A Matter of Perspective: Thoughts on the Multiple Realities of Research.

By: Campbell, Patricia

Shehan, Journal of Research in Music Education, 00224294, Fall2002, Vol. 50, Issue 3

It occurred to me that, given the network of disciplinary trails we've traveled and the varied
influences we've known,( n1); it might be useful for us to ponder the matter of perspective and to
consider diverse points of view relevant to the multiple realities of frameworks and follow-through
that are alive and well within the realm of music education scholarship. With the founding of our
Society's journal, the Journal of Research in Music Education (JRME), in 1953, we are now at
the brink of the half-century mark of a lively period of published research within the broad and
multifaceted field of music education. We have opened our arms to the possibilities of what
research can entail, extending from the musicological and musical-analytic research that surfaced
in the early years of the JRME, to the rise and staying power of the experimental process by the
middle 1960s, to the posing of questions over the years requiring unique techniques of descriptive,
historical, and philosophical inquiry. The JRME and other journals in the field are opening to a
further varied set of approaches--some of them newly emergent--that will aid us in our deeper
understanding of how music is received, processed, and acquired, and how music is shared, taught,
and transmitted. If we could agree that perspective is an understanding of people in their social
worlds (Small, 1998), then perspective is a likely issue of some urgency among sociologists, a
prime motivation for the work of anthropologists, the raison d'etre of colleagues in ethnic and area
studies, and one critical consideration for those of us who work with individuals and groups of
singers, players, listeners, consumers, composers-improvisers-and-arrangers, and teachers.
I suggest that the concept of perspective deserves prominent consideration in the enterprise of
research in music education with regard to the nature of questions that are raised, the designs and
processes that are put into place, the participants who are selected for study, and the analyses and
interpretations that are offered. Within the volumes of past published research, we have looked to
the matter of perspective in the thoughts and deeds of band, choir, general music, and orchestra
students and their teachers, of students from the very young to the very old, and of influential
music educators across history. We have studied music learning and teaching in various contexts,
in particular as it occurs in American school settings, and we have looked to suburban sites (and
to some urban and rural sites, too) for the transaction of music in education and as education. We
have not given equal weighting to the spectrum of features, to the possibilities of participants,
processes, and analytical potentials of our research, but we have indeed made significant inroads
in understanding the nature of music education research as a many-splendored thing that is and
that could be. We stand to gain strength from the plurality of approaches that are embraced, and
from a consideration of cultural relativism in the issues we address in so many varied contexts.
Honoring the perspectives which people bear as a result of their enculturative experiences and
educational training adds rich dimensions to our understanding of phenomena. The Quileute
Indians of Washington State told a story for many generations of the thunderbird who battled a
whale such that the earth shook in quaking fashion. From their epic comes this line: "There was a
shaking, a jumping up and trembling of the earth beneath, and a rolling up of the great waters"
(Ludwin, 2002). By song and by chanted poetry, this long-standing tale documents for the Quileute
a massive earthquake and tsunami that hit the Northwest coast of the United States long before the
arrival of the first European explorers (Heaton & Snavely, 1985). The story bristles with
information, and while the Quileute carry their heritage forward in legends and songs that were
believed by outsiders to be purely mythical, seismologists have traced the myth of the thunderbird
to documentation of a massive subduction-zone quake that occurred on the Pacific Northwest coast
in 1700. Fair enough, that a different perspective (which, not incidentally, requires the use of
alternative research techniques to draw it out, in this case both geologic and ethnographic
procedures) may lead to new information and deeper understandings. For in the case of the
thunderbird saga, the fears of the people, their retreat inland, the changes in fauna and flora for a
period following the great quake, and its impact upon the psychic nature of the Quileute are all
embedded and carried forward in the rich way that stories can (Reagan, 1934). People hold
different but equally logical perspectives on phenomena, and they are each entirely worthy of
consideration.
Taking on a Perspective
Just how far can one proceed in the embrace of a philosophical stance that adheres to the problem-
solving of music-educational interests from multiple perspectives? Could we, for example, adapt
the tenets of feng shui, that exquisite Chinese aesthetic that finds itself influencing so much of the
Sino and Sino-American world, from paper-folding to landscaping?( n2) Could we be guided by
this perspective of feng shui beliefs, and through it recognize the multiplicities of research (and
teaching) practice in music education? Bear with me in this "senior-moment" scenario of feng shui
principles as they apply to approaches in music education research.
A primary consideration of feng shui is the precept "As within, so without," which hints at how
our scholarship may appropriately reflect the interests of our student and teacher constituency from
whom we derive questions and to whom the results of our research are returned. This suggests
getting to the heart of who we are as musicians, teachers, and music teacher-educators in our
scholarly pursuits, including what we believe to be essential to an understanding of musical
processes and educational practice. These concerns for knowledge of the constituent pieces of
music-making by students under the guidance of teachers drive our inquiry, no matter how
challenging and involved the design may be, no matter how far afield from standard techniques
and comfortable procedures we may need to go.
A second principle of feng shui is that "everything is alive" and nothing is without an essence, a
premise that requires systematic inquiry of a broad array of relevant topics to fully understand our
professional work beyond the superficial and intuitive level. It invites us to "push the envelope" in
examining previously unexamined (or lightly examined) notions--for example, of the social
relationships embedded with music instruction, of architectural spaces that affect musical
performance, of music learning outside the formal realm of school, and of the impact of particular
instruments, audio equipment, and technological and mediated sources that figure into daily
teaching and learning practice. We should be encouraged to honor the hunches that come from the
experiences and "wondering" we have at the core and periphery of curricular issues, all of which
may warrant our study.
The feng shui postulate that "everything is interrelated" draws us to the supposition that we do
well to attach energetic associations to the practice of music education, and to consider that not
only what occurs within rehearsals and classes but also prior to and following instruction may
inform and guide us in our mission to musically educate young people. As the anthropologist
Bronislaw Malinowski (1922) noted in his classic fieldwork studies of the people of the Torbriand
Islands, the fundamental point of fieldwork is to ascertain "What [all] is really going on here?"
Bruno Nettl further recommended that a necessary approach to research is to note "the
imponderabilia of everyday life" (1995). It will serve us well to observe the broader realm of
musical and pedagogical activity of band directors, strings teachers, choral and orchestral
conductors, general music teachers, and teachers of private studio music. Our exploration of the
seemingly mundane--the "daily grind," the ordinary and everyday events that unfold alongside the
major questions we raise--will offer us fuller insights of what we can know of our professional
field.
A final feng shui tenet is that "everything is always changing," such that the balance and flow of
the practice and study of music education shift and diversify with time. The critical need emerges
for us to examine changes of repertoire, instructional media, student needs, and school and societal
missions, and to seek replication of research completed by us, our colleagues, and our students, in
testing theories and applying techniques in new and varied settings. Over time and across distance,
there may well be, through research replication, slight or significant alterations to our
understanding of what transpires in the instructional processes of receiving, responding to, and
making music.
Reaching to the Periphery
Our consideration of the matter of perspective and the embrace of multiple other perspectives is
tantalizing, for these will lead us beyond the scope of our current status as musicians, teachers, and
scholars to a fuller understanding of the reality and potential of our field. As scholars, we have
been trained and socialized into important ways of thinking that define us as a profession, and that
help us to make sense of the known and unknown.
As in the case of all institutions, societies, and cultures, we have created in our research what
Michael Foucault called "the norms of our discourse" (1988). It is a solid training that we have
known, a dynamic community into which we have been socialized, and a clear and concise style
of discourse that we articulate and uphold. Yet, as Marcel Proust declared, "the voyage of
discovery is not just in seeing new landscapes but in having new eyes" (1948). Having new eyes
(and new ears) equates with the acceptance and application of a wider palette of possibilities
relative to the subcultures within our midst, to the designs we use, to the techniques of information-
gathering and analysis, and to the interpretive styles and forms of our published work.
As we develop and celebrate our cultural membership, we may also wonder what would be the
results of opening the windows more widely to further variations on the systematic process, to let
the substance of other frameworks and forms waft in and to circulate within our communal house.
As a society of scholars, we have amassed a historical record of the ability to balance tradition and
change, and have had the pleasure of honoring the heritage of our scholarship while opening also
to the disciplinary possibilities that swirl just beyond the central core of our field. Can we chance
even further changes to the research processes--and questions--we have established? Given a
successful half-century of solid published scholarship, it would seem that we could, and should.
It seems timely to consider a subject spiraling out from the concept of perspective: the periphery
(of students and potential students, music instructional activity, and research method). By
periphery, I mean to draw our attention to (a) the marginalized populations whom we have tended
to overlook and under-serve in our research, (b) the idiosyncratic nature of individuals--individual
music institutions and organizations, teachers, and students, (c) the borders and boundaries of
music teaching and learning, in school and out of school, in studios and community settings, in the
United States and far beyond it, and (d) methodological possibilities, each with its own system and
rigor, such that an understanding of music and music education processes can be expanded and
enriched.
Musical Perspectives on the Periphery
Thoughts of the periphery fall clearly and comfortably into place when considered through the
friendly stimulus of music. Most of us can recall the golden California sound of the Beach Boys
in "I Get Around" (ca. 1966), but not as it appears in this rendition (Innocence & Despair, The
Langley Schools Music Project, Bar/None Records AHAON-122). This is "outsider music" by
outlier musicians, music-making beyond the high-art, high-tech, and polished forms. The Langley
Schools Music Project was the resurrection by Irwin Chusid of two obscure mid-1970s LPs
featuring Canadian schoolchildren on melodies in search of a key, banging rhythmically along on
'60s and '70s pop songs. In 1976, two microphones and a tape deck were set up in a school gym in
Langley, British Columbia, along with an electric bass with a Marshall amp, a stripped-down drum
set, Orff xylophones, an acoustic rhythmic guitar and piano, and the singing voices of elementary
school children of the three rural schools in British Columbia at which a twenty-nine-year-old
music teacher, Hans Fenger, taught. A commercial recording released in late 2001 has become an
underground hit that is critically acclaimed by the likes of experimentalist-musician John Zorn,
who proclaimed that "This is beauty. This is truth. This is music that touches the heart in a way no
other music ever has or ever could."( n3)
We know this "outsider music" as "children-in-their-everyday-music-making behaviors." The
Langley children are typical elementary school students, not members of a selective choir, but
ordinary, average children who had been selected and "worked up" this music for the LP on which
they could store their enthusiastic "group-sing favorites." These children have counterparts in
schools and classrooms throughout North America, and are akin to classes of school-children
elsewhere in the world, many of whom have been overlooked and under-studied for the music they
make and how they make it. The Langley Project is one to be examined further, and so is the
phenomenon of children at the edge of school, outside its curricular scope, who sing because they
must. To our ears, their music may not be what the reviews have called "magic, a kind of celestial
pep rally."( n4) On the other hand, the appeal may be in looking to the margins of school
populations, to children's musical behaviors outside the music classes, to know what music holds
their fascination, why it does, and how.
Across the spectrum of student musicians, there has arisen in recent decades the phenomenon of
carefully Selected and highly trained children's choirs whose artistry is evident in this Hungarian
folk song of a gypsy, "Turot eszik a cigany" ["Gypsy eating cream"] (Songs Building Bridges,
Tapiola Choir, Finlandia 1576-60031-2). That there are prospects for the musical education of
children beyond the place called school presents enticing possibilities for research. Children's
choirs, youth orchestras, summer bands, gospel groups: What do we know of their sociomusical
circumstances? Who are their teachers, directors, conductors, mentors, and advocates? A case in
point is the world-renowned Tapiola Choir of Finland conducted by Erkki Pohola. How did the
Tapiola Choir get to be so good? When did they begin to rival the Hungarians in purity of children's
choral sound? What is the director's training? His techniques? Why could we (or could we not)
expect to replicate what he has produced in the way of a children's choral sound in Forks,
Washington, or Bells, Tennessee? Our research beyond the borders of the school setting might
also require techniques that remain to be unwrapped and reassembled for use.
From groups of children to a single child, we listen to the song of a young girl at play in
Mississippi, ca. 1940, her girlfriends nearby, as recorded by folklorist John Lomax (A Treasury of
Library of Congress Field Recordings, Rounder CD 1500). Idiographic research, the study of
individual students, is long overdue within our field. We have looked to the great works of great
figures for years, and have developed a considerable archive of biographical studies of
inspirational teachers, conductors, textbook writers, curriculum designers, administrators, and
MENC presidents. We have encountered these figures of outstanding social renown, with
established national and foreign reputations. We have so little, however, of the deep structures of
the lives, works, and musical expressions of those lesser-known, committed teachers and their
students who make music daily in their communities. We know so little (collectively, through our
published research) of students of lower classes and minority ethnic groups, of transient and
migrant children, of amateur music-makers, of teachers in the trenches of every urban and
suburban-scape. Kyra Gaunt (1997), ethnomusicologist, is catching us up on the treasured songs
of African-American schoolgirls, and Charles Keil (Crafts, Cavichhi, & Keil, 1993; Keil & Feld,
1994), ethnomusicologist, is pressing the questions of what music and whose music is in the daily
lives of people from eight to eighty (and before and beyond) of all socioeconomic classes.( n5)
Individually, children and young people, including those from marginalized populations, deserve
greater attention and sustained study within the realm of music education research.
What happens to music when it travels? How does Beethoven sound as performed by the Viennese
or through the expressive channel of an American symphony orchestra? What is the sound of
Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Fourth Movement, when performed by a secondary-
school orchestra in Japan? (Source of sound recording withheld by request of the conductor.) This
is symphonic music of a German master composer performed by countless orchestras in Europe
and across the world. What are the social structures and the pedagogical systems that allow a high
school orchestra to sound so technically skilled and so musically expressive? Why are Beethoven
and the Western masters so valued in Japan? How did Western European art music enter that
culture, and why does it flourish there? What part does school music instruction play in raising
young musicians, and how are communities attending to it and supporting this successful systemic
means of making the young musicians more musical? Such questions may require methodological
possibilities that include ethnographic techniques that are yet to appear with much frequency in
the annals of our published literature, primarily because of minimal interest in the subject and
infrequent use of the techniques. In time, perhaps their relevance will grow into our field.
Some musical selections are "close to home" and identifiable within a vast number of school music
programs, such as the concert band standard, James Swearingen's "Celebration and Dance."
(Source of sound recording withheld by request of the conductor.) Such a rendering of this work
is a grand leap ahead for a high school program that has catapulted forward from a student
enrollment of thirteen players nine years ago to a rousing forty-five members in its symphonic
band alone. What are individual music programs really like in their daily struggles? What are the
profiles of those programs that have developed rapidly "from scratch," or that continue to reign at
the top of the heap over long periods of time? Who are the teachers who make the difference in
evolving, revolutionized, and top-ranked programs? Why do some programs work, while others
break down, and still others "get repaired" again? Such questions lead to the need for case studies
of individual programs through processes that include descriptive (including qualitative)
techniques that detail their stories.
In listening to the individual xylophone, called roneat, played in practice and then within the full
Khmer pinn peat ensemble of Cambodia (the royal court's chamber group of gong circles, wooden
xylophones, quadruple-reed "shawm," drums, and gongs), we can engage in a consideration of
cross-cultural and even "universal" properties of music teaching and learning that is currently
earning the attention of cognitive ethnomusicologists and educational anthropologists (Cambodge,
Musiques de l'exil, Archives Internationales de Musique Populaire VDE-698). The nature of
music's transmission became a fixation for me in Lessons from the World (2001) and is of
increasing interest among ethnomusicologists (Bakan, 1999; Berliner, 1994; Rice, 1994). We
might wonder whether the teaching and learning of music is a human phenomenon whose variance
is minimal, or whether transmission varies greatly from culture to culture, shaped by local
circumstances. Who teaches the music? How? What qualifies him or her as master teacher? It
would seem that there are gains to be had in knowing the incidence of certain pedagogical practices
across different cultures, and that we with expertise in the teaching-learning transaction may be
the most likely of scholars to seek this quest.
A fascination for music educators is the manner in which a musical tradition becomes a popular
movement, as in the case of a piece like the Afro-Cuban-flavored "Chan-Chan" growing from a
localized sound to a sought-after style of world renown far beyond the Carribean (Buena Vista
Social Club, World Circuit 79478-2). This is the music that set the world afire to listen to it, to
learn to dance it, and to be drawn to consume it in Latin clubs and dance halls. The questions flow
on a musical phenomenon of this sort, with relevance to the circumstances of the music and its
makers. Who are the members of these musical "clubs"? What is their training? How much of what
they play is notated, or is orally delivered? What are the social dynamics within these bands? Who
leads, and who follows? What is the nature of this music's mediation through the streams of the
pop and commercial worlds, that it caused so strong a response from North Americans who had
known so little of the sound prior to Ry Cooder's "discovery" of the group, his arrangements, and
his business savvy? What are the responses of young Carribean people, and non-Carribean youth,
to this music? Can this music be channeled into music classes and, in particular, jazz ensembles?
Coming to Closure on Perspective
While it may appear that I've gone completely soft on you, drifting tunefully along on silver clouds
of the vague and nebulous, there is, I hope, some substance to the issues posed here (as there is to
the music that inspires them). Some of our colleagues are pioneering these and other topics that
teeter on the edge of our mainstream work, and there is a sense we share among us that no matter
what probing we do in the name of research, we will be enlightened through the rigors of a
systematic process of inquiry.
The musical and educational concerns we underscore in our papers, posters, and publications are
likely to be experienced by people at various points along the cultural continua of age, gender,
socioeconomic circumstance, geographic locale, and lifestyle. An awareness of the diversity of
our constituency--of children, young people, adults, seniors--will require our willingness to go
beyond the most easily accessible participants to the marginalized members of our populations.
The work ahead will necessitate a perseverance in becoming more inclusive in our selection of
participants and population segments for study, and a willingness to give full weight to deciphering
the needs of the outliers at the tails of our bell curves, the "isolates"--the individuals who make up
the mosaic of music-learners and listeners in our classes and communities. Human beings are
biochemically unique, and the possibilities for idiographic, up-close-and-personal casework will
balance well our investigations of groups of subjects. Not an aside nor afterthought, our sensitivity
to diversity and to individual human perspective will require diligence in the application of suitable
statistical analyses of considerable power and also careful attention to a verstehen approach that
comprises thick descriptions. The beauty of embracing the study of groups and isolates, of those
at the center and the sides of the population graph, and by way of positivist and postmodern
approaches, is an enriched understanding of the spectrum of our profession.
Sociologist Howard Becker (1989) underscored the contributions of individuals to the whole of a
scholarly field by way of offering the fish-scale model of omniscience: "Knowledge ought to be
like the scales on a fish, each one covering a small amount, overlapping with others, but not
identical to any of them" (p. 280). So each of us can construct an individual combination of
specializations and skills, not quite like that of our colleagues, and none of them comprehensive.
In this way, we might between us cover the bases without any of us having to feel bad about not
knowing it all.
As an image, fish are fine, but I prefer birds. I'd like to leave you with a slice of the lore that gets
passed around at campfires, this tale that I took back from an outing on the Olympic coastal strip
a few summers ago, about the course of birds in flight. In autumn, when we see geese heading
south for the winter, flying along in V formation, we might consider what scientists have
discovered as to why they fly that way. As each bird flaps its wings, it creates an uplift for the bird
immediately following. By flying in V formation, the whole flock produces a greater flying range
than it would have if each bird flew on its own. It occurs to me that we are like the geese: We who
share a common direction and sense of community can get where we are going more quickly and
easily because we are traveling on the thrust of one another. We are building our collective
knowledge from the individual perspectives we bring and share with one another. And so we press
on, separate but somehow together--Avanti! Thank you for the privilege of this senior moment
with you.
ENDNOTES
(n1.) My own perspective reflects the social preconceptions and biased modes of thinking that
result from my experiences. While gathering my remarks for the privilege of addressing members
of the Society for Research in Music Education at its 2002 biennial meeting (my "senior moment"),
I saw in my mind's eye my students, my colleagues, and my teachers--all of them important
influences to my way of thinking. I would like to acknowledge the wit and wisdom of my
University of Washington live-wire "Husky" colleagues, Steven M. Demorest and Steven D.
Morrison, the inspiring contributions of Barbara Lundquist and James Carlsen to the shaping of
my teaching and scholarship, and my colleagues in ethnomusicology and jazz studies at the
University of Washington with whom I have taught and traded ideas since coming to that post in
1989.
It is fitting and fair to rewind to 1978-81, to my enrollment as a doctoral student at Kent State
University, in order to acknowledge the significant first steps in my journey. It was Terry Kuhn
who invited me fully into the world of research, to draw data with him, to observe his meticulous
designs for the study of music preference, to work with him on his self-made Radio Shack personal
computers, and to stand in awe of his ease in cranking out calculations on a TI-55. I was his
apprentice on Saturday mornings, on Tuesday nights, and all through the week, sometimes joining
with Greg Booth, Nick DeCarbo, Pat Flowers, Pat Grutzmacher, Joyce Jordan DeCarbo, Ken
Phillips, Linda Pucciani, and Wendy Sims in his courses and research projects. It was a treasured
time, and Terry graciously gave of his insights on research and academia; these insights have been
long-lasting. William Anderson encouraged me to pursue my interests in world history and
folklore through the study of the world's musical cultures. His teaching was inspirational, his
advice sound, and the literature that he recommended for reading--of Judith Becker's Traditional
Music of Modern Java, William Malm's Japanese Music and Musical Instruments, and Bonnie
Wade's Music of India--took us into new spheres of influence. Bill was instrumental in keeping
my research and writing musically broad and tilted in the direction of education, with gentle
reminders to me when I would begin to head too far down the path to the "ologies"
(particularly ethnomusicology). My dissertation codirectors were like the Hindustani concepts of
tala and raga: Terry, as tala, kept me close to the takt ["strict beat"], to the discipline of research
design, procedures, and analysis, while Bill as the raga was motivating my exploration of the
intricacies of musical study across cultures and disciplinary possibilities. Terry and Bill were an
amazing team, and I was in the right place at the right time at Kent State University some 20 years
ago--a fortuitous, auspicious time. I would wish for every graduate student the privilege of
knowing so caring and committed a supervisory team, for it makes a difference in our resultant
professional lives.
It remains a pleasure to continue to learn from and be inspired by colleagues in music scholarship.
I wish to thank especially the consistently positive force of Cliff Madsen, model for so many of
all that's well in our world and of a serious commitment to research, and sustaining member of our
Society and the system by which we share ideas cooperatively and collectively. It is also fitting to
mention here my mentors and friends in ethnomusicology who have been beacon-lights for me in
my journey into new territory and techniques, including Charlie Keil, Terry Miller, Bruno Nettl,
and Bonnie Wade, for I have been wont to study their work, question them, hear them out, and
spin off from their theoretical and methodological frameworks. This is privilege, knowing people
who have cared and who stimulate further ideas.
(n2.) While feng shui is a Chinese conceptualization of environmental space, its aesthetic essence
has implications far beyond landscaping and architecture. See SantoPietro, Nancy, Feng Shui:
Harmony by Design. Berkeley, CA: Berkeley Publishers Group, 1996.
(n3.) Liner notes, Innocence & Despair: The Langley Schools Music Project, Bar/None AHAON-
122.
(n4.) Garner, Dwight, Band of outsiders. "In The Way We Live" [column], New York Times
(March 17, 2002), p. 11.
(n5.) One experience of personal interest to me has been the Songs-in-Their-Heads project,
whereby children are known individually as to the meaning that music holds in their young lives.
See Campbell, Patricia Shehan, Songs in Their Heads. New York: Oxford University Press,
1998.
REFERENCES
Bakan, Michael, 1999. Music of Death and New Creation. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Becker, Howard, 1989. Ethnomusicology and sociology: A letter to Charles
Seeger. Ethnomusicology 33: 2, 275-285.
Berliner, Paul F., 1994. Thinking in Jazz. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Campbell, Patricia Shehan, 2001. Lessons from the World. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Crafts, Susan D., Daniel Cavicchi, and Charles Keil, 1993. My Music. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan
University Press.
Foucault, Michael, 1988. Politics, Philosophy, Culture: Interviews and Other Writings, 1977-
1984. London: Routledge.
Gaunt, Kyra, 1997. The Games Black Girls Play: Music, Body, and "Soul." Ph.D. dissertation,
University of Michigan, Ann Arbor.
Heaton, T. H., and P. D. Snavely, 1985. Possible tsunami along the northwestern coast of the
United States inferred from Indian traditions. Bulletin of the Seismological Society of America, V.
75, No. 5, pp. 1455-1460.
Keil, Charles, and Steve Feld, 1994. Music Grooves. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Ludwin, Ruth, 2002. Cascadia megathrust earthquakes in Pacific Northwest Indian myths and
legends (online draft report associated with USGS Grant # 1434-HQ-97-GR-03166, A databased
catalog of Cascadia earthquakes).
Malinowski, Bronislaw, 1922. Argonauts of the Western Pacific. London: Routledge.
Nettl, Bruno, 1995. Heartland Excursions: Ethnomusicological Reflections on Schools of Music.
Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press.
Proust, Marcel, 1948. The Maxims of Marcel Proust. New York: Columbia University Press.
Reagan, A. B., 1934. Myths of the Hoh and Quileute Indians. Utah Academy of Sciences, Vol. 11,
pp. 17-37.
Rice, Timothy, 1994. May It Fill Your Soul. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
~~~~~~~~
By Patricia Shehan Campbell, University of Washington
Patricia Shehan Campbell is the recipient of the MENC 2002 Senior Researcher Award. The
following speech was presented on April 12, 2002, at a special session of the Society for Research
in Music Education at MENC's National Biennial In-Service Conference in Nashville, Tennessee.
Patricia Shehan Campbell is Donald E. Peterson Professor of Music in the School of Music, PO
Box 353450, University of Washington, Seattle, WA 98195-3450; e-mail:
pcamp@u.washington.edu. Copyright © 2002 by MENC: The National Association for Music
Education.

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