The twist and the
turn, part I
The twist and the
turn, part II
The project: choices,
limitations and terminology
Corporeality
in music listening
Corporeality
in the field of music psychology
Corporeality
in ethnomusicology and popular music studies
Corporeality
in music analysis
The approach of
the dance music producer
Introduction
Prologue
the twist and the turn, Part I
Elvis Presley not only
introduced rockÕnÕroll to a broader American audience but also
demonstrated an immodest corporeal engagement with the music, in a society
where the body was significantly constrained by moral and religious anxiety. Presley and his
contemporaries showed a whole new generation of listeners how rhythm in
music could cause liberating (and enjoyable) bodily movement. A few years
later, in 1960, Chubby
Checker released a cover
version of a song by Hank
Ballard and the Midnighters called The Twist. The dance
move that followed established individual dancing once and for all in modern Western culture. Many
of the dance records following The Twist provided instructions in the lyrics for how to move to
them, but participants invented their own variations as well. As Bill Brewster and Frank
Broughton observe in their book about the history of the DJ: ÒIt [The Twist]
required no partner, no routine, no ritual, no training.Ó[1]
The
fitting term Òimprovised social dancingÓ[2]
further characterizes this practice of enjoying music through body movement,
not as prearranged steps or moves but as an improvisational response to
rhythmic elements. During the dance fads of the early 1960s, the disco movement
of the mid-1970s, and the rave and club scenes of the late 1980s and 1990s,
dancing represented the dominant interaction with music for a large number of
participants in popular music culture. Perhaps as a consequence, aspects of
groove and rhythmic drive have been increasingly important to the producers of
popular music throughout this time period.
Interestingly,
the general popular and scholarly discourse on 1960s rock portrays a turn away from
dancing, towards a listening practice supposedly more focused on the music or
its performers.[3]
The shift towards this mode of reception for rock was probably also influenced
by discourses on jazz and Western classical music. Simon
Frith describes the classical concert as Òmeasured by the stillness it
commands, by the intensity of the audienceÕs mental concentration, by the lack
of any physical distraction.Ó[4] Equal
scholarly status for rock music, might have appeared to require a similar
concentrated involvement and attitude of respect towards the music and its
musicians. Dancing as a form of musical reception did not fit this picture.[5]
the twist and the turn, Part II
In
my hometown in the 1970s, we
had a disco at my local youth centre every Thursday evening. Here as a teenager
I experienced my first real twisting to music, with a DJ, disco lights, and
American dance music. My fascination with dancing (and dance music) took root,
and it flourished in the 1980s and even more intensively in the 1990s as the
wave of club-oriented dance music swept through various European cities.
Spending Friday and Saturday nights at central clubs in Oslo, Norway, I learned to
appreciate the great potential for creative corporeal response (or dancing)
that was present in this new music.
Concurrently,
in the mid-1980s I turned towards an academic study of music and was introduced
to a culture in which the corporeal response to music was considered less
appropriate. The music I listened to (and danced to) received little attention
there. As I became more interested in academic research and music analysis, I
began to search for approaches that could measure and explain the qualities of
dance music. This quest brought me in contact with two pioneers in popular
music analysis: Philip Tagg
and Richard
Middleton.[6]
They saw the need for a dedicated study of popular music given what they
perceived to be the inadequacy of analytical methods aimed at Western classical
music.[7]
Among the shared central premises of their work were (1) that the object of
analysis had to be placed within a cultural and historical context and (2) that
the central position of notation in music analysis should not dictate the
musical parameters to be studied. These premises were further discussed and
developed by later scholars.[8]
MiddletonÕs utterly unique work from 1993, where he outlines the theoretical
and methodical perspectives for an analysis of Òmusical gestures,Ó is
particularly relevant here, demonstrating as it does that an analytical
approach might also engage corporeality.[9] But
this approach was not adequately developed to deal with the challenges of
groove-based dance music. Eventually, then, I realized that I would have to
form my own approach. I began with a few simple questions: How do I judge the
success of a particular dance track? What do I consider to be the most
significant quality of dance music?
These
initial questions were not too difficult to answer. For me, successful dance
music made me want to move but also made dancing itself fascinating, and the
most significant quality was the musicÕs ability to evoke these movements. But
what specifically musical elements brought this about? And how might the moving
body be used to measure those elements?
These
questions were more challenging. Various contributors to popular music studies
have been quite productive in engaging with related topics like associative
meanings, identity markers, or generic features, but connections between music
and dancing had long been disregarded. Though dancing was recognized as an
important factor in the popularity of pop and rock, its perceptual and
psychological aspects lay dormant in the scholarship. How could the dancing
body, and its apparently unlimited creative response to music be subject to
scholarly investigation? I needed a theoretical framework that would be
relevant to the culture in question and adaptable to academic exposition.
The
poumtchak pattern
How,
then, could the twist
and the turn
– the dancing and the theoretical approach – be brought together? I
decided to begin with a rhythmic pattern that I found in myriad dance tracks
– from 1970s disco to contemporary electronic dance music. I named this
pattern the Òpoumtchak,Ó ÒpoumÓ
referring to a bass drum sound and ÒtchakÓ to a
hi-hat sound (or a similar high-frequency sound). A complete Òpoumtchak patternÓ has bass drum sounds on all of the
downbeats and hi-hat sounds on the upbeats (off-beats) between them, and it may
comprise the Òbasic beatÓ of the track.[10]
This
rhythmic pattern seemed especially effective at evoking specific movement
patterns in response to it. In its proper cultural context and with the right
tempo it appeared to represent a starting point or basic structure for dancing
as well as a variety of vertical movement patterns, such as head nodding, foot
tapping, or upper-body bouncing, that also appeared off the dancefloor.
It presented itself as a nexus for the relations among music, general or
unconscious movement, and dancing. There also seemed to be a further
correspondence between the bass drum sound and a body movement downward (on
the downbeats), and the hi-hat sound and a movement upward (on the upbeats), together
comprising a continuous and undulating vertical movement pattern performed with
different parts of the body.[11]
On
the basis of these observations the main questions for this study became the
following: Is there a significant and relatively consistent correspondence
between the musical poumtchak pattern and vertical
movement patterns within the club-oriented dance music culture? If so, how
might this correspondence assist in illuminating the musical qualities of dance
music tracks?
The project: choices, limitations and terminology
The
music
The
most important criterion for choosing the music for this study was, of course,
the presence of the poumtchak pattern. This pattern
is most dominant in a specific genre of club-oriented dance music called Òhouse,Ó but it also appears
frequently in other contemporary genres such as Òtrance,Ó Òtechno,Ó and Òdance,Ó and in earlier
musical influences such as ÒChicago
houseÓ and Òdisco.Ó Though
the average tempo of these genres differs, the standard tempo of consideration
in this study is from around 120 bpm (beats per minute)
to 135 bpm.
I have chosen to focus primarily on house music tracks from the
Òpost-rave eraÓ of the mid- to late 1990s, when dance music culture had moved
from large rave events to clubs. I will look especially closely at two dance
acts, Basement Jaxx (British) and Daft Punk (French), both of
which were central contributors to the dance music of this period.
Throughout
this study I will use the term Òelectronic dance
music,Ó to encompass all of the various genres and subgenres of music
related to club culture. I will employ specific genre names when they are
relevant. I will use the term Ògroove-based musicÓ to designate music with an explicit
focus on groove-producing features. Because I link groove to those body
movements that are activated by the rhythmic elements of the music, many musics are in fact Ògroove basedÓ; furthermore, a focus on
song, mood, melody, or harmony does not preclude an equal focus on groove. I
use the term Ògroove-oriented,Ó then, to refer to music where groove plays a
somewhat more subordinate role.
The movements
To
limit the often unrestrained movements of Òimprovised social dancingÓ for the
purposes of analysis, I take as my point of departure the vertical movement
patterns of head nodding, upper-body bouncing, and to a certain extent foot
tapping. These commonly anticipate actual dancing within club culture but can
also be part of it. Through these basic movements I will be able to present
some fundamental features of the corporeal response to electronic dance music,
and in particular to the poumtchak pattern. I will
then expand my analysis to include the effect of other interacting sounds and
rhythmic patterns in producing variation and suspense to the basic movement
pattern.
The
cycle created by such vertical movements (which starts at a middle position,
drops to a low position, lifts to a peak position, and then returns to the
middle position) is my most productive unit of measure. The musical entity
corresponding to this movement pattern I have named the Òbeat-cycleÓ; instead
of referring to four measures of 4/4 as sixteen beats, then, I will call it
sixteen beat-cycles. Moreover, when describing the positions of rhythmic events
in regard to a rhythmic structure, I will use the terms ÒdownbeatsÓ and
ÒupbeatsÓ rather than Òstrong beatsÓ and Òweak beatsÓ or ÒbeatsÓ and
Òoff-beats.Ó I explain these choices further in chapter 5.
The theory
My
theoretical foundation for this study resides comfortably within hermeneutic
musicology and popular music studies, where various analytical approaches have
inspired me. First of all, Robert
Walser insists significantly that Òmusic analysts
need to be able to account for a musicÕs appealÓ[12] and
promotes research that is concerned with Òunderstanding how music works and why
people care about it.Ó[13]
Through his objects of analysis he demonstrates that any music that has ever been meaningful
to a particular audience is worthy of analytical study. Twenty years before, Philip Tagg had
observed further that Òit seems wise to select an AO [analysis object] which is
conceived for and received by large, socioculturally
heterogeneous groups of listeners rather than music used by more exclusive,
homogeneous groups, simply because it is more logical to study what is generally
communicable before trying to understand particularities.Ó[14] Such
perspectives validate my interest in (1) a genre of music that is popular among
large groups of listeners but not often the target of music analysis, and (2) a
rhythm pattern whose simplicity might otherwise discourage musicologists,
musicians, and music enthusiasts from pursuing it. Stan HawkinsÕs writings on dance music
and Anne DanielsenÕs studies on grooves in
funk music further validated my choices.[15]
TaggÕs hermeneutic-semiological method
for popular music analysis also introduced ÒmusemesÓ
as Òminimal units of expression.Ó[16] He
describes musemes as meaningful components in music
(similar to morphemes in
language) and uses them in his analytical model to elucidate content and
meaning in music. TaggÕs examples from his own
analytical works do not involve corporeal reactions to music, but the musemes would appear to be equally relevant there. Richard
Middleton then formulated the term Òmusematic
repetitionÓ[17]
on the basis of TaggÕs musemes
to describe the consistent recurrence of shorter, typically rhythmic units over
longer periods in a piece of music (in contrast to Òdiscursive repetitionÓ
which involves longer units and more variation). Among MiddletonÕs many
examples of musematic repetition are rhythmic
patterns such as the Òback-beatÓ or the
Òeight-to-the-bar.Ó[18]
Following from these early studies in popular music analysis, I have come to
regard the poumtchak pattern as a Òminimal unit of
expressionÓ as well, one that plays a significant role in lending meaning to
music.
Tagg also observed that Òa holistic
approach to the analysis of popular music is the only viable one if one wishes
to reach a full understanding of all factors interacting with the conception,
transmission, and reception of the object of study.Ó[19] He
then pointed out that the level of multidisciplinary knowledge that would be required
for such an approach is beyond the reach of the individual researcher who might
instead pursue Òdegrees
of inter- and intradisciplinary outlook.Ó[20]
In this study I have attempted to introduce different theoretical perspectives
in hermeneutics and the humanities, building
upon the inclination in popular
music studies to incorporate work from cultural studies, anthropology, and media studies. Moreover,
I have been interested in exploring contributions from disciplines such as linguistics, psychology, and neuroscience. Certain
perceptual and cognitive processes can illuminate connections between rhythm in
music and body movement. Studies that are particularly relevant here include James J. GibsonÕs
publications describing his Òecological approachÓ to perception and Eric F. ClarkeÕs book Ways
of Listening, which builds on GibsonÕs approach with regard to music; Mari Riess JonesÕs theories about attention and expectation
in music listening, and especially her description of ÒentrainmentÓ; and
the metaphor theory of Lakoff and Johnson
within cognitive
semantics concerning verticality in music. These scholarsÕ work is
presented in more detail in chapter 4 (part 2).
Other
relevant theoretical contributions will arise in this study
as various topics require them. Later in this introduction I will discuss
corporeality in music listening in relation to various fields of musicology,
including especially music psychology, ethnomusicology, and popular music
studies. Two analytical works that are both relevant to my own approach are Richard
MiddletonÕs discussion of gestural analysis of popular music and Jan Petter
BlomÕs studies of
Norwegian folk dances.
The
first two chapters of this study introduce the historical and cultural context
of my objects of analysis. I present theoretical perspectives concerning, for
example, authenticity in club culture (Thornton),
and the relevant literature mainly arises from the field of cultural studies
and its related disciplines.[21]
Though my work is obviously firmly linked to popular
music studies through its focus on popular music and its culture, several
issues that are familiar to the field will not come up much, including
questions of ethnicity,
gender, race,
and class.[22]
My focus here remains on musical features within grooves and their
correspondences to patterns in body movements. Nevertheless, the cultural
context where the music in question is produced is presented to provide an
essential backdrop to the discussions and analyses of the music.[23]
I
discuss theoretical perspectives connected to the topics of rhythm and groove
in chapter 5, preceding my analyses of rhythm in chapter 6. Two central books
– Anne DanielsenÕs Presence and pleasure: the funk
grooves of James Brown and Parliament and Mark
ButlerÕs Unlocking the
grooves: rhythm, meter, and musical design in electronic dance music
– present interesting if divergening approaches
constructed in turn on the rhythm theory of African and African American music
(Danielsen) and of Western classical music (Butler).
ButlerÕs book also comprises the most thorough academic study of club-oriented
music to date, offering discussions and analyses of rhythmic structures in
relation to musical meter. Not many other popular music studies of
club-oriented music exist that include music analyses, save for articles by Tony Langlois
and Philip Tagg
from the early 1990s and a few later studies by Stan Hawkins.[24]
Books
and articles dealing with research on music technology and sound within popular
music studies have informed my analyses of sound elements in chapter 8, which
are preceded by a chapter in which relevant theoretical perspectives are
introduced.
The survey
Philip TaggÕs analytical method for popular music includes a technique
he calls Òhypothetical substitutionÓ[25] for
testing our assumptions about various qualities of this music. He finds Òitems
of musical codeÓ[26]
first in the object of analysis, then in the music to which he will compare it,
and then he tests for similarities and differences by changing out the items
between the two musics. I will return to this
technique in chapter 3, but I mention it here to draw attention to his belief
that popular music can be approached by avenues other than mere subjective interpretation.
Since
the poumtchak pattern is my analytical point of
departure, I think it is vital to establish a wider perspective concerning its
significance to the audience in question. This perspective, presented in
chapter 3, includes a survey that I have conducted with music students,
preceded by an additional, more exploratory survey I conducted with respondents
from a Facebook group related to house music. The main survey was intended to gauge the extent to which people tend to
move in the same direction when listening to music with the poumtchak
pattern. It was carried out as a web-based survey, where eleven
questions were connected to five musical excerpts and respondents were asked to
report on their experiences of body movements. (A further description of the
survey follows in chapter 3.)
The
analyses
In
early attempts to analyze popular music, approaches were simply borrowed from
the Western classical music tradition without any real challenge to their
relevance.[27]
When more appropriate methods for studying popular music would be developed,
they would typically satisfy the specific desire to elevate popular music
studies within the established musicological tradition. Thus many analyses
continued to reflect the values commonly attributed, rightly or wrongly, to
Western classical music. Anne Danielsen writes: ÒLinear,
teleological, or ÔclosedÕ musical forms are in a larger historical and
geographical context the exception rather than the rule. All the same, they
hold a privileged position in the West, not only within musicology but in the
general populace: the underlying values of this notion of music, such as unity,
development, and complexity, have come to characterize the very notion of music
itself.Ó[28]
In her study of funk music, on the other hand, Danielsen
determines that grooves are the most significant components of the reception of
the material in question, while linearity and development are less relevant.[29]
Grooves are my main interest here as well, because they expose the relevant correspondences
between music and body movements. Thus, there are no analyses of large-scale
structural forms in this study.[30]
Numerous
scholars within various fields of musicology have emphasized the importance of
movement to the reception of music.[31] In popular
music the capacity to evoke body movement is constantly under consideration,
even when the music is not specifically regarded as dance music. Still, there
have not been many attempts to develop methods for studying the relationship
between musical features and body movements, and I try to rectify this through
my analyses of grooves in electronic dance music tracks. The poumtchak pattern is my point of departure, and other
elements and events are analyzed primarily in relation to this pattern. The potential
for movement in specific grooves was first apparent from my own subjective
experiences; this gives rise in turn to suggestions for movement patterns that
are then drawn into notational representations or sonograms of the music.
In
relation to this, it is important to address the presence of the writer and
especially the body (and mind) in the analyses of music in this study. Being
white, male, heterosexual, European, and in my mid-forties, I am part of the
dominant group of contributors to musicology. But my background with clubbing
and dancing may allow me further insight into the culture in question, in
relation to corporeality and to the production of music there. Around the turn
of the millennium I took part in a music project (with four musicians) that
focused mainly on house and techno music; we released a twelve-inch single and
performed at various clubs in Oslo. I have been composing and performing music
using sequencers, drum machines, and synthesizers since I first played in a synth band in the mid-1980s. I therefore do not attempt to
inhabit some sort of neutral position in relation to this music. On the
contrary, my background as a musician, fan, and dancer clearly resonates
throughout the whole study. Thus, in line with Richard
MiddletonÕs description of the Òscholar fanÓ in his article on musical
gestures from 1993,[32]
this study is conducted with an honest devotion to the music.
I
have decided mainly to deal with cultural context, rhythmic elements, and
aspects of actual sound separately, though I attempt to unite them in my
concluding analysis here. Sonograms support the analyses in chapter 6 and 8
because their visual display with a vertical axis that reflects musical
verticality (from low to high frequencies) resonates well with the vertical
movement patterns of my interpretations. I will briefly introduce my use of
sonograms here; my analytical approach is presented in chapter 6.
Sonograms
Sonograms
(or spectrograms) represent sound through stored digital information in a sound
file.[33]
The computer program analyzes this file (using FFT, or Òfast Fourier transformÓ
algorithms) and displays the result as a graph, with frequency on the vertical
axis and time on the horizontal axis. Dynamics are displayed through degrees of
density in the colouring. Harmonic sounds appear with the fundamental tone
(with most density) lowest and with its harmonics as identical lines above. I
consistently use a logarithmic scale for the frequency axis, as seen in fig.
0.2, which allows for lower frequencies to occupy a larger portion of the
visual representation, so as to demonstrate more clearly the contrast between
high and low frequencies. In contrast to a linear scale (fig. 0.1), this option
also better parallels what we actually hear when listening to music, since the
frequency (and loudness) response of the ear is more accurately represented
logarithmically.[34]
|
|
|
|
Figure 0.1: Sonogram using linear scale of a poumtchak pattern from Daft PunkÕs PhÏnix, 00.15–00:17. |
Figure 0.2: Sonogram using logarithmic scale of a poumtchak pattern from Daft PunkÕs PhÏnix, 00.15–00:17. |
In
the two sonograms above, the bass drum sounds are seen as four dark areas
towards the bottom (on figure 0.1, they are in fact only thin dark lines),
while the hi-hat sounds are displayed as four pillars. As can be seen, the
hi-hat sounds occupy a much larger portion on the sonogram using the linear
scale than on the logarithmic version. In my analyses I take advantage of the
options in the computer program to alter my logarithmic settings, zooming in on
those features I want to portray. Thus the settings will not be constant across
sonograms (except when two or more are placed within the same figure). Both the
horizontal and the vertical axes may occupy different areas in relation to time
or frequency range, and the density that represents dynamics can be altered as
well to display the elements in question most clearly. The FFT window size has
for the most part been set to 1024 samples (sample rate 44.1kHz), but has
occasionally been varied for the same purpose. Similarly, I mainly use a rectangular
window type.[35]
I intend for these sonograms, sometimes in combination with traditional
notation and amplitude representations, first and foremost to escort listening
by displaying those musical elements that I want to highlight in my analytical interpretations.
Music and body movements
Corporeality
in music has been a rather neglected issue in musicology. Why is this so? And
how is this related to prevailing opinions about music listening? Is
corporeality dealt with differently in the various fields of musicology? Can it
be addressed in a music analysis? As an introduction to the topics of this
study, these questions will be considered here.
Corporeality in music listening
The
connection between music and body movement seems immediately obvious already in
light of how musical sound is made. Body movements produce sounds on
instruments, and very few musicians are able to play properly without a
repertoire of auxiliary movements as well:[36] the
jazz pianist might tap his or her foot to keep time, while the classical
clarinettist might embody his or her melodic phrases through dips of head and
shoulders.[37]
Such connections are equally apparent in the reception of music, and especially
dance music – body movements respond to specific features in the music of
choreographed classical ballet, stylized folk dance, and improvised club dance.
But movement is also part of the reception of music not intended specifically
for dancing. As Simon
Frith writes in the influential book Performing Rites, ÒA good rock concert . . . is
measured by the audienceÕs physical response, by how quickly people get out of
their seats . . . by how loudly they shout and scream. And rock performers are
expected to revel in their own physicality too, to strain and sweat and
collapse with tiredness.Ó[38] In
most popular music, jazz, and almost any folk music, the connection between
music and body movement for performer and listener is obvious from various
incidences of foot tapping, head nodding, body swaying, clapping, singing
along, doing dance-related movements, or in various ways mimicking
sound-producing actions (playing Òair guitarÓ).
In
the Western classical music tradition this connection may well appear less
relevant. The conductor may gesticulate exaggeratedly and the musicians
certainly move while producing sound, but concert hall audiences are generally
supposed to sit perfectly still, participating in the event only through mental
concentration. Describing the listening environment of the concert hall,
Patrick Shove and Bruno Repp write, ÒA social proscription against overt movement
by listeners has long been in effect.Ó[39] The
ideal of silent, attentive listening in concert halls is a social phenomenon
that advanced only during the nineteenth century. Richard
Sennet writes:
To sneer at people
who showed their emotions at a play or concert became de rigueur by the
mid-nineteenth century. Restraint of emotion in the theater
became a way for middle-class audiences to mark the line between themselves and
the working class. A ÒrespectableÓ audience by the 1850s was an audience that
could control its feelings through silence; the old spontaneity was called
Òprimitive.Ó The Beau Brummell ideal of restraint in bodily appearance was
being matched by a new ideal of respectable noiselessness in public.[40]
While
Sennet occupies himself with the sociological causes
for this shift, James Johnson
views it in relation to the music that was introduced at the time – for
example, the work of Beethoven, which according to Johnson, simply demanded
more concentrated listening.[41]
Johnson, as well as Lydia Goehr,[42]
disdains the eighteenth-century audience for being primarily occupied with
social activities when attending concerts. William Weber in turn takes both to
task for endorsing a specifically post-Romantic view of listening that is
replete with distrust of Òany fusion between music and mundane social
activities which are felt to violate the integrity of musical experience.Ó[43]
Eric F. Clarke suggests that an
ideological component – some understanding of what constitutes Òproper
listeningÓ – may be Òthe most significant factor in the listening
environment.Ó[44]
And the noisier and rather unrestrained listening environment of the eighteenth
century may well have been more receptive to music that invited corporeal
involvement. After the premiere of his Symphony No. 31 (the ÒParisÓ symphony)
in 1778, Mozart wrote the following in a letter to his father: ÒJust in the
middle of the
first Allegro there was a passage which I felt sure must please. The
audience were quite carried away – and there was a tremendous burst of
applause. But as I knew, when I wrote it, what effect it would surely produce.Ó[45]
The passage Mozart refers to has two quite intense ascending pitch movements,
each followed by a slower descending movement, and they probably inspired the
applause, figuratively (and perhaps literally) lifting the audience. Mozart
would almost certainly not have achieved the same overt response from his
audience a century later, and this absence of an immediate and satisfying
response to the corporeal effects of music may have pushed subsequent
generations of composers in new directions.
The
shift to an ideal of silent, attentive listening during the nineteenth century
is probably part of a complex train of events regarding new musical priorities.
Jeremy Gilbert and Ewan Pearson point to Western philosophyÕs dismissal of
corporeality in musical experiences.
Music is
understood by this tradition as being problematic in its capacity to affect us
in ways which seem to bypass the acceptable channels
of language, reason and contemplation. In particular, it is musicÕs apparent
physicality, its status as a source of physical pleasure, which is problematic.
By the same token, this tradition tends to demand of music that it – as
far as possible – be meaningful, that even where it does not have words, it should offer
itself up as an object of intellectual contemplation such as is likely to
generate much meaningful discourse. Even those forms of modernist music which
have aspired to pure abstraction (in particular the tradition of serial music),
have been written with an emphasis on complexity and a deliberate
intellectualism which foregrounds the musicÕs status as objects of rational
contemplation rather than as a source of physical pleasure.[46]
Though
the Western philosophical tradition obviously comprises a wide range of understandings and beliefs, Gilbert and Pearson
raise a compelling point.[47] Its
emphasis on rational thought has probably encouraged composers, musicians,
critics, and scholars to focus on intellectual approaches to music rather than
corporeal ones. The ultimate ascension of the intellectual approach to music
listening – for example, the descriptions of listening types by Theodore Adorno[48]
– and its emphasis on the structure, development, and linearity of musical
works are at least partially to blame for the Western scholarly disinterest in
connections between music listening and body movements even in the twentieth
century.[49]
Andrew DellÕAntonio observes that Òstructural
listening highlights an intellectual response to music to the almost total
exclusion of human physical presence – whether that of the performer or
that of the listener.Ó[50]
In
contrast, new listening environments connected to jazz and popular music from
the mid-twentieth century on not only endorsed corporeality in music listening
but if fact sought it. The music, with its focus on rhythm, encouraged
participation via overt body movements and dancing. And at the end of the
century, needless to say, these new traditions had come to dominate Western
music cultures.
The
longtime suppression of corporeality in Western
classical music shaped the various fields of musicology and their areas of
interest, few of which involved the body. Even in the field of music
psychology, most of the research projects related to music listening have been
conducted using Western classical music. Thus the attentive but physically
passive way of listening associated with this music culture has provided the
overarching model for research in this field. With the more recent interest in
corporeality within the field of cognitive psychology this has begun to change,
but the discipline is still influenced by its traditional tendency to discount
the human body in its inquiries.[51]
corporeality
in the field of music psychology
In
her book Deep
Listeners: Music, Emotion, and Trancing the
ethnomusicologist Judith Becker points to the influence of Cartesian mind/body
dualism on Western thinking in general, and theories of music psychology in
particular: ÒMusical thinking was clearly within the realm of res cogito,
intentional, imaginative, cognitive, in the brain.Ó[52] The
linguist Noam Chomsky largely maintained a Cartesian dualism in his own works,
focusing exclusively on mental as opposed to physical processes concerning
language.[53]
Through his contributions to theoretical linguistics and generative models of
grammar, he exerted a powerful influence upon musicologists who sought similar
models for music.[54]
Within music psychology, such models also provided an important theoretical and
methodological foundation whose hierarchical relationships in musical
structures could be in turn reapplied to cognitive matters. ChomskyÕs focus on
mental processes transferred particularly smoothly to models where musical
entities were treated exclusively as Òmental products imposed on or inferred
from the physical signals.Ó[55]
Vijay Iyer critiques this view:
However, because
so much musical behaviour is nonlinguistic in nature,
music tends to challenge dominant linguistic paradigms, which reduce all
cognition to rational thought processes such as problem solving, deductive
reasoning, and inference. With its emotional and associative qualities and its
connection to dance and ritual, music seems to provide a counterexample to such
theories of mind.[56]
Musicology in the 1980s was even more
centred on Western classical music than it is today,[57] and
so music psychologists formed the various areas of investigation within their discipline
accordingly. Problems related to rhythm were thus given far less attention than
those related to pitch or melody.[58]
Norms for listening practices from classical music concert halls were relocated
to the laboratory, where experiments were conducted in sedentary, undisturbed
settings far removed from social contexts (and often actual musical contexts as
well). A typical rhythm study might be carried out as a scientific experiment
with headphones and non-musical sounds, whereby subjects would be asked to
perform various finger tapping operations in the interest of quantifiable data.[59]
In such experiments, body movements related to the music (other than the finger
tapping) were rarely an issue. Moreover, the relevance of different aspects of
sound for the perception of rhythm was hardly ever discussed. While such
experiments certainly produced significant empirical material, an ignorance or
dismissal of their shortcomings often led to debatable conclusions, especially
with regard to those musical cultures that are relatively distant from Western
classical music.[60]
In the 1980s, then, the field of
cognitive science came to rely upon a theoretical approach to human cognition
that likened it to the information processing of a computer. In such models
music could be reduced to strings of symbols that might in turn be subjected to
algorithmic operations. Faith in quantitative scientific
methods and the ultimate transparency of mental processes underpinned all.[61]
This information-processing model probably shaped thinking on issues related to
cognition considerably, as Eric F. Clarke writes: ÒThe standard
information-processing account tends to be disembodied and abstract, as if
perception was a kind of reasoning or problem-solving process, reflecting the
strong influence of cybernetics, information theory, and artificial
intelligence on cognitive psychology.Ó[62]
Within the discipline of music
psychology, then, processes related to music perception were modelled on
computers, often in collaboration with computer music research and the
development of software for algorithmic composition.[63] Yet
computers could not deal with too many perspectives or conditions
simultaneously.[64]
As computers expanded in processing power, more sophisticated artificial models
of cognitive processes began to arise. Following certain developments in the
fields of psychology and computer science,[65]
Òconnectionist computer modelsÓ replaced rule-based systems in realizations of
Òartificial neural networks.Ó The main improvement of the connectionist model
was its ability to learn from experiences.[66] In a
book on music and connectionism, Peter Todd and Gareth Loy describe the heady
possibility of such models: ÒTheir ability to learn and store
information, satisfy multiple constraints simultaneously, categorize
stimuli, abstract features, create new representations, complete patterns, and
generalize to novel inputs in ways akin to human and animal behavior makes these
systems particularly attractive for modeling a variety of phenomena.Ó[67] Tasks such as classifying
melodies based on certain learned empirical material within a restricted
musical context could be achieved rather successfully, but even quite
sophisticated models were unable to emulate the complex, often unconscious
interaction of body and mind in human perception. In music cultures focused on
dance and bodily participation, these are pivotal issues, as Becker points out:
To those who use
the traditional models of music cognition, the idea of incorporating a much
messier, much more complex, and uncertain model based on biology and
phenomenology can seem like a giant step backward, away from scientific
elegance, away from empirical controls, away from universality. Yet we
experience music with our skins, with our pulse rates, and with our body
temperature. To subscribe to a theory of musical cognition
which cannot deal with the embodiment of music, of the involvement of
the senses, the visceral system, and the emotions is to maintain a Cartesian
approach of mind/body dualism.[68]
Certain individual contributions
within the field of music psychology – especially those related to rhythm
– defy this stereotypical lack of Òembodiment.Ó Paul Fraisse,
a distinguished contributor within the field, incorporates an awareness of
various corporal practices as a starting point for an understanding of rhythm:
ÒBoth animals and people move about with rhythmic movements characteristic of
their species.Ó[69]
Certain other studies of rhythm and/or performance from the 1980s also
integrate an understanding of the moving body into music psychology in various
ways.[70]
More recently there has been an
increasing awareness of (and interest in) the cultural and body-related aspects
of cognition. A growing literature within the fields variously connected to
cognition (including neuroscience, psychology, linguistics, and computer
science) deals with topics like embodiment, the embodied mind, the embodied
existence, embodied interaction, or embodied cognition.[71] As
professor of philosophy Shaun Gallagher writes in his 2005 book How the Body
Shapes the Mind: ÒBodily movement is closely tied in various ways to
perception and to other forms of cognition and emotion. Indeed, there is
now a large amount of evidence from a variety of studies and disciplines to
show that the body, through its motor abilities, its actual movements, and its
posture, informs and shapes cognition.Ó[72] These changes in scholarly approach are also visible at
international conferences on music and gesture and within a growing literature
on embodied perspectives in music.[73] Mark
Leman suggests the following premises for an embodied
music cognition:
The human body can
be seen as a biologically designed mediator that transfers physical energy up
to a level of action-oriented meanings, to a mental level in which experiences,
values, and intentions form the basic components of music signification. The
reverse process is also possible: that the human body transfers an idea, or
mental representation, into a material or energetic form. This two-way
mediation process is largely constrained by body movements, which are assumed
to play a central role in all musical activities. The embodied music cognition
approach assumes that the (musical) mind results from this embodied interaction
with music.[74]
corporeality in ethnomusicology and popular
music studies
Ethnomusicology
and popular music studies have also been influenced by the priorities within
musicology, so corporeality in music has been a somewhat controversial issue.
Nevertheless, the presence of a connection between music and body movements has
typically been more evident in the various music cultures engaged by these
disciplines, and the topic has been discussed in a variety of ways.
Ethnomusicological studies of African music cultures
have in particular contrasted those habits of musical participation, body
movement, and dance with their Western alternatives. John Blacking, an
influential figure in ethnomusicology and writings on African music, edited a
volume entitled The
Anthropology of the Body in 1977. Though BlackingÕs interest was in
cultural processes and the body in social constructions, some of the volumeÕs
contributors dealt more directly with music and bodily movements, in both
performance and reception (that is, participation in various music-centred
gatherings).[75]
John Miller Chernoff wrote in 1979 that the most
fundamental cultural aesthetic in Africa is probably expressed through bodily
participation: ÒWhen you ask an African friend whether or not he ÔunderstandsÕ
a certain type of music he will say yes if he knows the dance that goes with
it.Ó[76]
This close relationship
between music and dance was also emphasized by J. H. Kwabena
Nketia in his 1974 book on the music of
Africa:
Although purely
contemplative music, which is not designed for dance or drama, is practiced in
African societies in restricted contexts, the cultivation of music that is
integrated with dance, or music that stimulates affective motor response, is
much more prevalent. For the African, the musical experience is by and large an
emotional one: sounds, however beautiful, are meaningless if they do not offer
this experience or contribute to the expressive quality of a performance.[77]
In
a chapter titled ÒInterrelations of Music and Dance,Ó Nketia
continues, ÒMotor response intensifies oneÕs enjoyment of music through the
feelings of increased involvement and the propulsion that articulating the beat
by physical movement generates.Ó[78] This
also holds true, of course, for the audiences of popular music and dance music,
and may partly explain those genresÕ immense increase in popularity over the
previous century.
The
link between music and body movement also enters discussions concerning the
African influence on African American music, as Olly
Wilson observes about Òmusic-making within the Afro-American contextÓ:[79]
ÒThis attitude is an important part of the approach to making music which the
ÔAfrican exilesÕ brought with them as subliminal cultural baggage when they
came to the Western Hemisphere.Ó[80] Frith
discusses the problems associated with defining African culture Òas the body,
the other of the bourgeois mind,Ó[81] arising
as it does from a musical mind/body split where some music is Òheard as
physical (fun), other music as cerebral (serious).Ó[82]
Barbara Ehrenreich points out that the European
conquerors of the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries continuously met with
indigenous rituals consisting of dancing, singing, and chanting, often by
people in ecstatic or trancelike states: ÒEuropeans tended to view such
activities, wherever they found them, as outbreaks of devil worship,
lasciviousness, or, from a more ÔscientificÕ perspective, hysteria.Ó[83]
This gave rise to a connection between the ÒsavageÓ or ÒprimitiveÓ and the
physical dimension of music related to dance and rhythm. Anne Danielsen describes further how
Europeans have identified themselves in opposition to African culture: ÒThe
representation of African or black culture as barbarian in this sense has been
part of the Western understanding of itself for centuries.Ó[84] She
identifies a Òmetonymic relationÓ here,[85]
where concepts related to the culture-nature axis Òsuch as (mind-)body, (intellect-)emotions, (complexity-) simplicityÓ[86]
are associated with European or African culture, respectively.[87]
Danielsen also observes that studies of African music
have in fact been reduced to analyses of rhythm,[88] and
how the consideration of physicality within black music has revolved mainly
around sexuality.[89]
In popular music culture, the ÒothernessÓ of African American music is often
elevated and valued for the same dubious reasons it was traditionally
suppressed within European music culture. Gilbert and Pearson describe, for
example, how rave culture uses implications of ÒprimitivismÓ such as Òecstatic
ritualsÓ and Òdance tribesÓ in their advertisements.[90]
In
an article from 1994, Susan
McClary and Robert
Walser discuss the theorization of the body in
African American music, warning against dichotomies between music cultures
based on their relation to the body.
For in such
accounts, the mind and culture still remain the exclusive property of Eurocentric
discourse, while the dancing body is romanticized as what is left over when the
burdens of reason and civilization have been flung away. The binary opposition
of mind and body that governs the condemnation of black music remains in force;
even when the terms are inverted, they are always ready to flip back into their
more usual positions.[91]
Popular
music scholars, then, may be reluctant to address corporeality in music for
fear of constructing dichotomies like those described by McClary
and Walser. One way around this is to make perfectly
clear that considerations of the body relate to all music and to elevate the purpose and
meaning of corporeality in music. A dismissal of the issue altogether may on
the other hand work against those genres of music where the appeal to
participation with a moving body is most apparent.
Dance
music and club culture has occasionally been a focal point of investigation in
popular music studies and, to a greater extent, in the related field of
cultural studies.[92]
The contextual significance of body movement has been present in most of this
work.[93]
Buckland describes how Òthe pulse felt as if it was coming from deep inside
your body. This connected the body with the soundscape
environment, so that, rather than being acted upon, participants actively
engaged and intervened with the soundscape.Ó[94]
Though a few scholars of musicology have tried to tackle the challenges put
forward by club-related dance music,[95] new
analytical methods are needed to address the connections between the body and
these ÒsoundscapesÓ more thoroughly.
Corporeality
in music analysis
But
how should a music analysis incorporate corporeality? This question has rarely
been tackled.[96]
In the following I will present two attempts to do so, one from popular music studies
and one from ethnomusicology. They represent influential precedents to the
analysis I will present in this study.
The gestural
analysis of popular music
In
his 1993 article ÒPopular Music Analysis and Musicology: Bridging the Gap,Ó Richard
Middleton pursues a Òtheory of gestureÓ[97] that
recognizes affective, cognitive, and kinetic aspects of music. He asserts that
Òhow we feel and how we understand musical sounds is organised through processual shapes which seem to be analogous to physical
gestures.Ó[98]
Concerned that the actual sounds in music are not sufficiently studied via
traditional approaches, Middleton wants to renegotiate Òthe level of primary
significationÓ[99]
in order to bring Òthe patterns created in the sounds themselves back into the
foreground.Ó[100]
He presents the proposals of Hungarian musicologist J‡nos
Mar—thy regarding a broad appreciation of rhythm as a
basic principle of human existence, and rhythmic sensations as fundamental to
universal human experience.[101]
Emphasizing also the cultural implications regarding Mar—thyÕs
thinking, Middleton then defines the Òmusical gestureÓ as a communicative
performance Òof somatic processes through structurally analogous musical
processesÓ.[102]
He therefore highlights similarities or (figurative) resonance between aspects
of musical sound and corporeal experiences. He further recognizes the need for
a means of identifying and categorizing such structures, above and beyond their
obvious rhythmic underpinnings: ÒThere are vital roles too for the rhythms
governing phraseology; chord and textural change; patterns of accent and
intensity, of vocal Ôbreathing,Õ vibrato, and sustain; not to mention the
micro-rhythms responsible for the inner life of sounds themselves, and the
quasi-ÔspatialÕ rhythms organising the hierarchies of relative pitch strength
and tonal tension, both in melodic contour and in harmonic sequences.Ó[103]
MiddletonÕs theory builds on Mar—thyÕs spectrum of
corporeal movements using rhythmic groupings such as periods, measures, beats,
and subdivisions of the beat. The Òobvious corporeal movements at one endÓ[104]
resemble the longer periods, measures, or beats, while the Òneural pulsations
at the otherÓ[105]
resembles smaller microrhythmic subdivisions.
Based
on this theoretical framework, Middleton
explores an analytical method that in fact relies upon correlations between
sounds, movement, and significance. He applies his gestural analysis to
MadonnaÕs WhereÕs the Party
(1985) and Bryan AdamsÕs (Everything I Do)
I Do It for You (1990); the former, which is more groove-oriented, will
interest me here. MiddletonÕs analysis consists of two-dimensional diagrams
followed by a few paragraphs of text; the verse and chorus are located above
and below the double line in the diagram, respectively.[106]
Middleton describes five elements of the music: the groove, the shapes of the
repeating chord sequences, the vocal phraseology, the micro-gestures of
individual sounds, and the texture. The first three elements are illustrated in
some way in the diagram.[107]
Figure 0.3:
MiddletonÕs gesture-analysis diagram of Madonna: WhereÕs the Party.[108]
Several
of MiddletonÕs
illustrations are closely connected to issues of musical verticality –
for example, the chord sequences that are rendered with descending and
ascending lines according to pitch-based movement.[109] The
most direct relationships between musical structure and bodily movement,
Middleton finds, concern the groove: ÒIn typical disco fashion, this is founded
on a heavy regular beat – that is, on the feet. But predominantly
strong-beat bass is complemented by back-beat snare drum (sways of body?),
strung on a sixteen-to-the-bar cymbal chatter (felt as a sort of muscular
vibration?).Ó[110]
Middleton also alludes to a Òhit-point,Ó which he pictures as a possible
upper-body jerk. Finally, he discusses the relationship between strict metrical
divisions and actual performed rhythms.
Most
compelling here, perhaps, is MiddletonÕs identification of three possible body
movements in relation to various rhythmic groupings. The feet and the body sway
seem to be connected to quarter notes (the heavy regular pulse, as well as the
strong-beat bass on 1 and 3 and snare drum on 2 and 4), while Òmuscular
vibrationÓ seems centred on sixteenth notes. But how are these relations
represented in the diagram?
Middleton
only appears to illustrate two rhythmic elements: the sixteen black triangles
above and below the undulating line for the verse and the chorus most likely
indicate the strong-beat bass and back-beat snare drum. According to the chord
sequences and vocal lines, the horizontal musical periods provided here consist
of four measures (of 4/4 time), so the triangles below the line probably
indicate the strong-beat bass (on 1 and 3) while those above indicate the snare
drum (on 2 and 4). The undulating line is not totally consistent but seems to
point to sixteenth notes, thus referring to the cymbal ÒchatterÓ described in the quotation above.
MiddletonÕs
presentation of the groove in the diagram, then, is sketchy. Do the triangles
and undulating line in fact represent specific musical gestures? Are they
connected to the musicÕs production, reception, or both? Do they in fact
illustrate probable body movement patterns? A challenge with such diagrams is
to address as many priorities as possible but also to reflect their relative
importance. I find the heavy regular pulse that Middleton identifies as the
foundation of the track to be so important that it should be represented more
explicitly in the diagram – an undulating line indicating head nodding,
foot tapping, or similar movement patterns would probably be recognized by many
readers. Lastly, the effect of the cymbal on muscular vibration is probably
more sporadic than steady, as it is rendered here.
MiddletonÕs
written description certainly illuminates a few more aspects concerning other
instruments as well, but his diagram here serves more as an introduction to new
analytical practices than as a thorough analysis of the groove of this track.
Nevertheless, his work here is exceptional in popular music studies in its
presentation of a theory and method that seek to explore the connection between
music and body movement and find better ways to illustrate it.
The analysis of the patterned ÒlibrationÓ of folk dances
In
his studies of Norwegian folk music,[111] Jan-Petter
Blom is consistently concerned with the relevance
of dancersÕ body movements: ÒMy point of departure is the hypothesis that the
perception and expression of musical rhythm is intimately linked to experiences
of body movements, and that our concepts of rhythm are mirrored by the way in
which we move our body in synchrony with music.Ó[112] Blom positions this hypothesis contextually: members of the
same local group will learn to associate between music and movement in order to
coordinate their dancing; dancers and musicians (the fiddlers) Òbase their
interaction on shared notions of rhythm.Ó[113]
Thus Blom proposes this shared rhythm as a basis for
his analysis: ÒA conceptualization of such implicit understandings should
preferably take the concrete rhythm of the dance as its point of departure
(rather than the mere abstract and generalized musical expression) and use the
models of such rhythms as the basis for musical interpretation.Ó[114]
Blom continues with a description of locomotory body movements in folk dances that leads to his
focal point, a Òpatterned libration of the bodyÕs centre of
gravityÓ[115]
that in essence corresponds to an up-down body movement. The vertical extremes
are connected with straight lines and visualized in a y=space and x=time graph.
He begins with a comparison between a normal elastic gait and a Norwegian
waltz.
Figure 0.4: BlomÕs comparison between a normal gait and a Norwegian
waltz.[116]
Blom uses both notation and beat markers (numbers) to
visualize relations between beats in the music and the movements of the
dancers, and as the waltz example demonstrates, notation alone would have been
insufficient for BlomÕs interpretation of the rhythm.
He also notates which foot is being used (R, L) and uses hyphens and ties to
portray changes in or continuity of support in the movements.
Blom later introduces the
terms ÒthesisÓ for a falling bodily movement and ÒarsisÓ for a lifting bodily
movement and uses them to describe relationships between phases of the movement
over the duration of a beat. Blom uses his method and
his visualizations to illustrate various types of Norwegian folk dances as well
as local variations upon them.
Figure 0.5: BlomÕs comparison of two local variations of the folk dance
Òspringar.Ó[117]
In a published dialogue with Tellef Kvifte, Blom
argues for an interpretation of metrical ambiguity that derives from how
dancers interpret the rhythm.
The dancersÕ movements,
however, are consistently performed in unevenly divided beats (2:1 or 1:2) and
never transformed to a 3 x 2/8 meter, on the basis of which I predict: (i) that dancers, irrespective of musical context in terms
of phrasings, features of tonality and melodic structure always experience the
musical meter of the bowing figures M as inferred behaviourally by them, and
(ii) that traditional fiddlers who are constantly involved in situations of
dance in the role of leader, syncronizer [sic] and
inspirer, are expressing and communicating the particular rhythm of the
swinging bodies and therefore also experience their own and othersÕ
performances accordingly. Hence the striking isomorphism between music and
dance can be inferred as a case of symbolic transformation.[118]
Musicians and dancers, then, share experiences of how their bodies swing
according to the rhythm. Nevertheless, Kvifte criticizes BlomÕs theory for its disregard for experiential qualities:
Blom does not allow for the potential of a certain
groove to relate to different possible patterns of movement. This points to BlomÕs principal difference with Middleton as well. While Middleton
tries to interpret structures in the music that might relate to body movements,
Blom privileges the performance practice itself.[119]
A folk dance involves relatively more structured and specific moves, of course,
whereas MadonnaÕs track relates to a practice of improvised social dancing
where dancers may switch among several suitable patterns of body movement.
Still, BlomÕs notion of Òthe rhythm of the danceÓ[120]
also applies to more improvised dancing styles. Though
various musical structures might trigger body movements in dance music, some of
those structures are more prominent than others. Blom
points out that his Òprocedure is analogous to what conductors do to music when
performing their rhythmic gestures in front of the orchestra.Ó[121]
This comparison recalls studies of movement in Western classical music.
The German musicologists Gustav Becking (1894–1945) and Alexander Truslit (1889–1971) were both also concerned with pulse, rhythm, musical motion, and bodily movement. Becking argued for a Òdynamic rhythmic flowÓ that existed beneath the musicÕs surface, a continuous up-down motion that Òconnects points of metric gravity which vary in relative weight.Ó[122] He further claimed that various composers favoured particular distributions of these weights. Truslit did not see this flow as existing below the musical surface; he was interested in the direct information of rhythm, musical motion and bodily movement in the sound patterns themselves. But, like Becking, he distinguished between three basic types of motion curves to describe basic patterns of movement.[123]
With
regard to musicÕs fundamental rhythmic level and its connection to bodily
movement, then, a conductorÕs Òrhythmic gestures,Ó[124] as Blom
describes them, might in turn evoke TruslitÕs motion
curves or BeckingÕs personal distributions of weights
by various composers. In electronic dance music, of
course, such a rhythmic level can be overtly demonstrated by head nodding, foot
tapping, upper-body bouncing, and other body movements by both performers (DJs)
and receivers (listeners/dancers). Truslit in
particular emphasizes the information directly available in the sound patterns,
and in this study I will present sources for such information in the music in
question and subsequently discuss its possible effect upon body movement.
Outline of the thesis
The
approach of the dance music producer
The
structure of this study follows a typical dance music production. Since a
producerÕs starting point is obviously his or her cultural affiliation, I begin
with the cultural context of the music in question, which affects compositional
work, the choice of music equipment, and production techniques. The next step
in a producerÕs work on a particular track is to establish a basic beat, the
rhythmic pattern that will likely evoke the basic movement pattern of the
music. When the basic beat is in place, he or she will introduce other rhythmic
patterns. The final step relates to the sound – both the specific sounds
used in the track and the outcomes of the effect processing and mixing. These,
then, are the four parts of my thesis: the cultural context, the basic beat,
the rhythm, and the sound.
The
analogy of the producer also resonates with the process of writing. The
producer may, with a digital sampler, extract pieces of music from earlier
recordings and use them in his or her own production. Similarly, I use quotes
from books and articles to support arguments and illuminate certain issues. The
honest producer will reference those original recordings in the CD booklet, but
some samples may be altered to such an extent that they are no longer
recognizable (or able to be credited). Though I have not deliberately altered
any material without giving credit to its originator, I am convinced that in
the process of studying and writing, the thoughts and ideas of others have been
co-opted.[125]
Hopefully, I have done them all justice.
Outline
The
first part of this study consists of two chapters that introduce the cultural
context of electronic dance music. In chapter 1
I present a historical overview that extends from 1970s disco music culture to
1990s electronic dance music culture. I identify several influential
contributors, clubs, and events, but I mainly focus on those developments that
shaped expectations and fields of tension within the respective cultures. In chapter 2 I focus on developments in the
production of dance music and changes in music technology within the same time
period.
The
focal point in the second part is the basic beat of the track – in this
case, the poumtchak pattern. In chapter 3, I thoroughly explore the poumtchak pattern and introduce the intimate link between
this pattern and vertical movement patterns. The chapter ends with a survey
mapping the congruence of body movement direction among listeners exposed to
the poumtchak pattern.
In
chapter 4, I present theories that in
various ways support, elucidate, or explain the proposed correspondence between
the musical poumtchak pattern and a vertical movement
pattern. The chapter starts out with discussions about attention and perception
and continues with motor processes. Central topics include an ecological
approach to music listening, the theory of entrainment and how we attend to
musical rhythm, motor-mimetic processes, and musical verticality. This material
informs my subsequent analyses and discussions of electronic dance music.
In
the third part I examine the rhythmic elements of electronic dance music. In chapter 5, I discuss how an approach to
rhythm via body movement and dance challenges traditional views of rhythm
perception. I also discuss the term Ògroove.Ó Chapter
6 contains my analyses of rhythm, which aim to illuminate musical elements
with regard to their potential for evoking body movement, particularly with
regard to the interaction between the poumtchak
pattern and other rhythmic elements or patterns.
In
the fourth part I consider the analysis of sound. In chapter 7, I discuss certain central problems
that are involved here and introduce some methodological tools in relation to
my own analytical approach. Chapter 8
contains my analyses of sound, especially those aspects of it that may relate
to body movement and the poumtchak pattern. I delve
into the various characteristics of specific sounds as well as the possible
impact of mixing processes and effects assigned to longer segments of the dance
track.
In
the conclusion, I sum up the content of the four parts by bringing all of these
different areas of interest together in one final analysis of an excerpt from
an electronic dance music track. I then reflect on the relevance and limitations
of my study and propose directions for future research.
Return to top