As many are probably aware, June 19th (or “Juneteenth”) is now regarded as a federal holiday in the United States. This event, which commemorates the abolition of slavery in Texas and the official end of slavery in the U.S. on June I9, 1865, has been widely celebrated among African Americans for several decades. I had first become acquainted with the concept of Juneteenth a few years ago while conducting research for an upcoming musicological investigation on the Gullah Geechee community. Thinking within the contexts of music, especially considering that this holiday forms part of Black Music Appreciation Month, what are some of the best ways to reflect on Juneteenth: specifically, for those who may be unfamiliar with it or those outside the community?

Perhaps, the most important aspect of this celebration is educating oneself about Juneteenth; specifically, fully understanding the significance of emancipation and the struggles that African Americans and marginalized groups have endured in the past and present regarding discrimination and Civil Rights. For instance, I attended the Junteenth celebration at the Savannah African Art Museum. Part of teaching the public about this occasion involved the sacred process of Libations to honor and praise African ancestors. The celebration also featured moments of communal participation by performing with shakers and drums in unison (including some readymade versions of percussive instruments via found objects).

Regarding more about music, many have taken this moment to compile playlists from different Black artists and genres that reflect upon the impact of Juneteenth. Pianist Lara Downes has provided a fitting list of tracks that span from pop to classical and jazz. In terms of musicology or ethnomusicological research through preservation, I refer to a point that I address in my research about the Gullah Geechee: one that I cannot stress enough. Demonstrating cultural respect and tact, especially in the era of social media, matters: not using Juneteenth as an opportunity to distort its meaning. Those wishing to know more about the African American past from those who personally experienced enslavement can consult resources at places like the Library of Congress. I find the archival audio recordings related to the topic a slightly better alternative to the textual transcripts provided by the Works Progress Administration (WPA) Federal Writers' Project from the 1930s and 40s. That is because audiences get to hear the voices of the informants and not the researcher trying to "speak for" the people. And, as always, researchers must remember to respect the privacy of the informants who have been recorded and the privacy of their possible descendants.  

I would like to take a moment to commemorate National Radio Month (El Mes Nacional de la Radio) in Puerto Rico. This is not to be confused with similar commemorative events concerning radio, like World Radio Day on February 13th (sponsored by UNESCO) and National Radio Day on August 20th.  From its introduction on the island nearly a century ago, this form of audio technology has provided audiences in Puerto Rico with access to a plethora of genres: from live broadcasts of música jíbara (Puerto Rican folk music), to radio dramas and comedies, to news and international broadcasts. I have talked extensively about the hisotrical, social, and economic impacts of radio on the island from the 1920s to 40s in The Jíbaro and the Gaucho United in Music and Song[1], both in terms of the technology and the foundation of radio stations like WKAQ in 1922. That radio station is currently still in operation (albeit under ownership by Univision Radio) as a Spanish language talk radio station. National Radio Month also functions as a time to both honor and appreciate radio broadcasters. That aspect presents a personal connection for me. because my grandfather was a Political Science professor who had a radio program in the 1960s on WEUC (Emisora Universidad Católica). That station has since changed to the FM band under WPUC (Pontifico Universidad Católica) 88.9.

   


[1] Readers can find this excerpt from my book in the following blog post from September 15, 2020.

In an earlier blog post, I wrote about Native American classical music by stressing the significance of cultural representation. Allow me to expand upon that thought by adding that the diversity of musical genres and influences is equally imperative when considering specific Native American tribes. For instance, take the Cherokee based in North Carolina and Oklahoma. Through my recent travels to the southeastern region of the community, I initially observed instances of musical instruments and procedures used for ceremonial purposes. These ranged from drums and rattles to myriad facemasks and ceremonies used to represent aspects of social life: be it celebrating corn harvesting, or foreshadowing events. Concerning that last part, some facemasks and ceremonies, like the Booger Dance, functioned from a religious standpoint to determine a person's health. It also foretold the coming of foreign colonial invaders from Europe. Thinking within the context of how these colonizers brought diseases as they conquered the New World, and within the contemporary context of the COVID-19 pandemic, such a name makes logical sense.

The music of the Cherokee today extends well beyond ceremonies, many of which are restricted to the public out of privacy concerns. One must also take into consideration the influences and adaptations of cultures outside the community through the incorporation of the fiddle, bluegrass, and (in certain instances) Christian hymnody. That latter aspect goes beyond the scope of this brief post, and the historical imposition of European Christianity on Native American communities proves to be a controversial topic: one that I will not address here. What matters for this post is that the Cherokee incorporate the use of phonetics from the Cherokee Syllabary (the linguistic system developed by Sequoyah in 1821) and shape notes via cultural memory  In this respect, recent editions  of Cherokee hymnbooks from the 2010s function as forms of linguistic and cultural preservation.

2021 is shaping up to become as equally unpredictable and bizarre as the previous year. In terms of what has been happening in the music world, there is still the dilemma of musicians, composers, and established institutions trying to both survive in the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic and establish relevance. What has made this year so far musically unpredictable has been the resurgence of archaic genres that are being used in contemporary times genres like the nineteenth-century sea shanty, which has exploded in popularity on social media platforms and in video games. How could folk music from the nineteenth century become popular again in the 2020s? On the surface, this question seemed baffling to me.
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The more that I investigated the situation, the more that it made logical sense. Sea shanties, or “shanties,” from the nineteenth function as part of the European-American and Anglo-American folk music cultural traditions. Although the United Kingdom receives frequent academic attention in relation to shanties, primarily because of the ethnographic field work from Cecil James Sharp (1859-1924), this type of music is not linguistically restricted to just English. Nor are sea shanties heard only in Europe. The field recordings of sea shanties at the Library of Congress, collected by Sydney Robertson Cowell and others, had demonstrated their diasporic, transnational influence in the United States.

Why, then, do sea shanties matter for audiences in the twenty-first century? Looking into the purpose behind the sea shanty presents a valid reason. The folk genre served as a form of recreational music through group singing to help sailors pass the time as they worked in the shipyards. Ethnomusicologists like Cecil Sharp have tried notating this unaccompanied music in the past for curious audience as part of the folk music revival in England in the early twentieth century. Some examples of his efforts can be found online via JSTOR*. In the era of COVID-19, the sea shanty takes on new contexts. It helps to musically connect with people who have been remotely isolated. It also functions as a vehicle to describe current events, such as the details surrounding the GameStop stock trading back in January. In this way, the genre that was once old and forgotten is revitalized for a new generation of listeners and artists.  


* A note about JSTOR: University students can access this academic platform through their institution. Those outside of academia, like independent researchers, can either read up to 100 articles per month (without downloads), pay for the JPASS subscription service, or pay to download individual articles. That last option is often not the best because of the fluctuating price range for each article, regardless of how old or new the scholarly materials are.

 Carnival combines sacred and secular customs and practices, modelled after the French customs. Festivities in the southern region of Ponce, Puerto Rico date back to Spanish colonial times in the 1850s, introduced by Jose de la Guardia in the form of a masquerade. The title for today's post refers to a "call and response" chant sung during Carnival celebrations on the island. Carnival occurs in the same season as Mardi Gras in New Orleans, LA and Carnaval in Brazil on the week before Ash Wednesday and the start of the Lenten season. More specifically, the series of parades and performances are intended to reflect the end of the winter season and (in terms of Christianity) provide people with a final opportunity to celebrate and indulge before fasting for Lent.  
 
In terms of music, Carnival would not be as effective without its inclusion. Puerto Rico is no exception, as celebrations on the island incorporate a variety of genres: música jíbara, bomba, plena, salsa, and reggaeton, among others. As evidenced in a Spanish documentary video from 2012, this reflects the musical diversity in Puerto and encourages inclusion. Choices for musical selections and representation in the carnival depend on the production team that wins the bid to sponsor the event that year.
 
While Carnival in Puerto Rico derives inspiration from the French cultural tradition, some key aspects on the island allude to Spanish, Latin American and Caribbean customs: most notably, the combination of African, Taino, and European cultures. One of the most significant of these fusions stems from the symbolic use of the vejigante: a fusion of the Spanish words for “bladder” (“vejiga”) and “giant” (“gigante”). It is so named because the people dressed as vejigantes carry inflated cow bladder sacks to mischievously interact with the audience. The origins of the vejigante and Puerto Rican Carnival are quite complex, spanning from either the Medieval era or Spanish colonization. The purpose behind the colorful costume and masks of the vejigante also varies. Two iterations that I have encountered focus on lampooning the Moors, while others describe it as a demon meant to frighten and persuade audiences to go to Church for Lent.
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It also deserves mention that vejigante masks are not restricted to Carnival, nor to Ponce. They are also used as part of the Fiesta de Santiago Apóstol (Festival of St. James the Apostle) in Loiza, which occurs in July. Some may recall that I referred to the cultural traditions in Loiza several years ago in the “Musicology” section of this site. The vejigante mask shown there is primarily constructed from a coconut shell, carved, adorned with pegs for horns, and painted. There are videos online that show how artisans on the island create the masks in that format: the other common version involving paper mache. 

For the past several years, I have been researching the musicological and cultural aspects of African and Latin American studies. As we commemorate the impact of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I would like to take a moment to share some examples of pieces by composers inspired by his words and actions. New Morning for the World (1983) by Joseph Schwantner (b. 1943) is an orchestral piece with narrator that features selected text from Dr. King. While most of the text for this work derives from King’s Civil Rights speeches from the 1960s, Schwantner presents this material in fragments to try and offer a more thorough portrayal beyond the “I Have a Dream” speech. Schwanter utilizes texts that concentrate more on chronicling the struggle against oppression and racial inequality. Another piece that deserves mention is “His Light Still Shines” (2002) by contemporary choral composer Moses Hogan (1957-2003). Like New Morning for the World, Hogan incorporates the use of narrator, albeit with a choir. “His Light Still Shines” also serves as a commemoration of the life of Dr. King and his accomplishments, with selected arrangements of spirituals. Most important, Hogan encourages audiences  to neither forget nor diminish the legacy of Dr. King decades after his passing. You can find the recording to this piece here. 

This Thanksgiving I have thinking about the impact that music has had on this holiday: specifically, what might have been performed during the 1620s in the New World. Sources that I have encountered about this topic, like from Kylie Harwell. demonstrate examples from both the Wampanoag Indians and Pilgrims. In terms of music from the Wampanoag, Harwell discusses the significance of the water drum, which was used primarily for ceremonial purposes. This does not suggest, however, that the water drum is strictly a Wampanoag instrument, as different tribes across the United States have also used it. Those looking for details on the overall construction of a water drum should check out this video. It provides a step-by-step tutorial for how to build a Woodland Indian water drum: so named because the water inside the drum determines the timbre and pitch when struck.

There are also extant examples of psalmody brought over from England to the New World. Harwell stresses the importance of the Psalter by Henry Ainsworth from 1612. Dr. Paul Jehle confirms this information via research from the Plymouth Rock Foundation. Jehle notes that, even though the Pilgrims sang these English translations of Biblical Psalms in the New World, Ainsworth originally used the Psalter while living in Amsterdam. One can find examples of psalmody by Ainsworth like in this video. Notice that the presentation of the score features only the melody and text with no added instrumentation. Jehle describes this music, written in the C clef, as a form of resistance against the strict nature of the Church of England. Of course, he also says that the Pilgrims did perform musical instruments and other types of songs outside of church services. Here are some photographs of when I visited Plymouth, MA several years ago, including a snapshot of the "Plymouth Rock."

Today, as we celebrate the Day of the Musician, I would like to congratulate all my musician friends, performers, and collaborators. This year has been especially challenging for everyone, but your contributions to the arts makes all the difference in the world and has motivated people to  keep going. May you all continue to work tirelessly in your efforts to create and inspire current and future generations of people. 

As part of Native American Heritage Month, I would like to devote time in this post to briefly exploring the significance of Native American composers of classical music. As many might recall I have already talked the myriad issues associated with classical music and cultural stereotyping. This has also, unfortunately, been the case for Native American culture. The goal of this post, though, is to demonstrate how American Indian composers approach classical genres while retaining parts of their culture through proper representation.

The first and most important aspect to note is that “Native American” or “American Indian” denotes multiple tribes across the U.S. and should not be perceived in the classical world (or any genre for that matter) as a single group. As Gail Wein notes in her research, the plethora of Native American composers—many of whom either lived on reservations or are of Native American descent—reflect that diversity. They draw inspiration from folktales and customs and incorporate these ideas within classical music genres, like chamber pieces, solo works and symphonies, and choral pieces. Wein cites Louis  Ballard (Quapaw) (1931-2007) as one the first Native American composers to advocate for proper cultural  representation through education. He is best remembered for his pieces Why the duck has a short tail (1967) for narrator and orchestra, as well as his Incident at Wounded Knee (1974) for chamber orchestra. Although audio recordings of music by Ballard are surprisingly difficult to locate (at least, through social media and music streaming services), listeners can still access a few of his pieces, like his Four American Indian Piano Preludes (1963)    

Of course, contemporary Native American composers are aware of the dangers associated with cultural misinterpretation through performance practice in classical music. Jerod Impichchiaachaaha’ Tate (Chickisaw) once spoke about this problem in an interview with the American Composers Forum. He describes the challenge for performing Native American  classical music stems from avoiding stereotypical sounds. As a possible solution, Tate suggests drawing inspiration from Impressionistic music, citing Ravel and Debussy as examples because of their emphasis on musical coloration.