The Routledge Handbook to Sociology of Music Education (Routledge Music Handbooks) [1 ed.] 0367704161, 9780367704162

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
List of Contributors
Acknowledgements
Foreword
Introduction
What is the sociology of music education?
Origins
The field of sociology of music education in the twenty-first century
Key concepts
Volume overview
Section I: Post-structuralism, globalisation, internationalisation, post-colonialism
Section II: Capital, class, status and social reproduction
Section III: Crossing borders - problematising assumptions
Note
References
Part I: Post-structuralism, Globalisation, Internationalisation, Post-colonialism
Introduction
References
1. Music education and the colonial project: Stumbling toward anti-colonial music education
Introduction
Defining colonialism, imperialism, coloniality, indigeneity, and the colonial project
Positionality
Music education: an important player in the colonial project
Western classical music education across global contexts
Western ethnocentrism as cognitive imperialism
Music education as a civilising project
Musical tourism: mastery and simplification
Representation, mastery, dehumanisation, and erasure
Summary
Anti-colonialism: a crucial theoretical framework to address the coloniality of music education
Understanding the effects of colonial and re-colonial relations on knowledge production
Honoring Indigeneity and creating space for multiple epistemologies
Prioritising resistance and linking resistance with identity politics
Emphasising agency
Facilitating an analysis of power
Centering positionality
Summary
Resisting coloniality in music education through anti-colonialism
Western classical music education across global contexts
Western ethnocentrism as cognitive imperialism
Music education as civilising project
Musical tourism: mastery and simplification
Representation, mastery, dehumanisation, and erasure
Summary
Moving forward: stumbling toward anti-colonial music education
Reflective questions
Notes
References
2. Sociological perspectives on internationalisation and music education
Introduction
What is internationalisation?
Internationalising music education
The global music education community
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
3. Challenges of the post-colonisation process in Hong Kong Schools: In search of balanced approaches to the learning and teaching of Putonghua songs
Overview
Post-colonisation: Decolonisation, neocolonisation and recolonisation
The use of Putonghua in Hong Kong
Learning and teaching Putonghua songs in Hong Kong
Curriculum design of Putonghua songs and pedagogical philosophy
Methods and procedures
Discussion
National identity and nationalisation
Hegemony, resistance and depoliticization in music education
Self-censorship in music education
Cultural perceptions in formal and informal learning
Reflective questions
Note
References
4. Habitual play: Body, cultural sacredness, and professional dilemmas in classical musician education
Introduction
Habitus, cultural capital, and field placement in instrumental teaching
Methodology
The bodily realm as a basis for instilling a musician's habitus in an apprenticeship setting
'Ritual acts of sacrilege' and the construction of an elitist mindset in instrumental lessons
Tensions and dilemmas: teachers' status and positions in the field
Closing comments
Reflective questions
Notes
References
5. Toward a sociology of music education informed by Indigenous perspectives
Introduction
Changes in sociology's approach to Indigenous peoples
Terminological distinctions
Society
Relationship
Reciprocity
Identity
Agency
Syncretic understandings of sociological terms and their implications for music education practice and sociology of music education research
Implications for music education practice
Implications for sociology of music education research
Funding
Reflective questions
Notes
References
6. Nation, memory, and music education in the Republic of Turkey: A hegemonic analysis
Introduction
Culture, civilisation, and Turkishness
Musical reform through coercion and consent: institutions, repertoire, and pedagogy
1950-2000: the decline of Kemalist hegemony
Literacy and orality in Turkish music education: tradition, process, and duty memory
Pluralism or protectionism: where next for Turkish music education?
Reflective questions
References
7. In search of a potentially humanising music education: Reflections on practices at two Brazilian universities
Introduction: universities in dehumanising neoliberal times
Paulo Freire's humanising education enabling 'powerful knowledge'
Alternative music pedagogies: empowering teacher and student
Music workshops within Programa Escola Integrada (PEI)
Searching for my own humanisation
Final thoughts
Reflective questions
References
8. Questioning convergences between neoliberal policies, politics, and informal music pedagogy in Australia
Introduction
Background to the study
Methodological framework
Musical Futures migrates South
Questioning the elephant in the (band)room
Transforming student learning or impacting teachers' work?
Which 'real'-world learning?
Looking to future actions
Concluding remarks
Reflective questions
References
9. Socio-cultural background and teacher education in Chile: Understanding the musical repertoires of music teachers of Chile
Introduction
Theoretical basis
Musical repertoires: a sociological gaze
Towards a taxonomy of classification of musical repertoires
Music teacher education in Chile
Historical evolution of music teacher education programs (MTEP), 1969-2010
Repertoires of music teachers of Chile
Patterns of musical genres
Repertoires of university education
Repertoires in university education and training periods
Conclusions
Reflective questions
Notes
References
10. Jump up, wine, and wave: Soca music, social identity, and symbolic boundaries in Grenada, West Indies
Introduction
Soca music in Grenada
Inter-sonic and delineated meaning in music
Inter-sonic and delineated meanings in Grenadian soca music
Symbolic boundaries enacted by soca music
Boundaries, boundary crossing, and music education
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
Part II: Capital, Class, Status and Social Reproduction
Introduction
References
11. Music education as qualification, socialisation, and subjectification?
Introduction
Biesta's multidimensional concept of education
Biesta's impact on (and potential for) music education
Biesta and Rancière: anti-sociology and its limitations
A multidimensional approach to the sociology of music education
Reflective questions
Note
References
12. Fish out of water? Musical backgrounds, cultural capital, and social class in higher music education
Introduction
Examining musical enculturation through the lens of Bourdieu
Bourdieu's concepts of field, habitus, and cultural capital
The structural principles and practices of habitus
Research design
Habitus, cultural capital and musical pathways
Students' formal music education
Parental influence and encouragement
Access and opportunity
The social reproduction of musical habitus and capital
Like a fish in water?
Discussion and conclusion
Reflective questions
References
13. A field divided: How Legitimation Code Theory reveals problems impacting the growth of school music education
Introduction
Legitimation Code Theory (LCT)
Methodology
Part 1: Historic review of New South Wales' curriculum and practice
PART 2: The 'Barock' music project classroom case study
The participants
Phase 1: weeks 1-5
Phase 2: weeks 6-7
Phase 3: weeks 8-10
Discussion and conclusions: Code shifts and legitimacy in the classroom
Reflective questions
Notes
References
14. Music and the social imaginaries of young people
Social imaginaries
Tweenagers
Tween spaces: online and offline
Creating the imaginary
Sharing the imaginary
Living the imaginary
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
15. Doublespeak in higher music education in England: Culture, marketisation, and democracy
Introduction
Culture as high culture
Higher education for low culture
Consumerism and commodification
Reconciliation and the possible affordances of punk
Reflective questions
References
16. Multiple hierarchies as change-innovation strategy: Ambivalence as policy framing at the New World Symphony
Introduction
The context and data sources
Ambivalence and fixity: framing the orchestral social space
From ready recognition to process
Community work as an institutional change indicator
Mapping out contending spaces for action
Mapping out multiple ways of being: musician/teacher/cultural worker
Locating historical positions today
What can music education learn from the orchestral social space: a conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
17. Neoliberalism as political rationality: A call for heretics
What is neoliberalism?
The political rationality of neoliberalism
Neoliberalism and education
Technical rationality and processes of disenchantment
Ritual rationality and processes of re-enchantment
Technical and ritual rationalities: two versions of instrumental reason
Reflective questions
Notes
References
18. Mobilising capitals in the creative industries: An investigation of emotional and professional capital in women creatives navigating boundaryless careers
Introduction
Clarifying Bourdieu's approach to capital
Conceptual expansions of capital: emotional and professional capital
Gender, bias, and the creative industries
The study: the method
Introducing the participants and sampling criteria
Introducing the case studies
Case study 1 - Mira Calix
Case study 2 - Kate Stone
Discussion
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Acknowledgements
Notes
References
Appendix 1. Summarised configuration of creative work across sectors for Kate Stone and Mira Calix
19. Curriculum and assessment in the secondary school in England: The sociology of musical status
Introduction
Knowledge and its value
Music education in England
Music education in the lower secondary school
Curriculum values
Washback
What is there to learn in classroom music?
The place of assessment
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
20. Structure and agency in music education
Introduction
Structure and agency: the concept of structuration
A framework for understanding teacher agency
Iterational
The projective dimension
Practical-evaluative
The framework and structural binds
Discourses as structural binds: the case of Western art music
The agentic music teacher
Critical pedagogy and musicology
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
21. The hidden curriculum in higher music education
Introduction
The meaning of 'hidden'
Curriculum
Higher music education
Hidden in plain sight
Yet to be discovered
Revealed to some, hidden for others
Final considerations
Reflective questions
Notes
References
22. Countering anomie and alienation: Music education as remix and life-hack
Introduction
Youth, anomie, alienation, and music: Plan B
Anomie, alienation, remix, and life-hack
Anomie
Anomie
Anomie strain
Music education as remix and life-hack
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
Part III: Crossing borders - problematising assumptions
Introduction
Notes
References
23. Art-music-pedagogy: A view from a geopolitical cauldron
Reflective questions
Notes
References
24. Music education, genderfication, and symbolic violence
Introduction
The Kabyle household and its naturalised forms of power
The applicability of Bourdieu's understanding of gender domination
Genderfication as symbolic violence in the higher music education household
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
25. Reading Audre Lorde: Black lesbian feminist disidentifications in canonical sociology of music education
Introduction
Queer of color analysis
Narratives of founding US public school music education and antebellum Boston
The house of difference
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
26. Engaging contemporary ideas of community music through historical sociology
Historical sociology as critical history
The socialising work of 'good music' in settlement music schools
Conclusion
Reflective questions
Notes
References
27. Cage(D): Creativity and 'the contemporary' in music education - a sociological view
Introduction
Fragments of a history
Creating a framework for legitimation: origins, constructs, and contradictions
1. The invisible authority of universalism: compose-ing the young
2. The invisible authority of egalitarian creativity
3. The invisible authority of 'the contemporary'
Concluding remarks
Reflective questions
Notes
References
28. Towards a music education for maturing, never arriving
Introduction
Marginalisation
Young children and the sociology of music education
Challenging developmental definitions
An alternative view
Feminised workforce
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
29. From parallel musical identities to cultural omnivorousness and back: Strategies and functions of multi-layered musical conduct
Introduction
Multi-layered musical conduct: why and how do we engage in it?
Parallel musical identities and the narrative construction of selves: music as/for self-constitution
Musical agency and the multiple repertoires of conduct: music as/for action
Cultural omnivorousness and the workings of musical gentrification: Music as/for distinction
Concluding remarks
Reflective questions
Note
References
30. Hunka, hunka burning love: Vernacular music education
Introduction
Rationale and literature review
Research objectives
Methodology
Participant cameos
Reverend Matt Martin
Norm Ackland Sr.
Tim "E" Hendry
Matt Cage
Discussion
Enamored from an early age
Family support
Role of public support and wider community
Gaining proficiency
Sense of good fortune and appreciation
Elvis as a platform for larger life goals and dreams
Social media: learning, connection, and identity formation
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
Appendix 1. Questioning for Elvis impersonators
Appendix 2. Websites associated with Elvis tribute artists
31. Challenges in music and inclusive education: Diversity, musical canon and trialectic contract
Introduction
Inclusion in educational contexts through a musical canon
Inclusion of student perspectives in music education
Complexities of a trialectic relationship
Inclusive learning in practice
When family and school norms conflict
Music as a possibility for interpersonal action
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
32. Collaborative video logs: Virtual communities of practice and aliveness in the music classroom
Introduction
A sociological framework for situated learning within communities of practice
YouTube research and collaborative vlogging
The collaborative vlogging projects
Method of inquiry: Looking at CVLs in various music courses
Analysis of data
Results: students' reflections of CVLs within college music courses
Designing a collaborative vlog
Participating within a collaborative vlog
Developing perspectives through collaborative vlogging
Conclusions, implications, and suggestions for the future
Reflective questions
References
33. Digital sociology, music learning, and online communities of practice
Introduction
Digital sociology
Digital anthropology
Online Ethnography
Towards typologies: musical online communities of practice
Music educators networks
Pre-service and novice music teachers
Vocal ensembles
Higher-learning institutions
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
34. The creative youth club: Double features of organic music education in a post-industrial city
Introduction
Introducing RGRA
Analytical themes
The youth association as a springboard and/or fertile soil
The association as an arena for promoting 'good character' from within and/or disciplining from above
Branding the city and/or using the association as a correction strategy
Concluding discussion
Reflective questions
Note
References
35. Intergenerational transmission of music listenership values in five US families: Music listening guidelines and sociolinguistic analysis
Introduction
Study background and participants
Sociolinguistics and family scripts
Sociolinguistic terminology
Discourse community
Register
Taboo
Age-grading and age appropriateness
Responding to guidelines
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
36. Engagement and agency in music education across the lifespan
Introduction
Why does lifelong musicking matter?
Theoretical framework
Agency and engagement
Agency
Responsibility
Reflexive awareness
Individual and collective agency
Karlsen and musical agency
Engagement
The role of the program facilitator
The role of context
Exploring the relationship: musical agency and engagement
Engagement and agency across the lifespan
Methodology
Findings
Themes of engagement
Themes related to agency
The will to act
The ability to act
The power to act
Findings related to the relationship between engagement and agency
Conclusion
Reflective questions
References
Index

Citation preview

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK TO SOCIOLOGY OF MUSIC EDUCATION

The Routledge Handbook to Sociology of Music Education is a comprehensive, authoritative, and state-of-the-art review of current research in the field. The opening introduction orients the reader to the field, highlights recent developments, and draws together concepts and research methods to be covered. The chapters that follow are written by respected, experienced experts on key issues in their area of specialisation. From separate beginnings in the United States, Europe, and the United Kingdom in the mid-twentieth century, the field of the sociology of music education has and continues to experience rapid and global development. It could be argued that this Handbook marks its coming of age. The Handbook is dedicated to the exclusive and explicit application of sociological constructs and theories to issues such as globalisation, immigration, post-colonialism, inter-generational musicking, socialisation, inclusion, exclusion, hegemony, symbolic violence, and popular culture. Contexts range from formal compulsory schooling to non-formal communal environments to informal music making and listening. The Handbook is aimed at graduate students, researchers, and professionals, but will also be a useful text for undergraduate students in music, education, and cultural studies. Ruth Wright is professor of music education in the Don Wright Faculty of Music at Western University in Canada. Geir Johansen is professor emeritus of music education and music didactics at the Norwegian Academy of Music, Oslo, Norway. Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos is associate professor of music education at the University of Thessaly, Volos, Greece. Patrick Schmidt is professor of music education at Western University, Canada.

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK TO SOCIOLOGY OF MUSIC EDUCATION

Edited by Ruth Wright, Geir Johansen, Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos, and Patrick Schmidt

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Ruth Wright, Geir Johansen, Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos, Patrick Schmidt individual chapters, the contributors The right of Ruth Wright, Geir Johansen, Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos, Patrick Schmidt to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-1-138-58636-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-70416-2 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-50463-1 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by MPS Limited, Dehradun

CONTENTS

List of Figures List of Tables Contributors Acknowledgements Foreword Professor Lucy Green

x xi xii xxiii xxiv

Introduction Ruth Wright, Geir Johansen, Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos, and Patrick Schmidt

1

PART I

Post-structuralism, Globalisation, Internationalisation, Post-colonialism Introduction Patrick Schmidt

19 21

1 Music education and the colonial project: Stumbling toward anti-colonial music education Juliet Hess 2 Sociological perspectives on internationalisation and music education Alexandra Kertz-Welzel

v

23

40

Contents

3 Challenges of the post-colonisation process in Hong Kong schools: In search of balanced approaches to the learning and teaching of Putonghua songs Ti-Wei Chen

52

4 Habitual play: Body, cultural sacredness, and professional dilemmas in classical musician education Dan Sagiv and Yael (Yali) Nativ

67

5 Toward a sociology of music education informed by indigenous perspectives Anita Prest and J. Scott Goble

80

6 Nation, memory, and music education in the republic of Turkey: A hegemonic analysis Tom Parkinson and Olcay Muslu Gardner

97

7 In search of a potentially humanising music education: Reflections on practices at two Brazilian universities Flávia Narita and Heloisa Feichas

108

8 Questioning convergences between neoliberal policies, politics, and informal music pedagogy in Australia Clare Hall, Renée Crawford, and Louise Jenkins

121

9 Socio‐cultural background and teacher education in Chile: Understanding the musical repertoires of music teachers of Chile Carlos Poblete Lagos

136

10 Jump up, wine, and wave: Soca music, social identity, and symbolic boundaries in Grenada, West Indies Danielle Sirek

153

PART II

Capital, Class, Status, and Social Reproduction

165

Introduction Geir Johansen

167

11 Music education as qualification, socialisation, and subjectification? Petter Dyndahl

169

vi

Contents

12 Fish out of water? Musical backgrounds, cultural capital, and social class in higher music education Gwen Moore

184

13 A field divided: How Legitimation Code Theory reveals problems impacting the growth of school music education Christine Carroll

196

14 Music and the social imaginaries of young people Athena Lill

209

15 Doublespeak in higher music education in England: Culture, marketisation, and democracy Gareth Dylan Smith

219

16 Multiple hierarchies as change-innovation strategy: Ambivalence as policy framing at the New World Symphony Patrick Schmidt

232

17 Neoliberalism as political rationality: A call for heretics Øivind Varkøy 18 Mobilising capitals in the creative industries: An investigation of emotional and professional capital in women creatives navigating boundaryless careers Pamela Burnard and Garth Stahl 19 Curriculum and assessment in the secondary school in England: The sociology of musical status Martin Fautley

247

258

275

20 Structure and agency in music education Chris Philpott and Gary Spruce

288

21 The hidden curriculum in higher music education Geir Johansen

300

22 Countering anomie and alienation: Music education as remix and life-hack Ruth Wright

vii

312

Contents PART III

Crossing borders – problematising assumptions

325

Introduction Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos

327

23 Art-music-pedagogy: A view from a geopolitical cauldron Marion Haak-Schulenburg and Felicity Laurence

330

24 Music education, genderfication, and symbolic violence Siw Graabræk Nielsen and Petter Dyndahl

343

25 Reading Audre Lorde: Black lesbian feminist disidentifications in canonical sociology of music education Elizabeth Gould

354

26 Engaging contemporary ideas of community music through historical sociology Deanna Yerichuk

366

27 Cage(D): Creativity and ‘the contemporary’ in music education – a sociological view Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos

377

28 Towards a music education for maturing, never arriving Susan Young 29 From parallel musical identities to cultural omnivorousness and back: Strategies and functions of multi-layered musical conduct Sidsel Karlsen 30 Hunka, hunka burning love: Vernacular music education Kari K. Veblen and Stephanie Horsley

393

406

418

31 Challenges in music and inclusive education: Diversity, musical canon, and trialectic contract Ylva Hofvander Trulsson

432

32 Collaborative video logs: Virtual communities of practice and aliveness in the music classroom Christopher Cayari

443

viii

Contents

33 Digital sociology, music learning, and online communities of practice Kari K.Veblen and Janice L. Waldron

456

34 The creative youth club: Double features of organic music education in a post-industrial city Johan Söderman

467

35 Intergenerational transmission of music listenership values in five US families: Music listening guidelines and sociolinguistic analysis Jillian L. Bracken

479

36 Engagement and agency in music education across the lifespan Jennifer Lang

490

Index

504

ix

LIST OF FIGURES

9.1 9.2 13.1 13.2 18.1 20.1 20.2 36.1 36.2

Repertoires from university context Historical evolution of musical genres of university education Specialisation codes Candidature statistics for music A framework for theorising an accumulated array of capitals at work in boundaryless careers A framework for understanding agency in the context of music education A framework for critical agency in music education Themes of heightened engagement The relationship between engagement and agency

x

146 146 198 201 269 290 297 497 499

LIST OF TABLES

3.1 9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5 9.6 12.1 12.2 18.1 19.1 19.2 24.1

Perceptions towards Learning and Teaching of Putonghua Song in Hong Kong (N = 218) Taxonomy of classification of musical repertoires Evolution of MTEP 1969–2010 questions Examples of general responses on musical repertoires Examples of response types according to category Percentage of composers named in the socio‐cultural background, university education, and teaching practices contexts Patterns of musical genres according contexts of realization Rank ordering of parental influence/support factors (number of mentions) Six survey cases that illustrate the affirmation and alienation in students’ experiences of higher education Forms of capital and their characteristics summarised Top ten KS3 topics reported by teachers in London and Birmingham Thematic analysis of KS3 topics taught Number of female- and male-authored theses in popular music styles

xi

61 141 143 144 144 144 145 188 192 263 278 280 349

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Jillian L. Bracken completed her Ph.D. in music education at the University of Western Ontario. She also holds an M.M. (Ethnomusicology) and M.S. (Education) from Florida State University, and a B.M. (Honours, Music Education) from the University of Western Ontario. Jillian currently works as the Community Arts and Culture Manager for the City of Lethbridge (Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada). Pamela Burnard is Professor of Arts, Creativities, and Educations at the Faculty of Education, University of Cambridge (www.educ.cam.ac.uk/people/staff/Burnard/). She is Chair of the Faculty Board and the Arts and Creativities Research Group (https://www.educ.cam.ac.uk/ research/groups/artsandcreativities/). She has published widely with 20 books and over 100 articles which advance and expand the conceptualisation and plural expression of diverse creativities across early years, primary, and secondary school settings, through to higher education, doctoral research practices, and creative and cultural industry sectors. She is coeditor of the journal Thinking Skills and Creativity. Some of most recent projects include: higher education and creative graduate futures; the participation and representation of creative Women in social enterprises (WISE); women’s musical creativities in practice; and gender equality, career creativities, and strategies for change in institutional leadership. Christine Carroll graduated in 2017 with a Ph.D. in Music Education from the Sydney Conservatorium of Music/The University of Sydney, Australia. Christine’s research and publications fuse discourses in curriculum design, informal learning, and ethnomusicology utilising Legitimation Code Theory (LCT) from the sociology of education. These research interests stem from her teaching experiences with student popular musicians in both secondary and tertiary contexts, and extend to her more recent work and research in pre-service teacher training at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, and, at the Australian Catholic University. Christine has presented her research at conferences both nationally and internationally, and is an alumni member of the Legitimation Code Theory (LCT) Centre for Knowledge-Building, the University of Sydney, Australia. Christopher Cayari (he/they; Twitter: DrCayari) is an assistant professor of music education at Purdue University, West Lafayette, Indiana, USA. Christopher’s main research trajectory xii

List of Contributors

focuses on mediated musical performance, YouTube, informal music learning, virtual communities, video game music, and online identity. Their secondary research agenda addresses marginalised voices in music education, specifically sexuality- and gender-diverse individuals (LGBTQIA+) and Asian Americans. They work at blending traditional and innovative research methodologies, particularly working with Internet inquiry, performancebased research, autoethnography, and case study. His work has recently appeared in Oxford Handbooks, Music Education Research, International Journal of Music Education, International Journal of Education & the Arts, and International Journal of Community Music. They is an avid YouTube video creator. Christopher regularly publishes online performances, tutorials, and vlogs. He enjoys collaborating with his students to make user-generated content for YouTube, and their students have virtually performed with other musical collaborators from across the world. Ti-wei Chen is a prolific music educator, voice teacher, conductor, and performer. Ti-wei is fully engaged in community music, including conducting a wide range of community choirs with a focus on social justice and inclusiveness as well as empathetic participation through group singing and performing. A former lecturer for Kingston University, UK, and Hong Kong Baptist University as well as assistant professor at the Education University of Hong Kong, Tiwei has accumulated an extensive profile in leading quality assurance and programme administration for undergraduate and postgraduate programmes, coordinating performance practice, admission and scholarship, also initiating and organising large post-secondary community music programmes and a variety of other service learning, experiential learning of community music internships, overseas study, and performance tours for students and university choruses. Additionally, Ti-wei is a published scholar with a focus on music education in the post-colonial era in Hong Kong and quantitative and qualitative studies on the use of metaphors and verbal imageries in the teaching of singing. Ti-wei lectures and presents widely to music teachers and international audiences on a range of pedagogical and community music topics. Renée Crawford is a senior lecturer with extensive experience as a teacher educator, secondary music classroom, instrumental and ensemble teacher. As an international leader in the field of technology in music education and authentic learning contexts for teaching and learning, Renée’s research is driven by a commitment to advance the impact and value of music (arts) in education and to investigate, develop and implement effective pedagogy and curriculum. This includes the impact of arts and music engagement in education from a sociological and intervention perspective. Research interests are linked by discipline, a teacherled belief about improving and strengthening educational outcomes, and commitment to innovative practice in teaching and learning. Renée’s research uses mixed methodological approaches and focuses on teacher-led research practice in blended and authentic educational contexts; pedagogy and curriculum development that is informed by both current and historical perspectives. Petter Dyndahl is professor of musicology, music education, and general education at the Inland Norway University of Applied Sciences. He has published research results in a wide range of disciplines, including music education, sociology of education and culture, cultural studies, popular music studies, music technology, and media pedagogy. In recent years, professor Dyndahl has been project manager for the research projects Musical gentrification and socio-cultural diversities (2013–2017), and DYNAMUS – The social dynamics of musical upbringing

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List of Contributors

and schooling in the Norwegian welfare state (2018–2022). Both projects have been funded by The Research Council of Norway. Martin Fautley is professor of education at Birmingham City University, UK. After many years as a classroom music teacher, he then undertook full-time doctoral research at Cambridge University, investigating teaching, learning, and assessment of classroom music making. He has authored ten books, including Assessment in Music Education, published by Oxford University Press, and has written and published over 60 journal articles, book chapters, and academic research papers on various aspects of music teaching and learning. He is co-editor of the British Journal of Music Education. Heloisa Feichas holds a Ph.D. in music education from the Institute of Education, University of London. She did a post doc at UNESP (State University of São Paulo, Brazil) linking ideas of Paulo Freire with collaborative learning concepts. She is senior lecturer at the Music School of the Federal University of Minas Gerais (UFMG) in Brazil. She is also a pianist performing mainly Brazilian Popular Music in different ensembles. Her main research interests are popular music education and sociology of music education. She has worked in cooperation with the Music School of Pitea, Lulea University, in Sweden and also with Guildhall School of Music and Drama (Connect Project). Olcay Muslu Gardner is assistant professor and founding member of the Hatay Mustafa Kemal University Antioch State Conservatory where she teaches Ottoman/Turkish music (maqamusûl) and traditional dances and music. She is a co-editor and contributing writer of four forthcoming books, Albert Bobowski, Otherwise Known As Ali Ufki: Research and Analysis, which takes as its subject the Ottoman/Turkish maqam music manuscripts of the seventeenthcentury composer Ali Ufki; Music Bibliography of Şanlıurfa, Turkey; Music in Higher Education in Turkey and Safeguarding Intangible Cultural Heritage in Turkey: Governmental and non-Governmental Efforts Focusing on the UNESCO 2003 Convention. Dr. Muslu Gardner is the first recipient of the Visiting Scholars Scheme to be jointly supported by University College London (UCL) and the British Institute at Ankara, and is also conducting projects in the fields of cultural sustainability, applied ethnomusicology, music in higher education, and Ottoman/Turkish music. J. Scott Goble is associate professor of music education at the University of British Columbia, where he teaches graduate and undergraduate courses and supervises work of M.Ed., M.A., and Ph.D. students. A specialist in vocal and choral music, he taught music in public schools near Seattle, Washington, later serving on the music faculties of Haverford and Bryn Mawr Colleges, Boston University, and San Francisco State University. Scott has conducted choirs and orchestras in educational, professional, church, and community contexts throughout North America. His book What’s So Important About Music Education? is published by Routledge, and he presently serves as co-editor (with Deborah Bradley) of the online, open-access journal Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education (ACT). His current research focuses on Indigenous knowledge and musical practices. Elizabeth Gould serves as associate professor at the University of Toronto Faculty of Music where she teaches philosophically based courses in music, music education, and sexual diversity studies.

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Marion Haak-Schulenburg is a community musician, music educator, and researcher in the field of community music. She studied music education at the University of the Arts, Berlin, with a focus on voice and choir conducting and English linguistics and literature at the Humboldt-University Berlin. Based on her experiences in over three years as choir conductor and voice teacher for the music school of the Barenboim-Said Foundation in Ramallah, PoT, (2006–2009), she currently researches in her Ph.D. the work of two international music projects working in Palestine. She is research assistant in the MA ‘Inclusive Music pedagogy/ Community Music’ at the Catholic University of Eichstätt-Ingolstadt. She is engaged as choir conductor, workshop leader, vocal coach, and trainer in the field of community music in various projects in and outside of Germany. Since 2016, she is a trainer of Musicians without Borders (NL). Clare Hall is lecturer in performing arts in the Faculty of Education, Monash University, Australia. Her practice-based research at the intersection of music, sound, and performance is committed to social justice by promoting diversity in creative arts engagements across the lifespan. Clare’s sociological scholarship contributes to understandings about performing arts participation and pedagogy, with a focus on how aspects of gender, class, ethnicity, race, and age influence cultural transmission and change. Her work with pre-service teachers in primary and early childhood education degrees brings together her experience in music and dance performance and K–12 teaching in schools and community. Clare has co-convened the International Symposium on the Sociology of Music Education 2017 and 2019 and she is co-founder/ convenor of the ISME Decolonising and Indigenising Music Education Special Interest Group. Her book, Masculinity, Class and Music Education: Choirboys Performing Middle-class Masculinities (2018), is published by Palgrave, based on her multi-award winning doctoral study. Juliet Hess is an assistant professor of music education at Michigan State University, having previously taught elementary and middle school music in Toronto. Her book, Music Education for Social Change: Constructing an Activist Music Education, explores the intersection of activism, critical pedagogy, and music education. Juliet received her Ph.D. in sociology of education from the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education at the University of Toronto. Her research interests include anti-oppression education, activism in music and music education, music education for social justice, and the question of ethics in world music study. Stephanie Horsley is the acting associate director of eLearning at the Centre for Teaching and Learning at Western University, Canada, where she is also an adjunct assistant professor of music education in the Don Wright Faculty of Music. Her research interests include music education policy, democratising access to sites of music education, and ‘fringe’ musical learning spaces. Her latest publications include The Oxford Handbook of Social Media and Music Learning as well as chapters in The Oxford Handbook of Social Justice and Music Education and Policy and the Political Life of the Music Educator. Her work has been presented at various international conferences. Louise Jenkins is a senior lecturer and pre-service teacher educator who focuses on inclusive practices in education at the school and university level. She brings an extensive background in performing arts education to her work and uses this expertise to promote engaging and enriching educational practices. Combined with her background in culturally inclusive teaching and current research about the attitudes of pre-service teachers to LGBTQI students, Louise is driving inclusive educational practices at the university level. Louise aims to inform inclusive xv

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pre-service teacher education through a more nuanced understanding of school and university student experiences and how these impact educational outcomes. Louise uses action research to drive flexible and contemporary higher educational practice, implementing a blended learning and team approach in her adult education. These implementations have underpinned innovative changes to her inclusive work with her pre-service teachers, including a better understanding of the experience of international students. Geir Johansen (Editor) is professor emeritus of music education and music didactics at the Norwegian Academy of Music, Oslo, Norway. Johansen holds a Ph.D. in music education and has contributed widely in international conferences as well as international research journals and anthologies. His research interests are directed towards all sides of the sociology of music education, theoretical as well as empirical, including curriculum implementation, educational quality, identity, professions and professionalism, talent education, hidden curricula, and conservatoires in society. Johansen teaches and supervises on the master’s and Ph.D. level, and serves as a Ph.D. defence opponent in Norway and abroad. Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos (Editor) serves as associate professor at the University of Thessaly, Volos, Greece, where he teaches creativity-based music education courses. Active as a researcher and a music maker, he is particularly interested in politico-philosophical, theoretical and field-based explorations of creative music making, its educative uses, mis-uses, and potentialities. Sidsel Karlsen is professor of music education at the Norwegian Academy of Music. She is also a docent at the Sibelius Academy, University of the Arts Helsinki, in Finland. Karlsen has published widely in international research journals, and is a frequent contributor to international anthologies and handbooks. Her research interests include, among other things, cultural diversity in music education, the interplay between formal and informal arenas for music learning, and the sociology of music education. She is one of two PIs (with professor Heidi Westerlund) of the research project Global visions through mobilizing networks: Co-developing intercultural music teacher education in Finland, Israel and Nepal (funded by the Academy of Finland 2015-2020). She is also one of the researchers working within the project The social dynamics of musical upbringing and schooling in the Norwegian welfare state (DYNAMUS; funded by the Research Council of Norway 2018–2022). Alexandra Kertz-Welzel, is professor, chair of music education, and currently executive director of the School of Arts at Ludwig-Maximilians-Universitaet in Munich (Germany). She obtained her Ph.D. in musicology from Saarland University in Saarbruecken (Germany), as well as master’s degrees in music education, German studies, philosophy, piano performance, and harpsichord performance. From 2002–2005, she was visiting scholar and lecturer in music education at the University of Washington in Seattle, WA (United States), and from 2005–2011, lecturer in music education at the University of Music in Saarbruecken (Germany). With research interests in international music education, philosophy of music education, music education policy, community music, and children’s musical cultures, she has regularly presented at national and international conferences. She is author and editor of several books and a frequent contributor to leading journals in music education. Her book, Globalizing Music Education: A Framework, was published by Indiana University Press in 2018. She was cochair of the ISME Commission on Policy: Culture, Education and Media from 2016–2018, and chair of the International Society for the Philosophy of Music Education (ISPME) from 2017–2019. xvi

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Additionally, she is editorial board member of international peer-reviewed journals, such as the Philosophy of Music Education Review, Arts Education Policy Review, or the Journal of Historical Research in Music Education. Carlos Poblete Lagos is music teacher (B.Ed.), musician (BMus), and doctor in music education (Ed.D.). He worked as music teacher for secondary school, participating in diverse initiatives in the areas of curriculum, assessment, and teacher education policies for the Ministry of Education of Chile and working for various public universities in academic and administrative positions. His scholarly interests lie at the intersection of policies, music learning, and sociology of music education. Member of ISME since 2010, he was chair of 9th Latin American and 2nd Panamerican Regional Conference of Music Education of ISME, in 2013. He has been a member of the Policy Commission since 2016. Currently, he is working as postdoctoral researcher at Ludwig-Maximilians Universität (Munich), researching in the field of internationalisation, policies, and multicultural pedagogical practices in music education. Jennifer Lang is an assistant professor of music education and the director of choral activities at the University of Saskatchewan. She is the organizer of the Department of Music’s Music Education in Action Series, the founder and organizer of the uSing uSask Choral Festival, and the director of the Greystone Singers and Aurora Voce choirs. Dr. Lang’s research examines engagement and agency in music education programs, including informal music learning in a variety of educational contexts, musicking with seniors with dementia, and intergenerational singing programs. Jennifer is also active as a conductor, choral adjudicator, clinician, and conference presenter with local, provincial, national, and international invitations. Felicity Laurence has worked over five decades as children’s singing specialist, composer, and teacher at primary, secondary, and tertiary levels (most recently as director of the MA in music education at Newcastle University, until her retirement in 2015). Her research includes investigations of the problematic question of empathy and its potential connections with musical expression and activity, drawing on fieldwork in areas of current and earlier conflict including Israel, Palestine, and South Africa; children’s voice within education; and most recently, the role of musicking in the memorialisation of the Holocaust in post-1989 Germany. Publications include an edited collection of essays Music and Solidarity: Questions of Universality, Consciousness and Connection (2011), and the inaugural Prologue ‘Revisiting the Problem of Empathy’, in Music and Empathy (2017, eds. King and Waddington). She is currently active within the UK refugee support and campaigning organisation City of Sanctuary, and chair of its Hastings, UK, branch. Athena Lill completed her Ph.D. at the University of Sydney, where she focussed on the musical life of children and young people in primary and secondary schools. She currently teaches music at a state secondary school in Cambridgeshire, UK, having taught in a variety of settings internationally. Her other research interests include informal learning in music, the musical games of children and teenagers, and the online transmission of musical cultures. She has been published in a range of edited books and journals. Gwen Moore is senior lecturer in music education and director of teaching and learning at Mary Immaculate College, Limerick, Ireland. Gwen’s research interests include the inequality in music education; higher music education; and teaching, learning, and assessment in higher education. She serves on the editorial boards of the International Journal of Music Education and xvii

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the British Journal of Music Education and was elected Chairperson of the Society for Music Education in Ireland for two consecutive terms (2013–2017). Flavia Narita completed her first degree in music teacher education at the Universidade de São Paulo (USP), Brazil, and carried out her M.A. and Ph.D. studies at the UCL Institute of Education, where she studied under the supervision of Professor Lucy Green. Since 2006, Flávia has been a lecturer at the Universidade de Brasília (UnB), Brazil, where she coordinated the Distance Education Undergraduate Music course (2007–2010), the Music Teacher Education course (2015–2017), and from Jan/2018 to Jan/2020 was the deputy head of the Music Department. Her research interests include informal learning, critical pedagogy, popular music, social justice, and music teacher education. Yael (yali) Nativ is a dance scholar with sociological and anthropological orientations. She is a senior lecturer at The Academic College for Society and Arts, and a lecturer at Levinsky College for Education and at Masson Gross School of the Arts Online at Rutgers, State University of New Jersey. In her writing and research, she explores social and cultural issues looking at the linkage between dance, body, culture, education, gender, and creativity. Her book, Fractured Freedom: Body, Gender and Ideology, which she co-wrote with Dr. Hodel Ophir, was published in 2016 (in Hebrew). Currently she is engaged in an ethnographic research, looking at the experience of the body among professional Israeli ageing dancers who still perform on stage. Siw Graabræk Nielsen is professor of music education at the Norwegian Academy of Music, where she also serves as co-director for the Centre for Educational Research in Music (CERM). She has published research results in music education, psychology of music education, and sociology of music education. Professor Nielsen has participated as a senior researcher in the research projects Musical gentrification and socio-cultural diversities (2013–2017), and DYNAMUS – The social dynamics of musical upbringing and schooling in the Norwegian welfare state (2018–2022). Both projects have been funded by The Research Council of Norway. Tom Parkinson is senior lecturer in the Centre for the Study of Higher Education (CSHE) at the University of Kent, where he has also taught in the School of Music and Fine Arts. His recent interdisciplinary research sits across the fields of music, education, sociology, and development studies, with a focus on the Middle East. Previously Tom taught music in several universities, colleges, and schools in the UK. As a musician, he continues to write, produce, and perform for a number of projects, most recently collaborating on a collection of children’s songs for National Geographic. He is a founding member of the criminally overlooked power pop band SCANDINAVIA. Anita Prest is assistant professor of music education in the Department of Curriculum & Instruction at the University of Victoria (British Columbia, Canada), where she teaches music education courses to both secondary music specialist and elementary generalist teacher candidates. Her current research, in partnership with Indigenous organisations and funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Council of Canada (SSHRC), examines the ways in which public school music educators in British Columbia, together with First Nations community members, might facilitate the appropriate embedding of local Indigenous knowledge, pedagogy, and cultural practices in music classes. Anita has presented papers in Canada, Denmark, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Japan, Mexico, the United Kingdom, and the United xviii

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States. Prior to her appointment at the University of Victoria, Anita taught K–12 music for 20 years in British Columbia, in both rural and metropolitan settings. Chris Philpott is a reader in music education at the University of Greenwich, London. Until recently, he was deputy pro vice-chancellor and then interim pro vice-chancellor in the university’s Faculty of Education and Health. Before moving to Greenwich, he was a secondary music teacher for 16 years, with a background in the Brass Bands of East Kent, after which he became a teacher educator at Canterbury Christ Church University. He has written and edited books, articles, online texts, and resources which are widely used in initial teacher education and academic music education programmes. He has also led UK government-funded projects in relation to ITE in music. In semi-retirement he cycles, plays cricket, and walks. Dan Sagiv is chair of the undergraduate B.Ed. program of music education and lecturer in sociology and music education at Levinsky College of Education, Israel. A doctoral graduate of the Sociology of Education Department at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and holder of a B.A. and M.A. in musicology from Tel Aviv University. He works with music specialists and early childhood educators as a professional development educator for the Israeli Ministry of Education. His research interests include instrumental pedagogy, embodied learning, musical identities, critical theory, and sociology of music education. Patrick Schmidt (Editor) is professor of music education at Western University, Canada. Schmidt’s innovative work in critical pedagogy and policy is recognised internationally. Recent publications can be found in the International Journal of Music Education, Theory into Practice, Arts Education Policy Review, and Research in Music Education. Schmidt has led several consulting and evaluative projects, including the National YoungArts Foundation and the New World Symphony, US and the Ministry of Culture and Education, Chile. Schmidt co-edited the Oxford Handbook of Music Education and Social Justice released in 2015, and co-edited a twovolume book on Leadership in Higher Music Education, published by Routledge through its ISME series. His books Policy and the Political Life of Music Education co-edited with Richard Colwell, and Policy as Practice: A Guide for Music Educators were released by Oxford in 2017 and 2020, respectively. Danielle Sirek instructs in the Faculty of Education and School of Creative Arts at the University of Windsor, Canada, where she teaches undergraduate and graduate courses in music and arts education. Prior to teaching in higher education, she taught preschool through grade 12 music in Canada and Grenada, West Indies. Sirek received her Ph.D. from the Royal Northern College of Music, UK. She also holds a bachelor of music from Wilfrid Laurier University (Canada), and a master of music from the University of Toronto (Canada). Danielle’s program of research is primarily focussed on music teacher education, sociology of music education, and intersections between music education and ethnomusicology. Her most recent work can be found in the International Journal of Music Education (2018) and Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education (2018). Danielle also sings professionally with the JUNO-nominated 18-voice Canadian Chamber Choir, comprised of singers from coast to coast. Gareth Dylan Smith is visiting research professor of music at New York University and adjunct professor in music education at Boston University. His teaching and research interests include qualitative and (auto)ethnographic methods, social justice, and meaning in making music. He plays drums with Stephen Wheel, Build a Fort, Eruptörs, and Black Belt Jesus. xix

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Johan Söderman is professor in child and youth studies at the University of Gothenburg. He is also reader in music education at Lund University, Sweden. Between 2009 and 2011, Söderman was a visiting scholar at the Department of Music and Music Education at Teachers College, Columbia University, USA. His research interests regard hip-hop culture and its parallels to music education; the Scandinavian educational tradition called ‘folkbildning’; academisation processes of youth music; and also issues surrounding social mobilisation/ marginalisation in the post-industrial society. Söderman has published articles, books, and chapters in the fields of music education, cultural studies, and education. Some of Söderman’s previous work include books such as Hip-hop within and without the Academy (with co-author Karen Snell) and Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education (with co-authors Pamela Burnard and Ylva Hofvander Trulsson) and articles in journals like Music Education Research, British Journal of Music Education, Finnish Journal of Music Education, and International Journal of Community Music. Gary Spruce was a secondary school music teacher for 17 years before joining the Open University as subject leader for their Music PGCE course. He left the Open University in 2016 and is now a visiting lecturer in music education at Birmingham City University, course leader for the university’s PGCE music course, and academic consultant at Trinity College, London. From 2007–2012 he was co-editor of the British Journal of Music Education. He has written and published widely on music education particularly around the areas of teacher education and professional development, music education and social justice, and has presented papers at national and international conferences. He is a practising musician with a particular interest in music theatre. Garth Stahl is an associate professor at the School of Education at the University of Queensland. His research interests lie on the nexus of neoliberalism and socio-cultural studies of education, identity, equity/inequality, and social change. Currently, his research projects and publications encompass theoretical and empirical studies of learner identities, gender and youth, sociology of schooling in a neoliberal age, gendered subjectivities, equity and difference, and educational reform. Ylva Hofvander Trulsson is an associate professor with a M.Ed. and Ph.D. in music education, focus migration, at Linneaus University, is senior lecturer at Lund University and Stockholm University of the Arts (Uniarts). She is flutist and teacher and has studied author program. Postdoc at Faculty of Education, University of Cambridge, UK, Musical Learning and Discipline – discourses on social mobility of immigrant parents and their children. Recently PI for the project ARTIS: ARTs, agency and social mobility: Intergenerational transmission of Sami culture in family, educational and community settings. Ylva has teaching experience from Lund University, University of Cambridge, Uniarts in Stockholm, and Linnaeus University (as head of subject in music education department) and earlier as a music teacher in Sweden, Faroe Islands, and Norway. She is co-editor of Bourdieu and the sociology of music education (Routledge), as well as of three more books. She has been chairperson of several national evaluations for Swedish higher education authority and works with quality assurance, higher education development, and equality. Øivind Varkøy is professor in music education at Norwegian Academy of Music (Oslo, Norway) since 1994. Since 2014 he is head of the Ph.D. program at this institution. From 2016 he is visiting professor in music at Oslo Metropolitan University. From 2008 to 2011 Varkøy xx

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was professor in musicology at Örebro University (Sweden), and from 2011 to 2018 visiting professor at the same institution. Varkøy is educated both as a musicologist and as a music educator, with a doctor’s degree in musicology from the University of Oslo in 2001. He has published a number of articles and books, as well as edited a number of books, in Norwegian, Swedish, German, and English, on topics such as justification of general music education, Bildung, instrumentalism, neoliberalism, the intrinsic value of musical experience, and musical experience as existential experience. In June 2017, Varkøy was a keynote speaker at International Society for Philosophy of Music Education conference in Greece. Kari K. Veblen serves as research associate and professor emeritus of music education at Western University in Canada. Thus far, her career spans four decades of work as an elementary public school music teacher, community musician, faculty member at University of WisconsinStevens Point, curriculum consultant to orchestras and schools, visiting scholar at University of Toronto, and research associate at University of Limerick. Veblen has served in numerous professional capacities, including the International Society for Music Education board, and as co-founder, now board member of the International Journal of Community Music. Her research interests include community music networks, lifespan music learning, traditional transmission, vernacular genres, interdisciplinary curriculum, musical play, and social media and music learning. Author and co-author of five books and 90 peer-reviewed works, Veblen’s work on music learning in on- and offline convergent music communities of practice is funded by the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Janice L. Waldron is an associate professor of music education at the University of Windsor; her research interests include informal music learning practices, online music communities, social media and music learning, vernacular musics, adult music learning, Irish and Scottish traditional musics, and wind band conducting. Janice is published in numerous international peer-reviewed music education journals and also has chapters in a variety of Oxford Handbooks and Routledge Companions. Her latest in-press publication is The Oxford Handbook of Social Media and Music Learning, of which she is principal editor (with Dr Stephanie Horsley and Dr Kari Veblen, coeditors). Her research has been funded by the Social Science and Humanites Council of Canada since 2011. In addition to being a classically trained wind ensemble conductor, Janice is an accomplished Irish traditional musician on tin whistle, flute, and Uilleann pipes. Ruth Wright (Lead Editor) is professor of music education in the Don Wright Faculty of Music at Western University in Canada. She has served as chair of music education and assistant dean of research at this university after 16 years teaching and lecturing in secondary school music education in the UK. Her 2010 book Sociology and Music Education, Ashgate Press, is a frequently used textbook in courses exploring this field. She is a frequent presenter and keynote speaker at music education international conferences. Her research interests are the sociology of music education, informal learning, popular music pedagogy, and social justice. Deanna Yerichuk has dedicated her academic and music career to community-engaged social change. Through her Ph.D. in music education (University of Toronto), she investigated the emergence of Canada’s community music schools in the early twentieth century, and is currently working on a monograph. Dr Yerichuk has begun investigating contemporary issues of inclusion and justice in cross-cultural collaborations through music, leading a pilot project on music and racial justice in high schools funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council Canada. She has earned several awards, including the SOCAN Foundation Award for xxi

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Writings on Canadian Music, and the Dr. Franklin Churchley Graduate Essay Competition Prize. As an assistant professor, Dr Yerichuk coordinates the Community Music program at Wilfrid Laurier University in Canada, and teaches courses in community music and singing foundations. Susan Young recently retired as senior lecturer in childhood studies and music education at the University of Exeter, UK. She is now a senior research fellow at the Applied Music Research Group (AMRG), University of Roehampton, London and Research Associate of the Centre for Research in Early Childhood, Birmingham. Originally trained as a pianist at the Royal College of Music London, winning the final year prize for the most outstanding student, she spent her early career teaching music in secondary and primary schools and in early years settings. She holds qualifications in Dalcroze Eurhythmics (Geneva) and Kodaly (Kecskemét), and postgraduate degrees in education (Bathspa University), biological anthropology (Bristol University), and a Ph.D. (Surrey University) on the topic of music in early childhood. She has published widely in professional and academic journals and has authored and co-authored several books.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The editors of this Handbook would like to extend sincere thanks to our contributing authors for their scholarship and their positive responses to editorial suggestions. It was a pleasure to work with all of you. Particular thanks to Professor Lucy Green for reading the entire text and writing such an insightful Foreword. We would also like to express our gratitude to the review readers who supported publication of the text and provided peer review and excellent advice. Thank you to everyone at Routledge for being so efficient and friendly. You made the publication process seamless and enjoyable. Thanks also to Beth Tuinstra, our editorial assistant at Western University, for providing such excellent organisational support and in particular for compiling the index. We hope that the critique and analysis offered by this text, coming at such a dark time in global history and politics, may support not only the further development of the field of the sociology of music education but also the conscientisation of future generations of educators. The Editors.

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FOREWORD Lucy Green

The sociology of music is reaching a level of maturation, which is amply demonstrated by this collection of research from scholars in many parts of the world. There has always been a danger that the term ‘sociology’ can be used loosely in relation to music and music education, without any theoretical underpinnings connected to the purported umbrella field of sociology at all. But merely to investigate music and musical practices alongside an account of their social setting, or postulating analogies, metaphors and similes concerning music and society, does not add up to being sociology. It can be interesting and informative but if such work remains at the level of description, we cannot call it sociology. What makes the difference is that (as with all disciplines of study) sociology is both a science and an art; and like science and art, it has a history of thought, knowledge and ideas, which meet with challenges and change as time goes by. Some knowledge and understanding of this history are required for authors to see things and represent things in useful, original, and challenging ways. The writers in this volume all work with a critical awareness of this history, and thus rise above the level of mere description, to carve out truly critical interpretations of their field, offering valuable insights and new ways forward. Criticism is of course a part of sociology and always has been. It is a basic sociological principle that the researcher should stand back from what appears to be natural, normal, and accepted within a social setting, and question it. In doing so, the researcher will inevitably attempt to find out whether things only appear to be natural, normal, and accepted from the perspective of certain social groups and not others; or whether the appearance of being natural, normal, and accepted itself functions, for example, to maintain the relations between social groups in ways that are advantageous to certain sectors, and disadvantageous to others. Sociology never sets out, as some critics of the field seem to think, purposely to be critical, political, and left-wing. Criticism is what happens when one questions how things come to appear natural, normal, and accepted, because that in turn can lead to perceiving problems in the actions and effects of social institutions. Such problems might include for example, unfairness, exclusion, labelling, lack of opportunity, and many others; as well as the justification of all these, in ways that make them seem to be acceptable or even unavoidable. What is the point of uncovering such problems? Ultimately, to improve things. To make them fairer, more inclusive, more open. Of course, any social change is itself subject to institutionalisation and assimilation into existing norms; what was once radical and transformative becomes swept up and turns into the xxiv

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new unquestioned norm or becomes diluted beyond recognition. From that new position, it can of course begin to participate in reproducing old systems. This is a part of any social process, and if it weren’t, there would be no need for sociological critique to carry on. But because it happens, the need to be aware of it remains. There will always be ways of improving the world. When I first heard about preparations for this volume, and Ruth Wright soon afterwards invited me to write the Foreword, the first words that came to my mind were: ‘The sociology of music education has come of age’. However, I had used that same expression when I wrote a Foreword a couple of years previously, for the Routledge Research Companion to Popular Music Education, only of course with reference to popular music studies, not sociology. One does try to avoid repeating the same phrase in two completely separate pieces of writing. But I think it is no coincidence that the phrase came straight to mind in both cases: for there is a historical connection between the simultaneous growth of these two relatively new fields – popular music education and the sociology of music education. This is because sociologists of music look into the social uses, functions, and meanings of music, and that means literally all music: any music that any social group – from an international listenership to a family – considers to be ‘music’. This perspective logically entails an interest in popular music, but of course it doesn’t stop there, because it also includes all those other kinds of music and musical practices that can be found anywhere where there are human beings. Interest in ‘multi-cultural music education’, as it was first termed, has a longer history than interest in the sociology of music education, but now I feel the two areas are working effectively as one. In this volume, given of course that the work is limited to the English language, the range of perspectives covered by writers is truly impressive. This is so, not only in relation to the diversity of nations where their work is situated, but also the diversity of social groups and the musical and music-educational practices that are included. There is much in common between ethnomusicology and the sociology of music. Ethnomusicologists and sociologists of music have always taken seriously the music of anyone, anywhere, without regard to how the music might or might not be recognised or valued by external agents. But one thing that the sociology of – specifically – music education brings to the table, concerns one of its differences from ethnomusicology and the sociology of music per se. This is that ethnomusicologists and sociologists of music refrain from attempting to change their object of study. In fact, the idea of attempting to cause change would in a strict sense, horrify them. Although they are abundantly aware that just by their presence in a social group, they are already creating some change, their usual aim would be to resist this as much as possible so as to be able to study the group as it is, or was, without their presence. As anthropologists in the broad sense, their aims include uncovering, understanding, and appreciating the musical practices and values of particular groups, and then educating other people than those they have studied, so as to increase these others’ knowledge. Certainly, to seek to make changes would in most cases be regarded as unethical. Music educators, on the other hand, have to countenance the fact that by default, they do ultimately seek to cause change. Education already implies the goal of changing – changing the knowledge and skills of those involved, so as to open up their opportunities and perspectives. It is perhaps in the transformative potential of developing, implementing, and analysing such change, that this volume makes one of its most important contributions to the overall field of music education studies. I congratulate the editors and authors on their production of such a landmark publication, and I look forward to more such work in the future. Professor Lucy Green, Institute of Education, University College London, UK

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INTRODUCTION Ruth Wright, Geir Johansen, Panagiotis A. Kanellopoulos, and Patrick Schmidt

What is the sociology of music education? The sociology of music education is the field of study applying sociological constructs and theories including among some, structure, agency, culture, class, race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, and identity to music learning and teaching. The locations to which such considerations relate include social contexts that range from the formality of compulsory schooling to non-formal communal environments, from informal efforts by individuals of all ages to engage in music making as well as listening to unwitting, unconscious engagements with music such as those occuring in an elevator. The scope, therefore, is broad and the topics to which the sociological gaze may be applied, varied. The reader will see this in the range and scope of chapters in this book which apply sociological analysis to issues located variously at the largest scale, the macro level of society considering matters related to nation states, national identity, colonialism, anti- and postcolonialism, internationalisation, geopolitics, and globalisation for example. At the meso and micro levels, often intertwined, sociological considerations are given to matters such as youth, gender and sexual identity, culture and cultural hegemony, community in real life or the virtual world, generational music transmission and educational involvement, capital, class, and status. The empirical fields discussed are located around the globe and range from school music classrooms to rappers and hip-hop artists in youth and community music education settings, from Elvis impersonators pursuing informal music education in the community to members of the New World Symphony Orchestra in the US and students in institutions of higher music education in formal music learning environments. There is also theoretical sociological work that extends our understandings of the relationships between music, society, and education. This illustrates the power of seminal and contemporary sociology and its concepts to advance comprehension and conceptualisation of the problems facing music education throughout society from the cradle to the grave. Above all, what we hope this volume demonstrates is the fact that sociology is powerful to think with. It helps us to see our familiar contexts and problems in music education in new ways. Sociology disposes us to become more sensitive to the embedded and unseen forces that act to affect individuals’ experiences of music differentially according to social group/s. Above all, it enables us to imagine and strategise for change. Through sociological understanding of the world we 1

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inhabit we can be equipped to act towards the more equitable distribution and recognition of a wide range of musical skills and develop throughout populations the more widespread capacity to engage in active musical participation and to celebrate in the identity of musician.

Origins The birth of a field now known as the ‘sociology of music education’ dates to no earlier than the late 20th century, with the first English language book explicitly connecting the words music, society and education being Christopher Small’s (1977) book of that name. Important sociological research was subsequently conducted in the field of music education by Lucy Green in the UK on issues such as ideology, hegemony and social reproduction, (1988), gender and music education (1997), and popular culture, pedagogy, and music education (2001, 2008). Green also published in 1999 an important paper titled ‘Research in the Sociology of Music Education: Some Introductory Concepts’ in which she presented key sociological concepts related to the study of music and to music education. During a similar period, Hildegard Froehlich was also conducting important early work in the field in the United States. This has led since 1995 to the organisation of 12 international symposia on the sociology of music education in various global locations, attracting an international array of scholars and students. These symposia have been documented in proceedings and journal special issues (Froehlich, Coan, and Rideout 2003/4; Dyndahl et al. 2014; McLellan et al. 2016; O’Flynn 2011; Rideout 1997, 2006; Rideout and Paul 2000; Roberts 2008). Books dedicated exclusively to this field include Sociology for Music Teachers: Perspectives for Practice (Froehlich 2007), Sociology and Music Education (Wright 2010), Sociology for Music Teachers: Practical Applications (Froehlich and Smith 2017), and Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education (Burnard, Hofvander Trulsson, and Söderman 2015).

The field of sociology of music education in the twenty-first century It is not easy to map the field of the sociology of music education in the twenty-first century. It has experienced rapid and global development in the first two decades of the century, with an increasing number of graduate theses conducted within this discipline. The broadening of scope of this and other scholarly work, both empirical and theoretical, is reflected in this Handbook. Alongside this expansion is an increasingly obvious concern with issues of social critique and the uncovering of injustice, exclusion, and inequity in music education following the lead given by Small in his seminal work. We shall return to this point later in this chapter.

Key concepts In Sociology and Music Education, Wright (2010), gave an introductory and of necessity, very brief, overview of the field of sociology, introducing key originating thinkers and concepts to help those who were not familiar with sociology as a discipline. From early theorists such as nineteenth-century thinker Auguste Comte, through the work of Karl Marx, Emile Durkheim, and Max Weber to early- and mid-twentieth century scholars such as Talcott Parsons, George Herbert Mead, Peter Berger, and Thomas Luckman to end-century figures such as Anthony Giddens, Basil Bernstein, and Pierre Bourdieu, an attempt was made to present a somewhat coherent story of the development of sociology and some of its major thinkers.1 Wright then proceeded to show how the discipline of sociology may be linked to the field of music education.

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Introduction

To conduct the same type of process at this time for twenty-first-century sociology and its applications to music education is a daunting task. The reason why it is increasingly difficult to map development in the field of sociology of music education in a similarly linear and coherent way to the earlier work may be explained as deriving from the nature of sociology as a form of knowledge or discourse as conceptualised by Bernstein. In one of his last published works, Bernstein (1999) turned his attention to the construction and social base of different forms of knowledge or discourse. He identified two basic types of discourse. One was seen as common sense or everyday knowledge, ‘likely to be oral, local, context dependent and specific, tacit, multi-layered, and contradictory across but not within contexts’ (p. 159). The organisation of this knowledge form, which he asserted was segmental, was of central concern to Bernstein. Each site of realisation (context or location) or specific segment of culture requires a specific, specialised type of common sense or everyday knowledge, he held. Therefore, Bernstein (1999) claimed this kind of knowledge to be ‘segmentally differentiated’ (p, 159). He termed this horizontal discourse. By contrast, the other form of knowledge was identified as a different form of discourse, taking the form of the knowledge produced in what some term the official realm. This knowledge, seen in education as ‘school(ed) knowledge’ (Bernstein 1999, p. 158), is context independent and termed by Bernstein (1999, p. 159) vertical discourse: Briefly, a vertical discourse takes the form of a coherent, explicit, and systematically principled structure, hierarchically organised, as in the sciences, or it takes the form of a series of specialised languages, with specialised modes of interrogation and specialised criteria for the production and circulation of texts, as in the social sciences and humanities. Circulation of knowledge is different in each of these discourses. Horizontal discourse, Bernstein asserts, is circulated through tacit recontextualisation processes according to distributive rules relating to status and position. In vertical discourse, on the other hand, strong rules control who receives the knowledge and how it is transmitted and evaluated. It is explicitly recontextualised (transformed for reproduction) through the action of these rules to determine when, where, and who may transmit and receive it. Bernstein then turns to the distinction within forms of vertical discourse that he had earlier identified: one a ‘coherent, explicit and systematically principled structure, hierarchically organised; and the second (takes the form of) a series of specialised languages with specialised modes of interrogation, specialised criteria for the production and circulation of texts, e.g. the natural sciences, humanities and social sciences’ (p. 161). He terms these somewhat confusingly hierarchical knowledge structures and horizontal knowledge structures (p. 162). So, to recapitulate, we have vertical and horizontal discourses and then within vertical discourse itself we have two forms of knowledge structure: hierarchical knowledge structures and horizontal knowledge structures. Hierarchical knowledge structures resemble a pyramid, with the attempt to develop broad theoretical explanation necessitating the constant integration of earlier propositions and theories and greater and greater abstraction. Bernstein termed this an integrating code (p. 162). Horizontal knowledge structures conversely require production of specialised languages producing specialised practices of inquiry and their own criteria for the development and sharing of knowledge. These knowledge structures therefore resemble a chain of linked but separate languages. Bernstein relates horizontal knowledge structures to sociology and the languages of 3

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Marxism, functionalism, etc. as examples. He therefore suggests that these structures are based on collection or serial codes (p. 163). If, as Bernstein asserted, sociology is one of these horizontal knowledge structures, it may now become easier to see why providing a definitive overview of the current state of the field of the sociology of music education is difficult. Where production of knowledge requires generation of new languages of description, it is likely, in the post-modern era to involve proliferation of such languages or theoretical perspectives, each with their own claims to legitimation. Moreover, whereas in vertical knowledge structures development is perceived to take the form of generation of a theory capable of integrating most of the previously produced theory, in horizontal knowledge structures this is not the case. It cannot apply because the set of languages which constitute any one horizontal knowledge structure are not translatable, since they make different and often opposing assumptions, with each language having its own criteria for legitimate texts. (p. 163) Advancement in such knowledge structures therefore happens by the development of new languages and new speakers. It is, therefore, difficult to map definitively the ‘state of the art’ in the field in the way one might within a vertical knowledge structure as many competing languages abound. Bernstein later proceeds to attest that ‘recognising and realising what counts as an “authentic” sociological reality’ (p. 165) is dependent upon acquisition of a ‘gaze’. ‘(W)hat counts in the end is the specialised language, its position, its perspective, the acquirer’s ‘gaze’, rather than one exemplary theory’. In these instances, ‘truth’ is a matter of acquired ‘gaze’; no-one can be eyeless in this Gaza’ (p. 165). At the conclusion of his paper, Bernstein suggests that such fields can become overly concerned with the development and defence of the languages and distracted from empirical application and that ‘the view would be markedly improved if the discursive centre of gravity shifted from the specialised languages to issues of empirical description: a shift from commitment to a language to dedication to a problem and its vicissitudes’. This is a challenge that many of the authors in this Handbook have taken up. So, also, has sociologist Erik Olin Wright (2010), who has termed his work towards social justice within the discipline of sociology ‘emancipatory social science’. He links the word emancipatory to ‘a central moral purpose in the production of knowledge – the elimination of oppression and the creation of the conditions for human flourishing’ (p. 7). Furthermore, he sees such change as dependent upon transformation of the social world ‘the word social implies the belief that human emancipation depends upon the transformation of the social world, not just the inner life of persons’ (Wright 2010, p. 7). For Wright (2010, p. 8), emancipatory social science has three fundamental tasks: elaborating a systematic diagnosis and critique of the world as it exists; envisioning viable alternatives; and understanding the obstacles, possibilities, and dilemmas of transformation. In different times and places one or another of these may be more pressing than others, but all are necessary for a comprehensive emancipatory theory. In this book, we see a number of authors engaged in these three tasks to varying degrees according to the requirements of their time and context. They are seriously engaged with their ‘problem’. They are seeking alternative possibilities. This is a vital contribution that a sociological perspective may contribute to the field of music education. This is where the ‘sociological imagination’ so famously described by Charles Wright Mills in 1959 may provide insight 4

Introduction

not only into what is but also to what may be. E.O. Wright (2010, p. 3) discusses here the potential of what he terms ‘real utopias’, in bridging the divide between dreams and reality, between imagined possibilities and the practicalities required for substantive social change. His book, Envisioning real utopias (2010), is motivated by ‘the belief that what is pragmatically possible is not fixed independently of our imaginations but is itself shaped by our visions’ (Wright 2010, p. 4). To do so requires, perhaps, the forms of scholarly work we present in this Handbook because: Nurturing clear-sighted understandings of what it would take to create social institutions free of oppression is part of creating a political will for radical social changes to reduce oppression. A vital belief in a utopian ideal may be necessary to motivate people to leave on the journey from the status quo in the first place, even though the likely actual destination may fall short of the utopian ideal. Yet, vague utopian fantasies may lead us astray, encouraging us to embark on trips that have no real destinations at all, or worse still, which lead us toward some unforeseen abyss. Along with “where there is a will there is a way”, the human struggle for emancipation confronts “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”. What we need, then, is “real utopias”: utopian ideals that are grounded in the real potentials of humanity, utopian destinations that have accessible waystations, utopian designs of institutions that can inform our practical tasks of navigating a world of imperfect conditions for social change. (Wright 2010, p. 3) To these ends, we editors have attempted to assemble a wide range of speakers and ‘languages’ from the field of the sociology of music education and to include the voices of scholars at various stages of their academic careers, including newer speakers. As an introduction to the ‘state of the art’ of sociology of music education we hope that we have assembled a variety of ‘gazes’ and that from among these the reader may find a powerful lens through which to view their particular problem of interest in the field of music education and to enact with it and through it at least one of the three tasks of emancipatory social science.

Volume overview Section I: Post-structuralism, globalisation, internationalisation, postcolonialism This first section brings together a diverse group of authors, presenting critical views on myriad issues, spanning from colonialism and post-colonialism in music education, to issues surrounding indigeneity, to internationalization, to multiple cultural-musical practices and their sociological challenges and openings. The section begins with a compelling chapter by Juliet Hess, where the author situates the role music education has played in the colonial project, and explores how, as an oppositional framework, anti-colonialism could help music educators to resist colonialism operating within and through the field. The aim of the chapter, as Hess states, is to explore ‘an intervention into ongoing coloniality through engaging a theoretical framework of anti-colonialism’. She explores sociological theories of coloniality, establishing relationships between the conceptual and its material manifestations; impacting social spaces from schooling, to prisons and policing, to cultural materials, to governmental policy. She ends the chapter by articulating potential

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pathways for action that are derived from social theories in the areas of resistance, agency, power, and positionality. In chapter 2, Alexandra Kertz-Welzel intersects sociological theory and challenges surrounding the internationalization of music education. She focuses on critiques of hegemony and power, advocating for the formation of a global community and their potential positive impact on strengthening theory, research, and practice. She highlights the notion that ‘internationalisation practices are not value-neutral and cannot be devoid of cultural dimensions’. Thus, they benefit from critical sociological lenses and analyses. Throughout the chapter, she explores these notions in several contexts, with a particular interest in community-oriented spaces, hoping to clarify for the reader the ways in which a global music education community could become ‘sociologically sound’. Tiwei Chen authors chapter 3, placing its focus on the sociological relations within complex and diverse environments such as Hong Kong. She argues that uncertain and even paradoxical social relations ‘inevitably have direct and indirect impact on local music educators’ pedagogical philosophy and behaviours, as well as decision making in relation to curriculum design and teaching materials’. In this chapter, the author then explores Putonghua songs and how they function as policy and practice within the music curriculum in Hong Kong schools, using them as a foil to also explore and document historical and ongoing process of post colonisation; specifically, decolonisation, neocolonisation, and recolonization. Of particular interest are discussions on the depoliticisation of music education and the challenging intersection between censorship and self-censorship that regularly creep into institutional spaces, including higher education – all with noteworthy impact on how the field continues to develop today in this context. Chapter 4 makes use Bourdieu’s theory of habitus to examine the practices of classical music instruction pedagogy in the work of conservatory music teachers in Israel. Here, the authors, Dan Sagiv and Yael Nativ, add to a critical tradition in music that looks at habitus formation within Western classical teaching and learning. Central to the chapter is an analysis, based on empirical evidence from Israel, of the coded subtleties of the field and how they are imparted within instrumental lessons. The authors weave a careful text in which larger macrological conceptions are exemplified at micro-level detail of daily practice, linking perceptions of autonomy and agency to embodied apprenticeship. While providing critical insight into a challenged social practice, the authors invite the reader to consider how a ‘specific habitus of intimate precision and punctuality’ exacts an essential characteristic of the culture of classical music, one that can also have productive outcomes from those successfully immersed in it. In a compelling chapter, Anita Prest and Scott Goble collaboratively outline ‘how a sociology informed by local Indigenous perspectives could make possible a more ethical sociological investigation of the embedding of local Indigenous musics in school settings’. Chapter 5 then offers a rich opportunity for engagement with an emergent sociology framed by scholars from several First Nations as well as with data from Prest and Goble’s own research in British Columbia. The authors offer a strong critique of normative sociological positionings, arguing that ‘unfortunately, in those countries with a history of settler colonialism, the field of sociology, until recently, has either largely ignored colonized cultures (thereby rendering them invisible) or considered the people of those cultures only from a deficit lens’. Their central contribution unfolds out of the notion that ‘in drawing distinctions between Indigenous and conventional (i.e., Western European) understandings of sociological terminology, it may become possible to develop new, syncretic understandings and bi-directional terms, for use in the fields of both sociology and music education’.

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In chapter 6, Tom Parkinson and Olcay Muslu Gardner consider the ‘legacy of music education reforms in the Republic of Turkey, with a conceptual focus on memory and tradition’. The authors look in particular to the bifurcated traditions of both traditional Turkish and Western musics within higher education in the country, considering the governing sociological patterns of practice that are supported by them and how they are likely to contribute to continued music teaching and learning in the country. The historical discourse and analysis provided by the chapter helps us to see the political tensions that characterized an ebb and flow often marked by depoliticization and forms of cultural amnesia; often with implications for how orality and literacy have marked cultural policy in Turkey. The chapter weaves together these and other tensions while also making use of a diversely rich articulation of Turkish cultural concepts, and the ways in which their own sociological meanings are key in better understanding musical practices today. Flavia Narita and Heloisa Feichas, two music educators in Brazil, offer a critical outlook on the work of Paulo Freire, articulating the ways in which dialogical and problem-posing pedagogical positions can still have a meaningful impact in humanizing education, particularly in times of rampant neoliberalism. Their focus is higher education and their concerns surround the ways in which ‘the alienated marketised conception of human relations prevent people from finding ways to meaningfully connect with other people and to articulate this connectedness’. In chapter 7, they use the sociological concept of ‘powerful knowledge’ to situate and critically analyse alternative musical pedagogies, using a case study of an Integrated School Program in Brazil, where a public school collaborated with local universities. Music students in the study work within a creative laboratory that makes use of non-formal teaching approaches while focusing on musical leadership. The examination of the unprecedented growth of the Musical Futures organisation in Australia through policy thinking is the subject of chapter 8. Collaboratively written by Clare Hall, Renée Crawford, and Louise Jenkins, they question how the possible convergence between informal music pedagogy and global trends towards neoliberal policies and practices is influencing music education, exploring how ‘trace elements’ of neoliberal ideology may be in tension with social justice imperatives. The authors use a number of policy documents, including curriculum, educational ‘frameworks’, and public domain publications as policy in action, in order to explore whether the migration of musical futures, in the absence of local, research-led structural changes to music education, has led to the substitution of one form of cultural hegemony for another. They powerfully argue that ‘when we question whose real world we are trying to include, issues of musical style become infantile in the face of the epistemic diversity that Australian society presents to school education’. Carlos Poblete brings the sociology of Basil Bernstein, and the concepts of repertoire and reservoir, to frame an analysis of higher music education practices in Chile and what underlines the constitution of musical experience and musical repertoires within this context. Using a historical research design, Poblete invites us to consider how socio-cultural background and university programmatic and curricular habitus structure how music educators frame repertoire choices. The goal is to distinguish the nuclear elements that, participating in the configuration of the personal taste of music teachers in Chile, constitute key elements of the work of music educators and consequently the teaching and learning processes carried out inside the classroom. Poblete sees this as significant, as such practices and understandings participate in mechanisms of cultural reproduction and end up shaping the musical experiences of school-aged children and youth. Poblete argues that his findings may help us to ‘reflect on the meaning of inclusion and emphasis on certain repertoires within university education’ and how music teacher preparation might be reformed. 7

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In the last chapter of section one, chapter 10, Danielle Sirek looks at cultural practices as a way of creating and maintaining social group identity. Specifically, she explores the symbolic boundaries enacted by Soca musicking in Grenada, West Indies, and music education initiatives, investigating in what contexts boundaries shift or temporarily disintegrate. Throughout she draws from the social identity theory, using an interactionist position to analyse issues related to self-concept, group processes, and intergroup relations. The chapter offers an in-depth, critical evaluation of Soca practices, with an eye on their inter-sonic and delineated meanings; as per Lucy Green’s work. Sirek suggests that ‘symbolic boundaries can map how musical knowledge is transmitted to distinct social groups; and make perceptible who has control over access, transmission, and assessment in formal and informal music education’.

Section II: Capital, class, status and social reproduction Section II includes chapters 11–22, describing a wide variety of ways in which perspectives of capital, class, status, and social reproduction constitute fruitful points of departure as well as focus areas for discussing the social functions and consequences of music education. Indirectly, these descriptions and discussions also indicate how music education may contribute to the larger, public conversation of society. Moreover, by doing so they also point to the social responsibility of music education as well as music educators in these matters. The array of theoretical perspectives vary from foundational theories of the social lives of people, groups, and societies together with the dynamic relationships included, such as the theoretical worlds of Pierre Bourdieu or Basil Bernstein, to theory and research addressing particular issues such as, for example, socialization and subjectification, social imaginaries, and marketization as well as technical and ritual rationality. The section opens with chapter 11, wherein Petter Dyndahl carries out a systematic analysis of the entailments for music education and music education research of Gert Biesta’s interconnected dimensions of qualification, socialisation, and subjectification. Focusing on Ranciére’s influence on Biesta, he presents a critical review of Biesta’s philosophical foundations, as a basis for discussing how, under certain conditions and modifications, the threefold domains may be useful for a sociological approach to music education. As different from the theoretical basis of Dyndahl’s analysis, chapter 12 is empirically founded. Here, Gwen Moore takes a national, Irish study about undergraduate student’s musical backgrounds and experiences of higher music education as her point of departure. She investigates the ways in which Bourdieu’s theoretical tools of habitus, cultural capital, and field can further our understanding of how different musical pathways shape student experiences. By drawing on an application of Bourdieu’s concepts to musical enculturation and the social reproduction of musical value, Moore investigates the ways in which social class factors work in the pursuit of higher music education. Another author who also draws on empirical data is Christine Carroll, who authors chapter 13, reporting from an instrumental case study carried out on two levels of Australian school music education. On both levels, legitimation code theory, which extends sociological ideas such as the ones by Basil Bernstein and Pierre Bourdieu, served as an overarching, explanatory tool. The first exposed the emergence and orientation of a ‘code division’ in curriculum documents, spanning a 60-year period through to the present day. The second examined this ‘code division’ from the ground up, via classroom research implemented at a school in Sydney, New South Wales. Even if a spectrum of knowledge and skills spanning the code distinctions was revealed, yet, teaching and assessment practices maintained the code divide, Carroll reports. Hence, she suggests that by

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making knowledge practices more visible, the underlying mechanisms maintaining division can be both acknowledged and new possibilities considered. In chapter 14, Athena Lill lifts the concept of tweenage to the fore, a concept designating broadly Westernised children between the ages of 8–15 years. She discusses the roles musical production, distribution, and consumption may have in the creation and performance of a tweenage social imaginary, based on theoretical strands such as the ones of Anderson, Appadurai, Castoriadis, and Taylor, and seen as the active co-production and consumption of cultural artefacts, specific social values, and group practices. In focus are the ways in which the two key spaces of the school and the Internet enable this co-production. Based on empirical data from her own doctoral study, Lill argues that through an examination of musical play, musical fandoms, and the production and consumption of Internet-based musical texts, music appears as integral to the creation and performance of this particular imaginary. Chapter 15 is written by Gareth Dylan Smith, who takes the social context of a society guided by what he calls an aggressive individualist, neoliberal ideology as his point of departure. Focusing on inconsistencies in UK government rhetoric regarding music and the values accorded to it as articulated through policies on culture and higher education, he suggests the concept ‘intentional doublespeak’ as designating systematic efforts to diminish opportunities for popular musicians at the grassroots level, while access to higher popular music education dramatically expands. Smith suggests that this is driven by national governments who on the one hand urge creators and artists in popular cultural domains to strive for success as entrepreneurs, while on the other they channel huge amounts of public funding away from popular culture and into ‘high’ cultural forms such as ballet and opera. In conclusion, he proposes a critical punk perspective that might empower musicians and educators to challenge dominant ideology in the hope of working collectively toward a more democratic, compassionate world. In chapter 16, Patrick Schmidt explores the social space of an orchestral institution, the New World Symphony in the USA, which he finds hybrid, changing, and an unevenly structured social space where ambivalence places institutional and individual actions as a process of subjectification in constant dispute, rather than a harmonious process of self-reinforcement and reification. Drawing on sociological conflict theory, he suggests that central questions informing research in higher music education and/or orchestral institutions might move away from why hierarchy remains. Rather we might focus on the ways in which multiple and contending hierarchical values can and do function within such communities; and if, by producing multiple ‘repertoires of positions of power and resistance’ hierarchies can play a role in democratising the social space. Then greater investigative care might be placed on how multiple and contending hierarchical environs are able to provide democratising opportunities, Schmidt suggests. Øivind Varkøy authors chapter 17, directing the attention towards the influences of neoliberalism in the field of music education. Asking if music education scholars label everything we do not like as neoliberalism, he calls for heretics and a heretical consciousness in our dealing with it. Drawing on the Foucauldian tradition, Varkøy discusses neoliberalism in terms of a political rationality. It is related to the hegemony of instrumental reason, as we find this way of thinking both in technical and ritual rationalities characterizing our cultural situation, including issues such as the justification of music education, he maintains. In this situation, music as a general education subject is caught between technical rationality on the one hand, and ritual arguments within the field of music education itself on the other, both characterised by the hegemony of instrumental reason. Standing opposed to the neoliberal power of domination and

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the hegemonic discourses of instrumentalism, we need to recognize philosophical critique as a fundament for profound political and social critique and action, Varkøy concludes. Chapter 18 is written by Pamela Burnard and Garth Stahl, expanding how theories of capital can be used to explore the professional lives of two highly respected women working in the creative industries. The attention is directed towards how the women recognise and operationalise their capitals, which capitals are seen as valuable and how they are valued, and what characterises the ‘practices’ they use to generate capital. As a basis for their discussion, Burnard and Stahl draw on Bourdieu’s approach to capital as well as some Bourdieusian-inspired conceptual expansions of emotional capital and professional capital. They work implicitly with these theories when focusing on two case studies of women creatives who are currently navigating boundaryless careers. This enables Burnard and Stahl to make a theoretical contribution to how emotional and professional capitals work in tandem, influencing each other. It opens up new ways of thinking critically about how we accumulate capitals and use them to reveal the conditions favouring their concentration and expansion by women creatives. In chapter 19, Martin Fautley looks at the ways in which hegemony, especially as seen in the valorisation of musical types, has had a significant impact upon classroom music curriculum and assessment in England, with consequences for the interrelationship between curriculum and assessment. He finds that views of curriculum can enforce valorisations of music’s status that may be at odds with those of the children and young people receiving music classes at school. In particular, this concerns the notion that Western classical music trumps all other types, an established part of socio-political systems and demonstrated in the curricula produced by teachers who themselves often come from a Western classical background. Consequently, Fautley suggests that hegemony is important in considering the ways in which different types, forms, and instantiations of musical knowledge find their outworking in the day-to-day curricula of secondary school music education, and how assessment functions in this system. Following this, we need to discuss whether the need for production of assessment data has overtaken musical priorities such as those about musicality in some school settings. Chris Philpott and Gary Spruce wrote chapter 20, wherein they address structure and agency in music education and raise the question if it is possible for music teachers to exercise agency as part of their practice. In answering this question, they present a framework for the analysis of agency by drawing on the concept of structuration and the ecology surrounding the potentially agentic teacher. If the music teacher is to be seen as agentic, hidden, and pervasive ‘structural binds’ implicit in the discourses of music and music education need to be interrogated, they maintain, pointing to Western classical music and its manifestation and influence on the dominant discourses of music and music education as their example. In order to be agentic, music teachers need to be knowledgeable and morally responsible, critical pedagogues, intentionally engaged with the discourses of education, music education, and musicology, they hold. In chapter 21, Geir Johansen discusses the hidden curriculum of higher music education. Setting out from a comprehensive view of hiddenness, a reflective ground is established by drawing on works within the scholarship of music education as well as hidden curricula in general, further reflected in perspectives such as recontextualisation, doxa, and critical discourse. By sorting traits of hidden curricula in ‘hidden in plain sight’, ‘yet to be discovered’, and ‘revealed to some, hidden for others’, the attention is drawn towards musical value hierarchies, the hidden ideology of entrepreneurship courses, and the possible reproduction of ideology on a more general basis, and sexual discrimination and harassment across various sexual orientations. Finally, some concluding remarks address Jane Martin’s question: ‘what should we do with a hidden curriculum when we find one’? 10

Introduction

In the last chapter of section II, chapter 22, Ruth Wright takes the story of rapper Plan B as her point of departure for considering issues of democracy, social exclusion, and music education, first through the lenses of classical sociological concepts of anomie and alienation and then through additional contemporary sociological lenses of remix and life-hack. On that ground, she examines the ways in which music education might act to reproduce undemocratic, exclusionary practices or to counter them by enabling people to utilise their musical cultural resources to remix and life- hack their subjectivities, thereby making sense of themselves and their worlds. In order to move in that direction, we might conceptualise music education as musical remixing and life-hacking, positioning students alongside teachers and artists as co-constructers of both their own subjectivities and contemporary culture, and hence of contemporary society, not its hereditary recipients or excluded bystanders, Wright concludes.

Section III: Crossing borders – problematising assumptions The third section includes chapters that take an in-depth look at a wide variety of formal and informal music education practices, taking us to extremely diverse settings spanning from the work of the Barenboim-Said Foundation in Palestine to inclusive music education projects in Sweden, and from the uses of collaborative video logs in higher music education to the music education trajectories of Elvis tribute artists, or to Lowell Mason’s work in antebellum Boston. Here again, a diverse group of authors present critical views on issues ranging from formation and sustainment of communities of practice to various forms of colonialism, to musical identity formation, to notions of growth and maturity, to constructions of notions of ‘creativity’, to the ambiguities of multicultural and inclusive music education, to gender and race inequalities, to informal learning trajectories, to issues of musical socialisation in family contexts. The section begins with a powerful chapter (23) co-authored by Marion Haak-Schulenburg and Felicity Laurence, focusing on two case studies of important music educational projects run in the geopolitical context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Haak-Schulenburg and Laurence build on the legacy of Christopher Small, his socio-political critique of the imposed passivity in our engagement with music, and his vision of music as form of engagement with multi-layered exploration and shaping of selves, relationships, experiences and contexts. This Smallean approach is complemented with Gaztambide-Fernández (2013)’s critique of ‘the rhetoric of effects’ (p. 216) that dominates arts education. Gaztambide-Fernández (2013) argues that we should actively oppose reification of art as something that does ‘something to people’ (p. 226), focusing instead on musical engagement as a form of cultural production, focusing on what people do themselves in their creative engagement with artistic processes. Based on this framework, the authors critically analyse the music education practices of projects run by the Barenboim-Said Foundation, showing how they (re)produce the cultural hegemony of Western Art Music, imposing normalising conceptions of music(al) consumption as a means to civility. As a counterexample to this form of ‘hegemonic musicking’, the authors engage in an analysis of projects led by Musicians without Borders ‘just a stone’s throw away’ from Barenboim-Said Foundation. The critical commentary advanced in this chapter is based on their deep concern for socially engaged scholarly work that helps shaping music education practices that are of and for the people, with and not without them. In chapter 24, Siw Graabræk Nielsen and Petter Dyndahl adopt a theoretical framework that derives from Pierre Bourdieu’s oeuvre, looking at higher music education as ‘a social field where gender relations and hierarchies are produced and reproduced in particular ways’. The chapter builds ‘on a previous survey of all master’s and PhD theses approved within Norwegian 11

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music academia from 1912 through 2012’. Based on the Bourdieusian premise that there exists an ‘homology between social, spatial and mental structures’, an homology that results from the intertwined workings of symbolic power and symbolic violence, Graabræk Nielsen and Dyndahl examine what they refer to as the genderfication of popular music in Norwegian music academia in terms of symbolic violence, showing how genderfication is deeply implicated in musical gentrification (Dyndahl et al. 2014), that is, to the processes of academisation of popular music in music education and research. In chapter 25, Elizabeth Gould challenges heteropatriarchal and racially biased canonical socio-historical narratives that relate to the origins of public school music education in the US. Based on Roderick Ferguson’s (2004) ‘queer of color critique’, and on José Esteban Muñoz’s concept of disidentification (1999), Gould examines ‘the social formations and relations that made Lowell Mason’s work in antebellum Boston the founding canonical narrative of public school music education in the US, and disqualified, disallowed and necessarily excluded African American freewoman Susan Paul’s music education work which she undertook in the same historical moment, city, and society’. Gould carefully shows how canonical music and music education historiographies have ignored important sides of a contested past, suppressing heterogeneity, constructing and perpetuating ‘norms of acceptability that reflect those of the society in which it is enacted’. Understanding (sociological) research as an ethical practice highlighting and critiquing silences imposed by canonical narratives, Gould draws on American writer, feminist, and civil rights activist Audre Lorde, whose work, Gould argues, provides the language to express these silences. She suggests that music education sociology might implement Lorde’s strategy of critical self-reflection related to racism and homophobia as a way to engage with the potentiality of difference. In Chapter 26, Deanna Yerichuk employs a historical sociology perspective on the particular history of music training in Toronto’s settlement music schools during the 1930s. In a way that can be directly linked to Haak-Schulenburg and Laurence’s piece in this volume (chapter 23), Yerichuk develops a critical historical reading of the uses of ‘classical music’ as a ‘corrective’ tool, as means to nurture social development in disadvantaged youth. Aware of the lack of historical sociological studies in music education, Yerichuk first provides an introduction to historical sociology, focusing on critical histories, arguing that ‘the methodology offers robust analytical tools to critique contemporary values, assumptions, and ideas that underpin questions of social organisation through music’. She then employs a Foucauldian critical history approach to interrogate ‘the trope of good music’, and its resultant function as a way to dismiss other musics, as ‘an effective, inconspicuous trope that normalised truths about the rightness of both musical and social hierarchies that reinforced each other’. Most significantly, Yerichuk shows how critical historical studies of music education’s past may help us ‘reconsider present-day values and assumptions circulating in the field of community music’, enabling us to understand, uncover, and critique contemporary ways of exercising social control through music. In chapter 27, Panagiotis (Panos) A. Kanellopoulos presents a socio-historical study of the ‘Creative Music in Education’ movement [CMinED], a term that refers to a cluster of music education experiments that in the 1960s and 1970s sought to redefine the relationship between music, education, creativity, and notions of ‘contemporary’ music. The chapter unfolds in two parts: the first introduces select fragments from the European history of efforts to create inroads into a new relationship between creativity, children, and contemporary music. In the second part, a sociological reading of the ideological underpinnings of creative music in education is attempted. The study suggests that the language of legitimation created by CMinED was based on (1) a universalist approach, with regard to constructions of ‘the young’ and of the music creative process, (2) an egalitarian conception of creativity, and (3) an avant-garde educational 12

Introduction

approach that derived from the tradition of child art and led to a particular framing of the ‘contemporary’ in music. These constructs functioned as ‘invisible authorities’, delineating a certain sense of what is educationally possible and worthwhile. Such a critical reading of CMinED wishes to show the deep relevance it can have for us today, urging us to re-turn ‘not by returning as in reflecting on or going back to a past that was, but re-turning as in turning it over and over again’ (Barad 2014, p. 168). In chapter 28, Susan Young probes the role of sociological thinking in questioning notions of growth and maturity. Her approach shows the important role that the tradition of childhood studies may play in music education, both in terms of methodological approaches to researching children’s musical worlds, and also through offering us a wealth of critical perspectives. Young turns her attention to the problematics of representation of young children, poignantly arguing that developmentalist discourses, ‘construct the figure of the child upon ideas of linearity, progress and standardisation’ and thereby colonise our conceptions of ‘childhood’, leading to marginalisation of children on the basis of an ‘always-lagging-behind’ view that pervades everyday routines, modes of acting and modes of discourses through which children’s relationship to music is being constructed. Young also raises that issue of the marginalisation of all those who work with young children, as the pervading gendered division of labour that exists is deeply intertwined to embedded assumptions of lower status. Based on select ideas from the work of sociologist Nick Lee (1998; 2001) the paper challenges traditional divisions between adults and children which construe children as dependent, changeable, and incomplete calling for a shift in theoretical thinking that upsets notions of maturity implied in developmental accounts, suggesting that ‘we are all, always, in a state of maturing; we never arrive’. The author notes that a flat ontology of musical maturing/never arriving does not, though, cancel the need for graduated, flexible and subtle distinctions (bodily distinctions, levels of experience, and levels of material and emotional dependency) that may differentiate young children from adults. However, she emphasises that such distinctions ‘are intrinsic to musical experience for everyone, irrespective of age – or any other social category’. On this basis, Young calls for ‘music education as a practice to be understood in relational terms and for pedagogy not to be subjectcentred, but processual and relational in conception’. In today’s world, perhaps more than ever, multi-layered and multi-sided musical conduct seems to be the rule, rather than the exception. On the basis of recent empirical research, Sidsel Karlsen, author of chapter 29, examines individual and collective strategies for multi-layered musical conduct as well as some of its functions. Most significantly, the author develops a rather meta-theoretical stance, constructing a critical perspective of how research of multi-layered musical identities has been conducted. And she does so by examining specific research perspectives (developed around the notions of parallel musical identities, musical agency, and cultural omnivorousness), with respect to their underlying assumptions about how and why multi-layered musical conduct takes place, as well as to the methodological choices through which such conduct can best be investigated. By examining different ontological points of departure, theoretical assumptions, and methodological consequences of different research perspectives, Karlsen makes us aware of the non-neutrality of the process of research. Chapter 30 is co-authored by Kari Veblen and Stephanie Horsley, and looks at the learning trajectories of four Elvis tribute artists (ETAs), contributing to the expansion of the horizon of music education by showing how there is more than meets the eye in oft-dismissed practices of ‘imitation’. Data for this chapter come from a qualitative study of self-reported perceptions and musical enactments of four ETAs in Southern Ontario, Canada. Analysis focuses on how these artists develop and negotiate skills and identities in the process of becoming an ETA. The study identifies several themes related to skills acquisition and identity formation of an ETA. These 13

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include early, passionate involvement, based on deep admiration; family support; networking that leads to situating oneself within a wider ‘Elvis community’; delving in a self-directed, multileveled, and dense process of skill building (cognitively, intuitively, emotionally, or technically) that allows them to explore and shape particular creative and expressive possibilities; sense of good fortune; Elvis as platform for larger life goals that leads to personal fulfilment; and affinity with Elvis’s humanitarian outreach. Most importantly, Veblen and Horsley conclude that the study participants’ ‘desire “to Elvis” is transcended by the acquisition of their own musical identities and the ways in which they have appropriated the work of “Elvising” to reach their own personal and professional goals and support the communities around them’. In chapter 31, Ylva Hofvander Trulsson problematises notions of inclusion, revealing the difficulties one has in making clear-cut judgments to questions such as: how can one frame notions of inclusiveness that value otherness without ‘othering’ the other? More specifically, the chapter focuses on the challenges faced and the possible openings offered to children with different minority backgrounds, as well as to the varied circumstances that can affect work with inclusion in music education. Of particular interest here is the notion of trialectic contract, used by the author to describe the web of interactions between teacher and parent, parent and child, and student and teacher that shape a teaching situation. By working with creativity in art and music, opportunities arise for intercultural forms of interaction; but the complexities that emerge as a result of the trialectic relationship between teachers, students, and parents posit challenges to naïve conceptions of intercultural music education. Based on a primarily Nordic research perspective, this chapter offers a sociological analysis of the complexities and the contradictions faced by inclusive music education. Chris Cayari, author of chapter 32, uses the social learning theory of Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger to look at how collaborative video logs (CVLs) may act as learning resources, leading to the creation of communities of practice (Wenger 1998) both within a classroom context and beyond. The author carefully unravels the core elements and the importance of understanding learning as a result of participation in communities of practice, proceeding to an analysis of how CVLs can actually create communities of practice. Data for this study come from the author’s implementation of CVL projects to seven different courses at three public US universities. To explore the sociological vectors of culture and identity, Cayari studied ‘the situated learning experiences (Lave and Wenger 1991) of students within CVLs and used the seven principles of aliveness discussed by Wenger et al. (2002) to analyse student reflections on CVL projects in music courses that serviced music education majors, elementary education majors, and students from a variety of majors who took music as an elective’. This chapter is a clear example of how sociologically informed scholarly work might help music education to expand its horizons and embrace new technologies in a critical and informed manner. Chapter 33, co-authored by Kari Veblen and Janice Waldron, is also drawing and expanding on Lave and Wenger’s notion of communities of practice and the value of researching the role of new technologies in music learning via this perspective. Extending the discussion that began in the previous chapter, the authors discuss how music education might expand its understanding of means and processes of learning via borrowing perspectives from fields of new media, social media, communications, and the cross-disciplinary fields of digital sociology and digital anthropology. Veblen and Waldron take us beyond restricted conceptions of ‘the digital’ and its role in education and music education, but they also comment on its potential in transforming social research itself. Thus, they strongly argue that ‘music education scholars [should] consult, consider, and understand literature on internet enquiry and online research methodologies before undertaking any investigations that involve the internet and/or the “digital”, and especially so in sociological research focused on social media sites (SMSs) and 14

Introduction

music learning’. After articulating the immense relevance of digital sociology, digital anthropology and online ethnography perspectives to music education, Veblen and Waldron survey research on musical online communities of practice in formal settings such as schools and institutions. In chapter 34, Johan Söderman examines the cultural and informal music learning practices that emerge through creative youth associations in post-industrial cities. The chapter is based on a case study of Rörelsen Gatans Röst och Ansikte (The Movement of the Voice and Face of the Streets) [RGRA], a youth association in Malmö, Sweden, that engages in important community music work based on principles drawn from hip-hop culture, and involves young people with immigrant backgrounds that live in disadvantaged areas of the city. Söderman sees the work done in RGRA as a kind of Freirean empancipatory education that maintains firm links with the Scandinavian folkbildung educational tradition. Söderman builds his analysis of the cultural practices that evolve in the context of RGRA on three themes, referred to as ‘double features’. A common feature of all three themes is that contradictory discourses are employed, discourses that relate to the perennial debate between an ‘autonomist’ view of the value of aesthetics vs. the possible social benefits of musical engagement. Furthermore, Söderman focuses on the informal music and music learning practices within RGRA, analysing the ways in which young leaders without formal music education shape a role that can be referred to as that of an ‘organic educator’, passionate to share their innovation skills and committed to cultivate an ongoing involvement in civil society. Chapter 35, written by Jillian Bracken, turns our attention to the role of language as a bridge between exposure to music and the cultivation of music listening preferences. Bracken invokes Bourdieu and Passeron’s (1990) point that ‘no one acquires a language without thereby acquiring a relation to language’ (p. 116). Extending this to music, one might appropriately state that we are learning music at the same time that we acquire a relation to music. In this process of learning music and forming a relation to music, words matter deeply. Thus, Bracken develops a perspective based on sociolinguistics, which, together with family script theory (Byng-Hall 1988, 1995, 1998), form the basis for examining how discursive practices that emerge in family contexts actually transmit music listenership values. Here, sociolinguistic analysis of families’ scripts is based on ‘an examination of the family as a discourse community (how information is transmitted within the family domain), register (ways to categorise how parents talk to their children/collective bodies of family language), taboo (discussing larger notion of societal function, censorship of offensive language), and age appropriateness (a factor that determines how/when/why/where parents enforce music listening guidelines)’. Bracken concludes that ‘sociolinguistic elements found within shared family discourse comprise each family’s script around music listening and provide a blueprint for the “musical manners” that are transmitted to children as members of their respective families’. In chapter 36, the last in this volume, Jennifer Lang brings forth the power of music education to enable people of all ages to enrich their lives via participating in music making. On this basis, her study considers the conditions under which musicking may function as a life-long pursuit. And she does this by bringing together three case studies that investigate the relationship of musical engagement and musical agency employing a theoretical framework that is based on Deci and Ryan’s Self-Determination Theory (SDT) (1985) related to engagement, and on Karlsen’s (2011) ‘exploration of musical agency’. Once again, Small’s (1998) notion of musicking as a form of social action through which we explore, celebrate, and affirm relationships provides a theoretical umbrella that permits a multidimensional approach to the notions of agency and engagement. In relation to engagement, data revealed enjoyment, choice, variety, social camaraderie, comfortable environment to take safe risks, and experiences 15

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of success and confidence building, as core themes. As Lang notes in her chapter, ‘[a]ccompanied by an underlying temporal field of continuity and reinforcement these fundamentals were then successful in affording learner agency through developing the participants’ will, ability, and power to act in musical situations’. Lang concludes that the iterative relationship between engagement and agency is of fundamental importance to ongoing participation in musicking.

Note 1

It is suggested that readers unfamiliar with sociology and its application to the field of education generally, and music education in particular also consult Sociology and Music Education (Wright 2010).

References American Sociological Association, What Is Sociology. Viewed 10 January 2020. Available from: https:// www.asanet.org/about-asa/asa-story/what-sociology. Barad, K., 2014. Diffracting diffraction: cutting together-apart. Parallax vol. 20 (no. 3), 168–187. Bernstein, B., 1999. Vertical and horizontal discourse: an essay. British Journal of Sociology of Education vol. 20 (no. 2), 157–173. Bourdieu, P., Passeron, J.C., 1990. Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture. Sage, London. Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Söderman, J., 2015. Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education. Ashgate, Farnham. Byng-Hall, J., 1995. Rewriting Family Scripts. Guilford, London. Deci, E.L., Ryan, R.M., 1985. Intrinsic Motivation and Self-Direction Behavior. Plenum, New York. Dyndahl, P., Karlsen, S., Skårberg, O., Nielsen, S.G., 2014. Cultural omnivorousness and musical gentrification: an outline of a sociological framework and its applications for music education research. Action Criticism Theory for Music Education vol. 13 (no. 1), 40–69. Viewed 11 October 2018. Available from: http://act.maydaygroup.org/articles/DyndahlKarlsenSk%C3%A5rbergNielsen13_1.pdf. Ferguson, R.A., 2004. Aberrations in Black: Toward a Queer of Color Critique. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis and London. Froehlich, H., Coan, D., Rideout, R.R. (Eds.), 2003/4. Sociology of music education symposium III. Social dimensions of music, music teaching and learning. Proceedings from the Music Education Symposium at the University of North Texas, Department of Music and Dance. University of Massachusetts, Massachusetts, Amherst. Froehlich, H.C., 2007. Sociology for Music Teachers: Perspectives for Practice. Pearson, New York. Froehlich, H.C., Smith, G.D., 2017. Sociology for Music Teachers: Practical Applications (Second ed.). Routledge, New York. Gaztambide-Fernández, R.A., 2013. Why the arts don’t do anything: toward a new vision for cultural production in education. Harvard Educational Review vol. 83 (no. 1), 211–236. Green, L., 1988. 2008. Music on Deaf Ears: Musical Meaning, Ideology and Education. Arima, Manchester. Green, L., 1997. Music, Gender, Education. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Green, L., 1999. Research in the sociology of music education: some introductory concepts. Music Education Research vol. 1 (no. 2), 159–169. Green, L., 2001. How Popular Musicians Learn: A Way Ahead for Music Education. Ashgate, Farnham. Green, L., 2008. Music, Informal Learning and the School: A New Classroom Pedagogy. Ashgate, Farnham. Karlsen, S., 2011. Using musical agency as a lens: researching music education from the angle of experience. Research Studies in Music Education vol. 33 (no.2), 107–121. Lave, J., Wenger, E., 1991. Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Lee, N.M., 1998. Towards an immature sociology. The Sociological Review vol. 46 (no. 3), 458–482. Lee, N.M., 2001. Childhood and Society: Growing Up in an Age of Uncertainty. Open University Press, Buckingham.

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Introduction McLellan, E., Bates, V.C., Talbot, B.C. (Eds.) 2016. Action Criticism Theory for Music Education, vol. 15, no. 3, Available from: http://act.maydaygroup.org/volume-15-issue-3/. Muñoz, J.E., 1999. Disidentifications: Queers of Color and the Performance of Politics. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. O’Flynn, J. (Ed.), 2011. Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium on the Sociology of Music Education. Mary Immaculate College, University of Limerick, Ireland 5–9 July 2009, St Patrick’s College, Dublin. Rideout, R.R. (Ed.), 1997. On the Sociology of Music Education. Papers delivered at the Oklahoma Symposium for Music Education in April 1995, School of Music, University of Oklahoma, Norma, OK. Rideout, R.R., Paul, S. (Eds.), 2000. On the Sociology of Music Education II: Theoretical Underpinnings and Practical Applications. Papers from the Music Education Symposium at the University of Oklahoma, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, MA. Roberts, B. (Ed.), 2008. Sociological explorations: proceedings of the 5th International Symposium on the Sociology of Music Education. Memorial University of Newfoundland, July 2–5, 2007, The Binder’s Press, St. John’s, Newfoundland. Small, C., 1977. Music, Society, Education. Wesleyan University Press, Hanover. Small, C., 1998. Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Wesleyan University Press, Havover, NH. Wenger, E., 1998. Communities of Practice. Learning, Meaning and Identity. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Wenger, E., McDermott, R.A., Snyder, W., 2002. Cultivating Communities of Practice: A Guide to Managing Knowledge. Harvard Business Press, Boston, MA. Wright, E.O., 2010. Envisioning Real Utopias. Verso, London. Wright, R. (Ed.), 2010. Sociology and Music Education. Ashgate, Farnham.

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PART I

Post-structuralism, Globalisation, Internationalisation, Post-colonialism

INTRODUCTION Patrick Schmidt

Section one of this Handbook speaks of the challenging intersections between larger social phenomena and how they are made manifest as micro-logical concerns within the local social spaces where music making, teaching, and learning take place. The chapters in this section do not follow the types of corrective sociology of the functionalists, but macro-level concerns are always around the corner – their presence felt in the careful locating of multiple geographies, social norms, and cultural practices. Gathered here are contributions that approximate larger and contemporary societal challenges to their representations and manifestations in musical praxis, clarifying complex challenges faced by the field, while keeping the work of music labourers at centre. The ten chapters in this section span issues from colonialism and post-colonialism in music education, to those surrounding indigeneity, internationalisation, and multiple culturalmusical practices and their sociological challenges and openings. They provide a diverse set of standpoints, illuminating specific fields of action in music, while underlining the significance of what C. Wright Mills has called the ‘sociological imagination’. Whether they highlight the ways in which individuals’ private troubles interface with the context of the broader social processes structuring them, or explore the ‘extraordinary multitude and variety of interactions [that] operate at any one moment’ (Simmel 1908/1971), the authors represented exemplify why sociological thinking within music education remains powerfully rich and potentially disruptive. Regardless of these larger underpinnings, most texts in this section could be characterised as following trends in two critical traditions: those influenced by neo-Marxian thinking and Bourdieu’s sociological theory, and those aligned with what might be called ‘connected sociologies’ (Bhambra 2014), associated with issues explored by post-colonial and decolonial theories. Through it all what is salient – and this almost goes without saying – is the manner in which music and its teaching and learning practices, are nothing if not political. The outcome of this collection is both exciting and unsettling. Exciting in that we hear connections between music education and activism; we learn the epistemic shifts and openings that emerge as the field takes seriously the need to engage meaningfully with First Nations and Indigenous cultures and practices; we are asked to critically engage with the reification of informality, or invited to consider the ever-fluid boundaries within cultural practices. Unsettling in that we are faced, broadly as well as specifically, with the myriad ways in which 21

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normativity, hegemonic tendencies, inequitable practices, and uninvestigated traditionalism continue to broadly inform music education as a social fact. At the end, however, a careful reading of the chapters below will unearth what sociological work and social theory does best: help us reveal, trouble, and find pathways for renewed engagement with our environment and with those for whom we care. For those who value the complex manner in which music intersects with social life, what follows will serve as a reminder as to why we return to the work we do and why it matters.

References Bhambra, G.K., 2014. Sociology for an ‘always-already’ global age. Connected Sociologies. Bloomsbury Academic, London, pp. 141–156. Simmel, G., 1971. The problem of sociology. In: Levine, D. (Ed.), Georg Simmel: On Individuality and Social Forms. University of Chicago Press. Chicago, pp. 23–27. (original work published 1908.)

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1 MUSIC EDUCATION AND THE COLONIAL PROJECT Stumbling toward anti-colonial music education Juliet Hess

Introduction In spite of the concerns raised by music educators, the dominance of singing in music lessons in Ghanaian elementary schools would continue for many years. Ofei (1973, p. 33) observed that, in practice, “the main objective of music education in the elementary school appears to be the building up of a large repertoire of Western songs, hymns and anthems.” … Many Ghanaian schools still followed “the nineteenth century colonial tradition of preparing children to perform at worship services and on speech days.” (Akrofi 2002, p. 495, citing Evans, 1975, p. 18) Music education, historically and presently, has played an important role in the colonial project. Even in now-independent countries such as Ghana, colonial influences on music education linger, as Akrofi describes. This chapter examines how coloniality manifests in different music education contexts through curriculum and pedagogy. Examining colonialism and its manifestations is a vital part of sociology. Following Merriam-Webster, this Handbook defines sociology as ‘the science of society, social institutions, and social relationships; specifically: the systematic study of the development, structure, interaction, and collective behavior of organized groups of human beings’. Colonialism has served as a violent mechanism of organising society through an active practice of domination that has structured relations, institutions, and behavior in ways that have ongoing social, political, and economic consequences. Critiques of coloniality identify and challenge colonialism as one of the primary organising structures of social groups through relations of domination and subjugation in ways that have led to systematic physical and cultural genocide. Because colonialism shapes society’s organisation as a structure of both domination rooted in identity and of the economic appropriation of land and resources, challenging ongoing colonial relations is vital to sociology in its aims to reveal power relations within institutions and social groups. This chapter ultimately makes an intervention into ongoing coloniality through engaging a theoretical framework of anti-colonialism. I explicate tenets of anti-colonialism as a framework and position it as a potential orientation to resist colonial practices operating in music education. Employing anti-colonialism theoretically and pedagogically may allow music educators to move toward anti-colonial music education. As I take it up in the chapter, theory facilitates an 23

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understanding of the way that colonialism operates both in society and in music education, while the pedagogical comprises action – interventions that music educators can make that unsettle the ongoing colonial project. Combining theory and practice is vital to the implementation of anti-colonialism in music education.

Defining colonialism, imperialism, coloniality, indigeneity, and the colonial project Clearly defining terms related to colonialism is crucial to addressing coloniality in music education. Tuck and Yang (2012) identify two forms of colonialism typically addressed in theories of coloniality: external colonialism and internal colonialism. External colonialism describes the expropriation of fragments of Indigenous worlds, animals, plants and human beings, extracting them in order to transport them to—and build the wealth, the privilege, or feed the appetites of—the colonizers, who get marked as the first world. (p. 4) External colonialism follows extractive logic and identifies entitlement to Indigenous bodies and resources which settlers see as readily available to further desires of dominant global powers. Internal colonialism involves ‘the biopolitical and geopolitical management of people, land, flora and fauna within the “domestic” borders of the imperial nature’ (Tuck and Yang 2012, p. 4). They identify several particularised modes of control that enable internal colonialism including prisons, ghettos, minoritising processes, schooling, and policing to ‘ensure the ascendancy of a nation and its white elite’ (Tuck and Yang 2012, p. 5). Established in many cases directly as a result of colonialism, the State invests in projects of dispossession and genocide to assure the ascendancy that Tuck and Yang identify. The function of the State in colonialism involves inscribing and reinscribing the settler population as the rightful occupants of the land while systematically eliminating the rights of the land’s Indigenous and original occupants. Education and schooling have come to play a vital role in the colonial project through concentrated efforts at cultural genocide in particular. Colonialism intricately connects to capitalism. Loomba (1998, p. 20) defines colonialism as: the forcible takeover of land and economy, and, in the case of European colonialism, a restructuring of non-capitalist economies in order to fuel European capitalism. This allows us to understand modern European colonialism not as some transhistorical impulse to conquer but as an integral part of capitalist development. She distinguishes between colonization as the take over of territory, appropriation of material resources, exploitation of labour and interference with political and cultural structures of another territory or nation, and imperialism as a global system. (p. 6) Quijano (2007) and Mignolo (2007) recognise modernity and coloniality as inseparable. Coloniality, as an ongoing, distinctly place-based process, deliberately marked certain land territories as primitive, justifying the subjugation of their human occupants (Wynter 2003). This subjugation and extractive logic enable capitalist efforts and desires. To identify the colonial project points to ongoing processes of subjugation, extraction, and erasure to facilitate the 24

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ascendancy of the dominant and imperial group (the State). Dei (2006, p. 3) further defines colonialism as ‘anything imposed and dominating rather than that which is simply foreign and alien’. Rather than allow his definition to become metaphorical, I connect notions of the imposed and dominating to the systems Tuck and Yang (2012, p. 5) identify as mechanisms for colonialism and the ongoing colonial project including schools, prisons, minoritising processes, and policing within internal colonialism. The violence of colonialism and its focus on the genocide of Indigenous people has invariably impacted Indigeneity. Scholars working against colonialism call for specificity within discourse and action about colonialism (Tuck and Yang 2012; Loomba 1998). Similarly, generalising Indigeneity remains impossible as Indigeneity can only be understood contextually. Sharma and Wright (2008–09) critique discourse about Indigeneity as ‘autochthonous discourse’ – a term that Merriam-Webster defines as ‘indigenous or native; and formed or originating in the place where found.’1 Discourses about Indigeneity are entangled with place and sometimes make assumptions about place in relation to what it means to be Indigenous. Such discourses may fail to account for the forced migration many Indigenous people have endured and continue to endure and further imply that one must inhabit the land to which you are Indigenous to be Indigenous – a settler definition of Indigeneity. The quest by colonial powers to limit the definition of Indigeneity in order to discount Indigenous land claims complicates definitions of Indigeneity as colonial interests support the disappearing of Indigenous peoples (Tuck and Yang 2012). To consider what Indigeneity might mean in ongoing colonial projects such as Canada and the United States and in post-colonial and neocolonial countries that have declared independence after overthrowing colonial rule, centering specificity, locality, and Indigenous voices and avoiding totalising discourses becomes crucial to imagining how anti-colonialism could manifest in each context.

Positionality I come to this work as a settler. I am a White, Jewish woman from Canada, living in the US While my German Jewish family did not emigrate to North America by choice, I nonetheless have a settler relationship initially to Canada and now to the US. Tuck and Yang (2012) distinguish between settlers and immigrants. While ‘[i]mmigrants are beholden to the Indigenous laws and epistemologies of the lands they migrate to … [s]ettlers become the law, supplanting Indigenous laws and epistemologies’ (Tuck and Yang 2012, pp. 6–7). As a music educator and a settler, I see multiple ways that settler colonialism operates through music education and wish to work against these dynamics, as a way of ‘unsettling’ settler logics. Often held up in public discourse as an unequivocal good, music education actually readily participates in injustice, and indeed cultural genocide,2 and attending to these possibilities must become part of addressing ongoing colonial violence.

Music education: an important player in the colonial project Music education plays an important role in the colonial project and enacts colonialism in multiple ways. Before considering anti-colonialism as an intervention, understanding the way colonialism operates in music education becomes important. This section explores how music education perpetuates colonialism through the pervasiveness of Western classical music teaching globally (Bradley 2007, 2017; Hess 2015a; Kratus 2015; Martin 1995; Regelski 2006), the imposition of Western musical epistemologies to study non-Western musics (Bowman 1998; Countryman 2009; Seddon 2004), the use of music education as a cultural civiliser 25

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(Gaztambide-Fernández 2008; Gustafson 2009; Vaugeois 2013), the practice of musical tourism (Dunbar-Hall 2001; Hess 2013, 2015a; Morton 2003; Wasiak 2009), and the representation of particular groups in music education (Born and Hesmondhalgh 2000; Solís 2004). Given music education’s function in the colonial project, identifying how music education perpetuates colonialism allows music educators to resist and challenge these practices.

Western classical music education across global contexts First, music educators might consider the ubiquity of Western classical music teaching across global contexts. These contexts may differ greatly in relation to colonialism and include ongoing colonial projects (countries shaped by settler colonialism, for example), countries marked by neocolonialism post-independence, and colonial powers with ongoing dominating relationships to former colonial projects.3 As a music with roots in Western Europe, Western classical music’s pervasiveness across many countries reflects the status of Europe as a global, imperial power. In countries identified as postcolonial and independent and in countries with ongoing colonial projects, classical music practices often occupy the center of music education. Indigenous musics and non-Western musical practices remain peripheral in music education. Western classical music becomes a type of cultural hegemony (Bradley 2007, 2017; Hess 2015a; Kratus 2015; Martin 1995; Regelski 2006). Consistent with minoritising processes and schooling as tools of internal colonialism, the centering of Western musical practices minoritise Indigenous and non-Western musics and reinscribe Western music (and specifically Western classical music) as superior. Akrofi (2008) suggests multiple reasons for the curricular privileging of Western musics in his study of ‘traditional musical arts’ in Ghana, Nigeria, Kenya, and South Africa. He argues that foreign (Christian) missionary activities which emphasised Western music education including hymns, the imported school systems and curricular content based on foreign models and standards coupled with educators unfamiliar with traditional musical arts, and the ubiquity of foreign media permeating local values and musics have contributed to the diminishing of traditional musical arts in these countries. This internal colonialism enacted specifically through schooling and through the minoritisation of Indigenous and non-Western musics operates as a form of cultural imperialism that reinforces the privileged status of Western classical music. School music education often fails to reflect vibrant Indigenous musics, and musics themselves, as Akrofi indicates, play a less central role in society due to colonial practices. In Ghana, students use an acronym for music education classes – ‘Most Useless Subject In Class’ (Akrofi 2002). Students do not perceive that music class, as they know it, influences their material reality. Akrofi discusses the disconnect between Western rudiments taught in school and initiatives (particularly in Ghana and Nigeria) to teach Indigenous music. In postcolonial, neocolonial, and ongoing colonial contexts, Western classical music often assumes a central place in curriculum. Recognising its privileged place across vastly different global contexts becomes part of the work necessary to address colonialism in music education.

Western ethnocentrism as cognitive imperialism Second, music educators readily employ Western musical epistemologies and constructs to engage with a range of musics (Bowman 1998; Countryman 2009; Seddon 2004). Rather than recognising the multiplicity of epistemologies used readily by different groups, music educators frequently take a Western ethnocentric singular approach to education. Seddon (2004), for example, notes that when teachers expand the scope of classroom musics, they typically employ 26

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a Western classical framework, often utilising Western ‘elements’ of music and Western standard notation to engage with musics in schools. Western elements of music such as melody, harmony, form, rhythm, and dynamics do not necessarily apply across multiple musics, as Countryman (2009) notes in her search for broadly applicable musical elements. In music education, however, utilising these constructs across musics remains common practice and constitutes an ethnocentric approach to music education. In considering ‘world music ensemble encounters,’ for example, Averill (2004) observes that students often ask ‘Where’s One?’ when encountering new musics – looking for the Western classical downbeat to help them grapple with musics that utilise different musical epistemologies. Bowman (1998, p. 12) challenges: ‘How do we avoid the tendency to hear other musics as variants of our own?’ He argues for a relativist approach to music and music education as opposed to a universalist pedagogy. The use of Western standard notation and the emphasis on notational literacy in music education further delimits the musics studied to musics that can be notated readily or restricts the expression of musics to what can be easily notated. Music, for example, that would require double dots or 32nd notes in notation may be omitted or simplified, reducing its complexity.4 This ethnocentrism in music (Bowman 1998; Countryman 2009; Seddon 2004)5 – the use of Western elements and Western standard notation to understand all musics – becomes ‘cognitive imperialism’ (Battiste 1998). Understanding multiple musics through Western constructs represents the imposition of a Western knowledge system on non-Western musics and contributes to the ascendancy of Western epistemologies demanded by internal colonialism. As noted, Dei (2006, p. 3) defines colonialism as ‘anything imposed and dominating’. Imposing a Western epistemology on non-Western musics thus operates as both cognitive imperialism – a demand to think all music through a particular lens – and a reinscription of Western European ways of knowing at the center of epistemologies. Moreover, given Western classical music education’s ubiquity in postcolonial, neocolonial, independent countries, as well as in countries with ongoing settler colonialism, this musical cognitive imperialism operates across multiple contexts. In Ghana, for example, where students describe music as the ‘Most Useless Subject in Class,’ to engage with school music education, students must adopt a Eurocentric approach to successfully master the Western ‘rudiments’ taught (Akrofi 2002). Utilising a non-Eurocentric epistemology, conversely, will likely not allow students to successfully replicate the material taught. Not adopting a Eurocentric epistemology may thus negatively impact students’ grades. Indigenous students subjugated in residential schools in Canada and in the US similarly reproduced Western classical music (Vaugeois 2013) and would have needed to employ Western epistemologies. Music education thus participated in what is referred to in Canada as ‘killing the Indian in the child’ (Fournier and Crey 2006).

Music education as a civilising project Third, historically, music education has been employed as a civilising project (Gustafson 2009; Vaugeois 2013). Music education as civilising project encompasses multiple facets: (i) deliberately cultivating the White subject through classroom repertoire and strategic curricular choices (Gustafson 2009); (ii) installing hierarchies of the human as natural (Vaugeois 2013); and (iii) disappearing Indigenous bodies through Whitening processes and marking Indigenous Others as ‘degenerate.’ Gustafson explains how lyrics and accompanying illustrations in vocal music textbooks beginning in the 1830s sought to produce the ‘civilised’ singing subject – the White subject. She views school music instruction as implicated in imagining ‘ideal citizens’ as White citizens. Her historical research explores how lyrics modeling specific behaviors and 27

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nationalistic ideals, strict notions of physical comportment, textbooks, and music appreciation nurture this ideal citizen. Lyrics were strategically chosen to foster patriotism and convey the value of bucolic and pastoral life. Songs taught students to behave ‘appropriately’, cultivate dedicated work ethics, mind their teachers and parents, and be physically active (but not sexually active). She argues that ideal music listeners should listen without moving their bodies. The values conveyed centered priorities of the White, middle class. The cultivation of the White subject served to elevate Whiteness and further participate in the minoritising processes inherent in internal colonialism. When music education shifted to a music appreciation approach in the 1920s, Black and Indigenous musics previously omitted in music curricula assumed a marginal position as simplistic musics for younger grades. The more ‘sophisticated’ Western European and American folk and patriotic music comprised the majority of the curriculum (Gustafson 2009). This presentation and purposeful minoritisation of musics further reinscribed White subjects at the center of music education and diminished the music of Others – in this case, Black and Indigenous peoples. This cultivation of the White subject through music further valourised practices including still comportment,6 patriotic sentiments, and compliance, while negating minoritised Others through careful selection of music for study. Vaugeois (2013, p. 33) writes that music has the power to shape identity, invoke emotional responses, help or hinder the development of “good” citizens, and even create national unity and national loyalty. These musicians [explored in the study] believe that the “right” music can bring about the “right” outcomes and, likewise, that the “wrong” music can support rebellious or degenerate behaviours. Considering music education’s role as a civilising force within the colonial project requires recognising how music educators may employ music to encourage particular forms of citizenship and civic engagement. Gustafson’s description of the strategic use of lyrics to promote certain behaviours and the curricular representation of various musics identify efforts in music education to produce subjects who replicate White, middle-class values. Music education thus also reproduces hierarchies of the human – the ‘rationalities of race, gender and class, as they become embodied and normalized in colonial institutional structures and discourses of national identity’ (Vaugeois 2013, p. ii). Vaugeois’ research examines how musical practices rationalise the displacement of Indigenous peoples and inscribe White entitlement. The marginalisation of Indigenous and Black musics in music appreciation curricula in the early to mid-twentieth century (Gustafson 2009), for example, portrays these musics as simplistic and less worthy of attention, reinscribing Western European classical music at the top of musical (and human) hierarchies. The limited place of non-Western musics in school music curricula has not shifted significantly since that era; in the United States and Canada in particular, the Western ensemble paradigm still pervades music education practices (Bartel 2004; Sarath et al. 2016), pushing Other musical practices to the margins. Centering Western music above all Other musics reinscribes individuals of Western European descent – settlers in the Canadian and US context – at the top of the hierarchies of the human. Cultivating the White subject and the reinstalling descendants of Western Europeans at the top of the hierarchy of civilisations facilitates the disappearing of Indigenous bodies through explicit processes of Whitening and marking Indigenous Others as ‘degenerate.’ Erasing Indigenous populations is fundamental to legitimising settler land claims in the United States

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and Canada. The racialisation of Black people and Indigenous people in these countries thus differs vastly. Tuck and Yang (2012, p. 12) explain US processes of racialisation: Through the one-drop rule, blackness in settler colonial contexts is expansive, ensuring that a slave/criminal status will be inherited by an expanding number of ‘black’ descendants. Yet, Indigenous peoples have been racialized in a profoundly different way. Native Americanness is subtractive: Native Americans are constructed to become fewer in number and less Native, but never exactly white, over time. Our/their status as Indigenous peoples/first inhabitants is the basis of our/their land claims and the goal of settler colonialism is to diminish claims to land over generations (or sooner, if possible). That is, Native American is a racialization that portrays contemporary Indigenous generations to be less authentic, less Indigenous than every prior generation in order to ultimately phase out Indigenous claims to land and usher in settler claims to property. Whitening projects, including music education practices that cultivate the White subject, then contribute to displacing and erasing Indigenous peoples and facilitating settler land claims. Vaugeois (2013, p. 158) argues: If Aboriginal students were successful learning Western music, their success was used to demonstrate that the residential schools were succeeding in “civilizing the savages.” Successful student bands, for example, were showcased at public and Mission sponsored events (in Canada, the United States and South Africa). Through this so-called civilising process, music education has played and continues to play an important role in the subtractive logic Tuck and Yang (2012) describe.

Musical tourism: mastery and simplification Fourth, music educators often include multiple musics at the elementary level in particular (Campbell 2004; Campbell et al. 2005). Teachers may introduce musics from many different contexts. Like the early inclusion of Indigenous and Black musics in music appreciation in the US (Gustafson 2009), however, these musics often remain peripheral to the Western musical core, serving again to minoritise them.7 Moreover, their representation frequently remains simplistic. The dominant paradigm of music education in many places remains ensemble-based and some teachers have knowledge bases rooted in classical music (Bartel 2004) with limited education outside of Western traditions (Wasiak 2009). Presently, however, many music teachers can weave between two or three musical traditions – Western classical music and Western pop music, for example, or in my case, Western classical music and Ewe (Ghanaian) music, allowing these teachers to teach beyond the classical ensemble paradigm. Intimate knowledge of more than two or three musical traditions is rare, however, and not a realistic or fair expectation of music teachers. This lack of knowledge of many traditions paired with the emphasis on engaging multiple musics in the classroom forces teachers to rely on resources for support.8 As noted, many musics learned through oral tradition do not notate easily.9 Because knowledge of and competence in classical music frequently remains a requirement for admission to postsecondary music education programs (Koza 2008), music educators often navigate musics through notation. As such, resources representing different musical traditions often communicate these musics through notation. Doing so, however, often results in simplifying 29

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complex rhythms10 and reducing the ineffable to the concrete within Western epistemologies. Given the reduction of various musics to simple forms, educators and students may understand the musics themselves as simple and determine it possible to master them quickly.11 These inclusive curricular moves contribute to music education’s coloniality. First, including multiple musics in school curricula indicates mastery over foreign territory coupled with an entitlement to the musics of Others.12 This mastery extends to notating different musics. The ‘business’ of music education – music publishers – can reduce musics that do not utilise Western standard notation to simplified versions of themselves – a literal ‘capturing’ and ‘freezing’ of musics in time. Hierarchies of musics that privilege Western musics often remain firmly in place, cementing the hierarchies of the human Vaugeois (2013) explicates and contributing to the ascendancy of the dominant group vital to internal colonialism. The entitlement inherent in including multiple musics in school curricula further follows extractive logic (Kuntz 2015; Tuck and Yang 2012) – the same logic that facilitated extracting and exporting valuable resources under colonialism. Music education’s move toward multiculturalism (Campbell 2004; Volk, 1998), critical multiculturalism (Morton 2001), and subsequently social justice (Benedict et al. 2015) and culturally responsive teaching (Lind and McKoy 2016) involves music educators extracting musics of peoples in groups with whom teachers do not identify and utilising them in classes.13 Musics selected often include those embedded in colonial legacies. The move to include then can doubly serve to reinscribe the extractive logic that underpins colonialism.

Representation, mastery, dehumanisation, and erasure Finally, representation, mastery, and dehumanisation weave together to facilitate erasure. Representing Indigenous musics as simplistic and the mastery implied as possible when complex musics are reduced to what can be notated encourages stereotyping among students who engage with the musics.14 As a practice, stereotyping fails to recognise the humanity present in all groups and instead elides complexities into understandable signifiers that become shorthand for different groups. As such, stereotyping participates in dehumanisation – a specific need of settler colonialism (Patel 2016, p. 89) and an essential part of the minoritising process. When dominant groups fail to recognise the complexities of individuals in other groups, it becomes easier not to acknowledge their humanity. Understanding Others as subhuman or less-than-human has continually underpinned colonial and racialising logics (Goldberg 1993; Mills 1997; Wynter 2003). The differing processes of racialisation of Indigenous and Black groups in the US as explicated by Tuck and Yang (2012) above necessitates a subtractive logic of Indigenous peoples – an erasure. Erasure often operates in terms of colorblindness – a staunch refusal to recognise difference. Colorblindness functions as a liberal response to accusations of racism (Bonilla-Silva 2006). In the case of Indigeneity, erasure operates differently and is both insidious and dangerous when paired with subtractive logic. Tuck and Yang (2012, p. 9) write: Everything within a settler colonial society strains to destroy or assimilate the Native in order to disappear them from the land—this is how a society can have multiple simultaneous and conflicting messages about Indigenous peoples, such as all Indians are dead, located in faraway reservations, that contemporary Indigenous people are less indigenous than prior generations, and that all Americans are a “little bit Indian.” These desires to erase—to let time do its thing and wait for the older form of living to die out, or to even help speed things along (euthanize) because the death of pre-modern ways of life is thought to be inevitable—these are all desires for another

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kind of resolve to the colonial situation, resolved through the absolute and total destruction or assimilation of original inhabitants. Representing Indigenous musics in ways that facilitate stereotyping enables dehumanisation, and further makes erasure – a practice fundamental to colonialism – possible. Music education communicates these messages through its typical musical representation of Indigeneity (see Gorbman 2000). It is difficult to grapple with another’s humanity when musics rely upon stereotypes of Indigeneity that reduce, for example, Native American traditions to drum sounds in a beginner band piece. Such representations encourage understandings that ‘all Indians are dead’ or ‘located in faraway reservations.’ Nothing in a percussive signifier of Indigeneity in a band piece requires students to consider coloniality. Representations of musics beyond Western classical and popular musics typically do not reckon with the people who practice the music, but rather engage with music education resources as simulacrum.

Summary Together, these practices – the imposition of Western classical music curricula across contexts, the ethnocentric approach to different musics, the use of music education as civiliser, the seeming entitlement to Other musics in music classrooms, and the representation of these musics – elucidate music education’s complicity in the colonial project. Music education readily participates in internal colonialism and further facilitates minoritising processes. Music education’s implication in colonialism is distinctly cultural, and culture plays an important role in colonialism’s subtractive logic. Negating particular musics in curricula while centering Western classical music cements the hierarchies of the human (Vaugeois 2013). The civilising project facilitates the settler land claim. The manner in which music educators include Indigenous musics through tokenism and simplification further negates and dehumanises Indigenous groups through stereotyping in particular. Music education enables the colonial project. As such, the field requires a framework to address colonial tendencies in these practices. The next section introduces anti-colonialism as a theoretical framework and subsequently explores how this framework may allow us to engage and challenge the dynamics explicated above.

Anti-colonialism: a crucial theoretical framework to address the coloniality of music education Accounting for colonialism in music education requires a mechanism to understand the practices above not as disparate, but as connected, and situated in the larger colonial project. As a theoretical framework, anti-colonialism provides music educators with language to consider these practices and understand their colonial potential. Moreover, as an oppositional framework, anti-colonialism allows music educators to resist colonialism operating within and through music education and move toward something more hopeful. Schools as institutions and the minoritising processes they facilitate readily participate in internal colonialism as described above. This section briefly describes elements of anti-colonialism. Dei (2006, p. 2) asserts that anti-colonialism is an approach to theorizing colonial and re-colonial relations and the implications of imperial structures on the processes of knowledge production and validation, the understanding of indigeneity, and the pursuit of agency, resistance and subjective politics. 31

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Anti-colonialism draws on multiple discursive traditions and relies on many of the same key texts as postcolonial theory and critical race theory. Differentiating anti-colonialism from postcolonial theory is more a question of orientation than a conceptual distinction. The ‘anti-’ of anti-colonialism identifies an action-oriented approach. Anti-colonialism ‘seeks to resist [colonialism], change it, and build something new’ (Angod 2006, p. 165); it is the path toward decolonisation. ‘Anti-‘stances allow educators to challenge oppression and work toward breaches (Rebollo-Gil and Moras 2006). An ‘anti-’ stance then is distinctly productive. This section explores several elements of anti-colonialism: (i) its capacity to facilitate understanding colonial and re-colonial relations and their effects on knowledge production; (ii) its emphasis on Indigeneity and multiple epistemologies; (iii) its stress on resistance; (iv) its connecting of resistance to identity politics; (v) its emphasis on agency; (vi) its potential for facilitating analysis of power structures and dynamics; and (vii) its explicit centering of positionality.

Understanding the effects of colonial and re-colonial relations on knowledge production Anti-colonialism provides a mechanism to understand how colonial and re-colonial15 relations shape knowledge production. Dei (2006, p. 3) asserts that all knowledges are socially situated and politically contested. Colonialism has dramatically shaped what counts as legitimate knowledge, privileging, for example Western science and philosophy over local Indigenous sciences and philosophies across multiple contexts (Dei 2011; Asabere-Ameyaw et al. 2012). Anti-colonialism facilitates recognising which knowledges count as legitimate alongside active critique of privileging of particular knowledges over others and processes of knowledge production that place Western ways of knowing at the top of the hierarchy of knowledges. Employing this theoretical orientation further allows educators to critique and subvert dominant thinking (Dei 2006).

Honoring Indigeneity and creating space for multiple epistemologies Dei (2006) roots anti-colonialism in Indigenous ways of knowing. He asserts that anticolonialism facilitates reclaiming the past (Dei, 2006, p. 1). Loomba (1998), however, positions pre-colonial history as inseparable from colonialism. Educators might then consider reclamation coupled with grappling with colonial legacies rather than an exercise that obfuscates colonial histories of trauma, subjugation, and violence. Reclamation may then involve honoring ways of knowing following oppression. Key anti-colonial thinker Albert Memmi (1965, p. 152) argues that the colonised must ‘cease defining himself [sic] through the categories of the colonisers’ thus opening up space to reclaim Indigenous religion, culture, language (pp. 133–134), and different ways of knowing. Music often emerges at the intersection of religion, culture, and language. Anti-colonialism allows educators to consider multiple epistemologies – different ways of knowing music and the world – and resist cognitive imperialism (Battiste 1998)

Prioritising resistance and linking resistance with identity politics Anti-colonialism, given its oppositional orientation, prioritises resistance. Anti-colonial thinkers Fanon (1963), Gandhi (Gandhi and Dalton 1996), Césaire (1972/2000), and Memmi (1965) describe resistance as vital to anti-colonialism. Memmi (1965) concludes that given the choice between assimilation and revolt, the colonised must revolt. Inherently oppositional, 32

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anti-colonialism opposes Eurocentrism and ethnocentric approaches to knowing and knowledge production. Anti-colonialism further challenges dominant power structures and interrogates power relations that sustain them (Dei 2006). This orientation moreover resists the notion that the colonised can be ‘known’ (Dei 2006, p. 4) as objects. Resistance in anticolonialism is inseparable from identity politics. Opposing Eurocentricism, for example, is rooted in resistance to European colonisers and the desire for the representation of different ways of knowing in education and other spheres.

Emphasising agency Inherent in colonisation is a process Césaire (1972/2000, p. 42) describes as ‘thingification.’ He contends that the power relations immanent in colonialism transform the colonised into objects: [n]o human contact, but relations of domination and submission which turn the colonizing man into a classroom monitor, an army sergeant, a prison guard, a slave driver, and the indigenous man into an instrument of production. (p. 42, emphasis added) Colonialism propagates the understanding of the colonised as ‘subhuman’ (Mills 1997). Anticolonialism must therefore involve reclaiming subjectivity and asserting agency, a call Dei (2006, p. 15) affirms. By definition, taking an anti-stance involves the seizing of agency to oppose and resist the effects of both internal and external colonialism. Reclamation of agency facilitates the refusal of colonial conditions and assuming an active oppositional and insurgent position in response.

Facilitating an analysis of power Anti-colonialism foregrounds race, dominance, and difference (Dei 2006). In doing so, this orientation facilitates careful analysis of power relations that reify dominant power structures and Eurocentric institutions, as well as meticulous examination of the relationship between Self and Other. Loomba’s (1998, p. 20) description of colonialism cited earlier details colonialism as integral to capitalist development. By focusing on interrogating power, anti-colonialism encourages the recognition of the entanglements of colonialism with capitalism and allows for the examination of the effects of these enmeshments in order to analyse and resist their consequences.

Centering positionality Ultimately, anti-colonialism purposefully centers positionality and considers subject locations of all individuals and groups. Centering positionality allows for a careful accounting of intersecting identities (Collins 2000; Crenshaw 1995) and a clear analysis of the social and political conditions that shape one’s position in the world. Anti-colonialism facilitates the consideration of ‘subjectivity, positionality, location and history’ (Dei 2006, p. 3). Moreover, it emphasises positionality while accounting for the specificity of different contexts that reckoning with colonialism demands (Loomba 1998; Tuck and Yang 2012). This focus on positionality moves beyond considering individuals and groups subjected or previously subjected to colonisation to gaze at bodies ‘racializing’ the subjects (Dei 2006, p. 10).

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Summary As a theoretical and political orientation, anti-colonialism facilitates examining colonial and re-colonial relations and their effects on knowledge production and emphasises Indigeneity, making room for multiple epistemologies. It stresses resistance and agency, and links resistance to identity politics. Ultimately, it facilitates an analysis of power that explicitly centers positionality.

Resisting coloniality in music education through anti-colonialism This final section considers how employing anti-colonialism may allow music educators to address the underlying coloniality in music education. I focus attention on schooling and minoritising processes as facets of internal colonialism. Anti-colonialism may enable the field to both account for and respond to: (i) Western classical music’s ubiquity across global contexts, (ii) Western ethnocentric practices, (iii) the use of music education as a civilising project, (iv) musical tourism practices, and (v) issues of representation, mastery, and erasure.

Western classical music education across global contexts Western classical music’s ubiquity across global music education contexts exemplifies colonialism’s manifestation in music education. As a theoretical orientation, anti-colonialism allows music educators to notice the effects of colonialism on knowledge production and recognise the privileging of particular knowledges and musics over others. Such privileging reflects the ascendancy of the dominant group targeted by internal colonialism. By emphasising resistance, anti-colonialism further allows educators to resist Eurocentricity embedded in Western classical models of music education and instead ask critical questions about which musics best serve local students. Moreover, its focus on power allows for analysis of the structures that privilege these musical practices across different global contexts. In recognising Western classical music education’s ubiquity, anti-colonialism allows educators to see the coloniality present in implementing Western musics in post-colonial countries, for example, and work to both make the colonialism visible and counter these practices by honoring each locale’s specificity and considering what it might mean to provide ethical music education in local communities.

Western ethnocentrism as cognitive imperialism Music education practices often utilise Western epistemologies and frameworks to approach all musics. This ethnocentric approach might involve using notation, for example, or Western ‘elements of music’ such as melody, rhythm, dynamics, texture, timbre, and form to communicate musics beyond Western traditions. In ethnocentric approaches, music educators privilege one epistemology over others and may ultimately enact cognitive imperialism when they encourage students to adopt a particular epistemology. Anti-colonialism, conversely, creates room for multiple epistemologies and facilitates naming ethnocentric practices such as the use of Western standard notation to communicate music rather than permitting their invisibility in education discourse. It makes ethnocentrism explicit and allows educators to consider ways of knowing students may bring to music classrooms. Multicentricity – or the acknowledgment of multiple epistemologies – becomes possible (Dei 1996; Hess 2015b). Music teachers who facilitate multicentric classrooms draw upon students’ own knowledges and validate these varied epistemologies (Hess 2015b). 34

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Music education as civilising project Music education as a civilising project, as noted, can participate in disturbing practices that include cultivating the White subject, installing hierarchies of the human, and disappearing Indigenous bodies through Whitening projects. Anti-colonialism facilitates explicitly naming these practices, their effects, and directly analysing power. While historically these pedagogical moves were carefully instituted, current practices often occur unconsciously rather than through deliberate pedagogy. As such, illuminating these possibilities allows educators to subvert them and choose a different way forward. Upon considering the notion of ‘civilised’ for example, music educators can resist its signification in Whiteness. Moreover, anti-colonialism facilitates consideration of the hierarchies of the human (Vaugeois 2013) and provides a means to problematise such hierarchies and resist their possible manifestation in curricular and pedagogical practices. Music teachers aiming to challenge music education as a civilising project may also aim toward multicentric classrooms (Hess 2015b) that value multiple musics while refusing to hierarchise or order musics or epistemologies.

Musical tourism: mastery and simplification When including musics beyond Western musics, music education curricular practices often keep Other musics on the periphery, perhaps representing them as simple and easily mastered. The market drive for resources that represent non-Western musics often results in greatly simplified versions of complex musics. Moreover, the entitlement that educators may feel in relation to bringing different musics into music classrooms can draw upon extractive logic, as noted. Anti-colonialism, however, again facilitates an explicit power analysis and direct examination of representation. It allows educators to both recognise and account for colonialism’s effects on knowledge production. It also allows educators to notice (and not erase) simplification. Discerning how musics have been simplified will help students recognise their complexities and may lead to interesting conversations about reducing musics to notated forms and the implications of that exercise.

Representation, mastery, dehumanisation, and erasure Representing particular musics as simple may further lead to stereotyping, dehumanisation, or erasure, as described. Similar to the other possibilities anti-colonialism offers, this framework allows educators to make these detrimental and oppressive effects visible and resist them. When educators and students notice how representations of particular musics can dehumanise groups of people, they can counter this tendency and look for other practices that function similarly to illuminate these actions. Music teachers can purposefully push beyond stereotypes and resist practices that contribute to stereotyping such as performing musics without providing detailed contextualisation (Bradley 2003).

Summary Anti-colonialism provides a mechanism to address the coloniality operating in music education. It facilitates a means to analyse colonialism’s effects on knowledge production and explicitly identify power relations operating in music education practices. As an action-oriented anti-stance, anti-colonialism calls upon educators to resist and oppose coloniality in music education, but also to create a more productive way forward. 35

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Moving forward: stumbling toward anti-colonial music education Given anti-colonialism’s potential to reveal both coloniality and power relations in music education alongside its demand for resistance and change, employing this framework allows educators to elucidate the operation of colonialism in music education and further assert their agency to create different possibilities. Moreover, recognising coloniality across disparate music education practices allows educators to understand these practices as interrelated, which facilitates coherence in resistance. Anti-colonialism’s emphasis on analysis and the revelation of underlying power relations will further help youth develop their ability to look for power dynamics operating in the structures, representations, and ideologies they encounter and develop a practice of critique that refuses to accept status quo practices without analysis. Anticolonialism, then, is not just a useful framework for music educators to employ in resisting music education’s coloniality, but also important for students to engage as they develop their abilities to critique and analyse. Coloniality manifests in many dominant music education practices; anti-colonialism, however, facilitates a means to recognise and analyse these practices and deliberately create a different way forward.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

How might music educators apply anti-colonialism to their praxis? What might anti-colonial music education look/sound like when integrated in curriculum?

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Retrieved from https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/autochthonous on November 1, 2018. I explain the ways that colonialism operates through music education in the next section. See, for example, France’s ongoing maltreatment of immigrants from former colonies (Hargreaves, 2007). See Hess (2018) for extended discussion. The Oxford dictionary defines ethnocentrism as the ‘evaluation of other cultures according to preconceptions originating in the standards and customs of one’s own culture’. See https://www. lexico.com/en/definition/ethnocentrism. Still comportment is antithetical to many musicking practices. For an extended discussion, Hess (2018). I draw on the US context as an example of the way that musical tourism manifests. This phenomenon operates similarly in other contexts and examining the US allows for a deep consideration of the dynamics at play and the illumination of other contexts. Wasiak (2009) remarks that the ease of these pre-packaged instruction contributes to a touristic approach to non-Western musics. See Trinka (1987) for an example with US folk songs. Trinka (1987), for example, identifies the way this simplification operates in US folk songs in textbooks. In the context of the ‘world music’ ensemble, Trimillos (2004) discusses the way that the 12-week world music course model leads students to believe they can ‘master’ a music in 12 weeks. See Hess (2013) for a spatial examination of musical tourism. See Aoyama (2009), Dunbar-Hall (2001), Hess (2013, 2015a), and Wasiak (2009) for a discussion of musical tourism. The Aoyama article focuses on Flamenco as a dance form while the other articles address music. See Bradley (2003) for a related discussion. Dei’s (2006) use of the word ‘re-colonial’ seems to imply absence and recurrence. In countries where colonialism has been ongoing, this word seems inappropriate. The word ‘neocolonialism’ typically describes the use of capitalist or economic power to control formerly colonised countries through the market economy following independence in these countries (Sartre, 1964).

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References Akrofi, E., 2002. The teaching of music in Africa. Prospects vol. 32 (no. 4), 491–504. Akrofi, E., 2008. Major problems confronting scholars and educators of the musical arts in Sub-Saharan Africa. Action for Change in Music Education vol. 7 (no. 1). Retrieved October 29, 2020, from https://web. archive.org/web/20041118031417/http://www.nyu.edu/education/music/mayday/maydaygroup/ newviews/comparmued/akrofi1.htm Angod, L., 2006. From post-colonial to anti-colonial politics: Difference, knowledge, and R. v. R.D.S. In: Dei, G.J.S., Kempf, A. (Eds.), Anti-Colonialism and Education: The Politics of Resistance. Brill, The Netherlands, pp. 159–173. Aoyama, Y., 2009. Artists, tourists, and the state: cultural tourism and the Flamenco industry in Andalusia, Spain. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research vol. 33 (no. 1), 80–104. Asabere-Ameyaw, A., Dei, G., Raheem K. (Eds.). 2012. Contemporary Issues in African Sciences and Science Education. Sense Publishers, Boston. Averill, G., 2004. “Where’s ‘one’?”: Musical encounters of the ensemble kind. In: Solís, T. (Ed.), Performing Ethnomusicology: Teaching and Representation in World Music Ensembles. University of California Press, Los Angeles, pp. 93–111. Bartel, L. (Ed.). 2004. Questioning the Music Education Paradigm. Canadian Music Educators’ Association, Toronto. Battiste, M., 1998. Enabling the autumn seed: toward a decolonized approach to Aboriginal knowledge, language, and education. Canadian Journal of Native Education vol. 22, 16–27. Benedict, C., Schmidt, P., Spruce, G., Woodford, P. (Eds.). 2015. The Oxford Handbook of Social Justice in Music Education. Oxford University Press, New York. Bonilla-Silva, E., 2006. Racism without Racists: Color-Blind Racism and the Persistence of Racial Inequality in the United States. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., Toronto. Born, G., Hesmondhalgh, D. (Eds.). 2000. Western Music and Its Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music. University of California Press, Los Angeles. Bowman, W.D., 1998. Universals, relativism, and music education. Bulletin of the Council for Research in Music Education vol. 135, 1–20. Bradley, D., 2003. Singing in the dark: choral music education and the other, paper presented to the Fifth International Symposium for the Philosophy of Music. Lake Forest College, IL. . Bradley, D., 2007. The sounds of silence: talking race in music education. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 6 (no. 4), 132–162. Bradley, D., 2017. Standing in the shadows of Mozart: music education, world music, and curricular change. In: Moore, R.D. (Ed.), College Music Curricular for a New Century. Oxford University Press, New York, pp. 205–222. Campbell, P.S., 2004. Teaching Music Globally: Experiencing Music, Expressing Culture. Oxford University Press, New York. Campbell, P.S., Drummond, J., Dunbar-Hall, P., Howard, K., Schippers, H., Wiggins, T. (Eds.). 2005. Cultural Diversity in Music Education: Directions and Challenges for the 21st Century. Australian Academic Press, Brisbane. Césaire, A., 1972/2000. Discourse on Colonialism. Monthly Review Press, New York. Collins, P.H., 2000. Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment. Routledge, New York. Countryman, J., 2009. Stumbling towards clarity: practical issues in teaching global musics. In: Gould, E., Countryman, J., Morton, C., Stewart Rose, L. (Eds.), Exploring Social Justice: How Music Education Might Matter. Canadian Music Educators’ Association, Toronto, pp. 23–37. Crenshaw, K., 1995. Mapping the margins: intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. In: Crenshaw, K., Gotanda, N., Peller, G., Thomas, K. (Eds.), Critical Race Theory: The Key Writings that Formed the Movement. The New Press, New York, pp. 357–383. Dei, G.J.S., 1996. Anti-Racism Education: Theory and Practice. Fernwood, Halifax, NS. Dei, G.J.S., 2006. Introduction: Mapping the terrain—towards a new politics of resistance. In: Dei, G., Kempf, A. (Eds.), Anti-Colonialism and Education: The Politics of Resistance. Sense Publishers, Rotterdam, NY, pp. 1–23. Dei, G.J.S. (Ed.), 2011. Indigenous Philosophies and Critical Education: A Reader. Peter Lang, New York.

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Hess Juliet Dunbar-Hall, P., 2001. Culture, tourism and cultural tourism: boundaries and frontiers in performances of Balinese music and dance. Journal of Intercultural Studies vol. 22 (no. 2), 173–187. Evans, R., 1975. The real versus the ideal: gaps in our school music programme. In: Notes on education and research in African music. vol. 2. Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, Legon, Ghana, pp. 16–20. Fanon, F., 1963. The Wretched of the Earth. Grove Press, New York. Fournier, S., Crey, E., 2006. ‘Killing the Indian in the child’: four centuries of church-run schools. In: Maaka, R., Andersen, C. (Eds.), The Indigenous Experience: Global Perspectives. Canadian Scholars’ Press, Toronto, pp. 141–149. Gandhi, M., Dalton, D., 1996. Mahatma Gandhi: Selected Political Writings. Hackett Publishing Company, Inc, Indianapolis. Gaztambide-Fernández, R., 2008. The artist in society: understandings, expectations, and curriculum implications. Curriculum Inquiry vol. 38 (no. 3), 233–265. Goldberg, D.T., 1993. Racist Culture: Philosophy and the Politics of Meaning. Blackwell, Cambridge. Gorbman, C., 2000. Scoring the Indian: music in the liberal western. In: Born, G., Hesmondhalgh, D. (Eds.), Western Music and Its Others: Difference, Representation, and Appropriation in Music. University of California Press, Los Angeles, pp. 234–253. Gustafson, R.I., 2009. Race and Curriculum: Music in Childhood Education. Palgrave Macmillan, New York. Hargreaves, A.G., 2007. Multi-Ethnic France: Immigration, Politics, Culture and Society. Routledge, New York. Hess, J., 2013. Performing tolerance and curriculum: the politics of self-congratulation, identity formation, and pedagogy in world music education. Philosophy of Music Education Review vol. 21 (no. 1), 66–91. Hess, J., 2015a. Decolonizing music education: Moving beyond tokenism. International Journal of Music Education vol. 33 (no. 3), 336–347. Hess, J., 2015b. Upping the “anti-”: the value of an anti-racist theoretical framework in music education. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 14 (no. 1), 66–92. Hess, J., 2018. Musicking marginalization: periphractic practices in music education. In: Kraehe, A. M., Gaztambide-Fernández, R., Carpenter II, B.S. (Eds.), The Palgrave Handbook of Race and the Arts in Education. Palgrave, Cham, Switzerland, pp. 325–346. Koza, J.E., 2008. Listening for whiteness: hearing racial politics in undergraduate school music. Philosophy of Music Education Review vol. 16 (no. 2), 145–155. Kratus, J., 2015. The role of subversion in changing music education. In: Randles, C. (Ed.), Music Education: Navigating the Future. Routledge, New York, pp. 340–346. Kuntz, A., 2015. The Responsible Methodologist: Inquiry, Truth-Telling, and Social Justice. Left Coast Press, Walnut Creek, CA. Lind, V., McKoy, C., 2016. Culturally Responsive Teaching in Music Education: From Understanding to Application. Routledge, New York. Loomba, A., 1998. Colonialism/Postcolonialism. Routledge, New York. Martin, P.J., 1995. Sounds and Society: Themes in the Sociology of Music. Manchester University Press, Manchester. Memmi, A., 1965. The Colonizer and the Colonized. The Orion Press, Inc., Boston. Mignolo, W., 2007. Delinking: the rhetoric of modernity, the logic of coloniality and the grammar of de-coloniality. Cultural Studies vol. 21 (no. 2), 449–514. Mills, C., 1997. The Racial Contract. New York University Press, Ithaca, NY. Morton, C., 2001. Boom diddy boom boom: critical multiculturalism and music education. Philosophy of Music Education Review vol. 9 (no. 1), 32–41. Patel, L., 2016. Decolonizing Educational Research: From Ownership to Answerability. Routledge, New York. Morton, C., 2003. In the meantime: finding a vision for multicultural music education in Canada. In: Hanley, B., Roberts, B.A. (Eds.), Look. Forward Chall. Can. Music. Educ., Irwin Publishing Toronto, pp. 251–272. Ofei, P.S., 1973. A basis for the development of a music curriculum for Ghanaian elementary schools. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Colorado, United States of America. Quijano, A., 2007. Coloniality and modernity/rationality. Cultural Studies vol. 21 (no. 2), 168–178. Rebollo-Gil, G., Moras, A., 2006. Defining an `anti’ stance: Key pedagogical questions about engaging anti-racism in college classrooms. Race Ethnicity and Education vol. 9(4), 381–394. Regelski, T.A., 2006. ‘Music appreciation’ as praxis. Music Education Research vol. 8(no. 2), 281–310.

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Music education and the colonial project Sarath, E., Myers, D., Campbell, P.S., 2016. Redefining Music Studies in an Age of Change: Creativity, Diversity, and Integration. Routledge, New York. Sartre, J. P., 1964/2001. Colonialism and Neocolonialism. Routledge, New York. Seddon, F., 2004. Inclusive music curricula for the 21st century. In: Bartel, L. (Ed.), Questioning the Music Education Paradigm. Canadian Music Educators’ Association, Toronto, pp. 212–227. Sharma, N., Wright, C., 2008–09. Decolonizing resistance, challenging colonial states. Social Justice vol. 35 (no. 3), 120–138. Solís, T. (Ed.), 2004. Performing Ethnomusicology: Teaching and Representation in World Music Ensembles. University of California Press, Los Angeles. Trimillos, R.D., 2004. Subject, object, and the ethnomusicology ensemble: the ethnomusicological “we” and “them”’. In: Solis, T. (Ed.), Performing Ethnomusicology: Teaching and Representation in World Music Ensembles. University of California Press, Berkeley, CA, pp. 23–52. Trinka, J., 1987. The Performance Style of American Folksongs on School Music Series and Non-school Music Series Recordings: A Comparative Analysis of Selected Factors. University of Texas. Tuck, E., Yang, K.W., 2012. Decolonization is not a metaphor. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society vol. 1 (no. 1), 1–40. Vaugeois, L., 2013. Colonization and the institutionalization of hierarchies of the human through music education: studies in the education of feeling. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Toronto, Toronto, Ontario. Volk, T., 1998. Music, Education, and Multiculturalism: Foundations and Principles. Oxford University Press, New York. Wasiak, E.B., 2009. Countering musical tourism and enacting social justice: repositioning music education as a cross-cultural meeting place. In: Gould, E., Countryman, J., Morton, C., Steward Rose, L. (Eds.), Exploring Social Justice: How Music Education Might Matter. Canadian Music Educators’ Association, Toronto, pp. 212–224. Wynter, S., 2003. Unsettling the coloniality of being/power/truth/freedom: towards the human, after man, its overrepresentation—An argument. CR: The New Centennial Review vol. 3 (no. 3), 257–337.

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2 SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES ON INTERNATIONALISATION AND MUSIC EDUCATION Alexandra Kertz-Welzel

Introduction In many fields, internationalisation is seen as a rather positive development, supporting the formation of a global community and thereby improving theory, research, or practice (De Wit 2011). Even though internationalisation has its downsides, as studies in higher education indicate (Knight 2011), there has rarely been a comprehensive critical discussion about it. This is surprising since internationalisation has gained growing significance in recent years, also in music education (Schmidt 2013; Hofvander Trulsson et al. 2015). Sociological perspectives on internationalisation can facilitate a critical analysis of what internationalisation means, raising awareness for issues of power and hegemony in music education worldwide, utilising the notion of community to develop new visions in view of today’s increased global connectedness and cultural diversity. Therefore, this chapter applies to music education research results presented in recent publications on sociology (Kalekin-Fishman and Denis 2012; Delanty 2018), sociology of education (Apple et al. 2010), and studies in higher education (Proctor and Rumbley 2018). Connell (2012, p. 188) justifies a critical perspective on internationalisation as a significant part of sociological research when stating that during the last decades, sociology as a discipline has been much concerned with scrutinising class and gender aspects, ‘but we have not yet paid the same attention to the geopolitical dimension of our collective being, and how this affects thinking about central sociological issues.’ It might indeed be the time to more thoroughly investigate the notion of internationalisation in sociology and sociology of music education, thereby developing the vision of a culturally sensitive internationalisation of music education (Kertz-Welzel 2018). The chapter starts with an analysis of what internationalisation is, in general, regarding higher education and music education. Then, the notion of community and global community is scrutinised. Finally, a new vision of the global music education community is presented, emphasising the need for a united, yet diverse global music education community.

What is internationalisation? At first glance, internationalisation appears to be a rather neutral term, indicating desirable transnational collaborations in various fields. But when taking a closer look, it becomes obvious that ‘internationalisation practices are not value-neutral and cannot be devoid of cultural 40

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dimensions’ (Aw 2017, p. xxii). It is most often related to ideas from English-speaking countries or Western Europe, often marginalising knowledge and concepts from other parts of the world. However, the most common definition of internationalisation does certainly not imply issues of power. Rather, it is based on the notion of nation-states and aims at connecting various countries and their respective institutions. While internationalisation has been a common term in political science and governmental relations, indicating the goal of connecting beyond borders, it was also used in the business world – first concerning software that can easily be adapted to the needs of other countries, and second, to describe initiatives going beyond national borders (Business Dictionary). While the term internationalisation is most common, it has not been of much interest for comprehensive scholarly investigations, regarding analysing the term, its use, and history. So far, it has mostly been briefly analysed in publications focused on internationalisation in certain areas such as law (Varella 2014) or in higher education (Knight 2012). Sociological research addresses issues related to internationalisation, too, but is rather more focused on related concepts such as globalisation (Lamo de Espinoza 2012), modernity (Kalekin-Fishman 2012) or narratives of global change (Connell 2012). However, particularly from 2007 to 2011, there has been an intense discussion about internationalisation in higher education studies. While defining internationalisation regarding academia was a crucial mission, criticising its mostly positive notion has also been important. Generally, internationalisation regarding higher education describes ‘integrating an international, intercultural, and global dimension into the goals, functions, and delivery of higher education’ (Knight 2012, p. 2). This means that universities do not only become international when they have students and scholars from abroad or participate in international research projects and rankings. Rather, internationalisation affects the very structure of universities, opening them for different models of research and teaching, including intercultural understanding. It is also defined as intentional process, with a clear purpose and consciously shaped by the goal to ‘enhance the quality of education and research for all students and staff, and to make a meaningful contribution to society’ (De Wit and Hunter 2015, p. 245). This indicates that internationalisation is connected to universities’ responsibility for the society, particularly regarding the need to address diversity, but also nurturing cultural identity. Internationalisation is certainly a concept that suggests inclusivity in terms of being open for people from various cultures – but at the same time, has a tendency to support a differentiation between people from the home country of a university and people ‘from abroad’ (Turner and Robson 2008, p. 10). Therefore, Turner and Robson (p. 11) state that internationalisation might be a dialectical concept, raising the issue of national and local educational cultures in view of the global – including the interesting question of which academic culture and practices should dominate higher education in a global world. This question has been recently intensely discussed in higher education, emphasising the need to reconcile the local and the global, in view of the ‘globalisation of internationalization’ (De Wit et al. 2017; Proctor and Rumbley 2018). In view of the lack of theoretical and conceptual precision regarding internationalisation, Turner and Robson (2008, pp. 12–14) suggest 12 dimensions of internationalisation to illustrate its complexity. They break it down into specific categories which can be approached more easily in terms of international engagement, mobility, revenues, international professional, communication, knowledge, language, programming and curriculum, academic practices, and reciprocity/Westernisation. While the meaning of most of these dimensions as subcategories of internationalisation is obvious (for example, the international professional as staff, dealing with international matters), others such as academic practices or reciprocity/Westernisation might need more explanation: whereas the first one is concerned with the academic learning style, for example, in seminars where discussions or the presentation of knowledge by scholarly 41

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authorities might dominate, the second one describes the fact that internationalisation can either be inspired by the notion of diversity and global exchange or have an emphasis on the national culture of a specific university–or even on an internationally dominant ‘Western’ scholarly culture. This indicates that internationalisation can have an ideological dimension in terms of how the multiplicity of global academic knowledge and cultures is interpreted and whose ideas dominate discourses and practices at universities. Internationalisation is certainly not easily accomplished, because it concerns the very nature of universities. If taken seriously, universities must change their mission or goals and need to become more culturally sensitive in research and the delivery of knowledge. The American Council on Education underlines these facts by describing internationalisation as a ‘strategic, coordinated process that seeks to align and integrate international policies, programs, and initiatives, and positions colleges and universities as more globally oriented and internationally connected’ (American Council on Education). Highlighting its complexity, De Wit (2011, p. 245) underlines that, in addition to academic reasons, there are four other rationales for internationalisation in terms of political, economic, social, and cultural reasons. Knight (2012, pp. 3–4) emphasises that it is crucial to be careful with the notion of internationalisation. The local context is important and should not be disregarded. Internationalisation can only be successful if it addresses global, national, regional, and local needs, including intercultural issues. Internationalisation is different in various countries and institutions, depending on the social and cultural context. Certainly, internationalisation also has its problems, as Knight (2011, pp. 14–15) indicates by identifying five myths, questioning a superficial understanding of internationalisation only concerned with, for instance, the number of foreign students or the position in international rankings. Brandenburg and De Wit (2011, p. 15) even refer to nine problems of internationalisation, indicating the urgent need for a more critical approach. Additionally, internationalisation is often confused with globalisation. But there are clear differences. While the former is still guided by the notion of nation states and aims at creating networks across borders, the latter implies a completely new world order, beyond nations, creating a new space were everybody is included (Daly 1999). In higher education, there also has been the impression that globalisation is something which is happening to universities, while internationalisation is something which can be done and shaped (Egron-Polak and Marmolejo 2017, p. 14). Even though the reality might be more complex than this differentiation suggests, it emphasises an interest in demarcation. Another distinction between internationalisation and globalisation concerns the fact that globalisation is often seen as something negative, connected to exploiting developing countries – while internationalisation is supposed to be positive, ‘the white knight of higher education,’ as Brandenburg and De Wit (2011, p. 16) state. They criticise this differentiation, saying: Internationalization is claimed to be the last stand for humanistic ideas against the world of pure economic benefits allegedly represented by the term globalization. Alas, this constructed antagonism between internationalization and globalization ignores the fact that activities that are more related to the concept of globalization (higher education as a tractable commodity) are increasingly executed under the flag of internationalization. (pp. 16–17) Due to the ongoing critique of globalisation regarding exploiting countries, while only a few countries benefit, internationalisation has been used as a more elegant term to cover mostly the same activities. Since many fears regarding being overpowered by economically stronger countries or losing one’s own identity are frequently discussed in globalisation studies, 42

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internationalisation seems to help as a terminological alternative – even though there is a need for refining it and opening the discourse for researchers from parts of the world which have often been marginalized (Proctor and Rumbley 2018). However, internationalisation is not a neutral term and free of issues of hegemony. It would be important to raise this issue in global music education, particularly from a sociological perspective. Most often, knowledge from the North, English-speaking countries, or Western Europe is privileged. Aw (2017, xxii) states: Internationalization involves knowledge exchange and transfer. However, the current practice is to privilege a form of knowledge originating from the North and flowing to the South. It is important that knowledge flows be multidirectional. Knowledge generation and dissemination need to be decolonized. We need to be more critical regarding what internationalisation is, if it implies the dominance of Western knowledge and concepts, or might even equal Americanisation, promoting AngloAmerican ideas as being international (Appadurai 1996, p. 29).1 Connell (2012, p. 188) discusses this issue from a sociological perspective in his analysis of sociology’s narratives of global change which often ignore the fact that sociology as field of research has historically been dominated by the ‘North Atlantic society’ and its knowledge production. Issues of hegemony and the marginalisation of knowledge produced in the ‘peripheries’ such as Latin America or Arabian countries, proves and calls for a critical self-examination of what the foundation of sociology is and what new narratives or perspectives would be necessary in times of globalisation and internationalisation. Similar issues concern music education, where the dominance of Anglo-American standards in international music education theory and practice, including research, still prevails, mostly without being critically discussed (Kertz-Welzel 2018). In view of the further formation of the global music education community, we need to critically address these issues. Sociological concepts can facilitate shaping the global music education community as united, yet diverse–thereby helping to overcome the hegemony of certain knowledges or music education cultures. In fact, internationalisation in music education is certainly not easy, but can be shaped in a culturally sensitive way.

Internationalising music education Internationalising music education has been a recurring topic in music education for some time (McCarthy 2012; Kertz-Welzel 2018). There are different reasons for this fact, ranging from pure interest in various music education cultures to the aim of copying from successful music education systems. However, what internationalising music education really means and what it concerns, has rarely been comprehensively analysed. McCarthy (2012, p. 40) points out that music educators worldwide ‘are united by a common purpose: to engage children and youth in music and to develop their artistic life and their humanity’. They are connected by similar ideas and intentions. Rationales for music education as part of the public-school curriculum worldwide are also similar. In most countries, patriotism and nationalism have played significant roles (Hebert & Kertz-Welzel 2012). Furthermore, McCarthy (2012, p. 42) identifies six challenges which music education faces globally: the status of music education in schools, music education advocacy, curriculum development and reform, whose music is presented in the curriculum, the changing culture of pedagogy, and professional networks. The first aspect describes that even though music education is in many countries part of the 43

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public-school curriculum, its status is quite fragile, often only an elective or extracurricular activity. Even if music education is a mandatory school subject, there frequently is a discrepancy between what is stated in political documents and what is happening in schools. Policies supporting music education are often not implemented (Hentschke 2013). To ensure music education’s place in the school curriculum, music education advocacy is a global concern, uniting music educators worldwide to justify their subject convincingly. Regarding curriculum development and reform, the standards movement has been one example for challenges to music education worldwide. The question of whose music is taught in schools is another significant issue, raising awareness for culturally responsive teaching in terms of critically selecting the musical content of lessons. Renewing the culture of pedagogy regarding including new pedagogical approaches, for instance informal learning, is also one aspect music educators worldwide face. Finally, professional networks and forums for research play a significant role in promoting music education worldwide. International organisations, such as ISME (International Society for Music Education) or ISPME (International Society for the Philosophy of Music Education) connect music educators and researchers worldwide. They foster music education as an international endeavour and support the formation of the global music education community. But there are not only general global challenges which music educators face, but also sociological dimensions which unite music educator worldwide. Teacher identity, socialisation, race and class, or gender issues have been identified as sociological topics in music education (Wright 2010). Furthermore, topics such as the history of sociology of music education and defining the field are important, particularly the distinction from related areas such as sociology of education or social psychology. One major aspect is certainly the question of how to apply sociological concepts to music education. Globalisation is also a crucial topic for sociology of music education, for instance, regarding global and local practices in music and music education. Finally, issues of social justice and power in music education practice and scholarship are significant topics for sociology of music education today.2 This research agenda is an summary of what has been important so far in sociology of music education and what will be important topics for the future. Significant publications such as ‘Sociology and Music Education’ (Wright 2010), ‘Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education’ (Burnard et al. 2015) or ‘Sociology for music teachers’ (Froehlich and Smith 2017) support this agenda. By addressing these issues, sociology of music education bridges a gap in music education research and offers guidance to scholars and practitioners. Even though sociology of music education is in many regards an emerging field of research, something it shares with many other fields such as comparative or international music education, it has already proved its significance to the global music education community in many ways, for instance by addressing sociological perspectives of music teaching and offering help through research (Froehlich and Smith 2017). Above all, sociology of music education fosters an attitude of challenging most common assumptions about music education towards developing new concepts, utilising and adapting knowledge from related disciplines, particularly regarding internationalisation. This means with regard to music education, that we have to raise awareness for the unquestioned dominance of knowledge and concepts from the North, Western Europe, or Anglo-American countries in music education. We need to redefine and refine what internationalisation means in music education in terms of fostering a united, yet diverse community. But this also means developing new perspectives on internationalisation, for instance taking into account educational transfer and then addressing geographical, geopolitical, and geolinguistic aspects of global knowledge production. 44

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The internationalisation of music education has long been connected to fields of research such as comparative music education, identifying similarities and differences in various countries with the goal to learn from each other (Kemp and Lepherd 1992; McCarthy 2012). While this is certainly a useful approach supporting the global connectedness and improvement of music education, it often fostered music education in specific countries, for instance of Western Europe, the North, or Anglo-American countries to be seen as role models. Furthermore, in view of globalisation and an increased sensitivity for various exchange processes, another approach might be a supplement to comparative music education: analysing educational transfer. Educational transfer in terms of copying a successful educational strategy or policy from another country has been going on for many centuries (SteinerKhamsi and Waldow 2012). Educational travellers of the eighteenth or nineteenth century, looking for superior music education methods they could learn from, or the worldwide success of the Orff approach exemplify what educational transfer is. However, educational transfer has not always been free of power issues as processes of transfer in colonial context exemplify, for instance regarding a colonial power forcing its music education system to colonies. An interesting example for this kind of educational is certainly Latin America where the music education system of colonial powers such as Spain was copied (TorresSantos 2017). English researcher Phillips (2005) developed the so-called Oxford models to describe the various stages and circumstances of educational transfer. The spectrum-model analyses particularly different ways of educational transfer such as ‘imposed’, ‘required under constraint’, ‘negotiated under constraint’, and ‘borrowed purposefully’. This approach could help better understanding of how systems of music education worldwide emerged and what role hegemony and power played – including how to possibly ‘decolonise’ certain music education systems. Aside from colonial issues, educational transfer can support neo-liberal educational philosophies of schooling, for instance regarding the standards movement. International student assessment programs, such as PISA (Program for International Student Assessment) require less successful countries to copy strategies or polices from successful ones. Raising awareness of educational transfer and critically investigating its impact on education and music education, including trying to utilise it deliberately for improving music education worldwide could be a starting point for a critical and culturally sensitive approach to internationalising music education. This certainly also concerns hidden power structures in knowledge generation in music education worldwide. The question what kind of knowledge is thought of as global knowledge is a significant issue in each field of research. This concerns the process in which local knowledge is turned into knowledge of interest for all. Hyland (2015, p. 35) refers to the Enlightenment as one example of ‘the most successful transformation of local knowledge into global’: Knowledge originally connected to Western Europe in the seventeenth and eighteenth century is declared as global. Hall (1997, p. 19) might be right that global knowledge is most often the way a dominant culture represents itself. Connell (2012, p. 188) even refers to sociology as a discipline which has, since its inception, been dominated by knowledge from the ‘North Atlantic society’, from Western Europe and North America. McCarthy (2012, p. 55) states regarding music education that ‘international perspectives in music education are founded on and dominated by narratives from Western countries and those influenced by the colonial presence of European countries’. This is indeed correct, since most significant publications worldwide, most presenters at international conferences or involved in international organizations are certainly from these countries. Even though more scholars from other parts of the world have become engaged in international music education in various ways, the ‘periphery’ as opposed to the centre (Connell 2012, p. 193) is still marginalized. 45

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Geographical, geolinguistic and geopolitical aspects have an impact on knowledge production in music education worldwide. It might seem that knowledge from Anglo-American or Western European countries is more relevant and is easily declared as global knowledge – because respective models and standards of music education and research have their origin in precisely this tradition. This also concerns peer-review, where in international music education, standards of good writing in English function as an international standard and a criterion for acceptance. This can cause problems for non-native English-speaking authors, even if their English language abilities might be good. The problem is often not a grammatical one, but rather a rhetorical one because, as sociolinguistic research indicates, rhetoric varies across culture, even in academic contexts. Mauranen et al. (2010, p. 639) state: In absence of clear standards of text organization, it has been easy to make a leap in the thought chain and assume that if English is the language of scientific publication, we should not only observe basic grammatical rules of correctness of Standard English, but follow the Anglo-American lead in matters of stylistic and rhetorical preferences as well. Most often, reviewers of journals do not know that and rather follow, consciously or unconsciously, Anglo-American rhetorical standards. Reviewers might even confuse unfamiliar rhetorical choices with a lack of general scholarly abilities. Lillis and Curry (2010, p. 152) exemplify this by presenting reviewers’ comments to Spanish papers: These papers do not want reading, they want translation. Poor writing doesn’t encourage the reader to turn the page … The comment is not about the authors’ competence in scientific English. It is about thinking. This clearly illustrates that the reviewer is unable to distinguish between clarity of thinking and different rhetorical choices. Sociolinguistic research has for some time analysed these kinds of problems (e.g., Kaplan 1966; Mauranen 1993; Lillis and Curry 2010). It might be useful to apply this knowledge to music education as part of a critical internationalisation of music education. There clearly is a need for a new vision of international music education where neither Anglo-American nor Western Europe or North Atlantic standards solely dominate, marginalising other approaches and research cultures. The vision of a united, yet diverse global music education community can serve as such a goal, utilising the sociological concept of community. Particularly applying new sociological approaches to community can offer points of reference for such a culturally sensitive internationalisation of music education.

The global music education community Traditionally, community has been defined as a group of people united by a common purpose, based on locality, ethnicity, language, or values. However, when taking a look at the history of the term community, it is obvious that is has been considerably transformed over time: From being the essence of society in the Greek Polis to the universal community of Christianity or the loss of community in modernity, as indicated in the works of Toennies or Weber, to cosmopolitan or virtual communities today (Delanty, 2018). Authors such as Cohen (1985), Bauman (2001), Kellner (2003), Putnam and Feldstein (2003), or Studdert (2006) have significantly contributed to sociological research about community. However, the sociological 46

Sociological perspectives

perspective on community might be somehow paradoxical, as Humphrey (2012, p. 155) indicates: While the death of the traditional community has been stated since the beginning of the industrialisation, ‘sociologists … continue to find community everywhere’. No matter if in expressions such as community development, national or global community, or in words which imply community such as civil society or cultural identity, community still seems to be present everywhere. It is both a social construct and a metaphor utilised by various groups to generate a sense of identity or solidarity, ‘to give shape to experience of greater social complexity and to articulate the local relation in larger social imaginaries including the “nation” and the “global”’ (Humphrey 2012, p. 156). New notions of community in view of globalisation seem to connect the local and the translocal, offering various kinds of identity not bound to locality, ethnicity, or language anymore. Rather, the concept of community is more open. Humphrey (2012, p. 169) states that ‘today[,] community is an idiom used to locate, represent and narrate oneself within translocal worlds that are now articulated globally’. This indicates that individuals have the opportunity to choose the kind of community they would like to be part of, depending on their interests. Community might even be a way ‘to articulate the local in global discourses’ (Humphrey, 2012, p. 169). Digital media support this by facilitating communication, thereby giving technology a new significance in the formation of communities. While community is generally of great significance in music education, for instance regarding music making in ensembles, in view of internationalisation, the global community is of particular interest (McCarthy 2012; Kertz-Welzel 2018). It is a community which goes beyond national borders, uniting music educators and scholars worldwide by their interest in engaging people in music and musical learning. Therefore, Froehlich (2009, p. 92) asserts that the global music education could be a symbolic community which is characterised by shared beliefs, values, and practices. They create a sense of joint identity and belonging. Members of music education as a symbolic community might share visions such as offering everyone the opportunity for musical engagement and development. From this perspective, community might be a specific world view. It is an ‘open system of cultural interpretation’ which leaves much room for how its members understand symbols and the world they represent (Delanty 2018, p. 51). While such a community is not bound to a specific locality or language and can be facilitated by various kinds of communication technology, identity formation is crucial. Becoming a part of music education as a symbolic community happens in various contexts, in university programs; at regional, national, or international conferences; or through engaging with research and publications. Thereby, a basic set of important beliefs is established which gives members of such a community an identity, even though not everyone has to agree on everything. Rather, ‘diversity can be shared and celebrated best if a sense of belonging has been established’ (Froehlich 2009, p. 94). While the notion of symbolic community has not been completely implemented in global music education so far, it is a useful point of reference for overcoming hegemonic structures in international music education towards a united, yet diverse global music education could function, thereby facilitating a culturally sensitive internationalisation of music education. But there are more sociological concepts of community which could contribute to this vision. In view of internationalisation and the power issues involved, the notion of community beyond unity could be a useful sociological concept for music education. Delanty (2018, p. 168) indicates that such a community is typical for today, characterised by diversity, but also by basic beliefs which unite its members. The publication ‘Community without unity’ (Corlett 1989) is one example for the promotion of this approach to community. In this understanding, there are many different kinds of communities and ways of belonging. Group membership is flexible, can change, and is based on various factors beyond locality or ethnicity. But this likewise makes 47

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communities more vulnerable, fragile, and more fluid as things change faster, following the flow of globalisation. However, a constant factor of community has been that it offers some kind of security and belonging. Community today is experienced through relationships which give not only the group, but also its members an identity. Delanty (2018, p. 162) states that ‘community is what takes place through others and for others’. This kind of community goes beyond a unity of minds and is particularly maintained through diversity. Therefore, the global music education community could be a community beyond unity, celebrating diversity, but at the same time being based on ideas that connect music educators worldwide. Organisations such as ISME (International Society for Music Education) play a critical role in the formation of such a community, providing organisational structures and spaces where people from various countries can meet. They also offer the experience of special moments which the members share in terms of celebrating a community’s values and relationships. Times of celebration strengthen the joint identity of a group and personal relationships among its members. ISME World Conferences can offer such moments. This liminality (Delanty 2018, p. 168) is a significant part of what constitutes communities that go beyond unity. This might likewise support the creation of a cosmopolitan community. The notion of cosmopolitan community is another useful concept which could foster developing the vision of a united, yet diverse, global music education community. Cosmopolitan communities exemplify the close connection between the local and the global, a diversity of perspectives and worldviews which is united by basic beliefs. Cosmopolitan communities seem to rehabilitate the notion of community in a way appropriate in view of globalisation (Delanty 2018, p. 182).3 While globalisation does not make the notion of community dispensable, it emphasises the need for its transformation, for instance regarding communication. Since cosmopolitan communities are not bound to locality, communication plays a major role. They are even communicatively constructed in discourses and their powers are ‘in the emergence of definitions, principles and cognitive models for imaging the world’ (Delanty 2018, p. 186). Human rights or ecological movements exemplify the power of cosmopolitan communities with global members, sharing a similar perspective and imagining a better world. Cosmopolitan communities construct a global totality and identity which is strong through the power of its vision. They are focused on something which concerns humanity or the global civil society. The global music education community would certainly qualify as cosmopolitan community in terms of being transnational and diverse, while being united by basic beliefs, such as everyone’s access to music making. The notion of cosmopolitan community exemplifies that a united, yet diverse global community is possible, without certain music education or research cultures dominating the international discourse. More research about music education in specific countries, which ideas would be valuable for the global community, and what unites and differentiate us would be useful for applying the notion of cosmopolitan community to music education. Canagarajah (2005, p. 20) imagines a networks of various research centres, supporting ‘diversity as universal project’ and ‘to develop a pluralistic mode of thinking where we celebrate different cultures and identities, yet engage in projects common to our shared humanity’. Cosmopolitan communities exemplify how the dialectics of diversity and unity could be implemented worldwide, thereby illustrating the new visions sociology can offer music education. The variety of sociological concepts of community today is an enrichment. They help understanding and transforming various dimensions of societal, professional, or private life.

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Sociological perspectives

When used reflectively and diligently, the notion of community in terms of a united, yet diverse, global music education community can provide an important vision for music education internationally.

Conclusion Internationalisation and the notion of community exemplify how much we need sociological perspectives on well-known concepts in music education. They offer opportunities to challenge what we usually take for granted, revealing hidden aspects such as power structures. But sociological perspectives also facilitate developing new visions. If the sociological notion of community is applied reflectively to music education regarding the global music education community, this leads to a new vision and a new understanding of what internationalisation is. It provides a framework for acknowledging the diversity of music education and research cultures and thereby supports the formation of a united, yet diverse, music education community worldwide. However, we need to be critical regarding sociological concepts such as community to avoid a superficial understanding and aim towards a refined meaning of such terms in music education. In recent years, sociology as a discipline has engaged much more in critical self-examination, for instance questioning well-known concepts such as internationalisation from the perspective of sociology’s narrative of global change and hidden power structures in knowledge creation (Connell 2012) or understanding community as a social metaphor (Humphrey 2012). Furthermore, Bauman (2001) warns about community and the search for belonging in an insecure world, including the danger of getting lost in a utopia. Nationalist and populist movements prove these dangers, while their success often depends on their ‘capacity to generate a sense of community’ (Delanty 2018, p. 225). However, the notion of community is vital again and a useful point of reference for critical concepts addressing issues of hegemony, diversity, and cosmopolitanism. Reflectively applied to music education, the notions of community mentioned above can support the formation of the global music education community. As a global music education community, we need to understand who we are right now and who we want to be. It might be time to critically examine our dreams and visions. By addressing issues of hegemony and diversity, the global music education community could become ‘sociologically sound’. Sociology can indeed play an important role in supporting the culturally sensitive internationalisation of music education, aiming towards a united, yet diverse global music education community.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

If you would write a manifesto for the global music education community, describing its basic principles and goals, what would be important aspects? How did the sociological concept of community change in view of globalisation? What is the role of community in music education and what are its pressing issues, in your context?

Notes 1 2 3

For more information about this topic see Bach et al. (2003) and Marling (2006). For more information see: https://musiced.music.unt.edu/issme-2019. Delanty (2018, p. 181) distinguishes two kinds of cosmopolitan communities, world community and transnational community.

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3 CHALLENGES OF THE POSTCOLONISATION PROCESS IN HONG KONG SCHOOLS In search of balanced approaches to the learning and teaching of Putonghua songs Ti-Wei Chen

Overview Hong Kong is a melting pot of Chinese cultures and colonial influences. As such, it has always been an interesting hot spot in the sense of its geographical, historical, cultural and educational context, where the East meets the West with multicultural complexity in terms of values education, civic responsibility and national identity. Since the handover of sovereignty from Britain to China in 1997, the learning and teaching of Putonghua as the official language is expected to be an indispensable part of Hong Kong school curricula; but has that become a reality? The social movements in the recent decade, such as ‘Protests to National Education Programme’ (BBC News 2012), ‘Occupy Central’ (BBC News 2014a) and ‘Umbrella Revolution’ (BBC News 2014b) in response to the controversial policy proposal concerning national education have been overwhelming. Moreover, the continuous power struggle in politics, economy and social justice between Hong Kong and mainland China certainly raises many important questions concerning the perception and complexity of national identity issues among Hong Kong citizens. As significant, such undercurrent uncertainty and paradox inevitably have direct and indirect impact on local music educators’ pedagogical philosophy and behaviours as well as decision making in relation to curriculum design and teaching materials. This chapter examines, highlights and unravels the current perception and impact of using Putonghua songs as part of the music curriculum through an analysis of surveys and interviews of undergraduate students studying music teacher education (N = 218 for questionnaires; N = 25 for interviews). Not only has this group of participants experienced school education locally in Hong Kong after the handover, but they were also taught and influenced by the newly implemented education and language policy implemented in 1997. Given their position as student teachers and culture administrators in training, their perceptions and viewpoints toward using Putonghua songs as teaching material are particularly noteworthy and important. The findings and results of data analysis are discussed and examined based on aspects of linguistic, cultural and socio-political elements in Hong Kong society, together with scholarship 52

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in music education related to hegemony, resistance and self-censorship. In this chapter, I hope to unravel the circumstances and challenges of music educators and administrators at large in 21st century Hong Kong, where the role and use of Putonghua are essential as part of music curricula and curriculum design. This work takes into consideration a newly proposed pedagogical philosophy and strategy in line with cultural citizenship (Leung 2003a) and a collective insight of national identity in the context of Hong Kong education (Fairbrother 2003; Flowerdew 2012; Morris 1997) to incorporate Putonghua songs in order to embrace multiculturalism, nationalism, internationalism and values education, commonly agreed upon and recognized by Hong Kong society. Furthermore, the findings of this investigation are intended to document the process of post-colonisation (e.g. decolonisation, neocolonisation and recolonization) by embarking on this unique historical, social, political, economic and cultural change in Hong Kong education, and ultimately offer recommendations toward a balanced Putonghua music curriculum model for all stakeholders, including policy makers, school administrators, music educators, parents, students and youth in Hong Kong.

Post-colonisation: Decolonisation, neocolonisation and recolonisation At this point, it is important to highlight the fundamental changes in Hong Kong which have been taking place since the handover in 1997, including those that are still very much in action. In the process of sovereignty transfer, the removal and replacement of policies and mechanisms in favour of the coloniser is an essential and common transformation in the historical, cultural, economic, political and social context (Law 1997b). Moreover, as stated by Law (1997a), during the post-colonial period there are three major types of sovereignty transfer: 1) decolonisation, such as in the case of Malaysia and South Korea where the former colonial identity was removed and restored to the pre-colonial identity (Haggard 1990); 2) neocolonisation, i.e. other foreign powers interfere with and manipulate the transition of political power from the former coloniser to the new government, for example the chaotic state in Brazil after independence (Raghavan 1990) and the use of English in Singapore despite the majority of the population being ethnic Chinese (Lim 1995); and 3) recolonisation, in which the colonial identity is replaced by the newly established political system, e.g. the change of official language in Taiwan from Japanese to Mandarin after the end of Japanese occupancy (Law 1996). According to Law (1997a), there are already signs of decolonisation, neocolonisation and recolonisation in Hong Kong’s Higher Education institutions. I argue that the findings presented by this study demonstrate evidence of ‘recolonisation’ which has surfaced in Hong Kong schools prior to and since the handover in 1997. Examples of this include the disconnection between the youth and the Chinese national anthem; lack of affection and active participation during the flag raising ceremony; and the acceptance and general recognition of being unique Hong Kongese, as opposed to mainland Chinese. Furthermore, although the population that speaks Putonghua in Hong Kong has doubled since the change of sovereignty in 1997, speaking Putonghua among Hong Kong youth is almost a sign of taboo. This serves as a reluctant reality check that Hong Kong as a society is increasingly being forced to become more like their mainland Chinese counterpart (BBC News 2017a & 2017b). Although national identity is largely identified by the nationality of one’s passport, it is evident that Hong Kong people’s national identity towards mainland China remains extremely polarized. This is seen as people define their identities based on environmental upbringing to conform with those social groups with which they feel most comfortable, rather than have their identities decided by family origin or background, and certainly not dictated by the government (Leung and Lee 2006). 53

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Prior to the signing of Sino-British Joint Declaration in 1984 regarding the future of Hong Kong, the topic of national identity was non-existent in curriculum. This was preferred by the then colonial government in order to maintain a status quo situation to cope with complex issues of citizenship in Hong Kong (Fairbrother 2003). In preparation for the handover, the colonial government in transition introduced education reforms in 1985 and 1996 that were geared toward the necessary changes in curriculum (Curriculum Development Council 1985; Curriculum Development Council 1995, 1996). It is commonly criticized that such political socialization was only a symbolic gesture and involved little significant impact to schools and the implemented curriculum (Cuban 1992, cited in Fairbrother 2003 and Morris 1997). Specifically, Law (1997b) pinpoints during this transitional colonial period between 1982 to 1997 the colonial transition processes, i.e. decolonisation, neocolonisation and recolonization progressively took place in Hong Kong where resistance and accommodation occur in between those processes in order to reach social consent of cultural and national identities among Hong Kong people, and the three major stakeholders participated in such complicated triangular conflicts are the incoming PRC government, the outgoing British government and local groups including teachers and students. After the sovereign change in 1997, resistance and tension grew as those social movements that developed from the grassroots level increased drastically by frequency and level of violence. Each social movement intensified until the Hong Kong people expressed their opinions towards the Hong Kong Special Administration Region (SAR) and People’s Republic of China (PRC) governments in the District Council Election of 2019 during which candidates of opposition secured an overwhelming victory across majority of districts in Hong Kong.

The use of Putonghua in Hong Kong As indicated by Sweeting (1995), up to 97% of the population of Hong Kong are ethnic Chinese, though Chinese and English are both official languages. The diverse definition of Chinese as a spoken language can at times be confusing, as in Hong Kong, one can refer to spoken Chinese as Hong Kong Cantonese, Guangdong Cantonese, Chiu Chow, Hakka, Shanghainese, Fujianese, Taiwanese or Putonghua (Adamson and Lai 1997). Since the handover of Hong Kong to mainland China in 1997, the implementation of speaking Putonghua as a proficient language in Hong Kong has become an integral part of language policy and education reform in Hong Kong schools. With such a boost of interest in Putonghua, the Hong Kong SAR government has carried out a series of measures to facilitate and foster the use of Putonghua. For example, they announced that Putonghua was to become a core subject from primary 1 to secondary 3 in 1998, and further extended this policy to secondary 5 in 2000. These implementations are based on an emphasis of oral and aural skills in Putonghua and the appreciation and understanding of Chinese culture and folklore (Curriculum Development Council 1996). According to a study on the use of language in Hong Kong (Leung and Lee 2006), Cantonese remains the most spoken language/dialect in Hong Kong, even after nearly two decades of Putonghua learning and teaching in Hong Kong schools and the 1997 education and language policy implementing Putonghua as the official language. This phenomenon shows the uncertainty of Hong Kong citizens in relation to issues of national identity—a topic that was non-existent throughout Hong Kong’s colonial history prior to the handover in 1997 (Leung 2003a) and one that can be best described as a depoliticized civic education (Fairbrother 2003). This phenomena of depoliticization in Hong Kong can be observed in government educational policies for civic education and school curriculum where scholars widely expressed their opinions and frustration that the 54

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dirge of cultivation and debate about democracy, and political and citizenship issues directly results in a lack of discussion, involvement and participation for public affairs among Hong Kong people (Fairbrother 2003; Leung 2003b; Morris and Morris 1999).

Learning and teaching Putonghua songs in Hong Kong Although Hong Kong music curricula have been predominantly focusing on Western music as influenced by British colonial history since 1842 (Everitt 1998; Ho 2006; Leung 2004; Yeh 1998; Yu-Wu 1998; Yu-Wu and Ng 2000), it is believed that performing and appraising traditional Chinese music would be an effective means of cultivating national identity in creating social harmony and Chinese nationalism among Hong Kong citizens (Curriculum Development Council 2002). One has to acknowledge and understand, however, that the Chinese national anthem carries unique and symbolic gestures in politics and patriotism which are vastly different from any other genres of Putonghua songs; it goes without saying that all national anthems carry special meanings to their respective citizens. Therefore, the Hong Kong SAR government has naturally encouraged all schools to perform a flag ceremony on the national day of October 1—the official date of the establishment of the People’s Republic of China (PRC)—with an aim to create social harmony and maintain a sense of political stability, as advocated by the Curriculum Development Council (2002). However, with the custom of social disposition and depoliticized civic education in Hong Kong, flag ceremonies at schools are often only a formality, as teachers and students do not actively sing, but merely stand and listen to the recording while the Chinese national anthem is played in the background (Ho and Law 2006). Needless to say, the learning and teaching of Putonghua carries multiple functions and purposes, apart from the obvious political ones. Based on Confucianism which has been the core and essential belief in Chinese cultures for thousands of years (i.e. in Han culture which represents the majority of the Chinese population), singing and performing appropriate styles of Chinese music is believed to cultivate one’s ethics and appreciation of Chinese traditional cultures such as history, literature and aesthetics, philosophy, language, poetry, lyrics, art, painting, calligraphy, fashion, dance, and drama (Leung 1995, p. 34). Moreover, the linguistic rhythm of Guoyu (formerly known as Mandarin, now commonly referred to as Putonghua) is suggested to form harmony, not only in nature but also between human beings, as well as foster proper temperament and characteristics of humanity, and elevate one’s social prestige (as cited in Kang Chi (1996, p. 14–15)). Therefore, as part of understanding and appreciation of Chinese history and culture, Putonghua songs are mainly taught in Hong Kong schools to develop students’ values education (Law and Ho 2004). The content of values education can be diverse but it is in accordance with the shared beliefs of moral education, civic responsibility and ethics, as well as a sense of global citizenship among members of Hong Kong society. In my 2008 pilot study examining the beliefs of 15 postgraduate music students who were full-time music teachers in Hong Kong, however, the data suggested Hong Kong music educators tended to prefer teaching Western music over Chinese music due to their own music training background and the fact that a lack of exposure to Putonghua and Putonghua songs undermined their motivation to teach Putonghua songs as part of the music curriculum. This echoes the evidence as to why Western music is still the major part of music curricula in Hong Kong schools (Law and Ho 2004; Leung 1995). As a result, for music teachers in Hong Kong, consolidating a large quantity of Putonghua songs as teaching materials is not an easy task, although recommendations of music textbooks are available to music teachers and school administration. Whilst the majority of teachers and students in Hong Kong primarily adopt Cantonese as the main medium of instruction in classroom setting, to construct and organize 55

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Putonghua songs for pedagogical use and lesson plans can be a daunting undertaking for most Hong Kong music teachers. To consistently source innovative Putonghua songs with originality and creativity, in particular for music performances, choral competitions and music festivals, Hong Kong music teachers often adopt and purchase music scores and textbooks from publishers and bookshops in Taiwan for supplementary teaching materials.

Curriculum design of Putonghua songs and pedagogical philosophy Ho and Law (2006) state that there are five major categories of Putonghua songs that Hong Kong students experience as part of their music exposure, including 1) Chinese folk songs, 2) traditional Chinese music, 3) popular music from mainland China, 4) Taiwanese folk music, and 5) popular music from Taiwan. Moreover, since establishing a Chinese orchestra in Hong Kong schools is believed to be more financially feasible than developing a Western orchestra, many Hong Kong schools are keen to support the learning of Chinese musical instruments and performances of Chinese orchestras as part of extra-curricular activities (Leung 2004). Furthermore, Leung (2003a, p. 3) promotes a multifaceted model of music curriculum in which the learning content needs to consider the following aspects: 1) popularisation, traditionalization, and contemporisation of music; 2) localization, nationalization, and globalization of music; 3) embedding considerations of aesthetics (i.e. questions of art theory, ‘beauty’, taste, etc.), music theory, history, and philosophy within composition, appreciation, and performance; and 4) integrating elements of culture in the teaching of music. Music education is believed to create, and is praised for creating, multiplicity in cultural exposures and meaningful music and arts education experiences for students (Campbell 2002; Green 2005; Regelski 2005). Furthermore, as Ho & Law’s study (2006) identified, whilst school music teachers are the main source for Hong Kong students to learn music knowledge, the mass media and private music tutors are the second and third means of music education. Teaching materials and curriculum structure for using Putonghua songs in Hong Kong music classrooms are also essential to reproduce a wide experience of cultural exposure, among others (e.g. in the context of musical, political, social, economic, and historical aspects). Hence, the role of school music educators becomes an dispensable indispensable part of the development of values education and cultural activities in Hong Kong society. Therefore, it is crucial to examine and study how students respond to the existing teaching content of Putonghua songs as taught by music educators in Hong Kong schools since 1997 handover if we hope to begin to unravel Hong Kong students’ cultural and national identities in terms of sociopolitical perspectives. Popular songs from mainland China and Taiwan, however, are largely well-known among Hong Kong youth. On the other hand, Chinese art songs embed the perfect marriage between Chinese poetry and music; no matter whether the poetry is ancient or modern, it is an effective way to introduce Hong Kong students to appreciation of the aesthetics of Chinese language and the characteristics of Chinese music. Through singing and interpreting lyrics in Putonghua, Hong Kong students can acquire appreciation and understanding of Chinese language, culture and history without interference or worries about political correctness and social dispositions. Aspects and comparative analysis of hegemony and depoliticization will also be included in the following discussion.

Methods and procedures The purpose of this study was to identify and investigate the previously mentioned aims and objectives relating to the role of Putonghua songs as part of music curricula in Hong Kong 56

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since the handover in 1997; the ways in which the five major categories of Putonghua songs are perceived and incorporated as learning and teaching materials in Hong Kong music classrooms; and the ways in which the Chinese national anthem is perceived and incorporated in the context of values education, citizenship education, multiculturalism, nationalism and globalisation. Data collection for this study is divided into two parts: questionnaires (N = 218) followed by semi-guided interviews in voluntary basis (N = 25). The questionnaire required participants to focus on addressing their past experiences and current perception of the learning, teaching, singing and performing of Putonghua songs as well as the singing, performing, learning and teaching of the Chinese national anthem at local schools. All music undergraduates who are studying to become music teachers, community-based musicians and music administrators and who have been under the influence and implementation of education and language policy after the handover were approached for data collection. The purpose of semi-guided interview was mainly to focus on comparison, validity and triangulation with the questionnaire data, and to investigate in details individual participants’ former and current exposure to Putonghua songs and the singing and performing of the Putonghua songs as well as the Chinese national anthem at local schools.

Discussion While the participants expressed their enjoyment in learning and singing Putonghua songs, the negative views of such songs outweighed the positive ones during their primary and secondary school education. Participants agreed that singing Putonghua songs helped in their learning of the language and supported them to teach Putonghua songs with creative approaches when they set out to teach in the near future (e.g. to make efforts to re-arrange instrumental parts for orchestra and band so that students can explore different means of performing Putonghua song while singing at the same time). However, most participants articulated reluctance and dislike for singing the Chinese national anthem, also showing little interest in teaching it. However, the majority of participants shared a consensus that Hong Kong citizens should learn and sing the Chinese national anthem to create a sense of unity. Such contradicting and polarized perceptions towards the Chinese national anthem echo with the controversy over the implementation of national education as well as the increasing confrontation between the state of Hong Kong SAR and PRC governments, and the pro-democracy social movements. In one of the interview sessions, the participant expressed as follows: The lyrics of the Chinese national anthem were written under the brutal circumstances of war; the mood and meaning of the words are totally irrelevant to modern Chinese society, let alone Hong Kong in the 21st century! In light of this comment, it is important to analyze and understand the lyrics and historical background of the Chinese national anthem in order to unravel the reasons that Hong Kong youth feel strongly disconnect with and unrelated to it1. Moreover, scholars argue that the meaning of the lyrics and the content of the Chinese national anthem do not reflect the reality of modern society and students often feel a sense of awkwardness and disconnection when singing the Chinese national anthem in public (Chen 2008). As suggested by Law and Ho (2004), the establishment of national identity cannot be separated from the teaching of Chinese music as part of music curricula in Hong Kong schools. Could the learning of Putonghua songs be another effective method of strengthening the national identity of PRC? 57

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As March of the Volunteer, the Chinese national anthem, was written during the Japanese invasion, the lyrics suggest a provocative message and the words are meant to arouse public awareness and encourage civil responsibility of national security in defending one’s country. The lyrics are as follows: Arise! All who refuse to be slaves! Let our flesh and blood become our new Great Wall! As the Chinese nation faces its greatest peril, All forcefully expend their last cries. Arise! Arise! Arise! Our million hearts beat as one, Brave the enemy’s fire, March on! March on! March on! On! With such historical underpinnings, it is crucial to instil in and teach Hong Kong students the story and history of the Chinese national anthem (e.g. how and why it was written, the reason it became politically incorrect during Cultural Revolution and revived later as the national anthem etc). When a song or national anthem is being explained and taught from the historical, social, cultural and musical viewpoints (i.e. without bias but with sufficient musical analysis), students are likely to perceive it neutrally with ease. This is the kind of understanding and unbiased attitude with which music educators can use to help students learn sociology and culture through musical activity. In particular, under the influence of social movements and political paradox of national identity, how to select a balanced, student-oriented music curriculum is an indispensable task for music educators in order to avoid unnecessary confrontation and uneasiness among Hong Kong students.

National identity and nationalisation Among the five categories of Putonghua songs, the Chinese national anthem stands out as a significant symbol of nationalism. As suggested by Leung (2004) and Ho and Law (2006), one of the major concepts and philosophies in education reform and music curricula is to develop from localization to nationalisation in order to further extend to globalization. This has been a strong factor which has provided Hong Kong with a definite competitive edge among Chinese societies such as mainland China, Taiwan and Singapore. Therefore, the implementation of singing the Chinese national anthem would be a crucial step to reinforce Hong Kong students’ loyalty to the PRC. The consent of a Hong Kong Chinese identity among stakeholders in society needs to constructed and developed based on ideology and traditions of Chinese cultural heritage as foundational and executed with cognitive and affective means of educational sources such as schooling (Law and Ho 2004). Since the handover in 1997, the raising of the national flag and the singing of the Chinese national anthem has been gradually encouraged as part of the school curricula and timetables implemented in public schools; and less than 1 year later, the Hong Kong SAR government also issued a memo to aided and private schools to announce the implementation of similar policy (Fairbrother 2003; Law and Ho 2004). As reported by the Hong Kong Federation of Education Workers (2002), the majority of kindergartens, primary schools, and secondary schools only raised the national flag of the PRC and sang the Chinese national anthem on the National Day; whereas 1/5 of those schools did not plan any celebration of the National Day. In fact, the national flag only flies on Handover Day (July 1) and National Day (October 1), and 58

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not for other official school events. Moreover, the Chinese national anthem is not even sung in public in many schools. However, many among the 25 participants who participated on a voluntary basis in the interviews shared a sense of national pride when they watched the Chinese national anthem being sung at the Beijing Olympic award ceremonies as the athletes from Hong Kong and mainland China received medals. Some also shared heartfelt views as student teachers on their perspective towards the Chinese national anthem and national identity. This phenomenon further echoes the contradiction and disposition among Hong Kong citizens towards national identity and political issues relating to the One Country Two Systems principle. In sum, Hong Kong people could choose to carry both a local Hong Kong and a national identity. This is further supported by the Oxford English Dictionary in which ‘Hongkongers’ and ‘Hong Kongese’ were accepted as newly added terms in 2014. Combining the symbolic meaning of being a Hongkongers or Hong Kongese and the consented antigovernment result of District Council Election in 2019, the unique social identity of Hong Kong people has formed after long period of resistance and accommodation, which further echoes the colonial transition process of recolonisation. The following participant was obviously concerned about how to be ‘depoliticized’ and conformed in music classroom, and offered a feasible situation under the challenging circumstances: I was told one day at school that we need to sing the national anthem the next morning at the flag raising ceremony, to avoid us looking bad or unprepared the teacher taught us the song. Since the national anthem inevitably carries political symbols in one way or another, I think I will use the same excuse when I become a music teacher in the future, because I think being neutral in politics is a must as an educator, and the excuse my teacher gave was convincing and a rather useful strategy to get job done and not being political at the same time. On the other hand, a rather sensible, idealistic and well-rounded response as shown below: In any ordinary situation, it is very difficult for a student to feel a sense of pride as a Chinese when singing or listening to the national anthem, one has to be well informed about his/her country’s history, cultures and circumstances of current society to have a sense of belonging and feeling related to the national identity. I want to teach my students the history about the national anthem, including why and under what circumstance it was composed, and why it was chosen to become the national anthem and its symbolism etc. Only until my students can truly feel proud being a Chinese, they won’t be able to sing the national anthem from their heart. In addition, a couple of honest reflections were presented on their experiences of singing the national anthem as listed below: As a Chinese, it is essential to know the national anthem, it is an important song for all Chinese to know and sing, but there is no need to exaggerate its lyrics and meanings – a song is just a song. I was forced to sing the national anthem at the flag raising ceremony. Ever since then, I hate it when I listen to the song, because it reminds me of that awful experience I had at school. 59

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Furthermore, some relate to the understanding of the historical background and lyrics of the national anthem: Many people think they are Hongkongers not Chinese, of course they don’t feel related to the national anthem and its meaning. In addition, the lyrics are all about war and human suffering, Hong Kong people nowadays can’t feel associated with those emotions at all. The lyrics of the national anthem include many negative words, such as blood and slaves, which is so far away from the life we live now in Hong Kong. In contrast, some expressed their frustration and anxiety as music educators: I know I’m suppose to feel proud when I sing the national anthem and teach my students the same national identity, but I am yet to feel it. When I teach the national anthem, I definitely won’t emphasize that we need to sing the national anthem because we are Chinese. I probably will teach my students to sing the song first followed by introducing them the background and story about the national anthem, but up until now, I have no guidelines and support as how to teach the national anthem in music classroom.

Hegemony, resistance and depoliticization in music education Based on the questionnaire data (see Table 3.1), it is evident that while the self-perceived level of Putonghua sufficiency has risen among Hong Kong youth, students enjoy singing Putonghua songs for leisure much more than learning them at school, although it is agreed that singing Putonghua songs does facilitate and enhance students’ ability to learn the language more effectively (Leung and Lee 2006), and facilitates direct connection and association with Chinese musical cultures and heritage (Leung 1995). It is worth noting that 1/5 of the participants did not agree with the incorporation of Putonghua songs as part of music curriculum whereas almost 2/5 of the participants agreed that Putonghua songs should be learned in music classrooms. The remaining participants were neutral in this regard. Such polarized opinions about the role and use of Putonghua songs as curriculum also exposes uneasy and uncertain social dispositions in light of the recent social movements and conflicts in Hong Kong society. With the proposed policy for national education in 2012, distrust and aggravation towards the state (i.e. the PRC and Hong Kong SAR government), and frustration towards the education system in Hong Kong was elevated to a new height in 2014 and 2019 as unsettling social dispositions and paradoxes were commonly outpoured and conflicted among the Hong Kong public. It is not surprising that the data shows lack of support from teachers and school administration in learning Putonghua songs at schools as no clear, constructive curriculum guidelines were in place from the state (Fairbrother 2003; Ho and Law 2006; Leung 1995). Under such an ambiguous and polarized social outlook, music educators in Hong Kong are cautious and reluctant to display their thinking and political opinions towards Putonghua songs as the data reflects in this study. Such phenomenon is also reflected in the ratio of ‘whether or not one was asked to learn Putonghua songs at school’ for which the percentages of positive and negative responses are very similar. A lack of especially clear social consent towards national and cultural identities has caused the norm of social atmosphere and education system to be depoliticized 60

Challenges of the post-colonisation process Table 3.1 Perceptions towards Learning and Teaching of Putonghua song in Hong Kong (N = 218) Past experiences about Putonghua songs as a music learner: I enjoyed learning Putonghua songs at school. I enjoyed singing Putonghua songs in general. My ability of Putonghua is adequate to sing Putonghua songs. Putonghua songs helped me to learn and speak Putonghua. Singing Putonghua songs should be part of my music learning. I tried to learn Putonghua songs with creative ideas. I was asked by others to learn Putonghua songs, e.g. parents, music teacher, peers, school etc. My teachers offered adequate support to sing Putonghua songs.

Agree/Strongly Agree

Disagree/Strongly Disagree

37.6% 45.4% 47.7% 53.2% 39.4% 23.9% 32.1%

19.3% 14.2% 15.6% 11.5% 20.2% 34.4% 30.7%

24.8%

22.5%

and polarized among the Hong Kong people for decades since the era of the British colony (Bray and Lee 1993; Leung 1995; Fairbrother 2003). Therefore, it would not be in the best interest of music educators and school administrators, nor parents and students to openly encourage or discourage others to learn Putonghua songs. Such social paradoxes and paradigms have not changed even as mainland China has been the sovereign for over two decades under the framework of One Country Two Systems. When responding to means of creative approaches to learn Putonghua songs, most questionnaire participants mentioned using YouTube and other online resources to enhance their knowledge and understanding of the language, musical styles and interpretations. This is very similar to how Hong Kong youth gain access to popular culture and music in everyday life (Ho 2003a; Leung 1995). Participants often cited that they like to watch TV programmes and drama series from Taiwan. Therefore, it is evident that the role and use of the Internet, mass media and popular culture are crucial and indispensable during the process of post-colonisation in transitional Hong Kong. The accessibility of those means can reach and connect to Hong Kong youth directly, and such a bottom-up approach and initiative of learning Putonghua songs produces the most effective and non-biased outcomes, as opposed to the top-down approach (i.e. initiated by school, State such as Education Bureau and Hong Kong SAR and governments). Another successful example of the influential and prevailing impact of popular culture would be the growing popularity of K-Pop in recent years, which has been an astonishing global phenomenon. Such means of cultural transition and promotion are considered to be non-invasive, yet extremely powerful and non-tracible. One of the main reasons that the Hong Kong public is on the defence about the proposed national education curriculum is because it was considered a drastic gesture from the PRC government to influence the curriculum content and ‘brainwash’ Hong Kong students about political beliefs and idolization of the Chinese Communist Party. After a major outcry and confrontation occurred between law enforcement and protesters during Occupy Central and the Umbrella Revolution, former and then Chief Executive of Hong Kong SAR, Leung Chun Ying, announced that the implementation of national education courses in primary and secondary schools was temporarily withdrawn until the revision of guidelines for moral, civil and national education, which have caused many concerns to Hong Kong public, have been addressed. Scholars strongly suggested that for all teaching and learning content of civic messages in values education, ‘many learning activities taking place inside classroom appear to have negative association with students’ civic knowledge, signifying even further the importance of informal civic

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learning outside of classroom and school’ (Fairbrother & Kennedy 2011, p. 439). Therefore, the teaching and learning of the Chinese national anthem requires carefully planned strategies that consist of a mixed mode of formal and informal learning for effective outcomes and long-lasting positive impact so that students can engage and learn comfortably during activities which are held with ‘an open classroom climate, and [through] a variety of organizations and associations including art, music, and drama’ (Fairbrother 2003, p. 440). To successfully encourage and facilitate students’ critical thinking in civic topics such as national and cultural identity, citizenship, democracy and patriotism, it is highly advocated that engaging young people in formal and informal environments for civic learning would be the most appropriate approach in comparison to traditional classroom teaching (Fairbrother 2008; Fairbrother and Kennedy 2011).

Self-censorship in music education When I first applied for the internal research grant at the university (long before the government announced the proposed policy of national education), I was informed by the Human Ethical Research Committee that my application would not be successful unless I promised not to publish any research findings due to political sensitivity, and to change the topic from ‘To Sing or Not to Sing: Investigation of the Perception and Teaching of National Anthem and Putonghua Music as Part of Hong Kong School Curriculum’ to something less provocative. In order to secure the funding, I complied with the latter suggestion and resubmitted my application. Surely that incident was an indication of self-censorship exercised by the university, but it was utterly disappointing to me as a researcher and academic because it occurred at a university where academic freedom was promised, not to mention that being curious about the world is supposed to be tremendously important to all learners. While an organization (in this case the university) exercises self-censorship out of fear of punishment or tries to prevent unnecessary attention and pressure from authority, it represents the gatekeepers and bosses of the organization as upholding more conservative views, hence unspoken rules and ambiguous instructions become a norm in the organization as social control and conformity takes place (Lee and Chan 2009). During the process of this project, I was made aware that an inappropriate edition of a Chinese folk song was adopted as one of the set songs for the Hong Kong Schools’ Music and Speech Festival for which thousands of Hong Kong students apply annually. The inappropriateness of the edition was because the second verse was changed to specifically praise the Chinese Communist Party and its symbolic socialism. There are other editions available to choose from, but the organization chose the one from the People’s Music Publishing House, which is the official music publisher affiliated with the PRC government. Some students and parents made a conscious decision not to go through with the competition (although the registration fee was already paid upfront) to express their frustration and resistance to hegemony. This incident shows a lack of self-censorship, which was supposed to be exercised at the level of organization to avoid upsetting cultural groups and individuals in the Hong Kong society with different political views, but obviously was not properly executed, and made a lot of parents and students uneasy about learning and singing that particular Chinese folk song for the competition. Horton (2011) describes self-censorship as causing conflicted thoughts between the self-censor and the author by which moral ambivalence is developed as a result. I further supplement that in the processes of self-censorship and the lack of it in post-colonisation Hong Kong, tension caused by resistance to hegemony on the one hand and the ownership of freedom to expression on the other often creates self-doubt, frustration and actions for further resistance or conformity among the author, self-censor, and stakeholders who are at the receivers’ end.

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In the months post completion of data collection and analysis, I intended to expand this research to primary and secondary schools in Hong Kong and reach out to music teachers and students who are currently on the forefront of the post-colonisation process in Hong Kong. I first contacted several music teachers whom I know very well, but they all expressed concerns about my research into Putonghua songs and the national anthem, and how it would be perceived by their school administrators. After some persuasion and promises that their confidentiality would be protected and respected, some allowed me to collect data from them and their students in music classrooms. For those who were still in doubt, I had to meet with their school principals and get the consent form signed before data collection. A couple of principals expressed their concerns, ‘Our school doesn’t want to be labelled as pro or con to the PRC government – everything is too political nowadays.’ While censorship is strictly implemented by the mainland Chinese government over mass media and the Internet (e.g. social media and websites such as YouTube, Facebook, WhatsApp, Line etc., are not allowed), it was disconcerting to observe and realize that self-censorship is commonly practised among Hong Kong people to avoid unnecessary attention or troubles with the authorities; it is more so since the newly imposed national security law in Hong Kong since July 2020. The ruling of ‘One Country Two Systems’ which was supposed to keep Hong Kong at status quo as agreed between the British and PRC government has undoubtedly changed in recent years in the light of 20+ years under Chinese sovereignty.

Cultural perceptions in formal and informal learning In the transitional Hong Kong of the early 21st century, many issues concerning the role and development of Putonghua songs as part of music curricula remain unclear and inconclusive, and there is a great demand to critically examine and study such phenomena in depth in the context of musical, social, cultural, economic, historical and cultural aspects. Putonghua songs are also thought to be a useful tool in enhancing values education which includes a wide range of topics, such as enhancing moral education and civic responsibility, issues of national identity in Hong Kong for social harmony, and the impact of the Chinese national anthem for nationalisation. This study embarked on a journey in which I have investigated, addressed and answered some of the abovementioned arguments and issues. I recommend that the design of a balanced and holistic Putonghua song curricula as part of music curricula for Hong Kong schools that is considered to be student-oriented and appealing to Hong Kong students be based on the overall data analysis of preferences towards different types of Putonghua song. Popular songs from mainland China and Taiwan would be the most appropriate teaching materials and curriculum content to firstly arouse students’ interests and support in learning Putonghua songs (Ho 2003b), and hopefully singing those songs would encourage students to learn the language in a leisurely and creative manner (Leung 2003b). Moreover, Chinese traditional folk songs would also be an asset to include as part of the curriculum in Hong Kong music classrooms to support the richness of Chinese heritage and culture. As recommended by Leung (2003b, 2007) who advocates the importance of cultural citizenship, the concept of cultural-oriented curriculum would be one of the ideal approaches for educators in Hong Kong during the post-colonisation process, and I believe the same reference could be used in the context of music education as Hong Kong continues her journey in the 21st century. Abril (2007, p. 82) sums this up perfectly by expressing the importance of social inclusiveness in addressing and communicating with a wide range of cultural groups and stakeholders in regard to any significant song in the society (i.e. the Chinese national anthem and Putonghua songs at large in this case). He says, 63

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presenting or performing only one version of the song potentially conceals the song’s history and limits opportunities to think critically and discover what it means to live in a democratic society … represent it, resituate it, reinvent it, and/or reconstitute it to reflect contemporary times, or personal realities.

Reflective questions 1.

2.

Given ongoing challenges and opportunities presented by growing multicultural diversity, how do you engage in music teaching and learning that is non-biased, inclusive, and student-oriented while being educational at the same time? In light of the reality of a changing music curriculum, how can you facilitate open-minded, practical approaches for meaningful and robust discussion among stakeholders such as governmental authorities, school administration, music teachers and parents?

Note 1

The Chinese national anthem, namely March of the Volunteer, was composed by Nieh Erh in 1932 one year after the Japanese invasion of Manchuria. This song was then dedicated to the volunteers who rose to defend the nation long before Japan formally declared war on China. In 1934, Nieh Erh went to continue his musical studies in Japan where he was murdered at the age of 24. His song was officially announced by the Chinese Communist Party to be adopted as the national anthem of the People’s Republic of China in 1949. However, the lyricist, Tian Han was jailed during the Cultural Revolution, and the song was consequently banned for 10 years until he was released in 1982.

References Abril, C.R., 2007. Functions of a National Anthem in society and education: a sociocultural perspective. Bulletin of the Council for Research in Music Education vol. 172, 69–87. Adamson, B., Lai, W.A., 1997. Language and the curriculum in Hong Kong: dilemmas of triglossia. Comparative Education vol. 33 (no. 2), 233–246. BBC News, 2012. More Protests over HK ‘National Education’ Row. https://www.bbc.com/news/worldasia-china-19472918. BBC News, 2014a. Thousands at Hong Kong protest as Occupy Central is launched. https://www.bbc.com/ news/world-asia-china-29397738. BBC News, 2014b. How the humble umbrella became a HK protest symbol. https://www.bbc.com/news/ world-asia-china-29407067. BBC News, 2017a. Cantonese v Mandarin: When Hong Kong Languages get Political. https://www.bbc.com/ news/world-asia-china-40406429. BBC News, 2017b. HK handover predictions: Golden geese or democracy ‘infections’? https://www.bbc.com/ news/world-asia-china-40363751. Bray, M., Lee, W.O., 1993. Education, democracy and colonial transition: the case of Hong Kong. International Review of Education vol. 39 (no. 6), 541–560. Campbell, P.S., 2002. Music education in a time of cultural transformation. Music Educators Journal vol. 89 (no. 1), 27–33. Chen, T. 2008, To sing or not to sing: the revolution of national anthem since the reunion of Hong Kong and China, paper presented to The 9th International Conference of Cultural Diversity in Music Education, Seattle, Curriculum Development Council, 1985, Guidelines on Civic Education in Schools, Education Department, Hong Kong. Curriculum Development Council, 1995. A study on the development of civic awareness and attitudes of pupils of secondary schools in Hong Kong. Education Department, Hong Kong. Curriculum Development Council, 1996. Guidelines on Civic Education in School. Education Department, Hong Kong.

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Challenges of the post-colonisation process Curriculum Development Council, Education Department, 1996. Putonghua (Secondary) Draft. Hong Kong. Curriculum Development Council, Education Department, 2002. Basic education curriculum guide: building on strengths (Primary 1 – Secondary 3). Hong Kong. Everitt, A., 1998. Arts Policy, Its Implementation and Sustainable Arts Funding: A Report for the Hong Kong Arts Development Council. Hong Kong Arts Development Council, Hong Kong. Fairbrother, G., 2003. Toward Critical Patriotism: Student Resistance to Political Education in Hong Kong and China. Hong Kong University Press, Hong Kong. Fairbrother, G., 2008. Rethinking hegemony and resistance to political education in mainland China and Hong Kong. Comparative Education Review vol. 52 (no. 3), 381–412. Fairbrother, G., Kennedy, K.J., 2011. Civic education curriculum reform in Hong Kong: What should be the direction under Chinese sovereignty? Cambridge Journal of Education vol. 41 (no. 4), 425–443. Flowerdew, J., 2012. Critical Discourse Analysis in Historiography: The Case of Hong Kong’s Evolving Political Identity. Palgrave Macmillan, London. Green, L., 2005. Musical meaning and social eeproduction: a case for eetrieving autonomy. Educational Philosophy and Theory vol. 37 (no. 1), 77–92. Haggard, S., 1990. Pathways from the Periphery: The Politics of Growth in the Newly Industrializing Countries. Cornell University Press, Ithaca and London. Ho, W.C., 2003a. A study of Hong Kong popular music. Popular Music vol. 22 (no. 2), 143–157. Ho, W.C., 2003b. Democracy, citizenship and extra-musical learning in two Chinese communities: Hong Kong and Taiwan. Compare vol. 33 (no. 2), 155–171. Ho, W.C., 2006. The perception of music learning among parents and students in Hong Kong. Bulletin of the Council for Research in Music Education vol. 181, 71–93. Ho, W.C., Law, W.W., 2006. Challenges to globalisation, localisation and sinophilia in music education: a comparative study of Hong Kong, Shanghai and Taipei. British Journal of Music Education vol. 23 (no. 2), 217–237. Hong Kong Federation of Education Workers, 2002. Xuexiao Guoqing Huodong Jihua Diaozha (Report on the Survey of National Day Activities in Hong Kong Schools). Hong Kong Federation of Education Workers, Hong Kong. Horton, J., 2011. Self-censorship. Res Publica vol. 17, 91–106. Kang Chi, M.A. 1996, ‘A performance guide for contemporary Chinese Arts Songs from Taiwan’, PhD Thesis, Columbia University, New York. Law, W.W., 1996. The Taiwanisation, demoncratisation and internationalization of higher education in Taiwan. Asia Pacific Journal of Education vol. 16, 56–73. Law, W.W., 1997a. The accommodation and resistance to the decolonisation, neocolonisation and recolonisation of higher education in Hong Kong. Comparative Education vol. 33 (no. 2), 187–209. Law, W.W. 1997b, ‘Chongguoge de Guomingjiaoyu Yiyi yu Maodun (The singing of the national anthem of the People’s Republic of China: meaning and dilemmas for Citizenship Education)’. Singtao Daily News, 7 July. B12. Law, W.W., 2004. Globalization and citizenship education in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Comparative Education Review vol. 48 (no. 3), 253–273. Law, W.W., Ho, W.C., 2004. Values education in Hong Kong school music education: a sociological critique. British Journal of Educational Studies vol. 52 (no. 1), 65–82. Lee, F.L.F., Chan, J., 2009. Organizational production of self-censorship in the Hong Kong media. The International Journal of Press/Politics vol. 14 (no. 1), 112–133. Leung, C.C., 2003. Building a new music curriculum: a multifaceted approach. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 3 (no. 2), 1–22. Leung, C.C., 2004. Curriculum and culture: a model for content selection and teaching approaches in music. British Journal of Music Education vol. 21 (no. 1), 25–39. Leung, S.W., 1995. Depoliticization and trivialization of civic education in secondary schools: institutional constraints on promoting civic education in transitional Hong Kong. In: Siu, P.K., Tam, T.K. (Eds.), Quality in Education: Insights from Different Perspectives. Hong Kong Educational Research Association, Hong Kong, pp. 260–283. Leung, S.W., Lee, W.O., 2006. National identity at a crossroads: The struggle between culture, language and politics in Hong Kong. In: Alfred, G., Byram, M., Fleming, M. (Eds.), Education for Intercultural Citizenship: Concepts and Comparisons (Language for Intercultural Communication and Education). Multilingual Matters, Bristol, pp. 23–46.

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Ti-Wei Chen Leung, Y.W. 2003a, Harmony or conflict: the role of nationalistic education within civic education in Hong Kong, PhD Thesis, University of Sydney. Leung, Y.W., 2003b. Use and misuse of affective approach in nationalistic education within the context of civic education. Pacific Asian Education vol. 15 (no. 1), 6–24. Leung, Y.W., 2007. Understandings and teaching approaches of nationalistic education: the case of Hong Kong. Pacific Asian Education vol. 19 (no. 1), 72–89. Lim, T.G., 1995. Malaysian and Singaporean higher education: common roots but differing directions. In: Yee, A.H. (ed.), East Asian Higher Education: Traditions and Transformation. Pergamon, Oxford, pp. 69–83. Morris, P., 1997. Civics and citizenship in Hong Kong. In: Kennedy, K.J. (Ed.), Citizenship Education and the Modern State. The Falmer Press, London, pp. 107–125. Morris, P., Morris, E., 1999. Civic education in Hong Kong: from depoliticization to Chinese values. The International Journal of Social Education vol. 14 (no. 1), 1–18. Raghavan, C., 1990. Recolonisation: GATT in its historical context. Ecologist vol. 20, 205–207. Regelski, T.A., 2005. Music and music education: theory and praxis for ‘making a difference’. Educational Philosophy & Theory vol. 37 (no. 1), 7–27. Sweeting, A., 1995. Hong Kong. In: Morris, P., Sweeting, A. (Eds.), Education and Development in East Asia. Garland, New York, pp. 41–77. Yeh, C.S., 1998. Music in Hong Kong schools: a study of the context and curriculum practices. In: Choi E, E. (Ed.), Searching for a New Paradigm of Music Education Research: An International Perspective. Korean Educational Society, Korea, pp. 215–224. Yu-Wu, R.Y.W., 1998. The training of music teachers in Hong Kong. In: Choi, E. (Ed.), Searching for a New Paradigm of Music Education Research: An International Perspective, Korean Educational Society, Korea, pp. 255–266. Yu-Wu, R.Y.W., Ng, D.C.H., 2000. The underlying educational notations of the two earliest official Primary Music syllabi. In: Cheng, Y.C., Chow, K.W., Tsui, K.T. (Eds.), School Curriculum Change and Development in Hong Kong. The Hong Kong Institute of Education, Hong Kong, pp. 483–503.

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4 HABITUAL PLAY Body, cultural sacredness, and professional dilemmas in classical musician education Dan Sagiv and Yael (Yali) Nativ

Introduction The purpose of this chapter is to use Bourdieu’s theory of habitus to examine the practices of classical music instruction pedagogy in the work of conservatory music teachers in Israel. An ethnographic study conducted by Sagiv1 shows that the conservatory’s primary educational function is focused on providing individual classical music instrumental lessons for children and teens. The teachers themselves are usually a product of traditional Western and classical music education and tend to utilise strict and conservative teaching methods not only in instilling technical skills but also in fostering a canonical range of behavioural and cultural codes expected of a classical musician. This chapter joins a larger wave of critical studies conducted in recent decades within music education that look at classical traditions and teaching practices and their influence on pedagogy. Issues of teachers’ professional identity, their social status, and position in the field as well as their pedagogical agency are discussed extensively providing new perspectives (Bouij 2004; Elliott 2007; Green 2002, 2008, 2011; Holgersen 2010; Perkins 2010, 2015; Regelski 2009). For example, Roberts (2010) criticises the ethos of the classical elitistic music education and the notion that music educator status is considered less than a performer, and Bowman (2007) claims that traditional pedagogical approaches cause a reduction of expressive and emotional abilities. In addition, this chapter joins the scholarly discourse that uses the body of work of the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu to examine these questions (Burnard et al. 2015). Focusing on the concept of habitus, we will argue that in instrumental instruction, the body serves as one of the main tools for acquiring the player’s habitus and style. According to Mauss (1936/1973) and, later on, Bourdieu (1990), the body is a social site immersed physically in social and cultural contexts. Bourdieu (1998, p. 81) says: [the body] is a socialised body. A structured body, a body which has incorporated the immanent structures of a world or a particular sector of that world – a field – and which structures the perception of that world as well as action in that world. Bourdieu explains that habitus reflects people’s relationships to the dominant culture (Reay 2004) and embodies their acquired lifestyle practices, cultural tastes, and dispositions. Nonetheless, 67

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Bourdieu (1986) positions the body not just in a social world but specifically in a social field, that has its own ‘rules of the game’. Bourdieu claims that the rules of the game are individually and collectively internalised in an unconscious way, so people operating in a field have a thorough built-in of the nuances of the ‘correct’ cultural behaviour, expressions of lifestyles, and accepted norms. The habitus, then, will be seen in adopted behavioural tendencies that fit the social status and group to which they belong. To this end, classical musicians internalise a specific habitus, which is explained by Bourdieu as a highly valued cultural capital (Bourdieu 1978). Such a capital is composed of nuances and notions that are common in the field as well as various skills that are required in order to operate successfully in this arena. Leading a classical music lifestyle and being included in the company of classical musicians is generally a product of a long process of acquisition that often starts in early childhood and continues throughout adolescence and adulthood (Bourdieu 1984, 1993a). Since the teachers themselves were educated to embody the habitus they seek to pass on to their students, they essentially transmit according to the habitus scheme, their knowledge, aesthetic preferences, worldviews, and personal tastes as well, serving as gatekeeper of what they perceive as a ‘sacred’ culture of classical music. These, of course, are based on the cultural capital they have acquired throughout their own life as young apprentices in the classical music field. Thus, instrumental music teachers operate as cultural agents, passing distinctive practices, dispositions, and worldviews that place classical music as an elite and even sanctified realm. Based on an ethnographic study of instrumental lessons in classical music, we will show how music teachers become instillers of a specific embodied habitus, demonstrating how, along with teaching various playing techniques, they provide their students with insights into the coded subtleties of the field. This creates an optimal and prestigious presence of a specific style in the study room emphasising traditional virtues such as punctuality, self-discipline, and devotion. These come along with a wide breadth of valued knowledge that is culturally distinctive and labelled higher’. As Bourdieu says: ‘Nothing gives more opportunities than music for exhibiting one’s “class”, and there’s nothing by which one is more inevitably classified’ (Bourdieu 1993, p. 103). Although this article’s scope lies within the realm of classical music education in Israel, its focus is on an analysis of habitus by Bourdieu from three perspectives: body and embodiment, lifestyle, and professional status. In this respect, the article does make a thorough reference to the hegemonic power structure between Western cultural capital and high social status. However, the article does not touch upon the colonial/post-colonial question that might arise from this relationship. We would like to acknowledge that indeed there are hegemonic cultural relationships within the very ethnically complex Israeli society, as well as that the Israeli situation is different from traditional colonialism, yet these issues are not included in our analysis.

Habitus, cultural capital, and field placement in instrumental teaching In order to provide a theoretical framework, we will discuss three principle Bourdieusian concepts that construct the mechanism by which musical habitus works in the instrumental teaching setting. The first is the role of the body as a site for transmission of cultural knowledge; the second is the concept of lifestyle and taste and the distinction between high and low culture; the third looks at the issue of status and professional position of music teachers in the field, as a foundational factor in the construction of their pedagogical dispositions and norms. In instrumental teaching, the body becomes one of the primary tools for acquiring a larger scheme of cultural habitus. Perkins (2010) emphasises the importance of understanding the social, cultural, and institutional settings in which one-on-one music lessons operate in order to 68

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comprehend the ways learning and teaching are constructed. Every bodily action learned and acquired is directly related to the musician’s cultural field through physical appearance and action. The body of both teachers and students therefore presents specific cultural knowledge, and highlight insights and sensitivities in the field of action. These are also signified to a certain social group and strata. Bourdieu (1984) shows that a high cultural capital operates as a distinctive force allowing those who hold ownership over fine cultural and artistic taste to be separated from those who hold limited cultural capital. In this sense, the body’s adaptation and acquisition of new habits of fine musicianship will on the one hand confine it to a system of restrictions, but on the other hand will enable a potential social mobility. Cognitive pedagogical research demonstrates this phenomenon of acquisition of habitus using terms such as ‘intuitive theories’ and ‘mental models’ (Mevorach and Strauss 2012; Troff 2001). These terms describe from a different angle the professional authenticity of teachers in terms of pedagogy and cultural dispositions, and illustrate in different words how students’ habitus becomes a part of the body, habits, and personal inclinations. The acquisition of habitus, which eventually becomes ‘second nature’ – a social practical sense embedded in the body which is described by Bourdieu as a ‘feel for the game’ (Bourdieu 1990, p. 30), places classical musicians in a field that carries prestige and highly valued cultural capital. During this process, musicians learn the full scheme of behaviours, historical knowledge, and techniques characteristic to the field. These will include knowledge of composers, styles, famous players, and repertoire consisting mostly of music written in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Western Europe. Furthermore, some of the composers and compositions in the field have achieved over time a position of iconic and eternal status as a result of what Bourdieu calls ‘Ritual Acts of Sacrilege’ (Bourdieu 1993a, p. 80), whereby a canonic body of knowledge that becomes ingrained in the habitus is created: It is all too obvious that these ritual acts of sacrilege, profanations which only ever scandalize the believers, are bound to become sacred in their turn and provide the basis for a new belief … Paradoxically, nothing more clearly reveals the logic of the functioning of the artistic field than the fate of these apparently radical attempts at subversion. (Bourdieu 1980, p. 266) Such a canonic body of knowledge becomes essential in the articulation of the practices of pedagogy, from instrumental lessons for beginner students, to professional orchestral concerts. In relation to instrumental music lessons, the ‘feel of the game’ is an expression of the habitus scheme, through which students learn to understand and experience the specific cultural environment of classical music education. They are trained from an early age to act according to them and to adapt to the required cultural codes. In dance education for example, Nativ (Nativ 2010) shows in her research on high school female dancers, how during 3 years of rigorous studying of classical ballet, the students, who had very little background in this genre, acquired gradually a distinctive coded ‘balletic’-embodied habitus. They moved around school differently, holding their backs up straight and their feet turned out and reported that their cultural choices and preferences changed dramatically toward a canonical and traditional dance body of knowledge. The instrumental teachers thus, become the primary mediator of such a habitus scheme, passing it through pedagogical practices to their students in order for them to be integrated into the field in the best possible manner. The habitus of classical musicians, however, is acquired by gaining and cultivating valuable symbolic capital. This is usually apparent in the realm of public performance through concerts 69

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and events where conservatory students need to show, first and foremost, their performance skills. In this regard, Perkins shows how learning the culture of what is considered ‘privileged’ is constructed: Observation reveals that the conservatoire’s spaces are occupied predominantly by rooms designed for instrumental lessons, individual practice and performance … capturing the tensions between performing and “other stuff” these data illuminate strong dispositions towards performance as a central and dominant facet of conservatoire life. (Perkins 2013, pp. 203–204) Therefore, cultural music knowledge is not passed on only through the pedagogical aspects of the instrumental lesson itself, as students need to negotiate their position in the school’s power structure, engaging in the performing arena. Yet, it is not only students who are busy negotiating their way through the cultural field. Teachers are also committed to the same performing endeavour, evaluating and comparing the professional conduct of their peers and their positions in the field. According to Bourdieu (1993a, p. 30), cultural products and producers are located within ‘a space of positions and position-takings’. Therefore, ‘the literary or artistic field is a field of forces, but it is also a field of struggles tending to transform or conserve this field of forces’. Hence, the question of achieving higher status and performance competence has an important role in teachers’ pedagogical decisions, priorities, and professional inclinations. Many writers have claimed that pedagogical considerations and practices are directly influenced by the way teachers perceive themselves and their professional status (Bowman 2007; Mills 2004; Purser 2005; Roberts 2004; Ward 2004). As a result, many instrumental teachers try to maximise their status and point out their strengths, performing the habitus as a form of capital, in a way that fits the field’s values, but also distinguishes them from others.

Methodology This chapter is based on ethnographic research (interviews and observations) Sagiv (2014) conducted in the years 2009–2011 in three music conservatories in Israel. The aim was to examine the pedagogical practices of instrumental music teachers, and to understand how such practices articulate students’ cultural socialisation and preferences into the paradigm of classical music. In Israel, as in other parts of the Western world, music conservatories serve as preparatory schools for young musicians offering individual lessons and emphasising the preservation of the old tradition of the classical genre. They are usually non-formal2 institutions that employ a large number of music teachers from different backgrounds, operating in after-school hours and educating students from the age of 9 to 18. Students who choose to study in music conservatories are characterised by a wide range of musical aspirations. They range from those interested at a certain stage in pursuing a professional career to those who are motivated primarily by reasons such as engaging in a cultural leisure activity or the simple reason of spending time with peers. The 18 teachers who participated in the study provide a diverse and rich research field, varied in musical instruments, teaching approaches, and cultural dispositions. Out of the overall material gathered through more than one hundred observations and 18 interviews, we present here just a small sample of data and analysis. 70

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The bodily realm as a basis for instilling a musician’s habitus in an apprenticeship setting In this section we articulate how the embodied practices of teaching and learning in an instrumental music lesson can instil in students a specific habitus. Our point of departure is to contextualise the setting of an instrumental lesson in a discussion of apprenticeship pedagogy and then look at the question of the body. A major part of the process of learning to play an instrument is accomplished through apprenticeship; one-on-one or master and apprentice. In apprenticeship pedagogy, learners come in contact with a world of knowledge that is produced based not on abstract information, but through concrete embodied practical actions (Barab and Hay 2001). The learning process occurs through endless bodily actions of cumulative knowledge that are obtained slowly, gradually, and holistically through experience over many years. Jean Lave and Wenger (1991), one of the most important researchers on the subject of apprenticeship practice, writes that apprenticeship is not only a good way of learning practical knowledge, but an efficient manner of obtaining social knowledge in general. Therefore, learning in such a setting where bodily practices are essential, may serve as a fertile ground for the construction of a common sense of identity and culture. As numerous studies have demonstrated (Barab and Hay 2001; Hansman 2001), the apprenticeship model claims many advantages as an educational pedagogy, including that the strengths of the system lie in the fact that students come in regular contact with a world of knowledge that has practical implementations. In an apprenticeship pedagogy, students obtain the knowledge through sensory experience where teachers operate as models for imitation; demonstrating an example of a successful habitus manifestation of the discipline being studied. Such a relationship of apprenticeship between teacher and student can be seen in instrumental music lessons. In our study, Masha’s cello lessons show a constant use of bodily touch where, as a teacher, she arranges and rearranges Dekel’s (her 9-year-old student) posture and shows her with her own body how to play: Masha is holding Dekel’s hand firmly showing her the correct position while the latter is playing the instrument. She is moving her legs to the right position and pushing her elbow to adjust its height. If this does not work she will take the cello from her student and demonstrate with her body the correct musical manoeuvres and positions (from field notes). Through this embodied mechanism where knowledge is exchanged repeatedly in every lesson, Dekel’s habitus as a musician is formulated and learned/embodied. Most teachers and students spend the majority of their time in endless drilling ways of working with the body. They literally work on connecting the body to the instrument in various ways. Naama, a French horn teacher, provides an insightful perspective. When asked what is the best pedagogical process for learning an instrument, she replied: First of all, there must be a good technical basis. But at the same time, I always remind them (the students) that they are playing, that they are not operating a piece of equipment, but rather making music. As far as I am concerned, the instrument is an extension of the student’s body. Instead of singing, he plays. It’s as if the expression comes from the body organs that connect directly to the horn.

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According to Naama, the teacher’s role is to enable the fusing of the student’s body with the instrument, as if they were one and the same. She aims to turn the instrument, which is operated mostly with the hands and the breath, into an integral part of the student’s body, like the vocal cords of a singer. Naama’s words emphasise the important role of the body in an instrumental music lesson and its ability to be moulded within the frame of an experience that is emotional, cognitive, and physical. Other teachers look for ways to connect the instrument to the body as well, and to turn what is perceived usually as an unnatural and strenuous bodily experience into a more comfortable and natural one. For example, Calanit, a viola teacher, referred to this issue: How can it be natural? That you stand and do things like this (Calanit demonstrates viola playing in mimicry) … What is natural about this? And at the same time to do this as well (Calanit shows the position of the head holding the instrument between the neck and shoulder) … This is not a motion you encounter anywhere else … You see 3-year-old children do this!!! (Calanit demonstrates the motion of steering a wheel) but not this (demonstrates the viola playing motion again). There is something very nice and very easy in it, because it is a very simple motion (driving). This is a technical skill that really does not exist in the hands (viola playing), and it’s not that we need to be circus performers, but we need to control it at a high enough level in order to really transmit what we have, because it’s like speaking another language. Calanit emphasises the motions of the hands over and over again – whether by moving them during the interview, or in the fact that she constantly refers to their important role in the process of imbedding the viola into the student’s body. She distinguishes between a ‘natural’ and an ‘unnatural’ motion, stressing what she calls ‘hand arrangement’ as the primary task of her teaching. To her, the hands and specifically the fingers come to symbolise the bodily knowledge of playing the violin in its entirety. Linor, a clarinet teacher, also talks about how she imbeds the instrument in the student’s body, taking it a step further, discussing the nature of totality that exists between a musician and her instrument. For her, the body is the main site on which her educational work is done, and therefore, she places significant effort on giving attention to the body and create interest in it, A lot of body, the body is the centre, the main thing, so that every phrase that is played starts from the body, if I see something incorrect in the body, I address that first. I try not to make it technical. So that the music will flow through when I work with the student, and so I also add everything related to the music – texture, time period, style, articulation, what’s left, what’s right, balance, everything necessary. Everything goes through the body first. Hence, Linor is attempting to do more than to fuse the body to the instrument, as Naama suggested, or fix the ‘arrangement of the hands’ as Calanit conveyed. To her, when the body is at the centre of the learning process, it becomes an essential part of the music production of the piece being played including its style, history, and knowledge. This way, the embodied instrument connects the student to a larger sense of the culture of classical music in the best possible manner. These examples show how slowly, with the guidance of the teachers, relationships form between students and their instruments, inanimate objects, simulating, in a way, human to human interactions. According to Bruno Latour (2005), who conceptualises inanimate objects with a dimension of autonomy and agency, the object is a part of a network of field players with a life of its own, and its use is determined by its cultural role. He argues that ‘to have a body is to 72

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learn to be affected: meaning “effectuated”, moved, put into motion by other entities, humans or non-humans’ (Latour 2004). In this sense, the musical instrument gradually becomes an extension of the student’s body and an entity that enables her to transform and re-transform its habitual motions to the point where she re-defines herself and her body according to her instrument. These examples demonstrate the mechanism of embodied apprenticeship where students are able to materialize knowledge into actual habitual bodily practices and teachers become a livedembodied example of experienced mastery. Another example can be found in James’ words (a bassoon teacher): I’m not just a teacher. I don’t just teach how to press buttons, how to breathe or how to hold the bassoon, I teach what I am, what I have done my whole life, and so teaching it is just an extension of playing it. I take my students on a joint journey, at its end we arrive together at the same place. James shows how, through the model of apprenticeship, bodily practices of teaching and learning produce a common experience. For him, teaching how to play the instrument is in fact about teaching a larger cultural holistic experience that is transferred to the student, rather than a sequence of instructions. In such a process, the relationships between novice learners and veteran teachers create a unique platform for a dynamic cultural social network from which a new knowledge is produced and a sustainable professional community grows, produces, and reproduces its specific and defined scheme of habitus. In this gradual process, students become an integral part of their teachers’ cultural world for the simple reason that they are necessarily incorporated into it and affected by it. Pragmatic philosopher Richard Shusterman (2010) claims in this matter that teaching embodied musical knowledge does not happen in a vacuum. In most cases, the body has to be adapted to artistic, historical, and cultural styles. Therefore, body transformations draw on musicians’ desire and motivation to become a part of a selected group and culture.

‘Ritual acts of sacrilege’3 and the construction of an elitist mindset in instrumental lessons As we have seen, in instrumental instruction the body serves as one of the main tools for acquiring the player’s habitus. However, the Bourdieusian definition of habitus is also integrated with expressions of lifestyle, taste and accepted behavioural norms that are constructed through bodily practices. Habitus is, therefore, expressed in musicians’ ability to adapt and acquire behavioural tendencies in the field that fit the cultural status to which they are being trained to belong. Bourdieu argues for a close connection between high cultural capital and engagement in classical music (1978). He shows that engaging in the world of classical music, whether as an audience member or as a musician in itself serves as a preconditioned factor for inclusion in an elite social class. Nevertheless, he points to a mechanism of what he calls ‘ritual acts of sacrilege’ (1993a), which constructs and preserves the sacred status of a musical elite cultural style and to which newcomers are demanded with significant knowledge of the field. Such a knowledge is achieved in the conservatory through repetitive teaching and learning practices, where students gain over time the ‘correct’ knowledge of what is considered canonical oeuvres, composers, styles, techniques, behavioural patterns, and so on. Therefore, when the full scheme of habitus is inscribed within the body, it places musicians legitimately in the field, allowing them prestige and high cultural signification. 73

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Music teachers, through their pedagogical practices, transfer similar principles of cultural sacredness through instrumental lessons with their students. As we will see, they create and re-create a separate space of embodied work in which classical music is produced in an allegedly autonomous and independent territory, detached from the outside social world. By creating such detached work spaces in which teachers perpetually select traditional repertoire and employ conventional methods of instruction, the instrumental lesson becomes a carrier of the ‘nature of classical music’ as supernatural, cosmic, and spiritual. Therefore, students learn in their bodies that practicing and studying music is not an ordinary thing, but involves engaging within an exalted artistic system which is highly valued in its symbolic cultural capital. Galit for example, a cello teacher, talks about creating such a separated space: I want all the noise to stop when they enter. We set everything aside and get to work. The importance of this in my view is primarily one of learning to delve into things … to constantly be occupied by the questions and challenges that arise while playing, so that there will never be a moment of playing without concentrating and listening or of doing something else simultaneously … I want them to know how to do this process when they are at home, alone, to always be busy with questions. Galit’s aim is to divide between the daily routine and the unique practice of ‘musicking’, where students are entirely engaged in the task of playing an instrument with their bodies and mind. Her goal is in fact to train them to operate in a state of total intentionality, which functions as part of constructing a musicianship habitus wherever they go. Aviva, a piano teacher, describes in more details a set of behavioural practices she demands from her students in order to establish distinction between what’s in the room and what is outside of it: Before the lesson, there’s how I want it to be framed. I want them to know that the room where the lesson takes place in is not a place they can just freely enter. They need to stand on the other side of the door and knock, and only if no one is playing then they may enter, and if they don’t, they get a “killer stare” from me. I reproach them in a tough manner which leads them to understand that I am not just their friend, but I am also an authority that is very strict about setting boundaries, and eventually they understand that I treat the music they are playing with great respect. And there is also what’s outside the lesson – they have to come to concerts, they have to know how to dress properly, they have to know how to go on stage, they have to know how to speak to me – not in the language they use talking to their teachers at school, their friends or their families. Aviva clearly emphasises the separation between daily life and what happens in the lesson. She establishes clear disciplinary actions through which a package of values and learned behaviours are transmitted regularly to fit the appropriate cultural field she works within. Everything that seems ‘natural’ and ordinary has to be re-learned and practiced: the manner of entering the room, talking and acting during the lesson and after, how to behave in public classical music events, and how to dress. Music lessons and learning to play an instrument, thus, exist in a constructed and separated territory that demands a specific cultural mindset. In both Aviva and Galit’s words, there are distinctions between notions of external and internal worlds, the daily routine and the unique act of making music and between what is forbidden and what is allowed. These are manifested through ceremonial practices which contribute to the formation of a clear ethical and cultural consciousness of the classical music tradition. This can be connected to how Durkheim (1915), Douglas (1966), and later on Turner (1969) look at social activities and ritual practices demonstrating how effectively 74

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classifications and separations work to sacralise things, people and events. For Durkheim, an elementary form of sacralization is a classification between the profane and the sacred by identifying specific preferable characteristics and prohibitions. He argues that such beliefs and rites are produced by social forces and create specific ceremonial performances, states of mind, and ways of behaviours. Douglas shows how ritualisation operates through physical interaction of the personal body with classified, symbolic, and structured social schemes as a way of reproducing and manipulating the basic cultural order of a society; and Turner sees sacred spaces as formed by embodied ritual practices that are distinct from daily activity and routine. In light of these concepts, instrumental instruction in music lessons may be seen as a sphere where social actions operate as ritualistic ceremonial performances producing divisions and classifications. The distinctions and internal boundaries of various social activities applied, serve as foundation for creating a sacred dimension. From paying attention to the tiniest details of how to enter the room, to celebrating moments of success in a concert – all are enveloped in the same meticulous sacred experience. One can see, therefore, how schemes of repetitive habits and behaviours ingrained in students’ minds and bodies become more than just acts of accumulation of instrumental knowledge, and exist as part of a learning process that carries a magical and sacred dimension. It is possible to say then, that the distinction between the sacred and the profane is often based on the desire to define ranges of actions that are considered appropriate, lofty, and permitted, in order to apply solid boundaries and to put in place a certain social order. To conclude, instrumental teachers set out to separate the student from everyday life and the music’s sacredness may arise out of the different practices described. The students may be captured by the magic of playing, but they are also captivated by the messages that sanctify the playing and elevate it against every other activity in their lives. Students slowly come to realise that they belong to the prestigious club of classical music artists, not only for their ability to play the music, but also for internalising its cultural order.

Tensions and dilemmas: teachers’ status and positions in the field In most cases, teachers as well as their current students followed – usually since childhood – the traditional trajectory suggested by the conservatory, preparing them to become a performing artist. Yet, when they do become teachers, the question of professional prestige grows into an issue that is directly related to their life story and identity; where they feel that their status is usually undermined by that of professional musicians. Bourdieu (1993a) suggests that people tend to constantly seek better positions in the field in order to gain more power, prestige and recognition. In relation to this concept, we will discuss in this section the teachers’ problematic sense of professional identity and status. We will refer to the ways the habitus of classical music education causes teachers to reluctantly (or not) grapple and negotiate such tensions in the field (Mills 2004); and we will show, in at least one case, how these negotiations construct and design their pedagogical decisions. According to research, academic and teacher training institutions educate future music teachers into a frustrating and traditional mindset, where to become a performing professional musician is of much greater value than to become a teacher (Bowman 2007; Mills 2004; Purser 2005; Roberts 2004; Ward 2004). Brian Roberts (2004) for example, argues that such institutions perpetuate such a paradigm by educating future teachers to extend this conceptual division into their own teaching environments. In his research, Sagiv (2014) found that it is possible to identify three types of professional social statuses among instrumental music teachers: the first are teachers who are not currently, 75

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and were not in the past, professional performers; the second relates to teachers who had a performance career and now primarily serve as music teachers; and the third are the ones who maintain active professional careers in addition to teaching. In the most general sense, the research points to a correlation between the amount of pressure placed on students in terms of pedagogical discipline and the social status of teachers. In most cases, Sagiv found, teachers who are not engaged in a performing career tend to be stricter and more conservative in their teaching practices comparatively to teachers who continue to perform – and tend to act more freely and be less meticulous. We argue that this happens because non-performing teachers put extensive power on traditional disciplinary practices to compensate for their sense of status inferiority derived from the field of instrumental teaching. In other words, in their view, the more they are strict, the more prestigious their peers and the professional community will perceive their teaching to be. This dialectic dilemma between the value of teaching and performing was evident in the interviews, emphasising evermore that prestige in the instrumental teaching field is tightly bound with the field of performance. An example of such tension comes up in Miriam’s story. Miriam is a cello teacher and a successful performer in Israel. In her interview, she shared her dilemmas and laid out her professional considerations and calculations, thusly: I have an older student, the most advanced of my students, who just finished tenth grade. The dilemma was my own – I felt that it was time for her to move on to another teacher. My husband asked me if I want to only teach young students, to be seen as a teacher for beginners. I thought about it, and I had a dilemma. Yes – in terms of my status, I am perceived as such a teacher, and I decided that I am okay with that. It’s not that I can’t teach advanced students, but I decided that I want to teach a child only up to the point where he can advance more with another teacher, a teacher who also teaches on the college level. I grappled with this for a couple of days, and then moved on. I felt for a moment like I’m not good enough to teach them when they get older, and that is not true. It’s not that I’m not good enough, I just think that at this point there is someone who is a better fit for her. If that means that others may perceive me as a teacher for young children, I am willing to make that sacrifice […] The issue of reputation is important, but I know I am highly regarded in another place – as a professional cellist, and so I want to bring to the lessons the things that are important to me – fun, interaction, and all the rest. Since professional achievement is supposedly not the most important thing to me, I felt comfortable giving that student to another teacher without it being too difficult. Miriam’s words clearly show the tension that exists in the field between teaching and performing and how these two positions reflect the use and exchange of prestige and cultural capital. Her words also reveal how this dynamic of multiple professional identities influences her pedagogical decisions. It is obvious that being perceived as a teacher of children is considered less important. Yet, Miriam is not bothered by this fact, because she is well known and appreciated in the domain of professional performance; in this way, the cultural value of her performer identity defends her reputation and status. Therefore, she can choose to give up on teaching older students that usually are expected to be driven towards a professional performance direction. Yet, although she does not want to be seen as a lesser teacher because of her lack of ability (or desire) to train players professionally over a long period of time, she decides to put aside considerations of status and prestige that would demand of her a more traditional and disciplined teaching approach. Instead, she prefers to create her teaching environment as providing a favourable and fun experience both for her and her young students. Miriam can afford not to be bothered by issues of ambitiousness

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and professional achievement that characterize the music pedagogy of older students. The solution for her dilemmas comes with the understanding that she does not have to ‘play the game’. It is rare for instrumental teachers to voluntarily give up older students after working with them continuously for several years. Sometimes they feel deeply hurt and as if their world collapses when a student decides to move on to a new teacher who holds a performance career and is therefore acknowledged as a better professional. Moreover, in such a situation the teacher may feel that their status might be damaged not only because of their already inferior position in the field, but also because of the background of their own life story. Therefore, teachers who do not enjoy a performative high status and prestige have usually fewer opportunities to calculate gains versus losses in the same manner as Miriam does. Alternatively, they tend to use traditional, rigorous, rigid, and demanding approach towards their students.

Closing comments Bourdieu’s theoretical concepts enable music education research to analyse, decode, and reinterpret the ways in which the traditional culture of Western classical music passes on habitual practices and how music teachers operate as central agents in this mechanism. In this chapter, we sought to decipher the methods of instrumental classical music pedagogy and to show how its mechanism perpetuates the continuity and sacredness of classical music culture. Our insights were formulated out of analysing and understanding the unique embodied relationships that are formed in music lessons between teachers and students and between students and their instruments. We showed how the pedagogy of music teaching is based on a long tradition of disciplined apprenticeship where the body serves as a site not only for physical adjustments of body-instrument relations but also for a larger cultural transformation and adaptation to a distinctive and elevated field. Teachers, who are themselves the product of this pedagogical mechanism, pass on this tradition in different manners as we have seen. Yet, it seems that in principle, they operate similarly. Some argue that the process of learning is perceived often as monotonous and sisyphean, where students experience a unified and intense process of acculturation into a specific habitus which does not allow personal growth or creative expression (Bouij 2004; Bowman 2007; Elliott 2007; Green 2002, 2008, 2011; Holgersen 2010; Perkins 2015; Regelski 2009; Roberts 2010). However, although classical music education involves reproduction and perpetuation of strict rules and practices, it seems that it does have some advantages. The power of the classical culture, we argue, is embedded within the educational mechanism described here above, which succeeds to connect teachers and students in a meaningful and profound manner. In this sense it is through this specific habitus of intimate precision and punctuality that students are being educated into the essential characteristics of the culture of classical music. As we have seen, through Bourdieu’s ideas we were able to analytically understand the traditional mechanisms of music education pedagogy. Yet, we propose to end this article with a few questions that extend beyond his theory. For example, can we look at a student’s body not only as a site of social reproduction but as an autonomous, subjective, and experiential site, where they may constantly discover and rediscover its musical qualities? Can we suggest understanding the cultural inscription of traditional high cultural capital not only as a hegemonic force but as a process in which students’ subjective identity grows and becomes part of a meaningful, inclusive, and empowering professional community? We suggest that extending the scope going beyond Bourdieu, may provide music education research and specifically the analysis of classical music instrumental pedagogy with additional options, points of views, and potentialities. These will enable us to comprehend classical music cultural power and longevity in the field of music education. 77

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Reflective questions 1.

2.

How do Bourdieu’s ideas and concepts reflect the ways by which cultural mechanisms operate and articulate young students’ perceptions of the field, and how might these impact music education practice? In your experience with instrumental music lessons, in what ways can the concept of habitus be connected to the reproduction of traditional and canonical embodied knowledge?

Notes 1 2 3

This chapter is based on Sagiv’s PhD dissertation (2014), Discipline and pleasure – ‘dual pedagogy’ conserving an elitist tradition in the instruction of classical music in Israeli conservatories. Non-formal educational institutions in Israel operate usually in the after (formal) school hours. Bourdieu, 1993a. The field of cultural production: essay on art and literature. Policy Press, Cambridge.

References Barab, S.A., Hay, K., 2001. Doing science at the elbows of experts: issues related to the science apprenticeship camp. Journal of Research in Science Teaching vol. 38, 70–102. Bouij, C., 2004. Two theoretical perspectives on the socialization of music teachers. Action Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 3 (no. 3). Viewed 30 July 2017. Available from: http://act.maydaygroup. org/articles/Bouij3_3.pdf. Bourdieu, P., 1973. Cultural reproduction and social reproduction. In: Brown, R. (Ed.), Knowledge, Education and Cultural Change: Papers in the Sociology of Education. British Sociological Association, Taylor and Francis Press, London, pp. 71–112. Bourdieu, P., 1978. Deux doight de Ravek sec. Le Monde de la Musique vol. 6, 330–331. Bourdieu, P., 1980. The production of belief: contribution to economy of symbolic goods. Media, Culture and Society vol. 2 (no. 3), 261–293. Bourdieu, P., 1984. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA. Bourdieu, P., 1986. The forms of capital. In: Richardson, J. (Ed.), Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education. Greenwood, New York, pp. 241–258. Bourdieu, P., 1990. The Logic of Practice. Stanford University Press, Stanford. Bourdieu, P., 1993a. The Field of Cultural Production: Essay on Art and Literature. Policy Press, Cambridge. Bourdieu, P., 1993b. Sociology in Question. Sage, London. Bourdieu, P., 1998. Practical Reason. Polity Press, Cambridge. Bowman, W., 2007. Who is the “we”? rethinking professionalism in music education. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 6 (no. 4), 1–22. Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Soderman, J. (Eds.). 2015. Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music, Music Education and Research. Ashgate, London. Douglas, M., 1966. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, London. Durkheim, E., 1915. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life: A Study in Religious Sociology. Macmillan, New York. Elliott, D.J., 2007. “Socializing” music education. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 6 (no. 4), 60–95. Green, L., 2002. How Popular Musicians Learn: A Way Ahead for Music Education. Ashgate, Aldershot. Green, L., 2008. Music, Informal Learning and the School: A New Classroom Pedagogy. Ashgate, Aldershot. Green, L. (Ed.), 2011. Learning, Teaching and Musical Identity: Voices across Cultures. Indiana University Press, Bloomington. Hansman, C.A., 2001. Context based adult learning. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education vol. 89, 43–51. Holgersen, S.E., 2010. Body consciousness and somaesthetics in music education. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 9 (no. 1), 31–44. Viewed 30 July 2018. Available from: http://act. maydaygroup.org/articles/Holgersen9_1.pdf.

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Habitual play Latour, B., 2004. How to talk about the body? The normative dimension of science studies. Body & Society vol. 10 (no. 2–3), 205–229. Latour, B., 2005. Reassembling the Social. Oxford University Press, New York. Lave, J., Wenger, E., 1991. Situated Learning. University of Cambridge Press, Cambridge. Mauss, M., 1973. The techniques of the body. Economy and Society vol. 2, 70–88. Mevorach, M., Strauss, S., 2012. Teacher educators’ in-action mental models in different teaching situations. Teachers and Teaching vol. 18 (no. 1), 25–41. Mills, J., 2004. Working in music: becoming a performer-teacher. Music Education Research Res. vol. 6 (no. 3), 245–260. Nativ, Y., 2010. “A second order community”: body, ethics and gender in dance education in Israeli high schools. PhD Thesis, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Perkins, R., 2010. Exploring the one-to-one context at conservatoires through the lens of “learning cultures”: the role of student self-documentation. Science Paedagogica Experimentalis vol. 47, 437–462. Perkins, R., 2013. Learning cultures and the conservatoire: an ethnographically-informed case study. Music Education Research vol. 15 (no. 2), 196–213. Perkins, R., 2015. Bourdieu applied in the analysis of conservatoire learning cultures. In: Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Soderman, J. (Eds.), Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music, Music Education and Research. Ashgate, London, pp. 99–111. Purser, D., 2005. Performers as teachers: exploring the teaching approaches of instrumental teachers in conservatoires. British Journal of Music Education vol. 22 (no. 3), 287–298. Reay, D., 2004. “It’s all becoming a habitus”: beyond the habitual use of habitus in educational research. British Journal of Sociology of Education vol. 25 (no. 4), 431–444. Regelski, T.A., 2009. Curriculum reform: reclaiming “Music” as social praxis. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 8 (no. 1), 66–84. Roberts, B., 2004. Who’s in the mirror? issues surrounding the identity construction of music educators. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 3 (no. 2). Viewed 30 July 2018. Available from: http://act.maydaygroup.org/articles/Roberts3_2.pdf. Roberts, B., 2010. Prologue: in search of identity. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 9 (no. 1). Viewed 30 September 2018. Available from: http://act.maydaygroup.org/articles/Roberts9_2.pdf. Sagiv, D., 2014. Discipline and Pleasure – “Dual Pedagogy” Conserving an Elitist Tradition in the Instruction of Classical Music in Israeli Conservatories. PhD Thesis, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Shusterman, R., 2010. Body consciousness and music: variations on some themes. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 9 (no. 1). Viewed 30 July 2018. Available from: http://act.maydaygroup. org/articles/Shusterman9_1.pdf. Troff, B., 2001. Intuitive conceptions among learners and teachers. In: Troff, B., Sternberg, R.J. (Eds.), Understanding and Teaching the Intuitive Mind. Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Mahwa, New Jersey, pp. 3–25. Turner, V., 1969. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure. Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, London. Ward, V., 2004. Good performance, music analysis and instrumental teaching: towards an understanding of the aims and objectives of instrumental teachers. Music Education Research vol. 6 (no. 2), 191–213.

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5 TOWARD A SOCIOLOGY OF MUSIC EDUCATION INFORMED BY INDIGENOUS PERSPECTIVES Anita Prest and J. Scott Goble

Introduction Cultural sociologists focus on ‘the ways that meaning shapes social life’ (Alexander et al. 2017, p. 7, italics added); it is their contention that the ‘meaningfulness of social life creates the foundation for that which is the material, the practical, the structural, the social, even perhaps, the biological sides of social life’ (Mohr and Rawlings 2012, p. 76). According to Spillman (Ritzer and Ryan 2011, p. 113), cultural sociologists ‘currently identify and analyze three different types of influence on meaning making: ‘institutional production, interactional process, and textual structure’. Their work has revealed the many ways in which both discursive and iconic renderings of values and beliefs shape economic and other material forms of social life. For example, with regard to the international art market, cultural sociologists have determined that the accepted microeconomic premise that supply and demand determine an object’s price is insufficient; along with supply and demand, ‘the price of artifacts and artworks is influenced by the attribution of authenticity or the qualities of the social interactions between buyers and artisans’ (Alexander et al. 2017, p. 8). From a cultural sociological perspective, then, understanding the meanings ascribed to music by any given culture and how those meanings, in turn, help to shape the music of that culture is central to a comprehensive understanding of that music. Using the conceptual terminology of C. S. Peirce’s semiotic, Goble (2010, pp. 45–110) demonstrated how the music and/or musical practices experienced as meaningfully efficacious and culturally validating by the members of a cultural community can be recognized as iconic of (i.e. qualitatively isomorphic with), indexical of (i.e. in contiguous physical relationship with), and symbolic of (i.e. habitually associated with) the worldview they collectively share and embody. Further, their musics and musical practices are experienced as meaningful owing to the pragmatic efficacy they have within the life of that community, yet they (as Signs) may be conceptualized differently (as Objects) by persons of different backgrounds (as embodied Interpretants). Correspondingly, Wright (2014, pp. 13–14), informed by the history of sociology as a field, argued for a ‘fourth sociology’, one that attends not merely to ‘society as an organism with overarching properties not reducible to the level of its components-individuals’ (as with the ‘first sociology’), nor only to individuals and their actions conceptualised as the ‘ultimate components of society’ (as the ‘second sociology’), nor to ‘inter-human space … comprised of actions and interactions between and among individuals’ 80

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(as the ‘third sociology’). Wright’s ‘fourth sociology’ for music education takes multiple conceptual frames into account: … [It] combines and integrates theoretical perspectives from within sociology itself, but also importantly from other disciplines, perhaps particularly anthropology/cultural studies/studies in popular culture and the media, musicology, philosophy, psychology and education, while remaining grounded in the basic sphere of sociology and its focus on the development of robust theoretical descriptions and empirical investigations of the nature and issues of human existence in societies. (Wright 2014, p. 15) In this paper, we bring the perspectives of cultural sociologists and Indigenous scholars to the field of sociology of music education. As non-Indigenous music education researchers who have undertaken research to examine, from a sociological perspective, the embedding of Indigenous musics in music education settings in British Columbia public schools, we argue that we and others who do this work must do so informed by the cultural lenses/meanings of those who have created the music in order to 1) avoid miscommunication between nonIndigenous researchers and Indigenous research participants who are steeped in their culture(s), 2) accurately reflect and highlight Indigenous sociological conceptions of musical and pedagogical practices that we have encountered in our research that, to our knowledge, have heretofore not been considered in the field of music education, and 3) demonstrate the ways in which these conceptions might enrich music education research and practice.1 To support our assertions that understanding cultural meanings is central to a comprehensive and ethical sociological investigation of the embedding of local Indigenous musics in educational settings, and that investigating them might yield insights that will contribute to music education practices and research, we turn to the writings of scholars from several First Nations and use data from a recent federally funded study – in which we examined the embedding of local Indigenous cultural practices in music classes in seven British Columbian communities – to show how terms commonly used in social theories (e.g. society, relationships, reciprocity, identity, agency) are understood differently by Indigenous peoples, including those in whose territories the study took place (McAllan 2012; Watts 2013). Although we recognise that similar conceptions are found in other cultural communities, we will maintain a focus on the Indigenous communities we are describing in this chapter. We demonstrate the ways in which definitions are ‘fraught with potential for misunderstanding because of radically different worldviews that imply distinct meanings for the same words’ (Atleo 2004, p. 86). Following Turner (2006, p. 95), we identify and then ‘unpack the colonial framework’ or the underlying normative givens of these sociological terms and their intentions (Kovach 2010, p. 48). Moreover, aware that ‘oral historians … have alerted us to the importance of understanding the social practices and cultural meanings underlying discursive practices’ (Ignace and Ignace 2018, p. 477), we show how those social practices and cultural meanings inform Indigenous definitions of these terms. Like Kovach (2010), our purpose in doing this work is to rescue conceptual frameworks rather than eliminate them, so that they might be put to use in culturally informed ways that broaden our understanding of social phenomena in music education.

Changes in sociology’s approach to Indigenous peoples As with efforts to understand music on the terms of different individuals and communities who use the word, it makes sense that coming to an understanding of the meanings ascribed to 81

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sociology (including its terms and theories) by any given culture might also yield insights to sociologists who investigate social topics of/in/with that cultural group. Unfortunately, in countries with a history of settler colonialism, the field of sociology has until recently either largely ignored colonised cultures (thereby rendering them invisible) or viewed the people of those cultures only through a deficit lens. For example, as recently as 2004, Australian sociologists noted that Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Peoples’ perspectives were not represented in the field of sociology (Butler-McIlwraith 2006). Calling attention to the potential benefits of syncretic understanding resulting from cross-cultural dialogue, some called for ‘a new sociological tradition in Australia … that encourages dialogue with Indigenous people’ using face-to-face protocols (Butler-McIlwraith 2006, p. 377). Some years later, Walter and Butler (2013) utilized Whiteness and Critical Race theories to explain why, in 2009, across all Australian university sociology departments, only 5 of 600 units of sociology courses included the topic of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, and those few units were simply descriptive in nature. Lecturers taught Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander content in three ways: by outsourcing lectures (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander scholars giving pro bono lectures), engaging in voyeurism (Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander community members sharing life stories), or showing a documentary without providing a corresponding opportunity for students to reflect critically on the film’s themes. McAllan (2012, p. 29) has argued specifically that sociologists must include study of both Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander2 content and ontologies in their courses, qualifying ‘sociological terms and related theories … in specific relation to Indigenous experience/ontological perspective – thus also taking care that the terms are socio-politically and historically located’ in order for the terms to be useful. In Canada, a country characterised by diverse geographies and peoples, Matthews (2014, p. 110) has called for a sociology that is informed by time (historical) and space (geography): … [M]y position on Canadian Sociology takes as a starting point and assumption that all societies are inherently different and that this difference stems from a unique geography, unique history, unique ethnic and social composition, and unique cultural experiences, and from the relationships that develop among these. Some sociologists in Canada have begun to interrogate contemporary sociological practices even more critically, especially ‘the current state of sociological methods, teaching, and writing on Indigenous-Settler relations and knowledge creation’ (Matsunaga et al. 2016, p. 458). They have recently challenged each other to consider ‘how they understand and seek to engage reconciliation3 in their sociological research, writing, and/or teaching’ (p. 458), decolonise their practice, and create space ‘for Indigenous cosmologies, ontologies, and epistemologies around land, youth, gender, education, research methods, and knowledge production’ (p. 460). Both Indigenous and non-Indigenous sociologists have taken up this challenge in their research and writing (Denis 2016; Powell 2017; Tomiak 2017; Watts 2013; Wilkes et al. 2017). With regard to research methodologies, Nêhiýaw scholar Margaret Kovach (2010) has highlighted ways in which seemingly invisible ontological and epistemic assumptions undergird Western social theories. She asserts that ‘applying the language of conceptual frameworks to Indigenous inquiries can be problematic’ (Margaret Kovach 2010, p. 40) because conceptual frameworks prioritise abstract thinking over ‘feelings, spirit, and experiences’ (Margaret Kovach 2010, p. 41). In fact, Haudenosaunee and Anishinabek sociologist Vanessa Watts (2013) argues emphatically against viewing Indigenous cosmologies through ontological and epistemological lenses because, from an Indigenous perspective, the two lenses are indivisible; separating them 82

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severs specific Indigenous cosmologies from the places in which they originated and exist. Other Indigenous researchers propose unpacking and re-defining terms like ontology, epistemology, and conceptual frameworks as a strategic concession that can lead to bridge building (Kovach 2010; Smith 2012). Our research has led us to concur with and act on this proposal. In the next section, we turn to Nuu-chah-nulth, Tla’amin, Stó:lō, Syilx, Secwépemc, Gitxsan, Métis, Nêhiýaw, Anishinabek, and Kanien’kehá:ka scholars and others in the fields of education, law, history, anthropology, philosophy, Indigenous studies, and Indigenous governance for their understandings of terms commonly used in sociology (e.g. society, relationships, reciprocity, identity, and agency) and contrast their meanings with conventional (e.g. Western European) definitions. We also draw on the comments of those who participated in our recent research on the embedding of local Indigenous content, pedagogy, and worldview(s) in music classes in the province of British Columbia – specifically in Hul’qumi’num, Nuuchah-nulth, Nisga’a, Gitxsan, Songhees, and Esquimalt territories – that further elucidate the meanings of these terms from the perspectives of those whose cultural practices we observed in music classes. It is our hope that in drawing distinctions between specific Indigenous and conventional (i.e. Western European) understandings of sociological terminology, it may become possible to develop new, syncretic understandings (Atleo 2011; Butler-McIlwraith 2006) and bi-directional (Akiwowo 1999) terms for use in the fields of both sociology and music education.

Terminological distinctions For each of the following terms, we first outline the conventional sociological definition and then show how scholars from specific First Nations have expressed what the term is understood to mean in their respective communities. In considering two contrasting conceptions of each term in succession, we aim to demonstrate how each knowledge system determines its cultural meaning. Next, we suggest how the two distinct knowledge systems might coexist and inform one another so that we might build ‘bridges of understanding’ (Styres 2017, p. 164). Our intention is to illuminate the worldviews of those whose musics we research in order that music educators might include them in the classroom appropriately and respectfully.

Society The 4th edition of the Oxford Dictionary of Sociology (2014, p. 95) defines society in this way: Generally, a group of people who share a common culture, occupy a particular territorial area, and feel themselves to constitute a unified and distinct entity—but there are many different sociological conceptions ... . More loosely, it refers to human association or interaction generally, as in the phrase ‘the society of his friends’. According to this standard reference, people constitute a society. The Concise Encyclopedia of Sociology (2011, p. 593) – another Oxford publication – defines society more broadly, perhaps influenced by the new materialist turn in the field. Here, ‘society refers to all forms of mutual and intersubjective communication in which the perceptions and behavior of actors are oriented to those of others’. The term actor is not defined. However, in Stó:lō, Syilx, Nuu-chah-nulth, Anishinabek, Métis, Secwépemc, Nêhiýaw, Dane-Zaa, Gitxsan, and Kanien’kehá:ka worldviews, all matter (e.g. humans, animals, plants, 83

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soil, rock) is sentient and interconnected, and all entities are animate because they have a spirit (Archibald 2008; Armstrong 2007; Atleo 2004, 2011; Borrows 2010; Elsey 2013; Ignace and Ignace 2018; Kovach 2010; Ridington and Ridington 2006; Simpson, 2011; Smith 2004; Styres 2017). Extending from this notion, in many Indigenous worldviews all visible (e.g. humans, animals, plants, soil, rock) and invisible (e.g. the ancestors, spirit world) entities together constitute a complex and highly interconnected society. These disparate conceptions of society signify that ‘Indigenous Knowledge cannot be understood primarily (or even exclusively) in its relation to Western science’ (Ludwig 2016, p. 24); each perspective must be understood on its own terms. Moreover, it is our contention that the distinctive understandings of society are the basis for differing conceptions of the terms relationship, reciprocity, identity, and agency. Tuck and McKenzie (2015, pp. 151–152), whose scholarship on place in social science research emphasizes Indigenous and environmental concerns, elaborate: Descartes’ (1637) cleaving of the mind from the body, and of the individual from society and nature … separated human consciousness from the material world; it initiated a preponderance of binaries; it amplified man’s dominion over the earth and its animals; it made the Western tradition … anthropocentric and removed humans from their own understanding of ecosystems. Thus, the respective anthropocentric and non-anthropocentric conceptions of society derive from two radically different ontological positions concerning the role of humans: dominion over nature versus living in and with nature.

Relationship Most sociologists concern themselves with the study of human society; symbolic interactionists and relational sociologists have generally focused on relationships among humans. Cerulo (2009, p. 532) tracks the field of sociology’s historical focus on human-only interactions, noting that influential social theorists excluded nonhumans from their frameworks because, according to them, ‘Social interaction requires certain capabilities—capabilities that only humans possess’. According to Cerulo (2009), these capabilities included consciousness (Weber), intention (Parsons), reflection (Goffmann), anticipation (Schutz), and language (Habermas). However, in recent years, interactionist sociologists have put forward various theories (e.g. Actor Network Theory, Time Perspective Theory) that challenge traditional perspectives on relationships between humans and non-humans. Latour (2005) for example, uses Actor Network Theory to highlight the significance of non-human action over intention (see p. 89 regarding Latour and agency), whereas Owens (2007, p. 581) argues that, in certain situations, a ‘human actor may perceive the [non-biological] object as an actor … the decision will involve two factors: the urgency of human goals and the primacy of this specific object for the completions of the human task’. Although these interactionist scholars acknowledge and theorize human-non-human interactions, their frameworks generally consider non-humans only in the ways in which they might ‘mediate inter-human interactions and relations’ (Crossley 2018, p. 482). In other words, humans remain at the centre of the relational world. In the emergent, ecology-oriented subfield of relational sociology, McFarlane (2013, p. 60) argues that ‘there are no human social relations that do not in some way either involve or depend upon nonhumans, including plants, animals, and things. To ignore this brute fact is to ignore not only what sociology is, but what sociology can be’. Such an ecological orientation 84

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enables sociologists to consider a less human-centred framework of relationships, but despite McFarlane’s illumination of the importance of human-nonhuman interactions, especially the complexity of human-animal relationships, he and most relational sociologists acknowledge that ‘things like rocks are not at all conscious, and that although higher animals like cats certainly are conscious, they are not fully self-conscious in the way we humans are’ (Porpora 2018, p. 422). This perspective – that objects in nature are non-sentient – foregrounds an important difference between most current sociological and Indigenous understandings of relationships. Like relational sociologists, many Indigenous societies prioritize relationships. ‘We are relations’ states Nêhiýaw education scholar Dwayne Donald succinctly (2011, p. 77). Atleo (2004), a Nuu-chah-nulth philosopher, explains this notion in greater detail. He affirms that ‘a primary purpose of life is to create, maintain, and uphold relationships’ (p. 30). But, unlike relational sociologists, in his view, ‘we are all brothers and sisters not only to each other, but also to every life form’ (2004, p. 88). According to this viewpoint, all entities share a sacred common origin; therefore, all should be treated equally, with isaak or respect. Kanien’kehá:ka and Cherokee scholars Alfred and Corntassel (2005, p. 609) concur: Clearly, it is the need to maintain respectful relationships that guides all interactions and experiences with community, clan, families, individuals, homelands, plants, animals, stones, trees, mountains, river, lakes and a host of other living entities – embodied relationships that must be honoured. In this view, relationships must be honoured because we are all interdependent. Ignace and Ignace (2018, p. 207) offer one example of human to non-human relationships. They explain that ‘in the Secwépemc belief system, the concept central to relationship between an animal and the fisher or hunter who “bags” the animal is that the animal kecmentsút (gives itself) to the fisher or hunter’. Secwépemc fishermen and hunters honour ‘norms of respect’ by ‘not wasting any part of an animal’ (p. 203) and by giving thanks to the Creator and the resource (i.e. the animal or fish). Likewise, Gitxsan stories and teachings remind community members to honour their relationship with the Salmon People by returning the bones of the first salmon caught every year to the river in which it was caught, sharing the cooked salmon among all community members, and following other protocols of respect (Smith 2004). Paul (2014, p. 163) explains that Tla’amin teachings also encourage successful hunters to exercise humility. You have to be humble, because … the salmon or deer or mountain goat … had life. They’re giving up their life for you. So that’s nothing to brag about. You just need to be thankful for all of that. According to Anishnabek and Kanien’kehá:ka scholars Simpson (2011) and Styres (2017), the recognition that all beings are mutually interdependent requires that we develop a disposition of self-in-relation by acting responsibly towards others and working to maintain and promote balance in our relationships. Archibald (2008, p. 110) affirms that ‘maintaining a respectful and trusting relationship requires patience, open communication, the will to respond, and the ability to negotiate satisfactory solutions’. With regard to the connection between relationships and music, several Indigenous scholars (Atleo 2004; Elsey 2013; Ignace and Ignace 2018; Simpson 2011) explain that their cultural practices are an embodied means of expressing contextual knowledge and strengthening the relationships that ‘stitch our communities together … the relationship between those present 85

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becomes dynamic … The ‘performance,’ whether a song, a dance, or a spoken word story, becomes then an individual and collective experience’ (Simpson 2011, p. 34). Non-Indigenous anthropologists Robin Ridington and Ridington (2006, p. 183), who worked with and for the Dane-Zaa for over 40 years, write this: When people dance and sing together, they become united to one another and to the animal people … when people dance and listen to the songs together, they know what it is like to be with the people who lived before them. All these cultural practices – stories, songs, drumming, and dances – also connect people to the land that nourishes them (Elsey 2013; Ignace and Ignace 2018). From this perspective, music making is not just a social experience among individuals, both human and nonhuman; the very instruments used to create music are symbolic of relationality and interconnectedness with the land, non-humans, and ancestors. Simpson (2011, p. 118) explains: The circularity of the drum for many Indigenous peoples represents the earth, and the sounding of the drum is the pulse, the heartbeat of Mother Earth connecting all of creation in complex sacred and interdependent relationships. Stuart, a Hul’qumi’num school cultural worker who chose to be one of our research participants, voiced a similar outlook: The drum is the circle of life, there’s no end and no beginning. We have the deerskin to remind us of all the animals and the bird that are around us. Then I flip over the drum and I have red cedar frame, and the cedar is also the tree of life … We use the drum to sing to our children … song is also … a doorway for our spirituality. We believe that we’re not here by ourselves, and through song and dance, we are mindful of our ancestors. We are respectful that we walk on the earth as well as our ancestors—there’s another door, there’s another world. Anna4, a school district Indigenous cultural coordinator, concurred: I don’t think people understand the depth of the connection and spirituality and healing and all those things that comes with it [drumming]. We do wake up the drum, and that is a ceremony, but really the ceremony begins the second that animal gives its life. It is important to note that these contemporary cultural practitioners, who articulate the complex relationship and interconnectedness among all entities – visible and invisible – reflected in drumming, have upheld their frames of reference despite being fully immersed in modern educational environments that have, until recently, only rarely given credence to or provided a space for their perspectives.

Reciprocity Relationships are closely connected to the notion of reciprocity. The Sage Glossary of the Social and Behavioral Sciences (Sullivan 2009, pp. 438–439) summarizes the sociological definition of the term: 86

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An exchange, between two or more parties, rooted in mutuality. Reciprocity is a cooperative trade of services, favors, goods, or aid. The terms of a reciprocal relationship rely on the principles of give-and-take: Each participant in the deal provides something, and each receives something. The gains and concessions should be comparable in value. Molm et al. (2007) explain that this utilitarian conception of reciprocity limits reciprocity’s possibilities. Rather, they highlight its ‘symbolic or communicative value … conveyed by the act of reciprocity itself, over and above the instrumental value of the benefits provided’ (Molm et al., 2007, p. 200). Through the act of reciprocity, people not only give and receive benefits, they also express regard for each other by showing appreciation, caring, and trust. Thus, ‘the act of reciprocity itself can carry symbolic value that contributes to the formation of affective bonds and the development of social capital in relationships’ (p. 202). Dostilio et al. (2012, p. 25) agree, stating that ‘reciprocity is best understood … in terms of the transformative power of relationality and the co-construction of emergent systems of collaboration’. A focus on the symbolic aspects of reciprocity is more in keeping with the conception of reciprocity found in many Indigenous cultures. Here, mutual interdependence also exists between humans and non-humans, and reciprocity is understood as a conscious and dynamic give and take over time that is not only beneficial to the two parties involved in the transaction, but to sustainability writ large. According to Ignace and Ignace (2018, p. 207), ‘the Secwépemc ontology of the interrelationship of living beings on the land is … informed by a concept we can call reciprocal accountability between humans, animals, plants, and place … [I]t is … the underpinning of practical resource managements and stewardship regimes’. Reciprocity between humans and non-humans is evident when fish and deer give up their existence to provide sustenance to humans and, in kind, humans acknowledge their gift by paying tribute, thanking them, or making them an offering (Ignace and Ignace 2018, p. 206). Elsey (2013, p. 74) suggests that such exchanges demonstrate ‘being-in-the-world … as a shared process between the human and natural world, in a mutual spirit of honouring and in an economy of reciprocity and sharing’. The natural law or value of reciprocity (Atleo, 2004, p. 129) is crucial for humans who live in a shared environment for an extensive length of time; it influences the quality of interactions that constitute their ongoing relationships with each other. For Atleo (2004, p. 129), reciprocity entails: both giving and receiving, [which] are equivalent and interactive values. Consequently, generosity can be viewed as a natural law of reciprocity. The ancient Nuu-chah-nulth felt so strongly about the importance of the relationship between generosity and the quality of life that the opposite of generosity was equated with death. Syilx philosopher Jeanette Armstrong (2007) explains that the motivation that underpins the generous act is so important that it is reflected in Nsyilxcən, the language of her people. She states, In our language, giving to someone in order to get something back, is called something else … this word means … “swallower or destroyer of giving” … because it means to stop the giving. (pp. 48–49)

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Reciprocity is built into traditions, such as funerals. Ignace and Ignace (2018, p. 402) explain that following funeral feasts, which community members organise on behalf of the bereaved family, the possessions of the deceased, like a horse, a saddle, and guns, are put up in a sllekméwes (bone game), thus enacting a social insurance policy where the individual’s wealth is redistributed among members of the community, rooted in the law of reciprocity. The notion of reciprocity between humans and the non-human world surfaced in the pedagogy that the music teachers and culture bearers in our study employed. Denise, a Hul’qumi’num music teacher working on her traditional territory, explained the learning involved when elementary students in her music class created hand drums: Even with the drums, the kids could all talk about what people did to get the skins, about the reciprocity before you kill the deer, and how do you use all the pieces. I wanted the smell of the skins to be everywhere, that’s part of that cultural learning. How do you treat the bits that you don’t use? Do we just throw them in the garbage or do we bury them, and have protocol around that?

Identity We often come to know ourselves, in part, through the ongoing exchanges that constitute our relationships. Contemporary sociologists consider the many categories that constitute a person’s identity and how they intersect. Identity is often thought of as a permanent feature of a person, connected to their bodily integrity, consciousness of time through memory, and sense of themselves as an individual with particular characteristics … Social identities identify persons as members of groups or categories of persons, whether through statuses such as race, gender, sexuality, ability or disability, age, family, and kinship, which are commonly thought of as based in biology, as well as statuses such as nationality, ethnic group, religion, occupation, and other group memberships which are thought of as cultural. (Ritzer and Ryan 2011, p. 300) From the perspective of many Indigenous writers, the notion of identity is linked not only to biology and culture; identity is also shaped by land (Alfred 1998; Archibald 2008; Styres 2017). For Elsey (2013, p. 9), ‘the land is inseparably connected to personhood’ (p. 9). She explains that ‘First Nations identity … is enfolded within the territory and integrated within a community and passed on through the stories and local customs of the tribe’ (p. 24). Irene, one of our research participants and a Nisga’a culture bearer, echoed the integral role that land has in the Nisga’a conception of identity. She stated, ‘To me, being Nisga’a is land, language, culture, spirit. All those make me Nisga’a’. Songs and dances are both the poetic representations of the connection between land and identity and the means by which that connection is enacted. Ridington and Ridington (2006, p. 173) explain:

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Music has always been essential to Dane-zaa identity and experience. They sing and drum to mark passages in their lives and the natural cycles of transformation that surround them … [S]ongs are like trails, to be followed with intelligence and understanding. On the coast of British Columbia, songs are ‘owned’ by individuals and families. Ownership, in this context, is understood as stewardship – responsibility for ensuring appropriate use of the song (and the stories and dances associated to it) and the eventual passing on of the responsibility for that song to another via a specific ceremony (Darnell 2018, p. 232). Marsden (2008, p. 114) describes the difference between Western notions of ownership and Gitxsan thought: The term property implies separation: this thing that I own is outside of me, is controlled by me, and can be taken from me. There is no equivalent concept in Gitxsan and Tsimshian thought … it is not so much “I own this” as “I am this” and “this is me”, or perhaps more accurately, “we are this” and “this is us”. In Gitxsan society, each house maintains its lineage and history through verbal accounts (adawx), songs (limx’oy), and other forms of cultural heritage that are interwoven (Marsden 2008). An individual’s identity in Gitxsan society is defined by that lineage. Thus, because songs are a poetic expression of an individual’s place in the world, it is essential to obtain permission to sing a song from those who safeguard it and then to acknowledge the person(s) who gave you that permission.

Agency Knowing who we are often enables us to act consciously and deliberately. In the Concise Encyclopedia of Sociology, Fuchs defines agency as ‘the faculty for action’, which ‘may be uniquely human’ (Ritzer and Ryan 2011, p. 8). Action differs from the (mere) behavior of non-human organisms, which is driven by innate or conditioned reflexes and instincts. Non-human organisms have no or little control over how they behave. They do not have a sense of self or, if they do, it is not reflexive. Their behavior is caused by forces they cannot comprehend or influence. Human actors are different because they are conscious and aware of the world, themselves, and other actors. Latour (2005) disagrees. Although his interest is to investigate the relationship between artificial intelligence (non-human) and agency, Latour’s deliberations have enabled Western scientists to consider the notion of agency differently. He states, ‘any thing that does modify a state of affairs by making a difference is an actor’ (p. 71). For Latour (2005, p. 72), consciousness and intention are not a necessary component of agency; therefore, even though, for him, non-humans do not have consciousness or intention, they have agency: There might exist many metaphysical shades between full causality and sheer inexistence. In addition to “determining” and serving as a “backdrop for human action”, things might authorize, allow, afford, encourage, permit, suggest, influence, block, render possible, forbid, and so on.

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But from many Indigenous perspectives, animals, plants, soil, and rocks do exercise agency as conscious actors who have intent. Legal scholar John Borrows (2010) shares an example of how Anishnabek people view rocks as sentient beings that engage in intentional, conscious action. He describes a scenario in which a non-Indigenous excavator, hired by a First Nation to prepare a site for a building project, unintentionally almost disturbed an ancient burial site as he sought to obtain gravel at another location on the reserve for the project. A member of the community explained to the excavator why he should look for gravel elsewhere: The rocks were not to be disturbed because they were fulfilling a promise to protect the people’s ancestors. They had their own agency in the matter, and they remained solid and firm in their duty. It was up to the Anishinabek to exercise their agency in a reciprocal manner and protect the rocks while they fulfilled their duty. (John Borrows 2010, p. 106) Likewise, for the Secwépemc people, Interactions of humans, animals, plants, and landforms must be understood within a[n] … ontology that views all beings on the land as having agency (acting upon one another) and as having feeling (being sentient). (Ignace and Ignace 2018, p. 381) Moreover, Ignace and Ignace (2018, p. 383) extend the notion of agency to the spirit world, stating ‘past ancestors … can act on us and influence the course of events’. In several accounts, music – specifically song – figures prominently in non-human agency. Ignace and Ignace (2018, p. 382) describe how land, forces of nature, and animals all exercise their agency by communicating with humans through the medium of song. The Secwépemc tradition of étsxem – or spirit guardian quest – is one example: [Young people] went through rigorous fasting or physical training that allowed them to communicate with the spirits of animals. Songs would come to them, given by an animal or a force of nature, like fire or water, that thus showed itself to the person questing and transferred its spirit power. (Ignace and Ignace 2018, p. 383) Historian Wendy Wickwire (2001, p. 447) calls attention to James Teit’s late nineteenth century accounts of the many ways in which female grizzly bears communicated with Nlaka’pamux people through song: [The female grizzly] gave the Nlaka’pamux women cradle songs that they could use to calm their babies. She gave parents of twins a song and ceremony that had to be performed at intervals throughout the day for up to 4 years to ensure that the twins would live … She established close relationships with adolescents of both sexes during their puberty training, giving them songs and instructions that would carry them through difficult or dangerous situations. Would any parents of Western European heritage find such value for their children in the songs of an animal today? The striking dissimilarity in the ways in which members of Indigenous and

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Western cultures conceptualize their musics makes manifest the radical difference in their worldviews.

Syncretic understandings of sociological terms and their implications for music education practice and sociology of music education research ‘Different perspectives’, states Atleo (2011, p. 2) ‘are not a source of disagreement, confusion, or conflict: rather, they are a source of enrichment’. Denise, one of our research participants, agreed. She said, ‘There’s always more than one right answer – and that’s a good thing’. Our exploration of specific Indigenous understandings of the terms society, relationship, reciprocity, identity, and agency in this chapter has revealed the many ways in which differing worldviews significantly influence the meanings we derive from our experiences. Indigenous scholars and research participants have shown that their poetic representations (e.g. song, story, drumming, dancing) symbolize and convey these meanings, and that meanings are a necessary component of those expressions. What contributions to music education practice might these insights provide? We offer the following suggestions.

Implications for music education practice Music teachers who introduce Indigenous or other non-Western musics to their classes with the assistance of knowledge keepers must keep in mind that whereas an analysis of internal properties (e.g. form, harmony) may be appropriate for and integral to education of Western European musics, music education that is inclusive of non-Western musics might require another approach. Anna explains: In Indigenous culture, it’s not music making. It’s a way of passing on culture from generation to generation … It’s a part of who we are; it’s not something that’s separate … True understanding only comes when there is an emotional response … It’s actually very difficult to approach something with your mind, body, spirit … It’s really hard to sit in a circle and be vulnerable. Although most music educators would probably agree that music making at its best is a cognitive, physical, and emotional experience, they might also acknowledge that their students are not always emotionally engaged. Indigenous musical and cultural practices call for emotional self-awareness and engagement because, as we have seen, these practices are an expression of relationship to the land, spirits, and animals of a specific place (Elsey 2013). Thus, when we introduce local Indigenous musics to students, it is our responsibility to incorporate a placeconscious or land-centred approach in order to introduce the values of sustainability and reciprocal accountability to one another that are at the core of the Indigenous musical expressions we encountered in our research. In these endeavors, the values of respect, gratitude, generosity, and responsibility become an explicit and necessary focus in music education;5 in fact, excellence in music performance, in an Indigenous view, is determined largely by the degree to which students embody these values and the sincerity of their efforts. Therefore, core competencies that span all subjects, music curricular learning outcomes, and assessment practices must shift to reflect the importance of these values. Formative types of assessment, including journaling and anecdotal descriptions, provide a mechanism to highlight the embodiment of these values. 91

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How might such an approach influence non-Indigenous students’ music making, relationships, and identity? Mara, a middle-school student we interviewed, explains how her new, syncretic understanding bridged not only different forms of music making, but also reached into her everyday life: Respecting the drum, treating it as if it’s one of your own family members, that’s something that I’ve definitely learned and passed on to different, not even musical instruments, just everything in my day-to-day life. Like, almost treating something that’s very close to me with more respect, as if it is a living family member …. My trombone and my guitar … It’s almost [as] if the way that you’re playing is different. It’s more like you’re playing with a friend or something …. it feels more like you have a connection with it. Seth, a senior secondary student, explains how a local Indigenous pedagogical practice implemented by his teacher has affected his relationships with others: When we start our drumming circle, … she [our teacher] asks us on a scale of one to ten how we’re feeling. So, if someone’s feeling a ten, they’re great, we can involve them more in the music … If they’re lower on the scale, you can gauge, well, they might not be feeling the best today, so maybe stay back and let them not have the lead of songs, just have them in the background … Especially outside of music, if I recognize somebody’s not feeling the best, it’s more in my mind to let them be, and let them deal with how they’re feeling, instead of just making fun of them or something. Peter, a junior secondary student, reflects on the development of his own cultural identity as a result of his learning local Indigenous cultural practices: I’m part Greek, and I’ve … never really thought anything of it. When we started doing drumming … our teachers kept telling us about … First Nations culture, history …. It shined a light on – my family has its own kind of culture too. I started asking more questions and learning a lot … I’ve kind of put more perspective on that [my cultural heritage] from learning First Nations culture.

Implications for sociology of music education research An exploration of the cultural meanings of sociological terms might also be a source of enrichment for further research in the field of sociology of music education, in that it brings to the fore differences in the worldviews of the cultures whose musics and pedagogy we seek to study in educational settings. But, as we engaged in this work, both of us were reminded that our well-intentioned desire to investigate the ways in which music teachers and culture bearers had joined forces to introduce local Indigenous music in the classroom was not sufficient in itself to realize the process of decolonizing ourselves or our research practice. We now understand more about the importance of cultural meanings in the field of sociology of music education, but this is only a first step toward developing a sociology of music education informed by Indigenous perspectives. McAllan (2012, p. 29, italics added) suggests that ‘[I]ndigenous-specific experience, knowledge, and perspectives must remain central and be used to shape the type of sociological questions being asked’. Thus, we are developing our next sociological inquiry in music education, 92

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from the ground up, with Indigenous research partners. Anna’s advice, below, underscores both the hazards and the way forward for Indigenous and non-Indigenous people who choose to engage in Indigenizing music education practice and research: There’s always going to be a clash of worldviews [as] we’re trying to paddle beside each other and make it work. So, how do you [make it work]? I think it comes with patience … it’s inevitable that you’re going to do something wrong. You just have to be courageous.

Funding The study mentioned in this chapter was funded by a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) of Canada Insight Development Grant (File No: 430-2016-00034).

Reflective questions 1.

2.

In your experience, what musical terms having origins in your own cultural heritage have been misinterpreted by persons of other cultural backgrounds? In what ways do the conceptual differences manifested in those misinterpretations reflect differences in worldviews? In what ways might the worldviews and concepts of musical practices of the Indigenous peoples discussed in this chapter, if adopted by others, have broader benefits for world ecology (i.e. for the healthy relation of living organisms to one another and to their physical surroundings)? In what ways might they be detrimental?

Notes 1

2

3

We recognise that in this work, there is a danger of our misrepresenting Indigenous ideas and speaking for Indigenous colleagues, partners, and research participants. Thus, we acknowledge that our learning in this area has required ongoing self-reflection and checking-in with Indigenous colleagues and partners about the ideas we discuss in this paper. Our past research in Indigenising music education research and practice was supported by 13 First Nations on whose territories we conducted the study and our current research is guided by Indigenous partners who are co-investigators, fully immersed in all aspects of the investigation. Whereas Walter and Butler (2013) offer that, in Australia, the term Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander People is preferred over the word Indigenous, in the context of the land that is now called Canada, the opposite is true. First Nations, Inuit, and Métis organizations favour the umbrella term Indigenous over the term Aboriginal, which is used by government and therefore carries colonialist overtones (Manuel and Derrickson 2015). The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) of Canada defines reconciliation as ‘establishing and maintaining a mutually respectful relationship between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal peoples’ (TRC, p. 6) in order ‘to transform Canadian society so that our children and grandchildren can live together in dignity, peace, and prosperity on these lands we now share’ (p. 7). The TRC was created in 2008, not by federal government edict as in other countries with Truth & Reconciliation frameworks, but ‘as part of an out-of-court settlement agreement negotiated to resolve lawsuits filed against the federal government and churches by residential school survivors for the abuses they suffered in the schools. Thus, the TRC was accountable not only to government and the churches but to residential school survivors, the Assembly of First Nations, and Inuit organizations who were also parties to the settlement agreement’ (Regan 2018, p. 211). In 2015, the TRC issued 94 Calls to Action (11 concern education). Various levels of government have begun to implement the TRC recommendations. More information can be found at https://www.aadnc-aandc.gc.ca/eng/1524494530110/1524494579700.

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Anna is an alias. The school district in which ‘Anna’ worked and from which we obtained consent to conduct our research requires anonymity for all school district personnel and students engaged in any research conducted within its boundaries in order to protect them from harm that might be incurred from their sharing their experiences and thoughts. However, Indigenous research methodologies recommend that researchers follow protocols developed by oral story tellers, including identifying participants and acknowledging their locations with their consent (Kovach, 2010; Wilson, 2008). This protocol is based on the notion that people take responsibility for the validity of their statements when they state both their names and the person from whom they obtained the teaching, thereby, also establishing the lineage of that teaching. These contradictory research procedures, informed by divergent perspectives and values, indicate the need for ongoing discussions to reconcile the needs of both knowledge systems. See First Peoples Principles of Learning at http://www.fnesc.ca/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/ PUB-LFP-POSTER-Principles-of-Learning-First-Peoples-poster-11x17.pdf.

References Abril, C., 2013. Toward a more culturally responsive general music classroom. General Music Today vol. 27 (no. 10), 6–11. Akiwowo, A., 1999. Indigenous sociologies: extending the scope of the argument. International Sociology vol. 14 (no. 2), 115–138. Alexander, J., Jacobs, R., Smith, P., 2017. The Oxford Handbook of Cultural Sociology, online ed. Oxford University Press, Oxford. 10.1093/oxfordhb/9780195377767.013.4. Alfred, T., 1998. Peace, power, righteousness: An Indigenous manifesto. Oxford University Press, New York. Alfred, T., Corntassel, J., 2005. Being Indigenous: resurgences against contemporary colonialism. Government and Opposition vol. 40 (no. 4), 597–614. Archibald, J.A. (Q.’umQ.’umX.iiem), 2008. Indigenous Storywork: Educating the Heart, Mind, Body, and Spirit. UBC Press, Vancouver. Armstrong, J., 2007. Indigenous knowledge and gift giving: living in community. In: Vaughan, G. (Ed.), Women and the Gift Economy: A Radically Different Worldview Is Possible. Inanna Publications and Education Inc., Toronto, pp. 41–49. Atleo, E.R. (Umeek), 2004. Tsawalk: a Nuu-chah-nulth worldview. UBC Press, Vancouver. Atleo, E.R. (Umeek), 2011. Principles of Tsawalk: An Indigenous Approach to Global Crisis. UBC Press, Vancouver. Borrows, J. (Kegedonce), 2010. Drawing Out Law: A Spirit’s Guide. University of Toronto Press, Toronto. Bradley, D., 2006. Music education, multiculturalism, and anti-racism: can we talk? Action, Criticism, and Theory in Music Education vol. 5 (no. 20), 1–30. British Columbia Provincial Government, 2015, Arts education (music) curriculum K–12, Ministry of Education (British Columbia). Viewed 12 February 2019, https://curriculum.gov.bc.ca/curriculum/ arts-education. Butler-McIlwraith, K., 2006. (Re)presenting Indigeneity: the possibilities of Australian sociology. Journal of Sociology vol. 42 (no. 4), 369–381. Cerulo, K., 2009. Nonhumans in social interaction. Annual Review of Sociology vol. 35, 531–552. Crossley, N., 2018. Networks, interactions, and relations. In: Dépelteau, F. (Ed.), The Palgrave Handbook of Relational Sociology. Palgrave MacMillan, Cham, Switzerland, pp. 481–498. Darnell, R., 2018. Reconciliation, resurgence, and revitalization: collaborative research protocols with contemporary First Nations communities. In: Asch, M., Borrows, J., Tully, J. (Eds.), Resurgence and Reconciliation: Indigenous-Settler Relations and Earth Teachings. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, Canada. Denis, J.S., 2016. Sociology of Indigenous peoples in Canada. In: Brym, R. (Ed.), New Society (eighth edn.). Nelson, Toronto. Dostilio, L., Brackman, S., Edwards, K., Harrison, B., Kliewer, B., Clayton, P., 2012. Reciprocity: saying what we mean and meaning what we say. Michigan Journal of Community Service Learning vol. 19 (no. 1), 17–32. Dunbar-Hall, P., 2009. Ethnopedagogy: culturally contextualized learning and teaching as an agent of change. Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education vol. 8 (no. 2), 60–78. Elsey, C., 2013. The Poetics of Land and Identity among British Columbia Indigenous Peoples. Fernwood Publishing, Halifax, NS.

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Toward a sociology of music education Goble, J.S., 2010. What’s So Important about Music Education? Routledge, New York. Hess, J., 2015. Decolonizing music education: moving beyond tokenism. International Journal of Music Education vol. 33 (no. 3), 336–347. Ignace, M., Ignace, R., 2018. Secwépemc People, Land, and Laws. McGill-Queen’s University Press, Montréal, QC. Kovach, M., 2010. Indigenous Methodologies: Characteristics, Conversations, and Contexts. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, ON. Latour, B., 2005. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford University Press, Oxford. Locke, T., Prentice, L., 2016. Facing the Indigenous ‘other’: culturally responsive research and pedagogy in music education. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education vol. 45 (no. 2), 139–151. Ludwig, D., 2016. Overlapping ontologies and Indigenous knowledge: from integration to ontological self-determination. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science vol. 59, 36–45. Lum, C.H., Marsh, K., 2012. Multiple worlds of learning: culture and the classroom. In: McPherson, G., Welch, G. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Music Education, vol. 1. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp. 381–398. Manuel, A., Derrickson, R., 2015. Unsettling Canada: A National Wake-Up Call. Between the Lines, Toronto, ON. Marsden, S., 2008. Northwest coast Adawx study. In: Bell, C., Napoleon, V. (Eds.), First Nations Cultural Heritage and Law: Case Studies, Voices, and Perspectives. UBC Press, Vancouver, pp. 114–49. Matsunaga, Jennifer, Long, David, Gracey, Anthony, Maracle, Lee, 2016. CRS Symposium on Reconciling Indigenous-Settler Relations in Canada: Whose Voice Counts? Canadian Review of Sociology/Revue canadienne de sociologie 53, 457–460. doi: 10.1111/cars.12126. Matthews, R., 2014. Committing Canadian sociology: developing a Canadian sociology and a sociology of Canada. Canadian Review of Sociology vol. 51 (no. 2), 107–127. McAllan, F., 2012. Notes on theorizing Indigenous sociology seminar. Nexus Newsletter of the Australian Sociological Association vol. 24 (no. 3), 28–29. McFarlane, C., 2013. Relational sociology: theoretical inhumanism, and the problem of the nonhuman. In: Powell, C., Dépelteau, F. (Eds.), Conceptualizing Relational Sociology: Ontological and Theoretical Issues. Palgrave & MacMillan, New York, pp. 45–66. Mohr, J., Rawlings, C., 2012. Four ways to measure culture: social science, hermeneutics, and the cultural turn. In: Alexander, J., Jacobs, R., Smith, P. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Cultural Sociology. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp. 70–113. 2007 Molm, L.D., Schaefer, D.R., Collett, J.L., 2007. The value of reciprocity. Social Psychology Quarterly vol. 70 (no. 2), 199–217. Owens, E., 2007. Nonbiologic objects as actors. Symbolic Interaction vol. 30 (no. 4), 567–584. Paul, E., 2014. Written As I Remember It: Teachings (“ems ta?aw) from the Life of a Sliammon Elder. UBC Press, Vancouver, BC. Porpora, D., 2018. Critical realism as relational sociology. In: Dépelteau, F. (Ed.), The Palgrave Handbook of Relational Sociology. Palgrave MacMillan, Cham, Switzerland, pp. 413–430. Powell, C., 2017. Anti-genocide. In: Totten, S. (Ed.), Last Lectures on the Prevention and Intervention of Genocide. Routledge, New York, pp. 268–273. Regan, P., 2018. Reconciliation and resurgence: reflections on the TRC final report. In: Asch, M., Borrows, J., Tully, J. (Eds.), Resurgence and Reconciliation: Indigenous-Settler Relations and Earth Teachings. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, Canada. Ridington, R., Ridington, J., 2006. When You Sing It Now, Just Like New: First Nations Poetics, Voices, and Representations. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, Nebraska. Ritzer, G., Ryan, J.M. (Eds.), 2011. The Concise Encyclopedia of Sociology. Wiley-Blackwell, Oxford. Schippers, H., Campbell, P.S., 2012. Cultural diversity: beyond the ‘songs from every land. In: McPherson, G.E., Welch, G. (Eds.), Oxford Handbook of Music Education (vol. 3). Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp. 87–104. Scott, J., 2014. A Dictionary of Sociology. Oxford University Press, Oxford. Simpson, L., 2011. Dancing on Our Turtle’s Back: Stories of Nishnaabeg Re-creation, Resurgence and A New Emergence. Arbeiter Ring Publishing, Winnipeg, MB. Smith, L.T., 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. Zed Books, London Smith, M.J., 2004. Placing Gitxsan Stories in Text: Returning the Feathers. Guuxs mak’am mik’Aax. PhD thesis, University of British Columbia, Faculty of Education, Vancouver, British Columbia. Viewed 12 February 2019, https://open.library.ubc.ca/cIRcle/collections/ubctheses/831/items/1.0054675.

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Anita Prest and J. Scott Goble Styres, S., 2017. Pathways for Remembering and Recognizing Indigenous Thought in Education: Philosophies of Iethi’nihsténha Ohwentsia’Kékha (Land). University of Toronto Press, Toronto. Sullivan, L. (Ed.). 2009. The SAGE Glossary of the Social and Behavioral Sciences. Reciprocity (Sociology), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA. Tomiak, J., 2017. Contesting the settler city: Indigenous self-determination, new urban reserves, and the neoliberalization of colonialism. Antipode. A Radical Journal of Geography vol. 49 (no. 4), 928–945. Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015. Honouring the Truth, Reconciling for the Future: Summary of the Final Report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. Viewed 17 February 2019, http://nctr.ca/assets/reports/Final%20Reports/Executive_Summary_ English_Web.pdf. Tuck, E., McKenzie, M., 2015. Place in Research: Theory, Methodology, and Methods. Routledge, New York. Turner, D., 2006. This is Not a Peace Pipe: Towards a Critical Indigenous Philosophy. Toronto, University of Toronto Press. Walter, Maggie, Butler, Kathy, 2013. Teaching race to teach Indigeneity. Journal of Sociology 49, 397–410. doi: 10.1177/1440783313504051. Watts, V., 2013. Indigenous place-thought and agency amongst humans and non-humans (First Woman and Sky Woman go on a European world tour!). Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society vol. 2 (no. 1), 20–34. Wickwire, W., 2001. The grizzly gave them the song: James Teit and Franz Boas interpret twin ritual in Aboriginal British Columbia, 1897–1920. American Indian Quarterly vol. 25 (no. 3), 431–452. Wilkes, R., Duong, A., Kesler, L., Ramosm, H., 2017. Canadian university acknowledgment of Indigenous lands, treaties and peoples. Canadian Review of Sociology vol. 54 (no. 1), 89–120. Wilson, S., 2008. Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods. Fernwood Publishers, Black Point, NS. Wright, R., 2014. The fourth sociology and music education: towards a sociology of integration. Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education vol. 13 (no. 1), 12–39.

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6 NATION, MEMORY, AND MUSIC EDUCATION IN THE REPUBLIC OF TURKEY A hegemonic analysis Tom Parkinson and Olcay Muslu Gardner

Introduction The Republic of Turkey was established on October 29, 1923 by Mustafa Kemal, who had led the Turkish National Movement armies (Kuvâ-yi Milliye) during the Turkish War of Independence (İstiklâl Harbi) following the First World War and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. Later conferred the title of ‘Atatürk’ (‘Father of Turkey’), Kemal became the Republic’s founding head of state, and until his death in 1938 oversaw the transition from a multicultural Ottoman society governed under Islamic caliphate to a secular nation-state of the European model. To achieve this, he adopted a comprehensive vision for Turkish national culture influenced by the work of the poet and sociologist Ziya Gökalp (1876–1924), a follower of Durkheim and the preeminent figure in Turkish sociology. Considered in Gramscian terms, this vision was rolled out across society through a synchronised combination of state coercion on one hand, and civil society reforms designed to garner consent from the populace on the other. In the wake of the Ottoman Empire’s collapse, Gökalp advanced the notion of Turkism (Türkçülük) as an alternative unifying identity to Ottomanism. In doing so, he not only introduced a system of thought but also evoked ‘a utopia that heavily influenced Turkish intellectuals’ (Yilmaz 2010, p. 29). Turkism relied on the existence of a supposedly ancient Turkish culture that predated the arrival of Islam and the Ottoman epoch, and which Gökalp argued was the authentic inheritance of all who considered themselves to be Turks. Gökalp (1923/1968, p. 15) proposed that Turkishness depended not on common ethnicity, but on ‘a sharing of education and culture’: At our present stage of social development … social solidarity rests on cultural unity, which is transmitted by means of education and therefore has no relationship with consanguinity …. There are fellow citizens in our country whose ancestors came from Albania or Arabia sometime in the past … If they have been educated as Turks and have become used to working for the Turkish ideal, we must not set them apart from other citizens. (pp. 13–15) 97

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Gökalp published his definitive work Principles of Turkism (T ürkçülügŭ ̈n Esaslari ) in 1923, the same year that the Republic was established, and died the following year. The theories outlined in Principles concerning cultural and social reform influenced Atatürk and the new Kemalist ruling class heavily and underpinned an astonishing overhaul of music education extending from the highest levels of the state to the interface between teacher and student. In the following section, we examine Gökalp’s notion of Turkishness in order to understand the Kemalist rationale for cultural and educational reform, and music education reform specifically. We then offer a Gramscian analysis of music education reforms implemented during the first three decades of the Republic, and then in the latter half of the twentieth century during which Kemalist hegemony waned and an ascendant Islamically oriented political class sought to reassert Turkey’s Eastern heritage. We go on to consider the pedagogic legacy of these reforms, particularly in relation to the bifurcation of ‘Western’ and ‘Turkish’ music and the preference for written notation over oral transmission, and their implications for cultural memory and tradition. Finally, we provide a discourse analysis of reports and speeches from the Third National Culture Summit (Millî Kültür Şûrası) held in March 2017, at which Turkey’s cultural future, and music education specifically, were discussed, and speculate on the future direction of Turkish music education.

Culture, civilisation, and Turkishness Despite holding a professorship at Istanbul University, Ziya Gökalp had not himself received a formal education and had developed his sociological understanding autodidactically, largely through reading Durkheim (Nefes 2013). In his university teaching and contributions to the national high school curriculum he had sought to explain the Ottoman, Islamic, and Turkish civilisations from a Durkheimian perspective (Nefes 2013). The influence of Durkheim (and to a lesser extent Tönnies) looms large in Gökalp’s own theoretical work, particularly in terms of his focus on collective consciousness and use of dualistic frameworks, but in developing the original concept of Turkishness Gökalp moved beyond simply applying Durkheim’s theories to Turkey and advanced his own sociological dualism of culture (hars) and civilisation (medeniyet). All societies, Gökalp declared, possessed both a culture and a civilisation, the former representing a society’s unifying character and the latter its ordering structures. Similar to Durkheim’s understanding of religion (Nefes 2013), according to Gökalp (1918/1959, p. 98) culture was the aesthetic and moral manifestation of ‘social conscience’ and conveyed a society’s ‘cherished ideals and norms of conduct’. Culture was therefore essential for achieving social unity and solidarity. Civilisation on the other hand, like magic for Durkheim, was a utilitarian means of managing interactions between individuals, and was not unique to particular culture groups. Gökalp believed that authentic Turkish culture could be found in the practices and lore of the folk (halk), among whom he saw the spontaneous expressions of the nation’s soul, whereas the Ottoman civilisation had been superimposed onto the Turkish nation by the Byzantines and Arabs, suppressing its authentic culture. It therefore followed that if the Turkish nation was to sit among the world’s great nations, it needed to shed what Gökalp saw as the moribund Ottoman civilisation and synthesise its authentic culture with the modern, progressive civilisation of the Europeans. Though Gökalp had no musical background, music is afforded significant attention and importance in Principles. Gökalp’s interest in music lay in its sociological utility as a means to bind culture to civilisation. In common with earlier European nationalist thinkers (see Benjamin 2008; Bohlman 2004; and Steinberg 2004 for nuanced analyses of European 98

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nationalist music in the long nineteenth century), Gökalp (1923/1968, p. 24) believed that Turkey’s volksgeist could be heard in its folk songs, which were authentically Turkish, whereas ‘Ottoman’ music (the term by which Gökalp referred collectively to the many diverse forms of Turkish classical music) was contrived and foreign: There are two forms of music in our country. The first is Turkish music which evolved naturally among the people. The other is Ottoman music, which was adapted from Byzantium by Al-Farabi …. Whereas Ottoman music is a technique based on specific rules, Turkish music consists of melodies unfettered by rules, systems and technique, of sincere songs which express the heart of the Turk. This understanding of Turkish (folk) music upheld the idea of the Turkish nation as a culture group with a common essence, and thus supported Gökalp’s nationalist aspirations by evoking an imagined community of Turks. Building on these foundational conceits, Gökalp’s proposals for musical reform followed the examples of earlier European nationalist composers. He believed that the synthesis of Turkish culture and modern civilisation would be exemplified in the setting of bucolic folk melodies in Western polyphony: I submit, therefore, that our national music will be born of a marriage between Western and folk music. Our folk music has given us many melodies. If we collect these and harmonise them in the Western manner, we shall have both a national and a European music. (Gökalp (1923/1968, p. 99)) These proposals were taken up enthusiastically by the Kemalists. The following quotations by Atatürk, the first from his assessment of a 1928 concert and the second from a 1930 interview with the German journal Vossicce Zeitung, display the extent to which his understanding of music aligned with Gökalp’s: This unsophisticated [Eastern] music … cannot feed the needs of the creative Turkish soul. We have just heard music of the civilized world and the people, who gave a rather anemic reaction to the murmurings known as Eastern music, immediately came to life. (quoted in Oransay, 1985, cited in Erol (2012, p. 45)) These [Eastern musics] are inherited from the Byzantines. Our genuine music can be heard among the Anatolian people. (quoted in Saygun, 1987, cited in Demirenci (2006, p. 56)) As is discussed below, the cultural and education policies implemented during the early days of the Republic followed a mutually constituting logic that placed polyphonic, nationalistic repertoire at the top of the aesthetic hierarchy and Ottoman music at the bottom.

Musical reform through coercion and consent: institutions, repertoire, and pedagogy During the first two decades of the Republic, the government attempted to shape the nation’s values, tastes, and activities in line with Gökalp’s vision, and effect a ‘social revolution from 99

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above’ (Oncu 2003, p. 315) using the powers of the state. This could not be achieved through coercion alone however, and the government understood that it would need to reform the nation’s cultural and educational institutions in order to win the active consent of the populace. The application of state power that followed therefore exemplified what Gramsci (1971, p. 271) termed the ‘integral state’, extending beyond ‘governmental-coercive apparatus’ (p. 265) to include the ideological apparatus of civil society institutions, and thus representing ‘the entire complex of practical and theoretical activities with which the ruling class not only justifies and maintains its dominance, but manages to win the active consent of those over whom it rules’ (p. 244). In relation to music education, coercion and consent were synthesised within a systematic programme of reform in which ‘Ottoman’ (Turkish classical) music and its institutions were coercively suppressed and Western art and Turkish folk music were actively promoted through new institutions. The Sufi Derviş lodges, which had been the primary hubs of sacred music education during the Ottoman period, were closed and outlawed in 1926. In 1924, school music education in Western music was made compulsory under the new national curriculum (Tevhid-i Tedrisat), and a Music Teacher Training institute (Musiki Muallim Mektebi) was established to train music teachers in Western instruments. The Darü'l-Elhan (‘House of Melodies’), an Ottoman music conservatory in Istanbul established in 1917, was transmuted into the İstanbul Belediye Konservatuarı (Istanbul Municipal Conservatory) in 1927, and its staff were made to undertake compulsory fieldwork in Anatolia to learn and collect folk songs (Küpana 2015). The İstanbul Belediye Konservatuarı was modelled on Western European conservatoires, and instruction in Turkish classical music and instruments was banned. During the latter half of the 1920s, promising young musicians were sent to conservatories in Western and Central Europe to learn the requisite skills for composing and teaching the new polyphonic national music, and returned to take up faculty positions. Though many musicians undoubtedly embraced this opportunity, the following anecdote from the composer Cemal Reşit Rey reveals the coercive climate surrounding music reform during this period: [The] Minister of Education Abidin Özmen invited eight of us to a congress in Ankara … ‘Come on then! [he cajoled] We are supposed to do music reform, how are we going to do this? … [Atatürk] has called me on the phone a few times recently’ … We were completely stumped. We could not figure out what decision to take. (quoted in Yazici, 2014, p. 1266) Atatürk bemoaned the slow pace of reform in his 10-year speech to parliament (Atatürk 1933) and redoubled the State’s efforts in the 1930s. Between 1934 and 1936, Turkish classical music was banned entirely from State radio. Eminent musicians, educators, and composers from countries such as Germany, Austria, and Hungary, including Paul Hindemith, Béla Bartók, and Eduard Zuckmayer, were invited to Turkey to act as consultants and institutional managers to advance the music education reform project. The European-style Ankara State Conservatory (Ankara Devlet Konservatuvarı) was established in 1936 under Hindemith’s recommendations, and would become the Republic’s bastion of Western art music. In 1938, the Musiki Muallim Mektebi was co-opted into the Gazi Education Institute (Gazi Eğitim Enstitüsü) with Eduard Zuckmayer as its director. Zuckmayer implemented Western pedagogical techniques and oversaw the training of the country’s music teachers until 1970, embedding Western art music and its accompanying pedagogies in all schools across the country.

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A counter-hegemonic discourse soon emerged within the conservatories that argued for the sophistication and Turkishness of traditional Turkish classical music (Gedik and Bozkurt 2009). This led to intense debate between the Gökalpists, who claimed that traditional Ottoman music was Hellenic, Byzantine, and Arab (and thus un-Turkish), and those who argued that Ottoman music was in fact an authentic aspect of Turkic culture that shared the same origins as Turkish folk music (Karakayali 2010) and which had in fact predated and even influenced the Greeks, Byzantines, and Arabs. Music theorists such as Hüseyin Arel and Rauf Yetka sought to rationalise Turkish classical music using techniques of Western music theory, and had some success in raising its esteem and stemming its erasure from the cultural landscape. Nonetheless, it is significant that under the hegemonic conditions of the conservatoires established by the Gökalpists, Turkish classical music achieved legitimacy only by way of Western notation and theory, and by being ‘cut off from its historical properties such as oral transmission, memorisation, and its broader Islamic connotations’ (Poulos 2011, p. 166). Paradoxically therefore, while these legitimising efforts challenged the Kemalist’s westernising hegemony to an extent, they also consented to the Western-centric value hierarchy imposed by the Gökalpists in privileging notation. This standardisation of Turkish classical music through Western notation occurred in tandem with that of folk music, beginning with the state-sponsored collection of folk songs from all regions of Anatolia. The paradoxical aim was to evidence a rich mosaic of regional folk traditions while at the same time downplay difference and emphasise common Turkish culture (Demirenci 2006). Musical and lyrical elements in folk songs that did not conform to stipulated regional and national characteristics, such as microtones and other melodic and rhythmic elements, and lyrical references to ethnic and religious diversity, were ironed out (Balkılıç 2009). At the same time, new performance styles ‘not present in the tradition’ (Karahasanoğlu, 2014, p. 170), such as mixed-gender choral singing, were introduced. The newly collected and standardised repertoire of folk music was disseminated from 1948 onwards via the Yurttan Sesler (‘Voices from the Homeland’), a mixed-voice choir whose performances were broadcast over the State-controlled TRT radio, and later TRT television. Although TRT was not an educational institution per se, its house musicians were required to undertake formal training within a ‘“modern” educational structure’ to ensure the integrity of the station’s outward ‘educational profile’ (Poulos 2011, p. 177). Yurttan Sesler founding director Muzaffer Sarisozen was clear about the didactic function of its broadcasts: [The aim of Yurttan Sesler is] neither ‘solely entertainment’, nor to reflect the diversity of our folk music genres. The main aim of [Yurttan Sesler] is to unify the hearts of our community to guide our people in their movement towards a single feeling (Çeren, 1944, as cited in in Güray (2015, p. 109)) By the 1980s, the state conservatoires and TRT together ‘controlled the collection, public dissemination and teaching of an “official” national folk music’ (Stokes 2012, p. 98). The resulting repertoire and pedagogies can be understood as a particular form of invented tradition identified by Hobsbawn (1983, p.6) in which existing practices are ‘modified, ritualised and institutionalised’ and rendered invariant. The resulting loss of musical knowledge and cultural memory has been widely acknowledged (e.g. Balkılıç 2009; Demirenci 2006; Güray 2015; Karahasanoğlu, 2014).

1950–2000: the decline of Kemalist hegemony While the early Kemalist musical reforms have been well documented in research, subsequent periods have been afforded far less attention. Yet the period from 1950 onwards has seen some 101

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significant changes in both cultural climate and higher education in Turkey, which have more or less accompanied political oscillations between Kemalism and Islamism. The election of Adnan Menderes as prime minister in the 1950s heralded a period of comparative pluralism during which the state relaxed restrictions on Islam in public life and became more accommodating of Turkish classical music in broadcasting (Stokes 2012), though not yet within formal education. Göktürk-Cary (2014) notes that the National Salvation Party (Millî Selâmet Partisi) exerted a strong influence on the Ministry of Education in the 1970s, and curricula were suffused with religious content. In the 1980s, traditional instruments began to feature more in music teacher training schools, having been excluded until the late 1970s (Göktürk-Cary, 2014). Turkish classical music was taught in higher education for the first time since the dissolution of the Darul’Elhan in 1923. The founding of the first State Conservatory of Turkish Music (Türk Musikisi Devlet Konservatuarı) at Istanbul Technical University in 1976 marked the declining hegemony of Kemalist aesthetics in the spheres of culture and education, and a renewed identification with the Ottoman past. The Türk Musikisi Devlet Konservatuarı would soon compete with the Ankara Devlet Konservatuarı as ‘perhaps the most central educational institution through which musical discourses continue to be bifurcated and disseminated’ (GillGürtan 2010, p. 624). The 1980 coup d’etat ushered in an era of depoliticisation and cultural amnesia during which teachers were banned from involvement in politics or expressing political views (GöktürkCary 2014). This was followed by increasingly centralised music curricula in the 1980s and 1990s overseen by the Council for Higher Education (YÖK), and a curtailing of teacher autonomy. In 1998, YÖK declared there to be ‘a standardisation problem’ in music education, noting ‘goal conflict, … and irresponsible and individual use of sources’ (Kalyrici, 2005, as cited in Eğilmez (2010, p. 3120)). Reforms did not address the issue of repertoire however, and higher music education continued to operate in discrete, parallel structures (Aksoy 1999) separating Western music from Turkish music. Today, the teaching of Western music in conservatoires in Turkey continues broadly in line with Hindemith’s European model prescribed in 1936 (Erdal 2012). As we discuss in the next section, however, the gradual subordination of orality to literacy that occurred over the course of the 20th century has become a major flashpoint in the teaching of Turkish music, leading to debates concerning the authenticity of not only repertoire, but also pedagogy.

Literacy and orality in Turkish music education: tradition, process, and duty memory The Ottomans’ reliance on living memory and oral transmission as the principal resource for musical instruction, which had ensured a balance of stability and dynamism in the Turkish classical traditions for centuries, rendered that knowledge particularly vulnerable in the context of the Kemalist’s hegemonic campaign whose modus operandi was to erase the Ottoman past and its aesthetics from social memory and standardise repertoire. Western stave notation provided a means to systematically gather musical knowledge and authority from individuals and place it in the hands of institutions. This highlights the bureaucratic function of notation in disembodying and archiving musical knowledge and can be seen in the context of ‘the longstanding project of cultural correction and unification through the help of written texts’ (Karakayali 2010, p. 362) with precedents including the standardisation of Catholic liturgy in medieval Europe, where notation was used in music education to promote cultural coherence and, in turn, social cohesion.

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As discussed earlier, the standardisation of Turkish classical and folk music entailed the application of the Western-derived notational system to musical traditions based in the microtonal makam system, and which had been transmitted orally over centuries. Karahasanoğlu (2014, p. 165) argues that notation can be a useful educational tool, [but] is not a sufficient medium for transmitting the nuances of the Turkish makam, which requires face-to-face education in the form of meşk for a complete understanding. The term meşk refers to the Ottoman system of music education in which the student (çırak) learned the makam system by observing and imitating their master (usta) in everything from phrasing to body posture and breathing. The master embodied a lineage (meşk silsilesi) along which not only musical knowledge, but also pedagogical technique and lifestyle ethics had been transmitted between generations. Being centred on a long-term relationship between student and master, meşk mediated the interface between tradition and innovation to allow the ‘gradual assimilation’ (Karakayali 2010, p. 351) of new ideas into a tradition – that is, into a cognitive-cultural entity comprising a society’s ‘customs, methods and working standards’ (Dewey 1974, p. 151). Dewey (1980, pp. 356–357) distinguished, however, between tradition as thing and as process, the former designating ‘a doctrine … currently accepted in a community [and] added on from generation to generation’, and the latter designating ‘the entire operation of transmission by which a society maintains the continuity of its intellectual and moral life’. Applying Dewey’s distinction to the orality-literacy dualism in Turkish music education helps to reveal the sociocultural implications of disrupting the pedagogical foundations of music education. Earlier attempts to historicise Ottoman classical music had entailed recording lyrics, compositional form, makam and usul (rhythm) and the composer’s name, rather than precise transcriptions of musical notes in the manner of Western notation. This approach acknowledged historicity without creating a ‘frozen monolithic repertoire’, and the process of oral instruction ‘tended to erase the particularities of the individual compositions’ (Feldman 1991, p. 85). In the case of Turkish folk music, Karahasanoğlu (2014) notes that it was created and taught outside of any literate context by people with no formal education of any kind. In both cases a degree of dynamism was permitted that allowed for the tradition and musical culture to develop as process through teaching, performing, and learning. When fixed in notation, however, musical knowledge can be considered tradition as thing – a static textual referent for any subsequent rendering in sound. Once such a thing is conceived, the possibility of knowledge developing as process is inhibited and constitutes deviation from, rather than permitted assimilation into, the tradition (as thing). The notated folk repertoire curated by the State conservatoires and TRT thus rendered folk music ‘a static form that cannot be changed, rather than as a dynamic oral tradition’ (Karahasanoğlu, 2014 p. 169). In Karahasanoğlu’s (p. 170) assessment, notation-based pedagogy has caused ‘serious damage to our music’. What is most notable in Karahasanoğlu’s (2014) understanding of meşk is its oneness – pedagogy is considered inextricable from performance and repertoire. Similarly, Karakayali (2011, p. 350) notes that not only the music itself but also the process of teaching and learning in meşk was sacrosanct in the Ottoman period; ‘time and toil’ on the part of the student were not understood in transactional terms but rather as integral and valuable aspects of the meşk tradition (as process). Of particular importance here is that meşk, as a pedagogical system that depended on patience and memory, mediated not only the nature but also the pace of cultural change. Comparable to Hobsbawm’s (1983, p. 2) understanding of custom in traditional societies, it had ‘the double function of motor and fly wheel’, permitting innovation only if it was ‘compatible, 103

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or even identical, with precedent’. This contrasts starkly with pedagogies that employ notation as a time-saving technology, and highlights a divergence in the ‘underlying value orientations regarding how music education should be carried out’ (Karakayali 2010, p. 350). The term meşk has become unstable in contemporary usage (Gill-Gürtan 2010; Poulos 2011) and might refer to a number of different pedagogical approaches. In particular, it has become shorthand for one-to-one instrumental tuition, which overlooks the extra-musical aspects of discipleship (Poulos 2011) and emphasises individual practice and repetition (Gill-Gürtan 2010). More than this, however, meşk has become a performative ideograph used by musicians and educators in Turkey to signal their orientations towards Turkey’s musical, and social, history. In this respect, Karahasanoğlu’s (2014) interpretation of (and advocacy for) meşk can arguably be read as an example of what Gill-Gürtan (2010) calls duty memory in the discourses of Turkish musicians: Karahasanoğlu asserts that only meşk, which confers ‘both the training method and repertoire’ (2014, p. 166) onto subsequent generations, can adequately preserve the “authentic” characteristics of Turkish music and protect them from ‘being forgotten’ (p. 167). To summarise at this point, the cooption of music education into the ideological apparatus of the state (Gramsci, 1971) throughout the Republican period, across both founding and subsequent governments, ultimately failed to achieve hegemony. Far from the unified national culture that the Kemalist reformists had envisaged, the legacy of the early Republican cultural and educational reforms is a contested cultural milieu (Aksoy 1999) in which ideological debates surrounding the notions of authenticity and Turkishness have yet to be reconciled. In the following, final section of this chapter we turn our attention to the contemporary context.

Pluralism or protectionism: where next for Turkish music education? Turkey’s contemporary cultural landscape is highly dynamic at the levels of policy and practice, making it difficult to identify or predict clear trends. At the present time, there are signs that suggest a number of possible directions for music education, and musical life more generally, yet these can be ambiguous or contradictory. Nonetheless, they offer some insight into the sociocultural context surrounding music education in Turkey, and into how the legacy of the historical developments documented in this paper manifest in the present moment. Between March 3 and 5, 2017, representatives from the arts, culture, education, and tourism sectors were invited to participate in the 3rd National Culture Summit (Millî Kültür Şûrası) in Istanbul, hosted by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism. The stated aim of the Summit was to take stock of the current state of culture in Turkey, and to chart a new course for the centennial of the Republic in 2023. It invited engagement with the question of how a nation with long cultural traditions was to respond to the challenges of cultural impoverishment, alienation, and globalisation in the twenty-first century (Kalın 2017). In his opening address, President Erdoğan declared that: We should rediscover and rebuild our national and cultural values, which reflect the native Turkish culture and arts, against cultural alienation and imperialism through a universal perspective. That a cultural product is in a native and national form never hinders it from bearing a universal meaning and message. (Ministry of Culture and Tourism TC Kültür ve Turizm Bakanlığı 2017a, our translation) This frames the notion of national culture in terms of recovery from damage, memory loss and corruption by outside forces, and thus reiterates a familiar, meta-level refrain used recurrently throughout the Republic’s existence from Gökalp onwards, notwithstanding obvious 104

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differences in understandings of what constitute authentic ‘national and cultural values’ and ‘native Turkish culture and arts’. Erdoğan’s advocacy for localism before globalism can be interpreted as resistance to Western cultural hegemony, particularly in light of comments made a few days later by his official spokesperson – and nationally renowned bağlama player – Ibrahim Kalın, who asserted that ‘culture’s etymological and historical connection [is] to the soil on which humans live’ and that ‘much of what goes around as ‘universal culture’ is in fact Western cultural products portrayed as global currency’, echoing President Erdoğan’s call for ‘an awareness of one's own cultural values, as well as a need to protect and nourish them’ (Kalın 2017). Although Kalın acknowledged that cultural interaction can support the ‘growing and flourishing’ of cultural traditions, he expresses a much more cautious position regarding Western cultural products specifically, and their influence on Turkish culture. Messages of resistance to Western cultural hegemony can thus be heard from the highest echelons of the state. As yet, however, music appears to be lower on the policy reform agenda than other domains of culture such as theatre, which have seen radical changes to their funding and governance structures (see Aksoy and Şeyben 2015). The recommendations for music education by the music commission of the Cultural Summit were somewhat ambiguous; on one level, they explicitly called for both Turkish and Western music to be included in curricula from primary to tertiary level, suggesting a pluralistic, reconciliatory position. Yet the phrasing and emphases of the recommendations implicitly delimit what is considered ‘Turkish’ and what is not: A ‘Youth Culture House’ should be opened in every city of Turkey. Conservatory graduates and those qualified by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, and who have teaching skills, should be assigned to these houses where our own traditional instruments and music and Western arts should be taught. [and] A musical education based on traditional music should be devised, and the national musical instruments such as the saz/bağlama or lute should be brought to the centre. Training should not exclude any musical type. (Ministry of Culture and Tourism TC Kültür ve Turizm Bakanlığı 2017a, pp. 3–5, our translation) In the first example, despite the recommendation that Turkish music and Western instruments be included side by side in music education, ‘Western’ music is placed syntactically outside of what is ‘our own’ and ‘traditional’. The second example, which again calls for all musical ‘types’ to be reflected in curricula, carries a corollary subtext – that some music types have (hitherto) been excluded from curricula, and that national musical instruments have hitherto not been placed at the centre of music education – and thus evokes a memory of cultural exclusion. A further recommendation of the music commission at the Culture Summit was for state conservatories to be ‘restructured as universities of music and performing arts … which incorporate traditional and polyphonic musical cultures’ (Ministry of Culture and Tourism TC Kültür ve Turizm Bakanlığı 2017a, p. 4). Prima facie this is a pluralist and reconciliatory proposal, explicitly acknowledging value across the Western-Turkish distinction, but it has bureaucratic and hegemonic implications. As discussed earlier, Turkey’s state conservatories have proliferated in the main according to two, bifurcated types: ‘Turkish’ and ‘Western’ (Çelenk 2016). Notwithstanding the shifts over time in relation to cultural climate, and associated dynamics of power and influence, these institutions have, since the founding of the Türk Musikisi Devlet Konservatuarı in 1976, been 105

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afforded authority and autonomy in terms of repertoire and pedagogy on either side of the ‘Turkish’ ‘Western’ bifurcation, which has allowed for the parallel development of both musical cultures. However, the recommendation that these cultures be drawn together within the same institutions, while explicitly pluralist, could jeopardise this autonomy and pit these musical cultures against each other in terms of institutional emphasis and resourcing. We have sought in this short chapter to demonstrate the role of music education in the construction of Turkish national identity and official culture. Although we cannot predict the future of Turkish music education based on cultural policy and discourse alone, it is clear from the examples presented here that it remains a key locus of struggle for cultural memory and hegemony, and that distinctions in relation to repertoire, pedagogy, and tradition reflect ideological fault lines that stem from the foundation of the Republic of Turkey and have characterised cultural life in Turkey for almost a hundred years. The music education reforms detailed here occurred as part of a post-war nation-building project following the collapse of a centuries-old social paradigm, and as such, they were more overt and dramatic than those seen elsewhere. Yet for this reason they over a vivid point of reference for those considering the sociological implications of music education reforms or norms in different contexts which, although more subtle and insidious, may nonetheless function as part of the state’s ideological apparatus (Gramsci, 1971). We hope that the example of Turkish music education might bring international readers to examine the relationship between music education and national identity in their own contexts, and to consider the roles and experiences of various actors and stakeholders within and beyond the music classroom in sustaining and challenging hegemony.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

Do music education curricula in your country reflect a particular cultural hegemony within society at large? Are certain musical genres and/or traditions implicitly devalued by the pedagogies used in music education institutions in your country?

References Aksoy, B., 1999. Cumhuriyet dönemi musikisinde farklılaşma olgusu. In: Paçacı, G. (Ed.), Cumhuriyet’in Sesleri. Türkiye Tarih Vakfı Yayınları, Istanbul. Aksoy, A., Şeyben, B.Y., 2015. Storm over the state cultural institutions: new cultural policy direction in Turkey. International Journal of Cultural Policy vol. 21 (no. 2), 183–199. Anderson, B., 1983. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. Verso, London. Atatürk, M.K., 1933. Speech to Parliament to Commemorate 10 Years of the Republic of Turkey, 29th October. Viewed 19 August 2018, http://ITUdust.org/AtaturksSpeech-10YilNutku.htm. Balkılıç, Ö., 2009. Cumhuriyet, halk ve müzik-Türkiye’de müzik reformu 1922–1952. Tan Kitabevi Yayınları-Araştırma Dizisi, Ankara. Çelenk, K., 2016. Establishment aim and present situation of institutions giving professional music education in Turkey. In: Sayers, W., Sümbüllü, H.T. (Eds.), Music and Music Education from the Ottoman Empire to Modern Turkey. AGP research, London, pp. 54–64. Demirenci, K., 2006. On the pursuit of a nation: the construction of folk and folk music in the founding decades of the Turkish Republic. International Review of the Aesthetics and Sociology of Music vol. 37 (no. 1), 47–65. Dewey, J., 1974. John Dewey on Education: Selected Writings. University of Chicago, Chicago. Dewey, J., 1980. The Middle Works, 1899–1924. In: Boydston, J.A., (Ed.). Southern Illinois University Press, Carbondale.

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Nation, memory, and music education Duygulu, M., (n.d). Turkish folk music in the process of social change and globalisation: Identity, style, technique. Turkish Music Portal. Viewed 18 September 18, http://www.turkishmusicportal.org/en. Erdal, G.S., 2012. Academicians coming to Turkey between 1933 and 1945 and their effects on today’s musical life. Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences vol. 55, 1219–1226. [Special issue for the International Conference on New Horizons in Education.]. Erol, A., 2012. Music, power and symbolic violence: the Turkish state’s music policies during the early republican period. European Journal of Cultural Studies vol. 15 (no. 1), 35–52. Eğilmez, H.O., 2010. Music teacher training institutions in Turkey and a research about today’s general condition of these institutions. Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences vol. 2 (no. 2), 3119–3128. [Special issue for the International Conference on New Horizons in Education.]. Feldman, W., 1991. Cultural authority and authenticity in the Turkish repertoire. Asian Music vol. 22 (no. 1), 73–111. Gedik, A.C., Bozkurt, B., 2009. Evaluation of the Makam scale theory of Arel for music information retrieval on traditional Turkish art music. Journal of New Music Research vol. 38 (no. 2), 103–116. Gill-Gürtan, D., 2010. Performing meşk, narrating history: legacies of transmission in contemporary Turkish musical practices. Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East vol. 31 (no. 3), 615–630. Güray, C., 2015. A change of perception: the rapprochement of the state with the cultural colours of Anatolia through traditional musics. In: Kutluk, F., Turkmen, U. (Eds.), In Which Direction Is Music Heading? Cultural and Cognitive Studies in Turkey. Cambridge Scholars Publishing, Newcastle, pp. 109–123. Gökalp, Z., 1959. Turkish Nationalism and Western Civilisation: Selected Essays of Ziya Gökalp. George Allen and Unwin, London. Gökalp, Z., 1968. Türkçülüğün Esasları [Principles of Turkism] (R. Devereux, Trans., [1923]). E.G. Brill, Leiden. Göktürk-Cary, D., 2014. The evolution of music education in Turkey. Debates vol. 13, 13–22. Hobsbawn, E., 1983. Introduction: inventing traditions. In: Hobsbawn, E., Ranger, T. (Eds.), The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp. 1–14. Kalın, I., 2017. Third Culture Council discusses culture, change, globalisation. Dly. Sabah 7 March, p. 201. Karahasanoglu, S., 2014. Mesk: the traditional teaching system of Turkish music. Journal of Teaching and Education vol. 1 (no. 7), 165–170. Karakayali, N., 2010. Two assemblages of cultural transmission: musicians, political actors and educational techniques in the Ottoman Empire and Western Europe. Journal of Historical Sociology vol. 23 (no. 3), 343–371. Ministry of Culture and Tourism [TC Kültür ve Turizm Bakanlığı], 2017a. Millî Kültür Şûrası: Açılış Programı. Viewed 18 October 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdX6VxsatII&t=263s. Ministry of Culture and Tourism [TC Kültür ve Turizm Bakanlığı], 2017b. Millî Kültür Şûrası: Müzik Komisyonu Sonuç Raporu, Ministry of Culture and Tourism, Ankara. Viewed 18 October 2018, http:// kultursurasi.kulturturizm.gov.tr/TR-176620/muzik-komisyonu---sonuc-raporu.html. Poulos, P.C., 2011. Rethinking orality in Turkish classical music: a genealogy of contemporary musical assemblages. Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication vol. 4, 164–183. Stokes, M., 2012. Music. In: Heper, M., Sayari, S. (Eds.), The Routledge Handbook of Modern Turkey. Routledge, New York, pp. 96–106. Yazici, H., 2014. Nationalist approach to the music culture in early Republican period in Turkey. International Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences vol. 8 (no. 5), 1263–1268. Yilmaz, E., 2010. Ziya Gökalp’s political sociology. International Journal of Sociology and Anthropology vol. 2 (no. 3). 29–33.

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7 IN SEARCH OF A POTENTIALLY HUMANISING MUSIC EDUCATION Reflections on practices at two Brazilian universities Flávia Narita and Heloisa Feichas

Introduction: universities in dehumanising neoliberal times Freire’s humanising education recognises ‘the nature of human beings beyond simply cognitive or mental beings’ (Darder 2002/2017, p. 103). Such an integral being is constructed in interaction with others as we realise we are both in and with the world, combining spiritual, physical, emotional, and cognitive faculties. Posing problems through dialogue was a means that Freire advocated we teachers and students could critically know ourselves and the world in which we engage. This could lead us to achieve a deeper level of (self) awareness, including awareness of power relations in learning and teaching processes that could prevent the realisation of our full humanness. In this chapter, we discuss issues of power in knowledge construction and explain how informal learning and non-formal teaching in two Brazilian Higher Music Education Courses can possibly challenge reproduction of unbalanced power relations and present alternative pedagogies to revive the humanist approach to which we subscribe. Revisiting some Freirean concepts to analyse our actions has helped us to both ‘denounce’ dehumanising realities we witness in neoliberal times and ‘announce’ hopeful transformation in our practices towards our own humanisation. Education in a globalised twenty-first century within a neoliberal agenda ‘has been predicated on the dominance of the market over the state and particularly through deregulatory models of governance’ (Torres 2013, p. 85). As a result, knowledge acquisition ‘is presented primarily as commercial transaction, driven only by the benefit to an individual in terms of their position in the labour market’ (Cowden and Singh 2013, p. 2). With that dominance of the market, ‘Universities are increasingly defined through a corporate demand to provide the skills, knowledge, and credentials to build a work force’ (Giroux 2010, para. 3). Cowden and Singh (2013, p. 4) see that deformation of universities into businesses that nurture skills (instead of knowledge) acquisition as a crisis of thinking. Those authors also understand neoliberalism as a crisis of feeling, in which individuals are too selfish and ‘the alienated marketised conception of human relations prevent people from finding ways to meaningfully connect with other people and to articulate this connectedness’ (Cowden and Singh 2013, pp. 6–7). 108

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As a crisis of doing, neoliberalism tends to reinforce immobility and the belief that this reality cannot be changed (Cowden and Singh 2013, p. 7). In fact, if ‘at every level, education has been undermined as a human right and a process of humanisation and has been largely converted to a sorting device and initial training mechanism for corporations’ (Torres 2013, p. 93), teachers understandably tend to feel disempowered and impotent. In addition, the educational system still works within a set of values and behaviours that usually do not nurture critical and autonomous thinking and acting. However, despite these crises of feeling, thinking and doing that Cowden and Singh (2013) attribute to neoliberalism, we still find alternative pedagogies that foster empathy and collaboration amongst learners, critical thinking and actions that may empower marginalised groups. Revisiting Young’s (1971) criticisms on curricula reflecting ‘high-status’ knowledge, or ‘knowledge of the powerful’, and using the Freirean concepts of ‘banking’ and ‘dialogical’ education, we address issues of unbalanced power relations in classrooms in our search for a humanising music education. The continuous process of ‘becoming’ is also considered in relation to the (trans)formation both teacher and students should experience in education. In addition, we suggest that a humanising (music) education can enable students to access what Young (2014b) has more recently been calling ‘powerful knowledge’.

Paulo Freire’s humanising education enabling ‘powerful knowledge’ Paulo Freire advocated in favour of oppressed people in Latin America raising important issues for education based on human values. This humanist view of education is holistic and takes into account the affective realm, not only cognitive aspects. According to Pretto and Zitkoski (2016) the option for the development of students’ cognitive skills, rather than their emotions, turns education into a mere tool for material progress. Freire’s pedagogy sees in humanising education possibilities to break this notion of education for materialism, emphasised in our neoliberal world, for an education that links heart and mind. For Freire, in a humanising education, it is crucial to develop the student’s awareness about him/herself and the world. Such awareness could never be achieved in what he termed ‘banking’ education, since as ‘an act of depositing, in which the students are the depositories and the teacher is the depositor’ (Freire 1970/2005, p. 72), that concept of education reinforced a passive role for students. In that kind of education, students are not subjects of their educational process and experience what can be understood as dehumanising oppression. In order to overcome such oppression and engage in humanising education, Freire advocated for a dialogical and problem-posing approach. Through dialogue, in a problem-posing education, the teacher is not the depositor, the-one-who-teaches, but one who is [herself or] himself taught in dialogue with the students, who in turn while being taught also teach. They become jointly responsible for a process in which all grow. (Freire 1970/2005, p. 80) Hence, dialogical problem-posing education presupposes an active role for both teacher and taught, valuing both learners’ and teacher’s previous knowledge and their quests for going beyond what they already know. According to Young (2014a, p. 13) ‘access to knowledge beyond our experience is the only true source of freedom and as such is the “entitlement of all”’. It is worth pointing that, in our view, Young (2014a, p. 13) mistakenly relates Freire’s respect to learners’ previous experiences ‘to a one-sided emphasis on “practice” and experience; 109

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the result … was that the link between knowledge and practice got lost,’ in Young’s opinion. We argue, however, that Freire’s consideration for learners’ experiences was an initial approach to his dialogical problem-posing education, which required reflection and further transformative action as an enactment of new gained knowledge. By stimulating “perception of the previous perception” and “knowledge of the previous knowledge”, decoding stimulates the appearance of a new perception and the development of new knowledge. The new perception and knowledge are systematically continued with the inauguration of the educational plan, which transforms the untested feasibility into testing action, as potential consciousness supersedes real consciousness. (Freire 1970/2005, p. 115) In this sense, both Freire and Young agree that ‘we can never allow [pupils] to depend on their experience alone’ (Young 2014a, p. 13). Through dialogue, power relations between teacher and students are not the imposition of the former’s views. Moreover, dialogue allows students’ views and experiences to emerge in a kind of education that implies ‘praxis: the action and reflection of men and women upon their world in order to transform it’ (Freire 1970/2005, p. 79). As they transform the world they humanise it and humanise themselves, engaging ‘in action to transform the structures in which they [were] reified’ (Freire 1974, p. 144). Therefore, we understand our humanisation as the process in which we engage in the world, with the world and with each other transforming our world, our relations and ourselves. The pursuit of full humanity, however, cannot be carried out in isolation or individualism, but only in fellowship and solidarity; therefore, it cannot unfold in the antagonistic relations between oppressors and oppressed. (Freire 1970/2005, p. 85) Promoting actions of solidarity and collaborative attitudes, thus, can nurture our humanisation and may contribute to combat what Cowden and Singh (2013, p. 6) had identified as a crisis of feeling in the neoliberal world. We embrace Freire’s (1970/2005) hopeful belief that humanisation is people’s vocation. However, we are aware of criticisms in relation to understanding humanisation as ‘universal’, at times failing to consider ‘the various definitions this may bring forth from people of different groups’ (Weiler 1994, p. 16). Hence, we deliberate on the multiplicity of subject positions both we and our students take and, consequently, of interests at stake in our interactions and power relations with each other and with the world. Other Freirean concepts we relate to our humanisation are the process of ‘becoming’, ‘hope’, and ‘freedom.’ The former is a reminder of our incompleteness, which is also hopeful because it allows us to improve ourselves and our actions. ‘The unfinished character of human beings and the transformational character of reality necessitate that education be an ongoing activity’ (Freire 1970/2005, p. 84). This kind of education that promotes one’s transformation, in order to transform our realities, could never be a type of education that domesticates our thoughts, making us believe ‘that [we] can only be what [we] already are’ (Peters and Lankshear 1994, p. 180). Rather, it is a dialogical and problem-posing education which enables us to realise our incompleteness and our potential for amelioration as human beings, for changes and even to ‘subvert’ the commodification of education we currently witness in our neoliberal society. Hope, in Freire’s (1970a, p. 221) view, ‘is engagement full of risk.’ Aware of the growing influence of neoliberalism in education, Freire (2005, p. 100, original emphasis) advocated for 110

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‘educational practice with a sense of hope’ and ‘the knowledge that changing is difficult, but it is possible’. Therefore, if it is important to ‘denounce’ unjust or oppressive (educational) situations, it is also fundamental to ‘announce’ possible ways to overcome those situations. This annunciation is the hopeful aspect of education we should never lose. Last, but not least, since Freire’s (1970/2005, p. 80) humanising education ‘breaks with the vertical patterns characteristic of banking education, [it] can fulfil its function as the practice of freedom.’ To achieve such freedom, the process of education requires love, humility, faith (and hope) in humankind through a dialogical and problem-posing process. As such, ‘Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift’ (Freire 1970/2005, p. 47). Moreover, it implies autonomy and responsibility, since it should not be misunderstood as ‘license’ or, in classroom power relations, as an exaggerated ‘freedom’ of students that results in students’ authoritarianism (Freire 2016, p. 22). In synergy with those Freirean concepts, Young (2014a, p. 18) affirms that freedom is achieved through knowledge and that ‘[k]nowledge, like anything worthwhile, is not only shared but has to be struggled for’. In addition, ‘real knowledge challenges not only what we know but sometimes our sense of who we are’ (Freire 1970/2005, p. 19). Similarly to the concept of ‘becoming’, this allows possibilities for self-transformation which, we argue, is what makes knowledge powerful. Powerful knowledge, according to Young (2014b, pp. 74–75) is ‘distinct from the “common-sense” knowledge we acquire through our everyday experience’, ‘is systematic’ and ‘is specialized’. The specialist quality of powerful knowledge takes this kind of knowledge beyond our experiences of everyday and requires knowledge to be systematically revisable so that it ‘can be the basis for generalizations and thinking beyond particular contexts or cases’ (Young 2014b, p. 75). We subscribe to the idea that knowledge and education, in order to be ‘powerful’ or efficient should take us beyond what we already know. However, like Catlin and Martin (2011, p. 10, original emphasis), We contest Powerful Knowledge (capital letters), which privileges the academic, and suggest a view of knowledge that is powerful (lowercase) in which both academic and everyday knowledges are viewed as equally powerful, albeit for different reasons. These knowledges then come into dialogue with each other with the result that both are changed by the encounter in some way – new knowledge is created that has elements of both in it. Next, we present alternative music pedagogies that make that dialogue between academic and everyday knowledges, as well as balance the power relation in the music learning and teaching processes.

Alternative music pedagogies: empowering teacher and student Informal learning practices and non-formal teaching have been alternatives to traditional music education (Green 2008; D’Amore et al. 2009). Nevertheless, those practices raise many challenges that demand a paradigm shift in teachers’ role since they are not the only owners of knowledge and the choosers of content (Wright and Kanellopoulos 2010). They have to develop partnerships creating a community of learners in dialogue with every participant. Such efforts demand a flexible presence, able to notice heterogeneous people with different abilities, being a facilitator who allows the students to develop their knowledge (Feichas 2010, p. 55). 111

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Green’s (2008, p. 10) pedagogy, based on the informal learning of popular musicians, allows learners to be more independent: they choose the music they are going to play; they choose their peers to work with; they are instigated to learn with and from their peers imitating, copying and playing by ear; they assimilate knowledge in haphazard and holistic ways; and they often experience a more integrated musical practice in which they listen, perform, and improvise or compose. Such independence is attuned to Freire’s view of autonomy and of the construction of consciousness in individuals. For him, autonomy and responsibility are built in a dialogical and problem-posing education in which students become agent of their own learning process developing criticism and reflections for acting and transforming their consciousness and the relations with each other. Freire (2011, p. 117, our translation) emphasises the importance of listening to the other: ‘listening means permanent availability to be open to other’s talk, other’s gesture, other’s difference. Legitimate listening demands many qualities that will be built in the democratic listening practice’. Green’s model also counterbalances the controlled curricula criticised by Young (1971). In the classical book Knowledge and Control: New Directions for the Sociology of Education, Young discussed how knowledge is selected, organised and assessed in educational institutions and made available in curricula. At that time, Young and other theorists claimed that curricula were a mechanism for reproducing social and economic inequalities reflecting the interest and ideology of the powerful. Stratification of knowledge with concepts such as high-status knowledge were discussed showing clear distinction between what was taken as knowledge (Young 1971, p. 87). Young (1971, pp. 37–38) points out some criteria that define which curriculum, pedagogy, and evaluation are to form a basis for the organization and stratification of knowledge. This is defined in four dimensions which are: literacy, individualism, abstractness, and unrelatedness. These dimensions are easily found in the traditional music education, which tends to focus on musical notation, one-to-one instrumental lessons, and knowledge that is often unrelated to learners’ musical experiences. Green’s (2008) pedagogy, however, allows learners to copy and play by ear, not requiring musical literacy from participants to make music; it promotes group work instead of individualism; knowledge is practical and constructed during music making rather than abstract and compartmentalised; and musical activities are related to students’ lives and experiences since they can choose the repertoire and make their own versions of music. In addition, Green’s model requires teachers’ roles similar to those advocated by Freire in a dialogical and problemposing education: Teachers value and validate learners’ previous (musical) knowledge and diagnose what learners need to learn. Such diagnosis is done when teachers firstly stand back and observe pupils engaging in music-making activities. In this model, learners are not passively receiving teacher’s knowledge. Learners are actively engaged in making music and are free to decide their own learning goals. Teachers ‘facilitate the skills and understanding that learners identify they need to move forward, rather than impose a “one-size-fits-all” set of skills for everyone’ (Gower 2012, p. 14). This dialogical relation in Green’s pedagogy allows both teacher and taught to learn in the process. As Green and D’Amore (2010, p. 134) state, ‘[i]t is also common for teachers to learn alongside their students, especially when working on music with which teachers are not necessarily familiar’. Power relations between teacher and students are more balanced and theoretical knowledge is more readily assimilated and more meaningful, because as it is acquired, it can be put to immediate use within music-making or music listening activities, rather than remaining an abstraction. (Green 2008, p. 182) 112

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Knowledge of music theory and of technical terms, which is specialised and distinct from common-sense knowledge, was gained through musical practices and could be mobilised in everyday experiences with music. This, in our view, is a kind of powerful (musical) knowledge. Non-formal teaching relationships between students and teachers tend to be based on community values with a focus on collaborative and creative learning as well as musical leadership development. Freire’s socio-cultural perspective points out the dialogical education which sheds light on this approach. For Gregory and Renshaw (2013, p. 7) there is a close link between creative learning and collaboration, assuming that between the creative process and making connections there are different forms of ‘conversation’, but the ‘dialogical conversation’ is the best for collaboration. They explain that dialogical conversation is not about sharing the same views or agreeing with each other in all points but the process of exchange allows participants in becoming more aware of their own views, values and preconceptions, together with expanding their understanding of one another (Sennett, 2012, cited in Gregory and Renshaw, 2013, p. 8). Collaborative practices imply in redefining the roles within the group developing shared forms of learning and shared approaches to foster creativity. For a successful process, all involved are provoked to develop trust, empathy, vulnerability, responsibility, and leadership (Gregory and Renshaw 2013 p. 12). As an example of humanising education, collaborative practices also develop sense of respect, tolerance, compassion and love, which are values discussed by Freire in his work. Darder (2002/2017, p. 97) explains that in Freire’s pedagogy of love, faith and dignity should be in our relationships with others, social responsibility for our world, participation in the construction of knowledge, and solidarity across our differences. Next, we present two narratives as attempts to illustrate how teacher and students can be empowered in a humanising educational process. The first narrative is a reflection about a music project in the Music School of the Federal University of Minas Gerais (EMUFMG). The second narrative briefly presents how Green’s informal music pedagogy was adopted at the Universidade de Brasília (UnB) and discusses how a dialogical model that emerged from analysis of teaching practices using Green’s pedagogy can be used to ‘tune’ our actions towards a more balanced relation between teacher and learners.

Music workshops within Programa Escola Integrada (PEI) In this narrative I aim to show some aspects of Music Workshops within Programa Escola Integrada (PEI - Integrated School Programme), which was a project developed by the Municipal government in Belo Horizonte, Brazil, in partnership with local universities. I will present and discuss some results from this project where music students (workshop leaders) from Federal University of Minas Gerais (UFMG) had some teaching practices, providing music workshops for children and adolescents from public schools. Music students received training at the Faculty of Music of UFMG based on a non-formal teaching approach in a kind of creative laboratory with practical activities for musical leadership, followed by theoretical reflections on their experiences and about the acquired knowledge (Feichas and Wells 2010; Renshaw 2010). All data were collected through the analysis of reports by workshop leaders according to sociological concepts from Freire’s pedagogy of autonomy and Young’s concepts on curricula and powerful knowledge. The first category that came out from data analysis was ‘unrelatedness of academic knowledge to school context’. Workshop leaders talked about the limitations of academic knowledge acquired at university, especially theoretical issues that were not connected with real life. Many things learned at university do not help in dealing with the reality with young people in public schools (Hentschke and Souza 2004; Oliveira 2001). This is a result of emphases in

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certain types of knowledge excluding others in the education of undergraduate students, exactly like Young (1971, pp. 37–38) formulated: Unrelatedness of academic curricula to daily life and common experience refers to the extent to which knowledge school is ‘at odds’ with everyday experiences. As Music School curricula tend to focus on certain types of music, students do not deal with many music styles predominant in other contexts of society (Hentschke and Souza 2004; Oliveira 2001). The difficulty of dealing with different musical tastes within the school community was strongly emphasised in the reports. For some leaders, it represented a cultural shock, which is related to limited listening at university which focuses on music that is far away from the daily life of school communities. Workshop leaders had to learn music repertoire listened to by the school community. They also had to create teaching strategies to gradually introduce the students to other musical styles and keep the students motivated at the same time. One workshop leader reported that at the beginning of the study the students listened only to funk and were totally refractory to any other musical style or activity outside funk’s realm. After 3 months of work he noticed that children in general were already more open, even requesting new and different kinds of music. At the end of a semester his group managed to present to the school community their performance which included singing songs from different music styles, playing recorder, percussion, and body percussion. The intention was to build a dialogue where both sides could learn and broaden their music experiences, never imposing any particular genre or style. They had to practice a dialogical conversation and work collaboratively (Freire 2011; Gaunt and Westerlund 2013; Renshaw 2010; Gregory and Renshaw 2013). Another topic discussed was about understanding music’s role in school. It was reported by most of the workshop leaders that ‘music’ as a subject, especially in primary school, is seen as only entertainment and used for certain festivities over the school calendar. It was quite common to hear head teachers and coordinators considering music as only a background for other activities or viewed as entertainment and leisure. Workshop leaders faced a challenge in dealing with the community school’s view of music and its impact for young people’s education. The functions of music in society as well as the understanding of music as essential for education were broadly discussed in the coordination meetings. This led us to approach key concepts of sociology of music and sociology of music education in an attempt to create our own policy for acting in these contexts. Wright (2012) explored the ways in which policy impacts upon practice in music education. She explains that Policy is a framework that links ideologies, political affiliations, social groups and social institutions to agendas for change. Along with policy comes allocation of material resources to enable policy to change society in the desired ways. This has a substantial impact upon the lives of teachers and their students. (p. 20) Emotional challenges were reported by many workshop leaders. They mentioned the complex relationships with children from troubled family lives who come to school, such as families with problems connected to drugs, alcohol, violence, so that children come with a ‘troubled background’, which generally includes aggressive behaviour, bad habits, impoliteness, and so on. In this way, our workshop leaders had to deal with situations that were quite challenging emotionally and distinct from their routines and lifestyles. Consequently, it was necessary to develop certain qualities and values in order to face this scenery. Freire’s ideas were crucial for understanding our actions. For him there are indispensable qualities for teaching: courage, joy, passion, curiosity, tolerance, and love (Freire 2011).

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Despite all the challenges reported, workshop leaders talked about the positive side of their experiences. One workshop leader who participated in the program for 2 years, acknowledged that the PEI was a great ‘laboratory’ for learning. He recognised a different state of maturity after the first months of struggling with the local problems. He said, I know I could seek another job where I could make more money, but I realise the biggest payment in the Integrated School which is better than any salary; it is not about money but it is for life. I have achieved so many things with the kids, victories actually and more precisely with the undisciplined kids who were considered more difficult in terms of bad behaviour. This is priceless. No money is worth this success. (Workshop leader 3) Another workshop leader faced a similar situation with pessimism at the beginning, but gradually grew more confident along the development of the music workshops. Even with all hard times regarding lack of discipline and bad behaviour from students, he focused on body percussion activities and recorders built from plastic material. One of his statements was very touching and provides great reflections on teaching music in the public school context. Not everything is negative. As I commented before there are students who, even in the middle of a mess, connect with the music activities and show great interest, so it makes me very happy! I have a list of 4 or 5 kids who amazed me by how quickly they learned to make sounds from our plastic recorder, really making the right positions with their fingers. It is amazing that those very kids were considered the worst in other areas. This made me stay in the program and I decided to build lots of recorders from plastic. I have made about 100 so far! Many kids are playing many tunes on their plastic recorders now! (Workshop leader 6) I must say that working with this project made me reflect deeply upon the need for humanising education in Brazilian contexts. Through critical pedagogy proposed by Freire, we all are invited to develop political and moral practice that provides the knowledge, skills, and social relations that enable students to explore the possibilities of what it means to be critical citizens while expanding and deepening their participation in the promise of a substantive democracy. (Giroux 2011, p. 155)

Searching for my own humanisation I first tried Green’s informal learning music pedagogy on a mixed-mode course offered as part of a distance education programme. Framed as a self-study-action-research-curriculumdevelopment project, at the Universidade de Brasília (UnB), I designed an 8-week module adapting Green’s pedagogy and investigated my own praxis as a supervisor of that module. The study focused on my interactions with student teachers (undergraduates) and two types of tutors: associate tutors, who interacted online with students; and local tutors, who supervised face-to-face activities of students spread through different places. The module was planned to give undergraduates the experience of listening to prepared audio materials broken into different musical lines or riffs, playing them by ear, making music in group improvising, and making their own versions of that music. After that, they were asked to 115

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prepare similar pedagogical materials and try them out in schools, adopting Green’s informal learning approach. Besides these materials, I analysed reflective reports and videos of their lessons. I also interviewed some of the participants and administered an anonymous online questionnaire to evaluate the module. After three iterations of the module, carried out in 2011 and 2012 during the analysis of my student teachers’ teaching practices, I realised I could use Freire’s ideas to discuss their actions. One of the outcomes of that part of the investigation was the conceptualisation of a dialogical model to understand music teaching practices (Narita 2014, 2016, 2017). This dialogical model was built on my analysis of 61 sets of videos and reflective reports of student teachers’ teaching practices. When using such a dialogical model, I considered three domains of teachers’ actions mobilised during music teaching: teachers’ practical musicianship, their authority and theoretical knowledge, and their relationship with learners’ musical worlds. As I unfolded those domains, I identified nine pedagogic modes in student teachers’ teaching practices. In that model, a balanced use of the three domains of teaching actions would lead to what I called ‘liberating music education’. In that situation, power relations between teacher and students are also balanced since the teacher would make connections with learners’ (everyday) musical experiences and learners would voice their tastes and previous knowledge, as we would see in a dialogical education defended by Freire. In addition, in a ‘liberating music education’, the teacher would also balance her/his use of authority and theoretical knowledge and of practical musicianship according to students’ needs. Since those domains are mobilised according to the teacher’s own judgment, if the teacher tends to be authoritarian, we will witness overemphasis on the domain of teacher’s authority and theoretical knowledge. This may result in a kind of ‘banking music education’ in which students could feel powerless, having to accept unrelated knowledge disconnected from their musical worlds. The distinct pedagogic modes that emerged from teachers’ practices indicate student teachers’ understanding and implementation of Green’s informal music pedagogy were varied, sometimes misinterpreting the purpose of the module. In the anonymous online questionnaire, for instance, one respondent suggested we should ‘never think we’re teaching’, and another respondent concluded that ‘the teacher has many roles, including only observing the pupils’. These are examples of a practice I classified as ‘laissez-faire’. Although teachers in Green’s pedagogy are indeed asked to stand back and observe firstly, after that initial moment of observation (in order to try to empathise with learners’ learning goals), teachers start intervening, offering help as musical models. An example of a broader view of teacher’s role is given by a third anonymous respondent: I learned that the pedagogical practice is based on the musical practice experienced by the pupils in the society they live in, and that we have to use this knowledge to teach music to the pupils. With the texts, I could learn to see how to be a teacher reflecting on my own practice in the classroom and searching ways to learn to be a teacher who values teaching in an honest way, without discrimination, nurturing the respect amongst each other in a way that the lesson satisfactorily contributes to pupils’ learning, in which we deal with the social [aspect], respecting pupils’ tastes but looking for ways to improve the learning in the classroom. I learned that the reflection on musical teaching and learning will happen throughout [my] life as a future music teacher and that we’ll be always learning from more experienced people in development courses, masters etc, that is, in each lesson I’ll be developing and learning musical practices and pedagogical practices. (Anonymous online course evaluation questionnaire: Third Iteration – Oct 2012) 116

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In the above response, the student teacher demonstrated a ‘dialogue’ with her/his learners acknowledging their previous experiences, mobilising the domain of learners’ musical worlds. The direct involvement with music-making required when pedagogical practices are based on musical practices mobilises the student teacher’s domain of practical musicianship. In addition, the theoretical knowledge demonstrated when this respondent mentioned what s/he had been learning through the texts mobilises his/her domain of authority, putting her/him in charge of the learning process. This does not occur in an authoritarian way, as Freire would remind us, but nevertheless assumes the authority invested in the teaching role. The mobilisation of those three domains illustrates what I understood to be a ‘liberating music education’, which enables music teachers to assist in pupils’ processes of music-making and learning. Moreover, this student teacher acknowledges her/his ‘incompleteness’ that nurtures his/her process of ‘becoming’, aiming to improve teaching practices as s/he transforms him/herself into a better music teacher. The dialogical model and its pedagogic modes have also been used to analyse my own teaching, not necessarily related to Green’s informal music pedagogy. In the first term of a faceto-face on-campus initial Music Teacher Education university programme, I teach an introductory course in which undergraduates plan and teach their peers some music lessons. They also read selected literature on music education and observe more experienced practitioners conducting musical activities in different contexts. STUDENT 2:

The teaching laboratory was also interesting. We read some literature and we had to work with that. It wasn't just to teach the way we thought without relating [to the literature]. STUDENT 3: There was space [for students] to bring our own conceptions and experiences. STUDENT 2: And we really acted as music teachers. It’s the time, the objective, the procedure. [We had to control] everything. STUDENT 1: You (looking at the researcher) were the actual teacher, but you were not always ‘holding our hands’ [as if we were children who needed to cross a street]. I thought this was very cool because you let us free. Everyone could do in his or her own way, but at the end you would give us some help. RESEARCHER: But we had discussed the planning before, right? I had already given some ideas before. STUDENTS 4 AND 1: Yes! STUDENT 4: I think it’s very important not to be afraid of criticisms or corrections. Sometimes we get upset when we are corrected, but it’s important for our profession to be corrected. And it happened [in our lessons]. (Focus group interview – Dec 2017) In the excerpt above, I managed to relate to learners’ musical worlds when they brought their own experiences, concepts, and musics to the lesson. I mobilised my domains of practical and theoretical knowledge before the lesson, when we analysed the planning and, if necessary, in some interventions during the lesson. Most importantly, awareness of the different pedagogic modes that could emerge in my practice helped me ‘tune’ my actions to promote a ‘safe’ environment where students could take risks, try their ideas, and construct new views as they develop their knowledge as music teachers and as musicians. In that teaching laboratory, students develop what we understand to be ‘powerful knowledge’ for teaching. It is specialised knowledge which is also formed by the reconceptualisation of common-sense knowledge of what teaching

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music would imply. The transformation of the classroom environment together with our own development as music teachers might indicate that a potential humanising practice was in action.

Final thoughts Positioning ourselves as music teacher-educators immersed in a neoliberal context in which we witness and sometimes experience the crises of thinking, feeling, and doing (Cowden and Singh 2013, pp. 3–7), we found in Paulo Freire’s critical and dialogical pedagogy a hopeful way towards a humanising (music) education. Following Freire’s (1970b p. 472) view, we ‘denounce’ a reality we consider dehumanising but we also ‘announce’ alternatives to change that reality. Dehumanising situations were portrayed as unbalanced power relations in classrooms reinforced through ‘banking’ education, emphasis on individualism, disregard for different ways of learning, fear of making mistakes, and of dialogical situations. The process of humanization, as proposed by Freire requires hope, human agency, dialogue, and communion. For him, to be human is to be able to both understand the world and take action to change that world. It is in taking that action, in the transit from objects to subjects, where we become full human beings. (Schugurensky 2014, p. 205) The actions and reflections presented in our narratives are an account of our understanding of our ‘worlds’ and our attempts to take actions to change our contexts, creating opportunities to debate our roles as musicians and music educators. Sociology of music education, especially issues of power relations in knowledge construction, has been contributing to raise our awareness of the need to develop critical thinking to enable citizens to make a difference in the world we live. In a world with an excess of fragmentation and segregation, powerful knowledge can be knowledge of oneself and of others in order to connect people in communion whilst awakening inherent humane values of respect, humbleness, tolerance, and, above all, love. Music is a powerful way to touch people on those themes. A humanising music education can nurture the consciousness of individuals towards our sense of community, taking actions to improve both the community and ourselves and, thus, becoming full human beings.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

Which values underpin our actions as music educators attuned to a humanistic view? Subscribing to Freire’s concepts of praxis as ‘the action and reflection of men and women upon their world in order to transform it’ (Freire 1970/2005, p. 79), how do you see the potential of music education in a currently neoliberal society?

References Catlin, S., Martin, F., 2011. Contesting powerful knowledge: the primary geography curriculum as an articulation between academic and children’s (ethno-)geographies. Curriculum Journal vol. 22 (no. 3), 317–335. Cowden, S., Singh, G., 2013. Acts of Knowing: Critical Pedagogy in, against and beyond the University. Bloomsbury Academic, New York. Darder, A., [2002] 2017. Pedagogy of love: embodying our humanity. In: Darder, A., Torres, R., Baltodano, M. (Eds.), The Critical Pedagogy Reader (third ed.). Routledge, New York, pp. 95–109.

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Potentially humanising music education D’Amore, A. et al. (Eds.), 2009. Musical Futures: An Approach to Teaching Music (second ed.). Musical Futures, London. www.musicalfutures.org.uk. Feichas, H., 2010. Bridging the gap: informal learning practices as a pedagogy of integration. British Journal of Music Education. vol. 27 (no. 1), 47–58. Feichas, H., Wells, R., 2010. Connect project in Brazil. In: Renshaw, P. (Ed.), Engaged Passions: Searchers for Quality in Community Contexts. Eburon, Utrecht, The Netherlands, pp. 185–193. Freire, P., 1970a. The adult literacy process as cultural action for freedom. Harv. Educ. Rev. vol. 40 (no. 2), 205–226. Freire, P., 1970b. Cultural action and conscientization. Harvard Educational Review vol. 40 (no. 3), 452–478. Freire, P., [1970] 2005. Pedagogy of the oppressed. (M.B. Ramos, Trans.). Continuum (Original work published 1970), New York. Freire, P., 1974. Education for Critical Consciousness. Sheed and Ward, London. Freire, P., 2005. Pedagogy of Indignation. Routledge, Boulder. Freire, P., 2011. Pedagogia da Autonomia (43rd ed.). Editora Paz e Terra, Rio de Janeiro. Freire, P., 2016. Pedagogy of solidarity. In: Freire, P., Freire, A.M.A., Oliveira, W. (Eds.), Pedagogy of Solidarity. Routledge, Walnut Creek. Gaunt, H., Westerlund, H. (Eds.), 2013. Collaborative Learning in Higher Music Education. Ashgate Publishing, Surrey. Giroux, H., 2010. Lessons from Paulo Freire. Chronicle of Higher Education vol. 57 (no. 9) Available from: http:// appalachiafilm.org/images/neh/Giroux,_H._-Lessons_From_Paulo_Freire_.pdf (accessed 28.07.2018.). Giroux, H., 2011. Rethinking education as the practice of freedom: Paulo Freire and the promise of critical pedagogy. In: Giroux, H. (Ed.), On Critical Pedagogy. Bloomsbury Academic, London, pp. 152–166. Gower, A., 2012. Integrating informal learning approaches into the formal learning environment of mainstream secondary schools in England. British Journal of Music Education vol. 29 (no. 1), 13–18. Green, L., 2008. Music, Informal Learning and the School: A New Classroom Pedagogy. Ashgate, Aldershot. Green, L., D’Amore, A., 2010. Informal learning. In: D’Amore, A. (Ed.), Musical Futures: An Approach to Teaching and Learning, Resource Pack: second ed., Section 3. Paul Hamlyn Foundation, London, pp. 130–170. Gregory, S., Renshaw, P., 2013. Creative Learning across the Barbican-Guildhall Campus. A New Paradigm for Engaging with the Arts? Guildhall School of Music and Drama, London. Available from: http://www. gsmd.ac.uk/about_the_school/research/published_work/publications. Hentschke, L., Souza, J., 2004. Musicianship and music education in Brazil: a brief perspective. In: Leong, S. (Ed.), Musicianship in the 21st Century: Issues, Trends and Possibilities. Australian Music Centre, Sydney, pp. 102–112. Narita, F.M., 2014. Music, informal learning, and the distance education of teachers in Brazil: a self-study action research project in search of conscientization. PhD Thesis, Institute of Education, University College London. Narita, F.M., 2016. Music teacher education and informal learning: towards a dialogical model to understand music teaching practices. Proceedings of the International Society for Music Education, 32nd World Conference on Music Education, Glasgow, Scotland, pp. 223–229. Narita, F.M., 2017. Informal learning in action: the domains of music teaching and their pedagogic modes. Music Education Research vol. 19 (no. 1), 29–41. Oliveira, A., 2001. South America. In: Hargreaves, D., North, A. (Eds.), Musical Development and Learning: An International Perspective. Continuum, London, pp. 187–201. Peters, M., Lankshear, C., 1994. Education and hermeneutics: a Freirean interpretation. In: McLaren, P., Lankshear, C. (Eds.), Politics of Liberation: Paths from Freire. Routledge, London, pp. 173–192. Pretto, F., Zitkoski, J., 2016. Por uma Educação Humanizadora: Um diálogo entre Paulo Freire e Erich Fromm. Revista de Ciências Humanas vol. 17 (no. 29), 46–65. Renshaw, P., 2010. Engaged Passions: Searches for Quality in Community Contexts. Eburon, Utrecht, The Netherlands. Schugurensky, D., 2014. Paulo Freire. Bloomsbury Academic, London. Torres, C.A., 2013. Neoliberalism as a new historical bloc: a Gramscian analysis of neoliberalism’s common sense in education. International Studies in Sociology of Education vol. 23 (no. 2), 80–106. Weiler, K., 1994. Freire and a feminist pedagogy of difference. In: McLaren, P., Lankshear, C. (Eds.), Politics of Liberation: Paths from Freire. Routledge, London, pp. 12–40.

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8 QUESTIONING CONVERGENCES BETWEEN NEOLIBERAL POLICIES, POLITICS, AND INFORMAL MUSIC PEDAGOGY IN AUSTRALIA Clare Hall, Renée Crawford, and Louise Jenkins

Introduction This chapter discusses the interplay between neoliberalism and music education through an analysis of the convergence of informal music pedagogy, policy, and politics in Australia. The aim is to trace effects of neoliberalism on school music education to challenge assumptions about who music education serves and how. We do this by examining the development of the Musical Futures programme, using its unprecedented growth in Australia as a case example of the neoliberalisation of music in school. Our review is concerned with global trends towards neoliberal policies and practices that complicate Musical Futures’ claims of inclusiveness, as reported so far in the programme’s evaluations. By examining the organisation’s growth of the programme through a sociological lens, we argue that the underlying discourses concerning student autonomy (learning) and curriculum relevancy (teaching) are based in neoliberal rationalities and are in tension with social justice imperatives. Musical Futures’ impact on music education has not yet been substantially analysed in relation to issues such as differences in participation according to gender, ethnicity and ability. Green (2008) highlighted these issues in the original implementation of her multifaceted study, in which informal learning was one strand. We ask whether the programme’s expansion, in the absence of local, research-led structural changes to music education has led to the substitution of one form of cultural hegemony for another. This highlights the politics of music education that, as Benedict et al. (2015) illustrate, has been grappled with through a number of vantage points. The dominant political perspective has been of the northern hemisphere and its concomitant theoretical genealogy. In this chapter we draw on the sociological work from the global-South to produce a fresh discussion about how the migration of Musical Futures has reshaped informal music pedagogy in this context. We acknowledge the existence of multiple ‘neoliberalisms’ (Tikly 2004). Its changing nature across time and space makes defining the term complex (for an excellent historical summary of neoliberalism in the global-South, see Connell and Dados 2014). For the purpose of the 121

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following discussion, our reference means an institutionalised framework founded in economic liberalisation that most commonly manifests in privatisation, deregulation, rationalism, and freemarketisation. We agree, however, with Connell (n.d., n.p.): Neoliberalism is not just an ideology. More importantly it is a powerful agenda of social transformation, driven by the interests of re-shaped ruling classes, and often supported by far-from-rich social groups who are now dependent on privatisations and the corporate economy. The pursuit of this agenda is generating a more unequal, more competitive and more hostile society, as well as dangerous environmental effects. There is a concern, although not often discussed, regarding Australian music education: Music education’s purpose, too, has become primarily economic. This is unfortunate because it distorts the nature and purpose of music education, turning what should be an exercise in the development of critical awareness, human potentiality, and spirit into a competitive race to maintain world economic, military, and cultural dominance. (Woodford 2008, p. 115) Our investigation echoes these concerns and reflects on how the ‘neoliberal cascade’ (Connell 2013) is changing the shape of music education in Australia. We begin our discussion of these changes below with an explanation of the Musical Futures programme. We then outline our methodology for this study before discussing the policy develops surrounding Musical Future’s migration to Australia.

Background to the study Musical Futures is a school-based music programme run by a not-for-profit organisation. Its inception was in the UK in 2003, informed by the informal music pedagogy principles of sociologist, Professor Lucy Green. It was initially an action research project that trialled a number of approaches to music teaching and learning, but the informal learning aspect of the original Musical Futures project earned the greatest interest from teachers, an explanation of why informal learning has become a cornerstone of the programme to date alongside nonformal teaching. Musical Futures has achieved ‘worldwide implementation on a scale rarely seen previously in classroom music education’ (Jeanneret and Wilson 2017, p. 213) and continues to grow in its international reach, particularly in former British colonies. Like the UK organisation, its sister group, Musical Futures Australia (MFA), provides professional development for school and community educators, having received great support from local education, government, and industry sectors. Musical Futures offers general musical engagement for students experiencing difficulties in secondary school music education (Downey 2009; Green 2008; Jeanneret et al. 2011; Wright 2011) and similar benefits in the upper primary years in Australia (McLennan 2012). MFA promotes its approach as suitable for primary and secondary students from 8–16 years old in both classroom and instrumental teaching contexts, and outside of school contexts. The inclusive pedagogical foundations of Green’s philosophies have been taken up by the Musical Futures programme, which has been widely influential in regions beyond the UK (e.g., Ho et al. 2013; Narita and Green 2015; O’Neill and Bespflug 2011). The impact of the 122

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original Musical Futures pilot in secondary schools across England indicated an overall positive response with an increased engagement from students who were previously disinterested in music learning (Hallam et al. 2011). Such findings are echoed by reports in other countries (Dandolo Partners 2017; Wright 2013). After more than a decade since its inception in the UK, it is appropriate to take a fresh look at Musical Futures’ migration around the globe.

Methodological framework Our motivations for criticality stem from our feminist sociological perspective on education, at the core of which is our commitment to examine and dismantle the conditions that create unequal relations of power in order to move towards distributive equality and justice. We apply Green’s (2008, p. 14) original intentions to ‘invoke a notion of “critical musicality” as an educational aim’. We regard such criticality as a primary function of music education sociology that we apply to our thinking about how policies and governments’ responses influence the support for and delivery of music education. To debate some of the pedagogical conundrums presented by MFA, our analysis pursues the political and policy terrain that music education in Australia inhabits and shapes. This is in line with Schmidt’s (2017, p. 34) arguments about the advancement of popular music education in the US, which ‘will require more than advocacy and curricular campaigning. Learning about policy and developing policy thinking capacity are also necessary’. We agree the same is true in the Australian context for popular music education and, indeed, any deep structural change of music education anywhere in the world. We go about our investigation of the geopolitics influencing policy developments and music education in this locale by creating a dialogue between a number of policy documents, including curriculum and educational ‘frameworks’ as policy in action. Document sources include key educational policies that contextualise MFA’s development, website information, and public domain publications. Our tentative critiques are not intended to diminish the importance of promoting informal learning and diversifying music education pedagogies, particularly through the inclusion of popular music. We are, however, purposefully sceptical about ‘any way’ in music education – whether programme-based or curriculum-based approaches – being viewed as a universal good. Green (2008, p. 24) herself makes it clear that the original informal learning project ‘was designed to complement, not act as a substitute for more formal approaches’. Neither is our analysis intended to detract from its undeniable ‘potential to enhance pupil motivation in relation to music’ (Hallam et al. 2008, p. 59). The goal is, rather, to critique the systems of power that have produced the conditions for the particular kind of expansion of the current Music Futures programme in Australia. Before discussing the interaction between music education, neoliberalism, and MFA, we provide a brief account of the policy context at the time of Musical Futures’ migration to Australia.

Musical Futures migrates South Musical Futures was introduced into Australia as part of a pilot project in 2010 and has been described as a ‘100% practical approach’ (Musical Futures Australia 2016). This period of Musical Futures’ arrival in Australia was at a historical moment of much sector change with May 2009, marking the establishment of the Australian Curriculum, Assessment, and Reporting Authority (ACARA). Since 2015, more than 800 schools in Victoria and 2,600 schools nationwide have received MFA professional development to date (approximately 27% of schools in Australia) (ABS Australian Bureau of Statistics 2019). Key political drivers have played a large part in the rapidity of Musical Futures’ growth in Australia, leading to the substantial funding received for its roll-out. 123

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Ofsted (2006, p. 7) explains that the genesis of MFA began with financial backing from the National Association of Music Merchants (NAMM), which is ‘the trade association of the international music products industry’ based in the US. This industry support is in contrast to the UK programme, which began its life as a 3-year action research project of the philanthropic Paul Hamlyn Foundation, which was ‘run in association with Youth Music and the Department for Education and Skills’ Innovation Unit’ of the UK with the aim, ‘to devise new and imaginative ways of engaging young people, aged 11–19, in music activities’. While NAMM’s financial support for music in the community is commendable, the organisation’s investment in MFA is likely to be based on different expectations to the educational research goals of the original UK project funding. The collaboration between NAMM and not-forprofit providers, such as MFA, represents a corporate reach into schools that blurs the boundaries between public and private sectors. The global vision of Musical Futures has taken on a local mission in partnership with the state government of Victoria. In the wake of the National review of music education (see Pascoe et al. 2005), which illustrated the dire need for school support and teacher education, the Parliament of Victoria’s (2013) report on their Inquiry into the extent, benefits and potential of music education in Victorian schools reiterated the state’s particular needs in primary school and instrumental music education. A number of the recommendations were taken up by the Labor Party as a state election promise and, after winning the election in 2014, the Department of Education and Training (DET) pledged to support 7 of the 17 Inquiry recommendations (Parliament of Victoria 2014). In return for AU$2 million funding between 2015 and 2019 (DET Department of Education and Training 2018b), MFA were: [E]ngaged to deliver professional learning to 1,620 teachers (across 810 schools) and 1,200 preservice teachers. While MFA is not required to demonstrate specific outcomes beyond this, there is an implicit understanding that it will build teachers ‘confidence and capability to engage students in music-making’. (Dandolo Partners 2017, p. 6) The ministry also pledged an additional AU$1 million funding of up to 2019 in support of its Quality Music Education Framework, which we will elaborate on later. This is important in the Australian music education context because MFA is now endorsed by the DET (2018d) in Victoria alongside other established and critiqued approaches to music methods and curriculum. As a consequence, the approach may increase in usage in Australia. The parliamentary submission of Musical Futures Australia (2013, p. 11) clearly articulates their aim of providing government with ‘practical, scalable solutions (to) repair music education provision’. Since the Victorian Parliamentary Inquiry, MFA and its recent global auspice, Musical Futures International, have swiftly become a far-reaching organisation embraced in the Asia-Pacific region, producing an ‘explosive growth’ (Music Teacher Magazine 2015, p. 23) and add the ‘future of music education’ (Musical Futures Australia 2018). We discuss some of the tensions surrounding these kinds of assertions and delve more deeply into why MFA has resonated with government to achieve this level of support.

Questioning the elephant in the (band)room On the one hand, the government support of MFA appears to be an act of political will to, finally, support school-based music education by allocating substantial state funding to ensure at least some of the Victorian Parliament’s inquiry’s recommendations are actioned. On the other 124

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hand, research about MFA’s development fails to critically question the conceptual tropes of the MFA programme; that is, its autonomy, relevancy, and real-world learning, all of which present troubling, and yet-to-be-discussed issues about music education in neoliberal circumstances. These issues represent the ‘elephant in the (band)room’. The first of these, autonomy, relates to whether the transformations in music education are focused on student learning or the nature of teachers’ work. The second cluster of issues, relevancy, and real-world learning, relates to whose ‘real world’ are we referring to in the context of twenty-first-century learning discourses. The next section takes up the first issue to explore how the emphasis on ‘quality’ in music education influences the pressures on music teachers’ work.

Transforming student learning or impacting teachers’ work? The MFA website (2018) appeals to teachers’ aspirations for quality. It states: ‘While students are the ultimate beneficiaries of the approach the focus of Musical Futures activities is teacher directed because great music programmes have great music teachers at their heart.’ This focus on developing the teacher is somewhat contradictory to Green’s original intent to enable student agency by teachers changing the relations of power in the classroom through more student-led as opposed to teacher-led learning. The shift in language around teacher quality echoes the state government’s Framework for Improving Student Outcomes (FISO) (DET Department of Education and Training, 2018a) that situates the educator as the main avenue for problem-solving schooling. This recent school accountability measure states, Effective teaching is the single biggest determinant of student improvement in the school. Teachers not only a have a direct impact on student achievement but also student engagement and motivation for learning. (DET Department of Education and Training 2018a, p. 8) A mirror image of this sweeping unification of teaching, engagement, and learning is MFA’s strategic alignment of its operations and aims with such correlations. Before unpacking this tactic further, it is useful to examine the policyscape. Debates ring loud internationally about the impact of teaching on student outcomes (Hattie 2009; Marzano 2007), which is the crux of the Victorian government’s drive to improve teacher quality (DET Department of Education and Training 2019a). Of course, the actions of teachers and schools matter; however, other factors also impact learning, such as unequal distributions of social, cultural, and economic forms of capital (Snook et al. 2009). By deflecting attention from persistent socio-cultural inequalities in Australian educational attainments (see the Australian Government’s Longitudinal Surveys of Australian Youth and Closing the Gap Report 2019), pressure is diverted from governments – and, thereby, society – to mitigate unequal distribution and places that responsibility on to the teacher. Lingard and Sellar (2013) and Reid (2010) regard this ‘fix’ to schooling by controlling teachers through the politics of accountability as a destructive neoliberal shift in public education. In other words, at the heart of the accountability discourse is a neoliberal ideology that constructs education as a service and teachers as service providers within a capitalistic regime (Connell 2009). Previously, it was educators in the fields of literacy and numeracy who bore the brunt of performative pressure. Now, the ‘terrors of performativity’ (Ball 2003b) have crept into music education in Australia through the Victorian Quality Music Education Framework for Victorian Schools (DET Department of Education and Training 2018d). This framework functions as an arm of the FISO policy and is linked to the wave of federal developments and culminated in the 125

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National School Reform Agreement (DET Department of Education and Training 2018c). In the absence of a specific federal music education policy in Australia (notwithstanding some statebased commitments, such as the Government of South Australia’s Music Education Strategy, 2019–2029), the agreement ‘confirms that school reform must focus on driving individual student achievement and equipping teachers with the right tools and support’ (Minister for Education 2018). The crux of the tools will be evidence-based measures that demonstrate value for spending. It is, perhaps, no surprise that music education consultancy is, therefore, growing in a climate of great anxiety among teachers about performance. It is also unsurprising that recommendations for improving school music in Australia turn to research originating in northern ‘centres.’ For instance, of the 24 quality frameworks analysed to inform the Victorian framework mentioned above, 16 originate in the UK, six in Australia, and two in the US (DET Department of Education and Training 2019b). As argued above, ΜFA has capitalised on policy shifts by promising to build teachers’ capacities through professional development, which their contract with the government makes clear: While MFA is not required to demonstrate specific outcomes beyond this (target number of schools), there is an implicit understanding that it will build teachers ‘confidence and capability to engage students in music-making’. (Dandolo Partners 2017, p. 6) Inherent in this assumption is the correlation between teacher development leading to engaged students and, therefore, improved learning outcomes. Here, we see an incongruity with the essence of Green’s legacy, which was a focus on young people’s interests, ownership, and autonomy. While the importance of the teacher does not vanish in Green’s philosophy, the emphasis for change is placed on the empowerment of the teacher. The shift in focus to managing teachers’ work is a symptom of the government tightening controls on the profession under claims of support for educational innovation. MFA plays into this shift with a sympathetic neoliberal development strategy of its own and has been successful in attracting funding because of their appeal to government budgetary drivers, which are inherently geared to expanding markets; but ‘development’ is not necessarily synonymous with growth (Connell and Dados 2014) and may even be detrimental (Tikly 2004). One aspect that has enabled MFA to grow more fluidly and rise above debates around teaching and learning is the organisation’s insistence that ‘it is a set of values, principles and practical teaching and learning strategies, rather than a fixed curriculum’, and, therefore ‘it is proven to be transferable to a range of international contexts’ (Musical Futures UK 2018). The notion that Musical Futures can merely overlay ‘with any existing or future Australian music curricula’ (Musical Futures Australia 2016, p. 2) has assisted the international transference of this programme across state and national boundaries (Crawford 2018). Aside from the overt links to the creative industry via the contemporary music business, MFA has been able to capture a wide market as a stand-alone programme not attached to an institution as such. It is scalable in a way that can achieve much more rapid access than a curriculum intervention, with the latter needing to negotiate many other layers of policy and practice. The Australian government support of music education not-for-profit organisations, such as Musical Futures, Music Count Us In, and Songroom, is consistent with the neoliberal decentralisation of education, leading us to question how private music education providers offer a more cost-effective means for government to show support for the area than increasing the numbers of specialised music educators. MFA’s submission to the state parliament explicitly 126

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addresses value for money, advertising that MFA offers the government ‘practical, scalable solutions that could be applied to the issues surrounding music education’ (Musical Futures Australia 2013, p. 11). From a staffing point of view, MFA offers school principals a relatively low investment means of improving their school music provision by upskilling existing staff, targeting generalist primary teachers, who make up 27% of those receiving MFA professional learning (Dandolo Partners 2017). MFA appeals to the inexperienced musician and, in their parliamentary submission, suggests integration of the separate classroom and instrumental music provision, repurposing instrumental music teachers as Musical Futures facilitators: Instrumental teachers involved in the Musical Futures approach would have all or some of their time directed to whole of class learning resulting in significantly improved participation rates and teaching loads and efficiency. (Dandolo Partners 2017, p. 17) There is no substantive evidence to suggest collapsing instrumental teaching with classroom music learning, which have their own respective pedagogies, will improve attrition rates in the study of music in Australian schools. What is more certain is that MFA’s success will change the range of instruments students play with the concentration on rock band instrumentation (namely electric guitar/bass, drum kit, and keyboard). While cost efficiencies are an undoubted imperative for any area of schooling, a rock band take-over of the curriculum leads to larger concerns about how market forces can potentially homogenise rather than diversify music if change is led by short-sighted economics rather than deep-rooted pedagogy. Marketised thinking sees competition as healthy and necessary. In Australia, however, higher education and government schools struggle to provide equitable education (Reid 2010) while private education providers are flourishing, using the knowledge work of academics in the process of attracting funding from government to support their growth. Has the capitalist ‘new world order’ that has enabled this flourishing helped revolutionise the system that provides music education, or has it merely ushered additional players onto the field? And who are the new players playing for? To reflect on the capability of MFA to address issues of social justice in Australian music education, the next section problematises inclusion in music education and how this policy space is inhabited by MFA.

Which ‘real’-world learning? A key premise of Green’s informal learning approach is that student disengagement in school music is the result of two main issues: the lack of student autonomy and relevance to life outside of school. This lacking manifests in the hegemony of teacher-directed learning and Western art music as the primary pedagogical tools of school music and the concomitant symbolic violence towards students. Green’s pedagogical provocations were a welcome overdue and ongoing effort to provide a learning environment more inclusive of students’ interests, needs, and abilities by disrupting the traditional hierarchical relationship between teacher and student. In this way, student autonomy is at the centre of Green’s version of inclusion. Her argument is that by allowing students to start with music that they know and like, students’ individual musical identities can be discovered and demonstrated. Students are then more likely to be motivated to pursue other musical forms. Green (2008, p. 13) states: ‘it seems appropriate to give pupils some autonomy to select curriculum content for themselves’ and asserts that, ‘without pandering or dumbing down, it is possible to provide challenging curriculum content that authentically reflects the world outside the school’ (p. 185). 127

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[O]nce informal learning has been engaged in, once the doors it opens have been opened, there is no reason why subsequently, many of the activities we normally associate with formal education – teacher direction, progressive steps, and so on, as well as theory and notation – should not take place; and indeed I believe they must take place as time goes by. (Green in Wright et al. 2017, p. 3) However, Green is cautious about the issue of autonomy, conscious of objections that it will diminish the quality of music education. Green’s (in Green 2008, p. 185) concern is ‘the extent to which pupils can and should, or cannot and should not, be given more autonomy to decide on curriculum content and to direct their own learning strategies’. A number of limitations with autonomy do become apparent when we look closely at practice. At the micro level, the most significant issue appears to be teachers’ selfreflexivity. Given that the well-researched benefits of peer-directed and student-centred learning are widely adopted pedagogical features in learning areas beyond music, it hardly seems innovative by today’s standards. But teacher-directed learning in music is a highly durable dimension of educators’ musical habitus, particularly in instrumental pedagogy (Sagiv and Hall 2015). The music educator’s resistance to change was also found by Karlsen and Westerlund (2015, p. 372) whose work to promote pedagogical pluralism in pre-service music teacher education advocate that changes ‘may have been more noticeable in the published academic output than in the actual practices of music education'. It would seem that the range of pedagogical strategies and depth of teacher self-reflexivity that needs to accompany successful informal learning are not so easy to put into practice. While some suggest popular music learning through informal pedagogy has ushered in a music education ‘(r)evolution’ (Smith et al. 2017, p. 5), others argue there is merely an acknowledgement by the music education field of long-called-for culturally responsive practices (Jeanneret and Wilson 2017). Schmidt (2017) alternatively describes this as an ‘expansionist’ period. While it is hard to deny the current growth in the number of school districts using informal learning approaches, it is as easy to notice how it is often used as a proxy, attending to traditional needs and skills of music education. (Schmidt 2017, p. 45, original emphasis) At a broad level, the extent to which musical autonomy is permitted has firm boundaries while students and their teachers inhabit a standardised education system. For instance, it is unclear what youth consultation was involved in the reforms to the Australian Curriculum. It is clear, however, that space for autonomy within the Australian Curriculum allows students some control of what repertoire they perform and how, but it does not allow students to demonstrate their musical capital through whatever form of musicking they choose, which would be one indicator of a truly inclusive and democratic music education. In Australia, it appears that enabling student agency within the knowledge economy often happens by making transparent the rules of the game. This involves explicating achievement standards and inculcating students from a young age with a strong desire to meet those standards as the primary goal of learning. This is a kind of neoliberalisation of the student rather than a liberating autonomy. As music educators, we have observed a familiar classroom power game that older students, in particular, are quick to detect; a complex interaction called the game of ‘I know what you are trying to make me do, but I don’t really want to do it, so I will make it look like I’m doing what you want, while I try to do what I want at the same time’. We suspect this 128

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game continues to be a feature of informal learning as much as traditional pedagogy. When playing this complex game fails in the music classroom, we suggest it may not be about an inherent dislike of the music, lack of choice about repertoire, and learning mode but a disinterest in playing this power game with teacher/state. We have yet to see research about students for whom informal learning fails and why. Therefore, a focus on Western ‘classical’ music as music education’s vice without reimagining the structures within which content is experienced will do only so much for the pedagogue and their students. A number of other issues appear when examining relevancy in the context of MFA’s interactions with curriculum as policy in action. What appears to be the case, at least in Australia, is that informal learning has become closely aligned with commercial music industry training as opposed to popular music education. Green’s definition of popular music is one that focusses on the music students listen to and perform outside of school as the essence of inclusive pedagogy. Diverse definitions of popular music open up the term to competing interpretation, from any music that is the preference of the individual to generational mass culture. Real-world learning in the context of MFA, however, has a tendency to conflate the popular music of youths’ outside-of-school worlds with the world of work. The mobilisation of the twenty-first-century skills discourse demonstrates an instrumentalist view through the push towards vocationalism and dismissal of conventional teaching models as irrelevant merely because they originate from the previous century. Musical Futures Australia (2013, p. 14) promotes: The contemporary approach employed through Musical Futures is a natural fit for the participation in popular forms of music, which accounts for around 97% of all musical activity … There are significant employment opportunities in music business and management careers and in production. In fact roles in these areas out-number those of performers. Again Musical Futures provides some developmental opportunities here, especially in the area of production and is capable of providing students with the beginning of musical production skills that can then lead directly onto [vocational qualifications]. These underpinnings are, however, not overt on the MFA website. Instead, the semiotic power of images of students playing pop music instruments, alongside references to relevant contemporary approaches, is enough to communicate popular music education as a synonym for twenty-first-century learning. A major finding of the UK phase 2 evaluation is the statistically significant take-up of vocational qualifications in Key Stage 4, which is double the rate for Musical Futures programmes compared to ‘regular’ schools (York Consulting 2014). The 40 years of strong advocacy for culturally diverse music education since Vulliamy and Lee (1976) has provided a smooth entre for the twenty-first-century skills discourse to wed instrumentalist notions of real-life learning to past cultural-relativist conceptions. The previous social reproductive goal of music education to indoctrinate students’ tastes for Western elite culture through developmental learning, appears to have been supplanted with socialising students into the workings of the music business. In some instances, in Australia, this process begins with class ukulele programmes for 5–8-year-old children, as the developmental skills-based feeder for MFA middle primary years' programme and onwards. As much as we may wish to bury the debates about the legitimacy of popular music, it seems we continue to be drawn to the debate because of the issues associated with industry partnerships in music education that equates children with the popular music workforce of the future. While concert music may not contribute as much revenue as popular music, it would be exclusionary to argue that concert music is culturally ‘uncontemporary’ in Australia given the 129

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important role orchestras (Nicholls 2019) and choirs (Barrett and Langston 2008) play in communities, including working-class ones. It would be equally misguided to argue that concert music is only reproducing culturally irrelevant music of the past that young people do not and cannot find meaningful. Numerous examples exist of orchestral music in Australia disrupting hegemony, redressing injustices of colonisation and innovating the digital space (e.g., Ngarra-Burria: First Peoples Composers Initiative, Attar and Westlake’s (2013) ‘Compassion’ Arabic/Hebrew songcycle, and The Deep Blue Orchestra). To ignore the significant societal impacts of orchestras and choirs is a disavowal of the contemporary relevance of concert music, yet this is a habit of popular music advocates and MFA who state the approach uses ‘popular forms of music’ (Musical Futures Australia 2013, p. 14). Such arguments are out of step with Green’s (2008) expansive view of musical styles: [V]arious forms of popular music find their way into the school – because that is the music that students almost always choose … once students have discovered that they can ‘get inside’ their own choice of music through informal learning … they become more open to other music beyond their immediate favourite choices. (Green in Wright et al. 2017, p. 2) The advocacy of ‘contemporary’ music is not just a class war about cultural legitimacy, but a debate that leads us down the path of music business profitability. At the end of that path, we find ‘classical’ music cast aside as a revenue sinkhole. There is nothing at all wrong with people making money from music, and the popular music education movement is receiving great support from profit-making businesses to help the industry achieve just that. The problem is the ‘creative tactics of promiscuous corporations’ (Ball 2003a, p. 267), vigorously critiqued by Kenway and Bullen (2001) nearly 20 years ago, that have a habit of collapsing the boundaries between education and entertainment as a means to consume our children. The discourses of inclusion provide an attractive shroud for such tactics. When we question whose real world are we trying to include, issues of musical style become infantile in the face of the epistemic diversity that Australian society presents to school education. An example of this is the cultural interface between Indigenous and non-Indigenous experience and ways of being that few educators in Australia feel equipped to negotiate (Nakata 2007). It remains unclear how a Musical Futures programme can help negotiate the complicated differences between Australian students’ actual worlds outside of school, as opposed to the worlds of White, middle-class, males that students are expected to aspire to inhabit.

Looking to future actions We see sociological investigations into the social axes of difference as the important next phase of informal music pedagogies research and practice. Green (2008, p. 42) also asserts that there are indeed various research projects that could investigate the differences between gender, ethnicity, and class, as well as age, nationality, religion, and many other social distinctions in relation to both formal and informal learning. In the Australian context, three persistent ‘problem’ areas of music education intersect with those presented so far and some of the unresolved issues identified in Green’s work. These issues also intersect with current international concerns about inclusion and diversity, with which informal music pedagogy must dialogue. First, there is a need for music education to play a role in decolonisation, in both material and metaphorical terms. Upholding the rights of First Nations to have input in what and how their children learn in school music is as important, and 130

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urgent, as policy and practices that embed Indigenous perspectives in music education (Victorian Aboriginal Education Association VAEA 2013). Second, gender inequalities in the music classroom, particularly with regard to music technology (Armstrong, 2011) and the contemporary music industry (Cooper et al. 2017) is a persistent area of discrimination against female-identifying musicians and an under-researched issue (Synnøve Blix et al. forthcoming). The current conflation of popular music with informal music learning intensifies the urgency to respond to issues of gender diversity in the music classroom. Third, the persistent difficulties educators have in creating culturally responsive spaces where students feel safe to express nonconformist musical tastes and identities relates to issues of ethnicity and race (Cain 2015). These are predicted to become increasingly important in promoting anti-racism, using music as the means to build critical self-reflexivity and ‘multicentricity’ in learning communities (Hess 2015). To accomplish such criticality, music educators and scholars will be required to scrutinise both the political underpinnings of music programmes and their own positionality to ascertain whether they have merely substituted one form of domination for another. As MFA expands into Asia and the Middle East, music educators should question who gains the most from such growth. Educationalists also have a key role to play in questioning the hegemonic role of economics in determining educational programs and practices. This means exposing the Eurocentric assumptions and values of development economics as it is currently constituted … a key area that development economics, with its narrow focus on targets and quantifiable indicators of quality, ignores the processes at the heart of education in low-income countries, namely those of the curriculum and pedagogy. (Tikly 2004, p. 194)

Concluding remarks The purpose of this chapter has been to examine the way the Musical Futures organisation has leveraged policy discourse to construct a neat fit between aspects of the pedagogy and neoliberal agendas in Australia. These reflections, while they do not go so far as to offer solutions, pose questions that are important first steps to thinking through the tensions that arise when trying to provide inclusive and democratic music education in neoliberal circumstances. Reflecting sociologically on the development of MFA and its evolution of informal pedagogy leads us to highlight unresolved issues that call into question the inclusiveness and the social justice foundations on which the programme stands. By analysing local government policies, political actions, and MFA’s public face, we reveal the shared ‘trace elements’ of neoliberal ideology. We argue that, in Australia, Musical Futures has responded to neoliberal imperatives by aligning their version of informal learning and non-formal teaching with the knowledge economy. This synergy is evident in the organisation’s intentions to improve music education provision through: raising education standards by improving teacher quality; providing government value for money through scalable deliverables, including products that can be commercialised; rationalising the music education workforce by focusing on in-servicing current employees; providing a cost-efficient curriculum value-add rather than costly restructure; ensuring higher participation in instrumental music with relatively low per-student capital expenditure; producing a strong cross-sectorial pathway between schools and music trade and industry; increasing in music industry skills development; and providing a responsive solution to policy with a ‘tried-and-tested’ model. This has meant the educational affordances of informal 131

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music pedagogy have benefited from MFA making very good business sense. But what happens to music in young people’s school experience when educational reforms are led foremost by short-term, party-based economic imperatives rather than pedagogy? What happens to inclusion in school music when education is focused on driving up students’ accomplishments for industry? These are questions for further research. Our study indicates that, despite the informal pedagogy of Musical Futures, there remain issues in Australia to do with hegemony and exclusion, albeit in a different tonality. Investigations into how the practical elaborations of Lucy Green’s suggested pedagogy has evolved from the original conception or how it takes on local inflections around the globe is worthwhile and necessary to do through policy thinking. Musical Futures, other education providers, and developers of music pedagogy share the ‘problems’ of the field. Therefore, the onus is on all musical educators to find solutions in solidarity because there are serious issues with music education that are much greater than pedagogy. We believe that further critical work interrogating democracy and social justice in music education will be the means to bridge the many good intentions of music educators and policy-makers. We hope it will also be the means to make faster progress in closing the gaps of disadvantage by holding governments accountable to the failures of policy commitments and current economic systems.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

What examples exist of the convergence between neoliberalism and music education in your context? Which policies in your region interact with the provision of music education and how do these relate to the global knowledge economy?

References ABS (Australian Bureau of Statistics), 2019. 4221.0 Schools, Australia, 2018. Available from: https://www. abs.gov.au/ausstats/[email protected]/mf/4221.0. ACARA (Australian Curriculum Assessment and Reporting Authority), 2018. The Arts: Australian Curriculum. Available from: https://www.australiancurriculum.edu.au/f-10-curriculum/the-arts/. Armstrong, V., 2011. Technology and the Gendering of Music Education. Routledge, London. Attar, L., Westlake, N., 2013. Compassion: A Song Cycle in Seven Movements Based on a Collection of Ancient Hebrew and Arabic Texts. Available from: https://www.australianmusiccentre.com.au/work/westlakenigel-compassion. Australian Government, 2019. Closing the Gap Report. Available from: https://ctgreport.niaa.gov.au/sites/ default/files/ctg-report-20193872.pdf?a=1. Australian Government Department of Education, n.d. Longitudinal Surveys of Australian Youth. Available from: https://www.lsay.edu.au/. Ball, S., 2003a. Book review: consuming children. British Educational Research Journal vol. 29 (no. 2), 267–268. Ball, S., 2003b. The teacher’s soul and the terrors of performativity. Journal of Education Policy vol. 18 (no. 2), 215–228. Barrett, M., Langston, T., 2008. Capitalising on community music: a case study of the manifestation of social capital in a community choir. Research Studies in Music Education vol. 30 (no. 2), 118–138. Benedict, C., Schmidt, P., Spruce, G., Woodford, P., 2015. The Oxford Handbook of Social Justice in Music Education. Oxford University Press, New York. Cain, M., 2015. Musics of ‘The Other’: creating musical identities and overcoming cultural boundaries in Australian music education. British Journal of Music Education vol. 32 (no. 1), 71–86. Connell, R., n.d. Available from: http://www.raewynconnell.net/p/test.html. Connell, R., 2009. Good teachers on dangerous ground: towards a new view of teacher quality and professionalism. Critical Studies in Education vol. 50 (no. 3), 213–229.

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Questioning convergences Connell, R., 2013. The neoliberal cascade and education: an essay on the market agenda and its consequences. Critical Studies in Education vol. 54 (no. 2), 99–112. Connell, R., Dados, N., 2014. Where in the world does neoliberalism come from? The market agenda in southern perspective. Theory and Society vol. 43 (no. 2), 117–138. Cooper, R., Coles, A., Hanna Osborne, S., 2017. Skipping a Beat: Assessing the State of Gender Equality in the Australian Music Industry. Sydney, The University of Sydney Business School, Sydney. Available from: https://www.agec.org.au/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Skipping-a-Beat-Assuring-the-Valueof-Gender-Equality-in-the-Australin-Music-Industry-2017.pdf. Crawford, R., 2018. The Victorian Curriculum requires a balance of formal and informal learning: curriculum and pedagogical considerations in music education. Australian Journal of Music Education vol. 51 (no. 2), 29–45. Dandolo Partners, 2017. Musical Futures Australia Professional Learning Program Evaluation: Final Report. Available from: http://www.musicalfuturesinternational.org/mf-international-news/independent-evaluation-of-themusical-futures-australia-professional-learning-program-reveals-97-of-teachers-believe-that-mfapproaches-removes-barriers-to-participation. DET (Department of Education and Training), 2018a. FISO Continua of Practice for School Improvement. Available from: https://www.education.vic.gov.au/school/teachers/management/improvement/ Pages/FISO.aspx#link83. DET (Department of Education and Training), 2018b. Music in Schools. Available from: https://www. education.vic.gov.au/about/programs/Pages/music-in-schools.aspx. DET (Department of Education and Training), 2018c. National School Reform Agreement. Available from: https://docs.education.gov.au/node/51606. DET (Department of Education and Training), 2018d. Quality Music Education: A Framework for Victorian Schools. Available from: https://www.education.vic.gov.au/school/teachers/teachingresources/discipline/ arts/Pages/QMEF.aspx. DET (Department of Education and Training), 2019a. High Impact Teaching Strategies: Excellence in Teaching and Learning. Available from: https://www.education.vic.gov.au/Documents/school/teachers/ support/high-impact-teaching-strategies.pdf. DET (Department of Education and Training), 2019b. Appendix – Quality Music Education: A Framework for Victorian Schools. Available from: https://www.education.vic.gov.au/school/teachers/teachingresources/ discipline/arts/Pages/QMEF.aspx. Downey, J., 2009. Informal learning in music in the Irish secondary school context. Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education vol. 8 (no. 2), 46–59. Government of South Australia, 2019. Music Education Strategy 2019-2029. Available from: https://www. education.sa.gov.au/sites/default/files/2019-2029-music-education-strategy.pdf. Green, L., 2008. Music, Informal Learning and the School: A New Classroom Pedagogy. Ashgate, Aldershot. Hallam, S., Creech, A., McQueen, H., 2011. Musical Futures: A Case Study Investigation, Final Report. Institute of Education, University of London, London, UK. Hallam, S., Creech, A., Sandford, C., Rinta, T., Shave, K., McQueen, H., 2008. Survey of Musical Futures: A Report from the Institute of Education, University of London. Paul Hamlyn Foundation, London. Hattie, J., 2009. Visible Learning. Routledge, Oxon. Hess, J., 2015. Upping the ‘anti-’: The value of an anti-racist theoretical framework in music education. Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education vol. 14 (no. 1), 66–92. Ho, H.P., Chua, S.L., 2013. Piloting informal and non-formal approaches for music teaching in five secondary schools in Singapore: an introduction. In: Singapore Teachers’ Academy for the Arts (Ed.), Connecting the Stars: Essays on Student-Centric Music Education. Ministry of Education, Singapore. Jeanneret, N., McLennan, R., Stevens-Ballenger, J., 2011. Musical Futures: An Australian Perspective. Findings from a Victorian Pilot Study. The University of Melbourne, Graduate School of Education, Melbourne. Jeanneret, N., Wilson, E., 2017. Musical Futures and informal music pedagogy: historical perspectives and factors of success. In: Wright., R., Younker, B.A., Beynon, C. (Eds.), 21st Century Music Education: Informal Learning and Nnon-formal Teaching. Canadian Music Educators’ Association, Waterloo, pp. 213–226.

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Clare Hall et al. Karlsen, S., Westerlund, H., 2015. Music teachers’ repertoire choices and the quest for solidarity: Opening Arenas for the Art of Living with Difference. In: Benedict, C., Schmidt, P., Spruce, G., Woodford, P. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Social Justice in Music Education. Oxford University Press, New York, pp. 372–387. Kenway, J., Bullen, E., 2001. Consuming Children: Education-Entertainment-Advertising. Open University Press, Buckingham. Lingard, B., Sellar, S., 2013. Catalyst data’: perverse systemic effects of audit and accountability in Australian schooling. Journal of Education Policy vol. 28 (no. 5), 634–656. Marzano, R.J., 2007. The Art and Science of Teaching: A Comprehensive Framework for Effective Instruction. ASCD, Alexandria, Virginia. McLennan, R., 2012. Musical Futures in the Primary (Elementary) Years. Master’s Thesis, University of Melbourne, Graduate School of Education, Melbourne. Minister for Education, 2018. Victoria On-Board with National School Reform Agreement. Available from: https://ministers.education.gov.au/tehan/victoria-board-national-school-reform-agreement. Musical Futures Australia, 2013. Submission to the Victorian Parliamentary Education and Training: Music Education Inquiry. Available from: www.parliament.vic.gov.au/images/stories/committees/etc/ submissions/Music_Ed_Inquiry/231_Musical_Futures_Australia_21022013.pdf. Musical Futures Australia, 2016. Musical Futures Summary. Musical Futures Australia Website, Available from: https://www.musicalfuturesaustralia.org/. Musical Futures Australia, 2018. Website. Available from: https://www.musicalfuturesaustralia.org/. Musical Futures UK, 2018. Website. Available from: https://www.musicalfutures.org/community/international. Music Teacher Magazine, 2015. Available from: file://ad.monash.edu/home/User052/chall/Documents/ Research/Contemporary%20pedagogies%20in%20music%20ed/kenowenarticlemusicteachermagazineapril2015.pdf. Nakata, M., 2007. The cultural interface. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education vol. 36 (Suppl.), 7–14. Narita, F., Green, L., 2015. Informal learning as a catalyst for social justice in music education. In: Benedict, C., Schmidt, P., Spruce, G., Woodford, P. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Social Justice in Music Education. Oxford University Press, New York, pp. 303–317. National Association of Music Merchants, n.d. Website. Available from: https://www.namm.org/about. Ngarra-Burria: First Peoples Composers Initiative, n.d. Available from: https://www.australianmusiccentre. com.au/about/NgarraBurria. Nicholls, C., 2019. Pedagogies of Listening and Audience Education in the Orchestral Concert Hall. Doctoral Thesis, Monash University, Faculty of Education, Melbourne. Ofsted, 2006. An Evaluation of the Paul Hamlyn Foundation’s Musical Futures Project. UK Government. Available from: https://www.musicalfuturesaustralia.org/uploads/1/2/0/1/12012511/evaluation_of_ musical_futures.pdf. O’Neill, S., Bespflug, K., 2011. Musical futures comes to Canada: engaging students in real-world music learning. Canadian Music Educator vol. 53 (no. 2), 25–27. Parliament of Victoria, 2013. Education and Training Committee Inquiry into the Extent, Benefits and Potential of Music Education in Victorian schools. Available from: https://www.parliament.vic.gov.au/file_uploads/ Music_Education_Final_041113_FJWsJhBy.pdf. Parliament of Victoria, 2014. Victorian Government Response to the Parliamentary Education and Training Committee’s Inquiry into the Extent, Benefits and Potential of Music Education in Victorian schools. Available from: https://www.parliament.vic.gov.au/images/stories/committees/etc/Music_Ed_Inquiry/Government_ Response_to_Education_and_Training_Committees_Inquiry_in_to_the_extent_benefits_and_.pdf. Pascoe, R., Leong, S., MacCallum, J., Mackinlay, E., Marsh, K., Smith, B., Church, T., Winterton, A., 2005. National Review of School Music Education: Augmenting the Diminished. Australian Government, Department of Education, Science and Training. https://researchrepository.murdoch.edu.au/id/ eprint/9459/1/music_review_reportFINAL.pdf Reid, A., 2010. Public education and democracy: a changing relationship in a globalizing world. Journal of Education Policy vol. 17 (no. 5), 571–585. Sagiv, D., Hall, C.A., 2015. Producing a classical habitus: reconsidering instrumental music teaching methods. In: Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Soderman, J. (Eds.), Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music, Music Education and Research. Ashgate, Farnham, pp. 113–126.

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Questioning convergences Schmidt, P., 2017. Popular music education as educational policy. In: Rodriguez, C.X. (Ed.), Coming of Age: Teaching and Learning Popular Music in Academia. University of Michigan Publishing, Ann Arbor, MI. Smith, G.D., Moir, Z., Brennan, M., Rambarran, S., Kirkman, P., 2017. The Routledge Research Companion to Popular Music Education. Routledge, Milton Park. Snook, I., O’Neill, J., Clark, J., O’Neill, A.M., Openshaw, R., 2009. Invisible learnings? A commentary on John Hattie’s book: visible learning: a synthesis of over 800 meta-analyses relating to achievement. New Zealand Journal of Educational Studies vol. 44 (no. 1), 93–106. Synnøve Blix, H., Lunde Vestad., I., Valde Onsrud, S. forthcoming, Gender Research in Scandinavian Music Education: From Stereotypes to Multiple Possibilities? Routledge, London. The Deep Blue Orchestra, n.d. Available from: https://deepblue.net.au/. Tikly, L., 2004. Education and the new imperialism. Comparative Education vol. 40 (no. 2), 173–198. Victorian Aboriginal Education Association (VAEA), 2013. Submission to the Inquiry into the Extent, Benefits and Potential of Music Education in Victorian Schools. Victorian Curriculum and Assessment Authority, 2018. Music Education Guide. Available from: https://www. vcaa.vic.edu.au/foundation10/Pages/viccurriculum/music_education_guide/musiced-home.aspx. Vulliamy, G., Lee, E., 1976. Pop Music in School. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Woodford, P., 2008. Fear and loathing in music education? Beyond democracy and music education. Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education vol. 7 (no. 1), 105–138. Wright, R., 2011. Musical futures: a new approach to music education. Canadian Music Educator vol. 53 (no. 2), 19–21. Wright, R., 2013. Thinking globally, acting locally: informal learning and social justice in music education. Canadian Music Educator vol. 54 (no. 3), 33–36. Wright, R., Beynon, C., Younker, B.A. (Eds.), 2017. 21st Century Music Education: Informal Learning and Non-formal Teaching in School and Community Contexts. Canadian Music Educators’ Association, Waterloo. York Consulting, 2014. Musical Futures: Impact on Pupil Participation and Attainment in Music at Key Stage 4 – Phase Two Report. Paul Hamlyn Foundation. Available from: https://www.phf.org.uk/ publications/musical-futures-impact-pupil-participation-attainment-music-key-stage-4-phase-tworeport/.

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9 SOCIO-CULTURAL BACKGROUND AND TEACHER EDUCATION IN CHILE Understanding the musical repertoires of music teachers of Chile Carlos Poblete Lagos Introduction This chapter explores the relationships between musical repertoires, socio-cultural background, and the university education of music teachers trained in Chile between 1969 and 2010. There are three central goals for this chapter. First, I aim to categorize the musical repertoires per­ formed in their social background and in their university education context respectively by teachers using a taxonomy based on the distinction of musical genres through musical and sociological descriptors. Second, I seek to identify patterns of musical genres in both contexts and then deepen the types of discourse that underlie those patterns. Third, I propose the es­ tablishment of relationships between musical repertoires and historical periods, with emphasis on the socio-cultural dimension. We will understand the social-cultural background as the primary source in which the musical experiences carried out during childhood and adolescence are nurtured. From this point of view, Social Cultural Background has been objectified in three specific contexts: fa­ mily, school, and peer group. This is because study of the sociology of education concerning relations between the individual’s social cultural background and development in childhood and adolescence have indicated that this social cultural background constitutes the space from where the primary habitus is built (Dumais 2006; Stuij 2015; Knight 2015; Leonard, 2005; Perez-Felkner 2013; Montgomery 2018). In the case of the current study, these contexts are recognised as spaces of social relationship that actively participate in the constitution of the pre-university musical experience, the conformation of musical taste and the dispositions towards music (Atkinson 2011; Ter Bogt et al. 2011; Wright 2015; Soley and Spelke 2016). They also allow the emergence of formal and non-formal informal learning instances (Green 2008; Wright and Kanellopoulos 2010; Wright 2016; Poblete et al. 2019). The research problem has been built on three propositions. The first defines musical re­ pertoires as a set of works, objectified from the musical genres that compose them, with par­ ticular attention paid to the underlying cultural principles. The second argues that musical 136

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repertoires (a) are formed from multiple sources; (b) that these sources come from instances of formal, non-formal, and informal learning; and (c) that both repertoires and their sources are affected by socio-cultural characteristics and historical contexts from which they come. The third proposition indicates that learning musical repertoires is intrinsically a historical con­ struction, capable of constituting sedimented knowledge (Berger and Luckman 1966). The characteristics of the problem necessitated a multiple-source approach. The primary focus considered the identification of teachers’ musical repertoires. This was carried out by distributing a questionnaire about genres of musical repertoire, and their authors, to a purpo­ seful sample of music teachers (n = 109). These teachers attended Chilean universities between 1969 and 2010. Additionally, documentary sources were used to contextualize the periods of university training of the participants. This chapter is organized in four sections. The first offers a general look at the literature on musical repertoires, both from musicology and music education. This section also describes the theoretical and conceptual bases on which the chapter is built. From there, an integrated taxonomy is presented to categorise musical repertoires based on references from sociology and musicology. The second section proposes a historical overview of the Chilean music teacher education programs (MTEP), looking to contextualise the evolution of university education in music education during the period 1969–2010. The third section deals with the identification, characterisation, and analysis of the musical repertoires of music teachers, trained in Chile between 1969 and 2010. In this section I identify the authors and musical genres and identify repertoire patterns. The fourth section proposes a comprehensive vision of the problem, es­ tablishing relationships between musical repertoires, socio-cultural contexts, and training per­ iods of Chilean music teachers.

Theoretical basis As a subject of inquiry, musical repertoires have been explored by research from differing perspectives in musicology and music education. In the literature, there are three major groups. First, those focused on how musical repertoires are selected, transmitted, and performed in different contexts of practice. Second, those who critically reflect on the Western canon and its influence on the categorisation of musical repertoires. Third, those who establish relationships between musical preferences, identity, and social relationships. Within the first group, we find literature related to the analysis of the practices, processes, and criteria for selection of repertoires (Apfelstadt 2000; Carney 2005; Crochet 2006; Grant 1993; Prentice 1986; Suk 2003); compilations and studies that propose forms of classification of repertoires for diverse groups (Fiese 1991; Gaines 1996; Jones 2005); and the study of the relationships between repertoires and musical genres (Walker 2005). Also included are studies on curricular construction for school and university education from the selection of musical repertoires for bands and orchestras (Gelpi 1984; Hayward 2004; Menghini 1999; Reynolds 2000; Woike 1990). In the second group, we find studies that address the research of constitutive processes, construction/deconstruction, and innovation and selection of the musical canon (Allsup and Benedict 2008; Dowd et al. 2002; Kremp 2010; Merino 2006; Shreffler, 2013), as well as the categorization of repertoires and musical genres (Fabbri 1980; Frith 1987; Harris 1995; Holt 2003; Lena and Peterson 2008; Moore 2001; Peterson 2005; Schmutz 2009; Tagg 1982). The third group brings together research focused on the classification and implementation of repertoires and musical preferences in school education (Herrera et al. 2010; Pascual 2011; Vilar 2000); the relationships between taste, musical preferences, and social contexts (Coulangeon 137

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and Lemel 2007; Glevarec and Pinet 2009; Peterson 1992; Peterson and Kern 1996; Peterson and Simkus 1992; Van Eijck 2001); and the relationships between musical preferences, musical styles and identity (Gardikiotis and Baltzis 2011; Ramírez 2006; Stålhammar 2006; Tekman and Hortaçsu 2002). Despite the large number of works reviewed, studies that connect repertoires, socio-cultural background, and the university training of music teachers, deepening the classification of their musical repertoires, were not found. This chapter seeks to contribute to the development of both dimensions, proposing a reading about the relationships between training contexts, mu­ sical repertoires, and historical periods of training of music teachers from Chile.

Musical repertoires: a sociological gaze When refering to musical repertoires, I mean, in general terms, a set of pieces selected from a larger universe based on functional criteria to the purposes and uses of said repertoire. This condition of being selected correlates with the concepts of repertoire and reservoir formulated by British so­ ciologist Basil Bernstein. In his work Vertical and Horizontal Discourses, an Essay (1999), he defines repertoire as ‘the total set of strategies and their analogic potential possessed by any one individual’ (p. 159). In association with repertoire, Bernstein defines the concept of reservoir as a total set and its potential of the community as a whole. Thus, the repertoire of each member of the community will have a common nucleous but there will be differences between repertoires (p. 159). This distinction is relevant to differentiate sets of individual musical knowledge, compared to others of a community type. A second point, located at the base of the acquisition of musical repertoires, refers to how they are constituted from musical experience. On this, the research literature deepens the relationships between musical experience, learning, and culture. It does so from per­ spectives focused on the relationship between subjects and communities, culture and social learning (Campbell 2010; Green 2008; O’Neill 2010, 2014), as well as those that link the individual conformation of experience with learning and the contexts in which it operates, particularly those of an informal nature (Johansen 2010; O’Neill 2012, 2014; Poblete et al. 2019; Wright and Kanellopoulos 2010). In this way, the link between musical repertoires and the musical experience of individuals implies the development of knowledge con­ struction that expands over time, based on the learning of musical works in different moments and contexts. This construction assumes a cumulative character and that is in­ trinsically linked to social and individual experience. From sociology, the concept of habitus (Bourdieu 1979), draws our attention to the structures that organise the core of the experience. In that sense, the concept of habitus allows us to observe the effect of social relations on the conformation of experience, as well as its cumulative character. According to Bourdieu (2001, p. 131), ‘the social world is accumulated history, and therefore it cannot be reduced to a concatenation of instantaneous and mechanical equilibria in which men play the role of interchangeable particles’. A history that turns out to be analogous to the constitution of musical experience, as a settled history, is capable of accounting for the characteristics and modes of relationship between subjects and institutions, and experience and contexts. It is not the aim of this chapter to deepen the scope of the concept of habitus for music education. However, several scholars deepen the relationships between social contexts, cultural principles, and music education (Bona 2006; Fernández 2006; Ho 2012; Sousa 2007; Stakelum 2008; Wright 2008; Wright and Froehlich 2012). For the present work, the concept of habitus allows us to articulate empirical research with the characterization of contexts and their 138

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relationship with musical repertoires. Likewise, the concept of cultural capital (Bourdieu 1979), allows us to account for the objective conditions that frame the musical practices through which musical repertoires are performed and learned. A third point considers musical repertoires as sets of possible knowledge objectified in the three basic categories of musical genres described by Tagg (1982), regardless of the purposes for which they were compiled. The objectification of musical repertoires in musical genres implies recognising in each genre ways to organize musical knowledge from codes and/or specialised languages, which establish the forms of operation and legitimation principles that regulate relations with the socio-cultural contexts in which they register. To understand this meaning of repertoires as musical genres, I use Bernstein’s (1999) concepts of vertical and horizontal discourse. These concepts describe how knowledge is structured concerning the context in which it originates and performs. According to the author, the concepts of vertical and horizontal discourse refer directly to ‘the internal principles of their construction and their social base’ (Bernstein, 1999, p. 157). According to Bernstein (1999, p. 159), vertical discourses take the form of a coherent, explicit and systematically principle structure, hier­ archically organized, as in the sciences, or it takes the form of a series of specialised languages with specialised modes of interrogation and specialised criteria for the production and circulation of texts, as in the social sciences and the humanities. In the opposite sense, horizontal discourse refers to a form of knowledge … [with] well-known features: it is likely to be oral, local, context dependent and specific, tacit, multilayered and contradictory across but not within contexts... [and where] the crucial feature is that is it segmentally organised. (Bernstein, 1999, p. 159) According to Bernstein, one of the main characteristics of this form of discourse lies in its condition of approach in a segmented way to knowledge: segmented around the origin of the knowledge acquired, segmented around the idea of acquiring such knowledge, and finally segmented in the type of knowledge to which it originates. In this sense, to analyse the musical repertoires based on the genres that identify it imply a recognition of specific characteristics and conditions related to the expressions of vertical and horizontal discourse. In the case of the Western Classical genre, I propose that its characteristics fit those of vertical discourse. This genre organizes knowledge using specific languages, is built on hierarchical and explicit principles, and can be performed independently of the context in which it originates. It predominantly uses systems of conceptual organization and notation that are explicit, highly elaborated, and universalist, both for the organization and the realization of musical speeches, and regardless of the aesthetic canon to which they refer. On the other hand, the characteristics of organisation and realisation of the popular genre account for a hybridisation between the use of a conceptual and notational basis. This basis establishes a generalisable framework to guide practices and dynamics of realisation in which the use of meanings predominates particularities that respond to the contexts in which the practices are developed. In other words, popular music involves the coexistence of specialised languages with highly context-dependent forms of realisation. In the case of folklore, the predominance of orality as a means of transmitting principles and forms of musical discourse, its link with community structures, and respect for traditional forms of musical performance,1 make it comparable to the attributes of horizontal discourse. 139

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Towards a taxonomy of classification of musical repertoires The creation of this taxonomy to analyse the repertoires of music teachers integrates theoretical elaborations from musicology and the sociology of education. In the case of musicology, re­ ferences from Tagg (1982/2015), Lena and Peterson (2008), and Harris (1995), complemented by Fabbri (1980), Frith (1986, 1987), and Holt (2003) were incorporated respectively. In this taxonomy, I use the categories of three musical genres described by Tagg (1982), considering the internal characteristics of the organisation, transmission, and aesthetic representation that these three primary genres possess. These features give them an identity, possibilities of dis­ tinction, and attributes of social legitimisation. From the work of Lena and Peterson (2008), approximations made around the concept of the musical genre were considered, specifically in the proposition of a comprehensive definition, and the specification criteria and attributes for the classification of musical genres. This decision was taken to cancel preconceived ideas and the cultural bias inherent in the taxonomies elaborated from the matrix of written Western music. The work of Trudel Harris (1995) allowed me to define limits about folklore across three attributes: orality in transmission, anonymity in production, and community as a circu­ lation context. In the case of sociological sources, the concepts of vertical and horizontal dis­ course described above (Bernstein 1999) were fully considered. Table 9.1 presents the results of the proposed taxonomy.

Music teacher education in Chile The training of music teachers in Chile began at the end of the nineteenth century, as part of the educational policies implemented during the first decades of the creation of the Republic (Sepúlveda 1996). In 1935, the training of music teachers reached universities and sustained de­ velopment until today. In this process, we recognize three periods: The first is marked by teacher training’s national presence through the University of Chile and its regional headquarters; the second ends with the promulgation of the Constitution of 1980 (in full military dictatorship), which modifies the university structure and opens education to the market; the third entails the im­ plementation of policies that seek to improve the quality of teacher training (1998 onwards) in the context of democratic elections, but with a predominance of the free market. Currently, the training of music teachers is carried out within universities in two modalities. In the first, concurrent training, students enter directly after finishing secondary school without the need to accredit previous musical studies. The study program integrates both musical and pedagogical training and is carried out for four years. At the end of that time, students obtain a bachelor’s degree in music education. In the fifth year, they receive the professional qualifi­ cation that enables them to teach classes in schools. The second option, consecutive training, requires that students have already obtained a bachelor of music. They then go on to receive training in pedagogy. This training takes two years and culminates in obtaining the degree in which they qualify as music teachers. Between them, the concurrent modality is the one with the highest amount of MTEP with a total of 15 programs distributed among five regions in the country. Of the total number of programs, the Metropolitan region accounts for 59% of them. The conditions of wide access provided by concurrent training implies that the majority of those who enter the teacher education programs must acquire basic knowledge about musical language, while at the same time developing capacities for teaching. This reality is common to other Latin American countries where the university is a space for vocational training, re­ socialisation, and access to formal knowledge about music (Aróstegui and Cisneros 2010; Mateiro 2010; Poblete et al. 2019). 140

Teacher education in Chile Table 9.1 Taxonomy of classification of musical repertoires Attributes

Classical genre

Transmission and circulation

Prescriptive use of Functional use of notation. notation. Transmission happens Transmission happens mainly across informal or mainly across formal non-formal contexts. contexts. Professional training, Professional or amateur qualified training. Qualified or performance. skill-based performance. Predominance of Use of both vertical and vertical discourse. horizontal discourses. Systematised Functional use of knowledge based on specialised language, specialised languages. segmented knowledge depending on the context. Formal. Single, and/or Formal/informal/non collective training. formal. Individual and Individual and collective musical collective musical practice. practice. Fidelity to written Expressive, records, sources are communicational, and/or valued, and aesthetics commercial impact principles. capacity is valued, on dependent context principles.

Performers

Type of discourse

Learning context

Principles of legitimation

Pop genre

Folk genre Prevalence of orality. Transmission happens across informal or nonformal contexts. Mainly amateur training or self-educated. Mainly skill-based performance. Predominance of horizontal discourse. Segmented knowledge base, not systematised.

Informal/non formal. Selfeducated or collective/ individual training. Learning happens across musical practice. Fidelity to origin and traditions, and expressive capability in performance are valued. Adherence to sociocultural principles subject to tradition.

The responsibility for music literacy that the university must assume in the training of music teachers (Poblete Lagos 2010b) has its origin in a systemic problem. This problem is related to the training provided by the music class inside the school and the possibilities of access related to specialised music training in teachers’ contexts. Although music education exists as a subject in the national curriculum, its teaching is mostly optional. It is the prerogative of schools to include it among school subjects. On the other hand, although the majority of teachers engage in pre-university musical practice, it occurs mostly in informal and non-formal environments. Given these circumstances, it is expected that the university must assume a function of literacy preparation prior to the professional training of students entering the initial teacher training programs in music.

Historical evolution of music teacher education programs (MTEP), 1969–2010 The period between 1969 and 2010 was marked by various changes in the Chilean sociopolitical context, with effects on institutional and individual life in the country. Among these, the institutional breakdown and the subsequent installation of the dictatorial government be­ tween 1973 and 1989 brought about changes in the country’s economic model and legislative structure, which in turn impacted the entire education system (Brunner 2009; Cox 1984, 2003). The return to democratic elections in 1990 started a period of reconstitution of 141

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democratic institutions, although without modifying the economic and productive structure that sustained the country (Poblete 2010a). Likewise, a new arc of policies implemented in the educational field since the 1990s introduced modifications to the school curriculum and teacher training (Poblete Lagos 2016). All of the above had effects on music teacher education programs. These effects included the transition from a centralized system, based on the model of the University of Chile and re­ plicated by its regional headquarters and the new private universities (1969–1980), to a model of independent institutions, with strong local presence, and with less fiscal contribution to the institutions (1981–1989). Subsequently, a sub-period formed in which policies were designed to improve the quality of education at the primary and secondary levels, while universities were institutionally rebuilt, now under the principles of democratic organisation (1990–2001). Finally, from 2002 onwards, a set of policies were instituted that sought to ensure quality in teacher training and excellence in the implementation of teaching; along with curtailing the private training offered to music teachers. Table 9.2 summarizes the evolution of the MTEP over the period 1969–2010.

Repertoires of music teachers of Chile In the socio-musical characterisation questionnaire used in the study informing this chapter, responses about musical repertoires generated from participants’ socio-cultural background and university education were collected. Of the total responses, two groups emerged based on the categories established for the analysis: the first, in which authors, works, genres, and musical styles were definable; the second, which included a large number of responses that could not be easily classified. Table 9.3 illustrates the above information. The heterogeneity in the answers considered valid was organised into four types: (a) composers or works; (b) musical genres; (c) musical styles and/or sub-genres; (d) formal forms, procedures, and/or structures used in music. These appear both as pure categories (only authors, genres, styles, or musical forms) and mixed (any combination of the four types of response). Table 9.4 gives an account of this. Table 9.5 presents responses to the question about repertoires derived from participants’ social background, university education, and teaching practices. The values express percentages of the total (n = 109). It is interesting to note the combined presence of the classical and folk genres in the musical repertoires of participants’ socio-cultural background. This is in contrast to the predominance of the Classical genre in university education, and its decrease in the context of teaching practices (except for Vivaldi and Beethoven, whose decrease is more gradual). Likewise, it should be noted that in the socio-cultural background there are composers belonging to the pop and folk genres, excluded during university education, but who reappear in teaching practices.

Patterns of musical genres According to the classification principles explained in the first part of this chapter, the answers, based on the response types indicated in Table 9.4, were coded based on three categories of musical genres (Classical, Pop, Folk). In agreement with this, responses were organised into seven patterns: three pure categories (Classical, Pop, Folk), and four derived from the com­ binatorial possibilities of these. In this way, the results presented in Table 9.6 are confirmed by the percentage weight of the musical genre patterns attributed to each of the contexts.

142

143

Government 7 Capital region 2

Dependence

Location

11

MTEP

1969–1980

Private 4 Other regions 9

Table 9.2 Evolution of MTEP 1969–2010 questions

Government 3 Capital region 1

7

1981–1989

Private 4 Other regions 6

Government 3 Capital region 3

8

1990–2001

Private 5 Other regions 5

Government 5 Capital region 10

17

2002–2010

Private 12 Other regions 7

Teacher education in Chile

Carlos Poblete Lagos Table 9.3 Examples of general responses on musical repertoires Questions

Example of responses

What music did you listen to regularly in your childhood? In the following columns, write the repertoires executed regularly by the groupings in which you participated. Write the repertoires executed regularly on instrument or instruments played before university education.

‘Paul Anka, Neil Sedaka, The Beatles’ (Case 109) ‘What dad heard on a small radio’ (Case 54) ‘Folk songs by Violeta Parra, Inti Illimani and Quilapayun’ (Case 22) ‘Songs of the school repertoire’ (case 13) ‘Silvio Rodríguez, Violeta Parra, Víctor Jara, Ella Fitzgerald, Tom Jobim, Joao Gilberto, Elis Regina’ (Case 86) ‘Simple methods and songs only’ (Case 4)

Table 9.4 Examples of response types according to category Types of answers

Pure categories

Mixed categories

Composers/ works

Bach, Handel, The Beatles, Illapu. (Case 1)

Genres

Dancing pop music, folk. (Case 52)

Styles

Nueva Trova Cubana, Canto Nuevo, Urban Folk. (Case 47)

Musical form

Marches for standard Band – Hymns – Canon. (Case 14)

Famous opera choirs, Mozart Requiem Mozart, Rossini Stabat Mater Rossini, Madrigals and Motets, etc. (Case 95) Popular (Beatles), Boleros, Chilean New Wave, Classical (Saint Saens, Tchaikovsky). Folk: Violeta Parra, Inti Illimani, Quilapayun. (Case 33) Progressive Rock: King Crimson, Magma, Yes, etc. Jazz: Miles Davis, Coltrane, Mingus, etc. Classical: Bach, Beethoven, Stravinsky, etc. (Case 88) Piano sonatinas from Mozart, Schubert, Chopin, etc. Ancient arias, opera arias, oratories. Lucía Pop, Lily Pons, Roberta Peters, María Callas, Joan Sutherland, Verónica Villarroel, Cristina Gallardo Damas, etc. (Case 95)

Table 9.5 Percentage of composers named in the socio-cultural background, university education, and teaching practices contexts Composers

Socio-cultural background

University education

Teaching practices

Violeta Parra (*) J. S. Bach W. A. Mozart Antonio Vivaldi G. Handel L. Van Beethoven Inti Illimani (*) Illapu (*) Víctor Jara (*) The Beatles (*)

41.3 23.9 14.7 9.2 4.6 0 17.4 7.3 14.7 18.3

7.3 28.4 18.3 6.4 9.2 13.8 0 0 0 0

32.1 6.4 11 5.5 0 12.8 13.8 7.3 33 13.8

Note * Relevant authors for folk and popular music in Chile.

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Teacher education in Chile Table 9.6 Patterns of musical genres according contexts of realization

NA Classical Pop Folk Classical and Pop Classical and Folk Pop and Folk Classical, Folk and Pop

Socio-cultural background

University education

Teaching practices

0.9 0.9 0 0.9 14.7 10.1 12.8 59.6

6.4 16.5 0 0 11.9 32.1 0.9 32.1

14.7 4.6 2.8 10.1 5.5 3.7 27.5 31.2

The above table presents patterns that are predominant within each context, as well as the variation of their trajectories throughout the three contexts. Within socio-cultural background there are almost no pure categories, with the concentration of responses in the mixed classical, pop and folk category being substantive, followed by groups composed of pairs of musical genres. The presence of the classical genre in university education is natural, given the char­ acteristics of those who enter the MTEP, and the need to establish a minimum basis for musical language in their curricula. The presence of folk in combination with the classical genre is interesting, as both are representative of principles of realisation of loyalty to tradition and origin. The emergence of popular music in the context of teaching practices, both in association with folk, as in the pattern of three genders is also interesting. This provides evidence of musical omnivorism (Dyndahl et al. 2014; Fernández Rodríguez and Heikkilä 2011; Leguina et al. 2016; Peterson 1992, 2005; Peterson and Kern 1996; Peterson and Simkus 1992), related to the socializing function that teachers exercise within the classroom, in terms of using and applying repertoires from different backgrounds.2

Repertoires of university education The responses related to repertoires performed within university education programs were unexpected, particularly in terms of categorisation. A high proportion of ‘methods’ (56%) and/ or composers or musical works (44%) were observed. One possible explanation refers to the prevalent use of methods or compilations of pieces as part of the music literacy training of music teacher education programs in the first years of the program. Figure 9.1 shows the composers and methods that were named. The elementary nature of the named texts, as well as the use of such texts to answer re­ pertoire questions, opens inquiry about the strength of the professional knowledge that teachers possess, in particular regarding the criteria used to distinguish and name musical repertoires.

Repertoires in university education and training periods The musical repertoires performed in university education were analysed using the division of four historical periods described in the second part of the chapter. I sought to identify the dynamics of the evolution of musical repertoires, applying principles of continuity, variation, and change between periods. Figure 9.2 presents the evolution of the main patterns of musical repertoires made in university education between 1969 and 2010. 145

Carlos Poblete Lagos

Figure 9.1

Repertoires from university context

The data show different trajectories for each of the musical genres and their combinations, some with marked changes between periods. The discrete presence of the classical genre during the first two periods, and its progressive decline in the last two decades, is striking. Equally interesting, the initial behaviour of the classical – pop combination stands out. Unlike the classical genre, it does not decrease, but rises during the last period. Similar behaviour emerges – albeit in the opposite direction – in the classical/folk, and classical/pop/ folk combinations. Both patterns have trajectories with marked changes between periods, although those changes are inverse of one another. It is also interesting to observe the force with which

Figure 9.2

Historical evolution of musical genres of university education

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Teacher education in Chile

the classical/pop/folk pattern emerges between the 1980s and 1990s, and its decline at the beginning of the last period, the latter coinciding with the rise of the classical/folk pattern.

Conclusions The results of the study show relevant findings regarding musical repertoires as part of the professional knowledge of music teachers. Throughout the data, it is possible to observe that the musical repertoires of music teachers constitute a corpus of knowledge formed from a broad set of works, authors, and genres, that come from both participants’ socio-cultural background and university education. This delineation of choices and use is formed by the individual and social development of the musical experience, representing, in a Bourdiesian paraphrase, a matter of habitus (Bourdieu 1979). In that sense, we can understand this corpus of knowledge as a se­ dimented history, which is incorporated through practices carried out over time, and highly sensitive to the objective conditions offered by the contexts where such practices have been developed. Applying the concepts of Bernstein (1999), the musical repertoires of music teachers are constructed from two reservoirs (socio-cultural background and university training), where the nature of each of these reservoirs will determine the general form that individual musical re­ pertoires will take upon each teacher. This nature depends on the objective conditions of the reservoir of the social background to provide access to knowledge, and on the conditions that university training subsequently establishes to equalize the differences in knowledge that come from varying social backgrounds. Analysis of the internal structure of the musical genres that make up the repertoires suggests the combined presence of different types of discourse, with a predominance of horizontal discourse. This is especially visible in the repertoires used in teaching practice, with a majority presence of folk and pop, and a higher weight given to musical genres from teachers’ sociocultural background compared to those from university education. In both cases, the pre­ dominance of horizontal discourse is inferred from the characteristics with which each musical genre organizes knowledge (in this case of a segmented type), and the conditions under which they were acquired in teachers’ socio-cultural background (mostly in informal and non-formal learning contexts). Along with this, the heterogeneity of the answers, in terms of logical levels and ways of naming repertoires, casts doubt on the capabilities of university education in the formation of specialized languages typical of professional teaching knowledge. On the other hand, the trajectories of musical genres in university education are changing, opening different perspectives regarding the relationship between historical periods and uni­ versity formation. Variations in trajectories can be linked to the historical evolution of sociocultural contexts, changes in university training policies, and the effects of these on the con­ ditions of operation of MTEPs within each historical period. Regardless of their sources, the general configuration of the music repertoires of music teachers matches the characteristics of omnivorous behaviour. We consider, however, that this behaviour is due to the objective conditions in which the musical repertoires were acquired, and not to a principle of free choice of musical preferences. This also affects the presence of the socio-cultural background closely linked to historical periods, which give meaning and social legitimacy to these acquisitions. These elements account for the effect of the spirit of the times within each period, influencing the culture, people, and their social relationships. Following the above, I consider it relevant to modify beliefs and ways of acting regarding the musical repertoires of music teachers. I suggest looking beyond the nature or functionality of repertoires, instead focusing on the ability of repertoires to connect policies, practices, and 147

Carlos Poblete Lagos

cultural principles. In other words, looking at repertoires as cultural devices, which, acting on previous and current musical experiences, constitute mechanisms of connection between the primary habitus and the training of music teachers. Such devices also allow us to establish links between societal parameters outside and institutional elements inside, crossed by the Zeitgeist effect, which dynamically shapes relations between history, society, and culture. To consider the relevance of musical repertoires from a cultural perspective constitutes a significant challenge for MTEPs in Chile since it implies assuming that the cultural dimension of musical education (Mateiro and Westvall 2013) constitutes an essential element in the de­ finition of what counts as knowledge teaching professional (Burnard 2013). In that sense, university education constitutes the space for equalisation of differences in access to knowledge, even beyond the individual configuration of students’ musical preferences, cultural differences, and the potential impact of socio-cultural and historical contexts. It is moreover a space that must substantially modify the complete educational trajectory of its students, enriching and resignifying the musical experience lived towards the construction of a solid base of professional teaching knowledge, capable of responding to the challenges of learning and teaching in contexts of social and multicultural change.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

What are the principles that guide the choice and performance of musical repertoires within the MTEP? How do MTEPs transfer the recognition and recontextualisation capabilities of musical repertoires from informal and non-formal contexts to those applied at school by music teachers?

Notes 1

2

Bernstein’s concept of restricted code (previous to the horizontal and vertical discourse) can help to clear more yet the characteristics of folklore as a form of knowledge. According to Bernstein, ‘re­ stricted code are more tied to a local social structure and have a reduced potential for change in principles’ (Bernstein, 1971, p. 136). Characteristics that, precisely, to represent the internal structure of folklore as knowledge form. Currently, the needs of an international and multicultural music education, capable of working with the repertoires of its students to achieve an inclusive music education (Karlsen 2012; Karlsen and Westerlund 2010; Kertz-Welzel 2018; Southcott and Joseph 2010), require a teacher with critical judgment and broad criteria to listen, analyze and apply repertoires from different backgrounds. In that sense, the omnivorous condition is part of the primary conditions that the teacher must possess to help the music education class promote an attitude of open listening towards the unknown repertoires or culturally different (O’Flynn 2005; Graham, 2009).

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10 JUMP UP, WINE, AND WAVE Soca music, social identity, and symbolic boundaries in Grenada, West Indies Danielle Sirek

Introduction Connection with a particular social group is often made manifest through engagement with specific cultural practices associated with the group. The transmission of such cultural practices is also means by which symbolic boundaries – the lines that include some people and exclude others in different social groups – are defined and operationalised (Lamont 1992). In this chapter, I explore the relationship between music education, social group identity, and symbolic boundaries (Lamont 1992). Through a case study of Grenadian soca music, I analyse the ways in which certain understandings of inter-sonic and delineated meanings (Green 1988/2008) in music can contribute to the formation of social groups. I examine how music education may generate and reinscribe symbolic boundaries within and between groups; and how symbolic boundaries defined by acts of musicking can impact on access to resources (Lamont 1992). To explore social group identity, symbolic boundaries, and their relationship to music education, it is helpful to draw from social identity theory. Social identity theory is an interactionist social psychological theory of the relationship between self-concept, group processes, and intergroup relations (Tajfel and Turner 1979). Social identity is linked to sense of self, wellbeing, and behaviour, since individuals’ social identity defines how one will be perceived and treated by others. Intergroup relations and comparisons are central to social identity theory: group activities and actions fundamentally affect other groups, and individuals are concerned with the status in and of their own group memberships. The lines that divide in-group/outgroup differentiations may be understood as symbolic boundaries (Lamont 1992). Scholarship on symbolic boundaries is long established in sociology (see, for example, writings by Karl Marx (1963), Émile Durkheim (1965), Mary Douglas (2003), and Max Weber (1978)). Newer scholarship explores boundary-as-process: boundary crossing, boundary work, shifting boundaries, and other active conceptualisations of boundary (Lamont and Fournier 1992). For the purposes of this chapter, I will draw from Michèle Lamont’s (1992, 2000; Lamont and Fournier 1992; Lamont and Molnár 2002) work on symbolic boundaries, which are defined as conceptual distinctions made by social actors to categorise objects, people, practices, and even time and space … Symbolic boundaries also separate people into groups and 153

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generate feelings of similarity and group membership (Epstein 1992, p. 232) … They are an essential medium through which people acquire status and monopolize resources. (Lamont and Molnár 2002, p. 168) Lamont and Molnár (2002) see symbolic boundaries as distinct from social boundaries: symbolic boundaries exist at the intersubjective level, while social boundaries are groupings of individuals. They expand on social boundaries thus: Social boundaries are objectified forms of social differences manifested in unequal access to and unequal distribution of resources (material and nonmaterial) and social opportunities. They are also revealed in stable behavioral patterns of association, as manifested in connubiality and commensality. (p. 168) Drawing from previous work (Lamont, 1992), Lamont and Molnár (2002) further note that symbolic boundaries are ‘necessary but insufficient’ for the presence of social boundaries (for problematisations of this conceptualisation, see Jarness (2013); (2017)). Lamont (1992) identifies three types of symbolic boundaries: moral boundaries (moral character; integrity); socioeconomic boundaries (wealth; professional success; power); and cultural boundaries (tastes; manners; attitudes; education). When symbolic boundaries are widely agreed upon and acknowledged, they shape social interactions and can result in social exclusion and segregation. Examining the symbolic boundaries created by and maintained through the teaching and learning of music may allow us to further understand the ways in which music education contributes to social groups becoming more exclusive, acquiring status, and dominating resources.

Soca music in Grenada The air at Soca Monarch is ripe with excitement and sweat: a sense of corporeal abandonment and visceral enjoyment as people jammed against one another jump up, fete, and wine to the music, waving their flags and their rags, and responding with cheers and shouts every time the artistes rev up the crowd by singing, ‘Anybody from Trinidad? Anybody from St Vincent? Anybody from … GRENADA?’ The energy is infectious and I find myself totally caught up in the ‘jump and wave’ of it all, singing along to choruses I don’t know, pumping my rag to the beat, and cheering loudly when the artistes call out to people from my city of St George’s. Here, I am a body, with other bodies, moving to the beat, thinking of nothing except the music. Fieldnotes Reflection on Soca Monarch 7 August 2010 Soca is the most popular musical style in Grenada. The genre grew out of a fusion of calypso and East Indian rhythms by Ras Shorty I (Lord Shorty) in Trinidad and Tobago. While there are several subgenres of soca music, including power soca, groovy soca, chutney soca, ragga soca, and parang soca, Grenadian socas are usually power socas or groovy socas. The songs are in verse-chorus form, and can be characterised by up-tempo melodies in 4/4 time on top of sparsely textured, pre-recorded digital ‘riddims’ created by a producer. Riddims are fast, driving, highly repetitive, and assembled using drum machines, synthesisers, sequencers, samplers, digital multitracking, and autotune. Several soca ‘artistes’ may create different songs to the 154

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same riddim, using melodies that are usually fairly narrow in range, highly repetitive, and rhythmically driving. Since soca artistes tend to put out new releases every year, the music often seems disposable to less sympathetic listeners; it can also seem homogeneous, due to the highly repetitive nature and multiple usages of a single riddim by different artistes. Soca music is party music, and lyrics usually include themes of feting (partying), sexual arousal, and alcohol – although lyrics are de-emphasised and also often difficult to discern because of soca’s digital, amplified nature. Soca songs are usually first released digitally on online platforms (e.g., YouTube, SoundCloud). Most artistes time the release of new songs to take place before the start of the Carnival season, so that they may be considered for participation in Soca Monarch, the music competition described in the fieldnotes reflection above. Soca Monarch, which was first launched nationally in 1994, is the highest attended and most profitable event during Carnival in Grenada (Mitchell 2014). Those selected to perform in Soca Monarch will have their digital riddim arranged for live band and backup singers. Bands usually consist of a horn section, electric guitar and bass, percussion, and backup singers. The winner is ‘crowned’ publicly in front of thousands of people, and also receives a significant sum of prize money, ranging between $30,000 XCD–$50,000 XCD ($11,000 USD–$18,000 USD). Performance style of both the soca artiste, who is usually male, and the audience can be characterised as hypersexualised and male-centric, and it is therefore important to consider the body and the body’s movements as text (Harewood 2006). Heteronormative gender roles are amplified through outward displays of machismo in soca performance. Soca singers often perform in a physical stance that is slightly forward and bent at the waist toward the audience, or upright and slightly leaning back. The artiste will bounce, jump, or run energetically on the spot or across the stage, often with the knees high in the air. One hand will grip a handheld mic while the other hand motions to the audience, waves back and forth, or motions to self. In performance, male and female backup dancers will join the soca artistes onstage not only to dance, but also to demonstrate what kind of moves the spectators should be doing. To facilitate this, the artiste will sometimes stop singing completely during the performance, addressing the audience directly and instructing them to move a certain way (e.g., jump, wine, wave) while the band and backup singers vamp, and backup dancers will demonstrate as instructed or take a break to listen. Movement both on- and offstage includes ‘jumping up,’ waving flags and rags, and wining. To jump up is simultaneously to jump up and down and to party; this move is frequently accompanied by waving a piece of material (e.g., cloth or flag) in the air in time to the music, often at the instruction of the soca artiste to show support and loyalty (Guilbault 2010). Wining, inseparable from soca music, is a type of dance in which the waist is moved in a circular motion, alone or between a man and a woman. In partner wining, the woman is positioned in front of and facing away from the male partner, who may hold her around the middle while she wines. These movements emphasise gendered displays of power, privileging masculinity and simultaneously representing female identity as sexual object, which is sometimes seen as submissive and sometimes seen as powerful depending on the song, the style of wining, and the spectator (for an extensive discussion on female identity and the female body in soca music, see Harewood (2006)). Performances also frequently include what Jocelyn Guilbault (2010) identifies as ‘public intimacies’ as a source of pleasure: the movement and dance referred to above, but also call-and-response that invokes place and belongingness (‘Anybody from Trinidad? Anybody from St Vincent? Anybody from Grenada?’). Such intimacies create, maintain, and strengthen the social group of Grenadians who engage in soca; and make apparent in-group and out-group status and relationships through co-performance. 155

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Traditionally, soca music has been taught and learned informally by and amongst young men. Burgeoning soca artistes will observe soca performances by listening to new releases online, by attending competitions and concerts, or by watching music videos. Recently, however, the Grenadian government and organisations such as the Spicemas Corporation have facilitated soca music education initiatives to assist both new and seasoned artistes. This is often done under the auspices of improving the ‘product’ of soca music in the hopes of generating increased sponsorships and tourist spending. Some examples of soca teaching and learning initiatives have included the Schools Soca Monarch competition (2010–2016); training sessions for current and prospective soca judges; music education workshops for soca and other artistes including the Cultural Exchange Workshop (2016), Ready for the Stage Initiative (2017), a sound engineering workshop (2017), a mentorship program with Swiss producer Adrian Stern (2018), and a vocal workshop with vocal coach Vanessa Briggs (2018), all under the auspices of Music & Beyond and the Pure Grenada Music Festival; and soca performance opportunities specifically designed to nurture and showcase both emerging and established talent, such as Village Soca Monarch, Artiste Lounge, 10 to 10 Soca Fete, and Preeday.

Inter-sonic and delineated meaning in music In her seminal text Music on deaf ears: musical meaning, ideology and education, Lucy Green (2008) explores the nature of musical meaning and its relationship to social processes. Green proposes a dialectical relationship of meanings in music, identifying two ideal1 types of meaning: ‘intersonic’ (previously referred to as ‘inherent’) and ‘delineated’. Inter-sonic meanings are those that exist in the sonic components of music – musical configurations such as pitch and rhythm relationships, repetition, similarity and difference, and opening and closing – as experienced and comprehended by the individual. In essence, inter-sonic meanings are the musical materials and their functionality. They are, according to Green (2010, p. 24–25, emphasis in original), not natural, essential, or ahistorical: on the contrary, they are artificial, historical, and learnt … inherent [inter-sonic] meanings of music arise from the conventional interrelationships of musical materials, in so far as these interrelationships are perceived as such in the mind of the listener. Our understanding of inter-sonic meanings is therefore built on prior knowledge, experience, and competence; and understood in context of each person’s history, culture, positionality, and lens. Green further expands that the more familiarity one has with a certain musical style, the more ‘affirmative’ one’s experiences will be. Contrastingly, the less familiar we are, the more ‘aggravated’ one will be. Delineated meanings arise from the cultural associations the musicker ascribes to a type of music. Delineated meanings may include, for example, related clothing and mannerisms, personal memories, or attributed values of those who consume or create the music. Delineated meanings are distinct but inseparable from inter-sonic meanings: Delineation cannot exist on its own, for without inherent [inter-sonic] musical meaning there would be no vessel through which to convey a delineation of any sort. (Green 2008, p. 51) Like inter-sonic meanings, delineated meanings are constructed and understood according to the positionality and lens of the listener. If the listener feels the music positively expresses aspects 156

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of their identity or social values, they will have a positive response. However, if the listener perceives the music as being representative of a social group with which they do not identify, or of values antithetical to their personal ethos, the listener will have a negative response. Both inter-sonic and delineated meanings are therefore socially mediated and understood by the situated individual. Our affirming or aggravating responses to the inter-sonic meanings in music are joined in multiplex ways to our positive or negative responses to the delineated meanings in music, as we individually perceive them. Green suggests that when the individual experiences affirmation in inter-sonic meaning along with positive delineated meaning, ‘celebration’ occurs. However, when the individual experiences aggravation to inter-sonic meaning and negative delineated meaning, they experience ‘alienation’. When there is a contradiction of experience in inter-sonic and delineated meanings (e.g., an affirming experience of inter-sonic meaning combined with a negative experience of delineated meaning; or an aggravating experience of inter-sonic meaning combined with a positive experience of delineated meaning), the individual experiences ‘ambiguity’.

Inter-sonic and delineated meanings in Grenadian soca music Generally speaking, the group that creates and consumes soca music is the younger generation of Grenadians (i.e., under age 40). As I have suggested elsewhere, this group is primarily comprised of Grenadians who were very young or born after the Grenada revolution of 1979 and subsequent American invasion of 1983 (Sirek 2018). While a generational divide in soca musicking practices is apparent, the older and younger generational groups are neither homogenous nor fixed: many older Grenadians participate in soca musicking, while many younger Grenadians reject it. The moral, cultural, and socioeconomic factors that override these age-based social groups articulate the symbolic boundaries between soca lovers and those who dislike soca. An analysis of inter-sonic and delineated meaning in soca music provides insights into the social group of soca lovers; and the ways in which soca music education initiatives might contribute to the formation of symbolic boundaries between social groups. To illustrate inter-sonic and delineated meanings in soca music, and their relationship to people in Grenada, I offer a brief case study (Stake 1995). This case study builds upon earlier ethnographic research on the relationship between music and identity in Grenada (Sirek 2013). The data includes field notes and interview transcriptions previously collected during fieldwork in 2010–2011; soca songs produced between 2011 and 2018; videos of soca music performances released online on public Grenadian YouTube channels including 1socaholic, Greenzking Promoz, NOW Grenada, and the Grenada Broadcasting Network; press releases featuring soca music or soca music education on NOW Grenada, Grenada Broadcasting Network, Pure Grenada Music Festival, Spicemas Corporation, Grenada Information Service, and Government of Grenada websites; and posts about soca music on public social media. Data were examined for themes including ‘soca’, ‘music education’, ‘workshop’, ‘clinic’, ‘school’, ‘fete’, and ‘initiative’, and analysed using a constructivist approach. In constructivist approaches to data analysis, social phenomena are seen as being in a constant state of production and revision; and guided by social interactions. Coupled with this is a subjective and transactional epistemology (Guba and Lincoln 1998). While a full exploration of my positionality as a researcher who identifies as white, middle class, heterosexual, and female is outside the scope of this chapter, this was constantly considered during data collection, analysis, and writing. A detailed examination of my positionality in the context of my research on Grenada can be found in previous writing (Sirek 2013, 2016). 157

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Inter-sonic meanings in soca music, as perceived by people in Grenada, may include the expectable verse-chorus form; the driving, repetitive rhythms similar to those found in calypso and East Indian-influenced Caribbean music; specific sounds like the digitised conch shell; specific rhythmic patterns or riddims; and the nuances of the timbral and vocal quality of the artistes. The delineated meanings in soca music may include corporeal pleasure; freedom in (hetero)sexuality; power in masculine experience; cultural associations of Grenadian identity; conceptualisations of fetes (parties/concerts); and representation of Grenada and Grenadian culture to the world. Inter-sonic and delineated meanings can be illustrated through an analysis of two soca songs, ‘More Fete’ by Soca Ray and ‘Burst de Wood’ by Kennedy, which were both set to the ‘Problem Wine’ riddim by producer Doggy in 2013. Although the songs are set to the same riddim, they differ both in style and in lyrical content: Is more drinks, is more fete Is more drinks, is more fete We talkin’ ‘bout fete And we can’t say how to get Plenty food an’ plenty drinks, Soca music jammin’ still Sexy girl winin’ down low, Man no easin’ up at all. Mr Bacchanal Keep the liquor flowin’ We don’t have behaviour Inside, that is fete tonight! Soca Ray ‘More Fete’

What a problem! Havin’ ah wood burst, ah, eh! I met some women in Grenville They havin’ problem They say that they want to light they wood People, nobody helpin’ them They say they are wood to burst And they need some help … The woman want me to burn de wood. So I burn de wood! Oh, oh, oh, I burst de wood. I burst de wood! Kennedy ‘Burst de Wood’

Soca music emphasises masculine experience, and this can be seen clearly in the two songs above. The first song, ‘More Fete’ by Soca Ray, is relatively overt in its lyrical meaning, which assures the listener that no one has to worry about anything, for there is ‘plenty food and plenty drinks’, and evidently, plenty of ‘sexy girls’ willing to wine. The second song, ‘Burst de Wood’ by Kennedy, makes use of more enigmatic language in its message of sexual freedom. ‘Burst de Wood’, which employs double entendre (a common compositional device in calypso, and also – though less so – in soca), tells the story of a man who travels to Grenville, the secondlargest city in Grenada. Upon arrival, the man finds that all the women are left wanting, since no man will help them ‘light they wood’ (sexual arousal). The singer follows when each of the women in turn beckons him ‘up to de hills,’ and obliges when they beseech him to ‘burn de wood’ (to have sexual intercourse). The singer finishes each verse by proclaiming that he ‘burst de wood’ (ejaculation). Like ‘More Fete,’ ‘Burst de Wood’ underscores male power, freedom, and pleasure in male heterosexual experience. While there is not space in this chapter for a full musical analysis, I will briefly outline the musical interrelationships of both songs that can contribute to understandings of intersonic meaning in soca. The Problem Wine riddim features synthesised keyboard, drum machine, and digital effects. The continuously repeating musical phrase sets up expectation

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and satisfaction; and similarity of rhythmic devices to other soca and calypso songs (backbeat and syncopation) provides familiarity. In both socas, the melody line is simple, static, and also extremely repetitive: not only do individual musical lines repeat, but also several consecutive words are often sung on the same pitch within musical phrases. Each of the soca artistes’ voices has been highly digitally altered with autotune and other effects. The voice is also sometimes overlaid on top of itself, simultaneously providing the melody as well as vocal interjections such as ‘yeah’ or ‘ay ya ya’. This overlaying can contribute to a certain perception of presence or distance of the voice. Repetition, syncopation, overlaying, and digitisation are idiomatic in soca music and can elicit an entrancing effect for the listener. Delineated meaning in these two soca songs might include associations of freedom and pleasure; male identity; Caribbean identity; and globalisation. Some of these delineated meanings are readily seen in the lyrical content above: for example, in the first song Soca Ray sings about feting (‘He talkin’ ‘bout fete!’); desirable inebriation (‘Mr Bacchanal/Keep the liquor flowin’’); sensual dance moves, and female promiscuity (‘Sexy girl winin’ down low/Man no easin’ up at all’); and disregard for ‘acceptable’ or ‘moral’ behaviour (‘We don’t have behaviour’). Lyrical content in the second song by Kennedy includes themes of male-centric sexual pleasure, prowess, and power. Such delineations illustrate moral and cultural symbolic boundaries between soca lovers and those who dislike soca.

Symbolic boundaries enacted by soca music While most young people respond to soca music with what Green (2008) would identify as celebration, many in the older generation of Grenadians experience aggravation. Raina,2 an older informant, dismissed soca, saying: No substantial lyrics, you must have your flag and your rag, wave … To me, it’s eroding the real calypso. For Raina and others who experience aggravation to soca, inter-sonic meanings in soca music may broadly be heard and understood as ‘noise’, as unbearably repetitive, as rhythmically frenzied, hyper-digitised, and ‘fake’. Raina’s observation also provides commentary on the perceived replacement of traditional Grenadian cultural practices with soca music. This cultural symbolic boundary results in a rejection of soca as ‘not traditional’ or ‘not authentic Grenadian culture’ (for more on this, see Sirek 2018). Delineated meaning may include associations of soca lovers with promiscuity, irresponsibility; immorality; and misogyny, as articulated in this report on engaging Caribbean youth at risk, prepared by scholars at the University of the West Indies: [Soca] is fast paced and driven by a frenetic energy that is at the same time mindless, yet controlling of the emotions and energy of the crowd. [Themes] tend to be rather repetitive, associated with sexual prowess and pushing sexual boundaries on stage or off, with issues of tabanca [heartbreak] and complaints about the lack of control over one’s woman … We need to examine the relationship between the current musical culture of youth and its relationship to violence and criminality and its potential for cooptation by the seedier elements of society that draw young impressionable minds. (Ryan et al. 2013, pp. 47–48) 159

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This quote makes explicit moral (‘violence and criminality’) and cultural (identification of specific youth musical culture and attitudes) symbolic boundaries between out-group and in-group membership of soca lovers. According to the authors of this document, youth who engage with soca music are consumed by it, mindless and unable to control themselves. Such rhetoric infantilises soca lovers, and implies a link between soca and immoral decision-making, while simultaneously suggesting that it is a problem to be ‘fixed’ by the older generation. Divisions between younger and older generations, and like or dislike of soca music, are not always clear-cut, however. Tamara and Jadyn, both younger generation Seventh Day Adventists, questioned where their personal identities fit in the Grenadian context, and whether soca music and culture is incongruent with their religious beliefs. They reference the lyrical content, the musical materials, and the movement that is integral to soca music: Tamara: In our culture—at least when I say ‘our culture’, it’s like a double culture, the ‘Grenadian’ culture plus the ‘[Seventh Day] Adventists in Grenada’ culture—calypso and soca and those rhythms associated with it, are not seen in a positive way, based on my experiences. It’s kind of like, frowned upon … It’s never just about the lyrics—music is never just about the lyrics! Because I can be saying something, and you know have no beat to it, no music, then it doesn’t make a difference, it doesn’t reach you. Jadyn: I believe that [music] should be about praise. And if when you’re praising, your hips are moving in ways that will distract from the message, it can’t be praise. Tamara and Jadyn may experience enjoyment from the inter-sonic meanings in soca music, but soca’s delineated meanings are in conflict with their religious identity and beliefs, resulting in cultural and moral symbolic boundaries. Older generation informant Gerald felt that any moral or cultural symbolic boundary that may exist between soca lovers and those who dislike soca can (and perhaps should) be overridden or expanded by other cultural factors: [Soca provides] an opportunity to dance, to jump, to wine—because we’re not shy to wine! That’s a part of our culture. And that, too, is a challenge, because you have persons who, and I wouldn’t call them ‘conservatives,’ really, I would even say they are hypocrites, because they would object to the wining of a child, wining of persons at Carnival Monday and Tuesday, but if you look at the Big Drum [traditional] dance, it’s about the hips. It’s about the hips. So our tradition about utilizing that part of our bodies to respond to music is there, it’s who we are, as a people. Gerald, who was affiliated with the Spicemas Corporation (formerly Grenada Carnival Committee), has a vested interest in the success of soca music and of events like Soca Monarch. Here, he recontextualises wining as using the body as a means of heralding a sense of self and a sense of collectivity in African-based movement (the Big Drum, a ritual on Carriacou which is comprised of ‘nation dances’ that display different moves based on and associated with one’s real or assumed African ancestry). In this way, he ostensibly attempts to place soca and its values in a context that is more palatable for those who find it objectionable – the cultural and the 160

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socioeconomic aspects supersede the perceived moral symbolic boundary. Gerald’s views on soca open questions about the ways in which symbolic boundaries might shift, become unstable, or disappear completely.

Boundaries, boundary crossing, and music education Soca music is positively associated with globalisation and the global market; and considerable financial profit is possible for successful soca artists. Germaine, a younger informant, said: We believe in globalisation and integration and this and that … [soca] shows us that we are one step closer to becoming in a sense, one market. One step closer to becoming further developed, because if we weren’t developed, then we wouldn’t have heard this music, because there was no way to get this music. So, in a sense hearing this music tells us that we are becoming more and more developed. There has recently been a significant increase in soca teaching, learning, and performance initiatives in Grenada in spite of the moral and cultural symbolic boundaries between soca lovers and those who dislike soca.. An examination of such initiatives may illuminate why and how moral and cultural symbolic boundaries are shifted or temporarily dismantled. To illustrate this, I offer a brief analysis of Schools Soca Monarch. Schools Soca Monarch (2010–2016), originally created for secondary school students through the Ministry of Education, began as part of a UNESCO-sponsored Carnival Arts Program in 2010, and transitioned to a local initiative in 2011. It later expanded to include elementary students (since 2014) and college students (for the 2016 competition). To promote and prepare for the Schools Soca Monarch competition, facilitators went into secondary schools to run clinics on writing and performing soca music. Prizes were offered for the winners and their representative schools, ranging from $3000 XCD to $10,000 XCD ($1100 USD–$3700 USD). As described, the moral and cultural symbolic boundaries between those who participate in soca musicking and those who do not are often inflected by age and religious background. Many older, more conservative Grenadians articulated to me that soca represents a rejection of morality, faith, and responsibility, and is an inappropriate and inaccurate representation of Grenadian culture – and that it has no place in schools or with children. However, soca music performance has the potential for significant financial gain; and soca music education has the capacity to increase that gain. This economic potential causes the moral and cultural symbolic boundaries to shift, or temporarily become dismantled. The Grenada Information Service – a department of the Office of the Prime Minister – has described such educational initiatives as ‘fall[ing] in line with the Ministry’s thrust to groom the young ones in participating in cultural events’ (GIS News Hour, 2011), indicating the role of soca music education in Grenada’s economic prosperity. Specifically referencing the Schools Soca Monarch initiative, Senator Arley Gill said in a press release: ‘We see this as an extremely important part of the season, of the festival [Carnival] … Soca is a new trend in music, and we believe we need to do something to facilitate that.’ (GIS News Hour, 2011). Every year, there are dozens of advertised soca concerts and fetes across Grenada), in spite of Grenada’s small population. Soca almost always takes precedence on radio airplay, in headlining acts, and in concert spaces (for an explicit example of this, see Sylvester (2017)). The capacity for financial gain and fame means that while moral and cultural symbolic boundaries exist between soca lovers and those who dislike soca, soca lovers control assets and dominate cultural resources – and this can result in a shifting or disintegrating of boundaries. 161

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Conclusion Music education, the formal or informal learning and cultivation of expertise in a musical cultural practice, is a means by which social groups can be produced and reproduced (Green 2012). Examining the symbolic boundaries that are created, reinscribed, or shifted by the teaching and learning of music may allow us to further understand the ways in which music education contributes to social groups distinguishing themselves, acquiring status, and dominating resources. Symbolic boundaries can map how musical knowledge is transmitted to distinct social groups; and make perceptible who has control over access and transmission in formal and informal music education.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

In what ways might symbolic boundaries intersect with inequity? Does music education play a role in creating and maintaining inequity amongst different social groups? What are some potential symbolic boundaries to participating in classroom music in your own context?

Notes 1. Though Green sets these up as ‘ideals’, she notes that the individual experiences responses to inherent and delineated meaning in various degrees. 2. All names have been changed to pseudonyms.

References Douglas, M., 2003. Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. Routledge, London. Durkheim, É., 1965. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. Free Press, New York. Epstein, C., 1992. Tinker-bells and pinups: the construction and reconstruction of gender boundaries at work. In: Lamont, M., Fournier, M. (eds.), Cultivating Differences: Symbolic Boundaries and the Making of Inequality. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp. 232–256. GIS News Hour, 2011. News report, Grenada Information Service, St George’s, 12 May, https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=eufvkpLLkxM&feature= uploademail. Green, L., 2008. Music on Deaf Ears: Musical Meaning, Ideology, and Education. Manchester University Press, Manchester. Green, L., 2010. Research in the sociology of music education: some introductory concepts. In: Wright, R. (Ed.), Sociology and Music Education. Ashgate, Surrey, pp. 21–34. Green, L., 2012. Music education, cultural capital, and social group identity. In: Clayton, M., Herbert, T., Middleton, R. (Eds.), The Cultural Study of Music: A Critical Introduction. second ed.), Routledge, New York, pp. 206–216. Guba, E.G., Lincoln, Y., 1998. Competing paradigms in qualitative research. In: Denzin, N.K., Lincoln, Y.S. (Eds.), The Landscape of Qualitative Research. Sage, Thousand Oaks, pp. 105–117. Guilbault, J., 2010. Music, politics, and pleasure: live soca in Trinidad. Small Axe vol. 31, 16–29. Harewood, S., 2006. Transnational soca performances, gendered re-narrations of Caribbean nationalism. Social and Economic Studies vol. 55 (no. 1/2), 25–49. Jarness, V., 2013. Class, Status, Closure: The Petropolis and Cultural Life. University of Bergen, Bergen. Jarness, V., 2017. Cultural vs economic capital: symbolic boundaries within the middle class. Sociology vol. 51 (no. 2), 357–373. Kennedy, 2013. Burst de Wood. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceffjfan8y8. Lamont, M., 1992. Money, Morals, and Manners: The Culture of the French and American Upper-Middle Class. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Lamont, M., 2000. The Dignity of Working Men: Morality and the Boundaries of Race, Class, and Immigration. Harvard University Press, Cambridge.

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Jump up, wine, and wave Lamont, M., Fournier, M. (Eds.), 1992. Cultivating Differences: Symbolic Boundaries and the Making of Inequality. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Lamont, M., Molnár, V., 2002. The study of boundaries in the social sciences. Annual Review of Sociology vol. 28, 167–195. Marx, K., 1963. The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon. International Publishers, New York. Mitchell, D., 2014. 2014–20 years of Soca Monarch, blog, https://madeingrenadawordpresscom.wordpress. com/2014/06/02/20-years-of-soca-monarch/. Ryan, S., Rampersad, I., Bernard, L., Mohammed, P., Thorpe, M., 2013. The influence of popular music culture on crime. No Time to Quit: Engaging Youth at Risk – Executive Report of the Committee on Young Males and Crime in Trinidad and Tobago, University of the West Indies, St Augustine. Sirek, D., 2013. Musicking and identity in Grenada: stories of transmission, remembering, and loss. PhD thesis, Royal Northern College of Music, Manchester, UK. Sirek, D., 2016. Providing contexts for understanding musical narratives of power in the classroom: music, politics, and power in Grenada, West Indies. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 15 (no. 3), 151–179. Sirek, D., 2018. ‘Until I die, I will sing my calypso song’: calypso, soca, and music education across a generational divide in Grenada, West Indies. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 17 (no. 3), 12–29. Soca Ray 2013. More Fete, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceffjfan8y8. Stake, R.E., 1995. The Art of Case Study Research. Sage, Thousand Oaks. Sylvester, B., 2017. No Panorama, Gren Snaps, Facebook Live, https://www.facebook.com/grensnaps/ videos/1403399483100592/?hc_ref=ART4lzedbNPektIS_HgjJomenDUHhjX5mvers6pyS5TTAo3l GtYi5mFrJKwFIOcDmD. Tajfel, H., Turner, J., 1979. An integrative theory of intergroup conflict. In: Austin, W.G., Worchel, S. (Eds.), The Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations. Brooks/Cole, Monterey, pp. 33–47. Weber, M., 1978. Economy and Society, vol. 1. University of California Press, Berkeley.

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PART II

Capital, Class, Status and Social Reproduction

INTRODUCTION Geir Johansen

Studying the role and function of music in society in all its comprehensiveness, invites a wide definition of music education. This is because no relationship between music and human beings, as, for example, described within the sociology of music, is conceivable without recognising that it, by nature and necessity, presupposes a kind of learning. For example, developing a habit of not listening to background music in shopping malls represents a kind of learning about how to relate to music in a social context. Moreover, acquiring knowledge about the cultural codes required for achieving full membership (Wenger 1998) within the music audience community of western, classical music, jazz, or world music also represents a kind of musical learning. Processes of learning in, of, and about music lay at the base of how music can function negatively as well as positively (Hesmondhalgh 2008; Philpott 2012), fosters patriotism and nationalism (Hebert and Kretz-Welzel 2012), enables or hampers diversity (Westerlund and Karlsen, 2020), maintains or counters coloniality (Bradley 2012), and interculturality (Westerlund et al. 2020) as well as proves a lot of other social functions. It follows that music education can be seen to include not only classroom music or informal music learning among adolescents in a garage band, but also the learning of music and ways in which to relate to it, across various social contexts. This takes place at all levels from before kindergarten to after higher music education, inside and outside formal institutions, and throughout the whole human life. Such a comprehensive scope of music education enables us to see how society in all its nuances and levels is reciprocally related to music education in a plethora of fashions. Setting out to systematically observe the social and societal conditions and consequences of music education makes it necessary to analytically distinguish between three different approaches, in order to see how they fit in with each other at the end of the day. The first concerns the relationship between music education and society, by which the social consequences of music education can be studied without further references to sociology. Still, it can provide significant empirical information for further elaborations within the second and third approach. The second constitutes the relationship between music education and sociology, enabling systematical, theoretically reflected studies of the first (Wright 2010). Thirdly, studying this subject area may also awake an interest in the potential for arriving at fruitful insights embedded in the scholarship on the sociology of education (Sadovnik 2007). The ways in which music education and society relate to each other also substantiates a notion that music education contributes in the continuous, dynamic processes of shaping and 167

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reshaping society. This is one, among several possible angles, that readers can adopt when approaching the chapters in section II of this volume. Being pointed out early by seminal educational philosophers such as John Dewey (1897), sociologists such as Emile Durkheim (1956/2007) and later on within the sociology of education (Apple 2007, 2011), it is hardly fruitful to think that the idea that education contributes to shaping society includes all kinds of education except music education. On the contrary, the chapters of section II can be seen to describe a wide variety of ways in which to address the social and societal responsibility of music education and its educators in this respect. The authors attend to this social responsibility by taking an array of theoretical perspectives as their points of departure. These vary from basic theories on the ways people live together in societies and cultures along with the dynamic relationships included, such as for example the theoretical worlds of Pierre Bourdieu, Michel Foucault, or Basil Bernstein, to theory and research addressing particular issues such as for example socialisation and subjectification, social imaginaries and marketisation, as well as technical and ritual rationality. Offering critical descriptions of the societal and cultural conditions of their local environments as well as connecting them with social macro perspectives, the authors discuss the ways in which this happens by social reproduction and symbolic violence (Bourdieu and Passeron 1990) as well as human agency (Barnes 2000). Running through it all is an explicit as well as implicit description of hegemonic discourses and relationships revealing not only the supremacy of western art music but also pointing out how new hierarchies emerge between other kinds of music when accepted within institutions of music education. It also enlightens how the rhetoric of the prevailing, hegemonic discourses reflects the symbolic violence they impose on the field of education in general as well as in music. Thereby they reveal a need for struggling about and capturing the definition power, in most cases from the hegemonic marketisation discourse of education and its connected educational philosophy.

References Apple, M.W., 2007. Whose markets, whose knowledge? In: Sadovnik, A.R. (Ed.), Sociology of Education. A Critical Reader. Routledge, New York, pp. 177–193. Apple, M.W., 2011. Can Education Change Society? Routledge, New York. Barnes, B., 2000. Understanding Agency. Social Theory and Responsible Action. Sage, London. Bourdieu, P., Passeron, J.C., 1990. Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture. Sage, London. Bradley, D., 2012. Good for what, good for whom? Decolonizing music education philosophies. In: Bowman, W., Frega, A.L. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy in Music Education. Oxford University Press, Oxford, pp. 663–702. Dewey, J., 1897. My pedagogic creed. School Journal vol. 54 ( January), 77–80. Durkheim, E., 1956/2007. On education and society. In: Sadovnik, A. (Ed.), Sociology of Education. A Critical Reader. Routledge, New York, pp. 23–35. Hebert, D.G., Kretz-Welzel, A., 2012. Patriotism and Nationalism in Music Education. Ashgate, Farnham. Hesmondhalgh, D., 2008. Towards a critical understanding of music, emotion and self-identity. Consumption, Markets and Culture vol. 11 (no. 4), 329–343. Philpott, C., 2012. The justification for music in the curriculum. Music can be bad for you. In: Philpott, C., Spruce, G. (Eds.), Debates in Music Teaching. Routledge, London, pp. 48–63. Sadovnik, A. (Ed.), 2007. Sociology of Education. A Critical Reader. Routledge, New York. Wenger, E., 1998. Communities of Practice. Learning, Meaning and Identity. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Westerlund, H., Karlsen, S., 2020. Epilogue: music teacher education engaging with the politics of diversity. In: Westerlund, H., Karlsen, S., Partti, H. (Eds.), Visions for Intercultural Music Teacher Education. Springer, Doordrecht, pp. 215–219. Westerlund, H., Karlsen, S., Partti, H. (Eds.), 2020. Visions for Intercultural Music Teacher Education. Springer, Doordrecht. Wright, R. (Ed.), 2010. Sociology and Music Education. Ashgate, Farnham.

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11 MUSIC EDUCATION AS QUALIFICATION, SOCIALISATION, AND SUBJECTIFICATION? Petter Dyndahl

Introduction The Dutch educational philosopher Gert Biesta has been exceedingly influential in relation to educational thinking in the last decade. In this chapter, I will first outline his multidimensional concept of education. I will then consider the consequences this may have for music education, among other things, by looking into some examples of Biesta-inspired application. This will be followed by a critical discussion of the philosophical foundations of Biesta’s thinking, with particular emphasis on Rancière’s contribution. In the conclusion, I will attempt to discuss in greater depth the conditions and/or modifications that may serve as points of departure for the multidimensional concept in relation to the sociology of music education. I will also involve various contrasting theories and research, such as the research conducted on musical gentrification in recent years, in the discussion.

Biesta’s multidimensional concept of education In Good Education in an Age of Measurement, Biesta outlines the parameters he views as crucial to ongoing debates about the purposes of education (2010, p. 19). Biesta suggests that education should fulfil three different but interrelated functions, which he refers to as qualification, socialisation, and subjectification. As a point of departure, Biesta points out that qualification is one of the major functions of organised education. According to the role education plays in providing students with knowledge and skills that prepare them for working life, the qualification function ‘constitutes an important rationale for having state-funded education in the first place’ (Biesta 2010, p. 20). Biesta, however, underlines that the importance of qualification is not limited to the student’s future workplace or to the economic development and growth of society. Qualification also provides students with knowledge, skills, and dispositions that might be important for other aspects of life. In this context, social and cultural features, such as the knowledge and skills needed for citizenship and political and cultural literacy, may be highlighted.

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With the latter aspects of qualification, Biesta creates a transition to another important function of education – namely, socialisation. In a general sociological sense, socialisation refers to processes of internalisation in relation to the norms and values of society. When he describes socialisation as a function of education, Biesta draws attention to ‘the many ways in which, through education, we become part of particular social, cultural and political “orders”’ (Biesta 2010). The concept of order is significant for Biesta’s further reasoning about the importance of education – I will return to it several times throughout the chapter. Currently, the importance of socialisation can be linked to the processes through which individuals become integrated into existing ways of doing and being at different levels of society. One aspect of the socialisation function constitutes the explicit goals and aims of educational programmes and practices, whether these are introducing apprentices into specific professional communities or passing on certain norms, values, cultural beliefs, and traditions. But regardless of such aims, Biesta claims that any type of education will always have a socialising function and thus play a crucial role in the continuation of culture and tradition – whether intentional or not and regardless of whether it concerns desirable or undesirable aspects of the tradition and culture in question. Moreover, in addition to the predominantly societal and sociocultural functions presented above, Biesta strongly believes that education can – and should – play a decisive role in an individual’s process of becoming a subject. He refers to this as subjectification. In order to understand what subjectification is concerned with, Biesta contrasts it with certain aspects of socialisation: [Subjectification] is precisely not about the insertion of “newcomers” into existing orders, but about ways of being that hint at independence from such orders, ways of being in which the individual is not simply a “specimen” of a more encompassing order. (Biesta 2010, p. 21, emphasis in original) In this, we can sense a strong orientation towards freedom from the prevailing orders that are externally imposed on the individual. However, Biesta’s concept of freedom is more complicated than merely doing what one wants to do: I have rather made the case for a “difficult” notion of freedom, one where my freedom to act, that is, to bring my beginnings into the world, is always connected with the freedom of others to take the initiative, to bring their beginnings into the world as well, so that the impossibility to remain “unique masters” of what we do (Arendt 1958, 244) is the very condition under which our beginnings can come into the world. (Biesta 2010, p. 129) Arendt’s (1958) concept of uniqueness is important for how we understand ourselves in relation to others by creating networks of actions and relationships, where we as individuals can relate directly without the intermediary of things or matter. In addition to this concept, Biesta employs Levinas’s (1985) philosophical ethics in a deeper reflection on uniqueness. The central viewpoint Biesta derives from this is that qualification and socialisation can provide us with a voice that allows us ‘to speak as representatives of particular communities, traditions, discourses, practices and so on’ (Biesta 2010, p. 87). It is important to note, however, that this is not the same as to speak with one’s own voice or ‘to speak outside of the confines of rational communities’ (Biesta 2010). According to Biesta, the former way of speaking can never reach our 170

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uniqueness. In this capacity, he is more interested in the situations where the main concern is not so much about what one says, but rather that one says something and especially who says something. These are situations in which the subject is ‘singled out’ (Biesta 2010, p. 88) in the sense that it cannot be replaced by anyone else; it has to respond in its own unique way (Biesta 2010, p. 89). Biesta argues that this uniqueness is constituted by a responsibility we cannot evade – or only at the price of being irresponsible – which is precisely what Levinas had in mind when he wrote that responsibility is “the essential, primary and fundamental structure of subjectivity” (Levinas 1985, 95). It is in those situations that our uniqueness matters and it is therefore in those situations – neither before nor after – that we can be said to be constituted as unique, singular subjects rather than as specimens of a more encompassing order. (Biesta 2010, p. 89) By recontextualising and implementing these philosophical ideas in educational thinking, Biesta affirms that ‘any education worthy of its name should always contribute to processes of subjectification that allow those educated to become more autonomous and independent in their thinking and acting’ (Biesta 2010, p. 21, emphasis in original). It is quite clear from this that the ‘matters’ he believes students should become autonomous and independent from are the social, cultural, and political orders enacted by socialisation and qualification. Within today’s educational realities, however, Biesta claims that subjectification is overshadowed by the dominant qualification and socialisation dimensions, which implies that he wants to highlight the domain of subjectification in particular. Thus, within his authorship, he presents the consistent argument for postulating subjectification as the key function of education, since we live in an age in which discussions about education seem to be dominated by the measurement of educational outcomes and that these measurements play an influential role in educational policy and, through this, also in educational practice. The danger of this situation is that we end up valuing what is measured, rather than that we engage in measurements of what we value. It is the latter, however, that should ultimately inform our decisions about the direction of education. This is why I have argued for the need to engage with the question as to what constitutes good education, rather than, for example, effective education. (Biesta 2010, p. 26, emphasis in original) In addition, Biesta recognises the complexity of the situation when he argues that the different dimensions of education require different rationales, in the same way that he argues that while synergy is possible, there is also potential for conflict between the three dimensions, particularly, so I wish to suggest, between the qualification and socialization dimensions on the one hand and the subjectification dimension on the other. (Biesta 2010, p. 22) Furthermore, he is fully aware of his adoption of a normative standpoint when stating that education becomes ‘uneducational’ when it only focuses on socialisation ‘and has no interest in human freedom, and this is what lies behind my insistence on the importance of the subjectification dimension of education’ (Biesta 2010, p. 75). 171

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By persisting with the contradiction between qualification and socialisation on one hand and subjectification on the other, Biesta installs – deliberately or not – a variant of the fundamental sociological dichotomy between structure and agency in his education concept. But still, notwithstanding this conflictual division, Biesta maintains that in order to determine the different functions and purposes of education in a comprehensive context, one must acknowledge that the contradiction constitutes a composite issue, according to which the three dimensions should not be seen as entirely separate. He argues for the opposite: The three functions of education can therefore best be represented in the form of a Venn diagram, i.e. as three partly overlapping areas, and the more interesting and important questions are actually about the intersections between the areas rather than the individual areas per se. (Biesta 2010, p. 22) This seems to be a promising strategy, not just for education itself, but also for the sociological approach to educational research and theory. In the next section, I will take a closer look at whether and, if so, how, Biesta’s concept of education has found its way into the thinking surrounding music education. Of particular interest is how the relationships and potential conflicts between the threefold functions are addressed.

Biesta’s impact on (and potential for) music education To some extent, Biesta’s thinking is reflected in the contemporary scholarship of music education, in which one can find an increasing amount of references to his publications. However, it is my impression that often rather short and occasionally arbitrary excerpts from Biesta’s writing are set to act as affirmations and incantations or aphorisms and maxims in academic texts relating to music education. What can be said in general is that these statements often mark a heartfelt scepticism against instrumentalist music education, prevailing regimes of measurement, etc. Thus, these statements express an idealistic wish to (re-)turn music education in a more humanistic and perhaps existential direction. Narita and Azevedo (2016) are among just some music education researchers who actually refer to and discuss in some depth all three aspects of Biesta’s education concept. They present and discuss informal and non-formal musical practices found at the Universidade de Brasília in Brazil. An important objective for the authors is a critical exploration of how informal and nonformal musical activities, seen as collaborative learning practices, can counteract neoliberal values in today’s music education. In this effort, they share Biesta’s (2015a, 2015b) fear that the domain of qualification can be over-emphasised in a neoliberal context, thus leading to the neglect of other functions of education, giving teachers who tend to mainly teach to the test as examples of this. In what appears to be based on Biesta’s (2015b) polemic against Hattie (2008), wherein Biesta claims that Hattie is ‘reinforcing a one-dimensional view of education in which only qualification seems to count’ (Biesta 2015b, p. 80), Narita and Azavedo draw a decisive line between qualification on one hand and socialisation and subjectification on the other. This is slightly surprising given that Biesta (2010, p. 22, as quoted above) makes it clear that the conflict comprises qualification and socialisation against subjectification. Interestingly, however, Narita and Azevedo (2016) identify the three functions (qualification, socialisation, and subjectification) in the learning and teaching activities related to music at the institution they investigate. Building on the informal learning approach developed by Green (2002, 2008), as well as its adaption to a Canadian context by Wright (2014), they argue that 172

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this pedagogy addresses all the aforementioned domains in a way that highlights their interdependence. Qualification is achieved through the acquisition of musical skills, as students manage to play by ear, make their own versions of songs, and comprehend the sonic properties of music. Socialisation is, among other things, a function of musicking in groups. Narita and Azevedo are careful, however, to emphasise that working with one’s classmates does not mean that student groupings are free from power relations that need to be negotiated as part of the socialisation process. They also highlight that subjectification becomes mobilised when students become aware of their potential as musicians, when they define their learning goals and when they direct their skills and knowledge towards achieving them. This is a much-needed, downto-earth, and tangible description of what subjectification may be about in music education. Of course, there are other researchers who take Biesta’s educational philosophy extremely seriously when engaging in music education issues. In her seminal article ‘The Fourth Sociology and Music Education: Towards a Sociology of Integration,’ Wright (2014) reflects on Biesta’s (2010) concept of an alternative pedagogy – a pedagogy of interruption – when launching the idea of a new stage in the sociology of music education. She describes this new stage as an integrated sociological approach to situations and moments of music education that permit examinations of ways in which presumptions of equality as well as of democracy and inclusion may be enacted. As with Narita and Azevedo, Wright focuses on informal music education. From this perspective, she promotes the importance of pedagogies that allow interruption of the rational community, bringing students into proximity, permitting students and teachers moments where order and content are open, such as informal learning, foreground opportunities for agency of individual students. (Wright 2014, p. 26) Clearly inspired by Biesta, Wright elaborates on this by holding up informal music education as a pedagogy that might enable teachers and students to enter into new relationships, through which they should be able to ‘speak with new unique voices; voices generated under the prime condition of proximity, engendering or allowing equality, attentiveness, responsiveness, responsibility, uniqueness, and action’ (Wright 2014, p. 33). In addition to Biesta and his sources of inspiration – especially Rancière, as well as Arendt and Levinas – Wright introduces Bernstein (1990) and his concept of pedagogic discourse. According to Bernstein (2000), discursive gaps are pedagogical moments that might occur when knowledge is temporarily in transition from one level of society to another, and thus may allow ‘new discourse to emerge and to offer opportunities for embedded patterns of inequality to be disrupted’ (Wright 2014, p. 18). In this way, students, under specific educational circumstances – in Wright’s case, informal music learning, which provides moments of disruption or discursive gaps – might construct their own pedagogic discourses in opposition to the regulative discourses formed by particular educational and political orders. In Bernstein’s terminology, the latter discourses belong to the macro level of society, from which they seep through processes of filtration and recontextualisation into the meso and micro levels – corresponding to the school and classroom, respectively – of education. Although Wright does not directly refer to subjectification as an educational function in her article – neither does she use the terms qualification and socialisation – it is obvious that she places a similar emphasis on the students’ possibilities of breaking with predetermined orders, as advocated by Biesta. In Wright’s context, however, this is envisaged as new conditions of

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music education, in which students should have the opportunity ‘to speak with their own voice, to respond to others in nonpredefined ways’ (Wright 2014, p. 35). Compared to Narita and Azevedo (2016), Wright’s method of employing Biesta’s theory is more typical for music educators who make use of his concept of education; in this sense, Wright follows the tendency to emphasise certain aspects of the concept. Thus, although the multidimensional concept of education may seem promising for music education, its potential has not yet been fulfilled. Instead, scholars of music education appear to concentrate on selected functions of Biesta’s concept of education at the expense of other ones. A question that remains to be addressed is in relation to the causes of this imbalance. Do music educators not fully understand such a composite mindset, or is the problem located elsewhere? The next section will address some issues that might shed light on these questions.

Biesta and Rancière: anti-sociology and its limitations Biesta argues effectively in relation to the need to consider education as a multidimensional field. So far I also find his division of the three domains – namely, qualification, socialisation, and subjectification, adequate. However, if we are to seriously consider Biesta’s proclamations that these functions should not be considered as separate but should instead complement and partially overlap in such crucial ways that it is not primarily the individual domains but rather the intersections between the functions that are the most interesting, then there is a lot to be criticised in his own treatment of these concepts. For a start, he argues situationally that subjectification must be particularly highlighted, especially in relation to current educational conditions. Although his criticism of neoliberal tendencies and unequivocal beliefs in evidence-based education research is both striking and justified, it seems that he, in many respects, reflects those tendencies in an inverted manner by reinforcing a corresponding one-dimensional view of education in which only subjectification seems to count (cf. Biesta 2015b, p. 80). According to my interpretation of Biesta’s pedagogy of interruption, it deals first and foremost with facilitating the limitation of the external order and control conveyed by socialisation and qualification in order to ‘hint at independence from such orders’ (Biesta 2015b, p. 21). According to this view, socialisation and qualification can only provide students with a voice that allows them ‘to speak as representatives of particular communities’ (Biesta 2015b, p. 87), which is not the same as speaking with one’s own unique voice or speaking ‘outside of the confines of rational communities’ (Biesta 2015b, p. 87). Although he does not reject order or control in any context (e.g. he draws attention to the importance of legal control), Biesta seems to find external intervention and regulation fundamentally problematic in educational settings: the problem with the idea of teaching as control is that in such a relationship the student can never appear as a subject, but remains an object. In a world that is not interested in the subject-ness of the human being, this is, of course, not a problem. The question is whether this is a world we should desire. (2017, p. 55) This statement is closely linked with his Rancière-inspired assumption of equality, which I will return to below. Sociologically speaking, however, the relationship between social structure and human agency appears to be quite static, if not locked. In terms of education, this may lead to a fundamental set of issues that makes one see the domains that deal with structure and order (i.e. qualification and socialisation) as threatening to what seems to be the essential concern of 174

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education – namely, the individual agency that enables students to become subjects. Thus, the pedagogy of interruption seems to do little to meet the originator’s otherwise-stated ambition to balance and approach the different dimensions in complementary, overlapping ways. Accordingly, while Biesta presents significant relevant and noteworthy criticism of the one-sided focus on socialisation and qualification in today’s education, he appears to persistently underestimate the social and cultural significance of education (e.g. being part of a society or cultural or professional community). A focus on the importance of education for the creation, recreation and continuation of institutions, cultures and societies in terms of processes, practices, and relationships, as well as the connections between them, is virtually absent. For Biesta, education is about the individual student, a category in which the unique is emphasised and the student – although he or she is part of the human community, as both Arendt and Levinas remind us – is still perceived in relative isolation from the collective dimension. Social and cultural differences and various distinctions, such as generation, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, and social class, remain invisible or diffuse in Biesta’s educational philosophy. What is interesting in this respect is that when Narita and Azevedo (2016) criticise certain neoliberal discourses, such as the meritocratic notion that the individual’s abilities and efforts are crucial to educational success, they emphasise – in the particular context of Brazil – the importance of accounting for how issues of socio-economic differences, in terms of poverty, illiteracy, ethnicity, gender, and representation, are intertwined and cannot be disregarded when it comes to the development of personal abilities. Here, one could ask whether the same should also apply when philosophical issues of subjectification are addressed. One could also ask the question of whose interests, in terms of one’s social class, are first and foremost taken into account when individualistic perspectives on and purposes of education are highlighted (see Bates 2019; Reay 2017). Thus, the question of which students would best be able to detect and exploit the benefits of a music education that appears to be informal and based on the student’s prerequisites while actually concealing what knowledge and skills are really appreciated and rewarded in an educational situation that is nonetheless institutionalised and formalised also needs to be asked. Is it the students who come from homes with bookshelves and a piano or those who do not? The latter group may, at worst, risk losing out on the basic knowledge provided by musical qualification. They may also be deprived of socialisation into the specific educational culture that music in school as well as in schools of music and performing arts and private music tuition represent. I must stress here that this is not a general criticism of the concept of informal music education or of the two cited examples of research that take this approach as their point of departure. It is merely a reflection of where such forms of emphasis on subjectification may lead sociologically, depending on how they are practiced. However, one might think that the concentration on popular music, typical of what is perceived as ‘the informal method’, would curb the social bias of traditional music education. As will be discussed in the next section of the chapter, this is not necessarily that simple (see also Dyndahl 2019). Biesta (2016) adopts a completely different approach to these issues. He rejects all types of critical education that try to analyse and make visible repressive structures hidden from the immediate view. He ignores them, regardless of whether they build on emancipatory practices such as Marx’s meticulous efforts to expose the fetishised consciousness produced by the logic of capitalism or Bourdieu’s endeavour to detect unrecognised and misrecognised forms of power and domination in society – approaches that presuppose that we develop theoretical concepts that surpass experience-based knowledge. On the contrary, he supports Rancière (2004), who, according to Biesta’s interpretation, has 175

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argued that instead of bringing about emancipation, this logic introduces a fundamental dependency into the “logic” of emancipation. This is because the ones to be emancipated remain dependent upon the “truth” or “knowledge” revealed to them by the emancipator. (Biesta 2016, p. 78, emphasis in original) For Rancière, a central question of education is whether it should emerge from the assumption of equality or inequality. In The Ignorant Schoolmaster (Rancière 1991), he recalls the story of Joseph Jacotot, a teacher who developed a pedagogy called ‘universal teaching’. The experiment began when he had to teach students whose native language he did not master. Thus, he could not explicate the text for them, something he had, prior to this, considered crucial to teaching. However, according to Rancière, Jacotot gradually understood that to explain something to someone in reality ‘is first of all to show him he cannot understand it by himself ’ (Biesta 2015b, p. 6). This is why Rancière characterises explanation as the ‘myth of pedagogy, the parable of a world divided into knowing and ignorant ones’ (Biesta 2015b). Instead, the students whom Jacotot taught learned through their own involvement with the learning material. Thus, his way of teaching consisted of invoking their intelligence, which he in no way considered to be subordinate to his own. Hence, Jacotot’s universal teaching was ‘based on the assumption of the fundamental equality of intelligence of all human beings’ (Biesta 2016, p. 93). This is why a situation becomes problematic if someone else, who presumably knows better, has to teach us about the conditions of our emancipation. The problem is that ‘where one searches for the hidden beneath the apparent, a position of mastery is established’ (Rancière 2004, p. 49). Emancipation must instead take place ‘as a process of subjectification’, Biesta says (2016, p. 84) (emphasis in original), with reference to Rancière, thus revealing the origin of his core concept. Accordingly, as far as qualification and socialisation – understood as functions that take care of the social and cultural dimensions of and responsibilities for education – are concerned, they have no apparent function in relation to emancipation within Biesta’s educational universe. On the contrary, in Rancière’s terms, they would stultify it. The preliminary conclusion must therefore be that it is largely Biesta himself – obviously strongly influenced by Rancière – who leads his followers into the imbalance between the various domains of education that he simultaneously warns against. To return to the critical social theories that both Biesta and Rancière reject, Biesta acknowledges that This is not to suggest that there are no lessons to be learned from history and social analysis. But such lessons are no longer seen as the “motor” for emancipation, in that if one draws the “right” conclusion, emancipation will simply follow. […] The difference here – and this is important in order to appreciate the difference Rancière aims to articulate in our understanding of the practice of emancipatory education – is not that between learning with a master and learning without a master. The difference is between learning with a “master explicator” and learning without a “master explicator”. (Biesta 2016, p. 98) These are truly subtle shades of meaning. Nor does it become significantly easier to understand when Biesta elaborates that

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Rancière’s argument is not an argument against the role of explanation in education per se; after all, one might say that there is a lot of explanation going on in Rancière’s own writings. The only point with regard to explanation is that it is not the avenue toward emancipation. (Biesta 2015b, note 6) I will not try to score a cheap point by implying that when it comes to the extent of explanation, it also applies to Biesta in this context. Rather, I ask how this should be understood in relation to the importance of various social analyses, such as sociological ones, for education. It remains unclear whether Biesta criticises the social theories as such or the pedagogies he attributes to them, cf. the above assertion that ‘if one draws the “right” conclusion, emancipation will simply follow’ (Biesta 2016, p. 98). In relation to cheap points, what sociological theory could rightly be accused of such a simplification? Biesta makes no independent assessments of Marx’s and Bourdieu’s social theories but relies wholly on Rancière (2004). However, concerning his assumption of constructivism’s poor influence on teaching, the same ambiguity arises: I am therefore neither analyzing nor criticizing constructivist ideas themselves but am interested in the way in which certain conceptions of constructivism – which, obviously also include misconceptions – have contributed to what we may call the demise, the disappearance, or, in a more post-modern mode, the end or even the death of the teacher. (Biesta 2016, p. 46, note 1, emphasis in original) Rancière, on his part, has developed a multifaceted and tangled conceptual apparatus for understanding social life and politics. In this context, I do not have the space to delve deeply into all of the definitions and interpretations relating to la police, la politique, le politique, etc. in his philosophy. Instead, I choose to go directly to the criticism of the foremost influential sociology in France. In that respect, it is quite obvious what the aims of Rancière are. He has devoted a whole chapter, titled ‘The Sociologist King,’ in his book, The Philosopher and His Poor (Rancière 2003), to a crusade against Bourdieu’s social theory. This chapter reminds one of the ritual and generational parricides that regularly take place in French intellectual life. Toscano (2011) characterises Rancière’s attitude to the social sciences and sociology as a form of anti-sociologism. Rancière is, among other things, suspicious of the homonymy of the term ‘social’. In his view, homonymy means that the social is both an object of knowledge (i.e. social phenomena in the world) and a modality of knowledge (e.g. different from aesthetic or educational knowledge). The first meaning calls for analytical activity, but this is always superseded by the second meaning – namely, the social as a form of background. Thus, homonyms, such as ‘social,’ ‘history’, and ‘class’, are seen as the distance between words/ events and their truth. The philosophical problem, according to Rancière, is that the homonyms denote contingency and nonrelation, or ‘the excess of meaning over meaning’ (Whitener 2013), to the extent that they may end up highlighting an institutionalised principle (e.g. in the academic discipline of sociology). However, Toscano argues that Rancière’s suspicion of institutionalisation and organisation weakens his insistence on the emancipatory presupposition of equality: In such practices, we can glimpse that sociology too can be turned into a “homonym”; though it may “begin” from inequality (and how could it not…) it can 177

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also function as a sociology of equality, for instance in combining a meticulous, “scientific” knowledge of cycles of production with the strategic capacity to interfere with them, and with the political will to make radically egalitarian wage demands. (Toscano 2011, p. 231) And how could it not? An alternative would have to involve, in the epistemological sense, waiting for an extremely inductive form of grounded theory to appear, which I would reject as theoretically naïve. In a sense, the problem is that Rancière and Biesta seem to have authorised themselves as masters following Jacotot’s model, while the majority of other theorists – with some significant exceptions – are disavowed as master explicators (cf. Biesta 2016, p. 98). In my opinion, they draw a caricature of what Freire (1970) termed the ‘banking’ concept of education as an instrument of oppression in order to make it easier for them to attack the simplified version depicted. In the face of this, Toscano’s criticism of the limitations of anti-sociology demonstrates precisely how the account of emancipatory politics remains in need of supplementation by the very discipline it rejects: To think that explanation, strategy and knowledge, and indeed sociology itself, are not intrinsic components of politics is not only debilitating, it dispossesses – potentially in a more severe way than Bourdieu’s sociology – those forced into positions of “minority” of the very tools of emancipation. If it is not simply to turn into a spectacle for the melancholy enjoyment of the theorist or the historian, emancipation is a process that cannot simply be reduced to the affirmation of equality but of necessity drives one towards investigating the conditions for the institution and durability of equality. (Toscano 2011, p. 232) It might be tempting here to introduce Bourdieu’s (2000) notion of ‘the scholastic fallacy’, according to which subjectively oriented academics tend to project their own contemplative and intellectualistic ways of life onto most people’s everyday lives and chores. I find reason to recall Bourdieu and Wacquant’s (1992) demand for epistemic reflexivity, according to which the researcher’s social position, his or her professional authority and whether he or she is inclined to stage the field of research so that it fits the purpose in question must be reflected thoroughly. In this context, I also feel the need to declare that I – as a long-time academic, albeit without an academic class and family background (see Dyndahl 2015a, 2017) – have found Bourdieu’s sociology far more conducive to my reflexivity of the social, cultural and historical processes of becoming a subject than Rancière’s philosophy and Biesta’s educational thinking. Thus, I have severe problems accepting the premise that explanation feeds the ‘myth of pedagogy’ (Rancière 1991) and that authority in education ‘is not based on a difference of knowledge or insight or understanding’ (Biesta 2016, pp. 98–99). It is this recognition – along with the above critical discussion in general – that I bring to the next section, in which I will explore under what conditions or with what modifications Biesta’s multidimensional concept may serve as the basis of thinking within the sociology of music education.

A multidimensional approach to the sociology of music education It may be obvious that the sociology of music education should cover the significance of the individual and their accomplishment in society, culture, and education; society’s productive and reproductive purposes and systems; as well as the interrelations between individual, society, culture, and education. In this regard, the proposal to operate analytically within the domains of 178

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qualification, socialisation, and subjectification also seems comprehensive. Thus, I stand by the statement that Biesta’s multidimensional concept is a promising starting point for a sociological discussion of music education, despite the many critical objections I have raised so far. However, I will return to a more nuanced and clarified take on its design at the end of this chapter. Let me first take the bull by the horns by attempting to follow Toscano’s (2011) advice to actively use – in this case (post-)Bourdieusian – sociology to avoid the limitations associated with anti-sociology. In addition, investigating and contributing to the development of the theory in new historical, social, and cultural contexts and combining it with other theoretical approaches might work as a strategy to avoid dependencies on time-honoured truths, a subject of criticism by Rancière. There have been some recent cultural sociological studies that have replicated Bourdieu’s research design from Distinction (Bourdieu 1984). These studies include Bennett et al. (2009) and Faber et al. (2012). The research results tell us that there still exists structural domination and certain hierarchies based on cultural tastes and consumption. They also evidence that music is the most clearly separated of all our cultural fields [...]. It is the most divided, contentious, cultural field of any that we examine and is central to our concern with probing contemporary cultural dynamics and tensions. (Bennett et al. 2009, p. 75) The image of music as an area of conflict is in stark contrast to the dominant opinion among many music educators, who believe that music is crucial for individual and social development while also remaining totally unaffected by disadvantageous factors (see Hesmondhalgh 2008; Philpott 2012). However, while Bourdieu found that taste hierarchies were divided into traditional high and low culture (i.e. classical music and popular music), more recent studies have shown that the field of popular culture contains struggles for cultural capital within itself; see Frith (1996), Peterson (1992, 2005), Regev (2013), and Thornton (1995). Building on these contributions and Bourdieu’s sociology, I have for several years worked with the concept of musical gentrification, which has been defined as complex processes with both inclusionary and exclusionary outcomes, by which musics, musical practices, and musical cultures of relatively lower status are made to be objects of acquisition by subjects who inhabit higher or more powerful positions. (Dyndahl et al. 2014, p. 54) The notion of musical gentrification was primarily developed in order to examine when, how, why and what kind of popular music has been included in Norwegian higher education and research (see Dyndahl 2015b; Dyndahl et al. 2017, and Nielsen and Dyndahl’s chapter in this volume). In order to exemplify how musical gentrification operates in the three domains of qualification, socialisation, and subjectification, which also interact and overlap, let me focus on how knowledge, skills, and attitudes concerning social distinctions – often disguised as differences in aesthetic quality and/or cultural authenticity (see Dyndahl and Nielsen 2014; Moore 2002) – are included in higher music education. As part of their qualification, which in this context must also be documented and certified in terms of academic degrees, music students must learn to distinguish between the great masters and the Kleinmeister, regardless of the genre, style, and sub-style of music. These aesthetic and cultural hierarchies are embodied explicitly 179

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and implicitly in programme curricula, course syllabi and teaching practices, but can, and will, however, change over time – I will return to this point shortly. In addition to what is attributed high and low value and/or cultural capital, research into musical gentrification shows that it is equally important how one approaches the music in question. In other words, an important aspect of the students’ qualification, especially at master’s and PhD level, is to gain knowledge and skills that will allow them to, for example, wrap pop music up in sophisticated theoretical packaging, thus rendering it a legitimate object of study. Such capabilities are generally formulated as ‘the ability to utilise knowledge and skills in an independent manner in different situations’ (The Norwegian Agency for Quality Assurance in Education 2014, p. 19). In numerous cases, both the what and how aspects may represent very different ways of relating to music in comparison to what students are accustomed to (e.g. family background and musical community of origin). This clearly highlights that while qualification may overlap with socialisation, it also accentuates other aspects, such as the sociocultural attitudes and values that music students gradually internalise. Ellefsen’s (2014) research shows the painstaking work these students – in her case upper secondary level – perform, often in informal and non-formal arenas, to become part of a music education community and experience themselves as ‘music students’. She thus also shows how socialisation in many ways overlaps with subjectification, as she describes these processes as constituting student subjectivities in and through discursive practices of musicianship. Ellefsen’s use of Foucault and his theoretical perspective on becoming as a subject broadens the perspective compared to Biesta’s concept of subjectification. For Foucault (1972), discourse and subjectivity, and thus also structure and agency, are closely linked. Briefly, his discourse theory establishes that discourses open up spaces or functions, which Foucault refers to as subject positions, from which the subject itself and its situatedness in the world become intelligible. Subjectivity is thus constituted within existing subject positions provided by discourse (Biesta 2015b). Moreover, power is always present in Foucault’s theoretical universe, and power and knowledge are considered mutually constitutive. It is also worth remembering that power is not only repressive but also productive and that it constantly permeates all relationships in and levels of society. According to Foucault, this is a form of power that makes individuals subjects. There are two meanings of the word “subject”: subject to someone else by control and dependence, and tied to his own identity by a conscience or self-knowledge. Both meanings suggest a form of power that subjugates and makes subject to. (Foucault 2001, p. 331) I will argue that the dual character of the subject described by Foucault in processes he denotes as subjectivation can be seen as analogous to Bourdieu’s habitus concept, meaning that the body not only exists in society, but society also exists in the body.1 In this way, I believe that subjectivity may obtain the sociological anchorage it lacks in Biesta’s thinking. The link to power can also help us understand subjectivation in a way that is more complex than subjectification’s tendency to emerge as an undivided beneficial aim for all education. Wright (2014) suggested, with reference to Bernstein (2000), that discursive gaps might allow new discourses to emerge in opposition to the regulative discourses formed by existing orders. This corresponds with Bourdieu’s (1977) way of describing the agentic capacity of habitus, opening the way for a practical sense of how power relations within an interaction are symbolically configured, in the sense that participants can act strategically in order to position themselves – and their ideas, arguments, aesthetic preferences, etc. – favourably within the 180

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discourse. In this regard, Bourdieu and Passeron (1977) attributed a certain relative autonomy to social fields such as art and education. Musical gentrification is particularly associated with changes in the systems – or orders – of classification. To achieve these changes, someone must assume the role of musical gentrifier and exert symbolic power while simultaneously conducting processes of subjectivation. The point is that in many cases, these are two sides of the same coin. As I have tried to highlight elsewhere (Dyndahl 2015), even where music educators and researchers with the best intentions attempt to install alternative discourses in order to counteract established power structures, they may contribute to the fact that they (we) consolidate their (our) subjectivity as good guys while they (we) also favour themselves (ourselves) as heterodox challengers to a power bastion that they (we) are ready to take over in the next round. There is no moralisation in this, but rather a reminder of epistemic reflexivity towards the social fields – and all that this entails – of academia and music education, as seen from a sociological perspective that attempts to be multidimensional and inclusive of several forms of power. Thus, in order to acknowledge Biesta’s efforts to establish a multidimensional concept of education while also refraining from the most anti-sociological and essentialist impacts of it, I choose to replace his Rancière-inspired terminology with a Foucauldian one by advocating that music education should be seen as the totality of qualification, socialisation, and subjectivation.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

What are the main challenges and difficulties in balancing the three functions of qualification, socialisation, and subjectivation in music educational thinking and practice? In what ways might different groups of students experience inequality in music education if the various domains receive different emphases?

Note 1

Both in Foucault’s own writing and in the reception of it, subjectification and subjectivation are used interchangeably, possibly with the predominance of the latter. In this context, however, the terms are used rhetorically to position the specific antagonism between Biesta’s and Foucault’s conceptions of the subject.

References Arendt, H., 1958. The Human Condition. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Bates, V.C., 2019. Standing at the intersection of race and class in music education. Action, Criticism, and Theory for Music Education vol. 18 (no. 1), 117–160. Bennett, T., Savage, M., Silva, E., Warde, A., Gayo-Cal, M., Wright, D., 2009. Culture, Class, Distinction. Routledge, New York. Bernstein, B., 1990. The Structuring of Pedagogic Discourse: vol. IV. Class, Codes and Control. Routledge, New York. Bernstein, B., 2000. Pedagogy, Symbolic Control and Identity: Theory, Research, Critique. revised edition, Rowman & Littlefield Publishers Inc, Lanham, Maryland. Biesta, G., 2010. Good Education in an Age of Measurement: Ethics, Politics, Democracy. Paradigm Publishers, Boulder. Biesta, G., 2015a. On the two cultures of educational research, and how we might move ahead: reconsidering the ontology, axiology and praxeology of education. European Educational Research Journal vol. 14 (no. 1), 11–22. Biesta, G., 2015b. What is education for? On good education, teacher judgement, and educational professionalism. European Journal of Education vol. 50 (no. 1), 75–87.

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12 FISH OUT OF WATER? MUSICAL BACKGROUNDS, CULTURAL CAPITAL, AND SOCIAL CLASS IN HIGHER MUSIC EDUCATION Gwen Moore

Introduction Drawing from a national mixed methods study of higher music education in Ireland, this chapter investigates the ways in which Bourdieu’s theoretical tools of habitus, capital, and field can further our understanding of the ways in which students’ musical backgrounds shape their experiences of higher music education. This study joins a growing body of music education research inspired by the work of Pierre Bourdieu (Burnard 2015; Green 2005; Hall 2015; Hofvander Trulsson 2015; Perkins 2013, 2015; Wright 2008, 2010, 2015). Much of this research utilises case study methodology and ethnographic approaches to specific music practices or contexts. Apart from Perkins’ (2013, 2015) study on learning cultures in conservatoires, little research has been conducted using Bourdieu across higher music education contexts or indeed across national studies in higher music education. While Bourdieu’s conceptual tools of habitus, capital, and field have been applied to higher education literature in general (see Ball et al. 2002; Reay 2005), this chapter presents an original perspective on the ways in which Bourdieu’s tools apply to musical backgrounds, prior music education, and issues of access and opportunity within a national higher music education milieu.

Examining musical enculturation through the lens of Bourdieu Graduating with an accredited undergraduate music degree represents to many the epitome of sanctioned musical knowledge and skills. Yet achieving success in undergraduate music studies often demands knowledge and skills that are dependent on prior access to formal music education at school, in a conservatoire, or in private instrumental music lessons. In any consideration of higher music education then, it is reasonable to assume that students from diverse musical backgrounds may have varying degrees of prior experience and familiarity with the dominant musical values in higher education. Since the establishment of the Irish nation state in 1922, the manner in which different ideologies of musical value compete with each other for domination of learning spaces reveals an Irish traditional – Western classical dualism (McCarthy 1999; O’ Flynn 2009). In aspiring to 184

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the idea of equal and distinct value in both genres, the ideological and historical contexts appear to construct ideas of otherness. Consequently, ideological assumptions of Western classical music and Irish traditional music tend to be contested at institutional and state levels (O’Flynn, 2009). This contestation is revealed in discourse of musical value, the curriculum, and practice in Irish higher education (Moore 2015). For Bourdieu (1977a, p. 494), ‘the education system demands of everyone alike that they have what it does not give’. If the dominant and valued forms of knowledge do not align with the musical backgrounds and prior music education of students, it is necessary to acknowledge the possibility of major gaps between the knowledge and skills students bring vis-a-vis their musical backgrounds and cultural capital, and the curriculum demands and expectations in the field of higher music education. Although Bourdieu referred to the ways in which the education system rewards the possession of linguistic and cultural competence (or capital) acquired in the home, it is argued here that this assertion also resonates with musical enculturation and access to formal music education in schools and institutions. From early childhood onwards, we make sense of the musical structures and nuanced sounds which underpin the music by which we are surrounded, and internalize the many ways that music is constructed. Studies in early childhood have shown the multifarious ways in which musical enculturation occurs in the family and home environment (Barrett 2009; Campbell 1998). Studies in the psychology of music education (Davidson et al. 1996; Sloboda and Howe 1991) point to a strong association between parental encouragement and musical ability, as well as success in instrumental learning. Thus, we can begin to understand the influence that early childhood and parental encouragement has on one’s musical development. Having cultural experiences, however, is just one step in our formative music education and not everyone who has early musical experiences will go on to study music formally. Opportunities are moreover, often dependent on having the financial means to pay for instruments and lessons. It is necessary to assume, therefore, that the past experiences which undergraduate students have will vary, such that they are not coming to higher education from the same cultural and musical foundations. Higher education as a particular site or field of historical privilege (Ball et al. 2002; Reay 2005), the ‘hidden curriculum’ within music departments (Pitts 2003), and the social reproduction of musical values and practices (Green 2003b, 2005) require closer examination. I turn now to the work of Bourdieu by examining how his theoretical tools of field, habitus and cultural capital can assist in this regard.

Bourdieu’s concepts of field, habitus, and cultural capital Bourdieu (1977a) describes fields as social environments inhabited by a number of groups in which spheres of play can be dynamic but can also be areas of struggle for domination and power. The concept of ‘field’ can be applied to the micro-context of a music department within which different knowledge fields compete for space on the curriculum, and to the macro-context of higher education policy. The field embodies the socio-historical institutional context, settings, dispositions, and values that students and lecturers must negotiate. However, the ways in which the field is negotiated and experienced can depend on the student’s musical background or habitus, and prior music education or cultural capital. According to Bourdieu, the dynamics of the field provide undeniable advantage to some rather than others. In describing how this manifests, Bourdieu and Wacquant (1992, p. 98) use the analogy of a game where some are equipped with ‘trump cards’ and a natural ‘feel for the game’. Habitus can be interpreted as the ‘tastes, habits, norms, values, and traditions of a particular society or community of likeminded agents’ (Bourdieu 1990, p. 52–65). It can also be considered 185

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as dispositions to thought, action, understanding or perception that the individual acquires as a member of a particular social group or class. Bourdieu (1990) maintains that such dispositions operate at an unconscious level yet they have a profound effect on the way an individual or group experiences and responds to the world or social environment. Habitus is the ‘subjective’ that becomes noticeable in the ‘objective’ field (Grenfell 2008). In relation to higher education, we can posit that when a student encounters the field, their habitus can generate a wide range of possible actions depending on how it fits within the field. Bourdieu maintained that in order to navigate social spaces and the competitive game in the field, actors require various forms of ‘capital’. He identified different but interdependent forms of capital as follows; economic, cultural, social, and symbolic. For the purpose of this chapter, I focus on cultural (musical knowledge and skills) and economic capital (financial means to pay for musical instruments/lessons). While cultural capital can be acquired, it naturally stems from habitus (Bourdieu and Passeron 1990). One attribution of cultural capital by Bourdieu (1977a) was that of the added power associated with participation in the beaux arts, but as Lareau and Weininger (2003) point out, this initial use of the concept has been overused in educational research. Indeed, Bourdieu’s concepts have been widely criticised as being too structural and deterministic (Sullivan 2001; Noble and Davies 2009). While Sullivan (2001) operationalises cultural capital as objective cultural goods only, Bourdieu (1984) points out that cultural capital exhibits in a number of ways. First, it can be embodied in early childhood from enculturation; second, institutionalised in the form of educational qualifications; and third, objectified as cultural goods, for example, a musical work. Therefore, in the analysis for this chapter, cultural capital is multifaceted (embodied, institutionalised, and objectified) and interdependent on economic capital such as the purchase and upgrade of musical instruments, extracurricular music tuition, achieving success in graded instrumental examinations, and ideologies of musical value associated with Western classical music practices. Of particular significance is how cultural capital refers to the ways in which ideologies come to be legitimised and reproduced in education and society (Bourdieu and Passeron 1990). Ideologies of musical value tend ‘to perpetuate the values of particular, interested social groups at the expense of others’ (Green 2003a, 264). For example, skills associated with the Western classical tradition such as music theory, history, and analysis tend to be unequally distributed by virtue of unequal access to and opportunity in music education (Green 2003b; Moore 2012, 2014). As the data will show, competence in the skills associated with the Western classical tradition, functioning as cultural capital in higher music education, tends to engender ‘exclusive advantages’ (Lareau and Weininger 2003, 579) to students from Western classical music backgrounds.

The structural principles and practices of habitus Thus far, it is acknowledged that habitus and cultural capital develop in the home environment. The shape and nature of both habitus and cultural capital depend on economic capital thus, social class inevitably plays a pivotal role in opportunities and pathways in music education. For Bourdieu (1977b), the real nature of culture (as collective habitus) is characterised by the structuring of principles in which agents produce regulated practices: The system of dispositions – a past which survives in the present and tends to perpetuate itself into the future by making itself present in practices structured according to its principles … (Bourdieu 1977b, 82)

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Consider for a moment how habitus (whether embodied or institutional) as a manifestation of culture, generates principles and practices. Applied to Western classical music, the principles of the canon would have the score and the composer at the core, thereby the learning practices would revolve around reading music notation. In a different way, the aural tradition of sharing music represents the principles of Irish traditional music, while the practice then revolves around learning by ear. Within the Irish context, some music learners and teachers comfortably traverse Irish music and classical genres and practices. Drawing from the work of Mantle Hood (1960), scholars point to the uniqueness of bimusicality within the Irish context (see McCarthy 1999; O’Flynn 2009). While acknowledging that musical practices are not mutually exclusive, i.e. Irish traditional music can encompass notational practices and Western classical music playing by ear; it is the dominant principles and practices of a musical culture that endow its distinctiveness. Moreover, learning practices tend to be inextricably linked with the pedagogical practices or action pertaining to the principles of the musical culture. Although potentially dynamic and fluid, musical habituses are influenced by structures of principles and practices that can be embodied in curriculum and pedagogy. Thus, habitus is, ‘durably inculcated by the possibilities and impossibilities (…) opportunities and prohibitions inscribed in the objective conditions’ (Bourdieu 1990, p. 54). How then does musical habitus and by association musicality, or bimusicality within the field, impact on the ways in which students describe their experiences of higher music education?

Research design Data are drawn from a mixed methods national study of undergraduate students and lecturers in the Republic of Ireland. Because the study included the perspectives of students and lecturers as well as public document discourse, a ‘practical’ approach (Creswell 2003) to the research design meant that both numbers and words would be utilised in the analysis to best capture the complex myriad of issues surrounding the research problem. Data gathering tools included: documentary analysis, a questionnaire survey (N = 406) and semi-structured interviews with students (n = 18) across 11 out of 13 higher education institutions offering music to degree level in the Republic of Ireland. For the purpose of this paper, data are drawn from the student perspectives only.

Habitus, cultural capital and musical pathways Across the student surveys and interviews, parents and close relatives were strongly reported as having a significant influence on the students’ interest in musical activities. Similar to findings by Davidson et al. (1996) and Pitts (2012) on the impact of parental influences on musical participation, recurring responses in this study included: listening to music in the home, having financial and practical support for instrumental lessons, and being brought to concerts and competitions. In many cases, parents were the students’ first instrumental teachers, and in 22 student cases, at least one parent was a professional musician or music teacher.

Students’ formal music education Most of the students (93%) had taken individual private lessons on their main instrument. The minority who had not (7%) included students who were studying voice and dance and had not taken formal lessons in voice. Two-thirds of the sample had taken graded examinations on their main instrument. Of this sub-sample of 263 who had acquired instrumental grades, 29 had 187

Gwen Moore Table 12.1 Rank ordering of parental influence/support factors (number of mentions) Parental influence/support

Number of mentions

Musical family/parents’ own interest in music Financial support/economic capital Encouragement Self-motivated Parent-motivated None

147 96 64 57 45 20

Source: Moore (2013).

achieved Diplomas, 189 had achieved Grade 6 and above, 23 had Grades 3–5 inclusive, and 8 had achieved gold medals in performance. Cultural capital as institutionalised and objectified knowledge was therefore evident across the student sample.

Parental influence and encouragement Through an analysis of qualitative responses to the open survey question, ‘To what extent have your parents/guardians supported your music education?’ five categories emerged from the overall theme of parental influence/support (see Table 12.1) including (a) Musical family/ parents’ own interest in music; (b) Economic capital; (c) Encouragement; (d) Self-motivated music education, and (e) Parent-motivated music education. Whilst I explored each of these codes separately to begin with, it was also essential to revisit the data and cross-examine how parents’ educational achievements as well as any mentions of musical interests, might have influenced the musical pathways of the students. More importantly, I sought to examine whether such influential aspects also related to the students’ experiences of music in higher education. I will address these in more detail shortly, but first let us examine the influential factors as illustrated in Table 12.1 in more detail. In presenting a selection of comments from the 147 mentions of this category in the student survey, I wish to highlight iterations of both informal and formal recollections of musical habitus and cultural capital. Twenty-two students had a parent who was either a professional musician or a music teacher or lecturer. Other students referred to the strong influence that their parents’ musical tastes or musical listening habits had on their own interest in music. In these examples, students ascribe the parental influence as having stemmed from listening and participating in impromptu music sing-alongs at family gatherings in a process one student called ‘osmosis’: S33: My mother is a wedding singer professionally. I grew up to her learning new songs and constantly singing at home. She also taught herself piano, keyboard and guitar and encouraged me to do so. My Aunt is a recording artist and now teaches a children’s choir. Parents’ listening habits and tastes (including ‘good taste’) were also mentioned as well as being brought to concerts and what the following comments have in common is their specific reference to Western classical music. This illustrates the advantages social and cultural capital engenders for students when Western classical music predominates:

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S243: Dad plays piano and I listened to his music collection from a young age. They took me to concerts, operas, and other performances. They got me hooked. There were 96 mentions of students who reported financial support from parents. Given that an overwhelming majority of students (93%) had taken private lessons on their instrument, and the question asked the extent to which their parents supported their music education, one might think that financial support or economic capital would be more widely acknowledged. For example, one student survey response stated ‘None but support and paying for my lessons’ (S378). It was as if an implicit assumption that the word ‘support’ meant approval. By contrast, some of those who acknowledged financial support in their comments also mentioned that it would not have been possible without their parents’ financial input. In the following case, the combination of musical enculturation, cultural and economic capital enabled this student to participate in a variety of courses: S142: My family played a major role in music ed. Aunt runs the local choir at home (my first musical experience) also owns music school (first formal lessons in instruments) did Grade 6 with her then travelled from Clare to Dublin every week for private lessons in trumpet. Mum brought me every week. Paid for National Youth Orchestra of Ireland courses and Irish Youth Wind Ensemble courses, c. €500 per course. The perceived association between formal music learning in childhood and future success in higher music education emerged as a recurring theme. Formal music education was initiated and propelled by some parents who were anxious for their children to start lessons. This finding resonates with that of Pitts (2012) who found that parents’ own musical ambitions influenced their ideals for their children’s music learning. In this study, students expressed this in language such as being ‘sent’ to lessons, ‘put into a school of music’ as well as the parents’ passion or eagerness for their child to begin at an early age. Thus, certain ambitions came initially from the parents suggesting a desire to enable their children to accrue cultural capital: S350: My Mam got me up every morning before school and made me practise. She also sat in on all my lessons. Significant memories of parents’ music-making emerged in 13 out of 18 interviews and such parental influence seemed to generate motivation for learning within the family culture. In general, student interview responses suggested much parental support and encouragement for musical activities. In many cases, it was parents who set the musical atmosphere in the home, through their own behaviour, cultural capital and musical tastes, the presence or absence of instruments, recordings, and sheet music, and the extent to which they encouraged, or even pushed, their children to take lessons and then to persevere with practice. There was a sense of music as a pre-ordained activity for students whose parents had also learnt music and in many cases had taught their children the basics.

Access and opportunity Many of the students in this study mentioned feeling ‘lucky’ to have been given opportunities to participate in state music education, yet 12% of the students surveyed and four of those 189

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interviewed did not have access to formal music education in their secondary school. John, a second-year student who returned to college as a mature learner emphasised that the desire to learn music was of his own volition and was entirely self-financed. This contrasted starkly in the case of Robyn, an 18-year-old undergraduate student of violin and piano. Robyn associated her musical opportunities with inherited and innate talent whereby just like her mother and her three sisters, she had always wanted to go to a school of music and eventually study performance in a conservatoire. She described how she had considered studying music performance at The Royal Northern College of Music, Manchester (as many of her friends had auditioned there) but that in the end she wanted to stay in Ireland. When I asked her about the issue of fees since their reintroduction in the UK and how much it would have cost, she was unaware of the cost implications. It appeared that her decision was solely based on her preference. As illustrated in the following quotation, Robyn’s cultural, social, and economic capital has not only enabled her musical pathway but has given her choice in terms of access and opportunity. In particular, her awareness of what many others would see as socio-economic advantage could be best described as tacit, or what Dibben (2004, p. 8) describes as an ‘invisible norm’: Robyn (1st Year, Classical Music Background) (…) like some of my friends have violins worth thousands like €20,000 and it’s ridiculous, … Now mine wouldn’t be that much but still, … but my youngest sister like hers would be worth more than mine I’d say, … I suppose like people would kind of realise you’ve to kind of make the decision, do you really want to go for that? Like my mom doesn’t mind spending money on instruments and things because she knows that they’ll be used of course and that that we’re serious about it (…) This example highlights the central role that economic and cultural capital play in pathways and opportunities in formal music education and in higher education. Students like Robyn with economic and cultural capital have choice and opportunity in education (see Lynch and Moran 2006). Furthermore, access to private music education and understanding of the forms, styles, and notation associated with the dominant classical tradition and the expected norms and discourse, endows students like Robyn with particular ‘trump’ cards in the field of higher music education.

The social reproduction of musical habitus and capital A prevalent theme among many students was the belief that particular pathways were critical for future success and opportunities. In other cases, an influential figure (teacher, parent, family friend) had persuaded them to focus their energies away from the initial genre or musical system in favour of a formal Western classical habitus. In the cases of some of the interviewed students, interest in Western classical music developed at the expense of Irish traditional music. In the context of Ireland’s bimusical history then, it is possible to interpret some experiences of musical engagement in a different light. In the following student interview excerpt, Fionn’s bimusical background was illustrated in terms of his mother’s classical and his father’s Irish traditional music background. However, a family friend who became his violin teacher persuaded him to change his musical pathway: Fionn (4th Year, Bimusical Background, now Classical) 190

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Anyway, I took up the uilleann pipes...then my mum, you know she kind of thought we had become musical enough, until a friend of hers who was a violin teacher came over for tea one day and heard me play and she said … ‘I want to teach him the violin’, and here I am 16 years later still playing the violin. What is of particular interest is how he expresses his teacher’s musical values and beliefs with particular deference to ‘this lady’ and his belief about his ability to mix musical styles on the violin: G: F:

Ok. And was that classical violin or traditional? Oh, classical. This lady doesn’t believe in mixing styles on one instrument. I’m sure there are people who can pull it off but I’m not one of them so always did classical with her (…)

What we can see from this encounter is that although Fionn’s habitus and cultural capital was a product of his childhood experience, it was also reshaped by the structured principles of Western classical music and the practice of his influential violin teacher. Thus, while habitus reflects the social and cultural context in which it was generated, it can also be reshaped through schooling and social encounters (Reay et al. 2005). He later expressed how the encounter with this teacher reaped rewards for him in being able to access a university course where the focus is predominantly Western classical. Had he not begun classical violin, his higher education route may have been rather different. Musical habitus as fluid and dynamic can be conceived, therefore, as shaped not only by parents or siblings, but sometimes in more profound and significant ways by influential teachers whose ideological assumptions of musical value, knowledge, and skills are brought to bear on students’ musical trajectories.

Like a fish in water? In the student survey, I posed two closed questions on whether students thought that their musical background and music education had had an effect on their experience in higher music education. The vast majority (92% and 90%, respectively) answered yes to this question. A follow-up comment box asking for reasons why, elicited 366 completed answers. Of this sample, 266 (72%) described their experience as affirming and that they enjoyed being challenged; 100 (28%) described their experience as alienating, and a minority felt that they were not being challenged enough. Of the 72% who gave positive/affirming answers, almost half of the respondents stated their musical backgrounds and/or prior music education as a reason for this. Similarly, of the 28% who mentioned having negative experiences, half of this sub-sample referred specifically to their non-classical musical backgrounds and prior music education. Table 12.2 shows a sample of comments from both types of experiences which illustrate the ways in which the students identify a relationship between their experiences in higher music education, their musical backgrounds and/or prior music education. Three cases highlight student experiences that can be described as ‘affirming’ their musical habituses and cultural capital. These students felt a natural extension of their previous music education experiences. As Bourdieu and Wacquant (1992) posit: (…) when habitus encounters a social world of which it is the product, it is like a ‘fish in water’: it does not feel the weight of the water and it takes the world about itself for granted. (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992, p. 127)

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Total 366 Affirming n:266 (72%)S 72:S 149:S 200:

Musical background and Alienating n:100 prior music education (28%) S67:S My musical skills have My prior education in 174:S 217: improved vastly. I music has given me the have learned in depth opportunities to learn different types of faster while in my musical traditions course.I have knowledge and used these in my of all kinds of music so I own practice.It’s know what area I want been fun it doesn’t to focus on. Thanks to seem like work at my education I don’t all.Very good struggle in harmony or experience. The counterpoint.A private course allows those musical education highly who are motivated to prepares you for a music improve rapidly and course. Unfortunately I those new to the can’t say the same for the field to learn at a music course at second good pace. level.

Experience

Experience I am not going to be keeping on music as an art subject next year as I feel it is too difficult.My experience is quite negative one so far as I find the course very intense at the moment.I have had some difficultly with the narrow constraints of the course. It’s very much classical only in terms of how theory and harmony is taught.

Table 12.2 Six survey cases that illustrate the affirmation and alienation in students’ experiences of higher education Musical background and prior music education I believe that my traditional background was not adequate for the standard of music being taught here.I think having prior experience is a must for this college, it is almost impossible to compete with students who have taken lessons and theory classes here in this college since they were young children.Yes I think my lack of formal education in this subject has caused difficulties. Support is practically nonexistent.

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In contrast, the three student cases whose experiences could be best described ‘alienating’ because of their habituses and the ‘wrong’ kind of cultural capital seemed like ‘fish out of water’, so to speak. Encountering an unfamiliar field with unexpected demands, resulted in expressions of insecurity and anxiety. Out of the six student cases, only one student referred specifically to his Irish traditional music background. This particular case is rather striking because the student perceives his Irish traditional music background as ‘not adequate for the standard being taught here’. Thus, unlike Fionn’s experience mentioned earlier, there would appear to be limited agency for the student whose musical habitus and cultural capital or relevant knowledge and skills are not sufficient for negotiating the structural principles and practices of Western classical music.

Discussion and conclusion As illustrated in the student surveys and interviews, students enter higher education with particular musical values, knowledge, and skills as influenced by their musical backgrounds and prior music education. Their experiences and musical values are thus constructed and construed within the fields of higher education and the music department. However, learning experiences are influenced by the musical values associated with the dominant musical habitus and cultural capital in the field. Students’ prior assumptions of musical value and knowledge are reappraised in the context of an unequal playing field and point to experiences in an affirming-alienating dialectic. In other words, a sense of affirmation emerges in the accounts of students who possessed valued musical knowledge and skills. Conversely, students with less valued knowledge and skills expressed a sense of alienation, throwing into sharp focus the ways in which unequal musical opportunities continue to impact on students’ experiences. In this chapter, I examined the ways in which Bourdieu’s theoretical tools of habitus, cultural capital and field can further our understanding of how different musical pathways shape students’ experiences in higher education. What students bring to the table vis-à-vis their musical backgrounds and music education in conjunction with institutional expectations and curriculum demands, reveal tensions inherent in ideological assumptions of musical value and equal opportunity. The data illustrate that students’ ability to ‘fit into’ the socio-cultural context of the field or music department is strongly influenced by the interplay of musical habitus and cultural capital and their ability to negotiate the field. While the focus of the research has been situated in higher education, the data bring into sharp focus the cyclical nature of the social reproduction of musical values and dominant ideologies from higher education to and from all levels of music education. It could be argued that teachers in school and conservatoires are inculcated by the dominant tradition they have experienced in higher education. Thus, I conclude with the following reflective questions on foot of the findings and discussion.

Reflective questions 1.

2.

How can we enhance students’ deliberate reflections about the connections between economic and cultural capital and the belief that particular pathways are critical for future success and opportunities? How can we attend to ideologies and values of the dominant musical habitus and cultural capital in the field of higher education in music, in order to break the social reproduction cycle?

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Fish out of water? Lynch, K., Moran, M., 2006. Markets, schools and the convertibility of economic capital: the complex dynamics of class choice. British Journal of Sociology of Education vol. 27 (no. 2), 221–235. McCarthy, M., 1999. Passing It On: The Transmission of Music in Irish Culture. Cork University Press, Cork. Moore, G., 2012. ‘Tristan chords and random scores’: exploring undergraduate students’ experiences of music in higher education through the lens of Bourdieu. Music Education Research vol. 14 (no. 1), 63–78. Moore, G., 2013. Musical Value, Ideology and Unequal Opportunity: Backgrounds, Assumptions and Experiences of Students and Lecturers in Irish Higher Education. PhD Thesis, Institute of Education, University of London. Viewed 20 June 2019, https://ethos.bl.uk/OrderDetails.do?uin=uk.bl.ethos.579678. Moore, G., 2014. Mind the gap: privileging epistemic access to knowledge in the transition from Leaving Certificate to higher music education. Irish Educational Studies vol. 33 (no. 3), 249–268. Moore, G., 2015. The Changing Landscape of Irish Higher Music Education: Findings from Policy and Practice. Technical Report. doi: 10.13140/RG.2.1.1182.1608. https://www.researchgate.net/ publication/275340626_THE_CHANGING_LANDSCAPE_OF_IRISH_HIGHER_MUSIC_EDUCATION_FINDINGS_FROM_POLICY_AND_PRACTICE_THE_CHANGING_LANDSCAPE_ OF_IRISH_HIGHER_MUSIC_EDUCATION_FINDINGS_FROM_POLICY_AND_PRACTICE Noble, J., Davies, P., 2009. Cultural capital as an explanation of variation in participation in higher education. British Journal of Sociology of Education vol. 30, 591–605. doi: 10.1080/01425690903101098. O’Flynn, J., 2009. The Irishness of Irish Music. Ashgate, Farnham. Perkins, R., 2013. Learning cultures and the conservatoire: an ethnographically-informed case study. Music Education Research vol. 15 (no. 2), 196–213. Perkins, R., 2015. Bourdieu applied in the analysis of conservatoire learning cultures. In: Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Södermann, J. (Eds.), Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education. Ashgate, Farnham, pp. 99–112. Pitts, S.E., 2003. What do students learn when we teach music? An investigation of the ‘hidden’ curriculum in a university music department. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education vol. 2 (no. 3), 281–292. Pitts, S.E., 2005. Valuing Musical Participation. Ashgate, Aldershot. Pitts, S.E., 2012. Chances and Choices: Exploring the Impact of Music Education. Oxford University Press, Oxford. Reay, D., David, M., Ball, S., 2005. Degrees of Choice: Social Class, Race and Gender in Higher Education. Trentham Books, Stoke-on-Trent. Sloboda, J., Howe, M., 1991. Biographical precursors of musical excellence: an interview study. Psychology of Music vol. 19 (no. 1), 3–21. Sullivan, A., 2001, Cultural capital and educational attainment. Sociology vol. 35 (no. 4), 893–912. Wright, R., 2008. Kicking the habitus: power, culture and pedagogy in the secondary school music curriculum. Music Education Research vol. 10 (no. 3), 389–402. Wright, R., 2010. Sociology and Music Education. Ashgate, Abington. Wright, R., 2015. ‘Now we’re the musicians’: using Bourdieu’s concepts of habitus, capital and field to analyse informal learning in Canadian music education. In: Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Södermann, J. (Eds.), Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education. Ashgate, Farnham, pp. 79–98.

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13 A FIELD DIVIDED How Legitimation Code Theory reveals problems impacting the growth of school music education Christine Carroll

Introduction Despite decades of curricular reform and moves to incorporate more authentic and inclusive popular music pedagogies in classrooms, the hegemony of Western art music remains un­ challenged in many school education systems worldwide. As a result, teachers frequently bear the weight of choice: between meeting overriding curricular objectives designed to foster and preserve Western art music, or alternatively, providing more palatable educational experiences increasingly aligned to the ‘popular’. Despite broadening access to school music, this situation has created a gap between the types of instruction offered in different classroom contexts over time. This division often manifests according to a perceived informal – formal, or popular – classical oppositional binary, potentially compounding issues of class and social-reproduction in schools. Yet at the same time, the mechanisms perpetuating such division remain masked in current curriculum documents, and as a result can cause confusion in classrooms such as my own, where a spectrum of skills, musical interests, and academic abilities rarely fit these di­ chotomous categories. In order to investigate this complex and long-standing situation, research was undertaken using Legitimation Code Theory (LCT) from the sociology of education (Maton 2014). LCT is a multi-dimensional toolkit being used in an increasingly diverse array of fields from ballet to linguistics, which makes knowledge practices and their organising effects and principles more transparent (Maton 2014, p. 3). Using one dimension of the framework known as Specialisation, research was undertaken on two levels based empirically in Australian school music education. The first level exposed the emergence and orientation of a ‘code division’ in curriculum documents, historic accounts of pedagogic practice, and matriculation statistics spanning a 60-year period through to the present day (Carroll 2019). The second, examined the dynamics of this ‘code division’ from the ground up, via the implementation of a 10-week classroom study. Acting in the role of teacher/researcher and without prior knowledge of results from the first level of research, I designed and implemented a unit of teaching and learning for a group of newly enrolled students (aged around 16 years of age) at a senior secondary school of music. With ethical consent, three teachers (including myself), and 30 students representing a range of established musicianship skills, interests, and aspirations for tertiary study agreed to participate in the study. 196

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The unit included three phases which moved the students from informal to progressively more formal tasks indicative of the two music curriculum courses offered at the senior sec­ ondary level in the state of New South Wales. The first course is a general course of study inclusive of popular musicianship (in LCT terms, this later aligned with a knower code). The second offers specialised study in Western art music (in LCT terms, this later revealed an élite code). The courses were integrated for the first two phases, with the third and final phase offering the students a choice of activities more typical of the separate curricular pathways. A subsequent analysis of both historic and classroom levels of data using LCT revealed interesting findings. Despite the students displaying a range of knowledge and skills spanning the underlying code distinctions; the over-arching curricular objectives, pedagogies, and as­ sessment practices employed perpetuated the code divide, disadvantaging students with in­ formal learning backgrounds seeking further academic challenge currently on offer only to students with established music literacy skills acquired through prior classical study. Although small in scope, the study highlights some of the mechanisms by which classroom music edu­ cation in Australia and elsewhere is at odds with scholarly rhetoric valorising musical diversity and inclusion. The system has indeed expanded particularly at the preceding junior secondary level (12–15 years), but change is yet to affect the ‘end game’ – where senior students with skills and knowledge aligned to Western art music are still deemed the more legitimate ‘players’.

Legitimation Code Theory (LCT) LCT is a sociological framework used for research and for challenging and changing practice (Maton 2014). A practical, multi-dimensional toolkit, LCT develops and integrates the rela­ tional thinking of Pierre Bourdieu’s field theory, and the conceptual tools of Basil Bernstein’s code theory (Maton 2014, pp. 19–20). It recognises that each field (of which school music education is one) is a relatively distinct social arena, yet is connected to others through an underlying set of principles. The game that unfolds within any field is one of ‘competing claims to legitimacy’ and its practices are known as ‘languages of legitimation’ (Maton 2014, p. 17). Actors, including curriculum writers, teachers, and students, their dispositions, and their po­ sitions within fields are conceptualised according to what Maton describes as legitimation codes. Acknowledgement of the codes underlying educational practice, therefore, provides insights into the internal dynamics of a field, particularly when tensions emerge due to competing claims to both status and resources. Equally, recognition of the codes determining play may provide clues as to how to change the dynamics of a field, by challenging existing definitions of what determines both value and status within. Currently, there are five dimensions to LCT, each conceptualising a different form of le­ gitimation code. These include Autonomy, Density, Specialisation, Semantics, and Temporality, but only one will be employed here, apposite to the research at hand: Specialisation. Specialisation works on the premise that every educational practice or belief is oriented both towards ‘something’ and by ‘someone’ (Figure 13.1). Practices and beliefs can be conceptualised on a continuum of strengths (+) and weaknesses (–), both in terms of epistemic relations (ER +, –) and social relations (SR+, –). Epistemic relations tie practices or beliefs to objects of study (i.e. ‘what’ constitutes legitimate knowledge). Social relations tie practices or beliefs to actors of various kinds (i.e. ‘who’ classifies as a legitimate knower) (Maton 2014, p. 29). Together, epistemic relations and social relations generate a series of specialisation codes as follows: a knowledge code (ER+, SR–) when claims to legitimacy depend more or less upon an actor’s position in relation to an object of study; a knower code (ER–, SR+) when individual and collective claims to legitimacy are based instead upon possessing a particular disposition or 197

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Figure 13.1 Specialisation codes (Maton, 2014, p. 30)

quality necessary for inclusion in a social group or in this case classroom practice; an élite code (ER+, SR+) where the terms for legitimacy are based not only on possessing specialised knowledge but also on being the right kind of knower; and a relativist code (ER–, SR–), where legitimacy is based neither upon possessing specialised knowledge nor acquiring a particular disposition or set of knower attributes (Maton 2014, pp. 30–31). Represented using a Cartesian plane, the four codes are depicted as in Figure 13.1 Within the field of music education, the four code modalities may be conceived accordingly to ‘what you know’ (knowledge codes), the ‘kind of (musician) knower’ you are (knower codes), both (élite codes), or neither (relativist codes). A particular code may determine the basis of achievement, but may not be universally recognised. When more than one code is present, actors may clash over which code should dominate. These code clashes can manifest in curriculum documents, education policies and assessment practices, and, in teaching and learning interactions in classrooms.

Methodology As international and often national variations in curriculum and practice can be substantial, a multi-layered case study was undertaken, with LCT constituting an overarching explanatory tool capable of tying together findings derived inductively from both historic-curricular and present-day classroom levels of the research (Maton 2014). Stake (1995) describes case study as “a specific, complex, functioning thing” (p. 2) of which there are two basic forms: the first ‘intrinsic’ which is self-bound, and the other ‘instrumental’, addressing context-specific phe­ nomena but with broader explanatory potential (p. 3). According to an instrumental case study design, school music education in New South Wales was examined on two levels. Here, and in the majority of Australian states and territories, music education in schools is founded upon British precedents, where classroom instruction integrates activities in performing, listening, and composing. Learning in large ensembles (choirs, orchestras, 198

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and concert bands) also occurs in many schools, but operates under co- or extra-curricular (feepaying) provision. In secondary classrooms, mandatory instruction is provided to all students in Stage 4 (roughly 12–13 years), before becoming an optional or elective unit of study for Stage 5 (roughly 14–15 years), and Stage 6 (roughly 16–18 years), when students complete formal assess­ ments and final examinations before matriculating from high school. This study was concerned primarily with Stage 6 level senior secondary classroom in­ struction. Part 1 provided a broad scale appraisal of curriculum reform, historic accounts of practice, and, matriculation statistics spanning a 60-year period relevant to the case. Part 2 provided ethnographic account from a range of qualitative classroom data. These data included a student survey, work samples, and transcribed interview and video footage concerning the 10week research project conducted at my school. Inductive analysis generated a body of emergent themes with LCT then serving as an overarching analytical tool, exposing connections between the discussion of historic state-wide trends and the classroom data. A series of code matches and clashes emerged with implications for the present case and potentially beyond. Although the classroom study was conducted earlier in the research timeline, the historic discussion is presented next for coherence.

Part 1: Historic review of New South Wales’ curriculum and practice Analysis of the NSW school curriculum of the 1950s reveals a clear sequence of explicit knowledge and skills associated with the study of Western art music. The curriculum constituted graded ex­ ercises in class singing, solfege, aural transcription, harmony and counterpoint, coupled with im­ mersive listening and score analysis of canonical works. Vocal performance was the norm, with instrumental skills and private tuition not stipulated as requirements for study (Secondary Schools Board 1956). The design of this early curriculum upon which later iterations would be modelled sought to strengthen the relatively weak position of school music, by drawing upon the discrete knowledge and skills valued at the tertiary level. The syllabus stated: ‘music has been regarded as a language of sounds, the vocabulary of which may be learned through a step by step study of its use in musical literature, hand in hand with creative and re-creative self-expression’ (Secondary Schools Board 1956, p. 2). In LCT terms, this constituted a knowledge code, or strong epistemic relations, with weaker social relations (ER+, SR–). However, matriculation trends and relevant literature reveal that this course competed with an external pathway to matriculation, provided by the Australian Music Examinations Board (AMEB), a nationally accredited examining body (Comte 1988). In contrast to the course offered in schools, the AMEB syllabus focused on the progressive development of solo classical performance of Western art music accompanied by music theory. The graded examinations also imitated vertical progression with sequenced technical work and progressive repertoire lists (strong epistemic relations); however, the focus was upon the student’s demonstration of sty­ listic awareness, technical mastery, and personal expression only achievable with the assistance of individual private tuition (strong social relations) (Australian Music Examinations Board 1956). The emphasis was on the cultivation of a musician knower and one who had internalised the correct sound or disposition towards performance over a considerable time. During the 1960s and 1970s, revisions were made to the school syllabus to include more options for the study and examination of instrumental music (Secondary School Board 1962, 1986). The corresponding senior syllabus was also revised to allow students to specialise in performance, composition or musicology. By 1983, students matriculating with 3 Units of Music in performance (the most rigorous level with the highest number of candidates) were required to display many of the skills outlined by the AMEB system, including a final solo 199

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recital of up to eight contrasting works (Board of Senior School Studies 1983). Supporting these observations, Comte (1988) notes that ‘the final year of secondary schooling is, in many areas of Australia, tied somewhat immutably to an external examination system’ (p. 109). School curriculum writers had attempted a dual purpose: to acknowledge two distinct but interrelated forms of power and status. The first maintained the core knowledge content outlined by the earlier 1950s school curriculum (ER+, SR–), and the second, classical per­ formance skills acquired through private instrumental tuition (ER+, SR+). Thus, a subtle combination of both knowledge and knower attributes (ER+ and SR+), were needed to qualify for entry into tertiary conservatoire or university music study. Carruthers (2005) articulates: Entrance to university music programs is especially selective. Incoming geography students are not expected to be geographers, nor are first-year botany students ex­ pected to be botanists, but entering music students are expected to be musicians. They must have received extensive musical training, especially (for whatever reason) in performance, and have achieved high standards. At universities with open admission policies in other areas, admission to music is by audition only. Students are accepted or rejected on the basis of prior learning, which puts tremendous responsibility on preuniversity private and public music programs. (p. 50) In summary, a code shift had occurred, away from the acquisition of specific knowledge, to cultivating student musicians who could demonstrate this knowledge both practically and academically (ER+, SR+): in other words, an élite code. Over the same time period, a series of constructivist reforms took hold impacting school curriculum, particularly at the junior secondary levels. Student-centred, Creativity and Comprehensive Musicianship approaches were employed (Comte 1988), with similar move­ ments noted abroad (Jeanneret et al. 2003). The aim was for students to become performers, composers, conductors, listeners, and critics in their own right, rather than the passive receptors of traditional knowledge and skills. A range of potential topics for study were introduced, placing the study of Western art music alongside Jazz, Music Theatre, Non-Western, and Popular music and a range of others, with no mandatory topics or set works prescribed for study (Secondary Schools Board 1981, 1986). New knowledge frameworks known as music ‘elements’ or ‘concepts’ were brought in, reflecting an international trend to systematically organise music terminology according to the categories of pitch, duration, texture, timbre, structure, and so on (Mark 1986; Rose and Countryman 2013). These categories were believed capable of transcending the need to revert to the teaching of specific formal structures and theoretical concepts developed for the study of Western art music. It was intended that teachers use music notation to teach the elements – which by implication meant that traditional knowledge was not displaced by newer alternatives – but, exposure to notation remained conditional upon teachers’ choices in topics, repertoire, and the personal needs of students (Secondary Schools Board 1986). A weakening of relations to traditional epistemic content had occurred (ER–), creating a marked shift in practice that worked against the systematic construction of knowledge – the very thing the constructivist reforms were intended to facilitate. Maton describes this as gen­ erating ‘segmented’ knowledge (Maton 2009). In opposition to ‘cumulative knowledge’ where ‘new knowledge builds and integrates past knowledge’ (Maton 2009, p. 43), learning in topics or modules tends towards fragmentation and segmentation, with new knowledge acquired alongside old knowledge, without necessarily drawing connections between what is learned along the way. In opposition to the traditional canon of hierarchical knowledge (ER+), 200

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Figure 13.2 Candidature statistics for music1

knowledge and skills for Jazz, Popular, and Non-Western music each involved discrete and interchangeable repertoire, and a more diverse range of skills. This created a problem. As dependent upon a teacher’s programming at the junior secondary level, schools could no longer guarantee that students were adequately prepared for the challenges and rigour of the (still Western art music based) senior music curriculum. This had created a new path of learning in parallel with the first aligned to a more inclusive knower code: addressing students’ immediate needs and tastes (SR+) but downplaying relations to hierarchic knowledge (ER–) associated with Western art music. The other path was the much narrower and specialised élite code (SR+, ER+), providing access to the senior curriculum and to tertiary study beyond. Therefore, due to the highly specialised nature of senior study, a second senior syllabus, Music 2 Unit A (an early form Music 1) was introduced in 1978 (Wemyss 2004, p. 147). In order to accommodate diversity, this course contained options for the study of many new topic areas including popular music. The new senior syllabus stated ‘the present structure of Music courses in the senior school pre-supposes a firm foundation of musical literacy and does not allow for a later development of interest in or aptitude for music’. (Board of Senior School Studies 1977, p. 1 italics added). Clearly, on grounds of inclusion, the emergence of a new kind of student knower had prompted the addition. However, the kind of knowledge relevant to the ‘non-literate’ musician is ambiguously framed by music ‘elements’ or ‘concepts’, and continues to be the subject of academic debate (Carroll 2020; Rose and Countryman 2013). With candidature numbers recorded on the vertical axis, Figure 13.2 plots the numerical growth in student uptake for these courses through to the present day. This bifurcated system has remained in schools, with the Music 2 Unit A stream (now revised as Music 1) running parallel to Music 2, which is a revised version of the original senior 201

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music course. At first glance, the rationales for each course appear similar, stating that students will study ‘the concepts of music [construct knowledge], through the learning experiences of performing, composing, musicology and aural [through knowers’ experiences], within the context of a range of styles, periods and genres [in segments]’ (Board of Studies 2009a; 2009b, p. 8). These ‘segments’ or topic areas are not equivalent, however, framed variously under ‘style’, ‘period’, ‘genre’, and other categories that differ considerably between the courses, creating something of a code disjunction – or rather, code chasm – between the two. For example, students studying Music 2 must study Western art music and contemporary Australian art music through the use of scores, while Music 1 students select repertoire from a broad range of more loosely framed topic areas, accommodating an aural approach to learning with only minimal music literacy and theory requirements stipulated. The newer course, although improving the number of music candidates (as indicated in Figure 13.2) has perpetuated a division at the senior level along with a formal versus informal, classical versus popular, theory versus practice, or knowledge versus knowing mentality amongst teacher colleagues including those working at my school. Seeking to understand this binary at a grassroots level – and, without prior knowledge of LCT nor the results from the historic analysis of curriculum and practice outlined – I designed a research project with a teaching program which would integrate both sets of course outcomes concurrently. The re­ sults are outlined hence.

PART 2: The ‘Barock’ music project classroom case study This part of the project was developed to tease out a spectrum of ‘informal’ and ‘formal’ learning and pedagogy at Stage 6 curricular level, in order to examine if current provision at the school served the needs and learning orientations of the students. I use these terms akin to Green (2008), in distinguishing between the facilitation of aural-based music transmission strategies of popular mu­ sicians, and notation-based, teacher-directed study of Western art music. With an investigation of baroque music as the content framework, the unit was designed to progress students through three distinct phases that would together involve them in different kinds of learning opportunities. The topic was chosen as it was listed in both syllabus documents (Board of Studies 2009a, 2009b), but here served to initiate a range of learning representative of an informal – formal spectrum, en­ compassing ear-playing and ensemble work featuring versioning and improvisation, through to notation-centred learning and teaching as described hence. The unit of learning was structured in three phases. The first phase was performance-based, and designed after Green’s (2008) informal learning with classical music (as outlined hence). The second phase involved two written tasks – a scored transcription and an analysis report. The third phase offered activities designed to transition the students back into the separate courses: an improvisation task for those intending Music 1; and instruction in the basics of baroque counterpoint and fugue writing for those interested in Music 2. By momentarily dissolving the boundaries between the two typically divided cohorts, the relationship between different forms of musical knowledge and the aspirations of different musician knowers could be examined and explored.

The participants The 30 (mixed gender) students represented a range of musical skills and interests, with some having received many years of classical tuition, and others ‘self-taught’. The majority, however, had experienced some combination of the two (i.e. classical training on one instrument, selftaught on another, and so on). Prior learning did not always correspond with their current 202

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music interests, as the vast majority reported skills and existing expertise to varying degrees in popular music-making. The teachers also represented a range of pedagogic backgrounds and professional expertise. Teacher 1, had two sets of undergraduate qualifications in classical and jazz performance; Teacher 2, had a background solely in jazz performance and arranging; and Teacher 3 (myself), a background in classical performance. All three teachers held either undergraduate or post-graduate qualifications in music education. The majority of students – 27 in total – had undertaken Stage 5 elective music at the junior secondary level (ages 14–16) in a range of different schools prior to enrolment. Yet via the survey, most stated ‘lack of confidence’ with ‘music reading’ or ‘music theory’ as their reason for intending to study Music 1. Those wishing to study Music 2 numbered eight on grounds of its ‘formal content’, its suitability as a ‘tertiary prerequisite’ and also for the ‘academic challenge’. Five students were unsure as to which course to choose, so were glad of some extra time to consider their options. Interestingly, student perceptions of course suitability changed over the first 2 phases, with the cohort dividing evenly (15 students each) for Phase 3. As data for the Phase 3 improvisation task generated very similar results to those generated for Phase 1, it has been omitted from discussion here.

Phase 1: weeks 1–5 The first phase was modelled after Green’s pilot study on informal learning with classical music (2008, pp. 149–180). This involved the students working in five different friendship groups to create an original performance arrangement of a baroque work chosen from a compilation CD and scores that I had provided.2 Each of the groups demonstrated idiosyncratic music-making during Phase 1, which bore reference both to their chosen baroque work, and also, to their prior learning and genre preferences in heavy metal, pop, blues, rock, folk and sometimes, an eclectic combination. All performances showed high levels of repetition, even phrase structures, and rhythmic, harmonic, textural, and improvisational features common to these genres of popular music (Carroll 2017). The students displayed high levels of motivation and ownership of their work in Phase 1 (in LCT terms strong social relations, or SR+), but only tacit awareness of the learning processes and explicit knowledge acquired (weaker epistemic relations, or ER–). Working mostly by ear, both the students (and the teachers) were largely unable to articulate direct connections between the passages selected and adapted for performance, and their origins in the baroque works, with these connections becoming clear to me only later through the transcription and analysis process of classroom video data (again, ER–) (Carroll 2017). In LCT terms, this phase generated for most students, a knower code (ER–, SR+). However, tensions soon arose when the informal learning approach appeared at odds with the teachers’ élite code experiences of baroque music. Struggling to find points of connection with a group of guitarists who could not read music, Teacher 1 chose to demonstrate passages of a Bach fugue on his bass guitar, intending these be learned and memorised. The footage re­ vealed the students fatigued, soon returning to their heavy metal adaptation of the fugue in his absence. In a later interview, Teacher 1 provided this feedback: Well, I would have liked them to have … well you know, when you learn a language … not only do you learn some grammar and syntax and vocabulary, you learn the accent, and I think that I would have liked them to get a bit of all of those things … And look, I guess this is how it just had to be because they have such limited ex­ perience with this type of music, but it was like listening to someone speak French with a very heavy Australian accent. There was a very heavy accent of their own 203

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musical vernacular imposed upon the music. And I think that I would have liked them to get more into some of the details. Using the metaphor of ‘language’, Teacher 1’s pedagogy served to expose the students to some of the original content or ‘vocabulary’ of the fugue. However, unable to memorise lengthy polyphonic material nor perform it with the correct sound or ‘accent’, the students could not fulfil his intentions. Returning to their existing heavy metal adaptation of the fugue which they already enjoyed performing, a code clash had emerged between Teacher 1’s élite code pedagogy, and the students’ knower code disposition to the task.

Phase 2: weeks 6–7 Working in the same five groups, the students were then asked to transcribe their performance arrangements, and compare these with the original baroque work upon which they had been loosely based. Although the task instructions validated a variety of notation responses such as graphic symbols, chord charts, and guitar tablature, as well as digital and handwritten scores, all groups attempted to use staff notation. Surprisingly, the task was enjoyed most by the groups who had limited experience with staff notation, with pedagogy aligned to a knowledge code introducing a range of graphic and traditional notation types, connecting different knowledge forms across aural – notated, and informal – formal boundaries (Carroll 2020). However, for the groups representing a more diverse range of music literacy skills, the task proved divisive, as those with existing competence felt they needed to control the scoring outcome. The written analyses were undertaken individually, requiring each student to discuss one ‘element’ or ‘concept’ area (i.e. ‘pitch’, ‘duration’, etc.) common to both course syllabi. Using bullet points and references to both performed, and original versions of the chosen works, the students were asked to articulate similarities and contrasts between the two. Problematically, many of the students misunderstood the point of the exercise or found it too challenging, and based discussion almost solely on the performed versions which were more familiar to them. When assessed, written terminology proved a sticking point, as student terms used and de­ veloped during ‘informal’ learning in Phase 1, were deemed inappropriate in the written re­ ports. For example, rather than encouraging a terminology exchange between formal and informal musical language, classroom dialogue showed Teacher 2 superimposing terms such as ‘interlude’ and ‘melodic theme’, over the students’ working descriptions of the ‘solos’ and ‘break-downs’ used in their performance (Carroll 2020). Here, and in the previous transcription exercise, it appeared that not all knowledge forms were viewed equally by all concerned. Teacher 2 later elaborated during a follow-up interview: My understanding was that after all it is still baroque right? So, no matter what it boils down to, it is still that right? So you need to use some terminology that shows the relationship to baroque music right? … That was my understanding. The interview transcript highlights another set of code tensions. During Phase 1, Teacher 2 had provided the students freedom in the stylistic adaptation of Baroque material, according to a knower code (ER–, SR+). Later, in Phase 2, a pedagogic shift resulted in knowledge code pedagogy (ER+, SR–). However, tensions emerged as both teacher and student knowledge (ER) did not operate on an equal footing, with that aligned to Western art music deemed by Teacher 2 the more appropriate choice.

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Phase 3: weeks 8–10 In Phase 3, the 15 students interested in studying the Music 2 course undertook a 3-week ‘trial’ where they were instructed to compose the opening of a baroque fugue using music notation software. The task began with teacher-directed listening and score analysis of a Bach fugue followed by basic instruction in some of the rules of baroque counterpoint (Carroll 2017). As successful completion of the task required an understanding of both fugue form and style traits, further tensions arose when students misunderstood the detailed instructions, or objected to the number of rules imposed, and hence, lack of compositional freedom. Equally, many of the students continued to work by ear rather than from the notation-based instructions and examples provided. Teacher 3 (myself) deemed many of the compositions unsuccessful, yet despite this, some of the students expressed pride and sa­ tisfaction in their work, as it had exposed them to new skills and musical ideas, as the following classroom video transcript relays: STUDENT:

I don’t know if this bit fits but I thought that it sounded kind of cool. Can I show you? TEACHER 3: (Listening to student work) … I actually like that … but, … you know what’s been really interesting, is that all of your ears are still attuned to popular music because that’s what you mainly listen to. STUDENT: Yeah. TEACHER 3: So getting you to write in a baroque style is really difficult, because the sound of it is not in your head. I actually really like that ending you’ve written there but it’s not a traditional one you know … STUDENT: Thanks heaps. TEACHER 3: Difficult yes? STUDENT: It’s fun though. I do like the challenge. Clearly, the students were happy to be presented with academic challenges (or ER+) – but with only limited time to cultivate knowledge of style and musical syntax, and, working largely by ear, their compositions had reflected a different kind of ‘sound’ to the one I as teacher had intended. My pedagogy was framed according to an underlying élite code (ER+, SR+), but in completing the task, many (if not all) of the students maintained their alignment to a knower code (ER–, SR+).

Discussion and conclusions: Code shifts and legitimacy in the classroom In summary, trends in the classroom data can be attributed to shifts and clashes in codes of legitimation. In Phase 1, the collaborative informal learning task encouraged multiple inter­ pretations and negotiable, more ‘relativist’ knowledge was the result (SR+, ER–). This framed the knower as central to the exercise. In Phase 2, the creation of scores and analyses required students to codify and critically compare their performances in Phase 1 with the original baroque works upon which they had been based. This required that students translate their ‘knowing’ into ‘knowledge’ (SR–, ER+). However, friction then occurred between a range of scoring and terminology outcomes aligned to different kinds of music. Also, the approach revealed that learning did not necessarily generate knowledge which the students were capable of transferring between learning contexts, as demonstrated by very limited comparison and critical engagement with the original baroque works.

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In Phase 3, despite students making further gains in music literacy and enjoying the chal­ lenge of fugue writing, students displayed confusion as to why a task such as composition was so prescriptive in requiring knowledge of form and style. This indicated a code ‘clash’ between the knower code dispositions of students and the élite code expectations of myself the teacher. Nevertheless, many students indicated that they had enjoyed the challenges the task presented. Yet, due to further code clashes of this kind the majority of these students chose eventually to move to the Music 1 class, not due to lack of musical or academic ability, but because they perceived they were simply the wrong kind of musician, or possessed a different, or, an in­ complete knowledge set to the one required. During the follow-up interviews, some of these students expressed the desire for more academically rigorous study which the Music 1 course did not provide. This is a significant finding, as it highlighted a missed opportunity for a portion of the student cohort (11 of the original 30), with implications beyond the present case study. Later, when findings from the classroom study were placed alongside the findings from the analysis of state-wide matriculation statistics outlined in Part 1, the proportion of students re­ maining in Music 2 (numbering only 4 from the original 30 in the research project) mirrored a similar proportional split at the state level. Notwithstanding significant variation in course delivery across the state, there appears a deficit in provision for student popular musicians seeking further academic challenge, as Music 1 provides no clear path for extension, nor preparation for tertiary music study (Board of Studies 2009a). This highlights a need for cur­ riculum reform in New South Wales Australia and potentially beyond, to provide students representing a range of musical skills and interests access to appropriately designed, yet aca­ demically rigorous educational opportunities should they seek them. In the meantime, it would appear that pedagogy is the key to addressing this problem. Without an awareness of the un­ derlying code tensions resulting from the meeting of formal and informal knowledge in classrooms, teachers remain ignorant of ways to bridge the élite code – knower code divide, by encouraging meaningful dialogue between different knowledge forms. This case study which helps frame various shifts in codes of legitimation in school music education, reveals that a curriculum centred solely around the knower may obscure or even impede access to valuable knowledge, resulting in what Maton (2014) describes as ‘knowledge blindness’ in the classroom. By making knowledge practices more visible, the underlying codes maintaining division can be both acknowledged and new possibilities considered. Rather than perpetuate a dichotomy, perhaps it is time to address prior assumptions and turn our attention to the kind of classroom practice that will prepare 21st-century musicians of various orientations for life-long learning in a music industry which no longer holds tightly to conceptions of low and high art. As to what kind of curriculum and classroom practice might enable such learning is beyond the scope of this research, however dialogue between various musical discourses including those associated with traditional study would be a useful point at which to begin the conversation.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

To what extent does the code divide described in this case study manifest within the school educational system most immediate to you? What kinds of curricular structures and assessment strategies might be actualised by the idea of bridging the élite code – knower code divide, in order to provide more equitable educa­ tional experiences for students including those with informal learning backgrounds?

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Notes 1 2

Graph generated from candidature statistics for Music tabled by gender. Statistics viewed 1 May 2020, http://www.boardofstudies.nsw.edu.au/bos_stats/. These works included the Organ Toccata in D minor by J.S. Bach, Air from Orchestral Suite No. 3 by J.S. Bach, Little Fugue in G minor by J.S. Bach, Canon by J. Pachelbel, Dido’s Lament from Opera Dido and Aeneasby H. Purcell, and the Hallelujah Chorus from Oratorio The Messiah by G.F. Handel. These works were selected due to their relative familiarity and/or musical accessibility in terms of repetitive or formulaic structural design.

References Australian Music Examinations Board, 1956. Manual of Syllabuses for Public Examinations in Music and Art of Speech. The Board, Melbourne, Australia. Board of Senior School Studies, 1977. Music Syllabus Year 11 and 12: New 2 Unit A Course. Draft Document. NSW Department of Education, Sydney, Australia. Board of Senior School Studies, 1983. Music Syllabus: 2 Unit (Related) and 3 Unit Course for Years 11 and 12. NSW Department of Education, Sydney, Australia. Board of Studies, 2009a. Music 1 Stage 6 Syllabus. NSW Department of Education and Training, Sydney, Australia. Viewed 12 January 2019, http://www.boardofstudies.nsw.edu.au/syllabus_hsc/music1.html. Board of Studies, 2009b. Music 2 and Extension Syllabus, NSW Department of Education and Training Sydney, Australia. Viewed 12 January 2019, http://www.boardofstudies.nsw.edu.au/syllabus_hsc/music-2.html. Carroll, C., 2017. Playing the field: an Australian case study of student popular musicians’ informal learning in senior secondary classroom music education. PhD Thesis, The University of Sydney. Viewed 23 November 2018, https://ses.library.usyd.edu.au/handle/2123/17232. Carroll, C., 2019. “Illiterate” musicians: an historic review of curriciulum and practice for student popular musicians in Australian senior secondary classrooms. British Journal of Music Education vol. 36 (no. 2), 155–171. Carroll, C., 2020. Seeing the invisible: theorising connections between informal and formal musical knowledge. Research Studies in Music Education vol. 42 (no. 1), 37–55. doi: 10.1177/ 1321103X18824641. Carruthers, G., 2005. Universities’ role in articulating diverse music-learner populations. In A Celebration of Voices: XV National Conference Proceedings, 48–54, Australian Society for Music Education, Parkville, Vic. Comte, M., 1988. The arts in Australian schools: the past fifty years. Australian Journal of Music Education vol. 1, 102–120. Corbin, J., Strauss, A., 2008. Basics of Qualitative Research: Techniques and Procedures for Developing Grounded Theory. Sage, Los Angeles, California. Feichas, H., 2010. Bridging the gap: informal learning practices as a pedagogy of integration. British Journal of Music Education vol. 27 (no. 1), 47–58. doi: 10.1017/S0265051709990192. Folkestad, G., 2006. Formal and informal learning situations or practices vs formal and informal ways of learning. British Journal of Music Education vol. 23 (no. 2), 135–145. doi: 10.1017/S0265051706006887. Green, L., 2008. Music, Informal Learning and the School: A New Classroom Pedagogy. Ashgate, London, UK. Jeanneret, N., McPherson, J., Dunbar-Hall, P., Forrest, D., 2003. Beyond Manhattenville, Paynter and cultural identity: the evolution of the NSW music curriculum, In: 4th Asia Pacific symposium on music education research, The Hong Kong Institute of Education, Hong Kong, pp. 137–141. Mark, M., 1986. Contemporary Music Education. Schirmer Books, New York. Maton, K., 2009. Cumulative and segmented learning: exploring the role of curriculum structures in knowledge-building. British Journal of Sociology of Education vol. 30 (no. 1), 43–57. doi: 10.1080/ 01425690802514342. Maton, K., 2014. Knowledge and Knowers: Towards a Realist Sociology of Education. Routledge, London. Rose, L.S., Countryman, J., 2013. Repositioning ‘The Elements’: how students talk about music. Action, Criticism & Theory for Music Education vol. 12 (no. 3), 44–64. Viewed 21 December 2018. Available from: http://act.maydaygroup.org/articles/RoseCountryman12_3.pdf.

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Christine Carroll Secondary Schools Board, 1962. Syllabus in Music. Department of Education, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. Secondary Schools Board, 1956. Syllabus in Music. Department of Education, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. Secondary Schools Board, 1981. Music Non- Elective Syllabus Years 7–10. Department of Education, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. Secondary Schools Board, 1986. Syllabus in Music – Elective. Department of Education, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. Stake, R.E., 1995. The Art of Case Study Research. Sage, Thousand Oaks, California. Wemyss, K., 2004. Reciprocity and exchange: popular music in Australian secondary schools. In: Rodriguez, C.X. (Ed.), Bridging the Gap: Popular Music and Music Education. Rowman & Littlefield, Reston, Virginia, pp. 141–155.

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14 MUSIC AND THE SOCIAL IMAGINARIES OF YOUNG PEOPLE Athena Lill

Social imaginaries The term ‘social imaginary’ has been used with increasing regularity by sociologists and anthropologists since the mid-twentieth century.1 It is both active and structural, drawing together the sociological concepts of agency and structure: it encompasses both the imagining and the imagined. It includes the juxtaposition of the individual imagination with real-world actions as people make social decisions based on their own private imaginings, imaginings that have been affirmed through a complex web of cultural symbols and artefacts curated by an acknowledged community. As a tool for examining social groups the imaginary has the potential to analyse individual actions situated within a macrocosmic set of beliefs and ideologies, and to therefore help us to understand the ways that others construct the world. In the mid-twentieth century, the psychoanalyst Jaques Lacan discussed the importance of the image and the human fascination with the intersection between the body and the ego through three structures: the imaginary, the symbolic, and the real. For Lacan, the imaginary is a mediator between our internal and external experience: it helps us to understand that while some aspects of reality are real, other equally valid aspects are imagined (Lacan 1988). The imagination, with its ability to mimic or even create physical sensation, ultimately renegotiates the classic dichotomy of the body and mind. As a psychoanalyst, Lacan was particularly concerned with the imaginary of the individual however he did note the way that individuals draw on social symbols in order to construct their personal identity (Strauss 2006). More recently, the idea of the imaginary has been developed through political science, sociology and anthropology, particularly in the work of Charles Castoriadis (1987), Benedict Anderson (2016), Arjun Appadurai (1996), and Charles Taylor (2004). In Castoriadis’s work the (singular) social imaginary is a large-scale cultural schema which unites people from disparate communities into one imagined collective, a ‘central world view associated with a particular group, setting off one group from another’ (Strauss 2006, p. 328). This particular interest in the collective means that for Castoriadis the social imaginary is the imagination of a reified society, which at times seems to discount the agency of individuals. In his seminal text ‘Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism’ Anderson (2016) used ‘nationalism’ as a concept to illustrate how a collection of individuals may strongly identify with each other through the imagined symbols of the nation 209

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state. He defined the nation as ‘an imagined political community’ (Anderson 2016, p. 6), explaining: it is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion. (p. 6, original emphasis) Anderson emphasises the role that capitalism and media have in shaping and creating such a community (Anderson 2016, p. 37), and, like Castoriadis, reiterates the importance of using an imagined Other to provide a boundary for the community. Like Anderson, Appadurai (1996, p. 53) highlights the role of mass media in increasing the importance of individual imagination in social life: ‘more persons in more parts of the world consider a wider set of possible lives than they ever did before’. Moreover, because of the presence of the imagined lives of others in our life, many more people ‘see their lives through the prisms of the possible lives offered by mass media’ (Appadurai 1996, p. 54), for better or worse. Perhaps more so than Anderson, Appadurai underlines the importance of the movement of peoples in spreading cultural values, once again making the link between the imagined and the real more concrete. The power of the mediapresented imaginary life is only made powerful by ‘contacts with, news of, and rumours about others in one’s social neighbourhood who have become inhabitants of these faraway worlds’ (Appadurai 1996, p. 53). Thus, for Appadurai the social imaginary takes shape through a negotiation between the individual and a range of global possibilities, enacted through learnt social practices and fantasies. Charles Taylor, in his text ‘Modern Social Imaginaries’ (2004), conceives of social imaginaries as both plural and dynamic. Like Appadurai, Taylor emphasises the importance of contact with both global media and with local people, arguing that a social imaginary is constituted by: the ways people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations. (Appadurai 1996, p. 23) For Taylor, imaginaries are enacted and exist in the ways that people carry out social practices that are informed by our understanding of imaginary values: ‘if the understanding makes the practice possible, it is also true that the practice largely carries the understanding’ (Appadurai 1996, p. 25). Thus imaginaries have the power to transform reality whilst simultaneously being transformed by the practices of individuals. Crucially, Taylor recognises the vital role played by products (including artworks, stories, etc.) in producing and sustaining a social imaginary. Throughout the 20th century, an increasing number of social imaginaries have been researched and discussed, however few studies have examined the role of music in the imaginary life of particular social groups (Lill and Dieckmann 2013). The ability for music to transmit important cultural symbols makes it a powerful vehicle for constructing and disseminating a social imaginary. Hence, I suggest that the creation of musical artefacts and practices both transforms individuals and their lived reality. Building on the work of the above theorists, in this chapter I shall explore the ways in which young people create, curate, and sustain a social imaginary through music, how such an imaginary is disseminated and shared and the impact that a social imaginary can have on the lived experience of individuals. 210

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Tweenagers While the liminal state between childhood and adolescence has been acknowledged for some time, more recently the recognition of ‘tweenagers’ as a discrete social category has been accepted in academia (Boden 2006). Described as a ‘media-constructed age category’ (Boden 2006, p. 291), this group of children are commonly defined by adults as being Westernised young people approximately aged between 8 and 15 who have increasing consumer power. Although tweenhood was initially propagated by mass-media (particularly through advertising), tweens themselves are now beginning to actively construct what it means to be a tween, effectively emancipating themselves from the construction of this group by adults. One effect of this has been to call into question the extent to which age can be used to categorise tweens (Lill 2015); certainly many of the tweens in this study identified themselves more readily through the things that they liked and the things they did, rather than what age they were, suggesting that Taylor’s (2004) emphasis on social practices is fundamental. This has important implications in understanding a tweenage imaginary, given how quickly objects and practices fall in and out of fashion. This would suggest that, as a transient state that individuals occupy for only a few years at a time, a tweenage imaginary is perhaps more fluid and dynamic than other imaginaries (national or religious, for example). Although there will always be tweens, tweenhood itself is constantly remade as new individuals ‘join’ and others leave.

Tween spaces: online and offline In the late twentieth and early twenty-first century the concept of space has been irreversibly altered by the ubiquity of the Internet in our day-to-day lives. The ability for tweenagers to access a shared global space through personal hand-held devices at any time of day or night has resulted in a whole new dimension of peer-to-peer interaction, and vastly expanded opportunities for young people to connect with an increasingly global imaginary (Marsh 2014). However, open access brings with it increasing concern for adults who are tasked with the safeguarding of children and teens. The attempts of adults to police mobile devices is often loaded with tension as many young people see mobile use as a typically youth-oriented practice. The online life of tweenagers is, for many of them, a vitally important facet of their identity. It offers an immediacy of contact with otherwise strangers hundreds of miles away, as well as peer affirmation of cultural practices and artefacts that they consider to be important (Lill 2015). Furthermore, it is both intensely private and intensely social at once: a paradox that can result in young people feeling both overwhelmed by others and deeply lonely at the same time. Until Internet access became so easy, most media were created by adults for tweens and therefore struggled to express an authentic tween voice. With the ability to create and disseminate media that excludes the adult voice, tweens in the twenty-first century have an unprecedented opportunity to create their own world. It is a space in which tweenagers can be culturally powerful. Of course, as well as an online space, most tweens in the Western world spend a considerable amount of their time in an ostensibly adult-mediated space: the school. Schools are one of the few spaces in which young people are grouped broadly by age, and certainly by geographical proximity, leading to the development of localised age-defined peer communities. As an institution, school is unique; a place for children with a primary aim of learning centred on a curriculum with often limited reference to those things that young people find vitally important. However, within every school is a distinct ‘underlife’ (Corsaro 2015), a shared project of resistance that seeks to undermine and reclaim adult power. Corsaro identifies ‘secondary 211

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adjustments’ as one of the ways in which children appropriate control in adult-mediated situations. Secondary adjustments can be described as any means by which an individual (or group) subverts a more powerful social structure and through the collective creation and performance of secondary adjustments, children create a culture which exists and responds to the dominant, adult-sanctioned culture of the school. Without both the Internet and the physical space of the school it is difficult to see how a truly global social imaginary could come to exist for tweenagers. Unlike long-held imaginaries that unite diasporic communities (see Anderson 2016) as the new social category of tweenagers emerged, so did their globally negotiated social imaginary: co-created by thousands of young people ascribing meaning to those symbols, artefacts, and practices that they consider to be important. The discussion of this imaginary will be illustrated by data drawn from a doctoral study completed between 2012 and 2015 (Lill 2015). This project included collecting qualitative data from tweenagers living in both rural and urban areas of New South Wales, Australia, and England, UK.

Creating the imaginary During the time I spent collecting data in both the UK and Australia it was clear that popular music was incredibly important to tweenagers. Tweens in both countries spent a considerable amount of time on- and offline watching pop videos, singing and dancing to pop music, and creating their own cover versions. Interestingly, the majority of popular music that they enjoyed was performed by artists who were in their 20s (and often written by adults who were significantly older) and while this music was generally produced with a tweenage market in mind, tweens rarely appreciated it at face value. In order to ascribe personal meaning to these songs the tweens appropriated and transformed the music, effectively claiming ownership through the performance of musical secondary adjustments. Appropriating and transforming music is nothing new, indeed Kathy Marsh (1999) identifies cycles of appropriation as a key feature of children’s musical play. Interestingly, a significant proportion of the appropriated music that I saw was itself transformed through recontextualization and/or juxtaposition alongside seemingly unrelated texts, leading to a complex web of meaning and understanding that was difficult to follow without the help of a tweenage guide. The prevalence of ‘in-jokes’ (Lill 2014) and musical parodies of favourite songs gave the impression of a cynicism and knowingness that is not always associated with young adolescence but was clearly a significant facet of their social imaginary. Moreover, in-jokes created through parody allow groups to define themselves against the excluded Other, in line with Anderson’s (2016) argument. The importance of parodic interactions to tweenagers was particularly evident when I visited a very small school in rural New South Wales. At the time of the research, the school had 18 students on role. A group of five girls tended to spend their time dancing together at break and lunch times, using the classroom computer to access songs on YouTube. This musical practice fostered a strong social bond and simultaneously connected them to a wider tweenage social imaginary through the dance moves which were stored in the collective memory of the group. When I asked where they got the moves from, the girls explained they gathered them from various sources, including media and other tweens: JESS (12):

TVs [sic], YouTube, and like, dancing competitions … like music camp.

One girl, Laura (10), was a relatively new addition to the friendship group, despite having attended the school since kindergarten. She was described by her friends as a ‘good little 212

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cowgirl’, implying that she was more interested in riding horses and farming than in popular music, fashion, and boys (seen by the girls as more sophisticated, tweenage interests). Although she rarely danced seriously for any long period of time, Laura did tend to engage in the social activity through parody, carefully choosing parodic dance moves that made fun of popular music or her own lack of prowess rather than the other dancers. One such example occurred during a spontaneous dance to the song ‘Wings’ by UK girl band Little Mix. Prior to the song being played, the girls had an involved discussion about the choice of song for dancing: JESS:

What song do you want on?

LAURA: Wings. Do Wings. SUNITA (9): Ohhh, Natural! LAURA:

No!

LEXI (7): No, that’s not … JESS: How about Beauty and

the Beat? [in chorus, drawn out] No! SUNITA: [sings] Beauty and the Beat! Beauty and the … LAURA: [authoritatively] Taylor [Swift] or Wings. 2 JESS: We’ll try Wings. (Observation, Blue Hills, 5 February 2013) LAURA AND LEXI:

This exchange clearly demonstrates the extent to which Laura was involved and invested in the choice of music for the dance. Although as the group’s leader Jess remained in control of the situation, it is Laura’s voice that was ultimately heard, over and above the others. However, when the song began to play, Laura remained standing to one side whilst the other girls reproduced dance moves appropriated from popular culture. Gradually, and instead of dancing seriously, Laura started to bob her head up and down, seemingly like a chicken. This was quickly imitated by Lexi, and the two girls performed this move intermittently throughout the song. However, rather than just re-voicing Laura’s move, the other girls were inspired to attempt parodic moves of their own, including a ‘Walk like an Egyptian’ move. At the chorus, Laura introduced a new idea, jumping up and down and flapping her hands at shoulder level each time the word ‘wings’ occurred in the song. This move was met with a great deal of sociable laughter from the other girls in the group. The initial affirmation the other girls gave Laura for her ‘chicken bob’ move led Laura to try the second parodic ‘wings’ move, a move that involved more physical commitment. Interestingly, at this point Laura was not only parodying the words of the song, but also commenting on her own status as a dancer, as well as her position as an integral member of the friendship group, who was able to mock their primary leisure pursuit without offending the others. Moreover, she was physically referencing a dance move performed by one of the members of Little Mix, albeit sped up for comic effect, and also, perhaps, the popular advertisement for Red Bull energy drinks that features a cartoon man flying in a similar style, adding layers of intertextuality to her performance. Towards the end of this performance, the parodic framework established by Laura was exploited by Jess and Sunita, who started to perform parodies of more highly sexualised dance moves, including an imaginary ‘grinding’ move where the hips are moved from side to side, and an arm is waved as if slapping somebody else’s imaginary buttocks. This move was repeated several times, accompanied by lots of giggling, and dramatic faces. By doing this, Jess and Sunita inhabited an interesting position within Laura’s parodic world. Clearly, they were making fun of the dance move itself, but also of themselves as serious dancers compared to Laura. Moreover, in this instance the girls used parody to explore the tension that they felt as tweenager with a complex interest in boys and sexuality. Subsequently they both affirmed their 213

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own ‘official’ position of taking dance-time seriously, and of being ‘grown up’, whilst simultaneously confirming their alignment with Laura and her desire to use dance humorously. This improvised moment of dance moreover made an important statement about the social imaginary which these girls both create and inhabit. The embodied parody juxtaposed and combined online texts, in-jokes taken from other dances that the girls had performed, and the tension present from performing overtly sexual moves in the adult-controlled space of the school. Through the transformation of these appropriated movements the girls created a richly intertextual web of cultural artefacts to which they had ascribed meaning. Moreover, by participating through parody, Laura was both changing and being changed in the moment of the shared imaginary (Taylor, 2004).

Sharing the imaginary In the above example, the girls’ dance was a spontaneous moment shared with each other (and with me) without intentions that anyone else would be watching. However, many hundreds of thousands of tweens do share content with a global audience, primarily through social media. Indeed, most of the tweens that I talked to watched and interacted with content made by other tweenagers through platforms like YouTube. In her study of the online and offline transmission of children’s clapping games, Bishop (2014) notes that children as young as six were accessing online sources to learn playground games, and this method of learning games (particularly the use of YouTube as a teacher) was something that I also found in secondary schools: KIA (13):

I have a really embarrassing story … so like one night, after I was like so bored, I was on YouTube and I was learning it [the cup game] for like, ages, and then, I kept on doing it till like 12 o clock at night, like OMG.

This suggests that online sources are an important space for the transmission of cultural artefacts and practices. The importance of social media to tweenagers was also demonstrated by the significant number who considered social media to be a viable career, demonstrating a further extension of Appadurai’s (1996) media-inspired possible lives. Interestingly, when describing one tweenage YouTube star, Tara (13) said, ‘people make money from this. He makes money, that’s like what his family like, lives off ’. However, unlike the celebrity lives that Appadurai implies in his work, it is exceptionally easy for tweens to live something of the YouTube star experience. Although for most of the participants in this study YouTube was used as a tool to view music videos or watch TV or movies, a small number of tweens were also active creators of YouTube videos, and had their own page to distribute their work. The incentive for them was not financial, rather they wanted to contribute to a community that they valued. Tamsin, a 14-year-old aspiring comedian explained her motivation: I’ve always liked making other people laugh, and I thought it would be a really cool thing to do because I watch so much YouTube and I always thought it would be a cool thing to do. Tamsin’s YouTube channel was created by Tamsin and her friend Arabella, and featured a variety of musical and comedy sections, edited together in a fast-paced format that cut continuously from one activity to another. “OUR FIRST VID!!!!!!!!:):):):):):):)” is the first YouTube video by Tamsin and Arabella, published on the 1st June, 2013. After introducing themselves, the two girls 214

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wonder what they will do. First, they decide to dance – cut to the two girls performing parodic moves in their bedroom to the hit song Gentleman performed by Korean singer Psy. The dance moves the girls perform are a mixture of those included by Psy in his music videos (for both Gentleman and Gangnam Style), interpolated with more traditionally amusing moves such as the “walk like an Egyptian”. Following a dance section, the girls decide to do “blind makeovers”, where they apply make up to each other with their eyes closed. At the end of the 2-minute video the girls conclude “that was a little bit weird”, before asking their viewers to “subscribe” to their channel; on YouTube, more subscribers generally means more views, which can lead to profit. (Fieldnotes, Sydney, 23 October 2013) The video demonstrates an interesting dialogue between intimate, local, and global spaces. Filming in one of the girls’ bedrooms, a space that Baker (2004, p. 76) describes as one of the most ‘significant, private, and immediate life space[s]’ in the lives of young girls, Tamsin and Arabella are projecting their intimate friendship, conducted in an intimate space, onto the global stage. This sharing is crucial to the formation and consolidation of a tweenage imaginary. By engaging in, and recording, important cultural practices (such as a blind make-over, and dancing to a funny song) the girls are explicitly adding to a corpus of material that reinforces tween values, actively helping to create a tween imaginary. The prevalence of social media in the lives of the tweenagers in this study was massive. Many tweens were regular users of YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram and while not all tweens had their own YouTube channel, many produced videos that they then uploaded to Facebook. While in a UK secondary school, I was shown several versions of Facebook videos of ‘the knife game’, a game where a pencil, knife, or other sharp implement is stabbed between the spread fingers of a hand while a song is performed (Lill 2014). One knife-game performer was particularly proud of her 163 ‘likes’, demonstrating the key role that social media can play in providing affirmation to tweens. It is important to note, at this stage, the impact of those ‘influencers’ who help to shape the trends prevalent on social media platforms. Often older, and increasingly professional (Zoella, who has over 12 million subscribers at the time of writing, is in her early 30s and spends a significant amount on production values) these influencers often have a clearly recognisable format to their videos. However, the ostensible commitment to amateurism means that tweens can generally replicate these markers: filming in a bedroom, using a handheld device in ‘selfie’ mode, or applying facefilters for example. In the same way that the dancers in New South Wales interacted with adultcreated media in a parodic way there were certainly some suggestions that the aspiring YouTube stars were also making secondary adjustments, as in describing blind makeovers as ‘a bit weird’. The sheer volume of young people contributing to the online world of tweenagers reinforces the musical practices and values that are meaningful to tweens; moreover, the importance of being online is itself an important marker of tweenhood.

Living the imaginary While not every tweenager I met in the course of this study would describe themselves as a member of any given fandom, the majority certainly did. Indeed, for some tweens being a member of a particular musical fandom was fundamental to their experience of a tweenage imaginary. The importance of fandom has been variously documented, and although the fandom of young girls in particular is often somewhat belittled most authors can agree that being a fan is a formative experience (Saunders 2010). Certainly, some of the superfans that I met demonstrated the concrete 215

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relationship between their tweenage imaginary and their real-world actions, perhaps none so much as Daisy (13), a true Belieber. Beliebers are super fans of the Canadian artist Justin Bieber, a musician associated with the growing ability for online media to create superstars; at the age of just 13, Bieber was ‘discovered’ by a talent manager, who was browsing YouTube and happened to see a video of Bieber in a talent show. Bieber’s most ardent fans are mostly girls, and their youth, gender, and often semi-obsessive behaviour leaves them open to significant amounts of criticism (Saunders 2010). Certainly, the way that Daisy described her fandom highlighted some of the obsessive tendencies for which many Beliebers are critiqued: I don’t know … I think there are different levels, um, I guess some people just like call themselves Beliebers but they’re not. Like there are fans of Justin and they always just want to see him with his shirt off and always just don’t care if he’s smiling, just that he’s there. And Beliebers, we care that he’s happy and like some Beliebers are like over crazy, like they can just be weirdly stalker-ish, but I don’t think that’s even the top layer. I guess the top layer are just the ones who have been there from the beginning, all the way and the bottom are the ones that just think they are but they’re not, they’re secretly just fans. Like everyone wants to be called a Belieber, but like one of my friends, I’m not saying their name, they think they are a true Belieber but I don’t know. They keep saying things, like fault him. They’re like “oh, he was caught smoking, or I don’t like what he’s wearing there…”. True Beliebers don’t care what he is wearing, he looks good in everything. Online, Daisy had a strong presence, active on Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube. However, being a Belieber allowed Daisy’s online and offline lives to intersect. For example, over the course of the second half of 2013, Bieber launched ‘Music Mondays’, where he released one new song online (there were no physical copies produced) on 10 consecutive Mondays, which together formed the album Journals. To celebrate and promote this, Daisy and a friend downloaded and printed out posters which they distributed throughout public places in Sydney. Although it is quite easy to see this as a brilliant, cost-effective, and exploitative form of marketing on the part of Bieber’s managing team, for Daisy this allowed her to publicly express her devotion to her idol and was in fact an empowering act. Although Daisy may have felt as though she was behaving autonomously, her actions were often constrained by the adults around her: for example, the day that she distributed posters, she was chaperoned by her mother, and she was unable to meet many of her online friends as they lived in other parts of the country. However, what Daisy was able to do was act within these constraints to creatively produce her fandom. Using online sources allowed her to make a meaningful contribution to the online peer community by learning and repeating their cultural routines (for example, buying purple commodities because purple is Bieber’s favourite colour). Although it is possible to see Daisy’s love of Bieber as completely uncritical, this lack of criticism is in fact a framework of collective interpretation and fundamental to her self-concept as a Belieber. Collectively, the cultural routines of Bieber fandom stipulate that the ‘highest’ form of fandom is one that is caring, non-judgemental, and loving in an almost platonic way. Thus, by reproducing these behaviours, Daisy was able to contribute to a global tweenage imaginary which revolved around the fandom of one celebrity, mediated through online actions.

Conclusion Beginning to understand the social imaginaries of tweenagers could have significant implications for those of us who research and work with young people, particularly in the field of 216

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music education. Better understanding the primacy of parody as a way of feeling powerful, the creative transformation of musical products to claim ownership of them, along with a culture predicated upon online interaction and social media can help us to take more seriously the lived experience of young people. Of course, in this chapter I have explored the social imaginary of just one small group of tweens. It is inevitable that this imaginary no longer exists: the tweens whose voices populate these pages are already late adolescents and young adults; it is likely that the tweens of today have different important artefacts and practices. It would therefore be of great interest to look at current tweens, and indeed those into the future to see if there are any universal markers of a tweenage social imaginary. Furthermore, exploring the imaginaries of tweens of cultures other than the Westernised Anglo-Australians in this chapter could be very fruitful. By its nature, tweenhood is transitory and fleeting: no one is a tween for very long. However, the ways that tweens negotiate themselves, others, and the world around them through the intersection between imagination and reality is fundamental to their identities both immediately, and in the future. To that end, understanding the social imaginaries of tweens is vital to the understanding of the lived experience of society as a whole.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

How can we create a shared social imaginary that supports the values of both tweens and adults? How do other social imaginaries interact with tween social imaginaries?

Notes 1 2

For a more comprehensive examination of the way the term has been used and developed since the 1940s, see ‘The social imaginary in theory and practice’ ( James 2009). The songs referred to in this dialogue are Wings (Barnes et al., 2012); Naturally (Armato, James, and Karaoglu, 2010); Beauty and a Beat (Martin, Zaslavski, Kotecha, and Maraj, 2012).

References Anderson, B., 2016. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, revised second ed. Verso, London. Appadurai, A., 1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization. University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis. Baker, S., 2004. Pop in(to) the bedroom: popular music in pre-teen girls’ bedroom culture. European Journal of Cultural Studies vol. 7 (no. 1), 75–93. Bishop, J.C., 2014. “That’s how the whole hand-clap thing passes on”: online/offline transmission and multimodal variation in a children’s clapping game. In: Burn, A., Richards, C. (Eds.), Children’s Games in the New Media Age. Ashgate Publishing LTD, Farnham, pp. 53–84. Boden, S., 2006. Dedicated followers of fashion? The influence of popular culture on children’s social identities. Media, Culture and Society vol. 28 (no. 2), 289–298. Castoriadis, C., 1987. The Imaginary Institution of Society. In: (K. Blamey, Trans.). Polity Press, Cambridge. Corsaro, W.A., 2015. The Sociology of Childhood. Pine Forge Press, Thousand Oaks. James, P., 2009. The social imaginary in theory and practice. In: Hudson, C., Wilson, E.K. (Eds.), Revisiting the Global Imaginary. Palgrave Macmillan, London, pp. 33–47. Lacan, J., 1988. The topic of the imaginary. In: Miller, J.A. (Ed.), The Seminar of Jacques Lacan: Freud’s Papers on Technique 1953–1954 Book 1. W.W. Norton, New York, pp. 73–88.

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Athena Lill Lill, A., 2014. From local to global: the evolution of musical play in secondary schools. International Journal of Play vol. 3 (no. 3), 251–266. Lill, A., 2015. Informal learnings? Young people’s informal learning of music in Australian and British schools. PhD Thesis, The University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia. https://ses.library.usyd.edu.au/ handle/2123/13683I. Lill, A., Dieckmann, S., 2013. Appropriation, transformation and consolidation: the role of music in framing emergent social imaginaries. Redefining the Musical Landscape: Inspired Learning and Innovation in Music Education. Australian Society of Music Education, Victoria. Marsh, J., 2014. The relationship between online and offline play: friendship and exclusion. In: Burn, A., Richards, C. (Eds.), Children’s Games in the New Media Age. Ashgate Publishing LTD, Farnham, pp. 109–132. Marsh, K., 1999. Mediated orality: the role of popular music in the changing tradition of children’s musical play. Research Studies in Music Education vol. 13 (no. 1), 2–12. Saunders, Z., Aug./Sep. 2010. Twilight and teenage fandom [online]. Arena Magazine, No. 107, pp. 52–53. ISSN: 1039-1010. Strauss, C., 2006. The imaginary. Anthropological Theory vol. 6 (no. 3), 322–344. Taylor, C., 2004. Modern Social Imaginaries. Duke University Press, Durham.

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15 DOUBLESPEAK IN HIGHER MUSIC EDUCATION IN ENGLAND Culture, marketisation, and democracy Gareth Dylan Smith

Introduction Harald Jørgensen (2009, pp. 14–15) notes that a relatively small minority of publications in music education tend to be on higher music education institutions, or on the institution of higher music education (Hebert et al. 2017). In this chapter, I attempt to describe elements of the particular case of higher music education in England, focusing especially on higher popular music education (HPME) (Hall 2017; Hunter 2019). I hope that readers may find resonance for their own contexts. I focus discussion in this chapter on what appears to be a paradox or at least an unresolved inconsistency in UK government rhetoric regarding music and the value(s) of it as articulated through higher education policy. On the one hand, the UK government overtly favours ‘high culture’, or just ‘culture’ as Roger Scruton (2016) has it, both in policy terms (Department for Culture, Media and Sport 2016) and in funding practice. In the most recent iteration of a 4-year government arts funding cycle, money was spent almost entirely on subsidizing ‘high culture’ venues and companies including the Royal Opera House and the Royal Shakespeare Company, whereas grassroots popular music across the UK has been suffocated through under-funding – as an example, over half of London’s 430 music venues closed in the decade leading up to 2017 (Doward 2017; Parkinson et al. 2015). Policies that enable and ultimately guarantee the closure of many dozens of local venues around the country for live music, make conditions impossibly difficult for young musicians and artists to rent homes or to make a living as innovative, start-up creative workers in thriving urban centres such as London (Hewison 2014). On the other hand, recent legislation for higher education in England has opened the door for ‘challenger institutions’ to enter the higher education ‘marketplace’ and compete for the attention and tuition fees of students (Department for Business, Innovation and Skills 2016, p. 5). Such challenger providers come in the shape of private music schools such as the British and Irish Modern Music Institute (BIMM) and its clone colleges like the Academy of Contemporary Music that focus on training students in popular music performance, production, songwriting, and business skills (British and Irish Modern Music Institute 2018; Academy of Contemporary Music 2018). The policy encouraging these and other similar institutions overtly encourages the 219

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growth of popular music and the numbers of musicians making music in popular styles, while the heart is wrenched from the body of the industry that has supported vernacular music making for decades. This occurs alongside a culture policy which indicates that such a low view of ‘the music of the people’ is only proper. The government is, with the left hand, feeding a sector that creates professional popular musicians at ever higher rates, while, with the other hand it enacts policies that de-emphasize popular culture in curriculum, public spaces, and discourse. As Sterling emphasizes, ‘knowledge is only knowledge. But the control of knowledge – that’s politics’ (Sterling 1999, p. 381, emphasis in original). I suggest that thus promoting and pursuing, and perhaps even believing in, mutually contradictory policies provides an example of vicious governmental ‘doublespeak’, that is, the use of language at best in order ‘to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind’ (Orwell 1946, n.p.). The policies are as fatuous as they are flatulent, betraying the bullshit (Frankfurt 2009) that characterizes the habitual, normative doublespeak of contemporary political discourse. As Lutz (1996) explains: [Politicians] live in a constant state of cognitive dissonance, using doublespeak to resolve the continuing contradictions between words and actions, using doublespeak to explain and justify their actions, or to say that they didn’t do what they did, or what they did isn’t what we think they did. (Lutz 1996, p. 152) In such a climate, governments and politicians are able to say and do whatever they like and to parse this as democracy in action. The education policy landscape in the United Kingdom is somewhat complicated, owing to the implementation of varying degrees of devolved government in Northern Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. As such, I will for the sake of prudence and accuracy refer mostly throughout this chapter to the specific context of England, although much of what applies in England (for instance in terms of colonial ideology and cultural hierarchy) resonates in the United Kingdom more broadly, albeit that much of the reason for this would be the deliberate (and previously violent) cultural and linguistic dominance of England over the other nations comprising the union. Current circumstances are perhaps the product of a heady mixture of multiple governments’ attempts to reconcile the past with the future, and – if one is to believe the relentless repeated rhetoric and ignore the insights of political scientists and sociologists working in education – to democratise higher education and provide opportunities for all in a more equitable British society. At the heart of this is an especially stark dualism. Mark Hunter describes it as follows: The normative expectation that candidates wishing to study music in Higher Education in England and Wales are equipped with Western art music instrumental performance skills and music theory is intimately bound up with the cultural mores and financial capacity of a specific and limited socio-economic group. Conversely, popular music in the public imagination is the realm of the youthful amateur, even when framed within the high-production values of 21st century talent shows, that is The X-Factor, The Voice, etc. (Hunter 2019, p. 45) This chapter proceeds by presenting the British government’s positionality with regard to culture and education, before discussing aspects of policy and ideology that impact perception 220

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and practice of popular music and HPME in England. I close the chapter by suggesting possible means to resolve or balance some of the contradictions perceived in the current situation, and suggest ways in which music educators and readers of this chapter might seek to manage the conflicting messages that guide, direct, and confound their work every day with music students and teachers.

Culture as high culture Western European classical music is frequently mythologised as timeless and inherently superior to other forms of music, its reification the basis of the dangerously fallacious notion of music as a universal language (no music is universal, and music is not a language). While this view has been challenged in postmodernist and postcolonial literature (Elliott and Silverman 2014; Green 1988; McClary 1991; Small 1977), it persists as a powerful ideology in England, perpetuated by policy makers and other influential figures (Bull 2019; Department for Business, Innovation and Skills 2016; Scruton 2016). Borje Stålhammar (2006, p. 123) asserts that, ‘often the evaluation of art is treated as a purely aesthetic matter, no attention being given to social context and conventions. This in spite of the fact that art cannot be brought into being without prior familiarity and understanding’. Basil Bernstein (1990, p. 16) refers to this process as one of privileging certain views and practices over others. Privileged practices appear as natural or superior, endowed with inherent merits or superior qualities, since their coding as such is tacit, implicit, thus invisible even though embedded in educational and pedagogical structures (Bernstein 1990, p. 14). However, rather than these being natural, we know that ‘our communities are not passive receptacles into which ‘expert’ knowledge might be poured; rather, they are made up of active, living human subjects, possessed of ways of seeing, listening, thinking, acting, and imagining’ (Coté et al. 2007, p. 336), which should be valued in a system of education (Froehlich and Smith 2017; Wright 2010). Government policy in England would have us teach about culture rather than create it. The English situation is not unusual. We know, for instance, that: In any society, schooling never has been an organic outgrowth of the entire community. Rather, except in small-scale preindustrial societies devoid of social stratification, schooling has grown out of the interests of one of several parts of the society … they have been connected to dominant modes in that society, serving the needs of a class within the society, and tied ultimately to social and economic places, which underclasses could aspire to if not achieve. (Kelly and Altbach 1978, p. 3) Providing further historical context, Willinsky (1998, p. 91) observes, ‘the problem [in the British Empire’s colonies] was to teach one group what hadn’t needed to be formally taught. This was intended, at best, to raise up a people in a studied, and thereby inadequate, approximation of their betters’. This, indeed, remains precisely one of the main functions of statefunded public education in England today (Reay 2017). It is safe to assert that the English government knows full well the power of an enabled, confident, creative populace, and intends as fully as possible to suppress the people, lest a more socially just society should emerge in which capital of various kinds is more evenly distributed and educational opportunities are available more fairly and equitably. This chapter is not the place to speculate regarding the motives of those whose power is almost beyond reproach despite the machinery and spectacle of democracy that still perform a theatrical function in society. It is worth, however, recalling 221

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the observation of Ivan Illich, that educational ‘equal opportunity is, indeed, both a desirable and a feasible goal’, but, by design, ‘school has become the worldwide religion of a modernized proletariat, and makes futile promises of salvation to the poor of the technological age’ (Illich, 1970, p. 10). That this understanding is inscribed into the very fibres that long ago wove the fabric of vigilantly classist, supremacist Britain is well documented. As Anna Bull plainly states, ‘class is being re-inscribed in the UK in the 21st century’ (Bull 2016, p. 124). Success and failure in this paradigm are attributed to inborn genetic, biological qualities in individuals and families, despite being overtly nurtured through a fundamentally unequal education system. This cruel myth of biological responsibility is compounded by and conflated with individual accountability in the fierce late capitalist neoliberal age, where an individual’s efforts are squarely held to blame for the deliberately reproduced inequities and injustices of a corrupt and brutally hierarchised system (Giroux 2014b; Reay 2017).

Higher education for low culture The UK’s higher education system is a £175 billion export industry with a global reach and impact … This valuation reflects the measure of its transformational power … The very fact that home and international students alike are prepared to make such a significant investment reflects a hard truth: that the education they seek is part of a wider ‘customer journey’ (Brown 2009) towards improved employment prospects. (Harniess 2017, p. 62) Hunter (2019, p. 46) observes this ‘explicit instrumentalism (political rather than musical) that is at play in UK HE and beyond’, following the observation of Coté, Day, and de Peuter more than a decade ago, that ‘increasingly the university is being restructured to conform to an instrumentalist model’ (2007, p. 334). This instrumentalism has most explicitly extended beyond utility into commodification during the relatively recent introduction of, and rapid subsequent increases in, undergraduate university tuition fees in England. Hannah Arendt (1998) positions the valuations of all things in exchange value, instead of use value, as an attribute intrinsic to humanity’s development since the enlightenment through modern and science and modern philosophy – so perhaps the present was always inevitable. She sees this as part of ‘the process of secularization, the modern loss of faith inevitably arising from Cartesian doubt, [that] deprived individual life of its immortality …. Individual life again became mortal … and the world was less stable, less permanent, and less to be relied upon than it had been during the Christian era …. Modern man … was thrown back upon himself’ (1998, p. 320). Discourse about the quality and value of higher education in the UK is frequently phrased in terms of market competitiveness, both locally (Department for Business, Innovation and Skills, 2016) and globally (Universities UK 2017). UK higher music education as a fundamentally competitive marketplace was enshrined in government policy in 2016, after being galvanized in spirit in 2010 (Parkinson and Smith 2015). The language in the 2016 documentation is overtly and conspicuously businesslike, oriented to ‘creating a competitive market’, ‘choice for students’, ‘a new risk-based approach to regulation’, a ‘risk-based quality system’, ‘levelling the playing field through deregulation’, and ‘competence, not incumbency’ (Department for Business, Innovation and Skills, 2016). As then-Minister of State for Universities and Science, Jo Johnson, summarised, ‘we will make it quicker and easier for new high quality challenger institutions to enter the market and award their own degrees’ (Department for Business, Innovation and Skills, 2016, p. 5). ‘Challenger’ institutions usually offer vocational training, albeit in a sector where there may be diminishing or uncertain opportunities for employment. 222

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I recall a conversation with a former owner of a private popular music school in England (a ‘challenger provider’), who noted that, having ‘flooded the UK market with music graduates’, it was time to move to another country and repeat the process there. This person’s concern was clearly for making a profit, rather than for enabling musicians, creating community or expanding the musicality and betterment of society. Such callous disregard for the consequences of one’s behaviour (beyond the increasing numbers in a limited company checking account) is inevitable in an era in which the defining ideology is one of unfettered and unhinged commercialisation oriented towards making a profit at any cost. UK higher education policy firmly positions higher education as a personal investment worthy of earning a return for customers, as the government seeks increasingly to divest itself of the responsibility to its people of funding education. Learning is conceived of as ‘commodity’ and discussed in terms of economic utility as part of the ‘knowledge economy’ (Naidoo 2005, pp. 27–28), White Papers (Department for Education and Skills 2003; DBIS 2009, 2011) and other government-commissioned documents (e.g. Browne 2010) have displayed distinctly techno-rational, economy-focussed conceptions of higher educational purpose, grounded in notions of ‘knowledge to wealth creation’ (Department for Education and Skills 2003) and ‘skilling’ the population to compete in a global marketplace (Parkinson and Smith 2015). Doublespeak leads ‘consumers’ of higher education to perceive this as only natural in present circumstances, since ‘it [is] now no more than common sense that the only way to increase the common good [is] by maximizing individual freedom in the market’ (Hewison 2014, p. 3). In 2018, Sam Gyimah, Minister for Higher Education, said in a speech that ‘universities need to focus relentlessly on value for money’. He reinforced the message about managerialist customer accountability, reinforcing the student-as-customer view that drives so much activity in the sector, saying, ‘we are now living in … the Age of the Student. This means that universities and the value that you provide to your students and to society at large, is coming under greater scrutiny than ever before’ (Gyimah 2018, n.p.). He went on to state that ‘the challenge [facing the university sector] takes two forms: questioning the value for money that students get during their course; and the benefit they derive from a university education post-graduation’. Citing Neves and Gillman’s (2018) report for the Higher Education Policy Institute, Gyimah told attendees, ‘we should not overlook the serious implications of the fact that 32% of students report poor value for money’. The ‘value for money’ discussed by Gyimah focused largely around graduates’ earnings and the ‘value’ of their graduates’ degrees in monetary terms for UK taxpayers (the government ends up shouldering the burden of unpaid student loans) as well as the financial compensation that students could expect in the short term (up to 5 years) after completing an undergraduate degree. Thus we can see that, in the words of Henry Giroux, education at policy level at least is characterized principally by ‘an obsession with … market values, and an unreflective immersion in the crude empiricism of a data-obsessed market-driven society’ (Giroux 2019, p. 16). This socially and economically Darwinist ideology (Giroux 2014) based in a purely financial understanding of ‘value’ is potentially deleterious through its opposition to the nobler aspirations of (many people working in) the institutions of music learning and higher education (Parkinson and Smith 2015; Smith and Silverman 2020).

Consumerism and commodification Robert Hewison (2014, p. 3) explains how, since the late 1970s, the ideology of neoliberalism in England, among other places, has become so ‘all-pervasive’ that (as noted above) ‘it was now no more than common sense that the only way to increase the common good was by maximizing individual freedom in the market’. In these circumstances, ‘citizenship is narrowed to the 223

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demands of consumerism’ (Giroux 2014a, p. 25). This consumerism is clearly at play in the higher education ‘marketplace’, as described above, and has fast become the central tenet framing the work of individuals in the arts, where musicians are positioned as autonomous, creative entrepreneurs, creating and cornering niche markets for their unique outputs and products (Olssen and Peters 2005). Former British Prime Minister Tony Blair (1998, p. 1) explained such an approach as designed to achieve ‘a dynamic knowledge-based economy founded on individual empowerment and opportunity, where governments enable, not command, and the power of the market is harnessed to serve the public interest’. Arendt saw the advent of such a situation as early as 1958, describing how ‘in a society where exchange of products has become the chief public activity, even the laborers, because they are confronted with “money or commodity owners”, become proprietors, “owners of their own labor power”’ (1998, p. 162). She also saw how this served primarily not the ‘empowered’ individuals with so much autonomy and ‘freedom’ to counter the system, but best served the builders and owner-operators of the system, this [valuing of human labor] ‘foreshadows something even more “valuable”, namely, the “smoother functioning” of the machine whose tremendous power of processing first standardizes and then devaluates all things into consumer goods’ (Arendt 1998, p. 163). Bourdieu (2003, p. 30) calls this the ‘myth of the transformation of all wage earners into dynamic small entrepreneurs’. The mainstream media perpetuate this ideal as the hegemonic new normal (Smith 2016), ‘reciting the neoliberal gospel’ (Giroux 2014, p. 11), with wealth so concentrated in the increasingly inaccessible top tier of society that we find ourselves in the midst of a descent into a soulless chasm of increasing de-facto feudalism. The notion that most musician-entrepreneurs possess anything like freedom to succeed materially and artistically in such an oppressive, rigged system is a prime example of the doublespeak that allows policy makers to believe everything and nothing at the same time (Chomsky 1999; Lutz 1996). Alas, as Giroux vividly portrays, all of our activities and experiences as humans are: deformed by a market logic that narrows their meaning to either a commercial relationship or to a reductive notion of getting ahead. We don’t love each other, we love our commodities. Instead of loving with courage, compassion, and desiring a more just society, we embrace a society saturated in commercial relations. Confined to the principles of a market fundamentalism, freedom now means removing one’s self from any sense of social responsibility so one can retreat into privatized orbits of selfindulgence and unbridled self-interest. (Giroux 2019, p. 13) While the self-indulgence and self-interest to which Giroux alludes are common tropes among celebrities in popular music culture, far more of this music is made more democratically – by the people, for the people (Hoskins 2012; Kirchner 1998), and made by musicians who have no choice in the matter – they simply live to make music. Music-making that is unmoored from commercial interests and instead located in a deeply personal sense of purpose and flourishing – or ‘eudaimonia’ – is often far more meaningful to those who make and partake in it (BoyceTillman, 2020; Smith 2016; Smith and Silverman 2020). John Dewey discusses meaningful human activity and is careful to ‘avoid the impression that an education which centers about [vocations] is narrowly practical, if not merely pecuniary’ (1916, p. 307). He goes on to say that a vocation comprises life activities that are ‘significant to a person because of the consequences they accomplish’ (Dewey 1916, p. 307). Purposefully pursuing meaningful action in one’s daily life is often felt to be essential to human flourishing (Dewey 1916; Waterman 1992). Wrestling with similar issues, Sennett (2009, p. 9) asserts, 224

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‘craftsmanship names an enduring, basic human impulse, the desire to do a job well for its own sake’. He continues: ‘Social and economic conditions, however, often stand in the way of the craftsman’s discipline and commitment …. The craftsman often faces conflicting objective standards of excellence; the desire to do something well for its own sake can be impaired by competitive pressure, by frustration, or by obsession’, or, as we have seen, by commercial pressures or a need to produce, in the neoliberal, commodified mode of entrepreneurship. Musicians are among the ‘craftsmen’ (whom I would rather construe as ‘craftspersons’) to whom Sennett alludes, following his teacher, Arendt. Arendt explains market-driven instrumentalism in rather depressing terms, observing that, ‘whatever we do, we are supposed to do for the sake of “making a living”; such is the verdict of society … the only exception society is willing to grant is the artist’ (1998, p. 126). However, she asserts: Not even the ‘work’ of the artist is left; it is dissolved into play and has lost its worldly meaning. The playfulness of the artist is felt to fulfil the same function in the laboring life process of society as the playing of tennis or the pursuit of a hobby fulfils in the life of an individual … From the standpoint of ‘making a living’, every activity unconnected with labor becomes a hobby. (Arendt 1998, p. 128) Eudaimonism – that is, an orientation toward eudaimonia, or ‘liv[ing] in accordance with the daimon or “true self”’ (Waterman 1992, p. 58, emphasis in original) – provides a lens for helping to understand meaningful work undertaken for its own sake or because of its intrinsic value to the maker/doer of the work. Through eudaimonia, Arendt’s hobbies are elevated to the level of what Stebbins terms ‘devotee work’, in which ‘the sense of achievement is high and the core activity endowed with such intense appeal that the line between this work and leisure is virtually erased’ (Stebbins 2014, p. 4). Erasure of the boundaries between work and play is especially prominent among musicians, whose activity is thus characterized as autotelic and eudaimonic (Smith 2016, 2019). One could argue, however, that a eudaimonic orientation is aggressively libertarian and even oppressive in its implicit assumptions; I have suggested elsewhere that a eudaimonic orientation to music making and learning can be viewed ‘as a double-sided coin, promising simultaneously acceptance into an exclusive ideological system and freedom from that dehumanizing structure’ (Smith 2016, p. 164). This again captures the cognitive dissonance of the doublespeak embedded in the notion of the artist-entrepreneur, premised on the fallacious notion that marketization = democracy (Chomsky 1999; Hewison 2014; Lutz 1996). Drawing on Anne McClintock’s incisive and powerful work (1995), one might conclude that eudaimonia ‘embodies and promotes an overtly masculine stance, with its overtones of privilege, and thus imperial, colonial, and postcolonial violence and power in its assumption of the possibility of a fulfilling career, remunerated or unpaid’ (Smith 2016, p. 164). These concerns are perhaps only heightened when music is bought and sold in a commercial marketplace. As such, Arendt remains ardent in her warning that the progressive, postenlightenment project in the West inherently ‘harbors the grave danger that eventually no object of the world will be safe from consumption and annihilation through consumption’ (1998, p. 133) – including, presumably, education, learning and music. I take solace in the assertion of Elliott, Silverman and Bowman, that music can be practised as a form of ‘ethically guided citizenship’ (p. 6, emphasis in original), based on the premise that ‘artistry involves civicsocial-humanistic-emancipatory responsibilities, obligations to engage in art making that advances social “goods”’ (2016, p. 7). As an artist and scholar, I am aware of at least some of my 225

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own doublespeak (Smith 2015, 2020). I aspire to be the type of artistic citizen described by Elliott et al. (2016), and I enjoy dedicating time to teaching and research. I am at the same time, however, fully cognizant of the eye-wateringly high cost of an education at the institutions where I work, and I acknowledge the inaccessibility of my publications – this book is prohibitively expensive as well as being invisible to most members of the public, and I am under contract not to share my writing for free, at least not in the format in which my ideas are presented here. I like to challenge the rules. As such, I recognise myself as a punk scholar.

Reconciliation and the possible affordances of punk A growing body of scholarship points to the potential of punk to engage conflicting, oppositional stances in a discursive approach to navigating complex webs woven in the lives of (music) educators (Smith 2020; Smith Kallio 2020). Sofianos, Ryde, and Waterhouse note that ‘punk seeks to avoid the limiting qualities of, and subsequent laziness associated with ideology’ (2015, p. 26). Punks exist along the entire ideological spectrum, from liberal and neoliberal positionalities derived from British/ American Libertarian movements, to socialist and anarchist leanings steeped in collectivity and compassion (Smith, Dines, and Parkinson 2017; Smith and Silverman, 2020). Punks embrace contradictions, acknowledge conflict and, above all, think for themselves, often acting on what feels like instinct and only theorising actions after the fact (Coles 2014; Dines 2015; Smith, Dines, and Parkinson 2017). A central component of punk scholarship is the reflexive honesty that perhaps does not always characterize the modus operandum of other double-speakers. As I have noted elsewhere punk embraces the contradictions that characterize human interactions: the more we know, the more we know we don’t know, and the more we know we don’t want to know, but would somehow also nonetheless love to know. (Smith 2020) Punk scholars grudgingly accept our flaws, share them, and do all we can to learn to overcome them. Alexis Kallio (2017, p. 164) notes that one goal of punk pedagogy is ‘tak[ing] action through music-making, towards social justice, empowerment and social change’. Estrella Torrez (2012, 136) describes punk pedagogy as ‘a manifestation of equity, rebellion, critique, selfexamination, solidarity, community, love, anger and collaboration’. These are characteristics shared with anarchist pedagogy and critical pedagogy (Froehlich and Smith 2017). Critical pedagogue, Henry Giroux (2019, p. 19), views education as: a space that should disturb, a space of difficulty – a space that challenges complacent thinking. Such pedagogical practices should enable students to interrogate common-sense understandings of the world, take risks in their thinking, however troubling, and be willing to take a stand for free inquiry in the pursuit of truth, multiple ways of knowing, mutual respect, and civic values in the pursuit of social justice. Students need to learn how to think dangerously … in order to push at the frontiers of knowledge while recognizing that the search for justice is never finished and that no society is ever just enough. While Giroux is part of a lineage of scholars who hold such a position about education generally (Postman and Weingartner 1971; Coles 2014; Freire 2007), these words were initially spoken as a keynote address to attendees at a music education event in London, Ontario in June 2018 – a joint meeting of the 33rd May Day Group Colloquium and a symposium on Progressive 226

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Methods in Popular Music Education. It is not an orientation endorsed by the current confusing mess of policy and ideology at play in the UK; nor is it entirely ruled out. It becomes difficult, though, to enact pedagogy in the emancipatory ways that music educators are exhorted to do by Giroux, when [t]he implicit message is that participation in HPME comes with the responsibility to accrue industrial skills and commercial nous. HPME’s roles as a champion of widening participation, and as a driver of economic growth, can thus appear woven together. (Parkinson 2017, p. 14) Commensurately opening up the UK higher education to more easily enable outside ‘challenger’ providers to trade with increasing numbers of student ‘customers’, means that the government perhaps in some ways recognises the value of subject areas more meaningful to more people. In another view (and another act of doublespeak), it may simply mean that the government recognises the business opportunities that such enterprises present for education entrepreneurs out to make money. A sound business proposition does not necessarily equal a sound moral or academic proposition, nor does it necessarily serve the public good or recognize the value of, e.g. popular music. As one senior music education colleague wryly commented to me once in conversation, ‘it’s easy to sell pop music to teenagers’, so of course students flock to do what they most want to do and are then often unable to work in the creative sector in the ways they might wish and in which successive post–Cold War governments have tried to convince them they should. Seen in this way, the government’s consistently inconsistent doublespeak, in its energetic pursuit of such apparently conflicting positions on absorbing and taking part in culture, presents a vital opportunity to reconcile a pair of polarized positions. With such high a burden being placed now on individuals to fund their own tuition and then to succeed as entrepreneurial standalone artist brands, it is arguably no less than imperative for those in power to curate a culture in which graduate musicians’ work is valued by a community of like-minded souls. Without such direct, intentional action from those in power, the government runs the risk of making a total mockery of its own systems and risking socio-cultural catastrophe. Of course, a heavily indebted and furtively entrepreneurial populace is perfectly distracted from and therefore oblivious to the total power-grab being staged by those in government. Recalling the repeated, extreme pressure for higher education providers to focus relentlessly on value for money (Gyimah 2018, above), the UK is home to a mixture of tuition fee charges for students, aimed at levelling the playing field; the transparently nonsensical explanation of this line of thinking is that if everyone has to pay for their higher education, and if universities and colleges can set their own fees (up to a stated maximum), then it must be fair (Hubble et al. 2016). However, people frequently attend university or college in order to learn and to pursue an interest or passion, not simply to earn higher wages. The notion of a graduate premium in terms of financial return on investment simply does not ring true for the graduates of many programmes (as well as other lower-paid, public-sector job areas such as teaching and social work). There needs to be a wholesale, joined-up re-think of how government ideology and policies in education and culture impact the lives of people in the sectors they are designed to affect. Warrick Harniess (a neoliberal punk scholar) sees that such a re-imagining has already begun, whereby institutions of higher education ‘are deployed in service of a more pragmatic purpose – generating economic activity to create wealth’ (Harniess 2017, p. 63). He goes on, asserting that ‘education has “gone punk”; young people have instilled in them at school that they should be pragmatically proactive in terms of how they approach their education as a stepping stone to employment’ (2017, p. 63). Harniess sees this as wholly positive, but views current initiatives as failing the system because it is only quazi-marketised; more marketisation is, for Harniess, the 227

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solution. It is at this point that Harniess and I depart in our punk beliefs. While I concur with the notion that there is potential in a ‘punk’ outlook for higher music education, I view punk as a means by which individuals and communities are empowered, but through their resistance to the monetised, commercialised apparatus of the state rather than in wholesale adoption and even more zealous perpetuation of it. Della Fave et al. (2011, p. 204) offer another useful tool for thinking about this, referring to ‘Aristotle’s definition of eudaimonia as the fulfillment of one’s deepest nature in harmony with the collective welfare’ (emphasis added). This perhaps requires an idealistic, unrealistic, and unachievably utopian view of the functions of music education in society. Roger Mantie (2016) sagely warns against such ungrounded idealism. Toby Bennett, however, suggests a lens for viewing the cultural-education landscape that offers a way towards realising a music and education worldview. Viewing all intersecting elements of cultural industries, including music (in all its diversity) and higher education, as a symbiotic ecosystem, Bennett (2015) hints at a meta-systemic view wherein co-existent elements are not dependent on one another only for financial returns, but wherein activity is valued for its meaningfulness in the lives of musicians and music-learners of all types and skill levels. At present there is a direct and fundamental contradiction between UK government policies on higher education and culture, pointing to a lack of consensus on what ‘higher education’, ‘culture’, or higher music education mean or should be and do in twenty-first-century Britain. Government policies celebrate and undermine expression through popular music, enabling student-consumers to study it in ever greater numbers while eliminating possibilities for performance and instead funneling arts funding to Western art music. While contradictory, this political doublespeak is also entirely consistent with a neoliberal ideology that espouses the benefits of free market consumerism for everyone including artist entrepreneurs, while doling out infinite cash to causes celebrated by ideologues who tell the public they should really appreciate more high culture (Bourdieu 2003; Chomsky 1999). David Elliott and Marissa Silverman (2014, pp. 58–59) indeed remind us that ‘music does not have one value; music has numerous values, depending on the ways in which it is conceived, used, and taught by people who engage in specific musical styles’ and communities. Taking into such account plural musical perspectives and preferences is essential to any conception of the institution of higher music education – as well as to conceptions of higher music education institutions – in a democratic society. Indeed, this is necessary if education is to be transformative, democratizing, and liberating for all, as Dewey (1938) believed it should be and as I have to believe it should and can be. Music and education are always political, and punk scholars have the opportunity and the responsibility to embrace the complexity and contradictions in our field. Punk challenges musicians, educators, and scholars never to stop confronting bullshit and doublespeak where we see them, and always to remain critical of ourselves and others where we fall short in our efforts to be equitable and democratic. There is a richer, better future for us all together, if we acknowledge everyone’s cultural expressions as legitimate and of value – as culturally sustaining (Paris 2012) for more individuals and communities and thereby the whole of an integrated, compassionate society and wider, deeper, richer, plural collective culture.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

To what extent might it be possible in higher education policy and practice to avoid double-speak with regard to culture and values? How might a punk or punk-pedagogical approach help to invigorate your teaching, research, or musicking? 228

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16 MULTIPLE HIERARCHIES AS CHANGE-INNOVATION STRATEGY Ambivalence as policy framing at the New World Symphony Patrick Schmidt

Introduction We live in an era of ontological gerrymandering. The term was suggested by Woolgar and Pawluch (1985) 30 years ago to highlight the ways in which social problems or ideas can achieve distinct or modified meaning, even in the face of significantly unchanged realities. At a time where social interaction and social spaces suffer daily intervention through highly pervasive social media, sociological work, and social theory are essential in combating the distortion and cooptation of critical ways of knowing and thinking and the consequent entrenchment and ossification of personal and institutional positions. The sociological concept used above can help frame analyses of multiple arts and educational environments, as such social spaces – defined, as Bourdieu would, as environs with their own values and codes – have been deeply impacted by and at the same time have made use of forms of Ontological Gerrymandering (OG). Within educational environments, OG can be seen as both precursor to and outcome of the neoliberal changes enacted discursively and through policy. In fact, one could argue that the effectiveness of how social problems such as intensification of teacher labour (Dow et al. 2000; Hall 2004) or teacher accountability (Golden 2017; Taubman 2010) were constructed, stems from techniques of an apparatus aimed first at establishing a new ontological reasoning for the shortcomings of schooling – for instance, a worldview based on the uninvestigated assumption that teachers/parents/students are incapable, ill prepared, lazy, or unstructured – and then establishing the ‘boundary work’ to generate new credible parameters for action in the form of language and policy practice. The new ontology provides not just a new rationale but makes the re-traced/re-configured rationale necessary, obviating subsequent practices; increased scrutiny, punitive evaluative measures, suppression of decision-making capacity (see Ball 2018). The list goes on. Arts education and arts environments have also been at the receiving end of an ontological gerrymandering that aims to place social ills, not as the result of institutional or governmental economic policy or educational and cultural disinvestment, but rather as consequence of 232

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misguided ontological priorities such as community empowerment and welfare, cultural plurality, and arts mediated identity politics. The proposed correction has come in the form of economically driven agendas, and the redrafting of cultural environs as just another space for specialisation and efficiency (Horsley 2009). Arts organizations and communities, in turn, have gerrymandered their own discursive resources to claim an ontological space at the neoliberal table, maintaining that they too contribute to economic aims, to human capital production, as well as to cultural capital development (Strother 2019); after all the arts are the primordial entrepreneurial space, are they not? At their core are competition, specialisation, human capital development, and hierarchical relations. Whatever the situation or the case, the overall and concerning outcome is the strengthening of polarities and the ossification of positions. This hardening of borderlines makes social spaces appear, at the same time unitary and hazy. Unitary in the sense that hardened images of a conjured core are presented to constituencies/audiences as their whole; the this is our mission articulation. And hazy in the sense that likely complexities, internal diversities, and multiple positions that may exist within the community, institution, or overall social space are veiled to the outside and softened to/by those within. Arts communities, the institutions and the individuals who embody them, are highly susceptible to such effects. Thus, they necessitate, perhaps more than ever, thoughtful and innovative sociological analysis that may offer ways of seeing their complexities and communicating their potentialities. This chapter focuses on the internal complexity of one orchestra in the United States. It draws from data collected on innovative, technology-mediated community practice within the New World Symphony; a uniquely structured orchestra in the US, with a charge to re-imagine structural, educational, and programmatic aspects of the field. The analysis uses the sociological concept of ambivalence (Bhabha 1994) to underscore the complexity and potential for change that lays within a space that is often construed in rather narrow terms; highlighting the co-dependence and tension between hybridity and authority, as discussed below. In what follows, then, I explore the productive qualities of co-existing and contending hierarchies within this social space, while investigating the impact of technological and communityoriented enterprises to the overall construction of this orchestra; its identity, structural formation, and priorities. The chapter also addresses the professional identity formation of individuals working within this social space (the musicians, known as NWS Fellows) and the implication such identity structures may have to the field of music education writ large.

The context and data sources The data here presented focusses on an initiative named Connect, developed by the Community Engagement Office of the New World Symphony in Miami, USA. The main participants were 19 fellows and approximately 40 high school students who participated in two programs under the Connect initiative, namely NWS Virtual Hangouts – a series of digital meetings and interactions between fellows and high school students across the country, and NWS Side-by-Side events – a 10-day event focused on intense rehearsals and performances, featuring students from South Florida, as well as Oregon and Medellin, Colombia. The researcher collected and analysed more than 30 hours of videos, over 16 hours of audio recorded interviews and focus groups, several survey materials, and online documentation and data. Only data from fellows and administrative staff is used in this chapter. The New World Symphony prides itself on creating innovative opportunities, structures, and formats to engage and impact Western classical music. Since its inception, nearly 30 years ago, NWS was imagined as an orchestral academy with a commitment to developing the 233

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human and cultural capital of its members – the orchestra is constituted by approximately 90 young musicians, called fellows,1 who are sponsored for 3 years. According to its website, NWS’s mission is ‘to prepare highly-gifted graduates of music programs for leadership roles in orchestras and ensembles around the world’. Over time, NWS seems to have also developed an identity attached to entrepreneurial development, seeing or presenting itself as a ‘laboratory for musical education and expression’. An intersection of human and cultural capital aims is delineated in the institutional purpose, which states that ‘the New World Symphony, through a wide range of performance and instructional activities, seeks to develop in its participants the full complement of skills and qualifications required of 21st-century first-class musicians’. This has been recently amplified by a commitment to technology, articulated thusly: ‘The relationships with these artists are extended through NWS's pioneering experimentation with distance learning and performance’.2 The analysis here presented is based on data collected between November 2014 and May 2016. The central aim was on the Virtual Hangout (VH) initiative NWS was rolling out – part of its Connect initiative.3 The project largely involved better understanding how VHs intersected with (1) the nature and future of community engagement at the institution, and (2) what could be learned about fellow leadership engagement and development in/through new projects. In other words, how the young musicians saw and engaged with that orchestral institution as a social space, and what could be learned in terms of institutional policy practice and process through such initiatives. It is important to outline the overt objectives of the program, as stated by the New World Symphony, as to situate the analysis of institutional policy as a form of field delineation. The programs were organised around three large objectives: Objective 1: New World Symphony is creating and growing a virtual community for aspiring young instrumentalists; Objective 2: Facilitate a cadre of NWS Fellows who are engaged in and can lead online artistic community; Objective 3: Extend NWS’s experimentation with the newest distance learning and new media technologies. It is also significant to articulate, upfront, that I witnessed and reported back to NWS on a host of viable, innovative, educational, and artistic events, linking digital and real-world community experiences, for example: •

• • • •

• •

24 Virtual Hangouts (VH) with near 40 fellows and a variety of guests from institutions such as Julliard, Dallas Orchestra, as well as those graduates of NWS working online such as the auditionhacker.com and bulletproofmusician.com; One LOLA interaction with 75 members of the Atlanta Symphony Youth Orchestra; Three masterclass events (brass, string, woodwinds) and Brass Festival; One virtual project with 30 students at Duke Ellington School in Washington D.C.; A virtual ‘Town Hall’ event linking multiple players, master class leaders, and audiences, digitally connected from four different locations (San Francisco, Miami, New Orleans and Atlanta); Multiple video audition tutorials for the Side-by-Side event; Various community engagement activities in Miami

A complete analysis, much beyond the scope of what is feasible here, was delivered to NWS in the form of two reports. Findings were varied and three large categories are pertinent here: 234

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(1) community projects and the role of institutions in building leadership confidence among professional musicians and establishing what I call below a geographical consciousness; (2) institutional challenges balancing multiple voices as well as stability and innovation, what I call below productive hierarchy; and finally (3) the role of community projects in enhancing participatory dispositions and establishing a vision of the musician/educator/cultural worker. In this chapter, while using selective data, my aim is to use social theory as a way to problematise and explore themes emergent from the work. This analysis comes almost 3 years after the second and final report was produced and delivered, and the distance provides a helpful bracketing from my previous involvement. This detachment allowed me to re-enter the experience anew, a process that has been rather productive as the NWS case appears to be highly relevant to a series of educational and cultural tensions that remain at the center of social life in academia, arts organisations, and in the field of music education.

Ambivalence and fixity: framing the orchestral social space It is not possible to talk critically, meaning in a thoughtful and sociologically responsive way, about Western classical music today without conceiving and conceding to its colonialist history and influence. While such critiques have become almost de rigueur in music education, my aim is not to once again obviate the limitations of the genre – for instance, classism – and all the sociological entanglement it has generated. Rather, given that the setting upon which this chapter draws is a well-established orchestra, and thus emmeshed in and by such sociological trappings, my goal is to use this particular social space to highlight how social theory can provide multiple and helpful ways to look at/examine a facet of social reality. I do so here in necessarily limited ways, aided by a couple of sociological concepts. Critical to this analysis is the notion that the social space of the orchestra, particularly if framed around a complex and forward-looking structure such as NWS’s, exists in a space of ambivalence. As used here, ambivalence has its meaning defined through the work of socialtheorist Homi Bhabha (1994), whose interest was to provide a less horizontal or dualistic understanding of stereotypes and the role they play in colonised/ing relations and social spaces. Central is a tension between social actors, and how they see and represent themselves and their relations to the Other as immersed in tensions between authoritative voices (based on hierarchical relations) and hybridising ones (represented by contention, and relations marked by multiple positions and fluidity). Colonial relations, such as those around Western classical music, are traditionally seen as fixed. As a sociological term, ‘fixity’ connotes rigidity and an unchanging order, and is central, say, in the ideological definition of otherness. In the socially broad macro analysis developed by Edward Said’s (1978) vision of Orientalism, for example, fixity is a clear and present element explaining the metonymic construction of the Oriental Other. Bourdieu’s (1984) vision of cultural status and capital, in Distinction, establishes similar fixed relations of status, clearly visible in music – he famously stated that ‘nothing more clearly affirms one’s ‘class’, nothing more infallibly classifies, than tastes in music’ (Bourdieu 1984, p. 18). Both Said and Bourdieu showed us the impact of discursive and symbolic constructions in normalizing power relations and establishing Status and the Other. And while understanding these delineated boarders is instructive, they can also feel rather restrictive, and can lead to over categorization and ossification, rather than serve as tools for deconstruction and re-engagement. For 30 years or so, the social space of music and music education has benefited from forms of argumentative fixity that have drawn apart, for example, highly aestheticized visions of music from those established in and through praxis; those ensconced in formalistic and hierarchical 235

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practices versus those committed to horizontal relations based on informality; or those established within class-based distinctions versus conjured images of omnivorousness. I am not saying that oppositional discourses are not needed or productive. They clearly are. And I am also not arguing that practical, political, and policy spaces where music education exists have not benefited from certain fixities, particularly those constructed to displace other historical or hegemonic ones. They have. What I am trying to articulate is that what the orchestral social space exemplified by the NWS points to is that itself and its members/participants/interlocuters function less and less through fixity, and more and more within ambivalence; where authority and hybridity vie for space. The NWS example may also indicate that actors in the music education field, having benefited from such fixities, might have become perhaps too comfortable with them. More than any one thing, the 18 months I spent interacting with the New World Symphony community has led me to consider ambivalence in the construction of stereotypes around the orchestral social space as a learning space and its potential lessons for other music education environs.

From ready recognition to process Borrowing from larger sociological scholarly endeavors is not free of challenges. A clear example is the limited equivalence of using a colonial lens developed to make sense of resistance, domination, and dependence within and among ethnic groups or nation-states – such as the one developed by Bhabha – in a less visceral or life-threatening context, such as culture, the arts, or music education. However, if we take the stance that more often than not, actors experience manifestations of resistance, domination, and dependence in the realm of the cultural and educational, we may convincingly argue that the borrowing is in fact appropriate. Further, if we accept that these day-to-day (but not mundane) experiences are both impactful and more accessible to individuals as an environment for intervention – thus not equally meaningful but also meaningful – this kind of sociological borrowing becomes, in my opinion, both reasonable and worthwhile. It is with this in mind that I read the post-colonial sociology of Bhabha and link it to a Western classical music environment. Not to further exoticise the orchestral space, on the contrary, to underscore its complexity and its emerging ambivalent qualities; at least in spaces such as NWS. Bhabha (1994, p. 66) argues that ‘to recognize the stereotype as an ambivalent mode of knowledge and power demands a theoretical and political response that challenges deterministic or functionalist modes of conceiving of the relationship between discourse and politics’. What he offers through the concept of ambivalence, is an analytical tool/way to push past moralistic and dogmatic positions; perhaps reaching a more fluid and productive representation of the social space. In doing so his interest is to shift potential points of intervention from the ‘ready recognition of images as positive or negative, to an understanding of the processes of subjectification made possible (and plausible) through stereotypical discourse’ (Bhabha 1994, p. 67). I hope that the connections to discourses that both elevate or demonize Western classical music engagements is clear. My aim is to trouble how moralising or dogmatic engagements (often delivered through dualisms) function today mostly descriptively, as critiques downplay the hybridity of such social spaces by creating iconic representations that only partially reflect reality. The NWS, for example, shows some evidence of an organization moving away from its own stereotypes, struggling between the valence of established authority and an interest – and perceived need – for hybridity. Critiques that taking only a slice of such social space and calling it its defining social fact, end up ‘subjecting [their own] representations to a normalizing judgement’ 236

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(Bhabha 1994, p. 66), which misses the point. Surely, some of these images are apt and at times truthful, and thus potentially helpful (when aimed to qualify what is still the norm), but they may be preventing a larger (and perhaps more interesting today) conversation to take place – and they are certainly less exacting when the aim is intervention. In the words of Bhabha (1994, p. 67), they offer much in terms of understanding ‘prior political normativity’ but less in terms of displacing its ‘effectivity’. I am more interested in the ‘repertoire of positions of power and resistance, domination and dependence’ that such social spaces make apparent today and what tools are necessary to better consider the tensions and productive potential within them. I believe data from New World Symphony may show how ambivalence, as a representation ‘of a range of differences … informing discursive and political practices of cultural hierarchization’ places institutional and individual actions as a process of subjectification in constant dispute, rather than a harmonious manifestation of self-reinforcement and/or reification. This orchestral field does carry with it ‘relational configuration(s) endowed with a specific gravity which it imposes on all the objects and agents which enter in it’ (Bourdieu & Wacquant (1992), p. 89, italics added). This fact or presence does not imply fixity, however – the gravity is not determining, at least not fully, nor always in the same way. Rather, NWS seems to encompass a hybrid, contested, changing, and unevenly structured social space. If this is so, we may actually find that a state of flux or movement is a more apt description of this environ – not just transitioning, but carrying within it an apt representation of a Bourdieusian field as a site of objective relations between players in a struggle for the similar objects. For researchers and education critics, this may mean (perhaps) less of a focus on why hierarchy remains, and a greater emphasis on exploring: how multiple and contending hierarchical values can and do operate within such communities; how hierarchy is functioning, differently, as a process of subjectification; and if, by producing multiple ‘repertoires of positions of power and resistance’ multiple, coexisting hierarchies can play a role in democratising the social space. This has precedent in educational policy and in the work of Ball and Junemann (2012, p. 138) who call it a ‘heterarchy’ and emergent form of governance naming it ‘an organizational form somewhere between hierarchy and network that draws upon diverse horizontal and vertical links that permit different elements to cooperate and/or compete’ within an institution, government, or other such spaces.

Community work as an institutional change indicator The focus in this chapter, the virtual space created by the New World Symphony, is one aspect of the change/adaptation this institution presents to its field of action. NWS is perhaps the first of the larger orchestral institutions to function as other, smaller non-for-profits have. When one analyses the discursive structure of virtual spaces such as that of the International Contemporary Ensemble (https://www.iceorg.org) one is drawn to the complexity, the contending and co-existing hierarchies of aims, and how they are represented by divergent representations of work that is always centered on music but rhizomatically expands into cultural politics, education, public intellectualism, and creative production. Their website, for example, is not a neutral space introducing the group to external bodies. We see here the creation of a discursive community in process; the virtual social space serves not (simply) as a form of representation, identification, but a narration of points of intervention (see my own analyses in Schmidt 2014, 2015, 2017), as argued above. I take a similar sociological read to NWS. Here it is worth noting the manner in which community engagement is conceived in multiple ways, varying from the more traditionalist – with outreach activities based on deliverables – to the innovative, organic, or perhaps simply

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de-centered – with programs such as Musaic, Virtual Hangouts, or Transmuse.4 By establishing the notion of co-existing hierarchies as ‘a repertoire of positions of power and resistance’, I am clearly nodding to a Foucaultian understanding of the productive quality of power. What my interactions with NWS suggest is not a less vertical manifestation of status, but the opening of space for multiple status construction. In such environments there is space for an agentic processes – a captured capital that one can wield – as a contenting consideration living side-by-side with a more structural representation of status; aligned with established qualities or positions. Again, my aim is not to present a rosy picture of a fully and unequivocally transformational space; sociological work shows us they don’t exist. In fact, from the multiple spaces for what one might characterise as community engagement, it would not be controversial to define several engagements such as Wallchats,5 rehearsal observations,6 NWS in schools,7 or side-by-side competitions8 as formational to traditional conceptions of the field of community music engagement. These provide deliverables that can be clearly and easily quantified – in line with human capital production – and establish norms of cultural identity and formation that preserve the dichotomy between musician/artist and public/audience – in line with traditionalist visions of cultural capital as the formation of taste. I would like to press through these lower fruit, however, moving to engage with the ambivalent qualities of this space, asking: Are the distinct ‘community’ discourses here represented a manifestation of contradiction? Of competing organizational status structures? May they (also) be a manifestation of strategic multiplicity? Of an outward projection of the ‘repertoire of power and resistance’ made manifest by the inhabitants of this institutional social space? I find the latter much more interesting, and as importantly, closer to my observations of the space. If we accept this notion, then we might further explore another question: In what ways are these multiple representations of community work a representation of both agentic and repressive processes of subjectification taking place at the same time? Addressing these questions seems to be critical to break down a caricatural ‘fixity’ of the/this orchestral environment and the work developed by actors in this field of action.

Mapping out contending spaces for action There is a palpable geographical quality to the work of NWS. Elsewhere I used the work of David Delaney (2005) to argue that a nuanced view of geography and territory can allow us to see them as ‘more than static, inner things’ and focus on the ‘dynamic social processes and practices through and in relation to which territorial forms emerge or are transformed’. (Schmidt 2015, p. 178) Thinking of the New World Symphony as a geographical space with multiple territories might provide another image and help explain the central aim of this analysis, namely, to articulate the productive qualities of co-existing/contending hierarchies of this social space. I start bringing in the data here, speaking first and unsurprisingly, of how participants talked about the difficult internal dynamics where projects compete for attention and time. There are a lot of programs competing for attention within the larger NWS brand that weren’t getting attention. These views were co-existent with others, where NWS fellows also articulated their own surprise at how procedural power and resistance had an impact in the work and the responses from the institution, 238

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I couldn’t have anticipated how much it [their project] would have changed. I mean, it was ok when we first talked about it, but then when I actually got on board it was like I was seen this place differently. And things go done you know? And now we have our committee, and everyone is noticing … it just feels very differently. From ok you have to do some of this work, to this is really part of my work. Reflection on the process over the 18 months of data collection showed the settling of legitimacy regarding community-oriented work through Connect and the Virtual Hangouts, and led to discussions about recognition of need for distinct ways to frame different work and the potential impact and perception of that engagement, What makes Connect different is that it has such a different audience/community so it requires a different approach than these other things that we are promoting constantly to the broader NWS audience. I don’t know that we have exactly mobilized them in the way that we want to see them engaged with us … but it keeps on changing too. So that has been a major learning issue … it has been a lot of work communicating within NW and to the people we are trying to bring in. Following the geographical analogy above, I call this kind of work a mapping of previously untouched/uncovered territory. The comment below follows an understanding that these mappings are both organisational and personal, … but there are many spaces here, right? through the fellows, through community engagement initiatives, attending the events, virtual hangouts. And each asks me to be a teacher, a musician, a community worker that understands a certain culture … but that is something I am asking myself to be too … Having to design a space for action led many fellows to explore what makes for meaningful cultural and educational interaction. The capacity – or attention – to ‘a need to do otherwise’ emerged from resistance in this case, It seems the level of participation has reached a plateau, I think it’s at the lower end of where everyone would like to see it. Just stirring up enough interest in those, I don’t know why people don’t join, if it’s a conception thing, if they don’t have time, if they aren’t interested in that particular idea, music, practice … they don’t have anything to say … [it seems it comes from] that they don’t feel like they can contribute in a meaningful way. There were many indicators of the tenuous and at times haphazard manner in which participation took shape and the sustainability of how actors and spaces could exist. Interesting that this process started by mapping these concerns onto others, as in this discussion about how to amplify the engagement from partners, In a dream world the students from Atlanta would watch the webcast of the students from side by side or talk to students from south Florida outside of virtual hangout. And maybe they interacted in those situations, but I haven’t seen any evidence that they are taking those relationships beyond. 239

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Over time, challenges to internal strategic priorities also emerged, and with them understandings of functioning hierarchies within the institution and the limitations they generated, They felt entirely separate from one another [Town Halls and Virtual Hangouts]. It’s a shame really because we put a ton of effort and emphasis on things like the town hall and it’s a once a year activity. We are wasting a lot of time and work only doing it once. At times it feels like it’s driven from some requirement … maybe because of the grant. Why not do that six times a year and track progress and develop rapport between the groups? They meet Teddy once and he’s gone. There is no grounding … even from the artistic side to connect one thing to the next. Similar themes showed fellows critiquing continuity and synergy and a critical area to be addressed for the future of the program, not just as a ‘we shouldn’t be doing this, we should be doing that’, but a more productive ‘these things are not the same, so when we do this, we should emphasize that’. Many interviewed provided a sense of coming to understand the multiplicity of the space as rather difficult to negotiate, but also, as a non-zero-sum space. They articulated what I am calling multiple hierarchies – each fostering aims and parameters of functioning that were contextually different – and that they could coexist. For some this depended on institutional acknowledgment, One of the other barriers is fear of the unknown. It’s difficult for people to commit if they don’t fully understand what we are doing or if what we are doing is not clearly present as part of the institution. Our work needs to be on these two areas and they are both about communication and being viable … I guess it is about, this got to matter to someone. They seem to articulate that institutional buy-in could come not simply from leadership priorities, but that legitimacy could be constructed, in the process of subjectification, that is, mattering to someone. This exchange during a focus group exemplifies this nuanced understanding of their own constructs and the role of institutional ‘baggage’ and opportunity, A:

I mean, maybe they just don’t care, but maybe it is NW giving us the space. But I just have not done this … there was nothing like it in college … C: Or grad school … B: … and other people were leading whatever then … you just kind of showed up. A: We are kind of floundering … I mean there is a lot working well … but it’s like we can’t get away from all that same stuff we have been doing for a number of years. B:

Mapping out multiple ways of being: musician/teacher/cultural worker The data above shows some evidence of fellows struggling with a geographical consciousness (Schmidt 2015) that was not facilitated, or in some cases even permissible, within their college experiences. The point of geographical consciousness is that we become more apt at mapping our social environments in terms of creative production and their discursive implications, policy and political awareness and their impact on creation of windows of opportunities, managerial capacity and community communication, to cite a few. The premise here is that ‘inhabiting a landscape does not guarantee voice, and voice alone is no guarantee for agency, that is, for actual enactment’ (Schmidt 2015, p. 189), and consequently having a ‘feel for the game’ and impacting our environ requires a balance between ‘a critical and at times forceful 240

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articulation of our own mappings’ (Schmidt 2015, p. 188) and the moving territories in our field of action. The limited and narrow ‘feel for the game’ with which young professionals begin their careers is, arguably, as challenging a fact as potential institutional traditionalism within arts, cultural, or educational organisations – this applies to music educators and musicians alike. One may name this lack as a representation of failures in program design or in leadership development, or as an outcome of the gap between higher music education priorities and the complex realities of cultural and educational spaces. If the aim is indeed to change our modus operandi, however, lessons from spaces such as NWS can be helpful. In 2011, I suggested that professional development of teachers in twenty-first-century realities (Schmidt and Robbins 2011) required a focus that went beyond the narrow provision of content expertise (human capital) and more broadly focussed on enhancing participatory dispositions and establishing a vision of the musician/educator/cultural worker. We suggested that planning be guided by a kind of subject-formation goals, focusing on processes that would expand educators’ identities from teacher or musician only, to the teacher/musician/cultural worker aggregate. The idea was that by seeing themselves as multiple, teachers could map out their work as being connected by and responsive to multiple territories. We advocated for the following categories: • • • • • •

Teacher/Musician/Cultural Worker as content providers T/M/CW as reflective constructors of curriculum T/M/CW as innovative collaborators T/M/CW as community builders T/M/CW as continuous learners T/M/CW as political communicators

Six years later, my work with NWS presented a partial realisation of these ideas, as the program was designed (see aims above) to help fellows develop similar characteristics. Even if aspirational, I argue that there is something productive in the notion of such a tri-partite identity shaped by these six categories or territories for action. To exemplify it in terms of this research project, below I focus on the intersection between technologies and their impact on the formation of community-oriented work (Schmidt 2017). Starting from the most normative, for some of the fellows and some in administration this complex configuration of identity and framing translated as becoming more effective content provider and the accompanying sense of status it provides; the kind that comes from legitimacy felt from participation in an space experiencing growing recognition – determined by terms of viewership, content quality, and exchange value. Oh, absolutely, the virtual hangouts have gone from awkward and not useful to pretty serious sit downs with great information, they are recruiting their own guests, they are much more self-motivated. Compared to last season it’s a whole different product. I think we are making a really great product for this age audience. I haven’t paid a single one of them (guests), they just volunteer. They get to nerd out about musician stuff, they love it. For others the virtual hangout community manifested as an opportunity for them to exercise their reflexivity as curriculum builders, attending to the notion that distinct geographies within this social space needed distinct priorities and processes,

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I think the challenge is [that] every community has its own needs, and I disagree with the fact that we didn’t say to the student population of south Florida: what do you need from us? we said here we are giving you this, use it. I don’t know if we can every figure out form them what they want or need. We said here’s our product, you need it. They didn’t say we need this can you help us. And that is a huge problem, I think. Others reflected that innovation alone can have limited impact and that community-oriented work is not, in and of itself, participatory, … people stay on, but they don’t really engage, they are lurking, they are absorbing information and since they are not communicating back to us it’s difficult to know what their takeaways are. While these are not meant to be taken as representative, they are a critical and recurrent expression of the tensions emergent from the data, in the form of a virtual incongruity that simultaneously affords and represses connectivity, voice, and engagement. These experiences provided space for correlations with other work developed within NWS and their (somewhat) movable hierarchies. NWS Fellows clearly understood their role as orchestral musicians and the primacy it played in the social relations established within this performance space. They also knew and noticed the complexity of contending work they were called to engage with in the larger social space of NWS. They recognised the impact of engaging in digital productions, virtual hangouts and townhalls, community engagement and educational outreach, project leadership, as well as masterclass, audition preparation, or collaborative creative work, as a representation of the cultural space in which they lived and worked. This, they realised, was a function of need, ‘we know that even for those of us here, which is already pretty darn difficult, less than half will get a permanent gig in an orchestra’ as well as a manner of choice, as this graduate explains: I know it is a bit crazy, but I am now playing at the MET orchestra, and while that is great, the work that I am doing online, with the ‘audition hacker’ is equally satisfying … maybe more, when we are playing Wagner (laughs)! Again, borrowing from the field of policy, this indicates what could be called the formation of a network. In network events and meetings, ‘programs are ‘pitched’, stories told, commitments are made, and new arrangements and relationships established’ (MacFarlane 2009, p. 566). As significant to this analysis is the fact that participants saw the alignment between challenges in programs such as the VHs and the work of the institution as a whole, as well as their role in the reconstitution of the internal networks of the organization. This discussion during a focus groups exemplifies it this way, A:

We were just talking that one of the things with the VHs is that the high value on production tends to lead to lessened opportunity for innovative content or alternative formats. B: Yeah … and this is a debate we have in general too. What is the responsibility of NW in pushing innovation … I mean the glossy nature of what we do, in general, what it is that we end up not doing, not talking, even thinking about. A: Some of it is happening elsewhere … smaller groups, right?! But even here, is like ‘stage b’ things … but these are becoming the cool thing, the hip thing … and that is getting lots of attention too.

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Locating historical positions today In a historical analysis of the arts within the political category of the ‘nonprofit’, sociologist Paul DiMaggio (1986) traces the changes of nonprofits in the United States during the twentieth century. His aim is to show the discursive, political, and managerial changes organizations undertook, particularly since state arts foundations were established (such as the National Endowment for the Arts, which began in 1965) and the increase of corporate arts philanthropy took shape in the mid-to-late 60s. DiMaggio argues that up until this point arts organizations were casually administered and usually content, in practice, to serve a limited and exclusive public (the former because their trustees preferred it, the latter because their artistic directors had little time to devote to expanding audiences). (1986, p. 5) His point is that the advent of institutional funding changed these institutions bringing with it closer scrutiny and accountability. I am interested in this as a possible beginning for multiple and contending hierarchies as an acceptable condition within arts institutions of this kind. DiMaggio’s (1986, p. 6) sociological work shows us the deeply ironic influence of social class in the formation of arts institutions in North America, explaining that, The creation of our first museums and symphony orchestras represented an antimarket social movement by wealthy entrepreneurs attempting to seal off their own adoptive culture (and with it their own status group) from the ravages of the national market economy that they themselves were instrumental in constructing. He also explores the movement in that social space, highlighting how adaptive it has always been, saying: When financial crisis struck, as it did with special force during the 1930s [and again in the 1970s and in the mid-aughts] and the patrons could no longer meet deficits, our museums and symphonies frequently lurched toward government funding with outreach or education programs. But their hopeful advances towards the public purse were usually repelled and the shift in mission short-lived. (DiMaggio 1986, pp. 4–5) Offshoots and expansions of initial institutional aims, such as those directed at educational outreach, initially functioned, ironically, as managerial pragmatism or self-interest. Over time, however, their inception provided for changes and further adaptations in the social space, as well as the gerrymandering of their original raison d’etre. There is evidence here and elsewhere (see Schmidt 2019) that these are more than PR or survival strategies. Orchestras such as NWS are establishing internal structures that allow for other forms of capital and status to emerge – for instance those linked to community work, leadership, and entrepreneurship. Orchestras such as Houston Symphony are making hiring choices that institutionalize these new forms of capital and status.9 Arts organisations are hiring ex-orchestral musicians to develop cultural programing with clear and primary focus on social aims. It is normative to say that the arts, particularly Western classical music, are resistant to change, enforcing socio-cultural norms that support a constellation of parameters from status formation, 243

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to colonial and paternalistic assumptions, to enforcement of taste. And many organisational and institutional scholars have researched how struggles over legitimacy, authority, status, and prestige shape how ideas gain ground or ideologies are established, as well as how social actors establish positions and identities (Abbott 1988; Deephouse and Suchman 2008; Dimaggio and Powell 1991; Johnson et al. 2006). It is less normative to speak of a variable and perhaps multiple plane field of action that explores greater sociological tensions between human and cultural capital asymmetries in how, say, classical musicians and orchestras function today. The usage of social spaces such as the orchestra – or higher music education – as a form of assuring distinction is undisputable. But does it always also follow that these social spaces remain uniformly ‘fixed’ by this social history?

What can music education learn from the orchestral social space: a conclusion My analysis of the data collected from NWS suggests that distinct cultural capital discourses often said to be competing, can enjoy stronger institutional cohabitation and co-dependence than previously or often acknowledged. Viewed from the standpoint or framework of ambivalence, I argued that, in the case of NWS, these intersecting discourses (can) produce an ontological position open not simply to the re-drafting of borders (changing positions relative to need and environmental pressure) but also to establishing contenting hierarchies where aesthetic, educational, intersubjective, and communal aims are vying for but also sharing space. All this to say that orchestral environs such as NWS are perhaps more dynamically complex than is often assumed and better positioned for strategic change than critiques suggest. This is significant to the potential shape and future of orchestral institutions, although it offers no guarantees. For instance, regardless of the institutional and personal investment, making community work a vying and viable form of cultural capital within the organization, the external communication of this form of capital is less apparent and segmented, as community engagement is not stated on its website as a central element of NWS’ mission, vision, or purpose. This incongruence, however, might have as much to do with the influence of the historic cynicism articulated by DiMaggio above, and how such institutions feel they must allow the general public to read them, as with internal disinterest. To assume institutional dismissal as a manifestation of status is precisely to continue to reduce this social space. Readers would do well to remember that ‘music functions bidirectionally, including those who are introduced and accepted by the field, and at the same time excluding others by alienating bystanders’ (Hofvader 2015, p. 29). But that does not mean that within fields work cannot be done to change and expand their geographies (Schmidt 2015). The extent to which this was observable within the NWS social space leads me to place greater confidence in the notion that fields change in a space of ambivalence, that is, one where the institutional habitus might be partially or overtly maintained, while internal disruptive and contending spaces are created and developed. The work of individuals inhabiting NWS and other analogous spaces are a reminder that ‘cultural capital gains within musical fields require collaboration and certain forms of working solidarity’ (Burnard 2015, p. 195). One might do well, then, to more fully acknowledge the complexity of pathways they are tracing. Western classical musicians (and their managerial counterparts) today, regularly, have to gerrymander values that reach across strict boundaries of human capital notions of skill development, performativity, or employability, and those cultural capital notions of cultivation, distinction, or critical artistic commentary and innovation. Simplistic visions where the first has a corrupting effect upon the latter can do little in terms of addressing the future of real people with real needs. As music educators in schools and community settings, these musicians/cultural workers, who are also educators, find themselves 244

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in a different but equally charged political environment. They suffer similar categorical ossification. And their work is more dynamically adaptable than often acknowledged. Analytical detachments and ideological critique provide important tools to describe the complex political, social, economic and cultural realities of the arts. But alone or when overprivileged, they fall short in providing guidance, facilitating strategy, and offering reasonable pathways into and through the complexity of socio-cultural spaces. This chapter, as several others in this volume, suggest that an expansion on environmental analyses based on sociological theory and method might provide greater nuance to how we view music education within cultural spaces today. They may provide thoughtful feedback for those professionals making their lives within the arts, and hopefully better guidance for action in light of the challenges facing arts education and arts policy. The questions raised here and articulated above remain: What answers may we find if we spend less energy on why hierarchy remains, and place greater emphasis on exploring how multiple and contending hierarchical values can and do operate within musical communities; how hierarchy may be functioning, differently, as a process of subjectification; and if, by producing multiple ‘repertoires of positions of power and resistance’, varying and coexisting hierarchies can, actually and even if paradoxically, play a role in democratising the social space. Sociological work has a history of finding unusual answers in familiar spaces. Music education can certainly continue to benefit from this tradition.

Reflective questions 1. 2.

What steps could you take, in your own music institution, to facilitate how multiple and contending hierarchical values could be more openly talked about and productively addressed? How innovative musical and social practices could be used to further democratize cultural institutions? What examples are you aware of that could serve as models, and why?

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

See https://www.nws.edu/about/about-nws/. See https://www.nws.edu/about/about-nws. See https://www.nws.edu/community-engagement/for-students/nws-connect/. See https://vimeo.com/nwsymphony and https://www.nws.edu/news/transmuse/. See https://www.nws.edu/news/welcome-to-wallchats/. See https://www.nws.edu/community-engagement/for-teachers/rehearsal-observations/. See https://www.nws.edu/community-engagement/for-teachers/nws-in-the-schools/. See https://www.nws.edu/community-engagement/for-students/side-by-side-concerto-competition/. See their community-embedded musicians, https://www.houstonsymphony.org/about-us/communitymusicians/.

References Abbott, A., 1988. The System of Professions: An Essay on the Division of Expert Labor. University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Ball, S.J., 2018. Commericalising education: profiting from reform! Journal of Education Policy vol. 33 (no. 5), 587–589. doi: 10.1080/02680939.2018.1467599. Ball, S.J., Junemann, C., 2012. Networks, New Governance and Education. Policy Press, Bristol. Bhabha, H., 1994. The Location of Culture. Routledge, New York. Bourdieu, P., 1984. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Routledge, London. Bourdieu, P., Wacquant, L. J., 1992. An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. The University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL. Burnard, P., 2015. Working with Bourdieu’s cultural analysis and legacy: alignments and allegiances in

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Patrick Schmidt developing career creativities. In: Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Soderman, J. (Eds.), Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education. Ashgate, Surrey, UK, pp. 193–208. Deephouse, D.L., Suchman, M., 2008. Legitimacy in organizational institutionalism. In: Greenwood, R., Oliver, C., Lawrence, T.B., Meyer, R.E. (Eds.), The Sage Handbook of Organizational Institutionalism. Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, pp. 49–77. Delaney, D., 2005. Territory. Blackwell Publishing, Malden, MA. DiMaggio, P., 1982. Cultural capital and school success: the impact of status culture participation on the grades of U.S. high school students. American Sociological Review vol. 47, 189–201. DiMaggio, P., 1986. Nonprofit Enterprise in the Arts: Studies in Mission and Constraint. Oxford University Press, New York. Dimaggio, P., Powell, W., 1991. Introduction. In: Powell, W.W., DiMaggio, P.J. (Eds.), The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis. University of Chicago Press, Chicago, pp. 1–17. Dow, A., Hattam, R., Reid, A., Shacklock, G., Smyth, J., 2000. Teachers’ Work in a Globalizing Economy. Routledge, London. Golden, N.A., 2017. Narrating neoliberalism: alternative education teachers’ conceptions of their changing roles. Teaching Education vol. 29, 1–16. doi: 10.1080/10476210.2017.1331213. Hall, C., 2004. Theorizing changes in teachers’ work. Canadian Journal of Educational Administration and Policy vol. 32, 1–14. Hofvader Trulsson, Y., 2015. Striving for ‘class remobility’: using Bourdieu to investigate music as a commodity of exchange within minority groups. In: Burnard, P., Hofvander Trulsson, Y., Soderman, J. (Eds), Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education. Ashgate, Surrey, UK, pp. 29–42. Horsley, S., 2009. The politics of public accountability: Implications for centralized music education policy development and implementation. Arts Education Policy Review vol. 110 (no. 4), 6–13. Johnson, C., Dowd, T.J., Ridgeway, C.L., 2006. Legitimacy as a social process. Annual Review of Sociology vol. 32, 53–78. MacFarlane, C., 2009. Translocal assemblages: space, power and social movements. Geoforum vol. 40, 561–567. Said, E., 1978. Orientalism: Western Representations of the Orient. Pantheon, New York. Schmidt, P., 2014. NGOs as a framework for an education in and through music: Is the third sector viable? International Journal of Music Education vol. 32 (no. 1), 31–52. Schmidt, P., 2015. The geography of music education: establishing fields of action. In: Burnard, P., Sodeman, J. (Eds.), Bourdieu and the Sociology of Music Education. Routledge, London, pp. 18–33. Schmidt, P., 2017. Framing capacity and equivalency: can community music and non-governmental organizations influence each other. In: Higgins, L., Bartleet, B.L. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook on Community Music. Oxford University Press, New York, pp 11–36. Schmidt, P., 2019. Leading institutional change through better policy thinking. In: Bennett, D., Rowley, J., Schmidt, P. (Eds), Leadership in and Through Higher Music Education. Routledge, New York, pp. 44–61. Schmidt, P., 2020. Musical virtual hangouts: A new social contract for community engagement by a U.S. orchestra. In: Horsley, S., Veblen, K., Waldron, J. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Music Education and Social Media. Oxford University Press, New York. Schmidt, P., Robbins, J., 2011. Looking backwards to reach forward: a strategic architecture for professional development in music education. Arts Education Policy Review vol. 112 (no. 2), 95–103. Strother, E., 2019. Political economy and global arts for social change: a comparative analysis of youth orchestras in Venezuela and Chile. Arts Education Policy Review vol. 119 (no. 1), 1–10. Taubman, P., 2010. Teaching by Numbers: Deconstructing the Discourse of Standards and Accountability in Education. Routledge, New York. Woolgar, Steve, Pawluch, Dorothy, 1985. Ontological gerrymandering: the anatomy of social problems explanations. Social Problems 32, 214–227. doi: 10.2307/800680.

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17 NEOLIBERALISM AS POLITICAL RATIONALITY A call for heretics Øivind Varkøy

What is neoliberalism? Among music educators and in music education research, it is quite common to find harsh criticism of political ideas labelled as neoliberalism focussing on everything from rigid assessment standards to ideas about ‘knowledge as a commodity, students as customers and the school authorities as stakeholders questioning the educational institutions’ accountability’ (Johansen 2012, p. 223). Within the fields of sociology and philosophy of music education, it is discussed how neoliberal economic policy influences education by exerting pressure to restructure schooling to produce knowledge workers in response to the global knowledge economy, and how for example problematic assessment standards play a vital role in this process (Benedict 2013; Benedict and Schmidt 2012; Elliott 2010; Horsley 2014, 2015; Smith 2015; Woodford 2005; Woodford 2015). Sometimes the concept of neoliberalism among music educators, however, seems to be used about every educational policy we don’t like; from liberalistic political economy to right-wing populist ideas. It appears as if neoliberalism has become an all-purpose denunciatory category (Flew 2014). To take part in a reflexive and nuanced discussion of what is politically going on in our societies and educational systems, however, we need a more profound understanding of neoliberalism; as a political rationality.1 Neoliberalism and its consequences can of course be identified on both macro- and micro-levels. In order to reflect systematically on micro level examples such as rigid assessment standards and educational goals expressed in terms of competencies2 as well as how justifying music education by instrumentalist arguments has been brought to the extreme, we need a focus on macro-level issues, discussing neoliberalism as political rationality.3 Thus, the purpose of this chapter is to contribute to such a profound knowledge and understanding of neoliberalism – as a foundation for further discussions in the field of music education when it comes to ‘neoliberalism’. The metanarrative of neoliberalism is connected to competition and competitiveness, and to the view that the ideals and principles of business life are guiding devices for how educational quality should be maintained and improved. When it comes to general discussions on the concept of neoliberalism, there exist a number of different definitions. According to researchers related to Marxist traditions, neoliberalism is considered an attack on the class compromise after the Second World War, a kind of 247

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counterrevolution from right-wing politics and the upper class against democratisation and high levels of taxes for the rich (Duménil and Lévy 2014). In other traditions borrowing from and in dialogue with a Marxist perspective, however, we find scholars who consider neoliberalism a political philosophy or ideology that has influenced practical politics since the 1970s. This understanding is common among people in mainstream history and political science who acknowledge neoliberalism as a useful concept (Jones 2012; Burgin 2015). A third understanding of neoliberalism, which is a basis for the discussions going on in this chapter, is found within the Foucaultian tradition, considering neoliberalism to be a kind of political rationality.4 In this way, neoliberalism can be seen as something transcending right-wing politics. It is for example a historical fact that the centre-left governments led by Jimmy Carter in the US from 1976 to 1981 and James Callaghan in Great Britain from 1976 to 1979 introduced neoliberalism before the installations of Ronald Reagan in 1981 and Margaret Thatcher in 1979. Today, social democrat governments left in Europe have taken over the dogmas of neoliberalism, for example about the importance of competition (Innset 2016). Michel Foucault’s lectures The Birth of Biopolitics (Foucault 2008) have heavily influenced the study of neoliberalism. In his recommendation of Pierre Dardot and Christian Laval’s book The New Way of the World. On neoliberal society, Philip Mirowski for example writes: The New Way of the World is the best modern realization of Foucault’s pioneering approach to the history of neoliberalism. It wonderfully explores the European roots and branches of the neoliberal thought collective over the 20th century […]. (Dardot and Laval 2013, back page)

The political rationality of neoliberalism Following a Foucaultian tradition, I argue that neoliberalism is a kind of political rationality, a certain way to think about politics and society. A political rationality is related to what Foucault once called ‘le conduire des conduites’ (‘the conduct of conduct’) (Foucault 2000, p. 336). Political rationality is a kind of governmental reason (Hindness 2006). Foucault originally used the term ‘governmentality’ to describe a particular way of administering populations in modern European history within the context of the rise of the idea of the State. He later expanded his definition to encompass the techniques and procedures which are designed to govern the conduct of both individuals and populations at every level, not just the administrative or political level. As a notion it provides a way of focusing on certain widely accepted nostrums and theoretical assumptions that currently inform policymaking, and provides a useful way of understanding how a number of contemporary governments approach the management of economic security … The concept of political rationalities provides an important conceptual tool with which to understand contemporary public policy (Beeson and Firth 1998, p. 1). In the following, neoliberalism will be discussed in the light of hegemonic ways of instrumental thinking in our modern Western culture. Central concepts in this context are technical rationality and ritual rationality, and disenchantment and re-enchantment, related to theories of the sociologists Max Weber and Colin Campbell, respectively. What is going on in this chapter is a kind of reflection on modernity – a philosophical sociological discussion inspired by Weber’s insight that ‘sociology can make a contribution to public debates by unpacking the various practical and indeed normative implications of different policy options’ (Chernilo 2015). In this case, ‘public debates’ are discussions going on within and about music education. 248

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I argue that a prerequisite for adequate and productive criticism of neoliberalism is knowledge and understanding of the philosophical and cultural context of such a political rationality. Liberation can only come about by attacking the very roots of neoliberalism as political rationality (Foucault 1979, p. 254). I further argue that important cultural and philosophical roots of neoliberalism are to be found in the hegemonic discourse of instrumentalism or instrumental rationality, expressed in Western societies since the time of the Reformation in Europe, as discussed by Max Weber in his theories of the processes of rationalisation and disenchantment. When music in general education, in the current world of education, politics, and public opinion, is increasingly threatened and designated ever more as an expendable luxury gradually being pushed into the role of unnecessary cream on top of the educational cake, we have to understand this in the context of a culture wrapped in a way of thinking where everything is expected to be useful – to be good for something more than itself – as something obvious and ‘natural’ (Pio and Varkøy 2012). In this culture of instrumentalism, where everything is a tool or a means to a goal or end other than itself, musicality easily ends up as a measurable object, music teaching focuses on the outer, technical layers of the music, and instrumental thinking flourishes even within music education (Bowman 2005; Ehrenforth 1982; Nielsen 2006; Pio and Varkøy 2015; Varkøy 2007).

Neoliberalism and education In neoliberal educational politics, instrumentalism arrives in terms of buzzwords such as ‘evidence-based’, ‘control’, ‘relevance’, and ‘measurable ends’. Education in general is becoming an instrument for economic growth, and the people within education are at risk of ending up as a means for achieving ends for economic growth (Pio 2012; Pio and Varkøy 2012; Pio 2018). Thus, there certainly are a large number of good reasons to discuss neoliberalism as such and its influence on educational policy and music education. The neoliberal focus on assessment is closely related to instrumentalistic trends in educational political thinking. These ideas are in its turn connected to an end-means thinking picked up from business life’s guidance model, and a market philosophy of educational thinking, focusing control on ‘the results of the production’ (i.e. teaching; Varkøy 2007), a situation which certainly can be discussed in light of Max Weber’s thesis about how the rationality from the areas of technology and economy has become an important component of Western society’s ideals of life as a whole, influencing even educational systems (Weber 2014). Konrad Paul Liessmann (2008) discusses the situation in higher education and educational policy while he is deconstructing terms such as ‘knowledge society’, ‘lifelong learning’, etc., claiming that this kind of ‘newspeak’ is an expression of a process where universities have turned into businesses in a neoliberal world, forgetting any idea about Bildung (Varkøy 2015a).5 According to Liessmann, the universities are threatened by a tsunami of criteria and methods of evaluation connected to the concept of impact brought in from the economic sphere. With the term Unbildung, Liessmann wants to focus on today’s intensive interaction with knowledge without any idea about Bildung. According to Liessmann, that which is defined as knowledge in the knowledge society is the intentional lack of Bildung. If one uses the term Bildung at all, this does not mean focusing on the knowledge and understanding of one’s cultural heritage, and the development of one’s personal abilities, for example related to empathy and compassion. It is more or less totally oriented towards factors such as the market and skills, efficiency and impact, relevance and employability – like everything else in a society run by neoliberal political rationality. 249

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The demand for results and relevance applies in all areas, and we ask for innovation and impact. The term impact is all over the discussions on research, related to other terms like ‘influence’, ‘effect’, and ‘transfer outcomes’. While scientific impact is about how the research project influences the research field in question and societal impact is about how the results of the project will influence society as a whole, innovation impact is very often linked to research results with a potential for commercial use and benefit – even when it is underlined that the meanings of the terms impact and innovation vary between different academic fields and subjects, topics, and research programmes (see for example, European Commission and Soler-Gallart 2018). This is an important point as long as innovation is a term closely connected to and associated with business life, generally referring to changing processes or creating more effective processes, products, and ideas; implementing new ideas; creating dynamic products or improving your existing services; being a catalyst for the growth and success of your business; and helping to adapt and grow in the market place (see for example, Department of Industry, Innovation and Science, Australia 2018). Music educators and researchers in music education need to take control of the stream of buzzwords pouring into academia and higher music education and research. An important aspect of taking control is discussing broader understanding of terms like impact and innovation, not letting areas of economy and technology define the discourses even within humanistic and artistic sciences. In other words; capturing the definition power, and recontexualise such concepts by giving them a relevant [sic] meaning in our own context, and to reintroduce the idea of speaking about education with an ‘educational language’ drawing on educational concepts. A prerequisite for this kind of taking control is, as stated in the introduction, knowledge and understanding of fundamental discussions of relations between power, policy, and economy on the one hand and cultural hegemonic ways of thinking – or rationalities – on the other. Thus, we have to discuss the political rationality of neoliberalism related to the hegemony of instrumentalism or instrumental reason in our culture, occurring in both technical and ritual rationalities.

Technical rationality and processes of disenchantment There are fundamental philosophical differences between Michel Foucault and Max Weber. However, Foucault (1979) claims that he will not discuss the works of Weber (as well as works of thinkers related to the Frankfurt School), though he finds them most important and valuable. Foucault’s project is however not to ‘take as a whole the rationalisation of society or of culture, but … analyse this process in several fields, each of them grounded in fundamental experience; madness, illness, death, crime, sexuality, etc.’ (p. 226). When it comes to political rationality, Foucault says: Political rationality has grown and imposed itself all through the history of Western societies. It first took its stand on the idea of pastoral power, then that of reason of state. Its inevitable effects are both individualisation and totalization. Liberation can only come from attacking, not just one of these two effects, but political rationality’s very roots. (p. 254) This statement is one important fundament for my argument in the introduction about how neoliberalism has to be discussed philosophically, sociologically as well as politically. Knowing and understanding Weber’s discussions of instrumental reason and technical rationality, as well as

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the processes of disenchantment, is one prerequisite to a more profound understanding of neoliberalism. According to Weber (2014), the rationality from the areas of technology and economy – which represents the character of modern Western technical rationality – has become an important component of modern society’s ideals of life as a whole, influencing even educational systems.6 The mathematically founded, rationalised empiricism in Protestant asceticism, Weber held, is an important aspect of the Puritan spirit of capitalism: This worldly Protestant asceticism … acted powerfully against the spontaneous enjoyment of possessions; it restricted consumption, especially of luxuries. On the other hand, it had the psychological effect of freeing the acquisition of goods from the inhibitions of traditionalistic ethics. It broke the bonds of the impulse of acquisition in that it not only legalized it, but … looked upon it as directly willed by God. (p. 98) Thus, the spirit of capitalism is prefigured in Protestant asceticism. This goes for both Lutheranism and Calvinism, the latter being the religious movement that in the analysis of Weber played the most central role in triggering the rationalisation process: In Luther, work as a vocation is associated with God’s calling upon men. In Calvinism, work is given meaning in the context of economy of salvation.… The seeker of salvation is brought closer to his goal not by a vita contemplativa, but by a vita activa. (Han 2017a, p. 89) In his discussions, Weber develops his theses about the general processes of disenchantment of the world and existence since the time of the Reformation in Europe (Varkøy 2015b). In his theory on rationalisation, Weber argues that the structures of consciousness which made modern bureaucratic forms of administration possible are gradually set free from the Protestant ethic which fostered them and gave them transcendent meaning. This process of secularisation did, however, ‘not lead to the disappearance of the economy of salvation’, which ‘still is alive in modern capitalism’ (Han 2017a, p. 90). Regularity, asceticism, and calculation are transformed into an ‘iron cage’, a system of actions to which the subjects have to adjust themselves to survive (Dews 1984). This ‘iron cage of instrumental rationality’ doesn’t really have room for art and music if they don’t serve a rational purpose outside the learning and experiencing of them (Varkøy 2007). The result of this manipulative and controlling kind of technical instrumental rationality, the kind of rationality we use when we calculate the most economical application of means to reach a given goal (Taylor 1998), is that other forms of human spirituality – be they artistic, moral, or religious – are deported to the field of irrational beliefs or the world of uncontrolled emotions (von Wright 1994). Adorno and Horkheimer (2004) argue that the dominance of technical rationality leads to an objectification of the subject, that is to reduce human beings, including oneself, to objects rather than subjects. Objectification is spreading to all areas of society, damaging true and genuine human relationships and products. The hegemony of technical rationality is in many ways linked to a dream of the thoroughly rationalised society and closely associated with modernity, the modern project itself. A critical discussion of technical rationality is criticism of modernity; this is extremely evident in Zygmunt Bauman’s discussions of the Holocaust as an expression of a perverted modernity and technical rationality (Bauman 1989). 251

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In education, the hegemony of technical rationality includes a growing interest in the technical aspects of education, teaching methodological issues, to ‘technical’ questions about how to teach. The interest in the pedagogical question of how is increasing at the expense of the questions of what and why to the extent that the answers to the what and why are not only relativised, the questions themselves are marginalised or excluded. In light of Habermas’ (1968) discussions of how the technical problem today may seem to replace the interaction problem (communication and interaction) and how this leads to a development from a political society into a technocratic society, we are facing an instrumentalistic mistake of educational thinking, where technical actions are taken as basic models for actions of education and Bildung in general.

Ritual rationality and processes of re-enchantment The hegemony of instrumental reason is certainly interesting to discuss related to Weber’s analysis of the development of modern society as a rationalisation and disenchantment of the world, processes that made the world more prosaic and predictable and less poetic and mysterious. Life is put into a calculation. However, when politicians introduce music education as a way to create co-operation, wellbeing, and togetherness etc., they seldom base their schemes and thinking on solid knowledge that confirms the causality between the experiences of or activities within music and the wanted outcome – as is an ideal when it comes to technical rationality. On the contrary, what we very often are dealing with is not knowledge-based policymaking but political beliefs. Music education policy, like cultural policy, is built on beliefs in the positive effects of artistic and cultural experiences in general and music education in particular. This logic can be called ritual (Røyseng and Varkøy 2014). Knowing and understanding the development of ritual rationality, and ideas of instrumentalism as they exist in ritual thinking, is another prerequisite (besides knowing and understanding the cultural development of technical rationality) to a more profound understanding of neoliberalism. In ritual thinking, the idea is that music possesses magical powers that transform and heal (van Gennep 1960). Rather than seeing music as an objectified instrument in a technical way, music is believed to have the power to bring human beings into a state of transition in a magical way. The transformative powers of music are working both on the individual and the societal level. It is believed that the experiences of art and culture are transformative in a way that makes us better people and a better society. Art and culture are introduced in regional policy, integration policy, health policy, and innovation policy. If you have a problem, as a person or as a society, the problem solver is music (and other art forms). You are bringing your problem before the altar of a god (here the god is music), praying, and hoping for a miracle. This ritual logic can be seen in light of how the sociologist Colin Campbell (1987) adds nuances to Weber’s theses of rationalisation and disenchantment. Campbell does not contest the basic argument of Weber. He does, however, maintain that Calvinism was more emotional than Weber assumed. In addition, emotion became even more prominent in late Calvinism. The central point here, following Campbell, is that this later Protestant ethic led to the spirits of modern consumerism contrasting the asceticism of the early Protestants. As stated by ByungChul Han, this sort of consumerist capitalism ‘operates through the selling and consumption of meanings and emotions’; it is a capitalism ‘which derives its profits from emotions’ (Han 2017b, p. 44). Emotionality has taken the place of rationality. With his discussions on consumerism, Colin Campbell extends on the rationalisation theory of Weber by claiming that processes of re-enchantment exist side by side with processes of 252

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disenchantment. In this way, it is possible to see disenchantment and re-enchantment as parallel and dialectical processes. When it comes to music and art, processes of re-enchantment can be discussed in light of reflections concerning what in theological circles is labelled prosperity theology or glorification theology (Røyseng and Varkøy 2014). In this kind of understanding of the Christian faith, God seems to be valued primarily as some sort of butler, a mega-handyman and a party fixer of existence (Eagleton 2009). Thus neoliberalist traits can be found in some fundamentalist evangelical preachers, acting ‘like managers and motivational trainers, proclaiming the new Gospel of limitless achievement and optimization’ (Han 2017b, p. 30). At the same time, neoliberal ideology displays religious traits in a new form of subjectification. Instead, as in Protestantism, ‘of searching out sins, one hunts down negative thoughts’ (Han 2017b). In ritual logic concerning the positive outcomes of music, music is God the party fixer. When it comes down to it, both technical and ritual rationalities end up focusing on music as a useful means – as an instrument – to some other end than experiencing music. It seems like even ritual thinking concerning values of music is related to the deep and mighty river or tsunami of instrumentalism of our culture. ‘The process of secularization did not lead to the disappearance of the economy of salvation’ (Han 2017a, p. 90); thus, the paradox is that the tsunami of instrumentalism today necessitates a consumerist ideology, even when it comes to ritual logic, at the same time as this very ideology is undermining the early Protestant ethical attitude which made our modern Western societies possible (Zizek 2011).

Technical and ritual rationalities: two versions of instrumental reason Neoliberal educational politics is heavily influenced by consumerism. As I have stressed a number of times, the main argument in this chapter is the importance and necessity of understanding neoliberalism as political rationality and its consumerist ideology related to both technical and ritual rationalities – as these ways of thinking appear today – as different expressions of the hegemony of instrumental reason. Thus, firstly, we need to have in mind how our structures of consciousness, even gradually set free from the Protestant ethic, are transformed into so-called iron cages, systems of actions to which it seems we have to adjust ourselves to survive working and thinking in a culture dominated by the hegemonic discourse of instrumental reason in educational and cultural policy (as in everywhere else in society). Secondly, we need to reflect upon the fact that a hegemonic instrumentalism necessitates a consumerist ideology with efficiency, immediate relevance, and impact in focus, even when it comes to ritual logic, and even when this very ideology undermines the Protestant ethical attitude, for example postponement of satisfaction of our needs. Consumer capitalism exists by generating more and more desires and needs (Ritzer 2010). When it comes to music and arts, consumerism can be seen in light of what Han calls ‘the aesthetics of the smooth’. The artwork has become an object of immediate and pure pleasure, we are facing hedonism: ‘consumer culture more and more submits beauty to the schemata of stimuli and excitement’ (Han 2018, p. 48). I, however argue, that from a philosophical point of view, aesthetic experiences are not limited to experiences of pleasure, where the subject recognises itself. Aesthetic experiences are also related to the encounters with ‘the other’, in which the subject is shocked or ‘realizes its own finitude’ (Han 2018, p. 24; see even Pio and Varkøy 2012). Thus, consumption and art experiences are mutually exclusive. Art experiences are of a contemplative character, while consumerism certainly favours a vita activa rather than a vita contemplativa (Arendt 1958; Varkøy 2015b) – even more than early Protestantism. 253

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Neoliberalism as political rationality, caught between technical and ritual rationalities, has grown and imposed itself in a number of societies. As said above, Foucault focusses on how liberation from a certain political rationality depends on attacking the political rationality’s very roots. Some roots of neoliberalism are to be found in the hegemony of instrumental reason in our culture, as it is expressed both in technological and ritual terms. Following Han, I find this to be about a development of a sort of consciousness industry ‘destroying the human soul, which is anything but a machine of positivity’ (Han 2017b, p. 32). Thus, we need to critically discuss – in fact, attack – the technology of power which takes form under neoliberalism, a technology of power which does not lay hold on individuals directly. Instead, it ensures that individuals act on themselves so that power relations are interiorized – and then interpreted as freedom. Self-optimization and submission, freedom and exploitation, fall into one. (Han 2017b, p. 28) In this situation, we need heretics and figures of resistance opposing the culture of neoliberal consensus and representing a heretical consciousness. We need music educators, researchers, and scholars who stand opposed to the neoliberal power of domination and the hegemonic discourses of instrumentalism. A starting point to develop such a herecy is to recognise philosophical critique not only as (hopefully) theoretically interesting, but as a fundament, maybe even a prerequisite, for profound political and social critique and action.7

Reflective questions 1.

2.

How can the reflections in this chapter – neoliberalism discussed in light of the concepts of technical rationality, ritual rationality, and instrumental reason, as well as the processes of disenchantment and re-enchantment – have implications for thinking about teaching music? How can such reflections have an impact on thinking about education as a phenomenon?

Notes 1

2 3

4 5

6

In this text, a focus on the micro-level is limited to examples such as rigid assessment standards. Educational goals expressed in terms of competencies (as for example in the Norwegian curricula of general education) is another example of neoliberalism on the micro-level. Further: Justifying music education by instrumentalist arguments can be seen related to the hegemony of instrumental reason in our culture, a cultural situation which has been brought to the extreme in neoliberalism (see my discussion about this in the following text). As for example in the Norwegian curricula of general education. See Schmidt 2012; Wright 2012, Wright and Froehlich 2012, Johansen 2014, Fautley 2016, Ferm Almqvist et al. 2017, and Karlsen and Johansen 2019 for profound discussions concerning varying micro- and macro-level perspectives, including assessment standards. See even Fautley’s text in this book concerning this. The term ‘political rationality’ refers to the ways of thinking that comprise our present, the ways they have been caught up, and the consequences for our understanding of our present, and of ourselves in the present. The German concept of Bildung is sometimes defined as: a) competence in critical, nuanced and creative thinking, b) understanding of scientific ways of thinking crossing the borders between traditional subjects, c) respect for norms of objectivity, and d) ethical reflection (Hagtvedt and Ognjenovic 2011, p. 16). These aspects are related to personal development both through knowledge and understanding of one’s own historical heritage of culture, philosophy and science, and by processes of meeting the unknown. In this context, the term ‘modern’ is related to tendencies in Weber’s contemporary society.

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This is important even when the theoretical discussions as such don’t prescribe certain practical and political actions with immediate impact (!). Prescribing such actions is a sort of political activism (in fact characterised by instrumentalism…), more than a philosophical-sociological discussion. Questioning instrumenalist tendencies and the cultural situation shaping these tendencies in a philosophicalsociological way, will however very soon necessitate a development of alternative ways of thinking and acting in practical life; personally and existentially, as well as socially and politically. In previous works I have tried to develop some alternative ways of thinking, discussing a paradox like’the usefulness of being useless’, and the idea of ’the autonomy of art’ – inspired by the German concept of Bildung, Martin Heidegger, Hannah Arendt, and Pierre Bourdieu, respectively. See Varkøy 2015a, 2015b, 2015c, and Røyseng and Varkøy 2014.

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18 MOBILISING CAPITALS IN THE CREATIVE INDUSTRIES An investigation of emotional and professional capital in women creatives navigating boundaryless careers Pamela Burnard and Garth Stahl

Introduction Bourdieu remains an influential figure in sociological studies of music, particularly in investigating how the social context of music mediates, intersects with and reifies power relations at the core of music consumption as well as in discussions of ‘highbrow’ forms and cultural ‘structured spaces’ of musical production (Burnard 2012, 2015; Schmidt 2016). For scholars concerned with the question of what music is and how the collective production of music is made possible sociologically (Roy and Dowd 2010), extending Pierre Bourdieu’s contribution – specifically on distinction and judgement and his conceptualization of fields, habitus, and capitals – has become a vibrant field of study (Grenfell 2008). Within studies of the sociologies of music, it should be noted there has been extensive critique of Bourdieu’s con­ tribution (Bull 2015; Stahl et al. 2018) as well as a call for renewal within the current research in the sociology of music (Hall 2016; Prior 2011). More recently, a Bourdieusian conceptual toolkit has allowed scholars to theorise individuals working in creative industries and to navigate these unequal and contradictory spaces (Burnard et al. 2015; Friedman et al. 2017; Wright 2010). Within the ‘creative labour’ industries of music, sound art, film, television, theatre, arts, music, gaming, ‘creative tech’, and new media sectors sociologists have worked with precision to document how gendered and classed inequalities operate (Friedman and Laurison 2019; McKinlay and Smith 2009). Bourdieu’s influence has fostered important insights in gender in­ equality, with feminist scholarship emphasizing a greater understanding of the social reproduction at the interface between gender-biased masculinist traditions and working conditions in the music industry/ies (Dromey and Haferkorn 2018; Leonard 2007). Our chapter builds on both current research in area of creative industries as well as a revival in Bourdieusian scholarship, bringing the two together to investigate the professional lives of two women creatives. Exploring the relationship between gender and music productions, Clare Hall (2016) uses the analytic tool of ‘musical habitus’ to identify and understand how the male, middle-class

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body becomes one in which specific musical aptitudes become entrenched through processes of socialisation. Hall’s research highlights the ways in which individuals construct and negotiate social identities across diverse settings and practices of music education, and in the highly gendered collaborative nature of music making. Such collaboration subverts/reaffirms: gendered norms (Bull 2015; Stahl and Dale 2013); the power of music to enable class re-mobility in recovering lost social capital (Hofvander Trulsson 2016); the highly territorial cultural ‘structured spaces’ of music production and music education (Schmidt 2016); and the highly gendered fields of creative labour (Bennett and Burnard 2015; Hesmondhalgh and Baker 2011). Additionally, recent scholarship by Friedman et al. (2017) has documented the gendering and classing of the creative industries, specifically the UK Cultural and Creative Industries (CCIs) where there exists a pervasive white, male, middle-class bias in British film, television, and theatre. Furthermore, the habitus of the classical music performer often belongs to an elite group bearing distinct and distinguished dispositions which is, in turn, structured by the context of the conservatoire. Rosie Perkins’ (2015) research demonstrates how the logic of practice is manifested in the opportunities and constraints embedded within the capital underscoring the institutional habitus and learning culture of the conservatoire. Through this research we see how these industries often require the right forms of capitals in order for agents to successfully navigate hierarchized fields. Drawing on the application of Bourdieusian approach of capital, as well as recent conceptual expansion in emotional and professional capitals, the research presented in this chapter investigates the professional lives of two women currently working in music as sonic artists and sound scientists. Both navigate what is commonly referred to as boundaryless careers, defined as careers which involve fluid movement across sectors. These sectors are often sustained by external networks which break traditional organizational assumptions about hierarchies and normative notions of career advancement, thus requiring further investigation. The notion of a boundaryless career is a concept first introduced in 1990s by career theorists Arthur and Rousseau (1996, p. 4) where it was originally proposed as a career which moves across the boundaries of separate employers; however, as we will see, what is meant by boundaryless careers, especially in the creative industries, can be quite complex. In their study of creative industries, Bennett and Burnard (2015) documented the need for understanding ‘multiple human capital career creativities’, emphasising work that transcends fields. In presenting data on how two women creatives negotiate what Bourdieu calls a ‘feel for the game,’ we ask: Within creative industries, how do women creatives recognise and operationalise their capitals? Which capitals are valuable and how are they valued? What are the ‘practices’ they use to generate capital? First, we summarise how Bourdieu defined ‘capital’, as well as some Bourdieusian-inspired conceptual expansions with emotional capital and professional capital. Then, in the second half of the piece, we use these theories to explore empirical data.

Clarifying Bourdieu’s approach to capital Theorising capital through a Bourdieusian approach involves thinking of it as a convertible resource generated, accumulated and exchanged within schooling systems, home contexts, and related social fields. Capital is obtained when one is consecrated (embraced and celebrated) by the actors in the field; this can be done through how the player, artist, or creative receives forms of recognition from others in the field. Therefore, capital accumulation reflects, and is oriented by and through, our social positions and through our lives. Capitals manifest and accumulate in 259

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many different ways. In his oeuvre, Bourdieu (1979/1984, 1986) defines four forms of capital: economic (money and assets); social (affiliations and networks: familial, religious and cultural); symbolic (prestige, reputation); cultural (forms of knowledge, taste, language). Bourdieu argues that, whatever the form, capital provides resources that reflect power and reproduce inequality (Reay 2002). Bourdieu defines social capital as the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to the possession of a durable network of more or less institutional relationships of mutual acquaintance and recognition, providing each of its members the backing of collectively owned capital. Cultural capital, conceived by Bourdieu, encompasses a broad array of linguistic competences, manners, preferences, and orientations, which are ‘subtle modalities in the relationship to culture and language’ that further social mobility beyond the economic means available to the individual (Bourdieu and Passeron 1977, p. 82). Therefore, the social position of an individual is influenced not simply by their economic capital but also by their ‘portfolio of economic, cultural, symbolic and other forms of capital’ and also the individual’s ability to activate these capitals to their advantage within a given field (Hart 2013, pp. 52–53). While all individuals possess various capitals that can be operationalised in the field, capitals cannot always be operationalised with equal ease. The game that occurs in the fields, according to Bourdieu, is always competitive, where the accumulation of capitals and status is always at stake. Importantly, each field, whether it is economic, social or educational, contains ‘distinctions’ which are symbolically valued (Bourdieu 1979/1984). Distinction can become a key focus where agents pursue it in order to attempt to establish superiority. Therefore, field is always theorised as profoundly hierarchised and characterised by continuous struggle. It is important to note that even though there are ‘dominant social agents and institutions having considerable power to determine what happens within it, there is still agency and change’ (Bourdieu 1979/1984, p. 73).

Conceptual expansions of capital: emotional and professional capital Helga Nowotny (1981) originally introduced the concept of emotional capital centred on the bounds of affective familial relationships, encompassing the emotional resources that are collectively drawn upon. Expanding the concept of emotional capital as a heuristic tool, Diane Reay (2000) furthered Nowotny’s contribution to probe mothers’ emotional engagement with their children’s education (both positive and negative) as well as its intergenerational nature, specifically how it was passed from mother to child. Drawing on both Nowotny (1981) and Allatt (1993) Reay’s concept, emotional capital is understood as emotional resources but not necessarily something that can be increased or exchanged. Instead, Reay (2000) emphasizes how emotional capital has a cost in terms of interpersonal relationships and personal well-being (p. 580). Specifically, for Reay, ‘like all the other capitals, emotional capital is context and resource constrained’ (p. 581) and, furthermore, it varies across class contexts influencing mother-child relationships in different ways; therefore, according to Reay, it has ‘a much looser link with social class than Bourdieu’s other capitals’ (p. 582). In a subsequent publication, Reay (2004) explored the relationship between emotional capital and the extent to which it may be gendered. This stems from wider Bourdieusian feminist work on how cultural and social capital is mediated through gender; how people make use of their capital and resources is a theorized as a gendered process (Kenway and Kelly 2000; Skeggs 1997). Gendered differences in capital use are linked to employment opportunity, why women do more childcare and housework than men, and trends in female labor force participation rates. In almost every country in the world, men are more likely to participate in 260

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labor markets than women (Ortiz-Ospina and Tzvetkova 2017). However, drawing particularly on Nowotny, Reay (2004, p. 60) highlights how women often bear the brunt of emotional labour and have this capital in ‘greater abundance than men’ acquired through ‘adverse conditions’. Furthermore, emotional capital, in Reay’s interpretation, which is gained in the private sphere of the family, lacks direct convertibility and therefore it could be conceived as a weak capital. More recently, Reay (2015) has expanded her thinking, highlighting the affective dimension of emotional capital as one of several other dimensions, part of the resultant dispositions in the habitus, ‘a propensity to fatalism, ambivalence, resilience, resentment, certainty, entitlement or even rage’ (p. 10), where ‘the impact of these affective and psycho­ logical transactions becomes sedimented in certain habitus’ (p. 12). In our chapter, we argue that there exists important links between the utility of emotional capital, gender and the field of music; it is a key component which structures how the two women navigate the creative industries and foster their creativities. Contrasting Reay’s work, Zembylas’s (2007) scholarship on emotional capital does not engage with gender but instead emphasises how emotional capital is historically situated and often tied to unrecognised mechanisms and emotional norms, serving to maintain certain ‘affective economies’ (Ahmed 2004), specifically in relation to teachers’ and students’ emotional practices. According to this interpretation, emotional capital is generated both in the habitus and in educational contexts. Differing from Reay, Zembylas writes that emotional capital is potentially a useful concept to think with but it ‘risks being co-opted into a parenting model for the emotional profit (or cost) generated in families and its repercussions for children’ (Zembylas 2007, p. 452). He highlights two key dangers: (i) strong associations of the term with economic theory (increasing/decreasing); and (ii) how it can easily be ’co-opted by manage­ ment and functionalist discourses’ (p. 456). Therefore, Zembylas emphasises how emotional capital, in his interpretation, must be theorised as tied closely to social and political contexts, where theorists should focus on how individuals can ‘use’ emotional capital in facilitating certain actions. Emotional capital, as a conceptual expansion of capital, regardless of its interpretation, remains an interesting provocation; however, what has received less attention by those inter­ ested in revising Bourdieu’s approach to capital are theorizations of professional capital. A strict Bourdieusian approach to professional capital would consider it a card to be played in a game, which is always competitive, where individuals use a range of strategies to maintain or improve their position in the field, where the object of the game is to accumulate various types of capital. Therefore, for Bourdieu, we can assume that professional capital is focused on advantage, where accruing capital advantage leads to further advancement. There have been two significant conceptual expansions in theorising professional capital. First, according to Hargreaves and Fullan (2013), professional capital in the teaching workforce is a function of the ‘interactive, multiplicative combination’ of human capital, social capital and decisional capital (p. 39). In their view, professional capital, which actually bears little resem­ blance to a Bourdieusian conception of capital, can be increased and decreased through professional development. Second, drawing on recent research in the music industry/ies, Bennett and Burnard (2015) theorise professional capital as an important dimension of social capital closely aligned with judgement and values found at the interface of culture and commerce. Bennett and Burnard’s approach to professional capital compels us to investigate the ways in which capitals are socially recognised in boundaryless careers involving movement across sectors where there is an accrual of power. In critically considering these two conceptual expansions of Bourdieu’s theories of capital, we see a shift away from theorizing professional capital solely focused on accrual. For scholars 261

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who seek to modify Bourdieu’s tools, we need more research which attends to both the gendered dimension as well as the collective nature of capital. We see our research on women creatives as making a theoretical contribution to how emotional and professional capitals work in tandem, influencing each other. In exploring how these two women navigate careers involving music with/in the creative industries, we utilize the plurality of approaches to theorising emotional and professional capital which, we believe, have the capacity to help us understand the enabling functions and values driving boundaryless careers especially when considered together. It is here that this chapter makes a significant contribution to Bourdieu, applied in the analysis and conceptual expansion of capital in relation to women creatives mobilising capitals as they navigate boundaryless careers with/in music.

Gender, bias, and the creative industries Within the creative industries, men and women often experience the unique employment issues affecting workers differently, and come with gendered motivations for participating in their various sectors. There is substantial evidence that pre-existing gender-based narratives also influence the division of labour and responsibilities in the ways men and women are recruited, access power, or are promoted in this relatively new field (Bull 2015; Scharff 2018). Recent research from the field of social psychology shows, for example, that, in most industries, perceived gender biases in the evaluation of creativity negatively affect women’s work experiences and their chances of success (Proudfoot et al. 2015). The prevailing salience of gender is evidenced by the under-representation of women in the creative industries, as the association of masculinity with creative workers such as composers, conductors, and record producers, and related work in film and TV emphasises social capital as ‘jobs for the boys’ (Conor et al. 2015; Grugulis and Stoyanova 2012). This is especially true in contexts that explicitly reward creative skills, such as the launch and growth of successful start-ups or entry to typically male domains such as digital audio commerce (Born and Devine 2015). Yet, while these biases exist, within research in the field of creative industries what remains obscure and empirically unsubstantiated are the experiences of women, specifically: (i) the role of one’s capitals in defining project-based creative work that characterises boundaryless careers in the creative industries; (ii) the ways in which team-based creative industries, such as those of sound and digital arts creative workers, manage to build a spectrum of collaborative relation­ ships (e.g. social capital); as well as (iii) how capitals are accumulated and operationalised as female creatives navigate boundaryless careers, which, in turn, shape work practices.

The study: the method The case studies drawn upon in this chapter are part of a larger study that uses social network theory to explore the role and significance of social networks in identifying opportunity creation in the creative industries. Drawing on a form of narrative inquiry based upon socio­ logical social constructionism, phenomenological qualitative design and feminist ideas and practices, we employed semi-structured interviews to focus on the experiences and identities of 47 women creatives in the creative industries and how their actions and experiences are an expression of the personal and inner self. Narrative inquiry, as an umbrella term, captures personal and human dimensions of experience over time and takes account of the relationship between individual experience and cultural context (Clandinin and Connelly 2000). For these two case studies, we transcribed in-depth interviews involving six 2-hour interviews. Then we developed an inductive/deductive coding system that included eight categories: field, 262

Mobilising capitals

habitus, capital, practice, social reproduction, creativities, choices, and critical events. The case narratives introduce each artist and then describe the forms of capital that are generated and recognised as legitimate. The forms of capital that appear to have real purchase are analysed from data gathered by interviews; secondary data used include interviews with these artists in websites, blogs, Technology Entertainment and Design (TED) Talks, reports, and live performance observations. The interview questions were carefully conceived with the aim of building up a shared understanding of how different forms of capital influence careers. To expand our understanding of how creative industries are navigated, we draw on Bourdieu and conceptual expansions to code the data. We worked implicitly with notions of emotional and professional capital, documenting how such conceptual expansions assist us to understand how capitals are circulated, reinvested, and reconnected. In the first round of analysis, the data was mapped into 12 overlapping codes: career (testing the boundaries, positioning, relational, contributions); bestowed; community; networks/networking (social forms/professional); agency and mutuality; possibility thinking (‘what if ’/heart/centre of all creativities); inspirational (models/mentors); workplace preparedness; expert/expertise (as purposeful engagement in practices); collaboration; practice (professional autonomy, intentionality, engagements); and professional identity. The forms of capital are summarised in Table 18.1.

Introducing the participants and sampling criteria The choice of these two participants from the rest of the cohort was made according to how both participants gravitated towards sound and interdisciplinary arts rather than specifically/ simply musicians; and that the working and non-working lives of both women are conflated. Table 18.1 Forms of capital and their characteristics summarised Capital

Characteristics

Economic Professional

Financial assets, income, money (Bourdieu 1986). A function of the ‘interactive, multiplicative combination’ of human capital, social capital and decisional capital’ (Hargreaves and Fullan 2013, p. 39) which can be increased and decreased through sophisticated interventions. Affective dimensions of dispositions involving emotional engagement and familial influences (Nowotny 1981; Reay 2000, 2004, 2015). Opportunity creation for peer learning, networked forms of obtaining work, and work that is undertaken with others and can be seen as a secondary form of social capital (Bennett and Burnard 2015). Developing knowledge, self, and market (Bennett and Burnard 2015). A secondary form of cultural capital. Involving role models, inspirational figures, and supporters: significant others who have played a role in creative and business choices (Bennett and Burnard 2015). A secondary form of social capital. Things which are ‘given away’ in forms such as mentorship, pro bono work, and shared knowledge. Involving networks of human connections. Embodied through physical and psychological states; institutionalised through social and cultural recognition such as degrees or other marks of success; and objectified by means of external goods such as books or the media. Prestige, reputation (Bourdieu 1979/1984, 1986).

Emotional Community-building

Career-positioning Inspiration-forming

Bestowed gift-giving Social Cultural

Symbolic

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In terms of creative labour in practice, both women work as sonic artists and sound scientists across a number of sectors of the creative industries considered to be male dominated. Both women are white, from privileged/upper-middle-class backgrounds, where, arguably, they have choosen their own identity markers and are agentic in the formation of many dispositions in their own habitus. Both are respected and recognized creatives who are endorsed by other creatives and organisations/institutions in their fields. Both hold distinctive social positions that shape their given fields. As we present the two case studies, it is clear that both women engage with diverse creativities (practice principles and forms of authorship) that were evidenced in their practice and project agendas with inter­ national communities and networks. Throughout the chapter, capital and field are employed in conjunction with habitus to shape decision-making and action in creating sociologically grounded career trajectories. Furthermore, both exercise considerable discretion as to how they endeavour to meet work targets and invest a considerable amount of control over the content and quality as well as the organization of their work (which may easily result in approximately 60 working hours per week).

Introducing the case studies In presenting the case studies, we draw on ethnographic field notes and data from semistructured interviews to capture the phenomenological accounts, descriptions and reflections on lived experience (Smith et al. 2009) of each of these creative workers. See Appendix 1 for a summarised configuration of creative work across sectors for Kate Stone and Mira Calix. Appendix 1 features their multiple projects and the extent of cross-sectorial networking that fuels opportunity creation and nurtures the diverse creativities (forms of authoring include collaborative, intercultural, interdisciplinary, digital, and performance creativity) which can counter the pressures towards conformity arising from residing in one field; and, so, ‘being much more than just a musician’. Our focus is on how their capitals are understood, translated, and accumulated.

Case study 1 – Mira Calix Mira Calix is a British-based musician, DJ, composer, and sonic artist known for mixing her intimate vocals with jittering beats and experimental electronic textures and natural sounds including live insects. She has incorporated orchestration and live classical instruments in her performances and recorded work. Although her earlier music is almost exclusively electronic music, Calix is suspicious of the labels of ‘artist’ or ‘musician’ and sees herself as a ‘self-taught’ sound artist and as an ‘environment builder’. She works across mediums (music, video, paper hanging) where the art ‘lives in space and it moves in time’. Integral to how the ‘practices’ are used to generate capital – and which capitals – Calix has a clear conception of her creative inspiration and process as o