Professional Musicians, Dancing and Patronage: Continuity and Change in a

Transylvanian Community
Author(s): Ann Buckley
Source: The World of Music , 1994, Vol. 36, No. 3 (1994), pp. 31-48
Published by: VWB - Verlag für Wissenschaft und Bildung

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/43562826

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 31

Professional Musicians, Dancing and

Patronage: Continuity and Change in a
Transylvanian Community

Ann Buckley

Abstract

In an examination of changing patterns of music and dance behaviour in a valley region of

east Transylvania, Romania ; a number of over-arching sodai factors are discernible con-
cerning: (1) variability in the extent and effectiveness of external administrative intrusion
in local mimetic expression during the communist and post-communist periods ; (2) the se-
lective nature of group memory and consequent acceptance of "invented tradition " to ac-
commodate changing tastes and preferences ; (3) social status and self-image of villagers,
and inter- and intra-group relations within villages and between different village commu-
nities. The essay bears witness to the value of long-term field observation and the uneven
though ongoing process of interaction between centres, peripheries and peripheral centres.

I. Introduction

Human memory is an important source of information for research on

style and community customs. When we engage in social scientific enquiry
"enter" the lives of others at some point along the continuum of human ex
ence; we key into interwoven processes and confront a living and therefore
stantly changing flow of events. And here is one of the easiest traps for the
sider/investigator: that the point of engaging with another community or
vidual may become a kind of zero-point for our own enquiry. The separate,
contained nature of a field project can all too easily provide the dominant s
ture in a research report. The today-centred "here-and-now", the "current-
ation" hodiecentrism, with all of its rich and enticing detail of "otherness"

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32 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

to mention the pressure to give shape to our narrative, can blind us to the fact
that any initial engagement with a social process is not going to provide us with
more than a passing-moment, snapshot view of a configuration in a state of con-
stant change. That change may be imperceptible in the short term (as in rela-
tively "stable" societies), or it may be evident to all (as in the case of war, rioting,
famine, earthquake or nuclear disaster). But any human society which ever ex-
isted has a past, a present and expectation of a future.
As in all aspects of human behaviour, music-making, dance and other per-
formance rituals involving high levels of psychical and somatic excitement
arousal are engaged in by groups of people who have inherited those practices
from previous generations and who keep them up as part of their expression of
cohesion, to underline their group identity and to mark points in circular and
linear time of the community. When we speak of continuity, we are addressing a
fundamental element in the expression of identity: practices engaged in to cel-
ebrate the seasons of the year and annual festivals (circular time), as well as life-
cycle rituals (linear time) such as birth, betrothal, marriage and death, are an
expression of group continuity linking past, present and future generations in
bonding self-confirmation. Nevertheless, one cannot address continuity without
taking account of change, because life itself is a process of change in the stream
of human experience. Hence to address forms of behaviour commonly referred
to as "traditional" or "folk" practices can at times erroneously lead to a static
view of continuity without change, creating an illusion that something is enacted
today exacdy as it was in the past, preserved, as it were, in exact copy, somehow
frozen in time. Furthermore, in separating or "objectifying" those aspects of be-
haviour, we risk misunderstanding their inherent meaning and function by treat-
ing them as autonomous display in a theatrical sense, whereas in their local sur-
roundings, their primary context, human groups are usually expressing them-
selves in a framed, socially reflexive way, and not showing their "customs" as
some kind of separate entity.
The potential for distortion and misrepresentation of peasant life (whether
poetised or staged) is immense. As is well known, it was exploited by Romantic
poets, antiquarians, scholars and politicians in various times and places for a
plenitude of motives - all of them worthy of study on their terms, but only rarely
as an index of rural ways and mentalities. The most recent and widespread in-
stances are found in nationalist state-formation processes where rural lifestyles
are ideologically frozen in the face of urban-industrial developments and, in
combination with notions of ancient, "indigenous" identity, presented on stage
and in written forms to reinforce a sense of group solidarity at national level.
Among the most vivid examples of their use as a tool of political-administrative
technology are those from post-World War II communist central and eastern
Europe (1947-1989) with its plethora of Houses of Culture, State Ensembles
and obligatory competitive festivals which functioned essentially as vehicles for
Party propaganda and social coercion under the banners and slogans of

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 Buckley. Professional Mustdans, Dancing and Patronage • 33

"worker" emancipation and national pride. A retrospective irony is that, in actu-

ally attempting to preserve "customs", the latter were in many instances sub-
verted and channelled into a centralising process of smoothing out local ways,
cleaning up the acts of "uneducated" peasants and imitating them on stage to the
applause of the corporate "New Man".1 But it is not often stated, in current de-
bates about communist cultural manifestos, that much of the organisational ap-
paratus developed to serve the interests of the new political masters at the end of
World War II was already in place before the War: popular culture movements
had dominated the urban and international scene in many parts of Europe since
the early part of the 20th century (see Buckley [forthc]). Undoubtedly, it was not
so over-arching or so coercively imposed, but nationalist ideology provided a
primary impetus for involvement of the urban masses in the "folk revival" of the
20th century.
Thus, when we speak of continuity and change, we need to be mindful of
the fragile nature of human memory - not at all to discount it as faulty but to
recognise that it is selective, as are other aspects of human behaviour, and that it
therefore provides the single most important key to unlocking the explanations
and meanings of things, and discovering how people make sense of their world.
The risks to scientific research are grave if data-gathering is entirely
hodiecentric - burdened with too much detail of our here-and-now. The chal-
lenge of fieldwork - and its art - is to sift information in search of more funda-
mental explanations for why human behaviour takes certain forms; in other
words, to try to find the underlying rhythm within the sense of continuity and
belonging which is stored in the relatively short-term memory of individuals liv-
ing, as they do, in group configurations, associating with one another in
intercutting social circles. This, I believe, is a matter of central importance and
one which becomes more critical to an understanding of social behaviour ac-
cording as one deepens the enquiry. Long-term fieldwork and a broader chrono-
logical perspective repay the investment of effort by contributing more thorough
explication of those processes of which the present is but a part.
Hodiecentrism in Social Science has been justifiably criticised by sociolo-
gists such as Johan Goudsblom (see Goudsblom 1977:7; Goudsblom et al.
1989 -.passim) but as yet there are few scholars in any of its sub-disciplines who
put their heads over the parapet of the busy here-and-now. The balance may be
redressed by reconstructing or excavating the notional past, for the two are
linked. One group's past or future is another's present, one group's present an-
other's past. These "slices of time" - the short span of individual human
lives - are like layers of geological strata, separately identifiable for distinctive
labelling, but also fused with what went before and what came afer. All of this
continuous reality is seldom carried in the active consciousness, but the ele-
ments which shape memory, the social processes of human interaction, patterns
of group cohesion and markers of cultural identity are capable of being explored
and explained only when viewed from a more detached and longer-term per-

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34 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

spective. Memory as such is relative and limited, determined by factors which

are communicated through family and community narrative and group bonding
as well as (in the 20th century) through communication over a wider network,
made possible by mass literacy and the immmediacy of radio and television.

2. Project Preliminaries

Within such a theoretical framework my intention here is to examine some

of the issues of continuity and change in public performance practices within a
valley population of eastern Transylvania as evinced from observation and docu-
mentation of music-making and dancing. While the close-focus detail of the ac-
count is by definition limited to the period of my own field enquiry - 1979,
1990-1993, and ongoing - my purpose is wider and more inclusive. Relying on
primary data, I shall attempt to place them in a longer-term perspective while
reminding readers that the work of investigation is in progress and only very re-
cently has it been possible to begin to plot an historical map of the social and
emotional terrain in question.

POLANO

SLOVAKIA J

J HUNGARY

Budapest m j V

^
J/ j Urgu Mure? ' [(
J !' j
^ ^ ÇST ^ ROMANIA^ Ar
Belgrade

„ Buch

0 250 BULGARIA Ç
Kilometres * /

Fig. 1. Map of greater region showing location of fieldwork

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 Buckley. Professional Musicians, Dancing and Patronage • 35

When I first visited Valea Gurghiului (the Gurghiu Valley, Mure§ County in
the then Socialist Republic of Romania) in 1979, my intention was to produce an
ethnographic account of communal music-making and dancing insofar as the
difficult political circumstances would permit at that time. At the superficial
level of "collecting folk music" I had limited success provided that I confined
myself to making recordings of approved, or tolerated, public rituals such as
weddings and secular festivals as well as programmes officially organised in the
Houses of Culture. This is not the place to discuss in detail the problems faced
by Western scholars in pre-1989 Romania who espoused a comprehensive ap-
proach to fieldwork, participant observation, sensitivity to the importance of the
"folk view" and the like;2 nor is it feasible in a short article to extrapolate upon
the ideology of the former Romanian Communist Party in its commitment to the
education of the masses, the encouragement of optimistic peasants dancing in
their fields and urban factory-workers singing in harmony about the glorious
achievements of the Fatherland and its Great Leader. Suffice it here to mention
that the region where I was permitted to work was a closed zone east of the town
of Reghin (see Figure 1) to which access was restricted and where foreigners
were not generally admitted. Not unrelatedly, it was considered by inhabitants
of neighbouring towns and villages, as well as by outsider-ethnologists, as "back-
ward" and "traditional" (in senses both positive and negative) to the extent that
I was enjoined to believe that here was a surviving enclave of a more ancient
Romanian civilization which still kept up customs and rituals which had long
disappeared elsewhere in the country. I stress that these concerns were not what
primarily motivated my research but they provided important justification for
those in authority to facilitate my presence in the zone.
How anthropologists and ethnomusicologists setde upon a location for their
work is indeed an interesting and relevant question, and while often disregarded
or glossed over in publications and field reports, it is central to a critical assess-
ment of the nature of the knowledge gained. The decision may be the result of a
long-standing contact - through a colleague or an inhabitant of the locality - or
a mere chance encounter; but it is important to clarify all of the preliminary
stages because resulting data will focus attention on certain regions or societies
while ignoring others, determining, often by random criteria, what eventually
reaches the scientific literature and what does not. For this reason, I find it pref-
erable to focus on questions, on issues of social process and human behaviour,
rather than viewing any group or body of data as unique in the sense of being
self-sufficient, unusual or somehow hermetically sealed from outside influence.
And so, in this instance, it did not concern me too greatly where in Romania I
undertook a project so long as I could have access to primary data concerning
music and dance, and to people in their day-to-day living circumstances.
The information documented during my first field trip to the Gurghiu Val-
ley was gathered over an intensive three-month period, living in Hodac village
(see Figure 2) and travelling widely (but somewhat insecurely since there was no

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36 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

possibility of gaining official permission to have contact with other village

populations). This travel was essential to my research since the network of local
musicians extended widely over the valley and beyond to larger urban centres.
Musicians would combine forces for weddings and other professional engage-
ments according to their preferences and according to the availability of a par-
ticular colleague whose speciality might be required by a patron. (The band typi-
cally comprised fiddle, viola, double bass, accordion, commonly a
ļambal - hammer dulcimer - and a single-reed, keyed instrument known as
taragot.) Travelling about provided the opportunity to get to know musicians
and their extended families - most of whom were then (and still are) ļigani ,
Gypsies - and to become familiar with their repertories of singing and dancing
for private family entertainment which included tunes and styles not performed
on occasions of official engagement by their better-established social superiors,
referred to as Romanians.3

3. Methods and Questions

My period of fieldwork in 1979 was approved for a longer period than was
actually achieved, being abrupdy terminated without notice as a result of grow-
ing unease on the part of village Communist Party administrators and police au-
thorities. And in the prevailing circumstances for the years to come, it was not to
be continued. For ten years the possibility of a return visit to the Valley was de-

Kilomelles ^ ^
r Jabcniķi Adrian *T) /7 /
ilÉSS r Jabcniķi Adrian
^^^"Gurghiu.ļ »• »
( -

< REG HIN ' ' s /i :< '^X s

Major setllemenls in

Fig. 2. Major settlements of the Gurghiu Valley

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 Buckley. Professional Musicians, Dancing and Patronage • 37

nied as the darkest and final decade of Ceau§escu's ruling establishment took its
grim course. And while I had little doubt about the richness and representative
nature of my extensive audio-visual recordings and interview notes, which re-
mained in gestation throughout that period, I did not feel that they were ad-
equate to the task of responding to some of the bigger questions which had mo-
tivated me at the outset. The material was all real; it was a vignette of valley life
from one early summer; and much that I had observed could be supported from
the literature and from conversations with Romanian colleagues in exile. But it
was too brief an encounter to provide a basis for discussion of anything more
than one season in the complex of existence of this population.
Where was their socio-musical behaviour coming from and where was it
going? There were hundred of questions which had begun to form up and which
there was no time to pursue. Not to mention that publication could present very
real danger to numerous generous individuals who helped with information,
contacts and performances; some of them experienced much anguish in the face
of threats of official violence from state security agents following my enforced
departure. Shadowy traders in State Information subsequently followed me to
the door of my London home and made insinuating telephone calls in search of
information for barter. While I gave them nothing, who knows what they may
have reported in order to gain favour with their bosses, or just to retain their
positions of trust and responsibility, in spite of the consequences for others?
The sudden shape of events at the end of 1989 was unexpected in Romania,
to say the very least. Nonetheless it is all too easy to regard this political and eco-
nomic watershed as a reference point for everything to do with patterns of social
behaviour since then. Without doubt, "before and after" accounts are necessary
to an explanation of the new freedom of access to information, of greater free-
dom of expression of opinion, and the possibilities for foreigners to associate
once again with citizens of Romania and to carry out open-ended research in li-
braries and archives after a moratorium of over forty years. Similarly, the sponta-
neous disappearance of obligatory competitive folk festivals and artistic pro-
grammes is a direct consequence of the release of pressure upon and on the part
of Cultural Managers.4 But post-Cold-War terms of reference are as irrelevant to
understanding many Romanian behaviour patterns as were Cold-War prejudices
of both camps during the forty-year freeze. My point is that long-term processes
of continuity and change in motion before, during and after 1989 can well repay
our concentrated attention. This can only contribute to better research whether
our aim is the pursuit of intellectual knowledge to satisfy our own curiosity, or
whether it is intended for use in the short- or medium-term service of economic
or political action. The watershed, often expressed in polarised terms of "com-
munist/post-communist" or "closed/open" economic structures, has been ex-
ploited as a reason to shift poles, from the pole of impatience, intolerance and
suspicion to that of impatience, intolerance and coercion - as it appears in the
context of current international politics and economic development.

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38 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

It is essential to understand the continuities in the stream of existence, not

to be channelled by this change of enormous historical and political significance
into focusing only on "the moment" as though everything were statically fixed
before and suddenly open to change thereafter. For my part, the most significant
point to emerge from my unforeseen opportunity to return to the Valley in the
summer of 1990 was the confirmation of so much that was indeed apparent in
1979 but which could not have been readily interpreted without the benefit of
the longer view. Changes in lifestyle, accompanied by increasing popularity of
newer playing styles over those of the older Gypsy musicians, continued on
course and were plainer to see after the passage of time.
Being a region somewhat distant from large urban centres, certain aspects of
social behaviour have been relatively slower to change - but change is surely
observable, and more rapid now that younger people are returning to parental
homes or marrying-in as a direct consequence of unemployment and redun-
dancy in the towns and cities. Together with that is a certain dismay on the part
of senior residents - particularly those who in the old days had the privileged
status of intellectuals (officially recognised as intelectuali) and therefore cultural
leaders. These are no longer able to enforce the maintenance of certain customs
and the suppression of others; new changes and older (pre-communist) customs
are being (re-)introduced in tandem, and in new ways according to group prefer-
ence or "fashion" rather than in the form of model-setting theatrical displays
and courses of training so beloved of the former administrators. Official Party-
organised displays had only limited success in any case, since those local prac-
tices which were still permitted to continue (e.g., public dancing and other wed-
ding rituals such as processions, ritual cries) went on side by side with events
organised at the Houses of Culture. Nonetheless, even if people did not feel
emotionally committed to official cultural politics they were not immune from
influence, as I shall demonstrate below.

4. Repertories and Socio-Musical Patterns

Possibilities for long-term study of certain aspects of socio-musical behav-

iour are enhanced by the existence of recordings made in this greater region (in-
cluding Valea Gurghiului) by Béla Bartok in 1914, and by Romanian researchers
from Bucharest and Cluj in the late 1920s and early 1930s and again in the
1960s. The recordings and accompanying observations were undoubtedly selec-
tive, and full accounts of how informants were prepared for the occasion are not
available. These factors severely limit the value of the materials for comprehen-
sive ethnographic study: What was overlooked and why? What other repertories
and occasions of music and dance may have existed for which no record sur-
vives? It was clearly apparent in 1979 that much informal music-making went
unexamined by local specialists because the purpose of their work was stricdy

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 Buckley. Professional Musiáans, Dancing and Patronage • 39

underlined by a State policy which emphasised a nationalist ethos and a search

for presumed "older layers" of "folk" traditions. In addition to which no Roma-
nian citizen would have volunteered information on any aspect of life which
might have attracted censure. Thus I was very fortunate to have had sufficient
time to develop relationships of trust with certain local people and to be privi-
leged to attend unofficial dances and family music-making sessions which would
never otherwise have been documented during this period.5
What one is struck by in all of the earlier recordings (whether from 1914,
the 1920s-1930s, or the 1960s) is the similarity of style and commonness of rep-
ertory with what was still being played and sung by older-generation musicians
in 1979, while being able to observe gradual changes as well. An example is pro-
vided by the dance sequence, de-a lungu ("lengthwise"), batuta ("beaten", "with
rhythm") and învîrtita ("with turns"), most usually performed at weddings and
other public occasions of festivity.
In the upper reaches of the Gurghiu Valley (e.g., in the villages of Hodac
and Toaca - see Figure 2), the de-a lungu is a processional prelude to the scat-
tered couple dances, batuta and învîrtita , performed by male elders. In the
course of circling the dancing area, individual men display their skills with leap-
ing kicks and rhythmic body-slapping on the thighs and calves.6 It is a choreo-
graphed, mimetic representation of social status and of an intensely local power
monopoly on the part of leaders of the community and (in the case of weddings)
of leaders of the social alliance of which the marriage ceremony is public symbol.
The usual pattern in de-a lungu is for the men to circle the area two or three
times in an anti-clockwise direction, walking steps interspersed with gestures of
display according to individual motivation. At a certain moment the leader sig-
nals an invitation to a female partner from among the onlookers and the other
men in the procession then follow suit. In the case of weddings, the families of
the bridal pair, their relatives and close friends have priority here and in the first
couple dance. This last is similarly initiated with an unobtrusive gesture from the
leading man towards the fiddler or primae the leader of the musicians, and the
next stage is signalled by the ensemble who strike up a batuta .
In 1979 the de-a lungu was performed at all of the weddings which I at-
tended in Hodac and Toaca as well as on official occasions of public festivity
such as Pentecost Monday7 and The Young Girls' Fair (Tîrgu Fetelor ).& How-
ever, when I attended an unofficial dance on an ordinary Sunday in the up-valley
hamlet of Ibane§ti Padure (see Figure 2), this prelude was not performed. The
musicians warmed up to the batuta melody and after a short period the young
people started to dance with the partners of their choice.
What is the significance of this? It is more than a mere technical choreo-
graphic matter, as we shall see. The Sunday Dance used to be an informal, yet
structured, socially reflexive occasion for enjoyment, relaxation, mixing with the
opposite sex, for finding and effectively announcing a marriage partner. It is re-
membered by local people as a regular occurrence before visitations in the early

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40 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

Fig. 3a, b. Typical local ensembles in 1979

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 Buckley. Professional Musicians, Dancing and Patronage • 41

1950s from Communist Party shock troops determined to stamp out all alle-
giance to other authorities, religious and political, and any practices which
might encourage resistance to the new régime.9 Sunday dancing seems to have
been phased out for good when greater controls were imposed on people's use
of their spare time with the introduction of factory and plant operations on Sun-
days and a three-shift working rota, together with an endless list of "free-time"
obligations referred to as "patriotic work" (in fact, unpaid labour) which people
were obliged to undertake on Sundays, at Christmas, during school holidays,
and whenever they might have occasion to meet in private. There was suspicion
of anyone found forming particular friendships or alliances at a time when the
paranoia of Ceau§escu's Romania was reaching previously unimagined ex-
tremes.10
And so the unofficial Sunday dances which I attended took place in a re-
mote part of the valley on a small patch of land in a clearing next to the forest,
away from the notice of authorities. The atmosphere was not furtive or notice-
ably subdued. However, the gathering was a small one and consisted almost ex-
clusively of young unmarried couples, watched over as usual by older women as
they took care of the younger children. The absence of the de-a lungu here un-
derlined that it was not considered an essential part of the "warming-up" proce-
dure for the faster couple dancing. De-a lungu was essentially a long-standing
display ritual for senior males of the community in a context of public reinforce-
ment of their status. Now, in their absence, there was nobody to fill this role, and
its enactment would have had no relevance to the occasion.
In the summer of 1993 I again carried out investigations in the Valley during
Whitsuntide and further evidence of these changes and adaptations came to
light. During the dancing on Whit Monday in Hodac, the de-a lungu was indeed
performed as a prelude to the couple dancing. But it was apparent that many of
the younger men did not know the steps and in one instance the mayor, who was
viewing the proceedings from the musicians' podium, intervened and sent some-
one out of the dance arena because he joined the dance out of turn, failing to
take account of local protocol and ranking. This is unlikely to have happened in
1979 because the older-style dances and rituals were still predominant in spite of
more rapid changes in style further down the valley: everyone knew their place.11
Not unrelated to recent political changes, dancing at a wedding in 1990,
which I documented in Toaca village further up the valley, excluded the de-a
lungu as a dance but the musicians played it briefly, rather as a warming-up prel-
ude, while the guests stood and sat around chatting until (apparendy at their
own initiative) the ensemble struck up the couple dances, at which point danc-
ing commenced.
This village is at an interesting point of development, as was also revealed by
other dances performed on that occasion, mainly by the younger generation who
referred to them as Russian and Greek (historically quite foreign to this valley
zone), involving chain and circle formations. When I enquired about them, and

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42 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

how long they had been in use in the area, I was informed that they had always
danced these dances there. In fact there was no trace of or comment about any-
thing except the old Romanian dances in 1979 or before. Here was obviously an
"invented tradition" performed not for any reasons of self-conscious "tradi-
tional custom" or "folkdancing" but because that was what they enjoyed doing.
The presumption of their long standing in the community is a common enough
feature of what people regard as theirs (or to be more precise, "ours" - the per-
sonal pronoun always loaded with insight on individual and group identity); in
other words, as the norm. It is a cautionary tale for reliance on memory for his-
torical accuracy and it provides a precious example of the social formation of
memory and its function as an index of group cohesion and identity confirming
what other writers have observed elsewhere.
But how these chain and circle dances were introduced and became estab-
lished is a matter for further enquiry and some speculation. The village of Toaca
may appear more distant from the centralising influences of urban fashion than
is Hodac - being further up-river on the edge of the forest whereas Hodac, the
administrative centre of the Comuna and the locality with the largest population,
is down by the bridge on the main bus route. Hodac has for many centuries
functioned as a control point for all traffic crossing the bridge and proceeding
up to the forest. How can a more remote village, one of its dependants, appear to
be more "in fashion", according to its inhabitants, with these newer dances? As
with other questions concerning symbolic human behaviour, the explanations
must be sought within the wider society: who is doing it and why? when and
where? how learnt? for what purpose?
Since the political changes set in motion in Romania at the end of 1989, the
decentralisation of state control and growing unemployment in towns and cities,
many younger people are reversing the trend of enforced urban resettlement
which dominated in previous decades. Reduced to poverty and insecurity, they
are returning to their rural roots, joining their aging relatives in unanticipated
reunion and endeavouring to set up all manner of private enterprises. In the case
of this once marginal village of Toaca, its very position at the edge of the forest
has turned it into a boom area since 1990. The source of much of the new wealth
is derived from unauthorised, large-scale trading of wood with commercial en-
terprises as far afield as Germany. Consequendy, many younger folk have been
attracted to setde in Toaca, and what was once a compact litde village with out-
lying scattered setdements has been transformed by the building of large num-
bers of new houses as well as extensions to old ones, new wood gleaming in the
light of the dawn of what appears to be unfettered capitalism and private enter-
prise.
By contrast, Hodac has not changed so rapidly, being inhabited by an aging
population, not without its usual generational mix, but not obviously boosted
either by recent developments further up the valley. Once the terminus for most
travellers to and from this zone, with a small trickle proceeding up to the re-

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 Buckley. Professional Musicians, Dancing and Patronage • 43

moter, higher regions on their way to and from work in the forests and the
sheepfolds, one now observes much more movement through Hodac and on-
wards up to Toaca. There is an expressed sense that a new centre has been es-
tablished.

5. New Developments

The spirit of "post- 1989" was quick to take effect in Toaca where the local
population paid for and erected a covered wooden bridge - the traditional style
of the region and an imitation of one which had existed in Hodac until swept
away by a flood in 1977. The Romanian national flag was painted at the point of
the arch accompanied by the brave, optimistic slogan: "Welcome to the village
of Toaca. 1990 - Long live Free Romania! ! !". But the symbolic significance of
this lies in what remained unstated: it was a Unilateral Declaration of Independ-
ence at village level. The local population openly insist that they no longer wish
to remain within the administration of Comuna Hodac. They want to have their
own Comuna; they want to take responsibility for their own management
through their own Popular Council, in order to be more self-determining. This
process is assisted by the fact that one of the local leaders is a member of the
existing Comuna Council in Hodac and he makes representations on behalf of
Toaca.
It is obvious that the new assertiveness in Toaca is related to a rapid im-
provement in economic circumstances combined with an influx of younger peo-
ple who feel little attachment to Hodac. And if all of this seems a little circuitous
as an explanation of changes in dancing patterns, let me offer as a final example
the very centrality to this issue of dance as political gesture.
With the building of the bridge and the new confidence of Toaca residents
post- 1989, they also decided that they would no longer participate in celebratory
rituals in Hodac, as they had done in the past. In 1992 they held their own fes-
tive ritual on Whit Monday (see Note 7). Although not present for this first inde-
pendent occasion in 1992, I filmed the entire event in June 1993 (Nixon &
Buckley 1993a, 1993b) and all of those processes of change which I had ob-
served elsewhere were also in evidence here. Because it was an official, public
occasion, the de-a lungu was performed to open the dance. However, being a
smaller community which usually depended on a supply of experienced older
men in Hodac, there was a shortage of competent leaders. Their number was
much reduced in contrast to the same event in Hodac, and an error in display
procedure was evident in that the most senior male was placed third in the pro-
cession while those in first and second place were young and evidendy did not
know the steps. And so the third dancer, ostensibly the leader, performed the
function of signalling to the musicians when the time came to move to the couple
dance. Those behind him walked in step and correct time, for they could ob-

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44 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

serve and follow his knowledgeable movements, while the two in front (who,
from their position, were supposed to be leading) looked somewhat sheepish
and awkward, and just managed to keep moving, though not always in time. Fur-
thermore, there was very litde performance of the high kicks and body-slapping
that had occurred as an important feature in the dances I witnessed in Hodac
and Toaca in 1979. The incompetence of the leaders and the incorrect ranking
of the senior men were a source of comment and some embarrassment on the
part of a number of onlookers although it did not spoil their enjoyment or sense
of pride in an event whose greater importance lay in the fact that it was managed
by the people of Toaca, exclusively for their group.
So much for the symbolism of dance and dance-space. But what of the musi-
cians? How have ensembles adapted? Or have they? Again, the seeds of change
were apparent in 1979 but have now sprouted. As mentioned above, the typical
village ensemble consisted of fiddle, viola, double bass, usually an accordion and
{ambal. But while local musicians were regularly called upon to perform for
weddings and other occasions, they were considered to be of lower status than
urban ensembles with electronic instruments whose fame had spread through
discs as well as radio and television broadcasts. It is also necessary to point out
that while there were some very competent local musicians, some of those re-
garded as possessing superior skills had retired or were in semi-retirement be-
cause of ill-health or old age. Those who remained were not all considered of the
first rank, but they were available and their fees were within reach of most peo-
ple-
And so because of changing tastes one noticed the urbanising trend in vari-
ous stages of development. The more usual was the inclusion of an electronic
organ, guitar or drum-kit along with the older instruments; exceptionally, a fully
electronic ensemble would be engaged, creating a big impact on the local com-
munity impressed at the cash and powers of influence at the disposal of their
patron. This situation usually arose at a wedding, an important occasion for the
display of family wealth and status. But one could clearly see - and hear from
what people had to say - that the older style was even then regarded as some-
what passé , and that the older musicians were out of fashion or no longer at their
best. What was also evident was the transformation in status of the new genera-
tion of professional musicians - the older figani regarded as poor and socially
inferior, the electronically-equipped younger groups (including better-off Gyp-
sies) from urban centres having the charisma and status of stars. A particular
"catch" was the inclusion of a performer who had cut a disc, won a prize or ap-
peared on television.
In the 1990s these bands play the de-a lungu, batuta/ învîrtita as required for
local events - meeting the needs of their patrons as professional musicians have
always done. But they also serve as a vehicle for the introduction of popular
songs and the new, speeded-up, almost rock-beat version of village repertories
which they play typically at a later stage in proceedings once the formal opening

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 Buckley. Professional Musicians, Dancing and Patronage • 45

Fig. 4. Bätuta with the more usual ensemble of the 1990s

dances have got under way, and more especially during and after the communal
meal. Members of these ensembles have a larger and more varied repertory, per-
forming in many parts of the country, for different types of audience. And so
together with the immigration of youngsters from beyond the valley - and the
return-migration of natives who have seen other places and danced other
dances - new dances are gaining ground alongside jazzed-up versions of the
older repertories, while the older local musicians have to a large extent been re-
placed. However, as with most aspects of social process, nothing is total; noth-
ing has an identifiable zero-point, and the traditional musicians and playing
styles still have their place for part of the wedding rituals: the procession of the
groom's and bride's parties from their respective homes to the church and back
again after the church ceremony still requires the use of portable instruments
played at a gentle walking pace. Hence, as long as these rites de passage continue
in that form (and there is no sign at the moment that they are fading) so also will
the fiddler and viola-player (and accordionist) continue to be in demand. Simi-
larly, during Udatul Nevest elor (see Note 7) the young married women are led to
the stream and back to the accompaniment of fiddle and accordion. Sunday
dances and other occasions of youthful diversion are another matter, however.
No youngster wants to dance to the old ensembles now - nor indeed would the
older musicians be familiar with the new styles and repertories required, not to
mention being able to afford the cost of new instruments.

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46 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

An additional problem for everyone is that of cash supply. In former days

one might raise a small collection sufficient to pay the fiddler and his two or
three companions12. Nowadays the contract is of a greater order: a fully-kitted
electric band does not, cannot, depend on intermittent, local demand. Unlike
their predecessors, its members are more likely to be full-time musicians, playing
in dance-halls over a wide catchment area, requiring fees to cover long-distance
travel by car - rather than the horse-and-cart of just a few years ago - and the
purchase and maintenance of expensive instruments. And so, while it is un-
doubtedly also a matter of "fashion", "taste" and preference, there are economic
reasons also why the youngsters of Valea Gurghiului today confine their leisure-
time dancing to the week-end bai in the local House of Culture or in neighbour-
ing towns.
The changes which I have observed at first hand over a span of fourteen
years - with a retrospective eye to the longer-term - can be seen as part of a
gradual process. Some of these developments have occurred at a faster rate since
1989 as unforeseen consequences of the greater freedom of expression and per-
sonal choice now available; but their patterns and processes could not be ad-
equately understood, or explained, without knowledge of the situation before
these events were set in motion, and thus they could erroneously be regarded as
a sudden manifestation following a change of far-reaching effect if there is inad-
equate monitoring and analysis of the wider context of these performing rituals.
Though change may indeed have speeded up as a direct consequence of relaxa-
tion of the authoritarian vice which had everyone in its grip, the nature of that
change is not merely one of immediate cause and effect, for its processes are in-
extricably linked to existing patterns of behaviour. They can speed up or slow
down, but their dynamics, their essential ingredients, have been, and continue to
be, formed within and as result of the long-term social figurations of those par-
ticular groups of people.

[ Final version received: 6 July 1994]

Notes

1 In an earlier phase, immediately after the establishment of communist control, model-setting eff
were encouraged by state publishing houses which, according to Rumanian News , 30 May 1948, p
were concerned to "bring folklore to the peasants", an irony evidendy lost on those busily engaged in
directing the national effort. See Nixon 1994, section 3.4.0. for discussion of the activités of Party C
tural Managers in the construction of Omul Nou , the brave "New Man" of 1970s-1980s' Romania.
2 Some of these differences in approach between "East and west have been addressed in Buck
1992 and 1993.
3 Although all of the permanent residents of Romania are Romanian in the sense of having Romanian ci
zenship, the term "Romanian" also has a more specific implication of ethnicity, serving to distinguis
this group from Hungarians, Gypsies and others living within the state.
4 The consequences for many of these people have been far from easy. Some have difficulty adaptin

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 Buckley. Professional Musicians, Dancing and Patronage • 47

new roles, others are true believers and are attempting to find new programmes of action, with appar-
endy very little success among the population at large. This is one of the consequences of the 1989 upris-
ing which will take some time to assess.
5 This is a topic for another paper. On such occasions, informants volunteered to perform tunes which
were normally reserved for private family entertainment and which would not have been appropriate in
a public arena. Here was not an instance of forbidden meetings but one which demonstrated players'
more personal, emotional involvement with their music. They stressed that they were performing for me
because I was a foreigner and their friend. They would never give this material to State Researchers or to
anyone else representing the Romanian authorities. It was a spontaneous act of resistance and an expres-
sion of freedom of choice in a situation in which those musicians felt exploited and abused by the con-
stant demands on their time and energies - on their very souls. They were regularly dragooned into play-
ing in factory ensembles, taking part in competitive festivals and providing material for State Composers
and Researchers. They also felt resentment and contempt at the fact that their music was being used for
the career-advancement of others - including such materials being passed off as the unaided work of
well-placed composers and arrangers who never acknowledged their very human sources.
6 For further technical details and discussion see Giurchescu 1987.
7 On the day following the religious celebration of Pentecost ( Rusalii X which includes public processions
and the blessing of the water of the river, a secular fertility rite is enacted during which all of the local
women who married in the preceding year are symbolically "dipped" in the river ( Udatul Nevestelor). In
fact they are just held over the water, not actually immersed, although sometimes shoes touch the water
and people get splashed in the excitement. The occasion is one of great festivity including dancing, out-
door cooking and general merry-making.
8 Formerly called St George's Fair, Tirgu Sfîntu Gheorghe, in this locality. The name was changed in the
communist period because of its religious connotations.
9 Examples include the total suppression of Greco-Catholicism. (Greek Catholics or Uniates represented
the dominant religious group among Romanians in this area, as in many parts of Transylvania.) Practices
disapproved of as "magical" or "superstitious" include "faith "-healing and other forms of alternative
medicine practiced by older women in the community, as well as winter-custom rituals such as going
about from house to house singing colinde and other public celebration of Christmas. Indeed this prac-
tice did continue to a limited degree, but any references to the Christian festival were discouraged. That
aspect of the ritual was conducted in secret in private homes where Greco-Catholics (and sometimes
their priests who continued to practice "underground") maintained some form of worship.
Since 1989 this Church has re-emerged and is attempting to reclaim property throughout
Transylvania which was confiscated and passed over to the newly nationalised Romanian Orthodox
Church in 1947. In many regions its members continue to worship in private homes or in local halls. But
the parish priest in the village of Ibáneçti, across the river from Hodac (see Figure 2), responded quickly
by offering local Uniates the opportunity to return to worship in their old church. In Hodac this did not
occur, but the congregation there joined their co-religionists in Ibáneçti for a time until they succeeded
in reclaiming their church by force at the end of 1992 just in time for Christmas, which was celebrated
by one of their own priests. This offensive could not have succeeded without the (tacit) cooperation of
the local mayor, himself a Greco-Catholic, who ensured that police involvement in the street battle was
kept to a minimum. With the local political chief on their side, the claimants won the day. Now that
they are gaining strength, more and more villagers are "coming out", moving from the Orthodox church
back to their pre-War Uniate congregation. In 1993, for the first time since 1947, there were two
Whitsun services and two separate processions to the river, one Orthodox, the other Uniate. The event
passed off in peace and tolerance- the Orthodox group singing their usual hymns; the Uniates a mix-
ture of Orthodox and Catholic, the valley resounding to the strains of "Ave Maria " for the first time in
almost half a century.
10 A well-known cautionary saying was that if three people had a conversation, one of them was sure to be
a member of the Securitate , the State Secret Police. In official terms, a meeting involving more than two
people could be classified as an unofficial gathering, and therefore presumed seditious. Any occasion
could be terminated under this pretext - including public dancing or religious meetings - with severe
consequences for all involved.
1 1 The very presence of the mayor in such a prominent position was also a new development, indicating a
more self-conscious celebration of the event than formerly' was the case. Before the commencement of
the first dance, microphone in hand like a stage compère, he announced the proceedings as a traditional
village custom. He also decreed that the procession of partners down to the river's edge should be in

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48 • the world of music 36(3) - 1994

strict chronological sequence, i.e., according to the date of marriage, those married earlier should pro-
ceed first. Formerly, such matters of protocol would have been worked out privately between those di-
recdy involved.
12 Traditionally, the size of the ensemble was dependent on the size of the fee available, up to a maximum
of five players, referred to as "cinci-cind", five [out of] five. For weddings, in particular, this is an index
of family status and spending-power. If a groom, whose responsibility it is, hires a smaller group, he is
publicy thought of as mean or poor, and his stock, and that of his family, falls as a result. Such matters,
as also the number of chickens killed or bottles of beer consumed, are the subject of gossip for several
weeks after a wedding in the village.

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