‘creative’ (e.g. Gaunt and Westerlund, 2013; Burnard and Haddon, 2015 ). While the words may change with sometimes alarming rapidity, these approaches share an underlying encouragement to academics to think creatively about educational practice, and to consider the impact of students’ learning experiences on their broader de velopment and future destinations. The Music in the Community module that forms a case study for this chapter came about through one such University of Sheffield initiative around ‘enterprise’ education – a term used (often
Questions are asked of the ways in which communitymusic practice has been altered by the development of digital technologies in creative music-making. How does communitymusic exploit the ‘democratising’ and ‘cool’ aspects of digital music technology and production (Higgins 2000, Healey 2005, Missingham 2007)? Playing and working with the digital music forms preferred by its youthful constituencies is a route to cultural access and acceptance for community musicians. Working with disabled or special needs groups is a significant area of activity where the accessibility of (adapted or innovated) technologies is also exploited (Healey 2005, Challis 2011). Creating music for mobile technologies and internet composition are other digital forms used (Finney and Burnard 2009, Brown and Dillon 2009). Yet community musicians have also found issues of gendered alienation from technology (Healey 2005). In its work with older generations, or with particular music genres (vocal, jazz), does communitymusic present the workshop as a non-atomising socio- cultural space, implicitly rejecting the digital in favour of the nostalgically acoustic, analogue or embodied? Communitymusic in part springs from the community arts model of community as located—and is predicated on ‘the congregationist imperative’ (McKay 2010). Digital developments have altered that assumption of social presence.
Rock bands and their fans, much like members of other marketplace cultures (e.g. Thornton 1996, Kozinets 2001, Ulusoy 2016) are of course engaged in a continual process of negotiating their heritage. Indeed the heritage of a rock band, in the widest sense, includes all of the meanings which it has ever negotiated with its fans—musical, visual, material and experiential. The production and consumption of music are articulated (linked) by cultural texts of different kinds performed and consumed by bands, their fans and by third parties. They include musical sounds, lyrics, artwork, merchandise, publicity photographs, live performances, DVDs, and so on. The meanings of these texts are negotiated between bands and fans, and include the hedonic, sacred, secular, utilitarian, economic, political and social resonances of the band’s work. While the fans are free to make their own response to the texts, their interpretation is shaped or constrained by the way in which these texts are encoded by the band; at the same time, the fan-base of any particular band constitutes an interpretive community, an audience, whose sense-making, imagination, emotional reaction and creativity may to some extent, in its turn, shape and constrain or enable the band’s production. Thus both musical heritage and the music itself are socially constructed (Bowman 1998).
Every society in Africa is identified with a kind of traditional festival which exists in oral tradition. Olókogbè is a religious festival practiced among Pónyàn community in Yagba-West Local Government Area of Kogi State. Music is a central figure during the festival. The place of music during the festival informs this paper. It was revealed that Olókogbè music entertains, rebukes, satire enlivens the spirit and is used as a force for the community unity. This paper is anchored on Structural-functionalism theory as propounded by Kingsley Davis. The paper employed the interview of 5 key informants in its methodology; it also employed content and context analysis of the songs. It was discovered that the music discourages the degeneration of personal or corporate morals, promotes social equity and fights injustice and enforces rule of law. The researcher recommends that the governments, corporate bodies, Non-Government organizations should help salvage Olókogbè festival. Also musicologists and researchers should commit time to document the various segment of the festival for posterity.
The question of motivation, choice and reward in relation to altruistic activity is of interest in the HiH program, which, although part of the music curriculum, claims to be a voluntary activity. Tacit pressure from parents is difficult to monitor. However teachers, both specialist music teachers and class teachers, are encouraged not to put any pressure on the children to participate and any influence from peers is discouraged and monitored. Over a ten-year period, there have been only a very small number of children who have chosen not to be part of the program. 117 The fact that the program is, as far as possible voluntary is of importance in establishing the motivating factors behind the children’s involvement. Knox says that, ‘according to economic analysis, “altruistic volunteers” are neither “truly” altruistic nor rational’, but argues that ‘“socio- economic man” is non-rationally minded and community minded.’ 118 What appears to motivate many of the children involved in the HiH program, according to their own statements, is simply a desire to ‘make people happy’. Other comments expressing similar thoughts include: ‘I remember singing songs at nursing homes while comprehension dawned on old ladies faces’ and ‘I like the times when we go to nursing homes; they like us singing to them because it reminds them of what it was like all those years ago.’
Several interviewees also implicated that music-making is good for society as well. The field coordinator credited the Project Manager for making music visible “… really she’s the one who put music in a visible way” (int-E-8, M 42:50-54); one music student expressed that people should appreciate music as more than mere entertainment, as an important part of life (int-N-2, MwB); and another music student praised the Musicians without Borders programs for making people aware that they themselves and their children can actually make music. “It helps to let people know about music. […] They should know that their children could make music. They know music from songs, they don’t know that they themselves can do music!” (int-N-6, MwB, 4:36-5:40) Also one of the Samba trainees spoke of “convincing” people of music, convincing them of the meaning and the use of Samba in this case. In the beginning the new Samba Band which he started with his friend in the cultural centre Ansaar in Walaja attracted a lot of negative opinions: people thought it was “silly”, messy and noisy. He said that he himself had not been sure of the value of learning samba, yet that the training convinced him; by the time of our interview, their band had performed at the end of the summercamp of Ansaar, during two different protests (one in cooperation with a theatre act) and even at a reception with the Prime Minister of the Palestinian Authority. When people dismissed their activities as useless, he tried to convince them by getting them involved, and also went to the parents of the children to explain what they were doing and why it is useful (int-E-12, MwB). Making music is not commonly done in his village, he told me; a few older people can provide music for weddings and dancing, but most of the younger people - I am told - are not interested (int-E-12, mus). “For sure I would [continue to participate with Musicians without Borders] because I would develop myself to benefit the community of Walaja, do more training, do more training to spread the idea.”(int-E-12, MwB, 8:40-8:13)
Della Rae Morrison has led the choir since its 2006 debut at the Zig Zag Festival, sharing the musical direction with Jessie Lloyd and later, George Walley. Morrison is Noongar and Lloyd a Murri from North Queensland. As the band Djiva 70 , Morrison and Lloyd have received both NAIDOC and Western Australia Music Industry (WAMi) awards. Morrison was born into a musical family and began singing in a choir in primary school, followed by high school. She later sang in a duo with her brother. Morrison was a member of the Yirra Yarkin Aboriginal Choir and Theatre Company. She played a role in the stage production of Bran Nue Day in the 1990s. Lloyd and Morrison are experienced music promoters. Together they directed South West Aboriginal Entertainment (SWAE). They are also experienced community singing leaders. In the mid-1990s Morrison taught ‘Universal Love’ by Lilly Radloff and Kathy Travers to the Coexistence Choir. It was the song she performed in the Deckchair Theatre production ‘Bratwurst and Damper’, staged by Deckchair Theatre in Fremantle. 71 Together, Morrison and Lloyd led the ‘Yowarliny’ choir at Yirra Yarkin and have facilitated choral projects in a number of communities in Western Australia. They brought some of that repertoire to MM. Lloyd also passed on the songs and stories from her own family and other communities based in Queensland, in the oral tradition to which she was accustomed. The composer of ‘Yil Lull’, Joe Geia, is Lloyd’s father. Alert also to the exotic attraction of Torres Strait Islander songs she introduced songs from that region. Like Morrison, Lloyd has been brought up in a musical family, learning harmonies and songs from her aunties, mother and older family members who were also musicians. Music making was and is part of the everyday.
The large music and dance group pictured above were called the Tropical Troubadours and performed in Malaytown in the 1940s. Note the ukuleles, guitars, mandolins, clarinets, banjo-mandolins, grass skirts and laes. The men would provide the instrumental music while the women would sing, dance and also play ukuleles out in front. The Pitt sisters and members of the Guivarra family are in this photo. “Hula” music was regularly performed and developed by Torres Strait Islanders in Cairns during the war and was influenced by Islander interactions with black American soldiers based in Cairns. Black American soldiers were not permitted to drink in mainstream hotels and therefore socialised with the Islander community in Malaytown. Auntie Mary Bowie, an enforced evacuee from Horn Island to Cairns, remembered hearing black American soldiers singing the blues in a striking example of an intercultural, informal, aurally based style of learning:
viewing public, local radio, the chat room, or social networking, for instance. Other work has focused on communities of interest, rather than ones spatially defined. Furthermore, community media, too, can claim a similar sociocultural tactic as community arts and festivals—a certain blurring of categories between production and consumption. Indeed, Howley (2005) argues that this is central to community media’s political impact: “By collapsing the distinction between media producers and media consumers . . . community media provide empirical evidence that local populations do indeed exercise considerable power at precisely the lasting and organizational levels” (p. 3). But what I have argued here is that there is an important initial distinction around the social act of congregation to be made within this specific context of community arts in relation to community media, even if it is a distinction made to be subsequently problematized. Where the production and dissemination of community arts and music are compellingly congregationist, community media and their various technologies do not rely on that same simple tactic. This matters precisely because of that same primary word, community, and what it might be claiming— that is, how the secondary words (community arts, communitymusic, community media) change the meaning and the experience of community.
I began by suggesting that both popular and scholarly representations of group musical performances tend to idealize musical community according to certain imaginative cultural narratives. When I examined one weekly Irish traditional music session, the interactions I witnessed and took part in, my discussions with the musicians concerned and their conflicting accounts of the session eventually led me to look more sceptically at representations of musical community in general and ultimately to question the adequacy of available theoretical models of collective musical experience to account for difference and conflict. I am referring here not to structural anthropology’s legacy of Romantic primitivism but to a linking of musical community and utopian social organization that is common to scholars in various disciplines and theoretical persuasions. This tendency seems especially to arise in cases where the writer has struggled to become accepted as a participant.
Having chosen to explore their vocation, an aspiring monastic must find a community to which he or she feels well suited. They may achieve this in their first choice of community, or may try two or more communities before settling; in any case, they will be given a taste of several houses of the Order where this is possible, and may indeed be required to move between sister houses to fulfill a need at the request of the Order. While their faith and commitment are not in question, the reality of community life is almost invariably far harder than had been anticipated. However, some aspects of monastic life can be established before entry, and these include the ‘uniform’ which often comprises a habit, and the sound of the chant which is used to support the prayer life of virtually all the communities. So if the chant enjoys such a high profile as the ‘voice’ of monasticism, how much of the appeal of monastic life can be attributed to the music itself? One may well consider that such an idea belongs firmly in the realms of romantic fiction, as in Rumer Godden’s In this House of Brede: ‘my love of music brought me to the convent. I came to hear the plainchant, and then I knew’ (Godden 1991, 67). However, while it would be very easy to dismiss this as romantic sentimentalism, Godden’s novel was written with the collaboration of the nuns of Stanbrook Abbey, a Roman Catholic community with a very strong musical tradition, and although most Religious would not consider ‘monastic’ music to have played a significant part in their choice of vocation – at least not consciously – it certainly appears to have strong associations. One British monk, Brother F, says that for him Latin plainchant was ‘the language of heaven’ with its own mystique, and that it was ‘the real thing’ and ‘what monks did’.
becoming, investing in, performing and being an Extreme Metal fan and what the distinct attachments and reasons to become embedded in a subcultural identity are. In addition, it attempts to explore the character of Extreme Metal music and how it relates to the social and cultural relations surrounding it. The thesis attempts to uncover the many dimensions of fan/subcultural attachments and commitments by employing a range of qualitative research methods with a group of Extreme Metal fans/subcultural participants. It uses semi-structured interviews, memory work, media elicitation and music elicitation within a research group context in order to create an arena in which to observe fan performances and interactions and to uncover their values, investments, attachments and feelings. By drawing upon a variety of theoretical concepts including Bourdieu‟s (1984) notions of habitus and distinction, Bakhtin‟s (1981; 1986) notions of „speech‟ community, and Brennan‟s (2003) „structures of feeling‟, this thesis considers Extreme Metal fans‟ subcultural habitus, distinctions and expert labours and the interaction of fans in creating that world via their etiquettes, repertoires and performances. It further attempts to explain Extreme Metal subculture behaviours via my participants‟ affective
My focus on the experiences of students within a community-based orchestral music education program resulted from my gaining increased familiarity with the music classroom as well as from personal motivation. Students aged 14 to 18 from the MTTE program represent a population of students who have been participants of the music program for several years, making them a logical choice for practical reasons. Although my position as an instructor and conductor with the MTTE has remained ongoing, the participants involved in this study were not students under my instruction or direction. The insights gained from this research may have a considerable impact upon teaching practices and program planning and, in turn, a positive impact on students. Additionally, as funding and access to music education programs continue to experience ebbs and flows with economic and educational changes in the public education setting, I believe that understanding the experiences of the students is crucial to improving music
If we assume from the research and anecdotal evidence that engagement with music has inherent properties to enhance well being, then it is only right that the well-being of those offering leadership in the field should be of concern. The issue of facilitator well being in communitymusic can at times be troubling. I have frequently seen communitymusic leaders socializing with congratulators and well-wishers after a performance, when they really seemed to need their own space for recovery. The need to fulfill the extra-musical aspects of the occupation, such as networking, might often override an obvious need for rest in various situations such as this. I do remember as Music Coordinator at Footscray Community Arts Centre and Musical Director of its Multicultural Choir, often feeling rather fraudulent in that I would promote singing and communitymusic participation as a great source of well being, while at the same time, I was running myself into the ground with work and often felt that my own engagement with the activity had a destructive influence on my health. The problem was strongly related to resources, as well as training and organizational structure issues.
In this chapter we examine the role of a service like Smart Radio. We compare the value chain for traditional off-line music distribution and new on-line digital distribution models, and suggest that the current initiatives by the music industry are predicated upon maintaining centralised control over the means of production and the means of distribution. We discuss the interests of content providers, creators and consumers in this debate. The music/movie industry has issued warnings about its impending demise whenever new recording media has been introduced such as the videotape and the cassette tape (Frith 1993). However, unlike these situations the Internet has forever changed the manner in which music can be distributed. We look at music industry initiatives to provide legal, secure music services on-line and examine how Smart Radio could be situated as a commercial service. Several reports identify value-added features as the key for content providers to coax users from file-sharing networks. We suggest that Smart Radio adds significant added value in that, like file-sharing networks, it taps into resources made available by other users: in this case, music expertise. Unlike the file-sharing networks where content is available in an unregulated form, the Smart Radio system can operate as a valued added service for a legally operated music provider. The personalisation offered by a service like Smart Radio is transparent, and not open to abuse by the marketing strategies of the content provider. We suggest that this type of lightly moderated community would prove attractive to users who value the ethos of the file-sharing networks.
The concerns of communitymusic during the Northern Ireland project outlined above are also the ongoing concerns of community musicians in England and beyond. Practice wisdom suggests that music leaders continually reflect on how their role is perceived, how they and others perceive their identity and positionality, and how they make worthwhile relational encounters with the other. Similarly, finding the right partners and ensuring the chosen venue is physically and psychologically accessible and safe is a consideration in almost every project. Perhaps the difference in places like Northern Ireland, which have seen war and conflict, is that the stakes are higher. We need to work with the other on equal terms if we want any chance of building a peaceful future. We need to have safe spaces where we can express our differences and our similarities in ways that are creative if we want to move our thinking out of hate-filled blind alleys. And we need to engage our young people in activities that are deeply involving, life affirming and over which they have a sense of ownership, if we want them to turn from a violence filled past to a future of mutual respect.
Recognition of music’s para-musical affordances, along with our inborn musicality as a species, returns us to the imperative that humans have access to musical experiences. As a music-centered music therapist, my role may be “to midwife music’s help in situations where people can’t necessarily access it for themselves” (Ansdell, 2014, p. 296), “making music possible” (Stige, 2010, p. 16). Powerfully, Aigen (2014) asserts that it is problematic to presume that people with disabilities “must have their access to music based upon nonmusical criteria that are different from other members of society” (p. 72). Just as non-institutionalized members of society may choose to participate in musical engagement for the sake of musical engagement— and in doing so, may experience a host of music’s para-musical affordances—so too must those with less agency have such access. Ansdell (2014) proclaims that “We must preserve musicking for its own sake, not to achieve something else (even when it often does just this)” (p. 300). In this dissertation, both the Coffee House and the Arts Express camp exemplify this paradox: musicking both for its own sake and with a whole host of impacts.
the chapter result from an interpretive and comparative study of three main sources: 1) a live audio recording of the premiere with live commentary from an uncredited male speaker; 2) 7 one-sided typescript pages with a scene-by-scene synopsis of the opera bearing the following header: “N.B. La presente stesura dello schema narrative di Hyperion ripete fedelmente i dettagli dello spettacolo rappresentato a Venezia nel settembere 1963 [sic] in occasione del Festival Internazionale di musica contemporanea. Regia di Virginio Puecher e Rosita Lupi;” 3) 13 numbered one-sided pages of detailed stage notes, in all likelihood penned by Puecher; this set provides detailed cues for tape materials, lights and on-stage movements starting from scene 3, which is when the music begins. Copies of all these materials were consulted at the Archivio Bruno Maderna in Bologna. The digital copy of the premiere recording is filed as “Tape A4,” while the written materials are found under section GIII of the archive. I here wish to thank Nicola Verzina—director of the Maderna archive in Bologna—for his help in the consultation of the materials. The originals of these documents are housed at the Paul Sacher Foundation in Basel. I wish to thank Angela Ida De Benedicts for her expertise, advice, and
Members of a choir for homeless men reported several benefits of group singing: it alleviated depression, required concentration to learn, and developed social skills (Bailey and Davidson, 2002). Furthermore, performing to an audience encouraged a sense of personal worth. Group singing and performance can produce satisfying and therapeutic sensations even when the sound produced by the voice is of mediocre quality (ibid.). Communitymusic enhances health and well-being, and individuals facing extraordinary adversity have gained emotional resilience through music making (Procopis and Dillon, 2011). A music program for imprisoned women from poor neighbourhoods, with very low level of literacy and drug related crime, has promoted confidence in their capacities and contributed to the construction of resilience (Mota, 2012). A study on the effects of group music in adults with chronic mental illness and disability has shown that choir singing presents an opportunity for meaningful social interactions that help reduce social isolation (Dingle et al., 2012). Other relevant benefits result from the choir’s musical activities such as the reward of feeling pride from performing for the public (Bailey and Davidson, 2005) and the emotional and health benefits for the participants, associated with forming a new and valued group identity as a choir member (Dingle et al., 2012).