A Blog Book, by Victor Grauer



. . . . . for Alan Lomax, who lives . . . . .



I felt that their music came from the back of time, but also, to a certain extent, from my own depths.

Simha Arom


For Table of Contents, see Blog Archive, below and to the right.


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Sunday, February 6, 2011

Sidebar -- Preliminary Considerations

Before I continue to Chapter One, it's important that I make my position clear regarding what may well be the two most problematic aspects of my research: the emphasis on musical evidence, which is rarely if ever taken seriously in the literature on anthropology and cultural evolution; and my notion of  cultural continuity, which departs radically from what has become a persistent dogma of the social sciences, the insistence that continual change pervades all aspects of cultural history.
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The Musical Dimension
Typically, when confronted with musical evidence, most anthropologists simply throw up their hands, as if to say “what do you expect of us, we are not musicians and are therefore not in a position to comment one way or the other.” The fact that most are not linguists either, or archaeologists, doesn't discourage them from taking that sort of evidence very seriously. But linguistics and archaeology are part of the standard anthropological quadrivium, while musicology is not.

This is unfortunate, because musical traditions clearly occupy a position in most cultures comparable in importance to language, or even moreso, as evidenced by the strong tendency in many societies to retain a traditional musical style even in the face of significant cultural and linguistic change. Moreover, music has much in common with language, and can even be considered a language in its own right, as reflected in many semiotic studies. The relationship between the two has been expressed by a great many different thinkers, from ancient times to the present, in many different ways.
Clearly a great many people have attached considerable importance to music, as evidenced by the enormous number and range of writings devoted to this topic by some of our greatest thinkers over thousands of years. So why are musical traditions so shamefully neglected by anthropology? More to the point, why isn't music considered at least as important to the study of culture as language?
Cultural Continuity
Many social scientists see the perpetuation of a tradition from one generation to the next as something like the reproduction of a tape recording, which loses a certain amount of information each time it's dubbed. From one generation to the next, hardly anything appears to have been lost. But over the course of several dubbings, the original may no longer be recognizable. A favorite analogy is with the well known game of “Rumor,” where someone whispers something to his nearest neighbor, who repeats the message to the next in line, until, after several repetitions, the original message may well be distorted beyond recognition.

In both cases, communication is based on the linear transmission of a signal from a sender to a receiver through an “analogue” process. But cultural transmission operates in a very different manner. For one thing it is not linear. Culture is not simply passed on from a sender to a receiver, because culture is not so much a message as a multivalent lattice or field. Nor is it simply a means of communication, but a generative and regenerative process through which reality itself is constructed. Each new generation is immersed in this “reality” from birth, and its effects accumulate very rapidly to the point that most children are thoroughly conditioned by the time their first sentences are spoken.

Unlike analogue recordings (or archaeological artifacts), culturally transmitted information won't necessarily diminish or get distorted over time, because, as with digital recording technology, what is preserved is not only the information itself, but the process by which the information is stored and retrieved. Transmission errors can certainly occur during digital encoding, but most can be caught and corrected through the use of a checksum, or similar self-correcting scheme. The cultural equivalent of the checksum is the process by which the entire community is continually available to assist and correct the novice whenever a “transmission error” occurs. What we have, therefore, is not simply communication from generation to generation but an integrated and continually reinforced network; not a chain held together link by link, but a chain-link lattice of tightly interwoven connections with multiple self-correction mechanisms.

In light of the above, it is not that difficult to understand how a particular tradition can be “handed down” from “generation to generation” over thousands, or tens of thousands, of years with only minimal or superficial change. Because, for one thing, it is not really “handed down,” but maintained as part of a cultural field that permeates the awareness of everyone in it. And secondly, the generational aspect is almost irrelevant, since there is never a point in time separating one generation from another, but, again, an ongoing temporal field within which individuals of all ages are engulfed. Consequently, there is never a moment of transmission when something is handed down but a continual process of cultural imprinting, enforcement and re-enforcement.

And if such a process can suffice to maintain a certain tradition for a hundred, or two hundred, or five hundred, or a thousand years, then, if the society is sufficiently isolated, or capable of resisting external pressure from neighboring groups, there is no reason to assume the same process can't continue for two thousand, five thousand, ten thousand or, indeed, one hundred thousand years, or more. Once such a process gets going there is no intrinsic reason for it to stop. There is in fact no provision for significant change in such systems, which, especially among the most tradition-minded indigenous societies, are designed in such a way as to resist any innovation not directly associated with survival.

This is not to say that a certain amount of “drift” is out of the question. We know very well that cultural dialects can be and are being produced on a regular basis. But such dialects tend to develop via localized linear transmissions that are almost always subsumed within the overall, nonlinear, field. Thus the innumerable variants of particular folk songs have no effect on the overall structure and performance style of all such songs, which remain essentially fixed within prescribed norms.

According to this model, traditions are likely to change only when confronted by powerful external forces capable of distorting or destroying the cultural fields that maintain them. If such forces are never encountered, then both the fields and the traditions will tend to persist. The model should be understood as applying most strongly to non-specialized, indigenous peoples, whose attachment to ancestral traditions is demonstrably stronger than that of more specialized societies, where competition between specialists can over-ride traditional constraints in favor of innovation.

10 comments:

  1. I wonder if what you say about the anthropological indifference to music couldn't be extended to include mathematics and studio art as well. In all three cases, the disciplines in question require acquisition of technical expertise that pushes people whose education has stressed the spoken and written word beyond their comfort zone.

    We might even go further and observe that, as soon as a subfield begins to require specific forms of technical competence it becomes peripheral to those for whom scholarship is largely confined to reading and writing. How many social or cultural anthropologists acquire more than the smattering of knowledge of linguistics, biology, or craft (in stone, clay, wood, bone, or paint) that can be acquired through reading as opposed to practice?

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  2. Well, John, once upon a time math was an important part of anthropology, and all students were expected to learn statistics. I'm not sure if that's still the case, but from what I read in the literature over the last 20 years or so, I see little evidence of it. Cultural studies seems to have almost completely taken over.

    I'm not sure what you mean by "studio art."

    You write: "We might even go further and observe that, as soon as a subfield begins to require specific forms of technical competence it becomes peripheral to those for whom scholarship is largely confined to reading and writing."

    Maybe it would be more accurate to say that there is a tendency for anthropology, like many other academic disciplines, to continually subdivide into subfields that rarely communicate with one another.

    In my view it's not really necessary for anthropologists to be trained in every relevant subfield. But it IS important for them to pay attention to these fields, rather than simply ignore them. I'm not a biologist but I can understand enough in the population genetics literature to follow the most interesting developments.

    As far as music is concerned, however, my argument is not only that it should count for something rather than be ignored, but also that it is of special importance, that it ranks right up there with language as a key cultural element, and as such ought to be at the center rather than the periphery of anthropological training and research.

    We learned music notation when I was in 1st grade, so how difficult would it be to include some sort of elementary music theory in an introductory anthro program?

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  3. "Studio art"? Not sure that is the best term, just the best I came up with on the fly as I groped for some way to refer to the kind of art classes where you get your hands dirty, as opposed to looking at slides and talking about them.

    I take your point about the continual subdivision of fields. Are you familiar with the work of Chicago sociologist Andrew Abbott? His Chaos of Disciplines is an interesting take on this problem.

    The argument that music is of special importance is one I find personally appealing. My own life has improved dramatically since I joined a men's chorus a year and a bit ago, and music returned to the central importance in my life that it had when I was a kid taking piano lessons and playing trombone in a high school band.

    The problem, I imagine, is a Catch-22. Since music is neglected, it appears less important than it is. Students who study anthropology don't get taught about it and learn, in effect, that it is of only peripheral interest. Those who become teachers of anthropology repeat the cycle. The question is how to break that cycle.

    Given the scale of the modern music industry and the central roll it plays in contemporary iLives, I wonder if retargeting your message might be the key. I am thinking of people who read things like Your Brain on Music. The adman in me wonders how to reach them.

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  4. Thanks for the well meaning suggestion, John. What I have to say is so different from books like "Your Brain on Music" that I am forced to realize, rather painfully, that maybe I'm not capable of writing a popular work, geared to a wide general audience. That's what I was hoping this book could be, but maybe it's ballooned out of control into something more narrowly academic. I hope not, but realistically the ideas I'm trying to get across don't exactly make for light reading. (sigh)

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  5. When the academic work is done, you may be able to find a Malcolm Gladwell. If you main concern is getting the ideas out, that might be the best strategy.

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  6. Victor, I'm one of those people who read the Levitin and found it interesting and broadly enjoyable. I had a few little issues with it too.

    I think you can go more technical than Levitin and still have a popular audience. I see this project as suitable for people who read 'Your Brain on Music' as well as a few other books. 'Reading in the Brain', Stanislas Dehaene; 'The Collapse of Chaos', Ian Stewart and Jack Cohen;
    'Sync', Steven Strogatz. I'd also think about recent ethnographic writing like 'Traveling Home: Sacred Harp Singing and American Pluralism' by Kiri Miller and 'Real Country' by Aaron A. Fox. To a certain extent, Richard Dawkins's earlier popular science writing. All of these struggle with presenting complex work at a level that sustains the interest of a non-expert, while dealing with subtleties and complexities. Miller and Fox deal well with maintaining scholarly integrity and not romanticizing (too much)
    the people they discuss.

    I'm almost the exact market for these kinds of projects: I think it's tremendously important to know what ways of thinking about the world are being developed in other disciplines, and why people in them believe what they do. Light reading is not what I'm looking for: all I want is clarity, and the acknowledgement that I'm not a member of the industry and do need to at least have the option of having certain assumptions explained to me. Stewart and Cohen do this terrifically, as does Steven Strogatz.

    What I want from these books is *complicated* reading -- things that I don't already know, things that challenge my assumptions and let me profit from the years of experience and hard work of somebody else, either by agreeing with them or not. If you can navigate the problems of explaining to newcomers without boring the hell out of those already familiar with the academic context of the work, great -- otherwise, you may need to split the content up a bit. The nice thing about your format is that you can hyperlink from the text to posts that review how you are using particular concepts for people who need the background.

    The blog does give you that problem though: with an audience of *anybody*, how much responsibility should you take to ensure that everybody could understand the work? I think there is a particular audience for this book as a popular-science-type text, and that the kind of people who buy 'This is Your Brain on Music' or 'Musicophilia' are as happy to wade into genetic anthropology as they are into cognitive neuroscience. They are pursuing the question of what music is and how it relates to human beings.

    Not everything can be marketed as well as Levitin's book, with all of his connections as a producer to famous rock musicians.

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  7. I appreciate your thoughtful commentary, Mark. I too enjoy books on science, anthropology, music, genetics, etc. that are challenging and complex, and make for heavy rather than light reading. And there must be a lot of others like us, or such books would never get published.

    I guess it's a matter of getting the word out to the right people, which is quite a challenge in itself, at least for me.

    Anyhow, if you see anything in what I've written that poses a problem for a reader like yourself, not only my logic or any claims I might be making, but also as a matter of sheer readability, please let me know.

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  8. First, I would second the comments pushing back against your worry that your work might be unreadably arcane for general readers. Although I've only gotten as far as this point in the book, and a few posts over time from the lists, I don't find your authorial voice irritatingly pedantic or dry in the least, even when you're delving into your material and ideas. It seems natural that the readers who will enjoy and appreciate this will gravitate to the blog just as they would have to a book, and the other kind will leave it alone.

    To your point about music not being part of the current "quadrivium," your choice of that word reminded me just how much it was in that high and central position in Western intellectual history in the persons and works of Augustine, Boethius, etc. This sweeping kind of theorizing from close ethno/musicological studies of broad but select swathes of material is redolent of much popular scholarship--Jared Diamond, EO Wilson, etc.--and a great tradition of more narrowly musical scholarship (Sachs, Rouget, Schneider, Lomax) that may yet have an even greater day in the sun (perhaps coaxed along by your work; it's certainly always been my preferred cup of tea as a scholar, compared to the other stuff on the table).

    To your point about the conservation rather than dissolution/corruption of information, I also thought of the biological body itself being the most obvious and prime transmitter of this field you speak of (i.e., before it's socialized to become the carrier of the kind of info you're most concerned with). My thought turns in that direction because the music I've been most involved with is freely improvised, and "experimentally"-idiosyncratically composed (rather than spun out of traditions or systems). When you glanced at that with your last line about innovation, I thought of how often my studies of such spontaneous creations led me to the biological ground of culture, in the human body (mind included, of course). That too is a common ground we share with forgotten ancestors, obviously, and the music it generates apart from conscious, deliberate culturization has its own suggestive things to say about deep history, just as the physical details themselves do.

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  9. Mike, what you say about the sort of music you like to make definitely resonates with me. I too have been interested in body-centered music and I too have often wondered about where my own music, and the music of so many composers I admire, fits in the grand "traditional" scheme of things.

    What I think has happened is that the whole notion of tradition and our growing awareness of "traditional" music and culture generally from so many corners of the world has brought about a fundamental change in the way culture operates in the modern world.

    Unlike the "tradition-bound" societies of the past, we have become aware of these processes and are now able to work with them and/or against them in ways that were never before possible. In other words, for "traditional" societies, tradition is/was of great importance, but "tradition" as a concept, as something that could be thought about, researched, criticized, altered, or challenged never emerged into people's consciousness in the way it has for us.

    Which means that we are free to tap into aspects of the arts and sciences that are, from the traditional perspective, completely new. On the other hand, nothing is completely new, and it's very possible that there are traditional forces at work of which we are unaware.

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  10. Mike, what you've written about body-centered music and the possibility of tapping into that very different aspect of "deep history" interests me very much. I've actually done a lot of thinking and writing about that issue, though that was some time ago. I don't think we can tap directly into "nature" or "the body" but I do see in the work of certain modernists some powerful efforts to subvert the manner in which culture and tradition can condition our awareness of ourselves and the world around us.

    If you're curious you might want to check out the following article, published in Music Theory Online, back in the 90's:

    http://www.mtosmt.org/issues/mto.96.2.6/mto.96.2.6.grauer.html

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