The Orient in Music - Music of the Orient [Hardcover ed.] 1527502953, 9781527502956

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The Orient in Music Music of the Orient

The Orient in Music Music of the Orient Edited by

Małgorzata Grajter

The Orient in Music - Music of the Orient Edited by Małgorzata Grajter Proofreading by Marta Robson, Garry Robson (opublikuj.pl) Note graphics by Izabela Nahajowska This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Małgorzata Grajter and contributors With participation of the Grażyna and Kiejstut Bacewicz Academy of Music in Łódź, Poland

The project was co-funded by the Ministry of Science and Higher Education in Poland

All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-5275-0295-3 ISBN (13): 978-1-5275-0295-6

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Editor’s Note ............................................................................................. vii Acknowledgements ..................................................................................... x Representations of the Orient in Western Music: Methods of Music Analysis in Theory and Practice .................................................................. 1 Renata Skupin Oriental Music as a Part of the European Collective Consciousness......... 13 David Kozel Somata and Pneumata: On the Relationship between Daseia and Byzantine Musical Notation ............................................................... 27 Ewa BieliĔska-Galas Zaryab: The Cultural Meeting of East and West ....................................... 44 Bijan Zelli French Music and the East: Colonising the Sound of an Empire .............. 60 Edward Campbell The Orient in International Art Music: Musical Orientalism and Beethoven’s Orientation ..................................................................... 76 Feza Tansu÷ The Source and Imagination of the Orient in Karol Szymanowski’s Opera “King Roger” op. 46 ..................................................................... 100 Maki Shigekawa The Poles and the Turks in Franz Doppler’s Opera Wanda (1850) ......... 109 Ryszard Daniel Golianek

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Table of Contents

“Three Romanian Dances” by Theodor Rogalski: An Issue of Identity ................................................................................. 122 Bianca ğiplea Temeú The Symbolism of Tantra in Andrzej Panufnik’s Triangles for 3 Flutes and 3 Cellos (1972) ................................................................................. 129 Beata Bolesáawska-Lewandowska The Dialogue Between the Orient and the West: Its Manifestations in Latvian Choral Music of the 21st Century ........................................... 160 Baiba Jaunslaviete Variations on a Theme: The Appropriation of the Orient in Popular Music...................................................................................... 177 Maciej Rodkiewicz The Concepts of Rasa and Dosha and the Stage Archetypes of Women in the Classical Indian Dance of Odissi ................................. 186 Beata StróĪyĔska Interpreting Some Transformational Aspects of Pentatonicism and Post-tonal Chinese Music ................................................................. 201 Man-Ching Donald Yu About the Authors ................................................................................... 222

EDITOR’S NOTE

The topic of the Orient and music appears to be an underestimated field of academic research. Due to the necessity of having deep knowledge of the culture of the Orient, which is not accessible to everyone, it seems only rarely to attract the interest of music scholars other than ethnomusicologists. Nevertheless, it still offers a wide array of issues to be discussed within the confines of Western musicology and music theory. Whether the focus is on Oriental influences in Western music or the music of the Orient itself, it is possible to take a closer look at this subject from a variety of perspectives, starting from postcolonial studies and cultural interchange between East and West, and ending with a detailed musical analysis of both Western and Eastern music. The need to undertake studies of this fascinating scope of problems led to the organization of an International Conference under the title “OM: Orient in Music – Music of the Orient”, which was held at the GraĪyna and Kiejstut Academy of Music in àódĨ, Poland on March 10-11 2016. According to its originator, Professor Ryszard Daniel Golianek, the title was inspired by the OM syllable, the fundamental meditation sound present in the cultures of Buddhism, full of philosophical and transcendental content. It also served as an acronym for the key words ‘Orient’ and ‘Music’, summarizing the subject matter of the conference. The organizers gathered a large number of scholars from various countries, who presented their papers on a variety of interesting topics. The idea of a dialogue between East and West was also clearly reflected in the ethnicity of the participants, who came from such countries as Czech Republic, Hong Kong, Iran/USA, Israel, Japan, Latvia, Poland, Romania, Thailand, Turkey, and the United Kingdom. The conference sessions were accompanied by artistic performances, such as concerts of janissary and Japanese music, or the staging of Carl Maria von Weber’s singspiel Abu Hassan, among other things. We hereby pass on the fruits of the conference to the readers in the hopes of kindling even more interest in the music of the Orient and its image in Western culture. This collection consists of fourteen chapters, covering a variety of topics corresponding with the Orient and music. The book opens with a series of chapters depicting the relationship between East and West. First, Renata Skupin examines analytical methods for identifying Orientalness in music, as pertains to Edward Said’s notion

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of ‘Orientalism’ and the Self/Other paradigm in the perspective of postcolonial studies. David Kozel discusses the issue of the representation of Orient in music in the light of Jungian psychoanalysis and the concept of collective consciousness. These two methodological essays are followed by case studies of historical interactions between East and West. Ewa BieliĔska-Galas focuses her interest on some unexpected analogies between Carolingian and Byzantine musical notation in the 8th-9th century. Zaryab, a famous musician of obscure Oriental origin known in the Iberian peninsula as pájaro negro (‘blackbird’), and shown as an example of the cultural meeting of East end West in 8th-9th-century Andalusia, is the subject of the chapter by Bijan Zelli. Following this the case of France and the transmission of Oriental culture by means of the so-called Exposition Universelle, discussed by Edward Campbell, provides an analysis of cultural interchange between Orient and the West, as seen from the postcolonial perspective, and poses the provocative question of who was, actually, colonizing whom. We then have a series of chapters dedicated to finding Oriental elements in Western music from the 19th until 21st centuries, starting with a fascinating article by Feza Tansu÷ in which the author reveals a Turkish source of inspiration for incidental music to the play Die Ruinen von Athen Op. 113 (The Ruins of Athens) by Ludwig van Beethoven – namely the Mevlevi ayin, which was performed and transcribed into musical notation in the 17th century and with which the composer may have been familiar. Maki Shigekawa, on the other hand, provides a well-documented hypothesis about the roots of Oriental elements in Karol Szymanowski’s opera King Roger, based on the field research conducted by Bela Bartók. Ryszard Daniel Golianek focuses on the musical juxtaposition of Poles and Turks in Franz Doppler’s almost unknown opera, Wanda, in the light of the term ‘clash of civilizations’, as defined by Samuel P. Huntington. Bianca ğiplea Temeú makes an attempt to show the Oriental side of Romanian music, taking as an example the Three Romanian Dances of Teodor Rogalski (a composer of Polish descent). The tantric inspirations in Andrzej Panufnik’s Triangles for 3 Flutes and 3 Cellos are the theme of the study provided by Beata Bolesáawska-Lewandowska. Two more chapters, addressing the incorporation of Oriental elements into Western music of more recent vintage, follow next, namely a discussion of the manifestation of Eastern-Western oppositions in Latvian choral music of the 21st century (by Baiba Jaunslaviete) and appropriations of Oriental elements in popular music (by Maciej Rodkiewicz). The last part of the book gravitates towards the second pole of the spectrum of issues covered, namely the music of the Orient itself. Beata

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StróĪyĔska examines the use of female stage archetypes in the ancient Indian dance Odissi in light of the concepts rasa and do‫܈‬a presented in the treatise NƗ‫ܒ‬yaĞƗstra. The volume concludes with a detailed analysis of Oriental music itself, but by using Western methodology: Man-Ching Donald Yu demonstrates transformational aspects of pentatonicism in post-tonal Chinese Music, using the methodology of the Tonnetz and Dual Interval Space, in particular. This book, then, presents a variety of research methods and perspectives and provides an insight into the many ways in which the music of East and West can be understood and treated by both Western and Eastern scholars. Although it does not aspire to be a comprehensive study on this subject and does not cover all possible fields of interest, it may encourage scholars to undertake new research in this area and help this fascinating topic attract the attention it certainly deserves.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my co-workers at the GraĪyna and Kiejstut Academy of Music in àódĨ: the Dean of the Faculty of Composition, Theory of Music, Conducting, Eurhythmics and Music Education, Marcin Wolniewski Dr. Hab.; the Deputy Dean Olga Hans, Dr. Hab.; and the Head of the Chair of Theory of Music, Professor Ryszard Daniel Golianek as well as its members, Professor Marta Szoka and Professor Ewa Kowalska-Zając, for their generous support of this project. Music examples and figures appear courtesy of the Staatsbibliothek Bamberg, Piotr WiĞniewski (chief editor of the “Annales Lublinenses pro Musica Sacra”, Catholic University of Lublin, Poland), Edition Musica Baltica, Latvian Radio Choir, Lady Camilla Panufnik and Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. My thanks shall also go to my dear Colleague Izabela Nahajowska for preparing a significant proportion of the note transcriptions used in this volume. But above all the printed version of this book would never have come into being without the excellent collaboration, self-discipline and hard work of all the contributors who were willing to share their texts with us. Maágorzata Grajter, Editor

REPRESENTATIONS OF THE ORIENT IN WESTERN MUSIC: METHODS OF MUSIC ANALYSIS IN THEORY AND PRACTICE RENATA SKUPIN

Any Oriental topic, context or significant association of a musical work with the Orient is rarely kept secret by composers if it is included in the work with the intention of “being Oriental”. Considering the issue of creative representations of the Orient in an original piece of artistic music (neither in transcription nor in arrangement), we restrict the research field to those situations in which the initiator of semiosis is the composer himself, grasping conceptually the non-conceptual musical sense (Eggebrecht1), i.e. verbalising the “Oriental message” in the integral verbal layer of the work (at least in a laconic title). The potential complexity of the represented object, or rather its polymorphism, complicates research issues and requires interdisciplinary approaches – actually transdisciplinary ones – and multi-layered/multimethod research. Above all, it forces a musicologist or music theorist to take risks, entering into the disciplinary areas and competences of the literary critic, linguist, semiotician or anthropologist. However, if the recognition of musical Orientalism is not to be referred to as “musicology on safari” (in Matthew Head’s figurative expression2), in following clues contained in the verbal (programmatic) layer of a musical composition, it is essential to distinguish between Orientalism as a musical category as well as a literary or aesthetic one, and also a “category of awareness” or apparatus of ideological critique.3 1

“Verbalisation grasps the musical meaning conceptually […], brings music to the conceptual recognition of its non-conceptual sense”. Hans H. Eggebrecht, Uwagi o metodzie analizy muzycznej, trans. Maria Stanilewicz, ‘Res Facta’ 7 (1973), 45. 2 Matthew Head, Musicology on Safari. Orientalism and the Spectre of Postcolonial Theory, ‘Music Analysis’ 1–2 (2003), 218. 3 I will discuss in more analytical detail the theoretical and methodological aspects of Orientalism in music in my forthcoming book Orientalizm w muzyce — teorie i

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In contemporary research on the Orientalism phenomenon, there is no scientific way to escape the theory of Edward W. Said in the sense that the abundant literature relating to it – pro or contra – has already made it important (this is yet another confirmation of a bibliometric rule that controversial theories significantly increase the coefficient of their citation rate). In his study Orientalism, published in 1978,4 Said significantly expanded and ideologically charged notion of the title. He simply stated the following: “By Orientalism I mean several things, all of them, in my opinion, interdependent”.5 Said adopted Michel Foucault’s understanding of discourse,6 an epistemological category par excellence, used to analyse not so much language as knowledge systems, which were considered by the French psychologist and sociologist to be manifestations of power systems (Foucault mainly referred in his theories of discursive formations to social realities, including the penitentiary system, and that spirit of social criticism was close to Said, a declared left-wing intellectual7). Said basically made Orientalism polysemous, pointing to three broad ranges of its meaning: 1. academic Oriental studies, broadly understood (thus including musicological studies on a composer’s Oriental inspirations),8 2. a way of thinking about the Orient in terms of an East–West dichotomy,9 3. a style of dominating the Orient through all the Western corporate institutions responsible for dealing with it.10 metody analizy. This paper is a brief presentation of its main issues and my basic arguments. 4 First edition: E. W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon Books, 1978). 5 E. W. Said, Orientalism, 2. 6 Said refers to Foucault’s The Archaeology of Knowledge and Discipline and Punish. See Edward W. Said, Orientalism, 3. 7 After Ewa DomaĔska, Badania postkolonialne in Leela Gandhi, Teoria postkolonialna: wprowadzenie krytyczne, trans. Jacek SerwaĔski (PoznaĔ: Wydawnictwo PoznaĔskie, 2008), 162. 8 “Anyone who teaches, writes about, or researches the Orient – and this applies whether the person is an anthropologist, sociologist, historian, or philologist – either in its specific or its general aspects, is an Orientalist, and what he or she does is Orientalism”. E. W. Said, Orientalism, 2. 9 “Orientalism is a style of thought based upon an ontological and epistemological distinction made between ‘the Orient’ and (most of the time) ‘the Occident’.” Ibid. 10 “…the corporate institution for dealing with the Orient […] by making statements about it, authorizing views of it, describing it, by teaching it, settling it,

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The rhetoric of his study comes down to persuasion; he argues that the entire Orientalist discourse is false,11 because it has no connection with the real Orient and is only an instrument of political exploitation and imperialist domination. Orientalism “is not ‘truth’ but representations”,12 which are the opposite of ‘natural’ depictions of the Orient.13 Said limited his essential arguments and most radical theses to the Arab Orient (which was closest to him; he was of Palestinian origin, a member of the Palestine Liberation Organization). In fact, the blade of his Orientalist critique was directed against the Orientalists; he created the stereotype of a “bad” Orientalist: even if this is “only” a scholar or creator (not a representative of imperial power or a colonizer), he is still guilty of intellectual colonialism as he produces an Orientalist discourse from a hegemonic Eurocentric position. The significant weaknesses and inconsistencies in this anti-Western, Saidian universal model of the representation of the Orient seem obvious. But so also does its inspirational potential: both interpretations based on it, and critiques of it, are multiplying (one of the most complex was recently published by Ibn Waraq under the significant title Defending the West14). We can observe and should analyse the relationship of a musical work with what the composer considered Oriental at three levels: the presented reality or source of inspiration, the means of its spin or inclusion in the given work and the qualities produced and available in concretizations of the musical work, and testimonies of its perception or reception.15 So it is ruling over it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style for dominating restructuring, and having authority over the Orient”. Ibid. 11 On this subject see e.g. Douwe Fokkema, Orientalism, Occidentalism and the notion of discourse: arguments for a new cosmopolitanism, ‘Comparative Criticism’ 18 (1996), 233 et pass. 12 E. W. Said, Orientalism, 21. 13 Ibid. 14 Ibn Waraq, Defending the West (New York: Prometheus Books, 2007). 15 The notions of “substantiation/concretisation of a given work” and “testimonies of its perception/reception”, adapted here to the field of music, have been defined by Michaá GáowiĔski (see idem, ĝwiadectwa i style odbioru in idem, Style odbioru. Szkice o komunikacji literackiej (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Literackie, 1977), 116137. The term “concretization” of a musical work can be understood per analogiam as: 1) its execution (a way of reading and understanding by the performer/interpreter); 2) its perception and reception in different kinds of texts about this work – in musicological discourses (in thematic approaches – analyticalinterpretational ones as well as historical, theoretical or methodological ones etc.), or in the discourses of music criticism and also in ‘music texts’ – i.a. in the presence of a given work in other works (its reception in the oeuvres of other

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worthwhile distinguishing between the notions of ‘Orient’, ‘Orientalism’ and ‘Orientalness’. It hardly needs to be demonstrated that on each of these three levels of linkage between a musical work and the ‘Oriental’ the category of ‘intentionality’ is pivotal. This may concern intentio auctoris, intentio operis or intentio lectoris.16 The ‘Orient’ as an object of representation is not a real one, but one that is made present again (“re-presented”).17 And this is not a drawback of this particular presence or a fault of the originator of such a representation (or of a “bad” Orientalist, as Said adjudicates); making a thing present again involves a reminiscence aimed at recalling the thing that is absent, be it past or distant, through its “representative” (as Paul Ricoeur put it18) or a “substitute for the absent object” (according to Frank Ankersmit19). In the case of art, in particular in the output of a composer, there should be no doubt that we are dealing with a conceptual formation and intentional valuation of reality by the composer, for the requirements of a musical work. The object of representation here is that image of the Orient (or its individual components), which fulfils a creative need, is a source of artistic inspiration. Thus this is a personalized creative stimulus and empirical impact of the Other as an object of artistic representation intentionally interpreted and individually grasped by the composer for the necessities of his musical work. However, an Oriental “inspiration does not determine yet a manner of seeing what served as a leaven of thought or imagination”.20 The Orient can only be an arena of the exotic (of what is extraordinary, strange, distant, little-known and foreign; it remains the Arabic Orient); its composers). 16 In analytical practice the postulate of respecting intentio operis formulated by Umberto Eco is very valid and promising. See e.g. Umberto Eco, Nadinterpretowanie tekstów in Umberto Eco, Richard Rorty, Jonathan Culler, Christine Brooke-Rose, Interpretacja i nadinterpretacja, ed. by Stefan Collini, trans. Tomasz BieroĔ (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Znak, 2008), 51-75; Umberto Eco, Two Problems in Textual Interpretation, ‘Poetics Today’ 2 (1980), 145-161. 17 One can consider that a music text is the representative of a work pre-existing in the mind of the composer: a musical (graphic) notation is a kind of sign representation of what was a creative idea. 18 Paul Ricoeur, PamiĊü, historia, zapomnienie, trans. Janusz MargaĔski (Kraków: Universitas, 2007), 252. 19 Frank Ankersmit, Pochwaáa subiektywnoĞci, trans. Tomasz Sikora, ‘ER(R)GO. Teoria – Literatura – Kultura’ 2(3) (2001), 21 et passim. 20 Andrzej Stoff, Egzotyka, egzotyzm, egzotycznoĞü. Próba rozgraniczenia pojĊü, in: idem, Egzotyzm w literaturze, ed. Erazm KuĨma (Szczecin: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu SzczeciĔskiego, 1990), 14.

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foreignness can also be domesticated (as with the Indian or Indian Buddhist Orient). If “a getting to know reflection shapes the artistic vision”,21 an experience of the Orient is associated with a recognition of what seems to be, in its depths, one’s own. Nonetheless, the composer should not be expected to be competent in ethnomusicology or Oriental studies,22 nor his musical work to be a reconstruction of an Oriental original or any of its components. Creative fabulations about the Orient cannot be treated as sources of knowledge of the real East. They can be an indirect source of cognition of an Orientalist musical work, but above all should be seen in terms of the anthropological cognisance of their creator and his appropriated devices for the perception and valorisation of the world. The exotic and the Orient are relational – the exotic is always “something” for “someone”, and the Oriental – as a monolith – remains as such in relation to an equally uniform Occidental. It can be stated that a separation and diversification of Arabic, Indian, Chinese or Japanese Orients weakens the East-West dichotomy. Thus, both the exotic message and the Oriental one must be double coded, wherein the basic code is native.23 The most crucial aspect of this binarism is the distinction between the occidental Self and the oriental Other, or between Owness and Alienness. However, while we can accept Fik’s statement that “the proper character of the exotic lies not in the subject itself, but in the way of seeing it”,24 the Orient is generally a thematic category – a topos. Consequently, it may be possible to distinguish an exotic Orient and a non-exotic Orient.25 ‘Orientalism’ sensu stricto is a manner of putting into a musical composition what was intentionally considered by the composer to be an element of a specific reality grasped as ‘the Orient’. Because of the duality of the object of representation versus the substance of presentation (the 21

Jan TuczyĔski, Egzotyka i orientalizm, in idem, Marynistyka polska. Studia i szkice (PoznaĔ: Wydawnictwo PoznaĔskie, 1975), 82. 22 And generally composers rarely have ethnomusicological or ethnological competencies, except, for example, Béla Bartók or Konstanty Regamey. 23 Cf. Erazm KuĨma, Semiologia egzotyki, in Miejsca wspólne. Szkice o komunikacji literackiej i artystycznej, ed. Edward Balcerzan, Seweryna Wysáouch (Warszawa: PaĔstwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe, 1985), 309. 24 This argument dates back to 1930 – Ignacy Fik, DwadzieĞcia lat literatury polskiej, in Wybór pism krytycznych, ed. by Andrzej ChruszczyĔski (Warszawa: Wiedza i ĩycie, 1961), 503. After: Andrzej Stoff, op. cit., 14). 25 For a discussion of the Exotic and the Oriental in music see, for example, Renata Skupin, Egzotyzm i postacie egzotyki w muzyce – próba rewizji problemu, ‘Polski Rocznik Muzykologiczny’ 8 (2010), 113-124.

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musical material), we have to deal with the re-presence of the Orient as a musical reality (as e.g. in Debussy’s or Tansman’s gamelan music, Delage’s Indian music, or Scelsi’s Tibetan music), or a non-musical reality (Oriental locations, artefacts, characters or ideas). In the first case, this involves recognizing in a musical work the scope of the creative interiorisation of authentic elements of some Oriental musical culture (its theory, practice, forms and genres), and the methods of ethnomusicology are helpful here. Because the reality portrayed in music is often an imaginary musical one (geographically undefined, non-localised, so basically “unreal” and somewhat abstract), in its representation musical Orientalising codes and formulas are used, usually the figures of Orientalist exoticisation.26 In the case of the musical representation of a non-musical reality (which is more problematic), any “Oriental” meaning can only be suggested or defined explicitly in the title or composer’s commentary, and in the work itself, covered by the standard (stereotypical) illustrative means or stylisations or aforementioned formulas (figures) of Orientalisation. ‘Orientalness’ is a quality appearing in the process of receiving a musical message at the interface between a recipient’s expectations and the features of the musical work itself (its structure, musical sense and socalled “content”). Orientalness is available or disclosed in particular performances, in perception and reception, including in analyticalinterpretative texts about the work. At this level one can also distinguish between Oriental exoticness and non-exotic Orientalness.27 The tools of postcolonial critique were first applied to a musical work by Said himself in one of the chapters of his book Culture and Imperialism, concerning Verdi’s Aida. Said presented this grand-opera as a work “not so much about but of imperial domination”,28 because

26 For discussion of the figures of Orientalist exoticisation/formulas of Orientalisation, on the example of pedagogical piano works, see Renata Skupin, Topos Orientu w pedagogicznych utworach fortepianowych kompozytorów polskich XX wieku, in Muzyka Fortepianowa XVI. Studia i szkice, ed. by Alicja Kozáowska-Lewna, Renata Skupin (GdaĔsk: Wydawnictwo Akademii Muzycznej im. S. Moniuszki, 2015), 135-150. 27 Cf. Renata Skupin, Orientalism in Tadeusz Z. Kassern’s Concerto for Voice and Orchestra, Op. 8 in Musical Analysis. Historia – Theoria – Praxis, ed. by Anna Granat-Janki et alli (Wrocáaw: Wydawnictwo Akademii Muzycznej im. K. LipiĔskiego, 2014), volume III, 187-195. 28 E. W. Said, The Empire at Work: Verdi’s Aida, in idem, Culture and Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1994), 114.

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as a visual, musical, and theatrical spectacle, Aida does a great many things for and in European culture, one of which is to confirm the Orient as an essentially exotic, distant, and antique place in which Europeans can mount certain shows of force.29

He focused, however, on the political contexts and historical circumstances of the creation and premiere of this opera and its libretto, attributing significance to both the author of the text (“Auguste Marinette whose French nationality and training were part of a crucial imperial genealogy”30) and the story. As for the music, he noted Verdi’s use of quasi-Oriental melodies drawn from Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps anciens à nos jours (1869-1876) by François-Joseph Fétis. As Said pointed out, apropos Fétis’ examples of ‘Oriental’ music: the harmonic clichés, much used in carnival hoochy-kooch, are based on flattening of the hypertonic – and instances of Oriental instruments, which in some cases corresponded to representation in the Description31: harps, flutes, and the by now well-known ceremonial trumpet, which Verdi went to somewhat comic effort to have built in Italy.32

The Saidian model of Orientalism – or the “received Saidian model (RSM)” to use the term introduced by Nicholas Cook33 – became an impulse for the development of postcolonial studies; however, it has to be stressed that Said’s ideas are strongly ideologically marked – they have a clearly left-wing character (and affiliations with Marxism and feminism).34 They embrace today the analysis of any situation of the domination– 29

Ibid., 112. Ibid., 117. This opera was written on Khedive Ismail’s order for the city of Cairo and presented in the Cairo Opera House, situated in the colonial/imperial part of city. ‘Aida, for most of Egypt, was an imperial article de luxe purchased by credit for a tiny clientele’ (ibid., 129); among the peculiarities of this piece Said lists ‘its monumental grandeur, its strangely unaffecting visual and musical effects’ (ibid., 114). 31 It is about a ‘Napoleon’ series of collective publications from the years 18091829: Description de l’Égypt, ou Recueil des observations et des recherches qui ont été faites en Égypte pendant l'expédition de l'armée française. 32 E. W. Said, The Empire at Work: Verdi’s Aida, 122. 33 Nicholas Cook, Encountering the Other, Redefining the Self, in Music and Orientalism in the British Empire. Portrayal of the East, ed. by Martin Clayton, Benett Zon (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 15. 34 See, for example, Ewa DomaĔska, Badania postkolonialne: wprowadzenie krytyczne, in Leela Gandhi, Teoria postkolonialna, trans. Jacek SerwaĔski (PoznaĔ: Wydawnictwo PoznaĔskie, 2008), 162 et passim. 30

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subordination type, including artistic representations of the Other, as well as experiences of individual and group subjectivity in terms of otherness (of race, species, class or gender), which is subject to different forms of colonization, decolonization, exclusion, hybridization and so on. Postcolonial theories35 do not provide methodological directives for research on Orientalism as a musical category. They offer instead the key notions or concepts which may prove helpful in asking questions about a composer’s motivations and in recognizing musical representations of the Orient, mainly with reference to the same kinds of representationism in literature, the other arts and the broader cultural context. One can use, for commentary on encountering the Oriental Other, the postcolonial concepts of ‘hybridity’, ‘ambivalence’, ‘mimicry’,36 or terms such as, e.g., ‘necessary fictions’ qua the postcolonial tendency to create the mythology of one’s own magnified past or the concept of ‘culturalism’37 qua the overzealous imitation of the cultural trends of the colonial powers. The application of these terms is sometimes risky, since they can lead to caricatured ideological interpretations. However, we should observe that postcolonial critiques applied to music have assumed (or should have assumed in the name of ideological purity) that all musical representations or ‘appropriation’ of the Orient in musical works are examples of imperial domination. The Orient as Otherness and Orientalism as a creative response to it can be described in the language of Waldenfels’ phenomenology of the alien.38 This philosophical theory offers some conceptual instruments useful for commentaries on composers’ responses to the experience of Otherness of the Orient, which leave it ‘outside’ of the familiar Self (which is consistent with Waldenfels’ assumption that alieness is not a subject of mediatisation, but is untamable39). Moreover, it provides anti35 Beside Edward W. Said, as the most influential postcolonial intellectuals are considered to be Homi K. Bhabha, an Indian-British scholar and critic, and Gayatri Ch. Spivak, an Indian scholar, literary theorist and feminist critic, best known for her essay Can the Subaltern Speak?, in: Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture, ed. by Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1988). 36 The terms proposed by Homi K. Bhabha’s in his postcolonial criticism, after David Huddart, Homi K. Bhabha (London: Routledge, 2006). 37 This is Apollo Amoko’s notion, after Ewa Thompson, Said a sprawa polska. Przeciwko kulturowej bezsilnoĞci peryferii, ‘Europa’ 26 (2005), 11. 38 See Bernhard Waldenfels, Topographie des Fremden, Studien zur Phänomenologie des Fremden (Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1997). 39 Cited from the Polish integral translation from German: Bernhard Waldenfels, Topografia obcego. Studia z fenomenologii obcego, trans. Janusz Sidorek

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Saidian arguments (making the Orient a source of experience that allows the composer to be open to what is alien, its alieness is a “challenge that enriches [...] itself as such”40). Finally, it strengthens the relevance of the Self/Other binary as analogous to a dichotomous model of West/East. “A stimulus which is ‘alien to me’ (ichfremd) presupposes a self to which it is alien”41 and there is not “a cultural arbitrator to divide European and Far Eastern cultures from the outside, since Europeans must have distinguished themselves from Asians before such a division or comparison can be made”42 – says Waldenfels. There is no “alien” as such: “Otherness has an occasional character. As Husserl would say, it is relative to changing standpoints. A placeless alien in general would resemble ‘a left side in general’ [...]”.43 Through this relationality can be comprehended the very notion of the Orient, as “Alieness” has its “Owness”, which explicates it; so the Orient cannot be defined substantially (being geographically and historically variable), but only in opposition to the Occident. Ways of dealing with the Other as “Alien”, considered by German philosophers as a paradox of xenology, are similar to those described, e.g., by the anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss44 or sociologist Friedhelm Neidhardt. They can be reduced to strategies of incorporation of the Oriental ‘Other’ as recognizable – on the basis of music and its appropriate material. It is possible to distinguish, after Neidhardt: a) absorption: i.e. ‘assimilation’ in the narrow sense, when the alien is erased, equalised with the own and simply fitted in its structure; b) creation of enclaves: when the alien in a closed segregated form is attached to the own […]; c) integration: i.e. the assimilation in an emphatic sense: here the assimilation runs through a bilateral ‘approximation’ of structures or

(Warszawa: Oficyna Naukowa, 2002), 153. 40 Stanisáaw Czerniak, ZaáoĪenia i historyczne aplikacje Bernharda Waldenfelsa fenomenologii obcego, in: Bernhard Waldenfels, Topografia obcego. Studia z fenomenologii obcego, trans. Janusz Sidorek (Warszawa: Oficyna Naukowa, 2002), XXI. 41 Bernard Waldenfels, The Question of Other (Hong Kong: The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2007), 23–24. 42 Ibid., 7 43 Ibid., 8. 44 Claude Lévi-Strauss identifies the strategies of incorporation (anthropophagic absorption) and exclusion (anthropoemic ‘ejection’), see Claude Lévi-Strauss, Tristes tropiques (Paris: Plon, 1955).

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Representations of the Orient in Western Music through the mutual transformation of structures aiming at the synthesis of ‘higher order’.45

Reflection on Orientalism as a kind of ethnographic (Eurocentric) discourse about the alien Orient can by stimulated by divergent strategies of translation of foreign texts, described by Leonard Venuti as ‘domestication’ and ‘foreignization’.46 The first consists in neutralizing the foreign overtones of the text in order to make it more understandable and legible for the potential recipient. In the process of domestication a transparent, fluent style is adopted to minimize the strangeness of the foreign text for target language readers. In contrast, the exoticising technique involves the accentuation of the cultural (and linguistic) otherness of a foreign text. A translation which deliberately breaks target conventions by retaining something of the foreignness of the original is produced. Thus the strategy of ‘domestication’ corresponds to Neidhardt’s absorption (in a spirit of universalization) or integration of the Oriental Other. In the case of musical Orientalism, exoticisation in Venuti’s meaning can be the ‘alienation’ of what was incorporated into a composition as truly (in real terms) foreign, that is being an Oriental original (thus demanding ethnomusicological knowledge from the composer). Strategies for using stereotypical formulas of exoticisation as conventions readable in Western Orientalist discourse are included in the translation category of ‘domestication’. The functioning of Orientalising formulas can be described by using the concepts of semantic isotopy and the conceptual apparatus inspired by semiotic theories, which were proposed and applied in analytical practice by Jean-Pierre Bartoli. This is not about a broad, ambiguous understanding of isotopy, known from Algirdas J. Greimas’ later works and its expansion by Eero Tarasti on the ground of music semiology, but about a primary, narrow one, taken from the early studies of Greimas and François Rastier: “The connection and redundancy of units of meaning and as a result – the removal of ambiguity of semantic message”.47 “As an operational concept, 45 See unpublished research project Die Herausforderung durch das Fremde, led by Herfried Münkler, 7. Cited by Bernhard Waldenfels, Topografia obcego, 163. One can consider useful the notions which are traditionally defined in ethnology as the results of acculturation: assimilation, integration, separation or marginalization. 46 See Leonardo Venuti, The Translator’s Invisibility. The History of Translation (London-New York: Routledge, 1995). 47 Cited by Jean-Pierre Bartoli, Propositions pour une définition de l'exotisme musical et pour une application en musique de la notion d’isotopie sémantique, ‘Musurgia’ VII/2 (2000), 71. Bartoli rightly points out that the concept of semantic isotopy is abused, especially in the semiology of music, because it is treated as a

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isotopy at first designated iterativity along a syntagmatic chain of classemes which assure the homogeneity of the utteranceǦdiscourse”.48 The stereotypical means of Orientalisation elaborated by composers in the nineteenth century, and functioning e.g. in Polish music at least until the end of the first half of the twentieth century (among other things the so called ‘Oriental second’, rhythmic ostinato, bass empty fifths, descending aeolian scale, melismata, etc.), can be treated as ‘units of meaning’ in semiosis and called ‘Oriental semes’,49 ‘semes of Oriental music’50 or ‘allochtonic units’ or ‘exosemes’. As Bartoli claims, they are in themselves only potential messengers of exotic (read Oriental) meaning. They are activated as ‘Oriental semes’ only in Oriental contexts, which arise from the combination of several ‘allochtonic units’. It should be stressed that in practice it may be problematic to determine a level of redundancy that can ensure the Oriental musical isotopy of the work, especially if the composer’s Orientalising intentions are not indicated a priori as a topic and articulated (e.g. in a programmatic title). It is similarly difficult, and sometimes impossible, to capture the topographical diversity of the Orientalising repertoire. The augmented second may become – depending on the context – an Oriental or exotic (non-localised) exoseme, or, for instance, a Turkish, Arabic, Gypsy or Spanish one, or may also remain an autochthonous unit.51 From the viewpoint of semiotic communication the problem of links between socalled ‘allochthonous units’ and any authentic/original music of the Orient is, however, of secondary importance or remains irrelevant.52 Besides, it is metaphor for many diverse phenomena, elements of the structure or compositional means, etc. 48 Algardias J. Greimas, and Joseph Courtès, Semiotics and Language: An Analitycal Dictionary, (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982), 163. 49 Jean-Pierre Bartoli, Propositions pour une définition de l'exotisme musical, 6172. 50 Jean-Pierre Bartoli, Esquisse d’une chronologie des figures de l’orientalisme musical français au XIXe siècle, in: La musique entre France et Espagne: Interactions stylistiques 1870-1939, ed. by Louis Jambou (Paris: Presses Universitaires de la Sorbonne, 2004), 201-215. 51 Or it may pass as enigmatically exotic, as Ralph P. Locke reads it in, for example, Fryderyk Chopin’s Mazurka op. 7 No. 1, see Ralph P. Lock, Musical Exoticism: Images and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 76; or as point-blank Oriental, even Arabian; see Jeffrey Kallberg, Arabian Nights; Chopin and Orientalism, in: Chopin and his Work in the Context of Culture, ed. Irena Poniatowska (Kraków: Musica Iagellonica, 2003), 171-183. 52 Jean-Pierre Bartoli offers only the thesis (which seems to be debatable) that ‘the greater knowledge of a foreign artistic language, the more complex is the nature of

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elusive while applying the tools of semiotics. The most important question here could be whether the intentional ‘Orientalness’ is receivable by the recipient (and, still, why?). This is true even when the medium of this semantic message consists of imaginary ‘allochthonous units’, which only have to give an impression of authenticity, create an illusion of it. However, the verification of the authenticity of individual ‘Oriental exosemes’, if we want to call them that, is necessary insofar as it allows us to distinguish between creative confabulations of the Orient and creatively processed elements of an Oriental original. It also provides an opportunity for comparison in terms of rules, tendencies or the chronology of a composer’s strategies and procedures. Such verification guarantees that we do not cross the boundary between interpretation and overinterpretation in our reading of the intentions of the author/artist, and restrains us from adding those meanings which go beyond the scope of the confirmed ethnomusicological (or cultural-anthropological) competences of the composer. The limits of permissible interpretations within musicological discourse are imposed by the features of the given work itself.53 This restriction, of course, does not apply in the situation of a creative artistorientalist (composer) who can, even should, interpret the Orient in an original way in the creative act, subordinated only to the rules of his own poetics.54 As a conclusion it should be noted that, in any methodologically considered analysis of Orientalism, the dichotomous relation Self/Other remains a crucial paradigm. In analytical practice those conventional methods are also effective which allow us to capture the essence and specific distinctness of ‘Orientalist’ compositional technique and its means, if only to ensure the implementation of Carl Dahlhaus’ postulate for any musical analysis: to “recognise the uniqueness of individual [musical] work”.55

individual’s allochtonic unities and the closer to reality they are’. See Jean-Pierre Bartoli, Propositions pour une définition de l'exotisme musical, 65. 53 According to Umberto Eco’s belief about the legitimacy of intentio operis and his objection to ‘using’ a given text/work instead of interpreting it in a process of textual cooperation, see idem, Two Problems in Textual Interpretation, ‘Poetics Today’ 2 (1980). 54 For a discussion of possibilities and limitations of semantic isotopy applied in music see e.g. Renata Skupin, Izotopia semantyczna i jej zastosowanie w badaniach nad orientalizmem muzycznym – moĪliwoĞci i ograniczenia, ‘Aspekty Muzyki’ 1 (2011), 181-202. 55 Carl Dahlhaus, Analyse und Werturteil (Mainz: Schott, 1970), 8.

ORIENTAL MUSIC AS A PART OF THE EUROPEAN COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS DAVID KOZEL

The idea of the essence of European (Euro-Atlantic) art music has undergone many changes in the course of its historic development to date. Despite its varied cultural manifestations of musical expression this music culture has obviously never been closed to influences from outside Europe. This text deals with selected variants of the interpretation of European music culture as a complex and dynamic system whose historic as well as present form has been affected by the Orient, and by elements of Oriental music as presented in compositions by Western composers. I follow here general principles and cultural movements contributing to the development of European composers’ idea of the Orient and its reflection in their music. My methodological basis is the current reflection on Orientalism in musicology, and an application of the theory of archetypes of Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961) and the subsequent Jungian tradition.

Musical Orientalism The Orient is a broad category that has been changing throughout history. It is a summary term for countries of the Near, the Middle and the Far East. The Orient is the opposite category to the Occident, “otherness” personified, one of the poles of the bipolar cultural axis defining our identity. There is no clear-cut dividing line between the categories of the Orient and the Occident, especially as they are now blurred by processes of globalisation, glocalisation, cultural heterogenization and hybridity. Reflections of the Orient and Orientalism are based on the wider category of exoticism, present in our culture to varied extents since Antiquity, more pronouncedly in the later Renaissance (where they can already be seen, including in music) and most markedly in the Baroque and Classical

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periods1. A culmination of exoticism in music can be seen in the 19th century, with a continued presence in the 20th century (let me emphasize the mediating effect of Oriental music on the origins of modern music) as well as in the present. Exoticism is defined by Locke as: “The evocation of a place, people or social milieu that is (or is perceived or imagined to be) profoundly different from accepted local norms in its attitudes, customs and morals”.2 The artistic rendering of exoticism has a subcategory of Orientalism, defined by Locke as follows: “In its strict sense, the dialects of musical Exoticism within Western art music that evoke the East or the Orient; in a broader sense, the attitude toward those geo-cultural regions as expressed in certain Western musical works, regardless of whether a given work evokes the music of the region or not”.3 The notion of Orientalism itself is now inseparably linked to the classic work by Edward W. Said (1935–2003), his Orientalism of 1978.4 Although Said’s concept of Orientalism is primarily formulated with a focus on Islam and the Middle East (with a decisive impact of England, France and, after World War II, America), the essential image of the generalised East in the broad sense also applies here. According to Said our fascination with the Orient is a manifestation of the development of an imaginative picture of it, connected with the creation of stereotypes and prejudices in various areas. The important thing is that in the historic perspective Western Orientalism was accompanied by imperialism, use of force in politics and 1

Edward W. Said notes enormous growth of the numbers of paintings of the Orient in Western culture since the last third of the 18th century. Edward W. Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin Books, 2003), 22. 2 Ralph P. Locke, Exoticism, in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online [online], second edition, ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (Oxford University Press) Available from: http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/45644, accessed 18-01-16. 3 R. P. Locke, Orientalism, in Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online [online], second edition, ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrrell (Oxford University Press,) Available from: http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/music/40604, accessed 18-01-16. 4 Here it is necessary to mention Said’s publication activity in the field of music, even though it is not the subject of this article: Musical Elaborations (1991); Chapter The Empire at Work: Verdi’s Aida in the book entitled Culture and Imperialism (1993); Parallels and Paradoxes: Explorations in Music and Society (2002, with Daniel Barenboim); On Late Style: Music and Literature Against the Grain (2006); Music at the Limits (2007), his cooperation with D. Barenboim in the establishment of the West and East Divan Orchestra etc.

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culture, dominance over the Orient’s “inferior” position. Said says that Orientalism is “a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient”.5 He introduces a typically European product of construction of “the other” with idealisation: “The Orient was almost a European invention, and had been since antiquity a place of romance, exotic beings, haunting memories and landscapes, remarkable experiences”.6 Orientalism is understood as a discourse with specific rules in the political, intellectual, cultural and moral areas, exhibiting, inter alia, the characteristics of an academic discipline and its tradition.7 In musicology the issue of the exotic8 and the Oriental in European music was already being explored in the early 20th century by traditional historiography and the instruments of music theory. A change only arrived in the 1990s. The representation of the Oriental and the pseudo-oriental in Western art music is understood as a (often unintentional) manifestation of Orientalism. Discursive manifestations of Orientalism in music are analysed with the methodological support of Said’s theory, post-Saidism, postmodern thinking, deconstruction, new musicology, feminism, gender studies or post-colonial theory. Despite the methodological and substantive heterogeneity of the positions of these explorations (except for a couple of honoured exceptions by American authors, see below), individual authors can be said to follow common themes such as the historic conditionality of the discursive construction of the “other”, the creation of a musical ideal of the Orient as an expression of positional superimposition and hegemony, imperialism, (post)colonialism, gender, racial, ethnic and other stereotypes, prejudices, and the themes of dominance and submissiveness (…). Manifestations of Orientalism are sought in the use of exotic looking (sounding) elements of musical structures; this is often accompanied by inaccuracy or even the deformation of original musical expressions. The substantial feature of Orientalism is that it is not a mere imitation of oriental musical practices by European composers. In this context Derek B. Scott writes: “Orientalist music is not a poor imitation of another cultural practice: its purpose is not to imitate but to represent”.9

5

E. W. Said, Orientalism, 3. Ibid., 1. 7 Ibid., 12. 8 See Renata Skupin, Egzotyzm i postacie egzotyki w muzyce: próba rewizji problemu [Exoticism and Exotic Forms of Music: an Attempt to Revise the Problem], ‘Polski Rocznik Muzykologiczny’ 8 (2010), 113-124. 9 Derek B. Scott, Orientalism and Musical Style, ‘The Musical Quarterly’ 82/2 (1998), 326. 6

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Orientalism in music is a specific product of Western imagination and creativity. Criticism of Orientalism in music brings about a number of problems and ambiguities, including the danger of a simplifying and reductive view of music (a reduction to gender, power or another aspect of it); the assessment musical works without consideration of stylistic, cultural and artistic contexts;10 an extreme focus on the textual or thematic aspects of compositions; use of the terminology of discourse for culturally and historically completely different artistic expressions; relativity and variability of period in the categories of the Orient and the Occident; the heterogeneity of the individual cultures; and the transformation of artistic (cultural) identity (…). Even though I cannot present here the required criticism of the literature to-date on the theme, I will at least point to certain titles so as to define the areas of research covered so far. Orientalism is addressed in thematically independent outputs or in outputs within the area of research on exoticism in music. The meaning of the notion of Orientalism is clear from the existing (above quoted) entry by Ralph P. Locke in the Grove Music Online.11 The themes of the individual outputs focus on analyses of specific themes with a narrow temporal, cultural or compositional orientation;12 complex renderings of exoticism, related to Orientalism,

10

“Moreover, Orientalist signs are contextual”. Ibid., 331. See also: Thomas Betzwieser and Michael Stegemann, Exotismus, in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, second rev. edition, ed. Ludwig Finscher (Kassel: Bärenreiter and Stuttgart: Matzler, 1992), volume 3, 226-243. 12 See R. P. Locke, Constructing the Oriental “Other”: Saint-Saëns's “Samson et Dalila”, ‘Cambridge Opera Journal’ 3/3 (1991), 261-302; Susan McClary, Georges Bizet, Carmen (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Richard Taruskin, Entoiling the Falconet: Russian Musical Orientalism in Context, ‘Cambridge Opera Journal’ 4/3 (1992), 253-280; Lawrence Kramer, Consuming the Exotic: Ravel's Daphnis and Chloe, in Lawrence Kramer, Classical Music and Postmodern Knowledge (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 201-226; Gerry Farrel, Indian Music and the West (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Matthew Head, Orientalism, Masquerade and Mozart's Turkish Music (London: Royal Musical Association, 2000); Yayoi Uno Everett and Frederick Lau, Locating East Asia in Western Art Music (Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 2004); Martin Clayton and Bennett Zon, Music and Orientalism in the British Empire, 1780s to 1940s: Portrayal of the East (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2007); Rachel Beckles Willson, Orientalism and Musical Mission: Palestine and the West (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013); Nicholas Tarling, Orientalism and the Operatic World (London: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 11

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representations of “otherness”;13 and critical methodological reflections on current research outputs.14

Music as a Manifestation of the Collective Unconscious and the Collective Consciousness Music and the specific musical cultures of the world can be understood as manifestations of the creative forces of the collective unconscious in the archetypical sense. Even though a work of music (if we stay restricted to this category) is the result of the conscious and rational intention of its composer, unconscious personal and collective processes affect the ways in which music is created and received from the psychological and aesthetic points of view. I will outline here the connection between music and the collective unconscious in order to interpret the presence of Oriental elements in European music from the archetypal point of view. Jung’s theory of archetypes is based on the existence of the collective unconscious as the basis of the personal unconscious and the personal consciousness, with the centre represented by the Self as the synthesis of the personal and the collective psyche of the individual. “The collective unconscious is a part of the psyche which can be negatively distinguished from a personal unconscious by the fact that it does not, like the latter, owe its existence to personal experience and consequently is not a personal

13 See John M. Mackenzie, Orientalism: History, Theory, and the Arts (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1995); Jonathan Bellman (ed.), The Exotic in Western Music (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998); Derek B. Scott, Orientalism and Musical Style, ‘The Musical Quarterly’ 82/2 (1998), 309-335; Nasser Al-Taee, Representations of the Orient in Western Music: Violence and Sensuality (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2010); Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh, Western Music and its Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Ralph P. Locke, Musical Exoticism: Images and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011); Timothy Dean Taylor, Beyond Exoticism: Western Music and the World (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007). 14 See R. P. Locke, Exoticism and Orientalism in Music: Problems for the Wordly Critic, in, Paul A. Bové (ed.), Edward Said and the Work of the Critic: Speaking Truth to Power (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2000), 257-282; Matthew Head, Musicology on Safari: Orientalism and the Spectre of Postcolonial Theory, ‘Music Analysis’ 22/i–ii (2003), 211-230; R. P. Locke, A Broader View of Musical Exoticism, ‘The Journal of Musicology’ 24/4 (2007), 477-521; Jonathan Bellman, Musical Voyages and Their Baggage: Orientalism in Music and Critical Musicology, ‘Musical Quarterly’ 94/3 (2011), 417-438.

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acquisition”.15 The collective unconscious is mythological in nature and contains archetypes as interpreted by Jung with the help of mythological and religious materials: “The archetype is essentially an unconscious content that is altered by becoming conscious and by being perceived, and it takes its colour from the individual consciousness in which it happens to appear”.16 That means that manifestations of archetypes differ by culture, and the personal and collective experiences of people. Archetypes are preexisting forms “which can only become conscious secondarily which give definite form to certain psychic contents”.17 According to Jung the accompanying phenomenon of this sharing of the archetypal content of the collective unconscious is the existence of parallel and universal motifs and shapes which surface, inter alia, in art.18 Art as a manifestation of archetypal symbolism is shared by the common psyche. Archetypes in art are bound to repeated human experience and the creation of culturally similar structural elements. As Jung further says in this context: There are as many archetypes as there are typical situations in life. Endless repetition has engraved these experiences into our psychic constitution, not in the form of images filled with content, but at first only as forms without content, representing merely the possibility of a certain type of perception and action.19

Music culture as an archetypal configuration relates to the collective consciousness and its expansion. The archetypal evolution of culture and its features is addressed, with an emphasis on modern times, by Jung and his followers in the above quoted work Man and his Symbols. Here I would also like to at least refer to the concepts of Erich Neumann (1905– 1960), who classified the mythological stages of the evolution of consciousness, culture and the creative unconscious in art. Neumann understands cultural canons as transpersonal, archetypal configurations in art undergoing disintegration and reconfiguration in connection with developmental transformations in art and the link between the individual

15

Carl Gustav Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969), 42, § 82. 16 Ibid., 5, § 6. 17 Ibid., 43, § 90. 18 “The archetype is a tendency to form such representations of a motive – representations that can vary a great deal in detail without losing their basic pattern”. Carl Gustav Jung et al., Man and his Symbols (New York: Dell Publishing Company, 1968), 58. 19 C. G. Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, 48, § 99.

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psyche of the artist and the collective unconscious20. The understanding of the notion of archetype in musicology is rather heterogeneous and differentiated in its meaning. The notion of the archetype has been elaborated by musical semiotics, albeit from differently defined methodological and terminological positions. For these reasons I would like to refer briefly here to the definition of the meaning of the notion of musical archetype in musicology to be used in the following interpretations and analyses21. A prerequisite for the use of the term archetype in music is the archetypal symbolic effect of music on the human psyche. Music as a complex structure consists of components such as form, melodies, harmonies, timbres etc. which can have archetypal meaning for individuals on the basis of symbolisation. Individual units of a music composition can acquire symbolic meaning in the process of aesthetic interpretation based on experience with a unified emotional and rational approach. The definition of more particular meanings of these archetypes is a matter of hermeneutic procedure. The unifying moment of affinity of music archetypes and other archetypal configurations is the psychic conditioning of artistic creation by the collective unconscious. The first meaning of a musical archetype relates to musical structure and its elements. In this context we speak about typical (i.e. in various cultures, historic periods, art styles etc.) repeating units of music composition in the area of melody, harmony, tectonics etc. This interpretation of music archetype allows for the systemisation of the characteristic style features of a particular music culture or composer and their comparison for the purpose of finding similarities and differences. Another meaning of the notion is called the thematic music archetype, which is not related primarily to the structure of a music composition as such but rather to the archetypal motifs in text set to music or the theme of a composition (as in programme music). The very act of selection of a theme or text to be set to music by the composer is already symbolic, and an interpretation must take account of that. Investigation of this issue allows for the classification of the archetypal content shared by many compositions in different historic periods – these are typical motifs of music composition themes and 20

See Erich Neumann, Art and the Creative Unconscious. Four Essays (New York: Bollingen Foundation Inc., 1959); Erich Neumann, The Origins and History of Consciousness (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973). 21 According to David Kozel, Mythological Archetype in Music and Principles of its Interpretation, ’International Review of the Aesthetics and Sociology of Music‘ 47/1 (2016), 3-15. Jungian approach is also applied by Wojciech StĊpieĔ, The Sound of Finnish Angels. Musical Signification in Five Instrumental Compositions by Einojuhani Rautavaara (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press, 2011).

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inspirations. This second meaning of the notion of music archetype is also connected with a potential relation to the structural meaning of the music archetype: Whether and how the archetypal core of the theme of a composition and the way it is set to music are hypothetically related. The third meaning of musical archetype refers to the internal principles of the creation of music and art. Archetypes as dominant features of the collective unconscious and their dynamics and manifestations affect music as they share a common psychic basis. Fundamental musical principles such as identity (repetition), contrast, variation, hierarchy, etc., are understood as symbolising expressions of archetypes in the Jungian sense. These general principles are manifested in stylistic changes in music expression, performing their role in individual compositional activity in contact with the creative forces of the unconscious. The varying manifestations of the archetypes, thus understood, in various music cultures are analogous to the inner principles and assumptions of intercultural understanding. On the basis of the three types of music archetype defined above it needs to be noted that in their sum and in their particular manifestations in art they contribute to development of the collective cultural consciousness (see below). The development of European art music is connected with certain characteristics in terms of the creation and sequence of specific period styles, often different from cultures outside Europe. These for example include the concept of the work of art, the creation of the specificity of the self-contained communication chain of “composer – performer – listener”, the unique nature of musical forms and genres and tectonic rules (see for example the sonata form with the principle of dramatic conflict and the teleological orientation of the structure of the composition). In addition to the inner rules of style development in European music, changes in musical thinking have also been initiated by impulses from non-European cultures through intercultural influence. The rich differentiation of the forms of the European music culture is a psychological symptom of the collective conscious with developed archetypes based on the whole existing tradition and continuity of music. The collective consciousness “refers to the sum of the conscious, or at least cognisant consciousness, traditions, conventions, customs, ideals, values, rules, norms, beliefs and prejudices, according to which the human collective orients itself.”22 Music culture in the sense of the collective consciousness is historically extended and changed by new (Oriental) elements causing its confrontational 22

Gert Bauer, VČdomí kolektivní [Collective consciousness], in Slovník analytické psychologie [Dictionary of the Analytical Psychology], ed. Lutz Müller and Anette Müller (Praha: Portál, 2006), 447.

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transformation and reassessment of meanings. Thus, a heterogeneous element of music can in effect be integrated into the musical language of the given culture in various forms, including in its original form, modified or adapted to the receiving style. The use of oriental elements does not only include the artistic (musical) aspect of the thing, but is also affected culturally and psychologically. The heterogeneous European music culture therefore typically approaches oriental elements with desire, fascination and enchantment as well as more or less conscious negation, accompanied by stylisation and manipulation based on value, power, sexual or other approaches. The new element of the musical structure obviously introduces rich connotations on the musical as well as cultural level. Interactions between the musical collective consciousness of the Occident and the Orient may also be described with the terminological apparatus of music semiotics. Czech music semiotics23 uses the notions of paradigm and syntagm in an approach to music as a system of signs. Paradigm (roughly corresponding to the linguistic category created by Ferdinand de Saussure and expressed by the term langue – language) is defined as the model, code, background system or dispositional universe of music, while syntagm as the message (corresponding to the linguistic term parole – speech) represents a particular musical entity (actuality). The mechanism of their interaction is relevant for the theme of this work. A paradigm is created by the stabilisation of individual syntagms, while on the other hand implementation of syntagms is always based on the paradigm system. The stabilisation (repetition) of certain syntagms in music compositions creates a new paradigm as a reservoir of instruments for composing or listening (performing) activities. Elements of temporarily and culturally conditioned paradigms may also be updated and revived as a new syntagm. The exploitation of oriental musical elements in European art music has, since its origin, been implemented through complex cultural contact. Regardless of whether this intercultural contact was direct or indirect, oriental musical elements have become an integral part of European music (see above). The growing cultural awareness of the Orient in Europe brought about (especially in the course of the 19th and the first half of the 23 Compare the research work of the so called “Prague team for music semiology” [Jaroslav Volek (1923–1989), Jaroslav Jiránek (1922–2001), JiĜí Fukaþ (1936– 2002) and Ivan PoledĖák (1931–2009) etc.]. See JiĜí Fukaþ, Jaroslav Jiránek, Ivan PoledĖák and Jaroslav Volek et al., Základy hudební sémiotiky [Foundations of Musical Semiotics], I-III (Brno: Filozofická fakulta Masarykovy univerzity v BrnČ, 1992); Ivan PoledĖák, Musical Semiotics: A Report from Prague, ‘Theory Only. Journal of the Michigan Music Theory Society’ 11/6 (1990), 1-13.

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Oriental Music as a Part of the European Collective Consciousness

20th centuries), in addition to the continued stereotypical canon of images, a connotative enrichment of the representation of the Orient in music. From the strictly structural point of view of the musical material of European compositions, the process outlined is mainly identifiable in the area of individual categories of musical expression.24 This rather broad area is further broadened by the issue of the textual component of compositions and themes of compositions with oriental references, which significantly affect the social and aesthetic reception of music. The growth of reflections of the Orient in European art music and Orientalism can be interpreted archetypally. A problem of understanding between the Orient and the Occident may occur as a consequence of the loss of the original purpose of music or its removal and isolation from its original cultural environment. One of the substantial functions of the manifestation of archetypes in music is the facilitation of the orientation of an individual in the given culture. Archetypes, in the sense of typical configurations, create a dynamic network of meanings the individual grows into in the course of enculturation, adopting them in the process. If a given music element appears outside its original cultural context it is used and changed as a representative of another culture. A concomitant phenomenon of the loss of understanding of the new musical element is, on this basis, a projection of negative characteristics or idealised psychological content, value equalisation and manipulation or stylisation as an inaccurate representation. The new element of music as a manifestation of the archetypal configuration of the collective unconscious may creatively integrate into a new cultural environment and enrich it. The art of music as one of the forms of the manifestation of archetypes symbolically mediates our intercourse with the forces of the collective unconscious. Intense experience of art (music) is represented by the numinosity of the experienced Self.25 The experience of numinosity may materialise in the case of our contact with a new archetypal configuration in art originally belonging to a foreign culture. This configuration appears as new, content-intensive, appealing, and generally more attractive (in the very relative sense) than the known background of the domestic culture. In connection with the anima archetype Jung notes (in our generalisation for the whole theme of archetypes): “Everything the anima touches becomes

24

Specific and for Europe historically new tonal systems, scales, melody lines, music texture, chords, harmony, rhythmical and metric characteristics, instrumentation, timbres. 25 Religious experience of a numinous nature with overwhelming emotional affect is described by Rudolf Otto in his book Das Heillige (1917).

David Kozel

23

numinous – unconditional, dangerous, taboo, magical”.26 From the historic perspective the European will potentially perceive the presence of an oriental element as a sign of the above-mentioned numinous experience. Through the prism of European music, the Orient fills the void of an unconscious and ostensibly perceived exhaustion and insipidity of the art of our collective consciousness. Therefore Europeans, despite the actual non-rootedness and non-understanding of their own music, will escape to the chimera of the Orient in music. This is done at the cost of the risk of superficiality, simplification of the representation, fashionable seductions, or manipulation with the exotic element. “Because the European does not know his own unconscious he does not understand the East and projects into it everything he fears and despises in himself”.27 Modern humanity’s problem, as Jung often mentions in his texts, is the estrangement from one's own culture and expressions of the collective unconscious despite a psychologically deeply-rooted cultural identity. A concomitant phenomenon is the preference for the intellectual component of the psyche (logos, science, engineering) and inattention to the inner psychological potential of man. Although Jung in his writing mainly dealt with religious, mythological and philosophical themes,28 his ideas also coincide, surprisingly, with the present theme.29 The unilateral preference of the exotic (oriental) in modern and postmodern music, seeking new principles and themes of music composition outside the original European cultural background, which were to “redeem” Western music from its exhausted repetition of the already-said, are typical manifestations of these phenomena. The mistake made by Orientalism in music is its nonunderstanding and non-development of domestic cultural tradition.30 The 26

Carl Gustav Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, 28, § 59. Carl Gustav Jung, The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, ed. H. Read, M. Fordham and G. Adler, translated by R.F.C. Hull (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1953–1983), CW 18, § 1253. 28 See Boris Rafailov, C. G. Jung v zrcadle filosofie. Hermeneutická interpretace filosofických aspektĤ Jungova díla [C. G. Jung in the Mirror of Philosophy. Hermeneutic Interpretation of the Philosophical Aspects of Jung's Works] (Brno: Emitos, 2010). 29 Jung mainly dealt with the philosophy and religion of China and India. See Carl Gustav Jung, Psychology and Religion: West and East. Collected Works of C. G. Jung, Volume 11 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970). Srov. napĜ. John J. Clarke, Jung and eastern thought: a dialogue with the Orient (New York: Routledge, 1994). 30 Jung mainly noted the issue of the understanding of Christian symbols by modern man and the trend towards finding the missing understanding in the culture of the East, while the actual problem was detachment from the symbolic wealth of 27

24

Oriental Music as a Part of the European Collective Consciousness

non-rooted consciousness moves along the surface of things, looking for the sense of “the other”. Our historically and culturally conditioned confrontation with music of the Orient may conclude in our never fully understanding it. As Jung analogically notes in this context: Anyone who believes that he can simply take over Eastern forms of thought is uprooting himself, for they do not express our Western past, but remain bloodless intellectual concepts that strike no chord in our inmost being.31

The music of the West and the East represents two different but symbolically analogical manifestations of the psychic unity of the collective unconscious and the collective conscious. The issue with the development of a deep hermeneutic understanding of the East and West is, according to Jung, “to build a bridge of psychological understanding”, since here there exists “an agreement between the psychic states and symbolism”.32 For psychotherapeutic and cultural reasons Jung mainly saw in the East a way towards balancing the pathological unilaterality of the Western unconscious into a harmonic whole.

Archetypal Symbols of Musical Orientalism When looking at the nature of the themes of Orientalist compositions the typicality of music topics and motifs is emphasized. As a particular example I will use 19th century opera music with reference to Locke’s33 investigation of paradigmatic plots of selected operatic works (C. SaintSaëns, G. Meyerbeer, F. David, L. Delibes or G. Puccini: A young, tolerant, brave, possibly naive, white-European tenor-hero intrudes, at the risk of disloyalty to his own people and the colonialist ethic, into mysterious, dark-skinned, colonised territory represented by alluring dancing girls and a deeply affectionate, sensitive lyric soprano, incurring the wrath of a brutal, intransigent tribal chieftain (bass or bassbaritone) and blindly obedient chorus of male savages.

The representation of Oriental characters in music often abounds with stereotypical prototypes. Female characters often personify an erotically domestic culture (secularisation of religious symbols). 31 C. G. Jung, Collected Works vol. 9ii, § 273. 32 C. G. Jung, Collected Works, vol. 13, § 83. 33 R. P. Locke, Constructing the Oriental “Other”: Saint-Saëns’s “Samson et Dalila”, 263.

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strong object of desire and satisfaction, being mysterious, dangerous, or passively vulnerable or innocent and requiring of protection. Male characters, on the other hand, can often personify the prototype of aggressor, schemer, religious or political fanatic, or individuals with demonic traits. The Orient is the site of a dangerous journey for the hero; it needs conquering or represents a mythological Paradise. Scott34 identifies the mythological character (albeit through the prism of structural anthropology) of Orientalist style in connection with a referentially created meaning of myths in mutual relations: “In Western music, Orientalist styles have related to previous Orientalist styles rather than to Eastern ethnic practices, just as myths have been described by Lévi-Strauss as relating to other myths”. The thematic layer of the musical work can be interpreted as an archetypal configuration of the collective consciousness, accompanied by the creation of polarised motifs of a cultural and psychological nature. When confronting the European identity (the collective Self) with the thus mythically (collectively) perceived Orient, the forefront of the musical themes is visibly occupied with archetypal symbols of the anima and their negative poles, shadows, personae. The representation of the Orient in Occidental music is characterised by an emphasis on archetypal motifs of mythological nature. The selection and formation of the language of expression in Western art music created procedures which in their nature evoked the exotic Orient. Scott35 presents a detailed list of these means of expression: whole tones; modes (aeolian, dorian, phrygian); augmented seconds and fourths; arabesques and ornamented lines; melisma; chromaticism; trills and dissonant grace notes; rapid scale passages; abrupt juxtapositions of romantic, lyrical tunes and busy, energetic passages; repetitive rhythms and repetitive, small-compass melodies; ostinato; ad libitum sections; use of triplets in duple time; complex or irregular rhythms; parallel movement in fourths, fifths, and octaves; drones and pedal points; “magic” or “mystic” chords; arpeggios and glissandi; double reeds; percussion; emphatic rhythmic figures on unpitched percussion. Scott points to the fact that whether or not these musical means and processes correspond to the reality of Eastern ethnic music with reference to Said’s thesis is irrelevant: In a system of knowledge about the Orient, the Orient is less a place than a topos, a set of references, a congeries of characteristics, that seems to have its origin in a quotation, or a fragment of a text, or a citation from

34 35

D. B. Scott, Orientalism and Musical Style, 309. Ibid., 327 (edited).

26

Oriental Music as a Part of the European Collective Consciousness someone’s work on the Orient, or some bit of previous imagining, or an amalgam of all these.36

The musical processes described as configurations in the (musical) collective consciousness of the Occident are an imaginative symbolic reflection of our archetypal oriental experience. The oriental references in European music bring about considerable stylistic representation – a self-contained imaginative quality. The repeated and transformed oriental element of compositions then develops into a part of a cultural conscious; its exotic nature is replaced with normativity. Let me now abandon the music history and Jungian approach and return to the abovementioned fact of the increased quantity of oriental elements in European culture from Classicism to the present. This process may be interpreted as an unfolding of the collective consciousness, accompanied with changes in music culture and thinking, the mechanisms of which are partly affected by the dynamic of the collective unconscious together with manifestations of archetypal (typical, repeating) configurations in music. In this new light let me revisit the question of the assumed understanding of the Orient through music by the European. The existence of the collective unconscious is based on the common human psyche, archetypically predisposing individuals from different cultures to analogical forms of reaction and imagination. European and oriental musical cultures naturally developed into quite different forms caused, inter alia, by the different forms of cultural manifestations on an archetypal and shared basis in a given space and time. Despite the difference in expression, these cultures come together in a deep psychological foundation allowing for sharing and understanding. On the other hand mutual understanding is very demanding from the cognitive and interpretative point of view and is conditioned by the level of differentiation of the collective consciousness of the given culture in its social ability to critically accept diversity and creatively integrate its own forms of expression. Therefore, the research on the relationship of European music to the Orient calls for an interdisciplinary approach that can prevent simplifications and ideologically formulated stereotypes, such as that of the Orient as a passive victim of European Orientalism in music.

36

E. W. Said, Orientalism, 177. Quoted also by D. B. Scott, Orientalism and Musical Style, 327.

SOMATA AND PNEUMATA: ON THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN DASEIA AND BYZANTINE MUSICAL NOTATION EWA BIELIēSKA-GALAS

Our knowledge of Byzantine-Frankish musical relations is still relatively limited, largely owing to the absence of source material. Such a statement can be found in the introduction to the modern edition of two anonymous treatises known today as Musica enchiriadis and Scolica enchiriadis1, which in fact are our main sources on music from the Carolingian Empire reflecting the contacts between East and West in the 8th and the 9th centuries2. They bear witness to different aspects of the Byzantine tradition, ranging from the modal system (the eight categories of mode recall the Byzantine oktǀƝchoi) and terminological similarities (the Greek-derived terms protus, deuterus, tritus, tetrardus) to the use of short melodic formulae (the noenoeane formulae, similar to the Byzantine ƝchƝmata). In this paper I attempt to compare the musical notation described in the Enchiriadis treatises, known as Daseia notation, with selected elements of Middle Byzantine musical notation. This approach serves the purpose of identifying analogies between these two forms of notation, something of their “common procedures or ways of handling material”3, and 1

Claude V. Palisca ed., Musica enchiriadis and Scolica enchiriadis, trans. Raymond Erickson [Music Theory Translation Series] (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1995), XXXIX. The Latin text used for the translations is the critical edition of the treatises by Hans Schmid: Hans Schmid ed., Musica et Scolica enchiriadis una cum aliquibus tractatulis adiunctis [Veröffentlichungen der Musikhistorischen Kommission 3] (Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1981). 2 Apart from other treatises in the Enchiriadis tradition, the influence of Byzantium is also inferable from Aurelian’s treatise (Aurelian of Réôme, Musica disciplina, ed. Lawrence Gushee, Rome: American Institute of Musicology, 1975) written in the half of the 9th century, presumably slightly earlier than the Musica enchiriadis. 3 Such a comparative approach (and an equally important contribution to the study

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Somata and Pneumata

consequently of deepening our knowledge about Daseia notation, which is still insufficiently understood despite more than a century of research4. One should add that Middle Byzantine notation appeared late, a little before the year 1200; still, the two forms of notation are equivalent in the sense that they provide us with the exact interval-value of the melodic steps.

I Before reviewing and interpreting the notational signs we need to mention that the Eastern branch of Christianity has a parallel tradition to the Enchiriadis treatises, as this may shed some light on them. This is the tradition of practical manuals for the priest and singers, called Papadikai (sing. PapadikƝ – ʌĮʌĮįȚțȒ)5. The Papadikai usually transmit knowledge about musical notation, and about Ɲchoi, which they use to convey a twofold meaning: Ɲchoi understood as having “tonal” significance (demonstrated through intonation formulas) and Ɲchoi taken as individual pitches (located above or below each other in acoustic space or “drawn together” to form a tetrachord)6. The earliest Papadikai manuscripts date back to the 14th and 15th centuries, which is relatively late. That fact, however, does not weaken their significance, but merely suggests the lasting strength of the theory and the practice that they convey. The cornerstone of our study is the differentiation between the Somata (ıȦȝĮIJĮ) and the Pneumata (ʌȞİȣȝĮIJĮ). This probably has its origins in the philosophical dualism of Aristotle and the related division into eidos (İȚįȠȢ) and hýlƝ (ȣȜȘ), i.e. form and matter, which was transferred by of both the Latin West and Byzantine East) was the distinctive feature of Kenneth Levy’s and Oliver Strunk’s researches into chant. Peter Jefferey, Introduction, in The Study of Medieval Chant: Paths and Bridges, East and West. In Honor of Kenneth Levy, ed. Peter Jefferey (Cambridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2001), XXVIIIXXIX. Oliver Strunk, The Classification and Development of the Early Byzantine Notations, in Essays on Music in the Byzantine World, ed. Oliver Strunk (New York: W. W. Norton, 1977), 40-44. 4 For reviews of these studies see Nancy Phillips, Notationen und Notationslehren von Boethius bis zum 12. Jahrhundert, in Geschichte der Musiktheorie, ed. Thomas F. Ertelt, Frieder Zaminer (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000), Band 4, Die Lehre vom einstimmigen liturgischen Gesang, 301-327. 5 Recent studies have shown more parallels between the singers’ manuals of the Byzantine tradition and Carolingian writings on music theory, particularly Charles M. Atkinson, The Critical Nexus: Tone-System, Mode, and Notation in Early Medieval Music (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 114-118. 6 Ibid., 116-117.

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Aristoxenus into a specialised theory with such expressions as harmonikƝ – hƝrmosmenon, rhythmos – rhythmisomenon7. According to the teaching of the Papadikai, the Somata – Pneumata pair relates to two groups of interval signs. The Somata (bodies) indicate a stepwise melodic movement. In Middle Byzantine notation there are as many as six different signs for the ascending second and only two for the descending one. From among those signs, only the Oligon ( ) – ascending second, and the Apóstrophos ( ) – descending second, denote the direction of the melody without any special expressive, dynamic or rhythmical nuance. The remaining second signs indicate the orientation of the melody, but also the manner in which it should be executed. The Pneumata (spirits) move in leaps. There exist separate signs for the ascending third (KéntƝma), the descending third (Elaphron), the ascending fifth (YpsƝlƝ), and the descending fifth (KamƝlƝ). Apart from these two types of signs, there are also signs that are neither Soma nor Pneuma. These include the Ison ( ), the sign for the repetition of a note, and two signs meaning something like glissando on the two successive seconds downwards (Hyporrho, Kratemohyporrhoon), described as “little melody” or “throwing out of the voice from the throat”8. In the 15th century another group of signs was added, called the Great Signs or the Great Hypostases. These signs are closely related to the cheironomia; they have no interval value, but regulate the manner of expression and the dynamic and rhythmical nuances of the melody. Some of them did have interval value in Early Byzantine notation (9th–12th century); a typical example is the Bareia ( ), which was the opposite of the Oxeia ( ), i.e. the ascending second, a more emphatic sign than the Oligon and the Apóstrophos9. The Papadikai explain the links between the signs with the terms “sounding” (ਧȝࢥȦȞȠȞ – emphonon) and “soundless” (ਗࢥȦȞȠȞ – aphonon). The term “soundless” (“voiceless”) is used as a synonym for Great Hypostases, i.e. the signs which are beyond the measuring of intervals by “voices”. It relates also to the sign which loses its interval value in a certain combination of signs. This lack does not mean that a sign expresses

7 Lukas Richter, Antike Überlieferungen in der byzantinischen Musiktheorie, “Acta Musicologica” 70/2 (1998), 166. Max Haas, Byzantinische und slavische Notationen, in Paläographie der Musik (Köln: Volk-Verlag Gerig, 1973), Band I/2, Die einstimmige Musik des Mittelalters, 9f. 8 Egon Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music and Hymnography, second edition, revised and enlarged (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), 292, 297. 9 Ibid., 294.

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Somata and Pneumata

actual “soundlessness” as such, but that it is not counted as the interval note (the interval is sung, but not counted)10. There are two definitions connected with the issue of “sounding – soundlessness”. One of them states that “without the Somata the Pneumata cannot come into existence, and without the Pneumata the Somata cannot be set in motion”. According to the other definition, the “Pneumata produce a flowing up or down of the voice, but the Somata make the voice ascend or descend a little”11. Both definitions correspond to the combinations of interval signs occurring in Byzantine manuscripts. In one configuration, a Pneuma is preceded by a Soma. The interval taken into consideration is the one represented by the Pneuma, while the execution of the Soma is “voiceless”. This rule applies not only to the signs which represent the definite manner of singing the second, but also to “neutral” signs, an Oligon or Apóstrophos. In the other combination, a Pneuma is written above a Soma. In this case the intervals should be added. The Ison (the most important sign in Byzantine notation) may also appear in interval combinations. When the expressive nuance is transferred onto the Ison, it has the ability to rule other signs. When the Ison is combined with such signs as the Oligon or the Apóstrophos, it may serve the function of one of the Hypostases, i.e. function as a “voiceless” sign12. Here are some examples of combinations of a Pneuma with a Soma13:

10

Ibid., 285. Ibid., 289. 12 Ibid., 291. 13 The Byzantine combinations and definitions seem to be significant to the understanding of two definitions of consonance which are provided by Boethius and included by Latin West. One of them says that consonance is the mixing of two sounds (a high and a low) which come to the ear as pleasant and uniform (Consonantia est acuti soni gravisque mixture, suaviter uniformiterque auribus accidens); the second definition says that consonance is the concord of dissimilar pitches brought together into one (Consonantia est dissimilium inter se vocum in unum redacta concordia). ElĪbieta Witkowska-Zaremba, Musica Muris i nurt spekulatywny w muzykografii Ğredniowiecznej, [Studia Copernicana 32] (Warszawa: Polska Akademia Nauk. Instytut Historii Nauki, OĞwiaty i Techniki, 1992), 10. 11

Ewa BieliĔsska-Galas

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Example 1. The Byzantinee symbols reprroduced from N Nick Nicholass, Unicode Musical Notaation (The Unicode Consortium m, retrieved 28 April 2015)

This shoort overview of the main signs and prrinciples of Byzantine B notation alllows us to perceive p a feaature that se ems to be of o critical significancee for understannding Daseia notation, nam mely the doublle manner of interval aarticulation thhat results from m the princip le of the directionality of “sounding” and of notationn connected with the phenomenon p “soundlessnness”. Byzantiine “horizonttal combinatiions” have, in fact, a rhetorical fu function, as thhey provide certain tonal entities of equivocal e meaning (taaking into accoount the immeasurable quaalities of chan nting). On the other hand, “vertiical combinaations” fit innto the graammatical perspective, as their coonstituent parts only makke sense wh hen their meanings arre combined.

II Passing on to the fieeld of Daseia a notation de scribed in the treatise Musica enchhiriadis, one should s underliine the fact thhat the main purpose of that treatisee – the descrription of a scalar tonal m matrix for th he chants performed inn the late 8th and 9th centurries14, could nnot have been achieved without muusical notationn. According to Leo Treiitler, the inveention of notation as ccounterpart too and represen ntation of this matrix was an n integral aspect of thee project of making m possiblle the visual sstudy of chantts (ordine per signa iinvestigare), as a well as sttudying them m through sin nging and hearing (in canendo sentitur)15. When n we superim mpose on thatt twofold perspective the analogy between lan nguage and m music that thee treatise 14

Robert Beernagiewicz, Musica M enchiriadis a praktykka wykonawczza choraáu gregoriaĔskieego, “Annales Lublinenses L pro o Musica Sacra”” 2/2 (2011), 21 1-35. 15 Leo Treitleer, The “Unwriitten” and “Wrritten Transmisssion” of Medieeval Chant and the Startt-Up of Musical Notation, “Th he Journal of M Musicology” 10 0/2 (1992), 182-183.

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Somata and Pneumata

accentuates, we are able to conclude that there are two elements that form the basis of the Daseia notation system. One of them is the Greek letter iota, additionally defined by the author of the Musica enchiriadis with the word simplex. The indication that a letter is actually meant here is significant, as iota is inclined ( ), and is therefore graphically identical to the prosodic mark for the tonal accent acutus. Certainly, from that slanted sign all the signs for tonal steps below which the semitone appears are derived (see examples 3 and 5)16. Another fundamental element of the notation relates to tonal steps below which the whole tone appears. In this case the author uses the name dasian, describing with it the first (protos) step of the basic tetrachord of the scale (finalium). The name suggests that the inspiration for the signs is the Daseia ( ) – a prosodic mark for the aspirated sound H that appears in speech17, to which two letters are attached. For the first tone of the tetrachord, this is the letter S, and for the second and the fourth the letter C in one of the two positions (see examples 3 and 5). The signs, each composed of a prosodic mark and a letter, have different spatial orientations in each of the four tetrachords of the scale. According to the suggested interpretation, the Daseia signs have two sources of inspiration – both are connected with the sphere of writing and the sphere of speech, but with different intensity. Such a duality creates a premise for asserting that Daseia notation is permeated with the idea of “sounding” and “soundlessness”. The basic problem that appears here is the alleged lack of directionality of the Daseia signs – the up-and-down movement of the tonal disposition of melody18. This situation was illustrated by Leo Treitler, who provided two different examples: in one the Daseia signs are used as notation by being inscribed over the text of the chant (see example 2), and in the other example they are arranged in a vertical column, with a horizontal line traced next to each sign over which the syllables of the chanted word are written out19.

16

The Byzantine sign denoting the rise by a semitone (Duo Kentemata) was shown in the Papadikai tables only as an interval sign. Egon Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music, 315. 17 Medieval grammarians usually defined the Daseia as “densification, aspiration, or a fuller sound” (pinguendo vel aspiratio sive uberior sonus). See Nancy Phillips, Notationen und Notationslehren, 310, 516. 18 L. Treitler, The “Unwritten” and “Written Transmission”, 171. 19 Ibid., 184-187.

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Example 2. A part of the sequence Rex coeli, Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, Var 1., olim HJ IV 20, fol. 64r. photo: Gerald Raab. Used with permission

Leo Treitler defined the first type of relationship of reference as “symbolic”, i.e. based on an arbitrary convention (an agreement that this sign will denote “that position in that tetrachord”), and the second one as “iconic”, i.e. based on a certain resemblance between the sign and the

34

Somata and Pneumata

object it denotes. A question arises at this point as to whether one should agree with this differentiation, which in fact blames the author of Musica enchiriadis for a certain inconsistency, as the same signs are sometimes symbolic, sometimes iconic in nature. It seems that the solution to this question, related to the issue of directionality, should be sought in the interaction of the dual basis of the signs with the tonal system. Undertaking that task, one should be aware that the content of Musica enchiriadis is organized in two parts. The first eight chapters contain basic notions concerning monophonic chant, with a particular emphasis on a method of notation, on modality, and on grammatical analogies between language and music. The major element here is the musical scale presented with Daseia signs, in which the basic unit is the tetrachord with a whole tone-semitone-whole tone (TST) structure20. That principle of tonal order is linked with the principle of marking every fifth tone with the same graphic sign, with only the orientation of that sign changed (see example 3). The second section, chapters 10-18, discusses perfect consonances (symphonies) and their application to improvised polyphonic chant called diaphonia or organum. A characteristic element of that section is a circular diagram, resembling the medieval figures of the “harmony of the spheres”, made of half-circles, Greek names of musical consonances (from the fourth to the double octave), and seven letters of the Latin alphabet indicating the second steps in a downward direction21. The order of the diagram is based on the octave, and not on the tetrachord as in the first structure; also, the eleventh is included here – a contentious interval considered to be a consonance by Ptolemy and a dissonance by the Pythagoreans (see example 4). Both phenomena should be perceived in such a theoretical perspective – the system of consonances in consistent with Ptolemy’s interval classification while the system expressed with Daseia signs refers to the Pythagorean viewpoint. Chapter nine, written in between these two sections, forms a kind of epilogue for the first section and at the same time a kind of introduction to the second section of the work. It contains explanations of terms used in “the theory of chant”, such as phthongi and soni, toni and modi, diastema and systema, which it turns out, are drawn from harmonic theory, and therefore not far from theoretical considerations about polyphony. The two systems and their transcriptions look as follows22: 20

Ibid., 5. Ibid., 29. 22 The internal structure of the Enchiriadis scale is generally harmonized with the tonal system of Byzantine music, in which the sum of seven steps is also an octave, and the series of eight tones is achieved by combining disjunctively two similar 21

Ewa BieliĔsska-Galas

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Example 3. The system reproduced from Robert Bernagiewiczz, Musica enchiriadis, 224. Used with permission p

The circular diaagram reproduced from Hanss Schimd, ed., Musica et Example 4. T scolica enchiiriadis, 29. (liccence: https://crreativecommonns.org/licenses/b by/3.0/de/) and the schem me of the tonal system s of Byzaantine music tetrachords. Most Papadikkai fail to speecify the interrvallic content of those tetrachords, yyet the researchhers demonstratted that this baasic Byzantine tetrachord should have tthe T-S-T structture. The centraal d-d1 octave oof the Byzantinee system is extended on either end too encompass the double occtave A-a1 by y conjunct 1 1 1 ( -g - a ). See C. V. Palisca P ed., tetrachords annd an added steep a’ at the top (A-d-g-a-d Musica enchiiriadis, XL.

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Somata and Pneumata

The most direct among the traces testifying to the association of both systems is the statement from which it follows that the first of the fifteen sounds (out of those eighteen) is the second sound of the lowest tetrachord (gravium), and the fifteenth is the last sound of the highest tetrachord (excellentium)23, i.e. (using modern nomenclature) A and a1. The differentiation of these fifteen sounds should be understood not only in the light of the consonance system but also of the melodic ranges of the chant24. According to the author, the simplex et legitimus cantus25 is determined in relation to the final note (finalis), around which a specific “sound space” is created. The chant may descend to the fifth step from its finalis (that is even to the first tone of the lowest tetrachord), and ascend from every finalis up to the third tone of the same name (sign of the same type), i.e. up to two fifths above the finalis, which, for a melody with finalis, tetrardus may mean developing the melody up to the highest tone of the highest tetrachord26. Consequently, the lowest tone of the system (G), despite its being outside the system of perfect consonances, may participate in harmonic structures that influence the chant. 23

Hans Schmid ed., Musica et Scolica enchiriadis, 7: Sunt omnes XVIII, quo videlicet singuli extremam suam symphoniam attingant, id est quindecimum sonum. C. V. Palisca ed., Musica enchiriadis, 4: “There are eighteen [soni] in all, which means that the individual tones attain their farthest symphony, namely, the fifteenth tone”. 24 The author does not treat the consonances (fourth, fifth, octave) necessarily as simultaneously co-occurring sounds. This is borne out by e.g. the definition and musical examples related to the fourth. Hans Schmid ed., Musica et Scolica enchiriadis, 24: Diatessaron interpretatur ex quattuor, quod vel quartanas ad invicem resonat voces vel in ordine quattuor sit sonorum compositio. C. V. Palisca ed., Musica enchiriadis, 14: “Diatessaron means ‘through four’ (ex quattuor) because it sounds either when pitches are a fourth apart or when there is an arrangement of four consecutive tones”. 25 The phrase is glossed with simplex cantus dicitur sine organo, et legitimus, qui mensuram sibi inditam non excedit, or, qui non transit suum terminum ascendendo et descendendo. Hans Schmid ed., Musica et Scolica enchiriadis, 8. C. V. Palisca ed., Musica enchiriadis, 4: “A ‘simple’ melody is defined as one without organum, a ‘proper’ melody one which does not exceed the range appointed to it” or “which does not exceed its limit in ascending or descending”. 26 Hans Schmid ed., Musica et Scolica enchiriadis, 8-9: videlicet quod simplex et legitimus cantus inferius non descendit quam usque ad sonum quintum a finali suo; At vero in acumine a quocumque finali sono usque in tertium eiusdem nominis sonum efferri valet, id est usque in excellentes. C. V. Palisca ed., Musica enchiriadis, 4-5: “And so a monophonic and properly made chant does not descend below the fifth tone from its final”; “However, it is permitted to ascend from any final up to the third tone of the same name, that is, as far as the excellentes”.

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The distinct nature of the lowest note suggests the possible role of the two highest notes of the scale, added at the top, called remanentes or residui (“leftovers”), which allegedly do not participate in the chant. Yet when they are perceived as connected with the lowest note, and therefore as having a dual nature, the vertical dimension begins to play a role in articulating the intervals. There are two perspectives that point to the correctness of that approach. One of them, declared by the author to be an amazing relationship (mira ratio), is found in the notes that have the same name and properties (the same sign, differing only in the positioning). Therefore, every ninth sound, and not every eighth, is found to be identical. Another perspective is drawn by the number of steps of the Daseia scale – eighteen, the same as in the combined Greater and Lesser Perfect Systems of ancient Greek theory27. Differences in the names and positions of these steps seem to be of no significance in this case. It is important for the author that all the octaves in the Greek structure are perfect, and that singing in octaves is a natural and universal thing. At this point we approach the clarification of the question of harmonious coexistence within the Enchiriadis system of horizontal and vertical dimensions. The decisive point here is the process that the author calls “miraculous mutation” (mutation mirabilis), in which the aural and to some extent simultaneously the visual awareness participate. Due to the specific overlapping of interval structures connected with the coordination of two cognitive abilities, it may be considered analogous to the Byzantine combination of a Pneuma with a Soma. The rhetoric-type combination – in which the Soma loses its interval value but gives the Pneuma its expressive nuances – occurs when the directional indicator is more aural than the visual awareness. For instance, the sound c is “voiceless” in the combination with the octave d-d1. In the grammar-type combination – in which the Soma is added to the Pneuma – the important determinant of directionality is the awareness of similarities between the signs. The notes c, d and d1 form, in this case, an interval expressed by means of the signs (

) (see example 3). Both interval combinations find confirmation in the liturgical repertoire. The grammatical coordination is equivalent to the system of 27

C. V. Palisca ed., Musica enchiriadis, XXX. The synemmenon tetrachord (characteristic for the Lesser Perfect System) is usually represented as an additional tetrachord in the Greater Perfect System (the two-octave system), which results in a combined eighteen-note system, referred to by several Greek writers as the ametabolon systema or Immutable System. Ch. M. Atkinson, The Critical Nexus, 12-14.

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fifths that had been functioning in Gallic chant at least until the 8th century28. The Enchiriadis treatises, relating musical phenomena wellknown in chant, testify to the attempts to demonstrate the conformity of that repertoire with the Roman chant promoted at that time that was created in the octave system. In the light of such a synthesis (two musical repertoires, two interval systems, two cognitive tools, two material-related inspirations), one could claim that Daseia notation is a step towards the fusion of ontological and epistemological issues within the Church chanting tradition. The particular links of the mentioned pairs are not mutually exclusive realities, but necessary ways of which none is able to replace the other. Thus, while the Byzantine system of eight musical modes known as the oktoechos served the purpose of systemizing Frankish-Roman chants, the Enchiriadis system, related to the oktoechos, was in fact a tool for the rationalization of the sound field of the human voice.

III When compared to its Byzantine counterpart, Daseia notation is cumbersome to write and read and it is obviously not suited to handwriting. Still, the author of Musica enchiriadis expects this notation to be used in music performance practice: “Practice will make it possible for us to record and sing sounds as easily as we write and read letters”29. His words leave us with the distinct impression that what he meant was a mental use of the notation. The most tangible argument for the imaginary manner of the existence of the Daseia signs is the simplicity of their order, the need for which is declared by the author of the treatise himself30. A point of departure for that order is the inclined letter iota, identical to the 28

Gallic chant had been bearing the traces of many musical traditions, including probably those of Jerusalem and Byzantium. According to Peter Jeffery, the oktoechos came to Gaul from Byzantium. However, it has its origins in the Jerusalem church which is therefore the source influencing the Western liturgy. Peter Jeffery, Jerusalem and Rome (and Constantinople). The Heritage of Two Great Cities in the Formation of the Medieval Chant Traditions, in Cantus Planus. Papers Read at the Fourth Meeting, Pécs, Hungary 3-8 September 1990 (Budapest: Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Institute for Musicology, 1992), 166. 29 L. Treitler, The “Unwritten” and “Written Transmission”, 184, 187. Hans Schmid ed., Musica et Scolica enchiriadis, 13: sonos posse notare vel canere non minus quam litteras scribere vel legere ipse usus efficiat. 30 Hans Schmid ed., Musica et Scolica enchiriadis, 7: Sunt et alia plura plurium sonorum signa inventa antiquitus, sed nobis a facilioribus ordiendum.

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prosodic mark for raising the voice, which in fact contains an iconic component and, as such, can be deciphered by everybody. The dual nature of that sign allows us to think that its immanent feature is a relationship similar to that existing between the Byzantine Oligon (ascending second) and Ison. The Papadikai state that the Oligon is like another “self” in relation to the Ison, which should be understood to mean that in the expressive sense the Oligon is equivalent to the Ison. What is more, the Oligon also has an advantage over the remaining signs of the ascending second (Oxeia, Petaste, etc. – see point I) in that it can be combined with the Great Signs, e.g. with the Bareia. Through the cheironomic (aphonic) signs, the Oligon, and also the Ison and the Apóstrophos acquire a special meaning that other signs do not need31. Analysed from that point of view, the slanted letter iota is a combination of two signs, of which one is devoid of its interval value. In other words, this is a combination of the invisible with a value that can be expressed in a visible form. In the light of such a special feature of the Daseia signs, it seems that one of the ways of enabling us to get to know the idea behind their order is the verb perspicere, which is used both by St. Augustine in the texts concerning the issues of mystical knowledge32 and by Boethius in the description of perspective as a branch of geometry33. According to art historians, the verb has two meanings: “see through” and “see clearly”, which suggests the need to perceive the signs from a double distance34. The inclined iota, which apparently is a non-complex sign, is part of that longer perspective – “seeing through”. We concentrate here on the meaning that exists beyond the letter, i.e. on its expressive value. Therefore, the letter dematerializes without becoming unreal. What is visible through that matter-meaning is reflected in human consciousness, and that state of mind – experiencing the reality of the designate – creates its mental image. The instructions of the Papadikai are in harmony with that process, because the Ison is presented as a foundation not merely of the notation but also of the melody itself; in fact, as “the opening of the mouth in order to sing a melody”35. In this context the images of the

31

E. Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music, 316. Sylwester Gaworek, “DotkniĊcie” Boga w doĞwiadczeniu mistycznym wedáug Ğw. Augustyna, “Warszawskie Studia Teologiczne” XXIV/2 (2011), 213. 33 Erwin Panofsky, Perspective as Symbolic Form (New York: Zone Books, 1991), 27, 49, 75-76. 34 The prefix per (“through”) introducing to the semantic field of the verb the element of movement (transition). 35 Egon Wellesz, A History of Byzantine Music, 290. 32

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designatum (thing signifiied) assume the t simple forrm of prosodiic marks: accentus acuutus ( ), acceentus gravis ( ), accentus circumflexus ( ).

Example 5. T The Daseia signns in the dual peerspective

The simiilarity betweeen the sign and d the internal image forms the basis for the depiiction of the reality r of the tonal world in signs-symb bols. The lesser distannce – “seeing clearly” – is as a it were the final result off grasping the meaningg that transcennds the sign. The leading role is now played p by writing – beeing the materrial close to the ideal that becomes emb bodied by being capturred into a percceivable, evalu uable and rati onally organizzed form. The effect oof this processs is dasian – a sign-symboll, in which th he illusion of the necesssary link betw ween a prosod dic mark and a letter is creaated. In it, the matter iss subordinatedd to the design natum, but alsso shaped by man, m who produces thee ideal propertties of reality.. In this situation, thee choice of the letters S and C (addeed to the prosodic maark), and dupplication of th he letter iota ((in the signs for tonal steps below which the sem mitone appearrs) cannot be ccoincidental. It I appears as if there w were different embodiments of the letter iiota, or in fact the Ison sign, which appears to bee the archetyp pical sign for tthose letters and a signs. Going furthher, recalling the extraordiinary explosioon of the Caarolingian culture into script36, one could claim that remembeering the shap pe of the dasian signss was not diffi ficult for anyon ne. The only tthing to remem mber was that in subbsequent tetraachords (beginning from the lowest one) the placement oof letters was: top left, top right, bottom m left, bottom right, i.e. its position ffollowed the direction d of writing. Summinng up, we may m concludee that Daseiaa notation sh hould be understood aas the documeentation of peerformance pra ractice in the intriguing i century in which the cycle c of Masss compositioons began ciirculating throughout Europe, whiile books witth musical nnotation weree not yet 36

Leo Treitler, The “Unwrittten” and “Written Transmissioon”, 70.

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written dow wn. It is evidennce that some melodies hadd stabilized beefore they were writtenn down, and on the otherr hand that thhe distinction between “oral” and “written” trradition is more m complexx and subtlee than a straightforw ward dichotom my. The follow wing table shoows the similaarities and differences bbetween the Byzantine B and Enchiriadis ttraditions:

Example 6. T The double mannner of interval articulation a in tthe three traditions

Of partiicular interestt is the equaation and – simultaneoussly – the inseparabilitty of two levvels, which are a the distinnctions of eacch of the traditions ouutlined abovee37. In the case of the Enchhiriadis system m, it is a kind of baalance betweeen the practtical-cognitivee dimension and the theoretical-ccontemplativee one, between n the recogniition of the id dentity of any tetrachoordal step byy its intervallic context byy ear and in terms of ambitus andd final38. It is somehow rem miniscent of B Boethius’s app proach, in which a douuble procedurre was presen nt. An intervaal was expresssed as a ratio of twoo numbers resulting from m a calculatioon, or speakiing more 37

Explainingg the categoriess of “Ɲchoi as individual tonees” (Byzantinee tradition) and “the sysstem of fifths”” (Enchiriadis tradition) shouuld pay attentiion to the distinctive deetail: 1. Although ccombined togethher the tetracho ords would form m a system, the Papadikai usually discuuss the nature of the four main n Ɲchoi (and theeir varieties) an nd suggest that those ffour may be repeated endllessly upwardss and downw wards. The presentation oof this idea som metimes assum mes the graphic form of a treee or circle. Charles M. A Atkinson, Das Tonsystem des Chorals im Spiegel mittelalterlicher Musiktraktatee, in Geschichhte der Musikttheorie, ed. Thhomas F. Ertellt, Frieder Zaminer (Daarmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellscha B aft, 2000), Ban nd 4, Die Lehre vom einnstimmigen lituurgischen Gesan ng, 116. 2. The Enchiiriadis system is infinite, but in a different way than the Byzantine tetrachords syystem. The stepps of the Daseia a scale are seleected from a theoretically infinitive seriies. 38 Melodic foormulas are morre central to mo odal classificatiion in the East than t in the West, whereaas ambitus andd final play a greater g role in Western than in Eastern modal theory.. C. V. Palisca ed., e Musica encchiriadis, XXV, XL.

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precisely, from creating those numbers on the basis of previous numerical material39. That arithmetical operation was preceded by a geometric experience in which an interval was perceived as a certain “whole” – a section prevented from vibrating (“the common measure” of the entire string and the shortened string). The Enchiriadis system is evidence of the culture that recognized writing as cognitive activity capable of expressing the unity of the interval aspect and qualitative values. That type of orientation implies a scientific intuition connected with the issues considered to be characteristic of Eastern culture only. To put it simply, two facts deserve attention. The first is that the Enchiriadis treatises were written shortly after the veneration of sacred icons was restored, which brought about a great wave of artistic activity40. The second is that the issue of icon worship had an impact on the actions of the Carolingian rulers. The most important proofs here are the Libri Carolini, dated 793, being reaction of the Carolingians to the decisions made by the Second Council of Nicaea (7th Ecumenical Council). The Council established the cult of sacred images, which was not welcomed with approval in the circles close to Charlemagne. The theses included in the treatise are in a sense a manifestation of the independence of the Frankish church from Byzantium. However, the sending of the Council decisions to the West compelled the theologians of Charlemagne’s court to take a stand, and consequently contributed to the development of medieval thought about art41. Although the treatise was never disseminated, it presents an approach to the theory of art that, at least partly changed and developed, remained valid in its fundamental assumptions throughout the Middle Ages. The idea that trends of thought from the East somehow influenced the development of the musical notation in the West should not be contemplated in isolation from the fact that Daseia notation fell into disuse after the 10th century42. This was probably connected with the shifting of the focus of attention from the issue of the existence of the chants to the 39

E. Witkowska-Zaremba, Musica Muris, 14. Worship of icons was generally prohibited between 725 and 842. 41 The Carolingians draw a categorical division between an image in the artistic sense and the imaginis – the image in a broad, metaphorical sense, the image of the essence, seen with the “inner eye” and conveyed in words. They consistently accentuate the superiority of intellectual pursuits, such as studying the Holy Scripture and its hidden meanings, over the sensuous pleasure of looking at paintings. Maágorzata Pokorska, “Cibus oculorum”. Uwagi o teorii dzieáa sztuki w “Libri Carolini”, “Folia Historiae Artium” 27 (1991), 13-33. 42 L. Treitler, The “Unwritten” and “Written Transmission”, 187. 40

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possibility of getting to know them. That important moment was noticed by Charles M. Atkinson who – referring to the words of Pseudo-Odo from about the year 100043 – asks why chants, widely believed to have been divinely inspired, would need to be amended. According to his view, this was the result of the focusing of medieval theoreticians and musicians on the understanding of the intellectual lineage passed on to them at the end of the Antiquity44. Being aware of that direction as well, we may risk the statement that the impulse for the development of musical notation in the West was ancient Greek harmony, combined with the vision of a letter as a tool enabling the expression of the unity of the seen and the unseen. If one were to refer to the title of the monograph of Charles M. Atkinson, one should say that what we have here is “the critical nexus” that would not have occurred in the minds of Carolingian humanists-theologians without the disputes generated by the more developed culture of Eastern Christians. Translated by Joanna Markuszewska and Ewa BieliĔska-Galas

43

The first author directly advocating the “amending” of chants in order to fit a classification system. 44 The first proof of that understanding is putting together by Hucbald the “instrumental” theory of the Greeks with the “vocal” theory of the Musica enchiriadis. The monk of St. Amand does not want to rely on “miracles” in order to sing organum at the octave. Charles M. Atkinson, The Critical Nexus, 153-157.

ZARYAB: THE CULTURAL MEETING OF EAST AND WEST BIJAN ZELLI

Who was Zaryab? Abu’l Hassen Alî ibn Nafî (ϊϓΎϧ ϦΑ΍ ϲϠϋ ϦδΤϟ΍ ϮΑ΃) (c. 789-857) was a singer, composer, pedagogue and poet. His ethnicity is controversial. Different sources introduce him as a Kurd,1 Persian,2 Arab3 or freed African slave4. Because of his fame and important contributions, Zaryab is of great interest to countries wishing to claim him for their cultural heritage. Even the spelling of his name (Zaryab, Ziryab, Zorab etc.) reflects this controversy. His nickname, Zaryab – also known as Pájaro 1

Ana Ruiz, Vibrant Andalusia: The Spice of Life in Southern Spain (New York: Algora Publishing, 1960), 53. 2 Cf. Arthur Gilman, Stanley Lane-Poole, The Story of the Moors in Spain, (San Bernardino: Ulan Press, 2012), 81. Hitti, Philip Khuri, Islam, A Way of Life, (Washington: Regnery Pub, 1971), 174; Jabbar Beg, Muhammad Abdul, Persian and Turkish Loanwords in Malay, (Malaysia: Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 1982), 80; James Monroe, Hispano Arabic Poetry: A Student Anthology, (New Jersey: Gorgias Press, 2004), 7; Ronald Alleyne Nicholson, A Literary History of the Arabs, (New Delhi: Adam Publishers & Distributors, 1923), 418; Joseph F. O’Callaghan, A History of Medieval Spain, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975), 158;, Robert Payne, The Holy Sword: The Story of Islam from Muhammad to the Present, New York: Harper and Brothers, 1959), 186, Shojaedin Shafa, Iran and Spain, Farzad publications (2005), 325-340; Paul Edward Szarmach, Aspects of Jewish Culture in the Middle Ages, (New York: State University of New York Press, 1979), 55, Sherifa, Zuhur, Colors of Enchantment: Theater, Dance, Music, and the Visual Arts of the Middle East, (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2001), 324. 3 Fawri Zayyadine, The Umayyads: The Rise of Islamic Art (Vienna: Museum With No Frontiers, 2002), 125. 4 Ma Salaam/ Salaam, Muhammad Ali, A Black Man’s Journey in America: Glimpses of Islam, Conversations and Travels, (Bloomington, IN: Xlibris Corporation, 2011), 72.

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Negro (blackbird) – was given due to his dark skin and his beautiful voice. Yet this study does not seek to resolve the question of Zaryab’s ethnicity; instead, it focuses on what he accomplished. Even here, it is necessary to narrow the focus. Zaryab was knowledgeable in a wide range of areas, including botany, astronomy, meteorology, geography, cosmetics, and fashion. The present study restricts its focus to Zaryab the musician. Little is known about Zaryab’s life before his arrival at the court of the Abbasid Caliph Harun al-Rashid, by which point he was already quite skilled. Zaryab had become a pupil of Ishaq Mosuli, the famous musician at Harun al-Rashid’s court. According to historian al-Maqqari,5 when Ishaq introduced Zaryab as a new music talent, Harun al-Rashid was so impressed that he wanted to take Zaryab immediately into his service. Ishaq became jealous, fearing that he would lose his position. In a private meeting, Ishaq offered Zaryab money to leave Baghdad, threatening negative consequences if he refused. Zaryab left for Sham in Syria, then Ifriqiuua in Tunisia (where he received an invitation from Abu al-Mansur, the Jewish singer and chancellor of the Emir to Córdoba), and finally Córdoba in Al-Andalusia, Spain. Zaryab’s trip to Andalusia was prompted by an invitation from the Umayyad Caliph al-Hakam I – a strong patron of music with many musicians at his court. Upon arrival with his wife and children in 822, Zaryab learned of the passing of al-Hakam. Abu alMansur asked Zaryab to await Al-Hakam’s successor's decision before moving back. Al-Hakam’s son, Abdar-Rahman II (792-852), renewed his father’s invitation to Zaryab to become a court musician, offering an extraordinary salary and thus convincing him to stay. Zaryab would serve as a minister of culture, promoting his position at the court, year after year. His involvement in various areas of science and art, and his innovative ideas in folk traditions such as cooking and fashion, established him as a cultural figure known to everybody in Córdoba. Like Mosuli’s family in Baghdad, Zaryab was from a family of musicians. Of his ten children, eight were boys and two were girls. None reached the same level of acclaim as Zaryab, but they worked as musicians and maintained the school he founded for many years. Before addressing Zaryab’s contributions and the musical culture he represents, it is first important to consider the musical tradition of which he was a part more generally, its evolution throughout history, and its defining characteristics.

5

Abu-l-Abbas Ahmad ibn Mohammed al-Maqqari (or Al-Makkari) (c. 1578–1632).

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Zaryab: The Cultural Meeting of East and West

Before Islam Arab music before Islam has the character of a folk art. There is no question as to its existence, but its oral and ceremonial nature left an absence of documents and other forms of evidence. There is also its relative isolation from other civilizations to consider. Arabs were a nomadic people, and consequentially did not undergo processes of urbanization akin to some other cultures of the period. For instance, one observes that their cultural and religious practices were not connected to a specific architecture. Whereas churches had long served as the locus of Christian worship, Mosques would make a relatively late appearance in Muslim culture. This explains the many regulations for religious practice in a desert environment. Some scholars evaluate the pre-Islamic period as a time of backwardness (jaheliyat), overemphasizing the new religion’s importance and the changes it brought to Arab life. Yet a strong argument can be made that, among other cultural pillars, the art of poetry was pre-Islamic. Three types of poetry can be traced to this time: spontaneous, war, and incidental. And it is from these poetic forms that the art of music emerged, mirroring their dynamic and metrical structures. One interesting question regards the balance of poetic and musical priorities, and how this influences formal outcomes. The ancient Greek art of singing, for example, was dependent on components of music, so much so that a song (Melos) was actually sung to the lyre itself. Greeks had no word for poetry without music. For the Arabs, it was the opposite. The dominance of poetry in Arab art has persisted throughout history (a resulting disadvantage of which, it might be argued, was a slower independent growth of music). The poetic forms benefitting music in this early period were the Huda and Khahab. Huda are camel songs based on repetition; they are pragmatic in order to suit the nomadic way of life. For example, their melodic span is typically less than one octave, and most are sung a cappella. In cases where instruments are used, they tend to involve simple percussion elements – which are both easy to learn and light to carry.

The Umayyad Caliphate (661-750) The establishment of the Umayyad dynasty marked the end of conflict around the prophet’s succession. The centre of the Islamic Caliphate moved from Al-Hijaz to Damascus. Before this move, Muslim rulers would import singers from Damascus to Al-Hijaz, but after they would import them from Mecca and Medina to Damascus. One such musician

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was the celebrated singer Abu Leheb. Generally, Umayyad rulers were good supporters of art and music. The court of the Umayyads regularly used slave singers for entertainment. One of the Umayyad rulers, Al-Walid II (707–744) was, in fact, an excellent singer and Ud player himself. As the Islamic rulers conquered more areas and increased their political and economic power, so too grew the societal elite, requiring ever more entertainment in accordance with its status. At the same time, Mecca and Medina continued to grow. The importation of slaves to rebuild Mecca brought many singers to the city. Azza al-Mayla (d. 705), called Queen of singers, who trained singers like Ma’bad (d. 743), is one such example. Ibn Aisha and Jamila are two other female singers from Persia, famous for their voices, and heavily involved in educating other slaves. Music during this period of expansion was primarily secular, with its foremost themes of love and the pleasures of life. Abul Faraj Isfahani (897–976) is known to have said that female singers sang cheerful and sacred songs. One of the terms developed during this time is the word tarab, meaning emotion and delight, which was used later in other forms like mutreb (musician), alat al-tarab (musical instruments), and troubadour and trouvère in southern Europe. During the Umayyad period, original music was created and used by a vast group of musicians. Rhythm remained the essence of the music, while use of mode was still developing. The first names associated with modal theory in this period are Isa ben Abdallah (Towais) and Ibn Misjah (d. 715). Ibn Misjah was also the first Arab composer and music theorist. His work exceeded the octave span in singing and paved the way for a more expansive melodic tradition. Another important musician, Ibn Muhriz, was the person behind the ramal rhythm. His invention was four-part strophic poetry, which would go on to change the fundamental structure of music, with a lasting impact on the Andalusian style. Ibn Misjah travelled to Syria and Persia to familiarize himself with the local traditions, elements of which he imported to the Peninsula. This would, in turn, play a decisive role in the future development of Islamic music. It is difficult to know with certainty which elements were imported by Ibn Misjah, and from which cultures. In view of each culture’s iconic characteristics, however, one might posit the development of melodies (alhan) from both Syria and Persia, specifically modes from Syria and the art of accompaniment with new instruments from Persia. Ibn Misjah developed the Persian berbet and named the new instrument Al-Ud. He kept the Persian names of the lowest (bam) and highest (zir) strings and used two Arabic names for those in the middle (mossana and masalas).

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Returning to the Greeks: two tetrachords build a harmonia (scale), three tetrachords an incomplete system, and four tetrachords a perfect system (systema téleion). Ibn Misjah would transfer this concept to the Ud. While the nature of instruments, melodies, and accompaniment were largely determined by Persian tradition, the grammar of music was guided by Greek music theory, which combines 15 different genera to find different types of scales. Although Byzantine music was principally based on Greek musical structure, there are some differences worth noting. The Greek tetrachord was divided by three different intervals between the unmovable and movable notes, whereas the Byzantine was divided by two whole tones and a semitone. Greek music theory was flexible in changing the intervals, and accordingly the character, of the music, while Byzantine music theory considered such changes as absonia. While Greek music theory recognized the enharmonic and chromatic genus as fully usable genera, Byzantine music excluded them from its theory. Microtonal intervals (e.g., third tones) were commonplace in Greek music, whereas Byzantine music relied on semitones as the smallest increment. Lastly, the Greeks used four-note (tetrachord) combinations for music of tetraphonia; Byzants preferred combinations of seven-note combinations for heptaphonia. Singing as an art form developed through many further stages during the Umayyad periods. The more artistic genre was called al-ghina' almutqan, ascribed to the Persian slave Nashit. Tadjwid (embellishment) was another component added to music, which detached it further from the poetry on which it was based. Two characteristics, tahqiq (giving full value to consonants, of a phonetic nature) and tartil (giving the correct flow to the music, of a dynamic nature) took musicality one step further, beyond its foundation. Many Arab songs were organized in two verses and four hemistichs (quatrains) before this. Quatrains as a form had been known since the time of ancient Greece, China, and Rome, and had different rhyme patterns. Ibn Muhriz developed this form to include four hemistichs – i.e. two verses in the form of aaba – which completely changed the structure of both poem and music. One can also see this on display in the verse of Homer.

The Abbasid Caliphate (750-1258) In 750 the Umayyad dynasty was defeated by the Abbasids, shifting the centre of Islamic power from Damascus to Baghdad – a new city close to Persia (Ctesiphon), built by the Abbasids themselves in 762. During the Abbasid period the musical cultures of the Persians, Turks, Kurds,

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Armenians, Byzantines and Ethiopians were mixed. While the dominance of Greek culture was noticeable in Damascus, Persian culture held sway in Baghdad. Many Persian administrators, scientists, philosophers and artists worked for the Abbasids and influenced the culture and life in the Islamic Caliphate for the next 500 years (750-1256), a period sometimes called The Islamic Golden Age. We can observe the influence of Persian culture in dress, music, and many other cultural activities during nowruz (the Persian New Year celebration) and mehrgan (the Persian celebration of autumn, which usually took place in October). Baghdad would soon become a centre of industry, trade, science and the arts. Most of the Abbasid Caliphs were true supporters of art and science. The first Caliph, Al-Mansur, who disliked music and did not allow slaves to play instruments at his palace, was the notable exception. The singers of the Umayyad period were just that: singers. They rarely had theoretical knowledge or a structured education6 in music. However, Baghdad would over the course of time become a centre for theory. Music was still primarily an art of entertainment, but so-called academic music was greatly developed during this period. Music as described by Plato in the seventh book of The Republic as a part of the Quadrivium (Arithmetic, Geometry, Astronomy, Music ) was incorporated into the Abbasid-period curriculum and many mathematicians, scientists and philosophers wrote treatises and books about music. The burden of this work – i.e. turning a practical art into a scientific one rested on the shoulders of three famous philosophers/scientists. The first was Al-Kindi7 (c. 801–873), an Arab philosopher, the second al Farabi8 (872-951), a philosopher and jurist, and the third Ibn Sina9 or Avicenna (980-1037), a Persian polymath. It is also important to mention Isfahani, the Persian historian, who spent 50 years on 21 volumes of his monumental work Kitab al-Aghani (Book of Songs), and Safi ad-Din al-Urmawi (d. 1294) who wrote The Kitab al-adwar (The Book of Modes). These deeper academic studies of music developed additional concepts and terminology. The Greek influence on Islamic music had four important sources: Pythagoras (570-495 BC), Aristoxenus (ca. 375-335 BC), Plato (428-347 BC), and Aristotle (384-322 BC). Pythagoras was a principal source of

6

Plato and Aristotle both emphasized the importance of music in education. They recommended gymnastics and music to discipline the body and the mind respectively. 7 Abu Ynjsuf Ya‫ދ‬qnjb ibn ‫ތ‬IsতƗqaৢ-ৡabbƗত al-KindƯ. 8 Abnj Naৢr Muতammad ibn Muতammad FƗrƗbƯ. 9 Abnj AlƯ al-ণusayn ibn Abd AllƗh ibn Al-Hasan ibn Ali ibn SƯnƗ.

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knowledge for al-Kindi and his followers.10 They believed in the formal study of music with regard to numbers and numerical ratios as building structures for melodies and intervals. This perspective sought to connect all of the numerical aspects of astronomy, daily hours and calendrical dates to musical intervals. Aristoxenus built his theory of music on the sensory, aural experience of being human. He used the interval between the perfect fifth and fourth as the whole-tone and included semi-tones, quarter-tones and third-tones in his melodic intervals. Manipulation of the third scale degree was also a result of the flexibilities in Greek melody, which in turn became a characteristic feature of Arab melody. Although many elements of music were transferred from Islamic to European culture, it took a long time before the third scale degree found an important place in the European musical scale. The reason is obvious. The preeminence of harmony in European music came into conflict with the third scale degree, although folk music would use it freely, as it did not have theoretical concerns. Aristoxenus’ ideas were a great source for Farabi, Ibn Sina, and Urmawi, and had a bigger influence on the music in the Islamic era than did those of al-Kindi. Farabi and Ibn Sina focused their study of music on sound itself rather than explaining music by means of non-musical phenomena. Plato and Aristotle helped Islamic thinkers to evaluate music as an academic, philosophical discipline. Aristotle had a crucial influence on Farabi, as a result of which the sciences of music (musiqi) and singing (ghina) were further distinguished from each other. The Abbasids also benefited from Chinese techniques in paper making, which spread to the Islamic world in the 8th century. This, together with increased patronage for academicians, brought about the great academic works of the time. Many classical Greek texts, forgotten in Europe, were translated into Arabic. Comments, descriptions, and debates around these texts brought up the Greek thinkers, especially Aristotle, in academic circles. Al-Kindi, Al-Farabi, and Ibn Sina tried to generalize music and, like the Greeks, build a music philosophy that was universal. Al-Kindi was the first philosopher to consider music academically. Al-Kindi wrote roughly fifteen treatises on music, as a part of the mathematical sciences, but only five of them survived. He and Zaryab were responsible for adding the fifth string to the Ud. Al-Farabi, known as The Second Master after Aristotle, was a philosopher, scientist, cosmologist and music theorist. He wrote among other works Kitab al-Musiqi al-kabir (The Great Book of Music). 10

These included, among others, Al-Jahidh (d. 869), Ibn Khurradadhibah (d. 911), Ibn Bajjah (d. 1139).

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Farabi learned music in Baghdad and played the Ud. After reading the Greek texts and theories about music, he speculated on different possible interpretations of their meaning. One of his biggest contributions was to read the Greek tetrachords in ascending order, something that had a revolutionary impact on the functions of different scale degrees, and ultimately – after several hundred years – the movement from Greek modality to European tonality. Ibn Sina would align himself with the Pythagoreans, approaching aesthetics from the standpoint of physics and mathematics as a way of elevating the art form. Discussing his interpretation of music in his famous book Shifa, Ibn Sina represents Aristoxenus in Islamic music aesthetics. Traditional singing culture was at this point overtaken by new influences from Persia, which had set a new course in terms of technique and knowledge. The question arose of the definition of the perfect singer. 18th-and-19th-century Europe answered this question in similar terms to the Abbasid philosophers, which is to say through metaphysics. These philosophers were inspired by jinns (supernatural power), which even Zaryab had claimed inspired his compositions. Malik ibn abil-Samah (d. ca 754) asked Ibn Suraydj to explain the qualities of a perfect musician. He replied: “The musician who enriches the melodies, has long breath, gives proper proportions to the measures, emphasizes the pronunciation, respects grammatical inflections, holds long notes for their full value, separates short notes distinctly and, finally, uses the various rhythmical modes correctly; such a musician is considered perfect”.11 In the earlier history of Islamic music the word sawt (voice) had a magical character; it was not actually considered an acoustic phenomenon. During the Abbasid period, attention would shift to the acoustic phenomenology of the voice and its message to the listener. As a consequence, the concept of al-sawt al-hasan (beautiful voice) was developed and the criteria for its specification were defined. Shiloah mentioned five essential conditions for good singing during this time: “…the istirsal (prolongation of sound without the singer letting his voice fall), the tarkhim (softening of a sound without loss of intonation), the tafkhim (amplification of a sound), the taqdir al-anfas (control of respiration) and tadjrid (perfect command of the transition from a stressed sound to a weak one and vice versa)”.12 11

Armand-Pierre Caussin de Perceval, Notices anecdotique sur les principaux musiciens arabes des trois premierssiecles de l'islamisme, ‘Journal Asiatique’, 7 sér, 2, (1873), 397-592 and 497-500, cited by Shiloah in: Shiloah, Amnon, Music in the World of Islam, A Socio-Cultural Study, (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1995), 15. 12 A. Shiloah, Music in the World of Islam, A Socio-Cultural Study, 38.

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For the first time, following the Persian Sassanids the Abbasid rulers would create paid positions for musicians at their court. They practiced other Persian customs as well, such as having musicians sing and play from behind a curtain (sitara). During the time of the Abbasids music remained a practice for both men and women. Most of the women were slaves, and most of the men were also slaves, or freed slaves. Ibn Surayj was half Turkish, al-Gharid half Berber, Ibn Misjah and Ma’bad half African, and Ibn Muhriz, Nashit and Saib Khathir Persian slaves. Ibn Muhriz was a pupil of Ibn Misjah. He sang in ramel and developed the melody of songs. Famous singers from the time of the Abbasids include Sayat, Yunus Al-Katib, Ibn Jami, Ibrahim and Ishaq Mosuli (767-850), Bazbaz, and Yazid Haura (from Medina). The famous composer, Yahya Makki, was also from this period. He published Mojarad fi al-Aghani, a book of music pedagogy, and 14,000 songs. The most important music personalities of the Abbasid period were the Mosuli family (Ibrahim and Ishaq) and Mansur Zalzal (Ibrahim's brotherin-law). Zalzal was the inventor of a long-necked Ud. Musicians by this time had become multi-faceted, working as performers, composers, instrument makers and theorists. Ishaq was a prominent music theorist, but instead of developing his work on a scientific basis he focused on praxis and tried to implement his discoveries in practice. His songs would start from a high note and showcase large melodic intervals, which was considered as a complete art. Chottin recognizes such songs’ relevance to this day, in instrumental improvisations (taqsim) and vocal muwal or mawal.13 Music during the Abbasid period reached a new climax. Melodies expanded from one to two diatonic octaves. Changes in music also prompted changes in poetry, the results of which were four principal rhythms: hazaj, ramal, the first thaqil and the second thaqil. Musical expression came to be defined in academic terms, and singing techniques more formalized. Although unsuccessful, the first attempts at the harmonization of melody were also made. Music also established itself as an important part of ceremonies. During this time, performers took turns to enter the space of the performance and play their music (Nuba) – a practice later used in Andalusia and during the Renaissance and Baroque eras in Europe.

13

Alexis Chottin, Arabische Musik, in Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart, Allgemeine Enzyklopädie der Musik, unter Mitarbeit zahlender Musikforscher des In und Auslandes, herausgegeben von Friedrich Blume, Band I, (Kassel: Bärenreiter, 1949-1951), 581.

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As before, negative views of music could be heard, but high demand among the people – coupled with ignorance from the social elite – rendered these largely ineffectual. Still, Arabs were averse to the idea that musicians could be Arabs. While acknowledging the widespread practice of music during the Umayyad and Abbasid periods, one should still note that instruments were broken in the streets, and most musicians were slaves or freed slaves. As stated above, early Arabs were vehemently against music, and religious and civil leaders forbade its practice, punishing those who disobeyed. But with time, and above all the increasing conversion to Islam by non-Arabs, the music of these new Muslims would have to be tolerated, and would even come to interact with existing traditions. Harun-al-Rashid, following the Persian custom, gave musicians different ranks. Each musician was scheduled to play on certain days. Present at Harun’s court were Byzantine and Persian slaves, both musicians and dancers. Ibrahim (d. 804) and Ishaq were the most important of the musicians. They originated in Persia and mastered both Arab and Persian songs. Ibrahim trained many slaves, and his pupils were among the most expensive. Ishaq was not a great singer but had an extensive knowledge of music, following the Hijaz tradition. He was comparable to Ibn Suraji and Ma’bed in this latter respect. Ishaq was an excellent Ud player and introduced the use of falsetto in singing. Among the most important singers of this period, Mukharrik was the son of a butcher and a slave of Attika, bought by Ibrahim. Az-Zubayr was a great singer, too, brought from Hijaz to Baghdad. Muhammad ar-Raf was yet another important singer from this time. There were also many female singers in this period, like the slaves Oraib, Kalam As-Alehya and Bedle. The flutist, Barsuma, and Ud player, Zalzal, were two great instrumentalists from Kufa, pupils of Ibrahim Mosuli. Zalzal is credited with changing the original Persian form of the Ud into a fish-like instrument (called the saput). Isfahani recognized two schools during this time: the more classically oriented style of Ishak Al-Mosuli, rooted in the techniques of the old masters; and the more individualistic style of Ibrahim Al-Mahdi and his followers (Mukharrik, Sheria, Raik, etc.). In Islamic music theory, the Ud replaces the Greek monochord. AlFarabi stipulated which scales were appropriate for the Ud and Tanbur. Another contribution of Muslims during this time was the study of rhythmic patterns called iqa' – fixed rhythmic modes used in different songs. These modes grew in number over time, eventually into the hundreds, and became the basis for the music theory established by Farabi and Ibn Sina.

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Andalusia and Zaryab Tracing the cultural streams above, it becomes evident that Islamic music went through a journey from Al-Hijaz to Damascus and then Baghdad. Its subsequent developments in Córdoba are not the achievements of any single person. Zaryab functioned as a messenger, communicating between the different cultures flourishing in Baghdad and Córdoba. This, in turn, synthesized the cultures of Damascus and al-Hijaz into a mixture of Persian, Byzantine and Arab influences. Because Zaryab came from Baghdad, he brought the style of the Mosuli to Spain; the same songs and instruments were used in Spain as Baghdad. The books of Arab scholars were known to the Spanish as well. For example, a copy of Isfahani’s The Book of Songs was sent to Al-Hakam II, and was subsequently copied and distributed in Andalusia. Yahya bin Al-Khodoj and Om Al-Fatah Fathuna wrote a book on Spanish songs, using Isfahani’s as a model, though with one major difference. While Zaryab’s music was based on a philosophy of metaphysics, and what emerged in Baghdad relied on the scales and musical structures of Ancient Greece, Andalusian music took a more flexible approach to Greek music theory. In this way the Andalusian style would become less structured than that of Baghdad. In the midst of the Abbasid conquest, Abdar-Rahman managed to escape to Spain, where he would establish a new territory for himself. Though the Umayyads lost power in Damascus, Córdoba survived and continued under them in Spain. The new centre would exist in parallel to the Abbasid one in Baghdad until 1031, when the unity of the Umayyad Caliphate disintegrated. With the fall of Granada in 1492, the Peninsula was completely abandoned. Although the newly conquered land, called AlAndalusia, was to begin with an emirate, Abdar-Rahman III called himself Caliph of Spain in 929. This created a situation in which two simultaneous Caliphates competed in the economic, political and cultural spheres. Córdoba, as the centre of the new Caliphate, was a competitor to the Abbasid centre, Baghdad, in many respects. Most of the Andalusian rulers were – like their Umayyad and Abbasid counterparts – enthusiastic supporters of music. Abdallah (certainly the worst of all in this respect) and Al-Hakam II were hostile towards it, but Al-Mansur and Al-Mahdi were consummate patrons. Al-Mahdi, for example, built an orchestra with hundreds of instrumentalists. The Andalusian population would grow to roughly 30 million, along with the construction of at least 130,000 households in Córdoba, as well as many mosques and cultural/industrial facilities. Andalusia would become an attractive place to live and work. Many slaves were imported there from al-Hijaz, especially Medina,

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Baghdad, and Damascus, for wealthy people in Córdoba, Seville, Granada and other major cities. Islamic culture flourished once again, just as it had in Al-Hijaz, Damascus and Baghdad. As previously mentioned, Zaryab entered Córdoba in 822 with a level of involvement and influence comparable to that of a modem cultural minister. Although the Islamic world was split in two (Baghdad and Córdoba), communication between these centres was active and constructive. For instance, Ibn Guzman was a skilful singer, who, after successful performances in Andalusia, went to Baghdad and also sang there. Al-Hijaz and Damascus were also part of this circuit of communication. Slaves were imported to, and exported from, these centres, circulating diverse experiences and knowledge. Likewise, academic works were distributed and influential among scholars. Thus, the schools of Mecca and Medina were represented in Spain. Abdu-r-Rahman II had a section at his court called Medinans, where he had singers from Medina. Three famous female singers from Medina were Fadal, Alam, and Kalam. Córdoba distinguished itself from other cities in two important ways. First, resident Muslims lived with people of different ethnic backgrounds, such as Visigoths, Romans, Basques, Celts, Suevi, Alans, Jews and Arabs from other countries. Considered in terms of religion, these ethnic groups constituted a minority of Jews and a majority of Christians (people of the book). Those of other faiths outnumbered Muslims in Córdoba, yet tolerance generally prevailed. Minorities were allowed to practice their worship on condition of paying a monthly tax. Such multiculturalism was a catalyst for growth in Córdoba, as it was in Baghdad. Second, and contrary to Al-Hijaz, Baghdad and Damascus, Córdoba produced and exported culture, rather than importing it from outside. Thus, new developments and traditions would spread throughout Spain, France, Germany and North Africa. Andalusia’s influence on the music of the future was substantial. Documents that survived the Spanish Inquisition were mostly written by Al-Majriti (d. 1007), Abu Salt Umayah (d. 1134), Ibn Quzman (d. 1160), and Al-Qurtubi (d. 1258). From these it is possible to see that music in Andalusia, as in other Islamic centres, was highly melodic. The use of third-tones and quarter-tones brought nuance to melody and of course the art of singing itself. It would take hundreds of years before such melodic invention was extended to non-vocal instruments. Ambrosian musical culture – that of Roman Christians living in Andalusia before the arrival of the Muslims – was male-dominated, vocal, monophonic, a cappella, and sacred, sung in the form of the syllabic,

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neumatic, and melismatic recitation of melodies. Muslims were accustomed to purely vocal, monophonic music, but the importation of female slave singers, instrumental accompaniment and secular lyrics brought big changes to the Peninsula. Many wealthy Arab inhabitants of Andalusia came to own female singers. For example Kamar, a female slave singer from Baghdad, was bought by Ibrahim bin Hajaj al-Lakhmi in Seville. Said bin Suleiman bin Judi likewise had a female slave, called Jihan. Instrumental music was not embraced by Christians for some time. The first instrument would not find a home within the Catholic liturgy until c. 755, more than seven centuries after Christianity’s birth. Yet unlike those of the Islamic faith, Christians had no ideological conflict with music. For example, they were free to use singing in liturgical activities without fear of punishment. During the Andalusian time, the religious establishment would ban music at the social level, e.g. the words of singers were not accepted as testimony, or a house could not be rented if an instrument was played in it. One of the positive features of the Muslim ruling system in favour of music was the degree of flexible authority over it. Although Christians very quickly established a vocal repertoire, which dominated all types of singing, Muslims would follow a different path. With fewer constraints on repertoire, and the content of music more generally, musicians under Muslim rulers practiced more freely. Muslims did not establish any standard repertoire for Islamic culture. Another important difference here is the encounter between secular and sacred music in Andalusia. PreIslamic Andalusia was dominated by sacred music, while the musical activity of Muslims was greatly influenced by secularism. Music in Baghdad and Damascus was court music – something for skilful professional musicians, elites, and noble people but in Andalusia it was a folk art that ordinary people could practice and appreciate. Despite this general tolerance and flexibility, Islamic culture was averse to musicians gaining fame or official position within the society or government. Musicians were still primarily slaves (male or female) and/or non-Arab. Some important examples were Hisn ibn Ziyad, a north African singer, and Siadah ibn Buryam, a Christian singer who converted to Islam. He was among those who performed in both Baghdad and Damascus. One of the innovations ascribed to Zaryab is the concept of Nuba. To understand Nuba, one must go back to the time of the Persian Sassanid. Under the Sassanid dynasty there was a custom regarding how musicians performed at the court. The order of participation, called Nuba or Nowbat (turn), was determined for court singers as a formal, cultural practice. In cases where a single musician performed a sequence of songs, the

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composite was also called Nuba. While the concept was a kind of performing strategy and discipline during the Sassanid period (and even later during those of the Umayyads and Abbasids), Zaryab's Nuba revived the concept and introduced it as a musical form in Andalusia. This was a major contribution, providing the origin of the Baroque Suite as well as the current form of music performances in the Middle East. A typical Nuba had a free-metered vocal introduction (prelude/ recitative/anexir), a main body, and a concluding section. Sometimes an alternation between choral and solo performance was included for contrast. Zaryab created 24 Nubas, one for each hour of the day. A similarity of the Nuba to the Greek Doctrine of Ethos can be observed. Each Nuba was associated with and composed in a single mode, which provided the basis for the development of modes (maqamat) in Islamic music. These were in turn based on a heptatonic-diatonic music system with quarter-tone or third-tone nuances (alterations) on the secondary degrees of the scale (2, 3, 6, 7). The formation of the modes, which started during the Abbasid period and continued in Andalusia, brought with it some harmonic features, most important among them the Andalusian Cadence. This convention is built on a diatonic Phrygian tetrachord with the sequence of V-IV-III in major mode and I-VII-VI in minor mode. A Nuba can traditionally be divided into five sections called mîzân, each with a special rhythm: basît in 6/4, qâ'imwanusf and btâyhî in 8/4, darj in 4/4 and finally quddâm in 6/8. Nubas were designed for all 24 hours of the day, and each one was stipulated to be at most one hour long. Nubas today have become longer than this, lasting as many as nine hours. The training of musicians, principally singers, would become increasingly accepted in the emerging cultural centres of Al-Hijaz, Damascus and Baghdad. As has already been mentioned, Greek philosophers endorsed such an education and training singers in order to sell them as slaves had become a profitable business in the Islamic world. However, establishing a school of music was as yet a foreign concept in Andalusia. Zaryab is thus credited with formalizing the study of music in an academic context. His efforts mark the first instance of a school having a curriculum designed specifically for musicians – a landmark event not only in the history of Islamic music, but of music the world over. Most students of the school were non-Arab slaves. The purpose of its program was to prepare young singers to give better performances. Costs were determined by an individual’s abilities and fame. Zaryab would give an entrance exam, testing an applicant’s abilities to sing loudly and properly. He also cultivated unusual solutions to problems, such as putting a piece of wood in the mouth to keep it open. He would focus his teaching on individual

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facets of music, one at a time, such as rhythm and meter (bahr), singing a cappella (or with accompaniment), production of vibrato, and trills or embellishments (tahshiyeh). Zaryab’s school had a major impact on music education as far away as Seville, Toledo, Valencia and Granada. The school survived Zaryab by roughly 500 years, thanks in part to his children’s efforts to maintain its operation. From the wide array of instruments present in Andalusia at this time, there is no question that the Al-Ud was, and has remained, the favourite Islamic instrument. The original Berbet was an ordinary instrument in Persian culture, but it attained an elevated status in Islamic music. The sonority and abilities of the Ud in accompaniment made it the characteristic instrument of Islamic music. After the earlier modifications of Ibn Misjah, one more would be made by Al-Kindi in theory and by Zaryab in practice. Zaryab added a new pair of strings, coloured red, between the second and third, thus completing the Aristotelian humours of choleric, sanguine, phlegmatic and melancholy with soul. Adding a new string to the Ud was not actually driven by musical reasoning. Zaryab’s motivation was to bring a kind of balance to the instrument. The deepest string (bam) was considered warm and dry, Mathna – wet, Mathlath – cold and wet, and the highest string (zir) – cold and dry. The first string was yellow, the second one was red, the third was white and the bass string was black, symbolizing melancholy. The additional red string would represent the soul. And even though the impetus for adding it was nonmusical, it nevertheless expanded the Ud’s range of tones and expressivity. Zaryab used a different material for the strings and an eagle quill to get a sharper and louder sound tone, further developing the instrument. The Ud would eventually pave the way for both Lute and Guitar in Europe.

Conclusion This paper has explored Arab and Islamic music from pre-Islamic times to 1492, the fall of Malaga and the end of Andalusian culture. It should be noted that there is a crucial difference between Arabic music (i.e., before the conquest of neighbouring lands) and Islamic music (i.e. from the establishment of Islam after conquest). Arabic music was a vocal, monophonic, a cappella, simple-structured, linear and poetry-dominated music, while Islamic music is a synthetic Persian-Byzantine, strophic, heptatonic-diatonic, instrument-accompanied and academic music. After the rise of Islam and a long period of cultural assimilation, there arrived a point at which Islamic music could meet Western Catholic music in Andalusia. Taking a step outwards from Islamic to Christian music is

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historically symbolized by Zaryab’s move from Baghdad to Andalusia. If Muhammad's migration (Hijra) from Mecca to Medina is a milestone in Islamic history, the migration of Zaryab from Baghdad to Córdoba could be seen as a milestone in music history. The gift of Muslims to the Iberian Peninsula could be summarized thus: 1. Greek music theory returned to Europe after a long period of political turbulence, destabilizing Western culture. 2. Instrumental music, forbidden in the Christian church, met a new musical culture with hundreds of years’ experience with instrumental accompaniment. 3. Gender discrimination in the Catholic Church, which preferred men in musical activities, was counteracted by a new culture, which – though dependent on slavery – was open to female involvement in music making. 4. Sacred communities of the Catholic Church, which did not value folk music, encountered a different, basically secular community that did not approach music as a tool for religious propaganda. 5. The flood of instruments and new music terminology reaching the Iberian Peninsula enriched Christian music at a more rapid pace than would have been possible in isolation. Music education found its first establishment in Andalusia, where Zaryab’s school was directly influential for 500 years; its resonances affect music to this day. Greek music could not survive in a Europe drained by war and chaos after the fall of the Roman Empire. Musical knowledge was revived and “Persianized” by Muslims, returning to Europe once it was calm and ready to reorganize. The influence of Islamic music was greatly diminished after the Mongols’ invasion of the Middle East, forcing Muslims out of Spain after the 15th century. Islamic music would not be able to stand again for several hundred years. Now it was Europe’s turn to return to Islamic music and influence all aspects of its existence.

FRENCH MUSIC AND THE EAST: COLONISING THE SOUND OF AN EMPIRE EDWARD CAMPBELL

Introduction I seemed to remember a quotation from Declan Kiberd’s introduction to the Penguin edition of James Joyce’s Ulysses. As my memory had it, Kiberd stated “While the British colonised Joyce’s country, he colonised their language”. What Kiberd in fact said was: “Friedrich Engels had complained that the object of British policy was to make the Irish feel like strangers in their own land, but he had underestimated their capacity to colonize the culture that was used to colonize them”.1 In this chapter I set out the broad outline of a project which has the provisional title “Colonising the Sound of an Empire” and in which I propose to trace the historical situation in France from Debussy onwards, where French musicians, musicologists, ethnomusicologists and the listening public were confronted with the music of the global East and South, primarily that of Annam, Bali, China, India, Japan and Java, as well as certain African musics. In the course of the chapter we will consider a number of engagements linking France, its former colonies and other geographically distant lands, whereby the musics of East and West, North and South were placed in surprising communication. They confronted one another in ways that confounded the expectations of the originators of these events and changed the field of musical power relations in unforeseen ways. It seems that the French, like Engels, seriously underestimated the capacity of the world’s colonised peoples and cultures “to colonise the culture that was used to colonise them”. This has operated through at least three forms, all of which result in the rapprochement, interpenetration and establishment of kinship relations between the previously disparate musics of East and West, North and 1

Declan Kiberd, Introduction to Ulysses by James Joyce (London: Penguin, 1992), lxxii.

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South. It operates first of all through the series of universal and colonial exhibitions held in Paris between 1878 and 1931 in which the French Empire preened itself in displaying its colonial power and influence before the world. It works secondly from around 1929 through the work of French ethnologists and ethnomusicologists, as they began to explore, record and codify the lands, peoples, cultures and musics in their vast empire, with surprising and unexpected effects for the culture and music of France itself. Finally, it operates in the work of a range of literary writers whose trajectories were shaped to a large extent by the fact of the French empire and colonialism, as well as by their creative encounters with rich cultures beyond the reach of French governance.

The French Empire2 Beyond colonialism, understood as the grabbing of land, the oppression of peoples, the exploitation of labour and the theft of natural resources, Edward Said unveils the implicated and partial nature of Orientalism as a branch of study that has often worked for the establishment and preservation of the colonial enterprise. In Culture and Imperialism (1993), where he considers artworks by Austen, Kipling, Conrad and Camus, as well as Verdi’s Aida (1871), Said states that “to read Austen without also reading Fanon and Cabral - and so on and on – is to disaffiliate modern culture from its engagements and attachments”.3 Consequently, in studying such works it is essential to look to the exotic, oriental, imperial, colonial, and post-colonial resonances within works, factors that are not always immediately apparent.4

The Universal and Colonial Exhibitions Of fundamental importance for the transformation of French music in the twentieth century are the series of grand exhibitions which took place in Paris between 1889 and 1931. While there had been an Exposition Universelle in Paris in 1878, it was the exhibition of 1889 which had the greatest impact on French music, followed by the Exposition Universelle 2 At its extreme point in the 1920s and 1930s, the French empire was the second largest empire in the world. By the early 1960s, however, most of these countries had declared independence. 3 Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (London: Vintage, 1993), 71. 4 It is important to note that these terms are all different from one another. See Jann Pasler, Composing the Citizen: Music as Public Utility in Third Republic France, (University of California Press, 2009), 409, ftnote 21.

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of 1900 and the Exposition Coloniale of 1931.5 A great deal of work has been done on the exhibition of 1889.6 For Jann Pasler, many republicans had expectations that music would give renewed impetus to the colonial venture. Beyond the Universal Exhibitions, very few people came into contact with those countries that were being invaded and colonised by France. At the same time, with the assumption of power by the republicans in the late 1870s and 1880s, “exotic fantasies” were commonly presented in theatres and concert halls.7 French Orientalism, despite the superficiality of the relationship to the Other it proposed, was useful to the government, providing a semblance of difference while encouraging facile stances on more complex questions which arguably increased prejudice and arrogance. What will be argued in this chapter is that beginning from 1889, the nature of the relationship was transformed radically.

The Exposition Universelle of 1889 The Exposition Universelle of 1889 was one of the most significant political, economic, and cultural events in France towards the end of the nineteenth century. Over thirty million people and 61,722 exhibitors attended8. In addition to featuring the most diverse array of music ever heard, it marked the centenary of the French Revolution while unashamedly promoting the expansion of the white West, the superiority of Western culture and the possibility of a global culture. Invitations were issued to the French colonies but also to twenty-eight further countries beyond Europe.9 Participating countries had to fund their own activities themselves as well as determine the nature of their contributions. While 5

Colonial exhibitions were also held in Marseille in 1906, 1916 and 1922. See Robert Aldrich, Greater France: A History of French Overseas Expansion (London: MacMillan, 1996), 260. 6 See, for example, Roy Howat, Debussy in Proportion (Cambridge University Press, 1986) and Debussy and the Orient (in The Art of French Piano Music: Debusssy, Ravel, Fauré, Chabrier, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2009), 110-25; Annegret Fauser, Musical Encounters at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2005); Jann Pasler, Composing the Citizen: Music as Public Utility in Third Republic France (University of California Press, 2009). 7 See J. Pasler, Composing the Citizen, 409. 8 Annegret Fauser, Musical Encounters at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2005), 1. 9 J. Pasler, Composing the Citizen, 55-6.

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the exhibition was enormous and featured a great variety of events, I wish to focus solely on the contributions of the Javanese gamelan and the Annamite Theatre, which arguably had the greatest long-term effect. The sounds of the gamelan and of the Vietnamese musicians had not previously been heard by the majority of Europeans.10 As Annegret Fauser notes listeners whose musical experience of the East thus far was one created by the imaginary world of European exoticism now came face to face with “the real thing”, usually for the first time [...]. This gap between the imagined and the real became one of the main threads of the sonic perception and reception of non-Western music during the 1889 Exposition Universelle... Visitors also encountered the jarring reality of sounds that accompanied the spectacle of the exotic, and began listening actively to these “new” and exotic musics. The reactions were not always positive.11

Exposure to exotic music at the exhibition led a number of composers to rethink traditional Western concepts of melody, harmony and rhythm. Claude Debussy spent a great deal of time at the Javanese kampong, extremely interested in the “sonorities of the angklung”, the “percussive complexities of the gamelan” and their effects,12 his experiences enabling him to integrate aspects of other musics within his symbolist-based fascination for sonority. Unlike many French listeners, who experienced the Annamite woodwind and drum as piercing and unpleasant, Debussy recognised “how these two instruments expressed as much as an entire orchestra”.13 For Pasler, “exoticism thus contributed to a cult of sonority [...] with significant implications for early modernism”14 and she notes the irony whereby for innovative composers in France, exposure to Javanese and Vietnamese music turned out to be more fruitful than any of the official French music that was touted as emblematic of Western progress.15

10 The first professional gamelan ensemble performed in Europe, in the city of Arnhem, the Netherlands in 1879. See Matthew Isaac Cohen, Performing Otherness: Java and Bali on International Stages, 1905-1952 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 10. 11 A. Fauser, Musical Encounters at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair (Rochester, N.Y.: University of Rochester Press, 2005), 139. 12 J. Pasler, Composing the Citizen, 580-1. 13 Ibid., 587. 14 Ibid., 590. 15 Ibid., 593.

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In the view of Arthur Pougin, Annamite theatre afforded the “highlight of the Exhibition”, describing it as “the revelation of an unknown, strange, brilliant art” which strikes us with its “novelty” and “sincerity” as well as its “naïve peculiarity”.16 He found its forms, in particular, “very interesting, very intelligent, very complicated”.17 Musicologist Julien Tiersot recognised that the experience “involved more than merely voyeurism of ‘primitive’ people”.18 Writer Hugues Le Roux was not alone, however, in asking “who the spectacle was, and who was watching whom?”19 Embarrassed, he noted that the visitors did not realise that the Senegalese performers spoke French and consequently were fully conscious of the invidious comparisons made of them by spectators to “monkeys” and “monsters”.20 Despite such racism and abuse, the critics nevertheless listened much more closely to other musics in 1889 that at any previous event. Listeners heard music and sound in novel ways, consistent with the traditionally French penchant for charm, grace and new sonorities, but in ways that could not have been anticipated by the organisers.21 New horizons were opened up and fundamental givens concerning the nature of music were questioned. For Fauser, however, the performances were ultimately commodities similar to batik silk or Japanese prints. If they could be used to enrich French culture and prosperity, they fulfilled their role. In this sense, Debussy’s appropriation of elements from the exotic performances to further the cause of French music is as much part of the colonial enterprise as what we habitually identify in works such as Lakmé.

She continues Whether Debussy’s exoticism is more internalized than Delibes’s is not the issue.... Rather, I would suggest that we reinterpret his fascination with the spectacle of the kampong javanais and the Théâtre Annamite as an encounter with alterity not as an agent of rupture as so often posited by the 16

Arthur Pougin Le Théâtre à l’exposition universelle de 1889 (Paris, Fischbacher, 1890), 90. 17 J. Pasler, Composing the Citizen, 574; A. Pougin, Le Théâtre à l’exposition universelle de 1889 (Paris, Fischbacher, 1890). 18 J. Pasler, Composing the Citizen, 576-7. 19 Ibid., 571. 20 Hugues Le Roux, ‘Psychologie exotique’, L’Exposition de Paris de 1889, 27 July 1889; cited in: Ibid., 571. 21 J.Pasler, Composing the Citizen, 550-1.

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modernist constructions of Debussy but as a form of appropriation firmly inscribed in the tradition of French music of the 1890s.22

At the same time, Fauser recognises that Debussy’s exoticism is different from that of his contemporaries since “his appropriation of nonWestern music left traces on a structural level as well as on a surface one”.23 She concludes that the presence of these musicians at the 1889 exhibition provided foundations for an important aspect of later twentieth century music but, once again, is ambivalent in gauging the degree to which this aspect is to be considered as musical exoticism.

The Exposition Coloniale of 1931 The aim of the 1931 Exposition Coloniale was to present an elaborate show of France’s diverse colonial resources. Again, in the face of an indigenous population that was less than ardent in its interest in and support for colonialism, the exhibition was designed to entertain and inform and, at the same time, show the rest of the world the extent of the empire. The organisers invited foreign countries to design exhibits that would establish that colonial expansion was a well-meaning and inevitable movement made by all civilised countries. According to the visitors guide artists would be confronted with “new methods, new colours, new harmonies”.24 Held at the Vincennes Park to the east of Paris, the 1931 exhibition attracted 8 million visitors, yielding a profit of 33 million francs.25 Unlike in 1889, however, it was denounced strongly by anti-colonialists who requested that both the French population and potential foreign visitors should boycott it. The French Communist Party condemned it as the glorification of barbarous imperial domination and exploitation and the Socialists also expressed concern. The Parisian Surrealists including André Breton, Paul Eluard and Louis Aragon circulated a text entitled Don’t Visit the Colonial Exhibition and their newspaper carried articles covering colonial scandals and signs of emerging nationalism wherever it arose. Just before the opening, they drew attention to the detention and deportation of a Vietnamese student charged with holding subversive political views. Future Prime Minister Léon Blum inveighed against the killing of a number of protesters in Annam, the organisers of a May Day 22

A. Fauser, Musical Encounters at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair, 205. Ibid., 206. 24 R. Aldrich, Greater France, 260-1. 25 Ibid., 262. 23

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demonstration. He wrote: “here [in Paris] we have the reconstruction of the marvellous stairway of Angkor and are watching sacred dancers, but in Indochina they are shooting, deporting and imprisoning”.26 These brutal abuses rather than the spectator events in Vincennes, it was said, revealed the true nature of colonialism. In response, the anti-colonialists organised a counter-exhibition for October 1931 in three parts, the first, The Truth about the Colonies, reported on forced labour and other mistreatment of indigenous peoples; the second presented the anti-colonial ideas of Marxism-Leninism, and the third consisted of artwork from the colonies and other distant countries. Significantly, the counter-exhibition received far fewer visitors than the spectacle at Vincennes.27

Jolivet and Messiaen Despite the stated intent of the official exhibition and the much less pronounced interest in the counter-exhibition, the impact of the diverse cultures on display was very strong on composers André Jolivet and Olivier Messiaen. Messiaen recalls the powerful effect of the Balinese gamelan which he first encountered at the 1931 exhibition.28 For both composers, the exhibition was significant in developing their interest in a range of non-Western musics which they could now hear for themselves, and which they approached no longer as exotic but as the cultural equal of Western music. Messiaen’s teacher Paul Dukas encouraged him to listen to Balinese music and both Messiaen and Jolivet rejected what Jane Fulcher describes as “the Orientalist construction of the non-Western as hypersexual, irrational, or dangerous, rather seeking the East’s authentic voice”.29 Messiaen’s fascination with the music of the East was longstanding and he heard some rare recordings of Balinese music in 1944, recordings which may have been borrowed from the Musée de l’Homme in Paris. In terms of composition, the influence of the gamelan is most apparent in a 26

Cited in R. Aldrich, Greater France, 265. Ibid., 265. 28 Peter Hill, Nigel Simeone, Messiaen (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2005), 137. 29 Jane F. Fulcher, The Composer as Intellectual: Music and Ideology in France, 1914-1940 (Oxford University Press, 2005), 299. An interest in Eastern religion and ritual is apparent in Jolivet’s Mana (1935), six piano pieces, each of which is ‘devoted to an African totem, an object of wood or metal (gifts of Varèse)’ (Ibid., 303) and his experience of the gamelan is important for the third piece in the set La Princesse de Bali. 27

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number of pieces including the Trois petites liturgies (1944)30 and Et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum (1964). The commissioning of the latter piece by André Malraux in 1964 seems a point of some significance given Malraux’s own experience of the East and its importance in his writings.31 Exposure to gamelan is only one among multiple sources from which Messiaen’s conception of time and idiosyncratic rhythmic practice are fashioned. We think of the importance of Indian music and Hindu rhythms, and of Eastern conceptions of time and timbre. He was particularly fascinated by Japan, which he first visited in 1962.32 His Sept Haïkaï, planned during this visit, integrates aspects of gagaku, nô, and bunraku33 and he seized every opportunity to experience Japanese music and theatre, buying books and recordings of gagaku, as well as attending an evening of koto and a performance of nô theatre34. Of the nô performance, he says “I delighted in the music, the steps, the slowness of the movements, and the extraordinary cries of the players of the tsuzumi”.35 He attended an evening of bunraku, traditional Japanese puppet theatre and a kabuki performance in Tokyo.36 Sept Haïkaï is marked by Messiaen’s impressions of Japan and, for Hill and Simeone, “what gives [it] its unique sound – is the stern, hieratic quality of the architecture, music and theatre”.37 The Gagaku movement features a melody played by “a small, primitive oboe: the hichiriki” which in Messiaen’s piece is imitated by the trumpet (“noble, religious, nostalgic”), and given a nasal edge by the doubling of two oboes and cor anglais. The melody moves with a sort of reptilian indifference against three other similarly enclosed layers: bells and gongs, piccolo and E flat clarinet in parallel, acidly dissonant intervals, and astringent chords on strings, sul ponticello and without vibrato, in imitation of the Japanese shô.38 30

P. Hill and N. Simeone, Messiaen, 137. Ibid., 134. 32 Messiaen returned to Japan in 1978 and 1986. 33 P. Hill, N. Simeone, Messiaen, 248. 34 Ibid., 249. 35 Ibid.,. 36 In terms of ancient culture, Messiaen visited Kamakura, seeing its Shinto temple and image of the Buddha, as well as travelling to Fuji and the lake of Yamanaka, which prompted the third of the Sept Haïkaï, “Yamanaka-Cadenza”’. The Buddhist temple and park at Nara stimulated the second Haïkaï and the Shinto temple and the red arch of the torii at Miyajima are remembered in the fifth piece, as well as illustrating the front cover of the score. See P. Hill, N. Simeone, Messiaen, 249-50. 37 Ibid., 251. 38 Ibid., 252. 31

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The development of ethnology and ethnomusicology in France Beyond the effect of the great exhibitions, the development of ethnology and ethnomusicology in France is a second important factor for the increasing significance of non-Western musics in French art music. Beyond the contributions of ethnologists Marcel Griaule, Marcel Mauss and Michel Leiris, the most important musical figure here is undoubtedly the ethnomusicologist André Schaeffner (1895-1984). Schaeffner, who had studied with Mauss and Romain Rolland, worked from 1928 at the museum of the Trocadero in Paris, which later became the Musée de l’Homme. He founded the department of musical ethnology and in the course of his work made six ethnological trips to West Africa between 1931 and 1954, visiting Mali, Guinea and the Ivory Coast.39 Schaeffner’s work combines great historical precision along with impressive breadth of knowledge, drawing freely upon the entire history of Western music while subverting Western biases and orthodoxies as he integrates the realms of popular music, jazz, Eastern and African music within a basically unified musical vision. For Schaeffner, aesthetic phenomena must be studied in the context of the societies in which they are manifested. He promotes music as it is performed in distinction to music as it is mediated by a score, and is concerned with the conditions of composition and performance including the nature of instruments, musical practice and social contexts.40 In Schaeffner, European modernism and African musics are appreciated equally, and his interest in the relationship between Debussy and Victor Segalen and his own later relationship and correspondence with Pierre Boulez, gives him a rather unique position in this exploration. The celebrated mission of 1931–33, in which a team of ethnologists crossed from Dakar in West Africa to Djibouti in the east, is of particular importance for the development of French ethnology and ethnomusicology 39 Schaeffner’s Africa tours took place in 1931, 1935, 1945-6, 1948-9 and 1954. See Gilbert Rouget and François Lesure, Qui étiez-vous André Schaeffner?, ‘Revue de Musicologie’ 68/1-2 (1982), 6-7; Denise Paulme-Schaeffner, André Schaeffner 1895-1980, ‘Revue de Musicologie’ 68/1-2 (1982), 365. Brice Gérard’s Histoire de l’ethnomusicologie en France (1929-1961) (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2014) provides an excellent starting point for evaluating developing ethnological and ethnomusicological attitudes in France from 1929 onwards in relation to the music of Africa. 40 Schaeffner’s many writings include the essays collected in Le sistre et le hochet: musique, théâtre et danse dans les sociétés africaines (Paris: Hermann, 1990) and Variations sur la Musique (Paris: Fayard, 1998).

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and is the subject of Michel Leiris’s book L’Afrique fantôme.41 Schaeffner was part of the exhibition from October 1931 to February 1932, spending time in Dogon country, to which he would return in 1935.42 From Schaeffner’s field notes, it seems that he observed “rites, musical instruments and musical repertoires” and his files reveal his precise presentation and description of “different rites in which music plays a variable role”.43 While 210 instruments were collected in the DakarDjibouti mission alone, it seems that Schaeffner was more interested in observing musical instruments than in collecting them44. The sound recordings Schaeffner made during these visits became an important means of access to this music. Twenty-five short recordings, made up of musical extracts lasting in all for one and a half hours, were made during the Dakar-Djibouti expedition45 but, as Brice Gérard notes, these recordings are problematized by the colonial context in which they were made, as well as the uses to which they were put.46 Despite certain abuses, Gérard concludes that it is difficult to grasp in a precise way the attitude of the scholars of the Museum of the Trocadero.47 It is undoubtedly problematic that transcriptions and recordings were made without the active involvement of the indigenous peoples and performing musicians and that the activity was undertaken with a decontextualized ‘ethic of preservation’ to the fore.48 Consequently, with the eventual fall of the empire, many French anthropologists and ethnologists were made redundant as the newly independent countries no longer wanted to have European scholars probing into religious practices, kinship structures or the local organisation of power.49

41

In this lengthy chronicle, Leiris records his reflections on the tour from May 1931 to February 1933. 42 B. Gérard, Histoire de l’ethnomusicologie en France, 63. 43 Ibid., 64. 44 Ibid., 67. In Gérard’s judgement, Schaeffner, in his missions to Africa, achieved a musical ethnography which ‘owes its coherence and richness to the project of fully conceiving the musical facts as social facts and consequently in observing them’ (70). 45 Ibid., 74. Even in the 1935 expedition, none of the sound recordings is longer than four minutes (75). 46 Ibid., 78. 47 Ibid., 80. 48 Ibid., 81. 49 Herman Lebovics, Bringing the empire back home (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2004), 96.

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French Writers and Colonialism The third important factor in the insemination of French music by the music of the colonised world relates to the great number of writers whose work simultaneously undermined the empire and colonial thinking while enabling the interpenetration of systems of thought. Vincent Debaene (2014) considers the phenomenon whereby a number of the most important French ethnographers on their return to France produced both scientific studies of their findings alongside literary accounts. Debaene studies the intriguing relation between anthropology and literature in the work of Marcel Griaule, Marcel Mauss, Michel Leiris, Claude LéviStrauss, Roland Barthes and others. Beyond ethnology, further engagement with Africa and the East is found in the writings of André Malraux and Henri Michaux. In terms of the dissolution of the French empire and the end of the colonial period, the work of post-colonial writers starting with Aimé Césaire’s Discourse on Colonialism (1950/1955) and Frantz Fanon’s, Black Skin, White Masks (1952) and The Wretched of the Earth (1961) is of the utmost importance. Returning to the early twentieth century, Debussy’s relationship with writer and traveller Victor Segalen (1878-1919) is a significant point in the development of this opening up of the musics of the world. The documents, letters and articles, collected and published in the volume Segalen et Debussy (1962),50 testify to the significance of their contact. It is important to take note of Segalen’s concept of “exoticism” as theorised in his Essai sur l'exotisme as well as those of his writings which deal with his experiences of Polynesia and China. Out of step with the colonialism of his time, Segalen’s reflections on diversity and his idiosyncratic notion of exoticism focus on “the instability of contact between different cultures and represents a unique response to the decline of diversity triggered by colonialism and Westernization”.51 Beyond his participation in the World Fairs of 1889 and 1900, Debussy’s correspondence with Segalen witnesses to his continued interest in the music of other continents. In a letter from 1913, Debussy expresses his appreciation for North Indian musician Hazrat Inayat Khan52 who he 50

André Schaeffner and Annie Joly-Segalen (eds.), Segalen et Debussy (Monaco: Éditions du Rocher, 1962). 51 Charles Forsdick, Victor Segalen and the Aesthetics of Diversity: Journeys between Cultures (Oxford University Press, 2000); http://ukcatalogue.oup.com/product/9780198160144.do, accessed 7 November 2015. 52 Hazrat Inayat Khan (1882-1927) was a performer on vina and sitar and an

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met in Paris. According to Élizabeth de Jong-Kessing, Debussy’s Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut, one of the Images for piano, contains an authentic Indian melody53 and Hakiem van Lohuizen suggested that reflected aspects of Inyat Khan’s music may be found in sections of La boîte à joujoux (1913) or the Berceuse héroïque (1914).54 In his autobiography, Inayat Khan writes that Debussy “became very interested in our ragas. He always remembered the soirée when we played him the ragas; he called it the ‘soirée of the emotions’”.55 Writer Paul Claudel56 was French ambassador to Japan from 1921–27 and his journals from the period contain a number of very striking descriptions of performances of the Nô theatre which he attended. Of his published writings, the collections Connaissance de L’Est (1900; 1907) and L’Oiseau noir dans le soleil levant (1929) contain his reflections and the poetic result of his time in China and Japan.57 Claudel’s work is of great importance for Pierre Boulez who met the writer in 1948. Having heard him speak at length on the Japanese Nô theatre, Boulez relates that he “retained a very keen memory of the descriptions [Claudel] gave us of the Nô – of the play of the actors, their gestures and their symbolic meaning…. It was certain that the Nô had been for him the most beautiful theatrical representation he had ever seen”.58 As for Boulez, a fascination with aspects of Japanese culture in the form of the Nô theatre and Gagagku ensemble remained with him throughout his career and appreciative references, general and particular, are sprinkled throughout his writings. This is equally the case with references to Indonesian gamelan and certain African musics. Indeed, the 1931 colonial exhibition had a marked effect on Antonin Artaud, another writer whose work was important for the young Boulez, and it resulted in his essays Sur le théâtre balinais and Théâtre oriental et théâtre occidental, which are published in final form in Le théâtre et son double (1938).

accomplished vocalist who combined Hindustani and Carnatic music. 53 Claude Debussy, Correspondance (1872-1918), édition établie par François Lesure et Denis Herlin, annotée par François Lesure, Denis Herlin et Georges Liébert (Paris: Gallimard, 2005), 1599, footnote 1. 54 Roy Howat, The Art of French Piano Music: Debussy, Ravel, Fauré, Chabrier (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2009), 119. 55 Claude Debussy, Correspondance (1872-1918), 1599, footnote 1. 56 Paul Claudel (1868-1955). 57 Segalen in his Essai sur l'exotisme defines his approach in clear distinction to that of Claudel. 58 Steinegger, Pierre Boulez and Paul Claudel, http://www.paul-claudel.net/bulletin /bulletin-de-la-societe-paul-claudel-n°202#art1.

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While Boulez’s music is often considered purely in terms of its serial origins and its relation to the previous wave of European modernism, the composer had a very serious interest in ethnomusicology as a young man to the extent that he was close to setting off on an ethnological expedition to Cambodia in 1947. As Luisa Bassetto shows, Boulez was very much drawn to ethnomusicology in 1945 and 1946, visiting the Musée Guimet in Paris and transcribing extra-European music.59 While the expedition to Cambodia fell through on account of the war in Indochina, Boulez’s notes, held in the Paul Sacher Foundation in Basel, demonstrate his interest in the religious and civil festivals of different countries with transcriptions taken from sound recordings of songs and rhythms from Laos, Cambodia and Cameroon. Boulez recalls hearing Balinese music for the first time in 1945 on a sound recording but it was only in 1953 that he first heard a live gamelan performance in Paris.60 Speaking in 1999, he remembered that he was fascinated by “the sonority, quality and resonance of the sonority, the speed of play, and the conception of time with long periodicities”.61 With the live performance, he was impressed by the tam-tam which marked out time slowly while the other musicians played very quickly, and he recognised that this impression remained with him, most particularly in the taste for resonant instruments that is found in several of his compositions. Artaud’s writings on Balinese theatre were also important for him. Schaeffner’s influence on Boulez can be seen from their correspondence dating from 1954-70 and the composer recalls the older man’s knowledge of African civilisations and music and of instruments from all ages, recognising that he offered freedom from a rigidly European outlook.62 Schaeffner stimulated and supported Boulez’s interest in nonEuropean music, allowing him to hear many recordings from his ethnological expeditions.63 He had an undoubted influence on Boulez’s knowledge and choice of African, Latin-American and Asiatic instruments for his own compositions.64 While Le Marteau sans maître and Pli selon 59 Luisa Bassetto, ‘Études d’ethnomusicologie. Projets et découvertes’, in Pierre Boulez, ed. Sarah Barbedette (Arles: Actes Sud, 2015), 77. 60 Ibid., 79. 61 Ibid., 77. 62 Pierre Boulez and André Schaeffner, Correspondance 1954-1970, ed. Rosângela Pereira de Tugny (Paris: Fayard, 1998), 10. 63 Jésus Aguila, Le Domaine Musical: Pierre Boulez et vingt ans de création contemporaine (Paris: Fayard. 1992), 44. 64 Rosângela Pereira de Tugny, in P. Boulez and A. Schaeffner, Correspondance 1954-1970, 21.

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pli are two of the most obvious pieces to manifest this newly infused sound world, the influence of the East and of Africa are present in a number of other ways in Boulez. Boulez recognises that heterophony has been more familiar and acceptable in African and Asiatic cultures than in the West, and examples are found in many of his compositions.65 In the 1960s, he acknowledged the influence of Eastern temporality, in particular in the production of smooth, non-pulsed time and he expressed interest in the precise “organization of rhythmic structures”66 in the music of Bali and India. Contrasting the richness of an Asian conception of time with a more utilitarian Western approach which prefers to move from A to B in a straight line, Boulez’s preferred option is to combine Eastern delight in sound with “a sense for logic and development”.67 Beyond Boulez, taking one final example, the appearance of aspects of non-European music within more recent French art music is evident in the work of composer Hugues Dufourt, for example in Erewhon, a fourmovement Symphony for six percussionists and conductor, composed between 1972–76 and lasting for 75 minutes. From 1971 onwards, the Percussion Group of Strasbourg had been assembling an encyclopaedic collection of percussion instruments from every continent, and was looking for a repertoire. Dufourt contested the centrality of European music and, in Erewhon, he wished to “assemble every possible percussion instrument originating from Africa or South America (skin) and Asia (metallophones)”.68 The symbolic value of this was to place “systems of sound production arising from completely different civilisations in one melting pot”.69 Indeed, as Maurice Fleuret notes, “Erewhon marks a date in the assimilation of one instrumental family that the west had not yet succeeded in integrating completely as abstracted material [abstractif]”.70 While it is undoubtedly the case that all of these instruments have been used in abstraction from their origins and their habitual playing methods and styles, “Dufourt imagined new ludic modes and invented an

65 Examples include Le Visage nuptial, Don from Pli selon pli, Figures - Doubles Prismes, cummings ist der dichter, Rituel and Répons. 66 Pierre Boulez, Orientations: Collected Writings, ed. Jean-Jacques Nattiez, tr. Martin Cooper (London: Faber and Faber, 1986), 421-2. 67 David Gable, Ramifying Connections: An Interview with Pierre Boulez, ‘The Journal of Musicology’ 4/1 (1985), 112. 68 Pierre Albert Castanet, Hugues Dufourt: 25 ans de musique contemporaine (Paris: Michel de Maule, 1995), 56. 69 Ibid. 70 Ibid.

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unexpected universe based on the play of resonances”.71

Conclusions Where Declan Kiberd noted the potential of the colonised to colonise their colonisers, there is a fundamental difference between Joyce, one of the great writers of any century, speaking on his own behalf as one of the colonised, and the majority of the figures who have been cited in this chapter. That the voices heard have been for the most part Western European and French, and that Javanese, Balinese, Indian or African voices have not spoken on their own behalf is a considerable problem. While the events that have been recounted occurred for the most part within a colonial situation, the outcomes were radically different from those that would have been expected. Despite the nationalistic, exploitative and racist nature of the exhibitions, universal and colonial and their lack of liberatory intent, what resulted was nevertheless transformative. Participants from Java and Vietnam were unable to speak on their own behalf, but nevertheless spoke through their culture, music, dance and ritual. Having declared themselves in this way in the context of colonial Paris, the question arises whether what happened with Debussy, Jolivet and Messiaen at the exhibitions in 1889, 1900 and 1931 were respectful encounters, unscrupulous appropriations or something more ambivalent. The ethnological work, undertaken in an orientalising spirit, where ‘knowledge’ was captured, recorded and brought back to the heart of the empire, had unexpected effects on composers like Boulez who were reshaping the sound of Western art music. While Schaeffner’s African subjects were not allowed to speak for themselves, their culture exerted its impact nevertheless on that of the empire in ways that were no doubt surprising for the indigenous French, though this aspect of the music is often obscured behind discussions of technical manipulations. Again, the writings of white Europeans such as Segalen, Claudel, Artaud, Malraux, Michaux and others, while falling far short of the anticolonial or post-colonial critique we are familiar with today, nevertheless had the effect of placing other cultures in a situation of prominence where they came over time to be respected and valued as the equal to that of Europe. It is important that we consider this music as not only representing French modernism understood as the progressive development of earlier modernist innovations but equally as the result of unprecedented Western 71

Ibid., 56-7.

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openness to the musics of the world. The question remains, however, as to how we can understand the relationship of musical modernism with its multiple borrowings and transformations of music from Bali, India, Japan, Africa or elsewhere. Where artefacts that were once stolen or appropriated by colonial adventurers can, at least in theory, be returned to their place of origin, what can be done when the borrowing is something as immaterial as music and where the originators of the appropriated musics have had no personal input? Most often, there has been no period of apprenticeship, no time of study, no transmission of expert technical knowledge or sensitivity to the cultural contexts or meanings of such musics. Helmut Lachenmann’s injunction that composers need to be attentive to the connotations of sounds is perhaps nowhere more applicable than in relation to Western borrowings of the musics of the world. Where Boulez found the use of a siren in Varèse’s Ameriques problematic on account of its connotations, a great deal of work remains to be done on the connotations of the sounds and means which have entered the Western musical apparatus from the formerly colonised world. In musical modernism, as we have encountered it, where does African, Javanese, or Indian thinking begin and end in relation to Western thinking? What can we learn from postcolonial theory and the unmasking of powerfully constructed knowledge systems? What new insight can postcolonial theory offer as we re-examine past hybrids in more relational and ethical modes? To what extent was the art and music performed in the universal exhibitions, and transcribed and recorded in ethnographic field trips, already affected, interpreted or contaminated by colonial forces and practices? There is also the mostly one-sided direction of travel in relation to musical modernism to take into account. How not only to trace theoretical and practical influence but to produce a critique that does not treat other musics as fodder to be exploited by Western musicians, fearful of the exhaustion of their own traditions? The fusions, borrowings or transformations found in Debussy, Jolivet, Messiaen and Boulez are ambivalent in that the structures of colonialism are embedded in the factors enabling the making of their works. In Adorno’s terminology, colonialism exists within the works as sedimented content and to this extent they are truthful expressions of their age.72 While this is an uncomfortable thought, what else could we expect?

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Theodor Adorno, Aesthetic Theory (London: Athlone, 1999), 68, 85, 230.

THE ORIENT IN INTERNATIONAL ART MUSIC: MUSICAL ORIENTALISM AND BEETHOVEN’S ORIENTATION FEZA TANSUö

While Divan1 music reached its peak in the sixteenth century during the Ottoman period, it also influenced Persian and Indian music theoretically. It helped Arab music develop such instrumental forms and genres as saz semai and peúrev and marked a remarkable path in their music. Two of the most prominent branches of Divan music, janissary (mehter) music (Ottoman military music) and tekke (lodge) music2 (e.g., Mevlevi Sufi music) have also influenced European music for centuries. Unlike the musical analyses which have generally scrutinized the influence of Divan music through janissary music thus far, this article reveals for the first time the influence of the Mevlevi sema ceremony3 on European art music. This article will evaluate not only the traces of janissary music in Europe, but also the influence of Mevlevi music, which has gone largely unnoticed. Mevlânâ (Rumi) was the creator of the sema ritual4 as well as the Mevlevi order, which was founded after his death and based upon his ideas. The philosophy of this great philosopher, poet and humanist and the thoughts of Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827), another humanist and composer, meet in Beethoven’s magnificent work The Ruins of Athens. Beethoven composed incidental music entitled The Ruins of Athens op. 113 (originally called Die Ruinen von Athen) in 1811 as stage music to 1

Traditional Turkish art music. Sacred music of the dervish (especially the Mevlevi, Kadiri and Gülúeni) orders. 3 Also known in Turkish as mukâbele, a semâ ritual is a traditional vocal and instrumental genre of the Mevlevis, consisting of four movements called selâm. 4 The Mevlevi dervishes developed a liturgy employing a cyclical concert format. While sharing a general function with the sema of medieval Sufis and the general cyclical (suite) principle and a few items with the Ottoman courtly fasl, the Mevlevi ayin has developed into an original musical structure. 2

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accompany a play by the German writer August von Kotzebue. The work was premiered in 1812. Written for chorus and orchestra, The Ruins of Athens is composed of eight movements including aria, chorus and Turkish March as well as an overture. The Turkish March is an adaptation of Beethoven’s Piano Variations in D major, op. 76 (1809). The influence of janissary music is clearly evident in this work. These variations by Beethoven take as an example the alla Turca movement of Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in A major. The Ruins of Athens is not on the whole set in Turkey, except for the Turkish March section. Therefore, the section Chor der Derwische (Chorus of Dervishes) has not attracted much attention in Turkey. Like the Viennese composers Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) and Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809), Beethoven took every opportunity to benefit from Turkish music. Beethoven orchestrated his piano variations under the name of Turkish March and included them in The Ruins of Athens, which he composed to be performed at the opening ceremony of the new imperial theatre in Pest in 1812. Beginning in 1808, the composer’s interest in Turkish music grew until his death. Among the great composers in Europe, Beethoven and Mozart are two of the most prominent figures to have created works related to the Turks. Apart from his several Turkish Marches, Beethoven added “Turkish music” to the final movement of his Symphony No. 9, his last and greatest composition, which reflected the characteristics of janissary music.5 While writing the Chorus of Dervishes as part of the third movement of The Ruins of Athens, Beethoven was influenced by a certain Mevlevi ayin, which was performed and transcribed into musical notation in the seventeenth century (see plate 1). We know that Beethoven listened to janissary instruments in Vienna; however, no substantial proof of how Beethoven was influenced by Mevlevi music has yet been provided. The source material which Beethoven used while composing this famous piece has been, since the nineteenth century, a matter of curiosity for some specialists such as Camille Saint-Saëns6 (1835-1921), composer and leading representative of musical orientalism.7 There are as yet no 5

In 1823 Beethoven set music to the Ode to Joy, Friedrich von Schiller’s lyrical verse of 1785. In 1972 the Council of Europe adopted Beethoven’s Ode to Joy theme as its anthem. In 1985, European leaders adopted this theme without the words as the offical anthem of the European Union. 6 Like Mozart and Beethoven, Saint-Saëns also wrote a ‘Turkish march’ for the ascension to the throne of the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed Reúat V. 7 Camille Saint-Saëns, Color in Beethoven and Handel, in Sam Morgenstern, ed., ‘Composers on Music: An Anthology of Composers’ Writings from Palestrina to

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published documents on this subject in the literature of world music; likewise, the matter has not been a topic of interest among scholars except for a few composers and writers. This article reveals the Mevlevi sema music which influenced Beethoven while he was composing his incidental music, and also presents an analysis of the piece from a musicological perspective. Several opinions have been put forward as to how Beethoven was influenced or inspired by Mevlevi music. As early as 1869, Fétis wrote that Beethoven turned a Mevlevi ayin into one of the excerpts of The Ruins of Athens.8 Having made the piano reduction of the Chorus of Dervishes in 1872, Camille Saint-Saëns had the opportunity to carry out a detailed analysis of this piece. After watching a Mevlevi sema ceremony in Cairo, Saint-Saëns suggested in a letter to a friend that Beethoven could not possibly have created the Chorus of Dervishes solely by relying on his brilliant intuition and that certainly there must have existed a transcription that the composer drew upon. As he states in his letter of 1897: In my opinion, it is impossible that Beethoven, through the simple intuition of genius, could have thought it up; he must have had an authentic document at his disposal.9

Fifty years after Saint-Saëns’s letter, Ahmet Adnan Saygun (19071991), a leading Turkish composer, wrote: “It seems as if Beethoven penetrated into the Turkish world through his intuitions in the ‘Chorus of Dervishes’”, apparently disagreeing with Saint-Saëns over the composer’s intuitions.10 In a similar vein, Wolfgang Sieber presents a theory contradicting Saint-Saëns,11 by stating that since Beethoven never listened to Mevlevi music in his lifetime, the Chorus of Dervishes cannot be Copland’ (New York: Pantheon, 1956), 231. 8 François Joseph Fétis, Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps anciens à nos jours (Paris: Firmin Didot Frères, vol. 2, 1869), 103. 9 For the letter of Camille Saint-Saëns to Camille Bellaigue dated January 23, 1897, see Camille Saint-Saëns, Color in Beethoven, 231. His letters were published in Paris in 1936. Their English translations were published in 1956 by Pantheon (New York) and Faber and Faber (London). Although Josiah Fisk edited them and published as Composers on Music: Eight Centuries of Writings for the second edition in 1997, he did not include the remarks of Saint-Saëns concerning the ‘Chorus of Dervishes’ in this ‘enlarged’ new edition of the book! 10 Ahmed Adnan Saygun, Ferdiyetçilik ve Mahallî Renk, in Seyit Yöre, ed., ‘Yalan. Sanat Konuúmalar’ (Istanbul: Ba÷lam Yaynclk, 2009 [1945] ), 49. 11 Wolfgang Sieber, Musikalischer Exotismus bei Ludwig van Beethoven in ‘Gedenkschrift Hermann Beck’ (Laaber: Laaber Verlag, 1982), 133-142.

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associated with Mevlevi music. Sieber and Saygun claim that the Chorus of Dervishes uses music unrelated to the Mevlevi rite of dervishes, so they conclude that Beethoven was unfamiliar with this music. On the other hand Ringer,12 the first to quote Saint-Saëns, and Locke,13 who wrote upon the same subject 100 years after Saint-Saëns, supported Saint-Saëns’s views, suggesting that Beethoven and other Viennese classics may have used some reports and transcriptions of Turkish music provided by European travellers. Musicologists, however, cannot comment on the subject due to a lack of tangible evidence. For example, since Locke had not come across the music of the Mevlevi ayin, passed from hand to hand in Europe since the beginning of the seventeenth century, he writes that it was only after the onset of the nineteenth century that attempts to compile music from the Near East began. He states: They made novel and creative use of ‘authentic’ Eastern tunes found in books. Beethoven, too, may have relied on a source—such as reports or transcriptions of Arab or Turkish music—for certain aspects of his Chorus of Dervishes in Die Ruinen von Athen (1811).14

He continues: Such at least was the opinion of Saint-Saëns, later in the century, who had the advantage of having experienced much North African music during his regular winter vacations; he specifically noted a similarity between Beethoven’s heterophonic triplets and those he had heard in a dervish ceremony in Cairo. The idea of Beethoven or other composers copying or even faintly echoing this or that scrap of actual Middle Eastern music may at first sound unlikely. But it was precisely during the first decades of the nineteenth century that the precursors of the modern field of ethnomusicology, inspired by [Johann Gottfried von] Herder and other folklorists, were beginning to undertake on-site transcriptions of the music of Egypt and neighbouring lands. G. A. Villoteau’s pathbreaking volume on the current state of music in Egypt (1809), part of the previously mentioned Description de l’Égypte published by Napoléon’s team of savants, contains Alexander L. Ringer, On the Question of ‘Exoticism’ in 19th Century Music, ‘Studia Musicologica’ 7 (1965), 115-123. 13 Ralph P. Locke, Cutthroats and Casbah Dancers, Muezzins and Timeless Sands: Musical Images of the Middle East, ‘19th Century Music’ 22/1 (1998), 28. 14 R. P. Locke, Cutthroats and Casbah Dancers, in Jonathan Bellman, ed., ‘The Exotic in Western Music’ (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998), 104-136, 328-329. 12

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The Orient in International Art Music extensive transcriptions of drumbeat patterns, muezzin tunes, and the like.15

Musicologists such as Lawrence Kramer,16 Nicholas Mathew17 and Eric Rice18 have also pointed out the unique characteristics of the Chorus of Dervishes which do not conform to the principles and compositional techniques of European art music. Drawing the attention of musicologists, Lewis, the author of the book Rumi writes: Even though musical scholars have ruled out the possibility that Beethoven’s ‘Chorus of the Dervishes’ from Die Ruinen von Athen (Op. 113) may reflect first-hand knowledge of Mevlevi music, the Mevlevis have nevertheless made an impression on the classical music tradition in the West.19

It was Jean Antoine du Loir who published the “authentic” music of the Mevlevi ayin which was assumed to have existed by Saint-Saëns and other writers. A merchant and traveller, du Loir visited Istanbul in 1639 in the company of the French ambassador Jean de la Haye, spending a few months in the city. The letters he wrote to his Turkish acquaintances living in France during the course of his travels were mostly published as Les Voyages du Sieur du Loir in 1654.20 He covered a variety of ethnographic subjects in these letters, such as the monuments and environs of Istanbul, the Ottoman Imperial Court, and the religion and lifestyle of Turkey. In his letters he also mentioned Divan music and gave a detailed account of his observations on Mevlevi music.21 The music which is included in the third 15

R. P. Locke, Cutthroats and Casbah Dancers, ‘19th Century Music’, 28. Lawrence Kramer, The Harem Threshold: Turkish Music and Greek Love in Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’, ‘19th Century Music’ 22/1 (1998), 78-90. 17 Nicholas Mathew, Beethoven and His Others: Criticism, Difference, and the Composer’s Many Voices ‘Beethoven Forum’ 13/2 (2006), 148-87. 18 Eric Rice, Representations of Janissary Music (Mehter) as Musical Exoticism in Western Compositions, 1670-1824, ‘Journal of Musicological Research’ 19/11 (1999), 41-88. 19 Franklin D. Lewis, Rumi Past and Present, East and West, (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2000), 620. 20 Jean Antoine du Loir, Les Voyages du Sieur du Loir…, (Paris: Gervais Clouzier, 1654). 21 For du Loir’s observations on the semâ ritual, see Bülent Aksoy, Avrupal Gezginlerin Gözüyle Osmanllarda Muski (Istanbul: Pan Yaynclk, 2003), 58-62. For the missing parts of the translation, see Les Voyages du Sieur du Loir (Historical Series) ‘Turkish Music Quarterly’ 3/2-3 (1990), 15. 16

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selâm (movement) of the ayin with the lyrics “Ey ki hezâr âferîn, bu nice sultân olur / Kulu olan kiúiler hüsrev ü hâkân olur” is mentioned in the fifth letter written by du Loir in Istanbul and dated June 13, 1640 (see plate 1). Du Loir watched a Mevlevi ayin in Istanbul and transcribed the music and lyrics of the hymn performed in Turkish during the ceremony.22 He also transcribed eight of the 12 couplets of a poem by Eflâkî Dede on the basis of French phonetics and he transcribed the music of the hymn, together with the original Turkish lyrics and French translation. The French version of the poem was not reprinted after the seventeenth century and therefore the music of the hymn was not passed on to other writers. The Turkish and French translations of the poem, one of the first Turkish poems the Western world became familiar with, were published for the first time in Turkey in 1968 by Berna Moran,23 and appeared once again in 2004 in a book in which all her articles were compiled posthumously.24 This hymn, which was notated by du Loir, was also published by Bülent Aksoy,25 Walter Feldman,26 and Feza Tansu÷.27

22

Jean Antoine du Loir, Les Voyages du Sieur du Loir…, 154-55. Berna Moran, Bat Dillerine Çevrilen ølk øki Türk ùiiri, ‘Istanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Türk Dili ve Edebiyat Dergisi’ 16 (1968), 35-40. 24 Berna Moran, Edebiyat Üzerine: Makaleler/Röportajlar (Istanbul: øletiúim Yaynlar, 2004), 135. 25 Bülent Aksoy, Avrupal Gezginlerin Gözüyle Osmanllarda Muski (2nd edition, Istanbul: Pan Yaynclk, 2003), 381. For a review of the first edition of the book (1994), see Feza Tansu÷, Bülent Aksoy’un ‘Avrupal Gezginlerin Gözüyle Osmanllarda Muski’si Üzerine, ‘Tarih ve Toplum’ 24/144 (1995), 56-61. 26 Walter Feldman, Structure and Evolution of the Mevlevî Ayîn: The Case of the Third Selâm, in Anders Hammarlund, Tord Olsson and Elisabeth Özdalga, eds., ‘Sufism, Music and Society in Turkey and the Middle East’ (Istanbul: Swedish Research Institute, 2001), 64. 27 Feza Tansu÷, Ey ki hezâr âferîn: Notaya alnan ilk mevlevî ilâhîsi ‘Toplumsal Tarih’ 197 (2010), 66. 23

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Plate 1. The hymn in the third selâm of the Beste-i kadîm dügâh Mevlevi âyin: ‘øy ki hezâr âferîn, bû nice sultân olur’. Du Loir, Les Voyages du Sieur du Loir (1654), 154

As mentioned above, du Loir not only translated the poem (for its English translation see below), but also attempted to transcribe part of it (see plate 1). The music is probably the source that Beethoven used. This Sufi hymn was not compiled by du Loir alone. Ten to fifteen years after him, Ali Ufkî (Wojciech Bobowski/1610-1675) notated the same hymn under the title of Devrân- dervîúân- zevîyyü’úúân (Whirling of the Renowned Dervishes) and included it in muhayyer fasl in Mecmua-i Saz ü Söz.28 Like du Loir, Ali Ufkî watched a dügâh Mevlevi ayin in Istanbul and compiled both the composition and the lyrics of the hymn performed at the ceremony. The hymn Ali Ufkî notated appears in the third selâm of the dügâh Mevlevi ritual, also known as beste-i kadîm (the ancient composition).29 The fact that this hymn is not included in Ali Ufkî’s draft 28

ùükrü Elçin, ed., Ali Ufkî, Mecmûa-i Saz ü Söz (Ankara: Kültür Bakanl÷ Yaynlar, 2000), 84. 29 Feza Tansu÷, Devrân- Dervîúân: 17. Yüzylda Derlenen Bir ølâhî ‘Toplumsal Tarih’ 196 (2010), 55-59.

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score, and indeed is only present in Mecmua-i Saz ü Söz, indicates that it could not possibly have been transcribed prior to 1650.

Example 1. Transcription of the hymn: ‘Ey ki hezâr âferîn, bû nice sultân olur’ performed by the Konya Turkish Sufi Music Ensemble, (2006)

Above is the transcription of the hymn from the dügâh Mevlevi ayin, which I transcribed from the latest contemporary recording of the piece30 (see example 1).31 This hymn, which is performed during the third selâm of Mevlevi Sema ceremonies, is a ritual song accompanying the whirling dance of the semazens (whirling dervishes). In a similar vein to du Loir, Ali Ufkî wanted to transcribe the most famous part of the ritual in Turkish. While Ali Ufkî described the piece as Devrân- dervîúân- zevîyyü’úúân (Whirling of the Renowned Dervishes), du Loir called it hymno (hymn). In his letter, du Loir mentioned that the hymn was performed in Mevlevi Sema ceremonies. Ali Ufkî likewise stated that the hymn accompanied the whirling dance of the Mevlevis. The melodic form of the hymn, transcribed by Ali Ufkî in five phrases (A B B' B'' B''') with two measures each, is slightly longer than du Loir’s transcription, which is composed of three phrases (A A' A''). Both represent the first samples of Mevlevi ayin pieces to be transcribed. The hymn du Loir transcribed was also translated from French into English. Seventeenth-century British intellectual Sir Thomas Browne, who was originally trained as a medical doctor, had a keen interest in science and philosophy. According to Berna Moran, he read numerous

30

Mevlevî Âyinleri (Dügâh) Beste-i Kadîm. Compact disc. Kültür ve Turizm Bakanl÷, Güzel Sanatlar Genel Müdürlü÷ü, Konya Türk Tasavvuf Müzi÷i Toplulu÷u, (Artistic Director: Yusuf Kayya. Producer: Konya Valili÷i, Konya øl Kültür ve Turizm Müdürlü÷ü, 2006). 31 In the following examples, all transcriptions of the ‘Chorus of Dervishes’ are mine.

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publications on the Turks,32 including du Loir’s book. In response to a letter he received from a friend, inquiring about the “cymbals”, Browne made a translation of a poem he had found in du Loir’s book, thinking that the poem might interest his friend. The letters of Sir Thomas Browne dealing with a variety of subjects, together with some of his other writings, were published posthumously in 1683, a year after his death, under the title of Certain Miscellany Tracts. His works, however, have been repeatedly published due to his major role in the history of seventeenth century British thought and literature.33 Therefore, unlike the French translation of the poem, which was not published again after the seventeenth century, the English translation is still being published with Browne’s works. The eight couplets of the hymn that Browne translated from French into English are as follows: O what praise doth he deserve, and how great is that Lord, all whose slaves are as so many Kings! Whosoever shall rub his eyes with the dust of his feet, shall behold such admirable things that he shall fall into an ecstasy. He that shall drink one drop of his beverage, shall have his bosom like the ocean, filled with gems and precious liquours. Let not loose the reins unto thy passions in this world: he that represseth them shall become a true Solomon in the faith. Amuse not thy self to adore riches, nor to build great houses and palaces. The end of what thou shalt build is but ruin. Pamper not thy body with delicacies and dainties; it may come to pass one day that this body may be in hell. Imagine not that he who findeth riches findeth happiness. He that findeth happiness is he that findeth God. All who prostrating themselves in humility shall this day believe in Vele,34 if they were poor shall be rich; and if rich, shall become kings.

Sir Thomas Browne, however, included only the translation of the poem, not the music, in his letter. Furthermore, this score was not passed on by any other European writers. Therefore, we can affirm that Beethoven directly benefited from du Loir’s book. “Ey ki hezâr âferîn” is the first Turkish text, among all other ayin composed before the nineteenth century; furthermore, it is the only music with lyrics to have been notated. 32

Berna Moran, Sir Thomas Browne’s Reading on the Turks, ‘Notes and Queries’ 197 (1952), 18-19. 33 Simon Wilkin, ed., Sir Thomas Browne’s Works Including his Life and Correspondence (New York: AMS Press, vol. 4, 1968 [1835] ), 191-92. 34 Vele, the founder of the convent.

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Therefore, Beethoven got hold of a unique source. He must have had no doubts at all as to the authenticity of the work.

Example 2. Vocal part of Beethoven’s ‘Chorus of Dervishes’

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Although Beethoven never had the opportunity to watch a Mevlevi Sema ceremony, he used the notation of the Mevlevi ritual that du Loir watched in Istanbul and later published in Paris. With the exception of the use of Islamic religious lyrics, the content of the hymn passed on by du Loir does not share any similarities with the lyrics in Chorus of Dervishes by August von Kotzebue. The lyrics in this piece are as follows (see example 2): “Du hast in deines Ärmels Falten, den Mond getragen, ihn gespalten. Kaaba! Mahomet! / Du hast den strahlenden Borak bestiegen, zum siebenten Himmel aufzufliegen, Grosser Prophet! Kaaba!” (In the folds of your sleeves you have carried the moon and shattered it. Ka’abah! Muhammad! You mounted the radiant Borak and flew up to seventh heaven, great Prophet! Ka’abah!). The subject of The Ruins of Athens is as follows. In Greek mythology, Pallas Athena was the goddess of intellect and wisdom; she is Minerva in Latin. In The Ruins of Athens Minerva, after sleeping for 2,000 years, awakens to find Athens occupied and the Parthenon destroyed by the Turks. Culture and reason have disappeared from what was the ancient Greek world, but these human qualities have been preserved in Pest by the enlightened Emperor Franz. Mercury and Minerva escape from Athens and head for Pest in search of the Temple of Culture.

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Plate 2. Beethoven’s ‘Chorus of Dervishes’ (mm. 1-9)

The most impressive and remarkable movement of the work is the “Turkish March”, which was composed in the popular “alla turca” (Turkish) style of Beethoven’s time.35 In this piece, Beethoven incorporated instruments originally used in Turkish mehter (military) bands into the orchestra. This particular manner of instrumentation was 35

For the Turkish style style see Ralph P. Locke, Musical Exoticism: Images and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 118-121.

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defined by Beethoven himself as ‘eine vollständige türkische Musik’ (an orchestra made up of Turkish musical instruments) and was also used by the composer in his Turkish March of the last movement of the Ninth Symphony. In the Chorus of Dervishes, however, the instruments specific to Divan music such as ney, tanbur, kudüm and halile are replaced by the horn, trumpet, trombone, violin, viola and cello. In order to give an “Oriental” flair to the Chorus of Dervishes Beethoven also employed brass instruments such as horn, trumpet and trombone beside string instruments (see plate 2). In a note he scribbled down for the notewriter on the right margin of the original manuscript, Beethoven wrote “Nb. wird begleitet mit Kastagnetten” (NB to be accompanied by castanets)36. However, the contemporary versions of the scores that orchestras use today make the following remark instead: “Alle mögliche hierbei lärmende instrumente wie Castagnetten. Schellen etc.” (all available noise-making instruments, such as castanets, bells, etc.) (see plate 2). The relatively recent addition of instruments typically associated with Turkish music in Europe such as kös (large kettledrum), cymbal, and drum to the composition was not Beethoven’s idea. These were rather additions by the editors who, years later, prepared the scores for print and wrongly assumed that Beethoven had intended to compose more “Turkish music” with the use of noisy instruments. Therefore, Beethoven’s Chorus of Dervishes should not be performed as “Turkish Music”. The Chorus of Dervishes is sometimes performed quite fast, although Beethoven indicates the tempo on the top of the manuscript as allegro, ma non troppo, that is 120-168 beats per minute (see plate 2). The recordings of the piece are very different from one another, and in a variety of performances conductors do not hesitate to interpret it as a march. The duration of the piece in several notable performances is 2’24’’ under Dennis Russell Davies,37 2’28’’ under Bernhard Klee,38 2’32’’ under Claudio Abbado,39 and 3’14’’ under Hans Hubert Schoenzeler.40 Among 36

For Beethoven’s original corrected manuscript see Chor der Derwische (Chorus of Dervishes), Die Ruinen von Athen (The Ruins of Athens), Digital Archives of the Beethoven-Haus Bonn: www.beethoven-haus-bonn.de (Collection H. C. Bodmer, HCB Bk 1, 1811). 37 Beethoven: Incidental Music of Egmont and The Ruins of Athens. Compact disc. The Orchestra of St. Luke’s, Dennis Russell Davies, (ANGEL/EMI Classics 0946 3 31555 27, 2005). 38 Beethoven: The Ruins of Athens, op 113. Compact disc. RIAS Chamber Choir, Berlin Philarmonic Orchestra, Bernhard Klee, (Deutsche Grammophon 453713 Complete Edition, 1997). 39 Beethoven: Bühnemusik/Incidental Music Die Weihe des Hauses. Compact disc.

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these performances, Schoezeler’s interpretation is probably the most accurate. Due to the misleading instructions of various editors of the score, many conductors include noisy musical instruments for the orchestra and conduct the piece very fast. However, unlike Beethoven’s other “Turkish Music”, his Chorus of Dervishes should not be performed very fast. Having analyzed and compared the hymn that du Loir notated and Beethoven’s Chorus of Dervishes, we can reach the following conclusion: as du Loir stated in his letter, the hymn was composed to accompany a Mevlevi ayin. Likewise, Beethoven wrote his music as a complement to the whirling dance of the dervishes. Both pieces feature dances of the whirling dervishes accompanied by music. Continuous triplet motion in the upper strings of the Chorus of Dervishes depicts a dervish-like whirling. Traditionally performed in 6/8 ‘yürük semai’ meter, this hymn was mistakenly notated by du Loir in 2/2 meter (see plate 1 and example 1). Later, in his composition, Beethoven used a 4/4 meter, which is also a duple meter (see plate 2). The descending lines of melodic contours (see the descending motion of the melody in example 4), the use of maqamic and chromatic melodies, the use of repetition in motifs and verses such as kaaba or canm and their sacred texts are the other characteristics shared by the two works (see examples 3-6).

Example 3. Melodic comparison of mm. 3-5 of the ‘Chorus of Dervishes’ and the second line of the hymn

Berliner Philharmoniker, Claudio Abbado Rundfunkchor Berlin, (Deutsche Grammaphon 444 748-2, 1996). 40 Beethoven: Die Ruinen von Athen, König Stephan. Compact disc. Berliner Konzertchor, Berliner Symphoniker, Hans Hubert Schoenzeler, (Brilliant Classics 93525/67, 2007).

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Example 4. Descending melodic line in the final measures of the ‘Chorus of Dervishes’ (mm. 105-109)

Beethoven sought to compose a maqamic music by using chromatic as well as harmonic minor scales. In his work even the most fundamental rules of functional harmony are ignored. For example, he did not hesitate to frequently use augmented fourth intervals, which do not conform to the norms of functional harmony. Both pieces are composed in minor keys. Du Loir transcribed the hymn he listened to in D minor,whereas Beethoven composed the Chorus of Dervishes in E minor. There are no major modes and no modulations in either piece. The minor melodic lines are not resolved by major modes. Neither piece contains a single V-I cadence. The same progressions are found in both pieces: A minor to G minor in Du Loir (first and second lines) and E minor to D minor in (measures 43-47 and 74-78) in Beethoven (see example 5). The incomplete, and at times misleading, transcription by du Loir does not exhibit the characteristics of maqam dügâh (presently called maqam uúúak), the original maqam of the hymn; however, the transcriptions of the hymn which have survived point to the fact that the ayin which du Loir listened to was part of the third selâm of the Mevlevi ayin known as bestei kadîm.41 The two works also show similarities in terms of their textures.42 Both pieces utilize Turkish ornamentational heterophony in performance. Beethoven employs triplets for this purpose. Like the Mevlevi hymn, the Chorus of Dervishes is sung only by men in unison. Beethoven wrote the same melody both for the bass and tenor parts (see example 2 and plate 2). Other compelling evidence includes the following: Beethoven’s being inspired by du Loir’s second verse beginning with “Bu nice sultan olur canm” (see example 3), as he was composing the 3rd-5th measures of his Chorus of Dervishes, and also his subtle incorporation of the descending melody in the third line “Kulu olan kiúiler canm” into the 45-47th and 7641

See Feza Tansu÷, Ey ki hezâr âferîn, 65-69. Interestingly, Beethoven’s heterophonic triplets in the strings, the homophonic texture of the brasses, and the monophonic chorus coalesce to form the overall polyphonic texture. 42

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78th measures of the string instruments (see example 5). Beethoven used them as ascending rather than descending chromatic intervals. The same scale exists in both pieces. Beethoven aimed to represent the sema (the whirling of the dervishes) with monotonous triplets of the string instruments (see example 4).

Example 5. The same maqamic scale (strings in mm. 45-47, 76-78 of the ‘Chorus of Dervishes’ and the third line of the hymn)

Example 6. Comparison of the intervals of fourths and fifths in Du Loir’s ‘hymn’ and Beethoven’s ‘Chorus of Dervishes’

Like Mozart, Beethoven wrote his marches in a simple homophonic style. They are generally composed of four-measure phrases in 2/4 meter and repeated intervals of thirds can often be heard (see examples 7-9). Nor is the instrumentation in the Chorus of Dervishes similar to Beethoven’s other “Turkish music”, such as his Turkish March. Since the Chorus of Dervishes does not exhibit these qualities, we may claim that Beethoven did not have the intention of composing another Turkish March. As for this work, the intervals of perfect fourths and fifths are particularly emphasized, in the same way as they are in the hymn (see example 6). Throughout the piece the word ‘Kâbe’ is repeated 52 times, with fourth

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and fifth inntervals (see example 2). These featuures of the piece p are sufficient eevidence that, while com mposing the C Chorus of Dervishes, D Beethoven w was inspired by b another sou urce: the bookk by du Loir, published p in 1654. Com mparing the tw wo pieces, wee can see that tthey are also similar in form (A A'' A'' in du Loir L and A A' A A'' A'' in B Beethoven). The T only distinctive ffeature in foormal structurre between tthe two work ks is the repetition off the third parrt of the Chorus of Dervishhes in A A' A'' A'' form (see examplle 2). Furtherrmore, the vo ocal ranges off both works are very close to eachh other (an occtave in du Lo oir and a ninthh in Beethoveen). Table 1 and the llist of evidennce below sh how the simi larities betweeen these works.

Example 7. B Beethoven’s ‘T Turkish March’ from Ruins of Athens, op. 113 (same theme for Varriations, op. 76))

Mozart’s Sonataa in A, K 331, 3rd movement, 1 st and 2nd them mes Example 8. M

Example 9. Mozart’s ‘Turrkish’ Concerto o in A, K 2119, Vn. and Orch., O 3rd movement, 2nnd and 3rd them mes

Beethoveen appears to have composed Nos. 4, Chhorus of Derviishes, and 5, Turkish M March, after the other movements of D Die Ruinen vo on Athen, since they aare not found among the maain sketches, SV 184 (Kafk ka) in the British Library, London. They are, how wever, repressented at the beginning b of a later skketchbook, SV 106, fo. 9 (Petter) in th the Beethoven n Archiv,

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Bonn.43 Folio 9 originally preceded fos. 1-8 of SV 106.44 Perhaps Beethoven thought that he needed to consult such Turkish sources as du Loir’s book before composing his Chorus of Dervishes. This theory would explain why he wrote these two movements later than the others. On the other hand, the theme of his Piano Variations op. 76 was adapted to the Turkish March in The Ruins of Athens. Beethoven composed The Ruins of Athens in Teplice, during the summer of 1811. He must have found du Loir’s work in Vienna. The two works were written approximately 160 years apart. Considering the immense popularity of Turkish music in that period, a fairly long time must have passed before Beethoven got hold of the hymn. Acquired in 1738, a copy of du Loir’s book was available in the Bibliotheca Eugeniana Collection of the Imperial Library in Vienna45 (today The Austrian National Library or Österreichische Nationalbibliothek) during Beethoven’s time.46 Beethoven may have made novel and creative use of “authentic” Turkish tunes found in this book in Vienna for certain aspects of his Chorus of Dervishes. Given these features of his Chorus of Dervishes, Beethoven—perhaps not content with writing a short piece of music—must have read du Loir’s letters, i.e. his observations on Mevlevi music.47 He also borrowed the idea of employing castanets in his work from du Loir. The use of castanets is perhaps compelling evidence that Beethoven benefited from du Loir’s observations. The latter, in his sixth letter, describes çalparas (cliquettes), which resemble castanets, and explains how they are played when accompanying a women’s dance. He writes in his letter that “… the others 43

Barry Cooper, Beethoven and the Creative Process (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990), 115. 44 Brandenburg in Barry Cooper, 115. Sieghard Brandenburg, Ein Skizzenbuch Beethovens aus dem Jahre 1812: Zur Chronologie des Petterschen Skizzenbuches, in Harry Goldschmidt, ed., ‘Zu Beethoven: Aufsätze und Annotationen’ (Berlin: Verlag Neue Musik, 1979), 126. 45 The book Beethoven used is part of the former private library of famous imperial general Prince Eugene of Savoy (the so-called ‘Bibliotheca Eugeniana’ ‘BE’), acquired in 1738. With 19,000 titles in total, it is located in the centre oval of the Baroque State Hall. The book that Beethoven used is available online at http://data.onb.ac.at/rec/AC09825270. 46 I am indebted to Professor William Meredith, Executive Director of The American Beethoven Society, for drawing my attention to this connection between Beethoven and The Austrian National Library. 47 Beethoven was able to read French. See J. G. Prod’homme and Frederick M. Martens, Beethoven’s Intellectual Education, ‘The Musical Quarterly’ 13/2 (1927), 169-182.

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sing as they dance, with a type of Cliquettes”.48 As a matter of fact, the instrument traditionally used in Mevlevi rituals is not çalpara, but rather small cymbals called halile. While he was composing this piece, Beethoven did not want to employ any percussion instruments other than castanets.49 In fact none of the works he composed in the Turkish style, with the exception of this particular piece, employed castanets. We can assert therefore that Beethoven borrowed the idea of employing castanets in his music from du Loir. In 1811 Beethoven was commissioned to provide incidental music for August von Kotzebue’s Prologue (König Stephan) and Epilogue (Die Ruinen von Athen), which were to be performed at the opening ceremony of the new German theater in Pest on February 10, 1812. The fact that he composed music for a poem by Kotzebue, on the subject of the ascent of Mohammed, does not necessarily mean that his work should fall into the category of miraciye, a work describing the holy ascension;50 nor does it imply that Beethoven wanted to compose a miraciye or a Mevlevi ayin in German. Beethoven, in response to the growing trend towards Turkish music, merely wanted to create a new “Turkish music” by making the best use of this style. To this end he used, with great mastery, every single note transcribed by du Loir in the hymn (see examples 3-6). All the evidence and findings provided above indicate that Beethoven was indeed far better informed about Turkish music than has generally been assumed. The Chorus of Dervishes in this work is the first example of Mevlevi musical influence on international art music. In addition, we must also consider Beethoven to be the first composer to use Mevlevi music in his work. We can see the influence of mehter music (Ottoman military music) in Beethoven’s compositions of his late period. Accordingly, Beethoven used mehter music in the Turkish March of The Ruins of Athens and also used Mevlevi music in the Chorus of Dervishes of the same work. The overture to The Ruins of Athens was published in 1823 by Steiner; however the 48 Jean Antoine du Loir, Les Voyages du Sieur du Loir…, 174. For English translation, see Les Voyages du Sieur du Loir (Historical Series) ‘Turkish Music Quarterly’ 3/2-3 (1990), 15. 49 For Beethoven’s original corrected manuscript see Chor der Derwische (Chorus of Dervishes), Die Ruinen von Athen (The Ruins of Athens), Digital Archives of the Beethoven-Haus Bonn: www.beethoven-haus-bonn.de (Collection H. C. Bodmer, HCB Bk 1, 1811). 50 Miraciye is a sacred musical genre of Divan music, describing the holy ascension of the Prophet Mohammed in mesnevî form and recited in Turkish on traditional tunes.

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complete piece was printed later, in 1846, by Artaria in Vienna.51 The unique features of the Chorus of Dervishes were a source of inspiration for many later composers for over a century. In 1846, Franz Liszt (1811-1886) wrote his Capriccio alla Turca for piano, which was inspired by Beethoven’s Turkish March and the Chorus of Dervishes. Liszt also wrote his Fantasia for piano and orchestra on motifs from Beethoven’s Ruins of Athens in 1853, and later arranged the same piece for solo piano in 1865. Saint-Saëns published his piano reduction of the Chorus of Dervishes in 1872. Likewise, Russian composer Aleksandr Borodin (1833-1887) might have been inspired by Beethoven’s Chorus of Dervishes while composing the Polovetsian Dances with Chorus for his opera Prince Igor in 1875. Leopold Auer arranged the Chorus of Dervishes as Etude for violin and piano in 1916. Later, in 1924, Richard Strauss (1864-1949), along with the author and librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal, adapted, revised and rearranged The Ruins of Athens as a stage work under the same title. Like many works by other composers, Beethoven’s The Ruins of Athens is based on travel literature. Its availability inspired some composers to explore Turkish culture, and this is true even of the first German opera to deal with a foreign subject. Johann Wolfgang Franck (1644-1710) composed his opera Kara Mustafa (1686) on the basis of a libretto, written by Lukas von Bostel, about the siege of Vienna by the Turks under Sultan Mehmed IV. We may come across a number of works if we trace the marks of Turkish tunes in the European music repertoire that were published in travel books. Carl Maria von Weber (1786-1826), for example, used a Turkish tune first published by Thomas Shaw and later by Laborde under the name of ‘Dance of the Maghreb’ in his opera Oberon (1826). Later Nikolay Andreyevich Rimsky-Korsakov (18441908) used the same tune in the third movement of Scheherezade (op. 35). Moreover, European travelers have, since the early eighteenth century, made arrangements of Mevlevi ayins for piano and also written their bass parts on the second stave. The letters of Giuseppe Verdi (1813-1901) indicate that he examined the works of François Joseph Fétis, the Belgian musicologist who published notations of all the Mevlevi ayins known in Europe by 1869.52 51 Ludwig van Beethoven, Die Ruinen von Athen (The Ruins of Athens) Score (Vienna: Artaria, 1846). See also, Ludwig van Beethoven, Die Ruinen von Athen (The Ruins of Athens), Beethovens Werke. Serie XX. Dramatische Werke, Score (Leipzig: Verlag von Breitkopf and Härtel, 1865); Ludwig van Beethoven, Dervisch – Chor (Chorus of Dervishes), in ‘Athens Ruiner’ (The Ruins of Athens), Piano reduction (Kopenhag: Wilhelm Hansen), 6-8. 52 François Joseph Fétis, Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps anciens

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Like Beethoven, Verdi might have been inspired by these notations and transcriptions in the composition of some of his works, particularly his operas. Edward Said examines the modally exotic music of Verdi’s Aida: Fétis was the first European to attempt a study of non-European music as a separate part of the general history of music, in his Résumé philosophique de l’histoire de la musique (1835). His unfinished Histoire générale de la musique depuis les temps anciens à nos jours (1869-76) carried the project further, emphasizing the unique particularity of exotic music and its integral identity. Fétis seems to have known E. W. Lane’s work on nineteenth-century Egypt, as well as the two volumes on Egyptian music in the Description. Fétis’s value for Verdi was that he could read examples in his work of ‘Oriental’ music—the harmonic clichés, much used in carnival hoochykooch, are based on a flattening of the hypertonic—and instances of Oriental instruments, which in some cases corresponded to representation in the Description: harps, flutes, and the by now well-known ceremonial trumpet, which Verdi went to somewhat comic effort to have built in Italy.53

Beethoven owes the maqamic structure of the Chorus of Dervishes in The Ruins of Athens to a Mevlevi sema ceremony that du Loir watched one and a half centuries before. Although du Loir’s transcription and the use of some elements of Mevlevi music give a novel touch to the piece, it is still far from bearing the characteristics of an original Mevlevi ayin. Considered by some critics54 to be a pale imitation of the original, the Chorus of Dervishes is an early nineteenth century example of exoticism that has been filtered through Western culture. Du Loir’s transcription is a celebrated hymn which was rehandled by international art music composers like Beethoven, and this demonstrates that the musical thought of the East, whether ancient or modern, is also a source of inventive inspiration for artists in the West. Unlike traditional views on musical orientalism, my findings indicate that the Viennese classical masters were far better informed about Turkish and ‘oriental’ music than has generally been assumed.

à nos jours (Paris: Firmin Didot Frères, vol. 2, 1869), 391-400. 53 Edward W. Said, The Empire at Work: Verdi’s Aida in ‘Culture and Imperialism’ (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993), 121-122. 54 Joseph Machlis and Kristine Forney, East Meets West: Turkish Influences on the Viennese Classics in ‘The Enjoyment of Music: An Introduction to Perceptive Listening’ (New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 1999), 292-93.

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Du Loir

Beethoven

17th Century

19th Century

Context

Mevlevi Ayin 17th-21st Centuries Sacred

Sacred

Genre

Hymn

Hymn

Traditional Sufi Dance Mevlevi Musicians (Ayinhanlar) Ey ki hezâr âferîn… Sufi Literature Traditional Mevlevi Instruments

Traditional Sufi Dance Mevlevi Musicians (Ayinhanlar) øy ki hezâr âferîn… Sufi Literature Traditional Mevlevi Instruments

Incidental Music "Hymn" in Incidental Music Stylized Sufi Dance of Dervishes

Texture

Monophonic

Monophonic

Performance Meter (Usul) Modality (Makam) / Tonality Instrumental Accompaniment Unisons Seconds Thirds Fourths Augmented Fourths Fifths Descending Melodies Melodic Repetitions Melodic Range Melodic Form

Heterophonic 6/8

Heterophonic 2/2

Monophonic Chorus Polyphonic Orchestra Heterophonic 4/4

Makam Dügah (Uúúak)

D Minor

E Minor

¥

¥

¥

¥ ¥ ¥ ¥

¥ ¥ ¥ ¥

¥ ¥ ¥ ¥

N/A

N/A

¥

N/A

¥

¥

¥

¥

¥

¥

¥

¥

Octave A B B' B'' B'''

Octave A A' A''

Ninth A A' A'' A''

Time Period

Dance Type Performers Text Content of Text Instrumentation

Table 1. Comparison of the scores of the works

Chorus of Dervishes (Men Chorus) Du hast in deines… "Islamic" Literature Western Orchestra including castanets

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List of Evidence 1. Both pieces are written in minor keys (Beethoven composed in E minor and du Loir transcribed in D minor). 2. The Chorus of Dervishes does not have elemental harmony, as in du Loir’s transcription. There are no major modes and no modulations in either pieces. The minor melodic lines are not resolved by major modes. Neither piece contains a single V-I cadence. 3. The same progressions are found in both pieces: A minor to G minor in du Loir (first and second lines) and E minor to D minor in Beethoven (measures 43-47 and 74-78). 4. The use of maqam-like and chromatic melodies are found in both pieces. 5. The same scale exists in both pieces. The scale used in du Loir’s third line (Kulu olan kiúiler canm) is the same as the scale found in Beethoven’s strings (measures 45-47 and 76-78). Beethoven employs them in ascending chromatic intervals. 6. The inspiration for Beethoven’s Chorus of Dervishes (measures 3-5) is derived from du Loir’s second line (Bu nice sultan olur canm). 7. Both pieces have descending melodic lines (for example, see the last five measures of Beethoven’s Chorus of Dervishes and the whole piece transcribed by du Loir). 8. The Chorus of Dervishes is sung only by a male voice chorus in unison, as in du Loir’s transcription. 9. Perfect fourths are used frequently in the Chorus of Dervishes, as in du Loir’s transcription. 10. Perfect fifths are used frequently in the Chorus of Dervishes, as in du Loir’s transcription. 11. The vocal ranges of both pieces are similar (an octave in du Loir and a ninth in Beethoven). 12. Both works employ the same formal structure (A A' A''). 13. Both pieces are notated in duple meter (2/2 ve 4/4). 14. Both pieces feature sacred texts. 15. There is a great similarity in the use of repetitions regarding verses and motifs in both pieces (canm in du Loir and kaaba in Beethoven). 16. Both pieces feature dances of the whirling dervishes accompanied by music. Continuous triplet motion in the upper strings of the Chorus of Dervishes depicts a dervish-like whirling. 17. Both pieces utilize Turkish ornamentational heterophony in performance. Beethoven employs triplets for this purpose.

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18. Beethoven’s idea of using castanets in the Chorus of Dervishes is evidence of the inspiration he drew from du Loir’s transcription and text. Du Loir mentions ‘cliquettes’ in his description of OttomanTurkish dances. He wrote his book in French and Beethoven was able to read French. 19. Acquired in 1738, a copy of du Loir’s book was available in the Bibliotheca Eugeniana Collection of the Imperial Library in Vienna (today The Austrian National Library or Österreichische Nationalbibliothek) during Beethoven’s time. Beethoven may have made novel and creative use of ‘authentic’ Turkish tunes found in this book for certain aspects of his Chorus of Dervishes. 20. Beethoven appears to have composed Nos. 4 (Chorus of Dervishes) and 5 (Turkish March) after the other movements of Die Ruinen von Athen, since they are not found among the main sketches, SV 184 (Kafka) in the British Library, London. They are, however, represented at the beginning of a later sketchbook, SV 106, fo. 9 (Petter) in the Beethoven Archiv, Bonn. Folio 9 originally preceded fos. 1-8 of SV 106. Perhaps Beethoven thought that he needed to consult such sources on Turkish music as du Loir’s book before composing his Chorus of Dervishes. This theory would explain why he wrote these two movements later than the others. On the other hand, the theme of his Piano Variations op. 76 was adapted to the Turkish March in The Ruins of Athens. 21. The instrumentation in the Chorus of Dervishes is not similar to Beethoven’s other “Turkish music” such as his Turkish March. 22. The basic texture of du Loir’s transcription and the Chorus of Dervishes is heterophonic, unlike Beethoven’s and Mozart’s other “Turkish music” in standard homophonic and polyphonic textures. 23. Beethoven’s and Mozart’s “Turkish music” employ basic rhythmic patterns of four-measure phrases in 2/4 meter unlike the Chorus of Dervishes, which features irregular patterns in longer phrases. 24. Beethoven’s other “Turkish music” is often harmonized with repeated thirds in accompaniment patterns. In the Chorus of Dervishes, however, the intervals of fourths and fifths are featured prominently instead.

THE SOURCE AND IMAGINATION OF THE ORIENT IN KAROL SZYMANOWSKI’S OPERA “KING ROGER” OP. 46 MAKI SHIGEKAWA

It is well known that the Polish composer Karol Szymanowski frequently changed his compositional style during his lifetime. Like Stravinsky and Bartók, Szymanowski is generally considered to have tried to combine folk material of his own country with a modernist idiom. However, his works are not only related to Polish folk material but also to Greek myths and Muslim legends. The so-called ‘Eastern’ elements also had a great influence on his musical style. Therefore, numerous scholars have argued about Szymanowski’s direct or indirect contact with Eastern culture.1 Yet as few documents remain, the extent to which Szymanowski’s representation of Oriental music in his works is related to his actual experiences of indigenous music is still a matter of controversy. In this paper I will focus on Oriental elements in Szymanowki’s output with reference to the fieldwork conducted by Béla Bartók in the Biskra region of Algeria in 1913. Szymanowski visited the region a year after Bartók and the trip seemed to have inspired him in many ways. As the title suggests, this paper will deal with Szymanowski’s opera King Roger op.46, written in 1918-1924, particularly with The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers in the middle part of the second act. The main purpose of the analysis is to present the rhythmic and melodic patterns of the music of the

1

See: Sáawomira ĩeraĔska-Kominek, Problem orientalizmu w muzyce Karola Szymanowskiego [The Problem of Orientalism in the Music of Karol Szymanowski] in: Karol Szymanowski w perspektywie kultury muzycznej przeszáoĞci i wspóáczesnoĞci [Karol Szymanowski in the Perspective of the Past and Contemporary Musical Culture], ed. Zbigniew Skowron (Kraków: Musica Iagellonica, 2007), 105-120. See also. Alistair Wightman, Exotic Elements in the Songs of Karol Szymanowski in: The songs of Karol Szymanowski and his contemporaries, Polish Music History Series, Vol. 7, eds. Zofia Helman, Teresa ChyliĔska and Alistair Wightman (Los Angeles: Polish Music Center, 2002), 122-134.

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Biskra region. Based on the analysis, I will discuss several features of the Polish composer’s stylization of exotic materials – to the abstraction, reduction and reconstruction of Arabic music. By doing so I will try to show a certain aspect of Szymanowski’s Orientalism in music.

Szymanowski and the Orient We know that cultural Orientalism was in vogue at the beginning of the 20th century: it attracted the attention of many artists. Therefore Szymanowski’s preference for the Orient may have been a sort of exoticism in those days. As Jarosáaw Iwaszkiewicz pointed out, in his early period Szymanowski preferred mystical poetic texts, for example by the Sufi poets Hafiz and Rumi or by European poets who were under their influence. He even composed songs based on their works, such as Lovesongs of Hafiz op. 24 in 1911, Love-songs of Hafiz op. 26 in 1914, and Symphony No.3 ‘Songs of the Night’ op. 27 in 1914-16. Furthermore, his trips to the Mediterranean and North Africa in 1911 and 1914 strengthened his interest in Oriental culture. According to Stefan Spiess, who travelled with Szymanowski, they went to Southern Italy in 1911 having been particularly enchanted by Sicily. Ancient ruins made a deep impression on Szymanowski. It is said that the royal palace in Palermo, the amphitheatre in Syracuse and other ruins in Sicily inspired the sets of King Roger. In 1914, on a second trip to southern Italy, they travelled to North Africa via Sicily. On March 30th, while in Palermo, Szymanowski wrote of his travel plans in a letter to his friend Zdzisáaw Jachimecki.2 According to his letters, Szymanowski left Palermo with Spiess on April 1st and went to Algiers. They then visited Biskra on April 11th and Tunis on April 20th. After their stay in Tunis they returned to Rome on May 2nd. This means that they spent almost a month in North Africa. The region had been a French colony and at that time it was popular among Europeans. Many artists of the turn of the century (for example Henri Matisse, André Gide, Jean Cocteau, etc.) visited the area. We know very little about what kind of music Szymanowski heard in North Africa, but Stefan Spiess reports in detail on connected matters in his memoir. Here is an example: During our journeys through Africa in 1914, of which I was also the instigator, we frequently heard the calls of the Muezzins in Tunisia, coming from the minarets at sunset. And this experience left some trace in Szymanowski’s works (…). We were enormously impressed by the Muslim 2 Karol Szymanowski, Korespondencja [Correspondence],vol. 1, ed. Teresa ChyliĔska (Kraków: Musica Iagellonica, 2007), 487.

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The Orient in Karol Szymanowski’s Opera “King Roger” feast of Ramadan, which we observed in Biskra (…). We then heard songs and dances performed on folk instruments – terbuka, zorna, flute, zither and drums.3

It is clear that they saw folk instruments there and listened to indigenous music. Spiess suggests that this experience left traces in Szymanowski’s work. However we should take Spiess’ testimony carefully, for we do not know precisely what kind of music they heard. In fact, the composer did not notate any melodies or record any information about folk instruments on the spot.4 Still, his own music reveals the impact of this experience. In order to consider the problem let us look at the case of The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers in the middle part of the second act of King Roger.

Oriental elements in The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers King Roger was written between 1918 and 1924 to a libretto by Jarosáaw Iwaszkiewicz. The story describes the 12th-century Sicilian king’s inner conflicts, caused by a pagan shepherd who fascinates him. Not only the plot but also the music of the opera is full of exotic elements, such as hymns in the Byzantine style, the Arab-like dances of the shepherd’s followers and so on. While the shepherd plays a crucial role both in the story and in the music, the music associated with him consists of stylistic features of Persian classical music and of North-African folk music, such as ornamental melodic lines on pedal notes, improvisational passage-work etc. In the second act of this opera we find exotic dance music called The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers. As for this section we should remember an interesting episode that describes how Szymanowski thought about the stylization of exotic material: when the composer’s friend, Polish musicologist Zdzisáaw Jachimecki, asked whether the theme in The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers was derived from a Turkish folk melody, Szymanowski answered as follows: 3 Stefan Spiess and Wanda Wacewicz, Ze wspomnieĔ melomana [From the memoir of a music-lover] ( Kraków: PWM, 1963), 57. Here I refer to the English translation by Alistair Wightman, except for the words ‘terbuka’ and ‘zorna’. Cf. Alistair Wightman, Karol Szymanowski: His Life and Work (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Company, 1999), 129. 4 See: S. ĩeraĔska-Kominek, Problem orientalizmu w muzyce Karola Szymanowskiego, 109.

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Concerning the theme of the dance, about which you ask, it is absolutely my patent. I am delighted that I so succeeded in counterfeiting its ‘authenticity’ that you felt obliged to search out truly ‘authentic sources for verification’. It is my triumph over the sweet ‘orientalism’ of the Rimsky’s e tutti quanti.5

In these words the composer denied that there was an authentic source for this melody and at the same time criticized the stereotyped Orientalism of Rimsky-Korsakov. Based on this remark, Jachimecki wrote in his study of Szymanowski in 1927 that either the melodic lines of the theme or the polyrhythmic character of The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers made one believe that it was based on authentic Oriental dances and songs, in spite of the fact that it was absolutely the composer’s invention.6 Taking Szymanowski’s words at face value, one has to regard the Oriental musical elements of this dance as his original invention.7 However, it seems that the composer simplified the reality, for it is not likely that there had been no influence of indigenous music at all. This is a case, rather, of a stylization of various elements of Arabic music so complicated that one can hardly identify which model the composer had in mind. To begin with, let us consider some lines from the stage directions in the libretto: The shepherd stops for a moment around the threshold. He takes in his whole surroundings and then slowly and fearlessly approaches the King. His companions carry strange Eastern musical instruments in their hands. They follow a few steps behind, however before reaching the front of the stage, and then sit down on a carpet, maintain a mysterious silence.8

From the shepherd’s words “Bracia! ChyĪo! PiesĔ taneczną! W strun uderzcie srebrny dzwon, tamburynów wartki rytm!” (“Brothers! Swiftly! A 5

Karol Szymanowski, Korespondencja [Letters], vol. 3-1, ed. Teresa ChyliĔska (Kraków: Musica Iagellonica, 1997), 101. Quotation of English translation is taken from: Wightman, Karol Szymanowski, 283. 6 Zdzisáaw Jachimecki, Karol Szymanowski: Rys dotychczasowej twórczoĞci [Karol Szymanowski. A Sketch on His Works so Far] (Kraków: Skáad gáówny w KsiĊgarni JagielloĔskiej, 1927), 59. 7 Cf. Stanisáaw CzyĪowski, Problem stylizacji w Królu Rogerze [The problem of stylization in King Roger] in: Karol Szymanowski: KsiĊga Sesji Naukowej poĞwiĊconej twórczoĞci Karola Szymanowskiego, ed. Zofia Lissa (Warszawa: Uniwersytet Warszawski, 1964), 47-66. 8 Quotation from the libretto of King Roger are taken from: Karol Szymanowski, Complete Edition, vol.14, King Roger, ed. Teresa ChyliĔska (Kraków, Wien: PWM, Universal Edition, 1973).

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The Orient in Karol Szymanowski’s Opera “King Roger”

dancing song! Strike silver bell notes on the strings, a brisk rhythm on the tambourines!”) one can infer that this group of Eastern musical instruments contain some sort of folk string instruments and a tambourine. In Szymanowski’s music of the corresponding section there is a melody, which is played first by oboe and then flute, while in the background we hear the sound of the timpani, large drum, triangle and harp. According to Spiess’ memoir, the composer must have known the “strange Eastern musical instruments” such as “terbuka, zorna, flute, zither and drums”.9 This suggests that the section may have been inspired by the folk music Szymanowski heard in Biskra. Szymanowski did not leave any notes on his use of folk music or North African instruments. But while it seems impossible to know what this music sounded like, it should be remembered that Béla Bartók conducted scholarly research on folk music in Biskra in 1913.10 The Hungarian composer visited the same place in June 1913 and as a result of his ‘field work’ in 1920 in Biskra he wrote the report Die Volksmusik der Araber von Biskra und Umgebung for Zeitschrift für Musikwissenschaft. With Bartók’s detailed description, we can get a better image of the music Szymanowski might also have experienced in the area. According to Bartók’s research, the gasba, a wind instrument without a stopper or mouthpiece, was very widely used in the area; it “approximately resembled the deepest register of the flute”.11 The instrument could correspond to the ‘flute’ in Spiess’ memoir. The instrument which Spiess called the zorna12 could, on the other hand, correspond to the reita, which was a double-reed woodwind instrument, in Bartók’s paper. The instrument was made of wood and “its tone was much stronger than the deepest tones of the oboe and is almost equally penetrating and shrill in all ranges”.13 As for percussion instruments, several examples are mentioned in Bartók’s paper, such as the tabal, which is “the equivalent of our bass drum. It is played with two sticks, one of them thin, long, and flexible; the other one thicker, shorter, rigid, and with

9

S. Spiess, Ze wspomnieĔ melomana, op. sit., 57. See: Marta Ziegler, Bartóks Reise nach Biskra in: Documenta bartókiana 2, ed. Denijs Dille (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1965), 9-17. 11 Béla Bartók, Arab folk music from the Biskra District in: Béla Bartók: Studies in Ethnomusicology, ed. Benjamin Suchoff, Lincoln (Nebr. and London: University of Nebraska Press, 1997), 29. 12 Spiess mentioned the word zorna in his memoir. It probably refers to zurna, which is a folk instrument widely used in the Near East. 13 B. Bartók Arab folk music from the Biskra District, 29. 10

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a bent end that serves as a beating face”.14 This instrument could correspond to one of the ‘drums’ in Spiess’ memoir. Another instrument Bartók writes about is the darbuka, which is “a large-size clay jug without loop whose diameter is approximately 20cm, with skin stretched over the space at its bottom”.15 This could correspond to the terbuka in Spiess’s memoir,16 Interestingly, however, Bartók thought the darbuka to be the ‘tambourin’. According to Bartók, the gasba, reita and darbuka were in wide use in the area. Although the case of the string instrument is rather problematic,17 we can approximately identify the instruments in Spiess’ memoir on the basis of Bartók’s study. From this point of view, we can assume at least the sound of the music Szymanowski might have heard during his visit.

Sound materials and musical construction Apart from the instrumentation, the melodic line in the opening bars of the section also shows similarities to Bartók’s study (example 1).

Example 1. Karol Szymanowski, King Roger, Act 1, bars 724-727

14

Ibid., 30. Ibid. 16 The identity of this instrument is unclear. Alistair Wightman used the word turben in his study, but the present writer supposes that it may refer to the darbukka. It seems probable that Spiess remembered the name of the folk instrument incorrectly. 17 Bartók wrote that he found only an ‘imported mandolin’ which was widespread at that time. This suggests that Bartók picked up village folk music rather than urban popular music. Cf. B. Bartók Arab folk music from the Biskra District, 30. 15

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The Orient in Karol Szymanowski’s Opera “King Roger”

The opening melody is written in 7/8 time and forms a four-bar phrase. A decorative thematic line repeats a wavelike motion in a narrow range and seldom leaps. As for the range, Bartók also mentions the same feature of the Arabic melodic style in his article. Here I would like to focus on the relationship between the melody and its asymmetrical rhythmic accompaniment. Szymanowski divided 7/8 into 4/8+3/8, and one may subdivide 4/8 further into 2/8+2/8. This additive rhythmic construction of the melody causes the occurrence of different pulse groups in the accompaniment as well as in the melody itself, while each pulse group distances itself from the other groups. According to Bartók’s description, “occasionally the accompaniment is independent to the extent that it nearly takes on a self-contained life alongside melody. In this caseʊin point of fact met exceptionallyʊany connection of the melody and its accompaniment is lacking”.18 Bartók goes on to say that “the connection is stronger if at least a value of the melody corresponds with the smallest value of the accompaniment, even if the motive of accompanying rhythm suffers a transformation resulting from a sudden interpolation of a bar or a beat into the melody”.19 In the original Hungarian version of the same article there are many relevant musical examples. In music example no. 23, for example, we can see a different kind of two meter alternation, namely 6/8 and 9/8 (example 2).20

Example 2. M΁chmud ΁s Sultani, famous Tunisian hymn of Marabu 18

B. Bartók Arab folk music from the Biskra District, 33. Ibid. 20 After: Béla Bartók, A Biskra Vidéki Arabok Népzenéje [Arab folk music from the Biskra District] in: ÖsszegyĦjtött írásai [Collected Writings by Bartók], ed. SzĘllĘsy András, (Budapest: ZenemĦkiadó Vállalat, 1966), 542. 19

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The drum accompaniment is not influenced by these and their total metrical value remains constant. Bartók remarked that “curious polyrhythms came into being when melodic and accompanying motives, although of identical length but fully divergent as far as rhythm, are united”.21 Let us now take a look at the music of The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers: it consists of a polymetric melodic line and drum-like accompaniment with asymmetrical rhythm. As these are some of the features most characteristic of Arabic music, it is arguable that in the music of The Dance of the Shepherd’s Followers Szymanowski abstracted Arab music, reduced it to its elements and consciously reconstructed them. Furthermore, we can notice a style of orchestration connected with a specific way of playing Arabic percussion instruments. In this section not only percussion but also wind and string instruments, for example, the bassoon, cello and bass, play a rhythmic part. It is possible to classify them into two groups; the first group – instruments based on A (double bass, cellos, 2nd harp, clarinet and timpani) and the second group – instruments based on F (violins, piano, 1st harp and bassoon).22 Bartók also remarked in his article on the technique of playing Arabic percussion instruments such as the bandir, tabal and many others. According to him, players systematically beat the centre or the border of the skin, producing colouristic variations; this creates a large number of rhythm patterns by combining such timbre differences with various accentuations. In short, not only stress accents, but also pitch accents are a component of rhythm accompaniment in Arabic music. The two tone frame of F and A in the accompaniment of The dance of the Shepherd’s followers resembles a drum accent such as dum – the darkest and heaviest beat on F in Szymanowski’s case, and tak – the lighter beat (on A). Moreover, the two pitches work as a harmonic drone, with the melody line unfolding over it. Thus did Szymanowski exploit a principle of Arabic musical construction which is not based on harmonic progression as Western music is, in order to express the pagan shepherd’s exotic nature.

21

B. Bartók Arab folk music from the Biskra District , 33. Alistair Wightman, Szymanowski and Islam, ‘The Musical Times’ 128/1729 (1987), 129-132. 22

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The Orient in Karol Szymanowski’s Opera “King Roger”

Conclusion Through reference to Bartók’s field work in Biskra, we can imagine how closely Szymanowski’s representation of Oriental music might have been in relation to his actual experiences of indigenous music. The context of the Hungarian composer’s research enables us to take a glance at Szymanowski’s characteristic procedure of abstraction, reduction and reconstruction of indigenous music. What remains true is that Szymanowski was critical of borrowing folk material directly, but this does not necessarily mean that he never had any model in mind. Although he did not indicate the source of his Oriental imagination, his actual experiences in North Africa could have played an important role.

THE POLES AND THE TURKS IN FRANZ DOPPLER’S OPERA WANDA (1850) RYSZARD DANIEL GOLIANEK

The seventeenth-century invasion of European states by Ottoman Turkey represented one of the greatest civilizational threats of those times. The conflict escalated in 1683, when the Turks launched a military campaign under the great vizier Kara Mustafa. In July that year they reached Vienna, surrounded the city and laid siege to it.1 European diplomats, anxiously following the progress of the Turkish army, had already brought about the signing of a treaty between the Habsburg Monarchy and Poland, according to which, in the event of a threat to one of the states from the Turks and Tatars, the other would hasten to its assistance. Consequently the King of Poland, John III Sobieski, headed south with his troops to relieve Vienna. The full-scale battle, fought on 12 September 1683, ended with a decisive victory for the Polish army. The lightning relief of Vienna halted the Turkish invasion and quashed the civilizational and religious threat in Christian Europe, so it may be seen as one of the watershed moments in modern history. In the national awareness of Poles, the memory of the Relief of Vienna is strongly linked to its religious dimension: the threat from the Turks meant first and foremost a clash between Western Christian civilisation and Oriental Islam, so the victory began to be perceived in terms of divine care of the Polish nation. The subject of the Relief of Vienna has been taken up by numerous artists, who have sought to represent both the military aspect of the event and also its historical and political consequences. One of the best known 1

Jan Wimmer, WiedeĔ 1683: Dzieje kampanii i bitwy [Vienna 1683: The Story of the Campaign and Battle], (Warszawa: Wydawnictwa Ministerstwa Obrony Narodowej, 1983), 173. This survey is perhaps the most comprehensive and well documented monographic study on the history of the Battle of Vienna. Further information in English on this subject can be found in Norman Davies’s monumental history of Poland: God’s Playground: A History of Poland, vol. 1: The Origins to 1795 (New York: Columbia University Press, 22005).

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depictions is Jan Matejko’s painting Jan III Sobieski wysyáa wiadomoĞü o zwyciĊstwie papieĪowi Innocentemu XI [John III Sobieski sends news of the victory to Pope Innocent XI]. The heyday of artistic portrayals of this historic event fell during the nineteenth century, when the cult of glowing moments from Polish history was strongly linked to nationalist tendencies. The longevity of this subject can be gauged from the fact that very recently, in 2012, Renzo Martinelli directed the Polish-Italian film The Day of the Siege: September Eleven 1683.2 In the world of opera, the subject of the Relief of Vienna has failed to resonate. The opera Wanda, produced in 1850, would appear to be an exception in this respect. Its composer, Franz (Ferenc) Doppler (1821– 1883), was a famous flautist of German origin born in Lviv. From 1838 he lived in Pest, Hungary, working first at the German opera house and from 1841 also at the local National Theatre.3 In 1859 he moved to Vienna, where he took up the position of first flute at the court opera. Besides works for flute and piano, he also wrote several operas which were popular with audiences thanks to their successful national stylisations: Russian (Benyovszky, 1847), Polish (Wanda, 1850) and Hungarian (Erszebét, 1857, composed jointly with Ferenc Erkel).4

2

The film’s title, The Day of the Siege: September Eleven 1683, referring to the eve of the battle, may have been proposed in order to link the seventeenth-century events with contemporary history, as the 2001 terrorist attacks in the US are commonly referred to as “9/11”. 3 Dezsö Legany, Doppler (Albert) Franz [Ferenc], in The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, ed. Stanley Sadie (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), volume 1 A-D, 1229. 4 The musicological literature devoted to this composer is very limited. Apart from encyclopaedia entries (Encyklopedia Muzyczna PWM, The New Grove Dictionary of Opera and Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart), there are only a few short articles describing the life and work of Franz Doppler, along with the output of his flautist brother Karl. Cf. Gernot Stepper, Die Gebrüder Franz und Karl Doppler: Das Leben zweier Flötenvirtuosen des 19. Jahrhunderts. Ein biographischer Abriss, “Tibia: Magazin für Freunde alter und neuer Bläsermusik” 7/2 (1982), 8895; Maria Eckhardt, Liszt és a Doppler-testvérek szerepe a Filharmóniai Társaság alapitásában [The role of the Doppler brothers in creating the Philharmonic Society], “Zenetudományi dolgozatok” 5 (1982), 133-139; Andrij Karpiak, Die Lemberger Flötisten Franz und Karl Doppler, zwei herausragende europäische Musiker, “Musikgeschichte in Mittel- und Osteuropa: Mitteilungen der Internationalen Arbeitsgemeinschaft an der Technischen Universität Chemnitz” 6 (2000), 64-71; also available online: http://www.uni-leipzig.de/~musik/web /institut/agOst/docs/mittelost/hefte/Heft6_074-081.pdf (accessed 27 April 2016).

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Wanda, a “Romantic opera in three acts”, was premiered at the National Theatre in Pest on 30 December 1850, in Hungarian. The libretto, written by Theodor von Bakody, was published shortly before the first performance.5 Several years later, when the opera was given further premieres, including in Vienna, a German-language version by Otto Prechtler appeared in print.6 A rich set of handwritten documents relating to this work is preserved in the National Library in Budapest: besides two complete scores and a piano score, there are also orchestral and vocal parts, as well as the director’s notebook containing remarks on staging.7 Doppler’s opera was performed on stage in Pest nineteen times, and several years after its world premiere it was staged elsewhere: in 1862 in Vienna, and then in Stuttgart (1865), Dresden (1866), Riga (1867), Darmstadt (1872) and finally in the composer’s home city of Lviv, in 1874.8 The events depicted in the opera take place in 1683: the first act is set in Poland, in a village near Cracow, whilst the second and third acts are played out by the walls of Vienna. The action begins with the betrothal of Wanda and Hypolit: Wanda is the daughter of the starosta (head of the local district) Sobol, who adopted and raised Hypolit and is now giving the couple his blessing. A few years earlier, Sobol had suffered a tragedy: besides Wanda, he also had two sons, who fell in love with the same woman; one of them killed the other out of jealousy. The dead son was found clutching a portrait of his mother, whilst the other had vanished without trace. The grand ceremony of Wanda’s betrothal to Hypolit is suddenly interrupted by a Herald announcing a recruitment drive, ordered by the king, in the face of the Muslim threat. Setting off to war, Sobol 5

Vanda: eredeti opera 4 felvonásban (Pesten: Nyomatott Lukács Lászlónál, [probably 1850]). 6 Wanda / Romantische Oper in drei Akten / von / Dr. Th. von Bakody / Deutsch bearbeitet von / Otto Prechtler / Musik von Franz Doppler / Stuttgart / Druck der K. Hof- & Buchdruckerei von Gebr. Mäntler [ca 1860]. 7 Országos Széchényi Könyvtár (National Library, Budapest, Hungary, Music Department): H-Bn B/47/a/1–3 (full score manuscript, three volumes); H-Bn Ms. mus. 5.365/1–3 (full score manuscript prepared for print, three volumes); H-Bn ZB/47/a-g (vocal and instrumental parts, also the director’s notebook: H-Bn ZB/47/a); H-Bn Ms. mus. 4.800 (piano score manuscript); H-Bn Ms. mus. 4.804 (piano score manuscript without lyrics). I am most grateful to Dr Balázs Mikusi from the Music Department of the National Library in Budapest for preparing all these materials for my study. 8 Amadé Németh, A Magyar opera története a kezdetektöl az Operaház megnyitásáig [The History of Hungarian Opera from its Beginnings to the Opening of the Opera Theatre] (Budapest: ZenemĦkiado, 1987), 93.

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leaves Wanda in the care of the mute old servant Zdenko, and he also gives his daughter a parting gift of the portrait of her mother that had belonged to her late brother. Act II is set in the Turks’ camp outside Vienna. At dusk the Dervish calls everyone to prayer, and the commander of the Janissaries, Aga Fendi, demands that blood be spilt for the Muslim faith. Shouts suddenly ring out: the Turkish guards have captured Wanda, who – anxious about her father and her beloved – has set off to find them. Fendi decides that the girl will join the harem of Timur Pasha, commander of the Muslim troops. Timur’s tent is the scene of solemn celebrations of the birth of the prophet Muhammad, accompanied by Oriental dances and music. The Pasha is unhappy and lonely; he has pangs of conscience, because he killed his brother and renounced the holy Christian faith. When Fendi introduces Wanda to him, Timur is captivated and at once enflamed with love. Wanda begs for mercy, but Timur wants her to become his wife and convert to Islam. Defending herself from the Pasha’s violent passion, Wanda pulls out a crucifix. The action of the third act begins in the immediate aftermath of an armed confrontation between the Poles and the Turks. Zdenko has snuck over to the Poles’ camp and informs Sobol that Wanda is at the mercy of the Turks. The sounds of trumpets and drums ring out: a sign of the impending battle. Wanda prays to God to be rescued. Timur enters. He wants to take the girl by force, and she, in an act of desperation, raises the medallion given to her by her father. Timur is horrified to discover that it is the portrait of his mother which the brother he killed had held in his hands. The siblings appear to recognise one another, before Fendi bursts in, informing them of the Poles’ attack. The terrified Timur sets out alone for the battlefield, and soon the sounds of the Poles’ victory can be heard. Hypolit and Sobol enter, explaining that Timur’s self-sacrifice has helped them to triumph: Timur has freed them from the hands of the Turks, for which he received from them a mortal blow. Then Wanda discovers the truth: Timur was her brother, Sobol’s lost son. All return to the battlefield. The dying Timur begs his father for forgiveness, takes the cross from Wanda and dies with God’s name on his lips. The plot of the opera, referring to an actual event of crucial significance in the history of Poland and Europe, is linked quite loosely to the seventeenth-century facts. According to the librettist’s version, the victory of the Poles at the Battle of Vienna was brought about not so much through military daring on the part of the Polish forces as through an unexpected twist of fate. A special role in the course of events is ascribed

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to Wanda, whose unshakeable spiritual and personal stance led to a change in the commander of the Turkish army and consequently tilted the scales of victory towards the Poles. So the proposed take on the Relief of Vienna is an alternative version of history, far from the truth, but appealing and suggestive. Over the course of events a love plotline intertwines with moral, political and national strands, and also with religious elements. Wanda’s defensive use of a crucifix corresponds to the traditional reverence for the image of Christ dying on the cross, which in folk religiosity fends off evil and ensures protection and support for the faithful. The appeal of this opera is enhanced by the depiction of the two national camps: the Poles and the Turks. The historical confrontation between these two nations in 1683 brought one of the most powerful clashes between Christian civilisation and Islam. The term “clash of civilisations” was described and disseminated quite recently; it is linked to Samuel P. Huntington’s theory, advanced during the 1990s, according to which future global conflicts will be more of a cultural and religious than an economic character.9 Huntington’s diagnosis refers, of course, to the future (its aptness would appear to be borne out by current global developments), yet the relations between different religions and cultures already led to escalations and conflicts in previous centuries. In the sequence of civilisations discussed by Huntington, particularly strongly marked is the present-day clash between Western and Islamic civilisation. The same conflict marked seventeenth-century Europe: the Polish forces engaged in the Relief of Vienna, allied with the Habsburgs and the Vatican, were defending the cultural heritage of the West and the Christian religious identity against the Islamic Turks. The opera’s three-act construction allows both national and religious environments to be presented. The first act is played out in Poland and is significant not just for initiating the action; it also serves to suggestively highlight the national specificities of the Poles and Christian religiosity. The second act, presenting the Turkish camp at Vienna, provides an opportunity to evoke an Oriental cultural colouring and the social and religious relations characterising the Islamic environment. So the confrontation between the Poles and the Turks in Act III is sufficiently prepared by the foregoing scenic representations, in which a differentiated musical styling identifies the two national cultural and religious sides.

9

Samuel P. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996). See also an earlier article by this author: The Clash of Civilizations?, in “Foreign Affairs” 72/3 (1993), 22-49.

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One of the most interesting stylistic features of Doppler’s operas is his characteristic skill in presenting attractive national stylisations: Polish, Hungarian and Russian.10 To some extent, this reflects his own biography: the son of a German musician settled in Lviv, he had the chance to get to know German, Polish, Russian and Ukrainian-borderland musical cultures. On arriving in Pest, he also acquainted himself with the music cultivated in Hungary, and he drew on all those experiences in his musical works. In the case of Wanda, we also have Oriental stylisations, resulting from the subject matter of the work. In the first act, musical stylisations relating to Poland come to the fore many times – mainly references to Polish national dances. Doppler introduces, above all, mazurka rhythms, and the uncomplicated melodic lines and simple textures point to a strong influence from Polish folk music. A mazur character could also be displayed by the dance sequences linked to the celebration of the betrothal of Wanda and Hypolit, as well as the choral vocal parts (Example 1).11 Attempts at stylisation are also attested by the solo songs performed by the protagonists. For example, Hypolit’s folk-style aria, based on mazurka rhythms (Example 2), is preceded by him speaking of his wish to sing Polish songs which will speak easily to people’s hearts.12 On more than one occasion, melodies introduced over the course of the opera show a surprising similarity to the folk original. An excellent knowledge of Polish national dances led Doppler to suggestively replicate a Polish sound colouring. Besides the mazurka rhythms (and the regular mazurs), the first act of Wanda also has refined polonaise stylisations, as well as a krakowiak, which in this instance replicates a local colouring, since the opera’s first act takes place near Cracow (Example 3). A complete change in mood and musical character is marked from the beginning of the second act, set in the Turkish camp at Vienna. This provided an opportunity to introduce a number of Oriental musical 10

“Er besaß eine besondere Fähigkeit, spezifische nationale Elemente in seinem Schaffen zu transformieren. Meisterhaft spiegelt sich volkstümliches Kolorit in seinen Opern, sei es im allgemeinen Ton, sei es in Einzelheiten. Es ist bemerkbar in der Thematik, in den Bildern und Typen seines Werkes, in der Instrumentierung, in charakteristischen nationalen Lied- und Tanzrhythmus”. A. Karpiak, op. cit., 1299. 11 All musical examples have been prepared by the author on the basis of the manuscript sources (piano score and full scores) preserved in the National Library in Budapest (see footnote 7). 12 “Ich sing’ Euch gerne / des Vaterlandes Lieder, / sie tönen freudig / in tausend Herzen wieder”. No 1 Introduktion, Hypolit’s solo.

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stylisations, manifest in the melodic line, such as an augmented second, grace notes, the highlighting of melismata and the description of central notes in the scale by neighbouring notes. To a considerable extent, Doppler was referring here to stereotypical compositional solutions, widely employed during the nineteenth century to portray characters or places connected with the Middle East. Yet in his aspiration to achieve a reliable characterisation of the Turkish environment, the composer also turned to more refined solutions, linked with the choice of instruments, registers and timbral effects.

Example 1. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act I – mazurka stylisations

Example 2. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act I – Hypolit’s aria based on mazurka rhythms

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The Poles and the Turks in Franz Doppler’s Opera Wanda (1850)

Example 3. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act I – krakowiak

An Oriental colouring is marked from the opening bars of the Turkish prayers that commence the second act of the opera. The sounds of a religious ceremony celebrated at daybreak are set as individual unaccompanied melodic lines, played in unison by flute and cor anglais. Both the forces used and the melodic-rhythmic character of this passage serve the suggestive representation of an Oriental colouring. It is worth noting the dynamic oscillations that additionally enhance the impression of exoticism (Example 4).

Example 4. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act II – Oriental stylisation

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At the end of this instrumental introduction, a part of a percussion instrument called a toka appears in the piano score of the opera. In the musical culture of northern India (Assam province), this name designates an instrument made of bamboo.13 It is difficult to say whether Doppler had that specific Indian instrument in mind or some idea of an exotic percussion instrument in general; in his commentary we find only the remark that it is to be an Oriental instrument of that name. The music itself suggests the possibility of producing higher and lower notes (despite the lack of a specific pitch to the note of the toka), as with gongs of various size. Doppler later left out that instrument: the toka part was removed from the piano score and does not appear in the full score. The early morning prayer of the Muslims is intoned by the Dervish, invoking the names of Allah and the prophet Muhammad, and this solo song, performed unaccompanied, contains a number of references to Middle East stylisation. This is manifest chiefly in the freedom of the rhythmic course: the marking senza tempo and the notation of the vocal part without bar lines suggest the improvisational and free character of this musical utterance. The repetition of short motifs, the melismata, the sustaining of selected notes in the scale or grace notes and also the highlighting of a high vocal register all clearly point to the Oriental source of this music (Example 5). At the end of each of the Dervish’s phrases, the choir sings cadential passages on the word “Allah”. This solution indicates a sort of compromise between the wish to replicate an exotic sound aura and the retention of the harmonic principles characterising European music of the nineteenth century. Doppler, like many composers of that time, knew the extent to which elements of stylisation were acceptable to audiences. A similar heterogeneity of musical style is also shown in the rest of the prayer: the rhythmised part of the Dervish contains augmented seconds and grace notes, whilst the choir’s part displays a transparent harmonic structure. An extra stylising effect is produced by the use of a changing metre (2/4 and 3/4, Example 6).

13

Toka (ܑokƗ) – sprung bamboo clappers of Assam, north-east India. They are made from a thick bamboo tube 30 cm to 90 cm long and slit down almost its entire length, similar in appearance to a pair of tongs, leaving the base intact as a handle. The clappers are played by beating the slit halves against the palm of one hand or shaking them.” Toka, in The New Grove Dictionary of Musical Instruments, ed. Laurence Libin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 22014), volume 5, 27.

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The Poles and the Turks in Franz Doppler’s Opera Wanda (1850)

Example 5. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act II – the Muslims’ prayer.

Example 6. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act II – the Muslims’ prayer, the use of a changing metre.

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It is worth noting one more interesting way in which an Oriental mood is forged in this prayer: basing the choir’s prayerful phrase, employing repeated motifs, on a fixed drone note. The resultant simple two-part texture seems quite a felicitous solution. A crucial point in the dramatic structure of the second act of the opera is the Turkish camp’s solemn celebration of the birthday of the prophet Muhammad. Pasha Timur’s entrance, represented in the full glory of Oriental majesty, is announced by a march played by a janissary band. The ceremony is accompanied by odalisques performing sensuous Oriental dances, and important parts of the music here are the notes of the triangle and tambourines struck by the dancers. In the orchestral parts, tutti passages are contrasted with rapid passages in the violins, piccolo and oboes, whilst the drones and the repetitive accompaniment forge the atmosphere of a sensuous trance (Example 7).

Example 7. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act II – Oriental dance

All the above examples reveal the great wealth of means of stylisation employed to characterise the Turkish Oriental environment, which certainly guaranteed the attractiveness of the spectacle. The staging of the second act of Wanda was clearly influenced by the aesthetic of French grand opéra, with its aspirations to wowing audiences with great masses of people on the stage and elaborate tableaux, in which a choir and a ballet played a crucial role in creating the scenic effect. Although for historically understandable reasons the Turkish musical style had to be represented in a much more conventional way than the Polish national style, the effects should be deemed successful and appealing. The two sides in the conflict – the Poles and the Turks – exhaust the gallery of characters in the opera, but Doppler did not confine himself to the two musical styles that accompany them; he also used a third style, resulting from the norms of the universal conventional musical language

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The Poles and the Turks in Franz Doppler’s Opera Wanda (1850)

of Italian bel canto opera. The fact that only the two main characters, Wanda and Timur, speak that language should be regarded as manifesting particular refinement on the composer’s part. In their parts, we find neither Polish nor Turkish stylisations. The composer treats these characters in universal terms, not so much highlighting their national-religious origins and affiliations as focussing the attention of the viewer and listener on the power of their emotions and dramatic expression. The arias of the two main protagonists, full of pathos, display a design that accords with the principles of either the two-part cantabile-cabalettatype aria, preceded by a lofty recitative melodeclamation full of affectation, or the ternary duet of changing dramatic profile. It is in these parts that Wanda’s longing and loneliness, Timur’s unhappy life and the eruption of his unbridled erotic fascination and passion are most strongly exposed. In the musical depiction of such moments, Doppler displayed an excellent knowledge of the norms and principles of bel canto opera, as is manifest in the melodies, harmonies and orchestration. Wanda’s melancholic dwelling on her lost happiness is accompanied by a falling melodic line, a drone accompaniment and the doubling of the soloist’s part by cor anglais. The symbolism of the key of F minor, negatively interpreted during the nineteenth century, further enhances the serious overtones of this part (Example 8).

Example 8. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act II – Wanda’s despair

Yet the composer reserved the most highly suggestive use of the bel canto style for the key scene of Timur’s conversion to Christianity. His solo acclamation in praise of God is presented in a lofty, hymnic style. This is a pivotal moment, in which Timur regains his own identity – an act of religious ecstasy. Timur’s part, adhering to a high vocal register and regular minims, is accompanied by passage-work in the harp, suggesting an aura of heavenly bliss and the presence of God (Example 9).

Ryszard Daniel Golianek

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Example 9. Franz Doppler, Wanda, Act III – Timur’s conversion to Christianity

Doppler’s forgotten opera is without doubt a masterful work, full of fresh inventiveness and a perfect familiarity with the requirements of music theatre. The Polish and Oriental national stylisations employed by the composer, as well as the references to the styles of nineteenth-century Italian and French opera, attest to the multitude of inspirations in his aesthetic. They also indicate an aspiration to render the musical language more attractive and to create types of musical characterisation that accord with the dramatic structure of the work. The stereotypes and clichés employed, although universal and repeatedly used in those times, do not exhaust the inventiveness of the composer, who boldly combines exotic elements with the harmonic conventions of European music and turns to exotic sounds, employing Oriental instruments and musical scales. The idea of planning – within the context of two nationally and culturally distinctive styles – a kind of tertium comparationis in the form of a popular operatic style should be considered successful. Thanks to all these ideas, this alternative history of the Battle of Vienna, although a total fiction, is strikingly dramatic and of particularly forceful effect. Translated by John Comber

“THREE ROMANIAN DANCES” BY THEODOR ROGALSKI: AN ISSUE OF IDENTITY BIANCA ğIPLEA TEMEù

Is the Orient a remote territory or could it also be located in Europe? Haven’t we constructed a rather artificial code in order to decrypt this geographical paradigm? Richard Taruskin emphasizes this possibility in his writings, showing how Russia, during the time of Diaghilev, represented the Orient for France.1 The framework in itself is rather vague, and the term a relative one. Therefore, why not reduce the discussion of the Orient to a European scale and observe the phenomenon in those terms? Zooming in, we realize that Romania is on the Oriental side of Europe – indeed some Romanian literature might be seen to confirm this theory. A novel of Mateiu Caragiale opens with the following motto, in French: “Que voulez-vous, nous sommes ici aux portes de l’Orient, où tout est pris à la légère” (“What do you expect, we are here, at the Gates of the Orient, where everything is taken easily”).2 Situated at the intersection of various empires (Ottoman, Fanariot, Habsburg), being, successively and partially under the domination all of them, Romanian culture absorbed numerous influences, reconciling in its own identity in terms of east and west, north and south. One could say that its geography profoundly influenced its history, while its folklore was always an intriguing hybrid. The Oriental trait becomes even more evident in the case of those Romanians who spread through the Balkan Peninsula centuries ago, known as Aromanians.

1

Richard Taruskin, Defining Russia Musically: Historical and Hermeneutical Essays (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 49. 2 Mateiu I. Caragiale, Craii de Curtea-Veche (Gallants of the Old Court), (Bucureúti: Minerva, 1988), 44. The book received the Romanian Writers Society's Award in 1929. The phrase was extracted by the writer from the lawyer and politician Raymond Poincaré’s plea at a trial in Bucharest.

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This idea was illuminated by Theodor Rogalski in a piece dating from 1950, called Three Romanian Dances, a commission of the Composers’ Society in Bucharest. Listening to the dances from the outer movements of the triptych will make it easy to identify the Oriental influence in the second one, which obviously does not conform to the Western canon. While the outer movements make use of folk music from the Transylvania and Muntenia regions (that is, more “European” areas), the second dance is clearly based on Oriental sources. Employing two folk songs of the Aromanians from the Pindus Mountains, the dance Gaida (Bagpipe) serves as sonic evidence of a cultural exchange between different ethnic groups, some living outside their natural borders. Aromanians were acknowledged mainly as transhumant shepherds, traders or agriculturalists leaving actual Romanian territory and heading south of the river Danube; not to colonize, but to fulfill their basic daily needs. This diaspora spread for centuries around the Balkan Peninsula,3 settling in countries such as Albania, Greece, Serbia, Macedonia and Bulgaria, preserving their culture and language (a dialect of the Romanian language4) despite continuous historical adversities. The title of Nicolas Trifon’s book brilliantly captures this feature in its title: Aromanians: everywhere, nowhere.5 Their present culture is the result of a symbiosis – an outcome of interethnic relationships. As the ethnologist Petru Ursache points out, it is a “synthesis if not ethnogenesis processes”,6 adding that while sharing the same geographical space over centuries, over time these migrant populations did not develop as separate entities, but as global unities. George Marcu was an Aromanian living in Romania who collected and systematized the folk music of this community from 1948 on. Borrowings from the music of the adoptive countries are also detailed by him in his book devoted to Aromanian folklore.7 His recorded collection, comprising over 1,000 folk songs, is to be found in Bucharest, at the Institute of Ethnologic and Dialectological Research, and it remains a source of aural evidence of the original outcome of the multi-cultural intersection. This is the source from which Rogalski chose his melodies for the dance Gaida. 3 For a short period of time, during World War II, they also had their own country – the Principality of Pind and Meglen. 4 Tache Papahagi, DicĠionarul dialectului aromân (Bucureúti: Ed. Academiei Române a R.S.R., 1974). 5 Nicolas Trifon, Aromânii. Pretutindeni, nicăieri (Chiúinău: Cartier, 2012). 6 Petru Ursache, Etnoestetica (Iaúi: Ed. Institutul European, Iaúi, 1998), 231. 7 George Marcu, Folclor muzical aromân (Bucureúti: Editura Muzicală, 1977).

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Some features of Aromanian music, according to George Marcu, are the following:8 “suppressed melancholy”, “rocky harshness of the dissonances”, “summary modal organization”, usually comprising an augmented second, and “unpredictability of the rhythmic accents”; all these, as Georgina Born defines them with reference to colonial cultures, represent “a set of musical tropes that came to be understood as connoting Eastern-ness”.9 Another Oriental feature would be the rich ornamentation of the melodies, though in their essence they still resemble the doinas from Banat or Transylvania. This ethnic group´s folk music sounds Romanian, but not completely. Over the centuries, fighting to preserve their identity, the Aromanian community to the south of the Danube absorbed and assimilated Oriental traits into their music, many of which had reached the Balkans during the Ottoman times. The assimilation of external, more Oriental elements is reflected also in the terminology: the names of the dances such as singasto, carapataicu or sirtu, borrowed from Greece, provide solid arguments. The fusion of cultures can be seen also in the epic songs which were sung bilingually, so that the native population could understand what they were narrating (Greeks call these pieces Vlahikatragoudia – “Valachian Songs”). The symbiosis with the local population, some of whom were Muslim, is also reflected in traditional folk costumes, which became a combination of elements from both cultures: the old Valachian one and the culture of the territory in which they settled. How did Rogalski decode and emphasise the Oriental content of his inspirational source in the dances in Gaida, and what made him to pick such unusual music for the piece? Born in Bucharest in 1901, Rogalski represents the fourth generation of his family to be born in Romania. His Polish ancestors, established in Bucharest, left their native land at the beginning of the 19th century, during the great migration following the third partition of Poland. This was a strong reason for his ancestors to leave Warsaw and head south, in order to start a new life elsewhere. Rogalski studied music at the Conservatory of Bucharest, then in Leipzig and in Paris, with Vincent d’Indy and Maurice Ravel, with whom he studied orchestration. He was awarded the „Enescu” Prize for 8

George Marcu, op. cit., 7. Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh (ed.), Western Music and its Others (Oakland: University of California Press, 2000), 9. 9

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composition in 1926, a distinction also granted to such Romanian personalities as Constantin Silvestri and Dinu Lipatti at the beginning of their careers. It is obvious from all of this that we are dealing with an acknowledged artist, with a refined and educated taste. As revealed by one of his disciples, Doru Popovici, Rogalski confessed while speaking about Aromanian folklore that “I was strongly influenced by the folk songs and dances from the Pindus Mountains. I found there a rhythmic polychromy, oh, so much different from that of Western Europe – and a modal polychromy, which anticipates the neo-modalism of Enescu, Bartók, and Messiaen. If you will analyse my dance Gaida, you will be able to notice all this.”10 The authenticity of the folk melody employed cannot be questioned; it was collected by George Marcu and was accessible to the composer. The engagement with the Oriental is depicted by Rogalski through very specific aksak rhythmic patterns, modal scales with augmented seconds, and the timbral characteristics of the region's folk instruments, brilliantly relocated by the composer into the symphony orchestra. The sound of the bagpipe is imitated by a muted trumpet (example 1), while strings and an effective percussion intervention (see the tom-tom struck by hand) recreate an exotic, sensual ambience. The harmony is dominated by dissonant chords (knowing that this was unacceptable to the newly installed communist regime), and Rogalski plays brilliantly with the registers of the orchestra in order to preserve the harshness of the original music (example 2).

Example 1. Theodor Rogalski, Trei dansuri româneúti: Gaida, bars 10-19

10

Doru Popovici, Maeútrii culturii româneúti úi folclorul – al nostru clasicism…, (Bucureúti: Amurg sentimental, 2006), volume I, 143.

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“Threee Romanian Dannces” by Theod dor Rogalski: A An Issue of Iden ntity

Example 2. T Theodor Rogalskki, Trei dansurii româneúti: Gaaida, bars 20-22 2

As Lauraa Mihail obserrves, Rogalsk ki did not alterr the melodic substance s of the folk songs he em mployed, rath her he focuseed on capturring their potential by manipulatingg the orchestraal fabric, makiing it sound very v close to the traditiional folk enseembles known n as “taraf”.11 A seconnd folk meloddy employed in Gaida iss a singasto from the Pindus Mouuntains, with a heterogeneou us rhythmic aaspect - 7/8 (4+3) - and with a chroomatic scale with augmen nted second, ddisclosing an Oriental influence. Inn fact, it soundds very much like the folk m music of the Dobrogea D area by thee Black Sea, certainly the most Balkann-influenced region r of Romania.

Example 3. Extract from George G Marcu’s collection F Folclor muzica al aromân, (Bucureúti: Editura Muzicalăă, 1977), 102

What atttracted the com mposer towarrds this Aromaanian folk meelody was certainly itss exotic sonorrity, in which h the Orientaal was not an n exterior element but an organicallly assimilated feature, layerring and fusing with an existing heriitage. The exootic flavour was w not a decorrative elementt, nor “an exercise in O Orientalist reppresentation”,, as Nicholas Cook12 explaains in his 11

Laura Mihaail, Theodor Roggalski, poet al cu ulorii sonore, inn ‘Tribuna musiccologica’ 1 (1985), 134- 135. 12 Nicholas C Cook, Encountering the Other, Redefining thee Self: Hindosta annie Airs, Haydn´s Folkksong Settings, and the ´Com mmon Practice ´ Style, ‘Portraayal of the East: Music and the Orienntal Imaginatio on in the Britiish Empire, 17 780-1940’,

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book referring to colonial cultures. The melodies employed by Rogalski speak of a continuous dialogue of different musical traditions, in which the distinction between self and other fades away. Even if the political circumstances for the Aromanians in relation to the local populations of their adoptive countries ranged from oppression to constructive interaction, the historical process shaped this rather unknown hybrid culture, leading to what Gadamer13 would label as a “fusion of horizons”. Therefore, the topic cannot be addressed in musical terms alone; rather, it requires an interdisciplinary approach, combining historical, geographical, and sociological aspects. The case of this small community speaks about co-existence not conquest, about cross-cultural encounters in which different identities intersect. There is also a surprising case in which East is appropriated by West, in the form of citation. A fragment of Rogalski’s Gaida appears in Ken Russell’s movie adaptation of David Herbert Lawrence’s novel “Women in Love”, unfortunately without accreditation. The film’s director was widely recognised as a highly musicallyinformed artist - many of his most famous films are on musical subjects and he employed this strongly Aromanian-flavoured piece in the cattle scene, in a way that perfectly matches the ancient occupation of this ethnic group as shepherds. Undoubtedly, the sensual, incantatory power of the Aromanian melody, masterfully arranged by Rogalski, adds a powerful dimension to a characteristically striking scene. Gaida goes far beyond ethnic barriers, adopting the Oriental not as imitation, but as unintentional borrowing, a celebratory cultural amalgamation. The composer did not return to the Aromanian folk heritage in order to refresh his own style, as was the case with the Western European composers. Perhaps one could interpret the author´s choice of Aromanian folk music as a “suppressed diasporic melancholy”? Returning, in his Three Romanian Dances, to the folk music of an ancient, uprooted Romanian population settled south of the Danube river, might the composer have been thinking of his own uprooted ancestors heading to the south of Poland in the 19th century? There is no way to be certain about it, but it is tempting to speculate. Johann Gottfried Herder defined folk poetry and folk music as “sung history”.14 In that case, Rogalski’s piece is a sung history about the Martin Clayton and Bennett Zon eds. (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), 17. 13 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York: Crossroad, 1989), 304306. 14 Cited in Petru Ursache, Etnoestetica (Iaúi: Ed. Institutul European, 1998), 244.

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“changing contours of collective cultural identities”.15 Three Romanian Dances only confirms this thesis, while speaking about a transcultural sound world, about layers of ethnic features and a complex palimpsest of identities, where Western norms dissolve into a diffuse and intricate Oriental mosaic.

15 Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh eds., Western Music and its Others (Oakland: University of California Press, 2000) 3.

THE SYMBOLISM OF TANTRA IN ANDRZEJ PANUFNIK’S TRIANGLES FOR 3 FLUTES AND 3 CELLOS (1972) BEATA BOLESàAWSKA-LEWANDOWSKA

Andrzej Panufnik (1914–1991), one year Witold Lutosáawski’s junior and his friend from the time of their wartime piano duo,1 left Poland illicitly in 1954 and spent the second half of his life in the United Kingdom. He was the composer of ten symphonies, four concertos and several other orchestral works, as well as vocal and chamber music (including three string quartets). Though he never seemed particularly influenced in his musical ideas by any Eastern philosophical system or cultural tradition, throughout his life one of the main sources of his creative inspiration remained his lost homeland, Poland. Therefore, many of his works refer directly to both Polish history and contemporary political situations, as well as to Polish folk and religious musical traditions. Among such pieces are Sinfonia Sacra (1963), devoted to the millennium of Polish Christianity and statehood, Sinfonia Votiva (198081), devoted to the Polish Solidarity movement, the Bassoon Concerto (1985), commemorating Father Jerzy Popieáuszko, who was murdered by the Security Service in communist Poland, and the Third String Quartet “Paper-cuts” (1990), inspired by Polish folk-art. In Panufnik’s output, however, there is indeed one piece which was born out of his sudden individual discoveries through the art of Tantra, and is therefore full of symbols taken from this ancient Indian philosophy. This is Triangles, scored for 3 flutes and 3 cellos, a small-scale work composed in 1972 as a result of a commission from BBC Television.

1

Panufnik and Lutosáawski formed a piano duo which performed in artistic cafés in Nazi-occupied Warsaw. For more about the activity of both composers during World War II see Charles Bodman Rae, The Music of Lutosáawski, third edition (London: Omnibus Press, 1999) and Beata Bolesáawska, The Life and Works of Andrzej Panufnik (1914–1991) (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015).

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The Symbolism of Tantra in Andrzej Panufnik’s Triangles

Triangles: the origins and main concept of the piece The commission to compose a specially designed work for television also included a challenge to the composer himself to create the visual concept. Tony Staveacre, who at the beginning of the 1970s was a young commissioning director on the staff of the Music & Arts department of BBC Television, recalled in a much later letter of 2010 to Camilla Panufnik, the development of this idea: One of the things we often discussed [in the BBC-TV] was how to ‘visualise’ music on TV. Concert performance by then had become more or less standardised, with a multi-camera system that followed the course of the music by inter-cutting different shots of musicians, singly or in sections, in close-up or long-shot, with shots of the conductor. The tempo of the cutting should follow the events in the music. The TV director would mark up his musical score with an additional line indicating the visual changes. This system worked well with all kinds of music – popular and classical. But it had its limitations. So I asked myself: Why could we not invite a living composer to work with a TV director on a composition, from the very beginning? The composer should shape the visual sequence alongside the musical progression. And in that atmosphere of creative innovation, I was encouraged to do this; and so it came about in 1972, that I met with the great composer Panufnik at his home in Twickenham, and asked him to consider the idea. He responded enthusiastically, and very quickly came up with a proposal, to create a chamber piece that would use, as its visual references, images from Tantric art.2

The idea presented by Staveacre greatly intrigued the composer. He decided to exploit this opportunity and create a piece in which the visual aspect would be strictly bound up with its musical material. And though he was already experienced in writing music for film,3 and although this was no doubt important and helpful, this case was quite different as the resulting work aimed to build an entirely new audiovisual quality. By 2

Tony Staveacre, letter in a response to a request for details from Lady Panufnik (dated on 30/6/2010). The author wants to thank Lady Panufnik for sharing the copy of this letter with her. 3 Panufnik started composing music for film before the World War II. He was the author of music for the feature film Strachy (The Ghosts, 1938) as well as several documentaries made between 1936 and 1950. Besides writing music, he was also involved in creating and editing some of them. For more on the composer’s film music see http://panufnik.polmic.pl/index.php/en/tworczosc/omowienia-utworow/ 129-muzyka-filmowa .

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coincidence, at the time he was commissioned by the BBC Panufnik visited the Victoria & Albert Museum in London to see an exhibition of ancient Indian art. The images he saw there fascinated him and instilled in him the impulse to use Tantric symbols as the starting point of the whole concept of Triangles. As he recalled many years later: The idea of a new art form was exciting. I decided to produce a work based on the mystical Indian Tantric philosophy and art, which I had just discovered at a London exhibition. Using the title Triangles, in reference to the two triangles which depict the basic concept of the Tantric philosophy, I chose as my theme the fundamental dualism between the static male force, macrocosm – which represents the world of pure spirit, symbolised by a triangle with the apex upwards – and the active female force, microcosm – which represents the world of pure matter, also symbolised by a triangle but with the apex pointing down. In Tantric diagrams, these triangles appear either separately or interpenetrating, together forming a diagram called a Yantra, symbolising the union of opposites, the amalgamation of the spiritual and the erotic elements.4

These Tantric symbols are therefore reflected in both the form and structure of the piece, as well as in the visual aspect of its television realisation. The score (which exists only in manuscript form5) is preceded by a six-page commentary written by the composer. These notes were written specifically for the TV production and contain not only detailed information about the structure and sound language of the composition but also quite strict guidelines for the TV director on how the piece should be realised visually (see Appendix 1: Triangles, the draft scheme for TV realisation). It is worth noting that the title of the piece, indicated on the aforementioned draft scheme, is not Triangles but Tantra. This means that initially the composer thought of the title as referring more directly to the Oriental Indian inspiration of his work, as the scheme itself was produced before the musical score. This is clear when comparing the dates – the last page of the draft scheme reads ‘November-December 1971’, while the eventual score is dated on the last page as 1972. By then the title has already become Triangles (see Appendix 2: Triangles, the first and last 4

Panufnik, Composing Myself (London: Methuen, 1987), 324-325. A copy of the manuscript of Triangles (draft scheme for television and the score) was kindly given to the author by Lady Panufnik. The original is located at the British Library in London as part of the Panufnik Collection, see: PANUFNIK COLLECTION. Vol. xliv. ‘Triangles’. Notes by the composer and television director; Add MS 72140: 1972.

5

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The Symbolism of Tantra in Andrzej Panufnik’s Triangles

pages of the score), which means that Panufnik had conceived the structure of the whole composition, with the detailed concept of its television realisation, before writing the actual musical material – or at least before completing the piece musically. Only after writing the music did he decide to change the title from the name of the Indian philosophy Tantra into his new concept of Triangles. In this work the triangle, although indeed deeply connected with Tantric philosophy and art, where it serves as a basic symbolic feature of the whole philosophical system, can also be understood in a more abstract way – as a purely geometric figure. This aspect of the triangle appeared to be of special significance for the composer, as it allowed him to use this geometric symbol in later musical thinking, with no further connection to Tantric philosophy and art (as will be discussed later). However, the symbolism allied to Tantra is indeed broadly represented in every aspect of Triangles.

The symbolism of Tantra in the form and structure of Triangles According to the composer’s idea for the piece, the form and structure of Triangles were to reflect the main symbols used in the ancient art of Indian Tantra. Panufnik was mostly inspired by the concept connected with the duality of two main opposing forces – male and female – which become harmoniously united in the finale. Therefore, the form of Triangles is constructed in three movements, entitled Trikona I, Trikona II and Yantra. Both Trikonas are strongly contrasted, while Yantra represents the fusion of elements presented in the previous movements. According to the definitions made by the composer himself in his notes (see Appendix 1), Trikona means ‘the triangle, the first rectilinear figure to define dimension’, while Yantra means a ‘diagram, icon, geometrical design’, ‘an image intended as a vehicle for contemplation’, which ‘expresses the union of opposites’.6 This differentiation, derived from the Tantric concept that ‘all manifestations are based on a fundamental dualism’,7 influenced essentially the structure of each movement of Triangles, designating its musical shape and expression as well as the visual side of its TV realisation. The piece is scored for six players: three cellists and three flautists, whose sex and clothes were of a vital role in creating the visual aspect of the composition. 6 7

All underlinings were made by Panufnik himself in his draft scheme. See quotation on the draft scheme for television, Annex 1: Part I. Construction.

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Trikona I The first movement, Trikona I, is performed by three cellos only. According to the audiovisual idea of the piece there should be three male cellists, all dressed in white. They are seated in a triangle pointing upwards.8 The symbolic meaning of this part is connected with the following categories indicated by the composer in his draft scheme:9 -

Incantation ‘Linga’ (male) ‘He’ – Siva (Perusha), inactive (static) Pure Spirit, Macrocosm (Universe, cosmos) + (magnetic and electric fields of force).

In the metaphysical sense all these categories are strictly connected with the male force, which in Tantra represents the cosmic principle of the universe. Visually this is symbolised by a white triangle pointing upwards, created on the platform by the three male cellists dressed in white. For the television realisation the composer also requested, besides images of the musicians themselves, the fading in and out of the images of ‘Universe cosmograms’, taken from books devoted to ancient Tantric art and selected by him in cooperation with the director.10 All this was to be presented in a very static way. According to Tony Staveacre: For the start of the first movement, Andrzej chose a series of abstract symbols representing the ‘Original Unity’ of Tantra. There would be a series of very slow zooms into the central core of these egg-like shapes, which would then diffuse into a soft-focus blur, out of which would emerge the three cellists, seen from above, in their triangle. Their music [...] would be like a meditation: primeval, throbbing

8

See: Appendix 1: Part III. Visualisation. See Appendix 1: Part I. Construction. 10 See: Appendix 1: Part III. Visualisation and Selection of pictures. Panufnik indicated the series of pictures and images to be taken from two books by Ajit Mookerjee: Tantra Art: Its Philosophy and Physics (Paris, Basel, New Delhi: Ravi Kumar, 1966) and Tantra Asana. A Way to Self-realisation (Basel : Ravi Kumar, 1971). The TV director Tony Staveacre, however, remembers rather a book by Philip Rawson, Tantra – the Indian Cult of Ecstasy (New York: Avon Books, 1963), which became ‘an invaluable visual reference tool for the composer and the director’ (in his letter to Lady Panufnik, op. cit.). 9

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bass sounds, and whispering harmonics, evoking the most ancient and potent Indian mantra: ‘Om’.11

Indeed, Trikona I is musically static, dominated by long rhythmic values and slow tempi (see Appendix 3: Triangles, musical examples12). This corresponds well with the idea of ‘incantation’, used by the composer to describe the character of the first movement and emphasised by the quotation ‘God never shines in the human soul unless he is insistently invoked…’.13 Thus, the incantation may also be interpreted here as calling to the God of the universe, which brings to the fore such values as spirituality, contemplation and meditation of the human soul. Trikona II The second movement of Triangles contrasts with the first in every sense: Trikona II is performed by three female flautists, who are dressed in red and sit in a triangle with its apex pointing down.14 Compared to Trikona I, this movement is created from the precisely opposite categories, which are, according to the composer: -

Hymn to the Goddess ‘Yoni’ (female) ‘She’ – Sakti (Prakriti), active (world ‘magical’ force) Pure Matter, Microcosm (Body, man) – (magnetic and electric fields of force).

The quotation selected by Panufnik to describe the character of this movement reads: ‘Thus shall I pray to Thee…’.15 Therefore, the erotic female force, representing in Tantra the principle of the earth, musically brings more lively melodic phrases, marked by short rhythmic figures and faster tempi.16 The character of the music is more changeable and momentary, and hence quite different from the meditative Trikona I. According to Tony Staveacre:

11

Staveacre, op. cit. See Appendix 3, p. 1, the beginning of Trikona I. 13 See Appendix 1: Part I. Construction. 14 See: Appendix 1: Part III. Visualisation. 15 See: Appendix 1: Part I. Construction. 16 See: Appendix 3: p. 2, the beginning of Trikona II. 12

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The second movement was a dance of ecstasy, played by three flautists, in their red triangle. In the V & A museum17 we found a beautiful set of bronze Indian sculptures of flute players; and used these, intercut with our beautiful living musicians.18

Indeed, in the visual aspect of Trikona II a feminine power, symbolised by the female flautists, is deepened by using images of Indian sculptures of goddesses. In contrary to the static nature of Trikona I, the visual material of Trikona II is presented in a non-static way, ‘always “flowing” towards the viewer at the same speed’, as was suggested by the composer.19 This idea corresponds well with the more vivid character of the music in this movement. Yantra In the last movement of the composition, both trios of performers are combined to form a sextet. Therefore, the two previously separate triangles overlap and all the opposing categories indicated by the composer in the draft scheme for the first and second movements of Triangles (quoted above) unite to create a cohesive whole. The final fusion of male and female elements is quite naturally interpreted as a representation of love, which at the same time corresponds perfectly well with Tantric concepts. This interpretation is emphasised by the quotation chosen by the composer for Yantra: ‘…Love is the gate for all the secrets of the universe’.20 Moreover, the connection of two basically opposite forces, male and female, is understood erotically, unsurprisingly, as ‘sexual intercourse’ (as described by the composer in the draft scheme21). Musically it is symbolised by an intense expressive climax at the very end of the piece. As regards both the musical material and the visual aspect, the concluding movement is generally realised by combining the elements familiar from both Trikonas. However, the composer also suggested that some new ‘powerfully erotic material depicting the ultimate union of the opposites’22 should be included in the visual realisation of the movement. The goal was

17

Victoria & Albert Museum in London. Staveacre, op. cit. 19 See: Appendix 1: Part III. Visualisation. 20 See: Appendix 1: Part I. Construction. 21 Ibid. 22 Andrzej Panufnik, Impulse and Design In My Music (London: Boosey & Hawkes, 1974), 21. 18

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to emphasize the erotic union of male and female forces, and this idea is confirmed by Staveacre, who wrote: Additional visual material was introduced here [in Yantra] that came from the Tantric Art exhibition: paintings and sculptures of the divine act of love, and the ‘erotic joys of heaven’. Passionate images, accompanied by passionate music: close, shifting harmonies, crescendo and diminuendo. The nal sequence focused in once more on the inter-connecting triangles of a Tantric yantra.23

The ‘passionate music’ of Yantra was thus created by connecting two previously explored ideas – the slow and static cello tones of Trikona I with the lambent flute passages of Trikona II. By superimposing and interrelating these two layers, the composer managed to fill the resulting musical entity with intense emotional power, leading the musical drama of the whole piece to an expressive climax. In the overall structure of Triangles, its last movement works, then, as the main part of the piece, serving as a musical and expressive synthesis of the two preceding movements. In this sense, Yantra may be interpreted as the elaborate, synthesising finale of the whole composition, in which all the previously initiated musical ideas find their development and conclusion, bringing a convincing closure to the whole work. In this way Yantra, representing the union of opposites in Tantric philosophy, finds in Panufnik’s work a perfect musical realisation.

Tantric symbolism in the musical material of Triangles The symbolism of Tantra is also of intense significance for the musical material of Triangles. Panufnik based this composition on the three-note interval cell F-B-E, which designated the melodic and harmonic language of each movement. It should be noted here that the idea of using musical material limited to just a three-note intervallic cell, from which the composer built the structure of an entire composition, had marked a significant stylistic change in Panufnik’s music a few years before he composed Triangles.24 It was in 1968 that the composer decided that the 23

Staveacre, op. cit. See more in Beata Bolesáawska-Lewandowska, Between Emotion and Intellect. On the Musical Language of Andrzej Panufnik (1914–1991), ‘Musicology Today’, Vol. 12, 2015, 18-30; https://www.degruyter.com/downloadpdf/j/muso.2015.12.issue-1/muso-20150003/muso-2015-0003.xml (accessed on October 24, 2016) 24

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limitation of his musical language would allow him to search for new, previously unexplored means of expression and through this give his music a new dimension. As a result of his creative explorations at that time he decided to make the three-note cell F-B-E the basis for the sound material of his subsequent works. This idea was to provide Panufnik’s later music with a high level of integrity and harmonic coherence. Moreover, it endowed his works with an original, highly recognisable sonic aura, so typical of the composer’s later music. The first piece composed in accordance with his new principles was Reflections for piano (1968), followed closely by larger-scale works such as the cantata Universal Prayer to words by Alexander Pope (1968–69) and Thames Pageant to words by the composer’s wife, Camilla Jessel Panufnik (1969), as well as the Violin Concerto (1971). Even when the composer sometimes later suspended this principle and used other selected sets of intervallic cells (as in the previously mentioned Violin Concerto, amongst others) or combined the three-note unit with quasi-tonal lines (as in his symphonies from the 1980s), the F-B-E cell discovered in 1968 remained the key in determining the harmonic language in all his later music. This pertains also to Triangles. According to the composer’s notes (see Appendix 1: Part II. Sound and Root-vibration), the sound language of Triangles is indeed based on material derived from the three-note cell F-B-E. This cell represents the Tantric concept of ‘primal sound’, which works as the ‘monosyllabic mantra “OM”, a cosmic sound, a microcosm, the smallest sound unit and source of energy for all being’. It may be found both in the ‘macrocosm (“male” element) and in the microcosm (“female” element)’.25 Following this idea, the three-note cell creates the basic musical triangle, which works as the seed from which the composer creates the two separate sound-scales used in the two Trikonas. The ‘male’ Trikona I uses the scale F – G – G sharp – A sharp – B – C sharp – D – E, which develops the initial material upwards (transpositions of the initial cells move up the scale), whereas the ‘female’ Trikona II moves downwards, using the scale E – D sharp – C sharp – C – B – A – G sharp – G – F.26 The two scales were designed by the composer as a result of his search for harmonic duality, represented by two opposing thirds – the major third seen as the ‘male’ element and the minor third as the ‘female’ element. The resulting two opposing scales were extracted by Panufnik from the chromatic scale (seen by him as neutral) by taking three minor (‘female’) thirds to build 25 26

See Appendix 1: Part 2. Sound, b) Primal sound. See Appendix 1: Part II. Sound.

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the first, ‘male’ scale and the two major (‘male’) thirds to build the second, ‘female’ mode.27 Therefore the composer, while thinking of the harmonic language of Triangles, used opposing elements to create two dualistic modes but at the same time he also included the potential for their later reunion (the combination of major and minor thirds, hence male and female elements in both scales). Following this idea, the composer’s next step was to build intervallic triangles on each pitch of both scales. Basically, these are all rotations and transpositions of the initial, ‘mystic seed syllable’ (as Panufnik called it) – the three-note cell: F-B-E.28 In Yantra the harmonic material of both scales is combined, and the primarily dualistic modes exploited in each Trikona are mixed to create a complete, harmoniously united whole. This idea followed the principles of Tantric philosophy, explained by the composer in the following words: In nearly all yantras the place of the deities’ images is taken by corresponding ‘mantras’ (symbol words, holy sounds) which express the mystical essence in a symbolism of sounds through complex combinations of different-sized triangles (by constant transpositions, inversions and rotations).29

The role of the triangle remains, therefore, crucial also for the harmonic structure of the piece. It is also emphasised by the composer in his later programme note, published in Impulse and Design in My Music.30 In this note, although Panufnik explains the role of Tantric philosophy as the inspiration for the piece he seems to place more emphasis on the triangles themselves, by using a more abstract language, particularly while writing about the musical material: This theme of triangles I carried right through the work, including the organization of the sound material. I took my basic triad-triangle [F-B-E], with its apex rotated upward for the first, ‘male’ movement (with constant transpositions, of course – Ex. 1 [see Annex 431]) and the same triad but with its apex rotated downwards for the second ‘female’ one (Ex. 2). In the last movement, where these two triangles are superimposed, the ’cellists continue with the same musical material based on their three up-pointed triangles, playing in their rhythm of four, while at the same time the 27

See Appendix 1: Part II. Sound, a) Duality. See Appendix 1: Part II. Root-vibration. 29 Ibid. 30 Andrzej Panufnik, Impulse and Design in My Music (London: Bossey&Hawkes, 1974), 21-22. 31 Appendix 4: Triangles, published programme note. 28

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flautists continue with their down-pointed triangles in their rhythms of three (Ex. 3).32

Studying all Panufnik’s notes on his Triangles, it is clear that the symbol of the triangle played the most significant role in the structure of the whole piece. Selecting the triangle as the basic element – upon which all the musical language, as well as the formal outline and the visual side of the composition, was created – corresponds most satisfactorily with the principles of Tantric philosophy, in which …the triangle is the archetype symbol of a sacred enclosure, since space cannot be bounded by fewer than three lines. The triangle is thus conceived as the first closed figure to emerge when creation emerged from chaos. In this aspect it is known as the root of all manifested nature. The rhythm of creation is crystallized in this primal form. Tantra calls the triangle the cone of fire, a reference to its shape. This is the fire of aspiration which is ever burning in the heart of the spiritual seeker.33

Therefore, by making the triangle the main symbol of this work, Panufnik not only managed to transform the basic idea of Tantric philosophy into music but also achieved this aim most convincingly. That is doubtless why he finally decided to change the title from the initial Tantra to Triangles. He also soon realised that the idea of using a threenote cell ‘triangle’ as the seed for the whole musical material of the piece was something he could also use in subsequent works. This idea soon became the core of his own musical universe and, thanks to the Tantric inspiration connected with its triangular symbol and its spiritual meaning, he had suddenly found a perfect graphic visualisation for his own artistic concept. Therefore, considering the fact that the three-note cell started to play such a significant role in Panufnik’s language shortly before he composed Triangles, and also that the duality of two opposing and strongly contrasted musical (expressive) forces played an important role in his creative thinking throughout his career, it seems quite understandable that the composer’s own artistic ideas resonated naturally within the basic 32

Andrzej Panufnik, Impulse and Design in My Music (London: Boosey & Hawkes, 1974), 21. 33 Nitin Kumar, Tantra: The Art of Philosophy, ExoticIndiaArt, 2000, http://www.exoticindia.com; available at http://web.stanford.edu/class/history11sc/pdfs/yantra.pdf (accessed on October 24, 2016).

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thought processes found in Tantric philosophy and art. This was most certainly the main reason why Panufnik found this ancient Indian philosophical system so fascinating and why Tantric symbols inspired him so deeply. It should be stressed, however, that all the purely oriental elements connected with Tantric images had no influence on the actual musical material. This means that no trace of Oriental musical motifs may be found in the music of Triangles. While Tantric symbols were used by the composer to build the structure of the work, musically Triangles sounds like pure Panufnik. Yet the oriental aspect of his work, based on his own personal choices from available sources of original Tantric images, was realised fully on a visual level, produced with the utmost care by Tony Staveacre and the BBC television team.

The TV realisation of the piece As has already been indicated, the composer’s intention was for the TV production to follow his guidelines in every detail, so as to reflect his full concept of the whole work. The visual components of the programme included, besides the shots of the performing musicians, a number of images related precisely to aspects of Tantric art. The composer himself suggested the selection of Tantric images34 but at the same time he wrote clearly that both ‘the details’ and ‘the order of all pictures’ should be the subject of discussion between himself and the director. This attitude clearly shows how deeply concerned Panufnik was about creating the visual side of Triangles. This is confirmed by Tony Staveacre, who remembers very well that the composer was deeply involved not only in preparing the main aspects of the visualisation but also in the subsequent editing process: Andrzej came to the cutting room at the BBC several times. He was in complete charge of the editing, and every cut or dissolve was placed exactly where he wanted it. ... [I] was happy to be his technical interpreter, and I don’t think we had any disagreements of any kind. The sequence of visual events was beautifully organised by the composer from the outset. We knew where we were going.35

Such a profound involvement of the composer not only in the musical but also in the visual realisation of the work proves with how much care Panufnik supervised the final audio-visual result of his composition. 34 35

See Appendix 1: Part III. Visualisation. Selection of pictures. Staveacre, op. cit.

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According to Staveacre, the technique used for realising the piece was entirely innovative: This image was created using a device called Colour Separation Overlay. A camera filmed the three musicians from above. The floor beneath them was painted bright blue, which allowed the technicians to use this as a switch, whereby they could fill in the blue area with a painted graphic of the triangle. This is the principle that is now used in Hollywood films, to combine computer-generated images of animation with live action. Commonplace now, it was quite revolutionary in a BBC studio in 1972! [...] The music was recorded before we arrived in the TV studio. Andrzej had very specific ideas about how the music should sound, and the amount of reverberation that would be needed at different points in the music; and it was easier to achieve this without having to consider the visual element at the same time. So the musicians sitting in their triangles were actually miming to what they had played before. Once we had the sound and vision recording of our musicians, we then used a ‘rostrum camera’ to build up the different sequences of Tantric imagery. The slow zoomings in had to be timed precisely to synchronise with the music. The very slow blurrings of the abstract symbols had to be re-done a number of times.36

As soon became apparent, Triangles, though rather small in scale and occasional in character, marked a significant stage in the composer’s artistic development, becoming a major impulse for his further explorations. The experience of working on this piece led Panufnik to explore more broadly the idea of ‘a musical work […] contained and shaped by the perfect order of a geometric form’37, which would prove to be of vital importance in his later music. In his autobiography the composer acknowledged: Though my Triangles…was intended purely for television rather than concert performance, and at the time did not seem of particular importance in my musical output, it engendered the vital next step in my discoveries as a composer. The idea of a musical work being contained and shaped by the perfect order of a geometric form was soon to emerge as a driving force which would permeate almost everything I wrote.38

Indeed, soon after Triangles was composed, geometry began to play an increasingly significant role in Panufnik’s music. Most of his works of the 36

Ibid.. Andrzej Panufnik, Composing Myself, (London: Methuen, 1987), 325. 38 Ibid.. 37

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1970s and after are based on a geometric core, usually presented by the composer visually as a geometric diagram published in the score alongside the programme note.39 And the triangle itself, treated just as a purely geometric figure no longer connected with Tantra, remained the main graphic symbol, representing Panufnik’s three-note cell F-B-E in all his music composed thereafter.

39

See more in Bolesáawska-Lewandowska, op. cit.

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Appendix 1 Triangles, a draft scheme for television (c) Copyright by the Estate of Sir Andrzej Panufnik. The manuscript located at the British Library, Panufnik Collection, Vol. xliv. ‘Triangles’. Notes by the composer and television director; Add MS 72140: 1972. Reproduced by kind permission of Lady Camilla Panufnik and Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd.

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Appendix 2 Triangles, the first and last pages of the score (c) Copyright by the Estate of Sir Andrzej Panufnik. The manuscript located at the British Library, Panufnik Collection, Vol. xliii. ‘Triangles’. Ink score; Add MS 72139: 1972. Reproduced by kind permission of Lady Camilla Panufnik and Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd.

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Appendix 3 Triangles, musical examples (c) Copyright by the Estate of Sir Andrzej Panufnik. The manuscript located at the British Library, Panufnik Collection, Vol. xliii. ‘Triangles’. Ink score; Add MS 72139: 1972. Reproduced by kind permission of Lady Camilla Panufnik and Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd.

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1. Trikona I, first page

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Yantra, first page

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Appendix 4 Triangles, published programme note (c) Andrzej Panufnik, Impulse and Design in My Music (London: Boosey & Hawkes, 1974), 20-21. Reproduced by kind permission of Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd.

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THE DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE ORIENT AND THE WEST: ITS MANIFESTATIONS IN LATVIAN CHORAL MUSIC OF THE 21ST CENTURY BAIBA JAUNSLAVIETE

Latvia belongs to a region that is geographically rather separated from the lands traditionally associated with Oriental culture. Ever since its origins in the late 19th century, our professional music scene has primarily been in the sphere of influence of two musical cultures – the German and the Russian. Up until the end of the 20th century, Oriental motifs were a rare occurrence, considered as fine, exotic and colourful nuances, aiming at inclusion in the Western tradition of form and harmony. We can see this in certain works of the first rector of the Latvian Conservatory, JƗzeps VƯtols, who developed the traditions crafted by his teacher Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. For example, VƯtols’ Gipsy Song (ýigƗnu dziesma, 1922, lyrics by Rnjdolfs Blaumanis), with the characteristic intonation of the augmented second and lament motifs, tells a story about the long lost homeland of Gypsies in the East (see example 1). In their choral works, JƗzeps VƯtols and his contemporaries also used biblical motifs; some examples are Children of Zion (CiƗnas bƝrni) by EmƯls DƗrziƼš (1906, text by Aspazija) and David Before Saul (DƗvids Zaula priekšƗ) by JƗzeps VƯtols (1928, text by Fricis BƗrda). However, the musical settings of these texts do not have any strongly expressed Oriental colour. In general, such motifs were not common in Latvian choral music – topics characteristic of the theme of national revival, often a continuation of the German Liedertafel traditions, were dominant. Some derogations from these traditions took place in the 1960s, when the style of Latvian choral works became more diverse. For example, sonorism and aleatory entered the music of Pauls Dambis and PƝteris Vasks during these years; in fact, Vasks has admitted that he was strongly influenced by the festival

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Warsaw Autumn.1 However, even with this change in style Latvian national themes were still dominant in choral music in all aspects – from the portrayal of landscapes to dramatic ballads.

Example 1. JƗzeps VƯtols, Gypsy Song: ending. Transcribed from JƗzeps VƯtols, Kora dziesmas [Choral Songs], ed. OƺƧerts GrƗvƯtis (RƯga: Latvijas Valsts izdevniecƯba, 1961)

The situation became significantly different only in the post-Soviet era, and the primary role in this change can be attributed to the generation of composers born in the 1970s and educated in the 1990s. Their position is pointedly described in an article by Ilze Šarkovska-LiepiƼa devoted to Latvian choral music: This is a generation that grew up in an independent country and had the opportunity to study abroad, which, in turn, fostered new stylistic trends in Latvian music. Opposition against a particular ideology or foreign government holds no relevance for this generation. The young composers are primarily interested in the sound and musical substance itself.2

This generation was the one that started intensely employing composition techniques such as electronics and microtonality, among 1

Ieva Kravale, Komponista snjtƯba. Virsuzdevums [ComposerҴs Mission. The Ultimate Goal], ‘MƗksla’ 9/10 (1994), 45. 2 Ilze LiepiƼa, Latviešu jaunƗkƗs kormnjzikas tendences: stilistika, vƝsturiskƗs attƯstƯbas konteksti, personƯbas [Latest Trends in Latvian Choral Music: Stylistics, Contexts of the Historical Development, Personalities], ‘Mnjzikas akadƝmijas raksti’ 5 (2008), 82–83.

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many others, as well as being the one that radically changed the old Latvian paradigm of choral music being the voice of national ideas.

Main tendencies in Latvian Choral Compositions Inspired by Oriental Motifs Choice of language The paradigm change in Latvian choral music is manifested in different ways, one of the most obvious being the choice of sung text. In the 21st century, for the first time preference is frequently given to foreign languages rather than Latvian – not just English, but also a wide array of Oriental languages. It is important to note that the eldest generation of contemporary Latvian composers is rarely ever interested in this new tendency of our choral music; for example, PƝteris Vasks stresses that he is a Eurocentrist.3 The situation with the youngest and partially also middle generation of composers is quite different. The most common Oriental languages of choice for Latvian composers of choral music are summarized in the list below: x Sanskrit ¾ MƗrtiƼš Viƺums (b. 1974), oratorio for twelve voices, trombones, percussion and giant horn Aalomgon (2006; Sanskrit is used as one of the components of a multilingual text) ¾ Valdis MuktupƗvels (b. 1958), oratorio for mixed choir and musical instruments Pontifex (PƗrcƝlƗjs, 2004; Sanskrit is used as one of the components of a multilingual text; it is found in movement 4 – text of the Bhagavad Gita, and in movement 8 – text of mantras) ¾ Andris DzenƯtis (b. 1978), Om, lux aeterna for mixed choir, 2012 (text of mantras as one of the components of a bilingual text) x Tibetan ¾ MƗrtiƼš Viƺums, Aalomgon (vajric sexain in Tibetan as one of the components of a multilingual text) ¾ Santa Ratniece (b. 1977), Chu dal (Silent Water) for mixed choir (2008); text in Tibetan by the composer and an

3

PƝteris Vasks, DzƯvojiet nesteidzƯgi! [Live Leisurely!], interview with Inese LnjsiƼa, ‘Diena’, supplement ‘Kultnjras Diena’ 4/250 (2011), 3.

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x

x

x x x

x

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anonymous Tibetan poet (borrowed from the encyclopedia Tibetan Newspaper Reader4) Hebrew ¾ Gundega Šmite (b. 1977), Qots (Dzelksnis) for mixed choir (2006; text by Sabina Messeg) ¾ Valdis MuktupƗvels, Pontifex (Jewish prayer shalu shalom jerushalaim in movement 8) Persian ¾ MƗrtiƼš Viƺums, Abar panjom ardƯg abƗg gƗw Ɲk-dƗd kard (On the Conflict Waged with the Primeval Ox) for mixed choir (2010); the verbal basis of this composition is the eighth chapter from the cosmological texts of Bundahishn written in Book Pahlavi ¾ Kristaps PƝtersons (b. 1982), Twilight Chants (MijkrƝšƺa dziedƗjumi) for two choir groups, glasses and double bass (2009; text – rubayats of the Persian poet JalƗl ad-DƯn Muhammad RnjmƯ) Albanian ¾ Ɯriks Ešenvalds (b. 1977), Légende de la femme emmurée (Legend of the Walled-in Woman) for mixed choir (2005; Albanian traditional text as one of the components of a bilingual text) Armenian ¾ Santa Ratniece, Saline for mixed choir (2006; text by Hovhannes Shiraz) Arabian ¾ Valdis MuktupƗvels, Pontifex (Muslim greeting salƗm aleikum in movement 8) Chinese ¾ Santa Ratniece, Hirondelles du Coeur (Swallows of the Heart) for mixed choir and chamber orchestra (2007; text in Chinese from Wang Wei, Liu Chang Qing as one of the components of a bilingual text) Ainu ¾ Santa Ratniece, horo horo hata hata for twelve voices (2008; text from Donald L. Philippi's book Songs of Gods, Songs of Humans)

Kamil Sedlaþek, Tibetan Newspaper Reader (Leipzig: VEB Verlag, 1972).

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As the above makes clear, different Oriental regions are represented. Sanskrit is the most often used language; however, none of the aforementioned compositions contain it as the only language: it is combined with Latin (DzenƯtis, Om, lux aeterna), Tibetan and self-created languages (Viƺums, Aalomgon), and in one case (MuktupƗvels, Pontifex) it is included in a broader range of languages (Latvian, Polish, Latin, New Prussian, also episodically Arabian and Hebrew). In all the compositions mentioned above, Sanskrit manifests universal theological or philosophical ideas. For example, the conception of Aalomgon by Viƺums was, according to his own account, inspired by the life story of the Tibetan monk Milarepa. The story is told in three movements of the cycle – Zaas (Earth), Eom (Space) and Simtheryl (Enlightening).5 In the compositions of DzenƯtis (Om, lux aeterna) and MuktupƗvels (Pontifex) Sanskrit is chosen as the most appropriate pair for Latin, which in turn is the main representant of Western culture. Within this context, the use of Sanskrit gives a composer the possibility of expressing thoughts on the Eternal and Transient in a slightly different way than is conventionally familiar for the Western listener. The juxtaposition of Western and Oriental languages is rather characteristic for Latvian choral music: it is used in five of the aforementioned eleven works containing different Oriental languages. Besides combinations with Latin, juxtapositions of Albanian and English (Ešenvalds, Légende de la femme emmurée), and Chinese and French (Ratniece, Hirondelles du Couer) are also worthy of attention. However, it is significant that in works by both Ešenvalds and Ratniece the text in one of the Western languages also represents an Oriental culture: in the Légende […] by Ešenvalds this is a poem by the Albanian poet Martin Camaj translated into English (and combined with traditional text in Albanian), and in the work by Ratniece, in addition to Chinese a text by the Iranian poet Forugh Farrokhzad translated into French is used. In any case, the use of different languages in the same compositions never has the character of a confrontation: the musical material performed in English in a certain way manifests a reflection of modern man upon the message (mostly with an archaic colour) that is given in an Oriental language. There are significantly fewer works in Latvian that are inspired by Oriental music. Some examples of these are: Eight Japanese Haikus (AstoƼas japƗƼu haikas, 2003) for women’s choir by Ɯriks Ešenvalds (text by Aso Isodzi and Odaka Tosio; translator Guna EglƯte), The Gospel of 5

Gundega Šmite, MƗrtiƼa Viƺuma oratorija Aalomgon: jaunas valodas un mnjzikas izteiksmes meklƝjumu ceƺš [The Oratory Aalomgon by MƗrtiƼš Viƺums: Towards a New Language and Musical Expression] (RƯga: Musica Baltica, 2009), 8.

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Buddha (Budas evaƼƧƝlijs, 2009) for womens’ choir by Ieva Klingenberga (b. 1986; text by Roberts Mnjks), and two vocal-symphonic works by Andrejs Selickis (b. 1960) – Lullaby for Christ (ŠyupuƺdzƯsme JƝzum, 2015), and, in few episodes, also his Litany to Mother Teresa (LitƗnija mƗtei TerƝzei, 2012).

Religious motifs An issue which attracts particular attention is the role of religious motifs in Latvian choral music inspired by the Orient. Such motifs are present in almost all of the works previously discussed6 and reflect a significant tendency that is particularly characteristic of contemporary composers. Religious ideas are the values of the Orient that they appreciate most of all; here a succession to the trend that gained importance in Western music approximately since the 1940s can be observed, for example, in works by Olivier Messiaen. Thus, it is possible to observe a different attitude towards Oriental thematics compared with the 19th century, when interpretations were often connected with secular motifs.7 Returning to the Oriental-coloured Latvian choral works, three approaches to the interpretation of religious motifs can be distinguished. Firstly, there are works inspired by an Oriental religious ritual, particularly in the music of MƗrtiƼš Viƺums and Santa Ratniece. Both composers highlight similar elements of such rituals – meditation and imitation of animals’/birds’ voices (onomatopoeia). The Aalomgon oratorio by Viƺums – the life story of the Tibetan monk Milarepa – consists of 3 rituals: x movement 1: Zaar (Earth) – magical activities of the monk: summoning of demons and revenge on his abusers, x movement 2: Eom (Space) – learning of meditation,

6

The exception is the composition Qots (Dzelksnis) by Gundega Šmite; the text by Sabina Messeg that inspired the work has psychological rather than theological content. 7 There are many examples of this, among them the Oriental Fantasy Islamey by Mily Balakirev, various Oriental choirs in Russian operas (the Persian choir from Mikhail Glinka‫ޖ‬s Ruslan and Lyudmila, the Choir of Polovtian girls from Alexander Borodin‫ޖ‬s Prince Igor, et al.), some symphonic dances (Anitra‫ޖ‬s Dance in the Suite No. 1 and Arabian Dance in the Suite No. 2 from Edward Grieg‫ޖ‬s music for Henrik Ibsen’s drama Peer Gynt) et al.

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x movement 3: Simtheryl (Enlightening) – wanderings around the Himalayan caves to achieve the highest clarity and peace.8 The elements of onomatopoeia (an imitation of a bull screaming) are found in another choral work by Viƺums, Abar panjom ardƯg abƗg gƗw ƝkdƗd kard – a cosmological story about the creation of the world from the primeval ox. In the music of Santa Ratniece, Oriental meditation occurs, for example, in her choral work Chu dal. Its conception is characterized by the author as follows: Namtso is the closest lake to heaven, and is also called the Heavenly Lake. The crystal-clear water silently reflects the sky and the piece is called Silent Water. In the middle of Namtso Lake is an island that monks go to in the winter, when the water is frozen, and meditate there until the following winter. Then they can return to shore by crossing the ice once again. The form of the piece sketches this freezing in its marginal phases, with the melting, sunny, springtime island at its center.9

The long road upward to Namtson begins near the Tuvan border, and the composer was fascinated by the local custom of imitating the howling of the wolves of the area; this custom is reflected also in her work.10 Another composition by Ratniece, horo horo hata hata for twelve voices (2008), is named after the untranslatable refrain words from a traditional Ainu lullaby. The work is inspired by a shamanistic ritual which is conducted with the purpose of helping the souls of hunted animals be reborn again as gods. The composer says: When Ainu men go hunting in the mountains, they pray to their Gods to make birds and masks of animals appear. In my composition these prayers are combined with the voices of animal and bird calls.11

8

G. Šmite, MƗrtiƼa Viƺuma oratorija Aalomgon, 8. http://santaratniece.blogspot.com/p/blog-page_19.html (accessed: 20 June 2016). 10 Gundega Šmite, Mnjzikas un teksta mijiedarbes jaunƗs koncepcijas latviešu kormnjzikƗ (21. gadsimta pirmƗ dekƗde) [New Concepts in the Relationships Between Music and Text in Latvian Choral Music (The First Decade of the 21st Century), Doctoral Thesis (RƯga: JƗzeps VƯtols Latvian Music Academy, 2013), 154. 11 http://www.labiennale.org/en/music/archive/54th-festival/program-54/putninsh .html (accessed 20 June 2016). 9

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Among other features, the textual material includes the prayers of Ainu hunters that were written in the village of Shumunkot (Saru region, 1915). Onomatopoeia is expressed in this composition as the hoots of owl and deer. The second type of interpretation of religious motifs is based on the interaction of the Western (Christian) and Oriental traditions (Ešenvalds, Lègende de la femme emmurée; DzenƯtis, Om, lux aeterna). There are also some comprehensive conceptions that are intended as interactions between European traditional (mostly, but not exclusively, Latvian12), Christian and Oriental music (MuktupƗvels, Pontifex; Selickis, Lullaby for Christ). The aims of the composers of the abovementioned works are to a certain extent similar – to present the interaction of different cultures as a manifestation of unity in diversity. For example, DzenƯtis said about Om, lux aeterna: Here I’ve gone the way of democratic multiculturalism, trying to prove again and again that everything is one, and one is everything. There is no difference or isolation between us, between our worlds. We all live together, under one sky.13

The oratorio Pontifex, according to MuktupƗvels, is “an attempt to trace the connections between the Pagan and the Christian worlds and to outline a bridge between them, to find the bridge-builder (pontifex in Latin)”.14 As the third type of the interpretation of religious motifs, reflections on a self-created ritual which includes Oriental motifs can be considered. For the time being, there is only one such choral work in Latvian music – Twilight Chants for two choir groups, glasses and double bass by Kristaps PƝtersons. The composer himself has admitted that the textual basis – the rubayats of the 13th century Persian poet JalƗl ad-DƯn Muhammad RnjmƯ – did not played a significant role in the sense of verbal content:15 the text 12

For example, Andrejs Selickis in his Lullaby for Christ was inspired on one hand by the Latvian folksong (lullaby) AijƗ, žnjžnj, on the other hand – from an Ukrainian Christmas folksong in which Mary sings in her lullaby to the Christ Child: ‘people are preparing a cross for you’. See: Anita Bormane, “KultnjrzƯmju” izvƝle [A Choice of [the Periodical] “Cultural Signs”], ‘Latvijas AvƯze’, supplement ‘KultnjrzƯmes’ 12/158 (2016), 2. 13 http://www.iscm.org/catalogue/works/dzen%C4%ABtis-andris-om-lux-aeterna (accessed 20 June 2016). 14 Latvijas Radio koris / Latvian Radio Choir. Sigvards Kƺava, Valdis MuktupƗvels, PƗrcƝlƗjs. Pontifex. CD booklet (Latvijas Radio LRCD 047, 2005, [1]). 15 Margarita Dudþaka, Kristapa PƝtersona MijkrƝšƺa dziedƗjumi komponista estƝtisko uzskatu kontekstƗ [Twilight Chants by Kristaps PƝtersons in the Context

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was instead used as colour, one of the elements that gives the music its Oriental character. The mood of a magical ritual is created with the plentiful use of ostinato: x in all three movements, the part of the second choir contains an individualised harmonic ostinato; it consists of the pitches that remain unchanged throughout almost the entire movement, x in outer movements melodic ostinato is used (in the first movement – glassware and double bass, in the third movement – double bass), x episodically there are also some local ostinatos, created by the first choir. PƝtersons himself describes the philosophical idea established here as a contraposition between religion and freedom. He remarks16 on how, being fascinated by the twilight mood, he wanted to create this cycle as an extraordinary religious ritual of twilight, but at the same time as a criticism of religion. This is why the ostinato in his composition has a dual meaning: on the one hand, it creates the necessary atmosphere; on the other it reflects the inertia of undesirable repetition that PƝtersons observes in religion. This is made clear in the following interview with the composer, which reveals his understanding of the symbolic meaning of ostinato: People go to church service, in which they discuss things that have long lost their meaning and grounds in reality; they simply repeat actions that they do not understand, essentially, a ritual. Things are done because it has ‘always been like this’; because that is what religion tells them to do – things are done for the purpose of being done. If we look at it this way, the composition is a criticism of religion, and the culmination is the smashing of glasses which unmistakeably indicates a destructive approach. Both of these philosophical approaches to the composition’s message exist side by side, and I hope that they are not perceived as mutually exclusive.17

of the Aesthetic Views of Composer], Master's Thesis (RƯga: JƗzeps VƯtols Latvian Music Academy, 2014, 16). 16 ‘The songs are a ritual of my religion. This religion glorifies the twilight hour – the belief is that this is the moment when divinity manifests itself in the most tangible way.’ Kristaps PƝtersons. See: http://www.lmic.lv/skandarbs.php?id=10192 (accessed: 20 June 2016). 17 M. Dudþaka, Kristapa PƝtersona MijkrƝšƺa dziedƗjumi komponista estƝtisko uzskatu kontekstƗ, 13.

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It must be noted that the wine glasses mentioned in the quotation in the entire cycle are played as instruments with a unique colour of timbre, perfectly fitting into the twilight atmosphere. In the third movement, shortly before the conclusion, this atmosphere is partially destroyed by the deconstruction mentioned by the composer – the singers, one after another, throw their glasses to the floor, smashing them (see Example 2). At the same time, the ostinato remains, affirming the composer’s belief that both approaches – an appreciation of the wonders of religious ritual and its criticism – can coexist.

Example 2. Kristaps PƝtersons, Twilight Chants: movement 3, mm. 348–352, men’s parts of the second choir. Unpublished score from the library of the Latvian Radio Choir. Used by permission.

Forms of representation of Oriental themes The forms of representation of Oriental themes are an interesting issue. It is possible to distinguish a few models – the first of them is the quotation of traditional music. Ešenvalds discusses the main musical material of his Lègende de la femme emmurée as follows: I have got a recording with four verses: four or five Albanian old men were sitting in their village on the bench and one journalist recorded them singing. They sang beautiful folk songs in the polyphonic vocal style that is characteristic of Albania, therefore I immediately realised: yes, it will be the song that I will put in the order of the Radio choir.18

A transformed (not literal) quotation is used in Selickis‫ ޖ‬Litany to Mother Teresa, in an episode from movement 3: it includes a motif the composer heard in one of the Hare Krishna processions that are regularly 18

http://www.katedrale.lv/index.php?id=6462 (accessed 20 June 2016).

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held in Riga, on K. Barona street; the appearance of this motif, according to the composer’s intention, is symbolic of Mother Teresa, who carried out her mission on the streets of Calcutta.19 However, much more frequent than quotations are manifestations of Oriental themes through a particular interpretation of certain musical parameters. The main one of these concerns vocal technique, which often differs drastically from the classical singing style. Overtone singing is one of the most used techniques – it is present, for example, in Twilight Chants by PƝtersons (2nd movement, from measure 158, phoneme n as a counterpoint to the first presentation of the Persian rubayat in this movement, etc.), Abar panjom ardƯg abƗg gƗw Ɲk-dƗd kard (On the Conflict Waged with the Primeval Ox) by Viƺums (mm. 7, 9, et al.). The primary form of overtone singing is throat singing (Viƺums, oratory Aalomgon; DzenƯtis, Om, lux aeterna, et al.). Onomatopoeia is also one of the factors that stimulated Latvian composers to use extended vocal techniques in their choral works; thus the aforementioned howling of wolves in Chu dal by Ratniece is expressed as a microtonal glissando (Example 3, vocal parts of altos and tenors). Microtonal fluctuations of pitch are characteristic features of the choral music of Ratniece in general. Such fluctuations also reflect her relation to Giacinto Scelsi and Claude Vivier. In one of her interviews she explained why Scelsi’s music fascinates her: “I like his attitude to sound as being something unique. [He shows] how a sound lives and moves. And how it oscillates and vibrates, and trembles, like plasma”.20 It should be remembered that Oriental motifs are also significant in the music of both Scelsi and Vivier. The interpretation of Oriental motifs in Latvian music is often connected with unvoiced sounds, for example whispers, exhalations, inhalations, etc. Such sounds are frequently used in Twilight Chants by PƝtersons, Chu dal and horo horo hata hata by Ratniece, Abar panjom ardƯg abƗg gƗw Ɲk-dƗd kard by Viƺums, et al. These vocal elements themselves could not be characterised as specifically Oriental; however, they add to the music a mystic nuance and thus highlight that similarity to

19 Agnese Urka, SakrƗlƗs tƝmas risinƗjums Andreja Selicka vokƗli simfoniskajƗ mnjzikƗ: galvenƗs raksturiezƯmes un to izpausme LitƗnijƗ MƗtei TerƝzei [A Reflection on the Sacral Thematics in the Vocal Symphonic Music by Andrejs Selickis: Main features and Their Manifestation in the Litany to Mother Teresa], Bachelor's Thesis (RƯga: JƗzeps VƯtols Latvian Music Academy, 2016, 32). 20 Santa Ratniece, SƗls un medus [Salt and Honey], interview with Sandra ƻedzvecka, ‘Mnjzikas Saule’ 4 (2007), 20.

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magical ritual that plays an important role in Latvian choral works inspired by the Orient.

Example 3. Santa Ratniece, Chu dal: vocal parts of altos, tenors and basses. Unpublished score from the library of Latvian Radio Choir. Used with permission.

A presentation of Oriental themes through singing style is a tendency which differs from the Romantic tradition, in which such themes were more often discovered through their melodic or harmonic pecularities. Of course, the latter are also found in contemporary choral works. The Lullaby for Christ by Andrejs Selickis can serve as an example. The basis of the work is a Latvian traditional lullaby, AijƗ, žnjžnj – a tranquil, serene and diatonic melody in the major key; however, throughout the work the composer offers different transformations of this subject, including Oriental melismatics and intonations of augmented seconds, thereby achieving a high level of expression and also dramaticism (see Examples 4a, 4b).

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Example 4a. Latvian traditional lullaby AijƗ, žnjžnj21

Example 4b. Transformation of the lullaby AijƗ, žnjžnj in the Lullaby for Christ by Andrejs Selickis (fragment from the movement 4, mm. 159–161: vocal parts. Unpublished score from the library of the Latvian Radio Choir. Used with permission).

Such a direct combination of traditional Latvian melody with Oriental colour cannot be found in any other work by a Latvian composer. It should be mentioned that Andrejs Selickis is a composer of multicultural (Latvian/Latgalian, Ukrainian, Polish) origin; perhaps this is why he is able to easily and organically switch from one culture to another and also synthesize them.

Models of Interaction between the Orient and the West Two main models of interaction between the Orient and the West in Latvian choral music can be highlighted. In the first case, the differences between the signs of these cultures are clear-cut, so that their contraposition, especially at the beginning of a composition, achieves a 21 The score from: http://naktssvece.blogspot.com/2015/11/aija-zuzu-laca-bernijeb-savas-saknes.html (accessed 20 June 2016).

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collage-like sharpness. In the second case there is no such contrast between the West and the Orient, and the Oriental motifs are dominant in the overall musical conception. The elements of Western culture, although not emphasised, are still present – these can be seen in the philosophical message and the different techniques of composition. The conceptions of the first model are characteristic of the choral music of Ɯriks Ešenvalds. An example is his Légende de la femme emmurée. This work is inspired by an Albanian legend about three brothers who were trying to build a castle; it would collapse every night until, following their mother’s suggestion, they walled in the youngest brother’s wife to prevent the castle from collapsing. The music reflects a dialogue between two styles and simultaneously two world views. The contraposition of different harmonic modes plays an important role here, and two different singing techniques are used (see example 5). x Initially, the Oriental motifs – phrases from the Albanian legend – are presented. As was already mentioned, Ešenvalds borrowed this material from a recording of traditional Albanian singing. The most characteristic features are untempered glissando and recurring trichord with a falling end intonation which becomes a microrefrain. This establishes a ritualistic meaning, and in the context of the legend it can be perceived as a mellow but definite display of fatal inevitability x On the contrary, the Western tradition is presented with classical choral singing. On the one hand this creates associations with Western church music; on the other the harmonic language, a minor triad with a sixth, seems to be hinting at a more subjective expression, uncharacteristic of church music. The contrast between the Oriental and the Western is in this case transformed into a third position between the submission to fate from one side, and an individual, subjective mourning for a martyr, the young girl, on the other. This position gains a new direction in the final part of the composition, where Ešenvalds provides a counterpoint to the traditional Albanian singing through the employment of a soprano solo part sung in English (text by Martin Camaj). The lyrical message of Camaj’s poem reflects an idea of a spiritual clarity that follows suffering. Even the initially rough and rugged Albanian singing becomes more soft and mellow during the conclusion, and the composition ends with a message of reconciliation between the different world views.

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Example 5. Ɯriks Ešenvaldds, Légende de d la femme eemmurée, mm. 26–31, a collage-like jjuxtaposition of o Albanian trraditional singiing and the allusion a to Western churrch music (RƯgaa: Musica Balticca, 2007. Used with permission n).

The com mposition Om, lux aeterna by b Andris DzeenƯtis is also based on a collage-like contrapositioon of the Westtern and Orienntal traditions.. The first is representeed by the canoonical text of Lux L aeterna, tthe second by y the texts of Buddhistt (from measuure 27) and Vedic V (from m measure 66) mantras m to light; in adddition, the Budddhist mantra is performed as throat singing. Only at the end oof the work arre these materrials presentedd in counterpoint, thus reflecting diifferent and sim multaneously complementaary views on light. l The secoond model – prioritizing the Oriental motif with, however, some Western culture signs, s can bee found in tthe works of several composers, such as Kriistaps PƝterso ons, Santa R Ratniece, and d MƗrtiƼš Viƺums. Onne example iss the cycle Twilight T Channts by PƝterssons. The

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features that give the music an Oriental colour are the already mentioned Persian text and magical (primordial) ostinato. However, they interact with contemporary Western compositional techniques. As a consequence, the ostinato motif in the double bass part in the third movement is combined with a twelve-tone series in alternating choir voices, the pitches traveling from one part to another, based on the Klangfarben principle (example below).

Example 6. Kristaps PƝtersons, Twilight Chants: movement 3, mm. 207–213, parts of the double bass and of women’s group (the first choir). Unpublished score from the library of the Latvian Radio Choir. Used with permission.

Concluding remarks The research carried out in this article has given rise to a number of observations. The main ones are as follows: x Oriental motifs belong to the most important impulses for an approbation of new, extended vocal techniques in Latvian choral music; x The forms of interaction between the West and the Orient in the contemporary world are quite different from one another; however, in Latvian music they have never been connected with motifs of any conflicts or disharmony; their interaction is focused on mutual enrichment, and the relationship between the Orient and the West is manifested by highlighting differences, rather than antagonism; x the interaction between the Latvian and the Oriental occurs mostly in the music of the elder composers inspired by Oriental motifs – the representatives of the middle generation, such as Valdis MuktupƗvels (b. 1958) and Andrejs Selickis (b. 1960) can be

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mentioned as examples. Composers born in the 1970s or later mostly reflect the interaction between the Orient and the West in general, without highlighting their Latvian identity, which may appear only unconsciously – first of all they perceive themselves as citizens of the global world. The topic discussed in this article may also give rise to comparative research. For example, it would be interesting to find out which tendencies highlighted here are characteristic only of Latvian choral compositions and which are present in the contemporary Western choral music inspired by the Orient in general. It can be assumed that elsewhere in the world, especially in the regions bordering Asia, the dialogue between the West and the Orient could develop in entirely different ways. Likewise, it would be valuable to find out the extent to which the perception of Oriental culture displayed by Western composers reflects the perception of this culture of its own representatives. At any rate, this topic offers a wide array of interesting directions for future studies.

VARIATIONS ON A THEME: THE APPROPRIATION OF THE ORIENT IN POPULAR MUSIC MACIEJ RODKIEWICZ

In his article entitled “Analysing popular music: theory, method and practice”1 Philip Tagg states that because popular music is (in a broad sense) meant for a mass audience, its analysis should also be clear and understandable to this group of recipients. Consequently, as the primary focus of this paper is on popular music, I will not be adopting any of the tools of musical theory that are usually applied in musicological studies. What is more, I will not be covering instances of Oriental influence on contemporary popular music such as a singing technique derived from traditional music (e.g. in the works of American band System of a Down, whose members are all Armenian) or incorporation of scales typical for a particular region (which can be noted e.g. in the works of Israeli band Orphaned Land). Nor will I be mentioning the New Age movement, which was heavily influenced by Oriental spirituality. All of these deserve their own study. In this paper, I would like to focus on two different albeit equally important stylistic concepts behind what is considered to be the modern idea of the Orient in popular music. I would also like to explain the intricate connections between the seemingly incompatible styles referred to as psychedelia and minimalism, both crucial to the birth of yet undefined sounds manifested in a number of genres, varying from heavy metal to jazz or folk music. Finally, I will try to present some examples of contemporary artists reinterpreting these styles.

1

Philip Tagg, Analysing popular music: theory, method and practice ‘Popular Music’ 2 (1982), 41.

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Minimalism In the early sixties, American avant-garde composers began to shape what is currently known as minimal music. Based on repetitions, pulse and drones, it borrowed heavily from Oriental styles, and later on laid the foundation for such varied genres of popular music as German experimental rock (known as Krautrock) or electronic dance music. Minimal music is a form of 20th-century art music characterized by the use of limited or minimal musical materials. In the Western art music tradition, American composers La Monte Young, Terry Riley, Steve Reich, and Philip Glass are credited with being among the first to develop compositional techniques that exploit a minimal approach. As an aesthetic, minimalism relies on the concept of a work in progress and as such, suggests a new way of listening to music by focusing on its internal processes instead of on motion towards a defined goal. The main features of minimal music include: consonant harmony, steady pulse (sometimes even drones), stasis or gradual transformation, and often reiteration of musical phrases. The most frequently employed techniques include the additive process and phase shifting, which is strongly related to what has been termed phase music.2 Leonard B. Meyer described minimal music in 1994 in the following way: Because there is little sense of goal-directed motion, [minimal] music does not seem to move from one place to another. Within any musical segment there may be some sense of direction, but frequently the segments fail to lead to or imply one another. They simply follow one another.3

According to Christoph Cox and Daniel Warner, editors of an essay collection entitled “Audio Culture. Readings in Modern Music”, minimalism was primarily inspired by gamelan, an ancient Indonesian form of music deriving its name from the ensemble of percussion instruments on which traditional gamelan music of Java and Bali is played. As other influences, Cox and Warner point to Indian Ragas and West African drum ensemble music.4 2

Marcin Borchardt, Awangarda muzyki koĔca XX wieku, przewodnik dla początkujących, volume I (GdaĔsk: Wydawnictwo w Podwórku, 2014), 319-322. 3 Leonard B. Meyer, Music, the Arts, and Ideas: Patterns and Predictions in Twentieth-Century Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 326. 4 Christoph Cox, Daniel Warner, Kultura dĨwiĊku. Teksty o muzyce nowoczesnej (Audio Culture. Readings in Modern Music) ed. C. Cox and D. Warner, trans.

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When minimalism first gained recognition in the late 1960s, the influence of gamelan seemed only natural, and though it is not explicit, one may find it hard to ignore the rhythmic and hypnotic textures as well as the open-ended structures and spiritual/meditative qualities that are inherent in both types of music. In fact, Steve Reich studied Balinese gamelan in the early 1970s, and the pieces he composed afterwards could be easily heard as emulating the style and sound of gamelan with a slightly more Javanese feeling in its meditative repetition.5 As Leon Stein noted in his Anthology of Musical Forms: In the attempt to establish a trance-like state of tranquil non-perception, an oriental influence is evidenced in the static time-frame of gamelan, which negates the developmental and forward-moving character that has distinguished Western music since its very beginning.6

Minimalism and Popular Music As far as 20th-century art music studies are concerned, minimalism seems to be an overlooked and underrated form, one overshadowed by the works of composers such as Debussy, Schönberg or Penderecki, all working in many different fields of music throughout the century. At the same time, however, it is referred to by contemporary artists as one of the most influential forms in the development of popular music in the second half of the century. It is worth noting that minimalism has largely contributed to the creation and popularity of electronic dance music. Genres like techno or trance would have probably never come to existence if it wasn’t for the works of Reich, Riley and others. However, since the connections between electronic dance music and minimalism constitute a very broad subject and deserve their own musicological research, no further details will be discussed as regards this matter in the present paper. Among the most crucial genres for the development of popular music is the avant-garde. Paul Grimstad tries to define popular avant-garde music in his article for The Brooklyn Rail; he states that it:

Michaá Mendyk (Warszawa: sáowo/obraz terytoria, 2010), 363. 5 Patrick Durkan, The Influence of Gamelan on Western Modern Music ‘latitudes.nu’ Accessed 24 April 2016. 6 Leon Stein, Anthology of Musical Forms: Structure & Style (USA: Alfred Music, 1994), 237.

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Variations on a Theme [d]oes not feel the need to deform catchiness into a grimace (as an earlier twentieth-century avant-garde would have), but rather re-sequences the Legos of song structure, so that (a) none of the charm of the tune is lost, but (b) this very accessibility leads one to bump into weirder elements welded into the design (…) [it] does not translate into mere complexity (though it can be complex), and its most memorable effects are often the results of blunt simplicity.7

One of the most prominent avant-garde rock acts of the 1960s was The Velvet Underground, founded by the charismatic artist Lou Reed and violinist John Cale. Cale was a classically trained musician, and a member of La Monte Young’s Theatre of Eternal Music ensemble – one of the earliest minimal music acts. This fact had an impact on The Velvet Underground’s music, which was heavily based on repetition and drones. With the vocal parts being close to melodeclamation, it was meant to evoke a meditative state among listeners. The group is often referred to as one of the East Coast’s three essential proto-punk bands, along with Iggy Pop’s The Stooges and the MC5. It would, however, be more logical to describe them as responses of New York’s intellectual scene to the West Coast’s psychedelic music explosion, which was lead mostly by working class musicians. The song “Venus in Furs” is a perfect example of The Velvet Undeground’s style with its slow-paced backbeat consisting of two bass drum beats and a tambourine shake accompanied by Cale’s cacophonous electric viola and Reed’s trance-like singing. In his essay “Venus in Furs by the Velvet Underground”, Erich Kuersten writes: There is no intro or buildup to the song; the track starts as if you opened a door to a decadent Marrakesh S&M/opium den, a blast of air-conditioned Middle Eastern menace with a plodding beat that’s the missing link between “Bolero” and Led Zeppelin’s version of “When the Levee Breaks”.8

Another prominent minimalism-influenced genre was born in Germany in the late 1960s. Krautrock was an eclectic style which often mixed psychedelic jamming and moody progressive rock with ideas borrowed from contemporary experimental classical music – particularly minimalism – and the new experimental directions that emerged in jazz during the 1960s and 1970s. Abandoning the traditional patterns of song 7

Paul Grimstad, What is Avant-Pop? ‘The Brooklyn Rail (http://www.brooklynrail.org/)’ Accessed: 24 April 2016. 8 Erich Kuersten, by the Velvet Underground http://www.mcsweeneys.net/’ Web. 24 April 2016.

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structure and melody, some krautrock artists drove their music to a more mechanical and electronic sound. The signature sound of krautrock mixed the regular rock band lineup (guitar, bass, and drums) with electronic instrumentation and textures, often with what would now be described as an ambient music sensibility. A common rhythm featured in the music was a steady 4/4 beat, often called “motorik” in the Anglophone music press.9 Krautrock is to some extent perceived as an equivalent of minimalism meant for a wide audience, and it has been heavily influential on African-American hip-hop artists from the 1980s onwards. Most importantly, however, it is indicated a as key influence among contemporary psychedelic groups. The leading krautrock representatives were Kraftwerk, Can, Neu! and Faust. These popular groups came into contact with classical minimalism, be it in a more or less direct manner.10 One of Faust’s collaborators, Tony Conrad, for instance, was another member of the previously-mentioned La Monte Young’s Theater of Eternal Music. More importantly, however, one of the founding members of Can was Holger Czukay – a student of Karlheinz Stockhausen, he was interested mostly in avant-garde art music, until he discovered Western psychedelic groups and decided to form a rock band. The song “Krautrock” by Faust is a perfect example of the genre’s sensibility. With its 12 minutes of length, it is based on steady and pleasant drone, together with some guitar jams and drums that only start playing after seven minutes with a distinctive “motoric” pulse. In all of the above examples, popular musicians have most probably unknowingly transferred and appropriated the Oriental sensibility earlier adopted by composers of minimal music, and laid the ground for future interpretations.

Psychedelia The term “psychedelic music” comes from the attempt to replicate the experience achieved by using psychedelic drugs, which became popular during the hippies’ revolution as a result of increased interest in the teachings of Indian gurus. In the late 1960s there were few bands that labeled themselves as psychedelic (13th Floor Elevators and Jefferson Airplane among others), but the key elements of the music were featured in most of the popular genres at the time – blues, rock, folk, and even jazz. 9

John Preston, Krautrock, in Encyclopedia of Contemporary German Culture, Ed. John Sandford (London, New York: Routledge Press, 2007) 353-354. 10 David Byrne, The Minimalists ‘http://luakabop.com/bloggo/’ Accessed: 24 April 2016.

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Variations on a Theme

The variety of these elements was immense. First of all, there was an extensive use of exotic instrumentation (most common were the sitar and tabla). The structures of songs became complex, with exotic key and time signature changes, modal melodies, and an addition of drones. The lyrics became surreal, esoteric or inspired by literature. There was often a strong emphasis on extended instrumental solos or jams, typically featuring a heavily distorted electric guitar as the main instrument. Electric guitars were used to create feedback and played through wah-wah and fuzzbox effect pedals. There was a strong keyboard presence, especially of electronic organs, harpsichords, the Mellotron, an early tape-driven ‘sampler’ keyboard, synthesizers and the theremin. Elaborate studio effects were often used, such as backwards tapes, panning, phasing, long delay loops, and extreme reverb. Later forms of electronic psychedelia also employed repetitive computer-generated beats.11 In Beatles Orientalis, David Reck writes: “Indian music was a central ingredient in the 1960s magical mythical mix which combined Indian religion, culture and objects with hallucinogenic drugs”.12 The Beatles’ growing interest in Indian culture in the mid-1960s led to the incorporation of Oriental elements into their music, which resulted in the basic notions underlying Oriental compositions becoming globally recognized. Thanks to their collaboration with Ravi Shankar, he was able to appear before massive audiences at various music festivals. Mid-way through their career, The Beatles traveled to India, took lessons in traditional instruments and philosophy, and started incorporating Oriental stylistic elements into their music. At first, this just involved the use of instruments (sitar in “Norwegian Wood” from the 1965 album Rubber Soul), but later on they incorporated the whole traditional raga structure into short pop songs (“Love You To” from the 1966 album Revolver and “Within You, Without You” from the 1967 album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band). The traditional raga sections (in short: introduction of melodic material; introduction of pulse and improvisation; and introduction of meter and climactic finish) were compressed, but still present. In “Within You, Without You” the Beatles feature an exotic melody over a constant drone.13 The structure of the composition adheres to the Hindustani musical tradition and demonstrates 11

Lucy M. O’Brien, Psychedelic rock, in Encyclopedia Britannica (https://www.britannica.com). Web. 24 April 2016. 12 David R. Reck, Beatles Orientalis: Influences from Asia in a Popular Song Tradition ‘Asian Music’ Vol. 16, No. 1 (1985), 92. 13 Alan W. Pollack, Notes on ‘Soundscapes.info’ Pub. 03 October 1996, Web. 24 April 2016.

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Harrison's advances in the Indian classical genre since “Love You To”. The song introduces such Indian instruments as the dilruba, sitar and tabla, and it utilizes the Indian Khamaj Thaat scale and two tempos – the 16-beat tintal and 10-beat jhaptal.14 The popularity of these songs opened a whole new world of possibilities for Western musicians. According to Gerry Farrel, the following elements would begin to appear in popular music: drones (often created on tambura); partial use of specific Indian sounds like the tarab (the so-called sympathetic strings) on sitar or specific kinds of vocal delivery with glides or slurs; the sitar, used as a kind of idealized acoustic electric guitar; the use of additive rather than divisive rhythmic ideas; melodies based on the modes which correspond to Indian scale types rather than chord changes; imitative question-answer sequences and unison passages between instruments; and references in the lyrics to religious or philosophical Indian concepts.15 These features were appropriated by most genres of the late 1960s, mostly blues, rock and folk, but also jazz. Such was the jazz album Journey in Satchidananda by Alice Coltrane, which in its use of Oriental themes, prominent use of tambura drones, static-continued bass lines and “otherworldly” harp and saxophone improvisations clearly showed Coltrane’s interest in Indian music and religion. Among other genres, psychedelic music later developed into the space rock sub-genre (the band Hawkwind is often indicated as the godfather of the genre), which brought Oriental influences to the next level. Improvisations became the most important part of the music, but the fact that much of rock was harmonically based on blues meant that modal qualities of sound tended to come to the foreground (e.g. in a twentyminute improvisation on one chord). Songs were longer and full of effects that were meant to simulate the experience of drug-evoked cosmic journeys of consciousness.

Contemporary Artists The phenomenon of interpreting Oriental traditions led to the birth of contemporary genres that comprise seemingly incompatible styles and techniques. Minimalism, krautrock, psychedelic music, jazz, heavy metal – all of these blend in the postmodern, globalized world. For example, 14

Gerry Farrell, Reflecting Surfaces: The Use of Elements from Indian Music in Popular Music and Jazz ‘Popular Music’ Vol. 7, No. 2 (May, 1988), 195-197. 15 Ibid., 191.

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Variations on a Theme

bands like Föllakzoid from Chile, Lonker See from Poland or Death Hawks from Finland take heavily from the krautrock tradition, mixing it with space rock and jazz influences. Death Hawks’ song "Black Acid”, for instance, is based on a melodic repetition of a short guitar phrase that is reminiscent of popular Indian music melodies. It also incorporates saxophone and synthesizer licks, all mixed with a lot of reverb and delays. Another example worth noting is one of a completely different genre that was paradoxically influenced by the same styles, but with the groundwork developed by heavy metal musicians. Its base is a mix of doom metal (very slow and down-tuned genre of heavy metal)16 and stoner rock (rhythm-based heavy rock influenced by psychedelic music).17 The genre, often called stonerdoom, paved the way for musicians who compose long, mostly instrumental songs, often based on a theme that is slowly repeated and developed, not unlike in Indian ragas, where the music’s inner details are developed within a form of larger scale. Such is the band Sleep’s Dopesmoker album, which consists only of a one long song, spanning for over sixty minutes. This is also a prominent feature of songs recorded by the band OM (founded by Sleep’s bass guitar player, Al Cisneros), where the heaviness of Sleep’s works is abandoned in favour of more Oriental, trance-inducing music with Cisneros’ mantra-like vocal parts.

The Orient as a Concept – Conclusion Existence of the aforementioned connections may lead to the conclusion that most popular musicians who adopt Oriental stylistic elements treat these regional features as a concept. They do not study the theory, practice or history of Oriental music (with the exception of the Beatles’ George Harrison, who actually did), borrow only surface elements, and create a naive imitation. They imagine what the Orient sounds like, be it based on the original compositions or just the elements adopted by other popular musicians. By means of art, they try to imitate the experience of using psychedelic drugs, which in their perception are intrinsically related to experiencing Oriental music, although the musical elements conducive to drug experiences were not originally present in Indian works. Thus, they create a patchwork of Oriental musical styles or techniques and the Western tradition of popular music, laying the 16

Deena Weinstein, Heavy Metal: The Music and Its Culture (Chicago: Da Capo Press, 2009), 288. 17 Ibid. p. 291.

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groundwork for new genres and styles as well as familiarizing Western audience with basic elements of Oriental art otherwise unknown to them.

Selected Discography The 13th Floor Elevators. 1966. The Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators, International Artists The Beatles. 1965. Rubber Soul, Parlophone; 1966. Revolver, Parlophone; 1967. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Parlophone; Coltrane, Alice. 1971. Journey in Satchidananda, Impulse!; Death Hawks. 2013. Death Hawks, Gaea; Faust. 1973. IV, Virgin; Föllakzoid. 2015. III, Sacred Bones; Hawkwind. 1973. Space Ritual, United Artists; Om. 2012. Advaitic Songs, Drag City; Sleep. 1998. Dopesmoker, Southern Lord; The Velvet Underground. 1967. The Velvet Underground & Nico, Verve Records.

THE CONCEPTS OF RASA AND DOSHA, AND THE STAGE ARCHETYPES OF WOMEN IN THE CLASSICAL INDIAN DANCE OF ODISSI BEATA STRÓĩYēSKA

When watching performances of Indian dances like Bharatanatyam or Odissi, created thousands of years ago but still enthusiastically performed today, it is hard not to ask the question of how it is possible that in the music of the subcontinent, despite very precisely formulated theoretical foundations, creativity is so highly valued to the extent that some authors even stigmatize the too-exact imitations of patterns, while in the related dance drama1 it seems that the ideal is a precise re-creation of ancient archetypes. There is no doubt that Indians are exceptionally devoted to their tradition; still, if development is accepted in the sphere of music, and some even disapprove of an unreasonable sticking to “musical grammar”, why are classical dances treated differently? This form of dance which, not only in India but also in numerous centers on other continents, is still a 1

Classical Indian dances, as a form of syncretic art, can be treated as dance dramas. According to Indian beliefs, Brahma and Shiva require that text, music and dance, i.e. the three basic elements constituting ritual liturgical music, should interact with each other in accordance with strictly defined principles, since this is the only way in which people can keep the universe in balance. Divine rules and principles, conveyed by priests in the light of Indian beliefs, have been thoroughly discussed in a fundamental treatise: Bharata, NƗ‫ܒ‬yaĞƗstra [http://gretil.sub.unigoettingen.de/gretil/1_sanskr/5_poetry/1_natya/bharnatu.htm]; see also Ganesh Hari Tarlekar, Studies in The NƗ‫ܒ‬yaĞƗstra: With Special References to the Sanskrit Drama in Performance (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1991)]. “The NƗ‫ܒ‬yaĞƗstra (Science of Drama) is the earliest and most authoritative Indian text on the performing arts. Written in Sanskrit, mainly in epic Ğlokas with some prose fragments, it is dated by scholars from the 5th century BCE to the 7th–8th century CE. Apparently, between the 2nd century BCE and the 2nd century CE, it acquired the presently known form”. Natalia Lidova, Natyashastra, http://www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780195399318/obo9780195399318-0071.xml [access: 17.12.2016].

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particularly attractive form of art, especially for young people – should therefore also (theoretically) be amenable to development.2 Pradip Kumar Sengupta claims that “Indian music has never been a stereotyped system of closed orthodox ideas and rules. It has already grown with newer and newer experiments in all the important stages of history”3. The author emphasizes the fact that currently musicology is unpopular on the subcontinent and that music-making itself is frequently based on the copying of existing models, even though creativity, in the author’s view, is the heart and soul of Indian music and a true work of art cannot be created solely on the grounds of “grammar”, as this is definitely insufficient as far as art is concerned.4 Sharma identifies some negative tendencies in the field of the artistic activity pursued by Indian musicians: “Very few musicians may be having all requisite conditions to make themselves successful – the imagination, spontaneity, technical skill and a good voice. Many are lost in mere technicalities, and in their effort to make music a matter of mere technical perfection, they make music as repulsive as possible”.5 On the other hand, one can find utterances by dance masters from the East wherein individualism, creativity and self-centeredness are believed to be the main limitations of Western artists, who thus lose the identity of the characters they are impersonating since too many of their own personality traits can be found in the performance.6 2

Unlike such fields of art as painting or sculpting, music – though described and codified in many treatises – has always been treated in India particularly freely. The artistic freedom of musicians can be seen in the huge number of pattern transformations. Theoretically, then, there is a set of rules but practically it is possible to modify them considerably. 3 Pradip Kumar Sengupta, Foundations of Indian Musicology. Perspectives in the Philosophy of Art and Culture (New Delhi: Abhinav Publications, 1991), Introduction, X. 4 “Musicology as the science of Indian music is not a very popular study in present days. It may be compared to the state of Sanskrit language in India, which, as a spoken language, is almost dead. (…) Creativity which is the heart and soul of Indian music is lost in imitation. (…) If any work of art is dominated by grammar alone, then the artistic dimension is likely to disappear; the whole thing would become dull and prosaic”. P.K. Sengupta, Foundations of Indian Musicology, 99. 5 Shyamala Sharma, The aesthetics of Indian music and dance, in Indian Aesthetics and Art Activity. Vol. 2. (Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1968), 92-102, here: 100. 6 Zuzanna Julia Kann, Taniec indyjski: miĊdzy archiwum i repertuarem. Sposób konstruowania postaci kobiecej na przykáadzie form Odissi i serajkela ühau (Master’s thesis, The University of Warsaw, 2015), 53. In the study by Eugenio Barba and Nicola Savarese, The Secret Art of the Performer, there is a very

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The Concepts of Rasa and Dosha

It is beyond doubt that Indian musicians, as well as dancers and actors, must be thoroughly acquainted with classical rules; still, what is required of them is creativity, which is handled in ancient dance drama a little differently. In order to find an answer to the question posed at the beginning of the study, it seems justifiable to recall the two theories, dosha (do‫܈‬a) and rasa (rasa), the importance of which for the subcontinent’s culture cannot be overstated. Both concepts are omnipresent and both determine the shape of works of art. The scope of the notions, however, differs completely. The concept of dosha is the theory of error, or – more precisely – a really well-developed theoretical system, wherein all possible examples of neglect or error that can be made in different spheres of life have been defined, as well as mistakes resulting from circumstances beyond human activity. The sources of the dosha concept can be traced back to the Vedic culture. According to Indian beliefs, Varuna is in charge of his own order, rita (‫܀‬ta), which must remain undisturbed. An individual error may have an impact on the whole universal order. Punishment is the consequence of an error and it can be imposed not only on the culprit but also on his descendants. Varuna can bring down epidemics, drought or flood on a whole community, and that is why people (though fallible by nature) should watch each other so that rituals, which are of divine nature according to Indian beliefs, remain perfect.7 Just as an error made by an artist-painter or sculptor can result in a god being unwilling to enter the work of art, an error while dancing may mean that a deity will not manifest itself in the artist, as the worship of a god should equate to an artist somehow becoming a god, irrespective of whether the deity is of the same sex or his or her traits have anything to do with the qualities of the dancer-actor. The system of dosha pervades the life of Indians, not only in religion but also, for instance, in philosophy and art, since the indissoluble ties of that culture with the spiritual sphere, the sacrum, make all aspects of life intertwine and overlap on the spiritual, emotional and material levels. The concept of dosha comprises different aspects of Indian life; therefore it is not just an aesthetic concept restricted to art alone. It is worth noting, however, that in a work of art it is rasa that seems to be the superior category, even compared to dosha. The occurrence of error in art controversial thesis claiming that “the artists working within the limits of codified regulations have more freedom than those who – like Western actors – are the prisoners of arbitrariness and the lack of rules”. Eugenio Barba, Nicola Savarese, Sekretna sztuka aktora (Wrocáaw: Wydawnictwo Instytutu Grotowskiego, 2005), 6. 7 Hermina Cielas, Koncepcja báĊdu (do‫܈‬a) w kulturze indyjskiej. Traktaty z zakresu teorii literatury i sztuki (Master’s thesis, The Jagiellonian University, 2012), 10.

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not only disturbs the universal order and is likely to attract misfortune, but it can also become the reason why one cannot experience aesthetic satisfaction,8 the primary purpose of art. Rasa is a theory of artistic taste. In the opinion of Indians, art is a unity and rasa is omnipresent in all its spheres, similarly to the ability to experience feelings that could be attributed to all humankind. Some emotions (bhava), like fear or love, are universal, unifying people as an art audience.9 However, along with this universal message Indian art, encompassing both dance drama (e.g. Bharatanatyam or Odissi) and religious drama (e.g. yatra or ras lila10), also conveys another message that is available only to people familiar with the codified system of gestures. On the subcontinent the system is comprehensible because specific hand gestures, body postures and expressive means in the form of facial expressions also occur beyond the stage. For foreigners, the understanding of this cultural code, expressed for instance through mudras, requires some effort.11 The Sanskrit term of rasa could be translated as extract, taste, aroma, essence. In Jarosáaw Zapart’s opinion, “according to Bharata, the mythical author of Natyashastra, rasa means the same for a performance as sap for a plant, namely it is a prerequisite for existence. Rasa results from the fusion of three elements: people and circumstances presented on stage, 8

In the most profane part of art an error can be employed as a peculiar means of expression, but this is not applicable to classical Indian dance, which is too closely connected with the sphere of the sacrum. It is symptomatic that in India the “learned person”, vidvan (vidvƗn), should not only be an art connoisseur but should also be skilled in arts; still, the “learned person” is simultaneously the “man acquainted with errors”, doshajna (do‫܈‬ajña). Ibid., 36. 9 According to Abhinawagupta, “the state of consciousness (rasa), materialized in a poem, is transmitted onto an actor, narrator and audience. Born in the heart of a poet, it flourishes in an actor and bears fruit in the audience”. Quoted after: Katarzyna Wielechowska, Indyjska teoria ”rasa”: propozycja dla wspóáczesnego teatru, in Estetyka transkulturowa, ed. Krystyna Wilkoszewska (Kraków: Universitas 2004), 365. 10 See: Farley P. Richmond, Darius L. Swann, Phillip B. Zarrilli (ed.), Indian Theatre. Traditions of Performance (New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1993); DhƯren DƗĞa, Jatra, the people's theatre of Orissa (Bhubaneswar: Institute of Oriental Theatre Arts, 1981). 11 The problems of rasa in the treatise of NƗtyaĞƗstra are discussed more thoroughly, for example, in the study by ElĪbieta Koádrzak, Uczucia i stany psychologiczne w NatjaĞastrze Bharatymuniego, ‘Studia Litteraria Universitatis Iagellonicae Cracoviensis‘ 10/3 (2015), 185-194, published online on 26th January 2016, http://www.ejournals.eu/Studia-Litteraria/2015/Issue-3/art/6267/ [accessed 4.11.2016].

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external manifestations of experienced emotions and elusive states of mind, accompanying the presented emotion”.12 Giuseppe Tucci, in his Storia della filosofia indiana, states that rasa “is like a scent of beauty which emanates from a successful work; it also strikes and moves a sensitive, acute critic”.13 In Natyashastra there are descriptions of the eight rasas, i.e. “aesthetic moods” evoked by bhava, which are the states of soul corresponding to these moods. Each of them is also associated with color, a god and specific sounds. The following rasas are given: 1. rasa: shringara (ĞrĔgara) – the erotic mood, the state of the soul is love (rati), the color green, the guardian god Vishnu, the central sounds of Ma, Pa; 2. rasa: hasya – the hot mood, joy (hasa), the color white, Pramatha, the sounds of Ma, Pa; 3. rasa: karuna – sympathy, grief, concern (shoka/Ğoka), the color grey, Yama, the sounds of Ga, Ni; 4. rasa: raudra – fear, horror, anger (krodha), the color red [Shiva], the sounds of Sa, Re; 5. rasa: vira – the heroic mood, enthusiasm, energy (utsaha), the color orange, Indra, the sounds of Sa, Re; 6. rasa: bhayanaka – the anxious mood, the state of the soul – apprehension (bhaya), the color black, Kala, the sound of Dha; 7. rasa: bibhatsa – antipathy, aversion (jugupsa), the color blue, Mahakala (Shiva), the sound of Dha; 8. rasa: adbhuta – the mood of wonder, surprise (vismaya), the color blue, Brahma, the central sounds of Sa, Re.14 According to Schmidt, even if the system of old Indian 12

Jarosáaw Zapart, O przeĪyciu estetycznym i mistycznym u Abhinawagupty, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu JagielloĔskiego, Nauki Humanistyczne, Nr 2 (1/2011), 151-167, here: 152. 13 Giuseppe Tucci, Storia della filosofia indiana (Bari: Laterza, 1957), 557. Quoted after: Kinga Káeczek-Semerjak, Indyjska teoria rasa jako doĞwiadczenie estetyczne, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu JagielloĔskiego, Nauki Humanistyczne, special issue 2 (2/2011), Kierunki badawcze w filozofii II, 187. 14 Markus Schmidt, Einführung in die klassische indische Musik, 4-5 http://klangzeitort.de/uploads/documentation2/Markus%20Schmidt.pdf [access: 28.10.2016]. Schmidt indicates that there is no data concerning the god for the fourth rasa and the suggestion of Shiva is made by the author himself. Zapart juxtaposes only the presented sensations (natyarasa) with fixed emotions (sthayibhava). According to the author, natyarasa (nƗ‫ܒ‬yarasa) could comprise: shringara (Ğ‫܀‬ngƗra) – the erotic taste, sensual; raudra (raudra) – the wrathful taste; vira (vƯra) – the heroic taste; bibhatsa (bƯbhatsa) – the taste of horror, repulsion; hasjya (hƗsya) – the comic taste; karuna (karu۬a) – the taste of sympathy; adbhuta (adbhuta) – the taste of delight; bhayanaka (bhayƗnaka) – the taste of fear, anxiety, whereas sthayibhava (sthƗyibhƗva) encompass the following: rati (rati) – love; krodha (krodha) – anger, irritation; utsaha (utsƗha) – courage, strength; jugupsa (jugupsƗ) – repulsion, horror; hasa (hƗsa) – joy, irony; shoka (Ğoka) – grief, pity; vismaya (vismaya) – marvel, surprise; bhaya (bhaya) – fear,

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ragas may have undergone some modifications the principle of a close relationship between emotional expression and the feelings experienced by the human has remained unchanged. For a better understanding of what rasa is for Indians, it is reasonable to refer to the Vedic culture, to the Rigveda (‫ۿ‬gveda) and to the hymn on the creation of the world, Purushasukta,15 in particular. According to this conception, Indian drama is connected with the ritual of offering. The term rasa is linked with the holistic concept of specified “tastes”, a concept greatly adored by the nations of Central Asia and the Far East. In the light of rasa, the six fundamental “moods” of the body could correspond to the six main tastes: sweet, sour, salty, bitter, acrid and bland. It is worth recalling that Eastern cultures tend towards the achievement of harmony. Particular elements should complement one another. Since in real life there are, however, emotions that we do not wish to experience, they can be “touched” through tastes (emotions) we experience when we come into contact with works of art. According to the theory of rasa, spiritual states can be divided into: determining (vibhƗva) – the pure matter of an artwork; consequential (anubhƗva) – physical representations of the work’s content, e.g. in the case of a theatrical piece shivering, collapsing or an interpreter’s crying and transitional states (vyabhicƗribhƗva) – psychological outcomes brought about by a work of art, e.g. a reaction to the emotions presented by the interpreter.16 In compliance with the theory that everything has one source only, an artist is supposed to strive after the ideal, i.e. towards re-unification, the reapprehension. J. Zapart, O przeĪyciu estetycznym, 152. 15 In the light of the description by Káeczek-Semerjak, “it describes the creation of the world out of Purusha (Puru‫܈‬a) – the macro-anthropos who makes a sacrifice of himself. As a result of that offering, out of the ideal harmonious being there emerge subsequent manifestations of reality. One of the fundamental theses stated here is the claim that there is no ontological difference between creation and the creating being. (…) The structure of the primeval being already comprises, somehow, sacrifiers, oblation, sacrificial rituals and specific goals of the sacrificial act. What is also stressed is the fact that the world created through this archetypal sacrifice can keep balance only thanks to the recurrence of the primordial act. It is the offering (yajña) that becomes the material, purpose and the final outcome of the whole cycle. The recurrence of the ritual understood like that gains the status of a responsibility, obligation towards the world”. K. Káeczek-Semerjak, Indyjska teoria rasa, 184; see also: Hymny Rigwedy, trans. Franciszek Stanisáaw Michalski (Kraków: Ossolineum, 1971) and Marta Kudelska, Karman i dharma. Wizja Ğwiata w filozoficznej myĞli Indii (Kraków: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu JagielloĔskiego 2003). 16 K. Káeczek-Semerjak, Indyjska teoria rasa, 187.

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The Concepts of Rasa and Dosha

consolidation of particular elements so as to achieve (as far as is possible) completeness and unity.17 In a given work, therefore, one can find a basic type of rasa but an artist simultaneously leads the audience through the whole series of tastes; still, somewhat beyond them there appears the category of transformation – of universalism and the intensification of sensations that can be strongly associated with mystical experiences.18 In studies on Indian art there are various interpretations of the mystical side of rasa. Some authors rely only on the ancient Hindu tradition, others highlight the relationship of rasa with Buddhist practice. Bhattanayaka claimed that through a powerful aesthetic experience it is possible to reach the spiritual state resembling the accomplishment of the Highest Truth in oneself. This means that a work of art might be treated only as a pretext for achieving that state because it is not of particular importance to set it in any realities; what really matters is only the extent to which a given taste can be translated into a universal experience, which is spiritual to the highest degree and – most importantly – pure. In this way the audience members free themselves from their “I”, from egoism, self-centeredness, from dreams and desires, thus becoming part of the whole. According to Bhattanayaka, in such a moment a person can fully enjoy the taste of their experiences and might even be described as reaching the state of spiritual liberation (moksha/mok‫܈‬a).19 Abhinavagupta, in turn, believes that aesthetic experience is admittedly of an unworldly nature, being a peculiar form of consciousness; still, the process of experiencing a work of art itself cannot be described as different from other cognitive processes.20 According to him, each recipient is equipped with rasa in the form of a fixed emotion that undergoes transformation and universalization in the 17

Ibid., 188. Compare: Maria Krzysztof Byrski, „Smak” Brahmy i „smak” Buddy, ‘Studia Filozoficzne’ 6 (1970), 73-83. 18 What is worth noting is the resemblance of this theory to the conceptions presented in the 18th century in European treatises by the authors preoccupied with the language of affect in music. They also frequently favored one primary affect, but under the condition that the composer led the listener through secondary affects. The key difference lies in the lack of emphasis put by European authors on the mystical, religious aspect in the aesthetic experience of the work of art. Compare: Lars-Christian Koch, Zur Bedeutung der Rasa-Lehre für die zeitgenössische nordindische Kunstmusik. Mit einem Vergleich der Affektenlehre des 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts (Bonn: Holos Verlag, 1995). 19 K. Káeczek-Semerjak, Indyjska teoria rasa, 190. 20 These issues have been discussed more thoroughly in, for instance, the studies by Raniero Gnoli, The Aesthetic Experience According to Abhinavagupta, Serie Orientale Roma XI (Roma: Instituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estreme Oriente, 1956) and Jarosáaw Zapart, O przeĪyciu estetycznym.

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course of the perception of an artwork. A particular work will, therefore, be perceived alike by different people.21 Liberation from the limitations of our own “I”, along with the concurrent focus of consciousness, is by far one of the most important threads in Indian culture. The problem with the perception of these issues by different authors consists in the extent to which rasa actually reflects the transition through the border of the mystical experience, that is liberation from one’s own “I”, and the extent to which it becomes the sublimation, purity and the nobleness of feelings; is it just (and as much as) delight, or is it also liberation from all the emotions and desires that invariably accompany humans in their “routine”, that is non-mystical, experiences.22 The Odissi dance, similar to other classical Indian dances, is a form of drama, a representation of syncretic art, wherein particular elements (dance, music, and acting) interact so as to achieve unity with the absolute.23 In terms of the musical layer, an essential role in Odissi is played by rhythm.24 It can be beaten on an instrument, produced vocally or clapped, but what matters is that it must be distinct at all times, as it manifests the unchangeable, eternal order; it reflects the merging of Shiva’s power with Parvati’s energy.25 Traditional Indian dances of the 21

See: K. Káeczek-Semerjak, Indyjska teoria rasa, 190. It could therefore be assumed that too realistic an approach to reality, a too personal kind of expression, is not the best choice since on the one hand the author’s ego is emphasized too evidently, while on the other the viewer might also identify too strongly with the characters and events presented in the work. A high degree of generality is achieved through all sorts of patterns – specified costumes, make-up (even masks) as well as a definite set of expressive means characteristic of a given state of mind. This means that a performer’s exaggerated acting and excessive individualism could be treated from the rasa perspective as a distraction in the communication between an artist and audience. 23 A very polemical and controversial article on the classical tradition of Odissi has been written by Alessandra Lopez Y Royo: Guru Surendranath Jena: Subverting the Reconstituted Odissi Canon, in Pallabi Chakravorty, Nilanjana Gupta, Dance Matters: Performing India (New Delhi: Routledge, 2010), 264-278. 24 The music culture of India is diverse, with a basic distinction being made between the tradition of aboriginal people and the culture of the immigrant population. Before the arrival of Indo-Europeans, the main characteristics of music performed on the subcontinent were elaborate rhythms and – as a consequence – an abundance of percussive instruments. 25 “The instruments used in Odissi are the mardala (drum), the manjira (cymbals), the flute and the violin” [Aakriti Sinha, Let`s know Dances of India (New Delhi: Star, 2006), 16]. Shiva Nataraja is presented in the Indian tradition in the neverending tandava dance as the one holding the fire of destruction and the damaru drum; traditionally, Shiva is depicted in a dynamic pose, with one leg bent. 22

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Hindu strand constitute an important part of worship. They are treated as offerings. Kathak, Bharatanatyam, Kathakali, Odissi, as well as Manipuri, mean a meeting with god. Rekha Tandon believes that “the fundamental objective of the classical Indian dance is the unification with a god through transcendence of the body, hence dance techniques in India have been serving as the means of human self-cognition for ages”.26 Dance in Indian culture is a prayer, an element of worship – both in the individual dimension, that is from the perspective of a person performing the dance, and the social one, since the audience also participates in that peculiar mystery. Dance is also perceived from the perspective of energy that can be released.27 The name Odissi derives from the eastern region of India – Orissa.28 Documented sources of this dance date back to the 2nd century B.C. Odissi dances were primarily performed by women only (called According to Mond-Kozáowska, “the circular hoop with the flames of fire, which surrounds the dancer, could be not only a symbolic representation of the Cosmos but also a more specific reminiscence of a form of the dance floor with a bonfire in the middle, or a depiction of the inner heat experience, accompanying altered states of consciousness and mystical experiences” [Wiesna Mond-Kozáowska, Taniec mistyczny w kulturach dawnych. Studium o moĪliwej kosmogonicznej naturze taĔca jako inspiracji twórczej Aleksandra Skriabina, in Skriabin. Mistyczna droga muzyki, ed. Jacek Szerszenowicz (àódĨ: Akademia Muzyczna w àodzi, 2016), 127-153, here: 139-140]. The author claims that “dance spurred by spirit, based on a well-considered choreo-technical structure (…) may lead to intended, expected and experienced psychosomatic transformations” [W. Mond-Kozáowska, Taniec mistyczny, 143]. In such situations it is movement, being the model and purposeful cause of conscious acts of creation that should be categorized as sacred since it has a formative power. 26 Quoted after: W. Mond-Kozáowska, Taniec mistyczny, 139. 27 It should be stressed that the discussion on classical Indian dances from the perspective of yoga is one of the possible research viewpoints; it seems, however, that such a perspective does not constitute the core discussion on the issue. The supporter of yoga-based analysis of the subject, Mond-Kozáowska, refers to the study Gods of Love and Ecstasy by Alain Danielou, who claims that “according to the Hindu cosmology, the universe is non-material. The matter, life and thought are mere energetic relationships in the form of rhythm, movement and mutual gravity. Hence the primary cause that gave birth to the whole world and various forms of existence could be understood as a harmonic and rhythmic principle, which is represented by the beat on the drum and dance-like movement. As a principle of creation, Shiva does not utter the world, he dances it (he dances the world)”. Quoted after: W. Mond-Kozáowska, Taniec mistyczny, 138-141. 28 These issues have been discussed more thoroughly in, for instance, the study by Dhirendranath N. Patnaik, Odissi Dance (Orissa: Orissa Sangeet Natak Akademia, 1971).

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mahari). Married to gods, they served not only in temples but also in the rulers’ palaces.29 In the oldest form of the Odissi ritual, a dancer dedicated her artistry and her emotions to a god insofar as she was not allowed to look directly at the audience. Through art she was developing a marital relationship with her god. Undoubtedly, as the significance of the rasa concept grew, the audience somehow gained admittance to that intimate “conversation” between a husband and his wife, expressed through movement. The dancer did not only impersonate certain roles but also became a narrator whose story was addressed to the audience (not only to god) so that all participants of the mystery could reach the state of devotion (bhakti), striving for liberation from the cycle of reincarnation. A classical Odissi recital should consist of the following dances: 1. Mangalacharan, comprising bhumi pranam (greeting the stage, earth), pandana (prayers) and sabha pranam (greeting the god, guru and the audience); 2. Batu nritya (a difficult technical dance for Shiva to the accompaniment of instruments and rhythmically uttered syllables, being an imitation of the drum sound; there are no songs here); 3. Pallawi (a subtle lyrical piece, a combination of nritta and nritya; it is preceded by a Sanskrit song); 4. Abhinaya (showing emotions and moods, bhava and rasa, through songs); 5. Moksha (a final dance of a deep spiritual nature to the accompaniment of rhythmically spoken bols (i.e. a series of mnemonic syllables) and bells attached to the dancer’s legs – there are no songs and orchestral performance here; the dance makes a reference to the Hindu liberation from the cycle of births and deaths as well as communion with the absolute).30

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Initially, mahari were treated with huge respect, as they were believed to belong to the gods. Later (between the 12th and 17th centuries) their status definitely worsened as their impeccable beauty and great skills increasingly attracted rich men who sponsored them, reducing their role to mistress-lovers. In the 19th century, the procedure was completely forbidden, as dancers were considered to be prostitutes [see: D. N. Patnaik, Odissi Dance, 64]. The Odissi dance itself however survived. 30 Z. J. Kann, Taniec indyjski, 46-47. Tandon describes the Odissi dance as a religious ritual performed in the Jagannatha temple. According to that account, in front of the altar a dancer makes symbolic gestures which are supposed to reflect her union with god; it might be a form of the sublimation of the sexual drive, showing an ultimate communion of the woman worshipping her god with the god himself. There are, however, more explicit depictions of the relationship with god on stage in the form of courting and final unification. Some authors compare these rituals, in a principled way, to the Greek Bacchanal tradition [see: Alain Danielou, Gods of Love, 15-17; W. Mond-Kozáowska, Taniec mistyczny, 144].

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Performing the roles of women, a classical Indian dancer may become one of eight types of heroine (nayika). All these types are enumerated in the NƗtyaĞƗstra:31 1. Vasakasajja – a happy, joyful woman awaiting her lord, trying to dress up beautifully for his arrival;32 2. Vorahotkanthita – unlike vasakasajja she is a woman feeling sad due to parting from her lover; 3. Svadhinabhartrika – a woman not only happy to have been able to gain a man’s affection but also proud that his family regarded her worthy to be his wife;33 4. Kalahantarita – another type, this time an unhappy one, who argued with her man, even though the matter was not worth it, and lost him as a result of the argument; 5. Khandita – she has been deceived, so now she is overwhelmed with anger;34 6. Vipralabdha – she was waiting for her lover but he did not turn up, so she is very disappointed;35 7. Proshitabhartrika – her lover had to go far away on a trip, she stayed and now misses him greatly; 8. Abhisarika – she is so much in love that she does not even care about others’ opinion of her, she forgets about virtue, and boldly challenges the social norms when going off for a tryst with her lover.36 Female characters can also be divided into three types: 1. Abhyantara – a woman who could be described as an ideal – she not only comes from a noble house but also obeys norms, always behaves faultlessly; 2. Bahya – a woman who “goes out, out of her family line, house”;37 3. Bahya-abhyantara – a woman who is of high descent but does not obey the appropriate norms of behavior.38 31

The NƗtyaĞƗstra, vol. I, trans. Manomohan Ghosh (Kalkuta: Manisha, 31995), XXIV, 210-211; after: Z. J. Kann, Taniec indyjski, 62. 32 According to Karine Schomer’s description, “one who dresses up and waits for her lover at the door of her house”. Karine Schomer, Where Have All the RƗdhƗs Gone?: New Images of Woman in Modern Hindi Poetry in John Stratton Hawley, Donna Marie Wulff (ed.), The Divine Consort: RƗdhƗ and the Goddesses of India (Berkeley: Berkeley Religious Studies Series, 1982), 89-95, here: 93. 33 “Having her lover well under control”. Ibid. 34 “Deceived by her lover”. Ibid. 35 “Separated from her lover”. Ibid. 36 “One who goes off in the night for a secret tryst with her lover”. Ibid. 37 Z.J. Kann, Taniec indyjski, 62. 38 Ibid. Allison Busch, when writing about the classical literature of the subcontinent, refers to the system of eight types of heroine (women in love) in Indian culture, stressing the vitality of these patterns and the diversity of possible variants, which is related: “This and the other systems just outlined can be combined in various ways to generate yet additional systems, and subsystems, and sub-subsystems”. Allison Busch, Poetry of Kings: The Classical Hindi Literature of Mughal India (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 80.

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It is worth emphasizing that, similarly to the general image of women in Indian culture, in classical dance najika experiences affection through a man. It can be stated, therefore, that certain mental stereotypes are reflected in classical Indian dance. Naturally, in European culture (or in any other) one could also easily venture to distinguish basic types of woman, also including specific roles performed in general by artists and dancers. Yet such analogies in European culture would mostly refer to past epochs, as over time the art people on the Old Continent have won a great deal of freedom in terms of artistic expression and, what is more, creativity and modernity have become the evaluative categories in the positive meaning of these notions. The art of classical Indian dancers is firmly grounded in clearly defined principles that must be obeyed by all those who perform a given kind of dance, since the religious aspect is too strongly emphasized to be violated with impunity.39 It also seems that individualism, so clearly highlighted and so characteristic of Western culture, does not represent a particular value for classical Indian dancers. It should be assumed that the types of female character impersonated by Indian Odissi dancers constitute a still-binding canon of performance. They do not come up with modifications of the characters presented through sophisticated modern means of expression. In general, shocking the audience with novelties is not applicable to that art.40 Eastern masters even recommend refraining from becoming acquainted with other dramatic forms because “only in this way a disciple may retain the purity and quality of his/her craftsmanship and only in this way will one show dedication to the path one has chosen”.41 Such a strongly emphasized ability to focus totally on one path and one goal, characteristic of Eastern nations, would probably be perceived in the West as a lack of a possibility for full development. A person from the West first wants to know all possible options in order to make a choice. And even after that, one would like to observe the diversity of the world around, not just look ahead at one’s goal. According to the authors of Engendering Performance, Indian 39 It is noteworthy that in European culture sacred art (including music), though theoretically also subject to restrictions, evolves and tends to be characterized by secular elements. In spite of constant efforts made by the Church to codify this kind of art, the sacred character of a work is not a factor determining the strict observance of tradition in Europe. 40 One should remember that in traditional Indian dance, dancers do not perform female roles only. Also, in their art they do not present the aforementioned types only; they also play male roles. 41 Eugenio Barba, Canoe z papieru (Wrocáaw: Wydawnictwo Instytutu Grotowskiego, 2007), 29.

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Woman Performers in Search of an Identity by Bishnupriya Dutt and Urmimala Sarkar Munsi, the inviolable principles of the process of learning Indian dance should comprise the following rules: the master is the highest power and authority; his recommendations are binding and unquestionable – it is advised that no questions are asked and that complete obedience is required; one should not promote oneself as an artist, the purpose of performance is art; the body should be treated only and exclusively as a tool for presenting art, and should not be treated as a source of entertainment since it belongs to god.42 Female roles in classical Indian art are always categorized into certain types with regard to their relationship with a man; still, they do not merely reflect the subordination of the gentle sex. Dance clearly implies fascination with the beauty of the female body and – which seems equally important – with the world of gender-related emotions. From the myth about the creation of dance and theatre, we can learn that Bharata requested Brahma to allow women to dance. He argued that women were natyalankara (nƗ‫ܒ‬yƗla۪kara), which meant that they could be treated as a peculiar embellishment of the dramatic art. Apsarasas, i.e. divine dancers, are Brahma’s answer to that request.43 The dualism based on mutually excluding, though at the same time complementary images of liberated women-seducers versus ideal women (virgins, wives and mothers), so typical of the perception of women all over the world, may be applied also to classical Indian dance – both in an ideological context, being a division into various types of woman, and in the practice of temple dances. Theoretically, when describing Indian female dancers one could in a way use an analogy to the notion of the lady as it is understood by the Western world: she should be beautiful and very attractive but cannot be provocative. It should be admitted, however, that compliance with that standard would be an ideal situation, associated with the primary role of dance as the worship of gods. Practically, the border used to be and still is crossed, and the dancers, aware of their attractiveness, learnt to deliberately highlight their beauty through dance enriched with erotic elements. In order to authorize this practice, a justification has been found 42

Bishnupriya Dutt, Urmimala Sarkar Munsi, Engendering Performance, Indian Woman Performers in Search of an Identity (New Delhi: Sage Publications, 2010), 165-181, after: Z. J. Kann, Taniec indyjski, 65. 43 Please note that a woman can perform both male and female roles; she can be Krishna, Radha, shepherdess or narrator only through the selected sort of stage movement itself – Indians do not find the incompatibility of a woman’s image with a male role awkward, even though the opposite situation requires that a man should hide his true gender. Ibid., 64.

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in the ritual role of dance – a woman enhances her attractiveness on stage with erotic elements so as to endear herself to her divine lover. In this role, she is given an opportunity to expose both sides of her nature – the spiritual and the carnal. In theory, when seducing her divine spouse she has allure for the men admiring her skill. Therefore, if it is assumed that dancers perform the roles of divine brides, the emphasis placed on the physical aspect is not only acceptable but also fully justified by the type character they impersonate. This subtle boundary, the crossing of which was initially banned, applies more to something that, according to European standards, could be defined as a class (of a person or performance), but it seems that it should not be treated as the violation of a taboo. Naturally, the presentation of a given character type takes place in a dynamic manner, which means that the world of emotions the woman experiences is shown. This aspect was also described in a famous treatise, invaluable from the perspective of a researcher of today. The main female qualities, according to the rules presented in the NƗtyaĞƗstra, could involve a predilection for fun, beauty as a result of their care for their appearance, absent-mindedness, embarrassment, fretfulness, feverishness, emotionality, flirtatiousness, simulated coldness, simulated anger, etc. A dancer on stage should demonstrate these emotions in a manner that is clear to the audience, which is supposed to watch her shivering, sighing, embarrassed, frightened or in tears.44 It seems that in the light of the concepts of dosha and rasa, the fondness for reflecting female archetypes, which have existed for ages, in dance dramas like the Odissi dance is fully justified. This is connected not only with the particular attachment of Indians to tradition but also, primarily, to the understanding of dance dramas as having the status of 44

N. ĝ. Ghosh, XXIV, 12-13, after: Z. J. Kann, Taniec indyjski, 65. When playing particular roles, a dancer should remember that generally in Indian tradition a man should be endowed with courage, good manners, knowledge, wisdom, generosity, composure, readiness for sacrifice and thoughtfulness. A woman is on principle a beautiful, kind, gentle, modest, cheerful and sympathetic individual. A man is not allowed to show his emotions as explicitly as a woman is; in general, performance in classical Indian dance poses to men a considerable challenge since they are obliged to fully identify themselves with a female role (when they play it); this identification should take place not only in the physical sphere, as with the imitation of women’s gestures, but also on a very deep emotional or spiritual level. Indian dancers try not to play roles but to fully identify themselves with them, to become a different person. It seems that women do not find it as difficult to learn man-like thinking, whereas for men a woman’s mentality and reasoning are unusually mysterious and hard to learn. B. Dutt, U. Sarkar Munsi, Engendering performance, 176; see: Ibid., 66-68.

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religious rituals; rituals that must be conducted in compliance with all the appropriate rules, according to Indian beliefs. Their violation, i.e. by making an error (dosha), could result in far-fetching consequences, being an insult to the gods and a breach of the cosmic order. In the rasa theory, in turn, the obscurity and ambiguity of the signs used by a dancer might lead to some miscommunication in the sphere of the aesthetic reception of a given work by the audience; they would thus be deprived of the possibility of experiencing the emotions that should have been evoked through the performer’s art. As a result, the audience might be unable to experience true purification, as the energy transfer will be disturbed. The beauty of an artwork itself, i.e. its external form, is too not adequate to Indians’ expectations of a classical dance drama. The aesthetic objective must be closely linked here with the mystical sphere, serving the purpose of attaining liberation from the life-cycle. Due to the fact that classical Indian dances are considered to be a kind of mystery of transcendental nature, it can be assumed that dance virtuosity should remain in the service of a higher cause; also, the personal ambitions of artists, many of whom represent the creativity-marked Western culture as a result of the huge popularity of classical Indian dance schools across the world, must be kept to the most accurate representations of the characters performed. Finally, it is worth stressing that, irrespective of the mental stereotypes connected with a traditional division of gender roles in Indian society, performing female characters in classical dance dramas not only reflects Indians’ fascination with the beauty of the female body and the grace and harmony of women’s movements, but also draws largely on the extremely complex and incomprehensible, from men’s perspective, emotionality of the opposite sex. Undoubtedly, basic archetypes of women from the NƗtyaĞƗstra represent an example of traditional thinking in patriarchal societies, hence they reflect women’s emotions towards men. Nevertheless, the fact that the inner world of women is so rich and mysterious (from the Indian perspective), and that a male dancer finds it much harder to fully recreate it than a female dancer does when impersonating the opposite gender, seems to clearly confirm the fascination (sometimes deeply-hidden) with womanhood in all its psychophysical dimensions.

INTERPRETING SOME TRANSFORMATIONAL ASPECTS OF PENTATONICISM AND POST-TONAL CHINESE MUSIC MAN-CHING DONALD YU

In Chinese music, pentatonic collection is central in constituting all the harmonic and melodic elements; most traditional Chinese musicians particularly emphasize the importance of the smoothness between pentatonic collections when one collection modulates to another, articulating the roles of common tones.1 Example 1 below is a folksong originating from China’s Sichuan Province, “Shoulder Pole made of Boxwood.” In the passage, the C pentatonic collection2 modulates to the F pentatonic collection by introducing the F pitch in m. 7. In other words, the modulation process is achieved by transforming the pitch E in the C pentatonic collection in m. 6 to the pitch F in the F pentatonic collection in m. 7. The example below in figure 2 illustrates their inter-relationship presents a detailed picture of how the above modulation takes place. The first pentatonic collection {C-D-E-G-A} undergoes T5 modulation,3 in which the pitch E semitonally shifts to F by ic1 (indicated by an arrow), resulting in the formation of the second pentatonic collection {F-G-A-C1

The detailed operation of pentatonic modulations will be addressed in the ensuing discussion, where I discuss the way in which common tones play an important role in facilitating the smooth modulatory process. 2 The C pentatonic collection refers to the fact that C is the first degree of the collection. I will adopt a similar indication throughout the paper. 3 T5 indicates five ic1 motions. Ic, an abbreviation of interval-class, is the shortest distance between two notes in pitch-class space; pitch-class space is an associational circular space containing all the notes within a musical octave, and in this space there is no differentiation between notes that are made distinct by different octaves. For instance, although C4, C5, and C6 are situated in different octave positions, they belong to the same point in pitch class space. See Joseph Straus, Introduction to Post-tonal Theory, Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2005, 1-15.

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D}. This pprocess is reeferred to as “Bian-fan””4 in Chinese music. Subsequentlly, the first pentatonic collection is in a T T5 relationship p with the second as tthe first degrrees of the C pentatonic and the F pentatonic p collections aare in the T5 relationship, r in ndicated by thhe dotted line as shown below in exaample 2. Cleaarly, the picturre generalizes the prominen nce of T5: it shows moodulation betw ween the two different penntatonic collecctions, as well as sem mitonal motionn and ic1 mottion between ppitches E and d F. Most importantly,, the “Bian-Faan” proceduree articulates a concept simiilar to the MS-cycle5 pproposed by Richard R Cohn (1996): a sem mitonal shift,6 which is crucial in transformingg one pentattonic collecttion into another, is responsible for the enactm ment of the wh hole cycle.

Example 1. M Modulation beetween two pen ntatonic collecctions in “Shou ulder Pole made of Boxw wood” 4

The term m means “to changge into the notee fan,” originatting from the “gong-che“ notation”, a ssystem that mapps each note off a diatonic scalle to a Chinese character. For more infformation regarrding the “gon ng-che-notation” n” see Walter Kaufmann, K Music Notatioons of the Orient: Notational Systems S of Conntinental, East, South and Central Asia. (Bloomington:: Indiana Univeersity Press, 19667), 9-28. 5 Only two paairs of set-classses can be operaated in an MS-ccycle: the conso onant triad (3-11) with iits complementt (9-11), and th he pentatonic ccollection (5-35 5) with its mplement (7-355). See Richarrd Cohn, “Maxximally Smootth Cycles, diatonic com Hexatonic Syystems, and thhe Analysis off Late-Romantiic Triadic Prog gressions.” Music Analyssis, 1996, 15, 9--40. 6 The semitonnal shift accounnts for the “L” operation in Coohn’s triadic MS-cycle M as it enacts ic1 voice-leading motion betweeen two pitch-c lasses in the diatonic d or pentatonic scaale. For instancce, in the case of the diatonic sccale (7-35) on C [B-C-DE-F-G-A], F undergoes a semitonal shift becoming F#, resulting in th he diatonic scale on G [F F#-G-A-B-C-D D-E]. See Ding Hong, Semitoone and Commo on-tone in Pentatonic M Modulation and the Maximally Smooth Cycle:: A Dilemma off Theory in Practice. New wcastle-upon-Ty Tyne: Cambridgee Scholars Publlishing, 2011, 355-369. 3

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Example 2. “Bian-Fan” procedure between two pentatonic collections

In contrast to traditional Chinese music, which tends to emphasize the maximum number of common tones with the least amount of semitonal shift as being maximally smooth, as in example 1, in post-tonal Chinese music7 a larger number of semitonal relationships with fewer common tones are the central features. This paper offers an analytical account of the transformations8 between pentatonic collections that arise in post-tonal 7

Post-tonal Chinese music comprises diverse post-tonal compositional techniques, which have been examined by several Chinese theorists since 1990; among the effective Western compositional techniques that Chinese composers exploit is the use of pentatonic twelve-tone techniques. Zheng Ying-Lie generalizes that a twelve-tone work of pentatonic nature is a design for a series with pentatonic features in its structures. See Zheng Ying-Lie, Letter from China: The Use of Twelve-tone Technique in Chinese Musical Composition, The Musical Quarterly, 1990, 74/3, 473-88. The similarities between the MS-cycle and “Bian Fan” have been identified; in general, common tones are essential agents for facilitating the modulatory process between pentatonic collections, and this phenomenon can be observed in various Chinese music genres ranging from folk tunes to contemporary Chinese music. See Ding Hong, op. cit. According to Xiaole Li, in the music of Chen Yi the influence of Western posttonal techniques is evident. See Xiaole Li. (2008). Chen Yi's piano music: Chinese aesthetics and Western models. Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Hawaii at Manoa. Despite the vast amounts of research focusing on post-tonal Chinese music, none of it has analyzed post-tonal Chinese music by hallmarking the interaction between the pentatonic and chromatic domains. 8 Here, transformation refers to the mapping of one collection onto another by means of transposition or inversion thereof. Moreover, I argue that transformation takes place as pcs undergo mapping onto each other between two set-classes, and thus I prefer to use “transformation” instead of “modulation” as the former concept better suits the post-tonal context, although both terms imply a similar meaning. For more on transformation between set-classes, in particular voice-leading issues, see Joseph Straus, Uniformity, Balance, and Smoothness in Atonal Voice Leading.

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Chinese music, adopting the methodology of the Tonnetz9 and in particular Dual Interval Space10 (DIS), so as to elaborate and reexamine pentatonicism by focusing on the transformations between pentatonic elements, especially semitonal motion and common tones. So far, the application of the Tonnetz has only been made to music of the Western tradition;11 but it is interesting to apply this model to post-tonal Chinese music, revealing transformations between pentatonic set-classes.12 Moreover, the transformational issues of pentatonic set-classes in posttonal Chinese music have not been discussed in-depth so far, and I will explore the transformational inter-relationship between different pentatonic set-classes by employing DIS. In the ensuing discussion, the linkage between DIS and the transformation between pentatonic collections will be shown by introducing the structure of pentatonic collection in association with its modulation process. Next, different passages from post-tonal Chinese music will be analysed by means of DIS, illuminating the transformation of the collections in association with its subsets in the context of post-tonal language.

Music Theory Spectrum, 2003, 25/2, 305-352. 9 For more on various applications of the Tonnetz and its association with their use in neo-Riemannian theory see Richard Cohn, Introduction to Neo-Riemannian Theory: A Survey and a Historical Perspective, Journal of Music Theory, 1998, 42/2, 167-180; Edward Gollin, Neo-Riemannian Theory. “Zeitschrift der Gesellschaft fuer Musiktheorie”, 2005, 2/2. 10 For more on Dual Interval Space see Stephen Brown, Dual Interval Space in Twentieth-Century Music, “Music Theory Spectrum”, 2003, 25/1, 35-37. In my paper I focus solely on the relationship between different pentatonic collections with a presentation on DIS, rather than delving into the partial inversional axis on DIS between different pentatonic collections. 11 The application of the Tonnetz has been recently emphasized; see Stephen Brown, “Ic1/Ic5 Interaction in the Music of Shostakovich.” Music Analysis 2011, 28/1, 185-220. In this article the significance of ic1 and ic5 in the music of Shostakovich is addressed, while the Tonnetz built on the interval spaces of these two intervals is crucial for the analysis. Brown had already proposed the concept of the Tonnetz in his earlier writing (1999) and he discusses the properties of networks created by two generating intervals, which he calls Dual Interval Space (DIS). In David Heetderk‘s Copland’s Fifths and Their Structural Role in the Sonata for Violin and Piano, “Music Theory Online” 2011, 17/2, the Tonnetz also serves as an important analytical tool for analyzing Copland’s Quiet City; the author concludes that the fifth and the semitone play a prominent structural role in constructing the whole piece at various surface levels. 12 Pentatonic set-class refers not only to pentatonic collection 5-35, but it also involves various subsets of pentatonic collection.

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Dual Interval Space was proposed by Stephen Brown in 2003 and later became the methodology for the analysis of ic5/ic1 interaction in the music of Shostakovich (Brown, 2011). Regarding its basic framework, it is a two-dimensional network consisting of a two pitch-class array13 in which all the twelve pitch-classes are presented (see example 3). In the case of the ic1/ic5 DIS, on the horizontal axis each row represents all the ic1related pitch-classes, whereas on the vertical axis each column represents all the ic5-related pitch-classes. Interaction between ic5 and ic1 can be achieved by means of the downward/upward motion of the ic1-oriented horizontal rows or the leftward/rightward motions of the ic5-oriented vertical columns. The importance of ic5, the fifth, reflects the fundamental intervallic structure of pentatonic collection whereas the significance of ic1 reflects the semitonal relationship between the modulatory pitches in any pentatonic collection. But how does it relate to the structure of pentatonic collection?

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Bb

Bb

Cb

C

Db

D

Eb

Example 3. ic1/ic5 Dual Interval Space

Regarding the fundamental structure of a pentatonic collection, it is made up of the successive superimposition of T5-related pitch-classes, in which the perfect intervals 4th and 5th are the most important for generating a complete pentatonic collection. For instance, when one begins with pitch C while adding the next pitches GÆDÆAÆ E, which are all ascending T5-related, a complete pentatonic collection {C-D-E-G-A} is formed. On the other hand, when one begins with pitch C while adding the next pitches FÆBbÆEbÆAb, which are all descending T5-related, another pentatonic collection is formed {Ab-Bb-C-Eb-F}. Thus, on a more abstract 13

This array stems from the Tonnetz, in which each axis corresponds to a particular interval class.

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level, ic5 is the major coore.14 As show wn in exampl e 4 below, by y treating note C3 as tthe first note, superimposin ng all the pitchhes in the cyccle of 5ths in an ascennding directioon, two different pentatonnic collections can be generated inn an overlappinng manner.

Example 4. Juxtaposition of two penttatonic collecttions with T5 5 and T1 relationships

Dotted liines indicate T5 transposition, whereas the arrow bettween the pitches C annd B indicatess semitonal in nflection. Duriing the semito onal shift, four commoon tones betw ween different pentatonic coollections preeserve{GB-D-A},whiich are essentiial for the aforementioned ““Bian-fan” mo odulatory processes ass they preservve the purity of o the pentatonnic sound in trraditional Chinese music.15 From thhe above geneeralization I conclude, c in aan abstract seense, that pentatonic collection arrticulates the importance of ic5 and ic1. For hallmarkingg the two interrvals, ic5/ic1 Dual Space serves its end as D Interval S it is closely related to thee T5-oriented pentatonic coollection. T1 semitonal s motion betw ween differentt pentatonic co ollections cann be generalized by the 14

The intervaal vector of penntatonic collection is >, in which ic5 dominates the collectionn as four ic5s arre present. In th he case of the ppentatonic on C, C the four ic5s are {C--G}, {D-A}, {E-A}, and {D D-G}. Moreoveer, according to o Chinese theorist Zhouu (2006), ic5 is the “nucleus” of the colleection as it is the most frequently occcurring intervaal in the set-cllass. For more on “nucleus”,, see Xiao Sheng Zhao, Tai Chi Comp mposition System m, Shanghai M Music Publishin ng House, 2006, 93-103. 15 Chinese m musicians emphasize the role of common tonnes maintaining g the pure pentatonic souund in the T5 modulation m proccess. See Ding H Hong, op. cit.

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horizontal motion on the Tonnetz. Example 5a reproduces the process of “Bian-Fan” of the two pentatonic collections (example 2) in the presentation of ic1/ic5 space. In this example, the two pentatonic collections lie in adjacent vertical rows with the chromatic shifts from E to F at the central position of the space, subsequently resulting in two Lshaped pitch arrays with four common tones. Here, E and F are highlighted to emphasize the alienated chromatic effect which is distinctive from the rest of the pentatonic sound.16 Moreover, each pitchclass (pc)17 in the first pentatonic collection maps directly by ic5 onto each pc of the second collection; this can be indicated with dotted diagonal parallel lines as illustrated in example 5a. The application of the Tonnetz highlights the pentatonic and chromatic interaction. Example 5b reveals another presentation of the two pentatonic collections in which two collections lie on the same row. By adding the extraneous note F to the original pentatonic collection {C-D-E-G-A}, the new pentatonic collection is formed by mapping the whole original collection one step downward with each note being transformed by ic5. In addition, four common tones can be presented clearly in an overlapping manner, and the pitches E and F serve as the invariance that belongs to the two collections. The modulation from the C pentatonic collection to the F pentatonic collection displays an ic5 transformational process as all the pcs in the first collection map onto the equivalent pcs in the second collection. Furthermore, the transformations between the collections display the highest degree of uniformity18 as all the transformed pitches are in the ic5 relationship. In the two DIS examples below, the transformation of the T5related pentatonic collections are effectively presented by means of the vertical and horizontal rows. Thus, DIS manifests the maximally smooth 16

Modulations between collections operated by common tones are prominent in the “Bian-Fan” procedure in traditional Chinese music; however, the pentatonic collections in the MS-cycle are operated by semitonal shifts andmaximally smooth transformation, which tends to emphasize the semitone rather than common tones. See Ding Hong, op. cit. In my ensuing analysis, I extend the central concern regarding the semitonal shifts between pentatonic collections even though the collections are not in a T5 relationship for generating the MS-cycle. 17 Pitch-class, being abbreviated as pc, is a set of pitches translated by integer notation into whole numbers regardless of their octave position; e.g. C=0, C#=1, and D=2. See Joseph Straus, Introduction to Post-tonal Theory, Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2005, 1-15. 18 This term originates from transformational voice-leading; for more information on the aspects of uniformity in transformational voice-leading see Joseph Straus, Uniformity, Balance, and Smoothness in Atonal Voice Leading. Music Theory Spectrum, 2003, 25/2, 305-352.

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A D G C E

F

A D G C

Example 5a. ic5/ic1 interaction on DIS/Tonnetz

E A D G C F

Example 5b. Two pentatonic collections presented on the same vertical axis

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transformation between the two collections as the maximum number of common tones is retained, in association with one semitonal motion. However, in the post-tonal context the concept of maximally smooth transformation cannot be achieved, as the transformation between collections is characterized by chromaticism – a larger number of semitonal shifts rather than an emphasizing of common tones. In traditional Chinese music, just as with any T5-related pentatonic collections 5-35, any T5-related pentatonic trichords (025) contain only one common tone alongside two ic5 transformations. One of the T5related pentatonic trichordal transformations is shown below in example 6.19 Moreover, no semitonal relationship exists, only ic5 and ic2 dominate the transformational processes and the sound of those intervallic transformations is rather pentatonic in nature: however, differentiations can be found among different non-T5-related pentatonic trichords in which a semitonal relationship plays an important role. A D G C E

F

A D G C Example 6. Transformation between T5-related pentatonic trichords 19

Throughout the paper, whenever a pitch is missing in a collection the tone will not be emboldened, whereas all other pitches will be.

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Example 7 presents another instance of tritone-related pentatonic setclasses; it is derived from Chinese composer Zhou Long’s piano work Wu Kui. In m. 39, different pentatonic trichords (027) occur between righthand and left-hand alternately. Assuming that the first pentatonic trichord {Eb-F-Bb} in the left hand part belongs to the Eb pentatonic collection, the second trichord {A-B-E} belongs to the A pentatonic collection. The first trichord is transformed into the second trichord by means of two ic1 motions as well as one ic4 motion. The transformational process is displayed on DIS, as shown in example 7a. The transformational motion is characterized by the larger number of dissonant intervals. The mapping between the two sets is based on the concept of the minimal total distance of the transformational voice-leading in Straus (2003). The mapping between voices is not induced by parallel note-to-note mapping, but rather mapping in accordance the minimal transformational distance between them. Moreover, the presence of the transformational ic4 and ic1 relationships in examples 7a reinforces both the triadic and chromatic qualities, and between the last two pentatonic trichords in example 7b, two ics1 and ic4 dominate the sound, resulting in a chromatic-oriented effect. Another instance of pentatonic trichordal transformation emerges in m. 47, in which the first pentatonic trichord {F-Bb-Eb} is transformed into another pentatonic trichord {D-E-A}, which is in semitional relationship with the first (see example 7b). On DIS (Example 7c), note-to-note parallel mapping20 is induced for obtaining the minimal distance and subsequently three semitonal transformational motions are enacted; all voices are transformed diagonally on DIS. Moreover, this transformational motion reflects the highest uniformity between the pentatonic trichords. Thus, any pentatonic trichords in semitonal relationships exhibit the largest number of semitonal shifts with the most uniform motions among the voices.

20

See Joseph Straus, Uniformity, Balance, and Smoothness in Atonal Voice Leading. Music Theory Spectrum, 2003, 25/2, 305-352. This concept reflects the idea of the minimal total distance of transformational voice-leading. Furthermore, the minimal distance refers to parsimoniousness, efficiency, nearness, and proximity and the pitch-class space between those trichords are addressed, but not the registral pitch space. Note that despite the fact that this transformation is similar to the traditional T5 pentatonic modulation in that smoothness is the primary consideration, the transformation in example 10a is rather different as it does not involve in the pentatonic MS-cycle.

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C#

F

F#

Bb

B

Eb

E

211

A

Example 7. Two pentatonic trichordal configurations in m. 39

Example 7a. Transformation between the first two pentatonic trichords in m. 39 on DIS

Example 7b. Two pentatonic trichordal configurations in m. 47

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G C F

F#

Bb

B

Eb

E A D

Example 7c. Transformation between the first two pentatonic trichords in m. 47 on DIS

The passage below (example 8) is derived from Flute Moon, m. 75, displaying similar semitonal relationships between different pentatonic collections; however, in this case the pentatonic collections are displayed in linear and scalar context. Here, the flute solo displays a linear scale passage. Three pentatonic collections emerge successively: the first one belongs to the B pentatonic collection {B-C#-D#-F#-G#}; the second belongs to the Bb pentatonic collection {Bb-C-D-F-G};21 and the third belongs to the A pentatonic collection {A-B-C#-E-F}. Apparently, no common tones can be traced among the successive collections B and Bb as well as collections Bb and A, although three common tones exist between the B and A collections. Reproducing the three collections on DIS (example 8a) reveals that the direct contiguous leftward motion generates five semitonal shifts. All five pitches in each collection are present except the pitch D in the second collection, reflecting the complete utilization of the pentatonic scale. The transformational relationships between the three collections exhibit the highest degree of chromatic ic1 uniformity, ensuring transformational coherence between the three collections. 21

Here one might argue that the second collection could also be the pentatonic collection on Eb as both collections on Bb and Eb share the same common tones {F-G-Bb-C}. In this case, I assume the second collection starts on Bb as it links with the contiguous collections semitonally.

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Obviously the employment of the pentatonic transformation is totally different from that of traditional Chinese music, in which ic5 is the major transformational operation.

Example 8. Three successive collections forming a scale-like passage

C#

D

D#

F#

G

G#

B

C

C#

E

F

F#

A

Bb

B

Example 8a. Transformations between the three pentatonic collections on DIS in a leftward direction

Generalizing from the above passage, the ways of employing pentatonic collections in Chinese post-tonal music are different from most of the Chinese music as mentioned by Hong (2011); it is obvious that no common tones can be sought among the collections in the aforementioned passages in examples 7 and 8; the resulting pentatonic sound of the modulatory passages between the collections cannot be considered as “pure.”22 Moreover, in the context of the above passages, the concept of “Bian-Fan” cannot be applied, as the collections are transformed into one another by means of semitonal shifts of each pitch. However, the transformations of the collections display the highest degree of uniformity as all the transformational operations involve the same interval class-ic1. Example 9 below illustrates a passage from Chinese composer Bright Sheng’s Four Movements for Piano Trio, derived from m. 7 in the first 22 See Ding Hong, op. cit. The common tones between modulatory pentatonic collections ensure the “purity” of pentatonic sound in traditional Chinese music.

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movement, the piano part. Here, two different pentatonic collections occur simultaneously, constituting the entire harmonic materials of the whole measure. The first pentatonic collection23 in the right-hand part {Bb-C-FG} is superimposed with another pentatonic collection {B-C#-F#-G#}. As shown in Example 9, both pentatonic tetrachords are moulded in perfect 5th intervals.

Example 9. Superimposition of two semitonally related pentatonic tetrachords in m. 7

From the traditional “Bian-fan” perspective, in order to operate maximally smooth voice-leading motion between the collections, five “Bian-fan” steps are required if we are considering one semitonal shift24 of one pitch as one step. However, each of the four pitches in the whole pentatonic collection exhibits a semitonal relationship with the second pentatonic collection. Consequently, no common tones exist between the pentatonic collections. This phenomenon is quite different from that of the use of pentatonicism in traditional Chinese music, in which common tones play a prominent role in superimposing different pentatonic collections at the same time. In the above case, when translating the relationships between the two pentatonic tetrachords on DIS all the ic5-related pitches in the vertical axis are in a ic1 relationship with another collection on the nearby vertical axis. This is shown in example 8a. Moreover, the passage 23

Both pentatonic collections miss out the third degree, resulting in the formation of a tetrachord. 24 In this case, just like in the previously mentioned pentatonic trichordal transformations, semitonal motion is the most prominent transformational motion between the ic1-related pentatonic collections, which are different from the T5related pentatonic collections in which T5 is the most important motion.

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below reflects the prominent context of ic5, as perfect fifth dyads (05) construct the pentatonic tetrachord and altogether there are two pairs of ic5 dyads contributing to the formation of the two pentatonic collections, highlighting the ic5/ic1 interaction on the DIS (see example 9a). Most importantly, the relationship between the two collections displays the highest level of semitonal uniformity, as all the equivalent pitches map onto each other by ic1. In this example, although the two collections do not necessarily emerge one after another in exhibiting the transformational process, their simultaneous superimposition reinforces the chromatic effects within the measure. D#

D

G#

G

C#

C

F#

F

B

Bb

Example 9a. Relationships between the two pentatonic collections on DIS in a rightward direction

Another instance of a passage in Sheng’s Four Movement for Piano Trio manifests a gradual transformation between three different pentatonic collections, as shown in example 10. From mm. 21-22, the first segment is made up of the E pentatonic collection {E-F#-G#-B-C#}, the second segment from mm. 23-25 (excluding the last quaver) constitutes the Gb pentatonic collection, and the last segment from mm. 25-27 belongs to the Ab pentatonic collection. The three segments are in an ic2 relationship. Reinterpreting the transformations below on DIS reveal a crucial phenomenon (see example 10a); by obtaining the minimal total distance without any note-to-note parallel mapping between the E pentatonic and Gb pentatonic, three common tones25 {F#, C# and G#} are yielded, and 25

Just as in the pentatonic MS-cycle or “Bian Fan”, I emphasize the importance of common tones in which I adopt the similar concept of Neo-riemannian operation. However, those pentatonic trichords do not participate in the maximally-smooth cycle. Although the two pentatonic subsets are not arranged in the same fashion (i.e. in an inversional relationship), again I regard the semitonal motion as the most important motion between any pitches in the pentatonic trichords, reflected on DIS

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the remaining two pcs {B, E} in the first collection and {Bb, Eb} in the second collection are in an ic1 relationship. By the same token, three common tones {Bb, Eb, Ab} can be produced between the Gb and Ab pentatonic collections while generating an ic1 relationship between two pcs in the collections: {Gb, Db} in the Gb pentatonic with the {F, C} in the Ab pentatonic. Thus, while common tones are still preserved in the passage similarly to those in traditional Chinese music, chromatic effects are generated by semitonal offsets between the collections and this is obviously different from what Hong (2011) mentions about the preservation of the purity of common tones among different pentatonic collections.

Example 10. Three different pentatonic collections emerge successively from mm. 21-27.

G#

Bb

C

C#

Eb

F

F#

Ab

Bb

B

Db

Eb

E

Gb

Ab

Example 10a. Transformations between the three pentatonic collections, E, Gb, and Ab, on DIS

Within the same movement from mm. 70-73 at the piano right-hand part, a similar event occurs involving the transformations between the C pentatonic collection, the Bb pentatonic collection, and the Ab pentatonic collection and again ic2 dominates their transpositional levels as shown in example 11. However, a leftward direction of the pentatonic transformations as neighboring rightward or leftward motions. Again, this reflects the concept of the minimal total distance of transformational voice-leading. See Joseph Straus, Uniformity, Balance, and Smoothness in Atonal Voice Leading. Music Theory Spectrum, 2003, 25/2, 305-352

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could be interpreted on DIS (see example 11a). Again, three common tones could be preserved among the first and the second collections as well as the second and the third collections and the rest of the pcs are in semitonal relationships. As we can see, occasions on which the transformation between the pentatonic collections do generate semitonal effects, albeit with common tones, are still prominent between the collections for ensuring interconnectedness and smoothness in-between them.

Example 11. Three different pentatonic collections emerge successively from mm. 70-73.

C

D

E

F

G

A

Bb

C

D

Eb

F

G

Ab

Bb

C

Example 11. Transformations between the three pentatonic collections on Ab, Bb, and C, on DIS

In example 12, another passage from Sheng’s other piece reflects a slightly different employment of pentatonic collections from Flute Moon m. 125: the collections are third-related rather than semitonally related; the first collection is Db pentatonic whereas the second is A pentatonic (with the missing of the pitch C#). As indicated on DIS in Example 12a, four semitonal motions are required in order to transform the Db pentatonic into the A pentatonic with the common tone Db. The example generalizes that fact that the transformation between the pentatonic collections is still maintained by a larger number of semitonal shifts; however, again the transformations between the two collections are not note-to-note parallel

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mapping as in examples 7 and 8, but rather induce the smallest number of distances between each collection, in this case the semitone. The three different passages suggest that contemporary Chinese composers tend to experiment with the pentatonic sound by enhancing the chromatic effects between the collections and enacting chromatic transformations rather than employing the maximum number of common tones.

Example 12. Two third-related pentatonic collections

Db F

Gb

Bb

B

Eb

E

Ab

A

Db

Example 12a. The third-related pentatonic collections on DIS

Example 13 illustrates two groups of different pentatonic collections emerging in m. 31 in the flute solo part in Flute Moon. The first is a pentatonic set-class of a different type, namely (01368), and it results from a transformation of the pentatonic collection 5-35. The first group belongs to the Gb pentatonic collection {Gb-Ab-Bb-Db-Eb}, with the exception of the last pitch in the first group undergoing mutation via a semitonal shift becoming {Gb-Ab-A-Db-Eb}. The process is reproduced on DIS in

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example 13a. Mutating one pitch semitonally in the first group ensures the formation of the second group for the mutated26 pitch A belongs to the second pentatonic collection. Furthermore, the transformation of the Gb pentatonic collection is characterized by four semitonal shifts as illustrated in example 13b. Similarly to the previous passages, the transformation displays the maximum number of semitonal motions; however, it is again different from that of examples 7 and 8 as the transformations are not enacted by parallel mapping.

Example 13. Two Augmented 4th-related pentatonic collections

A Bb

B

D Eb

E

G Ab

A

C

Db

D

F

Gb

G

Example 13a. The mutation of the first group on DIS

26

Pitch mutations involve changes of pitch-classes within a mode. See Lai, Eric. (1997). Modal Formations and Transformations in the First Movement of Chou Wen-Chung’s Metaphors. “Perspectives of New Music” 1997, 35/1, 153-185.

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E A

Bb

D

Eb

G

Ab

C

Db Gb

Example 13b. Two Augmented 4th-related collections on DIS

Conclusion In traditional Chinese music “Bian-fan” articulates the modulation process for emphasizing pure pentatonic sound; the maximum number of four common tones is preserved for smoothly interconnecting any two T5related pentatonic collections, while one semitonal motion is essential for enacting the transformation between collections. Due to the explicit emphasis of the two intervals-T5 and semitonal motion-Dual Interval Spaces (DIS) are employed to illuminate the transformational procedures. Most importantly, any T5-related pentatonic transformations in most of traditional Chinese music reflect maximally smooth transformation, as the maximum number of common tones is retained in association with one semitonal motion; however, the transformations between pentatonicoriented passages drawn from post-tonal Chinese music are in stark contrast: semitonal motions are highlighted so as to forge chromaticism. The result shows that the pentatonic collections that are in semitonal, second, third, and augmented fourth relationships emphasize semitonal shifts. In the case of the semitonal relationship, all the pitches in one collection directly map onto another collection by means of parallel noteto-note transformation at ic1, displaying the maximum uniform transformation; for the pentatonic collections in a third relationship and augmented fourth relationships, the four semitonal transformations are not operated by the procedure as in the first case due to the fact that the transformations are not parallel mappings. Despite the fact that only some passages manifest the particular phenomena, while they do not necessarily benchmark all the pentatonic collections in post-tonal Chinese music, it is evident that transformational approaches somehow show substantial

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departures from the traditional way of modulation, focusing on employing massive chromaticism rather than just using diatonic common tones for connecting one collection with the other.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Ewa BieliĔska-Galas – musicologist, medievalist, Ph.D. in Human Sciences (History-Musicology). She studied at the Chair of Source Studies at the Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski University in Warsaw (previously the Academy of Catholic Theology). After attaining her Ph.D. degree she worked as a researcher in the Polish National Library in Warsaw and as a lecturer in history of music and history of music theory at the Academy of Music in àódĨ. The main area of her research activities covers the history and theory of early music, especially various medieval music traditions, musical notation, transmission of liturgical chant (including aspects of orality), analysis of formulaic chant, exploration of links between plainchant practices and theory. She has published many scientific articles and papers in refereed journals and multi-authored monographs, such as: PiĊtnastowieczny graduaá franciszkanów-obserwantów w Gáubczycach ms. BOZ 151. Charakterystyka zawartoĞci, próba odtworzenia dziejów [A Fifteenth-century Franciscan Observantist Gradual in Gáubczyce ms. BOZ 151. Characteristics of contents, an attempt to recreate history], „Rocznik Biblioteki Narodowej” 2013; Graduale magnum in Kontext des mittelalterlichen Meßoffiziums in Polen, in: Musical Culture of the Bohemian Lands and Central Europe before 1620, Prague 2011 etc. She is currently working on Introits chants and preparing a draft for a research project concerning rhetorical inspirations in Western plainchant. Beata Bolesáawska-Lewandowska studied at the Institute of Musicology at Warsaw University (Poland). In 2010 she completed her doctoral studies at Cardiff University, with a thesis entitled Symphony and Symphonic Thinking in Polish Music after 1956. In 2000 she was commissioned by PWM Edition (Polish State Music Publishers) to write a monograph on Sir Andrzej Panufnik, which was published in September 2001. The English version of this book, entitled The Life and Works of Andrzej Panufnik (1914-1991) was published by Ashgate (Farnham) in 2015. In 2013 and 2014, PWM Edition also published her collected conversations about Górecki (Górecki: A Portrait in Memory) and Panufnik (Panufnik: Architect of Emotion). In addition Bolesáawska has written for websites devoted to both Górecki (threecomposers.pl) and

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Panufnik (panufnik.polmic.pl and ninateka.pl/kolekcje/Panufnik). Bolesáawska has taken part in many Polish and international musicological conferences, presenting papers on Panufnik, Górecki, Mycielski and the Warsaw Autumn Festival. She has also published numerous articles and reviews on Polish contemporary music for musicological journals and music magazines both in Poland and abroad. From 1997 to 2005 she worked for the Warsaw Autumn International Festival of Contemporary Music and from 2005 to 2015 for Polish public television (Channel 2 and TVP Kultura). Since November 2015 she has been working for the Polish Academy of Science, Institute of Art. She is the Chairwoman of the Musicological Section and a member of the Executive Board of the Polish Composers’ Union. In 2015 she received an annual honorary award from the Polish Composers’ Union for promoting Polish music. Edward Campbell is senior lecturer in music at the University of Aberdeen and co-director of the university’s Centre for Modern Thought. After studies in Philosophy and Theology, he took a BMus degree at the University of Glasgow and a Ph.D. (2000) at the university of Edinburgh. He specialises in contemporary European art music and aesthetics including historical, analytical and aesthetic approaches to European modernism, the music and writings of Pierre Boulez, contemporary European opera and the interrelation of musical thought and continental philosophy/critical theory. He is the author of the books Boulez, Music and Philosophy (CUP 2010) and Music after Deleuze (Bloomsbury 2013) and co-editor/contributor to Pierre Boulez Studies (CUP 2016). He is currently working as co-editor on The Cambridge Stravinsky Encyclopedia as well as a monograph on the importance of Asian and African music in French music since Debussy. Ryszard Daniel Golianek (born 1963), Polish musicologist, professor at the Department of Musicology of Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ and at the head of the Department of Music Theory of the GraĪyna and Kiejstut Bacewicz Academy of Music in àódĨ. His main professional interests cover the history of 19th-century music and opera. After graduating from musicology (Adam Mickiewicz University in PoznaĔ, 1988) and cello performance (I. J. Paderewski Academy of Music in PoznaĔ, 1989), he obtained his Ph.D. in musicology (1993), presenting a dissertation on the dramaturgy of Dmitri Shostakovich’s string quartets (published as Dramaturgia kwartetów smyczkowych Dymitra Szostakowicza in 1995). In his postdoctoral career he was involved in research projects on

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About the Authors

programme music (monograph: Muzyka programowa XIX wieku. Idea i interpretacja, 1998) and on the work of Juliusz ZarĊbski (Jules Zarembsky), a 19th-century Polish pianist and composer active in Belgium (publications: Dzieáa muzyczne Juliusza ZarĊbskiego. Chronologiczny katalog tematyczny / The Musical Works of Juliusz ZarĊbski. Chronological Thematic Catalogue, 2002; monograph: Juliusz ZarĊbski. Czáowiek – muzyka – kultura, 2004, edition of his newly found works). In 2006-2011 he studied Giuseppe Poniatowski’s life and operatic output (monograph: Opery Józefa Michaáa Ksawerego Poniatowskiego, 2012), and since 2011 he has been researching Polish themes in 19th-century European music. Baiba Jaunslaviete, born in 1964 in Riga (Latvia). From 1983 to 1988 student of musicology, in 1990-1993 doctoral studies at the JƗzeps VƯtols Latvian Music Academy, 1993 graduation with a dissertation on contemporary composition (on the basis of Latvian chamber music). She has been a researcher (since 1992), lecturer (since 1994) and associate professor (since 2014) at the JƗzeps VƯtols Latvian Academy of Music. Her research interests are various aspects of Latvian music in particular – its stylistic and historical context. She has given presentations at many international musicological conferences (Riga, Vilnius, Tallinn, Leipzig, Bonn, etc.) and has published books on Latvian music from the perspective of German and Russian music criticism (2004), programmatic orchestral compositions by Maija Einfelde (2006) and various articles about Latvian composers PƝteris Plakidis, Alberts JƝrums, Romualds Kalsons, etc. David Kozel is a graduate of the Janáþek Conservatory and Grammar School in Ostrava, where he studied classical guitar. He completed his master’s degree at the Faculty of Arts of the University of Ostrava, focusing on the fields of Basic Social Science teaching and Music Education for Secondary Schools. He went on to complete his doctoral studies at the Pedagogical Faculty in the field of Music Theory and Pedagogy. Since 2012 he has been an Assistant Professor in the Department of Music Education of the Pedagogical Faculty and teaches music theory and music aesthetics. As a scholar, he focuses on issues such as the relationship between mythology and music, musical archetypes, musical narratology, and musical analysis methodologies. He is also the author of the monograph Classical Musical Myth (Antický hudební mýtus), Ostrava 2012.

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Maciej Rodkiewicz is a graduate of musicology at the University of Warsaw. Currently unaffiliated. His research interests revolve around the concept of style in popular music. Maki Shigekawa graduated from piano performance at the Osaka College of Music and received her master’s degree in musicology at Osaka University. In 2007-2009 she studied as a Polish Government grant holder under the supervision of Zbigniew Skowron at the University of Warsaw. In 2013 she attained her Ph.D. degree after defending a dissertation entitled Genesis of Karol Szymanowski’s Opera Król Roger: on its sources and contexts at Osaka University. Her scholarly interests include historical aspects of twentieth-century music in Eastern Europe, especially the music of Karol Szymanowski. Her scholarly activity ranges from papers presented at conferences, articles, to music reviews and translations. She is a co-translator of the Japanese edition of Korespondencja Fryderyka Chopina vol. I, 1816-1831, which is a new, critical edition of Fryderyk Chopin’s correspondence (edited by Zofia Helman, Zbigniew Skowron, Hanna Wróblewska-Straus, published in 2009, Warsaw University Press). Since 2013 she has been a member of the research project A comparative study on pop-folk music genres in East European countries (Osaka University). Renata Skupin – music theorist, graduated from the Department of Composition and Music Theory at the Stanisáaw Moniuszko Academy of Music in GdaĔsk. She completed her studies as a grant holder of the French Government at the Université Paris-Sorbonne (Faculté de Musique et Musicologie, Groupe de recherche: Poïétique musicale contemporaine, 1998). She obtained her Ph.D. at the Frederic Chopin Music Academy in Warsaw in 2003, becoming in 2004 an assistant professor at the Institute of Music Theory of the Department of Composition and Music Theory at the S. Moniuszko Academy of Music in GdaĔsk. In 2010–2012 she was the Vice Dean there and since 2012 she has been the Dean of the Faculty of Conducting, Composition and Music Theory. Her doctoral dissertation [Poetics of Giacinto Scelsi’s orchestral works. The composer’s oeuvre and spirituality – between the Orient and the Occident] was granted an honourable mention at the Polish Composer’s Union Competition and the Prof. Hieronim Feicht Award (2005). She lectures on music analysis, contemporary methods of music analysis and 20th century composition techniques. She is the editor-in-chief of the scientific journal Aspekty Muzyki [Aspects of Music] (aspektymuzyki.amuz.gda.pl). Her research interests concentrate on cultural determinants of 20th century musical

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output, especially on musical styles and techniques of composition in the context of the influence of oriental music and cultures on Western music. She has participated in several national and international conferences and published over thirty research papers. She is currently working on a monograph on orientalism in Polish music of the first half of the 20th century. Beata StróĪyĔska received a degree in music theory at the Academy of Music in àódĨ. She continued her studies in the composition class of Prof. B. K. Przybylski. As part of her doctoral study program in the Philosophical Department of Technische Universität Dresden, she studied Musikwissenschaft [Musicology], Alte Geschichte [History] and Deutsch als Fremdsprache [German language and literature]. She obtained the doktor habilitowany degree [habilitated doctor, i.e. postdoctoral degree] upon the publication of the first-ever comprehensive study (in the history of Polish musicology) of the native 18th century symphony titled The symphony in 18th-century Poland. Theory, repertoire and stylistic features (àódĨ 2015). For another dissertation, The Dresden sonata for keyboard instruments in the second half of the 18th century (àódĨ 2002), she was awarded the Prize of the Branch Presidium of the Polish Academy of Sciences as well as the Prize of the Conference of Rectors of Higher Education Institutions in àódĨ. She is an academic working for the Chair of Music Theory at the Academy of Music in àódĨ,specializing in the instrumental music of the 18th century, conducting research on preserved manuscripts and old prints from that period. When collecting materials for her postdoctoral dissertation, she discovered the forgotten Polish genre of the church symphony, described in the 18th century theoretical treatises. She analyzes the activity of composers from past epochs in a broad historical and sociological context, with a particular emphasis on philosophical and aesthetic issues. She is the author of numerous publications on 18th century music. Alongside the mainstream of her research, i.e. the culture of the 18th century, broadly understood, she also explores the music culture of àódĨ. She is a member of the Academic Club of the àódĨ branch of the Polish Academy of Sciences. Since 2005, she has been part of the Academic-Editorial Unit of the Jasna Góra Music Documentation Center, the main purpose of which is to edit preserved musical sources and prepare them for further performance and publication within the Jasnogórska Muzyka Dawna [Early Music from Jasna Góra] series. She has also taken part in the following research programs: Die Musik des sächsisch-

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polnischen Doppelstaates, The Music Culture of àódĨ, The Pianism of àódĨ – tradition and present times. Feza Tansu÷ is Professor of Anthropology and Music in Istanbul and he is one of the leading music experts in Turkey. He was raised and educated in Izmir, graduating from Dokuz Eylül University’s Department of Musicology and the State Conservatory of Music. He studied anthropology and ethnomusicology at the University of Washington in Seattle, and then at the University of Maryland (Baltimore) for his doctoral studies. A past president of the International Association for Turkic Music Studies (Kyrgyzstan) and the Society for Musicology (Turkey), he was the editor of the International Journal of Music in Turkey. He is the author of several books and dozens of scholarly articles on the various traditions of Turkish and Central Asian musics. He has carried out field research, primarily in Istanbul, on Turkish popular music and culture and in Central Asia. He is the author of Novyi vzgliad na muzyku tiurkskikh narodov Evrazii (New perspectives on the Turkic music of Eurasia). He has been the recipient of numerous fellowships and grants from the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research and the Social Science Research Council. He previously taught for many years at Yeditepe University in Istanbul and served as chair of the Department of Anthropology. He also taught in Ankara and served as Dean of the Faculty of Art and Design and as Director of the Conservatory of Music. He has gained a worldwide reputation for his discovery of a Turkish hymn that inspired Ludwig van Beethoven. His current research involves the relations between music and politics, and the question of national identity in contemporary Central Asia. Bianca ğiplea Temeú is a musicologist and Reader at Gh. Dima Music Academy in Cluj-Napoca, Romania. She earned two doctorates, from both the National University of Music in Bucharest and the Universidad de Oviedo, Spain. As she holds separate degrees in musicology and in business management (an M.B.A. awarded by Babeú-Bolyai University), she combines her academic career with her post at the Transylvania Philharmonic, where she is currently head of the Artistic Department. Her writings cover historical, stylistic and analytical aspects of composers past and present as well as music from Transylvania, with a special emphasis on contemporary music (mainly on Ligeti and Kurtág). Her books have been published in Romania and her articles have appeared in leading journals in Switzerland, Spain, Lithuania, the Czech Republic, Belgium, Romania, and the U.S. She has participated in conferences in her

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About the Authors

native country, as well as abroad, in events organised by prestigious institutions such as, among others, the University of Cambridge, Universität der Künste Berlin, Université Paris-Sorbonne, IRCAM Paris, and Conservatorio di Musica Santa Cecilia Rome. Since 2010 she has been visiting professor at the Universidad de Oviedo, at the Istituto Mascagni in Livorno, at the Paderewski Music Academy in PoznaĔ, and at University College, Dublin. She has been awarded several Erasmus grants to study at the University of Cambridge (U.K.), obtained a DAAD Scholarship at Humboldt University in Berlin, and received in 2011/2012 a research grant from the Paul Sacher Foundation. In 2016 she became the founder and the director of the Festival “A Tribute to György Ligeti in his Native Transylvania”. Man-Ching Donald Yu (b. 1980) is a Hong Kong born composer, theorist and pianist. His music has been widely performed both globally and locally, has received internationally reviews and has been described as "forming an arresting and personal intermixing of tonal and atonal languages, with the musical colors and gestures of his native country infiltrating the mix...” („Fanfare Magazine”). As a composer, his works have been featured at various international festivals and venues throughout North and South America, Europe and Asia, such as the Composers' Association of Serbia 24th International Review of Composers, the International Festival of Modern Music "Kyiv Music Fest", the International Festival of Modern Art Two Days and Two Nights of New Music, the International Spring Orchestra Festival, and many others; his music has been performed by the Uzhgorod Philharmonic Orchestra, the Opera Hong Kong Chorus, Icarius Ensemble, Duo Pianistico di Firenze, and many others. His music is published by Edizioni Sconfinarte (Italy), Helm & Baynov Verlag (Germany), Verlag vierdreiunddreissig (Germany), Scherzo Editions (Netherlands), International Journal of Contemporary Composition (Israel), and Zimbel Press, etc. His works have been recorded by Ablaze Records, Zimbel Records and Albany Records. His papers have been presented at various international music theory conferences such as the Keele Music Analysis Conference, and selected for publication in various scholarly book and peer-reviewed academic music journals including “New Sound International Journal of Music” and Cambridge Scholar Publishing.

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Bijan Zelli was born in Teheran, Iran in 1960. After completing his studies in electrical engineering at Sharif University of Technology in Teheran, he migrated to Sweden, where he changed his career from engineering to music. He received his Master’s Degree in Music Education in 1996 and then moved to Berlin for further studies in Musicology. He started his doctoral degree under Professor Helga de la Motte-Haber’s supervision and attained his Ph.D. degree in 2001. His dissertation, Real and Virtual Spaces in the Computer Music is an exceptional and analytical approach to how spatialization works in electroacoustic compositions. Bijan Zelli has given many lectures on music in different countries, including Sweden, Serbia, Russia, Germany, Iran and the USA. His field of research is focused on western classical music, mostly on different aspects of modernism. He moved to the United States in 2007 and currently works as a music educator and independent researcher in San Diego, California. Maágorzata Grajter, Ph.D. (Editor). Music theorist and pianist. Graduated summa cum laude from The GraĪyna and Kiejstut Bacewicz Academy of Music in àódĨ, Poland in 2007 (in the field of music theory), where she also achieved her piano degree in 2008. She has been devoted to Beethoven research in recent years and presented her findings during relevant international events such as the Beethoven-Studienkolleg in Bonn, (2007–2012), the 11th International Congress on Musical Signification in Kraków (2010), the 15th– 21st International Beethoven Symposia in Warsaw (2011-2017), and the International Beethoven Conference in Manchester (2012). Having received a grant from The National Science Centre in Poland, she completed her doctoral dissertation (Verbal-musical relationships between word and music in Ludwig van Beethoven’s output in the light of the 18th century theory and aesthetics of music), which was later granted the Prof. Hieronim Feicht Award (2015) by the Polish Composers Union. Currently she is working as an assistant professor in the Chair of Music Theory in the GraĪyna and Kiejstut Bacewicz Academy of Music in àódĨ, where she teaches aural training, musical analysis and the history of early music.