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Contents:
Introduction 821
TAMARA LEVITZ
Introduction
TAMARA LEVITZ
Journal of the American Musicological Society, Vol. 65, Number 3, pp. 821–862 ISSN 0003-0139, electronic ISSN
1547-3848. © 2012 by the American Musicological Society. All rights reserved. Please direct all requests for permission
to photocopy or reproduce article content through the University of California Press’s Rights and Permissions website,
www.ucpressjournals.com/reprintInfo.asp. DOI: 10.1525/jams.2012.65.3.821.
business meeting, treasurer James Ladewig celebrated the society’s net assets
of $4,369,498, and the editor of this Journal, Annegret Fauser, announced
that the number of articles in each issue would increase. Presenters celebrated
the society’s musical and intellectual diversity (one might say “multicultural-
ism”), and pointed toward recent articles that extend the geographical and
genre reach of the discipline beyond its traditional borders or push toward
greater interdisciplinarity.1 Sitting there in the business meeting listening, I
wondered whether a utopian era of boundless intellectual possibility was now
really upon us. Is North American musicology poised to take on the world?
Perhaps not, because at the very moment when dramatic expansion of the
discipline seems imminent, North American musicology is also showing visible
signs of shutting down. Anybody who is on the job market or cares about
people who are knows how frightening the situation appears to have become:
drastic recent cuts at the University of California, University of Pittsburgh, and
the University of Florida—to name just a few examples—point toward a shift
in priorities in public education in the United States that is having dire conse-
quences for how musicologists—and scholars across the humanities for that
matter—will be able to do business and thrive into the twenty-first century.
Standards are also declining as academic publishers outsource and cut corners
on everything from copyediting to typesetting. As the economy collapses, a
nostalgia for familiar borders grips the discipline: music-history textbooks in-
sist on nineteenth-century national frameworks in spite of global advances,
brilliant scholars choose to work within the geopolitical confines of the Cold
War, and minority groups establish their voices in ghettoized study groups
that are now incorporated into the AMS rather than functioning as a challenge
to its status quo. In a recent article in the New York Times on the celebrations
for Richard Taruskin at Princeton, James R. Oestreich hinted at the fierceness
of this retrenchment by reporting on how Karol Berger described musicology
at that conference as “drowning in a flood of ever-new products of an industry
paralyzed by an inability to discriminate among them,” only to be countered
by Susan McClary championing the inroads made by “the barbarians at the
gates: women, gay people, Africans, and Asians.” More noteworthy than the
radicalness of each of their positions (if reported correctly) was their willing-
ness to resurrect an impenetrable wall between what is inside and outside
musicology.2
The paradox of simultaneous expansion and contraction in musicology
eerily mirrors the inner dynamic of neoliberal, global capitalism. Recently,
Nick Vaughan-Williams and others have examined this dynamic from the per-
1. Such optimism about the utopian potential of crossing metaphorical borders is evident in
Caryl Clark’s elegant celebration of the AMS’s musical and intellectual diversity in “Caryl Clark
talks about the AMS Program Committee”; and in several recent manifestos on sound studies, in-
cluding Keeling and Kun, “Introduction: Listening to American Studies.” See also Garrett and
Oja, eds., “Studying U.S. Music in the Twenty-First Century,” esp. 712–15.
2. Oestreich, “The World According to One Musicologist.”
postwar period?4 Have threats to the humanities and to the prestige, privilege,
and power of tenured academics in North America caused musicologists there
to go into denial about their situation, and to prefer escaping into the chimera
of an expanding discipline over the harsh reality of having to interrogate and
perhaps dismantle and reorganize the material borders that have historically
secured their position? Can musicologists really integrate Mexico into “U.S.
Music Studies” while ignoring the physical barriers recently erected to prevent
intellectual and physical mobility in the other direction and the draconian
measures that have led to tragic loss of life on the US-Mexican border?5 If they
do so, are they not expanding the domain of North American musicological
law and method beyond the territory in which it is historically valid, just as the
US government has done in Guantanamo?
Vaughan-Williams responds to the moral dilemmas created by the violent
shift from geo- to biopolitics by seeking “alternate border imaginaries” and
new political concepts adequate to these contemporary conditions. Drawing
on critiques of sovereignty and borders offered by Walter Benjamin, Jacques
Derrida, Carl Schmitt, Foucault, Agamben, and others, he reminds us that
the modern sovereign territorial state was founded in violence (in a moment
when laws were created out of non-laws) and that violence is fundamental
to its juridical-political order. Violence occurs when law-making and law-
perpetuating functions merge, as they do with the police, whose spectral force
is most potent when borders are established and in the border regions. In
Agamben’s terms, the sovereign decides which life is worth living, condemn-
ing those who don’t fulfill their terms to an existence he controversially
describes as “bare life”—a “zone of indistinction” represented by the concen-
tration camp and by Guantanamo.6 Vaughan-Williams concludes that these
borders and zones are exceptional places—states of exception in Carl
Schmitt’s sense—“scars in the territorial landscape that act as reminders of ‘the
sufferings, the crimes, the tortures’ that rarely fail to accompany the founding
of states as distinct entities.” Resistance will occur in these very border regions,
he insists, in places where the boundary between the inside and outside of the
state is blurred, where refugees and those who don’t identify in a community
dwell, and where lines and borders cannot be drawn.7 His political appeal
resonates with Walter D. Mignolo’s call for “border thinking” or “alternative
centers of enunciation,” a “thinking from” the margins made possible by the
reestablishment of colonial difference.8
4. Berlant, Cruel Optimism. I thank Ryan Dohoney for drawing my attention to the connec-
tion between my argument and Berlant’s work.
5. I respond here to George E. Lewis’s provocative challenge in “Americanist Musicology
and Nomadic Noise,” 692–93. On the border violence and the case of Anastasio Hernández
Rojas, see Epstein, “Crossing the Line at the Border.”
6. See Agamben, Homo Sacer.
7. Vaughan-Williams, Border Politics, quotation at p. 70.
8. Mignolo, Local Histories/Global Designs.
What might a musicology that dwelled in the border look like? I don’t think
it would consist of situating oneself in a violent border zone and there contin-
uing the musicological business of collecting sounds of resistance as musicolo-
gist Janie Cole and former oil trader Nancy Galdy propose to do in their
project “Music Beyond Borders.”9 And surely it would not consist of repre-
senting border issues—or creating border listening regions through aesthetic
forms with broad commercial appeal and cult status—in the academy.10 On
the contrary, I think that if musicologists want to operate in the border they
will need to become acutely aware of the material reality of the borders against
which they chafe, and be willing to confront in their scholarship the explosive
violence that will emerge if they interrogate truly the power relations all bor-
ders sustain and reinforce.11 They will need to recognize the difference be-
tween North American musicological tourists’ metaphorical fantasies of global
freedom and the concrete reality of what Emily Apter theorizes as the “check-
point,” which regulates traffic of people and goods and, in David A. Fleni and
Karim Matter’s interpretation, enacts relations of power through rituals of
crossing in which language and translation become matters of life and death.12
Rather than adopting the familiar mode of anti-imperialist resistance once
practiced by new musicologists now incorporated into the discipline, musicol-
ogists in the borders would need to seek new forms of political activism, per-
haps by imagining themselves to be in a permanent state of exception or to be
intellectual refugees. The musicology in the borders they would create might
resemble what Suzanne Cusick has done in researching musical torture in
Guantanamo.13 It would surely not be celebratory, and probably impossible to
sustain without collapsing the discipline and creating it anew.
9. See http://www.musicbeyondborders.net/
10. Josh Kun runs this risk in “The Aural Border.”
11. Georgina Born points toward such an approach in “For a Relational Musicology.” Born
insists on very firm boundaries around the musical work, however, and sidesteps the issue of mate-
rial boundaries by exploring their “conceptual” counterpart.
12. Apter, “Translation at the Checkpoint”; and Fleni and Matter, “The Global Checkpoint.”
See also Brown, Walled States, Waning Sovereignty.
13. See Cusick, “Music as Torture: Music as Weapon.”
(though age correlates strongly with the diversity of one’s tastes, with younger
cohorts more likely to partake of a broader palette of cultural offerings than
older ones).21 In an era when digital media and the Internet have lowered the
barriers to cultural consumption, what matters less is the quantitative breadth
of individuals’ cultural repertoires than its qualitative composition, with pref-
erence for classical music and other artforms traditionally coded as “high” still
tracing a subtle yet significant symbolic boundary. Not all forms of cultural
eclecticism are the same; nor are all treated equally. Also significant is the pre-
cise manner in which actors both deploy and construe the wide-ranging cul-
tural repertoires they engage.22 Is breadth of taste conceived in terms of a
high-minded desire for self-improvement to be achieved through exposure to
diverse aesthetic experiences? Or is it figured as a kind of diversity by default, a
result of one’s inability to discriminate between different genres and artistic
codes? What is above all crucial to observe about recent mutations in practices
of cultural distinction is how displays of aesthetic openness turn the virtue of
inclusiveness into a means of symbolic exclusion, as individuals’ comportment
vis-à-vis cultural difference—along with the specific habitus that such com-
portment implies—becomes the basis for the formation of in-groups and out-
groups. In this regard, new modes of cultural distinction bear much in
common with stances occupying homologous positions in contemporary civic
discourse, namely those that extol the virtues of tolerance and cosmopoli-
tanism. As Wendy Brown observes, discourses of tolerance typically presup-
pose a hegemonic liberal subject who has mastered and thereby transcended
cultural attachments. Such discourses divide the world into two broad groups,
“those who are said to be ruled by culture” and “those who are said to rule
themselves but enjoy culture.”23 Similarly, Craig Calhoun notes that appeals
to cosmopolitanism—understood as a curative for the ills of ethnocentrism—
devalue what are characterized as narrow, parochial attachments, and hence
“disempower those who lack substantial personal or organizational re-
sources.” The problem, Calhoun remarks, is that “would-be cosmopolitans
don’t recognize the extent to which cosmopolitan appreciation of global di-
versity is based on privileges of wealth and perhaps especially citizenship in
certain states.”24
Lurking behind the foregoing is the issue of class, a topic that has come
back into public view after many years of hiding in plain sight. Indeed, in a re-
cent colloquy published in this Journal, Gayle Sherwood Magee called on her
fellow Americanists to pay greater attention to how this oft-neglected deter-
21. Warde, Wright, and Gayo-Cal, “Understanding Cultural Omnivorousness”; and Ollivier,
“Modes of Openness to Cultural Diversity.”
22. See Ollivier, “Modes of Openness”; and Atkinson, “Context and Genesis of Musical
Tastes.”
23. Brown, Regulating Aversion, 20.
24. Calhoun, “Class Consciousness of Frequent Travelers,” 893.
During a time when historical musicology is expanding its subject matter and
geographical purview, it is all the more important to theorize cultural cross-
ings carefully, reckoning with the ideological boundaries that have historically
defined the discipline. I suggest here how one such set of foundational
limitations—musicology’s reliance on national models of history—can be illu-
minated and challenged through a sustained engagement with the growing
field of translation studies. To animate this point, I turn to a particular histori-
cal episode: the comparative musicologist Robert Lachmann’s boundary-
crossing pedagogical activities in Mandate Palestine, set against the hotly
contested nationalist movements of that era.
In a recent JAMS colloquy, Alejandro Madrid reminded readers of musi-
cology’s “ideological foundations . . . in the project of state building.” These
foundations, he suggests, have been increasingly put under pressure by a his-
tory of “transnational musical flows.”26 If the discipline of musicology origi-
nated in the need to tell the history of nations and their cultures, then many
of its traditional norms (especially in studies of nineteenth- and twentieth-
century contexts) seem at once well suited to this aim and resistant to the sus-
tained examination of cultural boundary-crossings in all their complexity. I
would take these nation-centered tendencies to include: (1) the elaboration of
artistic lineages (often, though not always, suggesting national schools and
styles); (2) the identification of “central” figures and phenomena within rela-
tively unified ideas of “society” or a “public sphere” (often implicitly equated
with a national civic space); and (3) the tracing of relationships between
bounded cultural categories (whether these categories are defined by nation,
by ideas of Western vs. non-Western culture, or by other signs of demarca-
tion). While a burgeoning interest in transnational musical networks increas-
ingly challenges these norms, it is striking the extent to which the “deep
structures” of nation-centered historiography persist, even within many studies
of musical migration.27 As literary scholar Emily Apter notes, “National char-
acter ghosts theories and approaches even in this era of anti-essentialism.”28
In this context, translation studies has emerged as a vital “interdiscipline”—
engaging fields from comparative literature to anthropology to media studies
to law—because it foregrounds dilemmas of cultural plurality (rather than the
nation’s unity) and displacement (rather than impermeable boundaries).
26. Madrid, “American Music in the Age of Postnationality,” 699–703. See also Cohen,
Stefan Wolpe and the Avant-Garde Diaspora, 12–22.
27. Cohen, Stefan Wolpe and the Avant-Garde Diaspora, 13–16.
28. Apter, Translation Zone, 42.
29. Ibid.; Berman and Wood, Nation, Language, and the Ethics of Translation; Venuti,
Translation Studies Reader; Bohlman, “Translating Herder Translating”; Cohen, “Diasporic
Dialogues in Mid-Century New York,” 147–48, 168–69.
30. Benjamin, “Task of the Translator.”
31. Bhabha, Location of Culture, 303–37.
32. Apter, Translation Zone, 3–11.
Though Lachmann had long made similar arguments before his exile, this
document is distinguished by its place within an unprecedented field of peda-
gogical practice in Palestine.35 In 1937, Lachmann began to use the recorded
musics of the Archive as a basis for classes in cross-cultural music education for
secondary-level students in Arabic- and Hebrew-language schools. In a mo-
ment of candor, he justified his work in terms of a broad aspiration for improv-
ing cross-cultural understanding in the Middle East: “My work necessitates
free intercourse with all the different ethnical groups in this country and the
Near East generally. It may therefore be made to contribute, however mod-
estly, towards aims beyond its immediate scope, towards a better understand-
ing between Jews and Arabs.”36 Lachmann was supported by a network of
individuals joined together by the technologies of the Phonogram Archive:
technicians and assistants (most notably, Edith Gerson-Kiwi) alongside musi-
cians and other research associates (including oud virtuoso Ezra Aharon). By
1937, Lachmann suggested to Magnes that he would need to share director-
ship of the Archive with an Arab scholar in order to bring cultural credibility
and a greater knowledge base to the Archive in the context of its work outside
the university.37
33. Bohlman and Davis, “Mizrakh, Jewish Music, and the Journey to the East,” 114–25;
Katz, Lachmann Problem.
34. Lachmann, “Musical Education in Arab Schools.”
35. Racy, “Historical Views of Early Ethnomusicologists,” 80.
36. Cited in Katz, Lachmann Problem, 198.
37. Ibid.
Lachmann’s projects generally fit within a wider pacifist Zionist agenda as-
sociated with Brith Shalom. This society was founded in 1928 as a loose-knit
organization—centered in Jerusalem and associated with such thinkers as
Magnes himself, Martin Buber, and Arthur Ruppin—that sought to establish
Jewish-Arab cultural understanding as the primary goal of the Yishuv.38 They
tended to advocate founding an Arab-Jewish binational federation in the re-
gion as an alternative to a Jewish-majority nation-state. This “post-national”
vision drew on many ideas, ranging from socialism to Habsburg-inspired
models. Although Brith Shalom’s political influence fell into steep decline in
the 1930s—in the shadow of the Holocaust, the 1936–39 Arab Revolt, and
the attendant rise of militarized nationalisms—educational projects remained
at the core of its proponents’ mission.
Lachmann’s practice in Jerusalem can be described as translational on more
levels than can adequately be explored within the space of this essay. Most
notably, the Phonogram Archive was a laboratory that, as Bruno Latour has
argued of laboratories in general, performed a “translational” function.39 In
other words, laboratories need not be thought of as merely expanding knowl-
edge of familiar entities, but rather as transforming the relations and signifi-
cance of those entities by breaking down boundaries (or “translating”)
between “in-house” and wider social spaces. In keeping with this, I wish to fo-
cus on the Archive as a lever for social change—an approach that contrasts with
the trope of cultural conservation that has often been used to describe
Lachmann’s work as a comparative musicologist. Like a scientific laboratory,
the Archive worked to isolate and transfer unwieldy, complex elements (musi-
cal material, knowledge, and sources) from a broad social field into a space for
intensive analysis, supported by specific and powerful technologies (phono-
graph recording, written transcription, and archival collection). Once
Lachmann and his associates had transferred and interpreted musical objects
of study within the Archive, they made a complimentary translational move
outward again, using the knowledge gained in the Archive to leverage educa-
tional projects in the “outside” world. To be sure, the “translational” power
dynamics that shaped Lachmann’s activities were far more complicated than
this basic laboratory model would suggest, especially given the wider contexts
of the Mandate’s colonial setting, Lachmann’s and his associates’ exile condi-
tions, power dynamics within Hebrew University, and the funding networks
linking Lachmann’s work with donor circles in the United States. Yet transla-
tion studies offers the conceptual models that would illuminate such power
relations, while spotlighting the productive “gaps” that helped to constitute
the Archive’s space of creativity: gaps in the communications among
European-Jewish scholars, Mizrahi immigrants, Palestinian Arab musicians,
and other actors in the Archive; between cultural contexts of performance and
The leading Cuban musicologist Victoria Eli Rodríguez wrote this entry in
Spanish, reflecting in it on a seminal essay on the discipline of musicology that she
wrote in 1998.42 We have included both the original Spanish and, following this,
Tamara Levitz’s English translation, in order to raise the question of linguistic
borders and make the act of translation transparent.
Ante todo agradezco a la musicóloga Tamara Levitz su invitación a participar
en este Coloquio. El tema propuesto, relacionado con la delimitación del ob-
jeto de estudio y la conceptualización epistemológica de la Musicología, ha
emergido en diferentes momentos y ha tomado y toma matices de gran actua-
lidad, condicionado por situaciones históricas particulares, como sucede en el
presente. Sin pretender historiar un asunto que lleva sobre si más de 100 años,
de delimitación, compartimentación y división—musicología histórica, siste-
mática o teoría y musicología comparada; musicología histórica versus etno-
musicología o antropología de la música; así como nuevas denominaciones
relacionadas con estudios particulares como “musicología popular,” “musico-
logía de género,” y tantos otros, que han tratado de ampliar o trascender los
40. Bohlman and Davis, “Mizrakh, Jewish Music, and the Journey to the East,” 116.
41. Bohlman, Davis, and Katz have, however, explored how Lachmann sought to forge
boundary-crossing solidarities through education.
42. Eli Rodríguez, “Hacia una funcionalidad mayor de la ciencia musicológica.”
43. Carpentier: “América Latina en la confluencia de sus coordenadas históricas,” 17; Eli
Rodríguez, “Hacia una funcionalidad mayor,” 56.
44. Eli Rodríguez, “Hacia una funcionalidad mayor,” 56. Se confunde, en este último caso,
la esencia del etnos con un limitado radio de acción, al vincular este con comunidades de un nivel
precario de desarrollo económico y social.
humanidades desde fuera; debe ser una transformación que identifique y criti-
que los modelos ideológicos que la musicología ha ayudado a reproducir.”45
En este proceso urgente y necesario de reinvención musicológica no es
posible la exclusión de personas, pueblos y repertorios y retomar viejos
criterios—aún presentes entre algunos intelectuales—de segregación de las
culturas Latinoamérica y oposición de ellas a una cultura occidental “superior”
y hegemónica, o pasar por alto las políticas esgrimidas por los “países del pri-
mer mundo” en relación con las condiciones históricas de otros territorios
implicados hoy día en enfrentamientos de diversa índole. En momentos de cri-
sis, embargos económicos y guerras fratricidas se han visto involucrados enor-
mes pérdidas de valiosas vidas humanas, así como la destrucción irreversible de
patrimonios culturales y artísticos de las naciones y de la humanidad.
En medio de un panorama histórico tan complejo, el musicólogo latino-
americano tiene ante si “la vivencia y la espontaneidad del hecho folclórico en
medio de la variabilidad y la mutabilidad que les son propias, junto a una mú-
sica popular urbana que se proyecta con fuerza a través de la industria cultural
y los medios de difusión, y una valiosa música académica que no ha sido muy
favorecida en los circuitos internacionales de concierto. Estas esferas lejos de
excluirse se interrelacionan en el devenir histórico musical del continente y han
sido decisivas en la definición de las identidades de los músicos latinoamerica-
nos. Para hacer posible la explicación de estas interinfluencias y el estudio de la
música como medio para perfilar nuevas realidades, se requiere de un instru-
mento metódico y teórico que permita un análisis de forma integral, que deje
a un lado las rigideces esquemáticas que no pueden concebirse hoy en medio
del quehacer científico.”46 Ha de someterse a juicios críticos el aparato con-
ceptual “construido” y “probado,” por la musicología y la etnomusicología
europea y norteamericana, e ir a la selección de aquello que resulte útil ha-
ciendo las modificaciones que la situación histórica y cultural de América
Latina demande.
El valor inestimable que puede alcanzar la ciencia musicológica latinoameri-
cana actual—e incluyo a la musicología en su conjunto—está en su “papel
aglutinador de disciplinas afines, en el carácter activo que ha de asumir acor-
tando las distancias que la separan de otras ciencias sociales, sin aislar el hecho
musical en todas sus especificidades como lenguaje de la funcionalidad social
que le es intrínseca.”47 Sin embargo no ha de perderse de vista, y retomo las
recientes palabras de Alejandro Madrid, que “vivimos un tiempo de crisis eco-
nómica, social e ideológica a nivel global; se trata de un contexto de capita-
lismo desbocado en el que las humanidades se han visto atacadas de una
manera inusual por no encajar en el modelo utilitario que el capital transnacio-
nal nos impone.”48
45. Madrid, “Solo un enfoque multidisciplinar.”
46. Eli Rodríguez, “Hacia una funcionalidad mayor,” 57.
47. Ibid., 57–58.
48. Madrid, “Solo un enfoque multidisciplinar.”
Above all I would like to thank Tamara Levitz for her invitation to participate
in this colloquy. The proposed topic, as it relates to defining the object of
study and epistemological conceptualization of the discipline of musicology,
has emerged at different times in history, and taken on degrees of contempo-
rary relevance that vary with historical circumstance, as is the case today.
Rather than offer a history of how music scholars have been defining, com-
partmentalizing, and dividing the field of music studies in the last more than
one hundred years—of how they have divided it, for example, into historical,
systematic, and theoretical musicology or comparative musicology; or into his-
torical musicology versus ethnomusicology or the anthropology of music, as
well as into the new denominations related to particular fields of study such as
popular music studies and musicology and gender, and many other subdisci-
plines, all of which try to expand or transcend the usual compartmentalization
of the discipline—I will concentrate in my response on the need to rethink and
possibly modify the borders of Latin American musicology.
Everybody knows that the existing split between historical musicology and
ethnomusicology, which developed as a consequence of an essentially Euro-
pean musicological practice and in North American academic institutions, had
a great impact on the Latin American scientific and academic community inas-
much as a large number of professionals in these disciplines on the [South
American] continent were trained for many years in foreign and preferably
North American universities. It would be difficult and complex to cast aside
this “tradition” when we are still living in highly stratified societies in which
neocolonial values and perspectives still operate.
And yet in the current climate questions arise, among them: Are the aes-
thetic criteria and formal and musical canons imposed or inherited from
“Western musicology” adequate for the study of Latin American realities?
Should the Latin American musicologist maintain or abandon them? Are the
borders determined by the European and North American academy pertinent
to the study of musical cultures in Latin America?
[As I wrote in 1998], “Latin American musical cultures present a complex
picture, which, in the words of the novelist and musicologist Alejo Carpentier,
‘has to be accepted en bloc, as it is, by admitting that the most original ex-
pressions of that culture can emerge from the street as well as from the aca-
demies.’ ”51 [Again, as I wrote then]: “To confront this particular reality,
musicologists have to analyze [Latin American] musical culture’s broad system
of relations. They cannot limit their object of study to so-called art music
[privileging the text and defining models and patterns], with the goal of ex-
posing and rationalizing elements and expressive means put into practice by
the composer and contrasting them with canons taken from or imposed by
other cultures. Neither can they suggest studying in an isolated fashion the
creative means that have been conserved and modified in different, usually
gravely underdeveloped communities, and to this aim depart from theoretical
and methodological premises of another discipline: Ethnomusicology.”52
On 19March2012,the Mexican–North American musicologist Alejandro L.
Madrid indicated in his inaugural speech for the Thirteenth Musicological
Prize of the Casa de las Américas [at the Seventh International Musicological
Conference] in Havana that “the current academic, social, and global bud-
getary crisis offers precisely one of those moments in which musicology and its
institutions must reinvent themselves. Those reinventing the discipline cannot
succumb to utilitarian models that define the Humanities from the outside,
however: rather, they must identify and critique ideological models that the
discipline itself has contributed to reproducing.”53
As we engage in this project of the urgent and necessary reinvention of mu-
sicology, it will not be possible for us to exclude persons, peoples, and reper-
toires, or for us to take up again old criteria—still circulating among certain
51. Carpentier: “América Latina en la confluencia de sus coordenadas históricas,” 17. See Eli
Rodríguez, “Hacia una funcionalidad mayor,” 56.
52. Eli Rodríguez, “Hacia una funcionalidad mayor.” In the latter case, the essence of ethnic-
ities becomes confused with a limited radius of action as a consequence of being linked with
communities that exhibit precarious levels of social and economic development.
53. See Madrid, “Solo un enfoque multidisciplinar.”
[I would still conclude, as I did in 1998], that the basis of a solid discipline
of Latin American musicology lies in “elaborating theoretical premises for the
investigation and analysis of music in all its different modes of production,”
and also in engaging more intensely with “sociological and psychological as-
pects of musical creation and consumption,” and, I would add today, with
economic and administrative factors that the global cultural industry demands
and with structural aspects of the social function of music that are being con-
stantly modified by the increased migratory flows brought on by the interna-
tional situation.57
Borders are queer things. They mark where home is. They give a measure of
comfort by securing for us a habitable space. They are, however, not given.
Borders are established through struggle.58 Often hard-won, they need to be
defended as they protect our home, not that of another. Borders are agonistic
sites of contestation and, as such, are provisional and relational. I will respond
to Tamara Levitz’s provocations by considering music’s role in maintaining
and reconfiguring borders between self and other, and thus in what Isabelle
Stengers has called “productions of subjectivity”—practices through which we
sense ourselves and our place in the world.59 I am interested in particular in
border drawings and crossings as they occur in the relational dynamics of mu-
sical experience.
A growing number of musicologists are studying the relationship between
musical experience and subject formation. Naomi Cumming, Benjamin
Piekut, and Antoine Hennion have all proffered approaches for analyzing how
subjective borders are marked and reconfigured through sound production.60
Cumming makes a convincing case for the importance of music in the con-
struction of a “sonic self ” or a particular musical being composed out of a net-
work of social and affective relations. Hennion notes that our attachments
(musical and otherwise) in many ways constitute our sense of self and mark
us off from what we are not. Piekut, in a similar vein, argues that “every musi-
cal performance is the performance of a relationship.”61 Rather than reinscribe
Enlightenment notions of sovereign selfhood in the productions of subjec-
tivity they document, these scholars track the construction of selves out of un-
stable attachments that are constantly in flux. “Like a live wire, the subject
channels what’s going on around it in the process of its own self-composition,”
Kathleen Stewart writes, “it’s a thing composed of encounters and the spaces
and events it traverses and inhabits.”62 We traverse and inhabit sonic borders in
the most sublime and mundane of our musical experiences. Sound rubs up
against what we think we feel and how we live. A sound can change us, and
force us to do something we didn’t expect to do.
Carolyn Abbate recognizes music’s capacity to participate in the formation
of subjectivity when she discusses music’s drastic abilities to reconfigure our
perceptions and the kinds of stories we tell about them. In the rush to critique
Abbate’s work, we have foreclosed productive paths for the drastic, which I
would reinterpret as a peculiar musical affect marking different kinds of border
crossings and reconfigurations that invite our attention and documentation—
instead of reducing us to silence. Through her “autobiographical tidbits”
Abbate conveys her sense of the affective flow and perceptual reconfiguration
that occur during particularly intense live performances. I am most interested
in her discussion of the possibilities in attending to the “neurological misfire”
that accompanies drastic experience, which leads to uncertainty and confusion
in response to music.63 Abbate restricts the drastic by privileging its produc-
tion during live performance, however. Yet the type of “presence” she cele-
brates occurs as well when human beings confront technologies and
nonhuman objects. The relationships of which music is made are not only be-
tween people but also between people and things.64 As Hennion notes, music
“cumulates intermediaries, interpreters, instruments, mediums, all needed for
its presence in the musical milieu.”65 Listening to any performance or record-
ing is to partake in an experience distended in space and time and mediated by
musicians, playback systems, instruments, and both physical and virtual bodies.
It was a rather mundane activity that got me thinking along these lines. In
early 2012 I indulged in my penchant for thrift-store shopping in downtown
Portland, Oregon. I wandered into a Goodwill boutique, a well-curated and
62. Stewart, Ordinary Affects, 79.
63. Abbate, “Music—Drastic or Gnostic?,” 536, 535. My reinterpretation of “the drastic”
(one might say deliberate misreading) is in sympathy with James Hepokoski’s critique of Vladimir
Jankélévitch: “While not discounting the directness of music’s impact as performed—which must
remain an elemental reality for any considered reflection—one might still ask the counter-
Jankélévitchian question of whether one ever approaches the captivating force of music in an
unmediated way, as an isolated and independent subject emancipated from external constraints,
free to recognize on one’s own terms the ineffability believed to be really there”; Hepokoski,
“Ineffable Immersion,” 230. For another view on confusion and lack of mastery over musical ex-
periences and our attempts to narrate them see Dubiel, “Uncertainty, Disorientation, and Loss as
Responses to Musical Structure.”
64. On the unpredictability of subject-object relations and the power of non-human agents,
see Bennett, Vibrant Matter; Latour, Reassembling the Social, 63–86; and Whitehead, Adventures
of Ideas, 175–90.
65. Hennion, “History of Art—Lessons in Mediation,” 238. See also idem, La passion
musicale.
miniaturized version of the more familiar thrift stores planted in strip malls
across the country. I made my way past some costume jewelry and chintz to
the small men’s section hoping to find a tie or some other professorial garb.
The soundscape of the store, as is often the case in retail environments, was
not intrusively apparent.66 The music encouraged evenly hovering attention to
shopping, the task at hand. The selection of Top 40 hits from the 1980s and
1990s gave me a sense of, if not comfort, at least familiarity and allowed me to
feel sonically at home. This soundscape was not necessarily conducive to in-
tense experience, and yet something drastic did happen when “Take My
Breath Away”—a song written by Giorgio Moroder and Tom Whitlock and
performed by the band Berlin—started to sound from the speakers.
“Take My Breath Away” is familiar to those who have seen the film Top
Gun from 1987, in which it accompanies a rather tame love scene between
Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis. As the song began to play, two shoppers at
the Goodwill appeared deeply affected by it. They stopped what they were do-
ing, mouthed the words in silent karaoke, and stared up at the speakers. I no-
ticed their sudden shift in bodily attitude: they appeared captured by the song
and held in momentary reverie. After several moments of immersion (lasting
the length of the first verse and chorus) they began to shuttle back and forth
between two observable modes of listening: at certain moments they treated
the song as background music to their shopping, while at others they aban-
doned themselves to spontaneous flashes of sonic absorption. Although the
shoppers may have appeared to be going inward in their moments of reverie,
or setting up a border between themselves and the outside world by creating a
fantasy of being sonically separate from it, they were in fact redrawing their
connections rather dramatically by focusing acute attention on the technologi-
cal apparatus (the speakers) that was enabling their drastic experience. Because
I observed the changes in the shoppers but didn’t feel the experience myself, I
had some trouble empathizing with it. I kept wondering, “What is going on?”
I am not sure that I have gotten it right. There is something in this experience
that reminds me of Raymond Williams’s “structures of feeling”—which de-
scribes intensities of feeling that are felt before they can be narrated.67 Such
affects are “changes of presence” that “do not have to await definition, classifica-
tion, or rationalization before they can exert palpable pressure and set effective
limits on experience and action.”68 If we open up Abbate’s definition of the
drastic, we begin to understand that it describes not a blank moment of pure
listening, but rather a chain of relationships established between subjects and
objects as they enter social and technological networks they did not foresee.69
66. See Sterne, “Sounds Like the Mall of America”; and DeNora, Music in Everyday Life,
131–50.
67. Williams, Marxism and Literature, 128–37.
68. Ibid., 132. Emphasis in original.
69. Abbate is not alone in idealizing liveness and physical copresence. See my critique of
philosopher Adriana Cavarero along these lines in Dohoney, “Antidote to Metaphysics.”
being replaced by others over which we have little control? And what might
we do about it?
This contribution offers observations about the border of the most enduring,
and frequently contested, territories of the discipline, namely, the medieval
border of the Western musical tradition: the edge that marks the beginning of
music history. For decades, it has been the starting point of staple undergradu-
ate history surveys; and in its most recent narration, Richard Taruskin’s
History of Western Music, the “curtain goes up” with the earliest notated tradi-
tions, beginning with Gregorian chant. Furthermore, by virtue of its roots in
nineteenth-century philological methodologies, the study of medieval reper-
tories marks another border: the beginnings of the field of musicology itself.
The continuous presence of the medieval border thus makes it a prime witness
to the topic of this colloquy, capable of speaking not only to the question of
what constitutes a disciplinary border, but also of the complicated and chang-
ing history of borders within musicology. During its long lifespan, it has wit-
nessed expansions and contractions, and, like the larger territory it demarcates,
it has been construed as only marginally relevant and restrictively dominant by
turns. Yet throughout all these formations and reformations, one constant re-
mains: the seemingly unassailable endurance of the medieval border, manifest
in the continuous practice of medieval-music studies in the mix of musicolo-
gies past and present. My purpose is not to rehearse the reasons for its ongo-
ing presence, or that of the historical territory it frames; nor is it to defend,
depose, or map the current position of the tradition, even though these possi-
bilities remain pressing in many quarters. Instead, I will explore what place the
practice of medieval borders may have in the border musicologies imagined by
Tamara Levitz and other contributors. Specifically, the case of medieval bor-
ders illuminates questions pertinent to Levitz’s consideration of contemporary
directions of our field: what is the place of historical musicology in a musicol-
ogy attuned to contemporary geopolitical borders, what might it contribute
to, and learn from, these emerging initiatives? Pressing here is another, more
challenging question: can, or indeed should, the historian or historically in-
clined participate in a future musicology in the border, a musicology in
which one that is acutely aware of the “material reality” and violence of to-
day’s borders?
Medieval musicology does not just mark a border of disciplinary history. It
is unequivocally in the border: a space of in-betweens. We can thus understand
the tag “medieval musicology” as a kind of abbreviation. Expanded, it opens
out onto a compound or chain of hyphenated identities, whose baseline is the
sound and music that ripple out far beyond the hyphenations of the medieval
border. As more recent fields such as sound studies and performance studies
grapple with musical ontologies, the example of the medieval border may
serve as a historical and historiographical touchstone.
Borders and border theories obviously have a past, and if border thinking is
to be embraced, a historically informed attitude seems desirable. Writers and
artists of the Middle Ages offer many alternate models, prompting points of
contact and contrast with contemporary borders. Borders, margins, and
frames pervade many mediums, visible in the decorated margins of manu-
scripts or cacophony of glosses that encompass and critique revered texts.
They articulate and comment upon divisions and relationships between sys-
tems of authority, geographical, racial, sexual, and religious difference to name
but a few. To be in the border was often to be hybrid or monstrous; it was a
space both dangerous and unsettling. Representations of geographical borders
in the topographical tradition of maps offer a vivid exemplum. Figure 1, from
a mid-thirteenth-century French Psalter, follows a common format, and the
looming Christ-figure is a clear cue that the map’s function is not to represent
actual space so much as to express religious ideologies. To the East, rounding
out the circular edge of the Jerusalem-dominated center, a neat border of the
so-called monstrous races or marvelous people line up like a hyphenated chain
of wonders, each of them expressing monstrosity through hybrid concatena-
tions of human and animal bodies parts.74 In their graphic challenge to ortho-
dox category of the human, they express fear and wonder of the unknown.
Similar anxiety about hybridity permeates literary evidence of experiences
of geographical and cultural territory. Here, I return to Cohen’s use of the
model of hyphenation in his study of self-identification by writers of mixed
backgrounds in twelfth-century Britain. While hyphenation works well in
modern parlance to express regional mixture (for instance, we might speak of
“Anglo-Normans”), such systems, however, “have no counterpart in medieval
terminology.”75 He goes on, explaining that “individuals of mixed ancestry
tended instead to have multiple identities available to them. The son of an
English mother and a Norman father might consider himself Norman when
hobnobbing at court, English when celebrating the history of his native coun-
try.”76 Writers like Gerard of Wales attempted to reconcile dual origins, high-
lighting how difficult it was to do so “when no terminology exists to express a
self that happens to be fabricated of grossly unequal parts.”77 The bodies in
which such composites resided were irrefutably “difficult.” Being neither one
74. A useful guide to medieval maps is Edson, Mapping Time and Space. See also Friedman,
Monstrous Races in Medieval Art and Thought, esp. 37–58, for discussion of maps.
75. Cohen, Hybridity, 79.
76. Ibid.
77. Ibid., 80.
Figure 1 World map, thirteenth century. London, British Library MS Add. 28681, fol. 9.
HIP/Art Resource, New York.
nor the other, being both or all, was a disturbing place to be. Yet it was also in
such spaces that issues of identity were at their most acute, and where transfor-
mation and revelation could occur, as Caroline Walker Bynum’s work on
metamorphosis and identity has shown.78
Within medieval studies, attention to such borders and border attitudes has
spawned its own modern monsters—a scholarly community for whom cohab-
itation in the border is now commonplace. Michael Camille’s now-classic
1992 Image on the Edge is a benchmark study of the margins of medieval art,
whose broad audience is one instance of how border studies cut across old dis-
ciplinary boundaries. More recently, scholars such as Sharon Kinoshita, David
Wallace, and Ardis Butterfield have challenged the way we construct place and
language with regard medieval literary traditions, with far-reaching conse-
quences for a remapping of the tradition.79 Kinoshita’s work, for instance, de-
scribed as “medieval postcolonialism,” relocates French literature of the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries in a geographical frame that widens territories
of influence to include the Iberian peninsula and Eastern Mediterranean; her
work takes account, too, of the economics and politics of cultural exchange in
these regions. Such remappings have consequences, too, for the geography of
medieval music, indeed for any form of cultural production in this period.
Let me return to the questions of this colloquy, and to what the foray into
medieval borders suggests about the relationship of historical musicology to
the formation of musicologies born of today’s border realities. Scrutiny of
institutional histories that account for border formation, and consideration
of the evidence of border history itself, may certainly incite those active in bor-
ders of long standing to rethink “stock” narratives; and in redefining old bor-
ders, to make space for new territories. It may also serve new musicologies by
offering deeper context for ontological and taxonomical formulations. But it is
important, too, to mark a clear distinction between a historical borderism pur-
sued in medieval-music studies, and the borderism Levitz asks us to contem-
plate, one explicitly connected to today’s geopolitical realities. In keeping
those distinctions active, we may need to resist models of comparison or anal-
ogy. Instead, perhaps the more valuable lesson of the medieval borderism I
have sketched is what it says about being in the border in the academic practice
of music studies today. For it seems that, as never before, we are all, always, in
the border. Institutionally, we may live our scholarly hyphenations in singular,
discrete units, or as connected messy chains. The latter, for which there is no
real institutional terminology, let alone framework, is the harder, but also the
more productive course of action. In this space we must admit to one an-
other’s monstrosity, but recognize, too, that however dangerous monsters
may be, they are also sites of revelation and agents of change. In the border,
80. Presidential Forum, 2007; and “Musical Aesthetics of Race and Ethnicity.”
81. By “singularity,” I do not mean to claim exceptionalism, but instead to convey the fact
that the number of black male graduate students in attendance has never exceeded what I could
count on a single hand since I began attending AMS conferences in 2007.
82. “AMS Demographic Survey.”
83. See Hisama, “Review of Musicology and Difference”; Lewis, “Americanist Musicology”;
McGinty, “Black Scholars on Black Music”; Ramsey, “Pot Liquor Principle”; and Southern,
“Interview with James Standifer.”
84. While this study was focused on considerations of race/ethnicity and racialized subjects,
similar demographic surveys of gender, class, and sexuality within the discipline would likely yield
comparable results. I collected this data by defining as “race” articles, dissertations, talks, or books
that focused on a racialized/ethnic and/or non-western subjects, or that contained sustained re-
flection on critical race theories. I used the sources shown in Table 1.
2010 2011
Source race/total race/total
Figure 2c American Musicological Society Program and Abstracts: Indianapolis 2010; San
Francisco 2011
Figure 2f Journal of the American Musicological Society 63 (2010) and 64 (2011) [if the
colloquies are considered as a single item]
Figure 2 continued
Figure 2h Current Musicology 89 (Spring 2010), 90 (Fall 2010), and 91 (Spring 2011)
Figure 2 continued
change within the discourse and society. Furthermore, Levitz’s keen awareness
as a scholar and former AMS program chair led her to factor race into this dis-
cussion, as well as to invite a musicologist whose individual experiences as a
racialized person within the discipline might increase and expand the perspec-
tives offered.85
Yet even as I am aware of the dialogue created by participating in this collo-
quy, I cannot ignore the fact that there are still only a handful of black (male)
musicologists in the discipline—even fewer than in many other professions
and disciplines. I cannot ignore the societal structures that make it difficult for
minorities, particularly blacks and Latinos, to find themselves in musicological
programs in the first place. I cannot ignore the feeling that a small group
of people decide who and what constitutes the discipline and actively (or
passively) protect its borders. I cannot ignore the urgent need to diversify the
ranks of the discipline in an effort to further expand its borders.
If senior ethnomusicologist Jacqueline C. Djedje had not visited my weekly
music seminar for majors as an undergraduate student at the Historically Black
Institution, Morehouse College, it is possible that I would never have consid-
ered the prospect of pursuing any type of musicology as a profession. If my ad-
visors had not encouraged me to attend the national AMS conference during
my first year of graduate study, and to apply for the Eileen Southern travel
fund, I would not have met minority and majority scholars and students sensi-
tive to my unique position, and I might not have felt a commitment to remain
in the discipline after attaining my Master’s degree. If there had not been
mentors in the field, particularly mentors of color, to encourage my work and
pursuits within musicology, I ultimately might not have thought it necessary
as editor-in-chief of Current Musicology to expand actively the borders of the
discipline by devoting an entire special issue of the journal to sound, race, and
performance.86
For musicology’s borders to be expanded, those who have the power to
expand the discipline into yet uncharted territory have an obligation to
articulate—with resounding clarity—the relationship between individuals who
choose to become a part of the discipline, musicologists at large, and the sub-
ject matter of musicological discourse. Only when greater consciousness is
raised about the historic development and structural premises that result in
the ethnic, gender, class, and racial demographics of the field will my voice,
body, and inquiries operate less in or on the borders of the discipline and move
into the center, creating unlimited potential for collective conversations, and
for sharing with others an equally unlimited multitude of perspectives and
methods.
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