, we should target our efforts towards the real challenges we face, rather than towards a broader, nebulous concept of “curing” autism that is offensive to many of the people that it aims to benefit. Second, we should in every instance consider the fact that it is often social barriers rather than disability itself that pose the problems we face. (Ne’eman, 2012: 88–90, 93–94)

The issues are highly complex. Autistic self-advocates such as Bascom, Winter, and Ne’eman share core convictions regarding the guiding priorities of autistic advocacy, but they do not speak in unison, and they hold widely divergent views on a host of matters. Furthermore, the positions they espouse, individually and collectively, are by no means representative of a unified stance where the values and priorities of autistic people at large are concerned. There are many on the spectrum who openly oppose their views, and this does not even account for the large number who do not as yet have any means at all to effectively communicate with other people. The question of who is best qualified to speak and work on behalf of their interests—parents or other family members, autistic self-advocates, researchers, clinicians, or therapists—is one of the most vexing and contentious in the entire realm of autism-related discourse and policymaking. And it would be naïve to suggest that the kinds of supports, accommodations, and treatment protocols that have emerged through the dedicated efforts of medical-scientific researchers, clinicians, and therapists have been neither beneficial to nor appreciated by a great many autistic people. Much valuable work has been done, and many lives have been changed positively as a result of it. In approaching this chapter, then, I am aware that autistic self-advocacy and neurodiversity have their limitations, problems, critics, and internal divisions. But coming from the relativistic epistemological foundation that I do as an ethnomusicologist, I remain convinced that listening to what autistic people have to say—verbally, musically, and otherwise—is the best and most appropriate first step toward an engaged and applied ethnomusicology of autism. A  paradigm shift from pathology to neurodiversity is essential to this development.

Toward a Neurodiverse Approach to Applied Ethnomusicology Mainstream discourses relating to autism and ASD routinely posit a dichotomy of “autistic” to “normal.” This is unacceptable from an autistic self-advocacy perspective. The term “normal” must be replaced if the conversation is to move forward productively; neurotypical is the suggested replacement word. The autistic scholar and author

294   Michael B. Bakan Nick Walker explains that this is a word which “allows us to talk about members of the dominant neurological group without implicitly reinforcing that group’s privileged position (and our own marginalization) by referring to them as ‘normal’ ” (Walker, 2012: 233). Walker similarly advocates for the term neurodiversity for the larger movement of which autistic self-advocacy is a part, and neurominority as a designation for autistic culture: “Neurotypicals are the majority; Autistics are a neurominority,” he explains to illustrate the latter. As for the former, neurodiversity is defined by Walker as “the understanding of neurological variation as a natural form of human diversity, subject to the same societal dynamics as other forms of diversity,” such as race, gender, ethnicity, or sexual orientation (Walker, 2012: 233). He argues convincingly of the need for a shift from a pathology paradigm of autism (and human neurological variation generally) to a neurodiversity paradigm. In the epistemology of the pathology paradigm, there is belief in a “right,” “normal,” or “healthy” way for human brains and minds to be configured and to function. Substantial divergence from this dominant “normal” standard equates with the blanket assessment that there is “Something Wrong With You” (Walker, 2012: 227). Contrastingly, in the epistemology of the neurodiversity paradigm, variation in the configuration and functioning of human brains and minds is regarded as “a natural, healthy, and valuable form of human diversity,” and “all of the diversity dynamics (e.g., dynamics of power, privilege, and marginalization) that manifest in society in relation to other forms of human diversity… also manifest in relation to neurodiversity” (2012: 228). As Walker attests, If you reject the fundamental premises of the pathology paradigm, and accept the premises of the neurodiversity paradigm, then it turns out that you don’t have a disorder after all. And it turns out that maybe you function exactly as you ought to function, and that you just live in a society that isn’t sufficiently enlightened to effectively integrate people who function like you. And that maybe the troubles in your life have not been the result of any inherent wrongness in you. And that maybe everything you’ve heard about Autism is open to question, and that your true potential is unknown and is yours to explore. (Walker, 2012: 237)

The Artism Ensemble: A Different Way to Play The kind of neurodiverse world that Walker envisions in the above quotation mirrors the kind of musicultural space that the Artism Ensemble aspires to realize. Making music, performing publicly, and doing ethnography are our main tools, relativism and advocacy our epistemological cornerstones. In the E-WoMP, autistic preference and

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    295 action are not regarded as symptomatic; they are accepted for what they are—viable ways of being human—and they are creatively explored. Challenges and frustrations that arise within the group and between its members—and they do arise—are confronted and dealt with as a matter of course. They are part and parcel of the band’s basic social dynamic and are never merely explained away as manifestations of the autism-related problems of particular individuals. The constructs of autism and ASDs—or, as we prefer to call them, ASCs, or autism spectrum conditions—are always out in the open, but in any given situation they are subject to either outright dismissal or vigorous critical assessment on account of their perceived irrelevance, inaccuracy, or inadequacy. The ensemble itself is a large group of somewhat fluid proportions. On any given occasion, it will include between three and five children diagnosed with ASCs, one or two parents of each child, and anywhere from five to nine staff musicians. The total number of players ranges from about a dozen to upwards of 20. Artism’s Exploratory World Music Playground facility, the E-WoMP, comprises a large array of percussion instruments that both the children and adult players are free to explore, as they wish to and on their own terms, individually or collectively—thus the “playground” identifier in the name. Most of the E-WoMP’s instruments were manufactured by project sponsor Remo, and are modeled after traditional drums and other percussion instruments originating in West Africa, Latin America, Native America, and elsewhere. They include djembes, congas, bongos, ocean drums, thunder tubes, cuicas, a Native American-type gathering drum, tom-toms, egg shakers, and steelpans (steel drums). All instruments selected for the E-WoMP must meet two basic requirements: high yield for low input (i.e., easy to produce pleasing/satisfying sounds without need of specialized training) and safety for use by the children in the program. Flexible rubber swimming pool dive sticks are the main types of mallets, and other mallets and sticks with padded or rubber ends are used as well. The use of rubber-tipped and padded striking implements is important not only for the physical safety of participants, but also for keeping volume levels in check and avoiding harsh timbres. Sensitivities to loud and harsh sounds are common among people with autism, making attention to such sensory issues a priority in any music-centered project. Artism’s staff musicians play both the E-WoMP percussion instruments and their own instruments, including guitar, bass, steelpan, flute, and clarinet. In previous years, other instruments, such as zheng and didgeridoo, were also featured. The diverse musical backgrounds of the staff contribute to the profusely intercultural palette of resources from which Artism’s music springs. Compositions, arrangements, and directed improvisations by the children reflect this musicultural diversity, as elements of festejo, rumba, flamenco, calypso, raga, and gamelan combine with those of jazz, blues, funk, hip-hop, rock, classical, and other genres—as well as with ideas and concepts that are uniquely the children’s own and bear no recognizable resemblance to any pre-existing musical genre or tradition per se—to forge the unique sound and approach that define Artism’s music.

296   Michael B. Bakan

Applying Ethnography in the Ethnomusicology of Autism “Medical culture—what has been described and vigorously critiqued within Disability Studies as the medical model [of disability]—has certain defining attributes,” writes Joseph Straus in his essay “Autism as Culture.” “First, medical culture treats disability as pathology, either a deficit or an excess with respect to some normative standard. Second, the pathology resides inside the individual body in a determinate, concrete location. Third, the goals of the enterprise are diagnosis and cure” (Straus, 2013: 462).15 Whether describing medical models of disability or pathology paradigms of autism, thinkers like Straus and Walker pinpoint the same basic epistemological premises. Proponents of any such models or paradigms, in their various roles as researchers, physicians, or therapists, as teachers, aides, or even parents, operate from a fundamental position that there is a need to change the autistic or otherwise “disabled” person. They are, then, at least in their relations and interactions with their subjects, patients, clients, students, or children, agents of change in search of solutions. I do not consider myself to be an agent of change in this sense. Neither do I fully see myself as an agent of change in the alternate sense that disability studies scholars such as Tobin Siebers have posited relative to the so-called social model of disability, which “opposes the medical model by defining disability relative to the social and built environment, arguing that disabling environments produce disability in bodies and require interventions at the level of social justice” (Siebers, 2008: 25). It is principally an ethnographic model, or at least way of thinking, that guides me in working ethnomusicologically on autism. I want to get to know and understand autistic people according to their terms and from their perspectives: learning from them, sharing experiences with them, comprehending their conceptions and values of community, personhood, social experience, humor, work and play, pleasure and pain, joy and suffering, and of course music. Toward such ends I concur with Straus’s insistence that we must take “the concept of ‘neurodiversity’ as a point of departure” as we “seek to understand autism as a way of being in the world, a world-view enshrined in a culture… a difference, not a deficit” (2013: 467). The challenges of working ethnographically on autism and neurodiversity are in some respects unique, but at a fundamental epistemological level they mirror those of ethnographic research generally. Consider, for example, the following comments by Jim Sinclair, which, were it not for the specific references to autism and “your child” (the original context was a presentation for parents of children with ASDs), could readily be mistaken for a passage from an introductory manual on ethnographic fieldwork: It takes more work to communicate with someone whose native language isn’t the same as yours. And autism goes deeper than language and culture; autistic people are “foreigners” in any society. You’re going to have to give up your assumptions about

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    297 shared meanings. You’re going to have to learn to back up to levels more basic than you’ve probably thought about before, to translate, and to check to make sure your translations are understood. You’re going to have to give up the certainty that comes of being on your own familiar territory, of knowing you’re in charge, and let your child teach you a little of her language, guide you a little way into his world. (Sinclair, 2012 [1993]: 17)

Artism and Applied Ethnomusicology As an ethnomusicologist, I  am interested in the music, thoughts, lives, and musical communities of the autistic children with whom I currently work and play music in much the same way that I was interested in the music, thoughts, lives, and musical communities of Balinese gamelan musicians with whom I worked and played music in Indonesia in the 1980s and 1990s (Bakan, 1999). I did not endeavor to remediate the performance practices of my Balinese fellow musicians, nor cure them of their preference for paired tunings over equal tempered ones. I assumed that these Balinese musicians were competent practitioners of the Balinese musical arts they practiced. I assumed that their distinctive clusters of behaviors, abilities, and attitudes in musical and social practice reflected individual manifestations of a broader Balinese worldview and ontology. I welcomed opportunities to learn from them through musical and social interactions, through performances and conversations that yielded ethnomusicological insights into Balinese ways of being, and of being musical. I assume similar things and welcome similar experiences and insights in my work with the Artism Ensemble. Entering the E-WoMP, the principal site of Artism musical production, I approach matters much as I did when entering the bale banjar, the principal site of Balinese gamelan music production: as a learning musician, a curious and committed ethnographer, and a co-participant in the making of music and cultural community.16 Here, though, the culture-bearers are not musicians in Bali who play on a gamelan but American children on the autism spectrum who play on an E-WoMP. It is these children who direct Artism’s musical proceedings, guiding the course of group improvisations, coming up with musical themes and motives that under their own sure-handed ensemble direction take shape and blossom into full-blown compositions, selecting pre-existing materials—a melody from Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, a Bo Diddley beat under an extemporized rendering of Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham, a steelpan-led take on the Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night”—from which to create inspired arrangements that cleverly combine passages of pre-composed and improvised music. As for the adult members of the ensemble—the professional musicians and “non-musician” parents alike—we are not there to teach or direct the children; rather, we are there to learn from and respond to them. We apply whatever skills and attributes we bring to the E-WoMP, individually and collectively, to nurture the children’s

298   Michael B. Bakan creativity, agency, individual and social aspirations (musical and otherwise), and reciprocity. There are no pre-established repertoires, right or wrong notes, specific musical goals or demands, or defined expectations of any kind beyond ensuring that all participants contribute to maintaining a safe environment emphasizing mutual respect and support for one another. Typically, rehearsals and concerts move in round-robin fashion from one piece to another, with each child taking charge of the composition/arrangement and ensemble direction duties for one or more of their own pieces per program. This protocol was not created or imposed by me or any of the other adult ensemble members, but was an organic and gradually forming outgrowth of the children’s own desires for how Artism’s musical process should work, one that was worked out collectively among them in rehearsals (with one child in particular, NICKstr, usually taking a leadership role in the deliberations). The development of this protocol seemed to emerge as a direct response to the children’s learning at the outset of the project that the ensemble was not going to function exclusively in a “play lab” environment, as in the Music-Play Project, but would additionally be getting out in public and performing concerts. Once they realized that they were going to have an audience, they almost immediately became committed to the idea of fashioning what one of the children, Coffeebot, referred to as a “high-quality musical product.” They also became quite deeply invested in delivering the goods with showmanship and style, that is, showmanship and style defined on their terms, which have often been deliciously and provocatively at odds with “conventional” musical tastes and sensibilities. It was fascinating to witness this strategic and aesthetic shift from a participatory to a presentational mode of performance (Turino, 2008), as well as to both observe and be a participant in the making of the distinctive sound, look, feel, and identity that have come to define Artism’s unique musicultural brand over time. The accompanying note includes links to video examples from Artism rehearsals and concerts that provide some sense of the diverse character and range of the group’s repertoire.17 It is also important to mention that in both broad outlines and specific characteristics, the generative processes of musical production and social engagement that define the Artism Ensemble’s approach contrast in key regards with “best practices” positions regarding clinical, therapeutic, and educational approaches to working with people with autism. As Elizabeth Fein explains, Individuals on the autism spectrum tend to gravitate toward pre-ordered systems in which the relationship between parts can be predicted based on rules, and struggle to function within open-ended systems requiring flexibility, improvisation, and intuition. They thus gravitate toward and function best under a “stable symbolic and social order,” under conditions where social expectations and givens are consistent, explicit, systematic, and shared between interlocutors. (Fein, 2012: 69–70)

Artism’s open-ended approach, reliant as it is on flexibility, improvisation, and intuition, may be seen to push back against such logic to a considerable degree. Moreover, there is no

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    299 doubt that the children in the group (and also the adults) do sometimes struggle with the unpredictability and open-endedness of the process; it is even fair to surmise that their often exacting methods of directing the ensemble, as well as their frequent preference for creating music that can be precisely ordered and structured, reflect desires for increased control and certainty. But over time they have all come to revel in the possibilities for spontaneous invention and co-creation that the E-WoMP affords, too, each in their own way. On the basis of what I have observed over the past decade, autistic people are no less spontaneous, intuitive, flexible, or improvisatory than other people. They can just appear to be so because they are so often forced to contend with situations and settings in which their particular attributes and preferences for expressing such qualities are demeaned, or are patronized, or are not even recognized by their interlocutors. The evidence coming from the autistic self-advocacy movement, as well as from Artism and similar types of projects (see, for example, Bagatell, 2010; Bascom 2012a; Fein, 2012), suggests that in situations where autistic people are given opportunities to have their talents enabled rather than disenabled, nurtured rather than quashed, and embraced for what they are rather than being targeted for remediation, they can and will thrive in ways that people without autism would never think possible unless they witnessed it firsthand. A primary purpose of Artism is therefore to provide just such people, that is, neurotypical people, with precisely that opportunity: to witness, enjoy, appreciate, and celebrate autistic ability rather than identify, symptomatize, marginalize, and take pity on autistic disability. The child stars of the Artism Ensemble, together with their supporting cast of parents and professional musicians, make good and innovative music, make good culture and community, and make change. They do this through their compositions and arrangements, their improvisations, their concerts, and their public presentations of individual and collective selfhood. Change is achieved internally among the group’s members through our joint musicultural ventures and all that they reveal. It is achieved externally as we reach out to audiences through concerts in which Artism’s players, the children foremost of all, are applied to the cause of transforming public perceptions of autism from disability-centered to ability-centered ones, from recognition of a negating sort to recognition of the more affirming and celebratory kind.

A Critique of Artism from Members of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Community Revisions and edits aside, the majority of my foregoing description of the Artism Ensemble and its philosophy was written prior to the group’s Society for Disability Studies (SDS) Conference concert in Orlando on June 26, 2013. In the aftermath of that concert and still today, I stand by what I wrote in most every respect. However, an enlightening exchange that I had with several autistic self-advocates a couple of days

300   Michael B. Bakan after the show profoundly impacted my subsequent assessment of not just the concert itself, but also the project overall and possibilities for its improvement and development moving forward. This same exchange also heightened my appreciation for the challenges of doing applied ethnomusicology generally, since determining how and for whom such research is being put “to practical use” is inevitably a complex matter with high stakes attached. The Artism Ensemble concert at SDS 2013 was the group’s most ambitious and complex undertaking to that point. We had previously performed about a dozen concerts, ranging in setting from open-air arts festivals to large concert halls and from state museums to street fairs. We had never traveled beyond our home-base region of Tallahassee/ Leon County, however, and had certainly never experienced the kind of visibility that performing at the pre-eminent international conference on disability studies promised to provide. Any musician knows that taking a band on the road is challenging. There are myriad logistical details to attend to, from transportation and accommodations, to loading equipment in and out of the performance venue, to sound and lighting and other technical matters, to maintaining a collective spirit of camaraderie, patience, and enthusiasm. Take a band on the road in which the featured players are children, and beyond that children with the special sensitivities and proclivities associated with autism, and the venture’s complexity and possibilities for difficulty grow exponentially. Add to that the complicated audience dynamics of a body such as the Society for Disability Studies, in which most of the members are themselves disabled individuals collectively requiring a wide range of accommodations, and it is easy to imagine a situation in which any of a number—and indeed any number—of things might go wrong. Yet nothing did, or so it seemed. All six cars in our motley caravan made it through the labyrinth of toll booths, outlet malls, and theme park discount ticket outlets between Tallahassee and Orlando in good time and without a hitch. Our complimentary hotel rooms were nicely acquitted and ready and waiting for us upon arrival. The kids—and the adults, too—were in good spirits and very excited about the show. We had an excellent and efficient dress rehearsal, leaving us ample time for a leisurely dinner before the concert. Everyone on site—the sound and lighting technicians, our SDS host officers and volunteers, the interpreter team assigned to “translate” our concert into sign language (an amazing site to behold)—was as welcoming, competent, and accommodating as we could have hoped for. The concert itself was a great success. Our program consisted of five main selections, all composed or co-composed by the children in the group: “Steel Drum Madness,” by Coffeebot; “Life of Goodness,” by E. S.; “The Beat Song,” by E. S. with Carlos Silva; and “The Nightmare Before Christmas” (based on the poem and movie of the same name by Tim Burton) and “Purple Eggs and Ham,” by Mara (under the stage name “Mara-I-am” on the program). These were followed by a free improvisation, jam session performed as an encore, during which an open invitation was made to the audience to sit in with the band; several audience members came onstage and joined in on various available

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    301 percussion instruments while others (e.g., in wheelchairs) had instruments brought to them and participated from their seats. Each of the pieces came off well; all 12 members of the band expressed that this was probably the best concert we had ever done. The audience, about 150 strong, was receptive and enthusiastic. There was a special feeling in the room, perhaps issuing from the fact that this supportive community of scholars and disability rights advocates had an unprecedented depth of comprehension and appreciation for what we were doing. We received a standing ovation, and then there was the aforementioned post-concert Q&A session, which was so enlightening, and in which Mara in particular really shone. An evaluation questionnaire was distributed to audience members, per our standard protocol under the NEA grant. The responses were overwhelmingly positive. The concert was deemed “Excellent” (1) or “Very Good” (2) by 95% or more of the respondents on every question, and the free comments were almost uniformly enthusiastic. The only criticisms per se were that one respondent felt that “the music this band plays seems to heavily represent the higher end of the [autism] spectrum”18 and another found that a couple of the comments of one of the band members (i.e., an adult professional musician) seemed “awkward” and this audience member “didn’t care for” them. Otherwise, all respondents indicated that they had liked the music very much, had been inspired by the concert, had learned much of value regarding the abilities of autistic children, and so on. I had no specific feedback of which I was aware, however, from any autistic individuals who had attended the concert, and this, as much as anything, was something I had hoped might emerge. So two days later, during an open Q&A session following a fascinating conference panel titled “Intersectionalities in Autistic Culture(s): A Discussion Instigated by This Posse of Autistics and Friends” (Grace et al., 2013: 42), I took advantage of the opportunity to solicit feedback on our concert. “Were any of you at the Artism Ensemble concert the other night?” I asked. Several of the panelists, as well as a number of audience members, indicated they had been. “So I was wondering,” I continued, “you know, we’ve never had the opportunity to play for and get feedback from members of the autistic community, and I’d be really interested in hearing your honest assessment of the show.” One of the panelists, the autistic self-advocate Zachary (Zach) Richter, veritably leapt out of his seat to the center of the room. “Honestly,” he said, “well, I’m going to keep this polite, because you don’t want to hear the impolite version—”19 “That’s OK,” I  interjected. “Don’t spare my feelings. I  really want your honest opinions.” “Well, I’m going to keep it polite. It’s better to keep it polite. You know, I’ve seen you around the conference, Dr. Bakan”— “Please, call me Michael.” “No, I’ll call you Dr.  Bakan—and I  wanted to say something to you, but I  didn’t because I  didn’t want to be rude. But since you brought up the question, honestly, I found it offensive.”

302   Michael B. Bakan It was a stinging criticism, and of an intensity that quite frankly surprised me, but I managed to maintain my poise. “How so?” I asked, bracing myself for the response. Zach proceeded to present an incisive and thorough-going critique. Other panelists and audience members contributed occasional comments, too. These included the panel moderator, Professor Elizabeth J. Grace of National-Louis University, who is autistic, as well as another panelist, Allegra Stout, who is not autistic but is deeply involved in the autistic self-advocacy movement.20 It was a lively discussion, with expressions of unanimity of opinion on a number of issues, dissension on others. The following is my own summation of the main critical points raised, which I present with advance apologies for inevitable oversimplifications of a richly nuanced and impassioned exchange: • The concert, with its emphasis on percussion and amplified instruments, demonstrated a lack of sensitivity to the sensory challenges of many autistics. • My failure to instruct the audience to use “silent applause” (e.g., waving of hands overhead) rather than clapping to express their appreciation was another instance of inattentiveness to autistic sound sensitivities. • The absence of any autistic adults in the group—or even of consultation with autistic adult musicians in connection with the project—was deemed problematic for several reasons: • It deprived the children of the opportunity to have adult collaborators and mentors who, like themselves, were autistic. • It implicitly propagated the pervasive mythology that autism is a “children’s disease,” in turn playing into a common neurotypical tendency to infantilize autism in ways that sabotage autistic self-advocacy initiatives. • It inscribed and reinforced a pattern—real, illusory, or otherwise—of the agency of autistic children being constrained by the values and sensibilities of neurotypical adults (myself most especially). • The absence of explicit political activism and engagement in the manner of presentation diminished whatever potential may have existed for advocacy in support of autistic and broader disability rights causes.

The Scourge of “Autism Awareness” There was an additional criticism levied by Richter as well, one that did not pertain to the concert performance itself, but rather to an unfortunate item included on the audience questionnaire: In terms of promoting autism awareness, this concert was: (1) Excellent  (2) Very Good  (3) Good  (4) Fair  (5) Poor

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    303 “Why are you asking about autism awareness?” Richter inquired of me, a pained expression on his face. “That’s wrong. It should be about autism acceptance! Have you received funding from Autism Speaks? That’s what I  think, and I’m angry because SDS told us this was going to be a safe space for autistics, and then they bring in your group and the whole autism awareness thing, and it’s like an Autism Speaks agenda and that makes me—us—mad. I’ve talked to the conference organizers and told them this shouldn’t have happened, and I’ve blogged about it, too.” This was a nightmare unfolding. I felt defensive, under attack, and yet I could easily see how the chain of events leading up to this moment had resulted in its occurrence, and how from Richter’s perspective the charges being raised against me and the whole Artism enterprise were well-founded. A loud silence blanketed the room in anticipation of my response. “First, Zach, let me assure you, we have received no funding or support from Autism Speaks and have no affiliation whatsoever with that organization,” I began. “Second, I feel absolutely terrible. I didn’t know how offensive the phrase ‘autism awareness’ was until now, nor did I know the history behind it that contributed to making it so. You are 100% right, and as soon as I leave this session I’m going to remove that phrase from the questionnaire and free myself of any association with it in everything I write or say from now on. I want to do this thing right. I’m really sorry.” “We can help you with that,” Dr. Grace chimed in. “It’s easy. If you send me that questionnaire, I can go through and make edits to get rid of that kind of offensive language.” “Thanks. I’d really appreciate that, and I’m sorry for taking up so much of your discussion time on this topic.” “That’s OK,” she assured me, “but we do need to move on now.”

Addressing the Criticisms The feedback on the Orlando Artism concert that Zach Richter and his fellow autistic self-advocates provided has proven to be invaluable. It has inspired me to think about the Artism Music Project, and more broadly the applied ethnomusicology of autism, in new and challenging ways. Mainly, at this stage, it is making me think long and hard about what in Artism is currently working and what is not. What about the project should be retained, adapted, developed, and nurtured, and what should be tossed, expunged, or at least radically reconfigured? These are practical questions, not theoretical ones. They address applied ethnomusicology concerns, not intellectual abstractions. And yet, as applied ethnomusicology endeavors consistently teach us, there is no dividing line between the practical and the theoretical, the applied and the intellectual. They always inform and penetrate one another, for every practical decision both reflects the conceptual apparatus involved in its making and affects the conceptual horizons that emerge in its wake.

304   Michael B. Bakan If we are to endeavor to improve Artism, our best first step is to respond directly, dispassionately, and honestly to the criticisms that have been directed toward it by autistic self-advocates. The following is at least a preliminary effort to do precisely that: • Criticism: Failure to accommodate the sensory challenges of many autistics, especially their sensitivity to loud sounds. • This must be addressed, both within the group itself and in our mode of public performance. Mara has on a few occasions said that the tendency toward loud playing in the group, especially in the compositions of the two boys, Coffeebot and NICKstr, sometimes overwhelms her. There have been occasions when she has become distressed in rehearsals that now, in retrospect, I would attribute to her discomfort at the sheer loudness of the environment. E. S. does not speak verbally about sensitivity to sounds, but she does often cover her ears during rehearsals, which may—or may not—signal that she is experiencing discomfort or displeasure due to loudness.21 The challenge here is that the two boys in the group love to play loud, sometimes really loud, and the philosophy of letting the child lead, especially in their own pieces, creates a dilemma as to whether they should be free to express themselves as they choose or should be reined in (and if the latter, by whom). In the end, however, we will probably do best to heed the advice of Jim Sinclair, who advocates for community norms that protect members with sensitivities from overstimulation (Sinclair, 2012 [2005]: 43). We can all learn to play more softly without ultimate compromise to our expressive potential, and this will need to be a goal for the ensemble in the future, for the sake of certain of its members as well as prospective audience members with heightened sensitivities to sound. • Criticism: Failure to instruct the audience to use “silent applause” rather than clapping during the performance. • This deserves prompt attention. Encouraging future audiences to adopt the practice of applauding silently rather than clapping, which is standard practice at autistic gatherings such as Autreat, will enable us to avoid disturbing autistic or otherwise sound-sensitive audience members. It will additionally provide a great teaching moment on neurodiverse practices and values for our other concert attendees. • Criticism: Absence of adult autistic musicians in the ensemble. • This, too, warrants an active response. If we claim to be a neurodiverse ensemble and to model neurodiversity by way of example, we need to raise the stakes of what is meant by such claims. We have to open ensemble membership not to just autistic adult musicians, but also to autistic “non-musicians” and neurotypical children. The present demographic of the ensemble is too categorical: autistic children, neurotypical adults. It is no wonder that autistic self-advocates would take issue with this arrangement, and it is imperative that this structure be remedied.

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    305 • Criticism: It appears that the children are not really the composers of the pieces credited to them. • This is a complex issue. I can attest to the fact that the children have a great deal of autonomy in conceptualizing, exploring, making manifest, and shaping their own musical ideas on their own terms within the Artism context. That said, this is an improvisation-driven ensemble, and the collective improvisation process inevitably involves significant “co-creation” on the part of other members of the group. The staff musicians, being the experienced and professional players they are, have the capacity to strongly influence the music’s direction as it emerges in the course of improvisation, whether intentionally or not. Moreover, since they are often the main (though not only) players of melodic and harmonic instruments, their impact on the shape and development of the children’s compositions can be great. My overall impression has been that the children tend to appreciate and value these musical contributions of their adult collaborators; indeed, they have often stated this to be the case. Moreover, they are generally not averse to speaking (or otherwise communicating) their displeasure when they do not approve of where their music is being taken by the staff musicians. I believe that on this level we are actually doing quite well (though we can always do better) and that the issue here may be more one of impression than reality.22 • Criticism:  Absence of political activism in the concert diminished its advocacy potential. • While I appreciate and respect this charge, I do not necessarily agree with it. It is my belief that the strongest “political” statement the Artism Ensemble can make on behalf of autistic advocacy, agency, and self-determination is the one that keeps the music in the foreground first, last, and foremost. Play is important, joy is important, shared endeavor is important, and music is important. If autistic and non-autistic people can share in the pleasurable co-creation of culture and music together through a project like Artism, and if other people get to share in that experience as well, whether as listeners or co-participants, then everyone benefits, consciousness is raised, mutual acceptance is cultivated, and good work is done. Sometimes, an absence of explicit political activism is to the advantage rather than the detriment of effective advocacy. Artism performances would seem to hold that potential, though different performance contexts will surely influence whether or not that is the case in the future.

Mara Speaks (Again) Back to Mara, who is once again spinning in her favorite chair. “. . . and of course the Autism Ensemble [sic] is not a cure,” she tells me. “I don’t treat it like a cure, because it isn’t, and if you call it a cure I will disagree with you. It’s simply the kind of way you can

306   Michael B. Bakan calm down and, you know, help with the bad parts of autism without restricting the good parts.” I ask her what she means by that. “Well, what I mean is, a lot of famous people were autistic or Asperger’s or something,” she explains. “[My] Mom tells us that people like Einstein and Marie Curie and a bunch of other famous people had it. Mom tells me that a lot of people who have autism and Asperger’s can be more creative and insightful than other people, insightful in a way, you know, where they’ve experienced a lot of the emotions that they’re either writing about in stories, or plays, or poems; because a lot of people who have autism can swing between different emotions really quickly. I’m like that. Someone will just say one word and I become like a stereotyped emo. (Once again, if you haven’t heard it before, an emo is one of those really sad, dark people. I just go around telling people ‘Life is pointless’ when I’m like that.) Of course, the bad parts in my situation are that when I get angry, I get ANGRY!! I mean, like, yelling, slamming-door angry. Of course, I never get physical angry. I don’t punch or hit or bite, though I have bitten someone, but that was in third grade. What I meant by helping with the bad parts but not restricting the good parts is that Artism kind of helps with my anger issues without restricting my creativity, and that’s all I got to say.” “Well, OK,” I say, pausing and trying to figure out a way to get Mara to expand on that topic just a bit more. “I know we’ve been at this for a while, but can you just tell me a little bit more about how that works?” “It’s the fact that I’m allowed to bang on drums for a while—and any instrument I want (as long as I don’t break it or it’s not meant to be banged)—without anybody telling me I’m supposed to do it this way, or I’m supposed to do it that way, or I’m supposed to put this there or that THERE, or I’m doing it wrong.” “Is that the most important one,” I ask, “the one about not being told you’re doing it wrong?” “Yeah.” “Why is that so important, not to be told you’re doing it wrong?” “Because I’m told that every day. I want a break from it!” She laughs. “Spinny chairs! . . . It’s just nice being there with other people without them telling me what to do, or just jabbering about all the things they can do that I can’t… .” “If Artism continues next year and you stay in the group,” I now ask Mara, shifting gears so as to test out some of Zach Richter’s proposals for the group’s future development, “what would you think about having an adult musician with autism join the band?” “That would be good actually; it sounds pretty cool. I’d like that.” Mara pauses and redirects her attention. “I like spinny chairs, paper clips, wolves, and a bunch of other things.” “What do you think it would add?” “It would add to themselves and to us. It would be cool seeing an adult with autism in the group instead of just kids with autism. And the autistic adult would be happy to see so many autistic kids being happy too.”

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    307 “Are you an autistic kid or a kid with autism?” “It doesn’t matter. It’s like asking a zebra, ‘Are you black with white stripes or white with black stripes?’ ” “Would it be good to have kids who weren’t autistic in the group as well?” “What do you mean?” Mara asks, looking perplexed, as though the question doesn’t even make sense. “Well, why not?!” she finally exclaims. “Does it matter? I mean, just because it’s called the Artism Ensemble doesn’t mean we only have to have autistic kids in there.” “Did it ever bother you that that was the way it was?” “No, not really. We’re all just kids in the end. I mean, that’s the whole point. We’re all just kids in the end. Who friggin’ cares whether we’re autistic or not? Why does it matter?”

Concluding Thoughts Mara is wise beyond her years. Her ideas and insights cut to the core of many current autism and neurodiversity issues and debates. “Who says autism is a bad thing?” she asks rhetorically. The answer is that a great many people do, indeed the vast majority. Yet Mara, along with autistic self-advocates such as Bascom, Walker, Sinclair, Ne’eman, Winter, Richter, and Grace, begs to differ: autism is not a bad thing, it’s just a thing—a difference, not a deficit; a culture, not a disorder. There “is no cure [for autism]. There really isn’t. It’s just there, wound into your personality,” Mara tells us unequivocally, again echoing the convictions of most autistic self-advocates. No wonder these people decry the extraordinary amount of time, effort, expertise, and expenditure being poured into autism research and interventions aimed at their ostensible normalization, remediation, and cure, into what they equate with efforts at their erasure from a society that does not value or want them, as they are and for whom they are. “Who friggin’ cares whether we’re autistic or not? Why does it matter?” Mara challenges us to wonder. Why indeed, for if the neurotypical majority could learn to better listen and respond to the autistic neurominority, to attend to what autistic people say they need and want, rather than assuming to know what’s best for them, true neurodiversity would become a real possibility. Then whether you’re autistic or not wouldn’t have to matter so much, or it would matter in different, more productive ways. Working together, we can collectively forge a path away from stigma, exclusion, and disenfranchisement, and toward acceptance, inclusion, empowerment, and agency for all. “It’s just nice being… with other people without them telling me what to do, or just jabbering about all the things they can do that I can’t.” Poignant words again from Mara, and words that are hardly exclusive to autistic people; the relevance of such sentiments is arguably universal. Does it not behoove all of us to create, nurture, and sustain

308   Michael B. Bakan environments in which being together with others in this way can be expected, counted on, and assumed, whether you happen to be black or white, Muslim or Christian, autistic or neurotypical? Awareness is not enough; acceptance is the necessary but not sufficient condition for getting us to where we need to be. Music provides a powerful vehicle for asserting and reifying the qualities of human dignity, inclusion, acceptance, and neurodiversity that Mara, along with an ever growing chorus of autistic self-advocates, champions of disability rights, and activist scholars across multiple disciplines, are promoting. Ethnomusicology, with its moorings in ethnography and musical co-participation, offers a productive theoretical foundation from which to move forward. Applied ethnomusicology, with its emphasis on putting ethnomusicological research to practical use, sets the merging of productive musical practice, ethnographic epistemology, and social activism in motion. An emergent ethnomusicology of autism is thus an arena of great potential, whether in its possibilities for exploring new horizons of musical sociality and agency, expanding the horizons of ethnographic possibility, or serving the interests of autistic self-advocacy, disability rights, and neurodiversity. The path is not an easy one. Missteps and pitfalls are inevitable: the prospect of garnering resentment from the very people on whose behalf we presume ourselves to be working is real and palpable; the kinds of understandings we develop, programs we enact, and messages we send may well play into the hands of makers of agendas and images we aim to combat. Indeed, abundant opportunities exist to make things worse rather than better, regardless of our intentions. We may stumble, as I did at the Society for Disability Studies conference. We may propagate the very essentialisms we abhor, for example, in the aftermath of an Artism concert in 2012, when I overheard a departing audience member saying something to the effect of, “Oh, wasn’t that special; it’s so nice that those autistic kids get to do something fun with music since they surely couldn’t play in a real band or orchestra.” “No one would claim perfection” in such work, Jeff Todd Titon presciently warned in 1992, since “action is risky, and sometimes one makes mistakes; but consider the alternative, non-action” (Titon, 1992: 320). Indeed, the stakes of taking action are high, but the consequences of not taking action are higher still. The risks are always there, but they are more often than not worth taking, so long as we approach our endeavors judiciously, intelligently, in a well-informed manner, and with compassion and vision. Most important, we must learn to listen and to listen well, even to those who may find it hard to communicate with us in ways that we can readily understand. That is a challenge that should not be beyond us. We are, after all, musicians, and ethnomusicologists; it’s what we do.

Notes 1. For alternate definitions and substantive discussions of related issues in applied ethnomusicology, see also Titon (1992), Sheehy (1992), Alviso (2003), Harrison, Pettan, and Mackinlay, eds. (2010), and Harrison (2012).

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    309 2. All of the participating children and families in Artism were formerly participants in the ensemble’s progenitor, the Music-Play Project, or MPP, as well. They were originally recruited for MPP through the client registry of the Center for Autism and Related Disabilities (CARD) at Florida State University and became involved with Artism when I put out an open call to MPP alumni in 2009 regarding this new, related project. 3. The intersectionality of autistic and child identities in the Artism Ensemble is not addressed explicitly in this chapter for reasons of space and scope. Exploring such intersectionality is of great potential significance, however. Ethnomusicologically oriented, ethnography-informed approaches to the study of children’s musical cultures, as exemplified, for example, in publications by Campbell (2010), Marsh (2008), and Gaunt (2006), offer valuable models and possibilities relative to future projects and studies on the musical lives of autistic children. 4. There is continuing debate on the relative pros and cons of using person-first language in discourses on autism. As Elizabeth Fein notes, “In many disability contexts and communities, using ‘person-first language’ (i.e. Steve is a person with autism) is considered to be more respectful than using language that characterizes that person according to their condition (i.e. Steve is autistic or Steve is an autistic). However, in the autism world, this formulation of the relationship between person and condition is not so straightforward. Many in the autistic self-advocacy community have voiced a strong preference against person-first language, arguing that autism is not, in fact, separate from themselves in the way such language implies. . . . [I]‌n the absence of a single good answer to the thorny question of respectful language,” Fein states, “I have chosen to use both of these formulations and alternate between them as seems appropriate for the context. Whenever possible, I follow the preferences of the person to or about whom I am speaking” (Fein, 2012: ix). I adopt a similar approach here. 5. For a range of approaches in music therapy, see Nordoff and Robbins (1977), Bruscia (1987), Clarkson (1994), Edgerton (1994), Ruud (1998), Aigen (2002), Stige (2002), Kern (2004), Pavlicevic and Ansdell (2004), Whipple (2004), Walworth (2007), Gold (2011), Reschke-Hernández (2011), and Simpson and Keen (2011). 6. This definition of “therapy” is from Oxford Dictionaries online: http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/english/therapy (accessed May 28, 2014). 7. On medical ethnomusicology, see also Barz (2006), Koen (2009), Allison (2010), Van Buren (2010), and Barz and Cohen (2011). Of related significance are Roseman (1991) and Friedson (1996, 2009). 8. “Mark” is a pseudonym, as are the identifying names used in this chapter for all child participants in the Artism Music Project with the exception of Mara Chasar. Both Mara and her parents specifically requested that she be identified by her real name in this and other publications related to this research. 9. In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edition (i.e., DSM-5) (American Psychiatric Association, 2013), the various separate “disorders” of the autism spectrum, including Asperger’s syndrome (Asperger disorder), have essentially been collapsed into a single diagnostic category of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). 10. As for Mark himself, he recently told me that me he has no recollection of the events of that evening and explained that “[i]‌t’s actually not that big of a deal to me, because I’m not that into music now anyhow” (personal communication, August 2, 2013). 11. The original 2011 grant and two renewals of it (2012, 2013) were federally funded by the National Endowment for the Arts and administered by the Florida Department of

310   Michael B. Bakan State’s Division of Cultural Affairs. Additional sponsorship of Artism has come from the Florida Council on the Arts and Culture, Remo Inc., the Council on Culture and Arts for Tallahassee/Leon County (COCA), Temple Israel (Tallahassee), the Society for Disability Studies, the Tallahassee Youth Orchestras, and the Florida State University’s College of Music, College of Medicine, Center for Autism and Related Disabilities, and Autism Institute. 12. See note 9 above regarding how what were formerly recognized as multiple “disorders” of the autism spectrum have been collapsed into the single diagnostic category of ASD in DSM-5. 13. The anthropological study of autism is a growing field in which significant contributions are being made to epistemological and methodological transformations of autism research and discourse. See also Ochs et al. (2004), Grinker (2007, 2010), Solomon (2010b), Prince (2010), Sirota (2010), Sterponi and Fasulo (2010), Bagatell (2010), Solomon and Bagatell (2010), Brezis (2012), and Fein (2012). 14. Loud Hands: Autistic People, Speaking (2012) is an important recent addition to the growing corpus of published works addressing issues of autism and living with ASD that have been authored or co-authored by autistic people. See also Williams (1992), Lawson (2000), Shore (2003) (of additional interest on account of the author’s professional status as a musician and music educator), Miller (2003), Prince-Hughes (2004), Biklen (2005), Ariel and Naseef (2006), Tammet (2007), Robison (2007), and Mukhopadhyay (2011 [2008]), among others. Numerous documentary films, blogs, websites, and other media also contribute to the increasingly prominent presence of autistic voices in ASD discourses. 15. Straus’s work intersects disability studies, music theory, and musicology. He is central to a cohort of scholars currently working in these areas. Representative works in the emergent literature on music and disability that engage autism-related subjects include Straus’s book Extraordinary Measures: Disability in Music (2011) and his co-edited volume (with Neil Lerner) Sounding Off: Theorizing Disability in Music (Lerner and Straus, 2006). That volume includes autism-related chapters by Headlam (2006), Jensen-Moulton (2006), and Maloney (2006). Of related interest, see Lubet (2011) and Marrero (2012). Of more general relevance to the epistemological orientations and practical ramifications of different models of disability in disability studies (e.g., medical, social), see Davis (2013a, 2013b, 2013c), Shakespeare (2013), Siebers (2013), Garland-Thomson (1997, 2013), Rioux (1994), Titchkosky (2007), Carlson (2009), Ralston and Ho (2010), and Silvers (2010); on autism specifically, see Nadesan (2005), Murray (2008), and Osteen (2008). 16. There is, of course, an inherent flaw in this comparative analogy. Balinese musicians were doing what they do long before I arrived in Bali as an ethnomusicologist in the 1980s, whereas the children in the Artism Ensemble did not know each other, let alone become co-creators of their own musicultural world, until after the program and the E-WoMP were created. I, in collaboration with other non-autistic adults, came up with the idea of the project, made the E-WoMP, and implemented Artism. Therefore, I  may rightly be accused of having essentially created the ethnographic field site that I now visit and research. While recognizing that there is some irony in this situation, ethnographically speaking, I hold to the conviction that a large measure of “ownership” of the E-WoMP space, and of Artism’s musical and social processes and priorities overall, has been claimed and maintained by the children in the group. 17. “Joobai I,” by E. S., may be accessed at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ZVHiDQJLLo; “Steel Percussion,” by NICKstr, at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjkrjHf_cSI. Both

Being Applied in the Ethnomusicology of Autism    311 performances were recorded during a concert at the Florida State University Museum of Fine Arts in the spring of 2013. A rehearsal video of “Purple Eggs and Ham,” by Mara, may be accessed at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CltqzvA96-E. Note that this video commences with an incomplete take. The full performance starts 40 seconds in, immediately after the point at which one of the children (Coffeebot) is heard saying “Take two.” 18. This is a valid observation. Three of the four children who performed in the concert had diagnoses of Asperger’s syndrome or high-functioning autism (HFA), and this was a major factor in the group’s approach and profile on multiple levels. It is perhaps worth noting, however, that in the Music-Play Project, which enrolled more than 30 children in its programs from 2005 to 2009, the span of different ability and diagnostic profiles along the continuum of the autism spectrum was much larger than it has been in Artism. Several of the participating children in MPP were essentially nonspeaking individuals, for example. 19. This is not an exact transcript of the conversation. My reconstruction effort here is based on notes I took during the panel, journaling I did in its immediate aftermath, and memory-based recollections. I apologize and take full responsibility for any inaccuracies or misrepresentations. 20. I am grateful to Allegra Stout for consulting with me on the present work and for recommending the book Loud Hands, which has profoundly affected my perspectives on autism. 21. Since E. S. also frequently covers her ears in other settings, including quiet ones, it is difficult to determine whether this is a sound sensitivity–related matter in her case. This has been an ongoing topic of discussion with her parents and has been explored by the ethnomusicologist Elyse Marrero in her Master’s thesis, which focuses on E. S. and her music (Marrero, 2012). 22. I hasten to add, however, that my Artism staff colleague Michelle Jones takes a more critical stance on this matter than I do. She contends that there is a tendency for the staff musicians to “dominate” the course of musical development at times. She also notes that the current arrangement, wherein melodic and harmonic instruments are principally the province of the staff musicians while the children (and parents) mainly play percussion, creates an “imbalance of power” that favors the adult players with professional musical experience.

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Chapter 9

Mot ivations and Met h od s f or Enc ourag i ng A rt i sts in L onger Tr a di t i ons Brian Schrag

. . . I would so far hardly agree that the widely feared greying-out of musical diversity is actually taking place. . . . It’s hard to overstate the harm done to most of the world’s peoples by colonialism, capitalism, and globalization, but difficult to make a case for a pejorative evaluation of the musical results. The musical experience of the average individual is much broader today than in the past. The hybrids and mixes resulting from intercultural contact could be interpreted as enrichment as easily as pollution, and old traditions as a class have not simply disappeared. Bruno Nettl (2005: 434)

Nettl here deftly attempts to remove one of the most galvanizing burrs under the saddles of ethnomusicology’s founders: the specter of global musical homogenization. Alexander Ellis validated non-European musical scales (1885), von Hornbostel and others created archives of recordings of non-European musics at the turn of the twentieth century (Koch et al., 2004), and Frances Densmore documented the musics of North American ethnolinguistic communities (1927). Jacob Gruber described these activities as salvaging as many bits of local communities left in colonialism’s wake as possible (1970), and Alan Lomax visualized humanity’s likely musical future as grey (1968). Ethnomusicology’s pre- and early history resonated with an urgency to act in the face of inevitable loss. Anthropologists, ethnomusicologists, and others have since eschewed this simplistic conceptual framework: colonialism and neocolonialism inexorably lead to the impoverishment of the centuries-old expressive culture of minoritized communities. Rather, we increasingly recognize the hugely complex interactions constantly occurring between Earth’s seven billion individuals, their communities, sub-communities,

318   Brian Schrag and supra-communities; governmental, commercial, environmental, communicational infrastructures; and other factors we have yet to imagine. We celebrate the sparks, the glitter that results from colliding cultures (Lipsitz, 1999). We acknowledge the complex histories and natural loss behind the illusions of cultural stability (Wade, 2012). In addition, we realize that communities are not passive receptors of every sign and system they encounter: “Central Africans in suits, Indonesian soap operas, and South Asian brands are no longer inauthentic copies by people who have lost their culture after being swamped by things that only North Americans and Europeans should possess. Rather there is the equality of genuine relativism that makes none of us a model of real consumption and all of us creative variants of social processes based around the possession and use of commodities” (Miller, 1995: 144). Whence, then, come the burgeoning number of art forms populating UNESCO’s List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding (unesco.org/culture/ich)? Why have the Queensland Conservatorium Research Centre and partners invested five years and considerable financial resources in the Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures project, dedicated to the encouragement of endangered “small musics” (www.imc-cim.org/programme/development-and-music)? And why do many of the people I—and, perhaps, you—know in minority ethnolinguistic communities lament the loss of their traditional laments? I readily acknowledge the labyrinthian nature of human creativity that our explorations unveil. I contend, however, that the maze is neither infinitely complex nor without metanarrative guidance. Individuals at the beginning of the twenty-first century do in fact experience more kinds of artistry than they did a century earlier. However, these “hybrids and mixes resulting from intercultural contact” constitute a rapidly growing percentage of human experience, masking processes of artistic and social change that result in experiential, social, and intellectual impoverishment. Tony Seeger attributes the loss of small traditions to an uneven playing field, one in which majority groups, missionaries, copyright legislation, and other systemic factors “disappear” them (Schippers, 2009). We need not think in terms of contamination or enrichment. Rather, certain kinds of artistic traditions suffer from identifiable social and environmental changes: motivated by government promotion, lure of financial gain, war, or environmental catastrophes, children and families move from ethnolinguistically centered communities to cities composed of individuals connected by myriad identities. Such migration often results in loss of materials, skills, knowledge, and anchoring domains of use, thereby thwarting our progress toward a world marked by profoundly diverse artistic forms, each thriving and changing. Ethnomusicologists and others fascinated by surprising artistry in its social contexts are uniquely suited to influence this situation for the better. In this chapter, I  first lay out conceptual groundwork that enables arts-in-culture scholars to enter most productively into local, national, and international efforts to increase local artistic thriving. This entails avoiding esoterica and anchoring our research and communication in widely accessible categories related to experienced events. Second, I explore how framing artistic activity in terms of its degree of liminality

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    319 moves us toward a deeper understanding of a global arts ecology. Third, I assess the health of artistic forms of communication in minority ethnolinguistic communities. Fourth and finally, I describe practical tools we can use as communities work toward more lively artistic futures.

Foundational Concepts In this section, I describe the need for shared, widely accessible vocabulary in describing artistic traditions, and then outline a small set of such concepts. This foundation flows from prototype theory and from event-based approaches common to ethnomusicologists and anthropologists.

Return to Coherence Ethnomusicologists are not usually trained to count things. Linguists count languages, biologists count species, sociologists count opinions, international nongovernmental organizations (INGOs) count displaced people, but ethnomusicologists don’t have a comparable basic unit of analysis. Except for rhythmic or harmonic divisions within musical pieces, we embrace the caprices of communal choice and form, resisting the urge to define an artist or performance as “this and not that.” After an exceptional education in ethnomusicology, I had to teach myself how to create, administer, and analyze the questionnaires supporting my PhD research in Cameroon (Schrag 2005). Though not uniformly or categorically (see Titon, 1997), we have eschewed Merriam’s early positivist goal of “sciencing about music” (1964: 25). The benefits of our view of research as purposeful dialogue with other humans, rather than observations of data containers, are enormous: We ground our ethics in human relationships by acknowledging individual and corporate agency, the transformative potential of artists and their arts, and the multivalence of people’s identities. We avoid imposing the kinds of stereotypes that Jean Kidula—Kenyan PhD in ethnomusicology—encountered when her students at the University of Georgia learned that she was an accomplished classical piano player: “You play keyboard? Oh my God! You are an African.” Kidula responds that it’s “sad that people try to push you into this box because an African should do this. Or because you’re Italian you should only study that Italian stuff. [A]‌s a musician, you already know that. So what happens is, you get into other music because it makes… you start incorporating it into your own being” (Schrag, 2000). When we want to contribute to broader conversations of human rights or influence government or community policy, however, we are left without the persuasive data of proportional loss that counting can reveal. Nettl doesn’t know that “the musical experience of the average individual is much broader today than in the past.” It seems like it

320   Brian Schrag must be true, given our own experiences and the demonstrably pervasive reach of electronic communication. But we don’t really know what’s going on. In order to increase our engagement with people who identify with ethnolinguistic minorities, I propose that we refocus our attention on artistic practices and ideas that have coalesced into identifiable entities. There are individuals who experience commonality with other individuals around the idea and practices of an ethnolinguistic construction. The International Organization for Standardization has designated SIL International’s Ethnologue (www.ethnologue.com) as the authority in identifying human languages (ISO 639-3 standard); it lists over 7,100 living languages, each of which serves as an identity marker for a group. People who speak the Mono language and live (or have lived) in one of several areas in northwestern Democratic Republic of Congo, for example, think of themselves as amono—Mono people. Ngiemboon speakers in West Cameroon assume enormous amounts of common knowledge, experience, and values with each other. None of these people groups is internally totally homogeneous, completely discrete, or represents its members’ sole identity. But myriad communities connected by ethnolinguistic identity exist, and their interactions commonly include artistic forms of communication as well. Even more to the point, communities based on ease and predictability of communication usually betoken a long history of common language use, and thus draw on multigenerational traditions. To avoid the dangers of essentializing that ethnolinguistic and artistic labels sometimes generate, I ground my analytical categories in protoype theory. First proposed by Eleanor Rosch in the 1970s (see Rosch, 1977), prototype theory provided a framework for the development of Cognitive Linguistics, which pictures cognition as an amalgamation of features of varying importance. This system of graded categorization evaluates how well a given term coheres with a concept under review. In North America, English speakers identify robin more frequently and quickly as a kind of bird than they do ostrich; a robin is a better example of a bird—a prototype—than an ostrich because robins have more of the popularly conceived important characteristics of birds (Taylor, 2008:  39–42). Researchers have explained how humans from a variety of communities in the world impute order and meaning to their musical sounds based on cognitive marking and neural processes (see Peretz and Zatorre, 2003). Cognitive anthropologists apply experimental psychology and other methods to explain patterns of shared knowledge (see Kronenfeld et al., 2011). I approach every definition in this chapter as a tool to reveal local concepts that refer to prototypical elements of the arts and art making. They are centered, malleable, and porous starting points, rather than strictly and minutely delimited Aristotelian categories (see Lakoff 1999, 1987). This means, for example, that I don’t try to define a particular community as consisting only and all of the people who share a closed set of features. Rather, prototype construction leads researchers to identify members of a community by a changing set of features, some of which are more important than others; the language(s) someone speaks and her parents’ birthplace, for example, may carry more weight than her manner of dress. This means also that my approach favors the discovery of commonalities, shared concepts within a community. Many ethnolinguistic

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    321 communities are experiencing stress; emphasizing the stable, older elements of their artistry is more likely to lead toward continuity.

Analytical Categories I have chosen categories and their definitions that flow directly from common ethnomusicological thought and practice, with organic extensions, and the capacity to be viewed through prototype theory: communities, events, artistic genres, genre enactments, and genre enactors. A community is any group of people that shares a story, identity, ongoing patterns of interaction, and that is constantly in flux. Examples include groups that share a strong ethnolinguistic identity, clubs of all kinds, families, dance associations, exercise groups, religious centers, and others. Artistry is a special kind of communication, marked by greater emphasis on manipulating form than the communication used in everyday interactions. Poetic speech may rely on patterns of sound and thought, such as rhyme, assonance, and metaphor, that a simple exchange of information will not. Circling a drum while repeating a sequence of foot movements relies on form more heavily than simply walking from one place to another. Adopting the facial expressions of a mythical character draws on form to communicate more than allowing a person’s face to remain at rest. Artistry may mark events as separate from everyday activities, may touch cognitive, experiential, and emotional ways of knowing, and may contract or expand the information contained in a message. In addition, artistry often reveals its uniqueness as a bounded sphere of interaction. Artistic events have beginnings and endings (no matter how fluid), between which people interact in unusually patterned ways. Ruth Stone describes artistic events as “set off and made distinct from the natural world of everyday life by the participants” (1979: 37). Artistic events occur in space and time and include artistry; such events are normally associated with one or more communities. An event is something that occurs in a particular place and time, is related to larger sociocultural patterns of a community, and is divisible into shorter time segments. Communities have types of events that include social expectations and patterns. Examples of events include festivals, birthday parties, rites of passage, watching and listening to a music video on an electronic device, studying a museum painting, a mother instructing her daughter with a proverb, and others. An artistic event contains at least one enactment of a genre. An artistic genre—which I often shorten to genre in this chapter—is a community’s category of artistic communication characterized by a unique set of formal characteristics, performance practices, and social meanings. My rough method of assessing whether an artistic practice constitutes a genre is that it must be at least two generations old, and community members must be able to create within the system. An important internal characteristic is the level of variation supported by a genre. Examples of genre include olonkho (Siberia), Broadway musical (New  York City), kanoon (Cameroon), huayno (Peru), haiku (Japan), Delta Blues (Southern United States), and qawwali (South Asia).

322   Brian Schrag An enactment is an instantiation of an artistic genre during an event, or artistry that people produce through a genre’s patterns and practices (see Kisliuk, 1998: 12). Enactors communicate through an artistic genre. These people are human beings with multiple roles, competencies, knowledge sets, skills, histories, and identities. Thinking this way has implications for evaluating the health of any kind of artistry. First, events may contain enactments of more than one genre. A commemoration of the death and life of a Bamiléké (Cameroon) king may last a month—one event with many sub-events. During this time, performers from other kingdoms visit to pay their respects, usually including performances of one or more genres, each with unique combinations of music, dance, drama, and visual elements. Second, events are normally longer than enactments of a genre. At a wedding, for example, you may perform a solo from a love song genre. Enactment of the love song genre is just one part of a larger event that includes rituals and other elements. Third, enactments of genres may be found in more than one kind of event. Certain kinds of acrobatic feats, for example, may appear both in circuses and gymnastic competitions. Fourth, many events entail strong expectations of what kinds of genres they can include. For example, an Orthodox icon might jolt worshippers in a Baptist sanctuary. There may be an inflexible association between a certain type of event and a certain genre, or participants in an event may have the freedom to switch out elements from different genres. Finally, genres and events are always changing. Old ones die, new ones are born, creative people innovate. Genres like soukous in 1960s Congo have multiple origins, wrapped in unique combinations of features; such fusions are common.

Integral and Liminal Genre Enactments In April 2012, I attended a performance entitled “From the Arctic to the Middle East (Broken Narratives by an American Flamenco Dancer)” presented by the Clinard Dance Theatre in Chicago. My niece, Marisela Tapia, performed in this work, which was collaboratively created by Wendy Clinard and her students. Wendy is an accomplished performer and teacher of flamenco, and Marisela had built solid foundations through several years of involvement in the tradition. I expected to experience a performance that felt like the few other flamenco events I had seen and heard, but was surprised by my inability to frame it. Critic Zack Wittenberg (2012, TimeOut Chicago) described “From the Arctic to the Middle East” as a “. . . joining of classical Spanish, Andalusian folkloric and current American techniques. . .” that “. . . spoke to broader cross-cultural themes… .” After the performance, Marisela, her father Andrés, and I  discussed the audience response to this modern/flamenco/classical Spanish fusion: palpably positive, marked by focused attention and spirited applause. I wondered, however, whether an audience that knows flamenco well would respond differently to a performance that had more of

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    323 the characteristics typical of a fuller, older flamenco tradition. As I learned more about flamenco’s history, sub-genres, and performance practices, I found examples of performances that entail many more people participating in more energetic and historically forged ways: shouts of ole and eso es at strategic moments, or the expectation of entering into the heightened state of duende (Webster, 2004).

Definitions These experiences led me to hypothesize two broad enactment categories, based on the number and importance of their characteristics flowing from a genre. I call enactments with deep, wide-ranging relationships to a genre integral, and others, liminal. Integral enactments are profoundly familiar to performers and exhibit a congeries of components characteristic of their normal social and artistic infrastructure, sufficient to cohere as an iteration of a genre. Another way of describing integral performances may be as those most coincident with the participants’ community’s structuring structures (Bourdieu, 1977). Liminal enactments, in contrast, do not comprise features sufficient to fully express a genre. Experiencers recognize certain elements, but lack an emergent frame to guide their expectations and engagement. Arnold van Gennep and Victor Turner developed the concept of liminality to explain rituals’ capacity to usher someone from one identity to another (1960 and 1967, respectively). Though I here draw on liminality’s more popular sense of being-in-transition, anthropologists’ technical use provides some insights. For example, the period of resymbolization between two identities in a ritual allows social fluidity and experimentation not condoned on either side of the transformation. Liminal enactments of artistic genres also often entail unusual levels of risk-taking.

Sussing Out Liminality and Integrality To explore liminality’s usefulness as an analytical tool, we need to compare several pairs of integral/liminal enactments of a single genre. Two primary approaches exist. First, we could describe two genre enactments from different points in its history: one from a period of historical health of the genre, and one from a period of weakness. A less longitudinal solution entails description of two genre enactments from the same time period: one whose performance allows or encourages more integrality, and one whose context results in liminality. In this section, I  place our discussion of artistic genres in the context of their historical geneses. Then I present an extended example of two closely related enactments of a single genre, the two differing primarily on their degrees of liminality. Finally, I isolate features that illustrate contrasts between liminal and integral enactments, drawing on other examples in the process.

324   Brian Schrag

Rock Enactments I attended the Rock of Our Salvation Evangelical Free Church in Chicago’s Austin neighborhood regularly from 1987 to 1990, with frequent subsequent visits. This predominantly African-American church became my family’s spiritual home, and I became an informal apprentice of the choir director and keyboard player, Paul Grant and Charles Butler, respectively. At that time, my musical training and experience had mostly been in eurogenic traditions, so I needed to learn a number of black gospel church performance characteristics. These skills and knowledge included melodic and verbal improvisational techniques, modifications of vocal timbre, patterns of congregation/choir/soloist interaction, repertoire, common verbal couplets, and shared worship expectations and experiences, among others. When Paul Grant chose Andraé Crouch’s “The Blood” as my first solo with the choir in the late 1980s, I integrated most of these characteristics through Paul’s oral instruction and my imitation of others. The congregation responded with vocal and bodily animation, especially when I added melodic ornaments: “You’ve got the Spirit now!” The event dynamic, however, remained primarily one of separation between the performers and the audience. I discovered a deeper step into the genre during a visit to Chicago in 2011, when friends at the Rock asked me to sing “The Blood” again with the choir. Because by that time I had become more confident in my performance abilities and in the solidity of my relationships with the congregation, when I came to the end of the final chorus, I decided to improvise more freely, repeating phrases in counterpoint with the instrumentalists in ways that lengthened the song. The instrumentalists, director, choir, congregation, and I entered into a heightened communication mode. We focused intently on each others’ visual, kinesic, verbal, melodic, and harmonic cues to shape the rest of the enactment. Members of the congregation began to stand, raise their hands, pray to God, cry, and shout affirmations. Their responses encouraged me to continue into a heightened musical and spiritual awareness and engagement. This reciprocal, resonating feedback did not occur in my previous, more liminal performances of the same song in the same genre.

The Ebb and Flow of Communication When humans from one community interact with those from another, we search for or create ways to communicate. The longer and more regular this interaction becomes, the more energy at least one of the communities will invest in accommodating its visual signs, symbolic vocal systems, and social structures to the others’. The results of communication collisions vary widely, dependent on the agency of individuals, structural similarity of the two systems, economic and social capital at stake, and political or ecological forces, to name a few. Contests between ethnolinguistic communities and global economic and social forces, however, follow a common pattern: If the two groups differ substantially in power or status, then the weaker usually accedes more to

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    325 the stronger’s communication patterns. If they both inhabit similar locations in a power hierarchy, their adaptations to each other are likely to be more equal. The period of time, people engaged, and the locations associated with this contact constitute liminal communicational space. Linguists and sociolinguists have examined many phenomena resulting from such liminal communicational spaces. Their categories most germane to our discussion are languages, pidgins, creoles, and diglossia (McWhorter, 2001:  131–176). In short, languages are grammatically and phonologically ordered systems that serve the needs of full communication; about 7,100 languages exist globally (www.ethnologue. com, accessed February 2, 2015). Pidgins are simplified communication systems that people use “. . . for the utilitarian purpose of interacting with [speakers of other languages] for reasons tied to basic sustenance through the exchange of goods and services” (McWhorter, 2001: 132). Examples of pidgins include Russenorsk—used to enable timber trade between Russians and Norwegians in the 1800s—and the system Native American Indians used to barter with European colonists. Language communities use pidgins for needs distanced from their core identities. Sometimes, however, pidgins become creoles: systems of communication that develop a complexity, internal coherence, and intergenerational transmission distinct from all of the languages that spawned it. Papua New Guineans speak Tok Pisin, a creole historically connected to Portuguese, English, and Melanesian languages. Tok Pisin has developed complex grammatical and lexical characteristics, and people in urban areas are learning it as a first language. Finally, diglossia refers to a situation in which a community speaks at least two languages, and each is “compartmentalized so that there is little or no competition between languages within the same function” (Lewis, 2009). In northwestern Democratic Republic of the Congo, speakers of the Mono language routinely use the regional language, Lingala, for trade. This is likely to remain a stable situation as long as most children leave the government educational system before finishing high school (Lubliner, 2002). The Kera language spoken by about 35,000 people in southern Chad and Cameroon provides an example of a language that is becoming less complex because of interaction with people in another ethnolinguistic community. In rural areas, Kera speakers use three tones in differentiating between nouns. When Kera speakers—especially women—move to urban areas and begin to converse in French, however, they tend to reduce their use of tone when speaking Kera (Pearce, 2013). Similar simplification results when communities’ artistic forms of communication interact. At least until the 1970s, Siberian Sakha people enacted their diėrėtii sung genre in ways that included its uncommon characteristic of “unfolding mode” (Alekseyev, 1976:  57; Harris, 2012:  48). Alekseyev describes performance of an unfolding mode as one in which “the distance between the neighboring tones of the tune can vary to extremely wide margins, from a whole tone interval to… even a tritone in its ‘unfolding.’ The latter is usually connected to an increase in emotional energy, often visible within the parameters of one song. In general, the width of the intonational step is

326   Brian Schrag generally related to the character of the personage being sung and the tessitura of the tune” (Alekseyev, 1996:  49; http://eduard.alekseyev.org/work20.html). In the last few decades, enactments of diėrėtii frequently omit this feature, as Sakha scales transition from malleable intervals to more stable, diatonic forms heard in the modern Russian soundscape (Alekseyev, 1986: 213). My research among Ngiemboon communities of West Cameroon revealed mechanisms of transmission that result in growing, evolving traditions of integral enactments. The robust performances I encountered were marked by a particular dynamic interchange: its artists create tradition through the masterful exercise of the most malleable of their infrastructures, thereby strengthening the most stable (Schrag, 2013). The dance association DAKASTUM (Danse Kanoon du Secteur Ntumplefet) provides an instructive example of transmission and interaction that leads to integral enactments. This group of about 40 men and a few women live in Cameroon’s capital of Yaounde, meet every two weeks in the home of one of their members, and rehearse exemplars of the kanoon Ngiemboon artistic genre. They sing and dance while circling a group of percussionists. DAKASTUM’s primary motivation in meeting regularly is to perform at nkem legwés—death celebrations—that take place in the first few months of the year, about six hours’ distance in their home region, Batcham. Songs’ refrains (stable infrastructure) provide the song caller time and predictability to compose the next call (a malleable infrastructure), while the caller’s addressing important people provides emotion, social context, and interest to keep singing the crucial refrain; the rigid metronomic patterns of instruments like the shakers allow the player of the big drum structure in which to improvise, which increases interest in and energy emanating from the ensemble; the unflinching existence of the paved road between Yaoundé and Batcham enables DAKASTUM and hundreds of other dance associations to frequently climb aboard a bus (malleable infrastructure) to facilitate interaction and learning between urban and rural performers, while tolls from the bus and thousands of other vehicles provide the Cameroonian government enough money to maintain the road. DAKASTUM members point to performances at nkem legwés as the most integral. These performances include competent players for each of six percussion instruments, at least one masterful song caller, at least 15 to 20 dancers, a chain of about a dozen songs, a high degree of energy and volume (accompanied by steadily rising pitch throughout the performance), time for the caller to improvise lyrics related to the location of the nkem legwé, and scores of Ngiemboon people watching. DAKASTUM modifies its enactments for other contexts—for example, recordings for popular distribution in Cameroon or singing an anti-AIDS song in a hospital—including shortening their songs, removing the song-chaining feature, and reducing percussive, vocal, and dance improvisation as much as possible (Schrag, 2005: 163–165). These enactments are outside the center of the kanoon genre, moving toward liminality. When interaction between diverse communities occurs, the prospect of imaginative pleasure, or the attainment of political, monetary, or social goals, may draw artists to act in generic contexts foreign to them; by doing so, they enter liminal space. Artists in this space generate artistry through various combinations of generic patterns and

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    327 conventions. They may remain embedded primarily in a genre they know well, incorporating interesting features from a new genre into enactments of the known. In this case, they flavor or spice their artistic output with foreign elements that symbolically shift experiencers’—including their own—interpretive frames. The creators of the album Deep Forest, for example, “fused digital samples of music from Ghana, the Solomon Islands, and African pygmies with ‘techno-house’ dance rhythms” (Mills, 1996:  59). The album has sold millions of copies. Feld suggests that the creators of Deep Forest are able to “borrow” from non-Western groups because they have romanticized them into representing humanity’s primal origins; they are us thousands of years ago, so it’s really our music, too (1996: 25). Deep Forest extracted bits of timbre, song phrases, and other artistic elements from foreign genres and inserted them into their artistic base, techno-house. Most fusions have relatively weak potential for sustaining continuing creativity. This happens when new enactments do not develop into generic patterns that allow other people to enter easily. In fusion, you have to give up something. The result can become a new tradition (e.g., High life), but the initial contributors each offered a bit, a flavor of their deeper, broader artistic tradition. If they leave the old tradition for the emerging, they lose that depth and integration. For example, a tabla master playing jazz or pop reduces conceptual foundations (e.g., ragas), repertoire, social integrations and meanings, forms, and other elements to fit new structures and performance contexts. Factors affecting the results of interaction between two or more socioartistic genres include the relative social status of each tradition, the preponderance and ease of access to each (for example, through radio, Internet, oral means, etc.), and the number of practitioners. The stronger will usually influence the weaker more substantially, resulting in more moves toward liminality by the weaker. From a broad view, minority communities with ethnolinguistic identities exhibit more genres in fundamental transition, fewer enactors of their older genres, lower social status of their older genres, and fewer traditional social domains for the enactment of older ethnoartistic traditions. The global picture, then, is one of minority artistic traditions simplifying, assimilating into majority social domains (e.g., entertainment, tourism, global church), and enjoying fewer practitioners, each with diminished skills. If people attempt to learn another artistic tradition, having no interest in maintaining their own, then their artistic symbolic structures will still influence the resulting performances: borrowing from linguistic terminology, they will perform with an accent. The accent could result from symbolic structures relating to their societies (e.g., ethnolinguistic communities), performance practices, and performance systems (vocal timbre, fabrics worn, languages used, instruments, patterned movements, etc.). If enough people are interested in creating at the point of socioartistic contact, then new artistic genres may be born. French philosopher Paul Ricoeur describes tradition as “. . . not the inert transmission of some already dead deposit of material but the living transmission of an innovation always capable of being reactivated by a return to the most creative moments of poetic activity… [A]‌tradition is constituted by the interplay of innovation and sedimentation”

328   Brian Schrag (1984: 68). The transmission of traditions depends on people emitting sounds, visual patterns, objects, and smells from their bodies into the air, with other people then learning and embedding those symbols into their consciousness and bodies. Innumerable factors may influence the progression of a community’s artistry.

How Integral and Liminal Enactments Differ Embedded in communal systems of value, identity, and transmission, integral instantiations of an older genre exhibit a strong cluster of features characteristic of the genre. In contrast, a liminal enactment connects more ephemerally to both genre patterns and community. I  offer the following statements as informed hypotheses comparing the effects of each, ready to be tested. Integral enactments exhibit more complexity than do liminal. People’s communication systems generally become more complex with frequent interaction in the system over a long time, and simpler with less internal interaction; this parallels differences between languages and pidgins. The more time people spend with each other creating within a genre, the more communicational nuance, subtlety, and virtuosity are possible. Integral enactments result in more ecstatic experiences than do liminal. The communicational complexity typical of integral performances serves as a resource for enactors of genres that comprise ecstatic states. Heightened emotional states are part of numerous artistic traditions, including Hausa Bori ceremonies (Nigeria), Zar in Ethiopia, Candomblé in Brazil, Santería in Cuba, Tarantismo in Italy, Bira in Zimbabwe, glossolalia in Pentecostalism (Becker, 2004: 97–99), Catholic mystical traditions, New Age meditation, and many others. Ecstatic states are often foregrounded by specialized terminology, such as groove (Afrogenic popular musics), in the pocket (jazz), tarab (Arabic performance), and duende (Flamenco). In “Creativity and Ambience: An Ecstatic Feedback Model from Arab Music,” Jihad Racy provides a rich example of the complex knowledge, experience, and interactions necessary for ecstasy to emerge from performance of certain Arabic genres (1991). He argues that the creative process requires not only the skill and artistry of the classically trained composer/performer, but also a communicative audience that shares an understanding of the basic musical materials (e.g., maqamat) with the performers. Intelligent, emotional feedback from the listeners affects how the performers spontaneously compose. This emotional exchange helps create in the performer the ecstatic state of saltana. I here quote Racy at length (11–12): Traditional performers, I have interviewed, stress that the tarab process first requires that the singer or the instrumentalist belong to the tarab culture. Like his audience members, he must be “native” to the tarab musical idiom so that he can “feel” the music, or as Fakhri explains, he must understand and sense it properly. He must, for example, play the neutral (microtonal) Arab interval correctly and “feel” their musical effect. Similarly he must understand and respond to the quaflat (singular qafla),

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    329 or the emotionally charged cadential formulas at the end of each melodic phrase, particularly in modal improvisations. In addition, such a performer must be endowed with ruh, “soul,” or ihsas “feeling,” namely the emotional power and talent to musically affect, or engage the listener ecstatically. Without this innate quality, a performer may still be accepted for his technical performance skills or his ability to display musical innovations, but is also criticized and even dismissed as someone who plays but does not communicate emotions, or as Sabah Fakhri puts it: “He can play his instrument, but cannot make it speak.” Musically, hsas implies correct intonation, rhythmic accuracy, and good judgment regarding modal progressions and tonal emphases. “Feeling” also refers to an intuitive ability to affect, for example, finding the desirable delicate musical balance between renditions that are too static and too repetitive to be emotionally engaging, and those that are too excessive and digressive to generate and maintain a true sense of musical ecstasy.

Racy describes performance that is intense, reciprocally communicative, resonant, visceral, and dependent on deep experience and long traditions; integrality is clearly required to produce ecstasy in such Arab classical genres. I’ve seen Racy perform in contexts where only a few of these characteristics existed, and participants didn’t express the same emotional states. Liminality dilutes groove. Integral enactments result in more deeply contented enactors than do liminal. Beginning in the 1940s, psychologist Abraham Maslow developed the concept of self-actualization, as the pinnacle of his hierarchy of needs: the state of a person who realizes his or her potential, fulfills him- or herself, and does “the best they are capable of doing” (Maslow, 1954: 150). In liminal enactments, artists limit the sounds, sights, and movements they produce because they cannot lean into the patterns and signs of an established genre. Following Maslow, artists without contexts in which they can fully express their art live poorer lives. Researchers have applied the concept of self-actualization cross-culturally to a degree (see Ivtzan, 2008), but more study is needed to know how much it explains globally. I expect that skillful artists thrive in their artistic potential most during integral enactments. Liminal enactments can lead to the development of new genres. If people invest enough energy into the enactment and institutionalization of liminal forms over time, new genres emerge. Essentially every transnational, transethnic, translinguistic form of artistry reflects this process: Congolese popular music draws historically on West African, Cuban, European, and Central African musicking, propelled to wide influence in part by recording studios in the Congo basin in the 1930s and 1940s (Mukuna, 1992); Punjabi popular music mixes European features with those of their ethnolinguistically tethered arts (Schreffler, 2012); and virtually all North American popular music flows from artistic interactions between enslaved Africans and others (Southern, 1997). This is the artistic water through which nearly everyone connected to the global economy swims. Liminal enactments can provide spaces for forging social harmony. Communities united by ethnic, political, commercial, or other ties often vie for dominance at the interstices of contact with others. But liminal space is in some ways neutral ground—betwixt

330   Brian Schrag and between—and artists with divergent histories and competencies may also find connections therein. To overcome natural frictions, then, efforts to encourage cooperation require intentional rigidity and patient relationship-building. Participants in the Songs for Peace Project (www.songsforpeaceproject.org) drew on this feature of liminality to work toward reconciliation between Muslims and Christians. They gathered ethnomusicologists, composers, cinematographers, missiologists, and various scholars at colloquia in Beirut, Lebanon, and Yogyakarta, Indonesia. They interacted through presentations, discussion, and shared performance (King and Tan, 2013). Such liminality contributes malleable, invigorating energy into human dialogue. It provides space, for example, to connect people from divergent communities to encourage peace. Liminal enactments can tickle people’s imaginations. Liminal enactments like Wendy Clinard’s collaborative flamenco fusion, “From the Arctic to the Middle East,” inject energy into genre breaking and novelty. Clinard’s intense motivation to explore boundaries and fuse disparate traditions invigorated her for years, resulting in marked newness. Such enactments can also introduce non-aficionados to interesting and valuable artistry, as Wendy’s did for me.

Assessing the Health of Humanity’s Artistic Traditions in the 2010s Nettl is likely correct in stating that “[t]‌he musical experience of the average individual is much broader today than in the past.” Their integral experiences, however, may be few. In this section, I first propose a straightforward gauge of an individual artistic genre’s health. I then provide a broad historical framework for explaining the general state of minority arts, and present a graded scale for assessing the health of artistic traditions through historical lenses. For our present purposes, I am most interested in one particular kind of historical artistic genre change, namely the kind experienced by many ethnolinguistic communities in the last 100 years or so. These changes are built on colonial, missionary, commercial infrastructure, and social momentum influences of the late 1800s and early 1900s. Subsequently, the rate of change accelerated due to urbanization and the astounding expansion of communication technologies from the late 1900s until the present.

Measuring the Health of an Ethnolinguistic Community’s Artistic Genres Following Ricoeur’s view of tradition as a living process of innovation and sedimentation, the ideal growth pattern of artistic genres is one of grounded creativity through balanced malleable-stable dynamism. Practitioners maintain a sustainable equilibrium

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    331 between newness and familiarity, allowing the new to invigorate the familiar and the familiar to support the new. A long malleable/stable passing on of a tradition produces complexity, depth, and integration with its community(ies), while allowing for adaptation and novelty. The result is the production of thriving, resilient, flourishing arts.

Quick and Dirty Genre Health Sketch My time living in the Mono village of Bili in the Democratic Republic of the Congo in the early 1990s and subsequent interactions allow me to suggest a rough model to measure how well a tradition is following this pattern. Three types of data are necessary for such an analysis: the number of times the genre has been enacted in two or more periods separated by a significant passage of time; an assessment of each instantiation’s degree of integrality; and indications of the growth of the genre’s features in new enactment contexts. From this data, we can approximate the most recent measure of health of the genre and its trajectory for the future. Table 9.1 roughly illustrates the change in health of the gbaguru genre, as enacted by the Mono community in Bili. Gbaguru is a long tradition characterized in the main by these traits: sung; performed primarily by men; played on a 7–10 stringed harp, the kùndi; lyrics in the Mono language; melody does not move in opposition to linguistic tonal direction; lyrics commonly refer to Mono proverbs; composers’ purposes normally include giving advice to someone; and broader social purposes include enforcing social norms. Longer gbaguru enactment contexts include the following: individual enjoyment at home, while walking through a forest, yangba and gbaya circle dances, and the gbaza male initiation rite. All of these have become less frequent since the 1940s, caused primarily by government institution of schools and the expansion of Communauté Evangélique du Christ en l’Ubangi (CECU) churches using foreign arts. The last gbaza was performed near Bili around 1974. Newer gbaguru enactment contexts include recording an oral “letter” for someone far away, lyrically and dramatically communicating news, and leading worship in CECU churches. CECU churches began introducing gbaguru songs into their services Table 9.1.  Number and Integrality of Gbaguru Enactments, Mono Community

1940s 1980s 1990s 2011

Number of Enactments

Integrality of Enactments

Longer Traditions

Newer Traditions

Longer Traditions

Newer Traditions

high low low low

none very low low medium

high medium medium low

N/A very low very low medium

332   Brian Schrag periodically in the early 1990s, and in more regular and extensive ways since 2007. I was purposefully involved in pastors’ discussions of embracing gbaguru music into the lives of their communities and in contributing to a song-writing workshop in 2007. The 2007 workshop resulted in a dramatic growth in the number of people performing and composing gbaguru for mostly Christian purposes. Note that I haven’t counted the enactments, and so must rely on comparative vocabulary in Table 9.1 to illustrate my points.

Graded Genre Health Analysis Linguists have tried to understand the rapid rate of language death in the world today by analyzing the nature of each language’s use and transmission (see, e.g., Lewis and Simons, 2010). Ethnomusicologists have begun to adapt the concomitant models to artistic forms of communication. Box 9.1 identifies eight possible states of an artistic genre’s vitality.1 Assessing a genre’s vitality on a graded scale helps guide the nature of our interactions with a community.

Box 9.1  Graded Health Assessment of Artistic Communication Genres 1. International: An artistic genre reaches this level when an international “community of practice” forms around it. 2. National or regional: The genre’s reputation grows beyond the home community. Community members may receive financial or other support from the regional or national level. 3. Vigorous: This is the pivotal level for artistic vitality. At this level, oral transmission and largely traditional contexts of education are intact and functioning. People have sufficient opportunities for performance, and young people are learning by observation, participation, and appropriate educational contexts. A genre can exist comfortably at this level without needing to move higher. 4. Threatened: The first level that hints at downward movement, toward endangerment. A genre is still enacted, but changes are becoming noticeable: diminishing performance contexts, increased time given to more recent introductions, more rural-urban movement. 5. Locked: The genre is known by more people than just the grandparent generation, but its performance is restricted to tourist shows or other contexts that are not integrated into the everyday life of the community. The performance repertoire is fixed, with no new additions. Participation and creative energy decline noticeably. 6. Shifting: The grandparent generation is proficient in this genre, but fewer contexts exist for passing it on to younger people. Possibly the younger people do not express interest (or are perceived that way by their parents and grandparents). The genre is not dead or endangered at this level, and can be revitalized, but signs point to downward movement and likely endangerment. 7. Dormant: Functional contexts for performance are gone, but recordings and other ethnographic description exist. A community could reacquaint itself with the genre, but its rebirth would likely take on a different character than the original. 8. Extinct: No one in the community is capable of creating or performing in this genre. Probably no performance has occurred in the lifetime of anyone currently living. No documentation exists. This is rarer, as most genres grow into other styles, or stylistic elements are perpetuated in related styles.

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    333

Global Community Artistic Health Assessment No one has evaluated the health of the world’s artistry as a whole through rigorous quantitative or qualitative lenses; we have as yet neither the conceptual framework nor the methods to make this assessment. Building on this chapter’s discussions, I here suggest several possible characteristics of a vigorous global ethnoartistic ecology that may serve as steps toward our capacity to evaluate our status in a useful manner. Building on its origins as a branch of biology concerned with the relationships between living things and their physical context, I use the term ecology here to emphasize the interdependence between all embodied, social, communicational, and physical factors affecting the world’s artistry. Healthy artistic and biological systems share several characteristics: They benefit from the adaptational value of diversity; they follow finite cycles of growth, decay, and renewal; they exhibit immeasurably complex internal and external connections; and they respond well to humble stewardship at the community level (Titon, 2009). In the vocabulary of dynamism that emerged from my study of Ngiemboon communities, a healthy global artistic system is one in which many older traditions exhibit internally sustainable creativity—a vibrant malleable/stable engine within a growing community. In such a system, the percentage of liminal artistic performances in the world in any given year should not surpass that of integral, and such performances should contribute to a vibrant malleable/stable engine that feeds energy back into local creative ecosystems. A thriving global ecosystem makes non-destructive use of electronic communication media, which seems more likely than some early predictions would have it (Green and Ruhleder, 1995). A 2009 study found that “. . . while the [Internet] revolution increased the volume of all communications, it is possible that it has intensified our local communications to a greater extent than it intensified our global communications, simply because we maintain a greater number of local contacts. If this is correct, physical proximity may have become an even more important factor in social dynamics compared to the pre-[Internet] era” (Goldenberg and Levy, 2009). Crowdsourcing and other community data gathering approaches also promise the ability to contribute to “local” projects from anywhere (Greengard, 2011). Audio or video Internet discussions, then, may energize local traditions by increasing their visibility, and artists in majority traditions acknowledge and affirm local creativity. In addition, many new traditions become vibrant and deeply embedded in communities, but not at the expense of older, existing traditions. Finally, the global artistic panorama contains thriving communities expressing as much fundamentally diverse artistry as possible, resulting in individual and communal well-being and self-actualization.

334   Brian Schrag

Examples of Loss in Longer Artistic Traditions In 2005, six city-raised participants attended a song-writing workshop I led in Yaounde, Cameroon. Most of their parents or grandparents had moved to Yaounde from geographically centered ethnolinguistic communities elsewhere in Cameroon. I asked how many knew one of the traditional song styles of their parents well enough to sing or compose in it. The number: zero. When I lived in the Mono village of Bili (northwestern Democratic Republic of the Congo) in the early 1990s, only two older men played the mbaza (xylophone), a few people knew how to play and sing with the kùndi (harp), and horn ensembles had all but disappeared. This contrasted markedly with how older people described the community life of one or two generations earlier, when these traditions flourished. In neighboring Central African Republic, the Mpyemo instruments that Gerhad Kubik and Maurice Djenda noted in 1966 (Kubik, 1998: 311) no longer existed by the late 1990s (Brad Festen, personal communication; Djenda, 1992/1993). Olonkho epic poem performances in Siberia (Harris, 2012: 2), alamblak slit drum speech (Coulter, 2007), and Kaluli sa-ya:lab funerary weeping (Feld, 2001: 54–55) in Papua New Guinea all represent artistic genres that have mostly or completely faded from communities since the 1950s. UNESCO contributes bureaucratic and international weight to exposing these phenomena by yearly adding artistic traditions to its Lists of Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH) in Need of Urgent Safeguarding (www.unesco.org/culture/ich). Perhaps, as Nettl suggests, the losses we notice represent the natural course of societal evolution—one form dies, another takes its place, and the beat goes on. We may experience melancholy at its passing, but there’s usually something new and interesting and solid around the corner. I believe, however, that the global picture of change in human artistry is qualitatively different and more deeply corrosive now than in the last century. I base this conclusion on viewing art forms as ecologically situated systems of communication that respond to global social dynamics in ways similar to languages and physical ecosystems. As far as I know, nobody has tried to make an exhaustive list of such forms of artistic communication, their histories, and health. Linguists and ecologists, however, have counted languages and species of flora and fauna. Respected (and contested) scholars predict that if losses continue at current levels, 50% of plant and animal species and perhaps 90% of the world’s more than 7,000 languages will disappear by the end of the twenty-first century (Krauss, 1992; Wilson, 2002). Linguist Michael Krauss challenges his colleagues: “Obviously we must do some serious rethinking of our priorities, lest linguistics go down in history as the only science that presided obliviously over the disappearance of 90% of the very field to which it is dedicated” (1992: 10). I am not aware of parallel counts of artistic genres, but the examples of loss I have given suggest that such communication may follow similar trends (see Aubert, 2007: 55–56).

Testimonials My Cameroonian friend Roch Ntankeh is in one of the first generations whose parents moved from rural areas to Yaounde, learning only French and popular music styles. In

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    335 his late twenties, he began to feel a void that came from his ignorance of the language and arts of his parents’ region, Bangangté. With this motivation he has researched that community’s arts for an academic degree, and has begun regularly taking his children to Bangangté for lessons in their language and arts. The first thing that motivated me to study the music of my own people is the fact that I had important musical skills and social curiosity that permitted me to more quickly understand than someone outside my culture. After that, I realized how little I knew of my own culture. This motivated me to find out more because I learn much through individual study. The feeling that animates me is joy, curiosity, lots of questions; but beyond all of that, the inner peace caused by the fact that I’ve re-found myself, my own history and my identity. I thus feel affirmed and encouraged. And that motivates me to encourage others to do the same because it’s only when you discover what’s hidden inside yourself that you can grasp what’s hidden in others. (written communication, May 2013, my translation from French)

Ethnomusicologist Robin Harris conducted research with Sakha communities in northern Siberia, focusing on the epic storytelling genre, olonkho. Master olonkhosut Pyotr Reshetnikov shared as follows (Harris, 2009; see also Harris, 2012): The audience for olonkho is less now because they have forgotten how to listen to olonkho, as an oral creation, as an attractive, really, creation of humanity. There used to be lots of olonkhosuts, great olonkhosuts, because there was a community of listeners. In the past, olonkhosuts were elevated, and if the olonkhosut was good, even great, one whose name was spread around the republic, people would make an effort to come, even from far away to hear.

Both of these artists feel hope, Roch because of his resources and fortitude to take such energetic measures, and Pyotr Reshetnikov because of the revitalization that began after Soviet decline in the 1990s. I have other friends who don’t have the resources and fortitude to take such energetic measures, and they feel that their relevance to the world is fading. I believe that the most crippling injuries triggered by increasing liminality are human existence with less deep pleasure, fewer thriving communities, and unfulfilled friends. The lost satisfaction includes not merely the pleasure related to heightened emotional states, but also the delight in being surprised or the opportunity to encounter myriad artistic milieux that spark curiosity, exploration, creation, and response.

Toward a Thriving Global Artistic Life A healthy artistic genre has recurring enactments, effective patterns of transmission, and innovation in the context of predictability. At a global level, healthy artistry includes the continual reinvention and interaction of painfully diverse genres. Scholars in

336   Brian Schrag culture, communication, and the arts can significantly increase the likelihood of reaching such an enduring, vibrant dynamism.

Global Interest in Longer Artistic Traditions I first presented a paper at an ethnomusicology conference in the early 1990s. After discussing my efforts to encourage creativity in northwest Democratic Republic of the Congo, an ethnomusicology student offered this advice:  “Don’t worry about all that activist stuff. Just record the harp music so we can enjoy it—it’s beautiful.” Speechless at the time, I have since reflected on the effects of various ideological and philosophical strands twisting through ethnomusicology and related fields. The two strands most germane to this discussion are the tension between activism and scholarship, and the role of ethnolinguistic minorities in ethnomusicological research. Regarding the latter, members of the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) have, since the organization’s founding in the 1950s, noticeably shifted their interest away from ethnolinguistic minority musics toward other subjects. This general trend is revealed by the subjects of articles in SEM’s flagship journal, Ethnomusicology. Editors dedicated most of the issues in the 1950s to formational content for the new discipline of “ethno-musicology”: developing bibliographies, building lists of interested people, disseminating information about courses related to the field, making announcements, and gathering information about audio recordings of national and minority musics. Essentially all of the discussions and information either directly address or assume an interest in music of Others, mostly ethnolinguistic minorities. The first article on the subject of a minority musical tradition appears in the eighth issue, “An Apache Fiddle,” by David McAllester (1956). Following the foundational moment of the 1950s and early 1960s, the percentage of Ethnomusicology articles dedicated to ethnolinguistic minorities peaked in the 1970s at 37 percent, and bottomed out in the 2000s. Figure 9.1 contains the results of a rough, conservative survey of the proportion of articles dedicated to such minorities in Ethnomusicology.2 Ethnomusicological inquiry and reflection, of course, occur beyond SEM’s North American hub. The British Forum for Ethnomusicology (BFE), the Société française d’ethnomusicologie, the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM), and other scholarly organizations provide platforms for international dialogue and publication not included in this survey. In addition, students and scholars in universities all over the world reflect on and write about musics and their communities. And as I suggested in the introduction to this chapter, streams counter to the North American example also flow through the global music scene. UNESCO’s Commission on Intangible Cultural Heritage, the Queensland Conservatorium Research Centre’s Sustainable Futures, the recent formation of the Minority Musics Section in ICTM, SEM’s Indigenous Music Special Interest Group, and Applied Ethnomusicology groups in both ICTM and SEM all point to scholars’ and social activists’ renewed interest in minority arts. Reasons for this renaissance may include postcolonial shame, acknowledgment of the parochial

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    337 40%

37%

35% 30%

31% 28% 24%

25%

24% 20%

20% 15% 10% 5% 0%

1960s

1970s

1980s

1990s

2000s

2010s

Figure  9.1  Ethnomusicology articles treating ethnolinguistic minority musics.

nature of eurogenic values in many artistic disciplines, and fear of weaknesses in the health of human ecosystems brought on by homogeneity. It may be a sense of nostalgia for moments of surprise at encountering something completely different or discovering never-before-documented genius. Scholars and activists from minority communities are also recognizing the loss of their traditions and finding stronger voices through organization and Internet communication. Even Christian churches are recognizing the loss of the communicative power and inherent value of their older arts. The Congolese participants in a song-writing workshop I helped lead in 2006 wrote a manifesto including these words (my translation from French):  We have noticed with regret the remarkable absence of traditional music in our churches. This was caused by the arrival of the first missionaries, and traditional music has been erased, leaving in its place modern music, which has given youth the feeling of being despised, wronged. . . . Thus, we participants of this workshop recommend that the Congolese Association for the Translation of the Bible and Literacy of Sukisa-Boyinga ask our churches to help us incorporate traditional music with inspired biblical texts in our respective churches.

A Therapeutic Approach to Communities and Their Arts-Making Taking action to sustain older artistic traditions will require a methodology with elements that arts advocates can implement and that stakeholders can measure. Creating Local Arts Together (CLAT), outlined in Make Arts for Life: A Guide (Schrag and Van Buren, forthcoming), is one such process.

338   Brian Schrag

Figure  9.2  The Create Local Arts Together (CLAT) methodology.

CLAT consists of seven localizable steps that community members can use to encourage vibrancy in their longer traditions (see Figure 9.2). 1. Meet a Community and Its Arts. Explore artistic and social resources that exist in the community. Performing Step 1 allows you to begin relationships, involve and understand the people, and discover the hidden treasures of the community. 2. Specify Goals. Discover the goals that the community wants to work toward. Performing Step 2 ensures that you are helping the community work toward aims that they have agreed upon together. 3. Select Effects, Content, Genre, and Events. Choose an artistic genre that can help the community meet its goals, and activities that can result in purposeful creativity in this genre. Performing Step 3 reveals the mechanisms that relate certain kinds of artistic activity to its effects, so that the activities you perform have a high chance of succeeding. 4. Analyze an Event Containing the Chosen Genre. Describe the event and its genre(s) as a whole, and its artistic forms, as well as in relationship to their broader cultural context. Performing Step 4 results in detailed knowledge of the art forms, information that is crucial to sparking creativity, improving what is produced, and integrating it into the community. 5. Spark Creativity. Implement activities the community has chosen to spark creativity within the chosen genre. Performing Step 5 actually produces new artistic works for events.

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    339 6. Improve New Works. Evaluate results of the sparking activities and make them better. Performing Step 6 ensures that the new artistry exhibits the aesthetic qualities, produces the impacts, and communicates the intended messages at a level of quality appropriate to its purposes. 7. Integrate and Celebrate for Continuity. Plan and implement ways that this new kind of creativity can continue into the future. Identify more contexts where the new and old arts can be displayed and performed. Performing Step 7 makes it more likely that a community will keep making its arts in ways that produce good effects long into the future. CLAT integrates ethnographic and artistic form research and analysis into an Appreciative Inquiry approach to community development (see Ashford and Patkar, 2001; Tiempo, 2012). Our goal with such methodologies is to see more and more genres moving from Threatened, Locked, and Shifting to Vigorous states (see Box 9.1). In sociolinguistic terms, we want to fortify artistic genres with long histories so that they will remain thriving components of living languages, sometimes developing stable diglossic relationships with regional or international arts.

Action Points for Scholars Ethnomusicologists’ ethical, relational, methodological, and arts-in-culture organicism uniquely qualifies us to help humanity reach the richest artistic future possible, which celebrates artists and artistry in long traditions. I offer a list of steps we can take toward this goal. • Create a stream of ethnomusicology and related disciplines dedicated to identifying, assessing, and promoting the health of older artistic genres of communication. With communities, we can use a simple tool like a Community Arts Survey (see Appendix) to identify and briefly describe such genres. We can then assess the vitality of the artistic genres on a scale like that in Box 9.1. Finally, we can offer strategizing and catalyzing events that draw on approaches like Creating Local Arts Together (Figure 9.2). • Integrate the identification, assessment, and promotion of older traditions into our degree programs, courses, publications, community projects, and conferences. • Devote the majority of our social, financial, and intellectual capital to getting to know and encourage artists representing older, at-risk traditions. Ethnomusicologists and scholars from related disciplines can contribute best when we (1) prefer analytical concepts firmly grounded in experienced events rather than esoterica; (2) employ methods that members of most communities in the world can adapt and implement without extensive education and training; and (3) choose to be guided by our historical ethic of privileging minoritized communities in our engagement.

340   Brian Schrag • Encourage more students to study and promote older minoritized art forms. • Develop and contribute to living archives of longer artistic traditions. These should be curated, Internet-based, appropriately accessible, and designed to spark discussion and creativity (Seeger and Chaudhuri, 2004). • Increase our engagement with international and national initiatives to support longer artistic traditions, such as UNESCO’s ICH. Though often a frustrating mix of common goals and institutional roadblocks (see Grant, 2014), such efforts need our expertise. See Smith and Akagawa (2009) and Barthel-Bouchier (2013) for more on ICH. • Remove silos separating applied ethnomusicology, indigenous musics, minority musics, medical ethnomusicology, ambitious studies like Sustainable Futures, activist organizations like Cultural Survival (www.culturalsurvival.org), and related communities. These and other disciplines (see, e.g., Aubert 2007: 47–51) share many goals and offer unique approaches. Collaborating on demonstrably effective projects will result in a much wider impact on the world’s artistry (cf. Nettl, 2010:107). • Embrace the phenomenological theoretical stream in ethnomusicology most recently championed by Harris Berger (2009, 2014), but extend it to interactions and goals outside academia. Though phenomenology takes the experience of events as primordial—as I do in this chapter—we need to theorize within a cycle that includes external praxis. In fact, an event-anchored, organic, humanized, embodied view of artistry welcomes insights from all of ethnomusicology’s conceptual streams: music, dance, and poetic analysis; semiotic approaches to emotion; thick ethnographic description; participation in artistic practice; revealing power differentials in communities’ artistry; and others. • Enlist huge numbers of people around the world in harnessing Internet-mediated creativity in the interests of—and following the leadership of—minority artists. Clay Shirky suggests that humans have built up “well over a trillion hours of free time each year” and can access “public media that enable ordinary citizens, previously locked out, to pool that free time in pursuit of activities they like or care about” (2012: 27). We can help spark major investment from this enormous pot of cognitive surplus into celebrating and promoting older traditions. This could include fostering websites, social media sites, audio and video sites, cell phone enactment distribution, and other electronic channels. • Get used to counting things.

Conclusion Ethnomusicology stands unique in the world in its rigorous organic treatment of art forms and the communities who experience them. We may sometimes swim unappreciated in the eddies and backwaters of academia, public policy, and community

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    341 development, but not because our potential contributions are negligible. Rather, I believe our offerings are too radical, and thus often incomprehensible to others. To illustrate, in 2007 I  became the International Ethnomusicology Coordinator for SIL International, a faith-based language development international nongovernmental organization (INGO). At the time, SIL’s ethnomusicology department operated as an appendage, only vaguely related to our founding discipline, linguistics. I, Tom Avery, and others began to graciously and inexorably force change: We became the Ethnomusicology and Arts Group; I earned a spot on our International Academic Coordination team, with linguists, anthropologists, literacy specialists, and other already legitimized disciplines; we laboriously followed the bureaucratic trail of forms to create official job descriptions for Arts Specialists; we developed curricula to train people in this multidisciplinary field, culminating in a World Arts M.A. at the Center for Excellence in World Arts and a similar program at Payap University in Chiang Mai, Thailand; UNESCO accredited SIL to provide advisory services to its Intergovernmental Committee on Intangible Cultural Heritage; and we crafted superb promotional materials to attract people to join us. Throughout this period, we presented ourselves as inhabiting the core of SIL’s identity:  helping minoritized communities access their local communication systems to work toward a better future. We ethnomusicology and arts people were skilled in interacting with artistic forms of communication (i.e., genres comprising elements of music, drama, dance, verbal arts, and visual arts); everyone else was concerned with prosaic utterances susceptible to linguistic analysis. But we all cared about communication. In some significant contexts, ethnoarts personnel now work hand in hand with linguists and others. However, we continue to work toward integration with many of our colleagues’ conceptual and practical framework. The forces arrayed against local art forms are formidable: urbanization weakens ties between language speakers and their home cultures; globalized communication media relegate local art forms to one choice among millions (Kidula, 2008: 54); media industries relentlessly press their favored art forms into new markets (Kaemmer, 2008: 403); expansive religious traditions use foreign genres, creating unwelcoming environments for artists from their local communities; and engulfing educational, legal, and religious systems destroy long-established traditions of transmission. We may be entering a period of perpetual liminality. I believe that ethnomusicologists can help minority communities navigate these tides. We can become known, highly regarded in academic and policy-making circles, and be present when influential people make decisions affecting minoritized artistic traditions. We can exert considerable winsome influence in local, regional, and international arenas when we combine a vision of artistically thriving humanity, commitment to artists on the margins of global communities, personal stories of friends in these margins, and rigorous scholarship contributing to a growing body of data. We can move from academic and activist liminality to an exhilarating integrality. Restating the linguists’ lament, we must do some serious rethinking of our priorities, lest ethnomusicologists stand feckless while global forces liminalize the representatives

342   Brian Schrag of long artistic traditions whose depth, beauty, function, and power we are uniquely able to appreciate. Bess Lomax Hawes’s admonition that ethnomusicologists should lean toward activism with ethnolinguistic minority communities remains telling: We “should be supporting the music alive; rather than just teaching it as though it were gone…” (1993), or treating its enactors as though they don’t exist.

Appendix Perform a Basic Community Arts Survey This activity relies on a focus group to develop a preliminary list of artistic communicative events, and can be performed by anybody with some competencies in basic ethnographic questioning. It should take a day or less to perform, and result in a list of the types of artistic communication that are both integral and ancillary to a community. The rough list becomes an essential resource for deciding what kinds of ethnographic and formal analysis that a community wants to perform. These decisions will be based on particular goals associated with literacy, education, community development, justice, well-being, and the like.

1.  Gather Community Representatives Gather a few people from the community of different ages, genders, and socioeconomic backgrounds.

2.  Make a Quick List of Event Types When People Communicate Artistically with Each Other Ask questions such as these: When do people sing? Dance? Tell stories? Act? Wear special clothing? Jot down the name, brief description, and other information that arises, such as kinds of people involved (men, women, youth, children, specialists, a particular socioeconomic group, etc.); when it’s usually done (particular days, seasons, months, times of day, etc.); reason(s) for the event (if easily discernable at this early point in the research) and/or connotations.

3.  Extend the List by Researching Likely Social Contexts for Artistic Communication Acts Anthropologists know that cultures often mark important events and transitions with artistically rendered communication. Use the following outline to help identify rituals and special events that exist in a community. Then explore what kinds of communication might be associated with rituals, life-cycle events, historical events, activities, nature, or ceremonies.

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    343

Life-Cycle Events • Birth (birth announcement, lullaby) • Childhood (funny or nonsense games, teasing, taunting) • Puberty (girl’s songs, boy’s songs, initiation) • Courting (love, courting, proposal of marriage) • Marriage (wedding, men’s events, women’s events) • Death (funeral, burial, mourning)

Historical Events • Commemorative (disasters, honors, first outsiders, changes in leadership or government, first road, first vehicles, wars, etc.) • Legend (creation, mythology) • Local news

Activities • Work (cutting timber, hunting, fishing, road making, etc.) • Fighting (preparation for battle, battle, victory, defeat, etc.) • Dancing (male, female, multiple sexes, social, ceremonial, solo, etc.) • Recreation

Ceremonies • Religious (planting, harvesting, fertility, power, prophecy, worship, etc.) • Social (greeting, farewell, wedding, funeral, completion of a special community project, etc.)

Nature • Animals (pets and wild animals, including birds, fish, and reptiles) • Places and things (mountains, rivers, forests, trees, plants, the heavens—including clouds, sun, moon, stars, and sky) • Time cycles (daily, weekly, monthly, annual)

4.  Extend the List by Presenting a Barrage of Eurogenic or Other Outside Communication Genres Present a list like the following and ask, “Do you have anything like this?” Exclamation, greeting, calling, imperative, announcement, spiel, exchange, argument, discussion, debate, hortatory, persuasive, report, commentary, narrative, eulogy, prayers, proverbs, riddles, humor, artistic/poetic, meditation, song, proverb, word games, unintelligible speech, story, myth, fable, folktale, chant, parable, and so on.

344   Brian Schrag

5.  Gather a Little More Information about Each Genre If time and occasion allow, you can ask a few more questions about each genre: • A brief description or local name • Kinds of people involved (men, women, youth, children, specialists, a particular socioeconomic group, etc.) • When it’s usually done (particular days, seasons, months, times of day, etc.) • Reason(s) for the event and/or connotations • Whether the event includes special • verbal features (e.g., vocal modifications, poetic elements, archaic vocabulary) • movement features (e.g., dance, gestures) • d  ramatic features (e.g., one person taking on the character of another, connoting a different reality) • musical features (e.g., melody, rhythm) • visual features (e.g., designs, colors, shapes).

Notes 1. Slightly revised text from Coulter (2011). See also Harris (2012); Grant (2014); Saurman (2013). 2. Thanks to Center for Excellence in World Arts graduate students Lydia Duggins and Julie Johnson for performing this research.

References Alekseyev, Eduard Ye. (1976). Problemy formirovaniia lada:  na material yakutskoi narodnoi pesni [Yakut folk song and the genesis of tonal organization]. Moscow: Muzyka. Alekseyev, Eduard Ye. (1986) Rannefol’klornoe intonirovanie [The Inception of Sung Scales]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor. Alekseyev, Eduard Ye. (1996). “O muzykalnom voploshchenii olonkho” [On the musical incarnation of olonkho]. In Monuments of the Folklore of the Peoples of Siberia and Far East, Vol. 10, Yakut Heroic Epic ‘The Mighty Er Sogotokh, pp. 42–72. Novosibirsk: Nauka. Ashford, Graham, and Saleela Patkar. (2001). The Positive Path: Using Appreciative Inquiry in Rural Indian Communities. Winnipeg:  International Institute for Sustainable Development. Aubert, Laurent. (2007). The Music of the Other:  New Challenges for Ethnomusicology in a Global Age, translated by Carla Ribeiro. Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing. Barthel-Bouchier, Diane. (2013). Cultural Heritage and the Challenge of Sustainability. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Becker, Judith. (2004). Deep Listeners: Music, Emotion, and Trancing. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Berger, Harris. (2009). Stance:  Ideas about Emotion, Style, and Meaning for the Study of Expressive Culture. Music/Cultures Series. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press.

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    345 Berger, Harris. (2014). “New Directions for Ethnomusicological Research into the Politics of Music and Culture: Issues, Project, and Programs.” Ethnomusicology 58(2): 315–320. Bourdieu, Pierre. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. Coulter, Neil. (2007). Music Shift: Evaluating the Vitality and Viability of Music Styles among the Alamblak of Papua New Guinea. Ph.D. dissertation, Kent, OH: Kent State University. Coulter, Neil. (2011). “Assessing Music Shift:  Adapting EGIDS for a Papua New Guinea Community.” Language Documentation and Description 10: 61–81. Densmore, Frances. (1927). “The Study of Indian Music in the Nineteenth Century.” American Anthropologist 29: 77–86. Djenda, Maurice. (1992/1993). “De la disparition des éléments culturels chez les Mpyemõ:  Observations participantes.” Bulletin of the International Committee on Urgent Anthropological and Ethnological Research 34/35: 149–160. Ellis, Alexander. (1885). “On the Scales of Various Nations.” Journal of the Society of Arts 33: 485–527. Feld, Steven. (1996). “Pygmy POP:  A  Genealogy of Schizophonic Mimesis.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 28: 1–35. Feld, Steven. (2001). Liner Notes. Bosavi:  Rainforest Music from Papua New Guinea [CD]. Smithsonian Folkways Recordings and the Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies. Gennep, Arnold Van. (1960). The Rites of Passage. Chicago: University of Chicago. Goldenberg, Jacob, and Moishe Levy. (2009). “Distance is Not Dead: Social Interaction and Geographical Distance in the Internet Era.” arXiv: 0906.3202. Grant, Catherine Fiona. (2014). Music Endangerment: How Language Maintenance Can Help. New York: Oxford University Press. Green, Carolyn, and Karen Ruhleder. (1995). “Globalization, Borderless Worlds, and the Tower of Babel.” Journal of Organizational Change Management 8: 55–68. Greengard, Samuel. (2011). “Following the Crowd.” Communications of the ACM [Association of Computing Machinery] 54(2): 20–22. Gruber, Jacob. (1970). “Ethnographic Salvage and the Shaping of Anthropology.” American Anthropologist, New Series 72(6): 1289–1299. Harris, Robin. (2009). Interview with Pyotr Reshetnikov in Cherkëkh, Yakutia, June 16, 2009. Harris, Robin. (2012). Sitting “Under the Mouth”: Decline and Revitalization in the Sakha Epic Tradition Olonkho. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Georgia. Ivtzan, Itai. (2008). “Self-actualisation: For Individualist Cultures Only?” International Journal on Humanist Ideology 1(2): 111–138. Kaemmer, John E. (2008). “Southern Africa: An Introduction.” In The Garland Handbook of African Music, edited by Ruth M. Stone, pp. 382–405. New York: Routledge. Kidula, Jean Ngoya. (2008). “Music Culture: African Life.” In Music in the Life of the African Church, edited by Roberta R. King, Jean Ngoya Kidula, Thomas Oduro, and James R. Krabill, pp. 37–56. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. King, Roberta, and Sooi Ling Tan. (2013). (un)Common Sounds:  Songs of Peace and Reconciliation among Muslims and Christians. DVD. Directed by Craig Detweiler. Documentary film. Kisliuk, Michele. (1998). Seize the Dance! New York: Oxford University Press. Koch, Lars-Christian, Albrecht Wiedmann, Susanne Ziegler. (2004). “The Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv: A Treasury of Sound Recordings.” Acoustical Science and Technology 25(4): 227–231.

346   Brian Schrag Krauss, Michael. (1992). “The World’s Languages in Crisis.” Language 68(1): 4–10. Kronenfeld, David B., Givanni Bennardo, Victor C. de Munck, and Michael D. Fischer, eds. (2011). A Companion to Cognitive Anthropology. Oxford; Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Kubik, Gerhard. (1998). “Intra-African Streams of Influence.” In Africa:  The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, edited by Ruth Stone, pp. 293–326. New York; London: Garland Publishing, Inc. Lakoff, George. (1987). Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal about the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, George. (1999). “Cognitive Models and Prototype Theory.” In Concepts: Core Readings, edited by Eric Margolis and Stephen Laurence. Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology 391–422. Lewis, Paul M. (2009). “The Sustainable Use Model and The Expanded Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (EGIDS).” Paper presented at the International Language Assessment Conference (ILAC), Penang, Malaysia. Lewis, Paul M., and Gary F. Simons. (2010). “Assessing Endangerment: Expanding Fishman’s GIDS.” Revue Roumaine de linguistique 55(2): 103–120. Lipsitz, George. (1999). “The Changing Scene: Anxiety and Ethnomusicology.” Unpublished paper presented at the Thirty-third Annual Meeting of the Society for Ethnomusicology, Southern California Chapter, University of California-Riverside, February 27. Lomax, Alan. (1968). Folk Song Style and Culture. Washington, DC: American Association for the Advancement of Science. Lubliner, Jacob. (2002). “Reflections on Diglossia.” www.ce.berkeley.edu/~coby/essays/index. html (accessed July 30, 2013). Maslow, Abraham. (1954). Motivation and Personality. New York: Harper. McAllester, David. (1956). “An Apache Fiddle.” Ethnomusicology 1(8): 1–5. McWhorter, John. (2001). The Power of Babel: A Natural History of Language. New York: Henry Holt and Company. Merriam, Alan. (1964). The Anthropology of Music. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Miller, Daniel. (1995). “Consumption and Commodities.” Annual Review of Anthropology 24: 141–161. Mills, Sherylle. (1996). “Indigenous Music and the Law:  An Analysis of National and International Legislation.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 28: 57–86. Mukuna, Kazadi wa. (1992). “The Genesis of Urban Music in Zaire.” African Music 7(2): 72–84. Nettl, Bruno. (2005). The Study of Ethnomusicology:  Thirty-one Issues and Concepts. Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Nettl, Bruno. (2010). Nettl’s Elephant. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Pearce, Mary. (2013). “Variation with Gender in the Tonal Speech Varieties of Kera (Chadic).” In Gender and Language in Sub-Saharan Africa: Tradition, Struggle, and Change, edited by Lilian Lem Atanga, Sibonile Edith Ellece, Lia Litosseliti, and Jane Sunderland, pp. 79–93. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing. Peretz, Isabelle, and Robert J.  Zatorre, eds. (2003). The Cognitive Neuroscience of Music. New York: Oxford University Press. Racy, Ali Jihad. (1991). “Creativity and Ambience:  An Ecstatic Feedback Model from Arab Music.” The World of Music 33(3): 7–28. Rosch, Eleanor. (1977). “Classification of Real-World Objects: Origins and Representations in Cognition.” In Thinking: Readings in Cognitive Science, edited by Philip Johnson-Laird and Peter Wason, pp. 212–222. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Motivations and Methods for Encouraging Artists    347 Saurman, Todd. (2013). Singing for Survival in the Highlands of Cambodia:  Tampuan Revitalization of Music as Mediation and Cultural Reflexivity. Ph.D. dissertation, Chiang Mai University. Schippers, Huib. (2009). “Ecologies of Creative Diversity.” Griffith REVIEW 23. https:// griffithreview.com/articles/ecologies-of-creative-diversity/ Schrag, Brian. (1994). “Toward a Model for the Evaluation of the Cultural Strength of Various Musics.” Notes on Anthropology and Intercultural Community Work 16: 3–14. Schrag, Brian. (2000). “Grooving at the Nexus:  The Intersection of African Music and Euro-American Ethnomusicology at UCLA.” UCLA Ethnomusicology Department. Los Angeles: University of California, Los Angeles. Schrag, Brian. (2005). How Bamiléké Music-Makers Create Culture in Cameroon. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles. Schrag, Brian. (2013). Creating Local Arts Together: A Manual to Help Communities Reach their Kingdom Goals. General editor, James R. Krabill. Pasadena: William Carey Library. Schreffler, Gibb. (2012). “Migration Shaping Media:  Punjabi Popular Music in a Global Historical Perspective.” Popular Music and Society 35(3): 333–358. Seeger, Anthony, and Shubha Chaudhuri, eds. (2004). Archives for the Future:  Global Perspectives on Audiovisual Archives in the 21st Century. Calcutta: Seagull Books. Shirky, Clay. (2011). Cognitive Surplus: How Technology Makes Consumers into Collaborators. New York: Penguin Books. Smith, Laurajane, and Akagawa Natsuko, eds. (2009). Intangible Heritage. London: Routledge. Southern, Eileen. (1997). The Music of Black Americans: A History (3rd ed.). New York: W.W. Norton. Stone, Ruth. (1979). Communication and Interaction Processes in Music Events among the Kpelle of Liberia. Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana University. Tiempo, Joshue Zuriel G. (2012). Using AI Community Development Planning and Transformation Framework:  From Roots to Wings. Ph.D.  dissertation, Southeast Asia Interdisciplinary Development Institute. Taylor, John. (2008). “Prototypes in Cognitive Linguistics.” In Handbook of Cognitive Linguistics and Second Language Acquisition, edited by Peter Robinson and Nick C. Ellis, pp. 39–65. New York: Routledge. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1997). “Ethnomusicology and Values:  A  Reply to Henry Kingsbury.” Ethnomusicology 41(2): 254–257. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2009). “Music and Sustainability: An Ecological Viewpoint.” The World of Music 51(1): 119–138. Turner, Victor. (1967). “Betwixt and Between:  The Liminal Period in Rites de Passage.” In The Forest of Symbols:  The Aspects of Ndembu Ritual, pp. 93–111 Ithaca, NY:  Cornell University Press. Wade, Bonnie C. (2012). Thinking Musically: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture (3rd ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. Webster, Jason. (2004). Duende:  A  Journey into the Heart of Flamenco. New  York: Broadway Books. Wilson, Edward O. (2002). The Future of Life. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.

Chapter 10

Activi st Et hnom u sic ol o g y a nd M arginalized Mu si c of Sou th  Asia Zoe C. Sherinian

Hearing and seeing marginal music through participant activism brings ethnomusicologists face to face with our choice of subjects, with self-reflexivity, and with musical value played out in local power politics. It also presents us with new methods such as ethnographic film, dialogical participation, and broader distribution and impact for our scholarship and its meaning. In this chapter I explore how South Asian activist ethnomusicology can contribute methodology and theory to the wider discipline. Focusing on dialogical processes from two case studies of Dalit (formerly “untouchable” or “outcaste”)1 folk music from my fieldwork and filmmaking in the Indian state of Tamil Nadu, I examine ways to approach local contexts where there are intense hierarchies of musical value and where oppressed communities use music to assert identity and cultural politics of revaluation through methods of participant activism that contribute to what I call Dalit Action Theory. To conduct activist ethnomusicology in the context of South Asia generates theoretical perspectives of musical value within economies of musical style. It forces the ethnomusicologist to engage with the cultural politics (or meaningful action) of marginalized music and musicians in the South Asian geographic area of study in which, until the late twentieth century, scholarship had primarily focused on formal analysis of the elite classical styles of Karnatak and Hindustani music as sound objects.2 That is, the meaning of the music was interpreted within and not beyond the building blocks of musical performance. It exemplified the fetishization of the object of art and the genius individual artist whom ethnomusicology has typically worked against, especially within the academy. As in the visual arts, where it was thought that there must be an art object that can be preserved, in Western art music it is the composer and the score that are fixated upon as the primary objects of analytical importance and the determinants of meaning. This

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    349 was the focus and methodological model adopted by early ethnomusicologists of South Asian music. In pre-1980s ethnomusicological field methods, knowledge was understood to lie in the object of the transcription or notation of the collected and recorded music. Such representation of sound then facilitated comparison across lived experience to understand origin and evolution (Titon, 2008: 25). Since the mid-1980s, using phenomenological and hermeneutic approaches, the point of entry into the “life-world” (ibid.) of the music for ethnomusicologists has more often been the people, their context and the processes that evolve from sound making, the shared experience of performance, and the relationships that evolve through that fieldwork process, as well as music’s social cultural process of production, transmission, and reception. The moments of self-reflexivity that reveal transformation enter ethnomusicological ethnographies through close description of shared music making that may be poetic and polemic. Instead of a singular authoritative interpretive approach, we constitute meaning through “sympathetic listening” across multiple personal field relationships and perspectives (ibid.: 27, 29). Our goal is knowledge of people through agreement and lived experience, the analysis of which proceeds through interpretation of shared musical processes (ibid.: 27). These methods are common today in South Asian ethnomusicology. However, repercussions of the pre-1980s inclination toward the formal analysis of classical South Asian music included the reinforcement of long-standing local hierarchies of musical and social identity value that were further codified in the mid- to late twentieth century by postcolonial caste politics and academic choices.3 I assert that an alternative engagement with the meaning and value of marginalized South Asian music through the drumming and folk songs of untouchables, or Dalits, inherently changes the way we practice ethnomusicology in South Asia and impacts broader theories of applied ethnomusicology. Preminda Jacob (2009), art historian of Tamil visual culture, argues that methodology is determined by the content of study; it takes on the imprint of the theorist’s disciplinary focus. She draws from the work of Georges Did-Huberman (2003), who poetically described methodology and its impact on the fieldworker as tools in perpetual transformation: From the tool kit to the hand that uses them, the tools themselves are being formed, that is to say, they appear less as entities than as plastic forms in perpetual transformation. Let us think rather of malleable tools, tools of wax that take on a different form, signification, and use value in each hand and on each material to be worked. (Didi-Huberman, 2003: 38)

Thus, as we move from fetishizing the art/sound object of classical South Asian music produced by and for the elite, using a methodology of formal analysis, to a focus on the use of folk music by the lower castes and Dalits, to assert politics of identity what does this require of our fieldwork and ethnographic methodology? How does it effect the fieldworker, the subject, and the relationship between them? Do each of them also become malleable tools (re/trans)formed in the research process? Finally, what does the resulting theory that evolves from the data/experience look or sound like?

350   Zoe C. Sherinian Most important, a focus on folk cultural contexts, expressions, and processes, as well as the lower castes who use and produce this culture (a shift in musical, contextual, and human subjects from earlier studies), forces us to recognize and deconstruct local hegemonies of musical style and our discipline’s contributions to the construction and perpetuation of them. This necessitates a self-reflexive, area-focused (South Asia) consciousness of our choices and stance. I propose that studying the people and meaning behind marginalized music necessitates a participant-activist methodology, not only in fieldwork, but in teaching content and academic/community programming. In this chapter I use and theorize activist and advocate ethnomusicology, as opposed to applied or public sector, which I feel reflects a job description or title more than a method. I am concerned with the actions of advocacy and engagement in order to emphasize “energy directed toward socio-political concerns” (Dirksen, 2012:  n.p.), “the uses of ethnomusicology towards solving concrete problems” (Harrison, 2012: 514), or the understanding of advocate ethnomusicology as “any use of ethnomusicological knowledge by the ethnomusicologist to increase the power of self-determination for a particular cultural group” (Patten, 2008: 90, in Harrison, 2012: 509). However, I ground such political action or engagement in the feminist perspective that the personal is the political. Further, I wish to bridge what Rebecca Dirksen calls the “[w]‌ell-fed false dichotomy between ‘pure research’ and ‘applied work,’ ” or the perceived juncture between the university and “real life” (2012:  n.p.). Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett argues that this split is a “mistaken dichotomy” based on a resistance to reflexively analyze the core, applied character of the discipline of folklore (1988: 141). The activism I examine here includes recognition of the role that ethnomusicologists play within the academy as “advocates” legitimizing the study of all music (not just Western art music) simply through our presence in the classroom and committee room every day, transmitting and representing our discipline. Finally, the use of media such as participatory ethnographic film as a form of knowledge transmission (and production), and as an educational and consciousness-raising tool, not only opens the possibility to reach a wider audience for ethnomusicology, it also requires that the ethnographer and her resulting “texts” become a forum or conduit for her subject’s agency and message, while not erasing or denying the scholar’s own critical voice. Film provides an accessible medium and greater sensory experience for the audience to which the subjects communicate. It provides a fuller observation of the experiences of the marginalized, and a means to a more transparent lens into the relationship of the subjects with the ethnographer. Further, participant-action ethnographic film, in which cameras are put into the hands of the ethnographic and/or oppressed subjects, can provide a collaborative ethnographic production that is much less mediated by the scholar and potentially highly dialogical. The shift in methods that result from a shift in subject (classical to folk music, elite to oppressed people) allows us to begin to see, hear, and experience South Asian music differently—from multiple perspectives, no longer as aesthetic objects that reflect the constructs of elite musicians, their values and culture. But instead, we can experience the perspective and creative processes of the oppressed majority and their music that asserts a vision,

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    351 song, and beat of resistance and liberation. As scholars, we are invited to open ourselves to dance with the thinking, conscious, embodied, agentive Dalit singing her tune, refusing to be silent, but demanding to be heard and seen in a cultural politics of clashing musical styles.

Transformative Musical Meaning/ Action Grounded in the Political Assertion of Cultural Value by Dalits Dalit is a self-chosen term of oppositional politics that is used by people throughout India (and in some other parts of South Asia or its diasporas) formerly referred to by the terms untouchable, outcaste, Harajin, or the contemporary term, scheduled caste.4 The term Dalit comes from Marathi, meaning ground, suppressed, or broken. As a single umbrella term, it undermines sub-jati (caste) differentiation and unifies people across identities of oppression including class, gender, race, and religion.5 The term Dalit was first applied in Western India to lower castes and outcastes in the nineteenth century by Jyotirao Phule, the Maharashtran activist and social reformer who worked for the rights of Shudras (lower castes), outcastes, and women (Mendelsohn and Vicziany, 1998: 4). The modern Dalit movement was started in the 1920s by Dr. B. R. Ambedkar (1891–1956), whose work included challenging Mahatma Gandhi’s campaign to prevent untouchables from having a separate electorate—that is, their own representation in India’s new democracy.6 The term was made popular again by the Dalit Panthers and in the Dalit literary movement of 1970s in the state of Maharashtra. Dalits also fall under the rubric of the “subaltern,” in that as a subject, the subaltern studies group of South Asian historians have studied them in a limited—some would argue, failed—sense (Bhagavan and Feldhaus, 2008). Dalits make up over 16 percent of the population of India (that is, 260 million). Untouchability was outlawed by Article 17 of the Indian Constitution in 1950. However, prejudice, discrimination, and violence continue as part of the daily experience of Dalits in India and its diasporas. Indeed, historian Dilip Menon calls caste violence “the central fault line of contemporary Indian society” (Menon, 2006: 1). Dalit Action Theory is politicized agency of the oppressed, asserted through cultural expression, necessitating an activist methodology focused on collaboration, dialogue, and reciprocity. Its action is one of social justice for underrepresented and undervalued culture: an expression of the ideal of worthy intervention and a “guiding sense of social purpose” that has been at the heart of ethnomusicology, particularly applied ethnomusicology, since its inception (Sheehy 1992: 323; Titon, 1992: 316–317).7 In ethnomusicology, Dalit Action Theory evolves from political experience, engagement, and exchange; that is, dialogue between culture bearers, researchers, and other activists with whom they are engaged. I have developed this concept from anthropologist Sherry Ortner’s idea of subaltern practice theory (1996). While “practice” is a useful concept from performance studies, my emphasis on “action” broadens the concept of practice and performance to

352   Zoe C. Sherinian recognize a politicized agency of the oppressed, asserted through the arts and the ethnographer’s dialogical engagement with them. I am searching for a space between gender theorist Judith Butler’s distinction of performance and performativity that would articulate through expressive culture a blended, heightened, conscious “habit” of identity politics (Blacking, 1995: 218; Butler, 1990). Sheehy calls this “conscious practice”: the purpose and end game of applied ethnomusicology’s strategic action that goes beyond collecting knowledge for knowledge’s sake (1992: 323). A phenomenological approach, using examples below from dialogical fieldwork among outcastes of Tamil Nadu, will show how Dalits use music to assert value, power, and empowerment in society, and the means by which knowledge about that process is formulated and transmitted as the foundational lens for methods and theories of advocacy and activist ethnomusicology.

The Classical Ten Percent In South Asian culture, one continues to find a hierarchy of musical value in which the classical court music and concert music—Hindustani and Karnatak, which are patronized by only about ten percent of the population—are considered of greater worth than other practices, including folk, popular (Bollywood or productions of the regional film industries), and some devotional music. This hierarchical value difference is justified in the following ways. The “classical” practices are theorized in vernacular and Sanskritic texts and thus are considered rooted in “ancient Hindu” culture, which predates the “foreign” cultural influences of Islam and Christianity. However, this essentially erases their influence, or the contribution of anything but upper caste Brahminical Hindu culture, to these “classical” forms of music.8 Furthermore, the powerful institutions of society (education, media, politics) and the elite (upper caste and class) people who control public discourse consider the classical practices more complex, virtuosic, meaningful, and literally cleaner (or purer) than these other genres, even those practices essential to village Hinduism. What is as important to this study, however, is that this discourse of ancientness, purity, and essential greater value has been reinforced and codified, whether consciously or unconsciously, by Western ethnomusicologists. The results have been an uncritical impact on our knowledge about and support of the music of elite South Asians and, to a large degree, an erasure of our knowledge and support of the non-elite. In particular, we have ignored the music and culture of Dalits. However, I would also apply this erasure to lower-caste and class hereditary musicians, who also struggle to have the value of their music recognized (Terada, 2000). These musicians who play folk instruments in the village ritual economy, as well as those who play in Brahmin temples, are still believed to repollute themselves through performing drums like the Tamil frame drum called parai9 or aerophones such as the double reed nagaswaram. That is because such instrumental performance involves the polluting substances of animal skin or saliva. By maintaining hereditary occupational roles as performers within polluting contexts such as funerals, where the sounding of the instrument is ritually necessary and outcaste

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    353 participation is demanded within village systems of kadamai or slave-like hereditary duty, their status remains low (Sherinian 2009, 2011). Folk music scholar Jesudasan Rajasekaran described the dynamics of degradation and low status experienced by folk musicians whom he observed in the 1970s when he first began to study Tamil folk music: The status of folk music and also musicians was very, very low. They are not even considered as people that they [the middle classes and castes] can move [with], they can go about and talk to or have any interaction with. Because, they are only used for occasions where they are required. That’s all. If it’s a karagam dancer, Mariamman festival comes, “ok we pick them up.” That is all. The rest of the time these people, they are just on the fringe. They are not very much part of the society, not like the Karnatak musicians, or any other light musicians, or temple musician. That’s another hierarchy that is in this thing. Just like in this community, the caste hierarchy is so strong, even [in] the music they have a hierarchy. (J. Rajasekaran interview, February 15, 2009)

Rajasekaran’s analysis highlights a hegemony in Tamil culture that not only parallels, but (re)constructs and transmits a tangible coherence of structures of musical value as hierarchies of the social values of caste and class in South India (Feld, 1984: 406). An even more visceral expression of the coding of the musical value hierarchy in South India came from a Brahman Karnatak mrdangam (drum) artist who said that simply hearing folk music made him feel sick to his stomach (personal communication, Aaron Paige). Thus, the untouchablity and unseeability of low-caste musicians are extended to the sound of their instruments as unhearable.10 Unfortunately, this value hierarchy has also been reinforced, perpetuated, and codified in the West by the research and teaching choices of ethnomusicologists, including the standard material in world music textbooks (the majority of which focuses on analysis of classical Indian music). Ethnomusicologists have further supported this social hierarchy in the following three ways: (1) by not contextualizing the meaning of specific styles of music within South Asian culture, particularly in economies of caste and class; (2) by erasing the presence of folk and popular voices (who make up a numerical majority in the society) through the music we choose to research, teach, and program in our concert series; (3) by codifying style categories instead of recognizing the flow of cultural influence and exchange through their porus boundaries.

Orientalism and Neo-Orientalism in Ethnomusicology There is a complex interactive fieldwork dynamic, with specific histories in both the Euro-American academy and the South Asian context, that needs to be deconstructed and scrutinized in order to understand how the more recent choice of subjects from the

354   Zoe C. Sherinian less valued communities potentially shifts our methodology. This deconstruction is necessary in order to address advocacy from the perspective of marginalized South Asian music and its cultural politics, and therefore to bring the music of lower caste, outcaste, poor, tribal, and rural people to the center of academic inquiry. The Japanese historian and Pulizer Prize–winning author John Dower described the idea of value-free scholarship, or “research produced by a completely impartial and dispassionate researcher” (McLean, 2006), in which the field of Asian studies was immersed in the 1960s and 1970s, as the drowning of the academy in highly political and ideological modernization theory that indeed was not value free (Dower, 2004). This apolitical, antiactivist methodology, rooted in the surveillance culture of the McCarthy era of the 1950s, created great fear and purged scholars from Asian studies. David Price shows that social activist-anthropologists working for racial justice experienced a similar politics of sanitization and scrutiny by the FBI starting in the 1940s and 1950s (Price, 2004). In her discussion of the history of applied ethnomusicology and mid-twentieth-century interest in folk culture following the New Deal cultural documentation projects of the 1930s and the burgeoning folk revival movement, Rebecca Dirksen says that “McCarthyism and Cold War politics administered a heavy blow as the FBI investigated folk artists and supporters for alleged communist sympathies.” These included the “rigorous investigation” of Allen Lomax and Benjamin Botkin by the FBI (Dirksen, 2012: n.p.; Sheehy, 1992: 325). The scrutiny and the ideology of value-free scholarship affected the choice by many ethnomusicologists to study classical music and culture in India over less valued forms of music in the mid-twentieth century. It also may have been the least threatening choice for American ethnomusicologists during the heightened tensions of the Cold War, with Pakistan politically aligned with the United States, and India with the Soviet Union. Furthermore, within the music academy, where most ethnomusicologists studied and taught, local struggles over musical value influenced the choice to work with elite Asian court music that could compete with the “sophistication” of Western classical music. This was not only a research choice; it extended to performance teaching, textbook content, and concert presentation. Mantle Hood’s concept of bimusicality (that one could be fluent in more than one musical system) and his development of this musicological method, derived from performance skills and music theory/analysis within ethnomusicology, further fueled the study of elite/court-based Javanese, Japanese, and South Asian music (Nettl, 2005:  50). Deborah Wong calls this “research through performance practice” (2008: 81). Drawing on work by Marc Perlman (2004), Wong suggests that the problem with Hood’s work was his authorial position and the lack of ethnographic, dialogical, or collaborative presence in his writing, so core to contemporary applied, activist ethnomusicology and, some theorists argue, all ethnomusicology (Harrison, 2012: 507–508): His scholarship on gamelan music theory was profoundly shaped by his time and his own training. He spent years interacting with Javanese musicians and learning from them directly, but they are essentially not present in his analytical work; His scholarship on music theory is empirical, produced by a unitary interpretive subject (Hood) and is barely ethnographic. (Wong 2008: 81)

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    355 In turn, the theoretical and musically complex nature of these practices molded ethnomusicological approaches and methods of interaction with “classical” Asian music. Indeed, Nettl argues that more Western audiences were inclined to embrace Asian elite (while foreign) practices as “music” and further that they might even like, let  alone appreciate, them for their complexity (Nettl, 2005: 50). The easy embrace of Asian classical music through introducing gamelan ensembles in the Western academy, bringing “A-grade” artists and academics from Bali and India to teach in Ph.D. programs, and their mentorship of Western students as “disciples” further supported the acceptance of ethnomusicology within music departments that were still committed to the Eurocentrism manifest in the “value-free” ideology of virtuosity and perfection of the Western musical canon.11 The study of elite court and temple cultures of Asia, with their comparably complex written theoretical and notation systems, more easily validated and facilitated the study of non-Western music in general during the early years of the discipline (1950s). However, this Eurocentric hegemony was not new. It had its roots in Western music and academic studies tainted by the colonialism and racism of the nineteenth century, as well as the orientalism of the eighteenth century. The focus on elite court cultures of Asia by ethnomusicologists is an example of the continuation of Indology and eighteenth-century orientalism, which historian Thomas Trautmann (1997) calls “Indomania.” Trautmann focuses on Sir William Jones, known primarily for his assertion that Sanskrit was a civilized European proto-language, in some respects surpassing Latin and Greek in the development of its grammatical system (1997: 39). In 1784 Jones also wrote Indic ethnomusicology’s foundational “Brahmin-musical-centric” (my words) texts with his treatises on Indian classical music, entitled On the Musical Modes of the Hindus. Trautmann’s form of eighteenth-century orientalism can also be seen in the encouragement of Indian Christian converts by the German Lutheran missionaries in South India to use the elite Karnatak genre of kīrttaṉai as the basis for an indigenous hymnody as early as 1714.12 It was not until the height of imperial colonialism in the mid-nineteenth century that the Eurocentric brand of orientalism Trautmann calls “Indophobia” was more prevalent in British India. In South India its musical traces were perpetuated primarily by British missionaries, including the promotion among converts of four-part harmonic Western hymnody in English over the earlier modal and odd-meter based indigenous genre of Christian kīrttaṉai encouraged by the German Lutherans (Sherinian 2007, 2014). Indomania for the elite practices continued among music scholars and their local informants, usually Brahmins in the nineteenth century. For example, Augustus Willard wrote one of the earliest English treatises on Hindustani music in 1834. This was followed in 1914 by A. H. Fox Strangways’s early prototype of comparative musicology, The Music of Hindustan, and the work of two twentieth-century Protestant missionaries: Emmons White, who published Appreciating India’s Music in 1957, and H. A. Popley, who drew on the earlier work of Fox Strangways and Captain Day to write The Music of India in 1921. White also worked closely with contemporary Brahmin Karnatak theorist P. Sambamoorthy and, in the 1970s, Karnatak ethnomusicologist John Higgins. These missionary and civil servant scholars wrote detailed analyses of the classical raga systems, as well as detailed transcriptions in Western notation from first-hand experience

356   Zoe C. Sherinian through personal study with a local, typically Brahmin, teacher. While these works contain subtle traces of ethnocentricm, rationalistic comparison, generalization, paternalism, and the impetus to scientifically codify structural procedures and performance practice, they generally were written with a great respect and appreciation for the Karnatak and Hindustani systems. The goal (particularly of Fox Strangways and Popley)—to scientifically and practically “know” the classical systems, particularly of melody—however, strongly contributed to the later methodological focus on music’s structure and theory within South Asian ethnomusicology. Further, this focus was devoid of any real sociopolitical analysis of the culturally powerful Brahmin, or upper caste, elite hereditary music communities that produced or patronized these forms of music and the theories about them. This lack, in turn, extended the production of uncritical colonial knowledge past the mid-twentieth century, landing us in the middle of contemporary Hindu fundamentalist cultural politics.13 In his analysis of the contemporary Hindu fundamentalist movement in The Saffron Wave, historian Thomas Hanson shows how “the Brahminical high scriptural tradition that… produced the bulk of Sanskrit texts [was] regarded as the classical center of the Aryan-Vedic high civilization” (1999: 65). He argues that the concept of a single classical Hinduism organized around a central high culture and extending across the subcontinent as a “great tradition” was a production of colonial knowledge. Furthermore, this codification and elevation of Brahminical practices into a Hindu tradition took place with “the active assistance and help of Brahminical western-educated strata, especially in Madras and Bengal where the colonial administration began” (ibid.: 66). The concept of the unity of Hindu culture puts the classical practices at the center, with devalued folk music at the margins, paralleling the geography of most villages, where outcastes, considered spiritually dangerous and impure, are confined to ghettos on the wastelands at the boundaries of the village (Mines, 2010: 226, 232). Partha Chatterjee describes the Hindu fundamentalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) as more concerned about defending and promoting a unified Indian culture than the religion of Hinduism. He defines the BJP’s construct of Indian culture as an authentic ideal, fundamentally unified, ancient, and continuous. Furthermore, he says, the attempts to describe this unified ideal by nationalists “have been largely textual, searching ancient works of religion, philosophy and law written for the most part in Sanskrit. The older the texts, the stronger the claim to belong to the origins of Indian culture and hence to its continuous authenticity” (2003: 1). To counter these claims of cultural unity, and to show the great diversity of practices in India, many of which counter orthodox Hindu practices, Chatterjee cites a recent vast study by the Anthropological Survey of India. He finds that in 4,635 distinct communities, 80 percent of the population eat fish or meat, racial hybridity is the norm, one-half of all men and one-quarter of all women drink, most are allowed to smoke, and the strong regard for lineage and ancestry “is a trait that belongs only to the upper castes” (ibid.).14 Chatterjee furthermore says that while the cultural nationalists may recognize diversity within India, they argue that there is a fundamental cultural unity that cannot be found in the day-to-day practices of the people because those practices have been

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    357 corrupted by many influences (often constructed as foreign, Muslim, or Christian). They hope to promote this political ideology in order to uphold the national cultural ideal and maintain power in the hands of the upper caste Hindus (ibid.). In order to understand the dynamics and politics of advocacy in South Asian ethnomusicology, we must confront the local sociopolitical identity of musical style, as well as the contribution of colonial dynamics and scholarship to the construction or reification of these hierarchies. A self-reflexive approach will help us understand our inherent role as advocates or perhaps contemporary Indomaniacs, which ethnomusicologists have played for non-Western music and musicians within the music academy since the founding of the discipline in the 1950s—and in South Asia for over 200 years. Then we must decide the degree to which we were, and continue to be, conscious of the elite or marginalized subjects of our advocacy. Methods that focus on formal analysis of musical systems (such as raga and tala) help us maintain distance from the “disorientation” of the embodied, often sensually extreme fieldwork experience. It keeps the academic project in a comfort zone away from the “domains of the body, the spiritual, the ‘mystical,’ ‘the exotic,’ and the ‘primitive’ ” (Hahn, 2006: 92). Our methods of fieldwork as disciples of classical music gurus have led to extreme levels of embodied (particularly technical) knowledge from which South Asian ethnomusicologists have been able to make great contributions to the understanding of the systematic theory and performance practice of these forms of music, for example, the work of Slawek (1987) and Miner (1993) on the history of sitar, Nelson (1991) on the mrdangam drum, and T. Viswanathan (1974) on Karnatak raga improvisation. However, the literature has lacked that self-reflexive mirror that would necessitate greater representation and understanding of the sociopolitical context and processes from which the music evolves and gains its meaning. To generate a new method of South Asian activist ethnomusicology through better understanding the music/dance that have been overlooked in South Asia, I turn to Dalit Action Theory.

Dalit Action Theory on the Ground Transformative musical action is woven into encounters with politics of cultural value. Key to this action and its meaning is dialogical field engagement, disorientation, and reorientation through reflection. Dislocation when in the field and relocation in the academic world (or vice versa) are also often factors whether one is literally far away from the field site or not (Babiracki, 2008: 168). However, in his study of heavy metal music, Harry Berger describes a critical dialogical process through engaged interpretation with metal performers after a period of ethnomusicological data gathering (interviews and participant observation) (Berger, 2008: 74). This is methodology for theoretical interpretation that crosses the perceived dichotomy between academy and field site, engaging the subjects of research in the production of knowledge through, in Berger’s case, dialoguing with the metal heads about Marxist critiques of their music and the politics

358   Zoe C. Sherinian of music, which in turn resulted in a range of collaborative interpretive insights that supported the agentive voice of the subjects (see case study below and Sherinian, 2005). In this way, Dalit Action Theory in ethnomusicology evolves out of data and experience derived from political engagement, participant-action, and exchange of music and ideas between members of the music culture and ethnomusicologists, as well as other activists with whom the people are engaged. Knowledge production is dialogically shared. The goal of the experience and cultural understanding is transformative musical meaning/action, grounded in the assertion through performance of a politics of cultural value, resistance, and identity. Key to this action in the field experience is transformation through cultural and musical disorientation (Hahn, 2006; Wong, 2008), which we can perhaps call a subaltern praxis of reversal, reorientation through reflection and interpretation (Freire, 1984 [1970]), and, as Berger has shown, critical dialogical engagement (Berger, 2008). Using two case studies of Dalit folk music from the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu, I will show how music makers/producers use music to assert value, resistance, and empowerment in society. My focus is to demonstrate how theories of advocacy and activist ethnomusicology evolve from data and experience attained through using an activist ethnomusicological methodology focused on collaboration, dialogue, reciprocity, and mutual transformation in relationship, shared music making/composition/performance knowledge building, and theologizing.

Case Studies from the Dalit Movement: The Subaltern Sing (and Drum!) Both of the following case studies engage with Tamil Dalits and the cultural politics of Dalit liberation through music. I began writing this chapter with the intention of using the phrase “subaltern action theory,” drawing on subaltern as a universal, academic designation that can encompass the experience and politics of people such as Dalits throughout South Asia and its diasporas.15 Antonio Gramsci first applied “subaltern” to those groups excluded from politics, who thus lacked a voice of political representation or participation in the production of history or culture, as the elite understood this process. This included those of “low rank,” the proletariat, workers, peasants, and those suffering under the hegemony of ruling elite classes such as Mussolini’s Fascist Party (El Habib Louai, 2012: 5).16 I am further influenced by feminist anthropologist Sherry Ortner’s (1996) feminist practice theory focused on gender and power. She theorizes the role that female/subaltern agency can play and how this agency is both constructed and enacted (Ortner, 1996: 16). The subaltern studies group in South Asian history, especially as exemplified by Gayatri Spivak’s essay, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” (1988), uses Marxist and feminist analysis to understand workers and women, drawing on Gramsci’s notion of the proletariat and those of low rank in their use of the term subaltern. From her analysis of early

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    359 twentieth-century Indian women’s lack of access to the public sphere, Spivak asks the question, “Can the subaltern speak?” She was specifically concerned with the experience of women subjugated by sati (or widow immolation), which was primarily middle class and elite women, being solely represented in the writing of British colonials and elite Indians. She also describes subaltern self-representation in scholarship and media as “anonymous and mute.” Those marginalized in today’s South Asia similarly have little access to voicing their concerns or representing their identities in mainstream media and to globally networked, or cosmopolitan audiences. So, how can the subaltern speak for themselves, especially without reinscribing their subordinate position in society? I assert and, as I once discussed with Dr. Spivak, attempt to understand the self-representation of many marginal people in India by suggesting that “Can the subaltern speak?” is the wrong question. For those oppressed by caste, class, and often gender, the means of protest communication in South Asia is rarely public speech. It is more often song and performance; that is, the subaltern sing and drum their subjectivity (Sundar, 2007: 160–162).17 As a method for ethnomusicology (and political science), one must listen for the resistive expression of Dalits not as speech, but as music. My primary critique of Spivak’s use, and in turn my evolution from the phrase “subaltern practice theory” to “Dalit Action Theory,” is the lack of recognition that Dalits or any oppressed peoples inherently have agency. This is the case in South Asia because many upper-caste historians who theorize the “subaltern” have not studied (done fieldwork with), understood, or recognized the contemporary medium from which Dalits communicate. Dalit Action Theory in the medium of folk music instead redirects and answers the question, “Can the subaltern speak?” By reorienting and answering this question with a focus on the Dalit action of musical performance and protest, I shift from the limits of a category of identity such as subaltern (which implies a population below some other identity)18 or even the term oppressed, to behavior, or the action of Dalit culture. Because of the daily forms of danger and humiliation that Dalits must resist to survive, they may not speak (in the public sphere or from a political platform) at all. I assert that the Dalit mode of action is to sing and drum their resistance and liberation, using accessible tools of identity such as those evolved from village folk culture that inherently empower them in their own cultural resources (language, nonverbal musical style, instruments, etc.).19 Further, as I show in the following case studies, Dalits re-sound their empowerment through Dalit musico-theology, through reclaiming the polluted status of their parai frame drum, and through interrogating their internalized castism. Thus, by choosing the term Dalit Action Theory, I allow my theory to evolve from my data and the terminology of local activists across South Asia. The following ethnographic case studies explore and define how Dalits act and what actions can be contained within this term and then applied theoretically more universally. I found that Dalits often act in a unified way across differences (caste, class, and gender); they are more often intersectional. While it is commonly asserted that the liberation of women is at the center of caste liberation (Devasahayam, 1997), Dalit culture encourages acting in an expansive, inclusive, and improvisatory way, as is reflected in the ability to change

360   Zoe C. Sherinian the lyrics, tunes, rhythms, and other elements, of folk songs (as a medium of action), in order to meet the particular sociopolitical needs of the moment (Appavoo, in Sherinian, 2014). Dalits often act in a loving welcoming way toward those who might hold power over them, while maintaining their integrity of self-understanding and definition (see case of Amulraj below). This exemplifies Sherry Ortner’s model of “serious games”: “culturally organized social episodes in which players retain some degree of agency… actors play with skill, intention, wit, knowledge, intelligence” (Prieto, 1998: 12). I draw my concept of action from Sherry Ortner, who emphasizes in her book Making Gender the role of practice in social change. Ortner reacts against practice theory as reproduction in the mode of Bourdieu and Giddens (Ortner, 1996: 17), while she continues to argue against the separation of reproduction and transformation. She also avoids the loop of structures constructing subjects, or vice versa. Ortner instead argues for subaltern practice theory that “look(s) for the slippages in reproduction, the erosion of long-standing patterns, the moments of disorder and outright resistance” (ibid.). In her case study of the Hawaiian women’s cultural coup that overthrew local gender arrangements, she emphasizes “the disjunctions in, rather than the coherence of the structure,… the creativity of the women within the limits of their traditional politics,… (and) the transformations rather than the continuities that ensued” (1996: 18). Thus, her emphasis lies on “incompleteness, instability, and change” in systems and people (ibid.). I am interested in the sort of agency from the oppressed that emerges not only from a dynamic cultural context, but also with cultural material such as music, to create change. This is radical action, that goes to the root, often internally, to address core issues of power and hierarchy that affect oppressed communities: the power of the communal arts to radically transform the self in relation to society or one’s context. This is negotiation between the constructed ideological forces and the place where real people work out the messiness on the ground to create change. This practice framework has a conscious intent of radical action through the arts for change. Human action not only constructs the arts and individual identity in relation to them, but also transforms them, potentially liberating the actor. The actor inherently shows his or her skill through the arts, manipulating folk song lyrics, tune, rhythm, instruments, and meanings to create an internal, community-based dialogue intended to create action for change. This action is radical in its disorientation, in the way that it pushes the external limits of habitus (Ortner, 1996: 11). Dalits reverse power structures (Appavoo, in Sherinian, 2014). In village religious practice, Dalits radically transform, from the inside, the internalized roots of the shame of untouchability. The parai drum evokes trance states that enable Dalits to make themselves anew. Dalit Action Theory, then, is centered in the power of the arts, the music-dance-narrative, to (re)produce society and history through the intentional action of agents, specifically oppressed agents. Dalits understand the larger forces working against them and are actively—not simply—surviving, and resisting, through daily musical action. The church in India constructs Christian identity and theology as well as the practice of music. But, through indigenizing Christian music in styles such as folk music that allow for slippages in reproduction and active resistance to dominant ideology, practitioners

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    361 are able to change lyrics and other musical aspects and, therefore, theology (Sherinian, 2014). Using folk music, Dalit Christians are able to change Christian theology and their associated social identities “from below.” With such a musical system, song texts have no authors, hymnbook committees have no control, and there is a built-in “lack of totalization of ‘structure’ itself.… Hegemonies are always ‘partial’… there are always sites [or sounds]… of alternative practice and perspective available, and these may become bases of resistance and transformation” (Ortner, 1996: 18). Folk music in Indian culture is one such site of alternative practice, particularly with the influence of culture broker theologians like Rev. J. T. Appavoo (1940–2005), who was a significant node in a network of change that encouraged this alternative practice of folk music as theology.20 Actors as agents with desires and intentions are embedded within games, dramas, stories, and, I would also assert, musical systems and structures with sound and movement. Furthermore, such perspectives inherently recognize, in agency, alternatives—the possibility of doing things differently. As Ortner says, “there are [always] other ways of doing the game of life, even if those alternatives are not immediately available or not subjectively desirable. What is important is that they exist, and thus always prevent closure” (Ortner, 1996: 19). They are understood as possible. They give hope and encourage persistence of action by the oppressed. This is consciousness.

Christianizing “Dalit” In the early 1980s, Christians throughout India, but particularly in the South, began to embrace the term Dalit as a form of identity and to apply it to the creation of a liberation theology that addressed caste as well as class and gender inequalities. This “Dalit Theology” had its roots in the Social Gospel movement of the mid- to late nineteenth century,21 the Ambedkar movement, Marxist and labor movements, and the anti-Brahmin Dravidian movement in South India (Devasahayam, 1997; Webster, 1992). It also led to the development of a body of literature on Dalit theology. The academic roots of the Dalit theology movement began at the United Theological College, Bangalore, in April 1981, with a lecture entitled “Towards a Sudra Theology” by A. P. Nirmal. Kottapalli Wilson used the term Dalit in 1982 in his book The Twice Alienated Culture of Dalit Christians. In 1984, the Church of South India Dalit Bishop M. Azariah (the first Dalit Bishop in the CSI Madras Diocese, who served in 1990–1999) was the first Protestant Church leader to use the phrase “Dalit Theology” in international discourse, with the intent of bringing global concern to the plights of Dalits.22 One of the most striking problems for Christian Dalits is that the Indian government does not afford them the same degree of compensation (quotas in government jobs and educational seats) as nominally Hindu Dalits.23 In 1994, Bishop Azariah led a march to Delhi to fight for compensatory rights—affirmative action and quotas in education and government jobs—for Christian Dalits equal to those offered to “Hindu” Dalits. Dalit Christians have also been actively involved in the international struggle for Dalit human rights and recognition of

362   Zoe C. Sherinian caste discrimination. More recently, many Dalit Christians, including the young women parai drummers of the Sakthi Kalai Kuzhu (The Sakthi Folk Cultural Centre), participated in political demonstrations as performer/activists at the 2001 United Nations Conference on Racism in Durban, South Africa, and the 2004 World Social Forum in Mumbai.

Case One: Tamil Folk Music as Dalit Theology It was this milieu of activism and musico-theology into which I stepped in 1993 to begin my doctoral fieldwork on the indigenization of Tamil Christian music—only to become disoriented and transformed. In this section I describe how the introduction of folk music by theologians and a folk music process of re-creation of Christian music and theology by Dalit villagers since the 1980s are examples of Ortner’s subaltern practice theory, specifically through the reformation of sociomusical identity (Ortner, 1996: 17). Tomie Hahn articulates how an ethnomusicologist can experience disorientation in fieldwork in the process of discovering the transformative moments that lead to cultural understanding or reorientation (Hahn, 2006). I conducted my dissertation fieldwork at the Tamil Nadu Theological Seminary (TTS) in Madurai, India, in 1993–1994. My original intent had been to study the use of Indian classical Karnatak music by Christians. However, in my first engagement with Rev. Theophilus Appavoo (1940–2005) and his Dalit Christian folk music, I experienced embodied disorientation that critically challenged my understanding of what was significant theologically, musically, and politically in the seminary community. In Appavoo’s first morning chapel service that I observed in the early months of my fieldwork, I was taken aback by the way he arranged the community in the chapel space, mixing women and men in a circle instead of segregated on two sides. Furthermore, he called forth women students to dialogue with him during his sermon, and he used lively participatory folk songs where typically light (film-music style) or classical Christian music was the norm. This experience not only moved me intellectually and musically, but politically (Blacking, 1995: 213–214).24 The direct and metaphorical ideology of the lyrics and the folk musical style fully engaged my progressive (feminist, socialist, and queer) political values and moved me to commit my project to a greater understanding of the expression and transmission of Appavoo’s Dalit Liberation theology through music. I chose to embrace the folk style of this Christian music, the participatory experience of the gender-integrated space, the experience of collaborative music making, and the politics of liberation that these performance practice values articulated. It was not only an academic decision, but also an embodied political one, in the feminist sense of the personal being the political. John Blacking’s analysis of the Christian music of the South African Venda people, which applied a folk model of musical performance integrating worship, music, politics, and social life, is a useful comparison:

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    363 The significance of musical freedom in the context of religious worship becomes apparent, and the difficulty of explaining nonverbal action with concepts derived from other modeling system dissolves in the face of a system that relates feeling and bodily experiences to material realities without any sense of contradiction. (Blacking, 1995: 221)

This initial observational experience in the TTS chapel brought me into Appavoo’s sphere and familial community as a student and critical partner in dialogue about music production, style, and transmission in the seminary. Above I describe Harry Berger’s use of critical dialogue in fieldwork and interpretation with particular attention to the “ethics of voice in fieldwork… and the role of power in expressive culture” (Berger, 2008:  74–75). One of my most embodied transformative field experiences at TTS involved a dialogue about vocal style and a folk process of shared production of theology from below through the adaptation or change of lyrics. The result of this embodied experience and interpretive process was a multifaceted understanding of caste and gender politics through recognition of the agency (voice) and stances of all involved in the negotiation of meaning (Berger 2009). Specifically, the analysis of musical style showed both nonverbal and verbal elements of song expressing the agentive voices of the doubly oppressed: Dalit women. While learning to perform and lead the classical South Indian Karnatak style, sung liturgy at TTS, I acutely experienced the hegemony of male vocal range. That is, the performance practice of this congregational style liturgy at the seminary required women to sing very high because the keynote, or sruti, was determined by a male vocal range, usually a sruti of C or D, in a setting in which men and women sing in octave unison. Male instrumental leaders habitually chose the most accessible sruti for them (males) to both sing and play on a harmonium keyboard. Thus in order to sing in octaves, the women had to push their range up from the Karnatak music norm of F1 to begin at c2 (middle C) and stretch to g3 (or higher, an octave and a half above. For the majority of the women (including me), the musical result was a strained, thin, often squeaking female timbre, very typical of Indian film music since the late 1940s. My initial analysis and embodied response in my own discomfort of singing that high was that these women were constrained by what I termed a male vocal hegemony. I shared this musical and gendered analysis with Rev. Appavoo, helping him understand my embodied musical experience (Sherinian, 2005).25 The following was his response: I think real research should create some action. So if I do some research that should create something, some change in what we call the subjects of research. As you have been doing. You are doing that, because you always remind us about the women,… you know the women’s perspective…. So this should be research of a person who is committed to humanity in general. All my articles and everything are connected with that kind of thing. It’s not just research for the sake of getting a degree. (interview, Madurai, July 1994)

364   Zoe C. Sherinian However, while Appavoo supported my analysis and potential influence on, or “interventions” in, the realm of performance in the seminary (Titon, 1992: 316), through dialogue with the young women singers, I determined that many of them preferred and strove to sing high with a nasal timbre, as a vocalized film music aesthetic that constructed a modern, sophisticated Indian femininity. Appavoo ultimately recognized this perspective, but concluded that this vocal expression was not “liberating,” as an oral symbol of modernity and sophistication, which simultaneously reinforced a domesticated, virginal, and constrained femininity for adult women (Sundar, 2007: 147–148, 169).26 Further engagement with Appavoo’s own compositional processes, on the other hand, not only created change in his community, or the “subjects” of my research, but in the ethnographer (myself). This manifested through Appavoo’s style of dialogical engagement with students and with me. It included praxis, reflection, and change of his compositions, a collaborative process to make them more accessible and theologically relevant and thus as liberating as possible. For example, when teaching his own songs, Appavoo remained open and listened for feedback about lyrics and musical sound from students at the seminary. While I was doing fieldwork with Appavoo’s choir, the women spontaneously replaced the lyric that addressed God as Appa (father) with Amma (mother) in a rehearsal of his song “Manasamātta” (Change of Heart). He thoughtfully broadened the way he addressed God to make it more inclusive of a theological construction as mother as well as father, by switching the term every other refrain (see Sherinian, 2014: Chapter 4, for full analysis of this song and a sound example). This is indicative of Appavoo’s embrace of a folk music process. In South Asian classical music, on the other hand, the student is passive, never asking questions of the guru, but simply practicing and patiently waiting for the guru to decide if the student is ready to receive more. It is a role that demands an inherently “uncritical nature” (Groesbeck, 2001: 1; Nettl, 2005: 156–157). Appavoo did not immediately recognize his own gendered limitations until the women’s side of the choir boldly sang back to him their perspective that “God is Mother!” He did not understand my gendered experience of singing the Karnatak liturgy until I shared that the vocal range chosen for me by the male harmonium player, who used it to primarily accompany men, strained my performance/range. In turn, I did not understand the class perspective of the urban Dalit women until another Indian woman friend lent the perspective that while I felt limited by this high vocal range, perhaps the young Dalit women who sang this repertoire in their upper range experienced its thin timbre as an urban sophisticated voice, like that of film stars, and provided them modern, urban, middle-class status through musical emulation. When Appavoo recognized that my strained experience as a women vocalist did not fit his own folk and feminist ideology of accessibility for his music, he consciously scrutinized the starting pitches (or vocal range level) for his compositions, adjusting them to better accommodate women in performance. Others in the seminary who did not share these feminist values, on the other hand, ignored us. Until ethnomusicologists begin to practice an activist methodology and fieldwork space that allows dialogue between multiple perspectives or stances, that challenges the constructionist authority of a white academic, of a male theology professor, of a rising middle-class Dalit female student, and that acknowledges that we ethnomusicologists inherently intervene, we can only achieve a limited understanding of culture.

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    365 The re-creative flexibility and transmission process (production, reception, and reproduction) of folk music in the Tamil Dalit Christian context provided the lived experience of people as the experience of creating empowering theology.27 This included the dialogical and interpretive process of participatory-action that evolved from the lived experience and practice of conducting fieldwork through embodying and negotiating not only politicized lyrics, but nonverbal, culturally coded elements like musical timbre and range (Blacking, 1995: 199–200). Rev. Appavoo, in turn, put the responsibility back on us, his students, to transmit his theological and political message through engagement with village and town congregations and to nurture these songs in a feedback process that could potentially lead to further theological recreation, particularly by the village Dalit people for whom the music was intended. After inviting me into his family circle and calling me his daughter, he named me Parattai Kural (Parattai’s voice),28 bringing to consciousness an identity of being more than a scholar, but also an activist with whom he was willing to trust and share his music. Through this trust and familial closeness, he placed a responsibility on me to spread his message of the praxis of Dalit musico-theology at a more global level. All of these dialogical field engagements and experiences dislodged, redefined, and reoriented the traditional guru-disciple relationship that I, like so many of my colleagues in South Asian ethnomusicology, had come to expect, particularly within a Karnatak or Hindustani elite musical context. It was the shift to a folk music milieu and a liberation theology production, transmission, and reception process that facilitated this reorientation.29 Jeff Titon describes the particular process of self-reflexivity and transformation for ethnomusicologists as located in the shared experience of playing music together in cross-cultural relationships (Sherinian, 2005, 1; Titon, 2008 [1997]). My engagement in hearing, studying, and performing Tamil Christian folk music, and my participation in the daily rituals of shared eating and in a dialogue of shared values with the community members who gathered around the musico-theology and person of Rev. Theophilus Appavoo created the place from which I locate my participation and self-transformation in my study and activism.

Case Two: Drumming Dalit Documentary Film In his book Global Soundscapes (2008), Mark Slobin essentially asks, “What does music do for film?” I want to extend this question to ask, “What can film do for music as advocacy?” The documentary film, This Is a Music: Reclaiming an Untouchable Drum, which I shot in India in 2008–2009 and released in 2011, is an example of ethnomusicological advocacy that is inherently polemic. The title This Is a Music came from one of my nine parai frame drumming teachers, Amulraj, as he asserted the value of his drum, usually considered polluting, as music (ida oru isai, or “this is a music,” in Tamil).

366   Zoe C. Sherinian Tyagu (field assistant/translator): To what extent do you accept those who think of you in such a degrading way? To what extent do you accept their views? Amulraj: We won’t get angry if they speak that way. Those who have learned the profession won’t get angry. We won’t get angry (shakes his head). We will call them and say, “Come here man, this is a music! You can’t understand this (shakes hand and gestures a throw). It doesn’t get through your thick head! That is why you are speaking like this. Go ask people like yourself, but who have traveled, ‘what are our abilities?’ Don’t simply go around talking like scum.” We will call them and tell them these things. But we won’t get angry with them. (Smiles and shakes his head “no”). (interview, Amulraj, Munaivendri, Tamil Nadu September 7, 2008)

In the Indian musical economy, where the hierarchy of musical value parallels the caste hierarchy, “polluted” outcaste musicians playing polluting folk music struggle for respect against assertions of degradedness and lack of musicality (personal communication, Rajasekaran, 2009). Thus, Amulraj’s assertion that his parai instrument, commonly thought of by middle-caste villagers and upper-caste musicians as degraded, “is a music” is a passionate, radical critique of the cultural ramifications of caste hierarchy. By providing Amulraj and his troupe an opportunity through film to voice their agency against this cultural devaluation and to share their ongoing experience of castism in the Indian village in their struggle to become professionalized musicians (laborers), my academic work as a scholar filmmaker embraces this polemic stance. However, my position to support Amulraj’s assertions are grounded in traditional ethnomusicological methods—that is, well documented, “hard,” systematic musical analysis of the music’s structure and performance practice using my informant’s own terms (analytical perspectives and metaphors that perhaps do not get through the thick heads of Amul’s middle- and upper-caste oppressors). These were gained from spending four months of participatory fieldwork learning to play the parai with the members of Kurinji Malar: embodying its rhythms, its structure, its dance, and its meanings.30 As significant as formal analysis, however, my film focuses on the negotiation of the parai’s ritual value in funerals and village Hinduism, where its sound and sounding is the means to call the deity, analogous to the use of Sanskrit slokas in Brahminical Hinduism (personal communication, John Jayaharan, 2009), and the means to take the soul to heaven (surgam) (personal communication, Rajasekaran, 2009). Further, we observed how in the contemporary urban folk festival context, parai performance has become a source of Non-Brahmin, Tamil cultural identity and entertainment. Finally, within the Dalit civil rights movement in Tamil Nadu, the parai drummer has become a cultural icon for empowerment and the drum “a weapon for liberation.” Making this documentary film was experiential and progressive within the discipline of ethnomusicology, as its process and results were highly dialogic, self-reflexive, multivocal, and transformative. Having nine teachers instead of one, as Tomie Hahn (2008) has argued, “disoriented” my fieldwork expectations in Munaivendri village. It changed the nature of the guru-student relationship I had grown to expect in the South Asian context. This multivocality of teaching techniques lent itself further to a dialogical engagement throughout the fieldwork and filming process. My teachers challenged

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    367 my discourse and interpretations, the critical process of which I document in the film narrative. I allowed myself to be vulnerable (to turn the camera on both my subjects and myself, the ethnographer), to show the dialogical process of coming to understand the following: (1) the drummer’s worldview (and how it was different from perspectives of middle-class Dalit activists, which I had adopted); (2) how they experienced caste discrimination as musicians; (3) how they experienced the term parai (as “a bitter taste on their tongue,” or a word that was hard to swallow, as it reminded them of their degraded caste name, Paraiyar); and (4) how they would ultimately negotiate a balance between building their self-esteem that resulted from their more positive reception at the Chennai Sangamam urban folk festival with the limitations of their necessary economic engagements with upper-caste patrons in their home village context.31 Sashi (cinematographer: What do you think about parai? Zoe (ethnographer/director): The instrument. Tyagu (field assistant): You see, the object. The instrument… what do you think about that instrument. What is its meaning to you? Amulraj (drummer/teacher): You mean drumset? Tyagu: Parai? Amulraj: (strongly assertive tone) you mean about drumset! That is honorable (kouravamana) work (velai). There is no need for us to ask for alms (pitchai) from anybody. It is beautiful work. It is super work. It is not that this is being done as hereditary (parambaram) habit (parakam). Of course it was done as a hereditary habit [duty], but we are not following them (in that way). Music Illaiyaraja [famous Dalit film music producer] is beating, right? Can we simply go and talk about him that way? But, when it comes to learning the profession, no one will acquire it that easily. This profession will come quickly only to the one who created it. [he likely means Paraiyars who are thought to have this ability “in their blood”]. When it comes to beating a single beat… if you ask who can learn it quickly, it comes only to us. Tyagu: Do others think about drumset as low (kizha)? If they think of it as low how do you accept that? Amulraj: Those few others who do not know about this profession, and those who do not know anything of the world, and those who have not gone anywhere [literally outside] and have no knowledge about other places, think of this profession as polluted (asingama). Those who have moved away from this place to town and have roamed there would not think of it as polluted. Those who have lived only here, having never been away [traveled], would think “these guys… what they do is definitely polluted. What they do is a bad/mistaken work [tappana tolil].” Those who have traveled in four directions would think, “this guy… Beautiful profession! Keen interest!” And, those who know that whatever function it is, only drumset leads the way [literally stand at the front] will not think of it as degraded. Even then, if somebody thinks, “What, drumset! This guy is still (mindlessly) beating kottu and roaming around.” We would respond “what man, have you (ni—informal you) ever traveled around the world?” In this way we have also questioned them and answered with details.… Similarly, anyone who has traveled all the four directions would not think that way. They have said, “It is his profession, sir we cannot beat like him! You see this guy beating, see whether you can beat like that, sir.” I have heard this being said with my own ears. (interview, Amulraj, Munaivendri September 7, 2008)

368   Zoe C. Sherinian In her attempt to negotiate agency within practice theory, Sherry Ortner begins by “retaining an active intentional subject without falling into some form of free agency and voluntarism” (1996: 19). She argues for a method that embraces “the unit of practice” as the serious game or structures of agency, not the “agent” (ibid.: 13, 19). This allows us to keep the hopeful and persistent action of agents as well as structures in mind. To remember to hear how agents are “skilled and intense strategizers who constantly stretch the game even as they enact it, and the simultaneous fact that players are defined and constructed (though never wholly contained) by the game” (ibid.: 20). Amulraj’s identity may still be constructed as Paraiayar, or untouchable jati, by his upper-caste village neighbors, but his movement as a musician outside the ideological, geographical, and discursive limitations of the village allows him to negotiate this, to redefine himself in relation to other forces that show the greater humanity of his music and person. He intentionally talked back to us, the ethnographers who used the reclaimed, ancient term parai of the Dalit activists and folk festival organizers, to name his drum/ensemble. He instead assertively favored an English term “drumset” that had more neutral, but valued status in his mind as middle class. He justified this with his claim to an indigenous cosmopolitanism, to a worldliness and understanding of the ruptures in the caste system possible outside his village and region, and the value and agency of his music to help create these. How was this field encounter mutually transformative? Through my relationship with Kurinji Malar as their student, their advocate, and their friend, these nine drummers became brothers to me. While I was already invested in regional Dalit politics, I came to understand their local village processes, their economic and social context, their sociopolitical reality—which is not mine, which I can step out of without having to take any real responsibility or without it having an impact on my daily life. However, I was further transformed into an activist filmmaker through a relationship of affinity with their situation. I, in turn, created the opportunity for Kurinji Malar to attend the Chennai Sangamam festival through drawing on my contacts with Catholic organizers and other academic activists to get the group invited to the festival, based partly on the fact that I was making a documentary about them.32 But, the drummers then took this opportunity and ran with it. The networking they pursued with other musicians and organizers at the festival (which I had nothing to do with), along with their professionalism and enthusiasm in performance, led to multiple opportunities that took them twice to national and international events in Delhi, as well as to several other regional festivals. Ethnomusicologists in academia have always networked to create these sort of opportunities for our teachers/informants, though one might argue that I was acting more like a public sector or applied ethnomusicologist who works in community festival organizing. Ethnomusicologists need to reconsider that, whether creating opportunities for our informants while in the field or producing world music concert series for a school of music, this is musical activism: that ethnomusicologists are all activists and advocates, and the process of becoming so can be transformative of our work, our scholarship, and ourselves as people.

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    369 The ethnomusicological method of musical immersion in contexts that bring us face to face with performers, typically as our teachers or collaborators, who produce musical sound, concepts about it, and its cultural meaning, is participant activism. We are not only immersed in contexts, but in relationships of shared music making and dialogues of knowledge production. When we bring these processes into our written or audiovisual ethnographies and are conscious or honest about our roles as actors in the field, we are practicing self-reflexivity. I have shown that if one works in a context in which the value of the music and musicians are intensely hierarchical and one is focused on those at the margins/bottom, we cannot do our subjects justice unless we engage with the local (and potentially global) politics of value. Thus, in order to participate in critical dialogue with subaltern or Dalit collaborators (to change the way we practice South Asian ethnomusicology), we need more conscious tools and theories that engage us as actors in the field, not passive musical mimetics who primarily produce or translate structural analysis of musical systems. The South Asian musical context in which the value and meaning of caste, class, and gender are still fought over and negotiated everyday, through mediums like folk music and performance, offers Dalit Action Theory for ethnomusicology and cultural studies. This is knowledge production as transformative aesthetic action through embodied disorientation, dialogical processes of praxis, reflection, and critical interpretation, woven in and out of encounters with the politics of cultural value, where oppressed groups use the arts to assert identity and (re)valued agency. While doing fieldwork, many ethnomusicologists come face to face with the reality of political power dynamics with which our informants struggle. However, for those of us who work in the Western music academy, whether the “world” music we study is elite, popular, or Dalit, and whether or not we consider ourselves “activist/advocate ethnomusicologists,” we are still forced to engage with the politics of musical value in these institutions. Applying the perspectives of Dalit Action Theory in our academic departmental contexts may also be a means to the growth and survival of our discipline.

Notes 1. Dalit is a term of oppositional politics that can be described as anti-caste. It is an umbrella term that is inclusive of those formerly called outcaste, untouchable, or harajin. It is also a term meaning “oppressed,” used by some activists to include lower castes, the poor, and women. 2. Art historian of Tamil media culture Preminda Jacob (2009: 4) argues that the ephemeral and collaborative nature of the production in the Tamil film industry and political banners and cutouts, “almost wholly precluded them from serious consideration by art historians… The discipline of art history conventionally requires an object that can be collected and preserved and, in the case of contemporary works, clearly attributed in its authorship to a particular individual” (Jacob, 2009: 4). 3. This includes the reassertion of upper-caste and Brahmin identities through solidification and narrowed control of Karnatak music by urban Brahmins, particularly in Madras/ Chennai. This happened through the shift in production control away from the regional

370   Zoe C. Sherinian courts and kingly patrons to the sabbhas or music clubs of the urban areas after the 1860s, but also through institutions like the Madras Music Academy and All India Radio (see Lakshmi Subramanian, 2011). 4. The term harajin, (meaning “children of God”) was applied to untouchables by Mahatma Gandhi. While many common, politicized outcastes still use the term harajin, Dalit activists have extensively critiqued it as patronizing. Some of this is based on the general critique of Gandhi by Dr.  Ambedkar, the acknowledged twentieth-century leader of the untouchable movement. Ambedkar critiqued Gandhi for upholding the varna system in his ideology and for using strategies such as threatening a fast-unto-death if Ambedkar did not relinquish his goal of achieving a separate electorate or representation for Dalits in India’s parliamentary system, which was already available for other minorities. This is extensively documented in the Pune (or Poona) Pact of September of 1932. (See youtube. com/watch?v=ZJs-BJoSzbo for Dr. Ambedkar’s 1955 BBC Interview). 5. In common use, however, Dalit has often problematically been conflated or used in practice as a simple replacement for outcaste jati terms such as Paraiyar or Chakkliyar. Yet, its meaning in such application still carries a sense of political consciousness of oppression and a rejection of the term untouchable or specific caste/jati names thought of as derogatory. 6. In 1924, Dr. Ambedkar founded the organization Bahiskrit Hitakarini Sabha (Outcastes Welfare Association), with the intention of working for the liberation of the outcastes, or untouchables. His goals included the eradication of illiteracy, economic development, and nonviolent action against caste-based discrimination, such as denial of temple entry. (Goldy George, Salam Bhimrao! Dr. Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar and the Dalit Movement in India: A Reflection). http:// histhink.wordpress.com/2010/07/19/salam-bhimrao-dr-bhimrao-ramji-ambedkar-thedalit-movement-in-india-a-reflection/ (accessed October 6, 2013). 7. Daniel Sheehy (1992: 324) describes this worthy purpose of ethnomusicology as seeing “opportunities for a better life for others through the use of musical knowledge, and then immediately to begin devising cultural strategies to achieve those ends.” 8. The discourse of a golden age of Hinduism disregards the presence of Christianity in Kerala from possibly the first (if not, certainly the fourth) century and the important patronage and cultural influence of Islam, Sufism, and Muslim hereditary performers in Hindustani music (Qureshi, 1991). 9. The etymology of the term parai is “to speak or announce,” reflecting the occupation of parai drummers as those who announce village ritual and social occasions by playing the semiotically coded patterns of their drum. The term parai is found in Tamil Sangam literature written between the 2nd century b.c.e. and 2nd century c.e. 10. In my previous work I have shown that this value hierarchy extends beyond Hinduism to the music and theological resources of other religious communities in South India, including the Christians (Sherinian, 2007, 2014). 11. The best-known Ph.D.  programs in ethnomusicology that were early integrators of Asian ensembles and teachers in their curriculum and faculty include UCLA, Wesleyan, University of Michigan, and University of Washington. 12. In the Martin-Luther University Halle-Wittenberg in Halle, Germany, I located a small collection of kīrttaṉai dated 1714 that included ragas, talas, and three part kriti form, put together in a pamphlet for schoolchildren of the Tranquebar mission in Tamil Nadu. It was against this upper-caste repertoire and the values that it carried that Theophilus Appavoo would create his Dalit liberation theology in folk music in the 1980s.

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    371 13. The exceptions to this were Regula Qureshi’s (1991 and earlier) work on the erasure of the oral contribution of poor, illiterate Muslim hereditary practitioners of Hindustani music and the Marxist work on the music industry by Peter Manuel (1993). The work since the 1990s of Matthew Allen (1997, 1998), Yoshitaka Terada (2000), Amanda Weidman (2006), Richard Wolf (2009), Douglas Knight (2010), Lakshmi Subramanian (2011), Devesh Soneji (2012), and Anna Schultz (2013) has finally begun to fill in the critical perspective and the sociopolitics needed to understand the production of classical music by upperand middle-caste Indians. 14. This counters the stereotype perpetuated by orthodox Hindus that Indian society is Hindu, the majority of people are vegetarians who further follow the orthodox strictures that one should neither drink nor smoke, and that there is very little intercaste or love marriage. 15. I do not mean to associate Dalit with something that is somehow “sub” or below anything else. It is not a disempowered position but an empowered, counter expression of opposition to the caste system or to hegemonic systems of power. 16. Louai, El Habib, “Retracing the Concept of the Subaltern from Gramsci to Spivak: Historical Developments and New Applications,” African Journal of History and Culture 4(1): 4–8, January 2012, http://www.academicjournals.org/AJHCDOI:  10.5897/AJHC11.020ISSN 2141-6672 (accessed October 1, 2013). 17. Pavitra Sundar, citing Rahaja (2003), similarly asserts in her discussion of film singer Lata Mangeshkar that “[i]‌n many parts of India, singing is a crucial mode of female participation in the public sphere” (2007: 162), and that indeed music is “the means by which women enter the nation” (ibid.: 161). Sundar qualifies this, saying that women’s presence in the public sphere, at least in the film Lagaan, is “non-threatening as they are allowed to participate only in song. The narrative makes no room for female aggression” (ibid.). 18. I am grateful to the Dalit filmmaker-activist Thenmozhi Soundararajan for helping me see the point that Dalits are not “sub” or below anything. 19. In his important article on music, politics, and Christianity (1981), John Blacking showed the significance of nonverbal, folk modeling systems to influence social action, especially in oppressive contexts like South Africa’s apartheid system, where the speech of the majority black population was severely repressed and restricted (reprinted in Blacking 1995: 199, edited by Byron). 20. Rev. Dr. J. T. Appavoo was my teacher. My publication Tamil Folk Music as Dalit Liberation Theology (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014) is an ethnomusicological biography of his life and theology as music. 21. The Dalit theology movement is a local movement with over one hundred years of roots in India. It was not directly influenced by the South American movement, though its thinkers read liberation theology works by Paulo Freire and Gustavo Gutierrez. 22. Other important publications include Towards a Dalit Theology by M.  E. Prabhakar (1988), Emerging Dalit Theology by Xavier Irundayaraj (1990), Reader in Dalit Theology by Arvind Nirmal (1991), Indigenous People: Dalits by James Massey (1994), and Christianity and Dalits by Sathianathan Clarke (1998), and the recent anthology that includes chapters by Dalit faculty from TTS and the Chennai Diocese, Frontiers of Dalit Theology, edited by V.  Devasahayam (1997). Frontiers of Dalit Theology includes two articles by Theophilus Appavoo, “Dalit Way of Theological Expression,” and “Communication for Dalit Liberation.” 23. Many lower-caste and Dalit activists, such as the author Kancha Ilaiah, who wrote Why I Am Not a Hindu: A Sudra Critique of Hindutva Philosophy, Culture, and Political Economy

372   Zoe C. Sherinian (1994), reject being called Hindu and having been appropriated into the Hindu fold. They argue that their religious practice, deities, and origins are completely different from Brahmanical Hinduism. Most unpoliticized lower-caste people, on the other hand, simply accept the term Hindu as applied to them by the social and political system. 24. See John Blacking’s (1995) work on music and politics within the South African (Venda) churches, specifically his discussion of the form of liberation theology called Black Theology and his stress on the importance of musical style, that is, how people of different denominations sang to mark political associations and consciousness in a process of adaptation or inculturation of European Christianity (specifically hymnody) to African culture (1995: 218). 25. For a full analysis of this incident in my ethnographic experience, see my article “Re-presenting Dalit Feminist Politics Through Dialogical Musical Ethnography” in Women and Music 9 (2005): 1–12. 26. Pavitra Sundar argues that three generations of Indians knew the “virginally pure” shrill falsetto timbre of the iconic film music figure of Lata Mangeshkar as the “quintessential and ideal voice” of a modern, middle-class, national, Indian femininity (2007: 145, 147–148). Drawing on Barthes’s (1977) theory of the “grain of the voice” or “corporeality of voice,” Sundar focuses on a method of using “vocality in theories of the body… demonstrating how vocal music works to embody and disembody the nation” (ibid.: 146). She describes this as “materiality of music” and the “audible body” (ibid.: 164) grounded in its sociohistorical context (ibid.: 163). She concludes that Mangeshkar’s “desexualized vocal style helped contain the dangerous visual and aural presence of female bodies in public” (ibid.: 149). While it is not a particularly transgressive presence, but a domesticated agency limited to “sexually modest, upper-caste, and middle-class Hindu women” as they contribute to patriarchal nationalist goals (ibid.: 164, 168–169). 27. Harris Berger asserts that “the object of study is not music sound or music structure, it is pieces, performance, sounds, or structures in the lived experience of social persons” (Berger, 2008: 70). Furthermore, he argues that ethnomusicology’s proper object is not the reification of texts, but “practices of production and reception” (ibid.: 65). 28. Rev. Appavoo’s Tamil folk pen name was Parattai Annan, or “big brother with messy hair.” He used this anonymous identification in the publication of his songs to encourage people to change the lyrics or music as they saw fit to their sociopolitical context. 29. Advocacy was inherently present in my commitment to share Appavoo’s Dalit liberation songs and liturgy with the world. Our mutual enthusiasm to get this message to a global academic and theological audience brought him to my academic milieu in the United States on lecture tour. Tragically, on this tour in 2005, he became sick, and after seven weeks of hospitalization with congestive heart failure, died—a completely transformative experience for me. 30. This is an oral system of drumming based in mnemonics with a clear theoretical organization. There is a relationship between the kinesthetics of the dance patterns, the drum mnemonics, and folk tune genres. Most contemporary performances have a systematic drumming and dance organization of a circle-line-circle over the course of 20 minutes. I learned and recorded on videotape 35 different named beats (adis) from these men, all but one of whom have less then a fourth grade education. Further, I interviewed them about their teaching methods, and videotaped and analyzed hours of our lessons. 31. See the film trailer for This Is a Music: Reclaiming an Untouchable Drum for more contextualized detail. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPXJAYPHGzI.

Activist Ethnomusicology and Marginalized Music of South Asia    373 32. Besides a general ethical stance of practicing my responsibility to “give back” to this group of very poor and illiterate musicians who had become my teachers, I understood this as an “intervention” and a potentially significant boost in their career trajectory and professionalization (Titon, 1992:  316–317). However, I  fully embraced Sheehy’s notion that securing Kurinji Malar an invitation to participate in the Chennai Sangamam folk festival would and ultimately did provide them increased financial opportunities, and enhanced self-esteem through contact outside the caste-infected economy of their local area—a strategic practice with a worthy purpose (Sheehy, 1992: 324).

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376   Zoe C. Sherinian Trautmann, Thomas. (1997). Aryans and British India. Berkeley: University of California Press. Viswanathan, T. (1974). Raga Alapana in South Indian Music. Ph.D.  dissertation, Wesleyan University. Willard, Augustus. (1834). Treatise on the Music of Hindostan: Comprising a Detail of Ancient Theory and Modern Practice. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press. Webster, J.  C. B. (1992). A History of the Dalit Christians in India. San Francisco:  Mellen Research University Press. Weidman, Amanda J. (2006). Singing the Classical, Voicing the Modern: The Postcolonial Politics of Music in South India. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. White, Emmons. (1957). Appreciating India’s Music: An Introduction to the Music of India, with Suggestions for Its Use in the Churches of India. Madras: Christian Literature Society. Wilson, Kottapalli. (1982). The Twice Alienated Culture of Dalit Christians. Hyderabad: Booklinks. Wolf, Richard. (2009). Theorizing the Local: Music, Practice, and Experience in South Asia and Beyond. New York: Oxford University Press. Wong, Deborah. (2008). “Moving:  From Performance to Performative Ethnography.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology, edited by Greg Barz and Timothy J. Cooley, pp. 76–89. New York: Oxford University Press.

Interviews Amulraj, Munaivendri, Tamil Nadu, September 7, 2008. Appavoo, J. Theophilus, Madurai, Tamil Nadu, July 1994. Jayaharan, John, Madurai, Tamil Nadu, February 2009. Rajasekaran, J., Madurai, Tamil Nadu, February 15, 2009.

Pa rt  I V

I N DIG E N OU S P E OP L E S

Chapter 11

De c ol oniz at i on a nd Appl ied Ethnom u si c ol o g y “Story-ing” the Personal-Political-Possible in Our Work Elizabeth Mackinlay

Introduction: Beginnings This chapter is told as story. It is my personal-is-political story and a narrative that speaks to the philosophical, theoretical, and methodological past and present colonial violence in the her/his stories of our discipline. It gives an account of why I come to be speaking about decolonization and applied ethnomusicology in this moment. I realize before I begin that by speaking a story and engaging in talk about decolonization work, I have already ventured onto dangerous and contested ground. I am a white settler colonial woman, and others like me who occupy a settler position have long laid imperialistic claim to the power to speak the truth about Indigenous others. How is the story I propose to tell any different? I am tempted to justify my storytelling approach by carefully choosing words from the writing of Indigenous scholars Sium and Ritskes, who tell us that in Indigenous epistemologies, stories are theory in action and decolonization demands “personal and relational understanding” and the “richness and creative vitality that storytelling brings” (2012: 11). Yet, here they are referring directly to the authority and authenticity of stories told by Indigenous people in a decolonizing space, and the position of a settler speaking is highly contested in this landscape—indeed, who does the storytelling and from what perspective they enter the story are critical (Siums and Riskes, 2012: 11). Doing decolonization work as a non-Indigenous narrator is not an easy position to occupy or authenticate—but neither should it be. Engaging in what Pillow terms “uncomfortable reflexivity—a reflexivity that seeks to know while at the same time situates this knowing as tenuous” (2003: 188), I would argue, is an ethical necessity for those who want to interrupt and interrogate colonial ways of being, doing, and

380   Elizabeth Mackinlay knowing, which habitually appropriate the voices we speak of/to (Siums and Ritskes, 2012: 11; cf., Kelsky, 2001). The reflexivity is uncomfortable, and inevitably so is the story, and such narratives might, as Fanon suggests, more “properly be called a literature of combat” (1967: 193) for they evoke dangerous truths about disciplinary history and identity that “won’t stand still” (Denzin, 2006, p. 334). I am aware that storytelling of this kind is not usual or perhaps even readily accepted practice in ethnomusicology; however, I smile and share with you Richardson’s assertion that anyone who thinks the “creative and analytic are contradictory and incompatible” is a dinosaur waiting to be hit by a meteor (Richardson, in Richardson and St. Pierre, 2005: 962). Greene’s voice joins Richardson’s in support of the urgency to challenge dominant modes of researching and writing: Allowing myself to be carried along by the great conversation initiated by others (and, indeed, maintained by others) I would not have to disrupt. I would not have to begin anything; I would need only to be swept along by what the great ones have said and remain partially submerged by them. But then I think of how much beginnings have to do with freedom, how much disruption has to do with consciousness and the awareness of possibility… we have to keep arousing ourselves to begin again. (1994: 109)

Indeed, this chapter as story is a provocation to become and remain fully and truly “wide awake” (Greene, 1994: 112) to the issues of colonial power and privilege, which refuse to go away in ethnomusicology. Being “wide awake” to colonialism leads to questioning of a critical kind into the uncomfortable landscape of “race,” and the lens of critical race theory sits on the ground as a signpost in front of us as a place to begin such a discussion. A critical race theory perspective insists that “race [read colonialism] still matters” (Ladson-Billings, 2009: 18) and does not allow us the option to walk away from, deny, or silence the understanding that “race is always already present in every social configuring of our lives” (Ladson-Billings, 2009: 19). Critical race theory confronts us with our complicity in processes of colonization and asks us as ethnomusicologists to see the ways in which we knowingly or unknowingly enact, sustain, and benefit from our white power and privilege. Critical race theory in ethnomusicology might usefully be defined then as a set of basic insights, methods, and practices that seek to “identify, analyze, and transform those structural and cultural aspects of [ethnomusicology] that maintain subordinate and dominant racial positions in and out of the [field]” (Solorzano and Yosso, 2002: 25). Just like decolonizing storytelling, critical race theory as method is often expressed as story and includes “counter-stories” told by racially marginalized and oppressed peoples to talk back to “monovocals, master narratives, standard stories, majoritarian stories” (Solorzano and Yosso, 2002: 25) produced by white settler colonial privilege. Just like decolonizing “story-ing,” the same question about my authority and authenticity to tell stories about colonialism as a white settler colonial woman applies—am I not simply redeploying the same kind of privileged gagging and disempowerment?

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    381 The colonizer and the colonized are inextricably in relation—without one there cannot be the other, and in this sense colonization is a “shared culture” (Smith, 1999: 45), or, as Memmi (2013 [1965]) would have it, both colonizer and colonized are “bound” and “chained” in colonial relationship in “relentless reciprocity” and dependence. Both are implicated in the stories of the other; Smith (1999: 45) further explains that what this means is that both colonized peoples and colonizers share a language and knowledge of decolonization. This story is told then in the language and knowledge I have as a white settler colonial woman and the sense of “response-ability” I have that it is time to come clean, to own up, to use my colonial power and privilege to shake, rattle, and roll ethnomusicology into a more ethical way of attending to our colonial complicity. Our “response-ability” as ethnomusicologists, our capacity to respond to the call to decolonize, takes center stage. In the telling of this story, I want both writer and reader to trouble and be troubled by the relationships it invokes (Gandhi, 1998: 4) between who we are as non-Indigenous researchers-as-colonizers in our discipline, the colonizing relationships we have with Indigenous peoples and knowledges we work with, the kinds of colonial violence we embody and perform as ethnomusicologists, the tangled-up colonial past and present in which we find ourselves, and who we might be in the process of becoming once we start talking loudly about decolonization. As I write, I can already sense the resistance that begins to exude from some of you as readers—the direct and indirect privileges and power we hold as colonizers because of the “erasure and assimilation of Indigenous peoples is a difficult reality to accept” (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 9). But I did not promise that this chapter was going be pleasant “feel good” reading; in fact, if it were, it would not be achieving one of its central aims—to unsettle and disrupt. After all, as Fanon reminds us, “decolonization, which sets out to change the order of the world, is, obviously, a program of complete disorder… it cannot come as a result of magical practices, nor of a natural shock, nor of a friendly understanding” (1963: 36). There are three characters in this story, playfully named: Ms. White Settler Colonial, Professor Decolonization, and Dr. A(pplied) Ethnomusicology. Their stories are unique but become intertwined as they realize the inevitable entanglement of relationships, representation, and research in which they find themselves. Literature is reviewed in the dialogue they speak; theory is evoked in the actions they take and the colonial settings in which they find themselves. This story does not intend to survey all that has been written and thereby define applied ethnomusicology—others in this Handbook and elsewhere (e.g., Harrison and Pettan, 2010)  have already done this task justice. Decolonization is the setting, the main character, and the plot line. Some readers may have already decided that this chapter is not for them—putting objections or discomfort to the alternative writing style aside, the terms “colonial,” “colonizer,” and “colonized” may seem irrelevant, out of step, and yesterday’s news, for aren’t we already living in a post-colonial world? Listen carefully as you read—to the whispering that asks ethnomusicology to respond to decolonization. How do we as non-Indigenous applied ethnomusicologists read, respond to, and reimagine the multiple ways our white race power and privilege are embedded in our lived experience as non-Indigenous peoples? Do we want and what can we hope to achieve in terms of social justice for Indigenous peoples

382   Elizabeth Mackinlay by adopting a decolonizing framework in applied ethnomusicology? Is decolonization a move we want to make in our discipline, and why might applied ethnomusicology offer the best hope yet?

Ms. White Settler Colonial Becomes an Ethnomusicologist Ms. White Settler Colonial sat down on her most comfortable couch, shoes off, cup of coffee in hand, ready and primed for some reminiscing. Her photo albums lay on the floor next to her, a large pile of black-covered books with plastic pockets keeping her memories safe. She sits still and the albums remain unopened, lost in the historical moment of remembering how she became an ethnomusicologist. In her first-year introduction to ethnomusicology class at university, Ms. White Settler Colonial had watched an Aboriginal song man and song woman from the remote Pitjantjatjara community at Indulkana in the Western Desert of Australia perform, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a tiered lecture room and singing several song verses from a Dreaming song called Inma nyi nyi (A. Ellis, 1982; C. Ellis, 1985). While she can see their faces clearly in her memory, Ms. White Settler Colonial cannot remember their names. They were “objects” that she gazed at, their songs were transcribed and analyzed later in tutorials, their voices and identities distanced, disembodied, and therefore ultimately “captured” in her own imperial understanding. With a university music degree in hand, Ms. White Settler Colonial eagerly set forth on an Honours research project in ethnomusicology to return to that moment when she was first introduced to Indigenous Australian Dreaming songs. With no thought about her right to know, she enrolled in Pitjantjatjara tribal [sic] singing classes at the Centre for Aboriginal Studies in Music (CASM; Tunstill, 1989)  and found herself the only White Settler Colonial woman in the room. During the first week of classes, the other students variously glared and whispered at her, “Don’t you know, you’re not Aboriginal—you’re white! And you think you have a right to be hear/here!” Ms. White Settler Colonial put her head down, got on with her role as participant/observer/researcher, and sat alone with her as yet unrecognized colonial complicity. One Aboriginal woman, Robin, was watching her closely and waiting to find out—what kind of white settler colonial woman was she? Two, three, and four weeks passed until one day Robin caught her eye and casually asked, “Where you from sis?” The question opened up the possibility of a different kind of encounter, one that began with a gesture of generosity and hospitality from the “colonized” to the “colonizer” and continued with cups of tea in the local café, gigs at art galleries, conversations in lounge rooms late at night, and a burgeoning friendship across that which might divide them—here a friend, there a researcher, but what of the in-between? This question remained unanswered. At the end of the year Ms. White Settler Colonial handed in her Honours thesis and felt duly entitled to call herself an ethnomusicologist.

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    383 Ms. White Settler Colonial picked up one of the albums and flicked quickly to the memory she was searching for. She saw herself, a year later, sitting in the “field” in the remote town of Burrulula in the southwest Gulf of Carpentaria in the Northern Territory of Australia as a doctoral student with the tools of her trade—a notebook, a camera, a tape recorder, and stark white skin she had not yet noticed. She is surrounded by people, performers, and a community of Aboriginal people making songs and ceremony in the photo; but Ms. White Settler Colonial sits with her head down once more, trying to “capture” in black ink on white pages that which she calls “music” but which Yanyuwa, Garrwa, Mara, and Gudanji people call something else completely (see Bradley and Mackinlay, 2000, for a discussion of Yanyuwa terms for music). Aside from a short visit to Burrulula in the mid-1960s by Alice Moyle (1988), Ms. White Settler Colonial was the first music researcher to focus attention on Aboriginal performance at Burrulula. She believed proudly and completely in her mission to fill this gap in the musicological record; after all, Ms. White Settler Colonial carried with her a research legacy that must be sustained. No sooner had she thought this, than the whispering returned, “And you think that gives you the right to be hear/here? Who gives you the power and the privilege to be hear/here White girl?” Ms. White Settler Colonial felt the sting of settler naiveté, innocence, and arrogance reach forward from her memory to sharply slap her face and angrily pushed the albums from her lap onto the floor. Ms. White Settler Colonial sighed—her life and work as an ethnomusicologist has “always-already” been complicated, confused, and conflicted. When she sat down at CASM to learn tribal [sic] singing, she found herself next to the Yanyuwa man who became her husband. She went to Burrulula as his wife and was introduced to the Yanyuwa, Garrwa, Mara, and Gudanji community by her mother-in-law and husband’s grandmother as family (see Muir, 2004). “Meet my grandson’s wife,” her husband’s grandmother had said with a smile, as she took Ms. White Settler Colonial by the hand and heart to meet her Yanyuwa family. Soon after arriving at Burrulula she was called Nungarrima, the right way “skin” or female kinship name in relation to her husband. No one called her by her first name after that, and she reciprocated; she and they were variously now baba (sister), marruwarra (cousin), manjikarra (sister-in-law), kujaka (mother), kulhakulha (daughter), ngabuji (paternal grandmother), and kukurdi (maternal grandmother). Many years later, she would be given a “bush” name linking her to the traditional country of Manankurra and the Tiger Shark Dreaming (see Bradley, 1988), of her husband’s grandmother. She became a non-Aboriginal mother to Aboriginal children and kundiyarra, a partner in song (Mackinlay, 2000). Despite her sense of belonging to her Yanyuwa family, every so often Ms. White Settler Colonial would turn around and notice her white shadow, and with that recognition came the whispering once more, “Don’t forget, you are still white, white girl! Can you are you here/hear yet white girl?” As Ms. White Settler Colonial’s personal, professional, political, and performative lives became inextricably entangled, she could no longer see herself clearly in her role as ethnomusicologist, at least not in the way she had been traditionally trained. When she went to Burrulula in 1994, Ms. White Settler Colonial entered a community ravaged by the ongoing effects of colonization, and she idealistically and paternalistically

384   Elizabeth Mackinlay thought her work as an ethnomusicologist would—and could—make a difference. Ms. White Settler Colonial has told this story in other places before (e.g., Mackinlay, 2009, 2010) and she finds it hard, just like every other telling, to find the right words. In this moment of standing still, the “truth” would seem to suggest that nothing has changed. The Burrulula she met 20 years ago is in many ways very much the same Burrulula today, and for her, that is simply not good enough. Her breath catches in her throat as Ms. White Settler Colonial realizes that perhaps it is also that ethnomusicology, at least as she knows it, is no longer good enough. From the corner of her eye she spies her white shadow lurking in the corner and nodding in agreement. She wants her academic work to somehow translate into “something better” for the women, men, and children whom she calls family. Better homes, a fair education, an end to racism, and the reinstatement of Indigenous Australians as a sovereign people—all of these things she feels are more important than black dots on a white page and any fancy analytical account she might be able to give of them. Ms. White Settler Colonial knows that the PhD she completed and the journal papers she subsequently wrote about the social and musical lives of Aboriginal women and men at Burrulula did not change anything for her family, despite how well she wrote them and the prestige of the publications in which they appeared. She realized that while people might be hearing the words she spoke at conferences and reading those that appeared in her writing (e.g., Mackinlay, 2005), they were not listening—not with their hearts. Ms. White Settler Colonial knew that there was more, and indeed that she had to do more, to engage the thinking hearts of her colleagues, students, and friends. In this moment of “wide-awakeness,” she found herself at odds with the disciplinary flow of ethnomusicology, and once again she heard the whispering, “Well hello there white girl, perhaps you are beginning to be hear/here!” Now that Ms. White Settler Colonial has begun to hear the whispering, she finds that she cannot ignore it. It plays around in her head constantly. She does not know what else to do except return to her fallback position of researcher to try to find its source.

Whispering in Ethnomusicology about Decolonization While there are many ethnomusicological discussions that discuss the colonial contexts and the colonial repositories of our work (Emoff, 2002; Seeger, 1986; Waterman, 1990), “decolonization” is a term that remains largely unfamiliar to ethnomusicological vocabulary. In step with anthropological debates in the 1970s sparked by the work of Geertz (1973) and feminist thinkers such as Rosaldo and Lamphere (1974) about the nature of fieldwork, the power and authority of researchers, and texts as representation acts, Gourlay (1978) provactively challenged the concept of the ethnomusicologist as both “ominsicent and non-existent” in the writings of colleagues such as Merriam (1967) and Nettl (1964). Gourlay (1978: 3) was critical of the insistence, on the one hand,

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    385 that ethnomusicologists become fully immersed in fieldwork if they are to truly learn, understand, and interpret the music of another culture, and yet on the other hand, completely silence the performers and their own subjectivities in the texts which result from participatory observation research. He questioned the relevancy and ethics of neutrality and objectivity in ethnomusicological work and called for the “missing ethnomusicologist” to become visible in recognition of the messy reality of the subject-object relationship (1978: 4) inherent in social science research. Indeed, Gourlay (1982) called for a “humanizing ethnomusicology” that would simultaneously resist ethnocentric and dominant Western ways of knowing, doing, and being in relation to music, and seek to bring the worldviews of Self and Other “into an interpenetrating dialectical relationship through which the investigator is himself investigated” (1982: 416). Alongside Gourlay’s provocation, feminist thinkers in the discipline (e.g., Herndon and Ziegler, 1990; Koskoff, 1987) had also begun to question ideologies of dominance, and specific attention was given by them to exploring the status of women in music cultures globally, the nature of gender relationships and gender structures on musical roles, and the positioning of the gendered fieldworker in ethnomusicological settings. However, it would be another 15 years before the first in-depth and sustained critique of the colonial past and present of the discipline arrived on the scene with publication of the edited text Shadows in the Field, edited by Gregory Barz and Timothy Cooley. The first edition of Shadows (1997) attempts to bring into open space discussion of the “crisis of representation” that categorizes postmodern social science, and Barz and Cooley clearly acknowledge the linking of “ethnographic fieldwork, as well as representation, to colonial, imperial, and other repressive power structures” (1997: 4). The need to recognize that being in the field and being with/out Others, being out of the field and being with/out Others, being in the business of representation with/out Others in and with/ out of the field is ultimately an exercise of power takes center stage in this text. I use the hyphenated phrase with/out to signify and question the capacity of ethnomusicologists to ever really leave the field. If the field really is an intersubjective and intercorporeal shared moment of performativity and experience, then the field never really leaves us—we are never with/out the field and the shadows we cast are with/out the field at the same time because, on the one hand, they never really leave us, and on the other, they remain elusive and incapable of erasure. In relation to the thinking about decolonization, then, our shadows are shaped by colonialism, and recent work by Vass (2013) would suggest that they are indeed white. White bodies mark the colonial history and disciplinary performance of ethnomusicology, and pale imperial shadows take center stage in talk about decolonization. The second edition of Shadows reached audiences in 2008, and what is at once surprising and distressing about this revised text is the silence of talk about decolonization. Yazzie laments, “while the world decolonization process is almost complete, it has not yet begun for Indigenous peoples” (2000: 39) and if Shadows is representative of current disciplinary thinking about decolonization, it remains a sharply closed door on an open moment of possibility. “Decolonializing” [sic] processes are referred to by Meizel (in Cooley, Meizel, and Syed, 2008: 96) as relevant only to studies where issues of power

386   Elizabeth Mackinlay and cultural Otherness appear “outstanding,” and although she does not explicitly state so, here we can read her words as referring to ethnomusicological studies that engage directly with Indigenous and colonized peoples. In this context, Meizel suggests, the onus is on the researcher to “understand his or her responsibilities in the way others experience their musical worlds” (Meizel in Cooley, Meizel, and Syed, 2008: 96). Certainly, decolonization is one of the most pressing issues for those of us working with Indigenous peoples today, and one that we must take personal response-ability to engage with epistemologically, methodologically, and ontologically, but what of the response-ability of the discipline? If everyone is in agreement that the colonial history pervades past and present practice, do we not have a disciplinary response-ability to decolonize, or at the very least, to begin to dance toward it? Why is it that decolonizing talk in ethnomusicology remains a whispering that many are too afraid to heed? Why do we assume that it’s up to Indigenous people alone to decolonize? What kind of discipline is ethnomusicology with/out decolonizing talk, and further, is talk alone enough to decolonize?

Dr. A(pplied) Ethnomusicology Meets Professor Decolonization Ms. White Settler Colonial found herself a job working in a university teaching ethnomusicology within the context of Indigenous Australian Studies. She decided that she would add the word “applied” to her title and began calling herself Dr. A(pplied) Ethnomusicology—Dr.  A.  for short. She felt this new term better reflected her personal-is-political agenda. One morning, she was halfway through a lecture on applied and advocacy work in ethnomusicology, when Dr. A. was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. “Just hold on a moment,” she said, and excused herself to see who was there. “Oh my goodness it’s you! Prof. D.! I didn’t think you were coming! Look everyone; it’s my good friend Professor Decolonization! You know, the one I promised to talk to you about before?” Several students nodded their head in agreement. They thought they recognized her from the discussion earlier but were not quite prepared for the reality. “What are you doing in town, Prof. D.? I didn’t realize you were even in Australia!” Dr. A. was surprised to see her colleague and friend. “Well, you know how it is, Dr. A., I’m never quite sure if I’m going to be welcome at this kind of gig, but I could see that this was a conversation you needed to have with someone like me by your side—the colonizer and the colonized are bound together, you know, we are both implicated in colonization and decolonization. Don’t forget Phillips and Whatman (2007: 6) who contend, ‘because we are all products of a shared colonial history, we are all subjects of the enquiry.’ The only problem is that you, Dr. A.—a.k.a. Ms. White Settler Colonial—have dominated that conversation for far too long!” Prof.

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    387 D. winked at the class and settled herself into a spare chair. “So, how far have you got with your class discussions on applied ethnomusicology and decolonization? Has anyone walked out yet? Raised a hand in objection? Wrinkled up their noses or—and I wonder about this response—smiled with empathy?” Dr. A. grimaced. “Actually, no—well, not yet anyway. We were just about…” Prof. D. interrupted, “Oh, you must have only just started then… I know where you’re at sister. You haven’t told them yet have you?” Dr. A. hesitated. “Oh no, don’t tell me! You’re not nervous, are you, Dr.  A.? After all this time?” Prof. D.  let out a loud sigh. “Remember, Dr.  A.  ‘everything is in danger of colonizing—everything is suspicious’ (Cary, 2004: 77), and that includes your unwillingness to begin the discussion—so go on, off you go. I can hold your hand if you need me to.” Dr. A. swallowed deeply and reached for a sip of cool water to moisten her lips and throat. She realized that the silence between her voice and Prof. D.’s was becoming thick and heavy, you could cut the tension with a knife; the class was expecting her to speak. She began with a safe response. “Let’s start with what we mean when we use terms like ‘applied.’ In anthropological discourse, the term ‘applied’ refers to research practices that use theory and method to solve practical human problems. ‘Applied’ is about ‘the dynamics of “partnership” between the scholar and the social subjects involved in ethnomusicological research’ (Hofman, 2010: 22). Many applied ethnomusicological projects run on a collaborative field research and epistemological approach whereby the researched actively participates in the research process alongside the researcher (Hofman, 2010: 23)—as co-researchers, co-authors, and co-constructors of knowledge. Border crossing and shape shifting happens a lot in our work, and many traditional divisions are broken down in such an interactive and dialogic way of working. Sheehy tells us that applied ethnomusicology emphasises the tendency to see ‘opportunities for a better life through… musical knowledge’ (1992: 324) by asking ‘to what end?’ (1992: 323).” Dr. A. looked at Prof. D., hoping that maybe this was enough to set the context. Prof. D. didn’t need to say a word; she simply reversed the gaze. Dr. A. took a deep breath and continued. “Sheehy’s work put the consequences of our work high on the agenda and challenged us to think about ethnomusicological work as ‘strategy guided by a sense of social purpose’ (1992: 335). Certainly, there is often a social justice agenda rippling beneath the surface or displayed boldly on a billboard at the front of much applied work in ethnomusicology today, and words like ‘benefit,’ ‘reciprocity,’ and ‘relationships’ figure prominently in these discussions. Ethnomusicologists continue to grapple with the ethical response-abilities they hold toward the communities from whom they collect and gather musical knowledge, a dilemma that becomes even more complex as they shift in and out of academic fields of play. In many ways, applied ethnomusicology represents an attempt to bring this tension to the front and center of our practice so that it can no longer be ignored, but rather demands an active response.” Dr. A. finished speaking and looked expectantly at Prof. D.

388   Elizabeth Mackinlay Prof. D. shook her head in frustration. “To what? What are applied ethnomusicologists responding to? Oh come on Dr. A., you can do better than that! Now’s the time to practice what you preach—where’s your heart in all of this? Why don’t you really tell them about decolonization? All of this is just appeasing white settler colonial guilt and pandering to a claim to innocence of the same kind.” Dr. A. knew that Prof. D. wanted more from her, but decolonization was a relatively new word for her, too. Despite all of the whispering she had heard over the past 10 years, she still did not feel she had the right words to explain it, or that she even had a right to explain it. “For me,” she began, “the one characteristic I keep returning to is the potential of an applied approach to view our work as musical, personal, and political all at once. If we start thinking and talking openly about relationships and response-abilities, then through this lens we are enabled to address the uneasiness that many of us feel when we position ourselves and our discipline in the context of colonization, white power, and white privilege. Indeed, the ‘idea of privilege is at the heart of the colonial relationship’ (Memmi, 2013 [1965]). It’s a matter of urgency, how we as non-Indigenous researchers address the complex relationship between our histories, our disciplines, and ourselves as colonizing culture. Our white settler colonial identity brings us enormous power and privilege in relation to Indigenous peoples, and yet in many research contexts it remains hidden under carefully guarded discourses of ‘for their own good,’ ‘soothe the dying pillow,’ ‘researcher as expert,’ ‘document and preserve at all costs,’ and, ‘saviours of a disappearing race, music, and culture,’ ” Prof. D. raised her eyebrows, “Those are pretty harsh words.” “For sure,” Dr.  A.  agreed, but continued with her critique. “But they need to be. Interrogation of the ways in which we continue to embody and enact colonialism is not comfortable business, nor it is an apology for being a colonizer. What it does mean is taking on board, believing, and living words like decolonization.” “That’s my baby!” Prof. D. exclaimed. “But it makes me really sad to think that nobody really knows me yet, even when I walk down the corridor to the tea room, many people quietly close their office doors to keep me out. What do they think I’m going to do? Rip their pristine white research chairs from right under their backsides? Do you know what? One day I just might—and that’s what everyone is scared of.” Prof. D. paused and then continued carefully, “I know that you’ve been trying to introduce me for some time in your own work Dr. A. (Mackinlay, 2005, 2010, 2012). But maybe it’s time for me to start telling the story.” Dr. A. knew that placing emphasis on unveiling inequalities, deconstructing power relations, and reflection and action as pathways to change are important in any dance toward to decolonization. As a non-Indigenous person working with Indigenous communities in applied ethnomusicological contexts, words like “reconciliation,” “hope,” “action,” and “social justice” were everywhere in her writing because they gave her assurance that performance of her white power and privilege as Ms. White Settler Colonial had good intentions. They provided her with “immunity,” as Youngblood Henderson (2000: 32) contends, from recognizing and responding to herself as part of the problem.

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    389 She consistently saw herself as the ethnomusicologist “doing decolonizing good”—one who proudly wore her anti-racist, social justice, and reconciliation politics on her invisible White sleeve and wasn’t afraid to call neo-colonial and racist praxis in ethnomusicological research for what it was, where and when she saw it. She realized now that while she had might have heard the whispering, she had not really ever listened, and it was time to start. “Settle in Dr. A., we might be here for a while.” Prof. D. shifted in her chair to find a more comfortable position and began. “Some of us—and by ‘us’ I mean the ‘colonized’— have been talking about decolonization for a long time. Decolonization is a concept which takes on different meanings across different contexts—it simultaneously evokes a historical narrative of the end of empire, a particular version of postcolonial political theory, a way of knowing that resists the Eurocentricism of the West, a moral imperative for righting the wrongs of colonial domination, and an ethical stance in relation to self-determination, social justice, and human rights for Indigenous peoples enslaved and disempowered by imperialism. Indigenous scholars frame decolonization in both congruent and contested ways.” “And that’s part of it, isn’t it?” Dr. A. added, “Discourses such as Orientalism (Said, 1978)  and Aboriginalism (Hodge, 1990; McConaghy, 2000)  want to construct and imagine an essentialized homogenous colonized group in historical and contemporary terms, but Indigenous peoples’ experiences of colonization vary across time and space, and responses to colonization are equally as diverse.” Prof. D. nodded, “Fanon’s thinking asserts exactly that. He writes that decolonization is not a formal administrative term but rather a ‘restructuring of subjects into agents of history’ (in Kohn & McBride, 2011: 69). Smith (1999) similarly argues that decolonization necessarily empowers Indigenous people to re-claim, re-name, re-write and re-right and in this way the colonized emerge from the fog of the colonial imaginary as liberated people. Wilson and Yellow Bird expand on this and suggest ‘decolonization is the intelligent, calculated and active resistance to the forces of colonialism that perpetuate the subjugation and/or exploitation of our minds, bodies and lands’ (2005: 2). Others such as hooks have turned their attention more intensively to the prospect of decolonizing minds as a powerful move to ‘militantly confront and change the devastating psychological consequences of internalized racism’ (1994: 205). Fanon, too, felt strongly about this, writing pro- and evocatively that ‘imperialism leaves behind germs of rot which we must clinically detect and remove from our land but our minds as well’ (1965: 36).” “Let’s come back to the issue of land in a moment,” Dr. A. suggested. “I’ve read Battiste’s work (2000), and she similarly emphasises the need to decolonize Indigenous minds from ‘cognitive imperialism, our cognitive prisons’ (2000: xvii) and suggests that this can be accomplished by ‘harmonizing Indigenous knowledge with Eurocentric knowledge’ (2000: xvi). In a way this reminds me of what a lot of applied ethnomusicology tries to do—make a space where musical and cultural knowledges of the researched and the researcher can performatively come together to empower the former. Applied ethnomusicology when viewed from this perspective might shift us closer toward a critical

390   Elizabeth Mackinlay practice and assist us in deconstructing the unequal power relationships between the researcher and the researched by giving oppressed peoples control over how they are depicted.” “In some senses, yes,” Prof. D.  continued. “Smith describes decolonization as a process, rather than a product, linked to political action such as social justice and self-determination grounded politically in contexts, histories, struggles, and ideals (1999: 4). We owe a lot to critical scholars and our feminist sisters for giving us the theoretical grounding to expose the lingo of research as vehicles of sustained oppression and tools of colonization (Mutua and Swadener, 2004: 14). For naming colonization for what it is—not discourse and practice that exist in the past, but a machine that continues to dominate our worlds as Indigenous and non-Indigenous people today.” Dr. A. agreed. “I guess you’re right, the shift from a colonized to decolonized state doesn’t occur in a tidy and linear progression from imperialism through to colonization, and then hey presto, we’ve got decolonization. It seems to me that thinking about colonialism and decolonization as dialogical is key to us being more responsive and responsible (Le Sueur, 2003: 2). It’s a constant dovetailing, circling in and around, backward and forward, and once passed through, any of these stages can be revisited or reversed. That makes it a pretty complicated agenda to take on as a researcher and I am still not sure where, how, and why non-Indigenous people—colonizers like me—should, could or can enter the conversation.” “Yes, and we would insist that colonization is indeed alive and well. There is no post-colonialism here (cf., Smith, 1999, 2000); the colonizers have not left yet (Smith, 1999: 24).” Prof. D. spoke animatedly, “But we need to start somewhere, Dr. A., we need to begin. The first step is to produce counter-narratives to those texts and contexts which sustain the dominance and power of the West over Indigenous peoples. Easy enough, you might say, but to be ‘completely’ decolonizing, research must go one step further to strive to change lives, stop people from dying, and respond to reality (Mutua and Swadener, 2004: 10; Smith, 1999: 3).” “You know what? You’re right.” Dr. A.’s face flushed with shame. “The lived experience of Indigenous peoples is the ‘unfinished business of decolonization’ (Smith, 1999: 7)—and in the enthusiastic rush to dive into deconstruction of imperialism, we as non-Indigenous researchers maybe too easily forget or dismiss the realities of life for Indigenous peoples because we refuse to make them part of our own. It’s too easy for us to step back into settler colonial innocence, sitting pretty under the umbrella of social justice.” Prof. D. reached over and placed her hand gently on Dr. A.’s shoulder. “Dr. A., decolonization is not a metaphor, nor is it a ‘metonym for social justice’ (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 21). In the opening article of the new journal Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education and Society, Tuck and Yang provide us with this stark reminder: decolonization is not converting Indigenous politics to a Western doctrine of liberation; it is not a philanthropic process of ‘helping’ the at-risk and alleviating suffering; it is not a generic term for struggle against oppressive conditions and outcomes. The broad umbrella of social justice may have room underneath for all of these efforts, but this is not decolonization.”

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    391 Dr. A. dropped her head into her hands. All of a sudden, her earlier talk about decolonization as linked to social justice in ethnomusicology and applied ethnomusicology felt awkward—exactly as Tuck and Yang intended. Their words were harsh, and there were more to come; Prof. D. had not finished. “Tuck and Yang are critical of the way in which decolonizing discourse is too easily adopted ‘without mention of Indigenous peoples, our/their struggles for the recognition of our/their sovereignty, or the contributions of Indigenous intellectuals and activists to theories and frameworks of decolonization’ (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 3). In this guise, it becomes nothing more than a metaphor, and Tuck and Yang stress that this ‘kills the very possibility of decolonization; it recenters whiteness, it resettles theory, it extends innocence to the settler, it entertains a settler future. Decolonize (a verb) and decolonization (a noun) cannot easily be grafted onto pre-existing discourses/frameworks, even if they are critical, even if they are anti-racist, even if they are justice frameworks’ (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 3).” Dr. A. rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know Prof. D, there are too many questions swirling around, muddying the waters and making everything messy. How do we read and respond to the multiple ways our colonial settler power and privilege is embedded in our lived experience as non-Indigenous peoples, in our relationships with and responsibilities to Indigenous peoples? How do we begin to link our awareness and acceptance of this reality with ‘an agenda which does not accept the dichotomies implicit in the terms colonizer/colonized… but rather explores the relations of power through dialogue, creating spaces for transformation, for new [ethnomusicological] and methodological strategies’ (Fox, 2004: 91)? What is our applied ethnomusicological work if it is not linked to social justice? What can and should it be? Dr. A. realized, as soon as she asked these questions, that she had already slipped back into a colonizing decolonizing search for ‘settler futurity’ and ‘settler normalcy’ (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 35), desperate to find the comfort of ‘settler innocence’ once more through use of words such as dialogue (read: reconcile, negotiate, settle). Prof. D. sat quietly for a moment staring at Dr. A., almost as though she could read her mind. This next part of the conversation was not going to be easy. “Unsettling, isn’t it, Dr.  A.? Land is central to colonization—discovery, conquest, exploitation, distribution, appropriation—all of these are violent acts which form part of the white possessive logic that Moreton-Robinson (2004) speaks of, which disavows Indigenous sovereignty. We can see that land and place are central in ethnomusicological work, too—think about the word ‘field’ and our insistence on ‘fieldwork.’ What kinds of white possessive logic do we invoke when we use those terms? Smith (1999: 7) asserts that the ‘linguistic and cultural homeland of the colonizers is somewhere else, their cultural loyalty is to some other place’; is this not true, too, for many ethnomusicologists, applied or otherwise? Is not the claiming of a ‘field’ through ‘fieldwork’ the same kind of colonial move but in a different guise? In the ‘field’ are we not laying colonial claim to epistemologies and discursive traditions of knowledge which are not ours?” Dr. A. felt tied up in knots. She knew that what Prof. D. was telling her made sense; it’s no longer whispering she hears but shouting, screaming, and yelling. Her husband’s and

392   Elizabeth Mackinlay children’s voices, those of her family at Burrulula, her Indigenous friends and colleagues are all part of this loud and noisy chorale. Now that her White Settler Colonial laundry hangs plainly on the line for all to see, what is she to do? What are her response-abilities? How can she respond in a way that enacts an ethic of response-ability in relation to the demands of decolonization?

Response-ability and Being-in-Relation as Decolonizing Work How might we then begin to decolonize applied ethnomusicology? How can decolonizing theory inform actual applied ethnomusicological work? These questions sit uneasily in this story, each and every one of us wanting and needing a neatly packaged way forward through our discomforts and uncertainties. Decolonizing theory asks us to rethink, reimagine, and reconstruct our research identities, relationships, and agendas as existing within a colonial framework, which wants and needs to know, fix, and capture the Other. This is our response-ability—a word written in this way throughout this chapter quite deliberately to remind us that we have an ethical obligation to act on such wide awakeness to the ways in which we continue to “be-in-relation” to colonialism. “Being-in-relation” is a concept that provokes us into personal and political kinds of thinking about the ethical and moral obligations we have to enact a nonviolent research relationship towards the Other, a relationship which deconstructs and breaks down the colonial project. This is dangerous work because it means placing ourselves in a vulnerable position where our reason for being as applied ethnomusicologists is under threat. “Being-in-relation” is a different kind of thinking in applied ethnomusicology—it refuses, as Audre Lorde (2003) would have it, to use the master’s tools to dismantle the master’s house. The absence of “being-in-relation” to colonialism and our White Settler Colonial subjectivities weakens our capacity to work toward less violent and more socially just practices and projects in applied ethnomusicology. “Being-in-relation” means placing colonial relationship at the center of our practice at every epistemological, ontological, and methodological turn. Sitting there in the middle—whispering and reminding us—colonial relationship calls other ethical modes of being into the research space. Response-ability, respect, re/search, rights/ rites, and attentiveness to re/presentation begin to make their way into the motivations, means, and modes of working with Others as applied ethnomusicologists, and become crucial for putting in place a decolonial and ethical way of knowing, being, and doing. Without such attentiveness, colonial ways of working remain unchallenged, undisturbed and unaccountable. “Response-ability” and “being-in-relation” cannot be easily scripted or written into a fieldwork manual or a step-by-step guide on how to decolonize applied ethnomusicology—they are intimately about our individual personal, political,

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    393 philosophical, and performance relationships that each of us has with colonialism and the people with whom we work. But they can become the beginning of the research conversation.

Conclusion: Applied Ethnomusicology Talks about Decolonization A story like this has no ending, it is, as Greene would have it, a “narrative in the making” (1995: 1). Dr. A., Ms. White Settler Colonial, and Prof. D. continue to talk, and this chapter represents the way that my “thinking heart” is attempting to “cultivate multiple ways of seeing and multiple dialogues in a world where nothing stays the same” (Greene, 1995: 16; cf. Mackinlay, 2010). Indeed, it is not for me to complete this narrative for readers; it is a story that needs to become uniquely their own. My dialogic and dialectic role as storyteller has simply and most complexly been to introduce a new character into the plot line of applied ethnomusicology, that of decolonization, and the intention has always been to ensure that the ways that Indigenous scholars are thinking, talking, and writing around this concept speak loudly and clearly. Is applied ethnomusicology ready to listen to the voices of decolonization? Are we ready to ask the uncomfortable questions about the ways that we perform and reproduce White Settler Colonial power and privilege from the beginning to the end and back again in our research projects and products, our classrooms, and our engagements with communities? Are we ready and do we have the response-ability? If we are ready to acknowledge and become “wide awake” to our personal-political-disciplinary identities as White Settler Colonial and hold that decolonizing our discipline is one of the most urgent ethical and moral questions of our time, the search must be ongoing, for we are not there yet. We are already performing some of the theoretical and methodological moves we need to make—many of us enthusiastically embrace dialogic and collaborative research processes; we lay bare a willingness to engage with and enact a set of politics that link applied work with advocacy work; we openly enter into a reflexive engagement with the intersubjective and performative nature of what we do; and, we demonstrate a preparedness to ask what kind of research, for whom and by whom, under what circumstances, to what ends—and then to ask them all over again. In this sense then, to paraphrase bell hooks (1994), applied ethnomusicology, with all of its limitations, remains a location of possibility to begin to decolonize. If applied ethnomusicology can embrace that “research exists at the interstices between political ideology (the idea that shape any given praxis), space/place (the spaces that give life to such projects) and community (the people that carry out such work)” (Zavala, 2013: 65), we begin to decolonize. If we are vigilant in our attendance to and act upon a “wide-awakeness” to the white settler colonial possessive logic of our practice; we begin to decolonize. If we ask whether our projects are ultimately about white settler colonial futurity or

394   Elizabeth Mackinlay Indigenous futurity, we begin to decolonize. If our applied ethnomusicological work places an accountability of “place” (Zavala, 2013: 60) (and by extension, land, sovereignty, and self-determination) at the center of what we do, we begin to decolonize. If we position applied ethnomusicology as within/against colonizing structures, knowing that we forever are between and on the way, we begin to decolonize. If we refuse to engage in the kind of “politics of distraction” (Corntassel, 2012: 91) and reimagine words such as rights as response-ability, resources and research as relationships, and reconciliation as resurgence (Corntassel, 2012: 91), we begin to decolonize. Being white settler colonial in this space means we have to make a radical break from business as usual and perform an ethical turning inside out to imagine a different kind of applied ethnomusicology encounter, “an encounter that both opposes ongoing colonization and that seeks to heal the social, cultural, and spiritual ravages of colonial history” (Gaztambide-Fernandez, 2012: 42) and the colonial present in which we find ourselves entangled. Decolonization is everyone’s business; it “implicates and unsettles everyone” (Tuck and Yang, 2012: 60). The narrative remains unfinished, and it cannot be built upon metaphor. It is now up to each and every one of us to commit to producing a different kind of decolonizing story.

References Battiste, M. (2000). “Introduction:  Unfolding the Lessons of Colonization.” In Reclaiming Indigenous Voice and Vision, edited by M. Battiste, pp. xvi–xxx. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Bradley, J. (1988). Yanyuwa Country: The Yanyuwa People of Borroloola Tell the History of Their Land. Richmond, VIC: Greenhouse Publications. Bradley, J. J., and E. Mackinlay. (2000). “Songs from a Plastic Water Rat: An Introduction to the Musical Traditions of the Yanyuwa Community of the Southwest Gulf of Carpentaria.” Ngulaig 17: 1–45. Cooley, T., Meizel, K., and N. Syed. (2008). “Virtual Fieldwork: Three Case Studies.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by G. Barz and T. Cooley, pp. 90–107. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Corntassel, J. (2012). “Re-envisioning Resurgence:  Indigenous Pathways to Decolonization and Sustainable Self-Determination. Decolonization:  Indigeneity, Education & Society 1(1): 86–101. Denzin, N. (2006). “Pedagogy, Performance and Autoethnography.” Text and Performance Quarterly 26(4): 333–338. Ellis, A.  M. (1982). Inma Nyi:  Nyi:  The Song of the Zebra Finches. Adelaide, SA:  Centre for Aboriginal Studies in Music, The University of Adelaide. Emoff, R. (2002). “Phantom Nostalgia and Recollecting (from) the Colonial Past in Tamatave, Madagascar.” Ethnomusicology 46(2): 265–283. Fanon, F. (1963). The Wretched of the Earth. New York: Grove Press. Fanon, F. (1965). A Dying Colonialism. New York: Grove Press. Fox, C. (2004). “Tensions in the Decolonisation Process:  Disrupting Preconceptions of Postcolonial Education in the Lao People’s Democratic Republic.” In Disrupting Preconceptions: Postcolonialism and Education, edited by A. Hickling-Hudson, J. Matthews, and A. Woods, pp. 99–106. Flaxton, QLD: Post Pressed.

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    395 Gandhi, L. (1998). Postcolonial Theory: A Critical Introduction. Sydney, NSW: Allen and Unwin. Gaztambide-Fernandez, R.  A. (2012). “Decolonization and the Pedagogy of Solidarity.” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society 1(1): 41–67. Geertz, C. (1973). The Interpretation of Culture: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books. Gourlay, K. (1978). “Towards a Reassessment of the Ethnomusicologist’s Role in Research.” Ethnomusicology 22(1): 1–35. Gourlay, K. (1982). “Towards a Humanizing Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 26(3): 411–420. Greene, M. (1994). “Postmodernism and the Crisis of Representation.” English Education 26(4): 206–219. Greene, M. (1995). Releasing the Imagination: Essays on Education, the Arts and Social Change. San Fransciso, CA: Jossey-Bass Publishers. Herndon, M., and S. Ziegler, eds. (1990). Music, Gender and Culture. Wilhelmshaven: Florian Noetzel Verlag. Hodge, R. (1990). “Aboriginal Truth and White Media:  Eric Michaels Meets the Spirit of Aboriginalism.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 3(2): 201–225. Hofman, A. (2010). “Maintaining the Distance, Othering the Subaltern:  Rethinking Ethnomusicologists’ Engagement in Advocacy and Social Justice.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by K Harrison, E. Mackinlay, and S. Pettan, pp. 22–35. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to Transgress:  Education as the Practice of Freedom. New York: Routledge. Kelsky, K. (2001). “Who Sleeps With Whom, or How (Not) to Want the West in Japan.” Qualitative Inquiry 7(4): 418–435. Kohn, M., and K. McBride. (2011). Political Theories of Decolonization: Postcolonialism and the Problem of Foundations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Koskoff, E. ed. (1987). Women and Music in Cross-cultural Perspective. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Le Sueur, J.  D. (2003). “An Introduction:  Reading Decolonization.” In The Decolonization Reader, edited by J. D. Le Sueur, pp. 1–6. London: Routledge. Lorde, A. (2003). “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House.” In Feminist Postcolonial Theory:  A  Reader, edited by R. Lewis and S. Mills, pp. 25–28. New  York: Routledge. Mackinlay, E. (2000). “Maintaining Grandmothers’ Law: Female Song Partners in Yanyuwa Culture.” Musicology Australia 23: 76–98. Mackinlay, E. (2005). “Moving and Dancing Towards Decolonisation in Education:  An Example From an Indigenous Australian Performance Classroom.” The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education 34: 113–122. Mackinlay, E. (2009). “In Memory of Music Research:  An Autoethnographic, Ethnomusicological and Emotional Response to Grief, Death and Loss in the Aboriginal Community at Borroloola, Northern Territory.” In Musical Autoethnographies:  Making Autoethnography Sing/Making Music Personal, edited by B-L. Bartleet and C. Ellis, pp. 225–244. Bowen Hills, QLD: Australian Academic Press. Mackinlay, E. (2010). “Big Women from Burrulula: An Approach to Advocacy and Applied Ethnomusicology with the Yanyuwa Aboriginal Community in the Northern Territory, Australia.” In Applied Ethnomusicology: Historical Approaches and New Perspectives, edited by K. Harrison, E. Mackinlay, and S. Pettan, pp. 96–115. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

396   Elizabeth Mackinlay McConaghy, C. (2000). Rethinking Indigenous Education: Culturalism, Colonialism, and the Politics of Knowing. St Lucia, QLD: Post Pressed. Memmi, A. (2013 [1965]). The Colonizer and the Colonized, trans. H. Greenfield. Hoboken, NJ: Taylor and Francis. Merriam, A.  P. (1967). Ethnomusicology of the Flathead Indians. New  York:  Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, Aldine. Moreton-Robinson, A. (2004). “The Possessive Logic of Patriarchal White Sovereignty: The High Court and the Yorta Yorta Decision.” Borderlands e-journal 3(2). Moyle, A. M. ed. (1988). Songs from the Northern Territory. Canberra, ACT: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Muir, H. J. (2004). Very Big Journey:  My life as I  Remember It. Canberra, ACT:  Aboriginal Studies Press. Mutua, K., and B. Swadener. (2004). “Introduction.” In Decolonizing Research In Cross-Cultural Contexts:  Critical Personal Narratives, edited by K. Mutua and B. Swadener, pp. 1–26. Albany: State University of New York Press. Nettl, B. (1964). Theory and Method in Ethnomusicology. New York: Free Press of Glencoe. Phillips, J., and S. Whatman. (2007). “Decolonising Preservice Teacher Education:  Reform at Many Cultural Interfaces.” In Proceedings The World of Educational Quality: 2007 AERA Annual Meeting, 194–209. Chicago: AERA. Pillow, W.  S. (2003). “Confession, Catharsis, or Cure? Rethinking the Uses of Reflexivity as Methodological Power in Qualitative Research.” Qualitative Studies in Education 16(2): 175–196. Richardson, L., and E. A.  St. Pierre. (2005). “Writing:  A  Method of Inquiry.” In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research (3rd ed.), edited by N. Denzin and Y. Lincoln, pp. 959–978. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Rosaldo, M.  Z., and L. Lamphere, eds. (1974). Woman, Culture and Society. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Said, E. (1978). Orientalism (1st ed.). London: Routledge. Seeger, A. (1986). “The Role of Sound Archives in Ethnomusicology Today.” Ethnomusicology 30(2): 261–276. Sium, A., C. Desai, and E. Ritskes. (2012). “Towards the 'Tangible Unknown': Decolonization and the Indigenous Future.” Decolonisation: Indigeneity, Education and Society 1(1): i–xiii. Smith, G. (2000). “Protecting and Respecting Indigenous Knowledge.” In Reclaiming Indigenous Voice and Vision, edited by M. Battiste, pp. 209–224. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia. Smith, L.  T. (1999). Decolonizing Methodologies:  Research and Indigenous Peoples. London: Zed Books. Solorzano, D. G., and T. J. Yosso. (2002). “Critical Race Methodology: Counter-Storytelling as an Analytical Framework for Education Research.” Qualitative Inquiry 8(1): 23–44. Tuck, E., and K. W.  Yang. (2012). “Decolonization Is Not a Metaphor.” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education and Society 1(1): 1–40. Tunstill, G. (1989). “An Overview of the Centre for Aboriginal Studies in Music, 1988.” Australian Aboriginal Studies 1: 29. Vass, G. (2013). White Shadows in the Classroom:  Race-making Pedagogies in an Australian School. Unpublished PhD thesis, Brisbane, University of Queensland. Waterman, C. A. (1990). “ ‘Our Tradition is a Very Modern Tradition’: Popular Music and the Construction of Pan-Yoruba Identity.” Ethnomusicology 34(3): 367–379.

Decolonization and Applied Ethnomusicology    397 Yazzie, R. (2000). “Indigenous Peoples and Postcolonial Colonialism.” In Reclaiming Indigenous Voice and Vision, edited by M. Battiste, pp. 39–53. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Youngblood-Henderson, J.  S. (2000). “The Context of the State of Nature.” In Reclaiming Indigenous Voice and Vision, edited by M. Battiste, pp. 12–38. Vancouver, BC: University of British Columbia Press. Zavala, M. (2013). “What Do We Mean by Decolonizing Research Strategies? Lessons from Decolonizing, Indigenous Research Projects in New Zealand and Latin America.” Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society 2(1): 55–71.

Chapter 12

Andes to Ama z on on the River Q ’ e ro s Indigenous Voice in Grassroots Tourism, Safeguarding, and Ownership Projects of the Q’eros and Wachiperi Peoples Holly Wissler

Introduction: Reciprocity The support for and ability of indigenous people to express their own voice regarding the use of their music in tourism, representation, safeguarding, and material production projects are often impeded by the restrictions and agendas of local government and nongovernment organizations, as well as tour companies. The efficacy of projects based around any of these activities is often directly proportionate to how much that voice is listened to, ideally in balance and equal partnership with the counterpart they are working with. The question of how to gauge efficacy in music projects and representation has been a debate in applied ethnomusicology in the past few decades (Alviso, 2003; Bradley, 1989; Davis, 1992; Grant, 2012; Hutchinson, 2003; Lomax Hawes, 1992; Long, 2003; Sheehy, 1992). In this chapter I discuss the representation of music in indigenous tourism, preservation, safeguarding, and CD production through the lens of two case studies. I use these themes to focus on hands-on indigenous action regarding self-representation and how the choices of action are related to satisfactory reciprocal relationship (or lack thereof) between the indigenous people with the applied ethnomusicologist, foreign tourists and students, and Peru’s Ministry of Culture. The first study is the internationally known highland Quechua Q’eros people in the Cusco Region of southern Peru and their choices regarding indigenous tourism and effective sharing of their music in touristic ventures; and the second is the near-extinct Amazonian Wachiperi1 people, also in the Cusco Region, and their choice to make their

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    399 own CD production of their now inactive songs, intentionally negating a CD production proposition from the Cusco division of the Ministry of Culture. When it comes to presenting music in the public sphere, both the Q’eros and Wachiperi assert their own guidelines in active resistance, even if on a very small scale. Indeed, my intention for sharing these two case studies is to advocate for the value and efficacy of micro-scale grassroots applied music projects, executed in small groups and even one-on-one, versus large-scale operations, events, and stagings that involve organizational participation. Applied ethnomusicology can be effectual on the smallest of scales, and in my experience that is where it has been the most fruitful. The measurement of success of projects with both the Q’eros and the Wachiperi is gauged by the effectiveness of reciprocity, an age-old theme in anthropological and ethnomusicological studies, which was first systematically studied in the groundbreaking work of Marcel Mauss in his comparisons of Polynesian, Melanesian, and Native American exchange systems. Reciprocity also premises the social, economic, and spiritual systems in the Andes and the Amazon, as shown in the lives of the Q’eros and the Wachiperi. Mauss’s classic book, The Gift (1954, first edition in English) examines reciprocity in large-scale contexts with detailed description of the North American potlatch, the kula ring exchanges based on Malinowski’s work with the Tobriand peoples, and in the meetings, assemblies, markets, festivals, and seafaring expeditions of various Polynesian and Melanesian groups. Similarly, the Inca Empire (1436–1532) functioned on a large-scale system of reciprocity known as mit’a, whereby a tribute tax was paid to the Inca king and nobility in the form of labor and production (food, weaving, ceramics, metallurgy, mining, and the building of temples, palaces, roads, and irrigation canals, to name a few). In return, all areas of production, that is, all peoples who were incorporated into the Inca system, received periodic distribution of food and clothing from the massive state storage system of qollqas (storehouses). Instead of common markets that were the life centers of many Asian and European empires, the Incas had intricate trade networks among the coastal, Andean, and Amazon regions joined by Qhapaq Ñan (royal stone roads). An enormous variety of goods was produced all along the Andean vertical ecology,2 made possible due to the multitude of ecosystems found in the extreme range of altitudes situated in tropical latitudes. Through labor tax reciprocated by provision of goods to all, the Incas created a successful social system that propelled the largest pre-Columbian empire in the New World. This system of reciprocity was intrinsically linked to the social and personal relationships among those who made the exchanges, so that reciprocity on the local level extended to the empirical level. The first decades of the post-Spanish invasion (1532–1570) experienced a tragic shift to a newly introduced European slave feudal system that caused the breakdown, demoralization, and mass deaths of many Andean, coastal, and Amazonian groups, indicative of the devastation that a non-reciprocal system can incite (see Hemming, 1993: 334–359). Today, as in the past, relationship is key to Andean livelihood and is what must be nurtured above all else. Ayni is the system of reciprocity that ensures good relationship among people with their fellow community members, animals, and the powerful spirits that hold sway over their quality of livelihood (see scholarship that includes discussions

400   Holly Wissler of ayni: Abercrombie, 1998; Allen, 1997, 2002, 2008; Arnold with Juan de Dios Yapita, 1998; Bastien, 1978; Bolin, 1998; Butler, 2006; Cummins, 2002; Flores Ochoa, 1977, 1988; Gow, 1976; Harris, 2000; Isbell, 1978; Mamani Mamani, 1990; Mannheim, 1986, 1991; Rozas Alvarez, 2002 [1979]; Schaedel, 1988; Silverman, 1994; Stobart, 2006; Tomoeda, 1996; Webster, 1972; Wissler, 2009a; Zuidema, 1964, 1982, 1990). In living and working with the Q’eros since 2003 I have come to see how this operative principle is essential in every relationship, and can cause offense, even harm, if not upheld. The Quechua word ayni refers to mutual aid in nearly every aspect of community life, such as sharing food and labor, gift-giving, and political and ritual offices as part of a community’s cargo system.3 This understood web of social obligations ensures that everyone in the community is taken care of in social, political, and fundamental ways. While exchanges are not often direct, ayni is an implied and tacit obligation that ensures that “what goes around, comes around.” On the smallest scale, home visits should be accompanied with a simple gift, such as potatoes or coca,4 and neighbors help one another in farming, herding, and home building. On the community level, a festival carguyoq (sponsor) solicits food, drink, and coca from fellow community members so that his cargo (festival responsibility) goes well. If ayni is not fulfilled, one risks damaging a relationship with a neighbor or the entire community. Anthropologist Catherine Allen, in her moving ethnography The Hold Life Has, succinctly describes the vitality of ayni: “Reciprocity is like a pump at the heart of Andean life” (Allen, 2002: 73). This system of interactive reciprocity in the Andes exists not only among humans, but among all vital energies, as Allen states: Every category of being, at every level, participates in this cosmic circulation. Humans maintain interactive reciprocity relationships, not only with each other but also with their animals, their houses, their potato fields, the earth, and the sacred places in their landscape. (Allen, 1997: 76)

All entities—human and non-human—have animu, an animated essence, so the maintenance of respectful relationships with all beings is essential for a good, functioning life (Wissler, 2009: 42–45). In Q’eros, and many traditional Andean communities, the most potent relationship to be upheld is with the supernatural forces, the Apu (mountain gods) and Pacha Mama (mother earth), as they hold the most power and influence on quality of life. If this crucial relationship is not maintained and renewed through numerous offerings, the spirits can inflict ill, sometimes in dramatic ways: crops fail; lightning strikes a person or an animal; a puma attacks a baby llama or alpaca; or a family member dies prematurely. In this case, “what goes around, comes around” can literally have deadly consequences. Conversely, if the reciprocal relationship is attended to, the powers can bestow good luck, healthy crops, and herd procreation. I have witnessed these beliefs and realities as daily life in the Q’eros community, with Q’eros’ songs as one of the many offerings used in order to uphold good relationships with these all-powerful spirits (see Wissler, 2009: 109–207). Similarly, the Amazonian Wachiperi have their own system of reciprocity, as described later in this chapter.

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    401 Mauss expounds the idea that gifts received are not inactive, which is why gift-giving can be so powerful and binding (and in some cases, potentially dangerous). An example he details is hau, which, according to the Maori, is the soul and power of objects that create ties on a soul-level because of the animation/spirit of the object (Mauss, 1990: 11–12). The Q’eros’ animal fertility rituals are pinnacle moments of circulatory ayni among all sentient beings, when there is an abundant flow of energies and conspicuous co-consumption in intentional exchange of ayni among the supernatural powers, people, animals, and a variety of ritual objects (see Allen, 2002; Stobart, 2006; Wissler, 2009).5 Sound and song have vital roles in these circulations of offerings (Wissler, 2009: 182–207). Other continuous offerings include libations of alcohol, and intricate offerings with many ingredients, to include food items and coca leaves, that are then burned for the Apu to consume via the smoke, while the ashes are consumed by Pacha Mama. Mauss determines reciprocal gift-giving as a total social phenomenon, since it involves legal, economic, moral, religious, social, aesthetic, and spiritual dimensions. Mauss lists the benefits of reciprocity as numerable: It creates mutual ties and satisfaction on the individual, familial, community, inter- and intra-community, and institutional levels; enhances solidarity such as kinship links, alliances, and friendly relations; creates permanent commitments; is obligatory and binding; promotes honor and integrity; and is the basis of moral and material life. Reciprocity, as the intrinsic social underpinning of life for the Q’eros and the Wachiperi, is therefore the naturally preferred mode of interaction in our projects as well.

Background: Andes and Amazon, Q’eros and Wachiperi The Andean Quechua Q’eros and the Amazonian Harakbut Wachiperi live on extremes of the same River Q’eros, both in the Paucartambo province in the larger region of Cusco,6 in southeast Peru (see Maps 12.1 and 12.2). The Q’eros nation consists of five communities, with the largest community of Hatun Q’eros, the site of my work, located on the river’s source at 11,000 feet above sea level. This source is fed by glacial headwaters originating at 16,000 feet, flows through the llama, alpaca, and potato zones of Hatun Q’eros, down through their cloud forest territory, plunges through impassable gorges, and eventually arrives in the rain forest foothills at the Wachiperi community located on the river’s mouth, at 1,000 feet.7 Not only are the Q’eros and Wachiperi located on the furthermost ends of the same river, but both groups represent extremes of indigenous cultural prosperity: The Q’eros are a flourishing Quechua group, having tripled their population in the past one hundred years, with their traditional and changing customs expressive of pre-Hispanic culture, such as songs, weavings, and offerings to the mountain spirits. This is a result of their ancestral exploitation of three vertical ecological zones located on the eastern watershed of the Andes, spanning from 15,000 to 6,000 feet in a vertical drop of about 25 miles. These zones provide all animal and crop resources for sustainability, so

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Map 12.1  The location of the Q’eros Nation in Peru. The Wachiperi region is due north of the Q’eros Nation, in the beginning of the Amazon section. Map courtesy of ACCA, Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica, Cusco, Perú. www.acca.org.pe.

that their ethnic and cultural integrity is intact and the continued integrity of their cultural practices is fostered. The Q’eros are an admirable example of a people who are not tied to the cash economy within their own community, though this is rapidly changing due to urban migration and the arrival of a car road into the community (2014), which connects them to urban amenities and trappings more than ever before in their history. By contrast, the Wachiperi, of the Harakbut linguistic family, suffered great loss and relocation during forced enslavement and displacement from their original territory caused by the early twentieth-century rubber terror, particularly under the exploits of Peruvian rubber baron Carlos Fitzcarrald, who made the Madre de Dios region, original home of the Wachiperi, a major area for capturing slaves and labor under the pain of death. Later, many Wachiperi were relocated to a mid-century (1946) establishment of

Map 12.2 The location of the Q’eros River and communities of Hatun Q’eros and Queros-Wachiperi in the Department capital of Cusco and province capital of Paucartambo. The community territories are designated in  shaded areas. Map courtesy of ACA, Amazon Conservation Association, Washington, D.C. www.amazonconservation.org.

404   Holly Wissler a North American Baptist Mission, followed in 1948 by a small pox epidemic that coincided with the opening of the road to Cusco, which severely reduced the population. Today only some one hundred or so Wachiperi remain.8 The Wachiperi songs, like the people and their language, are on the border of extinction. Q’eros and Wachiperi music has much in common, as is true for many indigenous cultures: The songs express their environment with topics about the landscape, revered animals and birds; they are used for personal expression of grievances, complaints, and loss; both are used for healing in some form; and the songs fortify identity and social ties (Allen, 2002; Olsen, 1996; Seeger, 2004a; Stobart, 2006; Turino, 1993; Uzendoski, 2005; Wissler, 2009). The principal difference is that the Q’eros still embody and retain the original context for musical practice (carnival, animal fertility rituals, corn harvest), while the Wachiperi lost their context for musical production during relocation to the Protestant mission and prohibition of the drinking of masato, fermented yucca beer. Community singing for the Wachiperi had been traditionally organized in masateadas (communal drinking rituals) in large communal homes, and their communal singing ended with the prohibition of this ritual. In September 2010 I  collected, digitized, and repatriated 50  years of audiovisual archives to the Q’eros, and in December of the same year I  digitized and returned University of California Berkeley anthropologist Patricia J. Lyon’s 1964 and 1965 reel-toreel recordings of 206 Wachiperi songs to the Wachiperi. This was the first time in the history of both communities that audio-visual archives had been repatriated to them (see Figure 12.1).9 In the case of the Wachiperi, the repatriation of song archives was my introduction to the community, whereas with the Q’eros I had accumulated years of research and reciprocal relations that opened doors on both communal and individual levels. It is this foundation of years of trust and collaboration with the Q’eros that has allowed for the co-creation of exchanges with tourist and student groups, with music as focal point, which are fulfilling and often very potent for both the Q’eros and the guests. I have married my role of 30 years as tour leader and cultural translator in mountain areas of Peru with 15 years as music researcher in the same mountains, to successfully incorporate the Q’eros and their music into our mutual livelihood of tourism in a way that benefits both parties on various levels, without changing or creating a new form of the performance aspect of their music.

The Quechua Q’eros and their Music in Indigenous Tourism When indigenous music is introduced into tourist realms, it quite often undergoes the construction of a new or altered musical form (Harnish, 2005), a folklorization of the original music (Mendoza, 1998, 2000), or a staging of indigenous culture and identity negotiation for political purposes (Oakdale, 2004). Indigenous music that is commoditized

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    405

Figure  12.1 Digitized archives returned to the Queros-Wachiperi community. Estela Dariquebe is the only elder still living who recorded with Patricia Lyon in 1964 and  1965. Photo by Holly Wissler, December 11,  2010.

for touristic purposes often becomes “self-conscious ‘cultural performances’ ” (Rios, 2012: 6), a self-conscious presentation of self (Senft, 1999), or, in the ecological analogy of Titon, “like chemical fertilizers, artificial stimuli that feed the plant but starve the soil… .” (Titon, 2009: 122). In my work with the Q’eros and the introduction of their music into tourism, they do not reconstruct a performance of identity, or display an objectified image of their cultural heritage, which could be very tempting for them given that they are often associated (on the national and international level) with a romantic Inca past, as a people who still harmoniously live in untouched, ancient tradition (Corr, 2003). I argue that what supports the maintenance of authentic, unpackaged musical performance, as well as the facilitation of deep sharings of musical and life experiences between two extremes of culture (indigenous, rural Andean with modern, urban US), is the very small, grassroots level in which we work. These exchanges are not so “small” after all, when one considers the inner experience of rich benefit and growth, and, in the case of the Q’eros, personal benefit plus economic compensation. It is in the arenas of tourism and work with students on study abroad programs in Peru where I have experienced direct, immediate, and long-lasting impact in the service of applied ethnomusicology.

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Indigenous Tourism and Ideas of Authenticity In past decades there has been a growing interest in, implementation of, and debates about indigenous tourism, which includes activities where indigenous people are directly involved, and their culture, including musical presentation, serves as the essence of attraction (see Boniface and Robinson, 1998; Butler and Hinch, 2007; Knudsen and Waade, 2010; Ryan and Aicken, 2005; Xie, 2001). Butler and Hinch state in their introduction to their edited volume Tourism and Indigenous Peoples, “Indigenous cultures have become a powerful attraction for tourists and as such they have drawn the attention of tourism entrepreneurs, government agencies and academics” (Butler and Hinch, 2007: 2). Many of the case studies in this volume discuss whether indigenous tourism is an opportunity for the indigenous to “gain economic independence and cultural rejuvenation to whether it presents a major threat of hegemonic subjugation and cultural degradation” (ibid.). These are two extremes of the continuum, and the editors do clarify that “[a]‌parallel range of opinions exist at operational levels of debates about the size of indigenous tourism markets, the appropriateness of various marketing practices and the business models that are most suitable for indigenous tourism operations” (ibid., my emphasis). The overall premise of all cases presented is that there is not one guiding set of principles that assures success in indigenous tourism models; rather, each case is unique to time, place, and size. I agree with this conclusion, and have myself experienced models that both work and do not work regarding tourism with the Q’eros. Boniface and Robinson (1998) discuss how tourism can help preserve cultures and resurrect forgotten traditions, while at the same time challenging cultural norms, which can lead to situations of conflict, in which much tension, and even violence, can result. Many issues must be confronted when cultures meet, such as social and economic power relations, and even moral and legal rights. The majority of the case studies in both Butler and Hinch and Boniface and Robinson deal with fairly large-scale tourist operations. I emphasize the word size as quoted above because it is on the smallest level where I have felt and seen the most effective results, literally one-on-one, or a ratio of roughly two to one, when I introduce US guests and the Q’eros to one another (Figure 12.2). The group sizes I work with are anywhere from four to thirty total people involved. The effectiveness of these encounters is probably more immediate and impactful when compared to many other models that deal with interactions on a larger scale, such as stagings of musical presentations to a sizable audience. The issue of authenticity in tourism—its definition and implementation—has been a much-debated issue in the study and practice of indigenous tourism. One of the first critics of inauthentic tourist experiences was the American historian and social critic Daniel Boorstin, whose groundbreaking book The Image discussed the effect of mass media on American culture that resulted in contrivance and a valuing of the fake over the genuine. He critiqued the tourism industry as a whole, saying it once offered real experiences but came to insulate travelers from the places they were visiting and,

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Figure  12.2  Two US tourists with three Q’eros, learning about the Q’eros pinkuyllu flutes. Photo by Holly Wissler, July 17,  2014.

instead, provided artificial products and presentations for tourists who expect to see scenes out of the movies (Boorstin, 1961). Boorstin’s seminal critique is still influential in authentic tourism debates today. Fifty years later, Knudsen and Waade discuss “a hunger for reality and the indexical authenticity” and “a striving for the real” in regard to authenticity in indigenous tourism (Knudsen and Waade, 2010: 2). Authenticity is not observers (tourists) observing staged authenticity (the idea of tourist as observer and host culture as observed; Urry, 2002), but “the nature of authenticity is experiential” (Johnson and McIntosh, 2005: 36, my emphasis). Along these lines, Knudsen and Waade discuss that the longing for the authentic in tourism is not a “… ‘thing’ you can possess, nor a ‘state of mind,’ but something which people do and a feeling which is experienced” (Knudsen and Waade, 2010: 1). I agree that experience and experiential are key components in authentic exchange in indigenous tourism, which includes accessing deeper meanings of indigenous music by the students/tourists involved. Knudsen and Waade use the term “performative authenticity” to marry object-related and subject-related modes of authenticity. Object-related refers to concepts that are “out there”: place, the tourists’ projections, narrations, and identity constructions about

408   Holly Wissler place, and pre-conceived ideas in general, such as the desire for a non-technological, natural environment and experience in their travels. “Indexical authenticity” refers to the inner experience of the tourist who is affected by and has intense feelings for place (object-related) (ibid.). Subject-related refers to the inner, affected, tactile, corporeal, emotional, and inter-relatedness that the tourist actually experiences (ibid.:  12–16). Performative authenticity, therefore, is the combination of preconceptions that conjure up images and sensations with the subjective inner affected experience and existential personal quests that happen in the moment. In simpler terms, the projected combined with the experienced. Sustainability scientist Ning Wang writes in his article “Rethinking Authenticity in Tourism Experience,” “Existential authenticity refers to a potential existential state of Being that is to be achieved by tourist activities. Correspondingly, authentic experiences in tourism are to achieve this activated existential state of Being within the liminal process of tourism” (Wang, 1999: 352). Wang discusses authenticity in terms of intrapersonal (the sensations of authenticity the person feels) and interpersonal (the authentic bonding among peoples). I believe the concepts intra- and interpersonal, sensations and bondings, are key in the success of interactive, exchange tourism and indigenous musical sharings. In our exchanges, the tourists and students have direct and intimate contact with the Q’eros and their musical offerings. The tourists’ experience is more than observing, but a taking part in, a participation of—when emotions, thoughts, sensations, and even spirit become involved. I believe we achieve authentic sensations and mutual bonding in our exchanges, which are connected to both pre-conceived ideas of place and identity, combined with actual, corporeal, and emotional experience, which I expand on below. Interpretations and meanings of “authenticity” have been critically examined in contemporary ethnomusicology, and many ethnomusicologists have discussed authenticity in regard to the incorporation of indigenous music in touristic ventures and festivals (see Stokes, 1994). Jeff Titon quotes the definition of folk cultural traditions from the Smithsonian’s Center of Folklife Programs and Cultural Studies Guidelines for Research, which is meant to guide fieldworkers’ decisions on what is and is not authentic: … community-based forms of knowledge, skill and expression learned through informal relationships and exhibiting intergenerational continuity. Typical genres include oral tradition, social custom, material culture and its supportive knowledge, and the folk arts. Forms of folk culture are traditional to the extent that they maintain standards or values, which have continuity with, and are informed by, past practice. They are living traditions to the extent that they are practiced, and are socially integrated within community life and speak to its cognitive, normative, affective, and aesthetic concerns (Office of Folklife Programs 1988). (Titon 1999: 123–124)

Based on this definition, the Q’eros’ music-making I organize for tour groups is solidly rooted in “intergenerational continuity” and a “living tradition.” While they are not playing in the ritual context (i.e., drinking the ceremonial chicha—corn beer—involved

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    409 in multiple offerings for the mountain spirits or carnival merry-making), the execution of their music is not modified or staged. The renderings are more subdued than during their inebriated ritual contexts and more akin to the way they sing around their family hearths or while herding their llamas and alpacas out in the Andean heights: a simple playing and singing of their songs in an intimate, private setting, as they did for me during my fieldwork, so that they share the community’s affective and aesthetic concerns. To use Thomas Turino’s definition, this is participatory music that does not become staged or presentational. Rather, it is a simple rendition of participatory music (Turino, 2008). In contrast to simple renderings of music in intimate settings, many of my Q’eros friends have expressed feelings of p’enqay, or shame, and a sense of being used and manipulated as they are put on stage by the Ministry of Culture, which solicits them to perform their songs and the traditional sounding of announcement on conch shells (pututu) for specific ceremonies based around achievements of the Ministry. Both the Q’eros and the Wachiperi are regularly called upon to travel long distances from their communities and perform for special Ministry of Culture events, thereby symbolizing the Ministry’s investment in heralding and safeguarding the traditions of both peoples. While the Q’eros’ musical performances for the MC are similar to the ones they do for my tour groups—a simple rendition of songs—the experience is dramatically different. One is an uncomfortable staged obligation for a political entity, with little understanding or significance of the music imparted, and centered around an event that often has nothing to do with the people performing, versus an intimate, often mutually meaningful experiential exchange between US tourists/students and the Q’eros, which is directly focused on the Q’eros, who they are, and the layers of musical meaning. In my experience, it is the latter musical representation that engenders a sense of “authentic.”

Indigenous Tourism and the Q’eros Identity I first heard of the Q’eros upon moving to Peru in 1982 as the exotic last stronghold of “pure” indigenous Andean people surviving today. It was this romantic reputation that led me 20 years later to choose the Q’eros’ ritual music as my dissertation research topic. The fame and attraction of the Q’eros to foreigners evolved from mid-twentieth century onward due to many factors that link them to an ancient, and even Inca, past.10 One version of the Q’eros’ origin myth of Inkarí, the mythical Inca who founded the Inca Empire, tells how the Q’eros were privileged with the power of wisdom, while the Incas received the political power. The first academic expedition into Q’eros headed by Cusco University (Universidad Nacional San Antonio de Abad, Cusco) in 1955 highlighted the connection to an Inca past with sensational editorials in the Lima newspaper, La Prensa, such as: “Living museum from the Inca era being studied by Peruvian scientists,” and “Q’ero is an admirable testimony of a pre-Incan city in Peru” (journalist Demetrio Tupac Yupanqui, August 21 and 22, 1955, respectively). These editorials brought national attention to the Q’eros. Fifty years later, their legal establishment of the Nación Q’eros (Q’eros Nation, consisting of five Q’eros communities, approximately 3,000 population)

410   Holly Wissler is indicative of the Q’eros’ self-identified identity/ethnicity, and their wish to preserve and promote themselves as a unified group. In 2006, Peru’s then National Institute of Culture—today the Ministry of Culture—declared the Q’eros people “Cultural Patrimony,” the first case of its kind in Peru in which a people were so named.11 Because of this renown, streams of foreign and local filmmakers and researchers have been drawn to Q’eros’ romanticized identity over the past 50 years. As mentioned, the Q’eros’ continued practice of their community traditions has much to do with their location in three diverse ecological zones on the eastern watershed of the Andes, all in relative close proximity, which has fostered self-sustainability, and less need for trade and outside movement than more dependent Andean groups. The Q’eros are likely one of the few remaining ethnic groups of the diverse mosaic of cultural groups in existence in southern Peru at the time of the Spanish invasion, versus ethnic Incas (see Mannheim, 1998: 383–384; Rowe, 1963: 185; Webster, 1972: 7–9). In sum, the Q’eros, with their intact cultural and ethnic identity, have many platforms and an eager audience from which to assert this identity, which they articulately connect to an ancient Inca past, as their origin myth tells them; they are proud of their identity, and articulate and utilize it to their benefit. This makes tourism highly attractive for and to the Q’eros. Today the Q’eros are particularly sought out by a specific niche of foreigners (US and European) who seek spiritual guidance, and have come to look to the Q’eros as the teachers and holders of Andean Native American spiritual tradition. They are known as spiritual leaders, because every head of family—usually the men, and sometimes the women—is a ritual specialist, having inherited the knowledge of how to make precise offerings for the mountain deities (Apu) and Mother Earth (Pacha Mama), whereas other Andean communities have only one or a few ritual specialists. This corresponds to their version of the origin myth, Inkarí, in which the Q’eros inherited vast spiritual knowledge. Many Q’eros are invited abroad to teach their knowledge, and visitors to Peru hold learning sessions with them in and around the Cusco region, while the hardier will travel to Q’eros.12 This type of “mystical/esoteric/New Age tourism,” as it is called in the tourist trade, comes with a lot of hot critique; many argue that because of the forces of commerce and capitalism, the Q’eros have sold out or exploited their ritual expertize to spiritually empty Westerners who look outside their own home for fulfillment, or, conversely that the Q’eros representatives, such as tour companies, have created an exaggerated mystic around the Q’eros that the Q’eros comply with and cultivate in order to simply earn the much-needed income to support their families. Certainly, the Q’eros are a spiritual people, and the issue of spiritual tourism is complex and multi-faceted. In spite of the Q’eros’ renown and attractiveness to outside visitors, they do not have any community-based tourism (CBT) in place, where the community could potentially manage their own touristic operations to the control and benefit of the community;13 rather, separate tour companies and individuals employ Q’eros who are looking for work in tourism as they become more connected to/dependent on the cash economy. In the past decade there has been significant Q’eros migration to Cusco, which comes with new economic trappings: building homes, paying for their children’s education, and buying food from the market that they used to grow in their community. Tourism is now a main form

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    411 of income for many in-community and migrant Q’eros, and they are savvy in securing their own work contacts to make offerings for tourists and sell their handmade textiles. This system of individual enterprise fosters capitalistic competition and often jealousies among community members, yet many Q’eros have stated that they prefer to be their own individual agents in securing tourist activities versus any kind of CBT where equality would be enforced. Francisco Quispe from Q’eros stated bluntly that they do not want to create CBT that would instill and obligate an equal sharing of tourist earnings. “Many don’t want to share, because they think that if they do a rotation system then there would be ‘less for me.’ We prefer to work with people we already know; with contacts we already have and continue to make” (personal communication, July 19, 2013). This contrasts with the Taquile island CBT model, where, in the 1970s, the Taquileños created an innovative, community-controlled tourism system, with home stays and cultural activities, to combat mass tourism to their island that was run by outsiders. The Q’eros region is vast, not a single island, and the Q’eros individually, not collectively, discreetly invite tourists to their homes in the mountains, or meet tour groups in Cusco. This is completely in character with their savvy negotiation of “Inca identity” that they use in political, social, and tourist arenas; it is also in line with their decades of astute control regarding which outsiders can and cannot film, research, and witness rituals in their community.14 They have taken control of tourism in their region and are not interested in any CBT that may not serve their own individual desires and needs, which is fascinating considering that they still live by traditional communal rules in regard to intracommunity social matters.

Case Study: Q’eros-Tourist Exchanges with Music as Focal Point Knudsen and Waade discuss authenticity in indigenous tourism as “the desire for insight into the intimate back-stage life of others,” and this insight is what we achieve in our small, face-to-face meetings with the Q’eros (Knudsen and Waade, 2010: 10). Even though I am regularly solicited to take groups and individuals into Q’eros because of my research profile, I only travel to Q’eros with select, close friends because in this way I feel we can share quality exchanges inside the intimate space of the Q’eros’ homes. In other words, I take friends to meet friends. I have only led one tour group into Q’eros, and I sensed varied agendas and interest in the clients’ meeting the Q’eros, so that any meaningful exchange was compromised, and the trip felt unsatisfactory. This experience, coupled with the high-altitude rigors and inclement weather involved in arriving to the community that took a toll on the original intent of cultural exchange, led me to conclude that I will not take tourists into Q’eros again. What works for us (the Q’eros, visitors, and me) are the close meetings between select Q’eros and small tour and student groups in Cusco, specifically using music as focal point and a window into Q’eros’ life and perspective. The Q’eros call me chakawarmi (bridge-woman) because of my ability to conjoin my compatriots with the Q’eros in meaningful colloquy. I work with about 10 Q’eros families whom I rotate for the exchanges. The group I have chosen are the ones who committed

412   Holly Wissler to my work years ago when I began my initial music research in Q’eros, so we have a long working history together. In this way I continue ayni, reciprocal social obligation, in exchange for all the favors and time they gave in helping me understand their music. In some cases, the Q’eros’ earnings with groups are through selling their textiles, but mostly we are hired to meet with small tour and student groups, so that the Q’eros make a much-welcomed wage.15 The tourist demographic we meet with are generally high-powered, well-educated professionals from the United States who have just two weeks or so vacation a year. Many check into their workplace regularly via Smartphones, often adding stress to their once-in-a-lifetime visit to Peru. Knudsen and Waade (2010) expand on ideas from Gilmore and Pine (2007), stating that “the craving for authenticity is a reaction to a strong technologically mediatised, commercialised and socially constructed reality. One could think of this ‘craving’ as a ‘longing’ for the immediate, non-commercialised, brute natural world, characterized by the real authentic” (Knudsen and Waade, 2010: 1). Most of the visitors we meet with come away with a sense of having experienced the “real authentic,” even if in one session and on a small scale. Certainly the meeting location has a powerful, underlying influence: the capital of the Inca Empire, with the final goal of the mystical citadel of Machu Picchu. The clients/students are already under the spell of having finally arrived in the majestic Andes, a place that has been their dream for years. They are in the midst of the “indexical authenticity” and “emotional geography” of the tourist’s inner experience, affected by and having intense, often projected, feelings for place (Knudsen and Waade, 2010: 5–16). This emotional investment in place and history is conducive to their openness for and interest in a meeting with the Q’eros. Upon meeting the Q’eros, the guests first see the physical representation of authentic: The men in pre-Hispanic unku tunics under their hand-woven ponchos, with the knee-length calzuna pants; the women in brightly-colored finely-woven lliklla shawls with typical Q’eros designs and bayeta (woven cloth of sheep and alpaca fiber) skirts. All wear the simple ojota sandals, and often their feet are mud-caked from recent work in their homes, fields, and travel by foot over a mountain pass to arrive at the road and take the bus to Cusco. Soon after, social features of the authentic begin to be expressed: warm hugs from the Q’eros to the guests, most of whom are unaccustomed to such affection upon first meeting. Barriers begin to break down. The tourists soften, smile, and even laugh at this unexpected warmth and physicality. Next come greetings in their native Quechua, a language they have not heard in person, and most likely have not heard of before their journey to Peru. These are not formal speeches, as are sometimes performed on stage for Ministry of Culture functions just before musical performance, but direct, personal greetings in this ancient language of the Andes. We sit in chairs in a small circle, versus two lines facing one another (“us” and “them”), or the Q’eros on a stage and the guests as audience, as in Ministry of Culture presentations. Often we hike together, sharing magnificent Inca archaeology and Andean scenery (Figure 12.3). I ensure that the sessions are dialogue; that is, I invite

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Figure  12.3  A  Q’eros couple sharing music with US tourists from inside an Inca  niche. Photo by Vicki Groninga, October 13,  2013.

the Q’eros to ask questions of the clients, and vice versa. There are many questions that I could easily answer in regard to the Q’eros’ lifestyle, and interpretation and meaning of their music, but I defer to the Q’eros so that they reply first in their own words, and I then add what I have discovered and learned through years of research, in terms that are more easily understandable to Western thinking. Therefore, my translation is both literal from Quechua to English, with the addition of cultural translation. Next, I facilitate the sharing of a music the guests have neither heard nor imagined before: men simultaneously play pinkuyllu—four-holed end-notched vertical bamboo flutes—“out of tune” and dissonant, while the women sing with full force from the gut, intentionally expelling all air at the ends of phrases . Each pinkuyllu is tuned to itself, but not to another, so that if there are two or three pinkuyllu the sound is inevitably bitonal or tritonal. I let the Q’eros choose which pukllay taki, or carnival song, they wish to sing, about the sacred and medicinal plants, flowers, and birds in their environment. It is taboo to sing the animal fertility songs out of ritual context, but it is precisely the tritonic pukllay taki sung by a woman combined with the tritonic pinkuyllu complementary melody that is normally sung out of carnival context throughout daily activities such as herding and weaving. I see it over and over again: the spellbound look of awe on

414   Holly Wissler the visitors’ faces, taking in this extraordinary experience of indigenous Andeans vigorously singing and playing, and just for them. In our ensuing post-listening dialogue I  explain how the basic life tenet of ayni—reciprocity—is manifested in Q’eros music. I begin with the significance of the song topic and basic elements of music such as tuning, and the complementarity of the men’s playing and the women’s singing.16 I help the guests understand what is usually a new musical aesthetic for them: that starting and stopping together is not a musical criterion; in fact, in Q’eros it is just the opposite. The space must be continually filled with sound so that the offering of songs, particularly in animal fertility ritual, is plentiful and nonstop.17 If the group shows keen interest, then I particularly expand on one of the most exciting musical discoveries in my years of singing in ritual with Q’eros women: Their self-identified vocal technique, aysariykuy, which is the notable prolongation and expulsion of air at the end of alternate refrains. I share my passion about the idea that the Q’eros’ worldview is encompassed in a single vocal technique that is a ritual blowing of the person’s samay, or animated essence, which is sent out in offering to the Apu, mountain deities, in propitiation for the return of ayni.18 This ritual blowing of the song, just like the ritual blowing (phukuy) of coca leaves, is, in the Q’eros’ words, chayanankupaq—“so that the song arrives,” and uyarichinankukama—“until they [the Apu] are made to hear.” The people hope to be reciprocated with the health of their crops, herds, and overall livelihood. I elucidate how they taught me that if they don’t sing and play with aysariykuy, then the Apu won’t hear the song, thereby not receiving the song offering, which places ayni in jeopardy. If the song is not received and ayni is not reciprocated, bad occurrences take place—and in extreme cases, death. The people take direct responsibility for unreciprocated ayni, stating that perhaps they did not sing properly, give enough offering bundles, libations of alcohol and coca leaves, in order to ensure complete reciprocity.19 With university and high school student groups that are part of an in-depth study abroad program, I distribute song text and we sing along with the Q’eros, so they can experience the sensation of aysariykuy (see Figures 12.4 and 12.5). Many of these student groups have a Quechua component, so I am able to delve deeper and breakdown the meaning of the term aysariykuy. Quechua is a language in which multiple infixes and suffixes are added to basic verb roots to enhance the meaning. The root of aysariykuy is aysay: “to pull,” “to drag,” “to haul,” or “to throw.” Added to aysay are three suffixes: the first, ri [ru],20 indicates an action with speed and urgency; the second, yu, implies an action performed with intensity; and finally, ku, which indicates an action executed with much enthusiasm, affection, and in quantity. For ease in pronunciation, ri-yu-ku becomes riyku, so the final word is aysariykuy. Thus, the essence of the full translation is something akin to “The song is pulled or thrown with urgency, intensity, and affectionate enthusiasm” and “with much quantity of breath.” More than just simply infusing the song with samay, or life essence, that samay must be moved and “thrown” in a particular way, with “urgency, intensity, and affectionate enthusiasm.” The vocal technique is then packed with intention that the guests learn about through singing and are privileged

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Figure  12.4 A  young US high school student from a National Geographic student group tour in Peru learns a Q’eros  song. Photo by Holly Wissler, July 18,  2014.

to share with the Q’eros. Explanations, demonstrations, and participation through music are singular, major connectors for the guests to gain a profound glimpse into the deep meaning of Q’eros life. Sometimes the Q’eros break out in endearing laughter at the tentative attempts at aysariykuy in the guests’ singing, and the humanness of these moments is fun and unifying. The final portion of our sharing moves into spontaneous dialogue when I facilitate a conversation, and mutual questions and answers between Quechua and English. Occasionally we will share about the Q’eros’ singing their loss and grief in improvised song text in the animal fertility songs and rituals. Since those rituals are about life, they are also about death and remembrance of time when ayni was not reciprocated (see Wissler, 2009: 182–207). This topic only comes up when our conversation leads into it in some fashion, when all those involved are sharing about difficulties and loss in life. All sessions end with the Q’eros selling textiles that the women present have woven themselves, so that the money goes directly to that woman and her family and not through a broker.21 Everything about the experience is intimate and direct. I believe this is as close a view and understanding of Q’eros music that one can possibly get within the structured framework of a two-hour session, outside of Q’eros.

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Figure  12.5  A  Q’eros man gives a “high five” to a US student from a National Geographic student group tour who has sung a Q’eros song with  him. Photo by Holly Wissler, July 18,  2014.

Mutually Beneficial Exchange Both the Q’eros and visitors have articulated numerous benefits from these sessions. Below is a sampling of quotations from some Q’eros and guests who have participated in these exchanges, which illuminate the resultant gains and expansive learning on both sides. I am referred to as comadre in the interviews with the Q’eros.22 Francisco Quispe Flores from Q’eros stated, “Noqa thak kashani”—‘I am in peace’ [with this work]. I feel a solidarity and cariño (affection) because this work is more personal,” and Santos Machacca Apasa noted, “When we share about our lives and customs, I feel hatun sonqoyoq (with a big heart).” Santos’s mother, Beatríz Apasa Flores, described the fun and happiness she feels: Nishu kusisqa kashani (I am very happy). We talk, we laugh, we sing. It is fun to hear them sing our songs. They try to do aysariykuy, but it is very funny and we laugh. They are immersing themselves. This makes us happy, gives us satisfaction that others want to know our songs. And they can take the songs in their hearts to their family in the US. (all, personal communication, July 19, 2013)

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    417 Equal sentiments of the emotional affects of intimate sharing have been expressed by the foreign guests. Gayle Goschie, a client from Oregon who trekked with me on the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu in 2010 remembered: It was so exceptional to be sitting side by side, exchanging a little of ourselves with Holly’s interpreting, hearing the feelings of the Q’eros through song. Such a personal experience that transported me back to ancient, ancient times. I will always remember sitting next to Juana, listening to her sing, and admiring the beauty of her and her loosely woven black skirt with its texture of burlap. The big wide diverse world was a little smaller at that moment. (personal communication, May 21, 2013)

Paralleling Gayle’s sentiment, Bonnie and Krishna Arora from San Diego, California relayed: We first met the Q’eros while on a day hiking trip in the Sacred Valley [of the Incas]. They performed a prayer offering and, since it was our 34th wedding anniversary, they blessed our marriage. That day they touched us with the genuine love and kindness they showed, and we felt an instant connection. Meeting the Q’eros definitely impacted and changed our lives in many ways and we share that message and the story often with our friends. (personal communication, August 20, 2013)

Because of that first impactful meeting, Bonnie and Krishna returned to travel with me twice to Q’eros, donating family foundation funds to help build a much-needed bridge to connect the potato and corn zones, and becoming godparents to a Q’eros boy. The Q’eros and visitors use many adjectives to describe a shared sense of opening, connection, and well-being that is attained during these exchanges: peace, cariño, with open-heart, satisfaction, exceptional, personal, and genuine expressions of love and kindness. “The big wide diverse world a little smaller” described by Gayle Goschie is the solidarity and personalized affection that Francisco Quispe addressed. Beatríz touches on the exchange aspect, that the Q’eros feel pride and satisfaction to share their music with the foreign guests, which they can take away to their country and family. The exchanges facilitate a reciprocal learning and accessibility to one another’s lives, which is directly related to the size and intimacy of our interactions, as Francisco articulates: “It is good to work in small groups and rotate the Q’eros who work. Sometimes I work, then another couple works. It is not good to invite a lot of Q’eros, because our sharing is not as good, not as close, and we don’t sell as many weavings.” Santos relays, “I learn about their lives too. We are always remembering them afterwards. They leave good memories.” Santos continued to describe how large group size is an impediment: Last year A “Four Winds” trip23 had 300 tourists in one group, with about eleven or twelve buses and one to two Q’eros per bus. This for me is commercial. Jealousies are created. The Q’eros do not have a voice; we cannot talk that much. We are representatives, but without a voice. It is the same thing with our performances for the Ministry of Culture. It is the small groups that are more valuable, where we do have a voice. (personal communication, July 19, 2013)

418   Holly Wissler Equally, the tourists and students commented on the value of intimacy. Sarah Mayer, an undergraduate student in Iowa State University’s Peru Program, 2013, and Staci MacCorkle, client on the Inca Trail trek to Machu Picchu in July 2010, report: The opportunity to have a genuine two-way discussion with the Q’eros was exceptionally unique. It is often really difficult to understand a culture, religion, or way of life so different from our own, but having the connection through Holly that could bridge the gap in understanding gave me a better appreciation of the Q’eros culture that is alive, vibrant, and meaningful, not stuff of strange folklore or mythology. (Sarah Mayer, personal communication, July 5, 2013) Having the opportunity to speak essentially one-on-one with community members was tremendously special and unique. So often, “village visit” activities arranged for international tourists are staged and motivated by particular issues and/or messages. This was very different. Speaking candidly with the Q’eros about their hopes, fears, and day-to-day concerns was both enlightening and, yet, normal. It was normal in the sense that our hopes, fears, and concerns are not that different; I could have been speaking with any of my American peers about the same topics. It was enlightening for the very same reason—no matter where we are in the world and where we call home, people are people; we have the same basic concerns about our quality of life and the resources available to enjoy a quality life. (Staci MacCorkle, personal communication, June 2, 2013)

The small size of our groups and direct conversations make it so there is no audience; every person involved has a voice, a place to ask questions and share thoughts. There is no agenda, no particular message, other than mutual learning and respect. Francisco stated that in large groups sharing was not as close, and Santos in particular described the frustration of the Q’eros not having a voice in large stagings by tour operators and the Ministry of Culture. He keenly differentiated between representative and voice: that the Q’eros are often representatives, but without a voice. Small groups allow the Q’eros to have a voice, providing an opportunity to share who they are without jealousies that arise when large groups of Q’eros work together. In the exchange held among the Q’eros in the tour group with Staci MacCorkle, we all realized, after about an hour of discussion, that in fact we were expressing the very same preoccupations about our personal lives: family welfare, money, health, and education. In this moment of discovery, we all fell silent and felt a strong sense of connectedness and solidarity. I would go so far as to say we experienced anthropologist Victor Turner’s seminal definition of liminality and communitas: many felt a sense of awe, being in the moment, a bonding, and even love, that unites people of vastly different backgrounds and social realms (Turner, 1969, 1974). Due to the small group size, a university student experienced the genuineness of the people who are not the “stuff of strange folklore or myth.” The director of the Iowa State University program, Nancy Guthrie, called this “foundational reality,” in her description:

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    419 I think that our encounter with you and the Q’eros as individuals was a pivotal moment for some of my students in terms of having a window into this culture and people. Before that time together, they were somewhat ethnocentric in their language about Peru. Meeting the Q’eros and hearing about their music, weavings, animals, and way of life provided a foundational reality. This was not something they were reading about in a book. (personal communication, July 2, 2013)

Mutual respect, so necessary in this global and violent age, is garnered through this foundational reality. Different lifestyles and cultures can reveal the sameness in humanity through real exchange, as expressed by Staci MacCorkle, and also by Robin Davis, violinist and pharmacist from Boise, Idaho, after she spent many days with Agustin Machacca Flores in Q’eros in 2007: Agustín was a proud man with a self-effacing sense of humor. He was an affectionate husband and devoted father of four. He was determined to preserve the skills and customs of the Q’eros by promoting literacy in his family, and working closely with scholars such as Holly. As my admiration for him grew, I realized we shared a matched intelligence; mine applied in the technical realm of Western medicine, and his in the tenuous and demanding mountain existence of the Q’eros. (personal communication, July 11, 2013)

Robin came to find respectful equality in such differently manifested realities. Agustín was also able to articulate this shared equality through the process of debunking pre-conceptions and stereotypes that often results from direct encounters. The Q’eros are simply natural, just being who they are, and with dignity and professionalism they guide in the truthful sharing about the meaning of their music, as explained by Agustín: Before the tourists arrive they see photos of the campesinos (Andean people who live in the mountains). They feel pena (pity) for how we live, how we used to live. But when they meet us they learn about and appreciate how we can live in communities so far away. And we too are concerned about how they live. There is a camaraderie—a confidence that we build together. It is in this confidence that we come to understand one another. It is not that the Q’eros are more tristes (sad, poor) and the tourists less so. In the end we are in the same situation. We want to play our music for other tourists, but nobody understands the music. No one can explain it. La comadre entendichishan (makes it to be understood). Chayachinakama (until [the understanding] is made to arrive). When we sing and play for the tourists we feel like it is our profession. We are very proud. Our way of playing for them has sinchi hatun valiq (extreme value), because we share our customs and our music ñawi ñawipura (eye to eye), not via Internet or recording. Our music is very old, from our ancestors’ time, and the comadre is the chakawarmi (bridge woman). The contact is very human, and we end knowing one another, hugging one another.

420   Holly Wissler We have taught la comadre the truth about our music. We included her in everything. And now she shares this truth with others. Everything is good because it is done in the basis of knowledge and truth. All of our hard work together is now bearing fruits. She doesn’t invent some romantic story about us, like many do. We are in a school together, we are dispersing our knowledge little by little. Q’ala rimarakushanchis, q’alamanta (We converse clearly, transparently). (personal communication, July 19, 2013)

I believe it is of paramount importance to allow foreign guests to experience the Q’eros as they are, thus shattering any preconceptions, such as poor Andeans or romanticized Incas frozen in time, which can be seeds for breakthroughs about other cultural stereotypes. It is in face-to-face learning about one another when preconceptions can fall away. Part of the educational process of seeing the Q’eros, and other indigenous peoples as they are, is through simple and honest renderings and explanation of their music. Agustin takes rightful ownership in lovingly stating that it was the Q’eros who taught me about their music, so that we can pass it on to others through shared learning “in a school together.” He is proud for having taught me, and respectfully acknowledges that I am the one that is necessary for “making it be understood,” a direct agent, no middleman—from them to me to the foreign guests. It is this genuine presentation of their music that speaks to the hearts of the foreign guests. Many experience a shift in perception about Q’eros music, and come to learn about the spiritual significance of their music through direct exchange, as Bonnie Arora states: Their music was quite different to us. At first it sounded very simple and repetitive, as it seemed to have a span of only a few notes. Then as we learned more of their deep spiritual connection with nature and we began to recognize the whiff of air as they sung as a way to share their song, their happiness and sadness with nature, and the spirits that reside in the mountains and earth. The impact was overwhelmingly beautiful. (personal communication, August 20, 2013)

Two undergraduate students in the ISU Peru program report on their perception of Q’eros music: Our session was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Before traveling to Peru, I had taken a class about indigenous music in the Andes. However, the interaction we had with the Q’eros taught me things a book never could. I was able to see firsthand how excited they were to share an immense part of their culture. To them, music is their life. Without it, the Apus and Pacha Mama will not hear their prayers. I was in awe with their great reverence for their gods and how they utilized music to show this reverence. (Kelsey Trejo, personal communication, July 2, 2013) There are a few moments in my life that I  look back on and feel as though it changed my life or perception of the world. For me, I feel that this encounter with the

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    421 Q’eros will be one of them. Listening to their music and seeing their true passion for their indigenous language and culture not only opened my eyes to a different way of life, but it made me more curious and proud of my culture. (Kelly Gifford, personal communication, July 2, 2013)

Even a class session conducted virtually by Internet with Q’eros in Cusco and a Brandeis University (Boston) World Music class was able to transmit the deep meaning of the music, as Brandeis student Emily Altkorn describes: What struck me most about our Skype class was intimate connection between Q’eros music and the daily lives of the Q’eros themselves. The Skype session showed me that the Q’eros aren’t just “going through the motions”—the songs really do evoke the strong emotions that they are meant to and are an integral part of Q’eros life. Often when I’m in synagogue I find my mind wandering, as I wonder what I’ll be doing later that day or when the service will be over. It was clear, though, that Inocencia did not feel this way about her ritual song. In some ways I think I envy her connections to her rituals and music, since I’ve never been able to feel a connection to my religion or my music (as they are separate to me) in such a pure, honest way. (personal communication, April 22, 2014)

And Judy Eissenberg, professor of the Brandeis World Music class and professional violinist, experienced the meaning of Q’eros music, as she heard it in Q’eros, as a natural part of life’s narrative. It took a while before someone decided to sing, and when it happened, it was part of the flow of the evening. Earlier that day, I had seen the birds, the llamas, and flowers that were in the songs. I laughed at the earthy teasing of the women in one of the songs… I was part of the world that these songs described. So the music was not so much an object at that moment, it was part of the evening, part of the narrative of life being lived. (personal communication, August 21, 2013)

It is direct, interpersonal exchange that makes possible deep learning about the meaning of a vital music that goes beyond book learning. I believe when the exchanges spark analysis about one’s own culture, as in the case of students Kelly Gifford and Emily Altkorn, that the sessions then have the possibility to reverberate through a person’s continuing growth, encouraging self-reflection of one’s own person and culture, which ultimately extends to respect for other cultures as a whole. Q’eros music in these settings is not a performed, staged object, but a lived narrative that goes far beyond the boundaries of a classroom and touches souls. It is evident that the sharing of Q’eros music and life with foreign visitors has a profound impact for all involved. The Q’eros take pride in sharing their traditions (weavings, music, discussions of lifestyle), which are re-enforced and valued by them in

422   Holly Wissler the process of performance and transmission, while guests experience a new sound that promotes insightful, visceral, even life-changing learning about another people. For the guests, through the experience of listening and participatory singing, the music becomes insight into a people who live a vastly different lifestyle, yet this difference becomes accessible through perceiving their music as lived experience and “not stuff of strange folklore…” or any sort of staged and removed performance. The Q’eros have the opportunity to break through “poor Andean” and “romantic Inca” stereotypes, and be real people, on an equal sharing-basis. The Q’eros are their own “interpretive authorities” and active agents in how they present and explain their music, with my assistance as translator (Titon, 1999: 9). All of the above testimonies show that the mutual sharing of affect, sentiment, connection, dignity, and respect, as well as perception changes and deep learnings about Q’eros music, are only possible because of the eye-to-eye (ñawi ñawipura), firsthand, intimate, and direct conversations. Chris Ryan, in his discussion of indigenous tourism, states, “Successful indigenous tourism products require awareness and exercise of a guardianship and/or teaching role” (Ryan, 2005:  9). Agustín discussed the learning/teaching element thoroughly: the guests learn about the Q’eros and their music, and the Q’eros continue to value their traditions through the mirror of our sessions. The guests begin to assimilate rich aspects of an Andean people and music they have never heard of before, fully enhancing their journey to Peru that otherwise would likely be just visits to archaeological sites without exposure to the people of the high Andes these sites are historically associated with. The Q’eros and myself monitor guardianship in the intimacy of the sessions: they are in charge of how they perform and what we say about it. There is no one else involved. The Q’eros acknowledge the much-needed economic gain either through sale of their textiles or receiving a wage for their participation. Many times guests will reflect on differences in economic status in the global arena, and, acknowledging their economic advantage, will sometimes work with me afterward to see how they can satisfactorily donate some of their abundant resources toward a project that will benefit the Q’eros. These donations are unexpected bonuses that are born exclusively from the exchanges and are not a part of the original motivation or any agenda. From some of the resultant donations we were able to build the much-needed footbridge (2007), and have seed money for building a primary school in one of the Q’eros valleys that had no school (2010). Boniface and Robinson (1998) discuss how social and economic power relations must often be confronted, even if unspoken, when cultures meet. These issues are often less conflictive when dealt with at the personal level, when the guests have met and talked directly with the people to whom their donation will benefit, and can keep in touch about the projects via Internet with me as liaison. Donating toward a needed community project is sometimes one way the US visitors deal with “white guilt” and economic difference in a way that is both personally satisfying to them and benefits the Q’eros.

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    423

Reciprocity in Indigenous Tourism with the Q’eros Three of the principal attributes of successful exchange in our indigenous tourism activities that include music are size, experience, and reciprocity, which are interrelated and feed on one another. In regard to size, Ingram (2005), and Johnson and McIntosh (2005) touch on the lack of establishing one-on-one relationships as an impediment that leads to distortion when visiting the host groups Maori in New Zealand and aboriginal Australian. In the seminal Fourth 1986 International Colloquium “Traditional Music and Tourism” held in Kingston, Jamaica, Prime Minister Seaga of Jamaica declared:  “[the] problem of presenting folk material in an authentic yet appropriate manner is the major barrier between traditional music and tourism” (Kaeppler and Lewin, 1986: 211). Prime Minister Seaga was referring to the inclusion of music in the large tourism industry in the Caribbean. What we do is nearly the opposite: there is nothing large-scale or national, or even regional, that our exchanges entail. What we achieve is orchestrated in an “appropriate manner,” without “distortion,” precisely because of the small numbers of people involved with direct dialogue. Distortion and unwieldiness is more likely to happen when presentation and exchange is on a larger scale and the intermediaries are not so intimately involved with the culture-bearers and their music. Small-scale interaction allows Knudsen and Waade’s “performative authenticity” to come to life, when projections about place and emotional state are successfully intertwined with in-the-moment tactile, emotional, corporeal, and interrelated experience (Knudsen and Waade, 2010:  12–16). They add, “Through the notion of performative authenticity we wish to point to the transitional and transformative processes inherent in the action of authentication…” (ibid.: 1). The transformative processes are actively co-created in sessions of deep learning exchange between the Q’eros and foreign guests. It is in these intense moments of co-creation that two aspects of performative authenticity emerge: relating empathetically to the other and/or connecting affectively to the world (ibid.: 2). Empathy and connecting affectively arise (such as similar preoccupations, as we experienced in one session) when travelers are not insulated and products are not artificial (Boorstin: 1961). Guests are not part of a distant audience; they are right there, up close and personal, in the midst of all experience, discussion, and musical presentation. The most powerful exchanges are based in the experiential (i.e., not book learning or observation, but interaction). To reiterate Knudsen and Waade’s idea of “Authentic” in tourism is neither a “… ‘thing’ you can possess, nor a ‘state of mind’, but something which people do and a feeling which is experienced” (Knudsen and Waade, 2010: 1, my emphasis). The director of the Iowa State University program echoed this idea when she stated that the “foundational reality” of the Q’eros’ actions are “things that must be experienced to be understood,” and cannot be read in a book. Through experience, the guests sing and discover aysariykuy; they gain an embodied perception of a basic life concept that is a driving force of a people whose life is expressed differently on the outside, yet

424   Holly Wissler cultural impasse is markedly lessened as we explore and experience more about one another. The experience of both listening to and active embodied participation of music are rich beginnings of understanding what makes another people tick. Ideally, the experience engenders emotional bonding that is a promotion of empathy and understanding between two very different cultures at a singular point in time, when the experience “transcend[s]‌the tourist frame to become real” (Titon, 1999: 8). Tourists and students often express that in their short visit they feel as if they have met the “real” people of Peru. My understanding of this statement is that they are referring to the salt-of-the-earth indigenous Andeans, the original backbone of the pre-invasion populace, versus the urbanized service people (guides, hotel receptionists, drivers, etc.) with whom they spend the majority of their tour, and who are more similar in lifestyle. The success of our exchanges has much to do with equal reciprocity, that is, the ideal situation of ayni that has premised Andean relationship since pre-Hispanic times, and is the norm of operation with the Q’eros today.24 The vast scale of exchange throughout the Andean, coastal, and Amazonian regions of the Inca Empire was premised on the effect that a particular good or service had on local relationship, that is, the empire’s success was founded on local, small-scale reciprocity that nourished the web of imperial expansion. Through small-scale reciprocal sharing, we respond and collaborate spontaneously in song and discussion, preconceptions are debunked, and we gain a more real sense of one another, thus affecting relationship that can then expand into a larger web, as expressed in the above testimonies. What is often brought forth are our genuine selves in awe of what we are experiencing. Both the guests and the Q’eros are served by experiences that are heart-opening and/ or that change perceptions, providing quality insight into the other, and a sparking of new awarenesses that can continue into daily life. Guests make donations, treat the next person differently, learn about the life-and-death aspect of a vocal technique; the Q’eros learn about the real lives of foreigners, who otherwise would be just tourists walking on the busy street. In this way, the indigenous music of the Q’eros is co-experienced, not falsified or performed artificially—it is merely, and deeply, shared. While ratios of Q’eros and guests in groups of 5, 10, or even 30 are small scale, often there is a vastness that opens up in the intimacy of exchange that is not small scale at all. The meeting of a few people and changes of perception that are stirred up often extends to how we interact with others as a result of what has happened to us in the exchange. In other words, in the intimacy of a focus, worlds open up. There is a temporary dissolving of separateness, and what results is gratitude and satisfaction. I contend that these meetings are more effective human exchanges that result in a deeper, longer-lasting transmission of musical information and knowledge to the visitor than other styles of indigenous tourism where indigenous music is part of a staged program, folklorized or distanced from its original meaning. In the space we co-create together, the Q’eros have their own voice to share their music and lives, and equally, so do the tourists and students since all talking is dialogue and participation. This is an example of an active indigenous voice that we have nurtured together, and a meaningful way we have found to bring Q’eros knowledge and music to foreign visitors to Peru.

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    425 Adverse situations can occur when that voice is not nurtured and when reciprocity is not experienced as equal. This was the case with the Wachiperi community, who chose to revive some of their near-extinct songs upon emotional listening to archives of their deceased relatives, and who took issue with Cusco’s Ministry of Culture, negating a CD publication proposition and instead took charge of their own production. A nearly opposite case, the Wachiperi voice strongly emerged under these very different, conflictive, and emotional circumstances. The story is as follows.

The Wachiperi: Song Revival and UNESCO Half of today’s 7,000 spoken languages are on the brink of extinction, and over 600 of these have less than 100 speakers (Davis, 2009: 3–5). Wachiperi is one of these apocalyptically endangered languages. The Peruvian Amazon, like all of South America’s Amazonia, has suffered tremendous decimation and active disappearance of land and peoples since the European invasion and the introduction of new diseases and devastation caused by the early twentieth-century rubber exploitation, when caucheros enslaved and relocated the people of the Harakbut linguistic group from their homeland region on the lower Madre de Dios River to the river’s headwaters, which led to infighting among the Harakbut subgroups (Gray, 1996: 14). In the twentieth century, forces such as mining, logging, evangelism, and cattle farming continue to contribute to the depletion of Amazonian culture and natural resources. Anthony Seeger states, “It’s not as though these [musical cultures] are just disappearing, they’re ‘being disappeared’; there’s an active process in the disappearance of many traditions around the world” (quote from Schippers, 2010: 152). This has been the case with the Wachiperi of the Madre de Dios River Basin, located just north of the Q’eros Nation territory. Today, there are approximately 50–60 Wachiperi who know their indigenous language, a sub-group of the Harakbut linguistic family.25 This linguistic family includes the seven subgroups of languages and people: Arakmbut, Sapiteri, Kisamberi, Pukirieri, Asaraeri, Toyeri, and Wachiperi, many of which are extinct or drastically reduced in numbers.26 When a language dies, naturally so do the songs that express the soul of the people—in this case the Wachiperi’s expression of their healing knowledge and interdependence on the rivers, plants, animals, and birds in their jungle environment. Similar to other indigenous Amazonians, the Wachiperi used to live primarily from fishing, hunting and gathering, and small agricultural production of products such as corn and coca leaves. Since the early 1970s, gold mining has been a source of income for many Harakbut from gold deposits in the Madre de Dios river basin (see Gray, 1983, 1997a, 1997b). Today, many are now part of the urbanized world and hold typical jobs such

426   Holly Wissler as shop owners, work with various Amazonian products, such as lumber and coca, or migrate for work in larger cities of Puerto Maldonado and Cusco. The Harakbut social and spiritual regulating mechanism, like that of the Q’eros, is based in reciprocity (see Alvarez, 2012; Gray, 1996, 1997a, 1997b; Moore, 1975; Tello, 2013). Among the Harakbut the principle of reciprocity is most visible in the relationship between people and nature. Nature constantly gives to the people (food, medicinal plants and products for subsistence, and today gold). The giving of nature to people can sometimes be activated by shamans who are guided by dream revelations. In return, the people must treat the diverse elements of nature with respect, otherwise they risk susceptibility to spiritual sanctions from natural sources. Among the Harakbut, the patrilineal clan is the primary source of solidarity and reciprocity, and the classic articulation of reciprocal relationship between the men and nature is the hunt. The hunter dreams of his prey, and then upon waking departs to hunt it. If successful, the hunter must generously share his catch with extended family members, who expect to receive some portion of the meat, thereby reinforcing clan bonds Tello, 2013. In modern times, generosity has extended to the profits made from mining gold, which is used to buy food products (such as canned goods that are a luxury) and beer, which are shared with extensive family and community. Key aspects of reciprocity in social contexts and relationships between Harakbut people and nature are generosity and respect. Some of the sanctions that ensue due to breeches in reciprocity and respect of people with nature are ostracism, and physical and spiritual damage, and even death from natural forces. Mutual respect between animals and humans is imperative. A Harakbut myth relates of an animal rebellion as a warning to people who do not treat animals with the due respect of a solemn hunt, particularly younger men who hunt with frivolity and sport and are then punished by the animals’ spirits. For example, a person’s soul can be trapped by the Amazonian growth and taken over by the physical and/or character aspects of an animal as a result of the more severe transgressions of reciprocity and lack of respect (Gray, 1997a). So the lowland Harakbut, like the highland Q’eros, take responsibility for their part in their relationship with and the consequences of their reciprocal relationships with the natural and spiritual powers. Unlike the highland Q’eros who have inhabited their territory for centuries, the Harakbut Wachiperi are new to their settlement on the Queros River. The Wachiperi historically did not have permanent settlements; rather, like many Amazonian inhabitants in sync with the rhythms of natural abundance, they lived off the plant, animal, and fishing resources of one river area, and then relocated every half year or so to let the area replenish while they exploited the resources from another. In this cyclic migration they were walkers of interfluvial territory as hunters, gatherers, fisherman, and later, farmers. The Wachiperi lived in large, communal longhouses distributed among the many rivers of the Madre de Dios river basin, but were relocated in the 1950s and 1960s to tributaries farther upstream on and near a North American Baptist Mission. In the mid-1960s the majority of the Wachiperi consolidated into two native communities, La Comunidad Nativa de Queros (often just called Queros-Wachiperi) and Santa Rosa de Huacaria, which gained official legal community status in 1990 and 1985, respectively.27 In 2008,

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    427 the Amazon Conservation Association (ACA), a nongovernmental organization (NGO) based in Washington, D.C., along with their sister NGO in Cusco, Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica (ACCA, Amazon Basin Conservation Association) addressed the historical displacement of the Wachiperi family groups from the Queros-Wachiperi community and brokered an agreement between the people and Peru’s National Institute of Natural Resources (INRENA) to create the world’s first land concession to be managed by an indigenous group located near their community. The Haramba Queros Wachiperi Conservation Concession protects 17,238 acres of highly diverse rainforest, a public land resource that is entrusted to the Wachiperi for a 40-year renewable concession in exchange for their active investment in conservation and sustainable development projects. The concession secures the Wachiperi water supply, sustains their access to forest products, and ideally helps the community maintain their cultural traditions. ACA and ACCA were aware of my research with the Q’eros, and in 2010 they invited me to visit Queros-Wachiperi to share my work and see if there could be the possibility of cultural work with them as part of the land concession projects. Excited by the possibility of collaborating with people in Amazonia, in December 2010 I digitized and returned 15 reel-to-reels containing 206 Wachiperi songs that University of California Berkeley anthropologist Patricia J. Lyon had recorded with this community in 1964 and 1965. Lyon had recorded with the direct family elders of today’s Queros-Wachiperi community, though even when she recorded they were no longer performing their songs due to their severe population loss and mission prohibition of masateadas, the communal gatherings for drinking, singing, and dancing; rather, the singers sang from memory, so that the songs were already in declension 10 or so years prior to Lyon’s work with them. The Wachiperi experienced profound, emotional reactions upon the unexpected hearing of their deceased relatives singing their indigenous songs—songs that many of the younger generation had not ever heard—which galvanized the community into discussion about the revival and preservation of a selection of these songs before the onset of total loss.28 I received some basic funding support from ACA and ACCA to travel to the community and conduct workshops focused on song and cultural preservation, which mainly consisted of long days listening to Lyon’s recordings, discussions about their meaning, and reminiscing about the past. The only three remaining elders alive from the Queros-Wachiperi community, Manuel Yonaje, Carmen Jerewa, and Estela Dariquebe, recounted how they used to walk long distances from their disperse river homes for community gatherings in one host home, drink masato, and express their connection to spirits, plants, and animals through days-long drinking and singing (Figure 12.6). These masateadas were times of joyful reconnection with other Wachiperi whom they had not seen for some time, “back when we were many people,” Manuel recalled. Manuel described the gatherings: before the drinking of masato started, one by one the men would sing embachiha, solo unaccompanied songs that invoked birds, animals, and natural elements such as the moon and stars, with layers of meaning about migrating birds, which are metaphors for the people meeting and departing in welcome and

428   Holly Wissler

Figure  12.6 Estela Dariquebe, Carmen Jerewa, Manuel Yonaje:  the three elders of the Queros-Wachiperi community who remember the traditional  songs. Photo by Holly Wissler, May 12,  2012.

farewell, and also code about the white people’s invasion. Later in the night when the masato began to flow, they sang embachinoha, which they also refer to as cantos de borracho, or improvised drunken songs. This was the permissible time and space to vent personal aggressions, when both men and women expressed individual grievances through song, some quite directly about and toward other community members, often sparking verbal and physical fights (Lyon, 1967: 73–74). I recorded a number of embachiha with old Manuel. One of the songs we were able to revive with a group of about eight Wachiperi was Kapiro, about the great egret that returns annually, and is therefore a song of return and welcome. [ and . “Kapiro” recorded in 2010 and 1965 respectively] Our project had forward momentum in the first year after my return of the archives, when we shared many touching moments of listening and singing a few temporarily revived songs, such as “Kapiro.” A core of about six community members, all of whom spoke Wachiperi, proved to be the most committed to learning some songs. However, the initial idea of reviving many different topical songs proved to be difficult and slow, partly because of division and friction between the urban Wachiperi who had migrated years ago to the more modern community of Pilcopata on the road, and the families who still lived in the community inside the forest. In our third year together we eventually, and mutually, let go of the idea of long-term song revival, simply because Wachiperi music is not sustainable. Jeff Titon defines sustainability of music as “a music culture’s capacity to maintain and develop its music now and in the foreseeable future” (Chapter 5 of this volume). Wachiperi musical culture lacks the resilience “to recover and maintain its integrity, identity, and continuity when subjected to forces of disturbance and change,” which, in this case, are critically reduced numbers of Wachiperi and native speakers and loss of original singing context (ibid.).

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    429 We did, however, manage to add to the community archive by recording and thoroughly discussing seven esüwa, or Wachiperi healing songs, a genre that Lyon did not record during her time with the community 50 years prior. Esüwa are not sung during the masateadas; rather, these healing songs are passed down through generations of healers (wamanokkaeri) and performed privately in intimate one-on-one (healer/ patient) contexts, usually at nighttime when the forest spirits are more active.29 A wamanokkaeri visits the ill person invokes the appropriate plant or animal spirits to assist in the healing, and uses a combination of singing esüwa (with no instrumental accompaniment) blowing, spitting, and application of plant salves to begin the healing process. Because of the personal nature of esüwa, the Wachiperi feel strongly that this genre is not to be exposed in the public arena; so our recordings were solely intended to add to the community archive, and the elders profoundly enjoyed remembering these songs and sharing them with me. In March and May of 2011, I recorded seven esüwa with Carmen Jerewa and Estela Dariquebe, the only two remaining elders of the Queros-Wachiperi community who had once been practicing healers. Carmen still occasionally performs healings with esüwa, yet in general the actual practice is in rapid decline. Estela is now blind and simply too frail and with fluctuating lucidity to practice healing. We recorded the seven esüwa songs they could draw from memory, and documented information about each one as part of our mutual learning process in our sessions together. In addition to Carmen and Estela, there are some four or five members of the Santa Rosa de Huacaria community who remember these songs and practice healing with them. In particular I remember hearing about Alejandro Dumas from Huacaria, who lived to be nearly 100 and had the regional reputation of being a master healer. He died in early 2010, just before I started my work with the Wachiperi, and his daughter, Lidia, lamented not having taken the initiative to learn esüwa healing practice from him, and now it is too late. It is for these reasons—less than 10 elders who know and practice esüwa healing with its transmission in severe decline—that UNESCO nominated the esüwa to the List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding on November 25, 2011.

Esüwa Healing Songs The esüwa I recorded and discussed with Estela Dariquebe and Carmen Jerewa were the following: 1. Bapokate esüwa. Recorded with Carmen Jerewa, March 19, 2011. For calming hurricanes and strong winds in order to prevent serious damage. 2. Ekuchirite esüwa. Recorded with Carmen Jerewa, March 19, 2011. For healing debilitating headaches and migraines. 3. Wamiekate esüwa. Recorded with Carmen Jerewa, March 21, 2011. For healing diarrhea. This song describes many different kinds of dogs and their varied colorful markings, symbolic of the way an ill person’s diarrhea may look.

430   Holly Wissler 4. Ekpuguyte esüwa. Recorded with Carmen Jerewa, March 21, 2011. For curing pulled ligaments. Ekpuguy has the repetitive invocation in a mantra or chant style of many types of particularly strong plants and animals. They relayed to me that “just like the plants are humans, like a human, and we believe in the plants, it is because of this we invoke the strong plants with urgency so that the ligament will be strong.” 5. Mbpehekaieesüwa. Recorded with Estela Dariquebe, March 21, 2011. To call back a person’s animo or spirit, when he or she is near death. The healer sings, “why do you want to leave when we are doing well here? Don’t go, come back, come back.” The song tells of the clear trail that one walks on when we are dying, but the healer places plants as obstacles in the path so that the person’s spirit will return. 6. Emepükete esüwa. Recorded with Carmen Jerewa, March 21, 2011. For healing susto, a phenomenon experienced in both the Andes and the Amazon when one has experienced a great fright, causing a person’s spirit to leave the body, thus making it vulnerable for malignant spirits to enter. The healer sings, “Where have you gone, why did you leave, why did you go so far, come here, come here, your spirit is scared, in every place I am calling your spirit to return.” 7. Etakte esüwa. Recorded with Carmen Jerewa, May 13, 2011. For the prevention or cure of a fishbone getting stuck in your throat. The song names many birds that have the proper phlegm to swallow fish easily, such as the hakuypina—snakebird (Anhinga anhinga). In addition, Peru’s Ministry of Culture created a list of the following esüwa in 2013: Bihichindign (snakebite cure); Totochindign (to cure when one’s spirit is trapped by evil forces); Wewëchindign (to cure high fever); Ekmimichindai (to cure hemorrhages); Washisopachindign (to cure cramps); Nokirëngte emanokkae (to free the patient from the negative energy of a deceased person that keeps the patient trapped between life and death); Ekhen (to lessen a river’s flooding, thereby creating a riverbank so that one can cross unharmed to the other side); Ugate emanka (to tame the enemy. The enemy’s bad energy is absorbed, converted to good and used so that both sides live peacefully; so that a person’s love will be reciprocated; and also a technique to tame birds before the hunt); Ewäsösuwa (to remove or alienate a person); Hindakkoichindign (to cure cut wounds) (Cantos Wachiperi CD liner notes, 2013). Every esüwa is a chant-like repetition that invokes animal, plant, and forest spirits, and describes manifestations of the illness usually through metaphor. Often vocables are added to ends of words, for example a nonsensical suffix is added to plant names in Ekpuguyte esüwa, for rhythmic ease of rapid-fire repetition. The Wachiperi openly discussed their beliefs about the Oteri, or powerful benevolent forest spirits, who are called upon to help in the healing. These spirits are rarely seen because they reside in particularly dense and untouched areas of the forest, which they articulated as an important reason for forest conservation on their land concession. I asked Carmen to perform a healing on me for susto, to help with a particularly anxiety-producing situation I was

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    431

Figure  12.7  Carmen Jerewa, the only active healer and esüwa singer in the community of Queros-Wachiperi. Photo by Holly Wissler, February 19,  2012.

dealing with at the time (see Figure 12.7). After singing the song, Carmen spit and blew the song on various parts of my body. The idea of “blowing the song” for healing and to connect a person with spiritual powers is similar to aysariykuy in Q’eros songs: the expelled breath that sends the song out to the Apu for connection in offering.30 It is because of my preliminary research of the esüwa, and the trust I had garnered with one of the two Wachiperi communities, that I wanted to participate in, and felt I should be a part of, the Cusco Ministry of Culture’s team that was responsible to UNESCO for the safeguarding31 of the Wachiperi esüwa.32 At that point in time, I was the only person actively working on the research of the newly nominated esüwa. I presented my work to the Cusco director of the Ministry of Culture, David Ugarte, who officially (via written document) invited me to be a part of the team; however, ensuing differences in work ethic with the Ministry of Culture proved to be obstacles in my working with them.

Issues with the Safeguarding of Esüwa and Song Ownership I have observed many struggles and conflicts of interest between the Wachiperi and the Cusco division of the Ministry of Culture (MC-DDCC, Dirección Desconcentrada de Cultura, Cusco, which I refer to as MC hereafter) since UNESCO’s naming of the esüwa as Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH). A principal issue is that the Wachiperi emphatically state that any recordings of the esüwa are not to be used or distributed publicly, due to the fact that this is sacred knowledge and transmission is only through the act of healing. The safeguarding measures proposed by the MC on the application to UNESCO conflict with this taboo, such as Article 1d of section 3b, entitled “Safeguarding

432   Holly Wissler measures proposed”: “Promotion and dissemination of the Eshuva songs: Production of a CD-ROM with a selection of Eshuva songs selected and performed by the Huachipaire”33 and “Production of a documentary in DVD-ROM format depicting the main features of the Eshuva.” When I discussed this issue with Regis Andrade, long-term anthropologist employed by the MC, former member of the MC’s ethnodevelopment plan with the highland Q’eros and member of the MC’s esüwa safeguarding team in 2013, he explained that the intended use of any of the MC’s recordings of esüwa will be in the Intercultural Bilingual Education (EIB) curricula in both communities. The ideal model in the EIB system is that teaching goes beyond instruction in two languages (for example, Quechua/Spanish in Q’eros, and Wachiperi/Spanish in Queros-Wachiperi and Santa Rosa de Huacaria), to include the indigenous community’s traditional knowledge in the school curricula alongside the national curricula, via committed family members who collaborate regularly with the teachers and students. In this way the MC is proposing a completely new form of transmission of the esüwa: that the traditional intergenerational transmission of the genre, which is nearly nonexistent, be replaced by collaborative, inter-institutional and familial cooperation in the public education system. Andrade justifies that this use of the esüwa recordings is not public since it will not go beyond the schools of the Wachiperi communities (personal communication, September 17, 2013). However, there is no plan as of yet for the implementation of esüwa in the EIB curricula of the communities, and only initial discussions have begun with the communities about this idea. The larger issue here, though, is the lack of knowledge about, in Anthony Seeger’s terms, “local ideas of appropriate control over transmission of knowledge” (Seeger, 2012: 28). This is the case with the MC who, according to personal accounts from some Wachiperi, lack communication with the communities as to what would be appropriate regarding the safeguarding measures of the transmission of esüwa. Meanwhile, the main safeguarding activity between the MC and the communities has been the collaborative editing of the Harakbut dictionary (first of its kind, publication 2015), which the MC envisions as a tool for language preservation. I believe both the MC and the Wachiperi are still in a time of adjustment to the UNESCO nomination, including any sort of mutual understanding as to what this exactly means, and with no long-term safeguarding plan yet in place—four years after nomination. Many Wachiperi have articulated their dissatisfaction, expressing that any efforts at safeguarding made thus far are superficial. For example, the MC has built a Casa de la Memoria—Memory House—in both Queros-Wachiperi and Huacaria. This is simply a large building (based on the former Wachiperi communal longhouse model) that provides the Wachiperi with a physical space to “perform the Eshuva and a place for the local elderly to transmit to the youth other expressions of their intangible cultural heritage” (safeguarding objective 1b). Yet on the day of the official inauguration of the Casa de la Memoria in Santa Rosa de Huacaria, August 30, 2013, the President of the community, Marisabel Dumas, specifically asked the Cusco director of the MC, David Ugarte, about a plan and funding for use. Ugarte curtly replied that the MC does not have a budget for any projects, and that this should come from UGEL (Unidades de

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    433 Gestión Educativa Local), the local education office that serves the Wachiperi communities. So at this point the shell of the building exists, with no proposed plans or budget for use, other than a suggestion to use the space to “remember Wachiperi traditions.” If there is little intergenerational transmission of esüwa in the privacy of family homes, it seems absurd to think that the people will walk over to the large building to do it. Alberto Manqueriapa, an outspoken Wachiperi leader and healer from Santa Rosa de Huacaria, was offended by the colorful pamphlets the MC printed in early 2012 that announce the declaration of esüwa as ICH by UNESCO. He highlighted one incorrect statement that informs that the esüwa are sung during the drinking of masato, and are therefore associated with inebriation. Alberto, with others, posed for the pamphlet photos in their cushma, or newly adopted “traditional” dress made of tree bark, yet he says he feels like a payaso (clown) when he does this. Wachiperi traditionally wore no clothes, and it is only in recent times that they have adopted the cushma as “traditional” dress. He explained that it seems ironic to don the cushma as public Wachiperi identity when it was never their original dress and the reality is that in daily life the Wachiperi use Western dress. Alberto, like my Q’eros friends, expressed acute aggravation at feeling used by the MC when he is called on to represent the Wachiperi at MC celebratory events in Cusco. He angrily added that he feels like the token Wachiperi on stage in his cushma, while his wife is at home working hard to get food for their children and the people of his community need education. He stated unequivocally that he has little faith in the safeguarding plan of the MC (personal communication, September 10, 2013). The ex-President of the Queros-Wachiperi community, Walter Quertehuari, expressed that the MC seems like pura pinta (pure makeup), and he asked, “To what benefit is it to the community that we work on these songs with them?” (personal communication, February 19, 2012). These statements indicate that some Wachiperi, in particular the community leaders, feel as if the process of donning Wachiperi identity and safeguarding traditions and songs are exercises they do for the MC, versus any sort of collaborative commitment. Renato Cáceres, former director of the Ethnodevelopment Department of the Direction, Production, and Diffusion of Culture in the MC, who also became active in initial esüwa safeguarding efforts before choosing to leave the MC, stated that the MC does not know what true safeguarding is. He acknowledged the complexity of effective safeguarding, adding, “neither do I.” He pointed out that the MC holds no training seminars or studies of other successful safeguarding models in the world in order to learn about effective safeguarding measures, neither during the application process nor after nomination. He reiterated that the esüwa should not be recorded or used lightly, and so that even the proposed superficial safeguarding plan could not be implemented since so much is based on recording. Professional archaeologists in the field in Peru express similar inadequacies in regards to the MC’s safeguarding and management of the area’s spectacular Inca archaeological sites. Global case studies of successful management of a culture’s major archaeological inheritances are also not consulted; rather, a common complaint is that the MC works in a very local, willy-nilly way, roping off sections of archaeological sites for no apparent

434   Holly Wissler reason, and reconstructing Inca walls in ways that have proved controversial, such as the use of cement instead of local materials. In the case of the esüwa, it seems that what is essentially missing is focus on safeguarding plans about preservation and sustenance of the practice per se, versus the recording and archiving of esüwa songs that are one aspect of the holistic healing process. The tradition bearers do not have a sense of empowerment, or even collaboration, with the government entity that applied for this international recognition on their behalf. In my discussions with some of the Wachiperi, they complain that they were not included in the design of the safeguarding action plans from the beginning, which is one of the nomination shortcomings noted by past Secretary General of ICTM (International Council for Traditional Music) Anthony Seeger in his informative article on the evaluation process of ICH nominations to UNESCO (Seeger, 2009: 122). The fact that no funding has yet been sought from UNESCO for safeguarding relieves the MC and the Wachiperi of any sort of obligation to UNESCO (ibid.: 116), so that ineffectual safeguarding, confusions, and even conflicts between the MC and the Wachiperi are simply the current status. MC anthropologist Andrade commented that without the UNESCO nomination, the Wachiperi would simply continue to be neglected by the Peruvian government, as they have been for decades. He reiterated that at least now, with the nomination, they are gaining much public attention and hopefully effective inter-institutional safeguarding plans in the future (personal communication, September 17, 2013). The question that arises, then, is about the value of such attention if it comes rife with conflict and misunderstandings.

Taking Action into Their Own Hands: Wachiperi CD Production In late October 2011 the MC offered me a contract, from newly disbursed Ministry funds, to produce a CD of Wachiperi songs with the Wachiperi—a project that suddenly became more poignant after the UNESCO naming a month later. They wanted the CD production to include many of Lyon’s archival recordings, as well as my recent ones of embachiha (songs of animals, birds, and natural elements), and also some of the newly nominated esüwa. At that point in time, the seven esüwa that I had recorded with the community were only intended for the community archive. The MC made it clear that these funds would roll over at year-end (i.e., in three months), so I felt institutional pressure to complete the CD production with the Wachiperi as soon as possible. At first I was enticed by the idea of funding for a collaborative CD production with the Wachiperi, something we had talked about during our sessions in the Queros-Wachiperi community but had not yet moved forward on, but I needed to consult with the community first. I had already planned my annual November sojourn to the United States and the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) conference, so only on December 4 was I able to present the idea of an MC-sponsored CD production to the Queros-Wachiperi community. This meant we had a short month to complete a CD production if they decided

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    435 that was what we wanted to do. I was surprised to discover that they did not yet know of the UNESCO naming that had happened over a week prior, which I had candidly mentioned. In reaction, Walter Quertehuari, the President of the community at the time, complained about the lack of consultation on the part of the MC with the community about the application process in the first place. While they did express interest in having a product they could use to promote their Wachiperi identity, particularly when tourists came to their community (which is minimal due to lack of infrastructure and a solid community-based tourism plan), they were also clear that they did not want to work on the production under the auspices of the MC. Quertehuari was direct in his exasperation at the fact that I had done the footwork regarding the return of archives and holding workshops with the community throughout the year, and that we should not allow the MC to suddenly take credit for a production that borrowed both from the community archives (Patricia Lyon’s recordings and my new ones) and our work sessions together, which had been partially funded by other entities: the nongovernmental organizations ACA and ACCA. The community agreed in consensus, so that in this moment I witnessed the Wachiperi taking ownership of their work and archives. Fully understanding and accepting their position, upon return to Cusco I broke the news, to the consternation of the MC, and did not enter into contractual agreement with them. Personally I was relieved, as I was beginning to experience the common operating procedure of the MC’s bureaucracy, which is a system of delayed, mid-year disbursement of funds for projects that are expected to be completed in insufficient time before year-end. This enforced urgency, combined with a lack of project longevity and vision due to regular turnover in directive staff that is based on the changing political calendar, make the MC projects based in personal agendas, in Cácere’s words, versus long-term, collaborative, and visionary projects. In reaction, the community suggested that we do our own CD production, a proposal that was undoubtedly born from strong feelings of ownership of Patricia Lyon’s archives, which I was moved to see them guard so unambiguously. As Seeger states, “Ideas about rights over music are often closely intertwined with important concepts of person, ideas about the origin and significance of sound, and also about relations of power” (Seeger, 2012: 32). The small community of Queros-Wachiperi was fiercely guarding the significant sound recordings of their direct family members, thereby negating a government power that regularly attempts to implement cultural support in ways that lack communication (no conversation about nomination plans and announcement, plans for safeguarding), and that often seem useless (building of the Casa de la Memoria as a space to revive cultural tradition), violable (a contract to record esüwa for possible public use), and degrading (demeaning staged performances for MC agenda). With the idea now sparked, we began conversations of how to do a CD production, with no or limited funding. We saw the opportunity of linking the CD production to the first ever Jungle Ultra Marathon, an international event to be held the Kosñipata district in May 2012, the district location of the Queros-Wachiperi and Santa Rosa de Huacaria communities. This six-day mega race with professional runners from around the world, covered by international press, was to be staged to raise international awareness about

436   Holly Wissler the multiple conservation efforts in the region. I proposed that we produce the CD in time to be sold at this event to raise awareness about Wachiperi culture, and the community was enthusiastic about the idea. I used all the remaining funds I had received from ACA for my work with the Wachiperi for this production, which was in line with the meeting in late 2011 when group consensus negated funding from the MC. This, then, became a project by and for the community. We mutually decided on the round number of 20 songs for the CD, 17 from Patricia Lyon’s archives and three that I had recorded in 2010 and 2011 with Manuel Yonaje. All of the 10 singers whom Lyon recorded were to be represented, and song topics were to be varied. The small group of community members involved in song selection cherished the time listening to all 10 singers (Manuel Yonaje and Estela Dariquebe were the only two of the 10 still living), and selecting the songs that represented a variety of Amazonian birds and mammals, such as the mealy parrot, great egret, macaw, howler monkey, jaguar, and spectacled bear. The community decided we should list the singers’ Wachiperi names along with the names they adopted for, and are known by, in the urban world. For example, Estela’s name in Wachiperi is Yorine, and Manuel’s is Meyopa. Embachinoha, or cantos de borracho, were also selected. It was clear that no esüwa were to be included, as the MC had wanted, for the obvious reasons outlined above. The production was inexpensive and completely homemade. We touched up some of the sound from Lyon’s recordings when possible, and I completed the master in my home office and ordered two hundred copies to be burned at a CD/DVD production store in a crowded local mall in Cusco. I selected three photographs of the living elders, Manuel, Carmen, and Estela, and collected photos of two deceased singers from family members, and designed a few cover options in a graphic design shop in Cusco. Inside the cover we included a small synopsis of the original singing context and song genres, which was co-written by two educated Wachiperi (the President of the community, Walter Quertehuari, and a university graduate living in Cusco, Joel Jawanchi, son of one of the original singers) and myself. In this summary they were able to include what they felt accurately represented the community, and I was able to add information about Patricia Lyon, an imperative since most of the songs on the CD were from her archives. In the end we were up against the deadline of the start of the marathon, and I was not fully satisfied with the information (mostly the writing style), but the content was satisfactorily inclusive and representative. Due to this last-minute rush, our final communications and decision-making about the CD summary notes were all by cell phone and Internet to the Wachiperi who lived in Pilcopata on the road, since there is no electricity, Internet, or phone service in the community itself (see Figures 12.8 and 12.9). This final flurried and constant communication about the last details of the CD production with the Wachiperi in the Peruvian Amazon is a far cry from the days when Anthony Seeger made a collaborative music CD with the Suyá of Brazil (1976), when a single communication often took weeks or months. I was able to send mp3 files via the Internet for final approval, while Seeger would mail a cassette tape that would take weeks to arrive and often be unplayable due to broken cassette players or lack of

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    437

Figure  12.8 Front Cover, Wachiperi CD:  Cantos Wachiperi:  Familia linguística Harakbut, Grupo étnico Wachiperi. Photo of the Queros (Q’eros) River in the background.

batteries (Seeger, 2008: 276). What remains the same, though, is that “the process, as much as the product” was important for both parties (ibid.: 275). This collaborative process is addressed by Luke Lassiter opens his groundbreaking book The Chicago Guide to Collaborative Ethnography with a section from the El Dorado Task Force Papers of the American Anthropological Association: The El Dorado Task force insists that the anthropology of indigenous peoples and related communities must move toward “collaborative” models, in which anthropological research is not merely combined with advocacy, but inherently advocative in that research is, from the outset, aimed at material, symbolic, and political benefits for the research population, as its members have helped to define these. (Lassiter, 2005: ix)

438   Holly Wissler

Figure  12.9  Back cover, Wachiperi CD. CD song contents.

Today it seems that collaborative, advocative research aimed toward the benefit of and defined by the research population is much more possible as the world becomes “smaller,” with quick communication and easier road travel. It was the Wachiperi themselves who took the reigns and insisted we not work with the MC (political stance); rather, create a product that would stand for who they are now (independent choice, material and symbolic benefit) and what their history is, with symbolic representation including the wealth of Patricia Lyon’s materials, and equal representation of their past community members. Over the next months we sold the CDs at the typical low, affordable CD price (10 soles for locals, about $4, and 20 soles to tourists if they were willing). We sold directly, via various avenues: to marathon spectators; at a hotel reception in Pilcopata; a popular café in Cusco; and to many friends via word of mouth. Every Wachiperi family received their own copies. The sales were slow, but after a year and a half I returned the proceeds to the community, and they agreed by consensus that all profits were to go toward the purchase

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    439 of medicines for the three elders.34 In this way the production was by the Wachiperi, for the Wachiperi, a record of their past and present, done in their way, with their choices and voice, with resultant proceeds that went to the only three elders who remember this invaluable, nearly extinct, song tradition. The MC’s interest in using selections from Lyon’s archives in a CD production initiated questions of ownership and nervousness at possible co-option on the part of the MC. We took this opportunity to investigate at INDECOPI (Instituto Nacional de Defensa de la Competencia y de la Protección de la Propiedad Intelectual—the national institute that protects intellectual property), only to discover that the Wachiperi would need to show legal proof of song inheritance in order to register ownership of the community’s (anonymous) songs—that is, that the song authors had imparted these songs on legal documents to the current community members. They have the right to interpret the songs in the same way their deceased family members did, but “interpreters do not have rights to ownership,” as the INDECOPI employee explained to us. As Seeger points out, copyright laws originated in (white, urban upper-class) Europe, were “intimately linked to the figure of the author,” and “little thought was given to creating legislation for unwritten and unpublished traditions,” that were performed by illiterate, oral cultures (Seeger, 2005: 78). It seems this colonial practice is still in existence in Peru, and this community’s songs and collective knowledge cannot be legally protected. The Wachiperi perception is that the original author of their songs was the gallinazo, or turkey vulture, who created the songs when the bird was still human. But again, as Seeger indicates in reference the ownership rights of the Suyá songs of Mato Grosso, Brazil, “How does one define a jaguar as individual author?” (Seeger, 2004: 76). Seeger also points out that, apart from sound, “Music is also a web of rights and obligations that both establish relationships among people and organizations and are also an expression of those relationships” (Seeger, 2004b: 70). In this case, the expression of relationship by the Wachiperi was to say a direct “no” to the powerful Ministry of Culture, and assertively do a CD production in their way, reclaiming the possession of their traditional intellectual property. In 2013 the MC did produce a CD entitled Cantos Wachiperi. Renato Cáceres was sent to record the three song categories for this CD, embachiha, embachinoha, and esüwa, with elders in Santa Rosa de Huacaria and Queros-Wachiperi communities. This was one of his final assignments with the MC before resigning due to differences in work ethic. He stated that he felt “false, hypocritical, and deceitful” during recording, since he had no pre-established relationship with the singers or the Wachiperi as a whole, and he was beginning to understand that the esüwa should not be recorded in this superficial manner (personal communication, July 15, 2013). In this CD production, the MC no longer raised the possibility of implementing songs from Patricia Lyon’s archival recordings, and in the end did not add the esüwa to the CD due to the insistence of the Wachiperi, and instead housed these esüwa recordings in the MC archives for the time being. A recent conversation with a member of the MC esüwa safeguarding committee, who preferred to remain anonymous, shed light on the latest status of safeguarding measures. He stated that the original plan leading up to UNESCO nomination was to record and

440   Holly Wissler diffuse as many esüwa as the MC could, but since the Wachiperi are not in agreement, it is up to them to decide what the safeguarding plan should be. This simplistic explanation and delegation of responsibility to the Wachiperi has currently put a standstill to any safeguarding efforts (personal communication, February 9, 2015). Teresa Campos, area coordinator for indigenous community rights at the MC, and overseer of the esüwa safeguarding team in Cusco, succinctly said that safeguarding efforts are currently congelado—frozen (personal communication, February 11, 2015). So it seems that what is in store for the future between the MC and the Wachiperi is a total re-assessment of effective safeguarding measures and implementation—or not. Ideal applied ethnomusicology in this scenario would be collaboration and mutual work ethic from all involved parties (MC, ethnomusicologists, anthropologists, community members), yet, when this is not possible, it is ultimately up to the people themselves to take their own stance, which the Wachiperi have and do.

Conclusion The important components of efficacy and measures of success in specific music projects with the Q’eros (indigenous tourism) and the Wachiperi (CD production) are the combination of small-scale shared experience, co-collaboration, and equal status of everyone involved. The established base of reciprocity that upheld the ancient Inca empire, and Andean and Amazonian communities historically and currently, is also imperative and operative on the smallest of levels for respectful human interaction and exchange. In our projects, many aspects of a mutually beneficial relationship are present and operative. It makes sense that reciprocity is the preferred interaction in projects when it is the foundation of life among the Q’eros and the Wachiperi. In the case of the highland Q’eros, their active voice in indigenous tourism has been an organic process that we have been developing and fine-tuning for about ten years now. We have learned, together, about what kinds of interactions work in such a way so that everyone is satisfied. The Q’eros authentically and directly express who they are, so that self-representation is in their hands. They have a sense of serenity—thak!—about this representation, knowing their voice is heard. More than heard, it is often deeply received in the vibrant space of co-creation, when the foreign guests see their wholeness, versus an Andean stereotype. We never know what will happen or come up in these spaces, which makes the interaction a symbiotic, spontaneous process, versus a more controlled, practiced, and staged event. This is because each individual involved—tourist and Q’eros—is allowed to express him- or herself freely in complementary dialogue. The quality of reciprocal giving and receiving (ideal ayni) is more possible in small groups, where active participation is on an individual level that results in people sharing freely and unmasked, engendering expansion and learning on both fronts. The outcome is often heart-opening and connecting, versus sharing from the ego with a pitying (“poor Andean”) or exalting (“wealthy foreigner”/“ancient Inca stuck in time”) perspective, which is hierarchical and separating. I would go so far as to say that there are grains of emotional healing involved

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    441 in such interactions. The profound glimpses we experience into the life of the “other” in unhurried, still moments creates a sense of solidarity that can be soothing—a salve to the soul. In this context the Q’eros’ music is shared, heard, and received, so that for a brief moment a foreign guest whose life is completely different can gain a sense of understanding and connection into a world he or she has never experienced, or imagined. In contrast, many Q’eros and Wachiperi discuss feelings of being used by the Ministry of Culture when they perform their music on stage in celebratory functions of achievements by the MC. One example is the May 20, 2013 celebration in Cusco, which announced UNESCO’s nomination of the Qhapaq Ñan, Royal Inca Highway, as a World Heritage Site, marking the first time in history a multinational application has been sent to and nominated by UNESCO (Argentina, Bolivia, Colombia, Chile, Ecuador, and Peru). The MC called on many Q’eros and Wachiperi to be representative “original people” from the Inca Imperial Period when the usage of this road system was at its peak, requiring them to sing and dance (dance in the case of the Wachiperi) on a large stage in typical dress. The Q’eros and the Wachiperi with whom I discussed this event expressed that the experience was uncomfortable and felt degrading. In this case it is not equal sharing; there is a clear hierarchy involved when the orders come from above, and the indigenous are the payasos (clowns), as a Wachiperi leader said. What is glossed as a celebration of their indigeneity is actually experienced as demeaning. Political power relations win out, and the Q’eros and Wachiperi must find other means to wholly express themselves. In the case of the Wachiperi, the means they took was an active stand when they felt encroachment of political power in response to the MC’s suggestion of a CD production about their music, using the community’s archives. They said a clear “no,” and took it one step further: they came up with a satisfying solution of their own production that enhanced self-esteem and made it so they could represent Wachiperi identity in their way. We mutually agreed and worked together to realize the production, so that I had an equal relationship with the Wachiperi in our work together. The entire production involved about ten people at the most, which is very grassroots, except when you consider that that is about 10 percent of the entire Wachiperi population. Profits were only 800 soles (about $320), which covered over a year’s supply of medicines for the three community elders. It is precisely at this level that such a precarious group must step forth in self-defense. The mutual service I provided was the return of archives, assistance in song selection and CD liner notes, and the know-how of a homemade CD production. Their benefit was an independent production, and mine was collaboration in it, being witness to their courage and ambition in satisfactory representation, and the necessary and willing surrender on my part to do it their way. At this moment, our work together flowed in effective co-collaboration and was service in the sense of equal and reciprocal empowerment. We enjoyed the flow of spontaneous collaboration versus the hierarchical making of a CD in which one entity (the MC) would have final production choice that likely would have been fraught with enhanced feelings of resistance and resentment on the part of the Wachiperi that were already present. Significantly, what transpired from our intensive song workshops together, and my discussions with Daniel Sheehy, director of the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and

442   Holly Wissler Cultural Heritage, about the possibility of a CD production entitled “Music of the River Q’eros,” to include both Q’eros and Wachiperi songs, was an invitation to participate in the 2015 Smithsonian Folklife Festival that focuses on Peru. In the festival, six representative Wachiperi will have the opportunity to express their culture and traditions in their own terms. Also significant is that they are the only indigenous group to represent all of Peru’s Amazonia in the festival. Though we eventually let go of our original idea of reviving songs, as explained above, the most meaningful times were those of group listening, learning, and discussion in a small group with three generations of Wachiperi, which is not something that resulted in a product or presentation, but were simply moments of deeply shared experience at a singular point in time. Just that alone, I contend, is valuable. Many, like Nely Ninantay, Manuel’s granddaughter, articulated that our listening and discussions were extremely valuable in raising awareness about Wachiperi heritage. Nely stated that she was not even aware of the existence of these songs and their prevalence and place in the Wachiperi past, and she felt proud to receive this heritage.35 If one single Wachiperi person, like Nely, receives benefit from our small-scale work, then it has been worth it. Manuel Yonaje died on January 27, 2014. With him passed a substantial quality of lived Wachiperi knowledge since he was one of three Wachiperi elders, and the only elder man, of the Queros-Wachiperi community. During our time together from 2010

Figure  12.10  Manuel Yonaje listens to Patricia J.  Lyon Wachiperi archive recordings. Photo by Holly Wissler, February 19,  2012.

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    443 through 2013, I was able to see how vibrant and grateful he was when listening to Lyon’s song recordings, when singing in his recordings with me and discussing the old days “when we were many people” (see Figure 12.10). I would sit for hours in the hot sun or under the dark sky and listen to him reminisce about the old days of Wachiperi history, music, and life. I remember one magical moment when we were sitting in the grass and I saw a small yellow bird up high on a branch, and asked, “Is there a song for that bird?”— to which he burst into singing that bird’s song. I am reminded of a powerful quote by anthropologist, ethnobotanist, and conservationist Wade Davis: “Is the wisdom of an elder any less important simply because he or she communicates to an audience of one?” (Davis, 2009: 5). In Manuel’s bringing forth his wisdom, I witnessed individuals’ perspective and awareness of their own Wachiperi tradition and heritage change, mainly his granddaughter, Nely, and daughter-in-law Odette.36 These one-to-one relationships were profoundly and mutually beneficial, touching the depths of reciprocity at a most basic level: One elder died with the satisfaction that his people’s music was relived and shared with the younger generation of his family, not to be forgotten. I, as “applied ethnomusicologist”—but mainly friend—was privileged to be a part of this process and can now share Manuel’s wisdom and life with his community, and in broader contexts, such as the Cusco community, Peru, academia, and the 2015 Smithsonian Folklife Festival. In my work with both the Q’eros and the Wachiperi, we searched together through experience to discover and shape equal, reciprocal, and deeply beneficial relationships, and it is this mutual service that we experience with one another that sustains our projects and my relationship with these extraordinary people—that is, people as individuals, versus a group in staged presentation.

Notes 1. In many publications they are acknowledged as the Huachipaeri group, but recent collaborative work between the Wachiperi and the Ministry of Culture on the first Harakbut dictionary (2015) that has established the Harakbut alphabet has changed the spelling to Wachiperi. Equally, the spelling of Harakmbut has changed to Harakbut. 2. Ethnohistorian John Murra provided groundbreaking research on the usage, exploitation, and sustainability of Andean, Amazonian, and coastal ecosystems, which he termed “vertical ecology” (see Murra 1972, 1980). 3. The cargo system was introduced by Spain mainly for service in Catholic religious offices, such as sponsoring a patron saint festival and liturgical rituals, as well as administrative offices. 4. Coca leaves are used practically, socially, and ritually in Andean life. See Allen (2002) for a full discussion of the use of coca in Andean communities. 5. As in Q’eros rituals of extreme reciprocal exchange, Marcel Mauss writes about the excessive co-consumption of the North American Indian potlatch rituals (Mauss, 1954). 6. Peru is divided into 25 large regions (formerly called departments). 7. While historically Andean and Amazonian groups have been linked through essential trade networks that complemented the sustenance and ritual necessities of both regions, I  have not found any clear historical or ethnographic evidence that confirms that the Q’eros and Wachiperi have historical connections. I have found suggestions of possible

444   Holly Wissler ancestral connection of the Q’eros to Amazonian territory beyond their current cloud forest region, which is subject to further investigation, and beyond the scope of this article. 8. The exact number of Wachiperi population is difficult to ascertain since many Wachiperi today are mixed with Amazonia Matsiguenka and highland Quechua groups, and there has been no government census of the Wachiperi. In 2008 the Wachiperi calculated that 57 remained in their population for a diagnostic report prepared by the Asociación de la Conservación de la Cuena Amazónica (Amazon River Basin Conservation Association, ACCA), a nongovernmental organization based in Cusco that works in various conservation projects with the Wachiperi. In a recent workshop (January 2015) with the Wachiperi to prepare for their participation in the Smithsonian Folklife Festival they estimated about 120 total Wachiperi, therefore numbers are subjective and fluctuate. 9. The repatriation of audiovisual archives to the Q’eros is the topic of a future article, “ ‘Where Dead People Walk’:  Repatriation of Fifty Years of Audio-Visual Archives to Q’eros, Peru (working title)” in an edited volume on archival repatriation, editors Frank Gunderson and Bret Woods. 10. For a detailed discussion of Q’eros’ identity, see Wissler dissertation (2009a:  35–41): “Identity: La Nación Q’eros; Q’eros and/or Inca?” 11. The naming of a “people,” versus a tangible or intangible cultural heritage, has received much criticism locally and nationally. 12. If one “googles” “Q’eros,” there are numerous websites that offer spiritual tourism activities with the Q’eros. 13. See Boniface and Robinson (1998) for impact of influences on host communities in the tourism industry, and Berno (2007) for the indigenous voice in designing tourism in a case study the South Pacific. 14. See Cohen (1986) and Wissler (2009b) for candid accounts of the challenges of filming in Q’eros. 15. The exchanges are with a varied demographic, through the following organizations:  US-based travel companies Wilderness Travel and National Geographic/Lindblad Expeditions, and US study abroad programs, such as The Center for World Music, SIT World Learning, Iowa State University, and UC Davis. The high-end Peruvian travel company COLTUR Peru (www.colturperu.com) has recognized the value of these exchanges and employs us on a regular basis to meet with a wide spectrum of clientel (spiritual tourists, economists, university alumni, to name a few). In addition, we do video conferences from Cusco with Brandeis University Spanish and music classes. 16. See Wissler (2009: 84–108) about the Andean concept of yanantin (male/female complementary duality) and its manifestation in Q’eros ritual music and the relationship between the women’s singing and the men’s pinkuyllu in a transcription design that shows this relationship. 17. See Wissler (2009), Stobart (2006), and Allen (2002) for the importance of continuous, nonstop music-making in Andean ritual. 18. This is also called sami. See Allen (2002) for an in-depth discussion of sami. 19. Steven Feld’s classic work, Sound and Sentiment (1982), addresses reciprocity in the music of the Kaluli in Papua New Guinea. 20. The suffix ri is really ru, but in this case the u changes to i for ease of pronunciation, based on the subsequent suffixes. 21. Ingram (2005: 33) discusses a survey of tourists’ interactions with Australian aboriginal culture, where they doubt the authenticity of objects being sold.

Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    445 22. Comadre, or co-mother, is a social tie and obligation obtained during chukcha rutuy, a pre-Hispanic ritual when the hair of a young child is cut for the first time, a rite of passage from infancy into humanhood. I  become madrina, godmother, to the child, and co-mother with the parents. 23. The Four Winds Society specializes in “spiritual expeditions” and regularly works with the Q’eros in Peru. 24. I stress ideal ayni, since ayni is not always reciprocated, which I contend is one of the main reasons the Q’eros express their grief through improvised singing in animal fertility rituals that are all about offerings intended for ideal reciprocal ayni. The sung grief is a remembrance of times when ayni was not reciprocated (see Wissler, 2009, Chapter 8). 25. This number includes silent speakers, that is, people of the younger generation who understand Wachiperi but do not speak it. 26. Arakmbut has the most number of speakers (approximately 200). 27. La Comunidad Nativa de Queros (Queros-Wachiperi community) has a fluctuating population of about 20 people all of Wachiperi origin, and Santa Rosa de Huacaria has a population of about 150, composed of Wachiperi, Matsiguenka (Amazon group of Arawak origin), and Quechua from the highlands. 28. View a five-minute YouTube of this archive return and ensuing discussions at http://youtu. be/Y8hfmoZi__Y. There is a brief section of esüwa in this video clip, which the Wachiperi approved since it is momentary, versus exposing the entire song and practice. 29. There are also two types of protection songs: esütateika, when the healer sings for the protection of an individual against possible harm, danger, disease, and ewasütuteika, for the protection of a group, such as family, families, or the entire community. These protection songs, like the esüwa, are performed privately. 30. Many scholars who have worked in the Andes and Amazon areas of South America have shown how people are agents in the intentional and causal movement of breath, blowing, and spitting, sometimes through song, for interaction with the spiritual, invisible, and intangible forces around them (Allen, 2002; Guss, 1989; Olsen, 1996; Uzendoski, 2005). 31. See Chapter  5 by Jeff Titon in this volume, “Sustainability, Resilience, and Adaptive Management for Applied Ethnomusicology,” for a thorough discussion of safeguarding. 32. It is specifically the Cusco division of the Ministry of Culture, not the central office in the capital city of Lima, that is responsible for the safeguarding of esüwa since the Wachiperi reside in the Cusco Region. 33. Esüwa (versus Eshuva) is the more recent spelling asserted by the Wachiperi, which correspond to the newly established Harakbut alphabet and pronunciation. 34. Similarly, when I completed my DVD documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (2007), about the annual cycle of the Q’eros’ musical rituals (when I also employed much collaborative input about representation), I returned my documentary production, along with $4,500 in DVD sales and donations, to the Q’eros community. They chose to use the proceeds for the building of their new town council building, completed in 2010. 35. Nely Ninantay is the first Wachiperi student at Cusco University (Universidad de Cusco San Antonio de Abad) to write about her people in an academic thesis. She completed her degree in tourism in 2014 with her thesis on the topic of eco-tourism in her home community of Queros-Wachiperi. 36. I believe that Odette Ramos Dumas, in her mid-twenties, is a notable culture-bearer of the Wachiperi. She is the granddaughter of the renowned shaman Alejandro Dumas, mentioned earlier in this chapter, and inherited much wisdom from him. She is fluent

446   Holly Wissler in Wachiperi, and was passionate about our work together and would sit at length by Manuel’s side listening to and learning about the songs.

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Andean Q’eros and Amazonian Wachiperi    449 Rowe, John. (1963). “Inca Culture at the Time of the Spanish Conquest.” In The Handbook of South American Indians, Vol. 2, edited by J. H. Steward, pp. 183–330. New York: Cooper Square Publications. Rozas Álvarez, Washington. (2002 [1979]). “Los paqo en Q’ero.” In Q’ero: el último ayllu inka (2nd ed.), edited by Jorge Flores Ochoa and Juan Núñez del Prado, pp. 265–276. Lima, Perú: Instituto Nacional de Cultura y Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos. Ryan, Chris. (2005). “Introduction:  Tourist-Host Nexus—Research Considerations.” In Indigenous Tourism: The Commodification and Management of Culture, edited by Chris Ryan and Michelle Aicken, pp. 1–14. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Ryan, Chris, and Birgit Trauer. (2005). “Visitor Experiences of Indigenous Tourism  – Introduction.” In Indigenous Tourism: The Commodification and Management of Culture, edited by Chris Ryan and Michelle Aicken, pp. 15–20. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Ryan, Chris, and Michelle Aicken, eds. (2005). Indigenous Tourism: The Commodification and Management of Culture. Amsterdam: Elsevier. Seeger, Anthony. (2004a [1987]). Why Suyá Sing: A Musical Anthropology of an Amazonian People. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Seeger, Anthony. (2004b). “The Selective Protection of Musical Ideas: The ‘Creators’ and the Dispossessed.” In Property in Question: Value Transformation in the Global Economy, edited by Katherine Verdery and Caroline Humphrey, pp. 69–83. Oxford: Berg Publishers. Seeger, Anthony. (2005). “Who Got Left Out of the Property Grab Again? Oral Traditions, Indigenous Rights, and Valuable Old Knowledge.” In CODE: Collaborative Ownership and the Digital Economy, edited by Rishabe Aiyer Ghosh, pp. 75–84. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Seeger, Anthony. (2008). “Theories Forged in the Crucible of Action:  The Joys, Dangers, and Potentials of Advocacy and Fieldwork.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology, edited by Gregory Barz and Timothy J. Cooley, pp. 271–288. Oxford University Press. Seeger, Anthony. (2009). “Lessons Learned from the ICTM (NGO) Evaluations of Nominations for the UNESCO’s Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity, 2001–5.” In Intangible Heritage, edited by Laurajane Smith and Natsuko Akagawa, pp. 112–128. London: Routledge. Seeger, Anthony. (2012). “Who Should Control Which Rights to Music?” In Current Issues in Music Research: Copyright, Power, and Transnational Music Processes, edited by Susana Moreno Fernández, Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco, Pedro Roxo, and Iván Iglesias, pp. 27–49. Lisbon: Edições Colibri. Senft, Gunter. (1999). “The Presentation of Self in Touristic Encounters. A Case Study from the Trobriand Islands.” Anthropos 94 (1–3): 21–33. Schippers, Huib. (2009). “Three Journeys, Five Recollections, Seven Voices: Operationalising Sustainability in Music.” In Applied Ethnomusicology, Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 161–179. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Schaedel, Richard P. (1988). “Andean World View:  Hierarchy or Reciprocity, Regulation or Control?” Current Anthropology 29(5): 768–775. Sheehy, D. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 323–336. Silverman, Gail. (1994). El Tejido Andino: Un Libro de Sabiduria. Lima, Perú: Banco Central de Reserva del Perú.

450   Holly Wissler Stobart, Henry. (2006). Music and the Poetics of Production in the Bolivian Andes. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Stokes, Martin, ed. (1994). Ethnicity, Identity and Music: The Musical Construction of Place. Oxford and New York: Berg Publishers. Tello, Rodolfo. (2013). Hunting Practices of the Wachiperi:  Demystifying Indigenous Environmental Behavior. North Charleston, SC: CreateSpace Independent Publishing. Titon, Jeff T. (1999). “ ‘The Real Thing’: Tourism, Authenticity and Pilgrimage among the Old Regular Baptists at the 1997 Smithsonian Folklife Festival.” The World of Music 41(3): 115–139. Titon, Jeff T. (2009). “Music and Sustainability: An Ecological Viewpoint,” The World of Music 51(1): 119–137. Tomoeda, Hiroyasu. (1996). “The Concept of Vital Energy among Andean Pastoralists.” In Redefining Nature: Ecology, Culture and Domestication, edited by Ellen Roy and Katsuyoshi Fukui, pp. 187–212. Washington, DC: Berg. Turino, Thomas. (1993). Moving Away from Silence: Music of the Peruvian Altiplano and the Experience of Migration. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Turino, Thomas. (2008). Music in the Andes. New York: Oxford University Press. Turner, Victor. (1969). The Ritual Process. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company. Turner, Victor. (1974). “Passages, Margines and Poverty: Religious Symbols of Communitas.” In Dramas, Fields and Metaphors. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Urry, J. (2002). The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Uzendoski, Michael. (2005). The Napo Runa of Amazonian Ecuador. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Wang, Ning. (1999). “Rethinking Authenticity in Tourism Experience.” Annals of Tourism Research 26(2): 349–370. Webster, Steven. (1972). The Social Organization of a Native Andean Community. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington. Wissler, Holly. (2009a). From Grief and Joy We Sing: Social and Cosmic Regenerative Processes in the Songs of Q’eros, Peru. PhD dissertation, Florida State University. Wissler, Holly. (2009b). “Grief-Singing and the Camera:  The Challenges and Ethics of Documentary Production in an Indigenous Andean Community.” Ethnomusicology Forum 18(1): 33–49. Xie, Philip Feifen. (2001). Authenticating Cultural Tourism:  Folk Villages in Hainan, China. PhD dissertation, University of Waterloo, Ontario, Canada. Zuidema, R. T. (1964). The Ceque System of Cuzco: The Social Organization of the Capital of the Inca. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Zuidema, R. T. (1982). “Bureaucracy and Systematic Knowledge in Andean Civilization.” In The Inca and Aztec States, 1400–1800, edited by G. A. Collier, R. I. Rosaldo, and J. D. Wirth, pp. 419–458. New York: Academic Press. Zuidema, R. T. (1990). Inca Civilization in Cuzco. Austin: University of Austin Press.

Pa rt  V

C ON F L IC T S

Chapter 13

The Role of A ppl i e d Et hnomusic ol o g y i n P ost-C onfli c t a nd P ost-Catast roph e C om muni t i e s Erica Haskell

Applied ethnomusicologists and cultural advocates have contributed to facilitating conflict resolution and cultural development in postwar and post-catastrophe environments. In the wake of both conflicts and natural disasters, cultural aid workers bear needed resources and are often welcomed with open arms to host countries. This chapter outlines the multiple roles that applied ethnomusicologists, and cultural projects in general, can have in post-conflict and post-catastrophe situations. In both kinds of catastrophes, practitioners have applied their skills to ease social upheaval, create economic opportunities for musicians, and strengthen existing cultural venues and institutions, as well as establish new ones. In other cases, musical and cultural projects are developed and run by actors with relatively little expertise in cultural issues. This chapter also addresses some fundamental challenges that applied ethnomusicologists face in navigating the diverse field of international development in which social, economic, and political concerns often sideline equally important cultural ones. I focus on some of the similarities and differences between post-conflict and post-disaster cultural communities through the lens of applied ethnomusicology. While the main case studies are drawn from the author’s long-term fieldwork in Bosnia-Herzegovina on the postwar cultural environment there, more general findings are informed by visits to other post-catastrophe environments. I have chosen to link two kinds of catastrophes, war and natural disaster, not to blur their differences but rather because many international aid agencies react to their results in similar ways. Nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), which are often a sources for

454   Erica Haskell cultural-redevelopment funds, use “humanitarian aid” as a blanket term for any kind of human assistance. In this way, the “need” that humanitarian organizations seek to ameliorate can vary from basic sustenance and housing to civil society building and educational reforms. Based upon my own research in post-conflict Bosnia-Herzegovina, I share several findings about the ways in which musicians can be impacted by disasters as venues and employment are in shorter supply, distribution channels are shut down, performance contexts shift, and large institutions are threatened. In the field of ethnomusicology, my research is grounded in the research of scholars of Southeast European music (Helbig, 2005, 2008; Laušević, 1998, 2000a, 2000b; Maners, 2000; Pettan, 1998a, 1998b, 1999, 2001, 2008; Ramet, 1994, 1996; Sugarman, 1999a, 1999b; Urbain, 2008), ethnomusicologists who write about the broader transition from socialism to democracy in Eastern Europe (Buchanan, 1996; Rice, 1994; Silverman, 1989, 2000; Slobin, 1996), and writings about the application of ethnomusicological knowledge for the public good. Humanitarian situations offer special opportunities and challenges to ethnomusicologists focused on aiding and advocating for musical communities at risk. In settings where outsiders’ involvement is widespread, a common characteristic of post-catastrophe situations, applied ethnomusicologists may be allowed added access to tangible and intangible resources,1 although they may also face daunting logistical problems. I begin here with a short case study about one postwar project in a village in Bosnia-Herzegovina, followed by a discussion of some general findings on cultural aid in post-catastrophe settings. I then discuss the impact that catastrophes can have on music venues. Through the lens of a postwar project in Central Asia, I address some of the ways in which the disruption of travel and forced migration affect musicians and their communities. The Pavarotti Center in Mostar serves as an example of how funds raised through concert advocacy have been employed by one NGO. In the final section of this chapter, I share a case study of a small record label’s partnership with a foreign NGO, meant to address shifts in the musical marketplace, that resulted from the Bosnian conflict.

The Mozaik Community Development Fund and Guča Gora In 2002, seven years after the end of the conflict in Bosnia-Herzegovina the Non-Governmental Organization Development Foundation, now renamed Mozaik Community Development Foundation, began research to select a region in the country for a “living heritage network” funded by the King Baudouin Foundation based in Belgium, as well as the Open Society Fund, Soros. At the time, some of the King Baudouin Foundation’s projects supported “living heritage” in Macedonia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Romania, and Bulgaria, while others aimed to elevate social and

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    455 economic ills that resulted from the war. By funding local heritage, the organization hoped to make a “lasting contribution towards greater justice, democracy and respect for diversity” (see http://www.kbs-frb.be/content.aspx?id=290655&langtype=1033)2 as well as stimulate “local communities in the creative use of their cultural resources,” which they believed could act as an engine for local development (www.kbs-frb.be). Through their contributions, Bosnian Living Heritage Network sought to facilitate the sharing of values and ideas about community development through cultural resources (www.mozaik.ba/english/html/livingheritage.html).3 To recognize and emphasize the important role of living heritage in alleviating poverty, social tensions, and regional instability, the foundation staff chose specific projects not primarily for their cultural authenticity or value, but rather for their ability to build civil society.4 The foundation argued that emphasizing living heritage was a “unique approach to community development because it places people first, and intercultural relations at the heart of sustainable development” (ibid.) After a year-long research period, in which an advisory board made up of local experts traveled throughout the country, they chose central Bosnia-Herzegovina as a regional focus because of its rich mix of ethnic groups, brutal experience during the war, and the perception that there was much progress to be made in the area of cultural identity, which had been used by political, military, and religious leaders to fuel the conflict. Unlike many international NGO projects introduced by international organizations after the war throughout Bosnia-Herzegovina, which primarily focused their funding activities on the largest cities, Mozaik chose the selo, or village, as the stage on which the most progress toward community development could be made. Experts on the advisory board chose specific villages, and members of the communities were invited to apply for small living heritage grants. Guča Gora was one of the villages selected. This small, rural, primarily Catholic village, in the central region of Bosnia-Herzegovina, was founded by Franciscan monks more than 800 years ago, and the cathedral they built was the largest structure in Europe for the following 30 years. The Franciscans in Guča Gora, with their emphasis on education, also founded the first high school in Bosnia-Herzegovina. To locate an existing community group or create a new one to fund, Mozaik Foundation staff facilitated a gathering of 10 community leaders from Guča Gora, whom they asked to brainstorm about the needs of the village. In this session, Gučogorci were educated about the work of the foundation and were taught how to present themselves within the guidelines of the grant requirements. Members decided that a cultural center, in which the folkloric dance and music group “Sloga” could rehearse and other local groups could meet, was the best compromise between the village’s needs and Mozaik’s granting requirements. By this time the leaders in the village were experienced at fitting their local community’s needs into the narrow and often confusing categories established by funders. Officially recognized in 1922, in the 1930s Guča Gora’s Sloga was defined as a Seljačka sloga (village harmony), similar to many other rural groups in the region. In the early 1950s, with the formation of Socialist Yugoslavia, the politically driven transformation of the existing peasantry and its folklore groups to official status brought new folkloric

456   Erica Haskell group categories. The organizational framework of folklore groups meant that the Guča Gora group gained official Izvorna (or “spring,” meaning authentic) group status and became simply “Sloga.” By calling themselves “Sloga,” they were voicing a conscious but silent resistance to the new Yugoslavian organizational structure (Ceribašić, personal communication, 2005). Its categorization as an Izvorna folkloric group meant that, unlike the concept of stylized folklore performed by kulturno-umjetnička društva (cultural-artistic associations, KUDs), the group performed only local Guča Gora songs and dances in its repertoire, without major changes to the original music or lyrics.5 Because of the homogeneous ethno-religious character of the village, most of the songs the group sang were drawn from traditions they characterized as Croatian Catholic, in direct comparison to neighboring Muslim villages. Sloga primarily performs svatovske pjesme (wedding songs) and other songs connected to customs, rituals, and everyday life. Their singing techniques involve alternating solos with potresanje (shaking) as well as singing with exclamation at the end of the phrase “oj,” called ojkanje. In the former Yugoslavian KUD system, Izvorna KUDs were excluded from the KUD system, a system in which KUDs had the opportunity to perform outside the domestic realm. Stylized KUDs performed folk music and dance suites that incorporated examples and sometimes costumes from each of the former Yugoslav republics. The importance of such KUDs as a tool and vessel for ideological messages, such as “brotherhood and unity,” has been well documented by ethnomusicologists and anthropologists (Buchanan 1995; Kurkela 1995; Maners 2000). Throughout the group’s existence, Franciscan monks, and more recently Yugoslav ethnomusicologists,6 have gathered and transcribed some 70 distinct folk songs from Guča Gora. Of particular local interest are those songs that Gučogorci believe are inspired by the sound of their church bells. Although the songs themselves are not sacred, the tones they reference are of central importance to the Catholic faith in the villagers’ lives, their everyday soundscape, and thus their sense of identity. Other KUDs that performed and competed in countrywide and international folk festivals often selected songs from Guča Gora to fulfill the Croatian element of their folkloric suites. The village was, and is still, surrounded by several small Muslim villages. During the most recent war in Bosnia-Herzegovina, as with many villages in the region, a majority of its inhabitants were forced to flee to safer locations both in and outside the country. Guča Gora was targeted by a force of mujahideen fighters who left the village flattened and burned. As described by one villager, “a group of approximately thirty Arab guerrillas rampaged through the church with their weapons held in the air, shouting Allah Akhbar! They knocked over pews and other sacred symbols of the ancient church, vandalized the historic and irreplaceable mural above the main altar, and finally scraped off the faces of Jesus and the Virgin Mary on another painting near the altar” (Kohlmann, 2004). This account mirrors the ethno-religious nature of the conflict in which Bosnian Croats (Roman Catholics), Bosniaks (Sunni Muslims), and Bosnian Serbs (Serbian Orthodox) participated in violence against each other during different periods of the war.7 In 2002 a third of the surviving villagers made the difficult decision to return to Guča Gora to rebuild their lives. In the intervening years, most

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    457 Gučogorci had settled in other countries, and some had even begun their own folklore groups abroad. When they were asked by the Mozaik Foundation to list the village’s needs, understandably those who had returned to Guča Gora prioritized rebuilding the village, on a material level, from the damage of the war, above all other goals. We can categorize humanitarian efforts in postwar environments into phases, as early assistance was aimed at solving basic needs for water, food, and shelter. Following the Dayton Accord,8 a number of international organizations flowed into the country with a host of new and less tangible diplomatic, social, economic, political, and cultural goals. These efforts have been categorized by international actors within the larger context of “nation building” and have often been largely unregulated, mostly because the domestic government was and continues to be highly divided. International organizations and politicians working in Bosnia-Herzegovina maintain a level of governing and financial power, augmented only by the promise of future EU membership. The plethora of NGOs now in Bosnia-Herzegovina, seen together, constitute a new funding structure, complete with its own language, categories, and procedures. When inhabitants of Guča Gora returned to their village in 2002, organizations disbursed applications for grants targeted at rebuilding. In the first year of their return to Guča Gora, the organization United Methodists Committee on Relief was the only one to finally offer funds for rebuilding the village. The Mozaik Foundation’s emphasis on civil society building was not originally a primary concern for this postwar village, but community leaders had learned in the years after the war that if they were strategic, their needs could sometimes be molded to fit NGOs’ mission statements. After meeting with the Gučagorci, Mozaik Foundation responded to the village’s letter of intention with suggestions and extensive editing. At the time, this process was one of the most cooperative and intensive cultural granting procedures being used in the region. In the final ranking of applications, Sloga was lauded primarily for their intention to involve a large number of Gučogorci in volunteer activities, their good financial intentions, and their plans for the long-term sustainability of the folkloric group. To fulfill the self-sustainability aspect of the application, the group noted their future intention to procure costume materials for 22 members, to make the costumes themselves, and to record an album for local distribution. When I questioned Mozaik about their choice of Sloga, the staff members were careful to make clear their disinterest in the musical merits or authenticity of the group and to highlight the group’s importance for creating harmony in the community. From my review of Sloga’s letter of intention, it is clear that members presented those qualities as valuable not to themselves but to their funder. Such tailoring of intentions is, of course, common in grant applications. However, the application and training process asked community leaders to define the group and its value within the context of civil society and left other aspects of musical performance up to the musicians and dancers. Because the merits of the application did not hinge on authenticity or specific performances, members of Sloga embraced their history and heritage as their own, rather than something bestowed upon them by an outside force. In conversation with me, they also openly stated that they saw Sloga as a symbol of survival against the attacks their village

458   Erica Haskell had experienced during the war. It is significant that throughout this process Mozaik maintained its financial power to include and exclude groups based upon the ways in which they presented themselves. Although I am not aware of any overtly political material included in Sloga’s repertoire, when I asked how the organization would respond to the group performing songs that were nationalistic in nature or disparaging to neighboring Muslim villages, Mozaik employees informed me that the folklore group would be asked to change their program. Evidence of such censorship, or at least the power to censor, in the name of interethnic and inter-religious cooperation, metaphorically referred to as “harmony,” is evident in other postwar projects (Haskell, 2011) and also in socialist-era KUD performances. In my discussions with Sloga, members demonstrated their understanding of the organization’s power. Singers and dancers felt honored to receive international support, and saw their three-year relationship with the Mozaik Foundation as a stamp of approval for their preservation of heritage and non-political activities. The revival of Sloga from the rubble in Guča Gora illustrates the strength of music and dance to draw a community together toward a common goal. In the Bosnian context, Sloga’s story also reminds one of the possibly divisive nature of music that represents one ethno-religious group. This is especially true when seen within the larger region. Mozaik’s efforts to convey democratic models and community-building processes may be of most use to Sloga on a local level, as they forge some kind of self-sustainable future, which may require them to navigate various NGO applications in the years to come, as the present government does not maintain the Yugoslav-era funding structure for KUDs. The merits of Mozaik’s living heritage network await a more involved study, but it is undeniable that through their assistance this small central Bosnian village is now able to offer visitors much more than the now-popular war tourism. It is clear that the present postwar cultural funding environment in Bosnia-Herzegovina poses multiple challenges for historic folklore groups such as Sloga, as they reinvent an identity that is in keeping with and sometimes dependent upon their understanding of the concept of “civil society.”

Post-Catastrophe Aid Environments In my work in post-conflict Bosnia-Herzegovina, the impetus to help, advocate, and support artists within the context of this discipline was strong. The case of Sloga in Guča Gora serves to show some of the complexity that funders and musicians face in post-catastrophe environments. Musicians in communities that have experienced seismic shifts, of the natural or manmade kind, are often painfully aware of their pressing needs and are willing to share ideas about solutions. As expressed in the above narrative, political, economic, and social shifts and transitions can impact musicians and the communities of which they are a part. Catastrophe-ravaged environments can present stark possibilities for improving musicians’ lives and, sometimes, even generate new funding

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    459 sources. Applied ethnomusicologists in post-conflict and post-catastrophe situations may find themselves in multiple roles, from grant-writer to concert-promoter, as they endeavor to help people. In both situations, practitioners have applied their skills to ease social upheaval, create economic opportunities for musicians, and strengthen existing cultural venues and institutions, as well as establish new ones. Actors have sought to fill post-conflict and post-catastrophe cultural and institutional voids by creating new performance venues, media outlets, music schools, museums, and sustainable businesses. In the case of the Guča Gora, community leaders had learned how to navigate funders’ goals over the years, but in newer disaster areas applied ethnomusicologists may find that their understanding of the aid environments may be helpful to musical communities. Applied ethnomusicologists, development workers, and humanitarians have played a variety of roles in their efforts to repair the havoc wreaked by catastrophes, be they human or nature made. While the physical outcome of disasters is often visible in crumbling building facades, impassable bridges, and uninhabitable homes, it can be more difficult to assess the impact such calamities have upon musical communities and the institutions that buoy them.9 Indeed, warring parties have targeted cultural institutions, such as libraries, as they attempt to obliterate or even just confuse historical accounts. “Libricide” has been committed in several regions, including Tibet, Cambodia, Kuwait, China, and many parts of Europe. In her article titled “Culture and the New Iraq,” Julie Edwards and Stephan Edward write that “Obscuring history, obliterating cultural memory, erasing identities, and intimidating local populations are all wartime strategies achieved by targeting libraries…” (Edwards, 2008). On the heels of catastrophe, aid agencies may assume that cultural production has been impacted, without assessing how or to what degree. I encountered this phenomenon in Bosnia-Herzegovina, when international humanitarian organizations and embassies assumed that, along with food, citizens needed “culture aid” in the form of visiting musicians or international forms of music (Haskell, 2011). Artistic and traditional expression was thought to have been damaged, just as mortar rounds had penetrated city buildings. Ethnomusicologists have valuable skills that can help in assessing how musical communities and cultural institutions have or have not been impacted by catastrophes through their detailed and localized research approaches. Scholars may also find that they can aid NGOs in locating local cultural experts and practitioners to advise on the applicability of their new projects. Even aid agencies’ misconceived ideas about how music communities have been impacted by disasters may free up valuable resources that applied ethnomusicologists and their partners may find useful. Here I argue for a multifaceted view of these environments—not only as communities in need of assistance, but as places in which creativity can flourish. As this is a handbook for applied ethnomusicologists, I also address some of the practical aspects of working in disaster-impacted realms. While post-disaster environments present risks to researchers, they also offer opportunities in the area of helping people and communities and gaining access to financial resources.

460   Erica Haskell I approach this topic having spent almost a decade living in the postwar city of Sarajevo. Although “postwar” is only one of many characteristics of that city, much of my fieldwork there revolved around understanding the impact that violent conflict had had upon musicians and musical institutions.10 In my travels to other postwar and post-catastrophe cities, such as Phnom Penh and New Orleans, I noticed cultural re-development projects that were similar to those I had studied in Bosnia-Herzegovina. This chapter is an attempt to generalize about these fields to better understand the similar characteristics that post-conflict and post-disaster communities have as aid environments. Examples of post-conflict projects are drawn from Bosnia-Herzegovina, Cambodia, and Afghanistan; post-catastrophe phenomena are illustrated by cases in post-Katrina New Orleans and post-earthquake Haiti. Numerous projects exist in each of these locales, and thus I do not seek to present a complete assessment but rather to use specific projects to highlight the following shared issues: musical venues, disruption of travel and forces migration, concert advocacy, commemorations, shifts in markets, and closures or changes to cultural institutions.

Musical Venues Just as a storm may decimate a swath of land or a community, conflicts often leave behind post-disaster areas, such as no-man’s-lands between front lines, as well as strategic damage to essential facilities that can impact all levels of people’s lives. Wars and natural disasters, of course, greatly vary in the destruction they leave behind. Musicians experience upheaval just as do others in their communities, finding it difficult to fill their basic human needs. As I have, many ethnomusicologists working in such areas help friends, collaborators, and informants they meet in the field. Indeed, some scholars feel that reciprocity is a central element of their scholarly work. While internal or civil conflicts often leave behind protracted divisions mirrored in divided communities, wars of occupation sometimes result in political and/or social power shifts that impact alliances that artists had prior to the conflict. Any number of lasting ailments can follow a disaster. Often some form of economic hardship follows, and it is common for trade routes to be impacted, currencies to be devalued, and other forms of economic distress to exist. In addition to the logistical and practical concerns that musicians and their institutions share with others in their communities, they face special issues. Post-disaster environments present challenges and opportunities as musicians seek old and new contexts for performance. Catastrophes may destroy established performance venues, forcing musicians to not only find places to perform but also, at times, new audiences. During the siege of Sarajevo (1992–199611), many large and small professional and amateur ensembles continued to perform and draw large audiences, despite the significant dangers they faced in doing so. One young concert organizer explained, “Hundreds of new bands have sprung up since the war started. It’s a paradoxical situation. In these depressive times, everyone wants to expend energy doing something

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    461 creative” (Kalendar, 1996). Musicians sought out performance venues that met their needs for a level of security and secrecy to avoid attack, but that could also accommodate their musical genre. In the face of great adversity, new venues, and thus contexts, for performance emerged. As the siege continued, musicians found that they had to be inventive in repairing equipment, as most normal trade with the outside world had ceased. In the postwar context in Sarajevo, some young musicians recast wrecked and rubble-filled buildings as outdoor festival venues.12 These spaces signified not only the recent history of the region but also highlighted the enormous political and social journey young people felt they had begun toward a lasting peace. By performing in unorthodox and unsanctioned spaces, artists and musicians also contested the long-established cultural bureaucracy in the city. In this way musical sound took over parts of the city that had, before the war, had other uses. Many aid responses to musicians’ practical needs after natural disasters have, rightly so, sought to solve practical and logistical problems. After the catastrophic flooding that resulted from Hurricane Katrina, the New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity gathered donations to build a “Musicians’ Village” in the Upper Ninth Ward where, before the catastrophe, there had been a large concentration of musicians. The organizers of this high-profile project argued for the importance of reconstructing a stable neighborhood where a musical community had existed before the flooding. Musicians’ proximity to each other was central to their livelihood and the creative relationships forged over generations. The project builders sought to transport pre-catastrophe musical communities back to their original soil. The project originally sought to rebuild more than 70 single-family homes for local musicians in an effort to preserve the cultural presence that had existed before the flooding. Well-known jazz musicians, as well as several celebrities, drew attention to the project, which now also includes the Ellis Marsalis Center for Music.13 As is true in the case of Hurricane Katrina, domestic and international media attention about a disaster can draw a large amount of money for re-development campaigns such as this. The New Orleans Habitat Musician’s Village continues to organize benefit concerts in order to support the community and its cultural activities. The project did not delve into the historic reasons for some musicians being relegated to the particularly poor neighborhood most impacted by the flooding, nor did Habitat for Humanity attempt to confront such difficult questions. The long-term positive or negative effects of this particular project have yet to be analyzed.

Disruption of Travel and Forced Migration For musicians who rely on travel to reach their audiences, catastrophes can cause a (sometimes massive) loss of income.14 Many ensembles are unable to overcome the

462   Erica Haskell significant logistical hurdles and physical distance from their audiences and fellow musicians that they face after a catastrophe. Both conflicts and natural disasters may make it impossible for musicians to travel across political or natural borders. In these situations, they may also find that their musical products cannot be distributed as they once were. In these cases, efforts like that of the Aga Khan Foundation in Central Asia to fund musicians’ travel, concerts, and distribution can be central to a musician’s career and may even spur interest in the musical form among audiences for whom they perform. In 2000 the Aga Khan Development Network began a multipronged project in Central Asia to promote the region’s cultural resources to the rest of the world, document local traditions, and aid in the transmission of traditional skills from generation to generation through a funding arm called the Aga Khan Trust for Culture (http://www. akdn.org/AKTC).15 In the case of Afghanistan, the Trust created a Music Initiative to attempt to reinvigorate musical traditions that had been quieted by harsh Taliban measures to ban music. During the Rabbani Period (1992–1996) and after the Taliban took Kabul, a music ban forbade all live and recorded music (Baily, 2001). Like others in communities impacted by human or natural catastrophe, many Afghan musicians left the country to live in refugee communities away from their homes. Musicians in diaspora communities in Pakistan and around the world exhibited resilience in the face of social, economic, and physical upheaval by continuing to play and to pass on their musical traditions.16 Although they had fled their homeland, or had been forced to leave, many musicians continued to play in new settings, instrument makers continued to make instruments, even though it was sometimes difficult to find materials, and soon diaspora communities became the main source for Afghan music recordings (Broughton, 2002). By 2000 the Aga Khan Music Initiative had begun a focused project to revive fundamental cultural institutions and ancient oral traditions by founding music schools in which master musicians share their skills with students through traditional vernacular pedagogical methods. Creating spaces and institutions for “master-apprenticeship” (ustad-shagird) meetings and relationships is a way of preserving the way in which students learn. Although this focus may seem like an effort to enshrine traditional ways of transmitting culture, in other areas of the project artistic collaboration, and even change, were valued. In this way, the architects of the project saw musical traditions not as stagnant but rather constantly shifting. The project seeks to revitalize musical communities by creating incentives for refugee musicians to return to their homeland to teach young Afghan musicians in master-apprentice training centers in Kabul and Herat. It also includes music research and archiving in Herat and Badakhshan, as well as outreach to schools, instrument-making workshops, and public performances. Indeed, many Afghan musicians have faced several political and social shifts in their lifetimes so that the performance contexts, audiences, and even the meaning of their music have changed. The Music Initiative is funded consistently, and it continues to exist partially by redirecting profits from album sales back into on-the-ground projects. The final and most high-profile element of the Fund for Culture involves promoting music through concerts outside the region, as well as recording and disseminating

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    463 music from Central Asia around the world through a partnership with Smithsonian Folkways Records (http://www.folkways.si.edu/find_recordings/CentralAsia.aspx).17 What began as a project focused in Central Asia has now expanded to communities in the Middle East, North Africa, and South Asia. This multipronged project exemplifies the sizable impact that applied projects can have on a population during turmoil when a project is informed about a musical community’s needs. There are other cases in which refugee and other diaspora communities have offered valuable transnational partnerships to aid post-disaster communities in documenting, performing, and teaching their music to new generations. Diaspora groups offer economic and organizational help, as well as reintroducing cultural traditions to their homeland (Hamera, 2002).18 In response to the 2010 earthquake in Haiti, the diaspora funded Haitian Arts Alliance, based in Miami, spearheaded a project to repatriate recordings made by Alan Lomax in the 1930s. In addition to repatriating the recordings in an attempt to heighten local interest in the music, this project represents an effort to draw media attention to the importance of music in people’s lives. Members of the Cambodian diaspora, many of whom left the country during the Khmer Rouge occupation, have played an active role in the creating, recording, and international distribution opportunities for local musicians as cultural institutions were closed or destroyed during the conflict. Based in Massachusetts and heavily supported by the Cambodian diaspora on the West Coast of the United States, the Cambodian Living Arts organization supports “revival of traditional Khmer performing arts to inspire contemporary artistic expression” (http://www.cambodianlivingarts.org/). According to their mission statement, this organization recognizes the shared ownership of Khmer traditional arts and highlights the importance of the arts in processes of reconciliation and healing after war. Like the Aga Khan Music Initiative in Central Asia and the Middle East, Cambodian Living Arts offers networking, educational, and mentorship opportunities, as well as career development and “income generating projects for master performing artists” (https://www.facebook.com/Cambodianlivingarts/ info).19 Groups such as the Los Angeles–based psychedelic nostalgic rock band Dengue Fever have traveled extensively through Cambodia to raise awareness about Cambodian Living Arts and then have donated their earnings to the organization. Part of diaspora strength, as is true in both the Cambodian and Haitian cases, is their ability to offer more funding than local communities have access to after a disaster.

Concert Advocacy In addition to the many disadvantages that musicians confront during social, economic, political, and physical upheaval, international press coverage of catastrophes can draw abundant donations from distant audiences. For each of the disasters mentioned, numerous concerts have been planned, broadcast, and recorded by an array of organizations around the world to raise awareness and money.20 Concert advocacy is an effective

464   Erica Haskell way to raise money, although, for musicians on the ground, where and how the money is spent may be more important than the particular celebrity musicians who perform. Nongovernmental organizations that have access to funds raised through concert advocacy would certainly do well to work with local and international cultural experts in deciding how, where, and over what period to allocate funds. Post-catastrophe environments tend to be flush with short-term ideas and projects but have a dearth of long-term sustainable solutions, especially in the area of culture.21 The following is a description of a cultural center funded by humanitarian concerts held outside Bosnia-Herzegovina before and after the conflict.

War Child and the Pavarotti Center One of the most publicized cultural centers in Bosnia-Herzegovina, the Pavarotti Center, was originally funded by millions of euros donated through an international organization called War Child. The organization was founded in Britain in 1993 by two filmmakers, Bill Leeson and David Wilson, who had just returned from the former Yugoslavia, where they had made a film about the role of artists in war. In their travels and work they had both been shocked by the plight of children in the conflict region and consequently decided to use their film and entertainment industry connections to raise money for aid agencies operating in the region. Later both realized that, rather than donating money to other organizations, they should create their own. War Child’s first project, to set up mobile bakeries to feed refugees and war victims during the conflict, was conducted in cooperation with the British Government and the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR). This project was based in Medjugorje,22 where it fed Croatian refugees throughout Western Bosnia-Herzegovina. Upon War Child’s discovery that diabetic children in Bosnian-Herzegovina were receiving little or no insulin, because clinics had been closed or were inaccessible due to war, the organization began to ferry insulin into besieged Sarajevo on Red Cross flights and to distribute the medicine directly to the children. Today, War Child is still one of the main suppliers of diabetic medicines throughout Bosnia-Herzegovina; it now receives additional funding from the US Office of Development Assistance, the UNHCR, and the European Union. But by far the largest and most involved project for War Child was the Pavarotti Music Centre in Mostar (see Haskell, 2003). Brian Eno, the well-known British popular musician with recordings Music for Airports and Thursday Afternoon and producer of multiple U2 releases and other albums, and Tom Stoppard, screenplay writer of such acclaimed films as Brazil and Empire of the Sun, were among many high-profile patrons of War Child. In fact, it was with Eno’s encouragement that War Child started “delivering music aid into Bosnia” (War Child brochure 2000). On September 4, 1995, some of the best-known bands and musicians in Europe entered studios with the intention of recording tracks and then producing an album to raise money for the children caught up in the war. The album

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    465 was released in September 9, 1995, titled Help,23 selling more than 71,000 copies on the first day and raising millions of pounds. With the success of the Help24 album and the support of their newest patron at the time, Luciano Pavarotti, War Child began to implement and fund almost 20 humanitarian projects in Bosnia-Herzegovina. The projects were varied, focusing on assistance with medical care, food provision, and educational and social welfare programs. In 1996, shortly after a fragile peace had been brokered in the region, War Child purchased a bombed-out building in Mostar, a city in the center of the Herzegovinian region in which some of the most intense fighting had taken place during the war. War Child, with its slogan “Helping the innocent victims of war,” planned to rebuild the structure as a music center. The center was built on the south side of the old city of Mostar, which, before the war, had been the Luka Primary School. The brochure for the center stated that it was “created from the shell of a bombed out building, and will now be a peaceful environment where music can be taught, played and enjoyed” (PMC brochure, 2000). The opening of the center was announced on December 21, 1997, in local as well as international media, like this: Italian tenor Luciano Pavarotti and famous friends from the entertainment industry attended the opening of the Pavarotti Music Center on Sunday December 21st, in the divided town of Mostar to reunite children from Bosnia’s three ethnic groups. In driving rain the helicopters arrived, carrying the celebrities from Split, Croatia.… (PMC brochure, 2000)

From its inception, the mission of the project was meant to heal a national divide between the three ethnic groups. The goal is consistent with the way in which the international media portrayed the conflict in Bosnia-Herzegovina, but did not reflect the local demographic of Mostar at the time. Unfortunately, after the conflict few Bosnian-Serbs returned to the city. Although before the war the population of Mostar was mixed, it is now predominantly Bosniak (about 51 percent) and Croat (about 45 percent). Most people in these communities live separately in different areas of the city. The center was planned to be a place in which children from the region would have the opportunity to benefit from music therapy. In their promotional material, War Child defined the center as a forward-looking and open-ended facility, where every kind of music making can take place. All four main functions—music tuition,  music therapy / workshops, recording studios and performance areas—are allowed and encouraged to overlap so each space is designed to be multi-functional, within a clear overall framework. (War Child bulletin, 2000)

The organizers of the center referenced the Joint Declaration of the 1982 International Symposium of Music Therapists in defining music therapy; the following statement is included in their literature.

466   Erica Haskell Music Therapy facilitates the creative process of moving toward wholeness in the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual self in  areas such as:  independence, freedom to change, adaptability, balance  and integration. The implementation of Music Therapy involves interactions of the therapist, client and music. These interactions initiate and sustain musical and non-musical change processes which may or may not be observable. As the musical elements of rhythm, melody and harmony are elaborated across time, the therapist and client can develop relationships which optimize the quality of life. We believe Music Therapy makes a unique contribution to wellness, because man’s responsiveness to music is unique. (ibid.)

The relationship defined in this statement between therapist and client is clearly hierarchical, as the European expert (in the early years of the center, all therapists were British and Dutch) applies therapy to Bosnian children. Wound into the practice of music therapy is the theory that music, on its own, removed from cultural or political context, heals. The curriculum at the center includes an African Drum Workshop, which organizers say appeals to children who are beginners, as well as advanced players between the ages of 4 and 17. In recent years the workshops have also been extended to a local hospital for children with disabilities and a school for the blind. Workshops in which children from different ethnic groups play music together and then proudly perform can certainly result in positive experiences. In contrast, ethnomusicologist Svanibor Pettan founded, with Norwegian musicologist Kjell Skyllstad, a project titled Azra in Oslo, which sought much the same kind of cultural exchange as War Child seeks in Mostar. The two scholars saw the possibilities of musical exchange between the majority community of Norwegians and a Bosnian refugee minority seeking asylum from the conflict in their homeland. The project was rooted in the three activities of research, education, and music-making. At its center was the ensemble Azra consisting of Norwegian music and Bosnian musicians, some of them refugees. The goals of Azra were to strengthen the Bosnian cultural identity among the refugees from Bosnia-Herzegovina in Norway and to stimulate mutually beneficial cross-cultural communications between the Bosnians and the Norwegians. (Pettan, 1999: 289)

The Azra project emphasized music as the central mode of exchange. It was through sharing musical differences and similarities that musicians, as well as audience members, were introduced to each other and came to know each other. Indeed, music must have had healing effects upon those who participated in the Azra activities, as it was primarily based upon person-to-person, and then community-to-community, exchange of music. The involvement of two music scholars from both communities allowed music to be the focal point, and included a grounded discussion and description of the music’s place in each environment. In comparison, the War Child project focused on healing

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    467 war wounds rather than on music. In this way, music was distributed by professionals and received by war-traumatized individuals. Much of War Child’s emphasis on medical aid to traumatized children is due to the organization’s history as first a granter of humanitarian aid and only second a cultural facilitator. In its publicity the center equates humanitarian aid with music aid, as Bosnian-Herzegovinian children wounded by the war25 are referred to the center by medical, social, and educational authorities. Indeed, after the war, music therapy was a largely foreign concept in Bosnia-Herzegovina. In the years since the founding of the center, War Child has added an outreach program to refugees through the local psychiatric hospital. The model of providing music therapy to conflict-stricken children requires that trauma be diagnosed, a cure be administered, and final results be tested. The following description of music therapy makes it clear that the style, origin, and history of the music are not central to its efficacy. Children were brought together in shelters and cellars, in bombed ruins and, when safe, in open spaces, to make and listen to music, to sing, to beat drums, to strum guitars, to act and react together through music. These workshops began to take a structured form with War Child’s association with Professor Nigel Osborne, who had organized a children’s opera in Sarajevo at the height of the war. (www.pavarottimusiccentre.com)

These medically derived components are, on a whole, unidirectional. International experts are responsible for diagnosing the ailment, administering a cure, and determining the success of the treatment. In addition to music therapists, the center also has recording studios. Access to a recording studio is advantageous to musicians who are already established and has, over the years, proved to be a useful tool for young musicians. Throughout its years of work in the region, War Child has received sizable support from the Croatian government, an important detail since Mostar was so heavily fought over between Bosniaks and Bosnian-Croats. War Child has lobbied extensively inside the political/social structures of The Republic of Croatia and has won support from all political parties in Zagreb, including the ruling HDZ. In addition major music personalities in Croatia have agreed to be associated with the Center and work with their colleagues from Mostar and Sarajevo to ensure that its success is not only local but regional. (War Child Bulletin 2000)

Although practitioners of music therapy aim to choose music that is apolitical, for the local community, funding is an important marker of political agenda. That the project was funded by the Croatian government signals to Bosniaks living in the city that an outside power is involved. It is exactly such external political and economic support (from Serbia and Croatia) that allowed the war in Bosnia-Herzegovina to continue for such a long time and for nationalistic stereotypes to succeed. Had the center been founded by

468   Erica Haskell local members of the Mostar community, it may not have had such lavish recording studios and important visits from European celebrities, but it might have been grounded in the community. Several years after War Child opened the Pavarotti Center, the OKC Abrasević Youth Center was founded by the local community in the center of Mostar (http://www.okcabrasevic.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=1 76&Itemid=58). Drawing its name from a Yugoslav-era cultural center, the center is a vibrant venue for concerts, art exhibitions, and film screening. In the past years, War Child has continued to use the enormous support it receives from the media and music and entertainment industries to raise funds for its projects and also to “advance public awareness of the daily struggle facing children in war zones” (War Child brochure, 2000). Although War Child began its work in the former Yugoslavia, it has expanded its field of operations to include some of the other wars that are currently affecting millions of children around the planet. By the time War Child began work in Mostar, the organization had already piloted several projects in postwar regions throughout the world. During the 2003 war in Iraq, . . . eighteen top pop stars, including Paul McCartney and George Michael, released an album to raise money for child war victims in Iraq. Former Beatle McCartney, who made a live recording of his song “Calico Skies,” said: “Whatever the politics, whatever the rights and wrongs of war, children are always the innocent victims. So I am delighted to make this small contribution.” The charity said the “Hope” album, whose contributors also include David Bowie and Avril Lavigne, was not a political album. “The plight of children transcends politics. These songs are a plea for hope without which the children of Iraq have nothing at all” (Reuters, London, April 22, 2003)

With its growth, War Child has sought to create projects that will be applicable to different cultural settings. Indeed, to a certain extent, international donations are dependent upon the breadth of involvement the organization can have across the world. Unfortunately, in the last decade large portions of the original sum donated through album and concert ticket sales were lost or stolen. The center’s loss of such a large-scale investment remains a stain on Bosnia’s donor history and tarnishes future foreign investment in the cultural realm. That said, concert advocacy remains one of the most vibrant mechanisms for gathering global humanitarian support from diverse audiences.

Commemorations Among local communities, political parties as well as cultural institutions may seek out traditional musicians to perform in commemorative events. Musicians can offer particularly symbolic and metaphorical weight to events as communities

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    469 commemorate loss, survival, or even attempt to heighten memories of the past through nostalgia. Just as during other social or political upheavals, such as revolution, during postwar and post-catastrophe situations musicians and music can be powerful political and social symbols. Given the socio-religious divide between communities in post-conflict Bosnia-Herzegovina, several urban projects have emphasized reconciliation through the metaphor of “sharing the stage,” while rural projects highlight strengthening civil society institutions (Haskell, 2012). Indeed, in the Bosnian general election of 2000, several years after the conflict, the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) launched a get-out-the-vote campaign targeted at young voters. OSCE officials commissioned an “election song” titled “Zgrabi Svoju Sreću” (“Grab Your Chance”), which was performed by three musicians (Irina Kapetanović, Marija Sestić, and Sanja Volić), each representatives of one of the three main ethnic groups in Bosnia (Bosniak, Bosnian-Serb, Bosnian-Croat). Their Western-style punk rock anthem was followed by an OSCE-sponsored music video featuring the song, and both were broadcast throughout the country in the days leading up to the election. OSCE’s entrance into the politics of culture in Bosnia received mixed reviews from its target audience. When Bosnian youth expressed their distaste for the song, saying that it was condescending and imperialistic, international officials were puzzled. While, at the time, the OSCE was a new player in the politics of culture in Bosnia, the public was accustomed to attempts by the Yugoslav regime to sponsor music as a symbol of political and social unity. Perhaps their dissatisfaction was due to the OSCE’s exclusion of any Bosnian musical features so wildly popular among the country’s youth. This campaign’s mixed reception illustrates some of the complexities facing international cultural sponsors who seek to effect political and social change through music. Such projects use music as a tool for impacting primary social and political problems by “performing” reconciliation and modeling harmony on the stage. On a practical level, commemorations may offer musicians a chance to concertize, although some may find the post-disaster concert to be a minefield of special interests and, in the case of post-conflict areas, politically divisive parties. Ensembles, especially those that draw from local traditions, perform commemorative events meant to mourn a community’s disaster as well as celebrate survival. This tie to a period in time evokes powerful emotions but can also have lasting political implications. Such situations can result in dynamic and sometimes contentious relationships between indigenous (or local) and foreign actors. As musicians in politically and socially volatile communities may be concerned that their musical practices and traditions are threatened, this chapter contends that such situations may be the most opportune times for applied ethnomusicologists to engage and find support for their work. While tracking the opportunities for cultural development created after humanitarian disasters, it is essential that applied projects that be sustainable as well as locally derived and authored.

470   Erica Haskell

Shifts in Markets In Bosnia-Herzegovina the conflict and the postwar security and political situation significantly impacted the flow of music, in all forms, across borders. State institutions, such as radio and television stations, which had facilitated a shared sense of nationhood through cultural understanding and government policies, largely collapsed or became arms of one of the national factions. Record producers and musicians, hoping to sell their recordings across post-Dayton borders to the regional audience that spoke Bosnian/Serbian/Croatian, found travel and shipment difficult, costly, and time-consuming. Musicians in Sarajevo during the siege paid dearly for instruments, amplifiers, and cassettes passed hand-to-hand under the airport, in the tunnel leading to Dobrinja.26 Some musicians who, before the conflict, had toured with ease between Sarajevo, Belgrade, and Zagreb, as well as throughout Europe, encountered visa limitations that greatly restricted their ability to perform across the region. Just as the conflict tore apart some mixed marriages, as husbands and wives found themselves and their families on different sides of the conflict, so were several bands forced to break up because of their mixed membership. In the postwar period, after many borders had been opened, musicians still faced a nationalization of the markets, in which some labels were only interested in promoting music consistent with their political and/or national interests. In my travels around Bosnia, I met several entrepreneurs who expressed to me their aspirations to use the Internet or radio to unite groups of fans across borders. Indeed, young musicians and audiences in Sarajevo often found it easier to go online to find music from bands in the region than take a train or bus to attend a live concert. Since the conflict, the process of opening borders for travel in the region and greater Europe has been slow, just like any tangible or intangible reconstruction. In November 2010, the European Union interior ministers lifted visa requirements for citizens of Bosnia and Albania. Visa requirements for Serbia, Macedonia, and Montenegro were lifted a year earlier than those of Bosnia and Albania, in December 2009. Prior to this agreement, anyone who wanted to travel outside the country was forced to wait in long lines outside European embassies, fill out lengthy forms, and await the visa verdict, which would sometimes take weeks to arrive. Now, for the first time in almost 15 years, Bosnians can freely travel to European countries. An experience common among many musicians around the world has been the implosion of local music markets because of the steady advancement of digital music sources into audiences’ lives. Changes in the structure of the music market may exacerbate already limited distribution possibilities for musicians in post-disaster environments. Dependent upon the genre of music, applied ethnomusicologists may find that introducing musicians to record labels and other music outlets outside the disaster area can open up new opportunities for musicians. The following is a description of a donor/ record label partnership that sought to address the issue of the shifting music market in Bosnia after the war.

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A Profitable Partnership Gramofon Records is an example of a Sarajevo-based postwar record label that sought to help musicians navigate shifts in the market that resulted from the conflict and economic recession in Bosnia-Herzegovina. The small but prolific Gramofon Records was established in 2003, founded by Edin Zubčević, who also runs the Sarajevo Jazz Festival. On their website, the staff explains that they “prefer artistic projects which are innovative, urban, authentic or important in some other way.” They also note that they are “trying to preserve and document [the] music heritage of Bosnia-Herzegovina” (Http:// www.gramofon.ba/discography_about.php?lang=en). Gramofon Records’ discography has three separate editions: “novi gramofon” (new gramofon), which is described by the record staff on their website as “different styles and types of music, actual production (new music, electronic, improvised music, jazz… .)” (Ibid.); “etno gramofon” (ethno gramofon), described as “traditional and sacred music”; and “gramofon classic,” which they hesitantly describe as “so-called classical music.” Connected to these editions, the label also has a category called gramofon video, on which documentary films, music videos, and artistic video works are released. The label’s success is due in large part to a long-term partnership with a Swiss NGO. In 2004, the Swiss Cultural Program (a shared program of the Swiss Arts Council, Pro Helvetia, and the Swiss Development Cooperation, SDC) agreed to support the label through Aida Čengić, who was the Head of the Pro Helvetia office at the time of research. Before receiving support from Pro Helvetia, Zubčeviće’s small staff at Gramofon were already running the two-week annual Sarajevo Jazz Festival, as well as acting as booking agents for musicians wanting to perform in Bosnia-Herzegovina. As a company, they boasted an impressive list of clients, booking the majority of large-scale events in Sarajevo. I learned from Čengić that Pro Helvetia was particularly interested in Gramofon’s viability as an already existent business and a local creation run by a small local staff. In addition to these reasons, Zubčević was an attractive candidate because he was and continues to be a part of the new generation of cultural organizers who have their eyes on the goal of future EU accession and are actively engaged in making money in their new free market economy. Zubčević explained the opportunity he saw on the musical horizon following the war to boost the alternative music scene. We can talk about the limits of good taste when we talk about it, but not go any further. So, it’s not about [supporting] a sophisticated culture, for that of course there is no cultural policy. Even in such a mess it creates the perfect ambience to what happens to us, what happens [over] the last five or ten years. And that is that we have a situation where in fact what would be… at best a kind of subculture, a kind of parallel world, in fact our reality and our entire culture. (Zubčević, 2006)27

472   Erica Haskell Zubčević’s excitement about creating “a parallel world” where alternative political and social opinions, as well as musical styles, may flourish is evident. Although, like most nationally funded arts councils, Pro Helvetia’s main focus is to promote Swiss artists within Switzerland, they also take up the task of international cultural diplomacy and regional development. In my conversations with cultural figures in Sarajevo about international/foreign funding for musicians, artists, and other performers, Pro Helvetia always came up as the most progressive and well-respected of the funders. This success was often described to me in comparison to heavy-handed efforts or cultural projects that were out of touch with local interests. The organization’s historic sensitivity to local expression within the domestic Swiss context is also illustrative of their approach to supporting international projects. In 1939, Pro Helvetia became Switzerland’s Arts Council, as laid out in the Pro Helvetia Act of that year. At present, the Swiss parliament allocates support for the organization every four years “to promote artistic creation, support cultural exchange both within Switzerland and with foreign countries, disseminate culture and campaign for folk culture”(Http://www.prohelvetia.ch/APPLICATIONS.7.0.html?&L=4). These tasks are understood “as a mandate to promote public awareness of the arts, to encourage reflection and debate on cultural needs and cultural policy, to promote Swiss arts abroad, and to foster encounters with the cultures both of Switzerland’s various regions and of other countries” (http://www.prohelvetia.ch/Mission-Statement.67.0.html?&L=4). Pro Helvetia began working in Sarajevo in 1999 and had Swiss representatives based in seven different countries in the region of Southeastern Europe. Pro Helvetia’s mission statement comprises five sections:  mandate, targets, values, tools, and position. “Pro Helvetia contributes to the development and opening up of society. It fosters diversity of cultural expression. It promotes Switzerland’s image abroad and encourages a multi-faceted self-perception at home.” Consistent with their approach to Gramofon, Pro Helvetia makes the following statements about how they understand the value of art:  (1) Art is an experiment; the Arts Council supports fresh and courageous projects. (2) Art is about difference; the Arts Council highlights both differences and common ground. (3) Art is controversy; the Arts Council encourages critical debate. (4) Art is about respect; the Arts Council advances cultural learning. (Ibid.)

Pro Helvetia’s mandate of fostering creativity, engagement, and cooperation has been exhibited in the organization’s support of Gramofon. Those who seek to instill ethno-religious divisions in Bosnia-Herzegovina might charge Pro Helvetia with fomenting revolution among these alternative groups and their audiences. Several of the bands originally signed to Gramofon employ musical styles that are not indigenous to Bosnia-Herzegovina, such as reggae, rap, dub,28 and jazz to draw young listeners to concerts, while the political topics of their songs include critiques of the domestic political situation, individual politicians, democracy, corruption, and the Dayton Agreement.

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    473 Unlike other postwar cultural projects in which funds were dispersed by international organizations in an ad hoc and thus inconsistent manner, Pro Helvetia employed the use of scheduled micro-grants. In the field of development, such small grants are also called mini-grants. Micro-grants have been used in development projects around the world to help engage citizens in their communities through market activity without the weight of crippling debt. In the American context, micro-grants have been a particularly popular way of supporting artists and musicians.29 Just as the mechanisms and methods for delivering funds were central to the sustainability of the projects, Pro Helvetia’s procedure for choosing cultural projects was novel at the time. When the Pro Helvetia office was originally set up in January 2003, Čengić organized a meeting of local experts, from different fields of art, and one representative from the headquarters in Zurich. In the gathering, locals greatly outnumbered the Pro Helvetia staff. Independently, the group also met with 15 additional experts in the field of culture to put together a countrywide analysis. The experts were scholars and cultural organizers chosen to represent various cultural sectors. In her interview with me, Čengić explained: Based on that analysis and based on their inputs during those two days, we developed a country concept in which we said [that] we are interested in young people, we are interested in [the] formation [of] professional development. Also, based on my knowledge of the situation, we came up with five ideas. One of those five ideas was Gramofon. So then I knew about Edo’s [Edin’s] aspirations to do some publishing. And then we sat to discuss about it. “Are you still in?” and he said, “Yes, yes, very much so.” So this is the initial conversation that took place. (Čengić, 2006)

There was also a steering group, based in Zurich, which was in charge of approving or rejecting proposed projects. After approval, Čengić was given an additional three months to develop the project. Her goals during that period with Zubčević were “to develop all [of] the activities, to develop [an] action plan, to develop [the] budget into tiny little detail, to develop strategy for the second and third years” (Zubčević, 2006). After the process of analysis and development, the project was finally signed in January 2003. According to Čengić, funding levels by Pro Helvetia are based more on the strength of the individual projects than on some sort of pre-allocation to specific countries. Of the original projects proposed by Čengić, only two were approved. In response to my questions about whether she was disappointed by the fact that all of the proposals were not accepted, Čengić calmly responded, “You can’t get everything. My experience says it’s a good rule not to do more than three cooperation projects at the same time” (Čengić, 2006). In the postwar years in which Pro Helvetia was more active in the region, the organization also spent 100,000 Swiss francs a year (approximately $102,650) on “small action” projects in each country within the region. Unlike larger and more engaged projects based on long relationships, such as that with Gramofon, small action

474   Erica Haskell grants are meant to provide limited one-time funding. In Bosnia-Herzegovina, Pro Helvetia has used these for a wide range of activities, including exhibitions, concerts, musicians’ tours, and theater performances. Small action grants may also be dispersed in cooperation with larger projects. In the case of Gramofon, individual musicians may receive such grants to assist them in activities ancillary to the label’s budget. I have noted the imbalanced sponsor-recipient relationship that developed, or was built, into many other cultural projects I researched in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Unlike the organizers of those projects, both Zubčević and Čengić were adamant about defining their relationship as a balanced and cooperative one. When I asked Zubčević to explain how he dealt with the issue of sponsorship, he was careful to underline Gramofon’s independence. It’s not, it’s not sponsorship. It’s not… . We’re doing… . Cause we used to be NGO, and we established the company, which is actually part of cultural industry. And, actually, my idea is that we have from NGO work, cause we, as I said, we got know how, we got to learn how to do certain things and we know how to make money. And we learn how to… how to… be active in the culture industry… because there is no culture industry here. (Zubčević, 2006)

One of the reasons for his obstinate response is that over the life of the project, Pro Helvetia has provided low-level but consistent operational funds to Gramofon in the form of small yearly matching grants. Explained by Pro Helvetia as a partnership, the relationship is based upon financial support that is contingent on the release of a certain number of CDs and continued financial earnings by the label. The aim of this small-level institutional granting initiative by the Swiss is to guide the label to future self-sustainability. The project represents a specific approach to funding in that it does not focus on a one-time event but on long-term sustainability in the area of culture. Zubčević explained to me his understanding of the partnership and Gramofon’s responsibilities to Pro Helvetia. And after one year they said: “Let’s sign the contract for three years and let’s see [if] will we do in [the] next year.” And every three months we’re writing reports. Financial reports, narrative reports, whatever. And step by step so we established a relationship. Actually, we consider the office from Pro Hevecia as a partner, as a member of the staff but it also has authority. “You know, you should release CD, that CD.” So, they remind us sometimes, you know. Because they say, “You said that you’re gonna release six CDs, you released five, why does that happen?” We say: “Because of that,” “OK then do that again, we’ll pay you money.” Because we propose [a]‌certain program, and if we don’t fulfill what we’re supposed [to do] it’s not OK, [but] it’s not serious. (Zubčević, 2006)

For Zubčević, the most significant gain the label has made, due to Pro Helvetia’s support, has been their ability to build a well-produced and packaged body of Bosnian-Herzegovinian music that is accessible to local and international markets. Part

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    475 of making Gramofon releases available to international markets involved inviting a consultant from Switzerland who had been running a successful label called Intakt Records (http://www.intaktrec.ch/), a major Swiss jazz label, for more than 20  years. Talking about the consultant, Patrick Landolt, Čengić stressed his personality, knowledge, and willingness to help. “The industry… he knows it inside out. And he is [the] kind of person who wants to help. He was the best consultant for this job” (Čengić, 2006). Packaging was also a major issue for Gramofon before they received support from Pro Helvetia. Now Gramofon CDs are all packaged in high-quality cardboard digipacks, often accompanied with liner notes. By funding Gramofon, Pro Helvetia hoped to contribute to diversifying and developing the local music market, as well as create an identifiable Bosnian product for international markets. The donor actively supported this goal by inviting an experienced recording entrepreneur and record label director to Sarajevo to advise Gramofon about global markets, recording techniques, and packaging. Packaging, at least at the time of release, helped Gramofon to stand out in the international market. In their mission statement, Pro Helvetia’s policy explains their support for a “diversified, lively and innovative cultural scene” and equates musicians and artists in the scene as aiding in democratic expression. Gramofon’s role as one of the only alternative or engaged record labels in the country is central to its support by Pro Helvetia and also to the difficulty it faces in competing with popular music labels in the country. The partnership between Gramofon and Pro Helvetia represents an exception in the world of cultural funding in Sarajevo, as the organizers of the project have emphasized slow growth created with minimal support over a long period of time. Yearly micro-grants made it possible for Zubčević to rely on Pro Helvetia’s support without limiting his freedom. The choice by both organizers to work with musicians and bands willing to criticize present social and political situations helped to support a struggling scene in an impossible post-conflict period marred by rampant piracy, strong borders, and an economically depressed population. Because of Pro Helvetia’s support, many of the bands on the Gramofon label have found a safe place to contest difference, to voice differing and often political opinions, and to incorporate new genres into the Bosnian soundscape.

Closure or Changes in Cultural Institutions Many large cultural institutions founded during the socialist period in Yugoslavia in Bosnia-Herzegovina, such as museums, concert venues, festivals, and music schools, have not fared as well as new ones such as Gramofon Records. This is partly because of their inability to fit within a new and highly factionalized political context. The best cultural and historical example of this is the Zemaljski Muzej (the National Museum), which was closed in October 2012. Because of a lack of governmental funding, the

476   Erica Haskell museum is no longer able to accept visitors (Hooper, 2012). The divisive political situation that emerged after the signing of the Dayton Peace Accord in 1995 left formerly Yugoslav institutions in a political void, as in this case the history the museum had told through its exhibitions and holdings no longer resonated with some highly politicized audiences. Activist ethnomusicologists navigating post-conflict environments may require extensive local networks on all sides in order to achieve any level of success in helping already existent institutions. Sadly, but perhaps realistically, the Bosnian case highlights the reality that many post-conflict cultural institutions may be forced to choose sides, and that this act may impact the kinds of cultural material they present to the public. Applied ethnomusicologist may find, in situations such as this, that their ability to navigate aid agencies by writing grants can be invaluable to the musicians for whom they advocate. Sources for assistance may range from foreign embassies to regional funds. In many cases, such grant writers will find that their arguments for cultural funding must be linked directly to other overarching social and political goals tied to the grantors’ interests, as was true in the Guča Gora example.

Conclusion Applied ethnomusicologists and cultural advocates have contributed greatly to facilitating conflict resolution and cultural development in postwar and post-catastrophe environments. In the wake of both conflicts and natural disasters, cultural aid workers bear much needed resources and are often welcomed with open arms to host countries. In other cases, musical and cultural projects are developed and run by actors with relatively little expertise in cultural issues. In situations in which NGOs and institutions are trying to fill basic needs for the communities they serve, cultural products can have ancillary value: drawing a crowd, including people, raising money, selling a product, and explaining new concepts. Musicians are also used by politicians and communities alike to symbolize how innocent citizens have been impacted by natural or man-made disasters. This chapter has addressed some fundamental issues that applied ethnomusicologists face in navigating the diverse field of international development in which social, economic, and political concerns often sideline equally important cultural ones. I have painted with broad strokes in an attempt to illustrate phenomena I  recognize across many post-disaster realms. Each of these projects responds to struggles that musicians and their communities face in times of crises by attempting to advocate for musicians. I have also attempted to share some lessons for how applied ethnomusicologists can assist musical communities in the aftermath of social, political, and natural catastrophes. I have sought to identify lessons learned in the past and to suggest how some of the pitfalls to cultural assistance might be avoided in the future by applied ethnomusicologists working in post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities. I have also noted the opportunities, particularly financial, that post-disaster conditions provide to creative advocates who can capitalize on new funding resources for the good of musical communities.

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    477

Notes 1. The Mostar bridge and the city around it has been the site of the single largest international effort to restore Bosnia-Herzegovina’s cultural heritage since the war. The “Old Bridge Area of the Old City of Mostar” project was overseen by UNESCO and the Aga Khan Foundation. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site. 2. See the foundation’s mission statement, which also includes a commitment to creating a better society, as well as encouraging new projects in the regions in which they work. http://www.kbs-frb.be/content.aspx?id=290655&langtype=1033 (accessed October 2013). 3. www.mozaik.ba/english/html/livingheritage.html (accessed September 2003). 4. In their article Foley and Edwards (1996) define civil society as “the realm of private voluntary association, from neighborhood committees to interest groups to philanthropic enterprises of all sorts, has come to be seen as an essential ingredient in both democratization and the health of established democracies.” 5. These groups were organized in all parts of Yugoslavia, in rural as well as urban settings. According to anthropologist Lynn Maners, KUDs were originally “modeled on Soviet institutions and formally sponsored by state institutions such as universities and workers organizations” (Maners, 2000: 303). This undertaking was made in an effort to “create a Yugoslav national identity, composed of [state] approved diverse identities” (ibid.). 6. Although the Gučogorci I met remembered other ethnomusicologists who had visited the village over the previous decades, I only found recordings collected by Ankica Petrović. They are currently housed in the Ethnomusicology Archive at the University of California Los Angeles. 7. For a more in-depth discussion of the mosaic of religious belief in Sarajevo and throughout Bosnia, see the writings of the following three anthropologists: Sorabji (1989), Lockwood (1978), and Bringa (1995). 8. The 1995 agreement brought the three and one-half year armed conflict to an end, as well as formalizing and legitimizing ethno-religious borders won during the conflict. 9. Examples of major projects to rebuild and preserve tangible culture include Bamiyan (Afghanistan), Mostar bridge (Bosnia-Herzegovina), The Iraqi National Museum, and the Ninth Ward in New Orleans. 10. Portions of this chapter previously appeared in Haskell (2011) 11. Among journalists, the siege of Sarajevo is often referred to as the longest in the history of modern warfare. See Connelly (2005). 12. The Rock Under Siege (1996) concerts are a good example of the kinds of “underground” performances that took place during the conflict. They were held in a club in the center of the city, and the organizer Aida Kalendar explained to me that some audience members had to travel long distances to attend. The Futura Festivals (1998–2002) took place in unconventional spaces like factories and damaged buildings. See Haskell (2011). 13. The Musician’s Village consists of 72 single-family homes as well as five elder-friendly duplexes and the “Center,” which is a 17,000 square-foot performance venue equipped with recording facilities, a computer center, and listening library, a dance studio, classrooms, and teaching facilities. http:///www.nolamusiciansvillage.org/ (accessed September 18, 2013). 14. During the siege of Sarajevo and even after the conflict had ended, musicians found that their music distribution outlets were greatly narrowed. Those who had toured before the war now found themselves hesitant to perform for audiences with whom they might have been at war just a few years before. See Haskell (2011).

478   Erica Haskell 15. http://www.akdn.org/AKTC (accessed May 2014). 16. Adelaida Reyes (1999) has written extensively about refugee musicians in her book. 17. http://www.folkways.si.edu/find_recordings/CentralAsia.aspx (accessed June 2014). 18. In her article, Judith Hamera chronicles a refugee Khmer family’s statements about the importance of Cambodian classical dance in their efforts to both heal from the genocide in that country and also instill cultural values of the homeland in their children. 19. https://www.facebook.com/Cambodianlivingarts/info (accessed September 24, 2013). 20. To name a few, Hope for Haiti Now, A Concert for Hurricane Relief, and the Concert for American Bosnian Relief Fund. 21. See “Aiding Harmony? International Humanitarian Aid and the Role of Applied Ethnomusicologists,” in Shared Musics and Minority Identities:  Papers from the Third Meeting of the “Music and Minorities,” Naila Ceribasic and Erica Haskell, eds. (2004), pp. 303–314. Study Group of the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM), Roc, Croatia, as well as Haskell (2003). 22. Medjugorje, which means “between the hills,” a small town in Herzegovinian, has become well known in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and the world, because of the apparitions of six young people who claim to have seen visions of the Madonna. It is claimed that beginning on June 24, 1981, the Blessed Mother appeared to them, and later told the visionaries that God had sent her to our world to help followers convert their hearts and lives back to Him. The town and its cathedral have become a meeting point for Christians and an ending point for many religious pilgrimages. The religious nature of the town made it central to much conflict during the war. 23. The Help project was the brainchild of Tony Crean and Andy McDonald of Go! Discs. 24. War Child has produced a number of so-called “peace albums and events,” including the album 1 Love, the Feast for Peace program, a documentary titled Musicians in the War Zone (Iraq, Sierra Leone, Thai-Burmese), two War Child Concerts in Canada, and many more. These events and projects are organized primarily to heighten awareness internationally about the plight of children of war and also to raise money for humanitarian projects in postwar countries. 25. In their literature, War Child organizers quote a UNICEF report that found the level of trauma among the children of Mostar was the highest recorded anywhere in the former Yugoslavia. 26. Dobrinja is a residential neighborhood where much of the front-line activity took place. 27. Zubčević (2006). 28. In the 1960s, the dub genre of music developed out of reggae. Dub musicians rely heavily on instrumental remixes of recordings that they manipulate to create songs. Generally, the drum and bass parts are emphasized. For a more detailed description, see Scaruffi (2003). 29. We might also refer to these grants as micro-patronage, as they are termed in the following website: http://blog.alrdesign.com/2009/05/micro-grants-for-artists.html.

References Baily, John. (2001). Afghanistan: “Can you stop the birds singing”: The Censorship of Music in Afghanistan. Copenhagen: Freemuse. Bringa, Tone. (1995). Being Muslim the Bosnian Way: Identity and Community in a Central Bosnian Village. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Broughton, Simon. (2002). Breaking the Silence:  Music in Afghanistan.  –Afghanistan/UK. Simon Broughton. 60 min. film in color. In English.

Post-Conflict and Post-Catastrophe Communities    479 Buchanan, Donna A. (1995). “Metaphors of Power, Metaphors of Truth: The Politics of Music Professionalism in Bulgarian Folk Orchestras.” Ethnomusicology 39(3): 381–416. Čengić. (2006). Interview with author. Ceribašić, Naila. (1998). “Folklore Festivals in Croatia: Contemporary Controversies.” In World of Music 40(3): 25–50. Ceribašić, Naila, and Erica Haskell, eds. (2004). “Shared Musics and Minority Identities.” Papers from the Third Meeting of the “Music and Minorities,” Study Group of the International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM), Roc, Croatia. Cohen, Cynthia. (2008). “Chapter 2: Music: A Universal Language?” In Urbain 2008, 26–39. Music and Conflict Transformation: Harmonies and Dissonances in Geopolitics. Tokyo: The Toda Institute for Global Peace and Policy Research. Connelly, Charlie. (October 8, 2005). “The New Siege of Sarajevo.” The Times (UK). Accessed September 10, 2013. Edwards, Julie, and Stephan P. Edwards. (2008). “Culture and the New Iraq: The Iraq National Library and Archive, ‘Imagined Community’, and the Future of the Iraqi Nation.” Libraries & the Cultural Record 43(3): 327–342. Foley, Michael, and Bob Edwards. (1996). “The Paradox of Civil Society.” Journal of Democracy 7(3): 38–52. Hamera, Judith. (2002). “An Answerability of Memory: ‘Saving’ Khmer Classical Dance. TDR 46(4): 65–85. Haskell, Erica. (2003). “Music Aid to Bosnia-Herzegovina: International Cultural Funding of Post-war Events.” Master’s thesis, Brown University. Haskell, Erica. (2011). “Aiding Harmony? Culture as a Tool in Post-conflict Sarajevo.” Ph.D. dissertation, Brown University. Helbig, Adriana. (2005). “Play For Me, Old Gypsy: Music as Political Resource in the Roma Rights Movement in Ukraine.” Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University. Helbig, Adriana. (2008). “Managing Musical Diversity Within Frameworks of Western Development Aid:  Views from Ukraine, Georgia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina.” With contributions from Nino Tsitsishvili and Erica Haskell. Yearbook for Traditional Music 40: 46–59. Hooper, John. (2012). “Bosnia’s National Museum is latest victim of political funding crisis: Museum to close after 124 year as state government’s powers and funding are eroded by antagonistic communities.” The Guardian, October 2012. Kalendar, Aida, and Dijana Marjanović. (1996). “Rock Under Siege.” http://www.kabi.si/si21/ IASPM/aida.html. Kohlmann, Evan. (2004). Al-Qaida’s Jihad in Europe:  The Afghan-Bosnian Network. Berg Publishers, Oxford. Kurkela, Vesa. (1995). “Local Music-Making in Post-Communist Europe: Mediatization and Deregulation.” East European Meetings in Ethnomusicology 2: 105–115. Laušević, Mirjana. (1998). “A Different Village: International Folk Dance and Balkan Music and Dance in the United States.” Ph.D. dissertation, Wesleyan University. Laušević, Mirjana. (2000a). “Some Aspects of Music and Politics in Bosnia.” In Neighbors At War: Anthropological Perspectives on Yugoslav Ethnicity, Culture, and History, edited by Joel Halpern and Davis Kideckel, 289–301. University Park: Penn State University Press. Laušević, Mirjana. (2000b). “The Illahiya as a Symbol of Bosnian Muslim National Identity.” From Glasba in manjšine (Music and Minorities). Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Council For Traditional Music Study Group Music and Minorities. Ljubljana, Slovenia.

480   Erica Haskell Lockwood, William. (1978). European Moslems:  Economy and Ethnicity in Western Bosnia. New York: Academic Press. Maners, Lynn D. (2000). “Clapping for Serbs: Nationalism and Performance in Bosnia and Herzegovina.” In Neighbors At War:  Anthropological Perspectives on Yugoslav Ethnicity, Culture, and History, edited by Joel Halpern and Davis Kideckel, 302–315. University Park: Penn State University Press. Pettan, Svanibor. (1998a). “Music and Censorship in Ex-Yugoslavia:  Some Views From Croatia.” Paper presented at the First World Conference on Music and Censorship, Copenhagen, November 1998. Pettan, Svanibor. (1998b). Music, Politics, and War: Views from Croatia. Zagreb: Institute of Ethnology and Folklore Research. Pettan, Svanibor. (1999). “Musical Reflections on Politics and War. An Ethnomusicologist in Croatia in the 1990’s.” In Musik im Umbruch: New Countries, Old Sounds?, edited by Bruno B. Reuer. München: Verlag Südostdeutsches Kulturwerk. Pettan, Svanibor. (2001). “Encounter with ‘The Others from Within:’ The Case Study of Gypsy Musicians in Former Yugoslavia.” Worlds of Music 43(2–3): 119–137. Ramet, Sabrina. (1994). Rocking the State: Rock Music and Politics in Eastern Europe and Russia. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Ramet, Sabrina. (1996). Balkan Babel: The Disintegration of Yugoslavia from the Death of Tito to Ethnic War. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Reyes, Adelaida. (1999). Songs of the Caged, Songs of the Free: Music and the Vietnamese Refugee Experience. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Rice, Timothy. (1994). May It Fill Your Soul—Experiencing Bulgarian Music. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Scaruffi, Piero. (2003). A History of Rock Music: 1951–2000. New York: iUniverse. Silverman, Carol. (1989). “Reconstructing Folklore:  Media and Cultural Policy in Eastern Europe.” Communication 11: 141–160. Silverman, Carol. (2000). “Music and Marginality:  Roma (Gypsies) of Bulgaria and Macedonia.” From Glasba in manjšine (Music and Minorities). Proceedings of the First Meeting of the International Council For Traditional Music Study Group Music and Minorities. Ljubljana, Slovenia. Slobin, Mark, ed. (1996). Returning Culture: Musical Changes in Central and Eastern Europe. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Sorabji, Cornelia. (1989). “Muslim Identity and Islamic Faith in Sarajevo.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Cambridge. Sugarman, Jane C. (1999a). “Imagining the Homeland: Poetry, Songs, and the Discourses of Albanian Nationalism.” Ethnomusicology 43(3): 419–445. Sugarman, Jane C. (1999b). “Mediated Albanian Musics and the Imagining of Modernity.” In New Countries, Old Sounds? Cultural Identity and Social Change in Southeastern Europe, edited by Bruno B. Reuer, pp. 134–154. Munich: Südostdeutsches Kulturwerk. Urbain, Olivier, ed. (2008). Music and Conflict Transformation: Harmonies and Dissonances in Geopolitics. Tokyo: The Toda Institute for Global Peace and Policy Research. Zubčević, Edin. (2006). Interview with author. Sarajevo, 2 March.

Chapter 14

The Stu dy of Su rvivors ’  Mu si c Joshua D. Pilzer

Mountain pass after mountain pass, though I cli—(laughs) always one yet remains. Though I climb over, though I climb over, this endless road of mountain passes… Han Jeongsun, “(Hot) Pepper”

Introduction The last decades of the twentieth century saw the gradual unraveling of the concept of culture, which for many years prejudiced anthropology and ethnomusicology against the particularity of people’s experiences, and particular uses of music in the interest of getting by in everyday life. As part of this movement, “practice theory”—the inquiry into the ways that people do this—made its way into ethnomusicology and anthropology. The fields also witnessed the rise of the ethnographic study of violence. In the midst of this atmosphere, a field of study has arisen that can be called the study of survivors’ music, the inquiry into and documentation of the musical lives of those who endure or have endured violence and traumatic experiences (see Schwartz, 2012a, 2012b; ShapiroPhim, 2008; Silent Jane, 2006; Pilzer, 2012). In the chapter I outline basic characteristics and methods of the study of survivors’ music, giving examples from my work and that of others, and from other scholarship, memoirs, and other sources that could be considered part of the literature of survivors’ music. I dwell on some of the examples at length, to give an example of the work in practice.1 My perspective has evolved through 10 years of work with Korean survivors of the Japanese military “comfort women” system of the Asia Pacific War (1931–1945)2, and through more recent work with Korean survivors of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and their families.

482   Joshua D. Pilzer Music appears again and again in survivors’ stories of their traumatic experiences and survival—because it is often a part of those traumatic experiences, because it can be a powerful expressive alternative or contrast to speech or writing, and for a whole host of other reasons. As a result, it has special stories to tell about the nature of those experiences and the means by which people survive. Its documentation, interpretation, and dissemination can therefore contribute much to human history and knowledge. Simply put, the study of survivors’ music is an attempt to document the musical practices of survivors and to understand them as both records of experience and adaptive resources for survival and selfhood, which often tell a very different story about experience than other expressive forms and historical records. The study of survivors’ music is a kind of applied ethnomusicology because it is about documenting, interpreting, and making ethically accessible experiences and lifeworks that otherwise would pass from the historical record. It is therefore a species of the work of cultural and historical preservation that is so central to applied ethnomusicology, although its focus on traumatic experience may be atypical. Scholars and others interested in survivors’ music may seek to put the documentary results of the study of survivors’ music in the hands of people with similar experiences who can be inspired or helped by them; to make materials ethically available to educators and others who are interested; or to put survivors and educators together for educational projects. Based on what scholars of survivors’ music discover, they may play a role in the reorientation of political and social movements, or may become part of these movements themselves. For scholars of survivors’ music, perhaps even more so than for other educators, education is often a form of advocacy and activism. However, like the work of many recordists, yet unlike some kinds of political activism, the study of survivors’ music does not need to assume a clearly defined political position. Nor does one necessarily presume to seek to “help” survivors; it has been my experience that survivors help those they address, much more than the other way around. One may seek rather to document and tune in to the complex understandings about the nature of social violence and strategies for survival that people spend their lives cultivating, yet which political movements often neglect in the interest of ideologies or political aims. Of course, without attempting to grasp the finer points of the experience of sexual slavery, nuclear atrocities, ethnic genocides, domestic violence, or other catastrophic world events, one can know enough to quite legitimately object to them and to organize socially and politically against them. But the study of survivors’ music can play an important role in complementing that kind of activism, beginning from the assumption that the deeper understandings that reside in musical practice are important to the record of human history, can benefit the general project of human flourishing, and can provide important guidance to social movements. This work privileges survivors above all else—genres, ideologies, and, yes, music— and tries to listen carefully to their voices, stories, and the music that they impart to others in diverse circumstances. This listening perspective acknowledges that survivors have much to tell and to teach us about the nature and significance of their experiences,

The Study of Survivors’ Music    483 about the arts of surviving, mitigating, and preventing the more ugly sides of social life, about ethics, and about the art of human flourishing. “The accretion of marginalized voices transforms experience into collective memory,” writes Victoria Sanford (2006: 13) in The Engaged Observer: Anthropology, Advocacy, and Activism. Survivors relate understandings that are essential to the revision of collective memory, and to the documentation and rewriting of history. They can help to reorient political movements, both through refining those movements’ understandings of history and the present and through refreshing the place of survivors and their welfare on the list of movement priorities; and they can be of enormous value to other people who may be experiencing or have experienced similar traumas, injuries, and other struggles. When survivors speak and sing, they are often engaged in multiple forms of outright and more implicit activism; and from one perspective, the study of survivors’ music is a complement to those practices, helping to make them more legible across the many gaps of culture, language, generation, class, gender, sexuality, and ability that separate people from each other. Why is it so important to keep survivors at the center? Put simply, it is because survivors, their experiences, and their wisdom are routinely marginalized for a whole host of reasons. First, there are numerous survivors who are shunted to the margins of society by the political and social pressures that suppress public awareness of the often-systematic violence and exploitation they suffer or have suffered. The act of listening to such survivors, therefore, is a political act of the most signal importance, capable of inaugurating political movements for social justice, reparation, and reconciliation. The millions of current and past victims of global sex trafficking are one such set of survivors at present; so, too, are the survivors of Japan’s most recent nuclear catastrophe. Second, in cases where such exploitation and violence have been acknowledged, many societies, political movements, and scholars nonetheless tend to overlook survivors’ voices in favor of their own, or to domesticate them through various techniques of appropriating others’ experiences and voices. Political movements and public cultures may do this in a rush to righteous proclamation, or in pursuit of the transference of ownership of political issues from survivors to bourgeois civil societies, national subjectivities, and so on. Such public, political, and scholarly cultures seek, as intellectual historian Dominic LaCapra has put it, identity rather than empathy (1999: 699); in extreme instances we lay total claim to others’ experiences of victimization as aspects of our own identities, rather than acknowledging them as something of their own. This is always a threat in the case of survivors of the Japanese military “comfort women” system in South Korea; similar appropriative projects characterize historiographies and public understandings of the mid-century European holocaust, and countless other traumatic events of modern history. Scholars, as well, are guilty of ignoring or selectively hearing survivors’ voices. Of course, for a long time scholars in ethnomusicology (with important exceptions, discussed below) were more preoccupied with rescuing or documenting cultural forms in danger of extinction than with paying attention to particular people and the texture of their experiences, traumatic or not, and the musical cleverness that they bring to bear

484   Joshua D. Pilzer on the effort to survive those experiences. Often with the best intentions and perfectly good scholarly goals in mind, scholars of music and traumatic experience have treated survivors as receptacles of the past that allow for its reconstruction. Much of the literature of survivors’ music falls into this category, and means, ironically enough, that in the interest of learning something about survivors, one has to attempt to sense their imprint on accounts of the past that are based almost entirely in their testimonies. This might be said of Gila Flam’s remarkable Singing for Survival (1992), a vivid reconstruction of the musical lives of Jews in the Lodz ghetto in Nazi-occupied Poland. This book is created almost entirely from survivors’ memories; yet it is not concerned with the role that these songs might have in survivors’ postwar lives, or the possibility that processes of traumatic remembering, forgetting, and overcoming could have deeply impacted the songs and stories, and the ways in which they were presented to the researcher. Shirli Gilbert’s exhaustive study of Music in the Holocaust is another example of a fine scholarly work that relies principally on survivors’ written narratives, interviews with survivors, and recordings of their singing, but tells us nothing about survivors’ postwar lives and their struggles in the long unfolding of traumatic experience, which leave an indelible imprint on the oral-historical material. Susanne Cusick’s powerful work on music and torture in the United States’ war on terror (2008) is yet another example, reconstructed from the narratives of survivors, but focusing on the uses of music as torture rather than the experiences of people who have been tortured with music. These are important scholarly works with pressing agendas of their own; I mention them not to criticize them, but to highlight that, despite all of this fine work on the subject of music and violence, a hole remains in our understanding about survivors’ lives and musical work. The musical means by which survivors stay alive and come to terms with their experiences are overlooked, and this is certainly a great loss to human knowledge. The study of survivors’ music attempts to address this void. It may draw inspiration from and find precedents in humanist ethnomusicologies like those practiced by Veronica Doubleday in her Three Women of Herat (1988), and Judith Vander in her Songprints:  The Musical Experience of Five Shoshone Women (1988), and in the ethnomusicologies of marginalized social groups, such as those of Adelaida Reyes (1999), Amelia Maciszewski (2006), James Porter and Herschel Gower (1995), and Carol Silverman (2012). This latter category can be considered part of the literature of survivors’ music. The study of survivors’ music considers survivors’ musical activities as important sites of witnessing, of reckoning and overcoming, and of self-reconstruction. Many survivors have spent large portions of their life cultivating music as a means of survival, an arena of identity and community building, and a site for imagining alternative social formations. They imbue these musical creations and acts with knowledge and wisdom they have acquired through many trials and long processes of struggle and reckoning. Furthermore, survivors often make music in the interest of communicating these different experiences, sentiments, identities, and understandings, and often are actively interested in the kind of receptive and flexible audience that ethnomusicologists can be.

The Study of Survivors’ Music    485

“Survivors’ Music” It is worth spending a moment to discuss the advantages, problems, and issues arising from the appellation “survivors’ music.” The word “survivor” and its analogues in other languages—seizonsha in Japanese, saengjonja in Korean, and others—are typically overburdened in one way or another, variously inspiring shame, guilt, cinematic romanticism or liberal triumphalism. Often these positive and negative valences of the word are complexly intertwined. Nevertheless, naming the field of study “survivors’ music” rather than “music and traumatic experience,” “music and violence,” or “music and conflict” seems preferable to me because it refuses to displace people from its center, and it refuses to reduce people and their music to experiences of trauma, violence, and conflict. I have been frustrated by this tendency in much of the scholarship on music and violence, most crystallized in Steve Goodman’s fetishistic Sonic Warfare (2012). My partner Yukiko coined the term “survivors’ music” in Korean (saengjonja ui eumak) in 2006, helping me come up with a name for a seminar that wouldn’t essentialize people in this way. My preference for “survivor” emerges from a Northeast Asian context in which many sufferers are deemed “victims,” in which this victimhood is spectacularized in popular and political culture, and in which survivors are at times exploited for political ends. The turn toward “survivor” is a corrective to that tendency. That said, the study of “survivors’ music” should not ignore or de-emphasize the importance of real victimization experienced by different people, or the centrality of the different concepts of victimization and “victim ideologies” that popular and political cultures evolve. Another issue: the phrase “survivors’ music” runs the risk of valorizing survivors and their expressive lives over those who have not survived. I believe it is possible to study survivors’ music without doing this, however. Typically, the opposite is true, and the dead are valorized while survivors are viewed with suspicion or taken as walking monuments to the dead. The study of survivors’ music seeks to re-establish a balance between the importance of history and historical losses, and the importance of living people. I use the term to refer to people who have survived violence and traumatic experience, but also to refer to people who are currently enduring such experiences—people living through war, armed conflict, situations of domestic violence, and so on. Such people might not conventionally be called survivors, but it is important to remember that they, too, are engaged in the daily activity of surviving, and their music or musicality may be a crucial part of this effort. Many women worldwide, for instance, are such survivors, living with the constant threat of domestic and sexual violence. Classical “survivors” are commonly supposed to have lived through something that is over; but it is important to acknowledge that traumatic experiences do not simply end—rather, they unfold over time, and rarely have clear endings. Furthermore, they are often accompanied by regimes of suppression and discrimination, as in the case of many survivors of sexual abuse, or the strategically forgotten victims of war and

486   Joshua D. Pilzer authoritarianism. Thus the work of survival is ongoing and often treacherous and difficult. In sum, “survivors’ music” is a complex and imperfect moniker, as perhaps all names are. The important thing is to proceed aware of, sympathetic to, and interested in the complexities and contradictions inherent in the name. To be attentive to these is not to split hairs in self-serving academic discussion; it is to strive to rightly orient one’s moral and scholarly compass, and the moral compass of the political and social movements in which the study of survivors’ music can play a part.

Key Issues Ethics There are many ways one might go about the study of survivors’ music, and what follows are just some key issues that emerge through a consideration of work in the field. I have already discussed the focus on particular people, rather than music, or culture, or violence, or anything else. The first thing that this requires of a researcher, student, or educator interested in the study of survivors’ music is profound thought about how to proceed in a way that is appropriate to one’s subject position, that is frank and open about one’s goals, that avoids causing harm at all costs, and that above all prioritizes the wishes and interests of survivors over particular scholarly objectives. This generally means that one does not go digging into painful aspects of people’s lives unless by the will of survivors who wish to explore their experiences or let others know about them. There are often many publicly available documents that speak to these things already. In any case, we must take care not to violate survivors’ privacy or expose them to recriminations and harm. This is not a sort of moral requirement, an “ethics” of scholarship and education that we must get out of the way prior to beginning work: it is rather an opportunity to create a method of scholarship or pedagogy that puts people in the center and prioritizes them over political, scholarly, or pedagogical aims. This has to be done by researchers, students, educators, and survivors together.3 But perhaps there are some basic principles, or guidelines. For one, one should attempt to demystify the “informant” and “researcher” relationship, and should base relationships with survivors along the lines of a culture-appropriate friendship between people of certain genders and ages. One should not conceive of research subjects as people one engages with for scholarly ends; rather, the ends are whatever emerges from the relationship. My collaborators and I build relationships fitfully, over long periods of time; and I do not let these lapse once some sort of scholarly goal has been accomplished. Surely this enduring relationship, and the empathy and understanding it produces, are greater gifts to life and knowledge than the conventional relationship between researcher and subject.

The Study of Survivors’ Music    487 The self-importance, arrogance, and class prejudice that abound in scholarly cultures often take the form of bourgeois paternalism when scholarship is “applied.” Avoiding this is an ethical issue, a matter of making scholarship about more than reinforcing positions of social power through the doing of “good works.” As such, the study of survivors’ music begins with the supposition that survivors are generally of more help to scholars and publics than the other way around, and that the student of survivors attempts to learn from survivors first, not to “help” them. In addition, there is a further step to take to avoid this paternalism: the study of survivors’ music, a kind of scholarship turned to public good, should not be founded on an exoticized or fetishized notion of survivors as others whom “we” study and teach about. There are many survivors of traumatic experience and violence who are also scholars and activists. Silent Jane documents and probes the relationship between her synaesthesia and her experience and memories of childhood sexual abuse in her “Beautiful Fragments of a Traumatic Memory: Synaesthesia, Sesame Street, and Hearing the Colors of an Abusive Past” (2006). Survivors’ written narratives and testimonies, when they focus on musical activities or embody musical qualities, are also a precious part of the bibliography of survivors’ music, and they, too, are scholars of survivors’ music.

Aesthetics A people-centered study of survivors’ music often requires scholars and educators to forsake evaluative criteria by which we distinguish between “good” and “bad” music, other than those which survivors themselves utilize in the process of making music useful and meaningful in their lives; rather, we are tasked to appreciate music as people make use of it. I was forced to overcome this instinct to aesthetic judgment in my work with many Korean elderly and middle-aged people who are fond of the sentimental Korean pop genre teuroteu (a Koreanization of [fox] “trot”). The genre grated against almost every aesthetic preference that I had inherited as a post-punk in late twentieth-century America. It was drippily sentimental; it was vigorously mass-produced; and it was popularized on recordings featuring only synthesized instruments accompanying the singing voice. As the genre overwhelmingly preferred by professional bus drivers in South Korea, it was the soundtrack to many a terrifying interstate bus ride. Furthermore, the genre jarred against my political sentiments, as it was a legacy of the assimilation of Japanese popular music to Korea during the Japanese colonial era (1910–1945). Yet, when survivors of Japanese military sexual slavery began to sing these songs for me, I realized that all of these evaluative criteria were useless to me; they offered no help in understanding how people make this music and make use of it in the daily work of getting by. That ingenuity, the stories that people told me about music, and the sounds of their voices singing these songs were fascinating and indeed profoundly beautiful. A people-centered field like survivors’ music studies must also not go in search of prepared notions of authenticity, or expect survivors to produce certain kinds of music that we believe appropriate to their experience. The point is to attempt an understanding

488   Joshua D. Pilzer of others’ experience and expressive lives, not to animate caricatures of others we have encountered elsewhere. Yet I have heard, on many occasions, people ask survivors to sing and then stop them in the middle of their favorite songs to demand something older, something from the wartime, something of their own composition, something more Korean, something more serious or more sorrowful. The expectations and demands of others are important because they are part of survivors’ experience. But survivors do not often conform perfectly to these expectations. Beginning my fieldwork in South Korea with elderly survivors of the “comfort women” system, I expected to hear them sing songs from childhood and the wartime, and was routinely surprised to find many of them singing songs that were only a few years old. Learning and singing new songs is a way for profoundly marginalized people of whatever age to remain contemporary, and to maintain contact with mainstreams, real or imagined. Learning manifestly popular songs, or engaging in decidedly “mainstream” musical practices, is another way of participating in societies to which one has not been granted full membership. So, in the study of survivors’ music, we must be ever willing to relinquish such prejudices against new music, against popular music, and so on.

A Practical Analytics The study of survivors’ music is a practical analytics of music in people’s lives. This means that one inquires into the value—strategic, aesthetic, cultural or social—of particular musical things and actions to particular people in particular settings. This means that a musical event is not interesting in and of itself, either as “great music” or as somehow representative of culture or historical experience. One is typically not interested in what musical behaviors and objects can tell us about culture as a whole, or in finding kinds of musical activity that definitively represent historical experiences of traumatic experience and violence. Experiences of violence and traumatic experience may promote certain kinds of solidarity that make generalizations about culture and experience tenable; but they are just as likely to disrupt social relationships and produce experiences of such singularity that scholarly generalization is not possible, or at least not interesting. We must acknowledge and appreciate this particularity at first if we are going to make our way back to the systematic connections that link people’s experiences. From this perspective, a piece of music, or a fragment of music, or a song or a fragment of song, performed by a survivor or group of survivors in a particular circumstance for a particular reason, is a cultural and historical treasure—it is not necessary that it should be a particular instance of a generic phenomenon. It is precious because it is part of the alchemy through which people survive and make life livable or worth living. In that way, it is as precious as any other great work of art. It is most important to the people-centered study of survivors’ music to consider musical events not primarily as pieces representative of culture or experience broadly, but as part of a survivor’s daily life and personal history. Yi Okseon, a friend and survivor of the “comfort women” system, sang a song for me that illustrates this nicely. We

The Study of Survivors’ Music    489 were at a party in the summer of 2002 in the living room of the House of Sharing, a rest home for survivors of the “comfort woman.”4 Five survivors sat on the couches in places of honor; the rest of us—guests and staff—sat on the floor around a long table. One by one, people sang songs by way of self-introduction, moving around the circle in rough order of seniority. When the circle came to Yi Okseon, she stood up and sang her showpiece song,5 the classic colonial-era pop ballad “Tear-Soaked Duman River” (“Nunmul jeojeun Dumangang”): When I went to China at age sixteen6 I crossed the Duman River, you know? I didn’t realize that, and only afterwards I  learned that I  had crossed it. So that “Duman River” song, if I forget it I won’t lose it, if I die I won’t forget it. Because I was dragged away by Japanese across the Duman River… In the blue waters of the Duman River A boatman works the oars In the flowed-away long ago a boat took my beloved And left for somewhere My beloved, for whom I long, My beloved, for whom I long, When will you come back?

The listeners began to clap pre-emptively, assuming she would stop after verse one, as many people do. But Yi Okseon pushed on to the final verse: On a moonlit night the river’s water Catches in its throat, and it cries This person who lost (her) beloved sighs. . . . It left for somewhere . . . My beloved, for whom I long, My beloved, for whom I long, When will you come back?

“Tear-Soaked Duman River” was written by composer Yi Si-u and lyricist Kim Yongho, and debuted by male vocalist Kim Jeonggu in 1938. Yi Si-u wrote the song in the 1930s, when he toured Southwestern Manchuria near the border with Korea, working for a theatrical company that was giving performances for the many Koreans in the region. There is a widely told colloquial story of the origins of the song: one evening Yi Si-u was staying at an inn, and sat up in the night listening to a woman sobbing in the next room. The next day he asked the innkeeper about her. Her husband, a friend of the innkeeper, was an anti-colonial independence fighter (dongnip-gun), who had been captured by Japanese forces. She crossed the Duman River to seek him out, but by the time she had arrived at the prison to which he had been taken, he had already been executed. The night Yi Si-u had heard her crying had been the evening of her husband’s birthday. She had made a small memorial altar to him, and was drinking before it and mourning his death.

490   Joshua D. Pilzer Over the course of the colonial era (1910–1945) the song became famous for its political subtexts, which were veiled in obscurity and thus protected from colonial censors. As postcolonial South Korea cultivated both its popular music industry and its national consciousness, founded in the wounds of the colonial era, the song became one of the most famous popular songs in the land, playing a large part in the production of that national consciousness. The woman’s tears drop into the Duman River on behalf of an entire people that had lost its national sovereignty, seamlessly welding private grief and a national-cultural sense of woundedness. Many accounts of Yi Okseon’s performance might end here, with the general significance of the song to Korean colonial history, reducing Yi Okseon’s experience to an extreme instance of that. But the study of survivors’ music privileges the singer, not the song. We ask what the song might mean to Yi Okseon; how she altered it to make it her own; how it bridges the gulf between her experiences and popular culture; how she herself changed in the process of taking it to heart; and why she sang it on this particular occasion for this particular group. In order to discover these things, we must situate the song and the performance in Yi Okseon’s life history. Yi Okseon was born in 1927 in the southeastern port city Busan, the second of six siblings, to a poor family. She wanted to go to school, but the family couldn’t afford tuition. When she was 13, a small drinking house recruited her for work, promising to send her to school in exchange. The proprietor, however, took her on as a servant and made no signs of sending her to school. Over the next two years she moved around between drinking houses, often asked to pour drinks and keep customers company, narrowly avoiding being pressed into sex work. All the same, she was glad to be making money to send home. One day in 1942, while on her way home from a department store, Yi Okseon was abducted by a burly man and put in a truck with other girls in the back. Guarded by a Korean and a Japanese, the girls were loaded into a train. After several days’ journey they crossed the Duman River and were offloaded, on July 23, at Yanji, a Manchurian town close to the border. She was raped on the night of her arrival. For the next three years she was held against her will and forced to provide sexual services to soldiers, mostly from the nearby air force base—seven or eight men on weekdays and upwards of 50 on the weekends. On that night in 2002 when Yi Okseon sang “Tear-Soaked Duman River” at the House of Sharing, she related how she cried for the young self that was taken across that river. So the song records a traumatic wound and a self split in two. One half has been taken; the other half sits on the riverbank and cries for the lost self. So Yi Okseon’s version of the song differs dramatically from the original, about a woman by the banks of the Duman River, or an unnamed “I,” or the “we” of postcolonial Korean nationhood longing for a lost love object. She has lost a part of herself, and lives in two places at once. Yi Okseon often speaks and sings to me about feeling like a foreigner in South Korea, and about feeling that her heart lives in northeast China. So that feeling of a split self stuck with her throughout her life, finding expression in many of her songs and stories. Yet in adopting this song as her own, she related her experience to the popular story, making

The Study of Survivors’ Music    491 her traumatic experience intelligible to others in the room and elsewhere throughout South Korea, and claiming a place for herself in the popular story of the colonial and wartime experience. Our consideration of Yi Okseon’s performance of “Duman River” might easily stop at the end of the war—it is quite typical for scholarly and public interest in the lives of survivors to extend only as far as the so-called end of their infamous traumatic experiences.7 But the experience of Japanese military sexual slavery was only a part, if the most terrible part, of Yi Okseon’s saga of suffering and survival, and as such goes only partway to explaining the significance of the song for her. Three years after her abduction the war ended, and both Manchuria and Korea were liberated from colonial rule. She, however, had no funds to return to Korea. While wandering destitute in Yanji city, she met a Korean man whom she had met previously at the air force base. “I took hold of him and begged him to open a liferoad for me” (to secure my livelihood), she reported in a published testimony (Kang, 2000: 174). They married; but he was denounced for his high status in the pre-liberation Volunteer Labor Corps, and escaped south across the Duman River into Korea. She waited for 10 years for him to return, but he never came back. The river thus had another significance for Yi Okseon, for like the independence fighter in the song, her husband had gone away across the river, never to return. After that long wait she remarried at the urging of her parents-in-law. In the late 1990s she made contact with a South Korean organization searching for survivors of the “comfort women” system, and relocated to the House of Sharing in 2000, after the death of her second husband. Thus the song and the Duman River obtained yet another sense for her, as she returned to a land that she hardly recognized after her 58-year absence. The song tells us a long story of loss and dislocation—from self, home, and loved ones. But this story is nonetheless Yi Okseon’s, a means of making a coherence of self across a tumultuous life. The song is also a means of connecting Yi Okseon’s personal history to Korean popular culture and society. For these and other reasons, it has been a tool for her in her survival. Together with many of her other songs, it also documents her long reflection about the nature of home and the passing of time. She told me that although she had returned to the land of her birth, she felt like she had “returned to a foreign country.” She had family in northeast China; and she had changed; and home had changed. This is something that diasporic people know about the nature of “home” that people who have never left often never recognize. Yi Okseon’s twisting “Duman River” story is an opportunity for us to learn about the experience of diaspora, the nature of loss, and the nature of identity. As a canonical popular song about displacement, it reveals a paradox of South Korean and many other national identities—a quintessential “Korean” experience is an experience of marginalization. National identity depends on outsiders like Yi Okseon to embody the spirit of modern Korean experience, while it denies them full social membership and considers them broken—speaking imperfect Korean as returnees from abroad, not fully grounded in culture, behind the times. But Yi Okseon, in the coherence of her narrative of fragmentation and loss, is actually several steps ahead of most Koreans in the process of understanding what it means to change in the process of

492   Joshua D. Pilzer becoming yourself, what transformations the passage of time works on the places we are from, and the scars and traces that the wounds of time’s passing leave behind. If we forget about all of this, and essentialize survivors and their music by constantly referring back to the particular experiences that we consider to have been of paramount importance in their lives, we miss out on the stories of their survival in the wake of such experiences. We also lose out on the opportunity to learn of their wisdom and their hard-won philosophies of life.

Interpretation and Collaboration This take on Yi Okseon’s “Duman River” is of course my interpretation, arrived at over 10 years of talking with her about life and music. What is the place of interpretation in the study of survivors’ music? Might it not be better to “let the recordings speak for themselves?” By now in ethnomusicology we know that even the seemingly simple act of recording involves a complex of interpretive moves. One decides what to record, thereby deciding how experience is to be divided and recorded, and what parts of experience are important. The recordist selects how to record these, and how to contextualize that thing that she has newly made or inflected. This is true for any kind of recording: sound recording, writing, drawing, film, photography, and so on. Since recordings of whatever kind are already interpretations, there is no use in trying to keep one’s interpretation out of it; rather, it is important to understand one’s interpretive moves and their significance, and to involve others in these processes of interpretation. In the case of survivors’ music, one can attempt to understand the interpretive moves of survivors, what they consider important about music and the musical and their relation to it; then one can attempt to document these as faithfully as possible, using technology to imitate these interpretive moves, such as making sound recordings when people habitually close their eyes when singing. When music is accompanied by significant movement, this is because someone has decided that they go together, or conceives of them as a single activity, and the recordist can choose an audiovisual medium. One can then engage in dialogue with others about the significance of these things, listen or watch recordings together, and so on. Songs and other kinds of music are already, in many ways, recordings of different kinds of experience, places, times, and other things. Many survivors document their own musical lives, and these documents—stories, recordings, illustrations, writing—are of paramount importance. The complex process of making ethnographic inscriptions, recordings, and documents is something that survivors and ethnographers do together, however much or little they acknowledge it. It is a process rife with the most interesting possibilities. This takes time, an ongoing relationship of discovery and making. With Yi Okseon and others, this has involved my recording songs in many different contexts; listening to and discussing recordings together; working together to choose favorite renditions for scholarly examination or public exhibition; and forging relationships that provide a crucial context for interpretation.

The Study of Survivors’ Music    493

Performance The narrative of Yi Okseon’s “Duman River” that I have presented here begins in the present, and works its way back to it along the swath of her life experience. We return to the living room of the House of Sharing to consider another key issue in the study of survivors’ music that this song demonstrates. Yi Okseon’s “Tear-Soaked Duman River” is a performance, at a particular time for particular people. She sang for an audience of political activists and social workers—the staff of the House of Sharing and a cohort surrounding a group of Japanese lawyers who were helping with the struggle for reparations and apology for the “comfort women” in the Japanese legal system. In speech, she related the song only to her experience of abduction during the war. Yi Okseon was a compelling, savvy activist whose performances of wartime victimization were utterly legitimized by experience. She saved other parts of the story for other, equally sincere and equally performative contexts. Considering survivors’ music as performance does not mean questioning its authenticity or sincerity; rather, we attend to the social value and the significance of the different kinds of performances, and survivors’ performative competence and social power, which they demonstrate. At other times, as she spoke about the song and other ruminations on love, loss, and the nature of home, she related her experience of dislocation to mine, as a foreigner in South Korea. While the experiences are of course dramatically different, the act of relating was a way that she made a connection between us. It was an example of her skill as an educator, building a bridge to teach me about her experiences.

The “Musical” From the example I have given above, one might begin to think that the study of survivors’ music is principally about the search for and interpretation of pieces that shed light on the past and survivors’ experiences. To the extent that one looks for such musical things, as in the discussion of Yi Okseon’s “Duman River,” one must attend to how they are brought to bear on life and presented in performance. Nonetheless, it is also important not to neglect the “thingness” that people attribute to music—the way they come to possess it, treasure it, use it, exchange it, and so on—which is crucial in order to understand how music is a resource for survival, and to understand people’s beliefs about music and its power. Musical talismans can be very important to survivors, whether they be physical objects, songs, or memories. Yi Okseon’s song is one example, which she said she would remember beyond death. Another is Daran Kravanh’s narrative of music and its role in his survival of the Khmer Rouge period (Lafreniere, 2000): Kravanh relates finding an accordion in the woods and carrying it through his time in the labor camps and the killing fields, and credits the accordion on several occasions with saving his life. Nonetheless, from Yi Okseon’s song and Daran Kravanh’s story it is clear that “music” and its material culture are not the sole objects of the study of survivors’ music. For one,

494   Joshua D. Pilzer the things people say about music are also crucial. But the study of survivors’ music goes further than this, beyond the duality of music and speech, beyond a world in which there is music and everything else, or music and its context. In order that the study of survivors’ music not displace people from the center of the inquiry and set an artificial notion of music in their place, in order that it not exclude survivors who are not professionally or conventionally musical, and in order that one can understand the important gray areas and connections between different arenas of survivors’ expression, the study of survivors’ music can fruitfully embrace a generous notion of the “musical.”8 One can pay attention to the musical qualities of speech, writing, sound, silence, and so on, and of the continuities that connect different expressive spheres and sounding to the realm of music. The connectivity between expressive spheres is the key to understanding the practical value of music in survivors’ lives. It is the mechanism by which the kinds of voice, identity, resilience, expressive power, and expressive content that people cultivate in music find their way into other realms of life, and vice versa, like the system by which electricity circulates through and out of a batteries. In addition, spaces between can be powerful and productive expressive spaces in themselves. This is one of the basic perspectives of sociomusicology, although practitioners of that branch of our field, with notable exceptions,9 tend to focus on particular relations between expressive arenas—particularly music and speech, or music and language, rather than taking the global view that I feel is so essential to the study of survivors’ music. The way that people live in silence, or live with sounds and noise; the ways these silences, sounds, and noises produce music, or speech, or written narrative, or other things, in whatever order—the relative connectivity of expressive realms and the content of the interstitial spaces between them tells us about the usefulness of music in human life. In survivors’ lives, silence and noise are especially important categories, for survivors often live in political and social conditions that silence them or deem their expressions—linguistic and musical—to be noise. As such, the study of survivors’ music can benefit from carefully listening to the gray areas that connect music to other sound arenas of life for survivors. This is one of the basic perspectives of my book (2012),10 which provides numerous examples. In my current project on Korean radiation sufferers, I have moved yet further in this direction. Han Jeongsun, a second-generation Korean victim of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, provides a powerful example of the importance of thinking broadly about “the musical” in order to understand the significance of music in survivors’ lives. One of Han Jeongsun’s songs about walking provides the epigraph that begins this article. The song is “Gochu” (pepper), debuted by pop star Yu Ji-na in 2009. In the song the protagonist walks across mountain passes, always finding yet another steep incline before her. The mountain pass is a popular metaphor for struggle in Korea, as it is elsewhere. Since the age of 30, Han Jeongsun has suffered from avascular necrosis of the femoral head—a condition in which interrupted blood flow causes cellular death of bone components in the tops of her femurs. Her condition has thus far required four hip replacements and other sorts of major reconstructive surgery. She told me that songs about walking have literal significance for her due to the trouble she has walking. The

The Study of Survivors’ Music    495 text of the song emphasizes this difficulty; but the dotted 4/4 rhythm of the piece lilts along with an effortlessness and energy that makes the endless walking artful and seems to make it possible. When Han Jeongsun sings “Pepper,” she often dances, even when sitting down, shifting her weight from side to side and moving her arms alternately up and down in the improvisatory manner of Korean traditional dance. She also sings while walking, borrowing the rhythm of music for daily movement. My current work with Han Jeongsun connects her songs, her dancing, her walking, and her political testimony by tracing themes and rhythms across her expressive life. We take walks together; she infuses her political testimony with discussions of her ailment and of her difficulty in walking. She sings and dances to songs of walking before and after activist meetings. In the study, I aim to show how in this way she weaves and holds a workable sense of self and world together, draws inspiration from music for her daily physical struggles, and draws on popular culture to find a voice and to claim political rights for herself and her fellow radiation sufferers. There are a number of advantages to this broad perspective on “the musical.” For one, it means that anyone interested in doing fieldwork or reading about survivors’ music does not need to wait for people to participate in formal music-making. The ethnographer—whether working with people or historical documents—gets right to work, trying to get a sense of survivors’ expressive universes and the techniques, qualities, and thematic material that link formal music-making or the musical facets of daily life and expression with the rest of their expressive lives. This entire network could be thought of as the changeable circulatory system of “the musical” in survivors’ everyday life. As we assemble the circuitry, we get a sense of what the musical is good for—what sort of stories people use it to tell, what sort of strength people draw from it and competences they cultivate within it, and what sorts of knowledge it embodies. I prefer the broad approach to the musical not only because it gets at the core significance of music in survivors’ lives, but also because it allows me to make use of manifold documentary resources not focused on music. While primary research and recording are important, there is often a tremendous amount of documentation of survivors’ lives already, and within these we find countless evidences of the importance of “the musical” in survivors’ lives. This means that plentiful materials are already available, which one can make use of without engaging in firsthand field research. This means that the people who engage in the study of survivors’ music need not be scholars with leave and resources to conduct ethnographic research. There are documentaries, published testimonies, and survivors’ narratives, recorded collections, and scholarly works that one can consult in search of the musical in survivors’ lives. Many of these materials are available online, in university libraries, and for purchase. Sometimes it may feel like searching for a needle in a haystack; but because of the many uses of music and the deep presence of the musical throughout expressive life, usually one does not have to look very long or very hard. Examples of this are readily available. Claude Lanzmann’s Shoah (1985), an almost 10-hour-long film documentary about the Holocaust of Jews and others in mid-twentieth century Europe, follows its long, scrolling opening text with survivor

496   Joshua D. Pilzer Simon Srebnik singing several songs and discussing them. The US Library of Congress website “Voices from the Days of Slavery,”11 a collection of nearly seven hours of recorded interviews with survivors of the enslavement of African Americans, includes a hyperlinked index of song titles. Most importantly, the broad approach to “the musical” in survivors’ lives also allows the student of survivors’ music to work with almost anyone, not only those survivors who have a particular memory for, interest in, or talent for music. We find out about the fragments of song or sound in talk and testimony. We talk about music and sound that survivors encounter in the course of their daily lives. We can even include people who never “make music” themselves or are averse to music for various reasons. Some survivors had their voices partly or completely taken from them—as in the case of the many victims of nuclear radiation exposure who have had to undergo thyroid surgery, or in the case of the severely psychologically traumatized. Some have had experiences of the coercive power of music—for instance, the many women in sex-and-entertainment cultures the world over who are expected to sing or dance or otherwise perform for patrons—and may have forsaken music for this reason, or because they have decided that it is sinful. Often these silences are just as telling about the nature of experience and the place of music in social life as any recordings of musical performance that we might make.

Redemptive Narratives One might reasonably expect that the study of survivors’ music privileges the redemptive powers of music, its power as means of resisting social domination, countering or diffusing violence, healing and overcoming trauma and hardship. Indeed, there is much to learn from survivors about how to survive, and music, at times, is useful in this process in many ways. It can be a means of making or maintaining senses of self and social connectedness; of finding things to live for; of connecting with society from the margins; of consolidating social groups that can resist different kinds of violence and oppression; of communicating in secret; of securing the sympathy of one’s tormenters; and of securing the financial means of life, among other uses. But it is also profoundly important to look beyond such notions of the redemptive power of music, just as ethnomusicology has found it important to look beyond beliefs in the transcendental power of music that often hold sway in Western art music circles. The newly emerging study of music and violence, which has its own special interest group in the Society for Ethnomusicology, is founded on this idea. Shirli Gilbert gives the most powerful scholarly statement of this that I have yet found, in her introduction to Music in the Holocaust (2005), calling for a re-evaluation of the place of music in the Holocaust that accounts for its role in manufacturing obedience and inspiring Nazi terror. Survivor Szymon Laks, in his memoir Music of Another World (1979), about his term as a member and conductor of the Auschwitz II men’s orchestra, explains the role of music in naturalizing suffering, of encouraging fatal conformism, and other

The Study of Survivors’ Music    497 pernicious uses of music in concentration camp life. To this we could add the role of music in consolidating social groups which then perpetrate violence against excluded others; the (related) ways in which music helps to naturalize notions of national, racial, gendered, sexual and other sorts of superiority; the role of music in torture (Cusick, 2008; Pettan, 1998); the uses of music in the performance of domination and submission (Pilzer, 2014), and others. And beyond this dark side, upon close examination many uses of music in survivors’ experience fill us with neither hope nor despair, and are as ambivalent as so many other things in life. Leaving people in the center of the study of survivors’ music, we set aside these beliefs in the moral goodness or badness of music, just as we forsake our own aesthetic judgments about it, and instead ask how survivors think and feel about music, and how they are musical in the pursuit of life. The result is a much subtler understanding of the role of music in situations of social violence and in survivors’ lives. Laks relates in his memoir of Auschwitz II (1979: 65–66):  One evening… I found lying on the ground a crumpled and greasy piece of paper covered with writing that attracted my attention. I picked it up and, after returning to the barracks, unfolded it carefully so as not to tear it. It smelled of herring and God only knows what else. But it was music! Only the melody, written by hand but very legibly, without harmonization, without accompaniment. The title at the top read Three Warsaw Polonaises of the 18th Century, author: Anonymous. I washed the precious document as carefully as possible and hung it up in a discrete place in the music room to dry overnight. During the next few days I harmonized all three polonaises and wrote out the parts for a small chamber ensemble, after which we began to practice the pieces in the barracks when conditions allowed. The pieces turned out to be true pearls of eighteenth-century Polish music. Some of my Polish colleagues congratulated me on this deed, regarding it as an act of the resistance movement. This surprised me a little, since for me this was an ordinary musical satisfaction, heightened by the Polishness of the music to be sure, but I did not see how its being played in secret could have harmed the Germans or had an effect on the war. In any case, if this episode can be regarded as a sign of resistance, it is the only one I can boast of during a rather long stay in Birkenau. The rest was a struggle for survival.

Laks’s colleagues are hungry for tokens of resistance; but he is not so sure. He has seen how the most sincere and devout appreciation of music can live within the most monstrous of men; and is well aware that he survived when so many others did not because of a musical ability that it was his luck to possess, but did not make him any worthier of life than they were. This is a profoundly complex account of the social power of music in the face of suffering. Laks suspects the redemptive narrative, but his “ordinary musical satisfaction” is no small thing. This moment is one of the few in his narrative when he encounters music that reminds him of his life as a concert pianist and conductor in prewar Warsaw, and of the glories of Western art music. It is a moment that recalls a deep belief in higher things.

498   Joshua D. Pilzer It is a glimmer of the glories of music that precede and follow Laks’s wartime narrative, and which were so important to him in rescuing his life from its Holocaust; but he is reluctant to admit it to the nightmare world that he survived. Daran Kravanh, in his narrative of playing the accordion and surviving the Khmer Rouge period, relates: I cannot tell you how or why I survived; I do not know myself. It is like this: love and music and memory and invisible hands, and something that comes out of the society of the living and the dead, for which there are no words. Yes, music, the power within my accordion’s voice, saved my life and, in turn, the lives of others. (Lafreniere, 2000: 3)

So while we are obliged to look beyond redemptive narratives in the appreciation of music in survivors’ lives, we must at once be capable of looking beyond the aura of suspicion that surrounds beliefs in the transcendental or redemptive powers of music. These beliefs are held by many people living through violence and traumatic experience or living with the consequences of such experiences, and they form the contexts of many survivors’ encounters with music. The study of survivors’ music takes these beliefs seriously, seeking to understand their power and their usefulness, while recognizing that there are many stories where such beliefs are nowhere to be found.

Advocacy and Activism The study of survivors’ music, as I have outlined it, attempts to put the interests of survivors first over scholarly arguments or goals. This principle leads us naturally to another set of questions concerning advocacy and activism. First, is this study advocacy? This is an open question. I have put forward my preference for thinking about the study of survivors’ music as a practice of listening, documentation, and learning over political action; but there is an implicit politics in my choice of whom to listen to. More often than not, I choose the underprivileged, marginalized, and ignored, and advocate for the importance of their points of view. I have attempted to do this through writing, teaching, public presentations, and the exhibition of recordings (see below). Another, related question: Is the study of survivors’ music activism? I think the study of survivors’ music should seek understanding and prioritize the best interests of survivors, whether or not this understanding or those interests are congenial to political movements; to that extent it is its own kind of activism, of the sort that Svanibor Pettan advocates: the use of ethnomusicological knowledge and understanding “for the betterment of humanity” (2010: 90). Prioritizing the wishes and interests of survivors is not an abstract or legal matter of intellectual property, but of

The Study of Survivors’ Music    499 trying to do right by others and ourselves; and it is a political act of the utmost importance, and most certainly a form of activism. But it is a kind of activism that may lead the scholar of survivors’ music to guard her autonomy from movements and organizations, while often sharing many sympathies with them and working together. It is also possible to look at the question of activism from another perspective. Claims that one kind of ethnomusicological scholarship or another are activism run the risk of overlooking the ways in which the people we study engage in different kinds of activism. The survivors of the “comfort women” system and the nuclear bombing of Japan are often multiply engaged as activists, often making political statements in speech or song, often taking to stages and media platforms to testify to their experiences and advocate for social groups. One can learn from survivors about how they go about expressing themselves politically, organizing (or not organizing) into movements, cultivating movement consciousnesses, and so on, and why. We can also listen to testimony and observe activist culture with an ear for the imprint of the musical. Han Jeongsun’s testimonies about walking and living with radiation-related disability are one example of this, as an example of the place the musical facets of life can have in helping survivors to cultivate political voices, and the ways that the content of personal musical expression can become part of political discourse. We can listen to survivors’ explicitly musical activities during testimony, or musical presentations meant to be kinds of action and testimony in political spheres or preparatory to such action. The fact that so many Korean survivors of the “comfort women” system sing or reference music during testimony (see Howard, 1995) is what motivated me to study their musical lives in the first place. One such woman whom I came to know quite well is Yi Yongsu. In her testimony, she relates how at 16 years old she was taken from Daegu by a Japanese businessman and placed on a boat for Taiwan, where she was raped repeatedly by soldiers and others. She was taken to Hsinchu, about 60 kilometers southwest of Taipei, where she was placed in a “comfort station,” a military sex camp. The camp was near an air force airport that served as a base for kamikaze pilots. For the next eight months, she was imprisoned and forced to have sex with soldiers, in months which saw a dramatic increase in the number of suicide missions as the war effort turned in the Allies’ favor and the Japanese became increasingly desperate. One of these pilots came to visit her many times. One day he told her that he was leaving for his mission, and wouldn’t be coming back. He had brought all of his toiletries with him and gave them to her as a present. He said that he had gotten a venereal disease from her, and he would take this to his grave as a precious gift. Finally, he taught her a song. She sang this song often in testimony; and she related it to me at her home in Daegu in 2004. That soldier, he was an officer, when he was going away to die, he taught me a song: I take off with courage, leaving Taiwan behind, Riding and rising above waves of gold and silver clouds. There is no one to see me off,

500   Joshua D. Pilzer And this little one is the only one who cries for me. I take off with courage, leaving Shinchiku behind, Riding and rising above waves of gold and silver clouds. There is no one to see me off, And the only one who cries for me is Toshiko. He gave me the name Toshiko.

The song was “Hikokinori no uta” (Song of the Pilot), a Japanese military song (gunka) associated with his particular squadron of kamikaze pilots. He had changed the words, adding his own place of departure and putting in the Japanese nickname he had given her. I discuss this song as part of her wartime experience in detail elsewhere (Pilzer 2014). As Yi Yongsu has told her story countless times to the expectant South Korean public and others, and as activists in the “comfort women grandmothers movement” have encouraged the women to standardize their stories of sexual slavery for important legal reasons, her story has become quite formalized. In this process, her “Song of the Pilot” song often has an honored place, dividing the testimony in half. It arrests the flow of time and zooms into that moment, thus becoming the dramatic high point of the testimony. It is a mechanism of transport; but it is also a disciplined traumatic memory. It is a scene like the disembodied scenes that characterize traumatic memory, but one that Yi Yongsu has taken hold of and placed into a narrative frame in a broad process of self-making. Listening to survivors sing in testimony can allow us to see the artistry by which they put their lives back together and give their lives continuity. Yi Yongsu explained that she sang this song in testimony because she had discovered, through its lyrics, that she was in Taiwan. Listeners to her testimony realized at this moment that prior to learning this song she did not know where she was. But in recent years she began to add a different reason, as she became more secure in her place in the movement and in society. She said that the man had helped her by giving her hope. Certainly this hope was complicated by the fact that he had such tremendous power over her, and many in the South Korean public and elsewhere would frown at this deeply problematic relation of affection. But nonetheless the relationship and its song played a role in her survival, and became a cornerstone of Yi Yongsu’s postwar project of selfreconstruction. And as she became more and more entrenched as a star of the “comfort women” movement, she showed more and more of this sentimental core of her story to South Korean public culture. In interviews and testimonies she began to speak of how important this officer had been to her and of her fruitless attempts to find him in the postwar period, while stating, for the record, that she did not love him. So music in testimony can allow survivors to express unwelcome but important feelings and experiences in public and politicized forums, and can allow deep listeners to hear them and share in them. Of course, by listening to music in testimony, we can also learn about the role

The Study of Survivors’ Music    501 of music in projects of social domination and in traumatic memory; a recent article of mine addresses the former issue in the context of the “comfort women” system (Pilzer, 2014). And there are many more things we can learn from listening to music in the context of testimony.

Recording and Documenting Survivors’ Music When thinking of the many tragedies of modern life, from genocides, to wars, to sexual and domestic violence—one tends to think, first and foremost, of images or texts. Many have noted that the visual means of representing the Holocaust of European Jewry have long consisted of a codified type of image (Hirsch, 2001: 7, Young, 1988: 163), and this is true for the representation of South Korean survivors of Japanese military sexual slavery as well. In a seminal article in the anthropology of social suffering, Arthur and Joan Kleinman point to the predominance of images in the representation of suffering worldwide, and describe the techniques of their appropriation and commodification (1997). Survivors’ narratives are second most popular in the representation of modern atrocities, and are often turned into films—and thus into moving images. Written narratives benefit from the cultural cache accorded to the written word, even taking on a sort of sacral quality. This dominance of the textual and the visual adds urgency to the study of survivors’ music. Many survivors pass from this world without having their voices recorded at all. So the act of recording someone’s voice—whether casually speaking, singing, or giving testimony—is very powerful and important. Despite the artificial severing of the world that sound recording accomplishes, the attention it draws to the voice is one reason that it is still an important means of documentation, although other forms are equally important and useful. It is standard in ethnomusicology to obtain permission from subjects before making recordings. Often this permission is obtained in spoken or written word only, and subjects have very little idea of what will actually be done with the recordings. It is preferable, in the study of survivors’ music and in the field generally, to maintain ongoing conversations about the recording process, to listen to recordings together, and to decide together on preferred ones. One must delete recordings when survivors request that this be done. One might think of the process as similar to paging through the photographs on a digital camera, getting rid of some and keeping others, making the process a transparent one and a kind of play.

502   Joshua D. Pilzer

Archiving, Accessing, and Exhibiting Survivors’ Music Once one has made documents of survivors’ expressive lives, one must work out what to do with such things. How should one archive and govern access to archives? Not only libraries, but also books, websites, personal collections, and many other things can be archives. In order for documentary materials to contribute to human knowledge and understanding, they must be accessible; but the degree of this accessibility should be governed above all by what survivors want—how much they want their voices, names, stories, and music publicized, and in what form. First, recordings should be accessible to survivors themselves should they want them. One also may need to consider any organizations one has worked with in the production of such documents, which may expect copies or may have made this a condition of their assistance. Such organizations may or may not make suitable places for an archive. One could draw up a form that survivors sign, giving you unilateral permission to use audio visual materials, stories, and so on, in certain ways. However, in general these things should be worked out on a case-by-case basis, because people’s feelings about these things and their personal circumstances change over time. Ethically speaking, open access is the most complicated kind of accessibility, because subsequent uses of material become impossible to trace and to square with survivors’ wishes. Of course, since writing is another kind of recording, books and articles are archived as well, and one must decide on what terms this is to happen and how accessible they are to be. Open-access and online journals, which don’t require membership in elite academic institutions, seem preferable to me; and presses capable of making inexpensive books seem an obvious choice. The things one has to do to make a book inexpensive—limiting the number of color images, for instance—can be made up for these days by websites where color images and other materials can be made available. Accompanying websites or online publication make associated recordings available for no extra cost to the reader. Above all, it seems preposterous—no matter how much one is worried about one’s tenure case, scholarly reputation, and so on—to publish a book on survivors’ music with an elite academic press that favors small pressings of expensive hardback books that only university libraries and the affluent will buy. There are far too many examples of this in the small literature focused on survivors’ music. Another possibility for creating ways of accessing work is exhibition. In the summer of 2004, photographer Yajima Tsukasa and I opened an exhibition of sound recordings and portrait photographs of Korean “comfort women” survivors in one of Seoul’s gallery districts. It went on to be exhibited throughout South Korea and in Germany. The exhibition was sponsored by the House of Sharing and by the South Korean Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism. At the exhibition, listeners stood before 160 cm-squared portraits of 12 current and former residents of the House of Sharing, listening to

The Study of Survivors’ Music    503 recordings of each of the women on headphones. There were two sets of headphones so that people could listen together. I used field recordings, selecting short audio examples excerpted from a wealth of recordings of each survivors’ expressive life. I worked with each woman to choose the song she would prefer to have exhibited. Similarly, the women had been asked by the photographer to choose whatever clothing and makeup they liked for their portraits, although they were not invited to choose one photograph over another. The exhibition ran for two weeks surrounding August 15, Korean Independence Day: the gallery director wanted to take advantage of the upsurge in nationalism and interest in national issues surrounding this day. So visitors to the exhibition were already conditioned to encounter the women as symbols of national suffering. Political contexts of different scales and distributions will frame one’s attempt to exhibit survivors’ music—in this case, a South Korean national context of the “comfort women” issue and its associated movements. I attempted to intervene in this political landscape by challenging the overwhelming perception of these survivors as symbols of victimization, creating a space for listeners to encounter them as grandmothers, as women, as philosophers, as talented storytellers and singers. There were songs from the wartime, but there were also prayers, joke songs, and philosophical musings—on life, on the passage of time, and on making peace with suffering and transience. Despite this, however, the symbolic power of the “comfort women” issue in public culture made it very difficult to listen with fresh ears. One man in late middle age told me: “These are not songs… they are the sounds of crying.” One young girl, in a fever of militarized emotion, wrote in our comment book: “We’ve really got to do to [Japan] just as they’ve done unto us!” Another young girl wrote, “This made me think that we’ve really got to have a war with those Japanese bastards!” The language of victimization and of masculinized militaristic response—the ideological complex of postwar South Korean national identity—rose to the surface and swept away the laughter, the peace, everything but the galvanizing tears and anger. This experience made me deeply skeptical of the utility of exhibiting survivors’ music; one will typically contend with a prefigured political context that governs how people listen, and it will almost always overwhelm authorial intention, the particularity of survivors’ voices, the exceptions to popular canonizations of survivors’ stories, and so on. However, if the sounds only reach a few people, this is nonetheless of immense importance, for each person carries within them a universe of possibilities. One girl wrote: Ah~ Grandmother(s)12~ Now refreshing Autumn has come and Let’s all of us hold hands And go for an Autumn stroll ^_^ And let’s also go To look at the changing leaves ^_^

504   Joshua D. Pilzer At the opening of the exhibition the majority of the women were there, and stood listening to their songs, singing along, admiring or critiquing their photographs, and answering questions from reporters and others. Typically audiences listen to survivors to hear of their victimization. But in this instance they were listened to for their speaking and singing voices, their songs and stories; no matter how much the public still rendered those songs as the sounds of crying, the survivors themselves felt a different sort of validation in public, the public recognition of songs they had made their own and selves they had made over the long years of their lives. Yi Yongnyeo’s recording for the exhibition was a medley of pop songs, which she had sung at a New Year’s party at the House of Sharing. With Bae Chunhui’s janggo (hourglass drum) accompaniment, Yi Yongnyeo had blended three verses from three separate songs—Son Panim’s 1955 “Cry, Guitar String,” about wandering in a foreign land; another song none of us could identify, which might have been of her own invention; and “Jal itgeora Busan-hang” (Take Care, Busan Harbor), a 1970 pop classic. In the first piece she sang about drifting in a foreign land in search of lost love. In the second piece she sang from a woman’s perspective, asking a departing man why he had fooled her into love. In the last verse she assumed the male perspective, bidding a number of women well as he takes his leave in Busan Harbor. Yi Yongnyeo transformed the song, which in its original version bid a fond, wistful, but jovial and inevitable farewell to the man’s female conquests, into the bottomless lament of a woman who recalls the words of the one who left. One of the women to whom the man bids farewell is a Miss Lee (Yi). Yi Yongnyeo thus found herself in the song and cried as she sang in her cigarette-scarred voice. At the exhibition, Yi Yongnyeo listened to her song and sang along, crying, then slowly starting to laugh; when the song was over she walked briskly to the center of the exhibition space and began to sing her breezy version of “The Ballad of the Travelling Entertainer” (“Changbu Taryeong”), which exhorts us:  “Life is a one night’s spring dream, so we’ve got to have fun while we can.” Media photographers and television crews captured images of Yi Yongnyeo singing, dancing, and laughing in the face of her victimization; not all of them only used the images of her in tears. Attempts at exhibiting survivors’ music must face the general complexity of displaying music and people, and the difficulty of intervening in overdetermined political contexts. They are fraught with ethical quandries and dangers, and can easily become the kind of “conscience pornography” that the Kleinmans describe in their powerful article on images of social suffering (1997). In general, this means that longer and more complex media, such as books and documentary films, are preferable, in the interests of diffusing sensationalism, making sustained political interventions, and cultivating respectful and productive relationships with survivors. This means a step away from the streamlining of ethnographic material for political activism. Again, though, this is itself a kind of activism—on behalf of the people concerned, and on behalf of mutual empathy and understanding.

The Study of Survivors’ Music    505

Teaching Survivors’ Music While most presentations of survivors’ music are intended to be educational, classroom and other person-to-person teaching about survivors’ music has its own set of challenges and opportunities. Smaller classes are preferable to large lecture courses, because they allow the instructor to stay in touch with students and field their often dramatic reactions to the material: no matter how much one privileges survivors, their music, and their ingenuity over the calamities that they survive in such a course, many students nonetheless encounter many new and shocking social realities, and react in a variety of ways. Some students associate the survivors’ experiences they encounter with their own experiences of violence and trauma. Bearing this in mind, it is important to make information available to students about counseling services and emergency resources available to them through their school, government, and nonprofit organizations. A course on survivors’ music may be built around case studies, but there are a number of framing issues to bear in mind and focus in on. There is the fundamental issue of how to listen to survivors’ music, and the question of witnessing—for survivors’ musical performance is often a kind of witnessing, and the listening subject is also a witness. This topic provides an opportunity for thinking about the politics of listening, the act of witnessing as a recuperative act, and also about traumatic transference and secondary trauma. Another core issue is the role of music in social domination and resistance. Shirli Gilbert’s introduction to Music in the Holocaust, which, as discussed above, problematizes notions of the redemptive power of music, is quite useful as a discussion piece here. So, too, is James Scott’s Domination and the Arts of Resistance (1990), which elaborates a theory of public and hidden transcripts of power, and describes how the performance of submission can be a strategy of resistance, allowing us to understand the complex interrelatedness of concepts such as “domination,” “subordination,” and “resistance.” Throughout, it is useful to juxtapose these scholarly texts with survivors’ narratives that variously bear out and challenge these ideas. Regarding the variously destructive and redemptive power of music, Laks’s memoir (1977) and Daran Kravanh’s narrative of life under the Khmer Rouge (Lafreniere, 2000), both mentioned above, make a compelling contrast. The cumulative effect is to shift focus from abstract arguments about the nature of music and social domination to a consideration of what music means to survivors and how it unfolds in particular situations as people make do in life. Perhaps the pre-eminent issue to be considered in teaching survivors’ music is the role of music vis-à-vis survivors’ experiences of violence and traumatic experience. There are a number of different perspectives from which one can consider this relationship: the psychological relations between music and trauma; the music of rituals aimed at healing and overcoming; music and cultural trauma; and the role of survivors’ music in political arenas, among others. All of these issues prepare a mature discussion of case studies, which can be woven throughout the course, along the lines of my suggestions for incorporating the Laks

506   Joshua D. Pilzer and Lafreniere books above. I  have taught case studies in the music of survivors of African-American slavery and the US Civil War; the Khmer Rouge; domestic violence, child abuse, and sexual violence in North America; the genocide of Native Americans; the European Holocaust; the Asia-Pacific War; the Vietnam War; the recent Afghan and Iraq wars; and the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. One of the core tenets of the study of survivors’ music is that survivors themselves are teachers of music and life. Just as the question of whether or not the study of survivors’ music is a kind of activism is interestingly answered by shifting focus away from the researcher to the ways that survivors themselves become activists, the teaching of survivors’ music can be fruitfully pursued by drawing attention to survivors’ teaching activities. An instructor must first find such materials in the written literature, and this may seem difficult; but since most often survivors perform, testify, and write narratives of their experiences at least partly to educate others, there is an abundance of material. Using survivors’ teaching practices as inspiration, one may instigate group learning of pieces of survivors’ music in classes. I have found this to be one of the best ways to convincingly demonstrate the pleasure and the hopefulness inherent in the study of survivors’ music, and to demonstrate the utility of music in people’s lives. Such learning and performance also create bridges across the gulfs that often separate students from survivors, by affecting a transubstantiation of a song, melody, rhythm, or other musical piece or activity from one person to another or to a group. My survivors’ music seminar has learned and performed songs and instrumental pieces of survivors of the “comfort women” system, the Holocaust, and African-American slavery.

Conclusion In this chapter I have overviewed some of the primary ethical, intellectual, and practical issues that arise in the study of survivors’ music. The overriding issue, in my view, is to find a way to be a scholar, educator, and activist without displacing people from the center of one’s intellectual, pedagogical, and political goals. If “the study of survivors’ music” doesn’t coalesce into a crystal-clear method, this is because so much must be worked out between scholar-educator-activists and the people they work with; that workingout is the fundamental principle of the method.13 It is a method that stresses listening to and learning from survivors and their music rather than helping them, and facilitating others in similar processes of learning. In this way it hopes to spread the word about the plights of people who suffer and have suffered, to spread appreciation of their artistry, and to disseminate the knowledge they have acquired through their struggles— knowledge that may make life easier for many of us, and may prevent cycles of violence and traumatic experience and repetitions of shameful episodes in human history. As a kind of musical inquiry interested in people and practice over ideas and ideologies in the abstract, which stresses the importance of listening to others, of educational activism, and of forging connections with educators and others outside the academy, it is my

The Study of Survivors’ Music    507 hope that the study of survivors’ music may make a profound contribution to human history—musical and otherwise—and to the general well-being of social worlds. Many survivors slip away from us every day and take these reservoirs of music and knowledge with them, to our lasting impoverishment. There is much work to do.

Acknowledgments I would like to express my gratitude to Yi Okseon, Yi Yongsu, Han Jeongsun, and the other survivors of the Japanese military “comfort women” system and radiation sufferers who have inspired this chapter. I am grateful to the students of my seminars on “Survivors’ Music” at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and Columbia University. Thanks also to the attendees of a Columbia University Ethnomusicology Center presentation, titled (somewhat hyperbolically) “Survivors’ Music: A Manifesto,” for their suggestions and questions, and to the editors of this volume for their careful criticisms.

Notes 1. My book Hearts of Pine: Songs in the Lives of Three Korean Survivors of Japanese Military Sexual Slavery (2012) puts this method into practice much more thoroughly. 2. A system of organized sexual slavery by which the Japanese military and business provided sexual services for soldiers and affiliated civilians. The system, often called Japanese military sexual slavery, involved between 50,000 and 200,000 girls and young women from across Japan’s colonial territories. See Yoshimi (1995: 92–93). 3. My own attempt to sort these things out, and turn them into a method of inquiry and documentation, can be read in the preface to Hearts of Pine (2012: ix–xii). 4. www.nanum.org. 5. One’s showpiece song, or “number eighteen” (ship-pal bon, an expression of Japanese origin) is a kind of personal favorite/best song which many Koreans of older generations often sing voluntarily or by request at parties and other informal social settings. For more on the “number eighteen,” see Pilzer (2012: 38). 6. Korean ages are counted from conception, so Yi Okseon was roughly a year younger in European reckoning. 7. Many survivors’ written and spoken narratives generally stop at the moment of “liberation,” although at this moment survivors have hardly begun to grapple with their experiences. Two nonetheless immeasurably valuable narratives exemplify this:  Bree Lafreniere’s Music through the Dark, about accordionist Daran Kravanh’s tale of survival under the Khmer Rouge (2000); and Szymon Laks’s Music of Another World, about his term as the conductor of the men’s orchestra at Birkenau (1979). The fetishization of violence in the historical understanding of modern atrocities and traumatic experience is such that many survivors have come to understand their value as public people to be concentrated in their ability to relate traumatic historical events, and often stop when the most horrific part of their story is finished, before the work of self-reconstruction and healing has begun.

508   Joshua D. Pilzer 8. One might contrast this adjectival way of thinking about music with Western art music’s predilection to foreground musical “pieces” (nouns) or Christopher Small’s (1998) emphasis on musical practices (verbs). 9. For instance, Steven Feld’s Sound and Sentiment (1980), one of the central documents in the small literature of sociomusicology, is notable for focusing on the relations between environmental sound, language, and music. 10. I listen to Pak Duri’s musicality in her speech, testimony, and singing, and in her shinsae taryeong (ballad of life’s trials), a kind of vocalization between song and speech, attempting to understand how the voice she cultivated in song was useful to her in other expressive realms, among other things (2012: 31–66). I recorded many conversations with survivor Mun Pilgi, and listened for how she “musicalized” her daily life by introducing musical sounds—song quotations, clapping, rhythmic vocalization—and topics while speaking, sitting in silence, and listening to environmental sound (ibid.: 67–104). In this way, Mun Pilgi used music to strive away from her feelings of isolation and toward different senses of togetherness—the togetherness of the shared rhythm of clapping, or shared knowledge of a song, or a fandom, for instance. In one remarkable example, she begins to sing to the pulse of a young woman’s casual tapping, establishing a collective pulse which bridges generations and gulfs of experience (ibid.: 102). Such moments of the emergence of music also demonstrated the way that she used “the musical” to weave threads of thematic coherence through her life—peppering her talk with quotations from her favorite songs, for instance. 11. http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/collections/voices/. 12. It is not uncommon in written Korean, especially when approximating speech, to omit plurals. So it is impossible to know if this refers to one woman or a group, or both. 13. A  remarkable example of another project in the study of survivors’ music is Jessica A. Schwartz’s work with Rongelapese survivors of American nuclear testing in the Pacific and their descendants. Her attention to the political interests and personal wishes of her collaborators is admirable, and she has evolved her own methods to reflect these interests and desires (see Schwartz, 2012a, 2012b).

References Cusick, Suzanne. (2008). “ ‘You are in a place that is out of this world…’:  Music in the Detention Camps of the ‘Global War on Terror.’ ” Journal of the American Musicological Society 2(1): 1–26. Doubleday, Veronica. (1988). Three Women of Herat. London: Cape. Feld, Steven. (1982). Sound and Sentiment: Birds, Weeping, Poetics, and Song in Kaluli Expression (2nd ed.). Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Flam, Gila. (1992). Singing for Survival: Songs of the Łodz Ghetto, 1940–45. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Gilbert, Shirli. (2005). Music in the Holocaust: Confronting Life in the Nazi Ghettos and Camps. New York: Oxford University Press. Goodman, Steve. (2012). Sonic Warfare: Sound, Affect, and the Ecology of Fear. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

The Study of Survivors’ Music    509 Hirsch, Marianne. 2001. “Surviving Images:  Holocaust Photographs and the Work of Postmemory.” The Yale Journal of Criticism 14(1): 5–37. Howard, Keith, ed. (1995). True Stories of the Korean Comfort Women: Testimonies Compiled by the Korean Council for Women Drafted for Military Sexual Slavery by Japan and the Research Association on the Women Drafted for Military Sexual Slavery by Japan. London: Cassell. Kang Yonggwon, ed. (2000). Kkeulyeogan saramdeul, ppae-atkin saramdeul:  gangjero jingyongja wa jonggun wianbu ui jeungeon [People Dragged Away, People Stolen: Forced Conscripts and Military Comfort Women’s Testimonies]. Seoul: Haewadal. Kleinman, Arthur, and Joan Kleinman. (1997). “The Appeal of Experience:  The Dismay of Images:  Cultural Appropriations of Suffering in Our Times.” In Social Suffering, edited by Arthur Kleinman, Veena Das, and Margaret Lock, pp. 1–24. Berkeley:  University of California Press. LaCapra, Dominick. (1999). “Trauma, Absence, Loss.” Critical Inquiry 25: 696–727. Lafreniere, Bree (Daran Kravanh). (2000). Music Through the Dark:  A  Tale of Survival in Cambodia. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Laks, Szymon. (1979). Music of Another World. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Maciszewski, Amelia. (2006). “Tawa’if, Tourism, and Tales:  The Problematics of Twenty-First Century Musical Patronage for North India’s Courtesans.” In The Courtesan’s Arts:  Cross-Cultural Perspectives, edited by Martha Feldman and Bonnie Gordon, pp. 332–352. New York: Oxford University Press. Pettan, Svanibor. (1998). “Music, Politics, and War in Croatia in the 1990s: An Introduction.” In Music, Politics and War:  Views from Croatia, edited by Svanibor Pettan, pp. 9–27. Zagreb: Institute of Ethnology and Folklore Research. Pettan, Svanibor. (2010). “Applied Ethnomusicology: Bridging Research and Action.” Music and Arts in Action 2(2): 90–93. Pilzer, Joshua D. (2012). Hearts of Pine:  Songs in the Lives of Three Korean Survivors of the Japanese “Comfort Woman.” New York: Oxford University Press. Pilzer, Joshua D. (2014). “Music and Dance in Korean Experiences of the Japanese Military ‘Comfort Women’ System: A Case Study in the Performing Arts, War and Sexual Violence.” Women and Music 18: 1–23. Porter, James, and Herschel Gower. (1995). Jeannie Robertson: Emergent Singer, Transformative Voice. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press. Reyes, Adalaida. (1999). Songs of the Caged, Songs of the Free: Music and the Vietnamese Refugee Experience. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Sanford, Victoria. (2006). “Introduction.” In The Engaged Observer: Anthropology, Advocacy, and Activism, edited by Victoria Sanford and Asale Angel-Ajani, pp. 1–19. Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Schwartz, Jessica A. (2012a). “A ‘Voice to Sing’:  Rongelapese Musical Activism and the Production of Nuclear Knowledge.” Music and Politics 6. http://quod.lib.umich.edu/m/mp/ 9460447.0006.101?view=text;rgn=main. Schwartz, Jessica A. (2012b). “ ‘Between Death and Life’: Mobility, War, and Marshallese Women’s Songs of Survival.” Women and Music 16: 23–56. Scott, James C. (1990). Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Shapiro-Phim, Toni. (2008). “Mediating Cambodian History, the Sacred, and the Earth.” In Dance, Human Rights, and Social Justice: Dignity in Motion, edited by Naomi Jackson and Toni Shapiro-Phim, pp. 304–322. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press.

510   Joshua D. Pilzer Silent Jane. (2006). “Beautiful Fragments of a Traumatic Memory: Synaesthesia, Sesame Street, and Hearing the Colors of an Abusive Past.” Trans: Transcultural Music Review 10. http:// www.sibetrans.com/trans/. Silverman, Carol. (2012). Romani Routes:  Cultural Politics and Balkan Music in Diaspora. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Small, Christopher. (1998). Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Young, James E. 1988. Writing and Rewriting the Holocaust: Narrative and the Consequences of Interpretation. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Yoshimi Yoshiaki. (1995). The Comfort Women. Translated by Suzanne O’Brien. New York: Columbia University Press. Vander, Judith. (1988). Songprints:  The Musical Experience of Five Shoshone Women. Urbana: University of Illinois Press.

Chapter 15

Music and C onfl i c t Resolu ti on The Public Display of Migrants in National(ist) Conflict Situations in Europe: An Analytical Reflection on University-Based Ethnomusicological Activism Britta Sweers

Nationalism and migration have been two central forces in shaping the political landscape of Europe—besides the formation of transregional structures, such as the European Community (e.g., Behr, 2005). This has become particularly apparent in the post-1989 situation (e.g., Fijalkowski, 1993). While the period before 1989 also experienced a strong migrant movement, especially into states like Germany, Austria, and Switzerland that recruited so-called “guest-workers” during the economic boom, the political perception was mostly focused on the divided situation of the Cold War. The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the subsequent downfall of the Soviet Union and communist governments of the Eastern Bloc countries led to a change of the economic and political systems in Eastern Europe. One could thus observe the formation of new nation-states, including the Baltic states Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, along with an increasingly unstable situation that also influenced regions outside the initial conflict zones. This became most visible with the Yugoslavia Wars in the 1990s, but also with new persecutions, for example of Romanian Roma, and relocations of earlier migrant populations, such as the Russian-Germans. The result was a large migration flow, particularly into those Western countries that had started to accept political refugees after the end of the guest-worker recruiting period. The admittance of the modern, partly traumatized migrants and the integration of the earlier migrant groups have been partly highly conflict-laden processes, which partly led to violent escalations, as became apparent in Germany in the early 1990s. By particularly focusing on three different case studies of so-called “action ethnomusicology” from Germany and Switzerland (cf. Pettan, 2008), this chapter predominantly focuses on the university-based work of public display of migrants through music in

512   Britta Sweers time-restricted contexts with limited preceding research data. Based on a general analysis of the impact of applied ethnomusicology in this situation, the chapter addresses the relation between academic research and applied work. All these projects indicate that successful intercultural interaction is not only based on profound ethnomusicological research—such as a cartography of the addressed migrants or musical cultures, an analysis of the specific problem situation, and the role of the music in this context. Rather, a systematic knowledge and management of the projects’ key factors is likewise essential—particularly, as most projects require pragmatic compromises with regard to the scientific hard facts. Besides the infrastructural situation, these key factors also comprise a clear knowledge of, for instance, the various target groups, including the needs and interests of the participatory groups and institutions involved—that is, the ethnomusicologist, his or her institution, public institutions, the government, audiences, and, most important, the migrants themselves. As I will thus argue here, a central condition for successful applied work in this situation is a careful (self-)analysis of the general possibilities of the ethnomusicologist. This systematization of these various steps and factors notwithstanding, the large number of factors involved in this applied work indicate that a generalization and theoretization is difficult. Not only does music play highly different roles in the various contexts, the “human factor”—be it with regard to the target groups and even the ethnomusicologist him- or herself—adds an element that is difficult to calculate and systematize, as the various interests, needs, and assumed role/power expectations often do not correspond with each other.

Framing the Institutional and Political Context Following this line of argument, it appears essential to first clearly frame the projects with regard to the broader political situation, the general role of music in these context, and the institutional position of the ethnomusicologist. The latter can strongly vary—for example, the specific situation of an ethnomusicologist within the German-speaking countries partly strongly deviates from the US situation and related discourses. I will first focus on the latter aspect, before undertaking a broader political contextualization of the case studies.

The Institutional Contextualization of the Ethnomusicologist Unlike the situation as outlined by Harrison (2012: 506–515) and Titon with Fenn (2003), ethnomusicologists were forced to work outside a strictly academic context in the German-speaking countries from early on. This was not only a result of the extremely marginal situation of ethnomusicology (Sweers, 2008b), but also of Wilhelm von Humboldt’s ideal of a comprehensive university education that was favored as a value in itself—yet not

Music and Conflict Resolution    513 as a subsequent and clearly defined job guarantee (ibid.). This has led to a strong(er) tradition of non-academic applied activities (including journalism, the commercial music business, and diplomatic employment), as well as to a much earlier awareness of the discipline’s social position than in the United States (cf. Harrison, 2012: 514). Consequently, the work in the commercial sector might be, but is not necessarily viewed as, an area of applied work in German-speaking countries. Rather, it is perceived as a normal or at least inevitable form of subsequent employment—the detachment from more scholarly activities notwithstanding.1 With regard to the projects discussed below, it is further important to realize the clear difference of applied ethnomusicology, which is tied to an academic infrastructure (and institutional representation), the situation of ethnomusicologists employed at non-academic institutions (e.g., civil initiatives), and ethnomusicologists active as freelance workers who have little or no access to institutional infrastructures and depend more strongly on comprehensive funding. This chapter will particularly focus on the first group, that is, full-time employed ethnomusicologists who are connected to an academic institution. However, unlike the situation of applied ethnomusicology as depicted by Sheehy (1992) and Seeger (2008), the projects discussed here are not related to preceding research or fieldwork but rather emerged at the request—often on short notice—of the communities in which the ethnomusicological post is located.

The Political Context of the Case Studies: Migration in Germany and Switzerland Germany experienced several waves of migration since the end of World War II (Bade and Oltmer, 2004; Reißlandt, 2005). From 1955 to 1973, foreign workers were specifically recruited in both Germanys in order to compensate for labor shortage in specific branches of industry. Thus, West Germany established recruiting contracts with Italy (1955), Spain and Greece (1960), Turkey (1961), Morocco (1973), Portugal (1964), Tunisia (1965), and Yugoslavia (1968). In East Germany, these were especially contract workers from Vietnam, Poland, and Mozambique, yet in total much less than in West Germany. In the 1970s (the recruiting of so-called “guest workers” was stopped in West Germany in 1973), this group was succeeded by asylum seekers and refugees, while the 1980s were likewise shaped by the joining of the family members from the former recruiting countries. Finally, the 1990s were shaped by the resettlement of the so-called “Spätaussiedler” (“late repatriates”) from Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union. This historical development is also reflected in the distribution of migrants within the counties at the time of writing with a stronger share in the west of about 12 percent—in contrast to the eastern counties with an average share of 2 percent.2 As a total, the population of Germany comprises a share of migrants (7.289149 out of 82.437995 persons).3 Unlike countries like the United States that have been strongly shaped by a clear awareness of migration, political discourses only started to perceive Germany as a

514   Britta Sweers migrant country from the mid-1990s on (e.g., Butterwegge, 2005). Within the context of a democratic system, yet also of an increasing number of conflicts, this has, first of all, resulted in a relatively supportive situation regarding intercultural research and institutionalized applied projects in Germany.4 This is clearly different from what Hemetek (e.g., 2006) depicted in her studies on minorities and what Araujo (e.g., 2010) or Corn (2012) described with regard to indigenous cultures that are strongly shaped by conflicts with governmental structures and might require more hidden acting. This altered political awareness appears to be in striking contrast to the long-existent presence of migrants especially within (particularly West) German major urban areas that also have established a rich network of intercultural music-related institutions. For example, Berlin not only features public events like the Karneval der Kulturen (“carnival of cultures”) in early June, visible venues like the Haus der Kulturen (“house of cultures”), and world music radio stations like the Internet station multicult.fm, but also provides integrative and productive support from the governmental administrative sector (e.g. the Senatskanzlei [“senate’s chancellery”] Berlin offers sound studio scholarships for world music or migrant music bands). Similarly, Cologne features a strong network of intercultural agencies, such as alba Kultur or the Weltmusik, Klezmer und Ästhetik Akademie, Integration- und Begegnungszentrum e.V. (including an academy for Klezmer music), as well as cultural and integration centers like Phönix: Kultur- und Integrationszentrum in Köln.5 However, having been a judge for the counties Mecklenburg-West Pomerania, Brandenburg, and Berlin during the world music CREOLE competition in 2008 (see also below), I could clearly observe a difference between Berlin and the more remote, infrastructurally weaker areas in East Germany at that time. Not only was it more difficult to locate suitable bands, but also a comparable visibility of migrants, as apparent in Berlin, was clearly missing in these regions. However, the long-neglected political acknowledgment of migration has also been paralleled by a large gap in scientific research. On the one hand, one could observe the emergence of the active field of intercultural music education within German school music pedagogy since the 1980. This is reflected in the studies of, for example, Merkt (1983, 1993), Schütz (1997), Ott (1998), Barth (2001), Stroh (2002), and Schläbitz (2007). On the other hand, the situation and the different forms of migrant music have only been marginally researched in (ethno-)musicological studies, including the contexts and spheres of impact (e.g., the role of sound studios and independent CD labels). With a few exceptions, such as the Berlin-based research of Max Peter Baumann (1979) and Brandeis et al. (1990), studies on migrant music have been mostly focused on Turkish communities (e.g., Baumann, 1984; Reinhard, 1984a, 1984b; and particularly Greve, 2003; also Wurm, 2006). Different perspectives such as Schedtler’s (1999) analysis of migrant street musicians in Hamburg were long isolated studies until Clausen, Hemetek, and Saether (2009) added a broader perspective that included Germany as well. Yet, with regard to a more comprehensive picture, the analysis of other music cultures is still rare (see, for example, Baily [2005] with regard to Afghan music cultures or Bertleff with regard to the repertoire of Russian-German migrants).6 This still comparably sparse research output is also the result of the difficult situation of German ethnomusicology, which had only been marginally represented at German universities and music universities until the new millennium (Sweers, 2008b).

Music and Conflict Resolution    515 Different from Germany, modern Switzerland has long been shaped by a strong migration (22.4% in 2010). Already in 1914, Switzerland counted an average of 15 percent migrations (in the cities up to 30%–40%), which, however, led to very early discourses about feared foreign “infiltration” and restrictions, although World War II resulted in another flow of refugees—not least to the neutral position of Switzerland (Wottreng, 2001).7 In contrast to war-destroyed Europe, Switzerland could revive its industry very soon after 1945, which led to a very early recruiting of migrant workers, particularly from Italy. Furthermore, Switzerland experienced a strong political migrant wave, particularly from Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Tibet, and Sri Lanka. Much earlier than Germany, for instance, Switzerland experienced strong anti-foreigner campaigns as early as the 1970s, which became particularly apparent with the so-called Schwarzenbach-Initiative.8 The economic boom of the 1980s saw an additional recruitment campaign. However, while the country has clearly addressed its integrative problems in public, Switzerland has increasingly likewise been shaped by populist anti-migrant slogans—particularly by the dominant leading party SVP (Schweizer Volkspartei; “Swiss Peoples’ Party”). Given the smaller size of the country, as well as the even more strongly marginalized situation of ethnomusicology and a stronger focus on folk music research,9 the musical background of the migrants in Switzerland has been even less analyzed than in Germany at the time of writing. While there exists a body of research on migrant cultures in general (see, for instance, McDowell [1996] with regard to Tamil cultures), the research on music outside journalism10 and outside the work of applied institutions like the Geneva-based Ateliers d’Ethnomusicologie (ADEM)11 has again only been covered by occasional university-based projects in the new millennium (e.g., Liechti [2012] on world music groups in Bern).12 In summary, these observations indicate that most applied projects addressing migration in these countries ideally requires long-term research. However, particularly in the situations outlined below—projects that emerged at a request of the local communities—time and/or funding to adequately undertake this step were clearly lacking. The conceptualization of the approaches thus required a broader overview of the role of music within migration contexts. At the same time, the study of especially these relatively small projects allows for a detailed study of the interplay of the multiple factors that contribute to the outcomes.

The Role of Music within the Migrant Communities As music has been intertwined with most of the central life contexts, one can observe a highly complex situation in Germany (that can, in parts, be transferred to Switzerland). Just to outline a few selected aspects that should only serve as a framework: • Many migrants have been continuing their music traditions within their internal cultural networks. This basically occurs in a private sphere—as apparent with the

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Rostock-based German-Russian choir Nadejda (Sweers, 2011). Many Spätaussiedler, for instance, had their own singing clubs, which primarily functioned as a central sociocultural anchor point at the time of the research of the Polyphonie der Kulturen (“Polyphony of Cultures”) project in Rostock (2004–2006). Public performances and the connection to various intercultural institutions, particularly within the larger urban areas, notwithstanding, these activities occur either on an amateur level or are located within a strongly private sphere. This includes performances within the life cycle (e.g., fertility celebrities, weddings, or funerals). • As the Rostock case illustrates, even regions with a small share of migrants (in this case, 3.2%) are shaped by a broad range of musical activities. For many migrants, music groups constitute a central contact point into the public sphere and are a central source of income, especially in an illegal situation, as the case of the Togolese migrants in Rostock elucidates (Sweers, 2010a, 2011). At the same time, as is apparent with Schedtler’s (1999) study, migrant performers are also strongly present within the street music scenes. • Music is a central expression of identity, especially for the younger generation. This is often expressed in fusions with modern Western directions. For example, the second and third Turkish migrant generations have created their own music language (Oriental hip-hop) on the basis of American hip-hop, while texts (e.g., of Shakkah and K.S.B. Kanacks with Brain) often reflect on the contemporary situation of the teenage generation. Something similar could also be observed with the Spätaussiedler generation (Sweers, 2008a). • Besides the presence within the various above-sketched intercultural networks, music can provide a contact point with “official” state-based institutions, which can be described as Slobin’s (1993) “supercultural sphere.” For example, migrant musicians are increasingly active at the central German Jugendmusikschulen (“Youth Music Conservatories”). In Hamburg, which features one of the largest Afghan migrant communities, one can discover an Afghan tabla teacher at the state-based Jugendmusikschule, while Essen and Berlin already have established local categories in baglama playing at the transregional Jugend musiziert (“Youth Makes Music”) competitions (cf. Baily, 2007). • Migrant musics are also embedded into global networks. For example, within the Hamburg-based Afghan migrant community, one finds sound studios that have provided a recording infrastructure for the musicians of the entire diaspora. Likewise, as is apparent in Switzerland, music performers of “mother countries” are often booked within migrant communities for concerts, as well as seasonal festivities, and rituals of the life cycle (e.g., fertility festivities, weddings, funerals)—the presence of local musicians notwithstanding. • The emergence of new music directions through the fusion with the “German”/ Western pop culture—for example, within the club scenes, as has been apparent in Berlin`s Russendisko scene. Named after a novel of the German-Russian author Wladimir Kaminer, Russendisko (2000) denotes a genre that has been fusing traditional Russian and modern music genres. Played at a high speed, Russendisko was

Music and Conflict Resolution    517 popularized in dance events and radio shows by Kaminer and RotFront musician Yuriy Gurzhy in Berlin in the first decade of the millennium (Eckstedt, 2005).13 In a few cases (Turkish music, Russendisko) music has become part of the global world music scene—which is likewise the case with a few migrant groups like the Ensemble Kaboul. These examples not only indicate a broad range of possibilities for applied ethnomusicology projects working with migrants, they again highlight that the conceptualization of each project needs to take the specific musical context into consideration—amateur performances directed at private context have different requirements and interests than, for example, street performers or professional “world musicians.” It appears likewise useful to be aware of the chosen general form and related possible impacts of the applied approaches.

Staging Minorities: The Range of Public Display Possibilities Given the above-mentioned political support of intercultural education in Germany, this chapter will particularly focus on the applied approach, which I call “public display” or “staging,” that is, the presentation of migrants through ethnomusicological work in a visible sphere in order to raise the general awareness of these groups (within other local communities, the broader public, etc.), yet also in order to strengthen the groups’ self-affirmation through public affirmation. This includes the support of these groups in locating and facilitating these spaces for themselves (cf. Pettan, 2008). The goals of this approach can also be described as a display of migrant groups in spaces originally not immediately accessible to them, based on the assumption that public notice plays a central role for the conflict resolution. As could be observed during Rostock’s Polyphonie der Kulturen project, the desire of becoming publicly acknowledged appears to be an important factor of developing further self-esteem among migrant groups—besides economic aspects. As the case of the Russian-German Spätaussiedler group Nadejda indicates here, particularly amateur musicians perceive a performance at a state-based music conservatory or university as an essential experience of being noticed. However, as the list below illustrates, there actually exists a broad range of levels of public display through university-based ethnomusicological work—again, that clearly differs from the work of public institutions—with different degrees of control (from the perspective of the migrant groups) and direct interaction with public audiences: • Mediatized display:  While the outcome (music, documentary, performance) is ideally based on direct interaction between researcher and interlocutors, a direct interaction with audiences is not necessary; the final form and range of display are often under stronger control of the authors and publishers, less of the migrants.

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• Visibility through printed documentation (e.g., in scholarly and journalistic articles). Digital media possibilities—and related media coverage (e.g., through newspapers) notwithstanding—a printed documentation still represents a high form of recognition through its physically comprehensible form, distribution, and interconnection with institutional (especially academic) sides, although the production process can be very slow. • Visibility through audio-visual media like CD recordings and film documentation (as occurred in the Polyphonie der Kulturen project)—which often symbolizes a broader perception and—real sale accounts notwithstanding—broader public recognition within the physical mass-media sphere. • Visibility through digital media, for example, Internet platforms that have a wide range of distribution and can be quickly altered, yet are often perceived of having less iconic—physical—visibility. • Other forms of display, such as the transformation of the knowledge into school teaching material (a large range of Rostock’s Polyphonie der Kulturen material was transformed into music teaching units). • Live display (which includes an interaction of the migrant group, the ethnomusicologist(s), and the audience), for example: • Public lectures on and with the migrants (as occurred in the Münsingen Project). This allows a direct reaction of the migrants to their presentation, plus an interaction with the audiences. • Public concerts and events with the ethnomusicologist as a host and presenter, but mostly in a moderating function between musicians and audiences, for example, Polyphonie der Kulturen; Musik Festival Bern. • Independent acting of the migrant group, which is in direct control of the interaction with audiences, with the ethnomusicologist as a mediator at most, for example: • Lectureships and teaching options at schools and universities (e.g., Polyphonie der Kulturen, Musik Festival Bern)—ideally as a regular implementation, yet often just as a one-time event. • Network development, which includes establishing contacts with direct and indirect policy makers, that is, entrepreneurs, marketers, and so on (cf. Lundberg, Malm, and Ronström, 2003: 50) for further concerts, and likewise of the sociopolitical sphere, including civil initiatives, and so on (e.g., Polyphonie der Kulturen). • Possibilities of access to recording studios, their equipment, and human knowledge (e.g., of a sound technician)—which is particularly important for amateur groups, who often have little experience on this level, yet also for more professional performers who often lack the financial resources.

While the central aim of the projects discussed below has been to provide the migrant groups with access to public platforms in order to provide more visibility in spheres that had previously not been accessible for these groups, they also reveal that each approach is in fact a complex interaction of Pettan’s (2008: 90) fourfold model of action, adjustment, administrative, and advocative ethnomusicology.14 Each project offered the migrants

Music and Conflict Resolution    519 space for action in public—in spaces where encounter with other, mostly local, groups is at the core (adjustment), often including the interaction with institutions (administrative), while the ethnomusicologist often served as mediator between the various groups (advocative ethnomusicology). In order to analyze the interplay of action, adjustment, advocacy, and administrative ethnomusicology (Pettan, 2008), this chapter will discuss three case studies of migrants in national(ist) contexts in Germany and Switzerland.

Three Case Studies from Germany and Switzerland As some of the cases presented below have already been discussed in various publications (e.g., Sweers 2010a, 2010b, 2011), I will briefly sketch the projects according to the initial conflict and context, conflict/target groups, involved institutions, and display approach. The German project will be clearly at the focus, yet is relativized by the comparison with two projects in related situations in Switzerland.

Project 1: The Polyphonie der Kulturen Project (Rostock, 2005–2008) The first—and largest—project was stimulated by an event that took place in Rostock (East Germany) in August 1992, when several thousand Neo-Nazis attacked a multistory building hosting Romanian Roma asylum-seekers and Vietnamese contract workers. After a siege that lasted several days, the first two floors were set on fire. The Lichtenhagen pogrom not only led to a restriction of German asylum laws, but also left Rostock with the stigma of xenophobia. The local population, however, reacted to this situation and subsequent Neo-Nazi threats with the foundation of various private initiatives against intolerance that finally resulted in the foundation of the citizens’ group Bunt statt braun (“Colourful instead of brown”—the latter color being a symbol of the Neo-Nazis) in 2000. This conflict situation has been shaped by a strong local xenophobia, which was further fueled by right-wing extremist activism (including right-wing extremist music CDs that were distributed on schoolyards from 2004 on) and a still marginalized situation of the actual victims, and migrants in the region in general. Given Rostock’s negative reputation in public media even more than a decade after the events, the Ausländerbeirat (“Advisory Board of Aliens”)—that had, like Bunt statt braun, been founded after Lichtenhagen—suggested setting a more positive emphasis on the present situation and variety through a stronger visibility of the migrant groups, rather than only looking backward at a static picture of the negative past.

520   Britta Sweers The applied ethnomusicological project, called Polyphonie der Kulturen, was undertaken between 2005 and 2008 as a collaboration between the Hochschule für Musik and Theater Rostock (“University of Music and Theatre Rostock,” abbr. HMT Rostock) and the civil initiative Bunt statt braun (Sweers, 2010a, 2011), which had approached me with this request. Set in a situation with only few intercultural institutions and limited funding options, it consisted of the production of a CD (released in 2006; Figure 15.1) and a CD-ROM (released in 2008) at its core—thus a form of mediaized display. While Bunt statt braun, as producer of the CD, was responsible for organization and finances, the HMT Rostock provided the scientific background (and thereby authorization) of the project, as well as the recording infrastructure. The project also resulted in scholarly articles and the transformation into school teaching material. This mediatized display was further enhanced by live presentations in the forms of accompanying concerts and festivals—that have partly led to a strengthening of independent acting of the migrants, that is, in form of lectureships and further concerts and networks.

Figure  15.1  The Polyphonie der Kulturen CD  cover.

Music and Conflict Resolution    521 The integrative side of this approach was reflected on the CD that not only comprised Rostock-based migrant performers with their own music and Germans playing “world music,” but also intercultural music projects. The CD-ROM contains background information on the music and performers, as well as a unit on dealing with Neo-Nazi music in the classroom in order to strengthen teachers/educationalists (as “indirect policy makers,” cf. Lundberg et al., 2003) and teenagers. As the latter case indicates, the project thus addressed three target groups: • At the core were the migrants whose visibility was strengthened through public media and concert presentation and the support of independent acting. • Regarding the local target groups, one central discourse behind the project could be described as raising tolerance and acceptance through the knowledge of the music of “other” cultures (which was directed at a teenage audience—as the central target group of contemporary right-wing extremist groups). This discourse was also stimulated by a situation that differed—with its small number of migrants (2004: 3.2%; 2011: 1.9%)15—clearly from that of urban contexts like Hamburg, Berlin, and Cologne), which have been shaped by much larger numbers (2005: Hamburg: 26%; Berlin: 22%; Cologne: 33%).16 • A third, likewise important, aim of the project, also with regard to the actual balance of local and migrant population, was a direct confrontation with right-wing extremism (which was particularly targeted at school teachers and intended to strengthen their position in the classroom through knowledge).

Case Studies 2 and 3: Switzerland Project 2: The Münsingen Project (2010–2011) This small project was conducted at the request of the small city of Münsingen (11,300 inhabitants; share of migrants: 8.5%17). Located approximately 20 kilometers southeast of Bern, the local community of Münsingen had set up an exhibition entitled “Alien in the village? No-one has always been living here” (“Fremd im Dorf? Niemand war schon immer hier”). The documentary that was displayed in the castle museum from autumn of 2011 until spring of 2012 highlighted the migrant history of the community since the 1960s. Focusing on the Italian guest-worker migration and modern refugee and immigration history, it likewise reanalyzed the concept of “Swiss” identity by discussing the presence of Celtic and Roman communities prior to the Alemannic tribes in the sixth century, the latter being considered a keystone of Swiss-German identity.18 Given the strong anti-immigration paroles of the leading political party, SVP, which held a share of 26.6 percent19 in the national parliament in 2011, this could also be read as a form of protest—by individuals, but—as became apparent in the opening speech of the town’s major—of the larger community as well.

522   Britta Sweers The exhibition was accompanied by public lectures at Münsingen’s Adult Education Centre. Within this context, I was requested by Therese Beeri—one of the project leaders and a retired politician who was working for Münsingen’s cultural center—to develop a one-night lecture. Again, in a situation in which the political debate had contributed to a strong de-individualization of the migrants, the factor of “visibility” became significant. The idea of this smaller project—a variant of live displaying—was thus to introduce the (Swiss) audience to various “world musics” via the musical interests and contexts of migrant interlocutors (none was an active public performer), thus raising the level of tolerance within the Swiss audience and strengthening the position of the migrants in the communities. The presentation in February 2012 was centered on four similarly structured interviews and was framed by musical sound examples that had been chosen together with the migrants (Figure 15.2). With the migrants likewise sitting in the audience, I presented their life stories through their musical preferences, which was further framed by a general introduction into the music of their region. As a large portion of the

Figure 15.2  Excerpt from the exhibition flyer with Mandi Lutumba and Nada Müller (transl. of the quotations:  “Mandi L.:  The possibility of being able to work is important for integration. Paula B.:  I  was not prepared for Switzerland, I  did not know anything. Lorenzo B.:  In Italy, dealing with government agencies and craftsmen is madness. Kouano Pierre N.: People are very open in Cote d’Ivoire—which I  miss here”).

Music and Conflict Resolution    523 local Swiss audience has initially been stimulated by their interest in world music, this presentation resulted in a close interaction between not only myself and the interlocutors, but also with the Swiss audience during the final discussion.

Project 3: The Musik Festival Bern (2011) In contrast to the previous two examples, the third case study was exclusively sited in a professional musical context—the third Musik Festival Bern, which was set under the motto “Flucht” (“flight/escape”) in September 2011. While this theme was mainly directed at music-theoretical aspects, such as fugue structures, it nevertheless also thematized the experience of exile. This led to a collaboration of the Festival organizers with Bern’s Institute of Musicology. At the core of this collaboration was the presentation of the Geneva-based Afghan Ensemble Kaboul and its rubab player Khaled Arman (b. 1965) (Figure 15.3). Arman’s nomination as the festival’s Artist in Residence, as well as the presentation of his music as equivalent to Western classical music, was clearly intended as a means of empowerment—in form of stronger visibility within the high art cultural segment—of the exiled performers. My role as ethnomusicologist was to interview Khaled Arman after a film presentation in public (live display),

Figure  15.3  Khaled Arman teaching at the Institute of Musicology in  Bern.

524   Britta Sweers and to facilitate and organize a practical workshop in Indian and Persian music at the Institute of Musicology—in which Arman was presented and strengthened in his role as a teacher authority. As this resulted in a subsequent one-semester lectureship on Indian music at the Institute of Musicology, we can likewise speak of an independent acting approach here.

The Role of the Ethnomusicologist: Between Observer and Actor Having sketched the projects according to issues such as conflict situation, target groups, output, and so on, the role of the ethnomusicologist—as a representative, yet as an authority—also needs to be taken into consideration, as it strongly influences the course and outcome of the project.20 Furthermore, the reflection on the ethnomusicologist’s own role within the project reveals the clear tension between a theoretically neutral position and the actual interactive situation. With regard to the examples presented above, we can observe three different layers of partly open, partly hidden role perceptions: • the ethnomusicologist as a representative of an institution; • the ethnomusicologist as an academic authority; and • the ethnomusicologist as a private person. In contrast to the position of an idealized neutral observer that might be paralleled in the ethnomusicologist outside the conflict zones or actual acting initiatives,21 these situations required the ethnomusicologist to become actively involved. How strongly the Swiss political situation has been affecting the perception of ethnomusicological work became clearly apparent when my professorship in Cultural Anthropology of Music was established at the University of Bern in 2009. I and my assistant Sarah Ross were soon drawn into requests for an active public involvement. As is even more strongly apparent here, public notice of ethnomusicological work can be a key factor in the emergence of applied work. In my case, it started with an article in Der Bund, a leading Swiss newspaper, on my work (Mühlemann, 2011), which included a description of the applied activities in Rostock. This brought me into contact with several representatives of cultural organizations who had apparently been looking for institutional collaborations. This perception as an authority figure within the wider community is a good indicator of the different roles attached to the ethnomusicologist, which go far beyond documentation, ranging from collaborator, institutional representative, and active political actor, to expert and mediator. My position as an academic was further challenged by my actual personal background. In the context of Rostock’s Polyphonie der Kulturen, I clearly had an outsider position, because I had not been involved in the conflict from 1992 and was, moreover, from Hamburg, West Germany (I had moved to Rostock, East Germany,

Music and Conflict Resolution    525 in 2001). At the same time, I was also acting—being a German citizen—as a representative of the power group, that is, the German institutions, the governmental layer, and Rostock’s population, hereby being in a position to actually criticize the political situation. When I moved to Bern, where I undertook the other two projects, I found myself in a completely different situation. While representing the university—and, thus, seemingly a neutral academic—I now was a migrant myself and in an inferior situation. This became particularly apparent during my first two months in Bern, which were shaped by the various campaigns for the Bundesratswahlen (Federal Council Elections) in 2009. The central negative target group of the leading party SVP had been the largest—at that time—migrant group, the Germans. I was clearly struggling to position myself in this situation. Not holding a Swiss passport, immediately recognizable by my Hochdeutsch (High-German) speaking (that was clearly opposing the dialect that dominated everyday speaking) and part of the publicly attacked migrant group,22 my voice seemed to have lost the power it had held only a few months before. I thus found that I  had to develop a different voice through long-term observation, which I regained two years later, yet in a different position. As I observed during the Münsingen Project and the Musik Festival Bern, I had moved to a much more restrained position—more concerned to give both parties a voice, rather than to speak out too strongly myself. While the Münsingen Project was part of a larger political statement—set against the anti-migration policy of the SVP—it likewise required a lot of diplomacy, for example by protecting the interests of the migrants and my own situation. Being a migrant myself, I had to be careful about making too direct remarks on the complex political situation. While I still was in a power position (by representing academia) and while I also reacted to a specific political situation, my statement has shifted to more general human issues than a direct criticism. My role as ethnomusicologist thus took on different features during the three projects: • Regarding the Polyphonie der Kulturen project, the civil initiative Bunt statt braun took the position of the HMT Rostock as a neutral public space, also for staging the cultural festival Nacht der Kulturen (“Night of Cultures”). The ethnomusicologist was seen as a collaborator and institutional representative, but not active political actor—rather, as someone who would elevate the project beyond normal recognition, especially due to the academic background. At the same time, the production process was a constant mediation between Bunt statt braun’s interests and concepts and the resources of the HMT Rostock (e.g., concerning the capacities of the recording studio or the financial interests of provost and dean). • The Münsingen Project viewed the ethnomusicologist as an official expert who could actually explain the specific situation to not only the organizers, but also the migrants. • The Musik Festival Bern clearly regarded the ethnomusicologist as an important authority figure to adequately present the Afghan Ensemble Kaboul.

526   Britta Sweers

From Science to Applied Work: Semi-Calculable Factors Returning to the initial question of the relation of science and applied work, the analysis of the background, the actual conflict/problem situation, as well as the ethnography of the related music traditions, can be described as the scientific basis. Similarly, there are segments and decisions of the applied project that are based on hard facts and scientifically grounded aspects, that is, systematic factors, including, besides approach and output (e.g., passive display through a CD), the identification of the target groups and involved groups, or the analysis of the infrastructure and financial means. A well-prepared management side clearly enhances the chances for a successful outcome of the project. An ethnomusicologist nevertheless needs to be aware of the transformative process occurring during applied project work, not least due to a number of semi- or even incalculable factors that are the result of the various power interplays that likewise have a strong impact on the original outline. This can be illustrated in the case of the Polyphonie der Kulturen project. Figure 15.4 illustrates the results of a statistical survey of Rostock’s migrant communities. However, the produced CD featured a different distribution, shown in Table 15.1. A comparison of the actual share of migrants (Figure 15.4) with the musicians represented on the CD (Table 15.1) reveals clear differences, which indicates that the production process was not only shaped by pre-investigations and statistics, but also by other factors. As Askew and Wilk emphasized in the preface of The Anthropology of Media (2002), each media object represents its own ethnographic history—and this is likewise reflected in this CD. As the project had been developed at the request of Bunt statt braun, many groups were connected to the activities of the civil initiative, while the track list was also shaped by the orientation of the central target group (a teenage audience), and its political message against right-wing extremism. I will subsequently highlight this decision-making process in more detail—particularly with regard to the infrastructural basis and finances.

Former Soviet Union (33%) Asia (31%) European Union (18%) Rest Europe (8%) Africa (4.9%) Americas (2.8%) others (2.3%)

Figure  15.4  Share of migrant communities in Rostock (2004) [6,598 persons  =  3.2%]. Source:  Statistisches Amt Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Statistische Berichte:  Bevölkerungsentwicklung. Ausländische Bevölkerung in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern (Ausländerzentralregister) 2004. http://service.mvnet.de/statmv/daten_stam_ berichte/e-bibointerth01/bevoelkerung--haushalte--familien--flaeche/a-i__/a143__/daten/a143-2004-00.pdf.

Table 15.1.  Track List of the CD Polyphonie der Kulturen Country/Region Represented by the Music

No.

Group

Background

Music Style

1

Schoolchildren from Rostock

German Germany (political (Rostock-based; statement) one Jewish choir)

Latinized hip-hop

2

Halb & Halb

German

Jewish music

Klezmer

3

Students of the Musikhochschule

Intercultural

Roma

Improvization in Roma style (Russia/Romania)

4

Percussion Project Rostock

German

Venezuela

Jazz/classical composition

5

Nadejda

Migrant

Russia

Russian choir singing (19th/20th-century style)

6

La Prado Band

Migrant

Latin America

Salsa

7

Los Talidos

Migrant

Latin America

Salsa

8

Zartgesottene Melodealer

German

Germany (political statement)

German-Anglo-American folk

9

InterSquad

Migrant

Russia

Russian-speaking hip-hop

10

Sambucos

German

Brazil

Samba drumming

11

Capoeira Rostock e.V. Intercultural

Brazil

Capoeira

12

Akanga

Migrant

Africa (Togo)

Traditional drumming/ singing

13

Hikmat al-Sabty

Migrant

Iraq

Oriental pop

14

Nyabinghi

Migrant

Ghana/Jamaica

Reggae

15

Bilwesz

German

Mecklenburg-West Pomerania

Regional folk music

16

Agua Flamenca

German

Spain

Flamenco

17

Schoolchildren from Rostock

German Germany (political (Rostock-based; statement) one Jewish choir)

Latinized hip-hop

528   Britta Sweers

Infrastructural Basis, Finances, and Funding One central factor of the outcome of these projects was the access to infrastructural power. For example, Rostock’s Polyphonie der Kulturen project could relate to the institutional basis of the HMT Rostock, which was necessary in this situation in which larger intercultural institutions were—in contrast to urban centers like Hamburg, Berlin, and Cologne—rare. This included free • access to recording studios and time; • performance spaces, such as the central concert hall (which relieved additional considerations such as room renting, insurances, advertisement, handling of entrance fees, etc.); • further support of the public affairs office; and • funded academic publication possibilities. This infrastructural situation had a strong impact on the application process. Only because the HMT Rostock could provide such a central basis, was it possible to obtain and work with funding from a variety of sources—the only way to conduct such a project in a financially weak region. At the same time, Bunt statt braun wrote not only the funding applications (that were more likely to be successful because of its political background), but also provided a network of performers—which was important due to the limited time frame, which did not allow for lengthy research. In the case of the Münsingen Project, the exhibition organizers provided the presentation infrastructure (lecture hall, advertising) and the interview spaces, or drove the interlocutors to Bern’s Institute of Musicology. The latter was highly valued by the interlocutors as they—as private persons—thereby entered a space of institutional (and, thus, assumed societal) power. In the case of the Musik Festival Bern, the institute was significant in that it provided financed teaching options and student audiences, while the festival provided the public spaces for the frame program (e.g., for the film documentary presentation and discussion) and advertisement. This institutional basis situation notwithstanding, additional funding is often essential, not only depending on the intended outcome, but also on the situation of the migrants: • In the case of the Polyphonie der Kulturen project, the mixture of amateurs and professionals was a clear cost factor. While the amateur performers were obviously satisfied just to be part of the project, they could not provide ready-produced tracks for the CD (which had been the initial idea of Bunt statt braun), while the professional bands could provide the tracks (which would save studio time) but also expected financial support in some form.

Music and Conflict Resolution    529 • The Münsingen Project can be described as a relatively easy format. Focused on one presentational event, it required little funding (except for a few travel expenses and a small honorarium) that could be easily covered by both institutions. • In contrast, the Musik Festival Bern presented professional musician(s) living from teaching and performing, who would expect an adequate payment. In the case of the Musik Festival Bern, it became only obvious at second sight that the festival organizers who depended on mixed funding expected the Institute of Musicology not only to host Khaled Arman’s performances, but also to finance his workshop. This was only possible because I still had some starting money related to my professorship, which had been established in 2009. Otherwise, the combination of conference and concert segments has been a highly difficult mix for Swiss sponsors, as mostly only one component is supported. Returning to the above outlined deviation of the statistical share and represented performers on the Polyphonie der Kulturen CD—the ideal production situation for a CD that accurately represented the statistical data would have been a backing of a large amount of money without any conditions. Quality CD, CD-ROM, or DVD productions are expensive if undertaken professionally and if aiming to reach a broader audience (this includes studio time, sound engineers, packaging, booklet production—and, last but not least, musical copyright fees). In reality, applied projects often have only a limited financial means, which—or parts of it—are also subject to further conditions set by funding organizations, donators, and so on. Finances thus need to be viewed as a likewise decisive factor with regard to the outcome, however carefully planned. The Polyphonie der Kulturen can be described as a low-key project—we acquired approximately 10,000 euros of financial support. Given the lack of major business companies in Mecklenburg-West Pomerania, we could only fall back on smaller or publicly funded sponsors. Yet, the variety listed here indicates the possibilities of gaining financial support for applied projects, even in financially struggling regions. The list of sponsors included the Landesrat für Kriminalitätsprävention M-V (a section focusing on criminal prevention of Mecklenburg-West Pomerania’s Ministry of the Interior), the Hansestadt Rostock (“Hansa City Rostock,” i.e., Rostock’s city council), the Norddeutsche Stiftung für Umwelt und Entwicklung aus Erträgen der Lotterie BINGO! Die Umweltlotterie (a lottery-sponsored foundation that supports environmental and developmental issues), the Bundesministerium für Familie, Senioren, Frauen und Jugend (Federal Ministry of the Interior [Family, Senior Citizens, Women, and Young People]), and the Landeszentrale für politische Bildung Mecklenburg-Vorpommern (the regional center for political education). While these organizations either supported specific parts of the project or gave general amounts of money, a media storehouse financed the CD packaging, and a media production company supported the CD design and booklet production. I still regard this project as an example of what is possible with little financial means. However, working with mixed financial sources likewise required awareness of the different deadlines and conditions of each sponsor—also with regard to the musical outcome.

530   Britta Sweers For example, the framing piece (nos. 1 and 17) is a Latin schoolchildren’s hip-hop recording. The song that emphasizes the positive multicultural side of the city developed out of a request of two sponsors and was recorded with approximately 100 schoolchildren. Given the large number of participants and soloists, we decided to include two versions on the CD. While this track most strongly reflected the spirit of this project and was shaped by pedagogic considerations (we included song sheets and a playback version on the CD-ROM for further work at school), it also created a strong imbalance on the CD, which was initially aimed at a more dance-oriented teenage audience.

Science Meets Application: The Issue of Representation We thus can discover a strong semi-calculable side by even seemingly clear factors like financial issues. Yet, as we could observe during all three projects, this transformation becomes even stronger in the selective process with regard to representation. As is apparent here, the choice of the performers was actually shaped by multiple interplays of interests and very pragmatic issues that each required the willingness to work with compromises. In order to highlight these processes in more depth, I will subsequently particularly focus on the problematic sides—especially in the case of the successful Polyphonie der Kulturen project.23

The Selection of the Performers for the Polyphonie der Kulturen CD Returning to the Polyphonie der Kulturen project, the representative outcome was clearly shaped by the actual situation, time/financial restrictions, and pragmatic decisions. Given the small share of 3.2 percent of migrants in the broader region of Rostock, the question of representation was highly complex: Should we select the few professional musicians who were likely to have high-quality material at hand, or rather amateurs who might reflect the actual share of migrants more clearly, but did not have any pre-recorded (and, thus, more affordable) material available, which would present a financial challenge and delay the production? Set against the political idea of providing a public platform for migrant performers, we decided to include a much larger share of amateur musicians than initially calculated. In the end, we had to record approximately half of the material—of different musical quality, which contributed to the highly heterogeneous nature of the CD. A further deviation from the statistical data was a result of pragmatic decisions. As outlined above, many groups were connected to the activities of Bunt statt braun as the

Music and Conflict Resolution    531 central intercultural organization within the region. For example, some members of the Russian-German amateur choir Nadejda were part of the Advisory Council for Aliens and were—while again deviating from our teenager target group in age and general taste—the most accessible Russian-German late migrant group. The obvious dominance of Latin-American groups (in contrast to their small share of 2.8%) is not only explained by their involvement in Bunt statt braun’s peace festivals, but also by the orientation to dance music. It can be debated whether playing or dancing to Latin music indicates a stance of tolerance. Yet, it clearly mirrored the contemporary taste of German audiences, which explained why some of Rostock’s best world music performers were Latin groups at that time. Due to the small size of the migrant communities, we had to work with compromises on other levels as well, and sometimes had to face internal group conflicts: • The Iraqi oud player Hikmat al-Sabty was the best representative of music from the Middle East in Rostock—one of the few professional performers from this region at that time. Yet, being a Mandean, he was not fully accepted by the small, but highly heterogeneous local Islamic community (0.2%). • The relatively small group of African migrants (325 persons/198,000 inhabitants in 2006) was represented by the group Akanga, which mainly consisted of Togolese performers. The group apparently came together by coincidence, because this band formation offered the only occasion to perform in public. As was apparent here, finding appropriate musical partners within this small musical community with whom one would also be able to get along personally can be challenging. One could clearly observe personal tensions between the performers, which became apparent in that it was already difficult to agree about the recording date, the pieces, length, and line-up. Most of the women had simply decided not to turn up, and it was constantly debated who was actually the spokesperson of the group, which more or less fell apart after the recording session. • Jewish music presented a specific dilemma, because the older—modern—local community only slowly accepted the growing conservative group of immigrants from the former Soviet Union. We thus decided for a German group playing Klezmer. This might make sense from a political and pedagogic perspective, but also strongly altered Rostock’s actual musical picture on the CD. One could likewise observe “conflicts” with regard to the musical styles. As Adelaida Reyes elaborated in Songs of the Caged, Songs of the Free (1999), Vietnamese refugees based in the United States fell back on (past) traditional styles to indicate ties to their home country. In contrast, the present was represented through contemporary (e.g., pop music) styles. One could discover similar tendencies in Rostock, where the migrants on the CD preferred to be represented by modern styles. Hikmat al-Sabty decided to contribute a pop piece, while the Russian hip-hop piece by InterSquad was clearly Anglo-American in style. In contrast to these “urban folk pop” styles, the German performers preferred the older, acoustic styles, that is, they went backward and played “ethnically flavored” music to emphasize their stance of tolerance. This also explained why

532   Britta Sweers no Vietnamese piece (as a reference to the Lichtenhagen conflict) was included in the end, because the Vietnamese civil initiative could not find a group that represented a commonly acceptable Vietnamese music identity from their perspective, although we would later include video segments of a dragon dance performance on the CD-ROM.

Selecting Interlocutors for the Münsingen Project The situation was partly similar with the Münsingen Project. In this case, the issue of representation was related to private persons—who should present an access to their cultures through their biographies and musical experiences—and therefore not performers. Again, the chosen group of interlocutors partly deviated from the statistical data, clearly due to pragmatic reasons. The interlocutors were chosen on the basis of preceding research that had been undertaken by the community of Münsingen. However, the selection—that was basically undertaken by my central partner, Therese Beeri—strongly depended on availability, language skills, and willingness to actually reveal the individual’s own biography in public, which thus led to several shifts in the initially intended group. Three of the four interlocutors were migrants who had married a partner from Switzerland: Nada Müller from Albania, who had left her home country independently from her family soon after finishing school and had also been on one of the refugee ships of the 1990s; Paula Brechbühler, a former biologist from Brazil; and Mandi Lutumba from the Democratic Republic of Congo, who initially came to Switzerland to study law. Only in one case, I deviated from the suggestions of the Münsingen organizers: Given the strong presence of Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka, I insisted on including a Tamil family—although it proved difficult to reach into the close-knit Tamil communities—and to convince someone to participate, something that had already been difficult with the general exhibition. Finally, the Udayakumar family—who had been one of the first Tamil families to migrate to Switzerland—agreed to participate, which was fortunate in that Mr. Udayakumar was one of the religious leaders in the local Hindu temple. The biographical questions also included themes to which a broader Swiss audience could relate, for example, childhood musical recollections, musical encounters, and observations about Switzerland. Some issues that emerged as patterns and were highlighted during the presentation included the following: • The central role of music (besides performance and reception) in the home countries as part of a broader experience of life-cycle celebrations and dancing; • The experience of dictatorship, which became particularly apparent in the experience of media perception; • The conscious refocusing on the (formerly unconsciously perceived) music of the mother countries in Switzerland (i.e., the situation of migration).

Music and Conflict Resolution    533 I also asked the interlocutors for personal musical recommendations, which I further contextualized for the audience, thereby putting the interlocutors in an authority position. However, the dilemma of representation came up particularly here, as the interlocutors’ musical tastes often very clearly deviated from what has been stereotypically associated with these countries—an aspect which I will take up again with regard to power interplays and expectations (below).

The Representation of Exile within a Festival Context: The Ensemble Kaboul Similar issues emerged regarding the representation of the Ensemble Kaboul at the Musik Festival Bern. While we first discussed the possibilities of having amateur migrant groups, including one of the many well-known street bands, from the region of Bern as performers, this was soon repudiated by the festival direction for organizational reasons—not least because an overview of migrant music groups in Bern was lacking on ArtLink—the Swiss Bureau of Cultural Cooperation that was also considered a warrantor for quality. Furthermore, the festival directors regarded the audience expectations as a significant factor for the financial success of the event, and were hesitant to include a more amateurish or street performance band. As the target audience was mainly a group familiar with an art music concert situation and as the time frame was relatively limited, we finally agreed on the Geneva-based rubab player Khaled Arman, who appeared professional and prominent enough for this context. However, what did Khaled Arman actually represent? His father, Hossein Arman, had been one of the leading Afghan folk revivalists of the 1960s, yet Khaled Arman was initially a classically trained guitarist. Born in 1965 in Kaboul, Arman first learned tabla, before his father started to teach him guitar. Khaled Arman was then discovered by a Czech talent scout and studied classical guitar in Prague, which was followed by a 10-year international career as a concert guitarist. Only later, Arman started to play the rubab—the instrument for which he had become known in the world music circuit. In 1995, Arman, his exiled father, and further family members founded the Ensemble Kaboul in Geneva. The first CD, Nastaran, appeared in 2001, followed by Radio Kaboul (2003), which was named “CD of the Month” by the world music magazine Songlines. Arman also collaborated with the internationally known viola da gamba player Jordi Savall. Arman’s biography is thus clearly set between different cultures and codes that Arman is clearly aware of and which he has constantly been displaying in interviews (e.g., Burkhalter, 2004; Cartwright, 2003). This biography has been strongly contrasted by outside portrayals of the Ensemble Kaboul, which has been often categorized under “world music.” As Baily (2010) elaborated, in the Afghan music productions with fieldwork recordings had emerged in the 1950s. Baily contrasted these “Music for Non-Afghans (kharejis)” with productions in/ for Afghanistan that—centered around the station Radio Kaboul, which was founded

534   Britta Sweers in the 1940s—comprised a mixture ranging from Western-influenced popular music forms to classical Persian/Indian directions. As Baily (ibid.) outlined further, this local multilayered variety notwithstanding, the global focus was particularly set on the “Music for Non-Afghans” since the events of September 11, 2001: “In this context, one particular group of Afghan musicians based in Geneva emerged to take a leading role in what was now becoming established as the ‘world music market’ ” (ibid.: 83). On their first CD, Nastaran, the ensemble recorded entertainment love songs from the 1960s, but became particularly known with their second album, Radio Kaboul, which featured the formerly popular singer Ustad Mahwash. Nastaran appeared on the label EthnoMad, which is part of the Ateliers d’Ethnomusicologie (ADEM) that was founded by the Swiss ethnomusicologist Laurent Aubert in 1983. The policy of ADEM includes the support of the career of professional migrant musicians in the Geneva region who are often in a highly difficult situation. In a personal interview (September 28, 2012), Arman also spoke of the traumatic/depressive sides of the migration experiences, particularly with regard to the older generation who often have to deal with health problems that limit musical careers further. The lack of public performances of the ensemble is apparently thus particularly caused by the illness of Arman’s father—not so much by the decline of world music, as Baily (2010: 84) suggested. The Ensemble Kaboul belongs to the groups that had been produced as a 10-part series by EthnoMad between 2001 and 2003. The policy of the label—another example of the impact of further, partly pragmatic factors into the applied independent acting approach—not only includes retrospectives, but also the search for innovative concepts (for example, Arman plays an altered rubab) on a highly qualitative musical level. This in particular can become the starting point for public attention and the notice of other labels—but clearly deviates from a strictly documentary approach. The subsequent success of the Ensemble Kaboul was partly intertwined with the images related to the 9/11 events. While the Ensemble Kaboul was initially a (however highly professional) migrant ensemble which performed in more intimate live contexts, their first CD was noticed as “The record the Taliban wanted to ban” in the online New Internationalist Magazine,24 while interviews in the British world music magazines Songlines and fRoots particularly focused on the destruction of Afghanistan through the Taliban (e.g., Cartwright, 2003). However, it was not only the film Breaking the Silence (2001) by Songlines journalist Simon Broughton, but also Baily’s articles which contributed to Western awareness of the ensembles. At the same time, the music of the ensemble has not been depicted as revival (such as the Buena Vista Social Club) or individual artistic expression, but as a desperate struggle for survival, “a group of musicians struggling to keep alive a once mighty music, now in danger of being crushed by war and its aftermath” (Cartwright, 2003: 48). Khaled Arman’s highly reflective stance toward his own position, which I  also observed during the Musik Festival Bern, partly contrasts the representative role he is associated with in journalistic portrayals. Similar to the previous case studies, this indicates that the issue of representation is inseparably intertwined with the power of interplay of the different interest groups involved in these projects.

Music and Conflict Resolution    535

Power Interplays As becomes particularly apparent in these smaller projects, the outcome of the three examples was also strongly shaped by power interplays of the involved institutions and other makers (Lundberg et al., 2003: 48–49). First of all, with regard to a broader context: • Rostock: News media (negative descriptions of Rostock), politics (popular interests—also with regard to elections), and Verfassungsschutz (“the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution”, action against right-wing extremist structures), civil initiatives (as representatives of population and migrants), educational sector; • Münsingen Project:  Politics (against migrants) and local initiatives (encounter with the living worlds of migrants); • Musik Festival Bern: Established cultural business (Musik Festival Bern, as attached to the art music scene) and academic institution. These broader interactive layers shaped, for instance, the decisions on a broader level. For example, the Polyphonie der Kulturen was not only a documentary of the migrants, but also included a CD-ROM teaching segment against right-wing extremism; it was furthermore accompanied by news media and politicians during the production process (Sweers, 2010a: 210–211). As is apparent on a more focused level, for example during the recording, these different intentions result in interplays of different powers (and interests) into which the actual project is embedded (cf. Lundberg et al., 2003: 44–52). I will subsequently highlight the interplay of the various perceptions and expectations, which also highlights different forms of negotiation.

Representation, Authority, and Negotiations during the Production Process of the Polyphonie der Kulturen CD How strongly the question of representation is also intertwined with authority issues became clearly apparent during the production process of the Polyphonie der Kulturen CD. For example, it had been very important for us to include the group of RussianGerman late migrants in the CD production, which were represented by the male hiphop group InterSquad and the female choir Nadejda. Counting 2.7 million people, this group had surpassed the Turkish-speaking migrants (1.7 million) in Germany and counted as a problematic, yet long overlooked group at the time of the CD production (cf. Sweers, 2011). It was often depending on state support and thus also often socially

536   Britta Sweers marginalized (ibid.). It was obvious from the very beginning that this group (and especially the older generation) had the smallest self-confidence and self-esteem among the migrants at that time. Particularly for Nadejda, the recording process, the interaction with the sound engineer, and further CD-related performances became central experiences, which were at least as important as the finished object. Named “hope for the integration into the new home country,” Nadejda was founded in 1988. The choir’s central organizer, Adelia Engel, came to Germany in 1966 to work as a planning engineer for economics on the island of Rügen. Having worked as linguistic mediator at the University of Rostock since 1974, she later established an integrative project for late migrants by founding the organization “Friends of the Russian Language.” As she recalled: The central idea was to set up a context for Russian migrants and German-Russian late migrants where they could establish social contacts. Arriving in Germany, many migrants and late migrants lack a stable social network, in which they can identity outside their former home area.… Yet also the Russian culture should be mediated to other people—in order to avoid misunderstandings and to diminish prejudices. (Interview with Matthias Räther; in Fassnacht and Sweers [2008])

As Adelia Engel elaborated further (ibid.), Nadejda developed from the sheer joy in singing: “The women always liked to sing Russian Schlager and folk songs during events and festivities of the organization—and so I had the idea to found [our] own choir.” As is apparent from the following interview example, choir singing played an essential role in the everyday life of the members: The central part of the eleven active members is unemployed or lives on a pension. The singing in the group is a central alternative for the women. For me, creating a good atmosphere, which evolves during the singing in a group, is most essential. You can nicely relax, forget about your daily worries and whole stress that built up during the week.… The successful public performance in the group and the applause afterwards is, especially for the women, an essential confirmation of their achievements. It gives them an opportunity to present themselves to the outside, get accepted and to strengthen their self-confidence. (ibid.)

Thus, this approach is very similar to what Pettan (2008) described as action and advocative ethnomusicology. According to our recording policy, the groups themselves could decide which piece to include—which also gave them a position of power in the project. Nadejda took its repertoire mostly from a choir tradition that emerged in the early twentieth century, that is, traditional Russian melodies that were set to late-romantic arrangements. However, these popular Russian songs did not really match our target audience (youth groups, school classes). When discussing possible tracks with the choir, we—here taking on a power role as producers—therefore suggested

Music and Conflict Resolution    537 not including their show-piece (“Kalinka”), as this well-known piece was immediately associated with a different, older target group. While the choir (here in a decisive power role) still chose a similar piece (“Kadril”), this was lesser known and allowed for open associative space. A further concern was thus how to turn the performance of an amateur choir into a track that could stand side by side with the professional Reggae and Iraqi pop musicians. Having never been in a professional recording studio (which likewise represented an institutional power situation), the singers were understandably nervous. They not only had to get used to the carefully positioned microphones, but also refused to be separated by dampers. The interplay of different representative ideas became likewise apparent when I announced that I wanted to document the recording session: The singers literally jerked up, raced to the nearest bathroom, added makeup—or, much to the horror of the university technicians, hair spray within the sensitive setting of the performance room—but appeared suddenly much more relaxed. At one point during the recording, Carsten Storm, the recording engineer of the HMT Rostock, took me aside. He found the performance rather lifeless from his Western art background experience. Musically, he was right. However, the spokesperson of Bunt statt braun was concerned: The women had little self-confidence and could panic—a discussion topic that turned up several times and reflected the policy of Bunt statt braun—the almost over-protective attitude toward the migrant groups. Given the Neo-Nazi attacks in 1992, this appeared reasonable, yet became musically restricting. Regarding Nadejda, the opposite happened—much to our amazement. When Carsten Storm stopped the recording and asked the group, very charmingly, to emphasize the beats stronger and to display “a bit more emotion” (while the musically problematic, yet highly adored accordionist was moved into a less visible corner), the group suddenly came to life and gave one of its most vivid performances I  had ever experienced. Furthermore, the singers apparently fully integrated Carsten Storm’s suggestions during subsequent performances—to an extent that one could argue that we altered the group’s performance practice in the course of the applied project, yet to an extent that it gave them more stage presence and self-control. This issue of classical recording ethics versus protective considerations and different musical attitudes could also be observed with the African group Akanga, with whom the recording engineer saw much more musical potential than he was allowed to evoke through more direct interaction with the performers. Similarly, we were warned by Bunt statt braun that these performers would have trouble with turning up on time and would need some time to get adjusted. This was problematic due to the limited studio time that had been granted by the HMT Rostock, which did not allow us time for adjustment or experiments. However, most performers were actually quite punctual. Moreover, while we could indeed observe a constant negotiation between Storm’s classical recording ethics, which were focused on exact timing versus improvisation, the musicians very quickly found an easily solution by, for example, helping themselves with an occasional peek at the visibly displayed mobile phone.

538   Britta Sweers All the groups became further tied to the CD through the booklet and subsequent CD-ROM production, for which we conducted interviews. Also here, we had to negotiate between the interests and authority of our interlocutors and our perspectives and academic background knowledge. For instance, Nadejda perceived their repertoire as “traditional” in the sense of rural Russian music—which I actually contradicted, as the choir tradition represented a completely different layer from what was elsewise recorded in the villages (cf. Olson, 2004). Rather than opting for one version, I  and Bunt statt braun thus decided to elaborate these different perspectives on the CD-ROM, which combined Adelia Engel’s interview with a broader background text, which contextualized the choir’s repertoire. Yet, although we had thought to have represented the choir with high respect—by also outlining the repertoire as a specific tradition in its own right—we later found that Adelia Engel was not completely satisfied with this outcome. This example in particular indicates that academic knowledge also needs to be taken into consideration when reflecting the power interplays, here with the self-perception of the interlocutors. Should we have hidden this knowledge? However, as this was also the basis for school-teaching material, this gap would have led to an incomplete or even wrong perception of Russian music traditions.

The Multilayered Interplay of Power and Expectation: The Münsingen Project In the case of the Münsingen Project, this interaction of different powers became particularly apparent during the interview process, which was strongly shaped by the interplay between the ethnomusicologist, the local representative, and the interlocutor. The perception of authority was likewise a strong factor. Just to highlight a few key interaction points that have been contributing to the outcome of this project: The role of the community representative versus the actual ethnomusicological approach: As I was an outsider to the community, Therese Beeri offered to select the interlocutors and to help me with translations of Swiss-German and Swiss-French during the interviews. I thus not only integrated a communal representative into the research process, but also gave Beeri a strong power role in the selection process. This, however, meant that Beeri, highly educated, preferably chose interlocutors according to linguistic fluency and education, that is, those whom she deemed to be best to talk about music. This is not necessary problematic, but was even rather advantageous, as Beeri’s presence contributed to an interview situation of trust, in which the interlocutors very quickly opened up to me as the outsider. Yet it is nevertheless an important transformative factor of the representative outcome of the project from a scientific perspective.

Music and Conflict Resolution    539 The interlocutors’ realities and expectations of the community representative: Given the urban-based, middle-class background, the interlocutors rarely referred to distinct music traditions. Instead, they mostly revealed their preferences of popular Schlager, both Italian and Albanian (Nada Müller), modern Tamil kollywood music (Udayakumar family)—or indicated that music played only a marginal role in family life (Mandi Lutumba). This took Terese Beeri much by surprise, who had hoped for more traditional, that is, iconic, references. This, like the previous observation, clearly calls for a clear awareness of the expectations of community representatives, which is also a form of power within an applied project that aims at public display. Anticipated interview expectations of researcher and interlocutors: As these migrants were no musical experts (or performers), we often had to remind the interlocutors that it was especially their personal musical experiences that were important for us—not any scholarly book knowledge on which they would be evaluated. As Nada Müller pointed out in retrospect, she had been very nervous about her lacking knowledge about what she considered proper Albanian traditions—thus indicating a fear of evaluation of her tastes (my preceding interview outlines and intentions notwithstanding) and hereby putting me, as the assumed knowledgeable academic, into a high power position. For example, I had avoided any remarks about musical associations with the regions. However, both Beeri and the migrant interlocutors had both almost automatically linked the migrant identities with rural traditions, not with actual individual preferences. Particularly from this perspective, the interview with the Tamil family Udayakumar turned out to be the most complex one: The 17-year-old daughter had been chosen as the most linguistically fluent spokesperson by the family and was thus in a power position with regard to her parents, who had been at our initial focal interest. At the beginning of the interview, she thus presented mostly material she had researched on the web—to Beeri and myself who were assumed authorities, not equal talking partners. Yet it became apparent that this family—among the first to arrive in Münsingen in the 1980s—remained strongly embedded in religious Hindu and popular Tamil music traditions—aspects that we only slowly brought out during the interview process. The presentation, that is, audience expectations/background and reality/research interests: These observations were also significant for the final public lecture, which was geared at presenting the migrants as powerful representatives of their cultures. I thus put the musical preferences into the center of the presentation, yet without relativizing the material too strongly by “proper traditional music”—of which our interlocutors often had little knowledge. We likewise had to consider an audience that could easily be threatened by musical presentations that were too theoretical. The emphasis on the interlocutor’s personal reflections therefore played a significant role here, as the Swiss audience could relate to experiences (childhood, weddings, yet also the migrants’ reflections on Swiss music life). The planned interaction was further enhanced by having invited the interlocutors to the presentation. After each short

540   Britta Sweers portrayal they had the chance to answer questions from the floor, which again put them into a power situation.

The Ensemble Kaboul: Role-Perceptions in a Western Political and Art Music Context The examples from the Ensemble Kaboul at the Musik Festival Bern particularly highlight the power interplays during the displaying process. I will subsequently relate to fieldnotes taken during two situations—the soloist stage performance of Khaled Arman during the Festival opening, and an ensemble concert with traditional or popular Afghan music in the opera house, with further additions from observations from the film documentary with subsequent public discussion at the opera house.

Situation I: Khaled Arman at the Festival Opening (September 8, 2011) It is Thursday evening, we are inside Bern’s old Town Hall. A highly varied audience is assembled for the opening of the Festival: politicians, journalists, political and intercultural activists. Khaled Arman, who carries a rubab, and his tabla player Siar Hachimi, both clad in the traditional Afghan shalwar costume, enter the small, platform-like stage. They sit down, tune their instruments carefully, and start an improvisation. The improvisation starts out like a raga introduction and progresses to increasing levels of virtuosity. At some point I wonder about the similarities between Afghan-Persian music and the music of Johann Sebastian Bach (Arman still maintains his initial posture of a rubab player), until I  realize that Arman has indeed moved into a Bach-like guitarist improvisation, which becomes even more obvious when Arman moves into a more guitar-like posture (fieldnotes). As I  observe further, the audience appears surprised, as it obviously expected to hear Afghan musicians in a traditional concert setting to play non-Western Afghan music—due to the stage setting, the clothing, the initial tuning procedure—and the political context. At the same time, the audience maintains the habitus of a Western classical concert audience:  silent, almost immobile, and nearly separated from the musicians (who are, however, on the same level as the audience, not elevated, as with a Western-classical stage) and applauding. During the unfolding event, it becomes apparent that the audience has adapted to Arman’s fusion approach—for example, by reacting physically to Arman’s improvisation cascades.

Music and Conflict Resolution    541

Situation II: Arman at Bern’s Stadttheater (Opera House) (September 8, 2011) A few hours later. It is 10 p.m., and we are inside Bern’s opera house. A small, platform-like stage with carpets and microphones is standing in the foyer, ready for the night concert of the Ensemble Kaboul. The group plays a selection of light classical/popular Afghan music. The situation is very intimate; a part of the audience is sitting or standing next to the musicians. The audience is very perceptive, but mainly observant. It appears slightly detached, especially at the beginning, maybe also because of the lacking background knowledge of the related music tradition. Some are sipping at their drinks, others communicate physically with their neighbors, but appear unsure about how to interact in direction of the musicians who are perceived as “stars.” Some remark later that they would have liked to see them on an opera stage (adequate for the star-like status of the artists). However, it is also apparent that the audience needs time to adapt to the inner time of the concert (fieldnotes). As these roughly sketched examples indicate, the musicians performed in a variety of contexts, which are each shaped by different expectations and acting codes, for example, during the opening concert, which can be described as a collision with the political context (and the related audience expectations), which wants to perceive the musicians stronger in the role of “victims”—which Arman denied through his posture. The audience expectation is “authentic” (i.e., traditional acoustic regional) Afghan music, not an artist who plays self-confidently with the codes of different music cultures. Particularly here, parallels to the above-described associations of the ensemble with the events of 9/11 become apparent. This ambivalent situation is a returning trope for Arman in personal communications during the festival. On the one hand, this contributed to his popularity; on the other hand, it does not allow the artists to keep an individual artistic identity. This also relates back to the acting of Bunt statt braun, which, like other civil initiatives, has often been emphasizing the “victimized” side in order to help, but thereby reduces the multilayered identity of the artists to one limited imagery.25 The migration side of the identity became especially apparent during the public interviews, for example during the film presentation on L’Ensemble Kaboul en Exile (2002) on Friday, September 9, 2011, which displayed Arman as a political person who can speak for himself. Especially here, Arman strongly interacted with the audience from the very beginning. Arman’s extremely eloquent expression might be unusual, yet it indicates the necessity of creating situations in which equal encounters are possible, even though the organizers might then have to step back. However, we also encounter Arman here as a representative of a specific direction of classical Afghan music, whose performance practice collides with the specific room, the specific audience-musician-relationship, and the codes of an opera house.26

542   Britta Sweers This thus raises the question of how we can create—with regard to the highly varied different individual situations—functioning production and active arenas. The Ensemble Kaboul might have other expectations than a rock or electronic group—which raises further questions with regard to migrant groups and the role of public institutions: Which spaces are available here—and how can we negotiate between the different performance expectations?

Long-Term Effects: Developments from the Finished Projects All the above-discussed projects led to further developments—in some cases, indeed from mediatized and/or live display toward independent acting. As might become obvious from the sketched project results, the above-discussed issues of representation and power interplay strongly influenced the subsequent outcomes, which were not always obvious at the beginning. Also, the long-term impact on a financial level—including the open and hidden expectations of the various partners—should not be underestimated.

The Polyphonie der Kulturen Project The physical result of the Polyphonie der Kulturen project is a CD/CD-ROM with a colorful cover, which, however, avoids any references to any direct event. The highly heterogeneous object does not fit well into any sale category (it does not fully work as purely background, dance, chill-out, or political CD). Yet it worked extremely well as a symbolic object and as a marker of a specific period—of a political situation, a music scene, and a specific interaction between different groups, institutions, and persons. However, reflection on the outcome indicates that the project was embedded into a large number of different expectations by all groups involved. The public presentation of migrant performers might have been central from an applied ethnomusicological perspective. Yet, given the ongoing problems with Neo-Nazis, the didactic teaching aid against right-wing extremism raised the strongest attention by local teaching institutions, political institutions, the county parliament, and so on, to the Polyphonie der Kulturen project at that time. And while I would have liked to have the migrants standing in their own right within this project, it was particularly through the interest in (or rather fear of) addressing the right-wing extremist threat that the migrants were likewise noticed on a supercultural level. From the perspective of the migrant performers, the CD and the subsequent release concert presentation at the HMT Rostock in February 2007 constituted an important local public platform (for live displaying) which had previously not been accessible. The CD thereby not only added a more professional side to their musical work, but the performers subsequently also received several bookings for gigs and parties. Several

Music and Conflict Resolution    543 migrant performers hoped to relate to the HMT Rostock as a public institution with a strong focal role within the city’s cultural life. Their reasons were related not only to finances, but also to their desire to be heard within the larger community. This particularly applied to the Russian-German amateur choir Nadejda, which subsequently became a regular member of the annual Kaleidoskopnacht (“Kaleidoscope Night”)— an annual concert event during which the international students present music from their own countries (cf. Sweers, 2007, 2010a). Likewise, members of Akanga have been performing at various events of the HMT Rostock. Yet, some project participants also moved toward independent acting. For example, a Ghanaian drummer—who additionally performed as an accompanist for a German-African dance group at the CD release concert in February 2007—was subsequently invited to teach a drumming workshop, as part of the practical world music segment of the school music curriculum, in 2008. Furthermore, one member of the German-Russian hip-hop band InterSquad became an internee in the sound studio—and could, in return, teach some hip-hop recording techniques to the students. Another outcome was the formation of a new music group. My colleague, historical musicologist and cello player Hartmut Möller, who was documenting the Iraq oud player Hikmat al-Sabty, teamed up with his interview partner (on electric cello), plus a Syrian E-bass player and a German tabla player, in the band Ourud Elmahabbe. Having started out with the existent repertoire of Hikmat al-Sabty, the band increasingly started to write new material, such as arrangements of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s West-Östlicher Divan (“West Eastern Divan”). Ourud Elmahabbe was awarded a prestigious prize from the Deutsche Musikrat (“German Music Council”) in 2007. The CD also became a strong marker within the broader national context, specifically the German-wide world music contest CREOLE,27 which attempts to give migrant music—in this case fusion world music—a broader public platform.28 The CD led to the inclusion of the county Mecklenburg-West Pomerania into the 2008 contest, as it had demonstrated the existence of world music even in this sparsely populated region. In the end, four groups from the CD—the Klezmer band Halb & Halb, Hikmat al-Sabty’s band Ouroud Elmahabbe, the instrumental fusion band Chiara, and the folk band Bilwesz—went to the highly competitive regional Berlin contest (with Bilwesz having managed to succeed to one of the three final competition concerts). While the public display of the migrants’ cultures had been the central goal from the ethnomusicological side, it was very obvious that Bunt statt braun—which had been struggling financially—had hoped to secure its work financially through the CD/ CD-ROM production. Yet, a major financial drawback became copyright issues. It had been relatively unproblematic to sort out and pay the recordings to the German society for musical copyright enforcement, GEMA.29 However, Bunt statt braun received an unexpected additional bill for the video material after the CD-ROM release. Although completely self-filmed and produced, and solely used for educational means, the CD/ CD-ROM was nevertheless put into a very expensive category. At the same time, Bunt statt braun hired the ethnomusicologist Christine Dettmann on a project-base to undertake further promotional work. Given the tight time frame of the civil initiative

544   Britta Sweers and the HMT Rostock, only this extra research work enabled us to apply for possible awards, for instance. This solved the financial problems in the end, when the project was awarded a prestigious prize from the Bündnis für Demokratie und Toleranz (“Alliance for Democracy and Tolerance”) in early 2009. The award was combined with a prize that allowed not only payment of the outstanding dues, but also further support of Bunt statt braun. Moreover, the project was included in the equally prestigious Stiftung Bürgermut (“Foundation Civil Courage”) in 2009.30

Some Results from the Münsingen Project The Münsingen Project also highlights a broad variety of impact layers, particularly on the level of live displaying: • Setting up a dialogue between interlocutors and community: Due to the excellent advertising by Therese Beeri, the presentation had been extremely well-attended. According to the feedback, this combination of personal experiences/stories and music indeed had a strong resonance—and we could also observe that the audience enjoyed the dialogical situation. • Personal empowerment of the interlocutors who had been the “stars” of the evening without, however, having been exposed too strongly on a stage (they remained sitting in the audience). Furthermore, as Nada Müller reported afterward, the presentation of her own life through different lenses had helped her to (re-)focus herself as a personality through music. As she pointed out further, she clearly also enjoyed learning more about her music and broader context, which she experienced as an additional process of authorization of herself. • I likewise gained some valuable research data, which has cast a critical thought on the dilemma of presenting migrants through traditional music. While traditional/ folk music has taken on an iconic role within the world music sphere and education, we might be careful to respect the background of interlocutors who are not always from traditional communities. How do we deal with this on a public level?

Outcomes from the Musik Festival Bern The collaboration of the Musik Festival Bern led to a subsequent one-semester lectureship for Khaled Arman at the Institute of Musicology. Located in a more theoretical university context with little performance options, the Institute was in demand of practical workshops. Arman thus developed a class on Indian music—which became a testing ground for further classes. Having basically taught music students, Arman now had to deal with academic students with limited or highly heterogeneous practical background, which required him to develop compromising strategies and new pedagogical concepts.

Music and Conflict Resolution    545 This was possible, because Arman could fall back on a Western institutionalized training and professional career. Yet, these practical workshops were often more difficult with performers who had little experience with institutionalized education and the specific needs of, in this case, more theoretical university-based students. This not only indicates a further challenge for the future, but also the problem that Arman’s employment at the university could not be repeated on a regular basis, due to the university’s limited finances. As became particularly apparent here—even more strongly than with the Polyphonie der Kulturen project—the move toward independent acting within the public sector likewise requires a profound rethinking of established structures. While this is indeed difficult in financially tight situations, it is also a challenge for future applied work.

Outlook Each of the small-scale examples discussed here indeed indicates that applied work directed at the public visibility of migrant groups is a constant struggle with compromises that lead toward the creation of artificial realities, for example with regard to the selected groups or the recorded material presented on CDs. However, as the reactions to the newspaper article on my ethnomusicological work indicate, there exists a larger public demand for ethnomusicological engagement in local communities. This reflects that the ethnomusicologist is not viewed as a detached academic, but rather as an authority figure of whom instantaneous applied work of any kind is almost expected. Returning to the issue of representation and power roles, these requests in particular confront the ethnomusicologist with a situation that is not necessarily embedded in preliminary research or related to his or her own field of specialization (as depicted by Sheehy [1992] and Seeger [2008])—and requires fast action, often toward an imbalance regarding the research element. However, an awareness of the relation of scientific data and strategic planning, on the one hand, and knowledge of the nature and processes of power interplays, on the other, can lead to a scientifically informed approach of public displaying. The field of ethnomusicology could thus even more strongly contribute to the solution of conflict situations related to migrants in national(ist) contexts.

Notes 1. Attempts to reconnect both sides are particularly evident within world music journalism, as is apparent with the Swiss world music network Norient (Network for Local and Global Sounds and Media Culture (http:www.norient.ch), which was founded in 2002. 2. West German counties like Baden-Württemberg (11.9%), Bremen (13.7%), Hamburg (14.2%), Hessen (11.4%), Nordrhein-Westfalen (10.7%), and Berlin as capital (13.7%) are shaped by a high share of foreigners—in contrast to the East German counties (Brandenburg (2.6%), Sachsen-Anhalt (1.9%), and Mecklenburg-Vorpommern (2.3%), which is the focus of the first project.

546   Britta Sweers 3. See also the Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, which provides extensive background data on migration in Germany on its webpage, http://pdp.de/themen. Statistical data can be found on http://auslaender-statistik.de/bund/ausl_3.htm; http://www.statistic-portal. de/Statistik-Portal/de:jb01_jahrtab2.asp; http://www.agaenda21-treffpunkt.de. 4. See MusikForum (January–March 2010), entitled “Über Grenzen hinaus:  Multikulti ade—Wege in transkulturelle Welten” (“Multicultural goodbye—ways into transcultural worlds”) edited by the Deutscher Musikrat (“German Music Council”) that is a clear reaction to this situation. 5. Further details can be found on the following websites: Berlin: Karneval der Kulturen: http:// www.karneval-berlin.de/de/; Haus der Kulturen: http://www.hkw.de/de/index.php; multicult.fm: http://www.multicult.fm; Senatskanzlei Berlin, Kulturelle Angelegenheiten: http:// www.berlin.de/sen/kultur/foerderung/musik/rock-pop-welt/index.de.html; Cologne:  alba Kultur:  http://www.albakultur.de/sites/index.htm; Weltmusik, Klezmer und Ästhetik Akademie, Integration- und Begegnungszentrum e.V. www.klezmerakademie.org; Phönix: Kultur- und Integrationszentrum in Köln: http://www.phoenix-cologne.com. 6. See the project description of Ingrid Bertleff, “Russlanddeutsche Lieder:  Popularlieder in transkultureller Lebenswelt,” Universuität Freiburg (2012–2014). http://portal. uni-freiburg.de/osteuropa/Forschung/Russlanddeutsche Lieder. 7. For further details see Bundesamt für Migration, Migrationsbericht 2010, http://www.bfm. admin.ch/content/dam/data/migration/berichte/migration/migrationsbericht-2010-d. pdf. Wottreng (2001). 8. This name relates to the Swiss nationalist politician James Schwarzenbach (1911–1994). Founder of the Republican Party in 1971, he had started a campaign aimed at restricting the number of migrants to 10% in each canton (Geneva: 25%) and the expulsion of the superfluous numbers. While the motion was rejected in the 1970 referendum (with 54% counter-votes), it also started a highly emotional debate on migration in Switzerland at that time. 9. Local folk music research (that is often also undertaken by performers and amateur collectors) is separated from ethnomusicology in Switzerland. With a few exceptions, folk music collecting has been mostly undertaken by institutions outside the university-based musicology context. 10. As is, for instance, apparent in the rich publications on the Norient platform. 11. Ateliers d’Ethnomusicologie (http://www.adem.ch). 12. See also Hannes Liechti, “Eine Stadt voller Menschen, Kulturen und Klänge: Musik der Welt in Bern.” The Fretless Blog (23.2.2013). http://www.fretlessblog.ch/musik-der-weltin-bern/. 13. See Kaminer’s extensive website, “Russendisko”: http://www.russendisko.de. 14. “1. Action ethnomusicology: any use of ethnomusicological knowledge for planned change by the members of a local cultural group. 2. Adjustment ethnomusicology: (. . .) that makes social interaction between persons who operate with different cultural codes more predictable. 3. Administrative ethnomusicology: (. . .) for planned change by those who are external to a local group. 4. Advocative ethnomusicology: (. . .) by the ethnomusicologist to increase the power of self-determination for a particular cultural group” (Pettan, 2008: 90). 15. Cf. Statistisches Amt Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Statistische Berichte: Bevölkerungsentwic klung. Ausländische Bevölkerung in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern (Ausländerzentralregister) 2011. http://service.mvnet.de/statmv/daten_stam_berichte/e-bibointerth01/bevoelkerung— haushalte—familien—flaeche/a-i__/a143__/daten/a143-2011-00.pdf.

Music and Conflict Resolution    547 16. Cf. Bundeszentrale für statistische Bildung, “Statistik: Migrantenanteil in den deutschen Großstädten wächst.” http://www.bpb.de/gesellschaft/migration/148820/ migrantenanteil-in-deutschen-grossstaedten-waechst. 17. Statistik Schweiz—STAT-TAB:  Ständige und Nichtständige Wohnbevölkerung nach Region, Geschlecht, Nationalität und Alter:  http://www.pxweb.bfs.admin.ch/Dialog/ varval.asp?ma=px-d-01-2A01&ti=St%E4ndige+und+Nichtst%E4ndige+Wohnbev%F 6lkerung+nach+Region%2C+Geschlecht%2C+Nationalit%E4t+und++Alter&path=../ Database/German_01%20-%20Bev%F6lkerung/01.2%20-%20Bev%F6lkerungsstand%20 und%20-bewegung/&lang=1&prod=01&openChild=true&secprod=2. 18. See Einwohnergemeinde Münsingen/Kommission Ortsgeschichte, Münsingen: Geschichte und Geschichten. Münsingen. Fischer Print AG and Museum Schloss Münsingen, ed., Ausstellungsdokumentation “Niemand war schon immer da” (Münsingen 2011): http:// www.geschichte-muensingen.ch/fileadmin/user_upload/ortsgeschichte_muensingen/ dokumente/BeglHeftMigrat_V3_web.pdf for a detailed reflection. 19. Bundesverwaltung Schweiz. Nationalratswahlen: Übersicht Schweiz 2011. http://www.politik-stat.ch/nrw2011CH_de.html. 20. Cf. Lundberg et al. (2003: 44), hereby meaning “who are directly engaged with thematically related activities,” which includes the whole range of active involvement from managing to production, etc. (ibid.: 50). 21. Cf. Seeger (2008) for a deeper reflection on this dilemma. 22. One classical headline from that period that exceeds the actual date of the elections is, for instance, “Deutschen-Hass: ‘Ach geh doch wieder heim ins Reich’ ” (Runa Reinecke) in the public newspaper 20 Minuten http://www.20min.ch/news/kreuz_und_quer/ story/31228033. Dec. 20, 2009. 23. Cf. Kisliuk (2008) and Barz (2008) with regard to the complex role of situation and conflicts during fieldwork. 24. N.a. 2003. Review Nastaran (Ensemble Kaboul). http://newint.org/features/2003/04/05/ mix/. 25. This one-sided dominance is also apparent with fusion recordings, e.g. with the viola da gamba player Jordi Savall. On recordings like Orient-Occident, it was Savall who determined how the ensemble had to realize and to improvise the “orient” musically (cf. Sweers, 2012). 26. This also within broader world music contexts. Arman was apparently angry about the prize awarding of the BBC Radio 3 Awards where the ensemble played in front of a half-drunk audience, which had little interest in acoustic chamber music, but rather expected electronic music (Cartwright 2003: 49)—which casts doubt on the relation of mediaized presence, live contexts, and the related audience/hearing expectations. 27. See also http://www.creole-weltmusik.de. 28. CREOLE particularly addresses professional groups experimenting with fusion projects, but also those who develop styles like Tango or Klezmer further with their own composition. See also http://www.creole-weltmusik.de. 29. GEMA: “Gesellschaft für musikalische Aufführungen und mechanische Vervielfältigungsrechte.” 30. The Stiftung Bürgermut has collected various projects with regard to civil courage in order to publish these as exemplary in a printed and online collection. See also http://www. buergermut.de.

548   Britta Sweers

References Araujo, Samuel, with Grupo Musicultura. (2010). “Sound Praxis: Music, Politics, and Violence in Brazil. In Music in Conflict:  Ethnomusicological Perspectives, edited by John Morgan O’Connell and Salwa el-Shawan Castelo-Branco, pp. 217–231. Chicago:  University of Illinois Press. Askew, Kelly, and Richard R. Wilk, eds. (2002). The Anthropology of Media: A Reader. Malden, MA, and Oxford: Blackwell. Averill, Gage. (2003). “Ethnomusicologists as Public Intellectuals: Engaged Ethnomusicology in the University.” Folklore Forum 34 (1–2): 49–59. Bade, Klaus J., and Jochen Oltmer. (2004). Normalfall Migration. Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung. Baily, John. (2005). “So Near, so Far: Kabul’s Music in Exile.” Ethnomusicology Forum 14(2): 213–233. Baily, John. (2007). Scenes of Afghan Music. London, Kabul, Hamburg, Dublin. DVD. London: Goldsmiths, 97 min. Baily, John. (2010). “Two Different Worlds: Afghan Music for ‘Afghanistanis’ and ‘Kharejis.’ ” Ethnomusicology Forum 19(1): 69–88. Barth, Dorothee. (2000). “Zum Kulturbegriff in der interkulturellen Musikerziehung.” In Kultureller Wandel und Musikpädagogik, edited by Niels Knolle, pp. 27–50. Essen:  Die Blaue Eule. Barz, Gregory. (2008). “Confronting the Field(note) In and Out of the Field: Music, Voices, Texts, and Experiences in Dialogue.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by Gregory Barz and Timothy J. Cooley, pp. 206–224. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Baumann, Max Peter, ed. (1979). Musikalische Streiflichter einer Großstadt. Gesammelt in Berlin von Studenten der Vergleichenden Musikwissenschaft. Berlin: Freie Universität Berlin. Baumann, Max Peter, ed. (1984). Musik der Türken in Deutschland, Kassel: Bärenreiter. Behr, Hartmut. (2005). “The Myth of the Nation and Legacies of Nationalism: Immigration Politics and the Creation of Identity in the European Union.” Political Economy 2: 1–18. Brandeis, Hans, Edda Brandes, Maria Dunkel, and Schu-Chi Lee. (1990). Klangbilder der Welt—Musik International in Berlin. Frankfurt am Main: Network-Medien-Cooperative. Burkhalter, Thomas. (2004). “Ich spiele Rubab mit einer westlichen Gitarrentechnik.” http:// norient.com/de/stories/khaledarman/. Buterwegge, Carolin. (2005). “Von der ‘Gastarbeiter’-Anwerbung zum Zuwanderungsgesetz: Migrationsgeschehen und Zuwanderungspolitik in der Bundesrepublik.” Bundezentrale für politische Bildung. Dossier Migration. http://www.bpb.de/gesellschaft/migration/ dossier-migration/56377/migrationspolitik-in-der-brd?p=all. Cartwright, Garth. (2003). “Kaboul Rebirth.” fRoots 245: 49. Clausen, Bernd, Ursula Hemetek, and Eva Saether, eds. (2009). Music in Motion:  Diversity and Dialogue in Europe. Study in the Frame of the “ExTra! Exchange Traditions” project. Bielefeld: transcript. Corn, Aaron. (2012). “Now and in the Future:  The Role of the National Recording Project for Indigenous Performance in Australia in Sustaining Indigenous Music and Dance Traditions.” MUSICultures 39: 231–250. Eckstaedt, Aaron. (2005). “Russendisko, Balkangroove, Klezmer. Ansätze einer interkulturellen Musikpädagogik zwischen Ost und West.” In Musik und Musikpädagogik zwischen

Music and Conflict Resolution    549 den Kulturen. Okzident und Orient), edited by Jaroslaw Chacinski, pp. 149–162, 163–176. Slupsk: Pomorska Akademia Pedagogiczna. Fijalkowski, Jürgen. (1993). “Aggressive Nationalism, Immigration Pressure, and Asylum Policy Disputes in Contemporary Germany.” Washington, DC: German Historical Institute. Occasional Paper No. 9. http://www.ghi-dc.org/publications/ghipubs/op/op09.pdf. Greve, Martin. (2003). Die Musik der imaginären Türkei. Musik und Musikleben im Kontext der Migration aus der Türkei in Deutschland. Stuttgart, Weimar: Metzler. Harrison, Klisala. (2012). “Epistemologies of Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 56(3): 505–529. Hemetek, Ursula. (2006). “Applied Ethnomusicology in the Process of a Political Recognition of a Minority: A Case Study of the Austrian Roma.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 38: 35–57. Hickmann, Ellen. (1987). “Musikethnologie in der Schul- und Hochschulunterweisung.” In Musikpädagogik und Musikwissenschaft, edited by Arnfried Edler, Siegmund Helms, and Helmuth Hopf, pp. 270–290. Wilhelmshaven: Noetzel. Hofman, Ana. (2010). “Maintaining the Distance, Othering the Subaltern:  Rethinking Ethnomusicologists’ Engagement in Advocacy and Social Justice.” In Applied Ethnomusicology:  Historical and Contemporary Approaches, edited by Klisala Harrison, Svanibor Pettan, and Elizabeth Mackinlay, pp. 22–35. Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Kaminer, Wladimir Kaminer. (2000). Russendisko. München: Goldmann. Kisliuk, Michelle. (2008). “(Un)doing Fieldwork: Sharing Songs, Sharing Lives.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by Gregory Barz and Timothy J. Cooley, pp. 183–205. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Liechti, Hannes. (2012). Eine Stadt voller Menschen, Kulturen und Klänge. Masterarbeit, Universität Bern. Lundberg, Dan, Krister Malm, and Owe Ronström. (2003). Music, Media, Multiculture: Changing Musicscapes. Stockholm: Svenskt Visarkiv. McDowell, Christopher. (1996). A Tamil Asylum Diaspora: Sri Lankan Migration, Settlement and Politics in Switzerland. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Olson, Laura J. (2004). Performing Russia:  Folk Revival and Russian Identity. New York: Routledge. Merkt, Irmgard. (1983). Deutsch-türkische Musikpädagogik in der Bundesrepublik:  Ein Situationsbericht. Berlin: Express Edition (Ph.D. dissertation). Merkt, Irmgard. (1993). “Das Eigenen und das Fremde—Aspekte interkultureller Musikpädagogik.” In Möglichkeiten der Interkulturellen Ästhetischen Erziehung in Theorie und Praxis, edited by Reinhard C. Böhle, pp. 141–151. Frankfurt: Verlag für Interkulturelle Kommunikation. Mühlemann, Marianne. (2011). “Die Ankunft in der Schweiz war für mich ein Kulturschock.” Der Bund. 15(3): 29–30. O’Flynn, John. (2005). “Re-appraising Ideas of Musicality in Intercultural Contexts of Music Education.” International Journal of Music Education 23(3): 191–203. Ott, Thomas. (1998). “Unsere fremde Musik. Zur Erfahrung des Anderen im Musikunterricht.” In Systematische Musikpädagogik oder:  Die Lust am musikpädagogisch geleiteten Nachdenken, edited by Martin Pfeffer et al., pp. 302–313. Augsburg: Wißner. Pettan, Svanibor. (2008). “Applied Ethnomusicology and Empowerment Strategies:  Views from Across the Atlantic.” Musicological Annual 44(1): 85–100. Reinhard, Kurt and Ursula. (1984a). Musik der Türkei, Vol. 1: Die Kunstmusik. Wilhelmshaven: Heinrichshofen’s.

550   Britta Sweers Reinhard, Kurt and Ursula. (1984b). Musik der Türkei, Vol. 2: Die Volksmusik. Wilhelmshaven: Heinrichshofen’s. Reißlandt, Carolin. (2005). “Migration:  Migration und Integration in Deutschland.” http:// www.bpb.de/themen/T0P083,0,0,Migration_und_Integration_in_Deutschland_html. Reyes, Adelaida. (1999). Songs of the Caged, Songs of the Free: Music and the Vietnamese Refugee Experience. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Schedtler, Susanne. (1999). Das Eigene in der Fremde. Münster, Hamburg: Lit Verlag. Schläbitz, Norbert, ed. (2007). Interkulturalität als Gegenstand der Musikpädagogik. Essen: Die Blaue Eule. Schütz, Volker. (1997). “Interkulturelle Musikerziehung. Vom Umgang mit dem Fremden als Weg zum Eigenen” Musik & Bildung 5: 4–8. Seeger, Anthony. (2008). “Theories Forged in the Crucible of Action:  The Joys, Dangers, and Potentials of Advocacy and Fieldwork.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology (2nd ed.), edited by Gregory Barz and Timothy J.  Cooley, pp. 271–288. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Sheehy, Dan. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethno­ musicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3):323-336. Slobin, Mark. (1993). Micromusics of the West. Hanover and London: Wesleyan University Press. Stroh, Wolfgang Martin. (2005). “Musik der einen Welt im Unterricht.” In Musikdidaktik:  Praxishandbuch für die Sekundarstufe I  und II, edited by Werner Jank, pp. 185–192. Berlin: Cornelsen. Sweers, Britta. (2006). CD Booklet, Polyphonie der Kulturen. Rostock: Bunt statt braun/ Hochschule für Musik und Theater, Rostock (LC 01795). Sweers, Britta. (2008a). CD-ROM, Polyphonie der Kulturen. Rostock: Bunt statt braun/ Hochschule für Musik und Theater Rostock. Sweers, Britta. (2008b). “Ethnomusicology at Germany’s Musikhochschulen.” European Meetings in Ethnomusicology 12: S125–145. Sweers, Britta. (2010a). “Music Against Facism:  Applied Ethnomusicology in Rostock (Germany).” In Music in Conflict: Ethnomusicological Perspectives, edited by John Morgan O’Connell and Salwa el-Shawan Castelo-Branco, pp. 193–216. Chicago:  University of Illinois Press. Sweers, Britta. (2010b). “Interview Perspectives in Historical Reconstruction Insights From Two German Totalitarian Systems.” Musicology Today 7: 55–82. Sweers, Britta. (2011). “Polyphonie der Kulturen: Conceptualization and Consequences of an Applied Media Project.” In Historical and Emerging Approaches to Applied Ethnomusicology, edited by Klisala Harrison, Svanibor Pettan, and Elizabeth MacInlay, pp. 214–232. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Sweers, Britta. (2012). “Early Music and the Mediterranean World: The Exploration of Hypothetical Worlds.” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 21(2): 235-260. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1992). “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 315–322. Titon, Jeff Todd, with John Fenn. (2003). “A Conversation with Jeff Todd Titon.” Folklore Forum 34(1–2): 119–131. Wottreng, Willi. (2001). Ein einzig Volk von Immigranten. Die Geschichte der Einwanderung in die Schweiz. Zürich: Orell Füssli. Wurm, Maria. (2006). Musik in der Migration:  Beobachtungen zur kulturellen Artikulation türkischer Jugendlicher in Deutschland. Bielefeld: transcript.

Pa rt  V I

E DU C AT ION

Chapter 16

Strategie s a nd Opp ortuniti e s i n t h e Education Se c tor for Appl ied Ethnom u si c ol o g y Susan E. Oehler Herrick

Introduction The process of becoming a culturally competent musician represents an enduring interest in ethnomusicology. Building musical capacities for expression is part of socialization, through which humans interpret cultural actions and fashion meaningful identities. Individuals can learn musical culture through formal schooling and traditional or self-directed studies, which increase avenues for musical participation and expression. As people learn through music, their interactions often stretch beyond any single institution and reflect the influence of a range of social groups. Partnerships among institutions for formal education, cultural organizations, and professional musicians working as “teaching-artists” have long provided resources to supplement and enrich schooling (Myers, 2003; Richereme et al., 2012). Such partnerships represent streams of institutional interchanges that may bridge distinctive classrooms, communities, and pedagogical methods while enhancing access to diverse cultural and social musical practices. The site represents a rich opportunity to apply ethnomusicology to support learning through music1 in the education sector, a web of interrelated—though not necessarily connected—institutions and community groups. Such work may inform scholarship in both music education research and the ethnomusicology of music acquisition. This chapter identifies strategies for applied ethnomusicology that may serve opportunities in the education sector, where partnerships among music specialists substantially contribute to the learning experiences of youth in local primary and secondary

554   Susan E. Oehler Herrick schools (typically serving 4- or 5-year-olds through 18-year-olds). The chapter aims to link the analysis of strategies for applied ethnomusicology to the instructional contexts led by music-makers, teachers, and educational program administrators. The focus here is the United States in the scope of one urban region, particularly music programs for the preschool through twelfth grade level (PK–12) in the pluralistic communities of Cleveland, Ohio, and its environs. Cleveland is a Midwestern city on the south shore of Lake Erie, expanded by industrial manufacturing through much of the twentieth century. Strategies of academically trained ethnomusicologists based in nonprofits, government agencies, or universities often have informed approaches to educational initiatives, within which any theories, methods, or resources of both ethnomusicology and music education must effectively cooperate to engender meaningful educational impact. The analysis foregrounds a micro-level perspective, examining what people do with music to foster learning in social contexts. Implicitly, the approach assumes that ethnomusicologists anticipate an integral and dynamic relationship between music and social contexts. Examples illustrate strategies of social interactions in education, seeking to reveal ways that arts educators, including ethnomusicologists, may engage learners in activities through music. It reflects a theoretical orientation to ethnomusicology centered on the social processes of musical practice,2 and constructivist philosophies of education. The chapter demonstrates that decisions of collaborative strategizing lie at the center of what defines applied work in the cross-institutional education sector. I contend that effective strategies for applied ethnomusicology grow dialogically and contextually in reference to identified educational needs of learners in a specific instructional setting, which remain linked to larger social and cultural frames. Applying ethnomusicology in education-sector partnerships may reveal and respond to the multifaceted, dynamic worlds of music in ways that reflect the aims both of the partners and those bearing the tools of ethnomusicology. Such outcomes promise value to discussion of theory and practice in “applied ethnomusicology,” as well as broader discourse anchored in the academy and the professional field of education. For those students, however, whose learning seems deeper when they engage with music, such outcomes may assist in fostering profound personal transformations. In the United States, contemporary educational trends in the twenty-first century—particularly those that value music as a practice connected to daily life—have proven compatible with ethnomusicological approaches, which foundationally associate music with lived human experience in social context. Many PK–12 schools have forged partnerships with music organizations in their larger community to augment resources for arts education. Music education for PK–12 students often grows within a stream of programs offered by schools and colleges, cultural organizations, museums, and religious and other community groups. In such necessarily pluralistic contexts, decision-makers who shape learning through music must navigate crosscurrents of beliefs regarding what constitutes music and what makes learning meaningful for young music-makers. Identifying useful strategies for applied ethnomusicology that emerge in

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    555 the contexts of complex musical cross-talk and practice may inform the development of pedagogies for culturally responsive teaching3 or multicultural education. Since 2004 I have applied ethnomusicology in the education sector as a mid-level employee at nonprofit organizations in and around Cleveland, Ohio, beginning as the Education Programs Manager at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum (2004–2008). Much of my work has involved developing and implementing pedagogies for integrating popular music into PK–12 teaching,4 most often across humanities disciplines. These experiences inform the chapter.

Frames for Learning Through Music across Institutions With widespread economic challenges related to the “Great Recession” and systems for funding public schools in the United States, the significance of cross-institutional partnerships for formal instruction through music has magnified (Richerme et al., 2012). This is the case even though music instruction has remained more prevalent in PK–12 schools than other arts disciplines (Parsad and Spiegelman, 2012). Discourse around the social contexts of public education in the United States notes shifts signaling cultural change, such as the rising presence of English language learners in many schools and the growth of populations designated as minority groups in US school populations. Many educators seek resources for pedagogical methods or materials that acknowledge the dynamic cultural diversity of the classrooms in which they teach. Coinciding with these contexts in the early twenty-first century are efforts in public schools to foster learning through music in ways that develop every student’s ability for meaningful self-expression, while fostering core skills for successful schooling and living (Deasy, 2002; National Association for Music Education, 2007; National Task Force on Arts and Education, 2009). The federal government has designated the arts as a core subject area for instruction, specifying music as one of several arts disciplines (Richerme et al., 2012). The longitudinal studies cited in the National Endowment for the Arts report “The Arts and Achievement for At-Risk Youth” (Cattell et al., 2012) provide evidence of a powerful correlation. Among students of low socioeconomic status, those who were exposed to the arts in the lower grades were far more likely than those with little or no arts exposure to pursue higher-level courses and extracurricular opportunities and to complete their high-school educations (Iyengar, 2012). These findings speak volumes in light of the increasing demand to transform educational systems across the nation that serve, but too often fail, students living in neighborhoods with highly concentrated rates of poverty (Emerging Arts Leaders Symposium, 2012; Iyengar, 2012). The goal is a matter of equity in public education. Within initiatives to develop music education pedagogy and the professional training of teachers, educators have aimed to better connect musical activities to the life

556   Susan E. Oehler Herrick experiences of students and others in their immediate and extended communities. Some pedagogical frameworks that link music and daily life seek to expand or deepen students’ experiences with musical genres or traditions beyond Western European art music. Instruction may center on repertoire popularized through the commercial music industry or anchored in broadly influential American styles such as jazz, gospel, or musical theater; it may add ethnic or regional traditions from the school’s locality, increase students’ interaction with professional musicians in their community or with contemporary music technologies, enhance culturally relevant instructional approaches, and/or broaden their understanding of music in global perspective (Burton and Dunbar-Hall, 2002; Campbell et al, 2008; Clements, 2010; Dunbar-Hall, 2005; Ellis, n.d.; Music-in-Education National Consortium, 2013; Myers, 2003; Oehler and Hanley, 2009; Schmidt, 2009). Pedagogy that infuses music into “non-arts disciplines” such as English/language arts, history and social studies, and STEM subjects (science, technology, engineering, and math) tends to be taught by instructors who are not certified to teach music. Schools with arts integration methods at their core may foster a “third space” in which students, teachers, and visiting artists create and respond together. Arts integration methods teach to goals in an arts discipline (i.e., dance) and a non-arts discipline (i.e., history) through instructional methods that engage students actively in relevant skills and concepts in each discipline. When a learning community experiences authentic self-expression in a “third space,” it may add relevance and effectiveness to students’ perspectives of schooling and its purposes (Stevenson and Deasy, 2005). The research suggests an explanation for a truism known by educators and ethnomusicologists: that music sometimes causes connections to blossom in people in ways that other approaches do not. The phenomenon has been explored in ethnomusicological studies of the acquisition of musical culture (including cognition), music-making in childhood, music as a recurring means for lifelong human growth, or music education in schooling and teacher training (Bakan et al, 2008; Berliner, 1994; Blacking, 1967; Burnim, 1989; Campbell, 1998; Campbell et al., 2008; Fujita, 2006; Nettl, 1995; Monson 1996). Music therapists and educational neuroscientists have also discussed it as one reflection of how the brain and the human psyche both access and process music (Koen et al., 2008; Lane, 2012; Sousa, 2006a, 2006b, 2011). Lauren Stevenson and Richard Deasy characterize “openings” fostered through a transformational “third space” around an empowering artistry in educational terms: A large body of research on the effects of the arts in schools has looked at what is called transfer—how a particular intellectual or social skill developed by participation in the arts prepares students for learning and success in another area of school or life. The changes that we saw in the schools [of the case study] were more fundamental and more powerful than these one-to-one transfer associations. By forging new relationships between artists, students, and teachers, the arts created powerful contexts and conditions for learning in which students played active and meaningful roles in their own education and through which a sense of community was formed

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    557 within and around the schools. We began to see that the lessons offered by these schools address not only public concerns about how well students learn but how schools can promote the principles and practices of a democratic society. (2005: 9–10, authors’ emphasis)

A focus on collaborative process is particularly important when education is understood in a constructivist framework,5 where teaching facilitates the ability to make connections that actively grow and shape learners’ knowledge, understanding, self-expression, and ability to control their surroundings. Music-making, whether engaging learners in listening, performing sounds and movements, interpreting, or finding and applying musical meaning, may readily foster approaches to student-centered knowledge-building and expression. In education, any achievement requires engagement and growth by the participants. Efforts to shape planning, policy, and practice with theoretical, methodological, or research-driven tools must therefore keep the experiences of learners in the fore.

Decisions among a Network of Partners: Examples from Cleveland Educators ideally look to the varied experiences of students to assess the effectiveness of strategies for learning based on evidence of students’ increased understanding and abilities around targeted concepts or skills. Decision-making processes in effective educational partnerships reveal examples of strategies for learning through music and desired outcomes for students that may resonate with approaches of ethnomusicology. The network of Cleveland decision-makers interviewed for this chapter represents this nexus. Their perspectives provide examples of a practicing network of colleagues in arts administration, where I applied ethnomusicology to educational aims for PK–12 learners. This premise is also supported by the work of Joan L. Zaretti, who designed and managed educational programs for music and global studies at Carnegie Hall (2002, 2003, 2004). Her dissertation (2006) analyzes, in terms of ethnomusicology, the decisions of arts administrators who provide music programs through a “nonprofit niche” in New York City. The interviews, which the author conducted in 2012, dialogically inform assertions about strategies for applied ethnomusicology in education sector partnerships in the contexts of specific learning communities. Six professionals based in the Cleveland area with years of experience serving PK–12 students in northeast Ohio provided 30–60-minute interviews on a voluntary basis.6 Each interviewee has partnered with the Education staff of a local cultural landmark, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum (also known as the Rock Hall), to serve learners in the greater Cleveland area:

558   Susan E. Oehler Herrick • Deforia Lane, Ph.D., MT-BC, Associate Director and Director of Art and Music Therapy, Seidman Cancer Center, University Hospitals–Case Medical Center; • Lauren Onkey, Ph.D., Vice President of Education and Public Programs, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum; • Santina Protopapa, Ed.M., Founder and Executive Director, Progressive Arts Alliance; • Dianna Richardson, Orchestra Director and Music Department Chair, Cleveland School of the Arts, Cleveland Metropolitan School District; • Judith Ryder, Manager, Cleveland Arts Education Consortium, Cleveland State University and Music Director of the chamber ensemble Red Campion; formerly the Founding Director of Cleveland Opera on Tour, the education and outreach program of the Cleveland Opera; • Tony F. Sias, M.F.A., Director of Arts Education, Cleveland Metropolitan School District and Artistic Director, Cleveland School of the Arts. Glimpses of the informal professional relationships among the above demonstrate how a web of decision-making partners may inform opportunities for learning through music in an urban center’s education sector. A sketch of the partnerships that the interviewees have sustained in the region illustrates their significance to arts education in the greater Cleveland area, where the largest K–12 public school district is the Cleveland Metropolitan School District (CMSD) of the City of Cleveland. The Cleveland Metropolitan School District is the largest public school system in Cuyahoga County and the second largest in the state of Ohio (State Impact Ohio, 2013). Among its successes are the Cleveland School of the Arts, which boasts an excellent rate of graduation and college acceptance among its high school level students. In the Cleveland area, public schools of several cities face a paradox of declining funding and a rising concentration of poverty among families whose children are served by public schools (Alaprantis et al., 2013; Exner, 2010; Nelson, 2008: 45; Schweitzer, 2007). Education research finds that concentrated poverty in school populations is among the greatest challenges to students’ success in school (Kahlenberg, 2013; Kennedy, 1986; Poverty and Race Research Action Council, n.d.; US Department of Housing and Urban Development, 2011).7 Even as the growth of healthcare industries of Cleveland has countered aspects of postindustrial decline in the late twentieth century, challenges persist. In Ohio, as in many states, public school funding generates from local taxes tied to property values. Suburbs have grown as the population in the City of Cleveland has declined, historically fed by “white flight” from racial desegregation, exacerbated by biased policies in lending, including “red-lining” and subprime loans. Numerous American cities have navigated similar structural social economic challenges and their legacies, often aided by philanthropic partners. Programs for PK–12 arts education in greater Cleveland benefit from the proximity of vibrant local music scenes and world class arts institutions: an internationally lauded symphony, large theater district, and one of the nation’s few museums devoted solely to the history of popular music, among others.

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    559 The examples of partnerships for learning through music examined here operate within a larger, more multifaceted network of cross-institutional arts education with deep roots. CMSD schools’ official partnerships date to 1915 (CMSD Department of Arts Education, 2008: 2). CMSD is one among many districts carrying out a strategic plan for district-wide academic transformation to ensure that all students are provided with opportunities for a high-quality education. Arts partnerships are crucial to the CMSD plan. As of September 2007, certified fine-arts and other classroom teachers engaged CMSD students in educational partner programs with over 40 northeast Ohio music, visual arts, theater, dance, film, and literary organizations (CMSD Department of Arts Education, Strategic Plan: 30; Sias, 2012). These have included the Tri-C Jazz Fest of Cuyahoga Community College, the Cleveland Orchestra, GroundWorks Dance Theater, the Baldwin Wallace University Conservatory, and the Cleveland Institute of Music, as well as the Cleveland Music School Settlement and the renowned Karamu House theater (2008 CMSD Arts Strategic Plan: 30). The latter two organizations represent legacies of the settlement movement of the early twentieth century, which encouraged artistry in city neighborhoods with higher concentrations of poverty and, at the time, many newcomers who had moved to Cleveland from Europe or from black communities in the segregated South (The Encyclopedia of Cleveland History; Witchey and Vacha, 1994). Like many large cultural organizations in the City of Cleveland, the Rock Hall’s Education Department has prioritized partnerships with CMSD. The District’s director of arts education, Tony Sias, a frequent Rock Hall advisor, suggested that I interview a classroom music teacher, Dianna Richardson, to augment his perspective of partnering. Where Sias administers arts education at the district level, Richardson’s collaborations with partners are oriented primarily to daily instructional goals at the classroom and departmental level. As students engage in the resulting programs, she identifies best practices and shares them with fellow CMSD string teachers (Richardson 2012; Sias, 2012). As the director of an arts education nonprofit serving schools in the greater Cleveland area, Santina Protopapa works among many CMSD teachers, their administrators, and teaching-artists trained by the Progressive Arts Alliance (PAA). PAA operates largely through school residency programs that often have served CMSD K–8 level schools, and Protopapa has facilitated partnerships with the Museum, Tri-C, and other large cultural organizations. PAA has demonstrated best practices for effectively teaching with rap music and hip-hop culture, as well as documentary filmmaking, in short-term outof-school programs and summer camps. Deforia Lane’s partnerships with the Rock Hall date to 1999, when it enlisted her to lead music therapists in developing a “music-based outreach/education program for underserved preschoolers, their parents, caregivers and teachers… to promote positive interaction… and increase the children’s academic, social, communication and music skills” (Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, 2013). A pilot study found that children spending six weeks in the resulting Toddler Rock program improved 72 percent in maintaining behavior considered “on-task” for three-to-five-year-olds and reduced

560   Susan E. Oehler Herrick “off-task behavior to only 12 times per hour” (Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, 2013). Lane has remained an active leader in Toddler Rock, which explicitly frames music therapy as a “research-based profession” that applies music: Skilled music therapists design music interventions aimed at enhancing the pre-academic skills that have been shown to be most indicative of later success in school, including letter recognition, rhyming and alliteration, all important for the acquisition of reading skills.… The music therapist’s education and training equips them to apply music to accomplish non-musical goals. (Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, 2013)

Lane’s connection to learning through music also has included supervising music therapy interns pursuing board certification in programs such as the Cleveland Music Therapy Consortium. Her partnerships typically involve outreach to apply music therapy to needs in the greater Cleveland area outside the walls of her employer, University Hospitals, an affiliate of the Medical School of Case Western Reserve University. Since 1999, the Cleveland Arts Education Consortium (CAEC) has brought together local cultural organization administrators to coordinate programs, research, and information-sharing. CAEC hired Judith Ryder in 2008, whose leadership in arts education began in 1976 at the Cleveland Opera; Ryder oversees the Consortium office at the Center for Arts and Innovation at Cleveland State University. CAEC meetings regularly convene “large and small organizations” from across Cuyahoga County for presentations by regional, state-level, and sometimes national specialists in arts education, including representatives of philanthropic foundations. Topics discussed include “program evaluation, advocacy in the current economic landscape, funding issues, best practices in management, effective arts marketing, and new education initiatives” (Cleveland Arts Education Consortium, 2013). CAEC has helped to facilitate large scale cross-institutional participation in city-wide arts education initiatives such as the Art Is Education partnership with the Cleveland Metropolitan School District led by Young Audiences of Northeast Ohio (YANEO). Since 2010, YANEO has facilitated teaching-artist residencies in more than 140 schools in Cuyahoga County, which encompasses the greater Cleveland area, and in 17 additional counties in Ohio (Young Audiences of Northeast Ohio, 2013). YANEO’s Art Is Education project received support of major funders, the Cleveland Foundation and the Ford Foundation, among others. The project drew national attention to the efforts by dozens of partnering museums (including the Rock Hall), cultural organizations, and teaching-artists to align offerings with the district’s instructional goals for K–8 literacy and learning in the arts (Dobrzynski et al., 2007; Ohio Arts Council et al., 2007; YANEO, 2013a). These partnerships helped to raise discussion about methods of infusing the arts into formal instruction and promoted pedagogy of arts integration, in addition to ongoing approaches that exposed learners to the arts as performers, audiences, and critical thinkers. The discourse in Cleveland has reflected national trends in education policy, pedagogy, and related research.

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    561

Foundations for Pedagogy for Music in Daily Life and Connections to Ethnomusicology The application of ethnomusicology in the education sector benefits from attending to pedagogical strategies, their philosophical foundations, and the field’s ongoing contributions to formal music education. In particular, pedagogy for teaching music across the curriculum through partnerships seems compatible with approaches that understand music as a social process in human life. Also significant are approaches that position students’ engagement in music to illuminate its integration in daily life, as opposed to an isolated practice. Cross-institutional partnerships have often augmented school musical experiences offered to students as arts education or a kind of educational enrichment (Myers, 2003). Typical professional roles in US programs of this kind are of three types: 1. Certified music teachers employed by schools; 2. Arts educators based in cultural organizations (symphonies, museums, etc.) or programs for community members, including after-school offerings; 3. Established musical performers, who also teach individual or group music lessons or serve as artists-in-residence. Growing numbers of teachers who are not necessarily certified in arts education, but ideally teach in collaboration with certified arts educators, have embraced the arts as instructional resources, often fueled by early twenty-first-century education research suggesting that arts engagement supports student-driven interest in schooling and achievement gains (Stevenson and Deasy, 2005). Teachers certified to teach music may have encountered models for collaboration with non-music teachers and/or teachingartists as pre-service teachers. A number of music education textbooks, for example, discuss sample instructional units that thread in or unite musical learning activities with concepts aligned to other subject areas (Campbell et al., 2006: 359–370).

Arts Integration Approaches to arts integration as pedagogical methods for lessons, project-based learning activities, and curricular frames for schools have expanded interest among teachers in infusing arts across disciplines or embracing partnerships that bring expert, active artists into schools. “Concept-based arts integration”—in its fullest realization—aims for students to achieve goals for learning in both an arts and a non-arts discipline through one unit of study8 (Kennedy Center, 2013b; Southeast Center for Education

562   Susan E. Oehler Herrick in the Arts, 2013). Some school systems have faced increasing financial challenges, and partnerships sometimes have become appealing, stop-gap responses to funding cuts for arts education (Richerme et al., 2012).9 In theory, all students may learn through effective arts experiences during instruction led either by general classroom teachers at the elementary level, or specialists in English/language arts, history and social studies, or mathematics and sciences at the secondary level. As leading music education organizations and others have pointed out, however, students may not achieve widely held expectations for learning in music if they have less time to study under the direct guidance of a certified music teacher, who typically holds an undergraduate- or graduate-level degree in music (Myers, 2003; Richerme et al., 2012). Within this political climate, music teachers in public schools may be encouraged to design music instruction that reinforces school-wide efforts to build literacy, numeracy, and other skills critical to student success and state evaluation of school performance. Advocates of arts education increasingly tout evidence that learning in the creative arts fosters valuable, transferable skills that may further student success in academic, social, and emotional terms. Others caution that banking the value of the arts on its role in supporting growth in other subject areas may detract from the intrinsic value of learning in arts disciplines. Many approaches of arts integration align with an ethnomusicological approach that contextualizes music in human life. In a philosophical sense, arts integration relies on reminding teachers and learners that each holds the potential for creative expression simply because they are human beings,10 as discussed by a collective of self-defined Canadian “a/r/tographers” of visual artists and writers based largely in Vancouver, British Columbia. Its members, who also specialize in higher education, identify as artists, researchers, and teachers, who, by working in complementary and multiplicious, but supportive ways, have…[entered] into inquiry…. to live artfully in all of the many facets of our lives and, in particular, re-imaging a more holistic view of facilitating integration of the arts in schools and classrooms. (Weibe, 2007: 264)

Implicitly, being a teaching-artist is part of fulfilling artful living that connects artistry with a multifaceted life, a perspective concordant with musical artistry. The goal, they remind their fellow educators, is “to teach students how to embody living practice, to teach students how to sustain life-long learning, and to teach students how to appreciate the joy of creativity through self-motivation” (2007: 269). This assertion in The Journal of Educational Thought may read as a statement of the obvious, but the need for this articulation makes more sense in the context of a climate where accountability for particular areas of student achievement (often measured by test scores) have become central concerns of classroom teachers and administrators. An ideal of arts integration concerns more than students achieving discrete benchmarks across disciplines. It embraces both the need for maintaining academic rigor with the introduction of musicking into a social studies unit, for example. It affirms the perspective that education is enhanced when teachers “see their students as creative beings—able to connect,

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    563 link, cause growth, and develop learning through multiple artful means.… This newness will be different for each student and thus is the dominant means of learning and transformation” (Weibe, 2007: 269). It reflects that creativity in art forms, such as poetry performed in the twenty-first century, may traverse across instructional disciplines, incorporating meters and rhetorical characteristics informed by popular music styles, intertextual references to printed and multimedia works, intoned dramatic characterizations, and so forth (American Academy of Poets, 2013; Harris, 2006). The assertion is echoed in the research-based advocacy of the National Task Force on the Arts in Education. The group’s final report (2009), for which ethnomusicologist Lester P. Monts served as steering committee chair, calls on The College Board to help lead a paradigm shift in education by placing a “new curricular model with the arts at the core, integrating many subjects and types of learning in order to give them context and meaning” to better serve K–16 students (kindergarten through undergraduate college) and “provide a more effective learning environment that would induce the creative thinking needed for the 21st-century global society” (2009: 5). The report outlines recommendations for arts integration as one of eight suggestions.

Multicultural Music Education and Culturally Responsive Approaches Given advocacy for multicultural music education as well as methods of arts integration, agencies within the education sector have often furthered relationships among school-employed music teachers and their students with performing musicians whose expertise is anchored elsewhere in the community. These agencies may connect public, private, and nonprofit/nongovernmental resources and funding requests, missions and program goals, and staffs. When partnerships include performers whose music is “traditional” or “popular,” as well as that of long-established “classical” or “highbrow” arenas,11 students gain more opportunities to draw connections between learning about music in school and experiencing music in daily life. This aim has long been incorporated in discussions of the purposes of music education, whether connections are intended to provide a moral foundation, inculcate canonical works, build new music professionals and their audiences, or foster students’ creativity and critical thinking skills through multiple intelligences (Jorgensen, 2002). Ethnomusicological contributions include expanding the cultural scope of music scholarship and illuminating ways in which people integrate music-making with creative expressions that also represent other ways of knowing (Seeger, 1996). Patricia Shehan Campbell’s textbook Music in Childhood (2006), for example, orients users to a foundational assumption: that children begin learning music in relation to their parents/ caregivers and early musical encounters. The book’s final chapters demonstrate that the school curriculum must engage students in the realities of a world of multifaceted musical experiences, purposes, and cultural associations. Throughout Campbell’s Musician and Teacher (2008), case studies foster a global perspective for the intended audience of

564   Susan E. Oehler Herrick pre-service music teachers, describing music teaching and learning in varied contexts in the United States and also in other countries (Gault, 2008: 213–214). Bryan Burton and Peter Dunbar-Hall (2002), among others, discuss what could be framed as culturally responsive music education for Native American learners. Historically, partnerships for music education have created opportunities for K–12 students to examine modes of music-making that figure prominently in daily life, yet lie beyond the scope of music courses or the professional expertise of K–12 music educators. Ethnomusicologists in cross-institutional partnerships at times have sought to counter the marginalization of vernacular, regional, ethnic, religious, or other musical traditions (Seeger, 1996). Under the auspices of national, state, and local agencies in domains now embraced as “applied ethnomusicology,” “public sector folklore,” “public history,” and/or “multicultural music education,” specialists have worked to grow culturally diverse music education in formal and/or informal settings, advance knowledge of traditional musics and their transmission, and preserve and exhibit musical history in regional, ethnic, popular, or other performance settings, among other initiatives (Campbell et al., 1991, 2006; Hawes 1992; Maultsby 1988; Maultsby with Dunlap, 1990; Reagon 1996–2003; Reagon et al., 1994; Seeger, 1996, 2006; Sheehy 1992; Zaretti, 2006, 1998, 2002, 2003, 2004). Programs and educational resources in this vein have facilitated teachers’ relationships with community tradition-bearers—whether shaped-note singers, hip-hop deejays, or symphony section leaders—and music researchers or other trained specialists, who may help teachers prepare students and artists. Formal learning through music is associated with a larger process of acquiring, developing, and applying musicality over time (Fujita, 2006; Green, 2001, 2008; Szego, 2002). These sustained interests in ethnomusicological inquiry and theory also remain central processes in the core methodology of field research, as well as the cultivation of any musical performer’s development. Related literature addresses the social matter of how and why people learn music, including processes of identity formation, enculturation, intercultural exchange, and the construction of tradition (Berliner, 1998; Blacking, 1967; Burnim 1985a; Campbell et al., 2006; Campbell, 1998, 1996; Del Negro and Berger, 2004; Feld, 1990; Fujita, 2006; Kingsbury, 1988; Nettl, 1995; Oehler, 2006). Since the early 1990s, the number of resources for teaching ethnomusicology—particularly those designed for undergraduates and graduate students—has grown dramatically, illustrating a zeitgeist of educational interest.12 The resulting pedagogy, curricula, instructional resources, and related institutional development reflects an ongoing ebb and flow in the field and, of course, larger issues in education. Within the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM), the Sections for Education and Applied Ethnomusicology each foster discussion and networking among members. Specialists collecting and archiving US music represented as “folk,” “traditional,” “ethnic,” or “national,” as evident in catalogues of Smithsonian Folkways or the holdings of the Archive of Folk Culture of the Library of Congress, have facilitated research and teaching about widespread, commercially popularized, or intergenerationally valued styles of music. A number of music archives for popular music, based in public libraries and universities, have provided public access for researching local sites of performance and the frequently obscured studio recording process. Related materials may reveal

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    565 aims of music-makers, audiences, and their social networks, which US adolescents and young adults have often shaped after 1945.13 Ethnomusicological scholarship has affirmed the value of music as a lifelong practice involving more than discrete performers or compositions. Books such as My Music: Explorations of Music in Daily Life (Crafts et al., 1993) and Daniel Cavicchi’s study of rock fandom, Tramps Like Us: Music and Meaning among Springsteen Fans (1998), have helped to reveal the significance of ways of knowing music in the quotidian of the digital era—representing frequent routes through which most Americans gain musical knowledge and interpret what music means. Gospel scholar Mellonee V. Burnim (1985a) and jazz scholar Ingrid Monson (1996), among others, bring understanding to elusive communicative and transformational experiences that help put in words the powerful qualities of live jazz or gospel events, where responsive improvisational performances resonate philosophical or metaphysical awareness among participants. Recent medical ethnomusicology studies identify connections between music, as an expressive way of knowing, and its application in promoting healing and health in the United States among individual children and their caregivers (Koen et al., 2008).

Opportunities for Applying Ethnomusicology in the Cross-Institutional Education Sector Applications of ethnomusicological practice may assist certified teachers in connecting PK–12 students with musicians, who extend or augment the instructors’ resources in a given school. The processes of ethnomusicology, or the field’s approaches, also may assist in navigating distinctive social or cultural contexts for “musicking” in schooling, among community tradition-bearers or other specialists, and within the daily experiences of those teaching and learning together (Small, 1998). Decisions of partners in music programs for PK–12 learners in Cleveland describe a range of opportunities for applying ethnomusicology to further effective learning through music in a specific context. Selected examples reveal aims, approaches, and valued educational outcomes at the crux of learning through music in these cases.

Expanding Instructional Access to Musical Traditions in Formal Schooling Increasing students’ access to exemplary musical performance, as learners who perform and also make up audiences, may support goals for effective learning. Cleveland is characterized by thriving musical communities that include the established traditions embraced in institutions of higher education and a more widely varied range of musics. Like many Northern cities fueled by early twentieth-century industrial growth, the

566   Susan E. Oehler Herrick population of the Cleveland area includes many families who connect their distant or recent history to immigration or large scale rural-to-urban migrations in the twentieth century. Such regional and ethnic identities have flavored the soundscape of Cleveland. In order to provide all CMSD students with high-quality educational opportunities for music-related career and college readiness, it seems critical for students to learn through music that dominates college-level degree programs. CMSD programming helps facilitate students’ access to supplemental after-school instruction at no or low cost (i.e., private lessons, community youth ensembles), which historically have served as a key component in the preparation of college-level students in the arts (Richardson, 2012). The relevance of this approach is affirmed by a report published by the Ohio Department of Education (2013) that measures a 100 percent poverty rate among CMSD students based on data drawn from the US Census and US Department of Education. The role of music in culturally responsive education may also support students’ social and emotional development; they may value belonging to a musical group, discover that the arts open routes for success in school, or find connections to school and community through music that they identify with home communities (outside school). The fact that “the majority, 69%, of CMSD students are African-American” (State Impact Ohio, 2013) may bear significance in considering what constitutes culturally relevant pedagogies in this context. When CMSD students are viewed as potential members of the Cleveland area arts scene (as adult residents are often assumed to be), “music in daily life” becomes a very rich tapestry. The City of Cleveland is home to both the Cleveland Orchestra—a world-renowned symphony orchestra with residencies in Miami, Florida, and Vienna, Austria—and the Playhouse Square theaters, each maintaining landmark architectural sites as performance venues. In the early twenty-first century the greater Cleveland area has been celebrated as the anchor of music superstars, such as the O’Jays and other commercially successful recording artists of the recent past. Cleveland’s music scenes include nightclubs featuring R&B vocalists and rock clubs showcasing metal guitarists. Repertoire explores the standards of straight-ahead jazz, electronic architecture of industrial rock, or the avant-garde edge to noise music. Community grows in the live battles of rappers and the exchange of downloaded music videos. Cleveland’s sounds are shaped by choirs, cantors, dance teams, bugle corps, drum lines, mariachi ensembles, polka bands, pow-wows, classical recitals, and performances by the local School of Rock. In addition to the Tri-C Jazz Fest, the city hosts crowd-drawing annual music celebrations, whether to honor an international pool of competitive concert pianists or a gathering of students and gurus of South Indian music (Cleveland International Piano Competition, 2013; Cleveland Thyagaraja Festival, 2013; Tri-C Jazz Fest, 2013). As Stephen Blum notes, when music-making “in the public sphere” is viewed in historical perspective, “the conflicts that have been most audible and visible in the musical life of the United States are linked to our [sic] long history of injustice toward so-called peoples of color” (2010:  232). Such a historical legacy bears particular weight in the context of the 43,000 students served by Cleveland’s public schools, in which 85 percent of students identify as “minorities,” according to demographic reports of the Ohio Department of Education (2013). Among the city’s resident population in 2010 of

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    567 around 396,814, the US Census Bureau (2010) counted 53.3 percent as African American or Black, 33.4 percent as “White alone,” and 10 percent as Hispanic or Latino. Court battles over racial desegregation of the Cleveland public schools persisted into the early 1980s (Encyclopedia of Cleveland History, n.d.). In contradistinction to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, few large cultural institutions in northeast Ohio represent a sustained, cultural contribution from African-American music-makers, though many such organizations offer a range of resources to explore African-American history in specialized programs or events.14 Northeast Ohio, however, is home to numerous networks of African-American musicians who have sustained music for wide audiences, from the local to the global in scale. Local school ensembles are rooted in traditions of Western European art music, jazz maintains institutional presence, many high school–level choral groups have a strong gospel repertoire,15 and teaching-artists have fostered musical experiences with a broad range of styles and traditions. There may be particular value in the opportunity for young people in schools to learn in partnership with expert musicians whose cultural frames of reference do not require college and university programs for certification as a music teacher or other degree in music. The musicians also may gain skills as teaching-artists that could enhance opportunities to partner with music educators or other classroom teachers. Cleveland’s Progressive Arts Alliance (PAA), for example, trains teaching-artists to lead residencies or workshops. The residencies (10–12 weeks) place PAA teaching-artists in a classroom or across a grade level in a K–8 level school, and after-school workshops typically involve teaching fourth through eighth graders. The instructional methods of PAA teaching-artists have engaged students in music anchored in various styles of jazz, works for symphonic orchestra, rock and roll, rap music, hip-hop deejaying and dance, and West African and Afro-Cuban drumming. Santina Protopapa notes that some PAA teaching-artists “don’t have a background in music education, because what they do with music is so unique that you couldn’t go to a conservatory” (2012). PAA provides professional development to its teaching-artists around curricula and pedagogical strategies for K–12 instruction through music.16 Protopapa explains that PAA coaches teaching-artists to consider the relationships between their professional practice and their role as partnering educators in schools: It’s been [a question of] how can we get teaching-artists to think bigger and broader, and hip-hop artists to see themselves… as music educators.… It’s finding ways for music students in the conservatory to understand their roles as an artist in the community, and the… various contexts [beyond] a concert hall [or]… jazz club.… What does your work look like outside of performing? And the teaching might not be your studio practice. Many of the artists we work with, who are now partners to public schools, said, “I would have never imagined myself having a significant source of income teaching social studies and jazz at a public, inner-city Cleveland school. But now I love it, and I [want] this to… be a part of everything else I do.” So how do we give exposure to the different ways that they can do that? (2012)

568   Susan E. Oehler Herrick Classroom teachers may learn from teaching-artists’ musical approaches or may validate new pedagogical approaches for engaging students through music. “We’re building the capacity of classroom teachers as well,” says Protopapa, who contends that teaching-artists and the curricula they have created during PAA residencies have inspired certified music teachers to adapt the resulting instructional materials for ongoing use. “The values of artists who are in the community and are pushing their art… are doing that in the classroom. They’re not going in this [classroom] and turning off their values” (2012). Similarly, Protopapa ascribes opportunities for mutual influence with the large cultural organizations with which PAA has partnered on a long-term basis, such as the Recording Arts and Technology Program at Tri-C and the education division of Playhouse Square; PAA is provided the use of equipment for digital sound production and recording and venues for after-school programs and summer day camps. According to Protopapa, PAA staff has assisted other larger partners over time (2012).

Toddler Rock: Learning Through Music as a Social Process Music therapist Deforia Lane’s approach to partnerships emphasizes the value of a dialogic process. Lane makes decisions about programs like Toddler Rock by considering, for example, the objectives for serving targeted individuals in relation to their caregivers, who may include parents and other family members, teachers, or healthcare providers. Weekly Toddler Rock sessions at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum must suit the educational objectives mandated for Greater Cleveland Head Start17 programs and must successfully engage the participating children, who are accompanied by their Head Start teachers. School administrators’ priorities, mandated educational standards, and partners’ aims are also factors. Lane works expressly to develop and model varied approaches for involving students in activities with musical sound, timing, movements, and technology that Head Start teachers may use again with students back in their own classrooms; Head Start teachers’ comfort level in leading musical activities does vary. Lane designs interventions for the needs of a diverse student population, as well as those of the teachers and caregivers who may reinforce Toddler Rock activities. Lane explains that she gives the Head Start instructors formal and informal instruction on the integration of music in the classroom. Techniques focus on engaging the youngsters in listening, associating sounds with letters or words, recall and recognition of concepts, problem-solving, and sequencing. Interventions for these purposes integrate song, chant, rhythm and movement in group activities. (2013)

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    569 A team of music therapists first models the specially designed activities held inside the Rock Hall before the museum opens its doors to the public. Interventions engage the students and caregivers with provided resources; some therapists use iPads or listening stations to access audio or video recordings. Given the expectation that all present will actively participate, the Head Start teachers learn musical activities as their students do. Prompted by the music therapists, Head Start teachers model participation for their classes and positively reinforce on-task behavior designed to foster cognitive and social-emotional growth. They may repeat or adapt the session’s activities in their regular classrooms or devise similar music-based activities. Newsletters that describe Toddler Rock lessons or themes are sent home with students, inviting parents or caregivers to reinforce skills, too. Lane expects partnerships to encompass learning through music for all involved. Because music is so diffusely processed in the brain, it can address many issues— cognitive, social, physical, psychological and spiritual issues—I can’t think of an area where music cannot have an impact. But the person with whom I am collaborating or partnering may not be aware of that. So I think part of my role is to educate; part of it is to inspire; and part of it is [creative development]. (Lane, 2012)

As Lane collaborates with partners, she anticipates a creative process of “learning as you go and experiencing those brilliant ‘Ah ha! Moments’ ” and avoids a “cookie cutter approach.” She adds, “I believe part of learning is exploration. How can we do what we do better? And when we find what works, sharing those successes with teachers and children so they will reap the benefits is key” (Lane, 2013).

“Musicking” a Public Voice A dialogic approach to Cleveland-area partnerships for learning through music points to another important outcome. Santina Protopapa, like many other arts educators, emphasizes that students’ musical expression provides them with opportunities not only to develop musical interest and skills, but also to voice ideas through a performance form that has the potential to reach a larger audience. In 2013, for example, with the guidance of PAA teaching-artists, two teams of students collaboratively created a song as part of “What’s Going On… NOW,” the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts’ national “digital youth arts and media campaign” (2013a) in which students from around the United States responded to creative works via digital media. The theme references Marvin Gaye’s 1971 album, What’s Going On. One team at CMSD’s East Technical High School created their song in a voluntary after-school program. The high school draws students from Cleveland’s Central neighborhood, where highly concentrated poverty has sparked a “community transformation initiative” to support children’s success in schooling through building community and

570   Susan E. Oehler Herrick social support services in the neighborhood (Sisters of Charity Foundation, 2013: 1–4). The other student group, the PAA All-Stars, submitted the song “Think Cleveland,” which was selected for the “What’s Going On… NOW” Youth Showcase at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. (2013a). The PAA All-Stars is a select ensemble of student MCs (rappers), deejays, and dancers from the Cleveland area who have attended the PAA’s annual RHAPSODY Hip-Hop Summer Arts Camp (grades 6–12). Both the East Tech group and the PAA All-Stars wrote songs that “were really heady” as students considered problems faced by Clevelanders and the messages of the 1971 album, Protopapa explained (2012). The program challenged students to create new work based on music and social issues that Marvin Gaye was examining in that album. As they were talking about that, they were using quotes and metaphors that you hear in some of the songs in What’s Going On, and it was a really creative way to tie it all together.… The Kennedy Center had this online platform, where you could submit your work, and then everybody gets to see it. Even if they weren’t going to the Kennedy Center to perform, there was all this back-andforth with kids exchanging work. (2012)

According to Protopapa, the PAA All-Stars saw the campaign as a vehicle to position their song as “part of a bigger platform” (2012). The group periodically performs by invitation at museums and community events, but Protopapa says the students viewed the national event differently: [Going] to D.C.  and perform[ing] at the Kennedy Center amidst other groups around the country expanded our students’ view of… the music they created. It wasn’t just a page on a band [concert] program. It was, “I own this, and I’m going to present this to… people who don’t know me, aren’t my parents, aren’t my fellow classmates, aren’t from Cleveland.” It was a really, unbelievably positive experience. They got invited to a second performance… to do another song, [“We’re Here.”]… It gave them a vehicle to open the possibilities to what a professional career could be like. (2012)

Protopapa describes the role of PAA teaching-artists in supporting students’ projects and how students’ ownership emerged collaboratively: They started examining the media: “What does Cleveland report about Cleveland? What trends do you see? Do you think these trends are accurate? What else do you see that’s not being recorded or that’s being reported too much?” It was interesting. Poverty is really high in Cleveland. Not all these kids lived in poverty-stricken neighborhoods, but they experience it or have friends.… The last line of the song is, “Think bigger than yourself: think Cleveland.”… The students were like,… “This [line] encapsulates everything we were trying to do.”… They decided

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    571 how many measures everyone would have; who was going to be the person responsible for the refrain [and] the order. (2012)

The PAA All-Stars’ experiences in Washington, D.C., brought them face-to-face with selected peers from around the country who digitally submitted recorded songs, videos, short films, and poetry readings. The culminating Youth Showcase intertwined students’ recorded media and live performances of the digital submissions. In addition to witnessing the positive reception of a larger audience, the PAA All-Stars experienced membership in a larger arts community that affirmed their style of expression, acknowledged their maturity extended beyond expectations for “a kids’ group,” and sparked growth. Protopapa recounts that [o]‌ne of the students said, “I’ve never been in a situation where everybody is into the same kind of things I’m into, and they respect my work. And they want to know more about it and were talking really deeply about music.” And I said, “Well, go to college, and you’ll have that. Be a music major in college.” [He continued,] “Some people are better and are really pushing me [to be] the greatest I could possibly be? And it’s all over music!” It just really blew his mind.… It ended up being a huge validation. It’s not just that PAA thinks you’re cool.… Other people, kids from D.C., from the Bay Area [are saying], “This is the real thing.” (2012)

In a time when young people expect to use digital platforms to gain, share, and comment on information, partnerships like “What’s Going On… NOW” 18 provide an opportunity for engaging students appropriately through educator-facilitated interfaces of arts communities and the Internet that foster a forum resounding with student voices to address matters of both civics and culture.

Deepening a Sense of Belonging Music therapist Deforia Lane affirms the idea that learning on location in a museum like the Rock Hall helps children to internalize the notion that public institutions for the arts in Cleveland belong to them, which builds a kind of confidence (2012, 2013). Lane views Toddler Rock as “an opportunity to invite children who seldom get to experience this place of elegance and rich history in the Rock Hall to make it a world they can call their own.… Toddler Rock [engages] the mind, body, and spirit of a child with the art and science of music” (2013). During class activities, the children “confidently put on earphones, listen to music as far back as Mahalia [Jackson] and Billie Holiday, and go away

572   Susan E. Oehler Herrick [with] more… school readiness” (Lane, 2012). They use museum technology, are able to “identify the guitar of Les Paul, or dance the twist when they hear Chubby Checker” (Lane, 2013). According to Lane, parents have proudly shared their surprise when toddlers have recalled the names of artists like Jerry Lee Lewis or B. B. King to identify the letters in their names (2012, 2013). Effective programming in the education sector also involves intergenerational connections. Judith Ryder, in her former position as Founding Director of Cleveland Opera on Tour, intentionally began in 1995 to involve senior citizens and other adult volunteers as trained assistants for the opera’s educational programs for residencies in schools, teacher professional development, and educational opera productions. As lifelong learners, the trained volunteers would support operatic vocalists in residencies with primary-level students in the greater Cleveland area. The objectives of instruction remained focused on the students, but often the volunteers would witness the program’s educational impacts, a lesson valuable for taxpayers and advocates for public funding of arts education. In 2012, for example, City of Cleveland voters approved the first levy in 16 years to increase property taxes and fund CMSD’s Academic Transformation Plan (2010) for dramatically improving the performance of the city’s public schools (Anderson, 2012; O’Donnell, 2012a). This vote was of particular significance to sustaining instruction in the arts, which had been reduced or eliminated from most K–8 schools in 2012 due to district budget cuts.19 Even as the City of Cleveland has addressed these challenges, many children still face what was termed an “arts opportunity gap” by US Secretary of Education Arne Duncan in 2012 (quoted in Richerme et al., 2012: 2). To sustain PK–12 arts education, it may be crucial for adults to cultivate a sense that northeast Ohioans belong to the CMSD community. Teaching and learning approaches develop through an emergent process within the context of distinctive but interrelated learning communities. This fact may resonate with ethnomusicologists, who often build musical understanding through intensive engagement in field research or apprenticeship to master performers, while navigating powerful social dynamics.

Strategies for Applied Ethnomusicology: A Contextualized Definition Given the contexts through which arts administrators approach partnerships for learning through music, the notion of “applied ethnomusicology” may be most valuable as an orientation to strategies for thinking about music and what people do with it, where strategies relate musical knowledge to social actions undertaken through music. These assumptions reflect a philosophical investment in pragmatism and the phenomenological significance of human social experience. In “A Few Notions about Philosophy and

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    573 Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology” (1992), Daniel Sheehy describes “applied ethnomusicology” as conscious, purposeful professional practice that shapes our action into concrete lines of strategy that are not preconceived or predetermined by an absolute idea of what these actions should be.… On the part of its practitioners, applied ethnomusicology is perhaps most observable as an implacable tendency first to see opportunities for a better life for others through the use of music knowledge, and then immediately to begin devising cultural strategies to achieve those ends. (1992: 323)

Strategies are framed by ongoing musical experiences for pragmatic aims. In the education sector, this may involve collaborating to create educational programs and events or pedagogical tools and frameworks. Applied ethnomusicology strategies connect ideas about music with social actions through music. In the context of navigating partnerships for education, it seems problematic to center frames for the motivations of educators or ethnomusicologists around terms that seek to lift up or speak for others. Even if unintended by the author, such language may resonate with a moral altruism. If altruism functions as a definitive motivation for action, the power of “others” may be diminished, as the spotlight remains on the power of the educator or the perspective of the applier of music to generate change on behalf of someone else. Nonetheless, I certainly agree with Sheehy and others: strategies in applied ethnomusicology typically aim to further ameliorative changes that assist individuals and groups. An ethnomusicologist may join efforts to navigate challenges or solve problems, as other characterizations of applied ethnomusicology have emphasized (Pettan, 2008; Titon, 1992). Surely numerous schoolteachers and ethnomusicologists may also ascribe ameliorative motives to work, even if their academic research and publications are not considered to be “applied ethnomusicology.” It seems pragmatic to leave the matter of social amelioration outside the core of the definition of “applied ethnomusicology,” centering instead on the action’s processes and relationships. Within Sheehy’s conceptualization in terms of “purpose, strategy, techniques, and evaluation” (1992: 324), strategies are “the ways to solve a particular problem” and most often are aimed at affecting the community of origin of a given music… [by] (1) developing new “frames” for musical performance, (2) “feeding back” musical models to the communities that created them, (3) providing community members access to strategic models and conservation techniques, and (4) developing broad, structural solutions to broad problems. (1992: 330–331)

As illustrated by Portia Maultsby’s discussion of applied ethnomusicology in an interview with Delia Alexander published in 2003, the purpose of applied work may center on process and audience in different contexts and roles (Alexander, 2003: 9–11, 13). Maultsby was

574   Susan E. Oehler Herrick teaching a two-part graduate level course, “Ethnomusicology and the Public Sector,” in Indiana University’s Department of Folklore and Ethnomusicology. In Maultsby’s eyes, [p]‌ublic sector and academic work represent different sides of the same coin. My academic work provides content for public sector projects and the research conducted for these projects feeds back into my own work and teaching. I expose students to the latest perspectives on issues drawing from my discussions with scholars of various disciplines. Another point—public sector work has made my research accessible to broad audiences and in different formats. (Alexander, 2003: 11)

Maultsby provides examples of the range of roles, nature of tasks, and special opportunities to influence “public spaces” through applied work: I have applied my knowledge as an ethnomusicologist in a variety of contexts, including public sector institutions, where I have worked as a researcher, presenter, consultant, author, co-curator, and program designer in museums; consultant for companies specializing in museum soundtrack and multimedia productions; and consultant/ advisor for PBS and NPR/PRI documentaries. Working part- or full-time in public sector institutions enables ethnomusicologists to influence the presentation and representation of American ethnic minorities and world cultures in public spaces. (Alexander, 2003: 9)

This statement emphasizes the collaborative work process and possibly a kind of shared responsibility in the perceived impacts of the resulting projects. The form of the projects and their routes of dissemination may broadly influence the perceptions and experiences of people in public spaces in ways that extend Maultsby’s scholarly fueled understandings of the history of African-American music and culture beyond typical academic audiences. Strategies for applied ethnomusicology in this vein are a potential route for ethnomusicological participation in creating resources with the potential to broadly communicate, if not foster, self-directed learning through music. Communications may engage the media, mass/popular culture, well-funded educational websites, or networks to localities and communities. The process may expand or open access to the authoritative production of knowledge, in this case, influencing how “American ethnic minorities and world cultures” are represented in public and ways that the tools of ethnomusicology may inform other means for examining music and its significance. Maultsby focuses on the importance of “negotiation” in a way that distinguishes it as a kind of collaborative core strategy for applied work: Negotiation is central to collaborative work and important to debating ideological positions regarding institutional traditions and practices. Working as music consultant for Eyes on the Prize II, for example, I negotiated the use of songs that contained lyrics, a practice contrary to traditions of documentary filmmaking [at the time]. In most cases, lyrics are avoided because of their potential to editorialize or influence

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    575 the interpretation of content. Even though this potential does exist, I believe that song lyrics, if strategically placed in appropriate scenes, can help reinforce important issues introduced in the narrative. Through several discussions supported by a rationale, the producers eventually gave in to my position, which in turn influenced changes in perspectives on the role of music documentaries. (Alexander, 2003:14)

This strategy, according to Maultsby, enhanced the opportunity for songs in the film to function as a primary source within “multimedia narratives on African American history and culture” in a culturally relevant way: This is significant because… vocal and instrumental music is central to African American community life. It expresses a range of emotions and reveals the level of resilience and creativity of African Americans under changing social conditions and as a marginalized group in society.… [E]‌thnomusicologists can influence changes in long-standing practices and perspectives of public sector institutions in ways that contribute to effective presentations and appropriate representation of cultures… . (Alexander, 2003:14)

The documentary’s embrace of recorded songs, as well as reinterpretations by artists anchored in the tradition of freedom songs and related styles of congregational singing, adds more African-American voices to the historical narrative. The documentary series features, for the most part, excerpts from oral historical interviews with movement leaders and eyewitnesses, historical stills and moving images, and a narrator’s voiceover. By including audible lyrics in the documentary film’s quilt of selected historical memories, the multivalent messages of music performed by black communities and civil rights activists are represented. Music is documented as a tool of the grassroots nonviolent Civil Rights movement and a valuable mode of expression, not merely a soundscape. In contrast to Maultsby’s successful negotiation, where an ethnomusicologist applies ideas about music in cultural context to influence an approach to decision-making about a project, collaborative work also may involve negotiations that limit the ethnomusicologist’s influence. Contracts may restrict ownership of intellectual property, the right to disseminate information to the public, or to speak on behalf of the organization. Strategies in applied ethnomusicology must function in light of the potentially conflicting expectations of partnering individuals, organizations, and those they aim to serve (Loughran, 2008; Seeger, 1992). When ethnomusicologists cultivate dialogic relationships around music with community members, more avenues for negotiation may open, regardless of the ethnomusicologists’ level of perceived influence or contracted role. Community members’ requests, requirements, and directions are sought in addition to those generated or controlled by the partnering ethnomusicologist(s) (Araújo, 2006: 298–309). The empowerment of the ethnomusicologist cannot be denied (Pettan, 2008: 90–91), nor the need for methods that base research on sustained, intensive dialogic

576   Susan E. Oehler Herrick relationships negotiated by the both the researcher and the music community in order to foster a “new knowledge-producing praxis” (Araújo, 2008: 28).20 In the context of the Cleveland area, dialogic relationships for learning through music navigate social characteristics that profoundly shape the experiences of schoolchildren and their families. Partnerships for learning that welcome lived definitions of music-making benefit from strategies that seek horizontal pathways for understanding music among people oriented to differing social positions, cultural frameworks, and community networks.21 When ethnomusicologists join together with arts educators, their negotiations with other individuals in planning and designing educational programs, resources, or events are framed by a larger web of institutional policies, communal practices, cultural preferences, and related values for music-making and learning. In the ideal, the policies and practices of PK–12 schools and their partners in arts education serve the needs of students in ways valued by their families and larger communities. Strategies for applied ethnomusicology in the PK–12 education sector benefit when collaborative efforts to design and implement instruction through music ultimately center on the needs of students in specific learning contexts, where guidelines for navigating a school’s web of expectations typically are articulated. Here strategies approach a specific community of learners in dialogue with partners, where teachers (not only educators) in the learning community play a leading role. Ultimately, how may students’ current understandings of music in daily life be connected to music in school and also expanded, in order to support particular goals for learning?

Navigating Social Barriers and Building Access in Cleveland In the Cleveland area, social positions related to race, socioeconomic status, and social mobility are relevant to dialogic relationships. At some level, school partners will navigate such social realities, whether they are overtly acknowledged or not. This includes positions related to identities of the ethnomusicologist and other decision-making partners.22 Strategies for applied ethnomusicology may benefit from understandings of ways that schools serving K–12 learners aim to navigate structural barriers while providing music education. Some navigation is literally a logistical concern. It is an ongoing challenge to provide all Cleveland students access to musical experiences in daily life in ways that foster reflection, participation, and understanding. While foundations and wealthy individuals may fund cultural organizations’ on-site programs, fees for bus transportation to these events are increasingly considered “incidentals” that are not covered by grant awards. Tony Sias explains a paradoxical challenge in a “music-rich community” facing limited transportation funds and rising transportation costs: One of the barriers is bus transportation… to the various venues.… I think it’s great to bring programming into the schools, but there’s nothing like going to Severance Hall and experiencing The Cleveland Orchestra in that acoustically brilliant and

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    577 magnificent edifice of a music hall. Nothing like it. There’s nothing like seeing something at Playhouse Square, [which] has done a phenomenal job of making transportation a priority in terms of fund development on behalf of Cleveland [CMSD] schools. (2012)

Sias emphasizes, like many music educators, that the CMSD Department of Arts Education insists that a high-quality music education should provide all students opportunities to both perform and think critically about performances by accomplished artists in their professional settings. The significance of providing access to such experiences in schools in the region is magnified by the fact that nine Cuyahoga County public school districts indicate levels of “very high student poverty” or “high student poverty” (38%–88%), according to the Ohio Department of Education (2013). Nearly one-third of City of Cleveland residents live in poverty (US Census, 2010), a statistic exceeding poverty rates of most other US cities of its size (Alaprantis et al., 2013, Exner, 2010; Nelson, 2008:45; Schweitzer, 2007). The District navigates institutional matters involving curriculum and instruction as well as the bottom line of funding. To offer a high-quality arts education for all students in the District, the 2008 Strategic Plan authored by the district’s Department of Arts Education aims to embrace external partnerships that support goals for the arts in the CMSD Transformation Plan. The goal is to spread across the District practices integral to the “proven success” of the Cleveland School of the Arts and arts-focused schools benefiting from collaborative partnerships, such as Art Is Education (Strategic Plan, 2008: 3). It notes the past role of awards from national and local philanthropic foundations in arts-focused schools (2008: 3). The Cleveland School of the Arts serves students in grades 6–12 on two campuses, who gained admission through an audition process. In addition to intensive study in arts disciplines, project-based learning that integrates the arts across core subject areas has infused school culture. The high school campus boasts an exceptional rate of graduation (96% in 2013), and 100 percent of graduates in 2013 matriculated to college and universities. Through the district’s anticipated PASS program (Premier Arts Specialty System), additional PK–8 schools in the district may embrace innovative, high-quality curricula for “arts-focused learning” with “national best practices as benchmarks,” according to the CMSD Department of Arts Education’s Strategic Plan (2008: 3, 4). Given the likelihood that most CMSD students face economic barriers to visiting large cultural organizations and encountering expert performers in Cleveland’s professional venues, Sias praises opportunities that permit CMSD students to enter cultural organizations situated geographically within the bounds of the City of Cleveland. One partner, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, has helped the district’s certified music teachers, student ensembles, and students’ families explore the history of selected Inductees of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame at no cost. Sias describes how an annual event of 12 years, the Rock Your World Festival, has drawn large numbers of students in the district’s musical ensembles and their families to culminating performances that represent students’ year-long study in music:

578   Susan E. Oehler Herrick [Over] 6,000 Clevelanders attend the festival. We usually have around 2,000 students who participate, and the balance of the guests are parents, community, and family members. . . . On that day we have access to the Rock Hall [for CMSD student performers and their audiences].… One of our agreements with the Rock Hall is that teachers will select music to be performed: at least one selection by a Rock Hall Inductee. (2012)

As part of study of concert repertoire in the district’s music education curriculum, student performers come to know a song that represents an honored musician’s contribution to the history of rock and roll music, as defined by the Museum and their teachers. At a venue that entices larger turnouts than a typical school auditorium, students perform for large audiences of their peers and family, as well as other museum visitors. Sias values experiences that connect students with college campuses. The Museum’s Library and Archive is available to Cleveland School of the Arts students for specialized research projects for the Senior Recital and Exhibition requirement, for which “students [write] a research paper about the artist he or she will present, as a part of their repertoire and performance” (2012). The partnership provides multiple opportunities to increase familiarity with educational opportunities in music through a library housed at Cuyahoga Community College. Dianna Richardson acknowledges the traditional roles of after-school, family-funded ensembles, and private individual instruction in fostering high-level achievements in musical technique critical for admission to college-level music study and many professional opportunities in music. To enrich the string orchestra she directs at the Cleveland School of the Arts, Richardson has built partnerships with her alma mater, the Cleveland Institute of Music (which operates in cooperation with Case Western Reserve University) in Cleveland’s University Circle district, and the Baldwin Wallace University Conservatory of Music, located just south of the City of Cleveland in Berea. Richardson hires and guides college music majors eligible for work-study positions to provide regularly scheduled, individual lessons for CSA students during the orchestra class she teaches. Richardson also seeks opportunities for her students to watch top-level performers, such as those affiliated with the Cleveland Orchestra, who present chamber music at the school, at times just feet away from high school students. The partnerships also grow into mentoring relationships with students. Richardson sketches a school day in her classroom: I am working with a group, but I’ve got three private lessons happening in [other] rooms. Then some days… there’s a quartet performance [by Cleveland Institute of Music students] right in front of us. And it’s amazing. Think about it: that college student is not that far away in age from you.… In a way, you can’t be what you don’t see. (2012)

Richardson herself helps connect CMSD strings students with out-of-school enrichment offered by the district and pre-college experiences on community college and university campuses; Richardson’s involvement in several music programs of this nature

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    579 allows her to keep CMSD strings teachers informed about offerings that may support district goals. Richardson leads the district’s All-City Orchestra, which pulls students from across the district for after-school and weekend rehearsals, culminating in a public performance; summertime All-City Arts programs take place on the Tri-C campus. Baldwin Wallace University hosts an annual summer String Camp made affordable to secondary level students with financial need, where Richardson is one of several conductors. Music education in the district aims to build in ensemble experiences and individualized enrichment by linking in-school and after-school programs without adding financial burdens for families. Tony Sias values such partnerships that bring college-affiliated and active musicians into direct contact with students during and after school, which he credits as promoting readiness for college and generating mentoring relationships for career-readiness (Richardson, 2012; Sias, 2012). Many families of students enrolled in CMSD schools face structural challenges of poverty and inequality (Avery, 1989; Campbell, 2010). The state of Ohio has wrestled for years over inequitable systems for funding local public schools through property taxes; the funding systems were declared unconstitutional by the Ohio Supreme Court in 1997 (Pittner et al., 2010). Within Cuyahoga County, wealthier suburban neighborhoods outside the City of Cleveland are composed of separately governed municipalities, and none shares responsibility for providing schooling, or other public services, to City of Cleveland residents. In contrast to greater concentrations of poverty in the City of Cleveland and several of its “inner ring” suburbs (City of Cleveland, 2011; Piiparinen and Coulten, 2012), a number of “outer ring” suburbs thrive with a growing population and economy. Within and without the City of Cleveland, racial segregation in law and custom—in addition to social gatekeeping—has erected barriers in neighborhoods, business networks, and political factions that reinforce the significance of race, religious affiliation, ethnicity and nationality, and socioeconomic class, even as labor unions and social justice organizations such as the NAACP have countered and resisted these barriers. School populations reflect these realities. As of 2013, the Ohio Department of Education draws on data from the 2010 US Census and the US Department of Education to quantify “shared demographic and geographic characteristics” of school districts across the state, and the report designates 10 urban school districts in the greater Cleveland area of Cuyahoga County, including CMSD, with “very high” or “high” rates of student poverty. For research purposes, the report also assigns a percentage of students classified as “minority” populations for each school district. Eight of the 10 “large” or “very large” districts with “high” or “very high” poverty have student populations of more than a quarter designated as minorities; six of the eight districts include a majority population comprising students identified as minorities (59%–100%). Yet 2012 estimates report that 60.9 percent of Cuyahoga County residents are classified as White, 30.2 percent as Black, 5.1 percent as Hispanic or Latino, 2.9 percent as either Asian or Native Hawaiian or Pacific Islander, and less than .3 percent as Native American; an additional 1.9 percent identified with more than one of the categories (US

580   Susan E. Oehler Herrick Census, 2010).23 The typology lists 21 other Cuyahoga County Districts as “suburban” areas with “low poverty” (rates ranging from 10% to 61%) or “very low poverty” (rates ranging from 9% to 32%). Only four school districts in the county show both lower rates of poverty and a majority of students who are identified as minority group populations. Urban planning policy, combined with effectual internal policing by neighborhood residents, has historically exacerbated geographic features that section Cleveland and its inner-ring suburbs into an “East” and “West” side. Larger Black and Jewish communities were originally established on the East Side than on the West (Encyclopedia of Cleveland History). Within these East-West sectors of Cleveland, many neighborhoods are associated with working-class, union-affiliated, and/or professional residents, whose place of work is—or historically was—a nearby factory, hospital, or a city’s public services division (i.e., law enforcement, fire protection, etc.) Strongly influential and distinctive Jewish communities in Cleveland and surrounding suburbs anchored in the East Side have also exerted national influence on Jewish religious and social institutions (Encyclopedia of Cleveland History). Catholics have outnumbered Protestants in Cleveland, and many diocesan schools hold high status in the region. A number of communities in the Cleveland area link identity to the cultural heritage of recent or distant immigrants, their historical neighborhoods, and social organizations that may foster spoken and written languages and the musical arts from areas including Western and Eastern Europe, Palestine, Brazil, East and Southeast Asia, and Pakistan. Waves of migrants from rural southern and Appalachian regions and Puerto Rico also settled in Cleveland, despite an overall population decline in northeastern Ohio since the late twentieth century (Grabowski, n.d.). Traditional neighborhoods are changing as residents of the City of Cleveland and some inner-ring suburbs continue to move to suburban areas (Smith, 2011). Demographic statistics of the City of Cleveland and its environs reveal another pattern evident in many Northern industrial centers in the Great Lakes region. People who identify as Black or Hispanic disproportionately live in neighborhoods with the highest rates of poverty, and the incomes of families headed by people who identify as Black or Hispanic disproportionately fall below the federal poverty line (City of Cleveland, 2013). Socially constructed race matters at a structural level despite past successes of Civil Rights–era leaders in Cleveland and their continued advocacy. This is the case despite the prominence of African-American and Hispanic leaders in business, politics, philanthropies, and other influential nonprofits. Ethnomusicological literature often anticipates that understandings of music grow in relation to the social ebb and flow of communities and ways that people identify themselves within them—both in terms of partially shared and more unique experiences, including those arising from specially valued roles or positions of power. A dialogic approach to strategies for applied ethnomusicology that attend to the micro-level of relationships among a specific learning community to support decision-making may navigate social routes and barriers relevant to schooling. Critics may question where the functional starting place in the process may be found; indeed, music lessons alone are unlikely to quickly achieve massive structural social change. Perhaps an effective

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    581 beginning is to aim to open K–12 students’ experiences for exploring their identity and their connections to groups on their own terms.24 For music therapist Deforia Lane, effective interventions may activate an individual’s pre-existing positive associations or familiarity with musicians, but may also help to expand them. In the Toddler Rock program, in addition to evidence of cognitive growth and expanded sense of belonging, Lane has observed students’ personal connections to musicians celebrated in the Rock Hall (2012) There are famous people in the Rock Hall who look like them, who have contributed in ways that are honored and are valued. Just think of the impact that such an iconic place can have that reflects people with whom they can identify: to watch the excitement in the eyes of a child when they recognize Michael Jackson’s glove and say, “I’m going to wear that some day,” or to see the girls admire a sequined gown of the Supremes. Mary Wilson [of the Supremes] was a guest at Toddler Rock, and the children proudly sang and performed, “Stop in the Name of Love,” and ‘taught’ her the dance moves. Just think of a 3-year old teaching Mary Wilson how to dance and sing. I don’t think children forget that. Those little moments can be very significant and remembered for years. And when we can learn in an engaging, positive way, in a beautiful environment among accomplished and talented people—what a privilege! We’re building skills, teaching concepts, all within the context of music. (Lane, 2013)

In addition to the interventions gained through word work, improving motor skills and time-on-task that promote preschoolers’ readiness for learning in K–12 schools, Lane’s observations suggest that many preschoolers may build self-awareness and experience a sense of connection to celebrated historical figures as they learn together through music. Students who come to the Museum for Toddler Rock from Head Start centers around the greater Cleveland area may identify with and/or forge new social connections with one another, the staff, figures in popular music history, and sometimes visiting Inductees. Through developmentally appropriate stories about contributions made to the history of rock and roll music, such as Chuck Berry’s popularization of the duck walk or Aretha Franklin’s recognition as the “Queen of Soul” (Lane, 2012), the Toddler Rock program teaches Head Start students and teachers a bit more about expert musicians than that represented through mass media. Ethnomusicological discourse often positions an understanding of music within frames suited to the complexity of social life and ways people weave musical expression throughout it. Building children’s readiness for schooling may theoretically occur anywhere, but the partnerships of the Toddler Rock program may foster additional levels of culturally responsive and/or social-emotional connections in a resource-rich environment through music. Judith Ryder agrees, drawing on a 30-year scope of ways that students in Cleveland can be drawn into the theatrical music and dramatic characters of opera, if logistical

582   Susan E. Oehler Herrick and social barriers are reduced. When directing education programs for the Cleveland Opera, Ryder had to champion the value of dedicating both time and financial resources to allow learners to explore cultural sites in ways that forged relationships with Cleveland’s arts community: For many years I struggled with funders, who were saying, “You’ve got to do the opera projects in the schools; the field trips have got to stop.” And I said, “Without them, the students don’t know about their [larger] community. They have got to know and experience a museum. They have got to experience walking through the doors of a theater to know that they are welcome there. [Without these experiences], how are they going to feel comfortable doing that later in their lives?” That’s our job to introduce kids to all aspects of life in a community and being a part of that life [through active participation in the arts]. (Ryder, 2012)

To know creative life, students must experience being part of it (not just visiting it), a point that resonates with Diana Richardson’s rationale for intertwining accomplished professional string players into the Cleveland School of the Arts through educational partnerships. At Cleveland Opera, Ryder offered a scaffolded series of in-school and on-site experiences to help make of many facets of an opera performance more visible for students and teachers by placing students in the opera-making community in Cleveland. Materials guided classroom teachers and students in a preliminary examination of key moments in an opera’s plot through reading or acting out scenes, and visiting teaching-artists demonstrated techniques of singing and staging. Next the Cleveland Opera would welcome student audiences to the theater for a full opera performance with curtains held back throughout, simultaneously revealing the backstage movement of characters and props. Some teachers then pursued extended projects, where students created an original opera in their classrooms (Stevenson and Deasy, 2005: 60–61) or performed an abbreviated version of an opera alongside teaching-artists (Ryder 2013). Ryder (2013) offers anecdotal evidence of genuine interest in the form among students a year or more after their intensive participation culminated. Cleveland Opera teachingartists returned to a high school they had visited in the previous academic year. As they entered the building, students recognized opera staff, a student asked about the opera season, and Ryder reports, “They all wanted tickets; they all wanted to come to the theater” (Ryder, 2012). Empowering students’ exploration of identity and relationships in their communities is of great value. Systemic interventions in Cleveland are massive efforts that require large-scale partnerships, including funders. Before children engage in effective experiences for learning through music that draw on cross-institutional resources, individuals have negotiated to set goals, locate the necessary funds, and logistically deliver appropriate programs of quality. Like many sizable cities in the United States, Cleveland

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    583 benefits from initiatives of large philanthropic foundations that offer substantial financial support to nonprofit and publicly funded agencies that meet residents’ central needs, furthering their education, health, and quality of life.25 Foundations, ideally, offer the potential of collective financial power to spark or sustain structural changes or advocate for collective buy-ins for initiatives that promise growth. When momentum builds among influential funders, large arts education organizations, and the Cleveland Metropolitan School District, initiatives may shape educational practice broadly. For example, the Cleveland Foundation, Young Audiences of Northeast Ohio (YANEO), and CMSD leadership played key roles in the development of Art Is Education, an initiative supported in part by major federal grants and sustained largely with the support of Cleveland’s primary philanthropic foundations. The project fostered collaborative sharing of instructional goals for literacy, best-practices for arts-integrated programs, and critical components in the scope and sequence of literacy instruction in designated K–8 CMSD schools. The Ford Foundation, a major funder, identified Cleveland in 2004 as one of nine model sites for improving urban public education through arts integration programs. The project was assisted by networks of an earlier program, ICARE, first created by the Cleveland Arts Consortium to facilitate artists-in-residence at CMSD schools (YANEO, 2008: 5; YANEO, 2013a). YANEO project leaders for Art Is Education coordinated dozens of educational managers of programs in varied art forms housed in Cleveland-area cultural organizations; collaborative committees created new resources for arts-infused instruction and mounted an advocacy campaign. The Art Is Education Curriculum Committee, for example, convened in workshops led by a nationally noted consultant in arts integration to collaboratively design arts activities for CMSD classroom teachers in alignment with the district’s scope and sequence of third grade literacy instruction. The relatively time-intensive partnership provided a deeper understanding of goals and needs of CMSD educators and their students at the grade level, local colleagues’ approaches to arts education, and, in my case, opportunities to enhance Rock Hall programming targeted for K–4 level learners. Examples of resulting best practices for teaching and outcomes for selected Cleveland cultural organizations participating intensively in Art Is Education were discussed before an invited national audience during the Arts Education Partnership’s 2007 Fall Forum pre-conference presentations and breakout sessions (Oehler, 2007). Art is Education Project leaders shared elements of the planning, design, and outcomes of the multiyear project, including substantial challenges that arose with a change in CMSD leadership (Dobrzynski et al., 2007). Partnerships for learning through music in the Cleveland context both reflect and inform ways in which teachers and other administrators of educational programs and institutions engage children in musical experiences across institutional bounds to explore music within the bounds of formal schooling and beyond them. Ethnomusicologists who prepare to encounter music in the education sector as a site of cultural negotiation seem particularly skilled to navigate the complex institutional,

584   Susan E. Oehler Herrick cultural, and pedagogical cross-talk required for effective collaboration that fosters effective, meaningful, and musically differentiated PK–12 learning experiences. In the United States the field affords perspectives of musical sound and messages that may help connect a pluralistic representation of music in daily life to learning in schools. To further pragmatic aims for fostering learning through music in the education sector, it seems useful to examine strategies for partnerships in the Cleveland context through the lens of applied ethnomusicology.

Formulating Contextualized Strategies for Partnerships for Learning Through Music It seems clear that decision-making about PK–12 music education in Cleveland’s education sector navigates complex histories and contemporary positions informed by the social dynamics of race and class. For this reason, useful strategies for applied ethnomusicology in this context overtly maintain awareness of the continual significance of power relations in approaching interaction with musical communities. Samuel Araújo’s discussion of his intentionally counterhegemonic, collaborative ethnomusicological projects in a Brazilian context (2008) provides an example of this approach in applied ethnomusicology.

Power Relations and the Decisions of Ethnomusicologists The significance of power relations is undergirded by ongoing discourse concerning the role of ethnomusicologists in building relationships with, and partially representing, people who have provided access to musical understandings in the domains of “academic” and “applied” work. Mellonee Burnim (1985b), Jeff Titon (1985), and Maureen Loughran (2008) address the topic in terms of negotiating identities and roles during field research, an emphasis represented in the collection Shadows in the Field (Barz and Cooley, 1997). Though less frequently the focal point of peer-reviewed publications, ethnomusicological roles that afford access to musical understandings also develop through routine work in the course of ongoing professional networks or collegial relationships—whether or not they are conceptualized as occurring in the midst of the distinctive power dynamic of field work (Burnim, 1985b; Davis, 1992; Feld, 1990; Jackson, 2006, 2012; Loughran, 2008; Shelemay, 1994). When constructing histories of the discipline, ethnomusicologists often turn to narratives that describe those relationships, networks, and institutions in oral histories, personal reflections, personal communications, and institutional archives that document the

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    585 output of ethnomusicologists at work (Aracena, 2006; Diamond, 2006; Frisbie, 1991, 2006; Jackson, 2006; McAllister, 2006; Nettl, 2006; Seeger, 2006; Stone, 2002; Wade, 2006; Wong, 2006). Strategizing in collaborative work is often routine for applied ethnomusicologists in nonprofit groups serving the education sector, in contrast to infrequent, if not rare, opportunities to undertake formal field research or other academic modes of inquiry. Applied ethnomusicology takes place inside or outside the frame of research in a web of internal work relationships and external institutional partnerships that resonate with Klisala Harrison’s notion of “epistemological communities” (2012). Collaborative strategizing among ethnomusicologists and their partners resonates with several of Harrison’s characterizations. In addition to “knowledge-based experts,” Harrison specifies partners in applied ethnomusicology also include “people with working and authoritative claims to knowledge.” She asserts, “Both have roles to play in articulating the cause-and-effect relationships of complex problems that involve music, and in working toward their solution through action and research” (2012: 522). Many arts education administrators, in my experience, seem to hold authoritative claims to an expert working knowledge forged through dialogue and written communication, though few consider themselves scholars or ethnomusicologists. They write narratives that discuss the aims and rationale for work with music and present them to specialized local, regional, and national audiences. They disseminate grant proposals and submit program evaluations, publish instructional guides with reference materials, and communicate via websites, blogs, conferences, and printed media. Communications may address governmental, philanthropic, and arts initiatives, as well as the philosophies that infuse them and the financial enterprises that help fund them. In applying ethnomusicology in the Cleveland context, it seems crucial to seek dialogically constituted “rationales for social actions, understandings of involved practices, and analysis of results” (Harrison, 2012: 522) in order to further goals in schools where authorization to partner for the purposes of learning through music—or any subject—comes with a high stakes commitment. In many cases, a partner must deliver on promises to use school resources, including class time, to significantly advance learners’ progress toward achieving measurable standards for learning and/or test outcomes. Harrison’s discussion of epistemic communities as a site of negotiation is applicable: Analyses of epistemic communities and epistemologies including ideologies involved in applications of music can serve as bases for analyses of ethics of applications of music and ethnomusicological research (Whose welfare? How is welfare defined?). The notion also importantly puts a focus on shared approaches around which practice and discourse can cohere. Epistemic communities result in knowledge as well as action. (2012: 522)

In the web-like network of formal and informal partnerships for arts education, personal dialogue among trusted colleagues may often spread best practices or reveal rationales driving overarching goals for learning through music. Public presentations often

586   Susan E. Oehler Herrick highlight a project’s clearest successes, reserving the fuller backstory of challenges and related problem-solving for internal discussion. Strategies for applied ethnomusicology that build relationships to prioritize trust among partners, while maintaining the capacity to move independently between “multiple epistemic communities” (Harrison, 2012: 523), may grow resources for problem-solving in partnerships for learning through music. Partnerships, in my experience in Cleveland, seem grounded in expectations for lateral flows in relationships, even as participating institutions and individuals often hold differing motivations for their decisions or operate from hierarchically distinct positions of influence. When I enter dialogues about a specialized musical style with people who consider it their own, it often has helped open relationships when I reveal understandings of music that value cultural frames for performance, in addition to knowledge of relevant recording history or other discrete facts. Academic specialization in the history of African American music and culture with an ethnomusicological approach centered around music in daily life has routinely empowered me to contribute efforts for learning through music in ways valued by partners. But relationships that build partnerships take place with knowledge attached to whole people, amidst the confluence of our multiple identities, and in light of the significance of how people may perceive us and accord us privilege, or not. Classroom teachers, for instance, often value my background as a public high school history teacher and current college-level instructor; for some, revealing this fact seems to visibly reduce skepticism about my way of knowing teaching. An ethnomusicologist may “aim toward an equality of representation,” as suggested by Maureen Loughran (2008), but strategies must be fashioned for flexible relationships, rather than stability. Strategizing collaboratively along laterally flowing pathways may support applied ethnomusicologists who work in nonprofit or for-profit businesses or under contract. Their actions may be supervised internally through a chain of decision-makers. The intellectual property that results from their work may be owned by the contracting organization, rather than the partnering ethnomusicologist. In this context, Samuel Araújo’s assertion in “From Neutrality to Praxis: The Shifting Politics of Ethnomusicology in the Contemporary World” (2008) seems very useful. “Musical processes and products are permanently mediated by power relations,” Araújo writes, “demanding constant action/reflection” (2008: 28), where the ethnomusicologist and other partners “negotiate from the start the… focuses and goals” as well as the desired results of the partnership and how it will be documented and shared (2008:  15). Araújo demonstrates ways to “build a new knowledge-producing praxis” (2008: 28) through pedagogical approaches and research projects in the vein of Paulo Friere’s participatory action, from which “knowledge will hopefully emerge from a truly horizontal, intercultural dialogue and not through top-to-bottom neo-colonial systems of validation” (2008: 14). Strategies to navigate across epistemological communities for purposes of applied ethnomusicology may support the construction of a new praxis for knowledge in the education sector. In the context of the institutional characteristics of most decision-makers described in this article, however, a full embrace of strategies for sustaining horizontal relationships for the collaborative construction of knowledge may not truly upend a “top-to-bottom” system. Nevertheless, the pragmatic reality does

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    587 not prohibit individuals from choosing an oppositional stance challenging inequitable structures within their respective spheres of influence.

Summary and Suggestions Opportunities for ethnomusicologists accompany partnerships supporting arts education, which contribute acutely significant resources for public schools, particularly those serving students living in areas of high concentrations of poverty. Ethnomusicologists seem primed to work in settings that require the maintenance of social relationships in cross-institutional collaborative partnership. Also likely is the ethnomusicologist’s capacity for operating from a heterophonic appreciation for differing musical ideas and practices that may strongly characterize cultural life of diverse communities. Strategies for collaborative work and pedagogies that place learners in direct contact with people of varied musical backgrounds may be cultivated in ethnomusicological methods and research, in addition to specialized scholarship and collegial discussions focused on methods of applied ethnomusicology and pedagogical approaches of ethnomusicology. From these sources, frames for strategies in collaborative ethnomusicological work may grow from research-based expectations about how one learns or gains an understanding of music. Examples of collaborative cross-institutional partnerships for learning through music reveal that the decisions and approaches of those involved—the students, their instructors, audiences, educational institutions, and partnering artists and arts organizations—offer students a range of opportunities. Through music and performance, students may gain increased access to communal, creative expression. Processes of creating ideas through and about music-making may open an opportunity for schoolchildren to voice their ideas, successfully participate or flourish in the classroom and larger community in new ways, or develop a persuasive presentation of their point of view to advocate for an idea shared with others locally and virtually. Students may discuss social concerns, further their imaginative fantasies, and create a space for hoping and dreaming. Experiencing professional musical events as part of a diverse community may foster learners’ appreciation for and interest in becoming audiences, pursing musical training, or considering musical careers. Partnering may offer a vehicle that empowers students (and their teachers) to bridge classroom learning with musical activities and related cultural knowledge that connect ways of knowing valued by students to that gained through traditional classroom sites, approaches, resources, and formally acknowledged centers of knowledge. This, in turn, may contribute to acknowledgment of the value of new or different musical forms from those traditionally featured by established institutions. As institutions embrace learning through music that serves multifaceted needs of children and their caregivers in support of educational strategies set by educational leaders and classroom teachers, they further relationships that go beyond the notion of audience-building and outreach. Partners

588   Susan E. Oehler Herrick must negotiate aims with a focus on what learners will know, do, own, discover, make, voice, or give as a result of a musical activity. The examples from the contexts of cross-institutional partnerships in Cleveland illustrated in this chapter suggest that partners routinely negotiate routes for learning through music that tap into what could be considered multiple epistemological communities around music. Applications of ethnomusicology may be valuable in strategizing horizontal pathways that recognize and respond to music as a result of a dialogic process of understanding music in relation to diverse musical lives and dynamic social experiences—what people expect music to be and what people do with it. To this end, ethnomusicological strategies will ideally emerge through collaboration in context to achieve effective partnerships for learning through music. Several foundational issues and theoretical assumptions about music, which are debated in academic ethnomusicological discourse, may provide an orienting touchstone from which strategizing may grow, a place of reflection on the theoretical side of praxis. Three notions about music relevant to the contexts of Cleveland represented in this chapter provide an example: 1. Music-making is a human experience often woven into daily life. The study of music, systems for its transmission, and life stories of music-makers benefit from exploring music not only as repertoire or aesthetic form, but also in social contexts. These contexts may include memory, individual and group identities, schooling and informal learning, social history, work and its product, and avenues for exerting power. 2. Learning about music involves negotiating, understanding, and sharing collaborative experiences with people making music—whether as a listener, performer, social analyst, or classroom teacher. Ways of talking about music, as well as performing and experiencing its meanings, reflect cultural expectations for music within which individual preferences and social affiliations may operate. Part of learning to collaborate with partners may involve learning how to refer to music, call it into being, or prohibit disrespectful associations with an iconic musical form or musician, tradition, or spiritually empowered action. Approaching collaborative work may require acknowledging that many young people experience music as an entertainment commodity that exists in digital media, from audio downloads and film soundtracks to do-it-yourself YouTube videos; live performance may not be closely related to a centering on the digital reality of sound. When encountering live performances that augment, rather than devalue, such an orientation, students may access a larger frame of reference for defining, analyzing, discussing, or differentiating among musical sounds, actions, and ideas. 3. Hierarchies informed by social position, cultural aesthetics, and other evaluative frames enter into decisions about what kinds of musical experiences are appropriate for schooling. Inquiring about historical and cultural frames for how people come to know music may shed light on relevant orientations for learning through music. These may include experiences within and without school buildings and content embedded in music curricula, explored across subject areas, or encountered in

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    589 project-based learning. Music resources may flow from teacher to students or vice versa; interchanges among peers may take place during formal activities in class, during after-school events, or as a result of informal interactions of students’ social life. As ethnomusicologists partner to apply orientations such as these and negotiate strategies for learning through music in ways effective for the students at hand, continual opportunities to contribute to the growth of musical communities arise, both within and without the education sector as well as academia. If a strategy of applied ethnomusicology for learning through music must necessarily be collaborative in order to promise effective work in the education sector, where partnering is an essential mechanism for music education, an ethnomusicologist’s strategies should function around decision-making in process, as partners form and apply the strategies. If teaching occurs in a constructivist framework, plans for learning through music must keep students’ choices and actions at the center, for their engagement with music is the crucible in which theory and practice either successfully spark effective teaching and learning, or fail.

Acknowledgments The author acknowledges research assistance provided by the Cleveland Public Library, Cuyahoga County Public Library, and Lakeland Community College Library, and the detailed feedback of Deforia Lane, Judith Ryder, and Katherine Harper.

Notes 1. In this chapter, “learning through music” refers to any learning experience engaging in musical sounds, ideas, or actions of music-making or related processes to build understanding or ways of knowing in any area of human experience. The use of the term here does not distinguish between those educational engagements with music for student mastery of educational standards in music or those for other disciplines, such as English language arts, science, etc., though many make such distinctions with terminology of “learning in the arts”/”learning in music” (studies in the arts discipline) versus “learning through music” (where music serves students’ studies of subjects not considered arts disciplines, such as biology). As used in this chapter, the phrase, “learning through music,” intentionally references “learning through the arts,” a notion encouraged by advocates, such as the Arts Education Partnership, of the value of a “high-quality arts education” for all learners in arts disciplines but also across disciplines, as stated in the mission of the Arts Education Partnership on its website in 2013. The National Endowment for the Arts—a federal agency which established the Arts Education Partnership in 1995 with the U.S. Department of Education in association with organizations of state level education and arts leaders—has also embraced the phrase to conceptualize arts education (2002).

590   Susan E. Oehler Herrick 2. Following phenomenological and performance-centered approaches (Stone 1988; Berger 1999; Monson 1996; Small 1998; Blacking [1969] 1995; Stokes 1997), I locate “music” in experiences that emerge in the process of performance and shape the construction of musical meaning, including contexts where people engage with musical ideas, actions, sounds beyond the bounds of a live performance event (Oehler, 2001). 3. See Geneva Gay’s Culturally Responsive Teaching: Theory, Research, and Practice (2010) as an example of multicultural educational praxis created in dialogue with dynamic, group preferences for communication, styles of social interaction, and other valued qualities associated with “ethnicity and culture” (p. 11) for the purposes of forwarding pedagogical efforts that may assist in closing achievement gaps for marginalized school populations in the United States (pp. xvii–21). 4. See Oehler and Hanley (2009) on our approaches to popular music pedagogy at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. 5. The appeal of constructivist approaches and the rise of studies of cognition may accompany interest in applications of research on the brain to pedagogy for arts integration (Sousa, 2011; Kennedy Center, 2013)  and educators’ embrace of work that affirms students’ differentiated routes of learning and expression, as in Howard Gardener’s Frames of Mind: The Theory of Multiple Intelligences (2011), first published in the late 1980s. 6. I also interviewed Fernando Jones, the Chicago-based blues musician and educator, to gain the perspective of a teaching-artist, who is asked to provide a single, brief learning experience without the opportunity for sustained interactions. Jones, for example, has delivered one-hour workshops for teachers at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in the mid-2000s. Jones directs The Blues Kids Foundation, instructs the Blues Ensemble course at Columbia College Chicago, and was a voluntary participation in my ethnographic field research of the Chicago blues scenes in the late 1990s (Oehler, 2001). 7. For statistical approaches relevant to federal measurement of “educational progress” in the United States, see National Center for Education Statistics, 2012. 8. A unit of study is a series of related lessons with activities designed for students’ mastery of a central concept or deeper understanding of a topic. 9. Although music is defined as a core subject by the federal No Child Left Behind Act (2002), classroom music teachers and their supervisors in the US increasingly have incorporated advocacy and community engagement in fashioning and sustaining effective curriculum and the requisite resources it. See Arts for All (2013). A focus on student achievement in literacy and mathematics means state and federal level agencies monitor test scores and other markers related to these areas of study, but student achievements in music classes are not similarly prioritized; school investments in staffing and resources for arts subjects consequently may fall in the priorities of a district. 10. Music education includes all students, including hearing impaired and deaf learners. See Darrow (1989) and Hash (2001). 11. The problematic modifiers of “traditional,” “popular,” and “classical” reflect common conceptualizations of broad musical styles and communities, which bear hegemonic weight (Kassabian, 1999). Vernacular conversation frequently includes the three terms, nonetheless, in referencing music in daily life in the United States and arts education. “Highbrow” is borrowed from Lawrence Levine’s usage for music embraced in or ascribed to elite cultural hierarchy (1988), and I extend the term to describe music routinely framed as “the fine arts.” 12. For example, consider the expansion of more comprehensive texts and handbooks first published between 1990 and 2010, such as the Garland series of encyclopedias (Garland

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    591 Encyclopedia of World Music, first volume published 2001) and undergraduate level textbooks on music in global perspective (Campbell, 1991; Shelemay, 2006; Titon, 1992b; Wade, 2009) or in the United States (Alviso, 2011; Lornell and Rasmussen, 1997), and on ethnomusicological approaches to the history of African-American music and culture (Burnim and Maultsby, 2006), among other areas. 13. Examples include the Chicago Public Library’s Blues Archive, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum Library and Archives at Tri-C, and Indiana University’s Archives of Traditional Music and Culture and Archives of African American Music and Culture, among others. Each institution reflects distinctive missions for providing access to the public at large and scholarly researchers. 14. Discourse regarding the accurate representation of African-American cultural contributions in the history of rock and roll, as well as what constitutes “rock and roll,” remains contested by historians, music industry insiders, and fans (Associated Press, 2014; Maultsby, 2012; Onkey, 2010). Nonetheless, arts educators and other large museums and cultural organizations have approached the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum Education staff as a resource for representing a racially diverse story about the history of twentieth-century American culture. 15. The history of jazz, gospel music, and related styles in the greater Cleveland area includes community performances as well as scenes of influential artists, ensembles, broadcasts, festivals or special events, and recordings over decades (Mosbrook, 2003; Williams, 2006). 16. See Myers’s (2003) discussion of a similar concept applied at Georgia State University through its Center for Educational Partnerships in Music. University students in music education and music performance, as well as members of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra who work as teaching-artists, partner with certified music teachers in public schools. 17. The federal Head Start Program of the US Department of Health and Human Services “promotes the school readiness of children [birth to five years of age] from low-income families” by enhancing learning environments to grow language, literacy, and physical, social, and emotional development, while supporting parents’ involvement, according to websites of the Office of Head Start (2014) and the Council for Economic Opportunities in Greater Cleveland (2014). 18. The Rock Hall’s Voice Your Choice project allows any teacher to submit students’ work that persuasively argues for the induction of artists who are not currently in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Selected projects are displayed on the Museum’s website (Onkey, 2012). 19. District finances had forced cuts in staffing and programming following negotiations with local leaders of teachers unions. By May 2012, Patrick O’Donnell (2012b) reported that the cuts had shortened the length of the school day and eliminated hundreds of teaching positions, and reduced planning time, professional development, and employee benefits including pay and healthcare. Eric Gordon, CEO of the Cleveland Metropolitan School District, clarified the urgency of gaining funds to restore this loss in a June 1 presentation to leaders in the arts sponsored by the Community Partnership for Arts and Culture (Gordon, 2012). 20. Relevant to Araújo’s position is also education foundations literature, which applies critical pedagogy in the vein of Paulo Freire to critique hegemonic dominance in schooling, such as Antonio Darder’s Culture and Power in the Classroom (2012). 21. See discussions of the significance of social positions of ethnomusicologists’ relationships (Araújo, 2008; Loughran, 2008: 58) and the teaching of music by teaching-artist Jamie Topper (2011) and ethnomusicologist Cheryl Keyes (2009). 22. “Position” refers to “power relationships negotiated by persons in reference to particular social contexts, identities, and purposes” that, in this context, acknowledge the social

592   Susan E. Oehler Herrick construction of race, gender, and culture (Oehler, 2001: xi). I discuss my identity as a white, middle-class woman in relation to ethnographic field research in my dissertation (Oehler, 2001:xv–xxv, 284–287, 310–317). On the significance of scholars’ racial, gendered, and other partially shared identities to ethnographic and cultural research in the United States, see also bell hooks (2004), Mellonee Burnim (1985b), and Charles Gallagher (2004). 23. The typology designates minorities based on the percentages of “African American, Hispanic, Native American, Pacific Islander, or multiracial students” in a district, according to the Ohio Department of Education’s 2013 School District Typology Methodology and Descriptors available on its website (2013). 24. On the significance of identity development in pedagogy that confronts histories marked by mass violence and/or struggles for social justice in pluralistic societies see Gay (2010), Derman-Sparks and Ramsey (2011), Cole and Barsalou (2006), and Sears (2008). 25. The Cleveland Foundation, established in 1914, is the nation’s oldest community foundation and the nation’s third largest as of January 2010, according to the Encyclopedia of Cleveland History.

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600   Susan E. Oehler Herrick Seeger, Anthony. (1996). Foreword to Multicultural Perspectives in Music Education (2nd ed. with compact disc), edited by William Anderson and Patricia Shehan Campbell. Reston, VA: MENC (Music Educators National Conference). Seeger, Anthony. (2006). “Lost Lineages and Neglected Peers:  Ethnomusicologists outside Academia.” Ethnomusicology, 50th Anniversary Commemorative Issue guest co-edited by Ellen Koskoff and R. Anderson Sutton, 50(2): 214–235. Sheehy, Daniel. (1992). “A Few Notions about Philosophy and Strategy in Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology. Special Issue:  Music and the Public Interest, 36(3): 323–336. Shelemay, Kay Kaufman. (1994). A Song of Longing: An Ethiopian Journey. Urbana,: University of Illinois Press. Shelemay, Kay Kaufman. (2006). Soundscapes: Exploring Music in a Changing World (2nd ed.). New York: W. W. Norton and. Sias, Tony F. (2012). Interview with the author. Cleveland Heights, Ohio. October 19. Small, Christopher. (1998). Musicking:  The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Hanover, NH, and London: Wesleyan University Press/University Press of New England. Smith, Robert L. (2011). “Census Data Reveal New Migration Pattern as Black Families Leave Cleveland.” The Plain Dealer, March 28. http://blog.cleveland.com/metro/2011/03/census_ data_reveals_new_migrat.html (accessed July 12, 2013). Sousa, David A. (2006a). “The Brain and The Arts.” The Jossey-Bass Reader on the Brain and Learning, pp. 331–358. San Francisco: John Wiley & Sons. Sousa, David A. (2006b). “How the Arts Develop the Young Brain.” The School Administrator, December. The American Association of School Administratorshttp://www.aasa.org/ SchoolAdministratorArticle.aspx?id=7378 (accessed August 5, 2013). Sousa, David A. (2011). How the Brain Learns (4th ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press. Southeast Center for Education in the Arts. (2013). “Concept-based Arts Integration.” Southeast Center for Education in the Arts, University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. http://www. utc.edu/Outreach/SCEA/artsintegration.php (accessed July 12, 2013). State Impact Ohio. (2013). “What You Need to Know about the Cleveland School District.” National Public Radio. http://stateimpact.npr.org/ohio/tag/ cleveland-metropolitan-school-district/ (accessed July 12, 2013). Stevenson, Lauren M., and Richard J.  Deasy. (2005). Third Space:  When Learning Matters. Washington, DC: Arts Education Partnership. Stokes, Martin. (1997). “Introductions: Ethnicity, Identity, and Music.” In Ethnicity, Identity, and Music: The Musical Construction of Place (2nd ed.), edited by M. Stokes, pp. 1–27. Oxford and Providence, RI: Berg Publishers. Stone, Ruth M., ed. (2002). The World’s Music: General Perspectives and Reference Tools, The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, Vol. 10. New York: Garland. Stone, Ruth M. (1988). Let the Inside Be Sweet: The Interpretation of Music Event among the Kpelle of Liberia. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Szego, C.  K. (2002). “Music Transmission and Learning:  A  Conspectus of Ethnographic Research in Ethnomusicology and Music Education.” In The New Handbook on Research in Music Teaching and Learning, edited by Richard Colwell and Carol P. Richardson, pp. 707–729. New York: Oxford University Press. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1985). “Stance, Role, and Identity in Fieldwork among Folk Baptists and Pentecostals.” American Music 3(1): 16–24. Titon, Jeff Todd. (1992a). “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology. Special Issue: Music and the Public Interest, 36(3): 315–322.

Strategies and Opportunities in the Education Sector    601 Titon, Jeff Todd, general editor. (1992b). Worlds of Music: An Introduction to the Music of the World’s Peoples. New York: Schirmer Books. Topper, Jamie. (2011). “Collaborative Ethnomusicology: Thoughts and Projects in Community Music.” Teaching-Artist Journal, posted December 13, 2011. http://tajournal.com/2011/12/13/ collaborative-ethnomusicology-thoughts-and-projects-in community-music/. US Census Bureau. (2010). “Cleveland, Ohio—State and County QuickFacts.” US Department of Commerce. http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/39/3916000.html (accessed August 3, 2013). US Department of Health and Human Services. (2014). “Office of Head Start.” U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. http://www.acf.hhs.gov/programs/ohs/about/haed-start (accessed June 2, 2014). US Department of Housing and Urban Development. (2011). “Understanding Neighborhood Effects of Concentrated Poverty.” Evidence Matters, edited by Rachel Levitt. Winter. http:// www.huduser.org/portal/periodicals/em/winter11/highlight2.html (accessed July 11, 2014). Wade, Bonnie C. (2006). “Fifty Years of SEM in the United States:  A  Retrospective.” Ethnomusicology. Special 50th Anniversary Commemorative Issue co-guest edited by Ellen Koskoff and R. Anderson Sutton, 50(2): 190–198. Wade, Bonnie C. (2009). Thinking Musically:  Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture (2nd ed.). Global Music Series, co-edited by Bonnie Wade and Patricia Shehan Campbell. New York: Oxford University Press. Weibe, Sean, Pauline Shameshima, Rita Irwin, Carl Leggo, Peter Gouzouasis, and Kit Grauer. (2007). “Re-imagining Arts Integration: Rzhizomatic Relations of the Everyday.” Journal of Educational Thought 41(3): 263–280. Williams, Regennia M. (2006). “Praying Grounds: Introduction” (essay and video). Praying Grounds: African American Faith Communities collection. The Cleveland Memory Project. Cleveland State University Libraries. http://images.ulib.csuohio.edu/cdm/landingpage/collection/praying (accessed August 23, 2013). Witchey, Holly Rarick, and John Vacha. (1994). Fine Arts in Cleveland: An Illustrated History. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Wong, Deborah. (2006). “Ethnomusicology and Difference.” Ethnomusicology. Special 50th Anniversary Commemorative Issue, co-edited by Ellen Koskoff and R. Anderson Sutton, 50(2): 259–279. Young Audiences of Northeast Ohio (YANEO). (2008). “ICARE—Celebrating Ten Years of the Arts in Cleveland Schools.” The Sun (Winter), p. 5. Young Audiences of Northeast Ohio (YANEO). (2013a). “History.” Art Is Education. http:// www.artiseducationcleveland.org/aboutus.php (accessed September 4, 2013). Young Audiences of Northeast Ohio (YANEO). (2013b). “Who We Are—About Us.” Young Audiences of Northeast Ohio. http://www.yaneo.org/who/who.html (accessed August 14, 2013). Zaretti, Joan L. (1998). “Multicultural Music Education:  An Ethnography of Process in Teaching and Learning.” Master’s thesis, Indiana University–Bloomington. Zaretti, Joan L. (2002). Global Encounters:  Sounds along the Silk Road, 2001–2002 Teacher’s Guide. New York: Carnegie Hall Education Department. Zaretti, Joan L. (2003). Global Encounters: South African Sounds, 2002–2003 Teacher’s Guide. New York: Carnegie Hall Education Department. Zaretti, Joan L. (2004). Global Encounters:  Sounds of Brazil, 2003–2004 Teacher’s Guide. New York: The Weill Music Institute at Carnegie Hall. Zaretti, Joan L. (2006). The Nonprofit Niche:  Managing Music Education in Arts Organizations. Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana University–Bloomington.

Chapter 17

Sou nds Huma ne Music and Humanism in the Aga Khan Humanities Project John Morgan O’Connell

Applied ethnomusicology has come a long way.1 It has been more than 20 years since the special issue entitled “Music and the Public Interest” was published in Ethnomusicology (see Titon, ed., 1992). Since then the field has flourished, being represented in significant international conferences (such as Vienna, 2007) and in important scholarly outputs (such as Pettan, ed., 2008). It has also been represented in ancillary study groups (such as Music and Minorities) and in related subject areas (such as medical ethnomusicology). Although an applied dimension in ethnomusicology is not new, especially in the areas of cultural conservation and government policy (see Dirksen, 2012), I was present at the first meetings of the new field called “applied ethnomusicology” in the United States (hosted by Brown University in 2003) and in Europe (hosted by Ljubljana University in 2006), where distinctive versions of applied ethnomusicology emerged, one based on a folkloric model and the other following an anthropological precedent. Has applied ethnomusicology come far enough? Today, the discipline considers an eclectic array of interests—ranging from education to legislation, disability to sustainability—and directions that encompass advocacy and activism, responsibility and citizenry. Increasingly, the field is self-reflexive, as scholars (like Barz, 2012) find ways to mediate through collaboration and not to meddle without consultation (see Araújo and Grupo Musicultura, 2010). Significantly, many scholars are concerned with conflict, seeking justice at a national level (see Seeger, 2010) or critiquing war at an international level (see Sugarman, 2010). However, applied ethnomusicology still strives to find a unified voice, be it in terms of disciplinary definition or philosophical aspiration. Of course, Harrison (2012) has attempted to formulate a theoretical solution to accommodate this intradisciplinary fragmentation. By recognizing interdisciplinary collaboration in terms of epistemic association, she in fact highlights the epistemological divisions in applied ethnomusicology that exist between the United States and Europe,

Sounds Humane   603 divisions that are related to distinctive intellectual traditions and different institutional structures. Perhaps, Pettan (2008: 90) has come closest to defining an applied ethnomusicology. Adapting a taxonomy from cultural anthropology (see Spradley and McCurdy, eds., 2000), Pettan distinguishes between four key areas: first, action ethnomusicology (that deploys musical knowledge); second, adjustment ethnomusicology (that nurtures social interaction); third, administrative ethnomusicology (that activates external change); and fourth, advocate ethnomusicology (that fosters individual agency). Pettan (with Harrison) also provides a negative definition of the discipline (see Harrison and Pettan, 2010: 16–17). According to them, applied ethnomusicology is not a field that stands in opposition to an academic ethnomusicology; it is not a field that is opposed to the consideration of philosophical reflection or theoretical criticism, or a field that is antagonistic toward ethnographic research and artistic expression. Critical here is the distinction between the applied and the pure. That is, Pettan questions the false dichotomy between applied research and academic inquiry. Significantly, he proposes a cohesive discipline in which applied ethnomusicology is an integral part of academic ethnomusicology (see also Titon, 2011). Of course, Pettan is essentially interested in the practical. Although theory is recognized in his negative definition of applied ethnomusicology, Pettan is not primarily concerned with the theoretical or the philosophical. Here, he is not alone. For example, Titon (1992) questions the significance of theoretical discourse in his groundbreaking study of music and the public interest. In this article, Titon interrogates the truth claims of theoreticians and philosophers who are sponsored by the scholarly community. Invoking Rorty (1979), he distinguishes between a theoretical aspiration toward Truth and a practical disclosure of truths. Interestingly, Titon advocates a reflexive theory of practice that promotes action and that denigrates inaction both within and outside the academy. In this matter, he sets an important precedent (see, for example, Araújo, 2008). Yet, Titon’s critique of philosophy is remarkably philosophical. Not only is he conversant with contemporary issues in philosophical discourse, but he also reveals a remarkable philosophical insight into his own “being in the world musically” (1992: 319).2 Should applied ethnomusicology subscribe to philosophical reflection? I think so. Where some scholars are rightly concerned with pragmatic issues, they need to distinguish between “the how” and “the why,” between the practical and the theoretical. Further, they need to interrogate their own intentions and aspirations. True, some scholars are now reflexive, questioning an individual positionality with respect to motive and ambition (see, for example, Seeger, 2010). However, few scholars ask the fundamental question: Why do I engage in applied ethnomusicology? If the question is obvious, the answer is not. Looking over the extensive literature in the field, the themes of tolerance and empathy are stated. The notions of intercultural dialogue and interethic accord are explicit. Yet, when speaking about a better life in a better world, many scholars resort to the relative concepts of social responsibility and civic duty, two themes that are informed by a particular intellectual tradition and a specific cultural worldview.

604   John Morgan O’Connell True, the issues of human welfare (especially in the realm of education) and human well-being (especially in the arena of health) feature prominently in the current literature. True, too, the respect for human value and the desire for human benefit are sometimes mentioned. Yet, the twin ideals of human justice and human rights are often quoted but rarely interrogated. When cited, they usually reflect a specific humanist tradition with its own historical trajectory. What is missing in the discussion is this: to be human is to be part of humanity. That is, the human condition is universal. Here, human understanding is possible precisely because human values are shared. To paraphrase Morrison (1988) in his hermeneutic consideration of empathy, “I am you.” Although Morrison unravels the asymmetric relationship between the “I” and the “you” in his innovative approach to intersubjective understanding, the title of his book (I Am You) provokes an alternative reading of empathy: that is, “I could be you.” Is this notion of empathy (the “I could be you”) an overriding principle in applied ethnomusicology? Are the aims of applied ethnomusicology consistent with the humanistic goals of intersubjective understanding? What is the role of music and musicians? What can academics and activists contribute? This chapter addresses such issues. From a humanist position, the chapter evaluates the significance of a Muslim version of humanism as it relates to an educational program in Central Asia (the Aga Khan Humanities Project). It also explores the relationship between music and humanity by developing a hermeneutic approach to music education and music research. Significantly, it adopts a reflexive methodology organized around the principal tenets of hermeneutics (namely, experience, reflection, and interpretation). Central to this method is a moment of “distantiation,” a period of reflection that arises from an episode of experience. That is, it advances a specific reading of interpretation, one that recognizes music as an integral component of the human condition.

Applied Ethnomusicology: A Hermeneutic Method Sounds Human Is it possible to be human without music? This is a question I ask my students. Is music an integral part of the human condition, as Arendt (1958) might argue? Or, is music just an aberration of human evolution, as Pinker (1997) would contend? Is music a special behavior that is essential to the survival of the human species? On this issue, Blacking (1977) would probably agree. Or, is music a distinctive intelligence necessary for human progress? Such an argument Gardner (1983) might proffer. Yet, there are uncertainties. Music is specific to humans. I suspect that some zoomusicologists and biomusicologists might dispute this assertion.3 Music is a discrete human activity. However, music often intersects with language. Again, music frequently overlaps with dance (see Figure 17.1). While such

Sounds Humane   605

Figure  17.1  A  professional dancer at a wedding in Bartang.

coincidences call into question the conceptual integrity of music as a human category, it is evident that the definition of music is relative but that the practice of music is universal. Music provides an ideal platform for studying humanity. It enables the examination of music theories as human ideas. It allows for the conceptualization of musical instruments as human artifacts. It even enables the interrogation of musical activity as a human behavior that is learned and performed according to the communal interests and the symbolic constructions of culture. Music can be viewed as a human event that is configured sonically and practiced socially in a specific time and place. Music is a way of being human, a lifestyle reflected in the social relations, the economic activities, the ideological formations and the aesthetic values of society. In this way, music can be understood as a human endeavor in which musical concepts as human knowledge, musical materials as human technology, musical activities as human action, and musical

606   John Morgan O’Connell contexts as human event intersect in different ways to help us make sense of our world. In short, music helps us to be human. Music is not a medium for studying humanity in isolation. As an expression of culture, music intersects with (yet is distinguished from) other artistic media (see, for example, Feld, 1988). In this respect, music is an art form using abstract structures (musical sounds) and physical materials (musical instruments) to configure and to deploy respectively musical elements that are perceived by humans to have aesthetic value. Music is an art process. It invites participation in a deeply felt shared experience (see Keil, 1987). Music is an art event. It has a functional significance for culture, and it has a significant place in culture. Music is part of an art world (see O’Connell, 1996). It operates as a locus for experiencing, reflecting upon, and interpreting culture beyond (but not limited to) traditional explanations of the human condition. It is a productive medium for identity formation, as it discloses unique ways of “being in the world,” or Dasein (Heidegger, 1927). Music is humanistic. As an expressive art, music offers a unique insight into taste and beauty, especially from the perspectives of class and ideology, respectively. As a social art, music presents an alternative medium for expressing social accomplishment and for displaying social status. As a learned art, music is another way of training good citizens to engage in civil society. Here, the relationship between music and humanism needs clarification. In a secular humanism, music provides an ideal focus for analyzing and adapting scientific principles and natural laws. In a sacred humanism, music allows for the interrogation of human beliefs and human emotions freed from (yet consistent with) religious norms. In both traditions, music is a unique expression of human creativity, another way of speaking eloquently and another means of communicating effectively. As Sharpe argues (2000: 179), music is a valued expression of human interest, enabling humans to make sense of the lives they live. Music is also humane. As an expert in humane education, Weil (2004) argues that music offers an important means of exciting curiosity and of nurturing creativity. While her claim that music is civilizing is probably overstated, Weil argues that an education in the musical is consistent with a training in the humane, especially with respect to reverence, respect, and responsibility when humans are confronted with challenge. Weil is not only speaking about humanity. She is also speaking about a humane approach to animals and to nature. Central to her holistic approach to education is the concept of sustainability, where humans live ethically and peaceably with humans and non-humans. Her notion of sustainability also encompasses the symbiotic relationship between the animate and the inanimate, the issues of animal protection and environmental stewardship being central concerns of a humane education. For Weil, music must go beyond the humanistic. It must become “humaneistic” (my term). Music affords a bridge between the humanistic and the “humaneistic.” On this bridge, applied ethnomusicology might find its voice. This is especially significant in the realm of sustainability (see Titon, 2011). Either musical practices are no longer salvaged but are now sustained (see Schippers, 2010), or musical materials are no longer conserved but are now managed (see Impey, 2002). Following a precedent in ecology,

Sounds Humane   607 applied ethnomusicology might have advocated a harmonic equilibrium in the world or a dynamic equilibrium with the world. Invoking this precedent, the Aga Khan Humanities Project recognized music as a sustainable art in its balanced promotion of economic development and ecological conservation. At the time, however, the intersection between the musical and the sustainable was only an aspiration. More concrete was the role of music in threatened communities that had suffered from the trauma of annihilation consequent to the terror of war. Here, the art of music furnished a humanistic locus for understanding conflict and a “humaneistic” focus for promoting conflict resolution. Music as art presents a structured framework for realizing a human solution to a humane endeavor. That is, music is an art form, an art process, an art event, and an art world. Music also permits a hermeneutic methodology to uncover the significance of expressive culture for humanity. That is, music is a locus for experiencing, reflecting upon, and interpreting culture. Music is also a mediating category between the self and the other, allowing for a fusion of horizons between one and another (see Rice, 1994). Music provides an ideal locus for intercultural understanding since it promotes a dialogue between humans, both sonically and socially. Critical here is a moment of “distantiation.” That is, music enables a detour into the other, an instance of auditory dislocation that challenges and yet nourishes the audible self. Music allows me to hear myself through the sounds of others. Music is the crossroads where my understanding becomes self-understanding (Ricoeur, cited in Reynhout, 2013: 178).

Understanding Music is a defining characteristic of my humanity. As a form of human knowledge, music operates as a lens for distilling my experience at a local level and at a global level. In the former, my training in music at home enabled me to acquire the materials and the practices of a “Western” tradition. In the latter, my education abroad in anthropology allowed me to analyze the materials and to interpret the practices of a non-“Western” tradition. For this reason, I was drawn to ethnomusicology, a subject that allowed me to combine my knowledge of music and anthropology, and that equipped me with the skills to teach in a “Western” institution and to research in a non-“Western” context. In this sense, music is my way of “being in the world,” since my economic means, my social activities, my ideological biases, and my aesthetic preferences are engaged with a community of musicians influential upon yet implicated in my life. Two moments in my life are especially significant. The first is my encounter with the musical traditions of the Middle East. Here, Ali Jihad Racy at UCLA was a major influence. Although I  had conducted preliminary research on immigrant musics in Berlin and resident musicians in Istanbul, it was with Racy that I began to understand the relevant traditions. In his ensemble, I began to experience the music of the Middle East as a place for ethnography. In his research seminar, I started to analyze the music of the Middle East as a context for reflection. I completed the hermeneutic cycle by

608   John Morgan O’Connell taking theoretical classes in ethnomusicology (among others) as sites for interpretation. Central to this hermeneutic process was a moment of “distantiation,”4 a critical moment of learning new music and of meeting new musicians. Significantly, Racy welcomed a diverse group of followers. It was his way of promoting interdenominational tolerance and intercultural understanding through music. The second was my encounter with the musical traditions of Central Asia. Here, Rafique Keshavjee of the Aga Khan Humanities Project was an important inspiration. In contrast to my studies with Racy, my meeting with Keshavjee was accidental. At a conference in Florida, we literally bumped into each other. At the time he was promoting his project in the humanities that was based in Dushanbe (Tajikistan). Since he had heard my presentation on a hermeneutic approach to musical instruction in Turkey, he was interested in discussing my wider interests in music and humanism. At first, I was circumspect. However, Keshavjee needed a music specialist to supplement his team of academic advisors, scholars who were especially selected to supervise and to design a humanities curriculum. Since music was to be a key component in this endeavor (see “Music” below), I would be in an ideal position to fill an important lacuna. How could I refuse his invitation? This was my first time in Central Asia.5 This was also my first time studying the musical traditions of Central Asia.6 In preparation, I  listened to relevant recordings and I studied pertinent publications. I found that music helped make sense of cultural diversity in a vast heartland. In this respect, cultural difference is disclosed in the structure,

Figure 17.2  A professional musician at home in Khorog.

Sounds Humane   609 the technology, the practice, the context, and the life of music. It is also expressed in language, where ethnic difference is broadly classified along Turkic and Persian lines. This linguistic division between a Turkic domain and a Persian world is found in music. It is revealed in the melodic scales (five note vs. seven note), the rhythmic structures (asymmetric vs. symmetric), and the poetic meters (quantitative vs. qualitative) respectively. The linguistic distinction is evident in music technology, where the morphology of musical instruments (especially long-necked lutes) conforms to the dualistic taxonomy. The linguistic divide between a Turkic domain and a Persian realm is apparent in musical practice. Musical transmission (oral vs. literate), musical performance (solo vs. group), and musical choreography (no dance vs. dance) are classified accordingly. So, too, are musical contexts where musicians in the Turkic domain live in rural areas, play at informal gatherings, and (sometimes) function as religious leaders. By contrast, musicians in the Persian realm live in urban centers, perform in formal contexts, and (usually) operate as secular professionals. In sum, the significance of music for the human condition in Central Asia is not only revealed in the characteristics of its structure, its technology, its practice, and its context, but it is also exposed in the world of musicians, where the social organization, the political system, the economic activity, and the aesthetic disposition of individual groups (broadly speaking) confirm the division of the region into distinctive cultural spheres defined according to fundamental linguistic differences. This is what I learned in theory. It was not what I experienced in practice. When I arrived in Tajikistan, I had to revise my reading of music and humanity. Tajik musicians (who speak a dialect of Persian) often performed folk genres and lived in rural areas reminiscent of the Turkic domain described above (see Figure 17.2). By contrast, Uzbek musicians (who speak a Turkic language) played classical styles and lived in urban centers reminiscent of the Persian realm described above. The musical geography was complicated by a colonial legacy, especially a Russian inheritance (by way of the Soviet Union) that controlled musical production in terms of institutions (such as conservatories) and policies (such as collectivization). The Soviet register was also evident in the continued patronage of “Western” art music and in the widespread dissemination of “Western” popular music. Further, ethnic minorities (especially in Badakhshan) had their own languages and their own musics.7 My critical revision of music provoked a critical reading of humanity. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, Tajikistan was thrust into an extended civil war (1992–1997). On the one hand, Uzbeks in the north wanted to secede from the Tajiks in the south. On the other hand, Badakhshan sought independence from Tajikistan.8 Some estimates put the death toll at 100,000. Even when I arrived (2001), there was sporadic fighting in the capital, and there were warring militias in the hinterland. Perhaps, music was more indicative of inhumanity, a sonic inscription of cultural difference that reinforced competing identities. Was I experiencing another critical moment of “distantantion”? Would I discover that music in fact unveiled an inhuman condition? Keshavjee taught me otherwise. Though the humanities project, I had a moment of ontology, an instance

610   John Morgan O’Connell of self-understanding. Under his leadership, I  understood that music can indeed be humane and that music can promote humanism.

Applied Ethnomusicology: A Humanist Theory Humanism The standard account of humanism is decidedly Eurocentric. Generally considered to have been an intellectual movement that developed in Italy during the Renaissance, humanism (It., umanesimo) questioned the pragmatic focus of Medieval scholasticism (which prepared university graduates for professional careers) and offered instead a new curriculum founded upon the twin tenets of spoken eloquence and written ability. In a drive to forge a new “man of letters,” contemporary advocates of humanism looked to the ancients, where the study of grammar and the examination of text allowed for the rediscovery of classical writings. With a keen interest in philology, humanists began to interrogate sacred as well as secular sources, derived from Christian and non-Christian traditions. It was not long before a schism between reason and religion led to a resurgence in scientific inquiry (by way of Galileo) and to a questioning of theological veracity (by way of Erasmus). The stage was now set for a new era of humanism, a “religion of humanity.” The eighteenth century witnessed the second age of humanism. In contrast to the Renaissance, when citizens were educated to engage in civic life within the context of a sacred order, the age of Enlightenment beheld the rise of a secular humanism in which individuals were endowed with agency freed from the debilitating strictures of religious dogma and despotic control. In the contexts of a bloody Reformation (initiated in Germany) and an even bloodier revolution (erupting in France), humanism and nationalism coalesced in a vitriolic assertion of human supremacy, reason and justice now determining the pathway of human salvation. While the philanthropic potential of humanism was not underdeveloped, the “deification” of humanity involved the cult of atheism. Following Comte, a ritualized humanism was founded to discredit the religious establishment and to espouse a humane altruism. In this way, humanists set a precedent for the separation of church and state as the guiding principle in “Western” democracy. Yet, humanism had its darker side. Could the philanthropic become misanthropic? For example, the civilizing ideals of evangelism can be viewed as part of the colonizing objectives of imperialism. Here, altruism could be said to disguise egotism. When does the emancipation of humanity become the subjugation of humans? Inspired by the humanistic principles of freedom and brotherhood, Napoleon conquered much of Europe, promising liberty from tyranny yet practicing tyranny without liberty. Even under the Code Napoléon, equality was clearly relative (see Adamczyk, 1995:  204–208). At its ugliest,

Sounds Humane   611 humanism became embroiled with fascism by providing a philosophical basis for supporting a German reading of humanity. Heidegger was a principal exponent. Although the philosopher advocated an anti-humanist position after World War II (see Heidegger, 1947), he was actually countering a humanist outlook that he had originally employed to validate National Socialism. Indeed, Heidegger became a member of the Nazi Party (1933), an affiliation for which he was chastised but for which he never apologized. Critics of humanism have highlighted such paradoxes. They have also emphasized the ineffectual character of international bodies where humanists have thrived, noting, for example, how exponents of humanism in the League of Nations were unsuccessful at halting the rise of fascism and preventing the onset of war. Yet, such critics have themselves failed to provide a solution to the pressing issue of improving the human condition. Perhaps, their search for truth by way of reason was itself informed by the central principles of secular humanism, a philosophical position that denied the supernatural but advanced the natural. Here lies the problem. Humanists and anti-humanists employ the same terms of reference to advance distinctive viewpoints. Further, they both deny the sacral origins of humanism, especially the desire to educate citizens in the humanities and to create a civil society in ecclesiastical states. As Partner (1979) argues, humanistic belief and religious conviction were complementary during the Renaissance.

Figure  17.3  A  praise singer or madahkhan in Khorog.

612   John Morgan O’Connell Christians were not alone in espousing this version of humanism. For many centuries, Muslims had looked to the ancients for inspiration in the realms of science and society. Like the humanists in Europe, they translated the works of Aristotle and Plato (among others) to develop rational solutions to the issues of divine causality and human agency. Like humanists in the Renaissance, they endeavored to highlight human creativity in the academic and the artistic realms by emphasizing the distinction between philosophy and theology, even proposing an ethical state that was ruled by a philosopher king (al-Fārābi) or a single God that was deduced by way of pure reason (al-Bīrūnī). These humanists of the “East” influenced the humanists of the “West,” especially in the realms of astronomy (al-Bīrūnī), medicine (Ibn Sīnā), and mathematics (al-Kindī) among many others. Invoking the naturism of antiquity, they initiated a renaissance in the Muslim world long before the Renaissance in the Christian world.9 However, this golden age of Islamic humanism was not to persist. The rise of the “West” marked the decline of the “East,” especially after 1492, when a “new” world was discovered (from Iberia) and an old world was recovered (in Iberia). The period also witnessed the demise of the Muslim heartland, which was devastated by successive incursions of Turkic hordes from Central Asia. The certainties of their past were replaced by the uncertainties of their present, rational thought now being inadequate to explain irrational activity. Broadly speaking, Muslims developed two strategies. First, they resorted to a literal reading of the Qurʾan, a dogmatic reaction to reasoned action that today has a contemporary relevance. Second, they adopted an esoteric interpretation of Islam, a mystical version of their religion, which allowed for a subjective response to an objective reality. Where the first strategy was anti-humanist, the second strategy was humanist, a different conception of humanism in which mystical experience took precedence over mental explanation.10 Perhaps, this humanism should be rendered more correctly as “humaneism.” Although the rational underpinnings of humanism are not foregrounded, the anthropocentric focus in the Muslim version of humanism is. So, too, are the humanistic attributes of tolerance and inclusion. Non-Muslims as well as Muslims were accepted as human equals. Like their counterparts in the Renaissance, humanists were trained in the humanities; the “man of letters” represented the “ideal man” who was eloquent in speech and expert in writing, and who was knowledgeable about prose and conversant with poetry. Mystical adepts were trained in language and literature, often translating texts from different languages to advance esoteric wisdom. They were also philologists. While the rationalist philosophy of some sophists was side-lined (such as Plato), the metaphysical philosophy of others (such as Plotinus) was not. In other words, philology played a significant role in the development of gnostic thought among mystics in Islam.

Music Music transcended the divide between humanism and “humaneism”. As an expression of humanism, music was an object worthy of rational scrutiny. That is, it could

Sounds Humane   613 be observed, analyzed and explained as a natural phenomenon. In the Muslim world, music was studied scientifically. Either, a theory of music was developed from performance practice, al-Kindī invoking Pythagorean principles (such as the tetrachord) to represent finger positions on a musical instrument. Or, a theory of music was informed by philosophical reflection, al-Fārābi also invoking Pythagorean principles (such as a fixed gamut of pitches) to explain cosmic order and the human spirit. Both theorists drew upon a scientific study of classical antiquity to provide two readings of music theory, the philosophers presenting either a material explanation or a metaphysical interpretation of music practice. The science of music reached its climax with Safī al-Dīn, who synthesized the theories of al-Kindī and al-Fārābi to present a systematic treatment of musical modes (maqāmāt). In the Christian world, music was also studied scientifically as an expression of the humanist project. During the Renaissance, theorists consulted Greek treatises to recreate classical conceptions of beauty in music. Greek notions of consonance and dissonance informed a new approach to counterpoint in which the third and the sixth acquired a new status in music composition. Allied to this, Greek concepts of intonation enabled the fixity of particular intervals and the development of just intonation, where simple ratios were devised to create perfect intervals. Here, temperament reflected an empirical study of contemporary practice, rather than a slavish adherence to historic principles. The democratic impulse was not ignored. Music was liberated from the

Figure  17.4 A  Mevlevî sema in Turkey, ca.  1890.

614   John Morgan O’Connell despotic rule of the cantus firmus. Rather, polyphonic textures attested to a new equality between voices, whose range and number expanded in the context of a cappella ensemble. The Greek legacy covered other issues related to music and emotion, music and modality, and even music and declamation. Yet, here the similarity ends. Where humanism in the Christian world would evolve into a secular guise, “humaneism” in the Muslim world would revert back into a metaphysical form. As the humanist impulse in the “West” developed the idea of music as a universal language (see Sharpe, 2000; Higgins, 2012), the “humaneist” drive in the “East” re-envisaged music as a divine expression. Critical here were the writings of al-Ghazzālī. Responding to a contemporary debate about the acceptability of music in Islam (called “the semāʿ polemic”), al-Ghazzālī advocated the benefits of music and dance for promoting ecstasy in religious rituals. Although he was cautious about the time and the place of such ecstatic moments, al-Ghazzālī recovers the theological status of music, arguing in particular that song, like poetry, was merely an embellishment of speech. Accordingly, it was lawful. Further, song is the work of God since it is merely another embellishment of nature (Goodman, 2003: 42). However, al-Ghazzālī was critical of errant philosophy (falsafah). In part, he disapproved of those philosophers who were non-Muslim, especially the great thinkers of classical antiquity. Further, he was a virulent opponent of neoplatonism, questioning its monotheistic credentials with mathematical abstraction. It took another sophist to balance the equation. Ibn al-ʿArabī employed neoplatonic ideas to ground his revolutionary notion of “unity of being” (waḥdat al-wujūd). That is, al-ʿArabī melded the distinction between the creator and the created. Differentiating between a divine essence and a cosmological emanation, he argued that the cosmos represented different manifestations of God’s qualities. For al-ʿArabī, the world was both one and many, both divine and mundane. To experience God, it was necessary to uncover the divine within the humane. That is, each human had the potential of being able to experience God since each person was simply a microcosm of a divine reality. Predictably, al-ʿArabī is celebrated by mystical Islam and shunned by orthodox Islam. Music played a key role in this ontology. For al-ʿArabī, music occupies a liminal space (barzakh) between heaven and earth. Music is one means by which God is revealed to humans. Another is dance. By combining music and dance, humans can achieve a state of enlightened ecstasy as each person unveils the divine within. Musical instruments may have a similar function. Many instruments are anthropomorphic. For example, the end-blown reed flute in Turkey (called ney) is believed to symbolize man, its nine holes representing the nine orifices of man. Music results from the breath of God passing through the vessel of man. In this way, it reveals sonically the unification of God with man. For example again, the short-necked lute in Badakhshan (called rubab) has a human form, being endowed with bodily attributes (such as a face and a rib cage). The musician (madahkhan) performs poetry (madah) in praise of God (see Figure 17.3). The instrument is believed to have mystical as well as magical properties. The two examples described above come from two distant corners of Asia. However, they represent two manifestations of a singular ideal. In Turkey, the ney is

Sounds Humane   615 intimately associated with the Mevlevî dervishes, a mystical order founded by the thirteenth-century Sufi saint, Jalāl al-Dīn Rumi. Mevlevî adepts (semazen) emulate in their ritual (sema) the neoplatonic constellation of cosmic order. Here, each participant represents a planet rotating around an axis (qutb) symbolizing the sun (or “the perfect man”). In Tajikistan, the madahkhan performs madah to accompany ecstatic dance, often employing poetry written by the eleventh-century Sufi mystic, Nasir Khusraw. Following a neoplatonic precedent, music making reveals the hidden meaning (batin) within the apparent meaning (zaher). Interestingly, both examples involve choreographic representations of the solar system in the context of mortuary rituals. Both examples, too, involve neoplatonic philosophers, one who left Tajikistan (namely, Rumi), the other who came to Tajikistan (namely, Khusraw). The choreographic connection is especially significant. Rumi was the pupil of Shams-eTabrīzī (also called Shams al-Dīn) in Tabriz, with whom he had a close relationship. The Mevlevî sema commemorates Rumi’s inconsolable sorrow at Tabrīzī’s death (see Figure 17.4), when the mystic was murdered by rival adepts who were jealous of the intimacy between teacher and student. The sema is remarkably similar in concept to the mortuary dances associated with the madah (see Figure 17.5). Interestingly, some mystic groups believe that Tabrīzī was a religious missionary (daʿī) of the Ismaʿili branch of Shiʿaism.11 More remarkable, some Ismaʿilis believe that Tabrīzī was actually the twenty-eighth Imām, Imām Shams al-Dīn Muhammad. What is interesting is this: both Rumi and Tabrīzī were profoundly influenced by neoplatonic philosophy, each mystic being connected to a place (Tajikistan) and a sect (Ismaʿilism) where music and dance were utilized to uncover the divine within.12 In this respect, music making is intimately associated with the creation of “the perfect man,” a veritable supernatural version of humanism.

Applied Ethnomusicology: A Humanitarian Project Man For Ismaʿilis, man is at the center of a unified universe. Emulating a philosophical precedent set by al-ʿArabī, man is the axis of all things, a being that can approach the limits of divinity. Like al-ʿArabī too, they believe in a succession of prophets (Imām-s) who reveal divine truth, the first of whom is the “original Adam.” Each Imām is believed to be “the perfect man” (al-insān al-kāmail) since he alone manifests divine attributes. Each Imām is pole of the universe (qutb) divine in nature yet human in form, guiding mankind along the path to divine revelation. Interestingly, a comparison here with the incarnation of Jesus Christ is instructive. Further, Ismaʿilis believe in a brotherhood of man, where no distinctions are made on the basis of ethnicity or creed. In fact, Ismaʿilis

616   John Morgan O’Connell advance the unity of all religions since each religion is of one essence. Love is at the heart of Ismaʿili belief, love of God and love of man. Philanthropy is the logical outcome of philosophy. As part of his sacred remit, the Imām is expected to contribute to the well-being of both believers and non-believers. In fact, the current Imām (Aga Khan IV) is ambivalent about the term “philanthropy,” believing it to be a “Western” practice that is intimately associated with sacred institutions. He considers that his benevolent contribution is the institutional responsibility of the Imām, a responsibility of his office that involves improvements to the worldly life of underprivileged communities. How was this financed? Traditionally, Ismaʿilis were required to contribute a tithe (called dasond, or “ten parts”) to the Imām, worth 12.5 percent of their gross income (10% as dasond; 2.5% as zakat). Some of this income was earmarked for the upkeep of ritual structures (called jamatkhana-s), while the remainder was destined for charitable projects. Dasond also included a provision for war booty, 20 percent of the takings being assigned to the poor and the homeless (among others). In the recent past, the charitable contribution has been considerable. During the reign of the previous Imām (Aga Khan III), jubilees were marked by donations that matched his weight in gold and diamonds. Since he was not a slim man and since he was not short-lived, the resulting levies were substantial. However, this Imām was a major

Figure  17.5  Janbaz Dushanbiyev performing a mortuary dance in Khorog.

Sounds Humane   617 visionary. As a politician, he played a significant role in peace negotiations that followed the two world wars, after the first in favor of Turkey, after the second in favor of India. He was also the President of the League of Nations at a critical moment in its history (1937–1938). As a radical with a socialist inclination, he believed that labor should be organized and that the subjugated should be enfranchised, especially in those continents that were colonized by European powers. In particular, he was especially critical of the British for their discriminatory policies in Africa (see Aziz, 1997–1998). However, this Imām (Aga Khan III) was best remembered as an educator. He believed that human brotherhood could be nurtured through international education (both formal as training and informal as travel). He encouraged his followers to learn the languages and literatures of others. This was especially important at a time of civil strife between Hindus and Muslims in South Asia. Later, it would also prove important for nurturing interfaith understanding between Christians and Muslims, and for fostering interdenominational accord between Shiʿas and Sunnīs. Here, he considered health and wealth to be the guarantors of international order, education being the mechanism by which both could be achieved. In his activism on behalf of peace, he viewed literature as the hallmark of culture, a key to understanding humanity and a key to promoting deity. In particular, he considered Persian poetry, with its humanist message and its mystical ethos, to be the “voice of God speaking through the lips of man.” However, music was missing in this utopian vision of the former Imām (Aga Khan III). Perhaps this reflected the logocentric focus of Islam, in which the written word is accorded a principal position. Perhaps, it also reflected the ambivalent position afforded to music by Muslims throughout history. Yet, music plays an important part in the oral transmission of esoteric knowledge throughout the Ismaʿili community. For example, ginan-s are devotional songs that are believed to have been transmitted by itinerant proselytizers (called Pir-s) during the twelfth century as they converted followers to Ismaʿilism in South Asia. To suit their converts, ginan-s were composed in a variety of languages that encompassed local dialects (such as Gujarati) and foreign tongues (such as Persian). They are identified by two criteria: first, by the mode (here called raga) employed; second, by the author (usually a Pir) mentioned. Significantly, ginan-s are almost exclusively studied as an exercise in philology and not as an enterprise in ethnomusicology. However, song texts are also missing in this utopian vision of the former Imām (Aga Khan III). In many classical traditions where Ismaʿilis are resident, Persian is the language of song. Usually, lyrics are taken directly from the poetry of great figures in the Persian tradition (such as the famous poet Hāfez-e Shīrāzī). They may appear as fixed compositions (as in the tarona section of the Tajik-Uzbek shashmaqam), or they may be rendered as improvisations (as in the āvāz section of the Iranian dastgāh). The tropes of Persian poetry are more widespread, appearing in Urdu as devotional songs (such as qawwali-s) or in Turkish as classical compositions (such as beste-s). In these instances, a diverse range of musical traditions is unified around a standard vocabulary of Persian themes. Even in informal contexts, Persian is employed in vocal performance. In this

618   John Morgan O’Connell respect, the madah is especially important. Rendered by the madahkhan on the rubab using Persian texts, madah is often performed to venerate the Imām-s of Ismaʿilism. The relationship between music and poetry is not lost on the current Imām (Aga Khan IV). Mindful of the philological focus of Ismaʿili scholarship, he has endeavored to introduce a musicological dimension in his cultural agenda. As part of his Trust for Culture program, the present Imām has highlighted music (by way of the Aga Khan Music Initiative) as a means to preserve and disseminate folk and classical traditions in Central Asia. Not only has the initiative sponsored international performances by relevant artists (by way of the Silk Road Project), but it has also supported the transmission of relevant musics by means of the “master-apprentice” program. For example in Tajikistan, the initiative has funded a conservatory (called “The Academy of Maqâm”) for the teaching of classical music (shashmaqam). Directed by Abduvali Abdurashidov (see Figure 17.6), the institution now accepts around two hundred students and accommodates around one hundred experts.

Project The Aga Khan Humanities Project is another initiative sponsored by Aga Khan IV. In contrast to the Music Initiative, which is concerned with music practice in the realms of transmission and performance, the Humanities Project is focused on curriculum development, academic instruction, and scholarly research.13 Conceived as an educational project that serves to promote pluralism and tolerance in Central Asia, the program draws upon an international range of pedagogical sources. These encompass the cultural artifacts of world traditions that foster a new understanding of difference in the region. Critical here is the development of a civil society that is both democratic and humane in the wake of Soviet disintegration. As a way of building bridges across the region, the curriculum is now taught in more than 50 institutions. Since the syllabus involves “core texts” from around the world and the pedagogy emphasizes critical reasoning in a cross-cultural perspective, the curriculum aims to promote leadership through a humanist approach to education. The project acknowledges music in the curriculum. As part of a wider study of expressive culture, the program views music as a human activity that serves both to embed cultural identity and to foster intercultural dialogue. In the first instance, the curriculum honors the musical traditions of Central Asia, be they of Turkic origin (such as the epic cycle called Manas in Kyrgyzstan) or Persian derivation (such as the elegiac form called madah in Tajikistan). The curriculum also looks at the materials of music (such as song texts) and the artifacts of music (such as instrument design). The curriculum examines the lives of musicians, tracing how each learned his or her art and how each practiced his or her tradition. This part of the curriculum draws on the work of the Music Initiative, especially the master-apprentice program now established in Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan, and Tajikistan (among other countries). Significantly, musical anthologies of representative performances are available in the form of CDs and DVDs.

Sounds Humane   619

Figure  17.6  Abdulvali Abdurashidov playing the sato in Dushanbe.

The musical content of the curriculum benefits from these resources. Music theory is not described as technical abstraction. Principles are related to practice, the curriculum emphasizing the relationship between the audible and visible to demonstrate the sophistication of creativity both as an expression of human cognition and as a celebration of human sensibility. Music repertoire is related to musical concepts, showing how musical performances are structured and realized. Here, music categories are viewed as cultural commodities that are shared and exchanged between distinctive traditions. True to its humanistic principles, the curriculum honors the music traditions of different denominations, vedas being representative of Indian Hinduism, chant being representative of Russian Christianity, and shashmaqam being representative of Bukharan Judaism. This pluralism is reflected in the representation of intradenominational difference. The Turkish sema honors the Sunnī tradition, and the Iranian dastgāh honors the Shiʿa faith. Of course, musical genres (such as ginan and madah), which are intimately associated with the Ismaʿili community, are also included. Initially, the musical content of the curriculum was presented with other examples of expressive culture. A section on architecture examined the relationship between sound and space to study harmonic proportions in a church and a mosque. A section on art

620   John Morgan O’Connell looked at the aesthetic attributes of the visible and the audible in painting and music, both in the “West” and the “East.” A section on theater observed the use of music and drama in Italian opera and Iranian drama (called taʿziyeh). However, this productive dialogue between the arts and music was never realized. As Jonboboev (2010) recounts, music now has its own volume. Entitled “Rhythm and Movement,” it examines exclusively the intersection between music and life. However, this change in the curriculum was probably unsuccessful since a new text on music in Central Asia is envisaged. Its remit is “to sustain, develop and transmit musical traditions.” Here, the implicit aspiration toward the modernization of music is somewhat questionable. The curriculum is published and taught in English and Russian. At first glance, the Russian edition might seem problematic. Given the colonial mindset of the past and the nationalist antipathy of the present, a Russian translation of the humanities project seemed doomed to failure. At second glance, however, the Russian translation is expedient. For many in Central Asia, Russian is still the lingua franca, a common currency that transcends the linguistic differences in the region. The use of Russian has another advantage. It bypasses local antagonisms in which music and language still present a volatile medium for interethnic discord. Indeed, when I was in Tajikistan, Russian was often spoken in preference to Tajik or Uzbek. In either case, it represented the cultural capital of social aspiration. Since many Tajiks wished to speak Russian rather than Tajik, I was unable to communicate using my halting knowledge of Persian. Or, it allowed Tajiks to avoid speaking Uzbek. Since I could just be understood in Uzbek by speaking Turkish, this circumvention was also difficult. The project was not just concerned with a humanities curriculum. The project sponsored a cinema group that attained a number of international accolades. The project was also home to an Internet technology that was considered advanced in Tajikistan at the time. The project staged a series of concerts that allowed students to appreciate the musics of the locality and to engage in the techniques of scholarly research. Here, academics and technicians collaborated in recording events both to the economic advantage of musicians and to the academic benefit of the students. In this matter, an innovative approach to musical production was initiated. It employed the Internet as a means of empowering musicians by circumventing the mediating stranglehold of transnational corporations in the recording industry. This was especially effective. Most important, the project enlisted the support of volunteers from the Ismaʿili community outside Tajikistan. Further, it solicited the assistance of helpers from within Tajikistan, especially Russians who now felt alienated within a newly established Tajik state. The project has evolved in a number of phases. At its outset, international advisers collaborated with national scholars to develop a university curriculum that was both innovative and relevant. As Keshavjee (2009) states, local authorities were able to act with creativity since they were freed from the strictures of Soviet doctrine, while at the same time they were exposed to the results of Soviet disintegration. As with all projects, there were casualties over time. The project was absorbed into the emerging University of Central Asia, where its significance was eclipsed by the concerns and perspectives of the then-technically oriented staff. As a consequence, significant protagonists found

Sounds Humane   621 other opportunities to develop similar programs outside Tajikistan. That being said, the humanities curriculum is very much alive.14 It is now scheduled to be taught at relevant universities in East Africa and South Asia. It is now set to be a humanities program for humanity.

Applied Ethnomusicology: A Humane Application Application I was involved at three stages in the development of the project. In 2001, I was invited as a music specialist to participate in an induction program that involved the training of teachers and students. In 2002, I was also invited to contribute as a music educator to design and to write a volume principally devoted to expressive culture. Later in 2002, I was finally invited as a music anthropologist to supervise research expeditions, one in the principal capital Dushanbe, the other in the provincial capital Kulob. I was also involved in the running of a pilot scheme in Bishkek (Kyrgyzstan). Further, I undertook my own research on the madah in Badakhshan. This was an exciting time for me. I was thrust into a musical world that was familiar yet different from my research in Turkey. It was also an exciting time for the world since it coincided with the allied invasion of Afghanistan (following 9/11) and the concomitant transformation of Tajikistan. In stage one, I participated in the education of instructors and pupils. In this, I worked with a team of enlightened scholars (mostly from North America) who were principally involved in research-led teaching in the arts and the humanities. Although our range of expertise encompassed the fine arts and the performing arts, we were unified in our search for a humanistic approach to expressive culture. For me, this was a personal and an intellectual goal. However, our mission was not easy. Since we had all trained in the United States, our empirical method did not rest easily with the idealist tradition advocated by our wards. This was a clash of civilizations, an intellectual conflict between the inductive and the deductive, a conflict between an American and a Russian reading of intellectual endeavor. Keshavjee mediated this divide. Empowering our teachers and students with democratic agency, he solicited feedback from each. This was new for them, and they were not forgiving. I was the target of particular rancor. In some cases, participants found my emphasis on experience over explanation problematic. Here, music specialists wished to employ the technical language of musicology to make sense of music, thereby framing all musics according to the delimitating strictures of a “Western” (albeit a Russian) mind set. In other instances, participants found my preoccupation with music in the context of a humanistic project difficult. This disclosed a variety of prejudices that ranged from a gendered to a sacralized perspective in which music was considered either to be

622   John Morgan O’Connell

Figure  17.7  Musicians from the Academy of Maqâm in a workshop.

feminine or immoral, depending upon the biases of the individual in question. The central questions were as follows: Is it possible to instruct music specialists in the humanities? Is it possible to teach non-music specialists music? This is a persistent problem in ethnomusicology. While I endeavored to train musicians in theory and non-musicians in terminology, I am not sure whether I was successful in each instance. In stage two, these issues were again salient (see Figure 17.7). I was asked to design a lesson for the curriculum. I chose a piece that could be performed, analyzed, and interpreted according to the principles of my hermeneutic methodology. I selected a composition that was different yet familiar to the anticipated audience, a Turkish song (şarkı). To test my lesson plan, I organized a workshop. After saying the words, after clapping the meter, and after singing the melody, the participants managed to execute the piece with some semblance of recognition. I then asked them to analyze the metric structure of the text (–.––) and the meter (–.–|–.–). In doing so, I demonstrated the polymetric exchange between poetry and rhythm. This task was not difficult for most participants. However, the analysis of melody was. It involved identifying a descending contour that consisted of two symmetrical yet disjunct tetrachords. When I drew the descending contour on the board, they could see as well as hear. Finally, I asked them to interpret the piece. I started with the song text. Immediately, they could understand the lyrics since they employed a standard vocabulary of Persian terms that is also found in Tajik and Uzbek. For similar reasons, they could recognize the mystical topoi of Persian poetry. Here, the dialogue between the lover and the

Sounds Humane   623 beloved was standard fare. I then asked them to clap the meter while they spoke the words. Interestingly, they felt the ways in which the metric cycle helped clarify (through emphasis) the meaning of the song text. By adding the melody, a new set of correspondences occurred, where the “I” of the lover and the “Thou” of the beloved fused momentarily in instances of ontology. Further, the symmetries in the poetry matched the symmetries in the melody. For such an audience, acquainted with the language of literature, this discovery of correspondences and symmetries was revealing, since it demonstrated the principal role of music in unveiling divine presence. In stage three, I no longer had to convince the teachers or the students about the significance of music. I also did not have to convince members of the design team about my hermeneutic approach to the form and content of the humanities curriculum. However, I did have to show participants and specialists alike how to integrate music making into the curriculum. To do this, I organized two expeditions. In the first expedition, we visited an instrument museum (the Gurminj Museum) in Dushanbe to describe, analyze, and interpret musical artifacts. In particular, we examined the rubab to uncover its symbolic meanings. We also visited a music school (the Academy of Maqâm). We attended a lesson in shashmaqam. At once, we noted the similarities between learning a Turkish şarkı and a Tajik tarona, especially with respect to analyzing the connection between poetry and rhythm. Indeed, students at the Academy are expected simultaneously to say and to clap complex poetic meters and rhythmic patterns. In the second expedition, we undertook field research in Kulob. In preparation for this fieldtrip, I taught an introductory seminar on methods in ethnomusicology. In contrast to the excursion in Dushanbe, I wanted to show teachers and students how to collect musical materials for a class and how to integrate music makers into a class. In the former, they employed field techniques learned in my seminars to record, both visually and audibly, musical performances that were performed inside and outside. Done properly, this would enrich the educational experience and enhance the library resources. In the latter, they tested the integration of musicians in a hypothetical classroom. Following the tripartite model, they attempted to perform, analyze, and interpret a musical item, using the musicians both as performers and interpreters. Apart from some confusion (and some sarcasm) on the part of the music practitioners, this case study proved to be successful, being both simple in conception yet dialogic in character.

Research To teach is to learn. This is certainly true in my experience. Although invited as an instructor and as a researcher, I was profoundly indebted to the knowledge that I gleaned from the participants on the project and from the excursions organized during the project. On the one hand, this acquisition of knowledge was informal, often based on a chance encounter between lessons or after concerts. At first, it allowed me acquire a basic facility with the principal language (namely Tajik). Later, it enabled me to ask focused questions about musical practice and cultural value, be it from specialists resident on the project or

624   John Morgan O’Connell from musicians invited to the project. On the other hand, this acquisition of knowledge could be formal. Like the teachers and the students, I expanded my knowledge of music technology, music transmission, and music practice on the expeditions in Dushanbe and to Kulob. Critical here was not only the successful completion of fieldwork by the participants but also the adequate preparation for field research by me. The project afforded me a visit to the heartland of the Ismaʿili community in the mountainous region of Badakhshan. Since I  was especially interested in completing research on the madah, relevant participants on the project provided me with introductions to prominent musicians. Since many madahkhan-s lived in inaccessible valleys, I was able to prepare my itinerary in advance. This was especially invaluable. Further, I was accompanied for a short time by another consultant on the project, Bill Beeman. This was an ideal combination: Bill the language expert and me the music specialist, conducting joint research on a genre that had a literary as well as a musical dimension. In the first instance, we focused our energies on prominent musicians in the capital (Khorog), recording representative performances and documenting cultural values. In particular, we benefited from the esoteric knowledge of Janbaz, a respected madahkhan who explained the significance of cosmological order in dance and who outlined the place of numerology in music.15

Figure  17.8  A  musician playing a maqamboland in  Wahan.

Sounds Humane   625 According to Janbaz, the instrument of the madahkhan (the rubab) has five pegs and five strings.16 He explained that the madah is divided into five sections (three main and two subsidiary). The madah is organized into five melo-rhythmic modes and by five distinctive poetic forms (starting with a five-lined poetic genre called mukhammas). This numerical arrangement has a mystical dimension. Humans are endowed with 10 attributes and 10 feelings, each of which is organized into five exterior (zaher) and five interior (batin) categories. Five is found in the Badakhshani conception of space. Here, internal pillars, household shelves, and door lintels (among other elements) follow a similar layout. Further, the “rule of fives” has a wider geographical significance. Badakhshan is divided into five regions, each with its own distinct language and each nourished by a tributary of the Panjāb (meaning “Five Rivers”). Simply put, the Badakhshani conception of sound is consistent with a Badakhshani conception of space. When Beeman departed, I was fortunate to conduct two excursions into two valleys. The first was to Bartang. There, I documented the ecstatic dance that accompanied madah. This dance embodies cosmic order since it involves the continuous rotation of the hands and the feet. This symbolizes the constant flux of primal elements (earth, fire, water, and air) and the continuous interaction of good and evil. Where I had found that the number five had an Islamic significance in Khorog, I found that the number four had a pre-Islamic importance in Bartang, be it in architectural construction, clothing design, or bodily movement. Four is especially important in building. It is found in the shape of the central skylight (chahar khaneh) (see Figure 17.9), a tangible articulation of Aryan philosophy, in which the four elements fuse together in a circular fashion and where the four seasons progress from one to another, maintaining order in the cosmos. The second excursion was to Wahan. There, I discovered how music reveals the centrality of man in the Ismaʿili universe. Visiting a shrine (mazar), I discovered a musical instrument (called maqamboland) similar to the rubab but shaped like a man (see Figure 17.8). Like the rubab, it had another feature, a horse attached to the head of the instrument. This conflation of horse and man seemed to contradict the anthropocentric reading of music according to an Ismaʿili worldview.17 Further, ancient hieroglyphics (dating from pre-Islamic times) represent the rubab (with five strings) as a dancer whose hands are held out in the form of a swastika. As I traveled along the Panj River, which marked the remote border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan, I witnessed a confusing assemblage of cosmogonic patterns and symbolic systems reflective of a Central Asian, a South Asian, and a West Asian reading of cultural identity. Clearly, the “rule of fives” was just one interpretation of Badakhshani identity.18 How did I make sense of this complexity? At first, I was drawn to a Derridean deconstruction of Heideggerian ontology (see O’Connell, 2004). At the time, each explanation of Badakhshani music seemed to disclose a distinctive interpretation of Badakhshani identity. It was not just the juxtaposition of the five (indicative of a West Asian register) and the four (indicative of a South Asian register), it also involved the intersection of a six and a seven, representing the equal and the unequal division of twelve in music and philosophy throughout Asia.19 It would have been easy to conclude in a colloquial fashion that the issue was simply a matter of being “at sixes and sevens.”20 But is it?

626   John Morgan O’Connell

Figure  17.9  A  skylight or chahar khaneh.

Numerology is visible and audible in the music culture of Badakhshan. It is expressed in musical discourse and it is uncovered in musical practice. It is performed as music. It is embodied as dance. Perhaps, there is a larger issue at stake here. I return to Wahan. Inevitably, the car breaks down as night is falling. Aware of the possible dangers, the Tajik driver, the Russian soldier, and I are invited to stay in the nearest Pamiri residence. As is typical, the house has five pillars, representing the five key figures of Shʿia heterodoxy (Mohammad, Ali, Fatima, Hassan, and Hussein). It also has a variety of designs representing an Aryan influence (especially the swastika) and a Zoroastrian legacy (especially the hearth). Before we repair to a single bed in the male quarter, we are invited to a sumptuous meal, followed by a night of entertainment. Animals are removed from the house for the occasion. The madahkhan plays madah while the family members dance. The party lasts for hours. Vodka flows freely. This is a lavish gathering, yet the

Sounds Humane   627 family is apparently destitute. Accordingly, I ask the head of the house about this extravagance. He responds without hesitation: “without music we are not human.”

Sounds Humane Music makes us human. For my host, this was his immediate way of dealing with the calamity of war and the poverty of circumstance. But was there a hidden answer? Could he have meant “without music we are not divine”? That is, music helps each man to uncover the divine within. Is this the meaning behind the one and the many, one God in many men? Could this be the reason for the different numerologies and the distinctive symbolisms in Badakhshani culture, different manifestations of the divine in sound and space? In fact, diversity in culture could be read as complexity in history, where many peoples and many faiths have inhabited this hallowed terrain located at the epicenter of Asia. Here, unity in diversity could be understood as a comfortable accommodation of cultural difference in a highly contested strategic location. Or, it could be read as an expressive inscription of pluralism where one God is to be found in every man.

Figure  17.10  Rafique Keshavjee in Dushanbe.

628   John Morgan O’Connell This notion of pluralism is explicit in the Aga Khan Humanities Project. When I returned to Dushanbe, I asked Keshavjee about my discoveries (see Figure 17.10). On the one hand, he confirmed the pluralist agenda that underpinned the project where all faiths and all ethnicities are accorded respect and deemed equal.21 On the other hand, he emphasized the mystical source of this humanism: to love man is to love God. Such a rationale is quite different from the secular humanism of European Enlightenment. It does not separate the natural from the supernatural, but it uncovers the supernatural within the natural. In this sense, it searches for an empirical explanation of the mystical. That is, the knowledge of humanity is the path to the knowledge of divinity. This is why a hermeneutic approach to the humanities curriculum is appropriate since it attempts to understand through experience and reflection—where observation, analysis and interpretation provide a productive framework for uncovering (the) truth. Should I  say “the Truth” or “truths”? This is an important point that Titon (1992) makes. For him, Truth resides in the theoretical, while truths emerge from the practical. Although Titon invokes Rorty (1979) in his criticism of philosophical reflection, he is in fact reiterating a contemporary conversation in anthropology about truth claims in the social sciences. In particular, his argument is remarkably similar to that of Clifford (1986),22 whose notion of “partial truths” provides a philosophical bridge between hermeneutics and post-structuralism, between Heidegger and Derrida. For Heidegger, there is Truth. For Derrida, there is no Truth. Clifford presents an alternative answer to this philosophical debate. By recognizing partial truths as they emerge in ethnographic inquiry, Clifford calls for “an interplay of voices” where spoken utterance is not excluded from written representation, where the observer is engaged dialogically with the observed. In fact, Clifford significantly upsets the scholarly project by suggesting that truths are spoken and lies are written. Applied ethnomusicology is also concerned with the truths that subjects speak. It allows the subaltern to speak in an academic world where scholars are required to write. It is a field where truths emerge in practice and not a field where Truth is prescribed in theory. Yet, should applied ethnomusicology exclude theory? Should applied ethnomusicology discount philosophy? I think not. And I am not alone (see Pettan and Harrison, 2010). In applied ethnomusicology, there are excellent examples of theoretical approaches to practice (see, for example, Araújo, 2008) and philosophical reflections on practice (see, for example, Loughran, 2008). Indeed, applied ethnomusicology has an established place in the academy, where field research is a guiding principle in ethnomusicology and in its cognate disciplines (such as anthropology and folklore). What applied ethnomusicology lacks is a unifying idea, a philosophical principle to underscore its important mission. In this matter, a humane approach to humanism offers a possible solution to the pressing issue of disciplinary disarray. What might applied ethnomusicology consider if guided by the principles of a humane humanism? Clearly, the issues of tolerance and empathy would remain. So, too, the aspirations toward conservation would continue, especially in the realms of music transmission and cultural awareness. Consistent with a humane humanism, human welfare (in the form of music education), human well-being (in the form of music therapy),

Sounds Humane   629 and human rights (in the form of music legislation) would continue to be central concerns. Perhaps, the critique of music in conflict and the advocacy of music in conflict resolution are more complex (see O’Connell, 2011). However, the notion of sustainability should provoke further investigation. This might involve a critical appraisal of musical materials used in the mass production of musical instruments. Or, it might involve the innovative deployment of music makers in development projects that foster communal pride and promote economic wealth. Significantly, the Aga Khan Humanities Project set a precedent in both areas.23 In this chapter, I have explored the central contribution of music to humanity. With respect to the Aga Khan Humanities Project, I have examined the ways in which music and humanism are revealed in the methodological, the theoretical, and the applied domains, three distinctive arenas of academic inquiry that embrace the spiritual, the scholarly, and the educational realms, respectively. Rather than viewing each as exclusive, I show how these domains interconnect with an alternative reading of humanism, a religious humanism in a Muslim tradition where tolerance and pluralism are honored and respected. Here, music provides a place for uncovering the humanistic (the “I in you”) and for revealing the “humaneistic” (the “I could be you”), the twin tenets of tolerance and empathy underpinning a motivation to engage in applied research. Interestingly, I  never thought of myself as an applied ethnomusicologist. However, I have always been an advocate and I have sometimes been an activist. As an applied ethnomusicologist, I can also be a theoretician and a scholar. It is more than 10 years since I was in Central Asia. Since then, war has continued to decimate the region, setting religion against religion, pitting culture against culture. I believe that music has a central role to play in this apparent “clash of civilizations.” As a human endeavor, it helps to understand human difference through the humanistic tradition of scholarly reflection. As a humane endeavor, it helps to combat human indifference through the “humaneistic” aspiration of altruistic intervention. In the first instance, music can be used to celebrate human achievement, be it a renaissance among Muslims or a Renaissance among Christians. In the second instance, it can be utilized to foster human creativity, creating new human relationships as well as new human artifacts. Of course, some might argue that the power of music to advance a humane humanism is overstated—some might even say arrogant. I  contend that a humane approach to humanism through music is an obligation. It is an obligation that we as ethnomusicologists cannot ignore.

Notes 1. Research in Tajikistan was sponsored by the Aga Khan Humanities Project (AKHP) and the Institute for Ismaili Studies (IIS). A grant from the Fulbright Commission allowed me to continue this research at Brown University (2002–2003). In this respect, I am especially indebted to William Beeman (Brown University) and Rafique Keshavjee (AKHP) for supporting my application. I  would also like to thank Fatima Abduraufova, Karima Kara, Azim Nanji, Samandar Pulatov, Uvaido Pulatov, Tojidin Rahimov, Munira Sharapova,

630   John Morgan O’Connell John Tomarra, and Anise Waljee of the Aga Khan Foundation for their help and encouragement. In Badakhshan, I am very grateful to the musicians and their families who made field research possible. These musicians include Janbaz Dushanbiyev, Mosavar Minakov, Mamadata Tavalayev, and Haydar Tokayev. In Dushanbe, I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Abduvali Abdurashidov and Gurminj Zavkibekov. More recently, I  would also like to acknowledge Rafique Keshavjee, who read and amended an earlier draft of this chapter. 2. Of course, Titon (1992) is invoking the American tradition of pragmatism here. Like Rorty (1979), he is opposed to those philosophical traditions that seek the Truth. However, he does not contend that pragmatism is in itself anti-theoretical. May I convey my sincerest thanks to Jeff Todd Titon for clarifying this significant point. 3. Dario Martinelli (2005) provides a concise introduction to the field of zoomusicology and its related fields (such as zoosemiotics and biomusicology). Arguing that zoomusicology is concerned with musical universals, he attempts to apply musical principles to the analysis of bird song and whale song. Here, the author invokes an ongoing conversation that concerns music and evolution, Pinker (1997) believing it to be a non-essential aspect and Jordania (2011) believing it to be a vital component of human evolution. See also http:// www.zoosemiotics.helsinki.fi/zm/ (accessed July 19, 2014). 4. During my time at UCLA, hermeneutic philosophy was the subject of considerable interest. Inspired by the intellectual leadership of Roger Savage (currently President of the Society for Ricoeur Studies), a number of ethnomusicologists adopted a hermeneutic approach to musical inquiry. These included Timothy Rice, Sonia Seeman, and me. 5. Note on transliteration: I have attempted to provide a scientific transliteration of those words and names that are represented in Arabic and Persian sources. Where Turkish terms are found, I provide the modern Turkish spelling rather than the Ottoman transliteration. Since no Tajik-English dictionary was extant at the time of this study, I follow the system of transliteration that is used by the Institute for Ismaʿili Studies (see www.iis. ac.uk). For example, I spell the Badakhshani lute as rubab, not following the Persian transliteration rubāb or the Tajik pronunciation rubōb. The same holds true for other terms associated with Ismaʿili practice, such as the ritual space jamatkhana (rather than jamāʿat khāna) and the musical genre madah (rather than maddāh). Since the representation of plurals is problematic, I employ the English plural suffix (“-s”) instead. Of course, the same concepts and the same people appear in different languages and in different forms. In this matter, it is difficult to remain consistent (for example, Jalāl al-Dīn [Rumi] in Persian, but Calaleddin[-i] Rumi in Turkish), especially when a language (such as Tajik) has employed an Arabic, a Latin, and a Cyrillic script at various moments in its recent history. 6. In preparation, I read the following sources. For an introduction to the culture and history of Central Asia, I sourced Curtis (1997), Ferdinand (1994), Manz (1994), Rashid (1994), and Soucek (2000). For a more specialist overview of minority issues in Central Asia, I studied Allworth (1973, 1982), Brower and Lazzerini (1997), Kappeler (2001), McCragg and Silver (1979), and Smith (1998). To understand musical diversity in Central Asia, I examined Baily (1988), Beliaev (1975), During (1998), Jung (1989), Levin (1996), Parkes (1994), Sakata (1983), Slobin (1976), and Żerańska-Kominek (1997). 7. In preparation, I  also accessed a variety of sources that concern the history and culture of Badakhshan. These include Badakshi (1988), Grevemeyer (1982), Nurjonov (1974–1975), Rajabov (1989), and van den Berg (1997). For representative sound recordings

Sounds Humane   631 of Badakhshani music, I listened to During (1993), Fujii and Takahashi (1997), Kasmaï (2000), and van Belle and van den Berg (1994, 1998). 8. Badakhshsan is situated in the sparsely populated Pamir Mountains. With a population of around 200,000, Badakhshan is distinguished geographically (mountains vs. plain), historically, linguistically, ethnically, and theologically (Shiʿa vs. Sunnī) from the rest of Tajikistan. In the everyday lives of its residents, the distinction is expressed in the special allocation of a time zone to the region (called Khorog Time), in the special restrictions governing travel to the region (a Gbau visa is required), and in the special use of an official language in the region (Russian is preferred to Tajik). 9. Muslims are not alone in this espousal of humanism. As Tu and Daisaku (2011) show, the Confucian concept of the unity of heaven and humanity and the Buddhist notion of the oneness of self and universe represent a humanistic impulse to promote a “dialogue between civilizations.” Like the Aga Khan Humanities Project, education plays a central role in this aspiration by cultivating an individual understanding of humaneness and compassion. In this matter, China is not exceptional. Other humanistic traditions can also be found in India (by way of Hinduism) and in Iran (by way of Zoroastrianism), where human nature takes precedence over religious dogma. As I  emphasize in this chapter, it is important to distinguish between a religious humanism and a secular humanism, the former finding expression in many “Eastern” religions, the latter finding voice in a number of “Western” ideologies. See Murry (2006) for a contemporary discussion of religious humanism with respect to a branch of Christianity, Unitarian Universalism. 10. Many scholars view the destruction of Baghdad (1258) as a critical moment in this transformation. This event marked the end of the Muslim renaissance that had been promoted by the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate (750–1258). Conquered by Genghis Khan, many libraries in Baghdad were destroyed and many scholars in the city were killed. Critical here was the transformation of the learned men in Islam (ʿulemāʾ) from enlightened scholars to theological dogmatists, abandoning scientific interpretation for scriptural explanation. Some scholars have also viewed the proliferation of Sufism in a similar light. For them, mystical experience offered an alternative to religious doctrine, providing a distinctive pathway at a time of political instability and social upheaval. See, for example, the classic accounts of Islam and mysticism written by Trimingham (1998 [1971]) and Geoffroy (2010), among many others. 11. The Ismaʿilis belong to an esoteric branch of Islam (closely related to the Druze). They recognize the spiritual power and the temporal authority of the Aga Khan, who himself is a direct descendent (in contrast to other Shiʿa groups) of the Seventh Imām (Imām Ismaʿil). Widely dispersed through Asia, Ismaʿilis trace their origins to the diaspora of Nizari-s from Egypt during the Fatimid Period (909–1171), migrating eastward through Syria and Iran and settling also in Badakhshan (Tajikistan) and in Gujarat (India). See Daftary (1990) for an authoritative history of the Ismaʿilis. See Hamawi (2011 [1970]) for an in-depth study of Ismaʿilism, especially from the perspectives of philosophy and theology. See Keshavjee (1998) for an anthropological investigation of religious meaning among Ismaʿili communities in Iran. 12. Of course, Tajikistan did not exist at the time of Rumi or Khusraw. While most Muslims believe that Rumi was born in Balkh (in Northern Afghanistan), recent research suggests that he may have been born further north in the Vakhsk Valley (in Central Tajikistan)

632   John Morgan O’Connell (personal communication with Rafique Keshavjee, January 8, 2014). What is interesting is as follows: Both Rumi and Khusraw influenced the unique development of Ismaʿilism in Badakhshan, especially with respect to a religious identity founded upon the central tenets of cosmic order, universal humanism, and imamate supremacy. While the Ismaʿili community in Badakhshan (like other Ismaʿilis) also subscribes to the five pillars of Shiʿism (unity, prophesy, judgment, imamate, and justice), their belief system is also informed by Khusraw’s mystical ideals that melded neoplatonic philosophy with a pragmatic interpretation of Islam (see also Hunsberger 2000a, 2000b). 13. Since its inception, the Aga Khan Humanities Project has published 3,700 pages of texts in eight volumes, each of which is accompanied by teachers’ guides, involving print, music, and film media. 14. Concerning changes to the status of the Aga Khan Humanities Project, Keshavjee explains “Soon after the project got started, the partner faculty, mainly social scientists and philosophers, realized that they had difficulty giving what I called ‘parity to both reason and imagination.’ They lacked a basic educational understanding of the arts, so the project organized an intensive training program in the pedagogies of painting, architecture, music, [. . .] and fiction.” He continues “The Aga Khan Humanities Project is now much better understood as an unusual and powerful program based at the University of Central Asia that offers educational outreach to state institutions in Tajikistan, Kyrgyz Republic and Kazakhstan” (personal communication with Rafique Keshavjee, February 6, 2015). 15. Numerology has a long-established tradition in Islamic thought. In this respect, music by way of numerology provides an ideal medium for exploring natural relationships and for explaining supernatural occurrences. See Meisami (1997) and Malti-Douglas (1997) for a pertinent examination of cosmic numbers in poetry and literature, respectively. See also O’Connell (2004) for a relevant study with respect to music. 16. Other scholars have noted the significance of the number five. In particular, Koen (2003) provides a similar reading of sound and space in his study of devotional music in Badakhshan. Of course, his research was published after the presentation of my findings at the Music and Minorities Conference in Lublin (2002). It also postdates the completion and the acceptance of my original article (which was finalized in 2002 but which was not published until 2004). While Koen talks about the importance of numerology in performance, he does not explore the significance of alternative cosmogonic systems that call into question a single reading of expressive culture in Badakhshan. 17. In terms of morphology, there are some conflicting narratives about the horse’s head on the rubab. Since the horse occupies a prominent position in the Badakhshani imagination, it may indicate a complex exchange between Siberian and Indo-Iranian cultures in the Himalayan belt during the Bronze and the Iron Ages. In other words, it may represent a North Asian register in Badakhshani culture in addition to influences from the eastern, western, and southern corners of the continent. See Francfort (1998) for an overview of different interpretations of the horse found in Central Asian petroglyphs. 18. As Hunsberger notes (2000a, 2000b), there are a number of competing cosmogonic systems in Badakhshan:  systems which (broadly speaking) emphasize a fivefold (the al-Fārābi school) and a fourfold reading (the Khusraw school) of the Badakhshani cosmos. These systems demonstrate the ways in which historic conceptions of a pre-Islamic

Sounds Humane   633 and a post-Islamic past have become re-inscribed and re-interpreted within the discursive realm. In this way, traditional practices survive the destabilizing forces of geo-political fragmentation and ideological control. 19. There is a subtle symbiotic relationship between the numbers five and seven in Badakhshan. This play has a sonic articulation in Pamiri music (in terms of pentatonic vs. heptatonic musical structures) and in Pamiri organology (compare, for instance, the fivefold character of the Pamiri rubab with the sevenfold character of the Pamiri tanbur). This sense of numerical difference may also be gendered where the materials of music occupy distinctive but interconnected male and female spaces represented by the numbers five and seven, respectively. Here, Pamiri design clearly shows an intertextual play between the numbers five and seven, especially in the layout of the Pamiri house. This numerological relationship may have a larger significance in other Islamic countries (see, for instance, Becker and Becker, 1995). 20. As Popescu-Judetz (2002:162–167) argues, the number six has a wider significance in Asian astrology, where the alignment of the Zodiac in the Medieval period resulted in two conceptions of cosmic order: that is, the division of the Zodiac into two equal units of six and six (representing the South Asian position) and the division of the Zodiac into two unequal units of five and seven (representing the West Asian position). Such conflicting worldviews are also played out in cosmogonic readings of the rubab, where some authorities emphasize the sixfold (rather than the fivefold) attributes of the musical instrument. 21. Concerning pluralism, Keshavjee writes “The stress on pluralism operated at different levels in the Aga Khan Humanities Project. Firstly, there was a plurality of intellectual perspective, of which the foremost was [. . .] parity given to works of reason and those of the imagination, especially in the arts. Secondly, the project aimed at pluralism by accommodation, where the texts covered an enormous range, from Lenin, through religious texts from various traditions, to Tolstoy and Kālidāsa. Thirdly, every civilization and faith tradition was represented pluralistically. Finally, the pluralism embodied in the Islamic mystical tradition was given prominence, especially since the then-parent organization of the project, the Aga Khan Trust for Culture, emphasized gnostic thought through its involvement in the Aga Khan Music Initiative” (personal communication with Rafique Keshavjee, February 2, 2015). 22. Although Titon (1992) was writing in the 1990s, he is in fact quoting Rorty (1979), who was writing in the 1970s. In this respect, his concern for a dialogic approach to field research draws upon Bakhtin’s notion of intersubjectivity (in linguistic terms: the space between signs) where language always needs to be negotiated. Simply put, meaning can never be fixed since it is always dependent upon the context of an utterance (see Bernard-Donals, 1994). That Clifford (1986) was also critiquing the concept of absolute truth during the 1980s does not mean that the ethnomusicologist and the anthropologist were in direct communication at the times of publication. May I convey my sincerest thanks to Jeff Todd Titon for clarifying this important point. 23. Rafique Keshavjee, in association with the Christensen Fund, was later involved in a sustainability project in Turkey, which funded musicians and dramatists. He employed artists to educate communities to cope with environmental change and political instability. See also a lecture by Keshavjee in the series entitled “Sustainability Unbound” at http://www. sustainableunh.unh.edu/sustainabilityunbound (accessed July 10, 2014).

634   John Morgan O’Connell

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636   John Morgan O’Connell Keshavjee, Rafique. (2009). “Dancing to a Different Tune.” Aga Khan University Newsletter 10(1): 4–5. Koen, Benjamin D. (2003). “The Spiritual Aesthetic in Badakhshani Devotional Music.” The World of Music 45(3): 77–90. Levin, Theodore. (1996). The Hundred Thousand Fools of God: Musical Travels in Central Asia (and Queens, New York). Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Loughran, Maureen. (2008). “ ‘But What if They Call the Police”: Applied Ethnomusicology and Urban Activism in the United States.” In “Applied Ethnomusicology,” edited by Svanibor Pettan. Muzikološki zbornik / Musicological Annual 44(1): 51–68. Malti-Douglas, Fedwa. (1997). “Playing with the Sacred:  Religious Intertext in Adab Discourse.” In Humanism, Culture and Language in the Near East: Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, edited by Asma Afsaruddin and Mathias Zahniser, pp. 51–60. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Manz, Beatrice. (1994). Central Asia in Historical Perspective. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Martinelli, Dario. (2005). “A Whale of a Song: Zoomusicology and the Question of Musical Structures.” SEED 5(1): ISSN 1492–3157. McCragg, William, and Brian D.  Silver, eds. (1979). Soviet Ethnic Frontiers. New York: Pergamon Press. Meisami, Julie S. (1997). “Cosmic Numbers: The Symbolic Design in Nizami’s Haft Paykar.” In Humanism, Culture and Language in the Near East: Studies in Honor of Georg Krotkoff, edited by Asma Afsaruddin and Mathias Zahniser, pp. 39–50. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Morrison. Karl F. (1988). I Am You:  The Hermeneutics of Empathy in Western Literature, Theology and Art. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Murry, William R. (2006). Reason and Reverence: Religious Humanism for the 21st Century. Boston: Skinner House Books. Nurjonov, Nizom. (1974–1975). Muzykal’naia Zhizn’ Sovetskogo Tadzhikistana:  1919–1945. 2 vols. Dushanbe: Donish. O’Connell, John M. (1996). “Alaturka Revisited: Style as History in Turkish Vocal Performance.” PhD dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles. O’Connell, John M. (2004). “Sustaining Difference:  Theorizing Minority Music in Badakhshan.” In Manifold Identities:  Studies on Music and Minorities, edited by Anna Czekanowska, Ursula Hemetek, Gerda Lechleitner, and Inna Naroditskaya, pp. 1–19. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars. O’Connell, John M. (2011). “Music in War, Music for Peace: A Review Article.” Ethnomusicology 55(1): 112–127. Parkes, Peter. (1994). “Personal and Collective Identity in Kalasha Song Performance:  The Significance of Music-Making in a Minority Enclave.” In Ethnicity, Identity and Music: The Musical Construction of Place, edited by Martin Stokes, pp. 157–188. Oxford: Berg. Partner, Peter. (1979). Renaissance Rome 1500–1559: A Portrait of a Society. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Pettan, Svanibor. (2008). “Applied Ethnomusicology and Empowerment Strategies:  Views from Across the Atlantic.” In “Applied Ethnomusicology,” edited by S. Pettan. Muzikološki zbornik / Musicological Annual 44(1): 85–99. Pettan, Svanibor, ed. (2008). “Applied Ethnomusicology.” Muzikološki zbornik/Musicological Annual 44(1). Pinker, Steven. (1997). How the Mind Works. New York: W.W. Norton.

Sounds Humane   637 Popescu-Judetz, Eugenia. (2002). Tanburî Küçük Artin: A Musical Treatise of the Eighteenth Century. Istanbul: Pan Yayıncılık. Rajabov, Askaralī. (1989). Az Taʿrikhi Afkori Musiqii Tojik. Dushanbe: Donish. Rashid, Ahmed. (1994). The Resurgence of Central Asia: Islam or Nationalism. Karachi: Oxford University Press. Reynhout, Kenneth A. (2013). Interdisciplinary Interpretation:  Paul Ricoeur and the Hermeneutics of Theology and Science. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Rice, Timothy. (1994). May It Fill Your Soul:  Experiencing Bulgarian Music. Chicago:  The University of Chicago Press. Rorty, Richard. (1979). Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature. Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press. Sakata, Hiromi L. (1983). Music in the Mind: The Concept of Music and Musician in Afghanistan. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press. Schippers, Huib. (2010). “Three Journeys, Five Recollections, Seven Voices: Operationalising Sustainability in Music.” In Applied Ethnomusicology, edited by Klisala Harrison, Elizabeth Mackinlay, and Svanibor Pettan, pp. 150–160. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars. Seeger, Anthony. (2010). “The Suyá and the White Man: Forty-five Years of Music Diplomacy in Brazil.” In Music and Conflict, edited by John M.  O’Connell and Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco, pp. 109–127. Urbana: The University of Illinois Press. Sharpe, Robert. (2000). Music and Humanism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Slobin, Mark. (1976). Music in the Culture of Northern Afghanistan. Tucson:  University of Arizona Press, Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology 54. Smith, Dianne L. (1998). Opening Pandora’s Box: Ethnicity and Central Asian Militaries. Carlisle Barracks, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, US Army War College. Soucek, Svatopluk. (2000). A History of Inner Asia. Cambridge, UK:  Cambridge University Press. Spradley, James, and David W. McCurdy, eds. (2000). Conformity and Conflict: Readings in Cultural Anthropology. Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Sugarman, Jane C. (2010). “Kosova Calls for Peace:  Song, Myth and War in an Age of Global Media.” In Music and Conflict, edited by John M. O’Connell and Salwa El-Shawan Castelo-Branco, pp. 17–45. Urbana: The University of Illinois Press,. Titon, Jeff T. (1992). “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 315–322. Titon, Jeff T. (2011). “Sustainable Music.” The Curry Lecture: Applied Ethnomusicology. http:// sustainablemusic.blogspot.co.uk, 1–11 (accessed January 17, 2014). Trimingham, J.  Spenser. (1998 [1971]). The Sufi Orders of Islam. New  York:  Oxford University Press. Weil, Zoe. (2004). The Power and Promise of Humane Education. Gabriola Island, BC: New Society Publishers. Weiming, Tu, and Daisaku Ikeda. (2011). New Horizons in Eastern Humanism:  Buddhism, Confucianism and the Quest for Global Peace. London: I. B. Tauris. Żerańska-Kominek, Sławomira. (1997). The Tale of Crazy Harman:  The Musician and the Concept of Music in the Türkmen Epic Tale, Harman Däli, translated by Jerzy Ossowski. Warsaw: DIALOG Academic Publications.

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Discography During, Jean P. (1993). Tajik Music of Badakhshan: Musique tadjike du Badakhshan. Musiques et Musiciens du Monde/Musics and Musicians of the World Series. Paris:  Unesco and Auvidis, D 8212. Fujii, Tomoaki, and Akihiro Takahashi. (1997). Afghanistan on Marco Polo’s Road:  The Musicians of Kunduz and Faizabad. Barre, VT: Multicultural Media, MCM 3003. Kasmaï, Sorour. (2000). Badakhshan: Pamir, chants et musiques du toit du monde. Paris: Buda Records, CD 92744. van Belle, Jan, and Gabrielle van den Berg. (1994). Badakhshan: Mystical Poetry and Songs from the Ismaʿilis of the Pamir Mountains. Leiden: Pan Records, CD 2024. van Belle, Jan, and Gabrielle van den Berg. (1998). Madāhkhanī, Gazalkhānī, Dafsāz: Religious Music from Badakhshan. Leiden: Pan Records, CD2036.

Chapter 18

Intersection s Bet w e e n Ethnom u si c ol o g y, Music Educat i on, a nd C om munit y Mu si c Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins

The intermingling of dynamic activist-musicians in ethnomusicology and education in recent decades has resulted in changes to curricular content and instructional process in schools, in community venues, and on university campuses. Particularly in North American communities, but also in the United Kingdom, across Europe, in Australia, New Zealand, and Singapore, diversity mandates in schools and society have prompted teachers to expand and vary the music they feature in their elementary and secondary school classrooms. Teachers in a wide variety of venues, including university professors, who seek a multicultural array of songs, instrumental pieces, dance, and listening selections are locating them in the catalogues of publishing companies with national and international distribution and on the Internet, where they are finding the results of fieldwork by ethnomusicologists to apply to their curricular practices and programs. Tertiary-level students in colleges, conservatories, and universities are increasingly enrolling in ethnomusicology and world music performance courses in their degree programs, while their professors of music (often not trained ethnomusicologists) are finding ways to diversify the content of their programs through various resources (including invitations to local community musicians and culture-bearers). Practicing teachers are participating as in-service teachers in an array of short- (and longer-) term in-service courses to fill the gaps of knowledge created by their earlier university degree programs in music education, and they are learning from collaborative teams of ethnomusicologists and educators (and following on the works of ethnomusicologists that comprise the course reading and listening lists) in honing their understandings and skills in world

640    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins music pedagogy. With the rise of Community Music as a bona fide professional pathway and influential movement that emphasizes inclusion through non-formal learning, teachers are growing an ethnomusicological sense of place, an intrigue with and honoring of local communities, and a resonance with the position that music is situated within the lives of those who choose to make it—with or without musical training or extensive experience. As a field of practice, those who work in community music, or advocate for it, make distinctions between community music, music of a community, and communal music making. Music of a community identifies and labels a type of music; communal music making describes being part of, or exposed to, that music; while community music is an active intervention between a music leader or facilitator and participants and is not tied to any particular genre of music. From this perspective and serving as an illustration, samba reggae reflects particular Afro-Brazilian communities in Bahia and could be described as music of a community. With the emphasis in a different place, a music session in a local Irish bar involves musicians and participants drawn from the communities where music is made. These are communal music-making events because they strive to bind people together through performance and participation. Community music is understood as different because it is an intentional approach to engage participants in active music making and musical knowing outside formal teaching and learning environments. It involves skilled music leaders, who facilitate inclusive group music-making experiences with an emphasis on people, participation, context, equality of opportunity, and diversity. Musicians who work this way seek to create accessible music-making experiences that emphasis creative music making and self-expression. Examples of projects might include working with young people to create their own songs, running large-scale intergenerational carnival groups, facilitating a choir or popular music bands within the prison or health service, or working within a community to enable community members to tell their story through music, song, and movement. The convergence of music education practice with ethnomusicology, especially of the applied action-based work of socially responsible professionals, and with community music, is extending and deepening the potential of music to engage learners in meaningful ways in various school and out-of-school settings. This chapter seeks to document and decipher the intersection of applied ethnomusicology and music education, as well as their affiliations with the phenomenon of community music. Formal, informal, and non-formal educational practices and policies are described and dissected as they play out in various settings and circumstances, and are recognized for the myriad ways in which specialist-musicians (again, ethnomusicologists, music educators, and community musicians) have paralleled and overlapped one another in their endeavors. An historical chronology of systemic school music education, with particular attention to US schools as well as the tertiary-level programs that train them,1 is offered as a means of contextualizing music education as a long-standing endeavor. The realms of ethnomusicology pertinent to music teaching and learning, particularly within institutions, are noted as well, along with the interfaces of ethnomusicologists with music educators. The collaborations among them illustrate the means by which they have jointly affected change in the lives of children, youth, and other learners

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    641 whose potential it is to think and behave musically. The work of ethnomusicologically conscious educationists is described, from the production of instructional materials, including books, recordings, and Internet resources, to the enfolding of culture-specific processes of music learning and teaching in clinical ways for the diversification of music in classroom and rehearsal settings. Insights are offered as to how educators with the sensibilities engendered by studies in ethnomusicology and community music (as well as with traditional artists and culture-bearers) have developed school and community projects that celebrate the local. The lens is sharpened for views of the Harlem Samba project and the Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley in order to clarify the many facets of ethnomusicological precepts in action within educational contexts. The chapter lands squarely on the meaning of applied ethnomusicology as it is relevant and useful to those committed educators in schools and communities who seek global as well as local relevance of music as a human phenomenon. It draws on the experiences of children and youth, their teachers, facilitators, and group leaders in music-making ventures, especially those whose identities are shaped by their participation as singers, players, dancers, and active listeners.

Contextualizing Music in Systemic School Education Contemporary practices of systemic music teaching and learning emanate from a long and colorful history, and it can be argued that music education dates to the first historic instances of music’s transmission from expert musician to novice. There is rich evidence of music education in churches, conservatories, and universities in medieval Europe, and music joined the curricular array of required subjects in the United States and the United Kingdom during the nineteenth-century rise of the common school of tax-supported education for all children and youth. Lowell Mason formally established music as an American curricular subject in Boston in 1838, and its song-based emphasis was heralded as an avenue to the development of children’s moral and physical well-being (Pemberton, 1985). Other North American cities followed suit, even as music was also emerging as a school subject in the United Kingdom, Germany, France, and elsewhere in the world. Within a few decades the vocal music education of American elementary schools had become a way for learning to read staff notation by singing a repertoire of European-based folk songs and traditional hymns (Pemberton, 1985). Ensembles of choirs, bands, and orchestras began to appear in American secondary schools by the late nineteenth century, and performance experiences in the music of the European tradition rapidly developed for the aesthetic-expressive education of adolescents. Even as Americans were singing sacred and secular music in their communities (far beyond the realm of schools, in churches, communities, and “singing societies”), Lowell Mason and his contemporaries were asserting a musical hierarchy

642    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins in which music of the German tradition was of such quality that even the “new compositions” they were writing for schoolchildren resembled the structures and sentiments of German-origin (and some Italian, French, and British) art music (Mark and Gary, 2007). Nineteenth-century school music teachers in the United States, the United Kingdom, and continental Europe focused their efforts on singing, notational literacy, and music appreciation (Keene, 1982). Canonic works by European composers comprised the repertoire of musical study in schools, and composed works for school-age singers and instrumentalists were decidedly European and Euro-American in flavor. With the invention of the gramophone, listening lessons on the Victrola talking machine offered homage to the composers of masterworks by composers of the European Baroque, Classical, and Romantic periods, too, as music appreciation goals gained prominence in the curriculum in the opening decades of the twentieth century (Mark and Gary, 2007). Group violin lessons and school orchestras were gradually coming into being, but instrumental music study was rare in schools (especially in the US) until the end of World War I, when bandsmen from the battlefields in France and Germany were hired as music teachers in American schools to work with young wind, brass, and percussion musicians in concert and marching bands (Keene, 1982).2 Glee clubs, mixed choirs, and instrumental ensembles spread like wildfire in the 1920s and 1930s, partly under the influence of popular touring orchestras and widely available church choirs. An increasing number of secondary schools were staffed by specialist teachers in choral and instrumental music, trained in music and eventually graduating from university programs in music education. Distinctively original expressive forms of American cultural communities comprised urban, and even suburban and rural areas, and yet Western art music forms continued to prevail as the principal curricular content in school music classes well into the twentieth century. In the United States, teachers generally viewed folk music, including the expressions of Native Americans, African Americans, and Latin Americans, as “primitive” repertoire that was ill-suited for curricular inclusion (Volk, 1998). In fact, the designation of “folk music” inferred, often inaccurately, a minimalist or simplified expression when compared to the sophistication of European art music (Campbell, 1991). A performance by the Fisk Jubilee Singers at the Music Supervisors National Conference in 1922 was an impressive first encounter for many educators of the power and sophistication of their choral music, after which spirituals began to surface on the concert programs of school choirs (Volk, 1998). African American popular music forms were forbidden in the curriculum of that time, including blues, ragtime, and jazz, in no small part due to the climate of racial inequality that was rampant in American society of the time. Their associations with saloons and “after hours” clubs caused concerns by educators that the music itself was cheap, vulgar, and immoral and thus potentially ruinous to young people (Mark and Gary, 2007). Music of the Jazz Age was excluded from the schools, and in the 1920s neither the popular Charleston nor “the shimmies” were permitted on school grounds. Jazz was finally allowed into some schools in the 1950s as an extracurricular club activity in which students met after school to rehearse for the school dances at

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    643 which they would perform, yet even then they were referred to as “dance bands” rather than jazz. School music teachers understood folk and traditional music of a variety of origins as interesting but not fully appropriate for the enlightenment of young people for whom the benefits were greatest through experience in the expressions of high culture. From the 1920s onward, a gradual awakening of interest in the broader palette of musical styles and cultures revealed itself in classrooms where immigrant populations were prominent. Folk dancing (especially from European countries from which immigrants were arriving) was featured in community centers, “settlement houses,” and local schools (Mark and Gary, 2007), and physical education classes featured “folk dances from around the world” (including US-based square- and contra-dancing, but also Irish set dances, Germanic-style polkas, circle dances of the Slavic groups, and the Italian tarantella). “Songs of many lands” surfaced in school classrooms at both elementary and secondary levels, and integrated units were developed of folk songs with geography, history, and literature content. The growth of folk music in schools was aided by the advent of recordings, so that as schools were equipped, teachers could play Irish, or German, or Italian music alongside the works of European art music (Campbell, 2004). Largely through the Good Neighbor Policy established by the Roosevelt administration to direct cultural exchanges with the countries of Central and South America, a surge of interest in Latin American music arose in the United States in the 1930s (Volk, 1998). The State Department funded concert performances and educational residencies of artists and educators from Latin America to the United States, as American music educators traveled south to Mexico, Brazil, and Argentina. The Music Educators National Conference advocated the use of Latin American songs and listening experiences, and textbook companies responded to an urgent demand for “materials.” Yet rarely was there a school orchestra that was given the opportunity to tackle a work by Mexican composer Carlos Chavez, or a band that was offered occasions to play a bolero, rhumba, or other dance form on their wind and brass instruments. American music educators often sufficed with leading their students in singing The Mexican Hat Dance or La Cucaracha as demonstration of their attention to the music of their Latin American neighbors (Volk, 1998). A number of events were seeding music curricular change in American schools in the mid-twentieth century, not the least of which were rapid transformations in transportation and communications. With close of World War II, music educators were inspired to seek means for achieving international understanding and world peace, and music was romantically viewed as “the international language.” The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) established the International Music Council (IMC), which in turn set up the International Society for Music Education (ISME) in 1953 with the intent of bridging cultures in classroom practices by fostering the presence of world music cultures for performance and study in elementary and secondary schools, and in universities as well (Schippers and Campbell, 2013). Policy statements on music in the curriculum were advocating the importance of knowing “music

644    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins of the world’s peoples,” and elementary school textbooks were shifting to the presentation of musical cultures through authentic field recordings. Music educators in the United States were challenged by their professional society, the Music Educators National Conference (now the National Association for Music Education), to consider the community values of their diverse student populations, and to rethink repertoire and pedagogical approaches, particularly with the advent of multiculturalism in American society. By the 1970s, the organization recommended a shifting of policy and practice from a European-based musical content to an all-inclusive curriculum comprising popular music, jazz, and music of the world’s cultures (Campbell, 2013). The rhetoric was eloquent, and some teachers were impassioned by the possibilities, but the reality is that few were prepared to know the content and method of a more global view of music. First-generation “world music educators” like William M. Anderson, Barbara Reeder Lundquist, Sally Monsour, and James Standifer served the cause by contributing to the reform of repertoire in textbooks and recordings, and modeled content and method of songs and singing, polyrhythmic percussion ensembles, folk dancing, and listening experiences that were part analysis and part participation. Their interest in diversifying the curriculum was due in no small part to their own training or professional work at universities with strong ethnomusicology programs (Anderson, Lundquist, and Standifer), or due to their own experiences as members of minority populations (Monsour, Standifer). In the heyday of “multicultural music education”—especially in the 1980s and 1990s, when district mandates were requiring secondary school band, choir, and orchestra directors as well as elementary music specialists to develop broader cultural understandings through music—the dissemination of songs, dances, and instrumental pieces was continued by a second generation of “world music educators,” including some who were trained in and working at the edges of ethnomusicology, as well as through the proliferation of multicultural materials in textbooks, on recordings, and through the Internet (Schippers and Campbell, 2013). In selected schools, music educators were developing “African drumming ensembles,” gospel choirs, steel bands akin to those in Trinidad, full-fledged Mexican-style mariachis, Filipino kulintangs, and floor-sized marimba bands modeled after those found in a handful of Sub-Saharan African cultures. The Folk Arts Division of the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) was funding grants to introduce traditional artist-musicians and culture-bearers into the schools, a movement whose ideas were first fostered by ethnomusicologists and public folklorists. In the professional literature, additional labels were ascribed to the movement to diversify the school music curriculum, including “world music pedagogy,” “global music education,” and “cultural diversity in music education” (Campbell, 2004). Central principles were articulated: to engage students in the performance and directed listening of music in its multiple manifestations; to teach cultural understanding through the study of music, musicians, and their musical values; and to respond to the identities and interests of individual students within the school community. Ideally, and in the

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    645 hands of dedicated music educators, diversity was gaining a toehold in the music curriculum. The funding crisis in the arts that began in the late 1990s has limited the capacity of music educators to work in schools toward fully embracing the tenets of a multicultural or world-oriented curriculum. Across the United States, many schools are expending every effort to hold on to their programs, shoring up against the erosion of long-standing traditions in band, choir, orchestra, and conventional song-based elementary music programs. In the post-9/11 period, there have been some indications of a backlash to the movement to multiculturalize the curriculum, and some music educators are drawing their attention back to the traditional “American” repertoire of standard school ensembles (Schippers and Campbell, 2013). Opportunities for professional development in selected world music cultures—especially beyond light treatment via simple songs to sing—are available but rare, as funding from institutions and public agencies has largely disappeared. Given dwindling time for music within the school-day schedule, a monocultural approach is still widely in practice to sustain the repertoire of the historical school-music culture, and experimental world music ensembles and programs of music consisting of a mix of world cultures are not as common as the rhetorical writing in the professional literature would have one believe. Despite the obstacles, there are exemplary models of music education practice attendant to matters of musical and cultural diversity, some of them traceable to the work of ethnomusicologists and community music practitioners. The Smithsonian Folkways certification course in World Music Pedagogy is one such successful collaboration of educators, ethnomusicologists, and local artist musicians for offering participating teachers the opportunity to develop sensibilities and skills for featuring both online recordings and human resources in the experiences they build into their programs. The emergence of a community consciousness has motivated some music educators to be in touch with musicians living locally, and in this way gospel choir singers, Irish fiddlers, Puerto Rican salsa-style percussionists, Japanese koto players, and Native American singer-storytellers have served as resident artists in schools, providing up-front and personal experiences with music and musicians. While federal and state funding has largely disappeared for such programs, local organizations (such as the nationally networked parent-teacher organizations) have supported these residencies. Model programs featuring “zimarimba” ensembles based on Shona-style music of Zimbabwe, bluegrass orchestras, samba bands, mariachis-inschool (rather than as after-school clubs), and world vocal ensembles are thriving in some schools due to the work of committed teachers and supportive families. Vibrant school programs are mixing traditional music education practices with world music traditions, and a conscientious attention and abiding respect are paid to the musicians and cultures from which the music comes. In these programs, informal, non-formal, and formal learning circumstances are wedded, and students are offered personal and communal expressions of artistic, social, political, and cultural concerns from a wide span of the world’s musical cultures.

646    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins

Ethnomusicology in Higher Education In addition to its place in elementary and secondary school programs (whether monoor multicultural in nature), music is a frequent degree option in tertiary-level programs of study colleges, conservatories, and universities. Alongside performance studies of the orchestral instruments, and vocal studies for singers, there is in higher education a selection of academic programs in musicology, music theory, composition, and music education. Yet another specialized realm of study in higher education is ethnomusicology, which may be encompassed within musicology or left to stand alone as its own entity. Where available, ethnomusicology is more likely featured as a graduate degree option than as an undergraduate degree, and may appear in the guise of single undergraduate-level survey courses in world music cultures or as performance opportunities in music beyond European art music styles. Occasionally, there is a confusion of the term and concept, positing “ethnomusicology” as interchangeable with “world music” in performance, as in the case of a Javanese gamelan or an African drumming ensemble, when in fact the former is the scholarly study of music in culture for which fieldwork is central (Nettl, 1983). Ethnomusicologists on university faculties of music are educators themselves by way of the teaching of courses, applied lessons, and ensembles, and while they are more rarely involved in the education of children and youth in schools, they devote themselves to passing on the musical practices they have studied in their fieldwork. Ethnomusicology is a relatively recent arrival to higher education. Despite its appearance in some American university settings just after World War II and in Europe under the name “comparative musicology” from the late nineteenth century, it was with the founding of the Society for Ethnomusicology in 1955 that the curiosity of university faculties of music was piqued to know the musical expressions of “the exotic other,” and to find relevance in the study of music as a world phenomenon. The contributions of ethnomusicologists to university units of music expanded the palette of sonorities to which students could have access. Where multicultural mandates were in place, ethnomusicologists were hired to pay tribute to musical expressions reflecting populations on campus, in the surrounding community, nationally, and even globally. In universities where ethnomusicology programs were first established and at which education programs were already vibrant—at the University of California Los Angeles, the University of Washington, the University of Michigan, Indiana University, and the University of Illinois, the door was opening in the 1960s and 1970s to studies in the music of India, Japan, Indonesia, across the African continent, and in the Americas, and the ears of prospective music educators was opening to a wide spectrum of world music. Early in the history of ethnomusicology in higher education, gamelan “orchestras” dominated by bronze metalophones and gongs became iconic statements of tertiary-level programs seeking diversity in their content. These ensembles were exemplar of “high-art Asian music” that began to appear

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    647 in courtyards or rehearsal rooms, drawing students directly into music-making experiences. At the edge of the Civil Rights era, visiting artists from Ghana and elsewhere in West Africa were invited by university music departments to form drumming ensembles and to lecture on the musical cultures of their communities. Students—including music education majors—were made aware of the ngoma tradition, in which singing, dancing and drumming are equally valued, even as they were learning to think and act in ways that required their keen attention to rhythmic precision, physical involvement in synchronous movement, and interactive and communal performance. Gospel choirs began to appear at universities, too, although more often within the realm of student activities rather than as a scheduled course within the music department. Latin American music began to seep into the repertoire of jazz ensembles, and Mexican mariachi became an occasional presence on selected campuses in California and Texas. While still uncommon, some students were graduating from university degree programs with the requisite sensitivity and skills for teaching music from a broader palette of expressions, largely due to the presence of ethnomusicologists on their campuses. Of the various faculty in schools and departments of music, ethnomusicologists have continued to receive especially enthusiastic support from composers and music educators to run performance ensembles and teach courses in world music cultures that would meet multicultural mandates (Solis, 2004). Composers sought new sonic sources from ethnomusicologists who share their fieldwork recordings from far-flung places in the world, while music educators press ethnomusicologists with questions of “authentic materials” to add to the multiculturalizing of a curriculum in schools. Music majors, as well as students with little interest in music but with demands for an arts elective, are well served by ethnomusicologists through introductory academic courses in the “Music of Asia,” “African Music,” and “Music of the Americas.” With the presence of ethnomusicologists on university faculties, a balanced diet of musical experiences is achievable in an undergraduate music program—although the reality is that most music programs remain as European-styled conservatories steeped in the study of European art music. Still, those music students seeking certification as teachers can develop their commitment to a broader palette of music expressions for the school-age students they will teach.

The Convergence of Ethnomusicology and Education The greater convergence of ethnomusicologists and educators (especially those with their attention to school music education) began in in the 1960s, and while the development of understandings and collaborations has been gradual and uneven, the results of the forging of interests and expertise have been impressive. Some of

648    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins the earliest earnest efforts to diversify the curriculum and to develop a resonance of school music education with local musical communities happened at seminars and symposia at Yale University (1963), Northwestern University (1965), and Tanglewood (1967), all think tanks of sorts to examine music practices in schools and universities, and to consider music “of quality and relevance.” Set against a broader culture of change that included an increased availability of world music during the 1960s, the folk music revival, the blues revival, the concert tours of musicians such as Ali Akbar Khan and Ravi Shankar, and the rise of recordings such as the “Explorer” series from Nonesuch Records, the meeting at Tanglewood involved educators, along with musicologists and ethnomusicologists, composers, jazz and popular musicians, and community leaders for the purpose of examining tidal-wave changes in society that would necessitate music educational reform in schools. David McAllester’s historic proclamation to music educators in 1967 at the Tanglewood Symposium set the tone—that “music of our time and places in the world” should be taught to children, and that the contributions of ethnomusicologists to education should be presented to teachers at conferences and workshops, in the development of materials for instructional purposes (films, recordings, and books), and in visits to schools and community settings where children and youth gather. McAllester, attuned as he was to the musical cultures of the Navajo, the Hopi, and other Native American peoples, was also an activist in support of a broader spectrum of music study by schoolchildren. His remarks at the Tanglewood meeting were observant of the beginnings of curricular change, as he noted in particular the presence in schools of songs from Israel and various African cultures and the growth of “youth music” (popular and rock music) for educational purposes. McAllester posed a question that turned the heads of participants in this historic symposium: “How then can we go on thinking of ‘music’ as Western European music, to the exclusion of the infinitely varied forms of musical expression in other parts of the world?” Of all the gatherings of that tumultuous decade, Tanglewood stimulated thinking at the national level as to whose music could be featured in schools. Ethnomusicologists have notably influenced curriculum and instruction in and through music, and their advisories and models have radiated into philosophy, policy, and practice within school music education. Conferences provided venues for demonstrations, workshopping sessions, and dialogue, particularly at annual meetings of the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM), the Music Educators National Conference (MENC), and the International Society for Music Education (ISME). In the 1970s, Charles Seeger, David McAllester, and William P. Malm were among the active participants in Education Committee workshops for teachers at annual SEM meetings that featured presentations by educators who also had trained in ethnomusicology. A  banner year of cross-field discussion happened in 1984:  Robert Garfias offered his vision of “thinking globally, acting locally” to teachers at the 1984 MENC meeting; a panel of ethnomusicologists and music educators (including Robert Garfias, David McAllester, Edward O’Connor, Abraham Schwadron, and Patricia Shehan) at the annual SEM meeting addressed the challenges of

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    649 representing world music in authentic fashion; and the Wesleyan Symposium on Becoming Human Through Music brought together John Blacking, Charles Keil, Adrienne Kaeppler, David McAllester, Timothy Rice, and others to explore the “practical implications of research findings in other cultures for U.S. music teachers in their daily instruction.” With the re-establishment and strengthening of the Education Committee by the SEM board in 1985, SEM workshops became an annual attraction for local teachers in the city in which the annual conference was held. Sessions at Rochester (1986), Ann Arbor (1987), and Cambridge (1989) were particularly memorable for their unique formats and features, and considerable length. In 1990, the efforts of MENC, the SEM, and Smithsonian Folkways were combined to develop a three-day meeting of music educators with ethnomusicologists and artist-musicians in response to questions by teachers facing multicultural mandates of whose music should be taught, and how it could be integrated into school music programs (Campbell, 1996); William M. Anderson, Han Kuo-Huang, Dale Olsen, Bernice Johnson Reagan, Anthony Seeger, Daniel Sheehy were among the featured clinicians. A  considerable number of ethnomusicologists were traveling the circuit of music teachers to explain and demonstrate the possibilities of world music expressions in school classes, including Melonee Burnim, Shannon Dudley, Charlotte Heth, David Locke, Portia Maultsby, Ricardo Trimillos, and Bonnie C. Wade. Some were influential among music educators internationally, too, such as J. H. Kwabena Nketia and Bruno Nettl (who twice articulated the importance of diversifying the musical repertoire in schools in his keynote addresses to members of the International Society for Music Education in Seoul, Korea, 1994, and Beijing, China, 2010). With clear indications that the nation and the world were forever changed by demographic shifts and efforts at globalization, instructional materials began to appear to take account of more of the musical world. Textbooks, some with recordings to accompany them, began to appear for use in tertiary-level courses: David Reck’s (1976) compilation of course notes in his Music of the Whole Earth, Jeff Todd Titon’s (1984) launch of Worlds of Music text and recordings, and Bruno Nettl’s (1992) Excursions in World Music. The latter two have been highly influential through their multiple editions in offering several generations of university students an understanding of music as a world phenomenon. Other collegiate-level textbooks emerged, including Kay Kaufman Shelemay’s Soundscapes (2001), Michael Bakan’s World Music (2007), Michael Tenzer’s Analytical Studies in World Music (2006), Terry E. Miller and Andrew Shahriari’s World Music: A Global Journey (2005), and 26 small books with recordings in the The Global Music Series edited by Bonnie C. Wade and Patricia Shehan Campbell, beginning in 2004 (Wade, 2004; Campbell, 2004). Ethnomusicologists were invited by educators and their publishers into advisory roles in the expansion of K–8 repertoire for listening and performing, especially in American editions. Basal music textbooks (and accompanying recordings) of the 1970s were presenting art music traditions from China and Japan, and

650    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins “rhythm complexes” of West African percussion ensembles for listening and performance. Fueled by the multicultural movement, Multicultural Perspectives in Music Education (Anderson and Campbell, 1989)3 was published by MENC as a collaborative effort of educators working with ethnomusicologists to recommend materials and methods for infusing a broader sampling of musical cultures into the curriculum; Anthony Seeger wrote the foreword. From the late 1980s onward, books with associated recordings were churning out of the Connecticut garage of Judith Cook Tucker, editor-publisher of World Music Press, many of them the products of collaborations between educators and culture-bearers (who were often trained as ethnomusicologists, too):  Let Your Voice Be Heard (Adzinyah, Dumisani, and Tucker, 1996), From Rice Paddies and Temple Yards (Nguyen and Campbell, 1990), The Lion’s Roar (Kuo-huang and Campbell, 1997), and From Bangkok and Beyond (Phoasavadi and Campbell, 2003). Songs, percussion pieces, choral works, and listening examples were selected for their authenticity and representation (as well as for their capacity to be performed and understood by young students), and authors were eager to ensure that the context, function, and meaning of the music were accurately represented. Recordings and video-recordings accompanied the music notation, and a standard caveat was offered: that the notation only more generally illustrates the sound, but that listening is essential to the learning process of music far from home. For choirs of children, adolescents, and university-level singers, the launch in 2001 of Global Voices in Song was deemed as an important video-source of unison and choral song from the African continent, Asia, the Pacific Islands, and elsewhere, the result of work by music educator Mary Goetze and various artist musicians.4 Even as hard-copy traditional media and materials continued to be available, the Internet soon became a go-to source of ideas by teachers for teaching world music. Especially noteworthy to educators were websites of Smithsonian Folkways (especially the “Tools for Teachers”),5 the Association for Cultural Equity (with its lessons “For Teachers”),6 and Mariachi Online,7 all fruits of the efforts of ethnomusicologists and educators. These and other developments are opening up the channels for teaching beyond the Western European canon, not only in regard to repertoire, but also with attention to the pedagogical approaches that are evident within the various cultures. The likelihood of the involvement by ethnomusicologists with educators appears to be directly related to the extent to which they have established themselves as recognized scholars on specific music-cultures (for example, Garfias on Japanese court orchestra [1975], McAllester on Navajo music [1973], William P. Malm on Japanese theater music [2001], Nettl on music of Iran and of the Blackfoot of Montana [1989], Wade on music of North India [1988]). Then, in their capacity as Presidents of the Society of Ethnomusicology, journal editors, and senior members with track records behind them, they have responded generously to the call for input and advice on world music for teachers. Should this pattern continue, there is then a promising future for partnership projects between ethnomusicologists and music educators.

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    651

From Transmission to Learning to Pedagogical Process One historic topic of ethnomusicologists is the transmission of music, particularly among those whose interests concern oral tradition as verbally transmitted song, chants, folk tales, or speech (or sonically transmitted instrumental music). Learning is another topic of increasing interest in ethnomusicology, and yet with historical roots as well:  Alan P.  Merriam’s (1964) declaration of learning as basic to understanding music-as-culture prompted some to study who teaches and who learns and how it is done. In classic fieldwork and the musical ethnographies that have resulted from it, the participant-performance approach to research has naturally placed ethnomusicologists in the position of students learning repertoire and techniques from artist-teachers of sitar and sarod, mbira, kora, and instruments such as the metallophones and gongs of the gamelan orchestra. This student perspective served to raise an awareness of the teaching-learning process, referred to ethnomusicologically as “transmission and acquisition,” which is in fact akin to the “pedagogical practice” of music educators’ ongoing attention. Bruno Nettl (1984) wrote of the importance of his consultants as teachers, including the Arapaho Indian, Will Shakespear, who sang a vast array of traditional melodies for him to learn and transcribe, and the Persian master, Nour Ali-Bouromand, who taught him the radif collection of micromelodies that are core to improvisation. Dissertations and monographs, particularly in the last quarter-century, along with journal articles, conference papers, and even films, have been important channels of information for knowing who teaches and who learns music, in which contexts music is taught and learned, and how informal learning of music occurs through enculturation processes. Other issues have been given limited attention by ethnomusicologists, too, including the politics and economics of music learning. Through these investigations, not only are specific music cultures known more fully, but a deeper understanding of the sociological features of music as human thought and behavior is thus developed (Campbell, 2011; Nettl, 2005). Some have discussed in fine detail the instructional transactions of learning to play an instrument, or to sing or dance, within societies that are open and eager to have the musical participation of all their members, while others have described music learning within the strictures of social class, gender, or ethnicity. John Blacking (1967) wrote of the manner in which children learned the music of the Venda by positioning themselves centrally in the midst of performances and practice sessions, so that they might develop as if by osmosis into their rightful role as participants in the music-making of their egalitarian society. For John Bailey (2001), an ethnomusicologist with 30 years of study of dutar and rubab, two lutes of Afghanistan, learning to perform invites the practitioner into “the cognition of performance,” the active movements and kinesthetic-spatial relationships, and the thinking processes of those at the center of musical life within a culture. Daniel Neuman’s (1980) classic work on the training of classical musicians in

652    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins North India is a description of the roles of teachers and students in the gharana system, in which music training is restricted by family status and heredity. The descriptions of Timothy Rice (1994) and Michael Bakan (1999) of their journey as cultural outsiders to learn traditional instruments of selected cultures are revealing of which skills may transfer, and which do not, from first cultures to second, adopted, cultures. Ethnomusicologists have studied music learning in formal and informal settings, in conservatories, schools, private homes, and even in the open air (Rice, 2003). They have examined the extent of verbal and nonverbal techniques, the use of vocalization and solmization, the extent of aural and oral techniques, the use of rehearsal strategies, and the pace of the instructional delivery from the teacher to the student (Campbell, 1991, 2011). Neuman’s (1980) work discussed the disciplined practice (riaz) in the gharanas of North India, in which students are expected to put in long hours of rigorous working out of their assigned drills on their instrument, and that the calluses on their hands and fingerpads are evidence of their time. In the study of the Bulgarian gaida (bagpipe), Rice (1994) attends to the combination of aural, visual, and tactile means of learning the phrases that are connected to other phrases and which are later recalled in improvisation. Likewise, Bakan (1999) focused on the critical importance of combined modalities that must work in a complementary manner to ensure that skills and repertoire develop, with students observing the hands of the master while they follow closely in imitation of them. Blacking (1967, 1995) called attention to the choice of songs learned by Venda children as not necessarily appearing in a sequential order of simple-to-complex, but that they will select to learn first the songs that are most often heard over songs that are simpler in structure. In his study of jazz musicians, Paul Berliner (1994) found that many would transcribe entire solos from recordings but also use them for extracting and learning short phrases as vocabulary for improvisations to come. The field of comparative music education is in its infancy, and yet this research by ethnomusicologists is relevant to interests by educators in knowing both diverse and common practices across cultures and systems in pedagogical processes, institutional models, and curricular structures. An understanding of aural learning, including imitation; improvisation; the presence, partial use, or complete absence of notation; and rehearsal strategies as they are found in various cultures are more than academic exercises or curious pastimes (Campbell, 1991). They are among the concerns of practicing teachers who seek the most effective means of instruction for their students, and who are buoyed by knowing of their effective use by others in the world. Through the gradual process of ethnomusicology’s convergence with the practice of musically educating students in the world’s musical cultures, a phenomenon known as world music pedagogy is emerging (Campbell, 2004). Changing demographics, globalization, and mandates of multiculturalism have turned music educators toward a search for musical sources and the means by which they are transmitted, and have led them along the well-traveled pathways of ethnomusicologists, whose work has embraced music, learning, and transmission across cultures. The two streams of musical professionals have forged a focus on the pedagogy of world music, reaching beyond queries of “what” and “why” but also “how” with regard to the teaching and learning of music

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    653 within cultures, and in the recontextualized settings of classrooms and rehearsal halls. Those working to evolve this pedagogy have studied with native artist-musicians, and have come to know that music can be understood through experiences that retain aspects of the culture’s manner of musical learning and teaching. While “re-enactment” of a musical tradition in a new context is not the principal point, the pedagogy of world music encompasses oral/aural techniques, improvisatory methods (when pertinent), and customary behaviors during the lesson, as well as preliminary to and following the lesson. Sometimes referred to as “world music educators,” those who have forged this field have ventured to the borders of their disciplines to blend the expertise and insights of ethnomusicology and education into a pedagogical system that considers culture as both “old” (original culture of the music) and “new” (instructional culture of the classroom). Case studies of world music pedagogy are played out within classroom contexts that encompass elementary and secondary school settings, as well as university courses (Campbell et al., 2005; Schippers, 2010). One prominent theme we hold is the belief that teachers teach effectively those genres that they themselves have learned from culture-bearers who are master musicians of their given traditions—even when they may feel compelled to recast the instruction to fit their students’ needs. That non-Balinese can teach Balinese gamelan to non-Balinese children and youth is not so controversial a concept as it once was in educational circles. Still, it is a valued notion that teachers should train with culture-bearers at some point in their development of gamelan technique and repertoire, so that “the Balinese way” might deliver to students something of an inside track on musical and cultural understanding (Dunbar-Hall, 2005). In the view of those who study Indian classical music in the West, they frequently know an experience in modified transmission processes (Hamill, 2005), and yet the age-old practice of aurally learning “one phrase at a time” from a master musician appears to be essential to their internalization of ragas and their potential for improvisation. For Keith Howard (2005), who teaches SamulNori percussion ensembles at the tertiary level, his own study of the music led him to develop “encounters” rather than experiences in the mastery of the music. He described the aims of his modified SamulNori pedagogy as one that provides “entry and musical knowledge rather than cultural competence,” using shortcuts and techniques that “inspire rather than frustrate.” In teaching world music, then, studies with artist-musicians who bring an insider’s view to the music are balanced by a belief in the importance of honoring the culture of the students.

Community Music at the Interface of the Fields Community music as concept and term has been recently gaining popularity within the music education profession, particularly in relation to informal and non-formal

654    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins learning, as well as cultural diversity in music teaching and learning. Applied ethnomusicology and community music share a common heritage and thus have overlapping interest in the social and cultural importance of music and music making (and thus music learning) within an educational context. On the whole, community musicians are committed to the idea that all people have the right and ability to make, create, and enjoy their own music—styles and expressions they prefer, that they grew up on, that they are still growing to know. Working with music, but cognizant of the social goals, those who facilitate community music activities seek to enable accessible music-making opportunities for those with whom they are working—children, adolescents, adults, and seniors. Concerned with encouraging open dialogue among different individuals with differing perspectives, musicians who work in this way strive to be conscious in developing active musical knowing while acknowledging both individual and group ownership of the music that they make. Community music happens in community centers, youth clubs, churches, senior homes, and prisons, and increasingly the community music processes are working their way into schools. Ideologically, the notion of cultural democracy is at the heart of the practice and aids as a compass in pointing toward its historical roots (Higgins, 2012a).8 Relevant to community music, to music education at large, and to applied ethnomusicology is the concept of cultural democracy as a tool for empowerment. As an early advocate, Charles Keil (1982) believed that beyond the scholarly pursuit and performance orientations of ethnomusicology, “applied” is another of the field’s critical pursuits. He explained that applied ethnomusicology “can make a difference… (and) can intersect both the world outside and the university in more challenging and constructive ways” (407). A decade later, Jeff Todd Titon’s (1992) introduction to the seminal collection of essays “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology” suggested that applied ethnomusicology has its awareness in practical action rather than the flow of knowledge inside intellectual communities. This concrete belief in action and agency is also true of community music, as well as activist school music educators. Somewhat differently from ethnomusicology, community music has not had a strong scholarly presence until relatively recently with the launch of the International Journal of Community Music in 2007. Community music has therefore been a relatively marginal subject within the academy, unlike ethnomusicology, whose anchoring can be located within university departments (Nettl, 2002). Community musicians have sought to challenge polarities that include formal/informal/non-formal, aesthetic/extra-aesthetic, and consumption/participation (Higgins, 2012a: 31). For a predominantly freelance workforce, paid opportunities to think, reflect, and write critically about the work has been rare; community musicians are looking for their next employment opportunity, rather than to engage in academic inquiry and establish a research culture. Resonant with past practices in community music, applied ethnomusicologists have been concerned with the development of projects in the public sphere that involve and enable musicians and various musical cultures to present, represent, and affect the dispersion of music (Titon, 1992). Practice-informed theory, the development of public sector projects, and a desire to communicate ideas and findings

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    655 without generating disengaged and remote scholarship are qualities that have taken precedence within the community music movement. Pedagogically in line with developments of non-formal education (Rogers, 2004), community music places emphasis on music making that supports a “bottom-up” rather than “top-down” approach to teaching, a stress on the inclusivity and participation, the encouragement of a personalized learning experience, and an understanding that the work can have an impact beyond the music making itself. Initially an “alternative” approach to formal education within developing countries, interest in non-formal education emerged from those who felt that formal education systems alone could not respond to the challenges of modern society. These included changes in the cultural, social, economic, and political landscape, such as ideas connected to globalization, government decentralization, and a growing democratization. Coming to prominence around the late 1960s, with the work of Philip Coombs (1968), non-formal education continued its growth through the 1970s within the context of development, “the idea that deliberate action can be undertaken to change society in chosen directions considered desirable” (Rogers, 2004: 13). Although the term “non-formal education” had been used prior to the 1970s, it was Coombs who claimed the first systematic study of it, laying down a number of definitional frameworks, the most refined of which states that non-formal education is “simply any organized activity with educational purposes caried on outside the highly structed framework of formal education systerms as they exist today” (Coombs and Ahmed, 1974: 233). With this in mind, community musicians (as well as applied ethnomusicologists and enlightened music educators) need to have a keen understanding that they do intervene within groups and that the very nature of intervention generates issues and challenges of power within those relationships they seek to foster. As skilled music leaders, community musicians emphasize active participation, sensitivity to context, equality of opportunity, and a commitment to diversity in their practice. Working within flexible learning, teaching, and facilitation modes, community musicians are committed to collaborative relationships, aiming for excellence in both the processes and products of music making. Learning happens in ways that fit the learners, and at their pace, and with attention to repertoire and techniques they prefer to learn. Within community music, the social well-being and personal growth of participants are as important as their musical development, and as such the framework of lifelong musical learning has been an important aspect of the work (Jones, 2009; Myers, 2007; Smilde, 2010).9 As a common characteristic, community music facilitators are also aware of the need to include disenfranchised and disadvantaged individuals or groups, “recognizing the value of music in fostering inter-societal and inter-cultural acceptance and understanding” (Higgins and Bartleet, 2012: 496). As an example, in the United Kingdom during the late 1990s there was increased government support for community music activity through the National Foundation of Youth Music.10 Policymakers have understood that music can play a valuable role in re-engaging young people with mainstream education, and therefore marginalized, or “at-risk,” young people have benefited from increased music project funding. This has not been without criticism, as

656    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins governmental cultural policy can have a negative impact on participatory music activity (Rimmer, 2009, 2012). Applied ethnomusicology, like community music, is best understood through the work that it does rather than any attempt to describe what it is (as opposed to music education, which is so widely understood through earlier experience). Applied ethnomusicology examples that resonate with what we are describing here include Kathleen Van Buren (2010), World AIDS Day event in Sheffield, United Kingdom, Samantha Fletcher (2007) and the benefit concert she organized in support of the refugee and social justice committees at the Unitarian Church, Vancouver, Canada, Angela Impey’s project (2006) that explores the operational interface between ethnomusicology, environmental conservation, and sustainable development in South Africa, Samuel Araujo’s musical culture map in Brazil (2008), Tom van Buren’s community cultural initiative (2006), Tina Ramnarine’s collaborative project between universities and NGOs (2008), and Svanibor Pettan’s advocacy work with various communities linked to the territories of former Yugoslavia (2010). Projects such as Keil’s 12/8 path bands,11 the activist street bands of the HONK! Festival (Garafalo, 2011), Maureen Loughran’s (2008) community-powered resistance radio, the Seattle Fandango Project (Dudley, 2012), and Music for Change12 all support the proposition that applied ethnomusicology intersects with the “spirit” of community music, and is considerably linked to best practices in music education. Applied ethnomusicologists and community musicians understand that music can play a vital role in community development through education, income generation, and self-esteem.

The Case of Harlem Samba In 2002, music classes at the Frederick Douglass Academy (FDA) in New York City’s Harlem neighborhood were not popular.13 The band program had been in steady decline for years, and in order to get it back on its feet the school administration hired Dana Monteiro, a trumpet player and music educator from Providence, Rhode Island. After trying to develop the program for four years, Monteiro felt that he had made little progress and was faced with significant increases in class sizes and a transient student population.14 While on vacation in Brazil, Monteiro met some local Pagode musicians and they encouraged him to visit an escolar de samba in the Quadra da Villa Isabel favela in Rio. It was during this trip that Monteiro had the idea that this particular form of music, with 250 drummers playing batucada, might just resonate with his students back in the United States. As he reflected about the school environment he was working in, he recalled that many students had been vocal in expressing that they wanted to play drums rather than brass or wind instruments. Upon his return to New York City, he decided to join a community samba group, Samba New York, and experience as a participant how the music was performed. Beginning with the cavaquinho, a small string instrument, Monteiro moved on to explore the percussion instruments such as the surdo, tamborim,

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    657 caixa, and repinique. After an initial purchase of 10 drums, an after-school club was started; it eventually consumed the rest of the music program, forming what is known today as Harlem Samba. At the FDA, over 200 students play samba every week on instruments imported from Brazil. Students learn traditional Rio-style samba and sing entire songs in Portuguese. The ensemble has now performed at Lincoln Center, the Museum of Modern Art, the Brooklyn Academy of Music, the World Cafe Live in Philadelphia, and the Broward County Performing Arts Center in Fort Lauderdale. The samba program has also been featured in the documentary film Beyond Ipanema: Brazilian Waves in Global Music (Barra and Dranoff, 2009). In 2007 and 2009, Harlem Samba traveled to Rio de Janeiro, and in 2012 won the Brazilian International Press Award in the category of Best Institution for the Promotion of Brazilian Culture in the United States, and Ever since Monteiro decided to introduce samba to the school, his strategy has been to create an open environment where every student is enabled to participate in a meaningful musical experience. He reinforces this by asserting that “I have almost an entire school with someone who is playing an instrument,” and he further notes that “[w]‌hat I have made here will, I think, get more kids playing later in life than a traditional program.” The students were aware of the transferable nature of the skills they were learning in the samba classes. One group of students said that learning music from a culture other than their own would help them get the most out of study abroad programs. Others described informal music-making experiences they are currently having outside school, such as playing bongos with a local street band. Many saw how their music-making experiences were providing a sense of independence and a thirst for playing beyond the school gates. Students at the FDA listen to a lot of hip-hop, R&B, gospel, and reggae. How has playing samba influenced the students’ listening? As Stephen, a student in the program, explained, “I actually have samba on my iPod and that was actually the biggest thing for me [. . .] I didn’t have samba as a mind-state in my freshman year but now it is like second nature to me now.” Another student, Sarah, explained, “Well… I’ve never listened to samba before,” and Jay noted, “Yeah, it’s like I hear more the beat and how things are played than the flow of the music—you hear different instruments inside.” One of the students explained that when learning a Brazilian song in Portuguese, he listened to it 50 times a day to understand what they were saying. This sort of commitment was common with those who had become what Monteiro termed “true believers,” meaning those for whom the samba program had become an important part of their life. Commenting on being given the opportunity to learn an instrument, Simon, a 16-year-old who now considered himself a sambista, said, “I think I’m the first person in my family to start with music so I’m probably the first one to start a generation. I’ll just pass it on.” Student experience as instrumentalists varied, but the majority had little or no experience in formally learning an instrument. Described as a “dynasty” by senior students, samba at the FDA encourages not only music learning but also peer teaching. Reflecting on her music classes, Juno stated,

658    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins “It’s more of teamwork than competition,” and Robert noted that it feels like a family, “You help each other out.” In the context of the samba band, competition between students became visible between some students when they were performing, with drummers trying to outwit the other with fast triplets and inventive improvisations. This aspect of music-making was discussed among the group with friendly banter, and was described as “a healthy competition its not like oh I’m definitely better than you. The competition is almost like friendship—it makes you better we learn from each other.” In this context, competition was a type of playfulness between musicians rather than fierce rivalry brought about by pressures of an all-state competition or jostling to get first position in an orchestra. This is a testament to how the music program has been organized, the spirit of which can be found in many community music projects (Higgins, 2012a). Monteiro embraces what could be called a cultural democracy, in which creative arts opportunities, enjoyment, and celebration become available to all. Samba was not a part of any students’ cultural heritage; however, as one student notes, “not only do we have to play [the instruments, but] we have to learn about the history of the songs.” As a political idea, cultural democracy advocates that people need to create culture rather than having culture made for them:  “Culture isn’t something you can get. You’ve already got it” (Graves, 2005: 15). The availability of performance footage from YouTube cannot be underestimated, either, and is an exemplar of what Schippers (2010) deems recontextualization. Monteiro goes so far as to suggest that without YouTube the advancement of the program would not have been possible because the students have immediate access to both the context and music from within their homes. One of the most intriguing things about any world music ensemble is how the sound and form of the music reflects the local context and those who perform it. In terms of samba, this can be deliberately woven into the band’s ethos or sound, such as Macumba (samba with bagpipes), Bloco Vomit (samba-punk), and Sambangra (samba and bhangra), for example. It is more common, however, that community samba bands strive for a so-called “authentic” sound, generally understood as approximating what is perceived as original and true to a Brazilian cultural setting. In the case of Harlem Samba, their sound does approximate the Rio-style quite closely but not at all costs. Monteiro’s strategy has been to empower students to feel ownership of the music they make and the various samba bands they inhabit, placing an emphasis on what students can achieve with the abilities they have. This is reflected in the day-to-day running of the classes, where students take leadership roles. As a consequence there are a considerable number of graduates who return each year to play with the band. “I don’t lose many,” Monteiro says, “once we get past December 10th [end of Fall semester] all those college kids will be here everyday. They will play when we have a concert; there are always us and the kids who have finished college. There are kids who are 22 [years of age] who come and play.” This was evident in my conversations with the budding sambistas, who all explained that after school, “I’m coming back!”

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    659 Some students in the Harlem Samba project perceived Mr. Monteiro as a friend: “Oh I’m much more of a friend to Mr. Monteiro than my other teachers in my old school [. . .] I could say that he is definitely more interested in the work.”15 From Monteiro’s perspective, the teaching is very challenging, “because no matter what I throw at them they get it—there is a level of comprehension—I think they really get it.” He also rather modestly feels that students over-value his musicianship. The musicianship is not in doubt—listening to the band, one could not help but be impressed by the quality of the samba “groove,” a unified sound that was clearly well-crafted and well-understood. What then, if anything, made it distinctive from its Brazilian counterparts? In some respects there was nothing extraordinary in the sound, except if you took a close look at those who were playing. This was remarkable. It is therefore here, at the point of the participants and the context, that Harlem Samba gains its distinctiveness. There is an energy that drifts from the streets right into the rehearsal space and through the drum, a performance full of New York teenage intensity. From a non-formal after-school club, the FDA samba program has developed to include almost every member of the school community. It seems a truism to state, as Monteiro did, that “[i]‌f you were to go in the hallway, if you were to take a walk around the building and 40 kids were going by and we dragged them all in they could probably play: Almost every 9–12th grader in the building knows how to play.” Initially supported by a principal who believed in the power of music, the program attracted a private donor, who has now given significant amounts of money to purchase instruments and aid travel. The latest purchase is a collection of Candombe drums from Uruguay, which offers an opportunity to expand the school musical and cultural experiences. The program has given some students a stronger sense of identity, and this is reflected in the number of students who return to play after graduation. Asked about where he got his T-shirt. Stephen replied, “It’s Harem Samba, yes I’m proud of it. I’m proud to be part of this.” Other participants have a sense of responsibility that emulates from Monteiro’s teaching strategy, which enables students to take active roles in peer teaching and in directorship. Jay stated, “I will never forget this class—I will never forget.” As a musician who has embraced ethnomusicological approaches to music learning, such as those described by Bakan (1999), Rice (1994), and Chernoff (1979), Monteiro has been visiting the Santa Marta favela and the São Clemente samba school since 2010. Prior to 2010 he visited every major samba school in Rio and Sao Paulo and schools in Tokyo, Cape Verde, London, and throughout the United States, honing his skill and consolidating relationships. Monteiro realizes now that you do not have to teach trumpet and have a traditional marching band to consider your program successful. “We can give a concert, we can do parades, so suddenly we had a marching band, a concert band, and we can do parades—all these things that at one point [the FDA] did have before it collapsed. Suddenly it was back in this form.” Do you need to have choir, band, and orchestra to have a successful music program? Monteiro is emphatic: “Not at all.”

660    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins

The Case of Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley It’s not easy to pack up a group of university music majors for off-campus course activity for a few days, not when they’re enrolled for a necessary run of multiple scheduled sessions in a semester’s classes, seminars, ensembles, and studio lessons. Their professors may ask questions, and rightly so, for student absences mean make-up classes and assignments for the missing students and a temporary “tilt” and imbalance of the composition of the course for those who remain. For the ensemble directors, an absent oboist makes for a lopsided “hole-in-the-middle” sound, and the loss of three sopranos from the chamber choir can clean out the treble sonorities. It takes a very good reason to shift a carefully laid-out campus schedule, and a logically articulated rationale (passionately and persistently proffered to colleagues) is essential in the process of making it happen. Because of the flexibility of a committed faculty, University of Washington (UW) students have been packing up for 13 years for trips across the Cascade Mountains, with the intent of “making a dent of a difference” in a place far beyond campus. They sing, they dance, and they play for schoolchildren and youth in rural Toppenish, on the high plateau of the Yakama Tribal Lands, where Yakama and Mexican-American families live side by side. When there’s funding (for 10 of the 13 years in this period), the program, Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley, does well, and benefits stream in two directions: to the Toppenish community and to the music majors. The project lands at the nexus of music education, applied ethnomusicology, and community music, and its aims are multiple: to bridge the gap between privileged university music students and underserved school populations, to provide a civic engagement of music majors with children and youth of poor and rural communities, to perform for the Mexican-American and Yakama children vocally and on instruments they have never heard or seen “live,” and to listen to and participate in the music made in these communities. With this last action, we sought also to validate a diversity of musical expressions that is beyond the standard university music-major repertoire (Soto, Lum, and Campbell, 2009). Like many college music programs in North America, the University of Washington (UW) School of Music has offered programs of performance, composition, and scholarship for more than a century. In the 1920s, the School’s mission expanded to include the preparation of teachers for music positions in K–12 schools.16 With the establishment of the ethnomusicology program in the 1960s, and the development of multicultural education studies in the College of Education by late in that decade, a theme was introduced into the content of its music education programs: to approach music and teaching from multiple cultural perspectives, and to develop music teachers who could think globally and act locally, and who could respond to diversity in the schools with cultural sensitivity. Seeds were sown a half-century ago for a movement in multicultural music education where music could be a powerful means of making a pathway to cultural awareness and understanding. Whether music of the Vietnamese or the Venezuelans,

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    661 the Hawaiians or the Hungarians, the Saami or the Samoans, UW students of music education have provided the model for other multiculturalists to offer song, dance, and instrumental expressions of a people as a means of knowing music and culture in a profound way. For cultural sensitivity to develop more fully into the perspectives of music majors, firsthand interaction with culturally diverse populations has proven effective—perhaps even transformative. But how? Through short-term single cameo-visits of “culture-bearers in the classroom,” in which a song is sung, an instrument is played, and a brief question-answer period ensues? Year-long residencies of artist-musicians? Field trips to a given cultural community? At the UW, we opted for a mix of these experiences through an assemblage of guest musicians to our classes and seminars, arrangements for visiting artists (from Korea, Mexico, northern Ghana, southern India, Ireland, Indonesia, Puerto Rico, Senegal, Tanzania, Afghanistan, and elsewhere) who teach their performance craft for a term or a year, and field trips through Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley (also known as “the MAYV program”). Especially with MAYV, firsthand interaction is furthered, as students travel to the field of communities that are distinguished by their location, their ethnic-cultural composition, and their socioeconomic circumstance. There, in the Yakima Valley, they have opportunities to interact with students musically and socially in the comfort of their hometown, to feel the rhythm and pace of the people of the community, and to wonder about ways in which local values are reflected in the music of the conjunto, mariachi, and pow-wow events. There are day visits, overnights, and one week-long residency each year by University of Washington music majors in the Yakima Valley. The day-long visits are very long indeed, as sleepy-eyed students assemble with their instruments in the parking lot of the School of Music in the pre-dawn chill, fingers crossed that the mountain pass they will reach in an hour’s time will be dry and ice-free. Following 10–12 hours of energetic onsite activity in elementary, secondary, and tribal schools of Toppenish, they arrive back to a dark campus, fully exhausted and ready for bed. The week-long residency transpires in January, and music majors enjoy homestays when they live in groups of three with families in town. This becomes an opportunity for music majors to quickly enter into the town’s cultural environment, as they gain firsthand knowledge of what family life is like in this community, so far from Seattle’s city lights. Whether for the day or the week, homestays are filled with time to talk across the boundary that distinguishes rural from urban life, poor from privileged circumstances, and minority groups of Mexican Americans and Yakama Indians (Campbell, 2010). The experience in the Yakima Valley is undergirded with discussion sessions wrapped into the course, Ethnomusicology in the Schools, that precede and follow the trip, in order to prepare students for activity and observation and to deconstruct the cultural experience. At the top of the reading list are classic works by John Blacking (1973), Charles Keil (1994), E. Thayer Gaston (1968), Christopher Small (1998), Thomas Turino (2008), and Deborah Wong (2001), all of which refer to a more musical humanity than is typically acknowledged, with emphasis on the position that all people have need for

662    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins musical expression. Small refers to “musicking” as a common sociomusical practice across communities, and Keil describes all children as “born to groove”—prior to the unfortunate societal message sent out that “some are, and others never will be, musical.” (Keil and Campbell, 2006). Turino’s Music in Social Life turns their heads in questioning why music and dance provide for profound personal and social experiences, in many times and places. Questions of sameness versus distinctions emerge in class and on-site discussion, as the students tick off the myriad ways in which the people of the Yakima Valley think and do music. Without fail, the observation arises among students that all people are anchored in music, despite variations in sound, behavior, and values (Soto, Lum, and Campbell, 2009). Students of the MAYV experience are typically music education majors, but performance, ethnomusicology, and jazz studies majors have also joined in on the course, the trips, and the discussions. Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley is an “extra” in the lively work-a-day world of faculty and students. It works, though it has its bumps along the way, as it is not (yet) self-sustaining. There is the constant worry of where the next year’s support will be coming from—for student meals, van rental, fuel, small percussion instruments and instrument-making materials, and an assistantship for a seasoned graduate student with performance chops, music education, and/or community music experience, who can negotiate and arrange for the various details of the approximately 10 trips across the academic year. Many have committed themselves to “making a dent of a difference” in the MAYV program, including graduate students of music education and ethnomusicology. Amanda Soto, originally from a Tex-Mex border town, served three years as “fieldworker” and facilitator of activities in the Yakima Valley, and her bicultural experience was extraordinary in connecting to the Mexican-American community there. Robert Pitzer worked in arranging for musical exchanges between music majors and the Yakama Nation drummers and flute players, so that give-and-take sessions could proceed in a manner that fit the school-day priorities of the Tribal School. Ethan Chessin’s efforts were directed toward providing performances (and participatory events) with his campus klezmer group and with Son de Madera, the university’s visiting artists of son jarocho music from Veracruz, Mexico. There are educators and activists in the Valley who support the effort: Robert Roybal, principal of Valley View Elementary School; Toppenish High School music teacher Nicola Mayes; Earl Lee, the blues-guitar-playing music teacher at the Yakama Nation Tribal School; Steven Meyer and John Cerna, superintendent and assistant superintendant of the Toppenish Schools; and Ricardo Valdez of Heritage College on the Yakama Tribal Lands (Campbell, 2010). Projects like Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley are inspired by the works of others. Public sector music-activist Dan Sheehy, director of Smithsonian Folkways and the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage, is an inspirational model for making music happen in communities, for seeking ways to support the continuation of music by the people and for the people. The outpouring of energy by Charles Keil to create and sustain live music-making outside formal educational institutions—in 12/8 path bands, the East and West Coast Honk! Festivals, after-school programs, and public gatherings—is the stuff of legend, and he is always in mind (Garafalo, 2011). University

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    663 administrators offered continuing moral and monetary support for our efforts. Close colleagues in music education and ethnomusicology believe in the project and help to uphold and continue it, and the School of Music calls it their “community engagement” program. “What’s in it for you?” one senior (and distinguished) faculty member from across campus once asked, in reference to the MAYV program. There is the joy that we see on the faces of children who are visibly in awe of the university students’ performances on violin, or saxophone, or guitar, their eyes wide and their jaws dropped open. There is the positive energy that can be physically felt in the exchanges of university and high school students over instruments, repertoire, and the meaning of music. There is the way that university students return to classes, fired up and firm in their belief that they are destined make a difference as musicians and music teachers in their lives ahead by reaching out to the outlying communities (rural? poor? socioculturally distinctive?) they had previously never connected to. There is their increased and genuine interest in “other” musics and musicians. Finally, there are more than a few students, over the years, who have taken the pathway to teaching jobs in places beyond their own familiar and safe suburban environments, to work with children and youth far from the mainstream who deserve highly skilled and sincerely dedicated musicians in their midst (Soto, Lum, and Campbell, 2009). In the music majors program at the University of Washington, there is strong evidence that the MAYV program has opened ears, eyes, and minds to different but equally logical ways of conceiving time and space, of thinking and doing, of musicking, learning, and transmission. For some music majors, the program is a “startle experience,” an “in-their-face” event that is mildly disorienting to them in the midst of their orderly university lives. After all, there is plenty of adjustment in going from the gentle flow of campus events to the sometimes raucous and riled-up activity of a group of schoolchildren (anywhere!), and they also must adjust from a warm room in the residence hall to a cot in a family’s spare (and sometimes drafty) room. There is a certain distance, both literal and figurative, between university students and the children of a culturally distinctive rural community, a crevasse that needs a bridge. For those who work with Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley, there is our continuing hope that they can help to lessen the distance, so that Seattle students and the people of the Yakima Valley might come to know “the other” through meaningful experiences in music.

Revolutionary Potentials Over 40 years ago, John Blacking predicted that “[e]‌thnomusicology has the power to create a revolution in the world of music and music education” (1973: 4). This prediction has come to pass and is now realized in the broader conceptualization of music that finds its way into academic courses and applied performance experiences for students of all

664    Patricia Shehan Campbell and Lee Higgins levels of instruction, and through the questions, frameworks, and processes of research that straddles the fields. The reverse may be just as plausible, that music education may be a means by which ethnomusicology is made more relevant, and is revolutionized. Adding to the works of music educators and ethnomusicologists is the emergence of community musicians committed to facilitating the music with which a community identifies, and which engages learners who seek to express themselves musically. Overlapping the fields, and in the two case descriptions, there appears a definitive commitment to embracing an ethnomusicological sense of people and place, to honoring the local, and to understanding that music is situated within the lives of those who choose to make it. While the future will tell the truth of this challenge, it is nonetheless reasonable now to accept this premise—that the intersection of ethnomusicology and music education, joined by the emergent field of community music, is a point at which the means for understanding music, education, and culture may be found. It is at this juncture, where these dynamic fields and their considerable histories merge, that new knowledge may be developed. From the pure to the practical, this crossroads of specializations may be critical to future insights in each of these distinctive fields, revealing facets of their shared interests in music, learning, and education.

Notes 1. The attention to American contexts is due to the extensive experience of the authors in various US programs and projects, as well as due to an extensive literature that explains and interprets American-style ethnomusicology and education. Ethnomusicology and music education activity exist in many settings worldwide, but it was deemed beyond the scope of this chapter to attempt to be all-inclusive of these perspectives globally. 2. For a wider picture of the impact of brass bands, see Brass Bands of the World: Militarism, Colonial Legacies, and Local Music Making (Reily and Brucher, 2013). 3. Second and third editions published in 1996 and 2010. 4. See http://www.mjpublishing.com/ 5. http://www.folkways.si.edu/ 6. http://www.culturalequity.org/ 7. 222.youtube.com/user/MariachiOnline. 8. See also (Deane and Mullen, 2013; Rimmer, 2009; Koopman, 2007). 9. For a critique of the notion of lifelong learning in community music see (Mantie, 2012). 10. http://www.youthmusic.org.uk/ 11. See http://www.128path.org/. 12. UK-based Music for Change has an emphasis on empowerment through music and runs projects in the United Kingdom, but also Africa, Asia, and Latin America. See http://www. musicforchange.org/. 13. The Frederick Douglass Academy (FDA) offers a college preparatory education for grades 6–12. Located in Harlem, in New York City, the school serves an urban population and seeks to educate young people within a diverse curriculum. Under the motto “without struggle, there is no progress,” FDA prides itself in giving its students the best possible chance to be competitive in college applications (http://www.fda1.org/).

Ethnomusicology, Music Education, and Community Music    665 14. There are 1,700 students in the school and all of them have to do music in order to graduate. Until very recently there was only one music teacher seeing up to 50 students at a time. Another key reason was that in an urban school such as FDA the population can be transient and this makes it very difficult to cultivate a traditional US band program. 15. This is resonant of previous research. See Higgins (2012b). 16. K–12 is a designation used in the United States among other nations as the sum of elementary (primary) through secondary education.

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Pa rt  V I I

AG E N C I E S

Chapter 19

Archives and A ppl i e d Ethnomusi c ol o g y Dan Lundberg

Can documentation and archiving be regarded as applied ethnomusicology? That, of course, depends on what we mean, both by applied ethnomusicology and by archiving. From my perspective, applied ethnomusicology is primarily about ethnomusicological studies and research activities reaching outside the academic world and in direct interaction with the community—often with an intention to influence and change political and social structures and conditions. Archives thus can be seen as identity projects with the aim to create continuity.1 Target groups may be groupings of various kinds and at various levels, from nations to different interest groups in society. From that perspective it can be argued that archives and museums are about democratic and human rights—the rights to your own history and your cultural identity. In the research project Music, Media, Multiculture, music was used as the starting point to understand and explain how social and cultural diversity is constructed and organized in modern societies.2 The project departed from the idea that music has a twofold significance from this perspective, partly as that which needs to be explained and partly as that which explains. When viewed from this angle, people’s increasing desire to invest time, energy, and money on music and dance can be understood as a consequence of the fact that these activities are in themselves the goal, aesthetically, emotionally, and socially, while at the same time being the means by which various types of messages are given shape and communicated, both individually and collectively. The music archives’ documentation is an active act about selection, often with a goal beyond the musical material. The archival mission also oscillates between two poles, which in principle are constant but where the emphasis has varied over time. On the one hand, the archive is a place for orderly storage—where cultural heritage is given a secure preservation and is available for research and historiography. On the other hand, the archive plays an active part in cultural life as a source and inspiration for musicians but also as an instrument for cultural policy—as a creator of cultural heritage. The music collecting and archiving, in earlier times as well as today, have almost always to some extent been related to both poles. But the approaches have varied,

672   Dan Lundberg often dependent on ideology. The work of the early collectors often had an educational aim—to ensure that the public users, the musicians, or other target groups used and appreciated, in the collectors’ eyes, the most valuable music. During other periods, the objectives are better described as Volksbildung—to increase knowledge about history and musical traditions. In some cases the goal was purely about cultural heritage “to preserve for future generations.” We can also observe how the collection’s significance, meaning, and value have varied over time. It is reasonable to argue that collection works, publication of archive material, and research in the folk music area are a form of applied ethnomusicology, since the goal was not only to preserve for the future but also to interact with the music community. There is, however, an interesting distinction between the collecting work that had nationalistic aims and, for instance, the work within comparative musicology that was performed in the circles of the Berlin School by scholars as Erich von Hornbostel, Otto Abraham, and Curt Sachs. When it comes to archival work, the comparative musicology had preservation for study and comparative analysis as the main goal. So there is an important difference between the national folk music archives, which had and still often has a nationalistic agenda, and comparative musicology, which most often did not. But obviously there have been ideological motives even behind the work of the Berlin School.

And What about Folk Music? What is folk music? The question never seems to be definitively answered. And one can, of course, ask whether it is really necessary to discuss the concept of “folk music” in almost every major study on the subject. It seems as if folk music researchers consider it an obligation to take a stand on the question. The concept of folk music, however, is very complex, and its meanings vary over time and space. A general tendency in the Swedish context is that the meaning in recent years has come to emphasize music rather than folk—that is, folk music is in many situations seen as a family of musical styles. In earlier times, however, the emphasis was rather on folk, that is, the music’s strong connection to the culture in which it emerged. The American ethnomusiclogist Mark Slobin notes in Folk Music: A Very Short Introduction that his book [. . .] will not offer anything like a definition of “folk music,” relying instead on the principle of “we know it when we hear it.” Understandings of the term have varied so vividly over space and time that no single summary sentence can pin it down.3

Slobin’s principle—that we know what folk music is, based on sound and previous understanding, indicates that folk music in a global perspective has increasingly evolved into a family of musical styles and that the link to cultural contexts has become less important. Archives and collection work not only reflect and preserve music traditions, they also serve as an active part and re-creator of the traditions they preserve. This article

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    673 describes the starting point for the early collecting work from the late 1700s onward. The emphasis is in the description of work of the Swedish Folkmusikkommissionen (the Folk Music Commission; FMK) during the first half of the twentieth century. The Commission created Sweden’s largest collections of folk tunes but has also had a great impact on the definition of the music, in terms of repertoire, instruments, and what is today perceived as folk music.4 One important aim of the various national collecting projects in European countries during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was to create a sense of unity and continuity—to demonstrate that each nation was culturally specific. The familiar recipe reads “one country, one people, one language, one culture.” An important function of archives is to provide the raw materials for a constant, ongoing reconstruction of history, and this reconstruction always reflects the collectors’ and users’ ideas and values. All interpretations of the past are impregnated by, and filtered through, the ideologies of their own time.

Archives The keeping and preservation of official documents has deep roots in history. The word archive comes from the Late Latin term archivum, which means a place where one receives and retains public records and documents. The Latin word can be traced back to the Greek arkheion (ἀρχεῖον), which means “place of public administration.” The term “archive” appears in English and in other European languages, during the 1600s. One of the most well-known historical archives is the clay tablets of the ancient city-state of Ebla, a town located in present-day Syria. Ebla had its political heyday around 2400–2250 bc. It ended when the town was conquered and destroyed by King Naram-Sin of Akkad. A second golden age occurred about 1850–1600 bc. In 1974 a find of 40 tablets was made during excavations by Italian archaeologists. The next year another 1,000 were discovered, and some months later more than 15,000 tablets, written in an old Semitic language, were found. Nearly 20,000 tablets or fragments were recovered from Ebla. This is the most comprehensive mass of information of the political and socioeconomic situation in a society during the third millennium bc, with no comparison. The Ebla find has been described as the discovery of the century, and thanks to its archives, the history of not only Syria but of the entire region can be written. When the Italian archaeologist Giovanni Pettinato deciphered and translated the text, it was obvious that it was really the great city-state of Ebla that had been found and that the tablets were about 4,500 years old. Most of the Ebla documents are written on big slabs of clay almost a foot square. There are texts that, when transliterated, fill almost more than fifty pages of thirty lines each.5

According to Pettinato, the information on the tablets concerned the administration of Ebla, the organization of the state, diplomatic contacts with other city-states,

674   Dan Lundberg agricultural business, and trade. There are also word-books and documents about education and science, but very few literary texts. We know little about the organization of the archive and the tablets, since the wooden shelves that they were stored upon had been destroyed over the centuries. But there is evidence that at least some systematic criteria existed and that the content was important for the shelving, and that the tablets were marked in such a way that they could easily be found.6 It is important to notice that “archive” has multiple meanings. On the one hand, it addresses the building—the archive—and on the other, it refers to the content and the archiving activities. It is difficult to find a clear and unanimous definition, and we probably have to live with this double meaning.7 Public archives are matters of power and control over records and documents that confirm the existence of the state and its decisions. The preservation and organization of written documents is a symbolic act and a kind of legitimation and verification that ensures continuity of power; it is something to refer to when political assessors are approaching. To create archives is to exercise power—to bring signs, texts, and symbols to a limited space and to control it.8 The discussion above addresses the archives of national agencies and organizations, and it is in this sense that we usually mean the word. What then are the differences between this kind of archive and music archives (or other cultural heritage archives)? One important difference is of course the purpose. Music archives usually have multiple purposes—to preserve documents (in the same way as an organization’s archive), but also to serve as a resource for musicians, scholars, and others. Music archives often use substantial resources to publish their collections through different channels. Another difference is that the collections of music archives often have different origins—as, for instance, donations and deposits from many sources—while the organization’s archive documents for the most part consist of records and documents generated through the activities of the organization. This can, of course, also be the case for the collections in music archives, for instance when the collections are the result of the work of collectors and researchers employed by the archive institution. But the main difference, in my opinion, is the music archives’ clear ambition to make their collections available to outsiders, while the archives of, for example, national agencies are not kept for these purposes in the first place. In this article, it is primarily the availability aspect of music repositories that is being dealt with, and the effects that the choices made in the processes of collecting and publishing may have on the community in which the archive is functioning. The first music archives of greater importance in Europe were connected to the church and the monasteries and later also to the music activities at the courts. Notation of Gregorian chant can be traced back to the eighth century. An essential development—which has had decisive importance for the development of the folkloristic and later ethnomusicological archives—is the interest for folk culture that emerged in the late eighteenth century. Following the Napoleonic wars, a strong desire for vindication grew in many countries, as it did in Sweden after the loss of Finland in 1809, and several of the country’s intellectuals turned to Sweden’s “glorious past” to find comfort. With renewed intensity, ancient monuments and other testimonies of the ancient Swedish significance came in focus. The Icelandic sagas, graves, megalithic graves, stone circles, and inscriptions

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    675 became the subject of renewed interest. The view of the “folk” as unspoiled and pristine had been put forward by the French philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau. According to him, man is basically good, while evil had its roots in cultural development. New ways of living had made the Europeans too civilized, if not contrived. It was among the peasants in the countryside that one could still find the original human nature. The interest in the “folk” spread rapidly across Europe and the collection of folk epics started in many countries. The models were found in older poetry, such as the Icelandic Edda and Homer’s works. The Edda became a model for Elias Lönnrot’s collection work and the creation of the Finnish national epic Kalevala. Prior to that, James MacPherson issued Ossian’s songs (1760) in an attempt to present a Scottish historical national epic. MacPherson gathered his material from the Scottish Highlands, where the most original Gaelic folk culture was thought to have survived. In a sense, one can see a Nordic ideal in Ossian songs. The setting was a barren and windswept landscape with deserted moors and misty mountains, not far from an idealized Norse world, and the songs were supposed to have existed in oral tradition since the third century. The author was, according to MacPherson, the Gaelic bard Ossian. In England, the work received much attention: suddenly, the British had their own Homer. However, on closer inspection, it turned out that MacPherson had produced much of the material himself, although the ballads probably were partly modeled on Scottish folk songs.9 Although Macpherson’s work was questionable, he was a typical representative of the craze for the “folk” that spread in Europe. Perhaps the most influential proponents of the 1800s were the German folk memory researchers Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm and their publications of German folk tales. In 1812–1815 they released Kinder-und Hausmärchen, which includes many well-known fairy tales, including Cinderella, Snow White, Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood, and Sleeping Beauty. The collections became immensely popular and were translated into many languages. The Grimm brothers stressed that these tales originated in the folk tradition and that they had no known author. In this way they expressed the people’s “pure” culture. The anonymization of the author became a kind of ideal and the collective creation process normative. There was also a kind of faith that the selection process of storytellers and singers was a type of filter. The individual can write poetry and compose, but it is the people who select what should be preserved. One can see this as a canonization process on a practical level, whereby the individual creation only survives if it reflects people’s collective aesthetics. The works of Macpherson, Lönnrot, the Grimm brothers and others became the foundation of European folk culture archives. The goal was to portray their own nation’s history, and it is fair to say that they are part of a kind of contest. The Swedish ethnomusiclogist Owe Ronström has described these ways to connect music expression, culture, and nature as the creation of cultural “manuscripts”—to canonize the description form in itself. It was envisioned, says Ronström: [.  .  .] a powerful, collective and spontaneous process of creation, sprung from a strange and magical union between nature and culture, place, and way of life. It’s the folk, the race, the nation itself that is the author, “Das Volk dichtet.” “Every epic has to write itself,” said the famous folktale scholar Jacob Grimm.10

676   Dan Lundberg The archives became the arena where folk culture’s manuscript could be performed. The nations could be presented as natural, ethnic, local, regional, and national imagined communities. Therefore, it became necessary to search for, collect, and publish expressions of these naturally given communities, and among the most important symbols were folk tales and folk music.

The Nation in a Cabinet and the Collection of the Music of Mankind: Two Fundamental Perspectives The key issue that determines whether you can consider a cultural heritage archive as a form of applied ethnomusicology is connected to the archive’s mission. The archives created as part of the national projects had as one of their major aims to present the nation as uniform and, not least, as distinctively different in relevant areas in relation to other nations. This is a pronounced applied mission. Other archives, where the collections themselves and the comparative perspective are the focus, might also have expectations of creating better conditions, for example, for culture research, but this is, in my eyes, not primarily an effort to change or influence contemporary culture or the view of a national history. Below I will present two examples: the large collection of Latvian dainas and the establishing of the phonogram archive in Berlin. It might be interesting to note that both these collections have been inscribed on UNESCO’s Memory of the World Register.11 The major collecting projects that came about in the nineteenth century, as described earlier, were based on emerging nationalism in Europe. The (re-)creation of national epics, such as Kalevala, Ossian’s songs, and so on, had the more or less explicit purpose of strengthening the nation as a unit—providing its residents access to a shared history with national symbols, legends, heroes, and martyrs. At the Italian Parliament’s first meeting in 1861, the politician Massimo d’Azeglio noted “L’Italia è fatta. Restano da fare gli italiani” (We have created Italy. Now we must make Italians). This quote nicely sums up the national projects. The nation-state is not given by God, it is a created entity, which emerged in the 1800s, partly as a vehicle for a new class of bourgeoisie against the old elites, partly as a means to deliver the millions of soldiers that the new modern warfare demanded. The music archives’ role was to collect, organize, and present the nation’s building blocks. “The Nation in a cabinet”—that is the way the Swedish cultural historian Anders Hammarlund has described the Latvian folklorist Krišjānis Barons’s (1835–1923) work.12 Barons was born in the village of Strutele in Kurland. He studied mathematics and astronomy at Dorpat University in Tartu in present-day Estonia, and after his studies he worked as a tutor and newspaper editor. In the 1870s Barons began a grand collection and systematization project based on Latvian folk poetry. Barons was particularly interested in the dainas, traditional four-line poem stanzas. He took summer walks in the countryside, where he was looking for people who knew dainas. He also engaged friends, colleagues, and students in the gathering.

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    677 It seemed as if the wells of folk memories, that for a long time have been regarded dried up and dehydrated, began to spring fresh and wonderful. From all parts of Latvia came letters with ancient wisdoms and memories from former times, among which the folk songs occupied a very special place.13

To be able to more easily compare the stanzas, he created a system in which he organized them by topics, motives, and variants. He also studied the forms of the dainas carefully, but it was not what he was primarily interested in. It was the content that fascinated Barons—the Latvianness—and his goal was a complete mapping of the content. Barons had a cabinet built to store his dainas (Figure 19.1a and b). According to Barons, the Latvian and Lithuanian folk poems showed similarities to the Homeric verses—to

(a)

Figure  19.1a  Krišjānis Barons’ cabinet on display in the National Library in  Riga. Photo:  Dan Lundberg.

678   Dan Lundberg (b)

Figure  19.1b  One of Barons’ original cigarette paper boxes. Photo: Aldis Pūtelis.

an original unity of poetry, music and dance. In his view, the people’s language and its poetry are the highest expressions of a nation’s identity, and they are simultaneously the most important tools for identity maintenance. Barons was obviously influenced by Johann Georg Hamann and Johann Gottfried von Herder, but he was also inspired by a scientific, positivistic approach, which led him to regard and treat cultural expressions as natural phenomena. In this view the social community is an organism that should be grown in accordance with its “natural” predisposition.14 Barons moved to Riga in 1893, where he published the first part of Latvju dainas (Latvian dainas). The work was completed in 1915. The Latvju dainas consists of six volumes with 217,996 folk lyrics. In the early 1920s, the Ministry of Education ordered that a selection from the Dainas Collection be included in the Latvian school curriculum, and Barons’s cabinet was placed in the Latvian National Museum. The cabinet was moved to the newly built National Library in Riga 2014. In 1983 an exact replica of the cabinet was placed in Barons’s apartment in Riga, which by then had become a museum, a tribute to a collector and systematist who, through popular culture, seemed to be able to reach the Latvian people’s soul—the essence of the Latvian. These measures gave historical legitimacy to the new independent Latvia. On the museum’s website the collector’s character and deed is described reverently: He was surrounded by the love of his near people at the end of his life giving them back his quietness and experience. The world of Dainas had changed the life of the

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    679 Dainas collector. Even when he was very tired the native wisdom of the folk gave him satisfaction, clarity and indicated the right order of the eternal things.

By selecting what should be preserved in museums and archives, we distinguish the valuable from what we consider to be of little importance. With the dainas, Barons built a national and cultural Latvian identity. One of the functions of cultural heritage is to mark out specific features and difference—and the choice falls naturally on phenomena that we have but others lack. The collection and compilation of dainas is perhaps one of the clearest examples of this. In a time of confusion and disorientation—Latvia was under Russian rule as part of a long history with various supremacies—the search for a Latvian identity began. Barons dainas gave the Latvians a specific and independent cultural history that distinguished them from Swedes, Poles, Russians, and other influential neighbors. Barons’s work gained renewed importance after Latvia’s independence from the Soviet Union. The Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv is a completely different type of archive—not only regarding the material, as the core of the collection is sound recordings, but also regarding the collection methods and ideology. It is fair to say that the birth of the Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv was a direct result of the technological achievements of the late 1800s—above all the phonograph, patented in 1877. It is often said that the invention of the phonograph was the very start of comparative musicology, which then led to the development of ethnomusicology as a university subject. And clearly, the collecting of ethnic music received a new breakthrough with the phonograph. The ability to record sound marked the start of a more scientific approach to music collecting. Through the analysis of the recordings, more accurately based transcriptions could be carried out. The phonograph also enabled scientific criticism of the published material—you could check the result of the transcripts. Many music forms had earlier been very difficult to transcribe. But now complex polyphony and improvisation could be caught with the help of the phonograph. The American ethnologist Jesse Walter Fewkes made the first music ethnological phonograph recordings. During the years 1889–1890, he recorded music of Passamaquoddy and Zuni peoples of North America. In 1892 Hungarian collector Bela Vikar used phonograph for folk music collecting in Hungary. In the following years there were many recording projects of folk music in Europe (see Figure 19.2). The Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv was established by Professor Carl Stumpf (1848–1936) at the Institute of Psychology at the University of Berlin. The starting point was the recording of a Thai theater performance at the Berlin Zoo in September 1900. Stumpf ’s main areas of interest were acoustics and music psychology, but together with other colleagues (and perhaps primarily Erich Moritz von Hornbostel and Otto Abraham, who by this time were Stumpf ’s assistants), he developed what came to be known as the “Berlin School” and its methods of comparative musicology. After Stumpf ’s recordings of the Thai musicians, other recordings with visiting musicians, including a Japanese theater company in November 1901, were made. The Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv was officially founded in 1905 with Hornbostel as the director. Hornbostel managed to ensure that German ethnological expeditions to other countries

680   Dan Lundberg

Figure 19.2  Wax cylinders from Karl Tirén’s yoik collection in Svenskt visarkiv, 1913–1915. Photo: Eric Hammarström.

were provided with recording equipment, and the collections grew rapidly. The phonograph recording activities lasted until World War II. After Stumpf ’s retirement in 1922, the archive was taken over by the state and was attached to the Hochschule für Musik. Twelve years later the archive became attached to the Museum für Völkerkunde, with Marius Schneider as manager, and moved to Berlin-Dahlem. Right from the start the archive had developed good contacts with scholars in different parts of the world, and the technical knowledge that existed in Berlin was a reason for them to send material to the archive. As early as 1905, the American anthropologist Franz Boas sent cylinders with Indian music to the Berlin archive for scientific processing, and in the coming years many researchers did the same. By 1954 the collections had grown to over 16,000 cylinders from different parts of the world. But until 1914 the greater part of the collection originated from the former German colonies in Africa and the Pacific.15 The main concern of Stumpf, Hornbostel, and other members of the Archive was to collect as many examples of traditional music as possible in order to create and follow theories about the origin and evaluation of music in general. Thus, on the basis of the great number of recordings on wax cylinders from all over the world, a new university came in to being: Comparative musicology or “ethnomusicology,” as it is called today.16

The goal of the archive thus was primarily to investigate and compare music from different ethnic groups and cultures, often with an evolutionary perspective. A central idea was that the study of various aspects of music, like rhythm or tonality, could reveal principles of the functioning of the human mind. The research could teach us about our own music’s

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    681 development in history. The Berlin School’s researchers also stressed the importance of field recordings and the need for thorough knowledge in order to understand the music culture. It is always the best if the scientist learns the songs or instrumental pieces so well that he can perform them for the natives to get their approval. One should choose a critic with musical talent (who is considered knowledgeable also by his countrymen) and insure that the approval is not given by courtesy or disinterest.17

The Berlin School, with its scientific approach, in many ways turned the study of music into a laboratory science, where the sounding object’s physical characteristics and psychological effects were in focus; at the same time, there was a great respect for the musicians and an interest in music practice and its social functions. Comparative musicology’s quest for human universals is basically a reflection of Johann Gottfried von Herder’s ideas about how the cultural diversity of species forms a kind of whole. The evolutionists’ basic idea is a vision that we all are branches of the same tree of humanity. But the new cultural sciences developed in the epoch of imperialism, and one can also see a different tendency, that is, the notion of a hierarchy of cultures in a Darwinian sense.18 In such a system (often ethnocentric) the cultures represent different stages of development, from the primitive to the highly civilized, and the “primitive” may then serve as an example of lower stages of human “progress.”

Rationales for Archiving Today In the article “ ‘For My Own Research Purposes?’ Examining Ethnomusicology Field Methods for a Sustainable Music,” Janet Topp Fargion discusses backgrounds and rationales for ethnomusicological collection of music through audio recordings. Fargion assumes that the strongest motive is preservation, but that collection is also linked to an aim of the continuation of traditions. The idea of archives is inextricably linked with the concept of preservation, a word, if not a concept shied away from in today’s ethnomusicology: we no longer do ethnomusicology to “preserve” music, to keep it from extinction. Aware of the range of activities actually engaged in by today’s ethnomusicology archives, I suggest a much broader definition of preservation, namely, do describe it as the facilitation of the continuation of tradition.19

Topp Fargion is right that for the ethnomusicological archives, preservation also includes facilitation of the use of the music—but my question here is of a different kind. Which traditions’ continuation is facilitated, and which traditions never get the chance because they are not being collected at all? Archiving always involves choices—when some objects are chosen to represent or to continue certain traditions. This is, of course, at the expense of others. Those that are not collected therefore will fall by the wayside and eventually disappear.

682   Dan Lundberg The collection and documentation of folk music and music-making has most often not been governed by democratic principles of equal rights, but by utopian visions of individuals and organizations, and sometimes by state and national interests and needs. The lack of minority or immigrant cultural expressions and traditions, for instance, within archives and museums is normally not the result of malice or racism—but that might be a consequence. Instead, it is more often the effect of the museums’ and archives’ role in the creation of official versions of our common history, and the value placed on what is determined to be worthy of being collected and archived, and what can be discarded. From an ideological perspective, there are many good arguments for music archiving. Music is history. All music, new or old, carries with it traces of earlier times. This is an important reason to work with music in archives, museums, and libraries. Music is identity. It can be argued that archives and museums are both democratic institutions and a human right. By depriving people of the access to archives, you deprive them of the possibility of a continuous cultural/national identity. Music is human interaction and communication. Music making is an activity that can be charged with many, and widely differing, types of messages, opinions, and meanings. With music as a cultural icon, people not only can enhance the self-esteem of their group, but also can demonstrate to others who they are or what they sympathize with. Many of today’s more important music archives have long histories with aims and ambitions that have varied over time. The goals have had to be reformulated to adapt to new issues and needs in society. An important question to ask is what position the national archives should take in today’s multicultural contexts. Which music should be collected? Whose history should be written?

The Concept of Folk Music That a scientific discipline devotes considerable effort toward precise definitions of key concepts and activities in its own fields of expertise is, of course, neither surprising nor uncommon. One finds endless discussions in other aesthetic disciplines about what can really be regarded as dance, theater, or art. This approach is, in itself, interesting and shows thoroughness within traditional music research and a willingness to problematize its own field. But it also reveals that the concept is loosely defined and difficult to use. Part of the problem, of course, is found on the semantic level; the term’s meaning can vary, and continues to vary over time. Major changes have occurred within the folk music scene and in the use of folk music during the last 100 years. Musical forms that earlier had clear roots in the rituals of peasant cultures have, over the years, undergone shifts in both class and geography. We can use various terms in describing this process: aestheticization, institutionalization, professionalization, or symbolization. In other words, the complex meaning of the concept of folk music is characterized by its delocalization from older meeting spaces (such as community halls and the open spaces at crossroads) to concert stages, recording studios, music education institutions, and

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    683 various media. Folk music has always had a strong connection to place—it is nestled in the very name, in the romantic sense of the word “folk.” But today we see how music styles are disconnected from their original context and gain new uses, functions, and meanings in new contexts. And music is perhaps the aesthetic expression that can most easily travel across cultural and political boundaries. This has perhaps always been the case, but it seems clearer now than ever in an increasingly globalized media world.20 Nevertheless, different understandings of the concept of folk music, from different time periods, persist, continuing to compete over its meaning. It is clear that the discussion about meaning, in part, has to do with these major changes. But it is also clear that the discussion has its origins in the complex ideological points of departure that characterize the concepts’ emergence. Folk music, as a contrasting designation—the other music—that which is not church or court music, which belonged to “high culture” or the culture of the emerging bourgeoisie of the late eighteenth century. In this positioning lies a clear judgment as well: that folk music does not belong to the dominant cultural stratum.21 From having involved a majority of the people, folk music was turned into a subculture.

The Cultural Heritage Process and the Archives In the article “Theorizing Heritage,” the American folklorist Barbara KirshenblattGimblett discussed cultural heritage as a value-adding process: Heritage adds value to existing assets that have either ceased to be viable (subsistence lifestyles, obsolete technologies, abandoned mines, the evidence of past disasters) or that never were economically productive because an area is too hot, too cold, too wet or too remote. Heritage organizations ensure that places and practices in danger of disappearing because they are no longer occupied or functioning or valued will survive. It does this by adding value of pastness, exhibition, difference, and where possible indigeneity.22

In several publications, the Swedish ethnologist Stefan Bohman has developed ideas around cultural heritage in what he calls “the cultural heritage process,” a mechanism in which phenomena are selected and given special status as symbols of a culture. Bohman’s model is concerned with museums and the conscious or unconscious selections that result in museum collections; perhaps more important, his model addresses the consequences that these choices have for our understanding of the collections and for their cultural value. But Bohman’s argument is also applicable to archives and other memory institutions. In the cultural heritage process, not only does the status of the collected objects change, but also the way we understand them. In Historia, museer och nationalism (History, museums and nationalism), Bohman presents a model that also has been explained and further developed by the Finnish folklorist Johanna Björkholm

684   Dan Lundberg in her dissertation thesis Immateriellt kulturarv som begrepp och process (Intangible cultural heritage as concept and process).23 Bohman’s model assumes that cultural heritage is dependent on active staging and maintenance, which means that objects and phenomena are identified and re-created in accordance with the prevailing ideals of society. Therefore, they will also be reinterpreted in line with changes in the surrounding culture. Based on Stefan Bohman’s ideas, I will discuss the cultural heritage process in relation to the collecting and archiving of folk music. Bohman’s model departs, as I stated earlier, from the museum’s activities and has a clear focus on the construction of new symbolic values for the items collected and exhibited. This kind of value shift does, of course, also take place in the archive context, but a very important difference is that many music archives, especially folk music archives, have as one of their primary goals to be a resource for the music scene. For today’s creative folk musicians, archives play a very important role as a source or stock of musical material. The musicians use the archives to find tunes as well as inspiration. In this way the archive turns out to be an important, and sometimes the only, link to previous music traditions. The archive becomes a keyhole for tradition, and archivists’ and researchers’ work can thus be seen as a kind of gatekeeping. To describe archives from a theoretical cultural heritage perspective I have identified four steps of the process: identification–classification–standardization–symbolization.24 In the description below, I speak mainly about instrumental music, but examples might as well have been vocal genres.

Identification The first step includes identification of the music form. This may sound simple, but music forms are constantly changing, and in many cases are more “blurred at the edges” than they might appear at first glance. Questions about origin, instrumentation, and playing technique are relevant in the identification of a music form. This leads to discrimination and reduction. Loosely related or “impure” forms are often removed. Key issues: • What is the music form? And what is not? • In what ways does it differ from other genres/musics?

Classification The next step is to organize various musical expressions within the identified music practice. This may involve the identifying of sub-styles and hierarchies. Here authenticity, even though this is a very much debated concept, is often used as a criterion. The history and origin of a musical form may be the basis for this step in the process. Key issues: • Are there different forms? • Is there a hierarchy (values)?

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Standardization A consequence of the identification and classification in the establishing of an archive or a collection is that the identified music form often becomes more homogenized. Publications and other resources, such as books, phonograms, theoretical tools, and standardized repertoire, together with the designation of “rights and wrongs” in the performing style, can also promote a standardized musical behavior. The selected repertoire and perhaps also playing techniques and styles will dominate, at the expense of others. Diverse and ambiguous sub-styles of the music form can be altered in order to fit the model. Key issue: • Purification; to remove the “wrong” repertoire, interpretations, and expressions.

Symbolization An unavoidable result of any institutionalization in archives, as well as in museums, is symbolization. The symbolic value of a chosen music form can represent a culture, nation, or style. Symbolization often leads to new forms and uses of the music. This can also be followed by a re-diversification “on the other side,” that is, when material from the archive is used in new contexts. Key issues: • Development of a musical canon • Creation of a musical “grammar,”

Swedish Folk Music as Cultural Heritage To exemplify the cultural heritage process and how the archives’ and the collectors’ work affects the music community, I have chosen to describe the Swedish Folk Music Commission’s work during the first half of the twentieth century. When Professor Jan Ling wrote the textbook Svensk folkmusik. Bondens musik i helg och söcken (Swedish folk music. The peasants’ music in festivities and daily life) in 1964, he saw Swedish folk music from a fairly strict historical perspective. Folk music was still a living tradition, but the number of practitioners was steadily declining. And it was reasonable to expect that the genre in the near future was in danger of complete disappearance. What he did not know was that his book would be highly significant for the strong revival of Swedish folk music that emerged in the 1970s. In the “folk music vogue”25 that washed over the country, scholars and collectors such as Ling became important inspirations and guides for young musicians who grew up in new environments, often with very little connection to rural society. Archival

686   Dan Lundberg materials were then—which is still the case—often the only sources of older folk music forms. Since the 1970s, folk music has developed into a genre that can be said to stand side by side with other recognized art forms. Folk music has been established in education, courses and programs in folk music are given at most Swedish universities, and folk musician education is offered at Swedish music conservatories. Today, the number of professional folk musicians is greater than ever. The importance of archives for this development can hardly be overstated—archives are essential for repertoire, but also a filter. The collections of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries are keyholes to the music history and usually the only way to find repertoire. In the article “Sweden” in the Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, the ideological and filtering effect of the archives is emphasized: Swedish folk music is a composite of many heterogeneous styles and genres, accumulated for centuries. These traditions, genres, forms, and styles seem homogeneous in comparison to today’s musical diversity. Their homogeneity is, however, a result of powerful processes of ideological filtering-processes that have seriously reduced the heterogeneity of rural musical traditions.26

The Swedish term folkmusik (folk music) usually denotes music of the rural classes in old peasant society, while populärmusik (popular music) normally refers to modern music. As a result of the interchange between these two concepts, there emerged an urban folklore, which, around 1920, was embodied in gammaldans old-time dance-music. Since about the 1970s, the term folklig musik (vernacular music) has served as an umbrella term for folk music, gammaldans, and some other forms of popular music. In the 1990s, the terms ethnic music and world music were introduced, most often for modernized forms of non-Swedish folk and popular music.27

Since the 1980s, new forms of ensemble music have been developed with inspiration from other European folk ensembles, primarily Irish and Hungarian.

The Folk Music Commission In the early 1900s, the ideas that encouraged the pioneers of folk music collection at the end of the 1700s was revitalized in Sweden. One might speak of a second or maybe even third wave of the interest in recording and collecting folk culture. Also at this time, interest in the older folk music was primarily rooted in intellectual and academic circles. An appeal in the Nordic Museum’s publication Fataburen, in the summer of 1908, was signed by the Swedish prince Eugene, as well as some of the most significant intellectual leaders of that time: Karl Silverstope, member of the ministry of justice and President

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    687 of the Swedish Royal Academy of Music; Anders Zorn, internationally well-known painter; Nils Andersson judge; Lars Johan Zetterqvist, concert master; Richard Steffen, rector; Bernhard Salin, director of the Nordic Museum; and Nils Keyland, assistant at the Nordic Museum. The aim was to generate interest in the newly formed FMK, a body that would promote the collecting of important elements of a rapidly disappearing cultural heritage and preserve it for future generations. The Commission had been formed the previous year and in a call-to-action that was sent out it was written:: It is a known fact that the Swedish folk music for decades been undergoing decline, that our genuine old songs and ballads, which by connoisseurs are said to be among the most beautiful in the world, are about to disappear, and are supplanted by songs that lack almost all musical value. Degeneration is quick. In the younger generations these beautiful melodies are already forgotten. Without our intervention they would now no longer be able to survive in tradition.28

It is stated that the interest is in “genuine old songs and ballads,” and later in the text the commission declares that there is a particular need for contributions as “transcriptions of folk songs and old hymns, herding tunes, walking tunes, wedding songs, long dances, polskas, old waltzes etc.”29 Apparently, the interest is largely focused on instrumental music. This is partly new. In the childhood of the collection of folk culture, the interest was more focused on vocal music and lyrics. The change of focus can be explained ideologically but also by the simple fact that the driving enthusiasts had a special interest in instrumental folk music. When the Commission was founded at the Nordic Museum at the “First Meeting for Swedish Folk Knowledge,” Nils Andersson, who was the Commission’s strong man and the driving force behind the petition, gave a speech that resulted in the following statement from the assembled: The first meeting of the Swedish folk knowledge states that the assembly considers that it is, from a scientific, ethnographic and nationally musical interest, highly desirable that in the near future, records of folk-like melodies may with utmost passion be conducted. The meeting finds it equally desirable, that in the near future a large central collection of Swedish folk melodies may be established. The meeting agrees to the principles for music collecting that were presented by the speaker.30

Nils Andersson succeeded in his ambitions, and FMK was formed with the aim to be “a central collection of Swedish folk songs.” Its mission was to collect and store selected repertoires of Swedish folk music. The main task was to implement the survey of Swedish folk music, region by region, which resulted in the 24 volumes of Svenska låtar (Swedish tunes) (see Figure 19.3).31 The work was led initially by Nils Andersson and was then taken over by Nils’s companion, Olof Andersson. The latter had been engaged to assist with fair copies and field transcriptions, but after Nils’s death in 1921 the collecting was conducted entirely by Olof Andersson. In 1940 the last of the 24 volumes of Svenska låtar was published, and the Folk Music Commission’s work was completed.32

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Figure 19.3  Polska from Ore, Dalarna, in the FMK collection. Transcribed by Nils Andersson, 1906. In Svenskt visarkiv.

But what ideas about folk music were discussed in the circles around FMK? What was good music and what was bad—and what music was worth collecting? There are no clear indications within FMK’s own materials, but when Nils Andersson suggested at the meeting at the Nordic Museum that the collecting of folk melodies should intensified, he had a particular repertoire in mind. Nils Andersson draws a clear line between what should be collected and preserved, and what should, in fact, preferably be forgotten. But the line does not run between folk music and some other genre. He seems to rather consider which music is good, and which music is bad, within the folk music genre itself. He calls for the collecting of walking tunes (gånglåtar), polskas, herding music, and so on. But he also makes it clear that polkas, polkettas, mazurkas, and Viennese waltzes should not be collected, despite the fact that he undoubtedly sees that these were a large part of that time’s contemporary folk culture. My understanding is that FMK’s work had an enormous influence on what has come to be the core of the genre, and therefore also its meaning—and without the committee explicitly stating the meaning of the concept folk music. Today, we can also conclude that the collecting work had practical repercussions. The work within FMK had as a goal to collect, but also to keep the music alive—publications were intended to follow. And the publication of Svenska låtar (Swedish tunes) meant a fundamental canonization of Swedish folk music—perhaps to a greater degree than the collectors themselves imagined. By means of what was selected, one decided what would be preserved and, therefore, what

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    689 would be played by coming generations of musicians. In this way, one can say that FMK defined Swedish folk music through its selections and its work.

The Discussions The meaning of the concept of folk music has, as mentioned earlier, been discussed by many Swedish ethnomusicologists. As a starting point, I would like to talk about some of the more influential proposals of definitions made over the last 30 years by Swedish scholars. But I would also like to refer to discussions found within the framework of academic theses about Swedish folk music in more recent years.33 To begin the discussion on the effects of today’s use of the concept, I will highlight four proposed definitions that have been often used and discussed: Ling (1979), Ronström (1989), Ramsten (1992), and Lundberg and Ternhag (1996).34 But first I will reveal that I will be using quotations from these authors, perhaps a little unfairly, in order to deliberately polarize the concept of folk music.35 I begin with two definitions, which address the concept’s ideological meaning: Jan Ling and then Owe Ronström, who uses and deepens Ling’s ideas, 10 years later. In his classic article, “Folkmusik—en brygd” (Folk Music—a Brew) (1979), Ling grounds his definition on the aspect of power. The concept of folk music was recognized and established by an acknowledged cultural elite at the end of the 1700s, and this has had an almost distancing effect. Ling writes that folk music is an “ideological concept, coined by the bourgeoisie of the eighteen and nineteen hundreds as a designation for ‘the others,’ the people’s music, which they observe, study, and attempt to incorporate within their culture.” Ling states that the prerequisite for the development of folk music as a concept concerns the social changes that took place during the eighteenth century. In my view, there are two main aspects of Ling’s observation: (1) that folk music is the culture of “the other,” and (2) that the designation of folk music was a way to gain control by making the music part of the designator’s own cultural identity. In both cases, it is about positions of power. It is the new bourgeois class that defines and chooses. “The people” in this sense, are passive practitioners of the cultural expressions that are attributed to them. From the viewpoint of those in power, the folk do not choose their culture, while the bourgeoisie, to some extent, choose their means of expression. Owe Ronström, in Nationell musik? Bondemusik? Om folkmusikbegreppet (1989) (National Music? Peasant Music? On the Concept of Folk Music), builds on Ling’s ideas and further develops what the concept of folk music can be thought to stand for—in theory and in practice. In the end, he comes up with a sort of sociolinguistic definition of the term. According to Ronström, folk music is “. . . that which we call folk music. The people who use the word often decide what it will mean. Musicians, researchers, politicians, and audiences are all involved in an ongoing tug of war about which direction, and how far the meaning can be stretched.”36 Ronström observes, unlike Ling, the participants within the music community, from different social classes and with various roles. They actively take part in the power

690   Dan Lundberg struggle over the meaning of the concept of folk music. It is basically Ling’s line of thinking, but shifted to a more modern platform. In the research project Music, Media, Multiculture, Ronström’s thoughts were developed around the model “doers—knowers—makers,” three roles in a kind of discursive and performative power struggle.37 Ling and Ronström view folk music from its importance as an ideological marker. Folk music is defined, or rather singled out, as “the other.” But the designation of subculture also means that folk music ends up in a defined relationship to the majority’s culture and becomes, indirectly, a part of it. “Outsider-ness” becomes “insider-ness” as well—folk music “is incorporated” into the culture of the majority, as Ling expresses it. A different way to approach the concept of folk music is to consider the music itself. Folk music has, since the 1700s, been defined through its function. But in its modern context it hardly differs from other aesthetic music forms—folk music stands side by side with jazz and art music on the concert stage. Two definitions that deal with folk music as a genre, or musical style, include Märta Ramsten’s in her dissertation, Återklang. Svensk folkmusik i förändring 1950–1980 (Echoes: Swedish folk music in transition, 1950–1980) (1992), and four years later, my own and Gunnar Ternhag’s definition in the textbook Folkmusik i Sverige (Folk music in Sweden). Ramsten views folk music as “. . . a music genre, in other words, an established repertoire and a conventional way of performing this repertoire. This performance, of course, varies during different time periods, but which, even today, is highly dependent on nineteenth-century folk music collectors’ approach to the material.”38 Ramsten connects it to an established repertoire that is performed in a generally accepted way—folk music as musical material played in a specific style. In addition, Ramsten links this to the work of collecting and the collectors’ ideological frameworks. Lundberg and Ternhag (1996) take the discussion a step further. Folk music is “a family of styles. And as a style, folk music has certain characteristic traits that one can find in the use of tonal language, rhythmic patterns, or sound—or in a combination of these.”39 In this definition, the authors let go of the connection between collecting and an established repertoire—the music’s attributes are determined solely by its style/sound or musical codes. The folk music genre, in this version, could be dominated by totally newly composed music that sounds like folk music. Schematically described, one could say that the four definitions of folk music are overlapping, yet still represent a line of development; from the view of folk music as an ideologically constructed category, to the approach that folk music is an established form for creating music where the practitioners themselves influence the style’s musical codes through their musical practice. It is tempting to see these as extremes within a spectrum of possible definitions, but the paths of thinking definitely complement one another. There is no obstacle to experiencing folk music as a musical code, while at the same time recognizing its strong links to national ideologies. It is clear that folk music can represent both ideology and style—and perhaps this is already captured in Ramsten’s definition. The definitions themselves, in actuality, represent various levels of meaning within the folk music concept. Through their differences, they also describe folk music’s relocations. The historically oriented definitions are, on the one hand, closely tied to folk

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    691 music’s social contexts; folk music is folk music because it is connected to a social class and to a diffuse and loosely defined past. The definitions that pertain to today’s use of folk music instead refer to musical codes; folk music is characterized by a type of instrumentation, playing technique, type of repertoire, and so on.

Everyday Meaning and the Practitioner’s Perspective One can, of course, ask oneself whether or not the above definitions are included in some sort of “everyday meaning” of the concept of folk music. If one should ask “the man on the street,” that person would hardly be answering that folk music is an ideologically constructed category, or that it is defined based on a sustained drone effect or modal melodic structures. In our daily use of the concept, we are more likely influenced by the ideas of folk music’s social connections to rituals, as well as the daily work within a rural community—“the peasants’ music in festivities and daily life.”40 While teaching “Swedish folk music” in various situations, I have often discussed the everyday meaning of “folk music” with the students in order to see which criteria one can agree upon, without analyzing the concept more deeply. It is interesting that it is actually pretty easy to come to an overall agreement on some sort of meaning of the concept. The following key criteria almost always come up: Oral tradition Passed on across generational borders Tied to rituals Rural music From the past. All of these criteria point to music’s social context and connection to older rural society. It is quite seldom that the criteria of musical styles come up during such a discussion. During the fall of 2008, I taught the first-year students of the folk music department at The Royal College of Music in Stockholm. On this occasion I also asked if any of the students considered themselves to be a spelman (Swedish folk musician or folk fiddler, considered to be embedded in a specific playing tradition). Of the group’s 11 students, there was only one who thought of himself as a spelman. One can ask oneself why? Except for the three students who studied singing, all of the others were, more or less, established practitioners and instrumentalists within folk music. These are knowledgeable musicians who should have identified themselves as spelmän/spelkvinnor (male/female folk musicians)—otherwise, who else would identify themselves as such? Historically, it would have been a bigger problem for them to call themselves “musicians,” a title that, at least in earlier times, would have brought to mind an educated, professional, and experienced music

692   Dan Lundberg practitioner in art music. But, according to this student group at the music academy, which I believe is relatively representative, it is less pretentious to call oneself a (folk) musician than a spelman. “I will never be a spelman.” said one. “I would never be able to play so faithfully in one style. To be a spelman involves adherence to a bunch of impossible requirements.”

This is a complete turn-around of the meaning and value given to the terms “musician” and spelman. I believe that this is, in part, an important effect stemming from FMK’s efforts to connect the music to place and local culture, and not least, to raise the status of the individual, instrumental musician within folk culture—the spelman. In order to put some light on this change, we can compare it to the reaction of the folk music collector Karl Sporr, who became very upset when he was called a spelman. In an article in the newspaper Falukuriren in 1940, he pointed out that he wanted to be called “a violinist and music researcher, and not a spelman.” The background was that when Sporr received the Hazelius Medal for his contributions to folk music, he refused to accept it, as the Nordic Museum had presented him with the title spelman.

The Folk Music Commission’s Folk Music In order to discuss FMK’s ideas about what folk music is, or rather what good folk music is, I have chosen to start with Nils Andersson’s lecture, “About Swedish Folk Music,” which he held in various locations in the region of Skåne during the late winter of 1909.41 Nils Andersson’s lectures were often presented in the press in a summarized or abstract form, and these were later commented upon by the Finnish musicologist and collector Professor Otto Andersson, in an article in 1958.42 Among other things, Otto Andersson remarks on the fact that the summaries are very much alike and have, for the most part, the same form. Otto Andersson draws the conclusion that Nils wrote these abstracts himself and sent them to the newspapers, or gave them to some newspaper reporter. It is certainly possible that this is true, as Nils Andersson was very eager to get his message out, and a clever way to do it, of course, was to “do the job” for the journalists. It was easy to just take the completed summary to the newspaper. But, one can also consider that the newspapers got their news from one another. Otto Andersson comments on four lectures from around the same time: in Trelleborg on February 8, in Lund on March 2, in Ängelholm on March 11, and in Kristianstad on April 1. In my example, I will be using the abstract that was published in the daily newspaper Sydsvenska Dagbladet Snällposten on March 5, 1909. Nils Andersson’s lecture presents a clear statement about several aspects of the nature of folk music, its function, and value. In many ways, Nils Andersson’s evaluation goes

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    693 back to Johann Gottfried von Herder’s ideas about folk culture as a sort of expression of the collective folk soul (Volksgeist)—even though he does not use that term.

Folk Music’s Essence and Origin Nils Andersson begins by claiming that there are two types of folk music, instrumental and vocal—a fundamental and, understandably, elemental observation that is interesting only in light of the fact that he never returns to the topic of vocal music in the lecture. He comments further: • Embedded in the term “folk music” is that it belongs to the peasantry. • It has not merely been preserved within tradition, but has originated there as well. • [Folk music] is… among the finest and best expressions of a people’s temperament and character. • . . . as well as a reflection of the people’s way of perceiving the environment in which they live. • Each country has, thus, its own particular folk music. • And in Sweden, it can be said that each province has its own folk music. • Of the folk music of all countries, Sweden’s is of the highest rank. Nils Andersson’s thoughts about the essence and origin of folk music fall in line with the Romantic era’s ideas of folk music’s connection to the soul of the people. The basis for this is the late eighteenth-century ideas of nation, race ideology, and the idealization of the simple, wild, or the uncultured. A consistent view was that everything, or rather every culture, had its own character—a soul. Humans had, of course, their souls, but people as a whole, as well as nature, had a soul. These ideas can be seen as a reaction against the Enlightenment’s espousal of reason and rationalism. The new Romantic currents instead emphasized the importance of the soul of the arts and the emotions. Music was given a double role as both an expression for, and the bearer of, the soul of the people. Philosopher and historian Johann Gottfried von Herder is often cited as the author of the concept of “folk.” Through Herder, the term “folk” began to be used in a way that can be likened to today’s use of “culture.” People are, at the same time, individuals, and representatives of a collective. In the latter role, a person expresses a kind of folk character. Herder’s view of the folk as a collective unit was relative. He meant that all cultures are different, that human nature is not uniform, but that we all have different capabilities within our respective basic characters that express the soul of the folk. At the same time, the various different folk souls are expressions for one and the same God.43 It is interesting that Nils Andersson maintains that Swedish folk music is foremost among all countries. We Swedes are hardly known for emphasizing that our own culture, celebrating ourselves, is better than the culture of others.44 Nils Andersson’s

694   Dan Lundberg choice of accenting Swedish folk music’s superiority can understandably be his belief that it really is outstanding, but also may be an expression of a kind of alienation—a sort of distancing himself from folk culture. It is easier to highlight Swedish folk music if one is not actually a part of the folk culture, but only its promoter.

The Bearers of Tradition “The bearers of folk music were the old fiddlers who, as a rule, were highly regarded.” One of the most distinctive features of Nils Andersson’s approach and presentation of folk music material is that he places the fiddler (spelman) in the center (see Figure 19.4). In the publication Svenska låtar (Swedish tunes), the presentation of the spelman receives a central place. The folk musician functions also as a principal category for the tunes, something that Nils Andersson was criticized for by contemporary colleagues from various quarters. In earlier collections, anonymity of authors functioned just the opposite way—as a sort of lofty ideal. The collective, creative process of folk culture stood in the center. The Serbian collector Vuk Karadžić, who gathered epics and ballads in parts of the

Figure  19.4  The music collector Nils Andersson in the home of the fiddler Ante Sundin. Photo from Svenskt visarkiv.

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    695 Balkans in the beginning of the 1800s, wrote: “Everyone denies their involvement, even the actual poet, and they say that they heard it from someone else.”45 It is a sort of faith in the process, that people—audience, storytellers, and singers—act as a kind of filter or selection mechanism. The individual can write poetry and compose music, but it is the folk who actively choose what will be preserved. One can, in fact, see this as a kind of process of canonization on an everyday level. FMK’s approach of accenting the importance of the musician can instead be seen as a new and modern way of presenting the folk music and its practitioners. Then, of course, one can wonder if Nils Andersson was correct when he claims that musicians “as a rule, were highly regarded.”

Threats One reason for the formation of FMK was that folk music was considered to be dying out fast. Through the work of collecting, at least parts of the quickly disappearing cultural heritage could be saved for coming generations. This is reflected in newspaper summaries of Nils Andersson’s lectures, where he notes that [t]‌he real folk music in Sweden is almost extinct. What now goes by the name is extremely trite and burlesque, and infinitely inferior to the genuine, old folk music.

Popular music is a particular threat in this scenario. It is interesting in that it seems that poplar music gradually evolved into folk music’s leading opponent during the 1800s. It becomes increasingly clear that art music, in many ways, is allied with collectors—folk music was used by many classical composers as source material for the composition of national music during the Romantic period. Popular music, instead, stood directly in the firing line, and the most pronounced object of hate was the accordion. Nils Andersson asserts in the lecture that the threats include: Accordion One attributes this [folk music’s death] commonly to the accordion. . . . the old folk music cannot be played on the regular accordion, since it does not have the notes found in these [folk music’s] scales. It would be fortuitous if one could eradicate the accordion. Musical sense and, perhaps even, emotional life [has] become superficial and diluted. Contributing factors are: Popularity of quartet songs, And even more so, brass music. One reason for the extinction of folk music has also been pietism.

696   Dan Lundberg The German instrument maker, Friedrich Buschmann, constructed the first accordion in 1822. He named his invention Handäoline. The instrument had a diatonic tonal range and each button, connected to two lamella, produced different tones depending on if it was pressed on the intake or the output of air. In 1829, Austrian Cyrill Demian took out a patent on his Akkordion, a development variation of Buschmann’s instrument. Through industrial production that enabled relatively low prices, the accordion spread rapidly over Europe and North America. The accordion fit well to the new repertoire of dance music that was spreading throughout these regions at the time, around the turn of the century. The accordion belongs to the family of instruments called free-reed and includes, for example, harmonica (mouth harp) and pump organ, and is related to Asian instruments such as the mouth organ (for example, the Chinese sheng), which has existed in southeastern regions of Asia for at least two thousand years. It is believed that the idea for the accordion was modeled on these Asian mouth organs. But the accordion also has much in common with European bagpipes, mostly in the construction that includes a bellows, and base and melody functions. By the middle of the 1800s, there were different kinds of accordions with various names. The accordion was also called by many local, vernacular names such as hand klaver, knäorgel, piglock, and drängkammarorgel (hand keyboard, knee organ, maid charmer, workman’s organ)—that witness to the fact of the importance of the accordion among Sweden’s lower classes. The accordion’s rapid spread also put its mark on folk music. In many ways, one can say that the accordion represents an important shift in musical thinking. In the older stratum, the music was built with only the melody in mind. The most important components in the music were melody and rhythm—one used to say that music was “linear.” But, in that one can begin to harmonize and put chords to the melody, there arises a new way of thinking about music. Music gains a vertical dimension. The accordion’s huge popularity meant that much of the older music was adapted to a harmonic way of thinking. And it was exactly that which upset Nils Andersson and other folk music enthusiasts. They felt that the accordion simplified the older music and made the intricate melodies coarser. But the accordion also stood for the new era—industrialization and urbanization. In this way and in many people’s eyes, it became a symbol of the culture’s superficiality—something that must be fought against if folk music was to be preserved. The accordion, along with the harmonica, was manufactured industrially during the latter part of the 1800s and spread quickly across Europe. Together with modern brass orchestras and string ensembles, accordion players began to gradually take over more and more of the dance music function, previously held by violin and clarinet musicians.46 Local instrument traditions were also regarded as threatened—as for instance the Swedish nyckelharpa and older types of wind instruments belonging to the herding traditions. But it was not only the changing trends that threatened folk music. It had more enemies. During the latter years of the nineteenth century, a religious revivalist movement campaigned against alcohol, dancing, and other worldly pleasures of indulgence—a crusade that also affected music making, which was closely associated with contexts in which immorality and sin could be expected to occur.47

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The Identification of the “Authentic” Folk Music In FMK’s archive there are many examples of clarifications on what is valuable or what is reprehensible from a collecting perspective. In a letter to Professor Tobias Norlind in 1912, Nils Andersson explains that his collections consist “of truly ancient fiddle tunes and therefore, do not bother with the likes of polkett, mazurka, Viennese waltz, galop, etc.” In the commentary in Sydsvenskan, Nils Andersson describes the oldest and the “most peculiar” material as the most important. • Among the oldest and most peculiar were • Those so-called herding tunes, which the herders played on animal horns or birch-bark trumpets (näverlurar). • Walking tunes were those played while walking [and] wedding processions. • Dance music comprised, however, a considerable part of folk music. • The foremost here being polskas. • While the names of these indicate foreign origin, it is not the music that matters, but only a certain kind of dance. • Of old, some of these melodies have been played for a long dance. Folk music’s value was dependent on its ability to symbolize a national character, and to be authentic, distinctive, and not least, very old. In addition, it must differ from the folk culture of other countries. Swedish music must have something different from that of the Danish or Finnish. Thus we see the worthiness that Nils Andersson puts on the most peculiar songs. Nils Andersson saw a very special value in the herding music, thanks to its archaic sound, but also because it is distinctly Swedish.

The End Goal FMK’s aim was to preserve folk music. But, above all, the Commission wanted to make the music available through the publication of Svenska låtar (Swedish tunes). In his lecture, Nils Andersson points out two goals for FMK’s activity: • . . . that the rich treasure, that our folk music contains and which, at the last moment was captured, could again become alive and be assimilated by our people and used for cultivating and enriching spiritual life. • And even our composers would have a very rewarding goldmine from which they could take motifs and ideas.

698   Dan Lundberg The work of collecting carried out in the 1800s had, in many cases, the aim to publish songs and tunes so that they could be sung and played. But the intended audience was not the musicians and singers of the rural society. An example is Richard Dybeck’s efforts to implement folk culture in a theatrical setting. One form of this was the so-called evening entertainments, which he arranged in Stockholm. He combined different folk traditions in scenes that he named, for example, “festive pieces,” “dance rhapsodies,” “lyrical folksongs,” and “scenes from the herding woods” (where cattle grazed). The pieces were arranged with a wide variety of instrumental groups, choirs, orchestras, and soloists. An important detail is that, as stated before, the performances never made use of peasant musicians or singers. Dybeck let professional musicians, singers, and college music students take the roles. Dybeck’s efforts show how important it was for him to find a balance between what was aesthetically acceptable to the bourgeois audiences of Stockholm, and the “authentic” folk music as it was performed in the farming communities—in church, for dancing, or in the summer pastures. FMK had a very different target group in mind—those musicians who were interested in finding good repertoire from their own regions. And this came to be. The publication Svenska låtar functioned as a priceless source for the organized fiddle groups. But FMK also wanted to make the collections available to composers and researchers.

New Perspectives on Folk Music It is clear that, according to FMK, the threats to folk music do not come from art music, but from popular culture and new music trends coming from continental Europe, spread across Europe through new media. In his lectures, Nils Andersson points out that young people are misled into forgetting the old melodies by new, foreign, trendy melodies and instruments. For him, classical music and its composers were rather allies in the fight for the preservation of folk music. This was, of course, not unique for FMK but, in fact, was a common feature of the Romantic era. The fear that the youth would be misled by foreign influences was ongoing in many later events during the twentieth century.48 On the basis of Nils Andersson’s lectures and FMK’s other writings, one can construct a of hierarchy of values that coincides well with the Romantic era’s ideals about national culture.49 The scale stretches between poles that can be designated in different ways: Good–Bad Old–New Authentic–Modern Natural–Artificial Rural–Urban Minor key–Major key Polska dance–Polka March–Foxtrot

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    699 GOOD MUSIC

Herding music

Songs and instrumental music connected to the life cycle

- Wedding tunes, long dances, polskas, marches and waltzes, etc.

Older instruments

- Violin, clarinet, and nyckelharpa

Modern dances such as polka, polkett, and galopp

Popular music and mass culture

- Accordion, harmonica

BAD MUSIC

Figure 19.5  The ladder is an illustration the value scale of FMK. At the bottom we find the music that represents modernity and international influences. At the top we find pastoral music that stands for the good old peasant society. Illustration: Lena Drake

With the help of Nils Andersson’s lectures, we can construct FMK’s value scale (see Figure 19.5)

FMK’s Impact and the Cultural Heritage Process Nils Andersson’s lecture is a sermon—a proclamation of the folk music gospel. He took his arguments about the folk culture that springs from the collective soul and which mirrors nature from ideologies of the Romantic era. And he had a burning passion for this work.

700   Dan Lundberg Nils Andersson did not work with some explicit definition of folk music, but in his arguments, one can catch a glimpse of the same conceptual content as in the “everyday meaning” that I described earlier. Nils Andersson’s folk music is rural music, from older times that have a clear connection to function—rituals, work in the woods and at the summer pasture. Folk music’s lifeblood is the old farming community, which was passed down from generation to generation. Consequently, folk music was threatened by modernity, internationalization, and fast-paced changes. For Nils Andersson, it seems that it was not necessary for him to define folk music—it was self-evident. Even so, one can say that he and FMK, through their work more than any other, shaped the concept. Through the clear focus on instrumental music, from certain geographical regions, a focus on certain types of tunes, and sanctioning of certain instruments, FMK has, in tangible ways, narrowed down the concept. Through their extensive and diligent work, FMK created a clear and distinct repertoire for future generations—a canon for Swedish folk music that is still in use. FMK’s work can be described by the four steps of the cultural heritage process.

Identification The Folk Music Commission concluded that certain styles and dance types would be preserved, so identification is perhaps the most obvious part, and it was the Commission’s very starting point. Here is an outspoken appreciation of the older layers of folk music and this, combined with a clear desire to preserve the most distinctive musical forms in Swedish folk music, with the aim that Swedish music should be conceived as different from other countries’ folk music. One consequence of this was that melodies collected close to the Norwegian border sometimes sounded too Norwegian. A collected material of this type was in some cases sent to Norwegian collectors.50 The hunt for elderly and distinctive forms of music directed the collecting work toward shepherd music and dance music with roots in the eighteenth-century folk culture.

Classification This step is especially evident in the presentation of the material in the publication Svenska låtar, where the folk musicians’ repertoires were consistently presented by melody type. Another result of FMK’s work is that the polska melodies were grouped into three main types, based on the notated rhythm. The publication in Svenska låtar also creates a clear geographical division of the Swedish folk music by region, with regions profiled against each other. We can also observe that the classification of a tune as “polska” led to a rise of its status and thus increased the tradition bearer’s prestige. It is clear that many musicians adapted their repertoire after collectors’ preferences—explicit or implicit—and this meant a shift of the folk music genre toward older repertoires.

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    701

Standardization The Swedish folk music of today is based very much on the collections created by FMK. The polska has become the overall dominating melody and dance type in Swedish folk music. As a result of FMK’s focus on a few musical instruments, folk music today is largely dominated by violin music. The orientation toward older folk music practice has also counteracted the ensemble types developed in the 1900s with the accordion as a central instrument. Until the last few decades, this kind of ensemble has not been regarded as folk—unlike in many other European countries, where the ensembles have been seen as a natural development within the tradition. FMK’s ideal folk musician was the nineteenth-century spelman, a romanticized and mythical maverick, a strong-willed natural artist who maintained traditions without allowing himself to be influenced by contemporary trends and musical fashions. The musician was a man, an instrumentalist who usually played to dance, alone without accompaniment. The effect of this was, of course, that the Swedish folk music by FMK became a more male-dominated instrumental genre throughout most of the twentieth century.51

Symbolization A fundamental effect of FMK’s collecting work has been the creation of a distinct “Swedish” folk music idiom. The nationalistic ideas during the Romantic era had their roots in Johann Gottfried von Herder’s ideas of national folk characters. These ideas were the basis for FMK’s collections and the publication of Svenska låtar. The collectors’ focus on typical or distinctive features, in terms of melody types and modal structures, have turned these into stylistic cannons. From this perspective, it is possible to say that FMK made Swedish folk music more Swedish, or at least more distinct. In the early twentieth century, instruments such as the Swedish nyckelharpa were threatened by new factory-made musical instruments, especially the accordion and harmonica. In the work of FMK, the nyckelharpa was identified as particularly important to preserve. The result that we can see today is that the nyckelharpa has developed into a national symbol. Without FMK, this would hardly have been possible.

Conclusions FMK’s ideological importance to the folk music concept in practice may be summarized as the following: • The spelman as the focus • The individual musician becomes visible in the tradition • Sorting of good and poor musicians • The older the better as a basic idea

702   Dan Lundberg

• Focus on “passing on to the next” (tune learned from… which was learned from, etc.) • Collecting becomes focused on instrumental music • A shift from a female to a male focus • Local distinctiveness • From national to regional • Certain types of tunes become established standards • Polska dances, waltzes, marches, herding music, and long dances • A clearer picture of the threat from popular music • Art music composers considered to be allies • Accordion music and popular dances end up on the outside • Strong demands on helpers and other collectors to avoid collecting polkas, polkettas, and galops • The instruments are standardized. • Focusing on fiddle, clarinet, and nyckelharpa—as well as the cow and sheep horn and bark trumpet (lur). • Less focus on bagpipe, fipple flute, diddling—singing of dance tunes (trall), bowed lyre (stråkharpa) • Absolutely no accordion, harmonica, other bowed instruments, or transverse flutes.

Music collecting and archive work were important parts of the homogenization and establishing of Swedish folk music—a Swedish folk music that was different from other countries’ musics. From this perspective, the work of FMK is definitely a form of applied ethnomusicology, where the aim was to interact with and influence the music community and, in a way, on a higher level, take an active part in the creation of a Swedish identity. The quote “history is written by the victors “ is sometimes said to originate from Winston Churchill. That is possible, but more important is the meaning of the sentence—that history writing is a matter of the exercise of power. This is also true for memory institutions. The records of bygone times are, of course, important for our understanding of history. By taking the initiative in the collecting work, FMK could decide what should be preserved concerning genres and tunes. And this was not unproblematic—in several cases there were tensions and power struggles between competing collectors and institutions. FMK emerged victorious from this power struggle, and the material that became published in Svenska låtar is dominant among Swedish practitioners of folk music today. FMK employees had very little contact with other European collectors. Apart from the Nordic network, where scholars exchanged ideas and materials, there were, as far as one can see in the documentation, almost no contacts with collectors in Central Europe, the Berlin School, or with British or Hungarian collectors. This might explain why they so stubbornly clung to the use of pen and paper without using the modern technical aids of that time. But in the work of FMK, which of course was conducted much later, the phonograph was used only on a few occasions. Perhaps this had to do with the fact that

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    703 FMK had as its primary goal to publish the material in printed form and that the collectors were very skilled at transcribing and felt that it was unnecessary to lug heavy equipment for fieldwork. But it is also possible that this was a way to control the situation—to have the exclusive right to the interpretation. Because there have not been recordings available, FMK’s transcriptions are the only sources. There is thus little opportunity to question the versions published in Svenska låtar. Anthony Seeger is probably right when he says that ethnomusicologists in the first place will be remembered for their collections, not for their theories or methods.52 But possibly, one can draw his reasoning a step further and argue that it is primarily the collections themselves that will live on, and in most cases, both the collectors and the motives for the works will be forgotten. However, from a research perspective, this is extremely important—if we do not understand how and why the collections were generated, we cannot fully interpret or comprehend them. No one can predict the ways their collections will be used. Some will become one of the building blocks of cultural and political movements; some will bring alive the voice of a legendary ancestor for an individual; some will stimulate budding musicians, some will soothe the pain of exile, and some will be used for restudies of primary data that may revolutionize approaches to world music.53

A very important and difficult task of responsibility for applied ethnomusicology is to try to ensure that the fruits of ethnomusicological work cannot be misused. In Sweden, nationalistic and xenophobic forces in recent years often used folk culture archives as arguments, as examples of the “real” Swedish culture that must be defended against other cultures that threaten to take over. FMK’s efforts to describe Swedish folk music as something distinctly different from the music of other countries by identifying and collecting older distinctive music forms of course appealing to such forces. Applied ethnomusicology then then has a particular responsibility to explain the origin of our archives and provide a perspective on their background and role in history. And folk music is still a question of definition.

Notes 1. Cf. Fargion (2009). 2. Lundberg, Malm, and Ronström (2004). 3. Slobin (2010: 1). The concept is also recently discussed in connection to “world music” by Philip Bohlman (2002). 4. The work of the Folk Music Commission has been discussed and described by the Swedish ethnomusicologist Mathias Boström (2006, 2010). Different aspects of the Commission’s activities are investigated in the anthology Det stora uppdraget (2010). 5. Pattinato (1991). 6. Cf. Lidman (2012: 5–6). 7. Ibid. 8. Cf. Hammarlund (2015).

704   Dan Lundberg 9. Cf. Hugh Trevor-Roper’s article “The Invention of Tradition: The Highland Tradition of Scotland” (1983). 10. Ronström (2010). My translation from Swedish. 11. http://www.unesco.org/new/en/communication-and-information/flagship-projectactivities/memory-of-the-world/homepage/. 12. Hammarlund (2015). 13. Quote from Barons reprinted in Nordiska museet (1985). “Folkdiktning från Lettland. About the Latvian folk poem collector Krišjānis Barons.” My translation. 14. Hammarlund (2015). 15. Koch et al. (2004: 228). 16. Ibid. 17. Abraham and Hornbostel (1909: 15). Am besten ist es, wenn der Forscher selbst die Gesänge oder Instrumentalstücke so erlernt, dass er sie zur Zufriedenheit der Eingeboren en wiedergeben kann. Als Kritiker muss man sich musikalisch besonders Begabte—(wieder nach dem Urteil ihrer Landsleute)—wählen und auch die Sicherheit haben, dass die Zustimmung nicht nur aus Höflichkeit oder aus Interesselosigkeit erfolgt. 18. Cf. Hammarlund (2015). 19. Fargion (2009: 76). 20. Cf. Lundberg et al. (2003: 400–412) in the chapter “The Play of Opposites,” and Anthony Giddens’s concept “disembedding mechanisms” (1991). 21. Mark Slobin uses the term “superculture” to mean the dominant culture (Subcultural Sounds: Micromusics of the West, 1993). Slobin, in his turn, builds on the Italian Marxist philosopher Antonio Gramsci. Peter Burke 2009, makes the same distinction between what Robert Redfield called “the great” and “the little tradition” in Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe. 22. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett (1995: 370). 23. Bohman (1997) and Björkholm (2011). 24. Cf. Bohman (2010) who uses: defining—coding—change of context—objectification. See also Lundberg, “It Goes Without Saying” (2011). 25. Kjellström (1985). 26. Kjellberg, Ling, and Ronström (2000: 437). 27. Kjellberg, Ling, and Ronström (2000: 436–437). 28. “Upprop” (Call). Archive of the Folk Music Commission. 29. “Polska” is a very common dance in the Swedish folk culture. The word means “Polish.” At the end of the 16th century couple dances came to Sweden. The most significant types had their origin in different parts of Northern Europe. The term probably has its roots in the Polish dances danced in the Swedish noblemen’s halls from the late 1500s. The popularity of the polska is manifested through the great variety of the dance types called polska. Many older dances (also different chain dances) had locally been called polskas. The polska of the Renaissance had a two-part form, in full accordance with the demands of balance and proportion in art (cf. other two-part dances, such as pavan-gaillard). The original Polish dances were composed of a slow first part in duple meter and a more lively second part in triple meter. Eventually, the second part, the livelier spring dance, became more and more important. And it is that part that survived and became the polska that is still danced in Sweden. 30. Fataburen (1908: s. 186). 31. Svenska låtar published by Nils Andersson and Olof Andersson (1921–1940).

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    705 32. The entire collection from FMK was published on the Internet by Svenskt visarkiv (the Centre for Folk Music and Jazz Research) Folkmusikkommissionens notsamling och Musikmuseets spelmansböcker (2007). The collection consists of around 45,000 handwritten pages with folk melodies. http://www.smus.se/earkiv/fmk/index. php?lang=en. 33. In her dissertation, Bland polskor, gånglåtar och valser. Hallands spelmansförbund och den halländska folkmusiken (2004) (Among Polskas, Walking tunes, and Waltzes:  Halland’s Fiddler’s Association and the Music of Halland), Karin Eriksson discusses Swedish folk music as an “open concept” in which the meaning is always recharged with new meanings. She highlights how Halland’s (region in southwest Sweden) Fiddler’s Association, through its activities, presents, in various ways, what can be considered to be a regional folk music of Halland, and what the consequences are for the repertoire that is emphasized as folk music from Halland. In Med rösten som instrument. Perspektiv på nutida svensk vokal folkmusik (2007) (With the Voice as Instrument: Perspectives on Contemporary Swedish Vocal Folk Music), Ingrid Åkesson, from the Svenskt visarkiv (Centre for Swedish Folk Music and Jazz Research) discusses, among other things, how the process of transmission within the genre of folk music involves more than a direct taking over of the older singers’ (and fiddlers’) practices. In his book Från bondson till folkmusikikon. Otto Andersson och formandet av “finlandssvensk folkmusik” (2007) (From Farmer’s Son to Folk Music Icon: Otto Andersson and the Forming of “Finnish-Swedish Folk Music”), Niklas Nyqvist takes up a discussion of Otto Andersson’s large collecting project of music of the Finland Swedes. Andersson’s work went, in many ways, parallel to that of the FMK and also had significant implications for the meaning of the folk music concept within the context of the Finland Swedes. Finally, I will also name American ethnomusicologist David Kaminsky’s Hidden Traditions. Conceptualizing Swedish Folk Music in the Twenty-First Century (2005), in which he discusses, in detail, the folk music concept within the Swedish academic tradition and sets it against the practical use of the term by musicians and those interested in music. 34. David Kaminsky has done a thorough examination of these definitions in his thesis from 2005. 35. It can thus seem like the authors completely disagree on the question of what folk music means. It is not that way, of course—all the authors recognize a much more nuanced picture of what the concept of folk music stands for. I have simply chosen to use the quotes that draw the apart the meanings and create apparent contradictions between the authors. I hope that they forgive me for this. 36. Ronström (1989: 7). 37. The model in Musik, Medier, Mångkultur—“doers-knowers-makers”—is based on the roles of three different actors within a music culture. See also Lundberg and Ternhag, Folkmusik i Sverige (2005), and Lundberg’s “Bjårskpip in blossom: on the revitalization process of a folk music instrument” (2007). 38. Ramsten (1992: 7–8). 39. We wrote the book together and, during the process, put the definition of folk music through the ringer, but the basic wording is Gunnar Ternhag’s (Lundberg and Ternhag, 2005: 14). 40. The subtitle to Jan Ling’s textbook from 1964, Svensk folkmusik. Bondens musik i helg och söcken. 41. The Swedish title of the lecture was “Om svensk folkmusik.”

706   Dan Lundberg 42. The article “ Melodisamlaren Nils Andersson. Minnen och anteckningar” is part of Budkavlen XIX, 1940. Nils Andersson’s lecture was also commented upon by Otto Andersson in Spel opp, I spelemänner: Nils Andersson och den svenska spelmansrörelsen (1958). 43. Johann Gottfried von Herder, Stimmen der Völker in Liedern (1978). 44. Cf. Kaminsky (2007). 45. Peter Burke (2009: 134); cf. Owe Ronström (1990). 46. Cf. Dan Lundberg and Gunnar Ternhag, Folkmusik i Sverige, och Owe Ronström “Inledning” in Arwidsson, 1989. 47. Cf. Lundberg and Ternhag (2005: 82). 48. Cf. The Swedish ethnologist Jonas Frykman (1988) in his book “Dansbaneeländet”—The Dance Pavilion Misery. 49. Cf. Richard Carlins interesting article about folk music aesthetics, “The Good, the Bad, and the Folk” (2004). 50. Roempke (1994). 51. In much of the earlier collection works the interest was on the texts and, to some extent song melodies. This meant that more women were recorded. Folk Commission’s focus on the instrumental folk tradition was a clear new trend. The male dominance among folk practitioners has been broken in recent years and today many music educators report a preponderance of women among the students. 52. Seeger (1986: 267); cf. Fargion (2009: 76). 53. Seeger (1986: 264).

References Abraham, Otto, and Erich Moritz von Hornbostel. (1909). Vorschläge für die Transkription exotischer Melodien. Sammelbände der Internationalen Musikgesellschaft. Berlin: Franz Steiner Verlag. Åkesson, Ingrid. (2007). Med rösten som instrument. Perspektiv på nutida svensk vokal folkmusik [With the Voice as Instrument: Perspectives on Contemporary Swedish Vocal Folk Music]. Stockholm: Svenskt visarkiv. Svenskt visarkivs handlingar. Andersson, Otto. (1940). “Melodisamlaren Nils Andersson. Minnen och anteckningar” [The melody collector Nils Andersson. Memories and notes]. Budkavlen XIX. Andersson, Otto. (1958). Spel opp, I  spelemänner. Nils Andersson och den svenska spelmansrörelsen [Play, fiddlers, play! Nils Andersson and the Swedish folk music movement]. Stockholm: Nordiska museet. Bohlman, Philip V. (2002). World Music. A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bohman, Stefan. (2010). Kanon som samhällsföreteelse. Beethoven—västerlandets kulturelle hjälte [Canon as feature of society. Beethoven—the cultural hero of the West]. In Att sätta ansikte på samhällen: om kanon och personmuseer. Stockholm: Carlsson. Boström, Mathias. (2006). “Folkmusikkommissionens verksamhet och arkiv. En översikt och vägledning” [The work and archiv of the Folk Music Commission. An overview] I Dokumenterat. Bulletin från Statens musikbibliotek. Nr 37. Stockholm: Statens musikbibliotek. Boström, Mathias. (2010). “100 år med Folkmusikkommissionen” [100 years with the Folk Music Commission]. In Det stora uppdraget. Perspektiv på Folkmusikkommissionen i Sverige

Archives and Applied Ethnomusicology    707 1908–2008, edited by Mathias Boström, Dan Lundberg, and Märta Ramsten, pp. 13–38. Stockholm: Nordiska museets förlag. Boström, Mathias, Dan Lundberg, and Märta Ramsten. (2010). Det stora uppdraget. Perspektiv på Folkmusikkommissionen i Sverige 1908–2008 [The great mission. Perspectives on the Folk Music Commission 1908–2008]. Stockholm: Nordiska museets förlag. Burke, Peter. (2009). Popular Culture In Early Modern Europe. Farnham, UK: Ashgate. Carlin, Richard. (2004). “The Good, the Bad and the Folk.” In Bad Music:  The Music We Love to Hate, edited by Christopher Washburne and Maiken Derno, pp. 173–189. New York: Routledge. Eriksson, Karin. (2004). Bland polskor, gånglåtar och valser. Hallands spelmansförbund och den halländska folkmusiken [Among Polskas, Walking tunes, and Waltzes: Halland’s Fiddler’s Association and the Music of Halland]. Göteborg: Institutionen för musik- och filmvetenskap, Göteborgs universitet. Fargion, Janet Topp. (2009). “ ‘For My Own Research Purposes’? Examining Ethnomusicology Field Methods for a Sustainable Music.” The World of Music 51(1): 75–93. FMK. (1909). The protocol from FMK’s first meeting. In FMK’s archive I.A1; “Upprop,” Fataburen 1909. FMK’s archive III.1 N.A.s arkiv vol 1. Svenskt visarkiv. Folkmusikkommissionens notsamling och Musikmuseets spelmansböcker. (2007). Internet resource published by Svenskt visarkiv. http://www.smus.se/earkiv/fmk/index.php?lang=en. Frykman, Jonas (1988). Dansbaneeländet. Ungdomen, populärkulturen och opinionen. Stockholm: Natur och kultur. Giddens, Anthony. (1990). The Consequences of Modernity. Stanford, CA:  Stanford University Press. Grimm, Wilhelm, and Grimm, Jacob. (1812). Kinder und Hausmärchen. Göttingen: Gesammelt durch die Brüder Grimm. Hammarlund, Anders. (2015). Documentum. Stockholm: Svenskt visarkiv (manuscript). Herder, Johann Gottfried von. (1978). Stimmen der Völker in Liedern. Leipzig: Reclam. Kaminsky, David. (2005). Hidden Traditions. Conceptualizing Swedish Folk Music in the Twenty-First Century. Dissertation. Harvard University. Kaminsky, David. (2007). “The Zorn Trials and the Jante Law: On Shining Musically in the Land of Moderation.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 39: 27–49. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara. (1995). “Theorizing Heritage.” Ethnomusicology 39(3). Kjellberg, Erik, Jan Ling, and Owe Ronström. (2000). “Sweden.” In The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, edited by Ruth M. Stone, James Porter, James, Timothy Rice, and Chris Goertzen, Chris. Vol. 8, Europe. New York: Garland. Kjellström, Birgit, ed. (1985). Folkmusikvågen [The Folk Music Vouge]. Stockholm: Rikskonserter. Koch, Lars-Christian, Albercht Wiedmann, and Susanne Ziegler. (2004). “The Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv: A Treasury of Sound Recordings.” Acoustical Science and Technology 25(4): 227–231. Lidman, Tomas. (2012). Libraries and Archives: A Comparative Study. Cambridge: Woodhead Publishing. Ling, Jan. (1964). Svensk folkmusik. Bondens musik i helg och söcken [Swedish folk music. The peasants’ music in festivities and daily life]. Stockholm: Prisma. Ling, Jan. (1994 [1979]). “Folkmusik—en brygd” [Folk music—a brew]. In Texter om svensk folkmusik, edited by Owe Ronström and Gunnar Ternhag, pp. 24–278. Stockholm: Kungl. Musikaliska akademien.

708   Dan Lundberg Lundberg, Dan, and Ternhag, Gunnar. (2005 [1996]). Folkmusik i Sverige [Folk Music in Sweden]. Hedemora: Gidlunds. Lundberg, Dan. (2007). Bjårskpip in Blossom: On the Revitalization Process of a Folk Music Instrument. STM-online. http://musikforskning.se/stmonline/vol_10/lundberg/index. php?menu=3. Lundberg, Dan. (2011). “It Goes Without Saying.” Musiikkikasvatus 14(1): 80–82. Lundberg, Dan, Krister Malm, and Owe Ronström. (2003). Music, Media, Multiculture: Changing Musicscapes. Stockholm: Svenskt visarkiv. Lönnrot, Elias. (1835). Kalevala. Helsingfors: Alternativt namn. Nyqvist, Niklas. (2007). Från bondson till folkmusikikon. Otto Andersson och formandet av “finlandssvensk folkmusik” [From Farmer’s Son to Folk Music Icon: Otto Andersson and the Forming of “Finnish-Swedish Folk Music]. Åbo: Åbo Akademis förlag. Pettinato, Giovanni. (1991). Ebla:  A  New Look at History. Baltimore, MD:  Johns Hopkins University. Ramsten. Märta. (1992). Återklang. Svensk folkmusik i förändring 1950–1980 [Echoes: Swedish Folk Music in Transition, 1950–1980]. Göteborg:  Musikvetenskapliga institutionen, Göteborg Univ. Reinhard, Kurt. (1962). “The Berlin Phonogramm-Archive.” Folklore and Folk Music Archivist. Vol. V, no 2. Bloomington: Indiana University. Roempke, Ville. (1994). På spelmansfärd med Lapp-Nils [On a folk music journey with Lapp-Nils]. Östersund: Jämtlands läns museum. Se även: Jamtli. Ronström, Owe. (1989). “Nationell musik? Bondemusik? Om folkmusikbegreppet” [National Music? Peasant Music? On the Concept of Folk Music]. In Folkmusikens historia på Gotland, edited by Bengt Arwidsson. Visby: Länsmuseet Gotlands fornsal. Ronström, Owe. (2010). “Folkmusikens manus—en läsanvisning” [The manuscript of folk music—a reading instruction]. In Det stora uppdraget, edited by Mathias Boström, Dan Lundberg, and Märta Ramsten, pp. 207–224. Stockholm: Nordiska museets förlag. . Seeger, Anthony. (1986). “The Role of Sound Archives in Ethnomusicology Today.” Ethnomusicology 30(2): 261–276. Slobin, Mark. (1993). Subcultural Sounds: Micromusics of the West. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press. Slobin, Mark. (2010). Folk Music: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Trevor-Roper, Hugh. (1983). “The Invention of Tradition: The Highland Tradition of Scotland.” In The Invention of Tradition, edited by Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, pp. 15–42. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Chapter 20

The Appl i e d Et hnomusic ol o g i st as Public Folk l ori st Ethnomusicological Practice in the Context of a Government Agency in the United States Clifford R. Murphy

In the United States, the work of applied ethnomusicologists often intersects with the sister discipline of public folklore. While it is understood that the term “folklore” is problematic and that the discipline has been the subject of a thorough international critique, its history in the United States is considered less problematic (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, 1998). While folklore in the United States includes the study of myths and tales of “the folk” (das volk), its primary focus has been—for nearly 50 years now—the ethnographic inquiry into what our international colleagues call “intangible cultural heritage” (ICH), and what will be referred to throughout this article under the American term of practice, “folklife.” This disciplinary shift is due in no small part to the progressive work of folklorists trained in universities, but not necessarily employed by them (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, 1998). The majority of public folklorists working in the United States are affiliated or funded in some way by state and federal initiatives to document, celebrate, and sustain living traditions (folklife) in their region, and in collaboration with the cultural communities documented therein. As such, references to “public folklore,” “folklorists,” and “folklife” are to be understood in the context of practice in the United States, where the institutional structures and nomenclature of public folklore grow out of a practice distinct to the United States, but with likely equivalencies worldwide. In 2008, I began working in the state of Maryland as a public folklorist—the same year that I graduated with a Ph.D. in Ethnomusicology from Brown University. Prior to graduate school, my working life had consisted mainly of touring and recording as

710   Clifford R. Murphy a member of two professional rock and country bands. After nearly a decade spent at the intersection of music and corporate commerce, I felt increasingly drawn toward field recordings of American vernacular music made by the likes of Alan Lomax for the Library of Congress in the mid-twentieth century. It was these recordings—made by public folklorists and applied ethnomusicologists in the service of government agencies in the United States—that drew me to pursue a degree in ethnomusicology. And, as director of Maryland Traditions—the folklife program for the state of Maryland—it is the making and archiving of such recordings that constitute an important component of my career as a public folklorist. This essay chronicles the work of the ethnomusicologist-as-public-folklorist in the United States, explores disciplinary connections between applied ethnomusicology and public folklore, and asks the question “How can an applied ethnomusicologist work meaningfully within the institutional and intellectual framework of public folklore?” While public folklore has an established history and theoretical framework (Baron and Spitzer, 2007), the terms “public folklore” and “public folklorist” are being used here more narrowly to mean those trained ethnographers who work in local, county, state, and federal government folklife programs, as well as nongovernmental organizations (NGO), such as the National Council for the Traditional Arts (NCTA), that work in close concert with governmental folklife initiatives. Such work entails connecting folklife practitioners (individuals and communities) to resources such as grant monies, public programs (festivals, documentaries, exhibitions, media projects), and infrastructures (archives, long-term community partnerships), primarily through documenting, promoting, and presenting the expressive traditions of cultural communities. Grant making—that is, the deskwork required to extend monetary governmental grants to folklife practitioners—is the tool by which public folklorists justify their employment, while the fieldwork carried out in advance of such grant making and the interpretive work of curating public programs from such fieldwork are their occupational lifeblood. Public folklorists working in service of governmental agencies are tasked with engaging broadly with folklife (cultural knowledge learned through oral transmission or by example). This finds the ethnographer documenting everything from the traditional nonverbal communication of steelworkers to the decorative tack of horse-drawn carriages. Fieldwork documentation is archived and serves as the foundation for public programs, grant making, and scholarly research. The frequent focus on the non-musical challenges the ethnomusicologist-as-public-folklorist to apply disciplinary training in new ways. And while the output of public folklorists over the course of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries has shown a substantial focus on music and dance traditions, fieldwork inquiry must have—by nature of the job description—a narrow focus on traditional music and dance, however defined by the agency’s folklife program. So while the focus on folklife (occupational, devotional, architectural, musical, material, etc.) may appear wide open at first glance, it can at times feel constraining for the ethnomusicologist on account of its focus on the “traditional.”

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    711

Origins of Public Folklore and Applied Ethnomusicology in Federal and State Government Federal government folklife programs emerged slowly from the late nineteenth century until the 1930s. We are writing in an age when ethnomusicologists are typically persons with academic degrees in ethnomusicology. This has not always been the case, of course, as many of the first few generations of ethnomusicologists held (and hold) degrees in related fields, from anthropology to folklore to musicology and American studies. So in addressing the history of ethnomusicologists in federal government, there is a rather murky period from the late 1800s, when ethnographers like Fewkes and Densmore were recording Native Americans, through the rise of early to mid-twentieth-century comparative musicologists like Herzog and Seeger, when the discipline of ethnomusicology was in its primordial stages of development. Contemporary government folklife programs can look to ethnomusicologist Charles Seeger as their logical starting point (Dirksen, 2012). When the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) was founded in 1955, Charles Seeger had spent most of the previous two decades working for the federal government. Trained in comparative musicology, Seeger had a series of teaching positions from 1912 to 1935. With the nation mired in the Depression, the Roosevelt administration created a series of initiatives through the New Deal that were intended as employment opportunities and became places where artists and folklorists flourished. Benjamin Botkin, one of the foremost folklorists of his time, oversaw the Federal Writers Project (1938–1941), and directed the Archive of Folk Culture at the Library of Congress (1942–1945). Seeger worked for several different New Deal programs, including the music division of the Resettlement Agency, and the Federal Music Project (a program of the Works Project Administration, or WPA). Seeger’s work involved many different forms of musical inquiry, style, and engagement, and—unlike the work of many contemporary applied ethnomusicologists in government—was not restricted to vernacular musics. Behind the work of scholars like Botkin and Seeger (and on account of their dynamic work together), significant inroads and administrative infrastructure were built for the support of working folklorists and ethnomusicologists in federal government. It was through his work with New Deal programs that Charles Seeger became a close ally and collaborator with folk song collectors John and Alan Lomax at the Library of Congress’s Archive of Folk Song. The relationship between the Seegers (Charles and his wife, composer Ruth Crawford Seeger) and the Lomaxes spawned a wide-ranging variety of public folklore and applied ethnomusicological projects. The Library of Congress had established the Archive of Folk Song in 1928 under the guidance of Robert Winslow Gordon, who conducted extensive field recordings and accessioned the early field recordings of John A. Lomax. Carl Engle, head of the Library of Congress’s Music

712   Clifford R. Murphy Division, had hoped to create a Department of Musicology at the Library, and saw the Archive of Folk Song as part of its foundation. However, the Department never materialized. Gordon was an ineffective administrator and was unable to secure the requisite grant funding to keep his position afloat. He left the Library of Congress in 1932 (Kodish, 1978). Direction of the Archive soon fell to John A. Lomax in 1933 (under the title of Honorary Consultant and Curator, which came with no salary) and his son, Alan, held the title of Assistant in Charge from 1937 (when the library secured funding for the position) until 1942. In time, the collection expanded to contain far more than music, and it was renamed the Archive of Folk Culture. When the American Folklife Center (AFC) was founded at the Library of Congress in 1976, the Archive of Folk Culture became a component of the AFC. John and Alan Lomax were folklorists who carried out their most noteworthy fieldwork under the auspices of the Archive of Folk Song at the Library of Congress. Their extraordinary experiences documenting musical traditions in rural and incarcerated communities is the stuff of legend. By 1934, the Lomaxes had published their first collection of American folk songs, American Ballads and Folk Songs (Lomax, Lomax, and Kittredge 1934), followed by Our Singing Country (Lomax et al., 1941) and Folk Song, U.S.A. (Lomax et al., 1947). Charles Seeger provided some guidance for these latter two projects (Our Singing Country and Folk Song U.S.A.), but it was Ruth Crawford Seeger who carried out the exhaustive work required to create accurate (and highly innovative for the time) musical transcriptions of field recordings for the publications. Alan and his sister, Bess, were deeply involved in selecting songs for these projects, inspiring Bess to make a career as a folk singer, music instructor, and public folklorist. Alan published one final collection of American folk songs, the ambitious Folk Songs of North America, in the English Language, with musical transcriptions made by Charles and Ruth Seeger’s daughter, Peggy (Lomax, 1960). While Alan Lomax was not shy in his critique of the fields of folklore and ethnomusicology—and at times distanced himself from both—it was his yeoman work for the Library of Congress that provided the serious study and documentation of American vernacular music within the federal government, and his collections became a cornerstone of the American Folklife Center in 1976 (Szwed, 2010).

Overview of Federal Folklife Programs There are three programs of the federal government that have a lengthy history of employment for ethnomusicologists:  the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress (which today contains the Archive of Folk Culture), the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage. All of these came about in the wake of the folk revival, of which Charles Seeger’s children—folksingers Pete, Mike, and Peggy—played significant roles in fostering.

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    713 In 1967, the Smithsonian Museum—which originated as the nation’s central educational museum in the mid-nineteenth century—launched the Festival of American Folklife (since renamed the Smithsonian Folklife Festival), a two-week festival on the National Mall in Washington, DC. Folklorists Jim Morris, Ralph Rinzler, and Henry Glassie planned the first festival, and it featured a strong focus on American vernacular music. The festival became a major annual event, drawing millions over the 4th of July holiday, and began employing ethnomusicologists as ethnographers and curators as early as 1974. Tom Vennum, an expert on Native American music and folklife, was the first ethnomusicologist to work for the Festival. By 1975, Bess Lomax Hawes was hired by the Smithsonian as Deputy Director for Presentation to curate the 1975 festival and the 1976 Bicentennial Festival of American Folklife on the National Mall, focusing on the expressive culture of every state and territory in the United States over three summer months. Hawes was familiar with ethnomusicologist Dan Sheehy, who was then completing his Ph.D. at UCLA, and contracted him to conduct fieldwork with Mexican and Mexican-American mariachi musicians in Los Angeles in advance of the 1975 and 1976 festivals. Sheehy recalls his first serious conversations with Hawes as being “mind opening. She began to put new tools into my intellectual toolkit” (Sheehy, 2013). Following the 1976 festival, Hawes moved to the National Endowment for the Arts (known as the NEA, this is an independent agency of the federal government that funds artists, arts activities, and arts organizations nationwide), where she spearheaded the creation of the NEA’s Folk Arts division. Prior to Hawes’s arrival, folklorist Alan Jabbour, with the assistance of anthropologist Claire Farrar, had handled all folk arts projects that came to the NEA for consideration (he left the NEA in 1976 prior to Hawes’s arrival); under Jabbour’s watch, folk arts projects would eventually find their way into larger disciplines (music, theater, dance) for consideration alongside fine art projects. Hawes observed that folk arts projects were at a consistent and significant disadvantage within such an arrangement, and so the Folk Arts program began in 1977 (Hawes, 2008: 118–139). Hawes had a small staff, consisting of a secretary, a folklorist (Sally Yerkovich), and an ethnomusicologist. She hired Dan Sheehy for this latter role, believing that Yerkovich’s knowledge of the folklore field and material culture would complement Sheehy’s strengths in music and fieldwork (Sheehy, 2013). Hawes directed the Folk and Traditional Arts Division from its inception in 1977 until 1992, and her tenure at the NEA yielded remarkable results. She proposed the creation of the National Heritage Fellowships—the nation’s highest federal honor given to traditional artists—which was inspired by the Japanese government’s Living National Treasures of Japan program, whose mission since 1950 has been to identify “Important Intangible Cultural Properties.” Hawes’s proposed program was shaped over the course of years through dialogue and debate with folklorists and ethnomusicologists, and was approved by the National Council on the Arts (the NEA’s governing council) and launched by the NEA in 1982 (Hawes, 2008: 161–168). Hawes also helped seed state folklife programs at state arts agencies in nearly every state and territory in the United States. Upon her retirement in 1992, Sheehy succeeded Hawes as Director of the Folk and Traditional Arts

714   Clifford R. Murphy Division and remained there until moving to the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage in 2000. Through their work at the NEA, Hawes and Sheehy shaped the future of Public Folklore and Applied Ethnomusicology. Not only did they cultivate a more nuanced and sophisticated understanding and appreciation for vernacular culture within an organization possessed of a strong orientation toward conservatory arts, they engaged a great many folklorists and ethnomusicologists (Bill Ivey, Barbara Hampton, Jeff Todd Titon, and Robert Garfias, to name but a few) in the process of evaluating applications for grant funding and in deliberating over nominees for the National Heritage Fellowships. Their most significant achievements were seeding state and regional folklife programs throughout the country, creating a program of folk arts apprenticeships (whereby a master traditional artist was funded to pass his or her knowledge on to a dedicated apprentice—a wildly successful program that was subsequently turned over by the NEA to state folklife programs), and successfully proposing the creation of the National Heritage Fellowships. In turn, each of these accomplishments created a significant resource for—and about—folklife practitioners in the United States and generated permanent and part-time employment for hundreds of folklorists, ethnomusicologists, and anthropologists over the ensuing decades. It is a testament to Hawes’s dedication to elevating the appreciation of the profession of public folklore that President Bill Clinton appointed ethnomusicologist and folklorist Bill Ivey (MA Ethnomusicology and Folklore, Indiana University) to be the Chair of the NEA, where he served in that role from 1998 to 2001. Hawes was not the first folklorist at the NEA, however, having been preceded by Alan Jabbour. Jabbour, who received a Ph.D. in English from Duke University in 1968 (with a focus on folk ballads), taught Ethnomusicology at UCLA in 1968–1969, after which he directed the Archive of Folk Culture at the Library of Congress (1969–1974), and then worked at the NEA (1974–1976). While Jabbour’s tenure at the NEA was brief, he made a significant contribution to the field by creating the first federally funded state folklife programs in the United States in 1974 at the Maryland State Arts Council and the Tennessee Arts Commission. He left the NEA to become the Director of the American Folklife Center from its inception in 1976 until his retirement in 1999. When the American Folklife Center was established at the Library of Congress in 1976, with a significant lobbying assist from folklorist Archie Green, the topics Green held most dear (American vernacular music, working-class culture) helped form the focus of the Center and have influenced the work of public folklorists through today. The topics covered by the American Folklife Center’s collections mirror the strengths of a staff that consists of both folklorists and ethnomusicologists and demonstrates an evolving sense of what constitutes an “American.” Disciplinary lines between staff folklorists and ethnomusicologists are somewhat hazy, yet affiliations come to the fore when staff chooses which academic conference they will attend. Staff members tend to self-select with regard to attendance at American Folklore Society (AFS) or SEM annual meetings. This dynamic has existed since Jabbour’s days at the AFC:

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    715 At the American Folklife Center we had something of a division of labor, with some of us concentrating on AFS and some on SEM, so I chose the AFS assignment. By now it’s been so long since I attended an SEM meeting that I feel like a fellow traveler, whereas I identify myself as a folklorist without any qualification. (Jabbour 2013)

“Fellow travelers” is an apt description of ethnomusicologists and folklorists on staff of the American Folklife Center, as well as at the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage and beyond. Funds typically do not allow for staff to travel to both SEM and AFS, and divisions of labor such as Jabbour describes appear to exist today, with notable exceptions. Over the years, the AFC has employed a number of ethnomusicologists, as well as other scholar/researchers with training in ethnomusicology, including Nora Yeh, Ron Wolcott, Joe Hickerson, and Ed Schupman (today, Schupman is the Education Product Developer at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian). AFC has also directed special projects involving ethnomusicologists, such as the Native American component of the Federal Cylinder Project, on which David McAllester, Maria La Vigna, Tom Vennum, Dorothy Sara Lee, and Judith Gray played an important role (Myers 1992: 410–411). Today, the AFC employs three ethnomusicologists on staff: Jennifer Cutting, Judith Gray, and Nancy Groce. SEM President Harris Berger is an ex-officio member of the AFC’s Board of Trustees, and Kay Kauffman Shelemay was a long-standing Congressional appointee on the AFC’s Board. The mid-1970s through the early 1980s marked the most significant time of growth for the field of public folklore (and, by extension, applied ethnomusicology), with the creation of the AFC, the Folk Arts division of the NEA, the proliferation of state folklife positions seeded by the NEA, the high-profile bicentennial Festival of American Folklife, and the formal creation of the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage (CFCH). The CFCH’s chief initiative was—and remains—the annual Smithsonian Folklife Festival. However, the Center was augmented substantially with the acquisition of Moe Asch’s Folkways record label, which became Smithsonian Folkways in 1987, and the Ralph Rinzler Folklife Archives and Collections. More than any other governmental organization, the Smithsonian—and Smithsonian Folkways in particular—has been an employer of—and a tool for—applied ethnomusicologists. Ethnomusicologists—or persons with significant training in ethnomusicology—work in a variety of Smithsonian museums: Rayna Green and John Edward Hasse at the National Museum of American History, Adrienne Kaeppler at the National Museum of Natural History, and Joanna Pecore and Michael Wilpers at the Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery. Nevertheless, the most significant concentration is at the CFCH, and at Smithsonian Folkways in particular:  Jeff Place (Archivist), Stephanie Smith (Assistant Archivist), and Greg C. Adams (Processing Archivist), Merideth Holmgren (Web Production and Education Specialist), and Joan Hua (Program Assistant). Most visibly, anthropologist and ethnomusicologist Anthony Seeger, grandson of Charles Seeger, served as the Director of Smithsonian Folkways from 1988 until 2000, at which point Dan Sheehy

716   Clifford R. Murphy (Director and Curator, Smithsonian Folkways Recordings and Folkways Collections) assumed direction of the label. Ethnomusicologist D. A. Sonneborn has been Associate Director at the label since 1998 (Heritage, 2013). Anthony Seeger made ethics of cultural ownership and copyright a hallmark of Folkways’ engagement with global musics (Seeger, 1996) and was a significant shaping force behind the creation of Smithsonian Global Sound (launched in 2005 with the involvement of ethnomusicologist Jon Kertzer). For Sheehy, the work of the CFCH and Smithsonian Folkways helps to “right a wrong” that he was personally awakened to while playing music in the late 1960s in R&B bands in the Compton neighborhood of Los Angeles, in mariachi groups, and with West African drummers while a student at UCLA. “I had been done an injustice,” Sheehy recalls feeling. “I felt the artists [and] the cultures had been done an injustice. And I thought the public at large had been done an injustice.” The injustice was what Sheehy saw as the privileging of Western art music in childhood education (and cultural education) in the United States. Sheehy felt he—and the public at large—had been misled to believe that the Western art aesthetic was a culturally superior form (Sheehy, 2013). Sheehy’s interest in cultural equity is well matched to the mission of Smithsonian Folkways: We are dedicated to supporting cultural diversity and increased understanding among peoples through the documentation, preservation, and dissemination of sound. We believe that musical and cultural diversity contributes to the vitality and quality of life throughout the world. Through the dissemination of audio recordings and educational materials we seek to strengthen people’s engagement with their own cultural heritage and to enhance their awareness and appreciation of the cultural heritage of others. (Folkways 2013)

Folkways’ founder Moses Asch worked closely with artists associated with Alan Lomax (Lead Belly, Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger). Asch also produced fieldwork projects by folklorists and ethnomusicologists, such as Ruth and Verlon Stone’s “Music of the Kpelle of Liberia” (1971). Under Seeger, Sonneborn, and Sheehy, however, Smithsonian Folkways has become more deeply engaged with ethnomusicologists on field recording projects as diverse as Stephen Feld’s Voices of the Rainforest (1991), Jeff Todd Titon’s Old Regular Baptists: Lined-Out Hymnody from Southeastern Kentucky (1997), and most recently, Jeff Summit’s Delicious Peace: Coffee, Music and Interfaith Harmony in Uganda (2013), based on Summit’s field recordings from an interfaith coffee cooperative in Uganda. On the whole, the content of the Smithsonian Folkways catalog—much like the staff of the CFCH and the American Folklife Center—is profoundly shaped by the work of “fellow travelers”: ethnomusicologists and folklorists working side by side. By 2003, federal government folklife programs engaged with enough “fellow travelers” as to make up a substantial percentage of applied ethnomusicological careers, as witnessed by the fact that over half of the speakers at the first-ever conference on applied ethnomusicology, convened at Brown University in 2003 (not to be confused with a

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    717 second conference on applied ethnomusicology that was convened later that year in Venice [Pettan, 2008]), consisted of people who had been involved in some way (many significantly) with the NEA (through state folklife programs or grant review panels), the AFC (through the Federal Cylinder Project or through collaborative research and archival repatriation initiatives), or the CFCH (through Smithsonian Folkways or the Smithsonian Folklife Festival) (Titon, 2003).

Overview of State Folklife Programs and State Folklorists While Alan Jabbour and Bess Lomax Hawes created the blueprint for folklife programs at state arts agencies across the United States in the 1970s, the nation’s first state folklorist position was created by the state of Pennsylvania in 1948 and was filled by Henry W. Shoemaker at the Pennsylvania Historical Commission until 1956. A journalist and former Ambassador to Bulgaria, Shoemaker was much derided by his folklore colleagues in academia, such as Samuel Bayard, for being a “fakelorist”—a play on the derogatory term “fakelore,” coined by folklorist Richard Dorson to describe “deliberately contrived” folklore such as the tales of legendary North American woodcutter Paul Bunyan (Dorson, 1949). Nevertheless, Shoemaker was a significant popularizer of folklore, and the position stuck for several decades (Bronner, 1996). From 1967 to 1969 folklorist Henry Glassie served as Pennsylvania state folklorist (under the title of “Director of the Ethnic Culture Survey”), and was succeeded in that role by David Hufford. Though the program was dissolved when Hufford departed to teach at Newfoundland University in 1970, it had established enough institutional credibility to positively influence the neighboring state of Maryland to seek out the creation of a comparable program. While in the role of Pennsylvania State Folklorist, Glassie consulted with University of Maryland folklorist George Carey on the Maryland Gubernatorial Commission to Study the Need for the Establishment of an Archive of Maryland Folklife. The ensuing public report, commissioned by Governor Spiro Agnew in 1968 and issued in 1970, reflected the nation’s growing introspection with regard to heritage as it approached the bicentennial, and an anxiety that all that was once beautiful was being lost to mass culture and interstate highways. The report concluded (in all caps) that THE UNRECORDED HISTORY OF MARYLAND AND ITEMS OF MATERIAL FOLK CULTURE AND FOLKLORE ARE DAILY BEING LOST PERHAPS FOREVER TO THE PEOPLE OF THE STATE AND THEIR CHILDREN. THERE IS INTEREST AMONG THE PEOPLE OF THE STATE IN THIS HISTORY, MATERIAL CULTURE, AND FOLKLORE, AND IN THEIR PRESERVATION. THERE ARE PROFESSIONAL FOLKLORISTS IN THE STATE WHO WOULD AID IN THIS PRESERVATION. COOPERATION OF OTHERS IS ASSURED. BUT GUIDANCE IS NEEDED.

718   Clifford R. Murphy TODAY, MARYLAND HAS THE OPPORTUNITY TO BE IN THE VANGUARD OF STATE GOVERNMENTS AS THEY COME TO REALIZE THAT THE PRESERVATION OF ONE’S FOLKLIFE IS NOT ONLY IMPORTANT BUT VITAL. (Carey, 1970: 25)

Anxieties aside, Carey’s report presented a convincing argument for the creation of a state folklorist position and a state folklore archive and laid the groundwork for the creation of the Maryland Folklife Program. In 1972, Carey was involved in producing the Smithsonian’s 1972 Festival of American Folklife Maryland Program. In 1973, Alan Jabbour—then at the NEA—initiated discussions with Maryland State Arts Council (MSAC) Director James Backas about the possibility of creating a pilot program that could be used as a national model for state folklife programs that—unlike the Pennsylvania program, which was hosted at the Pennsylvania State Historical Museum—would be based at state arts agencies. These programs were to be directed by a state folklorist. The MSAC and the NEA developed a formal agreement and hired George Carey as its first state folklorist in 1974. The agreement set in motion a federal-state funding dynamic that remains mostly intact today, whereby the NEA provides some seed monies for a folklorist position; the host agency is responsible for making the position financially sustainable within a fixed number of years. Jabbour also created a pilot program that same year in Tennessee, but the Tennessee program closed shop within two years. Today, the Maryland Folklife Program (renamed Maryland Traditions in 2001) is the longest-running state folklife program in the nation. The Maryland program was fruitful within its first three years, producing an annual Maryland Folklife Festival beginning in 1975 (based entirely on fieldwork), producing films, books, and symposia, and generating a groundswell of support from Maryland residents, administrators, and government officials. As such, it became an effective example of success for the NEA to promote to other state arts agencies throughout the country. When Bess Lomax Hawes started the Folk Arts division at the NEA in 1977, she made it a goal to have a state folklife program at every state arts agency in the nation, famously using a map with multicolored pins to show where folklife programs had been funded (Hawes, 2008). During Hawes’s 15 years at the NEA, she grew the division’s budget from $100,000 annually to $4 million, created folklife programs in 50 of the 56 states and territories, and expanded the folk arts staff from one to six (Heritage, 2013). Dan Sheehy worked alongside Hawes for much of this time, though he was not immediately employed in the Folk Arts Division; rather, he first served as an in-house expert on non-Western art musics before moving into the Folk Arts Division. Through both Hawes and Sheehy, ethnomusicologists became a known entity within state and federal folklife agencies and a disciplinary orientation that was considered an acceptable fit for state folklife programs. The roots of Hawes’s considerable success at the NEA is to be found in her work at the Smithsonian, where she had directed the 1976 Bicentennial Festival of American Folklife on the National Mall. The Bicentennial festival had enabled Hawes to consolidate a number of experts and folklife practitioners state by state, which ultimately

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    719 became a rich resource when it came to fostering new state folklife programs. Indeed, many of the participants in the Smithsonian’s 1972 Maryland Program were engaged with the Maryland Folklife Program at MSAC as soon as it began. This was a pattern that repeated itself elsewhere, both with regards to artists and ethnographers. As Hawes remembered it, Almost every person I know who is active today in the area of public folklore participated at least in some small fashion in the 1976 Festival. Historians will eventually look in wonder at the far-reaching effects of the 1976 Festival of American Folklife. (Heritage, 2013)

A rising generation of new professionals coming of age in the arts world in the 1970s expected to see festivals involving music and dance. The Smithsonian Folklife Festival, the National Folk Festival (NCTA), and the Newport Folk and Jazz Festivals (not to mention Woodstock and the Monterey Pop Festival) had inspired an entire generation of Americans to engage in fieldwork; many of these individuals filled the professional ranks of folklorists and ethnomusicologists by the late 1970s. The Smithsonian Folklife Festival had, in particular, become an innovator in folklife studies and a generator of work for folklorists and ethnomusicologists as fieldworkers, curators, writers, and presenters. As burgeoning state folklife programs looked for ways to showcase traditional folklife on the local level, they turned frequently to the festival format. Likewise, the post–Alex Haley/Roots world had been awakened to the rich expressive traditions of multicultural urban centers. As such, folklorists who had cut their teeth solely on the rural English-language American vernacular musical styles found in the Lomaxes’ songbooks were not always prepared to curate programs on Lithuanian, Chinese, Senegalese, or South Indian cultural traditions. Ethnomusicologist Jill Linzee recalls that the growing demand for such expertise was readily met by ethnomusicologists who not only had sophisticated musical training, but had also learned “well developed cultural sensitivities toward working with different cultural and/or ethnic groups (especially those very different from one’s own ethnic origin).” Bess Lomax Hawes recognized that—in the 1970s—ethnomusicologists tended to be internationally focused, whereas their folklore contemporaries tended to be domestically focused; this was a strength that ethnomusicologists could, and did, contribute in collaborative settings with folklorists (Sheehy, 2013). Ethnomusicology’s focus on cultural context was (and is), in Linzee’s view, a transferrable skill to non-musical activities (Linzee, 2013). The first ethnomusicologist to hold the position of State Folklorist in the United States was Roberta Singer, who held the position in Massachusetts from 1983 to 1984. The position was created after ethnomusicologist Jeff Todd Titon and folklorist Jane Beck (founder of the Vermont Folklife Center), both of whom served on the NEA Folk Arts Panel under Bess Lomax Hawes, approached Massachusetts Arts Council Director Anne Hawley with the idea of launching a state folklife program using the NEA’s typical “ramp-up-ramp-down” funding model (three years of funding to get the position started, after which the host agency would fund the position). Singer left the position to

720   Clifford R. Murphy return home to New York City, where she helped develop the New York State Council on the Arts’ (NYSCA) Apprenticeship Program within NYSCA’s Folk Arts Program directed by Robert Baron. A group of folklorists formed the New York City Chapter of the New  York Folklore Society, which, in 1986, incorporated as City Lore—The New York Center for Urban Folk Culture, a part of NYSCA’s state-funded network of folklife partnerships. Singer has worked for City Lore since its inception, where her ethnomusicology training and experience laid a foundation for the research, documentation, and presentation of Puerto Rican and Cuban music. At City Lore, Singer has produced several CDs of New York Puerto Rican music, a national tour of Afro-Cuban and Puerto Rican music and dance, a documentary film on the Afro-Puerto Rican bomba tradition, and an exchange between Puerto Rican musicians from New York and Puerto Rico (Singer, 2014). Singer was succeeded in Massachusetts by Dillon Bustin to direct the state’s Folklife and Ethnic Arts Program. Bustin held that position from 1985 until the Massachusetts Arts Council was shuttered in 1991 in the wake of controversial public funding of art exhibitions deemed “obscene” by some members of the state legislature. The agency re-emerged soon after as the Massachusetts Cultural Council, who re-launched their folklife program in 1999 as the Folk Arts and Heritage program under the direction of state folklorist Maggie Holtzberg. Holtzberg majored in ethnomusicology as an undergraduate at Wesleyan (1979) and went on to receive a Ph.D. in Folklore from University of Pennsylvania in 1987. A  fiddle player who identifies professionally as a folklorist, Holtzberg has done significant documentation and interpretation of living traditions in Massachusetts, which she has summarized thusly: With camera and sound recorder in hand, we have interviewed scrimshanders on Nantucket, feast-day organizers in Boston’s North End, contra-dance fiddlers in Greenfield, and Native American regalia makers on Cape Cod. Vital folk art traditions are being carried on all across the state within both long-settled ethnic and new immigrant communities. (Holtzberg et al., 2008: xi)

Holtzberg has observed that ethnomusicologists bring special skills to musical fieldwork that many folklorists lack. In part because the festival format was such an important point of origin for the field of public folklore, traditional music has been a major component of folklife programs and an important entry point for cross-cultural understanding. Holtzberg feels that ethnomusicology plays an important role in documenting and interpreting living musical traditions. Though she is perhaps best known for her examination of the occupational folklife and craft of the printing trade (Holtzberg, 1992), as well as her work with traditional Irish musicians like accordionist Joe Derrane, Holtzberg has documented a broad range of musical traditions, from Trinidadian carnival music to African-American tap dance (Holtzberg et al., 2008). In her previous roles with the Alabama State Council on the Arts (1988–1989) and as state folklorist in Georgia (1992–1997), she worked with African-American sacred and occupational

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    721 singers and produced the documentary film Gandy Dancers (1994) with Barry Dornfeld. Adding an additional layer to the state/federal/NGO folklife relationship, Holtzberg has been on “loan” from the state of Massachusetts to the National Park Service in the post-industrial mill city of Lowell, Massachusetts, where she coordinates programming for the state folklife program, the Lowell National Historical Park, and for the annual Lowell Folk Festival, produced by the NCTA. Other states have hired ethnomusicologists in central positions (the so-called “state folklorist” position) or as folklorists who directed regional partnerships. Ethnomusicologist Steve Grauberger has been a Folklife Specialist at the Alabama State Council on the Arts’ Alabama Center for Traditional Culture since 1998. Ethnomusicologist Jill Linzee was the Traditional Arts Coordinator (state folklorist) for the New Hampshire State Council on the Arts from 1993 to 1996. By this time, the presence of an ethnomusicologist in the role of a folklorist had become common enough. For some folklore professionals, this was—and remains—a source of mild frustration, as can be seen in this anecdote from Linzee: One of my public folklore colleagues who had been formally trained in the field of folklore once confronted me with this question: As an ethnomusicologist, you are competing with folklorists for public folklore jobs—but what kind of jobs has the field of ethnomusicology helped to establish that folklorists can apply for? (Linzee, 2013)

For most, however, like folklorist Robert Baron—the New York State folklorist and a significant figure in the development of public folklore theory—the increase in numbers of ethnomusicologists in state folklife programs is both welcoming and non-threatening. In Baron’s opinion, the joint meeting of MACSEM (the Mid-Atlantic Chapter of SEM) and MAFA (the Mid-Atlantic Folklife Association) in 2007 was particularly fruitful (Baron, 2013). Baron’s sentiment—that joint meetings of regional chapters of SEM and AFS, as well as of the parent organizations, are mutually beneficial and should be more frequent—is common in conversations among public folklorists and applied ethnomusicologists. As Holtzberg has observed, “good fieldwork is good fieldwork, whether it was done by someone trained in Folklore, Ethnomusicology, or American Studies” (Holtzberg, 2013).

From State Folklorists to State Folklife Partnerships The work of the state folklorist has changed over the course of four decades of state folklife programs. At the Maryland State Arts Council (MSAC), where I have worked as the state folklorist since 2008, that change can be characterized as a shift from a mostly

722   Clifford R. Murphy singular pursuit to that of a partnership approach. Founded in 1974 as the Maryland Folklife Program, the program changed its name to Maryland Traditions in 2001 as part of an evolution in state folklife programs nationwide. For its first 26 years, the Maryland Folklife Program—like most in the nation—was an office of one (the state folklorist), operating out of the city of Baltimore, with occasional discretionary projects that employed ethnographers of varying disciplines on short-term contracts. In 2001, MSAC and the Maryland Historical Trust (the state’s historical preservation office) collaborated on the creation of a state folklife infrastructure program. The state folklife infrastructure program (an NEA term) was modeled after innovative programs in the states of Louisiana, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey, where the state folklife program seeded networks of regional long-term partnerships throughout the state. Each partnership would employ a folklorist to conduct regional fieldwork. Fieldwork would be archived both locally and in a central statewide folklife archive. Regional partners would connect local folklife practitioners to statewide grants (apprenticeships) and local nonprofits to statewide project grants. In its most basic sense, the state folklife infrastructure concept grew out of the idea that it is hard to develop trust and long-term resources for local communities when working remotely out of a centralized government office. Likewise, regional partners could engage in a kind of local, grassroots work that is impossible and not always appropriate for a state agency to become involved in. Partnerships add significant flexibility for state folklife programs, enabling local partners to engage in grassroots initiatives, to act as mediators of community conflict, and to develop long-term support for communities involved in maintaining living traditions. Each partnership has a focus distinct to its parent organization’s mission and the needs and demands of the communities in the region. As such, one partner might require a folklorist to have significant expertise in material culture, or occupational folklife, while another requires an ability to work with a broad range of musical traditions. As such, state folklife infrastructure programs such as Maryland Traditions provide additional opportunities for which ethnomusicologists are well suited. In Maryland, musical inquiry has been an effective ambassador for the program’s continued support by the state. In 1974, the aim of the Maryland folklife program was to “amplify” the voice of Maryland tradition bearers, in vernacular performing, verbal, occupational, architectural, and material arts through public programs and publications based on fieldwork (Carey, 1976). Today the aims of the program mix pragmatism with the ideals of cultural equity that inspired the program’s founding: to document, celebrate, and sustain living traditions in Maryland. These living traditions can be indigenous, or they can be new to Maryland. Maryland Traditions works to achieve its mission primarily through the aforementioned seed grants for the development of regional folklife programs statewide, and the development of more sophisticated means of extending the resources of the state to celebrate and sustain living traditions through apprenticeship grants and project grants. As such, the program is built to work statewide and regionally, with organizations (through Project Grants and Partnerships) and with individuals (through Apprenticeship grants and other awards and programs for individual artists).

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    723

Public Folklore as Strategic Governmental Outreach In government folklife work, there are political and philosophical motivations behind the focus on traditional arts and culture. A governmental agency is at its core a public service entity with an obligation to serve all of its residents in a wide variety of capacities from roadways to revenues to research. So, politically, any agency that is not serving the entirety of its residents is vulnerable to critique, censure, and defunding. Given that government work is public service, there are those residents who are readily “served” and those who are not. In the language of government, this latter category is defined as “underserved.” In the realm of state arts agencies, where the vast majority of state folklife programs are housed, there are both underserved communities and expressive forms. These tend to be communities and expressive forms of working-class, rural, agricultural, maritime, occupational, or non-Western orientation, as well as the disabled. Very often, these same underserved communities consist of persons of color, non-native English speakers, and/or persons who do not tend to fill out grant applications. Folklife programs focus on those communities and their expressive cultural traditions that are passed on through word of mouth or by example. This is what is implied in “traditional” and can be a source of consternation for those who astutely point out that some musical traditions that rely on oral tradition (such as heavy metal music) are excluded, just as many conservatory arts are also endowed with “tradition.” These latter traditions, however, are not associated with either underserved expressive forms or communities in the realm of arts funding. The political value of government folklife programs is to be found in their effectiveness at reaching underserved communities. The philosophical value of folklife programs comes from ideas of social and cultural equity—this is a philosophy espoused by a great many culture workers engaged in folklife programs, rather than an explicit part of the mission of the programs themselves. There are folklife programs with overt social justice missions, but they are NGO programs, such as the Philadelphia Folklore Project (PFP), which utilizes folklorists, ethnomusicologists, and other ethnographers to carry out grassroots social justice work (Kodish, 2011) (Debora Kodish, the founder and Executive Director of PFP, was brought by the Applied Ethnomusicology Section of the Society for Ethnomusicology to speak at the 2011 annual conference about the intersection of applied ethnomusicology and social justice work). Finally, a history of government folklife programs shows a recurring and problematic interest in developing, galvanizing, and promoting nationalistic and regional identities. This latter philosophical mission was most prominently on display during the World War II era. Each of these political and philosophical strands is at work at some level in government folklife programs, and the federal government is responsible for creating the blueprint that has been replicated by state, county, and municipal governments.

724   Clifford R. Murphy Strategic outreach in a state such as Maryland comes with its own distinct challenges, ones well met by partnerships that can respond to specific regional/community needs. Maryland is the ninth smallest state in the United States and is bordered to the south by Washington, DC, and Virginia, to the east by Delaware and the Atlantic Ocean, to the north by Pennsylvania and Delaware, and to the west by Virginia and West Virginia. Its northern border constitutes the Mason-Dixon. Maryland is the 19th most populous state (5.8 million) and the fifth most densely populated state in the nation (2011 US Census). It is both highly urbanized—with urban centers in Baltimore and Metro DC—and has long-standing agricultural, maritime, and mining occupational groups. Maryland’s defining geographical attributes are the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean to the east and the Appalachian Mountains to the West. The city of Baltimore is home to the second-largest deepwater port on Eastern Seaboard—this distinction has, historically, meant that the city has been a major port of entry for immigrants. In the late twentieth century, however, Baltimore’s port and its close proximity to the Eastern seaboard cities of New York, Philadelphia, Washington, DC, and Richmond made it a major port of entry for illegal drugs, a fact that—combined with mass deindustrialization and the devastating effects of race riots in the 1970s—has created a swath of crippling poverty and urban blight. This urban blight—the backdrop to Baltimore’s drug culture, as portrayed on David Simon’s popular HBO television series The Wire—stands in stark contrast to the state’s enormous wealth. Maryland is the wealthiest state in the nation, and its proximity to Washington, DC, has transformed it into one of the most multicultural regions in the nation. Such diversity in geography and demographics makes for a region of significant variation in areas of cultural inquiry. With such a diverse cultural geography, Maryland Traditions has worked to build strategic regional partnerships in distinct sub-regions of the state. Partnerships over the first 12 years of the program have consisted of a mixture of museums, universities, county arts councils, local municipalities, and nonprofits. Maryland Traditions’ partnerships currently include organizations as different as the National Council for the Traditional Arts in Silver Spring, Maryland (the nation’s oldest folk arts nonprofit, producers of the annual National Folk Festival since 1934), and the Ward Museum of Wildfowl Art in Salisbury (a museum dedicated to Maryland’s indigenous, functional duck decoy carving/painting traditions and the international fine art wildfowl sculpture tradition). Over the past decade, Maryland Traditions’ partners have employed ethnomusicologists in a variety of roles—from targeted short-term contracts (e.g., Dr. Harold Anderson, who documented the musical traditions of Old West Baltimore in 2004, and African-American sacred expressive traditions in Prince George’s County in 2010) to longer-term, full-time positions (ethnomusicologist Mark Puryear was a staff folklorist at the Arts and Humanities Council of Montgomery County from 2005 to 2010). Ethnomusicologists are also active in other partner institutions, such as the NCTA, whether as employees (such as Anne Kogan) or as fieldworkers and stage presenters. Additionally, ethnomusicologists are active in the archives: since 2011, Maryland Traditions has employed ethnomusicologists Greg C. Adams and Hannah Rogers to process and organize 40 years of ethnographic materials.

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    725 For the average ethnomusicologist, the working list of living traditions in Maryland folklife is dizzying—ranging from boatbuilding to hog-butchering, Native American regalia-making to quilting, South Indian Kuchipudi dance to Piedmont blues, and silversmithing to muskrat-skinning. Clearly, such a list encompasses far more than the study of people making music. However intimidating such a range might appear at first glance, in practice it is invigorating and a constant reminder that, no matter our academic credentials or the size of our archives, we really know very little about anything. In my five plus years as state folklorist, I have found the broader context of folklife to be a healthy reminder that music is not always the primary point of cultural expression for everybody. In fact, while Titon defines ethnomusicology as the study of people making music (Titon, 2009), for the ethnomusicologist-as-state-folklorist, it is also the study of music in context (Merriam and Herbert M. Halpert Collection, 1964). And sometimes that context is highly non-musical, pushing the ethnomusicologist into “the study of people making _______.”

On the Job The work of the ethnomusicologist-as-folklorist requires administrative and production skills not imparted during graduate school: management of budgets and personnel, evaluation of grant applications, convening of grant review panels, advocating for budget increases from senior administrators and government officials, producing festivals, advocating for artists, producing media projects, curating museum exhibitions, negotiating salaries with university provosts, advocating for cultural policies that acknowledge and respect the existence of folklife, writing grants, working with university and community scholars, or advising on all of the above. In short, the job requires a fair amount of diplomacy and fieldwork and a steady diet of desk work. When Curt Sachs critiqued comparative musicology’s practice of “desk work” (Sachs and Kunst, 1962: 16–32), he was addressing the privileged place that transcription and analysis of sound artifacts (field recordings and fieldwork conducted by others) had within the discipline over ethnographic inquiry. David McAllester’s Enemy Way Music signified a departure from “desk work” (or “armchair” ethnomusicology) in favor of ethnography augmented by transcription and analysis of one’s own fieldwork (McAllester, 1954). For the contemporary director of a statewide folklife program—or, for that matter, for equivalents in federal programs—the job requires both fieldwork and deskwork: conducting one’s own fieldwork and frequently coordinating, transcribing, analyzing, and interpreting the fieldwork efforts of colleagues and contract fieldworkers conducted in service of the state program. And while armchair ethnomusicology is carried out to some degree by the public folklorist in the manner that Sachs, Hood, and others would have defined it (Hood, 1971: 30), there is an altogether different form of armchair ethnomusicology distinct to this work that is far more engaging and meaningful. A team of collaborating folklorists and ethnomusicologists, each with a distinct

726   Clifford R. Murphy set of strengths, expertise, and objectives, can be of far greater service to the people of the state than a singular ethnographer who is averse to armchair ethnomusicology. Collaborative presentations and symposia about Maryland folklife are invigorating and informative, particularly when they involve community members (“tradition bearers” in the language of public folklore; “informants” in the language of anthropologists), but such presentations have their limitations as well, with regard to both logistics and clear narrative, and are not always the right choice in cases of cultural policy and institutional advocacy. Another positive piece of armchair ethnomusicology comes in curating events and exhibitions that draw from the entirety of the ethnographic inquiry of the full Maryland Traditions partnership, including now-historical fieldwork (that is, archived fieldwork conducted in decades past by ethnographers who no longer work for the folklife program). In 2009, I was invited, as state folklorist, to participate in the programming committee for the Asian-Pacific-American (APA) Program of the 2010 Smithsonian Folklife Festival. The Program, which sought to celebrate the APA community of Metropolitan DC as a microcosm of the APA experience broadly, included five other ethnomusicologists:  Dan Sheehy, Dr.  Joanna Pecore (Education Specialist, Smithsonian Freer and Sackler Galleries), Michael Wilpers (Performing Arts Programmer, Smithsonian Freer and Sackler Galleries), Dr. Terry Liu (Educational Specialist at the NEA), and Mark Puryear. At the time, Puryear was directing the Maryland Traditions partnership at the Arts and Humanities Council of Montgomery County. Pecore was—and remains—an active musician in the DC region’s Cambodian music and dance community (her dissertation focused on this music/refugee/sacred community). The overall committee was quite large, and each of us was called upon to introduce artists for consideration in the Program. In Pecore’s case, this was deep ethnographic inquiry into local Khmer classical court music and dance traditions. For Puryear and myself, we introduced artists that had been vetted by Maryland Traditions fieldwork, though not always fieldwork that had been carried out ourselves. Rather, we were introducing participants for consideration who had been documented by ourselves and our colleagues, past and present. As such, the APA artists documented in our archives constituted a kind of roster that could be considered for inclusion in the program. Ultimately, Maryland-based artists and cultural communities were represented in significant numbers over the course of the two-week program, ranging from Cambodian pin peat musicians to Nepalese sarangi players to Kuchipudi dancers. Such collaboration between federal, state, and local governmental folklife programs is common and also fosters a professional environment that is conducive for lateral and horizontal movement. Many professional colleagues in public folklore have moved within federal, state, and local programs, including ethnomusicologists such as Jill Linzee (American Folklife Center, Smithsonian, NEA, NH State Council on the Arts). Other ethnomusicologists have moved from governmental work to NGO/nonprofit work, such as Lisa Richardson (folklorist for the L.A. County Arts Commission and the City of L.A. Dept. of Cultural Affairs), who is currently the Director of the nonprofit California Traditional Music Society (Richardson, 2011).

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    727 Terry Liu has been another long-standing applied ethnomusicologist who has moved in and out of federal, state, and local folklife programs, though he is most closely associated with his longtime service for the NEA. Liu has served the NEA as Folk and Traditional Arts Specialist (1990–1996) and as Arts Education Specialist (2000–present). In 1989 he taught ethnomusicology at Kent State. He has also served as an administrator, grants panelist, and consultant in arts funding at the federal, state, regional, and local government levels, as well as for private foundations across the country. Originally a conservatory violinist, Liu studied ethnomusicology at University of Hawai’i at Manoa (M.A. in 1982) and at Kent State University (Ph.D. in 1988). From 1996 to 1999 Liu was a program specialist at the Arts Council for Long Beach, California, where he conducted fieldwork and offered technical assistance to traditional artists. He also served as regional coordinator to develop folk arts infrastructure in Southern California in coordination with the California Arts Council. He was a cofounder of the Alliance for California Traditional Arts (ACTA) and served on grant review panels across the country. Terry is also an active musician, playing violin with Mariachi Los Amigos (Dan Sheehy also plays trumpet with this group) in the Metro DC region. Liu’s work at the NEA requires a great deal of grants management and consultation to hundreds of applicants from nonprofit organizations throughout the country. At the time of this writing, Liu was managing 170 applications for arts education projects, with a total request of over $9 million. Each grant application is reviewed by a panel of 20 evaluators, and four separate panels will be convened (Liu, 2013). Each division of the NEA recruits experts in a variety of disciplines for its review panels, and ethnomusicologists are often called upon to serve as reviewers for music, folklife, education, and National Heritage Award panels. The same is true for state arts agencies, which draw upon folklorists and ethnomusicologists to review their folklife grant applications. My first interaction with this aspect of public folklore occurred in graduate school, first as an observer of the Massachusetts Cultural Council’s Folk Arts Apprenticeships panel, and soon after as member of a folklife panel for the Rhode Island State Council on the Arts. Panels serve as a driver of professional community, providing opportunities for young ethnographers to interact (and debate) with senior colleagues and fellow travelers from across the country (and from both public sector and university places of employment) in a collegial environment. Such panels are also a tremendous opportunity to gain insight on issues affecting the field and the communities with which applied ethnomusicologists engage. From funding crises to political or community strife, grant panels—like a miniature SEM or AFS meeting—help provide a broad view of the field and its various challenges. For example, Maryland is experiencing a period of robust support for state folklife initiatives, but the same cannot be said for many other states in the country. Personal and professional bonds developed at conferences and panel meetings help to forge a strong network of advocacy and political capital that can be drawn from in key moments (a recent example being the mobilization of public folklorists and applied ethnomusicologists to save the National Heritage Fellowships from being eliminated in 2011). Advocacy and cultural policy are part and parcel of the work of public folklorists.

728   Clifford R. Murphy In the realm of cultural policy—engaging with elected officials, governmental agencies, and community organizations—it is not only highly effective to have an armchair ethnomusicologist (or folklorist) involved, it is often critical to any hope of sensitive cultural intervention on the part of the government. For the state folklorist, they must utilize their perspective and their insight to advocate for greater attention and equity for traditional artists and underserved communities. This sort of work must be done with great diplomacy; otherwise, equitable allocation of funding and other resources is jeopardized. Outside the state arts agency, such a role is most often demanded in the realm of cultural/heritage tourism. Cultural policy work constitutes an important, if small, part of the job, however. The bread-and-butter of most state arts agencies is grants administration. For the state folklorist—as for the regional partner—reviewing grant applications and convening grant panels to evaluate grant applications is a major part of the job. Being able to evaluate narratives as well as budgets is critical to long-term success. It may sound ridiculously obvious, but being able to show up to staff meetings is also important, despite the fact that the day-to-day work of the agency as a whole is conducted in a different administrative dialect than that of the folklife program. Likewise, the job requires fieldwork, making the job description significantly different from that of one’s arts agency peers. For too many state folklorists, this has been a fatal flaw, magnified by the very earnest and intense sense of purpose the ethnographer often brings with him to work. This means that the incoming state folklorist has often been stereotyped before arriving on the job, and it is a stereotype that is best addressed head-on by showing up on time, following dress codes, attending meetings and other mandatory events—all while connecting the relevancy of folklife to the work of arts agency colleagues approaching culture work from a decidedly different angle. The state folklorist must be able to effectively justify her existence and her ongoing fieldwork activities in order to build credibility and institutional support. Connecting fieldwork engagement to grant work is crucial to achieving this transformation. For example, for the past five years I have been engaged in ongoing fieldwork with a community in northeastern Maryland that came about as a result of a Depression-era migration of Appalachian people. This migration contained a number of musicians significant in the early history of country and bluegrass music: Ola Belle Reed, Fields Ward, and Hazel Dickens foremost among them. While I have an intellectual interest in this migration and in regional forms of country music that persist primarily as “people’s music” (Keil. 1985), I also wish—as an applied ethnomusicologist, and as a public folklorist who was hired to conduct outreach work to underserved communities—to connect this community to the resources of the Maryland State Arts Council. This has been accomplished by engaging the community with Maryland Traditions Project Grants and Apprenticeship Grants. Project grants help to fund not-for-profit organizations such as the Cecil County Public Library conduct a community gathering focused on the oral testimony of first- and second-generation Appalachian migrants. Apprenticeships have focused on a number of first- and second-generation musicians from the migration who seek to pass on living traditions from one generation to the next. Apprenticeships pair a master

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    729 artist (e.g., banjo player David Reed, son of the late Ola Belle Reed) with an apprentice for one year to fortify the transmission of living traditions. Apprenticeships consist of a monetary award as well as publicity that can sometimes be significant. Apprenticeship teams are documented through photographs and field recordings, and audiovisual vignettes are produced and published on YouTube. Field documentation is placed in the Maryland Traditions Archives. For the host agency, fieldwork is, then, practical work. Folklife apprenticeships focus primarily on traditions rooted in working-class, agricultural, rural, and immigrant communities—communities that do not always prioritize grant-writing. Applicants often do not to have a college education, or when they do, many speak English as a second (or third) language. Without fieldwork—or, in the language of the state arts agency, “outreach” or “technical assistance”—these artists would never find their way into the grant programs of the agency. And for a state agency whose mission is to serve all of the residents of the state, it is a liability when one’s grant programs fall short of this mission. So fieldwork/outreach is crucial, as the state folklorist—and the regional folklife partners throughout the state—offers considerable technical assistance with regard to grant work. The apprenticeship demographic also has a very high percentage of applicants who do not use computers at all. As such, the Maryland Traditions Apprenticeship grants are the last grants of MSAC that are able to filled out by hand—all others (including Maryland Traditions Project Grants) must be completed via electronic/online grant applications. And so the technical assistance work provided by the state folklorist is decidedly out of step with the high-tech grant world of the twenty-first century, but would be entirely at home in Charles Seeger’s WPA era of government work that spawned the field of public folklore. In addition to grant work, the state folklorist produces public programs such as festivals, radio programs, and symposia. The quality of such public programs can do wonders for building credibility and institutional buy-in. Since 2011, the Maryland Traditions Folklife Festival has greatly elevated the profile of not only the Maryland Traditions program, but of MSAC and folklife in Maryland in general. As mentioned before, the bread-and-butter of state arts agency work is grant making. And while this means the thoughtful and careful infusion of millions of dollars of state funds into nonprofit arts activities ranging from symphony orchestras to arts in education to theater programs for persons with special needs, grant making does not always appear to be “active” engagement with the public. So the state folklorist is also an unusual colleague at a state arts agency in this respect: she is involved in a good deal of public programming. These programs generate considerable good will toward the agency through publicity and through the events themselves. Nowhere is this more apparent than at the Maryland Traditions Folklife Festival, where programs make it plain that the festival participants have also been recognized by Maryland Traditions/MSAC folklife grants and awards. So in this arena, the festival induces a form of performative grant making (and fieldwork). Radio programs are by far the most gratifying work for the Maryland state folklorist. Ongoing collaborations with the Baltimore NPR affiliate (88.1-FM, WYPR) have resulted in a considerable body of feature-length (one-hour) radio programs focused on

730   Clifford R. Murphy Maryland’s musical folklife. These features use key individuals as the lens through which a given cultural community is understood, and each is based entirely on interviews and field recordings. Features have ranged from Piedmont blues musicians in Metro DC to Persian classical musicians in Baltimore; African-American sacred music to bluegrass; West African griots to Lumbee Indian pow-wow musicians and dancers. Each of these programs has been the result of considerable fieldwork, and each provides a stage not only for the airing of field recordings and interviews, but for thoughtful reflection and interpretation of culture by the applied ethnomusicologist. These programs not only help to serve the public through education and awareness—the fact that each radio program is also available for download and podcast has made it an effective tool for featured artists to promote themselves within their home communities, to repurpose on social media, or to provide the validating stamp of community outsiders that has been one of the hallmarks of public folklorists for a century.

Disciplinary Challenges to the Ethnomusicologist as Government Folklorist For the aspiring applied ethnomusicologist considering a career in public folklore, the most obvious disciplinary challenge is likely to be the prodigious amount of non-musical areas of inquiry. This is as true for the state folklorist as it is for an ethnomusicologist such as Jennifer Cutting on the reference desk at the American Folklife Center: Truth is, though, that all of us who work on the Reference Desk… end up answering questions about everything from Norwegian sod houses to “How the Leopard Got His Spots.” So we have to have a passing knowledge of folklore genres from vernacular architecture to folk tales and everything in between. (Cutting, 2011)

A secondary challenge is the narrower “folklife” or “traditional” paradigm that is not necessarily applied by ethnomusicologists in other professional realms. Disciplinary challenges to the ethnomusicologist-as-folklorist are not restricted to the focus on traditional music, however: the nature of public service and state-funded public programs complicate the application—in public settings—of bi-musicality and participant observation. Public displays of bi-musicality by a state employee give the appearance of contradicting the mission of state-driven public service. However, effective fieldwork requires the ethnomusicologist-as-folklorist to practice bi-musicality behind the scenes. Traditional music communities tend to be somewhat skeptical of government employees until bi-musicality comes into play. Likewise, fieldwork communities

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    731 expect the government folklorist to be useful to them in some way. Sometimes, however, the most useful action calls for overt advocacy. A veteran of state and federal folklife programs, ethnomusicologist Jill Linzee has found greater freedom as the Executive Director of Northwest Heritage (an NGO based in Lake Forest Park, Washington) to become involved in the intersection between applied ethnomusicology and social justice work. For the state folklorist constrained from overt acts of social justice, then, the challenge is to connect fieldwork communities to organizations that can effectively collaborate with (or advocate for) them in a dynamic and open way not available to (or appropriate for) a state agency. Other challenges may seem small on the surface: primarily, Jabbour’s “fellow traveler” syndrome. For the ethnomusiclogist as public folklorist, it can be difficult to justify (to one’s host agency) attendance at the annual meetings for the Society for Ethnomusicology (let alone ICTM or others). State arts agencies have hard-earned battle scars from the culture wars of the 1980s, when political forces tried to eradicate the National Endowment for the Arts. During this time, federal (and, often, state) funding for the arts was cut deeply, and equally deep skepticism of arts funding was stoked by such politicians as US Senator Jesse Helms over cases such as the 1989 NEA-funded “The Perfect Moment” exhibit of Robert Mapplethorpe fine art photographs. As such, state arts agencies have been conservative in their expenditures. In other words, a state arts agency does not cover the cost of conference travel as much as a university might. Typically, I am financially (and philosophically) supported to attend the annual meeting of the American Folklore Society. And while I am an Americanist and a working folklorist and find AFS utterly relevant and enriching, I am a trained ethnomusicologist who has much to gain (professionally, personally, and intellectually) from attending SEM. Indeed, SEM is my disciplinary “home.” However, in five years of working at MSAC, I have had conference travel supported for two of six SEM conferences. This has an effect, over time, of distancing the state folklorist from professional colleagues and innovative new thinking within the field of ethnomusicology. My host agency does not think of me as an ethnomusicologist—to them I am a folklorist—and so I have to choose my SEM conferences with great care. In a similar way, scholarly publication is not a priority for the state arts agency. For the state agency, there is little obvious benefit to publication of scholarly articles. Popular publications are another matter, so long as they serve the core mission of the agency and the state folklorist can convince the administration that time spent on publishing will not interfere with the day-to-day work of the folklorist. This encompasses CD releases, liner notes, DVD projects, book projects and the like. The benefits of scholarly publications are more elusive to the agency. However, I would argue that it is crucial to the field of applied ethnomusicology and public folklore that we prioritize publication—whether this be on our own personal time, or that we advocate to do so on work hours. Without publication, we will miss countless opportunities to educate and train those who will someday replace us at our work. We also risk that the field will not advance to a stronger position within the world of government work. Not publishing will continue a dynamic

732   Clifford R. Murphy lamented by many applied ethnomusicologists in the folklife field—that we are not presented as professional or intellectual role models to graduate students (Dirksen, 2012; Holtzberg, 2013; Sheehy 2013). And, finally, we risk continuing a “road of no return” dynamic in which an applied/public career path is perceived as incompatible with entering the academic workforce. In my opinion, the academy would be greatly served by using public folklore as a training ground for its graduate students and for its junior professors. Seeing a broad diversity of music in culture/context via fieldwork is a far cry from learning about it in a classroom. Connecting ethnomusicologists’ international work with the diasporic communities with whom local folklife programs have built trust (and archival documentation) is good common sense. Doing cultural interpretation in close proximity of those communities we are interpreting is also healthy—if utterly inconvenient—for culture is dynamic and ever-changing. Often, our cultural interpretations as both applied and university-based ethnomusicologists are instantly outdated. In the realm of applied work, cultural communities will point this fact out onstage at public events and in museum galleries. This is good for all ethnographers to be mindful of when teaching ethnography or when presenting our work. Finally, it would be hard for any ethnomusicologist to emerge from working as a public folklorist without the profound sense that any and all fieldwork inquiry should benefit the community as well as the ambitious scholar. State arts agencies can and should be both ethnographic training grounds for graduate students, just as state folklife archives can and should be a deep research resource for scholars and folklife communities. For the ethnomusicologist-as-public-folklorist, there is a reversal of the pressures facing our tenure-track university colleagues. For instance, aspiring university professionals are reminded that applied work will not count toward tenure, so any applied work done during the first seven years on the job is to be conducted on one’s own personal time. The priority, then, is research/publication and teaching. For the applied ethnomusicologist, research (fieldwork) is also a priority. But so is applied work. Publication, however—at least peer-reviewed scholarly publications such as books published by university presses and academic journals—is something to be done on one’s own time, unless it is perceived as being central to the public folklife program’s core mission. For academic publications, the core audience is typically not the local community—rather, it is fellow colleagues and researchers. Public folklorists publish a great deal of material in a broad range of mediums (film, radio, television, print, CD, DVD, etc.), but the primary audience is the local/regional constituency. How, then, do we move both of these worlds forward? How do we convince agencies—universities and state arts agencies alike—of the value of publications and programs of community engagement, both applied and theoretical? It is in the best interest of our society to do so, and it is in the best interest of our discipline to do so. Some of this requires that we apply our ethnographic skills to our own host institutions: What are the value systems of these institutions? How do we communicate in the language of this culture? How do we learn to communicate cross culturally/institutionally? In learning the answers to these questions, we can better argue the merits of those changes we seek to effect.

The Applied Ethnomusicologist as Public Folklorist    733

References Baron, Robert. (2013). Notes on conversation with Robert Baron. Baltimore, MD, July 31. Baron, Robert, and Nicholas R. Spitzer. (2007). Public Folklore. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. Bronner, Simon J. (1996). Popularizing Pennsylvania: Henry W. Shoemaker and the Progressive Uses of Folklore and History. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press. Carey, George. (1976). State Folklorists and State Arts Councils: The Maryland Pilot. https:// scholarworks.iu.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/2022/1440/9%281%291-8.pdf?sequence=1. Carey, George G. (1970). Final Report of the Study Commission on Maryland Folklore, edited by O. o. t. Governor: State of Maryland. Cutting, Jennifer. (2011). Re:  Query about Ethnomusicologists Working as Folklorists. Baltimore, MD, October 12. Dirksen, Rebecca. (2012). “Reconsidering Theory and Practice in Ethnomusicology: Applying, Advocating, and Engaging Beyond Academia.” Review of Reviewed Item. Ethnomusicology Review, http://ethnomusicologyreview.ucla.edu/journal/volume/17/piece/602. Dorson, Richard M. (1949). “Wisconsin Is My Doorstep by Robert E.  Gard (Review).:  The Journal of American Folklore 62(244): 201. Folkways, Smithsonian. (2013). About Us—Mission. . http://www.folkways.si.edu/about_us/ mission_history.aspx (accessed September 20, 2013). Hawes, Bess Lomax. (2008). Sing It Pretty: A Memoir. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Heritage, Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural. (2013). Bess Lomax Hawes. . http:// www.folklife.si.edu/center/legacy/hawes.aspx (accessed September 30, 2013). Heritage, Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural. (2013). Staff. . http://www.folklife. si.edu/center/staff.aspx (accessed October 3, 2013). Holtzberg, Maggie. (1992). The Lost World of the Craft Printer, Folklore and Society. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Holtzberg, Maggie. (2013). Notes from a conversation with Maggie Holtzberg. Baltimore, MD, October 1. Holtzberg, Maggie, Jason Dowdle, Massachusetts Cultural Council, and National Heritage Museum (Lexington, MA). (2008). Keepers of Tradition:  Art and Folk Heritage in Massachusetts. [Boston, MA] Lexington, MA [Amherst, MA]:  Massachusetts Cultural Council; National Heritage Museum; Distributed by the University of Massachusetts Press. Hood, Mantle. (1971). The Ethnomusicologist. New York: McGraw-Hill. Jabbour, Alan. (2013). Re: Applied ethno question. Baltimore, MD, September 20. Keil, Charles. (1985). “People’s Music Comparatively:  Style And Stereotype, Class And Hegemony.” Dialectical Anthropology 10(1–2): 119–130. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara. (1998). “Folklore’s Crisis.” The Journal of American Folklore 111(441): 281–327. Kodish, Debora. (2011). “Envisioning Folklore Activism.” The Journal of American Folklore 124(491): 31–60. Kodish, Debora G. (1978). “ ‘A National Project with Many Workers’: Robert Winslow Gordon and the Archive of American Folk Song.” The Quarterly Journal of the Library of Congress 35(4): 218–233. Linzee, Jill. (2013). Re:  Folklorists who were trained in Ethnomusicology. Baltimore, MD, September 30. Liu, Terry. (2013). Re: Question about applied ethnomusicology. Baltimore, MD, September 24.

734   Clifford R. Murphy Lomax, Alan. (1960). The Folk Songs of North America, in the English Language. London: Cassell. Lomax, John A., Alan Lomax, and George Lyman Kittredge. (1934). American Ballads and Folk Songs. New York: Macmillan. Lomax, John A., Alan Lomax, Charles Seeger, and Ruth Crawford Seeger. (1947). Folk Song: U. S. A. (1st ed.). New York: Duell. Lomax, John A., Alan Lomax, Ruth Crawford Seeger, and Harold William Thompson. (1941). Our Singing Country:  A  Second Volume of American Ballads and Folk Songs. New York: Macmillan. McAllester, David P. (1954). Enemy Way Music. Cambridge: The Museum. Merriam, Alan P., and Herbert M.  Halpert Collection. (1964). The Anthropology of Music. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Myers, Helen. (1992). Ethnomusicology (1st American ed.), 2 vols. The Norton/Grove Handbooks in Music. New York: W. W. Norton. Pettan, Svanibor. (2008). “Applied Ethnomusicology and Empowerment Strategies:  Views from across the Atlantic.” Muzikoloski zbonik/Musicological Annual 44(1): 88–99. Richardson, Lisa. (2011). Re: [PUBLORE] Query about folklorists who were trained in ethnomusicology. Baltimore, MD, October 6. Sachs, Curt, and Jaap Kunst. (1962). The Wellsprings of Music. The Hague: M. Nijhoff. Seeger, Anthony. (1996). “Ethnomusicologists, Archives, Professional Organizations, and the Shifting Ethics of Intellectual Property.” Yearbook for Traditional Music 28: 87–105. Sheehy, Daniel. (2013). Interview with Dan Sheehy by Clifford R.  Murphy. Washington, DC: Rinzler Archives, Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage. Singer, Roberta. (2014). Re: Interview request—applied ethnomusicology question. Baltimore, MD, January 20. Szwed, John F. (2010). Alan Lomax:  The Man Who Recorded the World. New  York:  Viking Penguin. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2003). “Program for Invested in Community: Ethnomusicology & Musical Advocacy.” Paper read at Invested in Community: Ethnomusicology & Musical Advocacy, March 8–9, 2003, at Brown University, Providence, RI. Titon, Jeff Todd. (2009). Worlds of Music: An Introduction to the Music of the World’s Peoples (5th ed.). Belmont, CA: Schirmer Cengage Learning.

Chapter 21

Appl ied Ethnom u si c ol o g y in Chi na An Analytical Review of Practice Zhang Boyu Edited by

Sarah Stanton

General Introduction Scope When I first heard the term “applied ethnomusicology” 10 years ago, I did not understand its exact meaning, but I was nevertheless intrigued. Years of study have rewarded me with a more thorough understanding of applied ethnomusicology, which I now see as a music-related activity that engages in or manages, from the perspective of ethnomusicology, traditional music in different nations throughout the world. It is a practice that utilizes music within society. At the present time, there are few academics in China who would refer to themselves as applied ethnomusicologists, but we can nevertheless trace the nature and meaning of applied ethnomusicology in China, as well as its contributions to Chinese society, through events and activities such as various types of traditional music festivals, the publication of traditional music CDs, the organization of academic conferences and seminars on traditional music, the selection of “intangible cultural heritages,” which are organized in China by various levels of government as well as the United Nations, collections of musical instruments as museums, the production of programs on traditional music by radio and television stations, and so on. These combined elements create a clear picture of applied ethnomusicology in China.

736    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton Meanwhile, the significance of “music” to social development, as well as to the lives of the Chinese people, can be perceived from the community musical events organized by the government at all levels. It is important to note that the term “music” here is not restricted to the traditional or folk music that usually concerns ethnomusicologists; it also refers to Western music, as well as to popular music. These practices therefore fall under the umbrella of “applied musicology.” However, this chapter also examines the subject at the individual level, addressing my own exploration and practice of applied ethnomusicology while I was director of the Musicology Department in the Central Conservatory of Music. Some of the projects mentioned are ongoing. Although the word “applied” as used in this chapter refers to the ways in which music is used in social and personal activities, the section headings may lead readers to think that this chapter is proposing a catalogue for all music activities in China, including those that may not be seen as applied. For example, a music database seems far more research-oriented than concerned with anything “applied.” It is worth discussing this issue here for the following reasons. Chinese music scholarship is currently divided into theoretical discussion and material collection. The difference between these two domains is that the former offers increased knowledge and better understanding of the music from across the world, whereas the latter offers practical access to a variety of materials, some of which may be accessible via other resources. Generally speaking, databases are based on research; however, they may be considered part of the archiving work of applied ethnomusicology where the catalogues may at some point be made accessible to the general public, including the people whose music is contained within. In fact, it is the data collected in these databases that lead to the development of research theories; a database is also a way to organize data, making access more convenient for its users. Potential financial benefit coming from databases is also an important factor differentiating research and applied ethnomusicology. If we can understand why this chapter has devoted so much time to databases, we can also understand why the organization of conferences and the establishment of music museums are discussed as personal applied ethnomusicology practices. A  research activity and an activity for research may not be the same thing. Another important factor to be considered is that many types of traditional music in China are functional music, in that they perform various social functions, including religious, funerary, marital, medicinal, and educational, as well playing a role in communal work. These functions do not reflect “applied ethnomusicology,” since they are the main focus of ethnomusicological research. Rather, the domain of applied ethnomusicology is those functions that have been created in order to negotiate contemporary social situations. These divisions may or may not be totally appropriate in Western applied ethnomusicology. It is worth emphasizing again that applied ethnomusicology is still a relatively new field in China; Chinese ethnomusicologists have not yet developed an applied ethnomusicology to suit China’s specific circumstances. This chapter is the first true dialogue between Chinese ethnomusicologists and their colleagues in the West.

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    737

Research Findings “Applied ethnomusicology” is a relatively new term in China, and so far there has been little in-depth research on this topic. There are no books published specializing in this subject, and articles discussing applied ethnomusicology are few and far between. A search for “applied ethnomusicology” on http://www.cnki.net,1 a database of Chinese academic journals and dissertations, returned just five results. In “Chinese Minorities’ Music in View of the Protection of Intangible Cultural Heritage: The View and Methodology of Applied Ethnomusicology,” published in 2008, Yang Xifan discusses the protection and utilization of ethnic minority music in China from the perspective of applied ethnomusicology. This article borrows Japanese ethnomusicologist Yamaguti Osamu’s definition of applied ethnomusicology, which argues that “as a study of humanities, musicology derives from society and should be applied to society. Applied musicology is the result of a mutually beneficial interaction between the study of music and society.” (2008: 123). In view of this interaction, Yang explores the various problems that ethnic minority music in China has encountered, addressing the difficulties such music has confronted against the backdrop of social changes caused by “demographic structure,” “transformation of society,” and “external culture,” as well as emphasizing the role of government and the importance of educational continuity. However, with regard to the theory of applied ethnomusicology, this article primarily tackles the continuity of ethnic minority music in China from the perspective of the relationship between music and society (Yang Xifan, 2008). Lü Lulu was the first to discuss the difference between ethnomusicology and applied ethnomusicology. In her 2012 article, “Applied Ethnomusicology and Local Music Education,” Lü argues that the First Annual Conference of the Chinese Traditional Music Association, which was held at the Nanjing University of Arts in 1980, set the tone and direction of the professional development of China’s ethnomusicology scholarship for 30 years, and that all future study of Chinese ethnomusicology should be directed toward applied ethnomusicology. This article takes local music education as its starting point, exploring the practice and application of Chinese ethnomusicology in the education and continuity of local music (Lü, 2012). In the article “On Ethnomusicology’s Role in Chinese Music Education:  Applied Ethnomusicology, Current Music Education and the Course Syllabus in China” (2012), Cao Jun argues that it is necessary to integrate the theory of ethnomusicology into the present Chinese music education system, so as to help reverse or eradicate—both in methodology and ideology—engrained, unhelpful practices negatively affected by Eurocentrism. He goes on to argue that applied ethnomusicology can provide scientific and discussable solutions in terms of methodology for other musical subjects such as music history, music morphology, music analysis, music recording, and music communication. Lü also suggests that courses such as “Chinese Cultural Studies,” “Guqin (seven-stringed zither) Music,” “Beijing Opera,” “Kunqu Opera,” and “World Music” be added to the current music educational system.

738    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton Zhou Xianbao’s “Western Ethnomusicology and Chinese Traditional Music Research: Reviews of the Theory and Methodology of Applied Ethnomusicology” (2012) is chiefly a discussion of the spread and application of Western ethnomusicological theory in China, which spurred a transition within the study of Chinese traditional music from focusing on the music itself to emphasizing musical culture. The author poses this question: Since we already have applied mathematics, applied economics, and applied anthropology, isn’t it fair to have applied ethnomusicology as a part of musicology? Above all, “the ultimate goal of the establishment of any subject is not the study of this subject itself, but to apply the theory and methodology of this subject so as to explore the unknown, and to see whether studies of this subject could be applied to benefit society and the nation as well as the survival and development of mankind” (2012: 16). Zhou does not provide a specific theory or methodology of applied ethnomusicology; rather, he offers a hypothesis, which intends to integrate the study of ethnomusicology into the realities of society, so as to give full play to the social value of ethnomusicological studies. Zhou also offers his opinion on the relationship between ethnomusicology and musicology, stating unequivocally that ethnomusicology is part of musicology. Zhang Xiaoyan and Su Qianzhong’s “Approach to Applied Musicology: A Review of Japanese Ethnomusicologist Yamaguti Osamu’s Academic Summit Series,” which was published in 2007, serves as an introduction to a series of lectures made by the famous Japanese ethnomusicologist Yamaguti, speeches given at the invitation of Shanghai Conservatory of Music. Yamagutii defined the study of music as being divided into three categories: historical musicology, comparative musicology, and applied musicology, and illustrated the historical contributions made by applied ethnomusicology to the renaissance of Vietnamese court music (Zhang Xiaoyan and Su Qianzhong, 2007). The above articles reveal that the theoretical exploration of applied ethnomusicology is still very limited in China, lacking precise subject orientation and in-depth studies of the definition, scope, and methodology of this subject. It is fair to say that the study of applied ethnomusicology is a field that still requires cultivation. The lack of theoretical studies, however, does not mean the absence of practical explorations. The practice of applied ethnomusicology manifests itself in various ways. The following sections will introduce two aspects of this practice in China: the social, and the personal.

From the Social Perspective Applied Ethnomusicology in Political Construction: Music Activities within Communities There are multiple levels within each Chinese administrative district. The highest level consists of the Communist Party of China Central Committee, the State Council, and the People’s Congress. Ministries that report to the State Council, including the Ministry of Culture, are viewed by the Chinese people as national institutions. Second to this is

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    739 the provincial level, which includes those four municipalities directly under the central government (Beijing, Shanghai, Tianjin, and Chongqing), as well as the 23 provinces and five autonomous regions.2 Each province and autonomous region has its own Culture Department or Culture Bureau. Below the provinces and autonomous regions is the prefecture level, each city or district with its own Culture Bureau. Fourth is the county level; each region is composed of several counties, and each county has its own Culture Institute. The final level includes towns and villages, which have their own Culture Stations. These levels, as well as their respective cultural establishments, can be illustrated by this simple list: The State Council The Ministry of Culture The Culture Department (Provincial level) The Culture Bureau (Prefectural level) The Culture Institute (County level) The Culture Station (Town level) It is clear from this that there is a huge network in place for the management of culture in China, from the national Culture Ministry down to the provincial Culture Departments, the prefecture-level Culture Bureaus, the county-level Culture Institutes, and finally, the town-level Culture Stations. At each level, there are professionals in charge of the management of music-related events and activities. Music activities are used at all levels of government to enrich people’s cultural and spiritual lives; cultural management is an essential part of government. There are also numerous music organizations and groups affiliated to the Ministry of Culture, such as the Central National Music Orchestra, the Central Symphony Orchestra, the Central Opera House, the Beijing Opera Theatre of China, the Central Ballet Theatre, the National Theatre Company of China, and so on. These groups represent the best of Chinese professional music and performance. In addition, each province and autonomous region has its own professional musical groups, including symphony orchestras and local opera theaters. According to the annual report issued by the Chinese Musicians Association (China Federation of Literary and Art Circles, 2013: 113–139), there are 57 symphony orchestras in China (including Hong Kong and Macao). In 2006, the Ministry of Education, Ministry of Culture, and Ministry of Finance jointly initiated the “Advanced Arts Going into Campuses” program3 to enrich college students’ humanistic understandings and expand their cultural horizons (China Federation of Literary and Art Circles, 2013: 116.) In the wake of the cultural institutional reforms of recent years, many professional music groups are now taking the economic road to independent management. However, according to national requirements, each province and city still maintains at least one group or institution sponsored by the government, in order to protect the local arts. On the national and provincial levels, it is professional musical groups that play the most prominent role. On the prefecture and county level, however, the Culture Institutes and Stations take charge of organizing and managing the people’s cultural activities. A balanced

740    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton relationship between material affluence and spiritual development has in fact been emphasized by the Chinese government, and managing the people’s cultural activities is seen as an important part of government business, aiming to enrich people’s lives with a variety of musical and cultural activities. This is also a path to the construction of a harmonious society, which is not an empty political slogan but a government requirement at all levels. Such activities include the performance of music by local folk musicians, who are managed by the cultural institutes and stations, with various types of musical ensembles, such as the Western brass band and the Chinese traditional orchestra; ethnomusicological researches, such as recording, transcription, ethnographical introduction, done by the local officials; folk activities, such as the performance of folk music as well as exhibitions at temple fairs and during festivals; and local music competitions. It is important to note that performances organized by the government have played an essential role in the development of Chinese musical culture. Currently there are more than 300 types of local opera, one-third of which emerged and developed after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. This was a direct result of governmentally organized art performances, which encouraged the production of arts that represented local cultures and customs, rather than historical legacies (Zhang Zhentao, 2008). In June 2013, I took part in a music fair organized by the Beijing Financial Street Administration.4 Beijing Financial Street is famous for being home to the headquarters of many Chinese national banks and foreign financial corporations. The street administrative office recruited college graduates from Wuhan Conservatory of Music to work in the area, making music the bridge linking government departments, companies, and the people. They also invited famous musicians from overseas to perform on a regular basis. Figure 21.1 shows Finnish jazz musicians playing on Financial Street in June 2013.

Figure  21.1  Finnish Jazz musicians playing at the Financial Street in Beijing. Photographed by Zhang Boyu in June  2013.

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    741 The music featured in activities organized by the government is generally local. This protects and preserves local music on the one hand, while serving the people and society on the other.

Discussion Although Socialist China has undergone hardships, it is now enjoying a golden age; under the leadership of the Chinese Communist Party, the economy is developing swiftly and strongly. In fact, the Chinese government has attached great importance to the building and development of mass culture, not only during boom times but also during periods when economic development is flagging. In most Chinese cities, it is not uncommon to spot elderly people in matching costumes dancing popular rural folk dances together. In remote towns and villages, people get together to play cards and Mahjong. When the people are enjoying themselves, the government’s efforts to enrich their cultural lives are well rewarded. At the same time, however, we should also be aware that top-down administrative cultural management has the potential to produce conformity within cultural activities throughout China. Events and developments at one particular place or time can also be seen at other places or times, which is not conducive to displays of individuality within a diversified culture. Under this management system, many activities also risk acquiring a political flavor.

Applied Ethnomusicology in Social Construction: The Local Application of Musical Intangible Cultural Heritages In China, the management of intangible cultural heritage is currently divided into five levels: the United Nations level, the national level, the provincial level, the prefecture level, and the county level. In 2004, the Chinese government signed the “Convention for the Production of Intangible Cultural Heritage” issued by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO). Since then, the concept of “intangible cultural heritage” has been widely recognized in China. Government at all levels, from the central to the local, sees the task of protecting intangible cultural heritage as a significant one, and systematic protective measures have been carried out with positive results. By 2012, the Chinese State Council had announced three lists of national intangible cultural heritages, containing 1,219 items in total, as well as four lists of national intangible cultural heritage representatives, with a total of 1,986 people. By 2013, 37 Chinese intangible cultural heritages had been added to the “Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity” and six to the “List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Protection,” making China the country with the most intangible cultural heritages on these lists. Meanwhile, the provinces and autonomous regions also began to identify and name intangible cultural heritage items and representatives at various levels. In the first three rounds, a total of 6,332 people were named as representatives of

742    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton the provincial-level intangible cultural heritages, while 870,000 intangible cultural heritages were named on the recommendation of various regions.5 In 2008, the government began to sponsor national intangible cultural heritages, providing 200,000–300,000 yuan for each project. In 2011, sponsorship for national intangible cultural heritage representatives was increased to 10,000 yuan from the previous 8,000 per year. The provinces and autonomous regions also began to sponsor their local intangible cultural heritages and representatives according to their own circumstances.6 Government officials at various levels have organized a series of events and activities to promote intangible cultural heritages. These activities reflect the nature of applied ethnomusicology. First celebrated in 2006, the second Saturday in June is China’s “Cultural Heritage Day,” when regions and institutions throughout China hold cultural events and activities. Below are some examples of such activities: 1. In February, 2006, the first “Chinese Intangible Cultural Heritage Exhibition” was held at the National Museum in Beijing. The exhibition period was extended from 10 days to a month.7 2 The biennial “China International Intangible Cultural Heritage Festival” was held in Chengdu from 2007 to 2011.8 3. During the Lantern Festival in 2009, 14 members of the Interministerial Conference for the Protection of Intangible Cultural Heritage, including the Ministry of Finance, the Ministry of Culture, and the National Reform and Development Commission, jointly held the “China’s Intangible Cultural Heritage Traditional Craft Exhibition”9 in Beijing’s Agriculture Exhibition Centre. 4. In February 2012, the “Productive Protection of China’s Intangible Cultural Heritage Exhibition” was held in the Agriculture Exhibition Centre in Beijing.10 5. In 2011 and 2012, the Zhihua Temple in Beijing held activities to commemorate “Cultural Heritage Day,” inviting folk music groups from different regions to give performances in Beijing.11 6. In November 2012, the first “Chinese Intangible Cultural Heritage Traditional Craft Exhibition” was held in Huangshan, Anhui province.12 Improvement of facilities represents an important aspect of intangible cultural heritage protection. According to Kuaner (2011), the provinces (including autonomous regions and municipalities) have established a total of 424 intangible cultural heritage museums, 179 folk museums, and 96 galleries, as well as 1,216 training institutes. These facilities and sites assume the responsibility of collecting, protecting, studying, and ensuring the continuation of intangible cultural heritages. When it comes to local applications for musical intangible cultural heritages, the question of local traditional music and tourism is unavoidable. The tourist industry has developed very rapidly in China. 10 years ago, Chinese tourists were an unusual sight in most countries; now they come in droves. This is especially true for domestic tourism: since the vast majority of people are still unable to go abroad, domestic travel has become a way for them to see more of the world. International tourism is only available

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    743 to the middle classes; domestic tourism suffers from no such limitations. As a result, the domestic tourism industry is booming. Besides natural and historical sites, people are increasingly focusing on local cultural life. Although modernization helped the Chinese people escape poverty, it also resulted in the loss of many of their traditions. Postmodernism allowed the Chinese to value their traditions once more, with the result that they now appreciate these traditions from a modernized perspective. Since tourism is an important path to economic development, naturally, regions with tourism resources will make use of these resources. In fact, even those who possess few such resources have been exploring the potential for tourism, and local traditional music has become an essential tourism resource. The Naxi traditional music of Lijiang, Yunnan, is a well-known example of a successfully explored tourism resource. The Dongjing music of Yunnan is a subgenre of Han Chinese Taoist music, which usually takes the form of scripture recitation to accompany worship ceremonies. According to historical records, Dongjing performances were once held in Lijiang, the home of the Naxi people; however, performance ceased a long time ago, and many elements have now been lost, particularly the scriptures and worship ceremonies. Only a few instrumental pieces, played on Naxi instruments such as the pipa (a four-stringed lute bigger than the Han pipa) and the suogudu (three-stringed lute), remain. As these instruments possess significant Naxi characteristics, pieces played with them are generally considered to be Naxi traditional music. Dayan Guyue She, a group that performs these pieces, gives daily concerts at the center of Lijiang, and has become a must-see for any tourist who comes to Lijiang. At the same time, some scholars are unhappy with the concept of “Naxi traditional music,” arguing that such music was never exclusively played or owned by the Naxi ethnicity. One scholar went so far as to write an article asking “What Kind of a Thing Is Naxi Traditional Music?” (Wu Xueyuan, 2003). The Dayan Guyue She were so offended by this that they sued the scholar in question, who was later requested by the court to pay 20,000 yuan in compensation, while the journal that published the article paid 100,000 yuan. In this case, there was a significant discrepancy between academic truth and the commercial interests of society. Many scholars sympathized with Mr. Wu; however, according to the court, the decision was made based not on academic truth but rather the words used in the title, “What Kind of a Thing Is Naxi Traditional Music?” (Naxi Guyue Shi Shenme Dongxi) which were perceived as implying disrespect for the music. If nothing else, this served as a reminder to Chinese scholars that all critical opinions expressed should be based on rational analysis rather than emotion, even though most scholars today agree that Naxi traditional music is little more than a fabrication. Ironically, a theater for the performance of Naxi traditional music was constructed just opposite Dayan Guyue She, but was not popular with tourists, and the Dongba Palace, as it was known, eventually was turned into a bar.

Discussion The significance of protecting intangible cultural heritages in China is multifaceted, with different elements having different significance at different levels. At the national level,

744    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton the protection of intangible cultural heritage also protects China’s traditional culture, establishing China’s own cultural system and striving to make Chinese culture prominent in the vast mosaic of world cultures. At the 2009 “Bo’ao Youth Forum” in Hong Kong, Vice-Minister of Culture Zhou Heping delivered the keynote speech “Protect Intangible Cultural Heritage: Build a Spiritual Paradise for the Chinese Nation.” He argued that “the renaissance of the Chinese nation should start from the renaissance of the Chinese culture” (Zhou Heping, 2009).13 Guided by the idea that cultural renaissance plays an important role in national revitalization, the government has invested heavily in the protection of intangible cultural heritage; each national project receives 200,000–300,000 yuan to be used in the maintenance of heritage continuity. Contradictions are not uncommon in the protection process. Intangible cultural heritage represents the extension and legacy of history; in many projects, elements left over from the agricultural era come into conflict with modern developments. Meanwhile, the folk beliefs reflected in some of these projects contradict the atheism officially advocated by the Chinese Communist Party. Dongjing performances in Yunnan are effectively the recitation of scriptures, and are mostly held in local temples that were not approved by local government. There is therefore a conflict between protecting something that has been recognized as an intangible cultural heritage and allowing chanting in unauthorized temples (Zhang Boyu, 2012). It is worth mentioning that the government has not removed those temples or restricted Dongjing performance activities, which shows that since the beginning of the Reform and Opening Up policy, the scope of “opening up” has expanded from the economic to the social. It also suggests that the Chinese government, faced with the might of Western culture, has found a way to counterbalance its impact with China’s own unique traditional culture. On the local level (provincial, prefecture, and county level), the protection of intangible cultural heritage has a different meaning. Although China’s Reform and Opening Up policy began in the economic realm, it has now extended to almost all aspects of society. Reform and Opening Up has provided us with the opportunity to realize the “Chinese Dream,” which is not solely materially defined but also has spiritual connotations. It has already become a consensus among the Chinese people that culture plays an essential role in realizing the “Chinese Dream,” and the significance of culture has therefore been repeatedly emphasized as the economy has developed. People from different regions and districts are eager to display the unique nature of their own local cultures so as to strengthen their sense of identity. At the same time, however, economic benefits are always a motivating factor, even in the protection of intangible cultural heritage, as most people would prefer to accumulate rather than spend money in the process of protecting these heritages. Unlike the central government, local governments are exploring the economic potential of intangible cultural heritages, on the one hand, and protecting them for the sake of their local identity, on the other (see Figures 21.2.and 21.3). The phrase “Protection for Development; Development for Better Protection” exemplifies the idea that only through proper utilization can protection be effective. Tourism has become a major and viable method to utilize traditional music resources, whether or

Figure  21.2 Folk instrumental ensembles competition held in Jincheng city, Shanxi province, in 2013. This is one of the village folk bands that joined the competition. Such activities can be found everywhere across the country. Photographed by Zhang Boyu in January  2013.

Figure  21.3 Villages in Wuan county, Hebei province, joining a local opera performance during a Taoist temple affair. This is still an important way of spiritual life for contemporary Chinese in rural  areas. Photographed by Zhang Boyu in January  2013.

746    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton not a region has tourism resources. For those regions that do have tourism resources, traditional music will often form part of local tourism projects. In regions with few or no tourism resources, local governments will often encourage private investment in recreation sites such as vacation villages, which is an important path to economic development for many towns and villages. As a result of this process, local folk music resources have attracted attention from government officials at a number of different levels. The owners of these intangible cultural heritages are the common people, most of whom are underprivileged, rooted in their local cultures, and unable to adapt to external cultural influences. Such people can benefit in a small way from their own customs and cultures by giving traditional cultural performances. In the past, this was looked down upon, and musicians who performed for money were often seen as inferior. However, the establishment of the intangible cultural heritage system transformed the current crop of village musicians overnight into representatives of China’s local traditional cultures, recognized nationwide. They are frequently invited to give performances by cultural institutions in Beijing, Shanghai, and other large cities, and they make frequent appearances on television. Some of them even enjoy national subsidies simply for being cultural representatives, a state of affairs that they could never have dreamed of before. This new social identity has not only promoted them in terms of social hierarchy, but has also brought them huge economic benefits. Unfortunately, this has led to fake “intangible cultural heritages” popping up in regions across the country. Take percussion music, for example: there are more than 10 types of percussion ensembles in Shan’xi province, and while all of them have been identified as “intangible cultural heritages,” some of them are in fact newly created, with few or none of the historical values they supposedly possess. From the multiple manifestations of the protection of intangible cultural heritage discussed above, we can understand the following with regard to applied ethnomusicology. Intangible cultural heritages, when applied to the development of society, can be tainted with strong political flavors but are nevertheless powerful cultural weapons, as traditions inherited from thousands of years ago, against the impact or intrusion of Westernization and globalization. Intangible cultural heritages, both when used to satisfy a need for recreation and amusement in people’s lives and as tourist resources, are targets for research in the study of applied ethnomusicology. Intangible cultural heritages, when used for academic purposes, are spiritual food for ethnomusicologists and sources of deductive thinking for scholars. (For more information, see the following discussion.)

Applied Ethnomusicology in Academia: The Establishment of a Musical Database In the study of Chinese applied ethnomusicology, research for the purpose of research—that is, the establishment of a database for a certain type of music—has recently been given a lot of attention. Such databases generally concern

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    747 Chinese traditional music, and are intended for practical use. In this they share certain characteristics with applied ethnomusicology. The target beneficiaries of these databases, however, are ethnomusicologists, and they are mainly used for the sole purpose of research. In this sense, such databases are also representative of research-oriented ethnomusicology. The following two databases can be seen as typical of the various traditional music databases.

Uyghur Muqam Database in the Xinjiang Autonomous Region Muqam is a famous example of Uyghur musical art, a form of large-scale musical performance that includes vocals, instrumental music, and dancing. Since the Uyghur people live in different districts throughout the Xinjiang autonomous region, there are different types of Muqam, which can be further divided into various branches, such as Daolang Muqam, Hami Muqam, Turfan Muqam, and Twelve Muqam, the most representative branch. The art of Muqam was listed by UNESCO as a “Masterpiece of Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity” in 2005 (Li Jilian, Zhou Ji, and Li Kairong, 2005). Muqam has been a focus of Chinese music academic research, with a large number of related research findings. In order to organize the music, images, graphics, scores, and lyrics of Uyghur Muqam, and record them through modern digitization for long-term storage and ease of retrieval, the Central Conservatory of Music, Xinjiang Arts Research Institute, and the Cultural Department of Xinjiang Autonomous Region jointly initiated the Uyghur Muqam Database in 2007. The database includes research papers, performances (audio and video), instruments, bands, costumes and stage sets, important figures, associations, musical events, historical records, scores and lyrics, and relevant materials, as well as information on Muqam in foreign countries. The Central Conservatory of Music, Xinjiang Arts Research Institute, and the Cultural Department of Xinjiang Autonomous Region have invested 600,000 yuan for the construction of this database. Meanwhile, the Central Conservatory of Music and Xinjiang Arts Research Institute have held several joint seminars and have organized scholars as well as students to do field research in Moyu, Pishan, Hetian, Akesu, Kuche, and Tashikurgan. Unfortunately, the death of Zhou Ji, the director of the database project and a preeminent scholar of Muqam, has made it difficult for the project to proceed. The database was completed in 2011, but not as expected. It still lacks any practical applications.

Chinese Guqin Musical Culture Database The 2006 “Key Project” planned by the Musicology Research Institute affiliated with the Central Conservatory of Music (a key research base for the humanities, recognized by the Education Ministry of China) and the 2008 “Third-Phase Building of Key Disciplines” of the “211 Project” both listed the Chinese Guqin Musical Culture Database as an important research project. This database was established in 2006, led by Professor Yuan Jingfang from the Central Conservatory of Music.14

748    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton The Chinese Guqin Musical Culture Database contains 68 theoretical books on Guqin from the pre-Qin dynasty to the Qing dynasty, as well as 77 on modern Guqin. It collects a total of 5,679 articles on Guqin music in the Ming and Qing dynasties (1,612 of which were written after 1911), 9 collections of theses, 126 issues of periodicals published since the year 1911, 51 reports, and 165 collections of musical scores from different dynasties (both written by hand and printed), containing a total of 4,799 pieces and covering all the Guqin scores handed down since the Tang Dynasty. There are also 9,481 minutes of recorded Guqin music, with 1,411 tracks on 129 CDs. The database also includes information on 841 Guqin performers from the pre-Qin period to the Qing dynasty, as well as hundreds of performers since the founding of the Republic. There are more than 30 groups established after the late Qing dynasty, as well as a total of 82 commemorative activities, gatherings of literati, academic seminars, and concerts. The database also includes more than 749 articles on performance techniques, indexed in each dynasty’s collection of musical scores. In addition, there are 1,080 poems, 25 iambic verses, 31 articles, 25 poetic essays, 8 frescos, 55 sculptures, 51 paintings, and other literature and images. Construction of this database was completed in 2011 (Yuan, 2009).

Discussion Database-building is of great practical value and significance to the study of ethnomusicology. China has a great many types of music; however, database capacity was inevitably limited in the era of paper media, and data retrieval relatively difficult to conduct. Advances in technology have resolved many issues that could not be addressed before, and the future is bright for the development of database building. However, none of these musical databases has been put to use, with the exception of CNKI. The reason for this is that there was no clear purpose for building these databases. Should a database be used for data collecting and compilation, or for research purposes? The intention of the former is to collect and store traditional music before it disappears, while the latter aims to provide literature for the study of a certain type of music, as well as creating commercial value through the operation of the database. Since most musical databases are run by music scholars, many databases are more like paper archives that happen to exist in electronic forms. A great deal of effort goes into the construction of the databases, and their creators often hesitate to let others use their work for free. Unfortunately, if fees were charged for the use of these databases, few people would be willing to pay them. For this reason, most music databases are currently left unused.

Applied Ethnomusicology in Mass Entertainment: China Central Television (CCTV) Programs on Chinese Traditional Music There are any number of options for entertainment available to the masses: go to a concert, see a movie, sing at a karaoke television, dance in a public park, and so on. All of

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    749 these are common pastimes for the Chinese people. What cannot be denied, however, is that television, in China as well as other parts of the world, is a major form of entertainment and an indispensable part of modern life. In China, the connection between applied ethnomusicology and television manifests itself in several TV programs on Chinese folk music. CCTV, for example, broadcasts the Television Grand Prix, Folk Music Performance Competition, Elegant Chinese Music, and the Opera Channel (Channel 11).

Television Grand Prix for Young Singers The Television Grand Prix for Young Singers is a program launched by CCTV, which integrates music and entertainment with an element of competition. Every two years, local TV stations send their chosen candidates to participate in a competition held in Beijing. The Grand Prix has been successfully held 15 times since the first competition in 1984. The judging panel is usually made up of famous singers. There used to be three categories within the contest:  bel canto, Chinese style singing, and popular singing. However, in 2006, original-style singing15 was added as a fourth category. Mongolian “Changdiao (Wurdindu)” and “Humai (Thoat singing),” as well as the Dong people’s “Dage” (Kalau) and the Yi people’s “Haicai Qiang,” have all won prizes in this competition. This original-style singing has been the subject of much discussion among China’s ethnomusicologists. How do we define “original-style singing?” Does to refer to original voices, or is it that the style itself should present an original context? It is fair to say that the discussion on original-style singing reflects what applied ethnomusicology has done for ethnomusicology. The Television Grand Prix has received wide recognition in China, and the program itself is a major topic of discussion among the masses. Because of this, entering the competition is also an effective way for new singers to make themselves known.

Traditional Instrumental Music Performance Competition CCTV has held two Traditional Instrumental Music Performance Competitions, one in 2009 and one in 2012. The candidates are selected or recommended by television stations in the provinces, autonomous regions, and cities, as well as by the following groups in Beijing: artistic and cultural organizations, art schools, university art departments, and art groups affiliated with the People’s Liberation Army. The judging panel is composed of famous Chinese traditional instrument performers and composers, and the candidates are divided into juvenile and adult categories. The competition itself is divided into two categories: soloists and ensembles. Instruments for solo performance include erhu (fiddle), banhu (fiddle), pipa (lute), yangqin (dulcimer), guzheng (zither), guqin (zither), dizi (flute), suona (cornet), sheng (mouth organ), and percussion, with gold, silver, and copper prizes going to outstanding players. Ensembles may include local instrumental genres, ensembles composed of traditional instruments, and ensembles composed of both traditional and non-traditional instruments. There should be 2–15 performers in each group, and gold, silver, and copper prizes are awarded in each of

750    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton the three categories. This competition has become a bridge to success for many professional Chinese folk instrument performers.

Fenghua Guoyue (Elegant Chinese Music) Fenghua Guoyue (Elegant Chinese Music) is an entertainment program broadcast on CCTV. Fenghua Guoyue focuses on the appreciation of Chinese traditional music and instrumental performances, serving as an introduction to China’s traditional music culture and providing a platform for traditional music performers to showcase themselves and their music. The program has three sections: Jiaqu Youyue (Fine Music), Lingting Tianlai (Elegant Voices), and Women Yongyou (What We have), each of which has a weekday edition and a weekend edition. The show airs at 6.20 p.m. Monday to Sunday, and is replayed at 6.30 a.m. Monday to Sunday. Apart from instrumental performances, the program also includes vivid pictures and explanations, and is popular among fans of folk music instruments.

The Opera Channel (Channel 11) Many people complain that traditional music is not paid enough attention when compared to the popularity and publicity enjoyed by popular music. Although that may be true in most other countries, it is not the case in China. As a matter of fact, Chinese traditional music receives special attention both from the government and from the public, and is strongly represented in the media as well as in concert halls. CCTV’s Chinese Opera Channel is a typical example of this. The channel started broadcasting on July 9, 2001, and mainly presents performances of various types of Chinese music—not only Beijing Opera, but also music from other regions. Apart from promoting Chinese opera culture, this channel also emphasizes the importance of mass participation and entertainment. Opera amateurs, for example, are often invited to give performances on this channel. Since all programs on this channel are opera-related and are broadcast non-stop during the day, they are grouped into several subdivisions: Mingduan Xinshang (Appreciation of Famous Stories), Liyuan Leitai (Opera Competitions), Dianbo Shijian (Request Time), Xiqu Fengcai (Opera Beauties), Nanqiang Beidiao (Northern and Southern Operas), Xiyuan Baijia (Various Types of Operas), Difangxi Zhichuang (Local Operas), CCTV Kongzhong Juyuan (CCTV Sky Theatre), Genwo Xue (Learn With Me), Guoba Yin (Enjoying Opera), and Jiuzhou Daxitai (Opera Stages from All Regions), among others. Chinese opera possesses an intense musicality. There are 300 local operas in China, mainly distinguished by their different music. Promoting Chinese opera via mass media, and promoting traditional music through modern methods of communication, so as to integrate traditional music into modern musical life, represent another typical case for us to consider in our study of applied ethnomusicology.

Discussion Having considered the promotion of Chinese traditional music via mass media, we can come to the following conclusions. First, culture is a group behavior. When people share

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    751 and abide by common behaviors, a series of customs and conventions form, which evolve over time into a culture. Urbanization has separated people into different units, buildings, and residential compounds. Through such segregation, the space for group behavior has been shrinking, and so the common behaviors of the people are reflected instead via television. People in different units, buildings, and even cities all watch the same television program at the same time. As a result, television has created a new type of group behavior, one in which interactions between people are rendered redundant. The songs that should have been heard in traditional theaters and out in the fields are now broadcast via television channels. The songs remain, but the interactions between audience members do not. Second, the introduction of original-style singing in the Television Grand Prix for Young Singers is an initiative that reflects both the organizers’ love for Chinese traditional music and their sense of responsibility toward it. However, original-style singing can only present original sounds, for the original way of life for its performers cannot be re-created on a stage in Beijing. In this sense, the connection between the sound of traditional music and the way of life it represents has disappeared, replaced by a connection between sound and stage for the sake of professional performance. The beauty to be found only in a wild cry in the fields, therefore, has no value on CCTV’s professional stage (Xu Shuyun, 2003; Wu Xiulin and Zhang Xia, 2012; Li Sue, 2006; Yu Renhao, 2006). Third, the professional development of Chinese ethnic music has contributed to the development of Chinese ethnic musical instrument–playing techniques, as well as helping to nurture a large group of ethnic musical instrument performers, many of which are now prominent in the field. Professional Chinese instrumental music is the pursuit of superb performance skills; the ability to read music is essential. Sight-reading has been added to some musical instrument competitions. Chinese traditional music, however, employs traditional Chinese music notation, and the capacity to produce impromptu variations is not considered part of professional development. The original features of Chinese traditional instrumental music and the processes necessary to create it have been completely lost (Zhang Boyu, 2010a).

Applied Ethnomusicology in Social Life: The Musical Lives of Beijing Seniors The capabilities of music are endless. In ancient China, Confucius’s observations of society were not based on sociopolitical or economic factors; rather, he judged the merit of a society on the music that its people liked and disliked. He also believed that the best way to change social customs was through music.16 In ancient China, people used music to deliver commands during war. The saying “Drive the soldiers forward when playing the drum, withdraw the army when beating the gong”17 reflects the idea that music could encourage soldiers during a war. Chairman Mao Zedong used music to educate the people; as a result, music became a political tool. Today, music has a wide variety of functions in China. Several Chinese conservatories offer majors in music therapy; although many schools around the world now offer similar programs, fighting illness with music is particularly

752    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton common in China. Traditional Chinese medicine emphasizes the balance between Yin and Yang in the human body, so emotional adjustment is an important method employed by Chinese medicine to treat the sick. In the Temple of Heaven, a famous park in Beijing and one of the most popular tourism sites, people gather every Saturday to sing together (see Figure 21.4). One of the groups is called Shanting Teshu Hechangdui (Fan Pavilion Unique Chorus). Most of the members are cancer patients, and they use their songs to fight against cancer. The female conductor is a gastric cancer patient; she teaches each new song to the group, as well as conducting. Every day the choir becomes more famous, and more and more people flock to join it. When singing, people forget their illnesses, reflecting a new, optimistic spirit; they find a new, beautiful world in music and integrate themselves into it. Through their singing, they taste the width and depth of life, and seek out another pillar of the soul. Beijing Television has reported on the chorus, noting that cure rates and life expectancies among its members are higher than the average.

Discussion Currently, musical activities and events organized by the public are ubiquitous in Chinese cities. In parks and on the streets, groups of elderly people get together to sing, dance, and perform local operas. Such activities represent not only a valuable form of recreation but also an effective method of exercise, as well as reflecting the reality of life for Chinese seniors and their attitude toward that life (see Figure 21.5). Chinese people are generally reserved, and are seldom willing to sing, even in front of their families. In

Figure  21.4  A  choir holds its regular rehearsal at the Temple of Heaven Park in Beijing on a Saturday morning. Photographed by Zhang Hong on August 3,  2013.

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    753

Figure  21.5  A  choir holds its regular rehearsal at Zizhuyuan Park in Beijing on a Sunday morning. Photographed by Zhang Hong on August 4,  2013.

public gatherings such as these, however, singing is considered natural, and most people in the neighborhood are happy for them to take place. These activities are a beautiful illustration of the urban lives of many Chinese seniors. Music is inextricably caught up with life, and ethnomusicology has a profound understanding of this relationship. Due to its artistic values, Western classical music is usually performed in concert halls, which makes going to a concert a spiritual benefit as well as a high art that is out of reach for the ordinary masses. The musical activities in Chinese parks and streets, however, are part of people’s daily lives. It is fair to say that it is generally the socially privileged who go to concerts, with the ordinary masses more likely to participate in musical activities. However, in the fight against illness, everyone becomes equal, turning as one to music to combat their diseases. This is one of the reasons we see so many music activities in non-musical settings.

From the Individual Perspective Background Graduates of the Central Conservatory of Music’s Musicology Department generally find jobs at music schools, concert halls, and television or radio stations. Due to the

754    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton lack of a systematic approach in the courses offered, they often find it difficult to apply what they have learned to their jobs. That said, those who go on to teach in colleges find the program extremely useful, as they can simply review the material they studied and then start to teach. Could our graduates be better adapted to different jobs through the restructuring of the current academic program? In 1999, the Central Conservatory of Music’s Musicology Department initiated reforms to improve the courses and majors offered. At first, they intended to add a major in applied ethnomusicology to the course list, but later renamed it the “Major in Music Communication, Experimental Class.” In later course restructures, “Music Communication” became “Music Management,” a brand new major to parallel the Musicology major. Nevertheless, the Musicology Department still encourages involvement in applied musicology/ethnomusicology through the following activities:  the holding of “World Music Days,” encouraging students to participate in the organization of academic conferences; creating opportunities for students to take part in proofreading for the Central Conservatory of Music Press; English translations (English–Chinese/ Chinese–English); publishing CDs to showcase the folk music recorded in fieldwork; and establishing a musical instrument exhibition center. Through activities such as these, the Musicology Department faculty and students have not only contributed to the construction and development of the Musicology Department and its courses, but also gained precious opportunities to learn, to further explore the significance of applied ethnomusicology, and to better understand what applied ethnomusicology is. Applied ethnomusicology not only includes specific practices and procedures, but also theoretical questions worthy of consideration, including reflections on the organization of the aforementioned academic activities. In the following passages, I will provide three examples, which illustrate the above: (1) the globalization of folk festivals manifested in the organization of “World Music Days”; (2) cultural continuity within translations of Chinese musical terminology in English-language editions; and (3) the migration and display of culture during the establishment of the Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre.

World Music Days: The Created Stage Reality and the Social Position of Traditional Music In 2004, Professor Akin Euba from the University of Pittsburg was invited to give a series of lectures at the Central Conservatory of Music. During our conversation, he expressed the desire to hold a small-scale seminar on African music, an idea that appealed to us and was supported by the head of the school. Later, the Central Conservatory of Music decided to make the seminar a conference that integrated academic discussions, musical performances, lectures, and musical workshops. We also invited scholars from China, the United States, and Africa to attend. During the conference, folk musicians from Hebei province, Yunnan province, and the United States gave special concerts, and a number of African-American musicians presented workshops

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    755 on African drum music and African dancing for the students. Outside these activities, the dialogue and exchange between musicians from home and abroad were inspiring. The entire event was a success. In November 2006, while I was attending the Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM) Conference in Atlanta, I had the opportunity to have lunch with Professor Akin Euba, Dr. Kimasi Brown, and Dr. Kimberlin Cynthia. They had all attended the Sino-African conference held by the Central Conservatory of Music, and spoke highly of the experience. We all found the idea of holding a second Sino-Africa conference on music extremely exciting. After two years of preparation, and with a great deal of support and guidance from school leaders, the second Sino-African Music Dialogue was held as planned. It was during this conference, composed of seminars, musical performances, lectures, and musical workshops, that the concept of “World Music Days” was first proposed. The workshops were held a week prior to the conference proper, with scholars from abroad arriving in Beijing in advance to give workshops on African music and dancing to Musicology Department students—who, for the first time since the founding of the department, held their own special concerts and performances (see Figure 21.6). With the second session of the Sino-African Music Dialogue complete, we realized that such activities would not only promote academic exchange and communication, but also provide valuable opportunities to learn from music in other parts of the world. Up until this point, there had been a lack of world music content in activities held by the conservatory, and the Sino-African Music Dialogue represented an effective supplement to the conservatory’s current teaching and academic systems. We decided to continue with these activities,

Figure  21.6 Musicology Department students at the Central Conservatory of Music giving their first public performance at the Recital Hall of the Conservatory during the World Music Days,  2010. Photographed by Zhao Liang in November  2010.

756    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton going on to hold World Music Days 2008:  China-Finland Festival and Symposium Dialogue in Music, World Music Days 2009: China–New Zealand and Pacific Festival and Symposium Dialogue in Music, World Music Days 2010:  China-India Festival and Symposium Dialogue in Music, World Music Days 2011: China-Japan Festival and Symposium Dialogue in Music, and World Music Days 2012: China–Indonesia Festival and Symposium Dialogue in Music. The name “Festival and Symposium Dialogue in Music” indicates that the conferences featured musical festivals as well as academic discussion and research.

Discussion Cultural diversity is not a new phenomenon; exchanges between different regions and cultures have been taking place since the early stages of human history. No culture can exist in isolation, and it is only by selecting, absorbing, and integrating elements from external sources that a culture can gain momentum for sustained development. As the Western world began to lead the process of industrialization and modernization, Western culture also ascended to a position of supreme global power. In this era of “superculture,” exchanges between Western and non-Western cultures more closely resemble a one-way transfer of Western culture to non-Western areas. Many regional cultures confront a common dilemma: whether to cling to the traditional and reject modernization, or to embrace modernization and abandon tradition. During the same period, exchanges between regional cultures have diminished, swallowed up by the vast shadow of globalization. Today’s world, however, is working hard to move out of this shadow. It is a world in which different cultures can and do coexist, and in which comprehensive exchanges between different regions are increasingly frequent. Today, the capacity to manage cross-cultural communication is an extremely significant asset (see Figure 21.7). World Music Days, an initiative that promotes equal dialogue between cultures of different regions, is an active contribution to the world’s multicultural development. Studying world music is one of the best ways to understand and appreciate the cultures of other countries and regions, and the current system for teaching world music represents an effective integration of academic research and practice. Through a combination of seminars, lectures, workshops, and performances, the “World Music Days” project advances the development of course syllabuses, theoretical musicology, and ethnomusicology, as well as the attendees’ personal experience and understanding of world music. In practice, however, there are still some questions worthy of further consideration: notably, the relationship between “reality on the stage” and “reality in real life.” The American ethnomusicologist Jeff Titon has noted that if intangible cultural heritages are placed on stage, this new context can have unintended negative consequences, one of which is that staged authenticity for tourists is self-defeating, for such a scripted performance can never be authentic (Titon, 2010). In the workshops organized for World Music Days, professors and students from the Musicology Department danced African dances, participated in the Samoa chorus, and enjoyed Cook Islands percussion music. The music and dances featured in these workshops were all altered to make the task

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Figure  21.7 Foreign professors and musicians visited Quantou village at the Baiyangdian Lake region, Hebei province, and played folk music with the folk musicians during the World Music Days in 2007. This was the first time the residents saw foreigners in their village. Photographed by Rong Yingtao on October  2007.

of teaching them to foreigners easier, and although all the pieces chosen were authentic, they were also very carefully selected. Nettl once criticized the American method of instrumental teaching, pointing out that expecting students to understand the musical connotations of other cultures within a semester or two may cause them to come to incorrect conclusions (Nettl, 1983: 264). Some universities in the United States offer courses on Chinese instrumental ensembles, generally teaching simplified pieces such as Xiyangyang (Happiness) and Bubugao (Stepping High). The students lack basic training on the instruments, and could easily develop misunderstandings about Chinese instrumental ensembles during group performance. During World Music Days, students from the Musicology Department experience the beauty of multiculturalism and a sense of fulfillment by participating in the creation of cultural diversity. However, it is important to note that while this has helped us to nurture positive attitudes toward cultural diversity in our students, it does not necessarily enhance the students’ capacity to understand a diversified culture, since these activities are out of our regular syllabus and the music itself is out of their social contexts. The World Music Days project also invited several performance groups from other regions in China, and those folk musicians brought their local music to the Central Conservatory of Music, China’s “musical shrine.” Although they were excited to perform at the conservatory, they also found it difficult to adapt—partly for psychological

758    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton reasons, and partly due to the change in performance space. Not only did this change influence the acoustics, it also gave rise to cultural contradictions. A local opera group from Shanxi province was once invited to give a concert during the festival. The performers employed a special kind of male singing, one that is very loud and husky. The sound was so ear-splitting that one-third of the audience left the concert hall; as it turned out, the sound system had not been properly adjusted. Musicians performing in different regions may also encounter cultural barriers. Performing folk music in its original setting is obviously different from performing it in a conservatory. Should the music be adjusted to fit to the space? Folk music festivals tend to showcase music from different cultures on the same stage without any attempt to reflect their different backgrounds. This is a new, self-inflicted kind of globalization, one in which it is impossible to ensure the authenticity of either music or context. Music festivals are one of the ways in which applied ethnomusicology has contributed to the promotion of musical exchange and communication among different nations. At the same time, juxtaposing voices from different cultural systems can have unexpected results. The definition of “world music” (at least, in the Chinese sense) is the display of music from different cultures within a global context. But is it still world music? The World Music Days held at the Central Conservatory of Music were a showcase for different music cultures throughout the world, which is itself a kind of globalization, albeit in the name of “cultural diversity.” Meanwhile, according to Li Xuanying’s observations of the Nanning Folk Music Festival, “the success of folk music festivals contributes to a strengthening of national spirit and a sense of national identity, as well as playing an active role in enhancing national cohesion” (Li Xuanying, 2009: 294–295). She also notes that “traditional folk music, especially original-style singing, has not had a regular presence in recent festivals, reflecting the fact that there is a lack of confidence in traditional music; folk music is a combination of a number of different arts, and folk music festivals could lose their original spiritual aims and aesthetic purposes if they overemphasize modern and popular music just to satisfy the tastes of the masses” (2009: 296).

English Translations of Chinese Music Records: Transmissions of Knowledge, Culture, and Thought Chinese scholars have spent decades in the study of music, accumulating rich experiences in the field. However, we still lack confidence when presenting our research findings at international academic conferences, due to our lack of foreign language abilities. Currently it is Sinologists, rather than Chinese scholars and professionals, who are the spokespeople for research in Chinese music. Many Chinese scholars do not agree with all of their research findings, but they are not able to present their own arguments due to language difficulties. Beginning in 2010, and supported by a “211” sponsorship, I initiated the translation and publication of several collected works on musicology, including Discourse in Music: Collected Essays of the Central Conservatory of Music Musicology Department (Zhang Boyu, 2010), Contemplations of Music: A Collection of Articles by

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    759 Yu Runyang (Yu Runyang, 2012), Africa Meets Asia: Proceedings of the 2005 and 2007 International Symposia on African and Chinese Music (Zhang Boyu, 2011), Traditional Chinese Music in a Changing Contemporary Society: A Field Report and Music Collection of the Quantou Village Music Association, Baiyangdian Lake Region, Hebei Province (Zhang Boyu, 2013), and an English translation of 900 Chinese Musical Terms (Zhang Boyu, 2010). The Central Conservatory of Music, China Conservatory of Music, and Shanghai Conservatory of Music, among others, are currently undertaking translation work for the publication of English versions of various Chinese books and periodicals on music. It is believed that such undertakings will only increase in the future.

Discussion It is a common misconception that translation is all about language. In one sense, this is correct, but translation practices have proved that the most difficult part of translation is not language, but culture. First, there is the translation of specialized vocabularies. According to Merriam, the creation of music begins with concepts—that is, with the external expression of human thought. These concepts reflect the different ways in which different people think. The same holds true for music: Chinese music, for example, reflects the way Chinese people think about the creation of music. Some concepts are similar in Chinese and English, which reflects a common ground between the two peoples and makes translation much easier. This includes concepts such as yueqi (musical instrument) and yinjie (scale). Most of the time, however, there is no equivalent for a given Chinese musical term, whether it be a theoretical term such as qupai, gongdiao, or banyan; an instrument name such as pipa or erhu, an operatic genre such as Jingju, Chuanju, or Ganju, a form of instrumental ensemble such as Jiangnan Sizhu or Guangdong Yinyue, or a type of folksong such as Xintianyou, Shanqu, and so on.18 Each of these words has rich connotations, which translation cannot adequately reflect. But if we attempt to express those connotations, then we are not translating but merely explaining. The second thing to consider is the historical and cultural backgrounds of such words. The study of music has been taking place in China for thousands of years, and there is a historical background to many of these musical terms. The term zhudi, for example, can be translated as “bamboo flute.” However, the same translation also perfectly describes xiao, another traditional Chinese musical instrument quite different from a zhudi. A xiao requires the player to blow vertically, while a zhudi is blown horizontally. Because of this, zhudi was eventually translated as “transverse bamboo flute,” while xiao was translated as “vertical bamboo flute.” Not only do these translations indicate how the instruments are played, they also respect the long academic history of Chinese music: historically, the zhudi was also known as a hengchui—“transverse blowing”— while the xiao was called shuchui, or “vertically blowing.” The pipa is another example. A frequently used translation for pipa is “a pear-shaped lute with four-stringed and a bent neck.” Here, several different elements are combined to describe the instrument in English: “pear-shaped,” “lute,” “four strings,” and “bent neck.” But how do we decide

760    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton which of these to include when creating a shorter translation? In ancient times, two different types of pipa were popular in China: the quxiang (bent neck) and the wuxian (five strings). The terms “bent neck” and “five strings” are therefore essential in differentiating the two instruments. It is important to note that the phrase “pear-shaped” was never historically used, and that the commonly used translation “pear-shaped lute” is incompatible with historical practices. From this, it is clear that the process of translation is a process of comprehension and understanding. A good translation cannot exist without a profound understanding of the relevant culture and history. Aesthetics are a particular difficulty in translation. For example, the titles of certain famous music compositions and books are inseparable from ancient Chinese aesthetic awareness. Chun Jiang Hua Yue Ye, a popular instrumental piece, can be translated literally as “Spring, River, Flower, Moon and Night.” However, this title conveys not only a beautiful image but also the cadences of the tones; the Chinese characters are combined as Chunjiang Huayueye. The translation “Spring River and Flowery Moon Night,” therefore, better respects the rhythm and 2 + 3 structure of the original Chinese title. Generally speaking, it is possible to translate basic connotations from one language to another, but it is impossible to maintain the original rhymes and rhythms.

Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre: A Decorative Art? In 2009, the Central Conservatory launched the third phase of the “211” project, establishing the Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre. This project was expected to be completed in 2010. At present, the Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre is located on the first floor of the conservatory’s new teaching building, with an area of 150 square meters (see Figures 21.8 and 21.9). Three groups of instruments have been collected thus far for display. The first group consists replicas of ancient musical instruments, such as the Ling bell from Xiangfen, Shanxi province, and the Ling bell from Yanshi, Henan province, the originals of which are the oldest metal musical instruments to be found from the Shang period; a Nao set composed of three pieces, the originals of which were unearthed from No. 699 tomb at Yinxu, Anyang, in Henan province; Bozhong, a replica of one of the 65 bells from the “Chime-Bells of the Tomb of Marquis of Zeng”; Duo, a replica of one of the oldest bells made during the Spring and Autumn period; Goudiao, a replica of one of eight bells made during the Han dynasty for the King of Yue State; Zheng, a replica of the original gong unearthed from Zigui county, Hubei province in 1985; Tonghuan Shouzheng, a zheng with a ring on the top, the original of which was unearthed from Hongshan Qiuchengdun in Wuxi, Jiangxu province, in 2004; Zenghouyi Bianzhong, replicas of 24 of the 65 bells from the “Chime-Bells of the Tomb of Marquis of Zeng”; Zenghouyi Bianqing, a replica of the “Stone-Chime of the Tomb of Marquis of Zeng”; Xuangu, a suspended drum, the original of which was unearthed from Hongshan Qiuchengdun in Wuxi, Jiangxu province, in 2004; Luozhuang Bianzhong, a replica of a set of 19 chime-bells unearthed from Luozhuang in Shandong province; Erxing Zhong,

Figure 21.8  The Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre at the Central Conservatory of Music. Photographed by Wang Xianyan in May  2010.

Figure  21.9  A  set of copied bells exhibited at the Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre at the Central Conservatory of  Music. Photographed by Wang Xianyan in May  2010.

762    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton replicas of four bells made during the Western Zhou dynasty and unearthed from pit No. 1 at Fufeng in Shaanxi province; a large Nao with elephant ornamentations, the original of which was unearthed from Shiguzhai village, Ningxiang county, Hunan province in 1959; Chunyu, a replica of a metal jar used as a military instrument, the original of which was unearthed from Qianyuping village, Changyang county, Hubei province in 1964; Tonggu, a metal drum, the original of which was unearthed from Wanjiaba, Chuxiong city, Yunnan province, in 1975; and Yangjiao Zhong, a goat horn bell, the original of which was unearthed from Chuxiong, Yunnan province, in 1975. The second group includes instruments collected from different areas in China, including Tibetan musical instruments, folk music instruments from the Xinjiang Autonomous Region, instruments from the Wa and Naxi ethnic groups in Yunnan province and of the Dong ethnic group in Guangxi province, and so on. There are also some Han musical instruments—some old, some newly made or polished—which were collected from Fujian, Chaozhou, Hebei, Shandong, Henan, Jiangsu, Tianjin, Beijing, and Heilongjiang. The last group consists of frequently used musical instruments of the Han majority such as the erhu, pipa, guzheng and guqin, and so on. The collection contains more than 250 items in total.

Discussion Purpose of Construction Establishing a musical instrument museum has been a dream for generations of Chinese music scholars. Professors from the Music Research Institute of the China Arts Academy worked for years to establish a new era of Chinese musical instrument collection (Zhang Zhentao, 2009). Research funds for Chinese universities are increasing year by year, which has provided scholars with the financial support required to realize the dream of building such museums. After the project was launched, more and more universities began to participate, investing varying levels of funds. China is a vast country, and it should not be considered unusual for such a country to have several musical instrument museums. After all, there are museums in each of the provinces as well as on the national level. The question is, should musical instruments be viewed as cultural relics? Of course, ancient instruments that have been excavated are cultural relics; however, these are already preserved in provincial museums. The Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre is closer to an exhibition of music cultures, or perhaps a small-scale display of cultural ornaments. In this sense, the items we choose to display can be viewed as cultural relics (as in other museums), cultural representatives (as in large-scale displays of musical instruments), and ornaments (as in small-scale displays). However, the significance of each of these three aspects is different. As cultural relics, the items on display represent the remains of history, glimpses into the workings of time; as cultural representatives, these items are tokens of another culture, offering insights into the lives of the people who played them; as decorations, we can observe the connection and interaction between the items and their environments. Each instrument is displayed in a precise order, according to how it is viewed. For example, cultural relics cannot be touched, whereas cultural representatives should be experienced by the visitors in

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    763 person, and decorations should not upstage the other elements. It is only with thorough and in-depth consideration of these factors that the exhibition space can be rendered meaningful and rewarding.

Cultural Migration Ethnomusicologists believe that it is their responsibility to protect the musical heritages of human beings. Under the flag of cultural relativism, they uphold the value of music in the past, the present, and the future. They emphasize the relationship between music and its environment, arguing that music cannot be studied alone but must be considered together with its home environment A musical instrument museum, however, extracts its subject—the instrument—from its musical system, and places it in a new, relatively isolated environment, so as to determine targets and channels for cultural appreciation and comprehension, both by people inside and outside the original musical system. The building of such museums is a purely material affair, one that is separated from other factors such as sound, performance, and culture, and that leads to the removal of musical instruments from the cultural regions they originally belonged to. A pertinent example is the transportation of musical instruments from all around the country to the Exhibition Centre at the Central Conservatory of Music. There is a wooden drum from the Wa ethnic group in the conservatory’s collection, which was purchased in Ximeng County, Yunnan province. With the assistance of the County’s Culture Bureau and Culture Institute, we had selected a drum that was perfectly made, with almost no flaws. During the ceremony for moving the drum from Ximeng to Beijing, I said to it, “You are about to leave home, and you might feel lonely.” The director of the Culture Institute added, “You are going to live a better life in Beijing.” Unfortunately, due to the long journey and the change of climate, there are now some cracks on the drum. Not only does this represent the physical sacrifice of cultural migration, but it is also a shock to the original culture and spirits—for the Wa people do believe that these wooden drums have spirits.

Beneficiaries of Construction Museums are an essential part of cultural development, with social responsibilities and the obligation to open to the public after construction is completed. The exhibition of musical instruments at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York functions as a collection as well as a public display. The Musical Instruments Museum in Stockholm focuses on exhibition and public education, allowing visitors to enjoy the subtle beauty of music while experiencing the wonders of technology. The Sibelius Museum in Turku, Finland, is part of the Abo Academi University’s Musicology Department and, though small, reflects the academic structure of the department. All of the above museums are open to the public, and all have become destinations for local visitors. The Exhibition Centre at the Central Conservatory of Music is located inside the teaching building. The question must be asked: Who can visit this room? If the visitors are the Conservatory’s own students, how can we update the collection to provide them with new information? The musical instrument display room in the China Arts Research Institute originates

764    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton from the 1950s, and has relocated from a fourth-floor space in Xinyuanli to a new building in Xiaoying. The display room holds hundreds of instruments, including dozens of priceless guqin, and has been home to several Chinese and foreign traveling exhibitions (Zhang Zhentao, 2009). However, it must be acknowledged that there is still no musical instrument museum in any real sense at the present time in China.

Theoretical Bases Museums are places of specialization, not only in the field of musicology, but also in any and all fields related to the items they have on display. Exhibitions of musical instruments, therefore, have much to do with the study of musical instruments, organology, and musicology. The classification, manufacture, use, and proscription of such musical instruments are all connected fields, as are fields related to the music, people, customs, and aesthetics behind the instruments on display. So what is the theoretical basis for the construction of these exhibitions? Zhang Zhentao believes that “we should not view the collection of musical instruments as a historical activity, but rather one that reflects both the national consciousness and the spirit of an era; the musical and historical significance of constructing musical instrument exhibitions gives rise to even more academic topics for further discussion” (Zhang Zhentao, 2009). Unfortunately, the collection of instruments that began with Li Yuanqing and Yang Yinliu, both former directors of the Music Research Institute, has not yet given rise to any such topics.

Conclusion Applied ethnomusicology is steadily attracting more and more attention, as it combines academic research with real life practices and thus directly serves society. A conference convened by the International Community of Traditional Music (ICTM) in Hanoi, 2010, was themed “applied ethnomusicology”; a conference convened by SEM in Los Angeles, 2010, also took applied ethnomusicology as one of its themes. Topics covered at this conference included music migrations and disasters; music, copyright, and human rights; music and social activism; and film soundtracks (see http://www.ethnomusicology.org/?Groups_SectionsAE). As ethnomusicologists, we hope that our work can be of practical use to society, as well as providing perspectives for understanding music as a social phenomenon. Applied ethnomusicology is an ideal way for us to add practical value to the academic value of ethnomusicological study. Social practice and theoretical reflection are two sides of the same coin, and any new practice must be tested through theoretical analysis. This is how social practice and social criticism can exist as opposing dimensions in a balanced relationship. There are two aspects of applied ethnomusicology in China: social activities of an academic nature performed by ethnomusicologists, and social practices that are supported and sponsored by the government. In this case, applied ethnomusicology is not only a social construction but the reflection of a social mechanism that balances the increase of

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    765 economic benefits with the building of a harmonious society. The difference between the nature of applied ethnomusicology and that of theoretic ethnomusicology is clearly manifest in both of these aspects. Applied ethnomusicology concerns itself not only with individual choices but with group choices, and it has a positive impact on culture and on society. Applied ethnomusicology also explores how traditional music can be of value in today’s society, both as a “living heritage” and as evidence for its own protection, demonstrating that such traditions are still of great value to the modern world. It is worth mentioning that reflections on current practices tend to focus on their problems, as well as providing a theoretical basis for their improvement. Applied ethnomusicology, therefore, should not be separated from theoretical ethnomusicology, for the latter has the potential to provide value judgments for applied ethnomusicology both from critical and practical perspectives.

Notes 1. CNKI, China National Knowledge Infrastructure net. 2. According to the map of PRC, Taiwan is included as one of the 23 provinces. 3. Gaoya Yishu Jin Xiaoyuan. 4. Bejing Jinrongjie Banshichu. 5. As of 2013, there have been three evaluations of intangible cultural heritage on the national level in China. The first evaluation was published on May 20, 2006, with a total of 518 items being approved. The second evaluation was published on June 14, 2008, with a total of 510 items being approved. The third evaluation was published on June 10, 2011; 191 items were approved on this occasion, with 164 other items being placed on an expanded list of items from the second evaluation. According to Chinese selection criteria, a national-level project must first be listed at the province level. Therefore, each province must carry out its own evaluation before submitting a project for national-level protection. 6. The above data are available on the Ministry of Culture’s Intangible Cultural Heritage Department website (http://www.ccnt.gov.cn/sjzznew2011/fwzwhycs/), as well as the Chinese Intangible Cultural Heritage website (http://www.ihchina.cn/). See also Wang Wenzhang’s book On the Research of Intangible Cultural Heritage Protection (in Chinese) (Beijing: Culture and Arts Publishing House, 2013: 427, 437). 7. For a related report, see Zhu Yi’s “Impressions of China’s First Intangible Cultural Heritage Exhibition,” Newspaper of People’s Political Consultative Committee (Renmin Zhengxie Bao). February 15, 2006. Also available at http://news.sina.com.cn/c/2006-0215/09269105836.shtml. 8. Related reports, including videos, can be found on a large number of different Chinese websites. 9. See “Series of Activities from the ‘Chinese Intangible Cultural Heritage Tradition Skills Exhibition,’ ” http://wenku.baidu.com/view/2e9edfaad1f34693daef3e75.html (accessed 29 July 29, 2013). This article can also be found in Chaozhou Daily, February 19, 2009, under the title “To make Traditional Skills Embrace Modern Life.” 10. See “ ‘Achievements in the Production and Protection of Chinese Intangible Cultural Heritage’ Exhibition Opens in Beijing,” http://www.gov.cn/jrzg/2012-02/05/content_2058920.htm (accessed July 29, 2013).

766    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton 11. Two of these activities were personally attended by the author. 12. See “The Inaugural China (Huangshan) Intangible Cultural Heritage Traditional Skills Exhibition Opened on the 7th,” http://native.cnr.cn/city/201211/t20121106_511314960.html (accessed July 29, 2013). 13. See http://www.ccnt.gov.cn/sjzznew2011/fwzwhycs/ (accessed July 29, 2013). 14. There are two essential terms that need to be explained here. The Key Research Base for Humanities and Social Sciences was a plan executed by the education administration in 1999. It aimed to set up 151 key research bases for the humanities and social sciences in 66 universities. The Musicology Research Institute at the Central Conservatory of Music is currently the only research base for the arts. The “211 Project,” on the other hand, was a strategic project proposed in the early 1990s. Looking toward the twenty-first century, it aimed to build around 100 high-level education universities, which was the largest key construction project in the field of high-level education since the founding of New China. The Central Conservatory of Music is the only art school listed in the “211 project.” Chinese government defines a term as three years, and provided three terms’ worth of capital for the Central Conservatory of Music’s education facilities, teacher training, and research. 15. Yuansheng Tai. 16. See Xiaojing (The Classic of Filial Piety), c­ hapter 12, “Broad and Crucial Doctrine”: Yifeng Yisu, Moshan Yuyue, English translation as “for changing the customs and traditions there is nothing better than music.” For English version of Xiaojing, see website: http://www.tsoidug.org/Xiao/Xiao_Jing_Comment.pdf. For Confucius’s music thought, see also Lunyu (Confucian Analects), Book III. Payi, ­chapters  1, 20, and 25; Book VII. Shuer, ­chapter  13, translated by James Legge (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1893, reprinted by Cosimo in 2006). 17. Yigu Zuoqi, Mingjin Shoubing. 18. Qupai (labeled tunes); gongdiao (pitch and mode); banyan (beat and eyes, or “metre”); pipa (four-stringed lute); erhu (two-stringed fiddle); Jingju (Beijing opera); Chuanju (Sichuan opera); Ganju (Gan opera, a local opera Jiangxi province); Jiangnan Sizhu (silk-and-bamboo, a local ensemble popular in Southern Jiangsu province); Guangdong Yinyue (an instrumental ensemble in Guangdong); Xintainyou (floating on sky, a type of folksong popular in West Shaanxi province); Shanqu (mountain songs, a type of folksong popular in Shanxi province).

Glossary Akesu  阿克苏 Baiyangdian  白洋淀 banhu  板胡 banyan  板眼 Bejing Jinrongjie Banshichu  北京金融街办事处 Bozhong  镈钟 Bubugao  步步高 Cao Jun  曹军 Changdiao  长调 Chuanju  川剧 Chun Jiang Hua Yue Ye  春江花月夜

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    767 Chunyu  大錞于 Chuxiong, Yunnan province  云南楚雄 Dage  大歌 Daolang Muqam  刀朗木卡姆 Dayan Guyue She  大研古乐社 Dianbo Shijian  点播时间 Difangxi Zhichuang  地方戏之窗 dizi  笛子 Dong ethnic group  侗族 Dongba Palace  东巴宫 Dongjing  洞经 Dongzu Dage  侗族大歌 Duo  铎 erhu  二胡 Erxing Zhong  二兴钟 Fenghua Guoyue  风华国乐 Fufeng in Shaanxi province  陕西扶风 Ganju  赣剧 Gaoya Yishu Jin Xiaoyuan  高雅艺术进校园 Genwo Xue  跟我学 gongdiao  宫调 Goudiao  勾鑃 Guangdong Yinyue  广东音乐 Guoba Yin  过把瘾 Guqin (guqin)  古琴 guzheng  古筝 Haicai Qiang  海菜腔 Hami Muqam  哈密木卡姆 Han pipa  汉族琵琶 Hengchui  横吹 Hetian  和田 Hongshan Qiuchengdun in Wuxi  无锡鸿山丘承墩 Humai  呼麦 Jiangnan Sizhu  江南丝竹 Jiaqu Youyue  佳曲有约 Jingju  京剧 Jiuzhou Daxitai  九洲大戏台 Kongzhong Juyuan  空中剧院 Kuche  库车 Kunqu  昆曲 Li Jilian  李季莲

768    Zhang Boyu AND Sarah Stanton Li Kairong  李开荣 Li Sue  李素娥 Li Xuanying  李宣颖 Lijiang  丽江 Ling  铃 Lingting Tianlai  聆听天籁 Liyuan Leitai  梨园擂台 Luozhuang Bianzhong  洛庄编钟 Luozhuang in Shandong province  山东洛庄 Lü Lulu  吕路路 Mingduan Xinshang  名段欣赏 Moyu  墨玉 Nanqiang Beidiao  南腔北调 Nao  大铙 Nao set  编铙 Naxi  纳西 pipa  琵琶 Pishan  皮山 Qianyuping village, Changyang county, Hubei province  湖北长阳千渔坪 Quantou Village Music Association  圈头村“音乐会” Qupai  曲牌 Quxiang  曲项 Shanqu  山曲 sheng  笙 Shiguzhai village, Ningxiang county, Hunan province  湖南宁乡师古寨 Shuchui  竖吹 Su Qianzhong  苏前忠 suogudu  索古都 suona  唢呐 Tashikurgan  塔什库尔干 Tiantan Shanting Teshu Hechangdui  天坛扇亭特殊合唱队 Tonggu  铜鼓 Tonghuan Shouzheng  铜环首钲 Turfan Muqam  吐鲁番木卡姆 Twelve Muqam  十二木卡姆 Wa ethnic group  佤族 Wanjiaba, Chuxiong city, Yunnan province  云南楚雄万家坝 Women Youyue  我们有约 Wu Xiulin  吴修林 Wu Xueyuan  吴学源 Wuxian  五弦

Applied Ethnomusicology in China    769 Xiangfen, Shanxi province  山西襄汾 Xiao  箫 Xiaoying  小营 Ximeng County  西蒙县 Xintianyou  信天游 Xinyuanli  新源里 Xiqu Fengcai  戏曲风采 Xiyangyang  喜洋洋 Xiyuan Baijia  戏苑百家 Xu Shuyun  徐淑云 Xuangu  悬鼓 Yang Xifan  杨曦帆 yangqin  扬琴 Yangjiao Zhong  羊角钟 Yanshi, Henan province  河南偃师 Yigu Zuoqi, Mingjin Shoubing  一鼓作气,  鸣金收兵 Yinxu, Anyang in Henan province  河南安阳殷虚 Yizu Haicaiqiang  彝族海菜腔 Yu Renhao  俞人豪 Yu Runyang  于润洋 Yuan Jingfang  袁静芳 Yuansheng Tai  原生态 Yueqi  乐器 Zhang Boyu  张伯瑜 Zhang Xia  张霞 Zhang Xiaoyan  张晓艳 Zhang Zhentao  张振涛 Zheng  筝 Zhou Heping  周和平 Zhou Ji 周吉 Zhou Xianbao  周显宝 Zhudi  竹笛 Zenghouyi Bianqing  曾侯乙墓编磬 Zenghouyi Bianzhong  曾侯乙墓编钟 Zigui county, Hubei province  湖北秭归

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Applied Ethnomusicology in China    771 Zhang, Boyu. (2010b). 900 Chinese Musical Terms. Beijing: People’s Music Publishing House. Zhang, Boyu, ed. (2011). Africa Meets Asia: Proceedings of the 2005 and 2007 International Symposia on African and Chinese Music. California: MRI Press. Zhang, Boyu. (2012). “Who Is Audience? Local Religious Music Popular in Yunnan.” (In English.) Asian Musicology, Vol. 19, edited by Chun In Pyong, pp. 97–115. Zhang, Boyu. (2013). Traditional Chinese Music in a Changing Contemporary Society: A Field Report and Music Collection of the Quantou Village Music Association, Baiyangdian Lake Region, Hebei Province. English translation by John Winzenburg. Beijing: Central Conservatory of Music Press. Zhang, Xiaoyan, and Su Qianzhong. (2007). “Approach to Applied Musicology: A Review of Japanese Ethnomusicologist Yamaguti Osamu’s Academic Summit Series.” (In Chinese.) People’s Music 7: 54–56. Zhang, Zhentao. (2008). “A Historical Reflection of Folk Arts Festivals: One Method of Folk Music Protection.” (In Chinese.) Journal of the Central Conservatory of Music 3: 32–37. Zhang, Zhentao. (2009). “Full of Ambition: Chinese Musical Instrument Collection and the Academic Consciousness of Li Yuanqing.” (In Chinese.) Chinese Musicology 4: 9–22. Zhou, Heping. (2009). “Intangible Culture Heritage Protection and Constructing a Spiritual Home for the Chinese People.” (In Chinese.) Speech at the Bo’ao Youth Forum (Hong Kong), December 7, 2009. Accessed via the Chinese Ministry of Culture’s Intangible Cultural Heritage Bureau website. http://www.ccnt.gov.cn/sjzznew2011/fwzwhycs/. Zhou, Xianbao. (2012). “Western Ethnomusicology and Chinese Traditional Music Research:  Reviews of the Theory and Methodology of Applied Ethnomusicology.” (In Chinese.) Music Research 6: 12–18.

Websites: (accessed 29 July 29, 2013) http://www.ethnomusicology.org http://www.ccnt.gov.cn/sjzznew2011/fwzwhycs/ http://www.ihchina.cn http://wenku.baidu.com/view/ http://www.gov.cn/jrzg/ http://native.cnr.cn/city/ http://www.gov.cn/jrzg/

Chapter 22

The Probl e m a nd P otential of C omme rc e Alan Williams

Ethnomusicology and its related disciplines, anthropology and folklore studies, have a long and often difficult history of commercial encounters. Examples of conflicting agendas and accusations of exploitation abound, and nowhere are they more present than in instances where concerned parties attempted to do something with the results of scholastic inquiry. John and Alan Lomax’s representation of Leadbelly and Steven Feld’s attempts to disseminate his recordings in the marketplace1 are but two case studies of uneasy alliances between academy and industry (Feld, 1991a; Filene, 2000; Szwed, 2010). Yet, the dictum of applied ethnography—serve those who contribute to the research—sometimes leads to partnerships in commercial endeavors, and examples of such partnerships have increased exponentially in the post-Internet age. This chapter investigates some of these historical case studies, and documents more recent projects that attempt to disseminate information while simultaneously generating capital, often with the ostensible goal of benefiting those whose musical activities provide the primary and most commercially valuable content. I focus on the intersection of technology, media, and marketing—a cultural space where all three factors contribute to the creation, capture, and dissemination of musical practices transformed into musical products. Recorded music in any form can both inform and entertain, and there are numerous examples of research-generated artifacts becoming commoditized product, just as commercial releases form the body of material of thousands of research studies. Perhaps more important, communication technology provides a platform for distribution of these audiovisual artifacts far beyond the limited points of access provided by libraries and record stores. The discipline of ethnomusicology emerged in part as a challenge to previously held conceptions of what constituted music scholarship. In the commercial realm, figures within the culture industry present alternative definitions of “scholar” and “institution.” In recent decades, a number of popular Western musicians—Paul Simon, Peter Gabriel, David Byrne, Ry Cooder, Damon Albarn, and others—have served as cultural brokers, simultaneously exploiting and promoting music and musicians from outside

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    773 the Western mainstream. Undoubtedly as complicated as the cases of Lomax and Feld, it is apparent that their efforts have benefited a number of musicians directly, while establishing a market that indirectly serves many hundreds more. Can such commercial ventures be viewed as applied ethnomusicology? Beyond the question of whether a pop star can be considered a scholar, or whether a multinational media conglomerate an academic institution, I  argue that projects like Real World Records, or the Buena Vista Social Club, disseminate cultural knowledge far beyond the walls of the academy. While degree-validated scholars can certainly question the legitimacy of such “knowledge,” the impact of these projects highlights the disconnect between traditional scholarly research and those outside the academy. To paraphrase the famous marketing slogan/album title, “50 million Ladysmith Black Mambazo fans can’t be wrong.” But just as activist/curious pop stars used the power of the industry that produced them, seismic shifts in Internet-based communication have undermined the hegemonic power of the twentieth-century culture industries. Amateur music enthusiasts with little to no support from any institution, academic or commercial, have harnessed the power of the Web to initiate a discourse and system of knowledge exchange with a socially activist agenda. In turn, both the academy and the commercial industry have begun to mirror strategies and methodologies developed by wi-fi-enabled armchair activists. In recent years, largely as a result of the collapse of the record industry in the wake of peer-to-peer file sharing, a common truism has emerged in music business discourse—“we are no longer a product industry; we are a service industry.” The emphasis (perhaps more accurately stated as a dependence) on service aligns neatly, if somewhat uncomfortably, with the aims of applied scholarship. And academic institutions, where the Open Source movement began (Friedman, 2007), have increasingly opened their storehouses of secrets to the general public, engaging in dialog concerned with access to knowledge, providing resource to community, and facilitating exchange. From my own experience as an instructor in music business degree programs, I can attest to a shift in the interest, goals, and methodologies of the newer generation of culture industry managers. Rather than a focus on commercial exploitation and career advancement, many of these students approach the music business as a platform for connecting musicians and audiences, and see their role as facilitator rather than profiteer. This generation, raised on the connectivity of the Internet, sees grassroots activism as a given, a normative model for any exchange of music, commoditized or not. While prior generations of corporate-based moguls may tout “service” as the new mode of operations, the immediate future of the industry lies in the hands of people whose biggest challenge is sustainability, rather than distribution or promotion. I argue that these are all positive developments, not inherently in conflict, and potentially transformative in ways that we have only begun to envision. As I see it, the role of an academically based applied ethnomusicologist will be to contribute to the discourse by providing guidance based on decades of lessons learned about the potential dangers of exploitation, unrealistic expectations, and missed opportunities. If the challenge is whether to get involved, or get out of the way, perhaps we can provide the wisdom to know the difference.

774   Alan Williams

Cultural Merchants and Brokers The primary goal of any academic research is to produce “knowledge” of some form or another. Data is knowledge; history is knowledge; ideas are knowledge. But what to do with all this acquired knowledge? For some, knowledge was produced for the benefit of the elitist cult of the academy, where encounters with knowledge produces still more knowledge. But for many, a good idea needs to be shared, and shared beyond the ivy-coated walls of the university. For almost any trained academician, publishing text is the natural outcome of knowledge production. But for ethnomusicologists and other field-centered, humanities-based researchers, it is often the people encountered in the course of research that should be “shared” with the world. Musicians present some of the most obvious non-text-related opportunities for public presentation, either in the form of sound (and video) recordings, or in concert performances. According to Daniel Sheehy, “the fundamental importance of the role of the folklorist is “transcontextualizing,” if you will, or transferring the folk musician from a traditional context to a public, non-traditional setting” (Sheehy, 1999: 220). The impulse to “share” is not unique to folklorists; indeed it is a common response for many who encounter culture that resonates on a personal level. But academics with institutional support are in a privileged position that amplifies their voices and disseminates their tastes and agendas beyond the means available to most music fans. In this way, when ethnomusicologists champion an artist, they are in essence promoting their personal ideologies. The power of the gatekeeper lies in their ability to have other voices substitute for their own, and for a multiplicity of those voices to more effectively communicate the ideas of the solitary “voice” of authority. When radio hosts select a collection of music for broadcast, they are certainly promoting the individual musicians given airtime, but the collection itself is a statement, authored by the equally identified on-air personality. Promoting the music of others is a form of self-promotion as well. The role of ego in such promotion does not undercut the benefits that the promoted musicians receive. Income-producing, artistically validating careers often result from temporary partnerships with public folklorists and ethnomusicologists. Some performers have then gone on to eclipse their gatekeeping patrons in terms of impact and influence. My main argument here is that conditions of self-promotion and cultural promotion exist in any effort to share the outcomes of a collaborative endeavor, and that neither inherently negates the value of the other. Consider the case of Alan Lomax, the first widely recognized folklorist, nearly as well-known as his most famous discoveries. The term “discoveries” is itself highly charged, implying that individuals, cultures, and indeed entire civilizations don’t truly exist until encountered and subsequently represented by (historically Western male) cultural capitalists. But while folklorists like Lomax merely recorded musical practices that had been in play in some form since the dawn of time, the moment of their recording signals a decisive turn, one that in many cases permanently alters the course of both the

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    775 culture captured by the recording device, and all of those who subsequently encounter the recorded sounds. In this regard, Lomax was a pyromaniac non pareil, with musical culture as tinderwood, recording technology as accelerant, and the folklorist striking the match. Alan Lomax began his career assisting his father John on a number of song-collecting fieldtrips. But whereas Lomax senior was primarily concerned with collating texts, Alan became obsessed with the possibilities that sound recording had for both capturing and transmitting musical cultures as they existed, free from the mediation of scholars who often “corrected” the texts they compiled, or rearranged and composed in the form of notated “transcriptions.” Of course, as many have observed, the act of recording is far from un-mediated, but this does not change the fact that Lomax viewed his efforts from that perspective. And while the results may be flawed, the sheer amount of recorded material he produced in his lifetime now serves as a repository of global musical practices that, while failing to represent the history of music over time and across borders, stands as a towering achievement in documenting sounds of human inhabitants of planet earth in the mid-twentieth century. But documenting alone was never the end goal for Lomax. To be truly useful, the music had to be made available to the public. While many of his field trips were funded by government agencies such as the Library of Congress, ostensibly to be cataloged and archived, Lomax went to great efforts to share the results with the public by arranging for the commercial release of recordings, by broadcasting the music on radio programs that he conceived, scripted, and hosted, by promoting and staging concert events large and small, and in the case of Leadbelly, by acting as a professional agent and manager.2 The significance of Lomax and his accomplishments lies in his dual role as archivist and popularizer. For Lomax, the music industry was a vital tool for establishing the value of folk cultures, and facilitating cross-cultural understanding in ways that had both artistic and political consequences, even as he would later lament the impact of the same industry in permanently altering the cultures he sought to praise and promote. As biographer John Szwed points out, Lomax the folklorist was never far removed from Lomax the music business professional. For every instance of professional efforts following folklore-inspired enterprise (as was the case with Leadbelly), many contributions to folkloric scholarship resulted from field trips sponsored by commercial interests. For many observers, much of his work was conducted under suspicious circumstances, and accusations of conflicts of interest dogged him even from the earliest days of his career. Lomax was not insensitive to the potential for exploitation, even if inadvertent, and made considerable efforts to share in any financial rewards that his fieldwork produced. But as a man struggling to feed a family, he did not see himself as someone in the position to act out of purely altruistic motivation. According to Szwed, Alan (Lomax)’s view was that the folklorist who recorded a song in the field was obliged to ensure that the singer was paid for his work, but should also have a share of the royalties in consideration for his or her role as a collector if the record was ever sold commercially. Alan’s reasoning was that composers of folk songs were not likely

776   Alan Williams ever to be recorded nor ever to earn any money from their songs without the help and guidance of someone devoted to the music and its preservation. (Szwed, 2010: 294)

Profits resulted from combined forces of labor, and Lomax clearly understood the value of his efforts in the marketplace. The “help and guidance” that Szwed refers to encompass both his roles: as gatekeeper, assessing the musical worth of a song or performance, and as music industry liaison, establishing conditions that would transform artistic value into commodity value. The key word in Szwed’s description is “devoted,” a concept that ostensibly separates Lomax from artists and repertoire (A&R) scouts like Victor’s Ralph Peer or ARC’s Don Law. For me, the distinction is far from clear, with men like Peer and Law (as well as Columbia scout John Hammond, and later figures like Ahmet Ertegun and the Chess Brothers) acquiring and exercising enough understanding of the music they encountered to successfully document and present to appreciative audiences, while in many cases establishing long-term relationships with the musicians they “exploited” (Kennedy and McNutt, 1999). For Lomax, his relationships with his informants resulted in partnerships where each collaborator brought a different set of skills and resources to the table. If Leadbelly contributed both a knowledge of a body of folksongs, and the ability to creatively mold those traditions to craft personal artistic statements, Lomax brought a critical ear that could filter those statements for maximum resonance with the audiences that Lomax knew how to reach through both public sector and commercial realms. If Leadbelly proved a quick study, learning to assess an audience, and provide what they were willing to pay for, Lomax also learned how to turn cultural traditions into vehicles for personal expression. On many occasions, Lomax was called upon to perform himself, singing ballads and worksongs learned in the course of fieldwork, and inextricably weaving his voice into the tapestry of American musical culture. If anything, Lomax’s own performing career is evidence of an ego-driven exploiterartist, content to receive the attention, accolades, and bounty otherwise due to those whose music and culture he endeavored to enact. Neither Peer, Law, Hammond, Ertegun, or the Chess Brothers ever placed their picture on the cover of an album (though their names were often present in liner notes, or in the logos for the labels they worked for or owned).3 Issues of copyright ownership plague both the history of the music business and that of documented folklore. Publishing and licensing fees account for the largest source of music industry revenue, and many songwriters have seen others amass considerable wealth by controlling the copyright to their work. Lomax was not immune to these conditions, and while he often claimed copyright for music at the behest of book publishers and record companies hoping to avoid eventual litigation, his estate has received considerable income from more recent uses of some of the recordings and compositions under his control. In this regard, he is no different from any number of music industry giants, though in many instances he made considerable efforts to direct funds to those who contributed to his archive (a clear break from standard “industry practice”).

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    777 Some of the most complicated aspects of folklore/commercial partnerships concern the visible presence of the folklorist in the end product, and Lomax is somewhat unique in this regard. As Lomax gradually amassed both more recordings and an enhanced public visibility, this name association took on a commodity value of its own. Though this conversion of cultural capital to commodity capital was greatly accelerated after his death, Lomax himself took advantage of his public reputation, and was well aware of the market value of his name. The notoriety of the public figure worked against Lomax in terms of his acceptance by the academy. Indeed, the value of an academic’s scholarship is often inversely proportional to his or her existence as a public intellectual. The work of Henry Louis Gates or Neil Degrasse Tyson becomes less citation-worthy with every television appearance. For scholars whose work catches the public’s attention, issues of exploitation become complicated further. While the impulse to share that often drives the collaboration between scholars and industry is borne from the kind of devotion Szwed attributes to Lomax, the results of a project that “hits” in the commercial realm are often more than anyone bargained for. Steven Feld’s participation in disseminating the music of the Kaluli peoples of the Bosavi region of Papua, New Guinea, is a case in point, made all the more vivid by Feld’s grappling with the issues in scholarly forums (Feld, 1990).4 The Voices of the Rainforest CD, produced by Feld and Grateful Dead drummer Mickey Hart and issued by Rykodisc, illustrates many of the tensions that arise from conflicting agendas, even when those differences are matters of degree rather than diametric opposition. For Feld, a recording that highlighted the significant relationship between music and environment was an extension of scholastic enterprise, in a form that presented his ideas in ways that surpassed the capabilities of text-based publication. Even if the alliance required that the culturally sensitive scholar grapple with issues of representation posed by the realities of CD artwork packaging, and so on, the relationship with a globally distributed independent company held the promise that revenue would be generated and directed to the peoples with whom Feld had bonded after years of research. As cultural intermediary, Feld was well aware of the forces that threated the Kaluli and their way of life; a recording that made the case for environmental conservation and brought the precarious status of Bosavi to the attention of the world could potentially do even more to aid his informants than the profits generated by the enterprise. But Feld was also keenly aware that the outside world was already encroaching on Bosavi, irrevocably impacting the Kaluli, and that his audio representation of a way of life was myopically idealistic in its exclusion of the sounds of the modern world, both industrial and musical. The fact that the roar of a jet airplane was already part of the environmental soundscape was not lost on Feld. Yet his desire to craft an idealized and heavily nostalgic Bosavi soundscape depended upon considerable technological mediation. Working methodically with his field recordings, he carefully layered fragments of environmental sounds interspersed with those of the Kaluli, to craft a sound collage meant to represent “twenty-four hours of a day in the life of Bosavi in one continuous hour” (Feld, 1991: 134). The presence of industrial engines in this soundscape would presumably have been as distressing for the consumer as it was for Feld. This (mis)

778   Alan Williams representation is an example of how scholars frame their research outcomes according to their own agendas, as well as how the entertainment industry attempts to fulfill an audience’s expectations, to “give the people what they want.” If the construct of Voices of the Rainforest gave Feld pause, his subsequent efforts at presenting the music of the region sought to acknowledge, and perhaps begrudgingly accept, the full range of sonic experience in New Guinea, including new forms of technologically mediated Kaluli culture. A three-disc set entitled Bosavi, compiled by Feld and issued by Smithsonian Folkways, included several examples of amplified guitar bands recasting older, now vanished, Kaluli musical practices in the timbres of the modern Western world.5 The presence of these recordings alongside examples drawn from Feld’s earlier field recordings gives the listener a more complete aural picture of the region, and illustrates how an increasingly hybridized global culture yields results counter to Lomax’s oft-referenced “cultural grey-out.” Feld continued to explore the intersection of technology and musical creation in his subsequent work on jazz in Accra, Ghana. Encountering music in the field that is expressly the result of globalized networks of cultural distribution, Feld has imposed a similar impressionist framework to present his personal experience of the musical expressions of others. While continuing to publish books and articles in scholarly journals, he also produces recordings that simultaneously represent the music he researches while standing as expressions of his own artistic sensibilities. He is scholar, activist, and artist. He is also a willing participant in the commoditization of culture. In 2003, Feld founded VoxLox, a company that, according to its website, “publish(es) CD, DVD, and book projects at the crossroads of anthropology and sound and visual art” (Feld, 2013).6 The VoxLox catalog is an intriguing mixture of field recordings, collaborations with musicians encountered in New Guinea and Ghana, and Feld’s own artistic creative expressions. In this manner, he utilizes his understanding of music industry operations to extend opportunities for his research partners to reach audiences beyond their local region. At the same time, by placing his own creative output alongside his collaborators, he levels the hierarchical distance between resource-privileged Westerner and fieldwork informants. In broad strokes, Feld serves as a model for how an applied ethnomusicologist can work with and within the music industry to both spread the knowledge gained through research beyond the walls of the academy, and serve the needs of his informants, in terms of publicizing their plight as well as generating income. For example, Feld established a foundation to direct funds toward initiatives intended to help battle the encroachment of disease, and the decimation of an environment that supplies food and shelter to the Kaluli (Feld, 1991a). Everyone wins, even if no one escapes without a few bumps and bruises. Examining the specifics of the case study reveals many of the potential pitfalls surrounding any enterprise that must balance the needs of commerce, the needs of the academy, and most important, the needs of the community. These collaborations generate another field of knowledge—the history of their own creation—that can aid in guiding the efforts of others endeavoring to promote, advocate, and provide for all those who contribute to research.

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    779

Creative Alliances: Mutually Beneficial Exploitation In a film documenting the making of Paul Simon’s Graceland album and subsequent promotional tours, South African guitarist Ray Phiri emphatically states, “It was two-way traffic; we used Paul as much as he used us. There was no abuse.”7 Graceland was both the product of and the leading example of the world music genre that emerged in the 1980s. In its wake, several musicians associated with the project experienced substantially increased exposure, resulting in commercial viability of their own in the global marketplace. Simon’s record label Warner Brothers issued albums by Ladysmith Black Mambazo (produced by Simon’s recording engineer, Roy Halee), and Miriam Makeba, whose career was resurrected as opening act and support vocalist for the Graceland world tour. Additionally, many of the musicians, such as Phiri, who served as backing musicians for Simon live and on record developed careers of their own as session musicians, in some cases leaving South Africa for the more lucrative session scene of New York. Clearly, their prominence in the marketing of the album established their names and faces in the public sphere, putting them in much better stead after their work with Simon than before he made his controversial trek to Johannesburg. Here the benefits of exploitation worked in both directions. While Simon was a well-established star, with massive success for both his partnership with Art Garfunkel, and his early and mid-1970s solo work, his career trajectory took a downward turn following a lukewarm reunion event with Garfunkel in 1980. Graceland eventually not only brought Simon back to the top of the charts, but became his most successful solo recording to date. Whether intentional or not, the savvy marketing of late twentieth-century exoticism boosted Simon’s commercial value to its highest point in decades, a peak he has not since come close to matching. Certainly many musical figures have benefited from generalized exoticized othering—Debussy, Stravinsky, Bartok, Colin McPhee, Lou Harrison, Bing Crosby, and Dizzy Gillespie come quickly to mind—but few have brought the sources of their inspiration to such prominence, preferring to keep their encounters as more generally “cultural” than to forge alliances with specific individuals. While Simon did not abandon his own career to devote his energies solely to those of the South African musicians he championed, he clearly used his commercial and cultural capital to help his collaborators secure solid backing from the corporate-level music industry. This role as industry liaison put a new spin on earlier Western pop star/world music performers alliances. When the Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones made a recording of Moroccan musicians (eventually released posthumously in 1971), the album was titled Brian Jones Presents the Pan Pipes of Jajouka. And while George Harrison maintained a long relationship with sitar virtuoso Ravi Shankar, frequently citing his mentor and providing exposure as an opening act in his 1970s live performances, he was less directly involved in Shankar’s own industry connections (in large part because Shankar had already established himself to some degree on the world

780   Alan Williams stage prior to his association with Harrison). Simon’s efforts on behalf of the Graceland musicians are noteworthy in transforming his role from one of cheerleader to that of advocate. It is one thing to celebrate the musical practices of others in the moment; it is another to make a long-term commitment to advancing the careers of under-supported musicians and the cultures they represent. David Byrne and Peter Gabriel are examples of Western pop artists drawn to non-Western music, who have in turn devoted energies toward promoting the music they admire and draw inspiration from. Both stars have leveraged their cultural capital to create enterprises that work within the structures of the music industry to further the cause of the music, and the careers of the musicians that make it. Byrne’s Luaka Bop and Gabriel’s Real World record labels present non-Western acts to Western audiences by issuing recordings that are created with the same care and attention to detail, and often in the same facilities, afforded their own recorded work, and benefit from the same distribution channels as their own commercial output. If Simon protégés Ladysmith Black Mambazo demonstrated the commercial viability of non-Western artists, the catalogs of both labels provided a bulk of content with which to populate the newly allocated bin space in the world music section of record stores across North American and Europe. Each label bore the unmistakable imprint of their founders, with Luaka Bop tending toward idiosyncratic pop music from around the globe, while Real World records presented more traditional regional styles, though recorded in state of the art facilities, and mirroring the sonic detail of Gabriel’s own work.8 The packaging of these releases extends the mission of presenting alternative views of the value of non-Western music. Real World releases generally feature intriguing images that often have little to do directly with the cultures that produce the music, but firmly establish the recordings as “art” product. For Byrne, album artwork is a powerful tool for reframing the exoticized “other” as a contemporary cultural equal. Overall, we think of the music we work with as contemporary pop music, and we try to present it as such. While something like Zap Mama’s first record could be, and sometimes was, perceived as an “ethnic” record, we did our damnedest to alter that perception. The CD covers go a long way, in my opinion, to creating this attitude. We don’t do covers that look like folkloric records or like academic records of obscure material of interest only to musicologists and a few weird fringe types… we work with the designers to come up with a graphic statement that says “this music is as relevant to your life and is as contemporary as Prodigy, Fiona Apple, or Cornershop.” (Byrne, 2013)9

Though one could argue that the sumptuous artwork and pristine sonics of Luaka Bop and Real World releases propagate an extension of a hegemonic contemporary Western aesthetic, packaging the recorded performances of non-Western musicians in the same manner as mainstream Western pop stars positions world music artists as equals in the record store bins and living rooms in which the product is intended to reside. Yes,

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    781 the music is framed through Western ears and eyes, but these recordings are also evidence that a number of culture brokers have deemed the music worthy of the frame. Why shouldn’t a musician from Sudan be afforded the opportunity to record in a state of the art facility, and be presented in a manner that differs markedly from commercially released “ethnic” recordings of the mid-twentieth century? Gabriel was particularly sensitive to accusations of exploitation as his 1980s musical statements began to borrow heavily from non-Western sources. In his view, he was collaborating with musicians in much the same way as he did with Western session musicians, exploring creative possibilities, in the search for something compellingly new. I know all the arguments concerning appropriation, but at the end of the day, providing you try and balance the exchange and allow for the promotion of the collaborating artist and their own music, rather than just taking, I feel very comfortable with this idea of dialogue.… So, given these parameters, more is gained than is lost… it is possible now for artists from different cultures and countries to reach a limited audience worldwide, making a living from it, and there is much more focus now than there was ten years ago. (quoted in Taylor, 1997: 50)

Gabriel’s belief in the potential benefit to non-Western collaborators involved in his recorded work was not a naive dream, but rather the demonstrable results of his own substantial labors in creating a structure to facilitate these musicians’ ability to reach a much broader audience. The outcome of extended promotional efforts from labels such as Real World and Luaka Bop did not simply stoke interest in global musical traditions for bored Western pop music consumers, but rather established ongoing careers for the stand-out performers of those traditions. According to Gabriel, “An artist can come from another country and get onto a circuit that they will find very hard to achieve anywhere else—and get visibility, get heard, and hopefully find an audience that will allow them the following year to come back and tour under their own steam” (quoted in Taylor, 1997: 51). Real World’s focus on promoting identifiable “stars” such as Youssou N’Dour and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, rather than compilations of regional styles, parallels a trend in ethnomusicology during the 1980s and 1990s that emphasized the value of individual musicians over more generalized practices (for example, Rice, 1994), and record releases tied to individual names and faces accomplish the goal more effectively than the ever-changing line-up of the folk festival culture show. Yet Gabriel pursued this path as well, launching the first WOMAD (World of Music and Dance) festival in 1982 near his home in southwest England. Though well attended, the festival ran considerably over budget in an effort to present the music most effectively, and to provide fair compensation to the performers. On the brink of bankruptcy, Gabriel was forced to approach his old band members in Genesis to stage a one-off reunion concert to pay the bills. Though WOMAD was on shaky ground in its early days, it has since flourished and is now in its third decade, with events staged around the world, reaching audiences in the millions. One benefit to understanding how

782   Alan Williams industry practices such as concert promotion staging and marketing actually work is that once the machine is built and fired up, it can run without the constant attention of its founders. Simon, Gabriel, and Byrne became the most visible cultural brokers in the popular music marketplace in part by underscoring the contemporary relevance of the non-Western musical practices they adopted and adapted. But a decade earlier, Van Dyke Parks and Ry Cooder, two Los Angeles–based musicians with pop music credentials10 embarked on cross-cultural pathways with a decidedly nostalgic bent. Parks issued an album featuring re-recordings of 1930s calypso music entitled Discover America and later produced albums by the Esso Trinidad Steel Band and The Mighty Sparrow. Both Discover America and its Caribbean-flavored follow-up, Clang of the Mighty Reaper, were complete commercial failures, as much a result of Park’s relative obscurity as it was of the contemporary irrelevancy of the music. But Cooder methodically established a mid-level career for himself by specializing in an amalgam of Depression-era American blues, jazz, and country music. Along the way, he began to collaborate with musicians who could lend a more directly associative authenticity to his music while simultaneously expanding his palette of stylistic borrowings—Earl “Fatha” Hines contributing a touch of stride piano, Flaco Jimenez on norteno-styled renditions of 1950s doo wop, and Gabby Pahanui bridging the gap between Hawaiian slack-key guitar and Cooder’s renditions of Delta blues. Indeed, the selling point for Cooder’s audience was the very out-of-sync nature of the music. Steadfastly avoiding any resemblance to current popular music trends, Cooder’s 1970s catalog appealed to a similar nostalgic hipsterism found in the folk revivalists of the 1960s, or the British “trad” jazz scene intent on re-creating early twentieth-century New Orleans in the 1950s London suburbs. The longevity and sweep of Cooder’s career bestowed upon him a measure of “authority,” a public radio–validated gentleman scholar.11 Cooder’s participation in the Buena Vista Social Club12 project deserves closer inspection. His guitar work is present on many of the recordings, but is rarely featured. Instead, primary attention is given to the vocalists, and to some extent pianist Gonzalo Rubalcaba. If any non-Cuban is prominent, it is Cooder’s son Joachim, whose percussion work is central to many of the performances. In essence, both Cooders are continuing a well-established history of musical collaboration in the search of knowledge and understanding. Since Mantle Hood first championed “bi-musicality” as a prerequisite for any aspiring ethnomusicologist, one-on-one musical exchanges have formed the basis for much of the discipline’s canonical works of scholarship. Cooder’s role as background support player, simply “one of the band,” downplays his importance to the project. As shown in the similarly titled Wim Wenders film documenting subsequent recording sessions for an Ibraham Ferrer album and two concert performances in Amsterdam and New York,13 Cooder hovers in the background, only occasionally commenting on the proceedings, choosing to shape the flow of the music with his guitar work. The cameras capture several moments where Cooder and the Cuban musicians exchange knowing smiles in response to one another’s musical expressions. When the music begins, everyone is on equal footing. At least, potentially. In truth, Cooder adds

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    783 far less musical input than in his supporting work with Western musicians from the Rolling Stones to John Hiatt, ceding the musical landscape to the local musicians, apparently acknowledging his neophyte status as a purveyor of Cuban son. Though it would appear from scenes in the Wenders documentary that the Cuban musicians respect Cooder as a player, his key contribution is in lending the cultural capital of his name in the general marketing plan. The project was conceived and the musicians initially assembled by Nick Gold, the owner of British record label World Circuit. Cooder’s presence in the studio helped quietly steer the musical performances in a direction that might prove more palatable to Western audiences looking for new sounds that fit their NPR-formed aesthetic. But he does not appear to have taken a direct role in producing the sessions, or directing the concert performances. He did oversee the mixing of the record, and to that extent employs his decades of professional studio experience in an area where he can claim a measure of expertise. But tellingly, the end product was not another time-traveling/globe-trotting Ry Cooder album meant to display his mastery of yet another musical genre. Nor is Cooder “presenting” a “discovery.” Cooder on stage and in the studio fades into the background. Cooder as the figure with the most cultural capital to spend only becomes a featured star in the marketing of the project. To the extent that his own career benefits from the exposure, this prominence is, to a degree, self-serving. But clearly, the Cuban musicians stand to gain exponentially more from their collaboration. Ferrer and Rubalcaba were able to release new recordings using the same production team and label/distribution deal following the commercial success of the initial release, and many of the musicians found agents and embarked on world tours that would never have happened without Cooder’s participation in the project. So, the activist/patron role is firmly established, but is the work they produce scholarship? The answer depends upon one’s definition of “scholarship.” Bertrand Russell famously established two categories of knowledge—that which is obtained by “description,” and that which is derived from “acquaintance” (Russell, 2005 [1905]). Cultural brokers serve valuable roles in knowledge production both by helping to create a system for encounters with culture (acquaintance), and by providing a contextual framework for understanding those encounters (description). When an audience actively engages with the products of the culture industry as a result of their acquaintance with the creative expressions of others, even a modicum of description can lead to a deeper understanding of the human condition. Viewing a project like the Buena Vista Social Club through this lens, the recordings and films serve as evidence—“Hey folks, here’s some music”—and the context provided by a culturally brokered marketing plan poses the questions: Where has this music been all this time? Who are these people? What are these songs about? What’s Ry Cooder doing in the middle of all of this? When can we go to Cuba to hear some more? Academically initiated recording projects have significantly contributed to the formation of hybridized world music culture and thus bear some responsibility for fostering the mediated encounter and encouraging creative individuals to do something with the knowledge they have gleaned. Writing in 1991, Kay Kaufmann Shelemay notes that

784   Alan Williams [n]‌early a century of ethnic recordings, many prepared by or in collaboration with ethnomusicologists or “ethno-recordists,” has contributed to a growing trend for cross-cultural synthesis in musical composition and performance.… Much of the inspiration and raw material for these new fusions stems directly from the ethnomusicological presence in the university, public-sector agencies, and the music industry itself. (Shelemay, 1991: 287)

Just as academics have played a significant role in establishing an emergent “world music” pop culture, Western pop stars have made meaningful contributions to music scholarship. If the results of cross-cultural encounters yield a body of knowledge, then perhaps those cultural intermediaries are doing ethnomusicological work. When Simon travels to Johannesburg, he is doing fieldwork—fieldwork that results in the production of a form of knowledge. When David Byrne pores through the vaults of EGREM, the record company of the Cuban government, searching for unreleased gems to issue on lavishly packaged compilations, he is doing fieldwork. When Peter Gabriel creates a platform for the presentation of various global traditions, he is advocating for the musicians who make the music. All of their endeavors have a broader impact than that measured by the record charts. It is not a stretch to say that Western awareness of South African politics was heightened by the attention paid to Graceland, and may have hastened the release of Nelson Mandela and the end of apartheid. The cross-cultural coalition of WOMAD performers and attendees does not merely reflect a growing multiculturalism; it facilitates it. In this way, pop star–driven projects utilizing the power of the music industry promotional machine benefit the communities they both work with and establish, and are therefore highly effective examples of applied ethnomusicology.

Shifting Industry: From Resource Exploitation to Service Enterprise The discipline of ethnomusicology is built upon sound recording technology, which supplanted notated transcription as the primary data collected in the course of research. Moreover, field recordings were not solely in the domain of the academic. As Kay Kaufmann Shelemay points out, [i]‌f early ethnomusicologists and the record industry shared technologies through the first decade of the twentieth century, they also shared working methods and interests of a diverse repertory for an even longer period. In many instances, representatives of the early record companies preceded ethnomusicologists in the field, themselves functioning as fieldworkers in locating and then recording local talent. (Shelemay, 1991: 280)

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    785 The intersection of the academy and the music industry, though closely aligned in the early years of sound recording, became less common as record labels eschewed the limited commercial rewards yielded by “ethnic” records in favor of much more profitable popular musical forms. Though folklorists and record company scouts utilized many of the same technological processes and social practices in the course of capturing recorded performances, the purposes of their work “in the field” differed tremendously. Record companies sought to maximize profit from recordings by marketing each release as an excitingly new product, soon to be replaced by even more exciting new products in the near future, assuming a “shelf life” of weeks rather than years, decades, or centuries.14 Most ethnomusicologists made sound recordings as a means of documenting musical practices, intending that the recordings serve as the basis for research while simultaneously preserving examples of musical cultures on the verge of extinction. As Nicholas Spitzer writes, “To me, sowing the seeds of musical performances in the vinyl furrows of LPs or the digital fields of CDs is a way of documentary cultivation as a practicing folklorist” (Spitzer, 1992: 98). But what happens to the fruits of such cultivation? Are these the furrows of a garden plot? Is the harvest bound for the farmer’s table, or is it destined to be converted into cash at the farmer’s market? Once the seeds are planted, will the land and its crop become the property of the Archer Daniel Midlands Corporation? And what if those seeds are genetically altered, what sort of inorganic fruits does the harvest yield? The nature of this form of documentation is that, once captured, the sounds can be as readily commoditized as they can be archived. In some cases, field recordings were made specifically to be packaged and sold in the marketplace. For example, Alan Lomax was commissioned by Columbia Records in the early 1950s to create a series of LPs entitled World Library of Folk and Primitive Music (Szwed, 2010). Lomax spent years traveling through Europe, amassing hundreds of hours of recordings, knowing that most of the documents would likely be kept in storage, while keeping an ear out for material that could be issued commercially through Columbia. In other cases, Lomax’s efforts were initially intended as a means of preserving musical cultures that he worried would die off with their aging practitioners. But while considered archive material at the time of their capture, many of these recordings were later issued on commercially released LPs and CDs. Gray areas abound. Lomax is simultaneously a folklorist and an A&R talent scout. When Moses Asch released Lomax’s recordings on his Folkways label, the recordings became commoditized, though the nearly nonexistent marketing of those LPs casts Asch’s enterprise as closer to a one-man Library of Congress than a chart-topping, profit-generating machine. Even more curious is the desire of Columbia to create a series such as the World Library of Folk and Primitive Music. This project and others like it represent the first attempts at creating a world music market. A key difference between the 1950s and the 1980s versions of world music marketing lies in the assumed uses of the music for listening audiences. Whereas late twentieth-century world music was marketed as pop, intended to fill a never-quenched thirst for the “new,” mid-twentieth-century commercial releases stressed the edifying quality of getting to know the world beyond the backyard. In many ways, this resembles other large media

786   Alan Williams efforts to inform while entertaining, such as the CBS television broadcasts of Leonard Bernstein conducting programs for children (and their curious parents), a form of noblesse oblige exercised by corporations operating with the best interests of their customers in mind. One further complication surrounding the act of the field recording concerns the assumptions and aspirations of the musicians being recorded. Far from fearing that their performances might become commercialized product, many contributors to field research desire just such an outcome and view the researcher as their conduit to the marketplace. Jeff Todd Titon has identified the many and varied expectations of fieldwork informants and the roles they may assign to the intruders in their midst, a condition he labels “stance” (Titon, 1985). Nicholas Spitzer describes experiencing a similar phenomenon while recording Cajun and Zydeco musicians in Louisiana. As I  learned from musicians about their lives, ambitions, repertoires, and styles, I realized the value they placed on the tangible results of this project; their music and life stories on a recording. If the project was flawed, in their view, it was because I had no connections to Motown or any other national record company catering to black listeners that fulfilled some of their ideas about success as musicians. (Spitzer, 1992: 79)

If Spitzer were to truly serve his collaborators in the spirit of applied folklore, he would have to endeavor to make such connections to mainstream record labels, especially those that issued recordings that his informants were familiar with. It’s all well and good to be in the Library of Congress, but having a record on the radio or local jukebox would be a far more validating result. In Spitzer’s case, he subsequently oversaw the commercial release of some his recordings, albeit on the small Arhoolie label, a far cry from Motown. In later years as a widely syndicated radio host, he has helped to popularize all manner of American roots music, in essence adopting the stance that his fieldwork informants initially imposed upon him and, I would argue, effectively doing applied ethnomusicology in his capacity as cultural gatekeeper and broker. It is important to clarify what is meant by “music industry.” For many casual observers, the term signifies records in all their various format incarnations from 78s to downloadable soundfiles. But record sales are but one component of a much larger system of revenue-generating uses of musical performance and related technologies. Concerts, broadcasts, print publications and associated merchandise, licensed uses for inclusion in film, television, and Web content all contribute to a musician’s potential earnings. By focusing on records, it is easy to overlook other aspects of music industry practice that resemble some of the forms that applied folklore and ethnomusicology have already taken. For several decades, the most publicly visible role for folklorists and ethnomusicologists has been in the presentation of traditional music in a festival setting. Academics often serve as cultural brokers, sometimes by promoting musicians they have worked with in the course of research activities to festival organizers, sometimes by providing scholarly validation of the merits of traditional music performers in the form of program

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    787 notes, or as voices of authority in promotional campaigns. Accompanying these activities, many of these academics have published hand-wringing and soul-searching treatises attempting to resolve/absolve their role in shaping/diminishing/corrupting the music and musicians they champion. Issues of representation abound in the realm of the culture show, as they do in any mediated presentation of culture. Some scholars have argued that the culture show inherently misrepresents the culture presented by performers framed by the stage proscenium, while others see the festival stage as an empowering space for claiming identity (Harker, 1985; Hobsbawm, 1983; Kishenblatt-Gimblett, 1992, 1998; Sarkissian, 2000).15 For me, the more problematic aspect of the culture show is the illusory notion that these festivals operate outside the realm of the commercial concert promotion industry. Frequently, the intellectual discourse of the seminar room that has propelled the folklorist onto the festival grounds fades into the background when confronting the logistics of the concert stage. The challenge for the folklorist involved in the culture show enterprise is to navigate the myriad issues surrounding “culture” while simultaneously grappling with the practicalities of the “show.” For example, the National Council for the Traditional Arts (NCTA) organizes the annual Lowell Folk Festival, one of many large-scale arts festivals they oversee across the country. As a professor at the local university, I have frequently served as a “scholar/ presenter,” announcing the performing acts, supplying brief biographical information, and providing a small measure of cultural context about the music. In reality, I am an emcee, and the primary task at hand is to keep the show moving according to a highly regimented timetable. In the course of an afternoon, I will make numerous requests for donations and read extensive lists of sponsors for the event. This is perhaps the primary distinction between the folk fest and more pop music–oriented events such as Coachella, Bonaroo, Glastonbury, or Roskilde—it’s free. However, in all other respects, the folk fest operates like any of the above-mentioned commercial spectacles. All the acts receive payment; most of them are represented by booking agents who have mastered the fine art of calling for bids, negotiating fee for service, and stipulating conditions for travel, food, and lodging. Tents are set up for the specific purpose of selling CDs, T-shirts, and other merchandise. Robert Cantwell’s probing consideration of the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, Ethnomimesis, took issue with the treatment of individual humans as little more than troublesome artifacts that failed to show up for a 6 a.m. bus, or seemed to need to eat at some point during the day (Cantwell, 1993). Even more troubling for Cantwell were the forms of representation imposed upon the performers by the festival organizers, and the basic construct of the festival itself. His point is well taken, but in recent decades, the goals and outcomes of most folk festivals are right in line with those of the acts that are presented—a studied professionalism is demonstrated by both performers and organizers: from set lists that time out to the second, practiced stage banter that entertains and informs like a jocular World Book entry, to carefully mapped stage plots, piezo pick-ups mounted in all manner of “traditional” instruments, to checks made out in advance, with federal tax dutifully reported.

788   Alan Williams All of this is to say that a professional circuit exists to serve a growing legion of musical performers who have benefited directly and indirectly from the efforts of applied folklorists and ethnomusicologists to present specific musicians and musical practices to audiences much more sizable than the local communities from which they sprang. And for many academics working in the public sphere, these musicians are the most effective “transcontextualizers.” As Daniel Sheehy writes, Many musicians, once known to but a few, became important communicators of their cultural group’s values, worldview, life-style, and potential for creating expressions of beauty. I think it is fair to say that the public impact of these collaborators has been great, and they have done much to bring traditional arts, artists, and even communities the respect they deserve, but all too often do not receive. (Sheehy, 1992: 222)

What gives some observers pause is the degree to which many traditional performers master the art of transcontextualization, deftly sizing up their audiences, and targeting their messages and performances to fit. Some would argue that this professionalism signifies the incarnation of “fakelore,” an empty sham of gestures meant to satisfy an audience’s desire for the “real thing,” a ruse made all the more convincing due to its performers’ “authentic” cultural history. But I would argue that such a view severely underestimates the abilities of these professional transcontextualizers to craft performances of real depth and meaning, working with an audience’s expectations, manipulating the surface gestures to communicate something about themselves as individuals, and about the cultures they represent. As George Lipsitz cautions in his conclusion to Dangerous Crossroads, It is important to document the harm done by uncomprehending appropriation of cultural creations, to face squarely the consequences of mistakes in reception, representation, and reproduction of cultural images, sounds, and ideas. But the biggest mistake of all would be to underestimate how creative people are and how much they find out about the world that the people in power never intended for them to know in the first place. (Lipsitz, 1994: 169)

Recent endeavors within the business world parallel the concept of applied work in the academic sector. Their successes and failures provide some useful insights as to how applied ethnomusicologists can more effectively partner with commercial enterprise. Nicholas Negroponte’s One Laptop Per Child (OLPC) initiative and the One for One project developed by Toms Shoes founder Blake Mycoskie are two high-profile exercises in corporate-based activism. Both endeavors have received praise for their plans to use private sector manufacturing and distributions models to advance social causes, while simultaneously enduring criticism for the inconsistent effectiveness of their attempts to put theory into practice.

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    789 Negroponte, former director of the MIT Media Lab and author of Being Digital (Negroponte, 1995), identified a significant problem for non-industrialized nations in the post-Internet era—the inability of those populations to connect with the digital world, further increasing the marginalization of those societies. His solution was to make connectivity possible by getting computer technology into the hands of children, and utilizing satellite technology to link those computers to the Internet. Transforming dream into reality required significant innovation in technological design and manufacturing processes. Negroponte announced his plan to create “$100 Laptops” for sale to the governments of under-industrialized nations (Warschauer and Ames, 2010). These computers were built to withstand harsh environmental conditions, and to operate with hand-cranked battery chargers. The education-based software emphasized graphics to facilitate learning for non-literate children. Immediately, the project stumbled on obstacles both technological and economic. When the OLPC computers were brought to market, their cost was nearly double that of the announced $100 price tag—though surely a $200 laptop was a minor miracle of its own. Distributing the units and providing sufficient instruction and support to the new owners proved more difficult than OLPC had anticipated. While the laptops were relatively intuitive to operate, communicating the concept of advancement through connectivity to governments, teachers, parents, and even students presented an even greater challenge. One persistent issue that dogged the project was the disparity between the “have-not-a-lot” and the “have-none-at-all.” Nations that were able to pony up the funds necessary to obtain the laptops balked at the notion that they would be subsidizing those that could not afford the purchase price. Smaller orders in turn meant higher manufacturing costs for OLPC. Confusing the issue further, OLPC was the recipient of several grants, legitimizing the claims of unfair competitive practices made by other manufacturers. In 2010, a solution was reached that addressed both of these concerns. The organization was split into two—the OLPC Foundation would provide fully subsidized laptops to politically and economically unstable regions such as Iraq, Afghanistan, and Gaza, while the OLPC Association operated as a for-profit enterprise, providing low-cost though unsubsidized laptops in developing markets such as Uruguay and Peru. Though the laptops themselves were never made available to Western consumers, a recent initiative by the OLPC Association to make low-cost tablets available through giant retailers like Walmart and Amazon directly challenges the hegemony of technological giants such as Apple and Hewitt Packard in the United States and elsewhere. The profits gleaned from the sales of these tablets will in turn lower the cost of the laptops for the association’s customers, a condition in which Western consumers in effect subsidize the market for computer technology outside the industrialized world. Blake Mycoskie, the founder of Toms Shoes, has established a model that makes such consumer subsidy its overt mission. The One for One project directly correlates the act of purchase with an act of charity—for every set of shoes bought by a customer, another pair is donated to an individual in need (Chu and Weiss, 2013). The most important aspect of the enterprise is that it uses altruism as a marketing strategy, a strategy geared to earn

790   Alan Williams profit for the company. The global economy based upon the production of wearable goods has a far uglier history of exploitation than that of the culture show or music industry. To counter this, Toms Shoes uses workers from impoverished nations, but pays a fair wage and is vigilant in monitoring the conditions of its laborers. Outsourcing labor has a negative impact on domestic economies, but serves the greater good by elevating the global workforce. The effect is twofold—low-cost shoes introduce competition into Western markets, while providing higher standards of living for their factory workers induces other manufacturers to better the pay and working conditions of their own employees. The endeavor hit some bumps in its earliest years. Ineffective manufacturing oversight led to defective products making their way to dissatisfied customers. The imperative to better the labor conditions proved more costly than originally anticipated, and the differential substantially cut into the profit margin. But the company has effectively addressed many of these issues, and has been able to deliver on the promise of its mission, while adding revenue to its coffers. Perhaps most strikingly, the charitable component of One for One operates increasingly in the background, a corporate altruism that is the pleasant side effect of having a hit in the marketplace. The product line is now popular with consumers who may have little awareness of the impact of their purchase—they just like the shoes. Though neither Real World nor Luaka Bop operate as nonprofits, they do have a mission to connect audiences with music, while simultaneously providing previously marginalized musicians with the means to expand their audiences and benefit directly from the commoditization of their creative endeavors. This mission can only be met if the product itself is appealing to music consumers, and in this way, the success of these record companies mirrors that of the One for One product line. I underscore the importance of harnessing the power of commerce by creating product or presenting performances that have viability in the marketplace. Music is rarely completely free from notions of value exchange—instruments never materialize from nothing, and individuals and communities often endeavor to demonstrate an appreciation for musical expression by providing food, services, or other forms of compensation. While issues of representation and exploitation are always present in these exchanges, intersections between music and commerce are nearly unavoidable. Simon Frith maintains that [t]‌he industrialization of music cannot be understood as something which happens to music, since it describes a process in which music itself is made—a process, that is, which fuses (and confuses) capital, technical and musical arguments. (Frith, 2006: 231)

The music industry that emerged in the wake of sound recording technology bore a close resemblance to the primary economic engine of the nineteenth century—mining. Companies sought out raw materials that could be quickly and efficiently excavated, then sold as the basic elements of a developing world—steel for constructing the bridges and skyscrapers of the industrial world, coal to burn in the furnaces and engines of the machinery produced in the factory. Likewise, musicians were discovered, molded,

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    791 shaped and refined, packaged and sold, the profits held by the companies behind the products. In industry parlance, “exploitation” is what the music business does. Just as the search for ore and gold brought European interests into the mountains, valleys, and plains of Africa, Asia, and the Americas, the corporate interests behind the music industry spread across the globe in search of both raw material and customers. As Jacques Attali contends, “Show business, the star system, and the hit parade signal a profound institutional and cultural colonization” (Attali, 1989: 4). The global music industry was built by Western interests at first content to operate within their own geographic sphere. But even as manufactured culture for consumption generated substantial revenues, companies looked to further increase profits by expanding into foreign territories. Though the Gramophone Company sponsored recording field trips across the globe in the early 1900s with the purpose of creating product that would appeal to regional tastes, it became apparent that it was far easier and cheaper to create a demand for Western musical practices over indigenous ones. The hegemonic reign of the Western pop star, from Elvis to Madonna, continued well into the twenty-first century. As Keith Negus wrote in 1992, “The globalization of communications media and geographical expansion of transnational corporations has provided more opportunities for, and increased the significance of the marketing and promotion of recording artists across the planet” (Negus, 1992: 7). The structure Negus describes had the potential to develop and promote music careers for non-Western musicians as well as Western ones, though, as he points out, [i]‌f the dominance of Anglo-American repertoire around the world provides opportunities for successful British and North American artists to gain extra sales, at the same time it severely restricts the opportunities for local artists. Although the major corporations are—in theory—concerned with finding and developing local talent throughout the world, in practice this has taken second place to the marketing of acts from Britain and the United States. (Negus, 1992: 11)

Yet, curious developments were already taking place, operating just below surface of global superstars and multiplatinum albums. As Simon Frith points out, vibrant music scenes, supported by regional systems of creation, promotion, and distribution, are beginning to challenge the hegemony of Western pop, a process he labels “globalization from below” (Frith, 2000: 319). These subterranean rumblings of the late twentieth century gave way to earth-shaking seismic events at the dawn of the new millennium. Suddenly, non-Western acts like Shakira were taking their place on the Western charts, while performers like Khaled could sell multiple millions of copies without ever mounting an American promotional campaign. These changes occurred simultaneously with the rise of the Internet, and the emergence of information as the primary commodity of the global economy. The popular music business of the twentieth century grew into a multibillion-dollar industry built upon the commodification of sound recording technology. In the rock

792   Alan Williams era, record sales generated the largest profits, and the album served as the centerpiece for most associated promotional activity, from radio airplay to concert tours. But in the post-Napster Internet age, the sales of recorded music plummeted, and the collapse of the record-centric industry model dramatically altered the way the music business operated. While a few entrepreneurs found ways to monetize the exchange of information happening over fiber optic lines and cellular networks, the Internet largely enabled voices to be heard, but not to be sold. Audiences exercised a newfound agency, exerting far more control over the ways they accessed music, and demanding far more interaction with the artists they supported. Social media served as the conduit for artist/fan exchanges, and recorded music became one of many elements that formed a fan’s experience. Artists and companies began to cater to this hunger for experience, and soon the music business began to reconfigure itself from a system based on commodity exchange into one geared toward providing “service.” The term “service” is also central to the tenets of applied ethnomusicology, folklore, and anthropology, and while the relationship may appear merely semantic, I argue that the shared use of the term reveals some commonly desired outcomes, even if the methodologies and motivations differ considerably. When any life is enhanced by an encounter with knowledge, or more specifically the expression of knowledge, a service has been provided. Rather than view the goals of the academy and the corporate industry as antithetical, it may be useful to recognize one another as partners in service. And if it’s true that the academy and the industry are giant behemoths casting large shadows over creative endeavors, there are figures within both institutions who have taken on the role of activists and advocates: Alan Lomax is to Dan Sheehy is to Peter Gabriel. It is equally useful to consider the power exerted by technologically empowered individuals operating without the support of a university or record company. Audiences and consumers, too, are potential partners in affecting social change. The following section examines a few examples of informed activism, using the tools of music distribution and the dissemination of information without the support of government grants, the validation of a Doctoral degree, or the notoriety of a magazine cover.

Pop(ulist) Activism The oft-debated democratizing power of the Internet enables users to circumvent traditional centers of control and authority, including academic institutions and music industry corporations. Likewise, the role of gatekeeper once served by scholars and record company executives is now shared by an entire population, a condition that essentially nullifies the concept of the gate itself. Rather than protect the exclusivity of existing territory, a number of populist activists have engaged in endeavors designed to make connections and facilitate exchange, to transform fences and gates into bridges. Working outside the academy, many of these individuals have established new models of applied fieldwork that might be emulated by future folklorists and ethnomusicologists. Two

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    793 such projects illustrate the common goals shared by both academic and non-academic service initiatives, harnessing the potential of the Internet for connecting individuals and disseminating ideas to an immense audience. Though differing somewhat in the methodologies they employ and the philosophies they espouse, the Voice Project and Playing For Change are both ongoing efforts to effect social change through collective music-making. The Voice Project grew from an encounter between American NGO volunteer Hunter Heaney and a group of Ugandan women in 2008 (Macsai, 2011). In a move reminiscent of Anthony Seeger’s experience with the Suyá people of the Amazon region wherein he was asked to share his music with his informants in the same spirit with which they shared theirs with him, Heaney taught the Ugandan women a song by American folk musician Joe Purdy entitled, “Suitcase.” After leaving Uganda, Heaney was emailed a video in which the women performed a brief version of “Suitcase.” Heaney was struck by the connection the music had made, and wondered if this connection could be extended. He contacted Purdy, sent him the video, and asked if he might wish to contribute a response. Unfamiliar with Ugandan music, Purdy elected to perform a song by American rock group R.E.M., mirroring the act of connecting via someone else’s music. Heaney then came up with the idea of a song chain wherein one musician covers the song of another, and that musician in turn covers a song by an artist of their choice, and so forth. Heaney realized that this kind of musical exchange could be the centerpiece of a grassroots political initiative to address the plight of the Ugandan women whose families had been wrenched apart by sectarian violence. Partnering with Chris Holmes and Anna Gabriel (daughter of Peter), Heaney founded The Voice Project in 2009. Through Gabriel’s industry connections, the foundation was able to enlist a variety of Western pop stars to the cause. With recognizable faces—and voices—attached, the project gained validation, and the Voice Project enticed a number of mid-level indie-rock artists, with the occasional contribution by stars such as Peter Gabriel and members of R.E.M., to create a number of “song chains.” Each performance is captured on video with minimal technology employed, often with the musicians performing in their living rooms or basement practice spaces. The constructed candid intimacy serves to humanize the stars as they run through often charmingly unpolished versions of the song they have selected. Each video includes brief moments of awkward conversation before the songs begin, and is presented in widescreen black and white imagery, establishing a highbrow low-fi aesthetic that provides a measure of consistency from video to video. The videos are made available through streaming sites such as YouTube and Vimeo, and point the viewer to the organization’s website, where one can find out about the most recent contribution, get information about the history of the project and any current initiatives, and support the cause with a donation or by purchasing merchandise. The website is designed to resemble, and in many ways functions in the same way as the online homes of pop stars and record labels. But the activist mission of the organization is always front and center. The video performances are the promotional devices meant to lure fans to the site where the real work of the organization is presented in well-crafted informational videos and images. Interestingly, the mission of the Voice Project maintains its focus

794   Alan Williams on the use of music to affect social and political change. While the first influx of funds was utilized for job-training courses and micro-loan programs, the current initiative, conducted in partnership with the United Nations, involves constructing radio towers in Uganda and other regions of central Africa, and broadcasting messages and songs meant to reach the thousands of children kidnapped and conscripted by Joseph Kony’s notorious Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA). Songs sung by the mothers of these children, urging them to return home and forgiving them for their participation in horrific acts of violence, have proven remarkably effective. According to the organization’s website, 50 such children recently appeared in refugee camps, having fled Kony’s army after hearing the broadcasts. An interesting contrast can be made with Playing For Change, a less overtly political project that has reached a considerably wider audience. The published mission statement reads like a typical beauty pageant parody—“to inspire, connect, and bring peace to the world through music.”16 Whereas the musical content of the Voice Project is primarily concerned with luring in contributors to an activist cause, the videos created by Playing For Change are an example of a McLuhan-esque medium as message. Though the Playing For Change Foundation has founded a number of music schools in Africa and Asia, the primary purpose of the project appears to be to demonstrate that peoples from around the world can find common ground in performing (decidedly Western) pop songs together. “Together” is a decidedly more complex construct in the creation of the Playing For Change videos, though this complexity is also its most effective marketing ploy. Founders Mark Johnson and Enzo Buono hit upon the idea after persuading a Los Angeles–based street musician, Roger Ridley, to allow them to capture his performance on video, using simple but professional quality audio and video recording technology. They then traveled the world, enlisting the participation of other street performers who played along to recordings of Ridley and others. Johnson and Buono then carefully pieced together fairly elaborate arrangements, layering fragments of the various recorded performances to create a composite ensemble performance. In this manner, each musician “collaborated” in the creation of the video. The results highlight several interesting aspects of music making in the early twenty-first century. The technology that makes these performances possible is incredibly powerful, allowing for an assembly of sonic and visual elements that would have been nearly impossible just a few decades prior. Even more noteworthy is the portability of the technology, a fact made quite obvious to the viewer as each musician is filmed in a variety of locations, often on street corners where they would normally perform, or on postcard-perfect vistas that present the beauty of the natural (and somewhat exoticized) world. The message seems to be that “it’s a rather large world made smaller by music.” To underscore the breadth of the undertaking, each musician is identified by name and by location; a generic street corner becomes “Rome,” a grassy hilltop “South Africa.” The songs that the musicians work with demonstrate the extent to which Western pop music has traversed the globe. While some of the performers appear to have learned the songs especially for the video, others seem completely at ease, their familiarity with Ben E. King or Bob Marley evident in the confident command of the material. The role of the directors of the project in selecting and presenting the songs to the musicians deserves

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    795 further inquiry. Clearly, some of the early contributors simply ran through their standard repertoire, and it is not surprising that two American musicians well into their golden years would find some overlap in their song bags. But it seems unlikely that every performer of “Stand By Me” already knew the song before Johnson and Buono arrived with their cameras and microphones. Disappointingly, there are no examples of music flowing in the other direction, with New Orleans street musicians grappling with a folk song from Nepal. One unspoken message of Playing For Change is that “Western pop music is a universal language.” Though both Playing For Change and the Voice Project have succeeded in furthering their causes, there is a significant difference in the size of their respective audiences, and this difference raises questions about the efficacy of their approaches to culturally situated social activism. As is the case with all US-based nonprofits, the organization must disclose its financial statements. Remarkably, the Voice Project does so with a link directly from the website. Such transparency is laudable, and the graphs illustrating the relatively low administrative costs, coupled with a detailed explanation of how the funds are allocated, serve to assuage any reluctant supporters that their contributions will be well spent. But the numbers themselves in the 2011 statement are less than impressive. Despite attention from media outlets such as Rolling Stone, and the glossy business-oriented Fast Company, the organization managed to raise little more than a quarter million dollars. Certainly the Voice Project is accomplishing demonstrable results, but in financial terms, perhaps not on a scale commensurate with the star power used to promote their endeavors. It is likely that the overtly political message of the Voice Project inherently limits its appeal. The cause may be noble, and the song threads “cool,” but they aren’t necessarily “fun.” The Playing For Change videos are celebratory, communicating a message that is far more encouraging and comforting, and therefore succeed in the marketplace as a form of escapist entertainment—indeed, the 1999 Playing For Change tour included performances of Bobby McFerrin’s oft-derided hit, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” But the impact of the projects and the size of their receptive audiences may also reflect the degree to which the required presence of “pop stars” is no longer the dominant paradigm in popular music experience. Once the viewers get over the novelty of the technologically enabled collaboration, their eyes and ears are open to the power of music made by people they may have literally passed on the street. To be a fan of Playing For Change is to champion the artistic merit of the unheralded, everyday musician, unsupported by the culture industry machine. The videos initially posted to YouTube consisted exclusively of unknown faces, voices, and fingers. Once the project became more visible, other professional musicians began to appear, notably Israeli guitarist David Broza, American folk-blues musician Keb Mo, and, most disconcertingly in a Bob Marley medley of “War/No More Trouble,” U2’s Bono. Bono’s appearance comes as a shock after watching a stream of unfamiliar figures producing remarkably captivating performances, and illustrates how out of place the music industry of the late twentieth century is in the Internet age. Greil Marcus insightfully critiqued the star-powered charity spectacles of the 1980s, such as “We Are The World” and the Live Aid concert event,

796   Alan Williams contending that such projects functioned mainly as career-enhancing self-promotion for its stars more than as truly effective forms of social activism (Marcus, 1993). A holdover from that era, Bono may have the best of intentions, but his presence dulls the impact of the celebratory, everyman quality of most of the Playing For Change videos, though it would appear that the creators of the project are quite pleased with his participation. They shoot the rock star as a rock star, then apply many of the tropes of rock music videos to the rest of the “War/No More Trouble,” with African children moving in slow motion, dreadlocks swaying in sun-drenched silhouette. The contrasting aesthetics of the Voice Project and Playing For Change illustrate two different approaches to trading on the cultural capital of the “star.” Whereas the pop star contributors to the Voice Project are presented as ordinary musicians, the minimal technology employed and lack of editing and other enhancements serving to humanize the performers, the Playing For Change videos take the opposite tack, letting the faces of the musicians fill the screen, or framing them in artfully positioned locales, shot in full color, and carefully filtered and mixed so that their performances take on the sheen of million-dollar-budget pop releases. The resulting disparity in audience reception is equally telling. Slumming pop stars are far less interesting than “untainted” and “authentic” unknowns, and this distinction is reflected in realm of YouTube, where the difference between the most successful viral amateur videos and those calculated to reach audiences as part of a marketing campaign is substantial. A case in point, the first Playing For Change video, “Stand By Me,” has amassed well over 50 million views on YouTube; the Bono-included “War/No More Trouble” has reached less than 5% of that audience. Like Simon’s Graceland and Gabriel’s Real World releases and WOMAD festival, Playing For Change greatly enhanced the professional status of many of its participants. Partnering with the Concord Music Group label (responsible for massive hit records from mainstays such as Ray Charles and Paul McCartney), a CD/DVD package was released in 2009. Later that year, a full-length documentary, Peace Through Music, further promoted the phenomenon, and the following year, Playing For Change undertook a concert tour, presenting many of the musicians from the project performing on their own, and in the more traditional sense of “together” for sold out performances across North America. In doing so, the founders of the project harnessed both new forms of media communication via the Internet, and more traditional music industry structures with commercial recordings and concert tour packages. The crucial distinction for both Playing For Change and the Voice Project is that the impetus for establishing each endeavor came from outside either the industry or the academy, initially bypassing the channels of communication, creation, and distribution established in the previous century. These outsiders found ways to reclaim aspects of the existing music industry to serve as tools in creating new models of a more holistic intersection between entertainment, edification, and activism. The university can also play a role in redefining how institutions, both academic and corporate, can provide resource and support for the public good. The 100 Songs Project, a joint undertaking between Queensland University of Technology and several recording industry professionals, is such an example. A call for submissions of songs and performers goes out to all of Australia. Thousands of demos are submitted, and a panel of producers,

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    797 publishers, journalists, and academics narrows the list to 100. These performers are then given four hours of free studio time in QUT’s commercial facilities, overseen by a group of seasoned record producers, assisted by students earning degrees in sound engineering and production. The resulting recordings are owned and controlled by the musicians, who are free to sell or use them in any way they wish to promote their music. A select group from the 100 is afforded more studio time to craft a more professional final mix, and the results are collected on a CD, promoted to radio, and sold in major retail outlets.17 While the university benefits from the visibility of the project, even more significantly, its students gain invaluable “real world” experience during the sessions. The industry is able to use the submissions as a way of scouting for new talent, and then can test the acts’ commercial potential based upon the reaction at radio and retail. And the hundreds of musicians from across the country are given access to high-quality recording facilities and guidance from recording professionals, with the top results presented to the general public, supported by a promotional machine far beyond the means of most self-managed performers. At this date, the existing music industry functions as less of a hegemonic monstrosity than a sometimes useful skeleton of its former self. Commercial releases and concert tours can aid in connecting musicians to fans, but they are not the sole, nor even the most effective, ways of reaching and creating audiences. Projects like Playing For Change and the Voice Project operate in a similar fashion to many professional pop musical acts, harnessing the power of the Internet initially to broadcast their messages, then subsequently to maintain a dialog with their fans, extending that discourse to include older industry mainstays such as recordings for sale and concert performances. The nineteenth century depended upon the arterial networks of transportation facilitated by railways, but by the twenty-first century, thousands of miles of track lay abandoned, their purpose usurped by superhighways and airliners. Those same tracks are now often reclaimed as bike paths and walking trails, and I propose that the music industry structure is undergoing a similar reclamation.

Conclusion: All for One Playing For Change and the Voice Project are but two examples of applied ethnomusicology that fall outside the purview of the academy or the culture industry. Bypassing traditional gatekeepers—whether they be journal editors or record company A&R scouts—these projects connect musicians, promoters, and audiences at a speed and scope that dwarfs the “competition” of universities and corporations. Crowd-sourced, crowd-driven, crowd-funded enterprises challenge the hegemonic power of both industry and the academy. Perhaps the clearest counter to the irrelevancy of both institutions is to recognize commonalities, and to develop partnerships that create shared agendas and serve them effectively. Product-line managers and marketing geniuses have much to contribute to the success of activist endeavors; intellectually engaged advocates can help to shape the agendas behind the initiatives.

798   Alan Williams The role of the applied ethnomusicologist is not to be the sole voice of authority, but rather to be a useful contributor to a network of actors involved in the endeavor. The value of the contribution stems from the training that has heightened an awareness of the potential pitfalls of (re)presentation of culture from macro to micro levels. As culture brokers, applied ethnomusicologists should be less concerned with preventing misrepresentation, than with facilitating forms of representation that serve the needs of performers and promoters alike, to help guide these forces to arrive at mutually beneficial outcomes. In other words, the profit-driven motivations of the industry are not inherently antithetical to those of either the performing musician or the research academic. The forces of business are far less concerned with the forms of representation than they are with the efficacy of those forms in generating revenue. The practicalities of marketing require condensed, simple images and text that can communicate a rich spectrum of meaning. Ugly cultural stereotypes do this well, and thus have been effectively used for centuries. The challenge lies in constructing reductionist representations that respect traditions, performers, and audiences alike. Here is an area for the applied ethnomusicologist to make a useful contribution—not to avoid dirtying the hands by delving into marketing campaigns, but rather to make marketing campaigns less dirty. The history of the music business is fraught with examples of crass exploitation, examples that highlight the forms of abuse that have often been standard industry practice. A knowledge of this history, even if only cursory and apocryphal, has led many folklorists to attempt to steer their informants away from the inevitably doomed outcomes of any encounters with culture merchants. But academics must also be receptive to the desires of their collaborators—including those that dream of a professional career within the music industry. In this case, applied ethnomusicologists can make significant contributions to the communities they work with by helping musicians to navigate unchartered waters of copyright ownership, contractual obligations, and marketing strategies. Indeed, an understanding of the basic operations of the music industry may be the most valuable information they can share with their partners in research. In many ways, the knee-jerk casting of music industrialists as arbiters of evil is as condescending as those of the images the music industry has often used to sell its products. The history of the record business, for example, is filled with figures who approached the music they profited from with love and respect, even if their fortunes far exceeded those of the musicians they championed. And even as the record industry became ever more absorbed by larger corporate interests, the people at the helm of these companies did not set out to destroy the music they marketed, but inadvertently damaged the culture that gave rise to the music by opting for short-term gains over long-term profit. In all of these instances, a more insightful voice attuned to the needs of commerce as well as art would have helped prevent some of the worst abuses, and could have created a more viable and sustainable culture of music-related commerce, where artistic expression generates profits, and the system facilitates expression. There are many examples of such systems, though historically they have often been relegated to the very few stars whose industrial clout ensured that the system worked for them. While the most successful musicians of all time, the Beatles, were the

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    799 recipients of only a small fraction of the moneys they generated, they also clearly benefited from the technological resources provided by the corporate interests that owned their recorded output, utilizing the machines of the machine as vehicles of creative expression. The key now is to make the technology that enables creative expression and the means to present those creations to welcoming audiences available to a much larger number of musicians. In turn, these individuals will reclaim their agency over a system that was either completely closed to them, or only briefly open, in order to find new bodies—and bodies of work—to exploit. George Lipsitz notes, “the interconnectedness of capitalist culture might help create collective solutions to the systematic and unrelenting injustice and austerity which characterizes life for so many people on this planet” (Lipsitz, 1994: 17). Many such endeavors are already underway. The world music market, so markedly shaped by successful pop artists establishing systems of musical exchange that value musicians and musical cultures, is a prime example of “long tail” viability (Anderson, 2008). Inarguably, many more figures currently earn comfortable livings from their music than even two or three decades ago. Perhaps there are fewer musician-owned yachts and jet planes, but there are significantly more two-bedroom home mortgage payments being made by professional musicians. Countering the outdated stereotypes of the rock star lifestyle is another area where applied ethnomusicologists can make a contribution, clarifying what is possible for aspiring musicians and helping to reshape fantasy into a more practical and sustainable reality. “Sustainability” is the current buzzword, applied as often to the production of food or energy as to that of culture and its byproducts. A sustainable business model engenders a fundamental sense of respect for both the consumers of products and for those responsible for providing the products for consumption. The products themselves must be cultivated and renewed. Fields are harvested, but are also enriched in cycles of productivity and rest. Such an approach requires that a commercial institution develop patience, reducing the amount of immediate profit in exchange for longer-term continual rewards. I have seen this philosophy enacted by my own students earning degrees in music business. Far from embodying the stereotypical cigar-chomping exploiter of musicians and audiences, squeezing the last bit of profit out of a performer before discarding him on the slag heap of irrelevant pop stars and moving on to the next vein of unrefined ore/talent, this generation is primarily concerned with facilitating musical encounters, helping musicians and audiences find one another, while simultaneously enriching the experience for all involved. They are coming of age at a time when concepts like “service enterprise” and “open source” are no longer novel ideas, but practical realities. The next generation of music industrialists may have a social agenda equal to that of the growing numbers of applied ethnomusicologists. The future of both academia and the industry may indeed hinge upon a redefinition of the terms “service,” “institutions,” “scholarship,” and “activism” as a nexus of music production and dissemination, placing the academy within the culture industry, acknowledging commercial interests as knowledge producers, and empowering music fans as social activists.

800   Alan Williams

Notes 1. Feld published articles on the issues that arose in his efforts to create and release Voices of the Rainforest (Rykodisc 10173, 1991), see Feld, Steven. “Voices of the Rainforest” Public Culture 4(1) (1991a): 131–140. 2. John Lomax was most responsible for the initial presentation of Leadbelly to the general public, and many of the issues of representation subsequently identified by scholars also troubled Alan Lomax. Even more perplexing for the younger Lomax was Leadbelly’s continued use of the prison overalls and hay bale stage sets originally conceived by the elder Lomax, even after Alan took over the role of agent and manager. 3. Jeff Todd Titon suggests that Lomax’s marketing of self may have something to do with his familiarity with the academy and its notions of authored scholarship, in contrast to “company men” such as Peer et al., whose accomplishments were recognized with a paycheck, or ownership stake in the products. I thank him for this insight. 4. Feld observed the close connection between the sound of the environment, and the musical culture of the Kaluli in Sound and Sentiment (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1990). 5. Bosavi: Rainforest Music from Papua, New Guinea (Smithsonian Folkways, 40487, 2001). 6. VoxLox website, http://voxlox.myshopify.com/pages/about-us, accessed August 27, 2013. 7. Classic Albums—Paul Simon: Graceland, Rhino Home Video 105845RHDVD, 1997. 8. Luaka Bop’s stable included such artists as Brazilian experimentalist Tom Ze, Indian filmi music composer Vijaya Anand, Zap Mama, the female vocal group from Zimbabwe, and the British bangrha band, Cornershop. Real World Records initially focused on Gabriel collaborators such as Senegalese vocalist Youssou N’Dour and Pakistani qawwalli singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan before branching out to more traditional global folk musics, albeit wrapped in a cloud of digitally enhanced sonics. 9. Byrne, David. “Luaka Bop History” (http://luakabop.com/history/, accessed August 26, 2013). 10. Parks wrote the lyrics for Brian Wilson’s aborted Smile album, and Cooder played on several Rolling Stones sessions, famously showing Keith Richards the open G tuning that became central to the band’s classic 1970s recordings. 11. Jeff Todd Titon points out that Taj Mahal, Cooder’s former bandmate in The Rising Sons, pursued a similar musical career in the 1970s, moving from electrified Chicago-style blues, through a sepia-toned embrace of 1920s and 1930s American delta blues, to an extended survey of traditional and contemporary Haitian musical practices. I posit that race factored into the difference in visibility and viability in the careers of Ry Cooder and Taj Mahal, with racial “othering” positioning Cooder as the more “unique” of the two musicians. 12. Buena Vista Social Club (Nonesuch/World Circuit 79478, 1997). 13. Buena Vista Social Club (Artisan DVD 10176, 1999). 14. The value of back catalog became most apparent to the industry only in the late 1980s when compact disc reissues of product from the vaults, such as Columbia’s Robert Johnson boxed set, Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings (Columbia C2K 46222, 1990), generated millions of dollars in hitherto unexplored revenue streams. 15. Eric Hobsbawm demonstrated that once an authored work has been naturalized as “traditional,” it replicates and evolves in the same manner as non-authored work, in time becoming as traditional as the form it was crafted to resemble (Hobsbawm, 1983). Dave

The Problem and Potential of Commerce    801 Harker calls attention to the political agendas and commercial interests that such invented traditions often serve (Harker, 1985). Hobsbawm and Harker have a point, but such logic rests on the assumption that an “authentic” exists, a real lore to contrast the fake lore they identify. Barbara Kirschenblatt-Gimblett counters that, “the folkloristic enterprise is not and cannot be beyond ideology, national political interests, and economic concerns” (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, 1992:  32), and that folkloric festival representations push these undercurrents to the visible surface (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, 1998). Margaret Sarkissian makes a convincing argument that festival staging empowers marginalized populations to establish and reclaim their cultural and political identity (Sarkissian, 2000). 16. Playing For Change website, http://playingforchange.com/journey/introduction (accessed August 25, 2013). 17. Howlett, Mike, and Phil Graham. “Creating New Music Ecologies:  QUT’s 100 Songs Project,” presented at the 2013 Art of Record Production Conference, Université Laval, Quebec City, Canada, unpublished paper.

References Anderson, C. (2008). The Long Tail:  Why the Future of Business is Selling Less of More. New York: Hyperion. Attali, J. (1989). Noise:  The Political Economy of Music, trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Byrne, D. (2013). Luaka Bop History. http://luakabop.com/history/ (accessed August 26, 2013). Cantwell, R. (1993). Ethnomimesis:  Folklife and the Representation of Culture. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Chapple, S., and R. Garofalo. (1977). Rock ‘N’ Roll is Here to Pay: The History and Politics of the Music Industry. Chicago: Nelson Hall. Chu, J., and J. Weiss. (2013). “The Cobbler’s Conundrum.” Fast Company, Issue 177 (July/ August 2013): 98–112. Feld, S. (1991). “Voices of the Rainforest.” Public Culture 4(1): 131–140. Feld, S. (2000). “The Poetics and Politics of Pygmy Pop.” In Western Music and its Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music, edited by Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh. Berkeley: University of California Press. Filene, B. (2000). Romancing The Folk: Public Memory & American Roots Music. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Foster, G. (1969). Applied Anthropology. Boston: Little, Brown and Company. Friedman, T.  L. (2007). The World Is Flat:  A  Brief History of the Twenty-First Century. New York: Picador. Frith, S. (2000). “The Discourse of World Music.” In Western Music and its Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music, edited by Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh. Berkeley: University of California Press. Frith, S. (2006). “The Industrialization of Music.” In The Popular Music Studies Reader, edited by Andy Bennett, Barry Shank, and Jason Toynbee. London: Routledge. Harker, D. (1985). Fakesong:  The Manufacture of British ‘Folksong’ 1700 to the Present Day. London: Open University Press. Harrison, K. (2012). “Epistemologies of Applied Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 56(3): 505–529.

802   Alan Williams Hobsbawm, E. (1983). “Introduction:  Inventing Traditions.” In The Invention of Tradition, edited by Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, B. (1992). “Mistaken Dichotomies.” In Public Folklore, edited by Robert Baron and Nicholas R. Spitzer. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, B. (1998). Destination Culture:  Tourism, Museums, and Heritage. Berkeley: University of California Press. Laing, D. (2010). “’Hand-made, Hi-tech, Worldwide’: Peter Gabriel and World Music.” In Peter Gabriel, From Genesis to Growing Up, edited by Michael Drewett, Sarah Hill and Kimi Kärki. London: Ashgate. Lipsitz, G. (1994). Dangerous Crossroads:  Popular Music, Postmodernism and the Poetics of Place. London: Verso. Macsai, D. (2011). “Rock Stars Lend Their Sound to Ugandan Women of the Voice Project.” Fast Company. http://www.fastcompany.com/1747592/rock-stars-lendtheir-sound-uga ndan-women-voice-project (accessed July 11, 2013). Marcus, G. (1993). “Number One with a Bullet.” In In The Fascist Bathroom: Punk in Pop Music, 1977–1992. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Meintjes. L. (1990). “Paul Simon's Graceland, South Africa, and the Mediation of Musical Meaning.” Ethnomusicology 34(1): 37–73. Mitchell, T. (1996). Popular Music and Local Identity: Rock, Pop and Rap in Europe and Oceania. London: Leicester University Press. Negroponte, N. (1995). Being Digital. New York: Knopf. Negus, K. (1992). Producing Pop:  Culture and Conflict in the Popular Music Industry. London: Arnold. Negus, K. (1999). Music Genres and Corporate Cultures. London: Routledge. Russell, B. (1905 [2005]). “On Denoting.” Mind 114(456): 873–887. Sheehy, D. (1992). “ ‘Crossover Dreams:’ The Folklorist and the Folk Arrival.” In Public Folklore, edited by Robert Baron and Nicholas R. Spitzer. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press. Shelemay, K. K. (1991). “Recording Technology, the Record Industry, and Ethnomusicological Scholarship.” In Comparative Musicology and Anthropology of Music, edited by Bruno Nettl and Philip V. Bohlman. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Spitzer, N.  R. (1992). “Cultural Conversation:  Metaphors and Methods in Public Folklore.” In Public Folklore, edited by Robert Baron and Nicholas R.  Spitzer. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press. Szwed, J. (2010). Alan Lomax: The Man Who Recorded the World. London: Penguin Books. Taylor, T. D. (1997). Global Pop: World Music, World Markets. New York: Routledge. Titon, J.  T. (1985). “Stance, Role, and Identity in Fieldwork Among Folk Baptists and Pentacostals.” American Music 3(1): 16–24. Titon, J.  T. (1992). “Music, the Public Interest, and the Practice of Ethnomusicology.” Ethnomusicology 36(3): 315–322. Wallis, R., and K. Malm. (1984). Big Sounds from Small Peoples: The Music Industry in Small Countries. New York: Pendragon. Warschauer, M., and M. Ames. (2010). “Can One Laptop Per Child Save the World’s Poor?.” Journal of International Affairs 64(1): 33–51.

Index

Abdurashidov, Abdulvali, 619f Abraham, Otto, 679–680 Abrahams, Roger, 174 Academia, in China, 746–748 Access, on music education, 576–583 Accordion, 695–696 Acoustemology, 96 Action ethnomusicology, 546 Action points, for scholars, 339–340 Action research, 109 Action research, participatory, 109–131, 128. See also Participatory approaches empowerment in, 128, 130 ethnomusicologist role in, 128–129 Activism in CASES methodology, 211–217, 213f marginalized music of South Asia and (See South Asia, activism and marginalized music of) musical, 368 pop(ulist), 792–797 (See also Pop(ulist) activism) in survivors’ music, 498–501 university-based (See Conflict resolution) Activist ethnomusicology, 350 Adaptive management, 159. See also Sustainability, resilience, and adaptive management resilience and, 180–182, 193 in Old Regular Baptists, 183–187, 184f, 191 in old-time string band music revival, 183, 188–191 Adler, Guido, 229–230 Advocacy, 7, 28–29, 54–55, 199–226, 350 in Austria (See Intercultural mediation) capacity assessment and project conceptualization in, 205–208, 206f CASES methodology in, 208–221

advocacy and activism in, 211–217, 213f community partnerships in, 208–210 education in, 218–220 other partnerships in, 210–211 service in, 217–218 sustainability in, 220–221 Clifford on, 199 concerts as, 463–464 energy and commitment in, 221–222 expectations in, success and, 223 history of, early, 28–29 impact of reciprocal, 224–225 on research, 223–224 as intercultural mediation (See Intercultural mediation) personal motivation for, 200–203 Pettan and Harrison on, 210–211 scholar vs. advocate roles in, 199 service learning in, lessons from, 203–205 setting limits in, 222–223 in survivors’ music, 498 in Uganda, 200, 201f Aesthetics, in survivors’ music, 487–488 A(pplied) Ethnomusicology, Dr., 381, 386–392 Afghanistan conflicts cultural redevelopment in, 462–463 refugees from, 462–463 Africa, 36 Aga Khan Development Network, 462 Aga Khan Humanities Project, 607, 615–621 application of, 621–623, 622f cinema group in, 620 humane humanism in, 628 music in curriculum in, 618–620, 619f phases of evolution of, 620–621 pluralism in, 626–628, 627f, 633

804   Index Aga Khan Humanities Project (Cont.) publications of, 631 Rafique Keshavjee of, 608, 608f research on, 621, 622, 623–626, 624f, 626f sponsorship of, 618 status of, changes to, 631–632 truth in, 627–628 Aga Khan Music Initiative, 462–463 Aga Khan Trust for Culture, 462 Akanga, 527t, 531, 537, 543 Akiva, Rabbi, 200 Alabama, folklife program in, 721 al-Ārabī, Ibn, 614 al-Dīn, Safī, 613 al Dīn, Shams, 615 Alevism, 272 Alexander, Delia, 573–575 Alexeyeff, Kalissa, 76 al-Fārābi, 612, 613 al-Ghazzālī, 614 al-Kīndi, 612, 613 Allen, Catherine, 400 All for one, 797–799 All-Stars, PAA, 569–571 al-Sabty, Hikmat, 527t, 531, 543 Altments, Miervaldis, 86, 86f, 88 Ambedkar, Ramji, 370 American Folklife Center (Library of Congress), 24, 163, 164–165 ethnomusicologists at, 714–715 founding of, 712, 714 programs of, 712–715 Analytical categories, 321–322 Andersson, Nils, 687–688, 688f, 692–700, 694f, 699f. See also Folk Music Commission, Swedish Andes to Amazon on River Q’eros. See River Q’eros, Andes to Amazon on Ang, Ien, 259 The Anthropology of Media, 526 Antipodean approach, 72 Apasa, Santos Machacca, 416, 417 Appaduria, Arjun, 129, 131 Appalachian mountain, southern, cultural policy interventions in, 6 Appavoo, Rev. J. Theophilus, 361, 362–365, 371

Applied meaning of, 387 in other disciplines, 34–35 Applied anthropologists, early work of, 20–21 Applied ethnomusicology. See also specific topics advocacy in, 7, 28–29, 54–55, 199–226, 350 (See also Advocacy) being, knowing, and doing in, 9–10 Berger on, 32 as conscious practice, 30–31 cultural policy interventions in, 6–7 definitions of, 4–5, 59, 278, 603, 737 contextualized, 572–576 (See also under Education sector, in United States) early work in, 20–22 education in, 7 as emergent movement, 3 empathy in, 604 in environmental sound activism and ecojustice, 8 in epistemological orientation, 9 four strategies of, Sheehy’s, 143 hermeneutic method for, 604–610 humane application of, 621–629 humanist theory of, 610–615 (See also Humanism) humanism in, 610–615, 611f, 613f (See also Humanism) humanitarian project in, 615–621 (See also Aga Khan Humanities Project) insularity in, 10 International Council for Traditional Music on, 45–47 in journalism, 8 in law and music industry, 8 in libraries, museums, and sound archives, 8 in medicine, 8 vs. non-academic work, 31 in North America, 5–9 peace and conflict resolution in, 7–8 philosophical reflection on, 603–604 power imbalance in, 31–32 professionalization of, 18–20 public (sector), 8 as reflexive, 95, 97

Index   805 scope of, 4–5 Sheehy’s categorization of, 245 theory vs. practice in, 603 as unified voice, 602–603 in United States, 10–29 (See also History of ethnomusicology, U.S.) Applied Ethnomusicology: Historical and Contemporary Approaches, 28, 30–31 Apprenticeships, 728–729 Araújo, Samuel, 110, 131, 586, 591 Archer, William Kay, 134 Archive of Folk Song, 711–712 Archives, folk music, 671–706 as applied ethnomusicology, 671 issues in, 676 nation in a cabinet in, 676–681, 677f–678f, 680f Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv in, 679–681 cultural heritage process and, 683–685 Folk Music Commission’s impact on, 699–703 everyday meaning and practitioner’s perspective on, 691–692 folk music in bearers of tradition of, 694–695, 694f definitions of, 672, 689–691 essence and origin of, 693–694 history of, 673–676 Kriŝjāanis Baron’s collection in, 676–679, 677f–678f, 680f objectives of, 671–672 rationales for, modern, 681–682 Swedish, 672–703 (See also Swedish folk music archives) Arendt, Hannah, 604 Arman, Khaled, 540–542 at Bern’s Stadttheater, 541–542 at festival opening, 540 at Musik Festival Bern, 523–524, 524f Armchair ethnomusicology, 725–726 Art Is Education, 560, 577, 583 Artism, 279, 281 applied ethnomusicology and, 297–299 critique of, from Autistic Self-Advocacy community, 299–302 participants in, 309

Artism Ensemble, 278, 294–295 Exploratory World Music Playground and, 294–295 origins of, 285–296 Artism Music Project, 278–279, 285–286 Artistic events, 321 Artistic genre, 321 Artistry, 321 Artists, teaching, 553 in Cleveland, 559–562, 567–570, 582, 590, 591 Arts integration, 561–563 Asch, Moses, 716 Askew, Kelly, 526 Ateliers d’Ethnomusicologie (ADEM), 534 Attali, Jacques, 791 Audio-visual media, 518 Australia, 36 Austria. See also specific minorities advocacy in (See Intercultural mediation) comparative musicology origins in, 229–230 immigrants and minorities in discrimination against, 236 integration process for, 236 Turkish, 239, 257–269, 270–271 immigration to, 234–235 intangible cultural heritage in, 272 minorities in autochthonous, 235 Bosnian refugees in, 238–239, 250–257, 270 (See also specific minorities) ethnic groups in, 235–236, 235t historical and political background of, 234–238, 235t, 272 Initiative Minderheitin for, 237 music and, 229–234 Roma in, 238, 239–250, 270 (See also Roma, in Austria) Authenticity in ecosystems of music, 139 of folk music, identification of, 697 indexical, 408 indigenous tourism and, 406–409, 407f performative, 407–408, 423 Autism, 278–311 application of, 283–286 Artism Ensemble in, 278, 285–286, 294–295

806   Index Autism (Cont.) Artism in, 279, 281, 297–299 critique of, from Autistic Self-Advocacy community, 299–302 participants in, 309 Artism Music Project in, 278–279, 285–286 autism awareness in, scourge of, 302–303 "Autism Fact Sheet" on, NIND, 290–292 autism spectrum disorder and, 290, 309 Bascom on, 287, 292 beginnings of, 281–283 concluding thoughts on, 307–308 criticisms of, 303–305 deficit-centrism in, 291–293 ethnography applications in, 296–297 Grandin on, 291 Loud Hands: Autistic People, Speaking on, 287, 292, 310 Music-Play Project for, 281, 284–285, 309 music therapy and medical ethnomusicology for, 279–281 Ne’eman and self-advocates on, 292–293 neurodiverse approach to, 293–294 polyvocal narrative approach to, 278 self-advocates for, 292–293 Siebers on, 296 Sinclair on, 296–297 spinny chairs and Mara in, 286–289, 305–308 Straus on, 296 Walker on, 294 Autism spectrum disorder (ASD), 290, 309 Autistic Self Advocacy Network, 292 Ayni, 399–400, 414, 440, 445. See also Reciprocity Azariah, Bishop M., 361–362 Azra project, 33–34, 250, 466 Babiracki, Carol, 75 Badakhshsan, 609, 621, 624–627, 628, 630, 632 Bajrektarević, Sofija, 251 Bakan, Michael, 651 Balance of nature, theory of, 170 abandonment in, 173 ecosystem resilience and, 181–182

Balfa, Dewey, 174–175 Balinese music education, 652 Baron, Kriŝjāanis, 676–679, 677f–678f Baron, Robert, 721 Barz, Gregory, 204, 217, 270, 385, 584 Bascom, Julia, 287, 292 Battiste, M., 389 Bauböck, Rainer, 236 Bausinger, Hermann, 267–268 Bearers of tradition, of folk music, 694–695, 694f Beaudry, Nicole, 72 Behar, Ruth, 75 Beijing seniors, musical lives of, 751–753, 752f, 753f Being-in-relation, 392–393 Being in the world, 606 Being, knowing, and doing, 9–10 Belonging, deepening sense of, 571–572 Berger, Harris M., 32, 340, 357–358, 363, 372 Berliner, Paul, 25–26, 76–77, 177 Berlin Phonogramm-Archiv, 679–681 Berlin School archives, 679–681 Bezić, Jerko, 39, 231 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), 356–357 Bildik, Mansur, 262–264, 262f, 263f Bi-musicality, 17, 23, 74, 354, 730, 782 Biopower, 193 Blacking, John, 362–363, 371, 372, 604, 650, 651, 662 Blues Kids Foundation, 509 Blum, Stephen, 566 Boas, Franz, 11, 13 Bogdal, Klaus Michael, 239–240 Bohman, Stefan, 683–684 Boniface, Priscilla, 406, 422, 444 Bosnia-Herzegovina, 453–478. See also Post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities commemorations in, 468–469 concert advocacy in, 463–464 cultural institution closure or changes in, 475–476 humanitarian aid in, 454 market shifts in, 470 Mostar bridge in, 477

Index   807 Mozaik Community Development Foundation and Guča Gora in, 454–458 (See also Mozaik Community Development Foundation and Guča Gora) musical venues in, 460–461 post-catastrophe aid environments in, 458–460 Pro Helvetia–Gramofon Records partnership in, 471–475 War Child and Pavarotti Music Center in, 464–468, 478 Bosnia-Herzegovina conflict ethno-religious nature of, 456–457 Non-Governmental Organization Development Foundation after, 454–458 Bosnia Living Heritage Network, 455 Bosnian refugees, in Austria, 238–239, 250–257, 270 Bosnian refugees, in Norway, 33–34 "Bosnian evening" in, 254 "Dunjaluče" in, 252–254 as forced migrants, 250 indirect intervention in, results of, 257 "Kraj tanana šadrvana" in, 255–256 Petrović and Levin on, 250–251 Pettan’s work on, 250 Ševko Pekmezović’s music on, 251–257, 251f "When I Sing My Thoughts Fly to Bosnia" in, 251–252, 251f Botkin, Benjamin, 711 Brian Jones Presents the Pan Piles of Jajouka, 779 Buber, Martin, 200 Buena Vista Social Club, 773, 782–783 Bufo Variations, 96–97 Bustin, Dillon, 720 Butler, Richard, 406 Byrne, David, 780, 784 Cáceras, Renato, 433, 439 Cambodian Living Arts organization, 463 Cambodia, travel disruption and forced migration in, 463, 478 Campbell, Patricia Shehan, 21, 563–564 Capacity, assessment of, 205–208, 206f

CASES methodology, 208–221 advocacy and activism in, 211–217, 213f community partnerships in, 208–210 education in, 218–220 other partnerships in, 210–211 service in, 217–218 sustainability in, 220–221 Ca tru Vietnam project, 152–153, 153f–154f CD recordings, 518. See also specific recordings Čengić, Aida, 471–475 Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage (CFCH), 715–716 Central Conservatory of Music (China), 747, 763, 766 Chinese Guqin musical culture database of, 747–748 English translation of music by, 758–759 "Key Project" of, 2006, 747 Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre of, 760–762, 761f music course reforms of, 754 Uyghur Muqam database of, 747 World Music Days at, 754–758, 755f Ceribašić, Naila, 245 Chahar khaneh, 626f Chatterjee, Partha, 356–357 Chicago, 6 The Chicago Guide to Collaborative Ethnography, 437 CHIMP (Children’s Happiness Integrative Music Project), 284 China, 735–766 cultural diversity in, 756 history of applied ethnomusicology in, 735–738 individual perspective on, 753–764 background on, 753–754 Chinese music records in, English translations of, 758–760 Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre in, 760–764 (See also Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre) World Music Days in, 754–758, 755f, 757f Key Research Base for Humanities and Social Sciences in, 747, 766 Musicology Research Institute in, 747, 766

808   Index China (Cont.) research findings in, 737–738 scope of, 735–736 social perspectives on, 738–753 in academia, musical databases, 746–748 in mass entertainment, Chinese Central Television, 748–751 (See also Chinese Central Television (CCTV) programs) in political construction, communities, 738–741, 740f in social construction, intangible cultural heritages, 741–746, 745f, 765 in social life, musical lives of Beijing seniors in, 751–753, 752f, 753f Chinese Central Television (CCTV) programs, 748–751 discussion of, 750–751 Fenghua Guoye in, 750 Opera Channel in, 750 Television Grand Prix for Young Singers in, 749 Traditional Instrumental Music Performance Competitions in, 749–750 Chinese Guqin musical culture database, 747–748 Christchurch Latvian diaspora, Uz Tēvu Mājām and, 84–88, 86f Christensen, Dieter, 51 Church, in India, 360–361, 370 Civil society, 477 Classical ten percent, 352–353 Classification in cultural heritage process, 684 of music, 590 Cleveland Arts Education Consortium, 560–561 Cleveland, music education in. See also Education sector, in United States Art Is Education in, 560, 577, 583 cross-institutional applications in, 565–572 belonging in, deepening sense of, 571–572 formal schooling instructional access expansions in, 565–568 "musicking" a public voice in, 569–571 Toddler Rock in, 559–560, 568–569, 571, 580–581

frames for learning in, institutional, 555–557 partners’ network in, decisions of, 557–560, 587 Cleveland Arts Education Consortium in, 560–561 Cleveland Metropolitan School District in, 558–559 Cleveland Music Therapy Consortium in, 560 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in, 557–560, 577–578 Young Audiences of Northeast Cleveland in, 560, 582–583 Progressive Arts Alliance in, 567–568 social barriers and access in, 576–583 (See also under Education sector, in United States) Young Audiences of Northeast Cleveland, 560, 582–583 Clifford, James, 199 Climati, Antonio, 29 Coca leaves, 400, 401, 414, 425–426, 443 Cohen, Judah M., 204 Collaboration with folklorists, 726 researcher vulnerability in, 72 in survivors’ music, 492–493 Colonial(ism), 381 cultural impoverishment of minorities from, 317 Colonized, 381 Colonizer, 381 Comfort women, 481, 507. See also Survivors’ music Commemorations peer-to-peer file sharing and, 773 in post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities, 468–469 Commerce, 772–801 all for one in, 797–799 as applied ethnomusicology?, 772–773 Buena Vista Social Club in, 773, 782–783 copyright ownership in, 776 cultural merchants and brokers in, 774–778 (See also Cultural merchants and brokers) folklorist presence in end product in, 777

Index   809 music business degree programs in, 773 mutually beneficial exploitation in, 779–784 (See also Exploitation, mutually beneficial) pop(ulist) activism in, 792–797 (See also Pop(ulist) activism) Real World Records in, 773, 780–781, 790 from resource exploitation to service enterprise in, 784–792 (See also under Exploitation) academics’ role in, 786–787 assumptions of musicians recorded in, 786 field recordings in, commoditization of, 785–786 field recordings in, non-academic, 784–785 global music industry in, 790–792 Lomax, Alan’s work in, 785–786 music industry in, 786 One Laptop Per Child in, 788–789 Real World Records and Luaka Bop in, 780–781, 790, 800 representation in, 787 service in, 792 Toms Shoes in, 788, 789–790 traditional music circuit in, 787–788 self-promotion and cultural promotion in, 774–776 sustainability in, 799 technology, media, and marketing in, 772 Commitment, to project, 221–222 Committee on Applied Ethnomusicology, SEM, 27 Communication, ebb and flow of, 324–328 diglossia in, 325 fusions in, 327 interactions between genres in, 326–327 Kera language in, 325 languages in, 325 pidgins and creoles in, 325 Siberian Sakha dièrétii sung genre in, 325–326 West Cameroon’s DAKASTUM in, 326 Communities, 321. See also specific communities Chinese, 738–741, 740f

Community arts survey, performing basic, 342–344 Community-based tourism, 410–411 Community music, 640 popularity of, 652–653 scope and applications of, 653–655 Community partnerships, in CASES methodology, 208–210 Community service learning, Usner on, 208–209 Comparative musicology, 13–14 vs. folk music research and ethnomusicology, 37, 37t Conceptualization, of project, 205–208, 206f Concert advocacy, 463–464 Concerts, public, 518 Conflict resolution, music for, 511–547 case studies on, 519–524 East Germany: Polyphonie der Kulturen Project ( Rostock, 2005-2008), 519–521, 520f Switzerland: Münsingen Project in, 521–523, 522f Switzerland: Musik Festival Bern in, 523–524, 524f CD production in: representation, authority, and negotiations in, 535–538 Ensemble Kaboul as representation of exiles in Arman at Bern’s Stadttheater in, 541–542 Arman at festival opening in, 540 Ensemble Kaboul in as representation of exiles in festival, 540–542 role-perceptions of, 534 infrastructural basis, finances, and funding of, 528–530 institutional contexualization of, 512–513 long-term effects of, 542–545 in Münsingen Project, 544 in Musik Festival Bern, 544–545 in Polyphonie der Kulturen Project, 542–544 music’s role in, 515–517 between observer and actor, 524–525 outlook for, 545

810   Index Conflict resolution, music for (cont.) performers and interlocutors for, selection of in Münsingen Project, 532–533 in Polyphonie der Kulturen Project, 530–532 political context of in Germany, 512–513 in Switzerland, 514 power and expectation in, in Münsingen Project, 538–540 power interplays in, 535 public display in, 517–519 representation in, 530 semi-calculable factors in, 526, 527t Connections, from music, 556–557 Conscientization, 114 Conscious practice, 352 Conservation, 160–167 cultural, 175 resilience in, 182 definition of, 165 history of cultural resources in, Europe, 161–162 cultural resources in, U.S., 162–167 (See also History of cultural conservation, U.S.) natural resources in, 161 preservation and, 160, 162 archival, 162 digital, 162 UNESCO on, 167–168 in resilience, 182 restoration in, 162 UNESCO definition of, 168 Conservation biology, 172 Conservation ecology, 172–173 Constructivist framework, 509, 557 Consultant–researcher cooperation models, 270 Context in applied ethnomusicology, 572–576 in ecosystems of music, 139 Contexts and constructs. See also specific types in five domains, 141f, 144–146, 145t in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 151

Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage, 2003, 168 Cooley, Timothy, 244, 245, 270, 385, 584 Cooperation models, consultant–researcher, 270 Copyright ownership, 776 Corntassel, J., 394 Creating Local Arts Together (CLAT), 337–339, 338f “Creativity and Ambiance: An Ecstatic Feedback Model from Arab Music,” 328 Creoles, 325 Critical evaluation, 112 Critical race theory, 380 Croatia, 38–39, 41–42 Cultural anthropology, sustainability in, 172 Cultural-artistic associations (KUDs), 456, 477 Cultural conservation, 175. See also Conservation resilience in, 182 Cultural Conservation, 164–165 safeguarding in, 168, 182 Cultural democracy, for empowerment, 653 Cultural diversity, in China, 756 Cultural engagement and ownership, through participatory approaches. See Participatory approaches Cultural heritage ecology and, 134–135 intangible (See Intangible cultural heritage) Cultural Heritage Day, in China, 742 Cultural heritage process, 683–685 Bohman on, 683–684 classification in, 684 identification in, 684 Kirshenblatt-Gimblett on, 683 standardization in, 685 Swedish Folk Music Commission’s impact on, 699–703 symbolization in, 685 Cultural impoverishment, of minorities, 317 Cultural institutions. See also specific institutions in post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities, 475–476

Index   811 Culturally Responsive Teaching: Theory, Research, and Practice, 589 Cultural merchants and brokers, 774–778 Alan Lomax as, 774–777 copyright ownership and, 776 David Byrne and Peter Gabriel in, 780–782, 784 Ry Cooder as, 782–783 self-promotion and cultural promotion by, 774–776 Steven Feld as, 777–778 Cultural migration, Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre of China and, 763 Cultural policy, 728 Cultural policy interventions, 6–7 Cultural redevelopment. See Post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities Cultural resources, history of conservation of. See also specific types in Europe, 161–162 in U.S., 162–167 (See also History of cultural conservation, U.S.) Cultural trauma, 6 Curriculum ethnomusicology in, 647–648 music in, in Aga Khan Humanities Project, 618–620, 619f teaching, applied domain in, 50 Cusick, Susanne, 484 Cutting, Jennifer, 730 DAKASTUM, 326 Dalit, 371 Christian, 360–361 Christianizing of, 361–362 cultural value of, transformative musical meaning/action as, 351–352 as oppositional politics, 351, 369 rejection of Hinduism by, 371–372 terminology for, 351, 370 Dalit Action Theory, 351–352 in ethnomusicology, 357–360, 369 Dalit music and culture case studies on drumming Dalit documentary film in, 365–369

Subaltern Sing (and drum!) in, 358–361 Tamil folk music as Dalit theology in, 362–365 "polluting" aspects of, 352–353, 359, 365–366 scholars’ ignorance of, 352 Dalit theology movement, 361–362, 371 Daly, Herman E., 171–172 Dariquebe, Estela, 428f, 429 Databases, musical, in China, 746–748 Chinese Guqin musical culture database in, 747–748 Uyghur Muqam database in, 747 Davidova, Eva, 247 Davis, Martha Ellen, 27 Davis, Wade, 443 Dayton Accord, 457 Deasy, Richard, 556–557 Decolonization, 26, 379–394 Barz and Cooley on, 385 beginnings of, 379–382 colonizer–colonized shared culture in, 381 critical race theory in, 380 Dr. A(pplied) Ethnomusicology meets Professor Decolonization in, 381, 386–392 Gourlay on, 384–385 Meizel on, 385–386 Ms. White Settler Colonial in, 381, 382–384 as non-indigenous narrator, 379 person-is-political story in, 379 response-ability and being-in-relation in, 392–393 story-ing fundamentals in, 379–380 talks about, 393–394 uncomfortable reflexivity in, 379–380 whispering about, 384–386 wide-awakeness in, 384, 393 Decolonization, Professor, 381, 386–392 Deep Forest, 327 Deficit-centrism, in autism, 291–293 Delicious Peace coffee, 223 Democracy, cultural, for empowerment, 653 Dersim, 272 Dersim Rebellion (massacre), 272 Desk work, 725–726

812   Index Development community, participatory approaches for, 129 conventional vs. participatory approaches to, 111–112 (See also Participatory approaches) cultural, in post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities, 453 network, 518 programs for (See also specific types) critical evaluation of, 112 sustainable (See Sustainable development) Development, sustainable, 111, 158, 160. See also Sustainability economists on, 169–172 environmentalists on, 169–170 origins and meaning of, 169 vs. sustainable growth, 171 DeWitt, Mark, 178 Dialogic research, 110 Didi-Huberman, Georges, 349 Dièrétii sung genre (Siberian Sakha), 325–326 Digital media, 518 Digital music, market shifts from, 470 Digital preservation, 162 Diglossia, 325 Direct mediation, 34 Dirksen, Rebecca, 28, 350, 354 Distantiation, 607, 608 Diversification, 181–182 Diversity cultural, in China, 756 in global music decline in, 142 sustaining of, 142 in sustainability, 177 Documentation. See also Archives; specific topics oral history, in George Town, Penang, 121 printed, 518 for social intervention, 129 of survivors’ music, 501 Domination and the Arts of Resistance, 505 Dongjing music, Yunnan, 743 Dorson, Richard, 18 Dower, John, 354 Dr. A(pplied) Ethnomusicology, 381, 386–392

Drumming Dalit documentary film, 365–369 Drums, Indian frame (parai), 352, 370. See also Dalit; Parai in drumming Dalit documentary film, 365–369 as "polluted," 352–353, 359, 365–366 trance states from, 360 Dub music, 478 Dukuduku Forest residents (South Africa), 110 Dumont, Louis, 98 Duri, Pak, 508 Dyen, Doris, 27 East Germany, migrant music in, 519–521, 520f Ecojustice, 8 Ecology, 179, 333 conservation, 172–173 Haeckel’s definition of, 135–136 music cultures and, 134–135 Ecomusicology, 8 Economists, on sustainable development, 169–172 Ecosystem, 58, 136, 179–182 definitions and applications of, 58, 136 in sustainability, 137 Tansley on, 136 Ecosystems of music, 135–141 applicability of, to ethnomusicology, 58, 136–137, 179–182 definition and scope of, 134–135, 137, 138 intruders in, 140 key clusters of forces in, mapping, 140, 141f maintaining in, 137 music genres in, rise and fall of, 137–138 not interfering in, 140 preservation of, factors in, 137–138 sustainability in concept of, 137–138, 179–182 what to sustain in, 138–139 Tansley on, 137 tradition, authenticity, and context in, 139 Education CASES methodology in, 218–220 music (See Music education) community music and (See Music education, community music, and ethnomusicology)

Index   813 Education sector, 553–592 ethnomusicologists’ strategies in, 555 outcomes of, 555 partnerships among institutions in, 553–554, 587–588 teaching artists in, 553 Education sector, in United States, 553–592. See also Cleveland, music education in background on, 553–555 contextualized strategies in, definition of, 572–576 Alexander on, 573–575 in education partnerships, 573 Maultsby on, 573–575 negotiations and partnerships in, 575–576 of Sheehy, 572–573 contextualized strategies in, for partnerships for learning music, 584–586 cross-institutional applications in, 565–572 belonging in, deepening sense of, 571–572 formal schooling instructional access expansions in, 565–568 "musicking" a public voice in, 569–571 Toddler Rock in, 559–560, 568–569, 571, 580–581 decisions among network of partners in, 557–560 frames for learning in, institutional, 555–557 connecting music and life experiences in, 555–556 connections from music in, 556–557 constructivist framework in, 557 economic challenges in, 555 learning through music in, 555 music in non–arts disciplines in, 556 pedagogy foundations for music in, 561–565 arts integration in, 561–563 multicultural music education in, 563–565 professional roles in, 561 power relations and ethnomusicologists’ decisions in, 584–586 social barriers and access in Cleveland in, navigating, 576–583

building momentum in, 582–583 Cleveland Opera in, 581–582 Cleveland School of the Arts in, 577–578 empowering students in, 582 geographic and demographic features in, 579–580 immigrant populations in, 580 logistics of, 576–577 out-of-school enrichment in, 577–579 poverty and economic barriers in, 577, 579 racial segregation in, 579 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in, 577–578 summary and suggestions for, 587–589 Edwards, Bob, 477 Elegant Chinese Music, 750 Ellis, Alexander, 13 Ellis Marsalis Center for Music, 461 Empathy, 604 Empowerment of community as activists, 215 cultural democracy for, 653 ethnomusicologist role in, 128–129 from participatory approaches, 128, 130 of students, in Cleveland, 582 Enactment, 322 Enactment, genre, 322 fusions in liminal space in, 326–327 gbaguru, 331–332, 331t integral and liminal, 322–323 rock enactments in, 324 Enemy Way Music, 97 Energy, in advocacy, 221–222 The Engaged Observer: Anthropology, Advocacy, and Activism, 483 Engagement cultural, through participatory approaches (See Participatory approaches) university in, 202 Engel, Adelia, 536, 538 Engle, Carl, 711–712 Eno, Brian, 464 Ensemble Kaboul as exiles in festival, 540–542 Arman at Bern’s Stadttheater in, 541–542

814   Index Ensemble Kaboul (Cont.) Arman at festival opening in, 540 at Musik Festival Bern, 523–524, 524f role-perceptions of, 534 Environmental sound activism, 8 Epistemological orientation, 9 Esüwa healing songs, 429–431, 431f, 445 safeguarding of, and song ownership, 431–434 Ethics, in survivors’ music, 486–487 Ethnicity construction of, through music in diaspora, 258–260 definition of, 258 as different, 259 Ethnologue, 320 The Ethnomusicologist, 9, 175 Ethnomusicologists. See also specific individuals early U.S., 175–176 personalities and attitudes of, 9–10 place of employment of, 4 Ethnomusicology. See also specific topics applied (See Applied ethnomusicology) definitions of, 4, 14, 58 education and, 646–649 vs. folk music research and comparative musicology, 37–38, 37t in higher education, 645–646 humanized, 25–26 work in, 6–7 Ethno-Musicology, 14 Ethnomusicology (journal of the Society for Ethnomusicology), 9 articles on minorities’ music in, 336–337, 337f subjects of articles in, historic perspectives on, 336 Ethnomusicology: A Very Short Introduction, 59 Ethnomusicology Review, 28 Euba, Akin, 754–755 Eurocentric hegemony, 354–355 Europe ethnomusicologies in, 37–40, 37t applied, 40–42 "guest-workers" in, 511 migration in, 511

nationalism in, 511 Europe Invents the Gypsies, 239–240 Europs erfindet die Zigeuner, 239–240 Evaluation. See also specific programs and types critical, 112 folk, 97 of values (See Values, evaluating) Events, artistic, 321 Expectations in advocacy, success and, 223 Exploitation in music industry, 798 mutually beneficial, 779–784 Brian Jones and Moroccan musicians in, 779 David Byrne and Peter Gabriel in, 780–782, 784 George Harrison and Ravi Shankar in, 779–780 Paul Simon and Graceland in, 779–780, 784 Ry Cooder in, 782–783 Van Dyke Parks in, 782 resource, to service enterprise, 784–792 Exploratory World Music Playground (E-WoMP), 286, 294–295 Fanon, F., 389 Fan Pavilion Unique Chorus, 752 Fargion, Janet Topp, 178, 681 Farrar, Claire, 713 Father Sebastian Englert Anthropological Museum (MAPSE), 78–79 Faux, Tom, 178 Fein, Elizabeth, 298, 309 Feintuch, B., 143 Feld, Steven on applied ethnomusicology, 107 Bufo Variations CD of, 96–97 Kalululi work of, 177, 204 commerce and, 777–778, 800 Sound and Sentiment of, 508 Fellow traveler syndrome, 715, 716, 727, 731 Fenghua Guoye, 750 Ferris, William, 174 Festival of American Folklife, 6, 175, 713, 719 Field recording, 785–786 Fieldwork, 725–726

Index   815 grant work and, connecting, 728–729 partnership model of, 243 Film. See also specific films participatory ethnographic, 350 Firth, Simon, 791 Flam, Gila, 484 Fletcher, Alice Cunningham, 11–12, 230 Flores, Agustín Machacca, 419–420 Flores, Beatríz Apasa, 416 Flores, Francisco Quispe, 416, 417 Fock, Eva, 233 Foley, Michael, 477 Folk and Traditional Arts Division, 713–714 Folk Arts Division of National Endowment for the Arts, 24–25, 163–166 Folk evaluation, 97 Folklife, 709 Folklife paradigm, 730 Folklife programs, U.S. federal, 712–717 American Folklife Center in, 24, 163, 164–165, 712–715 Archive of Folk Culture (Library of Congress), 713 Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage in, 715–716 conferences in, 716–717 Festival of American Folklife (Smithsonian Folklife Festival) in, 6, 175, 713, 719 Folk and Traditional Arts Division, 713–714 Important Intangible Cultural Properties in, 713 in National Endowment of the Arts, 713–714 National Heritage Fellowships in, 713–714 Folklife programs, U.S. state, 717–721 in Alabama, 721 in Maryland, 717–718 in Massachusetts, 719–720 in New Hampshire, 721 in New York City, 720 partnerships with, 721–722 in Pennsylvania, 717 in Tennessee, 718 Folklore history of ethnomusicology and, 11, 13, 18, 24, 39–41, 43 as intangible cultural heritage, 709 Lomax, Alan, and, 23–24

panels on, creating, 727 public, 24–26, 53, 710 origins of, 711 as strategic governmental outreach, 723–725 in U.S., 24–25 Folklore Forum, on applied musicology, 28 Folklorist, public (U.S.), 709–732 disciplinary challenges in, 730–732 focus and work of, 709–710 folklife programs for federal, 712–717 (See also Folklife programs, U.S. federal) state, 717–721 (See also Folklife programs, U.S. state) state, partnerships in, 721–722 folklore in, 709 governmental outreach in, strategic, 723–725 grantmaking as tool for, 710 history of, 711–712 job of, 725–730 apprenticeships in, 728–729 armchair ethnomusicology in, 725–726 collaborations in, 726 connecting fieldwork to grant work in, 728–729 cultural policy in, 728 desk work in, 725–726 fieldwork in, 725–726 grants management and consultation in, 727 panels in, 727 public programs in, 729 radio programs in, 729–730 Terry Liu’s work in, 727 origins of, 711 in public and state government, 711–712 Folk music, 188–192, 672–673. See also specific regions and types archives of, 671–706 (See also Archives, folk music) bearers of tradition of, 694–695, 694f concept of, 682–683 as cultural heritage, 685–686 definitions of, 672, 689–691 essence and origin of, 693–694

816   Index Folk music (Cont.) everyday meaning and practitioner’s perspective on, 691–692 research on, vs. comparative musicology and ethnomusicology, 37–38, 37t revival of, 23–24 Swedish (See Swedish folk music) threats to, 695–696 Folk Music: A Very Short Introduction, 672 Folk Music Commission, Swedish on cultural heritage process, 699–703 end goal of, 697–698 folk music of "authentic," identification of, 697 definition and scope of, 692–693 founding and early history of, 686–689, 688f value scale of, 698–699, 699f Folkmusikkommissionen. See Folk Music Commission, Swedish Folk-revival musicians, 174, 188–192 Folksingers, 163 Folk Songs of North America, in the English Language, 712 Folk Song U.S.A., 712 Folkways Collections, 716 Folkways Records, 176 Anthony Seeger at, 176, 715–716 Foucault, Michel, 193–194 Frame drums, India. See Parai (frame drum) Frederick Douglass Academy, Harlem Samba at, 655–658, 663–664 Freire, Paolo, 110, 113–114, 586 Fuchs, Bernhard, 262–263 Fusions, 327 Gabriel, Anna, 793–794 Gabriel, Peter, 780–782, 793 Gardner, Howard, 604 Garfias, Robert, 26 Gay, Geneva, 589 Genre. See also specific types artistic, 321 graded health analysis of, 332, 332t music interest in, 137 key clusters of forces in, mapping, 140, 141f

rise and fall of, 137–138 George Town, Penang culture and population of, 116–117 Democratic Action Party in, 130 history and geography of, 116 George Town, Penang, theater for development George Town Heritage Celebrations in, 117–123 participatory and interactive activities in community celebrations in, 120–121 oral history documentation in, 121 Stories under the Stars in, 122, 122f George Town Heritage Celebrations in, participatory evaluations in, 123 planning, training, and bottom-up organization in, 118–119 presentations in, 119 research on needs, problems, and action, 119 social impact and outcomes of, 123 Malaysia in national forms of culture in, creation of, 116, 130 pluralistic society in, 115 top-down cultural policies in, 116 George Town, Penang, theater for development in, 115–127 advocacy projects with young people in, participatory, 123–127, 124f creation and performance in, 125–126 evaluations in, 126 planning in, 124–125 research, learning, and mapping in, 125 social impact and outcomes of, 126–127 training in, 125 Bangsa Malaysia and OneMalaysia in, 116 Germany migrant music in, 519–521, 520f migration to, 512–513 The Gift, 399 Gilbert, Shirl, 484, 496–497, 505 Giving back, 12 in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 152–155 in Ca tru Vietnam project, 152–153, 153f–154f

Index   817 five domains ecosystem in, 155 Glassie, Henry, 717 Global arena, 29–53 Africa in, 36 applied ethnomusicology definition and scope in, 30–32 applied part of, in other disciplines, 34–35 Australia in, 35–36 European views on applied ethnomusicologies in, 40–42 ethnomusicologies in, 37–40, 37t individual views on, 48–51 academic vs. applied work in, 49–50 applied domain in teaching curricula in, 50 definitions in, 48 projects in, 48–49 university courses in, 50 International Council for Traditional Music in, 42–44 on applied ethnomusicology, 45–47 Society for Ethnomusicology and, 51–53 intervention in, 29–30, 31 North America in, 36–37 overview of, 35–37 personal stance on, 32–34 power imbalance in, 31–32 South America in, 36 Southeast Asia in, 36 vignette on, 29–30 Global music diversity of decline in, 142 sustaining of, 142 homogenization of, 317 in systemic music education, 643–644 Global music industry, 790–792 Global Voices in Song, 649 Goetze, Mary, 649 Goldstein, Kenneth, 174 Górale, 244 Gordon, Robert Winslow, 711 Gourlay, Kenneth, 26, 384–385 Government. See also specific government-sponsored programs public folklorists in, 711–712 Graceland, 779–780, 784

Graded genre health analysis, 332, 332t Gramofon Records, Pro Helvetia funding of, 471–475 Gramsci, Antonio, 358 Grandin, Temple, 291 Grants management and consultation, 727 Grant work, connecting fieldwork and, 728–729 Grauberger, Steve, 721 Gray, Judith, 176 Greeley, William, 161 Green, Archie, 714 Greene, M., 393 Grimm brothers, 675 Guča Gora, 454–458 Guča Gora Sloga, 455–458 "Guest-workers," 511 Gunderson, Lance, 180, 181 Guqin musical culture database, 747–748 Gypsy. See Roma, in Austria Haeckel, Ernst, 135 Hahn, Tomie, 362, 366 Haitian Arts Alliance, 463 Hall, Stuart, 270–271 Hamera, Judith, 478 Hammarlund, Anders, 676 Han Chinese Taoist music, 743 Hanson, Thomas, 356 harajin, 351, 370 Harker, D., 800–801 Harlem Samba, 655–658 Harrison, George, promotion of Ravi Shankar by, 779–780 Harrison, Klisala, 28, 210–211, 512–513, 584–585, 602–603 Harris, Robin, 335 Hawes, Bess Lomax, 165, 175, 712, 713, 718–719 Haydon, Glen, 13–14 Head Start Program, 568–569, 581, 591 Health of humanity’s artistic traditions in 2010s, 330–332 ethnolinguistic community’s artistic genres in, 330–331 graded genre health analysis in, 332, 332t quick and dirty genre health sketch of, 331–332, 331t global assessment of, 333–335

818   Index Health of humanity’s artistic traditions (Cont.) loss of artistic traditions in, examples of, 334 testimonials on, 334–336 Healy, Ann Marie, 183 Heaney, Hunter, 793–794 Help, 465, 478 Hemetek, Ursula, 37–38, 41 on minorities, 232 on Roma, 239–240 Henderson, Youngblood, 388 Hermeneutic method, 604–610 sounds human in, 604–607, 605f understanding in, 607–610, 608f Herzog, George, 13, 15–16, 23–24 Heschel, Abraham Joshua, 225 Heth, Charlotte, 26, 176 Higher education, ethnomusicology in, 645–646 Hinch, Thomas, 406 Hindman Settlement School, 173 Hinduism, 371 contemporary fundamentalist movement in, 356 Dalit rejection of, 371–372 Hindustani music, 348–349, 352–353 early treatises on, 355–356 History of cultural conservation, U.S., 162–167 American Folklife Center of Library of Congress in, 24, 163, 164–165, 712–715 critics of, 167 Cultural Conservation in, 164–165 digital preservation in, 162 Folk Arts Division of NEA in, 24–25, 163–166 folksingers in, 163 Hawes, Bess Lomax, in, 165 Loomis in, 164–165 Office of Folklife Studies in, 24, 163 restoration in, 162 revivalists in, 163 source musicians in, 163 tradition-bearers in, 163 History of ethnomusicology, U.S., 10–29, 26 in 1950, 11, 14 advocacy in, 7, 28–29, 54–55 applied, origins and early work in, 18–22

Boas in, 11, 13 comparative musicology in, 13–14 critiques in, undesirable ends in, 28 doctoral training in, 23 Dorson in, 18 Dorson-List-Merriam era in, 18 Dyen and Davis in, 27 Ethnomusicology in, 14–15, 16 European roots of, 13–14 Fletcher in, 11–12 Folk Arts Division of NEA in, 24–25, 163–166 folklore in, 24 folk music revival in, 23–24 founding generation’s research in, 22 giving back in, 12 Herzog in, 13, 15–16, 23–24 Hood in, 22 humanistic turn in, 25–26 institutional demand for professors of, 23 institutional growth in, 22–23 International Folk Music Council and, 17–18 Keil in, 25–27 Kunst in, 11, 14 Lomax in, 6, 12, 23–24 Matthews in, 11 McAllester, Merriam, Rhodes, and Seeger’s new direction in, 16–17 Merriam and McAllester in, 15 Merriam in, 15, 17–20 music as culture in, move to, 25 Nettl in, 13–16 Newsletter in, 16 popular interest in, 22–23 postcolonial applied ethnomusicology in, 26 pre-1950, 11 professionalization of ethnomusicology in, 19 Seeger in, Anthony, 12 Seeger in, Charles, 12 Sheehy in, 12, 26 skepticism in, 20 Smithsonian in, 24–25 Society for Ethnomusicology in, 14–15, 16 Committee on Applied Ethnomusicology in, 27 current activity of, 28

Index   819 Section on Applied Ethnomusicology in, 27 theorization in, 28 Hobwbawm, Eric, 800–801 Hofman, Ana, 203, 204, 216–217 The Hold Life Has, 400 Holmes, Chris, 793–794 Holtzberg, Maggie, 720–721 Homogenization, global music, 317 Hood, Mantle, 9, 22, 71, 74, 175, 354 Hooks, Bell, 393 "Hope," 468 Horvath, Gisela, 247 House of Sharing, 489–491 Howard, Keith, 652 Humane application, 621–629 Humaneism, 612–613, 614 Humane, music as, 606 Humanism, 610–615, 611f, 613f Christians on, 611 in Christian world, 613–614 critics of, 611–612 history of, 610–611 Islamic, golden age of, 612, 613f, 630–631 man in, 614–618, 615f music in, 611f, 612–615, 613f Muslims on, 612 in Muslim world, 612–614, 613f standard account of, 610 Humanistic, music as, 606 Humanist theory, 610–615, 611f, 613f. See also Humanism Humanitarian aid, 454. See also Post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities Humanitarian project, 615–621. See also Aga Khan Humanities Project Humanities, 602–633 empathy in, 604 hermeneutic method and, 604–610 music role in, 604–607, 605f understanding in, 607–610, 608f humane application in, 621–629 application in, 621–623, 622f humane humanism in, 628 music as humane in, 626–629 research in, 621, 622, 623–626, 624f, 626f truth in, 627–628

humanist theory in, 610–615, 611f, 613f (See also Humanism) humanist turn in ethnomusicology in, 25–26, 385 humanitarian project in, 615–621 (See also Aga Khan Humanities Project) philosophical reflection in, 603–604 Hurricane Katrina, 461 ICH (Intangible Cultural Heritage) masterpieces, 168–169 Identification of authenticity of folk music, 697 in cultural heritage process, 684 Identity. See also specific cultures construction of, through music in diaspora, 258–260 for minorities, 233 national, 243 Illich, Ivan, 204 Immersion, ethnomusicological method of, 369 Immigrants. See Migration and migrant communities, music in Impey, Angela, 110 Important Intangible Cultural Properties, 713 Independent acting, migrant group, 518 India. See also South Asia church in, 360–361 frame drames in (See Parai (frame drum)) Indigenous tourism authenticity and, 406–409, 407f community-based, 410–411 indigenous music in, 404–405 Indigenous tourism, with Quechua Q’eros, 404–415 active voice in, 440–441 case study on Q’eros–tourist exchange in, music in, 411–415, 413f–416f Ministry of Culture and, 409, 441 mutually beneficial exchange in, 415–422 Q’eros identity and, 409–411 reciprocity in indigenous tourism with, 414, 423–425, 440 Indigenous tourism, with Wachiperi, 425–440 CD self-production by, 434–440, 437f, 438f, 441–442 Esüwa healing songs of, 429–431, 431f, 445

820   Index Indigenous tourism, with Wachiperi (Cont.) Ministry of Culture and, 441 safeguarding Esüwa and song ownership in, 431–434 song revival and UNESCO in, 425–429, 428f Indirect mediation, 34 Indomania, 355–356 Indophobia, 355 Initiative Minderheitin, 237 Institute of Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology at University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna, 269, 271 Instructional materials, 648–649 Instruction, music, 647–648. See also Music education Insularity, 10 Intangible cultural heritage, 134–155 in Austria, 272 in China, 741–746, 745f, 765 ecology and, 134–135 ecosystems of music in, 135–141, 141f (See also Ecosystems of music) five domains of, 141f, 143–146, 145t folklore as, 709 international perspectives and initiatives in, 142–143 origins of, UNESCO, 168 sustainable futures in, 146–155 (See also Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures: Toward an Ecology of Musical Diversity) tradition, authenticity, and context in, 139 Integral enactments, 322–323 definition of, 323 genre, 322–323 vs. liminal enactments in, 328–330 Intercultural mediation, 229–272 Barz and Cooley on, 270 in Bosnian refugees, 238–239, 250–257, 270 consultant–researcher cooperation models in, 270 ethnicity in, 270 at Institute of Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology at University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna, 269, 271

Loughran on, 229 Pettan on, 269, 272 Rice on, 270 in Roma, 238, 239–250, 270 Slobin on, 269–270 theoretical background on, 229–238 Austrian minority in, 234–238, 235t, 272 music and minorities in, 229–234 in Turkish immigrants, 239, 257–269, 270–271 International Council for Traditional Music (ICTM), 42–44 on applied ethnomusicology, 45–47 intention of, current, 44 name of, 60 objectives of, 43 origins of, 42–43 post-WW II intention of, 43–44 Society for Ethnomusicology in, 51–53 Study Group on Music and Minorities of, 231–234 International Folk Music Council (IFMC), 17–18, 42 Interpretation, in survivors’ music, 492–493 Intersquad, 527t, 531, 535, 543 Intervention, 29–30, 31 Introduction to Musicology, 13–14 Invested in Community: Ethnomusicology and Musical Advocacy, 60 Isma’ilis, 615–620, 624, 625, 630, 631 Jabbour, Alan, 713, 714–715, 718 Jacob, Prema, 349, 369 Japanese military sexual slavery, 481, 507. See also Survivors’ music Jazz Cosmopolitanism in Accra, 96–97, 107 Jeongsun, Han, 494–495 Jerewa, Carmen, 428f, 429–431, 431f Johnson, Robert, 800 Jones, Brian, 779 Jones, Fernando, 509 Jones, Sir William, 355 Jones, Stacey Holman, 75 Journalism, 8 Jun, Cao, 735 Kalululi, Feld’s work with, 777–778

Index   821 Karadžić, Vuk, 694–695 Karnatak music, 348–349, 352–353 Brahmin control of, 369–370 early treatises on, 355–356 Karpeles, Maud, 42–43, 51–52 Kedia, Satish, 74 Keil, Charles, 25–27, 653, 660–661 Keki, J. J., 213–215, 213f Keogh, Brent, 178–179 Kera language, 325 Kertzer, Jon, 716 Keshavjee, Rafique, 608, 608f, 620–621, 627, 627f, 631–632, 633. See also Aga Khan Humanities Project Key Research Base for Humanities and Social Sciences, 747, 766 King, B. B., 174 Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara, 350, 683, 801 Kisliuk, Michelle, 77, 177 Knowledge for its own sake, 4, 5, 20 Knudsen, B. T., 407–408, 411, 412, 422 Koreans, as Japanese sex slaves. See Survivors’ music Krauss, Michael, 334 Krauze, Rūdis, 86 Kravanh, Daran, 493–494, 498, 505 KUDs, 456, 477 Kugelmass, Jack, 225 Kuhač, Franjo, 38–39 Kuhn, Thomas, 73 Kunst, Jaap, 11, 14, 42, 58 Kvitka, Kliment, 60 LaCapra, Dominic, 483 Lach, Robert, 39 Ladysmith Black Mambazo, 779–780, 784 Lake, Philip S., 180 Laks, Szymon, 497–498, 505 Lane, Deforia, 558, 559–560, 568–569, 571, 580–591 Languages, 325 Lanzmann, Claude, 496 Lassiter, Luke, 437 Latvian diaspora (Christchurch), Uz Tēvu Mājām and, 84–88, 86f Law, 8 Leadbelly, 174, 772, 775–776, 800

Learning music, systems of in five domains, 141f, 144–146, 145t in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 150 Learning through music, 555, 589. See also Education sector Lectureships, 518 Lectures, public, 518 Ledbetter, Huddie (Leadbelly), 174, 772, 775–776, 800 Lederach, Jean Paul, 215 Levin, Theodore, 77, 251–252 Libraries, 8 destroying of, post-conflict and post-catastrophe, 459 Library of Congress American Folklife Center of, 24, 163, 164–165, 712–715 Archive of Folk Song of, 711–712 Liminal enactments, 322–323 definition of, 323 genre, 322–323 vs. integral enactments in, 328–330 Liminal space, fusions in, 326–327 Ling, Jan, 685, 689–690 Linzee, Jill, 719, 721, 731 Lipsitz, George, 788, 799 Liu, Terry, 727 Live display, 518 Lodish, Debora, 27–28 Lomax, Alan "Appeal for Cultural Equity" of, 12 as cultural merchant and broker, 774–777 early ethnomusicology work of, 173, 175, 177 as early folklorist, 711–712 in folk music revival, 23–24 Herzog’s encounter with, 23–24 Leadbelly collaboration with, 174, 800 on Leadbelly’s representation, 800 radio broadcasts of, 6 World Library of Folk and Primitive Music recordings of, 785 Lomax, John A., 711, 712, 800 Lönnrot, Elias, 675 Loomis, Ormond, 164–165 Lorde, Audre, 392 Losses, in longer artistic traditions, 334

822   Index Loud Hands: Autistic People, Speaking, 287, 292, 310 Loughram, Maureen, 229, 586 Lovari Roma, 247–249 Luaka Bop, 780–781, 790, 800 Lucas, Lazy Bill, 174 Lulu, Lü, 737 Lunsford, Bascom Lamar, 174 Lyon, Patricia, 404, 405f, 427, 436 Mackinlay, Elisabeth, 28 MacPherson, James, 675 Madah and Madahkhan, 611f, 614–615, 618, 619 research on, 621, 622, 623–626, 624f, 626f Maintaining, 137 Makhampom, 113 Malar, Kurinji, 366, 368, 373 Malaysia Bangsa Malaysia and OneMalaysia in, 116 national forms of culture in, creation of, 116, 130 participatory approaches in, via theater for development, 109–131 (See also Theater for development (Malaysia)) as pluralistic society, 115 secret societies in, 131 top-down cultural policies in, 116 Malm, Krister, 41 Manqueriapa, Alberto, 433 Maqamboland, 624f, 625 Marginalized music, 348 of South Asia, activism and (See South Asia, activism and marginalized music of) Market shifts, in post-conflict/-catastrophe communities, 470 Martinelli, Dario, 630 Marx, Karl, 193–194 Maryland Folklife Program, 717–718 Maryland State Arts Council, 718–719, 721–722 partnerships in, 721–722 Maryland Traditions, 724 Maslow, Abraham, 329 Massachusetts, folklife program in, 719–720 Mass entertainment, in China, 748–751. See also Chinese Central Television (CCTV) programs

Masterpieces, ICH, 168–169 Matthews, Washington, 11 Maultsby, Portia, 573–575 Mauss, Marcel, 399, 401, 443 Mautner, Konrad, 245 Maya, 113 McAllester, David, 15, 17, 21, 97, 175 McCann, Anthony, 76 Media and music industry. See also Music industry in five domains, 141f, 144–146, 145t in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 151–152 Mediation direct vs. indirect, 34 intercultural, 229–272 (See also Intercultural mediation) Mediatized display, 517–518 Medical ethnomusicology, 8, 56 for autism (See Autism) definition of, 281 music therapy and, 279–281 Medjugorje, 464, 478 Meizel, K., 385–386 Merchants and brokers, cultural, 774–778. See also Cultural merchants and brokers Merriam, Alan P., 15, 17–20, 51–52, 97, 650 Mevlevî sema, Turkey, 613f, 614 Micro-grants, from Pro Helvetia, 473, 475, 478 Micro-patronage, 478 Migration and migrant communities in Austria discrimination against, 236 integration process for, 236 Turkish in Germany, 272 in Vienna, 239, 257–269, 261, 270–271 (See also Turkish immigrants, in Vienna) In U.S., Cleveland, 580 Migration and migrant communities, music in. See also Conflict resolution, music for; specific communities and projects case studies on, 519–524 forced, in post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities, 461–463 modern

Index   823 in Europe, 511 in Germany, 512–513 in Switzerland, 514 music’s role in, 515–517 public display for music in, 517–519 reason for, 250 Migration, cultural, Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre of China and, 763 Minorities. See also specific groups in Austria (See Austria) cultural impoverishment of, 317 definition of, 231 Fock on, 233 Hemetek on, 232 identity for, 233 ITCTM Study Group on Music and Minorities on, 231–234 music and, 229–234 (See also specific minorities) Nettl on, 232–233 Reyes on, 232–233 Stokes on, 233–234 Minorities research in Austria (See Austria; specific minorities) Fletcher on, 230 ICTM Study Group on Music and Minorities in, 231–234 Pettan on, 230–231 and urban ethnomusicology, 230 Mondo films, 59 Monism, 98, 100t with stable levels, 100t, 101, 104f strong, 99–101, 100t, 104f Moore, James F., 171–172 The Moral Imagination, 215 Moreton-Robinson, A., 391 Morra, Mario, 29 Mortuary dances, Islamic, 611f, 615 Mostar bridge, 477 Motivations and methods for encouraging artists, 317–344 basic community arts survey in, 342–344 foundational concepts of, 319–322 analytical categories in, 321–322 return to coherence in, 319–321 global community artistic health assessment in, 333–335

loss of artistic traditions in, examples of, 334 testimonials on, 334–336 health of artistic traditions in, 2010s, 330–332 ethnolinguistic artistic genres in, 330–331 graded genre health analysis in, 332, 332t quick and dirty genre health sketch of, 331–332, 331t liminality and integrality in definitions of, 323 genre enactments in, 322–323 liminality and integrality in, sussing out ebb and flow of communication in, 324–328 (See also Communication, ebb and flow of) integral vs. liminal enactments in, 328–330 rock enactments in, 324 minorities’ cultural impoverishment in, 317–318 priorities in, rethinking, 341–342 SIL International’s work on, 341 thriving global artistic life in, 335–340 action points in, 339–340 global interest in longer artistic traditions in, 336–337, 337f therapeutic approach to communities and arts-making in, 337–339, 338f Mozaik Community Development Foundation and Guča Gora, 454–458 Bosnia Living Heritage Network in, 455 civil society building in, 457 cultural-artistic associations in, 456, 477 Franciscan monks in, 455, 456 Guča Gora Sloga in, 455–457 village focus of, 455 Ms. White Settler Colonial, 381, 382–384 Muir, John, 161 Multicultural music education, 563–565 Münsingen Project, 521–523, 522f ethnomusicologist role in, 525 infrastructural basis, finances, and funding of, 529

824   Index Münsingen Project (Cont.) interlocutors’ selection for, 532–533 long-term effects of, 544 power and expectation in, 538–540 power interplays in, 535 Muqam, 747 Murra, John, 443 Museums, 8 Music. See also specific topics and cultures as art, 606, 607 cultural domain of, 4 distantiation in, 607, 608 as humane, 606 as humanistic–humaneistic bridge, 606–607, 629 studying humanity via, 605–606 Musical databases, in China, 746–748 Guqin musical culture database in, 747–748 Uyghur Muqam database in, 747 Musical Instrument Exhibition Centre (China), 760–764 beneficiaries of construction of, 763–764 collections in, 760–762, 761f cultural migration and, 763 purpose of construction of, 762–763 theoretical bases of, 764 Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley (MAYV), 659–662 Musical Performance in the Diaspora, 259 "Musical," survivors’ music as, 493–496 Musical venues, in post-conflict/-catastrophe communities, 460–461 Music and Conflict, 94 Music and Poverty, 94 "Music and Sustainability," 177–178 Music business degree programs, 773 Music education, 7, 55–56. See also Pedagogy comparative, 650–652 as core subject, 562, 590 Music education, community music, and ethnomusicology, 638–664 case examples of, 655–662 (See also specific programs) Harlem Samba in, 655–658 Music Alive! in the Yakima Valley in, 659–662 community music in, 640

popularity of, 652–653 scope and applications of, 652–655 ethnomusicology and education in, 646–649 in 1960s, 646–647 advisory work in, 648–649 curriculum and instruction in, 647–648 Global Voices in Song in, 649 instructional materials in, 648–649 in higher education, 645–646 pedagogy in, from transmission to learning in, 650–652 revolutionary potentials of, 662–663 scope of practice of, 638–639 in systemic school education, 640–644 in Europe, 641 Music for Change, 655, 663 Music genres, 137 interest in, 137 key clusters of forces in, mapping, 140, 141f rise and fall of, 137–138 Musician and Teachers, 563–564 Musicians and communities. See also specific musicians and communities in five domains, 141f, 144–146, 145t in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 150–151 Musician’s Village (New Orleans), 461, 477 Music industry, 8, 786 exploitation in, 798 in five domains, 141f, 144–146, 145t global, 790–792 in pop(ulist) activism, 797 in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 151–152 Music in Social Life, 661 Music in the Holocaust, 484, 496–497, 505 Musicking, 139, 661 "Musicking" a public voice, 569–571 Music, Media, and Multiculture, 671 Music of Another World, 497–498, 505 Musicologica: A Study of the Nature of Ethno-musicology, Its Problems, Methods, and Representative Personalities, 42 Musicology, comparative, and history of ethnomusicology, 11, 13–14, 16–17

Index   825 Musicology Research Institute, 747, 766 Music-Play Project (MPP), 281 2005-2009 history of, 284–285 origins of, 284 participants in, 309 Music therapy definition and scope of, 280 medical ethnomusicology and, 279–281 at Pavarotti Music Center as, 466–467 Musik Festival Bern, 523–524 ethnomusicologist role in, 525 infrastructural basis, finances, and funding of, 529 long-term effects of, 544–545 power interplays in, 535 Mutually beneficial exchange, with Q’eros, 415–422 Mutually beneficial exploitation, 779–784. See also under Exploitation Mycoskie, Blake, 788, 789–790 Nabutta, Saban, 224–225 Nadejda, 516, 517, 527t, 531, 535–537, 543 National Endowment for the Arts (NEA). See also Conflict resolution Folk Arts Division of, 24–25, 163–166 folklorists at, 713–714 National Folk Festival, 719 National Heritage Fellowships, 713–714 National Inventory of Intangible Cultural Heritage, Austria, 272 Nationalism, 57 in Europe, 511 Nation in a cabinet (Sweden), 676–681, 677f–678f, 680f Natural resource conservation, history of, 161 Naxi traditional music, Yunnan, 743 Ne’eman, Ari, 292–293 Negroponte, Nicholas, 788–789 Negus, Keith, 791 Neocolonialism, cultural impoverishment of minorities from, 317 Neo-orientalism, 353–357 Nettl, Bruno, 52 on consultants as teachers, 650 early work of, 13–16, 20–21 on health of artistic traditions, 317, 330

ICTM work of, 52 on losses in artistic traditions, 334 on minorities, 232 Network development, 518 Neuman, Daniel, 650–651 Neurodiversity, 294 Neurodiversity paradigm, 294 Neurominority, 294 Neurotypicals, 293–294 Newell, Wayne, 178 New Hampshire, folklife program in, 721 New Orleans Habitat Musician’s Village in, 461, 477 post-Hurricane Katrina, 461 Newport Folk Festival, 174–175 Newsletter, ethnomusicology, 16 New York City, folklife program in, 719–720 New York, cultural policy interventions in, 6 Nikolić-Lakatos, Ruža, 241f, 248–249 Non–arts disciplines, music in, 556 Norient, 545 North America, 5–9, 36–37 Numerology, in Islamic thought and music, 624, 626, 632–633 Oasamu, Yamaguti, 737, 738 Office of Folklife Studies, 24, 163 OKC Abrašević Youth Center (Mostar), 468 Okseon, Yi, 489–491, 493 Old Regular Baptists adaptive management and resilience in, 183–187, 184f, 191 ethnomusicologists’ preservation work in, 191–192 Old-time string band music revival adaptive management and resilience in, 183, 188–191 ethnomusicologists’ preservation work in, 191–192 revivalists on, 192 Olsen, Paul Rovsing, 60 100 Songs Project, 796–797 One Laptop Per Child (OLPC), 788–789 Orientalism, 353–357 Orientation, epistemological, 9 Ortner, Sherry, 358, 360–361, 368 Orwell, Charles, 193–194

826   Index Our Singing Country, 712 Outcast. See Dalit PAA All-Stars, 569–571 Panels, creating folklore, 727 Paradigm, 73 Paradigm shift, 73 Parai (frame drum), 352, 370. See also Dalit in drumming Dalit documentary film, 365–369 oral system of drumming in, 372 as "polluted," 352–353, 359, 365–366 trance states from, 360 Parks, Van Dyke, 782 Participant observation, 199 Participatory approaches, 109–131 in action research, 109–110, 129–130 for community development, 129 empowerment from, 128, 130 ethnomusicology in for social intervention, 127–129 theater for development in George Town, Penang in, 115–127 (See also George Town, Penang, theater for development in) George Town Festival in, 130 in Global South initiatives for, 110 NGO work in, 109–110 principles of, 128 theater for development in, 110–127 (See also Theater for development) Partners for Urban Action and Research (PUKAR), 129 Partnerships among institutions, 553–554 in CASES methodology community, 208–210 other, 210–211 in fieldwork, 243 Passamaquoddy recordings, 178 "Passing it on," 178 Pate, Kiko, 78 Pathology paradigm, 294 Pavarotti Music Center, 464–468 Peace and conflict resolution, 7–8 cooperation and, 56

Peace Kawomera Fair Trade Coffee cooperative, 213–221, 213f Pedagogy. See also Music education in theater for development, participatory, 113–115 world music, 650–652 (See also Music education, community music, and ethnomusicology) Pedagogy, music, 647–648 Peer-to-peer file sharing, 773 Pekmezović, Ševko, 251–257, 251f Penang. See George Town, Penang Pennsylvania, folklife program in, 717 Performance. See also specific artists, programs, and performances participatory creation and, in George Town, Penang, 125–126 vs. process, in Malaysia, 114–115 public, as promotion for Roma in Austria, 245–250, 246f, 248f of survivors’ music, 493 Perlman, Marc, 354 Personal-political-possible, "storying." See Decolonization Person-is-political story, 379 Petrović, Ankica, 250–251 Pettan, Svanibor, 250, 466 on action and advocacy, 210–211, 499, 536 on applied ethnomusicology, 28, 603 fourfold model of, 518–519 on intercultural mediation, 269, 272 on minorities, 230–231 Philadelphia Folklore Project, 723 Philippines Educational Theatre Association (PEA), 112 Philosophical reflection, 603–604 Pidgins, 325 Pinchot, Gifford, 161 Pinker, Steven, 604 Place, construction of, through music in diaspora, 258–260 Planning and testing praxis, 94 Playing For Change, 794–796 Pluralism, 98, 100t stable, 100t, 101–102, 104f unsettled, 100t, 102–103, 104f Polska, 698, 699f, 700, 701, 702, 704, 705

Index   827 Polyphonie der Kulturen Project, 519–521, 520f CD production in: representation, authority, and negotiations in, 535–538 CD tracks in, 526, 527t ethnomusicologist role in, 524–525 infrastructural basis, finances, and funding of, 528–530 long-term effects of, 542–544 migrants in, 516 performers for, selection of, 530–532 power interplays in, 535 representation in, 530 Pommer, Josef, 245 Pop(ulist) activism, 792–797 100 Songs Project in, 796–797 individuals’ work in, 792–793 music industry in, 797 Playing For Change in, 794–796 Voice Project in, 793–794, 795, 796 Position (social), 591 "Position Statement against the Use of Music as Torture," 29 Postcolonial ethnomusicology, 10, 26–27. See also Decolonization Post-conflict and post-catastrophe communities, 453–478 commemorations in, 468–469 communities in post-catastrophe, 458–478 post-conflict, 453–458 concert advocacy in, 463–464 conflict resolution and cultural development in, 453 cultural institution closure or changes in, 475–476 Dayton Accord in, 457 humanitarian aid function in, 454 market shifts in, 470 Mozaik Community Development Foundation and Guča Gora in, 454–458 (See also Mozaik Community Development Foundation and Guča Gora) musical venues in, 460–461 post-catastrophe aid environments in, 458–460

Pro Helvetia–Gramofon Records partnership in, 471–475 travel disruption and forced migration in, 461–463 in Afghanistan, 462–463 in Cambodia, 463, 478 War Child and Pavarotti Music Center in, 464–468, 478 Power interplays, 535 Power relations in education, ethnomusicologists’ decisions and, 584–586 Practical analytics, for survivors’ music, 488–492 Practice theory, 481 Praise singing (madahkhan), 611f, 614–615, 618, 619 research on, 621, 622, 623–626, 624f, 626f Preservation. See also specific cultures, types, and topics conservation and, 160, 162 UNESCO on, 167–168 digital, 162 UNESCO definition of, 168 Price, David, 354 Printed documentation, 518 Professor Decolonization, 381, 386–392 Progressive Arts Alliance (PAA), 567–568 Pro Helvetia Gramofon Records funding by, 471–475 micro-grants from, 473, 475, 478 Project conceptualization, 205–208, 206f Protopapa, Santina, 558, 559–560, 567–571 Prototype theory, 320–321 Public concerts, 518 Public (sector) ethnomusicology, 8 Public folklore, 24–26, 710. See also Folklorist, public origins of, 711 as strategic governmental outreach, 723–725 Public folklorist. See Folklorist, public Public lectures, 518 Public programs. See also specific types producing, 729 Puriņš, Paulis, 86, 86f Pythagorean principles, 613

828   Index Q’eros, Quechua, 404–425. See also River Q’eros, Andes to Amazon on active resistance in, 399 background on, 404–425 efficacy and success in music projects in, 440 indigenous tourism with, 404–415 (See also Indigenous tourism; Indigenous tourism, with Quechua Q’eros) active voice in, 440 Q’eros identity and, 409–411 reciprocity in, 414, 423–425 mutually beneficial exchange with, 415–422 reciprocity in, 399–401, 414 Wachiperi and, 443–444 Q’eros River, Andes to Amazon on. See River Q’eros, Andes to Amazon on Q’eros–tourist exchange, 411–415, 413f–416f Qianzhong, Su, 738 Quechua Q’eros. See Q’eros, Quechua Racy, Jihad, 328–329 Radio programs, 729–730 Rajasekaran, Jesudasan, 353 Ramnarine, Tina, 259 Ramsten, Märta, 690 Rapanui digital music archive, creation of, 78–84, 81f, 89 Rasmussen, Ljerka, Vidić, 59 Ravi Shankar, George Harrison promotion of, 779–780 Real World Records, 773, 780–781, 790 Reciprocity, 398–401, 440, 445 in Q’eros and Wachiperi, 399–401, 414, 426 with Quechua Q’eros, indigenous tourism in, 414, 423–425 Recordings, CD, 518. See also specific recordings Redemptive narratives, survivors’ music as, 496–498 Reflexivity, 95, 97 self-, 349, 365 uncomfortable, 379–380 Refugees from Afghanistan conflicts, 462–463 from Cambodian conflicts, 463, 478

Regulations and infrastructure in five domains, 141f, 144–146, 145t in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 151 Relationships, negotiated, 202 Religion, in university, 201–202 Relocation. See also Migration and migrant communities sevdalinke as means of, 251–257 (See also Bosnian refugees, in Austria) Research. See also specific researchers and projects applied ethnomusicology, 94–95 for its own sake, 19 pure vs. applied, 5 Research agenda, of ethnomusicologists, 319–320 prototype theory and, 320–321 SIL’s Ethnologue in, 320 Researcher vulnerability. See Vulnerability, researcher Resilience, 159, 180–192. See also Sustainability, Resilience, and adaptive management adaptive management in, 180–182, 193 in Old Regular Baptists, 183–187, 184f, 191 in old-time string band music revival, 183, 188–191 characteristics favoring, 183 conservation in, 182 definition and scope of, 180, 193 diversification in, 181–182 in ecology, 180 ethnomusicologists’ work in, 191–192 in popular usage, 180 resource recovery vs. collapse in, 181 strategies for, 180–182 vs. sustainability, 181 sustainability and tipping point in, 182–183 The Resonant Community, 33, 40 Resource exploitation, from, to service enterprise, 784–792. See also under Exploitation Response-ability, 381, 392–393 Restoration, in conservation, 162 Revivalists, 163

Index   829 Reyes, Adelaida, 230, 232–233, 250, 258, 260, 478, 531 Rhodes, Willard, 52 Rice, Timothy, 59, 142–143, 270, 651 Rich, Adrienne, 226 Richardson, Dianna, 558, 559, 566, 578 Richardson, L., 380 Ricoeur, Paul, 327–328 Rinzler, Ralph, 174–175 Ritchie, Jean, 173 River Q’eros, Andes to Amazon on, 398–445 efficacy and success in music projects in, 440 Quechua Q’eros in, 404–425 active resistance in, 399 background on, 401–404, 402f–404f indigenous tourism with, 404–415 (See also Indigenous tourism, with Quechua Q’eros) indigenous tourism with, reciprocity in, 414, 423–425 mutually beneficial exchange with, 415–422 reciprocity in, 414 reciprocity in, 398–401 Wachiperi in, 425–440 active resistance in, 399 background on, 401–404, 402f–404f, 425–427, 444 CD self-production in, 434–440, 437f, 438f, 441–442 Esüwa healing songs of, 429–431, 431f, 445 Manuel Yonaje of, 427–428, 428f, 442–443, 442f reciprocity in, 399–401, 426 safeguarding Esüwa and song ownership in, 431–434 song revival and UNESCO in, 425–429, 428f R-Kan, 264–266, 264f Robbins, Joel, 98–99, 98–104, 100t, 104f Robert Johnson: The Complete Recordings, 800 Robinson, Michael, 406, 422, 444 Rock and roll African-American cultural contributions in, 567, 591

definition and scope of, 591 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, 557–560, 577–578 Rock enactments, 324 Rock Under Siege concerts, 477 Roma, in Austria, 238, 239–250, 270 as antisocial elements and criminals, 243 Bogdal on, 239–240 Ceija Stojka in, 241, 242f, 247 diversity of, 241–242, 241t ethnicity of, invention of, 244–245 as Gypsy, 239 Harri Stojka in, 247–248 Hemetek on, 239–240 identity markers for, inaccurate, 242–243 identity of, national, 243 Lovari Roma in, 247–249 music and cultural identification of, 242 public performance as promotion for, 245–250, 246f, 248f Romano Centro in, 247, 249 Ruža Nikolić-Lakatos in, 241f, 248–249 Serbian, 247–248, 248f Silverman on, 240 Romani Routes. Cultural Politics and Balkan Music, 240 Romano Centro, 247, 249 Ronström, Owe, 689–690 Rosch, Eleanor, 320 Rostock, 2005–2008. See Polyphonie der Kulturen Project Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 675 Roy, Don, 178 Russell, Ian, 229, 243 Ryan, Chris, 422 Ryder, Judith, 558, 560, 572, 581–582 Safeguarding, 167–169, 182 Sağlam, Hande, 260, 261 SamulNori, 652 Sanford, Victoria, 483 Sarajevo Jazz Festival, 471 Sarkissian, Margaret, 801 Savage Man Savage Beast, 29 SAZ-Verein Wien, 262–263, 262f Scheduled caste. See Dalit

830   Index School education, systemic music education in exemplary models of, 644 funding crisis on, recent, 644 history of, in Europe, 641 history of, in U.S., 640–644, 663 in 1800s, 640–641 in 1900-1950, 641–642 in 1950-2000+, 642–644 multicultural music education in, 643 world and global music in, 643–644 Schooling, formal, instructional access expansion in, 565–568 Schwarzenbach, James, 546 Science, 59 Scott, James, 505 Secret societies, in Malaysia, 131 Seeger, Anthony on copyright laws, 439 as early ethnomusicologist, 12 fieldwork of, 177 at Folkways Records, 176, 715–716 on intangible cultural heritage, global risks to, 138 on loss of small traditions, 318 on music cultures being "disappeared," 425 Suyá collaboration of, 204 in Why Suyá Sing, 76 Seeger, Charles, 12, 97, 711, 712 Seeger, Peggy, 712 Seeger, Ruth Crawford, 711, 712 Self-actualization, 329 Self-reflexivity, 349 Serbia, 39–40 Roma from, 247, 248f Service, in CASES methodology, 217–218 Service learning, lessons from, 203–205 Sevdalinke, as means of relocation, 251–257. See also Bosnian refugees, in Austria Sexual slavery, Japanese military, 481, 507. See also Survivors’ music Shadows in the Field, 72, 270, 385, 584 Shams-eTabrīzī, 615 Shanting Teshu Hechangdui, 752 Sharpe, Robert, 606 Sheehy, Daniel on applied ethnomusicology, 26, 31, 351, 572–573

on approaches to problems, 202 on benefitting informants and communities, 74 on conscious practice, 33, 74, 352, 370, 387 on empowering community as activists, 215 Festival of American Folklife work of, 175, 713 as Folk and Traditional Arts Division Director, 713–714 Folk Arts Division (NEA) work of, 176, 713, 718 on folklorist role, 774 four stages of applied ethnomusicology of, 143–144 on giving back, 152 on history of applied ethnomusicology, 12 on making music happen in communities, 661 as Smithsonian Folkways Director, 715–716 on traditional music circuit, 787–788 two aspects of applied ethnomusicology of, 245 Shelemay, Kay Kaufmann, 202, 204, 784 Shirky, Clay, 340 Shoah, 496 Shoemaker, Henry W., 717 Sias, Tony F., 558, 559, 576–579 Siberian Sakha dièrétii sung genre, 325–326 Siebers, Tobin, 296 Sierra Club, 161 SIL International Ethnologue of, 320 ethnomusicology work of, 341 Silverman, Carol, 240 Simon, Paul, 779–780, 784 Sinclair, Jim, 296–297 Singer, Roberta, 719–720 Singing for Survival, 484 Sino-African Music Dialogue, 755–756, 755f Skylight, 626f Skyllstad, Kjell, 40, 466 Slobin, Mark, 269–270, 365, 672 Sloga, 455–458 Slovenia, 38–39, 41–42 Small, Christopher, 660–661 Smith, L. T., 389–390

Index   831 Smithsonian Festival of American Folklife, 6, 175, 713, 719 Smithsonian Folk Festival, 163 Smithsonian Folklife Festival, 6, 175, 713, 719 Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, 716 World Music Pedagogy certification course of, 644 Smithsonian Global Sound, 716 Smithsonian Institution Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage of, 715–716 employment of ethnomusicologists by, 24–25 Office of Folklife Studies at, 24, 163 Social barriers, on music education, 576–583 Social intervention ethnomusicology for (See Participatory approaches) research and documentation for, 129 Society for Applied Microbiology, 59 Society for Applied Spectroscopy, 59 Society for Ethnomusicology (SEM), 6 applied ethnomusicology activity in, current, 28 founding and early history of, 14–15, 16, 175 interests of members of, historic, 336 International Council for Traditional Music and, 51–53 Section on Applied Ethnomusicology in, 27 Solomon, Olga, 291 Solomon, Tom, 259, 266–267 Songs of the Caged, Songs of the Free, 531 Sonneborn, D.A., 716 Soulé, Michael, 172–173 Sound and Sentiment, 177, 508 Sound archives, 8 Source musicians, 163 South America, 36 South Asia musical value hierarchy in, 353 music of, 348 South Asia, activism and marginalized music of, 348–373 activist and advocate ethnomusicology in, 350 case studies on, Dalit movement Christianizing Dalit in, 361–362

drumming Dalit documentary film in, 365–369 Subaltern Sing (and drum!) in, 358–361 Tamil folk music as Dalit theology in, 362–365 classical ten percent in, 352–353 conscious tools and theories in, 369 cultural politics in, 348–349 Dalit Action Theory in, on the ground, 357–360, 369 film use in, participatory ethnographic, 350 vs. Hindustani and Karnatak music, 348–349, 352–353 orientalism and neo-orientalism in, 353–357 Asian classical music study in, 355 Asian elite court and temple culture focus of study in, 355–356 early treatises on Indian music in, 355–356 Hindu fundamentalist movement in, contemporary, 356–357 local sociopolitical identify of musical style in, 357 value-free scholarship and, 354 Wong’s research through performance practice in, 354 participant–activist methodology for, 350 shift in methods via shift in subject in, 348–351 transformative musical meaning/action and Dalits’ cultural value in, 351–352 South Asian music classical, 348 composer and score as focus in, 348–349 folk culture in, 350 marginalized, alternative engagement with, 349 participant–activist methodology for, 350 people, context, and processes in, 349 sympathetic listening to, 349 Southeast Asia, 36 South Koreans, as Japanese sex slaves. See Survivors’ music Spinny chairs, 286–289, 305–308 Spiritual beliefs, in university, 200–202 Spitzer, Nicholas, 167, 785 Spivak, Gayatri, 358–359

832   Index Standardization, in cultural heritage process, 685 Stevenson, Lauren, 556–557 Stoecker, Randy, 203 Stojka, Ceija, 241, 242f, 247 Stojka, Harri, 247–248 Stojka, Karl, 245 Stokes, Martin, 233–234, 258 Stoppard, Tom, 464 "Storying," the personal-political-possible. See Decolonization Straus, Joseph, 296, 310 Štrekelj, Karel, 39 String band music revival, old-time, 183, 188–191 Strong monism, 99–101, 100t, 104f Study Group on Music and Minorities, ICTM, 231–234 The Study of Ethnomusicology, 20 Stumpf, Carl, 13, 679–680 Subaltern action theory, 358–359 Subaltern Sing (and drum!), 358–361 Sundar, Pavitra, 371, 372 Survey, basic community arts, 342–344 Survivors’ music, 481–508 archiving, accessing, and exhibition of, 502–504 definition of, 482 in Holocaust, 484 importance of centrality of, 483 key issues in, 486–501 advocacy and activism in, 498––501 aesthetics in, 487–488 ethics in, 486–487 interpretation and collaboration in, 492–493 the "musical" in, 493–496 performance in, 493 practical analytics in, 488–492 redemptive narratives in, 496–498 listening perspective on, 482–483 performers of Daran Kravanh in, 493–494, 498, 505 Han Jeongsun in, 494–495 Szymon Laks in, 497–498, 505 Yi Okseon in, 489–491, 493 Yi Yongnyeo in, 504 Yi Yongsu in, 499–501

political positions on, 482–483 practice theory and, 481 precedents for study of, 484 recording and documentation of, 501 scholars on, 483–484 scope of study of, 484 study of, 482 teaching of, 505–506 terminology for, 485–486 Sustainability, 6, 58 Sustainability, in applied ethnomusicology, 173–179 in 1980s and 1990s, 176–177 as analogy, 179 blues and bluegrass in, 174 in CASES methodology, 220–221 in commerce, 799 critique of, 178–179 cultural conservation and, 175 diversity in, 177 ecosystems in, 137 in ecosystems of music concept of, 137–138 what to sustain in, 138–139 five domains on, 141f, 143–146, 145t folk festivals in, early, 174 folk-revival musicians in, 174 Hawes and Lomax in, 175 Hindman Settlement School and origins of, 173 Lomax in, 173, 177 McAllester and Hood in, 175 musical, work on, 96 "Music and Sustainability" panel on, 177–178 origins of, 111 outcomes vs. intentions in, 179 "passing it on" in, 178 repatriation of archival recordings in, 178 vs. resilience, 181 Rinzler and Balfa in, 174–175 Ritchie in, 173 Sheehy in, 175, 176 at Smithsonian, 175–176 tipping point and, 182–183 Titon on, 428 Vennum in, 175, 176

Index   833 Sustainability, in ethnomusicology, 137–139. See also Ecosystems of music Sustainability, in theory, 169–173 in conservation ecology, 172–173 critics of, 170–171 in cultural anthropology, 172–173 Daly in, 171–172 economists on, 169–172 environmentalists on, 169–170 finite resources in, 170 Moore in, 171–172 Worster on, 172 Sustainability, resilience, and adaptive management, 158–194 adaptive management in, 159, 180–192 (See also Adaptive management) biopower in, 193 conservation in, 160–167 (See also Conservation) Foucault, Marx, and Orwell on, 193–194 resilience in, 159, 180–192 (See also Resilience) safeguarding in, 167–169 sustainability in, 137–139, 158–159, 169–179 (See also Sustainability) in applied ethnomusicology, 173–179 sustainable development in, 169–170 in theory, 169–173 Sustainable development, 111, 158, 160, 169. See also Sustainability origins and meaning of, 169 vs. sustainable growth, 171 Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures: Toward an Ecology of Musical Diversity, 146–155 aims of, 147 in Ca tru Vietnam project, 152–153, 153f–154f contexts and constructs in, 151 giving back in, 152–155 in Ca tru Vietnam project, 152–153, 153f–154f five domains ecosystem in, 155 media and music industry in, 151–152 musicians and communities in, 150–151 origin and funding of, 146–147 questions to be answered in, 147–150 regulations and infrastructure in, 151 systems of learning music in, 150

Sustainable growth, 171 Svensk folkmusik. Bondens musik i helg och söcken, 685 Swedish folk music "authentic," identification of, 697 threats to, 695–696 Swedish folk music archives, 672–703 bearers of tradition in, 694–695, 694f concept of, 682–683 as cultural heritage, 685–686 cultural heritage process and, 683–685 Folk Music Commission’s impact on, 699–703 discussions on, 689–691 Folk Music Commission in (See Folk Music Commission, Swedish) new perspectives on, 698–699, 699f Swedish Folk Music Commission. See Folk Music Commission, Swedish Switzerland migration to, 514 Münsingen Project in, 521–523, 522f Musik Festival Bern in, 523–524, 524f Switzerland’s Art Council, 472 Symbolization, in cultural heritage process, 685 Sympathetic listening, 349 Systems of learning music in five domains, 141f, 144–146, 145t in Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures, 150 Širola, Božidar, 38–39 Tajik music, 609 Taj Mahal, 800 Talking circles, 95 Talmud, 200 Tamil folk music as Dalit theology, 362–365 Rajasekaran’s studies of, 353 Tamil Nadu Theological Seminary (TTS), 362–365 Tansley, A. G., 136–137 Taoist music, Han Chinese, 743 Tapati Rapa Nui cultural festival, 78 Tarfon, Rabbi, 200 Teaching artists, 553 in Cleveland, 559–562, 567–570, 582, 590, 591

834   Index Teaching options, 518 "Tear-Soaked Duman River," 489–491, 493 Teater Arena (Yogyakarta, Indonesia), 112–113 Tennessee, folklife program in, 718 Tepano, Tote, 79–83, 79f, 89 Thanksgiving Coffee Company, 214–216, 223 Theater for development (Malaysia), 110–127 in applied musicology for development, 115–127 (See also Participatory approaches) in Asian education, non-formal, 112 in civil society development projects in the South, 112 Freire’s influence on, 110, 113–114 Maya and Makhampom in, 113 overview of, 110–111 pedagogy and participatory approaches in, 113–115 Philippines Educational Theatre Association in, 112 process vs. performance in, 114–115 Teater Arena and Teater Arena in, 112–113 Theater for liberation, 130 This Is a Music: Reclaiming an Untouchable Drum, 365–367 Tikkun olam, 200, 226 Tipping point, 182–183 Titon, Jeff Todd on applied ethnomusicology, 95, 653 on authenticity, 408 on cultural and musical rights and ownership, 134–135 on expectations of field work informants, 786 on field research, 202, 633 on intangible cultural heritages, 756 on Lomax’s marketing, 800 on national troupes and orchestras, 143 on practice, 603, 629 on self-reflexivity and transformation, 365 on sustainability and activism, 177, 204, 308, 428 on Taj Mahal, 800 world music class of, 95 Toddler Rock, 559–560, 568–569, 571, 580–581 Toms Shoes, 788, 789–790 Torture, use of music as, 29

Tourism, 57–58 Chinese, 742–743 indigenous (See Indigenous tourism) Tourism and Indigenous Peoples, 406 Tradition in ecosystems of music, 139 as living process, 327–328, 330 Ricoeur on, 327–328 Traditional Instrumental Music Performance Competitions, 749–750 Traditional paradigm, 730 Tradition-bearers, 163 Training. See also Education; Music education of ethnomusicologists, 342 Trauma, cultural, 6 Trautmann, Thomas, 355 Travel disruption, in post-conflict/-catastrophe communities, 461–463 Tryon, Elizabeth, 203 Tschernokoscheva, Elka, 268 Tsukasa, Yajima, 502 Tuck, E., 390–391, 394 Tufts University, 204 Turino, Thomas, 660–661 Turkish immigrants, in Germany, 272 Turkish immigrants, in Vienna, 239, 257–269, 270–271 Bausinger on, 267–268 challenging discourses on, 267–269 "Embedded Industries–Immigrant Cultural Entrepreneurs in Vienna" on, 260 heterogeneity of population in, 260 hip-hop youth culture in, 264–267, 264f Mansur Bildik work for, 262–264, 262f, 263f "Music Making of Immigrants in Vienna" on, 260 place, ethnicity, and identity through music in, 258–260 prejudices, stereotypes, and xenophobia on, 261 SAZ-Verein of, 262–263, 262f social and religious backgrounds of, 260–261, 261f Tschernokoscheva on, 268 urban area as field of research in, 260–264 Wien 10 in, 264–267, 264f

Index   835 years or research on, 257–258 Turner, Victor, 323 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage, 168 Uganda Abayudaya in, 205–208, 206f advocacy in, 199–226 (See also Advocacy) CASES methodology in, 208–221 (See also CASES methodology) J. J. Keki and Peace Kawomera Fair Trade Coffee cooperative in, 213–221, 213f map of, 201f Thanksgiving Coffee Company in, 214–216, 223 Ultime grida dalla savana, 29 UNESCO, 6 on intangible cultural heritage, 168 on preservation and conservation, 167–168 The Unheard Voices: Community Organizations and Service Learning, 203 United States, applied ethnomusicology history in, 10–29. See also History of ethnomusicology, U.S. University engaged, 202 religion in, 201–202 University-based ethnomusicological activism. See Conflict resolution Untouchable. See Dalit Urban ethnomusicology, 230 Adelaida Reyes’ research on, 260–264 in Turkish immigrants in Vienna, 260–264 Usner, Eric Martin, 202, 208 Uyghur Muqam database, Xinjiang autonomous region, 747 Uzbek music, 609 Uz Tēvu Mājām, Christchurch Latvian diaspora and, 84–88, 86f Value-free scholarship, 354 Values, 93 Values, evaluating definitions in, 93 in ethnomusicology and applied ethnomusicology, 95–97

new model for, 98–104, 100t, 104f monism in, 98, 100t monism with stable levels in, 100t, 101, 104f pluralism in, 98, 100t pluralism in, stable, 100t, 101–102, 104f pluralism in, unsettled, 100t, 102–103, 104f strong monism in, 99–101, 100t, 104f planning and testing praxis and, 94 research and, 94–95 talking circles on, 95 theorization in, 93 value system to support in, 104–105 Value systems, to support, 104–105 van Gennep, Arnold, 323 van Willigen, John, 18, 74 Vass, G., 385 Vennum, Thomas, 175, 176, 713 Venues, musical. See also specific venues in post-conflict/-catastrophe communities, 460–461 Veršnik, Vojko, 220 Vienna 10, 264–267, 264f Village harmony, 455–458 Voice Project, 793–794, 795, 796 Voices of the Rainforest, 777 von Hornbostel, Erich Moritz, 679–680 von Humboldt, Wilhelm, 512–513 VoxLox, 778 Vulnerability, researcher, 71–89 Antipodean approach in, 72 applied ethnomusicology in, 73–74 Beaudry on, 72 case studies on digital music archive for Rapanui in, 78–84, 81f, 89 Uz Tēvu Mājām and Christchurch Latvian diaspora in, 84–88, 86f collaborator engagement in, 72 definition of, 72 focus on, 72 Hood on, 71 intimate, emotional fieldwork in, 71 professional and personal, 75–78 Wong on, 72

836   Index Waade, A. M., 407–408, 411, 412, 422 Wachiperi, 425–440 active resistance in, 399 background on, 401–404, 402f–404f, 425–427, 444 CD self-production in, 434–440, 437f, 438f, 441–442 efficacy and success in music projects in, 440 Esüwa healing songs of, 429–431, 431f, 445 safeguarding of, and song ownership, 431–434 Kapiro song of, 428 Manuel Yonaje of, 442–443, 442f Q’eros and, 443–444 reciprocity in, 399–401, 426 song revival and UNESCO in, 425–429, 428f Walker, Nick, 294 Wang, N., 408 War Child, 464–468, 478 Weil, Zoe, 606 West Cameroon’s DAKASTUM, 326 Western music, composer and score as focus in, 348–349 White Settler Colonial, Ms., 381, 382–384 Wide-awakeness, 384, 393 Wien 10, 264–267, 264f Wilk, Richard R., 526 Willard, Augustus, 355 Winter, Penni, 291 WOMAD festival, 781–782 Wong, Deborah, 31, 72, 354–355

World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), 8 World Library of Folk and Primitive Music recordings, 785 World music. See also specific artists, promoters, and types rise in popularity of, 1960s, 22–23 World Music Days (China), 754–758, 755f, 757f World Music Pedagogy certification course, 644 Worster, Donald, 172 Xianbao, Zhou, 738 Xiaoyan, Zhang, 738 Xifan, Yang, 737 Yakima Valley, Music Alive! in, 659–662 Yang, K. W., 390–391, 394 Yonaje, Manuel, 436, 442–443, 442f Yongnyeo, Yi, 504 Yongsu, Yi, 499–501 Young Audiences of Northeast Cleveland (YANEO), 560, 582–583 Yugoslavia, 39 Zaretti, Joan L., 557 Zavala, M., 393–394 Zebec, Tvrtko, 42 Zolli, Andrew, 183 Zubčević, Edin, 471–475 Žganec, Vinko, 39