Approaches To Music Research

Leon Stefanija / Nico Schüler Eds.

Approaches to Music Research: Between Practice and Epistemology

PETER LANG Europäischer Verlag der Wissenschaften

 

Table of Contents Foreword …………………………………………………………………….

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Kevin Korsyn The Aging of the New Musicology …………………………………………

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Marie-Agnes Dittrich Reply to Kevin Korsyn, Including Remarks on Musicology and “Musiktheorie” in Germany and Austria in Times of the Bologna Process and of Knowledge Evaluation ……………………………………… 25 Christian Bielefeldt A Reply to Kevin Korsyn’s “The Aging of New Musicology” …………….. 33 Kordula Knaus A Reply to Kevin Korsyn’s “The Aging of New Musicology” …………….. 41 Leon Stefanija Outside of Musicology ……………………………………………………… 47 Nico Schüler From Interdisciplinarity to ‘Perspectivism’ in Music Research ……………. 53 Matjaž Barbo Music as a Metaphor? ………………………………………………………. 67 Peter Wicke From Schizophonia to Paraphonia: On the Epistemological and Cultural Matrix of Digitally Generated Pop Sounds …………………………………. 75 Lubomír Spurný Semiology in Music and Art: Czech Music Semiology ……………………. 81 Dalibor Davidović Interception …………………………………………………………………. 87 Katarina Habe Current Issues and Trends in the Psychology of Music in Slovenia ……….. 93 Jasmina Talam and Tamara Karača-Beljak Ethnomusicological Research and Fieldwork Methodology: Experience in Bosnia and Herzegovina …………………………………….. 101 Gregor Pompe Musical Analysis and / or Interpretation – The Case of Opera …………….. 107 5

Audra Versekėnaitė Between Borrowing and Intertextuality: The Dies Irae in Twentieth Century Music ………………………………… 117 Ivana Perković Radak Approaches to Serbian Orthodox Music: A Case Study of Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac’s Complete Works ……………………………………………… 133 Tijana Popović Mladjenović The Possibility and Purpose of Disciplinary Intersections and Permeations: The Case Study of Reger’s Variationen und Fuge über ein Thema von Joh. Seb. Bach for Piano, Op. 81 …………………………………………… 141 Morag Josephine Grant Whatever happened to Crazy Jane? ………………………………………... 159 Ira Prodanov Krajišnik Free Religious Music in Serbia and its Social Context …………………….. 177 Marija Masnikosa Formalism and Contextualism in Contemporary Musicology: Why Could it not be a ‘Joint Venture’? A Case Study ……………………... 185 Vesna Mikić Romantic Notions in the Popular Music Discourses: Several Examples from Serbia ……………………………………………... 199 Manfred Heidler Military Music in the Bundeswehr: Some Remarks Concerning the Interdisciplinary Discourse on Manifestations of “Music in Uniform” ……. 207 J. Daniel Jenkins Erwin Stein’s ‘New Formal Principles’ and the Analysis of Schoenberg’s Atonal Period Music ………………………………………… 217 Barbara Smolej Fritz Processes of Self-Regulation in Music Learning: Between Theory and Practice ………………………………………………………………… 231 Lasanthi Manaranjanie Kanlinga Dona Music Therapy: Sri Lankan Approaches …………………………………… 241 List of Authors ……………………………………………………………… 251

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Foreword The symposium Approaches to Music Research: Between Practice and Epistemology was organized by the Department of Musicology, Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, as well as by the Slovenian Musicological Society. In two days, May 8th and 9th, 2008, 31 scholars offered heterogeneous views of one central issue: the relations between music-research ideals and practices. Although participants from different branches within music research appeared alongside with scholars from several sister disciplines that grant music as a relevant medium through which other phenomena are discussed, the gathering was not conceived as a platform for interdisciplinary research. The interdisciplinarity was seen as one of the approaches – even as one of the most appealing for contemporary musicology due to its inclusive nature. For this reason, one of the ‘fathers’ of the international conference on interdisciplinary musicology, Richard Parncutt, held one of the four invited talks (unfortunately, the contribution by Professor Parncutt could not find its place here). Several other speakers, who delivered their papers at the symposium, were unable to contribute their papers on time for this publication. However, the organizational background may shed some light. The contributions are a result of the second musicological symposium organized by the Department of Musicology in Ljubljana that coincided with the ending phase of the curricular renewal of the study of musicology in Ljubljana. Yet, its aim was far from opening up a platform for pragmatic questions regarding the applicability of academic models to the current situation: this symposium aimed at juxtaposing several key issues of the process of changing in music/ology with regard to the relation between the ideals and practice. The intention was, thus, to reflect the musicological practices, but to offer a reflection concerning disciplinary intersections as ideal-typical formations in which different contemporary musicological practices meet each other, either positively or in more negative terms. Of course, the suggested topoi of the symposium1 were getting at elemental, difficult-to-answer questions about the position that musicology holds within the humanities and sciences. Well aware of the risks in addressing basic issues of pragmatically understood interdisciplinarity, the symposium especially encouraged case-studies of basic epistemological reflections with an emphasis on the practice of music research from any field. Therefore, the overall posture of the symposium – consequently also of the contributions published here – remain somewhat problematic. They do not 1

The suggested topoi of the symposium were: (1) Institutional Contexts – Epistemological Agendas, (2) Formalism and Contextualism: Antinomous, Contingent, or Complementary Views?, (3) Musicology: Criticism vs. Empiricism?, and (4) Pedagogical Issues. 7

offer a rounded-off scientific volume of issues regarding the main premise of the meeting: the relation between the ideals and practices in different fields of music research. However, they offer, hopefully, a modest yet ‘case-sensitive’ contribution to the epistemological debate of music research. Ljubljana, January 2009

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Leon Stefanija & Nico Schüler

Kevin Korsyn (University of Michigan, USA)

The Aging of the New Musicology I The title of this paper pays homage to an essay that Adorno published in 1955 called “The Aging of the New Music,” in which he argued that the New Music was beginning “to show symptoms of false satisfaction . . . The sound remains the same. But the anxiety that gave shape to its great founding works has been repressed.” (Adorno 1955, 181.) So, I would like to consider whether we can identify a similar phenomenon at work in musical scholarship, so that we can speak of the aging of the new musicology. I use the term “new musicology” as a convenient label to cover a number of trends that may be quite diverse, and may not have the coherence of a movement. Like the New Music, “which has its essence in the refusal to go along with things as they are,” the new musicology had drawn much of its energy from its outsider status, from its opposition to the status quo. But what happens when the outsider becomes an insider, when the opposition becomes the mainstream? I am not alone in sensing the potential of institutionalization to neutralize or domesticate innovations. The editors of Radical Musicology, for example, have identified “a perception that the projects going under the name of ‘new’ and ‘critical’ musicology have been succeeded by a certain disciplinary retrenchment or even counter-reaction” (Biddle and Middleton 2007). So, I want to understand the causes and effects of this institutionalization while asking how we might sustain or recover some sort of oppositional edge in scholarship. In asking these questions, I am exploring themes from my book Decentering Music: A Critique of Contemporary Musical Research (Korsyn 2003). In 1985, Joseph Kerman published a noteworthy critique of the state of current musicology in the United States (Kerman 1985); as valuable as his work was, the changing state of our field demands a new critique. One of the things my book seeks to problematize is the idea of progress in the humanities, a principle that would seem to be implicit in any contrast between “new” and “old” musicology. We have some notion of what progress entails in science and technology; at least until recently, we have tended to assume that such progress involves achieving greater control, greater mastery over nature. In the humanities, however, the desirability of achieving a quasi-scientific control over the objects we study involves fundamental decisions about values. Although disciplines in the humanities, including musicology, can develop according to an internal logic of problem-solving as successive contributions answer the questions that a given research program makes possible, they can also

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respond to larger social and historical changes in the values that drive research, that set priorities and goals, and may even determine what counts as knowledge. In such fields, progress might involve more than the mere accumulation of knowledge and might be conceptualized in ways other than a merely linear advance toward greater control. Instead, progress might entail a connection to the values of one’s own time; being contemporary might mean reflecting contemporary attitudes or modes of consciousness. So despite my affinities with Kerman, my work differs from his not only because of the internal development of musicology since Contemplating Music appeared in 1985, but also because the world outside musicology has changed. This is where things get difficult, however, because we inhabit a time of conflicting and often incommensurable values and sources of identity, in which there seems to be no authoritative language or value system through which to represent music, its meaning, or its history. Alongside the impulse to accumulate knowledge, therefore, it is possible to identify a resistance to knowledge within the humanities today; a will-to-ignorance accompanies the will-toknowledge. This is not a skeptical position, in which we doubt the existence of any certain knowledge, but rather a response to a cultural dilemma that seems to bring incommensurable kinds of knowledge into contact, along with incommensurable values and sources of authority, so that experience can seem at odds with itself, ruled by a logic of paradoxes and double binds. For those of us who deal with music and the other arts, this ambivalence extends to the very objects we study, since we must live with the melancholy wisdom distilled into Walter Benjamin’s aphorism that “there is no document of civilization that is not also at the same time a document of barbarism” – an insight that is quoted more often than it is understood (Benjamin 1968, 256). Since there is no position outside or above culture from which to study it, as scholars we are also implicated in this dialectic of civilization and barbarism. So we might apply Benjamin’s insight to our own discipline by saying there is no document of civilized musicology, including my lecture today, that is not also a document of barbarism. If this is true, we have good reason to be of two minds about what we do. How to manage this ambivalence, to see why it has arisen and how we might respond to it, drives much of my recent work, including my book Decentering Music. Notice that I say “manage this ambivalence,” and not “overcome it” or “progress beyond it,” because it seems to be a pervasive cultural condition, rather than something unique to musicology, and one that seems likely to intensify, rather than diminish. Since the internal conflicts that the concept of ambivalence implies make it an uncomfortable state of mind, it would be tempting to deny such feelings of disenchantment and adopt a cheerier tone, perhaps more in keeping with the American virtue of optimism. Yet, there are good reasons for sustaining this discomfort and even embracing it as a source of insight. In her important recent

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book Ugly Feelings, Sianne Ngai (2005) contends that certain emotions that have been dismissed as “negative” or “ugly,” including irritation, boredom, anxiety, paranoia, and others, may prove more accurate indexes of our cultural situation than other grander, more operatic emotions: “In the transnational stage of capitalism that defines our contemporary moment, our emotions may not link up as securely as they once did with the models of social action and transformation theorized by Aristotle, Thomas Hobbes, and others under signs of relatively unambiguous emotions like anger or fear” (ibid., 5). And far from merely indicating an individual’s transient, subjective states, emotions may function as “knotted or condensed ‘interpretations of predicaments’ – that is, signs that not only register visible different registers of problem (formal, ideological, historical) but conjoin these problems in a distinctive manner” (ibid., 3). This cognitive function of emotion becomes especially evident when they are presented through the highly mediated forms of academic and artistic discourses. So, I want to examine the discourse generated by musicology, taking it very seriously as a region of culture – indeed, honoring it as such – and not only reading it, but listening to its feelings, to the mood it projects, to see how musicologists experience themselves in their art, listening, as it were, to the music of musicology. To understand why a fresh critique of musicology is needed, it may be useful to reflect on the situation that Kerman faced in the decades leading up to Contemplating Music, particularly in terms of the fundamental conflict in values that he saw in the field. The musicology that he decried as “positivistic” found a programmatic statement in an essay published by Manfred Bukofzer in 1957, who wrote that “the description of the origin and development of styles, and their transfer from one medium to another, is the central task of musicology” (Bukofzer 1957, 31). It was this emphasis on style as the collective achievement of a group that Kerman found so misguided, and that he wanted to replace with an emphasis on singular and unique works of art. In 1965, two decades before publishing Contemplating Music, Kerman sought to reverse the hierarchy established by Bukofzer and others between the individual and the collective. Using the metaphor of a ladder, he wanted to redirect the energies of the field toward what he called “criticism,” one informed by history to be sure, but oriented toward the human meaning of individual works: Each of the things we [musicologists] do – paleography, transcription, repertory studies, archival work, biography, bibliography, sociology, schools and influences, style analysis, individual analysis – each of these things, which some scholar somewhere treats as an end in itself, is treated as a step on a ladder. Hopefully the top step provides a platform of insight into individual works of art – into Josquin’s “Pange lingua” mass, Marenzio’s “Liquide perle,” Beethoven’s Opus 95, the Oedipus Rex. (Kerman 1965, 62-63.)

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This exactly reverses the relationship of ends and means proposed by Bukofzer, in which a concern for individual works was merely one of the “propadeutic disciplines” ancillary to the description of style. But the symmetry between these two hierarchies should alert us to an underlying complicity, to a deeper agreement between Kerman and his opponents. Both he and the positivists share a belief that art reveals a fundamental human nature. They differ, however, as to whether this human essence is best revealed in the collective products of each Volk, and thus in national and period styles, or in the works of exemplary individuals, who are the vanguard of the human race. Thus they both subscribed to the master narrative of Bildung, a German word that signifies both the products and the process of cultivation, of acquiring culture. In Bill Readings’s account of the development of the modern university, the ideal of producing a national subject through Bildung became the goal of von Humboldt’s widely imitated plan for the University of Berlin; the cultivated individual became the hero of a master narrative of the university, in which all the separate disciplines find their purpose and focus. Readings also analyzes the forms this narrative took in different national traditions. The belated founding of the German state, for example, contributed to an anxiety about national identity, so that national literatures became the center of the curriculum, with literature replacing philosophy as the master discipline. (Readings 1996, 69 and 8384.) Although musicology did not become a university subject until after Humboldt (the first professor ordinarius in music at the University of Vienna was not appointed until 1870, for example), its place had already been prepared, staked out by this master narrative, and Bukofzer’s prioritizing of style, with the ultimate goal of describing national styles, fits right in with this tendency. In America, on the other hand, the elective nature of the political bond led to a focus on an elective canon of world masterpieces. By distributing his list of masterworks over several centuries and national traditions, Kerman shares the American tendency toward an elective canon; in effect he was arguing for a distinctly American way of doing musicology, rather than submitting to the German models that had been so dominant until then in the US; the title of his essay, “A Profile for American Musicology,” takes on new meaning from this perspective. If these comprehensive and hierarchical visions of musicology, whether Bukofzer’s “central task” or Kerman’s ladder metaphor, no longer seem compelling, one reason may be that the social mission of the university has changed (and here I have to compress my arguments pretty drastically). According to Readings, we inhabit the “ruins” of the university, in which traces of the old humanist ideals survive to be sure, but often reduced to the rhetoric of commencement addresses and the like. The University of Culture is yielding to a new professionalized ethos that Readings calls the University of Excellence. In

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a global information economy, the idea of producing a national subject through Bildung is no longer a priority, and a new unifying principle is increasingly invoked to legitimate the university, a principle ambiguously termed “excellence.” Excellence is an empty signifier, a signifier without a referent, because “parking facilities and research grants can each be excellent” without sharing any common properties or essence. (Ibid., 46.) If Readings’ vision of a thoroughly professionalized and bureaucratized university sounds a bit alarmist, many humanists today, including a number of musicologists, share his apprehensions in an age of Research Assessment Exercises. Paul Attinello, for example, confesses that “it often appears that I have become part of a machine that mass produces presentations and publications as in a factory” (Attinello 2004, 167.) A potent sign of this new professionalized ethos is the establishment of committees on professional development in the AMS, SMT, and SEM, which hold sessions on topics such as how to write a successful conference proposal. When the societies that were established to study music begin, in effect, to study themselves and their own production methods, the situation resembles what is sometimes called “reflexive production” in the post-Fordist economy, in which the production process itself becomes part of production, and is continually monitored for the sake of greater efficiency. (Lash and Urry 1994, 122-123.) Another sign of professionalization is that many universities exist in an almost permanent state of fundraising, and the professional organizations in music have followed suit, with the AMS, for example, mounting a major fundraising campaign right now. If the University of Culture could appeal to an underlying consensus about fundamental values, a consensus that could embrace figures as diverse as Kerman and the positivists under its humanist umbrella, the University of Excellence has opened a vacuum in terms of values, leading to a crisis of legitimation, not merely in musicology, but for the university and the humanities in general. It is not difficult to find signs of this crisis and its attendant ambivalence in contemporary musicological writing. Consider, for example, some of the essays in the volume Beyond Structural Listening? Postmodern Modes of Hearing, which appeared in 2004; even the question mark in the title suggests an ambivalent self-interrogation, especially when compared to earlier, more confident titles such as “Beyond Analysis,” Beyond Orpheus, and so on. In her postscript to the volume, Rose Rosengard Subotnik finds intimations of what she calls “the Next Paradigm” in musicology – capital N, capital P – which she believes will replace, or is already in the process of replacing, “the New Musicology,” a term she also dignifies with capital letters. Among the fairies that have gathered around the cradle of the Next Paradigm, however, there must be one named Ambivalence, because Subotnik’s optimism, as she baptizes the new paradigm, is mingled with a darker premonition: “What is at stake . . . in the

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Next Paradigm is not just the legitimacy of any individual scholar’s work but the future of musical scholarship itself” (Subotnik 2004, 291-292). Apparently, musicology may be on the brink of a brave new world, but it may also be poised to go gently, or perhaps kicking and screaming, into the good night. To understand why musicologists become ambivalent when they speculate about the future, we should remember Richard Leppert’s insight that “worries about the nature of late- (or post-) modern musical experience are part and parcel of the larger anxieties about the nature or even possibility of a future tout court.”1 One context for understanding Subotnik’s ambivalence might be Fredric Jameson’s notion of “the antinomies of postmodernism.” For Jameson, the cultural logic of our time seems to produce an uncanny interchange of properties that once seemed safely separate and neatly compartmentalized, categories like change versus stasis and heterogeneity versus homogeneity. He finds an “equivalence between an unparalleled rate of change on all levels of social life and an unparalleled rate of standardization.” (Jameson 1994, 15.) Think, for example, of the almost frantic rate at which new consumer products, from cars to deodorants to cell phones, enter and leave the marketplace, creating a constant buzz and murmur and shimmer of new images while leaving the fundamental conditions of consumption intact; or think of the phenomenon of celebrity gossip, with its recurrent obsessions, resembling an interminable epic poem, which takes us from the mysterious death of Marilyn Monroe to the mysterious death of Anna Nicole Smith, producing a sense of running in place, a Sisyphean dreariness, rather than a sense of real progress. The images of temporality that are available today and that characterize our everyday experience may influence our sense of the temporality of scholarship and may account for why speculating about the future of any discipline, and not just musicology, produces mixed feelings, combining optimism about paradigm change with a sense of futility – as if the same antinomy of change and stasis that prevails in the consumer sphere might pertain to academics as well. Subotnik’s idea of the Next Paradigm raises a number of questions: was the shelf life of the New Musicology really so brief that it has already passed its expiration date? Is the search for ever new paradigms complicitous, with the planned obsolescence of consumer culture, with its constant hyping of the new? Perhaps what is needed is not something really new, but rather a way of negotiating among existing paradigms, of which there are so many. It is not that the New Musicology is obsolete, but that any paradigm, or method, or research program risks atrophy by becoming institutionalized. A frequent reaction to this conflict among values is simply to embrace some form of disciplinary pluralism as a value, and there is something to be said for this. Pluralism in religion, politics, lifestyle, and by extension humanistic 1

Richard Leppert, paper delivered at the Gothenburg Musicology Conference, University of Göteborg, Sweden, August 2006.

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fields is partly a consequence of the democratic revolution, which as Claude Lefort observed, involves a transformation in symbolic relations, rather than a mere change in form of government, as people become free to pursue radically different ideas of the good life (Lefort 1988, 19). So, pluralism definitely has its utopian side and can be linked to values such as freedom, tolerance, diversity, and democracy – values that most of us share and even celebrate. But it would be a mistake to embrace pluralism without some ambivalence, because it entails the danger of relativism, which Adorno considered “the dialectical twin” of absolutism and which he traced to “the bourgeois faith in the self-sufficiency of a single consciousness” (Adorno 1973, 36). If absolutism is the reign of the popes and ayatollahs, in relativism everyone becomes their own ayatollah, and we may have a hundred or a thousand absolutes, each sealed off from the others in stubborn isolation. It is this negative potential of disciplinary pluralism to which Mitchell Morris calls attention in his eloquent essay “Musical Virtues,” also part of the collection Beyond Structural Listening? I must quote at length, to honor his unique voice: Musicological tempers were short in the ’90s, and only recently seem to have settled into a sullenness that still occasionally flares into rancor. Many thoughtful and serious scholars hold incommensurate points of view with great conviction and vehemence, and find little success in persuading opponents or even in eliminating smaller disagreements between their own positions and those of their philosophical allies. Journals, newsletters, internet sites, and even some of the (quasi-) mass media all register this intellectual conflict, and AMS presidents and others have frequently spoken out in attempts to establish more moderate tones of discussion. As society has gone, so has the Society: everyone’s feelings, it seems, are especially delicate around the turn of the millennium. . . . Debates grow unproductively hot, scholars retreat in the face of discouragingly high levels of repetition, and radical skepticism, though it begins to seem the only way out of intractable argument, will most likely in the end prove merely to be the most secure tombs for thought. It is incumbent upon us as scholars to seek some way out of this dilemma. (Morris 2004, 44-45.) The “vehemence” to which Morris refers seems to include what Freud called “the narcissism of minor differences” (Freud 1961, 72), since it extends not just to one’s opponents but even to “smaller disagreements” with one’s own allies. Paul Attinello shares some of Morris’ concerns and worries about the danger of “solipsism,” of scholarly writing so specialized as to approach something like academic autism (Attinello 2004, 171). If the University of Excellence can lead to the standardization of scholarly products, here we have the opposite extreme, a tendency toward solipsism and fragmentation. In Decentering Music, I refer to

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these tendencies as the Ministry of Truth (taking this term from Orwell’s 1984) and the Tower of Babel, respectively. Although some of my critics have interpreted this pair as a stark dichotomy, my point was actually much more subtle: there is a dialectical relationship between the Tower of Babel and the Ministry of Truth, such as that one can turn into the other, much like the dialectical reversals that Jameson sees between change and stasis. It is certainly possible, however, to view pluralism in wholly benign terms, as Elaine Sisman does in her “Presidential Message to the AMS” in 2005, in her quest for “a pluralist musicological literacy”: The salutary effects of the OPUS campaign can be shown to stem from both the “Opening Paths” part – the new initiatives already underway and the generous donations already pledged – as well as from the “Unlimited Scholarship” part – the possibilities to expand and make plural what we do and what we love. There have been so many recent books and essays examining, problematizing, and chiding our discipline that it is a relief to stop for a moment and recognize that expansion is a valuable goal in itself, and the “banal pluralism” referred to by Philip Gossett in a probing yet soothing presidential message during the conflicted 1990s appears to be a revivifying pluralism today, pace those who seek to claim the stage as the next paradigm-shifter. (Sisman 2005, 2.) A key difference between Morris and Sisman lies in their attitudes toward the present moment versus the past, and especially the recent past as represented by the decade of the 1990s, to which both refer. Sisman wants to relegate conflict safely to the past, to what she calls “the conflicted 1990s,” so that pluralism is invariably seen as comforting and “revivifying.” Morris’ assessment of that decade is quite different; by characterizing the current mood as “a sullenness that still occasionally flares into rancor,” he suggests a kind of stifled resignation, an attitude of suppressed hostility that is ever ready to ignite, and thus a continuation of the conflicted 1990s by other means, rather than the arrival of mutual understanding. Underlying Sisman’s conciliatory view is the old Enlightenment ideal of tolerance. But as Marcuse pointed out in an important essay, “the political locus of tolerance has changed” from being an active oppositional strategy into being part of the established order, “[turning] from an active into a passive state, from practice to non-practice: laissez faire the constituted authorities” (Marcuse 1965, 82).” Under these conditions, tolerance can mutate into the sort of passivity and even indifference summed up by a phrase from pop psychology: “I’m O.K., you’re O.K.” Sisman’s Presidential Message also shows signs of suppressed anxiety: in referring to those who have lately been “chiding” musicology, she omits any mention of the critics; unlike Philip Gossett and other figures whom she cites with approval, the critics must remain nameless and faceless, mere self-promoters who are “seeking to claim the stage

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as the next paradigm shifter” and who must be discredited so their concerns are deprived of legitimacy. There are signs that Sisman’s view of pluralism as invariably benign is becoming something like an official position, and it is significant that she enunciates it from her platform as president of the AMS, and in a fundraising appeal that touts expansion as “a valuable goal in itself.” The belief that those who question the direction of contemporary musicology are merely “seeking to claim the stage” trivializes the very serious issues raised by people like Mitchell Morris, Paul Attinello, Rose Rosengard Subotnik, and others and suggests a sort of institutional complacency. The eloquent voices of Morris, Attinello, Subotnik and others suggest that deep concerns about the present and future of the field persist. II This predicament invites us to radically rethink the process of knowledge production and the politics of interpretation, not just in musicology, but for the humanities in general. By “politics of interpretation” I mean roughly the correlation between social identity and critical or interpretive positions, or the distribution of interpretive positions in social space. I am interested in the values that drive such position-taking, in how such values interact with individual and collective identity, with how who we are and who we aspire to be affects what we can and cannot say, including what the institutions that surround scholarship allow us to say and to be. So my starting point for a critique of musical research is not music at all, but society; in this respect, I share some of the goals of the critical theory of society associated with the Frankfurt School, although my departures from them are equally important. I am not arguing for any particular way of hearing music, or conceptualizing it, or writing about it. Instead, I look to society and the world of human interactions as the ultimate horizon for what we do as scholars, since we are involved in a struggle for the cultural authority to speak about music. I sometimes describe my project in Decentering Music as “second-order musicology,” because it reverses the relation between ends and means in scholarship, taking the end products of musical research, the discourse it produces, as the material for a new kind of study. One might also call this a form of reception history, but it is a reception history of the present. As the art historian James Elkins has noted, “reception history is never applied to current scholarship; it never explains the most recent strategy, never accounts for the latest interpretation.” (Elkins 1999, 154.) This is probably because focusing on figures who are safely dead is a way to neutralize anxiety.

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My hunch is that when we think about the politics of interpretation – to the extent that we think about it at all – we are constrained by questionable and even obsolete models of society and social identity. In terms of the metaphor of social space used earlier, we tend to conceive that space as a flat and static grid in which critical positions satisfy the interests of preconstituted individuals and groups. Only a new ontology of the social will enable us to rethink the politics of interpretation. One place I look for such an ontology is the radical democratic politics of Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe and the concept of social antagonisms – a concept that Slavoj Zizek considers “the most radical breakthrough in contemporary social thought” (Zizek 2000, 315). Antagonisms are divisions in social space that cannot be fully represented or symbolized, because the parties interfere in each other’s identities, so that “the presence of the ‘Other’ prevents me from being totally myself” (Laclau and Mouffe 1985, 125). As Zizek points out, antagonisms resist representation because they involve metadifferences, differences about the nature of the difference. Zizek gives the example of Islam and Christiantity, where the differences appear radically different depending on which side of the antagonism you occupy. As long as cultures remain relatively separate, the effects of such metadifferences can be controlled, but in an age of multicultural encounters such as ours, you encounter the other’s definition of you just as they encounter your definition of them, and both parties can be said to interfere in each other’s identity. If some of the most heated debates in musicology today involve metadifferences, then the sheer obstinacy of such debates, their stubborn refusal to go away, suddenly makes sense. In the case of figures such as Kerman and Bukofzer, their disagreements about the relative priority of style versus the individual work took place within a shared space of fundamental if largely tacit values about the centrality of the Western tradition, the humanizing function of art, and so on. If this underlying consensus no longer exists, then the question arises: How can one be just, how can one be fair, in an age of metadifferences? How can one be fair to all parties, when there is no common language or value system through which to represent metadifferences? It is not just that civilization and barbarism are entangled, but that one person’s civilization is another’s barbarism. III One reason why Enlightenment bromides about tolerance fall short in an age of metadifferences is the potential to be alienated not merely from the knowledge possessed by others, but even from what we take to be our own knowledge. To see what I mean by this, consider Kay Kaufman Shelemay’s book Let Jasmine

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Rain Down: Song and Remembrance Among Syrian Jews. This book is a model of interdisciplinary engagement and multiculturalist tolerance, ranging widely across anthropology, cognitive studies, religious studies, ethnomusicology, and music analysis. If I call attention to some inconsistencies in this richly imagined and valuable book, I hope you will not think less of her achievement, especially because the problems I see are not personal failures on her part. Shelemay’s goal is “to understand the Syrian Jewish self as expressed in music” by focusing on the pizmonim, which are paraliturgical hymns of the Syrian Jewish diaspora, in which sacred Hebrew texts are written to preexisting melodies (Shelemay 1998, 69). The variety of cultures to which the authors of the pizmonim have been exposed results in a corresponding variety in the source melodies, which range from Beethoven to Broadway, and from Arabic folk music to “Farmer in the Dell.” Shelemay attributes all sorts of powers to this music, including the power to reconcile opposites, so that the differences between sacred words and secular tunes vanish into a harmonious reconciliation, along with differences between Arab and Jew, young and old, past and present, and so on. I would hope that Shelemay would endorse my statement of her position. The second-order musicology that I envision should begin by entering as sympathetically as possible into the intentions of the discourse it engages. Since this sympathetic reading can be difficult to guarantee, I can imagine all sorts of collaborative projects here. After this first reading, however, second-order musicology seeks to discover paths not taken in the text, moments of blockage or contradiction. I find one of these moments in Shelemay when she encounters two girls in the ladies’ room who are the granddaughters of Moses Tawil, an important composer of pizmonim and one of her key informants. When she asks them why they are not outside, enjoying the music, their reply contrasts sharply with the generally celebratory tone of the book: “No. We’re bored. This isn’t our music.” (Ibid., 94.) In the context of a book that constantly praises the power of the pizmonim to bridge social divisions, this apparent refusal to join in the praise seems striking, and I regard it as a significant blindspot in the book, but one that provides its own special window on Halabi culture. If the book is about “Syrian Jewish identity as expressed in music,” does that identity include these two girls? The incident has the potential to tell us all sorts of things about social antagonisms, including those between genders and generations in this patriarchal and authoritarian culture. Remarkably, Shelemay reports this incident almost without comment, with nothing more than an air of “kids say the darndest things.” Shelemay may even overlook an important affinity between herself and the two girls, since she shares their social position as someone who is at the boundaries of Syrian Jewish culture. She is the diligent outsider, the careful student who knows she will always be outside the culture, however carefully she studies it. They have the insider’s knowledge that she lacks, but have assumed a distance

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to their own culture, and for reasons left unexplored in Shelemay’s book, they do not identify wholly with Halabi music or recognize themselves in it. This is what I mean when I say we risk being alienated from our own knowledge as well as that of others. There is something about Shelemay’s double position as an outsider / insider that she shares with these two girls and yet disavows, along with the potential insight into her own divided experience that this insight might yield. Shelemay identifies with an idealized image of Syrian Jewish society, with the image projected by her informants of how they would like to be seen. Here we might recall Zizek’s description of ideological fantasy as the counterpart of social antagonisms: “fantasy is precisely the way the antagonistic fissure is masked.” (Zizek 1989, 126.) Music theorists, and especially Schenkerians, have often been accused of subscribing to an organicist ideology, but here we see that such organicist unities are by no means limited to any one branch of musical scholarship. This idealization inevitably effects her treatment of the music, so that she seems to shy away from engaging features of the music that might disrupt the images of peaceful reconciliation that she favors. Since the pizmonim are written to preexisting melodies, it would seem that words and music do not always merge into a seamless unity. Yet, only once does she consider the potential of the melodies to resist assimilation into their new contexts. When the wellknown Christmas carol “O Tannenbaum” is appropriated as a pizmon, the incongruity between the words and the music briefly draws her attention, but largely because it has troubled some members of the Halabi community. In some ways, the pizmonim recall the practice of writing words to classical pieces as a mnemonic device. I still recall the words that Sigmund Spaeth (1949, 115) wrote for the Eighth Symphony: “Beethoven still is great, in the Symphony he numbers eight.” Gertrude Stein said that “every masterpiece came into the world with a measure of ugliness in it . . . it’s our business as critics to stand in front of it and recover its ugliness.” (Gertrude Stein, quoted in Wilder 1986, 29.) I like to regard this as Stein’s version of Benjamin’s dialectic of civilization and barbarism. In the pizmonim, the “ugliness” may be the failed synthesis, the manner in which old and new textual and generic associations clash and refuse to coalesce. In Shelemay’s work, her informants always praise the pizmonim with a love that knows no ambivalence, that exhibit beauty with no admixture of ugliness, and we should certainly respect this vernacular knowledge, their account of their own experience. What a second-order analysis can add to this, however, is a respect for everyone’s knowledge, including that of the two girls who said they were bored, so we can understand how individual experience registers social divisions. It may register these divisions in the form of denial or idealization, and since idealization is part of any identity, Shelemay’s account gives us valuable information about Halabi culture, and how

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some members of the community, at least, experience themselves in their music. Let’s look at an example from the cognitive psychology of music that will suggest how my approach differs from disciplinary pluralism as it is generally understood. An important strain of research in musical cognition draws on the insights of the philosopher Mark Johnson, both in his independent work and in his collaboration with George Lakoff, on such topics as the embodied mind, image schemata, cross-domain mapping, and so forth. Within an American context, the originality of Johnson’s work may well depend on his receptivity to both analytic and Continental traditions in philosophy, and he even admits that “it will be obvious that some of my most important claims are anticipated in the work of philosophers who might legitimately claim allegiance to phenomenology of post-Husserlian varieties” (Johnson 1987, xxxvii). Yet, the musical reception of his work has taken place within an institutional framework that is largely, if unconsciously, dominated by Anglo-American empiricism in method and philosophical outlook, so that Johnson’s Continental affinities and debts have been overlooked by his own most passionate readers. As a further irony, Johnson himself seems constrained by the audience that he envisions for his work, so that his range of references is dominated by the analytic tradition, and his debt to phenomenology is rarely addressed or made explicit. And here we see the greatest danger posed by institutional prejudices: far from being merely external differences, the opposition between factions often appears as an internal blockage or impediment within a single school of thought. So whereas a benevolent pluralism of the kind envisioned by Sisman in the quotation I cited earlier might treat the analytic and phenomenological traditions as two separate but equal modes of thought that should merely tolerate each other’s existence, I am suggesting that these modes of thought actually contaminate each other, that they are not separate, and that they must be brought into a productive collision rather than merely leading a life of mutual indifference. To return to my opening gambit about the aging of the new musicology: it is not that the new musicology is obsolete, but that any method or school of thought risks atrophy by becoming institutionalized; so perhaps we need to develop institutions that resist their own authority. By insisting on the paradoxical status of his own work vis-a-vis institutions, Derrida might provide a model for musicologists to negotiate with the structures that simultaneously enable and constrain their work: “Deconstruction is an institutional practice for which the concept of institution remains a problem’”2 (Derrida 2002, 53.) For me, this formulation recalls Heidegger’s statement that “Dasein exists as an entity for which, in its Being, that being is itself an issue”3 (Heidegger 1962, 458). Institutions, whether we consider the family, 2 3

Emphasis original. Emphasis original.

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the state, the university, law, religion, literature, or whatever, are our collective modes of being in the world, our collaborative ways of being human, and Derrida seeks to problematize them rather than destroy them, so their authority remains permanently in question. Musicology has a rich legacy of institutions, including not only the basic infrastructure of academic departments, professional organizations, and publishers that support scholarship, but also a sophisticated network of investigative methods and genres of writing that exert an institutional force. Since there can be no organized study of music – or of anything else, for that matter – without institutions, it would be absurd simply to jettison them and start over. What we can do, however, is to foster institutions that resist their own authority. Here it is urgent not only to examine the various institutional spaces within which musicology has historically functioned, but also to identify potential conflicts among those spaces, since these can produce contradictory demands on disciplines. One source of conflicting values in musical scholarship may be the sometimes awkward perch it occupies between the university and the conservatory – the one committed to the pursuit of knowledge, the other to the cultivation of music as an art, craft, or practical activity. The slow and begrudging acceptance of musicology as an academic discipline, epitomized by the remark attributed to the president of Harvard, who said that “there’s no such thing as musicology, one might as well speak of grandmotherology,” continues to produce effects. Many in the field, for example, will wonder if musicology will always be a “belated discipline,” and such anxieties can create all sorts of imaginary rivalries and identifications as musicologists try to establish their academic legitimacy. Yet, the discipline also remains vulnerable to the charge that it is irrelevant to the activity of practical musicianship. These conflicting demands can produce a see-saw effect, as musicologists alternately try to satisfy the demands for academic rigor and musical spontaneity. The contrast that Carolyn Abbate has recently drawn between “gnostic” versus “drastic” approaches to music would seem to mirror these conflicting institutional demands (Abbate 2004); the university holds up knowledge as an ideal, while the conservatory celebrates performance, immediacy, immersion in the moment. The difficulty that Abbate has in satisfying these two masters by writing an academic discourse that would somehow capture the spontaneity of a unique performance suggests the paradoxical institutional position from which she writes. This double institutional location of musicology recalls the special position of philosophy that Derrida finds in Kant’s plan for the university, in which philosophy is both one discipline among others, but also the discipline that interrogates the grounds of all the others. Although contained within the larger whole of the university, philosophy is also the part that exceeds the whole. (Derrida 2003, 106.) In similar fashion, as an academic department with ties to musical practice, musicology is both inside and outside the university. This sort

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of conflict can produce both positive and negative effects, and I believe that musicologists should embrace their marginality and exploit it.

Literature Abbate, Carolyn. 2004. “Music – Drastic or Gnostic?,” Critical Inquiry 30/3 (Spring): 505536. Adorno, Theodor W. 1955. “The Aging of the New Music,” Essays on Music, ed. by Richard Leppert, trans. by Susan H. Gillespie. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2002. __________. 1973. Negative Dialectics, trans. by E. B. Ashton. New York: Continuum. Attinello, Paul. 2004. “Passion / Mirrors (A Passion for the Violent Ineffable: Modernist Music and the Angel / In the Hall of Mirrors),” Beyond Structural Listening? Postmodern Modes of Hearing, ed. Andrew Dell’Antonio. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2004. pp. 154-172. Benjamin, Walter. 1968. “Theses on the Philosophy of History,” Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, ed. by Hannah Arendt, trans. by Harry Zohn. New York: Schocken Books. Biddle, Ian, and Richard Middleton. 2007. “About this Journal,” Radical Musicology, http://www.radical-musicology.org.uk/ (accessed on November 17, 2007). Bukofzer, Manfred. 1957. The Place of Musicology in American Institutions of Higher Learning. New York: Liberal Arts Press. Derrida, Jacques. 2002. Who’s Afraid of Philosophy? The Right to Philosophy I. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. __________. 2003. Eyes of the University: The Right to Philosophy 2. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Elkins, James. 1999. Why Are Our Pictures Puzzles? On the Modern Origins of Pictorial Complexity. New York, NY: Routledge. Freud, Sigmund. 1961. Civilization and Its Discontents, ed. and trans. by James Strachey. New York, NY: W. W. Norton. Heidegger, Martin. 1962. Being and Time, trans. by John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson. New York, NY: Harper and Rowe. Jameson, Fredric. 1994. The Seeds of Time. New York: Columbia University Press. Johnson, Mark. 1987. The Body in the Mind: The Bodily Basis of Meaning, Imagination and Reason. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Kerman, Joseph. 1965. “A Profile for American Musicology,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 18 (Spring): 61-69. __________. 1985. Contemplating Music: Challenges to Musicology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Korsyn, Kevin. 2003. Decentering Music: A Critique of Contemporary Musical Research. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Laclau, Ernesto, and Chantal Mouffe. 1985. Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics. London: Routledge. Lefort, Claude. 1988. Democracy and Political Theory. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, in Association with Basil Blackwell, Oxford. Lash, Scott, and John Urry, Economies of Signs and Space. London: Sage, 1994. Ngai, Sianne. 2005. Ugly Feelings. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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Marcuse, Herbert. 1965. “Repressive Tolerance,” A Critique of Pure Tolerance, by Robert Paul Wolff, Barrington Moore, Jr., and Herbert Marcuse. Boston, MA: Beacon. Morris, Mitchell. “Musical Virtues,” Beyond Structural Listening? Postmodern Modes of Hearing, ed. Andrew Dell’Antonio. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2004. pp. 44-69. Readings, Bill. 1996. The University in Ruins. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Sisman, Elaine. 2005. “President’s Message to the AMS,” AMS Newsletter (August): 2. Shelemay, Kay Kaufman. 1998. Let Jasmine Rain Down: Song and Remembrance Among Syrian Jews. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Spaeth, Sigmund. 1949. Great Symphonies: How to Recognize and Remember Them. New York: Perma Giants. Subotnik, Rose Rosengard. 2004. “Afterword: Toward the Next Paradigm in Musical Scholarship,” Beyond Structural Listening? Postmodern Modes of Hearing, ed. Andrew Dell’Antonio. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2004. pp. 279-302. Wilder, Thornton. 1986. “Introduction to Four in America,” Gertrude Stein, ed. by Harold Bloom. New York: Chelsea House. ???-???. Zizek, Slavoj. 1989. The Sublime Object of Ideology. London: Verso. __________. 2000. “Holding the Place,” Contingency, Hegemony, Universality: Contemporary Dialogues on the Left, by Judith Butler, Ernesto Laclau, and Slavoj Zizek. London: Verso. pp. 308-329.

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Marie-Agnes Dittrich (Universität für Musik und Darstellende Kunst Wien)

Reply to Kevin Korsyn, Including Remarks on Musicology and “Musiktheorie” in Germany and Austria in Times of the Bologna Process and of Knowledge Evaluation In his essay “The Aging of the New Musicology”1 Kevin Korsyn calls for a transformation of the musicological discourse and of the organisation of academic research, as does his book Decentering Music: A Critique of Contemporary Musical Research2. Since the book has been so extensively reviewed as to even produce a meta-review,3 I want to comment on some of Korsyn’s observations from my own perspective: that of a German Musicologist teaching Analysis at a Music Academy4 in Austria. 1st Aspect: Heated Debates: Korsyn, observing the discourse music research produces, addresses the “heated debates in musicology”, conflicting “modes of thought” that should “be into a productive collision rather than merely leading a life of mutual indifference”. I happened to read Korsyn’s book at the same time as Barack Obama’s “The Audacity of Hope” and was struck by a similarity. Both Obama and Korsyn propose to address conflicts within a community not only as conflicts among factions but also as conflicts within individuals.5 The way Korsyn proposes to address issues like the formations of identity and the antagonisms in music research is similar to Barack Obama’s approach to issues like race. Both Korsyn and Obama see externalization as part of a conflict and propose to acknowledge our internal fragmentation as a necessary step towards a solution. Also, the voices dissonating in the “music of musicology” remind me of the cultural wars within the US: such as evolution versus “Intelligent Design”, pro life/pro choice, the death penalty, the right to bear arms, and so on. From an outsider’s perspective it seems strange enough that some of the topics dominating the cultural debate in the US are being discussed at all (e.g. death penalty, “Intelligent Design”). Even stranger is the fact that they are 1

Unless otherwise stated, all the following quotations are taken from this essay. (Since it was transmitted to me electronically, I cannot supply page numbers). 2 Kevin, Korsyn. Decentering Music: A Critique of Contemporary Musical Research. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003. 3 Jonathan, Pieslak. »Review of Kevon Korsyn, Decentering Music: A Critique of Contemporary Music research.« New York: Oxford University Press, 2003, MTO 14/1, 2008. [online, thus no page numbers]. 4 Universität für Musik und darstellende Kunst Wien 5 Kevin, Korsyn. Decentering Music, 49. See also, 33.

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fought over not only between two parties (which are in many other respects so close as to seem nearly indistinguishable), but also within them. Nevertheless, these topics are debated heatedly and persistently, presumably in order to deflect attention from more important global issues left unaddressed. When Korsyn refers to the sheer obstinacy of the debates in music research which refuse to go away I wonder if they reflect a culture of debates, be it in academia or in politics, that is, at least to some degree, particularly American? But another of Korsyn’s concerns is ours, too: 2nd Aspect: Erosion of Shared Values In “The Aging of the New Musicology”, Korsyn mentions that “we inhabit a time of conflicting […] values and sources of identity, in which there seems to be no authoritative language or value system through which to represent music, its meaning, or its history”. This situation is different from earlier debates “which were still based on an underlying deeper agreement”. In both Germany and Austria the school system is very class oriented, due to the lingering of a conservative tradition which was fortified by the National Socialists. This system suits the so-called “Bildungsbürgertum”, which is to say, citizens striving for a good education especially in the humanities, a common cultural heritage and shared system of values, willing to pay rather high taxes in exchange for free education and subsidized museums, opera houses, concert halls, radio programs and scholarship (thereby supporting, for example, complete editions in music or literature). Many schools close at midday, based on the idea that a parent (namely the mother) will sacrifice a professional career in order to supervise the students’ study assignments in the afternoons and evenings. Parents are made responsible for and given great control of their childrens’ education, thus protecting the privileges of the higher classes, who can not only provide supervision of homework but also private lessons, for example in music. (Public music schools that supply inexpensive music education in afternoon classes do exist, but are understaffed in Germany and at least in some parts of Austria, including, ironically, in Vienna, the selfstyled world capital of music). In times of globalization, the system of “Bildung” and its values are under pressure. Countries are competing internationally with lower taxes, thus cutting back on subsidies, fewer parents can afford or are willing to stay at home, while schools are encouraged to teach immediately marketable skills, so that the idea of a shared national cultural heritage is eroding. Universities, concert managers and book publishers have noticed that a shared basic knowledge in cultural matters can no longer be taken for granted. Significantly, at the same time Knowledge Assessment or History of Memory emerge as new trends, and the merits of a canon of masterworks, while under attack because of nationalist, eurocentric or sexist tendencies, are re-evaluated and newly appreciated, because some common basic knowledge,

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even if it conveys a distorted view of our culture and its global significance, might be better than none at all. 3rd Aspect: We Are Not Alone: Korsyn remarks that “we may have a hundred or a thousand absolutes, each sealed off from the others in stubborn isolation”. This, as Korsyn of course says himself, reflects a cultural condition rather than a problem restricted to music research; and appropriate examples I would like to include are Ankersmits’ thoughts about the “Postmodern ‘Privatization’ of the Past”, Ron Rosenbaum on the “Shakespeare Wars”, or James Elkins on the multitude of conflicting interpretations of paintings -- all of which describe a fascinating wealth of information and questions at the same time as lot of confusion.6 Moreover, according to neurophysiology, our perception of our surroundings is highly privatized, because we construct and reconstruct our personal identities according to our daily changing needs.7 And while we believe to act upon reflection, we rather use reflection to justify our previous actions, prompting neurophysiological research to question even our responsibility for such actions. Thus, any methodological debates on the correct perception and interpretation of music8 may seem conceited. I believe that the current state of neurophysiology presents us with methodological problems we have not yet begun to consider. 4th Aspect: Music Reasearch in Austria and Germany If debates in music research seem to be less heated in Germany and Austria than in the US, the completely different standing of our Music Theory may be one of the reasons. As a discipline, it is much less clearly defined than in the US. In fact, at the moment some of us are not even sure it exits. Since National Socialism discouraged any critical thinking in music, it virtually abolished Music Theory by reducing it to “Tonsatz” or the teaching of basic practical crafts and techniques, such as harmony or counterpoint.9 Usually this basic musicianship misleadingly called “Musiktheorie” was, and still is, taught by 6

Ankersmit, F.R.. »The Postmodernist ‚Privatization‘ of the Past.«Historical Representation. Stanford: Stanford Univ. Press, 2001. Ron, Rosenbaum. The Shakespeare Wars. Clashing Scholars, Public Fiascoes, Palace Coups. New York: Random House, 2008. James, Elkins. Why Are Our Pictures Puzzles? On the Modern Origins of Pictorial Complexity. New York: Routledge, 1999. 7 Harald, Welzer. Das kommunikative Gedächtnis. Eine Theorie der Erinnerung, München 2005; Eric Kandel, Auf der Suche nach dem Gedächtnis. Die Entstehung einer neuen Wissenschaft des Geistes, transl. by Hainer Kober. München: Siedler, 2(2006). 8 Manfred, Spitzer. Musik im Kopf. Hören, Musizieren, Verstehen und Erleben im neuronalen Netzwerk. Stuttgart: Schattauer, 2004. 9 Ludwig, Holtmeier. »Von der Musiktheorie zum Tonsatz. Zur Geschichte eines geschichtslosen Faches«. in: http://www.gmth.de/www/artikel/2003-10-02_09-36-13_1/ 27

composers, and its place is not at universities but at conservatories. Until quite recently it was often done without foundation in historical research.10 Theory of music more worthy of that name was and is generally undertaken by musicologists: Journals and publications that have the word “Musiktheorie” in their names are edited mostly by musicologists, and at the moment there is a debate in Germany and Austria whether there could actually be any music theory that would be substantially so different from musicology as not to be a part of it.11 In Austria, academies of music are nowadays called „Universitäten für Musik“. They ape real universities in many respects, for example with Ph.D. programs, but having an adequate infrastructure or allowing scholarly research the necessary impact on the teaching curriculum, and consequently some of the resulting dissertations are nothing to boast about. Even worse, there is a socalled „künstlerische Habilitation“ - a contradiction in itself, since a “Habilitation” is by definition a scholarly qualification higher than a Ph.D. and traditionally restricted to “real” universities. Not surprisingly, a „künstlerische Habilitation“ has never been defined with sufficient precision. This has devastating effects for the so-called “Musiktheorie” in Austria, because the committees are dominated by composers and their idea of “Musiktheorie” as a deficient kind of composition. There has been at least one instance where a “künstlerische Habilitation” in Musiktheorie was approved by such a committee, although the candidate had not submitted a single scholarly publication. I would like to add a remark regarding my own field, Analysis, within German musicology. Some methodological debates disappeared before or with the Iron Curtain, maybe as much because of the Cultural Turn or the restructuring of the universities and music research organisations as for ideological reasons; I am thinking here of discussions about the respective “progressiveness” of a composer or his/her attachment to Social Progress versus conservative Christianity (e.g. regarding Johann Sebastian Bach). Looking back, it seems to me that in both East and West Germany material-based analyses prevailed, and semantic approaches, which challenged or presented an alternative to them were marginalized rather than openly attacked. Maybe a broad consensus, an ideology rather than an idea of absolute music, advocated an approach “uncontaminated” by extramusical associations which had earlier been or still were abused by National Socialism or Socialist Realism. I think it is significant that for decades literature, theater productions and even paintings 10

Diether de la Motte was one of the composers teaching “Musiktheorie” who, by pointing this out (in Harmonielehre, München, Deutscher Taschenbuch-Verlag, 1976), started a discussion regarding the aims and methods within the field that is still going on. 11 The issue will be debated at the next conference of the Gesellschaft für Musiktheorie in Graz (“Musiktheorie als interdisziplinäres Fach“), Graz, 9th -12th October, 2008. 28

were dominated at least in West Germany by a simililar aversion to narratives or stories in the broadest sense. The lack of heated debates in Austria and Germany may well have given even more power to those who already held key positions and may be one of the reasons why gender studies, for example, is a field in which we lag behind the US by some 20 years. 5th Aspect: The Bologna Process. All the problems Korsyn mentions, such as “Universities of excellence”, or the situation of the humanities in general and of music theory and musicology at universites and conservatories, are very familiar to us. At the moment, our universities (real and so-called), are in the middle of the “Bologna Process”. (That is to say, most of them. In my own school a prevailing attitude, at least in some departments, seems to reflect the hope that it will go away if we continue to ignore it). Certainly, the Bologna Process is well meant, since it aims to unify the different national university systems within the EU, in order to facilitate academic mobility. Right now, the implementation is moving at different speeds, making mobility in fact more difficult than before. At the same time, the process tranforms universities into student processing factories, 12 and it is not yet clear what will happen to those students who, after having got their Bachelor’s degree, will not be admitted to a Master’s program. Maybe universities with different standards will emerge. A German critic, Jochen Hörisch13, thinks that the result will be a re-introduction of real universities worthy of the name, but only for an elite of 3% to 5% per year. This would mean a return to exactly the same situation as 100 years ago. Only, one hopes, with better financial help for those who need it. What to do? Korsyn’s proposals to re-think the politics of musicological research, to find new methods of teaching that will prepare students for the changing challenges, and transforming the standards of the academic discourse, will, one hopes, be implemented. A critique of “Decentering Music” in the Journal of the Gesellschaft für Musiktheorie (GMTH) by Wolfgang Fuhrmann is not too optimistic: „Wo die Ressourcen knapp sind - bei der Vergabe von Lehrstühlen wie von Ölvorräten - kann sich die Differenz nicht mehr im freien Spiel 12

Recently, the German magazine “DER SPIEGEL” dedicated an article to the Bologna process and the problems regarding its implementation: »Die Studenten-Fabrik.« In: Der Spiegel 18/2008, 28.04.2008 (online: http://wissen.spiegel.de/wissen/dokument/93/36/dokument.html?titel=Die+StudentenFabrik&id=56756339&top=SPIEGEL&suchbegriff=bologna-prozess&quellen=&vl=0) 13 Jochen, Hörisch. Die ungeliebte Universität. Rettet die Alma mater! München. Wien: Hanser, 2006. 29

entfalten. […] Real existierende Antagonismen lassen sich nicht diskursiv reformieren“ (When ressources are in short supply - regarding tenured professorships or oil reserves - differences cannot unfold freely. […] Actually existing antagonisms cannot be reformed through discourse.“)14 Nevertheless I think there are several things we might be able to do. I would like to point out three. 1. Undermine Unilateral Points of View. We might use the privatization of history in order to question unilateral points of view by adapting the idea of bilateral history books like those being written by German and French and German and Polish historians for the use in schools. We should discuss the option of multi-lateral introductions to music theory and musicology. Maybe such introductions could even help with one of the problems that hamper discussions on an international level at the moment: that so much discourse depends on translations. To mention but one example: in America, positions of Carl Dahlhaus dating from the 1960s or 1970s are now being as eagerly discussed and rejected as if they were new, because translations have become available only recently. 2. Focus on the Beginners. I believe that I am more optimistic than Korsyn in hoping that any scholarly discourse worthy of that name will already strive to do what Korsyn calls for, namely take different points of view into consideration. This is no more than hermeneutics in the more modern sense, which sees both the object of research and the observer in constant motion, thus resisting, as Korsyn requests, “their own authority”. I think the greater problem, at least in Germany and Austria, is how to deal with beginners: already now, or in the near future, a complex field like musicology is supposed to be studied within the newly introduced BA programs - an oxymoron unless we somehow find a way to teach students not only how to amass but also how to evaluate information. Whereas text books are generally accepted in the US, they have been traditionally scorned by scholars in the German speaking lands, causing many such books to be written by music educators rather than musicologists, and therefore many of them perpetuate views that have long been criticized by scholars. I think we need to take matters in hand. 3. Accept and Exploit Different Options for Scholars. Not only musical scholarship is sometimes awkwardly perched, as Korsyn says, “between the university and the conservatory, the one committed to the pursuit of knowledge, the other to the cultivation of music as an art, craft, or practical activity.” Professors in most fields are torn between the three conflicting demands of research, teaching and administration. If the universities within the EU will be 14

Fuhrmann ,Wolfgang. (Rezension von K. Korsyn). In: ZGMTH 1.2., Jg. 2003/05, Band 2: 2/2-3 (2005): Nordamerikanische Musiktheorie, 279-287, p. 285. (online:http://www.gmth.de/zeitschrift/artikel/0070/0070.html) 30

split into different levels by recent developments, maybe we should campaign for a better status of those professors who are able to teach effectively, and especially beginners. I also think we need to engage in projects outside the university, including knowledge evaluation procedures, in order to emphasize that the ability of listening to and making music in an informed way requires knowledge, and also that this knowledge is an endangered cultural heritage that needs to be appreciated and funded in order to be preserved.

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Christian Bielefeldt (Atelier School of Zurich, Switzerland)

A Reply to Kevin Korsyn’s “The Aging of New Musicology” My reply to Kevin Korsyn tries to pick up a crucial thought of his lecture, as I read it, and use it as a methodological starting point for investigating a problem of the research on popular music. For that purpose, I will commentate some rather new writings, which are concerned with significant approaches to pop music, among them a number of articles I edited in an anthology called popmusicology, trying to adopt the idea of and perhaps rudimentarily practice what Korsyn’s lecture calls a second order musicology. Two convincing elements in Korsyn’s text I want to discuss in this article are (1) his insistence on opposition as an attitude of musicological research after the exhaustion of new musicology and (2) (connected with the first) his awareness for – open or hidden – feelings and moods in musicological writings. When Korsyn writes about the antagonisms preventing the existence of a common language not only for the different branches of musicology, but also for the social worlds with contradictory norms and incommensurable ideologies existing today, he stresses the importance of emotions surrounding and coming up to the surfaces of discourses and concepts inside and outside the university. Following his text, these once bad and then even too euphoric tempers can be understood as hints for inconsistencies, which are contained in our studied objects, but anyhow denied to get a cohesive result fitting in our ideas of academic research. Although he is referring mainly to the Benjaminian Janus face barbarism-civilization and Zizek’s sociological concept of meta-differences, I think this is not least a Freudian notion; especially when one thinks about Das Unbehagen in der Kultur (a formula not sufficiently translated with “discontent in civilization”; Korsyn mentions this book [Freud 1994] in another context). Because I cannot discuss this theoretical network in an adequate manner at this stage, my reply will take that interest for emotions, as Korsyn does, as an interest for unconscious but operative antagonisms lying on the ground of many (or all) musicological studies, but also for their opposite, fantasies that cover menacing conflicts and antinomies with slightly too convincing closures. Nevertheless, my starting point is not a musicological writing, but an oral report given by a colleague of mine some months ago. It was about the highly regarded Bob Dylan Congress, hosted in Frankfurt/Main in 2006; my fellow expressed his discontent and deep anger about the opening lecture, which he reviewed as at least very strange, without giving a critique or comment to its substance. The lecturer was one of the hosts, Richard Klein, a German philosopher and musicologist who in the same year published a monograph entitled My name It Is Nothing. Bob Dylan: Nicht Pop Nicht Kunst (Klein 2006) – a book,

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to position myself, I recently studied and appreciated very much due to the persuasive analysis of Dylan’s music. But what then could be the reason for the quite impressive irritation of my colleague? Reminding the enraged emotions that attended his statements, I would say it was the fact that what Klein offered was something hugely different from anything he expected. And having read Klein’s book, I assume his lecture was different – namely in three aspects: first, in its refusal to engage in the sloppy insider-tone of common monographic pop writings, practicing an ambitious hermeneutical discourse with complex philosophical pretensions instead – I’m sure most Dylan fans will lay aside Klein’s book with a sigh only for this reason; second, that he spoke about Dylan as if he belongs to the sphere of serious art, taking his music worthy enough for earnest aesthetic considerations; and third, that his annotations were not based on cultural or sociological observations about Dylan, his reception and the historical circumstances of his career, but from the musical phenomenon itself, that is from the songs, albums, and numerous live-recordings of the American songwriter, folk-hero, traitor with the electric guitar and, in Klein’s view, ‘PopAvant-Gardist’ (ibid., 219). In other words: My colleague was that resentful, because he participated in an openly non-cultural lecture about popular music and, worse, a lecture centered on the musical work. Or, polemically spoken: He was so emotional, because Klein was giving a lecture engaged in the serious aesthetic evaluation of pop as music. I told this little story, because above all the deep discomfort of my colleague mirrored an attitude many popular music scholars cultivate. We can call it the discomfort in taking pop music as art, which means, as a kind of music worthy of aesthetic investigation; a general distrust versus every approach that only smells the atmosphere of Western-art-orientated musicology and the associated aesthetic norms: The central position of the masterwork (Korsyn points out the role Kerman played in this game), structural complexity and innovation (by the way some of the common criteria of avant-garde), and the correlative instruments of analysis. This distrust in norms almost every musicologist followed only few decades ago is as old as popmusicology itself. And it is still very lively, as my first example underlines: an article by Peter Wicke (2008). This article not only discusses and amplifies the distrust-position, but, going along with Simon Frith’s now 18 years old formula of pop music as an empty signifier, argues that today every serious theorist of pop music has adverted to the impossibility of operating with a concept of popular music that is centered on structure and the musical work as a meaningful text.1 Following this, the 1

“Auf die Unmöglichkeit mit einem werk- und strukturzentrierten Musikbegriff gegenüber der Popmusik zu operieren, haben bislang noch alle Theoretiker der Popmusik hingewiesen – bis hin zu der zugespitzten Formulierung des britischen Soziologen Simon Frith von ‚Musik als leerem Zeichen’, mit der er dieses Charakteristikum der Popmusik begrifflich zu fassen suchte (Frith 1990, S. 96).” (Wicke 2008, 66.) The supposed article is: Frith, Simon. »What 34

tone and smell – and the whole approach – of Klein’s lecture and book indeed can nothing but rouse suspicion and denial, and testify Wicke’s biting remark that this insight has been startingly resultless for most of the scholars engaged in writing pop history. To be sure, Wicke evidently is correct, at any rate, in the sense that the decline of work-centered musical analysis is indeed common sense throughout the majority of popular music scholars today, as in the last decades. Even most musicologists who anyhow offered approaches to the musical analysis of pop did that in a critical manner, refusing to simply overtake traditional tools of analysis and developing additional or competing tools instead.2 Anyway, no other proof for Wicke’s assumption is necessary than the cultural turn popmusicology stands out for since the early 1980s (which is, to a certain amount, a sociological turn). As Anne Danielsen (2008, 27) writes, this turn to take pop music as a medium for social or cultural processes, and to more or less disregard its quality as sounding music, had an important impact on the academic study of music, where it arranged a ceasefire between the scholars of art music and those of pop.3 On the other hand, this quite comfortable turn raised what can be called the problem of ‘pop & aesthetics’. Being committed to cultural approaches, the field of academic music research refused to value pop music aesthetically and investigate it as a sounding object. It was again Simon Frith, soon followed by Richard Middleton and others, who noticed that theoretical gap, or, speaking with Korsyn, that will-to-ignorance, quite early. But, as Danielsen points out, with noticing it, the problem was not solved at all.4 We still have a vast accordance that any approach to pop as a musical work we should interpret is obsolete. So, if we follow this, there are still troubles with the cultural turn, and in this respect, and Korsyn’s thoughts in mind, statements like Wicke’s cited Is Good Music.« In: Alternative Musicologies/Les Musicologies Alternatives by John Shepherd. Toronto: Canadian University Music Society, 1990, 96-102. 2 See the writings of David Brackett, Richard Middleton, and Stan Hawkins, to mention a few. 3 “Contrary to the situation within the study of Western art music, cultural approaches have been dominating the study of popular music. In fact it seems that this trend has been nurtured, both from the side of cultural studies, with its skepticism towards aesthetics, and from the side of musicologists in art music, who seem to have had less trouble to include popular music in the music institutions when presented in the form of music sociology or subculture studies.” (Danielsen 2008, 27.) 4 Cultural approaches, engaged in cultural significance and the communication acts in which social groups are involved, normally deny deeper correlations between aesthetic judgments and the sound characteristics of a pop song. To say it in Danielsen’s words, that’s why they cannot fully explain the processes that lead to the experience of music as ‘good music’: a preargumental and nonverbal experience of aesthetic pleasure that is not reducible to the impact of social forces. 35

above could sound just a little bit too convinced. And isn’t that a hint for a hidden fantasy in the Zizek-sense?5 The question remains, why the cultural turn then proves such an insistency. It certainly is not the place here to summarize all the effects caused by the cultural studies critic Adorno; as known, Adorno’s topos of the “Regression des Hörens” (Adorno 1956), devalues popular music as a mere instrument for creating that condemnable circle named Verblendungszusammenhang, in which the industry of culture satisfies needs that are produced by the industry itself and, worse, in doing so conceal the real needs of the people. By contrast, the culturalists demonstrated that pop, where used as the music of minorities and youth (or subcultures), is able to deeply threaten the hegemony of bourgeois culture. And it is not necessary to borrow the pathetic definition of popmusicology as an anti-elitist research,6 studying ‘peoples music’ and its function within the processes of producing cultural identities, to see that a more pragmatic approach still should demand on the investigation of pop music as a medium of cultural and social processes (Wicke 2008, 72): to insist on the incomparability of popular and art music (and even of different streams of pop itself). Only the concept of pop and art as different social systems with different norms and values enables us to locate the value of pop not in the music itself, taking that as a strategy of legitimating art music, but in the social processes it activates and mediates.7 I am far from rejecting these arguments; they have many good reasons on their side and are widely confirmed by musicological and sociological studies. However, my addition, practicing second-order musicology, would be that the harsh insistence they display argues for the existence of hidden phantasmagoric aspects of these arguments – aspects, which, as I see it, amongst others help to cover problems the separation of pop and art arouses.8 Of course, challenging 5

Notice also figures like ‘every / alle’, not for instance ‘most / die meisten’; and ‘impossiblity / Unmöglichkeit’, not ‘problem / difficulty’. 6 See a notion by Thomas Phleps; he postulates that high-quality research of popular music should be a research that abandons the idea of the artist, creators, and genius: It should be “ein Qualitätsbeweis, wenn die Popularmusikforschung frei bleibt von kunstproduzierenden Künstlern, ganz abgesehen von mythischen Reinstallierungen wie Schöpfer oder gar Genies.” (Phleps 2002, 57). 7 Expanding that on more than just popular music, Christian Rolle proposes to distinguish between different forms of what he calls aesthetic practices, which means accesses to using music and absorbing it into everyday life. The aesthetic approach of old and new musicology then would represent only one aspect of aesthetic practice amongst several others. But an aspect, which presumably is practiced only as an exception while hearing popular music – and exactly for this reason criticized by Pierre Bourdieu and others, as Rolle shows; see Rolle 2008, 54-55. 8 Those Problems range from to whatever extent it seems to be useful to take both ‘pop music’ and ‘art music’ as plain entities to why and how the categories are produced as players on 36

the difference between pop and art has its own history, even though what was discussed was mostly the battle of high and low as Bourdieu (1982) described it; the search of low for becoming appreciated, being high. And this means nothing but to maintain the idea that only high – or appreciated – music is worthy enough for being a subject for aesthetical analysis. My assumption, therefore, is that the separation between cultural (pop) and musical (art) research fulfills its social function not only in the sense popular music scholars pretend to act for. And more, that this divide even enforces the controversial authority the musicologists engaged with art music have occupied since the 19th century and are still executing inside the departments of musicology. Then, as the dichotomy cultural / aesthetic approach, remember Danielsen, is not least a product of the scholars of popular music themselves, helping to get disciplinary distinctions and also consolidating their position as oppositional, being scholars if not for ‘the people’ or ‘the counterculture’, then for the music of the young, cool and hip (to be contrary to the old music of old fusty bourgeoisie), I am entrapped to suggest at least two directions (of possibly many) in which an approach engaged with the musical work and the structure of popular music could be legitimate – and legitimate perhaps even as an oppositional threat to the actual, institutionalized popmusicology. With my first example, I follow Rolf Grossmann, the co-editor of Popmusicology. According to Grossmann, we do not understand – sufficiently – what effects the evolution the technologies of phonography had on the production of pop. And without a better comprehension of media technology, we won’t get more than a vague impression of what might be the aesthetic material of today’s popular music. As media technology provides the instruments to create and determine pop music, we have to understand them if we want to grasp what Grossmann (2008) calls the ‘scripturality’ of sound, ‘die Klangschriftlichkeit’. We have to understand how the sounds of pop emerge, and to what extent the recording-, memory-, and reproduction-technology is responsible for what in this process. For Grossmann, then, avant-garde and its condition, a drive of artistic development, if not conceivable as a single progressing stream, then as a plurality of different streams and fractures, avant-garde in this precise understanding exist as an effect of the progress of media technology, and he gives the example of end-of-1970s disco music of Giorgio Moroder (b. 1940), whose never-before-heard machine-created drum beats were the result of new production hardware and processes. So, avant-garde in this perspective is not a strategy only of art music, but a concept of innovation that affects the relation of technique and its use. the global music market place or, taken in a wider sense, as elements of the reproduction of our culture, and what we should to with them in this respect – not to mention the discussion around the term popular music, or, in Germany, ‘Popularmusik’, ‘populäre Musik’, ‘Populärmusik’, and so on. 37

With my second example, I return to Klein. What is convincing in Klein’s hermeneutical approach to the musical work of the former folk hero is that he is really engaged in what we hear when we listen to a Dylan Song. For me, this is the too often overlooked side of the Janus face pop music: To clear the musical and verbal means applied in a song and the relation the lyrical figures maintain to musical processes, to analyze the inter-textual and other references, to check the artistic strategies of production technology and so on, in other words: playing the match of interpretation. And I think this is not a question of disregarding the distinction between high and low and pop and art, or doing something irrelevant for the majority of pop fans. Or, it should not be if we ourselves do not forget the other side of the Janus head: the communicative circumstances of this song, its reception, the function it had and has for whom, and the aesthetic practices in which it is involved. I am interested in understanding and valuing pop if not as art, then as music – even if such a return to aesthetics could mean to occupy an oppositional edge of musicological research for some time. Literature Adorno, Theodor W. 1956. “Über den Fetischcharakter in der Musik und die Regression des Hörens,” Dissonanzen: Musik in der verwalteten Welt by Theodor W. Adorno. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. pp. 9-24. Bielefeldt, Christian, Udo Dahmen, Rolf Grossmann. Eds. 2008. PopMusicology: Perspektiven der Popmusikwissenschaft. Bielefeld: Transcript. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1982. Die feinen Unterschiede: Kritik der gesellschaftlichen Urteilskraft. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Danielsen, Anne. 2008. “Aesthetic Value, Cultural Significance, and Canon Formation in Popular Music,” PopMusicology: Perspektiven der Popmusikwissenschaft by Christian Bielefeldt, Udo Dahmen, and Rolf Grossmann. Bielefeld: Transcript. pp. 17-37. Freud. Sigmund. 1994. Das Unbehagen in der Kultur und andere kulturtheoretische Schriften. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag. Freud. Sigmund. 1930. Das Unbehagen in der Kultur. Wien: Internationaler psychoanalytischer Verlag. Frith, Simon. 1990. “What Is Good Music,” Alternative Musicologies / Les Musicologies Alternatives, ed. by John Shepherd. Toronto: Canadian University Music Society. pp. 96-102. Grossmann, Rolf. 2008. “Die Geburt des Pop aus dem Geist der phonographischen Reproduktion,” PopMusicology: Perspektiven der Popmusikwissenschaft by Christian Bielefeldt, Udo Dahmen, and Rolf Grossmann. Bielefeld: Transcript. pp. 119-134. Klein, Richard. 2006. My name It Is Nothing. Bob Dylan: Nicht Pop Nicht Kunst. Berlin: Lukas-Verlag. Phleps, Thomas. 2002. “Hell Hound On My Trail. Robert Johnson. Mythos und Musik,” Festschrift Ekkehard Jost zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. by Bernd Hoffmann, Franz Kerschbaumer, and Franz Krieger. Graz: Akademische Verlagsanstalt. pp. 57-75. Rolle, Christian. 2008. “Warum wir populäre Musik mögen und warum wir sie manchmal nicht mögen: Über musikalische Präferenzen, ihre Geltung und Bedeutung in ästhe-

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tischen Praxen,” PopMusicology: Perspektiven der Popmusikwissenschaft, ed. by Christian Bielefeldt, Udo Dahmen, and Rolf Grossmann. Bielefeld: Transcript. pp. 38-60. Wicke, Peter. 2008. “Pop(Musik)Geschichte(n). Geschichte als Pop – Pop als Geschichte,” Popmusicology: Perspektiven der Popmusikwissenschaft, ed. by by Christian Bielefeldt, Udo Dahmen, and Rolf Grossmann. Bielefeld: Transcript. 61-74.

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Kordula Knaus (Karl Franzens University Graz, Austria)

A Reply to Kevin Korsyn’s “The Aging of New Musicology” When I was asked to participate in this conference and first read Kevin Korsyn’s text in the tramway J in Vienna on my way to the music collection of the Austrian National Library, I spontaneously found one question most compelling in reflecting on: the question of ‘institutions’ and how institutions form our way of thinking about music, how they influence the questions we ask about music. Korsyn suggests at the end of his paper “to examine the various institutional spaces within which musicology has historically functioned” and to “identify potential conflicts among those spaces, since these can produce contradictory demands on disciplines”. Following this suggestion, I want to examine some of these institutional spaces and investigate how they influence our epistemological interests and our body of knowledge. In particular, I want to give my perspective as a young scholar, speaking from my own subject position, but also being a voice for other young scholars, as my discussions with them at various conference dinners, lunch meetings, or coffee breaks became part of my own thoughts about musicological institutions. Additionally, my perspective is a result of my scope and my experiences as a scholar at the department of musicology at the University of Graz, which means that I am an Austrian, working at an Austrian institution. I emphasize this National perspective, because it is widely in contrast to the perspective of a global and international scientific community. In this sense, I would be part of various layers of community (German speaking, European, international). Part of my experience was also being a Visiting Professor at New York City College during the spring term 2007 and consequently getting insight into an American institution. I gained additional teaching experiences in Bern and in Ljubljana. Talking about and reflecting on my perspective and its limited scope is actually very ‘new musicology’, or rather very old Greek philosophy – depending on how to put it. Keeping with Donna Haraway’s “privilege of partial perspective” (Haraway 1988) would be the optimistic feminist way of an attitude towards the perspective problem. Rather than getting my first depression on the “What do we know? Do we know anything?” questions, I will follow Haraway as a faithful feminist disciple and finally start my observations. Despite all reflections on the limitations we are confronted with, which Korsyn identifies as a “crisis of legitimation”, on a personal level as a scholar one has to have the idealism to go on with one’s work; on an institutional level – and I would formulate this as a thesis – everybody makes as much effort as possible to hide the ‘legitimation’ problem. Who has the privilege to talk about it and when and where? I will give some examples:

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(1) We would certainly never talk about it in a funding application. We would rather emphasize the new, the innovative, the quantum leap in new insights the new project promises. Funding is in its essence very modern. (2) We would certainly never talk about it when we want to convince somebody of the importance of the work, and we would never talk about it when we have to legitimize the position, the institution, etc. (3) We would talk about it at a conference to demonstrate that we know all the ‘postmodern’ writings. And we would probably now realize that I’ve done that right now at the beginning of this paper. (4) We would write about it in the foreword of a book to get the wind out of the critic’s sails, because they would probably disapprove the limitations of the work. (5) We would talk or write about it from a relatively secure position, if we do not have to constantly legitimize our work. Consequently, we would never talk or write about it as a young scholar, except for reason (3). ‘Postmodernity’ is finally something that most of us use as a word and a volume of thoughts for pragmatic reasons. What we do and what we have to do to legitimize that we are allowed to do it and get paid for it is essentially modern. There lies a certain hypocrisy in this phenomenon. I would say the ‘postmodernity’ of New Musicology is dead, which probably is an aspect of Korsyn’s title “The Aging of New Musicology”. Though the question remains: Was it ever alive, despite being a concept of proving again ‘modern’ values like progress, innovation, knowledge? We might recognize a certain vicious circle here. But I want to come back to institutions again. The legitimization problem today is in a state where a peaceful next to each other or passivity and indifference does exist on the level of scholarly discussion (I would agree here with Korsyn), but not on the level of institutional support. When it comes to money, there is no peaceful next to each other. As a scholar in the field of historical musicology, it is no exception to find oneself talking with other colleagues about another post being advertised for an ethnomusicologist or a popular music specialist. And I guess it is similar in these other fields, but vice versa. Existential fear obviously determines our thinking, caused by a growing variability of institutional frames. Departments are closed, are forced to develop certain profiles where one either fits or not, posts are not many, and there is no tenure system or anything similar in Austria. Universities are starting to count everything: how many publications does one have, how many functions does one have, how many conferences does one attend, etc. And still we know, when really scraping the barrel, we just have to know the right people and we have to have the luck to know the right people at the right time. Am I complaining? Probably I am. But the question that arises and that I want to look closer at is how theses institutional conditions influence our research. And who decides what is worth being investigated? How do young 42

scholars react to those institutional demands? I want to look closer at two institutional frames: (1) musicology departments at universities and (2) external funding organizations, especially the Austrian FWF (Fonds zur Förderung der wissenschaftlichen Forschung – Fonds for Supporting Scientific Research) and the ÖAW (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften – Austrian Academy of Sciences). (1) Musicology Departments at Universities Both, institutional frameworks and academic programs, have changed drastically in the last years, the later mainly because of the introduction of the Bachelor and Master system in the German speaking countries. The recipe for success in institutions as well as programs seems to be the search for synergetic effects. Departments called “Department for Musicology” and programs named “Musicology” start to vanish. Quite often, musicology joins terms like media, theater, art, or dance. I want give you some examples for new Bachelor programs in Germany:1 the B.A. “Music and Media” at Berlin Humboldt University, the B.A. / M.A. “Popular Music and Media” in Paderborn, the B.A. “Art, Music and Media” in Marburg, the B.A. “Theater and Media” and “Musictheaterresearch” and the M.A. “Music and Performance” in Bayreuth. These developments at the moment basically reflect university politics, and the synergies often provide only an institutional framework, meaning that the media specialists still do the media and the musicologists do the music. However, it also reflects the increasing amount of interdisciplinary work and thinking in musicology. To investigate music within a wider frame of its cultural context; to deal with media, technology, or popular culture certainly were the achievements of the last decades. Young scholars do have to jump onto certain trains. No research topic without some of the magic words, for example performance, audience, public, society, body, sexuality, space, identity, cultural transfer, Europe, digital media, or many others that we have to find and drop at the right moment. Old wine in new bottles? Partially, I guess. The “Aging of New Musicology” probably has to do with the inflational use of magic words that undermine their sense. (2) External Funding Organizations The two main institutions for funding in Austria are the already mentioned FWF and ÖAW. Checking the FWF database for funded musicological projects, I found about 50 of them between 1992 and 2008. And here is what they deal with:2 1

All translations from the German are by the author. All data are taken from the Project Database of the FWF, URL: http://www.fwf.ac.at (last accessed February 18, 2009). Projects with interdisciplinary background that do involve music, but only to a very low degree, were not considered. 2

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- Archival research and editing of sources: 15 projects - Ethnomusicology, mostly in the sense of Austrian ‘Volksmusikforschung’: 6 projects - Computer science, acoustics, and technology: 6 projects (3 of them not being situated at departments for musicology, but at departments for artificial intelligence or computational perception) - Musical instruments or music iconography: 4 projects - Music aesthetics: 3 projects - Popular music: 2 projects - Music theory: 1 project - 3 projects deal in a wider sense with music, politics and identity. The FWF obviously did not follow the paradigms mentioned above, which means that young scholars who want to be funded by the FWF better do not apply for any such project if they want to get the scholarship. The observable trends are: (a) preservation of the national heritage and funding of topics that mostly deal with Austrian music or music history and (b) an interest in computational music research. Interestingly, both directions have in common that they collect – either musical sources or data. They are worth to be funded, because they do not scratch at the paradigms of ‘modern’ epistemology. The ÖAW is both a research institution and also provides a variety of scholarships. As a research institution, it deals also mainly with the preservation of a national cultural heritage, for example producing editions of works; in the last years, it widened its scope in the direction of cultural musicology with the project “Musik – Identität – Raum” (“Music – Identity – Space”) that includes the concepts of cultural transfer, special turn, etc., and also integrates the countries of the former Habsburg monarchy. As an institution that provides scholarships, the ÖAW funded the following musicological research projects in the time between 1999 and 2008:3 - Music history: 4 projects - Ethnomusicology: 3 projects - Ethnomusicology / music psychology: 1 project - Music sociology: 2 projects - Rome – stipend for archival research: 2 projects None of these projects deals with the edition of musical works, and only the Rome stipend explicitly contains archival research. Only two of the 12 projects provide a topic that is related to Austria, hence to a national musical heritage. These are: “The composer and his audience, exemplified by the case of Arnold Schönberg” and “The music culture of immigrants in Vienna. Musical identity and acculturation”. Clearly, both projects do not collect data for a national mu3

Similar to the FWF, the ÖAW provides funding for individual scholars who want to write their dissertation or ‘Habilitation’ and for projects submitted by an institution or an advanced scholar. All data from the Project Database of the ÖAW are taken from http://stipendien.oeaw.ac.at (last accessed February 18, 2009).

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sic history, but investigate music in its wider cultural framework, as do the other projects. The comparison between the FWF and the ÖAW shows that both institutions have a quite clear profile in what they support and do not support. If a young scholar wants to apply for funding and if that person is not naïve, one will certainly take a look at these profiles and will adapt the project and integrate those factors that increase the chance of a success. Consequently, central to our epistemological interest is not necessarily the gaining of new insights, but to adapt our questions to the parameters demanded. Those in powerful positions provide the parameters that form our research projects. They have the authority. I guess what I just described is another facet of a self-referentiality Korsyn describes in his paper. What do we have to do to be successful? Is it even possible to do something else? How do expectations form our way of thinking? Are we able to break out of the pragmatism and formalism we are surrounded with? We are stewing in our own juice when research paradigms are only a reaction to institutional demands. Korsyn suggests to “foster institutions that resist their own authority”. I have to admit that I am pessimistic on that account. Despite being pessimistic, I have a list of wishes: I wish there was more space for creativity, more space for thinking, more money for positions for young scholars, more security, more quality than quantity, more time for developing one’s work. I guess, everybody else in this room wishes the same. However, musicology is institutionalized, because that is why it exists. Consequently, our knowledge is institutionalized. And consequently my knowledge is institutionalized. And here I can come back to my limited perspective. Should I embrace my marginality, like Korsyn suggests? I have to think about it, provided that I have the time and space for thinking about it. I guess I have to ask my institution first. Literature Haraway, Donna. 1988. “Situated Knowledge: The Science Question in Feminism as a Site of Discourse on the Privilege of Partial Perspective,” Feminist Studies 14/3: 575-599.

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Leon Stefanija (University of Ljubljana, Slovenia)

Outside of Musicology Amid the opulence of ideas from Kevin Korsyn’s paper, I would like to comment on the final substantiation of his thought, on a pragmatic – and fairly common – positioning of musicology »both inside and outside the university«. The positioning of musicology in a drafty space where differences meet between »’gnostic’ versus ‘drastic’ approaches«, as the quoted Caroline Abbate’s opposition reads, leads me toward somewhat different perspective on the field of music research. The reason for emphasizing this is, of course, a pragmatic one as well. To formulate the point – I will do that in a form of a question at the end – I am offering two comments, starting with Korsyn’s suggestion that, at the moment, “perhaps we need to develop institutions that resist their own authority”. First Comment Differences in reflecting relations between the past and the present state of affairs in Korsyn’s perspective lucidly go well beyond the past approximately thirty years. Although focused on this period, his main concern is – a recurrent academic issue – much broader one, pointing to “sustaining or recovering some sort of oppositional edge in scholarship”. Korsyn suggestion that »what is needed is not something really new, but rather a way of negotiating among existing paradigms« seems to be in a line with Guido Adler’s famous commonsensical introduction to musicology: “Musicology began simultaneously with music. […] All peoples who can be said to have music have a system of musical thought, even if this is not always a fully developed musicological system.”1 There is, however, an important difference between Korsyn’s quest for “oppositional edge in scholarship” and Adler’s notion of musicology. If Korsyn discusses the current quandaries within musicology as an relatively autonomous discipline, the very term musicology was in Adler’s foundational text listed as a sub-discipline of much less clear-cut defined »music research« (»Musikwissenschaft«), aiming at the »Untersuchung und Vergleichung zu ethnographischen Zwecken«. In the European institutions today, musicology encompasses (with less clear-cut differentiations) all of that which is in the USA usually delineated as music theory, music analysis, music history, music education, and ethnomusicology.

1

Guido Adler, ‘Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Musikwissenschaft’, in: Vierteljahrschrift für Musikwissenschaft No 1 (1885), p. 1 [pp. 5-20]. English translation by Erica Mugglestone in Yearbook for Traditional Music 13 (1981), pp.1-21. 47

Adler’s foundations of musicology tried to “gather up”, as it were, the discipline in-between systematic and historic methodologies. No exclusive or specific methodology is given there. Actually, Adler’s introduction echoes strikingly in Nicholas Cook’s claim in What is Musicology? (1999): “you don’t need to know about music to understand it”. Cook’s claim is but a radical derivative of Adler’s concept of musicology. Both quoted authors would be hardly worth mentioning here, if the same reason that led Adler to sketch a system of music research would not have something in common with the (self)reflections in and about music scholarship today. More than a century ago, Adler’s binary scheme of musicology was trying to encompass all aspects of music as a human activity regardless of their epistemological status – the “objects” of music research, embedded in historical and systematic musicology, are richly supplemented by an open list of already established “subsidiary disciplines”. Today, questions regarding the epistemological status of musicology seem to be of central importance for defining the scope, and position, of musicology within the humanities, but the list of “subsidiary disciplines” is faint. Adler’s view of music research has offered a valuable epistemological compass to music scholars. Yet, one may well ask, did the pointers of (t)his compass pointing to their goal directions from within or from outside the then new field of knowledge. Moreover: did musicology ever reach the goals directed by those pointers with clear knowledge about the epistemological values in terms of “inside / outside” relations in a discipline? I could give no answer to this question. If, however, Korsyn addresses it in terms of a Möbius strip on which the Tower of Babel and the Ministry of Truth – and there are many voices supporting this perspective emphasizing the “need to find ways of talking about music and about its social or ideological meaning [as well as values] at the same time”2 – today prevailing clear-cut oppositions in music research (such as, for instance, pluralism / absolutism, formalism / criticism, semiotics / hermeneutics, musicology / ethnomusicology) seem to add but a little to the “politics of scholarly interpretation” in music research, if compared to Adler’s constitutive formulations at the end of the 19th century. They have emerged out of an ideal of integrative thinking (Engel 2006: 226)3 in which »paradoxical institutional position« of music research would preferably strive toward one goal: “Above all, however, the science itself must 2

Nicholas Cook, ‘What is musicology?’, in: BBC Music Magazine 7/9, May 1999, pp. 31-3. Quoted from (accessed on: 28.4.2008): http://www.rma.ac.uk/articles/what-ismusicology.htm 3 Gerhard Engel. ‘Musiksoziologie im Konzert der Wissenschaften’. In: Christian Kaden / Karsten Mackensen, Soziale Horizonte von Musik. Ein kommentiertes Lesebuch zur Musiksoziologie. Kassel et al.: Bärenreiter (Bärenreiter Studienbücher Musik, Hrsg. Von Silke Leopold und Jutta Schmoll-Barthel, Band 15) 2006, 225-245. 48

grow stronger, it must correctly asses and confine itself to its nearest tasks and gain therewith a level of mastery.”4 In other words, the ongoing differentiation of music scholarship raises not only valuable self-reflections with ambivalent, paradoxical, or antinomian positions, but it opens up the mainstream disciplinary borders toward more pragmatic evaluations. An example thereof is Ian Cross’ demarcation of three positions in music research: 1) Physicalistic or “paradigmatically scientific” position, in which music takes a form of a material phenomenon. 2) Immanentist or “deconstructive” position, in which music is seen “per se” as a phenomenon pertaining to the scholarly traditions of the humanities and the social studies. And 3) cognitivist position, pace which “[m]usic is itself a product of cultural convention and of the facts of embodiment, being instantiated in the cognitions of the members of a culture”.5 Although one may disagree with Cross’ “Schichtenlehre”, his (and similar) calibration of music research, pace David Huron, argues “against the idea that the sciences and humanities are necessarily distinguished by their methodological habits”. To the contrary, they unfold a kind of epistemological platform on which otherwise self-evident banalities can claim to be taken seriously – as for instance David Huron’s taunt that “humanities scholars ought to learn the basics of statistical inference, and scientists ought to be exposed to phenomenological and deconstructionist approaches”.6 The quandaries regarding values in scholarly politics seem to be far from Huron’s sting – it is driven by a commonsensical, utterly pragmatic economy of information exchange, bluntly demanding answers about hierarchy of knowledge values within and outside of the university. Second Comment It takes as its starting point Korsyn’s illustration of the slow acceptance of musicology in the university through the parallel of musicology with »grandmotherology«, as attributed to the president of Harvard. This is a place »outside« of musicology, yet still within the university. One might be tempted to compare similar views with the concept of »absolute music«. Both issues can be proved as »historical facts«; there can be little doubt about their existence – 4

Originally: Vor allem aber muß die Wissenschaft selbst erstarken, sie muß in richtiger Würdigung ihrer nächstliegenden Aufgaben sich selbst beschränken und so zur Meisterschaft gelangen.« Guido Adler, ‘Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Musikwissenschaft’, op. cit., p. 19. 5 Ian Cross. ‘Music & science: three views’. Revue Belge de Musicologie, Vol LII (1998a), 207-214. 6 David Huron, ‘Empiricism and Post-Modernism‘ The 1999 Ernest Bloch Lectures Music and Mind: Foundations of Cognitive Musicology, delivered on Friday, October 8, 1999. Accessed on 24.4.2008: http://www.humdrum.org/Music220/Bloch.lectures/Bloch.lectures.html. 49

and still they both lack logical substantiation that would legitimate both phenomena as »historical truths«. A truth is that (not addressed as musicology, but broadly understood as music research,) music scholarship has survived within the university claiming a common function pertaining to humanities – their function seems to be in line with the function of »music per se«, with the concept of »pure« or »absolute music« that was recently described by Mladen Dolar with (an Adornian as much as Bourdiesque) thought: the »function of music presents itself precisely as a break with any conventional notion of the ‘function’, the notion that is tacitly based on utility and the economics of survival«.7 It seems that the ongoing self-reflection about the values (= functions) with which musicology participates in the humanities – and this self-reflection emphasizes the potentials of the discipline almost with comparable ambitions as Guido Adler’s Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Musikwissenschaft – constantly raises concerns in terms of a »survival economy«. Undisputable differentiation within the field of music scholarship accompanied by »academic autism« and »banal pluralism« seem to be a fairly reasonable symptom to claim that to address the current state of affairs we would have to answer the question: whether we have a clear concept of a survival for a discipline or a vague one prevails? Far from even trying to cope with this question here, the very condition for asking this and similar questions presupposes more or less trivial yet important commonalities: apart from its epistemological acceptability (usually »belatedness«), the main pointer of a survival of musicology is its »everyday employability«, often pragmatically understood. Which segments of music research can demonstrate the »employability« of a discipline that according to its »cultural capital« seems to fit probably best somewhere between the study of classical languages, botany, and translation, may sound as a naively mocking comment, yet it can be reformulated with more serious phrasing. For instance, on the server of TU in Berlin, the residential institution of Carl Dahlhaus - one of the most influential German musicologists of the second half of the 20th century – his work is epitomized as a work of a man who »earned high esteem for his rather esoteric field of expertise« (bold by L.S.). Originally, the phrase »esoteric field« is a translation of the term »Orchideenfach«, a metaphor for a »rare discipline«.8 Even if the difference is a translational slip, it seems suggestive enough to think of it as of a commonplace for a professional activity for which one of its prominent spokesmen – N. Cook – supports the 7

Mladen Dolar, ‘Function beyond function? Reflections on the functionality of the autonomous’, in: De musica disserenda II/2 (2006), 11 [11-19]. 8 The whole phrase reads: »Dahlhaus verschaffte nicht nur als unermüdlicher Lehrer und geistvoller Diskutant seinem “Orchideenfach” eine ungewöhnliche Geltung«. http://www2.tu-berlin.de/presse/125jahre/festschrift/dahlhaus.htm, accessed on 28.4.2008) 50

personalistic value-giving claim that “you don’t need to know about music to understand it”. The translation-issue of musicology as »esoteric field of expertise« and Cook’s claim that “no knowledge is needed to ‘understand’ music” are but droplets in the bucket in which musicology may have only ambivalent feelings about itself. However, to return to Korsyn’s talk, precisely this ambivalent feeling is the »institution that resists its own authority«. The problem of the aging of new musicology, I believe, should not be approached only from a perspective dealing with »within / outside« of musicology. One of the main issues should include a perspective of musicology outside of university. After all, as a relatively young discipline, musicology certainly has difficulties with its public appearance. It is the case probably not only due to its »double institutional location« between the university discipline and practical musicianship. It is probably also because of its somewhat vague theory and practice, to paraphrase Adler’s quotation, mentioned above, of »assessing, confining to« and also developing mechanisms of interception of more substantially employable tasks (not necessarily »applicable« in a banal utilitarian sense and also not necessarily nearest) – as well as promoting them outside of university, neutralizing the ground for analogies between musicology with »grandmotherology«. The Question The offered view of the importance of »the outside« of our discipline may sound as a quest for a »practical« musicology regardless of its academic position. That, however, is an utmost wrong impression. Questioning the perspective »inside / outside« musicology as one of the academic disciplines is here intended as an impulse to rethink the levers of adoption and integration into the mainstream musicology of the seemingly marginal, »borrowed«, “obscure”, or any “suspect” fields of music research. Have those levers not been concentrated in the work of the »fathers« of musicology, the discipline could not have gathered its academic position today. Thus, my question reads: what has musicology done within its »banal pluralism« to foster its own institutions – as much as they might be incongruous between each other – for an obviously rather grumpy everyday »economics of survival« among other disciplines?

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Nico Schüler (Texas State University, USA)

From Interdisciplinarity to ‘Perspectivism’ in Music Research* 1. Thoughts on Trans-, Inter-, Inner-, Intra-, Cross-, Multi-, and NonDisciplinary Approaches to Music Research The term ‘transdisciplinarity’ is used for approaches that “transcend” or dissolve the boundaries of a traditional discipline. More commonly known is the term ‘interdisciplinarity’, which refers to the integration of the knowledge and methods from two or more disciplines to achieve a specific goal or complete a specific task. Interdisciplinarity is used to understand the “bigger picture” of complex problems. Intradisciplinarity is similar to interdisciplinarity, but refers to the integration of the knowledge and methods from two or more SUBdisciplines of one specific discipline. Other common terms are multidisciplinarity, cross-disciplinarity, and non-disciplinarity. Some scholars define multi-disciplinarity as an approach to study several subjects from different disciplines by using the methods of only one discipline. Cross-disciplinarity, on the other hand, can be defined as a research approach for studying a subject with a method that is foreign to the discipline of the subject. Finally, non-disciplinarity is the intentional disregard of the boundaries of a discipline in terms of their subjects and methodology; such approach is necessary to answer larger questions (such as global warming, for example). Some scholars, however, use the terms ‘multi-disciplinarity’ and ‘cross-disciplinarity’ as synonymous with both inter- and trans-disciplinarity. Trans-, inter-, intra-, cross-, multi-, and non-disciplinary approaches point out the limitation of one specific discipline, or better: its over-specialization. One may find the million-and-twenty-third book about Mozart redundant, because there is not any significant gain in the knowledge about Mozart. Or one may not find hearing or reading lengthy analyses of a few measures of music useful, because they often omit any relevant conclusions about the applicability of such analyses to a more general / broader context. Especially the split between musicology (meaning mainly: historical musicology) and music theory in the United States is a clear sign of overspecialization. Approaches beyond disciplinary boundaries help overcome such excessive overspecialization. Despite the problem of defining the various terms, the concept of inter-, trans-, cross-, multi-, or non-disciplinarity is not new. In fact, many disciplines grew out of philosophy during the 19th century. Before their separation, all of them were part of a broader philosophical discourse. *

This paper is based on earlier versions of this research, specifically on Schüler 2002 and Schüler 2007.

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But back to ‘transdisciplinarity’. The term was originally introduced by the Swiss philosopher and developmental psychologist Jean Piaget (1896-1980). The German philosopher Jürgen Mittelstraß, specializing in the philosophy of science, understands interdisciplinarity as transdisciplinarity: “[W]hether one understands interdisciplinarity in the sense of re-establishing a larger disciplinary orientation, or as a factual increase of cognitive interest within or beyond given fields or disciplines, one thing stands out: interdisciplinarity properly understood does not commute between fields and disciplines, and it does not hover above them like an absolute spirit. Instead, it removes disciplinary impasses where these block the development of problems and the corresponding responses of research. Interdisciplinarity is in fact transdisciplinarity.” (Mittelstraß 2001, 497.) So, what does transdisciplinarity mean for us in music?1 A search in RILM with ‘transdisciplinarity’ as a keyword only yielded one results – mentioned in the abstract of a dissertation by Sven Sterken (2004). A search with the adjective ‘transdisciplinary’, however, provided 20 search results – such as articles by Gunnar Johannsen on “Human supervision and control in engineering and music: Foundations and transdisciplinary views”, but mainly articles published in the journal Critical Musicology: A Transdisciplinary Online Journal. On the other hand, a search in RILM with ‘interdisciplinarity’ resulted in a list of 89 entries (compared to the one with ‘transdisciplinarity’), and another search with ‘interdisciplinary’ yielded 2,301 entries in RILM (compared to the 20 with ‘transdisciplinary’). A similar search with the same terms in the International Index to Music Periodicals led to the following results: - ‘transdisciplinarity’ as a keyword: zero records, - ‘transdisciplinary’ as a keyword: 20 records, - ‘interdisciplinarity’ as a keyword: 58 records, and - ‘interdisciplinary’ as a keyword: 1,597 records. Among books and journals (excluding specific articles), there is only one that contains the word ‘transdisciplinary’ in its title – the journal mentioned earlier: Critical Musicology: A Transdisciplinary Online Journal. And that journal, unfortunately, has only published articles between 1997 and 1998. (There is also a non-music-specific book that contains the ‘transdiciplinarity’ in its title: Transdisciplinarity: Recreating Integrated Knowledge [Somerville and Rapport 2003].) Similarly, there is only one book (and no journal) that has ‘interdisciplinarity’ in its title – a dissertation by Roseane Yampolschi on “Standing and Conflating: A Dialogic Model for Interdisciplinarity in Composition”. But there are numerous books and journals that have the term ‘interdisciplinary’ in its ti1

The results of searches in RILM and in the International Index to Music Periodicals (IIMP) are verified as of March 29, 2009.

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tle, such as Music Perception: An Interdisciplinary Journal, Shofar: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Jewish Studies, Mosaic: A Journal for the Interdisciplinary Study of Literature, Cultural Analysis: An Interdisciplinary Forum on Folklore and Popular Culture, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, Hera’s Peacock: An International Thematic Interdisciplinary Journal. There are many books with ‘interdisciplinary’ in its title, such as Interdisciplinary Studies in Musicology, but most of them are not in English, and many of those that are in English, are not published in the US. What does this tell us? First of all, in music the term ‘interdisciplinary’ is much more used than ‘transdisciplinary’ and, second, only relatively few USAmerican scholars have shown interested in it so that they would publish books or articles on interdisciplinary music research. This problem might root in the fact that there are few scholars interested in methodological reflections on music research, since all trans-, inter-, intra-, cross-, multi-, and non-disciplinary approaches ultimately need to reflect on the use of research methods. But this might also point to another problem: that of the distinction between interdisciplinarity and intra-disciplinarity. Intra-disciplinarity refers to connections between the various subdisciplines. In music, we can at least distinguish: Music Theory Musicology Ethnomusicology New Musicology Music Sociology Music Psychology / Perception Music Semiotics Music Pedagogy / Education Popular Music / Jazz Music Aesthetics / Philosophy Music Therapy Music Performance / Performance Practice Music Gender Studies / Gay & Lesbian Studies Acoustics Music Business Music Entrepreneurship Approaches that draw from at least two of these areas are intra-disciplinary in nature. But isn’t Music Education ‘inter-’disciplinary by itself, integrating subjects and methods of music as well as of education? And Music Semiotics – integrating subjects and methods of music as well as of semiotics? Etc. Thus, I am back to where I started out: pointing out the problem of differentiating between trans-, inter-, intra-, cross-, multi-, and non-disciplinary approaches. If we consider ‘interdisciplinarity’ to its fullest extend, we will eventually

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come across ethnology, or, in our case, ethnomusicology. As a result, we will have to consider cross-cultural approaches to music. While the emergence of musicology during the late 19th century was the emergence of a “global musicology,” historical musicology with the focus on Western music soon divorced itself from some of the early ‘global’ ideas of music research. Throughout the 20th century, the separation between musicology and ethnomusicology worsened, and the separation of music theory and musicology – and the specialization of music theory over the second half of the 20th century – certainly did not contribute to a global worldview in music. Ethnomusicologists had to remind ‘musicologists’ and ‘music theorists’ that even Western music developed in specific cultural contexts, and that these cultural contexts change constantly and are influenced by what we generally refer to as ‘non-Western music’. Only recently, some ‘Western musicologists’ spoke up and called for a globalization of musicology. I specifically refer to the international congress of the Musicological Society of Japan in 2002, at which music scholars such as Nicholas Cook – especially with his lecture on We Are All Ethnomusicologists Now openly questioned the separation of musicology and ethnomusicology: “For if musicology is as much about performance as about works, as much about events as about texts, then its methods become as much ethnomusicological as musicological (and notice, by the way, how odd the word ‘musicological’ sounds when you say it straight after ‘ethnomusicological’).” (Cook 2004, 54-55.) Cook’s call for a globalization in music research goes far beyond musicology and ethnomusicology – globalization of music research means, in fact, interdisciplinary (or transdisciplinary, for the lack of a better defined term) and cross-cultural music research. 2. Toward ‘Perspectivism’ in Music Research Traditional music research is usually conducted from a single perspective: either from a historical perspective or from a theoretical perspective or from an aesthetic perspective, etc. Furthermore, traditional music research is seldom intra- or inter-disciplinary, nor is it usually cross-cultural. However, observing and researching a topic from different perspectives, thus creating a network of intra- and interdisciplinary perspectives – an approach which may be called ‘perspectivism’ – is more fruitful, since one perspective, one way, one methodology results only in one answer – an answer predetermined by the methodology applied. Shifting perspectives can mean a different answer, at least a slightly different answer. Most often, it means an epistemological enrichment (epistemology being the study of the methods and grounds of knowledge, especially with regard to its limits and validity). I would like to exemplify ‘perspectivism’ by applying it to a research

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topic that has spurred my interest for many years: the development of twelvetone music. Of course, there is a plurality of developments in twelve-tone music. However, what usually comes to mind when talking about twelve-tone music is Arnold Schönberg, Alban Berg, and Anton Webern. Webern’s twelvetone music is usually seen as the basis for the development of total serial music. We hear rarely about the etymology of the terms “twelve-tone music”, “twelvetone technique”, and of related terms; we sometimes hear about Ernst Krenek; but we rarely hear the names Joseph Matthias Hauer, Efim Golyshev, Nikolaj Roslavec, Arthur Lourié, Nikolas Obuchov, and Hanning Schröder; we sometimes hear about the aesthetic background of the development of twelve-tone music; but we rarely hear how its aesthetic counterpart, i.e. the aesthetics of New Objectivity, spurred the development of twelve-tone music; we rarely hear about the sociological developments surrounding the twelve-tone technique. So what can we expect by viewing the topic of the development of twelve-tone music from a network of different perspectives? By this I mean the perspective of music theory, since we are eventually talking about a theory of music, but also the perspectives of etymology, musicology, sociology, and aesthetics. I will now try to view very briefly certain aspects of the development of twelve-tone music and of twelve-tone technique from all these perspectives, thus conducting an intra- and interdisciplinary discussion with the goal of creating a network of perspectives. It is not my intention to cover the topic of the development of twelve-tone music exhaustively, but rather to show what ‘perspectivism’ might spell for in music research and what advantages this methodology might have to offer. Thus, some of the perspectives considered will be discussed in more detail, others only very briefly. This journey to, or from, different perspectives, will be divided into seven parts: I will start with some historical and terminological problems, thus focusing on the etymology of the terms, whereupon I will talk about theoretical aspects of (early) Western twelve-tone music, followed by a brief discussion of some cultural aspects of these developments. After another, rather “traditional”, perspective on Schönberg, I will shift perspectives again and focus on the aesthetic and sociological basis of twelve-tone music and of its counterpart, New Objectivity. The next part will present a resolution of this contradiction between Expressionism and New Objectivity, and finally, I will talk shortly about other possible perspectives of research to enrich our view of the development of twelve-tone music. A Terminological Perspective Trying to determine the beginning of the development of twelve-tone technique is difficult, since different composers have layed claim to its “invention” and different terms were used to describe the phenomenon of “twelve-tone music”. Here, “twelve-tone music” is used as a more general term, even though it is

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used synonymously with the term “composition with twelve tones.” However, Schönberg himself fought against labelling his “composing with twelve tones” as a “technique” or “system”, due to the methodical aspect of his compositiontheoretical innovations: “But, at the same time [1923], already I did not call it [the composition with twelve tones] a ‘system’ but a ‘method’, and considered it as a tool of composition, but not as a theory.” (Schönberg 1984, 213.) Terminologically, Arnold Schönberg seems to be the ‘creator’ of the term “Komposition mit zwölf Tönen”. It was mentioned first in an un-sent letter to Josef Matthias Hauer on July 25, 1922 (Beiche 1985, 4). This term was certainly also mentioned in a meeting between Arnold Schönberg and Josef Matthias Hauer in February 1923. Since that meeting, Hauer claimed to be the creator of “twelvetone technique”. Yet before that meeting with Schönberg, Hauer had only referred to his own music as “atonal”. Besides trying to determine the terms of origin, other usages of the term, or of related terms, also need to be considered: those discussed by Beiche (ibid.; see also Beiche 1984) as well as those terms in other languages that he did not discuss. The question remains as to what is new in the methodology here proposed as compared to what, for instance, Beiche did (however complete or incomplete it may have been). As I will show more effectively at the end of this paper, ‘perspectivism’ is not just about different perspectives, but also – and especially – about combining perspectives with each other to create a network of perspectives. Beiche’s approach, for instance, was a Westernoriented, historical approach. An approach making use of ‘perspectivism’ includes a consideration of how terminology, sociology, and culture relate to each other in the history of twelvetone music, etc. A Western Music-Theoretical Perspective We can see that the development of twelve-tone music was an answer to problems of two musical dimensions: harmony and counterpoint. The solutions were dependent on structural necessities of composition, i. e. on preferences by their composers. The preference of the vertical could be defined as a “Zwölftonfeld”, in which the order of the twelve tones did not have to be regulated, while the preference of the horizontal could be defined as a “Grundgestalt”, whereby the order of the twelve tones needed to be set. Certainly, more than one principle would have to be applied in composition, since polyphonic music only exists through the interaction between the horizontal and the vertical. (Danuser 1984, 130.) The research perspective proposed here would focus on theoretical aspects of different approaches to twelve-tone music without over-emphasizing any particular one. Thus, Hauer’s system needs to be given the same attention as Schönberg’s or other’s, etc.

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A Cultural-Historical Perspective While Schönberg’s “row technique” developed out of a specific German tradition of motivic-thematic logic, the development of (vertical) “twelve-tone fields” was pioneered by several Russian composers. Roslavec’s attempts with his “synthesis chord”, for instance, were based on atonal, transposable fundamental chords, which allowed for the development of vertical and horizontal six- to eight-tone fields. Around 1914, Obuchov, coming from Skriabin, developed a technique of “harmony of twelve tones without repetitions” with its own musical notation (Eberle 1980, 139foll.). Golyshev, who had been living in Berlin since 1908, claimed that he had made his first twelve-tone attempts in 1914 with his five-movement string trio Zwölftondauer-Musik; while he did indeed explore the possibilities of twelve-tone composition, he also, and more importantly, used twelve different tone durations, which he combined with each twelve-tone field. He therefore marked the beginning of total serialism, where more than one musical parameter is the basis of “row techniques”. (Danuser 1984, 130-131.) There were several other composers in other countries and under different cultural circumstances, who composed with a kind of twelve-tone technique. Research from this perspective would not only include the description of their specific twelve-tone techniques, but also look for cultural reasons for their development, for theoretical differences between different compositional techniques, for their relationships to scales, modes, etc., that were dominant in their respective cultures, and certainly for Western and other cultural influences. Another Historical Perspective: Schönberg’s Twelve-Tone Method Historically, Schönberg’s twelve-tone technique gained more importance than the twelve-tone techniques of his Western or non-Western contemporaries. From this research perspective we would therefore focus on developments of serial and total serial music that were based on Schönberg’s twelve-tone technique. Since much research has exclusively concentrated on this perspective, I feel justified in mentioning it only very briefly. An Aesthetic and Sociological Perspective: Expressionism and New Objectivity Every compositional technique is connected with specific aesthetics. Certainly, each aesthetics has a sociological basis, so both areas, aesthetics and sociology, are – at least as far as my example is concerned – connected. Every twelve-tone composer’s specific aesthetics ought to be considered, which I will try to do in more detail only with regard to Schönberg’s twelve-tone music. The discussion on the aesthetic and sociological basis of the developments of Schönberg’s twelve-tone method, Expressionism, can be best approached by comparing expressionism with the basis of another, supposedly opposite, current of develop-

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ments which took place in the 1920s: New Objectivity. (Thus, I am making use of the methodological approach of explaining something in contrast to its opposite.) The 1920s were generally characterized by these two main currents: twelve-tone-technique/Expressionism and “Neue Sachlichkeit”, in English “New Objectivity”. The term “Neue Sachlichkeit” originated from the Fine Arts and was the title of a 1923 exhibition in Mannheim. The term was coined by Gustav Friedrich Hartlaub, who mentioned two characteristics: neo-classic and left-wing. New Objectivity differed from Impressionism as well as from Expressionism in that it emphasized reality. In 1926, the music critic Heinrich Strobel wrote an article on New Objectivity in Music, in which he compared the latest developments in Fine Arts with those in music. (Strobel 1926.) A source of New Objectivity was seen in the music of Max Reger (1873-1916). The music of New Objectivity is not supposed to be academic, but rather to emphasize the artistic and technical aspects of making music. In this respect, New Objectivity is part of the same phenomenon as neoclassicism and ‘Gebrauchsmusik’. Part of this musical phenomenon is the re-structuring of social life and art in society. In music, the concept of New Objectivity for instance applies to music by Paul Hindemith, Kurt Weill, and Ernst Krenek. With New Objectivity, we find a movement away from subjective expression which had been characteristic of Romanticism; music is seen as ‘objective’ and not supposed to express intense, subjective emotion. New Objectivity is usually not used to denote a style, but a worldview, a philosophy of life. Part of this philosophy is a political responsibility, which, during the 1920s, was based on a left-wing movement in Europe. Part of this development is the concept of the ‘Zeitoper’, which is a term used for German operas of the late 1920s and early 1930s that dealt with contemporary society. This genre was based on the same desire for social relevance that motivated ‘Gebrauchsmusik’. Twelve-tone music, on the other hand, developed from Expressionism. Expressionism was a movement in German and Austrian visual arts, literature, and music of the early 20th century. Expressionists believed that music should reflect the inner consciousness of the composer. Expressionist composers would express their innermost feelings, which means that the music became a distortion and exaggeration of the external reality. The focus on inner feelings led to elitism and lack of concern for the audience. In Schönberg’s case, it resulted in the foundation of a private society, in which the latest compositions were performed for members only. Interestingly, the contrast between New Objectivity and Expressionism became the subject of the first example of the genre ‘Zeitoper’: Ernst Krenek’s opera Jonny Strikes Up from 1926. But the music of the opera itself is actually an example of New Objectivity. Jonny Strikes Up dealt with contemporary society, but it was also the first opera that used popular musical elements, specifi-

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cally musical elements of Jazz music. In 1927, Ernst Krenek published an article containing his views on New Objectivity that he had developed from his opposition to Expressionism, criticizing that the expressionist composer was an isolated individual, isolated from the influence on a wider public. (Krenek 1927.) For Krenek, New Objectivity was the composer’s search for a broader audience. The music was characterized by the absence of complexity and by a certain degree of familiarity with musical expressions. In Jonny Strikes Up, Krenek achieved this by incorporating the idioms of jazz music. The concept of a self-contained work of art, like Schönberg’s twelve-tone music, was thus largely rejected in favor of communication with the audience; references to external subjects and events became very important. In Jonny Strikes Up, Krenek emphasized social and cultural issues and used a wide variety of musical styles. The story of the opera Jonny Strikes Up revolves around the escapades of a black jazz violinist and bandleader from America, Jonny. Jonny, the hero, or rather: the anti-hero, represents a model in which artist and society are in harmony, and the artist’s role is to serve the public. Jonny, the free man, represents Krenek’s ideal as a composer. Jonny has neither sexual nor musical inhibitions. Ultimately, Jonny acts as a figure of salvation. (Cook 1988, 84.) But part of the story is also Max, who is Jonny’s antithesis. Max represents the central European studio composer, a composer like Schönberg. He embodies elitism and lack of concern for his audience. Max wants as little to do with humanity as possible, preferring isolation instead. Interestingly, Max symbolizes members of Arnold Schönberg’s circle. Max’ opening hymn clearly defines his view of the artist’s role and includes a pun on “beautiful mountain”, in German “schöner Berg”. It certainly refers to the composer Arnold Schönberg. The play on words continues in Scene Four, entitled “Max in Erwartung”. This is a play on Arnold Schönberg’s mono-opera Erwartung from 1924, not itself a twelve-tone composition, yet composed at a time when Schönberg had already developed his twelve-tone method. According to Arnold Schönberg, artists ought to renounce earthly happiness and popular success. In Krenek’s opera, Max wants to be separated from society. (Ibid., 84-85.) The musicologist Susan C. Cook commented: Related to the Max-Jonny contrast is the nature of their respective musics. Jonny is the true entertainer whose music is appreciated by the general public, whereas Max’s music is appreciated by a limited audience and reflects his isolated character. Max […] cannot create music which is useful or understandable to a larger community. Krenek emphasizes this musical dichotomy when in scene 7 the hotel guests react harshly to [… a] performance of Max’s modern opera aria, but cheer wildly when Jonny starts to play. Ultimately, Max […] is forced to return to his society. His change of heart takes place in the penultimate scene when he decides to accompany [… an opera singer] on her tour of the United States: ‘Now, the moment has come! I must catch the train Which heads for life.’ (Ibid., 86.)

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While Ernst Krenek himself did indeed head towards life in music, Schönberg did not. Schönberg’s twelve-tone method is indeed the result of his reflection on society, function of musicians in society, and the technical aspects that were connected with these sociological and aesthetic developments. An Unconventional Historical Perspective: The Resolution of the Aesthetic and Sociological Contrast A resolution of the aesthetic and sociological contrast described above was provided by two composers, but in different ways. Only a few years after his Jonny Strikes Up, Ernst Krenek himself started to use Schönberg’s twelve-tone method. When Krenek received a commission from the Wiener Staatsoper in 1929, he decided to write an opera based on the life of Emperor Charles V., which reflected the disintegration of society, praised Austrian nationalism and employed the twelve-tone technique developed by Arnold Schönberg and taken up by his pupils Alban Berg and Anton Webern. One might think that Krenek changed his mind – changing back from a desired Jonny-aesthetics to the Maxaesthetics. However, in Krenek’s case, applying the twelve-tone technique did not mean opposition to New Objectivity and its aim of mass reception. In Krenek’s unique case, it meant keeping his aesthetics based on New Objectivity with its orientation towards musicality and reception by a large audience and yet freely applying the twelve-tone technique. In this respect, even Krenek is an ‘inventor’ in the history of twelve-tone music. More interestingly, Charles V even was the first twelve-tone opera in the history of music. Yet, there is another important figure in this history: the (relatively unknown) German composer Hanning Schröder (1896-1987). Hanning Schröder was stylistically close to New Objectivity. Thus, his music should also be seen as standing in opposition to the Second Viennese School and other twelve-tone composers. However, since about 1950, Schröder brought these two contradictory compositional currents of the 1920s – New Objectivity and the twelvetone technique – together in a unique way: In almost all of his compositions after 1950, he used twelve-tone rows as a basis for his compositional developments without giving up his aesthetics and his sound ideal. Emphasizing certain interval qualities, he derived other row forms through rotations (as Krenek did, starting the early 1940s). Rhythmic and dynamic components were stressed within his strict counterpoint, but without using serial techniques for rhythm and dynamics. (Schüler 1996 and 2001.) What holds together both Krenek’s and Schröders’ twelve-tone compositions is their aesthetics, which was oriented towards the musician and the listener and towards an artistic expression that will preserve the fun in music and in making music.

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Other Perspectives Other perspectives of researching the topic of the development of twelve-tone music are the perspective of gender studies (focusing on gender differences in developments of twelve-tone music), the perspective of semiotics (focusing on signs and symbols in twelve-tone music and the relationships between semantics, syntactics, and pragmatics in twelve-tone music), the perspective of media (focusing on the importance of media for the dissemination and further development of twelve-tone music), the perspective of politics (focusing on political circumstances that, for instance, led twelve-tone composers to migrate to other countries), the perspective of computer science and technology (focusing on the importance of technology for further developments of twelve-tone music and for the development of analytical tools), the perspective of psychology (focusing on problems of psychology and perception of twelve-tone music at different times in history etc.), and even the perspective of musicological and musictheoretical thinking itself (focusing on musicological and music-theoretical reflections on twelve-tone music, and how this new knowledge – in turn – influenced developments of twelve-tone music). *

*

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The methodology I chose to research the topic of the development of twelvetone music was to approach it from different perspectives. The main idea of ‘perspectivism’, however, is the netlike combination of different research perspectives. In my example, the aesthetic and sociological perspective were pursued in more detail to show the intra- and inter-disciplinary nature of ‘perspectivism’ and to illustrate how research based on such a methodology might lead to interesting discoveries. (In fact, the only discovery I can claim here with regard to my discussion of the development of twelve-tone music is the integration of both New Objectivity and twelve-tone technique in the music of Hanning Schröder.) Generally, enrichment of research results from using and combining various methodologies provided by different disciplines, or subdisciplines. To give another example of a net-like connection of perspectives: a psychological perspective on twelve-tone music ought to be considered for each culture in which twelve-tone music developed, and ought to be connected to specific music-theoretical aspects of each development, which – in turn – have to be considered within a historical perspective, under specific social, economic, and political circumstances, etc. I believe that my approach of research showed (and can show even more if pursued in more detail) a much more diverse picture of the developments of twelve-tone music than that we usually find in theory and history books. One of the goals of ‘perspectivism’ is a methodological one: how each method used for each single perspective influences the outcome of the research. If pursued in

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more detail, perspectives can even change by combining them with other perspectives. The goal is to create a multi-dimensional dynamic network of perspectives, thus never allowing the research to be ‘complete’. The possibilities are infinite and the results hardly imaginable. Literature Adorno, Theodor W. 1972. Ästhetische Theorie. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. __________. 1975. Philosophie der neuen Musik. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Beiche, Michael. 1985. “Zwölftonmusik”, Handwörterbuch der musikalischen Terminologie, ed. by Hans Heinrich Eggebrecht. Wiesbaden: F. Steiner. __________. 1984. Terminologische Aspekte der “Zwölftonmusik”. München: E. Katzbichler. Blumröder, Christoph von. 1985. “Serielle Musik,” Handwörterbuch der musikalischen Terminologie, ed. by Hans Heinrich Eggebrecht, Wiesbaden: F. Steiner. Brinkmann, Reinhold. 1971. “Zur Entstehung der Zwölftontechnik,” Bericht über den international musikwissenschaftlichen Kongreß: Bonn 1970, ed. by Carl Dahlhaus. Kassel: Bärenreiter. pp. 284-288. Cook, Nicholas. 2004. “We Are All Ethnomusicologists Now,” Musicology and Globalization: Proceedings of the International Congress in Shizuoka 2002, ed. by the Musicological Society of Japan. Tokyo: Musicological Society of Japan. pp. 52-55. Cook, Susan C. 1988. Opera for a New Republic: The Zeitopern of Krenek, Weill, and Hindemith. Ann Arbor: UMI Research Press. Danuser, Hermann. 1984. Die Musik des 20. Jahrhunderts. Laaber: Laaber-Verlag. Eberle, Gottfried. 1980. “Klangkomplex, Trope, Reihe: Materialien zu einer vergleichenden Theorie der Zwölftonkomposition,” Musica 34/2: 139-144. Eimert, Herbert. 1924. Atonale Musiklehre, Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel. __________. 1952. Lehrbuch der Zwölftontechnik. Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel. Garnett, Liz. “Musical Meaning Revisited: Thoughts on an ‘Epic’ Critical Musicology,” Critical Musicology: A Transdisciplinary Online Journal 1998. http://www.leeds.ac.uk/music/Info/critmus/ (accessed February 27, 2007). Griffiths, Paul. 1995. Modern Music and After: Directions Since 1945. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Hauer, Joseph Matthias. 1920. Vom Wesen des Musikalischen. Leipzig: Waldheim-Eberle. Haimo, Ethan. 1990. Schoenberg’s Serial Odyssey. The Evolution of his Twelve-Tone Method, 1914-1928. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hinton, Stephen. 1985. “Neue Sachlichkeit,” Handwörterbuch der musikalischen Terminologie, ed. by Hans Heinrich Eggebrecht, Wiesbaden: F. Steiner. Höller, York. 1994. Fortschritt oder Sackgasse? Kritische Betrachtungen zum frühen Serialismus. Saarbrücken: Pfau. Johannsen, Gunnar. “Human Supervision and Control in Engineering and Music: Foundations and Transdisciplinary Views,” Journal of New Music Research 31/3 (September 2002): 179-190. Krenek, Ernst. 1927. “Neue Sachlichkeit in der Musik,” i 10/6: 216–218. Mittelstraß, Jürgen. 2001. “On Transdisciplinarity,” Science and the Future of Mankind. Science for Man and Man for Science. Proceedings - Working Group, 12-14 November 1999. Jubilee Plenary Session, 10-13 November 2000. Vatican City: The Vatican. pp. 495-500. Online in pdf at

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http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/pontifical_academies/acdscien/documents/sv%20 99(5of5).pdf (accessed February 27, 2007) Morgan, Robert P. 1986. “Serial Music,” The New Harvard Dictionary of Music, ed. by D. M. Randel, Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. pp. 741–743. Musicological Society of Japan. Ed. Musicology and Globalization: Proceedings of the International Congress in Shizuoka 2002. Tokyo: Musicological Society of Japan, 2004. Nauck, Gisela. 1997. Musik im Raum – Raum in der Musik: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der seriellen Musik, Stuttgart: F. Steiner. Perle, George. 1996. Twelve-Tone Tonality, 2nd ed. Berkeley: University of California Press. Repko, Allen F. 2008. Interdisciplinary Research: Process and Theory. Los Angeles: SAGE. Schönberg, Arnold. 1984. Style and Idea, ed. by L. Stein, transl. by L. Black, Berkeley. Schüler, Nico. 1996. Hanning Schröder: Dokumente, Kritisches Werkverzeichnis. Hamburg: von Bockel. __________. 2001. “Präliminarien zur Integration von ‘Neuer Sachlichkeit’ und Zwölftontechnik in der Musik von Hanning Schröder (1896-1987),” Musikkonzepte – Konzepte der Musikwissenschaft: Bericht über den Internationalen Kongress der Gesellschaft für Musikforschung Halle (Saale) 1998, vol. 2, ed. by Kathrin Eberl and Wolfgang Ruf. Kassel: Bärenreiter. pp. 627–633. __________. 2002. “On ‘Perspectivism’ in Music Research. Networks in Intra- / InterDisciplinary and Cross-Cultural Research,” Musik Netz Werke, ed. by Lydia Grün, Frank Wiegand, et. al. Berlin: Transcript Verlag. pp. 197-208. __________. 2004. “Towards a Methodological Globalization of Teaching Music and of Music Research (From a World Music Perspective),” Musicology and Globalization, ed. by The Musicological Society of Japan. Tokyo: Academia Music. pp. 498-502. __________. Ed. 2005. On Methods of Music Theory and (Ethno-) Musicology: From Interdisciplinary Research to Teaching. Frankfurt / New York: Peter Lang. __________. 2007. “Thoughts on Trans-, Inter-, Inner-, Intra-, Cross-, Multi-, and NonDisciplinary Approaches to Music,” South Central Music Bulletin V/2 (Spring 2007): 9-12. Somerville, Margaret A., and David Rapport. 2003. Transdisciplinarity: Recreating Integrated Knowledge. Montréal and London: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Stephan, Rudolph. 1961. “Über Josef Matthias Hauer,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 18: 265-293. Sterken, Sven. 2004. Iannis Xenakis, Engineer and Architect: A Thematic Analysis, Followed by a Critical Inventory of the Work Realized with Le Corbusier, as an Independent Architect, and as a Multimedia Artist. Ph.D. dissertation. Gent: Universiteit Gent. Steszewski, Jan, and Maciej Jablonski. Eds. 1996. Interdisciplinary Studies in Musicology. Poznan: Wydawnictwo Poznanskiego Towarzystwa Przyjaciol Nauk. Strobel, Heinrich. 1926. “‘Neue Sachlichkeit’ in der Musik,” Anbruch 8 (June): 254-256. Watkins, Glenn. 1995. Soundings: Music in the Twentieth Century. New York: Schirmer. Yampolschi, Roseane. 1997. Standing and Conflating: A Dialogic Model for Interdisciplinarity in Composition. D.Mus. dissertation. University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign.

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Matjaž Barbo (University of Ljubljana, Slovenia)

Music as a Metaphor? “It is hard to set borderlines to a composer, and yet he should write for us. In this way – I think – we might gradually understand each other. You are pulling me unmercifully upwards, and I have to pull you a little bit downwards; and we have to meet somewhere in the attained middle.” (Kuret 1995, 72.) These are the words written by the Slovene composer Hugolin Sattner to his friend Emil Hochreiter. From this note, we can detect the magnificent character of a humble Franciscan monk, who considers his former student as his counselor. Because we know that these words were written at the beginning of the th 20 century, we can be quite sure about the meaning of Sattner’s idea of “pulling upwards”. In the context of the aesthetics of the time in question, it can be understood in the sense of the ever more elaborated musical language – which, in Sattner’s case, referred to his insufficient mastering of the rules of instrumentation and to a certain degree also of harmony. It could be connected even with the idea, later realized by Adorno, about the progress of the musical material, servilely followed by a composer in keeping with the principles of historical progress. What could then be the meaning of “pulling the composer downwards” in Sattner’s thought just quoted? In the context of the aesthetic-normative system in which the accomplished compositional craft undeniably meant an affirmative aesthetical category (and not just at the time it was written, but also a century before, and even today – irrespective of the looseness of its definition), it cannot be linked with craftsmanship. It can only be understood when connected with the demand ‘for us’ from the very first sentence of the quoted Sattner thought. In this, Sattner expressed his belief that the composer has to pay due attention to the audience, which apperceives music, although not skilled in the music craft itself. The normative demand, exposed by this thought, is not so self-evident, being clearly exposed to criticism for its narrowness, uncertainty, and temporal determination. An aesthetics it seems to represent is the ‘dangerous’ germ of promoting the judgment of the audience, ‘unencumbered’ by the demands of the craft and / or the necessity of historical progress. A similar difficulty can be noticed in Guido Adler’s discussion of musicology and its division in his famous article “Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Musikwissenschaft” (Adler 1885). In the table of the division of musicology, we can indirectly find Sattner’s idea of ‘composing for us’ in the only mention of the subject’s perception as a possible object of research when determining the aesthetics, characterized by Adler as a “Vergleichung und Werthschätzung der Gesetze und deren Relation mit den appercipierenden

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Subjecten” (ibid., 16-17). Although this is emphasized as the path towards the “Feststellung der Kriterien des musikalisch Schönen” (ibid.), its importance remains doubtful. We can understand that the speculative vagueness of some of the aesthetic philosophy represents, in Adler’s concept of the sciences, a much less appropriate method in comparison with that of the historians, who tried to assume the methods of natural sciences. Therefore, the unquestioned primacy in this scheme goes, of course, to historical musicology, which postulates the “zuhöchst stehenden Gesetze” of musical art. Methods of empirical verification of the historical part of musicology offer the formulation of these rules (Gesetze), later accepted by systematic musicology, to present them (Aufstellung), arrange them, and offer them for pedagogical purposes. Historical musicology in Adler’s sense seems to assure the right connection with ‘scientific’ modes of proceedings, i.e. with sciences musicology strives to be an equal. Of course, this kind of formulating science demands a firm object of its research. The vagueness and indefinableness of music, its permanent modification in the passing of time does not assure this kind of ‘objectness’. Well known is the judgment on the transitoriness of arts, written by St. Basil in the 4th century: “Of useless [or ‘destructive’] arts there is harp playing, dancing, flute playing, of which, when the operation ceases, the result disappears with it.” (Quoted in Goehr 1994, 150.) This useless, destructive art demands a firm object of its determination. The objectification of music, condensed in Listenius’ concept of “opus perfectum et absolutum” (Listenius 1549, Chapter 1), is but one of the most basic demands for the objectification of our comprehension of the world. This demand developed the concept of the musical work, which was later incorporated in the “imaginary museum of musical works” and the institution of art that is connected with it. Objectification is one of the special demands of organizing our ways of thought foremost within the Western (European) culture. Of course, this has been most clearly connected with the system of notation. In the latter case, it seems that the objectification of music has achieved its climax. In this way, the notion of space in the score defines also our musical reception – from the imagination of high and low notes to the falling, rising, symmetry, etc. In fact, the tone objectification within the staff system is connected with the comprehension of music as a closed form, within which each and every individual element apparently produces objectified space, characterized by Scruton as a space of ‘imagination’: “we are not part of the world of sound, as we are part of the visual world. I see things before me, spatially related to me. But I do not stand in the world of sound as I stand in the world of sight. Nor is this surprising, given that the world of sound contains events and processes only . . . The sound world . . . is metaphysically apart from us.” (Scruton 1997, 13.)

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Although this world does not really exist, it is formed in the space of our imagination, within which it can be complexly organized and controlled. As such, it offers the only convincing link with ‘scientific’ methods, foreign to metaphysical speculation. The modernist structuring of tone material – among the clearest examples are the compositions in which Slovene composer Igor Štuhec in the 1960s first used the strict 12-tone method (see Barbo 2001, 164) – is, in its core, most narrowly bound to the concept of the objective musical work that can be contemplated, observed, defined, analyzed, and thereupon aesthetically valuated. This is, of course, especially true under the conditions of normative aesthetics, proceeding from the premise determined with this very art concept. Perhaps it is not necessary to mention that in spite of the difficulties, confronting the analyst by decoding such a complex tone structure, it is on the other side very ‘grateful’ material that makes it possible to achieve most persuasive and most reliable ‘scientifically’ grounded evidence. Such a concept of music was, of course, possible only in the context of the trenchant autonomy of the musical language, which could not be bound to any system of musical functionality or extra-musical contents. It occurred only under the condition of the “emancipation of the musical language”, emphasized by Dahlhaus as one of the most important moments in the development of European music. In fact, this is the turning point in the interpretation of music as a genre with an independent narrative, released from any reference outside itself. The meaning and the impact of these ideas can be seen in the fact that almost all the key aesthetic issues from the 19th century onwards are embedded in them. The most characteristic example of such thinking is the praise of the ‘romanticism’ of absolute music by E. T. A. Hoffmann: “The instrumental compositions of these three masters breathe a similar romantic spirit – this is due to their similar intimate understanding of the specific nature of the art.” (Quoted in Strunk and Treitler 1998, 1194.) The true essence of the art is its ‘romanticism’, which is by Hoffmann, of course, equated with ‘musicality’ as an emphasized aesthetic quality. The paradigm of the exposed meaning of the inner-musical game is Eduard Hanslick’s definition of musical contents as “tönend bewegte Formen” (Hanslick 1854, 59). Despite apparently opposite positions, the very same features can be found in Liszt’s apology of Berlioz’s ‘programmatic music’ and even in Wagner’s acclamation of Liszt’s idea of the symphonic poem. These are characteristic texts in which the preferences for linking music with other arts are emphasized. However, in both examples one can find a clear exposition of the value of musical autonomy and the specificity to which the profundity can be spread, inaccessible to other arts. Wagner writes explicitly: “Never, in any relation, in which music occurs, does it cease to be the highest, the most redemptive art.” (Wagner 1871, 191). Berlioz stresses that even in tone

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painting, music should never loose “some of its elevation and efficiency”: “If we want to rank tone painting as one of the expressive forms of music, without loosing some of its elevation and efficiency, the very first condition would be that this were never the aim, but only the way; that (with rare exceptions) we never understand it as a musical idea in itself, but only as a completion of an idea that logically and self-evidently arises.” (Hector Berlioz, quoted in Dahlhaus and Zimmermann 1984, 315-316.) Modernist concepts of music in the 20th century are to the high degree directly deduced from such understanding of music. It is quite significant that analytical and poetical utterances on vocal music emphasize the idiomatic specificity of musical language, even in examples of clear correlation between music and text, such as in Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis or Schubert’s solo songs. In such cases, the analysis of apparently autonomous musical happening neglects any other dimension. Schönberg writes: “Ich war vor ein paar Jahren tief beschämt, als ich entdeckte, daß ich bei einigen mir wohlbekannten Schubert-Liedern gar keine Ahnung davon hatte, was in dem zugrunde liegenden Gedicht eigentlich vorgehe. Als ich aber dann die Gedichte gelesen hatte, stellte sich für mich heraus, daß ich dadurch für das Verständnis dieser Lieder gar nichts gewonnen hatte, da ich nicht im geringsten durch sie genötigt war, meine Auffassung des musikalischen Vortrags zu ändern. Im Gegenteil: es zeigte sich mir, daß ich, ohne das Gedicht zu kennen, den Inhalt, den wirklichen Inhalt, sogar vielleicht tiefer erfaßt hatte, als wenn ich an der Oberfläche der eigentlichen Wortgedanken haften geblieben wäre.” (Schönberg 1912, 31-32.) It seems that the autonomy of the musical language is clearly connected with the modernist concept of musical understanding. As a matter of fact, one of the most obvious aesthetic “taboos” in music of the 20th century was perhaps just the connection with anything extra-musical. Even when the composer applies extra-musical features in the musical contents, the independence of music is not questioned. Borut Loparnik wrote about the cantata Brižinski spomeniki (The Freising Manuscript), written by Slovene composer Jakob Jež, as follows: “For Jež a word always represents sound (the sound of its diction, syllables, phonic elements) that can be developed into the idea and structure of a musical work.” (Loparnik [no year].) Similar words on Jež’s solo songs can be found by Mirjam Žgavec: “… the poetic word evokes sound in its pure, elemental form. Even a syllable suffices. He hearkens and senses until he attains its inner weight.” (Žgavec [no year].) Self-reference of music is a dogmatic postulate that is not to be questioned. (Stefanija 2001, 32.) It expresses the belief in the ‘specifically musical’, which is after Hanslick: “beauty, independent of any extra-brought contents, and is inherent in the tones and their artistic connection” (Hanslick 1854, 58). Beauty, emancipated in tones, does not need any contextual determination, as some contemporary analytical methods try to

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convince us. Music itself is independent of the recipient and even the composer. In this context, music gains a ‘mystical’ character. It is just in moments of deliverance from practical interests and thoughts about music as a creative procedure that it is understood as a “rein poetische Welt” (Wackenroder). Berlinger, Wackenroder’s hero, listens to a concert “even so religiously, as if being in church”. (Wackenroder 1968, 91.) That is why Tieck ascribes a religious meaning to music and characterizes it with eschatological metaphors: “at the same time, new Light, new Sun, new Earth” (ibid., 188). Therefore, music remains a metaphor, but this metaphor refers only to itself – it is a metaphor of itself. Within that, the concept of ‘artistic religion’ (Helmut Loos) is established. Musicians celebrate in the same way as priests celebrate the ‘liturgical’ ceremony together with the community of believers. The latter attend the event in deep silence and religious concentration, as demanded by ‘aesthetic contemplation’, and musicologically founded as ‘theological dogmatics’, which canonizes the community of saints and Gods as well. The rites take place in art ‘temples’ or ‘houses of culture’, which are obviously, as regards their architecture and iconography, not far from some religious edifices. So, in all features, the former metaphysical character of music remains valid in such ‘emancipated’ music, becoming now, however, the object and the aim of its ‘exceeding qualities’. With that, its self-reference annihilates the real possibility of its self-exceeding. When music becomes a metaphor of itself, it hollows out its metaphysical character. This becomes even more obvious in the case of seeing the concept of the musical work and the institution of art in relative terms, i.e. the very basis of the objectivization of the music and its institutionalization. Evaporated objectivization leads also to an abolishment of self-reference of music. Music does not refer to anything else, not even to itself; it stops being also a metaphor. In such space, postmodernist disbanding of any kind of referentiality is possible, as well as arbitrary crosswise linking, propelled by the abolishment of the great stories. This might still perhaps be just a kind of illusion – one of the great stories anticipating its own collapse. A reduction of musical referentiality seems namely to impoverish its very essence. It can be detected in the search of reference-confirmation in different epistemological approaches in musicology. In jumping over from the phenomenological debate on musical essence, via semiotic questioning of its language and structure, to analytic discussions on its immanent originality, or hermeneutic examination of its contextualization, one can become aware of the deficiency of isolated research and the necessity of their interacting collaboration. Or could that, on the other side, be seen as a sign of the search for some deeper meaning, some extra-musical reference and its metaphorical character?

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A keen critic of the contemporary seeming looseness, otherwise one of the most important Slovene composers, Lojze Lebič (Pompe 2007), declares: “Those, who really take their work seriously, are an unavoidable critical mirror to the looseness of the neo-liberal comprehension of the world.” (Quoted in Kralj Bervar 2005, 23.) Lebič’s critic is pointed towards ‘the dizziness of freedom’, as formulated by him. Although his compositions could be denoted as a paradigm of a deeply reflected musical language within the rigor of supervised structure, we can, at the same time, perceive ‘incomprehensible’ deviations from the prescribed rules, which can find their only excuse in kind of intuition, supplemented by certain, considerably symbolic, dim mottos at the beginning of his scores and some secret notes at their end. (See Barbo 2007.) Lebič says: “I think that music as an aesthetic art would be over at the very moment, when we stopped asking questions, believing, and doubting in the divine.” (Quoted in Kralj Bervar 2005, 23.) Although we must reconcile ourselves in advance with the total indefinableness of “heavenly music-making” – in the same way as then, today or whenever, in the whole history this represents an irritating challenge. In its open space lays namely full intellectual freedom. It enables unlimited freedom of speculation that can, in times of applicably oriented scientific research, legitimate included, be felt as fresh wind coming from an open window. References: Adler,

Guido. 1885. “Umfang, Methode und Ziel der Musikwissenschaft,” Vierteljahresschrift für Musikwissenschaft 1: 5-20. Barbo, Matjaž. Pro musica viva. Prispevek k slovenski moderni po II. svetovni vojni. Ljubljana: Znanstveni inštitut Filozofske fakultete, 2001. __________. 2007. “Glasba kot globalizacijski jezik? Metajezikovni kontekst Lebičeve glasbe,” Muzikološki zbornik – Musicological Annual 43/1: 187-192. Loparnik, Borut. Jakob Jež: Tri skladbe. CD Liner Notes. RTVS DD 0058. Dahlhaus, Carl, and Michael Zimmermann. Eds. 1984. Musik – zur Sprache gebracht: Musikästhetische Texte aus drei Jahrhunderten. München: Deutscher Taschenbuchverlag. Goehr, Lydia. 1994. The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works: And Essay in the Philosophy of Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hanslick, Eduard. 1854. Vom Musikalisch-Schönen: Ein Beitrag zur Revision der Aesthetik der Tonkunst. Leipzig: R. Weigel, 1854. Reprint Wiesbaden: Breitkopf & Härtel, 1966. Kralj Bervar, Sonja. 2005. “Umetniška svoboda je v omejitvah: Pogovor z akademikom Lojzetom Lebičem,” Ampak 11: 22-27. Kuret, Primož. 1995. “Sattner in Hochreiter,” Sattnerjev zbornik: simpozij ob 60. obletnici smrti, ed. by Edo Škulj. Ljubljana: Družina. pp. 67-77. Listenius, Nikolaus. 1549. Musica. Nuremberg: Petreius. Reprint Berlin: Martin Breslauer, 1927. Online at http://www.chmtl.indiana.edu/tml/16th/LISMUS_TEXT.html (accessed February 11, 2009).

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Scruton, Roger. 1997. The Aesthetics of Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Strunk, W. Oliver, and Leo Treitler. Eds. 1998. Source Readings in Music History, revised edition. New York: W. W. Norton. Pompe, Gregor. 2007. “Lebičeva ‘metafizična dialektika’ – Analiza skladateljeve eksplicitne poetike,” Muzikološki zbornik – Musicological Annual 43/1: 173-186. Schönberg, Arnold. 1912. “Das Verhältnis zum Text,” Der Blaue Reiter, ed. by [Wassily] Kandinsky and Franz Marc. München: R. Piper. 27-33. Žgavec, Mirjam. Jakob Jež: Samospevi. CD Liner Notes. Ed.DSS 999018. Stefanija, Leon. 2001. O glasbeno novem: ob slovenski instrumentalni glasbi zadnje četrtine 20. stoletja. Ljubljana: ŠOU-KODA. Wackenroder, Heinrich Wilhelm. 1991. “Das merkwürdige musikalische Leben des Tonkünstlers Joseph Berlinger. In zwey Hauptstücken,” Wilhelm Heinrich Wakkenroder: Sämtliche Werke und Briefe. Historisch-Kritische Ausgabe, ed. by Silvio Vietta and Richard Littlejohns, vol. 1. Heidelberg: Carl Winter. pp. 130-147. Wagner, Richard. [1871]. “Über Franz Liszts symphonische Dichtungen,” Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen by Richard Wagner, volume 5. Leipzig: E. W. Fritzsch, 1871-1883. pp. 182-198.

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Peter Wicke (Humboldt University, Berlin, Germany)

From Schizophonia to Paraphonia: On the Epistemological and Cultural Matrix of Digitally Generated Pop-Sounds Samples, loops, and streams, the indicators of digitally produced pop sound, are the signatures of a musical world that not only functions in accordance with rules different from those that underlay the playing of music until now. Even much more fundamentally, they have changed the cultural and epistemological matrix in which tone functions as music. To take up an expression of the Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer, who diagnosed a similarly fundamental change after the introduction of phonographic technology at the turn of the 19th to the 20th century as ‘schizophonia’ – the technological split between the production and the perception of tones – the binary simulation of tone events marks the transition to “paraphonia”, the coexistence of a primary sound event and its restoration (or better: simulation) in the process of analog-digital-analog transformation. This casts a glance on the culturally produced characteristics of ‘tone’ that, still below the level of music’s communicative claims to validity, make it a medium of playing music. The way a tone is organized as music and transformed into music is always connected with the dominant modes of its production, i.e., the predominating technologies of producing sound. Percussing the body and vocal forms of tone production, which are found as the basis of playing music in almost all primitive peoples, form the basis of a musical universe different from that of the complex mechanical tone machines that we call ‘musical instruments’. This applies all the more to digitally generated sequences of tones, which, as calculated real-time simulations of tone events, differ in principle from conventional forms of playing music. The difference is not at all limited to the respective patterns of interaction that are embedded in the technologies of tone production and that create a framework for playing music as ‘rules of interplay’. The interaction in an African percussion ensemble, both among the players and between them and their listeners, is organized differently from the interaction in a European string quartet or a hip-hip performance. Much more important is another aspect: the cultural molding that tone must go through to be receptive for the attributions and inscribings upon which playing music in the framework of a given culture are respectively based, i.e., the particular way that human societies turn tone into a medium of playing music. Underlying this is the basic distinction between sound, as the physicalacoustic bearer of tone, and tone, as the material medium of music. The rules according to which sound is produced and perceived as tone and tone as music are crucially subject to a shaping determined by the technologies of tone production. It is, so to speak, the level of the ‘cultural formatting’ of tone – an 75

analogy that goes beyond metaphor. Just as digital storage media require formatting to be inscribable, so too tone is culturally formatted to take on and ‘store’ that special form of human interaction that we call music. What thereby comes into play are the operators, the technologies of articulation, and their discursive parameters, i.e., those that are tied to conceptual and processing patterns of perception. Phonograph technology, which makes auditory sensory perception storable and transferable, has already intervened deeply in the process of the cultural formatting of tone by separating tone production from the act of its perception as music – precisely the circumstance that Schafer sought to characterize with the term ‘schizophonia’. This is all the more true if the prevailing mode of tone production is one of the binary calculation of auditory perceptual realities from arbitrarily generated streams of data. The level of cultural molding of tone and its formatting as a medium of the music in question here can be surveyed if one turns one’s focus to a singular element found in a prominent position in all musically organized worlds of tone: the production of tone by the human voice. From the songs of primitive peoples in the tropical rainforest to the vocal manipulations of techno avant-garde, from opera to hip-hop, from folk music to pop music, from classical modernism to rock – the voice is always present as the most universal instrument of tone production. As the most natural form of this process, it has experienced its probably most incisive changes through coupling with the machines of tone storage and tone manipulation – to the point where it mostly disappears in the techno tracks of the current dance and club culture. Thus, it is the most direct in its display of the aforementioned modes of cultural formatting. Phonographic and microphone technology have thereby left the deepest traces, placing the tone of the human voice, independent of and prior to any sung realization, within a novel cultural frame of reference, which henceforth became the precondition for using the voice in music. The microphone and the electric amplification technology associated with it made it possible to render the softest vocal sounds audible, quite apart from any particular singing technique. Initially this meant the intimacy of the voices of the American “crooners” (Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra), but it didn’t take long before Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, and all the other heroes of American rock’n’roll in the 1950s brought the entire spectrum of guttural noises into music. These are voices that sound recording has separated from their bearers and disrobed them of all their visibility, reducing them to their purely acoustic presence in the context of radio and record music, giving them shape as pure tone. More lies behind this than a mere shift in spatio-temporal coordinates, as the American pop star Buddy Holly spectacularly revealed in 1957 when, while recording his “Words of Love”, he sang a duet with himself by accompanying an earlier tape recording. Musical interaction with the technical reproduction of one’s own voice not only allows the singer to be doubly audible. In addition, the

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doubled voice becomes a demonstration of the technological ability to separate voices from their bearers and to have them interact with each other in purity, as mere tone tracks. The voice has thereby become a technologically produced construct, a result of the synthesis of human sound production and machine mutations. The ‘natural’ voice of Elvis Presley, as of every other pop star, may be capable of unusual sound formation, but the technologically unamplified and unprocessed use of voice does not “sound good” in the media context. Only technology can give sensual presence to such voice tone images. Without a microphone and amplification technology, such voices do not exist; as technical products, they have no bearer anymore; they separate from their singing producers and, with their particular tone characteristics, begin to settle somewhere between the human and the machine. The singing stars only provide raw material for it. The microphone becomes an instrument for the now bodiless tone of the media age. It wasn’t long before the voice and the body separated in reality, and not only technologically / virtually. In 1975, when the German music producer Frank Farian landed a surprise hit with “Baby Do You Wanna Dance”, he not only had a commercial success, but also a big problem. The recording was the result of a studio experiment in which he himself had taken the singing part. But because of his extreme stage fright, he did not feel able to adhere to the customs of the pop industry and present his song live to an audience. So, for the indispensable live performance, it seemed only natural to hire a session singer: Bobby Farrell, who quite literally ‘embodied’ Farian’s singing voice by lipsynching on stage. The performance was so convincing that to this day hardly anyone knows who actually was the singer of this recording sold under the name Boney M. It was also Farian who, in 1988, took a decisive step further by tying together the vocal recordings of the three studio musicians Charles Shaw, John Davis, and Brad Howe with the bodies of the two dancers Robert Pilatus and Fabrice Morvan under the name Milli Vanilli. The process became a scandal in 1989, when Milli Vanilli, i.e., Pilatus and Morvan, received one of the coveted Grammies from the American National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences for their supposed vocal achievement. They had to return it, of course, when the background story leaked. This is one of the curiosities of pop music history, but the technological synthesis of voice and body – here turned into reality for the first time and concealed on stage with corresponding technical means – marks a turning point: even in the most primal field of music, singing, something reached perfection that had long characterized instrumental playing in the studio, namely the drifting apart of tone and tone production, tone and body. Since the 1960s, in the studio, the musician with his or her instrument has provided nothing more than a triggering impulse that steers a chain of apparatus kept in motion by sound engineers, sound technicians, and music producers.

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Whether the result captured on tape sounds as ‘natural’ as possible, i.e., as close to the unprocessed sound of instruments, or is notably ‘synthetic’ is a purely aesthetic and arbitrary decision – a decision often not even made by the musician, but by the recording technician at the sound board in collaboration with the producer. What has happened here is the gradual dissolution of connection between tone and the human subject who creates it, which was not only valid for centuries in the occidental musical tradition, but also and above all a visible connection that had its starting point in the singing voice, i.e., in the natureconstrained unity of the person playing music and the producer of tone. Tone turned into music encodes for us – an ‘interior’ that becomes an ‘exterior’ through the musically expressing subjective individual and that takes a shape and is thereby communicable in a unique way. The dissolution of this connection is a process whose implications can hardly be overestimated. On the level of the tone signal, the difference between the human vocal apparatus as a biological-mechanical producer of vibrations, on the one hand, and a tone generator providing sinus waves, on the other, shrinks to insignificance. As tone signals, both are inscribed with the same parameters. The digitalization of the medium of tone was another decisive step in this process. In binary representation, tone has completely cut its connection with the modalities of its production. It has become the calculated, real-time simulation of itself, whereby the process of simulation, i.e., the process of making the digitally-acquired numerical values audible again by means of digital / analog converters, has not only made the difference between corporeal, mechanical, and signal-based, electrical forms of tone production meaningless; it has eliminated that difference. The rhythm patterns and tone streams of techno tracks, for example, can be machine-generated or hand-played, using a MIDI keyboard or a mixture of both, for example a technically created endless loop of a played or sampled musical figure. Today, not even experts can accurately use the aural result of the instruments and technological effect devices to identify the modalities of sound processing and transformation or the methods used to technically synthesize tone. And this has consequences. Tone has thereby experienced a far-reaching de-referentialization. Once it was the symbolic medium par excellence – every audible tone, as a kind of vector of meaning, always pointed more or less unambiguously to its production and producer and was thus inextricably tied to a dimension of meaning. But in digitalized form, it stands suspended in space, completely free, unattached, without origin, traceless, and thereby also initially meaningless. The digitalized tone, made audible, then represents nothing more than binary numbers, even if its values are extracted from the sampling of a natural sound. Here, tone has become a pure inherent state of perception; the unity of material, medium, and perception has broken apart forever.

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The self-evidence with which tone could be heard as a sign of emotionality, expression, subjectivity, interiority, and symbolic representation of narratively constructed patterns of meaning corresponds with the selfevidence with which sound can be taken as a medium whose origin – whether played, technologically manipulated, or technologically generated – is unimportant, because sense and meaning result from the connections and transformations that can be literally ‘docked’ onto sound shapes. Access to a universe understood in accordance with the principle of the databank and thus as relational and abstractly addressable and the linking of elements to create networks without even slightly affecting the identities of the elements are the key technologies of a form of making music that avoids even the term ‘music’ and that emblematically carries the technical quality of the production of sound – techno – in its designation. Central to this is the concept of repetition, not in the sense of repeated action, but in the form of technologically generated chains of events: loops or synthesizer sequences that replace the former narratively composed structure of sound sequences in music. This means that the singing voice has lost its privileged position in the universe of music. Here it is nothing more, not more significant, no more meaningful, no more emotion-laden, and certainly not more ‘natural’ than any technologically generated noise welling up from the sound canons of the media age: loudspeakers at home or used collectively. Behind this stands a machinegenerated code of rules of combination, a network structure turned into sound for mobile (dancing) bodies to ‘log on to’ – a term whose frequent use in this connection is telling. – To make this development clear, let us take up a symptomatic case: the productions of the Icelandic singer Björk Guðmundsdóttir, known as Björk. The mere fact of her career as a pop star is already deeply owed to the aforementioned changes. The singer, who was born in 1965 in Reykjavik and still lives there, comes from a place that is as ‘un-pop’ as possible. It is no coincidence that, into the 1990s, artists were mostly excluded from access to the global pop market if they could not present the popspecific authenticity of the site of their origin, which had to be either urban, ‘hip’, and in one way or another ‘far out’, or else had to fit the ideas of the ‘exotic’ as propagated by the tourism industry. For the latter, the supermarket of sounds offered and still offers the genre of “World Music”. But Björk corresponds to none of that, or to all of it at once, which in turn is possible only if the authenticity of the site no longer plays any role in playing music. Like many music-obsessed people of her generation all over the world, she began making music in a punk band. The pleasure in experimenting took her from punk rock to post punk, which had turned commercial marginalization into the seal of quality of a street avant-garde. But she did not gain the status of an international pop star until she collaborated with the meanwhile legendary techno artist Mark Bell, who from 1988 on joined Gez Varley in the immensely

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influential Sheffield techno duo Low Frequency Oscillator (LFO). Here, in the dance and techno area, the consequences of the digitalization of music, not least in the consistent anonymization of the productions and their connection to frequently changing, identity-free fantasy names, had long since been felt. Now Björk was to become one of the first pop stars outside of the narrower techno field whose productions audibly exhibited the aesthetic consequences of the comprehensive digitalization of sound. Against the backdrop of his techno-club experience with an audience shaped by the high-tech media world, Bell transformed Björk’s singing voice into a diversely-processed digitally generated or digitally reprocessed world of sound. What was produced in what way is neither relevant nor retraceable here, even if the singer surrounds herself in the studio with a select circle of musicians from the most various parts of the world to recording freestyle sessions (i.e., without any score or directives at all), in order to find the spirituality that enables her to generate suitable sound material. On the computer, producer Mark Bell and the singer, who shares responsibility with him for the production, use software synthesizers, sequencer programs, soundmorphing, and sound editing to create sound architectures that have caused a sensation since the mid-1990s, because they let the reformatted medium of making music develop into an aesthetic re-dimensionalization of music itself. Instead of using digital real-time simulations of sound to mimic supposedly ‘genuine’ sound, i.e., instead of structuring the musical action as if the sound world it clings to had been produced in the conventional way and unfolded within the traditional spatio-temporal parameters, the productions of Björk and Mark Bell relinquish this illusion. A very characteristic example of this is the album Homogenic, released in 1997, whose cover design already points to such technological synthesis forms, a computer-generated artificial figure of multiple cultural identities in which at most the facial features encode a recollection of the singer. The album’s music peculiarly fulfills the paradox of sensual abstraction. The voice, for example, Björk’s trademark, is not really technologically distorted, but the exhibited character of digital simulation processes makes it not really human, either. It is a unique sound form of icy beauty, but nonetheless it has not been made “alien” as an unambiguously technological product and thereby placed at a distance to the listener. This ambiguity is what manifests the digital reformatting of sound as a medium of making music. In digitalized form, the sequentially processing sound form becomes a ‘link’ in the mediatized world. The development sketched here points to an overarching aspect that has fundamental importance: the epistemological parameters with which music is theoretically to be viewed are always already given in the respective culturally formed epistemological matrix underlying sound as the material medium of playing music.

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Lubomír Spurný, Masaryk University, Brno, Czech Republic

Semiology in Music and Art: Czech Music Semiology To say “music semiology” already means a certain classification. With its help, it is possible to interpret the syntax of music and the process of structuring a musical work; semiology, thus, becomes part of music theory. Semiology (at least as a music-oriented pragmatic system) can be an inspiration to music sociology, historiography, ethnomusicology. Not even the emancipatory tendencies of the last few decades have deprived semiology of its links to aesthetics. It is still true that questions of signs and meanings in music is one of the key problems of music aesthetics. Its study offers three possible approaches with, of course, a range of varieties and cross-currents. The most radical approach denies that music carries any sign, or even a communicative status. A second approach, let’s call it ‘non-semiotic formalism’, connects the meaning of a work with the way it is structured and modeled at all levels. The third approach acknowledges that music is a sign structure of its own kind and that musical signs have specific meanings. Speaking about signs and meanings does not necessarily make us music semiologists. The whole intricate issue can be usefully described from a view outside the actual music-semiotic discourse, as has been done so for instance by Carl Dahlhaus, Hans Heinrich Eggebrecht, or Peter Faltin. On the other hand there were authors like Zofia Lissa, Vladimír Karbusický, Christian Kaden, or Jiří Fukač, who essentially recognized the need of musical semiology (or specifically the semantics of music), who were aware of the fact that the results of semiotic interpretation do not always sound convincing enough. This may be why these authors, with their own emphatic style, drew attention to some difficulties and possible mistakes arising from the application of this method. When Jaroslav Volek (1981) in his study Hudební struktura jako znak a hudba jako znakový systém [Musical Structure as Sign and Music as a System of Signs], described a possible methodology for Czech music semiology, he expressed in it not only his wishes and expectations, but at the same time a conviction that the application of principles of the general theory of signs and linguistic theories would lead to the solution of the question of the conditions under which music is able to contain specific meanings or refer to something beyond itself. All this was nurtured by the experience of a musicologist who showed an ambition to understand the meaning of things and fully grasp the phenomenon in question, hand in hand with a skepticism that warns against premature interpretations. In his study, Volek compares semiotic discourse to the noise of a big bazaar, which means the inflationary invasion of several methodologies and

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interpretations. Despite Volek’s evaluation being a criticism of the situation current at the time, it is still true that there is no unique ‘leading’ conception of semiology. In this field, there is a range of scholarly approaches and schools. The statement that semiology today presents a methodologically nonhomogeneous subject, fragmented into a range of fields, certainly does not sound too surprising. And this is completely accurate, also if one refers to Czech research on the subject. (‘Czech’ is in many cases synonymous to ‘Czechoslovak’.) So what is Czech semiology like? If the credibility and legitimacy of a subject depends on the number of its users, then it will certainly count as a marginal conception. This type of theory was developed in Czechoslovakia from the end of the 1950s. Since the 1970s, it has been connected with the activities of the “Mezioborový tým pro vyjadřovací a sdělovací systémy umění” (Interdisciplinary Team for Systems of Expression and Communication in Art). In the 1970s and 1980s, a group of musicologists worked in this team, which was later called the “Prague Team for Music Semiology”. The core of this group were Jaroslav Volek, Jaroslav Jiránek, Jiří Fukač, and Ivan Poledňák. The initial wave of enthusiasm and a broader interest in this kind of research was replaced by a gradual cooling off during the 1990s. It seems now that music semiology stands at the periphery of musicologists’ interest, while having the advantage of an ‘insiders’ fellowship’. Such a statement may sound exaggerated, but still the absence of references in scholarly writings or the frequency of papers in conferences rather support such pessimistic statements. Though the semiotic orientation of the Prague team gradually dissipated and the team itself fell apart through the successive deaths of its members, these succeeded during more than 12 years in creating an individual conception of musical semiotics. The members of the team described it in a range of studies in periodicals, books, and dictionary entries. Jiří Fukač and Jaroslav Jiránek frequently reported on it at foreign conferences. Jiří Fukač attempted to explain the issue of music communication in his study Pojmoslovie hudobnej komunikácie [Nomenclature of Music Communication] (Fukač 1986). Jaroslav Jiránek presented his individual approach to semiology especially in his book Tajemství hudebního významu [Mystery of Musical Meaning] (Jiránek 1979). The summarizing study “Musical Semiotics: A Report from Prague” (1990) by Ivan Poledňák (1990) presented information in a form accessible for an Englishspeaking public. The three-volume publication Základy hudební sémiotiky [Foundations of Musical Semiology] (Fukač et al. 1992) became a canonic writing of Czech semiology. A huge list of authors and publications could follow and would certainly confirm the statement about the variety of the subject. But all the various interpretations are subject to a rule – the tradition they all follow and refer to. This tradition is very clear. One of the authors most frequently cited in these texts is Otakar Zich (1879-1934), a pupil of Otakar

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Hostinský (1847-1910) and one of Jan Mukařovský’s teachers. Another source of inspiration is presented by the texts of the Prague Linguistic Circle, which since 1929 have kept on formulating the semiotics of works of art. Their theory followed the conception of language as a semiotic system, elaborated by Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913). Semiology, as presented by the Prague structuralists, was intended to become a new science – a general methodological basis for the theory of the arts, which would offer important arguments as polemics against aesthetic theories that attempted to interpret a musical work in terms of direct (causal) relations with the author’s individuality, with biographical facts (biographical method, the interpretation of a work by its author), with ideological trends of the time, or with sociological methods. This new science would study its subject as a structure of signs and values. The substance of art is no longer made up by subjective impressions, but by words, tones, surface, line, color. Also, in post-war history the general semiology and theory of communication played the role of an arbiter in solving some controversial questions in musicology, and especially in the aesthetics of music. In relation to the unprecedented expansion of interest in structuralist methodology in the social and natural sciences in the 1960s, the word ‘structure’ became one of the most frequently used terms. In accordance with the interwar tradition I mentioned a moment ago, music is interpreted as a sign in which the communicative function is dispersed or vague, rather as in, let’s say, abstract art. Let the following superficial characteristics be a confirmation of this assertion. Many non-semantic conceptions result from experience, according to which music draws attention to itself. Listening to it, we distinguish structurally more important parts that draw our attention. The Czech tradition to some extent conforms to this conception by introducing the binary pair of terms presentation – representation. If something should function as a sign, then it must draw attention to itself, as a figure does in relation to its background. These can, for instance, be motifs or themes from traditional music; these parts are thematized by their repetition. Presentation becomes a secondary function of a sign, in contrast to representation, which is a proper function of a sign, that is, to mean something other than itself. In Czech semiology, besides the attempt to classify the signs and types of representation, we also find such terms as interpretation, typified sign, subsign, metasign, paradigm, syntagm (these correspond to the terms langue, parole), content, and meaning. Music signs are created to circulate, to be communicated. But to be communicable, it is necessary to solve the problem of their transfer and comprehensibility. If we take a further step and connect the problems of sign and structure with the process of signal exchange, we find ourselves in the field of music communication, as it was defined in the course of the 1970s, for instance by Jiří Fukač: “Music, typologically, genetically . . . belongs to the family of types of

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sound communication. . . . Music is simply, by rule and by its essence, a communicatum, it acts as a message and contains information.” (Fukač 1989, 215-216.) Thus, Fukač confirmed the sign and communication character of music. In the 1960s, music analysis influenced by the intonation theory of Boris Asafiev became popular, as he formulated it for instance in his work Музыкальная форма как процесс [Musical Form as a Process] (Асафьев 1947). In Czech musicology, this type of analysis was developed by Antonín Sychra (1959), and Jaroslav Jiránek (1967) attempted to develop it into a comprehensive system. The goal of this method was to bridge the perceived disjunction between the content of a heard musical work as subjectivity and its structure as objectivity. This kind of analysis then attempts to interpret a work as a so-called content form. Also another point is indispensable for a semantic interpretation: it must be preceded by a syntactic (or material) study, that is, a description of the hierarchical structure of the musical work. In the Czech (Czechoslovak) variant of this kind of analysis, especially the modified Riemann ‘Funktionstheorie’, motivic-thematic analysis was used (this was used and developed in the Czech scene from the 1920s onward). The use of these methods then predetermined the results of these analyses. We can recapitulate by saying that music cannot function as a semantic system a priori. So Czech semiology attempted to construct a critique and correction of music reception as an analogy to natural language and of musicology as a ‘philology of music’. Despite a certain resemblance to language, music functions differently. What is understood as clear and comprehensible while a music work is being heard, resists a notional interpretation on account of its unclear – or, on the contrary, ambiguous – signification. Generally, it can be said that the semantic situation of a musical work greatly accentuates precisely those problems that underlie the process of communication of natural language. The discussion is not only about the specific cultural nature of musical material, but first of all about the dependency of meaning on the individual message conveyed by specific musical forms, conventions, and traditions: Oriental music has no meaning for a European, and, moreover, music has no meaning for an inexperienced ear. Similarly, the question of denotation in music refers to the field of emotional and value relationships, hardly comprehensible in terms of notions. Ambiguity, vagueness of meaning at various levels, and especially the dependence of meaning on a concrete realization of the work are crucial in the case of music. Despite indisputable successes, musical semiology provokes many objections. We can, for instance, ask if the fact that musical structure possibly functions as a sign has any deeper significance for understanding the essence and function of music. And also the introduction of new terminology or use of excessive statistical and logical apparatus often leads to trivial, banal, or expected results.

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(Such interpretations may even lead to the disappearance of the work as an artefact.) Ordinary interpretations of Asafiev’s theory for instance have often forgotten its psychological aspect, according to which a work should create causal relations, which in the process of listening can be perceived as a logical form, penetrable according to the abilities of the listener. Musical analysis then functions as a graphic representation of the way we perceive the work. The understanding of a musical work as a comprehensible unity leads from sections small enough to be registrable by musical memory, towards a compound unity. The quality of the hidden relations is the business of the listener who seeks the original orientation of the work and determines its value. What is Czech / Czechoslovak music semiology then like? This question must evidently remain unanswered. It would be daring to voice a verdict in the end, especially while it has not yet become merely a matter of the past, and while its future remains uncertain. None of us, who have been students under the above-mentioned pioneers of this subject, have yet found enough courage or motivation to develop this tradition, which is without question rich in inspiration. But musical semiology will evidently survive as one of the methods that have determined the character of Czechoslovak musicology. Literature Асафьев. Борис Владимирович. 1947. Музыкальная форма как процесс. Москва: Гос. муз. издат. Fukač, Jiří. 1986. “Pojmoslovie hudobnej komunikácie,” O interpretácii umeleckého textu 9: 199-285. Fukač, Jiří. 1989. Mýtus a skutečnost hudby: traktát o dobrodružství a oklikách poznání. Prague: Panton. Fukač, Jiří, Jaroslav Jiránek, Ivan Poledňák, and Jaroslav Volek. 1992. Základy hudební sémiotiky. Brno: Masarykova univerzita, 1992. Jiránek, Jaroslav. 1967. Asafjevova teorie intonace, její geneze a význam. Prague: Academia, 1967. Jiránek, Jaroslav. 1979. Tajemství hudebního významu. Prague: Academia. Karbusický, Vladimír. 1986. Grundriß der musikalischen Semantik. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Mukařovský, Jan. 1967. Kapitel aus der Poetik, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp. Poledňák, Ivan. 1990. “Musical Semiotics: A Report from Prague,” In Theory Only 11/6 (September): 1-13. Sychra, Antonín. 1959. Estetika Dvořákovy symfonické tvorby. Prague: Státní nakl. krásné literatury, hudby a umění. Volek, Jaroslav. 1981. “Hudební struktura jako znak a hudba jako znakový system,” Opus Musicum XIII/5, 6, 10: 129-142, 161-174, 289-295.

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Dalibor Davidović

Interception During the last few years, I have frequently been confronted with the gesture of surprise or even pity when I said I was currently living and working in Zagreb, after having spent some time abroad – as if life in Zagreb was not worth for a musicologist. Inhabitants of Croatia usually find the circumstance of living here to be some sort of handicap, even bad luck. It would be better to live somewhere else; life would be easier. In a way, they are right. To do musicology in Zagreb is not easy, especially if one is accustomed to intense Western life, including the usual offer of books, concerts, and other sound events. Changing the place one lives in leaves one without things that one was once familiar with, a smell or a particular sound of the location. In Zagreb, I could not practice my little ritual of searching for a certain cheap and bizzare CD in a local shop when returning home from the university, a recording which should become the soundtrack of my evening. In the best case, CD shops in Zagreb offer only the new releases of major labels; the choice is not so great, the possibility of finding a cheap second-hand CD is almost impossible. Libraries in Zagreb are even worse equipped. In the early 1990s, they were eagerly cleaned of the books on the supposedly wrong alphabet, but that cleansing was indeed only one case in the series. Namely, libraries in Croatia are mostly considered not as a service in the name of public interest, but as a source of filling one’s own private library. A Croatian intellectual is not accustomed to using public libraries on a daily basis. Their financial resources are very limited, therefore they do not have many possibilities to buy new books, editions in foreign languages even less, and the best books have already been stolen. (Some years ago, I even heard an argument that university teachers in Croatia steal books from the shelves of public libraries, not only because of financial reasons, but in the first place to prevent students from finding the sources of ingenious ideas, which they present at their courses as their own.) In public libraries in Zagreb, it is almost impossible to find a musicological book one may need for the job – especially a new one. If one does not want to buy or steal it, one could eventually order it from abroad via the library, but one has to wait for it for a long time. What kind of musicology can be practiced under such circumstances? For example, a musicologist can start her / his own private system for data storage, a private library or an archive, in order to compensate the poor condition of public services. But the private archive has seldom everything one needs for musicological work, old and new books, journals and encyclopedias, not to mention expensive critical editions. This may be the reason why such a musicologist, relying merely on a private archive, is obsessed with the newest books and para-

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digms; where memory is not externalized in the public archive, where it is not accessible for all, but only for the musicologist her- / himself, this musicologist can only hope that with each new book she / he will find access to the big science, that she / he will speak the same language with the distant world, which could finally hear what she / he has to say. But the up-to-date publication will soon become outdated, and the critical editions will be too expensive for a private person to buy. The musicologist will soon understand that she or he has no chance to become a part of the musicological world she or he wants to belong to. Her or his resources are too weak for more than occasional flashes of hope that this musicologist finally reached the position of those living under the condition marked by no handicap. Since for this person true life is somewhere else, she / he feels his own life to be only a shadow of it – a shadow that is necessarily deficient in relation to the fullness of life in the distant world. Yet, it is exactly this reference to the true life that brings her / him a feeling that she / he might somehow participate in it. Separated from the true life, which seems to be possible only in the distant world, such melancholic musicologist can only hope to come as close as possible to it through the repeated attempts to reach it, although this musicologist knows that this undertaking cannot succeed. Another Croatian musicologist would find such an approach to scientific practice suitable only for losers. Since this person would not want to be one of them, her / his own musicology should take a rather different path. Instead of searching for new books, she / he should simply insist upon the local musical practices, which are supposedly not known in the distant world of big science. For her or him, music is necessarily a part of the general culture, indicator of the civilized condition of those people whose expression it is supposed to be. According to her / him, the task of a musicologist in Croatia is simply to expose this civilized condition, to show that ‘Croatian culture’ is a part of ‘European culture’, that it has indeed always been a part of it. This musicologist has no need for expensive critical editions or encyclopedias, since the research objects can be found at home, in the local archives. “Why to study Schubert? There are already so many publications dealing with him, the possibility that you will discover something new is almost impossible. Let others occupy themselves with him. Here you have Livadić – no one but you will work on him! Take him!” – This was the advice I got during my studies in Zagreb. But my impression has always been that this kind of musicology was interested in music only so far as music could serve other purposes than to be simply music: if the musicologist is concerned about exposing the civilized condition of Croatia, her / his point of reference does not seem to be the music itself, the music as it is, but first and foremost the national interest, this mystical ground of the musicologist’s decision to occupy himself with Livadić rather than Schubert. (The musicologist would deal with Schubert only to show that the composer is somehow related to the Croatian nation or even

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that she / he belongs to it.) In the times when the existence of the Croatian nation was seen as endangered, because there was no autonomous nation-state to care for the nation’s security, wealth, and power, the musicologist’s task was to take part in the empowerment of the national culture dealing exclusively with music of Croatian composers, showing how ancient this music indeed is, as if this occasion suggests the eternity of the nation itself, its eternal right to materialize itself into the nation-state. When finally the nation finds its state form, the new battlefields emerge: transformed into the national heritage, music could be exposed as a tourist offer, in order to bring revenues to the government budget. Although the starting points and the tasks of both musicologists are indeed different, they are not unrelated to each other. For both of them, true life is namely separated from the field where life substance seems to weaken. In both cases, it is a question of space: whereas the melancholic musicologist finds true life to be somewhere else, maybe in Europe, maybe in America, the other one does not really seem to be interested in others. What interests her / him is rather how to preserve the national culture, how to save it from pollution through foreign influences, how to present its beauty to others, expecting that they will admire it and recognize how civilized Croatians really are. Yet, her / his hyperactivity in presenting the national music heritage at musicological conferences around the world, in order to be recognized as a part of the civilized world, speaks rather for her / his dependence on the other. The real separation is not only the source of the feeling of being important, being a part of the big science in the distant world, but also the source of her / his greatest fear: the fear that someone could understand the reason for presenting this music differently than she / he does. Is it really so far from the melancholic musicologist’s notion that life in Croatia is actually marked by handicap, a damaged life that is worth living only through the relation to the true one? I can imagine that none of both musicologists like the work of the other. The melancholic one finds the work of his colleague being not only nationalist, finding the reasons for occupying herself / himself with poor Croatian music rather than the great European one, but also weak in the sense of superficial argumentation. Another musicologist, the paranoid one, cannot excuse her / his colleague for wasting energy on the subjects that in her / his opinion cannot bring the wealth to the national culture. But in finding the work of the other problematic, they confirm their own dependency on the division of space. Not only the space is divided, but also the music. For both of them, music is not simply a sound phenomenon, but always more: it is either a light coming from the marvelous place over the rainbow, showing that the independence is possible and thus bringing consolation to one’s own sad and empty life, marked by the irreparable loss of the true life substance; or it is the expression of the national spirit searching for the recognition by others. To control this something more, this true center of music, science is necessary. Both musicologists meet

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indeed at this point, whereas it seems not so important whether they try to elaborate the rules for the production of new pieces or simply try to describe some music that is already there. But science cannot think. If it could, it would not be science anymore. It can collect some sort of objects, describe and analyze, compare and classify them, measure them and use the achieved data for the production of similar objects. The better, more effective method will replace the old one. Science is a competition under strict conditions, which cannot be controlled by science itself. Since the rules are given, the winner will be the one who has the greatest archives and the best methods at her / his own disposal. Of course, for both musicologists this competition is always lost. The melancholic one will not be listened to: although she / he could even have something interesting to say to the broader musicological circles, in the world of big science there are already many other musicologists working on the same subject and having a possibility to consult many more sources. The other musicologist, concerned with the national interest, will be listened to carefully, but probably not in order to be recognized by foreign musicologists as one of us. Instead, this person will be treated as a messenger, bringing information about some distant, exotic places. True science, just as true life, seems to be always elsewhere, at some unattainable places where the colleagues can fully develop their possibilities without being handicapped by the poor working conditions. Finding the musicologists abroad, in Europe and America, to be fully developed, unmarked by the handicap, both Croatian musicologists can only become disappointed by their own life. The more they are concerned with the wholeness of the other, the more they will find themselves being disabled. But one’s own disability does not necessarily seem to lead to the scientific treatment of music. Also Joseph Jacotot, a French teacher whose biography was written by Jacques Rancière, was afflicted by change that made him disabled. After studying rhetorics, he had a short military career and was engaged politically on the side of the Republic. The return of the Bourbons to power forced him to escape to the Netherlands. But what can you do when you find yourself working as a teacher of French at the university in a foreign land whose language you don’t speak? Incidentally the bilingual, French-Dutch edition of Fénelon’s novel The Adventures of Telemachus was published in Brussels just at the moment. The book used by Jacotot for teaching French was therefore chosen by chance. If another book was published in a bilingual edition, it would be used instead of Fénelon’s novel, although it is interesting to notice that the French original of The Adventures of Telemachus was itself a kind of translation of the ancient Greek writings. The bilingual edition made it possible for Jacotot to teach French in the foreign land whose language he did not speak. However, this teaching was rather unusual, since it was not based on the division between those who possess the knowledge and those who do not. With the help of a bi-

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lingual book, Jacotot could teach without possessing the knowledge. The pupils learned French comparing words of Dutch translation with the related words of French original without knowing the French grammar first, just as they learned the mother tongue once. It is not the teacher who possesses the truth that should be learned by pupils; the truth can not be possessed at all, even not as something common, something that can be shared by people and get them together, like paradigm or consensus. “The truth exists only for itself” wrote Jacotot in one of his writings. “The truth is what exists, not what is said. The speech depends on men, but the truth doesn’t.” (Rancière 1987, 99.) It is the truth of the thing itself, of the book, revealing itself to the eye of those willing to read. Therefore, the “principle of credibility” lies at the heart of this experience. “It is not the key to any science, but the privileged relation of everyone to the truth, the relation which directs him to his path, to his orbit.” (Ibid., 98.) The exile opened Jacotot’s eyes to the insight that the usual pedagogy presupposes the division between those who possess the truth and those who do not, whereas the teacher is not only a person who possesses the truth, but also determines what the truth is. In other words, the usual pedagogy is only concerned with legal procedures, leaving outside its horizon the problem of truth itself. It should not astonish that usual pedagogy is scientific, since the science is exactly such procedural discourse. The sense of Jacotot’s teaching, on the contrary, was to do justice to the things themselves and through it to give the pupils a possibility to emancipate themselves from the usual pedagogical system. Since the truth retreated into the things themselves, leaving the teacher, the only thing the teacher should do is to organize the situation in which pupils could occupy themselves with the things, instead of insisting upon the reproduction of prepared truths. What would Jacotot do if he were not a teacher of French, but a musicologist? It seems that his handicap would lead him neither to melancholic nor to paranoid science, neither to this or that strategy of controlling the space distance; the space distance between France and the Netherlands was interesting to him only in the sense that he unconditionally accepted new living conditions in the second land, although they were much less favorable than the conditions he had in France. Exactly this acceptance of the new conditions opened the possibility to put aside the strategies of controlling the space distance, since Jacotot’s interest was not to reach the conditions of the distant world, but to concentrate upon the things themselves. In other words: if he concentrated upon music, upon its pure existence, he would leave aside its scientific treatment, characterized by the desire to control this something more than music, which is for both musicologists its true center. To do justice to music would for Jacotot mean to leave musicology, since the sphere of legality, the scientific and procedural definition of truth could only treat music as the object suited for musicology’s own purpose: control of space. If Jacotot were a musicologist, he would leave

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musicology organizing the sessions in which other things would be taught than those taught in usual schools, and in another way. I can imagine that his pupils would not only (???“not” or “not only”???) be pure recipients of prefabricated truths, little machines for reproduction, but would practice something that could be named interception – a learning from the things themselves, maybe in order to produce such things. Jacotot would only laugh at the melancholic musicologist’s attempts to reach the newest book and at the paranoid musicologist’s fear of misperception, since for him their problem lies exactly in their belief in the legal sphere, in the legal archives. He would say: “Why should we close ourselves into the legal sphere? There are so many things out of public archives and CD shops. To restrict yourself to the legal sphere would mean to restrict music, to be deaf for it. Instead of using public archives or even establish the private one, use the internet, there you will find much more music than elsewhere!” I must say I can easily identify myself with his words. What I have always been interested in was music, not musicology, and I think that I would not cry if musicology did not exist one day. However, could the trouble with musicology be solved through simple skipping into something else? Does this something else exist in its own right? The final chapter of Rancière’s book describes how even Jacotot’s teaching turned into something else. The way of teaching, which Jacotot refused even to name, was taken up by military and philanthropic institutions. Becoming ‘Jacotot’s method’, it was transformed into a plan that could be applied and taught at the usual pedagogical institutions. Instead of doing justice to things themselves and affirm the equal chances of all pupils, it became the sign of one’s own value or enlightened condition. However, Rancière did not present Jacotot’s teaching as a complete failure, since he identified its subsequent turn to method to be the beginning of a downfall. But the description itself did not miss the moment of Jacotot’s teaching sessions, which indeed seems to be repetitive or methodic: on one hand the teacher did not possess the truth about objects, but on the other he knew how to organize such learning situation. As if the attempt to leave completely the legal sphere, the sphere of science and procedure, ends in reference to it, if not in the very sphere. Therefore, it seems that the only way to escape musicology is just the opposite – to practice it. Reference: Rancière, Jacques. 1987. Le maître ignorant: Cinq leçons sur l'émancipation intellectuelle. Paris: Fayard.

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Katarina Habe (University of Maribor, Slovenia)

Current Issues and Trends in the Psychology of Music in Slovenia The aim of the following paper is to explore some of the main characteristics of the psychology of music in Slovenia. Before preceeding, it is necessary to present the psychology of music and its position through time and space. The paper will pursue the following questions: Where does the psychology of music stand as a science in Slovenia? What is the position of this interdiciplinary field among the other scholarly fields that use musicopsychological knowledge? Are the professions that need musicopsychological knowledge aware of the resources, that are usefull in their work, and do they seek to improve their work by keeping abreast of the results of current musicopsychological studies? How could the position of the psychology of music as a scientific field be improved in the near future? Music is an essential component of human functioning. It’s a kind of mystery that calls for answers, but at the same time it is the most transparent and direct tool of communication. Percieving, creating, comprehending and interpreting music are among the oldest evolved human abilities. Music is supposed to be genetically written into the human genome and represents the most ancient language of human kind. Music affects peoples’s lives in innumerable ways (e.g., interms of human values, human identity, human nature and quality of life). It is important to begin with a systematic overview of the development of psychology of music as a science worldwide before preceeding to the current position of the psychology of music in Slovenia. If we follow the history of the psychology of music, it will take us as far back as the rise of ancient civilisations. The ancient Chinese and Egyptians considered music as a basic element reflecting the main principles of the universe. They believed that music had the power of uplifting or destroying the human soul. The ancient Greeks used music as a healing tool. Their appreciation of and knowledge about musical effects can be observed in the philosophical works of Pythagoras, Socrates and Plato. Plato considered music as the most important element within education, because it creates a feeling of wholeness in human beings. Music had an important role in education: it was one of the four branches of the quadrivium. Trends in the development of the psychology of music begin in philosophy, before moving to a totally naturalistic, empirical approach and then again towards the social science (see Figure 1). We could say that the social and natural sciences go hand in hand in explaining musicopsychological

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phenomena. However it is also true, at any particular period of time, one of these predominates. At the current moment the natural sciences lead in explaining music-psychological phenomena.

TRENDS OF DEVELOPMENT OF ΨM

Figure 1: Trends of the Development of the Psychology of Music

The psychology of music as an empirical science was born in the second half of the nineteenth century. Gustav Fechner (1801-1887) (aesthetics “critical reflection on art, culture and nature”) and Hermann von Helmholtz (1821-1894) (the sensation of tone, perception of sound) are considered as predecessors or pioneers in the field of musicopsychological science. The first important studies of human hearing, musicality and basic musical abilities in connection with external criteria of musical success have been conducted in the Psychological laboratory at the University of Yale since 1890. The founders of musicopsychological studies are Carl Stumpf (1848-1936) (1883 - tests for measuring musical abilities) and Geza Revesz (1878-1955) (1925 - musical talent and musicality). Nevertheless, the father of the psychology of music is considered to be Carl Seashore (1866-1949), who wrote a book The Psychology of Music in 1938. He devoted his work mainly to studying a musical talent. From the psychological point of view, the main psychological streams that influenced development in the psychology of music are the behavioral approach, the cognitive approach and the humanistic approach. The behavioral approach was crucial in studying music perception and measuring musical abilites, the cognitive approach is used in exploring the development of musical 94

abilites, musical intelligence and creativity, musical taste and preferences. The humanistic approach influenced studies of musical motivation, optimal performance, musical talent and music therapy. 2. THE COGNITIVE APPROACH -DEVELOPMENT OF MUSICAL ABILITIES -MUSICAL INTELIGENCE AND CREATIVITY -MUSICAL TASTE AND PREFERENCES

1. THE BEHAVIORISTIC APPROACH

-PERCEPTION OF THE SOUND

-MUSICAL ABILITIES MEASURMENT

3. THE HUMANISTIC APPROACH -MUSICAL MOTIVATION -OPTIMAL PERFORMANCE -MUSICAL TALENT - MUSIC THERAPY

Figure 2: The Main Psychological Approaches That Influenced the Development of the Psychology of Music The psychology of music is, on the one hand, science about art and, on the other hand, arts in science. It’s a combination of an analytical and a holistic approach or a fusion of left and right hemispheric functioning. Exploring musicpsychological phenomena requires the merging of the art and science of music. Professionals who work in this particular scholarly field must be either musicians with an analytical mind or scientists from various research areas with an artistic soul. For this reason this approach is so interesting but also challenging. We could define the psychology of music as a bridge between science and the arts. The psychology of music involves the scientific exploration of (1) the influence of music on human behavior and (2) behavioral responses to music. It’s an academic discipline, regarded either as a branch of psychology or as a branch of musicology. It is an interdisciplinary academic field that has come into its own in the past three decades, combining mainly music arts, psychology, musicology and pedagogy, but in current studies even neuroscience, computer science, physics, etc.

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The psychology of music demands an interdisciplinary approach. If we want to study music-psychological phenomena, we have to combine the knowledge of different branches of science in order to provide an overview of a specific phenomenon. On the other hand, we must not neglect the multidisciplinary approach – where different sciences try to give an explanation of one phenomenon from different angles. Since musical behavior itself is not functionally coherent, the psychology of music will always remain an interdisciplinary area. We could divide the psychology of music into theoretical and applied branches. The fist one includes three main sub branches: developmental, social and cognitive psychology of music; the applied branch includes two sub branches: musical therapy and psychology of musical performance. Sloboda (1986) postulated a paradigm for the psychology of music within the 5 characteristics: (1) an agreed set of central problems, (2) agreed methods for working on these problems, (3) an agreed theoretical framework in which to discuss them, (4) techniques and theories specific to the paradigm and (5) research which is appropriate to the whole range of phenomena in the domain being studied. The main areas of music-psychological studies are as follows:  MUSICAL PERCEPTION AND COGNITION (perceptual and cognitive aspects of hearing, performing and creating music)  MUSICAL ABILITIES; their development and measurement  EMOTIONAL RESPONSES TO MUSIC WITH emphasis on MUSICAL TASTE AND PREFERENCES  INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES IN MUSICAL BEHAVIOUR  MUSICAL MOTIVATION  MUSICAL PERFORMANCE  APPLIED AREAS (clinical interventions with music therapy, music and consumer behavior, education) The importance of the psychology of music could be viewed from two perspectives. First, it helps us to take advantage of the positive effects of music on human behavior (mood, cognitive functioning - memory, mental abilities -, self-esteem, sociability, etc.), and second, it helps musicians to optimize their performance. Now that we have made a foundation by explaining basic concepts in the psychology of music worldwide, let us introduce the current position of the psychology of music in Slovenia. From a historical point of view, the two most important researchers who influenced the development of the psychology of music in Slovenia were Anton Trstenjak (1906-1996) (Psihologija ustvarjalnosti (Psychology of creativity) (1953) and Dragotin Cvetko (1911-1993). It is very interesting that Dragotin

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Cvetko, who was the founder of the Department of Musicology at the Faculty of Arts in Ljubljana (1961/62), was a psychologist in his basic profession, and who specialied in musical pedagogy and psychology at the Institute for Musical Education in Prague in 1938. Despite of his basic psychological profession, he devoted his work mainly to musical history. I personally consider a turning point in the psychology of music in Slovenia to be the date of publication of the translation of Helga de la MotteHaber’s book, Psihologija glasbe (Psychology of music) in 1990. If we begin with the formal position of the psychology of music in Slovenia, we face a great gap and deficiency in the systematization of the psychology of music as a science. At the moment there is no systematic study of psychology of music in Slovenia. In postgraduate study of musicology at the Faculty of Arts in Ljubljana, the psychology of music exists as a subject, but that is the extent of its presence. I and some of my colleagues include some concepts of the psychology of music in teaching educational psychology at the Academy of Music and at the Faculty of Education – but this is more or less done on our own initiative. The best formal position in Slovenia is held by music therapy, because there is a systematic program of study at the Faculty of Education in Ljubljana, and there are numerous institutions where music therapy is conducted. It is necessary that we systematize the psychology of music at the university level. There is also a great need for funding an Institute for musicpsychological studies, which would provide the formal foundation for team work of different professional profiles. In Slovenia we face the problem that the main approach in psychology of music is multidisciplinary and that there is a lack of team work among different academic fields. We could say that the interdisciplinary approach in Slovenia is mainly neglected. Much qualitative research work is done in music arts, psychology, musicology, neuroscience and computer science, but there is almost no cooperation between these fields. The other important goal would be to gain recognition for the Slovenian music-psychological research work abroad. Our studies should move in the direction of qualitative studies. There is also a huge need for systematic psychological work on achieving optimal musical performance. If we go through the main subject headings from the bibliographic base (COBIB) in Slovenia there are only 25 articles with the keyword “psychology of music”. The most commonly researched topics are musical abilities (83 articles), then musical development (70 articles); 51 articles have the keyword music therapy, 43 musical creativity, 31 musical motivation, 16 musical talent, and 14 have the keyword performance anxiety.

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PERFORMANCE ANXIETY MUSICAL TALENT

MUSICAL MOTIVATION

MUSICAL CREATIVITY

MUSICAL THERAPY MUSICAL DEVELOPMENT MUSICAL ABILITIES

Figure 3: The Main Subject Headings from the COBIB There is another problem that can be observed from studies conducted in the musicopsychological field in Slovenia. The majority of studies are at the correlation level, and only a few are experimental studies. So we can draw conclusions only about connections between variables and not about causes. This means that we move mainly on the surface of phenomena without delving more deeply. To sum up a vision for the optimal development of the psychology of music in the near future in Slovenia, one must imagine the following changes:  from MULTIDISCIPLINARITY to INTERDISCIPLINARITY  from an INDIVIDUALISTIC APPROACH to a TEAM APPROACH  from CORRELATIONAL STUDIES to EXPERIMENTAL STUDIES  founding of an INSTITUTE FOR MUSICOPSYCHOLOGICAL RESEARCH

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 organization of a SYSTEMATIC STUDY OF THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MUSIC AT THE UNIVERSITY LEVEL  organization of a SYSTEMATIC PSYCHOLOGICAL PRACTICE FOR ACHIEVING OPTIMAL PERFORMANCE (ACADEMY OF MUSIC, available to musicians at all educational levels)  obtaining RECOGNITION FOR SLOVENIAN MUSICPSYCHOLOGICAL RESEARCH WORK ABROAD References: Motte-Haber, H. 1990. Psihologija glasbe. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. Seashore, C. 1938. Psychology of Music. New York, London: McGraw-Hill. Sloboda, J. 1986. “Cognition and Real Music: The Psychology of Music Comes of Age,” Psychologica Belgica 26: 199-219. Trstenjak, A. 1981. Psihologija ustvarjalnosti. Ljubljana: Slovenska matica.

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Jasmina Talam and Tamara Karača-Beljak (Sarajevo Academy of Music, Bosnia and Herzegovina)

Ethnomusicological Research and Fieldwork Methodology: Experience in Bosnia and Herzegovina Ethnomusicology of Bosnia and Herzegovina (B-H) started to develop in the 1940s. The establishment of the Institute of Folklore Research in May 1947 marked the beginning of the first systematic field research organized by academician Cvjetko Rihtman. The first field research was conducted in the region of Glasinac and Zvijezda near Vareš. Melogrammes mainly included examples of older, rural vocal music traditions, since there were no tape recorders to record them. In the period between 1949 and 1964, systematic research was conducted in the region of Jajce, Neum, Imnjan, and Žepa. The collected material was published in the Bulletins of the Institute of Folklore Research, in publications by the Academy of Sciences and Arts of Bosnia and Herzegovina, by the Union of Folklorists’ Associations of Yugoslavia, and in various publications abroad. Parallel to research projects by Cvjetko Rihtman, ethnomusicological research was conducted in Bosanska Krajina by academician Vlado Milošević. Since 1954, he was publishing his papers in the publications of the People’s Museum in Banja Luka and its Department of Folk Music, in Collections of Krajina Museums, and in various journals. It is interesting to note that the multiyear-long field research by the two most prominent ethnomusicologists, Cvjetko Rihtman and Vlado Milošević, produced significant results, which were the starting point for various other studies. In the period between 1940 and 1974, numerous papers emerged that presented data, mainly on rural music practice. The analysis of papers by Rihtman and Milošević as well as by their somewhat younger contemporaries leads to the conclusion that they focused on collecting forms of old and somewhat more recent traditional music-making, description, analysis, and classification. The papers were mostly based on the music material itself and specifically on formal music structures. It can be observed that there was no major interest in the role and function of music in people’s lives. Until that time, B-H folk music was almost conventionally studied, within ethnomusicological studies, from the perspective of its primary, rural context. Fixity, authenticity, and homogeneity were the only ethnomusicological values, and, thus, research of forms of music in rural environments – with everything it implies: change, acculturation, heterogeneity – could not be fitted into the existing framework. The main goal of fieldwork was the collection of old, traditional ”untouched”, and therefore locally colored music forms. Thus, the concept of “authentic” was for a long time dominant in collecting folk music,

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and when associated with “old” it connoted well. This one-sided approach had to be overcome, since fixity and insensitivity to modern processes were a threat to the development of B-H ethnomusicological thought. Naturally, by saying so, we do not intend to deny the usefulness and validity of the efforts by the first ethnomusicologists to study the distant past, as did ethnologists and anthropologists, to collect the disappearing music forms and to preserve and record traditions that are being extinguished. Still, one cannot ignore the fact that each culture, including that of B-H, is characterized by its own dynamics and that it should be studied in this context. “After 1950, studies of cultural changes became norms rather than exceptions in anthropology. However, even now the fact that the term ’cultural changes’ is used to such a great extent indicated the degree of the establishment of the culture of something steady.” (Blacking 1977, 7-8). It was this change in focus of anthropological studies that spurred, at least partly, research in the field of ethnomusicology a couple of decades later. The establishment of the Academy of Music in Sarajevo in May 1955 was accompanied by the formation of the Department of Musicology, within which the first local professionals in this field were educated. Since 1963, a total of 37 students have graduated from the Department of Musicology, majoring in ethnomusicology, ten obtained a M.A. degree and only one student acquired a Ph.D. degree. Some of them were involved only in the educational work with elementary and secondary schools of music, mainly teaching theoretical subjects, while others continued to work as ethnomusicologists in broadcasting, museums, and in the Academy of Music. Out of the first ethnomusicologists that graduated from the Academy of Music in Sarajevo and that left a significant trace in B-H ethnomusicology, we will mention Miroslava Fulanović-Šošić (M.A.), Jasna Spajić-Hadžisalihović (M.A.), Dunja RihtmanŠotrić (M.A.), and Ankica Petrović (Ph.D.). Varied spheres of interests among the listed ethnomusicologists contributed to more systematic research of B-H folk music. Substantial sound archives were generated both at the Academy of Music in Sarajevo and in the National Museum and RTV Sarajevo (although without scientific intentions and incentives – but today precious for new ethnomusicological research), which served as a basis for numerous papers. It should be noted that the listed ethnomusicologists actively participated in the activities of the Union of Folklorists’ Associations of Yugoslavia, and presented papers on B-H folk music. The 1970s witnessed a new era in ethnomusicology in B-H, primarily owing to Ankica Petrović. Since that time, the subject of ethnomusicology in BH has expanded to research on the context and function of music and, thus, acquired new dimensions that bring ethnomusicology closer to other scientific disciplines, such as sociology of music, ethnology, anthropology, etc. As a result, the subject of ethnomusicology was no more only the structural analysis

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of given music forms, but also their functional and cultural analysis. The functional analysis established the function of given forms in the social community they existed in. The cultural analysis implies the identification of music features in a cultural context and causes of their appearance. Thus, answers should be provided to questions as to what gives rise to a given music phenomenon in a certain environment, how it exists, and what its relation to other cultural factors in a broader sense of the word is. Essentially, the starting point of ethnomusicological research had to be based on views and knowledge of musical culture that exists in the people who interpret it. Our ethnomusicological practice had not fully met these requirements. The focus was still on vocal music, while instrumental music was frequently and wrongly neglected. However, more and more frequently, ethnomusicological enquiries have been provoked by, and occupied with, the process of change in certain music traditions, which implies the extension of the field of activity to new areas and issues. Thus, research in urban environments does not mean the mere change of the research site. Due to its complexity and distinctiveness, an urban environment presents the researcher with issues of which the articulation and solution reach far beyond the framework of an ethnomusicological paper and deserve special attention, complex research, and new methodological approaches. Consequently, papers dealing with these issues were based on ethnomusicological as well as, necessarily, sociological and anthropological approaches. Due to completely different conditions for ethnomusicologists when conducting field research in an urban environment, new problems appeared related to the collection of field material. The problem of finding and selecting the informant arose at the very start. This is contrary to the village, where people know each other, make music together in public, and are, thus, able to learn about others’ music peculiarities, thanks to which a researcher can readily obtain all the data necessary for the successful collection of field material; he / she can learn which performers are, in the broader community’s views, the best, which of them know the oldest repertoire and, most importantly, when and where one can record some functional forms that are otherwise difficult to find (since they are performed out of context and function). In an urban environment, informants are far more difficult to find. Quite often, ethnomusicologists would find themselves in the position of being able to talk to a good informant only due to the lack of interpreting capabilities. Most often, the researcher could not obtain even the dates of certain family reunions that, in an urban environment, can serve as the only occasions for gatherings of friends and relatives and, consequently, as rare occasions when a certain musical practice can be recorded. In villages, on the other hand, all the events associated with the performance of given music forms have mainly been known and established. It was unavoidable for ethnomusicologists, in their contacts with informants during the collection of field material, to gain insight

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into many “non-musical” aspects of culture, which in turn enables the interpretation of some phenomena from the viewpoint of the cultural group being studied. Researchers were trying to follow the path of prominent ethnomusicologist Bruno Nettl by uniting the ethical and ethnic principle in making their conclusions, and, thus, attempt to overcome their ambivalence and avoid possible incomplete and one-sided statements. Therefore, data obtained from some carriers of traditional culture in urban environments were processed and systematized. They served as a basis for deriving a series of relevant conclusions. In the last decades of the 20th century, Vinko Krajtmajer started more systematic studies of folk music instruments, primarily in North Bosnia. Krajtmajer’s research contributed to shed light on a number of unknowns, primarily pertaining to the group of chordophones and aerophones. In his doctoral dissertation, he studied flutes, zurnas, and drums in great detail. Unfortunately, fieldwork in B-H stopped during the war (1992-1995), which left an unfathomable impact on the traditional music. A major population exodus took place, which greatly changed the demographic landscape of B-H. The disappearance of some ethnic groups from certain sites, particularly of Bosniaks, Croats, and other minority ethnic groups from the territory of the present Republika Srpska resulted in the disappearance of their tradition in these regions. Unfortunately, immediately before the war, a few ethnomusicologists – notably Ankica Petrović, Dunja Rihtman-Šotrić, Ljerka Vidić, Mirjana Laušević, and Rajna Klaser – left B-H, which added to the complexity of the existing problems. The war, thus, also made the education of younger ethnomusicologists impossible. Vinko Krajtmajer then became the head of Cathedra of Ethnomusicology at the Academy of Music in Sarajevo, and he deserves the most credit for the survival of ethnomusicology in our regions. In the meantime, the Academy of Arts was founded in Banja Luka, which included the Department of Ethnomusicology. Milorad Kenjalović is to be primarily credited for the newly established Academy. Research started again as late as a few years after the war, specifically in 2000. It is a time of new discourse in ethnomusicology in B-H. On the one hand, new studies are of comparative nature, frequently focusing on minority ethnic communities (Roma and Sephardis), but also on Bosniaks that are registered as a minority in the surrounding countries and on war exiles from BH that continued their lives in the European Union, the United States of America, or Australia. Recent research also focuses on archival materials – sound recordings made between 1947 and 1987 – aimed at registering data significant for writing the history of music in B-H. These studies are part of a comprehensive undertaking started by the Department of Musicology and Ethnomusicology at the Academy of Music in Sarajevo in 1998 and aimed at publishing the comprehensive study by the end of 2010. Recent

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ethnomusicological interests also focus on the phenomenon of newly composed music – turbofolk – and on the impact of electronic media (radio and TV) on the change of traditional expressions in B-H. New requirements set for the Academy of Music and the program in ethnomusicology initiated a change in the curriculum, which first led to the introduction of new compulsory and elective courses: Ethnochoreology, Ethnology, Ethnomusicological Research and Fieldwork, as well as World Music. Ethnomusicological Research and Fieldwork is attended by third- and fourth-year students at the first cycle of study (Bachelor), and the fifth-year students during the second cycle (Master’s). Within the course, students are required to participate in collective field research organized by the Academy of Music in the course of each module. In the current academic year, field research was organized in Brčko (Maoča and Rahić), Rama (Šćit), and Prozor. This is a way to focus the research of the young ethnomusicologists on Southeastern Europe and broader, and spreading ethnomusicological interest in B-H from the particular to the general. Work by ethnomusicologists who are presently active in the region of B-H – Vinko Krajtmajer, Miroslava Fulanović-Šošić, Jasna Spajić, Tamara Karača-Beljak, Jasmina Talam, Maja Baralić-Materne, Dragica Panić, Milorad Kenjalović, Dunja Rihtman-Šotrić, and Branka Vidović – is diverse and focuses on: - applicative ethnomusicology – work with cultural-artistic societies, organization of manifestations, etc., - professional consultation, preparation and execution of radio and TV programs on lore cultures, which present the musical heritage of B-H in a scientifically popular way – Signposts of Tradition (FTV production, B-H 2007); Sevdalinka, the Dearest Song: Music Heritage of B-H (Radio of the Federation 1992-2002), - production and preparation of various record editions – Traditional Music of B-H (published by MD FB-H, 2002); Sevdalinkas (MD FB-H, 2002); Grains of Music from Bosnia (MD FB-H, 2003, 2005); Anthology of B-H Sevdalinkas (Music Production of RTV B-H, 2005-2007); Folk Music Doyens (Music Production of RTV B-H, 2007-2008), - cooperation with other scientific institutions – National Museum in Sarajevo; Faculty of Philosophy in Ljubljana (Slovenia), - new ethnomusicological research and fieldwork (organized by the Academy of Music in Sarajevo), - organization of workshops and meetings with instrument builders as well as singers and experts in the field of ethnochoreology, - organization of concerts of traditional music – ensemble of the Academy of Music in Sarajevo Etnoakademik, - initiating projects that include minority ethnic groups – Sephardis and Roma, and

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- projects of revitalization and digitalization of recordings stored on 444 tapes from Rihtman’s legacy. Our goal is to use the listed activities as a means to place ethnomusicology in BH in the context of a new scientific discourse, and to get in touch with organizations, related academies and faculties, scientific institutions, and publishers of professional periodicals outside of B-H. References: Blacking, John. 1977. “Some Problems of Theory and Method in the Study of Musical Change, Yearbook of the International Folk Music Council 9: 1-26. Nettl, Bruno. 1983. The Study of Ethnomusicology: Twenty-Nine Issues and Concepts. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press.

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Gregor Pompe (Faculty of Arts, University of Ljubljana, Slovenia)

Musical Analysis and / or Interpretation – The Case of Opera Attempts to define the ‘opera’ genre are notoriously unsatisfying. This must not, however, be understood as a consequence of the different historical forms of opera. Much more important is the notion stated by Carl Dahlhaus (1928-1989) that “the opera is a combined but by no means a total work of art (Gesamtkunstwerk)” (Dahlhaus 1986, 91). The fact that opera is a combined work of art causes a kind of inhomogeneity and a lot of tensions between the artistic media that flow into opera. An opera – regardless its historic form or genre – combines musical, literary, and dramatic-theatrical elements, or, in the words of Carolyn Abbate (2008), opera mixes visual, verbal and musical language. The largely inhomogeneous combination of these three elements in an operatic work of art also causes all kinds of typical operatic paradoxes. It is, for example, common practice for the authorship of an opera to be ascribed solely to the composer (the cooperation of Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht being the exception that proves the rule), while at the same time musicologists frequently blame the weakness of the libretto for the failure of an opera, thus actually acknowledging the great importance of the literary element in an operatic work of art. It is the very combination of different elements or languages that defines not only opera research, but also the history of opera itself. The whole of operatic history could be reduced to the search for the perfect combination of different elements that could grow into the total work of art. Throughout this entire history, one single point has functioned as a reference – the antique form of mousikē. It is not my purpose here to claim that mousikē could be regarded as a pre-form of opera – a very common thesis, but one that is nowadays strongly objected to by anthropologists (Žužek 2002) – but rather only to expose mousikē as an important referential point. Only in this way can we understand the typical ‘Dahlhausian’ wordplay that each operatic revolution was actually a restoration. (Dahlhaus 1986, 91.) Each time when the seemingly revolutionary project of the total work of art failed, which could be compared to the great works of the Greek masters, a new form of opera was in fact born; thus, the distance between mousikē and the realized form becomes unimportant. There are, however, even more problems linked to the fact that opera is a combined work of art. One of them is opera’s complicated ontological status. How and in which modus of being does the opera exist? Should we claim that the opera exists only as a performance realized in the theatre? Is it enough that we are confronted with its realization in sound (through the media of recordings or as a concert performance)? Or should we search for its existence in the mate-

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rial form of the fixed score? (If the latter were true, however, we would have no Carmen and no Les contes d’Hoffmann – both pieces with no definitive version of the score). The questions concerning the ontological status of the opera are obviously so complicated that they are mostly avoided. This also holds true for Roman Ingarden’s (1893-1970) classic ontological investigation of the musical work. In his essay (Ingarden 1980), he decisively states that he will not “deal with compositions that are actually musical works, but at the same time build an organic totality with the literary work, such as Wagner’s music dramas or other operas and Lieder” (ibid., 252). Ingarden is convinced that the presence of the literary element within the musical work leads to the formation of a completely new artistic work that transgresses the boundaries of music. Exactly the same thought marks the highly influential book Opera as Drama by Joseph Kerman. Kerman is convinced “that opera is an art-form with its own integrity and its own particular limiting and liberating conventions” (Kerman 1957, 6-7). But perhaps we should understand such conceptions of opera’s independent position in the world of the arts as a sign of discontent with the traditional musicological methods of opera analysis. The heterogeneous combination of the three ‘operatic’ elements, and of different historical forms and genres, as well as the complicated ontological status of the operatic work should be observed as the most important factors causing the very diverse, and sometimes even contradictory, approaches to opera. An investigation of the field of opera research reveals the three most common approaches: - some scholars focus their research interest mainly on the libretto, investigating its literary and / or dramaturgic qualities; - the opposite approach includes a thorough study of musical forms and structures, most frequently dismissing the libretto as an unimportant pretext for writing an exclusively musical work; - the third approach combines both of the aforementioned antithetical methods and concentrates on the mutual interaction of operatic elements. The last approach clearly tries to embrace all of the aspects of an opera and is not concerned with excluding some of the elements in an effort to define the most important strand of the operatic work. However, this third approach also includes different methodological aspects. The old habit of approaching the whole ‘universe’ of operatic elements was focused mainly on the relation between the text and the music, while current approaches most often stress the importance of the theatrical dimension of an opera. As early as 1957, Joseph Kerman understood opera primarily as a drama - more specifically a poetic drama - in which the “imaginative articulation [...] is provided by music” (ibid.). A similar approach is typical of Carl Dahlhaus, who suggested replacing the term ‘opera’ with the wider concept of ‘music theater’ (Musiktheater), thus surpassing the old double dichotomy of prima la musica dopo le parole or prima le

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parole dopo la musica. He resolved this tension by claiming that in an opera the music and the language both serve the drama. (Dahlhaus 1983, 12.) Consequently, he pleaded for a special dramaturgic analysis: Dramaturgic analysis, which includes the term of musical theater, therefore could mean: to find and to stress in musical as well as in verbal text of an opera those moments that are constitutive for the structure of the work as a drama and a theatrical event. (Ibid.)1 However, the list of problems does not stop here. Carolyn Abbate warns us that most analyses that take all three operatic elements into consideration in equal measure tend to seek the relationships between literary, musical, and scenic elements in terms of parallelisms or correspondences, despite the fact that “these three frequently come together in adversarial meetings” (Abbate 2008). Dahlhaus was also aware of such obstacles when he asked himself how it was possible to establish the relationship between musical-linguistic elements and scenic action in every moment of an opera (Dahlhaus 1983, 11). In his reflections on some recent writings on opera, published in the Cambridge Opera Journal and Reading Opera in 1990, Arnold Whittall found a variety of methods, ranging from formalistic music analysis through simple interpretations of the libretto that do not take into account the musical dimension, and psychological analysis (in Richard Strauss’ Elektra) or historical approaches (in Modest Musorgskij’s Boris Godunov), to Abbate’s seemingly provocative belief that in an opera music tends to subjugate the drama. (Whittall 1990.) However, it seems that opera, as a combined art, also allows nonmusicological approaches. Although anthropologist Vlado Kotnik (2005) claims that opera research is underdeveloped in Slovenia (ibid., 201-253), we find two philosophers who have devoted a significant amount of their time to opera: Mladen Dolar is mainly interested in Mozart’s operas, while Slavoj Žižek chiefly interprets Wagner’s music dramas. The historical and stylistic difference between Mozart and Wagner indicates that the philosophical point of view can be applied to very disparate opera genres and forms, but what do Dolar’s and Žižek’s insights into opera really give us? The libretto remains the focus of Dolar’s opera discussion, as he interprets its dramaturgic and philosophical dimensions. Dolar clearly distinguishes between opera seria and opera buffa, establishing that in opera seria the instance of the Other is decisive, showing its elevated status through the act of mercy, thereby allowing reconciliation (Dolar 2005, 19), whereas in opera buffa 1

The original German reads: “Unter einer dramaturgischen Analyse, die den Begriff des Musiktheaters beim Wort nimmt, wäre demnach der Versuch zu verstehen, sowohl in musikalischen als auch im sprachlichen Text einer Oper die Momente zu entdecken und zu akzentuieren, die für die Struktur des Werkes als Drama und Theaterereignis konstitutiv sind.”

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a typical plot prevails, which can be described as “troubles on the way to marriage” (ibid., 23). Dolar links five Mozart operas (Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Le nozze di Figaro, Don Giovanni, Così fan tutte, and Die Zauberflöte) in a kind of developmental arc of the Enlightenment movement. In Le nozze di Figaro, Enlightenment prevails: the master (the count) has to reduce himself to human size, and reconciliation cannot be attained through mercy, but only through forgiveness. In Don Giovanni and Così fan tutte, Enlightenment ideals are questioned: Don Giovanni simultaneously embodies the older privileged master and the autonomous subject who wants to be his own legislator, while Così fan tutte questions the untouchable values of love, virtue, and fidelity. Finally, in Die Zauberflöte, Mozart (or perhaps Emanuel Schikaneder?) presents the postulates of the Enlightenment in mythical form: it seems that through music the old logic of the mercy of the Other is reconciled with the new idea of the bourgeois world in the non-totalitarian community. On the dramaturgical level, Dolar exposes the typical constellation of operatic figures: in practically all operas, we deal with two couples (in the course of the opera, they are often socially uneven, but at the end, in the true manner of the Enlightenment, the ‘right’ couples are established), framed by two other figures, usually the master and his servant (such as Bassa Selim and Osmin in Die Entführung aus dem Serail). Although Dolar’s insight into the dramaturgic conception of Mozart’s operas brings important conclusions, one cannot overlook the fact that he is actually analyzing Da Ponte’s libretto and not Mozart’s musical setting, which is precisely the point Abbate (2008) stresses with her notion of Ivan Nagel’s controversial book Autonomie und Gnade, one of Dolar’s main references. Nevertheless, Dolar does offer some important remarks about music. He correctly stresses the importance of the ensemble, which becomes the agent of the community and abolishes the dichotomy between recitatives and arias. Later, Dolar gives us an intelligent interpretation of Figaro’s nonchalant cavatina “Se vuol ballare, signor Contino”, which he describes as “a disparaging parody of the minuet as an aristocratic dance par excellence” (Dolar 2005, 39).” He also points out the lack of Don Giovanni’s musical identity and the lack of ensembles in Die Zauberflöte. He makes his best interpretative turn, however, in describing the subsequent arias of the Queen of the Night “Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen” and Sarastro’s “In diesen heil’gen Hallen” as manifesto and counter-manifesto, arguing that they are placed in a position of maximum opposition in terms of both the text and the music: The first aria is placed in d minor; the second, in the harmonically distant E major. The tempo of the first is a stormy and nervous allegro assai, that of the second a slow and dignified larghetto. As far as form is concerned, the first aria is a coloratura aria, presenting glittering technical brilliance,

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a dramatic aria typical of opera seria, whereas the second is a simple strophic song typical of Singspiel; the first reaches up to the highest tone sung in the opera, and the second plunges down to the lowest. (Ibid., 80.) Similar to Dolar’s insights are Žižek’s penetrations into the field of opera. In fact, he continues Dolar’s philosophical diction, which is now attested on the examples of Wagner’s operas and music dramas. In the manner of J. Lacan, he reveals the typical Wagnerian matrix: the male hero (Parsifal being an interesting exception) who is a suffering sinner wandering between two deaths (the physical death and the ‘second’ death, which is in fact a peaceful death in a state of reconciliation – “Tristan . . . is not desperate because of his fear of dying but because without Isolde he cannot die and is condemned to eternal longing” (Žižek 2005, 107), and Wotan yearns for peaceful death, although the ring was returned to Rhine) and must be redeemed through the willful self-sacrifice of a woman who often acquires the symptoms of hysteria. Such a matrix establishes a clear separation from Christianity: life beyond death is in fact suffering (Žižek 1993, 125). Žižek later elevates this matrix to the level of social contracts, claiming that the conflicts that lay at the centre of Wagner’s music dramas arise from the opposition of three elements: an unstable relationship between the ‘ethical’ universe of social-symbolic obligations (‘the contract’), an irrepressible sexual drive that threatens social bonds (‘the aesthetic’), and the spiritualized self-denial of the will (‘the religious’). (Žižek 1996, 10.) In addition to such psychoanalytical insights, Žižek also gives us some valuable dramaturgic comments on the staging of Wagner’s works, which correspond to his own philosophical interpretation of Wagner. He enthusiastically defends Jean-Pierre Ponelle’s staging of Tristan, where the last act is staged as Tristan’s phantasm about the return of Isolde. Žižek interprets Tristan’s dream as his ‘second death’ – it is a “delirious construction that enables him to die in peace.” (Žižek 2005, 126.) Similarly, Žižek praises Harry Kupfer’s staging of Der fliegende Holländer, where the Dutchman’s arrival must be understood as Senta’s phantasmal dream, as a progression of her own hysteria, and he also commends Götz Friedrich’s decision to have Elisabeth and Venus in Tannhäuser sung by the same opera singer, arguing that both characters are actually only two sides of another Wagner heroine, namely Kundry. The real revelation, however, comes from the other side: not only did Žižek work some very well-known Wagner stagings into his own interpretation of the Bayreuth master, but observing the more recent Wagner staging by Nikolaus Lehnhoff, it is clear that the celebrated director had been reading Žižek; thus Žižek’s interpretative texts are becoming retroactive. Lehnhoff understands the Grail’s domain and knights as a degenerate, ‘fallen’, closed society – perhaps even as a kind of strange sect – whose rituals are becoming empty. Such an interpretation comes very close to Žižek’s view of the perverse knights of the

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Grail, Titurel being the worst of all – a kind of personification of super-ego. Lehnhoff also borrows one of Žižek’s ideas in his staging of Lohengrin. In the third act of the opera, Lohengrin is portrayed as an artist – he sings “Das süße Lied verhallt; wir sind allein” while he is sitting at the piano and composing – and thus Lehnhoff confirms Žižek’s observation that Lohengrin is in fact an artist “longing to live like a common mortal with a faithful woman who trusts him absolutely.” (Žižek 2005, 104.) Finally, we also find in Žižek’s texts some discussion of music, ranging from almost ridiculous claims to ideas that come very close to the boundaries of popular culture, and also to deeper musical insights. Of course, it is difficult to agree with Žižek when he claims that Beethoven’s Great Fugue and the Third Act of Tristan “both share the same repetitive structure of the double failed attempt to elevate oneself, as well as a similar chromaticism [!].” His claim that the overtures to Lohengrin and Tristan show an orgasmic structure that is maleoriented (it is strange that Žižek does not note that the structure of the female orgasm, in the form of ‘two steps’, could be found in Isolde’s Liebestod) may be attractive, but it is not really far-reaching and documented. However, our doubts about Žižek’s ability for musical insight are silenced by his assumption that the elemental musical cell of Wagner’s music dramas is lamentation (Klage), as it is found in Holländer’s and two of Amfortas’ monologues. Similarly, enlightening is Žižek’s excursus in discussing Arnold Schönberg’s (18741951) atonal music, as he cleverly claims that “[t]he melodic line has to take upon itself the burden of harmony.” (Žižek 2005, 216.) As we have seen, in their exploration of Mozart’s and Wagner’s operas, Dolar and Žižek rarely touch upon exclusively musical problems, but when music becomes central to their philosophic renderings they do give us (besides some awkwardly formulated statements) some genuinely interesting and revealing insights. Most of the time, however, they are concerned with the libretto – with its dramatic constellation and its literary implications. It almost seems that rather than investigating the opera, their main goal is attempting to apply Lacanian psychoanalytical methodology to a seemingly unusual subject, namely to opera. In this point, they come very close to Siegmund Freud’s (1856-1939) psychoanalytical excursions into literature, which really have more in common with psychoanalysis than with literary science. However, in line with Michael Tanner, Žižek is also convinced that opera is not simply a work of art, but an ontological statement about the last things and about the meaning of life (Žižek 2005, 114) – of course, such a conception of opera justifies the philosophical penetrations into its problems. Nevertheless, it is very important not to overlook the fact that Dolar and Žižek are not analyzing the opera, but interpreting its musical, dramaturgic, and literary elements. Very often, they refer to findings of esteemed musicologists – D. Cooke, C. Dahlhaus, E. Dent, A. Einstein, P. Gülke, J. Kerman, F. Noske, R.

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Riehn, C. Rosen, R. Taruskin – which they interpret according to their own philosophical methods. In the case of Dolar and Žižek, we are dealing with interpretation – therefore, with a procedure that is seen with suspicion within the borders of traditional musicological methodology: firstly, because it is used to denominate the communicative role of the musician and, secondly, due to the bad reputation of musical hermeneutics as formulated and executed by Hermann Kretzschmar (1848-1924) at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. It is interesting that literary science more often uses the term ‘interpretation’, which simply means that we interpret rather than analyze a poem, novel, or drama. Perhaps it is the use of a text, and the consequently more explicit kinship of an opera to philosophical and social ideas, that enables interpretations similar to those of Dolar and Žižek, but I am convinced that the musical work, as a result of the mental power of a composer, also bears content that can be both analyzed and interpreted. Therefore, the concluding part of my contribution is conceived as a kind of plea for the musicological interpretation of all musical works, not only operas or compositions that include spoken or sung texts. Such an interpretation is simply a second step of an analysis – it brings a new light, a new perspective and, most importantly, a new mental content to the facts gained through the objective procedures of analysis. An interpretation is not an arbitrary, exclusively subjective activity – it must follow the postulations of logical argumentation and theoretical verification. Thereby it can offer wider social and philosophical insights into music. It is not my goal here to make an exemplary interpretation, but I can give some loosely connected interpretative sketches that could easily grow into the aforementioned wider interpretation of a musical work. I take as an example the Sinfonia Domestica by Richard Strauss (1864-1949), knowing that this half tone-poem / half symphony represents only the first step from opera and Lieder towards so-called absolute music. However, it is interesting to compare Strauss’ second theme from this symphony, which we should understand as a portrayal of the wife or woman, with Kundry’s motive from Wagner’s Parsifal (Example 1). Both motives are characterized by a falling tendency and chromaticism, but more important than these loose substantial connections is the same feeling of hysteria – as if female hysteria had migrated from Wagner’s matrix to Strauss’ symphonic poem. On first sight, this claim may sound somewhat forced, but in fact hysteria is typical of many of Strauss’ heroines. Žižek has already pointed out that “Salome is Kundry gone wild, having Parsifal killed and fondling his head after he rejected her seduction” (Žižek 2005, 201), so it becomes even more interesting to discover that Salome’s short melisma, where she stubbornly demands Jokanaan’s head (“Den Kopf des Jochanaan”), is in fact an inversion of the first, male or husband’s theme from Sinfonia domestica (Example 2; note also that both examples share the same tonality of E major). In this way,

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Salome’s wish could be interpreted as a wish for the decapitation not only of Jochanaan, but symbolically as the decapitation / castration of the male (precisely this kind of interpretation was used by the famous director John Alden in his staging of Salome at the Lithuanian National Opera). More important, however, are questions regarding the relationship between male and female themes in Sinfonia Domestica. Why is the male theme derived from the broken major chord and oriented upwards, while the female theme shows signs of chromaticism and is directed downwards? Why is the male theme marked “feurig”, but is in fact very elegant, while the second half of the female theme is marked “grazioso”, despite introducing hysterical impulses?

Example 1: Wife’s Theme from Sinfonia Domestica and Kundry’s theme from Parsifal

Example 2: Husband’s Theme from Sinfonia Domestica and Salome’s ‘Demand’ from Salome

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I do not want to give answers to these questions; I pose them only in order to awaken the imagination and to show the possible way of the proposed musicological interpretation. Although such interpretation may seem somewhat wild, apparently not corresponding to high scientific demands, I must clearly state that even the seemingly most obscure interpretation must be led by the standards of logical argumentation and theoretical verification. Moreover, it must be based to a large degree – in fact, to a much higher degree than is evident in Dolar’s and Žižek’s attempts – upon the findings of musical analysis. Musicologists should not be ashamed of defining the objects of their investigations, in the manner of Žižek, as ontological statements about the meaning of life. The type of musical – or perhaps even better musicological – interpretation that I am proposing could equalize the status of musicology among the other humanities. Literature Abbate, Carolyn. 2008. “Analysis,” Grove Music Online ed. by Laura Macy, http://www.grovemusic.com (accessed on April 26th, 2008). Dahlhaus, Carl. 1983. Vom Musikdrama zur Literaturoper. München: Piper. Dahlhaus, Carl. 1986. Estetika glasbe, transl. by Andrej Rijavec. Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba. Dolar, Mladen. 1993. “If Music Be the Food of Love,” Filozofija v operi, by Mladen Dolar and Slavoj Žižek. Ljubljana: Društvo za teoretsko psihoanalizo. pp. 7-102. __________. 2005. “If Music Be the Food of Love,” Opera’s Second Death, by Slavoj Žižek and Mladen Dolar. New York: Routledge. pp. 1-102. Ingarden, Roman. 1980. Eseji iz estetike, transl. by Frane Jerman. Ljubljana: Slovenska matica. Kerman, Joseph. 1957. Opera as Drama. London: Oxford University Press. Konold, Wulf. 1986. “Methodenprobleme der Opernforschung,” Jahrbuch für Opernforschung 2: 7-26. Kotnik, Vlado. 2005. Antropologija opere. Pomen idej o operi za razumevanje opernega fenomena in imaginarija. Koper: Založba Annales. De Natale, Marco. 1999. “Analysis of Opera: An Incumbent Problem,” Sonus 20/1: 51-68. Whittall, Arnold. 1990. “‘Forceful Muting’ or ‘Phatic Dithering’? Some Recent Writing on Opera,” Music & Letters 71/1: 65-71. Žižek, Slavoj. 1993. “Appendix: Rojstvo totalitarnega subjekta iz duha wagnerjanske perverzije,” Filozofija v operi, by Mladen Dolar and Slavoj Žižek. Ljubljana: Društvo za teoretsko psihoanalizo. pp. 103-131. Žižek, Slavoj. 1996. “‘Ni spolnega razmerja’: Wagner kot Lacanovec,” Filozofija v operi 2. Simptom Wagner, ed. by Slavoj Žižek. Ljubljana: Društvo za teoretsko psihoanalizo. pp. 7-42. Žižek, Slavoj. 2005. “‘I Do Not Order My Dreams’,” Opera’s Second Death, by Slavoj Žižek and Mladen Dolar. New York: Routledge. pp. 103-226. Žižek, Slavoj, and Mladen Dolar. 2005. Opera’s Second Death. New York: Routledge. Žužek, Martin. 2002. Razpad mousikē – vzroki in posledice glasbenega pojava, analizirani v kontekstu družbenih sprememb antične polis na prehodu iz V. v Vi. stoletje pr. n. št. Ljubljana: ISH.

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Audra Versekėnaitė (Lithuanian Academy of Music and Theatre)

Between Borrowing and Intertextuality: The Dies Irae in Twentieth Century Music In the 20th century, the world of music was a field of amazing discoveries, strong influences, and interactions. Its landscape was formed by new techniques of radical music as well as by the dotted line of ostinato traditions. If the thread of the tradition is accentuated, or rather if we try to prove the continuous character of the musical culture of the 20th century, we will have to witness its representative signs, which are repeated in different periods. One of such signmanifestations would be research on the implication of the techniques of borrowed material in new compositions. Permeated with many reflections from the past and defined, for example, as “a communicative super-system” (Mark Aranovskij; Арановский 1998) or as “multi-dimensional space of non-original texts” (Roland Barthes; see Elliott 2003), the culture of the artistic texts of the last centuries determined new integration strategies of pre-existing texts. Therefore, one of the main objectives of this paper would be to demonstrate different techniques of the implication of borrowed material in musical compositions of the 20th century as well as to introduce various methods of research to the forms of the functioning of intext in new compositions. The sequence Dies Irae, the masterpiece of poetry and music of the late Middle Ages1, could be considered one of the forms of paradigmatic music ‘dialogue’. It can also be treated as a concrete meta-cultural sign, which figures in musical works of various periods. Therefore, it was not by chance that the sequence was chosen. Different crisscrossing of analytical aspects concentrate in the Dies Irae – a small-scale but a very influential cultural phenomenon functioning in 20th century music. A variety of approaches to the tradition, to the at1

The sequence Dies Irae should be considered the standard piece of the “sequence” genre, a memorable example of the interaction of music and poetry, which is traditionally attributed to Thomas of Celano (born ca. 1185; died ca. 1260). This sequence spread to other countries very slowly and appeared quite late in the manuscripts of many dioceses. Having entrenched itself in the hymnals of the Franciscan friars, this sequence has been included in Italian, German, and ultimately French missals since the 14th century. Although the Council of Trident has officially embedded the sequence Dies Irae into the liturgy it was, nevertheless, not yet used in the ecclesiastical rites of many countries. Only in 1570 did the bull Missale Romanum by Pope Pius V canonize the structure of the Requiem as a ritual of nine parts, the obligatory (ordinarium) part of which became the sequence Dies Irae. Its sense of fatality is permeated by the dramatic imagery of the Last Judgement and especially by the human fear of the approaching confrontation with the Almighty. Thus the verbal fabula of the sequence Dies Irae, pregnant with wrath, contradicts the basic Christian idea – mercy. This contradiction conditioned the decision of the Second Vatican Council to eliminate the sequence Dies Irae from the liturgy of the Roman Catholic Church.

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titude to borrowed text as well as the application of compositional techniques are disclosed through the variety of implications of the sequence in compositions. According to radical inter-textual ideas, not a single 20th century text (we can also add: a musical piece) is original. It is “a new fabric of old quotations” (Roland Barthes), which is created on the principle of a mosaic from already known elements created a long time ago. In the musicological tradition, which has taken its methods from literary specialists, several established traditions of the interpretation of a new musical work and of borrowed material can be distinguished: • Roland Barthes’ tradition – which is based on the dialectical unity (the aspect of inter-text) of the work of art as ‘my’ and ‘not my’); the strategies of text interaction of Mark Aranovskij (Арановский 1998), Mieczyslav Tomaszewki (1994a and 1994b), Leonard B. Meyer (1967), Dziun Tiba (Тиба 2004), and Marina Raku (Раку 1999) can be attributed to it; • Harold Bloom’s tradition – which follows the road of influences, associations, and interactions that have to be proved; the aspect of the phenomenon of influences and the decoding of the latter is emphasized (research by Joseph N. Straus [1990] and by Martha Hyde [1996]); • Barthes’ and Bloom’s synthesis of traditions – when researchers look upon the work analyzed from the aspect of concrete implications and of more generalized influences (research by Robert Hatten [1985] and by Liudmila Djačkova [Дьячкова 1994]). Barthes’ method related to the intertextual dialogue in musical works was expanded by the authorities on East European musicologists: the Russian scholar Aranovskij (1977) and Tomaszewski (1994a and 1994b) from Poland. The research by Meyer (1967) can also be attributed to this tradition. All of them have a different approach to the practice of the regularity of quotation. The study of their works has revealed certain common things, which allows us to divide the ways of the use of intext in four forms, which correspond to a certain degree to the same phenomenon. In this case the quotation functions as the following: • Dissimilated intext perceived by the hearing (quotation); • Dispersion of intonational / harmonic / rhythmic formations of cited material; • Borrowed text: a stimulus for new composition; • Implication of several different sources in the fabric of music.

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The concept of quotation is attributed to the first form (Meyer defines a similar phenomenon as a borrowing), which can be perceived in the wide meaning of this word, i.e. as the introduction of any borrowed text or style irrespective of the way the text is implicated, and in the narrow meaning in case of the recreation of the borrowed text in the context of a new text. Tomaszewski uses the concept of “music in music” to define the phenomenon of the existence of borrowed music in other music. He claims that there are two kinds of such music: (1) Reminiscence music. It reflects ephemeral echoes, which the composer uses intuitively and which render the motive, rhythm, genre or style that we have heard before. One of the most obvious works of this character may be Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima (1961) by Krzystof Penderecki (born in 1933). The well-known history of composing of this work excludes all possibilities of quotation. The title of the work (given also almost by chance), however, gives Tomaszewski (1994a, 25) and the audience the chance to look for (and discover) allusions to the motive of the sequence Dies Irae.

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(2) Allusion music. It is a kind of inclusive music, in which real or allusive quotations are used consciously2. Umberto Eco differentiates intertext dialogue according to the ways in which borrowed material has been used, paying attention to the way of how the implications from earlier periods are introduced: • Unexpected is a contrasting element, which is completely dissociated from the usual flow of the narrative. A striking example of such integration of quotation is the symphonic poem Impressione brasiliane (1928) by Ottorino Respighi (1879-1936). There, in the coda of the middle movement, (II) the initial motive of the sequence Dies Irae unexpectedly appears, creating, in this way, an unusual impression in the musical surrounding the quasi rumba. • An organically implicated quotation is like a logical sequence of the history of a narrative. In this respect, several different intentions of composers stand out. Quotations are used as the confirmation of a certain idea, the semantics of the work, which essentially makes the interpretation of the composition easier. For example, George Crumb (b. 1929) confronts the compositional poles vox dei and vox diaboli in his Black Angels (1970). In order to make the latter (devilish) pole meaningful, the composer introduces the diabolus in musica (tritone interval) or “devilish tremolo” intonations, which are contributed to the inclusive allusion, as well as the quotation of the Dies Irae that has been established in the consciousness of the European culture as a symbol of death. In this way, in the fourth movement of his Black Angels (Devil music), which represents the devilish sphere, and in the fifth movement (Danse macabre), Crumb consciously exploits the Danse macabre musical image used by Franz Liszt (1811-1886), Camille Saint-Saёns (18351921), Modest Musorgskij (1839-1881), and other composers and creates it using a quotation from the Dies Irae. The term of simulation (used by Meyer) is attributed here to the second peculiarity of the integration of borrowed material. This is a method with which only small details from the text of a work of art that is adapted and distinct diverse representational elements of historical styles are taken: melodic-rhythmic idioms, harmonic processes, and the structure. In Tomaszewski’s system, it is 2

The intention of the usage of borrowed material is relevant and often seen in the work of 20th century artists is connected with the functioning of quote-homage (Braun 1974) or, according to Clemens Kühn (1972), quote-reverence. The wish to honor past composers also urges contemporary composers to write such scores that organically unite into the whole not only a certain number of real quotes, but also the stylistics of the music quoted; it is obvious in Igor Stravinskyj’s ballet The Fairy’s Kiss, Paul Hindemith’s Symphonic Metamorphoses of Themes by Carl Maria von Weber2, as well as in Mindaugas Urbaitis’ re-compositions Album Leaves (Five dedications to Philip Glass), Bachvariationen I, Bachvariationen II, BrucknerGemälde, in Onutė Narbutaitė’s Winterserenade, Mozartsommer, in Linas Rimša and Linas Paulauskis’ Sutartinės Party, and others.

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called retroverse music. Although it looks back, it stays individual, original, and ‘natural’, without any stylization. Similarly, Aranovskij defines the method of amalgam, which he distinguishes. He speaks about the method, which has no clear quotation, or the interpretation of the source, where only the combination of the text and intext created by the composer is heard. It is a dispersive method of small elements of borrowed text (motifs, small melodic or harmonic slides, textual or intonational turns) in the new text. Thus, an amalgam of texts is created when the new and borrowed material of the work (which is being integrated) creates an indivisible whole. The fusion of intext allusions and intonational amalgam, which cannot be audibly identified, is best illustrated with the Miserere (1989, 2nd ed. 1992) by Arvo Pärt (b. 1935). The verbal text of this work is formed by the words of a hymn of humiliation (Psalm 51). Besides the canonized verbal text, however, Pärt pays special attention to expanding the melody of the Gregorian sequence Dies Irae. It is obvious that the choice of this text has a special intention of imparting an additional semantic impulse to the composition of Miserere: it is interpreted as the hymn of the one who bows to death. If we look for intonational equivalents of the fragment of the Dies Irae in Miserere, comparing it with the original, we will discover only the initial monodic intonation, which Pärt presents in an original transposition. The section of the “Dies Irae”, breaking the minimalist asceticism of other parts of Miserere (if all Miserere parts are based on a plastic, non-accentuated melody with a changing meter, then the “Dies Irae” part is rhythmically organized in a “perfect proportion”), becomes the moment of culmination (both in respect of semantics and dramaturgy) of the work. Thus, it can be assumed that in this work Pärt gave an exceptional priority not only to the semantics of the Gregorian monody, but also to the dispersion of the smallest intonational parts.

Example 1: Arvo Pärt’s Miserere and the Sequence Dies Irae

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Pärt does not integrate the melodic structure of the borrowed text, which is easily identified audibly, but inserts and further transforms concentrated structures of three to five sounds, which are chosen from various fragments of the musical text of the sequence. It may seem that Pärt has accumulated a catalogue of the ways of how to mask certain sources, which he uses to ‘hide’ a motive that can be audibly recognized by the repetition of a single sound, unexpected pauses, or by the way of the inversion of the motive. The third form of the use of borrowed material in the figure is the most generalized and is not directly linked to the research on the methods of melody implications in Dies Irae. Therefore, this form will be introduced in a short way. This form encompasses such works in which borrowed material, the music of the past, serves composers as a foothold for further search of their own style. Aranovskij defined this form as derivation (according to Tomaszewski, stylized music, and to Meyer, paraphrases). In such music, the individual style of a composer stands in opposition to the style exposed (i.e., stylized). It strengthens the expressiveness of music, and at the same time discloses the intention of the recognition of borrowed material desired by the composer. Meyer considers Pulcinella (1920) by Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) the most distinguished example of this phenomenon (according to him, paraphrases) after Pergolesi. Here, “artificial accentuation of melodic-rhythmic stresses, harmonic idioms, instrumentation, etc., transforms the past into the present. Moreover, piquant paraphrases are much more vital and moving than the original.” (Meyer 1967, 196.) Therefore, Meyer perceives the paraphrase as the integration of the essential features, material, themes, structures, and stylistic process of the existing work into the new work or its part when the meaning and sense of the composition are clearly contemporary. A distinct feature of a paraphrase, compared to other forms of ‘imitation’ (e.g., transcriptions and arrangements) is that in the latter the adapted work must be represented invariant of the original, which is as exact as possible. In other words, the quality of transcriptions and arrangements is measured by how exactly they convey the original’s character. Meanwhile, a paraphrase is valued not by the accuracy of the model, but by how valuable the new work is. The collage technique can be called the fourth classification principle of the use of borrowed material proposed by me. The wide use of this technique in music was strongly determined by the respective phenomena in literature and especially in the visual arts. Collage, first widely used in the music of Charles Ives (1874-1954), later in the works of George Rochberg (1918-2005), Luciano Berio (1925-2003), Lukas Foss (b. 1922) and other composers, is called by different names by various musicologists. For instance, Aranovskij uses the term contamination, Meyer uses the word borrowing and Braun employs the term

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renewal. Meanwhile, Tomaszewski divides this way of quoting into two kinds of “music above music”: 1. Synthetic music, in which heterogenic material becomes the foothold for composers. However, here the general idea, which is more or less declared, unites the idioms into the whole – for instance in Berio’s Sinfonia (19681969) or Alfred Schnittke’s (1934-1998) First Symphony (1972), Penderecki’s Die schwarze Maske (1984-1986), and others. 2. Eclectic music, which is written with various materials and surprises with unexpected inclusions (it reminds of the old quadlibet). Here, the quotation no longer functions in the direct meaning of the term (when pre-existing music creates an additional semantic field of the work: a certain meaningful musical element perceived by the listener), but is represented as the new work’s material or model. Bernd Alois Zimmermann (1918-1970) also favored this relationship with borrowed material. For instance, in his opera The Soldiers (1958-1960) the three stanzas of Dies Irae, quasi toccata, have various rhythms (rhythmic groups of triplets and quintuplets) and appear many times in the three organ voices played at the same time. In this way, the sequence also becomes a quotation (a visually obvious intonational link with the Gregorian monody), and a basis of the composition, which cannot be audibly identified, linked with the exact quote from the final chorale Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden from Bach’s St. Matthew Passion in a complementary way. It should be emphasized that in the diversity of the 20th century works that implicate the Dies Irae melodic structures, composers do not tend to limit themselves to only one method of implicating borrowed material. For instance, Arthur Honegger (1892-1955) in his Le Danse Morts (1938), Luigi Dallapiccola (1904-1975) in Canti di Prigonia (1941) and Zimmermann in his Concerto for violin and orchestra (1950) do not limit themselves to episodes with the sequence integrated in an obvious cantus planus image. The intonational formations in the latter are dispersed by simulation over the fabric of the whole cycle, creating a strong effect of compositional homogeneity. In the mentioned works, dramaturgical centers of the compositions coincide with the most obvious forms of the sequence Dies Irae in the second movements of the cycles (in case of Dallapiccola, it is the greatest intonational concentration of the Gregorian sequence). A closer analysis of the second movement (Fantasie) of Zimmermann’s Concerto for violin reveals that, like in works by Dallapiccola or Honegger, audio space is formed by two opposing intonational poles: the melody of the first stanza of the Dies Irae (I a, I b) and the freely treated material of the twelve-tone series. In this movement, the quotation of the sequence Dies Irae, dissimilated by the cantus planus, is played three times as if it is a refrain. It should be noted that Zimmermann, too (like Dallapiccola in his Canti di Prigonia), followed the “swan song” by Alban Berg (1885-1935), the tradition

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of the Violin Concerto, inscribing the words of the sequence in the score. The stimulus may have been twofold: respect for Berg’s work and the doubt of the suggestiveness of the quoted material. That way, the verbal text integrates an additional symbolic-semantic load, which adequately influences the informed listener.

Example 2: Excerpt from Bernd Alois Zimmermann’s The Soldiers The specific ‘harmonization’ of every sound of the sequence, their timbre, rhythmic, and dynamic distinction from the general musical context proves how important the sequence Dies Irae is for this work. Obviously, Zimmermann (like Honegger and Dallapiccola) inserted the motives of the Gregorian monody into the first and the third movements of the work. For example, in the initial episode of the Violin Concerto, the emblematic motive of the Dies Irae is encoded in the formation of a repetitive nature representing it in an inverse form. Later, the composer gives a modified version of this motive, too. In the third

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movement (Rondo) of the Concerto, the intonations of the Dies Irae permeate the refrain: given as a remote hint at the beginning, the motive of the sequence is exactly intoned in the third movement. Thus, it is obvious that almost all the main musical fabric of the work is composed exceptionally of the melody of the first stanza of the Dies Irae, which is used in the Concerto in different ways: - Dissimilative (Movement II), when the sequence is in opposition to other textural layers (analogue to the Choralbearbeitung of the Baroque period); - Simulation (Movements I and III), when the Dies Irae is used inconspicuously in the intonational fabric of the composition, interpreting its microstructures as associative pars pro toto elements. Thus, in the mentioned scores, two contrasting ways of the implication of inclusive – i.e., consciously integrated by the composer of borrowed material – are synthesized. The work of the literary theorist Harold Bloom has been applied to music by various music scholars, including Joseph N. Straus (1990), Kevin Korsyn (1991), Richard Taruskin (1993), Martha Hyde (1996), and others. In this paper, I am going to present only some influences and the ways of decoding them, distinguished by Straus and Hyde, which can be linked to the intonational interaction between the sequence Dies Irae and 20th century composition. Applying Bloom’s concept of the anxiety of influence, Straus, in his monograph Remaking the Past, studied compositions of the first half of the 20th century (Béla Bartók, Igor Stravinsky, Arnold Schönberg, Alban Berg, and Anton Webern) and the manifestation of past music in them (works by Johann Sebastian Bach, Georg Friedrich Händel, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Ludwig van Beethoven, Robert Schumann, Johannes Brahms, Pyotr Tchaikovsky, and others). On their basis, Straus formulated eight responses to the influence of the music of the past: motivization, generalization, marginalization, centralization, compression, fragmentation, neutralization, symmetrization. (Straus 1990, 17.) It is obvious that they are not universal recipes for the analysis of borrowed material for all times. Straus distinguishes generalization as an essential “revisionist musical proportion”. In Bloom’s theory of influences, it would correspond to the definition of kenosis. The principle of the method of generalization is seen in Composition No. 2 “Dies Irae” (1972-1973) by Galina Ustvolskaja (b. 1919), in which the intonations of the Dies Irae sequence become an original work, the genome of the vertical and horizontal structures. In its score, we will not find any obvious segment of the melody that can be unmistakably audibly identified and that could be associated with the intonational formations of the sequence. Research has proven that Ustvolskaja, like Pärt in his Miserere, inserts in the compositional fabric and further transforms (e.g., using inversion) the concentrated motives of three to four sounds from the Dies Irae, chosen se-

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lectively from different places of the sequence. Thus, the accepted melodic formations of the easily recognized monody are thoroughly disguised, employing generalization (or intonation amalgam, according to Aranovskij) and merge to make a completely new modern (20th century) instrumental composition of the Dies Irae.

Example 3: Excerpt from Galina Ustvolskaja’s Composition No. 2 “Dies Irae”

Example 4: Inversion in Ustvolskaja’s Composition No. 2 “Dies Irae” Motivisation, i.e. the radical method of intensification of the motives of the Dies Irae is illustrated by Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring (1913), Dmitry Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 14 (1969), and particularly by Sergej Rachmaninoff’s works, in which the emblematic motive of the sequence permeates the compositions. For instance, in Rachmaninoff’s early symphonic poem The Isle of the Dead (1909), the initial four-note Dies Irae motive is, like a migrant cantus firmus, constantly heard in the first and final episodes of the poem by way of motivation in the parts of various instruments (the vocabulary of the middle contrasting episode is based on the intonations of chromatic slides and more active development of music, implicating the Dies Irae motive immediately before the reprise part). Rachmaninoff exposes in various ways the initial intonation of the Gregorian monody of The Isle of the Dead: intonational precision is diversified with rhythmic modifications (Example 5a), the transformation of the final interval (5b), in a homophonic texture (5c), or imitational structure (5d) of the placement of the motive, and so on.

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Example 5. Excerpts from Sergej Rachmaninoff’s The Isle of the Dead The method of compression named by Straus cannot be directly used to analyze 20th century musical compositions based on the sequence Dies Irae. Straus applies this method (and other methods, too) to search for very detailed elements (which cannot be distinguished by the ear) of pre-existing music (intervals, triads, etc.). In a new composition, they do not sound diachronically (as exposed in the original), but synchronically. This method can be used to describe the synchronic sounds of intonations and phrases. Therefore, it should be called intonational compression. Intonational compressions of the sequence Dies Irae are numerous in Luigi Dallapiccola’s Canti di prigonia (1938-1941), the fantasy Dies Irae (1968) by Walter Kraft (1905-1977), and the “Dies Irae“ part of Requiem a cappella (1999) by Olivier Greif (1950-2000), in which the motives of the sequence are heard not only diachronically, but also in a synchronic form, i.e. there are many formations based on stretto or the technique of the mensural canon. Those formations are usually exposed in the focal points of the works mentioned.

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Example 6. Walter Kraft’s Fantasy Dies Irae The American musicologist Martha Hyde synthesizes the reactions of contemporary composers to past works in an original way. She suggests four aspects of imitating music of the past: reverential, eclectic, heuristic, and dialectic. I will mention two: • Reverential. This imitation type can be found, for example, in Tombeau de Couperin (1919) by Maurice Ravel (1875-1937). There are also many examples of referential intertextuality in the compositions implicating the sequence Dies Irae. I would attribute to this category the compositions that represent the time of the creation of the sequence and originally ‘archaize’ a new musical text. For instance, in the fifth movement of Crumb’s Black Angels, in the “Dies Irae” parts of Requiems by Jouko Linjama (b. 1934) and Vladimir Martynov (b. 1946), and elsewhere can we hear characteristics of the parallel organum, and so on. • Dialectic. This is the highest form of intertextual links, as the precursor and the “follower” become equal in the text. Hyde attributes some works by Schönberg to this type. In our opinion, it corresponds to Straus’ ‘generalizing’ and Aranovskij’s ‘derivation’ strategies.

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The various categories of intertextuality, which stress the influences of pretext postulated by scholars of various schools, encompass the main terms needed to analyze a musical work. It is obvious that the scholars mentioned above have their own opinions about the issue of the implication of borrowed material in 20th century music, and they apply different terms adapted from other sciences (literary science) or created by them. Some scholars classify the mechanisms of functioning of “old” texts in “new” texts based on the phenomena of the spectrum of influences (Straus, Klein), while the classification of others is based on the level of recognizability and perceptibility of a “borrowed text” (Lissa, Gruber, Aranovskij, and others), or on the relationship of composers to other composer’s texts that undergo integration (Tomaszewski, Meyer, and others), or on the intentions of using alien material (Kneif, Braun, Kühn, and others). The phenomena, which different researchers define by different terms, correspond to the same principle of the introduction of intext into a new composition. The tradition of using different terms for the same phenomenon causes difficulties in the perception of the analysis of the work. On the other hand, it gives the chance for the analyst to choose a more accurate definition of the method of the implication of borrowed material. This is especially important in cases when the pre-text, which is being incorporated, is exposed in the form of a de-concentrated quotation, i.e. intonationally dispersed. If one looks at the compositions of the 20th century from the perspective of the integrated borrowed material, in this case from the perspective of the spread of the semantic and compositional ideas of the sequence Dies Irae, the undertaken analyses have crystallized five different strategies of the composer’s attitude towards the melody of the medieval sequence. Only in two ways, which I have distinguished, is the material implicated clearly stressed and heard. Thus, the Dies Irae functions in new compositional texts as the following: (1) an integral element, clearly perceived by the listener (Crumb’s Black Angels, Rachmaninoff’s Études-Tableaux op. 39, No. 2, Shostakovich’s “The Dance of Death” from the piano cycle Aphorisms, Shostakovich’s “Wisdom” from the vocal cycle Five Romances on the Texts from the journal Krokodil, Juozas Gruodis’ Bells, Aleksandr Vustin’s Music for Ten, Bruce Simond’s Dorian Prelude on the Theme of Dies Irae, Kraft’s fantasia “Dies Irae”, and others); (2) a variable structure (Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, Schnittke’s First Symphony); (3) a quote which exerts a significant influence on the semantic and intonational content of other sections of the piece (Honegger’s Dance of the Dead, Dallapiccola’s Canti di Prigonia, Zimmermann’s Violin Concerto); (4) a non-contrastive, but still audibly identifiable melodic formation that determines the vocabulary of the work’s intonations (Rachmaninoff’s Isle of

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the Dead and Symphonic Dances, Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring, Shostakovich’s 14th Symphony); (5) a material presupposition of the composition (Pärt’s Miserere, Ustvolskaja’s Composition No. 2 Dies Irae). It is obvious that, in analyzing 20th century musical pieces, it is necessary to disclose representative significant elements of the musical text, which are of great importance for the perception of the style quoted and the genre of the works when identifying a definite text. According to Aranovskij, “the method of citation appeared from the aim to impart the main feature of the sign on a musical image: the exact meaning, which is predetermined by the text from which the quotation is taken” (Арановский 1998, 93). Thus, in 20th century culture, a ‘communicative super-system’ – the quotation as a sign – gains a foothold, i.e. an equivalent of a verbal concept. It becomes a signal of certain codes or their groups (genres, trends, types, a plot), which already exists in the perceiver’s consciousness. Thanks to the expressions of the intertextual principle, not only synchronous phenomena, but also the present and the past, can communicate. That way, a detailed ‘intertext pre-existing intonational analysis’ of music can present an objective proof of semantic codes in 20th century compositions. It is especially important in cases of amalgam, stylization, and collage. Only a close synthesis of the interpretation of meaningful signs and analytical insight can disclose the profound layers of a piece. Bibliography Арановский, Мapк. Музыкальный текст: структура и свойства. Москва: Композитор, 1998. Barthes, Roland. 1977. “The Death of the Author (1968),” Image / Music / Text by Roland Barthes, essays selected and translated by Stephen Heath. New York: Hill and Wang. pp. 142-148. Beyer, Richard. 2001. “Das musikalische Selbstzitat: Eigene Musik in anderen Werken nochmals verwendet,” Das Orchester: Zeitschrift für Orchesterkultur und Rundfunk-Chorwesen 49/4: 20-24. Braun, William Ray. 1974. Three Uses of Pre-existent Music in the Twentieth Century, D.M.A. dissertation. Kansas City: University of Missouri. 1974. Budde, Elmar. 1972. “Zitat, Collage, Montage,” Die Musik der sechziger Jahre: Zwölf Versuche, ed. by Rudolph Stephan. Mainz: Schott. pp. 26-38. Chase, Robert. Dies Irae: A Guide to Requiem Music. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press. 2003. Chłopicka, Regina. 2003. Krzysztof Penderecki: Musica Sacra – Musica Profana. Warsaw: Adam Mickiewicz Institute. Cornides, A., and R. Snow. 2003. “Requiem Mass,” New Catholic Encyclopedia, 2nd edition, volume 12. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America. pp. 134-136. Daunoravičienė, Gražina. 2006. “W. A. Mozarto muzika ‘tekstų tinklo’ sankirtoje,” Lietuvos muzikologija 7: 51-67. Дьячкова, Людмила. 1994. “Проблемы интертекста в художественной системе музыкального произведения,” Интерпретация музыкального произведения в контексте культуры. Сб. Трудов Рам им. Гнесиных. Вып. 129. pp. 17-40. Eco, Umberto. 1987. Streit der Interpretationen. Konstanz: Universitätsverlag Konstanz. Elliott, Robin. 2003. “Intertextuality in R. Murray Schafer’s Adieu Robert Schumann: An Essay in Honour of the Composer’s 70th Birthday,” Institute for Canadian Music Newsletter 1/3 (September). Online Edition, http://www.utoronto.ca/icm/0103a.html (accessed on February 7, 2009).

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Fischer, Erik. 1982. “Bernd Alois Zimmermanns Oper Die Soldaten: Zur Deutung der musikalischdramatischen Struktur”, Festschrift Heinz Becker zum 60. Geburtstag am 26. Juni 1982, ed. by Jürgen Schläder and Reinhold Quandt. Laaber: Laaber-Verlag. pp. 268-289. Finscher, Ludwig, and Michel Huglo. 1995. “Dies irae,” Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, ed. by Ludwig Finscher, Sachteil 2. Kassel: Bärenreiter. pp. 1240-1242. Goldschmidt, Harry. 1970. “Zitat oder Parodie,” Beiträge zur Musikwissenschaft. 1970. 12/3-4: 171-198. Hatten, Robert. 1985. “The Place of Intertextuality in Music Studies”, American Journal of Semiotics 3/4: 6982. Hyde, Martha. 1996. “Neoclassic and Anachronistic Impulses in Twentieth-Century Music,” Music Theory Spectrum 18/2: 200-235. Klein, Michael L. 2005. Intertextuality in Western Art Music. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Kneif, Tibor. 1973. “Zur Semantik des musikalischen Zitats,” Neue Zeitschrift für Musik 134/1: 3-9. Korsyn, Kevin. 1991. “Towards a New Poetics of Musical Influence,” Music Analysis 10: 3-73. Krims, Adam P. 1994. “Bloom, Post-Structuralisms(s), and Music Theory”, Music Theory Online 0/11 (November). http://mto.societymusictheory.org/issues/mto.94.0.11/mto.94.0.11.krims.art (accessed on February 8, 2009) Kühn, Clemens. 1972. Das Zitat in der Musik der Gegenwart: mit Ausblicken auf bildende Kunst und Literatur. Hamburg: Verlag der Musikalienhandlung Wagner. Melnikova, Marina. 2003. Intertekstualumas: teorija ir praktika. Vilnius: Vilniaus universiteto leidykla. Meyer, Leonard B. 1967. Music, the Arts, and Ideas: Patterns and Predictions in Twentieth-Century Culture. Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Раку, Марина. 1999. “«Пиковая дама» братьев Чайковских,” Музыкальная академия. 1999/2: 9-21. Straus, Joseph N. 1990. Remaking the Past: Musical Modernism and the Influence of the Tonal Tradition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Taruskin, Richard. 1993. “Review of Joseph Straus’ Remaking the Past,” Journal of the American Musicological Society 46/1: 114-138. Thissen, Paul. 1998. Zitattechniken in der Symphonik des 19. Jahrhunderts. Sinzig: Studio. Тиба, Дзюн. 2004. Симфоническое творчество Алфреда Шнитке: опыт интертекстуального анализа. Москва: Издательский Дом «Композитор». Tomaszewski, Mieczysław. 2000. Interpretacja integralna dzieła muzycznego: rekonesans. Kraków: Akademia Muzyczna. 2000. Tomaszewski, Mieczysław. 1994a. Krzysztof Penderecki i ego muzyka: cztery eseje. Krakow: Akademia Muzyczna. Tomaszewski, Mieczysławas. 1994b. “Aprėpti visa, kas jau buvo …,” Krantai 1/3: 63-67. Velekoop, Kees. 1978. Dies Irae Dies Illa: Studien zur Frühgeschichte einer Sequenz. Bilthoven: A. B. Creyghton. Wanninger, Forrest Irving. 1962. Dies Irae: Its Use in Non-Liturgical Music from the Beginning of the Nineteenth Century, Ph.D. dissertation. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University.

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Ivana Perković Radak (University of Arts, Belgrade, Serbia)

Approaches to Serbian Orthodox Music: A Case Study of Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac’s Complete Works* Church music is the genre with the longest documented history among Serbian people. Owing to preserved medieval manuscripts from the 14th century as well as even older testimonies on the Christianization of Serbs, it has almost unbroken continuity (although with some historical gaps) until modern times. Following historical changes of the church, culture, and society, religious music had changed, and today the syntagma “church music” indicates medieval chant in Byzantine and Postbyzantine tradition as well as monophonic Serbian chant (also known as “Serbian folk church chant” or “Karlovci chant”) and polyphonic choral music. The last two – Serbian chant and polyphonic music – are most widely used in the current practice of the Serbian Orthodox Church. However, there are many different approaches to these two musical practices. In this paper, I will focus on Serbian chant and polyphonic singing based on approaches to creative output of Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac (1856-1914), as found in the Complete Works published in Belgrade and Knjaževac between 1992 and 1999. There are several answers to the possible question about the choice of Mokranjac. The first lies in the broadness of his creative output in the realm of sacred music. It is well known that Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac had worked both as melographer and composer. A glimpse at his Complete Works will prove that five (six, actually, since vol. 8 has two books) of nine score volumes are devoted to this genre, whether monophonic or polyphonic music. – Complete Works vol. 4 – Sacred Music I: Liturgy – Complete Works vol. 5 – Sacred Music II: Choral Music (apart from Liturgy and Feast hymns) – Complete Works vol. 6 – Sacred Music III: Festal Chant (harmonized) – Complete Works vol. 7 – Sacred Music IV: Octoechos – Complete Works vol. 8a & 8b – Sacred Music V: General and Special Chants (8a); Festal Chant (8b) The second reason is connected to the variety of Mokranjac’s engagements in this field: together with melographic and compositional activities, he was active both as teacher at the theological school / Seminary of Saint Sava in Belgrade, and as conductor of a Belgrade Choral Society, which sang in church regularly. Besides, his writings in the foreword of the Octoechos display his interests in theoretical and analytical aspects of Serbian chant. (See Perković Radak 2004.) *

The research for this article was carried out as part of the project “World Chronotopes of Serbian Music,” No. 147045D (2006-2010), supported by the Serbian Ministry of Science and Environment.

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Another reason lies in Mokranjac’s wide recognition in different areas: from official church circles to personal artistic / musical responses. His Octoechos was, and has remained, the basic textbook for church chant in all the seminaries of the Serbian Orthodox Church. His musical setting of Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom was awarded a prize by the Holy Council of the Serbian Orthodox Church, as well as his Octoechos. On the other side, musical qualities of his work became reference points for later generations of Serbian composers interested in this genre – composers such as Petar Konjović, Stevan Hristić, Ljubica Marić and others. We should not forget the current religious, artistic, and cultural status of Mokranjac’s oeuvre. In all these domains, his religious music has almost symbolic status. There is no church choir without Mokranjac’s Liturgy on the regular repertory, and members of the religious community often sing some hymns from this cycle by heart. All this means that Mokranjac’s melographic experience provided sources, and this gave him the basic knowledge to perceive some important principles of the Serbian chant. As a famous conductor, he had the opportunity to check his pieces in vivo and to correct possible mistakes (the same was the case with other composers in this period, although many them did not use this opportunity). His pedagogical experience provided a systematic approach, while talent, professional education, and dedication to composing were the right basis for his rich and original creative output. The second question is: why did I choose Complete Works? Up to the present, there is no edition of complete works by other Serbian composers (although some of them are being prepared). Besides that, this publications contain many pieces that were not published at all. As representative publication, the Complete Works by Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac are provided with a short biography (in each volume), forewords, comments, and other explanatory texts, suggestions for interpretation, translations of the ChurchSlavonic texts (in Serbian and in English), and indices. They are organized as follows: Vol. 4: Foreword (Vojislav Ilić); Suggestions for interpretation (Vojislav Ilić) Vol. 5: Foreword (Vojislav Ilić); Sacred music (Vojislav Ilić and Vlastimir Peričić); Suggestions for interpretation (Vojislav Ilić) Vol. 6: Foreword (Vojislav Ilić) Vol. 7: The Octoechos in Serbian chant and in the melographic works of Stevan St. Mokranjac (Danica Petrović); Critical Commentaries – Editorial principles, Order of hymns in each mode, Glossary (Danica Petrović) Vol. 8: The general, special and festal chants of Stevan St. Mokranjac (Danica Petrović) Differences are obvious: Volumes 4 through 6 have each a foreword, while the last two begin with musicological studies; vol. 5 has two introductory texts – a 134

foreword and an essay on “sacred music”, etc. This is probably a result of the different educational backgrounds of these authors: Vojislav Ilić was a conductor with a theological education; Vlastimir Peričić was a composer with a rich theoretical and musicological output, while Danica Petrović is a musicologist. Apart from obvious difference between two areas of Mokranjac’s work – melographic and creative – which certainly dictates certain divergences in the analytical approach, these authors consider their “objects” from various standpoints, using diverse “languages” and methods. Even if they do not deal with the same pieces or group of pieces / hymns, descriptive procedures are dissimilar. The following quotations will serve as illustrative examples. Vojislav Ilić: “Mokranjac composed the Liturgy for Orthodox services. It is an expression of the hearty, broad and also warm feelings of our pious, God-fearing Serbian folk. There is joy and light, darkness, sorrow, and pain. It is firmly connected with the tradition of Serbian chant. It is composed – ‘tailored’ – either from beginning, middle or final portions of the Octoechos and Veliko pojanje (Great chant) or from the whole chant in individual modes... Mokranjac’s Liturgy is thus not only based on the first mode, but also on parts of the melodies of the Veliko pojanje or one particular melody from the Octoechos... Mokranjac enriched these lovely melodies with solemn harmonies of astonishing beauty, producing a magnificent fresco of sound ... one of the most beautiful pieces of Orthodox church music.” (Ilić 1994, xix.) Vlastimir Peričić: “Depending on the V mode melody structure in which some individual phrases are repeated in cycles, the contours of the piece as a whole are gaining certain features of a rondo. The recognizable presence of a deep pain in both, the verses and the melody, has found the appropriate expression in harmonic, chromatic colored language, imbued with polyphonic moments, as also in the sound conception, a very demanding one for the deepest male voices... Tragical scenes are intensified with sporadical tone-painting (chromatic appoggiaturas of the altos at the word ‘ridaja’ – ‘lamenting’, or the dramatic bass figure against the verses ‘i zemlja strahom kolebašesja’ – ‘and the earth quaked with fear’), as if Stevan Mokranjac, the former Leipzig student, has been inspired by a similar manner and procedure in the Passions of J. S. Bach.” (Ilić and Peričić 1995, xxii.) Danica Petrović: “The transcription into notation of melodies from the Octoechos was more the work of an educated musician and teacher ... than just a work of a professional melographer... In his transcriptions of these melodies he ... omitted many added ornaments that he considered 135

unnecessary and even ugly, and only included a few alternatives in footnotes... By such a melographic approach, Mokranjac brought about a melodic purification, and melodies that were probably more logical and more of a whole. Unfortunately, the regular beat of the melody that would naturally follow the priest’s and deacon’s rhythm and the movement of the church services, was lost... It appears that Mokranjac often had artistic church music in mind that must include Serbian chant, and not just singing as part of regular liturgical practice.” (Petrović 1996, xxi.) In systematizing these approaches, I will use Jean-Jacques Nattiez’ views on musical analysis, as presented in his book Music and Discourse (Nattiez 1990). Besides certain deficiencies, such as the omission of social and cultural conditions of musical activities, as Don Keefer (1993, 92) puts it, I find it useful in several ways: first, this book offers tools for both ethnomusicological and musicological analytical models, functional in dealing with “anonymous” chant and composed pieces; second, it provides a systematic basis for an epistemology of analysis and provides a useful device for “reading” various musicological approaches. It is well known that Nattiez’ view on analysis was a form of a discourse, which is a product of an action that leaves a trace and gives rise to readings, interpretations, and criticism. In his opinion, the analytical model contains three elements: the object, defined by the observer, the metalanguage, which has its own poietics and is itself the object of readings, and the methodology of analysis, based on implicit or explicit procedures that control the transition from the work to the analysis. (Nattiez 1990, 133-134.) Even if he does not make a clear distinction between the metalanguage and the methodology of analysis (Is the methodology possible without metalanguage? Isn’t that transition in the analytical process affected by the language?), he gives a sketch that might be called (in Nattiez’ own words) “geography of analysis – one that allows us to define the real importance of a given analysis, or a potential analysis, among with the totality of musical processes” (ibid., 142-143). Another important element is the proposition of various aspects of analytical situations, from the physical dimension of the corpus being examined, its stylistic relevance and tripartition – i.e., the consideration of poietic, immanent, and esthesic levels (ibid., 135-138). Having this as a basis, Nattiez recognizes several analytical situations, depending on the orientation toward the immanent level of the work (immanent analysis), poietic processes (inductive and external poietics), esthesic processes (inductive and external esthesics), or the communication between the three levels. If we turn to these texts devoted to Mokranjac’s sacred music, we will notice the following matters. Vojislav Ilić’s foreword in the fourth volume begins with an explanation of the Orthodox liturgy, its history and religious 136

importance; it continues with a general overview of Mokranjac’s output in the field of Orthodox music, focusing on the elements of different modes in several liturgical hymns. This analytical contribution is very important, and it sheds new light in the field of musicological research on Mokranjac’s Liturgy. Before it was published, one could read – in the relevant sources –that Liturgy was based mostly on mode one; that is not correct, since this mode is used only in several movements of the liturgical cycle. (See Manojlović 1923, 179, Konjović 1984, 127, and Peričić 1969, 321.) More precisely, liturgical melodies are present in so-called “short” (syllabic) and “long” (melismatic) manners. Certain texts of this office are always sang on the same melodies in the Serbian practice, without differences in modes, and Mokranjac used these tunes, while others exist in various modes: in that case, Mokranjac chose tunes in different modes. Thus, we may notice that Ilić’s object is the combination of Serbian chant and Mokranjac’s composed work. His type of analysis belongs to what Nattiez defines as formalized analysis, which “proceeds to a complete analytic sweep of an entire corpus vis a vis that variable.” (Nattiez 1990, 163.) In Ilić’s case that variable is affiliation to a certain mode of Serbian Octoechos, that is, Nattiez’s global model of analysis by traits. Ilić’s language, however, steps out this model: it is highly subjective and emotionally colored, which echoes a Romantic approach when dealing with national religious music. The foreword to the fifth volume shares certain passages with the previous volume. There are no analytical comments in this text, and it ends with an examination of sources. The following volume has a similar – although more biographically oriented – introduction, with commentaries on the harmony: “Mokranjac’s way of harmonizing these ... troparia, kontakia, and prokimena is classical but also highly individual. They have skillfully added secondary harmonies, which lend an archaic tone to the whole... Even in these short hymns Mokranjac has introduced his soul.” (Ilić 1996, xii.) Beside these comments, Vojislav Ilić offers a short explanation of terms closely connected to Orthodox church music, such as Irmology, Octoechos, troparion, kontakion, etc. On the other side, the analysis in vol. 5, signed by Vojislav Ilić and Vlastimir Peričić, bears a different mark. The most significant among Mokranjac’s compositions, such as Opelo [Funeral service], Akathistos, or Two Stichera on Good Friday, have short descriptive summaries, in which basic historical data are followed by comments on tonality, harmony, musical form, texture, stylistic relevance, dramaturgy, psychological “readings” of the text, etc. Again, in Nattiez’s terms, this analysis belongs to the nonformalyzed types, more specifically to the hermeneutic reading of the text, “based on description ... but adds to it a hermeneutic and phenomenological depth that, in the hands of talented writer, can result in genuine interpretative masterworks.” (Nattiez 1990, 162.) However, since the object is restricted to Mokranjac’s compositions, without consideration of the chant, certain conclusions “speak” 137

more about the author than about music (“the contours of the piece as a whole are gaining certain features of a rondo”; all works based on Serbian chant have a similar structure, since formal principles are the same for all modes). Suggestions for interpretations in volume 4 and 5 insist on emotional qualities of the performance, contain advices for dynamics, articulation, accentuation of certain words, tempo and agogic, based on Vojislav Ilić’s rich conducting experience. On the other side, introductory texts in volumes 7 and 8 are more historically determined. As indicated by the title, the object of Danica Petrović’s research in vol. 7 is not music in Nattiez’s immanent sense, but Octoechos as a special type of Orthodox service books – discussed in diachronic manner – and Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac’s work on this collection of hymns – seen in a synchronic manner. However, unlike other authors, she is dealing with the question of reception of Octoechos, in the scholarly literature as well as in musical and creative responses to this book. In the other volume, the author uses a similar approach: after a detailed biographical survey in connection to the general, special, and festal chant, the study of sources follows explanations of the principles of the edition, elaborated with a description of rites in which these hymns are used (Great Compline, Small Compline, Matins, etc). Although some analytical remarks might have been expected in the following chapter, entitled “Melodies”, the author offers a brief systematization to syllabic, moderately melismatic and strongly melismatic melodies, paying special attention to the text, without further specifications in the sense of mode, melody structure, or other parameters. Her approach seems to be consistently non-analytical, since the immanent level is out of focus. In conclusion, one might add one more aspect to contextualize these approaches. Vojislav Ilić and Danica Petrović pay lot of their attention to the liturgical dimension of the subject, they tend to elaborate, depict – from religious, theological, liturgical, and heortological aspects – types of church services in which context this music is used. More than once, one can read definitions of church poetic genres, such as troparion, stichera, or kontakion, either in footnotes or in glossaries. This need might be interpreted in the context of a newly awaken interest in Orthodoxy and religious matters within Serbian society during the 1990s. Different approaches discussed in this paper are “the inevitable result of the symbolic nature of musical and analytical facts.” (Nattiez 1990, 134-135.) All of them contribute, each in its own sense, to our knowledge on Serbian church music, not only in Mokranjac’s output. In my personal opinion, further approaches should follow and widen this multitude of choices, in the direction of interdisciplinarity, but not in order to give one definite and complete (as one might tend, following Nattiez’s principles) picture.

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Literature: Ilić, Vojislav. 1994. “Foreword,” Complete Works by Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac, vol. 4. Beograd – Knjaževac: Zavod za udžbenike i nastavna sredstva – Muzičko-izdavačko preduzeće “Nota”. pp. xv-xxi. Ilić, Vojislav, and Vlastimir Peričić. 1995. “Sacred Music,” Complete Works by Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac, vol. 5. Beograd – Knjaževac: Zavod za udžbenike i nastavna sredstva – Muzičko-izdavačko preduzeće “Nota”. pp. xix-xxiv. Ilić, Vojislav. 1996. “Foreword,” Complete Works by Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac, vol. 6. Beograd – Knjaževac: Zavod za udžbenike i nastavna sredstva – Muzičko-izdavačko preduzeće “Nota”. pp. xi-xix. Keefer, Don. 1993. “Review,” The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 51/1: 91-92. Konjović, Petar. 1984. Stevan St. Mokranjac. Novi Sad: Matica srpska, 1984. Manojlović, Kosta. 1923. Spomenica Stevanu St. Mokranjcu. Beograd: Državna štamparija Kraljevine Srba, Hrvata i Slovenaca. Nattiez, Jean-Jacques. 1990. Music and Discourse: Toward a Semiology of Music, transl. by Carolyn Abbate. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Peričić, Vlastimir. 1969. Muzički stvaraoci u Srbiji. Beograd: Prosveta, 1969. Perković Radak, Ivana. 2004. Muzika srpskog Osmoglasnika između 1850. i 1914. godine. Beograd: Fakultet muzičke umetnosti. Petrović, Danica. 1996. “The Octoechos in Serbian Chant and in the Melographic Works of Stevan St. Mokranjac,” Complete works by Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac, vol. 7. Beograd – Knjaževac: Zavod za udžbenike i nastavna sredstva – Muzičko-izdavačko preduzeće “Nota”. pp. xv-xxxiv.

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Tijana Popović Mladjenović (University of Arts in Belgrade, Serbia)1

The Possibility and Purpose of Disciplinary Intersections and Permeations: The Case Study of Reger’s Variationen und Fuge über ein Thema von Joh. Seb. Bach for Piano, Op. 81 Starting from the viewpoint of contextual musicology and advocating interdisciplinary synergy (as opposed to multidisciplinary accumulation) in music research, this paper, based on the case study of Reger’s Variationen und Fuge über ein Thema von Joh. Seb. Bach (für das Pianoforte zu 2 Händen), Op. 81, just deals with the relationship of different epistemological positions towards “music itself” and emphasizes the practice of disciplinary intersections. In other words, it demonstrates the practical possibility of the mutual creative interreaction of musicology and culturological, cognitivistic and psychoanalitical approach to music. In so doing, music analysis is not regarded as a specialized scientific tool which excludes all other tools, but as a pragmatic and, one might even say, “eclectic” selection of “contextual” analytical tools and methods enabling the analyst to emphasize the specific elements of a work. This means that every theory, which attempts to impose itself as a dogma, is refuted in favour of an analysis that supports individual musicological work, and is “created” together with the music to which it refers and which, by that very fact, already is, or is becoming, a specific pattern of thinking and understanding music from the perspective of individual musicological-theoretic conceptions, that is, special interdisciplinary musicological methods and contingent analytical interpretative approaches. In that sense, Max Reger’s music (Max Reger was born in 1873 and died in 1916)2 or, more precisely, his Variationen und Fuge über ein Thema von Joh. Seb. Bach, which were composed in 1904, is studied as a paradigmatic fin de siècle work: 1

The research for this article was carried out as part of the project "World Chronotopes of Serbian Music", No. 147045D (2006–2010), supported by the Serbian Ministry of Science and Environment. 2 It must be noted that the interest of musicologists and music theorists in Reger’s work (apart from the Max Reger Institut /formerly in Bonn, now in Karlsruhe/, Internationale MaxReger-Gesellschaft, and The Max Reger Foundation of America /New York/, which have been continuously dealing with Reger’s creative personality) has especially increased over the past ten or so years. Among other things, it has been manifested by the session devoted to Reger’s music, which took place within the joint meeting of the American Musicological Society and Society of Music Theory in Columbus, Ohio, in November 2002. On that occasion, two music theorists, Daniel Harrison and Andrew Mead, and two musicologists, Walter Frisch and Antonius Bittmann, presented their papers on Reger’s music. The session was chaired by Reinhold Brinkmann, a musicologist with a long-held interest in Reger. 141

– in the context of a specific way of reflecting the very moment of paradigmatic shift at the global level in the designated period – that is, a characteristic change (or turn) from the dominant rational paradigm and positivistically formulated objectivism to the “world of pure experience”, the matrix of subjective existence and individual subjective experience or, in other words, from the objectivistic view of the world, that is, the objectivity as the locus and source of total reality and overall real knowledge to the general subjectivization and consequent destabilization of knowledge; – in the context of the perception and reception relative to change – to that quite specific experience of radical subjectivization with respect to the time-related organization of music; and – in the context of the new experience of time, that emergent characteristic of the music of the mentioned period in whose domain – through the notions of identity and order (or the “temporalized” versions of the logical distinction between term/expression and relation in the opinion of Elisheva Rigby-Shafrir3), as well as through the notion of musical self/other polaron (or the “themeaggregate” and its contingent stylistically specific transformations and relations in variations) – the shaping of a concrete musical flow is followed and metaphorically interpreted. Consequently, a contingent analytical-interpretative approach to the mentioned Reger’s work implies: 1) Historical and theoretical positioning of Reger’s music from the viewpoint of: – Different interpretations of the phenomenon of the music of the fin de siècle, the period which is also called die Moderne in German literature, and refers primarily to the last decade of the nineteenth and the first two decades of the twentieth century4 (i.e. it covers, at that time, the current creative work of Claude Debussy /1862–1918/ in France, Alexander Scriabin /1872–1915/ and Igor Stravinsky /1882–1971/ in Russia, or Gustav Mahler /1860–1911/ and Arnold Schoenberg /1874–1951/ in the Habsburg Monarchy, for example); 3

See: Elisheva Rigby–Shafrir, “Radical subjectivisation of time in the music of the fin-desiècle: An example by Max Reger”, in: Perception and Cognition of Music by Irène Deliège and John Sloboda (Hove, East Sussex: Psychology Press, 1997), 47–68. 4 See, for example: Carl Dahlhaus, Between Romanticism and Modernism. Four Studies in the Music of the Later Nineteenth Century, transl. by Mary Whittall (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1980); Carl Dahlhaus, “1889–1914”, in: NineteenthCentury Music, by Carl Dahlhaus (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1989), 330–389; Leo Treitler, Music and the Historical Imagination (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989); Robert P. Morgan, “Secret Languages: The Roots of Musical Modernism”, Critical Inquiry, X/3 (1984), 442–461; William R. Everdell, The First Moderns: Profiles in the Origin of Twentieth-Century Thought (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997); 142

– Stratified reflection on the context of Austro-German music or, more broadly, on the Austro-German Geist in the years around 1900, that is, the task of defining and framing the fin de siècle conceit of German cultural superiority in music5 during the first decade of the 20th century when, among others, Richard Strauss (1864–1949), Hans Pfitzner (1869–1949), Max von Schillings (1868– 1933), as well as Alexander von Zemlinsky (1871–1942), Ferruccio Busoni (1866–1924), the already mentioned composers Gustav Mahler and Arnold Schoenberg, and others were also involved in this creative effort;6 – Polemics about the origin, characteristics and meaning of early modernism, that is, reconsiderations of the correctness of regarding Reger as one of the “leading figures of German modernism” during the first two decades of the twentieth century,7 as well as the perception of his position along romanticism– modernism lines8 and/or on the reactionary–progressive axis; – Consequential reference to the appropriateness of the current syntagm “historicist modernism” on the basis of which Walter Frisch defines Reger’s music,9 as opposed to Pfitzner’s “regressive modernism”, Mahler’s “ironic modernism” and Schoenberg’s “integral modernism”; – Consistent reference, on one side – to Reger’s attitude toward the past,10 to his “urgent and elemental connection with music of the past that goes far beyond

5

See: Daniel Beller-McKenna, Brahms and the German Spirit (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004). 6 See: Leon Botstein, “History and Max Reger”, The Musical Quarterly, LXXXVII/4 (Winter 2004), 617–627. 7 See: Walter Frisch, German Modernism: Music and the Arts (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2005). 8 As Brinkmann observes, Reger really is a Janus-faced figure, looking in both directions. See: Reinhold Brinkmann, “A ‘Last Giant in Music’: Thoughts on Max Reger in the Twentieth Century”, The Musical Quarterly, LXXXVII/4 (Winter 2004), 631–659. 9 See: Walter Frisch, “Reger’s Bach and Historicist Modernism”, 19th Century Music, XXV/2-3 (2001), 296–312. In this article, Frisch began to explore what he called historicist modernism in music, which should be distinguished from neoclassicism. Exemplary neoclassical works tend to distance the musical past through a cosmopolitan lens. Works of historicist modernism have a more urgent, elemental, and intense connection with the past, as in those of Max Reger that probe his psychic and musical relationships to Bach. Also, see: Walter Frisch, “Reger’s Historicist Modernism”, The Musical Quarterly, LXXXVII/4 (Winter 2004), 732–748. 10 See: Antonius Bittmann, Negotiating Past and Present: Max Reger and Fin-de-siècle Modernisms, Ph.D. diss., University of Rochester, 2000; Antonius Bittmann, “Of Swollen, Myopic Beetles, Giant Frogs, and Other Creatures: Epigonism and Its Modernist Metamorphoses in Critical Evaluations of Max Reger” I–II, Journal of Musicological Research, XX/1 (2000), 71–91, and XX/2 (2001), 135–159; Antonius Bittmann, “Reconciling God and Satan: Max Reger’s Phantasie und Fuge über den Namen B-A-C-H, Op. 46”, Journal of Musicology, XVIII/3 (Summer 2001), 490–515. 143

modelling or borrowing”11, primarily to the complex relationships towards the music of Johann Sebastian Bach (1685–1750)12, and to the use of the forms of the alte Stil (“old style”)13; on the other side – to Reger’s radical musical language and extreme extension of the tonal pattern of thinking, to the composer’s problematization of the traditional understanding of tonality14 and dissonance, to his theory of modulation15, to the world of his chromatized musical matter, the music that “exists in an equal-tempered universe of a total chromatic, in which certain functions associated with diatonicism, including the aspects of harmonic progression and phrase structure, are still operative”16, occasionally even like an “idiolect” (an intense, darkly expressionistic and intentionally ugly language), which has the “elements of traditional tonality virtually subsumed by an atonal technique”17; on the third side – to the characteristic features of Reger’s music, such as the complexity of thematic growth, the lack of diversity in 11

See: Walter Frisch, “The Music of Max Reger”, The Musical Quarterly, LXXXVII/4 (Winter 2004), 628–630. 12 Already in 1894, Reger claimed: “Strictly speaking, we are all epigones of Bach” (from a letter to Adalbert Lindner of 6 April 1894). Some ten or so years later, in connection with the German fin de siècle constructs of Bach and veritable “Bach-Kult” in Wilhelmine Germany, as this music was called by Wolfgang Rathert, a 1905/1906 issue of the journal Die Musik published a large number of responses to the questionnaire entitled “What does Johann Sebastian Bach mean to me personally, and what meaning does he have for our time?” Also responding to Die Musik, Reger provided his famous and often-cited hommage to Bach: “Seb. Bach, to me, is the Alpha and Omega of all music; any true progress is based on him!” (Die Musik, V/1 /1905–1906/, 74). Quoted from: Antonius Bittmann, Max Reger and Historicist Modernisms, (Baden-Baden: Verlag Valentin Koerner, 2004), 55, 58. 13 For example, Reger composed: chorale fantasias, chorale preludes, passacaglias, preludeand-fugue pairings for organ, chorale cantatas, and works for solo strings..., as well as the works entitled Suite im alten Stil (Suite in the Old Style) for violin and piano in F-major, op. 93 (1906), Konzert im den alten Stil (Concerto in the Old Style for Orchestra) in F-major, op. 123 (1912) (while some other works, such as Symphonietta /Sinfonietta for Orchestra/ in Amajor, op. 90 (1904/05), the Serenade /Serenade for Orchestra/ in G-major, op. 95 (1905/06), or the Romantic Suite /A Romantic Suite for Orchestra/ op. 125 (1912), point to a different kind of inspiration). He was particularly attracted to the variation form and especially to fugal form throughout his life, once remarking: “Other people write fugues – I live inside them”. 14 Reger expressed his attitude as follows: “I say: Tonality as Fétis defined it fifty years ago is too limited for 1902. I consistently act in accordance with Liszt’s statement: Any chord can be followed by any other chord.” Quoted from: Hans Kühner (ed.), Neues Max Reger-Brevier (Basel: Amerbach-Verlag, 1948), 76. 15 Max Reger, On the Theory of Modulation (New York: Edwin F. Kalmus, 1948). (This Reger’s own little pedagogical volume, Modulationslehre, first published in 1903, went into at least fifteen printings.) 16 See: Andrew Mead, “Listening to Reger”, The Musical Quarterly, LXXXVII/4 (Winter 2004), 681–707. 17 See: Daniel Harrison, “Max Reger Introduces Atonal Expressionism”, The Musical Quarterly, LXXXVII/4 (Winter 2004), 660–680. 144

the thematic materials and the absence of contrast, continuous development, or “developing variation”18, asymmetry and the like; 2) Culturological analysis of the context in which Reger composes his works, including: – Intellectual interest of the fin de siècle, the new world in which nothing was given from the outside, where everything (lesser than the infinite) must be constituted inside (within it), in which there are no objects except those being objectivized by the subject, that is, in which objectivism (in the sense of its positivist formulation) does not represent the common basic assumption and the ideal of overall cultural practice any more, as was the case during the greater part of the nineteenth century, as well as in romanticism which did not challenge it (or began – with Søren Kierkegaard /1813–1855/ and Friedrich Nietzsche /1844–1900/ – to challenge it explicitly on an increasing scale, but the implications of this challenge were still not realized at that time; moreover, they could not penetrate the public domain), because it represented a change in understanding the observed world rather than the need or wish for its reformulation; – Philosophical attempts of the fin de siècle, such as the neo-Kantian attempts, Edmund Husserl’s (1859–1938) phenomenological method and the life-world, Wilhelm Dilthey’s (1833–1911) life-philosophy (Lebensphilosophie) and the hermeneutical model Geisteswissenschaften, Benedetto Croce’s (1866–1952) philosophy of spirit, radical empiricism, pragmatism and pluralism of William James (1842–1910), as well as Henri Bergson’s (1859–1941) philosophy of pure time and intuition, that is, reflections of which the main content is the recognition that overall objectivity is irreversibly permeated with subjectivity; – Cultural products of this period, ranging from Gestalt psychology to symbolistic poetry, or from cubist art to quantum physics and the theory of relativity, through which the recognized essence of the new “aesthetic” model of knowledge is ascertained; – The difficulty of distinguishing perception from conception in a cognitive sense, as well as the destruction of the belief that identity takes precedence over order and that it is independent of it, which is inherent to the belief in the given, in the cognitively untouched and untouchable objectivity as the locus and source of overall reality; – Interpenetration of subject and object, substance and function, thing and thought or emotions about things, identitety (both abstract and concrete) and order (“system”), which are accepted as being interdependent, as the functions 18

Schoenberg mentions the idea of “developing variation” as a means of liberating modern music from simplistic, exact repetitions – and, in his opinion, Reger, Mahler and he himself had worked hard to become free of the monotony of exact repetitions of the same material. In this context, Schoenberg stresses Johannes Brahms’s (1833–1897) contribution to innovation in musical language. 145

that constitute each other, which are also involved when the other has not yet been established, because not one part is possible without the other (existing only in the function, they can be positioned vis-à-vis each other, without establishing the order of priorities); consequently, they do not permit any predetermination, persistence, stability, possession, completeness of knowledge or cognition, but recognize knowledge as an act of creation, as a process rather than as a product; – Manifestions of general neurosis, restlessness, some kind of all-pervasive friction as a specific state of mind and disbalanced nervous system of that period, caused by the general subjectivization and consequent destabilization of knowledge, whose direct outcome is, above all, the emergence of psychoanalysis, as well as the intensified psychological-theoretical and practical treatment of neuroses, degenerative and regressive changes in society, culture and art, that is, of the psychopathology of the fin de siècle. In this way, the tools of culturological analysis assimilate (and, to a degree, substitute) the empirical tools of the relevant cognitive research, and require those cognition models which cannot perceive the fin de siècle and Reger’s music (considering a paradigmatic shift that is combined, in the field of music, with an extreme heterogeneity of the repertoire and plurality of musicoanalytical19 and musico-psychological theories20 that emerged in those years) in 19

Here reference is made primarily to the studies of Hugo Riemann (1849–1919; Reger’s professor) relating, inter alia, to musical logic (1874), musical syntax (1877), counterpoint (1888), theory of harmony, acoustics, elements of musical aesthetics (1900), degeneration and regeneration in music (1907), his musical lexicon and the like, as well as to the studies of his opponent Heinrich Schenker (1868–1935; Reger’s critic, for whom Reger simply was not good enough to be called the heir to Brahms or Bach, and his overt debts to traditions in form and polyphonic writing were the masks that sought to cover a failure to understand the essence of phrase structure in tonality, mediocrity if not arrogance. See Schenker’s essays on Reger’s Op. 81, Variationen und Fuge über ein Thema von Joh. Seb. Bach, entitled “Ein Gegenbeispiel” /“A Negative Example”/, in: Das Meisterwerk in der Musik II by Heinrich Schenker /Munich: Drei Masken Verlag, 1926/, 171–192), inter alia, about harmony (1906) and counterpoint (in two volumes, 1910 and 1922). 20 See: Arthur Seidl, Moderner Geist in der deutschen Tonkunst: Gedanken eines Kulturpsychologen um des Jahrhunderts Wende 1899/1900 (Regensburg: Gustav Bosse Verlag, 1920); Richard Müller-Freienfels, Psychologie der Kunst (Leipzig: Verlag von B. G. Teubner, 1922); Theodor Lipps, Ästhetik: Psychologie des Schönen und der Kunst (Leipzig: Verlag von Leopold Voss, 2 vols., 1914/1920); Otto Veraguth, Kultur und Nervensystem (Zurich: Schulthesa, 1904); August Cramer, Die Nervosität, ihre Ursachen, Erscheinungen und Behandlung. Für Studierende und Ärtze (Jena: Verlag von Gustav Fischer, 1906); Willy Hellpach, “Soziale Ursachen und Wirkungen der Nervosität”, Politisch-anthropologische Revue, 43–53 (1902), 126–134; Max Simon Nordau, Entartung (Berlin: Carl Duncker, 1893; English translation: Degeneration, New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1895); Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Über gesunde und kranke Nerven (Tübingen: Verlag der H. Laupp’schen Buchhandlung, 1885); as well as, Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Nervosität und neurastenische Zustände (Vienna: Alfred Hölder, 1895), etc. 146

a computable and holistic way, cognivistically speaking. Instead, this is done through their substantive mutual constitution and inseparable interconnection at the most fundamental and non-reducible level.21 Consequently, the musicological use of the results of culturological analysis, which have been formulated by using epistemological terms as the musico-analytical tools, restricts musicaltheoretical terminology and confines it to the most basic technical vocabulary that is common for the divergent analytical views during the fin de siècle, holding that the articulation of the musical identity and order of the mentioned Reger’s work, as the representative of the specific characteristics of the whole period – except or, better said, rather than in the conventional terms of musical theory – can be sought in aesthetic and, even more so, in psychoanalitical terms. Thus, the discourse about quite a specific experience of time as the emergent characteristic of the music of the mentioned period, is based on the psychoanalysis of shaping the musical flux of Reger’s Variationen. However, it is not a first-degree discourse, but a metaphor, a musicological metadiscourse relative to psychoanalysis or, better said, a metalinguistic debate about the possible psychoanalitical model and interpretation of its datum. The position of the musicologist as an interpreter, a psychointerpreter of the very musical flux and the process of musical thinking (both generic, panstylistic and stylistically specific processes) represents musicological reference relative to psychoanalysis and introduces the psychoanalitical viewpoint into the context of a specific musicological-theoretical conception, that is, the development of an interdisciplinary musicological method and individual analytical interpretative model for exploring, above all else, the primary process of the musical unconscious and, possibly, the path that emblematizes the unconscious of the being itself.22 I have proceeded from the view of Elisheva Rigby-Shafrir who regards the very theme in B minor in Reger’s Variationen Op. 81 (which was completely /verbatim/ taken over from Bach’s Cantata No. 128 – Auf Christi Himmelfahrt allein) as “pre-existing ‘objective’ musical reality” (see the Theme of Reger’s op. 81) and fourteen variations that follow as the true representatives of the spirit of the times in the sense of rejecting objectivity through the destabiliza21

Rolf Inge Godøy linked certain fin-de-siècle philosophical currents, such as, phenomenology and, indirectly, hermeneutics to connectionism and more recent research on categorial perception in an interesting way (his main area of research is phenomenological and cognitive approaches to music theory, presently with a focus on the links between images of human movement and the experience of musical sound; see, for example: Rolf Inge Godøy, “Knowledge in Music Theory by Shapes of Musical Objects and Sound-Producing Actions”, Music, Gestalt, and Computing – Studies in Cognitive and Systematic Musicology by Marc Leman /Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 1997/, 89–102). 22 See: Tijana Popović Mladjenović, Procesi panstilističkog muzičkog mišljenja, Ph.D. diss., Belgrade, University of Arts, Faculty of Music, Department of Musicology, 2007; in press. 147

tion and mutual relativization of identity and order and, thus, requesting a much greater role of the listener, as well as from Heinrich Schenker’s view that the mentioned Reger’s Variationen represent everything that a genuine musical work is not or, to be more exact, is not – due to the absence of organic unity. For the very theme for Reger is not “organic unity” any more23 but, as stated by Elisheva Rigby-Shafrir, the composer regards it as the “aggregate of images”24. In other words, as an aggregate, the theme – through variations – is not led by some unique, necessary relation – which means that all relations become contingent, that is, dependent on permanent rearrangement and dissolution. Reger applies this view to the same extent to all relations – “logical or chronological, horizontal or vertical”. The most prominent among them are the “logical relations of the essential and contingent, entity and its parts, abstract and concrete”. The theme-aggregate has no central or “essential” image. Reger divides it into different partial or constituent images, both abstract and concrete, which he treats, whether individually or in combination, as the equal and full representatives (exponents) of the theme. Consequently, the process of abstraction – reallocation by which one aspect of a musical event (theme) is relocated or taken separately from its original context (whereby the concrete relations between the theme-aggregate and its fragmented images or particles disappear and cannot be identified at the conscious level, but at the intuitive one), coupled with the process of substantive transformation25 (which causes the simultaneous changes in a number of different musical components up to the point when everything changes, when the new musical material is actually emerging, but a certain structural relationship and 23

For more detail about the term “organic unity” as the concretization of the rationalist idea of the “system”, see: Ernst Cassirer, The Problem of Knowledge: Phylosophy, Science and History since Hegel, transl. by William H. Woglom, and Charles W. Hendel (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1950), especially the second chapter of this book (The Ideal of Knowledge and Its Transformation in Biology). 24 She uses the term “aggregate image”, which was coined eight years before Reger composed his Variationen und Fuge... Op. 81, by Bergson in his work Matter and Memory (Henri Bergson, Matière et mémoire: essai sur la relation du corps à l’esprit [1896] /Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1959/) in whose first chapter (see: Henri Bergson, “Of the Selection of Images for Conscious Presentation. What our Body Means and Does”, in: Matter and Memory, transl. by Nancy Margaret Paul and W. Scott Palmer /London: George Allen and Unwin, 1911/, 1–85) he used this syntagm in order to define matter that is used as a synonym for the “world as a whole”. “Really” separated or different parts are treated as “fiction” and as “absurdity”. 25 About the process of abstraction – reallocation and the process of substantive transformation, see: Mary Louise Serafine, Music as Cognition. The Development of Thought in Sound (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), especially the third chapter of this book – “Some Processes”, 69–93; and also, Berislav Popović, Music Form or Meaning in Music, transl. Miloš Zatkalik (Belgrade: Clio and Belgrade Culture Center, 1998), 38–39, 53–56, 85, 89, 118–119, 272–291, 347. 148

dynamics as well as agogics are not changed – in terms of the specific, selfsimilar method of “breathing” music), results in a significant enhancement of the “energy potential“ of the musical flow of these variations. In other words, Reger engages all musical components, especially those which determine the stylistically specific musical processes and exposes them to almost permanently favoured transformational processes and disproportions in order to thin the relations between the theme and its abstracted parts in the variations in the most efficient way, on one side, and to explore those elements and relations that can successfully substitute the mentioned components, already occupied with another „task“, in maintaining tensions between the far-reachingly distorted initial states of the theme and its original context of “pre-existing objective musical reality”. In this way, the listener and his musical-cognitive “sensitiveness” are placed in the foreground of the musical event, that is, the state of high-level “readiness”, which is raised to an even higher level when the abstracted and transformed representative or exponent of the theme begins functioning like the local theme-aggregate for specified variations. Such a dynamization of the musical flow also designates a high level of its emotional colours.26 A dynamogeneous impulse in Reger’s variations directs the motion at a global level in the waves between progression and regression. Thus, the variations also group themselves into smaller entities. The first wave (completely in slow tempos, the same or slower than the theme itself) is comprised of the first three variations, of which the first and the second are based on the ornamental way of varying the theme (the melody of the theme is almost unchanged, while the accompanying sounds are gradually becoming increasingly richer and so is the harmonic content which is – once incited to “rotate” – moving at an increasingly faster pace in order to “tunnel” the theme back and forth, through the musical space-time, from Bach’s to Reger’s /harmonic/ style and back; in addition, the momentuous activation of the dynamic plan – which is generally lower than the theme by one “step”, with very carefully dosaged and discrete pianissimo microintensifications and abrupt fortissimo breakthroughs – points to its essential role as one of the agents of expression, that is, to its significance in assuming the function of structural focus in the crucial moments of the musical flow of the variation cycle), while the third one, which is linked attacca to the second variation, represents the transformation of the musical material of the theme, that is, its first character varying (which is significantly contributed by extreme chromatism or, more precisely, a short citation of the theme, which retains the original baroque harmonic style, and is impressed and fitted very fast into the pronounced chromatic context). The second wave (completely in fast tempos) continues in progression and is comprised of the fourth (raised to the fortissimo level of increasing and 26

See: Tijana Popović Mladjenović, Procesi panstilističkog muzičkog mišljenja..., 362–364. 149

maintaining tension), the fifth (based on the character varying of the initial motive of the theme, that is, the characteristic signal of its beginning, and on the activation and intensification of change on an agogic plane) and the sixth variation (the characteristic initial motive of the theme that is not given at the beginning but, like in the third variation, moves – approaching something that is at a distance in the theme, the theme in retrogradation, a dynamic plan like the fourth variation...), which also brings the first local climax. The fourth variation (the first fast one in the whole cycle, in which the piano is treated in a concertanto way, like in all other fast parts of the variation cycle), with which this second wave begins, is also based on the ornamental varying of the theme like the first and second variation. The central part of the variation cycle is comprised of the seventh (a dynamic plan like in the first variation) and the eighth variation (a dynamic plan like in the fourth variation), like some kind of “positive” and “negative” (or “synthesis”) of the identity of the theme. The seventh variation, which – relative to the previous flow – brings a more significant memory of (or return to) the theme, represents the main anticlimax in the entire variation form, abrupt easing of tension, “ebb tide” in the musical flow, regression of the fluid, weakened, “abbreviated” identity of the theme. The eighth variation is a great contrast relative to the seventh one, an abrupt break, the first main climax, an abrupt increase in tension (in the sense of one of the significant, multiply symbolic indicators of the paradigmatic change of the “spirit of the times”) and the moment when the basic B minor tonality is changed into C major for the first time (in addition, like in the third variation, the essential moment is the alternation of harmonic styles or, in other words, the flow of the variation continues in an intensively chromatized way after the initial beats in the quasimodal style), when the initial motive and cadencial (the signal of the end) material of the theme (cadence in F sharp minor within the variation in C major represents the harmony of the theme only through the structure of the tonal pitches; in other words, it is isolated both from the original context and from other contexts within the variation, as well as from the whole cycle), as its representatives, are simultaneously exposed to far-reachingly transformed material from the third variation which – after becoming the local theme aggregate in this way – begins at this point in the musical flow one new, inner cycle of unfolding and varying the doubly mediated identity of the theme. Thus, the seventh and eighth variation seem to emanate the theme polaron self / other, which is included in a dynamic process at this place. As if this is, metaphorically speaking, that interspace of the awake (“pre-existing objectively real”, Bach’s) and dreaming (any possible, future) world of the theme, the transitional state “between reality and sleep” of the theme, when the already fluid, dreaming self of the theme in dreaming creates its other and unites with it, thus becoming the self/other unit, singularity, an unbalanced, asymetric polaron, which intensively establishes the

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border, dinstinction, difference. From that intersection of the “theme” dreaming self of the seventh variation and its eruptive, penetrating other of the eighth variation, which is not primary in itself, but is significant due to its dynamic polarity with the self, there evolves a dynamic musical entirety which can exist only in that way.27 (See the Seventh and Eighth Variations of Reger’s op. 81.) The further musical flow just allows and upholds the participation of self and other in the developing whole. The next wave covers the ninth (another “ornamental” variation, a new anticlimax, but not so “deeply” positioned like the previous dynamic plan being absolutely identical to that from the theme), an abrupt increase in tension in the tenth (the variation in which radical changes occur at all levels – thematic, dynamic, structural... for the first time, the fastest variation, the second climax, but less intensive than the previous one) and the further progression in the eleventh variation (which reaches the same climax as the eighth one, so that the tenth and eleventh variation actually constitute the same eruptive tensional plateau of the other), in whose central section the polaron self/other, in a small space, is most closely united, while building one completely different functional context.28 The deconstruction and destabilization of the concrete constituent images of the theme refers, apart from the harmonic ones, to the melodic, rhythmic, textural, motive/thematic, structural images of the theme and its segments, which are associatively dissolved in their interval contents, rhythmic groupings, melodic and/or rhythmic patterns, which are sequentially repeated, sketching the contours of the theme of a shorter or longer duration, singling out the leading sound, or its inner impression, hiding and fitting between the external sounds – allusively mark the motive content and point to the motive motion of the segments – making an allusion to the theme, but being uncertain as to its parts... All these separate or partially com27

See: Ibidem, 364–369. Namely, in the observed variations, Reger alternates between the styles, thus alternatingly changing the clear functional late Baroque style of the theme, by which he announces the universal context, and extreme chromatism of his time, by which he announces the selection of limited contexts. This alternation takes place not only between the variations, but also within individual variations (the example for this are the already mentioned places in the third and eighth variation). It can be said that the harmony of the theme itself destabilizes the essence of the notion of harmony in this part through its re-categorization as a concrete phenomenon, rather than as an abstract or conceptual one. Apart from the mentioned, recognizable cadencial material of the theme, which is symptomatically “thrown” into the eighth variation, we also encounter such a case in the eleventh variation, where the composition of the tonal pitches of the isolated chords of the theme is partially reproduced, but in a completely different functional context, as well as in the twelvth variation in which the cadencial characteristic D major chord (“cadencial arpeggio”) from the theme is literally reproduced, but is isolated from any context of the possible harmonic explanation within the variation. In other words, the constituent images of the theme-aggregate are also the aggregates prepared for further dissolutions or separations according to the same principle. 28

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bined determinants (whose vertical order in the original can be horizontally reorganized and vice versa) are again perceived like the exclusive representatives of the theme, like different definitions of the identity of the theme. It must be noted that this group of variations somehow corresponds to the wave of the fourth, fifth and sixth variation. The last, the fifth wave begins with a new anticlimax, but now with the „cryptodepression” of the identity of the theme in the twelfth variation, which is not of “ornamental” origin, like the first / second, fourth and ninth, that is, the initial variations of the first, second and fourth wave, but is of an allusive nature (analogously to the seventh variation, which generates the third wave or coupled polaron self / other of the theme; after all, the dynamic plans of the seventh and twelfth variation are the most similar) being the quasi steps of the theme – everything is here, but nothing is just like this, it is not at its place, it moves and changes its position... It combines, contracts, expands through different associative or allusive sets of images of its images (referring to the theme on the basis of the relations which are alien to the internal context of the twelfth variation, in other words, associations are redetermined by the external context and are realized in a retrospective; that is, reffering to the theme by quasicadencial arpeggios – of which the one of the mentioned D major chord is unprepared and alien to the local harmonic context of the variation – which allusively point to the structure of the theme, while at the same time expanding it from within). In fact, it results in the exchangeability of the internal and external relations, that is, identity and order. It results in changes, which occur in that occasionally whirlpool-like between, involving the representatives of the theme, its varying form, quasi-improvizing moments and absolutely new elements. What is very unusual is the behaviour of dynamics that seems to be “serialized” in some way and is linked to the parts of the form of the theme itself, which move together with their specific dynamics, regardless of the dynamic context of the variation itself. The thirteenth variation represents a new tension increase and the penetration of the other, thus definitely establishing a correspondence with the third wave (that is, with the seventh and eighth variation). In its central part there continues the separation, fragmentation, as well as the internal expansion of the structure of the theme itself, with the help of the cadencial blocks which – beginning with the eighth variation and especially in the eleventh and twelfth one– are gradually gaining in importance and are, metaphorically speaking, attracting the unique quasi-improvizing oases, thus becoming part of their gravitational fields. Together with the fourteenth variation – which is an extension of the previous flow in progression – it represents the last and major climax of the whole variation cycle. In other words, it represents the tensional plateau of the other, which is somewhat raised once again to a higher level relative to the analogous culminational, tensional plateau of the tenth and eleventh variation. This time, however, the musical polaron self/other is still dynamically estab-

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lished, albeit in an extatic and furioso way, like a specific, balanced and symetric unit, singularity (of the whole wave as well as of the whole cycle), since the fourteenth variation is that “ornamental” variation which is or, better said, whose dense texture on the bass line, is permeated by the whole thread of the “Bachian-Regerian” thematic material.29 On the basis of the offered analytical interpretation of the variational flow of Reger’s Op. 81, it can be said that – only after destabilizing the centuries-long building of tonal/thematic identity, that is, stylistically specific tonal/thematic/formal relations from the outside, “on the front planes” of the musical flow, was it possible to begin revealing those underneath or inside relations of the musical flow and the method of its processing, which have always been there, unusually active yet well hidden or, occasionally, probably insufficiently activated, or frozen and substituted by external automatism... Consequently, it was necessary that – like in Reger’s variations, for example – a maximum chromatic extension of the functional tonal system is adopted and that the musical flow is made of the “continuous stylistic changes”, which “raised consciousness” and mobilized perceptive attention, focusing it intensively on that “momentous”, on the “present” of music unfolding in order to observe that music – even the simplest one and the least perceptively demanding – has never been, nor can it be just the “multidimensionally divided, linearly expanded structure from the completely determined past to the projected, planned future” – which was emphasized, in general, by tonal (led and directed by the rules of functional relations) music of the repeat procedure (in the most general sense of this notion) for a long time (for the duration of a “rational paradigm”), imposing it on a musical event as its almost exlusive and only possible solution. Instead, it has always been and will be a non-linear dynamic circulus of the possibilities (both the past and future ones), which is constantly fluctuating and dynamically adjusting from moment to moment, functioning both as a part and as an entity, which are not separated, but are constantly interacting as the result of interpenetration of all previous and forthcoming events. In other words, the listener’s perceptive “constant present” and “processing activity itself” are not something new. On the contrary, they are as old as man and music, or it can be probably said (referring to Martin Heidegger /1889–1976/) as thinking and singing. They have only now been activated in a striking way (possibly in a similar way as it happened with some other works, opuses or periods, before and after that moment, whereby one must bear in mind that – in their interpretation or while listening to them – we can consciously enhance them even if the music itself does not require it to such a degree), because the characteristics of the “external reality of the objective musical facts” have become such that they have 29

Ibidem, 370–377. 153

aggravated or prevented the perceptive constitution of music as a (musically) thoughtful, intelligable event, a constant, structural and functional flux. In other words, they pushed the “external reality” into the background, while the “inner reality of cognitive processes”, that is, the processing activity itself had to abandon its position and well preserved, latent spaces of seeming otherness, and to become that primarily reality so understood. Namely, the listener’s permanent present (the possibility of projecting the past events to the same extent as the future ones) is an extremely expanded subjective “time base” (analogous to the dilatation of the boundaries of the information processing capacity in the changed states of consciousness) when it comes to the mixing of the conscious and unconscious music contents; when the listeners consciously or unconsciously “must keep adjusting and harmonizing the principles on the basis of which they process musical material” and which keeps adjusting to the interpreter’s and author’s subjective “time base”. Consequently, they become prominent not only as the primary reality in the musical flow, instead of the reality of stylistically specific processes, by adjusting or harmonizing generic, panstylistic musico-cognitive processes which, spontaneously and mostly unconsciously, keep dissolving/disintegrating and reformulating/reintegrating musical events. Instead, like the processing musical activity, they are moving openly, not latently any more, in order to emblematize psychodynamics, that is, to emanate, in the „externality” of the momentous, current “inner” mental and brain processes, or the “processing activity itself”, “the essence of the experience” and the “subjective feeling about oneself”. So, Reger’s music, like the music of the entire fin de siècle, begins openly to manifest itself as the presence of a dream in action, as an externalized dream in which generic musicocognitive processes act similarly like events in a dream, registering seizmographically even the most subtle (albeit not without the potential “destructive action”) events, stresses and changes in the “changed states of mind” of that period. The morphosis of experiencing time, that is, a specific projection of musical events – both past and present, on the horizon of the event of the perceptive present of Reger’s variations, unfolds, as already emphasized, thanks to the dynamization of transformational processes in the distortion of the initial state, as well as in the intensification of disproportions, in the “inner reality of cognitive processes”, which are most directly freed by continuously regrouping and reintegrating the formally given relations, that is, by continously changing the distribution of the elements with different roles and energy accumulations, thus reinforcing vice versa, dynamogeneous emotional power of the musical flow up to the unusually high and very distinctive degree. Otherwise, this occurred most evidently and most freely thus far in the field of musical fantasy. Indeed, Reger’s variations seem – according to their characteristics – to be placed in the realm of musical fantasy, or to emerge from it after being reformulated and

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freed from the restraints of “routine practice”. Thus, in the last variation, the “theme” polaron self/other seems to “progress” and achieve its fin de siècle position in the world that emerges in “dreaming” in a morpheusian way at some other level, in another context, or the surroundings, in the dense texture and chromatic motion. In the world which is not the world of the past remaining from the “state of awakeness” but, on the contrary, it is just the position, “life” dynamism of the musical flow of the theme, with all unembraced unknowns, something that remains in “dreams”, and the world resulting in them. Nevertheless, the dynamic process of crystallization comes to an end, distinction disappears and so does the boundary with the other. The autopoetic existence of the theme ends and it flows into the fugue or, as some might metaphorically say, it “returns to the higher level of existence (supraindividual level)..., flows into a higher ‘another’ reality... of formless brilliance and formless realization (transindividual level)..., it becomes spaceless and timeless, eternal and indefinite, tranquil and without the stream of consciousness, the ultimate union in which all things and events, while remaining perfectly separate and discrete, are one (at the universal level)...”30. In any case, it is evident that the musical flow of the theme was prepared for extremely subtle transformations. The change was enabled by the weakening of the old periodic “strong structure” and by enhancing the “weak potentials”. These inner processes of the theme are, above all, unconscious, while the response to, or feedback about their subjective experience, inner imaginative form of their cognitive processing, is the base for controlling or changing the dynamic model, which can exert influence in an intelligent, autonomous and creative way. This is how, by disrupting the initial “core of identity”, the distorted structure of the theme underwent various states, whereby the characteristics of the same group of transformations were still preserved despite constant changes. Namely, between the two extreme “distortions” there is a number of the transitional states of the same group of transformations. The musical flow so transformed is intuitively recognized in the sense of invariantness of one much broader class of transformations (relative to the theory that aspires to continuously narrow the field of invariantness).

30

The metaphor was used quite freely, bearing in mind the major levels or zones of consciousness in the hierarchic and integrative model of consciousness which was proposed by Gordana Stanojević Vitaliano (Mindwaves Institute, Boston). See: Gordana Stanojević Vitaliano, “Neurolingvističko programiranje: integrativni model stanja svesti”, in: Svest, naučni izazov 21. veka by Dejan Raković and Djuro Koruga (Beograd: Evropski centar za mir i razvoj Univerziteta za mir Ujedinjenih nacija, 1996), 141–162; Gordana Stanojević Vitaliano, “Spectrum of Psychotherapies”, in: Proc. Shenandoah Healing Exploration Meeting (Rappahanock, Virginia, 1993), 1–6. 155

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Krafft-Ebing, Richard von, Über gesunde und kranke Nerven, Tübingen, Verlag der H. Laupp’schen Buchhandlung, 1885. Kühner, Hans (Ed.), Neues Max Reger-Brevier, Basel, Amerbach-Verlag, 1948. Lipps, Theodor, Ästhetik: Psychologie des Schönen und der Kunst, Leipzig, Verlag von Leopold Voss, 2 vols., 1914/1920. Mead, Andrew, “Listening to Reger”, The Musical Quarterly, LXXXVII/4, Winter 2004, 681–707. Morgan, Robert P., “Secret Languages: The Roots of Musical Modernism”, Critical Inquiry, X/3 1984, 442–461. Müller-Freienfels, Richard, Psychologie der Kunst, Leipzig, Verlag von B. G. Teubner, 1922. Nordau, Max Simon, Entartung, Berlin, Carl Duncker, 1893; English translation: Degeneration, New York, D. Appleton and Company, 1895. Popović Mladjenović, Tijana, Procesi panstilističkog muzičkog mišljenja, Ph.D. diss., Belgrade, University of Arts, Faculty of Music, Department of Musicology, 2007; in press. Popovic Mladjenovic, Tijana, “A Fragment on the Emotion, ‘Mathesis’ and Time Dimension of the Purely Musical. Marginalia with Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun by Claude Debussy”, in: Leon Stefanija and Katarina Bogunović Hočevar (Eds.), Rationalism of a Magic Tinge: Music as a Form of Abstract Perception: Musicological Annual, XLIII, 2. Ljubljana, Odelek za muzikologijo Filozofske fakultete Univerze v Ljubljana, 2007, 305–332. Popovic Mladjenovic, Tijana, Muzičko pismo, Beograd, Clio, 1996. Popović, Berislav, Music Form or Meaning in Music, transl. Miloš Zatkalik, Belgrade, Clio and Belgrade Culture Center, 1998. Reger, Max, On the Theory of Modulation, New York, Edwin F. Kalmus, 1948. Rigby–Shafrir, Elisheva, “Radical subjectivisation of time in the music of the fin-de-siècle: An example by Max Reger”, in: Perception and Cognition of Music by Irène Deliège and John Sloboda, Hove, East Sussex: Psychology Press, 1997, 47–68. Schenker, Heinrich, “Ein Gegenbeispiel”, in: Das Meisterwerk in der Musik II by Heinrich Schenker, Munich, Drei Masken Verlag, 1926, 171–192. Seidl, Arthur, Moderner Geist in der deutschen Tonkunst: Gedanken eines Kulturpsychologen um des Jahrhunderts Wende 1899/1900, Regensburg, Gustav Bosse Verlag, 1920. Serafine, Mary Louise, Music as Cognition. The Development of Thought in Sound, New York, Columbia University Press, 1988. Stanojević Vitaliano, Gordana, “Neurolingvističko programiranje: integrativni model stanja svesti”, in: Svest, naučni izazov 21. veka by Dejan Raković and Djuro Koruga (eds.), Beograd, Evropski centar za mir i razvoj Univerziteta za mir Ujedinjenih nacija, 1996, 141–162. Treitler, Leo, Music and the Historical Imagination, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1989. Veraguth, Otto, Kultur und Nervensystem, Zurich, Schulthesa, 1904.

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Morag Josephine Grant (Georg-August-Universität Göttingen)

Whatever Happened to Crazy Jane? The original title of this paper, as presented at the conference behind these proceedings, was “The Day ‘The Music’ Died.” As I explained then, the topic was neither the famous song by Don McLean, American Pie, from which that line was taken, nor the equally famous musician - Buddy Holly - whose death was the song’s subject. Rather, the original title - which I have now changed in favour of the song that will be my topic here - was a piece of wishful thinking on my part, informed by research into popular songs of a much earlier era, but also reflecting what seems to me to be a fundamental and unsolved dilemma in current musicology, in research but also in our work as university teachers. For despite the many innovations in music research over the last quarter century, and the many debates about what the focus and purpose of this research should be, we still too often fall into the trap of making generalized statements about “music” which turn out, on closer inspection, to be reflections on only very limited and specific aspects of musical behaviour.1 So what if we were to ban the word “music”? What would happen if we were to take out an injunction forbidding academics of any description from using the word “music”, or at least using it without reasonable qualification as to what “music” they are talking about? It needn’t be a permanent ban; it could be reviewed regularly, until such times as we have thought enough about the presumptions we so often make. We could regard it as a sort of positive discrimination whose actual goal is to force us to discriminate more closely between different forms of music, and that would thus help us all from discriminating against those musical forms and activities - the majority - that are not really meant when we use that phrase “music”. Thus, as Nietzsche proclaimed the death of God, and Barthes the death of the author, I propose we proclaim the death of “music”, dig it a very deep grave, and, while digging, bring back to the surface those aspects of human cultural and social life that previous generations of music researchers and music critics quite effectively and sometimes intentionally buried. 1

This criticism extends to, but is not limited to, the “new musicology”, and is discussed in this context in Sophie Bertone, Wolfgang Fuhrmann & M. J. Grant, “Was ist neu an New Musicology?” in: Rebekka Habermas & Rebekka v. Mallinckrodt (eds.), Interkultureller Transfer und nationaler Eigensinn: Europäische und anglo-amerikanische Positionen der Kulturwissenschaften (Göttingen: Wallstein, 2004), 107-122. Ian Cross has also argued for the necessity of a broader definition of music, deriving from ethnomusicological studies, in the field of music psychology and the cognitive science of music. See for example Ian Cross, "Music as a communicative medium", in: Rudie Botha & Chris Knight (eds.), The Prehistory of Language (Oxford: Oxford University Press, in press). 159

-IContrary to what my opening remarks may suggest, this paper will not be about the terminology we use as music researchers. In fact, my main point - hinted at in the last sentence of the previous paragraph - is that we could currently do with a lot less talk about music (and musicology) and a lot more getting our hands dirty in archives and other such wordly places, carrying out basic research into a number of repertories, activities and contexts that until now have received only scant attention, if any at all. My particular example will be popular song, and specifically, the popular songs that traditional music histories have almost erased out of existence.2 Most general surveys on the history of “music”, with the exception of those specifically dedicated to marginalized forms and repertoires (of which more below), follow a very similar pattern to that established along with the discipline of music historiography itself in the later eighteenth century, as Matthew Gelbart has recently discussed in detail.3 In other words, music history begins with a discussion of ancient and oriental music (a far from selfexplanatory conflation, as Gelbart shows), proceeds through music in the Christian church (with a few troubadours and Minnesänger thrown in) before concentrating, from roughly the fourteenth to the late nineteenth centuries, almost exclusively on Western art music; then, in the twentieth century, the focus is widened again to take in jazz, rock and some other forms of popular music. This would not necessarily be a problem were these histories more specific in outlining their remit, but, even in the most recent publications, the only qualification seems to be an acknowledgement that they concentrate on “Western” music - and not that they cover only the smallest part of the musics found within Western societies.4 2

I hesitate to use the phrase “popular song” at all, since it too is open to misunderstanding or misinterpretation, but since “song” in many musicological disciplines is sometimes assumed to mean “art song”, further precision seemed necessary. Here, therefore, I take “popular song” to mean songs that are aimed at or otherwise end up being known, used and loved by a large cross-section of the community. The definition adopted by the Deutsches Volksliedarchiv in the renaming of their yearbook, Song and popular culture, probably comes closer to what is meant here: a song in widespread popular use, regardless of where it comes from or who created it. 3 Matthew Gelbart, The Invention of “Folk Music” and “Art Music”: Emerging Categories from Ossian to Wagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 4 A random survey of recent music histories, including those in common use in Englishspeaking countries, makes for depressing reading in this regard. The latest, seventh edition of an undergraduate classic - J. Peter Burkholder, Donald J. Grout, Claude V. Palisca (eds.), A History of Western Music (New York/London: Norton, 2006) - mentions troubadours, minstrels and dance music in the earlier sections; there are a couple of sentences on broadside ballads in the context of the discussion of song and church music in the eighteenth century (themselves represented very much as marginal arts compared to the instrumental music of the Viennese school); there is also the briefest mention of vaudeville in the discussion of 160

A survey of music history, particularly one aimed at an undergraduate readership, cannot be all things to all musical peoples. Reading the standard literature, however, we cannot hope but come to the conclusion that our ancestors in the eighteenth and nineteenth century preferred sonatas to songs; and that the situation probably only changed in the twentieth century because of a combination of mass media and composers’ general atonal misregard for their public (not my thoughts, it goes without saying). This view of “music history” is, not to put too fine a point on it, complete and utter nonsense. Popular music however we want to define it - was not invented in the twentieth century, and as far as earlier centuries go, neither can it be reduced to “folk music” of the kind presumed to have been sung while shepherds watched their flocks by night. Nor was it the music of a particular social group alone: indeed, the mutability and transferability of the elements of, say, popular song, is one of its most important characteristics, and what endows it with such peculiar social force. The discipline of musicology, however, developed out of a very particular interest in the theory and history of more complex art music on the one hand, and so-called “primitive” or “folk” musics on the other. These objects - for example, the classical sonata form - influenced the methodologies and approaches developed, but this in turn meant the methodologies and approaches was suited to those music in the nineteenth century. The section on the early twentieth century, on the other hand, has a whole chapter on jazz and popular music between the world wars, and the section on the recent past mixes the discussion of composition and other forms (as seems to have become standard historiographical practice). Volume 2 of the accompanying Norton Anthology of Western Music, edited by Burkholder and Palisca (fifth edition; New York/London: Norton 2006), does at least include two songs from John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera (themselves parodies/contrafacta on popular song tunes), while the section on the nineteenth century includes Henry Bishop’s ubiquitous Home! Sweet Home! and Stephen Foster’s Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair. Jeremy Yudkin’s Understanding Music (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1996) begins with a chapter on “Music Around the World” before proceeding with a century-by-century analysis of Western composition; only when we get to the twentieth century does this discussion separate out into distinct sections on “The Classical Style, “Jazz, an American Original” and “Popular Music”. Mark Evan Bond’s A History of Music in Western Culture, second edition (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2006) fares slightly better, referring to ballad opera in England, reproducing a 1789 painting of a ballad singer, and also including a discussion on music for dancing and marching in the section on the nineteenth century. There is also a section on “The Growing Division Between Art and Popular Music” which, however, focuses on the rise of transcendent musical aesthetics and the phenomenon of composers writing for posterity and not merely for the public. Most striking of all, however, has to be the singular lack of serious treatment of popular music in Richard Taruskin’s multi-volume Oxford History of Western Music (Oxford etc.: Oxford University Press, 2005): the index entry on “popular music” redirects the reader to the thin entry on “pop music”. Meanwhile, to take a German example, a two-volume, essayistic survey edited by Sabine Ehrmann-Herfort, Ludwig Finscher & Giselher Schubert, entitled Europäische Musikgeschichte (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2002) simply bypasses the question of popular musical forms altogether. 161

particular objects and not others. The real problem is that we are now faced with something of a self-fulfilling prophecy: anyone presumed to carry the name of “musicologist” must first and foremost be trained in thes methodologies, ergo these objects, ergo this methodologies, and so on, so that it would appear to be very difficult to break out of this mould. This might explain why the job of looking at all the music that fell into the gap between "art" and "folk" music is still oftentimes a solitary and specialized occupation, pursued by researchers with a very old-fashioned love of archives, and in some cases, an axe to grind. In countries which bore the brunt of traditional music history’s lionizing of late eighteenth-century Viennese classicism (particularly the countries of the British Isles) there are good reasons for wanting to reassess aspects of musical life that run counter to the prevailing aesthetic of absolute music (in the case of Britain, the emergence of cultural studies as an alternative discipline focussing on popular culture also played a role). That such studies have tended to remain niche interests can be demonstrated with reference to two books so similar in their aim, scope and subject that it seems incredible that they were written forty years apart. The first book is Roger Fiske’s English Theatre Music In The Eighteenth Century, published in 1973 and, at almost 700 pages long, a treasure trove for those interested in this subject. The second is Emanuel Rubin’s The English Glee in the Age of George III: Participatory Art Music for an Urban Society, published in 2003 and, at almost 500 pages, comparable to Fiske’s tome in its scope and ambition.5 In fact, both books are so big and so unwieldy because, as their respective authors recount, at the time of publication there was almost nothing of any significance written on the topics in question. Additionally, both Fiske and Rubin struggled with the fact of a repertory that, in classical terms, did not correspond to the aesthetic standards considered appropriate to “eighteenth century music” as the history books describe it. Both felt the need to admit that some of the music they were talking about was not very good, though other pieces, they continued, were certainly worthy of a second look. Most importantly, perhaps, both were dealing with musical forms that had a very different function and, often, a much broader public than most of the music that is the more accepted face of the eighteenth century. Ballad operas and comic operas of the type discussed by Fiske, for example, were by no means only performed in municipal theaters: travelling theater groups performed them in rural areas as well. Thus, these operas became one of the most important carriers of popular song, and in turn they derived much of their attraction from the fact that well known songs, or their tunes, were usually integrated into the 5

Roger Fiske, English Theatre Music in the Eighteenth Century (London etc.: Oxford University Press, 1973); Emanuel Rubin,The English Glee in the Age of George III: Participatory Art Music for an Urban Society (Warren, Michingan: Harmonie Park Press, 2003). 162

score. In many ways, a contemporary comparison would be films like Baz Luhmann’s Moulin Rouge (2001), Woody Allen’s Everyone Says I Love You (1997) and Alain Resnais’ On Connait La Chanson (1997) - or the musical Mamma Mia, based on songs by ABBA. Glees were for the most part more elaborate, and also more specifically a pastime for gentlemen, yet they too were often based on popular songs, and programmes of civic events and concerts from the early nineteenth century confirm that the performance of a glee was guaranteed to draw in the crowds. Songs from operas, songs that found their way into operas, and songs that sometimes inspired glees, crossed social and geographical boundaries and were, then as now, probably the most prolific aspect of human music-making. Yet despite the overwhelming evidence for this fact - the thousands upon thousands of such songs which, in chapbooks and broadsides, or as variations for harp or piano, wait patiently on library shelves gathering dust - they have all but disappeared from the history books. The few exceptions to this rule are songs which are still sung, those which became what are known as folk songs, or those which were of interest to literary historians or social historians (almost exclusively on the basis of their lyrics, and generally without due consideration of what makes a song a song - the fact that it is to be sung). For a variety of reasons, music historians, to a large extent, conveniently forgot about them, with the result that our view of musical life in this period remains seriously lopsided. It is therefore not surprising that Fiske had to produce such a mammoth book in order to try and retip the scales. What is slightly surprising is that, forty years later, Emanuel Rubin had to do much the same thing. In the quarter century between Fiske’s apologia for English theatre music, and Rubin’s apologia for the English glee, musicologists had after all been merrily exploding canons, Joseph Kerman had been trying to get us out of analysis, and Kofi Agawu had tried to get us back in.6 Towards the close of his study, Rubin nods in the direction of these developments, and notes that his research into the form and culture of the glee brings him closer to many of his younger colleagues. As he puts it: “What is new about the new musicology, is not the methodology, or even the results of the research, but the nature of the questions being framed. The dichotomy facing today’s scholars is not - as Joseph Kerman defined it that of a critical versus a positivistic approach to music, but the choice between treating music as an artifact in a vacuum and visualising it as part of a societal whole.”7 6

Joseph Kerman, “How we got into analysis, and how to get out”, Critical inquiry VII (1980-81) 311-31, reprinted in Joseph Kerman, Write all these down: Essays on music (Berkeley: University of California, 1994); Kofi Agawu, “How we got out of analysis, and how to get back in”, Music Analysis 23/2-3, 267-286. 7 Rubin, The English Glee, 398. 163

Rubin certainly means this statement to be taken positively, but to an extent this makes it all the more damning. If neither the methodology, nor even the results, are any different, then what’s the use of the new musicology? In fact, what makes Rubin different is not that he chose to ask different questions, but that he was forced to ask these other questions by virtue of the object he was dealing with. (For example: why did a country with such a rich classical concert life as England produce so many glees and little else, music in a style which the rest of Europe would have found increasingly old-fashioned?). Rubin also notes that his topic, despite its focus on performativity and the closeness to popular culture, was not always greeted with enthusiasm by colleagues otherwise keen on musical others - glees, after all, were almost exclusively the province of dead white middle-class males. So, to balance up, I want to introduce a female witness for the prosecution, Miss Crazy Jane. -IIThe image presented in Example 1 can be interpreted in one of two ways. The first is to say that this is a poem by the English author Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775-1818), who is chiefly remembered for his Gothic novel The Monk.8 According to one source, the poem Crazy Jane, about an encounter between a woman of high standing and a disturbed woman who then recounts how a man loved and left her, taking her wits with him, was based on a real incident that took place in the grounds of Inverary Castle while Lewis was taking a turn with the object of his affections, Lady Charlotte Campbell: “Many were the summer rambles taken by was the young poet in the woods surrounding Inverary Castle, with her whose companionship made the picturesque scenery still more beautiful; and it was during [one of these walks] that the encounter with a poor maniac occurred, which gave rise to the well-known ballad of “Crazy Jane.” The alarm naturally excited in the breast of the lady, at a meeting so startling-possibly exaggerated by the imagination of Lewis--threw an air of romance over the adventure, which, infused into the poem, gained for it a degree of popularity scarcely yet abated.”9

8

For more on Lewis, see Elizabeth R. Napier, "Matthew Gregory Lewis" in Martin C. Battestin (ed.), Dictionary of Literary Biography, Vol. 39: British Novelists, 1660-1800, part I (Detroit: Gale Research, 1985), 313-323. 9 [Margaret Baron-Wilson], The Life and Correspondence of M. G. Lewis. With Many Pieces in Prose and Verse (London: Henry Colburn, 1839), 187-188. 164

Example 1: Crazy Jane as it appeared on a broadside (no publisher, no date) held by the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, shelf mark Firth b.27(10). PERMISSION PENDING.

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Example 2a: A contrafactum and a parody on the tune of Crazy Jane: Julia's Lamentation (London: Printed by Evans, Long-Lane no later than 1812), shelf mark Harding B17 (152b), held in the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford. PERMISSION PENDING.

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Example 2b: A contrafactum and a parody on the tune of Crazy Paul (London: W. Holland, 1801), shelf mark Curzon b.3 (138), held in the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford. PERMISSION PENDING. 167

The poem may have been highly popular, but there was another reason as well. For the second way to interpret this image is to say that this is, in fact, one of the most successful and well-known songs in the English-speaking world in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. The British Library alone has at least 50 individual sources for Crazy Jane or related publications in the period from roughly 1799 to the mid-nineteenth century, and these cover only those sources where Crazy Jane is specifically named as such in the title (and excluding variations such as Crazy Jean, and larger collections of songs that do not list individual songs in the title);10 these include chapbooks and broadsides published in towns including London, Glasgow, Manchester and Boston, Massachussetts. It is easy to fall into the trap of regarding broadsides and chapbooks as sources of poems rather than songs, or at least conveniently forgetting their musical element. That Crazy Jane was an incredibly popular song is, however, testified by the existence of a number of other songs to be sung “to the tune of Crazy Jane”, including one called Julia’s Lamentation, which is shown in Example 2. Contrafacta and parodies of this type are one of the surest ways of proving that a song was well-known, and in the case of Crazy Jane there is another, wonderful example of this in the political parody Crazy Paul, also given in Example 2, which is unusual in being handwritten and which, unlike most sources, is specifically dated to 1801. But what was the tune? If the song had only been enjoyed by people who were not musically literate, we may never have been able to answer this question. However, like so many well-known songs in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the start of the craze for Crazy Jane can be traced to singers and composers working in the theatre. Matthew Lewis himself had strong ties to the London stage and also worked as a dramatist, and his fame in this period would have been enough for musicians to have seen the potential in setting one of his texts. According to the same source quoted previously: “The ballad has been wedded to music by several composers; but the original and most popular melody was by the celebrated Miss Abrams, who introduced and sung it herself at fashionable parties. After the usual complimentary tributes from barrel-organs, and wandering damsels of every degree of vocal ability, it crowned not only the author’s brow with laurels, but also that of many a youthful beauty, in the shape of a fashionable hat, called the “Crazy Jane hat.” The circumstance is worth mention, because it shows the extraordinary popularity which one of the merest trifles from Lewis’s pen was then capable of obtaining.”11

10

By means of comparison, a much more well-known song - Auld Lang Syne - provides around eighty such sources in the BL in roughly the same time frame. 11 Life and Correspondence of M. G. Lewis, 189. 168

A mere trifle, indeed -- many, including many musicologists, would agree. But if we dare to suggest that Crazy Jane’s continued success and popularity was due to the fact that it was such a popular song with such a popular tune, then perhaps it becomes clearer that this mere trifle is worthy of attention after all (and that we should treat barrel-organs more seriously in future). Harriet Abrams (ca. 1758-1821) composed several such pieces and also had a not very successful career as a singer, appearing for example in one of Thomas Arne’s operas (she had studied under Arne). Her setting of Crazy Jane, the beginning of which is reproduced as Example 3, is interesting for several reasons. The four verses are set strophically: though there are minor changes to the vocal line in each verse, these can be understood more as ornamentations on the basic form, as slight variations for emphasis, in much the same way that singers will often spontaneously introduce slight fluctuations at particular words or phrases, or simply for vocal effect. Similarly, in this edition there are also occasional grace-note ornamentations in the vocal line: in other song publications of this period, such ornamentations are often intended to reflect the way a particular singer sang. The harmony is straightforward throughout and, again, minor alterations of the rhythm are introduced merely in line with minor alterations of the vocal line. We can never be entirely sure if this was the tune that people who bought the chapbooks and broadsides would have sung, but the evidence would certainly suggest so. And not only the evidence from other sources: Abram’s setting is simple yet memorable, with just the right mix of repetition and variety in the basic tune to endear it - quickly - to its public; the vocal line is singable for all but the weakest voices (the grace notes pander to young ladies who image themselves a star of the stage, but they are not essential and would doubtless have disappeared in other renditions). It is perfectly suited to its task, and it should therefore come as no surprise that this combination of heartrending tale and attractive melody should have proved so popular. The popularity of Crazy Jane can be gleaned not only from the number of surviving sources for the song itself, but also from the number of other songs that attempted to cash in on its success - not only in the form of parodies and contrafacta, but as sequels or prequels to the song itself. Thus, consulting again only the catalogue of the British Library, we find a number of spin-offs that all seem to have appeared around 1799 or 1800 (some have been dated accurately to either of these two years, in which case the date is included here). These include The Sequel to Crazy Jane (Caroline Poole, 1800), Crazy Henry to Crazy Jane (Thomas Welsh, 1800), Henry's Return to Crazy Jane (music John Ross, text J. Rannie), The Birth of Crazy Jane (music J. B. Sale?, words H. J. Pye), The Death of Crazy Jane (music Reginald Spofforth, text J. Rannie, 1799), The

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Epitaph of Crazy Jane (music James Sanderson, text G, Fox, 1799), and The Ghost of Crazy Jane (Thomas Bolton, ca. 1800).

Example 3: The opening of Harriet Abrams' setting of Crazy Jane, as published by L. Lavenu in London around 1800. From the holdings of the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Musikabteilung; PERMISSION PENDING. 170

Example 3 continued.

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Though references to the song persist well into the nineteenth century, the highpoint of interest does seem to have been limited to these few years. Only a more thorough-going analysis of the sources could establish why it was quite so popular at this time - a link to a particular singer (perhaps Abrams herself) or a particular music drama cannot be ruled out, but finding information on such sources is a laborious business even if clues are given in the titles and subtitles of published sources. That Crazy Jane should become the subject of my deliberations here is also more accident than design: I came across it while researching another and much more famous song, Auld Lang Syne: Crazy Jane just happened to appear in a few of the chapbooks and broadsides I was looking at, enough to suggest it was at least moderately popular at the time; and the name probably also stuck because of that poetic, repeated "a" sound in the name. When I started working on this paper, Crazy Jane came back to mind. What was this song? What did it sound like and why was it so popular? And whatever happened to Crazy Jane? The song appears to have remained popular for at least fifty years, and I strongly suspect that if we were to follow this story through, and look at songs collected from oral tradition in the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as well, we would find Crazy Jane or a variant of it therein.12 The story of Crazy Jane certainly resonated for a long time, though nowadays the name is more often linked to another poet, W. B. Yeats (18651939). His poem sequence Words For Music Perhaps, written in 1932, contains a number of poems concerning a protagonist called Crazy Jane; these include Crazy Jane Talks With The Bishop, one of Yeats’s best-known and most widely commented poems. According to Yeats himself, “Crazy Jane” was a pseudonym for the character he actually based his poems on, a woman known locally as Cracked Mary.13 In Yeats’ poems, Crazy Jane is an old woman; her lover had been called Jack, not Henry, and rather than him leaving her willingly, he was banished by the local bishop, who, despite his vow of celibacy, had taken a fancy to Jane himself. One of the poems, Crazy Jane on God, later became the basis for a song by Van Morrison, and several composers have set Yeats’ Crazy Jane poems, including Richard Rodney Bennett. Why did Yeats choose the name Crazy Jane? Some commentators have suggested he may have known Lewis’s poem, but if there is a link to this then I suspect it is via the song, which very probably had entered oral tradition.

12

It was also revived more recently and more "classically" in the context of a concert celebrating British Jewish composers held by the Jewish Music Institute at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London, see http://www.jmi.org.uk/performance/2007/unchartered07.html, accessed August 2008. 13 See the article on "Crazy Jane" in Lester I. Connor, A Yeats Dictionary: Persons and Places in the Poetry of William Butler Yeats (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1998), 35-37. 172

Indeed, there is mention of Yeats taking down songs or ballads - though not necessarily this one - from Cracked Mary herself.14 -IIISong’s challenge to musicology is the challenge of filling in the gaps which traditional musicologies have silently created. And this brings further challenges, which are quantitative, and also qualitative in nature. They are quantitative simply because there are thousands upon thousands of sources and only very few archives and libraries which have managed to catalogue and cross-reference them in a way that makes it possible to trace at least some of the many lives a song or its components may have. However, with growing digitalisation, not only of library catalogues but of library contents, it will become much easier to find and collate numerous sources that would otherwise slip through the net. From this point of view, then, the future looks bright. The qualitative challenges remain, though: even when it does become easier to trace the various lives of a song - and at least some of the human lives touched by the song -, dealing with these lives nevertheless continues to challenge many of the assumptions that still influence thinking about “music”. The mutability and mobility of the elements of popular song, the use of several tunes for one text or several texts for one tune, the fact that many of the tunes and also the texts are sometimes so formulaic - these run counter to traditional ideas that music research should in the main concern itself with pieces of music with a distinctive identity, be this as a piece of “great art” or as the expression of a particular regional or ethnic culture. Given these challenges, what reasons are there for wanting to rise to them? There is a particular school of scientific thought that we could call the “because it’s there” school, similar to the answer given by the mountaineer George Leigh Mallory when he was asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest. From this point of view, popular songs, like any other kind of music, are there and therefore there to be studied. There is nothing wrong with this, but, in an age of decreasing resources and the increasing difficulty of justifying the importance of a distinctively musicological approach in the humanities and social sciences, it is perhaps not the best reason for studying something (Mallory, incidentally, died while attempting to climb Everest). Likewise, there is little point in criticising the researchers of an earlier generation for setting up the aesthetic categories which continue to influence, to a disproportionate amount, the ways we now think about and look at music as academics. It is important to understand where these categories came from, what perspectives and, possibly, prejudices informed them. Analysing the history of our own discipline is only the first step, however; the next is to fill in those gaps in 14

ibidem. 173

existing music history that are stopping us from moving on. In other words, the real reason for resurrecting Crazy Jane, Poor Jack, Black Ey’d Susan and any number of other forgotten or half-forgotten songs must lie in the fact that our narrow view of music in earlier centuries is a hindrance to a broader understanding both of those eras and, more generally, of the role of music in society in general - modern society, early modern society, any society. I will conclude, then, with two concrete examples of why more research into popular song cultures through the ages should be so important and relevant. The first, possibly surprisingly, is the relatively young sub-discipline of evolutionary musicology. Evolutionary musicology tries to explain why music should be so important in human culture by exploring the thesis that something about music, or musicality, may have influenced the development and survival of homo sapiens as a species. The suggestion is that humans are, as it were, intrinsically musical. If this is the case, however, there must be aspects of human musical practice that approach universality.15 Identifying and analyzing the most widespread and recurrent aspects of human musicality is an important pre-requisite for testing this thesis, and given the ubiquity of songs - and, in particular, the fact the many features of song and singing in popular contexts do not appear to change that much over the centuries - it goes without saying that understanding this phenomenon could significantly help us understand human musicality per se. The second example is research into contemporary culture - more specifically, studies into the impact of modern and new media, the culture industry, and globalization. It is a truism that in the first years of a new technology, people, and particularly academic people, tend to get a bit overexcited about the possible consequences. The problem nowadays, however, is that the persistent lack of available and widely publicized research on the history of these phenomenon makes it difficult to understand what is truly new about the new media and peoples’ use of it and reactions to it. And while a number of recent studies and publications have begun to open up the field of music research to look at music in everyday life, amateur music-making and so on, there is a real need for more coordinated work on similar issues in earlier periods as well; to a large extent, this will involve the task of reintegrating historical and ethnomusicological approaches. Only thus can we hope to overcome the continuing assumption that “music” for our forefathers and mothers consisted for the most part of Brandenburg concertos and polyphonic masses. And the day that this preconception finally hits the dust will be the day we can resurrect those other musics that give us a fuller picture of how our 15

Evolutionary musicology, for all its infancy, is a broad field and home to a number of conflicting theories and ideas. For one very promising approach see again Cross, "Music as a communicative medium", amongst other texts. 174

ancestors, and in many cases also our contemporaries, have used music to enrich and enhance their lives. Literature Kofi Agawu, “How we got out of analysis, and how to get back in”, Music Analysis 23/2-3, 267-286. [Margaret Baron-Wilson], The Life and Correspondence of M. G. Lewis. With Many Pieces in Prose and Verse (London: Henry Colburn, 1839). Sophie Bertone, Wolfgang Fuhrmann & M. J. Grant, “Was ist neu an New Musicology?” in Rebekka Habermas & Rebekka v. Mallinckrodt (eds.), Interkultureller Transfer und nationaler Eigensinn: Europäische und anglo-amerikanische Positionen der Kulturwissenschaften (Göttingen: Wallstein, 2004), 107-122. Mark Evan Bond, A History of Music in Western Culture, second edition (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2006). J. Peter Burkholder, Donald J. Grout, Claude V. Palisca (eds.), A History of Western Music (New York / London: Norton, 2006). J. Peter Burkholder & Claude V. Palisca (eds.), Norton Anthology of Western Music (fifth edition; New York / London: Norton 2006). Ian Cross, "Music as a communicative medium", in Rudie Boths & Chris Knight (eds.), The Prehistory of Language (Oxford: Oxford University Press, in press). Sabine Ehrmann-Herfort, Ludwig Finscher & Giselher Schubert, Europäische Musikgeschichte (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 2002). Roger Fiske, English Theatre Music in the Eighteenth Century (London etc.: Oxford University Press, 1973). Matthew Gelbart, The Invention of “Folk Music” and “Art Music”: Emerging Categories from Oissian to Wagner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Joseph Kerman, “How we got into analysis, and how to get out”, Critical inquiry VII (198081) 311-31, reprinted in Joseph Kerman, Write all these down: Essays on music (Berkeley: University of California, 1994). Elizabeth R. Napier, "Matthew Gregory Lewis" in Martin C. Battestin (ed.), Dictionary of Literary Biography, Vol. 39: British Novelists, 1660-1800, part I (Detroit: Gale Research, 1985), 313-323. Emanuel Rubin,The English Glee in the Age of George III: Participatory Art Music for an Urban Society (Warren, Michigan: Harmonie Park Press, 2003). Richard Taruskin, The Oxford History of Western Music (Oxford etc.: Oxford University Press, 2005). Jeremy Yudkin, Understanding Music (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1996).

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Ira Prodanov Krajišnik (University of Novi Sad, Serbia)

Free Religious Music1 in Serbia and its Social Context In the last couple of decades the growing interest in religion worldwide has become apparent. This phenomenon, known in sociology of religion as desecularization, is particularly noticeable in the regions where religion had long been prohibited, suppressed or neglected. This is the case with Serbia where changes of society’s attitude towards religion primarily have a political background and are, in their essence, a consequence of ideological upheavals, years of devastation brought by wars and general crisis in the country. The massive return of Serbian population to religious values at the end of the twentieth century was a sign that religion became an important part of our everyday lives. In a certain sense this brought us closer to the rest of Europe in which processes of returning to church and faith, emergence of sects and restrengthening of religious institutions have not generated radical changes in the cultural and artistic milieu of society. In Serbian art, however, the wave of new religiosity brought about a proliferation of works with religious subject matter. Although there were examples of return to strictly canonized church works (frescoes, church music), Serbian art was primarily marked by freer approaches to religious themes, quotations of sacred motifs or their imitation, as well as frequent intertwining of religious and national elements for the purpose of portraying an out-of-church religiosity. This shows how the wave of desecularization always retains in itself the wave of secularization. In Serbian art, and hence in its music, this signified a rediscovered interest for religious themes, but not necessarily their “placement” in the official religious arena, the church. Desecularization in the field of art only meant the renewal of interest for religion, but the interest remained secularized to a large extent. Therefore the basic space of researching religious works in art in Serbia is the large field of sociology of religion. A complex picture of society’s attitude towards religion in Serbia is a result of violent secularization, and then desecularization occurring “under pressure” after 1945. Namely, while secularization in Western Europe and North America ran so to say “naturally” and in parallel with modernization and democratization of society in the second half of the twentieth century, in the countries of Eastern Europe the Communist regime caused the process of secularization to become violent, unnatural and coerced. Serbia, which was at that time part of Federal People’s Republic of Yugoslavia, had a nationally and religiously highly diverse population. After 1945 it was maintained only due to 1

The term “free religious music” indicates that this music is not music ment for religious service, but spiritual music in the widest sense of the word. In serbian language this term has a wider meaning than „spiritual music”.

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socialism / atheism as sole “religion”2 that served as an integrating element in the political arena of the multinational and multireligious community. The introduction of the “new religion” of communist atheism was in fact an attempt to “erase” the national and religious differences. What is puzzling, however, is the statistical data indicating that in a country where atheism was supposedly dominating, there was in 19533 only 12.6% of atheists (Blagojević, 1994: 212). In this regard, it is interesting to note that Yugoslav authorities of that time did not officially condemn religious believers. This is illustrated by the article of the first Yugoslav constitution from 1946 which “allows religious freedoms, if they do not endanger the country politically”. It is familiar, however, that the reality in Yugoslavia was somewhat different and that “any fairly important social role demanded moral and political suitability. In practice this amounted to membership in the Yugoslav Communist Party and the atheist point of view” (Milošević, 1994:103). In support of this claim goes the fact that, even in the seventies, historical and geographical publications did not contain in their general entries about Yugoslavia (size of territory, number of republics, size of population, number of nations) any data on religious denominations of Yugoslav citizens and that Muslims, for example, were sometimes mentioned as a religious group, sometimes as a nation, etc.4 Reaserch results demonstrate that postwar secularization was expressed most fully among the orthodox population. The reasons for this lie in the fact that Serbian Orthodox Church was marginalized after 1945 in every social and political role in the country and some of its rulers displayed excess loyalty to the regime.5 The collapse of Socialism, this “new religion”, produced in Serbia a torrent of changes at all levels, including the religious one. Due to war devastations and growing national and religious divisions, the process of secularization was slowed down and religion assumed the role of “defense of culture” Wallis, Bruce, 1994: 69). At the end of the seventies this was already happening in the regions populated with citizens of catholic denomination, 2

Parsons, Talcott points out in his »Religion in Postindustrial America: The Problem of Secularization.« In: Povratak svetog. Niš, 1994, 114, that: “Marxist secular religion and the Socialist movement in general have assumed the eschatological orientation very similar to the one of traditional Chistianity. People of good will are condemned to suffering humiliation and deprivations until the time is right for a revolution to happen. Revolution will bring liberation, that ‘leap into freedom’ from coercion and slavery of capitalism. In this way the Socialist movement was not only very similar to the most important christian tradition in its pessimistic diagnosis of the moder secular world, but was also characterized by a comparable model of eschatological hope...” 3 The last population census that included the questions of nation and denomination was carried out that year (until 1991). 4 Example can be seen in the publication Veliki atlas sveta. Ljubljana: Mladinska knjiga, 1973, 196. 5 After the war, the political regime inflicted severe human and material damage to the Serbian Orthodox Church, but later on during the sixties and seventies the church mostly displayed its loyality towards the communist state. Cf. Milan, Vukomanović. Sveto i mnoštvo - izazovi religijskog pluralizma. Beograd, 2001, 102.

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while in the homogeneous areas of orthodox population this process, came almost a decade later. Social and economic crisis in the federation that had collapsed and the international economic isolation created the conditions for the awakening of religious consciousness in Serbia (Trebješanin, 1995).6 Taking refuge in the church represented a sort of protection from the general secular and spiritual misery of society (Flere, 1994: 207).7 This was accompanied by “rediscovering of tradition, traditional religion and religiosity, ‘collective memory’, national continuity, resurrection of religious and national figures…which to a certain extent give religion a political relevance” (Blagojević, 1994: 215).8 How did desecularization begin in Serbia? The leadership of the Socialist Party of Serbia (SPS) led by Slobodan Milošević, that ruled more than a decade,9 realized early on the advantages of being seemingly interested in the Serbian Orthodox Church and its congregation. Between August and December 1990, the official daily paper “Politika” published on average one article a day that was dedicated to this religious institution and the threatened position of its followers outside the borders of Serbia, and by doing so made a contribution to the growing war sentiments and gave the upper hand to the politics of the ruling party. The articles focusing on the renewal of churches and recovery of property to the Serbian Orthodox Church created the impression that SPS “looked after” the building and renewal of places of worship. The beginning of the nineties opened a question of celebrating St. Sava, the most important Serbian saint. At the open discussion held in the Cultural Union of Serbia at the end of the 1990, the issue of “whether this celebration in schools should have a civil-society character or the meanings given to it by the tradition of the Serbian Orthodox Church was raised” (Milošević, 1994:140). Finally it was decided that this religious festival should be organized in a way as to remind people of the life and work of this “historical figure”. The ruling party therefore substituted the marxist view of the world with the one of “secular religion” (Milošević, 1994:141). A number of paradoxical situations testify to the fact that the governing party led the politics of “secular religion”, using religious symbols in order to gain appropriate benefits, but not to finally admit the importance of

6

Žarko Trebješanin stresses that there was not only a rapid increase in the number of orthodox followers, but also the growth of those who sought salvation in other religions, confessions, sects and cults. 7 “Religion becomes a ‘natural’ sanctuary which is alternitive to the system, a cultural and political opposition, in natural coalition with different opposition groups”, noted by Flere, Sergej in »Secularization in Eastern Europe.« In: Povratak svetog. by M. Đorđević. Niš, 1994, 206. 8 The emergence of parties whose names contain a religious conotation is not surprising. For example, Democratic Christian Party of Serbia, whose name connects important terms like democracy and christianity. 9 The Socialist Party of Serbia was formed during the 8th convention of the Central Committee of the Communist League of Yugoslavia in 1989.

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faith itself.10 The process of desecularization started at that point and is still in progress nowadays. Vita religiosa of a person living in Serbia that has been examined so far became more complex by the strengthening of sects. Desecularization did not only attract new adhierents to the largest religious community, the Orthodox church. The emergence of sects in Serbia, whose activities were especially heightened during the war-stricken nineties, nowadays also “threatens” the status of the Orthodox religion and other confessions in Serbia. Such social and political milieu strongly reflected itself upon the attitude of an artist towards religious themes, whether it was literature, painting or music. The art resonated with the change secularization – desecularization serving intentionaly or not the rulling regime. Immediately after 1945 the production in the sphere of music in Yugoslavia was predominantly politically engaged and shaped according to expectations of the authorities of that time. Compositions written before the 2nd World War that touched upon religious themes were revised, or “adjusted” to new circumstances. The staging of the opera Licitarsko srce (Licitar heart) by Krešimir Baranović (1894 – 1975) in Belgrade Opera before the war had, for instance, the scene of people “in front of the church”, as the author himself stressed in the score, whereas after the war that scene “disappeared” from the scenography. This seemingly innocent act, which was in fact interference into the author’s work, was not an isolated case. Konjović’s (Petar Konjović, 1883 – 1970) opera Knez od Zete (The Prince of Zeta) in the postwar performance was politically condemned for its choir of monks. This situation lasted for a long time not only in terms of “rearrangement” of certain older pieces of music that had religious elements, but even in the sense of location of sacred music performances. According to composer Dejan Despić (1930), Serbian spiritual music had not been part of concert programs until the end of the 1980’s. If it had been performed, it would never had occurred on church premises. Also, the composer Dušan Radić (1929) claims that “the attempt of blotting out the memory of everything related to religion and church, with simultaneous lack of understanding of the notion of spirituality, has led to an absurd situation where the performance of Mozart’s Requiem was allowed, whereas one concert of spiritual music of Stevan Stojanović Mokranjac (1856 – 1914), publicly held for the first time after the war, caused major political consequences to its participants. Namely, it was the concert of the Musical Academy Choir, held on 23 March 1956, which was conducted by professor Vojislav Ilić. According to some testimonies, neither the program of the concert whose first part had several spiritual compositions of Mokranjac, nor the song collections in the second, had not provoked such a reaction as it was the case with the movement 10

It seems that, vice versa, the Church started using secular “symbols”, such as the national question, in order to gain new adherents.

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Tebe boga hvalim (I praise You, God) performed as encore. It seems that its expressiveness was particularly unallowable, but expected considering that those were the times when having a beard in itself evoked suspicion” (Pilipović, 1994:168). The conditions were not better even in the field of education in musical culture. According to the research carried out by musicologist Sonja Marinković, in the decades after the Second World War until recently, “our educational system had been designed in a way to exclude all contents related to orthodox spiritual tradition from the syllabus” (Marinković, 1994:139). Very little attention was also devoted to other religious cultures, which meant that “pupils in primary school do not have to learn anything about the existence of spiritual music as a special musical genre... nor about the existance of various confessional traditions within it” (Marinković, 1994:139). The work of Serbian composers after the 2nd World War was mainly marked by a more moderate musical language than the “modern” expressionist one that was brought from Europe by the members of the famous Prague group of the Serbian composers educated in Prague.11 In this “new” (or better to say old, pre-War, traditional) style of expression, authors were expected to adjust their works to the affinity and level of a broader audience. Therefore it is logical that this was achieved mostly by applying elements of folklore. Works with religious themes could not possibly have been the subject of straightforward interest of musical creators in this environment. Even in the case of individual oeuvres that did draw on religious topics, they could hardly be called church music, so the only possible “compromise” was the creation of religious music in the broadest sense of the word. Even if it is not possible to demonstrate statistically the dynamics with which the number of such pieces was growing, it can be concluded with certainty that from the 1980’s religious subject matter was becoming less “dangerous”, mostly thanks to the celebration of the six centuries from the Battle of Kosovo (1389)12, when this historical Serbian date turned the attention of society towards the sphere of religion. These were at the same time the first years of Yugoslav crisis that led to its later collapse. In Serbia of that time, parallel with “discovering” of orthodox religion, the above-mentioned “awakening” of consciousness of different confessions as well as more conspicuous interest in (eastern) sects caused the production of musical works that were inspired by various religions of the world. In order to compose religious works, the authors primarily used religious elements such as sacred 11

Group of composers who studied music in Prague during the 1930’s and who wrote the first oeuvres of expressionism in Serbian music. Members of the group were D. Čolić (1907 - 1987), M. Ristić (1908 - 1982), Lj. Marić (1909 - 2004), V. Vučković (1910-1942) and S. Rajičić (1910 - 2001). 12 This battle is considered to be one of the most tragic events in Serbian history, after which the Turks began their rule in these regions and the orthodox religion got pushed out by the muslim one.

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texts, they copied the styles of certain musical religious traditions or simply quoted some authentic religious melodies. Apart from such composing techniques that indicated most clearly their background inspiration, a number of authors used associations to a specific religion by applying performing techniques similar to the ones used in religious services (even if the genre was pop music and rock-and-roll) or by engaging musicians that in a certain environment were “synonymous” to a particular religious affiliation.13 The reasons why composers turned to religious themes led to the division of oeuvres of Serbian postwar “free religious music” according to their “purpose”.14 Some authors employed the religious subject matter as a means to evoke religious feelings, while others used this same method to evoke national feelings. Belonging to the first group are the oeuvres dealing with purely religous experience such as Otkrovenje Jovanovo (“Revelation of John”) by Ernő Király (1919 - 2008), I niodkudu pomošti (And help from nowhere) by Ivana Stefanović (1948), Harmonija svetlosti (The Harmony of Light) by Miroslav Štatkić (1951), Tibetanska knjiga mrtvih (The Tibetan Book of the Dead) by Jugoslav Bošnjak (1954), Pesma ljiljana (The Song of Lilies) by Aleksandra Vrebalov (1970), etc. This group includes the authors who occasionally found religious inspiration in Orthodox religion and occasionally in Protestantism, Catholicism or non-christian religions. The second group of authors encompasses the works in which religious elements are used to emphasize national feelings and national identity such as Hilandarski palimpsest – Serbijo iže jesi (The Hilandarian Palimpsest) by Svetislav Božić (1954), Pasija Sv. Kneza Lazara (The Passion of St. Prince Lazar) by Rajko Maksimović (1935), Suguba jektenija by Slobodan Atanacković (1937), Poziv iz grobova (The Call from Graves) by Mateja Marinković (1961).15 It is obvious that in the pieces of these composers the elements of exclusively Orthodox spiritual traditions, both textual and musical, were used. In this other “movement” that used religious themes, however, it can be seen that there are authors who used religious elements for the purpose of describing national history in which religion stands as a valuable “monument of tradition”, but also those composers who used religious elements only for the sake of pointing out the current political position of the nation.16 After considering the oeuvre of „free religious music”, it is obvious that Serbian music of the second half of the twentieth century (both artistic and the 13

Especially emphasized here is the engagament of Dragoslav Pavle Aksentijević, who was from the first period of desucularization until now the most famous performer of orthodox spiritual music in Serbia. 14 I have made this division according to many years of reaserch in this field of Serbian music within my doctoral thesis: „Religijska inspiracija u srpskoj muzici posle 1945. godine” (“Religious inspiration in Serbian music after 1945”), under the mentorship of Prof. Dr. Mirjana Veselinović Hofman. 15 All listed compositions were written for orchestra accompanied by vocal ensemble. 16 It is important to emphasize that in Serbia nation is alsmost identified with religious affliation, which is not customery in other European countries.

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popular one that surrounds us – pop and rock music), proved to be the reflection of our political circumstances and our religious reality, the political context - as always - built the artistic text. Although there is an assumption that „today’s man only simulates the religiosity of previous times, giving in this way his contributuion to the global simulacrum... in which the renewal of traditional religiosity (christian or non-christian) and related art... is barely more than a fatal strategy of the end of the second millennium” (Šuvaković, 1995:15-16), Serbian music gained with the works of religious subject matter a significant fund of compositions in which authors intened to remind us of the cultural data of the past in whose value there should be no doubt. Careful examination of social changes can show the new forms of representing religious aspects in music, because there is “an abundance of sacred, only we do not recognize it when it is not dressed in religious robes” (Hemond, 1994:142). Literature Blagojević, Mirko, 1994. “Jugoslovenski kontekst: sekularizacija i desekularizacija” (Yugoslavian context: secularization and desecularization), in: Povratak svetog, Niš, Gradina, 1994. Flere, Sergej, 1994. “Sekularizacija u Istočnoj Evropi” (Secularization in East Europe), in: Povratak svetog, Niš, Gradina, 1994. Hemond, Filip E, 1994.”Kako razmišljati o svetom u svetovno vreme” (How to think about sacred in the secular time), in: Povratak svetog, Niš, Gradina, 1994. Kolakovski, Lešek, 1982. Religija (Religion), Beograd, BIGZ, 1982. Marinković, Sonja, 1992. Muzički nacionalno u srpskoj muzici prve polovine 20. veka (Musically National in the Serbian Music of the First Half of the 20th Century), hw, 1992. Marinković, Sonja, 1994. “Saznanja o muzici pravoslavne duhovne tradicije u nastavnim programima u udžbenicima osnovnih i srednjih škola u Srbiji” (Knowledge About Ortodox Music in the Books of Primary and Secondary Schools in Serbia), in: Zbornik Matice srpske za scenske umetnosti i muziku br. 15, Novi Sad, Matica Srpska, 1994. Milošević, Zoran, 1994. Politika i teologija (Politics and Theology), Niš, Gradina, 1994. Oraić-Tolić, Dubravka, 1990. Teorija citatnosti (The Theory of Quotation), Zagreb, Grafički zavod Hrvatske, 1990. Parsons, Talkot, 1994. “Religija u postindustrijskoj Americi: problem sekularizacije” (Religion in Postindustrial America: problem of secularization), in: Povratak svetog, Niš, Gradina, 1994. Pilipović, Gorica, 1994. “Duhovna muzika u opusu Dušana Radića: paradigma jednog vremena” (Spiritual Music of Dusan Radic: Paradigm of the Time), in: Zbornik Matice srpske za scenske umetnosti i muziku br. 15, Novi Sad, Matica srpska, 1994. Prodanov, Ira, 1998. Vidovi ostvarivanja nacionalnog u stvaralaštvu Rajka Maksimovića (Modus of Realization of National in the opus of Rajko Maksimovic), final article of master studies, hw, Novi Sad, 1998. Trebješanin, Žarko, 1995. Duša i politika, Psihopatologija nesvakidašnjeg života (The Soul and Politics), Beograd, Vreme knjige, 1995.

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Šuvaković, Miško, 1995. “Postmoderne reprezentacije – fragmenti i skice za postmodernu – semioteologiju” (Postmodern Representations – Fragments for Postmodern Semiotheology), in: Religija i likovnost, Beograd, Nolit, 1995. Valis, Roj & Brus, Stiv, 1994. „Sekularizacija: trendovi, podaci i teorija” (Secularization: Trends, Datas and Theory) , in: Povratak svetog, Niš, Gradina, 1994. Veliki atlas sveta (The Big Atlas of the World), Ljubljana, Mladinska knjiga, 1973. Vukomanović, Milan, 2001. Sveto i mnoštvo - izazovi religijskog pluralizma (The Sacred and Multitude– Chalenge of Religious Pluralism), Beograd, Čigoja, 2001.

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Marija Masnikosa (Faculty of Music, Belgrade)1

Formalism and Contextualism in Contemporary Musicology: Why Could it not be a ‘Joint Venture’? A Case Study The paradigm of modernist study, including modernist study of music, has come under severe criticism in the postmodern period. Influenced by the expansion of the poststructuralist theory of art, many musicologists of the Anglo-Saxon school advocated (and still advocate) a musicology that would step out of the modernist paradigm of “normal study”2 based on the “dogmas” of positivist formalism and choose an interpretative approach that deals with the meaning of music, that is, its context. Two clearly polarized trends figure within this musicological orientation: one which, dealing with the context of music, “consistently avoids analytical reading of a work, thus declaratively rejecting the modernist view” and the other which is also focused on the context of music, but interprets it from the music itself or, more precisely, from its structure which it analyzes precisely through the process of (creative) music analysis.3 The musicological approach advocated by this ‘case study’ follows the line of reasoning of this second trend of contemporary musicology, which, as it now seems, actually embodies the predominant scholarly paradigm of international postmodern musicology. Therefore, in this study, just as in my entire previous musicological work, I advocate the concept of study that proceeds from the music artifact as its basis and ‘the text without which there is no context’, as formulated by Lawrence Kramer and combines positivist formalism (based on music theory and analysis) with musicological contextualization as the interpretative strategy that elaborates the originally conducted analysis. Such a concept of musicology opens up a whole spectrum of potential interdisciplinary approaches related primarily to the field of contextualization, but also, no less effectively, applicable to the field of interdisciplinary musicological analysis. Guided precisely by the view that music analysis itself should be enriched by new methods, which should be suited to the compositional-technical procedures applied in the analyzed work, I included the methodology of music semiotics in my research into postminimalist music, which is largely determined by the postmodernist “adoption of (music) images”. This work will, therefore, 1

The research for this article was carried out as part of the project "World Chronotopes of Serbian Music", No. 147045D (2006–2010), supported by the Serbian Ministry of Science and Environment. 2 The syntagm is used as defined by Tomas Kun, Struktura naučnih revolucija, (Beograd: Nolit, 1974), pp. 1-12. 3 Mirjana Veselinović-Hofman wrote about this branching of ’new musicology’. Cf. Mirjana VeselinovićHofman: Pred muzičkim delom. Beograd: Zavod za udžbenike, 2007, 25.

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demonstrate a “private” interdisciplinary musicological approach that ‘uses’, in both the analytical and interpretative layers, the achievements of music semiotics. This focus of this mini-study is on the composition Helijum u maloj kutiji (Helium in a Small Box), for string orchestra (1991 and 1999) by Belgrade composer Zoran Erić (1950). ‘Biographical’ and Analytical Information About the Work The work in question is a composition created as the third piece within Erić’s cycle Slike haosa I-V (Images of Chaos I-V) (1990-1997), which consists of works for different performing ensembles. The composition has two very different versions. The first version of the composition, written in 1991, contains three segments (A, B and C), that is, three different music texts. The second version of Helijum was created eight years later (1999). This version of the composition kept the original disposition of the parts of the form, adding a reduced reprise of section A to its parts A, B and C. In the second version of the work, a specific ostinato, based on a three-layer, tonally organized repetitive model, was added within sections B and C. This ostinato created a thematic connection between the otherwise very different texts of sections B and C. (Since the second version of this composition is, in fact, a testimony of the entire genesis of this work and represents its final version, it is precisely this version that this mini-study will analyze.) In the composer’s own words, Helijum is “the music following The Day After”.4 Like other compositions from the cycle Slike Haosa, this one also has interesting pseudo-programmatic subtitles of movements referring to certain states of mind (Unawareness, Resistance, Fury, Acceptance) and a parascholarly (in truth, fictional) explication of the theme, written in the heading of the score. The following text reads in the heading of the first version of the composition: “Music is liquid helium. The analogy with A. Libchaber’s experiment lies in the fact that the unified and concise form corresponds to the highly viscous substance. We find the similarity with music in the fact that less viscous substances do not show their (positive) characteristics in such conditions. Conclusion: If this world does have high viscosity, it will fit into a matchbox and we will carry it around with us. N.B. It is a well-known fact that W.A. Mozart worked (calmly and with dignity) with liquid helium. 4

This information is cited by Zorica Premate in her essay on Zoran Erić’s composition Helijum. Cf. Premate, Zorica. “Nepodnošljiva lakoća komponovanja.” In: Dvanaest lakih komada. Beograd: Prosveta, 1997, 34.

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1. 2. 3. 4.

Phases of the process are: Unawareness Acceptance (Unwarranted) Fury (Quasi) Resistance Z. Erić

Musical analysis Part A (Unawareness) The theme-model forming the backbone of part A {a1, a2 , p1 , a3 , p2 , a4 } of this composition is constructed as a modulating periodic structure (B flat major → F major → B flat major) with an ‘open ending’ (on the dominant). It contains melody, constant contrapuntal line, harmonic layer, pedal discreet ornamenting layer. This melody-theme functions as a model as a (fake) sample treated in section A. In the process of repetition of the theme-model, its music environment changes (‘parallax model’) through the addition of new harmonic layers that have different tonal centers, thus producing a ‘dissonance’ compared to the original key scheme of the theme-model. The fourth appearance of this theme brings the most significant harmonic change: the theme, transposed downward by a second, loses its previously constant contrapuntal line, which results in the loss of the original harmonic consistency of its nucleus. The harmonic layer that “accompanies” this last appearance of the theme consists of a series of independent chords with a primarily tertian texture, which mostly have mediant interrelations. The melodic line itself develops in this section only in the part of the first violin, thus becoming less prominent and losing its sense of a ‘good figure’ against a changing ‘background’. This part of the composition also includes short transitions. They contain the harmonic and figuration (repetitive) layer of the texture, which are interindependent and often build a dissonant vertical. Part B of this composition has a fragmentary structure. The music material is motivically organized, but the motifs are not connected into larger formal wholes. They are submitted to various procedures includes imitations, sporadic repetition and discreet variation. Motivic cells containing tritone are dominant. The spatial organization of the section is ramified and changeable. The music language of this part of the composition could be described as contemporary twelve-tone tonality, which does not imply the diatonic concept of tonality and the tertian texture of the vertical, but does contain prominent tones as intonation foundations.5 5

According to Ludmila Ulehla, “contemporary tonality is based on a sequence of sounds guided by prominent tones and supported by the increase and decrease of vertical tension”. Ulehla notes that the right word has not

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The great change in part B takes place (in the second version of the work!!!) in bar 81, when the previously ramified and functionally undifferentiated texture is given its compact, tonally organized center in the form of a layered ostinato that affirms the tonal harmonic connection V6 / 4 → V# (cadential six-four chord – chord of the dominant) in C minor. This ostinato soon becomes the constant repetitive textural layer of this part of the composition, which coexists with the previously present pseudo-thematic textural layer. These two textural layers do not meet anywhere tonally until the end of part B, affirming the characteristic postmodernist irreducibility of textural and harmonic layers. Part C is also fragmentarily structured. Here the articulation of the music material is submotivic, based on the repetition of pitches. What is mainly performed are rhythmic figures on a single tone. The phenomenon in question is free, submodular pitch repetitiveness. The category of repetitive model is not introduced until bar 146, but it is never dominant! Zones of local (repetitive) homogeneity, characteristic of music postminimalism, can be observed in the music flow. The tonal basis of this part of the composition is significantly reduced. The music flow is static and vibrant, based on minimal and oscillatory changes in the sound mass. In the second segment of part C (from the bar 159), we can observe the interpolation of a layered harmonic ostinato (from section B)6, which enlivens the texture: what is established is the characteristic postmodernist harmonic irreducibility of textural layers, which originates from their different music organization and their different tonal/intonation centerings. The music language of part C of the composition reveals itself very gradually to the listener: at first, only elements of tonality are indicated (in E flat, with the basis in B flat); next, its chromatic enrichments are introduced gradually, only for the twelve-tone tonality, based on intonation foundations and diatonic chords with tertian texture, to be finally conquered. The reprise part A1 consists of the literal reprise of section a1, a reduced reprise of transition p1 and a slightly altered reprise of section a3. By analogy, the key scheme also remains unaltered. Semiotic Analysis of the Referential Signs in Helijum u maloj kutiji Signs connoting “another”, older music are evidently present in the work. Set in the environment of an essentially modernist “natural language of the work”, these referential music signs significantly influence the poetic plane of the yet been coined for this type of tonality and that the term ’atonality’ still represents “the most comfortable formulation”. Cf. Ludmila, Ulehla. Contemporary Harmony. Romanticism through the Twelve-Tone Row. Advance Music, 1994, 488. 6

This ostinato is initially set in F sharp minor (bars 159-168) and then briefly in C minor (bars 178-185).

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work. It is interesting to note that only two referential music signs are ‘used’ in the entire composition. The first one is revealed at the very beginning of the composition – it is the theme-model representing the backbone of the part A (Example 1).

Example 1: Zoran Erić, Helijum u maloj kutiji – section a1 (openning)

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Example 1: Zoran Erić, Helijum u maloj kutiji – section a1 (ending) This is a simulacrum as a musical sign that does not have a specific musical reference, but does refer to an entire class of specific late romantic textural isotopies7 that imply the presence of a theme, a contrapuntal melodic line and 7

The notion of the ‘musical isotopy’ is used here in the meaning assigned to it by Eero Tarasti in his book: Eero, Tarasti. A Theory of Musical Semiotics. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1994, 6. According to Tarasti, isotopies in music „imply the principles that articulate musical discourse into coherent

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harmonic accompaniment. Besides the constitution of the theme-model, the simulation procedure here penetrates the spatial organization of the theme and the very orchestration. The great register distance between textural layers and even the very broad placement of the chords, with harmonics of the high strings, are characteristic of Mahler (Gustav Mahler, 1860-1911) orchestration. The operational code unifying all the textural layers of this music simulacrum is their common key, while the “historical” identity of this sign provides an entire set of stylistic musical codes. The other important referential sign in this composition appears in part B and is then transferred into part C. It is a layered four-bar repetitive model – the nucleus of the ostinato layer of this section, in whose basis lies an “unresolving” four-bar cadential harmonic formula (cadential six-four chord – chord of the dominant) V6 / 4 → V# in C minor (Example 2).

sections“ thus representing the central concept in the analysis of musical signification. Tarasti identified several types of isotopes, one of them is textural.

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Example 2: Zoran Erić, Helijum u maloj kutiji – “unresolving” four-bar cadential harmonic formula

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Example 2: Zoran Erić, Helijum u maloj kutiji – “unresolving” four-bar cadential harmonic formula (ending) This is a harmonic indexical sign that belongs to a group of characteristic ‘ending gestures’. The specificity of this sign lies in its ellipticalness – in the perpetual omission of the tonic as the expected resolution. The nonspecific romantic stylistic codification classifies this sign under the group of ‘floating signifiers’ of the romantic music discourse.

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In relation to the ‘natural language’ of the textually different segments of the composition in which it appears, this referential sign has the meaning of a specific ‘signifier in isolation’. However, it is interesting to note that both referential signs undergo their gradual destruction and specific desemantization. It has already been mentioned that, in the course of its repetition, the “Mahlerian” theme-model is constantly given a new harmonic environment that produces a specific semiotic ‘dissonance’8 within the textural layers of the theme. The most significant change can be observed in the last appearance of the theme-model in section a4 in which the final destruction of this sign is realized. The theme loses its accompanying contrapuntal line and is thus “stripped down” to its melodic dimension. Its register identity and the very logic of the harmonic sequence of its ‘accompaniment’ also change, so that the referential effect of this thematic formation, that is, the ‘signified’ of this complex simulacrum weakens considerably at the end of part A. A very similar phenomenon marks the “fate” of the second referential sign in part C. The deconstruction and progressive desemantization of this three-layer romantically codified harmonic indexical sign also takes place in several stages. In its final transformation, this sign, like the theme-model before it, loses its original harmonic backbone (the cadential formula of F sharp minor), keeping only its melodic layer. However, since its referential mission is based precisely on the effect of the characteristic tonal progression of chords ‘in isolation’, by losing its harmonic dimension this ‘ending gesture’ as a referential sign also loses its original signified. Interpretation The very name of this cycle – Slike Haosa, alludes to the influence the theory of chaos exerted on Erić’s creative poetics. This absorption with the phenomenon of chaos had theoretical as well as quite specific political motivation for Erić, but the political context of this cycle and the composition Helijum u maloj kutiji is not the context I would like to discuss in this paper. For, beyond these obvious historical determinants of this work a far stronger context emerges – its wider ideological context. After all, the theory of chaos and the idea of the impossibility to control society were influential on all levels of the postmodern understanding of world and art. Each segment of postmodern culture is dominated by the rejection of the idea of integrity, hierarchical structure, centering and harmony.9

8

The harmonic layers that are added to the subsequent appearances of the theme-model have different intonation /tonal centers, thus producing a ‘dissonance’ compared to the “set” key scheme of the theme-model. 9 Cf.. M.A., Можейко. Постмодернистская чувствительность. In: Постмодернизм Энцыклопедия. Минск: Интерпрессервис Книжний дом, 2001, 613.

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“The loss of faith in textual integrity and the acceptance of chaos” (italic – M. M.), as direct implications of the theory of chaos in contemporary art, was discussed by Jonathan D. Kramer (1942) in the context of postmodern music, pointing out that it was precisely the theory of chaos that served as a challenge to reexamine the organicist myth of structural unity and reject textual integrity in music.10 The consequence of this postmodern process of “rejecting textual unity as totalizing meta-narration shared by romanticism and modernism”11 was, according to Jonathan Kramer, the fragmentation of music structure. The first version of Erić’s Helijum quite specifically confirms these views. Textually heterogeneous and thematically incomplete, the first version of this work literally “destroys its textual integrity and transcends the organicistic myth of the unity of a work”, clearly affirming the artistic tendency that Kramer recognizes as ‘radical music postmodernism’. The key points of reference of the postmodern world are glaringly apparent in this version of Helijum: “Fragmentation. Discontinuity. Lack of connection. Lack of linear logic”.12 Eight years later, the composer made minor interventions to significantly change the structure, poetic center and ideological position of the work. The interpolation of the ‘cadential’ ostinato tape in sections B and C and the addition of reprise of the section A meant a return to the concept of thematic integration and completion of the work with a reprise. Hence the second version of Helijum remained a characteristically postmodernist ‘heavy entity’, which, however, thanks to the added elements of thematic continuity, revalued the (modernist) organicist myth of structural unity of a work. Such interpretation of the second version of Helijum sheds light on this composition’s strong foundation on Erić’s essentially modernist creative vocation. The paratext, written in the heading of the first version of the work, would also have a modernist connotation if it did not conceal elements of postmodernist persiflage: pseudo-scholarly tone and fictionality. This text is really a fictional framework of the composition which, among other things, leads its prospective listener astray. The reference to Mozart (Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, 1756-1791) remains only on paper. Erić’s music in this work is engaged in a creative dialogue with the music of romanticism. A specific game of hide-and-seek also takes place in the order of the titles of the movements. Instead of the usual order Unawareness – Fury – Resistance – Acceptance, which is common to the previously created compositions from the cycle Slike Haosa, this work deprives of sense the causality that shapes the logical order of these psychological states and unites them into “illogical” pairs 10

Cf. Jonathan D., Kramer. »Beyond Unity: Toward an Understanding of Musical Postmodern.« In: Concert Music, Rock, and Jazz since 1945: Essays and Analytical Studies. University of Rochester Press, 1995, 20. 11 Ibid., 33. 12 Ibid., 20.

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of states Unawareness – Acceptance and (Unwarranted) Fury – (Quasi) Resistance. Following the composer’s suggestion, I do not fall into the pitfall of the construction of causality, which could interpret such a grouping of titles ... I only go by the “fact” that Helijum is “the music following The Day After” – without making any comments. On the other hand, the music analysis of the composition, as well as the auditory impression of the work, bear witness to the incredibly refined composition that toys with historically different music discourses, reexamining them in their most subtly formulated aspects. Hence this ‘three-faceted’ composition actually does not have a dominant ‘natural music language’. The first and last segment of the composition – “Mahlerian Adaggietto”, is thematically organized and traditionally structured. In section B we can observe an almost atonal linearity, motivically organized music material and fragmentary structure, characteristic of neo-tonal modernist discourses in 20thcentury music, while section C is submotivically and repetitively organized as a series of “futile beginnings” in “a desperate search for discourse”, as formulated by Belgrade musicologist Zorica Premate (1956).13 This is a postminimalist music text which features a submodular – permutational repetitiveness of a limited series of pitches. What is at work here is the concept of progressive postmodernist fragmentation. It is as if the composition were thus designed with the specific intention of plastically demonstrating the ‘disintegration’ of thematic structures, from their thematically complete and integral form (in section A) to free motivic formulation (in section B) to submotivically articulated music “debris” (in section C). One cannot help feeling that the ultimate external reference of this progressive music ‘disintegration’ is in fact the path of the subject’s disintegration from Mahler’s epoch (directly referred to by the theme of section A) to our repetitive, ‘global’ times. The referential plane of the composition enhances this impression in its own way. Both referential signs in Helijum – the Mahlerian theme in section A as imitative simulacrum and cadential harmonic indexical sign as the basis of ostinato in sections B and C – point to romantic music tradition. The stylistic resonance of these signs led to their networking, which in turn produced the homogeneous romantic referential plane of the work. In the decentered space of stylistically and linguistically heterogeneous music discourses that form this composition, this romantic semantic plane exists as an integral parallel musical world, as the structured poetic center of the work and the “external”, fictional center of its sense. On the other hand, the fact that both referential signs in the work undergo music destruction and loss or at least ‘loosening’ (relativization) of their 13

Premate, Zorica. Dvanaest lakih komada..., 38.

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original signified (as discussed in the text of the analysis) clearly testifies to relativization and disintegration being the fate of all stable categories and meanings in postmodernism. In any case, this composition is not only ‘music about music’, nor is it the ‘collective signified’ of the network of signs in its referential plane – only a romantic music tradition. This is yet another of the compositions that ‘speak’ of instability and the inevitable, gradual destruction of identity, sense and meaning in the contemporary decentered and fragmented world, but also of our seemingly indestructible need to at least invoke them. In the theoretical sense, this outstanding, semantically and musically polyvalent composition represents a characteristically postmodernist “hybrid”: it is at the same time romantic in postmodernist way and postminimalist. Of course, the search for the context of this composition does not end with its theoretical contextualization. Fortunately for all us who live in and of musicology, the field of interpretation is vast and always remains open. In the context of the topic of this conference dedicated to the relationship between formalism and contextualism in contemporary musicology, this work demonstrates one of the many interdisciplinary approaches that combine both dimensions of musicological work. I must admit that, while writing this case study, I had difficulty separating the analysis of the work from its contextualization. In fact I think that these two dimensions of musicological work are not and cannot be essentially separated. If the work itself is the basis on which we search for its context, and then the idea of a possible context “steals” into the analysis, just as the results of analysis always “organize” our perception of the context of the work under examination. I believe, in an entirely semiotic fashion, in accordance with the interdisciplinary approach I have adopted, that musicological analysis and interpretation of a work, relate as introversive and extroversive production of signification in a musical work. As isolated systems, analysis and interpretation bring “one-dimensional” insights – united and interweaved in the process of semiosis, in the analyzed work they reveal an integral, albeit always individually discovered, network of significations. Literature: Agawu, Kofi: Playing with signs. Semiotic interpretation of classic music, (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1991). Bernard, Jonathan W. : “Theory, Analysis, and the ‘Problem’ of Minimal Music”, in: Concert Music, Rock, and Jazz since 1945: Essays and Analytical Studies, (University of Rochester Press, 1995), 259-284. Bodrijar, Žan: Simulakrumi i simulacija, (Novi Sad: Svetovi, 1990). Cook, Nicholas, “Music Theory and the Postmodern Muse: An Afterword“, in: Concert Music, Rock and Jazz since 1945: Essays and Analytical Studies, (University of Rochester Press, 1995), 422–439.

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Eco, Umberto, A Theory of Semiotics, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979). Foster, Hal, “Postmodernism. A Preface”, in: Postmodern Culture, ed. and introduced by Hal Foster, (London and Sydney: Pluto Press, 1983), ix–xiv. Foster, Hal, The Return of the Real, (Cambridge, Massachusetts, London, England: An OCTOBER Book, The MIT Press, 1996). Gann, Kyle, American Music in the Twentieth Century, (New York: Schirmer Books, 1997). Hatten, Robert S., Beethoven. Markedness, Correlation and Interpretation, (Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1994). Hatten, Robert S., Interpreting musical Gestures, Topics and Tropes. Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, (Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1999). Kramer, Jonathan D., “Beyond Unity: Toward an Understanding of Musical Postmodern“, in: Concert Music, Rock, and Jazz since 1945: Essays and Analytical Studies, (University of Rochester Press, 1995). Kramer, Jonathan D.: “Postmodern Concepts of Musical Time“, Indiana Theory Review, vol.17, no.2, (fall 1996), 21–61. Kramer, Jonathan D.: “The Nature and Origins of Musical Postmodernism“, in: Postmodern Music / Postmodern Thought, ed. by Hudy Lochhead and Joseph Arner, (New York and London: Routledge, 2002), 13–27. Kramer, Lawrence: Classical Music and Postmodern Knowledge, Berkeley, (Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1995). Kun, Tomas, Struktura naučnih revolucija, Beograd, Nolit, 1974. Mc Clary, Susan: Rap, Minimalism, and Structures of Time in Late Twentieth Century Culture, (Lincoln: The University of Nebraska, 2000). McClary, Susan, Conventional Wisdom: the Content of Musical Form. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000). Monelle, Raymond, Linguistics and Semiotics in Music, (Switzerland: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1992). Monelle, Raymond, The Sense of Music. Semiotic essays, Princeton and Oxford, Princeton University Press, 2000. Premate, Zorica “Nepodnošljiva lakoća komponovanja”, in: Dvanaest lakih komada, (Beograd: Prosveta, 1997). Schwarz, David: “Listening Subjects: Semiotics, Psychoanalysis, and the Music of John Adams and Steve Reich“, Perspectives of New Music, vol.31, no.2, summer, (1993), 24–57. Tarasti, Eero, A Theory of Musical Semiotics, (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1994). Ulehla, Ludmila, Contemporary Harmony. Romanticism through the Twelve-Tone Row, (Advance Music, 1994). Veselinović-Hofman, Mirjana, Pred muzičkim delom, (Beograd: Zavod za udžbenike, 2007). Можейко, M.A., “Постмодернистская чувствительность“ in: Постмодернизм Энцыклопедия, (Минск: Интерпрессервис Книжний дом , 2001), 613.

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Vesna Mikić (Faculty of Music, Belgrade)

Romantic Notions in the Popular Music Discourses: Several Examples from Serbia1 After almost a year an a half, the project called “Last Rebellion,” devoted to the different events, products, and historical documents concerning the so-called Belgrade underground scene of the early 1980s in April 2008 came to an end with the closing of the exhibition entitled “Last Rebellion 2 – visual values 1979-1984 – 30 years of New wave and Punk in Belgrade”. This was the culmination, and a kind of specific institutionalization of actually much longer and wider revival of the music of the 1980s that could be as well understood as one of the up to this point unexploited marketing realms of the so-called Yunostalgia.2 On the same occasion, one of the prominent Serbian rock musicians, the leader of the Partibrejkers (Partybrakers) band, Zoran Kostić, better known as Cane, now in his mid-40s, wrote an article in the column “A View from a Side” for the oldest Serbian daily newspaper Politika – as a personal memory of this time (Kostić 2008). These two examples are more than enough to prove the underground’s destiny to become a mainstream, especially with the additional nostalgic touch it attains in such a kind of tributes. Actually, it can be further argued that these strategies were already successfully tested on so-called ex-Yu pop and “new folk music,” so much despised and rejected by the participants of the “last rebellion.” Hence, we would like to address here the possible similarities that may be perceived between discourses on different popular music genres existing in Serbia, turning our attention specifically to those revealing Romantic notions of opposition between authenticity and commercialization in the sense David Brackett (1995, 160-163), for instance, had argued for. These kinds of discourse, of course, often spontaneously intertwine with notions of individualism, naturalness, social critique, etc. – all legitimately appropriated in different countercultural discourses. While it can be argued that connections of this kind were already thoroughly discussed in the Romanticism / Modernism / Postmodernism arts and cultural studies as well as in Western popular culture studies, it should be stressed that these kinds of investigations are more than necessary for the study of Serbian popular culture in general and for Serbian popular music studies in particular. For, while Serbian popular music was institutionalized during 1

The research for this article was carried out as part of the project “World Chronotopes of Serbian Music,” No. 147045D (2006-2010), supported by the Serbian Ministry of Science and Environment. 2 Yu-nostalgia turned out to be a very profitable ex-Yu popular culture trademark; its appearance almost coincided with the disappearance of Yugoslavia. 199

the 1950s and 1960s in the domain of authorship rights discourses and legislations and later through specialized magazines that used to be published from the 1970s to the 1990s, only to move recently on-line (which is not without importance for our discussion), there are still few efforts to constitute an academic musicological discourse in these areas. This may be one of the reasons why a critical reception of popular music in Serbia was usually left to well-informed enthusiastic journalists of different educational backgrounds, but almost exclusively without any formal musical education. Or, to put it another way, there was no place for musicologist, as academically trained professionals, to judge music opposed by default to any kind of academic training3, not to mention the fact that musicological curricula for a long time were not reflecting any interest whatsoever for the reception problems and practice in music criticism as such. Although critics of popular music can be ‘accused’ of nourishing romanticism, we should, however, be grateful to the few of them whose devotion resulted in already mentioned publications as well as editions such as Illustrated Yu Rock Encyclopedia (Janjatović 1997) and a few books covering either Serbian popular music in general or some of its phenomena. Putting this time these letter aside, we’ll focus on encyclopedia entries and interviews issued in the aforementioned Encyclopedia by Petar Janjatović as well as in the Džuboks [Jukebox] and Ritam [Rhythm] magazines, published in Belgrade between 1974 and 1985 and between 1985 and 1994, respectively. In (a necessary) narrowing of our focus, we shall examine the discourses on three music phenomena, one of them being the already mentioned New Wave that was preceded by the emergence of the “greatest Yugoslav rock band of all times” – Bijelo Dugme – and almost immediately followed by Partibrejkers, one of the few surviving bands from the “golden eighties”. Generally speaking, it should be noticed that the language used and actually promoted and at the same time ‘preached’ by reviews and interviews of Serbian / Yugoslav popular music magazines could be described as a mixture of urban Belgrade youth’s jargon, with occasional descriptions of music, image, and performance elements and ironic pretensions aiming at an ‘original’ and ‘unmerciful’ irony, humor, and critique, and not without occasional arty pretensions. This language was used from generation to generation of music writers for devising a discourse that was to be the only ‘real’ guide to revelation of ‘true values’. Usually, these were based upon oppositions that supposedly have constructed the issues in question. Besides the obligatory rejection of commercialization either through overt disgust or, when it was convenient, through ‘elaborating’ the theme into the stereotype “fame has not changed us,” the values 3

The only contribution that we have found were entries on 20th century (classical) music, written on the last pages of Džuboks in the early 1980s by the then-notorious minimalist young composer attached professionally to the Student Cultural Center in Belgrade that was also the main underground scene, Miša Savić. 200

promoted were those of originality, individualism proclaimed through clashes with authorities, different sorts of social misbehavior, inappropriateness, and various kinds of disobedience, immense energy, charisma, etc. Last, but not least, magazines were conceived as carrier of information on Western popular culture, not only music, but also film, cartoons, life styles, etc. – thus, inevitably aiming at shaping taste, and most importantly aiming at the canonization of Yugoslav / Serbian popular music. From Janjatović’s entry on Bijelo Dugme4, for instance, we learn that Goran Bregović, the notorious front man of Bijelo Dugme and today one of the few widely known ex-Yu musicians, was not very interested in music in his early age and that he was expelled from a music school as untalented, only to meet some friends later who would spur his interest in music and show him some guitar riffs. After a number of musicians he worked with, gaining necessary performance skills, he officially founded Bijelo Dugme at the beginning of 1974. The band’s history unfolds in a recapitulation of concert performances and Single / LP editions with obligatory references to the lack of understanding of publishing houses, scandals, and moral panic, which statements, performances, and especially album covers by Bijelo Dugme were constantly arousing with a permanent highlighting of bravery and commitment of band members. Thus, “publishing of the album ‘Bitanga i princeza’ was followed by a series of censorship acts by Yugoton. Dragan S. Stefanović’s cover design was rejected on the grounds of ‘vulgarity’. . . . Some swear words and inappropriate verses were changed.” Few lines after this, we ‘naturally’ find out that the album was proclaimed as the band’s “first really mature album. Urban, completely deprived of folk influences, following the lead of Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince beside the aforementioned songs . . . it offered also emotional ballads . . . in which Bijelo Dugme was accompanied by a symphonic orchestra and choir.” Also, the entry abounds in circulation and concert selling data as well as detailed – but we must admit: not exaggerated – accounts on band personnel changes, personal scandals, their disputes, reconciliations, and solo careers; that is in a way understandable for a survey of a band with such a long and successful history. Of course, it couldn’t be written in such a way, if it was not supported by public statements by Bregović and the rest of the band. Bregović as a rebel, original and authentic, always different, wanting to change the world and, of course, himself unchanged by fame – we find, for instance, in the column “Confessions” an interview entitled “Following his own way” in the January 1977 issue of Džuboks (Marić 1977), in which the new LP is announced as follows: “Our most popular rock band Bijelo Dugme published its third album entitled in a style of ‘Rebels without cause’ Eto, baš hoću [just the way I want]. And when 4

Bijelo Dugme’s unofficial website offers an excerpt from Janjatović’s entry. See http://www.bijelodugme.org (accessed May 3rd, 3008). 201

something like this happens, it is a custom to have a chat with nobody else than Goran Bregović.” Commenting on Marić’s question about the consumer society that “infiltrated also our environment” and the relevance of the album’s quality in such circumstances, Bregović says: “That also has its limits . . . We’ve sell as many records as there are gramophones in Yugoslavia. Now maybe we should sell gramophones with records. I do not think at all about those things . . . We never do things that can guarantee us some certainty, but things that give us inner pleasure. I do not believe that there is someone who’s risking more than I do. . . . Now, I’m again indulging in something that somebody scared of adventure would never do.” And later, asked whether he resent monotonous everyday life, he goes on: “Not only do I resent it, but I resent myself living in that everyday routine that may be all right but in which I wouldn’t like to frame myself. . . . This way, I want adventure that means something to me . . . I go somewhere else, new things interest me.” ‘Ordinary’, in Bregović’s accounts, equals ‘established’ and ‘canonized’; commenting the moral panic aroused by Bijelo Dugme, he states: ”That was not a chase after Bijelo Dugme, but an essay to provoke a quite inappropriate generational quarrel on Željko Bebek’s earring and high heals expense. . . . It’s a great fallacy to judge my lyrics by classical poetry aesthetic standards. I move in a quite different way. It’s foolish to push me into classical music as well. Otherwise, I do not have respect for things people at the Music Academy are trained to do, and I don’t feel guilty to admit that Beethoven is boring. . . . For instance, critics says that in my songs there is no f-sharp minor, and I accept that. Critique does not bother me at all, and I’m stronger than it. . . . I’ve never imagined that so much prosaic things follow such a romantic thing as music.” And when he describes his music development, he says: “I went abroad to become a cosmopolitan and came back as even grater Yugoslav. I’m discovering my mom’s and dad’s folklore. Some things that I’ve been working on influenced me; some others as a rudiment were just coming out. That’s how this synthesis of rock, blues, boogie, and my own particular melody and lyrics came about.” (Ibid.) This kind of synthesis has been baptized by Croatian critic Dražen Vrdoljak as “shepherd’s rock” [“pastirski rok”], and this pejorative qualification will constantly serve as a platform for upcoming musicians and music writers to construct their opposition to the mainstream that Bijelo Dugme represented. It became a stereotype that has to be rejected and overcome by turning to contemporary Western models and a more overt socio-political engagement through a critique of New wave discursive practices. We will turn our attention to only one of many rock bands that have constituted this phenomenon and whose first album was actually produced by “shepherd’s rock” missionary Goran Bregović, although that was only for ‘commercial reasons’, as members of the band bluntly confessed in numerous occasions. Idoli have had fast and immense success and had fairly quickly left the scene. In January 1983, Džuboks issued a

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usual “critique selection” of best bands, editions, debuts, etc., for the previous year. (Anonymous 1983.) Eight of ten consulted critics voted the band Idoli, their LP Odbrana i poslednji dani, and the “composers” Vlada Divljan and Srđan Šaper (from then on constantly compared with the Lennon-McCartney duo) as the best. This could be anticipated by an unexpectedly large space devoted to the interview (10 pages) in Idoli in the February 1982 issue with their photos on the cover, although the LP was not yet finished. (Nebojša and Branko 1982.) Thus, Idoli became Džuboks’ favorite, although Džuboks was prone to accuse them of being the mass media’s favorite band, i.e. something like traitors of higher cause in exchange for something superficial and of lesser value. Vlada Divljan comments this as follows: “They’ve chosen us as a mascot. We flirt with them, sometimes giving ourselves to them. Still, if we look at that from the other side, eventually we use them. – New LP material proves that Idoli are turning again back to themselves. – . . . From five people that – let us say – had their own way of having fun, we turn out to be a serious phenomenon on the national scene, and all that time we’ve stayed with a group of five people that was functioning by its internal laws and mostly sticks to itself.” The reasons for which Odbrana i poslednji dani was promoted in such a pompous way altogether, notwithstanding the title of the interview (“Angel’s Theme”), were religious issues which Idoli dealt with in their lyrics; thus, judging by their interviewers, breaking the boundaries of the up to that date untouched realm in the national context. But they have also done it differently, compared to Western models. “. . . Idoli does not deal with this subject in the way we’re used to (in the rock domain) and that emanates from its essence, too – by preaching. Instead, they’re giving us a complex net of association – pictures, in which narrators are changing achieving this poly-dimensionality not unlike cubist processes.” Or, “Idoli is the band that, by constantly playing on first impression and provoking a first reaction, was cheating. Often accused to be a ‘joke’ band, they’ve been working on their musical improvement and diligently developing their concept. Odbrana i poslednji dani will be an album that refracts too many levels to be followed one-directionally.” At first, quite a different ‘media’ destiny followed the only still existing band in our story, Partibrejkersi. In the aforementioned critics’ selection of 1983, only one of them put on the third – the last – place the Partibrejkers band in the debut category. Yet, they were already well known to the Belgrade underground scene for their explosive performances. They have been given half a page of interview space in April 1983, but they have been interviewed by renowned Belgrade musician Koja, a.k.a. Zeleni Zub, so the interview had importance (Koja 1983, 5). His introduction speaks for itself: “At their concerts, until now, Partibrejkers have offered to the vain Belgrade audience one completely new R&B experience. Still, their approach to R&B clichés is absolutely new, permeated with punk concert energy, to which mostly contributes Cane – one of

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the rare, as it seems to me, honest Belgrade punkers of 1978 . . . In a daring crew without a bass, Partibrejkers attack directly a human organism, offering in the same time intuitive R’n’R fun. . . . Besides the irrefutable fact that there is no such band in YU, crucial is the timing of their appearance at the domestic rock (?) scene in the moment where there’s almost nothing (again?) happening . . . There are also alternative labels, but Partibrejkers are surely above and outside all of this, doing cleverly their exiting stuff.” And, thus, the scene is set for a typical Partibrejkers discourse that is going to be recycled numerous times since then, and that relies heavily upon the notions of anger, dissatisfaction, basic survival instincts, energy, hard work, and often quite provocative and direct contempt of the audience. Asked about anger that pours out of his performance, Cane answers: “I surely have reason to do so. . . . We’re young and strong, I don’t feel some sublime melodies. . . . Teenagers are interested in any kind of rebellion, they want to be me, but they could not – they’re too lazy. They’re amazed how anyone can behave like I do, they lack strength and selfconfidence.” Still, a decade later, Cane’s discourse attains quite different accents, while the previously constructed discourse remains dominant. The introduction to the interview, announcing the new LP in the 1994 issue of the Ritam magazine (Grujić and Ambrozić 1994), this time with Partibrejkers on the cover (!), states: “Whatever one thinks what domestic music is, it could not be imagined without Partibrejkers. For many, the band is a personification of what Belgrade once was and what it wants to be.” Commenting on the LP’s content, Cane explains that probably the song Molitva will be the greatest hit, their Sanjao sam noćas da te nema, actually Bijelo Dugme’s famous ballad. And he continues: “The LP had to be different. Otherwise, it won’t make sense. The only thing that can save us is our art. The art is a kind of purgatory for releasing our frustrations. . . . You know how life is. You must compromise. At the end, what must remain is your attitude, your relation to society and to yourself. It’s good that the record is going to a kind of underground, and at the same time it is acceptable to a wider audience. . . . At concerts, we’re old ones – mean and unpredictable.” And, still in 2008 – maybe unaware of the institutionalization of his statements – Cane writes: “I constantly digest the past. How innocent and naive were we. So young thrown to life’s feet without any knowledge of life itself, because the state fed us non-stop with phrases without spirit; we challenged it, giving our best, encouraged and driven with instinct to be totally different. Since our teenage days, we have had nothing better to do than to be what we were or we thought we were. We were building our statement. . . . We’re the lepers of our primitive society. Our acuteness released a blood off the lies we were battered with. . . . And, after all, I wouldn’t give up the Sex Pistols for a half of that idiotic history. . . . Let past stay where it is. I have to attend inevitable jobs of my own reality.” (Kostić 2008.)

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For Serbian musicology, however, the past cannot stay where it is. And, one of the “inevitable jobs” of its own reality is actually exploring and discussing music inhabitants of the various cultural fields, in order to achieve a fuller understanding of the processes and mechanisms involved in the construction of different phenomena. This time, we dealt with just a few issues concerning romantic discourse signifiers such as authenticity, originality, and individualism represented in their various shapes in Serbian popular music discourses. Yet, questions concerning their reception that inevitably result in various kinds of reconstructions, one of the most intriguing being its own commercialization, still need to be addressed. Especially if one bears in mind the differences that once existed between modes of art production and consumption in capitalist and (soft) socialist societies. Literature Anonymous. 1983. “Izbor kritike,” Džuboks 155 (January): 16. Brackett, David. 1995. Interpreting Popular Music. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grujić, Tomislav, and Dragan Ambrozić. 1994. “Kiselo / Slatko,” Ritam 1: 26-29. Janjatović, Petar. 1997. Ilustrovana Yu Rok Enciklopedija 1960-1997, 2nd edition. Belgrade: [author’s publication]. Koja. 1983. “Žurkolomci,” Džuboks 162: 5. Kostić, Zoran. 2008. “Zlatne osamdesete ili nije zlato sve što sija,” in “Pogled sa strane,” Politika April 26th, 2008. On-line edition: http://www.politika.co.rs Marić, Milomir. 1977. “Sledeći svoj put,” in: “Ispovesti,” Džuboks 30: 9-11. Nebojša, Pajkić, and Vukojević Branko. 1982. “Nebeska tema,” Džuboks 134: 27-37.

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Manfred Heidler (Streitkräfteamt / Dezernat Militärmusik, Bonn, Germany)

Military Music in the Bundeswehr: Some Remarks Concerning the Interdisciplinary Discourse on Manifestations of “Music in Uniform” Preface Approaches to Music Research: Between Practice and Epistemology is the general topic of this congress, and it is a great honor for me to speak to this distinguished audience about the approach, the Bundeswehr tries to bridge the gap between theory and practice in the field of military music. Actually, the German Armed Forces have taken an entirely new approach to this subject by tasking the Bundeswehr Military Music Service with research activities focusing on scientific discourse, musicology, and military music. The following quote from the Subconcept for the Bundeswehr Military Music Service will give us a first idea of the theoretical fundamentals. It provides a definition of the range of tasks covered by the German Armed Forces’ military music service: The comprehensive expertise of the Bundeswehr Military Music Service is interdisciplinary by nature. Its close cooperation with research facilities and academic institutions in the scientific reprocessing of task-relevant issues leads to appropriate solutions, extends the range of its own capabilities, and, in addition, furthers the integration of the Bundeswehr into the political system and the society of Germany. (TK MilMusBw 2007, 5.)1 This sounds quite theoretical, but in the course of my presentation I will present an idea of how we handle it at the practical level. Actually, cooperation between musicology and the Music Service of the Bundeswehr is a field of civil-military cooperation that still is largely unknown. Introduction Until recently, German military music did not play much of a role as an independent field of research within musicology. However, thanks to an internal learning process, the Bundeswehr Military Music Service is now able to act in a scientific context and face interdisciplinary discourse. This neglected area of research, which is extremely interesting from a socio-cultural point of view, generally attracted the attention of military music enthusiasts, military historians, and some musicologists. While the enthusiasts 1

TK MilMusBw 2007 provides a complete redefinition of the role of the Military Music Service in the Bundeswehr. 207

would tend to glorify Prussian-German military music and to lose themselves in retelling stories and events of a long-gone past, military historians as well as some social scientists and musicologists started to discover this marginal area over the past few years. Existing publications often paint a picture of (Prussian-) German military music and its role in the National Socialist propaganda machinery that is often tendentious and inappropriate. This approach to scientific examination is largely based on an ideological bias towards the subject of research and, from today’s perspective, appears strange and of little help to a neutral discussion. The Bundeswehr Military Music Service and the Questions it Raises in the Historical Context In 2003, the Second Air Force Band in Karlsruhe were the first ones to conduct a music project focusing on the so-called “Air Force Music Service” within the German Wehrmacht. As the Air Force Band’s second music officer, I was closely involved in this project. The focus was on Rudolf Hindemith (January 9, 1900 – October 7, 1974), the younger brother of the famous composer Paul Hindemith (1895-1963). His involvement with this model military music organization within the then newly established German Air Force in the years from 1935 onwards was closely examined. The results of this project work were presented to the public at the International Music Fair in Frankfurt and earned considerable success. One year later, the Bundeswehr Military Music Service organized its first symposium, which was conducted in cooperation with the Musicology Department of the Robert Schumann University in Düsseldorf. Its participants took an interdisciplinary approach discussing Hans Felix Husadel (1897-1964), who had organized the Air Force Music within the German Wehrmacht. The symposium itself concentrated on his work, life, and legacy. The theoretical scientific discourse was complemented by a very special concert that took place in the Beethovenhalle in Bonn. This event reflected the results of military music research and analysis in the form of music performance. It was well received by the large audience present. This pilot project has now become the well established “Military Music in Discourse” event series, which includes an annual symposium in Bonn and a publication series under the same title. This year’s symposium [2008] will concentrate on the way musicians themselves and others experience music. This leads to the following question: Why did today’s military music service get involved in musicology?

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The Scientific Approach to Military Music: Challenges, Objectives, and Possibilities Against this backdrop, it seems to be a reasonable and necessary step to include existing knowledge about the history and present state of the Bundeswehr Military Music Service into the training of its own personnel. The Military Music Service has its own training facility, namely the “Bundeswehr School of Military Music”2, where new personnel is taught the requisite music skills. During their training, the future military musicians (non-commissioned officers and officers) attend (some semesters of) an academic course of studies on playing an instrument. This is done in cooperation with the Robert Schumann University in Düsseldorf. In the curriculum of this course of studies, the “history of military music” has been a relevant examination subject ever since this special military music training has been carried out. For a long time, lectures were given by members of the Military Music Section, which is part of the Armed Forces Office of the Bundeswehr. However, this service personnel did not have any particular teaching qualification in musicology. Lieutenant Colonel Dr. Bernhard Höfele was the first lecturer holding a Ph.D. in musicology to teach this subject. In the winter semester of 2007, I succeeded him. Since that time, I have been responsible for this particular teaching assignment. In order to strengthen the necessary corporate identity of the Military Music Service, results from a lecturer’s own musicological research should be directly integrated into his or her lectures in parallel with a continuous updating of the curriculum. The aim is to communicate at least ‘500 years of German military music’ to the students and thereby contribute to raising the overall profile of the Bundeswehr Military Music Service. There is, however, one peculiarity that I mentioned before, namely the fact that military – but also wind – music have not really been in the focus of musicology and social sciences. On the other hand, they have been playing quite some role in popular music by staging music in “uniform, traditional costumes, or tuxedo”3. Thereby, they have positioned themselves in a largely stable music market that is a niche business between the established segments of so2

The Bundeswehr School of Military Music is the branch school and parent unit of the Military Music Service. At all Bundeswehr branch schools, NCO [Non Commission Officers] and officer courses include a subject called ‘military history’, which deals with aspects of military history that are specific to the individual branch. The subject ‘history of military music’ is equivalent to that. This lecture course primarily addresses members of the Military Music Service, but it is also open to civilian students of the Robert Schumann University who are interested in this subject. 3 The term “music in uniform, traditional costumes, and tuxedos” (Heidler) describes the different music activities of military and civilian wind ensembles carried out in order to enhance the image of wind music as a whole. However, this kind of music is often referred to as ‘symphonic wind’, which is a rather simplistic term. 209

called light and serious music. For a long time, these outdated labels, which were used to describe music making, principally prevented this kind of music from being subject to profound scientific analysis. In addition, image simplifications such as “military or wind music equals march music” contributed to the musicologists’ ignorant stance. For years there had been no sound scientific research4 and source verification. Anyway, who should have done this job? Bundeswehr deployments abroad5, which began in 1991 and now encompass places all over the world, is another example of a stimulus for basic research in the field of military music. According to its mission profile, the Bundeswehr Military Music Service must actively support morale, welfare and recreational programs for forces on deployment. This way, a military mission entails military music programs, the extent of which depends on the threat assessment or the security situation on a case-by-case basis. This is why the music entertainment offered to the task forces – which are usually multinational in terms of organization and command structure – must be harmonized with the capabilities of the military music units. Lessons learned and our self-image contribute to a picture of military music as an intercultural offer, which may even lead to intercultural dialogue. This requires knowledge that can, among other things, be provided by musicology and social sciences as well as psychology. The “Army of Unity” became an “Army on Operations”6, and a variable geopolitical situation has resulted in fundamental changes in the overall mission of the Bundeswehr.7 This caused an ever-faster erosion of traditional concepts of 4

The International Society for the Investigation and Promotion of Wind Music (IGEB, Internationale Gesellschaft zu Förderung und Erforschung der Blasmusik), founded in 1974, conducts research in the field of wind music. Thanks to the untiring efforts of Professor Dr. Wolfgang Suppan (Professor Emeritus at the University of Graz), this organization has created a distinct image and received a lot of credit for its publications over the years. (So far, 25 volumes of the “Alta Musica” publication series have been released.) And this research society has also been acting on an international stage since its foundation, so that it provides a forum for an exchange of ideas on wind music research. This, in turn, stimulates research activities and helps overcome existing prejudices against the subject of research. 5 During the first Bundeswehr deployment abroad, medical units were sent to Cambodia in 1991. In 1993, a reinforced military music combo was sent to Somalia to provide for morale, welfare, and recreational support of the German contingent. This was the first mission abroad of a German military music band. 6 “Army of Unity” is a term used to describe the integration work done by the Bundeswehr when employing part of the personnel of the GDR’s National People’s Army, which had been dissolved after the German Unification in 1990. “Army on Operations” refers to the Bundeswehr as a well-established force provider for NATO- or EU-led operational contingents involved in peace enforcement, peacekeeping, and peace stability measures all over the world. 7 See also Thiele 2002. With regard to this matter Thiele states, for example: “The fundamental changes in society and the image of war radically change the demands on the armed forces – both in terms of the whole organization and the individual soldier. For many decades, lead210

operations. The Bundeswehr Military Music Service had to adjust to these changes by taking appropriate measures; otherwise, there would have been the risk of being ignored or deemed insignificant. The new operational scenarios of the armed forces have led to global military action and, thus, call for an extended music management between tradition and (music) psychology. In a recent interview, US general David Petraeus, commander of the coalition forces in Iraq, put it like this: First of all, there must be an increased awareness of the importance of understanding the huge impact of cultural, religious and ethnic factors – that knowledge of the so-called ‘cultural terrain’ is as important in many cases as knowledge of the ‘physical terrain’. (Petraeus 2008, 29.) The following statement made by the German Federal Minister of Defense, Franz Josef Jung, in his speech at the 2008 Bundeswehr Commanders’ Conference in Berlin reflects a similar point of view: Peace and freedom cannot be maintained or restored by military means alone. The cooperation of civilian and military elements is key to a successful crisis and conflict management. . . . (Jung 2008.) In this process, reconstruction programs and cultural programs are equally important. In the context of cultural programs, music has a direct and immediate effect on the lives of service personnel and civilians – be it a live presentation of military music from one’s own culture or a foreign cultural sphere.

ership training of the Bundeswehr focused on (NATO) collective defense and national defense in a stricter sense. . . . The enemy situation and friendly situation as well as factors concerning space, time, and environment were virtually constants. . . . Future soldiers must acquire professionalism in terms of military tasks; however, at the same time they must be citizens committed to democracy, rather than apolitical soldiers having their own code of behavior. Being European citizens, they face a particular challenge in the context of the increasingly developing European security and defense policy. . . . The future image of war shows that both state and non-state players will use forms of force that can be described as ‘small wars’. The scientific and technological progress and the increasing vulnerability of modern industrial nations pave the way for asymmetric warfare. . . . A changing society and image of war bring about changes in the demands on the armed forces and, thus, the personnel to be recruited. This is why the struggle for well-educated individuals will become more intense. . . . Qualifications such as social competence and a high degree of intellectual flexibility and mobility will be priorities. The image of the ‘citizen in uniform’ will be of particular importance.” (Thiele 2002, PAGE???.) 211

Tradition in the Bundeswehr Recurring conflicts surrounding the understanding of tradition within the Bundeswehr constitute another reason for musicologists, and particularly Bundeswehr musicologists, to conduct intense scientific research in the field of military music. Ceremonies held by the Bundeswehr and the fact that it presented itself to the general public as a ‘parliamentary army’ led to verbal attacks on the armed forces that turned into brutal violence around 1979 / 1980.8 Subsequent debates about the way tradition is understood in the Bundeswehr mainly focused on common ceremonies such as the “Grand Tattoo”. This military tradition dates back to the times of “divine right”. Without major changes, it has been continued by the Bundeswehr, which is called “army of democracy”, until today. This raised the general question about how such “questionable traditions” and a democratic society could go together. The Bundeswehr, as a symbol of the state’s monopoly of power, and its traditions9 have recurrently been subject to scrutiny by the public and the media ever since. And it is military music that forms part of its cultivation of traditions10 by means of symbols in sound. This is the reason why the Bundeswehr Military Music Service is forced to deal with its own outdated traditions and their history in previous German armies. As the soldiers are responsible citizens in uniform, it suggests itself that they take a critical approach towards the Bundeswehr and also its Music Service. Our generation must be free to ask questions about recent German history, which is truly tragic especially when it comes to the National Socialist period. It must be possible to ask these questions without ideology-based restrictions and to find one’s own answers. This effort is made difficult because of the de facto existence of two German states over a period of 40 years. Both of these states developed in diametrically different ways and claimed the sole right to interpret German history, including the history of its military and military music. Against this backdrop,

8

The solemn pledge in the Weserstadion in Bremen in 1980 is a particularly inglorious example in this context. 9 Recently, the “Mölders case” attracted significant attention, when the 74th Fighter Bomber Wing in Neuburg an der Donau was denied the right to continue to use its traditional name Mölders. 10 In my opinion, a new debate about the traditions of the Bundeswehr must be in line with the statements of the former Federal Minster of Defense Volker Rühe. One of his comments on this issue was: “From the beginning, the Bundeswehr has faced up to the whole of German history, including its highs and lows. However, it should be mentioned that tradition is not the same as history. The system of values laid down in our Basic Law provides the requisite frame of reference. Such an understanding of history and tradition allows for exemplary soldierly behavior and excellent military achievements from all periods of German military history to be integrated into the tradition of the Bundeswehr. . . .” (Rühe in Protokoll 1997, 130.) 212

Edgar Wolfrum’s book Geschichte als Waffe [History as a weapon] takes on a new significance. In this book the author describes the issue as follows: In 1949, two German states entered the political stage and antagonism was moved up to the intergovernmental level. The Cold War, Germany’s division, and the competition of the political systems in the two Germanys bred new interpretations of history in the Federal Republic of Germany and the German Democratic Republic. (Wolfrum 2001, 8.) This resulted in two different memories of German history. (Herf 1998.) In this context, the following description that can be found in one of Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht’s articles must be taken into account: Back in the ‘historical time’, we believed that we could pick our future from a horizon of possible futures. We thought that we were able to adapt experiences gained in the past to the present in such a way that they would help us choose the future. This way of thinking resulted in the ‘laws of history’, which were adopted by Marxism. They include assumptions about recurring forms and rhythms of change in a world that seems to be in permanent transition. . . . How has the extended present come into being? I think it mainly happened when we stopped letting the future be ‘uncertain’, stopped letting it be affected by our prognoses and stopped experiencing it as a time dimension for optimistic visions or even utopias. Our collective future is being blocked.” (Gumbrecht 2005, 1.) The Military Music Service does not solely concentrate on historicism, but deliberately fosters discourse: This way, an ‘idée fixe’ turned into a serious debate about our role in terms of music. The question surrounding the role of military music within modern armed forces provided the basis for our symposium series: 1. The first symposium within this series had a political orientation and analyzed the life and work of Hans Felix Husadel and his organization, the socalled Air Force Music. Thus, it was dedicated to examining the very roots of the military music of the Bundeswehr and the National People’s Army. 2. The second symposium, focusing on music and crisis, reflected the current operations of the Bundeswehr. It dealt with the possibilities and effects of music under operational conditions. This involves playing music for Bundeswehr and allied forces as well as for the civilian population living in the area of operations. 3. Functionalization and idealization in music was the general topic of the third event in 2007. It will be extended during the 2008 symposium, which will concentrate on 4. The way oneself and others see music.

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Although those actively involved in music, be it as instrumentalists or conductors, permanently have to do with music and, in particular, its presently existing or historical variables, the results of our discourse about music phenomena between yesterday and today often seem to be abstract and scientific. However, we hope that they appear to be useful and, thus, practical on closer examination. The demand for usefulness and practicability seems to be legitimate, and nowadays it is more important than ever before that these two attributes complement each other. Science helps define the role of military music within a modern army, which is a necessary step. Military music forms part of the individual’s own culture and also acts as a mediator between different cultures. The following quote from the “Subconcept for the Bundeswehr Military Music Service” (TK MilMusBw 2007) underlines this aspect: Abroad and on deployment, military music acts as a cultural ambassador. It represents a part of German culture. In doing so, it strengthens the relations with other nations on the one hand and on the other it supports the efforts of members of the Bundeswehr on site. (Ibid., 5.) Globally, military music is mostly organized in the occidental tradition of music. Military music bands represent their own cultural identity and are often global players that act in foreign cultural systems, some of which question or even reject the traditional value system of the occident. Thus, military music is far more than just an “emotional glue” (Heidler) within modern armed forces. In order to keep it up to date, scientific work is required. Scientific research helps adding importance to the following areas: • music as a cultural power and its inherent reality, • the possibility of linking experiences of music with the processing of personal experiences – focusing on the military environment, and • the possibility of using music to cope with crisis situations Musicology and (music) psychology are key to the professionalization of military music between theory and practice and, in turn, substantiate large parts of its self-confidence. The Subconcept for the Bundeswehr Military Music Service describes this issue as follows: The permanent exchange of knowledge and experience with the civilian cultural sector, the scientific research community, and military music services of other nations play a decisive role in optimal mission accomplishment. As a result, cooperation with research facilities and academic institutions dedicated to arts and sciences [e.g., with the relevant faculty at the University of Ljubljana] – with the aim of guaranteeing a produc-

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tive transfer of knowledge and establishing contacts with military musicians of other nations – makes sense. [Ibid., 11.] Considering the situation that I briefly sketched, an examination of German military music in the “past and present”11 is not only worthwhile, but also contributes to a permanent process of updating one’s own armed-forces-specific definition of music and the concept of music of the Bundeswehr as a whole. Moreover, this concept takes into consideration the different operational scenarios in other cultural systems and paves the way for inter-culturalism. Literature: Degele, Ludwig. 1937. Militärmusik, ihr Werden und Wesen, ihre kulturelle und nationale Bedeutung. Wolfenbüttel: Verlag für musikalische Kultur und Wissenschaft. Gumbrecht, Hans Ulrich. 2005. “Vom Nachteil der Historie für das Leben: Wie die Erinnerungsobsession am Ende zur Geschichtsvergessenheit führt,” Die literarische Welt 30 (Saturday, July 30th): ???-???. Funk-Henning, Erika. 1999. Deutsche Militärmusik nach 1945: Aufbau und Entwicklung im Kontext der politischen Kultur der DDR und der Bundesrepublik. Fakten, Beobachtungen, Gedanken. Karben: Coda. Heidler, Manfred Franz. 2005. Musik in der Bundeswehr: Musikalische Bewährung zwischen Aufgabe und künstlerischem Anspruch. Essen: Die Blaue Eule. Herf, Jeffrey. 1998. Zweierlei Erinnerungen: Die NS-Vergangenheit im geteilten Deutschland. Berlin: Propyläen. Höfele, Bernhard. 1999. Die Deutsche Militärmusik: Ein Beitrag zu ihrer Geschichte. Köln: Luthe. 11

Scientific publications about this issue are rare. The so-called “basic works” such Panóff 1938 or Degele 1937 were written during the Nazi period. This circumstance is reflected in ideological exaggerations that can, above all, be found in the latter book. Bernhard Höfele’s book Die Deutsche Militärmusik – Ein Beitrag zu ihrer Geschichte (Höfele 1999) is of fundamental importance. Höfele presents corrections regarding this topic that have been long overdue. Furthermore, he meets high scientific standards when he adds facts already known. Erika Funk-Henning’s study Deutsche Militärmusik nach 1945 (Funk-Henning 1999) or Susann Witt-Stahl’s “But his soul goes marching on”: Musik zur Ästhetik und Inszenierung des Krieges (Witt-Stahl 1999) do not fully meet the well-articulated demand for neutral scientific work. In the GDR, the authors Reinhold Müller and Manfred Lachmann published a summary of the topic in their book Spielmann, Trompeter, Hoboist: Aus der Geschichte der deutschen Militärmusik (Müller and Lachmann 1988). However, it has a strong ‘bias’ towards socialism. – Although there are a few publications by members of the Bundeswehr Military Music Service, there is nothing substantial apart from some articles. At best, there is Fritz Masuhr’s documentation Die Militärmusik der Bundeswehr (Masuhr 1977), which he wrote in his function as Inspector General of the Bundeswehr Military Music Service for the period from 1955 to 1975. It was, however, mainly intended for internal use. Finally, my dissertation Musik in der Bundeswehr. Musikalische Bewährung zwischen Aufgabe und künstlerischem Anspruch was published in 2005 (Heidler 2005) – the only dissertation about this topic so far. 215

Jung, Franz Josef. 2008. Speech at the 2008 Bundeswehr Commanders’ Conference Bundeswehr 2020 – gemeinsam gestalten!. Berlin, March 20th, 2008. Masuhr, Fritz. 1977. Die Militärmusik der Bundeswehr: Militärmusik-Geschichte, 19551975. [Bonn:] BMVg Fü S I/14. Müller, Reinhold, and Manfred Lachmann. 1988. Spielmann, Trompeter, Hoboist: Aus der Geschichte der deutschen Militärmusik. Berlin: Militärverlag der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik. Thiele, Ralph. 2002. “Das Kriegsbild der Zukunft: Neue Bedingungen für Soldaten”, Information für die Truppe 46/3: 19-26. Panóff, Peter. 1938. Militärmusik in Geschichte und Gegenwart. Berlin: K. Siegismund. Petraeus, David. 2008. “Siegestänze führt hier niemand auf” [Interview Reprint], loyal 3/8: 29. [Protokoll 1997.] “Protokoll der Bundestagssitzung zur »Wehrmachtsausstellung« am 13.3.97,” Wehrmachtsverbrechen: Eine deutsche Kontroverse, ed. by Heribert Prantl. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1997. pp. ???-???. [TK MilMusBw 2007.] Teilkonzeption Militärmusik der Bundeswehr [Subconcept for the Bundeswehr Military Music Service], Chief of Staff, Bundeswehr, Armed Forces Staff I 3 – File No. 59-01-01, dated December, 18th, 2007. Witt-Stahl, Susann. 1999. “But his soul goes marching on”: Musik zur Ästhetisierung und Inszenierung des Krieges. Karben: Coda. Wolfrum, Edgar. 2001. Geschichte als Waffe: Vom Kaiserreich bis zur Wiedervereinigung. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

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J. Daniel Jenkins (University of South Carolina)

Erwin Stein’s ‘New Formal Principles’ and the Analysis of Schoenberg’s Atonal Period Music I. Introduction One of the most important historical documents about Arnold Schoenberg’s (1874-1951) development of the twelve-tone method is Erwin Stein’s (18851958) “Neue Formenprinzipien.” The article appeared in 1924, Stein’s contribution to the Festschrift in honor of Schoenberg’s fiftieth birthday.1 It focuses mainly on Opp. 23-25, providing insight into Schoenberg’s early serial works from a member of his own circle, at a time when the twelve-tone method was new.2 Stein republished “Neue Formenprinzipien” in 1953 in English translation as “New Formal Principles,” part of a collection of his writings called Orpheus in New Guises. He wrote an introduction to “New Formal Principles” in which he clarifies that Opp. 23-25 comprise “the stage immediately before it [the twelve-tone method] finally crystallized.”3 Therefore, “some observations apply only to the works mentioned in the essay, not to the later and still stricter method based on rows consisting of all twelve notes.”4 Although this statement seeks to distance Opp. 23-25 somewhat from the compositions that followed, Stein also indicates his desire in this introduction to show that “the method grew gradually and inevitably from Schoenberg’s earlier compositions, as a practical, if personal, means of expressing his musical thoughts.”5 With such rhetoric, Stein effectively seeks to trace a thread that runs through Schoenberg’s entire oeuvre. On the one hand, Stein’s introduction communicates a diachronic view of Schoenberg’s output. As is well known, not all parts of Opp. 23-25, all of which Schoenberg completed in 1923, rely on a twelve-tone series to the degree that Schoenberg would in his later compositions. Nor does Schoenberg exploit the 1

Erwin Stein, “Neue Formprinzipien,” Arnold Schönberg zum fünfzigsten Geburtstage, 13. September 1924, Sonderheft der Musikblätter des Anbruch 6 (August–September 1924): 286–303. The essay also appeared in H. Grues, E. Kruttge, and E. Thalheimer (eds.), Von neuer Musik: Beiträge zur Erkenntnis der neuzeitlichen Tonkunst (Cologne: F.J. Marcan, 1925), 59–77. All page number references are to the first citation. 2 When referring to serial twelve-tone composition, Schoenberg preferred the term “method” to “system.” See, for example, Arnold Schoenberg, Style and Idea, ed. by Leonard Stein, transl. by Leo Black (London: Faber and Faber, 1975), 213. 3 Erwin Stein, “New Formal Principles,” in Orpheus in New Guises, transl. by Hans Keller (London: Rockliff, 1953), 57. 4 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 57. 5 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 57. Emphasis added. 217

possibilities of inversional hexachordal combinatoriality, which would become a hallmark of the “mature” twelve-tone works. When Stein stipulates that after 1923 there emerged a “later and still stricter method based on rows consisting of all twelve notes,” he reveals his sensitivity to the issue of how Schoenberg’s approach to serial composition changed over time. On the other hand, Stein’s belief that the twelve-tone method was “inevitable” suggests that Schoenberg’s path to twelve-tone composition was the result of some teleological development, perhaps even underlain by some general idea or principle that did not change over time. Schoenberg himself famously asserts this synchronic perspective in his essay, “How One Becomes Lonely,” written in 1937. My Verklärte Nacht, written before the beginning of this century—hence a work of my first period, has made me a kind of reputation. From it I can enjoy (even among opponents) some appreciation which the works of my later periods would not have procured for me so soon. This work has been heard, especially in its version for orchestra, a great many times. But certainly nobody has heard it as often as I have heard this complaint: “If only he had continued to compose in this style!” I said: “I have not discontinued composing in the same style and in the same way as the very beginning.”6 In pursuit of a synchronic view, Stein brings the term “melodic motif” into the discussion. “The often used expression ‘melodic motif’ rightly suggests a clear-cut shape which is exposed, and from which the subsequent music is derived.”7 The difference between serial and pre-serial compositions is that “in the later, definite method everything, including any motif’s first exposition, is derived from a basic set of twelve notes, which, however, is not a melodic motif, but the raw material of as many motifs as the composer needs.”8 But Stein remains on the synchronic path, by reminding readers that “the expression ‘basic shape,’…is applicable to either the twelve-note row or any melodic motif.”9 The derivation of all subsequent music from a basic shape serves as a general compositional principle without regard for historical context. Stein’s introduction beautifully encapsulates how analysts negotiate the tightrope walk between diachronic and synchronic views of a composer’s oeuvre. The strictest adherence to a synchronic view allows the analyst to depend solely on formalized methodologies to demonstrate general principles that appear to hold regardless of contextual factors. A diachronic view admits these contextual factors, acknowledging the effects they may have on analytical and methodological decisions. Stein’s prose suggests that analysts need not 6

Schoenberg, Style and Idea, 30. Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 57. 8 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 57. 9 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 57. 7

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limit their perspectives to either purely formalistic or purely contextual concerns. By formal, I mean to evoke an approach to analysis, practiced mainly in English-language scholarship, in which mathematical models impose certain constraints on how the twelve-tone universe is partitioned. By contextual, I mean historical, sociological and cultural contexts that would have had an effect on a composer. The former viewpoint values consistency, while the latter viewpoint values change and development. It is not my intention in this paper to advocate strongly for either a solely formal or a solely contextual approach to the analysis of Schoenberg’s works. Instead, I am interested in employing tools from formal methodologies to provide insight into changing historical and compositional contexts during a very tumultuous time in Schoenberg’s personal and creative life—specifically the period has come to be called the atonal period. I wish to see analysis consider both formal and contextual issues. II. Stein on “Atonal” Music – Lost in Translation While Stein’s diachronic view explicitly distinguishes Opp. 23-25 from those compositions that followed, he also implicitly separates these works from those that preceded them in time—those non-tonal, non-serial compositions that have come to be known as atonal. Of course, Schoenberg rejected the term “atonal” completely. I find above all that the expression, “atonal music,” is most unfortunate—it is on par with calling flying “the art of not falling,” or swimming “the art of not drowning.” “Atonal” can no more exist among tones and tone-relationships than can...“aspectral” or “acomplementary,” among colors and progressions of colors.10 Much to Schoenberg’s chagrin, the term has stuck. In its broadest definition, atonality refers to compositions that reject a tonal center, and thus includes Schoenberg’s serial works. However, most scholars today make a distinction between serial compositions and those non-tonal works that came before, referring to them as “freely atonal” or simply “atonal.” In regards to Schoenberg’s music, this period encompasses the non-serial, non-tonal works, Opp. 11 and 15-22.11 Stein writes very little about this period in his essay. In fact, the only composition from this time that he discusses at all is “Nacht,” song no. 8 from Pierrot lunaire. The original German text reads: 10

Schoenberg, Style and Idea, 210-211. This definition of the atonal period comes from Ethan Haimo, “Atonality, Analysis, and the Intentional Fallacy,” Music Theory Spectrum 18/2 (Fall 1996): 167n. Many scholars would include the last movement of Op. 10 as well. 11

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Eine aus der Zwölftonreihe gewonnene Grundgestalt finden wir in der Passacaglia des „Pierrot Lunaire” („Nacht”). Das aus den drei Tönen e-g-es bestehende Hauptmotiv ist der Träger des ganzen Stückes. Es kommt in dieser aus 25 Takten bestehenden Komposition mit seinen Transpositionen und Umbildungen weit über hundertmal vor (ohne monoton zu werden — das weiß, wer das Stück kennt). In den ersten drei Takten erscheint es gleichzeitig in der Horizontalen und Vertikalen dargestellt, gleichsam die konzentrierte Essenz alles Kommende. Dann wird es mit einer Forsetzung, die das restliche motivische Material abgibt, als Kanon exponiert. Die anderen Motive sind also als Kontrapunkt zum Hauptthema von diesem bedingt, so daß die Grundgestalt in allem Geschehen wirksam bleibt. Weiterhin wird sie in allerlei Figuren aufgelöst und zusammengeballt, durch Wendung ihrer großen Terz in eine kleine Sext einmal in einen aufsteigenden Gang verwandelt (Takt 17), auch die Umkehrung des Krebses wird verwendet, bis zum Schluß wieder der polyphone Klangkomplex des Anfangs erscheint.12 The text of the 1953 English-language essay is a fairly faithful translation of the original German, with one notable exception. The English text reads: But in the passacaglia (Night) from Pierrot lunaire, we find an ‘atonal’ [emphasis added] basic shape; the principal, three-note motif E-G-Eb serves as a basis for the entire piece. With its transpositions and derivative forms, it occurs far more than a hundred times in this twenty-five bar composition— without becoming monotonous, as everyone knows who knows the piece. In the first three bars it appears at once horizontally and vertically—the concentrated essence, as it were, of everything that follows; whereupon it is exposed in canon, with a continuation which supplies the rest of the motivic material. The other motifs are therefore contrapuntally dependent upon the principal motif, so that the basic shape remains throughout operative. In the further course of events it is resolved and compressed into various figures, and on one occasion it forms an ascending melody, its major third turning into a minor sixth (bar 17). Inverted retrograde motion is used too, until at the end the opening’s polyphonic texture reappears.13 The emergence of the word “atonal” in the English translation, which does not appear in the original German, and to which Schoenberg may have taken exception, is certainly worthy of further scrutiny. But even more important for the purposes of the present discussion is the fact that Stein’s mention of an atonal basic shape at the beginning of this passage in the published English translation supplants his original analytical statement, which might be translated into English as: “In the passacaglia ‘Nacht’ from ‘Pierrot’

12 13

Stein, “Neue Formprinzipien,” 294. Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 66.

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we find a basic shape obtained from the twelve-tone row.”14 No reference to a twelve-tone row remains in the English document in relation to “Nacht.” The idea that “Nacht” is based on a twelve-tone row did receive some traction in later studies. For example, in Changing Forms in Modern Music, Karl Eschman writes of “the passacaglia-like repetition of a twelve-note Series in the Night of Pierrot Lunaire.”15 Eschman’s reading suggests that there is a specific ordering of the total chromatic the recurs throughout “Nacht.” It is quite clear, however, after reading Stein’s words in context, that this is not what he meant by “Zwölftonreihe.” Throughout the German essay, Stein uses “Zwölftonreihe” to mean all twelve tones of the chromatic scale in no particular order. For example, he writes, “Wenn die Zwölftonreihe formbildend wirken soll, wird sie differenziert werden müssen,”16 which is translated into English as, “if the twelve notes are to have a formative effect, they will have to be differentiated.”17 The differentiation, of course, would be a specified ordering of the twelve tones. Therefore, “die reihe” in this sentence is not an ordered entity. I read “Zwölftonreihe” in Stein’s German essay to mean a use of the total chromatic without reference to a central tonic. It could be—but does not have to be—an ordered entity; it could also be a resource from which material is drawn rather freely. Stein’s statement about a “Zwölftonreihe” in the relation to “Nacht” serves two purposes. On the one hand, it reinforces the argument that the twelve-tone method was “inevitable,” noting that “Nacht” is (in the most general sense) a “twelve-tone composition.” On the other hand, it marks “Nacht” as something new, setting it apart from the other pre-serial compositions he mentions in the article, Opp. 7, 9 and 10—examples of Schoenberg’s tonal music.18 The emergence of the word “atonal” in the 1953 English translation, in conjunction with the deliberate omission of any reference to a twelve-tone “row,” clearly differentiates “Nacht” not only from the tonal works that came earlier, but also from works based on a serial ordering of all twelve tones. Stein’s choice of the word “atonal” in 1953 aligns with a tripartite

14

This English translation is from Jennifer Robin Shaw, “Schoenberg’s Choral Symphony, Die Jakobsleiter, and Other Wartime Fragments” (Ph.D. diss., State University of New York at Stony Brook, 2004), 594. 15 Karl Eschman, Changing Forms in Modern Music (Boston: E. C. Schirmer Music Company, 1945), 109. 16 Stein, “Neue Formenprinzipien,” 290. 17 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 62. 18 Of course, many view the last movement of Op. 10 as an atonal work. Stein’s references are to the third movement specifically, which is written with a key signature of seven flats and tonal in the same sense as Opp. 7 and 9. 221

periodization of Schoenberg’s oeuvre that has now become commonplace: tonal, atonal, serial. Whether reading the German or the English text, it is clear that Stein thinks of “Nacht” as a twelve-tone composition, but not a serial one—at least not one based on a series of all twelve-tones. Analysis of twelve-tone serial compositions will likely focus, at least in part, on the order of the row upon which the work is based. Because atonal compositions do not negotiate the total chromatic in this way, they present other analytical challenges. One methodological approach that has taken hold in English-language scholarship to elucidate atonal compositions is pitch-class set theory. Like twelve-tone theory, pitch-class set theory focuses on transpositional and inversional relationships. The resemblance to twelve-tone theory raises questions, which we will consider in the next section of the paper. III. Analytical Spaces In English-language post-tonal theory pedagogy, considerable emphasis is placed on two analytical spaces: pitch space and pitch-class space. Two popular textbooks in the United States, John Rahn’s Basic Atonal Theory and Joseph N. Straus’s Introduction to Post-Tonal Theory include discussions of the difference between pitches and pitch classes. As Rahn writes, “a ‘pitch-class’ in this sense is an equivalence class of all pitches that are exactly octaves apart.”19 Straus provides a specific example to elucidate the difference between pitch and pitch class. “When we say that the lowest note on the cello is a C, we are referring to a specific pitch. We can notate the pitch on the second ledger line beneath the bass staff. When we say that the tonic of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is C, we are referring not to some particular pitch C, but to pitch-class C. Pitch-class C is an abstraction and cannot be adequately notate on musical staves. Sometimes, for convenience, we will represent a pitch class using musical notation. In reality, however, a pitch class is not a single thing; it is a class of things, of pitches one or more octaves apart.”20 Teachers often have students think of pitch space as a line that proceeds indefinitely in both directions. Pitches and pitch-classes are often modeled as integers, with the pitch C4 = 0.21 In integer notation in pitch-class space, all pitches that are enharmonically and octave equivalent to C4 are modeled as pitch-class 0; all pitches that are enharmonically and octave equivalent to C#4 are modeled as pitch-class 1; etc.

19

John Rahn, Basic Atonal Theory (New York: Schirmer Books, 1980), 22. Joseph N. Straus, Introduction to Post-Tonal Theory, 3rd ed. (Upper Saddle River, N.J.: Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2005), 3. 21 I am using here the pitch designations of the Acoustical Society of America, where C4=middle C. 20

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Teachers often encourage students to think of pitch-class space a clockface.22 “We can be sure that, if it’s eleven o’clock now, it will be eleven o’clock again in twelve hours. Just as our lives unfold simultaneously in linear and modular time, music unfolds simultaneously in pitch and pitch-class space.”23 In both texts, the authors follow up their discussions of pitch and pitchclass with a distinction between ordered and unordered intervals. Ordered intervals result from the stipulation of one pitch (or pitch class) preceding or following another. Unordered intervals do not take this into consideration. The combination pitch and pitch-class spaces with ordered and unordered intervals results in four types of intervals: ordered pitch intervals, unordered pitch intervals, ordered pitch-class intervals and unordered pitch-class intervals. Just as analysts use integers to model pitches and pitch classes, they also use them to model the distance between pitches or pitch classes. The interval between two pitches is given in integer notation in number of semitones. The unordered pitch interval between C4 and E4 is simply “4,” with no indication of direction. Therefore, the unordered pitch interval is the same no matter which pitch is first. Ordered pitch intervals are also measured in number of semitones, but include a sign to indicate the direction of the interval. The ordered pitch interval between C4 and E4 is “+4,” ascending the distance of four semitones; the ordered pitch interval between E4 and C4 is “-4,” descending the distance of four semitones. When the order of the two pitches is considered, the direction of the interval must be qualified. Because pitch-class space is modular (modulo 12), intervals in pitch-class space can be more difficult to conceptualize. Returning to the ordered pitch interval between E4 and C4 (-4), we might ask, “what if E4 were followed by a different representative of pitch-class C, such as C5?” The ordered pitch interval from E4 to C5 is +8. We note that -4 and +8 are both equivalent to 8 under mod-12 arithmetic. Thus, the ordered interval from pitch-class E to pitchclass C is 8.24 Of course, the closer distance between pitch-class E and pitchclass C on the clockface is 4 semitones, but ordered pitch-class intervals stipulate that the order proceed clockwise.25 The unordered pitch-class interval is the closest possible distance between two pitch classes. The unordered pitchclass interval from pitch-class E to pitch-class C is 4. Since order does not 22

Rather than a clockface, some conceive of pitch-class space as a spiral. See the diagram in Robert D. Morris, Composition with Pitch-Classes (New Have and London: Yale University Press, 1987), 25. 23 Straus, Introduction to Post-Tonal Theory, 6. 24 In terms of the clockface, it is helpful to remember that ordered pitch-class intervals only proceed clockwise around the circle. 25 In pitch space, we would conceive of this as ascending only. For example, we might ask ourselves, “if I am at E and I can only ascend to get to C, how many semitones will I travel?” See Straus, Introduction to Post-Tonal Theory, 8-9. 223

matter, the unordered pitch-class interval can be conceived of as the closest distance on the clockface whether it is clockwise or counterclockwise.26 An unordered pitch-class interval is also known as an interval class. While all of this may seem straightforward and elementary today, in his 1924 essay Stein emphasizes the difference between what we know as pitch and pitch-class spaces. He addresses the issue by discussing intervals rather than pitches or pitch-classes. When writing about possible transformation of the “basic shape” of a row, Stein asserts, “among the most important is the inversion of intervals.”27 He continues, “The relation between the notes C and E, for instance, may express itself now in a major third, now in a minor sixth, now in the leap of a tenth; an ascending fourth may turn into a descending fifth, a major ninth into the step of a whole-tone.”28 Stein recognizes that the interval from C to E can be an ascending major third (+4), a descending minor sixth (-8), an ascending major tenth (+16), etc. All of these ordered pitch intervals represent the ordered pitch-class interval 4, which exists between any member of pitch-class C and any member of pitchclass E. Similarly, an ascending [perfect] fourth (+5) and a descending [perfect] fifth (-7) are both iterations of ordered pitch-class interval 5. The [ascending] major ninth (+14) and the [ascending] step of a whole-tone (+2) are both examples of ordered pitch-class interval 2. He continues, “only the relations between the notes are binding: their direction is not.”29 In the parlance of contemporary music theory, we would say that the order of the pitch classes is binding, but the direction of the intervals they create in pitch space is not. Therefore, to return to Stein’s first example, C need not ascend 4 semitones to reach E. It can descend 8, ascend 16, descend 20, etc. However, the order does matter; C must come before E.30 After all, it is the ordering of the pitches in a series that fundamentally distinguishes the twelve-tone method from free atonal composition.31 26

The ordered and unordered pitch-class intervals between two pitch-classes are inverses of each other in this case, 8 and 4, respectively, but this is not always the case. The ordered pitch-class interval between C and E is 4 because the distance between C and E traveling clockwise on the clockface is 4. The unordered pitch-class interval between C and E is also 4, because this is the closest possible distance on the clockface. Rahn provides definitions of the four types on intervals. See John Rahn, Basic Atonal Theory, 20-29. 27 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 65. 28 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 65. 29 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 65. 30 Of course, in the context of the twelve-tone method, the retrograde operation will allow E to come before C, but this change is understood within the larger context of an operation on the serial ordering of all twelve pitch classes. 31 In order to make the contrast as stark as possible, the discussion here does not include partial ordering, which is a common tactic in serial twelve-tone composition. 224

Examples from Schoenberg’s Op. 25 demonstrate how the ordering of the total chromatic lessens the importance of the pitch-space presentation of material in the sense that Stein means. The Gavotte opens with the pitch sequence <E6, F5, G5, Db5, Gb5, Eb5>, creating a pitch-space interval sequence of <-11, +2, -6, +5, -3>. The Trio of the Minuet movement begins with the same sequence of pitch classes, but since the pitch-space representation is <E3, F4, G3, Db4, Gb4, Eb3>, the resulting pitch-space intervals are <+13, 10, +6, +5, -15>. These two examples share the same ordered pitch-class content, and therefore, they have the same ordered pitch-class intervals, <1, 2, 6, 5, 9>. So even though these two passages have very different contours, a shift in focus from pitch to pitch-class space allows analysts to demonstrate that at some level, the two examples are equivalent. IV. “In Order” to Understand The power of pitch-class space to generalize to several analytical situations makes it very enticing. Rahn notes the music theory community’s preference for pitch-class space when he writes, “much of music theory talks not about pitches, but about pitch-classes.”32 Although Allen Forte opens The Structure of Atonal Music with a discussion of pitch combinations, he writes that “the first task is to formulate a more general notion to replace that of pitch combination.”33 This introduction leads to his discussion of the pitch-class set, which, by definition, is a collection of pitch-classes, not a collection of pitches. While Milton Babbitt originally used the term “set” to refer to a twelvetone row,34 Forte appropriates it for collections of fewer than twelve pitch classes. According to Forte, this semantic coincidence has lead to the misunderstanding that principles of set-theoretical analysis “derive from 12tone theory and are therefore inappropriate when applied to non-twelve-tone music.”35 One reason for the conflation might be that pitch-class transposition and inversion, fundamental to Schoenberg’s twelve-tone method, form the basis of pitch-class set membership as well. On the other hand, as Forte clarifies multiple times in his article, “Pitch-Class Set Analysis Today,” his is a theory of unordered pitch-class sets. Webern’s Concerto, Op. 24 provides an example of how the confusion might emerge. The row of the concerto can be divided into discrete trichords, each of which is a member of 3-3[014] in Forte’s classification system. Since pitch-class sets are by definition equivalent under transposition and inversion, 32

Rahn, Basic Atonal Theory, 22. Allen Forte, The Structure of Atonal Music (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1973), 1. 34 See Forte, The Structure of Atonal Music, 1. 35 Allen Forte, “Pitch-Class Set Analysis Today,” Music Analysis 4/1-2 (March 1985): 40. 33

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any discrete trichord of any row form will be a member of set-class 3-3[014].36 Pitch-class set theory provides a framework for discussing how these smaller sets relate to one another, as opposed to an analysis that focuses on transformations of the entire row. Such an undertaking is in line with Stein’s statement that “the basic shape organizes the twelve notes, differentiating their uniformity and arranging their order. They need not, however, be united within a single motive, but can be distributed among several motifs.”37 However, at the end of the day, we must acknowledge that even these three-note sets, since they are extracted from an ordering of the total chromatic, are themselves ordered entities. A pitch-class set analysis does not focus on this order. Certainly, the motivic saturation of Webern’s Concerto invites comparison with “Nacht.” Many analysts, including Stein, write that “Nacht” is based on the three-note motive E-G-Eb. While these three pitches form a member of 3-3[014], and while this trichord “with its transpositions and derivative forms occurs far more than a hundred times in this twenty-five bar composition,” there is a significant difference between these 3-3[014]s and those in the Webern piece. Webern’s 3-3[014]s, derived from a twelve-tone row, relate in an ordered pitch-class space. The E-G-Eb motive, on the other hand, is derived, as the German-language version of Stein’s text determines, freely from the total chromatic. Thus, it would seem that unordered-pitch class space would be an ideal context for the analysis of “Nacht.” However, unordered-pitch class space obscures the fact that the ordered pitch interval pattern of the original statement of the motive, <+3, -4>, is replicated many times in the composition in pitch space, in a texture that draws heavily on imitation and canon.38 Therefore, “Nacht” is based on a series; it is simply not a twelve-tone series. Not all of the 3-3[014]s in “Nacht” derive from the <+3, -4> motive. Take, for example, the cello part in m. 17, which has the contour <+3, +8>. The first interval is the same as the original motive, while the second interval is the same in ordered pitch-class space. If we think of this motive as a transformation of the original motive, it retains order even though it does not retain (all of) the intervals in pitch space. The development of the motive in this instance is the same as the treatment of material in the examples from Op. 25 mentioned 36

To clarify, the retrograde operation does not change the set-class categorization because set-classes are by definition, unordered. While transposition and inversion preserve intervals, and all member of the same set-class have the same interval-class content, that does not mean that all pitch-class sets with the same interval-class content are members of the same set class. Z-related set classes have the same interval-class content, but their members are not related by either transposition or inversion. 37 Stein, “New Formal Principles,” 63. See p. 65 as well. 38 The application of the retrograde-inversion operation on the pitches results in the pattern <4, +3>, featured in mm. 19ff. 226

above. When considered in this light, it becomes clear why “Nacht,” with its emphasis on an ordered motive, would be the atonal work that Stein cites in his discussion of the development of the twelve-tone method. V. Conclusion and Further Study “Nacht” may be Stein’s only representative of atonal period music in “New Formal Principles,” but we should pose the question as to just how representative it is. No other piece from Schoenberg’s atonal period relies so heavily on an ordered motive, much less one that is consistently ordered in pitch space. This feature is unique to “Nacht.”39 It is the one piece in which the order of the pitches so clearly gives rise to a “ shape” upon which much of the rest of the composition is based. Because it is difficult to find many other examples of ordered motivic transformation in pitch space in Schoenberg’s atonal period works, it is understandable why analysts default to unordered pitch-class space. Consider, for example, Schoenberg’s Op. 11, no. 1. In his analysis of the opening of this movement, Straus segments this passage into three-note sets, which, just as in the case of “Nacht,” are members of 3-3[014].40 Unlike the 3-3[014]s in “Nacht,” none of the 3-3[014]s that Straus identifies retains any pitch-space resemblance; they are, however, equivalent in unordered pitch-class space.41 The power of unordered pitch-class space to generalize across pieces cannot be denied. It is for this reason that the pitch-class set analytic methodology aligns well with synchronic concerns; in reference to the specific example given above, it can show that that in some sense the motivic development in Op. 11, no. 1 and “Nacht,” both beginning with a member of 33[014], might be similar. At the same time, analysts might ask how they could capture something about the remarkable differences between the surfaces of “Nacht” and Op. 11, no. 1, and what these might tell us Schoenberg’s compositional development. (After all, Op. 11, no. 1 was composed in 1908, near the beginning of the atonal period, and “Nacht” was composed in 1912, near the end of it.) The foregoing discussion suggests that shifting focus from 39

In his analysis of “Nacht,” Straus points to the “canon theme” in mm. 4ff, which ends with the interval pattern <-1, +9>. Even though the interval pattern “has a different contour and different pitch intervals,” and “does not have any obvious relationship to the head motive, EG-Eb,” it does form a member of the same set class, 3-3[014]. See Introduction to Post-Tonal Theory, 30. Straus’s approach reveals a concern for what he calls “concealed repetition,” one of the benefits of unordered pitch-class space. See Joseph N. Straus, Remaking the Past (Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 1990), 21-22. 40 Straus, Remaking the Past, 24. 41 Straus defines a pitch-class set as “a motive from which many of the identifying characteristics—register, rhythm, order—have been boiled away. Pitch-class set analysis is motivic analysis” in Remaking the Past, 24. 227

ordered pitch space to unordered pitch-class space is one way to accomplish this. Let us briefly consider another. In his Formenlehre, Schoenberg defined three means of presentation of the idea: developing variation, envelopment (contrapuntal presentation) and juxtaposition.42 Different methods of presentation value different kinds of motivic transformation differently. Polyphonic compositions are governed by envelopment, which emphasizes exact repetitions (transpositions, inversions, retrogrades, rhythmic augmentation and diminution), particularly in pitch space. No other composition in the atonal period better exemplifies envelopmental presentation than “Nacht.” Developing variation is the principle behind homophonic compositions, such as Op. 11, no. 1. In developing variation, motivic transformation results from elaborations such as intervallic expansion and contraction. Exact repetitions of a motive, such as those in “Nacht,” guarantee pitchclass set equivalence. The same is not always true of intervallic expansion and contraction. For example, consider the opening pitches in the right hand of the piano in Op. 11, no. 1. The first three maintain the contour <-3, -1>, followed by the contour <-4, -1>. Both contours descend, both end with a falling semitone, and both begin with a diatonic third. They are not, however, members of the same set class: the first forms a member of 3-3[014] and the second a member of 3-4[015]. If we focus solely on unordered pitch-class space, we view these motives through a lens that does not suggest that the second contour is an elaboration of the first, even though it is arguably a textbook example of what Schoenberg called a developed repetition.43 Therefore, unordered pitch-class space may not be the best analytical space to model developing variation.44 Theorists continue to produce methodological alternatives to pitch-class set theory that offer alternative models of motivic transformation.45 As more options present themselves, it is important for analysts to choose the methodology that can best illuminate the analytical situation at hand. In my view, the method of presentation, not the methodology itself, is the context of 42

See, for example, Severine Neff, “Schoenberg as Theorist: Three Forms of Presentation,” in Schoenberg and His World, ed. Walter Frisch (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 55-84; and Áine Heneghan, “Tradition as Muse: Schoenberg’s Musical Morphology and Nascent Dodecaphony,” (Ph.D. diss., The University of Dublin Trinity College, 2006). 43 Specifically, the textbook is Arnold Schoenberg, Fundamentals of Composition, ed. Gerald Strang and Leonard Stein (London: Faber & Faber, 1967), in which he discusses motivic transformation. See particularly, pp. 8-9. 44 Many other scholars have argued this point. See, for example, Haimo, “Atonality, Analysis, and the Intentional Fallacy.” 45 In regards to developing variation in particular, see, for example, Jack Boss, “Schoenberg’s Op. 22 Radio Talk and Developing Variation in Atonal Music,” Music Theory Spectrum 14/2 (Fall 1992): 125-149 and Joseph N. Straus, “Uniformity, Balance and Smoothness in Atonal Voice Leading,” Music Theory Spectrum 25/2 (Fall 2003): 305-352. 228

paramount importance for understanding motivic transformation in Schoenberg’s atonal period music.46 Schoenberg’s writings and those of his students make it clear that he valued the three different methods of presentation differently at different times during the atonal period. Therefore, when we focus on presentation, we foreground the diachronic concerns of how Schoenberg’s compositional approach changed over time—all the while allowing Schoenberg’s words to linger in our minds: “I have not discontinued composing in the same style and in the same way as the very beginning.”

46

See J. Daniel Jenkins, “Issues of Form in Schoenberg’s Atonal Period Vocal Music: Three Case Studies,” (Ph.D. diss., Eastman School of Music, University of Rochester, 2007). 229

 

Barbara Smolej Fritz (Krsko Elementary Music School, Slovenia)

Processes of Self-Regulation in Music Learning: Between Theory and Practice In this article, we would like to present short answers to the following questions: what is self-regulated learning, what are the key strategies of selfregulated learning, do self-regulated students achieve better results in school, and can a teacher help students to regulate their own learning. In the past few decades, the focus of education research has shifted from relatively static factors (e.g. students’ abilities) toward students’ responsibility for their own learning. This has been the consequence of rapid social and technological changes. It cannot be denied that life-long learning is becoming important consequently. The main educational goal has not only been to pass on new information, but even more so to teach students how to use their knowledge and skills in new situations, how to connect knowledge, set learning goals, and become active participants in life-long learning. Students have to be able to connect different knowledge, use knowledge in a flexible way, and develop their capacity for critical thinking, reflection and evaluation of their own learning. It is not surprising that self-regulated learning plays an important role with respect of such educational statements. Most researchers of self-regulation view learning as a multidimensional or multi-component process which contains (meta)cognitive, motivational, emotional and environmental components (Boekaerts and Cascallar 2006; Pintrich and De Groot 1990; Zimmerman 1998). The most important feature of selfregulated learning is that the learner has control over his own learning and direct cognitive and motivation processes in order to achieve the learning goal (Boekaerts and Cascallar 2006, 200). However, it should be stressed that selfregulation is context dependent, which means that students do not express selfregulated behaviour in the same way in all learning situations (Boekaerts, 1996, 100). Different models that try to systematize strategies and knowledge necessary for students to direct their own learning exist, e.g. the six-component model of self-regulated learning by M. Boekaerts (1996). This model consists of two parallel regulatory systems, cognition, and motivation, where different components of the two domains are positioned on three interacting levels (knowledge, strategy use, and goals). Another example is the three-phase selfregulated model that was developed by Zimmerman (1998), in which the author organizes different self-regulated processes into three phases. The forethought phase precedes performance and refers to processes that set the stage for action. The performance control phase involves processes that occur during learning

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and affect attention and action, while self-reflection involves processes that occur after performance and include learner’s response to the experience (Zimmerman, 1998, 2). Although some differences between models exist, all of them consist of (meta)cognitive and motivational processes that are necessary for self-regulated behaviour in the specific domain of learning. To explain the key processes of self-regulation, we will use a fourcomponent model (Garcia and Pintich 1994; Hofer, Yu, and Pintrich 1998). The authors propose two general organizing constructs: knowledge / beliefs and strategies of self-regulation in the two domains of cognition and motivation. A combination of domains and constructs gives us a four-component model. The cognitive structure includes declarative knowledge, e.g., knowledge about strategies, procedural knowledge, e.g., knowledge about how to use strategies and conditional knowledge, e.g., knowledge about when and why to use strategies (Hofer, Yu, and Pintrich 1998, 66), implicit theories of thinking and learning, as well as (meta)cognitive experience, e.g. feelings and thoughts of momentary mental activity and (meta)cognitive knowledge, e.g. understanding which abilities one needs for solving this problem. In addition to knowledge, students possess a more or less wide range of cognitive and meta-cognitive strategies. In literature (Garcia and Pintrich 1994; Hofer, Yu, and Pintrich 1998; Pintrich and Schunk 2002), the most frequently mentioned cognitive strategies are rehearsal, e.g. reading the text, elaboration, e.g. explaining the material to a friend and organization, e.g., extraction, while planning, e.g., setting goals, monitoring, e.g., self-testing of understanding and regulation (e.g., reading the text once again if one does not understand everything) are the most frequently mentioned meta-cognitive strategies. Affective-motivational processes play a very important part in student self-regulated learning. Students need to self-regulate their motivation for learning; in other words, they must motivate themselves to start learning and sustain the effort until the task is completed (Boekaerts and Cascallar 2006, 201). The affective-motivational component refers to the knowledge that students have about themselves, tasks and learning situations. It includes knowledge and beliefs about strengths and weaknesses as a learner, self-efficacy for various academic tasks (refers to judgments of capabilities to perform academic tasks), goal orientation for learning, personal interest and value for academic tasks (Garcia and Pintich 1994; Hofer, Yu, and Pintrich 1998, 69). Students also possess a wide range of motivational strategies which help them regulate motivation through maintenance of positive self-worth: self-affirmation (if an individual experiences a negative evaluation of himself in a particular value domain, the individual will seek to affirm a positive global evaluation in other equally valuated domains), self-handicapping (refers to creating obstacles to success in order to maintain self-confidence), defensive pessimism (refers to unrealistically low expectations in order to prepare for potential failure) and attribution

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style ( refers to causal explanation for outcomes, experiences and events) (Garcia and Pintich, 1994, 135-138). As has been mentioned earlier, self-regulated learning is context dependent, therefore it has been studied in different learning contexts mostly in mathematics and native language (Pečjak and Košir, 2003; Peklaj, 2001; Peklaj and Pečjak, 2002; Pintrich and De Groot, 1990; Poklay and Blumenfeld, 1990; Zimmerman and Martinez-Pons, 1990). In the field of music, attention has mostly been directed to instrument learning or practicing (Gruson, 1988; Ericsson, Krampe and Tesch-Römer, 1993; McPherson and McCormic, 1999; Hallam, 1995, 2001; McCormic and McPherson, 2003; McPherson, 2005; McPherson and Renwick, 2001; Nielsen, 1999, 2001; Smith, 2005), which is not surprising, because successful performance depends primarily on adequate rehearsal at home, during which students have to be able to use effective cognitive, metacognitive and motivational strategies. Musical practice is multifaceted. Musicians have to play or sing from memory, rehearse, perform with other musicians, etc. These elements require aural, technical, cognitive, motivational, performance and learning skills. Such complex skills cannot be acquired and improved by simple repetitious practice (Hallam, 2006, 118). Ericsson (Ericsson, Krampe and Tesch-Römer, 1993, 368-369) coined the term “deliberate practice” to describe goal-orientated, structured and effortful practice in which motivation, resources and attention determine the amount and quality of practice. Expert musicians show more effort and concentration during practice and are more likely to monitor and control their playing than less skilled musicians. From a slightly different view, Sloboda and Davidson (1996, 183) distinguished between formal and informal practice. They found that high-achieving musicians tend to realize significantly greater amounts of formal practice (scaled, technical exercise) and informal practice (playing favourite songs). Jorgensen (1995, in Hallam, 2006, 118) defined practice as “self-teaching” where musicians need to take account of their goals, the content, methods, and allocation of time. Hallam (2006, 118) considered effective practice as “that which achieves the desired end-product in as short a time as possible, without interfering negatively with long-term goals.” In other words, effective practice is “what works” in the short term without negative consequences on the long-term goals. The logical question that ensues is “What are effective strategies or “what works”?” In literature, research on self-regulation in the field of music can be divided into two groups: the first group includes research on (meta)cognitive and affective-motivational aspects of self-regulated learning in musical experts (e.g. Hallam, 2001; Nielsen, 2001, 2004; Smith, 2005). In the second group authors (e.g. Gruson, 1988; McPherson and McCormick, 1999; McPherson and Renwick, 2001; Sloboda and Davidson, 1996) examine self-

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regulated processes in music performance of children and changes in a selfregulation according to age. Since of self-regulation is a very complex and multi-component process, a lot of research has focused on only one or a few of its aspects. Hallam (2006, 122-123) made an overview of research on the way experts and novices practice: Most professional musicians acquire an overview of music that they are to learn in the early stages of practice of a new piece. They divide the music into sections and subsections; the division depends on the musical structure and technical problems. At the beginning of practice, the sections may be very short and, as practice progresses, the units become longer. There is a wide variety of strategies that are used, e.g. playing through without stopping, playing through and stopping at difficult sections or selecting section in anticipation. Technical practice may depend on slow analytic work, repetition, attempts to speed up, and variation (rhythm, bowing and tonguing). Many musicians use warm-up exercises. When passages need to be played at speed, they are learnt slowly and then speeded up. A combination of mental and physical practice is most effective because mental practice allows concentration on the cognitive aspects of music performance. Professional musicians have welldeveloped metacognitive skills (self-awareness of strengths and weaknesses, knowledge about tasks, and what would be required to complete them). On the other hand, research on practice by novices has suggested that they are often unaware of making errors. The reason for this might be that they do not have the appropriate internal aural schemata. They have problems with identifying difficult sections, they usually practice by playing music through without stopping, rather than focusing on difficult sections, and when learning to read music they focus first on playing correct pitch, than rhythm and finally dynamic and interpretation (Hallam, 2006, 125-126). Effective self-regulation in practicing novices and experts is based on the connection between (meta-) cognitive and affective-motivational processes. Musicians who are more cognitively engaged while practicing report higher levels of intrinsic value of instrument learning (McPherson in McCormick, 1999) and also perceive themselves as more competent (Nielsen, 2004). In our study (Smolej Fritz, 2006) we examined the connection between (meta)cognitive and affective-motivational aspects of self-regulation in music theory learning. We found similar results. Students who are more intrinsically motivated tend to be more cognitively engaged in learning music theory. These students also perceive the subject as more applicable and important for their instrumental learning and feel more competent. Self-Regulated Learning and Students’ Achievement in School Self-regulated learning and achievement is one of the most studied fields of self-regulation, but findings are not entirely consistent, particularly respect to

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the relation between cognitive aspect of self-regulation and achievement. Some studies found positive correlation (e.g. Puklek-Levpušček, 2001; Smolej Fritz, 2006), while others found no or even negative correlation (Hudoklin, 2004; Pečjak and Košir, 2003; Peklaj and Pečjak, 2002; Peklaj and Vodopivec, 1998). In other words, it is not entirely clear whether high achievers use more cognitive strategies than low-achievers. The findings concerning the affective-motivational component of selfregulated learning and achievement are more consistent. Self-efficacy and intrinsic motivation are positively related to achievement (Bouffard, Marcoux, Vezeau and Bordeleau, 2003; Borkowski and Thorpe, 1994; Peklaj and Pečjak, 2002; Pintrich and DeGroot, 1990; Puklek-Levpušček, 2001, Smolej Fritz, 2006). This means that students who believe more strongly in their abilities perform academic tasks in a particular academic domain, students who take into consideration the importance of doing well, and students who show personal interest in a specific task achieve better results in school. McCormick and McPherson (2003) found that self-efficacy is the best predictor of performance at instrumental exams. Anxiety, on the other hand, is usually related negatively to achievement, although very anxious students can be relatively successful at the clearly defined tasks, the routine tasks and tasks without a time limit (Marentič-Požarnik, 2000, 211-212). Teacher’s help and students’ self-regulated learning S.G. Paris and R.S. Newman (1990, in Pečjak and Košir, 2002, 147) suggested that self-regulated learning does not develop automatically, but it is a result of the interaction between a student’s maturation and process of formal education. Therefore, teachers have an important role in this process. They should equip students with successful learning strategies and show them when, where and why to use them. It is important to show students that using strategies is not a recipe; strategies should be accommodated to student’s personal characteristics, learning context etc. Teachers should demonstrate to students the usefulness of particular strategies and stress that they will need to invest more effort at the beginning, but they will achieve better results in the end. Musicians who want to practice more effectively should identify the nature of the task and what the most effective way to complete it will be ; they should monitor and evaluate their progress, be engaged in mental activities (think about the task outside practice time), invest time in analytic work and plan practice. Affective-motivational aspects of self-regulated learning are equally important. Teachers should create a pleasant atmosphere in the class, emphasize each student’s individual improvement and structure learning situations in such way that students of different abilities can cope with them successfully. Experiencing success will reduce anxiety and promote internal motivation for music

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learning. Students who feel that they are able to learn will invest more effort in learning. In the literature, different programs for developing SR can be found. E.g., Learning to learn by Hofer, Yu and Pintrich (1998), A self-regulated strategy development model by Graham, Harris and Troia (1998), Socio-cognitive Instructional Model for Mathematics Intervention by Schunk (1998). These programs are different according to three aspects: the scope of the program, the content and the time frame of the program (Hofer, Yu in Pintrich, 1998, 58-59.). In terms of scope, the issue concerns how many different strategies the program will focus on. However it is important to consider not only how many different strategies to teach, but also which ones. A program can teach general cognitive, metacognitive or motivational strategies or more domain-specific strategies (e.g. strategies specific for mathematics or music). The time frame is related to the first two characteristics. A short-term program for example cannot teach the range of different strategies important for self-regulation. At the same time, the age of a student is also important. Elementary students who are just developing general metacognitive and cognitive strategies need more time than college students who already have some experience and knowledge about successful learning strategies (Hofer, Yu and Pintrich, 1998, 58-59). Regardless of the differences, each program should contain some essential elements (Schunk and Zimmerman, 1998, 225-236):  Learning strategies. A teacher should introduce students to different learning strategies. He or she has to show how, when and why use these strategies, because this is the only way that students will use them.  Practicing self-regulated strategies and feedback. A teacher or another competent person should direct the practice.  Monitoring. The students should always monitor the use of strategies and their effectiveness. They should be able to change or modify strategies if the strategies do not lead to the desired result.  Social support. It is an important element that contains parent, peer and teacher support that disappears gradually when a student becomes more competent in directing his own learning.  Self-reflection. A student has to become aware of which strategies are effective and which are not in a specific learning context. This information will be used in future learning. Music learning encompasses a wide spectrum of activities. In order to optimize progress, teachers must also focus special attention on self-regulated processes. Although the above these programs are not developed specifically for music learning or instrument practice, these essential elements are also valued for the development of self-regulated processes in the music domain.

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References: Boekaerts, Monique (1996). “Self-regulated Learning at the Junction of Cognition and Motivation”, European Psychologist, 1(2), 100-112. Boekaerts, Monique and Cascallar, Eduardo (2006). “How Far Have We Moved Toward the Integration of Theory and Practice in Self-Regulation?” Educational Psychology Review, 18(3), 199-210. Borkowski, John G. and Thorpe, Pamela K. (1994). “Self-regulation and motivation: a life span perspective on underachievement”, in Self-regulation of Learning and Performance: Issues and Educational Applications, ed. by Dale H. Schunk and Barry J. Zimmerman. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Bouffard, Therese, Marcoux, Marie-France, Vezeau, Carol and Bordeleau, Luce (2003). “Changes in self-perceptions of competence and intrinsic motivation among elementary schoolchildren”, British Journal of Educational Psychology, 73, 171-186. Ericsson, K. Anders, Krampe, Ralf Th. and Tesch-Roemer, Clemens (1993). “The Role of Deliberate Practice in the Acquisition of Expert Performance”, Psychological Review, 100: 63-406. Garcia, Teresa and Pintrich, Paul R. (1994). “Regulating Motivation and Cognition in the Classroom: The Role of Self-Schemas and Self-Regulatory Strategies”, in Selfregulation of Learning and Performance: Issues and Educational Applications, ed. by Dale H. Schunk and Barry J. Zimmerman Hillsdale. NJ:Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. 127-153. Graham, S., Harris, K.R. and Troia, G.A. (1998). “Writing and Self-Regulation: Cases from the Self-Regulated Strategy Development Model”, in Self-Regulated Learning: From Teaching to Self-Reflective Practice, ed. by Dale H. Schunk and Barry J. Zimmerman. New York: The Guilford Press. 20-42. Gruson, Linda M. (1988). “Rehearsal skill and musical competence: does practice make perfect?”, in Generative processes in music: The psychology of performance, improvisation and composition ed. by John A. Sloboda. Oxford, England: Carendon Press. 91112. Hallam, Susan (1995). “Professional Musicians’ Approaches to the Learning and Interpretation of Music”, Psychology of Music, 23: 11-128. Hallam, Susan (2001). “The development of metacognition in musicians: Implication for education”, British Journal of Music Education, 18 (1): 27-39. Hallam, Susan (2006). “Music Psychology in Education. London: Institute of Education“, Univerity of London. Hofer, Barbara K., Yu, Shirley L. and Pintrich, Paul R. (1998). “Teaching College Students to Be Self-Regulated Learners”, in Self-Regulated Learning: From Teaching to SelfReflective Practice, ed. by Dale H. Schunk and Barry J. Zimmerman. New York: The Guilford Press. 57-85. Hudoklin, Mateja (2004). “Vpliv metakognitivnih sposobnosti na učno učinkovitost in nekatere osebnostne lastnosti učencev”. Magistrska naloga. Ljubljana: Univerza v Ljubljani, Oddelek za psihologijo. Požarnik-Marentič, Barica (2000). “Psihologija učenja in pouka“, Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije McCormic, John and McPherson, Gary (2003). “The role of self-efficacy in a musical performance examination: an exploratory structural equation analysis”, Psychology of Music, 31 (1): 37-51.

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McPherson, Gary E. and McCormic, John (1999). “Motivational and Self-Regulated Learning Components of Music Practice”, Bulletin of the Council for Research in Music Education 141: 98-102. McPherson, Gary E. and Renwick, James M. (2001). “A Longitudinal Study of Selfregulation in Children’s Musical Practice”, Music Education Research, 3 (2): 169186. McPherson, Gary E. (2005). “From child to musician: skill development during the beginning stages of learning an instrument”, Psychology of Music, 33 (1): 5-35. Nielsen, Siw G. (1999). “Learning Strategies in Instrumental Music”, British Journal of Music Education, 16 (3): 275-291. Nielsen, Siw. (2001). “Self-regulating Learning Strategies in Instrumental Music Practice”, Music Education Research, 3 (2): 55-86. Nielsen, Siw. (2004). “Strategies and self-efficacy beliefs in instrumental and vocal individual practice: a study of students in higher music education”, Psychology of Music, 32, 4, 418-431. Pečjak, Sonja and Košir, Katja (2003). “Pojmovanje in uporaba učnih strategij pri samoregulacijskem učenju pri učencih osnovne šole”, Psihološka obzorja, 12,(4): 49-70. Pečjak, Sonja and Košir, Katja (2002). “Poglavja iz pedagoške psihologije: izbrane teme“, Ljubljana: Filozofska fakulteta, Oddelek za psihologijo. Peklaj, Cirila (2000). “Samoregulativni mehanizmi pri učenju”, Sodobna pedagogika, 3: 136149. Peklaj, Cirila (2001). “Metacognitive, affective-motivational processes in self-regulated learning and students’ achievement in native language”, Psihološka obzorja, 10 (3): 7-19. Peklaj, Cirila and Pečjak, Sonja (2002). “Differences in students’ self-regulated learning according to their achievement and sex”, Studia psychologica, 44: 29-43. Peklaj, Cirila in Vodopivec, Blaž (1998). “Metacognitive, affective-motivational processes and student achievement in mathematic”, Studia Psychologica, 40, 3, 197-209. Pintrich, Paul R. and De Groot, ElisabethV. (1990). “Motivational and Self-Regulated Learning Components of Classroom Academic Performance”, Journal of Educational Psychology, 82 (1): 33-40. Pintrich, Paul R. and Schunk, Dale H. (2002). Motivation in Education: Theory, Research and Application. (2nd ed.). Upper Saddle River, NJ: Merrill Prentice Hall. Poklay, Patricia and Blumenfeld, Phyllis C. 1990. “Predicting Achievement Early and Late in the Semeter: The Role of Motivation and Use of Learning Strategies”, Journal of Educational Psychology, 82 (1): 51-59. Puklek-Levpušček, Melita (2001). “Doživljanje vedenja učiteljev, motivacijska prepričanja in samoregulativno učenje pri različno starih mladostnikih”, Psihološka obzorja, 10, 4, 49-61. Schunk, Dale H. (2001). “Social cognitive Theory and Self-Regulated Learning”, in SelfRegulated Learning and Academic Achievement: theoretical perspectives, ed. by Barry J. Zimmerman and Dale H. Schunk. Mahwah: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers. Schunk, Dale H. and Zimmerman, Barry J. (1998). “Conclusions and Future Directions for Academic Interventions” in Self-Regulated Learning: From Teaching to SelfReflective Practice, ed. by Dale H. Schunk and Barry J. Zimmerman. New York: The Guilfor Press. 225 - 236.

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Sloboda, John and Davidson, Jane (1996). “The young performing musician”, in Musical Beginnings: Origins and development of musical competence, ed. by Irene Deliege and John Sloboda. New York: Oxford University Press. Smith, Bret P. (2005). “Goal orientation, implicit theory of ability and collegiate instrumental music Practice”, Psychology of Music, 33 (1): 36-57. Smolej Fritz, Barbara (2006). Motivacijski, kognitivni in metakognitivni vidiki samoregulativnega učenja pri nauku o glasbi. Doktorska naloga. Ljubljana: Univerza v Ljubljani, Oddelek za psihologijo. Zimmerman, Barry J. (1998). “Developing Self-Fulfilling Cycles of Academic Regulation: An Analysis of Exemplary Instructional Models”, in Self-Regulated Learning: From Teaching to Self-Reflective Practice, ed. by Dale H. Schunk and Barry J. Zimmerman. New York: The Guilfor Press. 1-19. Zimmerman, Barry J. and Martinez-Pons, Manuel (1990). “Student Differences in SelfRegulated Learning: Relating Grade, Sex, and Giftedness to Self-Efficacy and Strategy Use”, Journal of Educational Psychology, 82 (1): 51-59.

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Lasanthi Manaranjanie Kanlinga Dona (University of Colombo, Sri Lanka)

Music Therapy: Sri Lankan Approaches Even though music continues to be used as a healing force to alleviate illness and distress throughout the human history, the specific discipline named “music therapy” is a rather recent phenomenon and understandings of what constitutes music therapy vary both within and across countries (comp. Bunt 2001:535). The belief in music’s healing power probably points to a basic anthropogenic ability of the humans to be psychosomatically influenced by music. Wolfgang Mastnak sees considerable potential in relating non-European practices to modern music therapy and in accomodation of non-European methods to western psychotherapy. In his words, “the issue is to reveal the anthropogenic core which is responsible for the ‘music theraputic’ effect and appears as transculturally invariable” (Mastnak 1993: 80). “The history of music therapy reveals that new findings in dominant philosophical or scientific thought have often been assimilated as new rationales for the use of music in treating diseases and in maintaining health” (Ruud 1998: 49). Likewise, music continues to be used as a therapeutic tool among Sinhalese majority in Sri Lanka as an integrated art with dance, drama, masks, and other artistic components. Even though several religions co-exist in the island, including Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, and sets of beliefs practiced by the indigenous Vedda people1, Buddhism appears to be the prevalent religion in both spatial and temporal terms. While seeking spiritual bliss through Buddhism, people practice rituals to fulfill psychological needs of everyday life. Just like Christianity in Europe and elsewhere, Buddhism has not, and probably could not eradicate deeply rooted popular beliefs in gods and demons from the minds of the believers. Ritual Practices Vivid and highly elaborated ritual practices with therapeutical outcomes help individuals and communities in Sri Lanka to deal with dangers and to reduce or eliminate suffering due to ilnesses. Abnormal fears, continuous illnesses, or epidemics usually make people seek help from an astrologist, a buddhist monk, or a traditional healer. Discussing the problem with any of these three trustworthy individuals, and often with all three of them, helps in understanding and solving it. For instance, pregnant woman visits Buddhist temple to receive monk’s blessing through his chanting of a pirit and through binding a thread around her wrist. After delivering the child, she visits astrologists to obtain horoscope and learn whether there is a need for a suitable ritual. Then she calls 1

More about Veddas’ rituals can be found in Pertold 1973.

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for a traditional healer who conducts the ritual. As another example, Sri Lankan farmers are known for practicing annual rituals through which they ask gods for good harvest and to protect them from epidemics. In Mastnak’s words, “ the variety of music-therapeutic results ensures that the effect of music on the psyche is based on a multifunctional process comprising physiological, emotional, and cognitive factors as well as on anthropological, cultural and individual conditions “ (1993: 78). The rituals reflect the values, beliefs, needs, and customs of Sri Lankan predominantly agricultural society. They can be divided into three categories in regard to their functions and aims. 1. Those performed for the well-being of the given individual 2. Those conducted annually for the welfare of the given community 3. Those performed for community’s well-being in situations of immediate dangers The rituals generally imply night-long performances and their initial purpose is to propitiate gods and demons by offering oblations. They are specific in a sence that they invoke either deities, planetary deities, or demons. The main ritual practices of Sri Lanka are known as Bali and Tovil. Tovil is considered the most important curative and therapeutic performance, and is practised especially in the low-country of Sri Lanka. Bali refers to the rites dedicated to planetary deities. Bali performance is based on the nine planets, which can be identified as Ravi (Sun), Chandra (Moon), Kuja (Mars), Budha (Mercury), Guru (Jupiter), Sukra (Venus), Sani (Saturn), Rahu (Dragon’s head), and Ketu (Dragon’s tail) (Premakumara De Silva 2000: 23, 24). The purpose of Bali is to bless and protect either an individual or the community when the protection emanating from the planets is weak and the individual or community is vulnerable to malign influences (more in Premakumara De Silva 2000 and Wijesekera 1985). Tovil is conducted to propitiate and exorcise demons. Various regional variants of Tovil in Sri Lankan traditional communities have the same goal: protection from demons. Sanni Yakuma, also known as Daha Ata Sanniya, counts to most elaborated rituals within the Tovil category. It is generally believed that Tovil has capacity to cure thirty-five kinds of diseases related to vata (air), pita (bile), and kapha (phlegm), that diseases are consequences of demons’ possessness. Therefore, Sri Lankans practise this ritual with 18 masks to purge demons’ malefic influences and to relieve themselves from evil sights. The masks are fashioned in such a way that each of them represents the salient feature of a disease. The masks are believed to have the power to remove the affects of demons. Table 1 below provides detailed evidence.

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Disease’s Name (sanni) = Demon’s Name Amukku Abhuta Bhuta Bihiri Deva Gedi Gini Jala Golu Gulma Jala Kana Kora Maru Naga Pissu Pith Slesma Vata

Literal Translation

Associated Syndromes

Vomiting bouts Non-spirit related Spirit related Deaf Divine Lumps Great fire or flame Dumb Worms (hookworm)

Vomiting and stomach diseases Non-spirit-related insanity Spirit-related insanity Deafness Epidemic diseases Boils and skin diseases Malaria and high fevers Dumbness Parasitic worms and stomach diseases Water or diarrhea Cholera and chills Blind Blindness Lame Lameness and paralysis Death Delirium and death Snake (esp. cobra) Bad dreams about snakes Insanity Temporary insanity Bilious Bilious diseases Phlegm Phlegm and epilepsy Wind humor or Flatulence and rheumatism rheumatic

Table 1: The Eighteen Essential Categories of Tovil The ritual starts with a masked practitioner who enters the arena following drum beat and healers’ rhythmicized poetic introduction. The healer’s role is to explain the meaning of each mask to the gathered people (Amarasekara 2002: 36). Some of the masks are presented on pictures 1-42.

2

The pictured images belong to the collection of the University of Visual and Performing Arts in Colombo, Sri Lanka. They were photographed by the author in July 2007. Shapes of the masks and their names vary from one locality to another, more details in Wijesekera 1989.

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Picture 1: Gini Jala Sanniya (Malaria and High Fever)

Picture 2: Golu Sanniya (Dumbness)

Picture 3: Kana Sanniya (Blindness)

Picture 4: Naga Sanniya (Bad Dreams about Snakes)

The complex and elaborated ritual includes intense singing, drumming, and dancing. The belief that such coordinated and joint effect of voice, drum, movement, and mask has strong healing potential is deeply rooted. Leslie Bunt’s remark that “of all the elements, rhythm is often given a central position within music therapy because of its potential to focus energy and bring structure and order” (2001: 536) is fully applicable to the Sri Lankan case. Apart from drumming, fearful appearance and aggressive behavior of the masked practitioner helps purge sick person’s emotions and arouse excitement. At the end of ritual, the performers are called upon to bless the audience and

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consequently increase the fertility of crops and herds, ensure health, and release people from malefic influences. Ayurvedic Medicine The term ‘Ayurveda’ is a combination of two Sanskrit words: “Ayur” (ayuh) which means life and “Veda”, which means science. It could therefore be translated and understood as “life science” or as Wanninayaka prefers, “the science of life” (Wanninayaka 1982: 1). Ayurvedic medicine, itself of Indian origin, was for the long time the medicine for the majority of Sri Lankans (Kariyawasam 2002: 27); while nowadays it enjoys status, equal to that of the western medicine. In everyday life, Sri Lankans are in a position to choose between Ayurvedic and western treatments and facilities. According to Ayurveda, human being is a conglomerate of three humors (thridosa). Thridosa explains the physio-chemical and physiological activities of the body. The three humors are Vata, Pita, and Kapha. 1. Vata – initiates and promotes biological activity responsible for all the movements in the body. 2. Pita – is responsible for generation of body heat and certain psychological attributes of the individual. Pita is also responsible for digestion and metabolism of the body. 3. Kapha – is providing nutrition to bodily tissues. These three elements exist in dynamic equilibrium and help maintaining human body in a healthy condition. Ayurveda looks at diseases as a state of disharmony in the body as a whole and the treatment is, therefore, aimed at the restoration of equilibrium. With the establishment of the colonial rule, by Portuguese, followed by Dutch and English (1505-1948), indigenous arts and traditional knowledge, including Ayurveda, were deprived from official support. In spite of unfavorable conditions, Ayurveda has not been abandoned by the Sri Lankans. Majority of the people, particularly in rural areas depended on Ayurvedic treatment in dealing with their illnesses. The 1920s were marked by the increased interest in Ayurveda and setting up of the Ayurvdic College and hospital at Borella in 1929 was certainly a major landmark in the movement for its revival (Wanninayaka 1982: 9-11). Traditional Ayurvedic physicians, i.e. those who have received no formal institutional training acquired proficiency by serving a teacher for a long period of times as apprentices. The emphasis in their education was on the practical aspects such as preparation of herbal medications and their application to the patients. The apprentice takes the lead over from the teacher when the latter ceased to practice, thus ensuring the transfer of accumulated therapeutic knowledge from generation to generation. Secrets of successful healing used to be jealously guarded as intellectual property within particular families of

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Ayurvedic physicians and transmitted only to the involved members of own families. Institutionalized university education in Ayurvedic medicine is currently available at two Sri Lankan universities and lasts five years. Successful traditional Ayurvedic practitioners are invited to various capacities to share their knowledge and experiences with the students. There is no prescribed use of music within the complex of Ayurvedic medicine. However when the patients suffer from such psychosomatic diseases that the Ayurveda cannot cure, Ayurvedic doctors recommend them to go for either rituals or western medicine. Ayurvedic hospitals provide specialized treatment for snake bites, boils and carbuncles, fractures and dislocations, eye diseases, mental diseases and children’s diseases. Ayurveda has two lines of treatment: Samana Karma and Sodhana Karma. Samana does not eliminate but merely subsides the vitiated dosa (problems). Sodhana on the other hand eliminates the vitiated dosa from the body. It is, therefore, recognized as a better form of treatment than Samana (Wanninayaka 1982: 21). Ayurvedic medicine recognizes the importance of ritual practices such as Bali and Tovil, and names them Bhuta Vidya. This name refers to ritual practices’ potential to remove malevolent influences of devils, deities and planetary deities (comp. Seelaratana 2005: 2). Amarasiri Ponnamperuma points to several Ayurvedic books that vividly explain the role of rituals in treatment of various diseases, Ba laGraha Sha ntiya by Tambi Appu (1867) and Kuma raoushadha Ma la wa by A. J. Perera (1980) being the most important among them. Ba laGraha Sha ntiya refers in great detail to planetary rituals. It provides in-depth description of childhood diseases and their healing through ritual practices. One of the most indicative cases is related to a month old children who are believed to be possessed by a female devil named Puputana Sikhini and should be treated through a specific ritual practice (comp. Ponnamperuma 1999: 35-37). Tony Wigram’s opinion that “after nearly 250 years of separation, medicine, health psychology and music therapy are approaching each other again, realizing that man is not a ‘machine’, but a complex, bio-psycho-social being” (in Wigram, Nygaard Pedersen and Bonde 2002: 21) provides a useful point concerning the shared, broader understanding of disease within the Ayurvedic and western medical domains. Western Medicine According to one of the leading theorists of music therapy in the western world, the Norwegian Even Ruud, “music therapy is the use of music and/ or its musical elements (sound, rhythm, melody and harmony) by a music therapist, and client or group, in a process designed to facilitate and promote communication, relationship, learning, mobilization, expression and organization (physical, emotional, mental, social and cognitive) in order to develop potentials and develop or restore functions of the individual so that he

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or she can achieve better intra- and/or interpersonal integration and, consequently, a better quality life” (Ruud 1998: 52-53). An ever increasing number of Sri Lankans is getting access to western values, habits and medical assistance. Consequently, indigenous ritual practices and Ayurvedic medicine, which in most cases does not offer instant remedy and does not claim efficiency in curing the entire spectrum of diseases, are gradually losing prominence compared to western medicine. Nowadays rituals are practiced rather rarely, even in villages. Sometimes they can be experienced in the urban contexts, but more as showcases for educational, preservational, or exhibitional purposes than as events determined by the healing function. So far, music therapy as a scholarly practice has not been institutionalized within the western medical system in Sri Lanka. But, rather recently T.L.S.S. Siritunga, himself a doctor of western medicine, has completed a MD dissertation based on research in music therapy. In this pioneer research within the context of Sri Lanka, the scholar has tested the impact of Indian classical music on heart patients and proved that the patients’ exposure to music in raga Darbhari Kanada3 considerably improved their health condition.4 From December 2006 on, music therapy is practiced as a part of the Heart Rehabilitation program at the Cardiology Unit of the General Hospital in Colombo. It has been introduced by cardiologist, Dr. Ruwan Ekanayake. Patients who suffered from heart-attacks and underwent heart operations were required to attend all together ten sessions of the heart rehabilitation program that included diet, medications, and music therapy. The aim of the program, held twice a week, is to improve physical, mental, social and spiritual conditions of the patients. Artists are invited to the sessions once a month to perform well-known songs that use the modes from the Indian classical music. Sessions are interactive and require patients’ participation in singing, clapping, and discussing aesthetic and therapeutical values of the songs. Dr. Ekanayake’s experience with the sessions is overwhelmingly positive. Music therapy has helped patients to modify their mental and spiritual values and to reduce their fears related to the situations that brought them to the state of hospitalization. The effectiveness of this therapeutic procedure however still awaits scientific evaluation.5 So far, one can notify that it corresponds to Even Ruud’s notion that music “strengthens our emotional awareness, installs a sense of agency, fosters belongingness, and provides meaning and coherence in life” (1998: 49). Table 2 shows the comparison between three remedial systems practiced in Sri Lanka. 3

Raga refers to a melodic mode in Indian classical music, and Darbhari Kanada is the name of a specific raga. Dr. T.L.S.S. Siritunga was interviewed by the author of this article at the National Institute of Health Sciences, Navinna, Kalutara on 27th August 2008 5 Dr. Ruwan Ekanayake was interviewed by the author of this article at the General Hospital in Colombo on 15th August 2008. 4

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Ritual Practices Involved Parties Astrologist, Traditional healer, Buddhist monk + Individual patient or community Aim Individual wellbeing, community well-being Therapeutic Elaborated ritual Means practices Place

Time

Medication Role of Music

Ayurvedic Medicine

Western Medicine

Ayurvedic doctor

Doctor

+ Patient

+ Patient

Individual being

well- Individual wellbeing

Basically herbal products and Ayurvedic procedures Indoors and out- Indoors – at doors: at patient’s patient’s house or house, temple, or in medical facility village field Night long Mainly long-term performance treatment lasting up to one week None Time consuming hand-made herbal medicine Core of the event None

Western pharmaceuticals and procedures Indoors – in medical facility The shorter the better treatment Readymade pharmaceutical drugs Additional support

Table 2: Comparison Between Three Remedial Systems Practiced in Sri Lanka Interactions Survey of the three remedial systems in Sri Lanka would be incomplete without a reference to the question of their mutual relationships. In Sri Lanka, as in several other Asian countries, there is a growing interest in the procedures and experiences coming from integration of medical systems for the sake of efficiency in treating the patients.

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Practitioners of the three categories of healers introduced in this paper interact in a variety of ways and their relationship is so far more flexible and mutually appreciative than in many western contexts, where “the official medicine” and “alternative healing practices” are often at odds with each other. In Sri Lanka, if the practitioners of one system cannot provide effective cure, they feel comfortable at sending their patients to the practitioners of any other of the two branches. For instance, practitioners of western medicine treat emergency cases of broken arms or legs, but recommend their patients to seek assistance from Ayurvedic doctors in cases of permanent remedies. In cases of life-threatening acute diseases like heart cases, Ayurvedic doctors are likely to recommend western medical assistance. This is due to the fact that Ayurvedic medicine deals with the causes of diseases within long-run procedures, which may not be suitable for life-threatening situations. Rituals are generally considered effective in dealing with acute psychic disorders, such as fears, and therefore limited to their cure. For instance, gynecologist Dr. Upali Marasinghe from the Colombo Maternity Hospital recommends to pregnant women who are suffering from uncontrollable fears to listen to recorded ritual music for the sake of relief. Conclusion I find myself in agreement with scholars such as Michael Rohrbacher and Wolfgang Mastnak, who advocate openness towards indigenous healing methods and discuss potential benefit of non-European healing experiences for the holistically conceptualized modern discipline of music therapy. In Mastnak’s words, “the basic idea of transforming indigenous healing methods for modern psychotherapeutic reasons is to reactivate those common human abilities which are mainly repressed within our rational and profit-orientated society” (Mastnak 1993: 81). Just like Rohrbacher, I find particularly useful the links between music therapy and ethnomusicology. The fact that “the concept of functions of music therapy is borrowed from the discipline of ethnomusicology” (Rohrbacher 2007: 3) is particularly important. Nevertheless, the newly established sub-field named “medical ethnomusicology” provides the essential framework for cross-cultural research and cooperation. Its carriers defined medical ethnomusicology as “a new field of integrative research and applied practice, which explores holistically the roles of music and sound phenomena and related praxes in any cultural and clinical context of health and healing” (Bakan et al. 2008: 168).

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References Amarasekara, Tilakadasa, Daha Ata Sanniya Ya ga Vidhi Vimarshanaya. Colombo: (self publishing), 2002, 245. Bakan, Michael B. et al., “Following Frank: Response-Ability and the Co-Creation of Culuture in a Medical Ethnomusicology Program for Children on the Autism Spectrum”, Ethnomusicology LII/2, 2008. 163-202. Bunt, Leslie, “Music Therapy”, in : The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians 17. London: Macmillan Publishers, 2001, 542. Kariyawasam, Tissa, Sri La nkika A yurve daye Petikadak.Colombo: S. Godage Publishers, 2002, 112. Mastnak, Wolfgang, “Non-Western Practices of Healing - Music and Applications for Modern Psychotherapy”, International Review for the Aesthetics and Sociology of Music, XXIV/1, 1993, 77-84. Pertold, Otakar, The Ceremonial Dances of the Sinhalese. Dehiwala: Tisara Publishers, 1973, 142. Ponnamperuma, Amarasiri, A yurve da Vimarshana. Matthegoda: Tidula Publishers, 1999, 111. Premakumara De Silva, D. A., Globalization and the Transformation of Planetary Rituals in Southern Sri Lanka. Colombo: International Center for Ethnic Studies, 2000, 122. Rohrbacher, Michael J., Functions of Music Therapy for Persons with Alzheimer’s Disease & Related Disorders: Model Demonstration Program in Adult Day Healthcare. Winchester: The Adult Care Center of the Northern Shenandoah Valley, 2007, 101. Ruud, Even, Music Therapy: Improvisation, Communication, and Culture. Gilsum: Barcelona Publishers, 1998, 204. Seelaratana, Talaliriyawe, Sri Lanka we Ro ga Suvayata Yodana Sha nti Krama. Colombo: S. Godage Publishers, 2005, 100. Wanninayaka, P.B., Ayurveda in Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka: Ministry of Health, 1982, 88. Wigram, Tony, Inge Nygaard Pedersen and Lars Ole Bonde, A Comprehensive Guide to Music Therapy: Theory, Clinical Practice, Research and Training. London: Jessica Kingley Publishers, 2002, 381. Wijesekara, Nandadeva, Deities and Demons Magic and Masks- Part I. Colombo: M.D. Gunasena & Co, 1985, 151. Wijesekara, Nandadeva, Deities and Demons Magic and Masks- Part II. Colombo: M.D. Gunasena & Co, 1989, 341.

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