Semionauts of Tradition: Music, Culture and Identity in Contemporary Singapore [1st ed.] 978-981-13-1010-2, 978-981-13-1011-9

Table of contents :
Front Matter ....Pages i-xiv
Introduction (Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray, Chee-Hoo Lum)....Pages 1-12
WhereGot Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music: Conundrums and Alternatives (Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray)....Pages 13-47
Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from A Contemporary Instrumental Group in Singapore (Chee-Hoo Lum)....Pages 49-69
NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition (Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray)....Pages 71-106
Fusion Through the Gaze of Singaporean Contemporary Musicians: Confluence, Syncretism, Hybridity or Mere Confusion (Chee-Hoo Lum)....Pages 107-123
Chinese Identity and the Quest for Cool Among Singaporean Chinese Musicians (Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray)....Pages 125-156
Playing with Nostalgia: Translation of Artistic Directions of Contemporary Musicians in Singapore (Chee-Hoo Lum)....Pages 157-181
Fieldwork in Singapore’s Music Scene: Reflections and Dimensions to Explore (Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray)....Pages 183-203
Musicians’ Responses (Tan Qing Lun, Tse Natalie Alexandra, Halid Syafiq, Rajasekaran Raghavendran, Guo Ming, Wang Wei Yang et al.)....Pages 205-223
Descriptive Glossary (Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray, Chee-Hoo Lum)....Pages 225-249

Citation preview

Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray Chee-Hoo Lum

Semionauts of Tradition Music, Culture and Identity in Contemporary Singapore

Semionauts of Tradition

Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray • Chee-Hoo Lum

Semionauts of Tradition Music, Culture and Identity in Contemporary Singapore

Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray National Institute of Education Nanyang Technological University Singapore, Singapore

Chee-Hoo Lum National Institute of Education Nanyang Technological University Singapore, Singapore

ISBN 978-981-13-1010-2    ISBN 978-981-13-1011-9 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9 Library of Congress Control Number: 2018953886 © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover art: Carl Burton This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

Acknowledgments

This research project was made possible through a competitive grant by the National Institute of Education (NIE) Academic Research Fund (AcRF). The NIE AcRF grant, for which we are immensely grateful, funded over 8 months of fieldwork, the production of a documentary film, four public events aimed at showcasing the work of some of the music groups we studied, and our time spent writing up our research. We would like to thank Springer’s Lawrence Liu, Jayanthie Krishnan, and Ameena Jaafar, whose support helped make our book project a published reality, as well as Jeremy Monteiro, Deborah Pacini Hernandez, Eric Watson, and Liora Bresler for kindly reading the manuscript and giving their support for the book. A big thank you to Carl Burton for his cover art and to Randy for the consultation on the cover design. Last but not least, we would like to thank all the musicians who participated in our research, for sharing their stories and opening their lives to us, over the course of many months, always with great generosity and patience. We are very grateful to them for welcoming us into their studios; letting us sit in during their rehearsals, meetings, and social gatherings; and giving us CDs and invites to their shows. Their passion for music and their tireless determination to pursue their art in the face of formidable challenges are truly inspiring. We especially would like to express our endless gratitude to the musicians who took time to read, give feedback, and write a response to our chapters and whose words can be found in Chapter 9.

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Contents

1 Introduction.............................................................................................. 1 Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray and Chee-Hoo Lum 1.1 Theoretical Groundings.................................................................... 3 1.2 Applications to Our Research Context............................................. 5 1.3 Limitations to the Local Context...................................................... 6 1.4 A Book of Many Voices.................................................................... 8 1.5 Chapter Offerings.............................................................................. 8 References.................................................................................................. 12 2 Where Got Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music: Conundrums and Alternatives............................................... 13 Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray 2.1 Introduction....................................................................................... 13 2.2 Part 1: A Top-Down Singapore Sound.............................................. 15 2.2.1 Building National Identity Through Music and Cultural Policy: A Brief History.................................... 15 2.2.2 Engaging with the Top-Down Singapore Sound................... 19 2.3 Part 2: Critiques and Implications of the Top-Down Singapore Sound............................................................................... 25 2.3.1 Ambiguous Categories and Gatekeeping.............................. 25 2.3.2 Formulaic Rojak.................................................................... 27 2.3.3 Gestural Inclusion................................................................. 28 2.3.4 Rigid “Racial” Categories..................................................... 30 2.3.5 Branding + Patronage + Performance: A Perilous Triangle................................................................................. 31 2.4 Part 3: Reappraising the Notion of the Singapore Sound from the Ground Up.......................................................................... 34 2.4.1 A Sapling Metaphor.............................................................. 34 2.4.2 Identity Crisis........................................................................ 36

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2.4.3 Building an Audience........................................................... 38 2.4.4 “Just Be You”........................................................................ 39 2.5 Final Thoughts.................................................................................. 41 References.................................................................................................. 44

3 Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from A Contemporary Instrumental Group in Singapore.......................................................... 49 Chee-Hoo Lum 3.1 Introduction....................................................................................... 49 3.2 A Note on Data Collection and Analysis.......................................... 50 3.3 Theoretical Musings.......................................................................... 50 3.3.1 Collaborative Creativity........................................................ 50 3.4 Findings............................................................................................ 53 3.4.1 Time and Space..................................................................... 53 3.4.2 Creative Context................................................................... 54 3.4.3 Pushing Creatively................................................................ 54 3.4.4 Leadership and Facilitation................................................... 56 3.4.5 Jamming................................................................................ 57 3.4.6 Dynamics of Instruments...................................................... 60 3.4.7 One-on-One Interaction........................................................ 60 3.4.8 Technology........................................................................... 61 3.4.9 Challenging Technical Skills................................................ 62 3.4.10 Key Elements in the Collaborative Creative Process............ 62 3.5 Discussion......................................................................................... 67 References.................................................................................................. 68 4 NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition...... 71 Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray 4.1 Background and Introduction........................................................... 73 4.1.1 Who Is NADI Singapura?..................................................... 73 4.1.2 NADI’s Mission.................................................................... 74 4.1.3 Collective Identity: Contributing Factors and Processes...... 75 4.2 Part 1: Group Unity........................................................................... 76 4.2.1 Community as Family: Articulations of Race and Culture............................................................................ 76 4.2.2 Forging Bonds, Nurturing Values......................................... 78 4.2.3 Gender Dynamics................................................................. 81 4.2.4 Identity Politics..................................................................... 85 4.3 Part 2: Reckoning with Tradition and Attempts at Preservation....... 87 4.3.1 A History of Syncretism....................................................... 87 4.3.2 Problematic Transmission..................................................... 88 4.3.3 Developing Singaporean Malay Traditional Music.............. 90 4.3.4 The Dilemmas of Systematising........................................... 91





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4.4 Part 3: Constructing Tradition........................................................... 94 4.4.1 Romanticising the Kampong................................................. 94 4.4.2 Making Tradition Contemporary.......................................... 97 4.5 Final Thoughts.................................................................................. 99 References.................................................................................................. 103 5 Fusion Through the Gaze of Singaporean Contemporary Musicians: Confluence, Syncretism, Hybridity or Mere Confusion................................................................................... 107 Chee-Hoo Lum 5.1 Introduction....................................................................................... 107 5.2 Chinese Instrumentalists................................................................... 109 5.2.1 The TENG Ensemble............................................................ 109 5.2.2 Nen 念................................................................................... 109 5.2.3 SA(仨)................................................................................... 110 5.3 Indian Instrumentalists...................................................................... 110 5.3.1 Ghanavenothan Retnam........................................................ 110 5.3.2 Raghavendran Rajasekaran (Ragha)..................................... 113 5.3.3 Flame of the Forest............................................................... 114 5.4 Malay Instrumentalists...................................................................... 114 5.4.1 Zubir Abdullah...................................................................... 114 5.4.2 Yaziz Hassan (NADI Singapura).......................................... 116 5.5 Other Instrumentalists/Composers.................................................... 116 5.5.1 Rit Xu.................................................................................... 116 5.5.2 Wang Chenwei...................................................................... 117 5.6 Discussion......................................................................................... 120 References.................................................................................................. 122 6 Chinese Identity and the Quest for Cool Among Singaporean Chinese Musicians.................................................................................... 125 Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray 6.1 Part 1: Making Chinese Tradition Contemporary: Chinese Instrumentalists in Singapore............................................................ 127 6.1.1 The Image Problem of Traditional Chinese Orchestra Music in Singapore............................................................... 128 6.1.2 Western Influence and Cool.................................................. 130 6.1.3 Infusing the Cool of Pop Culture into Tradition................... 132 6.1.4 Reflecting Their Multiple Self–Identities............................. 133 6.1.5 Widening Perspectives About Chinese Instruments and Music.............................................................................. 135 6.1.6 Escaping Chinese Tradition.................................................. 136 6.2 Part 2: Investing in Chinese Identity: Singaporean Musicians Abroad............................................................................................... 139 6.2.1 Expatriation from Singapore: New Dimensions of Ethnic Identity.................................................................. 140 6.2.2 “Part of the Conversation”: Global Identity Politics and Redefining Cool............................................................. 142

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6.2.3 Post-Internet Sino-Futurist Yllis........................................... 143 6.2.4 TZECHAR’s Neo–Confucian Identity................................. 145 6.2.5 Postmodern Global Semionauts............................................ 148 6.3 Final Thoughts.................................................................................. 151 References.................................................................................................. 154

7 Playing with Nostalgia: Translation of Artistic Directions of Contemporary Musicians in Singapore............................................. 157 Chee-Hoo Lum 7.1 Introduction....................................................................................... 157 7.2 Positioning Heritage and Tradition................................................... 158 7.2.1 Riduan Zalani........................................................................ 158 7.2.2 The TENG Ensemble............................................................ 163 7.2.3 Ragha.................................................................................... 165 7.2.4 SA(仨)................................................................................... 169 7.3 Playing with Nostalgia: An Interpretation........................................ 175 References.................................................................................................. 180 8 Fieldwork in Singapore’s Music Scene: Reflections and Dimensions to Explore..................................................................... 183 Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray 8.1 Concerning Our Research Trajectory................................................ 184 8.2 Contending with Conventions........................................................... 186 8.3 The Spaces Between and the “Field” Reframed............................... 187 8.4 Presenting the Self............................................................................ 190 8.5 Gender Dimensions........................................................................... 192 8.6 The Insider/Outsider Dichotomy...................................................... 194 8.7 Musicians and Their Practices in a Mediated Field.......................... 195 8.8 Giving Back to Musicians and the Public......................................... 197 8.9 Final Thoughts.................................................................................. 200 References.................................................................................................. 201 9 Musicians’ Responses.............................................................................. 205 Tan Qing Lun, Tse Natalie Alexandra, Halid Syafiq, Rajasekaran Raghavendran, Guo Ming, Wang Wei Yang, and Lim Benjamin Yi 9.1 Tan Qing Lun’s response to Chapter 2 “Where Got Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music: Conundrums and Alternatives”......................................................... 205 9.2 Natalie Alexandra Tse’s Response to Chapter 3 “Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from a Contemporary Instrumental Group in Singapore”......................................................................... 208 9.3 Syafiq Halid’s Response to Chapter 4 “NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition”............................... 210

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9.4 Raghavendran Rajasekaran’s Response to Chapter 5 “Fusion Through the Gaze of Singapore Contemporary Musicians: Confluence, Syncretism, Hybridity or Mere Confusion”.......................................................................... 212 9.5 Guo Ming (TZECHAR) and Wang Wei Yang (Yllis)’s Response to Chapter 6 “Chinese Identity and the Quest for Cool Among Singaporean Chinese Musicians”..................................................... 213 9.6 Benjamin Lim Yi’s Response to Chapter 7 “Playing with Nostalgia: Translation of Artistic Directions of Contemporary Musicians in Singapore”....................................... 220 References.................................................................................................. 223 10 Descriptive Glossary................................................................................ 225 Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray and Chee-Hoo Lum 10.1 List of Music Groups, in Alphabetical Order.................................. 225 10.2 Additional Interviews...................................................................... 244 10.3 Additional Resource........................................................................ 248

About the Authors

Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray is an anthropologist, writer, and award-winning visual artist based in Singapore and New York City. She obtained an MSc in Anthropology and Development from the London School of Economics, and a BA in Cultural Anthropology from Tufts University. She has conducted anthropological field research among tsunami survivors in Aceh, Central American communities in Boston, the Chinese diaspora in Cuba, indigenous communities in Brazil, and South American migrants in the informal settlements of Buenos Aires. More recently, she has carried out research on music and intercultural theatre in Singapore. Juliette also works as a freelance writer and has published exclusive stories about Singapore’s doomsday preppers, furries, buskers and sneakerheads, as well as on ghost-hunting, sustainable urban farming, and the oldest Teochew opera troupe on the island. Her first book, The Human Spirit Can Overcome Tragedy, is about Acehnese tsunami survivors. Her ethnography of the Central American Solidarity Movement and grassroots organizing was published by the Tufts University Anthropology Department. As a visual artist, she has received several international awards for her documentary and experimental films. Her work has screened at festivals in over 45 countries, including États Généraux du Film Documentaire (France), the Anthology Film Archives (USA), Experiments in Cinema (USA), Cine Esquema Novo (Brazil), Women in Film and TV International Showcase (USA), among others. Juliette’s video art and video installations have shown at galleries in Rio de Janeiro and New  York City. Bringing together her love of anthropology, storytelling and the moving image, she worked as a filmmaking instructor at Rio de Janeiro’s Fluminense Federal University, traveling across Brazil to empower members of indigenous communities to tell their stories through documentary films.  

Chee-Hoo  Lum is associate professor of music education with the Visual and Performing Arts Academic Group at the National Institute of Education (NIE), Nanyang Technological University, Singapore. He is the head of UNESCO-NIE Centre for Arts Research in Education (CARE), part of a region-wide network of observatories stemming from the UNESCO Asia-Pacific Action Plan. He is also the  

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coordinator of the newly formed UNESCO UNITWIN: Arts Education Research for Cultural Diversity and Sustainable Development. Chee-Hoo’s research interests include issues toward identity, cultural diversity and multiculturalism, technology and globalization in music education, children’s musical cultures, creativity and improvisation, and elementary music methods. He is currently the coeditor of IJME (International Journal of Music Education) and on the editorial board of JRME (Journal of Research in Music Education) and RSME (Research Studies in Music Education). He served as a board member of ISME (International Society for Music Education) and APSMER (Asia-Pacific Symposium for Music Education Research) and has previously been an associate editor with IJEA (International Journal of Education and the Arts). Chee-Hoo has published two edited books: (1) Contextualized Practices in Arts Education: An International Dialogue on Singapore and (2) Musical Childhoods of Asia and the Pacific; one coauthored academic book, Teaching Living Legends: Professional Development and Lessons for the 21st Century Music Educator, school textbooks, and academic book chapters, refereed journal articles, and made numerous conference presentations at local and international settings. He has also successfully garnered a number of grant funding research projects (Tier 1 and Tier 2) through NIE OER, NIE AcRF, the National Arts Council, and Mendaki of Singapore.

Chapter 1

Introduction Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray and Chee-Hoo Lum

Contents 1.1  Theoretical Groundings 1.2  Applications to Our Research Context 1.3  Limitations to the Local Context 1.4  A Book of Many Voices 1.5  Chapter Offerings References

   3    5    6    8    8   12

Singapore is a multicultural Southeast Asian nation with rich traditions, forged by complex processes of migration and settlement. It is also a country that is rapidly changing, whose economic policies promoting free trade and the free movement of capital have led to the high penetration rate of technologies and cultural influences from the rest of the world. As a result of these historical processes, Singapore is often taken to be at once hyperglobalised yet firmly grounded in Asian traditions. These phenomena tend to be characterised as two forces pitted against one another, and the struggle to synthesise the two continues to preoccupy Singapore’s leaders in their attempt to characterise a cohesive and overarching national identity (Ang and Stratton 1995; Wee 1996). It is, after all, a question of national importance: that of identity. However, the coexistence between globalisation and traditionalism elicits many interesting questions. Missing from the now clichéd narrative about Singapore as the harmonious embodiment of these two dichotomous forces is an understanding of how these phenomena are experienced from the ground up. How do Singaporeans experience and make sense of this supposed dichotomy (of the contemporary and the traditional) in their constructions of identity? What began with an interest in the confluence of past and present, of tradition and the contemporary, and of local singularity and globalisation grew into a desire to go beyond national narratives about Singaporean identity, and explore the contemporary identities of the country’s creative youth. We narrowed in on local musicians because a significant number of them are engaging directly with questions of identity which are at the nexus between the traditional and the global. We were interested in learning about the dialectic relationship between their personal, cul© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_1

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tural, ethnic and national identities and their musical practices, in other words, we wanted to find out how their identity informs their music and vice versa. As we sought to understand how musicians crystallise their own understandings of tradition and the contemporary and how these notions manifest in their identities and work, we noticed how these artists are constantly drawing from a myriad of sources from contemporary pop culture to the many musical lineages that preceded them, and using these to express themselves artistically. In the initial phase of our research, we set out to study music groups and musicians who played traditional Asian instruments in non-traditional ways: groups like SA(仨), NADI Singapura, RaghaJazz, Flame of the Forest and KULCHA, to name a few. Once we gained a thorough understanding of the constellation of Asian contemporary instrumental ensembles in Singapore, we began to look at other young emerging musicians who do not use traditional instruments but are actively exploring questions of tradition and heritage. Chapter 8 discusses in greater detail our experience and process of fieldwork and explains the evolution of our research direction over the course of the project in greater detail. What we wish to highlight here is the fact that, time and time again, notions of tradition and cultural heritage surfaced in musicians’ narratives about their identities, both personal and musical. And it became clear that many of these young musicians are more interested in constructing new meanings of these terms rather than trying to “preserve” traditional practices in the purist sense. Moreover, as the book will show, when music groups do strive towards such “preservation” and advocate for the “revival” of traditional musical forms, they tend to do so in a way that espouses an open-ended and constructivist interpretation of tradition rather than one that takes it to be static and unchanging (see for instance Chap. 4). Indeed, young Singaporean musicians today are actively (re)constructing notions of tradition, culture and identity in their music, creative processes, discourse and self-representation. They draw from tradition(s) and innovate upon traditional practices to create original sounds and to formulate their unique identities as young emerging artists on the local and international stage. They are (re)inventing traditions through their own exploration and deployment of cultural signs and interpretation of musical history and genealogies. As our field research progressed, we began to think of the musicians’ act of synthesising the traditional and the contemporary as a kind of semionautic practice. The word “semionaut” is composed of the Greek root “naut” – which comes from the Greek word “nautes” for “sailor”, combined with the Greek root “sema” for “sign”. A semionaut therefore is a person who navigates signs. This entails constructing pathways through a field of signs, and creating new and uncharted connections between hitherto unrelated ones. A semionaut of tradition is one that does so with traditional signs or signs relating to tropes and understandings of tradition. As we have described, young Singaporean musicians are navigating through a myriad of musical cultures and ideas associated with the realms of tradition and heritage, and forging new musical trajectories by appropriating, adapting and assimilating repertoires, styles of playing and musical forms from those realms to express what they want to say. The musicians in this book can be considered Singapore’s

1.1  Theoretical Groundings

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very own semionauts of tradition whose creative  (re)interpretations are keeping tradition(s) alive for tomorrow’s Singapore.

1.1  Theoretical Groundings Theoretically speaking, the notion of semionaut also borrows from art critic and curator Nicolas Bourriaud’s use of the term in his work Postproduction (2002), which he further develops in The Radicant (2009). He characterises contemporary artists as cultural nomads who “produce original pathways through signs” (2002, p. 18) by reshuffling, translating and re-signifying pre-existing forms from one context to another, according to what they want them to mean (“au gré du sens”). Bourriaud’s thinking, of course, is born out of the milieu of conceptual art, which sees social life as a set of signs and their possible configurations. He emphasises the reuse and re-signifying of signs as the most important characteristic of the contemporary artist’s work: All these artistic practices, although formally heterogeneous, have in common the recourse to already produced forms. They testify to a willingness to inscribe the work of art within a network of signs and significations, instead of considering it an autonomous or original form (2002, p. 16).

He describes artists as programmers or curators of pre-existing forms, making sense and creating meaning out of the chaos and information overload that is daily life: The artistic question is no longer: “what can we make that is new?” but “how can we make do with what we have?” In other words, how can we produce singularity and meaning from this chaotic mass of objects, names, and references that constitutes our daily life? Artists today program forms more than they compose them: rather than transfigure a raw element (blank canvas, clay, etc.), they remix available forms and make use of data (2002, p. 17).

This argument about re-purposing pre-existing signs into new configurations rings particularly true in the field of music. Technology has changed the way people make music. Since the late 1980s, the advent of digital samplers marked the end of an era (Russ 2008, p. 374–375; Katz 2010). Musicians today have at their fingertips the entire history of recorded sounds, and the use of sampling in music creation and recording is becoming more and more widespread (Sanjek 1994). This trend is visible across all genres and at all levels of the global music industry (take for example, Miley Cyrus’ We Can’t Stop which sampled Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick’s hit La Di Da Di from 1985 or the fascinating history of the famous “Amen Break”). In developing his argument, Bourriaud writes at length about the figure of the DJ, who, in his view, represents the ultimate semionaut. The DJ has refined the art of détournement (the reuse of a work that someone else created, for your own purpose), by appropriating pre-existing music and re-signifying it to the nth degree. Aside from enabling the semionautic strategies of contemporary musicians, technology has also changed the culture and some of the assumptions surrounding

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music-making. It has demystified the aura of the musician as a supposedly “autonomous” creator, and of his or her music as somewhat imbued by the magical uniqueness of non-reproducibility (Benjamin 1969). It has also reduced the importance of “authenticity”  in music, which  relates to how well a work (or a musician) can claim  to express or reflect a particular musical culture (Sanjek 1994, p.  359). However, this new era of music-making should not be seen as marked by loss— whether of authenticity, “originality” or clean-cut ideas about authorship—because as some might argue, these have always been romanticised constructs (Benjamin 1969). Rather, we must recognise that we live in an era of reinterpretation and ­re-signification, in which the creative possibilities for artist-semionauts are as infinite as they have always been but where technology is now enabling this to happen in new ways. As musician Mark Ronson puts it in his 2014 TED talk, we live in the post-sampling era, we take the things that we love and we build on them. That’s just how it goes. And when we really add something significant and original and we merge our musical journey with this, then we have a chance to be a part of the evolution of the music that we love, and be linked with it once it becomes something new again.

Again, the link between the old and the new and their interrelationship through the act of creative innovation points to the importance of transcending any linear understanding of time when thinking about tradition and the contemporary. As technology is facilitating the widespread access to, research and reanimation of the historical archive, it need not be seen as an affront to traditional music but a potential exponent of it. Let us now delve a little deeper into Bourriaud’s concept of the radicant, which is a development of his idea of the semionaut in that, whereas the archivist artist-as-­ semionaut excavates through time, the artist-as-radicant explores across spaces and places. Taking cue from Deleuze and Guattari’s rhizomatic root metaphor, Bourriaud compares contemporary subjects (not just artists) to the botanical family of creepers, known as radicants, that use tendrils to affix themselves onto new surfaces and, in this way, develop both primary and secondary roots. His theory is that people do not depend on a single root that anchors them to a particular soil but, instead, lay down multiple roots as they move and operate in any direction. He describes how a radicant plant adapts to host territories’ slopes, surfaces and topographical features and “translates itself into the terms of the space in which it moves” (2009, p. 51). Bourriaud’s concerns resonate with the questions we posed at the start of our introduction. He proposes the notion of radicantity as a useful way to grasp individual strategy in context of current global dynamics: With its at once dynamic and dialogical signification, the adjective “radicant” captures this contemporary subject, caught between the need for a connection with its environment and the forces of uprooting, between globalisation and singularity, between identity and opening to the other. It defines the subject as an object of negotiation (2009, p. 51).

Radicant strategies allow for contemporary subjects to construct their identity through accretion (the adding of new layers) and by organising signs “in order to multiply one identity by another” (2009, p. 52). The idea of the radicant is opposed to that of the radical (relating to the “root”) which is at the core of the modernist

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paradigm, and which seeks the origin, the source of purity, and the ideal self or society, through acts of subtraction (2009, p. 50).

1.2  Applications to Our Research Context Both semionaut and radicant strategies are crucial to help us think about and understand how Singaporean musicians are reshaping and re-signifying notions of tradition, traditional music, cultural and ethnic identities, nationhood, selfhood and creative processes. Local musicians deploy these strategies to varying degrees and at varying moments in their lives and careers. They are strategies—and by no means the only ones—used to negotiate their own alternative spaces for personal expression, in a city whose cultural policies and official discourse about multiculturalism, tradition and cultural heritage can sometimes be felt as reductionist and creatively stifling (see Chap. 2). Local musicians are active agents in defining their own identity. They yearn for and strive to achieve the creative space and freedom to express these identities in their music. They do not wish to be boxed into any predefined and externally defined categories, but seek to transcend them. This creative urgency to express oneself and to take charge of one’s identity is part of a wider zeitgeist among Singaporean youth today, but it appears to manifest quite vividly in the music scene. Indeed, the rise in calibre and in the number of local bands and of new releases in recent years has led many to claim we are witnessing a “renaissance” or “golden age” in the Singaporean indie music scene (See n.d.; Hadi 2015). Singapore today benefits from a degree of stability, social harmony and integration that many other societies aspire to. However, its model of multiculturalism is based on ‘racial’ and cultural categories and assumptions that are increasingly perceived as antiquated and essentialising. As recent developments in  local politics show, old models of ‘racial’ and ethnic pluralism in Singapore are facing more and more challenges. The time is ripe to go beyond the reified tale of separate but equal ‘races’ coming together in harmony to form the fabric of Singaporean society. Today’s Singaporean youth have grown up, having been taught to view the world through the lens of “CMIO” (the official classification of people according to ‘race’ that stands for “Chinese/Malay/Indian/Other”). And while it is certainly true that many may instinctively classify themselves and others according to these categories, it is becoming glaringly obvious that the rich tapestry that constitutes Singapore does not fit into these neat ascriptive categories. Moreover, unlike earlier generations of Singaporeans who had stronger ties to ‘ancestral’ nation-states outside of Singapore, younger Singaporeans are increasingly questioning the official CMIO paradigm which is premised upon a naturalised and over-deterministic link between diasporically-constituted communities and their racialised cultural homelands. Chapter 2 delves deeper into these questions through an investigation of the concept of the often evoked, rarely understood “Singapore sound”, as does Chap. 6 in its explorations of Singaporean Chineseness. As the world becomes ever more

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1 Introduction

interconnected, already hyperglobalised Singapore will increasingly be confronted with alterity  and difference, as it will with reactionary civilisationist “us versus them” discourses that strive to divide. To better cope with these changing times, Singaporeans urgently need to rethink their assumptions about ‘race’, culture and identity in this highly diverse nation-state. The figures of the radicant and semionaut helps us to think of identities as porous and fluid, and to refrain from seeing cultural boundaries as fixed, bounded or impermeable. They act as heuristic tools that help us understand the complex processes that constitute and continually (re)construct identity in a globalised, multicultural city like Singapore. By better understanding how Singaporean musicians are negotiating their identities, we are better able to fight against essentialised notions of ‘race’ and culture. In this way, we are able to go beyond the potentially perilous fixation on origins (roots), which has tended to create the illusion of ossified identities and cultural groups (and which in turn provides ammunition for racism and discrimination). These young Singaporean musicians, contemporary artists in their own right, can be seen as global citizens with “no single origin, but rather successive, simultaneous, or alternating acts of enrooting” (Bourriaud 2009, p. 52). Their stories testify to the heterogeneity of identity and processes of identity formation, and to the fluidity, constructedness and multiplicity of cultural and ethnic attachments. By focusing on these musicians’ semionautic strategies and  processes of enrooting, we hope to highlight the organic multiplicity that is already thriving in our midst, and demonstrate its radical significance to Singapore, if not, the world.

1.3  Limitations to the Local Context While the ideas of the  semionaut and the radicant help us better understand  the identities of contemporary Singaporean musicians, it is important to add certain caveats. There are important limitations to the application of Bourriaud’s theories to the Singaporean context. Firstly, Bourriaud’s semionaut is somewhat idealised in that the culturally nomadic artist enjoys seemingly unlimited freedom and appears untethered by economic hardship, national borders or any form of disempowerment and social inequality. A closer look at power dynamics, inequity and class is clearly missing from Bourriaud’s otherwise appealing theorisations. For example, in today’s current global  geopolitical climate, it is obvious that  national borders may be  extremely difficult to cross depending on one’s passport, religion or phenotype. Indeed, some of the Singaporean musicians we followed are simply not able to lead the privileged lifestyles of the contemporary-artist-as-global-citizen that Bourriaud describes. Secondly, Bourriaud posits a kind of egalitarian world where everyone has access to any sign which she/he may appropriate and re-signify at will. For him, there are no strict cultural, national, physical or temporal boundaries, and every aspect of culture, history and tradition is potential creative raw material. This assumption of free individual choice is not realistic, because not everyone may have access to any

1.3  Limitations to the Local Context

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tradition or cultural sign like Bourriaud’s semionauts do, and not every cultural product or practice can unproblematically and legitimately be appropriated for creative ends. Indeed, tradition cannot be—nor should it be—easily abstracted from its historical, cultural and sociopolitical context and the networks of meaning in which it is inscribed. As many postcolonial theorists have cautioned: when power is at play, cultural appropriation, even for artistic purposes, can become a form of imperialism and oppression. For instance, Barucha (2014) refutes the purported “culture of choice” by rejecting liberal individualism’s “principles of free access or ‘opendoor’ policy”, and pointing out that there are different contexts and laws defining cultural ownership and belonging around the world (p. 191). Thirdly, Bourriaud’s analysis downplays the continuing salience of ethnic and ‘racial’ solidarities, and attachment to symbols of national belonging, and to the idea of “roots” in people’s identities and worldviews. Indeed, such attachments are quite present, though in varying degrees, in the lives of Singaporean musicians. Indeed, most of them express a significant degree of rootedness to Singapore. Despite the challenges of earning a living through music, various elements tie them to the country: family duties, friendships, a sense of belonging, a sense of responsibility and desire to build up the local music scene, etc. We also noticed that a number of musicians identify themselves in ‘racial’ terms and think of culture and ‘race’ as interchangeable, thus mirroring the official CMIO paradigm. These sentiments and factors undeniably impact the semionautic practices of Singaporean musicians. As this book shows, these artists are firmly situated within the Singaporean context, and their notion of “roots” and sense of belonging to national, cultural and ‘racial’ groups cannot be underestimated. Lastly, the context faced by contemporary artists who are already inserted within the global art industry/market is quite different from the universe within which emerging Singaporean musicians exist. Bourriaud envisions a fluid, borderless, global arena in which deterritorialised artist-semionauts roam freely, and personal agency trumps ‘structure’. Musicians in Singapore, however, must overcome many constraints in order to practice their art. Most will tell you it is not a particularly conducive place to dedicate oneself to creative expression and to make a living as a musician. Moreover, ‘structure’ heavily influences agency. Some artists feel they have been inculcated (some even use the term “indoctrinated”) particular beliefs and patterns of thinking through the local education system, official political discourse and the mainstream media. These habits of thinking which inform how one ends up thinking about notions of heritage, selfhood, nation, creativity and identity will all affect any individual’s artistic process. Despite these overarching structures, Singaporean musicians are exerting their own agency as best they can. While they may not be semionauts to the full extent that Bourriaud has described, these young artists do employ semionautic and radicant strategies in the construction of their identities, and in their artistic practice, intellectual discourse and personal lives. Singaporean musicians can be said to be simultaneously rooted and radicant, embodying each at different moments and to varying degrees depending on the context. They may perform exotifications of self in one context and critique and take a stand against that in others. And they may

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evoke the importance of their “roots”, just as comfortably as they re-signify and reinterpret what those “roots” mean to them.

1.4  A Book of Many Voices Analysing the social identities of contemporary subjects can be done from many angles. Every individual is an amalgam of multiple, interconnected identities whether cultural, national, ethnic, gender, religious, artistic (and the list goes on). This book focuses on several of these—notably, the creative, cultural, ethnic and national identities of young Singaporean musicians and music groups, and their interrelation with the traditional and the contemporary. This book therefore is not an overview of the entire Singaporean music scene but rather an attempt to analyse these specific aspects of musicians’ identities from a multidisciplinary perspective. Given the myriad of components that makes up any individual’s identity, narrowing the topic down to these few aspects was difficult, more so because of the intersectionality of these multiple social identities. Nonetheless, our research had to be carried out within the means of our project, and we did our best  not to  preclude the  analysis of  other social identities should  they emerge  during our research process. Since the initial research question was relatively open-ended and our scope was quite broad, each researcher was free to identify specific questions to narrow in on during the course of our fieldwork. Given our distinct academic backgrounds, we ended up developing different angles of research, as we looked at the same data through our own distinct subjective lenses. Readers will notice how Chee-Hoo’s chapters are strongly influenced by the fields of arts education and ethnomusicology, while Juliette’s engage with the fields of anthropology and cultural studies. The book’s multidisciplinary nature was, to put it quite honestly, a happy accident rather than a concerted effort. We embraced it as we found that this multiplicity of perspectives, writing styles and theoretical approaches best portrays the heterogeneity of social life. We hope that this book will contribute to a deeper understanding of the diverse,  fluid, interconnected, and constantly evolving assemblages that make up Singaporean musicians’ contemporary identities and creative practices.

1.5  Chapter Offerings Chapter 2 brings readers into the heart of the debate about the existence and nature of the so-called “Singapore sound”. It examines the top-down push to represent national identity in music by tracing the historical background of cultural policies in Singapore. The current search for a “uniquely Singapore sound” is analysed as a continuation of the agenda to build a national identity hinging on racial pluralism and the values of

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unity and harmony in diversity. The chapter explores how these official attributes of Singaporean national identity are “translated”, somewhat literally, into musical outcomes or transposed upon music groups, and how this sometimes becomes the means to brand a group and its music. Looking at how some contemporary Singaporean music groups variously engage with the top-down idea of a Singapore sound, the chapter looks at the appeal of creating culture and art that aligns itself with official narratives of the nation and the various incentive structures that exist to encourage it. The second part of the chapter looks at local musicians’ contestations of the topdown idea of the Singapore sound. They argue that the existing system of incentivisation and prioritising of such a sound may impede genuine creativity, reinforce racialised views of difference, and lead to perfunctory and gestural inclusion. Continuing to draw from the musicians’ perspectives, the third part of the chapter rethinks the Singapore sound from a nondeterministic approach. It represents a more modest and clear-eyed appraisal of the local music scene through the voices of the musicians. The Singapore sound is understood here more  as an aspirational ideal rather than a reality, and musicians point to the vacuity of such a notion in context of a current environment that fails to appreciate local ‘original’ music. This chapter is an interesting starting point to think about the tensions between the “radical” and the “radicant” in contemporary Singaporean society. The desire to identify and reify the “roots” is strong  in national narratives. But today’s young musicians show how their multiple enrootings and their semionautic identity-­ making are shifting the focus away from a preoccupation with representing a tale of national origin, to the embracing of contemporary diversity in all its complexities, as if to say, “it is not only about where we came from, but what we can be”. Chapter 3 examines the creative collaborative frameworks of SA(仨), made up of a group of three musicians who plays musical genres ranging from world, instrumental, live looping, electronics and experimental music. The research narrative traced the musical journey between SA(仨) with the Malay trio OrkeStar Trio, Indian trio Tamarind Sound Project and percussionists M.  Nizarfauzi Norlie and Ramu Thiruyanam, towards a collaborative performance, “Ethni-city II”. Theoretical musing in this chapter anchors on collaborative creativity with articulation of findings focusing in on musical communication, tension, complementarity and emergence, time and space, dialogue and reflection, musical growth and shared history. Chapter 4 is a case study of NADI Singapura, one of Singapore’s largest traditional Malay percussion groups whose mission is to “revive” and “uphold” traditional Malay music. The research is based on fieldwork following the production process leading up to NADI’s big concert called Journey 2: The Pulse, which occurred in November 2016, as well as numerous interviews and informal conversations with members of NADI Singapura. The analysis first focuses on identifying the processes and factors through which NADI’s group identity is consolidated. These include the notion of ‘community as family’, the idea of culture being “in the blood”, issues of leadership, gender and interpersonal dynamics within the collective, a  shared set of values and  finally a common vision informed by identity politics. Then, we explore NADI’s understanding of tradition and the group’s preservationist impetus following which we look at the ways in which the group actively constructs tradition and innovates upon it.

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The chapter ends with a discussion of the “Melayu Kita” [Our Malay(ness)] ethos that NADI is trying to forge. It integrates a political consciousness of ‘racial’ politics, a sense of responsibility towards carrying traditions forward (while recognising their historically syncretic nature), and an openness to reimagining tradition in a way that speaks to the experiences of contemporary Malay-Singaporean youth. Chapter 5 examines the notion of “fusion” as defined and brought up in discussions by the Singaporean contemporary musicians. Some musicians like to work with other musicians of different genres to dialogue, jam and come up with eclectic performances that blend and interweave their mutual musical specialisations and interests. Singaporean composers we spoke to dabbled in Chinese, Malay, Indian, jazz and/or Western classical music genres, putting various musical elements and concepts into their compositions for aesthetic, political and/or economic reasons. Some musicians would add varied musical ideas into their existing traditional repertoire, suggesting new takes on the tradition, while others who do not feel the need to adhere to any musical lineage mix and match musical ideas from different styles and genres quite freely or venture into sound improvisation and experimentation. The narrative for this chapter stems from an analysis that examined: (i) how musicians/composers defined their repertoire, (ii) use of different terms to articulate their fusion work, and (iii) reasons for venturing into fusion work. The researchers felt it was important to examine musicians/composers’ personal interpretation of what they define as fusion and the meaning they find in creating such musical possibilities, particularly in a globalised, multicultural and multiracial space like Singapore. Chapter 6 develops a youth-centric, pop culture-inflected analysis of Chinese identity from the perspectives of several millennial and Generation X Singaporean Chinese musicians and music groups. The chapter interweaves wider sociocultural phenomena like the image problem that has dogged Chinese orchestra music and instruments, and the prevalence of Western bias in Singaporean youth’s notions of cool, while addressing how musicians articulate their ideas about Chineseness in relation to these. The first part of the chapter focuses on several Chinese traditional instrumentalists and the ways in which they negotiate across the boundaries between the traditional and the contemporary, in relation to their Chinese classical training and their cosmopolitan musical affinities. The second part of the chapter focuses on two Singaporean Chinese musicians living in the West and how their sense of Chineseness has evolved through their experiences of expatriation, of deterritorialisation and ­re-territorialisation, of uprooting and enrooting. This chapter is an important contribution to expanding the current conceptions of ‘racial’ and cultural identity in Singaporean society, by highlighting the hybridity of contemporary musicians’ creative and personal affinities which transcend preconceived boundaries and assumptions of cultural ‘purity’. Singaporean Chinese musicians at home and abroad are continually undergoing successive enrootings in their creative practices. Some want to “preserve” their Chinese roots, others want to distance themselves from them, yet others are situating their roots within a more global sense of identity.

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Chapter 7 focuses on the artistic directions that some Singaporean contemporary musicians and music groups (Riduan Zalani, Raghavendran Rajasekaran, The TENG Ensemble and SA(仨)) have taken and the rationale behind these choices. It then zooms in on the musical analysis of some key repertoire of the Singaporean groups examined. The musical analysis (through detailed descriptions and/or notational analysis) attempts to evidence each musician and musician group’s articulation of their musical intent, detailing how their ideas of fusion, creation of new sounds through experimentation, extension of traditions, etc. are made manifest in concrete terms through their music. The chapter also touches on how the artistic directions and choices of these musicians and music groups are enacted in the education of their own group members and in their collaboration with other musicians, in the programmes they design for school engagements and public arts education and the portrayal of these artistic directions in social media platforms. Nostalgia, which emerged as a possible theoretical musing from the narratives and musical content of the musicians and music groups, is then laced through as a common thread for discussion to end the chapter. Chapter 8 is a reflexive analysis of our field research carried out among Singaporean musicians and music groups. The chapter begins by describing how our research direction evolved over time, and highlights a few initial fieldwork constraints. Drawing from debates within the field of anthropology, the chapter expands the notion of the “field” in three ways: (i) by incorporating the “spaces between” formal data collection, (ii) by demonstrating the importance of subjectivity as a valid and valuable conduit to gain research insights, and (iii) by acknowledging how new technologies (especially the Internet) are changing how fieldwork about music must be done. Finally, the chapter reflects upon our attempt at ‘giving back’ to the musicians we studied, and at engaging the public, through the creation of a documentary film about some of the music groups we followed, and the organisation of a series of public events at which these groups were invited to perform. This chapter emphasises the intrinsically human  (and creative) side of field research. Just as musicians must be able to improvise researchers must listen, adapt and shift gears to explore new ideas that emerge. And like the contemporary musicians studied here, researchers also act as semionauts, deciphering connections and improvising pathways between shifting terrains and seemingly disparate ideas and concepts. Chapter 9 is a compilation of the response pieces by musicians from Chaps. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7. Each piece corresponds to a particular chapter and they are arranged in a similar order. Hence, Tan Qing Lun’s piece, which corresponds to Chap. 2 about the Singapore sound, comes first, and other responses follow. We invited specific musicians to respond, based on several factors: (i) who we thought could contribute to a deeper understanding of the issues brought up in our chapters, and (ii) practicalities such as who was able and keen to take time out of their busy schedule to read a chapter and write a response piece in English within the constraints of our timeline.

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The idea behind this chapter is to allow the musicians to share their viewpoints directly with the readers. We sought to include the voices of musicians in order to mitigate some of the dilemmas related to the power dynamics between researcher and research subjects, and to give a sense of the heterogeneity and multiplicity of interpretations and opinions surrounding the themes we discuss. We did not edit the responses in any way (except to correct grammar and spelling when necessary) and let musicians answer in whatever way they pleased (they were encouraged to critique our work). The only guidelines we gave were the word limit and the choice between two formats: a  text or a  transcribed conversation  (with another musician). We suggested a  dialogue  to Wang Wei Yang (Yllis) and Guo Ming (TZECHAR) for their response to Chap. 6, because they know each other and have worked together, and we knew this would be a fruitful exchange. Their insightful response was created over several weeks of email correspondence. Finally, Chap. 10 is a descriptive glossary giving readers some background about each of the Singaporean contemporary musicians and music groups involved in the research study and mentioned in the book. The information was compiled from their own press kits, Facebook/SoundCloud pages and/or artist websites, as for the biographies, they were provided by the artists themselves. The write-ups are presented verbatim so as to give readers a better sense of the musicians’ styles of self-representation and ‘branding’.

References Ang, I., & Stratton, J. (1995). The Singaporean way of multiculturalism: Western concepts/Asian ways. Sojourns, 10(1), 65–89. Barucha, R. (2014). Hauntings of the Intercultural: Enigmas and Lessons on the Borders of Failure. In E. Fischer-Lichte, T. Jost, & S. I. Jain (Eds.), The Politics of Interweaving Performance Culture Beyond Colonialism (pp. 179–200). Routledge Advances in Theatre and Performance Studies (Book 33). Benjamin, W. (1969). The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction. In W.  Benjamin (Ed.), Illuminations. Translated by Harry Zohn, from the 1935 essay (p.  1968). New  York: Schocken Books. Bourriaud, N. (2002). Postproduction culture as screenplay: How art reprograms the World. New York: Has & Sternberg. Bourriaud, N. (2009). The radicant. New York: Sternberg Press. Hadi, E.  A. (2015, July 1). Singapore scene is entering golden age of indie music. Straits Times. Retrieved from http://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/ singapore-scene-is-entering-golden-age-of-indie-music Katz, M. (2010). Capturing sound: How technology has changed music. Berkeley/Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press. Ronson, M. (2014). How sampling transformed music [Video File]. Retrieved from https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=H3TF-hI7zKc Russ, M. (2008). Sound synthesis and sampling (3rd ed.). New York/London: Focal Press. Sanjek, D. (1994). “Don’t Have to DJ No More”: Sampling and the “Autonomous” creator. In M. Woodmansee & P. Jaszi (Eds.), The construction of authorship: Textual appropriation in law and literature. Durham/London: Duke University Press. See, M. (n.d.). SGMUSO. Retrieved from http://sgmuso.org Wee, C. J. W.-L. (1996). Staging the new Asia: Singapore’s Dick Lee, pop music, and a countermodernity. Public Culture, 8(3), 489–511.

Chapter 2

Where Got Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music: Conundrums and Alternatives Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

I can’t understand why people are frightened of new ideas. I’m frightened of the old ones. —John Cage

Contents 2.1  I ntroduction 2.2  P  art 1: A Top-Down Singapore Sound 2.2.1  Building National Identity Through Music and Cultural Policy: A Brief History 2.2.2  Engaging with the Top-Down Singapore Sound 2.3  Part 2: Critiques and Implications of the Top-Down Singapore Sound 2.3.1  Ambiguous Categories and Gatekeeping 2.3.2  Formulaic Rojak 2.3.3  Gestural Inclusion 2.3.4  Rigid “Racial” Categories 2.3.5  Branding + Patronage + Performance: A Perilous Triangle 2.4  Part 3: Reappraising the Notion of the Singapore Sound from the Ground Up 2.4.1  A Sapling Metaphor 2.4.2  Identity Crisis 2.4.3  Building an Audience 2.4.4  “Just Be You” 2.5  Final Thoughts References

 13  15  15  19  25  25  27  28  30  31  34  34  36  38  39  41  44

2.1  Introduction In 1965, after Singapore was ousted from Malaysia, it began the difficult task of building a nation out of a population comprised essentially of immigrants who had come in search of opportunities in this bustling trading port. Today, after over

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_2

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50 years, Singapore has acquired a certain fame on the world stage by virtue of its rapid economic development and methods of governance. But what about its music? A lot of talk has been going around about the “Singapore sound”. Government officials, Singapore’s national newspaper The Straits Times, culture magazines, blogs, musicians and music industry professionals have all been weighing in on the matter. Some proclaim such as sound in connection to particular local music groups, styles or genres, others ponder about its unique characteristics, and others yet enquire as to whether it actually exists or not. This search and preoccupation with the existence and nature of the Singapore sound has, however, not been the subject of much academic research to date. This chapter therefore aims to further the discussion and unpack what exactly is meant by the “Singapore sound”, as well as the perspectives of young local musicians about it. During the research, I identified two interpretations, or approaches, towards thinking about the Singapore sound. The first part of the chapter is dedicated to the first approach which posits such a sound as a function of how well it represents the country’s multicultural and ethnically diverse society. Advocates of this approach associate the Singapore sound to two cornerstones of national identity, namely, racial harmony and the upholding of “ethnic” and musical heritage(s). Since this approach is aligned with official discourse, I begin by exploring the way in which the Singapore state has deployed music for the purpose of nation-building. I then briefly outline the current cultural policies and institutional incentives that support this ideologically informed Singapore sound. I follow with several  examples of music groups that actively engage with, and attempt to embody, this idea of the Singapore sound through their music-making. The second part of the chapter explores some of the most commonly held critiques of this so-called Singapore sound whose ideology is decidedly multiculturalist. We will discuss the problematically ambiguous use of the terms “ethnic” and “traditional” often associated with this sound, the risk of incentivising formulaic fusion music and the essentialising of ‘racial’ categories, as well as the way in which the institutional environment that is promoting this Singapore sound may in fact produce conditions that discourage creativity and innovation. The third part of the chapter examines musicians’ alternative interpretations of, and hopes for, a Singapore sound. In a more modest appraisal of the current state of music-making in Singapore, these musicians caution against (pro)claiming any such Singapore sound. Though many hope it may arise in the future, most doubt its existence at present. To them, a Singapore sound should not be interpreted narrowly as music that represents a certain idea of the nation, but rather music that is unique to Singapore, regardless of the manifestation such uniqueness may take. It is not so much the question of a (singular) Singapore sound, but of Singapore sounds. As such, the goal of representing Singapore takes a backseat in relation to the need to develop the original music scene and to artists’ desire to simply express themselves freely. The two latter goals are, in fact, prerequisites for any kind of unique sound to develop in Singapore. The views expressed in this part are less influenced by official discourse and are clearly informed by the lived experiences of local musicians who are striving to make their own original music in a context that isn’t always favour-

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able to their creative development. The open-endedness and plurality of opinions expressed by these musicians stand in stark contrast to the monolithic vision of an ideologically informed Singapore sound. As mentioned in the introduction to this book, the findings in this chapter are based on field research conducted from June 2016 to February 2017 (focusing on individual musicians and music groups based in Singapore), and from February to May 2017 (focusing on Singaporean musicians abroad). This chapter aims to contribute to research about Singaporean contemporary identities and creative practice, by highlighting the ways in which musicians variously interpret, navigate, reproduce and contest top-down discourses of national identity, develop their own narratives of self and nation, and express their hopes for the future of music-making in Singapore.

2.2  Part 1: A Top-Down Singapore Sound 2.2.1  B  uilding National Identity Through Music and Cultural Policy: A Brief History Research on music in Singapore is currently quite sparse. Some of the literature focuses on the relationship between music and national identity, and charts how the state has been  curating and using  music for the purpose of engineering a cohesive  national identity  since Singapore’s independence (see Kong 1995; Phua and Kong 1996; Lockard 1998; Wee 1996; Tan 2008; Dairianathan and Lum 2012). Global literature on the subject has also analysed how music acts as a powerful “vehicle to inculcate official viewpoints and ideologies” (Lockard 1998, p. 255; see also Born and Hesmondhalgh 2000) and as an “aesthetic experience that can act as the basis of affiliation and communication between different groups” (Born and Hesmondhalgh 2000, p. 514). Singaporean geographer Lily Kong has been an especially prolific writer on the subject of the relationship between music and the Singapore state. She describes how music has been “harnessed in the construction of a hegemonic vision of a specific nation” (1995, p. 448), adding that “music is used by the ruling élite to perpetuate certain ideologies aimed at political socialisation and the development of a sense of national identity or to inculcate a civil religion that directs favour and fervour towards the ‘nation’” (1995, p. 447). By far the most spectacular examples of this effort to foment patriotic fervour are National Day Parade songs, which attempt to create “ideological hegemony” or a singular and monolithic narrative about the nation and Singaporean identity (Kong and Yeoh  1997, p.  213). There have been many other instances of state-curated music harnessed for the goal of nation-builing, such as the government’s 1988 “Sing Singapore” programme, for which Singaporean musicians composed 49 “national songs” which were then  taught in schools, aired on television and sung during ­community singing sessions (Kong 1995;  see also “Music for State” n.d.). Loh (2014) observes that what has passed for a “Singapore sound” has always tended to resemble national anthems or contains lyrics about nation-building as well as strong

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nationalistic overtones (p.  346, citing Phua and Kong 1996; see also  Tan 2008). Music has therefore been an important tool for the construction of national identity, but what has been the message this state-approved music conveyed about Singapore’s national identity? The most long-standing and deep-rooted narrative of the nation is the idea of Singapore as a multicultural nation composed of different ethnic groups living side by side in harmony. The Singapore government’s approach to nation-building has been, and continues to be, the nurturing of a Singaporean national identity built on unity through (racial and religious) diversity and on collaboration towards the common good.1 The rationale behind this is “to build a nation of Singaporeans out of the disparate groups in the city-state” (Quah 1990, p. 2), where cultural difference is to be celebrated, but not used to make political or “chauvinistic” demands (Quah 1990, p. 45). This idea of the nation builds on policies inherited from Britain (Singapore’s former colonial rulers), including the system of racial classification between “Chinese, Malay, Indian and Other”, commonly known as CMIO, which is supposed to represent the ‘racial’ composition of Singapore’s population.2 According to Tan (2008), official discourse has historically portrayed Singapore’s multiracialism in a way that naturalises the social construct of ‘race’3 and “assumes that ethnic (or ‘racial’) identities are primordial, authentic and prior to other identities” (p. 29). These essentialist and reductionist assumptions that obscure the social constructedness of ‘race’ and ‘racial’ identities underpin current thinking about the country’s multiculturalism at the national level. Indeed,  essentialised ‘racial’/cultural groups, “though unavoidably crude, have become the dominant mental template for thinking about ethnicity in Singapore” (Tan 2008, p. 29). From the late 1970s, preserving and curating the cultural heritage and traditions of the three dominant ethnic groups in Singapore (Chinese, Malay and Indian) became a priority for the nation’s leaders who wished to counter what they saw as the degenerate influence of Western culture on Singaporean society.4 To protect ­ 1  This can be seen in Singapore’s five core “shared values” which were outlined by Parliament in 1992 as the guiding principles for the country and are as follows: (1) nation before community and society before self, (2) family as the basic unit of society, (3) regard and community support for the individual, (4) consensus instead of contention and (5) racial and religious harmony (Kong and Yeoh 2003a, b). 2  According to the latest census, Singapore’s population is composed of 74.3% Chinese, 13.4% Malay, 9.1% Indians and 3.2% Others (which includes Eurasians and any other minorities) (Department of Statistics Singapore, Population Trends 2016). 3  From its inception, the concept of ‘race’ presumed natural categories positioned in a hierarchy established by God or nature (American Anthropological Association Statement on Race n.d.). Thus ‘race’ became “an ideology of human difference” used to divide, rank and control colonised and enslaved people and to justify European attitudes and treatment of them. Today, racialised thinking creates myths about homogenised ‘racial’ categories, enforcing a naturalised link between phenotype and cultural behaviour, thus implying culture to be genetically determined. There is however no scientific evidence of this. In fact the entire discipline of anthropology has demonstrated time and time again the fact that culture is learnt, not inherited. 4  After independence, the nation-state followed a market-oriented economic policy aimed at attracting foreign direct investment, which led to a tenfold increase of capital to labor ratio (Bercuson

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against perceived unbridled Westernization and its nefarious influence, the government reframed its policies and began to “focus not just on delivering material benefits, but also on developing the less tangible matters of identity, belonging, and values” (Tan 2008, p. 28). Cultural tradition and heritage were identified as fundamental to individual and collective identity, cementing group belonging and acting as sources of “Asian” values. From then on, in both policy and rhetoric, the importance of  cultural roots, traditional practices and the preservation of heritage has repeatedly been emphasised.  From then on, Tan (2008) observes that state-sponsored concerts for the community “would typically showcase a succession of stylized performances from each of the four ethnic communities that would culminate in a combined song-and-dance finale involving the characteristic styles and participation of each ethnic group, all fused together harmoniously” (p. 29). Public schools began implementing music education programmes aimed at teaching “ethnic” Malay, Chinese and Indian musical traditions (Dairianathan and Lum 2012). In the 1990s, under Singapore’s second Prime Minister Goh Chok Tong, the People’s Association (a statutory board created in 1960 to promote community engagement) “received directions to foster renewed interest in the traditional culture and heritage of Singaporean citizens” (Zubillaga-Pow and Ho 2014, p. 131). While the distinct heritages and traditions of ethnic groups were actively promoted, the state was cautious to emphasise the importance of social harmony and equality between ‘races’, as then Senior Parliamentary Secretary for the Ministry of Communication and Information Ho Kah Leong made clear: in order to resist the erosion effect of Western culture, we encourage our people to keep their traditions and cultural roots. [However] care should be taken not to over-emphasise activity that is confined to a certain race only because this could inadvertently lead to racial polarization. (Parliamentary Debates, 14 Mar 1988, col. 723–724, as cited in Kong and Yeoh 2003a, p. 206)

Chong (2010 and 2011) points out that the state’s use of the arts to celebrate heritage and racial harmony, and build social cohesion in fact serves two other goals which have increasingly eclipsed the latter nation-building goals. The first is an economic end-goal which is to “create arts products to showcase Singapore to the world,” and the second is a political end-goal which is to create arts that “support and edify institutions and prevailing political structures” (2010, p. 139). This argument can be understood in terms of what Folkestad (2002, p. 156) defines as the two purposes of national identity: “inside-looking-in” (directed to Singaporeans, for the purpose of national unity) and “outside-looking-in” (directed to outsiders, for the purpose of tourism and economic development) (as cited in Lum and Chua 2016, p. 4). According to Chong (2011), Singapore’s cultural policies have long had a clear economic and ideological agenda, and have been focused on national branding, arts (1995, p.  5). But this economic development and liberalism also caused an openness to Westernization in the sociocultural sphere and the perceived erosion of values. This threat of becoming a “pseudo-Western society” motivated by individualism and devoid of responsibility towards the family and society was described in the Straits Times Weekly Overseas Edition (August 20, 1988; September 4, 1988; November 3, 1988, as cited in Kong 1995).

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tourism and the promotion of “state-friendly” art in which “multiracial fantasies” are played out (p. 14 & pp. 25–27). In 2000, the former Ministry of Information and the Arts (MITA)5 launched its Renaissance City Report —a cultural master plan outlining the country’s cultural policies for the following years—which makes explicit this national branding in the spheres of arts and culture: The Renaissance Singaporean has an adventurous spirit, an inquiring and creative mind and a strong passion for life. Culture and the arts animate our city and our society consists of active citizens who build on our Asian heritage to strengthen the Singapore Heartbeat through expressing their Singapore stories in culture and the arts. (MITA 2000, p. 5)

This current agenda and the  historical development of cultural policies in Singapore must be kept in mind when looking at present-day institutional and policy trends aimed at promoting heritage-related culture and arts. These include the many grants offered by the Ministry for Culture, Community and Youth (MCCY), the National Arts Council (NAC) and the National Heritage Board (NHB) – three of the main governmental agencies involved in Singapore’s cultural sector. In 2014, Acting Minister Lawrence Wong announced that the MCCY would be investing an extra $20 million over the next 5 years to promote Singapore’s unique heritage and cultural assets abroad, in addition to their existing “Harmony Fund” for the promotion of racial and religious harmony at home (MCCY website n.d). Moreover, since 2015 (Singapore’s 50 year anniversary of its independence), there has been a surge in funding for national heritage-related events by the government. At the 2017 Committee of Supply (COS) debate, MCCY Minister Grace Fu announced that heritage is a key area of focus for the ministry, noting Singaporeans feel it is important to conserve and document their heritage (Kotwani 2017). She mentioned that the National Heritage Board will be releasing a Heritage Plan for Singapore in 2018, which will act as the national blueprint for the heritage sector and build on previous cultural master plans such as the Renaissance City Plan (National Heritage Board n.d.a, b). At a media conference in March 2016, she also encouraged Singaporeans to engage more deeply with their country’s culture and heritage and ask one another: “Have you seen our artists’ work in the National Gallery?… Have you seen our performers put up a great cultural show of our unique brand of local music?” (as cited in Yong 2016). Performing arts venues such as the Esplanade (Singapore’s national performing arts centre) also takes cues from official agendas, by ensuring their cultural programmes “mirror the diversity in modern society, [by] celebrating the heritage and artistry of Chinese, Malay and Indian cultures” (“Esplanade Presents”, n.d.). The venue organises annual festivals that celebrate these three cultural c­ ommunities: Kalaa Utsavam (Indian Festival of Arts, held during Deepavali), Pesta Raya (Malay Festival of Arts, held during Hari Raya Puasa) and Huayi (Chinese Festival of Arts, held during the Chinese New Year). Desmond Chew, Chinese chamber music programmer at the Esplanade, pointed to the “uniquely Singapore” music produced by Singapore’s particular confluence of heritages:  MITA has now been renamed the Ministry of Communications and Information (MCI).

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As Singapore is a multiracial, multicultural nation, we are constantly exposed to arts and cultures of different ethnic races. This environment provides our classical Chinese musicians the opportunity to explore incorporating sounds of different ethnic instruments in their music. Hence the music they produce can be quite “uniquely Singapore”. (D. Chew, email interview, Mar 22, 2017)

It is quite clear that cultural policies today continue to be at the service of a broader project of nation-building and national branding. Knowing the state’s historical interest in harnessing music as an instrument for national identity and arts tourism, perhaps one shouldn’t see the touting of a ‘Singapore sound’ as that far removed from the  overtly nationalistic “Sing Singapore” project of the 1980s. Indeed, constructing the “Singapore sound” as intrinsically linked to a particular brand of multiculturalism formulated by the Singapore state around notions of racial harmony and the confluence of distinct cultural traditions is another form of curation for the purpose for nation-building/branding.

2.2.2  Engaging with the Top-Down Singapore Sound Today, many of the music groups that have been associated with a Singapore sound have tended to possess some of the following characteristics: the coming together of traditional Chinese, Malay or Indian instrumentation (in any kind of configuration), and a repertoire that includes traditional pieces (from Chinese, Malay and Indian musical cultures) often rearranged in a contemporary fashion. Oftentimes, the traditional Asian instruments play alongside Western instruments such as a drum kit, keyboard and/or guitar or are included within the set-up of a Western orchestra, and the style and orchestration are in line with the “fusion” genre (see Chaps. 5 and 6 for further discussions about Singapore’s “fusion” music groups). As we have seen, there are a number of institutional, ideological and financial incentives aimed at promoting local heritage in the arts. For emerging musicians and music groups, especially those who are considered traditional Asian-­ instrumentalists, government funding represents an important avenue to sustain their practice. Hence  developing a relationship with government agencies often plays a big part in these groups’ ability to survive and develop their musical careers. Many of the musicians we studied regularly engage, or have engaged, with national agencies in order to receive grants, get funding to produce an album, or gain opportunities to perform locally and internationally. At the time of writing, SA(仨) and The TENG Ensemble are current recipients of the National Arts Council (NAC)’s Seed Grant and NADI Singapura is a  current recipient of NAC’s Major  Grant. KULCHA and RaghaJazz are  regularly featured in NAC’s annual “Arts in Your Neighbourhood” programme which brings music to Singapore’s “heartlands” (areas of concentrated housing estates).  For many years, Flame of the Forest have performed neighbourhood concerts, such as those organised by the People’s Association. At varying points in their music-making career, these music groups have been branded or marketed as somehow  “representing” Singaporean national identity.

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They are seen as  authentically representing Singapore because they fit this topdown multiculturalist and multiracialist idea of Singapore which we have described earlier.  These groups  are seen as  embodying Chinese, Malay or Indian musical tradition(s) (or a combination thereof) with a contemporary twist or “fusion” style  that integrates aspects of Western music.  Because they fit this brand of Singapore sound, they have been invited to represent Singapore at  international events such as the 2016 ASEAN Festival of the Arts in Brunei Darussalam (where Flame of the Forest performed), Singapore Day 2017  in Melbourne (where The TENG Ensemble performed), The Abode Of Peace And The Lion City: A BruneiSingapore Exhibition (where yIN Harmony performed) and Singapore: Inside Out (SG:IO) organised by the Singapore Tourism Board as a means to showcase the country’s contemporary arts and design scene to the rest of the world (at which SA( 仨) and NADA performed). It’s important to note that, while there exists a certain institutionalisation of this multiculturalist construct of the Singapore  sound,  including financial  incentives encouraging musicians to make, and market themselves as such, these music groups have not been  directly commissioned to create that kind of work (in the way that National Day Parade theme songs are, or “Sing Singapore” songs were). In fact, they produce their own original music which has artistic and commercial life beyond the national or international  events at which their music may be showcased. The intent may never have been to create a “Singapore sound”; in fact, such a label may be attributed to their music only after it was created, whether by promoters, reporters or even politicians. In other cases, it is a conscious choice made by the musicians and/or their producer/label out of a genuine belief in such a national sound or as a marketing tactic. As our research shows, some musicians and music groups actively strive to compose multicultural music and attempt to represent what they see as Singaporean society and national identity. Others are critical of the assumptions underlying CMIO racial pluralism and the official discourse of multiculturalism that underpin widely held notions of the Singapore sound, but they strategically perform specific forms of ‘racial’/cultural essentialisms in order to access funding or get gigs. In any case, there is an interesting ‘structure versus agency’ debate to be had in relation to the so-called Singapore sound. It would be inaccurate to write that the state is single-handedly curating the Singapore sound. The relationship between an individual’s agency and an external structure (in this case, the state and its powers of influence) is always an intricate dialectic which cannot be reduced to simple causality. In fact, many Singaporeans share the view that multiculturalism and its associated values of tolerance and embracing of diversity are some of the main tenets of being Singaporean (Lum and Chua 2016, p. 4). So, Singaporeans themselves seem to be drawn to, and influenced by, this dominant and top-down idea of a national sound, and come to seek out and celebrate its existence. We see this in the way in which the Singapore sound concept has been popularised  in mainstream media, and often appears couched in language that mirrors that of official discourse (see Huang 2015). Singaporean musicians are no different from Singaporean bloggers, reporters or any other individual who may believe in, reproduce or claim to

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support, in his or her work and/or discourse, the values and ideals of their country’s national identity. These values and ideals have been so successfully inculcated through years of nation-building policies at all levels of governance that their internalisation may be somewhat inexorable. As a result of this strong degree of legitimation by the public, it follows that the idea of the Singapore sound does not only reflect the vision of the ruling class, but, to a certain extent, a collective experience of reality. Nonetheless, two things must be noted. First, even if musicians do embrace these national values and ideals which undoubtedly exert an omnipresent influence throughout their lives, this internalisation is certainly not hegemonic, as we shall see later. Second, musicians are not necessarily consciously thinking “how can I contribute to a Singapore sound?” when they make music. They pick up a guitar or a guzheng and compose in ways that are influenced by what she/he has heard and enjoys. So while some music groups make music that corresponds to an ideologically informed Singapore sound, it does not mean that this was their intention at the moment of creation. With this in mind, we now turn to some of the music groups that engage with the multiculturalist construct of the Singapore sound and/or whose music has been labelled as such. KULCHA  One of the first Singaporean bands we began to research was KULCHA, which self-identifies as a “modern and fusion music outfit” and whose name is a playful reference to the word “culture” (KULCHA 2017). Their instrumental lineup consists of both traditional Asian instruments, like the Indian bansuri, Chinese pipa, Middle Eastern gambus (and sometimes the Indonesian angklung and kendang), along with Western instruments such as the keyboard and drums. Their press kit states that they seek to “rediscover and reconnect with their cultural identity”, following which they ask, “What does it mean to be part of a certain heritage? What does it mean to have a cultural identity? Do we have something to call OUR cultural identity?” (KULCHA 2017, emphasis theirs). KULCHA started as a group of friends, hailing from Singapore’s LASALLE College of the Arts, who often met up to play (its core members had previously played together in local bands GAMMA:rays and TiGaia). Initially, they played Malay, Indonesian and Indian instruments along with Western ones such as the keyboard and drum kit. Later on they decided to incorporate a Chinese element in the form of the pipa in order to represent the three main cultural groups in Singapore. Today, KULCHA actively presents themselves as embodying the multicultural CMIO brand of racial harmony and has been successful in getting gigs at public schools and community shows such as NAC’s “Arts for All”/“Arts in Your Neighbourhood”, as well as the Esplanade’s “Feed Your Imagination” concert series and Huayi festival. Keyboardist and artistic director of KULCHA, Serene Tan, (known as Stan) affirms that  the group’s image plays into official multiculturalist tropes: Perceptions cannot be changed overnight and people in Singapore will definitely still think of us as racial harmony. Because we just tick all the boxes for all the like… the government bodies, right? We have a Chinese guy, we have a Malay guy, we have an Indian guy. And

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2  Where Got Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music:… we play… sometimes we play things that are quite like… like our Singapore folk song melody. We kind of do stuff like that. (S. Tan, personal interview, Oct 12, 2016)

KULCHA’s band members are comfortable with the racial harmony label “as long as it doesn’t exclude [them] from other gigs” (S. Tan, personal interview, Oct 12, 2016). In fact, Stan believes their brand is very unique to Singapore, and that they are “in a good position to bring Singapore music out” at international festivals, and to receive government funding to represent Singapore abroad. She explains that bands like KULCHA fill a pre-existing niche: I will feel like each band has their own place in a certain type of event. Like the jazz and cover bands, they do all the weddings and stuff, which we don’t want. And then the other like… national event things, they have all those mainstream, can sell type, like Sam Willows and stuff. Then for us, we… we do the racial harmony stuff, the community stuff. (S. Tan, personal interview, Oct 12, 2016)

The TENG Ensemble  The TENG Ensemble is another interesting music group that has branded itself as a Singapore sound, characterised by the confluence of East and West, and of contemporary and traditional, while maintaining a very strong focus on Chinese instrumentation and musical tradition. It features Chinese instruments like the guzheng, pipa and sheng alongside Western instruments, and its repertoire, include arrangements of folk tunes of both Eastern and Western origin. At the 2015 National Day Rally, commemorating the 50th anniversary of Singapore’s independence, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong said that The TENG Ensemble’s sound “injects new elements into traditional culture and created something uniquely Singapore” (The TENG Ensemble Press and Media webpage n.d.; also quoted in Sim 2015a, b; Mohamad Salleh 2016). The phrasing was reminiscent of the “Uniquely Singapore” tag-line launched by the Singapore Tourism Board (STB) between 2004 and 2010 to promote the country’s brand to the world (Toh 2004). In the publicity campaign that accompanied the tag-line, Singapore was depicted in very similar terms to The TENG Ensemble: as a multicultural society at the confluence between East and West and of  tradition and modernity. Creative director Samuel Wong affirms their music is imbued with Singaporean identity because “it’s created by Singaporeans, influenced by Singaporeans, and I think the target audience, first and foremost, is Singaporean” (personal interview, Sep 26, 2016). Interestingly though, Samuel affirms that their “idea of heritage is not that it must originate from Singapore, otherwise the number of songs actually becomes quite limited”, but rather that it should remind Singaporeans of their past (personal interview, Sep 26, 2016). As such, a lot of the folk songs they rearrange are not Singaporemade but, rather, were tunes that were once very popular on the island. One-Time Initiatives  Numerous initiatives, envisioned around the idea of the Singapore sound, have been successfully pitched to government agencies for funding, and been implemented. One such project was the orchestra led by Adrian Chiang called Singapore Sounds (SS), which was funded by the Ministry of Culture Community and Youth (MCCY) through the SG50 Celebration Fund (an almost eight-figure budget allocated to support ground-up projects in celebration of

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Singapore’s 50th year of independence). SS’s Facebook page describes their music as “written, arranged and performed by Singaporeans” and affirms their mission is to create a “truly Singaporean orchestra by bringing local ethnic elements into a standard Western symphony orchestra” (“Singapore Sounds” official Facebook page n.d.). Elsewhere on the page, they affirm: “One People, One Nation, One Singapore.” We want to be able to achieve this with music. Singapore’s various cultural strengths manifest separately within each race in terms of performing arts and remains largely confined to their own ethnic boundaries. Singapore Sounds will be a platform to unify all the different cultural elements to bring to you music that is uniquely Singaporean. (“Singapore Sounds” official Facebook page n.d.)

On the page dedicated to the Singapore Sounds Gala Concert, they describe their vision: We hope to unite Singaporeans with music that we identify with, represents Singapore, and preserves our national heritage. SS aspires to be a unique ensemble that represents a multicultural Singapore. We hope to foster community bonds by being a platform for diverse performing art groups to come together. Importantly, we want to help preserve Singapore’s music heritage and promote our national identity on the international stage. (“Singapore Sounds Gala Concert” event page, 2015)

Given the success of the SS, which only came to life for the 2015 national commemorations, Adrian has started a new group called the Asian Cultural Symphony Orchestra, which features Asian traditional instruments such as the dizi, erhu, sitar and tabla as soloists within a Western orchestra set-up. Several other recent events have also aligned themselves with the idea of a multiculturalist Singapore sound. One was the STB-funded “Diamonds of Singapore” concert, held in July 2016 and organised by local musician Raghavendran Rajasekaran, which featured KULCHA and Flame of the Forest. Another event was the March 2016 musical event called “CROSSING”, organised by Riduan Zalani under the “Arts for All” initiative, which saw the groups SA(仨), Tamarind Sound Project, OrkeStar Trio and NADI Singapura “on a quest of cross-cultural and musical divides to create an original brand of sound that can truly be termed Singapore music” (Arts for All n.d., n.p.). Two years earlier, SA(仨) had organised “ETHNICITY I” (the second edition is discussed in Chap. 3), which had also envisioned the musical coming together of the three main ‘racial’/cultural groups and their associated musical traditions on stage. House of Music Singapore  A musician who is very inclined towards the idea of a multiculturalist Singapore sound is a 29-year-old award-winning flautist Tan Qing Lun. One of the co-founders of the Ding Yi Music Company, a Chinese chamber music ensemble founded in 2007, Qing Lun left in 2015 to form his own music company called House of Music Singapore. This new entity aims to develop a strong cross-cultural approach to music-making. Two of its music groups stand out with their highly multiculturalist ethos: yIN Harmony and DoReFaSoLah. According to the company’s website, DoReFaSoLah’s original music is “inspired by their exploration of different folk traditions and their collective vision to create a uniquely

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Singapore sound” (House of Music SG n.d., n.p.). yIN Harmony is composed of Ghanavenothan Retnam (the group’s artistic director) on the bansuri, Tan Qing Lun (the group’s creative director) on the dizi, and Megat Muhammad Firdaus Mohamed on the accordion (played in the Malay traditional genre). According to their website, yIN Harmony is an “ethnic music group” on a mission to combine traditional Asian instruments together to “reflect the multiracial facet of Singapore” (House of Music SG n.d., n.p.). Their nation-building goal is quite clearly stated: “The notion of getting elements deriving from different ethnic groups is crucial to a national identity and it unifies cultural thread in our urban music landscape” (House of Music SG n.d., n.p.). Qing Lun founded House of Music to “advocate for interracial understanding” and is keen to go beyond any superficial representation of racial harmony, and to connect deeply with other cultures. His personal experiences living in China instilled in him what he identifies as a patriotic endeavour of building deep multiculturalism through music. He says he has always felt Chinese, having grown up learning the Chinese flute and understanding and appreciating Chinese culture, but in China, people repeatedly told him he was not Chinese. He remembers them saying: so since you are from Singapore, what is your culture? What is your music? Well I’d say Singapore does not have one culture, I am Chinese and I perform Chinese music, and they say again, no you are a foreigner, there isn’t a Singapore style. This question bounced back so many times, that I started to question myself: who am I? (Q. L. Tan, telephone interview, Nov 07, 2017)

Today, Qing Lun is working hard to bring the different cultures that make up Singapore, together. When he collaborates with musicians of other ethnic and cultural backgrounds, he says he adopts a “custom” of mutual sharing of traditions through “storytelling”. For example, he sets up encounters to learn about the ­different cultures of the people in the group: Every month, let’s get together, eat murukku and you tell me about Hinduism, about the three main gods and the stories of Ganesa or Vishnu or Shiva. Then [the Singaporean Indian musicians] say, ‘I am not an expert in this’ but I say, it’s fine, you are not the expert, but the knowledge you have is much greater than mine! (Q. L., Tan, telephone interview, Nov 07, 2017)

And on other occasions, he says “we eat pineapple tarts and I tell you many stories about Chinese New Year, like why do we give red packets” (Q. L., Tan, telephone interview, Nov 07, 2017). At live performances, he makes it a point to practice this cross-cultural sharing with members of the public, by explaining the cultural background of a traditional instrument or music. Megat Muhammad also believes in the importance of actively strengthening the bonds between ethnic groups: “Having this group perform bonds us. Since we are living in Singapore, we must be inclusive. With what’s going on in the world right now, it’s very important” (Nanda 2017). Indeed, yIN Harmony members feel that Singapore has reached a point where its people, especially the younger generations, should develop a more profound interculturality and not rest on their laurels and merely perform superficial racial harmony. Musicians, especially traditional instrumentalists, according to

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Qing Lun, must  build upon the deep understanding of the musical foundations which their teachers have brought from China, India or the Malay Archipelago. As he sees it, his two teachers—Ghanavenothan Retnam and Zhao Yong Ming—have instilled in him the knowledge of traditional music from Indian and Chinese cultures, and now it is his responsibility to develop Singaporean interculturality through music. “Yes it’s good that every Singaporean can hum the tunes ‘Chan Mali Chan’ and ‘Munnaeru Vaalibaa,’” he says, “but if you want to create a deeper meaning, we, the third generation of Singaporeans, must find our voice and grow from the foundations of second generation musicians who have struggled so much to forge Singapore’s current musical landscape” (Q. L., Tan, telephone interview, Nov 07, 2017).

2.3  P  art 2: Critiques and Implications of the Top-Down Singapore Sound 2.3.1  Ambiguous Categories and Gatekeeping We shall now turn to the critiques of the Singapore sound. Many of these relate to the flawed assumptions and ambiguous implications of an ideology (on which the Singapore sound is based) premised on racial harmony between distinct ‘races’ and their associated cultures and traditions. The flawed assumptions relate to the idea that culture is bounded, readily identifiable from the outside, and attributed as belonging to a particular ‘racial’ group. This of course is not the case as social reality is far more complex and Singaporean society is far more interwoven and hybrid that that model would let us believe. Consider Flame of the Forest (FOTF), for example. Brothers Krsna and Govin Tan, who are ethnically Chinese, started playing North Indian instruments (the sitar and tabla, respectively) from a very young age. Krsna points out how programmers blithely label their music as “fusion” or “ethnic” without much thought about what the terms mean: The sad thing is when they see you Chinese guy playing this Indian instrument, they judge you, bam! ‘Okay, you are fusion. Okay, you are ethnic.’ And stuff like that. But… what I do on my sitar is not ethnic at all anymore. You know, there is nothing ethnic about my playing anymore today. (K. Tan, personal interview, Oct 11, 2016)

He notes that the band was able to capitalise on the “very strong racial harmony thing” of the 1990s by playing into people’s conceptions of what that may be. This undeniably required some self-exoticising and depicting themselves and their work in terms that echo those used by programmers (see Chap. 10). Crudely defined ideas of racial harmony allow programmers to get “creative” with the representation of diversity. Krsna mentions how, from the 1990s, “[t]hey started promoting, you know, the four hands [referring to CMIO], right? So there was a lot of racial harmony. Just because I’m a Chinese guy playing the sitar, you get the job! … So we

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feed them with it lah!” (K. Tan, personal interview, Oct 11, 2016). FOTF could be interpreted as representing Indian musical culture, as an exemplar of Chinese-Indian interculturality, or as East-West fusion or traditional contemporary fusion – whatever was required in a given situation. “Feeding them with it” and performing whatever they (funders, programmers, etc) wanted them to represent enabled FOTF to play at citizenship ceremonies organised by the National Integration Council, Deepavali celebrations and countless other community events locally and internationally. The current emphasis on racial harmony and concern about representating Singapore’s cultural groups in music puts a certain pressure on musicians to perform exactly that. It also engenders a kind of preoccupation with checking off boxes (“do we have Chinese, Indian, Malay culture represented?”) in a potentially tokenistic way. Finally, it results in problematic assumptions that instruments alone can be seen as representing musical “tradition”, regardless of how they are being played.  Conversing with Krsna and Govin, it becomes clear how categories like “race” get mixed up with “culture” and how a physical instrument is deemed “traditional” or “ethnic” despite how it is played. The experience of FOTF highlights the confusion which arises from unquestionably linking “race” to culture. Groups like FOTF, which defy musical genres and cultural boundaries, cannot easily fit into rigid interpretations of CMIO racial harmony which underpin the ideology behind the Singapore sound. They show us that the direct translation or transposition of the “racial harmony” construct onto music-making is highly problematic. In an attempt to deal with these issues, there have been attempts to better define what counts as “tradition” and to clarify which cultural/musical practices “belong” to whom, i.e. the issue of ownership of cultural goods and expressions. Linked to this is the thorny question of who can “authentically” represent or lay claims to a particular culture or music. As mentioned, CMIO is predicated upon the distinctiveness of each ‘racial’ and cultural group, and ascribes a distinctive set of cultural traits and practices to each ‘race’. Some people view the link between ‘race’ and culture as natural, arguing that culture therefore “belongs” to that ‘race’. In the field of music, the implication is that only those of a certain ‘race’ may authentically access, have rights to and “represent” a specific musical tradition. Several musicians highlighted the existence of the  belief that particular ethnic/‘racial’ groups have innate legitimacy/authenticity in playing certain instruments or types of music. Rit Xu, jazz flautist from the Rit Xu Group and the Lorong Boys, who has learnt and performed both classical Chinese and Indian music, believes this thinking to be limiting: I call them the traditional police, like for them to feel like: ‘Oh, you’re a Caucasian and you’re playing Indian flute, like what. And then, I think when the eyes start working the ears shut down. So that’s very sad. … So you should let the ear do the work and just… because music is after all heard, you know, music is not seen, music is heard. So you just let the ears do the work for you. (R. Xu, personal interview, Jan 18, 2017)

These “traditional police” engage in gatekeeping by attempting to restrict the access to cultural forms to a particular ‘racial’ group, and delegitimizing others who engage with those forms as somehow overstepping a boundary. Gatekeeping was

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not very widespread among the musicians we spoke to, but it did manifest to some extent within a wider discourse of identity politics (see Chap. 4). For the most part, though, we found it was common for musicians to navigate relatively freely across boundaries of musical traditions and across different instruments. The greater the musician’s spirit of artistic experimentation, the more permeable she/he perceived these boundaries to be. One other problematic impact of gatekeeping has been the fact that when it comes to “traditional” music, authenticity is often attributed to musicians from socalled ‘ancestral homelands’ – i.e. China, India or the rest of the Malay Archipelago (from which Singapore’s three main  ethnic groups once originated).  Local Singapore-born musicians are perceived as ‘second best’ and somehow less authentic. According to Raghavendran Rajasekaran (composer and bansuri player for local bands RaghaJazz, Mantrayani, KULCHA and the  Tamarind Sound Project), the way in which cultural policies promoting  cultural heritage are being interpreted may have the unintended effect of benefitting foreign talent at the expense of local musicians. Talking about how programmers of traditional music events prioritise music groups from ‘ancestral homelands’, Raghavendran says: in the Tamil community too, there is a prioritizing of Indian music, instead of local original music. Again, problematic of diasporic communities and their relationship to a ‘homeland’. To make it even more specific. It’s local Singaporean Tamil which, in their view, cannot compete with overseas Indians. (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, Jun 28, 2016).

Ironically, cultural institutions and agents seek a Singapore sound which incorporates traditional music and instruments but do not seem to believe local artists can “compete” with overseas ones in that very field.

2.3.2  Formulaic Rojak The real irony may be the fact that the very pressure to develop a Singapore sound and the many incentives that promote it may actually encourage musicians to turn to quick and easy formulas. To “qualify” as a Singapore sound, there is a particular tried and tested form—possessing so-called “ethnic” (popularly understood to be Chinese/Malay/Indian) elements alongside some Western ones (whether in instrumentation or repertoire or even phenotypes of the musicians). This emphasis on form over substance leads to the very real problem of quality control, which is something the older generation of Singaporean musicians (who have taught some of the younger musicians we interviewed) worry about. Ghanavenothan Retnam, composer, bansuri/pullang korel player and Indian classical music teacher, is most concerned about putting multiculturalist representation first, at the expense of musical quality. He decries the ever-increasing number of “fusion” music groups that churn out a superficial mishmash of musical elements. Using the metaphor of rojak (which is a popular traditional dish made from a mix of fruit and vegetables), he warns that the trendiness of “fusion” is encouraging a cul-

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ture of “rojak music”, whereby people combine several Asian instruments or traditional tunes and play “without a goal or without a direction; they just hantam6” (G. Retnam, personal interview, Jan 16, 2017). Instead, he advocates for a respectful, educated and sensitive integration of Singapore’s diverse musical traditions— what he describes as “confluence” rather than “rojak” (Chap. 5 further elaborates on this distinction). Talking about the rise of “fusion” ensembles in Singapore, Andy Chia observes that they often play the same basic tunes, and that their orchestration “uses ethnic instruments mainly as an embellishment” added over music played by a band or orchestra. As a result, he says there isn’t a mastery of the musical traditions and the sound appears very contrived: The fundamental flaw in these groups is the lack of understanding of the individual cultures and instruments. Thus ending up in a very forced, top down approach type of fusion works and/or re-interpretation of traditional folk songs and modern pop songs. (A. Chia, email interview, Oct 30, 2017)

A number of other musicians concur with such an assessment. For instance, Zubir Abdullah, Malay traditional musician, composer and teacher, talks at length about the risk of losing of jiwa (soul in Malay) in the process of incorporating traditional Malay instruments in contemporary music acts, where traditional instruments are played in a cursory or superficial manner. (Such issues are discussed in greater detail with regard to the transmission of Malay cultural tradition in Chap. 4, and in context of fusion in Chap. 5). A lot of young musicians today, faced with the popularization of this formulaic Singapore sound, are left confused and nonplussed. Echoing the feelings of many of his peers, Krsna ponders, “we asked ourselves, so, what is our tradition? So what is Singapore tradition? And people said it’s called rojak. But then what is rojak? You cannot say like rojak is our tradition” (K. Tan, personal interview, Oct 11, 2016).

2.3.3  Gestural Inclusion Gestural inclusion is another problematic consequence of musicians attempting to portray a Singapore sound. Whereas formulaic rojak has to do primarily with the music itself, gestural inclusion refers to a conscious attempt to give an arguably superficial show of diversity in the composition of the musicians themselves. Kristen Ng, an audience member present at The TENG Ensemble’s “Stories from an Island City” concert, recounted how she perceived the inclusion of Singaporean Malay and Singaporean Indian guest performers as an “obligation” (K. Ng, personal interview, Oct 4, 2016). It should be noted that The TENG Ensemble is entirely composed of Singaporean  Chinese musicians, and they are mainly concerned with promoting 6  Singlish word (or phrase “anyhow hantam”) which means to do or decide something in a perfunctory manner or by guesswork and hope for luck. Literally, hantam means “to hit” in Malay.

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awareness of Chinese instruments and music. Nonetheless, as we have seen, they do make claims to represent a more overarching Singaporean identity and, as such, have made efforts to include Malay and, to a lesser extent, Indian folk songs in their repertoire. However, the way in which the Singaporean Indian and Singaporean Malay guest musicians were included in “Stories from an Island City” was rather problematic: they clearly appeared in the shadow of the main musicians both musically and literally through awkward lighting choices. Kristen, for instance, describes how: it felt like they stuffed those performers into their sets to check off “racial harmony” on their list. The Malay and Indian performers came out for one song respectively, and then returned once more to the stage at the last song, which also felt like another obligatory, “everyone come on stage and be happy” performance. I’ll describe their concert as procedural as any school performance designed to please parents. There was nothing surprising or particularly inventive about any of their acts. As you can tell, my response is jaded because I feel like I’ve been made to watch too many similar shows from school already. (personal interview, Oct 4, 2016)

To Kristen, the ensemble’s unconvincing portrayal of racial harmony reminded her of her school years, during which she felt indoctrinated through similar politically correct musical displays of nationhood. Now keenly aware of such formulas, she has developed an acutely skeptical outlook towards them. Several musicians voiced similar concerns. They warned that transposing the concept of racial harmony onto music-­ making can result in the gestural performing of inclusion (which may be false, i.e. performative), and therefore may not actually contribute to fostering genuine and meaningful inclusion in society. Moreover, what does the reification of The TENG Ensemble as a poster child for Singapore’s unique multicultural society say about Singaporean national identity itself? Is the nation to be perceived as inherently Chinese culture with a few Malay and Indian influences here and there, served up with a thick layer of Western pop culture? Whether the application of ideals like racial harmony to music-making leads to gestural or genuine inclusion depends firstly on the intentions of the musicians. In order to feasibly assess this, one has to get to know the musicians, their personal priorities, values, political convictions and ethical compass. During the course of our research, we got a sense that yIN Harmony, founded upon the partnership and close friendship between Qing Lun and Ghanavenothan, develops an arguably deeper and more radical form of multiculturalism than The TENG Ensemble was able to convey in its concert. As described earlier, the group’s purposeful intercultural approach, built on mutual respect, sharing and listening across cultures, can prevent musicians from going down the unfortunate path of “window dressing” style of racial harmony. Qing Lun recounted how one of his flute students, an 11-year old Singaporean Chinese boy, told him that when he grows up, he wants to become a musician. Qing Lun told him to continue to learn the Chinese flute, but to also pick up the Indian flute. After some initial reticence, the boy now relishes playing both instruments, which inspired Qing Lun to say that, “if he truly opens his heart to both, in the next 10 years, we will see a whole new hope for Singapore flute music” (Q. L. Tan, telephone interview, Nov 07, 2017).

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2.3.4  Rigid “Racial” Categories The musicians from SA(仨) also critiqued the idea of the Singapore sound being linked to the idealised CMIO model of society because it does not match their political, artistic and intellectual interests. Having played to the beat of racial harmony in Singapore for many years, Cheryl, the group’s drummer, shares: I guess for a lot of this culture vulture thing, it’s more of I have my Chinese element, you bring in your Malay element, the Indian element comes in and then we play together. … We have done it many times, we don’t want to do that anymore. (C. Ong, personal interview, Sep 19, 2016)

Safuan Johari, musician and producer for NADA (a musical and visual arts duo he formed with Rizman Putra, that is constructed around a fictive Malay band that existed in the early 1960s Singapore) is also critical of the prevalence of CMIO mindsets in the arts. He argues that: it’s problematic to see artists by the colour of your skin. To say we are Malay artists and then we carry the responsibility, burden and baggages of the entire community. I think the better way to look at it, is just see us as Singaporean artists. And then all of us are involved in the dialogue of what it is to be a Singaporean. (S. Johari, personal interview, Jan 24, 2017)

Although musicians like Safuan want to avoid ‘racial’ labels, and Cheryl says that she and her bandmates “don’t feel bad about losing [their Chineseness]”, they note that many other Singaporean musicians today still hold on to ethnic and ‘racial’ categories (C. Ong, personal interview, Sep 19, 2016). Kong (1999) offers a reason for the persistence of this CMIO mindset: “the heightened consciousness of ethnic identity that Singaporeans generally feel, is the result of the institutionalisation and bureaucratisation of ethnicity in Singapore and a historical legacy from colonial ideology” (p.  217, citing Benjamin 1976; Clammer 1982; Siddique 1989). Unfortunately, the framing of the Singapore sound in terms of racial harmony and representation of ethnic/‘racial’ groups (and their respective traditions) reinforces this “heightened consciousness”, and perpetuates the institutionalisation of ethnic/‘racial’ boundaries at the expense of a more radical creative freedom to which these young musicians aspire. In her essay for e-flux on Asian Futurism, Wang (2017) identifies the prevailing tendency in the contemporary art world and Western mainstream media and public, to take non-­Western artists as “representing” a race, place or culture. She writes about the resulting pressure facing non-Western artists to play up their alterity and explain themselves and their work to Western audiences in “self-exoticising” ways: The “other” has gained a voice, but only to continuously explain, qualify, and make sense of itself. The dense hermeneutics of context-explaining takes up much of the space necessary for the real dialogue required by any ambitiously speculative and interdisciplinary artistic practices operating outside the Euro-American epistemological comfort zone. More insidious is the continued prevalence of self-exoticizing art practices with built-in, bite-size, self-explanatory mechanisms. (Wang 2017, n.p.)

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This self-exoticising can be practiced by individual musicians (by representing a ‘race’ and claiming authenticity in cultural practice) and by music groups (by portraying themselves as a harmonious juxtaposition of distinct bounded ‘racial’/cultural groups where each musician represents a ‘race’/culture and all come together to form a harmonious whole). The phenomenon of self-exoticising is sustained by the CMIO classification and the trope of racial harmony, as much as it is fueled by the world music industry which has  vested interests in marketing exoticism and alterity for commercial gain. Both CMIO and the world music industry help maintain Western imperialist assumptions about the immutable ancestral traditions of non-Western others and the immiscible difference between peoples (see Connell and Gibson 2004; Feld 2000).

2.3.5  B  randing + Patronage + Performance: A Perilous Triangle One final critique of the multiculturalist Singapore sound has to do with its negative effect on creativity and innovation. Andy Chia from SA(仨) explains that there is a tension between the creation of good music and the commercial and political appeal of riding the wave of the Singapore sound. He feels there is a current emergence of fusion ensembles that are simply reproducing what has already been done before, and that their relative success has more to do with a spirit of opportunism rather than genuine musical innovation: I personally feel that the “racial harmony” gigs was a good start in connecting the musicians of different ethnic backgrounds together. However, the problem is that the style and mode of putting music together has pretty much remained the same throughout the years. This isn’t an official term but we tend to refer to it as the “Iskandar sound” - the sound created by the late Iskandar Ismail. The same sound can be heard in People’s Association (PA)’s show, the National Day Parade, etc. Further evolution hasn’t really been made much since then. (A. Chia, email interview, Oct 30, 2017)

Kristen, who says she is “novelty-seeking” and enjoys music groups that have their own distinctive styles, levels similar criticisms of The TENG Ensemble calling its “genre” of music “overproduced”: it’s the same fare for the yearly NDP [National Day Parade] songs. … There’s a whole spectrum of musical styles out in the world, and seeing this sort of music repeatedly being branded as “Singaporean” disappoints every time. Their songs felt like propaganda. (K. Ng, personal interview, Oct 4, 2016)

Talking about the recent emergence of fusion ensembles, Andy mentions the important question of patronage and the way in which some music groups choose to benefit from it: These groups are more often than not initiated by individual government bodies from the different countries in a feeble attempt to “unite” the Asian countries under their banner. There are also a growing number of individual groups who perhaps see this particular genre an easy way to gain popularity or make money. This results in a commercial form of enter-

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Andy points to certain groups such as The TENG Ensemble, C-ASEAN, OneAsia and ASEAN-Korea Traditional Orchestra, which, in his view, are intricately linked to governmental agendas and commercial interests. This nexus between making commercial art and getting government support is worthy of further exploration. In contrast, Samuel, The TENG Ensemble’s musical director, asserts he “believe[s] in commercial art” (personal interview, Sep 26, 2016). Interestingly, Samuel explained how he shaped the identity of the ensemble based on the findings from a market research exercise implemented by his students at the University of Buffalo-Singapore University of Social Sciences, in which they polled young people aged 17 to 25 about their likes and dislikes in relation to Chinese instrumental performances and pop culture. Today, the ensemble is part of a larger company (the TENG Company) that handles the commercial side of their work and that has received support from both the private and public sectors in Singapore7. Samuel says he is less driven by artistic ideals and more concerned with gratifying the nostalgic sentiments and commercial tastes of their older fan base (Chap. 7 discusses the question of nostalgia in their music: I’m quite aware that some artists or some musicians will listen to our music and say, oh, this is easy listening, you know, that kind of thing. Well, I think musically or performance wise it might be quite easy, but the thought process behind it actually is a lot deeper. So if you are not able to work past the technique, then you can’t see the bigger picture. (S. Wong, personal interview, Sep 26, 2016)

However, Benjamin Lim Yi, former composer and guitar player for The TENG Ensemble from 2009 to 2013, shared how the group’s emphasis on commercial success led to what he perceived to be a drop in the quality of their music. Recounting how, following the viral success of “Gangnam Style” by Psy in 2012, Samuel asked him to compose a similar “hit”, Benjamin says: he was obsessed with this notion of virality. He wanted me to give him a hit that will be viral…. But, I said, ‘musically speaking, artistically speaking, yes, I know it’s catchy, yes, I know it’s viral. But I will not go there’. … there needs to be a bottom-line in terms of real art. (B. Lim Yi, personal interview, Oct 13, 2016, emphasis his)

Like Andy and Kristen, Benjamin believes musicians should strive to push artistic boundaries and make the highest-quality music they can, without being condescending about the public’s ability to appreciate art. He affirms: I felt that I found a common denominator that was a lot higher than what the pop music industry thinks of the mainstream audience. … Because mainstream music and these producers, they think it’s like… let’s give them fast food of the lowest quality. Because anyway these people don’t have the taste buds for it, no one can discern it, these are idiots. And this  The TENG Ensemble is the beneficiary of an NAC Seed grant (from April 1, 2015, to March 31, 2018), and it has received substantial donations (S$200,000 or more) from Temasek, a large Singapore state-owned holding company in 2015 and S$50,000 or more each from the Fullerton Heritage and the Ng Teng Fong Charitable Foundation in 2016 and 2017. The Teng Ensemble Ltd, however, which handles the non-commercial side of their work, is a not-for-profit charity registered under the Singapore Charities Act. 7

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is exactly what Kelly Tang8 used to say as well: when you expect that of people … you’re not doing a lot to educate people. (B. Lim Yi, personal interview, Oct 13, 2016)

Many musicians decry what they perceive as the “selling out” or compromising artistry and creativity, and toeing the line to create a formulaic Singapore sound as a result of a strategic business decision to ensure one’s commercial success. Yet, as some have discovered, invoking racial harmony and embodying an idealised version of Singaporean multiculturalism on stage and in their music is not the only ingredient for commercial success.  As we have seen earlier, Chong (2011) points to the economic motivations behind Singapore’s cultural policies, and how the value of art is defined in economic terms. According to the young Singaporean musicians we spoke to, what helps catch the eye of funding agencies is both the framing the project/event/music group in line with the dominant racial harmony/multiculturalist ideology, and how established the music group (or individual musician) applying for funding is. Talking about his experience with the NAC Qing Lun explains: Right now, they support groups that are more established. It’s a very government thing that I see now: you get funding because you perform. But I am not saying it’s not right. It’s understandable. But would you be able to at least open up and listen to people with other voices? To find alternative ways to help them? (Q. L. Tan, telephone interview, Nov 07, 2017)

According to Qing Lun, these new voices are not given a chance because of what he identifies as three core problems: a lack of understanding and passion for the arts on the part of bureaucrats in key leadership roles, a single-minded emphasis on achieving KPIs (key performance indicators), and the over-bureaucratisation of the entire chain of command. Qing Lun recalls how he had approached the NAC to get support for his pioneering ASEAN-ROK Flute Festival which he had envisioned to be held in the city-state. But the agency had been sceptical to “entrust [him] with such a large-scale project” because of his young age and lack of credentials. In the end, the first edition of the festival successfully took place in the Philippines in November 2017. Qing Lun affirms the government’s concern with commercial viability as the main measuring stick for disbursing funding poses a catch 22 dilemma: I have a dream and I have the energy today, and I am willing to burn myself out one million times to achieve it. But if you give me money ten years later, when I will be married, have kids, I won’t have the same energy! (Q. L. Tan, telephone interview, Nov 07, 2017; emphasis his)

 Internationally renowned Singaporean composer whose work covers classical, jazz and popular music genres 8

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2.4  P  art 3: Reappraising the Notion of the Singapore Sound from the Ground Up 2.4.1  A Sapling Metaphor Having discussed the Singapore sound and its pitfalls as identified by musicians, let us now focus on an alternative way of thinking. This third section will focus on counter-hegemonic interpretations of the Singapore sound which frame it as an idea and a possibility, rather than an ideologically informed formula described in Parts 1 and 2. Many musicians did not approach the question of the Singapore sound from the angle of ideology or national identity, but from a more pragmatic standpoint, relating the idea of such a sound to their own experience and knowledge of the music scene. In fact, the majority of musicians and music industry professionals we interviewed admitted they did not believe there was any Singapore sound right now. Daniel Peters, who, at the time of writing, is the Singaporean editor-in-chief of local online music magazine Bandwagon says: there is no real Singapore sound. … The Singapore music scene to me is a collection of tales from people, different perspectives, just as how it is sort of like a microcosm of the Singapore society itself. … What really makes this music Singaporean [is] still very hard to define, especially when the scene is so disparate in the first place. (personal interview, Dec 29, 2016)

Nicholas Yeo, a blogger about Singapore’s social and physical landscapes at lionraw.com, also writes: As an organiser of made-in-Singapore music gigs myself, my talk with musicians, whom I feel exhibit perhaps the best balance between supporting local talent and being open to international exposure, often goes back to the point that there really is no such thing as a “Singapore sound”, while debates persists over whether there is indeed a brand of Singapore film, literature and theatre. (2015, n.d.)

While our respondents often agreed that multiculturalism is one of the main positive characteristics of Singapore as a society, they did not necessarily believe that this complex  sociological phenomenon ought to be literally transposed onto the realm of music, in order to create a so-called Singapore sound. They were critical and dismissive of overly deterministic and superficial formulas for the Singapore sound. They expressed scepticism of the term’s grandiloquence and ambition—proclaiming as it does a sound that musicians themselves are not sure even exists. Many said they feel disconnected from, and unenthused about, the Singapore sound label. This desire and anxiety about identifying and promoting such a sound is much like putting the carriage in front of the horse—wishful thinking that is not entirely helpful to those who are trying to get ahead with their music-making. It is as if those who trumpet the existence of the Singapore sound expect it to come into being as a result of repeated affirmations like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Musicians feel the popularity of the term reveals more about Singaporeans’ existential crisis in relation to their national and personal identities than it does about the actual music it is meant to describe.

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Daniel Peters  was quick to  put the discussion into perspective by comparing Singapore to other parts of the world which have developed their own very distinct sounds: You know how Iceland has a very specific kind of sound. … And then different parts of America, they have their own music identity: LA in the 1960s used to be folk rock, you know. New York in the 2000s, they were very big on post-punk bands. For Singapore there is really no way, no way to really pinpoint the music identity. (D. Peters, personal interview, Dec 29, 2016)

Many musicians pointed out that the nation is just too young for any musical particularisms to have had a chance to develop. Much of the music scene is still a rather informal and incipient assemblage. Remember that it took centuries of syncretic musical practices and of “Africanisation of American music” to develop what we now know as jazz (Gioia 1997, n.p.). A young nation like Singapore, as Guo Ming from the audiovisual duo TZECHAR observes, “is still too small and young to have even enough empirical data to make any aggregation of a definable commonality”, and given the number of people partaking in the music scene, there is “not enough for anything of particular significance to develop” (M. Guo, email interview, Mar 13, 2017). Singaporean flautist Rit Xu provides us with an apt description of the process by which local original music develops: Original music is still… something foreign to Singaporean audiences. So it takes time to… it’s like trying to grow a plant, you know, you need to give it water, give it nutrients in order for the plant to grow. So… I think we are still growing. (personal interview, Jan 18, 2017)

Interestingly, a similar botanical metaphor can be found in Kwok’s “The Bonsai and the Rainforest” (2004) in which he describes the Singapore art scene as a bonsai—pruned, shaped and miniaturised by the government’s cultural policies, until it is unable to reproduce on its own. He contrasts this with the “rainforest” which reflects the blossoming of independent creative expression. We found that many musicians expressed views relatively similar to this one. Sebastian Ho, from local “ethnic fusion” band SBT trio, argues that the local music scene is still recovering from the government’s heavy-handed “clampdown on music and club scenes in Singapore” in the 1960s and 1970s (S. Ho, email interview, May 01, 2017). He describes how the promising emergence of local musical acts was severely curtailed by those policies: We have had bands who have made an impact on the international music scene back then. Bands like The Straydogs and The Quests were making waves. But eventually they died out. I know of a local musician who gave up citizenship to play for a world class pop act because the government didn’t grant him deferment from national service to tour with the group. That shows a lot about the kind of support the government had for music back then. So things like this actually made it hard to Singaporean acts to rise up. (email interview, May 01, 2017)

However, like many musicians and music industry professionals, Sebastian believes that things are now changing: “The government is realising that we are lacking in this department and increased support and financial measures have been put in place to nurture and develop local artistes to rise up to the international scene”

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(S. Ho, email interview, May 01, 2017). So, although the bonsai is still being pruned and shaped in various ways, local musicians are tirelessly nurturing and fighting for their own rainforest, one sapling at a time. Mike See, music manager at local label House of Riot and council member at the Music Society SGMUSO, agrees that the music scene is currently undergoing a growth spurt: I think we are going through a mini renaissance of music in Singapore, as we see the younger generation being far more expressive and experimental than their predecessors, and the quality of music has also improved greatly in the past couple of years. (SGMUSO n.d., n.p.)

2.4.2  Identity Crisis In 2016, Dick Lee was interviewed by Channel NewsAsia about the state of the contemporary music scene in Singapore. He affirmed that local musicians need to “find ways to be Singaporean” (Bharati 2016, n.p.). Dick Lee has been considered iconic of the nation-state because his work so effectively complements dominant narratives of national identity through his concerted effort at combining various Asian  musical and cultural forms. However, Ming from TZECHAR asks: “How would you even define [Singaporean identity in art]? Just speaking in a certain intonation with Singlish or making memetic dialect references?” He continues to note that: Singapore media (and art) has always struggled to find an accurate portrayal of such a diverse and culturally conflicted society like Singapore. Most attempts at being “authentically” Singaporean have been a nostalgia/kampong [village in Malay] trip but Singapore is actually really futuristic (to the rest of the world and objectively) and also tends to forget just how much of our population has always been from the outside. (M. Guo, email interview, Mar 13, 2017)

Most musicians were uncertain about, or reticent to identify, whether Singaporemade or Singaporean music possesses any distinguishing local particularities. They were also not sure how much these could be seen as local, and how much these could be deemed unique to Singapore. However, they did offer various reasons for the lack of significant ‘localisms’ in relation to Singapore’s historical development. Ming believes there is “no definable commonality” for several reasons, namely, the fact that Singaporeans: have less of a homogenous society than some others like Korea, and especially since our exposure to world media and the internet came REALLY early in the span of our country’s history, even/especially in relation to most other Asian ones. And of course, it’s a big deal that English is the first language which none of our neighbours have. (email interview, Mar 13, 2017, emphasis his)

Singapore’s great openness to the rest of the world and the fact that such exposure happened so early in the history of the nation-state has resulted in the widely evoked duality and ambivalence of being “both non-Western and always-already Westernized” (Ang and Stratton 1995, p.  67). Along with this comes a certain

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d­ isorientation resulting from not having a language unique to the country (English being the official language as a result of colonization), and from being surrounded by both Western and Asian pop cultures while being subsumed under a “synthetic overarching national identity” guided by reimagined “Asian values” (Tan 2008, p. 29). How might these historical processes and this contemporary “identity crisis” affect Singaporean music? For starters, it has contributed to a certain derivative tendency in Singaporean music (and arguably, art in general) linked to a desire to emulate foreign cultures. As mentioned earlier in the chapter, in the early decades post independence, the influence of Western culture on Singaporean society was such that it was perceived, by Singapore’s leaders, to be a threat to the development of a cohesive national identity. Research in the fields of music and pop culture has shown that Western influence remains strong today (more about this in Chap. 6). Other Asian music scenes have also exerted and continue to have a strong influence on Singaporean society and culture; historically, Taiwanese music, and today most notably, K-Pop and K-dramas. Some musicians discussed this derivative tendency within Singaporean art and music. Ming noted that: a lot of artists (especially in Singapore, but also universally) seem to only consider their art credible if it can be compared to existing forms, and most artists go through some form of emulation until their inability to do it leads to original content. (M. Guo, email interview, Mar 13, 2017)

He also argues that this derivative tendency makes it hard to pinpoint any visibly or audibly Singaporean identity in locally made art: Politically Singapore has always stated to take the best of global government policies while maintaining a neutral political stance, a lot of Singapore art has by its nature been “derivative” which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it makes it harder for people (both creators and audience) to discern what makes it have a “Singaporean” identity besides some crude caricatures. (email interview, Mar 13, 2017)

Others also questioned why Western “erudite” culture appears to be valued more than local ethnic groups’ traditional culture, despite government discourse and cultural policies seeking to promote local heritages. Mohd Yaziz Hassan, co-founder and producer of the Malay percussion group NADI Singapura noted: During our music lessons in school, we are being taught only triangle, recorder…Why are we not taught to play a Chinese drum or a Chinese song, or even an Indian drum, Indian song? Why are we [playing] Western things? (M. Y. Hassan, personal interview, Aug 29, 2016)

Another member of NADI Singapura, Mohammad Nizarfauzi Norlie (known as Nizar), recounted how Riduan Zalani (co-founder and creative director of NADI) was invited to lead a band of hundreds of people in samba percussion, for Singapore’s 2009 National Day Parade. Nizar exclaimed, “Why Brazilian? Why not Chinese drums, why not Malay, why not Indian drums?” (personal interview, Oct 5, 2016, emphasis his). This anecdote, which Riduan also shared with us, reveals the need to build the capacity of traditional local musical practices, but certainly hints at the persistence of Western/foreign referentiality.

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Earlier in this chapter, Raghavendran Rajasekaran had voiced the concern that event programmers tend to favour international music groups from India over local acts who also play traditional Indian music. He also notes that, when his bands perform in Singapore, programmers often request that they play covers, even though they have their own repertoire of original music. He recalled a time when KULCHA was asked to play “easy-listening” music (which meant covers) to warm up the crowd before an overseas act (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, Jun 28, 2016). Sheryl Lim, manager of Flame of the Forest, shared similar experiences with event organisers who seem to undervalue local bands: We have faced several situations where clients, organisers give us a budget of S$500 dollars and when we explain why it’s too low, their instant replies are “you are just a local band, you don’t deserve to be paid so much, unless you are an overseas band” or “you guys are not royalty, why should we pay your rate”. (S. Lim, email interview, Nov 19, 2017)

Much is to be done in order to change the mindsets about local original music in Singapore. Ironically, it is not by playing covers that any kind of “Singapore sound” is likely to blossom.

2.4.3  Building an Audience For local original music to grow into any kind of Singapore sound(s), there needs to be a supportive ecosystem that enables this development. This ecosystem is composed of musicians, producers,  programmers, managers, funders, studios, performance venues, etc. and, crucially, consumers. Currently there does not seem to be a great demand by Singaporeans for local original music. All of the musicians we spoke to were adamant about the need to raise awareness and “educate” members of the public about local original music. Joel Chua, keyboardist for RaghaJazz, the Rit Xu Group and the Lorong Boys, believes the onus lies with both musicians and the public: Where possible I would love to see a change or a development in cultural acceptance for creative and original music. Yeah. I think while the appeal of what we know, like Top 40s, is very easy and very convenient, I hope both audiences and the musicians make an effort to be like creative and step out of that. Yeah, and do more for themselves. (J. Chua, personal interview, Nov 17, 2016)

Twenty-two-year-old singer-songwriter Jude Young says, “I wish that Singaporeans would make more of an effort to at least turn their ears towards local music. The local music scene is objectively a lot better than what the general public has in mind” (Ho 2016, n.p.). All the musicians we spoke to are actively trying to grow their audience by playing local shows and through social media, but two trends in particular are worth briefly pointing out because they have been relatively effective at helping to change local tastes and mindsets towards original music from Singapore. The first, which is discussed in greater detail in Chap. 6, is about how some music groups have been

2.4  Part 3: Reappraising the Notion of the Singapore Sound from the Ground Up

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developing strategies to attract younger audiences by incorporating new styles considered to be ‘cool’ by Singapore’s youth. The second is the #supportlocal trend which has been helping local original arts, culture and enterprise gain more traction. This hashtag, which began popping up across social media in the last few years, has raised public awareness about local music, and has reframed supporting local initiatives as trendy and hip. However, musicians also realise that this movement can only bring them so far; as Jude notes: Fundamentally, all it should take for Singaporeans to support local is good local products! I have faith that good music will have supporters – the geography hardly means anything. … One more thing: only good material deserves #supportlocal. If it isn’t good, #supportlocal becomes a crutch that helps nobody – not the artist, not the listener, not the scene. (Ho 2016, n.p.)

2.4.4  “Just Be You” The most common response from musicians when asked about the Singapore sound (after saying they did not believe it existed) was to state that the very concept is not something that concerns them as musicians. They want to create good music, and good music arises when artists are able to be themselves. Their creativity springs from open-ended processes of self-discovery. Finding one’s voice and being true to one’s ideas are what matter the most to the majority of young musicians we spoke to, and worrying about representing their country through their music-making is not. At the end of the day, musicians are artists who are thinking about how to make sound, not about fitting within any overarching idea. Ming observes that, “Singaporean-­ness in any of our work is an inevitable permeation we don’t particularly seek to evoke” (M.  Guo, email interview, Mar 13, 2017). Indeed, the Singaporean influences are there (as are those from a great deal of other sources/ places/cultures as discussed in Chap. 6) but that does not mean TZECHAR wants to represent anything but themselves. With a touch of humour, Ming observes the pressure to brand oneself for the international market often results in the “rhetoric of representing an entire race or region as if it’s some kind of interworld competitive sports”. Talking about artists like Utada Hikaru, Jane Zhang or CL, who crossed over to the US market, he notes: I don’t know which side (their agencies in their home country or the American representatives) decided to write that in press releases or it’s something they came to themselves or that’s what they’re told is the “angle”, but that [representing an entire race or region]’s an impossible thing to achieve regardless. (M. Guo, email interview, Mar 13, 2017)

Joel Chua repeatedly speaks about the importance of being sincere or true to oneself versus pandering to a national agenda: I think it’s important to create something honest and individual. If… I mean the only thing that is unique to you is yourself. You know, and if you’re actively trying to produce something for the sake of someone else, it’s… I don’t believe it’s going to be as interesting as you’re trying to produce your most naked and honest work for people to see you. Yeah. I

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2  Where Got Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music:… think that’s the most interesting and appealing thing you can do as an artist. Yeah. To express yourself as fully as possible. Just be you. (J.  Chua, personal interview, Nov 17, 2016)

Jit Seng Lee, RaghaJazz drummer, rejects the notion of speaking from any point of view—be it ‘racial’/ethnic, cultural or national—beyond his own as an individual artist and creator: When I try to compose with my friends, music-wise, I don’t think about representing anything. I want to represent ourselves, not my country, not my race, nothing. I just want to represent myself. I want to express myself. (J. S. Lee, personal interview, Dec 20, 2016)

Flame of the Forest’s Govin Tan expresses a kind of processual identity, where you gradually define yourself over time by composing your own music, as opposed to identifying a niche in the market and branding yourself in an attempt to fill it: A lot of people say you have to find your sound, you have to find your sound, you have to work on your sound before you work on anything else, you have to a very clear and detailed planning. … For me, I would say, “you work first. Your sound will find you”. Because when you work… the more you work, the more you write, the writing will only come from your influence. Your influence will go through this filter which is called you. And your input will be you. … And then soon, people will identify you with that sound. You don’t have to find like, eh, I want… purposely I want to have this sound. (G. Tan, personal interview, Oct 11, 2016)

Rit also noted that trying to fill a niche or perceived demand in the market is a short-­term strategy, and artists who pursue that strategy are likely not to have longevity. The important thing is to build one’s own artistic talent and body of work. Similarly, Andy Chia of SA(仨), agrees that before any labels, it is important to find one’s voice. In our film Sounds of Singapore, Andy states: What is very important is we cannot keep emulating stuff from everywhere else in the rest of the world. At the end of the day, we are just going to be borrowing culture and trying to be people we are not. We need to have our own voice and that comes from us thinking and writing our own stuff. (CARE, Sounds of Singapore [Video File] 2018)

The takeaway here is that any new, original and unique sounds can only emerge from a vibrant music scene filled with musicians who are passionately creating and freely expressing their own identities and individualities. Whatever eventually will emerge and be perceived as being unique to Singapore would only be a consequence, retrospectively identified and unintended (in the sense that artists do not set out to achieve this) of such a phenomenon. Loh (2014) also identifies the emergence of a Singapore sound as a “bottom-up, grassroots development—one more likely to be generated by alternative musicians”, as opposed to the current construct of the Singapore sound, “this particular story of the manufacturing of a musical identity” from the top-down (p. 346). She speaks to the importance of: approaching a Singapore sound through the lens of alternative music [which] allows for a definition of Singaporean music that does not solely consider its lyrics or the people behind it, but that instead takes into account the discerning capability of musical works. (Loh 2014, p. 346)

In short, one should stop focusing on what music or musicians are representing and start paying attention to the actual music that is being created.

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2.5  Final Thoughts The notion of a Singapore sound might be an appealing one, but what does it signify? This chapter began by showing how the state has sought to use music as a means to construct and reinforce an idea of national identity based around a specific kind of multiculturalism. The discourse about the Singapore sound is strongly influenced by this ideology. But, as we have seen, such branding of music is problematic. One of Singapore’s notable characteristics and greatest achievements is its multiculturalism which has arguably helped nurture among Singaporeans a shared respect, tolerance and appreciation of cultural difference. However, whether that multiculturalism can be transposed into music form and whether such music should be seen as a representation of the country is questioned and contested by the many Singaporean musicians we interviewed. The multiculturalist narrative  has certainly encouraged the formation of many interesting new musical initiatives—KULCHA, yIN Harmony and The TENG Ensemble to name a few, who have taken inspiration and cues from it. But the idea that  idealised concepts like racial harmony should be applied in one way or another to music has led to the pitfalls described in the second part of the chapter: (i) the tendency to try and pin down certain music, groups and instruments as inherently “ethnic” and “traditional”, and the issue of traditionalist gatekeepers, (ii) the risk of creating formulaic rojak fusion, (iii) superficial or gestural inclusion where diversity is turned into window dressing, (iv) the hardening and naturalising of constructs such as ‘race’ as promulgated by the CMIO classification system and (iv) the challenge to innovative artistic creation posed by an environment where echoing the dominant national narrative and making commercial music are more heavily rewarded. The third part of the chapter takes a step back and gives us a “reality check” from musicians. The majority of them affirmed there is currently no such thing as a Singapore sound. Those who did not outright refute the existence of such a sound, expressed great uncertainty about it, and affirmed it would be very difficult to ­identify or describe. Musicians likened the idea of a Singapore sound to an aspirational concept rather than a reality—one they do not necessarily aspire to themselves. They reminded us that any kind of unique sound produced by Singaporeans is more likely to develop in a flourishing original music scene—which is still not quite the case today though the scene is steadily growing. The chapter then outlined some important aspects relating to the contemporary music scene which affect the emergence (or not) of any Singapore sound: (i) the relatively small size and age of the music scene (and the nation), (ii) the unresolved “identity crisis” that many Singaporeans feel in relation to national identity, (iii) the lack of a domestic audience for original music, and (iv) the fact that musicians are artists who seek to represent themselves as creative individuals first and foremost. The first three factors are limitations to the flourishing of the local music scene that should be addressed before seeking or hoping for any kind of Singapore sound. The last point shows how part of developing the music scene means reckoning with the fact that musicians’

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priority is creative self-expression, and that this is what should be encouraged over any nationalist or economic agenda, because truly unique sounds are created by artists expressing themselves freely in a dynamic, effervescent and supportive environment that allows for experimentation. We briefly touched upon the openness and exposure of Singaporean musicians to influences from across the globe. This exposure and openness to information, diverse cultural goods and technologies, even if it has led to a crisis of identity as some musicians described, should not be seen as a bad thing. Most musicians see such exposure in a positive light, and observed that it has allowed them to develop the mindsets they have now. Moreover, every single individual, no matter where they come from, has multiple and evolving identities which are influenced by everything she/he has ever assimilated and come into contact with. Bourriaud, as mentioned in the book’s Introduction, notes how artists are especially susceptible to and welcoming of this multitude of affinities and affiliations through time and space. Because of the creative  networks  they develop and the diverse influences they assimilate, they often find themselves having to  navigate post-national, hyperglobalised and transcultural worlds. This constitutive heterogeneity, which aptly sums up the identities of all the Singaporean musicians we spoke to, is described as follows by Connell and Gibson (2004): Musical identities, like so much of popular culture, are now more transient and more evidently involved in fission and fusion than ever before. Escaping international influences – lyrical, ideological, stylistic or technological  – is impossible, and rarely sought, while attempts to produce music with a specific local identity are necessarily shaped by global trends: the global and local are thus relational rather than oppositional. (p. 357)

A case in point is Singaporean singer-songwriter Linying’s interview for online news outlet Coconuts Bali: COCONUTS: How much would you say growing up in Singapore has influenced your lyrics and musical direction? LINYING: A lot, but probably not in the sense that this question was intended — it’s the strength of the import culture in Singapore that has made it such that the majority of the music I’ve listened to all my life came from outside of the country itself. I was always ­hell-­bent on getting the newest CD or live DVD of my favourite band or going to their concerts, and I think that’s why the music that I’ve ended up making covers themes that are so universal and neither geographically nor culturally specific, because it was only these universal themes that could appeal to me, being a listener so geographically and culturally removed from the musicians themselves. (Linying, personal interview with Coconuts Bali, Nov 21, 2016)

A far cry from what is commonly understood to be the “Singapore sound”, yet Linying is the first Singaporean female artist to sign on with Universal Music Singapore. It begs the question: could this talented young millennial musician be more “representative” of Singapore? Could she be the much awaited “Singapore sound”? Of course put in that way, such questions seem both futile and ridiculous, especially given Linying’s comment about the universality of her sound. Nonetheless,

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these are valid questions given the current interest in locating this Singapore sound. The fact that Singaporean musicians’ identities are a complex interweaving of the local and the global points to the futility of framing the discussion in terms of nationality (let us not talk about being uniquely Singaporean-sounding, but about being unique full stop). Just to give an example, people do not remember the “British Invasion9”  as much as they remember The Beatles, The Who and The Rolling Stones. The difference here is that there really was a cultural phenomenon of British bands reaching the top of the US (and global) charts. The point I am making is: should one worry about a Singapore sound if musicians themselves are not convinced of its existence and instead point to the need to develop the music scene first and foremost? Should one endeavour to foment a particular Singapore sound or strive to create an environment that fosters local creativity in all its forms? The last thought is about Singapore national identity. Listening to musicians and becoming attuned to their complex identities and interests tells us something important about it. Singaporeans are increasingly feeling dissatisfied with grand narratives about the nation. This trend will likely intensify with shifting demographics, new waves of immigration, and a more intensely interconnected world. While the construction of a multicultural national identity that instills the values of racial harmony has helped Singapore overcome its developmental challenges, a more radical embracing of hybridity and cultural fluidity should now be welcomed. That means taking into account multiple versions of the nation. Just as individuals have increasingly hybrid and multiple identities, “no longer can most societies be seen as selfcontained, authentic, meaning-­making communities; rather most cultures are partly derivative and mutually entangled, enmeshed in the complex power-laden relations between local worlds and larger systems” (Lockard 1998, p. 266). As Edward Said wrote, “all cultures are involved in one another; none is single and pure, all are hybrid, heterogeneous, extraordinarily differentiated and unmonolithic” (Said 1979, p. 15). It is this very hybridity that constitutes Singapore and its people, and that represents its strength. So returning to the question of the Singapore sound, it is true that theoretical concepts such as multiculturalism and racial harmony may influence and be endorsed by musicians, but given the shifting and multiple nature of individuals and societies, these ideals should not be mistaken for a blueprint for the country’s unique sound. It is the individual, defined by the complex synthesis of influences she/he has accumulated in life, who has a chance at creating a Singapore sound and/or create what the current sound of Singapore music is and will be. By trying to sound like his or herself, indeed, just by playing music, culture is created. In some ways, we’re detailing the continuing conflict between modernity and postmodernity. In modernism, there is an ideal in the sky for what art should be and the expectation that every artist should strive for it. Postmodernity says that everyone’s voice has an equal weight and valid message. Should one emphasise an idea,  A term, coined by an American news correspondent, that describes the wave of British rock and pop music acts whose popularity grew exponentially in the United States in the mid-1960s. 9

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a preconceived notion of what musical constructs should be, or listen to and help develop the voice of a musician who plays what sounds nice to him or her? Do both have equal validity or weight when defining the culture of a particular time/space/ place? These are some of the questions which I hope this chapter has instigated.

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Kong, L., & Yeoh, B. S. A. (2003a). Nation, ethnicity, and identity: Singapore and the dynamics and discourses of Chinese migration. In L. J. C. Ma & C. Cartier (Eds.), The Chinese diaspora: Place, mobility, and identity (pp. 193–220). New York/Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. Kong, L., & Yeoh, B. S. A. (2003b). The politics of landscapes in Singapore: Constructions of “Nation”. Syracuse/New York: Syracuse University Press. Kotwani, M. (2017, Feb 17). Building students’ interest in heritage, community engagement in arts a key focus for MCCY. Channel News Asia. Retrieved from http://www.channelnewsasia.com/ news/singapore/building-students-interest-in-heritage-community-engagement-in-a-7588708 KULCHA. (2017). KULCHA Press kit. [unpublished, provided by artist]. Kwok, K.-W. (2004). The bonsai and the rainforest: reflections on culture and cultural policy in Singapore. In C.-K. Tan & T. Ng (Eds.), Ask not: The necessary stage in Singapore theatre (pp. 1–25). Singapore: Times Editions. Lockard, C.  A. (1998). Dance of life: Popular music and politics in Southeast Asia. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Loh, B. (2014). Alternative music and the emergence of a Singaporean sound. Journal of Popular Music Studies, 26(2–3), 346–367. Lum, C. H., & Chua, S. L. (2016). Teaching living legends: Professional development and lessons for the 21st century music educator. Singapore: Springer. Matter, Y. (2009). Popular cultural cringe: Language as signifier of authenticity and quality in the Singaporean popular music market. Popular Music, 28(2), 179–195. MITA. (2000). Renaissance city report: Culture and the arts in renaissance Singapore. Retrieved from https://www.nac.gov.sg/dam/jcr:defaf681-9bbb-424d-8c77-879093140750 Nanda, A. (2017, Nov 14). Three races in musical harmony. The Straits Times. Retrieved from http://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/arts/three-races-in-musical-harmony National Heritage Board. (n.d.-a). GRANTS.  Retrieved from http://www.nhb.gov.sg/ awards-and-grants/grants/overview National Heritage Board. (n.d.-b). HERITAGE PLAN FOR SINGAPORE. Retrieved from https:// www.nhb.gov.sg/about-us/heritage-plan-for-singapore Mohamad Salleh, N. A. (2016, Jul 12). Folk songs from an island city. Straits Times. Retrieved from http://www.straitstimes.com/lifestyle/arts/folk-songs-from-an-island-city Music for State. (n.d.). MusicSG.  Retrieved from https://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/music/Media/ PDFs/Article/fec8d5e6-3db7-47f2-ac4a-4b69eeca90f1.pdf Phua, S. C., & Kong, L. (1996). Ideology, social commentary and resistance in popular music: A case study in Singapore. Journal of Popular Culture, 30(1), 215–231. Quah, J. S. T. (1990). Government policies and nation-building. In J. S. T. Quah (Ed.), In search of Singapore’s national values (pp. 45–65). Singapore: Times Academic Press. Saïd, E. (1979). Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books. SGMUSO. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://sgmuso.org Siddique, S. (1989). Singaporean identity. In K. Singh Sadhu & P. Wheatley (Eds.), Management of success: The moulding of modern Singapore (pp. 563–577). Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Sim, W. (2015a, Aug 24). Group ‘created something uniquely S’pore’. Straits Times. Retrieved from http://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/group-created-something-uniquely-spore Sim, W. (2015b, Aug 24). Passion for Chinese culture among youth. Straits Times. Retrieved from http://www.straitstimes.com/singapore/passion-for-chinese-culture-among-youth Singapore Sounds Facebook page (n.d.). Retrieved from https://www.facebook.com/spore.sounds/ Tan, K.  P. (2008). Cinema and television in Singapore: Resistance in one dimension. Leiden: Koninjlijke Brill NV. The TENG Ensemble Press & Media webpage. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://thetengcompany.com/ press-media Toh, C. L. (2004, March 10). The uniquely Singaporean spin. Today, p. 3. Retrieved from http:// eresources.nlb.gov.sg/newspapers/Digitised/Article/today20040310-2.2.5.3

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Wang, X. (2017). Asian futurism and the non-other. E-flux Journal #81 - April 2017. Retrieved from http://www.e-flux.com/journal/81/126662/asian-futurism-and-the-non-other/ Wee, C. J. W.-L. (1996). Staging the new Asia: Singapore’s Dick Lee, pop music, and a counter-­ modernity. Public Culture, 8(3), 489–511. Yeo, Nicholas (2015, Dec 1). What does ‘Support Local’ really mean? The Lion Raw. Retrieved from https://lionraw.com/2015/12/01/what-does-support-local-really-mean/ Yong, C. (2016, Mar 7). Mission: To build a national identity. Straits Times. Retrieved from http:// www.straitstimes.com/singapore/mission-to-build-a-national-identity Zubillaga-Pow, J.  & Ho, C.  K. (2014). Singapore Soundscape: Musical renaissance of a global city. National Library Board (Singapore). Retrieved from https://www.scribd.com/ document/242878621/The-Singaporean-Soundscape

Chapter 3

Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from A Contemporary Instrumental Group in Singapore Chee-Hoo Lum

Contents 3.1  I ntroduction 3.2  A  Note on Data Collection and Analysis 3.3  Theoretical Musings 3.3.1  Collaborative Creativity 3.4  Findings 3.4.1  Time and Space 3.4.2  Creative Context 3.4.3  Pushing Creatively 3.4.4  Leadership and Facilitation 3.4.5  Jamming 3.4.6  Dynamics of Instruments 3.4.7  One-on-One Interaction 3.4.8  Technology 3.4.9  Challenging Technical Skills 3.4.10  Key Elements in the Collaborative Creative Process 3.5  Discussion References

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3.1  Introduction In this research narrative, the focus is on one Singaporean musical group, SA (仨), made up of a group of three musicians (Andy (dizi/didgeridoo/vocal/electronics), Natalie (guzheng/electronics), Cheryl (drums/percussion/electronics)) that plays musical genres ranging from world, instrumental to experimental, using live looping, electronics and/or purely acoustic. More specifically, the research narrative traced the musical collaboration between SA(仨) with the Malay trio OrkeStar Trio (Riduan Zalani, Alhafiz Jamat, Ismahairie Putra Ishak), Indian trio Tamarind Sound Project (Raghavendran Rajasekaran, Sai Akilesh, Sai Vignesh) and percussionists Nizarfauzi Norlie and Ramu Thiruyanam towards Ethni-city II.1 1  “As the 2nd run of the series (Ethni-city) in Singapore’s Golden Jubilee year (2015), the series aimed to celebrate ethnic and cultural differences of Singaporeans by acknowledging the great diversity of language, food, art and culture that different ethnicities have brought about, while at

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_3

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3  Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from A Contemporary Instrumental Group… Ethnicity II simultaneously explores the roots and meeting of culture through the arts from the Chinese, Malay, Indian and Other (CMIO) communities. Singapore’s multi-racial setting has helped shaped a culture into one about understanding and tolerance, but we believe that our country can progress even further on that front. The project is a reflection of Singapore society as it is now and where we hope it will go. In Ethni-city II, we search for the one thing that is common to all our ethnicities – music – and in that process, break down the constructs around our different backgrounds and transcend into a single, harmonious coadunation (definition: united by growth). (Artistic Brief prepared by SA(仨) for the intended Ethni-city II repertoire programming)

3.2  A Note on Data Collection and Analysis Data collection included extended recorded interviews with SA(仨). Pre-interviews were conducted with the musician group. The purpose was to have an understanding of the musicians’ sociocultural background, musical training, musical influences and experiences. In addition, the research team hopes to understand the genesis of the group, their impetus for music-making and the musical trajectory of the group. Field observations of SA(仨) in rehearsals and performances were then conducted by the research team including the collation of material artefacts relevant to the creative processes of the local musicians. In this instance, the research team followed through SA’s collaborative project, Ethni-city II, with the Malay trio OrkeStar Trio, Indian trio Tamarind Sound Project as well as percussionists Nizarfauzi Norlie and Ramu Thiruyanam. All audio data were transcribed verbatim, and selected video data relevant to the themes concerned were also transcribed. Analysis of the case study began with the codes/themes that emerged from the data with initial codes guided by considerations of creative processes employed by the collaborative group. A collection of coding methods, such as descriptive, narrative and in  vivo coding and possible filters drawn from Saldaña’s (2009) coding manual for qualitative arts researchers, were used to approach this inquiry.

3.3  Theoretical Musings 3.3.1  Collaborative Creativity This study takes on the operational definition of creativity to mean novelty as espoused by John-Steiner (2000) and Sawyer (2003a, b). Novelty is taken to mean the creation of new and alternative ideas with regard to an emerging problem. Creativity research has shifted from the focus on the characteristics of the creator the same time converging because we grew up living and experiencing the same environment. Ethni-city II aimed to do this through a group of young and innovative ethnic musicians, who will come together in a Musical Art Performance, showcasing their music which has deep roots in their individual ethnicities, while at the same time embracing and assimilating the various cultural influences from one another, as well as the West” (Program notes, Ethni-city II, 2015).

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(Guildford 1950) to social and cultural dimensions of creativity (Amabile 1983; Csikszentmihalyi 1988). Creativity is seen to emerge from collaboration and group dynamics, resulting in research work that explored collaborative creativity (John-­ Steiner 2000; Sawyer 2003a, b, 2006). Sawyer and DeZutter (2009) noted that while there is recognition of the significance of group collaboration, “we have very little understanding of the relationship between the emergent creativity of the group, and the individual creative actions of each member of the group” (p.  81). Examining the collaborative creativity of a musician group through this research study will certainly add to existing literature to further the understanding of creativity at work in collaborative settings. Collaborative creativity suggests that the emerging problem stems from a collective task of getting a group (in this instance, a group of musicians) to work towards creating something novel (musically), and in addition, “the novel idea must be in some way reasonable and sensible in the situation concerned…must be socially appropriate and thus be recognized as socially valuable in some way” (Sawyer 2004; Sternberg 2003 as cited in Eteläpelto and Lahti 2008). Thus “the collaborative processes of group creativity” has to happen “within particular contexts” (Kenny 2014). In this collaborative setting, the musicians (made up of SA(仨), in collaboration with the Malay trio OrkeStar Trio, Indian trio Tamarind Sound Project and percussionists Nizarfauzi and Ramu Thiruyanam) came together to create and collaborate over several rehearsals, the entire original musical programme for their combined performance of Ethni-city II. The term collaborative emergence is used to refer to group processes that are, “relatively unconstrained, such that unexpected creativity could result” (Sawyer and DeZutter 2009, p. 82), defined by social encounters that are essentially improvisational. Collaborative emergence typically aligns with the following four characteristics: “(i) the activity has an unpredictable outcome, rather than a scripted, known endpoint; (ii) there is moment-to-moment contingency: each person’s action depends on the one just before; (iii) the interactional effect of any given action can be changed by the subsequent actions of other participants; and (iv) the process is collaborative, with each participant contributing equally” (Sawyer and DeZutter 2009, p. 82). In examining the musical collaboration between SA(仨) and the set of musicians, the characteristics of collaborative emergence serve as useful starting points for analysis, as the collaborative work is essentially improvisational, fuelled through verbal, gestural and musical interactions. In a collaborative setting, “the interactions among group members often become a more substantial source of creativity than the inner mental processes of any one participating individual” (Sawyer and DeZutter 2009, p. 83). While each member in a collaborative setting can contribute creative material, the individual’s contribution can only make sense if the creative material is heard, absorbed and elaborated on by other members of the group (Sawyer 2000). Thus, creativity emerges with increased contingency and decreased explanatory power of individual variables (Sawyer and DeZutter 2009). Sawyer and DeZutter (2009) also noted in discussing the interaction analysis of rehearsals of a student improvisational theatre group that “the group had developed both a stable narrative structure and a set of bits (action and dialogue)

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that they used consistently to communicate essential plot points” (p. 90). It can be surmised that “structure and bits” created through collaborative interactions between all members in a group over time can play an important role in housing improvisational activity and the creative product that will eventually emerge. Shared structure thus emerges over time within collaborative groups (particularly groups that emphasise improvisation) that guide performance. The notion of ‘etiquette’ is a connected consequence once the shared structure becomes an accepted community of practice (e.g. jazz), “because a knowledgeable audience is also familiar with these structures, they will better be able to understand the performance and to appreciate how it is different from similar improvisations” (Sawyer 2000, p. 180). Studies within jazz ensemble settings suggest that a balance between musical and social processes where challenge and learning are valued as key components of participation would foster collaborative creativity (Kenny 2014). This would mean an active understanding of genre-specific conventions, values and traditions through “musical communication” (Seddon and Biasutti 2009) while also having leadership to “consistently challenge the group and provide opportunities to engage in creative practices” (Kenny 2014, p. 7). The resultant feelings of “flow”, “togetherness” and “belonging” felt by members during musical performance “in the moment” were built up through a shared history of playing together in musical and social ways (Kenny 2014). Kenny (2014) also emphasised that multiple and varied spaces for collaboration and time are particularly essential for fostering collaborative creativity. Another useful term to think about in collaborative creative settings is the notion of emphatic attunement or “striking a groove” (Berliner 1994), which suggests “improvisers go beyond responding supportively to their fellow musicians and stimulate the conception of new ideas” (p. 50), requiring “communication and collaborative aesthetic judgment” (Seddon 2005, p.  49). This also suggests a need for musicians to “trust in, care about and respect the musical abilities of the other band members during performance, especially if they are taking musical risks” (Seddon 2005, p. 49). Cooperative and collaborative modes of communication need to be worked through in the creative process. In cooperative mode, “musicians discuss and plan the organization of the piece prior to performance in order to achieve a cohesive performance (verbal)”, and “musicians achieve sympathetic attunement and exchange stocks of musical knowledge, producing cohesive performance employing: body language, facial expression, eye contact, musical cues and gesticulation (non-verbal)” (Seddon 2005, p. 53). In collaborative mode, “musicians discuss and evaluate their performance of the music in order to develop the content and/or style of the piece (verbal)”, and “musicians achieve empathetic attunement, take risks which can result in spontaneous musical utterances (non-verbal)” (Seddon 2005, p. 53). Research has suggested that both “complementarity” and “tensions” within groups will aid in creating the right conditions for collaborative creativity to occur (Moran and John-Steiner 2004). In complementarity, there is a recognition that

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“collaborators are made up of people with “different perspectives, expertise, conceptualizations, working methods, temperaments, resources, needs, and talents… the interaction of these differences forms the foundation for the dynamics of collaboration to unfold” (Moran and John-Steiner 2004, p. 12). Tension alludes to the fact that the goal of collaboration is not to reach consensus, “as such agreement does not lead to learning or challenge” (Moran and John-Steiner 2004, p. 12). Tension should be “taken advantage of as a mechanism for bringing out latent opportunities of the domain” (Moran and John-Steiner 2004, p. 12). Of significance also is the need for a shared history within a group in order for collaborative creativity to develop (Eteläpelto and Lahti 2008). The theoretical musings discussed thus far will serve as reference points as the research narrative unfolds.

3.4  Findings 3.4.1  Time and Space Scheduling eleven musicians to get together for rehearsals was a challenging task. SA(仨) was tasked to present the show and needed to find an efficient way to ensure that the programme for the concert gets churned out within the 2-week rehearsal period while maintaining the integrity of the collaborative and creative spirit between musicians. While the original thought was to have a gradual collaborative creative process over several months, the schedule of musicians did not provide that luxury of time and space, thus squeezing the process within a short time frame. The original intention was for each member of each trio (SA(仨), OrkeStar, Tamarind Sound Project) and the two other musicians to break up into alternative groupings to explore, improvise and create new musical pieces before coming back together as a large group to create a full-group piece. Studio space was factored in throughout the 2 weeks to allow the alternative groupings to come together as and when they needed. This would have allowed each musician to have closer musical and social contact and to understand more intimately about each other’s musical and creative abilities. As Andy articulated: With that particular process, if it had happened, it would have probably put us more on a similar page before we came in to do the full group piece. And that would probably have resulted in less tension, you know, because more things would have been communicated within the groups. (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Admittedly, the musicians felt that there was not enough time and space for musical ideas to germinate and for a deeper reflective process to happen. Even though an artistic brief was circulated among the musicians that spoke to a group creative process to evolve the programme, the way with which “creative process” was interpreted by the musicians was very varied resulting in a misalignment of expectations during rehearsal causing some tension.

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3.4.2  Creative Context The musicians came together because they were keen “to move forward in their own art” (Andy, post-performance interview). They knew each other quite well through various other collaborative settings. The musician groups (OrkeStar Trio, particularly) were consciously asked by SA(仨) to collaborate also because they were musicians who were “trying to break free or to move forward and to expand their sound”, similar to what SA(仨) intends artistically. In previous collaborations with the musicians, the programme was created based on a reworking of existing repertoire from each of the trios. As Natalie emphasised, “We have never come together to write something together that is entirely new” (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Cheryl pointed out that in previous collaborative instances: Given the level of musicianship of all these musicians, it was actually very easy to put things together if we have existing repertoire. Or let’s say if we just wanted to jam something up, it was really not that difficult because everybody had their own ideas… and stuff like that, things that they are comfortable with. So I think previously we only put in like three to four sessions and we got everything down. But I think after time that was something that we didn’t really want to pursue. (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

The idea of reworking each other’s repertoire to fit new instrumentation was no longer seen as a desirable collaborative mode for some of the musicians, and thus the notion of creating a musical piece from scratch by the entire group seemed more attractive and robust in getting everyone involved in the process in more critical and creative ways.

3.4.3  Pushing Creatively SA(仨) at the onset had the intention of using the full-group piece to “challenge ourselves into another [musical] realm” (Cheryl, post-concert interview). They wanted to break out of their typical collaborative routine of just reworking/arranging each other’s repertoire. Perhaps that intention was not made clear in the artistic brief, and during the first rehearsal, the musicians were unable to come to terms with how they should be creating the full-group piece as a collective. As musicians who frequently perform in various settings from community engagement to gigs in festivities, Andy noted that “the default mode during rehearsals and coming up with things is ‘What Sells?’… ‘What’s commercially viable?’ and ‘What is easy or palatable to audiences’ ”. Andy was conscious during the full-­ group creative process in trying to “stay away from that kind of [music] leads but those kinds of motives and leads kept surfacing”.

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Commenting on Riduan’s advice to her as a musician in the circuit, Natalie recalled Riduan saying: As a musician…you always have got to think about the audience as well. And you can’t just be in a way self-indulgent about what you are doing. You need to think about what the audience can or cannot accept or understand…If the audience don’t understand then what is the point? You have to slowly bring them there. (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Translated into performance engagement, according to Andy, this could mean engaging the audience in participation, “make them sing, make them clap together” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). This was clearly a direction that SA was trying to avoid in this particular programme. These intentions were talked about individually between musicians but not as a large group. As Cheryl candidly commented, “I guess with musicians, it always happens like that. People don’t want to sit in a studio and talk about things or write about it” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015) or “reflect” (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Andy attributed the musicians’ attitude to their previous experiences as musicians in large ensembles/orchestras where “we’ve been so used to having…I mean in the past it’s like the score is there, let’s just play, don’t talk so much” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). An active dialoguing and reflecting about the creative musical process seems rare amongst the musician group, as Natalie commented that even between the three SA(仨) musicians, “it really took us a while to get to the point where we think that reflection is important or that we should do it because it would help our creative process” (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Thus for this particular programme, SA(仨) made a conscious effort to audio record the outcome of each rehearsal, “listen to the whole recording, make notes, the next day tell them [the musicians] what we’ve observed over the recordings and see how we can make changes” (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The audio recordings of each rehearsal were sent via email to the other musicians after each session for them to comment on prior to the following day’s session. The intention was to allow the group to critically think through their creative progress of the evolving programme so that following rehearsals could be more productive. Unfortunately, there were no replies or comments to these daily emails from the other musicians, and as Natalie found out, “Some of them don’t even download the [audio] file” (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Andy commented that the musicians might have thought through each session individually but “as to whether they actually pen down anything, that’s unknown to us” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Cheryl thought “it’s very normal for a lot of musicians that these kinds of things are not discussed or talked about…It seems like a waste of time for most [musicians]” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Clearly at this juncture, critical feedback after each session is not common practice with this set of musicians.

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Frustration and tension could mount when the musicians choose to not openly discuss about issues during the creative process. As an example, Natalie spoke about the second rehearsal where: I was feeling quite frustrated because the music wasn’t really going anywhere and it was based on my observation and feelings that the percussion was going on and they are going really loud. The two flutes were trying to negotiate something but they just kept going on and on about the same thing. That was the point where I just sat down and didn’t say anything. (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Natalie’s reaction prompted Riduan to try and ease the situation, “Hey guys, don’t like that lah. We need to be happy and cheery. Must be positive” (R. Zalani, rehearsal, September 30, 2015). Ironically, SA(仨) is used to these tension points and has often talked through these tensions to resolve any musical issues they are having with the creative process. They believe in getting through the “uncomfortableness” of talking through tensions to arrive at creative breakthroughs. It would seem that the other musicians were uncomfortable to engage directly with such tensions. Differences in social dynamics and working styles between the musician groups need to be resolved in order to further the collaborative creative process.

3.4.4  Leadership and Facilitation SA(仨) believed strongly in “the three of us are equally important and equally heard”. The democratisation of the three voices are translated in the way they approach their creative processes, “The voice must be equally heard which is why there will be tensions. It’s normal when you have creative differences, sometimes that happens and through that, new things might happen or new directions might appear” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The other trios in the large group may not work in this way, and thus the imposition of the democratic stance with which SA(仨) wanted the full-group piece to be created did not translate well to the other musicians. Natalie recalled telling Andy (who was designated as the artistic director of the programme) during a rehearsal that he was not facilitating enough. Andy’s response was that if “I do any more facilitation, it’s almost like I’m directing it, and I’m not here to direct!” The thin line between facilitating and leading seemed difficult to negotiate, “Because we didn’t want them [the other musicians] to feel that we are leading it artistically, but yet to facilitate a discussion was difficult because once we do that, then someone will say, “Then you tell us what to play lah!” (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). As Andy recalled during the full-group creative process, “I remember Riduan was saying that someone must take the lead. Everyone was like, no, that’s not the intention. It is not for us [SA(仨)] to dictate what direction the piece should be”. The tussle between taking leadership and equal partnership was ultimately not resolved at the end of the session. The usual “niceties” prevailed where breaks were suggested each time a tension point arose.

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Personalities within the musician group were also varied, with some more passive than others. The more “active” musicians would make lots of musical suggestions and at times suggest other musicians to complement their ideas. This furthered the leadership mode of operation during the rehearsals which was perfectly fine with some musicians but not so palatable to others.

3.4.5  Jamming The full-group creative process began with everyone jamming together. Andy felt that jamming together as a group was a good way to begin the creative process: It is a white space where people are free to just explore something…where everybody is trying something new…gives us some time to negotiate with each other and to see you know, what can work and reform a kind of new group dynamics within ourselves. (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

As Cheryl described, the musicians were “trying to feel their way around and just playing. Basically, it was just a free [improvisational] thing. We couldn’t lock anything down”. Being mindful that they only had a few rehearsals to get the entire programme together, “we couldn’t afford this time to let everybody just play whatever they want and then get something out of it. It could easily take two weeks before we could get something that everybody was happy with” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Because of the limitation of time to “jam” and to let the full-group piece organically evolve from the musical interaction, and also because of the differences in the social dynamics between the musician groups, tussling between a leadership and an equal partnership process mode, SA(仨) decided to take the lead in the full-group piece (Fig. 3.1 - Ethnicity Full Song) by beginning with a melodic and rhythmic motive which the other musicians could then build on. Once the musical motive was set, “we just played and like I said, given the level of musicianship, it’s very easy once you give them like a motive or a rhythmic structure” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The conundrum in this creative process as Cheryl opined was that: If it’s just blank [musicians just came together to jam without any given structure or motive], everybody’s just going to play their own thing. And given the type of musicians we all are, everybody’s very distinct in terms of their own style and in terms of personality. So it’s very difficult and it takes a lot of time to get like everybody in on one idea. (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Figure 3.1 shows the melodic and rhythmic motives articulated first by the guzheng and how the entire piece evolved subsequently.

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Fig. 3.1  Ethnicity full song (Reduction transcription by Andy Chia (SA(仨)) (Score courtesy of SA(仨))

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Fig. 3.1 Continued

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3.4.6  Dynamics of Instruments The collaborative creative process between 11 musicians could be fraught with other issues. Interestingly, the dynamic range of the instruments played a significant role in the musical interaction between musicians. There was a tendency for the percussionists to overpower the musicians on melodic instruments. As Natalie (who plays the guzheng) articulated: it is very hard for us [referring to other musicians on melodic instruments] to play something and get our ideas across…we often feel frustration because we have an idea and we are playing it, but it’s like. ‘Hey guys, you are just being in your own little bubble and you are not listening to us!’…because our instruments are soft. (N.  Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Oftentimes, during the creative process as musicians interacted with each other and threw out musical ideas, the percussionists have a tendency to dominate the musical discussion for the sheer fact that they would articulate any new rhythmic ideas by playing louder on their instruments. These rhythmic motives tend to be picked up by the other musicians leaving the melodic instrumentalists typically being side-­stepped. Cheryl (who plays percussion) admitted that “We are all very loud players [referring to the other four percussionists in the group as well]…personality wise, we are also very loud, prominent…I don’t know whether it’s a good or a bad thing” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The combination of loud personalities coupled with percussion instruments that can literally “drum up” the volume presents a glaring issue with this collaborative structure. This is further compounded by the fact that the musicians, as articulated earlier, are not in favour of discussing and dialoguing about their creative process during or after each rehearsal. The “plug and play” situation seemed more beneficial to some musicians, leaving some others flustered at times.

3.4.7  One-on-One Interaction One-on-one interaction between musicians during the group rehearsal happened quite frequently. As the musicians jammed and tried to figure out aurally how they would fit within the musical space, they would also be listening intently to musical ideas happening around them. If something strikes them like a good melodic line or an interesting rhythmic pattern, they might tune-in with the musician involved and start having a one-on-one interaction between them. This type of interaction was typical between two percussionists and between two melodic instrumentalists. They could either share their ideas through an aural means with visual cues or simple notational exchanges that could involve writing down melodic notes or numbers for rhythmic structures. This could happen with musicians sitting next to or behind each other or across the studio space. All these cellular musical interactions could happen while everyone else is still jamming, or it could happen during break points.

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After the musician pair figured out these ideas and are satisfied, they would be using these ideas within the group piece, naturally incorporate them the next time the group returns to the particular section. As Andy articulated, “The melodic instruments have a tendency to latch on to the groove or rhythm [of the percussionists]” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). For these musicians, listening to each other in acute ways is key to the collaborative process. As they work in pairs to sort out their parts, they are keenly aware of the larger rhythmic and melodic structures that are happening between other musicians in the musical space. Thus, the independent groupings of percussionists and melodic instrumentalists working out parts in pairs/occasionally in trios on their own before merging with the entire group are also in sync with the larger group process. It would seem that this way of working has become a common modus operandi in the creative process of the musicians as they work out the full-­ group piece.

3.4.8  Technology The collaborative process is aided in some ways by the technology made available to the musician group. As the rehearsal was set within a small studio space with 11 musicians squeezed within (including five percussionists), the balancing of sound needs to be carefully thought through. As Natalie pointed out, “During performance or rehearsal, perhaps the rest of them can hear us pretty well, but actually we cannot really hear ourselves which is why I have adopted the in-ear monitoring system for myself…because our instruments are soft” (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The dynamic level during rehearsal can get pretty intense particularly when the percussionists are all playing simultaneously, so the in-ear monitoring system really helped the melodic instrumentalists to be able to hear themselves as they play within the group. The other crucial partner to ensure the smooth running of the rehearsal and performance is the sound engineer. Throughout most of the rehearsal process, appropriate instruments were miked up and balanced through a sound board by the sound engineer so that there is an adequate dynamic levelling up of the softer instruments. This helped tremendously during the collaborative creative process, ensuring particularly the softer melodic instruments can be heard over the percussion. But as noted earlier, even with the help of technology, the percussions can still be overwhelming, leaving the melodic instrumentalists flustered at times At the end of each rehearsal or after the rehearsal of each section/piece, SA(仨) would request for the group to audio record the outcome of the creative process. After the rehearsal, SA(仨) would sit together and listen to the recordings, “after we reviewed the whole thing, we came up with a lot of pointers, which parts of percussion was over-powering the melodies” (C.  Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The rehearsal audio recording along with comments from SA(仨) would then be sent over the email to the other musicians before the next rehearsal.

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Comments on email could include “this part does not work, this part percussion playing too much…the break doesn’t work, too complicated nobody can catch the [signal]” (N.  Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The review of each rehearsal was thus aided by the use of technology. The review process would be more efficient and robust if the other musicians actually took time to comment on the rehearsal recordings which rarely happened before the following rehearsal.

3.4.9  Challenging Technical Skills In the collaborative interaction between the percussionists, there was often a push towards challenging each other’s technical/virtuosic skills. A typical example would be a percussionist telling another to fit more notes within a particular rhythmic structure or to create a “better groove” by accenting on unexpected spots or trying a technically challenging rhythmic pattern together in unison. Oftentimes, this kind of musical interaction pushes the dynamic level of playing for the percussionists up as the excitement of achieving the technically difficult challenge converts into striking the instruments faster and harder with their mallets/sticks/hands. The consideration of balancing the sound thus comes into the picture in these instances where the melodic lines need to be dynamically levelled up or the percussionists taking a notch down with their playing.

3.4.10  Key Elements in the Collaborative Creative Process In observing the rehearsals, the researcher noted that musical decisions in the collaborative creative process revolved around five key elements: rhythmic structure, instrumentation, tempo, cues, balance and dynamic build ups and fade-outs. As Cheryl articulated: Most people [the musicians in the group] are comfortable with charts. Meaning the sequence, structure of it and who is playing what during these sections. For example, if it is your solo then we give you the creative control of whatever you want to play within that four bars, as long as it is four bars, in the key and it goes to the next person. So I guess that is something that we have always done. (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Beyond some discussion about the pairing of instruments for balancing of sound and timbre, the intricate balance between instruments in the entire group is “I would say is based a lot on trust…trust the sound engineer to balance everything out for them” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The musicians rarely questioned the rhythmic and melodic patterns created by individual musicians within the given structure. Like Andy said, “melodic choices, it is something that we discussed very little [as a group]” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). “We have never talked about ‘Hey, you cannot play this or

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you should play this’. Even in terms of rhythm I would say, unless we have certain fixed stuff like a break that we want to play… It is just the time [rhythmic frame], let us just play” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The percussionists would also need to be mindful of providing adequate cues to the other instrumentalists of when to enter and exit since the entire repertoire is based on aural signalling and not fixed to a musical score. As Cheryl articulated about the percussionists: the melodic people need to know where the ‘one beat’ [cue for down beat to enter] is and sometimes for percussionists, we can play without the ‘one beat.’…For them [melodic instrumentalists], it is very daunting, it is like, ‘When are we suppose to come in? How long more [are the percussionists] going to play?’ (C.  Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Thus, the percussionists would need to work out identifiable cues throughout to enable smooth transitioning with the other instrumentalists in this collaborative process. The fluidity with which the repertoire was constructed through the collaborative creative process based on the five key elements described allowed for individual musicians to improvise freely within the agreed structure. As Natalie remarked, “In fact, the first part of the group song we kept wanting to fix it. But actually after we went back to listen to the recording…we felt that the non-fixed version sounded better. Then Akilesh was like, ‘So just go by feel’” (N.  Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Likewise with melodic material, as Riduan exclaimed, “As long as you have the melody, it’s fine. Just put in your Malay thing, your Indian thing, you Chinese thing, just put it in there and just ride!” (R. Zalani, rehearsal, September 30, 2015). Cheryl articulated the intentions of SA(仨) in focusing on the creative process during collaborative work: we have gotten quite used to things being in a process rather than coming up with an end product. Because I think previously what we were very focused on was, we need to present something, we need to record... But I guess now…it’s more of the process, we want it to be interesting, we want ourselves to be able to gain something out of it. Our collaborators to gain, which might not have happened this time round. But that is what we are hoping for, I guess. It’s not really to present something solid. (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

3.4.10.1  Musical Growth Collaborating with other musicians helps individual musicians to broaden and diversify their existing musical vocabulary. A lot of these learnings happen aurally when the musicians are interacting with each other as they jam and listen out for unique or interesting melodic and/or rhythmic patterns being played by their fellow counterparts. As an example, Natalie picked up a particular melodic tuning from another musician on the keyboard. She described:

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3  Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from A Contemporary Instrumental Group… In fact the tuning that I got [for my guzheng] for that particular piece was inspired by Hafiz, because I saw that he was playing certain notes in a certain way and it came out to be kind of a scale. And I just took on those notes and it became my scale. So if they [the other collaborating musicians] weren’t here and if it’s just the 3 of us [the SA trio], usually I’m grabbing from thin air. But with them I have every single person [to listen out for and interact musically with], melodic friends. (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Because of these ‘melodic friends’, Natalie was also able to push ahead with her personal musical agenda and growth: I really wanted to break out of the ethnic tuning… to break out of the usual legs that were typically Chinese sounding. So I went to de-tune my guzheng and every piece, I tried to make the tuning a little bit different. It may not necessarily be a particular tonality but I just wanted it to sound different and I wanted to kind of counter a fixed pentatonic tuning… trying to not have it harmonically pleasing. So I had those in my own mind and when I was trying out stuff I was trying to grow that aspect of me which I think to a certain extent, it did happen for me. (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Similarly for Andy, he gained “new melodic language from Ragha [the Carnatic Indian flutist]. Because there are parts where I was doubling him…and he will tell me, ‘This part you bend [the musical note] a little bit more’, and that for me is an improvement in that particular [musical] language” (A.  Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Cheryl further elaborated, “I picked up a lot from them [the musicians]. Like especially from Riduan because he will tell me a lot of all these kind of things [musical vocabularies associated with the Malay musical genre, etc.]” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Andy elaborated on how he slowly picked up new ways of learning about keeping time in the Indian Carnatic tradition, “Noticing how he is able to count. He is counting and he’s going in like a totally different time signature” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). “They didn’t have a meter, they didn’t have a time signature and at that time I was still playing a lot of traditional classical stuff. So first thing I came to the session, I asked, what’s the time signature? There’s no time signature. Then I started to take out my manuscript and I wanted to write down the time signature but I couldn’t…I was like there’s no point writing this shit. So Akilesh was the one that told me, “Just follow me”, I said “ok!”” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). The collaboration also brought together musicians who play similar instruments (e.g. the flutes and percussion) which really helped them to band together to not just learn from each other stylistically but also exchange ideas about their instruments which would not have happened if they kept to their current groupings. As Andy articulated: I would say amongst the 3 flutists, we have been in a way experimenting in our own genres. But at the same time we are also trying to emulate each other stylistically and melodically. So it’s every time we work together I think there is a new exchange in how we approach the flute playing and I think along the way there is also discussions of like instrument making and how we are actually all not satisfied with the instrument. And maybe we can come with ideas of how to make a new flute. (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

The collaboration also targeted in bringing new musicians to the entire group which further expand their musical horizons. “I would say it’s the first time we actu-

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ally worked with an Indian Carnatic singer. So that in itself has influenced both me and Hafiz plus the exchange of his serunai [instrument] as well” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). In fact, the SA trio found the serunai such an alluring instrument that they have already made plans to try and include the instrument in their next program. The trio found the unique timbre of the serunai very attractive. In an explicit example, Cheryl, upon a glimpse of Vignesh’s sketchpad, was curious about how he notated and wanted to learn more, “In terms of how they [Carnatic singers] arrange their rhythms and patterns, I think that was very interesting for me. Like I was very interested in what Vignesh was writing and he sang from his score sheet. I actually asked him what’s that and then he explained to me, ‘Oh, fullstop means how many beats. If it’s a semi colon it means how many beats’” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015) (Fig. 3.2). Cheryl further reiterated the musical learnings from such collaborations: No matter whether it’s music or not, you will get something out of them, in terms of concepts, in terms of ideas, in terms of sound. And I guess for this group of people, I mean this group of percussionist especially we work together a lot. I’ve worked with all of them individually and it is always nice to have them around because I learn a lot from them ­rhythmically and musically. We always exchange tips like nerdy stuff. These are the only people I can talk to about nerdy stuff. (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Fig. 3.2 Vignesh’s handwritten notation during rehearsal (Photo: Chee-Hoo Lum)

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‘Nerdy stuff’ are “tech stuff. Like, ‘Hey, you know this drum, this new drum skin, did you see this new thing, where did you get your drumsticks from?’ These kind of stupid things. ‘Hey, your cymbals very nice. What kind of stand is this? This kind of rubbish” (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015). As it can be seen, the musicians benefitted musically from the collaborative process: (i) broadening, deepening and diversifying their musical vocabularies; (ii) having the privilege to work closely with melodic and rhythmic friends that play similar instruments; (iii) furthering their diversification by including new musicians in each new iteration of collaboration; and (iv) exchanging tips about their own instruments be it in technical or technological details to refine their instruments and technical skills. 3.4.10.2  Deepening the Collaborative Process The researcher shared with SA(仨) that in reflecting on the observations of the rehearsals, in interviewing SA and some members of the larger musician group, and in attending the final performance, what seemed to be critically missing is the seriousness of the intent of the musicians: Whether you are going to be more critical about it. Because it’s nice to play with friends but if the journey is about really finding a new sort of space, a new sound space or a new soundscape… Then each of these [rehearsals], because it’s so difficult to come by right…it takes so much time [to organize]. The level of depth and criticality for me probably needs to be a lot more, because then you will really gain a lot more other than a very organic, “Yes, I did pick up something this time.” So, but I’m not sure if that’s where you want to go. But I do feel that if everybody has that sort of goal in mind in terms of the collaboration… then the critical thinking about what is this new space that’s emerging [needs to be dialogued]. It doesn’t have to have an answer but really is the process in a way that has included its depths. Or is it [about] let’s just try to be happy with each other… And as you say, this uncomfortable [-ness], when are we going to get uncomfortable? You know if you don’t ever get uncomfortable, then why do you keep doing this? (C.-H. Lum, personal communication, October 16, 2015)

Getting into a transcultural space musically needs lots of time and dialogue between musicians. Because the signifiers for each type of music that the musicians play are so distinctly identifiable in terms of instrumentation and musical styles, a fusion that really gets into a deep understanding of each other’s genres and coming out with something that is creatively sound and not just: (i) a playing of each other’s genres/ compositions; (ii) a crowd pleaser; (iii) showcasing of each genre, is a difficult task to come to terms with. And if the attitude of the musicians is just about coming together to make music, to have fun and to play what everyone is already familiar with, then the collaborative process would just be at a superficial level.

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3.5  Discussion The complementarity (Moran and John-Steiner 2004) of the collaborators brought about musical growth in this collaborative venture. As highlighted earlier, the musicians coming from varied musical backgrounds, in collaboration, helped to broaden, deepen and diversify each other’s musical vocabularies. In musical trios, the tendency of being the only percussionist or the only string or wind instrumentalist leaves little possibility for these musicians to discuss technical and musical details with similar instrumentalists. This collaboration allowed a few percussionists, wind and string instrumentalists to come together. The instrumentalists relished this “luxury” to work closely with their melodic and rhythmic friends who play similar instruments exchanging tips about their own instruments be it in technical or technological details to refine their instruments and technical skills. The collaboration also furthered the diversification of the three trios (SA(仨), OrkeStar Trio and Tamarind Sound Project) by including new musicians (Carnatic singer and marimba player) in the fold. There is a shared history (Eteläpelto and Lahti 2008) between the musicians (particularly with SA(仨) and OrkeStar Trio who have worked together on numerous occasions) thus allowing for the creative process to move into a cooperative mode (Seddon 2005) easily where the musicians were able to plan and discuss the organisation of the piece through decisions about rhythmic structure, instrumentation, tempo, cues, balance, dynamic build ups and fade-outs, to achieve a cohesive performance. As Abra (1994) pointed out, politeness is “the poison of all good collaboration” (p. 8). The narrative accounts of how tensions (Moran and John-Steiner 2004) were evaded throughout the collaborative process through the suggestions of breaktime or the idea of the collaboration as just a good opportunity to get together and play with friends did little to push the creative process on to a collaborative mode of communication (Seddon 2005). The musicians were not really keen to discuss and evaluate their work, as evident through the non-response of emails or dialogue about end-of-rehearsal audio recordings, to develop the musical content and/or style of the piece. Perhaps there is a need for the musicians to understand more about the social dynamics of the collaborative, in order to deal with the musical tensions and work towards emphatic attunement (Seddon 2005). This will then allow the musical collaborative to move beyond a cooperative—towards a collaborative—mode of musical communication. This also points to the need to increase contingency in order to move towards collaborative emergence (Sawyer and DeZutter 2009), particularly focusing on how each musician can be seen to participate equally in the creative process. In this collaborative, participation was hampered by the dynamics of their instruments, the lack of dialogue and the tussle between leadership and facilitation. Time and space (Kenny 2014) will definitely need to be factored in as well to allow some of these issues to be resolved.

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Fig. 3.3  Factors contributing to the collaborative creative process

It might be helpful to end this research narrative with a visual image (Fig. 3.3) of the various factors that have surfaced which may affect the collaborative creative process. Having in mind and thinking through the interactions between each of these factors could perhaps lead to a more fruitful creative outcome the next time a musical collaboration happens.

References Primary Sources (Interviews/Communications/Rehearsals) Chia, A. (2015, October 16). Personal Interview. Lum, C.-H. (2015, October 16). Personal Communication. Ong, C. (2015, October 16). Personal Interview. Tse, N. (2015, October 16). Personal Interview. Zalani, R. (2015, September 30). Rehearsal.

References

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Secondary Sources Abra, J. (1994). Collaboration in creative work: An initiative for investigation. Creativity Research Journal, 7(1), 1–20. Amabile, T. M. (1983). The social psychology of creativity. New York: Springer. Berliner, P. F. (1994). Thinking in jazz: The infinite art of improvisation. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1988). Society, culture, and person: A systems view of creativity. In R. J. Sternberg (Ed.), The nature of creativity (pp. 325–339). New York: Cambridge University Press. Eteläpelto, A., & Lahti, J. (2008). The resources and obstacles of creative collaboration in a long-­ term learning community. Thinking Skills and Creativity, 3(3), 226–240. Guilford, J. P. (1950). Creativity. American Psychologist, 5, 444–454. John-Steiner, V. (2000). Creative collaboration. New York: Oxford University Press. Kenny, A. (2014). Collaborative creativity’ within a jazz ensemble as a musical and social practice. Thinking Skills and Creativity, 13, 1–8. Moran, S., & John-Steiner, V. (2004). How collaboration in creative work impacts identity and motivation. In D. Miell & K. Littleton (Eds.), Collaborative creativity: Contemporary perspectives (pp. 11–25). London: Free Association Books. Saldaña, J. (2009). The coding manual for qualitative researchers. London: SAGE. Sawyer, R. K. (2000). Improvisational cultures: Collaborative emergence and creativity in improvisation. Mind. Culture and Activity, 7(3), 180–185. Sawyer, R. K. (2003a). Creativity and development. New York: Oxford University Press. Sawyer, R. K. (2003b). Group creativity: Music, theater collaboration. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Sawyer, K. (2004). Creative teaching: Collaborative discussion as disciplined improvisation. Educational Researcher, 33(2), 12–20. Sawyer, R. K. (2006). Group creativity: Musical performance and collaboration. Psychology of Music, 34(2), 148–165. Sawyer, R. K., & DeZutter, S. (2009). Distributed creativity; How collective creations emerge from collaboration. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 3(2), 81–92. Seddon, F. A. (2005). Modes of communication during jazz improvisation. British Journal of Music Education, 22(1), 47–61. Seddon, F. A., & Biasutti, M. (2009). Modes of communication between members of a string quartet. Small Group Research, 40(2), 115–137. Sternberg, R. J. (2003). The development of creativity as a decision-making process. In R. K. Sawyer, V. John-Steiner, S. Moran, R. J. Sternberg, D. H. Feldman, J. Nakamura, & M. Csikszentmihalyi (Eds.), Creativity and development (pp. 91–138). New York: Oxford University Press.

Chapter 4

NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

Takkan Melayu hilang di dunia. [The Malay people will never disappear from the earth] — Hang Tuah The roots themselves are in a constant state of flux and change. The roots don’t stay in one place. They change shape. They change colour. And they grow. There is no such thing as a pure point of origin, least of all in something as slippery as music, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t history. (Hebdige 1987, p. 10)

Contents 4.1  Background and Introduction 4.1.1  Who Is NADI Singapura? 4.1.2  NADI’s Mission 4.1.3  Collective Identity: Contributing Factors and Processes 4.2  Part 1: Group Unity 4.2.1  Community as Family: Articulations of Race and Culture 4.2.2  Forging Bonds, Nurturing Values 4.2.3  Gender Dynamics 4.2.4  Identity Politics 4.3  Part 2: Reckoning with Tradition and Attempts at Preservation 4.3.1  A History of Syncretism 4.3.2  Problematic Transmission 4.3.3  Developing Singaporean Malay Traditional Music 4.3.4  The Dilemmas of Systematising 4.4  Part 3: Constructing Tradition 4.4.1  Romanticising the Kampong 4.4.2  Making Tradition Contemporary 4.5  Final Thoughts References

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_4

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The stage lights come on. The audience is transported to a classroom where students are learning about Malay language and culture. This is the opening scene in Journey 2: The Pulse by Singaporean music group NADI Singapura. The main protagonist is a schoolboy in his teens named Taufan. As he sits listening to the teacher, his attention slowly drifts and he begins to daydream. The lights go off. He reappears in what presumably was his daydream—in the middle of idyllic paddy fields in the heart of a tropical countryside. A sign nearby reads “Kampong Berani” [Courageous Village]. Intrigued, the curious young boy stealthily approaches the village and observes its inhabitants going about their daily life. Suddenly, the percussive skills of NADI Singapura kick in—the villagers perform a series of drumming choreographies that include aspects of physical theatre and vocalisation. Through the narrative device of the daydream, the audience is transported inside the boy’s imagination and into a world where the traditional Malay way of life is tinged with magical realism. He discovers, along with the spectators, the vibrance and kampong spirit1 of Berani Village and its people. However, things change when he uncovers a seemingly abandoned songket2 cloth. Enthralled by its beauty and design, he is unwilling to leave it behind and decides to keep it. Just as he wraps the cloth around him,  the villagers begin  to chase him through the fields. The boy runs into a cave and, once again, witnesses a special ritual led by an old wise man with a very long white beard. The chanting and the elder’s ethereal presence awaken the young boy’s curiosity  and longing for traditional wisdom. But as he settles down to gaze upon the scene, the rhythmic beats lull him into a deep slumber. When he awakes, he encounters different facets of kampong conviviality which are depicted through percussion. Finally, the village headman Tok Penghulu approaches him and explains that the songket is an important symbol of traditional Malay culture, and shows him how to wear it correctly. Taufan then realises that they had given chase only to teach him this lesson. As our protagonist is rambunctiously welcomed and celebrated by the entire village, he emerges from his daydream. Journey 2: The Pulse (J2TP) took place over two evenings in November 2016, at ITE College Central in Ang Mo Kio, Singapore. The performance, featuring a cast of over 30 performers (most from NADI Singapura and a few ITE College students), is a musical theatre production combining percussion, dramaturgy, dance, video projection and sound design (Photo 4.1). The main research for this chapter took place from July to November 2016 and followed J2TP’s production phase through to its final performance. The data was gathered from observation sessions of rehearsals and production meetings as well as interviews and informal conversations with NADI members.

 Communal spirit in which people help one another.  A luxurious and prestigious traditional brocade textile.

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Photo 4.1  A scene from Journey 2: The Pulse performed on  Nov 05, 2017 at ITE College, Singapore. (Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray) 

4.1  Background and Introduction 4.1.1  Who Is NADI Singapura? NADI Singapura (henceforth NADI) is a Singapore-based percussion group using drums from the Malay Archipelago—namely, kompang, rebana, jidur and gendang—and whose mission is to “uphold”, “revive” and “celebrate” Malay traditional music. NADI has four full-time staff (Mohd Yaziz Hassan, the producer, Riduan Zalani, the artistic director, Mohammad Nizarfauzi Norlie, known as Nizar, the chief choreographer; and Hamizah Abdul Hamid, the manager). The full roster of members is comprised of about 45 members (the number varies year by year), who are predominantly male Singaporean Malay musicians aged between 16 and 35 years. As their participation is determined on a project basis, there are at any one time about 20 active musicians, while the others take a backseat and lend a hand backstage or in pre-production. NADI was founded in 2011 by Riduan and Yaziz, long time collaborators in the traditional Malay music scene in Singapore. NADI has been the recipient of the National Arts Council (NAC) Seed Grant in 2013 and NAC Major Grant from 2016 to 2019.

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4.1.2  NADI’s Mission NADI’s mission has been very much influenced by Riduan’s personal journey in percussion. Since young, he has picked up a number of drumming styles and techniques and been involved in many different percussion groups. He has been a part of the popular local samba/funk/reggae group Wicked Aura, and toured the world playing the pandeiro in Afro-Brazilian style with  Batucada Sound Machine. In 2009, he formed OrkeStar Trio along with two fellow  Singaporean musicians Ismahairie Putra Ishak (known as Hairie) and Alhafiz Jamat, and performed across Asia, Europe and North America. In the course of his travels and touring in the world music circuit, he witnessed how traditional artists in other countries were able to maintain and celebrate their own heritage and cultures, which led him to realise that the Malay community in Singapore needed to do the same if it was the keep its traditions alive. He remembers being on tour with Wicked Aura, delving deeply into the world of Afro-Brazilian percussion, and simultaneously feeling a growing desire to advance the Malay community and culture back home. Indeed, his return to his Malay roots “was always at the back of [his] head” (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016). Riduan and Yaziz began to envision a  music group that would provide a space for the Singaporean Malay community to come together, and through which Malay cultural practices could be transmitted to younger generations. They envisioned NADI as a beacon for Singaporean Malay youth in their quest for selfidentity, helping them to strengthen their understandings of, and pride in, their own cultural heritage, while celebrating and  sharing Malay percussive arts with the world. Riduan says: NADI Singapura is supposed to be the mothership holding all the other bands that I have worked with. Because I needed something that has governance, that has structure, that has a vision and a mission, that [does] not just benefit us, but the entire public and the community. (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016)

Riduan and Yaziz both felt an urgent need to found NADI, because of what they perceive to be the  fragile state  and disadvantaged position of traditional Malay music in Singapore. They identify three main problems: (i) the fact that there are no other groups that teach such a wide array of Malayan drums (some of which would not have any presence in Singapore if it wasn’t for NADI); (ii) the unequal infrastructure and institutional resources available to Malay traditional music, as compared to their Chinese or Indian counterparts in the country; and (iii) the absence/ unavailability of masters to transmit traditional music knowledge. This conjuncture of challenges has left NADI’s founders feeling they must rescue their musical traditions before they disappear, and that they must play a more active role in their cultural self-determination. In some ways, Riduan exemplifies this same  rugged entrepreneurial spirit which has come to characterise NADI until today. He exhibits an intense drive and belief in  taking  charge of the destiny of the Singaporean Malay traditional music community by galvanising its youth to come together and empower themselves to learn and master the arts of their heritage. He affirms pas-

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sionately, “there is a need to promote our Malay arts and heritage and culture, because we need to know!” (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016, emphasis his).

4.1.3  Collective Identity: Contributing Factors and Processes In this chapter, I analyse NADI’s collective identity by examining certain fundamental factors and processes in group formation and cohesion. These include some important shared characteristics and experiences, which constitute and maintain the unicity of NADI as a collective, as well as the processes through which NADI constructs its notion of tradition, which is at the core of the group’s vision and mission. The chapter is made up of three parts: the first focuses on the formation of group unity, the second on conceptions of tradition and questions related to preservation, and the third on the ways in which NADI reconstructs, reimagines and reinvents tradition. Read all together, these features and  processes help us to understand NADI’s contemporary collective identity. Collective identity is understood to be the shared definition of a group that derives from its members’ common goals, interests, experiences and solidarities. Though the most powerful source of group identity is generated by NADI’s leadership  which determines the group’s ethos and direction, each individual member makes meaning in relation to the group in his/her own way, and contributes to the understandings and experience of collective identity. Like in any group, different individuals have distinct subjectivities and opinions, and NADI’s large number of members make the resulting group identity all the more complex to articulate. That said, members who may have contrasting viewpoints on certain issues still feel a strong sense of belonging and close affective bonds with fellow members, as well as a commitment to the group and its mission (even after they leave). Therefore, group identity, though it may encompass a diversity of viewpoints held by its members, is sustained through close interpersonal bonds forged by shared experiences, goals and values. As we pick out certain constitutive elements of NADI’s collective identity, we must remember that this identity is by no means monolithic and unchanging, but dynamic and processual, influenced by internal and external factors, and constantly being negotiated. In entering the discourse about the collective identity of a Singaporean Malay traditional music group, I wish to state that I am aware of the limitations to my research and findings given the fact that I do not speak Malay fluently, and the ethical dilemmas of  writing in English within an academic setting characterised by extremely sparse research on the topic and a relative lack  of representation of Singaporean Malays. Nonetheless, I undertook to write this chapter in the hopes of heightening awareness of NADI Singapura’s work and the issues they face, and to faithfully represent the viewpoints that were transmitted to us by NADI members in relation to their musical practice and cultural identifications.

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4.2  Part 1: Group Unity 4.2.1  Community as Family: Articulations of Race and Culture When attending NADI’s rehearsals and meetings, the immediate impression one gets is that it feels like a big family. The camaraderie and friendship had immediately struck us from our very first encounter with the group. Members refer to both the group and to fellow members as “family”, not bandmates. It became clear to us that the collective acts as much more than a mere performing group; it functions as a community. This notion of ‘community as family’ is structured around several elements. The first, which we will focus on here, is the articulation of ‘race’ and culture. As of the time of my writing, NADI upheld a Malay-only “recruitment” policy for new members. Based on our research, Yaziz has been the main advocate for the Malay-only policy. He brought up several reasons why he believes only Singaporean Malay people should be a part of the group. First, he explained that it was a matter of ethnic and cultural pride, i.e. who best to represent Malay heritage than Malay people themselves. To him, it is a question of honour: “I’m not trying to be racist but, if let’s say this is a Malay instrument but the one who’s really going to be… how to say… make it good is some other races, it looks bad on our race, you know” (M.  Y. Hassan, personal interview, Aug 29, 2016). As the eldest in the group, Yaziz acts as a senior consultant in charge of advising Riduan on questions of artistic direction, and of setting boundaries to ensure that NADI’s work remains firmly grounded in Malay tradition. He views his role  as that of a cultural  gatekeeper who balances out and reins in Riduan’s artistic impulses and creative ideas. The view that Malay people should be the first to value and be responsible for upholding and celebrating their own culture and traditions echoes sentiments often expressed by minority groups across the world that experience disempowerment and marginalisation, or feel their younger generations do not embrace or feel proud of their heritage. Yaziz does not claim that Malay instruments are the exclusive property of the Malay community.  He merely wants the Malay people to  be the ones to know about and to transmit their own heritage to the younger generations of Singaporean Malays whom he sees are at risk of losing it altogether. Moreover, Yaziz does not see this exclusively Malay membership as a permanent policy. The idea is to lay the foundations for a self-sustaining Singaporean Malay music community, which will allow for the perpetuation of Malay cultural traditions from within this ethnic minority first. Once this has been achieved and Singapore’s Malay traditional music is able to sustain itself, Yaziz explains that NADI would be ready to open its doors to non-Malays: So for now, we want to train the Malay boys first and the Malay girls. … to groom the Malay youngsters to master the instruments first. … NADI Singapura will be a success when some of these boys create their own groups and create something [that’s] more like NADI Singapura. Then it’s … wah, we have branched out actually. [With] the branching out, I don’t mind other races inside. (M. Y. Hassan, personal interview, Aug 29, 2016)

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This belief in the constitutive role of ‘race’ as a marker for membership is quite widespread among other NADI members. Some believe there is a naturalised link between ‘race’ and culture, whereby culture is believed to be carried genetically “through the blood” (N. A. Binte Sopri, personal interview, Sep 19, 2016). In light of this, the idea of ‘community as family’ is one that is not merely metaphorical, but alludes to a deeper, almost biological understanding of what connects NADI members to one another. However, these racialised views are definitely not shared by all. Some members, like Syafiq Halid who officially joined in 2012, believe that the criteria for NADI membership should be based on a  candidate’s interest in Malay percussion, not ‘race’—something that individuals have no control over. Secondly, he believes that the appraisal of potential new members should focus on individuals’ level of awareness and willingness to learn about Malay culture and  language. This alternative interpretation of ‘community as family’ is focused on cultural and linguistic, rather than ‘racial’, concerns. Syafiq, for one, does not believe in the racialised view of culture but, instead, says that Malay culture can be learnt by non-Malays if they are truly interested. His worldview has been  influenced by his experience playing Brazilian samba music in Singapore  for many years. Syafiq noticed how samba, which originated in Brazil and has proliferated across the world, had transcended the boundaries of ‘race’, nationality, religion or creed. Only passion for its rhythms ­matters. He began to wonder why Malay traditional percussion can’t be the same. After all, as he sees it, one way to strengthen and transmit a cultural practice is by universalising it and encouraging anyone to learn it. He explains: “I believe that the more number of people are involved, the easier it is to spread the beauty of the art” (personal interview, Oct 05, 2016). Similar opinions were expressed by other members of NADI, including Hairie who occasionally joins NADI as a soloist on the gambus or violin, and Riduan’s “right hand man” Nizar. While Riduan shares Yaziz’s preoccupation with building a strong foundation within the Singaporean Malay community first, he is more willing than his co-­ founder to include people from other ethnicities. As a result, the policy is not always so strictly enforced. In fact, NADI has on occasion brought in non-Malay musicians to play as part of the group. For instance, when NADI performed at the 2017 Chingay Parade, a 5-year-old Chinese boy named Aiden Lim was the youngest ever drummer to march with the group. Apparently little Aiden loves Malay percussion so much that he has never missed a single NADI percussion workshop (which are open to all members of the public). Proving himself to be a precocious drumming talent, Riduan took him under his wing, trained and invited him to perform at the parade with them. Riduan says he hopes Aiden and his little brother Austen (also an avid drummer) will join NADI  someday (R.  Zalani, personal interview, May 09, 2017). Beyond the divergence in views about the Malay-only policy, there is greater consensus among members about the importance of having a good knowledge of Malay culture and language (bahasa Melayu) in order to be a part of NADI. Syafiq believes that knowledge of the Malay language will help one “sound like a Malay” when playing. In his view, Malay drumming is a kind of language that bears simi-

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larities to bahasa Melayu’s rhythmic patterns and the lilting melodiousness of its speech: “the Malay talk a bit soft, a bit slow, you know, a bit laidback, and actually Malay music is like that too” (S. Halid, personal interview, Oct 05, 2016). Speaking bahasa Melayu is also essential for practical reasons: as NADI’s lingua franca, it is used in most interpersonal communication, and in the lyrics which members ­memorise and chant in their performances.  Everyone, however, switches easily between English and Malay and oftentimes, interjections and witty quips in English (and Singlish) will ring out as they banter. Riduan also uses English to emphasise a point or spur on the musicians, punctuating his teaching with a “Let’s give it our best” or “Good job, guys!”.

4.2.2  Forging Bonds, Nurturing Values One key process through which community is built is the intense nature and high frequency of NADI  gatherings. Rehearsals play a very important part in forging extremely close-knit bonds among members. The strong sense of rapport, solidarity and conviviality between members is due, in no small part, to the cumulative amount of time spent together, and the regularity with which they meet. When they are not preparing for an upcoming performance, NADI members get together three times a week to practise and learn new rhythms, tunes for their repertoire or dance steps. On top of their regular practice sessions, they often meet on Saturdays for a morning jog around the Kampong Glam neighbourhood where NADI’s studio is located. In the run-up to a performance, their rehearsal schedule becomes far more gruelling. In preparation for Journey 2: The Pulse, a medium-scale production by NADI standards, the members who were selected to perform practised every day from 7:30 PM to 11:30 PM (Photo 4.2). At those times, the studio space could be densely packed with as many as 30 members. As  they rehearsed their choreographed percussion routines over and over again, the room temperature would rise, drenching everyone in sweat. Despite most members having to wake up early to attend school the next morning, spirits were always high and the ambience, jovial. Between bouts of rapidfire drumming,  reaching near deafening decibel  levels, people cracked jokes, laughed and teased each other. Without a strong sense of community and camaraderie from which members derive meaning and enjoyment, such a demanding schedule would likely not be sustainable. Riduan’s leadership is another key factor in bringing everyone together. Aside from providing NADI’s artistic vision, he acts as a community galvaniser striving to advance the cause of Malay traditional percussion and arts in Singapore. He does so as a teacher, by transmitting his musical skills and knowledge to NADI members (and those who take his workshops), and as a mentor to younger members, by encouraging them to develop their own sense of identity and advising them like a sort of life coach. Many younger members view Riduan, whom they call “Uan abang” (meaning big brother (Rid)uan) as a role model. They admire, respect and

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Photo 4.2  Late night rehearsal at NADI Singapura’s studio in preparation for  Journey 2: The Pulse. (Photo: Sounds of Singapore/NIE)

are eager to learn from him. Indeed, he possesses many qualities that are essential to a good leader: impressive stores  of energy, determination  and dedication to a cause, charisma, the ability to inspire others and, importantly, humility. Throughout the intense J2TP rehearsal process, Riduan led by example, getting home after midnight and returning to the studio no later than eight the next morning. His ability to stay positive, and to effectively manage people’s emotions and egos, also explains why people tend to gravitate towards him and seek his approval. In this ‘community as family’, “Uan abang” takes on the role of the big brother looking out for everyone. In this role, he has on occasion pushed members to “pursue further studies” even though that would  mean that they will not be able to continue with NADI. Though his leadership and authority are strongly legitimated by NADI members, there are also other important leaders in the group. Yaziz plays an important and respected “elder figure” role, handling production matters, helping to guide and advise younger members and, as we have seen, setting the boundaries for the group’s recruitment and artistic direction. Nizar is also very involved with various executive tasks, including the running of rehearsals, on top of all matters pertaining to choreography. Riduan knows that the community he has helped build must be able to sustain itself beyond him and, therefore is working towards a gradual decentralisation of leadership, by delegating more responsibilities to Nizar and encouraging other younger members to take on more functions. Shared values are yet another important element in developing group identity, and they are transmitted and reinforced at every group meeting. Riduan encourages a strong sense of gotong-royong, a Malay term which can be translated as mutual aid, reciprocity or cooperation between individuals to achieve a shared objective. This concept has been described as a core element of Malay and Indonesian culture

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(Geertz 1983; Hahn 1999; Taylor and Aragon 1991). This cultural value governs social interaction among NADI members, whereby respect is given to those who contribute to the group’s well-being over personal gain, thus encouraging and rewarding a spirit of volunteerism. In the Singaporean context, this communal spirit where one helps one’s neighbour is often referred to as “kampong spirit”. Gotong-­ royong has long been practised on the village scale across the Malay Archipelago. But as societies in the region have become increasingly urbanised and capitalistic, this moral and cultural institution has declined. It is therefore heartwarming to see that NADI members are putting this traditional value into practice, thanks in no small part to NADI leaders’ value-based pedagogical style.  Riduan also tries to instill in NADI members the values of education and of hard work. He repeatedly uses the phrase “melentur buluh biar dari rebungnya” (which literally means “one must bend the bamboo when it is a shoot”, i.e. education needs to start from a young age), as well as “jika tidak dipecahkan ruyung, manakan dapat sagunya” (“if you don’t break the bark, you cannot get the sago”, i.e. success will not come unless you work for it), and members come to know these sayings by heart (R. Zalani, personal interview, May 09, 2017). Another core value that is transmitted is that of equality between all members. NADI’s leaders emphasise there is no hierarchy between the “first batch” of members to join NADI and subsequent “batches” (four in total at the time of writing), and push everyone to get to know everyone else without forming any cliques. Finally, Riduan tries to instil the practice of gratitude to others, by frequently acknowledging everyone’s hard work and, at the end of every rehearsal, by saying thanks through a prayer. Finally, another factor that strengthens group unicity the fact that former NADI members tend to maintain a relationship with the group. A number of musicians from NADI’s “first-batch” of recruitees now have full-time jobs and cannot commit the hours to NADI, but they continue to feel a strong sense of belonging to the ‘community as family’. Though they can be absent for long stretches of time,  their involvement may take on new forms: sometimes returning to play for specific gig, coming to rehearsals and providing feedback, and advising younger members almost like alumni of a school. One older member came back to watch all the techruns for J2TP, saying he “missed the group spirit”. As a result, current members still see their older peers as being a part of the family. NADI leaders and members are cognizant of the fact that, since being a part of NADI is mostly a ‘labour of love’ (remuneration depends on the gig, but is generally quite small per person), people will not be able to dedicate their whole lives to the group or even to music in general. Most members are currently enrolled as students, and say they will likely stop performing once they have jobs, or get married and start a family, though they hope to continue contributing to NADI as much as possible. This acceptance of the natural ebbs and flows of individual participation and the understanding that absence does not mean the end of the relationship is quite a remarkable parallel to how families work.  Indeed, part of being a “­ family” is accepting an individual’s life constraints and welcoming that person back when she/he is available again.

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4.2.3  Gender Dynamics The current membership of NADI is marked by very distinct gender disparity: one of the most obvious facts is that there are so few women. At the time of writing, out of the 45 current members, only 8 are women (including the manager). Only three NADI female members and another two female guest percussionists from the host college participated in J2TP. NADI’s membership is thus extremely gender imbalanced and the ‘community as family’ could perhaps be more accurately described as a brotherhood. The dimension of gender therefore has an important impact on the collective identity of NADI. Why there are so few women in NADI is worthy in itself of long-term ethnographic research, which we were unable to do at the time given the already wide-­ ranging scope of the project. But based on conversations with both female and male members, we encountered several ways of thinking about gender, which can shed some light on collectively shared assumptions underlying the group’s identity. First, there is a prevalent conception that percussion is a predominantly masculine form of musical expression. Both male and female musicians pointed to the fact that playing drums requires physical strength. Indeed, lifting some of NADI’s bigger drums, such as the rebana ubi, requires a significant amount of upper body strength. Moreover, to play drums as vigorously as NADI members do requires having some degree of athletic ability and endurance. It also entails sweating profusely, yelling or grunting loudly to mark certain beats, and wearing androgynous outfits consisting of loose-fitting pants and tops that allow musicians to crouch, jump and stomp easily. There is some corroboration in the sparse literature about gender and music about the perception of percussion as masculine, including a few interesting ethnomusicological and sociological analyses linking gender to musical instrument choice. Though they have been carried out in Western contexts, these studies indicate that percussion is frequently considered a masculine activity (Taylor and Francis 2008; Graham 2005; Vickers 2015). Female members of NADI linked femininity with the notion of “girliness”, which, in turn, is associated with being soft, sweet, feminine, groomed and demure, being averse to physical labour and any activity or attire unbecoming of a woman. Musicians Noraini Binte Abas and Nur Azreen Binte Sopri asserted they were different from their “typical” female peers because of their lack of girliness and their affinity with  explosive, “high-energy” percussion. Most NADI female members have had prior experience in  other percussion groups—most commonly Afro-­ Brazilian samba groups, such as Sambateria. Interestingly, three of them came from a sports background. Noraini even drew a parallel between the importance of teamwork in sports and her experience playing with fellow NADI musicians. Female members spoke about initially feeling intimidated because they had to be squeezed in a small room with many boisterous men whose bodies jostled for space, amidst the  deafening volume of the drums. However, they added that, since they  got to know everyone, they feel like they are a part of the family. And they get no distinct treatment either: whether male or female, NADI performers are expected to carry

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Photo 4.3  ‘Ainul ‘Aqilah Borhan Nurdin, who joined the group in late 2013, performs alongside fellow NADI members in Journey 2: The Pulse. (Photo: Sounds of Singapore/NIE) 

their own weight in the group, learn the same instruments and choreographies and only differ slightly in their stage costumes (Photo 4.3). These gendered ways of thinking directly affect NADI’s collective identity because they represent commonly held viewpoints about who belongs and who doesn’t, and also reinforce gender norms and assumptions about masculinity and femininity that may or may not already exist at the community or societal level. Strict dichotomies distinguishing  how men and women should act and who should or shouldn’t  play percussion may deter young men and women who do not fit into these categories from joining. In other words, such gender stereotypes may negatively impact young Singaporean Malay women’s perceptions, affinity and access to NADI as both spectators and participants. It is worth exploring the historical development of traditional Malay arts in relation to gender as perhaps this will give some context within which to understand the current prevalence of certain gender stereotypes in the traditional Malay music scene in Singapore. There is very little research done about gender and traditional Malay music (and to my knowledge, none focusing specifically on Singapore), but there is some evidence that may explain current gender perceptions within the wider world of traditional Malay arts in the region. Matusky and Tan (2017) have analysed how female participation in this realm tends to focus more on singing, dancing (and a combination of both), and playing melodic (as opposed to percussive) instruments. They note that, in the case of certain Malay traditional arts, the

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d­ evelopment of mixed-gender performing groups is a relatively recent phenomenon. For instance, mixed-gender zapin dance groups only appeared in the Malayan peninsula from the mid-1970s (Matusky and Tan 2017, p. 132). Mixed-gender dikir barat groups tend to exist in urban areas, while they remain largely male-only in the kampong or villages (Matusky and Tan 2017, p.  333). Abdullah (2005) has also traced the historically male-dominated practice of the kompang, noting that it has been democratised (to both men and women) only relatively recently (p. 357). These historical insights should of course be complemented by the study of gender norms and perceptions within the wider Singaporean society (further reflections about this can be read in Chap. 8) in order to better understand their influence on gender constructs  relating to NADI.  This is definitely a topic worthy of further  research, in particular from anthropological and feminist perspectives. Despite the low female participation, the presence of even a few NADI female members performing on stage on an equal footing as their male counterparts, does demonstrate to the wider community that this is a space that can be accessed and occupied by young Singaporean Malay women. Thus, for audience members who may come to the show with preconceived notions about gender roles, seeing young women partaking in activities perceived as “masculine” alongside men might help to shift their assumptions. By showcasing women expressing themselves in ways that may not commonly be ascribed to their gender, it shows young girls that they have choices beyond adhering to rigid gender codes (eg. about having to be “girly”), and this exposure and realisation is potentially liberating. It may help young people to break from rigid stereotypes and define alternative femininities. As for the young women in NADI, being part of the group is an empowering experience. In her gendered  analysis of Dominican music  performance, Hutchinson (2016) writes that, “the separation between music performance and everyday life is far from absolute, and if the performances of musicians on stage are affected by their offstage lives and the political, social, or economic changes they experience there, so can the reverse occur” (p. 52). As such if there is some mindset shift and empowerment gained in the course of music/performance work, it is likely that it will also affect or manifest itself in other aspects of young women’s lives. Considering women’s inclusion in the arts from a geopolitical standpoint, the participation of women in NADI is a symbolic and practical victory that needs to be celebrated. I write this in light of recent ultraconservative trends in the region which seek to restrict women from participating in public entertainment. Indeed, in recent years, the growing influence of Wahhabism has led to the passing of strict laws in Indonesia and certain states of Malaysia, prohibiting women from performing publicly as instrumentalists, singers and dancers (Van Dijk 2014). Mixed-gender audiences and cross-gender performances, such as mak yong3 are also increasingly being questioned (Whitney Humanities Center 2017, n.p.). In fact such ultraconservative agendas that directly exclude and oppress women fly in the face of the historical values of traditional cultures in the region. In fact, historical research into gender norms in Southeast Asia demonstrate the high social  A traditional form of musical theatre from northern Malaysia.

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status and important roles played by women in those societies. Historian Anthony Reid (1988a, b) describes how, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Southeast Asian women actively controlled a broad range of productive economic activities that went far beyond the household. Hirschman (2016) makes the  connection between the Southeast Asian civilisations in which women enjoyed high status in precolonial times to certain  cultures in  more recent history, in which patterns of high female status may have persisted. He writes: The notion of relatively high female status in South-east Asia described by Reid and others is rooted in the traditional cultures of insular and mainland South-east Asia. If there is cultural continuity, these patterns are most likely to have persisted in Malay, Filipino, Thai, Javanese, and other South-east Asian communities. (2016, p. 34, emphasis mine)

Furthermore, he contrasts the high female status in these Southeast Asian cultures to the relatively lower female status in the more patriarchal cultures of East Asia  and  South Asia  (Hirschman 2016, p.  34). This does not mean that women in contemporary Malay, Filipino, Thai or Javanese societies enjoy de facto high status and  rates of inclusion in  public life,  but that historically, the traditional cultures which preceded theirs and out of which their societies developed, once did. Such an historical insight helps us to put contemporary trends into perspective. It allows us rethink the common paradigm which associates gender equality with secular modernity, and gender inequality (and women’s exclusion and low-status) to traditional societies (Hutchinson 2016). Neoliberal rhetoric about economic progress and development often paints traditional cultures as synonymous to “traditional backwardness”. In fact, anthropological research in traditional societies constantly dredges up examples of traditionality as a source of counter-hegemonic and “progressive”  femininities. Hutchinson’s (2016) ethnographic study of women  and music in the Dominican Republic shows how neoliberalism has produced restrictive hegemonic femininities, and how traditional merengue típico provides spaces for women to escape  them. Her research shows  that traditional musical groups which might be perceived as ostensibly conservative “may actually be a progressive influence on gender roles in the current globalised economy” (2016, p 53, emphasis hers). Thinking through how traditionality intersects with gender is something that NADI will have to consider more deeply. NADI members’ understanding of tradition could be greatly enhanced by a gendered excavation of the continuities between ancient and contemporary Malay civilisations. Such historical perspectives could be harnessed by NADI’s leaders to help them work towards a more gender inclusive music group. It is also clear from these historical insights that gender as a construct has changed vastly over time in the region, and that a music group like NADI should always remain cautious of exclusionary forces.

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4.2.4  Identity Politics Another constitutive aspect of NADI’s group identity is its identity politics. NADI members share Yaziz and Riduan’s view that the Singaporean Malay community is in a precarious position in terms of the transmission of its traditional arts (though they believe things have improved over the last few years). Reflecting about the years preceding the founding of NADI, Riduan says: “I wanted to represent the Malay community because I felt… yeah la, we are oppressed, the Malays are. There’s no foundation or a structure to empower the Malays in the arts sector. So that was 2004” (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016). Riduan remembers how the Singaporean Malay community had to struggle more than other communities to practice and teach their traditional music because they had less access to resources and institutional support. He contrasts this to  other ethnic groups in Singapore: “There is enough establishment supporting the Indian, Chinese, and the other communities, but I felt that there was a shortage [of support for the Malay community]” (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016). He mentions how other ethnic groups have well-established spaces, such as the Temple of Fine Arts and the Singapore Indian Fine Arts Society, both important centres to learn about traditional Indian art forms, and the numerous Chinese Orchestras and ensembles in schools and community centres, the People’s Association Youth Chinese Orchestra and the Singapore Chinese Orchestra. NADI leaders point to the 2011 demolition of “Kampung Melayu” (also known as the  Malay Village)  as a huge blow to the Singaporean Malay community. Since 1989,  it had been an important place for Malay cultural groups to gather and showcase their arts. Riduan says the closure left the community with no space to celebrate and transmit traditional Malay arts: I look [at] my community. Alamak, I have nothing, I can’t tell you anything. I cannot even tell you where the musicians hang out because we do not have a place. Since they brought down the Malay kampong, the Malay village in Geylang, I don’t feel a place that truly resonates with the people that it becomes a natural place or where people just go and enjoy all these practices. Because in Geylang it was like that! You see the silat players… because whatever practices, dikir barat, tarian, silat, you will see the drums and the musicians there. And you throw away that from the equation, there is no longer a place for the musicians and the artists… then how? And that’s a problem for me. (R. Zalani, personal interview, Jun 17, 2016)

Today, Riduan believes there is still much to be done to build the long-term sustainability of traditional Malay arts in Singapore: I realised that, ‘eh why can’t we have this?’ Because we do not have a supporting tower that allows this. We do not have philanthropy who wants to throw money. There’s a lot of things. So my answer… That’s why it’s not my generation. We need at least $13 million to have a building in Singapore for at least 99 years. And then we need to have a place manager. And then we need to have this, and then we need to… And then all the taxes. You know, that’s why I say it’s not my time. I can’t. I can do a small room like this. Thank God, over the last few years it has landed us with a unit 02-04 in Aliwal Art Centre and I can house 50 musicians, great performers. In my eyes, they have never

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4  NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition stop working and that’s what I can do. And hopefully from these 50, it will snowball and trickle down and hopefully somebody with some money and then, okay, I think it’s time, why not let’s do this. Because it’s high time. By then, the Chinese musician population will be about 4,000 to 6,000. By the time, Indian musicians about 8,000. Professional musicians I’m talking about. Maybe the Malay two three hundreds. (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016)

Riduan and NADI members are not alone in their assessment of the situation. Tracing the history of Singapore’s cultural policy in relation to Malay traditional arts, Zubillaga-Pow (2014) identifies several challenges to the development and promotion of traditional Malay music in the city-state. He writes that since independence in 1965, “traditional Malay music subsequently lapsed into a long period of inactivity due in large part to the sensitive racial climate of the time” (2014, p. 127). Through the 1970s, traditional Malay music received little support from the Ministry of Culture, headed by the Chinese-educated Jek Yeun Thong, who championed the use of English and Mandarin, as well as Chinese traditional music, and whose leadership was characterised by a fall in opportunities for Malay cultural practices (Zubillaga-Pow 2014, p. 128). It was not until the late 1970s that various Malay groups began to take matters into their own hands and promote their cultural and musical practices (Zubillaga-­ Pow 2014, p. 128). However, the 1980s saw a period of “stagnation” perhaps due to the fact that there was “no further incentive for the government to invest in the Malay arts, given Malays’ minority status in the population as well as the financial pull of the Chinese market expanding after 1979” (Zubillaga-Pow 2014, p. 129). Finally, in the 1990s, as political leaders renewed their interest in traditional culture and heritage in their attempt to foster a more cohesive national identity, “the Malays were singled out as an ethnic entity to be valued” (Zubillaga-Pow 2014, p. 131). In 1991, the government founded the Orkestra Melayu Singapura (Singapore Malay Orchestra) tasked with the mission to promote and preserve traditional Malay music—though it incorporates Western instruments alongside  traditional Malay  ones (Daipi n.d.). NADI was created at a time when the government was renewing its interest in Singapore’s minority groups. However it has also inherited the conditions brought about by decades of sidelining of Malay traditional arts. As a result of these historical processes and the structural inequalities they have produced, NADI leaders view their struggle to promote Malay cultural traditions as a  political, as much as artistic, mission. The dissemination of Malay traditional music through their work is a means to redress years of relative neglect by cultural policymakers and to partake fully in the entitlements of citizenship and cultural selfdetermination, alongside Singapore’s other ethnic communities.

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4.3  P  art 2: Reckoning with Tradition and Attempts at Preservation 4.3.1  A History of Syncretism NADI’s vision and mission focus on the idea of upholding Malay traditional music. Since many of these traditions have waned in Singapore, this entails an element of ‘rescuing’ and ‘reviving’ said traditions. When one talks about “tradition”, what are we referring to? What should we consider as “traditional”? To answer that, one has to look at the historical development of traditional practices. This is what Riduan has tried to do. To effectively determine the scope of their work, and define the instruments and styles of playing that the group will focus on, he has had to research about a number of Malayan percussive instruments. What he found was that today’s traditional Malay drums are the result of centuries of cultural fusion. Indeed, Malay traditional music, as it exists today, is, by nature, syncretic. It has evolved from the adaptation and indigenisation of foreign music, instruments and styles of playing, especially in terms of “vocal arrangement, mode, playing techniques, name, construction, ornamentation and decoration” (Abdullah 2004, p. 3, citing Mustapha, 1998, p. 23). An example of this is the kompang, a membranophone with a frame body and a single drumhead, which has the same basic shape as the Middle Eastern dufuf (Matusky and Tan 2004, p. 184). Introduced to the Malay Archipelago by Arab traders in the thirteenth century, it was played at weddings and other ceremonies during the Majapahit Empire,4 at first conserving much of the same playing techniques, tuning and construction but eventually incorporating various  Hindu influences (Abdullah 2004). The Islamisation of the Malay Archipelago from the thirteenth century incorporated many elements of Arabian musical culture into Malay music, such as the rebana frame drum, the gambus Melayu (Malay lute) and chorus singing in praise of God and the Prophet Muhammad featured in hadrah, kompang and dikir rebana ensembles (Abdullah 2004; Hilarian 2004). Riduan points out that Malay traditional music maintains strong nuances of Arabian culture, notably in zapin, masri and samra. Malay traditional music has also been strongly influenced by European cultures, elements of which have similarly become indigenised. Today, what is considered to be asli (translated as “original”, “indigenous” or “pure”) Malay rhythms and repertoires often feature indigenised Western instruments, like the violin or accordion, playing alongside the rebana and gendang drums (Matusky and Tan 2004, p. 330). Another example is the Malay Bangsawan theatre whose instrumentation consists 4  The Hindu kingdom that reigned across Southeast Asia from the thirteenth to the fifteenth centuries.

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of traditional Malay instruments and Western instruments popularised by the British in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Abdullah 2004, p. 3). This phenomenon of appropriation of foreign elements into Malay traditional music can be found in more recent history, one example being the influence of jazz starting from the 1930s, which spread thanks to the rise of radio stations, recording companies and film studios in Singapore and Kuala Lumpur starting from the 1930s (Matusky & Tan 1997, p. 442). Foreign influences in Malay traditional music have been most commonly attributed to Islamic and European civilisations, possibly because there has been significantly more research done on the subject. However, given the history of successive migrations and intense trade across the entire Malayan macroregion (which includes the Malay Archipelago), we have only just begun to scratch the surface of the enormous  cultural fission and fusion that has occurred  throughout history. Indeed, a great number of civilisations have successively populated the region and helped forge local cultures, including but not limited to the Asian Pyuts, Mong-Khmers, Sino-Tibetans, Indian Bhils and Ghonds, Bengalis and Orissans, Tamil- and Malayalam-speaking Indians, Straits Chinese, Moghul, Islamic as well as other smaller European civilisations (Lee and Nadeau 2011, p. 785). Aware of these historical processes of appropriation, adaptation and indigenisation, Riduan says that “what is traditional to this land, is actually foreign” (personal interview, Jun 16, 2016). Giving an example of the Johorian ghazal, he is amazed by the constant evolution of the “traditional” realm: The Johorian ghazal has been formalised and now they are issuing degree based on a syncretic practice that comes from Persia, Iran, Pakistan, down, India, up up up up up, and it becomes Johorian ghazal, and then now they are already giving degree in Malaysia! So this evolution is something that, for me, is wow real. (personal interview, Jun 16, 2016)

Riduan has taught himself about the rich history and syncretism of Malay cultural traditions and through his work in NADI is trying to pass on this knowledge to the younger generations. However, this is not without challenges, as we shall now see.

4.3.2  Problematic Transmission The main challenge faced by Riduan in his attempt to acquire and transmit his knowledge of Malay traditional culture is the loss of oral tradition in Singapore. When it comes to Malay traditional music, the practice has always been passed down orally from one generation to the next, through the relationship between master and pupil. Speaking to many young Singaporean Malay musicians from NADI and beyond, it is clear that this waning orality is a serious problem for the perpetuation of Malay traditional music in Singapore. Syafiqah ‘Adha Sallehin, music director of Gendang Akustika (a Malay traditional-contemporary music ensemble) and self-taught accordionist in the Malay traditional genre, says there are few living masters in Singapore today, and even fewer who are actively involved in transmitting their

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knowledge to the next generation (personal interview, May 07, 2017). Yaziz, who was lucky to have been taught by one such living master—Cik Salleh Buang—mentions he has faced some difficulty in trying to involve first-generation Singaporean Malay practitioners in sharing their knowledge with NADI members: “The old people are not open to meet us. We want to meet them, we want to learn from them: what, how? But they are not open” (personal interview, Aug 29, 2016). Nizar contrasts this problem faced by the Malay traditional music community to the experience of his Chinese and Indian counterparts in Singapore, who, in his view, have maintained the master-pupil tradition: In Singapore, we don’t have that concept of a shīfu,5 of a master, for Malays. Chinese they have. Indians they have Indian scholars or you come [and] meet the master and learn. But Malay don’t have. We don’t have. Malay, we go to Cik Salleh because he’s the oldest. And he taught our NADI founder [Yaziz] and the first batch of Malay percussionists in Singapore. (personal interview, Oct 10, 2016)

Cik Salleh Buang is an important figure in the genealogy of Malay traditional music in Singapore, often referred to as a living “master” or “teacher” by the younger generations of Malay music practitioners. However despite maintaining warm relations with Riduan and Yaziz, NADI leaders have not yet been able to persuade him to teach the group. As a result, NADI leaders have had to forge their own path without following any specific lineage or teacher: I have no guide. I have no guide. You see, the thing about traditional Malay musicians [is that] they have a concept of a grandmaster... ‘my teacher is this, but my teacher’s teacher’s teacher is the grandmaster’. ... But in front of me, there is no-one. (R. Zalani, personal interview, Jun 17, 2016)

Not surprisingly, NADI’s Facebook  page and Twitter profile prominently  feature the following motto: “Where others choose to follow, some choose to lead”. In the absence of masters, Riduan and NADI’s leaders have relied on their own research, and the honing of their skills through exposure to different musical genres, forms and styles of playing. Riduan has earned his stripes as a teacher not by virtue of having had  a master and being part of  a specific  lineage, but rather through his hard work, wide range of experiences, self-belief, keen entrepreneurial spirit, and the ability to ‘hustle’. He says: I don’t have a grandmaster. I confess, I don’t have. I learnt from everybody and anybody. But I choose what I learn. But I’m able to create all this. The amount of legit-ness comes from the practitioners themselves, how much they believe in it, and I think that goes on to everywhere, in the world, when art was first created. (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016)

Nonetheless, according to Riduan, the relationship between NADI Singapura and Cik Salleh Buang has grown stronger after the teacher saw their J2TP show. He was eager to give his feedback to Riduan, praising their achievements and pointing out several things to improve (R. Zalani, personal interview, May 09, 2017). Riduan hopes to continue to earn Cik Salleh Buang’s trust and respect so that he may take on a more active role in educating NADI members in the future.  A respectful title for a master or highly skilled person in Mandarin.

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4.3.3  Developing Singaporean Malay Traditional Music There is a striking disconnect between the rich histories of Malay musical traditions throughout the region and their relative absence (or thwarted presence) in contemporary Singapore. As we have seen, this is due in part to Singapore’s demographics and cultural policies and to the problem of knowledge transmission  (and lack of living masters). As we have seen in the section on identity politics, NADI’s leaders are driven by the desire to proudly represent and promote Malay heritage and culture within Singapore society. Riduan also wants to consolidate the position of Singaporean Malay traditional music, which he believes has its own particularities, in the region and the world. He says, “I just want to have a product that the Singaporean percussionists, the Malay percussionists have, so the Malaysians, Indonesians, and everybody else know that, eh! Actually Singaporean is [sic] not quiet” (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016). So, is Singaporean Malay traditional music somehow different from Malay traditional music of other parts of the region, or does it merely refer to Malay traditional music from or made in Singapore? Moreover, does it only involve specific traditional Malay musical forms and instruments that once existed or were played in the land? Such questions are hard to answer and need to be unpacked. Claims to musical tradition among Malay communities in Singapore, Malaysia and Indonesia are embroiled in the midst of highly contested cultural debates, compounded by geopolitical and philosophical implications, about the distinctness of national identity and the origins of traditions. Such debates converge in the area of traditional music, as well as dance, costumes, performance and textiles (Lee and Nadeau 2011, p. 785). Compounding the issue is the fact that Singapore and Malaysia’s histories are especially intertwined, and their close proximity to the Indonesian archipelago, with whom they’ve also shared ancient civilisations and waves of migrations. In an attempt to avoid these somewhat inextricable debates that are at the mercy of political or nationalistic agendas, NADI’s leaders do not get too bogged down by a preoccupation with historical ‘accuracy’ and avoid claiming they only play the kind of drums that have historically been played there. They say they are more interested in bringing together all the instruments and styles of playing from the entire the Malay Archipelago. When Riduan talks about representing Singapore on the Malay traditional music scene, he is referring especially to the style of playing that they have developed. According to him, there are clear differences between the traditional Malay music in Singapore, Indonesia and Malaysia: Indonesia it’s more radical in their expression; they do not have boundaries in terms of composition and the music created there is eclectic according to the region. It’s more commercial and top-down in Malaysia, because there are lots of funding bodies, and in Singapore, the one championing traditional music today, is the younger generation. (personal interview, May 09, 2017)

Riduan describes how the sounds and styles of playing differ between and even within countries:

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The way we play will be different, even if we include gamelan into NADI’s instrumentation, the tuning, emphasis and tempo will be different. Javanese is the most slow, hypnotic style. Sundanese is most melodic, upbeat and often accompanied an erotic dance. Bali is super fast. All these different styles have taken a long time to develop, driven by the local space. If I put a kompang group in each region, I am amazed that the kompang group in Bali sounds very much like gamelan. But a kompang group in Java is very relaxed. (personal interview, May 09, 2017)

It’s important to remember that  NADI’s goal of upholding Malay traditional music in Singapore coincides with the state’s current interest in developing Malay cultural heritage, particularly since the 1990s (Zubillaga-Pow 2014). This interest has encouraged many practitioners to try and define what exactly constitutes Singaporean Malay traditional arts, and how one should go about teaching it to younger generations in order to assure their perpetuation. Of course, grassroots leaders and practitioners have grappled with these questions for years, and the country’s traditional Malay arts groups, NADI included, have been coming up with their own answers to these questions in their work. However, with the government weighing in on the matter and seeking to invest in Malay traditional arts, the stakes are now much higher. In recent years, thanks to NADI’s high profile, the group’s leaders, and Riduan in particular, have had opportunities to consult with policymakers in relation to Malay traditional music. In 2016, Riduan joined the Malay Music Development Committee (MMDC) at the National Arts Council, where he weighs in on what constitutes Malay traditional music and which related initiatives should be supported. From his experience engaging with national cultural agencies and their bureaucrats, Riduan notes there are certain preconceived notions about what is Malay (and what is Singaporean Malay) as opposed to say, what is viewed as Indonesian. For instance, he says that “angklung, kulintang, gamelan [are] still not part of the Malay culture, because this is very much Indonesian. What is considered Malay... is kompang, hadrah, dikir barat, inang, zapin, ghazal, keroncong, asli, dondang sayang” (R. Zalani, personal interview, Jun 17, 2016). More recently, Riduan has worked with the Ministry of Education to help define the way in which Malay music is being taught in schools. We shall now turn to the related question of the formalisation and systematising of (previously intangible) oral traditions for the purpose of pedagogy.

4.3.4  The Dilemmas of Systematising As we have seen, the lack of living masters in Singapore constitutes a big challenge to the dissemination of Malay traditional music in the country. Thus, to ensure the perpetuation of what has been a historically oral musical tradition, community leaders and policymakers are seeking ways to synthesise traditional know-how into pedagogical tools (manuals, textbooks, course syllabi) that can then be implemented in schools. NADI leaders have, throughout the years, been creating their own

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pedagogical tools which they use to teach their members. They shared some of the challenges and considerations they deal with when creating such teaching material, which I relay here and complement with insights from the (rather sparse) literature available on the matter. One challenge of translating an oral musical tradition into any kind of notation or systematised pedagogy is the fact that there is no standardisation, even in the physical construction of Malay traditional instruments. This issue has been noted by a few scholars in the field of musicology. Abdullah and Blackburn (2015) describe how Malay traditional instruments are not constructed to have a standard pitch, size or measurement; thus the correct tuning and sound one should achieve is highly subjective. They write: One may note that almost all ethnic musical instruments  – even from the same general regions or makers, have different sound quality and pitches. For example, in the kompang (frame drum) ensemble of the Malay people, the sound of the kompang depends on the tautness and thickness of a skinhead as well as the size of the instrument. However, the kompang is also required to be tuned to the “Bunyi yang diterima” (acceptable sound) before it [is] being played. (“Problem Statement”, n.p.)

According to the same authors, despite the fact that there is no standard tuning for the kompang, an experienced player would be able to identify an “acceptable sound”, which, in Malaysia (where they did their research), would be described as kuat [loud], gemersik [penetrating], tajam [sharp] and tegang [taut]. They ask: “How can one precisely understand and perceive the sound of a kompang as loud, penetrating, sharp and taut? Can one precisely describe the sharpness sound of the kompang?” (Abdullah and Blackburn 2015, “Problem Statement”, n.p.). This problem would also be applicable to the Singapore context. Another issue is related to the fact that, in Singapore, Western notation is used to teach music, including non-Western music. However, some theorists and music practitioners argue that Western notation is an inadequate tool to teach Malay traditional music because it cannot account for the intricate subtleties of sound integral to the mastery of such traditions (R.  Zalani, personal interview, May 09, 2017; Abdullah and Blackburn 2015, “Problem Statement”, n.p.). It follows that by translating Malay traditional music into Western notation, which is ill-equipped to transmit its nuances, there will be a degree of information loss.6 What is at risk of being lost is described by traditional Malay music practitioner and composer Zubir Abdullah as jiwa [soul]. Zubir, who picked up the gambus as a young boy and learnt to master it without notation over 40 years ago, warns: “who makes the changes has to be very careful. Because it’s for the purpose of teaching and learning. But the playing has to be very soulful. It’s not just about technique” (personal interview, Jan 24, 2017). Teachers such as Zubir and Cik Salleh Buang

6  Unsatisfied with the use of Western notation to systematise and teach Malay traditional music, Abdullah and Blackburn (2015) have proposed their own method to identify the “acceptable sound” of musical instruments through Spectromorphological Timbral Notation.

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emphasise the importance of understanding that Malay music exists and is defined within the wider context of Malay culture. They believe that, in order to play well, to play with jiwa, students of Malay music must have a holistic understanding of the culture from which it originates. This form of knowing cannot be achieved through technique or reached through rationality. It can only be attained by truly embracing, living and breathing Malay culture. Therefore, ‘extracting’ Malay music from its cultural background and systematising it to fit within the conventions of Western notation or a standardised curriculum are very disruptive to this process. Riduan concurs with this view,  but is more conciliatory. He  suggests supplementing a systematised pedagogy with exercises in active listening (to the oldest recordings of Malay music, for example) in order to “get the jiwa” (personal interview, May 09, 2017). I get the sense that, in his eyes, the systematisation using Western notation and coursebooks is a pragmatic solution to the problem of waning Malay traditional music in Singapore. Given the fact that opportunities to transmit traditions orally are so few and far between, such systematisation allows for traditional Malay music to reach a greater number of Singaporeans  (especially the younger generations), which ultimately is what is required for cultural practices to be carried forward. Despite the inevitable jiwa loss, NADI’s leaders see this as a means towards the advancement of the traditional Malay music cause in Singapore. Just like economic development and urbanisation led to the eclipsing of adat (local customary practices) with the vanishing of the kampong, Riduan ponders that some degree of loss is the price to pay for partaking in the project of modernisation (personal interview, May 09, 2017). Perhaps inspired by the syncretism of Malay traditional music, Riduan advocates for a hybrid pedagogy to teach people music. In his eyes, any method may be used, regardless of its origin,  as long as it is effective at teaching young people about traditional music and how to play instruments. Thus, Western notation and oral transmission are not mutually exclusive, but are complementary teaching methods. In fact, when new members join NADI (and more often than not, they do not know how to read notes), Riduan encourages them to take the three levels of Malay music enrichment courses offered by the National Arts Council, during which they learn Western notation. He wants them to be able to “visualise the music” (personal interview, May 09, 2017). When he is teaching a new composition, most of the time, he prints out a “master score” (in Western notation), distributes it to everyone and teaches it part by part. However, when teaching rhythmic patterns, Riduan draws from the vocal mnemonics called konnakol, which originate from the oral tradition of Carnatic or South Indian classical music, and which are primarily derived from sounds of the mridangam. Creating phrases with the four basic syllables of konnakol, Riduan gets NADI members to listen, imitate and commit the phrases to memory without any written aids (personal interview, May 09, 2017). It is very interesting to see how Riduan has incorporated this musical practice from South India into his own teaching. This exemplifies a particularly Singaporean cross-cultural pedagogy, which deserves to be studied further.

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4.4  Part 3: Constructing Tradition Thus far, we have looked at the ways in which NADI has been reckoning with, and attempting to define and preserve what the group understands to be ‘Malay traditional music’. This can be described as the group’s preservationist impetus. Their ‘revival’ of Malay traditional arts in Singapore, however, also comprises an aspect of reimagining and reinventing tradition. Thus, existing alongside their discourse of preservation, is a more constructivist approach through which NADI actually reimagines ‘tradition’ and innovates upon existing Malay traditional music. This is what we shall now explore.

4.4.1  Romanticising the Kampong One example of NADI’s constructivist take on tradition is related to the idea of the kampong (village in Malay). NADI leaders look towards the Malaysian kampong as the wellspring of Malay traditional culture. Malaysia tends to be the point of reference for many Singaporean practitioners and researchers of Malay traditional arts, given the two countries’ shared history, and the fact that Malaysia’s predominantly Malay population and extensive rural areas have contributed to the perpetuation and development of Malay traditional art forms to a much greater extent. NADI’s leaders often spoke of their dreams of spending time in the Malaysian kampong to learn from its inhabitants. Riduan, having taken on the role of teacher for so many years, feels the need to “learn again” by reconnecting with his Malay roots and immersing himself in a context that “lives and breathes tradition” (personal interview, May 09, 2017). Nizar and Riduan have discussed spending “six months on a research trip in the kampong”, during which they plan to record everything they can from local masters. They ambitiously dream of going to “every village in every state” of Malaysia and Indonesia to record these disappearing traditions before they are lost forever (N. N. Mohammad, personal interview, Oct 10, 2016). This yearning for the kampong overseas is fueled by the lack of a thriving Malay traditional arts scene and the shortage of masters of Malay traditional music in Singapore. NADI members contrast their local context with their idea of the kampong as a place where every single inhabitant is a bearer of traditional culture and spiritual wisdom. As NADI’s leaders speak about life in the Malaysian (and sometimes Indonesian) countryside, they paint a picture of the kampong as an embodiment of pristine natural habitat, an idyllic place of  spiritual replenishment and plenitude, a peaceful escape from the moral void and vices of urban life. Inhabitants of the kampong are portrayed as living a communal life—one that is inherently close to nature and which is assumed not to have changed much despite the advent of industrialisation and new information technologies like the Internet. This kampong imaginary produces a sense of nostalgia for another era where social life was yet untouched by the processes of globalisation. Nizar describes how:

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in Malaysia they still have villages that don’t have Wi-Fi, don’t have internet. So these places are the one that… and also Indonesia, so these are the places we want to go and… go there and learn. No, because like we in the urban country… every day we go out we listen to the radio, we hear a lot of things, and we see and watch a lot of things online. … But the people in Malaysia, for instance, if they live in a village, they don’t have anything, every day they just… if they are musicians, they wake up, they hum a lot, maybe they hum while showering or they sing, they hear the sound of nature and, you know, they practice, and somehow their singing style is really, really pure. You can hear the pureness in that person’s voice when they sing. (N. N. Mohammad, personal interview, Oct 10, 2016)

The romanticisation of the kampong could be symptomatic of a more generalised societal malaise, stemming from Singapore’s highly urban landscape, relatively devoid of any real countryside or wild hinterlands. Kong (1996) has analysed how the urbanrural dichotomy is a common trope in Singaporean English-language music. The city is often seen as a place of both opportunity and alienation, while the countryside represents an escape from the rat race, providing much-needed “breathing space” (Kong 1996). The kampong therefore represents an escape from the latent claustrophobia of living in a concrete jungle where one’s experience of “nature” is limited to a few swaths of greenery and the well-groomed rain trees lining expressways. Zubir Abdullah, who has frequently collaborated with several of NADI’s musicians, goes further to say that the urban condition represents the loss of “Melayu-­ ness” [Malay-ness], explaining how Singaporean Malays are twice-alienated—from nature and from an encompassing Malay cultural environment. He explains: Malaysia is part of us. But when we have that separation, we are being urban. But being urban we must find our identity in search of our Melayu-ness. But the challenge is we don’t have the surrounding of Melayu-ness. (personal interview, Jan 24, 2017).

NADI’s romanticised and nostalgic interpretation of the kampong constitutes a highly emotive and symbolic trope around which Singaporean Malay identity is galvanised. It provides an appealing narrative for young members to grasp onto. It helps them cultivate positive values (community, harmony with nature, respect for tradition), informs how they construct their self  and collective  identities, and inspires their conceptualisation of their cultural “roots”. Now let us look more closely at a few examples of how this kampong imaginary manifests in NADI’s work. First, it is evident in the themes and lyrical content of their songs which revolve around ideals of harmony, solidarity and communalism, and contain numerous references to nature and rural livelihoods. Consider the song introducing Kampong Berani in J2TP, which is performed by the ‘villagers’ dancing in unison in a bedazzling flurry of percussion: We at Kampong Berani March to the right and left Sincerity, dedication, consciously building affection Warriors, fishermen, farmers, and those from the coffee stall Moving forward harmoniously March to the right and left

Many songs composed by Riduan allude to the spiritual dimensions of nature. For example, Nafas Padi [meaning the “breath of the paddy fields”] is inspired by

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the Malay proverb “Biar ikut resmi padi, makin tunduk makin berisi”, translated loosely as “be like the rice stalk, which bends lower as it is laden with ripening grains”, and according to Riduan, is an exhortation to learn from nature and live in accordance with the wisdom and humility it teaches us (R. Zalani, personal interview, Oct 29, 2017). The awe-inspiring mystery of nature, and evocations of humankind belonging to a wider natural universe are portrayed in yet another composition entitled “Bumi Tak Diam” [The Earth Is Not Quiet], which Riduan describes as “a song about protecting the earth”: Witness the earth, It’s in darkness. And then the moon is shining, The star is twinkling, Be cautious, The earth is not quiet.

Second, the kampong imaginary is conjured by situating the narrative of J2TP in the countryside, and recreating a set inspired by typical images and elements of rural life.  We follow Taufan as he moves across various rural landscapes—from paddy fields and caves, to a village market. He encounters various individuals defined either by their traditional functions or their rural occupations—a spiritual teacher, the village headman, a fisherman and a rice farmer. There is an emphasis on the contemplative and peaceful effects of nature on the young protagonist. He sits by a waterfall and is inspired to pen some thoughts about “a hidden village”, “dreams of rainbows” and feeling at one with the universe. The aesthetics of the countryside are curated through video projections  (displaying  green paddy fields and a recurring image of a primordial fire) and the use of various backdrops and props including little thatched roofed warung kopi [coffee stalls]. Finally, the symbolism of the songket—the silk  cloth that enthralled Taufan at the start of the story—is a metaphor for the Malay community and spirit. Zakaria and Bahauddin (2015) describe how: the relationship of the Malays with songket is as intimate as the sea is to its shoreline. Through songket, the reflection of the values and essence of the Malay community is manifested in ‘hard copy,’ representing a creation of art that symbolises the meaning and spirit of the Malays. (p. 97)

Furthermore, some stage props were made with materials that play an important role in the kampong, such as bamboo poles which were transformed into a rudimentary “instrument” that NADI members then referred to simply as buluh [bamboo], and played by holding it vertically and striking it with a stick while thumping it on the ground. Empty rice sacks were used to make polyrhythmic beats by the performers who wore them on their legs and hopped around the stage. Both the buluh and the rice-bag hop were inspired by “games in the kampong” (R.  Zalani, personal interview, May 09, 2017). The sound design too was inspired by nature and rurality. Syafiq, who was responsible for sourcing the samples, said he focused on “finding kampong sounds like birds singing, wind blowing through the leaves, and crickets” (S. Halid, telephone interview, May 16, 2017). There is also a conspicuous absence of any form of industrialised, mechanic or urban sound. The only reference to urbanity is the opening scene which is set in a secondary school in Singapore.

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4.4.2  Making Tradition Contemporary There are several ways in which NADI is injecting contemporary elements into their practice of Malay traditional arts by innovating upon traditional forms. The main one is their assimilation of external influences including pop culture in Riduan’s compositions and in people’s playing styles. Indeed, there is a noticeable influence of Middle Eastern, Indian, African, and  Latin  American musical elements in NADI’s sound. In his compositions, Riduan integrates rhythmic structures like polyrhythms, timbres and timecodes from various other musical traditions which he has learnt over the years. His compositions also leave space for individual playing styles and unscripted ornamentations, and since several of NADI’s members have also studied different musical traditions, these influences often come through. For example, Hairie draws from his knowledge of Turkish traditional music especially its various carpma (ornamentation) when playing the violin and gambus with NADI. Others let their years of experience playing samba percussion percolate into their playing, and batucada patterns occasionally ring out. NADI’s assimilation of external influences is also linked to the desire to attract the youth to their music. Singapore’s open economy has produced a globalised and cosmopolitan youth who are avid consumers of overseas cultural forms. To attract them, Azreen Binte Sopri explains the need to incorporate external and nontraditional elements in NADI’s work: We don’t want this traditional music to fade off. … But you know how the generation nowadays only listen to pop culture, you know, like all the American, UK, all that stuff. So we still want them [that generation]… maybe that’s the reason why Uan abang infused the different parts of non-traditional music into our instruments, into our drums. (personal interview, Aug 29, 2016)

Riduan says Malay traditional music is typically “soft”, “gentle” and “laid-back” which represented the lifestyle and forms of speech of earlier generations, but may not be relevant to the youth of today. Instead, he tries to make NADI’s music “edgy” saying “it must be accessible to this generation” (personal interview, Jun 17, 2016). Syafiq describes their music as “different”, “faster”, “rough” and “loud” and says they have a reputation among fellow Malay traditional music practitioners as playing very complicated rhythms (S.  Halid, personal interview, Oct 05, 2016). The quick pace and the high energy levels are evident throughout their shows. In J2TP, one moment the performers are hitting an array of metal pots and pans; the next, they are slapping their bodies to create different beats. Both routines were reminiscent of Stomp, a hugely popular physical theatre group that also combines percussion using non-instrumental objects, dance and pantomime. Zubir Abdullah, who emphasised the importance of jiwa [soul], says he realises how disconnected Malay traditional music can seem from the everyday lives of Singaporean Malay people today, especially the youth. And while he still cautions them not to stray too far, he believes NADI’s (re)interpretation of tradition in order to attract the younger generation is positive:

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4  NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition They are making an awareness [sic] to the public, ‘Look, we have this, why always listen to Justin Timberlake? Why listen to this? Why listen to all these pop culture?’ There’s nothing wrong. But we have OrkeStar Trio, we have Uan abang, we have NADI. But their approach is not traditionally traditional. [Because] they will get bored: ‘Ah, this music we’ve heard before, Malay wedding always like that.’ But once they have NADI performing like that, ‘Eh, this is new, this is different’. (personal interview, Jan 24, 2017)

Cultivating a particular hip image is also an important way in which NADI is keeping up with the times. In the world of traditional arts, NADI has long been regarded as daring “bad boys”, with a “cool and funky” image (S. Halid, telephone interview, May 16, 2017). This is because they paired their kurta (a traditional long, loose-fitting shirt) with blue jeans and sneakers. Syafiq recalls Malay audience members reacting to their outfits: They were curious like, ‘eh, why are you dressed in this way?’ Then we say, ‘we are young guys. We… this is like part of our daily outfit. So why not wear this on stage. It’s not wrong, like that’s another outfit for us. And something funky, something playful. (personal interview, Oct 05, 2016)

NADI’s dress code, however, has evolved over time. In an effort to present a more “homogenous” look on stage, and now enjoying access to a bigger budget, they have  replaced the blue jeans and sneakers with elegantly tailored costumes, including the use of the tanjak (traditional Malay headgear) by male performers. Although some members look back wistfully at the early days of blue jeans, they still believe NADI maintains their cool image in the eyes of the youth. One final example of NADI bringing Malay traditional music into the contemporary is one of its many productions called SERENTAK (Photo 4.4). This particular series of shows was created for NADI’s members to experiment with new ideas and put on their own performances in which Riduan takes a back seat and delegates creative and musical direction to younger members (though he still provides them with the theme for each edition). SERENTAK’s objective is “to explore, dissect and create” (S. Halid, telephone interview, May 16, 2017). So far, there have been two editions, both held at Singapore’s Aliwal Arts Centre to sold-out crowds. SERENTAK 2 took place in May 2017 and was directed by Syafiq Halid, with the musical direction of Nur Zul Khairi and Nazri Johar. The performance consisted of NADI’s signature combination of drumming, choreography and the narrative storytelling. But, the role of technology was featured prominently, through the use of a video screen (displaying glitching images over the voice of an omniscient narrator) and a lot of sound design. One of the most memorable segments was a sequence, composed by Nazri, which featured drumming patterns emulating electronic dance music (EDM). For the five minutes it lasted, the audience members (who were in their teens to their early thirties) jumped to their feet to dance, clap and whistle in approval. The idea was to use Malay traditional drums to create the soundscape of a nightclub. “That’s why NADI is the new age group”, Syafiq says, “because we represent the young people” (S. Halid, telephone interview, May 16, 2017). He goes on to explain the importance of individuality and innovation in the practice of Malay traditional music: Art making is alive, especially in the traditional art world, even traditional musicians must keep making original compositions and work. We need variety. In the case of NADI, we

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Photo 4.4  SERENTAK 2 took place at Aliwal Arts Centre, on May 14, 2017, to sold-out crowds. (Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray)

have a community, which offers contemporary avenues to let individuals showcase their individuality. (telephone interview, May 16, 2017)

Nonetheless, Syafiq affirms that traditional rhythms still feature prominently in SERENTAK 2. He believes that innovation can only happen once one knows “the basics” or the fundamentals of Malay traditional music: Whatever is traditional, is there, we still practice, we use that as a foundation. After we have learnt the foundation, the traditional music, the traditional rhythms, and then we continue with the contemporary. Because Riduan doesn’t want to confuse the fellow players. Like we keep on practicing the contemporary art, the unorthodox technique, but we’ve forgotten the traditional. No, he doesn’t like that. So he always like to practice and introduce the traditional art or the rhythm, and then we can move forward, going to the contemporary. (personal interview, Oct 05, 2016)

4.5  Final Thoughts The chapter aims to better understand some of the key issues, processes and points of view that underlie the collective identity of NADI Singapura. We looked at some of the contributing factors and processes that foster and help sustain group unity.

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These include the notion of ‘community as family’ and its articulation with ‘race’; the dynamics of rehearsals, during which important values are shared and reinforced under Riduan’s charismatic leadership; the prevalence of specific gender norms; and identity politics which provide NADI  a strong  sense of purpose  and direction. These are all fundamental and constitutive aspects of NADI, which unite everyone around common traits, experiences, values and objectives. In a sense, they provide the “what”, “how” and “why” of the collective. Since the main component of NADI’s mission is to raise awareness about, promote and help sustain Malay traditional percussion in Singapore, the second section explored this idea of ‘the traditional’ and the attempts made by the group to preserve such practices. Understanding what we mean by tradition today entails reckoning with the complex historical processes that led to its syncretic nature. We then looked at some of the challenges and drivers behind the development of Malay traditional music in Singapore, including the dearth in masters and the break in the master-­ pupil relationship, as well as the push for the systematisation of traditional musical knowledge for the purpose of teaching younger generations of Singaporeans. Finally, after looking at the ways in which NADI are trying to preserve tradition, we examined how they have been innovating upon it. This last section sheds light on NADI’s constructivist approach to tradition. We see how the kampong is constructed as a source of inspiration and as an imagined cultural and spiritual wellspring. We then outlined how NADI’s work assimilates nontraditional elements from global pop culture and other musical cultures. As such we saw how NADI is reframing traditional Malay music as contemporary. As my analysis has shown, NADI Singapura are cultural semionauts and bricoleurs, who construct their identity by reaching back towards their “roots”, while pragmatically navigating the present. In doing so, their discourse and practice reveal a complex synthesis of the  traditional and the contemporary, of preservation and innovation. NADI’s mission of upholding Malay traditional music is an extremely complex exploration and negotiation between essentialist and constructivist takes on this music and on tradition in a wider sense. On the one hand, they want to carry on and even import the practice of Malay traditional percussion from the Malay Archipelago to Singapore. On the other hand, their goals are somewhat thwarted by the fact that NADI’s leaders are mainly self-taught and lack masters from whom to learn in the traditional sense of oral transmission from master to pupil. Moreover, since their aim is to engage young people, NADI’s leaders realise they must strike a balance between “preserving” and transmitting traditional practices and attracting young people with elements that interest them. The quote on the back of their Kata Kita Kota album, which reads, “We can’t choose where we come from, but we can decide where we go next”, hints at their constructivist tendencies and their desire to look towards the future. Accepting the fact that Malay cultural traditions are highly syncretic (a result of the region’s history of cultural fusion) acts as a deterrent to any form of essentialist thinking. Riduan emphasises this syncretism when teaching younger generations of Singaporeans about the origins and development of the music. The awareness that traditions are not fixed, ancient and static things but are always evolving, gives

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young people the opportunity to feel a sense of ownership over these practices, and enables them to embrace and reinterpret traditions in a way that is relevant to their lives. This knowledge of the history of the Malay Archipelago also allows Singaporeans to develop a more constructivist understanding of their own personal identity. For instance, Riduan’s sense of identity is both firmly rooted in his homeland of Singapore and flowing outwards, transcending the borders of the nation-state and extending to the whole macroregion. So, even though Riduan expresses very patriotic feelings, is dedicated to building and representing Singapore’s own Malay traditional music scene, and speaks in terms of representing his nation-state, he has a profound affinity with the rest of the Malay world. In fact, he recounted how he was struck by a feeling of “being at home” among the people in Riau, an Indonesian province on the central eastern coast of Sumatra which faces the Strait of Malacca, because of  the many cultural similarities he perceived (R.  Zalani, personal interview, May 09, 2017). Nonetheless there are two wider phenomena that draw NADI towards more essentialist forms of (self-)representation, which I will now touch upon briefly. These are the world music industry and the Singapore government’s current interest in celebrating ethnic heritage. In terms of world music, Riduan is convinced that participating in international events by representing traditional Malay music will help the visibility of Malay cultural heritage at home and abroad, and ensure its continued survival. Having performed in over 35 countries, he has been struck by the many prestigious opportunities that traditional arts groups around the world have to showcase their traditions. He wants to be able to showcase traditional Malay percussion on that same world stage. However, this is not without some perils of representation. World music is a commercial genre predicated on the branding and promotion of an “exaggerated sense of locality and cultural distinctiveness” of non-­ Western societies for the consumption of Western audiences (Connell and Gibson 2004). In certain aspects, it contributes to the global trend towards the commodification of ethnic cultural products, like so-called “ethnic” restaurants or clothing and “world movies”. In this global dynamic, exoticism and difference become cultural capital sustained through the “collusion” of various players in the world music market—entrepreneurs, reviewers, consumers and even  musicians themselves. One example of this is the annual World Music Expo (WOMEX) which embodies the “culmination of this collusion”, where “1,000 companies, 200 journalists and 250 exhibitors” essentially determine who gets signed, publicised and distributed (Connell and Gibson 2004, p. 358). This exotification (which is a form of othering) of non-Western peoples and their music by the world music industry compels promoters to “derive ancient histories for what are essentially contemporary musics” (Connell and Gibson 2004, quoting Averill, 1995, p. 342). It follows that, in order to participate in the world music market, NADI may feel some pressure to self-essentialise by characterising itself and its music as ‘representative’ of an exotic, deeply rooted and ancient Malay traditional  culture, even though as we have shown, NADI’s work is complex and syncretic and incorporates numerous contemporary elements.

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The pressures of essentialism are also exerted on NADI in their own country. As we have seen earlier, Singapore has become increasingly interested in supporting Malay cultural heritage in the last three decades (Zubillaga-Pow 2014). Chapter 2 analysed how this investment in heritage reinforces the conception of bounded ‘races’ (based on the the official “Chinese-Malay-Indian-Other” classification). As such, when engaging with the state, NADI may find they need to represent their ‘race’ in accordance with the multiracial and multicultural model put forth by policymakers. Chapter 2 also mentioned how certain music groups perform (play the part of) racial harmony in order to get funding or other opportunities that demand this kind of ‘racial’/ethnic representation. Some of NADI’s collaborative work in Singapore follows such an essentialist line of work. One example is the performance entitled CROSSING which brought together music groups from the three main ethnic groups in Singapore and was heavily marketed in racial harmony terms. Work like this can sometimes resemble what Robert Stam has described as a “state or corporate-managed United-Colors-of-­Benetton pluralism whereby established power promotes ethnic ‘flavors of the month’ for commercial or ideological purposes” (2000, p. 476). Therefore, in both the international and national arenas, NADI treads a very fine line between standing up for their own cultural self-determination in all its historical and contemporary complexity, and being subsumed into larger essentialist frameworks and ideologies that presume the bounded nature of their cultural and ‘racial’ identities (whether for commercial or political motives). NADI, of course, consentingly engages with these wider discourses and agendas and does so, I suspect, partly for pragmatic reasons—to advance the visibility of Malay traditional music and to earn a living doing so. They may also  feel that  they do not  have much power to negotiate their own representation, or may be unconcerned about the issue. And although these external top-down forces directly affect NADI’s branding (which is primarily destined for outsiders, not NADI insiders), that does not mean that these automatically determine, or even strongly influence, how NADI members perceive their own group and identity and formulate their ideas about culture and tradition. But, neither can we assume there is no influence whatsoever. Both internal group processes and external pressures comprise a dialectic relationship. It is in this dialectic tension that notions of tradition and individual and collective identities are continually being forged and negotiated. As such, awareness of these greater forces at work is important in order to guard against essentialism subsuming the more nuanced hybridity of constructivism. The  chapter’s first  epigraph “Takkan Melayu hilang di dunia”, which can be translated as “never shall the Malay(s) vanish from the earth”, is an important metaphor for how Singaporean Malay traditional music persists against the odds. Though the challenges are great, so is the disposition to uphold Malay traditional music and, in the process, to forge what Riduan calls Melayu Kita [Our Malay(ness)], a self-­ determined contemporary Singaporean Malay identity. Melayu Kita is based on a political consciousness of ‘racial’/cultural identity politics, and a sense of

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r­esponsibility towards carrying Malay traditions forward, while embracing their historically syncretic nature and a youth-driven sense of innovation. The two elements that will make this project succeed are the power of the youthful collective and the intrinsic adaptability of cultural forms. After only 7 years of existence, this collective body—a ‘community as family’ that is much more than a musical performing group—is already a powerful catalyst for the mobilisation and education of the youth, and their cause of advancing Malay traditional arts. NADI functions like a cultural incubator or cultural community hub, where young Singaporeans develop their interpretations of Melayu Kita. It serves to empower the younger generations by acting as a platform for creative production and collaboration, and by equipping them with tangible creative skills, tools and the social and creative environment necessary to develop and implement their artistic ideas (eg.  projects like SERENTAK). NADI Singapura’s value- and community-based education/support system conveys striking similarities to the contemporary sharing economy model, embodied by the increasingly popular coworking spaces and artist-in-residence programmes. In today’s world, where the kampong spirit has been eroded by the fragmentary forces of capitalism, societies are recognising  the importance of  “the community” in sharing, educating and empowering the next generation of creators/ citizens. Through the blossoming of the collective spirit, and the enduring passion and commitment of NADI’s young members, Malay musical forms in Singapore seem destined to continue to grow and evolve. Their multiply rooted histories and innately syncretic nature make these traditional practices inherently resilient in times of change. Nizar wonderfully captures the potential of traditional Malay music for metamorphosis: It is like a durian, you open one [segment], then you can open some more, then you can open some more. Ah! So we want to really stretch the Malay rhythm until it really, really cannot expand. But I think, it’s never ending. (N. N. Mohammad, personal interview, Oct 10, 2016)

References Primary Sources (Interviews) Abdullah, Z. (2017, January 24).. Personal interview. ‘Adha Sallehin, S. (2017, May 7). Personal interview. Binte Abas, N. (2016, September 19). Personal interview. Binte Sopri, N. A. (2016, September 19). Personal interview. Halid, S. (2016 , Oct 05 and 2017, May 16). Personal interview and telephone interview. Hassan, M. Y. (2016, August 29). Personal interview. Mohammad, N. N. (2016, October 10). Personal interview. Putra Ishak, I (known as Hairie). (2016, October 19). Personal interview. Zalani, R. (2016, June 17; 2017, May 09 & September 20). Personal interviews and email interview.

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Secondary Sources Abdullah, M. H. (2004). Idiosyncratic aspects of Malaysian music: The roles of the Kompang in Malay Society. Paper presented at the UNESCO regional expert symposium on Arts Education in Asia, Hong Kong, 2004. Universiti Pendidikan Sultan Idris, Malaysia. Abdullah, M. H. (2005). Kompang: an organological and ethnomusicological study of a Malay frame drum [PhD thesis]. The University of Newcastle upon Thyne. Retrieved from https:// theses.ncl.ac.uk/dspace/bitstream/10443/869/1/Abdullah05.pdf Abdullah, M. H., & Blackburn, A. (2015). Spectromorphological timbral notation as a tool for Malaysian ethnomusicology. Tanjung Malim: Universiti Pendidikan Sultan Idris (UPSI). Abdullah, K., Noor, N. M., & Wok, S. (2008). The perceptions of women’s roles and progress: A study of Malay women. Social Indicators Research, 89(3), 439–455. Ahmad, K., Hudi, K., & Daud, M.  R. (Eds.). (2002). 7 Magnificent composers. Singapore: Perkamus. Ariffin, J. (1992). Women and development in Malaysia. Petaling Jaya: Pelanduk. Azmi, A. (1990). Panduan Bermain Seni Hadrah Kompang. Singapore: Persatuan Hadrah Dan Kompang Singapura, Peoples Association HQ Ground. Azmi, A.  H. M.  I. (2015). Rentak Rebana: Sejarah dan Perkembangannya di Singapura. Perkumpulan Seni Singapura (Arts Group): Singapore. Barendregt, B. (Ed.). (2014). Sonic Modernities in the Malay World: A history of popular music, social distinction and novel lifestyles (19302–2000s). Leiden/Boston: Brill Publishers. Cek Mek Molek.: Patriarchy vs. Feminism. Poskod Malaysia. Retrieved from ­http://poskod.my/ features/cek-mek-molek-patriarchy-vs-feminism/ Chan, M. (2016, March 21). Misogyny and its roots in Malaysian culture. Retrieved from http://www.freemalaysiatoday.com/category/opinion/2016/03/21/ misogyny-and-its-roots-in-malaysian-culture/ Connell, J., & Gibson, C. (2004). World music: Deterritorializing place and identity. Progress in Human Geography, 28(3), 342–361. Daipi, H. (n.d.). About us. Orkestra Melayu Singapura. Retrieved from https://www.orkestramelayusingapura.org/about-us Doubleday, V. (1999, Winter). The frame drum in the Middle East: Women, musical instruments and power. Journal of the Society for Ethnomusicology, 43(1), 101–134. Doubleday, V. (2008). Sounds of power: Musical instruments and gender. Colchester: Taylor and Francis. Feld, S. (2000). A sweet lullaby for world music. Public Culture 12(1), 145–171. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Geertz, C. (1983). Local knowledge: Further essays in interpretive anthropology. New York: Basic Books Inc.. Graham, B.  J. (2005). Relationships among instrument choice, instrument transfer, subject sex, and gender-stereotypes in instrumental music. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hahn, R. (1999). Anthropology in public health: Bridging differences in culture and society. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hebdige, D. (1987). Cut ‘n’ mix: Culture, identity and Caribbean music. London: Routledge. Hilarian, L. (2004). The gambus (lutes) of the Malay world: Its origins and significance in zapin Music. Paper presented at the UNESCO Regional Expert Symposium on Arts Education in Asia, Hong Kong, 2004. Singapore: Nanyang Technological University. Hirschman, C. (2016). Gender, the status of women, and family structure in Malaysia. Malaysian Journal of Economic Studies, 53(1), 33–50. Hutchinson, S. (2016). Tigers of a different stripe: Performing gender in Dominican music. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kong, L. (1994). Music and cultural politics: Ideology and resistance in Singapore. Transactions, Institute of British Geographers, 20, 447–459.

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Kong, L. (1996). Popular music and a “sense of place” in Singapore. Crossroads: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 9(2), 51–77. Lee, J.  H. X., & Nadeau, K.  M. (Eds.). (2011). Encyclopedia of Asian American Folklore and Folklife, Volume 1. ABC-CLIO. Lum, C. H., & Chua, S. L. (2016). Teaching living legends: Professional development and lessons for the 21st century music educator. Singapore: Springer. Maceda, J.  (1974). Music in Southeast Asia: Tradition, nationalism, innovation, in Unesco and Baconniere. Cultures: Music in a Changing World, 1(3), 75–93. Manuel, P. (1995). Music as symbol, music as simulacrum: Postmodern, pre-modern, and modern aesthetics in subcultural popular musics. Popular Music, 14(2), 227–239. Manuel, P. (1997). Music, identity, and images of India in the Indo-Caribbean Diaspora. Asian Music, Autumn, 1997 – Winter, 1998, 29(1), 17–35. Manuel, P. (1994). Puerto Rican music and cultural identity: Creative appropriation of Cuban sources from Danza to Salsa. Ethnomusicology, Music and Politics (Spring – Summer, 1994), 38(2), 249–280. Matusky, P. A., & Tan, S. B. (Eds.). (2004). The music of Malaysia: The classical, folk, and syncretic traditions. Burlington: Ashgate Publishing Limited. Matusky, P. A., & Tan, S. B. (Eds.). (2017). The music of Malaysia: The classical, folk, and syncretic traditions (2nd ed.). Oxon: Routledge. Miller, T. (Ed.). (2000). A companion to cultural studies. Hoboken: Blackwell. Nasuruddin, M.  G. (1992). The Malay traditional music. Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka. Ng, C., & Chee, H.  L. (1999). Women in Malaysia: Present struggles and future directions. In C.  Ng (Ed.), Positioning women in Malaysia: Class and gender in an industrializing state (pp. 169–189). London: Macmillan. Nor, M.  A. M. (2001). Blurring images, glowing likenesses: Old and new styles  – Traditional dances of Malaysia. Yearbook for Traditional Music, 33, 65–71 Published by: International Council for Traditional Music. O’Brien, L. (1983). Four paces behind: Women’s work in Peninsular Malaysia. In L. Manderson (Ed.), Women’s work and women’s roles: Economics and everyday life in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore (Development Studies Centre Monograph No. 32, pp. 193–216). Canberra: The Australian National University. ONE ASIA Joint Concert. (n.d.). About ONE ASIA Joint Concert. Retrieved from http://www. oneasia-jc.net/about.html Reid, A. (1988a). Female roles in pre-colonial Southeast Asia. Modern Asian Studies, 22(3), 629–645. Reid, A. (1988b). Southeast Asia in the age of commerce, 1450–1680. Vol. 1: The lands below the winds. New Haven: Yale University Press. Rydstrom, H. (Ed.). (2010). Gendered inequalities in Asia. Configuring, contesting and recognising women and men. Copenhagen/Denmark: NIAS Press. Shanghai World Music Festival. 2016. Retrieved from http://worldmusicshanghai.com/en/ MusicFestival2016/ Spivak, G.  C. (1990). The post-colonial critic: interviews, strategies, dialogues. London/New York: Routledge. Sri Mahligai. A brief tour of Malay music. Retrieved from http://www.srimahligai.com/articles/ tour.htm Stam, R. (2000). Cultural studies and race. In T.  Miller (Ed.), A companion to cultural studies (pp. 470–489). Oxford/Malden: Blackwell Publishers Inc.. Taylor, P.  M., & Aragon, L.  V. (1991). Beyond the Java Sea: Art of Indonesia’s outer islands. New York: Harry N. Abrams Inc.. Trimillos, R.  D. (1986). Music and ethnic identity: Strategies among Overseas Filipino Youth. Yearbook for Traditional Music, 18, 9–20. Published by: International Council for Traditional Music.

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Van Dijk, K. (2014). Politicians who love to sing or who detest singing. In B. Barendregt (Ed.), Sonic Modernities in the Malay world: A history of popular music, social, a history of popular music, social distinction and novel lifestyles (19302–2000s) (pp.  291–319). Leiden/Boston: Brill Publishers. Vickers, M. E. (2015). The effect of model gender on instrument choice preference of beginning band students (Doctoral essay in Music Education). Hartt School, University of Hartford. Wadleigh, F. E. (1890). Pattom’s Juba. Current Literature, 5(1), 70. Whitney Humanities Center. (2017). Malay theatre: Intangible cultural Heritage and Islam. Retrieved from https://whc.yale.edu/gallery-whitney/exhibit/malay-theatre Zakaria, S.  A., & Bahauddin, A. (2015). ‘Light’ in Malay Songket: Is it real? In R.  Omar, H. Bahrom, & G. de Mello (Eds.), Islamic perspectives relating to business, arts, culture and communication (pp. 91–100). Singapore: Springer. Zhang, J.  (2014, November). Debunking the Myth of the Lazy Malays (Yayasan Mendaki Occasional Paper Series). Zubillaga-Pow, J. (2014). The dialectics of capitalist reclamation, or traditional Malay music in fin de siècle Singapore. South East Asia Research, 22(1), 123–139.

Chapter 5

Fusion Through the Gaze of Singaporean Contemporary Musicians: Confluence, Syncretism, Hybridity or Mere Confusion Chee-Hoo Lum

Contents 5.1  I ntroduction 5.2  C  hinese Instrumentalists 5.2.1  The TENG Ensemble 5.2.2  Nen 念 5.2.3  SA(仨) 5.3  Indian Instrumentalists 5.3.1  Ghanavenothan Retnam 5.3.2  Raghavendran Rajasekaran (Ragha) 5.3.3  Flame of the Forest 5.4  Malay Instrumentalists 5.4.1  Zubir Abdullah 5.4.2  Yaziz Hassan (NADI Singapura) 5.5  Other Instrumentalists/Composers 5.5.1  Rit Xu 5.5.2  Wang Chenwei 5.6  Discussion References

 107  109  109  109  110  110  110  113  114  114  114  116  116  116  117  120  122

5.1  Introduction Musicians involved in fusion are responding to the cultural circumstances in which they are situated-circumstances characterised by cultures in contact, with cultural and artistic power and meaning constantly being negotiated. (Sutton 2011, p. 20)

In the interactions with musicians and composers in this study, the notion of “fusion” often came up as a topic of discussion as the researchers were curious about how the musicians and composers would define and identify with their collaborative creative works and compositions. Fusion music, in this instance, takes on Sutton’s (2011) definition of “whatever styles and genres [that are] subsumed under this broad rubric [that] involves mixture- intentional and perceptible mixture” (p. 4). There is also a recognition that any musical genre or style under careful analysis “reveal multiple origins, blends, syncretisms, hybridities that are the inevitable result of human contact” (Sutton 2011, p.5). © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_5

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Some musicians like to work with other musicians of different genres to dialogue, jam and come up with eclectic performances that blend and interweave their mutual musical specialisations and interests. There were composers that dabbled in Chinese, Malay, Indian, Jazz and/or Western classical music genres, putting various musical elements and concepts into their compositions for aesthetic, political and/or economic reasons. Some musicians would add varied musical ideas into their existing traditional repertoire, suggesting new takes on the tradition, while others, who do not feel the need to adhere to any musical lineage, mix-and-match musical ideas from different styles and genres quite freely or venture into sound improvisation and experimentation. Bourriaud’s semionaut and radicant strategies (articulated in Chap. 1) come to mind. These musicians are trying to constantly make sense and create out of the many musical possibilities that surround them, thinking about their own musical expertise, tapping from their fellow musician friends, from listening to other live musicians and from the music that they pick up in their daily lives through various Internet sources. Like Bourriaud’s semionaut, the musicians can be seen as programmers or curators of pre-existing forms, remixing musical ideas ranging from Chinese, Malay, Indian, Jazz and Western classical to other musical genres, while also attempting to create new musical vocabularies as they experiment with existing forms through time, space and place. The narrative for this chapter stems from an analysis of the interview transcripts of musicians and composers involved in the research study (see Chap. 8 for more details on research methodology). The transcripts were scanned through, and words, phrases or entire quotes related to ideas surrounding “fusion” would be selected out and coded for: (i) how musicians/composers defined their repertoire, (ii) use of different terms to articulate their fusion work, and (iii) reasons for venturing into fusion work. The researcher felt it was important to examine musicians/composers’ personal interpretation of what defines for them as fusion and the meaning they find in creating such musical possibilities, particularly in a globalised space like Singapore that is multicultural and multiracial. In Diethrich’s (2000) study of South Asian fusion music, he also strongly articulated individual interpretations as critical in defining fusion music in context. The narrative thus begins with musicians and composers’ nuanced interpretations of how they define their creative work and why they do what they do. This is important so that the reader gets a sense of the layers of complexity within singular musicians/composers and music groups and of the multiple ways with which their fusion processes can be defined within themselves dependent on varying contexts. The narratives were chunked into sections of Chinese, Malay and Indian instrumentalists not as a way to create any generalised impression along ethnic lines, but as close comparisons within each group of varying possibilities of interpretations. The voices of Ghanavenothan Retnam and Zubir Abdullah, as pioneers of fusion musical work in Singapore, are also included within this narrative to contrast their differences in perspectives with the younger instrumentalists.

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5.2  Chinese Instrumentalists 5.2.1  The TENG Ensemble The musical director of The TENG ensemble, Samuel Wong, identifies their repertoire as fusion, defined specifically as “East-West-Traditional-Contemporary” (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). The fusion combines Chinese and Western instruments, “In terms of the East, we were represented very much heavily by the Chinese influences. The West was represented by, for example, the cello…and the voice. And contemporary influences we had the electronics and the guitar” (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). The repertoire for The TENG Ensemble are commissioned and composed by local composers to fit within the four quadrants of “East-West-Traditional-Contemporary”. According to Samuel, the repertoire should first “resonate with local Singaporean…to change the perception of what our instruments [Chinese instruments] can do” and to also “make the past alive in the present and we model what the present actually can be through the vision of the past” (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). Thus, the playing of fusion repertoire by The TENG Ensemble in this configuration serves two primary purposes: (i) attempting to change perceptions of local and international audience that Chinese instruments and instrumentalists do not just play traditional Chinese repertoire but can be versatile in playing contemporary and popular music alongside Western and contemporary instruments (e.g. electronics), and (ii) demonstrating that Chinese instruments and instrumentalists are well and alive in the present, having the capability to contemporise and fit within the ever-changing globalised and technologised context of multicultural/multiracial Singapore.

5.2.2  Nen 念 Nen 念 comprises three traditional Chinese instrumentalists who play “their own musical creations” and firmly believe that “music has no boundaries”. Their musical influences as stated on their Facebook page include “world music, new age, film scores, rock, blues, singer-songwriter, pop, anime music, Chinese instrumental, traditional style and new Chinese music”. Nen 念 qualifies their musical repertoire as fusion, coming from “different influences…we’ve got this very sort of traditional Chinese instrumentation, but then very Western sounding and modern rhythms and grooves as well” (J.  Chua (guest keyboardist for Nen 念), personal interview, November 9, 2016). In explaining their process of creating fusion, Patrick (P. Ngo, personal interview, November 9, 2016) stressed that a lot of thought goes into the careful consideration of instrumentation and musical content: We don’t just take a Western instrument and add in and we become fusion. We have to make sure that the instrument is suitable for certain music that we do…the instrument is to fill up the ‘hole’, it is not to create more confusion…whatever we play, the instrument line-up are already discussed and the instruments are really suitable for the music.

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Patrick (P.  Ngo, personal interview, November 9, 2016) strongly believes that one can “really make beautiful and great instrumental music by putting different instruments together, it can sound very good”. Another reason Nen 念 ventured into fusion repertoire is to attempt to attract younger audience to be keen on taking up or listening to Chinese traditional instruments, often deemed to be outdated or “boring” by a number of youngsters in Singapore. This goal is congruent with The TENG Ensemble, presenting Chinese instrumentalists/instrumentation through fusion possibilities in the hope of capturing and expanding their audience base (furthering of this discussion is presented in Chap. 6).

5.2.3  SA(仨) For SA(仨), like some of the other musicians, particular types of fusion are out of bounds: We do not want the Indian fusion thing that has been going on since the 60s. So having the ethnic instruments come in and play fusion or rather jazz legs is not something we want to pursue. (N. Tse, personal interview, September 7, 2015) Or playing pop…taking Chinese instruments, Indian instruments, Malay instruments and play “Fly Me to the Moon”. (C. Ong, personal interview, September 7, 2015).

SA(仨)‘s exploration of sounds eventually led them towards creations that are more experimental in nature with the additions of electronics and extended techniques on their Chinese instruments, allowing the outcome to be “a little more blurred, in terms of genre. It was harder to tag it to a genre” (A.  Chia, personal interview, September 7, 2015). While the earlier creative works were composed by Andy, SA(仨) has moved towards a more improvisatory response, a creative collaborative process which at times evokes particular musical styles dependent on the interaction between the musicians and, of course, the musical influences that they might be examining at the time. Perhaps SA(仨) could consider if some of their creative output could be considered “avant-garde fusion” like the Korean music trio Sang Sang “who rely heavily on improvisation, combining shaman-based sinawi, free-jazz, and some elements of Western avant-garde” (Sutton 2011, p. 16).

5.3  Indian Instrumentalists 5.3.1  Ghanavenothan Retnam In his early years of musical learning, Ghana had a guru that would pique his musical interest in other musical genres through keen listening and comparing with the Indian musical system. His guru would ask him to listen attentively to the melody

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of tunes in cartoons that he would watch from Walt Disney and make “raga and mood comparisons” (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017). The guru: will explain that this particular melody…that fast melody is in our music…he used to equate Chinese music with Mohanam raga…that is a very essential raga for us, for happiness. So all that he used to tell. Then he will tell this Malay music, this raga and all that. So I used to learn then and there and I’ll write it and keep it in my memory. (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017)

And that is how Ghana started to like listening to and working with other genres of music, “I always don’t want to restrict myself to Indian music. That’s why until now my Chinese students all, we all playing different, different types of music” (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017). As a musician and composer, Ghana has taught and worked as a music director for the Temple of Fine Arts, Singapore. He did “a lot of cross collaboration where I mostly used a lot of instruments, especially Chinese…I love the erhu, pipa and yangqin” (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017). Ghana wrote a number of Indian Carnatic pieces that incorporated Chinese instruments, “because it is really lovely when we hear other instruments playing the Indian Carnatic music or Hindustani music in the ragas” (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017). Ghana also equates “our [Indian] music and Chinese music to nature…the river flows, like yangqin and the wind comes, so the dizi plays, the birds sing. And the pipa is like the rustling leaves…instruments play important role in my compositions”. Ghana feels that the creation and performance of fusion work is particularly important in the Singaporean music scene as it represents the harmonious nature of the different ethnic groups (majority of Chinese, Malay and Indians) living together. According to Ghana, the Deputy Prime Minister of Singapore, Tharman Shanmugaratnam, in hearing Ghana’s music, has termed it “confluence”. Ghana has since preferred to use the term, “so racial harmony should be like this, not fusion, it is a confluence. So I like the word, so I use that everywhere” (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017). This discussion is developed further in Chap. 2 with regard to the Singapore sound. Explaining further: because fusion is that you fuse things and play it like a rojak1… we are not fusing. We are using Chinese music as it is, Carnatic music as it is. We are playing the same essence of music without altering anything. (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017)

Ghana in attempting “confluence” musical work respects each musical genre and will write in accordance to the appropriate musical system unless there is an improvisatory passage written in where the musicians are free to be creative. He ensures he has a good understanding of the instruments being written for and the genre(s) associated with the instruments, respecting the integrity of the genre and the instru1  Rojak means an “eclectic mix” in colloquial Malay. It is a local salad of mixed vegetables, fruits and dough fritters covered in a sticky black sauce garnished with chopped peanuts and finely grated ginger flowers (http://www.visitsingapore.com/dining-drinks-singapore/local-dishes/rojak. html).

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ment. Ghana encourages his students to venture into fusion works, “but the essence of Carnatic or Hindustani music must be there” (G.  Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017). He gave the example of Ragha’s (who is his long-time Indian Carnatic flute student) fusion attempts with jazz, “He is doing justice to the particular raga or melody by putting that in the jazz. So he is doing the jazz style with Indian raga” (G.  Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017). It is clear in Ghana’s articulation that when he composes “confluence” works, he will not deviate from the particular musical system (what he terms “essence”) that he is writing for. For example, if the musical passage he is composing is envisioned in Indian Carnatic style, the ragas and talas that he composes will be in accordance to the Carnatic modes. The instruments Ghana assigns to play this particular passage, be it the Indian bansuri or the Chinese dizi, will adhere strictly to the musical nuances. He feels a moral obligation or an ethical role to adhere to the musical tradition (what he terms “respect”) so that the keen musical ear will be able to immediately pick out the nuances, thus respecting each tradition as it is. Confluence in Ghana’s terms is thus defined as a coming together of musicians from different traditions in a singular piece but with concepts and elements of each musical tradition clearly identifiable and intact. The musicians from each tradition will sometimes be given some room for improvisation within the space of the “confluence” work. Ghana also pointed out that in a space like Singapore, experimenting with fusion work is a lot more possible compared to India where there tends to be factions of musicians who are against such ideas: We are here in Singapore, meeting all the friends, artists who are so talented… When they play with me or when I play with them, wow, interesting. Enjoyment comes and our creativity process also flows. They can create so many things. I can learn a lot of things from the guzheng player, from the pipa player, from the dizi player… And my student has one show, he played two flutes at one time. He tied a smaller flute on a bigger flute, and it’s just like wow, can we do that in Indian music, I want to try and see. I said I’m going to try that next. (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017)

Ghana is also keen in creating larger-scale works, a fundamentally Indian classical music composition but presented with instrumentation and narratives from another genre/context including dance and theatre: I find a lot of values in Chinese Orchestra, Chinese opera and all that. Why not do an Indian raga and take it and sing it in opera style, in Chinese opera style. Or take a Chinese story… like Butterfly Lovers… this kind of thing, totally, Indian, which I find it nice… music, dance, and theatre in one. (G. Retnam, personal interview, January 16, 2017)

There is resonance here with NADI Singapura in their pursuit towards the inclusion of music, dance and theatre but, in NADI’s case, to further the Malay traditional narrative within the contemporary (see Chap. 4). In Ghana’s narrative, the spirit of experimenting with fusion comes from early learning encounters and an encouraging teacher/mentor who is not just eager but actively makes comparisons between different musical genres. Fusion also comes from a space of deep respect for each musical genre and instrument involved, ensur-

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ing that the integrity of both is intact. Fusion or “confluence” musical work in this instance is also an idealised notion of representation for the composer as the harmonic unity of different people living within a multicultural and multiracial space like Singapore.

5.3.2  Raghavendran Rajasekaran (Ragha) The encounter with fusion came out of a necessity for Ragha when he ventured into the world of jazz from his Indian Carnatic music background. Without any Western musical background, Ragha had a lot of difficulty figuring out the theoretical aspects of jazz so “I tried to blend Indian classical ragas with the jazz language”. Ragha was also disappointed in the fusion type of music that he was constantly hearing over the media and social platforms coming out of India, “putting a keyboard, putting a flute together, but there’s like no real understanding between the musicians. So I felt like the music was coming out very cheesy”. Ragha did not feel that the music in these fusion pieces carefully considered the musical idioms involved. Ragha saw the need to create “compositions that is led by harmony and Indian classical ragas together, instead of just putting something together for the sake of a new sound” (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016). For a number of local musicians who has keen interest or passion in creating or performing fusion pieces, they had music teachers/mentors in their earlier learning experiences that often encouraged the coming together of musicians from varied musical backgrounds to jam and experiment. Ragha related his experience as a music undergraduate through the guidance of his music mentor to play in a “super huge fusion band…it’s like gamelan fusion with rock guitars, all kinds of things come into one place” (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016). Ragha also spoke about his Indian Carnatic music guru, Ghana, as a source of inspiration as Ragha witnessed Ghana playing with a range of musicians in different settings and also composing fusion pieces allowing “people of different races to appreciate Indian music like in a new way” (R.  Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016). To top it off, Ragha had musician peers that constantly inspire him to venture deeper into the fusion process, “like you see Andy [flute player from SA(仨)] starting with jazz and playing blues and fusion and stuff, and then he went to experiment. Now Andy is like this embodiment of fusion on his own, he can create a one-man band kind of thing” (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016). Fusion, in this instance, functions as a conduit to bridge the learning of a new musical language (jazz) through a familiar genre (Indian Carnatic music). The process also results in the furthering of possibilities, encouraging Ragha to deepen and broaden his musical knowledge in both jazz and Indian Carnatic as he creates new fusion compositions that respect the integrity of both genres.

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5.3.3  Flame of the Forest Govin and Krsna from Flame of the Forest defined their repertoire as “world fusion instrumental”. As Krsna described: I grew up listening to my dad playing blues and heavy metal. So even though I was taught the sitar, I didn’t like it, I like heavy metal very much, so I went into the rock and roll, heavy metal in the sitar, that’s right! We do not say, okay, this song is supposed to sound like world music, so all play like ‘world’. No, actually what we do is we want each and every one of us to input our own strengths in it because that’s where we can get the best out of everything. (K. Tan, personal interview, October 11, 2016)

Fusion, in this instance, is an organic process of bringing each musicians’ varied expertise and musical influences together, featuring their musical strengths through a collaborative process, jamming and working out musical possibilities as a group to create the “fusion”.

5.4  Malay Instrumentalists 5.4.1  Zubir Abdullah The prolific composer-singer, Zubir Abdullah, is a known figure within the traditional Malay music industry in Singapore. Zubir’s take on fusion begins on a historical note. He recognised that the emergence of Malay traditional music came about because of the syncretism of migrant musical influences that filtered through the Malay Archipelago region over a long period of time (see Chap. 4’s description of the historical context of Malay traditional music). The gradual acceptance by local culture transformed these migrated forms into what is accepted as Malay traditional music. Zubir gave the example of the Zapin which first came to the archipelago in the thirteenth century through Arabic and Gujarati traders and artists. The Malay Zapin (Zapin Melayu) is a transformation of the Arabic Zapin to fit with local communities and has now included not just the use of the local language in its vocals but also inclusions within its musical accompaniment comprising of the possibilities of the marwas, gendang, flute, violin, accordion, dumbuk and harmonium. The eclectic mix of instrumentation is a validation of the syncretism that has happened over time in defining what Malay traditional music is today. Zubir values syncretism in music as a historical transformation which, according to him, is different from musical fusion which oftentimes does not consider many intricate factors. As he jokingly commented, “I think the world is now changing with all fusion…it is all fused until the work becomes confused. It is not fusion. It is just confused!” (Z. Abdullah, personal interview, January 24, 2017).

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Just as Zubir cautioned about the importance of jiwa2 in the transmission of Malay traditional music (see Chap. 4 about NADI Singapura), Zubir is also concerned about the loss of jiwa (the soul of Malay traditional music) if one wishes to create good fusion. He spoke about kompang (traditional Malay hand drum) performances that he has heard which included Latin musical elements to the point of not recognising the Malay traditional sound beyond the use of the instrument. Zubir stressed that “the master musician has to be carefully aware of it”, that in some ways, Malay traditional musicians need to be gatekeepers and be guarded about the extent of external musical elements they want to incorporate into their repertoire (Z. Abdullah, personal interview, January 24, 2017). As articulated by Weiss (2014), there seems to be a sense that “old familiar cultural patterns are receding, perhaps threatened by new cultural production”, generating “a desire in the observer to describe those patterns as permanent or fixed” (p. 510). This also implies that value and hierarchy are being placed on the “traditional” set against new fusion possibilities. Because there is very little documentation and resources about Malay traditional music, Zubir feels that the inclusion of fusion possibilities might further dilute what is already a vulnerable music tradition, “Because I think sooner or later changes can become very dangerous, nobody knows how to stop” (Z. Abdullah, personal interview, January 24, 2017). Zubir advocates for fusion work to be explored “within the origin of our culture”, that is, experimenting with musics that are historically linked with Malay music such as Arabic, Indian or Portuguese music. In this way, Zubir feels that there are better musical links melodically and rhythmically which ties in with his consideration of sound as key to fusion work alongside the embodiment of jiwa. Re-emphasising the importance of Malay traditional master musicians as guardians to fusion possibilities, Zubir remarked: Over time understanding part of culture of the world, it can be fused. Okay, but carefully, not confused… I give you an example of rebana [traditional Malay frame drum] anak [child] and ibu [mother]… So being the anak, we are the younger generation, we are open to changes, but with the guidance of the ibu, the mother, “Eh, look, don’t anyhow change, don’t anyhow play. Play what is basic, play what is necessary. Don’t anyhow change.” But can I try this? Wait. So it must come back. So any changes come back to the hardcore player [master musician]. (interview, January 24, 2017)

Fusion, in the eyes of Zubir, has to take into consideration historical significance, not a mere inclusion to entertain a younger audience. It has to be considered as a path towards syncretism, guided and guarded by master musicians and carefully thought through in soul (jiwa) and sound.

 Jiwa is a Bahasa Melayu term that has equivalence with the soul.

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5.4.2  Yaziz Hassan (NADI Singapura) Yaziz Hassan, co-founder and managing director of NADI Singapura, is not in favour of the notion of fusion or any labelling of NADI’s musical repertoire: We don’t want to label NADI Singapura as a fusion group, as a contemporary group, or a traditional group. Let them be. But we know we are something different, something new, something inspiring. That’s it. (Y. Hassan, personal interview, August 29, 2016)

Having a strong sense of responsibility towards the preservation of Malay traditional music, Yaziz feels it is fundamental for the musicians to first “uphold the tradition” before putting “something new inside”. He readily admits however that a balance between the traditional and “modern” is necessary for NADI within a space like Singapore, to reflect the music group’s identity in a “modern, globalised country”. Yaziz concedes that playing “renewed music” would best describe NADI, “with the old, basic, traditional background music in it” (Y. Hassan, personal interview, August 29, 2016). Yaziz cautions that the soundscape of the “Malay traditional” might be lost if the adding of new musical elements (be it percussive sounds from the region, Arabic, Latin or beyond) is not carefully balanced and introduced too rapidly into NADI’s repertoire: I accept it because it’s quite modern, it’s quite contemporary, it’s called fusion … but I feel like it’s not the time yet. If we, at that particular time, go that far already, what’s going to happen[for] the next five years? … all of a sudden people hear that, eh, you’re not playing Malay [music] lah, you see. So you need to relax, take a deep breath. (Y. Hassan, personal interview, August 29, 2016)

Yaziz thus sees himself as the gatekeeper of Malay traditional music for NADI. He is the yardstick for measuring how far NADI’s repertoire can push into other musical realism and how much to hold back in order to still retain the sound of the Malay traditional. Fusion is seen in this instance as a metaphoric transition from the traditional to the modern. Fusion is deemed necessary but needs to be carefully managed so that the traditional can still be recognised amidst the additions of new musical elements. There is recognition that “musical traditions are only preserved by constant innovation” (Frith, 2000, p.311).

5.5  Other Instrumentalists/Composers 5.5.1  Rit Xu For flutist/composer, Rit Xu, dabbling into fusion needs to be carefully thought through. In the process of composing, Rit hones in first on the sound, “I’m very particular about sound, like tone, like a certain instrument, the tone that it gives, that it is projecting” (interview, 18th January, 2017), before considering other factors. Rit spoke about how he approaches fusion possibilities:

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If it’s not done like tastefully, it will sound very contrived. Like someone’s just trying to like… copy and paste. Like this is the Chinese thing, okay, let’s move on to the jazz thing… and then just put them together…I’m also very cautious of that. Like I don’t want it to sound across as though it’s just like trying to put too many things… it’s like trying to have a buffet with too many genres of food…I’m trying to be very aware of that and just write something that comes from the heart first and then after that the different inspirations and influences and let that come into play. (R. Xu, personal interview, January 18, 2017)

Rit also stresses the importance of first being rooted in a particular music tradition, of being a master musician in that tradition before venturing into an array of musical adventures and experimentation. He feels that otherwise, the fusion that will be created will be superficial and not sustainable in the long run: I look at the longevity of a true artist in terms of how long can this person create across… like ten years, 20 years. Can you come up with like fresh ideas across such a long time? … It took me a while to finally come to this decision today that okay I’m going to do my own music now…. I feel like I can know the tradition better first and then before I actually go on to make my own music. (R. Xu, personal interview, January 18, 2017)

Rit describes his musical creations as “instrumental music that is influenced by primarily jazz and other cultures” (R. Xu, personal interview, January 18, 2017). He is not opposed to labelling it fusion but would not want his music to be termed “rojak” as it sounds like “someone is trying to do many things at one time” (R. Xu, personal interview, January 18, 2017) and not considering the intricacies, the rigour and the interwoven within the creative work. The creation of fusion works can be interpreted in this instance as a compositional possibility of locating or identifying the composer’s unique voice in the music scene, a projection of what the composer musician is good at while articulating the varied musical influences and soundscapes that surrounds him.

5.5.2  Wang Chenwei For composer and audio engineer, Wang Chenwei, creating fusion works is first about a digestion of different musical genres, i.e. understanding a particular music well enough before any attempt at including its musical elements into a composition. He is of the view that simply putting musicians of varied traditions and instruments together to play a musical piece is superficial: Yeah, I think first you have to really digest the music of that culture… What I mean by superficial is like let’s say I have a performance with one sitar, one gambus, one violin, and one drum set, and they play, you know, jazz standard, that’s… I find that quite superficial. I mean I have seen that kind of thing before. Because it’s just like… it’s not the fusion of the musical style, it’s a fusion of… like presentation elements. Yeah, I mean like you know you just gather four musicians of different races and play together. That’s a… it’s like visually it looks like a fusion but then depends on what’s the music that they play. (C. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017).

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It is about the fusion of varied musical styles and not just the use of varied presentation elements. Similarly, Sutton (2011) in his examination of Korean fusion music also highlighted some of these “presentation elements” claims by musicians who would identify their works as “Korean” simply because of the addition of the timbre of plucked kayagam3 strings in their Western classical work. Chenwei explained further with his Chinese orchestra composition “Confluence (融)”: By the time I wrote Confluence I had digested quite a bit of Malay and Indian music and gamelan music. So… that Indian style melody… just came to me naturally… I didn’t like try to imitate a particular player or particular folk song or whatever…I think that was quite successful like… combination and it didn’t sound like… at least I didn’t feel that it was sounding gimmicky… I felt that it was quite an organic blend of the elements. (C. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017)

On the YouTube link to the composition, the description reads, “Confluence is a composition representing the vibrancy and harmony of Singapore’s multiracial society. Indian and Malay-Indonesian musical styles are fused with Western compositional techniques of counterpoint and fugue and performed on Chinese instruments” (for E-book only: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oblPE8qH0r4). 融 (in Chinese) means to be in harmony, to blend or to fuse. The idea of confluence here resonates with Ghana’s use of the same term in describing his creative works. One wonders what Ghana might think about Chenwei’s “Confluence”. Chenwei would use the term “mixed blood music” to describe his creative work. As he remarked, “I’m not aiming to like create replicas of Indian music but to create something of my own that is a combination of all the influences that I have been exposed to” (C. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017). He further detailed: I mean it (Confluence) sounds Indian in some ways but it isn’t Indian classical music. I mean, if you ask an Indian classical musician to listen to it then he says, okay, actually most of the elements aren’t what you’ll find in sitar performance or you know traditional flute performance but… it does… I think it does sound Indian in some ways but not in the way that an Indian classical musician will approach it. (C. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017)

Chenwei made an interesting comparison between himself as a composer and the way he feels Flame of the Forest (Krsna and Govin) musicians would arrive at fusion: Because they (Govin and Krsna) have known each other so well… I think Govin engages in the whole creation [process]…so it’s not just… a matter of, you know, picking a few players and [put together] but… they do have some kind of synergy.… it’s probably in a different way than how I approach this fusion concept. I think for them there is a sort of jamming element that, you know, playing music together and they find responses to each other and find some common ground or, you know, some kind of mix. For me, … I would… study the Indian music and I would digest it and try to produce something of my own that has used some influence from it. Yeah, so I think that’s some difference in the way we approach the idea of fusion. (C.W. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017)  Type of Korean zither.

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In essence, Chenwei is of the view that Krsna and Govin’s approach to fusion is an organic, collaborative creative process of jamming and responding between musicians as opposed to his process of a “sit-down” composed fusion. Working on fusion works also allows Chenwei to showcase what is unique about his musical voice: For me will be hybrid because… that is something unique that I can do and not many people would like to do…Also that there’s so many pieces in the world, why would someone listen to yours? Yeah. And so if I just compose in a straightforward tradition like Chinese tradition, I mean… the classical Chinese pieces there are thousands of them, why would someone listen to mine, be interested in mine if I don’t have something special to say that is different from the others. (C. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017)

Chenwei feels pretty much at ease to create fusion works coming from a space like Singapore. He does not feel burdened by any historical baggage, of ensuring preservation of musical tradition that comes from a particular lineage or the need to represent his racial background in the music that he creates: If there’s an Indian musician whose ancestors have been musicians every generation… then probably let’s say he’s the last in the line of a musical tradition, then I will say, okay, it’s a good thing that he can preserve that tradition and not mix it with anything else… that is what he is the best at doing and in his position it’s the best for him to do. But like for me, I mean Singapore I don’t need to like serve some Chinese culture or any particular culture. When I compose Chinese music I don’t need to… care whether… I mean Singapore is like sort of we don’t have the culture or historical baggage of like what you should or should not do and then I think it doesn’t really matter. So I just pick whatever that interests me and right now it’s multiculturalism, but, maybe, who knows after ten years what I might be doing. Yeah. Maybe Arabic music or African music. I don’t know. So I’m open to any possibilities. (C. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017)

Chenwei was keen on creating fusion compositions that have multicultural elements (Chinese, Malay and Indian, more specifically), and this stems from the environmental and musical influences that surround him in the Singaporean soundscape. But as he keenly pointed out, “I mean, just happens that… Indian and Malay music were more accessible to me in Singapore… if let’s say I live in Middle East for five years, then maybe I might…incorporating Middle Eastern music too… so it just depends on my environment also, what I absorb from it” (C. Wang, personal interview, January 23, 2017). Before attempting to compose fusion works, one needs to be familiar enough with the musical systems of the varied genres involved. It is about the fusion of musical styles and not just variation in visual or even timbral presentation elements. Chenwei thus coined his creations “mixed blood music”. Creating fusion works is also a way to showcase the composer’s unique musical voice within traditional genres like the Chinese orchestra where thousands of works have already been composed in similar styles. Being Singaporean Chinese also played a part in allowing Chenwei to be at ease with composing fusion works, as he feels he is free from any historical or racial baggage or any other considerations about preservation of traditions due to lineage ties.

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5.6  Discussion All cultures are involved with one another; none is single and pure, all are hybrid, heterogeneous, extraordinarily differentiated and unmonolithic. (Said 1995, p. 15)

The Singaporean contemporary musicians and composers examined in this study are keen in exploring new sound worlds, venturing into various instruments and musical genres. The exposure and learning are often incorporated into their collaborative music-making or the creation of new compositions. Fusion is seen as a coming together of a community of eclectic musicians to collaborate and interact with each other, an organic process of learning, sharing and creation. Fusion can also function as a conduit to bridge the learning of a new musical language, mapping a musical genre that the musician is familiar with onto the vocabularies of the new musical style/genre as beginning points of reference. Some musician groups (e.g. TENG and NEN) create fusion works in an attempt to capture the interest of younger audience and change their negative perceptions about traditional instruments (Chinese instruments, in this instance) and repertoire as “boring” and not keeping up with the times (see Chap. 6 for further elaboration). Beyond such functional purposes, musicians and composers also viewed their creative fusion works as harnessing the timbres and nuances of varied instruments and musical styles, interweaving them to create a rich and new tapestry of sounds. Fusion work, in the eyes of some musician/composers, can be an emblematic representation of the harmony of different people living within a multicultural and multiracial space like Singapore. The listener can interpret these works as simply enjoyable in aesthetic terms or political and propagandistic. Whatever the interpretation, these fusion works have created the critical reflective opportunity to “keep cultural history alive and help it to adapt to the needs of the next generation, including the desire for identity and belonging” (Hirji 2015, p.320). Musicians who dabble in fusion possibilities are often concerned about the combination of different musical genres and instrumentations sounding “cheesy” “superficial” or “contrived” if not put together well (these words were articulated in conversations with some of the musicians interviewed). The musicians articulated a number of factors why some fusion works are considered unsatisfactory and strive in their collaboration and compositions to produce “quality” fusion. This need to justify their fusion creation stemmed from themselves as listeners to fusion works and also their concern about listeners’ perception of their works. As Sutton (2011) explained: fusion music very often presents its listeners with the challenge to find meaning in music that is partly familiar and partly unfamiliar, drawing on music that may sound fresh and original to some listeners (those not familiar with it) but hackneyed and cliché to others (who are very familiar with it). (p. 8)

Furthering the argument, listeners and musicians are also critical of fusion music in varied forms for a list of other reasons:

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Those who subscribe to notions of cultural purity denigrate fusion as impure, as inauthentic. Those who value music for its noble and uplifting values denigrate fusion as crass and commercial. Those who value musical sophistication and originality denigrate fusion as cliché, formulaic, easy-listening. (Sutton 2011, p. 20)

It is thus not hard to imagine why “fusion artists faced challenges in gaining acceptance” (Hirji 2015, p. 329) both within their musical communities and in the general public spheres. If an attempt in fusion is seen as a transitioning from the traditional to modern adaptations/additions to a musical genre, then careful guidance by the gatekeepers (master musicians) of the tradition is deemed necessary so that the sounds of the tradition can still be recognised amidst the additions of new musical elements. Creation of fusion in line with this argument should also consider historical links of the musical genre involved, thinking about the musical influences that first brought about the musical genre in question through a process of syncretism. New inclusions and explorations of fusion should then consider first, the musical genres that brought about the emergence of the musical genre in question as there would be good connections in melodic and rhythmic terms. Dabbling into fusion creation thus requires a deep understanding of each musical tradition involved, and respect needs to be accorded to these musical traditions when composers and musicians attempt to make use of these musical elements in their work. A superficial attempt will easily be identified by master musicians and not looked upon favourably within the musical community. This does however represent only one particular nuanced interpretation of caution for musicians and composers venturing into fusion creation. Fusion creations are platforms that can also allow musicians and composers an opportunity to articulate and identify their unique voices within the soundscapes they inhabit or are situated in. It would seem that these Singaporean contemporary musicians and composers have the option to toggle between postmodernism, multiculturalism and globalisation as they play and experiment with fusion. As Katz and Katz (2015) articulated: In postmodernism, we are different selves as often as we please… Multiculturalism, on the other hand, attributes more stability, more coherence, and more stringent boundaries to cultural groups. In globalism, we are freer to mix and match, or, better, to mis-match. We are allowed not only to borrow from each other, but also to toss these borrowings into a new cultural melting-pot. (p.158)

The semionaut of tradition is clearly at work here where fusion experiments can go even further and take on Bourriaud’s (2001) call for contemporary culture as “a way without a centre”, the altermodern: this is not multiculturalism or cultural relativism but an already embodied cultural ‘creolization’ putatively beyond the postmodern and based on ‘translations, subtitling and generalized dubbing’, ‘trans-national entities’ and ‘transpassing’, whose artistic endeavours, crucially are ‘read as a hypertext’. (Bourriaud 2009 as cited in Barham 2014, p. 133)

Perhaps the musicians and composers can also reflect on Weiss’ (2014) provocation as they continue to experiment;

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What happens if we imagine cultural change as a continuous and multi-faceted movement from discrete form to hybrid to new discrete form, with limitless possible fusions? (p.512)

Living in a globalised, multicultural and multiracial space like Singapore, there are opportunities for musicians and composers to experiment and play with all kinds of musical styles and genres. Perhaps some feel fusion experiments should be curtailed or restricted because of particular historical insecurity, lineage and baggage, but there are also others who are free to mix-and-match however and whatever they want to, acting as semionauts of tradition. Interestingly, many of the musicians and composers in this study have teachers and mentors who encourage them to dabble in collaborative work with varied musicians or compose across different musical genres, which certainly propel and fuel their interest and motivation in venturing further into fusion possibilities. The key is to keep an open mind and engage enthusiastically with the wonderful world of musics that surrounds us, allowing them to enter and interweave into the fold of our daily and professional musical encounters. As Riduan says, “Culture is active. It needs to evolve. Singapore is a metropolitan, multicultural city. We don’t sound like everybody else, which I think is a strength – if you harness it properly” (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016).

References Primary Sources (Interviews) Abdullah, Z. (2017, January 24). Personal Interview. Chia, A. (2015, September 7). Personal Interview. Chua, J. (2016, November 9). Personal Interview. Hassan, Y. (2016, August 29). Personal Interview. Ngo, P. (2016, November 9). Personal Interview. Ong, C. (2015, September 7). Personal Interview. Rajasekaran, R. (2016, June 28). Personal Interview. Retnam, G. (2017, January 16). Personal Interview. Tan, K. (2016, October 11). Personal Interview. Tse, N. (2015, September 7). Personal Interview. Wang, C. (2017, January 23). Personal Interview. Wong, S. (2016, September 26). Personal Interview. Xu, R. (2017, January 18). Personal Interview. Zalani, R. (2016, June 17). Personal Interview.

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Secondary Sources Barham, J. (2014). ‘Not necessarily Mahler’: Remix, samples and borrowing in the age of Wiki. Contemporary Music Review, 33(2), 128–147. Diethrich, G. (2000). Desi music vibes: The performance of Indian youth culture in Chicago. Asian Music, 31(1), 35–61. Frith, S. (2000). The discourse of world music. In G. Born & D. Hesmondhalgh (Eds.), Western music and its others (pp. 305–322). Berkeley: University of California Press. Hirji, F. (2015). Jamming in the third space: South Asian fusion music in Canada. Popular Music and Society, 38(3), 318–336. Katz, R., & Katz, E. (2015). Evaluating culture: World music and fusion food. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 18(2), 155–165. Said, E. (1995). The politics of dispossession. London: Vintage. Sutton, A. (2011). “Fusion” and questions of Korean cultural identity in music. Korean Studies, 35, 4–24. Weiss, S. (2014). Listening to the world but hearing ourselves: Hybridity and perceptions of authenticity in world music. Ethnomusicology, 58(3), 506–525.

Chapter 6

Chinese Identity and the Quest for Cool Among Singaporean Chinese Musicians Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

The Chinese Singaporean is proud of his Chinese culture – but also increasingly conscious that his ‘Chineseness’ is different from the Chineseness of the Malaysian and Indonesian Chinese, or the Chineseness of the people in China or Hong Kong or Taiwan. … For a country that is just over 50 years old, which is a very short time compared to the ancient civilisations from which we spring, this is quite an achievement. – Lee Hsien Loong (2017)

Contents 6.1  P  art 1: Making Chinese Tradition Contemporary: Chinese Instrumentalists in Singapore 6.1.1  The Image Problem of Traditional Chinese Orchestra Music in Singapore 6.1.2  Western Influence and Cool 6.1.3  Infusing the Cool of Pop Culture into Tradition 6.1.4  Reflecting Their Multiple Self–Identities 6.1.5  Widening Perspectives About Chinese Instruments and Music 6.1.6  Escaping Chinese Tradition 6.2  Part 2: Investing in Chinese Identity: Singaporean Musicians Abroad 6.2.1  Expatriation from Singapore: New Dimensions of Ethnic Identity 6.2.2  “Part of the Conversation”: Global Identity Politics and Redefining Cool 6.2.3  Post-Internet Sino-Futurist Yllis 6.2.4  TZECHAR’s Neo–Confucian Identity 6.2.5  Postmodern Global Semionauts 6.3  Final Thoughts References

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Electronic supplementary material The online version of this chapter (https://doi. org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_6) contains supplementary material. © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_6

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In the current climate when Singapore is gaining awareness of its own version of “Chineseness” (not to forget Malayness, Indianness and Eurasianness of course), it is an opportunity to redefine these concepts from the ground up. Younger generations are leading the way in the formation of our nation’s new contemporary identities, and it is their voices that we must hear. Since music is a potent means by which people—both creators and listeners—express their identity and define their own culture, I set out to discover what several young, emerging music groups have to say about their own Chinese identity and how they express it in their music. I focus on a few case studies of Singaporean Chinese musicians in Singapore and abroad. On the home front, which is the focus of the first part of the chapter, I examine several contemporary Chinese instrumentalist ensembles, notably Nen 念, MUSA and SA(仨), who are engaging, in various ways, with top-down constructs of Chinese “highbrow” culture while being extremely plugged into local youth-­ driven pop culture and its notions of cool. They navigate Singapore’s system of ‘racial’ and cultural classification in ways that allow them to create alternative spaces for the expression of hybrid identities. In a sense, they are playing an interesting role of bridging the gap between policymakers and young people’s interests and identities. In the second part of the chapter, I consider expatriated Singaporean Chinese musicians who are also actively exploring and deploying their own Chinese cultural capital in their discourse and music. The music groups I focus on, namely, Yllis and TZECHAR, bring the discussion to a new level with their perspectives on identity politics in relation to wider geopolitical questions. They also contribute their views on representing Chineseness and honouring their “roots”, while embracing a kind of postmodern nondeterminism. The chapter is divided in these two parts, not because there is a clear distinction between how individuals in Singapore and abroad define their own sense of identity, but because the context and issues that both groups deal with are very different and reveal distinct, yet interrelated sides to the discussion. The wider aim of this chapter is to contribute to the understanding of ethnic and cultural identity as inherently individual processes of identification and meaning-­ making. Every musician defines their own ethnic and cultural identities according to their life experiences and political and philosophical views. Moreover it is crucial to note that identity here is understood as something that is not fixed, but processual, continually being constructed and forever changing. So, although I am describing aspects of people’s identities, I recognise that these are not immutable facts, but evolving through time, space and social context. To use anthropologist Wendy James’ analogy of fieldwork, studying people’s identities is “rather like trying to capture shifting scenery from a series of moving escalators” (as cited in David Parkin 2000, p. 263). Most importantly, I want to stress that ‘race’ and culture are not and have never been intrinsically or naturally linked (if they were, the whole field of anthropology would be an utter waste). My use of the term “Chinese” is understood here as cultural and ethnic, rather than ‘racial’. However, I do recognise that some of the respondents might view their own Chineseness through a ‘racial’ lens, as a result of their worldview. In fact, I am cognisant of the fact that Singaporean society tends to

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inculcate a racialised view of culture, and, according to Kong (1999) who has researched about Singaporean Chinese identities, “ascriptive ethnic identity is most common: one is ‘born’ a Chinese, and the phenotypical attribute of skin colour takes precedence in the definition of a Chinese” (p.  224, citing Tong and Chan 1994, p.  25). She explains this in relation to the “clearly different skin colours” of Singapore’s multiracial society and the fact that “religion, language and education have become increasingly amorphous markers of ethnicity” (Kong 1999a, p. 224). I hope the findings in my chapter may point to the limitations of conceiving of ethnic identity from an ascriptive phenotypic/‘racial’ lens, and contribute to understanding the constructivist nature of identity.

6.1  P  art 1: Making Chinese Tradition Contemporary: Chinese Instrumentalists in Singapore The typically plaintive and forlorn sound of the erhu energetically dances over a backdrop of electronic dance music, working itself into a frenzy alongside the rolling staccatos of a yangqin’s syncopated rock rhythm and the unusual riffs of a guzheng. This is the original composition “Eternal Wings” by Singaporean band Nen 念, a Chinese instrumental group that has gained popularity in the last few years. Chinese instrumentalist groups like Nen 念 have become some of the most interesting new musical voices to have emerged in Singapore in recent years. In the last decade or so, there has been a notable rise in the number and prominence of small Chinese instrumental ensembles who exist outside of the structure of the Chinese orchestra. They are made up of young musicians with formal training in Chinese classical music and even some serious hobbyists. Many of these young Singaporean musicians began learning a Chinese instrument in their schools’ Chinese orchestras. Today, several of them have graduated from Beijing and Shanghai’s most well-­ established conservatories. These dynamic and independently run ensembles are helping to break prevailing mindsets about what constitutes traditional Chinese orchestra repertoire1 and how traditional Chinese instruments can be played. Although many have been classically trained, they are no longer interested in merely following the Classical repertoire and style of playing. These instrumentalists integrate a wide array of musical influences in their original compositions and style of playing and, in so doing, are transcending the cultural boundaries that determine  the customary usage of Chinese instruments. A growing number of these bands play “fusion” music, which combines different genres, while using traditional Chinese instruments. In their press kits, social media pages and interviews 1  What comes to be considered “traditional” Chinese music deserves extensive research in itself. Sometimes what is seen as a traditional convention is actually quite a recent development. The modern Chinese orchestra is one example. Having emerged in the 1920s, it actually takes the form, structure and principles of the Western symphony orchestra but uses Chinese instruments. One should also remember the considerable impact of the Cultural Revolution on Chinese arts today: the Chinese government effectively cherry picked the traditional cultural forms to revive, and this choice was always economically and ideologically motivated (Stanzel 2016).

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with  media outlets, these musicians have varyingly characterised their music as “ethnic fusion”, “ethnic music” or “world music”. (Unfortunately there is no room in this chapter to discuss this diverse terminology, though the concept of “fusion” is discussed in Chap. 5). What I will focus on here is how these musicians are challenging and overcoming the boundaries of what is conceived possible for Chinese traditional instruments and music, and how, by doing so, they are reshaping people’s assumptions about Chinese identity, and helping to build alternative conceptions of what it means to be Singaporean Chinese today.

6.1.1  T  he Image Problem of Traditional Chinese Orchestra Music in Singapore Many, if not all, Chinese instrumentalists we spoke to confessed that, when they were in school, their choice to play a Chinese instrument was not often understood or supported by their peers. Playing a Chinese traditional instrument at school meant being part of a rather regimented Chinese orchestra. Many of the musicians, who first began learning their instrument in their school’s Chinese orchestra, recount the strict pedagogy and emphasis on playing classical pieces with technical virtuosity. They point out the relative lack of freedom to explore, which stifled individual creativity. The strict and restrictive atmosphere surrounding Chinese instruments and orchestras was in stark contrast to the freedom they associated with Western instruments and music. This has led to what musicians have described as the “image crisis” of Chinese orchestra music and of traditional Chinese instruments, whereby in the eyes of local young people, they are seen as boring and definitely very uncool. This observation was raised separately by members of Nen 念, SA(仨) and MUSA, as well as other musicians from yIN Harmony and The TENG Ensemble. Many of them not only remember this from their own experience growing up, but also observe it in their current practice as teachers in Chinese orchestras. Nen 念’s Patrick Ngo, Johnny Chia and Darrel Xin have worked as Chinese orchestra instructors at primary and secondary schools, polytechnics, junior colleges and universities, and they describe today’s continuing negative perception towards Chinese traditional instruments among their students: We have been in this circle for about at least 20 plus years. We knew how the youngsters think about our Chinese instruments. Most of them, if you ask them about Chinese Orchestra, the first thing they will say is, ‘it’s not cool’, ‘it’s boring’, so…to us, we want to make a change. We want to let them feel that even Chinese Orchestra can be interesting, can be cool. And we don’t want to have a boundary to be set that in Chinese Orchestra we can only play a certain kind of music. We want them to know that these instruments are instruments, it’s not a boundary. (P. Ngo, personal interview, Nov 09, 2016)

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Tan Qing Lun of yIN Harmony also recalls how his peers regarded Chinese instruments as “inferior to Western ones”, and while he was learning the dizi, he had to “work doubly hard” to excel as a performer in order to impress them (Q. L., Tan, telephone interview, May 29, 2017). Perceptions of Chinese orchestra music and instruments as being “uncool” or “boring” stem from the fact that young people cannot relate to the music. Generally speaking, it isn’t remotely close to what they listen to and what is played on the radio, so it doesn’t feature in how they define their own identity (given that music choices play a hugely important role in how young people define their identity). Guo Ming from TZECHAR, who was part of a Chinese orchestra in secondary school, believes that “if we [the orchestra] played more interesting material (I know another school that did anime soundtracks for example) like some of our case studies, I would probably have been into it more” (email interview, Nov 02, 2017). For young people to whom cool is an important social status and capital to have, the prevailing view that “band geeks aren’t the coolest” is a huge deterrent to joining (M. Guo, email interview, Nov 02, 2017). Another reason for the uncool label is the fact that the work done in a school  orchestra  setting is often perceived not as a choice but an obligation; as such the whole experience becomes associated with authority (school, teachers, assessments, old Chinese composers). According to Qing Lun, this kind of ‘authoritarian’ pedagogy takes the fun out of the orchestra for young people: Nowadays, a lot of instructors, youngsters, even schools, sometimes we reinforce that in the Chinese Orchestra you have to learn this… it becomes something that is obligated to do. So we are like forcing the youngsters to do something that they are not interested in. That is where the negative impact comes in. (Q. L., Tan, telephone interview, May 29, 2017)

Patrick recounted how the rigid pedagogy at his primary school Chinese orchestra repelled him to such an extent that he ended up giving it up at the time. It was only when he heard the erhu in an Andy Lau pop song, that, intrigued by its sound, he began exploring its origin and grew interested in Chinese instruments. Today, he and his two bandmates, Darrel and Johnny, draw on their personal experience to instigate the interest of their young Chinese orchestra students: I felt that they could not appreciate [Chinese music]. Because in the first place, they did not like it. So our mindset was like, in order for them to know about our instruments, we must first attract them. Instead of forcing the instruments on them, we play something that they like first. So once they get interested in that thing, they will go back to find out the root of where it actually comes from. (P. Ngo, personal interview, Nov 09, 2016)

Patrick, who plays the yangqin in Nen 念, wants to show that Chinese orchestra instruments can be cool: Our objective is to make people feel that this doesn’t feel like Chinese orchestra. You see, it totally brings out, ‘Oh, I didn’t know Chinese instruments can do such things.’ That is the kind of concept we want. … We want them to be interested first, we want them to know that Chinese orchestra instruments are not boring, it can be cool! (P. Ngo, personal interview, Nov 09, 2016)

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6.1.2  Western Influence and Cool The negative perceptions towards Chinese orchestra music and instruments are in stark contrast to the positive attitude of youth towards Western music and instruments. Matter (2009) discusses such perceptions in terms of a colonial hangover. He describes how Western culture and cultural products have been consistently viewed as superior by countries that have once been colonised. In Singapore, the result has been the prevalent cultural phenomenon he defines as “cultural cringe”, a kind of inferiority complex whereby local music, especially in the English language, is judged inferior and somewhat embarrassing or cringeworthy in relation to that from the West (p.  186). He identifies two consequences of this colonial hangover and “cultural cringe”: one is in the music consumption patterns of Singaporeans which favour Western music (he traces the  country’s long history of importing Western music), and another is the widespread and long-standing tendency to create derivative music based on emulating Western artists and genres.2 Interestingly, he notes that this “cultural cringe” does not occur with Chinese-language arts. Singapore has long imported Chinese-language popular music from overseas—for instance, Hokkien popular music from Taiwan, Cantopop and Mandopop from Hong Kong and China. Singapore even developed its own style of Mandarin ballads known as xinyao (literally “Singaporean ballads”) which blossomed in the 1980s, though as noted by Matter (2009) these were also heavily influenced by “college indie rock” and other Western genres. Today’s Singaporean youth culture continues to be strongly influenced by music from the West, especially English-language rock, pop, jazz, blues, punk and hip-hop, and local musicians often cite Western artists as their primary influence (Matter 2009, p. 185). Industry insiders corroborate the argument that Singaporean music consumers and programmers tend to favour Western acts (Matter 2009, p. 186; Lim 1993). Ticket sales, which have only recently begun to increase for local acts, still pale in comparison to international bands (Yeo 2015). Recent regulation now compels Singaporean radio stations to give more airtime to local music, but their airwaves are still very much dominated by foreign acts. However, the colonial hangover and its resulting inferiority complex are not the only reason why Singaporean youth enjoy, or even prefer, Western music. Young Singaporeans might certainly be conditioned to look upon Western music more favourably, as a result of their country’s colonial past and import-heavy economy, but this should not be seen, in a deterministic way, as the main driver of their choices. As mentioned earlier, people seek out music that they identify with and that they 2  When modern popular music, in the form of the blues and rockabilly, was introduced to Singapore from the West after World War II, through the radio and phonographs, this led to the first generation of popular musicians who marketed themselves as “imitators” of Western artists (Fu and Liew 2006). They played covers of Western acts, they emulated, and original compositions are written in the same style. There were the Quests who copied The Shadows, The Cyclones who were the “Beatles of Singapore,” Wilson David who was the Singaporean version of Elvis Presley and Rahim Hamid, a Nat King Cole imitator (Kong 1999, p.16). The success of these artists even depended on how accurately they imitated their Western role models.

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feel represents or expresses their identity. Especially in the field of music, a lot of what young people enjoy is related and influenced by what they perceive to be cool (even though it is not solely determined by it). For the youthful, the concept of cool is something of a status system in urban life that defines your position in a social group and in relation to society. It is a very important symbolic cultural capital. If young people in Singapore are seeking out Western music, it’s because it truly speaks to them and they can derive some degree of cool from it. It follows that Western instruments often appeal to young people because they allow them to play rock, pop, punk or any other kind of genres appreciated by the youthful. So what is it about specific genres of Western music that young Singaporeans might so strongly identify with and perceive to be cool? Quite a bit of literature has attempted to locate the cool factor among Western societies (Pountain and Robins 2000; Gerber and Geiman 2012; Gladwell 1997; Botz-Bornstein 2010; Danesi 1994; Heath and Potter 2004; Hebdige 1979; Hebdige and Potter 2007). It appears there is no single definition of cool. A number of youth-driven subcultures assert their own claims to cool; for instance, goth kids think they are cool, just as ravers think they are. There are also varying degrees of cool—listening to classical music is clearly considered less cool than listening to gangsta rap, from a mainstream perspective. However, one thing these musical genres which have been associated with cool have in common is the freedom they convey, and this is the reason why they have been able to galvanise entire subcultures (Botz-Bornstein 2010; Danesi 1994; Heath and Potter 2004; Hebdige 1979; Hebdige and Potter 2007; Pountain and Robins 2000; Gladwell 1997). The appeal of Western music to young Singaporeans is undoubtedly related to this perception of freedom, and it is exactly the lack thereof that has contributed to the decidedly uncool image of Chinese orchestras, and by extension, their music and instruments. In the West where it originated,3 the contemporary concept of cool is linked to a youthful rebellious attitude of defiance to class-based status systems (Pountain and Robins 2000; Gerber and Geiman 2012; Belk et al. 2010). In neo-­ Confucian societies  (of  which Singapore is a part), cool also has to do with the freedom to rebel from parental and societal pressures, however, as we shall see later in this chapter, this rebellion is somewhat contained. It happens without provoking the ­outright alienation of authority, as the desire for approval from society, parents and teachers remains strong (see Fung 2003). 3  Historically, the concept of cool has its roots in slavery in relation to slaves’ attitude of self-control, because at the time, any sign of aggression by a slave would be punishable, so projecting an attitude of composure was a means to disguise or suppress one’s intention and a way to cope with exploitation (Botz-Bornstein 2010). The concept developed and blossomed within black American jazz culture in the early twentieth century, where it continued to be associated with a low-profile means of survival and the ability to stay collected under duress. Finally, it was co-opted and spread through Hollywood movies and rock ‘n roll in the 1950s, quickly becoming one of the core aspects of youth culture (Pountain and Robins 2000; Gerber and Geiman 2012; Belk et al. 2010). By that time, cool had evolved into a status symbol representing the opposition to the establishment and to conformism, and society was divided between what Mailer describes as the hip (rebels) and the square (conformists) (Mailer 1957).

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Of late, the construct of cool has become heavily influenced by consumer culture. The commodification of cool by mainstream corporate interests to attract younger generations has been observed across the world (see Gerber and Geiman (2012, p. 17) and Gladwell (1997)). Having researched among young people in contemporary China, Fung (2003) writes about the close relationship between cool and consumerism, where the youthful achieve cool status by consuming and acquiring cultural products such as brand names and trendy styles that appear to express a unique identity. Similarly in Singapore, the word “cool” often appears in the media in context of consumerism, in particular advertising aimed at attracting young consumers (Quek 2017). The edginess of cool often hinges on aesthetic and lifestyle choices, such as fashion, music, art and food, as well as on new technologies (see Straits Times, “A cool ride” 2017 and “9 cool things at Changi Airport T4” n.d.). So while cool is associated with freedom of self-expression and resistance to familial and societal pressures, its political subversiveness is mitigated by its co-optation into mainstream consumer culture. 

6.1.3  Infusing the Cool of Pop Culture into Tradition Recognising that many Singaporean young people feel alienated and put off by the culture and repertoire of Chinese orchestras and cognizant of concepts of cool in pop culture, Singapore’s  Chinese instrumentalists want to counter this uncool image, by expanding the possibilities of their instruments and the sounds they produce. A lot of them feel that including non-Chinese (in particular Western) instruments and playing different genres will help to make their music more appealing and relevant to the youth. Traditionalists decry the  resulting “fusion” or “experimental” compositions of these ensembles, criticising them for straying too far from their Chinese classical roots. But Darrel, who plays the erhu in Nen 念, laments the way in which “the community compartmentalises music into high-brow versus lowbrow”, insisting this is neither helping to address the image problem nor is it keeping with the times; he affirms, “we want to make this music accessible to more people. We don’t want to alienate anyone” (as cited in Ho (2016)). Musicians like Darrel find these rigid boundaries separating high- and low-brow cultures extremely limiting to their creative possibilities. They do not wish to make a career in the orchestra, so they do not feel compelled to stick to the strict conventions of what to play and how. They want to be free to fully explore the possibilities of their instruments. Patrick explains Nen 念’s spirit of exploration: We try to see how far our instruments can go. And if we reach the limits of our instruments, that’s where the guest musicians will come in to fill up the hole. Yeah. As you can see, there are certain things that Chinese instruments can only reach. However, when we write music, we don’t really care about the limitation of the instrument, but we see how this instrument can play well inside that genre that we want to play. At the end of the day, we want to reach the objective of why we created that music, rather than being stopped or delayed by the limitation of our instruments. (P. Ngo, personal interview, Nov 09, 2016)

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Another band on the same mission is MUSA, a Singapore-based ensemble composed of two twin sisters Tan Su-Hui (guzheng) and Su-Min (zhongruan) along with Dayn Ng (keyboard and arrangement). Su-Hui explains how they rearrange pop tunes to attract younger audiences: We hope that through our music, people are willing to pause and listen to it, and gradually understand the various sides of these traditional instruments. … Repertoire is an important factor, we occasionally try pop rearrangements as most young people these days are inclined to pop, and through that, they start to be more open to listen to the other genres of music we have. They start to learn to appreciate the sound of the instrument, and slowly the culture and roots behind these traditional instruments. (S. Tan, email interview, May 05, 2017)

Wang Chenwei, Chinese orchestra composer, ruan player and researcher for The TENG Ensemble, also spoke up to say he is “supportive of any outreach efforts to promote Chinese instruments because we need as big an audience as we can get to support the whole Chinese Orchestra ecosystem” (C. Wang, email interview, May 19, 2017). He believes traditionalists need to be realistic, as it takes a long time to: develop a connoisseurship of sophisticated Chinese music, and we can’t expect that from the masses immediately; the first step is to get people to be interested in the instruments, even if it’s just a superficial interest, for example, ‘Oh wow erhu can play Lady Gaga!’ (C. Wang, email interview, May 19, 2017)

He continues to note how perceptions have been steadily improving in recent years: I think the public perception of Chinese instruments has improved over the last 17 years since I started my first Chinese instrument, because many Chinese Orchestra musicians have played pop music at a variety of paid and free events, and a lot of people have encountered a Chinese instrument performance before. (C. Wang, email interview, May 19, 2017)

6.1.4  Reflecting Their Multiple Self–Identities More than pushing the boundaries of Chinese traditional music, the music of Nen 念, MUSA and others reflects the artists’ own personal identities and understandings about what it means to be Singaporean today. Millennials or Gen Xers, they grew up as third-generation Singaporeans in the 1980s and 1990s, in a hyperglobalised cosmopolitan and predominantly English-speaking country—an upbringing that has made them embrace a wide range of cultural influences. As such, Western and other influences effectively constitute a significant part of these musicians’ identities. By incorporating various cultural elements into their music and visuals and through their choice of collaborations, they are bringing to the fore and celebrating their own multiple references and affinities as contemporary young Singaporeans. At the Q and A session after Nen 念’s 2016 Esplanade concert (Photo 6.1), Patrick told the audience they are keen on exploring a vast array of genres: “We have tried out a few genres like Middle Eastern, Blues, rock. So the next one we might be headed towards could be Japanese music, some Malay folk song or Indian

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Photo 6.1 Nen 念 playing with a backing band composed of a drum kit, percussion, electric bass guitar and keyboard at their concert entitled “Past. Present. Future” on November 11, 2016 at the Esplanade. (Photo courtesy of Nen 念)

folk song”. He then shared a few of the influences that have been constitutive of their identities: Johnny and I are anime fans. I listen to Celtic and Darrel listens to blues. So we know how to tune ourselves to a certain kind of genre very fast. Although we are Chinese musicians, we tune in to different genres very fast because of this kind of experience since young. (P. Ngo, personal interview, Nov 09, 2016)

Darrel expresses how he found the freedom he had been longing for and missing when he played in Chinese orchestras, in rock music: I started watching videos of [Jimi Hendrix] performing. I was thinking, you know, they look so cool and so free, and so flowing on stage rather than the stifled performing manner of many orchestra musicians. You know, where you are not free to express yourself physically — I felt it to be very stifling. So I try to bring a little bit of that into whatever I play. (D. Xin, personal interview, Nov 09, 2016)

Such cross-cultural hybrid identities are what characterise Singapore today. Su-Hui from MUSA draws a parallel between the ensemble’s music and the multicultural fabric of Singaporean society: It suits our Singapore local famous dish ‘rojak’, we are strongly influenced by the diverse music culture in Singapore, ranging from opera to Indian music, Malay music, pop, ethnic etc., adding on to our strong Chinese Music roots, its a blend of the sounds we hear, the sounds we grow up to. Sometimes when people ask what genre our original works belong to, we usually tell them its ‘ethnic fusion’, as it is the sound of ‘us’, there isn’t a specific genre to label our music. (S. Tan, email communication, May 05, 2017)

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6.1.5  W  idening Perspectives About Chinese Instruments and Music While MUSA seeks to “modernise the sound of traditional instruments” by integrating many distinct genres, from pop to world music, the band expresses a strong desire to maintain their Chinese sound and identity. Su-Hui, who defines their music as “ethnic fusion”, states: We do not lose our roots but choose our repertoires according to situations and occasions. It is always important to keep up with the society and time, yet always reminding them the history and culture of these traditional instruments. (S. Tan, email interview, May 05, 2017)

In their YouTube video entitled “绕行 Revolve”, MUSA’s Su-Min underscores how they “always try and retain the Chinese music element inside, so you can always relate it back to Chinese music even if it’s pop music or other music”. Later in the video, she talks about how they try to “preserve their roots” such that even if they are playing a Western pop song, it will “still sound Chinese” (MUSA_sg, “绕行 Revolve” [Video file], 2017). Nen 念 differs slightly. While one part of their work entails the virtuoso performance of Chinese classical pieces, the musicians do not necessarily strive to maintain a semblance of ‘Chinese sound’ in their original pieces. The desire to break out of  preconceived parameters, which Darrel alluded to  earlier, governs the band’s creative process. When composing a new piece, they first decide on an image or atmosphere they wish to create, then they draw on any genre, compositional form or instrument  (regardless of origin)  which they feel is necessary to produce it. Sometimes they find that their Chinese instruments are not well suited for a piece they are composing, so they bring in other instruments to “fill the hole” (P. Ngo, personal interview, Nov 09, 2016). As such, they treat the music as a universal and postnational language whose grammar and syntax is formed by all the  existing musical vocabularies in the world which may be reappropriated and reassembled for their artistic purpose. One result of this process is the fact that their instruments do not always “sound Chinese” unlike MUSA’s; they may even make rather uncharacteristic and unrecognisable sounds. This malleability which Nen 念 members seek from their instruments, combined with the use of other instruments and deft sound design, lends their music a very cinematographic feel that evokes anything from the Wild Wild West or 1001 nights, to a unbridled gallop through the Mongolian plains or a beach party in Ibiza. Whether they  are recognisably ‘Chinese-sounding’ or not, ensembles such as these are reshaping what it means to play Chinese instruments and, in doing so, shifting young people’s conceptions of Chinese instruments and music in general. They have created spaces for the expression and identification of new contemporary identities that are representative of Singaporean cosmopolitan interculturalism. By defying strict compartmentalisation between the classical or “traditional” and the contemporary, they are helping to break down preconceived notions about musical traditions as necessarily pertaining to the realm of supposedly ancient culture, static through millenia,  and hermetic to outside influence. And their work has been

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Photo 6.2  Frame from MUSA’s music video entitled “Traveller” where Su-Hui and Su-Min Tan play alongside Govin Tan. (Photo courtesy of MUSA)

r­esonating with people. One comment in response to Nen 念’s “Eternal Wings” YouTube video reads: “Never was a fan of Chinese instrumental music but this totally blew me away”. Under MUSA’s music video “Traveller” (Photo 6.2), a collaboration with Singaporean tabla player Govin Tan of Flame of the Forest, another person wrote: “beautiful arrangement good to see a known instrument tabla, didn’t know it would go so well with ancient Chinese instruments”. Singapore’s arts institutions too have taken an interest in these emerging music groups and in their growing popularity among younger Singaporeans. Up until 2016, the annual Chinese Chamber Music series held at the Esplanade (Singapore’s national performing arts centre) had featured only classical Chinese orchestras. But Esplanade programmer and arts advocate, Desmond Chew, says he is trying to expand the understanding of Chamber music to include contemporary fusion groups like Nen 念 and MUSA, both of whom performed at the concert hall that same year. During Nen 念’s Esplanade show in November 2016, the band played pieces as a trio, as well as accompanied by a backing band composed of  a keyboard, bass, drums and several percussion instruments. The concept behind their show was to take the audience on a journey from the past through the present and into the future: from classical Chinese compositions all the way to the nightclub, with their EDMinspired composition “Eternal Wings”. Slowly but surely, these ensembles have been helping to reinscribe the notion of cool onto Chinese instruments and music, thus broadening popular conceptions and expectations.

6.1.6  Escaping Chinese Tradition Another Singaporean Chinese instrumentalist group that has been creating some waves in Singapore and the region is SA(仨). The trio, formed by Natalie  Tse (guzheng), Andy Chia (dizi) and Cheryl Ong (drums), confess to having been on a

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long journey of self-discovery through their evolving relationship with their traditional instruments. All three have been classically trained: Natalie studied the guzheng at her school’s Chinese orchestra, as well as privately with a tutor from China, Cheryl studied Chinese percussion at the Beijing Central Conservatory, and Andy the dizi at the Shanghai Music Conservatory (besides all of them being trained in Western music too). Unlike the other Chinese instrumentalist groups  we have mentioned who expand the use of their instruments by incorporating other genres and styles of playing, SA(仨)’s passion lies in experimenting with sound and technology in a way that sheds any recognisable “Chineseness” in their music. Shooting for the documentary “Sounds of Singapore” (made for this research project), I asked Natalie, Andy and Cheryl about their relationship to their Chinese classical music training today. They said they feel a clear disconnect between such music and their experiences as Singaporeans. Cheryl noted that Chinese classical and traditional music is primarily inspired by nature, and aims to produce sounds that mimetise nature. However, she says “there is no nature” in Singapore, which makes it hard for her to relate to that kind of music: In terms of the classical repertoire, the traditional repertoire, it’s stuff that has been written a long time ago. We cannot relate to that a lot of times. Because it’s about nature, we have none of that here. We grew up eating like nasi padang, roti prata, Indian curry. We probably hear more dikir barat when growing up, rather than nature flute sounds from the waterfall or whatever. (CARE, “Sounds of Singapore” [Video File], 2018)

It is important to outline their journey in order to better understand how they began rethinking their musical training. As described in Chap. 2, SA(仨) members have been very critical of racial harmony aesthetics and the practice of transposing CMIO categories onto music-making in Singapore. After so many years participating in gigs and collaborative projects that seem to superficially depict “NDP[National Day Parade] style” multiculturalism through music, they have become extremely bored and frustrated about this kind of work (C. Ong, personal interview, Aug 19, 2016). Their current goal is to “break free from the national policy of Chinese, Malay, Indian and Others” (SA(仨) 2015, “ETHNI-CITY II postshow Q and A” [Video file]). “For us, I think we acknowledge our background [in Chinese classical music],” says Natalie, “and we are using our instruments as the medium, but we don’t necessarily want to assert our Chineseness” (N. Tse, personal interview, Aug 19, 2016). They now seek to put aside their classical training, assimilate new techniques and delve into improvisation. In the past two years, SA(仨) has gravitated towards experimentation and “sound exploration”, influenced by Western avant-garde musicians like Steve Reich and John Cage. Their music is characterised by a lot of live looping and electronic manipulation of the sounds made by their traditional instruments. As they began to get involved in the regional experimental music scene, they realised that formal musical training is not necessary to create good music with a strong identity. Talking about Senyawa, an experimental music group from Java, Indonesia, Cheryl points out how:

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they are not even trained musicians, but they make their instruments and they have their own style which is really great and it really has a very strong Indonesian identity in that sense. So you kind of broaden your perspective lah. (C. Ong, personal interview, Aug 19, 2016)

As they develop their artistic identity, they have been distancing themselves from their classical Chinese training  (far more than Nen 念 and MUSA), though not entirely disavowing it, and are keen to explore the sonic potential of their instruments, not in the sense of playing others genres but of producing sounds as raw materials that may be sculpted into something else. Like Nen 念 and MUSA, they are products of a highly globalised and cosmopolitan environment, and are working towards their personal and creative self-expression. And although SA(仨) members are not as vocal as those of Nen 念 and MUSA about changing young people’s mindsets regarding Chinese instruments, the very music they create does effectively shift the public’s perspectives. When Singaporeans ask them what kind of music they play (without having heard their sound), Natalie and Andy enact how the conversation usually goes: Natalie: I tell them I improvise, I experiment, I play the Chinese guzheng, and then I leave it up to them what they want to think we are. Andy: Then the natural response, “Oh, you Chinese Orchestra huh? Oh, very good!” Natalie: Or, “Oh, so you’re fusion, ah?” (N. Tse & A. Chia, personal interview, Aug 19, 2016) Upon hearing them play, people then express surprise, even shock, because their music defies all expectations they had about what a Chinese instrumentalist ensemble might do. In terms of the cool factor, they are not overtly attempting to recast Chinese instruments as cool, but they do try to cultivate an edgy vibe. Their entire image— sonic and visual—conveys an air of mystique. SA(仨)’s cool factor is cultivated through personal aesthetics (they only wear black during their performance and in their official photos); visual identity (zen-inspired, minimalist East Asian aesthetics, such as the cover of their latest album “Flow”); their high-tech and experimental penchant (their heavy use of electronics and immersive video projections at their shows; see Photo 6.3); and their music’s conceptualism and ‘aura of inaccessibility’ (from the perspective of  mainstream audiences unexposed and unaccustomed to such sounds). They have been able to attract a loyal fan base among young Singaporeans who find their music allows them to express a certain unexplored side of their identity. At SA(仨)’s January 2017 performance at Aliwal Arts Centre (which we organised as part of this research project), the relative immobility of the staid audience was interrupted by a young woman banging her head as she danced in abandon. Unheeding to people’s stares, she appeared to have been transported to another plane of consciousness. After the show was over, I asked her what she had thought of them and she said, “They are so cool! Their music makes me travel to far off places”.

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Photo 6.3 SA(仨)’s Flow album launch on November 24, 2017, featuring the video projection by Singaporean visual artist Brandon Tay. (Photo: Sounds of Singapore/NIE)

6.2  P  art 2: Investing in Chinese Identity: Singaporean Musicians Abroad We shall now turn to Singaporean Chinese musicians who are living overseas and actively investigating their own ethnic heritage and identity. Like the instrumentalists we mentioned above, their music and discourse consistently speak to the multiplicity and intercultural nature of their identities. However, while the Singapore-based ensembles are compelled to engage with local concerns about Chinese instruments’ image problem, and the institutionalised system of ‘racial’ classification (CMIO), the following musicians are not directly affected by these questions. Their expatriated status forces them to address a whole other set of issues relating to their ethnic identity, which we will explore. The two musicians I focus on here are Wang Wei Yang of Yllis and Guo Ming of TZECHAR (the other half of TZECHAR, who goes by the alias Self-Obsessed (or s-o), did not participate in the interviews, although Ming occasionally transmitted her responses). All three have been living abroad for several years: Wei Yang moved to New York City (NYC) in December 2016, and Ming and s-o both left Singapore in 2003 and have been living in Melbourne, Australia. Both Ming and Wei Yang consider themselves to be ethnically Chinese, and shared their thoughts about their personal identity and what it means to be a Singaporean Chinese growing up on the island but living and making music in the West.

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6.2.1  E  xpatriation from Singapore: New Dimensions of Ethnic Identity I began by trying to find out how Wei Yang and Ming conceived of their ethnic and cultural identity when they were in Singapore, in order to understand how their conceptions have changed over time, as a result of their subsequent expatriation. In discussing their sense of identity growing up in Singapore, both immediately spoke about Singaporean Chinese identities being primarily determined by a person’s linguistic affinities—whether she/he is an English-speaking Chinese or a Mandarinspeaking Chinese. According to Ming, from a young age, Singaporean Chinese are geared towards self-identifying as either one or the other: Did we listen to 98.7 or 93.34 more, did we watch Channel 5 or 85 more, are we from English or Chinese-centered schools, which language did we tend towards when we speak with our circle of friends/family, what’s the primary one in our inner monologue, etc. (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017)

It is in that sense that  Wei Yang, Ming and s-o identify themselves as English-­ speaking Singaporean Chinese. Ming says both s-o and himself have been educated in the English language, and thus “by default think and write in English” As for Wei Yang, he self-identifies as “ang mo pai”, a Singlish term (derived from Hokkien) that translates to “Caucasian-like”, and is used to refer to people who speak good English but poor Mandarin, and have a more culturally anglophone frame of reference. Reflecting about how identity has evolved over time, both Wei Yang and Ming agreed that their expatriation inspired them to ask deeper questions about who they are. They began to explore more actively their ethnic and cultural heritage, and concepts of rootedness  and diaspora from their overseas vantage point. They acquired a heightened sense of identity. This is commonly experienced by immigrants in a host country whose dominant or mainstream culture is different from one’s own. Identity, as has been remarked by many scholars, comes into focus in the encounter with difference (Nakayama and Halualani 2010). Additionally, perceptions of “difference” may become more sharply correlated with phenotype especially when immigrants enter a racially stratified society, as are arguably the United States and Australia. They may be bundled up into a pre-existing ‘racial’ category, according to these countries’ own system of racial classification. Wei Yang, for instance, noted people assume he is from China, marking him as racially Chinese above and beyond qualifiers of nationality, linguistic ability or any other kind of cultural affiliation.  Such experiences make immigrants’ own conceptions of  98.7 FM is an English-language radio station, while YES 93.3 FM is a Mandarin one.  Channel 5 is a 24-hour English news and entertainment television channel in Singapore, and Channel 8 is Singapore’s first free-to-air Mandarin television channel. 4 5

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their ethnic and cultural identity articulate with the newer ‘racial’ constructs of the new society. Tsuda (1999) explains this process as one of negotiation and re-signification: As immigrants, we are confronted with racially stratified system within which we must negotiate our position. Our bodies are a particular marker within its slippery terrain of racial signification. This marker is linked to a historically specific, connected, and shifting labyrinth of ideological and material contexts. (p. 240)

For Ming and s-o, their move to Australia instigated them to seriously explore their Chinese identity in a way they hadn’t done before. Curious to understand China’s worldview and representation of reality, they started following Chinese news via the Internet. They began to study Mandarin, and, today, they say they speak it almost as fluently as English. Talking about how language influences one’s personality, Ming observes he feels a “mindset shift” when he switches from thinking in English to thinking in Mandarin. S-o, who began to avidly research about former Chinese leaders, developed what Ming calls a “Chinese inner monologue” which she now “channels” to write lyrics. They started incorporating Mandarin and Chinese dialects in their music, letting their distinct vocabularies, syntaxes and intonations co-mingle and enter in dialogue, in a way that erases the hierarchy between languages and between the meaning of words and the sonic and rhythmic structures of speech. As for Wei Yang, he had already been exploring questions of Chinese identity and heritage when he was making music in Singapore, but being in NYC added another dimension to his excavations of his roots and research about Chineseness. Wei Yang mentioned he feels a strong sense of his own “otherness” in America. This experience of not quite fitting in has undoubtedly propelled his quest to connect in new ways with his Chinese identity. In recent years, he has found a like-minded community of artists within the Chinese underground music scene. He has developed a strong working relationship with Beijing-based producer Howie Lee and his innovative bass music collective Do Hits, and recently collaborated with Chinese rapper Bohan Phoenix and Chinese visual artist Lu Yang. Through these networks and connections with these artists, he has found a creative community which he is excited about and with whom he feels a strong affinity—something he says he wasn’t able to find in Singapore. Although his collaboration with China-based artists is primarily for artistic reasons, Wei Yang appears to also be drawn to the ideological counterpoint to Western hegemony that these artists and that scene represent. Being involved with the Chinese music scene is like evading the “given” that one can only “make it” by breaking into the US market and abiding by the American music industry’s mechanisms of exotifying and othering non-Western music/musicians. That said, Wei Yang believes that as a Singaporean, he is particularly well-­ placed to act as a bridge between East and West, and hopes to play more of that role in the future.

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6.2.2  “ Part of the Conversation”: Global Identity Politics and Redefining Cool Sitting in a spartan, harshly lit Chinese-Vietnamese restaurant in Manhattan’s Chinatown, Wei Yang was excited. At the time of our first encounter, he had only been in the city for a few months. He had been craving bak chor mee (a typically Singaporean meatball noodle dish), and had read great reviews of this restaurant. We discussed how he has been settling into NYC and his current projects. As we followed the flow of our meandering conversation, we ended up talking about the rise of China as a global economic powerhouse and the rapidly burgeoning interest in Chinese culture across the Westernised world. In the field of contemporary art, this has been underway for a while, but has really picked up speed in recent years, with Chinese-art galleries sprouting across Singapore and many Western capitals, and artworks by Chinese artists fetching increasingly high prices (see Rush 2015, n.p.). Wei Yang spoke particularly animatedly about the opportunities he feels these changing global tides are bringing him as a musician: How I see it, is that the future is now. And as a Chinese person I want to represent my culture and create something that I can relate to, that hopefully people of my background can relate to. And I think there’s a very palpable sense that a lot of Asian communities in the world are feeling the same way. China’s youth especially is now ready to fully embrace a young creative underground scene. I think Chinese communities and diasporas around the world (and even in China) face a kind of identity crisis. What is Chineseness and what is cool. … I want to help define my cultural heritage as cool, you know? (W.  Y., Wang, Facebook interview, Jan 03, 2017)

Wei Yang feels energised by the rise of China and, more specifically, the growth of the “young creative underground scene” which he has tapped into and to which he feels a sense of belonging. He views these new developments as windows of opportunity for him to express himself as an artist of Chinese heritage exploring concepts of Chineseness, and be heard by the world. His optimism reflects the sense of ebullition and of possibilities within the underground Chinese music scene itself (despite the widespread police crackdowns and censorship); reporting from the cities of Changsha and Wuhan, Jonze (2014) writes how “nobody knows exactly what China’s musical future holds, and that’s because the future is still all up for grabs” (n.p.). Wei Yang firmly believes that now is the time for what he calls “marginalised” (at the global level) voices to be heard. He says: If music/culture is truly global, it would mean that current forces of hegemony can’t continue to dominate the conversation. And I think we are kinda seeing that shift in various movements/trends (Chinese labels like Do Hits and Svbkvlt as an example, and certain trends in K-Pop) where Asian/Chinese culture is rising up in a certain way. … Now is the time for us to redefine what cool means. and I’d like to have a voice in that, and I would like that voice to represent who I am, which circles back to the need for self-awareness, and ability to understand one’s identity. (W. Y., Wang, Facebook interview, Jan 19, 2017)

So how does this translate to his music?

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6.2.3  Post-Internet Sino-Futurist Yllis Wei Yang hopes to partake in the global conversation about contemporary Chinese identity and help make Chinese culture cool through the deployment of post-­Internet language in his music. “Post-Internet” refers to the “mixing together of digital space and real life where the prefix ‘post’ does not merely refer to an ‘after’ but to an awareness of the medium of the internet, and of how the virtual world impacts the real world” (Drefraene 2015, n.p.). It is a relatively new movement and has manifestations throughout other areas of the arts. As a general note, post-Internet music tends to have a very technological feel. It is “as if the beats and textures are a direct audible translation of electronic pulses passing through a bunch of network cables all twisted and bundled together” (Drefraene 2015, n.p.). For Wei Yang, the post-Internet movement and language are where some of the “freshest” sounds are coming from right now (W.  Y., Wang, email interview, May 09, 2017). Post-Internet language allows him to escape what he perceives to be musical clichés and commonplace sentimentality, and to express a sense of ‘now-­ness’. For him, it is the best vehicle to explore and express his identity, and articulate his own commentary about contemporary life. He explains: To me, it’s the most exciting part about art and creation—creating something original, something that came from inside you. In that way I’ve always gravitated towards sounds that are fresh, music that strives to uncover some undiscovered aspect. That kind of excitement is what makes something ‘cool’ in my opinion. … Perhaps it’s a rebellion against a broader sort of uniformity. If it’s been said before why say it again? Or at least say it differently. At the end of the day, music is always sort of a search for identity for me. (W. Y., Wang, email interview, May 09, 2017)

Listening to the music of Yllis, one gets a sense of Wei Yang’s conception of Chineseness as a fluid and ever-evolving component of his multifaceted identity. The Chinese influence in Yllis happens at many levels and appears through various layers of his work, both visually and sonically, even though it may  sometimes be  unrecognisable. Wei Yang is keen to explore “Chineseness as a concept to be questioned, appropriated, imagined and reconstructed”, and he employs the same principles to his music-making (W.  Y., Wang, email interview, May 09, 2017). He creates soundscapes in which he freely appropriates, remixes and manipulates audio-clips related to anything from Chinese traditional and classical music, elements of pop culture, Chinese cultural and religious rituals, and field recordings of street life. In his track “22 (Over Soon)” (a rework of a popular Bon Iver song by the same name), Wei Yang used field recordings of a Taoist funeral that he happened to come across one day in Singapore. He explained how he made that connection between the funeral and the Bon Iver track that inspired him: The artwork clearly references Taoist iconography, and his track 22 Over Soon I think talks about death (and transcendence). I found it interesting that 2 + 2 = 4, 4 being a common numerical Chinese reference to Death. So in a way this was me reacting to the idea of certain kinds of Asian philosophy making its way into popular music (either consciously or unconsciously). (W. Y., Wang, email interview, Sep 13, 2017)

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Photo 6.4  Cover art for the Exodus album by Yllis. (Image courtesy of Yllis)

At the beginning, the track sounds like resonance inside the bowels of a futuristic factory where a dystopic school choir fills the air with children’s distorted singing. Then the jungle rhythm enters and ushers in an upbeat, floaty minimalism, before more chaotic shards and splinters refract themselves through space, melding into high-pitched whale song and the underwater reverberations of clucking dolphins. The Taoist chanting is absolutely unrecognisable, but the fact that it is in there is enough to provide meaning to those who know it is in there somewhere. Two tracks from his Exodus album (Photo 6.4), released in September 2016 by Do Hits (with the Bandcamp tags “China”, “electronic”, “bass music” and “Beijing”), feature similar field recordings and samples of old Chinese Chamber music. For instance, “羞” [Shame] features  a transcribed and rearranged melody from another field recording of a ceremonial ritual performed in Singapore’s Chinatown, in which the sound of an erhu is so transformed that it resembles a flurry

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of ethereal wind chimes (from 56” onwards). Another example is “Bloom” which, at 1’5”, contains a sample of an old Chinese Chamber music piece that is accelerated, rearranged and spliced into a pulsating EDM-inspired background. At times, the Chinese influence is more evident and acts as a kind of “hook” to draw people in with readily recognisable ‘Chinese-sounding’ tunes. Then, listeners are promptly overwhelmed with the strange digital flora that inhabits Wei Yang’s imagination—sounds that can be as strangely soothing as LED skylights perfectly mimicking sunlight, or as abrasively unnerving as nails against a chalkboard. His song “Parade”, for example, begins with a ‘Chinese-sounding’ pentatonic scale, which quickly gives way to a succession of carefully curated computer jingles and video game sounds, while the visuals display an array of cheesy smartphone emoticons flitting haphazardly across the screen. The same thing goes for “梦” [Dream] which begins and ends with Chinese operatic singing, while images of mesmerisingly disturbing computer-generated 3D worlds flow by, replete with cloth-like bodies flapping in the wind. If, as Wei Yang affirms, music-making is always a search for identity, then Yllis demonstrates how complex and intricate that identity is, and how his own excavations and deconstructions of Chineseness are but one of its many facets. He tries not to deploy Chinese culture in a nostalgic fashion but processes and reconfigures its symbols, indices and signs through the use of post-Internet language and technology. By adroitly deploying global and local elements, Yllis is able to speak to a universal audience, and the originality of his work has not gone unnoticed. One YouTube commentator wrote, “How organic and beautiful all the sounds and influences are”, while another observed, “that [sic] what happens when an insect goes down your neck and you try to shake it off”.

6.2.4  TZECHAR’s Neo–Confucian Identity As mentioned earlier, Ming and s-o began to explore Chinese culture more thoroughly following their relocation to Australia. Their creative process is driven by extensive research from which they build their conceptual framework. In trying to understand Ming and s-o’s conceptions of their own identities, in particular as Chinese Singaporeans living abroad, our conversation quickly expanded to a discussion of “neo-Confucian Asian cultures” (or countries of Confucian ideological origins), which they correlate to China, Korea, Japan and Singapore. It was clear that Ming and s-o feel a personal affinity and intellectual fascination with that constellation of nations and their cultural forms. For instance, Ming and s-o are both fans and fierce critics of K-pop. TZECHAR’s initial claim to fame grew after they released a series of K-pop track remixes on YouTube. These rather offbeat postmodern audiovisual collages, both strangely familiar and completely alien and mangled, caught the eye of music critics, following which several online culture magazines began publishing features about them. Besides these earlier remixes, many of their subsequent work continue to be sprinkled with K-pop references.

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In terms of Chinese influences, as we have seen, TZECHAR weaves Mandarin and various Chinese dialects into their sound. The choice of instrumentation and Self-Obsessed’s singing style, which is influenced by traditional Teochew songs, are two other noticeable elements. In their track BOT, which features s-o’s hauntingly lamenting vocals, the duo sought to replace instruments and time codes commonly used in modern English language pop songs with non-Western (particularly Chinese) instruments and rhythms. Ming used a “slow, meditative, head-nodding thud as the physical groove (the kind used in some forms of prayer)” and replaced the snare with a Chinese drum rimshot to “provide the ‘snap’ effect of a kick/snare setup, but not on a regular 2/4 or 3 beat that say hip hop would usually use” (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017). Another work that expresses their penchant for  neo-Confucian cultural references is their EP “Ancestor” (released on Seattle’s Hush Hush Records). The theme of the EP is ancestor worship and the concept of lineage in neo-Confucian societies, as described by Ming: In cuisine (authenticity), arbitrary traditional practices (arbitrary in the sense that its primary meaning is in its generational continuance), art styles (traditional Chinese painting aptitude is based on ability to copy masters) and of course the general sense of hierarchy in a family unit. We’re alive because everyone who came before didn’t die, but rather than have a sense of superiority over who was born earlier, as part of a present dynasty of people we should just share knowledge to continue a lineage of wisdom. Generally, ‘ancestor’ as a theme runs through all Asian art, but we are also future ancestors (in the ideological, if not necessarily literal sense) and it doesn’t always have to be about revering what came before. (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017)

Unlike Yllis, TZECHAR is not seeking to influence the geopolitical cartography of cool in today’s music scene. Ming says: “as artists, we can’t hope to ever represent a race or region, nor seek to redefine coolness in those contexts. All we can do is be as cool as we can be, and try to point out what really isn’t” (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017). However, they have researched in some depth the notion of cool in neo-Confucian societies and synthesised their thoughts about the subject in a few of their mixes and videos. They are interested in finding out what makes the concept of cool in these Asian societies different from in the West. Ming believes that while American-inspired cool is linked to rebellion against the status quo and authority, neo-Confucian cool incorporates the concept of filiality, which acts as its counterweight that circumscribes and mitigates the excesses of subversive behavior in certain spheres of social life. As such, although many K-idols perform a “thug” persona in their boy bands, he says: [they] ultimately have to still be obedient, bowing (literally), socially obedient sons of Asian parents. So while the American concept of ‘coolness’ in their music world is a sense of ‘freedom’ generally, there is a huge dissonance in the way this is portrayed and striven for in K-world. (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017)

TZECHAR explores this theme in “A Thuggin’  Journey”, an audiovisual prism refracting, compositing and contrasting Asian and Western thuggin’ performances

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Photo 6.5  Two juxtaposed frames from TZECHAR’s “Made Vanitas” showing the interplay between social obedience and filiality as displayed for instance, by Ravi from K-pop band VIXX on the left and the embodiment of the thug persona by Taeyang from Big Bang on the right. (Meanwhile, Obama is eating s’mores in the lower left corner) (Images courtesy of TZECHAR)

in a heady 49 minute long mix, which they created for THUMP.6 The video component is a montage of gangster movies from all over the world, anime and, of course, carefully dissected K-pop videos. Talking about the genesis of the mix (and video), Ming argues that the concept of realness or of “keeping it real”—which originated in hip-hop culture and indicates legitimacy (whereby your “thug” persona as a rapper and your real life are one and the same)—is completely inexistent in neo-Confucian societies where K-pop stars “have the duality of being a ‘thug’ on stage and ultimately being a socially obedient, cooperative member of society” (M.  Guo, email interview, Nov 02, 2017). This is because, Ming says, “being socially-acceptable and having 面子 [face] looms large in people’s motivations in neo-Confucian societies, hence the necessary stage/real life disconnect” (email interview, Nov 02, 2017). The dichotomous embodiment of social obedience (and filial piety) and performative thuggin, also surfaces in TZECHAR’s “Made Vanitas” as seen in Photo 6.5. In fact, Ming is not the only one to have made that connection between neo-­ Confucian culture and this idea of “filial cool”. In his study of the concept of cool in youth culture, Wang (2010) talks about a survey7 conducted among Chinese youth, which showed how “35% of respondents name their parents, rather than cool celebrities, as their ‘idols’” (p. 243, quoting Hill and Knowlton 2004). Moreover, their outlook showed a “rather uncool8 connection between the cool-looking youth and the status quo that they are supposedly poised to challenge” (Wang 2010, p. 243). The idea of “filial cool” has also been noted by researchers studying Chinese musician and singer Jay Chou, whose “cool image” is linked to “not being remote  The electronic music and culture channel of VICE.  Called the “China Cool Hunt survey,” it was conducted by Hill and Knowlton in 2004. 8  Based on Western notions of cool. 6 7

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enough to alienate parents outright, but distinct enough to appear independent and defiant to young people” (Fung 2008, p. 73). To a certain extent, the subversiveness of cool is displaced towards consumerism and its controlled and commodified versions of it. As we have previously observed,  the youthful achieve cool status by acquiring cultural products such as brand names and trendy styles as a means to express a supposedly unique identity  (Fung 2008). “Filial cool” therefore is sustained and legitimised through consumerism, which channels rebelliousness away from figures and structures of authority towards consumer objects of desire. The aesthetic aspect of “filial cool” negates potential political subversiveness and allows young people to enact coolness while continuing to seek approval from society, parents and teachers (Fung 2003).

6.2.5  Postmodern Global Semionauts Ming and s-o by no means restrict themselves to neo-Confucian references. The duo have an extremely global outlook and tastes. They are adamant about not wanting to represent any country, culture or ethnic/‘racial’ group (nor do they think they can or should). Ming once wrote: I am of a certain race and place, but thinking of cultural identity in binomial terms (Asian/ Western, Muslim/Christian, White/Colour) just limits options of mental pathways and encourages close-mindedness. … I don’t particularly feel the need to identify with any one place or race. … We’ve always primarily considered ourselves citizens of the world. (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017).

Embracing their Chinese roots and exploring their neo-Confucian affinity does not preclude them from having a culturally nomadic, post-‘racial’ and postnational sense of self. In fact, Ming and s-o act as artist-semionauts who are globalised agents of re-signification, skilled at navigating languages and cultures, isolating the most subtle of signs and stitching them together into a new tapestry of meaning (Bourriaud 2002). TZECHAR’s audiovisual montages are testimony to the duo’s predilection for sourcing and reappropriating a wide range of material from all over the world. Self-Obsessed, who is responsible for the visuals, samples old Chinese films, archival footage of political figures from Lee Kuan Yew to Theresa May, episodes of Rick and Morty and Arrested Development, Singapore’s 1990s MediaCorp TV series, a variety of cooking and game shows, and countless frames from BIGBANG, G-Dragon  and other K-pop music videos. These references are all spliced together in a dizzyingly fragmented narrative, simultaneously holding up a critical mirror and offering a celebratory effigy to contemporary pop culture. Ming and s-o are like curators, creating meaning and singularity from the chaotic morass of available information. As the Introduction to this book explains, “the artistic question is no longer: ‘what can we make that is new?’ but ‘how can we make do with what we have?’” (Bourriaud 2002, p. 17). Indeed, the genius of TZECHAR is the way in which they remix humanity’s online audiovisual archive. They do so by

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carrying out a great deal of research, editing and postproduction. This process is quite similar to the creative work flow of DJs. In fact, musician Greg Tate once wrote that “sampling isn’t a copycat act but a form of reanimation. Sampling in hiphop is the digitized version of hip-hop DJing, an archival project and an artform unto itself. Hip-hop is ancestor worship” (as quoted by Sanjek 1994, p. 352). In this technologically mediated “ancestor worship”, ancestors are metaphorical, and TZECHAR plays both the believer and the iconoclast. TZECHAR’s work is hypnotically chaotic, impressively nerdy and obscure, unapologetically fanatical, unabashedly gaudy, cheeky, absurdist, and very much original. There are many layers of possible interpretation, many of which are inaccessible without any contextual background. Their frenzied editing might appear like a pastiche composed  of random elements bearing no evident relation to one another. Some  viewers may be  dazed by the sensory and information overload. However, the duo affirms  there is a concept underlying each work and a reason behind the use of every image and sound; they just do not feel the need to provide any explanation or context. They actually relish the fact that their work confounds people and elicits a sense of alienation, just as much as they enjoy dropping clues for whoever can pick up on them. With regards to people’s interpretation of their work, Ming states nonchalantly: “some get it, some don’t” (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017). He believes that people will fill in the gaps with their own worldview: “that’s for people to decide themselves, to create their own context as is the entire intention of all our work” (M. Guo, email interview, Nov 02, 2017). Ming and s-o’s playful fondness for people’s misinterpretations of TZECHAR can be seen in relation to their choice of name. Tze char (or zi char) literally means “cook and fry” in the Chinese dialect of Hokkien, and is a typically Singaporean style of food made up of home-cooked dishes that originated from different Southeast Asian cultures. Ming and s-o chose to name themselves after it, because they believe “the ‘cuisine’ of tzechar itself is representative of Singaporean culture” (M. Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017). Moreover, it is a word that is of ambiguously Asian origins; “it sounds/looks vaguely ‘exotic’ which is its own play, and intentionally that it can’t really be said that it’s Chinese/Japanese/Korean etc.” (M.  Guo, email communication, Mar 13, 2017). Finally, its pronunciation is not obvious to non-Singaporeans, and Ming and s-o are entertained by the fact that it is so often mispronounced. They have purposely let radio hosts in the US and Australia mispronounce TZECHAR in order to record and later remix the garbled word in their music. Aside from Bourriaud’s semionaut, another concept that I find helpful to understand the postmodern identities of Ming and s-o, and TZECHAR as an artistic entity, is that of metroethnicity. Described by Maher (2005) in his research about contemporary identity politics among cosmopolitan Japanese youth, metroethnicity refers to the way in which these young people deploy ethnicity in new, postmodern and fluid ways. He associates this with the rise of a new kind of cool. In his terms, metroethnicity represents “a hybridised ‘street’ ethnicity deployed by a cross-­ section of people with ethnic or mainstream backgrounds who are oriented towards

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cultural hybridity, cultural/ethnic tolerance and a multicultural lifestyle in friendships, music, the arts, eating and dress” (2005, p. 83). He argues that people of different backgrounds “play with ethnicity (not necessarily their own) for aesthetic effect” (2005, p. 83). This idea of playing with one’s ethnic background, and creatively adapting and appropriating different cultural traits and elements into your own identity, is something that is common across many youth-driven subcultures, and often plays into ideas of cool. What is fascinating about the concept of metroethnicity is not its aesthetic implications, such as its manifestations in fashion and consumer culture. It is the agency attributed to the individual (who freely articulates his or her own cultural and ethnic affinities) that is liberating. According to Maher, the young Japanese people he studied do not feel compelled to identify with any ascribed ethnic category. In fact, Maher continues to say that their metroethnic outlook is challenging the assumptions that only  “ethnic orthodoxy” possesses the authority to determine cultural authenticity (2005, p. 83). He views metroethnicity as one way in which a contemporary Japanese youth “discards the truth-claims of traditional ethnicity” (2005, p. 86). As such, metroethnicity offers a possibility of shifting “from examining our identity as the site of historic struggle” to “focusing on what we can achieve as persons” (2005, p. 84). In other words, it looks not to the past, but the future, and emphasises not one’s inherited or ascribed background but one’s agency to define oneself. In sum, metroethnicity, as Maher conceives of it, is “an exercise in emancipatory politics. It is an individual’s self-assertion on his own terms” (2005, p. 84). Differently put, it tells us that “what we might become takes precedence over who we are” (McLaren 1995, p.109). One important critique of metroethnicity is that it ignores power inequalities because it is based on the assumption of liberal individualism that posits everyone has the ability and freedom to choose their ethnic and cultural affinities. It also can be interpreted as playing down the importance of struggles against exclusion and discrimination on the basis of ‘race’ or ethnicity. Artists like Ming and s-o are definitely aware of identity politics, however, it is my interpretation that they do not want to emblazon their ‘race’, ethnicity or nationality for that matter as the most important signifier in their work. Rather they seek to embody an open-ended, complexly nuanced, and fluid conceptualisation of self. As such, Ming and s-o’s disinterest in making grand claims of representativity (cultural/ethnic/‘racial’ or other), and the ways in which they deploy, appropriate and decontextualise references and signs in an ambiguous, ironic and irreverent fashion decries any sort of “ethnic orthodoxy” and could be seen as a manifestation of metroethnicity. True enough, the guiding principle in their work is highly personal and self-referential, and is characterised by a postmodern sense of individual freedom of self-expression and playful indeterminacy.

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6.3  Final Thoughts This chapter has covered a lot of ground in its exploration of how young Singaporean musicians are articulating their Chinese identity through music and discourse. In guise of conclusion, I wish to highlight some of the main takeaways from my chapter. The first is the fact that, on the home front, we are seeing an increasingly large number of classically trained Chinese instrumentalists forming their own ensembles and playing nontraditionally. They are doing so by incorporating Western and other Asian influences and/or instruments in their original music. We described how these musicians are impacting Singaporean society in different ways: (i) by reshaping popular conceptions of Chinese music, including making traditional instruments cool (in the eyes of the youth), and thereby helping to counter the negative perceptions of Chinese orchestra music and instruments  especially among the younger generations of Singaporeans and (ii) more symbolically, by embracing and celebrating what being a contemporary Singaporean (Chinese) means—someone who is a synthesis of multiple identities, with Chineseness being one part of a larger sum. There is no doubt that they are encouraging future generations of Singaporeans to rethink strict associations between ‘race’ and culture, embrace hybridities and confidently define their own identities. The second insight is about the context-dependent nature of cool. Singapore has developed its own local conceptions of cool. Informed by a historical “favouritism” towards Western pop culture, it is associated with a sense of freedom of self-­ expression and rebellion against social and familial pressures. This is the spirit of cool that Chinese instrumentalist ensembles MUSA, The TENG Ensemble or Nen 念 are tapping into when they say they want to redefine Chinese instruments as cool and incorporate musical influences from the West and other parts of the world. SA(仨), Yllis and TZECHAR embody slightly different aspects of cool linked to their more conceptual and experimental aura, as they draw from slightly less mainstream influences like avant-garde music (SA(仨)), archival pop culture and postmodernism (TZECHAR) and the “fresh” and futuristic sounds of the Internet (Yllis). Additionally, Ming and s-o’s connection to cool is not limited to sounding or being cool but revolves around thinking about what that concept means in relation to neo-­ Confucian societies. Ming’s reflections on the subject have provided us with great insights on the influence of filiality on constructs of cool in these societies. The third point relates to my cautionary caveat, stated at the beginning of the chapter, about the ambiguity of the term “Chinese”—which can be understood in ‘racial’ and/or cultural terms (though both are social constructs), and the limitation of a racialised understanding of Chineseness. The worldviews expressed by the various musicians oscillate between seeing Chineseness as ‘race’ and culture (naturalising their link as intrinsic) and seeing it fundamentally as a question of culture. The limitation of the racialised view of Chineseness was addressed by members of SA(仨), but was really thrown into relief via TZECHAR. Ming mentioned how they have always been actively exploring the question of Chinese identity and the

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notion of “roots”, and while expatriation propelled them to delve deeper into this, they were also forced to contend with a greater degree of multiplicity in their daily lives. Like Bourriaud’s “radicants”, their interpretation of “roots” became more fluid.  Today, Ming is very critical of the racialised definitions of “Chineseness”. Being considered (or considering themselves) as Chinese by virtue of their phenotype or ‘race’, but having no relationship or ties to China from which these cultural “roots” originated, is something that Ming and s-o continue to wonder about. Ming commented how “in actual fact this [‘racial’ category] means nothing to us and doesn’t reflect who we are in modern society” (M. Guo, email interview, Sep 15, 2017). This dissonance is exactly what Lee Hsien Loong, current Prime Minister of Singapore, attempted to address (as cited in this chapter’s epigraph), by emphasising the cultural differences between Chinese Singaporeans and Mainland Chinese (including those who may live overseas but who still take China to be their homeland). Though many Singaporean Chinese may identify as huá rén (华人 [Chinese people]) and conceive of their culture as being linked to the customs and traditions of China, they are (and have been) harnessing this heritage in the forging of distinct national and personal identities outside of China and in a context that is completely different. In so doing, they are (and have been) creating a hybridised culture that belies the concept of a singular Chinese identity. Indeed, Singaporeans are increasingly critical of a primarily (and primordially) ‘racial’ conception of Chineseness, and we are slowly seeing a shift at the official level, too. What this chapter has shown is that it is more promising to think of difference and singularity in terms of culture and not in terms of ‘race’. Even though not all musicians may be as critical as Ming about issues of ‘race’, their musical practice, which we have described, is testimony to the growing multiplicity of their cultural identities. And the acknowledgement and embracing of multiplicity is the first and necessary step to dismantling preconceived and artificial boundaries around ‘racial’ groups. A fourth point I’d like to make is about the relationship between the Internet and the identities of the young musicians I spoke to. The music groups had very different ways of conveying their artistic and personal identities in the virtual world. The most interesting cases to study were Yllis and TZECHAR. For now, both mainly exist on the Internet (though Yllis performs on occasion in NYC). Wei Yang has very few photos of himself online, and they are usually very expressionistic; he only appears in Yllis music videos as a computer-generated 3D rendition of his face (with his eyes and mouth cut out and skin flapping in the wind). Self-Obsessed has never revealed her real name to the media and apparently  never speaks directly to any media outlets (Ming occasionally relayed to me her answers that read like cryptic enigmas). Her image, however, appears in several of TZECHAR’s videos but has been passed through many effect filters. As for Ming, he often goes by the pseudonym of Lam Suet (a relatively obscure comedic actor from Hong Kong), and it was only after five months of email correspondence that he revealed to me his real name (and allowed me to use it in the book). Ming and s-o were the only musicians I was not able to meet in person, so I tried to find as much information about them as

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p­ ossible online. I was hoping to get a sense of their background beyond their SoundCloud or YouTube channels, but all I came across was a mysterious Tumblr. No official Facebook page, no biographies and no photographs. It was also hard to even locate their music online since a google search of “TZECHAR Singapore” brings up a huge list of tze char places to eat. Then I read an interview with Chinese artist Lu Yang (who contributed the visuals to the Yllis track “Not-Even-Anything Land”), in which she talks about the importance of anonymity (in the sense of impersonality rather than absence of authorship): If I have an exhibition abroad, they always say, ‘This is a Chinese artist.’ But that’s why I say that I want to live on the Internet. That way, nobody knows who you are. People online only care about your work and whether it’s any good. They’re not thinking about who the person is behind the work. By living on the Internet, you can abandon your identity, nationality, gender, even your existence as a human being. I rather like this feeling. (Qin 2015, “Q. and A.: Lu Yang on Art”, n.p.)

I came to understand the importance of the virtual world not just for the dissemination of contemporary musicians’ work, or, in Yllis’ case, in terms of the post-­ Internet language he draws from, but as a means to buffer oneself from the omnipresent compulsion to pigeonhole people according to pre-conceived mental categories. On the Internet, people listen to your music and form their own impressions of it, without needing to know anything about the artist’s background. As such, through careful curation and a penchant for privacy, TZECHAR and Yllis adeptly control how much of themselves and their personal context are available to the public, and have been able to cultivate the elusive, enigmatic and modishly alien musical personas that now define their work. Finally and to conclude, I would like to talk briefly about globalisation and its impact on contemporary identities in the cultural periphery (globally speaking), which is where Singaporean culture would be situated. When researchers first began to theorise contemporary globalisation, there was the fear that the increasing speed and intensity at which this phenomena was taking place would lead to the dissolution of ethnic identities and local particularities. In the West, people posited the melting-pot model of assimilation of new immigrants, while it was affirmed that the rest of the world would eventually succumb to a kind of cultural homogenisation and coca-colonisation—or Americanisation through capitalism (see Glazer and Moynihan (1970) and Ervin and Smith (2008)). For a hyperglobalised nation like Singapore, this was particularly worrisome, and policymakers tried hard to embed a sense of national identity and pride in ethnic traditions (see Chap. 2). But as Appadurai (1996), Canclini (1995), Gleason (1984), Flusty (2004) and many more have observed, no such melting pot and cultural dissolution have happened. Instead, what people have realised, by focusing on globalisation from the ground up (or globalisation with a little-g), is that communities and individuals are finding ways to articulate their own identities with demonstrable agency and self-determination and, in so doing, have been transforming social life, against the grain of capitalism’s homogenising force. The musicians I have written about in this chapter may have only just begun making an impact on Singaporean society and the world. But they

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are exemplars of the self-awareness, empowerment and drive it takes to navigate, question, (re)define, (re)imagine and (re)invent their own multifaceted identities. Singaporean musicians are certainly strongly influenced by the West and other parts of Asia, and there is a long way to go before any so-called Singapore sound may emerge (as we have seen in Chap. 2), but the first step is the one these young musicians from Nen 念, MUSA, SA(仨), Yllis and TZECHAR are taking: embracing all the disparate influences that are constitutive of their identities and making music that expresses this synthesis.

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Nakayama, T. K., & Halualani, R. T. (Eds.). (2010). The Handbook of Critical Intercultural Communication. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell. Parkin, D. (2000). Epilogue: Fieldwork Unfolding. In P. Dresch, W. James, & D. Parkin (Eds.), Anthropologists in a Wider World: Essays on Field Research (pp. 259–275). Berghahn Books. Pountain, D., & Robins, D. (2000). Cool rules: Anatomy of an attitude. Clerkenwell: Reaktion Books. Qin, A. (2015). Q. and A.: Lu Yang on art, ‘uterus man’ and living life on the web. The New York Times. Retrieved from: https://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/27/world/asia/china-art-lu-yangvenice-biennale.html?_r=0 Quek, E. (2017, December 03). The last word on cool. Retrieved from: http://www.straitstimes. com/lifestyle/food/the-last-word-on-cool Rush, B. (2015). Top 20 contemporary Chinese artists. In Asian art platform Retrieved from: https://asianartplatform.com/contemporary-chinese-artists/. SA(仨). (2015). ETHNI-CITY II post-show Q. and A. [Video file]. Unpublished (courtesy of artist). Sanjek, D. (1994). Don’t Have to DJ No More: Sampling and the Autonomous Creator. In M. Woodmansee & P. Jansi (Eds.), The Construction of Authorship: Textual Appropriation in Law and Literature. Duke University Press. Singapore Chinese Cultural Centre. (n.d.). About us. Retrieved from: http://www.singaporeccc. org.sg/about/ Singapore Chinese Orchestra. (n.d.). Retrieved from: https://www.sco.com.sg Stanzel, A. (2016). Chinese culture after the cultural revolution. China Policy Institute Analysis. Retrieved from: https://cpianalysis.org/2016/07/14/ chinese-culture-after-the-cultural-revolution/ Straits Times (2017, October 18). A cool ride. Retrieved from: http://www.straitstimes.com/ singapore/a-cool-ride Straits Times. (n.d.). 9 cool things at Changi Airport T4. [Video File]. Retrieved from: http://www. straitstimes.com/videos/9-cool-things-at-changi-airport-t4/5519292739001 Tan, J.  (2017, March 6). S’porean band TENG ensemble does awesome medley of 12 Disney songs. Mothership. Retrieved from: http://mothership.sg/2017/03/ sporean-band-teng-ensemble-does-awesome-medley-of-12-disney-songs/ Today Online. (2017, May 19). Nation’s past, multiracial make-up gave S’porean Chinese ‘distinct cultural identity’: PM. Retrieved from: http://www.todayonline.com/singapore/ nations-past-multiracial-make-gave-sporean-chinese-distinct-cultural-identity-pm Triple Canopy. (2016, October 18). “Made Vanitas” by TZECHAR. Retrieved from: https://www. canopycanopycanopy.com/contents/made-vanitas Tsuda, T. (1999). Ethnic preferences: Positive minority status of Japanese Brazilians and their ethnic encounters with other minority groups in Brazil. In R. Rustomji-Kerns, R. Srikanth, & L. Mendoza Strobel (Eds.), Encounters: People of Asian descent in the Americas (pp. 209– 222). Boulder: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. TZECHAR. (2015). TZECHAR Presents: A Thuggin’ Journey [Video file]. Retrieved from: https:// vimeo.com/126359783 TZECHAR. (n.d.). Tumblr. Retrieved from: http://tzechar.tumblr.com Wang, J. (2010, April 2010). Brand New China. Cambridge Harvard University Press. Wang, X. (2017, April). Asian futurism and the non-other. E-flux Journal, 81. Retrieved from: http://www.e-flux.com/journal/81/126662/asian-futurism-and-the-non-other/ Wang, H. Imagining Asia: A genealogical analysis (Public event transcript). Problematising Asia: Reflections on the re-emergence of the discourse of Asia, Miliband lectures on culture in the age of global communications. London School of Economics, London, UK. Retrieved from: http://www.lse.ac.uk/website-archive/publicEvents/pdf/20040512Hui.pdf Yeo, N. (2015, December 1). What does support local really mean. Retrieved from: https://lionraw. com/2015/12/01/what-does-support-local-really-mean/

Chapter 7

Playing with Nostalgia: Translation of Artistic Directions of Contemporary Musicians in Singapore Chee-Hoo Lum

Contents 7.1  I ntroduction 7.2  P  ositioning Heritage and Tradition 7.2.1  Riduan Zalani 7.2.2  The TENG Ensemble 7.2.3  Ragha 7.2.4  SA(仨) 7.3  Playing with Nostalgia: An Interpretation References

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7.1  Introduction In these anti-nostalgic, postmodern, and untraditional times of ours, during which it is sometimes said ‘anything goes’, and where the past is interpreted as mere pastiche and so empty of significance, nostalgia can remind us of what is worth arguing about, even fighting for. Thus conceived, it challenges us to ask what exactly it is that we most want to imagine, making it therefore a source of hopefulness, which is the best antidote I know of for radical self-doubt and those forms of intellectual homesickness that are experiences as a loss of direction or weakened resolve, capable of fostering not just lively discussion, but also inspirational foresight. (Halpin 2016, p. 39)

Creating new musical repertoire and expressions can serve as a journey of critically reflecting, discovering and pushing boundaries of who we are as musical, social and cultural beings. This chapter focuses on the artistic directions that some Singaporean contemporary musicians and music groups (Riduan Zalani, Raghavendran Rajasekaran (Ragha), The TENG Ensemble and SA(仨)) have taken and the rationale behind these choices. It will then zoom in on particular musical repertoire of these contemporary musicians and music groups to illustrate in concrete terms how their verbalised artistic directions and creative processes translate Electronic supplementary material The online version of this chapter (https://doi. org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_7) contains supplementary material. © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_7

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into their sound worlds. The chapter will also touch on how the artistic directions and choices of these musicians and music groups are enacted in the education of their own group members and in their collaboration with other musicians, in the programmes they design for school engagements and public arts education and in the portrayal of these artistic directions in social media platforms. Nostalgia, which emerged as a possible theoretical musing from the narratives and musical content of the musicians and music groups, will then be laced through as a common thread for discussion to end the chapter.

7.2  Positioning Heritage and Tradition 7.2.1  Riduan Zalani Riduan Zalani, a prominent Malay percussion musician in Singapore and co-founder and artistic director of NADI Singapura (see Chap. 4 for more in-depth discussions about NADI Singapura), sees the need to create new compositions to promote “where we come from and it’s about innovating something that is truly yours” (R.  Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016). He holds tradition close to heart, seeing “tradition and culture inseparable to the artists; the artists is unique to his point of origin in the era that he lives in” (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016). Riduan creates new compositions, “thinking about what we can do to have something that will resonate with the community… driven by traditional values, traditional elements, culture, music, dance, and theatre” (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016). Tradition is thus viewed in both “‘historicist’ terms, as practices, pomp and ceremony, rituals, symbols, etc., readily identifiable within society as ‘Tradition’ with a capital ‘T’” as well as “located in, and embodied by, discursive practices- a way of talking about (and listening to) the past by reference to cultural practices deemed to represent ‘tradition’” (Sant Cassia 2000, p. 289). Being born and bred in Singapore, Riduan interprets living in the fast-paced and fast-changing multicultural society in musical ways, of creating compositions that will depict movement, constant changes, being modern and “edgy” (represented by the inclusion of popular culture elements and fast-paced rhythms): The growing city that we are in, you can see the organic sound slowly diffusing itself or even grow into… like a web of sound… Layering to form another scape of sound that constantly moves. Nothing is permanent. Of course ‘electronic’ is present. New beats, modern beats are present. You mesh them with the sounds of all these instruments and make a composition out of it. (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016)

At the same time, as we have seen in Chap. 5, Riduan wants to situate the traditions of the Malay sound within the Singaporean community, in his music creations. He yearns and pushes for a Singaporean Malay sound that is uniquely identifiable to the counterparts within the Malay Archipelago:

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I just want to have a product that the Singaporean percussionists, the Malay percussionists have, so the Malaysians, Indonesians, and everybody else know that actually Singaporeans are not quiet. We have something going on. Like I’ve said, we form the Malay Archipelago, the entire Nusantara Melayu and because any musicians whom you met, at least acquainted to the music in the area, will be able to differentiate the sounds coming from Brunei and the sound coming from Indonesia and Malaysia. They can differentiate, but can they differentiate a Malay sound of Singapore? (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016)

Riduan wants to build audience capacity for the traditional within the contemporary: I am concentrating on our local people and especially our Malay audience to build the intellectual and the acceptance and the awareness on the contemporary act, or a contemporary act that focuses on the traditional. (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016)

Riduan’s creative processes begin with the focus on living experiences of the Malays in Singapore, “I start with where I come from… I always use the language as a medium of my creation, as a point of exploration” (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016). There will oftentimes be “elements of electronica, rock, punk, jazz, house music, drum and bass, versus folk, traditional, classical music. And then putting that all together, having a sense of Singapura, where you come from” (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016). Riduan stresses on the words “edgy” and being “accessible” in his musical creations: And that is a constant… is the underlying motive in all the three albums that I have produced. It needs to be accessible, it needs to be a roller coaster ride… you need to hear the Asli, you need to hear the Dondang Sayang, but you still need to have the creeps of the drum [edgy]… there needs to be equal opportunity for the artists to shine. (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016)

An example of Riduan’s musical intent is illustrated below in the percussion composition, “Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!” Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh! The immediate reaction in listening to “Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!” is that of a relentless pulsation. The listener is immediately enveloped in a wall of fast-speed constant metallic drumming interjected with recognisable repeated rhythmic patterns sounded out by different low-toned drums and later on higher-pitched ones. It’s a cacophony of drums coming together, an adrenaline rush to the end. The Malay percussion piece, “Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!” (4:05), was composed by Riduan Zalani for NADI Singapura. It is the fourth track from the album Kata Kita Kota (released 2014) [https://itunes.apple.com/sg/album/kata-kita-kota/ id924288831]. The short description on the CD sleeve for this percussion piece reads, “experience a pandemonium of rhythms from the three mighty instruments, the Gong, Jidur and Hadrah. Defying conventional styles, they all strive to seek a voice of their own amidst the chaos, while staying true to the pulse”. Roughly translated, the three Malay words in the title mean as follows: Kecuh, ruckus; Riuh, chaos; and Gemuruh, thunderous.

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“Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!” is an example of the musical translation of Riduan’s intent in creating new compositions that represent his ideas of being “edgy” and “accessible” of being contemporary while focusing on Malay music traditions. The compositional inspiration for “Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!” came from the basic musical ideas of the Malay kompang processional music (seen here in Fig. 7.1 in the entry of Hadrah 1, 2 & 3 in Section F). According to Riduan, in Singapore, the most common style of kompang playing is the Kompang Muar. It is faster in tempo compared with the Kompang Melayu style and is deemed more suitable for playing during Malay wedding ceremonies as the newly-weds walk down the aisle in the company of the kompang players. The fundamental rhythm underlying kompang music is the inang, and the simplest form of kompang playing consists of three parts: (i) the lalu which is essentially a ­constant downbeat, (ii) the selang which is the constant upbeat that interlocks with the lalu (Fig. 7.1; Hadrah 1 & 2 in Section F shows the interlocking lalu and selang parts) and (iii) the tinka which plays a standardised repeated rhythmic pattern (Fig. 7.1; played by Hadrah 3 in Section F shown below). Other tinka parts can be added to add more colour and interest to the playing as needed. In listening to “Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!”, the listener should be able to identify the familiar kompang rhythm when the distinctive sound of the hadrah enters in Section F (Fig. 7.1). The uniqueness of this piece can be heard right from the beginning with the striking of the gong throughout the piece in a fast, constant repetitive pattern. The gong, instead of being played usually by striking with a mallet while the gong is hanging, is played with the gong on the ground and the performer using two wooden rulers to strike it alternately, creating a unique timbre. Riduan’s musical translation of being “edgy” begins right from the entry of the composition with this insistent gong pattern. Riduan has also created other deviations in this percussion piece from traditional Malay ensemble playing. The combination of instruments used in this percussion piece is not found in the traditional Malay music ensemble. In this instance, Riduan combined the use of the gong, jidur and hadrah. In traditional Malay ensembles, only one jidur is used as “enhancement” to the ensemble. The use of multiple jidurs and dedicating prominent rhythmic lines to the jidurs throughout this percussion piece is another innovative step forward. In this piece, Riduan has also taken musical ideas from rhythms prominent in the Malay Archipelago and “played” with them. As Riduan remarked, “I use a lot of multiplication, subtraction, division, manipulation in my composition”, referring to the extension, truncation or repetition of traditional Malay rhythmic patterns to create new musical expressions while retaining the flavour of the traditional. The other unique feature which is not “visible” in listening through the piece is that the piece is choreographed, focusing on the: capability of the Malay instruments in a performative way [musicians playing on the Malay percussion and dancing, performing silat movements and/or other dramatic elements] as opposed to just playing the instruments [which is often the case in Malay music performance settings where musicians are just playing music accompanying dancers]. (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016)

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Fig. 7.1  Bars 57–60 of “Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!”. (Scored by Riduan Zalani) (Score courtesy of NADI Singapura)

There is a dance/theatrical focus in all of Riduan’s creation, demanding his musicians to be well-versed in acting and dancing beyond their musical skills. This is Riduan’s interpretation of pushing the Malay art form forward within the context of Singapore, defining what he terms as “edgy” and “accessible”, of being contemporary while focusing on Malay music traditions.

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A note on education. In order to further the artistic and musical intent of NADI Singapura, the musicians within NADI go through rigorous training in a number of artistic aspects. According to Riduan, most members who first joined NADI have “zero knowledge of traditional Malay music” (R. Zalani, personal interview, June 17, 2016). Thus, all members had to be exposed to different arts experiences of the Malay Archipelago. These experiences include: (i) Learning about the maintenance of the various Malay instruments. (ii) Development of the ability to skilfully play the different Malay instruments like the different types of rebana, kompang, and jidur and the Arabic instruments like the marwas and the dabuka. (iii) Learning Malay dance forms like the zapin, joget, inang and ronggeng. (iv) Learning the silat (Malay martial art form), singing techniques and theatre practice. (v) Attending workshops by regional and international artists on, for example, ghazal and bugis drumming. All these experiences culminate in Riduan’s vision beyond artistic intent, to expand the number of professional Malay percussion musicians in Singapore. Within the formal education sector, NADI Singapura provides one-off 45-minute assembly programmes to primary and secondary schools through the Arts Education Programme (AEP) under the National Arts Council of Singapore. Riduan designed three different programmes, the first being Rentak Aka I which essentially introduces students to the basic Malay rhythmic patterns through the kompang and body percussion and providing students with some information about the influences of the Malay culture through migration and foreign intervention. Rentak Aka II goes deeper into the Malay rhythmic patterns introduced and moves into singing and dancing, allowing students to clap and dance together to Malay dances like joget, zapin and ronggeng. The third programme, Drums of Singapore and Beyond, first introduces individually the sounds of Malay, Chinese and Indian drums commonly found and heard in Singapore, followed by a sounding together of a combination of these drums to present to students about the “uniqueness” of such combinations in Singapore, adding other drums perhaps from Middle Eastern or Cuban cultures to extend on the notion of including regional and international influences in the mix. As Riduan articulated, the assembly programmes are “fundamentally for students to understand Malay music traditions”, and Riduan feels that the provision of these basics to students and actively engaging them through a listening and hands-on experience will further their interest and understanding in the musical genre. These one-off school experiences while having members of NADI Singapura to perform to students do not introduce students to the rhetoric and artistic intent of what NADI represents in terms of the changing Malay art form in context of the contemporary. Riduan is of the view that students should first be exposed to the fundamentals as without which, there is no basis of talking about the contemporary. Riduan only gets into discussions about these “extensions” with his private students.

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Interestingly, there seems to be an assumption that the concepts of “traditional” (tied closely to the defining of “fundamentals” in Riduan’s terms) and “contemporary” (presence of “popular culture elements” loosely defined) have “relatively fixed and ambiguous meanings, especially when explored from within the framework of the nation state and from perspectives which implicitly or explicitly ­reinforce state-imposed classifications” (Favret Saada 1980; Herzfield 1987 as cited in Sant Cassia 2000, p. 281).

7.2.2  The TENG Ensemble The TENG Ensemble was created as a loose collective of musicians in 2004, “to create awareness in Chinese music” (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). The musicians who were Chinese instrumentalists identified themselves primarily as “teachers, academics, researchers, even conductors in schools. We didn’t really think of ourselves as performers. It was something that we could do, but not necessarily something that we want to pursue” (S.  Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). The ensemble now identifies their repertoire as working “with the ideas of heritage…with traditional and contemporary and we also work with the instrumentation of East and West, and that’s what we straddle with. It’s very clear for us that we want to make the past alive in the present and we model what the present actually can be through the vision of the past” (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). The vision and mission of TENG states, “the ensemble’s works take inspiration from Singapore’s heritage and are presented in a way that is accessible, informational and educational, and representative of Singaporean culture and a Southeast Asian musical language” (The TENG Ensemble website n.d.). Samuel, as artistic director of The TENG Ensemble, embraces the notion of commercial art in the creation of works for the ensemble: I do realise that I make my music not for artists but for the audiences… some artists or some musicians will listen to our music and say, oh, this is easy, you know, that kind of thing. Well, I think musically for performance wise it might be quite easy, but the thought process behind it actually is a lot deeper. So if you are not able to work past the technique, then you can’t see the bigger picture. Yeah. So I don’t have qualms saying that our music is not difficult music but it is the idea behind the music that actually makes people want to cry or people want to listen to your music more, or people feel like, you know, watching your concert. It’s the ideas that we postulate through our music that a lot of people actually get affected by… the notes don’t really have an ability to really move a lot of people all the time. (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016)

It would not be surprising then, for a key aspect of The TENG Ensemble’s performances to be social media based, in terms of the creation of MVs (music videos) to go with their repertoire, to present a multimedia narrative, a nostalgic “memory” that would in Samuel’s terms encapsulate making “the past alive in the present”.

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The social media platform also helps The TENG Ensemble in terms of reaching out to younger audience. The TENG Ensemble in the creation of these MVs, thus, works with: many young, up and coming filmmakers… So you have very different identity for every single one of them. So they can be seen as a picture or an art form or something that we want to say as well. For example, in “Gratitude” (accessible on YouTube), it shows a scene of a Chinese grandmother and a Malay grandson… we want to talk about race relations also that you can actually get in Singapore. And then she is being very tender to her grandson as well, she’s touching him, she’s giving him food and all that. Yeah. And in the opening, he says, ‘ah ma’, he calls her ‘ah ma’, because you can actually get that in Singapore and Malaysia, where you have a Chinese grandmother and a Malay grandson. (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016)

As another example of a constructed narrative through the medium of MV, in The Little White Boat (accessible on YouTube): we combined “The More We Get Together,” which is an English folk song, and “The Little White Boat,” which is a Korean folk song, together. So it’s really a melding of East and West. And we wanted to talk about the Singapore River. It was inspired by the idea of Singapore River, hence “The More We Get Together” because things were actually converged in the port and that’s why Raffles actually came in the first place. And “The Little White Boat” because… the boat actually was on the river. So therefore, you would see in our music video, you will see like the river and all that. So to certain people, we work in a twofold way. If you see it as an audience and if you don’t analyse it, it’s fine. It’s beautiful music and you’re just happy with it. You know, but if you want to think about it a little more critically, we actually had something to say and it’s whether you can catch it or not. It’s not for everyone but I think that’s what art should be, it should be multifaceted, it needs to have different shades. And our art is actually in our ideas, our programming, the way we use songs. And overarching this whole entire thing, there’s this whole entire umbrella that we work with the idea of the heritage that they make the old alive in the present, and that we use some of these things to actually not only to entertain but also to educate and to inform as well. (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016)

In the current configuration of The TENG Ensemble, the “East” is essentially represented by the use of Chinese instruments like the pipa, the sheng and the gehu and the “West” represented by the guitar, cello, keyboards and the use of electronics. The musical works are: created by Singaporean, influenced by Singaporean, and I think the target audience first and foremost, is Singaporean and then after that the wider international reach…we wanted to resonate with local Singaporean…to change the perception of what Chinese music can do, or change the perception of what our instruments can do. (S.  Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016)

As an example in musical terms, the piece “Childhood” composed for TENG (composer, Low Jun Yi; arranger, Huang Peh Linde): comprises of two Malay songs and two Chinese songs, they’re all lullabies. The Malay songs are Burung Kakak Tua and Ikan Kekek and the Chinese songs are San Lun Che, which is the Tricycle, and Ni Wa Wa, which is the Mud Doll… towards the end we actually have a huge counterpointing part where every instrument takes a section… so what are we trying to say? Is this what our multiculturalism is basically all about? That we have to work together so that all four melodies can be able to work together… the idea of this is like we

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transcended the idea of race and culture in that aspect, and that’s really what the TENG Ensemble is about [Fig. 7.2 – beginning of Section E till the end of the piece]. (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016)

A note on education. Beyond The TENG Ensemble, Samuel spoke about the development of the TENG Academy and a research pillar to the now-established company. The intent of the academy is educational in creating awareness for Chinese instruments, “to break stereotypes about some of these instruments… we need to shape people’s perception and ideas of what these instruments are, that they are no longer old or gaudy” (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). There is a strong intent in changing people’s biased perception about the playing of Chinese instruments and being engaged with Chinese music. Samuel related a personal story about this perception: As a young pipa player, I met my uncle (who) said, “Oh, you’re learning the pipa”. I said, “Yeah”. And he said, “What will you do when you grow older?” Then I said, “I guess I can play pipa”. Then he said, “Where? At funerals?” And I was like… why can’t you be a professional pipa player? Is that not a possibility? But then I realise [for] people who are not educated in music, this is not a possibility. It’s wrong, you know, because it’s a Chinese instrument. But if you are a violinist, it’s possible. If you’re a pianist, it’s possible, you know. (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016)

Samuel is thus pushing for the development of a syllabus for the playing of Chinese instruments. The change in perception is to “view the instruments not as Chinese instruments but as international instruments”. The textbooks that will be developed in tandem with the syllabus will be written in English, which in Samuel’s opinion will make them accessible beyond the Chinese-speaking communities around the world. The point is to create a wealth of teaching resources suitable pedagogically for children and beginners.

7.2.3  Ragha Raghavendran Rajasekaran (popularly known as Ragha) has strong foundational experiences in Indian classical (Carnatic) music. Ragha sees a need as part of his musical mission to propagate the knowledge of Indian classical music to as many local students and musicians as possible: I really want Singaporean musicians to at least adopt something of the Indian classical music into their works. Not just thinking about Indian music separately because they are also part of it, cause Indian music is part of the (Singaporean) culture. (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016)

In working with a good number of musicians in the local context, Ragha feels that many musicians want to engage with Indian classical music but often “think it sounds complicated and it’s going to take a long time to understand” (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016). He wants to break the myth and make Indian classical music accessible to these musicians.

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Fig. 7.2  Childhood (composer, Low Jun Yi; arranger, Huang Peh Linde) (Score courtesy of The TENG Ensemble)

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Fig. 7.2 (continued)

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Particularly for musicians, Ragha would introduce raga1-based compositions that he has created to involve his collaborative musicians in performance. As he explained: I tried to introduce Indian classical traits, like rhythmic traits, so like the ending of the song with the drummer and the tabla. The drummer will have to learn how Indian classical music traits happen like the 4 bar 4 bar 1 bar or putting into melodies that sound like Indian classical music and making them play the ragas during the improvisation. I put it (ragas) in such a way that… they will play and want to come back to it. They will ask me what’s the scale so that they can play with it. So that’s the idea of just absorbing (Indian classical music), really helping people expand vocabulary. (R.  Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016)

Ragha thus immerses musicians into Indian musical traits like ragas and talas as they work through his compositions that infuse jazz and Indian Carnatic music. Ragha will speak with the musicians about the specific ragas and talas that he uses as the musicians work through the compositions. It is the music-making and the “doing” that Ragha feels will be most helpful to the musicians in expanding their musical vocabulary and getting them “in the vibe of the music”. Another perspective that Ragha has in terms of making Indian classical music more accessible to the general public and local audience is through the formation of a band like RaghaJazz. Ragha remarked: In RaghaJazz, I never intend for the music to reach Indians or Tamil speaking audience or language-based audience…so the demographics of the band itself are the demographics of the people that are around me. For example, I have a lot of Chinese friends and I work a bit in Malaysia so… it shows the society I am sort of around and I try to bring that value into the music. When people see like there are Chinese people playing the music, there seems to be a balance here, [making them] feel like it is accessible, I just think it is psychologically accessible. Cause when you see a group of Malays performing, then you see a lot of Malays watching the show, so the other people feel like they might not understand the language or what’s happening. It’s the same like when you see Indian musicians performing together, it’s again like Tamil based, they will cater to the majority. So I just thought of everyone coming together. It’s more like a universal idea. (R. Rajasekaran, personal interview, June 28, 2016)

In Ragha’s opinion, a band made up of people from different ethnic ascriptions would possibly reach out to a wider range of audience as opposed to musician groups that are made up of members from the same ethnic ascription. One can argue for or against such a perspective, but more importantly, Ragha spoke to the demographics of the band just being musicians that he works with, is surrounded by and influences his music-making and creation. It is about a coming together of musical minds regardless of specialised musical genres or racial divides but opening ears and finding musical spaces that would allow intersections and interactions between musicians. An example of Ragha’s composition that dabbled in jazz and Indian Carnatic tradition is “Om Shanti”. 1  Raga and tala are essential elements in Indian classical music with raga defining the melodic and tala the rhythmic aspects of the music.

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Om Shanti. This version of “Om Shanti” is scored for the voice, bansuri (Carnatic flute), keyboard, electric bass and tabla. Ragha’s musical training is primarily in Indian Carnatic music and jazz. In this piece, the musical influences of both genres are intricately woven together, in an attempt to carve out a new musical possibility that respects both jazz and Carnatic idioms yet moving away from traditional interpretations of both genres (Fig. 7.3). The drone of the entire piece (which is typical in Indian Carnatic pieces to anchor the harmonic base to the piece and usually played on the tanpura) is set to Ab, while the focus note is a third above, at C.  The tempo of the piece is set at “medium swing” clearly indicating Ragha’s jazz intent alongside jazz chord progressions (e.g. the 7ths), articulated within Sections A–D. Carnatic Influences of the Melody. Section A In bars 1–2, the melody utilises the Mohanam raga (pentatonic major), switching into a typical “Hindustani leg” in bars 3–4. Bar 5 sees the utilisation of the Maandu raga juxtaposed with the Sucharitra raga. Bar 6 moves into the Valaji (pentatonic) raga. Bars 7–8 simulates a Keerwani (harmonic minor) raga. Section B does not make use of any raga-related elements. As Ragha puts it, it is just a “groovy repeated melodic pattern”. Section C. Repeat of the beginning of Section A. Section D. Gayatri mantra melody (inspired by Saraswathi). The singer sings the Gayatri Mantra dedicated to the sun deity, Savitar, which Ragha explains as a move away from darkness into the light, of gaining supreme knowledge and wisdom. “Om Shanti” (in Sanskrit) is an invocation of peace and “Namo nama-ha” comes from kirtan singing (devotional singing with origins from many parts of India) intended to “give praise to”. In this instance, “Namo nama-ha” follows “Om Shanti”, interpreted as “in praise of an invocation of peace”. Interestingly, in traditional/religious settings, the Gayatri Mantra, Om Shanti and kirtan singing do not appear within the same context and are sung/chanted together. It is the varied influences from Ragha’s life, of Hinduism, yoga and new world kirtan that prompted him to bring these texts together. Section E. Repetitive cyclic singing of Om Shanti Namo nama-ha.

7.2.4  SA(仨) Contemporary dance choreographer, Pichet Klunchun, whose works have long been at the forefront of challenging staunch preservers of traditions, had this to say about art professionals who train and put all their effort into their art form, “Our duty is to innovate new things for the future and by progressing, we won’t repeat the old”. The role of contemporary artists is to continue to create new work, “and the public will decide what has value and what does not” (Ketbungkan 2017).

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Fig. 7.3  Om Shanti. (Scored by Ragha) (Score courtesy of Ragha)

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SA(仨), made up of a group of three Singaporean musicians (Andy (Dizi/ Didgeridoo/Vocal/Electronics), Natalie (Guzheng/Electronics), Cheryl (Drums/ Percussion/Electronics)), plays musical genres ranging from world, instrumental, live looping, electronics and experimental music. The ethos of creating new work as progression of the art form is very much in line with SA(仨)’s trajectory as a contemporary music trio, feeling the need as musicians to constantly explore and experiment with sounds, in an attempt to break new grounds in their creative processes. This ethos translates into how they would approach the listening, making and creating of music. The Pursuit (2015). [https://sathecollective.bandcamp.com/track/the-pursuit] The initial impression of The Pursuit is like its title suggests, an ominous musical narrative of intrigue, a feeling of people in pursuit of others perhaps for a crime committed or in getting to the bottom of a mystery. The listener is treated to dark quiet moments in motion, jarring ‘flight’ scenes (noise episodes created by the instruments), and an ‘oriental’ sounding episode from a combination of an ‘Arabic’ sounding Chinese flute melody, distinctive guzheng and Chinese percussion timbres.

The Pursuit marks the transition of SA(仨) from their first phase of playing fully composed pieces to the inclusion of freer improvisational possibilities within their repertoire. The title of the piece came after a post-rationalisation of their creative process. The title was also inspired by the Hollywood film, “The Pursuit of Happyness”, in tandem with SA’s direction forward as a collective towards their next musical and life phase. The creative process for the piece began with the three musicians wanting to return to the fundamentals of music (rhythm and melody) and experiment with different possibilities. Playing with and juxtaposing odd rhythmic structures was an experimental process they attempted. As an example, Cheryl on percussion would play in a regular 4 beat pattern, while Nat on the guzheng would be playing in 5s, while Andy on the flute played in subdivisions of 1. This experimental process led to the eventual decisions about the rhythmic structure of the piece. SA(仨) also wanted to play with varied timbral qualities of their instruments and extended techniques. As Cheryl had a penchant for noise music, a section on noise was added to the piece with the musicians improvising the section. As an example, Andy could choose to do overtone playing on his flute, Nat bowing on the untuned part of her guzheng while playing random articulations on the tuned guzheng strings, while Cheryl played with “spam” on cymbals. Melodically, the piece had “Arabic ideas”. This stemmed from the musicians’ interactions with Malay musicians in the community, listening to a whole range of music from the Malay Archipelago and the Arabic region and reading up on maqams. The intention of SA(仨) was not to gain complete knowledge of the specifics of Arabic maqam (melodic modes) but to approximate their sounds/tonality towards an “Arabic sound”. In this instance, the guzheng was retuned such that the note C was detuned to Bb while keeping the rest of the strings within the C pentatonic. The flute remained in G# tonic while shifting 4ths and 7ths as needed (Fig. 7.4). Expanding sound worlds. SA(仨) created a series of music play-jam programmes for early learners (up to age 8), titled “Little Creatures”, “dedicated to

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Fig. 7.4  The Pursuit (SA(仨)) (scored by Andy Chia) (Score courtesy of SA(仨))

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Fig. 7.4 (continued)

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creating space to allow children the opportunity to experience free play, experiment and explore musical instruments, sounds and musical ideas” (taken from write-up of Little Creatures programme proposal). The idea came about as one of the SA(仨) members, Natalie, has experiences as an early childhood music educator, and the musician group could tap on her expertise. The programme of “Little Creatures” includes: (i) SA(仨) playing live improvised music within the created musical space as facilitators (Natalie and one other assistant facilitator) elicit musical responses and involvement from the children. (ii) Exploring different types of sound in terms of timbral and dynamic qualities. (iii) Introducing diverse range of instruments, giving children access to instruments from different cultures. (iv) Engender an approach to musical instruments as a tool, to experiment, interact and explore. (v) Transformation of the classroom setting into a “magical” space, an aesthetically inviting space (through lighting, sound engineering, props, backdrops, etc.) for children to be immersed in the music listening/making experience. At the end of each “Little Creatures” programme, Natalie will introduce SA(仨) members to the audience (which will include the parents of the children attending the programme) and the instruments that were being used in the programme. The ideas of exploration and improvisation will also be articulated as the key philosophy behind SA(仨)’s creative process. Parents and children will also get a sense that “different forms of Chinese music actually exist beyond what they might know in Chinese Orchestras or other Chinese ensembles in schools” (N. Tse, personal interview, February 28, 2017). Parents are made aware of how much fun children can have during the play-jam sessions in exploring and experimenting which is not necessarily linked to particular types of “accessible” children’s music or music of the Western classical/pop. As Natalie remarked, “Hopefully this will help us (SA(仨)) to grow future generation of audience…we are not just educating the kids but the parents as well” (N. Tse, personal interview, February 28, 2017). SA(仨) believes in educating children at a young age about the opening of ears to diverse sounds and the expansiveness of the music creative process. SA(仨) sees young children as being “more receptive, imaginative and creative. They are less tainted by society or certain educational systems that we have in place, including social and family systems…. So if we want to change a generation, why not start from the very young” (N. Tse, personal interview, February 28, 2017). SA(仨) also created 40-minute assembly programmes for engagement in primary, secondary and pre-tertiary institutions through the National Arts Council’s (NAC) Arts  Education Programme (AEP). One of these programmes introduces SA(仨)’s music and their creative processes. The program begins with a demonstration of how the acoustic sounds of dizi, guzheng and Chinese drums are like within traditional repertoire settings, before showing students extended techniques that SA(仨) utilises with and without the addition of electronics. SA(仨) then performs

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for the students and focuses also on a discussion about improvisation and SA(仨)’s creative processes. The larger intention for SA(仨) in entering school settings and engaging students in the work they do as musicians, is the hope to grow: an awareness that many kinds of music exists, different sounds exists, and the awareness towards different kinds of sounds is important. Sensitivity towards sound which then could translate into daily aesthetic experiences for themselves. (N.  Tse, personal interview, February 28, 2017)

SA(仨) is interested in exposing students to what is musically not as “familiar” and “comforting”, “we are working on the notion of what arts should be, expanding the knowing, expanding the awareness [of sound]” (N.  Tse, personal interview, February 28, 2017). More recently, SA(仨) has been approached by the Arts Education Branch (AEB) within the Ministry of Education, Singapore, to create a webisode (online video) for the purposes of teaching and learning in secondary general music programmes, “to introduce SA(仨) as who we are, the second segment is to workshop our creative process and the third is to create an activity for the students” (A.  Chia, personal interview, February 28, 2017). The intention is for students to be able to view this webisode in their own time but in tandem with the general music programme in schools. The intention of AEB inviting SA(仨) to do the webisode is “to demonstrate the diversity in ethnic music” within Singapore.

7.3  Playing with Nostalgia: An Interpretation The term nostalgia, Greek in origin, consists of the combination of “nostos” referring to a return to one’s home and “algos”, which means pain or grief (Oxford Dictionary 2017). Nostalgia emerged in the seventeenth century as a medical condition, labelled by the physician Johannes Hofer, and as an infectious disease caused by “the sad mood originating from the desire to return to one’s native land” (Hofer 1934, p. 381). Hofer believed that young people living away from home were most susceptible as they were away from familiar environments causing them to become obsessed with memories of home (Lems 2016). Nostalgia has been discussed, theorised, critiqued and/or researched across the fields of philosophy, anthropology, education, social psychology, psychoanalysis and tourism, just to name a few. The American poet and critic, Susan Stewart (1988), links nostalgia to a condition of the postmodern world, a way of dealing with temporality, a tool towards meaning-making in the face of pluralism and fluctuation: Nostalgia is a sadness without an object, a sadness which creates a longing that of necessity is inauthentic because it does not take part in lived experience. Rather it remains behind and before the experience…Hostile to history and its invisible origins, and yet longing for an impossibly pure context of lived experience at a place of origin, nostalgia wears a distinctly utopian face, a face that turns toward a future-past, a past which has only ideological reality. (Stewart 1984, p. 23)

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Nostalgia plays an ambiguous position between the past and present; it “does not return us to a stable fixed home, but to a deep sense of uncertainty” (Lems 2016, p.  435). Nostalgia “remains a form of longing…proves to be much more than a (post)modern refusal to accept history’s progress…poses a challenge to the notion that temporality dominates over memory, place and identity…showing something profound about memory and the imagination and throws light on the continuously shifting interplay among self, time and world” (Lems 2016, p. 435). In the two musicians and two music groups examined, a common thread surrounding their artistic and educational directions involve nostalgic soundings about heritage and tradition. Their articulations about heritage is closely linked to Cassia’s (2000) definition as: a mode of cultural production of communities of discourse that has recourse to the past. It is “invented” by constantly being “rediscovered.” This involves not just a change in musical style and content, but an accompanying re-articulation of the relationship between a music and its culture. (p. 289)

Tradition, on the other hand, as seen through the narratives of the musicians and music groups, seems to correspond to cultural historian Raymond Williams’ definition as “significant received and recovered elements of the past which represents a desired community” (1981, p. 187) or Hobsbawm’s (1983) description as “particular sets of practices or embodiments of practice that seek to inculcate certain values and norms…attempt to establish continuity with a suitable historic past” (p.1 as cited in Halpin 2016, p. 35). In articulating their creative processes, the musicians and music groups would make varied references to preserving, sustaining, transforming and/or making accessible their musical heritage and tradition, particularly in the case of Riduan, Ragha and The TENG Ensemble. Even with SA(仨), a counter narrative to heritage and tradition looms, as they react by creatively creating alternative sound worlds to mask themselves from being visually and aurally identified as Chinese instrumentalists (as seen in Chap. 6). The responses of the musicians seem to suggest a level of preoccupation with associations or disassociations of the past with the present, which can be interpreted as an imperialist nostalgia, conjuring anthropological images of the “vanishing primitive” or “mourning the passing of traditional society” (Rosaldo 1989). The descriptive narratives and musical soundings served out by these musicians and music groups can thus be seen as imaginative nostalgic evocations of tradition(s) drawing positive attention through music to “establish a continuity with a suitable historic past” (Hobsbawm 1983, p. 1). Tradition and heritage are definitely in the minds and creative processes of these musicians and music groups, echoing Robinson’s (1987) call that: no human society can prosper without tradition, but tradition if it is to be kept in good heart needs constantly to be rescued from those who would preserve it from change…if it is to be kept in good health, it must be by a continuous process of organic renewal. (p. 29)

The emerging and changing musical nostalgic evocations created by the musicians and music groups can thus be interpreted as this “continuous process of

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organic renewal”, sometimes referencing nostalgia as an existential metaphor, “a feeling of sadness for a collective home, the language of childhood, and for the popular folklore that had been lost and recreated” (Pourtova 2013, p. 39). The articulation in Chap. 4 on “romanticising the kampong” through the creative works of NADI Singapura clearly illustrates this nostalgic stance. More than that, the nostalgia derived from romanticising the kampong serves the function of social connectedness, allowing the members of NADI and the Malay community they intend to reach out to, to “perceive consistency between their past and present”, allowing one to feel “intensely alive and authentic” (Ryan and Deci 2001, p.  146 as cited in Sedikides et al. 2016, p. 534). Another offering of nostalgia presented by Pickering and Keightley (2006) suggesting “not only a search for ontological security in the past, but also as a means of taking one’s bearings for the road ahead in the uncertainties of the present” (p. 921) seems to fit in the way creative processes have been charted by these local musicians and music groups. Taking Riduan’s “Kecuh! Riuh! Gemuruh!” as a case in point, the musical association to Malay kompang processional music serves as a nostalgic hook for any listener familiar with the rhythmic patterns, while the playing of the processional rhythmic patterns on the hadrahs in this piece serves to open up a new timbral possibility that departs from past practices, “testing” its acceptance with the community. A different form of play with nostalgia is presented in the creative works of The TENG Ensemble. Reiterating what the artistic director of The TENG Ensemble, Samuel Wong (who professes his embracing of commercial art), explicitly said about their works, “we take inspiration from Singapore’s heritage… It’s very clear for us that we want to make the past alive in the present and we model what the present actually can be through the vision of the past” (S. Wong, personal interview, September 26, 2016). This vision is clearly made manifest in their choice and arrangements of songs/melodies (e.g. familiar local folk songs, popular Chinese tunes from the 70s, local composed national songs, etc.), the titles to their works (“Childhood”, “Reminiscence”, etc.) and their creation of music videos (MVs) that incorporate scenes (e.g. familiar Singaporean landmarks, re-enactment of vanished traditions, etc.) to evoke “emotional heartstrings” particularly for local audiences. Nostalgia in this instance can be seen as “a term referring to capriciously sentimental and variously commodified forms of the past” (Grainge (2002) as cited in Pickering and Keightley (2006, p. 922)). The use of MVs also cleverly invokes commercial nostalgia which “teaches us to miss the things we have never lost and armchair nostalgia that exists without any lived experience of the yearned-for-time” (Hutcheon (1998) as cited in Gammon 2002, p. 61). Music used in cinematography (in this instance, MVs), as suggested by Flinn (1992, p. 50, as cited in Pickering and Keightley (2006, p. 935), “repeatedly borne the burden of nostalgia, functioning ‘as a sort of conduit to connect listeners  – and commentators  – to an idealised past, offering them the promise of a retrieval of lost utopian coherence’”. The MVs created by The TENG Ensemble alongside their use of social media platforms such as YouTube and Facebook to promote their works embrace the nostalgia boom in today’s commercial art, “for technology can not only radically change the world we

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live in but also project carefully crafted images of a better yesterday by a media who realise that history is a very profitable commodity” (Goulding 1999 as cited in Gammon 2002, p. 63). Nostalgia’s connection to the homeland can also be articulated in terms of the nation state (Singapore in this instance), a tool to evoke emotions (e.g. The TENG Ensemble through the MVs in projecting the harmony of race and culture) and “a collective disregarding, at least temporarily, of generational and other divisions” (Raspa (1984) as cited in Hutcheon and Valdes (1998, p.  22)). These carefully crafted nostalgic musical messages are emblematic of The TENG Ensemble, in line with current entertaining nostalgia booms of “a search for home, identity and authenticity” (Niemeyer 2016, p.  28) and continue to pave the way forward in their artistic direction. Perhaps a further probe into The TENG Ensemble’s creative works as consumed nostalgia is to ask if these works have potential for “psychological and cultural growth” or “if it transforms or calls into question our identities” (Cross 2015, p. 247). In the case of Ragha, his push for interested local musicians to engage with Indian Carnatic music stems from his personal view that because the Singaporean Indian community has and is part of the country’s cultural fabric, local musicians should “at least adopt something of the Indian classical music into their works”. Ragha in collaboration with other musicians and music groups has utilised “Om Shanti” a number of times as an entry point for musicians to actively engage with the sounds of the Indian Carnatic fused with jazz, configuring differently each time to suit varying instrumentation. This is Ragha’s attempt in making Indian Carnatic music accessible to these musicians where he assimilates musical elements of the Indian Carnatic with jazz elements to demonstrate and engage with musicians actively in a collaborative process. Ragha’s relationship with Indian Carnatic music “can be valued as potentially democratic, opening up new spaces for the articulation of the past and acting as a mode of assimilating this to the rapidly changing modern environment” (Pickering and Keightley 2006, p. 923). From a social psychological standpoint, Ragha’s nostalgic stance on Indian Carnatic music has enabled better “initiative (agency) and social relationships (communion)” (Hepper et  al. 2014, p. 744). Members of SA(仨) often ponder about their complex identities as Chinese instrumentalists situated within the multicultural space of Singapore. As musicians of Chinese ascription whose main instruments are identifiably Chinese (guzheng, dizi, Chinese percussion) but play repertoire that is often not identifiably Chinese but experimental and improvisatory, SA(仨) (Andy, Natalie and Cheryl) have often found it problematic to negotiate and manage perceptions of stakeholders (audience, funders, musicians, etc.) about their musical identities. This is further compounded by the vulnerabilities of being born into a young, technologically savvy and multicultural nation where a national identity fostered through the arts is still an open, emerging and challenging process. As Natalie poignantly remarked: I think for me it’s still a very complex and confusing identity…because we all still have the association with our host culture [culture of their forefathers] which is like for us it will be China…and we haven’t really found what it means to be a Singaporean Chinese…or just to be Singaporean without the ethnic tag. (N. Tse, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

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Cheryl articulated her “ethnic sound” dilemma: I think for me it’s not that important, the ethnic…Cause I don’t feel like I’m very Chinese…I don’t really give a shit about that. It’s more about just using the instruments because I’m very comfortable with this [happened to be trained in Chinese percussion], this is the scale that I have…It’s more of using our instruments as an extension of what we want to do in our heads…That said, our instruments are all very distinct, which is also why we don’t have to consider the point about maintaining that sort of an ‘ethnic’ sound because immediately it will sound ethnic in a certain way. It’s very hard to run away from that sound. (C. Ong, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

For Andy, “We are not exactly looking to preserve anything, if not we will be playing covers of old pieces. But what we are trying to do is to bring, to make music more in line with the current society” (A.  Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015). Andy thus stresses the significance of creating and playing original music as it reflects what musicians are encountering in the lived and living moment. Coupled with the pursuit for original music is a narrative tied to a sense of nostalgia in trying to regain a closer-knit community and the loss of a vibrancy of traditional culture. As Andy lamented: For me, it’s really about what we used to see when we were kids. It was, the amount of culture that we had that we saw on the streets, the void decks, everywhere, it was so vibrant at that point in time. And then there was just this huge decline in terms of exposure to performances. When was the last time wayang kulit happened in Singapore? When was the last time we saw hand puppetry that is not curated? I was living in a HDB on the 12th floor and within the floor itself, I had a Malay neighbor, I had an Indian neighbor, and we were friends with each other and we played with each other… and the parents would take care of us, like “Hey, there’s food here, come!” (A. Chia, personal interview, October 16, 2015)

Pickering and Keightley (2006) astutely pointed out, “uncertainty and insecurity in present circumstances create fertile ground for a sentimental longing for the past, or for a past fondly reconstructed out of selectively idealised features” (p. 925). Andy, Cheryl and Natalie are of the view that in their present living conditions, the sense of community (gathering and coming together of friendly neighbours) is no longer as it was in their childhood years, “adopting the modern Westernized type of concept rather than kampong, less community, more of individual” (Cheryl, post Ethni-­ city II performance interview). This nostalgic yearning could, beyond musical growth (as articulated in Chap. 4), perhaps partially prompted SA’s need to collaborate and “play” with local musicians, to regain community and vibrancy of culture (traditional or otherwise) through a musical gathering of improvisation and experimentation. In The Pursuit, SA(仨) explored juxtaposing varying rhythmic metres between the musicians, played with detuning and extended techniques with their Chinese instruments to create new sound worlds while hooking on to references of “Arabic” and “noise” as their primary music materials. The deliberate non-reference to Chinese music despite the timbral giveaways from the distinct sounds of the Chinese instruments and the approximate music cultural referencing to “Arabic” music

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seemed to hark at a postmodern articulation of nostalgia where it is being “called up, exploited, and ironized…the very urge to look backward for authenticity, and, at the same moment, a sometimes shameless invoking of the visceral power that attends the fulfillment of the urge” (Hutcheon 1998, p. 23). Another interpretation of SA’s creative processes through a musical work like The Pursuit can be seen as an attempt to re-territorialise tradition, relocating “‘primitive art in civilized places’ (Price 1989) in the name of a supra-cultural aesthetic” (Sant Cassia 2000, p. 297). Nostalgia nudges at the creative works of these Singaporean musicians and musical groups. The search for a distinctive musical voice within the multiracial state of Singapore, a hyperglobalised state in constant fluctuation, has led these musicians to a critical attachment or purposeful detachment to migrant living musical cultures (of the Chinese, Malay and Indian) that exist within its fabric. There is ambiguity in the relationship between the past and present as Connell and Gibson (2003) articulated in the music of migrants, “where a sense of loss associated with the past coexists with a sense of longing associated with the future” epitomising “dream and nostalgia combined” (as cited in Pickering and Keightley 2006, p. 936). Nostalgia in association with the artistic directions of these musicians and music groups can be seen as: a new way of imagining communities, harnessed in and by the post nation-state, an attempt at a connivance of a recovery of a lost childhood, a return to the m(other)land… erosion of memory into (and as) history [creating] new communities of listening…“united as members of an imagined world of taste and practice” (Slobin 1994, p. 19, as cited in Sant Cassia 2000, p. 299)

References Primary Sources (Interviews) Chia, A. (2015, October 16). Personal Interview. Chia, A. (2017, February 28). Personal Interview. Ong, C. (2015, October 16). Personal Interview. Rajasekaran, R. (2016, June 28). Personal Interview. Tse, N. (2015, October 16). Personal Interview. Tse, N. (2017, February 28). Personal Interview. Wong, S. (2016, September 26). Personal Interview. Zalani, R. (2016, June 17). Personal Interview.

Secondary Sources Connell, J., & Gibson, C. (2003). Soundtracks: Popular music, identity and place. London: Routledge. Cross, G. (2015). Consumed nostalgia. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Gammon, S. (2002). Fantasy, nostalgia and the pursuit of what never was. In S.  Gammon & J.  Kurtzman (Eds.), Sport tourism: Principle and practice (pp.  61–71). Eastbourne: LSA Publications. Halpin, D. (2016). Dancing with eyes wide open: On the role of nostalgia in education. London Review of Education, 14(3), 31–40. Hepper, et  al. (2014). Pancultural nostalgia: Prototypical conceptions across cultures. Emotion, 14(4), 733–747. Hobsbawm, E. (1983). Inventing traditions. In E. Hobsbawm & T. Ranger (Eds.), The invention of tradition (pp. 1–5). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hofer, J. (1934). Medical dissertation on nostalgia. (C. K. Anspach, Trans.). Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 2, 376–391 (Original work published 1688). Hutcheon, L. (1998). Irony, nostalgia and the postmodern. Toronto: University of Toronto. Hutcheon, L., & Valdés, M. J. (1998). Irony, nostalgia, and the postmodern: A dialogue. Poligrafias, 3(1998-2000), 18–41. Ketbungkan, K. (2017). It’s innovate or die for Thailand’s ‘demon’ dance master. Retrieved March 14, 2017, from http://www.khaosodenglish.com/life/arts/2017/03/12/ innovate-die-thailands-demon-dance-master/ Lems, A. (2016). Ambiguous longings: Nostalgia as the interplay among self, time and world. Critique of Anthropology, 36(4), 419–438. Niemeyer, K. (2016). Digital nostalgia. Media Development, 4, 27–30. Oxford Dictionaries. (2017). Nostalgia. Retrieved July 20, 2017, from https://en.oxforddictionaries. com/definition/nostalgia Pickering, M., & Keightley, E. (2006). The modalities of nostalgia. Current Sociology, 54(6), 919–941. Pourtova, E. (2013). Nostalgia and lost identity. Journal of Analytical Psychology, 58, 34–51. Price, S. (1989). Primitive art in civilized places. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Robinson, E. (1987). The language of mystery. London: SCM Press. Rosaldo, R. (1989). Imperialist nostalgia. Representations, 26, 107–122. Ryan, R. M., & Deci, E. L. (2001). On happiness and human potentials: A review of research on hedonic and eudaimonic wellbeing. Annual Review of Psychology, 52, 141–166. Sant Cassia, P. (2000). Exoticizing discoveries and extraordinary experiences: “Traditional” music, modernity, and nostalgia in Malta and other Mediterranean societies. Ethnomusicology, 44(2), 281–230. Sedikides, C., et al. (2016). Nostalgia fosters self-continuity: Uncovering the mechanism (social connectedness) and consequence (eudaimonic well-being). Emotion, 16(4), 524–539. Stewart, S. (1984). On longing: Narrative of the miniature, the gigantic, the souvenir, the collection. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins UP. Stewart, S. (1988). The forest. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. The TENG Ensemble. (n.d.). Retrieved from http://www.thetengcompany.com/about

Chapter 8

Fieldwork in Singapore’s Music Scene: Reflections and Dimensions to Explore Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

Anthropology demands an open-mindedness with which one must look and listen, record in astonishment and wonder that which one would not have been able to guess. (Margaret Mead 1977, p. ix)

Contents 8.1  Concerning Our Research Trajectory 8.2  Contending with Conventions 8.3  The Spaces Between and the “Field” Reframed 8.4  Presenting the Self 8.5  Gender Dimensions 8.6  The Insider/Outsider Dichotomy 8.7  Musicians and Their Practices in a Mediated Field 8.8  Giving Back to Musicians and the Public 8.9  Final Thoughts References

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Reflexivity has been a significant part of ethnography since the 1980s, and it developed for several reasons. According to Barz and Cooley (2008), reflexive ethnography “works to redress the insufficiencies of colonial ethnography that positions the ethnographer outside the study community in an Archimedian vantage point from which to view and represent the Other” (p. 20). It also rejects the modern paradigm of scientific empiricism and objectivity (see Clifford and Marcus 1986, p. 22; see also Myerhoff and Ruby 1982, p. 15). The reflexive turn emerged as an attempt to mitigate these problems. Reflexivity allows the researcher to identify her position in relation to other cultures, individuals, communities and cultural practices and to her own culture, as well as her epistemological stance and states of being. As such, “reflexive ethnography is keenly aware of the experience and of the personal context of experience” (Barz and Cooley 2008, p. 20), in other words, the inherent subjectivity of the  (field) research experience. This representation of one’s subjectivity provides readers with an insight into the research process, and into how knowledge is actively constructed and produced. It is now an important part of the discipline of © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_8

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anthropology to disclose and reflect upon one’s experiences over the course of the fieldwork process. The objective of this chapter is therefore reflexive. It is based primarily on my own thoughts and experiences doing field research in the Singapore music scene, and I incorporate some of the reflections of my fellow researcher Chee-Hoo. In terms of structure, I will first lay out our research direction and how its trajectory evolved over time in response to our findings. I will then reflect upon a few of the limitations we encountered in our field research, following which I will argue for the expanded notion of the “field” as a means to overcome the constraints tied to a more conventional form of community-based research. In line with this idea of an expanded field, I will look at how presenting oneself affects outcomes in field research, followed by some thoughts on the gender dynamics and the insider/outsider dichotomy that I found to be present in the music scene (and their impact on our data). Next, I describe how technology, in particular the Internet, not only influenced how our fieldwork was done, but led to a further expansion of our conception of the “field”. Finally, I share the team’s attempts to “give back” to the community and the music groups we studied, and I outline my thoughts on the significance of a praxis-based research as both a complement to more “traditional” research methods, and an ethical stance that may be espoused by community-based researchers, especially those working in the arts. It is my hope that these candid reflections may help field researchers ponder about what counts as data in our globalised world of interconnected subjectivities, about their process of data collection within a given social group, and about the complex, dialectic relationship between the self and whoever one is researching.

8.1  Concerning Our Research Trajectory As described in the introduction to this volume, our research was instigated by Chee-Hoo’s curiosity about “the use of ethnic instruments to play different kinds of repertoire” among the small yet highly interconnected network of local musicians in Singapore (C.-H. Lum, email communication, Jul 11, 2017). The main field research took place from June 2016 to February 2017, principally in Singapore (though some fieldwork was also carried out in New York City and virtually from February to May 2017). In the very beginning, we identified several music groups and individual musicians which met the initial criteria of our research scope: they play traditional Asian instruments but in nontraditional ways, they compose their own music, and they were “willing to allow the research team to probe deeply into their creative space and processes” (C.-H. Lum, email communication, Jul 11, 2017). The initial lineup focused on two musical groups, SA(仨) and BronzAge Gamelan, and two individual musicians, Riduan Zalani and Raghavendran Rajasekaran. However, soon after we began conducting interviews, it became apparent that we needed to shift our research direction and expand our scope.

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First, we discovered that BronzAge Gamelan was, at the time, going through a leadership transition and, instead of focusing solely on creating original ­compositions, was mostly engaged in commercial gigs. Second, we realised that Singapore has quite a number of established and emerging music groups that play traditional Asian instruments in nontraditional ways, all of whom are actively contributing to the local music scene, collaborating with one another and developing their own particular identities. We decided to expand our research to other bands and musicians, in order to get a more holistic understanding of this musical ecosystem. As explained in Chap. 1, we were particularly interested in the younger generation of local musicians—millennials or Gen X Singaporeans (from their early twenties through to their thirties). For all these reasons, the groups we decided to focus on grew to include Flame of the Forest (which features a sitar and a tabla), Nen 念 (three Chinese instrumentalists), RaghaJazz (which includes a bansuri and a tabla), The TENG Ensemble (mainly featuring Chinese instruments), KULCHA (which includes a bansuri, pipa and gambus), NADI Singapura (Malay percussion) and later, MUSA, SBT Trio and yIN Harmony, all of whom make use of a variety of traditional Asian instruments. We also reached out to individuals who play active roles in the local music scene, such as music industry professionals, critics, teachers, composers and practitioners of traditional instruments, namely, Zubir Abdullah, Syafiqah ‘Adha Sallehin, Ghanavenothan Retnam, Wang Chenwei, Tan Qing Lun, Benjamin Lim Yi, Desmond Chew and Daniel Peters. The biographies of all the individuals and music groups that contributed to our research and appear in our book are detailed in Chap. 10. As we came to understand the myriad of ways in which young Singaporean musicians are negotiating the idea of tradition, and engaging with it in their music and constructions of culture and identity, we began to question our initial research parameters. In order to explore these multifaceted identifications and how musicians maintain, appropriate and innovate upon tradition, we could not limit our research criteria to the usage of traditional instruments. Many other musicians are exploring questions of tradition and heritage in their musical and personal identities without necessarily using any such instruments. The inverse is also true: some traditional instrumentalists are not at all interested in investigating ideas of tradition or heritage and simply use their instruments to play other genres. It is then that I began to look into two Singaporean musical entities—TZECHAR and Yllis—whose music and personal conceptions of identity and heritage added fresh and unexplored dimensions to our research. With the addition of these two music groups, the geographic scope of our research expanded, since TZECHAR is based in the suburbs of Melbourne and Yllis in New York City. I was fortunate enough to be able to carry out some field research with Yllis in New  York City and did so virtually with TZECHAR.  Interestingly, the multilocal nature of the latter part of our research helped us grasp more fully the transnational dimension of many Singaporean musicians’ experiences at both personal and professional levels. Even for those based in Singapore, their biographical cartographies spread out as far and wide as New Zealand, India, Malaysia, China, Brazil and Austria, to name a few.

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Finally, our research methodology incorporated various techniques and methods, including interviews and over 30  hours of observation sessions of rehearsals, performances, production meetings and other social gatherings. We also carried out numerous email and phone interviews and engaged in frequent social media conversations with musicians to nurture friendly relationships, some of which have endured beyond the research project. Our research methodology would not qualify as immersive fieldwork in a classical sense—all research team members stayed in their own home and only met the musicians when there was a scheduled interview, rehearsal, public performance or any other professional or social event we were invited to and wished to record and observe. However, as we shall see, our experience of the “field” would come to expand in unforeseen ways.

8.2  Contending with Conventions Since our project was funded by a competitive grant called the Academic Research Fund (NIE-AcRF) provided through the National Institute of Education (NIE), Singapore, we always presented ourselves to our respondents as researchers from NIE.  Consent forms, cleared by the Institutional Review Board of the Nanyang Technological University, Singapore (of which NIE is a part), were given out to all musicians at the start of the interviews to seek their permission to record video and/ or audio. The initial phase of our research was characterised by formal interviews, both audio and video recorded, during which the entire team was present. Our institutional “pedigree” and the formal interview set-up with rather conspicuous  audiovisual recording devices, was somewhat responsible  for the shy or unnatural responses from some of the musicians. The set-up meant the musician would be seated alone in front of the researchers,  with the recording equipment planted in between researcher(s) and research ‘subject’, and this probably contributed to them feeling slightly self-­conscious. They might have also been slightly intimidated by the institutional baggage of the university, our seniority (age), the formality of the interview and sometimes even the language barriers (some are more comfortable speaking in a language other than English, but all interviews were conducted in English). This discomfort was eased to a certain extent once we got to know the musicians better, and thanks to the researchers maintaining a non-hierarchical stance, but it was something we were aware of and that we felt had to be overcome. Other musicians anticipated the kind of questions we would ask and were ready with what appeared to be a well-rehearsed narrative about the group, and their life story. These tended to be the musicians who have experienced media interviews, had more practice speaking in front of a camera, and had therefore already had to articulate their vision, mission and life story in a cohesive narrative. Such media “articulateness” allowed us to get a quick background and sense of the band and

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musician but potentially impeded more candid conversations from happening. Only over time were we able to get past this formal façade and marketing discourse, to delve deeper into our interlocutors’ worldviews and grasp a better sense of their personal identities. On a few occasions, however, we were unable to go beyond this formal posture. One creative director brought along his public relations manager to our interview, and we were directed to address all subsequent correspondence to her instead. The same group also turned down our request to sit in on a rehearsal or directly contact the group’s composer-in-residence. Any question for the composer had to go through the PR manager. This of course extinguished our hopes of freely conversing with other members, let alone building the kind of rapport we had wished, and of carrying out more in depth anthropological research. Nonetheless, this experience gave us an immediate sense of the markedly hierarchical power structure that governs the group, which in itself was extremely insightful. It also led us to pursue research about another music group with whom we were able to develop a much more fruitful working relationship. This music group ended up being one of the main ones we focused on. We featured them in the documentary film we made and they performed at the concert series we organised at the end of our project. Our institutional backing may have  both opened and closed doors during our research process. It undoubtedly helped us get access to certain groups, some of whom asked us if we’d have gigs for them in future. They may have assumed that as employees of a public institution, we would have access to funding opportunities. Our research project and the publication of this book will help raise awareness of the music groups within the academic world, but whether that has or will help them get gigs is another matter. On the downside, it might have limited some musicians’ ability to be totally candid when talking about nationally “sensitive” issues. Overall, respondents were a little reticent to speak about questions of ‘race’ and discuss the  workings and assumptions behind Singapore’s multiracial and multicultural policies, as these are highly sensitive topics in the country. Discussing the subject, Rit Xu confessed: “I feel like I am going into dangerous territory” (personal interview, Jan 18, 2017). Others gave very evasive answers and only lifted their guard after we as researchers shared our personal  views and motivations for our research, after repeated prodding or off the record.

8.3  The Spaces Between and the “Field” Reframed A lot of writing about field research or fieldwork implies a distinction between the “field” and “real life”. This conceptual boundary is maintained by the enduring belief in traditional empiricism and the use of the scientific method, which continue to be taken as the most adequate means to access knowledge about the world. This school of thought tends to “normalise the reduction of fieldwork to a series of neat research strategies (captured in proscriptive and positivistic ‘research guidelines’)”

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which include exercising the key tenets of rationality, detachment, non-disclosure and professionalism (Davies and Spencer 2010, p. 26). The researcher’s subjectivity is not only understood as corrosive to the research process, but as reproducing imperialistic or oppressive relationships of power through her gaze and epistemologies (which are inherently biased and self-interested). Thus any emotions and affect, which would encroach upon the objectivity of the data collection process, must be restrained. This boundary between “real life” and “the field” and the strict protocols dictating to how to engage in the field assumes that social phenomena occur coherently in a “continuous Cartesian space: space that is unproblematic for us as participant observers to inhabit” (Burrell 2006, p. 136). However, such a “Cartesian” conception is a product of a particular historical conjuncture which we have now surpassed. Anthropologists in the mid-twentieth century pushed for this academic norm of scientific ethnography in order to build the legitimacy of the discipline. At the time, the overall aim seems to have been to counter the prevailing racist assumptions underlying colonialism which postulated a racial hierarchy and claimed Western civilisation’s superiority over non-Western cultures. The goal was to counter racist judgment by attempting to undersand how so-­ called “primitive” societies functioned. This was to be done through the scientific method which, it was assumed, would remove cultural bias. The unravelling of the positivist paradigm upon which the legitimacy of the scientific method was built had been underway for decades, but voices of contestation became widespread by the 1970s and resounded with great fervour through the 1980s. Though there were many voices, the movement known as the “cultural critique” (associated with George Marcus, James Clifford and Clifford Geertz, among others) led the way in questioning the assumptions behind notions of the “field” and the ethnographic method, and in foregrounding the politics, power dynamics and political economy of global inequality in which the discipline and practice of anthropology were inscribed. Anthropologists today believe there is no clear distinction between the “field” and “real life” (Davies and Spencer 2010). Michelle Kisliuk (2008) posits fieldwork is a construct that distances us from the rest of life by “creating an artificial boundary between here and there, home and field, us and them” (as cited in Barz and Cooley 2008, p. 18). The turn towards reflexivity and more experimental methods of inquiry and ethnography was a means to address these issues. In recent years, new voices have emerged to try and breach the gap between extreme relativism (of postmodernism) and the necessity of the discipline to resolve its contradictions and stand on firmer grounding. A lot of current work on fieldwork addresses the shifting, contemporary configurations of the “field”. It is in this sense that I wish to contribute. An important part of our fieldwork certainly relied upon the model of traditional empiricism, since we carried out many interviews, during which it could be said that we embodied the values of rationality and detachment. But a lot of the knowledge that was garnered through this form of data collection was complemented and activated by the crucial interaction that occurred between the time of the interviews. Burrell describes the field as a “broad conceptual zone united by a chain of inquiry” (as cited in Barz and Cooley 2008, p. 18). That chain of inquiry relates more to a

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frame of mind and ability to maintain an inquisitive, open-minded and analytical posture, regardless of whether one is inside or outside the formal interview or participant-­observation setting. The chapter’s epigraph by Margaret Mead reminds us that such wisdom predates us by many decades and has long been at the heart of anthropological practice. In fact, we should not underestimate the work being done in the spaces between moments of apparent and recognisable inquiry. When we are trying to understand the cultural identities of people, we need to understand not merely their discourse— i.e. their cognitive models and representations of the world—but their being in the world, something rational or scientific methods are ill-equipped to do. These “spaces between” refer to instances where such formal posture is relaxed, such as during more casual socialising that occur in different contexts such as preproduction activities in the run-up to an event, while shooting our documentary film about the musicians, as well as in the realm of the Internet and communication technologies which also enable  significant interactions and rapport building. In practice, that meant making it a point to get to know the musicians, coming early before a rehearsal and staying after it to chat, going to their homes, sharing meals, meeting their family, friends and significant others, hanging out informally, and maintaining contact through social networks. In my experience, participant-observation in these more informal settings, without cameras and formal interview protocols helped me to gain invaluable insights into musicians’ worldviews and identities. Our ability to develop rapport and create affective ties resulted in some music groups opening up to us more than others. Musicians who may have been initially evasive or tiptoed around certain issues eventually grew to trust us and began to open up. Members of SA(仨), for instance, were more forthcoming once they got to know us outside of the formal interview setting. For example, their strongest critiques of Singapore’s CMIO1 categories came at the end of our research project when we were able to develop a closer relationship. Another example is with the group Nen 念. My initial interview with them felt a bit contrived, but I got a much better sense of the group and its dynamics while sitting in on their rehearsals and watching their tech run prior to their Esplanade show. In the studio, their personalities shone through, as they chimed in enthusiastically between the songs to explain what they were doing, asked me for feedback, and talked about their musical influences. They displayed an openness to experimentation that hadn’t come across in the interviews  (Photo 8.1). One last example relates to Wang Wei Yang of Yllis, whom I met several times in New York City over meals and coffee. I didn’t want to put him off with overly formal interviews and recording equipment, since he confessed to being a bit self-conscious and afraid of saying the wrong thing. So I made him comfortable by sharing a lot about myself, my thoughts about the music scene and the research project, and promised to let him cross-check what I write, which I did. I believe this made him speak more freely and as a result I got a better sense of who he is as a person and an artist. 1  Refers to “Chinese, Malay, Indian and Other” ethnic communities in Singapore. See Chap. 2 for further discussion about this social classification.

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Photo 8.1 Nen 念 during one of their rehearsals leading up to their show “Past. Present. Future” in November 2016. (Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray)

8.4  Presenting the Self Kisliuk (2008) writes, “we get to know other people by making ourselves known to them, and through them to know ourselves again, in a continuous cycle” (p.  20, emphasis hers). In our effort to get to know and understand others, we must present ourselves to them. In fact, the self can be turned into a tool to knowing. As mentioned earlier, subjectivity was seen as corrosive to the supposedly scientific nature of field research, until the cultural critiques and the reflexive turn changed the discipline of anthropology. Jackson (2010) writes that “there are no emotions that are unique to anthropological fieldwork, which means that our task is one of identifying situations both in and out of the field that may be usefully compared and that shed light on one another” (as quoted by Davies and Spencer 2010, p. 24). In other words, Jackson refers to the transferability of an ethnographer’s “real life” experiences into the field and how this helps him or her better make sense of observed cultural phenomena. Subjectivity is not only not corrosive but may in fact enable the researcher to get  insights  through his or her own self-awareness and empathy. Once again the boundaries between “real life” and the “field” are blurred by the fact that the tools used in one can become beacons for illuminating the processes in another.

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Lai (1998), who collected oral histories of residents in a public housing estate in Singapore’s Marine Parade, reflects about her fieldwork and writes about the importance of tapping into the self and one’s own identities and experiences to relate to the people one is researching. She quotes Mascarenhas-Keyes (1975) in writing that “the self can be fruitfully tapped to great advantage when turned into a methodological tool for gathering information, establishing legitimacy and building rapport, within a developing relationship based on mutual clarification and discovery” (as quoted by Lai 1998, p. 107). Sometimes researchers assume that they are the only ones with questions, but “the encounter between researcher and respondents is not a one-way process in which the researcher is the only inquirer; he is also the subject of inquiry faced with a barrage of questions and comments by active, suspicious or curious subjects” (Lai 1998, p.  107). As such, the chain of enquiry is multidirectional. In my experience doing fieldwork in various countries, I have found that people are usually very keen to know about my cultural, ethnic and national background. Before even beginning to ask about people’s own life story and beliefs, I have found that sharing a bit about myself can help build trust, and create a more comfortable and relaxing atmosphere. In this research project, I tried to connect with musicians in various ways, building bridges through common interests. This also helped to mitigate the hierarchical dynamic that exists between a researcher and a research “subject” (and between us as ‘representatives’ of an established national institution and the musicians). Srinavas (1979) advises fieldworkers engaging in a stratified situation to be friendly and curious outsiders, something we tried to do by letting our personalities candidly come through.  Sharing personal information  and connecting with people at a human level is about honouring the mutual exchange of value rather than the one-sided collection of data, and about negotiating the interpersonal nature of field experience and community-based inquiry. This exemplifies the overlaps and continuity between the “field” and “real life” and the fact that field research cannot be narrowly interpreted as discrete occurences of data collection. To better understand how a researcher’s subjectivity and personal identity can be turned into a resource to gather information and build legitimacy and rapport, one should look closely at the subtle and complex practice of cultural code-switching. Originating in linguistics, code-switching refers to the practice of alternating between languages in a multilingual context. Cultural code-switching, however, is a much broader term which describes how people (reflexively or consciously) change the way they express themselves as they traverse different cultural spaces or navigate cross-cultural interpersonal encounters. Such a practice is deployed to legitimise oneself as part of a cultural group. It is used to build bridges with people with whom you recognise you have something in common. It signals to the other person that “you get them”. Within the context of building a research relationship, it is a kind of intercultural competence that helps make people feel comfortable and connected with you. In my experience, fieldwork is a process of constant cultural code-switching. During my research in the Singapore music scene, the main ways in which I practiced cultural code-switching were related to ethnicity and nationality. Ethnically, I do not fit in the CMIO classification being that I am of mixed heritage

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and can “pass” for many different ethnicities; nationality wise, I am both an insider and an outsider to the nation-state since I was born and grew up here but have lived abroad for most of my adult life. I reflexively drew on my outsider status and ethnic ambiguity to address questions of ‘race’ relations in Singapore and CMIO. I sensed that Singaporeans are sometimes too cautious to discuss these sensitive topics, and my cultural and ethnic “distance” therefore helped me to ask hard, sometimes blunt, questions that got at people’s assumptions. At other times, I wanted to assert my insider status, mainly to build rapport and legitimacy as a researcher about Singaporean issues. The specifics of cultural code-switching in researcher-research participant relationships could definitely be studied more deeply and would help us to understand how to better tap into the self as a resource for knowing the Other. How musicians presented me also affected the research and gave me insights into the local music scene as well as individual identities. Natalie, who is part of SA(仨) and was one of the main musicians we followed, introduced me to a few other musicians. I noticed she would always introduce me as a “fellow artist” (I make films and do art). I also noticed how that label seemed to lend me extra “credibility” beyond being an academic, as if it were a mark of acknowledgement and of identification and belonging to a group (of “artists” however loosely defined that term is). I took it to mean “she is one of us” or “she gets it”, and thanks to Natalie introducing me in this way, I felt musicians warmed to me a little sooner. It also made me ponder how some musicians formulate their own artistic identities in a country where making a living through one’s art is very difficult and where a career in the arts remains a choice made by still so few. In other words, the choice to be an artist represents a clear demarcation from the rest of society. Moreover, Natalie’s use of the term “artist” to describe herself (as opposed to “musician”) is informed by SA(仨)’s shift towards more conceptual sound exploration and their collaborations in the field of contemporary art (for instance with visual artists like Brandon Tay and performers like Rizman Putra of NADA).

8.5  Gender Dimensions The topic of gender in the Singapore music scene deserves, at the very least, its own research project. I strongly encourage any further research on this topic from a cross-cultural perspective; it is extremely pertinent in light of the recent events at the global level highlighting women’s struggles to push back against oppression and injustice across all fields including the arts. Although our research team was not able to delve deeply into this topic, I did observe many things relating to gender over the course of our fieldwork. The most obvious observation is: where are the women? There are far fewer women compared to men among the music groups and music professionals we interviewed, and we got a sense that this is quite similar in the rest of the music

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scene in Singapore. When it comes to the experimental music scene in Singapore, Natalie from SA(仨) writes there are “definitely less women in Singapore… Perhaps there’s a stereotype there?” (email interview, May 03, 2017). However, she does not feel this is a problem and believes that though gender stereotypes do surface, they do not do so “in any malicious way”. In any case, she believes that in the field of experimental music, these stereotypes are “not super obvious” as opposed to those “in the pop/singer-songwriter scene” where “appearances and therefore sex appeal would sell. Just like how skimpily dressed DJs would sell here” (email interview, May 03, 2017). Serene Tan (known as Stan), KULCHA’s creative director and the only woman in the band, also agrees that there are way fewer female musicians in Singapore. She associates this to the fact that women will eventually marry, have children and choose between child-rearing responsibilities and their careers. Musicians’ discourse revealed a lot about their beliefs and assumptions relating to gender. Certain character attributes were associated with specific genders, for instance, femininity was linked to gossiping and more complicated interpersonal relationships. Stan affirmed she loved being the only woman in her band because, according to her, the dynamics between men are much more straightforward. Observing the band’s rehearsals and shows, it is clear that she is the leader, bringing everyone back on track and driving the process forward, but it is unclear how her leadership role might be different in a group composed of women. On the other hand, some musicians associated positive traits to the feminine. Raghavendran Rajasekaran spoke about the “softer” energy of female musicians in jam sessions. He opposes this feminine energy to the egotistical desire to be heard and to protagonise which he associates with masculine energy. He believes female musicians are better at listening to others and taking into account the musical piece as a whole (personal interview, June 28, 2016). Then there is the huge gap in the numbers of male and female members in NADI Singapura and the commonly held views about the “masculine” nature of percussion which requires women not to be “girly” in order to be a part of the group (see Chap. 4 for more details). I was fascinated by how most female musicians I spoke to about gender issues were disinterested in the topic or expressed that they hadn’t thought about it or were not concerned or worried by the question of gender relations, norms and representation in the Singaporean music scene and their day-to-day lives as musicians. Only TZECHAR brought up some feminist ideas. Self-obsessed performs a female character in their videos, who they say represents “nonchalant control, strength and confidence against the kind of deeply-rooted sexism that women come across in everyday life, especially in societies that find it hard to be accustomed to the idea of an Intelligent Woman” (M. Guo, email interview, Apr 02, 2017). In thinking intersectionally, I wonder how culture, class and ethnicity interact and play a role in encouraging women to feel personally unconcerned by the patriarchal systems in place and their impact on society, the field of music and their lives.

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8.6  The Insider/Outsider Dichotomy Since the Singaporean music scene is quite small, everyone knows each other, if not personally by name or reputation. As our research trajectory expanded beyond the two music groups and two individuals we initially selected, one of the ways in which we found new music groups to study was through snowballing subject recruitment, i.e. getting recommendations from the musicians we interviewed about other music groups to research about. Sometimes we relied on musicians we had interviewed to introduce us to these potential research participants. At the beginning, I believed that in such a small ecosystem, coming with a “recommendation” from a fellow musician would grant us easier access to people who had never heard of us. At times that would be the case. Other times, relying too much on musicians to introduce us to their peers was not the best strategy because of what I came to realise is a certain insider/outsider mindset that underlies the dynamics of the local music scene. This mindset meant some musicians would enforce a clear mental distinction between the interests of his/her fellow musicians/counterparts in the music scene (i.e. insiders) and those of the research team (i.e. outsiders), resulting in some musicians acting as ‘gatekeepers’ to their peers and us not getting the contacts we hoped for. This insider/outsider mindset is actually quite prevalent, and somewhat constitutive to the functioning of Singapore’s small music ecosystem. It is tied to the establishment and maintenance of a mutually beneficial network of social relations. It is a means to reinforce one’s belonging to that network or in-group, and acts as a mechanism of status-preservation. Relationships with fellow artists, tech companies, curators and programmers are all treated with great care and, as we experienced directly, sometimes guarded jealously, because such relationships have taken time to develop and are key to maintain one’s social position within the ecosystem. Contacts especially those that provide access to resources and power tend to be more actively guarded  and be more coveted objects of gatekeeping. The insider/ outsider dichotomy is used to determine when to use (or not to use) one’s own leverage, since giving a free “pass” to an outsider by giving them access to an “inner circle” devalues the effort one has invested in developing these bonds. In other words, introducing an “outsider” to this network can be seen as destabilising and risky to the status quo, something some musicians are not always willing to forsake to do us a favour. Of course, where there is gatekeeping, there is always a question of power. In withholding information and in providing it, power is exerted in different times by musicians, depending on how secure their position might be in relation to the person we were asking them to connect us to. These insights were only made possible by thinking through our situatedness within the local music scene, allowing us to see a side to the music ecosystem that would otherwise have gone unnoticed: one that is inwardly turned, obsequious to in-group needs while suspicious of outgroup interests, and built on gatekeeping and mutual reliance.

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This insider/outsider mindset has other repercussions within the scene itself. Several musicians and music professionals said that the ecosystem was so small that it made people feel they needed to be polite and stay on good terms with everyone in order to have a positive reputation. Some went as far as saying that musicians rarely criticised each other’s work (even constructively) because they prioritised cultivating “good vibes” and peachy relationships. Daniel Peters, the editor of Bandwagon, a local online music magazine, called this phenomenon “circle-jerking” (personal interview, Dec 29, 2017). As I became attuned to the insider/outsider dichotomy and the gatekeeping proclivities of some musicians, I decided to change my outreach strategy. At the beginning, I had been too sensitive and cautious to heed the people politics of the local scene, patiently trying to placate gatekeepers,  and being over-reliant on  personal recommendations. Then, I realised I really don’t need to partake in such politics. Everyone is free to decline to participate but needs to be given a chance to make their own decision. I did not want to put people in the position where they would have the power to make that decision for someone else. So, I began to reach out to people directly. This proved easier than my previous tactic since all music groups could easily be found online. Indeed some of the most fruitful meetings and conversations came after I simply reached out to someone without much ado. In fact, it allowed me to get to know people who were not be a part of the social networks we had been navigating, thus increasing the scope of the research and incorporating more diverse perspectives.

8.7  Musicians and Their Practices in a Mediated Field Technology was something we increasingly had to reckon with during our research process. Artists’ cultural identities are increasingly being expressed  and  disseminated through new information and creative  technologies. We found we had to embrace the virtual world to understand the contemporary experiences of Singapore’s hyperglobalised musicians. Just as we expanded our understanding of the field to include the “spaces between”, accounting for the ways in which these new technologies are being assimilated and used by musicians was another way in which research was broadened. As described by Bennett and Peterson (2004), the 1980s digital revolution (which allowed the DIY music scene to develop), and the advent of the Internet in the mid-­ 1990s, led to a new era for music-making, music distribution and consumption (p. 5). Heirs to this moment in history, most of the music groups we studied self-­ produce, self-promote and self-distribute their music through the Internet, more often than not, without the help of any label. All have a strong virtual presence on SoundCloud, YouTube, Bandcamp or other platforms which they use to update their fans about their work. They produce music videos which are published across their social media networks and are integral to the curation of their “brand” and visual identities.  For certain groups like Yllis and TZECHAR, the Internet is not just a

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means to showcase their work but is constitutive of it. Yllis’ predilection for the language and tropes of the virtual world, and TZECHAR’s proclivity for making remixes from a wide array of Internet sources, means their work makes the most sense existing and proliferating on the web. Both value privacy and anonymity, something that can be achieved through the careful curation of personal data on the web. Despite, or perhaps, thanks to their mysterious online persona, TZECHAR has been the subject of several features in Noisey and Thump (both under Vice) as well as the hip NYC-based magazine Triple Canopy, after a music critic ‘discovered’ their work online. The Internet has also been important in enabling musicians’ transnational creative collaborations. Many chapters in this volume have described the inherent cultural openness of Singaporean musicians to the rest of the world (see in particular Chaps. 2 and 6). One way in which this openness plays out is through local musicians’ wide array of connections with fellow artists and institutions around the world. Through their virtual networks, musicians derive knowledge, support and inspiration, and partake in creative exchanges which may result in fruitful collaborations in the long-term. As we saw in Chap. 6, Yllis is one such artist. From his base in New York City, he frequently collaborates with a number of Chinese artists, such as Beijing-based producer and musician Howie Lee, Hubei-born Chengdurepresenting rapper Bohan Phoenix, and Shanghai-based visual artist Lu Yang. Another fascinating example of transnational collaboration is “Singapura”, a piece by Melbourne-­based TZECHAR, NYC-based Yllis, Singaporean electronic producer Night Dives (who is also based in Melbourne) and Singapore-based visual artist Brandon Tay, which was released on National Day in 2017. According to the artists, the objective of “Singapura” is to create an “alternative take on the Singaporean custom of national day songs ... an objective view/appreciation about the country that you can only get looking from the outside in” (M. Guo, email interview, Nov 15, 2017). How contemporary musicians use the Internet to forge their artistic identities and socio-professional networks defies any conception of a bounded field. The field includes the infinite networks of the World Wide Web. It follows that embodied field research can no longer be the only means to get data, since what counts as data in today’s technologically mediated world includes the mass of information accessible on the Internet. We therefore had to adapt our research methods in pursuit of the semionautic cartographies of connection and meaning charted by these contemporary artists. As technology continues to link up disparate parts of the world in new ways, analysing how contemporary (Singaporean) musicians connect, create and collaborate with each other across the globe is an exciting area for further research. Chapter 6 touched upon how the artists behind Yllis and TZECHAR construct selfhood and artistic identity on the Internet. As musicians whose main presence is online, it is interesting to see how their artistic selves exhibit continuities with their identities IRL (Internet slang for “in real life”), while also being subjected to technologically mediated metamorphosis. In his ethnography of Second Life, Boellstorff (2008) talks about “online corporeality”, in other words how people develop their own sense of being in a place through virtual embodiment. Yllis and TZECHAR’s virtual embodi-

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Photo 8.2  Still from the video for Yllis’s track “Wiik”, made by Singaporean visual artist Brandon Tay. (Image courtesy of Brandon Tay)

ments are constituted out of a dialectic between self-representation (IRL consonance) and self-experimentation (fantasy). To give an example, in his music videos, Wei Yang’s body is treated like raw material and is transformed, dissected and robotised to become a kind of nightmarish A.I. appendage in symbiosis with its surroundings which look like a neon-coloured dystopic playroom (Photo 8.2). As for anthropologists and field researchers, the question is how our “being in fieldwork”, which entails “using the self — as much of it as possible — as an instrument of knowing” (Ortner 1995, p.  173), is changing in this shifting landscape increasingly governed by new technologies. Researching in the virtual realm challenges the idea of embodied forms of knowledge production and of knowing (the “being in fieldwork” in the classic sense). Such a “being in virtual fieldwork” remains under-theorised today but will undoubtedly become the subject of increasing anthropological research. Horst (2016) posits that the ethnographer of virtual lives apprehends cultural phenomena through his or her “decentered self by which knowledge is constructed through different forms of interaction and mediated in and through digital interfaces and technology” (p. 154). How this “decentred self” as a mode of “online corporeality” will produce forms of knowing will be a question for future research.

8.8  Giving Back to Musicians and the Public During the course of the research project, we decided we  wanted to ‘give back’ (show our thanks) to the musicians we had been studying, as well as share our findings with the wider public. We came up with two ideas. The first was to make a

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30 minute documentary film featuring NADI Singapura, KULCHA, Flame of the Forest and SA(仨), who were the main music groups we had been studying, and to make the film available to the general public. The documentary, entitled Sounds of Singapore, is currently available for streaming and can be found here:  vimeo. com/251755750. The second idea was to organise a series of free public events, featuring those same four music groups, in order to showcase their music and share with the public some of the themes of our research. The series of events was called “Sounds of Singapore: Conversations with Local Musicians” and was held on January 9–12, 2017 at Singapore’s Aliwal Arts Centre (Photo 8.3). Each group was featured on a separate day. Each event began with a live performance, followed by a presentation segment where the musicians talked about their work, a Q. and A. segment and finally the screening of Sounds of Singapore. Each participating musician was paid an honorarium.

Photo 8.3  Left: NADI Singapura members talk about their music during the opening night of “Sounds of Singapore: Conversations with Local Musicians”, held at Aliwal Arts Centre on January 9, 2016 (Photo courtesy of Pavithra Raja). Right: The documentary made by the research team entitled “Sounds of Singapore”. (Photo: Sounds of Singapore/NIE).

We wanted to give back to the musicians because we were aware that their participation in our research project demanded a significant amount of time on their part, which they had been quite generous in giving us. We had also witnessed the struggles a lot of these emerging musicians faced as they try to make a living through music, as well as the lack of public awareness about local music. We thought the least we could do was create an opportunity for them to showcase and talk about their work. Our motives were also pedagogical. We were keen to raise awareness about our research project and share our findings with the general public. We promoted the event in Singapore’s Straits Times newspaper (Life! section), on local radio YES 93.3 FM and through a feature in Bandwagon. As a result, over 300 people attended the 4 days of events. The lively debates engendered in the Q. and A. segments

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d­emonstrated the public’s interest in discussing the existence of a “Singapore sound” (which is the subject of Chap. 2). Both the public events and the film helped us  to engage the general public in discussions about the Singapore sound(s), the relationship between tradition and the contemporary in music, the experiences of local musicians making original music, and the diverse and culturally hybrid identities of young Singaporean artists. The process of filming the documentary over several months and of organising the event had another consequence that was significant for the research itself. These endeavours provoked many moments where I was able to observe and gain insights into the lives of the musicians outside of the formal research setting. This is also part of the idea of an expanded field, as described earlier, where the ethnographer’s work continues in the “spaces between”. By working together with musicians towards specific nonacademic goals (the production of the event, and the making of the film), we generated situations that upended the relationship between researcher and research  ‘subject’, and got to know other aspects of  musicians’ lives and experiences. While shooting the documentary, the musicians shared more emotional and personal aspects of their lives (CARE, Sounds of Singapore [Video File] 2018). I was invited into their homes, got to know their families and was shown photo albums, personal libraries, instrument collections and creative spaces. I learnt about the people who had inspired them, about their childhood, their favourite books and spiritual beliefs. On one occasion, I even observed a prenatal yoga class at which a musician was playing. These are just a few examples. In terms of the public event, I was able to interact with the musicians in their own “ecosystem” as an event organiser (as opposed to a  researcher who is an  outsider to the economy of the music scene). Seeing the inner workings of that ecosystem and how different musicians engage with it was also eye-opening. I learnt how the bands handled paid work, and how they engaged with event organisers and technical crew in varying ways. Each group had distinct styles of production and conceptions of pre-production requirements and timelines, as well as varied expectations with regard to how they wanted to perform and present themselves on stage. Some music groups were more inclined to infuse their performance with a pedagogical component, while others did not want to explain their work. For example, NADI Singapura’s Riduan Zalani was eager to explain the context and genesis of each song so he spoke a lot between each piece, until he even began to lose his voice by the end of the evening. By contrast, SA(仨) played their whole set without stopping to give any background information, which they reserved for the discussion segment. In sum, in the process of “giving back” to musicians, we as researchers were able to gain additional insights and, in a sense, continue research by other means. Both the film and the event generated crucial “spaces between” formal research that became a part of our expanded field. One final note about “giving back” is related to Chap. 9, which is a compilation of the response pieces written by some musicians to individual chapters of our book. As explained in Chap. 1, we were not able to invite all the musicians we interviewed to write a response so there was a degree of curation. There was also an

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element of self-selection: some musicians declined to write a response piece due to their busy schedules. Despite those limitations, we believe that the inclusion of musicians’ responses is a very important part of the book. That is because social phenomena must always be perceived and interpreted through the prism of different, complexly interwoven and sometimes contradictory subjectivities. The heterogeneity of interpretations of social life is what best approximates reality. In fact, some of the musicians’ views clash with  our own  arguments,  and that is a good thing because it makes one think.

8.9  Final Thoughts In sharing my thoughts and experiences throughout this chapter, I hope to show that fieldwork is an  inherently human experience. There is no absolute disjuncture between “real life” and the “field”, and between researcher and research participant. Starting from the genesis of the project, I traced how our research scope expanded to include new music groups, and how our concept of the field widened to include the spaces and situations outside of formal research moments. While conventional interviews and positivist methodologies for data collection are important, they are neither “scientific” nor the best (or only) way to understand social life, as anthropology’s reflexive turn and cultural critiques have revealed. When researchers set out to investigate people’s complex personal identities, it is crucial not to merely rely on respondent’s cognitive discourses, which certain interview methods tend to elicit. Indeed, tapping into one’s own subjectivity, by means of empathy, self-awareness, code-switching and sharing, is just as integral to gaining insights about people’s subjectivities and affects. That said, a more subjective and interpretivist approach does not go against more formal approaches to data collection. In fact, both epistemological stances should be seen as complementary since they uncover differently accessible knowledge. I also elaborated on the expanded field in two other ways. First, in relation to the influence of information technology in particular the Internet, which we had to contend with in order to observe transnational musical practices and constructions of selfhood and artistic identities. Second, I discussed the importance of nonacademic praxis, such as public engagement and giving back to the communities we study, as an ethical duty, and a means to access additional research insights. Finally, since this is a book about music, I’d like to end by talking about the importance of improvisation in field research. In the “spaces between” which make up our new, broadened conception of the field, one of the most important languages is that of improvisation. Like music, field research is about listening, communication, performance and spontaneity. It is this ability to adapt, shift gears, change direction and explore new ideas that make such inquiry so meaningful and fruitful. This intrinsically creative side of research, like the practice of improvisation in music, is what breaks boundaries and opens up new possibilities. However, whether in music or research, improvisation can feel like entering unknown territory, feeling

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around in the dark, trying to make out still indistinguishable shapes and forms. In the course of research, there are times when you don’t know what you are looking for, and you feel frustrated by your inability to identify any theory or common thread out of the ever-increasing mountain of data. But maintaining the faith in the spirit of improvisation makes the researcher keep going. As Miles Davis once said, “I’ll play it first and tell you what it’s called later”.

References Primary Sources (Interviews) Guo, M., email interview, Apr 02, 2017. Lum, C.-H., email communication, July 11, 2017. Peters, D., personal interview, Dec 29, 2016. Rajasekaran, R., personal interview, June 28, 2016. Tse, N., email interview, May 03, 2017. Xu, R., personal interview, Jan 18, 2017.

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Day, E., Hoggard, L., & Bromwich, K. (2015, September 27). 99% of women working in the film and TV industries have experienced sexism. The Guardian online. Retrieved from https://www. theguardian.com/film/2015/sep/27/sexism-film-industry-stories Dresch, P., James, W., & Parkin, D. J. (Eds.). (2000). Anthropologists in a wider world: Essays on field research. New York/Oxford: Berghahn Books. Farley, S. (2017, June 29). Women in audio: Yes, we exist! Retrieved from http://designingsound. org/2015/03/women-in-audio-yes-we-exist/ Faubio, J. D., & Marcus, G. E. (2009). Fieldwork is not what it used to be: Learning anthropology’s method in a time of transition. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Geertz, C. (1988). Works and lives: The anthropologist as author. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Harris, M., & Rapport, N. (2016). Reflections on imagination: Human capacity and ethnographic method. London/New York: Routledge. Horst, H. A. (2016). Being in fieldwork: Collaboration, digital media and ethnographic practice. In R. Sanjek & S. W. Tratner (Eds.), EFieldnotes: The makings of anthropology in the digital world (pp. 153–170). Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Jackson, M. (2010). From anxiety to method in anthropological fieldwork: An appraisal of George Devereux’s enduring ideas. In J. Davies & D. Spencer (Eds.), Emotions in the field: The psychology and anthropology of fieldwork experience (pp. 35–55). Stanford: Stanford University Press. Kisliuk, M. (2008). (Un)doing fieldwork: Sharing songs, sharing lives. In G. F. Barz & T. J. Cooley (Eds.), Shadows in the field: New perspectives for fieldwork in ethnomusicology (pp. 183–206). New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kolb, D. A., & Fry, R. (1975). Toward an applied theory of experiential learning. In C. Cooper (Ed.), Theories of group process. London: John Wiley. Lai, A. E. (1998). Some experiences and issues of cross-cultural fieldwork in Singapore. In P. P. H. Lim, C. G. Kwa, & J. Morrison (Eds.), Oral history in Southeast Asia: Theory and method (pp. 98–115). Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Lauzen, M. M. (2009). The celluloid ceiling II: Production design, production management, sound design, key grips, and gaffers. The Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film, School of Theatre, Television and Film, San Diego State University, California, USA. Lim, P. P. H., Kwa, C. G., & Morrison, J. (Eds.). (1998). Oral history in Southeast Asia: Theory and method. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Lunn, J. (Ed.). (2014). Fieldwork in the global south: Ethical challenges and dilemmas. London: Routledge. Manilowski, B. (1922). Argonauts of the Western Pacific. Reprinted in 2002 by Routledge. Marcus, G. (Ed.). (1999). Critical anthropology now: Unexpected contexts, shifting constituencies, changing agendas. Santa Fe: School of American Research Press. Marcus, G., & Fischer, M. (1999). Anthropology as cultural critique: An experimental moment in the human sciences. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mascarenhas-Keyes, S. (1975). The Native Anthropologist: Constraints and Strategies in Research. In A. Beteille & T. N. Madan (Eds.), Anthropology at Home. Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. Mead, M. (1977). Sex and temperament in three primitive societies. London/Henley: Routledge/ Kegan Paul. Myerhoff, B., & Ruby, J. (Eds.). (1982). The cracked mirror: Reflexive perspectives in anthropology. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Nazaruk, M. (2011). Reflexivity in anthropological discourse analysis. Anthropological Notebooks, 17(1), 73–83. Ortner, S. B. (1995). Resistance and the problem of ethnographic refusal. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 37(1), 173–193. Ortner, S.  B. (2006). Anthropology and social theory: culture, power and the acting subject. Durham: Duke University Press.

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Chapter 9

Musicians’ Responses Tan Qing Lun, Tse Natalie Alexandra, Halid Syafiq, Rajasekaran Raghavendran, Guo Ming, Wang Wei Yang, and Lim Benjamin Yi

Contents 9.1  T  an Qing Lun’s response to Chapter 2 “Where Got Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music: Conundrums and Alternatives” 9.2  Natalie Alexandra Tse’s Response to Chapter 3 “Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from a Contemporary Instrumental Group in Singapore” 9.3  Syafiq Halid’s Response to Chapter 4 “NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition” 9.4  Raghavendran Rajasekaran’s Response to Chapter 5 “Fusion Through the Gaze of Singapore Contemporary Musicians: Confluence, Syncretism, Hybridity or Mere Confusion” 9.5  Guo Ming (TZECHAR) and Wang Wei Yang (Yllis)’s Response to Chapter 6 “Chinese Identity and the Quest for Cool Among Singaporean Chinese Musicians” 9.6  Benjamin Lim Yi’s Response to Chapter 7 “Playing with Nostalgia: Translation of Artistic Directions of Contemporary Musicians in Singapore” References

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9.1  T  an Qing Lun’s response to Chapter 2 “Where Got Singapore Sound? Representing National Identity in Music: Conundrums and Alternatives” Many a times, we complain about being Singaporean. We do not understand why things are done in a certain way. Usually an artist will talk about how the change in grants and policy may directly or indirectly affect our development. The struggle here is always the limitation of resources against artistic visions and ethical values. The challenge in today’s governance and policymaking is that we must remind ourselves that the system is there to help grow the nation and for the betterment of the country. Therefore, there should always be constant communication within different levels of the ecosystem and a deep understanding of the grassroots by policymakers. We do come across civil servants who are not passionate about their jobs and only holding on to secure their livelihood. But jobs in the ministries, the councils, the schools and the civil service receive funding based on taxpayer’s money, © Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_9

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and they should be the ones who constantly think about how they can help improve the lives of the people. Therefore, the actual missions and the values of these people become very crucial. There is a Chinese saying, 外行人管内行人, which talks about amateur managing professionals who therefore do not understand the nature of their work yet hold leadership positions. The whole system of bureaucracy should help to set up a system that does not delay development or even hinders the progress of our people. The art of management is to understand people and to create a system that works and not only to do what they are limited to. What made Singapore successful is that our forefathers had studied intensively about other countries and redesigned a plan that works in Singapore, from the amusing fining laws (such as ban of chewing gum and not flushing of public toilet immediately after usage) to the amazing strategic land management. There is no one standard answer or way of doing things in life, especially in policymaking and public management. I always reflect and ask why certain things are done in a particular way. Sometimes, I get some answers or I try to come up with a reason for it, while, at other times, some of these questions are left unresolved. Some people would ask, why is there a need to emphasise the four different races (CMIO)? Should we have a system where everything seems to be distributed based on the equal spread of these four races, from HDB policy to the design of food courts and markets? Nonetheless, I understand the need for such policy, especially in the years during which racial riots and the misunderstanding between these races were tense. That was what our forefathers have decided, and as a result, today, when every Singaporean is asked to sing a Tamil song, they would all be able to think of “Munnaeru Vaalibaa” as a tune familiar to them. We can argue it is very superficial and ask if all these efforts have been wasted. I guess it is up to ourselves—today’s younger generations—to define that and decide what should be the next direction. Sometimes I appreciate this confusion that has been created. Because of this multicultural mix, we are unable to even identify who we are at times. In the 1990s, people were even embarrassed about Singlish, because it was seen as causing Singaporeans to have an improper command of either English or their mother tongue. But as an artist, I see it differently. It always struck me, whenever I am travelling and able to immediately identify another Singaporean based on the way he or she speaks. And as a result, we immediately feel close and a tingle of joy to find our fellow mates. That is what gives us our distinctive colours, and that is what defines Singapore, because we are able to integrate different languages and switch from one to the other freely and recreate a language and intercultural communication that has been widely accepted in this country. This is culture, and, to me, it is also art. Food for thought: Singaporeans are very proud when we talk about food. Food can also be another art form. We can find families having their meals with a wide range of food choices, not limiting themselves to any single culture. Are we embarrassed about this food mixture? No, we are not. The world has accepted that there are indeed many different delicacies around the world and there are no comparisons

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between “correct” and “incorrect” food or whether one food should complement the other. But when we talk about language, we are talking about British English as the standard or China’s Mandarin Chinese as the standard. In this sense, our Singlish would never be right? But who defines what is right or wrong in life? It is based on people’s perspectives and experiences, the majority or mainstream views and politics, all of which help to set these standards. What about music? What should we be working on to infuse a sense of Singaporean identity into our music? Should we disregard the superficial understanding of the four different races, or should we start to think about what’s next? There is no fixed definition, and every way could be an alternative to what we hope may one day define Singapore’s sound. While I am a strong believer of this multiracial mix, thanks to which I have many friends from different ethnic origins, and we learn to deepen our understanding through sessions and meet-ups, I feel strongly about wanting to understand even more deeply and expand my own understanding about why certain things have been regarded as traditions. Just like a chef in Singapore who would be able to cook the different delicacies in different styles, by firstly studying the essence of each dish, and then recreating something that represents himself, whereby the end product would be what he can identify himself with, and what sets him apart from the other chefs, we need more researchers to dig deeper into the core of each traditional music, and only with these literature reviews can we recreate new things that become part of us. I am sure there are many artists working very hard to define their understanding of the Singapore sound, while others may just be playing music without great considerations, but every effort from each is a contribution to the art scene. The main point is to act on it, and the more people who decide to work on it, the greater the impact. We are positive for the result which may not be seen in our time. History is a reflection of the past. It is up to the next generations to define the identity of the Singapore sound and what resonates with them. I am grateful and fortunate to be given a lot of things in life, what more being a Singaporean. But finding the right balance, igniting the passion within our complex society and pushing the boundaries of things in life—that’s what makes us artists. I hope to create more voices from the grassroots, to make people listen to these voices, especially policymakers, whose work directly affects the lives of the people. What we can do, we will continue to do, but the support of the government, that extra pat on the shoulder, will give us that push to dream bigger and work harder. Singapore is our homeland, and we are the ones that will decide how our future will become. We are grooming our future today. The trees and flowers we see around in Singapore were planted by our forefathers, making it a world-class country known around the world as a Garden City. It is a place we feel proud of, and if we want to continue to feel proud, we must not only stop to enjoy but continue to work hard, to maintain and grow into a bigger, stronger and a more unique tree in this fast-moving world, so that we can continue to pass on the fruits of our labour, to the next generation and the generations to come. Majulah Singapura.

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9.2  N  atalie Alexandra Tse’s Response to Chapter 3 “Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from a Contemporary Instrumental Group in Singapore” Personal Recount I One of my most vivid memories about the process of Ethni-city II was a session where there was an extended moment of unpleasantness. I have the impression that the unpleasantness stemmed from my reactions to a situation, where I felt the direction of the collaboration was misaligned with my personal expectations of the project. I remember feeling lost, unproductive, frustrated and upset. I felt that my fellow collaborators where egocentrically immersed in personal musical explorations, rather than openly sharing or critically dialoguing about musical ideas. I stopped my activity and sat down quietly. I recall the musicians starting to stop their activities one by one. The artistic director then asked if I was alright and if I had something to say. While I forgot what I had said at that point in time, I remember that this moment of tension was broken through a fellow musicians’ suggestion that it was time for a break. The research narrative, “Collaborative Creativity: Perspectives from a Contemporary Instrumental Group in Singapore” offers me critical, reflective feedback from the perspective of a third eye to my collective, SA’s creative project— Ethni-city II. Of particular interest to me is the discourse on “tensions”. As reflected in my personal recount above, the tension point in one of the rehearsal sessions remains a memorable incident of the project. SA, being the artist-producers, had clear intentions for the project. As an art practitioner who is not only active in performance but also education and research, that was a period where I was interested in topics about multiculturalism. The political construct of the Chinese, Malay, Indian and Others (CMIO) constituted a large part of a Singaporean’s perceived identity, and I was eager to break out of that conceptual framework in our music while at the same time celebrating the diverse cultures of our dominant racial groups in Singapore. Through my research work, Schipper’s (2010) framework of cultural diversity intrigued me, and I was interested in the contemplation of moving from multiculturalism to transculturalism through music in the Ethni-city II project. I had thought that SA was clear in our intentions—we disseminated an artistic brief to all collaborators and also briefed the musicians in the first rehearsal. Interestingly, this lacked clarity according to the researcher: “perhaps that intention was not made clear…(p. 66)”. The following is an extract from my reflection journal, documenting the perceived clarity of our intentions. As SA, we were clear about our direction and wanted to speak to the team right at the beginning before the start of rehearsal, to ensure that we were all on the same page. With ETHNI-CITY, we had our agenda as SA to move beyond merely fusing the CMIO musics together but to also seek a greater depth of understanding about each other’s musical cultures, before deconstructing them and reconstructing a new

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musical awareness that took a move towards transculturalism. On one hand, we had such an agenda on our minds; on the other, we were also cautious about the way we would pitch such a direction to our team. We had all worked with one another on varying levels and contexts and had an understanding that such a direction may pose discomfort to some of the musicians. Nonetheless, we thought it was necessary to further the growth of our musical ideals. Therefore, prior to the beginning of the session, we were clear as SA that we had to address our team of musicians. Cheryl spoke on SA’s behalf and mentioned poignant points such as “trying to push that boundary”, “doing more than the usual jamming” and “steering away from what the fusion groups are doing”. We also spoke to the team about the structure of the show—having small group ensembles and a large group ensemble and having a post-show talk where I specifically mentioned that we should be generous in sharing, rather than the typical awkward moments of silences or pushing the microphone from one person to another. While I was mindful about taking the artistic lead as SA for the show, I also wanted a collaborative effort. I made it a point to ask the musicians to raise any questions and objections and challenge our ideas, and that I had hoped for open discussions among the musicians. While the eventual performance was still magical and successful, the group of musicians again celebrated our friendship through music; and though “transculturalism” may not have had been achieved, there were definitely important lessons learnt, “tensions” being one of them. I have highlighted our initial intentions for the project through the above illustrations, as I feel that perhaps the tension stemmed from: (i) the misalignment of the expectations of this project, (ii) the musicians’ (in) capabilities to see eye to eye with the intentions and (iii) the failure of SA to facilitate the resolution of tensions to allow for “emphatic attunement” (Seddon 2005, as cited in Chap. 3), where the tensions could have broken into new musical grounds through the collaboration. This was further impeded by other factors such as the lack of time, compounded by the lack of critical reflection or open discussions. The “creative collaboration framework” offered by the researcher on p. 78 serves as a useful guide to facilitate critical thinking about how the collaboration could move beyond a cooperative mode to a collaborative mode of communication (Seddon 2005, as cited  in Chap.  3). While I have indicated “tensions” to be our greatest lessons learnt, I believe such tensions would not have arose if there was no “complementarity” (Moran and John Steiner 2004, as cited  in Chap.  3) to begin with. I think the researcher has made fairly accurate observations, noting the history this group of musicians share, and the musical growth enabled through the collaboration which extends beyond the usual trios, with one kind of musician in each group (e.g. one melodic string, one melodic wind, one rhythmic), as the complementary aspects of the collaboration. I think it is important to note such merits that the group have, as these form the basis of why and how we could even come together to play music in the first place. From the suggested “creative collaborative framework”, this collaboration already has got the aspects of “shared history”, “complementarity” and to some extent “musical growth”. However, it seems that the collaboration also lacked in “musical communication”, “tension”, “time and space” and “dialogue and reflection”. The questions are how do we go about achieving

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further “musical communication”, allowing “tension” to arise such that it can result in “emphatic attunement”, and how do we facilitate “dialogue and reflection”, when “time and space” always seem to be an impeding factor? The sociocultural perspective of creativity considers the context where creativity occurs. Cziksentmihalyi (1996) terms this “situated creativity”, where creativity occurs through “person, domain and field”. In this case study, did our collaborative process miss out on the above factors because we had not considered the people, their individual abilities, skill sets and the field of work in the first place? As I journaled above, SA did have an understanding that some musicians may be uncomfortable by the direction of the project, yet we chose these musicians to work with. Might there have been more positive possibilities if we had first dialogued with and identified musicians who were comfortable with the direction and potential processes the project may have entailed? Then again, other musicians may not have the shared history this group of musician does, and the complementarity of instrumentation may also not have been possible. This seems to be a dilemma that is difficult to negotiate with, even with the guidance of a framework. How then should a group of musicians approach the framework? Or is it the impetus of a leader—the artistic director perhaps to guide the musicians through with an understanding of such frameworks? This is a lesson which may not have been learnt without the presence of a research team following through the creative process leading up to the performance. As narrated clearly in the chapter, the group of musicians that I was collaborating with were generally not apt in critical reflection or dialogue. The questions asked during interviews provoked critical thoughts about the creative collaboration process in the musicians which I believe may not have happened otherwise. This also highlights the importance of research and documentation in an artistic, creative endeavour, which could allow for critical reflection and dialogue that adds to the robustness of the process. I thank Dr. Chee-Hoo Lum, the principal investigator of the project, and Juliette Yu-Ming  Lizeray, research assistant to the project, writers of this book, for their dynamism, criticality, generosity, creativity, as well as relationships fostered with the musicians through the course of this project.

9.3  S  yafiq Halid’s Response to Chapter 4 “NADI Singapura: A Case Study of Group Identity and Tradition” In art or music-making, I strongly believe that it must have a purpose and be impactful. There is some kind of message or story that we need to deliver to the audience, public or masses. SERENTAK 2: “Not Much of Us Left” is one of NADI Singapura’s regular performances which different NADI members get a chance to direct. In 2017, I had the opportunity to be its Show Director. As soon as I grasp the opportunity as a Show Director for NADI Singapura’s SERENTAK 2, held on the May 14,

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2017, I suddenly felt a huge responsibility to ensure the message that I want to deliver to the audience is crystal clear. Below is a short fragment of my Show Director’s message: In this day and age, I am learning to view things with a perspective and I am often inspired by people and things in my surroundings. When it comes to thinking and talking, we are often paralyzed by political correctness and fear. Indeed, we need new ways of seeing and thinking. SERENTAK 2: “Not Much Of Us Left” welcomes conversations and debates about Absence vs. Presence, driving and challenging us to imagine and look beyond our biases and pre-conceived notions.

Throughout the production process, I pushed the team by continuously pushing our limits in this production slightly higher in order to create our own benchmark for SERENTAK 2. This phase was tough and challenging for me as I needed to study the best way to respond, dissect and create a concept from the title which was given to us by Riduan Zalani: Not Much Of Us Left. From my point of view, the title is very personal and relatable to all the pioneering members of NADI Singapura as some of them have “left” the band due to their personal commitments. However, I do not picture that as the focus in SERENTAK 2. After much contemplation, I found inspiration on how to construct the show. Envisioning it to incorporate multidisciplinary elements, my message to the audience will include contemporary compositions, be sound design-driven, display motion graphics representing the anonymous character (The Voice) on LED monitors and have the set-up of an arena style stage. Nonetheless, these technical concepts and factors play a relatively minor role in comparison with the incorporation of the Malay traditional roots, its music and our past customs, which are know-how and skills that we have gained over the course of our 5 years in NADI Singapura. I frequently emphasised and reminded the show’s Music Director, Nurzulkhairi Zulkepli, also known as Khairi, and Assistant Music Director, Nazri Johar, that it is crucial to include “otherness” and innovation in SERENTAK 2 so as to represent the younger music makers. In our music compositions, it is quite clear that we used contemporary arts and unorthodox technique, yet we are not losing the accent of our traditional grooves, rhythms and timbre. The landscape of these musical traditions has to be present in SERENTAK 2. Apart from this necessary point, I also found and discovered the beautiful process of creative exploration within percussion and music technology. It is a hybrid process of writing music for me. It is exciting that Khairi, Nazri and myself are always communicating and expressing our music ideas on Ableton Live (a software for creating musical ideas, turning them into finished songs and even taking them onto the stage) first, jamming the ideas together, before meeting the rest of the members. We would exchange our project files among ourselves until I finalised the music. In this way, music technology became a medium or even an instrument during the show. I am not worried about the fact that I am incorporating modern sounds in a backup track, or using an electronic synthesiser or samples as part of the compositions, because I believe it adds value and contemporary artistic viewpoints. It can effectively coexist with the traditional aspect of the performance. For example, for

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the opening track, The Search Within Time, which lasts about 6 minutes and which I composed, I chose to perform with Ableton Push 2, a MIDI controller, while the rest are striking the gongs. I believe that all the conscious decisions that I have made have a meaning in relation to the Show Director’s message mentioned above. This piece has a deeper intent to preserve the Malay traditional element but is presented in a different form so as to change, adapt to and incorporate the perspective of the younger generations. Indirectly, I am trying to engage the audience (our community) on how we can still pay tribute to our roots and traditional sounds even in this new era of instruments like MIDI controllers or laptops. It is important for young artists and creative individuals to consistently find, create and explore numerous ways of making art until they find their personal way of preserving, processing and expressing their tradition, culture and roots.

9.4  R  aghavendran Rajasekaran’s Response to Chapter 5 “Fusion Through the Gaze of Singapore Contemporary Musicians: Confluence, Syncretism, Hybridity or Mere Confusion” The chapter is so deeply inspiring. Reading the responses and deep sentiments of musical identities of my Singapore musical buddies has collectively made me feel our purpose for the bigger picture of what Singaporean music entails for the future. It could be a similar venture 50 years from now but sonically different themes that highlights various ethnical and societal backgrounds. Just 3 days ago on September 24, 2017, I had an opportunity to present “Flute Conversations” curated by Global Cultural Alliance (Phang Ming Yen) at the National Gallery. It was free improvisations for three sets of 30 mins, with Rit Xu on the classical silver flute, Tan Qin Lun on the dizi and myself on the bansuri. We were also complemented by a Veena player, Madhavan Kalaichelvan. This performance experience has led me to understand how much we have understood the temperaments of each instrumental style and technique so that we were sonically aware not to dominate the performance with any particular language or style. The understanding of each style teaches us to find a middle ground of where we can meet and perform together. Similarly, in all the interviews I have read, it has been an ongoing process of refining our ideas of finding a middle ground where we can rest as a person or being of the community we actually represent, which is neither China, India nor America. From a pragmatic perspective, an amalgamation of ethnic identities on one stage seems to be “fair game” performing at community or public performances. We cater to varied audience expectations. As examples, when I was spotted by an Indian family on stage as they aurally picked out the Indian flute among the wide variety of instruments, the sound of the Indian flute seemed to draw immediate connections with them.

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Similarly, when RaghaJazz was featured with a pipa player at the Botanic Gardens on July 1, 2017, some tourists of the Chinese community came up to Gildon Choo (pipa player) to ask him after the performance how he innovated and worked with the Indian classical fusion experiment. It is a win-win for event organisers and for all if musicians are more inclusive in expanding the musical sounds of Singapore through collaborations and understanding each music more deeply as though the language of music is one and not separated as Malay traditional, Chinese classical, Indian classical or Western music.

9.5  G  uo Ming (TZECHAR) and Wang Wei Yang (Yllis)’s Response to Chapter 6 “Chinese Identity and the Quest for Cool Among Singaporean Chinese Musicians” Driven by a mutual appreciation of each other’s work, Wang Wei Yang (Yllis) and Guo Ming (TZECHAR) first contacted each other over the Internet in 2016. Although they have only met in person once, the two have developed closer ties thanks to their e-correspondence revolving around discussions about their music and identity. They have also recently collaborated on an audiovisual project entitled “Singapura”. For this response piece, they sent each other emails back and forth, with Wei Yang kicking off the dialogue. This is their unedited response: Yllis Hey Ming! I just read the chapter and the first thing that jumped to mind was that while the discussion ranged from the relevance of traditional classical chinese music to Western media/pop music’s influence in Singapore to the ideas behind our more modern, experimental electronic music, there wasn’t much covered on mandopop and it’s significance in Singaporean Chinese identity and its role in influencing Singaporean music/culture. I thought it would be good idea to try to get you to give us your thoughts on mandopop: How has mandopop influenced you personally and on a musical/creative level in your output with TZECHAR? And in what ways do you think Singaporeans relate to mandopop (both of the past and currently)? Ming By Mandopop influence in Singapore, we are probably primarily referring to Cantopop and Taiwanese pop music as has existed since the 80s—from legends like Jacky Cheung and Anita Mui, to contemporary classics like Jolin Tsai and Jay Chou, to the recent resurgence of China C-pop via acts like Li Ronghao and Luhan that have slightly less influence domestically, and of course the local regional Singapore and Malaysian acts like JJ Lin and Z-chen that are generally grouped with Taiwanese pop due to that market acting as their primary platform for sales and credibility affirmation. We can go further back to the pre-80s Mandopop as well, but that’s not necessarily particularly meaningful in a modern context.

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What’s important to note about East Asian pop music in general is that its primary function differs quite significantly from say, US counterparts and attempting to draw analogous parallels can be quite meaningless. The artists are often categorized as “entertainers”/“artistes”, such that their roles expand beyond music, crossing over into acting and hosting (originally a result of using a primary talent pool to serve multiple requirements). The entertainment industry in these regions is first and foremost a service industry (ie. providing the service of entertainment), rather than necessarily a medium to express personal freedom. What we refer to as the “Western” pop industry usually starts out as raw talent being identified by people to build an industry around and capitalize on, whereas the pop music industry in places like Taiwan, HK, South Korea has generally been the other way round, observing the profitability of its Western equivalents, forming an industry structure, then developing artists as a business model. From a consumer point of view, the function of pop music in East Asia acts less about personal expression and articulating the present “voice of a generation” and more commonly about evoking a particular type of emotive response (which I’d broadly classify as 感觉/”feeling”) similar to the role(s) soundtracks play in East Asian drama tropes—considerably generally unchanged since the 80s especially in the form of the “Asian ballad” which has similar threads throughout the region, including K-pop, J-pop and Vietnamese pop. In fact, Singapore’s primary Chinese pop music channel YES 93.3 still has on fairly regular rotation the same acts from the 80s and 90s such as Andy Lau, Mayday and Ah Do—longstanding acts that are still active, with songs that retain a general 感觉 like many (maybe if not most) of their contemporaries; and this has not significantly changed. What this suggests is that rather than reflecting evolving generational mindsets through time in the way that’s easily definable in US pop music, Mandopop music listeners (including those from Singapore) functionally tend to utilize the music to soundtrack daily activities and experience these emotional themes in a way that is a familiar, safe space. There are regular shifts in the way non-ballad Mandopop incorporates influences from existing scenes (most recently K-pop), but the primary-selling Asian ballad has kept its form and consumer function intact through the decades. This means that there is little effect in the way it encourages musical innovation and for better or worse, artists that have utilized this template produce works that are very similar to their inspirations (often intentionally). An additional significance in defining a “Chinese” cultural identity in Singapore is the 93.3 vs 98.7 analogy I raised in Juliette’s piece. The way we as artists relate to it is that it exists in mainstream consciousness, both in a general sense and in personal listening habits from young. We sample these works sometimes because it is a unique and underutilized reference point. As native listeners, we have access to use them in a meaningful way, and have also created tracks with the idea of subverting the traditional Asian ballad form. The vague yet palpable sense of 感觉/“feeling” that runs through a lot of modern East Asian music that sets it apart from Western counterparts, whether from pop, post-rock (Mono vs Mogwai) or video game soundtracks (Nobuo Uematsu vs Jeremy Soule) is something that’s fairly consistent throughout our musical output in a way that

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isn’t particularly intentional but rather an intuitive inclination from organic exposure and influence. Back when I lived in Singapore I used to make music with the traditional drums/ guitar/bass set up, largely because the music I listened to and the musicians I looked up to were “cool” in the sense of being free (at a personal level and relative to the sociocultural environment they were part of at that given time) to express themselves and their perspective despite the subversive nature of themselves and their output. Such role models didn’t really exist in the Mandopop scene, so my music was invariably “Western” in form and language. However, when I moved overseas and switched to making electronic music to abandon the tired format of these “Western” instruments and their limitations in expression, I was compelled to sample and draw inspiration from my non-English pop culture history, like 1920’s Chinese vocalists, 80’s HK films, 90’s JRPG soundtracks, 00’s Thai films, 10’s K-pop etc. It almost felt like it was my responsibility, as someone ethnically Asian who has grown up with and intimately relates to media from these disparate cultures, to explore these scenes as meaningfully as I can and generate unique content that is simultaneously familiar (to the respective countries) and alien (to everyone else). Based on your own musical history, and as someone who is a self-confessed “ang moh pai”, what made you as an artist decide to shift from the type of music you did in your previous band Monster Cat, to your current YLLIS project that explores themes with sino-aesthetics? Yllis It’s really interesting you mention how you feel a responsibility in some sense to explore these unique parts of your cultural experience. I think the transition I experienced to exploring more sino/asian centric ideas happened similarly when I started making electronic music. I think my tastes changed, it felt as if rock music had nothing new to say…it had lost it’s relevance. Even with the band there was always this tension, this desire to break out of some sort of limitations, to do “more”. And then with electronic music, you look at it and say what’s cool that’s being done now, who do I look up to and ultimately, where do I fit in? What do I have to say, what do I have to add to the conversation? And when you ask those questions I think it’s inevitable that I have to bring with it my experience growing up and living in Singapore, my experience as a Singaporean Chinese person living in Asia. In MONSTER CAT the music we made did talk about those things but now I think I was open enough on a personal level to go even deeper. So it wasn’t a decision in that sense to start doing the things that i’m doing now…It was more a process of hey let’s explore this, this makes sense to me—and those things led me to explore this other thing. It’s a continuous journey of self discovery. And as I continue to dig into my cultural roots I find it to be the most meaningful and rich experience in music that I’ve so far engaged in. Simultaneously, alongside my musical journey, lifestyle wise I started engaging a lot more with eastern philosophy and practices like meditation and learning more about Taoism. So it felt like everything in my life was coming together towards certain themes and ideas. I think there is a certain feeling of

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“responsibility” as an Asian person for representing certain ideas and aesthetics, and I do embrace the ideological context of what I’m doing, but beyond that, just on a musical level, I’m like these sounds and these rhythms and these ideas are so dope, this culture is so rich—why can’t we incorporate it in modern music in a way that I can relate to…in a way that isn’t cheesy or kitsch and that speaks to me on a deeper sort of level. Now that we are on the topic of cultural references, I wanted to ask: Juliette’s chapter makes mention of the idea of “metroethnicity”—a kind of cultural hybridity being explored by Japanese youths. I just read Maher’s paper on metroethnicity and the scenario he paints of how minority and mainstream youths in Japan are navigating a “postethnic” society is absolutely fascinating. You’ve mentioned to me recently about your own concept of “cultural fluidity” and how you feel it might be a helpful term for Singaporeans (and perhaps the rest of the world?) to engage with life experiences that are culturally diverse and complex. Would you care to expand on your idea of cultural fluidity (perhaps in relation to the idea of metroethnicity)? And how do you feel that relates to cultural appropriation? Is there a line that should or shouldn’t be crossed? Is there a line at all? Ming Maher’s concept of metroethnicity was published in 2005, just before the Hallyu wave had hit and before China started developing its own pop culture meaningfully, and was focused in particular on the Japanese interpretation of global culture (at that point in time, by a specific generation). Japan has had a unique trajectory (as compared to the rest of East Asia) in navigating cultural globalism because of relatively early exposure to Western religions and sciences since the Edo area by Dutch traders, and especially with US Navy Commodore Matthew Perry’s arrival in 1853, which triggered a response to foreign aggression/influence by the Japanese in a way unique to them that has had residual effects in their national psyche. Their post­WW2 relationship with the US also began their modern romanticising of American pop culture, going through cycles of self-identity and cultural experimentation within disparate youth subcultures like Miyuki-zoku and visual kei (both direct analogous cosplay examples of dominant American aesthetics then) and developed them over time to make them uniquely Japanese in a way that arguably surpasses the original inspirations by combining the Japanese attention to detail and craft with the “cool” spirit of ‘Murican freedom. Contrast this expedited cultural experimentation starting from a pre-internet era with South Korea’s version of this cycle, which is very internet-based and hence extremely fast-paced and less esoteric in trend-hopping, before the sociocultural implications can be explored or developed in a meaningful way. Maher’s interpretation of “Cool” being a stable state of personal freedom vs fashion phases is less relevant in this context due this difference in South Korea’s emergence from being a secular Hermit Kingdom; too racially homogeneous to properly grasp the extent of each adapted global culture’s racial history (in their approximation of hip hop aesthetics) and too small a market to feel that their copycat culture (in fashion for

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example) has meaningful implications on a larger scale, but their lack of confidence in their own historical cultural identity (as an oft-occupied/invaded country) means there is generally less push-back about trying out these aesthetics, even on a superficial level (their obsession with cosmetic surgery being an extension of this transhuman cosplay), just to see what it feels like. These sociocultural factors sometimes end up with inappropriate outcomes like blackface still used in comedy shows (with internet outcry, but primarily with the “don’t embarrass us internationally” rather than “this is racist and wrong” rhetoric) and in pop music, using English terms idiosyncratically because they heard them in rap songs and assume they are a regular form of casual vernacular, likely cos Hangul itself is a minimalist language that doesn’t have expressions with that kind of phonetic effect (said with an “American” attitude; note that YG teaches their artists to rap with a specific Brooklyn-style accent not unlike Iggy Azalea). So while my concept of cultural fluidity does share a lot of common ground with metroethnicity, it has a wider context outside of Japan’s racial homogeneity and aesthetic application, and rather than exclusively using “ethnicity” to represent race as it precludes language and customs, I categorize race primarily as a phenotype expression. The reason for this is that a large part of the plight of Asian-American representation for example, is in not seeing Asian faces in mainstream media sufficiently. This doesn’t refer specifically to Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Thai etc faces specifically, but simply people with Asian features, and this seems to be enough for them to feel validated (for now). These minorities are themselves latter-generation immigrants, so by all means they are American but just have Asian-isms within their family structures and upbringing that creates this dissonance in cultural identity (aside from phenotypically looking different). Metroethnicity also assumes the exclusiveness of having minority traits as a way to cultivate a unique identity in a country which is very homogeneous (and xenophobic), but as we have seen from China’s recent soft power attempts, we’ve observed the opposite—distinctly Chinese-aesthetics have helped rapper Gai win a survivor reality show, and allowed producer Howie Lee to carve a niche sound in a global context. Granted, the CCP’s influence on domestic media does play a part in what kind of sounds are promoted, and Chinese pop culture is technically considered a ‘minority’ internationally, but as the world progressively gets more aware of each other’s existence, there has been a trend towards trying to define and be proud of some idea of ‘cultural roots’. Even for us phenotypically Chinese in Singapore, we have no real cultural or political ties to China itself, and most of us only experience our Chinese-ness in sporadic occasions like Chinese New Year and other extended family gatherings like funerals and Chinese weddings, yet when we refer to referencing our ‘cultural roots’ we think of stereotypical imagery of ‘traditional’ Chinese culture such as Chinese Orchestra (a form which has only existed since the 1920s and was started as a direct counterpart to the “Western” orchestra with “Western” notation). There has always been a subconscious guilt associated with speaking good English and appreciating English-language content (moreso in the past, less now but it still exists) even though it’s our official first language and has influenced our nation as a whole at a much larger scale than our respective mother tongues, but I don’t think this is a

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particularly useful way of binomial thinking. As Singaporeans, being raised in a multi-cultural environment and having been widely exposed to global media around the world (and thus relating to these despite our penultimately Asian ‘values’), we actually don’t and shouldn’t align ourselves to any one denomination primarily. Our economic advantage was always the bridge between the loose categories of ‘East’ and ‘West’, and in 2017 we had our first batch of graduates for professional translation. Ix Shen, former-Mediacorp actor, acted as Executive Director to Chinese film Wolf Warrior II specifically because he could fluently converse in Cantonese, Mandarin and English to facilitate the international cast and crew. So for me personally, it is my responsibility as a neutral global citizen to reference all the media I’ve experienced from around the world meaningfully, without the political/racial baggage, to create a novel representation of the commonalities and differences between what we consider ‘culture’, articulating nuances that would not have been gotten if I weren’t able to parse these objectively as a perpetual outsider to these cultures. Like how black people should have the right to enjoy and cosplay anime, Asians have the right to listen to and create rap music, and white people have the right to participate in K-pop; as the world gets more globalised culturally and cross-border migration is an eventuality, a singular cultural identity is becoming less and less meaningful to define one’s sense of self, so I’ve chosen to use “cultural fluidity” as a means of articulating how we don’t have to define ourselves by what we were born into, and having anachronistic cultural influences doesn’t necessarily mean we need to feel dissonance about it. Cultural appropriation itself is tricky because it’s entirely context-based. I’d almost say it’s a necessity to cross that line before it can be defined. K-pop has only developed to such a sophisticated form because they had no indication as to what was appropriate to cosplay, and in turn pushing those limits ended up forming its own characteristics that we can now identify as OK or not. They still struggle with this internally and would benefit greatly from having someone savvy to the language and cultural history of their sources, but chemyon/face seems to prevent them from consulting a ‘foreigner’ to prevent making the type of incredulous faux pas that they still do to this day. My opinion is that because as a homogeneous society they can primarily project East Asian markets, and consider the romanticised American market to be so far removed from themselves that it wouldn’t reach them or matter (which is inaccurate because BTS now regularly places high on the US Billboard charts). Singapore has the distinct disadvantage of not owning a national language. Japanese punk sounds instantly Japanese due to the language and likewise with K-pop even when they just replace the lyrics of English demos, yet when Singaporean artists sing in English it sounds fairly indistinguishable from American acts (intentionally, because we have hangups about our accent and the way we were taught pronunciation in an ‘Oral Examination’ context), when we sing in Chinese it’s associated with Taiwanese pop (because it’s the primary market for profit and accreditation) and likewise for the other primary mother tongues. This makes it particularly difficult to define ourselves as a unique entity for our output, and local artist friends have frequently received complaints that their works aren’t ‘ethnic’ enough and are

9.5  Guo Ming (TZECHAR) and Wang Wei Yang (Yllis)’s Response to Chapter 6…

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too ‘Western’, even though their influences are exactly what they’ve grown up with. I don’t think Singaporeans are ignorant enough to cross obvious cultural appropriation lines, and we may well have to go through these to find our own voice, but personally we should embrace and acknowledge the way neither ‘Western’ or ‘Asian’ media are particularly exotic/alien to us due to the way our mainstream media was curated and our early adoption of the internet, and express these meaningfully in a way that our objective viewpoint allows. You’ve mentioned that your recent tour in China with the Do Hits crew has been profoundly insightful due to the constant (forced) exposure to the language and culture. How do you think it has affected you, in particular the way you define and relate to Chinese culture? Yllis What was most meaningful to me was interacting with the people and the culture and discovering the similarities and differences to my own experience of living in Singapore. It was particularly interesting because my trip to China was my first trip back to Asia since spending about 9 months in New York. There was a very strong sense of familiarity with the people I met and with my experience there…it felt like meeting an old friend whom you have not seen in a very long time. There is so much nuance and depth with any culture, but I think the Chinese side of the story gets very little “air time” internationally speaking (in the English-speaking world/internet), and so much of that nuance is lost in translation. I feel like as a Chinese Singaporean I do have the capacity to understand, appreciate and take part in the cultural conversation as a Chinese person and part of that involves getting closer to what is happening and has happened in China. (And a large part of that involves getting better at the Chinese language --> side note: I think my experience with mandarin and learning it in school and using it in Singapore feels very much like how it felt like to take piano lessons. you kind of learn the technique of it in a certain context but it is easy to lose your way because you have no idea how it applies to music. being in China is like finally hearing an amazing song for the first time and wanting to jump on the piano and compose some music). Anyway, I was only there for 3 weeks, which is a very short period of time, but it was invigorating to be immersed in (and practice speaking/writing) mandarin, interacting with the amazing musicians and producers there and talking to them about their craft, politics, food and culture, and witnessing the explosion of the hip hop trend amongst the country’s youth etc. I think what this trip has really confirmed for me is my desire to spend more time in China. Frankly speaking, it has always been hard for me to find a home musically in Singapore. I think with the Do Hits crew and the people around them, I finally feel like I can have conversations with musicians who are actively pursuing the kind of music I’m interested in. It was very insightful and heartening to talk to them about the common problems we face and to see the progress that they are making and to learn from each other in that way. Music, in a lot of ways, is a communal art form… and I think it is helpful (and more enjoyable) for a musician to develop his craft with others.

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Ming Yeah, same for me in that we’ve always felt like outsiders, whether in Singapore or overseas. The tendency for artists in Singapore to feel they have to make ‘filial art’ in the sense that the forms in which they exist in needs to be relatable by their parents/the mainstream public for them to justify their output as more than a hobby is personally a major limitation for artistic innovation. There have been so many personal examples where the excitement and passion in creativity completely dies out once they enter the ‘adult’ world because of the parental/societal pressures surrounding them, especially since in Singapore, most people live with their parents until they get married, and sometimes their whole lives, so they never have the personal and physical space to explore themselves and what they want to do as individuals meaningfully. This environment does manifest itself in Singapore art (eg. Anthony Poon’s “Jobless Son” 1966) but for the most part it forms an underlying anxiety about creating output that might not have monetary return, which is usually interpreted as mainstream-friendly, and over time this in turn creates certain expectations both from artists and consumers about how to appreciate or even what the function of art is. There is a general tendency for Singapore art to not properly be appreciated locally until there is some kind of external affirmation, which creates a feedback effect of artists creating output that caters towards their idea of an ‘international standard’, which tends to end up having no real identity of its own, while the mainstream audience expects it to be in these recognisable forms so it can be compared to analogous examples. Besides the recent trend in re-contextualizing nostalgic paraphernalia into product forms which is art in its own right, we still have a ways to go before local artists and the public can fully appreciate the unique perspective we have that makes our output valuable at an international level. We’ve got something very special, and harnessing this properly will have trickle down effects in what is generally considered more ‘pragmatic’ disciplines like business and science. In my opinion, art, science and commerce are part of the same world and the way they are segregated in the education system limits the way people think about them, often considering them complete disparate entities. I think re-configuring these associations (just as with ‘cultural fluidity’) will go a long way in defining what we want to achieve in our individual and collective output, ultimately allowing us to find our place among dominant cultures, societies and markets globally.

9.6  B  enjamin Lim Yi’s Response to Chapter 7 “Playing with Nostalgia: Translation of Artistic Directions of Contemporary Musicians in Singapore” The article presents an updated, current and relevant look, in my opinion, at the stage of artistic Singaporean identity that may be present today, through the survey of four prominent local musicians and groups. It is an interesting look at some of the

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creative works of these musicians, with the concept of nostalgia as a unifying concept. In so doing, it goes beyond the traditional academic discourses of cultural borrowings, influences and re-influences, which are commonly discussed in the fields of anthropology, musicology, ethnomusicology and sociology. As a Singaporean composer-based overseas, many a time I have been asked, or ask myself, various iterations of “What is a Singaporean?” and “What makes our art Singaporean?” There is no one straightforward answer, as much as there is not one homogenous ethnicity, language, heritage or even history in Singapore that we can draw upon, apart from our short 50-odd years since independence. What resonates with me most, beyond the academic concept of nostalgia (which I must admit is not one that I am familiar with), is that the article, to me, is a timely look at some of the current manifestations of musical identity, personal, social and collective memory against the backdrop of a social media frenzied, fast-paced and voraciously consuming society. How does an artist stay relevant in today’s society? Does an artist need to stay relevant? Should artists adopt, adapt and use today’s rapidly expanding technology in the creation and transmission of their work(s)? Is medium a requisite or a defining factor in what constitutes art and, in particular, music? How do artists make a living now compared to the past? What percentage of an artist(s) output should be commercial, and which should be kept “sacred” and purely for art’s sake? As Singaporean artists and musicians, how much of our art needs to be an overt reflection of our perceived and inherited backgrounds? Do we have a duty to be torchbearers and gatekeepers of a heritage that our forefathers brought to our shores? Are such questions even relevant today? These are pertinent questions that I believe are raised when discussing the current climate of contemporary art and music in Singapore, or even elsewhere in the world today, especially in such an increasingly globalised milieu. My personal take when viewing any form of creative work is to look at purpose and intent. I recently read an article stating that the total box office returns of the last five Best Picture awardees at the Academy Awards still paled in comparison with The Fate of the Furious, the eighth and latest instalment (at the time of writing) of the wildly popular Fast and the Furious franchise. What does this say of the Best Picture films? Were they flops? Were they failures? Again, we know that to compare them to The Fate of the Furious would be anything but asinine, as their intended purpose was as art house films, while the latter was created with the purpose of entertainment and being a commercial hit to line the pockets of their investors. While the above example is an easy one to wade through, oftentimes we are confronted with entertainment that masquerades as art, or art that dallies on the fringes of entertainment, and thereabout comes the grey areas, including the concomitant chagrin when artists are called into question for passing off entertainment as art or vice versa. Finally, I think no discussion on Singaporean musical identity is complete without mentioning the numerous non“ethnic” groups that exist in Singapore.

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The article focuses on the reinvention and contemporaneous efforts of musicians that perform on “traditional” instruments belonging to the artificial construct of “race” in Singapore, namely, that of the “CMIO” (Chinese, Malay, Indian and Others). Yet, it is my view that such a discussion, while convenient and easy to spot at first, may not provide enough of a scope in the survey of contemporary music development in Singapore. The boom in the past few years in the number of wind bands, symphonic orchestras, choir groups and their subset ensembles, ranging from the professional to amateur and all in between, is very much to be included in such a discussion, especially with regard to the very innovative programming that usually comes along with such outfits. Many of these homegrown nonethnic instrumented ensembles frequently programme, rearrange and even commission new works by local composers. With such an amalgamation of influences, languages and cultures such as Singapore, and especially so as the result of the policies of our Ministry of Education since independence, another missing aspect in understanding the development of contemporary local artistic efforts by musicians in Singapore today may also be sought there; Singaporean composers, for one, frequently find inventive ways of portraying and reflecting their personal and shared experiences, in and outside of community, or even as a response to current events. Many of these composers, myself included, have produced works that may or may not sometimes consider the usage of instruments and their concomitant cultural baggage as an aspect of the creating process. Many local nonethnic groups, to my knowledge, have gone beyond the cursory 1+1 formula of a fusion performance (i.e. an ethnic instrument performing alongside a Western ensemble such as a symphonic wind band or orchestra) to programming new works and rearrangements of completely nonethnic instrumentations that, in addition to the eminent musicians mentioned in the article, may provide the curious with a more complete picture of where contemporary music is heading towards in Singapore today, even vis-à-vis a discussion in nostalgia. In my personal pursuit of my composing craft, I too have pondered many a time if the usage or reliance on traditional non-Western instruments as a vehicle or medium to make the restless, attention-span-challenged postmodern consumer “listen”, may at best be received as novelty or, at worst, further deepen the pigeonholing of such heritage(s) from which they are perceived to have originated. Some may posit the notion that even the slightest efforts to drawing the modern listener in may pique enough of a curiosity such that an intrinsic effort is made by an individual to further study and look into the traditional art forms that these instruments hail from; without a deeper analysis statistically of such follow-up rates, if even possible, it remains to be seen if such efforts are indeed successful or merely an exercise in nostalgia.

References

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References Cziksentmihalyi, M. (1996). Creativity: Flow and the psychology of discovery and invention. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Moran, S., & John-Steiner, V. (2004). How collaboration in creative work impacts identity and motivation. In D. Miell & K. Littleton (Eds.), Collaborative creativity: Contemporary perspectives (pp. 11–25). London: Free Association Books. Schippers, H. (2010). Facing the music. New York: Oxford University Press. Seddon, F. A. (2005). Modes of communication during jazz improvisation. British Journal of Music Education, 22(1), 47–61.

Chapter 10

Descriptive Glossary Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray and Chee-Hoo Lum

Contents 10.1  L  ist of Music Groups, in Alphabetical Order 10.2  Additional Interviews 10.3  Additional Resource

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10.1  List of Music Groups, in Alphabetical Order Below are brief descriptions of the music groups we researched (taken from their official webpages or provided to us by the musicians), as well as a listing of the chapters and pages in which they are discussed. Flame of the Forest (Featured in Chap. 2)

Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

© Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2018 J. Y.-M. Lizeray, C.-H. Lum, Semionauts of Tradition, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-1011-9_10

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“Flame of the Forest (FOTF) is an instrumental world fusion music group that has a long history. Inheriting the band from their father, Kenny Tan, Krsna and Govin Tan sought to update the concepts and philosophies bestowed upon them by their predecessors from the 80s. This unique collaboration of instruments and music has brought them to cities such as Melbourne, Brunei, New Delhi, Beijing, Kuala Lumpur, where they presented Singaporean music to an international audience and received unanimous applause. Incorporating styles from other genres, the band synergises the different ideas and concepts from all other music with their understanding of Indian Classical and Folk music—concocting a refreshing blend of music. In addition to combining genres, the band also modernises vital concepts of Instrumental World Fusion Music that are easily ignored by many. FOTF aims to give an enhanced perspective on the musical alchemy that they have developed by inspiring, influencing, educating and communicating with listeners through their music. Incorporating styles from other genres, the band synergises the different ideas and concepts from all other music with their understanding of Indian Classical and Folk music—concocting a refreshing blend of music. In addition to combining genres, the band also modernises vital concepts of World Fusion Music that are easily ignored by many. FOTF aims to give an enhanced perspective on the musical alchemy that they have developed by showcasing the various combinations of World Music genres. Known for their performance standards and versatility, FOTF has performed at numerous prestigious events such as World Health Summit (Singapore), Singapore Grand Prix, International New York Times—S.E.A. of Luxury, Entrepreneurs for the World Award Ceremony. FOTF hopes to inspire, influence, educate and communicate through their music”. Band Members Krsna tan—sitar Govin tan—tabla/percussion Caleb Koa—keyboard Jeffrey tan—violin Arthur Wiyono—electric bass Andy Chong—guitar Genre Fusion/world/instrumental/experimental Awards Krsna tan—Winner of 2002 National Indian Music Competition; sitar open category Govin tan—Winner of 2006 & 2008 National Indian Music Competition; Tabla Intermediate & Open Category

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More Information www.fotfproductions.com play.spotify.com/artist/0t5G6hjUwSWd1VA6lkeCtv www.youtube.com/flameotf www.soundcloud.com/flameotf www.facebook.com/flameotf/ (All information retrieved from FOTF’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017) KULCHA (Featured in Chaps. 2 and 8)

Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

“KULCHA is a modern and fusion music outfit that creates and plays music featuring a variety of traditional Asian and non-Western instruments like the Chinese pipa, Indian bansuri, Indonesian angklung and Middle Eastern gambus, against a contemporary sound scape….The band embarked on a journey to rediscover and reconnect with their cultural identity. KULCHA explores these questions in the urban jungle we call, Home—What does it mean to be part of a certain heritage? What does it mean to have a cultural identity? Do we have something to call OUR cultural identity? OUR MISSION—We hope to dispel the notion that traditional Asian and non-­ Western instruments are old-fashioned or boring. We desire to cultivate an interest in the different types of music and sounds the instruments produce. Ultimately, we desire that music be part of your daily life and culture. Because if we don’t take ownership of our culture and heritage, who will? We want music to be a part of your daily life, a part of YOUR culture. WHY THE NAME—KULCHA (pronounced, “culture”) was taken playfully from the word, ‘Culture’”.

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Band Members Gildon Choo—pipa Ismahairie Putra Ishak—violin/gambus/darbuka Raghavendran Rajasekaran—bansuri Yazeid Rahman—bass Serene tan (who goes by Stan)—keyboard/angklung Joseph Chian (who goes by soap)—drums/Sundanese kendang Genre World music, contemporary, fusion, traditional arts More Information www.facebook.com/hellowearekulcha vimeo.com/hellokulcha www.soundcloud.com/hellokulcha www.youtube.com/user/hellowearekulcha (All information retrieved from KULCHA’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017 and the band’s press kit as of 2017) MUSA (Featured in Chap. 6)

Photo courtesy of MUSA

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“Formed in mid 2015, MUSA comprises of Zhongruan soloist Su-Min and Guzheng soloist Su-Hui, who are scholars of the Singapore National Arts Council and hold a Masters Degree from the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, and composer/arranger Dayn Ng, who graduated with an Honours Degree in Music Composition from the Royal College of Music. MUSA incorporates Chinese Music with Contemporary style, yet preserving the roots on this foundation. Their original and rearrangement works can be found on their YouTube and Facebook page at MUSA_sg. The group has been invited to perform at one of China’s top show Day Day Up and they are featured overseas artistes on China’s Guzheng Net”. Band Members Tan Su-min—zhongruan Tan Su-hui—guzheng Dayn ng—composer-in-residence/percussion Genre Classical, world, fusion, experimental, pop Influences World, fusion, traditional, classical, pop, experimental, contemporary More Information www.youtube.com/suminsuhui (All information retrieved from MUSA’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017) NADA (Featured in Chap. 2)

Photo courtesy of Throbbing Pixel

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“NADA is a visual arts/sound project that explores the myth and synthetic history of a fabricated group of the same name focusing on the excavation of the golden era of Malay/Southeast Asian traditional and popular music that spanned from the 1960s to the 1980s. A concept developed by Rizman Putra and Safuan Johari, the duo blurs the line between fiction and reality by deconstructing popular Malay songs from the past and melding them back together like a newly-discovered treasure of long lost tapes that has aged with time. NADA first presented a multimedia installation together with a one-night performance at Budi Daya, the first contemporary art exhibition held at the Malay Heritage Centre in 2014. They were then invited to Palais de Tokyo in Paris for an artist visitation stint, where they re-recorded selected songs in French with a Parisian singer as part of Secret Archipel Exhibition in March 2015. NADA was also part of Singapore Tourism Board’s SG50 international creative showcase, Singapore Inside Out, where they performed in Beijing, London and New York. During their stop in London, they did a special showcase at renowned independent record store, Rough Trade. In between their travels they were also invited to grace the stage of various festivals back at home such as the Night Festival and Neon Lights Festival. 2016 saw NADA’s first theatre appearance for “The Chronicles of One & Zero: Kancil” in which Rizman was also the director and Safuan did the score and sound-­ design. That, they played a crucial role in ‘Club Malam’, an immersive performance as part of The O.P.E.N. for Singapore International Festival of Arts 2016”. (Information from NADA’s press kit as of 2017) NADI Singapura (Featured in Chaps. 4, 5, 7 and 8)

Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

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“Nadi, which refers to ‘pulse’ or ‘flow of consciousness’ is a newly formed ensemble made up of young dynamic and impartial musos who believe in uplifting their traditional drums and percussions like no other. Kompang, rebana, jidur and gendang are some of the most common Malayan drums found in Singapore, and Nadi Singapura proudly features these drums in their performances, in perfect rhythm and harmony. Led by rebana artisan, Yaziz Hassan, together with prominent drummer/percussionist, Riduan Zalani, NADI Singapura strives to instill a different approach on these Malay Archipelago drums. Dedicated to upholding while pushing the craft, they simultaneously utilize various polyrhythmic ideas, structures and techniques, adding a new breath of freshness to their presentation. Nadi Singapura Ltd. is a recipient of the National Arts Council’s Major Grant for the period from 1 April 2016 to 31 March 2019”. Band Members Yaziz Hassan, Riduan Zalani, Nizarfauzi Norlie, Saidrudy Mohamed Buang, Rudi Salim, Firdaus Shah, Ridwan Ramli, Syafiq Halid, Jumali Ismail, Nazri Johar, Nurzulkhairi Zulkepli, Faris Ithinain, Eddi Gunawan Zahri, Noraini Abas, Danial Hannan Rashid, Syarafuddin Abdul Jalal, Danial Zulqarnain Hashim, Khairul Ridzwan Rohmat, Siti ‘Aliah Ismail, Ridzman Salleh, Farhan Abdul Rahman, Sharil Jainan, Rafi’uddin Jamaluddin, Syazwan Yusman, Azfar Syafiq Abdol Ghafar, Amiirul Fatris Abdol Ghafar, Zulfahmi Othman, Zulfadhli Othman, Nazrul Fathmi Norlie, Nasrulhaq Kamsani, Abdul Syafiq Abdul Rahman, Nur Khoiriyyatun Sabila Hassan, ‘Ainul ‘Aqilah Borhan Nurdin, Nur Azreen Sopri, Nurul Ain Yusoff, Danial Buyamin, Noorizam Zulkarnain, Khairil Shazwan Surani, Faiz Farihin Jumaat, Hamqah Roslan, Fadhli Ramli, Hanisah Tan Zainudin, Azhari Azmi and Ahmad Rabbani Zainol Abidin Genre World/dance/drums and percussions Awards Chingay 2016 grand champion—Perkasa titian Warisan (the mighty bridge of heritage) Chingay 2015 best contingent display (< 300 participants) President’s gold cup award 2014 More Information www.facebook.com/nadisingapura/ (All information retrieved from NADI Singapura’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017)

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Nen 念 (Featured in Chaps. 5 and 6)

Photo courtesy of Nen 念

“念, pronounced as “Nen” in Japanese, is an extremely versatile character. It can either refer to thought or to speech. By adding the appropriate character in front, all levels of thought can be expressed, from the most basic, to the metaphysical, to the spiritual. When we sincerely make or listen to music, we engage all types of Nen 念. Formed in 2013, Nen 念 comprises 3 not-so-young men with a dream to produce the sounds they have been hearing in their caffeine-filled heads. Although majoring in traditional Chinese instruments, do not be surprised to see other poor unwitting instruments in their hands as well. With their own musical creations and the belief that music has no boundaries, Nen intends to take away the boundaries between themselves and their audience”. Band Members Patrick Ngo—yangqin/percussion Darrel Xin—erhu/guitar/harmonica Johnny chia—guzheng/pianica Influences World music, new age, film scores, rock, blues, singer-songwriter, pop, anime music, Chinese instrumental, tradition style, new Chinese music

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More Information soundcloud.com/musicwithnen www.facebook.com/musicwithnen/ (All information retrieved from FOTF’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017) OrkeStar Trio (Featured in Chaps. 3 and 4)

Photo courtesy of OrkeStar Trio

“Bonded by friendship in pursuit of musical possibilities, OrkeStar Trio embodies the spirit of adventure in exploring the versatility and context of music in the Malay Archipelago in the modern world. Made up of three young artistes with unique dispositions, the Trio believes in honouring their traditional influences while pushing towards forming a new spectrum of sound. Their composition features a mash-up of various musical styles, reflecting the diversity of identities and interests among them. As soloists or a group, these musicians have represented Singapore on numerous local and international platforms. These include performances in countries such as Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, Cambodia, India, Japan, Turkey, Israel and United States. This musical outfit possesses a strong desire to break the barriers between musical genres and share their voice to inspire.

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Past Collaborators: Hendra Kazan, Fauzi Basir, Yazeid Rahman, Azrin Abdullah, Ramu Thiruyanam, Said Alkatiri, Najib Soiman, Nizar Fauzie, Yshai Afterman, Zubir Abdullah, SA The Collective, NADI Singapura, Sri Mahligai, Sri Warisan Som Said Performing Arts, DIAN Dancers, Era Dance Theatre, TisraRoopaSangeeth, Brian O’Reilly, ILA, Eusebio Paraguas, Bornfire, Slam, Orkestra Melayu Singapura, SONOFA”. Band Members Alhafiz Jamat—seruling (bamboo flute)/synths Ismahairie Putra Ishak—oud/violin Riduan Zalani—drums/percussions Genre World/instrumental More Information www.reverbnation.com/OrkeStarTrio www.facebook.com/orkestartrio/ (All information retrieved from OrkeStar Trio’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017) RaghaJazz (Featured in Chap. 5)

Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

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“A South Asian Jazz Fusion Band. The definition of the true new-old sound. Every once in awhile, a baby jazz band comes along with globally redefined perspectives of sound, then that baby takes its listeners on a trip to rediscover new musical possibilities and by the end of their journey, they say: “That’s the coolest thing I’ve Ever Heard”. And this is what RaghaJazz is about. How it all began… In Singapore, a city at its mark of multi-cultural renaissance; secretly witnessed the birth of this aced quintet. Featuring Southeast Asia’s finest self-expanding musical cats, Ragha (Bansuri/Singapore), Rachma (Piano/Indonesia), Jase (Bass/Singapore), Jit (DrumKit/Malaysia), Kumaran (Tabla/Malaysia), in one complete harmony. Their dynamic yet humble relationship began during undergraduate jazz music studies at LaSalle College of the Arts, Singapore and some previously long termed music friends. At the request of an invite, Ragha, the lead artist, instinctively called upon his “A-Team”, Rachma, Jase, Kumaranji and Jit Seng, to fire up a Jazz Fusion Band. RaghaJazz made their debut in the year 2009, for the Asian Vibes Festival, held at Esplanade, Singapore. Ever since then, they have been featured at various Jazz festivals held in Singapore held by the esplanade, such as the Mosaic Festival, Bright Young Things and Jazz in July. RaghaJazz Today… RaghaJazz has been a regular feature at some of Singapore’s Biggest Jazz initiatives organised by the Esplanade Singapore. They include “Mosaic festival of Jazz”, “Bright Young Things” and the “Jazz in July”. The quintet is currently working on their first album, “Idioms of Freedom”, which is due to release on October 2015”. Band Members Raghavendran Rajasekaran—bansuri Rachmawati Lim, Joel Chua and Audrey Tengkey—piano/keyboard Jase ng—bass Kumaran Palaniappan—mridangam/tabla Lee Jit Seng—drums Genre Jazz fusion, Indian classical music More Information www.facebook.com/Raghajazz/ (All information retrieved from RaghaJazz’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017 and from Raghavendran Rajasekaran)

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SA(仨) (Featured in Chaps. 2, 3, 6 and 8)

Photo: Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray

“Music is often marked by culture or era but sound knows no limitations. Understanding this, SA(仨) creates its own soundscapes, producing art that can be heard. SA(仨) aims to explore all the possibilities that sound has to offer, regardless of culture or tradition. Founded in 2010, the band takes its name from Northern Chinese dialect, 仨, which means three, as a tribute to their traditional Chinese roots though all three are Singaporeans. SA(仨) embodies the spirit of three unique Chinese individuals, influenced by diverse cultures from today’s cosmopolitan society and globalised world, yet retaining their Chinese ethnic identities. The trio, driven by passion and united through their zest for experimentation, honours their tradition while pursuing modern sonic experiences. Featuring original compositions inspired by their cultural roots and realised through modern interpretations, the trio hopes to create Musical Art that represents their modern identity as Chinese from a diaspora. Each band member received professional training in their respective instruments in Shanghai, Hong Kong and Beijing—Andy C. on the Dizi (Chinese flute), Natalie Alexandra on the Guzheng (Chinese zither) and Cheryl Ong on drums and percussion, their music creatively infuses musical elements inspired by Chinese, and Southeast Asian cultures along with modern and pop elements. For SA(仨), each instrument is merely the start of an exploration in sound. Every original composition from SA(仨) is a bold experiment that combines traditional elements with modern techniques such as live looping. Triggered live (no patches, no bass), every performance is a risk that the band takes to interpret the question of identity.

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The trio made its debut appearance at the Esplanade Outdoor Theatre in celebration of National Day 2011, and more recently at ‘Fusion Vision’ as part of the Esplanade Waterfront Series. They have also been invited to perform in various cultural events such as ‘Temasya Kampong Glam 2011’ and ‘Forever Sarong Kebaya’ at the Peranakan Museum. The trio hopes to share their interpretations of traditional roots without losing touch of current times, bringing you on their journey of self-discovery through music”. Band Members Andy chia—dizi (Chinese flute)/didgeridoo/vocal/electronics Natalie Alexandra Tse—guzheng (Chinese zither)/electronics Cheryl Ong—drums/percussion/electronics Genre World/instrumental/live looping/electronics/experimental Awards Noise Singapore 2013 More Information soundcloud.com/sathecollective www.facebook.com/SAthecollective/ (All information retrieved from SA(仨)’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017) Tamarind Sound Project (Featured in Chap. 3)

Photo courtesy of Tamarind Sound Project

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“The Tamarind Sound Project is a trio that explores Indian Classical Music in a Contemporary Context. Led by Raghavendran Rajasekaran on the Bansuri with fellow Vocalist Sai Vignesh and Sai Akilesh on Indian Hand percussions. Tamarind Sound Project debuted in 2014 with its inaugural performance at the Esplanade Artist In Residence Showcase of Original Works. Following its debut; the Band was also a featured act for Kalautsavam Festival 2014 and Shantanand Festival 2014. In their quest for Indian Classical Music innovation the band seeks for the freshest and the most sincere renditions of Indian Classical Ragas that blend with modern music”. Band Members Raghavendran Rajasekaran—bansuri Sai Akilesh—Indian hand percussions Sai Vignesh—vocals Aditi Gopinathan—vocals Jit Seng lee—drums (All Information provided by Raghavendran Rajasekaran) The SBT Trio (Featured in Chap. 2)

Photo courtesy of SBT Trio

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“Awesome combination of flute, tabla, percussions, guitar, synth effects playing ethnic infused contemporary covers and originals. The SBT Trio was formed on Nov 17, 2012, after a gig at the opening of Resorts World Sentosa’s Aquarium. Three musicians by the name of Sebastian Ho (guitar), Terry Ang (flute) and Bobby Singh (percussions) got together and performed world music. The music was very well received and the synergy among the three musicians, who were all very accomplished musicians in their own right, was tremendous. Hence, The SBT trio was formed. Since then, the trio has grown from strength to strength, performing in more venues and functions. It seemed a natural progression for the trio to start working on more intricate arrangements and original material to fully capitalize on the awesome combination of nylon guitars, flutes, percussions and tablas. They started to write their own music as well as rearrange many popular tunes from jazz, pop, music theatre, rock etc. with the added touch of ethnic elements. The SBT Trio has regular performances at The Sultan Jazz Club, as well as some stints at Blu Jaz Café. It will also be part of the MOSAIC Music Festival 2014 at the Esplanade. Throughout the past year of existence, The SBT Trio has gained many fans in Singapore and is continually growing its fan base”. Band Members Sebastian ho—nylon guitar/electric guitar/guitar synth/vocals Terry Ang—flutes/vocals Bobby Singh—percussion/tabla/synth/vocals Genre Ethnic fusion Influences World music, rock, metal, jazz, fusion, ethnic, Indian, traditional Chinese, Celtic, pop, funk More Information www.facebook.com/TheSBTrio/ (All information retrieved from The SBT Trio’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017)

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The TENG Ensemble (Featured in Chaps. 2, 5, 6 and 7)

Photo by Rhys Ngo, courtesy of The TENG Ensemble

“The TENG Ensemble bridges the traditional and contemporary, the East and West, and the old and new. Their unique brand of music has brought them to cities such as Shanghai, Seoul, Manila, Hong Kong, and Kuala Lumpur, where they presented Singaporean music to an international audience and received unanimous acclaim. Their two full-length albums were both awarded 4.5 out of 5 stars by The Straits Times, and they have played at venues and events such as the Esplanade Concert Hall, Esplanade Recital Studio, Hong Kong Fringe Club, ASEAN Tourism Forum, TEDxPetaling Street, Mediacorp’s Star Awards, Shanghai World Expo, Youth Olympic Games, Singapore Night Festival and Singapore Heritage Festival. Their online music videos are much talked about and have been widely viewed and shared by people from Taiwan, Malaysia, Hong Kong, United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Singapore, Thailand, China, and Australia, amongst others. As a collective of music educators, scholars and award-winning instrumentalists, The TENG Ensemble constantly looks to break new ground with familiar yet refreshing and accessible yet enigmatic music. Their works take inspiration from past and present and are showcased in a way that is accessible and representative of today’s musical sensibilities and aesthetics. The ensemble is the anchor group of The TENG Company, a not-for-profit arts organisation that aims to be a leading and inspirational contributor to a Singapore sound that is current, innovative, visionary and urban—guided by Asian aesthetics.

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The TENG Ensemble is part of the TENG Company (‘The Teng Ensemble Ltd’) is proud to be supported by Temasek and is a recipient of the National Arts Council’s Seed Grant for the period from 1 April 2015 to 31 March 2018”. Band Members Gerald Teo—cello Huang Peh Linde—electronics/arranger/producer James Fernand—guitar Phua Ee Kia—countertenor Dr. Samuel Wong—pipa Yang Jiwei—sheng Chow JunYi—composer-in-residence Steve Zhang—sound engineer Genre Contemporary music, Singaporean music, world music More Information www.thetengcompany.com www.facebook.com/theTENGcompany/ (All information retrieved from The TENG Ensemble’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017) TZECHAR (Featured in Chaps. 2, 6 and 8)

Photo courtesy of TZECHAR

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“The enigmatic duo TZECHAR first caught the attention of international taste-­ making platforms like Thump and Noisey through a series of cryptic and captivating audio-visual content referencing Asian media such as K-pop and Hong Kong films. Part parody and part homage, TZECHAR was effectively communicating in multiple tongues the absurdism and artistry of the pop culture machine—in turn a reflection upon the state of global media consumption, and how that was influencing and being influenced by Asian culture. TZECHAR have since continued producing original works that dismantle and re-construct cultural tropes across the world, with a particular focus on threading commonalities between disparate subcultures and abstracting artistic trajectories from their original contexts. They have also been featured on KEXP, BBC Radio 1’s Essential Mix, Rinse FM and Triple Canopy”. More Information https://soundcloud.com/lamsuet www.tzechar.com (All information provided by the artist) yIN Harmony (Featured in Chaps. 2 and 6)

Photo courtesy of yIN Harmony

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“yIN Harmony is an ethnic music group whose vision is to infuse various cultural instruments together on a singular platform to reflect the multiracial facet of Singapore. The group is led by Tan Qing Lun, an award-winning multi-flautist, who is experienced and well-versed in Chinese, Indian and Japanese flute performance. Upon realisation that Singapore holds a large community of talented musicians and with the aspiration to create and strengthen the bond between fellow enthusiasts and art practitioners through music-making, yIN Harmony was thus formed. The notion of getting elements deriving from different ethnic groups is crucial to a national identity and it unifies cultural thread in our urban music landscape”. More Information www.houseofmusicsg.com/yin-harmony www.facebook.com/yINharmony (All information retrieved from yIN Harmony’s Facebook page on 27/09/2017) Yllis (Featured in Chaps. 6 and 8)

Photo by Callum Aldrin Smith, courtesy of Yllis

“The music of electronic artist Yllis is a relentless exploration into the possibilities of Asian Futurism. Within his universe, experimental electronic production melds with the forgotten textures of traditional Chinese instruments, and artifacts from his cultural heritage find a fresh voice through bold stories and modern narratives. The resulting sound is a vision of globalised culture, streaming wirelessly through Internet pipelines, borderless and hyperconnected.

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Born in Singapore and now based between his home city and New York, Yllis digs into the claustrophobia and frustrations of growing up in the rigid, capitalist island state as part of a Chinese diaspora marooned from its cultural roots. A city built upon Western colonial influence, yet fundamentally divorced from it. The music ends up being both deeply personal and a universal testament against cultural hegemony, reaching out in ways that are warped and strange, yet hopeful and wondrous. Yllis is represented in China by acclaimed Beijing electronic label Do Hits, and his tracks have been featured on global platforms like Vice, Boiler Room, Radar Radio and 88 Rising”. Genre #sinofuturism More Information www.soundcloud.com/yllis facebook.com/yllisuniverse twitter.com/yllisuniverse (Information provided by the artist and retrieved from Yllis’ SoundCloud on 27/09/2017)

10.2  Additional Interviews To gain better understanding of the bands we were studying, we decided to interview a few members of the local music scene. The following individuals were interviewed: Benjamin Lim Yi “Benjamin Lim Yi is a Singaporean composer based in Beijing. His works span the entire gamut from commissioned concert pieces to theatre, contemporary dance and stage productions, to film, TV, radio and mixed media installations. They have been performed and showcased in Singapore, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Seoul, London, and many cities across China including Shanghai and Beijing. His soundtracks for film have accompanied and won various awards at notable international film festivals”. (Information provided by Benjamin) More Information www.benjaminlimyi.com Daniel Peters “Daniel Peters is one of Singapore’s leading music writers and tastemakers, best known for his role as editor of Bandwagon Asia. His work is read by music lovers and industry insiders all over Asia, and his efforts have contributed to Singapore’s

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burgeoning music scene. Having interviewed everyone from Hans Zimmer to Tame Impala, his extensive features and content curation has led to Bandwagon’s current position as the leading music site in the region”. (Information provided by Daniel) More Information www.bandwagon.asia Desmond Chew “Desmond is a programmer at Esplanade—Theatres on the Bay, Singapore’s national performing arts centre. He is part of the team that organises the centre’s cultural festivals including Huayi—Chinese Festival of Arts and Moonfest—A Mid-­ Autumn Celebration. He also organises programmes for the Chinese Chamber Music series which features quarterly intimate Chinese classical music recitals”. (Information provided by Desmond) Ghanavenothan Retnam “Ghanavenothan Retnam, the son of R. Retnam, a pioneer musician of Singapore, has carved niche in the art scenario in Singapore with his unflinching devotion for Indian classical music. He had his tutelage under Pundit. M Ramalingam, who nurtured his passion for playing the flute. He has accompanied internationally renowned artists and numerous performances to his credit in Singapore and various countries. He successfully staged the world premiere of Gaana Sangam at the Singapore Arts Festival. With eight flute arangetrams to his credit, his emotive performances led him to record for a Walt Disney’s feature film. For his outstanding contributions to the field of arts, he created history as the first Singaporean Indian artist to be awarded the prestigious Singapore’s “Young Artist Award” for music and is also conferred with the titles Sangitha Kala Nipuna, Singai Venugana Vishrada, Mohana Murali and Kuzhalosai Venthan. He was also awarded a “Lifetime Achievement and Humanitarian Medallion” by the world peace and harmony organisation, New York, USA. In addition to performing, teaching and being the music director at Bhaskar’s Arts Academy, he also composes music for orchestras and dance ballets. His music was recorded extensively based on classical, devotional and East-West confluence. An inspirational role-model for the younger generation artists, he also serves in the various programming panels at the National Arts Council, Ministry of Education’s mentorship schemes and fellowships at various arts organisations globally. For his commendable achievements to the field of music, he was recently awarded the reputed title Sangitha Kala Bhushana”. (Information provided by Ghanavenothan) More Information www.ghanavenothan.com Rit Xu “Singapore-based award winning flutist, composer, educator and recording artist, Rit Xu has emerged as a leading light of his generation and is slowly gaining

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international recognition for his lyrical, thoughtful and introspective musical voice on the flute. His passionate, wholehearted and at times highly energetic performances has won the admiration of fans and fellow musicians worldwide. In 2014, Rit was recognised for his finesse as a flutist and improviser by being named winner of the NFA Jazz Artist Competition; the first Southeast Asian to win a solo jazz competition in the United States. An honors graduate in classical flute performance from the famed Yong Siew Toh Conservatory of Music of the National University of Singapore, he is equally comfortable playing to an audience in the thousands on the hallowed stages of the concert hall as in an intimate jazz club with listeners at close proximity. With a keen focus on shaping improvised melodies that draws influence from notable trumpeters, saxophonists and practitioners of the jazz tradition, Rit Xu is an instantly recognisable performer—pushing the boundaries of what the flute can achieve sonically and emotionally outside of its familiar association with Western classical music”. (Information provided by Rit) More Information www.ritxu.com Syafiqah ‘Adha Sallehin “Syafiqah ‘Adha Sallehin obtained her Bachelor’s degree in Music (with Honours) and her Masters of Music from Yong Siew Toh Conservatory of Music (YSTCM), at the National University of Singapore in 2013 and 2016 respectively. There, she studied classical contemporary music composition with Professor Ho Chee Kong. A recipient of the “Goh Chok Tong Youth Promise Award” by MENDAKI in 2010, Syafiqah is the first and so far the only Malay-Muslim Singaporean student of the conservatory. As a composer, Syafiqah’s works often incorporate elements of her national identity, cultural heritage and themes of myths and fantasy. She is also a self-taught accordionist in the Malay traditional music genre. Syafiqah is the music director of Gendang Akustika, a Malay traditional-contemporary music ensemble in Singapore, and she actively performs on the accordion with the ensemble”. (Information provided by Syafiqah) More Information www.syafiqah-adha.com www.facebook.com/syafiqah.adha/ Tan Qing Lun “Tan Qing Lun is an award-winning multi-flute musician who embodies and embraces the cultural diversity of his home, Singapore. Nominated by The Straits Times as one of “30 Rising Stars under 30″ in Singapore’s arts, entertainment and lifestyle scene, Qing Lun is continually dedicated to shaping a localised musical voice that can be celebrated all over the world. Qing Lun is the Festival Director for the Singapore Dizi Festival in 2015 and ASEAN-Korea Flute Festival in 2017. He currently serves as a Council member in the Singapore Chinese Music Federation, Creative director with House of Music as

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well as the Secretary of the Singapore Dizi Society. An avid teacher, he conducts classes at the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts School of Young Talent and School of the Arts (Singapore). Qing Lun graduated with a Masters in Chinese Music (Dizi) from Shanghai Conservatory of Music under the tutelage of Prof. Zhan Yong Ming, with support from the National Arts Council (NAC) scholarship. He is currently undertaking his PhD programme at China Conservatory of Music under the tutelage of Prof. Zhang Wei Liang. Actively performing, educating and learning, Qing Lun strives to continue shaping this identity, and hopes to reach out to more people in locally and globally with his music”. (Information provided by Qing Lun) More Information www.qinglun-tan.com www.houseofmusicsg.com Wang Chenwei “WANG Chenwei (王辰威), born 1988, is Head of Research of the TENG Company, lecturer of composition at the National Institute of Education, tonmeister of msm-­ productions (working as a recording engineer at the Victoria Concert Hall), as well as a member of the Composers and Authors Society of Singapore (COMPASS) and the Composers Society of Singapore. After graduating from Raffles Institution’s Gifted Education Programme with 7 academic awards, Chenwei obtained his 5-year Master of Arts with distinction and an Honorary Award (Würdigungspreis) from the Vienna University for Music and Performing Arts, where he studied Composition and Audio Engineering under the Singapore Media Development Authority’s scholarship. Chenwei is frequently commissioned to compose and arrange music for the Singapore Chinese Orchestra, Singapore Ministry of Education and Taipei Chinese Orchestra. His orchestral compositions were featured in charity concerts with Singapore Presidents S.R.  Nathan (2009) and Tony Tan (2012) as the guest-of-­ honour. For his contributions to the Singaporean music scene, Chenwei was conferred the Young Outstanding Singaporeans Award in 2011″. (Information provided by Chenwei) More Information wangchenwei.wordpress.com/ Zubir Abdullah “Zubir is a music composer, singer, songwriter and producer. He regularly lectures about Malay Traditional Music at the National Institute of Education (Department of Visual and Performing Arts), Nanyang Technological University. He is also a member of the National Arts Council’s Malay Music Development Committee and Choral Secretariat.

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Zubir is the resident music director and choir instructor for Sri Warisan Som Said Performing Arts School. More than 80 student members under his tutelage have gained recognition as performers at local and international events. Zubir himself has traveled to perform and conduct music in more than 50 cities including Malaysia, Brunei, Jakarta- Indonesia, France, Saudi Arabia, London, UK, Turkey, Australia, Manila, Thailand, Cambodia, Korea, Japan, India, Nepal, Greece, Italy, Israel- Jerusalem, Holland, Poland, Hawaii- USA, Belgium, Europe, Scotland, China, Hong Kong and the Malay Archipelago. He has mastered various musical instruments and is highly sought after in the performing arts scene. Zubir is synonymous with the “OUD” (Arabic guitar), his musical companion enabling him to perform at events such as the Singapore Art Festival, WOMAD, BINTAN Zapin Fest, World Malay Arts Fest, MELA FestivalEdinburgh, World Music Convention, Jakarta Fest, Singapore Seasons in Beijing and Shanghai and National Day Celebrations and many more. He has collaborated with renowned regional artists and composers such as Anita Sarawak, Noraniza Idris, Kit Chan, Mark Chan, Art Fazil, Coco Lee, Andrew Lum and The New ASIA, Iskandar Mirza Ismail. Sadli Ali, Reduan Ali and LOBO and Ismail Marzuki. He has made live TV appearances both as a performer and an evaluator in shows such as Anugerah, TAA-IKHLAS, Anugerah V, KBE and Pesta Perdana. After years of dedication and contribution towards the Malay traditional music, he has produced albums like Teman, Senandung Puisi (Kakilangait), Munyi-­ Soundtrack, Al-ABID, Listening Comprehension for MOE, BUDI and his latest solo albums Perpaduan, Meniti Warisan, Jiwa Jati, Munajat-Jusalim, Nurul Mustajabah, and Sebenarnya-Fathin Amira Zubir. The outcome of his stupendous works, he was awarded the first runner-up place for the Best Song Composer category in a national competition organised by Perkamus and COMPASS in 1999. In addition to his credentials, he was also nominated for the Best Local Song and Best Local Album in the recent Anugerah Planet Musik 2001/2003. Awarded the Excellence Award for the album “Budi” in the Perkamus Music Awards, also was conferred with the (Anugerah Persuratan) Literacy Award, organised by Singapore Malay Language Council. COMPASS (Composer and Author Society of Singapore) Meritorious Award Recipients 2017″. (Information provided by Zubir)

10.3  Additional Resource Sounds of Singapore With the funding from the National Institute of Education’s Academic Research Fund (NIE AcRF), the research team produced a 30-minute documentary film, which is available for public viewing and for use as a pedagogical tool by teachers, at the following link: vimeo.com/251755750

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Sounds of Singapore takes us on a musical journey that explores young Singaporean musicians’ tireless pursuit of a unique local sound. It charts the stories of four local bands—Flame of the Forest, KULCHA, NADI Singapura and SA(仨)—as they navigate the traditional and the contemporary and draw on Singapore’s rich multiculturality in their quest for their own musical identities. Through candid moments from their everyday life, interviews, footage of live performances and rehearsals, we get to know these charismatic young millennials whose passion and dreams speak of the importance of being true to oneself, building a community and embracing diversity. Intercut with scenes of Singapore in all their musicality, the film evokes a dynamic dialogue between the artists, their music and life in the city.