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2009 From Grief and Joy We Sing: Social and Cosmic Regenerative Processes in the of Q'Eros, Holly Wissler

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COLLEGE OF

FROM GRIEF AND JOY WE SING:

SOCIAL AND COSMIC REGENERATIVE PROCESSES

IN THE SONGS OF Q’EROS, PERU

By

Holly Wissler

A Dissertation submitted to the College of Music in partial fulfillment for the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Awarded: Summer Semester, 2009 The members of the Committee approve the Dissertation of Holly Wissler defended on 22 April 2009.

______Dale A. Olsen Professor Directing Dissertation

______Michael Uzendoski Outside Committee Member

______Frank Gunderson Committee Member

______Benjamin D. Koen Committee Member

The Graduate School has verified and approved the above named committee members.

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I dedicate this to my beloved parents, Harv and Joyce Wissler

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Fieldwork in Peru for this project was supported by a Fulbright-Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Grant (2007), and initial stages, including an intensive Quechua language course, were supported by a grant from the Presser Foundation (2002). I thank my employer, Wilderness Travel, who gave me additional tour groups in Peru in 2005 and 2006, which funded my fieldwork during those years. Friends and scholars in , Peru helped in a variety of ways. Jorge Flores Ochoa provided rich insight into Andean concepts, and José Luis Venero clarified classification of Andean , flowers, and birds. Janett Vengoa de Orós, Ines Callalli, and Edith F. Zevallos worked diligently with me on many transcriptions and translations of Quechua texts, and helped in discussions with Q’eros friends. In particular, Gina Maldonado spent many days, which translated into months and years (2005–2007), working with me during intensive transcription and translation sessions with the Q’eros. The camaraderie and trust Gina and I developed, both between ourselves and with the Q’eros, led into hours of deep discussions that helped clarify so much of the detail, nuance, and spiritual aspects of Q’eros’ music-making, for which I am most grateful and indebted. Peter Frost, Rosi Blume, Amy Tai, Luis Gonzales, and Carmela Sierra were continual sources of friendship and support, always there to “end an ear”when I needed to discuss conflicts or bounce ideas. I thank Paul Heggarty in England for his generous information about linguistic aspects of Quechua. On the U.S. front, I am grateful to Trevor Harvey for his help and expertise in creating my alternative transcription design that shows yanantin in structure, and Deborah Olander who helped my attain an active voice. I am most grateful to Catherine Allen who read entire chapters of the dissertation, and gave poignant, guiding suggestions. I also thank my advisor, Dale Olsen, whose expert writing and editing skills helped me to organize and articulate my ideas in such a way so that they would be more easily accessible to the reader. Robin Davis, Flynn Donovan, and my sister Terry Wissler were supportive friends who listened to my ideas, conflicts, joys, and sorrows in every stage of this project. In the spirit world I thank my Mom and Dad from whom I inherited some personality traits that proved to be essential in both my fieldwork in Q’eros and writing in the U.S. From my Dad, his child-like ability to hunker down and joyfully hang out with anyone helped me in the

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field, and from my mother, her tenacity and discerning, critical thinking helped me to write it up. Their presence was always with me. Finally, I extend my heartfelt gratitude to John Cohen, who laid some of the essential groundwork from which I was able to orient my own thoughts about Q’eros music. John’s continual stream of penetrating, prodding, forthright, and challenging questions and insightful feedback have been foundational in my work, which this dissertation builds and expands on. Lastly, no words can express my thanks to the Q’eros community and my dear comadres and compadres who took me in and taught me so much about love, humanness, conflict and resolution in the Andean world, connection to the earth and spirits, and deeply meaningful ritual. There are too many to name here, but some key figures have been: Víctor Flores Salas, whose passion and zeal for learning and playing all kinds of music pulled me in from day one, and whose outrageous sense of humor made it fun; the sage wisdom of Agustín Machacca Flores and Isaac Flores Machacca, who provided deep insight into complex issues; Juliana Apasa Flores and Juana Flores Salas, who loved me like a sister, and willingly taught me so much about the women’s role in Q’eros music-making; the brothers Marcelino and Jacinto Qapa Huamán, who provided profound detail about the relationship of music-making among the people, animals, and the spirit world; and another set of brothers, Juan and Luis Quispe Calcina, and their wives Rebecca Machacca Quispe and Sebastiana Machacca Apasa, who took me in like family and were steady, subtle supports in practical aspects of my fieldwork. The list goes on and on, but suffice to say that living and working with the Q’eros has changed my own life and perceptions in profound and subtle ways, and I am forever beholden to all Q’eros people, the ones I know well and the ones I have not yet met.

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ABSTRACT

The Quechua community of Q’eros in the of southeastern Peru is renowned in the Cusco region and within various circles (layman, scholarly, esoteric, tourist). The Q’eros are also known nationally and internationally for their continued practice of indigenous customs such as musical rituals that other Andean communities no longer maintain. This dissertation shows how the Q’eros’ two principal indigenous song genres, Pukllay taki (Carnaval songs) and animal fertility songs, serve as active forms of social and cosmic renewal, regeneration, and reproduction. Regenerative processes through musical performance occur on many levels: the revitalization of relationship with the cosmological spirit powers, the Apu (mountain spirits) and Pacha Mama (Mother Earth); the renewal and reinforcement of social ties and women’s and men’s roles; and the re-creation and reproduction of cosmological worldview. This dissertation shows how the Q’eros actively regenerate, re-create, and reproduce social and cosmic relationships and cosmological perceptions through their music-making. Three Andean concepts that the Q’eros specifically name and describe show how music serves in the regenerative processes of social and cosmic relationships, and in cosmological worldview: animu, yanantin, and ayni. Animu is the animated essence that is in every person, object, and invisible spirit, which propels the life-governing concepts of yanantin (complementary duality) and ayni (reciprocity). Yanantin is the union of two contrasting and interdependent parts that are in movement with one another, in continual search of equilibrium, and with a meeting and overlap in a center. The Q’eros articulate the reproduction of the cosmological worldview of yanantin in performance roles and instrument pairs. I argue that yanantin is also expressed on the micro level of relationship between vocal and pinkuyllu () melodies in song structure and between songs, as well as on the macro level of communally sung expressions of joy and grief. Ayni is the most fundamental and life-sustaining form of reciprocal exchange in Q’eros, and many other, Andean communities. The Q’eros give offerings in many forms (food, drink, special ingredient bundles, and songs) to the Apu and Pacha Mama in exchange for the well- being of the people and their animals. Q’eros’ singing and flute playing are active forms of ayni, in that they are musical offerings that are sent out through samay (breath, life essence and force) in propitiation. To ensure receipt of the songs by the spirit powers, the Q’eros employ a vocal

vi technique they call aysariykuy (“to pull”): ends of phrases are sung in prolonged, held tones with a final, forced expulsion of air. This is the Q’eros’ active way to send the song out so that it will reach the spirit powers. Once the spirit powers successfully receive a song, the powers will be able to reciprocate beneficially. The tension caused by the desired necessary, successful reciprocation from the spirit powers to the people, and remembrance of times when that has not been the case, often result in the sung expression of grief and anxiety. The singing of grief and anxiety rebuilds sociability that loss and death have disrupted. By contrast, the joyful communal singing in the annual Carnaval celebration serves to re- establish social ties and renew social relationships in the community, a practice that balances the communal singing of grief during animal fertility. This dissertation shows that the regular and expected release of joy and grief through music contributes to individual and communal balance and healing. The dissertation details the social and cosmic regenerative processes throughout in the form of detailed ethnographic description; insight from the author’s participation; interviews; analyses of musical detail and aesthetics of specific audio examples; musical transcriptions (both in five-line staff and alternative transcription design to show cosmological view imbedded in song structure); and transcriptions, translations, and analyses of song texts.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS List of Maps ...... x List of Tables ...... xi List of Figures ...... xii List of Audio Examples ...... xiii List of Musical Transcriptions ...... xiv List of Song Texts ...... xv

PART I: INTRODUCTION, HISTORY, AND COSMOLOGY ...... 1

1. Thesis, Introduction to Q’eros Music, and Methodology ...... 2 Thesis and Organization ...... 2 Orthography ...... 8 Meeting Q’eros Music ...... 11 Methodological Experience ...... 13

2. Musical Overview, History, and Identity ...... 18 An Overview of Q’eros ...... 18 The Q’eros Cultural Group ...... 20 The Community of Hatun Q’eros and Daily Life ...... 24 Vertical Ecology and Historical Background ...... 28 Identity: La Nación Q’eros; Q’eros and/or Inca? ...... 35

3. Foundations of Andean Cosmology: Animu, Yanantin, and Ayni ...... 42 Supernatural Vitalization: Animu ...... 42 Complementary Duality: Yanantin ...... 45 Reciprocity: Ayni ...... 55

PART II: COMMUNAL CELEBRATION IN PUKLLAY (CARNAVAL): RENEWAL OF SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS ...... 59

4. Pukllay Ethnography: Song Topics, and Women’s and Men’s Musical Roles ...... 60 Introduction to the Nine-day Cycle of Pukllay ...... 60 Kunan Pukllay Taki: Topics of Currently Active Carnaval Songs ...... 63 Women’s and Men’s Festival Roles: Singers and Pinkuyllu players ...... 71 Pukllay Ethnography ...... 76

5. Pukllay Musical Analysis: Musical Aesthetics, and Yanantin in Musical Production ...... 84 Musical Aesthetics of Pukllay taki Performance ...... 84 Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets ...... 89 Social and Cosmic Reproduction Elements in Pukllay ...... 102

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PART III: ANIMAL FERTILITY RITUALS: RENEWAL OF VITAL RELATIONSHIP AMONG PEOPLE, ANIMALS, AND SPIRIT POWERS ...... 109

6. Phallchay: Female and ...... 110 Introduction to and Animal Fertility Rituals...... 110 Daily Herding: The Importance of Llamas and Alpacas ...... 112 The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Sitima, and Ritual Objects ...... 117 Phallchay Ethnography and Introduction to Grief-Singing ...... 124 “Pantilla T’ika”: Song for Llamas and Alpacas ...... 132

7. Machu Fistay: Male Llamas ...... 146 Machu Fistay Ethnography ...... 146 “Machu Taki”: Song for the Male Llamas ...... 159 Yanantin Relationship between the Songs “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika” ...... 176

PART IV: SOCIAL AND COSMIC REPRODUCTION IN THE PERFORMANCE OF INDIGENOUS Q’EROS SONGS ...... 182

8. Toward an Indigenous Andean Theory of Music ...... 183 Aysariykuy: So that the Songs Arrive ...... 183 Origins of Music: Circulatory Ayni among People, Animals, and Spirit Powers ...... 189 Fertility Ritual as Framing Metaphor for Grief-Singing ...... 192 “The Song Above, the Sorrow Below” ...... 198

9. Conclusion: Social and Cosmic Renewal through Song ...... 208 Musical Production as Cosmological Reproduction ...... 213

Glossary ...... 217 Appendix A: An Overview of the Annual Ritual Cycle in Q’eros ...... 222 Appendix B: Kunan Pukllay Taki (Current Carnaval Songs) ...... 224 “Thurpa” ...... 224 “Phallcha” ...... 228 “Walqa Piñi” ...... 230 “Rinrillo” ...... 233 “Wallata” ...... 235 “Sirina” ...... 238 “Kiyu” ...... 241 Appendix C: Chayampuy ...... 243 Appendix D: Ñawpa Pukllay Taki (Past Carnaval Songs) ...... 246 Appendix E: Human Subjects Approval ...... 249 Bibliography ...... 250 Biographical Sketch ...... 264

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LIST OF MAPS

1.1. Location of La Nación Q’eros in Peru …………………………………………….………. 7 2.1. La Nación Q’eros, Nearby Regions and Cities …………………………………………… 22 2.2. The Community of Hatun Q’eros …………………………………………………………. 23

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LIST OF TABLES

3.1 Yanantin Examples in the Andean World ...... 53 3.2. Yanantin Examples in the Q’eros Community and Music ...... 54 4.2. The Pukllay Cycle ...... 63 A. In Appendix A. An Overview of the Annual Ritual Cycle ...... 221

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LIST OF FIGURES

2.2. The anexo of Ch’allmachimpana in the rainy season ...... 27 2.2. The community center of Hatun Q’eros (11,000 feet) ...... 27 2.3. A woman herds in the anexo of Ch’allmachimpana in the dry season ...... 28 2.4. Men working in the fields. The man in foreground plows with foot plow ...... 28 4.1. A condor bone pinkuyllu ...... 73 4.2. Man playing a pinkuyllu made of toqoro ...... 73 4.3. Agustín Machacca Flores measures the space between finger holes in making a pinkuyllu ..74 4.4. Finished pinkuyllu alongside a piece of newly-harvested toqoro ...... 74 4.5. Four drawings by John Cohen, courtesy of John Cohen ...... 75 4.6. Four men in Pukllay dress...... 80 4.7. Three women in Pukllay dress ...... 80 4.8. Position of men and women in Inles Pampa during Pukllay ...... 82 4.9. Performance in Inles Pampa from the women’s perspective ...... 82 5.1. Yanantin is woven in the inti lloqsiy-haykuy design in a weaving ...... 99 5.2. Yanantin is woven in the opposing ch’unchu weaving pattern ...... 99 6.1. Isaac Flores Machacca selecting leaves (akllay) for k’intu in the offering ...... 121 6.2. Isaac Flores Machacca throwing libations of aqha on the herd ...... 131 7.1. “Inca Sings with his Red Llama.” Drawing by Felipe Guamán Poma de Ayala, ca. 1615 ..147 7.2. Machu misa with the llama’s bells, gourd pululu, qero cups, and phuña leaves...... 151 7.3. A woman receives a coca k’intu over the machu misa in the mullucancha ...... 152 7.4. A pululu has been tosssed into the llama herd and rolls back towards the people ...... 152 7.5. Woman dancing with the rusayu (lead llama bells and fringe) ...... 155 7.6. A man feeding aqha to a llama ...... 156 7.7. Men replacing the llama’s ear tassels (t’ikachay) ...... 156

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LIST OF AUDIO EXAMPLES

5.1. “Thurpa.” Pukllay taki for 2005. Hatun Q’eros, Ash Wednesday, 8 February 2005 ...... 86

5.2. “Thurpa.” Juliana Apasa Flores (singer), Agustín Machacca Flores (pinkuyllu). Recorded out of context, in Cusco, Peru. 12 September 2005 ...... 90

5.3. “Wallata.” Domingo and Luisa Sera Chumpi of Kiku. 1964 recording by John Cohen. Reissue 1991 [1964]. Mountain . Smithsonian/Folkways CD SF 40020...... 93

6.1. “Pantilla T’ika.” Isaac Flores Machacca, Víctor and Juana Flores Salas. Recording: Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros), 6 February 2005 ...... 133

7.1. “Machu Taki.” Juana Flores Salas (singer). The beginning of Machu Fistay in the home. Recording: Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros), 27 August 2005 ...... 160

7.2. “Machu Taki.” Juliana Apasa Flores (singer). Recording: Qocha Moqo (Q’eros), 2 September 2006 ...... 165

7.3. “Machu Taki.” In the height of the ritual in the mullucancha with the male llamas. Recording: Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros), 27 August 2005 ...... 168

7.4. “Machu Taki.” Late in the afternoon, in the mullucancha. Dancing with lead llama’s bells. Recording: Qocha Moqo (Q’eros), 2 September 2006 ...... 175

7.5. “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika.” Short excerpts of one stanza each to show yanantin relationship between the songs ...... 177

8.1. “Pantilla T’ika.” Monica Apasa Vargas (singer). 1984 recording by John Cohen. Reissue 1991 [1964]. Mountain Music of Peru. Smithsonian/Folkways CD SF 40020 .....199

APPENDIX B “Thurpa” ...... 224 “Phallcha” ...... 228 “Walqa Piñi” ...... 230 “Rinrillo”...... 233 “Wallata” ...... 235 “Sirina” ...... 238 “Kiyu” ...... 241

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LIST OF MUSICAL TRANSCRIPTIONS

5.1. “Thurpa” notated in a five-line staff. (Recorded out of context, in Cusco, Peru, 12 September 2005) ...... 90

5.2. Rodolfo Holzmann’s transcription of John Cohen’s 1964 recording of “Wallata.” (From: Holzmann, Rodolfo. 1986. Q’ero: Pueblo y Musica. : Patronato Popular y Provenir, p. 238–9)…………………………………………………………………...... 94

5.3. “Thurpa” notated to show yanantin relationship ...... 95

6.1. “Pantilla T’ika” notated in a five-line staff. (Isaac Flores Machacca, Víctor and Juana Flores Salas, 6 February 2005, Ch’allmachimpana, Q’eros)...... 134

7.1. “Machu Taki” notated in a five-line staff. (Singer Juana Flores Salas, 27 August, 2005, Ch’allmachimpana, Q’eros ...... 160

7.2. The Yanantin Relationship of “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika” ...... 177

APPENDIX B “Thurpa” ...... 224 “Phallcha” ...... 228 “Walqa Piñi” ...... 230 “Rinrillo”...... 233 “Wallata” ...... 235 “Sirina” ...... 236 “Kiyu” ...... 241

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LIST OF SONG TEXTS

4.1. Six verse-refrains (AB) of “Thurpa” (Excerpted from Audio Example 5.1. Juliana Apasa Flores, September 12, 2005) ...... 69

6.1. Four Common Variations of the Refrain of “Pantilla T’ika” ...... 135

6.2. Six common stanzas (ABA1) of “Pantilla T’ika” ...... 139

6.3. “Pantilla T’ika,” excerpt of grief-singing. (From: Isaac Flores Machacca, Víctor and Juana Flores Salas, recorded February 6, 2005, Ch’allmachimpana, Q’eros) ...... 142

7.1. “Machu Taki,” excerpt of morning singing in Machu Fistay (Transcription from Audio Example 7.1. Recorded in Ch’allmachimpana, August 27, 2005)...... 160

7.2. “Machu Taki,” excerpt of late morning singing in Machu Fistay. (Transcription from Audio Example 7.2. Recorded in Qocha Moqo, September 2, 2006) ...... 165

7.3. “Machu Taki,” excerpt of afternoon singing in the mullucancha in Machu Fistay. Recorded in Ch’allmachimpana, 27 August 2005)...... 169

8.1. “Pantilla T’ika,” from Phallchay, 1984. Recording by John Cohen, from: 1991 [1964]. Mountain Music of Peru. Smithsonian/Folkways CD SF 40020, track 38. Singer: Monica Apasa Vargas) ...... 199

APPENDIX B “Thurpa” ...... 225 “Phallcha” ...... 229 “Walqa Piñi” ...... 231 “Rinrillo”...... 234 “Wallata” ...... 236 “Sirina” ...... 239 “Kiyu” ...... 242

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PART I INTRODUCTION, HISTORY, AND COSMOLOGY

CHAPTER 1 THESIS, INTRODUCTION TO Q’EROS MUSIC, AND METHODOLOGY

Thesis and Organization The Quechua community of Q’eros in the Andes of southeastern Peru is renowned in the Cusco region and within various circles (layman, scholarly, esoteric, tourist), nationally and internationally for their continued practice of indigenous customs, such as musical rituals, that other Andean communities no longer maintain. Q’eros’ autochthonous music is one custom among many that lends insight into ancient Andean tradition and belief. In this way, many and foreigners often consider the Q’eros people to be the “Last Inca ” (community)—that is, many view the Q’eros through the lens of their being “untouched” or the “last” indigenous stronghold in Peruvian Andean culture. These perceptions have their basis in exaggerations of romanticized truths, yet ultimately are de-humanizing, and they mistakenly place the Q’eros in a static, ancient mystique. The present study aims to present a more realistic, present-day view of a people whose cosmological foundation and perceptions are salient to the struggle of their everyday lives as they express it via their music. The intent of this dissertation is to show how the Q’eros use their autochthonous songs as active forms of social and cosmic renewal and regeneration. Social and cosmic regenerative processes, through musical production, occur on many levels. On the most vital level, the Q’eros use song and specific aspects of sound production to revitalize relationship with the spirit powers, which the Q’eros believe hold the greatest sway on their livelihood. In this way, Q’eros songs serve as formulas for social action that revitalize the cosmic connections with these spirit powers, which then allows for renewal and maintenance of relationship on other levels: socially with fellow-community members, and among people and animals. Aspects of musical production, such as song structure and instrument pairs, reproduce the Q’eros’ social roles and cosmological perceptions. The key is that music actively regenerates and re-creates, versus simply reflects, social and cosmic relationships and worldview. The use of music to renew and regenerate social ties and roles as well as cosmological perceptions and relationships is best described by three local concepts: animu, yanantin, and

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ayni. The Q’eros’ believe that everything has animu (animated essence) and is alive.1 In other words, the Q’eros’ religious beliefs and practices are fundamentally animistic, with some Catholic elements occasionally incorporated into their rituals.2 Animu is the essence that propels the life-governing concepts of yanantin (complementary duality) and ayni (reciprocity). Yanantin and ayni are structuring principles that underlie systems of exchange, which function through continuous interaction and renewed relationship. These two basic cosmological concepts and forms of exchange permeate the structure, performance, and intention of Q’eros’ autochthonous songs and music-making. In sum, animu, yanantin and ayni inform why and how the Q’eros make music the way they do. Yanantin is the union of two contrasting and interdependent parts that are in movement with one another, in continual search of equilibrium, and with a meeting and overlap in a center. The two parts are labeled warmi/qhari (female/male) by the Q’eros, and they cannot function separately. Yanantin is expressed in time (rainy/dry seasons) and space (mountains/earth). The Q’eros reproduce yanantin in various aspects of their music, such as performance roles and instrument pairs. I argue that yanantin is also expressed on the micro level of melodic relationships within song structure and between songs, as well as on the macro level of communally sung expressions of joy and grief. Ayni is the most fundamental and life-sustaining form of reciprocal exchange, and has been so in Andean communities since pre-Hispanic times. People extend mutual aid in single and group relationships, and also with their animals and the spirit powers. For example, the Q’eros give offerings in many forms (food, drink, special ingredient bundles, and songs) to the Apu (mountain spirits) and Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) in exchange for the well-being of the people and their animals. Q’eros singing and flute playing are musical offerings that are sent out through samay (breath, life essence and force) in propitiation, and in this way singing and flute playing are active forms of ayni. To ensure receipt of the songs by the spirit powers, the Q’eros employ a

1 I refer to animu in the new, rehabilitated theory of animism (Descola 1996a and 1996b, Viveiros de Castro 1998, Uzendoski 2005, and Allen N.d., 2008) where everything has life essence, versus the original theory of anima as possession of supernatural force as posited by Edward Burnett Tylor in the nineteenth century.

2 For example, Christ is sometimes invoked in ceremonial offerings along with a pantheon of mountain Gods. This synthesis is not a conflict; rather, my sense is that Christ, for the Q’eros, is just another powerful spirit, along with the many mountain spirits that influence Q’eros’ livelihood. This kind of syncretism is common to some degree in Andean communities, with Catholic elements stronger in some communities than others.

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vocal technique they call aysariykuy (“to pull”): ends of phrases are sung in prolonged, held tones with a final, forced expulsion of air. This “beautiful pulling” of the song (e.g., long tones), as one Q’eros friend called it, is the Q’eros’ active way to send the song out so that it will reach the spirit powers. Once the spirit powers successfully receive a song, the powers will be able to reciprocate beneficially. The tension caused by the desired necessary, successful reciprocation from the spirit powers to the people, and remembrance of times when that has not been the case, often results in the sung expression of grief and anxiety. The singing of grief and anxiety rebuilds sociability that loss and death have disrupted. The joyful communal singing in the annual Carnaval celebration serves to re-establish social ties and renew social relationships in the community, which contrasts and balances the communal singing of grief during animal fertility. In this way the Q’eros have differing musical rituals where they fully express their joy and grief. I argue that the regular and expected release of joy and grief through song contributes to individual and communal balance and healing. The Q’eros’ use of songs as forms of social and cosmic regeneration and reproduction comprises the philosophical basis of an indigenous Q’eros theory of music. While the Q’eros share these basic social and cosmological concepts of animu, yanantin, and ayni with many of their Andean neighbors, the specificities of their musical production are uniquely Q’eros. The two song genres I focus on in this dissertation are the Carnaval songs and the llama and alpaca fertility songs, which comprise the entire active repertoire of Q’eros autochthonous tritonic songs.3 The focus on these emblematic Q’eros songs is another cohesive element in the dissertation. This repertoire of songs lends insight into indigenous Andean musical custom, as this tritonic mode is believed to date back to pre-European invasion (1532). In addition, I feel it is necessary to document these particular songs because I have observed that some of the songs and rituals are in decline with no evidence of replacement. This observation partly motivates my choice to focus completely on them in this dissertation, and not on the Q’eros’ adopted styles, such as the songs and dances they perform in the popular pilgrimage festival of Qoyllur Rit’i, the waynos (popular Andean dance/song genre) played in Easter, or the popular bandurria (sixteen- ) music that some of the youth are learning to perform.

3 I use the term “tritonic” to refer to songs comprised of three pitches, as opposed to intervals of a tritone, or other possible definitions. 4

Finally, the principal reason for focusing on this repertoire is to show how these songs render deep insight into the Q’eros’ perception, worldview, and motivations for music-making. That is, these songs help us to understand who the Q’eros really are, and what guides their daily lives and actions, which is also a lens into indigenous Andean musical production. I choose not to focus on Q’eros history, with the exception of the introductory chapter that explains Q’eros historical context and background, again with the intent of showing who the Q’eros are today through the lens of musical production of their indigenous songs. I organize the material of the dissertation into four parts: I) Introduction, contextualization, and definition; II) Ethnography and meaning of Pukllay (Carnaval) celebration and songs; III) Ethnography and meaning of the two annual and principal animal fertility rituals and their respective songs; IV) Further analyses of the cosmic reproduction and grief-singing aspects of fertility songs discussed in Part III, and conclusion of how Q’eros autochthonous songs are thereby formulas of social and cosmic reproduction. In Chapter 2 I begin with a broad overview of the many types of musics sung and played in Q’eros. For purposes of contextualization, I present an outline of the historical circumstances that partially contributed to the Q’eros’ retention of indigenous musical practices, and the current political situation of the Q’eros people today, namely the formation of La Nación Q’eros as their statement of solidarity. The chapter closes with a discussion of an “Inca” identity that has been placed on the Q’eros by outsiders, with the Q’eros’ own perspective on this issue. These topics— a historically isolated way of life in comparison to their Andean neighbors, their formation of La Nación Q’eros, and their renowned “Incan” identity—help shed on the unique position the Q’eros hold today as representatives of ancient, indigenous Andean culture, which is especially held together and exemplified by their musical traditions. Though important for purposes of contextualization, this is also a one-sided view, and alongside the practice of ancient customs, they are also experiencing change, and even loss of cultural customs. This loss results from increasingly facile interaction with urban centers due to nearing road access, the migration of many of the younger generation (sometimes with whole families) to larger towns and cities for purposes of education and ties to the capitalistic cash economy that erode the ideal model of Andean equality and reciprocity. In the remainder of the dissertation I the focus from one of contextualization of their historical circumstance and renown, to show how the Q’eros actively use music for regeneration of who they are and what they fundamentally believe in.

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In Chapter 3 I define at length the key cosmological concepts that drive ancient (Incan) and current (Q’eros) Andean culture: animu, yanantin, and ayni. These concepts are expanded upon throughout the dissertation in order to show how they underpin Q’eros music-making. In Chapters 4 and 5 (Part II) I present ethnography and analyses of the largest festival of the Q’eros’ musical calendar: Carnaval, which the Q’eros call Pukllay. In Chapter 4 I focus on the essential components that comprise Pukllay performance: song topics, women’s and men’s musical roles, and ethnographic description. In Chapter 5 I expand on this ethnography by exploring the details of musical aesthetics of Pukllay taki (Carnaval songs) performance (to include audio examples). I then present a five-line staff transcription of one Pukllay taki (“Thurpa”) for understanding the Pukllay taki genre in Western musical terms. This is followed by a transcription of another design where I show that the Q’eros cosmological perception of yanantin is reproduced and imbedded in the relationship between the women’s and men’s melodic lines. In Chapters 6 and 7 (Part III) I present ethnography, including meaning and symbolism, of the two principal animal fertility rituals in Q’eros: Phallchay for the female llamas and alpacas, and Machu Fistay for the male llamas, respectively. I also analyze the two fertility songs that pertain to each ritual, with audio examples and transcriptions. At the close of Chapter 7 I argue that the fertility song in Phallchay and the one in Machu Fistay are in yanantin relationship with one another. In both chapters I introduce the concept of grief-singing, which is expanded upon and analyzed in Chapter 8. Chapters 8 and 9 (Part IV) serve to bring deeper understanding and conclusion to the previous chapters. In Chapter 8 I explain the vocal technique of aysariykuy as it specifically contributes to social and cosmic reproduction in the Q’eros’ lives. I argue that this vocal technique lends insight into an indigenous Andean theory of music. I then examine how the ritual space of animal fertility rituals (Chapters 6 and 7) often induces the singing of grief and loss, with an analysis of one particular instance where this was expressed. And finally, in Chapter 9 I show how the celebration of Pukllay and the animal fertility rituals are in yanantin relationship to one another, the former for community social cohesion and expression of joy, and the latter for reproduction of relationship with the cosmos and expression of grief. The musical production of both Pukllay and animal increase rituals contribute to individual and social balance, and serve in social and cosmic reproduction in Q’eros life.

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Map 1.1: Location of La Nación Q’eros in Peru

Map courtesy of ACCA, Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica, Cusco, Perú. www.acca.org.pe Detail of maps by Sandro Arias (ACCA).

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Orthography and Transcription Throughout this dissertation, I use the Q’eros’ terminology to refer to specific rituals, aspects of and objects in rituals, song genres, musical techniques, instruments, and community names, as opposed to a possibly more common terminology used by non-Q’eros people. I explain each term as it arises, indicating other name possibilities for the same ritual, instrument, etc., for reference and broader context, finally choosing the term used by the Q’eros to be the definitive one. I encourage the reader to refer to the glossary provided, since I make significant use of Quechua terminology throughout. I intentionally capitalize all rituals out of respect for the reverence the Q’eros have for their rituals. Likewise, I also capitalize their one named musical genre, Pukllay taki (Carnaval songs). Song titles are in quotation marks and are also capitalized, such as “Thurpa” and “Phallcha.” Instead of the English spelling “Carnival,” I use the Spanish “Carnaval,” to clarify that this is a reference to one of the largest festivals in all America, which includes many Andean communities. The name “Q’eros” has multiple references and can therefore be confusing. In its broadest sense it refers to a cultural group consisting of eight communities. The people are referred to as “The Q’eros/Los Q’eros” (English and Spanish, respectively), and runa (“people” in Quechua) by the Q’eros themselves.4 I refer to the people as “the Q’eros” in order to distinguish them from the other thousands of runa in the Andes. Hatun Q’eros is the official name of the one community of the eight where I conducted most of my research; however, the Q’eros people usually refer to that community simply as “Q’eros.” Therefore, I fluctuate between writing “Q’eros” or “Hatun Q’eros” to refer to the community. Many past and current orthographies (all written by non-Q’eros people) refer to the people and the cultural area as Q’ero, without the “s.” I use the “s,” however, as this is more commonly what the Q’eros people say.5 Having said that I have also heard both “Q’ero” and

4 Runa is the common word used by indigenous people throughout the Peruvian Andes to refer to themselves, often in opposition to non-indigenous people (including ‘misti’ or ).

5 Linguist Paul Heggarty states, “ -s is a well recognized Quechua suffix, obsolete in most regions now but still found in place names” (pers. com., 26 February 2009). Peruvian linguist Rodolfo Cerrón-Palomino specifically includes “Q’irus” in his list of placenames that use the “s” (Cerrón-Palomino 2008, 211). Cerrón-Palomino also gives the root of qiru as meaning wood, which might indicate the origin of the placename of Q’eros (Q’irus) as one being abundant in wood (as in the Q’eros’ cloud forest, where their main river, the Q’eros River, flows).

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“Q’eros” used interchangeably, even from the same person. I hear “Q’ero” more as an adjective, such as “costumbre q’ero” (a custom/tradition of Q’eros). I have seen official letterhead used by Q’eros directive committees with “Nación Q’eros” and “Centro Poblado de Q’eros,” while simultaneously the official stamps used by members of the same directive committees will say both “comunidad de Q’eros” and “comunidad Q’ero” on the same page. Hearing both, I have come to accept the paradoxical situation where both could be/are correct, but my final decision is simply based on what I hear most often by the people themselves, which is “Q’eros” (with the “s”). 6 Regarding plural names in Quechua, plural usage is contextual and not the same as an across-the-board “s” in English or Spanish, for example. The name for mountain deity is Apu, a word I use abundantly throughout, and I heard the word Apu used for both singular and plural in Q’eros. One often hears claims that the explicit plural Apukuna must be the supposedly ‘correct’ form, but such claims are based on the mistaken assumption that plural-marking is compulsory, as it is in Spanish or English.7 In Quechua, in many contexts –kuna is not added, and would not normally be, unless the speaker particularly wanted to stress the idea of a number of multiple, individual items.8 The Q’eros often named the Apu when referring to just one, such as Apu Waman Lipa, the largest Apu in Q’eros. Therefore I follow this guideline and use Apu for plural and name the Apu when it is singular. Another example is the Q’eros use of the word pinkuyllu (flute) for both singular and plural. I therefore refer to “one pinkuyllu” and “two pinkuyllu” instead of pinkuyllukuna for the latter (sheep, deer, fish, bread, and so on, provide English equivalents of collective nouns). I use the three-vowel (a, i, u) spelling system of Quechua as opposed to the five vowel (a, e, i, o, u) in song text transcriptions and written quotations.9 This has one notable exception: The

6 A 1568–1570 visita (fact-finding mission by Spanish colonial authorities) contains numerous mentions of “queros yndios” that were brought in to work the important coca crop of the encomienda belonging to the inheritors of Alonso de Alvarado, in what is present-day (see Murra, ed. 1991). The first published article with description of the Q’eros culture was the 1922 article by Luis Yábar Palacios, titled “El Ayllu de Qqueros.” Both of these older examples state Q’eros with an “s.”

7 See Cusihuamán 2001, 118–119, where he points out that –kuna is not compulsory.

8 Information from linguist Paul Heggarty (pers. com., 26 February 2009).

9 There are many discrepancies in Quechua spellings, because the writing of it began after the European invasion (1532), and it has inevitably been approached from a standpoint dominated by Spanish norms and usage, often inappropriate to the different sound system of Quechua. Two basic schools of thought prevail regarding the 9

name “Q’eros,” which refers to both the people and the community. I choose this spelling (as opposed to “Q’irus,” which would be the spelling in the three-vowel system), simply because it is by far the one most commonly used and, importantly, the one the Q’eros use when they write the name of their community and people. I also use the more common spelling of the festival of Qoyllur Rit’i. Finally, I use Quechua instead of Kichwa, Qhichwa, or other spellings, and Inca instead of Inka, simply because those spellings are more common in both English and Spanish.10 A specific group of comadres and compadres11 with whom I worked guided and informed many of my deepest insights into into Q’eros culture and music. I first introduce them by their full names, and then continue on a first name basis after that. Usually when I use the term compadres I am including the women as well, since Spanish employs the masculine form of the noun when it is all-inclusive. I provide two systems of musical transcription and notation of most songs. First, I provide five-line staff notations in order to generally show the melodic and rhythmic traits of all Q’eros tritonic music. I show the original pitches of the melody sung by the woman and played by the man in the recording, but I then transcribe both parts into the same octave and in a different key that fits neatly in the five-line staff for ease of analysis of the relationship between the two parts. These five-line staff transcriptions are prescriptive and not descriptive. There are innumerable details that would be difficult to portray in the five-line staff system, namely the continually fluctuating pitches and rhythms that regularly occurs in performance. Also, the vocal and pinkuyllu flute melodies rarely line up as succinctly as I portray in the prescriptive templates. Second, in Chapter 5 and Appendix B I provide another style of transcription in order to show how the Q’eros reproduce the relationship of yanantin between the women’s vocal melody and the men’s flute melody in all songs. The intention of this second transcription, then, is to visually show how the pitch and rhythm relationships of the women’s and men’s melodies are a reproduction of this one aspect (yanantin) of Q’eros cosmological view.

treatment of vowels of written Quechua: the five vowel, which applies to Quechua the Spanish sound-system with its five vowel distinctions and spellings, and the three vowel, which almost all linguists argue is closer to the native system of spoken Quechua, which establishes functional distinctions only between three vowel phonemes (Heggarty, pers. com. 26 February 2009).

10 The Q’eros and (and many monolingual Quechua speakers) do not use the term Quechua; rather, they call their language runasimi (“[native] people’s speech”).

11 People with whom I have created a ritualistic familial tie. 10

Meeting Q’eros Music I first met some members of the Q’eros community in 2002, at Qoyllur Rit’i, the largest religious pilgrimage festival in southeast Peru. Qoyllur Rit’i is attended by thousands of pilgrims from urban centers like Cusco and mountain communities like Q’eros, who express religious devotion through costumed dance and song to the glaciers and a Christ image on a sacred stone. Some two hundred or more dance groups attend, and in 2002 my research interests lay in a comparative study between the meaning and musical processes of Qoyllur Rit’i for an urban comparsa (dance group; I had already worked and performed with an urban comparsa in Qoyllur Rit’i) and a rural, mountain one. I had heard about the Q’eros’ reputation as ‘the last indigenous stronghold’ since 1982, when I first went to Peru, so I hoped the Q’eros comparsa would be the rural one I would work with. I was also informed about the Q’eros’ reputation as a well-guarded community with difficult access for outside researchers; therefore, to prepare for this first meeting with them at Qoyllur Rit’i, I arranged for a translator, offered some appropriate gifts (coca leaves, alcohol, bread) and proceeded with a formal introduction. When it was agreed that I would be allowed to go to Q’eros the following year and observe preparations and rituals for Qoyllur Rit’i, I knew that I needed to offer a gift of ayni. The Q’eros dancers and immediately requested an accordion for their recently-adopted qhapaq qolla dance, a standard accompanying instrument for this dance, which every other qhapaq qolla comparsa at Qoyllur Rit’i had, except Q’eros. They would naturally want their own accordion to be like all other dance groups. As an eager ethnomusicologist I was surprised and pleased that their gift request of me was a , and I was keen to oblige. The delivery of the accordion at an official community assembly meeting was my first journey to Q’eros, in June 2003. This was immediately followed by my documentation of the learning process of seventeen-year-old Víctor Flores Salas, who grasped the qhapaq qolla songs on the instrument in just one week, and then accompanied the Q’eros community, dancers, and musicians, on the pilgrimage.12 This one act, giving my word and keeping it, helped to open the door for my research in Q’eros, and it was the beginning of a deep working relationship with Víctor, followed by many others.

12 The Q’eros’ participation in Qoyllur Rit’i, and Víctor’s learning the accordion, can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Qoyllur Rit’i and Corpus Christi” (Wissler 2007).

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I first heard the Q’eros’ emblematic, traditional singing that inspired this study in their Corpus Christi celebration, one year after that first visit. All day, on June 10, 2004, I videotaped and watched the colorful dances of wayri ch’unchu and qhapaq qolla, the two dances they perform at Qoyllur Rit’i, and also during Corpus Christi in their own community upon return from the pilgrimage. I was very familiar with these regional folklore dances and its accompanying music, since I had fulfilled the roles of mayordoma (sponsor) and musician for a qhapaq qolla comparsa from Cusco at Qoyllur Rit’i in 1998, and the dances, music, and meaning of the festival were the topics of my masters thesis and first video documentary production (Wissler 1999a and 1999b). The familiarity with these popular regional folklore dances and music was dramatically different from the Q’eros’ own songs I would hear later that night, however. That night in 2004, I was in one of the large family homes in the community center of Hatun Q’eros, and I felt exhilaratingly overwhelmed by the energy around me. The room was so dark I could hardly see, and it was so packed that dancing bodies were often in ecstatic collision. On one side of the room was a group of musicians in a corner, singing popular waynos and playing them on kena . Most Q’eros were familiar with these popular wayno dance tunes: some were tunes from outside festivals that had been incorporated into celebrations in Q’eros; others were picked up by listening to the radio. On the other side of the room, near the cooking fire and the many large aqha (corn beer) ceramic pots, women were sitting, and babies and children were sleeping. For respite from the incredible energy on the dancing side of the room, I went and sat with the women, although I felt awkward wearing pants and clunky trekking boots, and I could not yet speak Quechua well enough to hold a conversation. Suddenly a woman started singing; her voice was full and powerful, and seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. She held the last tone of phrases unusually long and pushed all her breath out intentionally and forcefully at the end of a phrase. I had never before heard such a compelling manner of singing, and I was immediately drawn in. Then another woman started singing, the same song I ascertained, but not together with the first. She sang independently. Then another. Soon there was a dense overlapping of the same song, but no one was singing together. It was not like a canon or round; rather, the singing seemed to be completely spontaneous and individual. This was going on simultaneously with the singing of loud, popular waynos, and the thumping of dancing feet on the other side of the room.

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Profoundly moved and stilled, I thought,“What is this?” The sound felt ancient to me—it seemed like the singing of people who are very connected to the earth. Enveloped in that thick, wholly natural sound, I said to myself, “I have to know what this is.” This was a sound I could make no logical sense of, yet it touched my senses on a visceral level. I knew then that this would comprise my doctoral research and eventual dissertation. Soon after, I returned to the to nurture my dying mother, with the intention of sharing this musical sound with her, via my one single, short recording at the time. I wanted to say, “listen to this unusual, beautiful sound.” I wanted to tell her “what I was going to do next.” That was the only thing left undone in her dying.

Methodological Experience My methodology evolved organically, which is why I call this section “methodological experience.” I arrived in Q’eros with the intention to learn about the people and their music, knowing that I needed to let them be my teachers. While the process unfolded according to their rules and my intent, it was often filled with many growing pains. A web of relationships was nurtured, and after the first year or so, a thread of understanding began to develop that evolved into a solid core by the end of my third year with the Q’eros people. I have lived and worked in Cusco and the Andes of Peru intermittently since 1982, both as a mountain trekking guide for U.S.-based travel companies, and as a classical flute instructor for local musicians at the Leandro Alviña Instituto Superior de Música in Cusco. More than twenty years of feeling completely at home in the Andes and working with Andean people has given me a solid foundation for conducting research in the rugged environment of Q’eros. And yet, in just three years with the Q’eros, my depth of comprehension about Andean perceptions and culture superseded that of the previous twenty, because of my immersion in Q’eros community life and singing with women in every ritual and celebration, versus camping on the outskirts of an Andean community with a tour group. I visited Q’eros once in 2003, again in 2004, and then with the most intense part of my research from early 2005 to the end of 2007, when I stayed in Q’eros seventeen different times, each trip averaging two or three weeks. For the first two years I funded my research by guiding treks in other Andean areas, and in 2007 I was funded by a Fulbright-Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad grant. I conducted nearly all of my research in the community of Hatun Q’eros,

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one of the eight communities pertaining to the Q’eros cultural group. I chose this community for both its remoteness (two day’s walk over two mountain passes from the nearest road)13 and reputation for being the most traditional community of the group. Only for one ritual, Sinalay (Santos), the ritual for the cows and sheep, did I go to another Q’eros community: Hapu (specifically to the annex of Yanaruma). Therefore, Hatun Q’eros serves as representative of all Q’eros culture, even though all eight communities have varying degrees of retention of the musical styles discussed here. On every trip I was accompanied by my arriero (wrangler), Mario Turpo, in the role of guide, cook, and translator, and my gear was carried by his horses. Mario is originally from a more urbanized community in the nearby Ocongate region, and he now resides in Cusco. While not from Q’eros, he is Andean; and while not indigenous, his mestizo14 background was not an impediment as can sometimes be the case. He easily interacted with the Q’eros as equals (and later, as true friends), without feelings of superiority that sometimes arise when people from a cultural background interact with runa. His literal and, in particular, cultural translation (what to do, what not to do) was crucial, but as time went on and my Quechua improved and my relationships flourished, I became independent, able to hold conversations and easily get around on my own. At most times I felt as if I was the only “outsider,” even though this was not the case (see footnote 38 for a list of other entities working in Q’eros). This was a situation I enjoyed greatly because it provided the feeling of complete immersion in Q’eros Quechua culture. For one year (2005) I filmed and recorded the principal rituals and musical genres in Q’eros. During that time foundations were built and experiences, both daily and ritual, strengthened my relationships with many people. I became comadre (co-mother) time and time again, accepted as extended family.15 The relationships with my compadres flourished, while,

13 That statement changes continually as the road is approaching nearer all the time. As of spring, 2009, another new road now makes accessibility to Hatun Q’eros over one mountain pass, in a day’s walk.

14Mestizo is a charged and difficult term to define. Originally, in colonial Peru the term was based on racial background, and a mestizo in early post-conquest years was literally the offspring of a Spanish man or Spanish born in the New World (criollo) with an indigenous woman, so that the blood was “mixed.” Nowadays the term is more of a cultural reference. A mestizo is an Andean person (urban or rural) who has incorporated influences such as formal education, Catholicism, speaks Spanish as well as Quechua, and wears factory clothes (pants, shoes, jackets), to name a few examples.

15 I became comadre (co-mother) by conducting the first -cutting ritual (chukcha rutuy) of a child, and thereby creating a familial tie with the entire family. This act makes me godmother of the child, and his/her parents are my compadres (co-parents). 14

simultaneously there was the continual stress of “making deals”—the ayni part of my work. I needed to give appropriate gifts both to the community and individuals, in order to foster good relations with everyone and have continued permission to film, record, and simply be there. While these continual deals are a matter of course for the rights of research and recording, and are ethically correct and necessary, they were often a source of personal distress. As often happens with researchers in fieldwork, these are a people I have come to love and respect deeply. I formed rich friendships, acquired many godchildren, and spent many nights singing with them in ritual. Their loving, laughing way and presence in the moment, and all that they have taught me about respecting the earth and mutual reciprocity as a way of life, has had a profound impact on my own life. There were many times in Q’eros when I truly felt a part of the community, enjoying their company, and always feeling grateful at the privilege they were extending me. Regarding my research experience in Q’eros, I point to Benjamin Koen’s on “ontology of oneness”: That is, the field need not be viewed as “out there,” or some “other,” often “foreign” place where one goes to collect data. Rather, the field can also be viewed as “in here,” a boundless, inclusive circle, any and every place in the world, in and of the mind and soul—beyond notions of in and out (Koen 2009, 11).

I know I experienced many moments, days, and weeks, when I felt I was in a “boundless, inclusive circle,” “in and of the mind and soul” with my Q’eros friends who guided me to places of deep understanding and even changed some of my own life perceptions, which went way beyond ‘studying their music.’ I conducted much of the intensive and detailed work in order to understand Q’eros music with my closer compadres and comadres. These thirty or so people became my Andean family, and we shared a level of trust, spontaneity, fun, and just plain being-ness that I never imagined possible. What they showed me, taught me, and allowed me to witness and participate in regarding their music and way of life in general was most deeply generous on their part, and unexpected on mine. One of my biggest challenges was my internal balancing of the rich and deeply satisfying exchanges of personal connections combined with the stress of the long sessions of coming to an agreement about what my next gift should be. Often I felt a back-and-forth inner tension and

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negotiation between the roles of loved comadre, feeling warmly fully accepted and loved, and gringa researcher, aware of jealousies I caused by working closely with some and not others. I had to draw upon perseverance, bravery, and compassion, and eventually I felt that everyone knew me and I knew them; and even though tensions remained among some, on many levels we had worked it out. During 2005 I sat in on all rituals with the Q’eros, recorded their singing in and out of context, and later held work sessions in my apartment in Cusco. Selected compadres and comadres made the long walk and then bus ride to my home on a pre-arranged date, and we held many intensive work sessions with my Quechua tutors. For two or three days at a time they lived in my home, and we transcribed and translated my field recordings. There were endless discussions that spun off from these translations on related topics or questions I had about the texts, their music, rituals, and life. I believe the crucial element here is that I worked with the Q’eros in music transcription and translation. Even native Quechua speakers experience difficulty understanding Q’eros singing and deciphering song texts, as I have been told directly on numerous occasions, because of their unusual breaking and pulling of words. After one year of recording all rituals and hosting regular meetings in my home in Cusco, the next year I participated in all their rituals. Starting with Chayampuy in 2006, the first festival of the year when the year’s song is chosen, and for all subsequent rituals for the entire year, I dressed as a Q’eros woman, sang their songs, and participated in all rites with them. This involved drinking, chewing coca, shaking the llama bells over the sacred misa (altar) while singing at full force, and singing until all hours; in sum, it was full participation. It was when I participated that I noticed a shift in my interactions and relations with the people, and understanding of their music. Many people were surprised and impressed that I could actually sing the correct words, in the correct style, and be with them in ritual. The women opened up, and became comfortable with me in a way that was not so the previous year, when I was still in a man’s role as single, assertive researcher, wearing pants and working the recording machines. Suddenly I was clearly a woman who knew the women’s role and songs in all the rituals. My relationship with the community as a whole, but particularly with the women, became more trusting, casual, light, and joking, and our mutual respect deepened. Through full participation I gained insights into their music, musical sounds, sensations, and perceptions that were not accessible to me when only observing and recording. My questions in our continuing work

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sessions in my home expanded on those from the previous year, as my understanding deepened and my information base broadened. In 2007, after three years of making recordings and holding work sessions in my home (2005–2007), two years of participation and singing over and over again with my comadres in ritual (2006–2007), and conversing and dreaming in Quechua, a crystallization of insights began to come to me. There was some kind of organic osmosis, as the union of the very subtle explanations they gave me combined with openness on my part, allowed insights to emerge, and then be confirmed by my compadres. It is these deeper understandings that I will elaborate on in this dissertation—the deeper meanings about what correct singing and playing means to them, how music is a sonic manifestation of their worldview, and the role music plays in the vital maintenance and re-creation of life-nourishing relationships between humans, animals, and spiritual powers. My presentation of Q’eros music in this dissertation begins with ethnographic description, followed by fleshing out pertinent points of that description that I believe lend insight into Q’eros musical production. I follow ethnographies with analyses of musical examples that include audio recordings and text transcriptions and translations. My analyses are based on information the Q’eros directly shared with me, combined with my own observations and experience of immersion in Q’eros culture. The analyses lead me to summarize the deep meanings underlying why the Q’eros make music the way they do.

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CHAPTER 2 MUSICAL OVERVIEW, HISTORY, AND IDENTITY

An Overview of Q’eros Music Through Q’eros musical production and choices we see that the Q’eros are a multi- faceted, dynamic, sensitive, and poetic people with strong Andean roots, who also shift, grow, change, and adapt to and incorporate urban Peruvian culture around them, as has probably been the case for centuries. The entire palette of their music shows that the Q’eros are a complex and mobile group, and are not an isolated, bound, and static culture, as stereotypes would deem. The Q’eros have a variety of music, some uniquely autochthonous and others shared with their neighbors and the larger regional areas. Many of the adopted styles serve to connect the Q’eros with their neighbors in the greater Andean region, and with larger urban centers like Paucartambo, Ocongate, and Cusco (see Map 2.2). Víctor Flores Salas, a young Q’eros musician who is adept at all styles of Q’eros music, said they want to learn songs of other Andean communities because “we are all runa” (indigenous Andeans) and “kuska sonqoyoq kayku” (“we are of the same heart”). The Q’eros are aware of the music that is uniquely their own, and also of the music that is of the larger Andean community, to which they also belong and identify with. They keep all of their various musics separate in function and performance, so that the Q’eros’ strong identity allows them to maintain musical tradition and experiment with musical modernization simultaneously. These incorporated styles include the dances and instruments they use in the largest pilgrimage of the Peruvian Andes, called Qoyllur Rit’i. In this pilgrimage, the Q’eros dance the traditional dance of wayri ch’unchu (representative of people from the Amazon jungle) accompanied by pitus (transverse flutes) and bombos (drums), which are widely used throughout the region beyond Q’eros. In addition, they recently adopted the qhapaq qolla dance (representative of llama herders from the altiplano, or high plateau),1 which uses the kena (notched-flute) along with the modern instruments of accordion (2003) and drum set (2005). At Easter the Q’eros sing popular waynos and play them on transverse flutes and drums—the same instruments that accompany the wayri ch’unchu dance. For enjoyment and dancing, some young

1 For information about the origin and contextual, festival uses of dances in the Cusco and Paucartambo regions, see Cánepa Koch (1998) and Mendoza (2000). 18

men play popular waynos and carnavales on the bandurria (a sixteen-string lute in four courses), and requinto (a ten-string lute, with four single strings and two courses of three strings). They teach themselves to play these popular instruments and and carnavales by listening to the radio and cassette recordings on battery-operated tape players, and watching music videos on television in nearby Ocongate or Cusco. So, for example, after a long ritual during the day, the young men who have learned these instruments will play late at night, and women may sing, while the youth will dance. The Q’eros also play songs that are emblematically Q’eros and are not heard in neighboring communities. This dissertation focuses exclusively on these emblematic songs and the musical styles that are found only in Q’eros, specifically the Carnaval songs (Pukllay taki) and animal fertility songs. Here it is necessary to clarify that Carnaval (Pukllay) and animal fertility rituals are not unique to Q’eros. Likewise, similar song texts and topics, musical scales, and instruments are heard in the music of communities throughout the Peruvian and Bolivian Andes; however, the specifics of all musical aspects are recognizably Q’eros, rendering them unique to their community. Music in the Andes is analogous to weaving in this regard: are intricate, tactile forms of cultural perception, and similarities in pallay (patterns/designs) and the concepts they represent are expressed from community to community, yet the specificities of the pallay are unique to each individual community. The subtleties of musical scales, instruments, and song texts also vary in the same way. In addition to the emblematic Q’eros style, what is also notable is that the Q’eros still sing their Pukllay taki and animal fertility songs, while some of their neighbors, even just one valley over, do not. Q’eros musical rituals are motivated by a combination of seasonal changes: the cycle of animal husbandry, planting and harvesting, and Catholic influences which they have incorporated into their own rituals. Filmmaker and musician John Cohen, during his work in Q’eros, was told the following by his long-time Q’eros friend, Raymundo Quispe Chura: “It’s always like this: we sing this song of the Incas. We compose the song from all things. Every song comes on its appropriate date. If there is no song, there is no fiesta; and without the fiesta, there is no song” (Cohen and Wissler 2007, 470). Indeed, Q’eros songs come on their appropriate dates, and any fiesta is identified by the specific song that is sung and the instruments that are played.

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Nearly all Q’eros music-making happens in the context of rituals and celebrations. Q’eros traditional music is communal and participatory; there are no specialists (or everyone is a specialist), and there is no audience. Music is something the Q’eros do for and among themselves. The only times the Q’eros casually make music for personal enjoyment are when they are herding or weaving, and nowadays singing and playing the newly-adopted waynos and carnavales (popular song/dance genres) on bandurrias and requintos (popular Andean ), and cassette tape recorders. See Table A, in Appendix A, for an overview of the yearly cycle of all music played in and by the Q’eros.

The Q’eros Cultural Group The Q’eros cultural group is comprised of eight communities located approximately one hundred and twenty miles east of the ancient Incan capital of Cusco, in the province of Paucartambo.2 The eight recently legally recognized (late 1970s–1980s) communities are, from west to east: K’allacancha, Q’achupata, Pucara, Marcachea, Q’eros Totorani, Hatun Q’eros, Kiku, and Hapu (see Map 2.2).3 These eight communities have a total population of approximately four thousand inhabitants.4 They are monolingual Quechua speakers,5 yet certain demographic groups speak Spanish: The men who travel to Cusco frequently, usually to earn money; the children who attend schools outside of Q’eros; and the inhabitants of three of the eight communities (K’allacancha, Q’achupata, and Pucara) who, in general, have been exposed

2 To be precise, the geographic coordinates are 13º south and 71º east (Instituto Nacional de Cultura 2005, 11).

3 The spellings for these communities vary. The above listing is among the more common.

4 A recent government (2004) counts 3,786 inhabitants in all eight Q’eros communities (Instituto Nacional de Cultura, 2005, 24). I believe these numbers should be taken not as exact, but as good approximations.

5 Quechua is the most widely-spoken Native American language family today, though many linguists and scholars argue that Quechua is endangered. The form of Quechua the Q’eros speak comes under the Southern (sureño) branch of the Quechua language family. Linguist Paul Heggarty states, “The term 'Southern Quechua' is used to refer to the various regional forms spoken from the Ayacucho region southwards, through Cuzco, Puno, Bolivia and in North-West (QIIc, in the traditional classification of the Quechua family). Whether all of these regional variations can truly be considered to form just a single language, despite the significant dialectal variation and somewhat imperfect mutual intelligibility across this area, is a moot point. Still, if one does accept this view, then Southern Quechua ranks as the most widely spoken indigenous language of the Americas today. The most recent census data available suggest a figure of 4.825M speakers of Southern Quechua: about 2.4M in Peru, 2.125M in Bolivia and 0.3M in Argentina; but these data are from different years, and already out of date, because the situation is changing fast” (Heggarty, pers. com., 10 February, 2009). For fuller discussion, see Howard (in prep.), 2009.

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to urban influences and interactions more so than the other five communities, due to nearby road access to the district capital of Paucartambo. The Q’eros cultural region is located on the eastern watershed of the southeastern Andes in the snow-capped Cordillera Vilcanota range, the highest mountain chain in southeastern Peru.6 The region covers nine hundred and fourteen square kilometers, and is located specifically on the northeastern flanks of the Ayakachi sub-range with peaks of about 17,000-18,000 feet (Instituto Nacional de Cultura 2005, 11). The crucial geographic characteristic of the Q’eros region, and prime determinant for settlement and affluence, is the inhabited area that spans from 15,500 down to 6,000 feet above sea level; that is, it extends from the snow peaks down to ceja de selva, “eyebrow of the jungle,” technically the Amazonian cloud forest. The distance of the drop is only about twenty-five miles, so that the Q’eros could walk from their highest zone to the lowest in one long day, although they rarely do. This rapid descent, combined with factors rising from the cloud forest, renders three ecological zones within proximity of each other, each with its own characteristic productivity: 1) puna or loma (13,500–15,500 feet), for raising llamas and alpacas, and freeze- drying potatoes (ch’uñu) and meat (ch’arki) that last for months; 2) qheswa (10,500–13,500 feet), for cultivation of a variety of potatoes and tubers, and raising of European-introduced sheep and cows; and 3) yunga (called monte by the Q’eros, between 6,000–8,500 feet), for cultivation of corn, squash, peppers, and various types of bamboo and wood (see Map 2.3, which shows these three zones in the community of Hatun Q’eros).7 The cultivation of three productive zones has historically promoted self-sufficiency.

6 The highest peak in the entire Cordillera Vilcanota range is Apu Ausangate (20,960 feet), a mega Apu (mountain deity) and highest in the hierarchy of all mountain spirits in southeast Peru. This Apu is well outside the Q’eros region, about a two-day walk to the south, yet it is worth mentioning as the Andeans consider it a major force on the quality of life in southeast Peru. This Apu is sometimes invoked by Q’eros during offering rituals, and is referred to in song text.

7 Wayq’o is a small zone connecting the lower puna and upper qheswa, about 12,300 to 14,000 feet above sea level, and refers to an area of very steep canyons, rocky escarpments, and gullies with a variety of grasses and the bromeliad known as achupalla (Tillandsia straminea), which is used as flammable material for cooking, along with llama dung. Because the other three are the main production zones, these are the ones the Q’eros focus on for their livelihood. The altitudes on Map 2.3 differ from the ones listed above. The map shows the entire span of the zones, whereas the numbers listed reflect the altitudes where the Q’eros actually have production.

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Map 2.1: La Nación Q’eros, Nearby Regions and Cities The red line through La Nación Q’eros is the projected road system through the Q’eros’ communities.

Map courtesy of ACCA, Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica, Cusco, Perú. www.acca.org.pe Detail of maps by Sandro Arias (ACCA).

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Map 2.2: The Community of Hatun Q’eros The six high altitude annexes belonging to the Q’eros community are indicated, as well as the community center of Hatun Q’eros.

Map courtesy of ACCA, Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica, Cusco, Perú. www.acca.org.pe Detail of maps by Sandro Arias (ACCA).

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For most of Q’eros history, the people lived and functioned as one large with various ayllu, or hamlets of people in contiguous valleys.8 Hatun Q’eros served as the vector that socially and ritually oriented the ayllu of the entire cultural region. Today, each ayllu pertains to one of the eight newly-formed communities, so that each community has jurisdiction over two to eight ayllu each. Nowadays, the Q’eros refer to a hamlet by the legal political term anexo (annex), rather than the Andean term of ayllu. The community of Hatun Q’eros is still considered the heart of the Q’eros region, due to the community’s central location in the middle of the five, and its continued representation of traditional Q’eros culture that its relative remoteness has fostered compared to the other Q’eros communities.9

The Community of Hatun Q’eros and Daily Life The people of Hatun Q’eros live in six anexos located at about 14,000 feet above sea level.10 Dispersed over four contiguous river valleys, these anexos have a population of approximately nine hundred people in one hundred and twenty families (see Map 2.3, Hatun Q’eros).11 A Q’eros family traditionally owns a minimum of three homes: a primary home in one of the anexos of the upper pasture area (puna), a secondary home in the community center where the rivers meet (qheswa), and a wooden hut in the monte.12 The Q’eros existence has been one of transhumance, which is the seasonal movement of livestock between their upper and middle pasture areas, coordinating the rhythms of agricultural

8 Ayllu is a Quechua concept referring basically to any indigenous group with a common frame of reference or connection. These connections include, for example, kinship ties, adherence to the same mountain deities, and the common focuses of cosmology, social structure, and economic organization (see Allen 2002, 75–101, for an in- depth discussion of ayllu and its various interpretations).

9 A paved, inter-oceanic highway is currently under construction, which will connect the coasts of Peru and . Map 2.2 shows the roads (in red) that will eventually connect the Q’eros communities to this major highway. As of early 2009, the road has not yet arrived to Hatun Q’eros.

10 This information about the community location and layout can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “About Hatun Q’eros” (Wissler, 2007).

11 A 2004 census shows the following numbers of families in each of the six anexos of Hatun Q’eros, which secured legal community status in 1983: Qolpa K’uchu 26, Charkapata 31, Hatun Rumiyoq 11, Qocha Moqo 36, Ch’allmachimpana 17, Chuwa Chuwa 26, totaling 147 (Instituto Nacional de Cultura 2005, 24). However, the Q’eros report to me consistently that there are 120 families total in Hatun Q’eros, which is probably more accurate.

12 Some Q’eros also have additional homes or shelters in middle pasture and agricultural lands, so that one family in fact may have up to five homes, with the upper one as primary residence.

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planting and harvesting in synchronization with these cycles.13 The community of Hatun Q’eros continues to live in this way. The Q’eros are therefore highly migratory, but not nomadic. While they are also agriculturalists, anthropologist Steven Webster’s research on Hatun Q’eros social organization led him to argue that pastoralism has a “preeminent role” over agriculture (Webster 1972, 55).14 This is further supported by the fact that the upper home is their permanent residence and all other homes are seasonal and temporary (that is, their permanent residence is determined by where the llamas and alpacas live). This point is important to remember during the discussion of animal fertility rituals (see Chapters 6 and 7). The ritual and social center of the community is where the four upper river valleys meet to form the one large Q’eros mayu (Q’eros River) that descends dramatically into the monte (see Map 2.3). This community center of Hatun Q’eros has some fifty homes made of stone with ichhu grass roofs.15 These houses are of considerably larger construction than the homes up high because they usually provide for extended families. The community center is inhabited only at specific times throughout the year: for the three annual communal celebrations, Pukllay, Easter, and Corpus Christi; for the monthly assembly meetings held by the directive committee, or special meetings they may organize;16 during communal potato and corn plantings and harvests; and during community works projects, such as roofings and bridge repair. It has one government school, built in the 1950s, and some families will live temporarily in or near Hatun Q’eros so their children can more easily attend. This, however, is not the norm, and the long distances children must walk from the high anexos down to the school, combined with the frequent turnover of teachers, are prime deterrents for attendance.17

13 See Webster, 1972 and 1983, and Flores Ochoa, 1979, for more about pastoralism in the Andes.

14 Steven Webster has published extensively on the Q’eros system of pastoral transhumance, sociology, and kinship relations. His doctoral dissertation on Q’eros was titled The Social Organization of a Native Andean Community (1972).

15 Ichhu is a thick, strong grass that is common in the puna of the high Andes (Stipa ichhu).

16 Every month Q’eros holds assembly meetings with the directive committee (president, vice president, and secretary) and all male heads of households. The directive committee is an institution instigated during President Velasco’s regime in 1970 as an effort to give local communities a voice with which to participate in regional affairs.

17 The school is a primary one only, with one government teacher for all six grades. Attendance is poor due to many factors, such as the school’s distance from the residential annexes, and the requirement for children to help out with the high altitude herding. The children who do attend generally complete the first two grades, and only a 25

Q’eros’ primary homes in the puna are also made of stone and ichhu. They are single rooms with dirt floors, and a hearth and clay cooking stove at one end, and sitting/sleeping space at the other. Next to the cooking area is a thurki (large storage receptacle) for storing piles of dried llama and alpaca dung, which, along with dried achupalla (bromeliads), are the principal fuels for cooking.18 The home may have some large baskets and shelves for storage, and all people sit on pelts or blankets on the dirt floor. Next door to the home is a smaller version of the same stone/ichhu construction, which is used as principal storage for potatoes (fresh and dried), corn, and any extra food, clothing, tools, and ritual items reserved for special use. In general, the women and children are the herders (though men help occasionally), and the men are the agriculturalists. The women’s role of raising children, cooking meals, and weaving clothes are all activities that take place near the primary home up high, so it is natural that the women and children are the herders for the llamas and alpacas that depend on the high grasses just above the homes. At seasonal times during year, the animals are moved down for herding in lower grasses (transhumance), at which time the woman will simply move with the herd, along with the children, to a lower home. Similarly, it is natural that the men work the fields, which often requires long walks away from the home, because they are less tied to staying close to home. They may leave early in the morning and return home only after dark, or even a day or two later, having completed agricultural work or the obligation of community faena (work projects, such as bridge building, roofing, and planting/harvesting communal crops, or working on a project funded by a non-government, non-profit organization). The men descend to the monte in December to corn, in March to weed it, and then with the whole family in July for the harvest. This once-a-year descent for the corn harvest in July is a significant break from the work routines in the upper potato and herding zones. Even though the harvesting of corn, wood, and bamboo is labor intensive, and the people often experience disappointment in discovering that the spectacled bears and parrots that live there

few will go through to complete the final grade. Recently, two new primary schools have been built: Munay T’ika in the anexo of Charkapata, run by a private non-government organization Puma Peru (founded 2000), and a second government school in the anexo of Chuwa Chuwa (founded 2008). Currently another school is under construction in the annex of Qocha Moqo. Of these, Munay T’ika has the largest attendance (around sixty students, versus around twenty or so in the other two). Part of the reason is that it services two anexos: Charkapata and Qolpa K’ucho, and is located right near the former.

18 Tillandsia straminea

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have devoured part of the corn crop, the monte is an area so completely different in climate and feel that many welcome the change. This routine of vertical movement between pastoral and agricultural areas is broken up throughout the year by family and communal festivals and rituals. In addition, the men, and occasionally the women, make regular trips into urban areas, such as Ocongate, Paucartambo, and the large city of Cusco (see Map 2.2), for shopping, selling textiles and ritual offerings to the mountain deities and Mother Earth to city people and tourists, or visiting children who may be attending school there. This continual interaction with urban life impacts their own lives, of course, as they become increasingly more tied to the capitalist economy and urban amenities. This is reflected in the musical choices of the younger generations, many of whom feel p’enqay (shame) towards traditional Q’eros songs, and are now learning popular Andean musical styles and instruments.

Figure 2.1. The anexo of Ch’allmachimpana Figure 2.2. The community center of Hatun Q’eros in the rainy season (14,200 feet). 19 (11,000 feet). The Q’eros mayu (river) is in the distance, on its descent to the cloud forests to the north.

19 All photographs taken by the author. 27

Figure 2.3. A woman herds her llamas and Figure 2.4. The man in the foreground plows with a alpacas in the anexo of Ch’allmachimpana in the chakitaqlla (foot plow); the man in the back plants dry season. potatoes.

Vertical Ecology20 and Historical Background Q’eros song texts and motivations for musical production are inextricably linked to their land, and the continuance of ecological sustainability has nurtured the retention of their music. The close proximity of three ecological zones (i.e., “vertical ecology”) has traditionally provided the sustenance the Q’eros require, which suggests that neither trade nor outside colonization for survival has been necessary throughout history. Many of the Andean groups that made use of vertical ecology in pre-Columbian Peru worked more extensive areas than the one the Q’eros live in today, with days’ walks between zones. This meant they necessarily traded for goods from other zones, or were forced to send colonies to far-flung areas for production, which resulted in more interaction with and exposure to other cultural enclaves. Interaction and exposure with other groups seems to have been less common with the Q’eros. David Cahill explains that soon after the Spanish conquest (1532), the vast economic network of vertical ecologies was eradicated fairly quickly, as he states: This system, so ingenious in conception and practical in execution, was effectively destroyed within a few decades of conquest, by dislocation, civil war, depopulation and the ethnographic obtuseness of the new Spanish rulers and administrators. It survived in a few areas, randomly and by chance (Cahill 1994, 330).

20 Ethnohistorian John Murra provided groundbreaking research on the usage and exploitation of Andean and coastal ecosystems, which he termed “vertical ecology” (See Murra, 1972 and 1980).

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He then adds in a footnote, which highlights the unusualness of the Q’eros’ continuance of this vertical-use lifestyle today, “There is a faint echo of it today in the Q’ero community of the Paucartambo province of southern Peru” (ibid.). While the Q’eros seem to have lived and worked the vertical zones of their region autonomously for centuries, they may have had interaction and relations with the Amazonian people downstream on the same Q’eros River, much further north and deeper into the rainforest. I mention this possible pre-historic connection between the Andes and the Amazon in light of Q’eros music. The Q’eros’ musical style is notably different from that of their contiguous Andean neighbors, and this could be suggestive of Amazonian influence. Both John Cohen, who has documented Q’eros songs in recordings, articles, and films since 1957, and Anthony Seeger, who has researched the music of the Suyá in the of Brazil, have suggested that the highland Q’eros musical style, specifically the wide overlap of singing and playing, and the dense, seemingly chaotic texture this creates (the subject of Chapter 5), may have some connection to or possible influence from Amazonian musical styles that also employ a wide overlap of singing.21 There is one community of Wachiperi (Amazonian group) descent, also called Q’eros, which is located along the same Q’eros river valley that links the high Andes to the low Amazon jungle, so that at one time both groups may have been connected, either by trade interaction, or ethnicity, or both.22 Today the Q’eros’ descent for the corn harvest takes them only to the upper Amazonian cloud forest region (about 6,000 feet), and lower access is technically impossible due to excessive vegetation and no trails. Perhaps at one time this route was open between the upper and lower Q’eros river regions, which might also explain their resource for the essential coca

21 Seeger, pers. com. October 2005. John Cohen, in his film Carnival in Q’eros (1990), posits the following consideration in writing on the screen just after the Carnival sequence: “The musical heterophony of the Carnival resembles the sound of celebrations in the jungle. This musical structure exemplifies a connection between the Andes and the Amazon.”

22 It is not unusual for more than one community that is located on the same river to have the name of that river as community name. The Amazonian Q’eros community is located on the Q’eros river between the Amarakaeri Reserve and Manu National Park (see Map 2.2), and it has only fifty-six inhabitants (personal communication with the ACCA office [Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica], March 2008). A Wachiperi myth tells about a segment of their population that was forced to move to the highlands due to a plague, suggesting a lowland- highland connection.

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leaves, which, as I understand from both researchers and my Q’eros friends, they never cultivated themselves.23 Even though the idea of connection between higher Andean and lower Amazonian groups is speculation and beyond the scope of this dissertation, the issue is worthy of consideration and further investigation given that the Q’eros’ musical style is discrete, and even so deemed by their neighbors. In discussions with the Q’eros on this topic, however, no oral history has arisen that accounts for their descent to the lowland Q’eros area, or acknowledgment that they are in some way related to Amazonian people. While there is no historical record of the Q’eros in pre-Columbian times, as a sweeping generalization it seems correct to say that the Q’eros suffered less post-conquest acculturation than many other Andean groups. This undoubtedly influenced the path of their musical development over the past five centuries. Thomas Turino states, “Interchange between members of the urban-Western and rural-indigenous societies in Peru has affected the evolution of Andean musical practices in fundamental ways since the colonial era” (Turino 1991b, 121). Spanish colonialization and continued dominance by people of Spanish descent has been the hegemonic “urban-Western” influence since the beginning of conquest, and has contributed to the mestizaje, or assimilation, of indigenous musics in the Andes.24 Q’eros music retained much of its local integrity partly as a result of the people’s post-conquest history. No evidence exists to suggest that the Q’eros people suffered relocation into planned, colonial Spanish settlements or reducciónes (reductions) for purposes of acculturation and control as experienced by a large portion of the indigenous population, thereby significantly diminishing the trauma of colonial oppression and dissolution of Q’eros culture and ethnicity. Because the Q’eros territory is comprised of steep, closed valleys with difficult access and cold climate, it was not attractive to the Spanish encomienda (feudal, colonial lands owned by , 1532–1821) and hacienda (privately-owned large areas of land, 1821–ca.1970s)

23 While trade seemed not to be a requirement for survival, according to anthropologist Steven Webster, the two most important external necessities not produced in Q’eros were salt and coca. Webster reports salt and coca as longstanding trade items, “since far into pre-contact times” (Webster 1972, 42).

24 The process of mestizaje, just like the word mestizo, is complex and not a simple one to define. Suffice to say, it generally refers to a hybridicity, so that indigenous musical styles are assimilated into European-influenced musical traits, and the evolving musical styles often become traditional unto themselves. (See De la Cadena 2000, for a full discussion of the processes of mestizaje in the Cusco region.)

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systems that exploited people and resources for large-scale agricultural production, typically in open, temperate valleys. Even though the Q’eros’ land was were owned by both encomenderos (colonial landowners)25 and hacendados (post-colonial, Republican-era landowners),26 the people were not exploited to the degree of many other groups that eventually lost control of their own resources, and were therefore forced to enter into mass production and the urban mestizo economic system. In this regard, Steven Webster calls the Q’eros a “tribal” rather than “peasant” society, in that they maintained their ethnic and cultural authenticity and were not subjugated by a larger system that in essence converted the locals into peasants working for large-yield systems (Webster 1972, 3). Peruvian novelist, poet, and supporter of indigenous culture, José Maria Arguedas, with Ruth Stephen, explain that the settlements in the higher regions of the Vilcanota (where Q’eros is located) “had not been reduced to a state of servitude like the majority of the populations in both the hot and temperate valleys of Cuzco, and like the Indians of the farming and cattle-grazing regions of the plateau” (Arguedas and Stephen 1957, 179). This applies to the Q’eros’ territory, where the hacienda system was only nominally superimposed for most of the landowners’ time there, from the nineteenth to mid-twentieth centuries. Even though the last hacendado in charge of the area of Hatun Q’eros up until the early 1960s, Luis Yábar Ordoñez, is known to have been particularly abusive,27 the majority of his production requirement was in the middle altitude zone (qheswa). The Q’eros were therefore able to maintain control over the higher puna and lower monte areas. In this regard, it is necessary to remember that the Q’eros are primarily a pastoralist society, with their llamas and alpacas that reside in the high puna as the chief focus in the larger scheme of their vertical land management. While a Q’eros family typically has three homes, its

25 Efraín Morote Best, folklorist on Cusco University’s 1955 academic expedition into Q’eros, writes about a document in which “the vacant lands” of Q’eros were deeded to Sr. Gabriel Ruiz de la Peña on September 18, 1617, “who was succeeded by many generations of mestizo landowners” (Morote Best 1958b, 299, my translation). 1617 was a considerably later date than many other land-allotments to colonial owners, nearly a century after colonization, when many desirable areas had already been distributed amongst the conquistadors decades before, and exploitation was well underway.

26 The wealthy Yábar family owned lands in the Paucartambo valley region in an extensive hacienda that also included the Q’eros cultural region. Luis Yábar Palacio wrote a fascinating and descriptive article about Q’eros geography, ritual offices and festivals, the first published article about Q’eros culture (Yábar Palacio 1922).

27 The Q’eros elder Vicente Apasa Huamán was the last person alive to remember life under the hacendado Luis Yábar Ordoñez, and Vicente’s testimony can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Q’eros Songs” (Wissler, 2007).

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main residence is necessarily the higher one, since the llamas and alpacas require daily herding and care. In this way, the Q’eros’ primary mode of existence (pastoralism) was upheld, and so, therefore, were the animal fertility rituals with their accompanying songs. These rituals and songs have been, and still are, integral symbolic actions that buttressed this crucial mode of life sustenance. Catholic ceremonies and symbols were introduced during the colonial and hacienda periods, many of which are now part of the Q’eros’ own celebrations. Examples of these are their communal festivals based on the Catholic liturgical calendar (Pukllay, Easter, and Corpus Christi) and the cargo system of offices that preside over them.28 The resulting mix of ritual symbolism expresses itself in a uniquely Q’eros way. This is demonstrated at Easter when they carefully place their special clothing worn at Pukllay weeks before on a wooden arku (arch), and raise it high in the air in offering to the Apu. Simultaneously they parade crosses and dilapidated statues of saints, which were left by the hacendados, in stately procession under the arch.29 Over time, the Q’eros have also incorporated the musical styles, instruments, and dances of the greater Andean region for the Catholic celebrations they practice (Easter, Qoyllur Rit’i, and Corpus Christi). In sum, the Q’eros’ enduring autonomous exploitation of an ecologically diverse vertical valley system has fostered the continued practice of indigenous customs, which includes musical rituals. This, and the fact that the Q’eros suffered less suppression under the colonial and hacienda systems, no doubt slowed acculturation processes. Even so, they certainly have not been left alone in isolation. The Q’eros, like all Andeans, have historically suffered hegemonic exclusion and marginalization from the national and social systems of the middle and upper classes (such as education, health care, and development). While this exclusion often contributes to the continued practice of indigenous musics, it also simultaneously creates the desire to adopt outside musical styles in certain contexts in order to be a meaningful part of them. Such is the

28 Cusco anthropologist Óscar Núñez del Prado speculates that instigation of the ritual offices in Q’eros of alcalde, alguaciles, and regidores (authorities in charge of communal celebrations such as Pukllay, Easter, and Corpus Christi) possibly date back to the laws emerging from the Lima Councils between 1552–1575 (Núñez del Prado 2005a [1958], 221).

29 This Easter procession can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Easter” (Wissler, 2007). Also see Abercrombie 1998, 99, for a ceremonial adorned arku in a festival in the Aymara community of Santa Bárbara de Culta, Bolivia. 34

case with the Q’eros’ learning of certain dances, musics, and instruments that are new for them, for their participation in the large regional pilgrimage of Qoyllur Rit’i. Today the Q’eros hold the public torch as the most ‘authentically indigenous’ group in the Andes of southeastern Peru, which their autochthonous music exemplifies, and this renown influences their current politics. They have mounted efforts to preserve and promote their ethnic and cultural identity, as demonstrated by their official formation in 2005 of La Nación Q’eros (The Q’eros Nation).

Identity: La Nación Q’eros; Q’eros and/or Inca? Five of the eight Q’eros communities banded together in 2005 and formed La Nación Q’eros (approximately two thousand in population) for the unification of the Q’eros cultural group (see Map 2.2; the mauve-shaded portion delineates La Nación Q’eros).30 All eight communities of the group had received their titles as separate communities in the 1970s and 1980s, the same time many Andean communities received legal community status after the agrarian reforms of the previous decade.31 This creation of separate community status contributed to the decline of communal reciprocal relations among the original Q’eros ayllu groups and instead encouraged individual community-protection and competition.32 The formation of La Nación Q’eros is a modern-day response to this social disintegration, in an effort to revive and encourage communal solidarity.

30 The 2004 census conducted by Peru’s National Institute of Culture counts 2,197 inhabitants in La Nación Q’eros (Instituto Nacional de Cultura 2005, 24).

31Around 1920 the enormous lands of the Yábar hacienda region were partitioned into smaller units, allotted to Yábar’s sons and extended family, which fatefully set some of the boundary markers that were used in determining today’s separate Q’eros communities. The case of Hatun Q’eros is unique in all of Peru, in that they purchased their land from their landowner in the early 1960s, well before the agrarian reforms of 1969 (interview with Tomás Cevallos, Department of Agriculture, Cusco, Peru, 18 December 2007). Following are the years in which the Q’eros communities received their recognized community status: K’allacancha in 1978; Hatun Q’eros in 1983; Kiku in 1986; Q’eros Totorani, Marcachea, and Hapu in 1987; and Pucara in 1988. Q’achupata is the only commnunity not mentioned, for which I could not find a date, however it seems logical it would be in the time period (Instituto Nacional de Cultura 2005, 51–2).

32 One example of this is how the Q’eros people of present-day Kiku and Hapu customarily planted and harvested corn together in the monte area of these two contiguous ayllu groups. Today, most of this originally shared territory in the monte legally pertains to Kiku, and Kiku now charges Hapu a per-person fee for the right to farm corn on their land. As a result, many Hapu inhabitants no longer cultivate corn (and therefore no longer sing “Sara Taki” (“The Corn Song”).

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The establishment of La Nación Q’eros is indicative of the Q’eros’ cognizance of their special identity/ethnicity, and their wish to preserve it and stay solidified as a group. The exclusion by the five-member communities (Hapu, Kiku, Hatun Q’eros, Q’eros Totorani, and Marcachea) of their Q’eros neighbors (Pucara, Q’achupata, and K’allacancha), whom they consider overly acculturated, is a particularly strong statement of this awareness. The five excluded the other three because they felt they were too misti (mestizo), too urbanized, and no longer adherent to Q’eros’ customs and the ritual calendar of festivals, herding, and planting. Indeed, these three communities are the farthest west, with easier road access to the district urban capital of Paucartambo, and therefore its influences throughout history. The Q’eros receive recognition of their special identity from forces around them such as Peru’s National Institute of Culture’s (INC) initiation of a collaborative ten-year plan of etnodesarollo (ethnodevelopment, 2008–2018), with the intention of implementing development plans according to the Q’eros’ own desires, values, and goals.33 The INC’s declaration (2006) of the Q’eros region as “Cultural Patrimony” was the first case of its kind in Peru. During his 2005 tour, the Dalai Lama held audience with the Q’eros as representatives of authentic, Andean culture. International groups of ‘spiritual tourists’ undergo training to learn about and even become initiated into Andean mystical beliefs.34 Streams of foreign and local filmmakers and researchers have been drawn to Q’eros’ ‘authenticity’. In sum, the Q’eros have many platforms and an eager audience from which to assert their identity.

33 During 2005–2006 the INC and the Paucartambo Municipality hosted regular meetings that were open to any entity working in Q’eros, along with the five Q’eros communities’ directive committees and any Q’eros people who wished to attend. These meetings were open platform discussions, with presentations by organizations and individuals about their current and future projects in Q’eros, followed by immediate feedback from the Q’eros, in order to determine the ten-year plan of ethnodevelopment. For equality, the location of the meetings rotated among Cusco, Paucartambo, and the five Q’eros communities, and presentations were either in Quechua, or immediately translated into Quechua. Some of the entities that attended were Peru’s Ministry of Health, and the following NGOs: PRONAMACHCS (Programa Nacional de Manejo de Cuencas Hidrográficas y Conservación de Suelos [water cleanliness and conservation, reforestation projects]); PERCSA (Proyecto Especial Regional Camelidos Sudamericanos: llama, alpaca, and vicuña herd management projects); ACCA (Asociación para la Conservación de la Cuenca Amazónica: land and cultural conservation projects); and Heifer International Foundation (cameloid and potato production projects). Among individual attendants were Barbara Richer y Juan Murillo (initiation of secondary school construction projects and programs in Q’eros), and myself as individual researcher. I offered opinions about issues of tourism management, and proposed the making of a CD-series that would document forty years of song recordings in Q’eros, to include some past recordings by John Cohen.

34 Many foreigners look to the Q’eros as the teachers of Andean Native American spiritual tradition, and they travel to Q’eros to work with ritual specialists. They are led by guides also trained in Q’eros spiritual tradition, notably Juan Núñez del Prado and Américo Yábar Zeballos.

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Recognition of the Q’eros’ authenticity was first publicized to outsiders by the now- famous (in Cusco) first academic expedition into Q’eros in 1955, led by Óscar Nuñez del Prado, director of the department of of the Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cusco (UNSAAC).35 The editorials published by Demetrio Túpac Yupanqui, expedition journalist who wrote for Lima’s daily newspaper and expedition sponsor La Prensa, were the first sources to promote the Q’eros pre-hispanic identity on a national level. Below are sample editorial title citations: Un museo viviente del incanato estudian científicos Peruanos. A tres días de mula de Paucartambo, en el centro del Cuzco, existe todavía un pedazo prehispánico. (La Prensa, 21 de Agosto 1955)

Living from the Inca era being studied by Peruvian scientists. Three days by mule from Paucartambo, in the middle of Cuzco (department), still exists a little piece from pre-hispanic times. (La Prensa, 21 August 1955)

Q’ero es una ciudad admirable testimonio del Perú preincaico (La Prensa, 22 de Agosto 1955)

Q’ero is an admirable testimony of a pre-Incan city in Peru. (La Prensa, 22 August 1955)36

Both editorial titles reference the Q’eros as dating back to Incan and pre-Incan times, highlighting and sensationalizing (e.g., “living museum”) their status as an ancient and unique (e.g., “a little piece that still exists”) culture. The reference to the “Inca era” could be, and was interpreted as “they are Inca,” since the (approximately 1436–1532) spanned the majority of present-day Peru (including the region of Q’eros) and beyond. The Q’eros’ reputation in connection with Incan times and Incan culture, as the only remaining people from this epoch, has been reiterated for more than fifty years by outsiders working or visiting Q’eros

35 The interdisciplinary team consisted of Óscar Núñez del Prado as expedition head and social anthropologist; Mario Escobar Moscoso, geographer; Efraín Morote Best, folklorist; Josafat Roel Pineda, ethnomusicologist; Manuel Chávez Ballón, archeologist; Luis Barreda Murillo, assistant archeologist; Demetrio Roca, assistant folklorist; Malcom Burke, Figuregrapher; and Demetrio Túpac Yupanqui, journalist from La Prensa (Flores Ochoa, Núñez del Prado, eds. 2005, 32). Núñez del Prado was instrumental in organizing a bank loan for the Q’eros to buy their land from the hacendado in the 1960s, and as such became the founder of applied anthropology in Cusco. The edited volume Q’ero, el último ayllu inka (2005), contains articles by members of this expedition, as well as recent ones, making this a comprehensive source of information that spans fifty years of research in Q’eros.

36 Quotations cited in Flores Ochoa, Jorge and Ana María Fries 1989, 9.

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in various contexts. This has no doubt contributed to the Q’eros’ fame and the sensationalized reputation of the culture, and the commonly-asked question, “are they Incas?” So, why is equating “Q’eros” with “Inca” such a big deal, and what does this have to do with their music? Peru’s most famous, internationally-known and revered icon is, and has been, the Inca. Revival movements such as indigenismo (indigenism)37 popularized and romanticized the image of an ancient, “Inca” past through the creation of folklore dances and festivals. While ultimately unsuccessful, this movement did foster a mystique around the Inca that remains today, in Peru and worldwide. Nowadays thousands of tourists come to Peru every year to see the “lost city” of , and learn of this ancient past. This Inca image was something that must surely have had an impact on the readers of La Prensa in 1955 in associating the Q’eros with a glorified Inca past. Equating the Q’eros, and the Q’eros alone, as Incas, therefore gives them conspicuous public attention, which, in turn, uniquely spotlights their indigenous traditions, including music. Their traditions are viewed as windows into an ancient and “lost” past. But what do the Q’eros themselves say about their relationship with an Inca identity? They, like many runa in the Andes, consider Inkarí, the first mythical Inca who founded the Incan empire, as their culture hero.38 The myth relays how Inkarí and Qollarí—a man and woman full of wisdom, created by Ruwal, the head of all the Apu—were sent out to found a great . The Q’eros say that Inkarí first tried to found the civilization in Q’eros, but was unsuccessful because Qollarí tickled him, causing him to slip which resulted in the formation of the steep valleys and precipices in Q’eros. Eventually he established this civilization in the area of present-day Cusco. The Q’eros version of the myth often adds that Inkarí later returned to Q’eros, where he then imparted his great wisdom to the people.39 Some Q’eros maintain that the

37 Indigenismo was a complex intellectual and political movement in the first part of the twentieth century, with the intention of elevating the status of the indigenous to create a regional identity in Cusco. For more information about the indigenismo movement see Mendoza (2000, 51–55) and De la Cadena (2000, 23–40).

38 The derivation of Inkarí is “Inca” combined with rey from the Spanish “king.” Some spellings are “Inkarrí.” Qolla historically refers to the wife of the Incan king.

39 This myth was first heard in Q’eros by folklorist Efraín Morote Best in 1955, and was retold by Óscar Núñez del Prado in Núñez del Prado (2005a [1958], 201–2). John Cohen’s film The Shape of Survival (1979) opens with Bernavíl Machacca recounting the Inkarí myth. There are many versions of this myth; this is just one summarized version, which captures the gist.

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Inca inherited political power, while the Q’eros inherited knowledge and wisdom, as their version of the myth relates.40 When I asked some Q’eros directly, “Are you Incas, do you believe you are Incas?” I heard responses ranging from a definite “yes” to “no,” and, “we are not exactly Incas, but family,” or, “the people say we are Incas.” One compadre once said to me in a dark, crowded home, as we were seated amid singing and talking, “Inkarí karayku” (“We were Inkarí”). I believe many hold the identity of a connection with Inkarí, and an awareness that they are bearers of an ancient culture and spiritual knowledge because of this. The Q’eros’ awareness of their uniqueness certainly plays into their perception of their music and music-making. In various discussions I heard the following comments: “We sing Inca taki” (Inca songs),” “Our customs are very old, from the time of our abuelos” (grandfathers/ancestors), “Our songs are natural,” “Our songs are “único” (unique), and “They are heard in Q’eros and nowhere else.” Most likely their tritonic songs (three-note melodies with pinkuyllu flute accompaniment), which both the Q’eros and their Andean neighbors recognize as uniquely Q’eros, have their roots in this enduring past. The distinctiveness of their music, their singular perception of it, and the perception of others, place Q’eros music in a special position to inform about an ancient past, and how the path of such a music is dynamic in a vibrantly active Andean present. Inca or not, in any case the Q’eros have a unique cultural and ethnic identity, which remains strong and active today. It is evident (and will be made more evident throughout this dissertation) that the Q’eros have a cohesive cosmological view and musical expressions that reinforce it. They also maintain ethnic integrity to this day, rarely marrying and having children outside of the Q’eros cultural group.41 Anthropologist and photographer Yann le Borgne maintains that Q’eros is one of the only groups between southeastern Peru and Bolivia that

40 See Wilcox 1999, 81.

41 Couples in Q’eros rarely marry legally, that is, with a marriage license. The few who do marry legally are motivated by outside influences, such as needing a marriage license to register their children in non-Q’eros schools, or urban legalities that require a marriage license. In my experience, I heard of only one Q’eros woman who married a man a day’s walk from Q’eros, in Tinki, near Ocongate (see Map 2.2), but this was an exception to the norm. See Webster 1972, 265–353, for an in-depth study of kinship and affinity. See also Núñez del Prado 2005a [1958], 211– 218.

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defines itself by its own ethnicity and not just by its geographical location.42 In this regard, I agree with Steven Webster when he says, “the Q’ero cultural region is an ethnic enclave” and that “The Q’eros are apparently one of the remnants of an early mosaic of tribal groups likely to have populated this area before political consolidation” (Webster 1972, 9 and 7, respectively). Linguistic anthropologist Bruce Mannheim sheds light on the state of linguistic and cultural diversity at the time of the Spanish arrival in Peru, “Before the European invasion of 1532, Southern Peru was extraordinarily diverse, both linguistically and culturally; it was a mosaic in which speakers of distinct and often unrelated languages lived cheek to jowl . . . ” (Mannheim 1998, 383–384). The Q’eros closed and compact valley system would have allowed them to live “cheek to jowl” with non-Q’eros neighbors (as they do today), and be their own “enclave” amid surrounding groups. Similarly, John Rowe, in his classic article “Inca Culture at the Time of the Spanish Conquest” states, “At the time of the Inca conquest [approximately 1436], the whole Andean area was divided into an almost unbelievable number of small political units, for many of which we do not have even the names” (Rowe 1963, 185). He lists forty-four highland provinces with the “tribes” who lived there at the time of the conquest, but his list of “tribes” under Paucartambo is scant (ibid., 186–192). It seems likely that “Q’eros” should have been listed there. Just as the Incas were a small ethnic group living in the Cusco valley region before they expanded their empire in the fifteenth century, the Q’eros probably inhabited their valleys in the Paucartambo region simultaneously.43 Attempts to categorize the Q’eros as Inca or Inca-related are perhaps part of a similar historical process such as the one discussed by Alan Durston, in his book Pastoral Quechua (2007), which follows the ’s linguistic consolidation and codification processes of the many diverse variations of Quechua as tool of colonization. Putting the Q’eros in the

42 Yann le Borgne mentioned this during the presentation of his book, Q’ero les derniers Incas (2007), at the first inter-institutional meeting with the La Nación Q’eros, June 22, 2007. This is a black and white Figuregraphy book with in-depth and thoughtful accompanying text.

43 Luis Barreda Murillo, archeologist on the 1955 academic expedition by Cusco University, was the first to document Incan archeological remains in Q’eros, which consisted of Qhapaq Ñan (paved roads) with their connecting tambos (checkpoints). The Qhapaq Ñan connected the middle altitudes of Q’eros with the monte (cloud forest), and because there is no evidence of Incan house dwellings, Barreda suggests that the Incas used the Q’eros territory as a connector to the monte, in order to obtain valuable jungle resources (Barreda 2005). The Q’eros were likely well-established in this area when the Incas arrived, as the Inca imperialists commonly built their roads in populated areas, on top of existing trails, and conscripted the locals with a labor tax to work in their system. The Q’eros could have worked for the Inca while continuing their own way of life, as was typical of Incan passive control.

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somewhat romantic Incan light is ultimately irrelevant, and what matters more is the pertinence and place of the Q’eros culture in the larger Andean and Latin American context today. In conclusion, one can see that the Q’eros are a part of the heterogeneous Andean world. Historical processes have connected them to the Incas, but I believe it is not necessary (nor possible) to answer definitively whether the Q’eros are Incas per se. Significantly, many Q’eros are aware of a connection to an ancient past, as their origin myth tells them; they are proud of that fact and articulate it. The seeds of this positive self-perception inevitably derive from outside impact, such as the first academic study by UNSAAC, and studies continuing to the present day. They know that they are a special people worth study and documentation, and with something valuable to teach others. The Q’eros’ integrity is intrinsic; their responsibilities of obligatory ayni within their community and with the powerful spirit forces around them are fundamental to this integrity, and their musical production is one of many means to uphold it. This chapter has shown how the Q’eros’ consistent control over their own vertical land system and resources, which resulted in less exposure to colonial, nationalistic, and mestizo ideologies, has fostered the continued practice of their autochthonous music. Yet it would be incorrect to say that vertical ecology and historical circumstance constitute the sole reasons for retention of musical customs, as if the Q’eros are a “living museum” with a container that allowed for that retention. To the contrary, Q’eros musical practice is dynamic, not static and museum-like, as demonstrated by the fact that many Carnaval songs they no longer sing have been replaced by a currently-active body of songs. I see this dynamism every time I participate in a Q’eros animal fertility ritual, when the same song is rendered slightly differently each time, depending on the individual singer and the text he/she sings, which is often intimately personalized. The driving force underlying Q’eros music-making is based on the continual and necessary re-creation of their relationship to their world (i.e., to their animals, plants, fellow- community members, spirit powers), through song. The next chapter defines the basic cosmological concepts and beliefs that drive Q’eros musical production in the continual maintenance of these fundamental relationships with their community and cosmos.

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CHAPTER 3 FOUNDATIONS OF ANDEAN COSMOLOGY: ANIMU, YANANTIN, AND AYNI

The two structuring principles that motivate the lives of many Andean peoples in Peru are yanantin and the life-governing concept of ayni, modes of relationship that are propelled by animu. These basic tenets, which especially constitute the Q’eros’ worldview, are the bases for the Q’eros’ daily and ritual interactions, and they are integral to musical production. Many scholars1 have shown how these concepts are the foundation of cultural manifestations such as social organization and cyclical rituals, and they are manifest physically in weaving designs, drinking vessels, and khipu (Inca data recording system), to name a few. This chapter defines animu, yanantin, and ayni as outlined in previous Andean scholarship, combined with information the Q’eros have related about these same concepts, in order to show in the remainder of the dissertation how these concepts and structuring principles are manifested in Q’eros music. In many cases the Q’eros are able to articulate their thoughts on animu, yanantin, and ayni as they operate in their musical production, for example, yanantin in men’s and women’s musical roles (Chapter 4) and pairing of musical instruments (Chapter 5), and the aspects of animu and ayni in aysariykuy vocal technique (Chapter 8). I argue that these principles are also operative in contexts where the Q’eros do not articulate them as such (see, for example, Chapter 4, “Yanantin in Song Structure,” and Chapter 9 “Play and Loss: The Yanantin of Joy and Grief in Musical Production”).

Supernatural Vitalization: Animu Animu is the impelling life force of yanantin and ayni. Every thing and place in the Andean world has a supernatural vitalization, an animating force or spirit, referred to as animu (from animo in Spanish). People, animals, natural things, and cultural objects are concrete manifestations of this energetic and animating force, which is often perceived through the senses,

1 Abercrombie 1998; Allen 1997, 2002, N.d., 2008; Arnold with Juan de Dios Yapita 1998; Bastien 1978: Bolin 1998; Butler 2006; Cohen ca.1984; Cummins 2002; Flores Ochoa 1977, 1988; Franquemont, et al.1992; Gelles 1995; Gow 1976; Harris 2000a; Isbell 1972,1978; Mamani Mamani 1990; Olsen 2002; Platt 1986; Rozas Alvarez 2002 [1979]; Sallnow 1987; Schaedel 1988; Silverman 1994; Stobart 2006; Tomoeda 1996; Urton 2003; Webster 1972; Zuidema, R.T. 1964, 1982, 1990.

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such as movement (the animu of wind, water), light (the animu of the sun, lightning, celestial bodies), and sound (the animu of song). José María Arguedas eloquently portrays sentient energy in rivers and landscape in his writing about the Andean world.2 Anthropologist Catherine Allen, who researched cultural meaning through the lens of coca (sacred leaves) rites in the Quechua community of Sonqo, located in the province of Paucartambo (like Q’eros), writes, “every wrinkle in the earth’s physiognomy—every hill, knoll, plain, ridge, rock outcrop, or lake— possesses a name and a personality.” These places have a “selfhood,” and are “interacting with the human beings, plants, and animals that live around and upon them” (Allen 2002, 26). In sum, everything is imbued with vital energy, is alive, and possesses personality and agency.3 Ethnohistorian R.T. Zuidema pioneered the research on the complexities of the Inca Empire (approximately 1436–1532), showing the metaphysical and impacting power of the huacas (natural shrines, such as stones and springs) that were situated on the ceque lines (sightlines radiating out from the Incan capital of Cusco). The huacas were believed to have the ability to impact the physical and spiritual health of people and all beings, thereby requiring specific propitiation rituals (Zuidema 1982, 432). Tom Cummins, who researched qeros (Incan ceremonial vessels), writes about Incan shrines: “In the metaphysical sphere, deities (huacas) were actual ancestors or mythical progenitors, who were fed and given drink in return for the health, propitious weather, and bountiful crops that they provided” (Cummins 2002, 41−2). An entire empire was oriented around the powerful animated essence of specific places and maintenance of good relationship with them through ritual. The Q’eros, like most Andeans, believe in an earth that is infused with energy and is called Pacha Mama. The places with particularly localized or concentrated powerful energy are the Apu. The Q’eros, in their speech, as well as daily and ritual actions, continually show their belief that Pacha Mama and the Apu are the immense forces that hold the greatest sway on quality of life and livelihood. The Q’eros have explained to me that the Apu are hierarchical, such that the physically larger ones, often with snow and glaciers, have more potency over a

2 See Arguedas 2002 [1961].

3 This is also the case with many South American rainforest cultures, and some of the basic tenets that govern indigenous life in the Andes are also true in the Amazon. While this issue is beyond the scope of this dissertation, it is worth considering that the division between Andean and Amazonian perception is often unclear, and is an overlapping boundary with many similarities (See Descola 1996b; Guss 1989; Seeger 2004; Uzendoski 2005; and Viveiros de Castro 1998).

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greater region than the smaller ones. Their most important (and physically largest) Apu is Apu Waman Lipa, located between the Qolpa K’uchu and Qocha Moqo Valleys (see Map 3).Yet, it is the regional Apu, the local protectors that live right nearby the people and hover over their homes and animals, that have direct and immediate power to inflict good or ill will (see Chapter 4, subheading The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Setima, and Ritual Objects). Furthermore, Cusco anthropologist Washington Rozas Álvarez explains that Apu have human characteristics, such as personality and behavior: The Apu are supernatural beings that live in the entrails of the mountains, and behave like humans. They have desires and need for nourishment: drink, intimacy, affection, and respect. They are angry and can punish. They are the symbol of ideal life, are virtuous, powerful, perform miracles, and specialize in curing and herding (Rozas Álvarez 2002 [1979], 266, my translation).

Many researchers have become aware of this perception of the power of place and the existence of animu in all things through the experience of just “hanging out.” Ethnomusicologist Henry Stobart, who researched the role of music in social reproduction in the Quechua community of Kalankira in Potosí, Bolivia, came face-to-face with the concept of animu as he tossed empty broad bean husks on the ground while eating a snack with his host family. They informed him that he should not do that, otherwise “they will weep like abandoned babies. They must be taken home and put on the fire or in the pot of potato peelings that is cooked up for the dog” (Stobart 2006, 26). Stobart came to understand that the beans, husks and all, are sentient and worthy of proper treatment and destiny. Likewise, Allen states, “I could observe the methods of hoeing them [potatoes] out and the kinds of teamwork involved. But I could not observe the Earth’s resentment of the hoes cutting into her, nor was it obvious to me that the surrounding hills and ridges watched us with critical eyes” (Allen 2002, 22). I also first came to consider that there were interactive spiritual forces around me when, one night early on in my research, I was chewing coca leaves and drinking cañaso (sugar-cane alcohol) with a group of compadres in their home, a welcoming for me upon one of my many returns. My compadre Juan Quispe Calzina sternly berated me, “Comadre, you are not making enough offerings of coca and alcohol to Pacha Mama and the Apu. This is not good, they could become angry.” For Pacha Mama I needed to literally pour some of my drink on the ground before I myself drank, so that She could also drink; and for the Apu I should have blown on my

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leaves, sending the energy of the coca in the direction of the Apu. Not only was he indicating that the earth around me was alive, but that it had a personality, that my actions had repercussions, and there was a relationship I needed to uphold (see “Reciprocity [Ayni]” below). The essence of the animated energy, or animu, the Q’eros call samay, which literally means “breath,” “to breathe,” and “to rest.” The samay in any being (human, animal, or natural and cultural object) is its breath, the essence of life force, and because life force is dynamic, it is therefore interactive. Cummins states, “Each object is brought into being and exists with all others, participating phenomenologically in the events of the world” (Cummins 2002, 29). Objects, including the intangible, such as song, are alive and dynamic, interacting with all that is around them. Because of this, the maintenance of good relationship among all beings, that is, the entire world, is crucial and is a fulcrum to daily life. The Q’eros’ use of song is one of the interactive elements in this process of upholding relationships (see Chapters 4–8).

Complementary Duality: Yanantin Yanantin is the working union of two contrasting and complementary parts. However, it is neither a static pair of conflicting or opposite parts, nor duality in the Cartesian sense.4 The Quechua word yana means “partner,” “loved one,” and “lover,” and the suffix ntin implies inclusion, when two or more elements belong to the same context, and identified as one. The result is a collaborative partnership in which the two complementary “partners” become one, and duality becomes unity. This dual form, premised on relationship, is expressed in many aspects of life, such as seasons, landscape, community layout, weaving designs, pairs of ritual objects, musical performance roles, and song structure. (For this section on yanantin, and throughout the dissertation, please refer to Table 3.1, “Yanantin Examples in the Andean World,” and Table 3.2, “Yanantin Examples in the Q’eros Community and Music,” which are placed at the end of this section.) I began to understand the complementary, interactive, and inseparable qualities of the two parts of yanantin through a poignant discussion about women’s and men’s musical roles in

4 Cartesian duality is based on the philosophy of seventeenth-century French philosopher, René Descartes, and his writings about mind/body and spiritual/material separation, and the lack of causal relationship between these entities—thought which became central to Western metaphysics. In the Q’eros worldview there are specific, and often immediate, causal links between the spiritual and material worlds; in fact, it would be more correct to say they are inseparable.

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Q’eros with my compadre, Agustín Machacca Flores.5 For some time, Agustín was able to comment on women’s singing (warmi) and men’s pinkuyllu flute playing (qhari) as two complementary parts of yanantin. This then segued into a discussion about the yanantin of the Apu and Pacha Mama. He explained how the Apu take care of the animals and Pacha Mama looks after the crops. But suddenly he stopped short and became silent. I saw frustration in his face, and then he burst out: “I cannot talk about them separately. I cannot discuss any of this separately! Warmintin qharintinpuni! (woman/man inclusively, always!)” (pers. com. 22 May 2006). Agustin’s frustration provided a profound glimpse into his perception of duality, that indeed yanantin operates as a pair, and the two parts do not and cannot exist separately. The Q’eros, like many Andean people, often refer to the two parts of yanantin in terms of gender: warmi/qhari, “woman/man.” Anthropologist Ingrid Bolin, in her documentation of ritual customs in the community of Chillihuani, in the mountains to the south of Q’eros, writes about yanantin in the context of the most obvious female/male association—marriage: Marriage exemplifies the Andean concern for uniting contrasting elements—male and female—and of transforming them into one unit, warmi-qhari, literally woman and man, thereby creating equilibrium, harmony, and a new life. Andeans recognize duality in a variety of oppositions, such as vertical and horizontal, upper and lower, civilized and uncivilized—that is—in concepts that have meaning only in relation to each other (Bolin 1998, 124−5, my emphasis).

The Q’eros describe the Apu as the male part of Pacha Mama, and vice versa. That is, in essence they are one unit, and the female/male qualities are contextual, and determined “only in relation to each other.” The Apu are tall and phallic, like hills and high places, and have defined, assertive, and individual personalities. Pacha Mama is lower, rounder, wetter with inundations like lakes, and nurturing with her caves and springs. A spring gushing out of an erect Apu is the warmi within the qhari, and a jagged, rough-edged boulder standing tall on Earth is the qhari within the warmi. Pacha Mama is the interior of the male Apu exterior. Catherine Allen states “Cosmos, community, household, and individual are realized through the fusion of opposites, like the warmi and qhari, each of which contains the other” (Allen 2002, 179, my emphasis).

5 Agustín is one of my primary informants in Q’eros. I consider him to speak from an elder’s perspective. He is in his late forties, which is the older generation in Q’eros. He remembers historical events from his childhood, musical practices, and many Ñawpa Pukllay taki (older songs the Q’eros no longer sing, see Chapter 4) that many people in their thirties or younger do not know and cannot comment on. 46

This means that most halves of yanantin are neither entirely female nor entirely male. The halves are not rigid; rather, there is a fluctuation, permeation, flow, and exchange between the two complementary components. This is also true for the female and male melodic aspects in song structure (see Chapter 5). The two halves of yanantin are usually not exactly the same; rather, they are often similar, or reflections of one another (see Chapter 5, subheading Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets). Tom Cummins comments on pairs of Inca qeros cups, in which each cup was similar to its pair, but one was often made to be slightly unequal: [This] reuniting is further expressed by the fact that, although they are made in pairs, there is a slight difference in size, such that one is Hanan and one Hurin. The individuality of each vessel is mitigated by their being mirror images of each other. This concept of mirror image, part of moiety competition and reconciliation, is called yanantin. Yanantin expresses the concept that each moiety member sees his/her opposite in a member of the other moiety. This is what [Tristan] Platt means when he says that the two sides of the combatants could symbolically be seen as having coitus, because the combatants recognized each other as being their sexual and social opposites. Yanantin takes a pictorial form in queros [sic], because when a toast is offered, the two cups held up to each other produce a mirror image. Yanantin in fact pertains to all quero imagery, because all queros were produced in pairs. Ontologically, an object, such as a quero, that manifests yanantin exists as a pair and is not sufficient in and of itself. Its telos is as a pair (Cummins 2002, 260, my emphasis).

Cummins thus summarizes the complexity encompassed in the concept of yanantin. Even though each part of a pair can be recognized as warmi or qhari, symmetry precedes individuality. There is a tinkuy (meeting) or “coitus,” when the two interact and reconcile in equilibrium, and, crucially, the two parts cannot exist separately. Their ultimate end and very existence, that is, their “telos,” lies in being paired. This telos is represented in the meaning of the suffix ntin: inclusiveness into one, and is the reason Agustín could not discuss the warmi and qhari aspects of musical roles and the spirit powers separately. Dualistic design in many aspects of Andean life has been the case since pre-Hispanic times, and many Spanish chroniclers informed about Incan dualistic design, which was the

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division of space and time into hanan and hurin, “upper” and “lower,” respectively.6 The spatial and social organization of the Incan capital city of Cusco was dual, with the populace divided into two moieties (hanansaya and hurinsaya). Cusco was physically built around two squares, a higher, larger square, Awqaypata or Waqaypata (“place of war,” or “place of weeping”), and a lower, smaller one, Kusipata (“place of joy/happiness”). Likewise, , an expert on Andean cosmology and myth, argues that Incan society and all things in it are “typified to an extraordinary degree by dual organization” (Urton 2003, 44). Urton’s research on the khipu, the ancient data recording system of strings and that reached its peak of sophistication during the Incan empire (with a rudimentary form still in use in Q’eros as recently as thirty years ago), shows the functional basis of the khipu as dual. He argues that the decipherment of these enigmatic, intricate series of strings and knots is in its binary coding, and that its qualitative and quantitative information can be revealed in the encoding of paired combinations of material, , spins, pendant attachments, directionality, number class, and information types (Urton 2003, 120). Likewise, Michael Sallnow shows the dualistic design in many layers in the pilgrimage of Qoyllur Rit’i (Sallnow 1987, 207–242). Sallnow states, “Dualism is the cultural mechanism by which the random power of the wild is channeled into the domain of human society (Ibid, 239). In Q’eros today we see many examples of dual organization (see Tables 3.1 and 3.2). The community is symmetrically divided into a left side, ichiniku (the two “left” valleys that include the anexos of Ch’allmachimpana and Chuwa Chuwa), and a right side, castilla (the two “right” valleys with the anexos of Qocha Moqo, Qolpa K’uchu, Charkapata, and Hatun Rumiyoq) (see Map 3).7 Some song verses mention this division. For example, the verse Ichinikuchay waynay maqta, which is a common verse in Pukllay taki (Carnaval songs), translates to “my young man from the left side.” The ingredients used in offerings are commonly placed in pairs (see Chapter 6, subheading The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Setima, and Ritual Objects). On ritual misas (Sp. mesa; altars of ceremonial objects placed together on the floors of homes during rituals), they place two piles of coca leaves, not for chewing, but rather as offerings to the Apu

6 Thomas Zuidema provided seminal research on the political and religious significance of spatial organization during the Inca Empire (see Zuidema 1964 and 1990).

7 The left and right directions are oriented in relationship from the high puna, that is, as one descends into the valleys of Q’eros, the two ichiniku valleys are on the left and two castilla ones on the right.

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and Pacha Mama. In ritual, a person drinks aqha (fermented corn beer) from two qeros vessels, and textiles have symmetrical weaving patterns, dual color design, and left and right-twist yarn. Dual form is expressed in musical performance roles, instrument pairs, and song structure (the subject of Chapter 5). The crucial element about the above-mentioned divisions is that they are interactive with one another, and not in stasis. Since everything has animu, inevitably the meeting of two parts is live interaction; the relationship is fluid, dynamic, and active. The halves interact synergetically so that separation and independent action of one part on its own is nearly impossible to perceive by living it. This was the frustration vented by Agustín, and the “coitus” described by Tristan Platt: the energetic union of sexual opposites. Cusco anthropologist Jorge Flores Ochoa expands on the dynamic aspect of the two halves, adding that not only are they interactive, but the two parts join “para avanzar,” “to advance.” He adds, “The concept is more profound than just pareja (couple). We don’t have a word for it in Spanish” (pers. com., 7 April 2007). Anthropologist Billie Jean Isbell, who researched in the south-central Andean region of Ayacucho, articulates the synergetic and transformative quality suggested by Flores Ochoa when she writes: For example, sexual complementarity is perhaps the most pervasive concept used to classify cosmological and natural phenomena. It also symbolizes the process of regeneration. Phenomena are conceptualized as male and female and interact with one another in a dialectic fashion to form a new syntheses [sic], such as new cycles of time and new generations of people, plants, and animals (Isbell 1978, 11).

“Regeneration” and “interact” indicate the synergy encompassed in yanantin; that is, the two parts reciprocally regenerate in a “dialectic fashion,” an exchange that results in some kind of newness and “form[s] a new syntheses,” as she explains. The two parts of yanantin function together as one, as seen in the social moieties of the Incan Imperial Period, which had a two-part division of land and water rights, and royal troops (Gelles 1995, 713). The Waqaypata and Kusipata plazas of these moieties served two purposes: the former for preparation of war, the latter for celebratory rituals. In this way, land, water, troops, and ritual uses of the two plazas maintained an operative balance and served to stabilize one another, which resulted in an effectively functioning society. Similarly, Urton explains that

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the binary organization of the khipu is the integral ingredient to its very codification, and that the variance of the dual combinations resulted in a changed meaning (Urton, 2003). In other words, the two parts of this binary coding mutually served one another to create meaning. According to the Q’eros, the two most basic offerings to the Apu and Pacha Mama are coca and aqha (fermented corn beer), and the dual offering of them (e.g., two piles of leaves and two drinking cups) is necessarily the most balanced form. Likewise, in ritual, the man plays the pinkuyllu flute in propitious musical offering to the spirits, while the woman sings her offering. The Q’eros believe all offerings to be ineffective if they are not presented in dual form. The two parts of yanantin are inextricable from one another, and their effectiveness is premised on the interaction of animu between the two parts that are in search of balance. In all of these examples, without the two individual parts working with each other, the end result would not be possible: a functioning society, a varied communication system, and effective offerings (including the musical ones). Balance of the two complementary parts, however, does not imply equal status; instead, there is a subsumptive quality. Claude Lévi-Strauss, father of structuralist anthropology, stressed that dual societies are not static forms; rather, the two opposites are engaged in cyclical patterns of conflict/reconciliation, and at one point, one half may have more power or presence (Lévi- Strauss, 1963, 132–166). Contextual relationship creates hierarchical structure between the two halves. This is easy to see when we consider that during times of war in the Inca Imperial Period (approx. 1436–1532), the Waqaypata (square dedicated to war) and the people of its associated moiety held precedence over the Kusipata (square dedicated to festivities) and its associated moiety. And vice versa, in times of ritual festivities, the Kusipata and associated moiety presided. In this way the shift is both spatial (one plaza has precedence over the other) and temporal (alternating times of war and rituals). This spatial/temporal hierarchy is also seen in Q’eros, regarding their crops and animals. Pacha Mama, who is in charge of the crops, takes precedence during planting and harvesting seasons, but the Apu, who are in charge of the animals, have authority during breeding and birthing times. To recognize this shift in balance, the Q’eros perform offerings to Pacha Mama during the former seasons, and to the Apu in the latter. Time (season) and space (Pacha Mama/Apu, land/animals) are simultaneously operative, and both elements shift hierarchy depending on context. Indeed, the term pacha in Quechua

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means both time and space, so that Pacha Mama is not just a physical place (e.g., earth), but also the continual cyclical return of events. Shifts in hierarchy (Lévi-Strauss’ conflict/resolution) are characterized by transition, which implies a third component of the duality. This is illustrated in the above example when Pacha Mama and the Apu are in continual shifting of hierarchy, according to planting/harvesting or animal breeding. And these shifts do not happen in a clearcut manner; rather there is a transitional overlap. The implicit nature of yanantin is one of cyclical return of equilibrium, which is punctuated by times and spaces of movement and transition. The meeting place of hierarchical transition, which Isbell referred to in how the two parts “interact with one another in a dialectic fashion to form a new syntheses,” is often referred to as the chawpi (center), and/or tinku (meeting place). In Q’eros I have heard them state this concept as “warmintin qharintin, (woman/man inclusive),” as in the example with Agustín, or “orqo chinantin, male/female inclusive). These statements support Allen’s summary: “In Andean relativistic thought, nothing and no one is absolutely male or female” (2002, 153). This is a third component, then, of the dual structure: the meeting place and aspect of continual movement and transition between the two parts. This is the “coitus” that Cummins refers to, and just like the act of coitus, there is an energetic coming together when the two aspects meet (Cummins 260). Chawpi, therefore, are particularly powerful places because they are full of interactive energy from the two parts. Obvious physical tinku are river confluences, such as the one at Hatun Q’eros, where the two large rivers that border the outside of the left and right halves of the community meet (see Map 3). The big Q’eros River is born at the confluence, and is literally full of great energy (voluminous water rushing over rocks and eddiesand connects the qheswa zone with the monte. This tinku, or meeting place of rivers, is the chawpi (center) of the community, where communal rituals take place. These rituals generate great exchanges of energy, which includes musical interaction among all Q’eros who have come from both sides of the community and meet in powerful musical ritual. Tinkuy, historically and today, often refers to the meeting of two opposing groups of people who meet physically in a tinku (in this case a geographic space where two opposites meet) for the purpose of ritual battle, ritual dance battle, and ritual dance, with the end goal being the establishment of equilibrium. (See above for Cummins’ use of coitus to mean tinkuy.) Today, ritualized battle is still expressed in various Andean-Catholic festivals (Abercrombie

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1998, Allen 2002, Bolin 1998, Sallnow 1987). Community members from the Chiriaje plains of Canas, south of Cusco, meet in two sides and enact a war game of stone-throwing, believed to enhance the fertility of the soil. This ritual battle symbolizes the interacting energies of the two factions in search of equilibrium: soil fertility. Ritual dance battle is also seen in the festival of the Virgin of Carmen, Paucartambo, and the large pilgrimage of Qoyllur Rit’i, with the meeting of opposing dance troupes, qhapaq ch’unchus and qhapaq qollas, which represent lowland Amazonian people and pastoralist merchant traders and llama herders from the altiplano (high plateau), respectively. They whip each other, sometimes throw objects, and compete in dance in order to reestablish the supreme role of the ch’unchu as sole mediator to the Virgin of Carmen and the Señor de Qoyllur Rit’i. Similarly, the qhapaq qollas dance the Yawar Mayu, or “Blood River,” when they whip each other in dance and end with an embrace while kneeling in reverence; this symbolizes a reestablishment of solidarity after opposition (Wissler 1999a). In Q’eros we see this ritual dance towards the end of the nine-day Carnaval cycle, when men and women dance in what they literally call tinkuy. Young men and women from two different anexos meet on the mountain passes of their adjoining valleys (tinku) and dance to loud cassette music in joyful, yet competitive, courtship. The meeting and dancing is the chawpi (center), the place of transition, where the youth from two annexes are able to meet and have fun, which results in the establishment of equilibrium: renewal of social ties and satisfaction. All of these tinkuy are highly stylized forms of regeneration, when two opposing forces meet in the chawpi, in dialectic exchange, and the outcome is some kind of reconciliation, establishment of hierarchical role, revitalization, or advance of courtship ties. In sum, yanantin is the dynamic interaction of two similar parts that work inextricably together in synergy, which permeates many aspects of the Q’eros’ daily and ritual life. The Q’eros are consciously aware of it; it is not a hidden structure. They articulate it directly, sometimes as yanantin, other times as warmi/qhari. They label their community layout, weaving designs, offerings, and ritual symbols as yanantin. Many aspects of their musical production they also name as yanantin, such as the warmi/qhari roles in musical performance, and specific instruments like the female and male conch shells and panpipes, which will be discussed in Chapter 6 and Chapter 9, respectively). I argue that the melodic relationship between the warmi (vocal) and qhari (pinkuyllu) parts in Q’eros’ songs uses yanantin as a structuring principle (see

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Chapter 5, subheading Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets). As yanantin is a naturally active form of female-male exchange and equilibrium in many aspects of their life cycle, as we have seen, why would it not permeate their song structure as well? Ayni, like yanantin, is another form of exchange that is vital in Q’eros’ life, and also intrinsic to their music-making.

Table 3.1: Yanantin Examples in the Andean World8

WARMI (female) QHARI (male)

Woman Man Mother Earth (Pacha Mama) Mountain Deities (Apu) Left (lloq’e) Right (paña) Alpaca Llama Moon (killa) Sun (inti) Night (tuta) Day (p’unchay) Silver (qolqe) Gold (qori) Sadness (llakikuy) Happiness (kusikuy) Lower (hurin) Upper (hanan) Interior Exterior Valley/Lakes Mountain Peaks Wet season Dry season Lower moiety (hurinsaya) Upper moiety (hanansaya) Malevolent female spirit (paya soq’a) Malevolent male spirit (machu soq’a)

Chawpi or Tinku Underworld (Uhu Pacha) This World (Kay Pacha) Upper realm (Hanaq Pacha)

8 It should be kept in mind that these examples are not static; that is, the female and male divisions are not rigid, and the relationship between the two implies movement. 53

Table 3.2. Yanantin Examples in the Q’eros Community and Music

Warmi Chawpi Qhari In Community Structure: Monte Community center at Tinkuy Puna (where two rivers meet) Ichiniku (two left valleys) center Castilla (two right valleys)

In Weaving: Lloqsiy inti pallay Inti Haykuy inti pallay (rising sun design) (complete sun) (setting sun design) Opposing ch’unchu design Heads meet in center Opposing ch’unchu design (feathers/body extension) (feathers/body extension)

Lloq’e (left twist yarn) In alternation with one another Paña (right twist yarn) Warm colored yarn (reds, juxtaposed Cool colored yarn (blues, pinks) greens)

In Music: Voice Pinkuyllu, Qanchis sipas Main melody and text Played/sung in continual Complementary melody overlap Ends on pitch center “do” in pitches “mi” and “sol” Ends on “sol” in aysariykuy aysariykuy Sing standing on periphery Dance stomping in center Silent row of panpipes Sounding row of panpipes Q’ompo pusunis (conch shell) Ch’acha pusunis Anexo of adjacent valley Tinkuy dances on pass Anexo of adjacent valley Song: “Wallata,” black Born high (Apu), white markings; male partner markings; raised low (Mama Qucha) female partner (mates for life)

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Reciprocity: Ayni Relationship is key to Andean life and what must be nurtured above all else, and ayni is the system of reciprocity that ensures good relationship among people with their fellow- community members, animals, and the powerful spirits. In living with the Q’eros, I have come to see how this operative principle is essential in every relationship they have, and can cause great offense, and even harm, if not upheld. Ayni has been operative in Andean communal systems for centuries, and refers to mutual aid in nearly every aspect of life, such as sharing food and labor, gift-giving, and holding political and ritual offices as part of a community’s cargo system. This understood web of social obligations ensures that everyone in the community is taken care of in social, political, and fundamental ways. While exchanges are not often direct, on some level everyone remembers aid petitioned or lent. Ayni is an implied and tacit obligation that ensures that ‘what goes around, comes around.’ Symmetrical and asymmetrical relationships exist within this system of mutual aid. An exchange can be direct and immediately symmetrical, such as “I herd for you today, you for me tomorrow,” but more often ayni functions circularly. Through continual giving and cooperating, the circle comes back around, eventually. For example, I learned very quickly that I was never to go empty-handed on a visit to someone’s home; this would be rude, not abiding by the understood and expected rules of ayni. Instead, I offered coca or desired and unattainable food items like bread and sugar; in turn, when I was visited in my apartment in Cusco, I was usually offered an abundance of potatoes. There is no keeping track, but the result is that everyone is a recipient in such a straight-forward system. This is the way a community ultimately ensures its livelihood, and song is also one of the forms of reciprocal action. Ayni is also asymmetrical (sometimes called mink’a), such as when a person or group requests the aid of many. In Q’eros a common example is one person who requests ayni from many for building his house, or a festival carguyoq (sponsor) who solicits food, drink, and coca from fellow community members so that his cargo (festival responsibility) goes well. The former is private and informal, the latter, communal and formal, yet both are understood to be obligatory. If not fulfilled, one risks damaging a relationship with a neighbor or the entire community, as ayni is premised on the welfare of the community over individual desires and actions.

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Faena is a public and communal form of ayni that the men carry out in community work projects. For example, the president of Q’eros notifies the men at a monthly assembly meeting of upcoming projects like bridge building, trail maintenance, roofing the casa comunal (community building), or planting and harvesting communal potatoes. Nowadays in Q’eros (and most Andean communities), monetary fines are inflicted if one does not show up for a faena, but more important than pecuniary risk is the larger one of gaining a reputation as not being a cooperative contributor, which could ultimately lead to community marginalization. This system of interactive reciprocity exists not only among humans, but among all vital energies, as Allen states: Every category of being, at every level, participates in this cosmic circulation. Humans maintain interactive reciprocity relationships, not only with each other but also with their animals, their houses, their potato fields, the earth, and the sacred places in their landscape (Allen 1997, 76).

All beings have animu, an animated essence, so the maintenance of respectful relationships with all entities is essential for a good, functioning life. The most potent relationship to be upheld is with the supernatural forces, the Apu and Pacha Mama, as they have a powerful and often immediate influence on quality of life. If this crucial relationship is not maintained and renewed, the spirits can inflict ill, and in dramatic ways: crops fail, lightning strikes a person or an animal, a puma attacks a baby llama or alpaca, or bad luck in any form manifests itself in a person’s life. In this case ‘what goes around, comes around’ can literally have deadly consequences. Conversely, if the relationship is attended to, the powers can bestow good luck, healthy crops, and herd procreation. Song is one form of many that the Q’eros use in order to uphold good relationships with these all-powerful spirits. Ayni is given to the Apu and Pacha Mama both individually and communally, in casual and formal rituals. An example of casual ritual was my experience while socializing in Juan’s home, when Juan berated me for not fulfilling my obligation to offer alcohol and coca to Pacha Mama and the Apu, respectively. In contrast, the most formalized ritual of ayni for the Apu and Pacha Mama is a pagu (payment or offering)9 that is made during important seasonal rituals,

9 Hipólito Peralta, the head of Cusco’s Bilingual Intercultural Education program (EIB), suggests that the word pago/u does not come from the Spanish word “payment” as is commonly believed; rather, it comes from the Latin term paganus, origin of the word “pagan.” This term would have been in use during the seventeenth-century campaign by the Catholic Church known as the “Extirpation of Idolatry” that set out to abolish all heretical forms of 56

such as planting and animal fertility (see Chapter 6, subheading The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Setima, and Ritual Objects, for a fuller description of pagu). The head of every family (usually male), makes an elaborate offering with an abundance of eclectic ingredients that are painstakingly compiled and then burned for the Apu and Pacha Mama to ingest. As Rozas explained above, the powers need and desire food and drink, and the elaborate offerings are their nourishment. In particular, February and August are the two times of the year when Pacha Mama reawakens, becomes fertile and open, ready to receive seed,10 and the Q’eros tell me that She and the Apu are especially hungry and in need of sustenance during these times. Juan animatedly described the hunger of the Apu during August, the Andean New Year, when the driest months are in transition to the rainy growing season. During that time, the spirits are like an insatiable hole that “we must shove offering after offering into, so many that we can hardly keep up!” (pers. com., 15 August 2007). Juan assertively pushed his hands up in one direction, as if force feeding the Apu with one pago after another.11 He informed me that the Apu can live on these numerous offerings for the entire year, which is why performing so many of them during the month of August is so important.12 By feeding the Apu and Pacha Mama, people are therefore actively involved in their part of ayni, striving to receive benevolence and welfare in all aspects of their lives. Q’eros’ family and community rituals are pinnacle moments of circulatory ayni among all sentient beings, when there is an abundant flow of energies in intentional exchange of ayni among the supernatural powers, people, animals, and a variety of ritual objects. Sound and song have vital roles in these circulations of offerings. In these ritual celebrations, the Q’eros musically express yanantin and ayni as natural processes of interaction with their fellow community members and the animated world around them.

worship, of which an offering to local mountain spirits would have been one (pers. com., 3 November 2008). Some Quechua words for offering are anqusu and haywa, but by far the more common term used in Q’eros and other communities is pago/u. Another common term for offering in Cusco (not Q’eros) is despacho (dispatch).

10 For more discussion of the openness of earth during these two times of the year see Isbell (1972, 1978), and Allen (1997, 79−80).

11 Also see Allen 2002, 150–154.

12 Indeed, many Q’eros will spend the month of August in Cusco, earning income by making pagos for people. Many urban (Catholic) Cusqueños believe in the power of the Apu and the necessity of offering a pago in return for their requests, such as the welfare of a business, home, marriage, and the healing of illness. 57

The next section of the dissertation, “Part II: Communal Celebration in Pukllay,” addresses ayni and yanantin as they are re-created in the largest festival of the year, Pukllay (Carnaval). In Pukllay, yanantin is active in musical aesthetics, performance roles, and song structure. Also, through song topics and text, we see how the Q’eros pay respectful ayni to the flowers and birds that are associated with the all-powerful spirits that hold dominion over their lives. In sum, yanantin and ayni, which are premised on animu, play active roles in Pukllay, and the social renewal that is the result of this most-awaited celebration.

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PART II: COMMUNAL CELEBRATION IN PUKLLAY (CARNAVAL): RENEWAL OF SOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS

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CHAPTER 4 PUKLLAY ETHNOGRAPHY: SONG TOPICS, AND WOMEN’S AND MEN’S MUSICAL ROLES

We remember Pukllay all year long and weave new clothes for it. Closer to Pukllay we sometimes work for nights with no sleep. We celebrate the way our grandfathers used to. It makes us very happy. Dominga Paucar Chura, 2 February 2005.

Introduction to the Nine-day Cycle of Pukllay (Carnaval) Chapters 4 and 5 function as one unit, about Pukllay, the largest communal festival of the year. In Chapter 4 I describe various basic elements of Pukllay: the nine-day festival cycle, the topics in the currently active song corpus, women’s and men’s musical roles (singer, pinkuyllu player, respectively), ending with a day-to-day ethnography of the celebration. These components lay the groundwork for deeper musical and social analyses of Pukllay in Chapter 5. Many Andean communities, such as Q’eros, refer to Carnaval as Pukllay, which literally translates as “to play.” Fray Diego González Holguín in his 1608 Quechua dictionary defines pukllay as “all genre of fiestas for recreation” (Holguín 1989 [1608], 293). René Franco Salas, member of the musical group “Wiñay Taki” from Pisac (Cusco), whose scholarly expertise focuses on the performance revival of traditional Andean songs and instruments, has described his understanding of traditional Andean Pukllay as a series of seasonal celebrations of fertility and courtship which stretched over a period of time during the peak of the rainy season, versus one specific calendrical event as it is today (pers. com., 25 December 2006). The peak of the rainy season (January, February, March) is the time of new growth, herd multiplication, and the first potato harvest of the year (papa maway); as such, it is the time of courtship among the youth. The celebration of this courting period is now contained in a nine-day Carnaval celebration in Q’eros that is linked to the pre-Lenten liturgical calendar.1 Allen describes the ease

1 The nine-day cycle of Pukllay is possibly based on the institutionalized Catholic ritual cycle called the novena, which is nine-days of prayer undertaken for a particular purpose. Many Catholic celebrations in the Andes, with their feasts, dances and songs, are organized around a novena. For ethnographies of Pukllay in other Andean communities see Abercrombie 1998, 335–337; Allen 2002; 154–162; Bolin 1998, 75–83; and Stobart 2008, 233– 267.

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with which the celebrations of this courting period were easily linked to the Church calendar: “These pre-Columbian festivals of the late rainy season were easily incorporated into Spanish Carnaval, a licentious and only marginally religious holiday that required a minimum of adjustment to Catholic ritual forms” (Allen 2002, 155). Even though Pukllay in Q’eros is one of the vast styles of Carnaval that is celebrated in most Latin American and Caribbean countries also on the same dates, with its colorful costumes and theme of reversal from normal life to extreme revelry, it has its own unique characteristics, with musical production that is recognizably Q’eros.2 Pukllay is the most extensive and anticipated communal celebration in the annual cycle of Q’eros’ musical rituals. The festival draws on more prolonged and plentiful ayni exchanges and social interactions among community members than any other celebration in the year. Ayni, as expressed on the communal level, is formalized through the colonial-introduced cargo system, which is the system of political and festival offices that is responsible for the execution of community politics and celebrations.3 Cargos (responsibilities) are hierarchical, and in Pukllay a community-selected alcalde (mayor), along with his assistant authorities (about six to twelve regidores and alwasires), are in charge of the exhaustive organizational logistics for this nine- day celebration period.4 The nine-day celebration encompasses a series of rituals and celebrations within a variety of locations and levels of participation, giving it a movable and waxing-and-waning quality. The people begin with the llama and alpaca fertility ritual of Phallchay celebrated by individual families in the homes up high (the subject of Chapter 6), which is followed by full-

2 Pukllay in Q’eros can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Carnival” (Wissler, 2007), and in John Cohen’s film Carnival in Q’eros (1990).

3 For sources that describe and explain the cargo system, see Carrasco 1961; Chance and Tylor, 1985; De la Cadena 2000; Eade and Sallnow, eds., 2000; Flores Lizana 1997; Gow 1976; Mendoza, 2000; and Sallnow 1987.

4 The term alcalde (mayor) is used for two separate offices in Q’eros: the festival alcalde for Pukllay (and for Corpus Christi later in the year), and the political alcalde. The latter office was instigated in 1998 only. Regidor is a Spanish term meaning alderman, and alwasir comes from Sp. alguacil, a common term for civil-religious authorities in Andean communities. In this case, the regidores and alwasires are assistants to the festival alcalde, and number anywhere from about three to six in each role. The regidores have more responsibility than the alwasires, and each group has its own, internal hierarchy as well. Oscar Núñez del Prado suggests that the introduction of the cargo system in Q’eros, with its affiliated alcaldes, regidores, and alguaciles, probably dates to the period between 1552 and 1575, in association with various auxiliary doctrines instigated by the Church in the general Paucartambo region (Núñez del Prado 2005a [1958], 221–2).

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blown communal participation of Pukllay down in Hatun Q’eros; they then return to their homes up high for the family animal fertility ritual of Mama Tarpay (an extension of Phallchay), and finally end with Tinkuy, when the young people meet for festive dances on the mountain passes of adjacent anexos. The music reflects this waxing-and-waning quality of community interaction: singing and pinkuyllu playing begins within individual families, expands to the anexo level, and then becomes communal as everyone descends to the community center for communal celebration. In the last days the singing decreases again to the anexo and family levels. All of these rituals and celebrations have specific and separate functions, as well as specific accompanying musics, yet the celebrations are performed in one continual stream. It is the longest period in the year when the entire community suspends all work for celebration and ritual. Table 4.2 below shows the full Pukllay cycle.

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Table 4.2. The Pukllay Cycle

Day Level Festival/Ritual Name Music Monday Family; annex Phallchay: “Pantilla T’ika” “Lunes Suyu” 5 Llama, alpaca fertility ritual; Song for llamas and alpacas. confirmation of the year’s song on Women sing, this day. men play pinkuyllu. Tuesday Community First day of Pukllay: Song of the Year Descent to Hatun Q’eros; last Chosen Pukllay taki from minute preparations in Hatun song corpus. Q’eros. Singing this year’s song in Women sing, homes (watukuy) all night. men play pinkuyllu. Wednesday Community Principal day of Pukllay: Song of the Year “Sinis” Donning of newly woven clothes; (Ash Wednesday) ritual singing in main plaza and watukuy in homes all night. Thursday Community; Last day of Pukllay: Song of the Year annex Singing in homes during the day; Late afternoon ascent to homes in annexes. Friday Between adjacent Tinkuy: Popular carnavales and annexes Youth of annexes from adjacent waynos on cassette tape valleys meet on connecting pass for with loudspeaker. dancing. Saturday Family Phallchay, also called Malta “Pantilla T’ika” Mayt’uy and Mama Tarpay Same song as in Phallchay Llama and alpaca fertility ritual; ritual on “Lunes Suyu.” eating phiri. Sunday Adjacent annexes Tinkuy Popular carnavales and waynos on cassette. Monday Adjacent annexes Tinkuy Popular carnavales and waynos on cassette. Tuesday Adjacent annexes Tinkuy Popular carnavales and waynos on cassette.

Kunan Pukllay Taki: Topics of Currently Active Carnaval Songs The Q’eros, like many Andean communities, call their corpus of Carnaval songs “Pukllay taki,” which literally translates to “Play songs.”6 The Q’eros have an active corpus of

5 The Monday of Pukllay, which starts the nine-day celebration cycle, is called “Lunes Suyu” (Monday Suyu).” In Fray Diego González Holguín 1608 Quechua dictionary, he defines suyu as “partiality” (Holguín 1989 [1608], 194). The usage of suyu in pre-Hispanic times usually referred to separate geographic areas, such as Tawantinsuyu, the “four quarters” of the Incan Empire. In this case, each of the six anexos is a suyu, and Monday is the day each anexo celebrates simultaneously, yet independently.

6 The word taki has been used generically to mean song/dance genre since pre-Hispanic times. The chroniclers Guamán Poma de Ayala (1993 [1615]) and Bernabé Cobo (1990 [1653]), among others, wrote about the use of taki (taqui) under the Incas. 63

seven Pukllay taki, as well as many Pukllay taki from the past that they no longer sing. I refer to the actively-sung corpus of seven songs as Kunan (current) Pukllay taki, to distinguish them from the Pukllay taki that are no longer active. Appendix B lists all musical and textual transcriptions, as well as English translations, of the seven Kunan Pukllay taki. The cargo authorities and the community choose one song of the Kunan Pukllay taki to be song of the year, and they sing it for the first time in Pukllay. The decision process occurs in a three-day performance ritual and celebration called Chayampuy (see Appendix C),7 which is held in Hatun Q’eros (the community center) two weeks before Pukllay, when the authorities officially receive their Pukllay cargos (authority status and responsibilities) from the consejo menor (town council). The women (and sometimes men) then sing the chosen song, and the men play it on pinkuyllu (notched, vertical bamboo flutes) repetitively throughout the three principal days of Pukllay (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday). It becomes the emblematic song of the year, sung in daily activities such as herding and weaving. Indeed, a year will often be referred to as “the year of x song.”8 Many Q’eros refer to the Pukllay taki they no longer sing as “ñawpa taki,” “past song.” They also call a past variation of a current song “ñawpa x,” for example “ñawpa thurpa,” or “ñawpa phallcha.” Because of this, I choose to call the Carnaval songs that are fading from cultural memory Ñawpa Pukllay taki. I say “fading from cultural memory” because the younger generation does not know these songs, and only some of the older people remember them and are able to sing them. Many Q’eros have told me that Ñawpa Pukllay taki are not sung today because the historical text is no longer relevant, and also the younger people claim they are more sasa (difficult) due to the longer melodic lines. Appendix D lists eight Ñawpa Pukllay taki that I have been able to record, along with one that John Cohen recorded in 1964.9

7 Chayampuy used to take place in the district capital of Paucartambo before the establishment of the consejo menor (town council) in Hatun Q’eros in 1998. The name comes from chayay (to arrive), and refers to the “arrival” of the newly-inaugurated authorities on horseback from Paucartambo, signaling the arrival of Pukllay. This change in ritual location for Chayampuy has had a significant impact (among others) on song composition, so that the Q’eros no longer compose any new Pukllay taki. This issue is briefly discussed at the close of the dissertation, Chapter 9: “Looking Ahead: Are Q’eros’ Songs Endangered?”

8 Rene Franco Salas also informed me that other Andean communities in the Cusco and Paucartambo areas have this same process of choosing one song among the existing corpus to be the song for Pukllay that year (pers. com., 25 December 2006).

9 I speculate that the Ñawpa Pukllay taki I have recorded are probably the most recent of the songs that are no longer sung, that is, the most recent in cultural memory. The of these older songs provide rich 64

Pukllay taki are topical, just as topical songs and/or dance themes characterize Carnaval in many Latin American and Caribbean countries. The topics inform about what is important, useful, and beautiful to the Q’eros, such as sacred or medicinal plants, mystical birds, and the special weavings and adornments worn at Pukllay. Some of the same topics are also present in the Pukllay taki of other Andean communities, yet the rendition of the songs, particularly melodic structure and delivery, and performance texture, is emblematically Q’eros (see below, “Musical Aesthetics of Pukllay taki Performance”). Following is a description of the song topics of the seven active Kunan Pukllay taki. The list roughly reflects the order of popularity, based on how often the song cycles around as song of the year for Pukllay:

1. “Phallcha” (this song has many variations)10 is a red gentian (Gentiana luteomarginata) that grows on and near the high pasture areas where the llamas and alpacas graze, at an elevation of 15,000 feet, and it blooms in February and March. It is used in infusions for curing coughs, flu, and toothaches, and is scattered on the llamas and alpacas during fertility rituals as a metaphor for these animals and their procreation. This flower is associated with regeneration, young love, and courtship in many regions of the Andes, so that other communities also have songs about the phallcha flower. Three different versions of “Phallcha” were the Pukllay taki in Hatun Q’eros in 2004, 2006, and 2009.

2. “Thurpa” is a small, pink mountain flower (Nototriche mandoniana) in the malvaceae family. The root is used in infusions for healing colds and coughs, and inflammation. It is also soaked in water and used for washing hair. The Q’eros revere both the phallcha and thurpa flowers because they live up high, close the Apu, and they are used specifically in

information about Q’eros history, and they are fertile material for a study of the Q’eros’ past through the lens of song. The older versions of the current songs are also material for analysis of song evolution, and perhaps cultural change, as seen through musical change (see footnote 13, this chapter).

10 The Q’eros have told me there are anywhere from three to fourteen different “Phallcha” variations. I have heard three distinct variations of the “Phallcha” song in my time in Q’eros, with “variation” defined by differing melody, not text. The same Pukllay taki is never repeated as song of the year two years in a row and a few years go by before a particular song cycles around again; however, one version of “Phallcha” was Pukllay taki in 2004, and another in 2006. I believe variations are considered separate songs, so that the 2006 song was not considered a repeat of the 2004 song.

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pagos made for the lowland Apu in the monte, as these Apu enjoy consuming exotic flowers that do not grow near them. “Thurpa” was the Pukllay taki in Hatun Q’eros in 2005; Audio Examples 5.1 and 5.2, and discussed in Chapter 5.11

3. “Walqa Piñi” refers to the adornments donned during Pukllay. Walqa is the white or rose- colored bead necklaces worn by the women during Pukllay, and piñi are the tiny white beads sewn into men’s ch’ullus or woven caps. “Walqa Piñi” was Pukllay taki in Hatun Q’eros in 2007.

4. “Rinrillu,” (sometimes pronounced linrillu), is from membrillo in Spanish. Membrillo is a quince fruit (Cydonia oblonga) the Q’eros say is good to eat to improve singing when one’s throat is dry. Luis Yábar Palacio, who published the earliest article on Q’eros (1922), describes young men wearing membrillos tied in bundles on their backs as part of Pukllay clothing. The fruits’ aroma was meant to attract “nice young women” (Yábar Palacio 1922, 25, my translation). They no longer wear this fruit at Pukllay, but the alcalde will sometimes provide sacks of it for the authorities to share. “Rinrillu” was Pukllay taki in Hatun Q’eros in 2008, and also 1963.12

5. “Wallata” are the wild Andean geese (Chloephaga melanoptera) that live near high altitude lakes, ponds, and marshes (approximately 12,000–14,500 feet).13 They are considered a link between the Apu and Pacha Mama, because the chicks are born above the water sources, closer to the Apu, and then shepherded down by the mother to be raised near Mama Qucha (Mother Lake). Hilário Machacca Apasa explained that this bird is considered “yanantin” because of this link between the two super powers (pers.

11 “Thurpa” can be heard in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Carnival” (Wissler, 2007). “Thurpa” is also sung by the two young herder girls in “The Shape of Survival” (Cohen, 1979).

12 See Cohen 1994, track 29, Mountain Music of Peru, labeled “Song of Last Year’s Carnaval (1963).” This is “Rinrillu” recorded by John Cohen in 1964.

13 John Cohen recorded “Wallata” in 1964 in the Q’eros community of Kiku. These recordings can be heard on Mountain Music of Peru, Smithsonian/Folkways CD SF 40020 (1991 [1964]), tracks 14–17. Tracks 14 and 16 have been identified by some Q’eros friends as “Ñawpa Wallata,” meaning it is an older version of “Wallata” that is longer sung. Tracks 15 and 17 are closer rhythmically and melodically to the version sung today. 66

com., 28 July 2007). This places wallata in a position of chawpi between the female and male aspects of the yanantin of these two forces. Hilário also mentioned another association of wallata with yanantin: they always fly in pairs (they mate for life), and they are black and white. Jorge Flores Ochoa informs that many water birds, like the wallata, are associated with the interior world of Pacha Mama’s caves, lakes, springs, and streams, which are the mythical birth places of llamas and alpacas (Flores Ochoa 1988, 238). Flores Ochoa explained that “in rituals, the llamas and alpacas become birds,” so a metaphoric association exists between the all-important herds and the wallata that live near the animals’ places of origin (pers. com., 7 January 2006). Indeed, the Q’eros, like many Andeans, give the nickname “wallata” to the llamas and alpacas that have markings like this bird: white bellies, heads, and back of the neck, contrasted with a black mark on the back that extends toward the tail.14 These associations with the supernatural world and yanantin symbolism of high/low, interior/exterior, Apu/Pacha Mama, life pairing, and black/white, are why the wallata is revered and has its own song in Q’eros, and in other Andean communities.

6. “Sirina” is a mermaid-like aquatic being who lures people into water with music. This is the “siren” of Greek mythological origins, which colonial introduced, and it is now prevalent in many variations throughout the Andes.15 The Sirina has special, hypnotic powers, often expressed through music, which are enticing, vexing, and even harmful to humans.

7. “Kiyu” is the largest tinamou bird (Tinamotis pentlandii) of the high Andes. It is so- named because of the sound it makes: “kiyu-kiyu.” The kiyu bird inhabits high altitude grassland from about 13,000 to 15,500 feet, and, like the wallata, has multiple

14 See Flores Ochoa 1986, for emic classification of Andean camelids based on markings.

15 A 1615 drawing by Guamán Poma de Ayala shows Sirinas in the ocean, looking up to pingollo (pinkuyllu) players on a cliff (Guamán Poma de Ayala 1993 [1615], Book I, 237). See Stobart 2008, 236–245, and Turino 1983, 96–101, for a discussion of sirens in music in the Bolivian and Peruvian Andes, respectively. 67

significances. Mario Escobar Moscoso, geographer on the 1955 expedition into Q’eros with Cusco University, relayed a story about the kiyu. A Q’eros man told him:

The kiyu bird is like an angel, or a spirit that lived when the earth was empty, before people. The kiyu flew from Waman Lipa [the largest Apu in Q’eros] to Lake Ananta [a lake near Hapu, one of the eight Q’eros communities]. The kiyu made the grass, trees, rivers, and animals; it was the Ave creador [Creator Bird]. Man entered into this world that the kiyu created (pers. com., 16 April 2007).

In this story, the kiyu is creator of life, and the fact that it flies between the Apu (Waman Lipa) and Mama Qucha (Lake Ananta) makes it a connector between the two, like the wallata. In contrast, it is also regarded as the messenger of death, and the Q’eros interpret the sighting of a kiyu bird as an announcement that someone will die. Indeed, one line of song text is: “Ripunaypaq carta ruwaq,” “Creator of the letter for my leaving [death].” One Q’eros friend told me that when Manuel Quispe, an altomisayoq (highly trained ritual specialist) from the anexo of Chuwa Chuwa died in 2005, a kiyu had been spotted next to his house a few days before. Jorge Flores Ochoa states that the kiyu is like the chawpi or tinkuy between life and death, since it has associative powers with both (pers. com., 7 April 2007). Thus it could also be considered as the embodiment of the yanantin concept of life/death. Oscar Núñez del Prado reported a conversation in Q’eros in 1955 about the kiyu: “The genesis of their music and dances, according to him [Q’eros informant], were copied from the kios [sic] bird that served as inspiration for many of their songs and stories” (Núñez del Prado 2005a [1958] 206, my translation). Indeed one line of text is, “Qhashwasqayki panpapi,” “In the pampa where you dance the qhaswa.”16 “Kiyu” is not sung as frequently as before, because some Q’eros consider it a “bad luck song” due to its association with death. Fewer kiyu sightings now occur in

16 The qhaswa is an indigenous circle dance of courtship with many variations throughout the Andes. Agustín Machacca Flores informed me qhaswa was danced by the youth of Q’eros in Easter up until about twenty years ago, when cassette tape recordings of popular waynos and dressing in Ocongate style took over (the same as they do in Tinkuy, the last days of the Pukllay celebration cycle; pers. com., 15 May 2005). Agustín described the dance as a circle of men and women, with a stylized elbow-interlocking/fighting among the men.

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general, which probably contributes to the fact that this song is sung less frequently than before.17

The form of all Pukllay taki is a simple binary one of verse-refrain, with alternate refrains sustained in aysariykuy. The poetic text is descriptive, concise, and often metaphoric. All songs have many verses, which are seemingly infinite to me, and there is no prescribed order in which to sing them. The text in all songs shows the tenderness and sensitivity in which any topic is addressed. The Quechua language commonly employs affectionate, poetic expression, even in daily speech. The use of diminutives is the norm, in speech and in song, such as the suffixes lla and cha which convey meanings of affection and tenderness. Lla best translates to "lovely” or “dear,” and cha is diminutive (like “ito/a” in Spanish), therefore “little.” The suffix y (my) is also used abundantly in song texts, so, in this way, refrains translate to, “my lovely dear wallata,” or “my lovely little thurpa flower.” Below, in Song Text 4.1, are some sample verses of “Thurpa,” Pukllay taki in 2005, which are excerpted from Audio Example 5.1 (Chapter 5). These verses are representative of all Pukllay taki in content and meaning. The transcriptions, translations, and interpretations of the verses are based directly on my work with Q’eros friends, together with my Quechua tutors.18

Song Text 4.1. Six verses of “Thurpa” (V = verse; R = refrain) (Excerpted from Audio Example 5.1, as sung by Juliana Apasa Flores, 12 September 2005).19

1. V: Anantachallay, castilla puka My lovely Ananta, red castilla R: Panti Thurpachallay My lovely, little pink thurpa flower

17 “Kiyu” may be headed for the same fate as the Ñawpa Pukllay taki, “Pariwa” (see Appendix D), which is about the Andean flamingo. The flamingo is no longer sighted in Q’eros, and therefore the song is no longer relevant.

18 My process of text translation was to first transcribe the text from my field recordings, with the Q’eros who had sung in the recording, together with my Quechua tutor. We then translated this text into Spanish in the same session, double (triple!) checking the meaning with the Q’eros. I then translated the Spanish into English on my own. The principal Quechua tutor I worked with was Gina Maldonado, with assistance from Inés Callalli, Janett Vengoa de Orós, and Edith Cevallos.

19 See Appendix B for the full transcription (24 verses). 69

2. V: Sultirachallaq pallaykusqan Gathered only for the lovely single women R: Panti Thurpachallay My lovely, little pink thurpa flower

3. V: Asnaq t’urupi sarukuqpaq So that you will be stomped on in the Foul-smelling mud. R: Panti Thurpachallay My lovely, little pink thurpa flower

4. V: Halwachapichá uywasqayki I will care for you, perhaps in a little cage R: Panti Thurpachallay My lovely, little pink thurpa flower

5. V: Kawsaq sunqulla waqaykuchiq You who make the vibrant hearts weep R: Panti Thurpachallay My lovely, little pink thurpa flower

6. V: Chikchi parallaq saqtaykusqan You who are mistreated by the hail and rain R: Panti Thurpachallay My lovely, little pink thurpa flower

Verse 1 indicates how people link the song topics with places of their home areas, where the herders, animals, birds, and flowers are all companions. Specific places are named, in this case the small ravine of Ananta, and substituted from singer to singer, so that a verse is personalized depending on the interpreter. The Ananta ravine is compared to the red castilla worn at Pukllay because of the pink thurpa that blooms abundantly there. The festive Pukllay clothing (castilla) is remembered and celebrated (see Figure 4.6). Verse 2 refers to how the thurpa flowers are gathered for the single women (Q. sultira, from Sp. soltera) to decorate their hats. I have seen older women wear flowers in their hats too, but this verse is a reference to the youthful, courting nature of Pukllay. Verse 3 describes how the thurpa will be stepped on as a result of falling from the women’s hats. The groups walk from home to home doing the singing rounds, and the men often do the stomping dance in the wet mud (therefore on the fallen thurpa), which is “foul-smelling” because of human urine.20 Verse 4 is a response to Verse 3, when concern is expressed, and the singer wants to care for the thurpa as if in a little cage (Q. hawla, from Sp. jaula). Verse 5 is an example of what I call a “floating verse,” which is a verse that I have heard sung regularly in any of the Pukllay taki, and it is not unique to a particular song. This particular verse, “you who make the vibrant hearts weep,” is an expression of love and deep feeling for any of the song topics. And Verse 6, like Verse 4, is an expression of care and compassion for the

20 The obligatory drinking leads to necessary heavy urination, which is a regular feature in Pukllay.

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flowers that are mistreated by the hail and rain. These verses are indicative of the flavor and style of all Pukllay taki text: they underscore the excitement and decorative beauty of Pukllay, naming fun details of the festival and personalizing places. All of these details center around the specific topic in the text, and, in particular, express compassion and caring for the topic as if it were a living being.

Women’s and Men’s Festival Roles: Singers and Pinkuyllu players The women and men have specified musical roles during Pukllay, which are in complementary relationship to one another. The women are the primary singers in Pukllay and in all animal fertility rituals. The men sometimes sing too, but their predominant role is to play pinkuyllu flutes.21 Q’eros female vocal style is forceful with an earthy, visceral quality in delivery. John Cohen writes about the richness of women’s singing: “At communal gatherings, the maximal female vocal qualities find fullest expression. Their singing becomes emotional and intense rather than formal or dutiful” (Cohen 1998, 230). Part of the natural, down-to-earth quality is the fact that the women sing in a comfortable tessitura, close to their normal speaking voice, so that the younger women sing in a mid-range, and the older in a lower one. Singing in a natural vocal range contrasts to the high-pitched vocal aesthetic that many Andean communities prefer. Thomas Turino writes of general Quechua and Aymara singing: “Women often sing at the top of their range, using falsetto” (Turino 1998, 215); and Henry Stobart concurs regarding vocal aesthetic in the Bolivian Andes: “For the most part, the musical aesthetic is for strident and high- pitched women’s vocal timbre . . .” (Stobart 2006, 38). While “strident” in the sense that loud and full-bodied singing is desired in Q’eros, they do not use a high falsetto vocal aesthetic for singing Pukllay taki or animal fertility songs. This aesthetic differentiates Q’eros’ women’s vocal style from that of many places in the greater Ocongate region, where women sing in the falsetto style.22 People in Ancasi, the adjacent valley to the southeast of Q’eros (where they no longer sing their Pukllay taki), have commented on the uniqueness of the Q’eros vocal style.

21 The exception to this is Sinalay, for the cows and sheep, when the men play panpipes (Chapter 7).

22 I recorded some women singing Pukllay taki in Chilca Finaya (5 May 2005) and Qoña Muru (15 February 2007), communities near Ausangate mountain (region of Ocongate, Map 2.1) where the women sang in the falsetto style.

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In discussion with my close compadres, Agustín Machacca Flores and Juliana Apasa Flores, they both emphasize that the women cannot sing without the men’s pinkuyllu playing, and vice versa: the men cannot play pinkuyllu without the women’s singing. The women and men sing/play simultaneously during many stages of Pukllay, and both parts must be present in mutual support (see Chapter 5 for expansion on this concept). The men’s primary musical role in Pukllay and in the animal fertility rituals to the llamas and alpacas is to play the pinkuyllu flutes.23 The Q’eros’ pinkuyllu are end-blown, notched bamboo flutes with an end-plug in the bottom or distal end, which is usually made of packed and dried mud, or, nowadays more commonly a wadded piece of plastic (see the plastic plug in the finished pinkuyllu on the left in Figure 4.4). Every man in Q’eros makes his own pinkuyllu out of bamboo collected from the monte during the corn harvest in July, or, more commonly, during the rainy planting season in December. In the wet season the bamboo is greener than during the dry season harvest time and therefore easier to carve and scrape. Most pinkuyllu are made of a bamboo the Q’eros call toqoro,24 and some smaller ones are made out of another type of bamboo, called soqos.25 In the mid-twentieth century and before, pinkuyllu were sometimes made of condor bone (see Figure 4.1).26 I have seen only one bone pinkuyllu in Q’eros, and the owner, Juan Flores Machacca, explained, “It is at least sixty years old, made by my grandfather” (pers. com., 27 July 2006). He was aware of its antiquity and specialness, since bone pinkuyllu are no longer made in Q’eros.

23 Pinkuyllu is a pre-Columbian term, today used throughout the Andes to refer commonly to end-blown flutes with either a duct or notched mouthpiece. Dale Olsen’s ethnoarchaeomusicological research of pre-Hispanic musical instruments in Peru, Bolivia, , and includes duct and notch pinkuyllu (Olsen 2002, 20, 35, 58–59). Thomas Turino’s research on the music of Huancané, region, and Henry Stobart’s in Kalankira, Northern Potosí region of Bolivia, show the pinkuyllu of both regions as vertical duct flutes (Turino 1993, 48–50; Stobart 2006, 208–217). In addition, the pinkuyllu of both areas are systematically tuned in consorts, which is not the case in Q’eros. Pinkuyllu vary in construction (duct/notch; number of finger holes; tuned in groups, or not, etc.) from region to region, and even among adjacent communities. Holguin’s 1608 dictionary defines “pincullu” as simply “all genres of flutes,” indicating the non-specificity of the term, which, as we see, still applies today (Holguín 1989 [1608], 163).

24 Toqoro is Rhipidocladum harmonicum (César Vargas 1986, 2, and pers. com., with biologist José Luis Venero, 10 August 2007, Cusco, Peru).

25 Soqos belongs to the same genus as carrizo (Phragmites sp.), which is a common roofing material, (pers. com., José Luis Venero, 10 August 2007). I have not yet been able to identify the species. Both the larger toqoro and smaller soqos pinkuyllu can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Animal Veneration” (Wissler, 2007).

26 For a brief description of Q’eros’ bone pinkuyllu, see Yábar Palacios 1922, 13. 72

Figure 4.1. A condor bone pinkuyllu. Figure 4.2. Man playing a pinkuyllu made of toqoro. The couple is dressed in Pukllay clothing.

Pinkuyllu randomly range from 15 to 70 centimeters long, depending completely on the flute maker's choice according to the piece of toqoro or soqos he has selected. They always have four rectangular finger holes and no thumb hole (see Figure 4.4 and Drawing 1 in Figure 4.5). Agustín calls the four holes “tawa ñawi,” or “four eyes.” From the distal end of the tube, the flutist measures with two or three widths of his fingers, and there he carves his first finger hole (see Figure 4.3). This is followed by measuring an additional three evenly-spaced holes toward the proximal end, again measuring with two or three finger widths. This measurement of the finger hole placement results in the creation of the standard scale comprised of the desired three notes of the Q'eros' pinkuyllu melodies, which complement the women’s singing (see Chapter 5, subheading Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets). The result is that each pinkuyllu is tuned to itself, but to no other man’s flute; tuning depends entirely on the length and thickness of the bamboo that is individually selected. In other words, the length and thickness of the selected bamboo are not altered to make tuned sets of pinkuyllu. The notch for the mouthpiece is carved last, after the inside area of the tube is cleaned and scraped of all possible splinters. I have more commonly seen the mouth end to be cut at the node of the bamboo, so that it is slightly more flared than the distal end (as is the case in Figure 4.4). Interestingly, the flared end of the condor bone was also carved into the notched mouthpiece (see Figure 4.1).

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Figure 4.3. Agustín measures the space between Figure 4.4. A finished pinkuyllu is on the left, and the two bottom-most finger holes at the distal end. a newly-harvested, unworked piece of toqoro is on the right.

Just as the Q’eros’ women’s singing aesthetic is different from that of their non-Q’eros neighbors, so are the men’s pinkuyllu unique in construction and scale from those of their neighbors, even just one valley over. For example, the notched pinkuyllu of the community of Ancasi, a half-day’s walk southeast of Q’eros, have five round finger holes and one thumb hole, and render a , versus the four square finger holes, no thumb hole, and tritonic scale of the Q’eros’ pinkuyllu. Some of my Q’eros compadres have told me that some pinkuyllu makers and players are better than others, which suggests that standards exist. Furthermore, the Q’eros communities have distinct styles of playing that differ from one another. The differences are so subtle and difficult (for me) to ascertain, but people from Hatun Q’eros easily can distinguish between recordings of pinkuyllu playing in Kiku and Hapu, for example. A desired playing aesthetic of all Q’eros pinkuyllu (as well as other Andean pinkuyllu) is to overblow, so that the timbre is breathy and rich with overtones. The more breathy overtones that are present, the better the sound and the more adept the player. A distinctive trait of pinkuyllu playing is that a man will raise his head in a quick jerk as he simultaneously pushes the air forcefully. The result is that punctuated pulsations of air accent particular notes strongly. The contour of the pinkuyllu melody also has its sustained aysariykuy on every other phrase, just like the women’s vocal line. This desired aesthetic of forceful blowing and breathy timbre with many overtones is directly related to the women’s forceful singing style and aysariykuy (see Chapter 5, subheading Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch

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Shell Trumpets). A player usually uses the index and middle fingers of his left hand for fingering the top two holes (holes 1 and 2, in Drawing 1 of Figure 4.5, below), and the same two fingers of the right hand for the bottom two holes (holes 3 and 4, Drawing 1; also see Figure 4.2). The drawings below indicate a person who is doing the opposite, which also occurs (right hand on top, left on bottom). Fingerings are non-sequential, and combinations of one, two and three holes being covered are used in order to render the desired three pitches of the pinkuyllu melody (see Drawings 2, 3, and 4 in Figure 4.5). The three pitches of the pinkuyllu melody can sometimes be played with different fingerings amongst players, so that the choice is individual. In addition, a technique frequently used in transitions from one note to another is to rapidly touch down two or three fingers, covering and uncovering two or three holes with a sort of sharp hit with the fingers.

Drawing 1. Pinkuyllu with four finger holes. Drawing 2. Pinkuyllu fingering: Top hand: one finger raised, one down. Bottom hand: two fingers down.

Drawing 3. Pinkuyllu fingering. Drawing 4. Pinkuyllu fingering. Top hand: one finger down, one finger raised. Top hand: two fingers down. Bottom hand: two fingers down Bottom hand: two fingers raised

Figure 4.5. Four drawings by John Cohen from ca. 1984 (courtesy of John Cohen).

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The pinkuyllu is first played on the Monday morning (Lunes Suyu) of the nine-day Pukllay cycle, first at the Phallchay fertility ritual in the morning (Chapter 6) and then by the authorities (the alcalde, with his regidores and alwasires) as they announce the song of the year. They do it simply, through the act of singing and playing the pinkuyllu, when the group of regidores and alwasires separates in order for each authority to visit all family homes in his home anexo. In this way, on the same morning all Q’eros families of all anexos learn of the song of the year through their representative authorities’ home visits.

Pukllay Ethnography My first observation of Pukllay in 2005, when “Thurpa” was song of the year, forms the basis of this Pukllay ethnography. The form of the celebration was similar for the following two years, 2006 and 2007, when I participated with the women as singer, and we sang “Phallcha” and “Walqa Piñi,” respectively. The authorities’visiting rounds, called watukuy,27 are the first of many visits on various levels that occur during the Pukllay cycle. This first set of watukuy to individual family homes in their respective anexos signaled the official start of Pukllay. The visits took place around midday, between the morning and afternoon Phallchay rituals (Chapter 6). The lively and usually very drunk regidores and alwasires announced their arrival at each home with loud blasts on the pusunis (conch shells), 28 an ancient symbol of authority in the Andes. Upon approaching a home, the men first sounded their pusunis outside. Then, after bursting inside, they stood near the family’s misa (altar, from Spanish mesa, see Chapter 6, subheading The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Setima, and Ritual Objects) and blasted them again, followed by singing

27 Watukuy is Quechua for “to visit.” Many Carnavales elsewhere in the Andes also have a structure that includes visiting rounds from home to home. For example, in La Paz, Bolivia, martes de ch’alla is when people do rounds of home visits on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday and pour libations of singani (Bolivian alcoholic beverage) in the homes and on the Carnaval decorations (pers. com., Vivianne Asturizaga Hurtado, from La Paz, 25 February 2009). Henry Stobart describes home visits of dancing and drinking during Pukllay in Kalankira, Northern Potosí, Bolivia (Stobart 2006, 255). Likewise, Catherine Allen describes paseos from home to home during Pukllay in Sonqo, Paucartambo region, Peru (Allen 2002, 159).

28 Pusunis or pututu date from pre-Hispanic times and have always been valuable items because they were/are brought from far away coasts, often as far as northern and Colombia. They were used by Inca authorities and chaski runners (deliverers of messages on the intricate ), and today they continue to be a sign of command in Q’eros’ Pukllay celebration. Pututu is the more common term throughout the Andes for the instrument because of the “pu-tu-tu” sound they render. The Q’eros, however, use the term pusunis, which I have imagined as a word borrowed from the Spanish bocina (horn or trumpet).

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the chosen song, alternated with playing it on their pinkuyllu while doing a vigorous stomping dance in place. In typical Q’eros style, each person sang/played/danced independently, yet simultaneously (see Chapter 5, subheading Musial Aesthetics of Pukllay taki Performance). This unexpected burst of festive excitement into each home, when the new song choice of the year resounded jubilantly and loudly, was a clear and dramatic start to the ensuing Pukllay festivities. Between singing, playing, and stomping, the authorities greeted all people in the home and drank copious cups of aqha (fermented corn beer), which the hosts served in an ayni offering. Curiously, some members of the household, or an authority, occasionally sang last year’s (2004) song, “Phallcha,” while others simultaneously sang the newly-selected song, “Thurpa.” The concurrent singing of both songs aurally represented the transition from one year to the next, a kind of chawpi transition in the yanantin of the clear establishment of last year’s song and that of the current year. After about twenty minutes or so, the regidores and alwasires departed for the next home to repeat the greeting, singing, dancing, and drinking. On that Monday night, the adults of each anexo formed various extended family groups for all night watukuy from home to home in their respective anexo. In these home visits, the women sang “Thurpa” while standing in an arc-shaped line around the men in the center of the room, who did the stomping dance and played the song on their pinkuyllu. The women and men sang and played simultaneously and continuously, though not coordinated in close heterophony. Women often sang in subgroups of duos and trios, meaning that these groups coordinated the melody in fairly close heterophony within the group, but not with the neighboring subgroup. Quite commonly a woman sang alone, within the texture of other women singing in small groups. The men’s pinkuyllu playing was completely individual, with every man playing individually (though simultaneously) and not in subgroups. The result was a dense texture of widely-overlapping melodic lines (see Chapter 5, subheading Musical Aesthetics of Pukllay taki Performance). The boisterous singing, dancing, talking, and drinking continued until early dawn, indicative of the excitement among all members of the anexo in anticipation of communal Pukllay that would begin the following day. Tuesday morning entailed sleeping off the effects of the watukuy rounds of the night before, and in preparation for the descent to the community center, where the rivers of the castilla and ichiniku valleys meet. By Tuesday afternoon most families of all anexos had made the descent on foot or horseback. Some of the men, especially the authorities, arrived very drunk,

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swaying and singing “Thurpa” on horseback. Necessarily, some people stayed behind in the anexos to herd the animals, and look after the elderly, ill, and infirm.29 On Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning, large groups of women communally peeled and boiled vast quantities of potatoes, and men prepared alpaca meat for community consumption. Both men and women shared the responsibility of watching over the boiling of wiñapu (fermented corn) and the final preparation stages of aqha. Working communally like this is possible in these homes, which are considerably larger than the homes up high, as they are made for extended families and used in public events such as Pukllay.30 Tuesday night featured more rounds of watukuy, with the notable difference that the whole community was involved and not just families in their individual anexos, like the night before. Each individual watukuy group consisted of both extended family and friends, so that members from various anexos were included in one group. The average group size was about twenty or thirty, with roughly equal numbers of men and women. This was a time for extended families to reunite. For example, a daughter who had moved away from her family home to live in her husband’s family home one valley over was now able to reunite and sing with her parents and siblings whom she no longer sees on a daily basis. People dropped in and out of groups spontaneously, so that group size and membership fluctuated constantly. People begin participating in Pukllay when they reached the status of sipas or wayna, a young woman or man respectively who is of marrying age.31 They participate through mature adulthood, even when they have grown children and grandchildren. I noticed the younger

29 Evangelical , which has made inroads into Q’eros as it has in many Andean communities, also contributes to non-attendance of Pukllay by some people. Some Q’eros have converted to evangelical Christianity, which teaches the belief in one God, and prohibits non-Christian celebrations that include excessive drinking, such as at Pukllay. This has caused serious division within some Andean communities and has promoted a loss of tradition. Such is the case in Ancasi, one valley over from Q’eros, where the people no longer celebrate Pukllay or animal fertility rituals, which some have told me is because of their newly-adopted evangelical faith. As of yet, this movement is still small in Hatun Q’eros, but has more of a presence in Hapu, where the people of the anexo of Yanaruma claim to be the only one of the eight Hapu anexos that still practice Q’eros traditions. In Hatun Q’eros, the followers of the evangelical movement known as Maranata have built a small chapel in Chuwa Chuwa, and occasionally a missionary will visit.

30 Other communal events that occur in the community center are: the celebrations of Chayampuy, Easter and Corpus Christi, monthly assembly meetings, work faenas, the corn harvest, and communal weddings.

31 Young men and women tend to have a spouse from around age seventeen or so. The young people have a good deal of choice about whom they partner with, but the decision is only finally approved by the parents and sealed through an ayni ritual, which includes the mutual sharing and exchange of coca leaves and alcohol in a formal meeting. I have not seen this ritual, and this account is based on what has been described to me. 78

children and adolescents were always around, usually falling asleep by their mothers’ sides near the hearth in a home, where the women attended to the cooking and served aqha to the singing visitors as part of the ayni obligation of all hosts to the guests. In this way, the children hear and see all activities and music involved, so that when they reach adulthood they too will be ready to participate. As with all musical production in Q’eros, everything evolved spontaneously and non- verbally. That is, people had a feeling when it was time to start the rounds and join in with whichever group they choose, some starting sooner and others later. Until the early dawn hours on Wednesday the groups went from home to home, when the women energetically sang, the men vigorously danced and played pinkuyllu, and all boisterously drank great amounts of aqha. The musical aesthetic continued to be the dense texture of widely overlapping vocal and pinkuyllu melodies; however, this was significantly magnified now that both numbers of performers and inebriation had increased. The climax of Pukllay was Wednesday afternoon and night, called Sinis by the Q’eros (from “miércoles cenizas,” “Ash Wednesday”). This was the first time everyone donned the special Pukllay clothing, which the women had been weaving for months beforehand. They wove special lliklla (shawls) for themselves and special ponchos for the men, which were replete with bright pink and red pallay (weaving patterns), and decorative fringe that are only worn in Pukllay (see Figures 4.6 and 4.7).32 This new clothing, just like the new song for the year, is always a marker of renewal and is reserved for the Pukllay celebration alone. On Sinis, this most-awaited celebratory afternoon and evening of the entire year, everyone waited for the authorities to summon all people to the center of Hatun Q’eros, Inlis Pampa,33 the large pampa in front of the Church, with loud blasts on the pusunis. Upon hearing the conch shells, the people, now dressed in full Pukllay clothing, began their approach to Inlis

32 Since Incan and pre-Incan times, cloth and clothing have been the expressive medium of status and wealth, and used to denote special ritual occasions in the Andes (see Murra 1962). For an in-depth source on Q’eros textiles, designs, and uses, see Cohen and Rowe 2002. Figures of and information about special Pukllay weavings can be seen on pages 59–62, 69, 106, and 152–3. Yábar Palacio describes Q’eros’ Pukllay clothing that is no longer worn, such as that woven from vicuña, the use of porcelain and copper buttons, and elaborate silver shawl pins (Yábar Palacio 1922, 24–25). One of the Q’eros’ Ñawpa Pukllay taki titled “Awanakus,” names the special pallay used in Pukllay clothing.

33 Inlis is from the Spanish iglesia (church), and pampa refers to the large, open grassy area in front of the Church built by the hacendado.

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Pampa. The men wore their new ponchos and store-bought boots with socks, instead of the daily usuta (ojota sandals). Some were decked out in colorful castilla, the name for a dance sling with long, shaggy red, pink, and blue tassels, tied over the shoulders and hanging down to about knee- length (see Figure 4.6).34 Underneath the castilla and their everyday unku (tunics), they wore the festive huyuna (Spanish jubón, elaborate jackets). The women donned their new llikllas, walqa (bead necklaces), and colorful knee-high socks and store-bought shoes, instead of the daily sandals (see Figure 4.3).35 Many men and women wore monteras (flat hats made of felt and silver thread, which they used to wear daily but now only wear during Pukllay),36 covered with balloons and hanging ribbons. All were very proud to parade and flaunt their new attire.

Figure 4.6. Four men in Pukllay wear castilla Figure 4.7. Three women in Pukllay dress, and one wears a poncho (on the right). Four men wearing walqa bead necklaces, new llikllas, wear monteras, with white, hanging ribbons. socks, and shoes. The two on the outside wear All wear boots and socks, and carry pinkuyllu. monteras.

In the way everyone arrived Inlis Pampa was an embodiment of the meaning of the word “pukllay” (to play). People did not arrive all at once; rather, they used the arrival as a time of teasing, and flirting, and flaunting their full garb. A sort of game of building excitement ensued as everyone delayed the entrance into Inlis Pampa: the men ran around, but not into, the pampa,

34 The dance slings are called castilla because they used to be made from a type of Castilian (from Castilla/Spain). This material was produced during colonial times and purchased by the Q’eros up until about forty years ago. Nowadays the people purchase a synthetic yarn to make these slings (see Cohen 2002, 69).

35 While all other clothing in Pukllay celebrates the traditional, shoes seem to be indicative of an esteemed mestizo or wealth status, as the wearing of shoes distinguishes mestizos from runa. The new weavings and costumes are signs of opulence, as are shoes.

36 For photos of monteras in use, see Cohen and Rowe 2002, 24, 76, 80, 86, and 96. 80

laughing, often slipping in the mud, and playing their pinkuyllu flutes; the women chased one another, giggling and hitting each other’s legs with ortiga (stinging nettle). Finally, the men danced joyfully in haphazard lines into the center of the plaza proper, where they did the stomping dance and played “Thurpa” on their pinkuyllu. The women filed in majestically and stood in an arc-shaped line that faced and encircled the men (see Figure 4.8). They sang from their standing positions while the men continued moving, stomping, laughing, talking, and playing pinkuyllu in the center. This was the same physical and they had assumed during watukuy inside of people’s homes, both in the anexos up high and now in the community center. Those community members who did not participate observed from above and around the pampa (see Figure 4.9), while others served aqha to everyone. Two plastic pitchers or two older wooden qeros of aqha were always served to and drunk by each person, the necessary representation of yanantin. All preparations and festivities in the days before and after were centered on this one day and night, when people gave singing, playing, drinking, eating, and socializing, their all. After performance in Inlis Pampa, there was a large communal feast, which was followed by all-night watukuy. The dark homes were jam-packed with jubilant, and fairly drunk, singers and pinkuyllu players. These were the most boisterous and exuberant watukuy of all, continuing until dawn on Thursday. Morning rest followed, and then one last set of community watukuy commenced for a couple of hours around midday. By late afternoon most people made their ascent back to the homes up high.37 The nature of these ascents varied from tired families walking slowly with frequent rest stops, to fast and often reckless riding on horseback. The horseback riders, particularly the men, were usually still very drunk from the days and nights of singing and dancing in the community center. They rode swiftly up the valleys, often singing “Thurpa” in full voice as their horses galloped along.

37 Lucio Chura Ordoñez described a past Pukllay tradition to me, which occurred on Thursday afternoon before everyone left for the homes up high. Young single women and men (sipas and wayna) would gather and sing to the festival alcalde in a kind of farewell send-off. The song they sang was “Chaskillay Pukllallay” (chaski is “to receive,” so the song was to be “received” by the Pukllay alcalde from the young people). For this event, one young man would cover his clothing entirely in Spanish moss, thus becoming the chaskiy tusuq, the chaskiy dancer, while the group of youth sang. This song was sung on the Thursday of Pukllay up until about twenty years ago (pers. com., 2 February 2007). Lucio sang the song for me (which I recorded), which uses the same descending tritonic melodic contour as the Pukllay taki (see Chapter 5).

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Figure 4.8. Position of men and women in Inlis Figure 4.9. This photo is taken from the women’s Pampa during Pukllay. Men do a stomping dance perspective during the singing in Inlis Pampa and play pinkuyllu flutes in the center. Women on Ash Wednesday. The men are in the center sing while facing the men in an arc-shaped line. of the pampa, part of the Church is on the right, This photo shows the dense fog that often rolls and the people who choose not to participate in from the cloud forest below. watch from above.

From Friday until Tuesday the celebration continued, with four days dedicated to Tinkuy (Friday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday), an obvious form of dance structured around the principle of yanantin, which many Andean communities practice (see Chapter 3, subheading Complementary Duality: Yanantin).38 The younger people of two adjoining valleys met on the high passes that connect the two anexos39 and danced to cassette tapes played on car battery- powered cassette players. The dancers were sipas and wayna, the sipas wearing colorful tassels on their polleras (skirts) to mark their single status, along with young married couples. They danced joyfully and energetically to popular waynos and carnavales in serpentine formation around a mallki, a small tree that had been erected in the middle of the pass specifically for Tinkuy, and decorated with streamers and balloons. They wore the dress of the larger Ocongate region, so that through this combination of dress, music, and dances, they were showing their identification and interconnection with the greater Andean region outside of Q’eros. 40 Each of

38 See Allen 2002, 156–158, and Bolin 1998, 94–100.

39 See Map 2.2 of the four valleys and six anexos of Hatun Q’eros. So, for example, Ch’allmachimpana dances on the passes with Chuwa Chuwa and Qucha Moqo, but not with any of the other three anexos as they are not adjacent. Qolpa K’uchu meets with Qucha Moqo, but not Ch’allmachimpana, etc.

40 The Tinkuy dances can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Qoyllur Rit’i and Corpus Christi” (Wissler, 2007). It can also be seen in John Cohen’s 82

the four Tinkuy celebrations has its own carguyoq (sponsor), responsible for providing food, drink, coca, and a cassette player, with battery and cassettes. This is the system of smaller, local cargos within the larger system of overall festival alcalde with his accompanying regidores and alwasires. On the Saturday after Pukllay, the Phallchay ritual recurred, with some variation, so that the llama and alpaca fertility rituals were interspersed within the Pukllay celebration cycle (see Chapter 6). The musical aesthetics of both Pukllay and animal fertility rituals were similar, and they were a prominent, continuous feature in the nine-days of celebration. In the next chapter I expand upon the musical aesthetics of Pukllay, and show how the melodic relationship between the women’s vocal part and the men’s pinkuyllu part is an expression of the structure of yanantin. I summarize the elements of Pukllay music and musical performance that contribute to social and cosmic renewal and reproduction.

1989 documentary Mountain Music of Peru. In Cohen’s film we see the old form of Tinkuy when the Q’eros used to dance on passes with members of neighboring communities. They have not done this for over a decade, because, many told me, it resulted in “too many fights” with their neighbors. This style of dancing around a mallki tree (also called yunsa) is seen in Pukllay celebrations throughout the southern Peruvian Andes.

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CHAPTER 5 PUKLLAY MUSICAL ANALYSIS: MUSICAL AESTHETICS AND YANANTIN IN MUSICAL PRODUCTION

“Orqo chinantin” “Male together with female”—referring to paired conch shells. Hílario Machacca Apasa, 4 September 2006

“Warmintin qharintinpuni!” “Woman/man inclusively, always!”—referring to everything. Agustín Machacca Flores, 22 May 2006

In this chapter I explore the details of the musical aesthetics of Pukllay, and use two audio examples and transcriptions to explain the aesthetics and musical organization of Pukllay taki performance. The first transcription, on a five-line staff, is one of the Pukllay taki, “Thurpa,” (song of 2005). It is followed by another transcription of my own design that shows how the vocal and pinkuyllu melodies are organized by the structuring principle of yanantin. I argue that this structuring principle comprises all Carnaval songs. I also explain the yanantin relationship between the paired conch shells, as detailed to me by the Q’eros. I summarize by showing how the song topics, gender roles, and yanantin in instrument pairs and song structure, all contribute to social and cosmic regeneration and reproduction.

Musical Aesthetics of Pukllay taki Performance The first time I heard the singing and playing during all-night watukuy in 2005 I was challenged to hear any organized musical structure. Only when I sang with the women in Pukllay the following year in 2006, did I begin to see and hear structure in the performance and a specific aesthetic within the seeming musical chaos. In the following paragraphs, I excerpt my fieldnotes from that first participation to introduce Pukllay musical aesthetics from a candid beginner’s view, and present my emotional response resulting from the experience, which could lend insight into the Q’eros’ emotional response during participation in Pukllay.

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Fieldnotes, 1 March 2006, Pukllay: Today I sang for the first time in Pukllay, in Inlis Pampa with the line of women [Song for 2006 was “Phallcha”]. It was wonderful to be inside that sound: full, rich, exhilarating. Sometimes I sang by myself, sometimes I lined up my singing with my comadre Dominga to my left, just as other women were doing: sometimes singing individually, sometimes with someone. The men moved constantly and vigorously: stomping, singing, playing, laughing, shouting. By this time many were very drunk, and they approached me assertively, talking, joking, hugging, and pressing their ears up to me as I sang full force, followed by gleeful exclamations of “yachankiña!” [you do know our songs!]. The women did not do this. They were still, unmoving, often with hands clasped in front of their polleras [skirts]. Some of the women giggled openly at my singing, which is always a bit unnerving. Now I have come to recognize this laughter as a kind of welcome delight, and perhaps discomfort on their part at the unfamiliarity of a gringa dressed like them who can actually sing the songs. They seemed to accept my singing, for which I was amazed and most grateful.

I was served cup after cup of aqha, always two at a time, and my ensuing inebriation certainly heightened the experience. The continual overlapping of sounds was invigorating, exhilarating, and even transporting I would say—in a wonderful way. Singing forcefully from the gut felt like natural and deep expression. With both the men and women I felt included, as a part of the community. What last year seemed chaotic and random suddenly made sense to me this year. The overlapping, individual expression of singing and playing is their order. I realized this is the Q’eros aesthetic. Non-order making the order— individual making the communal.

To explain the musical aesthetics that I described in my fieldnotes, I present Audio Example 5.1 with an accompanying narrative. The former includes one group singing “Thurpa” during Pukllay in Hatun Q’eros on Ash Wednesday, February 8, 2005. The latter, my narrative, is in Western terms (such as discussing pitches in letter names, and intervals of a third, for

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example). The recording is a compilation (and therefore condensed version) of three consecutive nighttime watukuy of the same group, spanning about a two-hour period, with each singing session in the watukuy lasting about thirty minutes. The group consisted of approximately two dozen people (half women, half men), which was an average size for all groups. I was standing closer to some women than others, which is heard in the recording. The refrain that is continually repeated is, Panti thurpachallay—“My lovely, little pink thurpa flower.”

Audio Example 5.1

Audio Example 5.1, Excerpt 1: This opens with a woman singing the end of a refrain in aysariykuy (prolongation). Many women sing strongly, simultaneously yet individually; also, men are playing pinkuyllu and talking (in the background of the recording). The pitches of the tritonic descending melody that the women sing are roughly A, F#, and a quarter-flat D (that is, a pitch somewhere between D and D-flat). The women join together on a long aysariykuy (0:22–0:28), after which a brief fade follows. (It is the pitch of the aysariykuy that I refer to as the “pitch center” of the song, so in this case the quarter-flat D is the pitch center.)

Audio Example 5.1, Excerpt 2: (0:30) Later during the same watukuy, an authority plays a pusunis conch shell trumpet. The pitch of the pusunis (an approximate D), interestingly, is relatively close to the song’s pitch center, which is not often the case.

—Fade out—

Audio Example 5.1, Excerpt 3 (same group later the same evening): (0:50) There is some talking and pinkuyllu playing. The group has just arrived at a new home and are about to begin fully singing and playing. A woman begins

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singing in a lower pitch range than the pitch center in the previous visit. The pitches she sings approximate a descending major triad (F, D, B-flat). Soon after, we hear a second woman, the same strong singer as in the first watukuy, singing in a pitch center that is one half-step higher (E-flat/D, G, B-flat) than her pitch center in the previous visit (D/D-flat, F#, A) (1:06). These two women sing independently, with different verse texts.

For the next two minutes the two women in the foreground sing independently, and in the background other women also sing independently and men play pinkuyllu, which is constant throughout. Next, the men’s stomping dance is heard (1:20). The woman who sings at the lower pitch level matches her text and melodic line with the other strong singer, but stays within her same pitch range (2:57–3:03). After this, the women continue to sing somewhat together, that is, synchronizing their melodic lines, but with different texts and pitch levels. They finish together on a long aysariykuy (3:12–3:16), roughly a wide third or narrow fourth apart.

—Fade out—

Audio Example 5.1, Excerpt 4, (same group later the same evening): (3:17) The strong woman singer sings in the same pitch range as the previous visit (E-flat/D, G, B-flat). A man sings at the same pitch level, but an octave lower. Another woman sings about a fifth below (roughly G, B, D), the predominant woman’s voice (3:23), so that the aysariykuy of the higher voice is on a E-flat/D, and that of the lower voice is on a G. Then the men’s pinkuyllu playing and stomping dance is prominent (3:47). The men who sing in the background throughout continue to sing an approximate octave below the women’s voices. Around 3:50 one pinkuyllu is prominent, playing his aysariykuy on the approximate pitch of E-flat, similar to the aysariykuy pitch of the prominent group of women’s voices. The woman in the lower pitch range continues to sing about a fifth below the prominent group of women singers in the foreground (4:27).

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The remainder of the recording continues with overlapping women’s singing, men’s singing, pinkuyllu playing, and foot stomping. In these four excerpts we hear the hallmark of Q’eros Pukllay taki performance: the overlapping of many voices and pinkuyllu that simultaneously sing and play the “Thurpa” melody, which results in a dense texture of continuous sound. The melodies are not coordinated in unison or close heterophony; therefore, I prefer to call it “wide overlapping,” in order to distinguish this characteristic feature of Q’eros musical production from other styles of that are played in much closer heterophony. This wide overlap of simultaneous melodic lines, and its resultant dense texture, suggests a possible Amazon jungle connection (see Chapter 2, subheading Vertical Ecology and History). In these excerpts everyone sings and plays in roughly the same tempo. The pitches of the melodic line as sung by the women, and occasionally the men, are a descending triad. The pitch level of the descending melody line varies from singer to singer. By “pitch level,” I refer to what would be called “key” in Western terms, with the “tonic” being the sustained note at the end of every other phrase. The singers sing in pitch levels that vary approximately between the intervals of a third, fifth, or octave apart. For example, the strong singer in Excerpt 1 sang her final aysariykuy (prolongation), on D-flat, while another woman sang hers on B-flat, which is the difference of a third. In Excerpt 4, a man sings an octave lower than the predominant singer, and another woman sings a fifth lower than this same singer. A noticeable feature is that the aysariykuy often allows singers to catch up and temporarily sound together as a drone. The text nearly always varies from singer to singer during the singing of the verses, and only sporadically is it coordinated (for example, Excerpt 3, 2:57). The refrain, Panti thurpachallay, is the only constantly recurring common point of song text amongst all singers. The pitches of the pinkuyllu are all individual, as each pinkuyllu is individually tuned to itself. This often makes for a rich and wonderful dissonance, especially if many pinkuyllu are relatively close in pitch, such as a ‘minor second’ apart. Interestingly, one prominent pinkuyllu melody (Excerpt 4, 3:50) is in the same pitch as the strong group of women singers on aysariykuy, so perhaps the singers took their pitch from the pinkuyllu’s aysariykuy as their pitch level from which to sing. All of the above characteristics point to individuality within a communal aesthetic. Each person sings or plays when she/he wants, in the pitch level and with the text she/he chooses, yet there

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are specific communal aspects, such as an agreed-upon tempo and relative pitch levels, or ‘keys’, among the singers. By “related pitch levels” I mean that the common intervallic differences among pitch levels of the singers are the intervals the melody is based on: that of a descending major/or sometimes minor-sounding triad. In this way, the singers either sing in the same ‘key’, or an approximate third or a fifth apart. Therefore, it seems there is some sense of pitch relativity (‘related keys’) that is comfortable for the singers during communal singing. The microtonal rising in pitch (from Excerpt 1 to 3) probably indicates heightened emotional intensity over the approximate two- hour period of the recording. In sum, Q’eros musical production has much individual expression, such as personal choice regarding timing of singing, text, and pitch level, within the communal boundaries of tempo and relative pitch levels; common phrase endings on aysariykuy; continual, uninterrupted production of musical sound in both the voices and the pinkuyllu; and an unspoken agreement about the approximate length of each singing session during watukuy. The resultant texture and timbre of the musical production of any given watukuy is kaleidoscopic and ever-changing.

Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets When I first heard the Q’eros singing “Thurpa” in the context of Pukllay (Audio Example 5.1), I could not discern if or how the women’s singing and men’s pinkuyllu playing fit together in the sense of coordinated or complementary melodies. The men played a melody on the pinkuyllu completely independently of both one another and of the women’s singing, and in this lack of synchronization of melodic lines (again, in the ‘Western’ sense), I could not discern the relationship between the two parts. Only when I recorded individual couples out of the context of Pukllay could I hear and begin to understand the complementary relationship between the two melodic lines. In Audio Example 5.2, I recorded Juliana Apasa Flores and Agustín Machacca Flores singing and playing “Thurpa” in my apartment in Cusco (September 12, 2005), that is, out of the Pukllay context. In this recording, Juliana’s singing and Agustín’s pinkuyllu playing of their melodies is in much closer heterophony than the wide overlapping of individually performed melodies I heard during watukuy at Pukllay, making it possible to hear clearly the relationship between the vocal and pinkuyllu melodic lines.

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Audio Example 5.2

Musical Transcription 5.1 shows the first verse of Audio Example 5.2, which is the same for all subsequent verses (the text of the first six verses of Audio Example 5.2 is translated in Song Text 4.1, and the text of all twenty-four verses of Audio Example 5.2 is translated in Appendix B). The pinkuyllu part is the top line of notation, and the vocal line is the bottom. Where only one note appears in the transcription, the two parts share the pitch. While they never play exactly in unison as this transcription portrays, I do the transcription this way to show my assessment of the relationship between the two parts.

Musical Transcription 5.1: “Thurpa” in five-line staff notation. (Recorded out of context, in Cusco, Peru, 12 September 2005)1

The form and melodic contour of both the vocal and pinkuyllu parts in “Thurpa” is representative of the form and melodic contour of all Kunan Pukllay taki and all the Ñawpa Pukllay taki that I have been able to hear and record (See Appendix B for transcriptions of all

1 All transcriptions first show the original pitches of the recorded example, which are then transposed for easier reading in the five-line staff.

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Kunan Pukllay taki). The women sing the principal melody of the songs in ABAB1 form (B1 is the aysariykuy), which basically outlines a major triad (do, mi, sol of Western solfege). In the case of Juliana’s recording and Musical Transcription 5.1, she sings three pitches that approximate B-flat, D, and F, which make up the tonic major triad in B-flat major. However, her ‘tonic’ pitch is slightly ‘flat’, so that the rendered pitch is somewhere between B-flat and A, resulting in a quality that is somewhat minor-sounding. This same ambiguity in major/minor quality is present in Audio Example 5.1. Many areas in the Andes use a similar tritonic mode as a melodic base for songs, and Dale Olsen suggests that mid-twentieth century recordings by Peruvian musicologists suggest that “the so-called tritonic scale (three notes), is more basic than the pentatonic” (Olsen 1980, 408). Songs comprised of three pitches are often associated with ancient Andean ritual such as animal fertility and marcación (marking). Peruvian ethnomusicologist Raúl Romero explains that the most frequently occurring pitches in Andean tritonic melodies correspond to those of a major triad, and only occasionally to a minor triad. Romero adds that this tritonic scale is more commonly found in marcación del ganado (animal marking ceremony, often with ear tassels) and Carnaval songs in the southern Andes of Peru (Romero 2002, 49–50), which is the case with the Q’eros’ Pukllay taki, and alpaca and llama songs (Chapters 4–7). This tuning system appears in some of the earliest (mid-twentieth century) recordings that José María Arguedas made in Peru, as well as Josafat Roél Pineda’s recordings in the Apurimac and Huancavelica areas.2 In 1966 and 1967 German-Peruvian musicologist Rodolfo Holzmann organized the collection and transcription of a variety of field recordings in the central and southern Andes, many of which have this scale base (Holzmann 1989, 21–41 [1968]). A more recent study is Denise Arnold and Juan de Dios Yapita’s collection of animal songs in the community of Qaqachaka in the area of Potosí, Bolivia, which shows this same descending tritonic melodic mode in many of the songs (Arnold and Yapita 2001).3 Similarly, Barbara Bradby’s research on the cattle marking

2 This information is based on recordings C/86/23/132 Antologia de música de Huancavalica, C/86/23/124 and C/86/23/125 Antologia de música de Apurimac (Pineda, from 1960–2), and C/87/24/242 (Arguedas, recordings from 1960–1963), housed in the audiovisual of the Instituto de Etnomusicología de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (Lima).

3 “Song of Good Luck” for the female llama, the female alpaca song, and the female llama mating song are three examples that show a similar descending tritonic melodic pattern, as heard in the Q’eros animal fertility songs “Machu Taki” (for the male llama) and “Pantilla T’ika” (for the female llamas and alpacas) (Arnold and Yapita, 2001, pages 234, 258 and 272, respectively).

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ceremonies in San Diego de Ishua, Ayacucho, Peru, also includes tritonic songs based on a major triad (Bradby 1987). All of the above-mentioned examples use this scale base in the songs of many Andean regions, spreading far beyond Q’eros. The interesting feature about Q’eros’ tritonic songs is the complementary relationship between the sung melody and the pinkuyllu melody. Musical Transcription 5.1 shows Juliana’s vocal melody beginning on sol, and then moving between sol and mi, eventually working its way down to do, which is always the pitch center (the ‘tonic’) the women sustain during aysariykuy. The three pitches Agustín plays are G, F, and D, which are the la, sol, and mi pitches in relationship to Juliana’s B-flat major triad base. The pinkuyllu melody begins on sol, just like the vocal melody, then moves between sol and mi with an occasional leap up to la, and always settles on sol for the aysariykuy. Therefore, the two parts have the shared pitches of sol and mi in common, and they sound at an interval of a fifth on the aysariykuy with the voice on do and the pinkuyllu on sol. When Pukllay taki are performed out of context, as in Audio Example 5.2, the woman matches her singing pitch to the pinkuyllu pitch in the relationship outlined above, so that her aysariykuy is the do to his sol. If the man plays a small pinkuyllu, which is in a high pitch range, the woman usually sings an octave below; however, the integrity of the pitch relationship is maintained in the way I describe above.4 In context, the women do not often ‘tune’ their singing to many individually-tuned pinkuyllu, and instead they tend to sing in their own comfortable pitch ranges, as heard in Audio Example 5.1. Also heard in Example 5.1 is the possibility that some of the women were tuning their voices to one particular pinkuyllu (Excerpt 4, 3:50). Q’eros songs differ from the music of many of their neighboring communities in that the pinkuyllu and vocal melodies are not the same; rather, the two melodies are similar rhythmically, but differ enough in pitch structure so that they are complementary. By contrast, I have heard Pukllay taki sung in the community of Chilca Finaya in the Ausangate region to the south of Q’eros, where the pinkuyllu melody plays the same melody in heterophony to the vocal line. The same is true in Ancasi, just one valley over from Q’eros, and in Qoña Muru near Tinki, Ocongate.

4 There are a few women I have heard sing who do not follow this relationship, but instead sing the difference of a ‘fifth’ from the pinkuyllu melody, so that the pitch she sings on aysariykuy is the same as that of the man’s pinkuyllu. This, however, was not as common as the norm of the woman singing a ‘fifth’ below the pitch of the pinkuyllu on aysariykuy.

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While the melodies in Q’eros songs vary from song to song in subtle ways,5 the complementary relationship between the women’s and men’s melodies remains the same for all songs in the Pukllay taki corpus. Rodolfo Holzmann, who provided amazingly accurate transcriptions of some of John Cohen’s earlier Q’eros song recordings, failed to see this relationship. Holzmann transcribed Cohen’s recordings that were recorded out of context, as the one I provide above, where the relationship is easier to hear. Holzmann states: Las escalas instrumentales coinciden raras veces con las vocales. Asimismo, la técnica melódica instrumental se desarrolla, por lo general, separadamente de la vocal. The instrumental scales rarely coincide with the vocal ones. Also, the instrumental melodic technique develops, in general, separately from the vocal one (Holzmann 1986 [1968], 13–14, my translation).

Holzmann’s conclusion, like mine upon first hearing in Pukllay taki performed in context, was probably influenced by the fact that the women and men do not sing/play in close heterophony, so that the relationship between the two parts is not obvious. His meticulous transcription (Musical Transcription 5.2, below) of Cohen’s 1964 recording of the Q’eros’ song “Wallata”6 (Audio Example 5.3) shows that the woman does indeed sing in a major triad (A, C#, E), and the pinkuyllu also plays the sol (E) and mi (C#) of this A major triad. In addition, the two parts form an interval of a ‘fifth’ on the sustained aysariykuy (m. 10 in the vocal part, m. 15 in the pinkuyllu part). If he had simply shifted the pinkuyllu part forward to begin with the vocal melody, the relationship between the two, as I outline above, is apparent.

Audio Example 5.3

5 The subtle variance among song melodies is a common trait of Andean music, which is born out of communal societies where styles are socialized, versus markedly different styles that evolve in more capitalistic and individualistic societies.

6 Cohen’s recording of “Wallata” that Holzmann transcribed is track 14 of 1991 [1964], Mountain Music of Peru. Smithsonian/Folkways CD SF 40020.

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Musical Transcription 5.2. Rodolfo Holzmann’s transcription of John Cohen’s 1964 recording of “Wallata.” From: Holzmann, Rodolfo. 1986. Q’ero: Pueblo y Musica. Lima: Patronato Popular y Provenir, 238–9. This transcription pertains to Audio Example 5.3.

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While Holzmann’s accurate transcription, and mine above, provide informative and interesting five-line staff notations of Q’eros songs, a deeper and more culturally pertinent point is present and should be considered: that of the Q’eros’ cosmological perspective, which is imbedded in the structural relationship between the two melodies. Further analysis shows a relationship of yanantin between the two melodies, that is, complementary female and male halves that are in symmetry around a center, or chawpi. I argue that the song structure of Q’eros Pukllay taki is best understood in terms of yanantin as a structuring principle. To show yanantin as structuring principle, refer to Musical Transcription 5.3 of “Thurpa,” which I have reworked in a simplified three-line staff with shading that marks the warmi, qhari, and chawpi relationships between the two parts. Also refer to Table 4, “Yanantin Examples in Q’eros Community and Music.” The three lines of the staff maintain intervallic spacing integrity and mark the song’s principal pitches: do, mi, and sol. The up stems represent the pitches of the qhari (pinkuyllu) melodic line, and the down stems are those of the warmi (voice) melodic line.

Musical Transcription 5.3:7 “Thurpa” notated to show yanantin relationship in song structure.

7 This transcription and the similar ones in Appendix B were created by Trevor Harvey. 95

In the verse section (mm. 1–3), the voice and pinkuyllu melodies meet and overlap on the pitches sol and mi. Both parts are nearly exactly the same, with the exception of the leap up to la by the pinkuyllu in the last beat of measure 2. I call this first section (shaded in purple), the tinkuy or chawpi, as both the man’s and woman’s parts are meeting (tinkuy) in a center (chawpi) on the same two pitches. These two pitches are more or less in the musical center of all four pitches of both parts; that is, sol and mi are the center two pitches between la (exclusively a man’s pitch) and do (exclusively a woman’s pitch). Catherine Allen’s statement about the characteristics of yanantin could be used to describe this chawpi section of the song: “Cosmos, community, household and the individual [and song structure] are realized through the fusion of opposites, like the warmi and qhari, each of which contains the other [the shared pitches of sol and mi]” (Allen 2002, 179, my insertions in brackets). This chawpi section, where the pitches are shared and exactly overlap, is “the fusion of opposites,” when the two parts are temporarily fused into one. Allen reminds that “[Such] a noncontextual listing of binary oppositions unavoidably presents as static and absolute what are in actuality fluid and context-dependent relationships” (ibid., 179–180). The relationship between the two parts, or “binary opposition,” is fluid, as both melodies progress and change. The melodies are not “static and absolute;” rather, the short rhythmic values and descending movement in the warmi melody (mm. 3–5) propel both parts forward towards a common goal: aysariykuy. In the refrain (mm. 5–7), the warmi and qhari parts become clearly established as stable and separate parts. Here, the melodic lines do not have the same forward movement as in the chawpi; rather, the pitches are sustained (do in the warmi and sol in the qhari), like the two halves of yanantin, which have temporarily settled in equilibrium. Even in musical terms, stability is established: the interval of a perfect fifth is one of the most comfortable and commonly-occurring intervals of sound in both the natural and musical world. The goal of aysariykuy for the Q’eros, however, is much more than comfortable singing. It has deep cosmological significance regarding the management and direction of samay, or breath and life essence through song, which influences well-being (see Chapter 8, subheading Aysariykuy: So that the Songs Arrive). In this sense, the arrival at aysariykuy, then, is full of intention, in which both parts, warmi and qhari, work together in equilibrium towards a common goal: the management and direction of life essence through breath.

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The forward melodic motion of both parts in the chawpi, toward the common goal of aysariykuy, is the dynamic synergy of the two parts joining “para avanzar,” “to advance,” in the words of Jorge Flores Ochoa (pers. com., 7 April, 2007). This advancement is how “Phenomena are conceptualized as male and female and interact with one another in a dialectic fashion to form a new syntheses [sic], such as new cycles of time and new generations of people, plants, and animals” (Isbell 1978, 11). The “dialectic” interaction takes place between the shared pitches of sol and mi in the chawpi section, where both parts are juxtaposed and moving toward synthesis and reconciliation, which is the stabilization of both parts in the sustained tones and common intention of aysariykuy. The dialectic can be viewed on a larger scale as well: because performance is non-stop singing and playing during the all-night sessions of watukuy, the dialectic is a continuous and interdependent interaction as the song continually starts anew. The management of samay is continually being shaped and re-shaped (see Chapter 8, subheading Aysariykuy: So that the Songs Arrive). The music is not static but is an ever-moving and changing “cycle” of yanantin. We can also consider the possible significance of the woman ending low and the man ending high as another establishment of warmi and qhari. The ending pitches create a low/high relationship. The lower pitch of do may have warmi associations, like Pacha Mama, valleys, and the interior world of uhu pacha, and similarly the higher pitch of sol may have subliminal qhari associations, like the Apu, mountains, and the superior world of hanan pachaq (refer to Table 3.1). Many aspects of Q’eros and Andean life express the yanantin dialectic as described above. By extension, the dialectic is manifest subliminally in the song structure as well. Recognizing the various expressions of this structure in other, larger aspects of Q’eros (and Andean) life helps to see its persistence in the smaller aspects, such as song structure. An obvious form of symmetry with a center in Q’eros is the layout of the community structure: the community center of Hatun Q’eros is both halfway between the puna and monte, and the left (ichiniku/warmi) and right (castilla/qhari) valleys of the community. It serves as center in practical location (harvest and herding activities) as well as function (political meetings, community rituals), and it is therefore the place of maintenance and continual re-construction of “new syntheses” for community well-being.

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Many scholars in Andean studies have noted symmetrical organization around a center in various aspects of Andean life (Platt 1986; Sallnow 1987; Schaedel 1988; Silverman-Proust 1988; Franquemont, et al. 1992; Gelles 1995). Olivia Harris’s work in Potosí, Bolivia with the Aymara Laymi people, shows the dual design of land management patterns and weaving designs as having equidistance from a center, with the position of the center as contextually defined by what is on either side (Harris 2000). Harris summarizes: “The aesthetic principles underlying the organisation of space in these textiles offer a striking similarity to the pattern of access to land and different ecological resources among Northern Potosí , one which finds echoes in some pre-Spanish political structures of the Aymara region” (ibid., 104). Similarly, Barbara Bradby proposes that the sequence of days in festivals in San Diego de Ishua, Ayacucho, Peru achieves symmetry around a center, drawing analogies between the center-oriented vertical land management and structure of the festival cycle (Bradby 1987, 201– 2). Bradby points out that songs in a tritonic scale are used in the peak days (center days) of a nine-day festival cycle. She posits: “The tritonic emerges as a scale that is definitely associated with ancient Andean ritual, but as one that is used to interrupt the formal proceedings with their predominant pentatonic sounds, and to recuperate local music in the gaps at central points of the fiestas” (ibid., 214). Likewise, we see this same symmetrical organization around a center in Q’eros weavings, as seen in Figures 5.1 and 5.2, which show typical Q’eros weaving patterns in a woman’s lliklla (shawl). Figure 5.1 shows combinations of rising (lluqsiy) and setting (haykuy) suns (inti). The diamond shapes are whole suns that are divided in half to show the rising and setting aspects. The half with the darker rays (black and maroon), symbolizes the setting sun (haykuy inti), which is warmi, as night is female. Likewise, the half with the lighter extending rays (pink and orange), represents the rising sun (lluqsiy inti), and is qhari, as day is male. Yet the complete diamond shape in the center of each half is the chawpi section where female and male meet and together form one unit: the entire sun. In this way, female and male elements are represented visually in a central overlap (warmi conjoined with qhari; elements of day in night [dusk], and night in day [dawn]). The symmetrical, well-defined rising and setting aspects extend on either side of the central overlap.

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Figure 5.1. Yanantin is woven in the Figure 5.2. Yanantin is woven in the opposing inti lluqsiy-haykuy design in a weaving. ch’unchu design. The red ch’unchu on the left is warmi, and the blue on the right is qhari.

Likewise, Figure 5.2 shows the emblematic Q’eros ch’unchu design that represents Amazonian inhabitants. The heads of two ch’unchu meet in the center, and their plumage/body8 extends out in opposite directions from this center, resulting in a mirror image.9 Again, the warmi and qhari halves mirror the ch’unchu design in the center, with symmetrical, well-defined extensions on either side of the center. 10 This visual representation, then, has its complement in musical representation. There is a chawpi where both warmi and qhari connect and interact: the diamond sun and conjoined heads of the ch’unchu in the weaving patterns/the pitches of sol and mi in the songs. Similarly, there is symmetrical, well-defined warmi/qhari halves that emerge in equidistance from that center: the sun rays of the inti and plumage of the ch’unchu extend from a shared center, just like the pitches of sol and do are sustained on aysariykuy.11 While the medium of weaving is conducive to the creation of halves that are equal, it is also common for halves to be unequal, which I believe is the case with the two melodies. Tom Cummins states in his studies of pairs of qeros: “Although they are made in pairs, there is a

8 I have heard this described as both feathers and the body.

9 Gail Silverman concludes from her research on the ch’unchu pallay that this figure represents Incarí from the Q’eros origin myth (Silverman 1994, 113–137).

10 For comprehensive sources on Q’eros weaving designs, see Cohen and Rowe 2002, and Silverman 1994.

11 In addition, there is yanantin within yanantin in the ch’unchu weaving. Besides each individual ch’unchu containing its female and male half, the blue-colored ch’unchu is qhari in relationship to the red warmi one. While usually the cooler (blues, greens) are associated with qhari and the warmer (reds, pinks) with warmi, this can change according to context. When red and pink are together, pink becomes qhari to the red warmi. This information was told to me by two adolescent girl weavers, and later confirmed by their mother.

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slight difference in size, such that one is Hanan and one Hurin. The individuality of each vessel is mitigated by their being mirror images of each other. This concept of mirror image, part of moiety competition and reconciliation, is called yanantin” (Cummins 2002, 260). The vocal and pinkuyllu melodies mirror one another because they have similar melodic lines and the same rhythm. However, I consider the woman’s melody to be the principal one (hanan) because she sings the text of the song and the tritonic scale of her melody is the one most ubiquitously found in other Andean regions, giving it an organizational structure common to much Andean music in general. Thus, if warmi has the main melody (hanan), with pinkuyllu accompaniment (hurin), the individuality of both parts is “mitigated by their being mirror images of each other.” The individuality of both parts is also “mitigated” when they join and create a balance in the sustained aysariykuy, which are both a musical balance (the sustained ‘fifth’) and a cosmological one (when samay is infused into both parts). Similarly, the pusunis the Q’eros authorities use during Pukllay are also unequal halves of yanantin, as they are organized in pairs of unequal conch shells. Hilário Machacca Apasa first told me about the warmi/qhari aspect of paired pusunis, where the warmi conch is called q’ompo (round, spherical smooth), and the qhari is called ch’acha (undulated, with crests) (pers. com., 4 September 2006). The q’ompo pusunis has physical characteristics that are more female, such as a round, shiny, and smooth surface. Similarly, the ch’acha is more male, and is said to be “waqrachayoq,”“with horns,” because the many protruding bumps on the shell are reminiscent of bulls’ or rams’ horns or the cock’s crest. The q’ompo (warmi) voice is described as ñañu (thin), while the ch’acha (qhari) pusunis is described as rakhu (thick), as well as kallpasapa k’unkayoq (“with a strong, vigorous voice”). Any alcalde, along with his team of regidores and alwasires, will want q’ompo/ch’acha pusunis as components of his cargo, for balance. Hilário summarized the combination of both pusunis as “orqo chinantin” (male together with the female), which is akin to Agustín’s insistence of “warmintin qharintinpuni!,” “woman/man inclusively, always!” (pers. com., 22 May 2006) (see Chapter 3, subheading Complementary Duality: Yanantin). Another interpretation of Q’eros song structure is to consider that a song, in its yanantin whole, has four pitches. To illustrate, I often refer the holistic aspect of yanantin in Q’eros song as 3 + 3 = 4. That is to say, combining the tritonic warmi melody with the tritonic qhari melody, considering that both parts share two pitches, yields a total of four pitches in the yanantin whole.

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This is the meaning of the ntin suffix: together as one. This does not contradict or discount the idea that I believe the women sing the principal melody that is based on the common Andean scale of a descending major triad, while the men play the complementary support. In this way, like the pusunis, the female and male parts are unequal, but together make up the two necessary, complementary halves that comprise the yanantin whole. Cummins’ statement summarizes this philosophy: “Ontologically, an object, such as a quero that manifests yanantin, exists as a pair and is not sufficient in and of itself. Its telos is as a pair (Cummins 2002, 260, my emphasis).” The telos of Pukllay taki song production is both parts together “as a pair,” with their differing yet complementary and inseparable yanantin aspects. By way of anecdote, I also illustrate the varying perceptions one can have regarding Q’eros songs, even after significant immersion in Q’eros culture and hearing the music repetitively in context. I devised the idea of 3 + 3 = 4 as the result of a conversation I held with John Cohen on our one and only trip to Q’eros together in August, 2005. We had numerous discussions about the Q’eros’ melodies and our understandings of them. He would talk about the Q’eros’ “four-note tunes,” and in response I said that both the vocal and pinkuyllu melodies had three pitches each, which I then sang and played for him in demonstration. He paused, smiled, and said that he had been hearing the songs in their “perceived gestalt” (pers. com., 16 August 2005). With the perspectives outlined in this chapter, both points of view are valid. My hypothesis that yanantin is imbedded in the structure of Q’eros Pukllay taki shows the Q’eros’ perception and worldview as it subliminally expresses itself in musical structure. This idea is akin to anthropologist David Guss’s work with the Yekuana of , when he states, “In a society such as the Yekuana’s, it was possible to see the entire culture refracted through a single object or deed” (Guss 1989, 4). He saw the Yekuana worldview as it was replicated in their basket-weaving designs, just as I see yanantin represented in song structure. Likewise, Catherine Allen comments on the pervasiveness of dual structure in Andean society: “These oppositions bear witness to a pervasive Andean tendency to think and behave in terms of dialectical oppositions ingrained as ‘habitus’ at the level of mundane and semiautomatic activities like farming, cooking, and coca-chewing”—to which I add music-making (Allen 2002, 179). Allen is referring to habitus as defined by Pierre Bourdieu, who explains the assimilation of structure through “daily participation,” “silent observation,” and “interactions with relatives”

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which leads to the “em-bodying of the structures of the world” (Bourdieu 1977, 89). Indeed, one of my lengthier discussions about yanantin was with an eleven-year-old girl, who was able to articulate chawpi, warmi, and qhari in her own weaving, which she had learned through participation, observation, and interaction with family.12 While the young girl, and many others in Q’eros, articulate yanantin in weaving designs, the musical roles of women and men in Pukllay, paired pusunis, and the spatial organization of their community, to name a few of many examples, the Q’eros do not name yanantin in song structure. Indeed, they do not talk about music in any of the technical musical terms that I have employed, such as tritonic melody, melodic contour, form, and rhythm. Yet it makes sense that because complementary duality is internalized and expressed in so many aspects of their lives, yanantin in song structure is simply an example of cultural insistence, refraction, and habitus.

Social and Cosmic Reproduction Elements in Pukllay The many musical aspects of Pukllay contribute on some level to the renewal of social ties, the reinforcement of women’s and men’s social roles, and the reproduction of the Q’eros’ cosmological worldview. Renewal and reproduction are the predominant themes during Pukllay. Nature exhibits regeneration in the blooming of flowers, and birthing of llamas and alpacas. A few young people who have ‘come of age’ (sipas and wayna—young women and men of partnering age) who did not sing or play at the previous year’s Pukllay return, add youthful freshness to the community attendance. The fact that the previous year’s song gives way to a newly chosen one on the first day of the Pukllay cycle is the sonic symbol of renewal. The singing of any new song is a recycling and reaffirmation of what is important and beautiful to the Q’eros, as people articulate affection for the topic, communally and poetically, through song. The repeated verses are both personalized expression (for example, personal choice of verses that are sung at any time, in a variety of pitch levels, often with individual places named in the text), within the act of simultaneous, communal singing, so that singing and

12Ed and Christine Franquemont and Billie Jean Isbell propose that there is a dynamic relationship between weaving and cognitive structure, that is, in the act of weaving, the structure and understanding of yanantin comes to the fore (Franquemont, et al., 1992, 49). In this article, the Franquemonts and Isbell drew on Michel de Certeau’s philosophy of acquisition of knowledge. De Certeau states, “This “genesis” [of knowledge] implies an interiorization of structures and an exteriorization of achievements--what Bourdieu calls habitus (de Certeau 1984, 57).

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playing recharges both the individual and the community. The text personifies the topic, addressing it as a living, interactive, and feeling entity. The text is therefore a sung expression of the Q’eros belief in animu, and as such is the reproduction of a basic cosmological tenet through singing. Various stages of the festival structure restate and reaffirm social ties, on both small and large community levels. The nine-day celebration expands and contracts among various group associations, beginning with the family level when individual families re-create bonds within the family, and with their animals and spirit world (Phallchay animal fertility ritual, topic of Chapter 6). The celebration then expands to the local area level, when the regidores and alwasires visit every home in their anexo and announce the chosen song through singing. And finally, it expands to the full-blown community level in Hatun Q’eros, when the whole community sings and plays simultaneously. In this way, through the musical action of watukuy, the Q’eros re- connect with and re-establish bonds with people on the small scale intimate family level, on the local anexo level, and the large-scale communal level. People are able to join whichever group they like on the communal level, thereby reconnecting with people they have perhaps not seen in a while. The actual physical movement of the visiting rounds is a recycling and re-energizing of social bonds, as groups often ‘bump into’ one another (aurally and physically) in the dark night going from home to home. In addition, Pukllay is the only celebration when family members who have moved out of Q’eros (to Cusco, Paucartambo, or Ocongate, for example) return to participate, so that the entire community, including the migrants, is reunited. This recementing of bonds no doubt impacts the cohesive quality of many activities that involve interactions on any one of those levels (individual, family, anexo, communal), such as herding, agricultural planting, weeding and harvesting, child-rearing, work faenas, and community decisions and actions. The Pukllay cycle reestablishes, hierarchical structures and reinforces reciprocal obligations within the community. The authorities who have received their cargos at Chayampuy two weeks prior to Pukllay, enforce these new roles first in their watukuy visits in the anexos, which are then restated in communal celebration. The act of blowing the pusunis is a continual sonic reminder of their status. Every home fulfills its ayni obligations to the authorities, when people necessarily provide aqha and coca to the regidores and alwasires during the watukuy visits in the anexos. Similarly, when the festival moves to Hatun Q’eros, the community together

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fulfills obligations both to the authorities and to one another through gift and labor contributions. Gifts are in-kind, such as meat, potatoes, coca, and alcohol; shared labor includes making aqha, preparing food, and serving and cleaning during community feasts. In this way, the people demonstrate and reinforce mutual reciprocity in a highly concentrated and intense way during Pukllay, recementing the web of community ayni obligations in general, which then continues throughout the remainder of the year in a less concentrated, more daily and, importantly, functional form. The expression of specific musical roles during watukuy reaffirms women’s and men’s gender and social roles in the community. Their physical formation during watukuy shows the separate, yet complementary, relationship they have to one another in the operation of community affairs: the women are together in one arc-line around the edge of the room, and the men are together, in the center of the room. Both groups are clearly separate, yet together. The roles in the community are delineated as such: the women are the herders and caretakers of the home and children; the men are the agriculturalists, and they run community politics and maintenance projects. Both have separate yet interconnected roles that contribute to overall Q’eros livelihood. The women’s and men’s physical traveling both within the community and to areas outside of Q’eros is also embodied during watukuy. In musical performance, the women stand still and composed in their arc-line; they do not dance at all, and they only move in order to talk or receive an offering of food or aqha. Their composure reflects how they stay close to their home areas in daily life. Even though the women walk as they herd the animals, they herd only in the nearby pasture areas, and normally they do not travel long distances except during the corn harvest; even then they are still within Q’eros territory. Women sometimes travel to areas outside of Q’eros, but not as often as the men, and never alone. The men, by contrast, are in constant movement during watukuy as they do a vigorous and continual stomping dance while playing the pinkuyllu, moving their bodies to and fro. They also change positions amongst themselves in their center space in the room. This mirrors how they continually move up and down the vertical area of Q’eros, even in one day, from the highest potato fields in the puna to the low cornfields in the monte, tending to the crops, or attending a community meeting or work faena. The men travel regularly to areas outside Q’eros, such as the nearby markets of Tinki, Ocongate, and Paucartambo, or the large urban city of Cusco.

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In addition, the general disposition of individuality and assertiveness on the part of the women and men is reproduced musically. The women are less individualistic than the men in their music-making. While text choice and timing of individual singing reflect individuality, the women’s song performance embodies many unifying characteristics: the women are poised in one singing line; subgroups often sing together and sustain aysariykuy together before starting the song anew; the pitch centers they sing in are the same or related; and tempo is uniform. During any given watukuy, the women are either singing, silently resting, or consuming food or drink that the host of the home has served. In community life the women also express less public individuality than the men. They are not as vocal as the men when both are present in group activities. The women do not attend community assembly meetings, and therefore have little to no say in community decisions. By contrast, the men express individual assertiveness musically, in that they tune and play their pinkuyllu completely separately and independently, yet simultaneously. In addition, during any given watukuy the men exuberantly talk, yell, or even fight; that is to say, they are more extroverted and individually expressive than the women. In community life, the men run the monthly assembly meetings where they express (often heatedly) individual thoughts and feelings that lead to decisions for community politics and work projects. In sum, women and men re-create the fundamental characteristics of their respective genders and their social relationships within the community through distinct musical roles in singing and playing, physical positions and movement, and even melodic tuning. As in Agustín’s words, “warmintin qharintinpuni!,” “woman/man inclusively, always!,” the warmi and qhari aspects of musical production must always be present; the women sing, the men play the pinkuyllu, and the very structure of the song, with its imbedded yanantin that is repeated for days and nights on end. This results in a continual recycling and reiteration of the yanantin relationship between the women and men. In this way, musical production in Pukllay is a type of aural chawpi, where the sonic energies of the warmi and qhari aspects continually overlap, such that when Pukllay is over, the celebration has reaffirmed the established relationship between the two and reinforced equilibrium. Gary Urton, borrowing the theoretical stance of cultural insistence as put forth in Robert and Marcia Ascher’s work on the khipu before him, says “. . . a civilization defines its essential character through the pervasive and repetitious rehearsal or reproduction of its core values and

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ways of doing and organizing things” (Urton 2003, 44). Musical production (singing, pinkuyllu playing, and the physicality of both) in Pukllay is the “repetitious rehearsal or reproduction” of the Q’eros’ core cosmological perception and worldview of yanantin, from the minute level of melodic relationship, to the balance and necessity of simultaneous women’s singing and men’s pinkuyllu playing. On a larger level, when they meet, sing, and play, the community’s chawpi reflects the unification of the two sides of Q’eros physical and social yanantin: ichiniku (left valleys) and castilla (right valleys). Probably the most important aspect to consider about Q’eros musical production in Pukllay is the overall gestalt in the sense of “a configuration, pattern, or organized field having specific properties that cannot be derived from the summation of its component parts, a unified whole” (Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary1996, 802). Steven Feld states that the sound of the Kaluli people’s “gisalo performance has a specific gestalt” when performed in a longhouse “packed with people and filled with sound” (Feld 1982, 179). The same is true of the overall gestalt of Q’eros Pukllay taki performance, in that it takes on a specific feel and sound aesthetic when large groups of drunken people sing in a crowded, dark atmosphere. Analyses, descriptions, dissections, and understandings of individual parts render just that; they are the component parts. But the “unified whole,” and the effects of that unified whole, are the purpose of Pukllay. The overall synthesis of these combined parts of social and cosmic reproduction and, particularly, the experience of it, hold meaning for the people. Comparing the word yanantin with gestalt is not far-fetched, because, as we have seen, the individual parts never stand or operate on their own. The overall gestalt and effectiveness of Pukllay can be gauged by how the people feel, and what remains with them afterward (which I believe I experienced in my participation, as expressed in my fieldnotes excerpt). In my three times at Pukllay (once as observer, twice as singing participant), I have felt the Q’eros release to be extreme. Certainly all have fun, as the definition of the word pukllay (“to play”) implies. The two times I stood with the women and sang, the exuberance of the men always amazed me. While stomping, they bump into each other inadvertently, often hug, yell, tease, and sometimes even fight verbally and push each other. They allow themselves to be fully drunk, some completely soaked in aqha that has spilled down the front of their ponchos. In this maximal inebriation they fully play and sing all through the night, for nights on end. This full drunkenness is a desired state for social cohesion and transformation (see more on ceremonial

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drinking in Chapter 6, subheading Phallchay Ethnography and Introduction to Grief-Singing). I have been told numerous times that “we sing better when we are drunk,” and I interpret this “better” to be partially based on the amount of release and abandon with which they sing and the aesthetic that creates, versus any kind of musical technique. In a word, the aesthetic is the feeling behind it. While the women do not dance and move like the men do, I believe the women fully release their emotions through their singing. The full-bodied style of singing and full expulsion of air during aysariykuy are both physical and emotional discharges. When I walked with the women between homes during watukuy, I experienced them to be ecstatic, with extroverted teasing, giggling, and pushing. This running, giggling, drinking, and full singing is a welcomed and necessary break from their daily life of cooking, and regularly-occurring hardships, such as herding in inclement weather, death of animals, and illness of their children. My own experience participating in Pukllay I believe lends insight into the experience Q’eros may have: “The wide overlapping of sounds was invigorating, exhilarating, and even transporting I would say—in a wonderful way” (fieldnotes excerpt, 1 March 2006). In anthropologist Victor Turner’s model, this liminal festival space allows for a range of emotions to be expressed, from anger and fighting, to talking and crying, and joyful embrace. This extreme communal sharing during incessant music-making contributes to feelings of communitas, or the creation of a sense of equality, comradeship, and love, all of which serve to reenergize the community (Turner 1969, 102–108). In this regard, I remember my compadres, Dominga Paucar Chura and Martin Machacca Flores of Qocha Moqo, describing their experience of Pukllay: “We remember it all year long and weave new clothes for it. Closer to Pukllay we sometimes work for nights with no sleep. We celebrate the way our grandfathers used to. It makes us very happy" (pers. com., 2 February, 2005). The Q’eros esteem Pukllay as the festival of the year, and the memory and residual effects of it are long-lasting. If Pukllay is the annual celebration that contributes to the reconnection and reenergizing of social ties among the people in the entire community, then Phallchay, on the opening day of Pukllay, serves to renew connections between people and their animals. Part III, Chapters 6 and 7, focus on the two pivotal animal fertility rituals of the year, Phallchay and Machu Fistay respectively. These chapters explore social and cosmic reproduction in Q’eros music-making

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beyond that of the human realm, to include renewal of relationship among people, their animals, and the spirit powers that determine the quality of all aspects of life.

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PART III ANIMAL FERTILITY RITUALS: RENEWAL OF VITAL RELATIONSHIP AMONG PEOPLE, ANIMALS, AND SPIRIT POWERS

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CHAPTER 6 PHALLCHAY: FEMALE LLAMAS AND ALPACAS

Why do you make offerings for the Apu? So that the llamas and alpacas have a good life. And if you don’t? The fox and puma will eat them. Also so they will have plenty of offspring. So that the Apu is happy and not angry. Raymundo Quispe Chura, 18 August 2005. 1

Introduction to Llama and Alpaca Animal Fertility Rituals The vital importance of the domesticated livestock for the Q’eros, particularly llamas and alpacas, cannot be underestimated. Healthy, plentiful herds directly determine the quality of life of the people. The principal family rituals in Q’eros are therefore the ones dedicated to the health and increase of the animals, which is also true in many traditional Andean communities.2 Animal fertility rituals in Q’eros have one common goal: the balance and renewal of ayni relationships with the Spirit Powers, so that the powers will reciprocate with strong herds. These rituals are the place where the people’s music-making takes on a specific and directed intention, and the songs are believed to have affecting impact. Song is one of the many agents the Q’eros use to implore and reach the spirit powers; song text expresses the significance and meaning of the animals for the people and is full of metaphor about the animals, procreation, family lineage, and the spirit powers; and, finally, songs serve as connectors among the people, the animals, and the supernatural powers (this is elaborated on in Chapter 8, after the fertility ritual ethnographies of Chapters 6 and 7). Chapters 6 and 7 are complementary to one another; the former is about Phallchay, the animal fertility ritual for the female llamas and alpacas, and the latter about Machu Fistay, the ritual for the male llamas. This chapter details the importance of llamas and alpacas to Q’eros

1 Raymundo is a friend of John Cohen’s, and can be seen in Cohen’s photographs since 1956. In Hidden Threads of Peru (2002) we see Raymundo as a little boy on page 20, and a young man on page 34. In 2005 I was witness to a touching reunion between both older men, who have now known each other for over fifty years.

2 For descriptions of animal fertility rituals in other parts of the Peruvian, Bolivian, and Chilean Andes, see Abercrombie 1998; Allen 2002; Arnold and de Dios Yapita 1998 and 2001; Bastien 1978; Bolin 1998; Dransart 1997; Flores Ochoa 1977, 1979, and 1988; Gow 1976; Isbell 1978; Mamani 1990; Stobart 2006; Tomoeda 1996; and Webster 1972. 110

daily life, which is followed by an ethnography of Phallchay 2005, to include explanations of the offerings and symbols associated with animal fertility rituals. This ethnography also includes a description of my first witnessing of the expression of grief and loss through singing the fertility song in ritual (which I call “grief-singing”). The ethnography here (and in Chapter 7) serves as description to lay the ground elements for further analysis and explanation of grief-singing in Chapter 8, and its associations with social renewal in Chapter 9. The chapter ends with two versions of “Pantilla T’ika” (“Lovely Pink Flower”), the Phallchay fertility song; the first presents and explains commonly-sung verses, and the second version is a presentation of grief- singing in the same song. Phallchay and Machu Fistay occur during the two axes of the Andean yearly cycle, the peak of the rainy and dry seasons, when Pacha Mama is the most open (Isbell 1978, 155). These times of year are the most powerful, and even “dangerous,” when “vapor escapes from the inner earth to cause disease and death” as Isbell points out (ibid., 202). This is consistent with information that the chronicler Guamán Poma de Ayala provides, ca. 1615 (ibid., 206). My Q’eros compadre, Juan Quispe Calcina, told me this is the time when Pacha Mama reawakens, and she and the Apu are the hungriest and need to be fed offering after offering (pers. com., 15 August 2007). Many Q’eros have told me that the rainy season is the female time of year, due to the constant rain and abundance of water all around. Francisco Quispe Machacca informed me it is the time of fertility, when the “mother alpacas are having many children” (pers. com., 23 August 2008). Francisco said the season of the dry winds (August) is qhari; however, Juan’s brother Luis described the rainy season as the male time of year because it is full of storms and rain, and the dry season as the female time of year because it is calmer and easier to withstand.3 Luis expanded on this idea to say that the ritual for the female animals (Phallchay), therefore, takes place during the qhari time of year; the ritual for the male animals (Machu Fistay) occurs during the warmi time of year. In this way there are warmi elements within the qhari, and vice versa, which is good for fertility and procreation. In Luis’ words, he said this combination of warmi and

3 Luis Quispe Calcina told me a story about a condor and a fox in order to illustrate his point about female/male aspects of the seasons. The condor and fox were in debate and competition about who could better withstand the rain. On the morning following an all-night storm, the fox (warmi element) was found nearly dead, and the condor (qhari element) was still strong. He clarified that this male strength is associated with storms, lightning, and thunder (pers. com., 23 August 2008).

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qhari together is “mayt’uy kananpaq,” “so there will be mating” (ibid.). In Luis’ explanation, both fertility rituals are a kind of mixing and representation of chawpi where female and male ritual and seasonal elements are present. Catherine Allen, in her research in Sonqo, Paucartambo, informs that the wet season is warmi, by listing female saints that are celebrated during this season as an expression of the female element, and conversely the male saints are celebrated during the dry, male season (Allen 2002, 153). Luis’ statement appears to contradict with Francisco’s (a common scenario I often encountered in my research), but I believe the important point is, as Allen states, “in Andean relativistic thought, nothing and no one is absolutely male or female” (ibid.). The overall concept of importance and relevancy is that these two seasons are pivotal axes and powerful times of energetic movement; they are times of the year when the spirit powers are aroused, vulnerable, and the most hungry, and need to be propitiated and fed abundantly for protection and continuation of the herds. The Q’eros’ way of life has traditionally been one of transhumance, with lifestyle and rhythms of the agricultural cycles synchronized around the seasonal movement of livestock. The Q’eros’ musical repertoire therefore contains songs for every domestic animal type (female/male llamas, alpacas, sheep, and cows).4 Interestingly, there are no planting or harvesting songs in Q’eros, like there are in many other Andean communities, with the exception of “Sara Taki,” “Corn Song,” for the corn harvest. In conversations with some Q’eros, they told me they do not remember ever having any planting or harvesting songs, other than this one. Thus the Q’eros’ repertoire concentrates on what is of primary importance to them—the domestic livestock— which has been the case in Q’eros, and for many Andean pastoralists, for centuries.

Daily Herding: The Importance of Llamas and Alpacas John Murra’s ethnohistorical research has revealed the economic, political, ceremonial, and practical importance of llamas (Lama glama) and alpacas (Lama pacos) under the Inca state and in post-conquest times (fifteenth to sixteenth centuries; Murra 1965).5 In Incan times, as in Q’eros today, being herdless was economically devastating. For the Incas, cloth made from

4 Other sources that address individual songs for animal types are Arnold and de Dios Yapita 1998 and 2001; Bauman 1981; and Mamani 1990.

5 For a summary of the economic importance of llamas and alpacas throughout Inca, colonial, republican and modern history in the Bolivian Andes, see Arnold and de Dios Yapita 2001, 14–22.

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animal was essential for exchange in a society without money, which functioned on institutionalized and obligatory reciprocity.6 Like the Incas, the Q’eros had also depended on their animals as a system of exchange, trading their animals and animal products. In the past few decades, however, ties to the cash economy began to usurp exchange. Today, the Q’eros raise both individual family herds and annex herds (a herd owned communally by individual anexos),7 and the sale of llamas, alpacas, their pelts, fiber, and weavings made from dyed fiber is a basic source of cash income for them. A significant example in Q’eros history of the importance of marketability of these animals was the income procured from the sale of llamas and alpacas; they then used these proceeds to pay off a government loan. This act ensured the Q’eros as legal owners of their territory in 1965.8 The list of products gleaned from llamas and alpacas for daily livelihood is extensive. Llamas have traditionally been the beasts of burden in the Andes due to their ability to negotiate steep passes, difficult terrain, and narrow slippery trails, stepping with their delicate cloven hooves in places Spanish horses could not go. Throughout the history of Andean trade the animals carried lowland products long distances from the jungle and coast, up to the high puna, and vice versa. Today the Q’eros depend on their llamas for descent into the monte on slippery, muddy trails and then to carry the annual corn harvest back up to their highland homes. Ch’arki (salted fresh or dried llama or alpaca meat), and particularly qhunqe (unsalted alpaca meat) provide protein staples in Q’eros.9 The people have traditionally spun, dyed, and converted alpaca fiber into essential clothing. Up until the last few decades, they have used alpaca fiber to make clothing, some of which is slowly being replaced by purchased factory clothes. The main pieces that are woven out of alpaca or alpaca/sheep mix today are the lliklla (shawl), pollera (skirt), unku (tunic), and poncho. Formerly, llama leather was used for sandal- making, which today has been replaced by market-purchased rubber sandals.

6 Animal fiber was also used to make the principal recording and communication systems that kept the empire running: the khipu, a series of knotted cords used for record-keeping, along with toqapu, woven patterns in clothing that may have been another recording system. Record-keeping on khipu was used in Q’eros as recently as mid-twentieth century, mostly as a system of accounting for the hacendado (see Núñez del Prado 2005c [ca.1958]).

7 See Murra 1965, for history about various categories of hierarchical herds under the Inca state.

8 Personal communication with Tomás Cevallos Valencia, anthropologist and representative of Comunidades campesinas y nativas (C.C.N.), Department of Agriculture, Cusco, Peru, 18 December 2007.

9 Because of this product’s success, the word ch’arki has survived and entered into English as ‘jerky’. 113

In the past, the Q’eros used llama leather for door and roof-beam binding, and they used tallow from llama tissue for lamps until the recent introduction of kerosene. Today, they still use hides for bedding and as floor covers for sitting. Llama fat is used in ritual offerings, and llama, alpaca, and vicuña fetuses are prized ingredients in offerings. From animals’ bones they make weaving picks and farming implements; llama and alpaca dung is an indispensable fertilizer and a combustible fuel for cooking. 10 Some Q’eros have told me of their belief in the common Andean myth that tells how the Apu give birth to the llamas and alpacas through water sources, such as springs, lakes, and rivers. Others have said, “That is what our abuelos (grandfathers/ancestors) believed in the past,” indicating a change in adherence to this myth. Jorge Flores Ochoa has collected various versions of this same myth in the southern Andes (Flores Ochoa 1988), telling the power of water sources that give birth to the animals, so that the animals are connectors (chawpi) between the interior feminine world of Pacha Mama and the exterior world of the Apu. This is why the wallata and other water birds are associated with the llamas and alpacas (see Chapter 4, subheading Kunan Pukllay Taki: Topics of Currently Active Carnival Songs), and “in rituals, the llamas and alpacas become birds” (Flores Ochoa, pers. com., 7 January 2006). Marcelino Qapa Huamán told me that if a person sees domestic animals like llamas, alpacas, sheep, and cows walking out of rivers and lakes, that person is very lucky, and this luck will make the herds multiply (pers. com., 15 August 2006). Flores Ochoa also writes about the Andean perception that wild animals are to the Apu as domesticated animals are to man: “[wild animals are] considered the property of the Apu, the local and regional deities” (Flores Ochoa 1986, 138). He continues, “Thus the puma, deer, and fox may be wild animals, but they act as the cats, llamas, and dogs of the gods, for whom they carry out the same roles as domestic animals do for men” (ibid.). Oscar Núñez del Prado experienced this in Q’eros in 1955, when he reported, “The Apu have their cattle which are the vicuña, deer, and condors” (Núñez del Prado 2005b [ca. 1958], 86, my translation). John Cohen was also informed of this relationship (of the wild animals belonging to the Apu) while talking to his old Q’eros friend, Raymundo Quispe Chura, who mentioned the condor, deer, vicuña, and kiyu as the animals belonging to the Apu (pers. com., 16 February 2009). This belief in wild

10 Arnold and de Dios Yapita state, “It is unlikely that agriculture would have developed in the Andes without llama herds to supply the dung required as fertilizer” (Arnold and de Dios Yapita, 2001, 17).

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animals as domesticates of the Apu shows why the Apu must be placated in animal fertility ritual: if, for example, a puma or fox has killed a baby llama, then ultimately the Apu has killed it, as the puma and fox represent and belong to the Apu. Because of all of the above, llamas and alpacas still hold important practical and mythological roles in the lives of the Q’eros today, as they have for many generations of Andean peoples. The daily routine of the Q’eros—how and where they live, work, and interact— intertwines intimately and intricately with their llamas and alpacas. The amount of time one spends with her/his herd on a daily basis inevitably leads to feelings of strong attachment and fondness for their herds. The average Q’eros family herd totals somewhere between fifty to one-hundred llamas and alpacas, and the women herd both animal types together. Women are the principal herders. On a typical day, the wife wakes first, just before dawn, and rekindles the embers of llama and alpaca dung in the previous night’s fire. On the clay stove she cooks the first meal of the day for her family, which is usually a thick potato soup, or just boiled potatoes. Somewhere around 7:00- 8:00 a.m. she leaves the home, taking the younger children and babies with her herding to the grasses at the top end of the valleys high above their homes.11 It is common to see a young mother walking behind the large llama and alpaca herd with her children, as she carries a baby in a cloth bundle tied on her back, shouting and whistling to the animals to keep them moving up the valley. Simultaneously, the father leaves to do tasks such as planting, harvesting, tending to potato crops, or going to a faena in areas lower down. He may also leave for a nearby urban area for a few days, or even weeks. As the children mature and gain independence as young as seven or eight years old, they may tend the animals on their own, freeing their mother for weaving and caring for infants. The women and children spend all day, every day, with their animals in the high, craggy and cliffy areas where the better grasses are, come cold rain, snow, or searing sun. They often fill the hours weaving and occasionally singing. After a full day herding, the women and children return at sundown, the herds of several families dotting the landscape in slow descent. The men make their way back up valley from their work below, often arriving home after dark. The women start up the embers again to make

11 The llamas, and particularly the alpacas live off types of dwarf rush (waylla) that grow in dense cushions close to the ground. These rushes ( muscoides and ) provide essential vitamins, and they keep the incisors small for efficient mastication. These particular plants grow in abundance in Q’eros, a reason for settlement in these high, moist valleys (Webster 1983, 120). 115

the evening meal for the family; the next day the cycle begins again. Occasionally men help out in the herding, but not as a regular routine. The people, particularly the women, inevitably develop close relationships with their animals as a result of spending all day, every day, with them. The children grow up with these herds, and experience the births, deaths, increases, and decreases of them. Not only do they know their own animals intimately, but they also recognize their neighbors’ animals as well, recognizing the same women, children, and herds of one anexo that come and go every day in the high pastures of their corresponding valley. One occasion impressed me for this keen recognition the Q’eros have of other families’ animals. In getting a late start down the trail to the monte for the corn harvest, the small group I was walking with nearly collided with the continuous trains of families and llamas that were making their way back up to Hatun Q’eros, the llamas laden with corn. We had no room to walk on the narrow trail for fear of upsetting the ascending llamas, so we were forced to wait for about two hours in a small depression in the greenery below the trail, where we simply just watched the hundreds of llamas go by.12 The owners of a group of llamas always pulled up the rear, so that the twenty or so strong male llamas with their cargos of corn came into view first. I was amazed to discover that the Q’eros compadres I was waiting with in the greenery below the trail were able to name the owners of all herds merely by recognizing their animals, since the owners only came into sight at the end. A new lead llama would approach, and someone in our group would excitedly announce, “Oh, here comes Isidro’s family,” “Now Santos is coming,” and so forth. This skill comes from the many days, weeks, and years of interacting in the pastures and on the trails with many families and their animals. Flores Ochoa relates a story about people’s close connection to animals in the opening of his article on classification of South American camelids, which is worth quoting at length: In conversation with a herder from the Andean altiplano, I asked if he would be able to recognize any one of his alpacas and llamas wherever he saw them. He said he would, and when I pressed him as to his method, he asked, “Can you recognize your children when you see them, even far from home?” I said, “yes, but I haven’t got three hundred children.” “So what?” he said. “The alpacas are

12 Each family takes an average of twenty llamas down to the monte for carrying the corn harvest. Approximately fifty families make the descent and shuttle their corn up in two three runs over a week-long period. Therefore, on a given day there may easily be a few hundred llamas shuttling up and down the trail. The Q’eros have this precisely timed so that they arrive at Qirispampa, the open meadow below, for the groups of ascending and descending llamas to pass each other, as there is no room to pass on the trail. 116

like children to us, we recognize them everywhere. We know them, and we love them from the day they’re born” (Flores Ochoa 1986, 137).13

The people’s extensive, intimate, day-in, day-out long-term relationships with their animals, along with their dependence on them, results in their cherishing the animals as kin. The familial relationship, and accompanying feelings, is expressed abundantly in the text of the animal fertility songs. The affection the people have also causes great sadness when one animal is killed or dies unexpectedly, which they sometimes express through song. The continual vertical movement and steady stream of pastoral and agricultural work of the Q’eros’ daily lives grounds them in a flow of relationships among their fellow community members, their animals, and the mountain spirits of the land. The Q’eros’ integrity and pride, combined with gentleness of character and respect for living beings, I believe results from generation after generation that has lived on the land in awareness of, respect for, and interaction with a world around them that is infused with spirit, and the people’s need to constantly nurture good relationships within that world. This nurturing is formalized and amplified in the rainy season ritual of Phallchay, which occurs on the first day in the nine-day cycle of Pukllay.

The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Sitima, and Ritual Objects I celebrated my first Phallchay, February 2005, in the home of Isaac Flores Machacca, in the annex of Ch’allmachimpana. Isaac is Víctor’s father, the young, talented musician who was chosen to learn the accordion I gifted to the community for the pilgrimage to Qoyllur Rit’i in 2003 (see Chapter 1, subheading Meeting Q’eros Music). This ethnography is based on that Phallchay, when I witnessed the most profound introduction (unbeknownst to me at the time) of the Q’eros way of expressing grief and anxiety through song. This caught me completely off-guard since I had neither witnessed nor read about this form of expression, and the impact of this first Phallchay experience showed me the many important layers to the fertility ritual, in which music plays a significant and pervasive role. The Phallchay rituals began when Isaac spent all of Sunday night, the night before the main day, making ritual offerings for the Apu and Pacha Mama. The propitiative offerings are

13 The Andean people have devised extensive nomenclature in order to efficiently classify individual animals in a large herd, often based on color and markings. See Flores Ochoa 1986 for a source on the emic classification and naming of llamas and alpacas.

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made of specific ingredients intended for these super powers to ingest, particularly the local Apu that protects the herds. In Q’eros, the mountain deities that most immediately impact the welfare of their animals are called the Apu Sitima.14 Every type of domestic livestock (llamas, alpacas, sheep, and cows) has its own Sitima in the immediate valley region.15 These protective mountain spirits, which are identified through the reading of coca leaves, are in charge of the health and safety of a particular livestock type, and are distinguished from other Apu in the area for this role. The Apu Sitima literally tower above the animals in the valley where they graze. An animal type has the same Apu Sitima year after year, and in some cases may have more than one. Around midnight that night, the family invited me to sit with them near the misa,16 the special altar with carefully placed ritual objects, which is situated on the floor just in front of the sitting area. One flame from a kerosene-soaked wick perched in the bottom of a can lit the home dimly.17 Isaac sat centrally behind the misa, which was comprised of carefully placed objects: inqaychu (small statues of llamas and alpacas), khuya (natural stones in the shape of animals),18 waylla ch’ampa (a large chunk of sod), two piles of coca leaves on small woven cloths, two small glass bottles with alcohol, two ears of corn, one red and one yellow, two wooden qero, and many clay vessels in the shape of llamas and alpacas for drinking aqha. The coupling of coca leaf piles, bottles, red corn for Pacha Mama and yellow for the Apu, and qero vessels are standard offerings for the Apu, given in traditional yanantin form. The coupling of low/high is

14 Different Q’eros friends explained the concept of the Apu Sitima to me on various occasions, but Marcelino and Jacinto Qapa Huamán elucidated much of the detail for me (pers. com., 15–16 November 2006, Cusco, Peru).

15 Others have written about livestock protector mountain deities in other Andean communities (see Allen 1997, Isbell 1978, Mamani 1990), yet it is curious that in Q’eros they use the Spanish term Sétima (“seventh,” changed to Sitima in Quechua) specifically for this protector deity. Thus far I have not been able to find out the connection or reason for this use of the name Sitima.

16 Misa is an adopted Spanish term, possibly a conglomerate of mesa (offering “table”) and misa (“mass,” denoting a sacred ceremony).

17 In former times llama fat was the combustible used, with a phuña leaf (Senecio canescens) wick. Nowadays the Q’eros purchase kerosene and wax wicks.

18 The Q’eros store the stones for the llamas, alpacas, cows, and sheep in separate bundles that are all stored in one large bundle that the Q’eros call “Mama q’epi,” “Mother load or bundle.” Thus the animal stones are not mixed, but the Mama q’epi holds them all. They keep the Mama q’epi in the small stone storehouse every family has next to the main home, and bring out the appropriate stones for their particular fertility ritual.

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believed to bring more potency to the misa, as the inclusion of corn from the low monte placed alongside the stones from the high mountains demonstrates. The inqaychu and khuya possess a strong caring power,19 and because the stones are believed to “store the fertility and vitality of the herds,” they are holders of fecundity with the power to effect herd multiplication (Allen 1997, 79).20 The fertilizing power of the inqaychu can be as strong as that of the Apu, but it can diminish throughout the year. The power of the inqaychu is replenished during these rituals. The inqaychu and khuya ‘graze’ on the chunk of waylla sod for revitalizing sustenance; this is the special grass the animals feed on in the high pastures. For the Q’eros, the stones represent the animals, which Isaac acknowledged by pouring t’inka (libations) of aqha and placing coca directly on them in their honor, just as he did the following day to his actual animals (see Figure 6.2). This intake of alcoholic libations, coca, and grass is revitalizing for the power stones, and leads to desired herd regeneration. However, Isaac explained that these offerings of drink, coca, and food are ultimately for the Apu, and in particular the Apu Sitima, the animals’ protectors.21 Thus the stone animals serve as emissaries, and the offerings go by way of them to their ultimate goal, which is the Apu. The Apu, then, cares for the animals, which in turn provide for the humans. This is the system of circulatory ayni amongst symbolic objects on the misa, the animals they represent, the people, and the supernatural powers.22 I sat with the family around this highly-charged misa, and we began the evening with the ceremonial chewing of coca, the traditional commencement of any auspicious event. Coca is believed to be imbued with spiritual powers, is a social adhesive, and addresses a physical need. Coca is considered to possess wisdom and is therefore used as an oracle in future divination or for healing illness. The chewing of it provides fortification against altitude and cold, promotes

19 Khuyay means “love, tenderness, compassion, clemency.”

20 See Flores Ochoa 1977 for more information on inqaychu and khuya.

21 Abercrombie discusses the schema in the Aymara community of K’ulta, Bolivia, as “an offering to a god made through an exchange between persons” (Abercrombie 1998, 350), which is the same process that Isaac informs of: offering to the symbolic objects and animals is offering to the Apu.

22 See Allen 1997, 76, for more on the circulation of ayni.

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good digestion, and adds nutritive properties.23 We all exchanged k’intu—a combination of three intact leaves carefully selected from a communal pile, one placed exactly on top of the other and offered with the top side of the leaves facing the receiver. To show our mutual affection we looked directly in each other’s eyes and said “hallpaysunchis comadre, compadre!” “Let’s chew, comadre, compadre!” In these brief and purposeful exchanges we demonstrated respect for one another. Coca is also a potent source of communication between humans and spirits, which is why it is the most essential ingredient in any offering, as I saw later when Isaac placed many k’intu in the offering pile. Before Isaac began the making of the main offerings to be ingested by the Apu, we made our own small offerings to the Apu with our coca k’intu by holding them up high and blowing on them, often with a barely audible and intoned “whew” sound of breath. The breath is intentionally blown in the upwards direction of the Apu. Isaac explained to me that this phukuy (ritual blowing) connects the coca to the Apu through breath. A person’s own vitality, or samay, sends the animu of the coca along to that of the Apu. In this way, the life force of both the person and the coca is sent out in conjoined, intentional offering for the Apu to receive, and it is a way for the people, the sacred coca, and the Apu to interconnect. After this casual exchange of leaves among people and phukuy offerings to the Apu, Isaac then began preparing his first of four ritual offerings. The offerings are called pagu24 a kind of “payment” to the powerful spirits in exchange for protection of their animals. Víctor, as oldest son, was Isaac’s assistant in preparing the offerings.25 Isaac diligently placed many ingredients, one on top of the other in careful placement, in piles, or sprinkles, depending on the ingredient, and all on top of paper spread on an uncuña (special offering cloth). After the prime ingredient of multiple, neatly-arranged coca k’intu piles had been placed, other offerings were added, varying

23 See Allen 2002, for importance and various contextual uses of coca in Andean society, and page 190 for nutritive and metabolic effects of chewing coca.

24 This word is commonly believed to be a derivative of the Spanish word pago, payment. See footnote 9, Chapter 3.

25 The most common route of knowledge transmission for the making of offerings is from father to son, though occasionally a daughter will learn. The knowledge of making offerings is initially imparted by the altomisayoq and kuraq akulleq, the few highly-trained ritual specialists who have the ability to communicate directly with the Apu and Pacha Mama. The specialists are told directly by these powerful spirits which ingredients please them, how and how much should be placed in offerings, so that the spirits can receive and ingest them properly.

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from confetti, sugar, incense, seeds, and vicuña fat for Pacha Mama; garbanzos, peanuts, and llama fat for the Apu; and vicuña fetuses, sweets, tiny colored balls, medicinal herbs, corn kernels, even shells from the ocean for both, to name a few. Each ingredient has its own particular significance; for example, fat is energy, the seeds are for Pacha Mama to plant, and the sugar is for her to eat as she particularly likes sweets; all are deemed to please the spirits.26 Isaac spent over an hour meticulously making each pagu, like a delicate piece of art, one after another, until dawn. He was quiet and composed, as if in prayer. Making enough offerings to satisfy the Apu was essential, along with the correct manner, the proper ingredients, and affection. No music-making took place; rather, all energy was riveted on the pagus. Yet, casual conversation and laughter among family members during the long night was quite acceptable, even common, and not considered irreverent.

Figure 6.1. Isaac Flores Machacca selecting coca leaves (akllay) for k'intu in the offering.

All animal fertility rituals must begin in this way, with a series of offerings. One common type of offering during this evening is for protecting the animals against phiru, harmful and malignant forces. The main phiru that concern the Q’eros is q’opayay, a black diarrhea that depletes an animal’s nutrition, and bad spirit possession (phiru wayra/mal viento/malevolent wind).27 In a subsequent animal fertility ritual I witnessed one phiru offering for a particular

26 See Allen 2002, 135–137 for a description of an offering in Sonqo, Paucartambo region, Peru.

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person who had recently died, so that his alma (soul) would not wander and cause illness or death to the animals.28 If a (dead) person’s soul wanders from its burial spot, it risks becoming a mal viento or mal espiritu (bad wind/spirit) that can enter an animal or human, and cause harm, illness, and even death. The people should bury these particular offerings in the puhu ñawi or eye of the spring, which is the birthplace of the animals.29 One consistency I noted in all pagus was the expression of yanantin in the offering structure, yet the pagus contained subtle personalized differences, such as the the inclusion of specific ingredients and the placement of offerings themselves; each maker adds his unique variation. For example, to ensure yanantin balance, Raymundo placed two-leaf k’intu on the lloq’e (left) side of the offering for Pacha Mama, and three-leaf k’intu on the paña (right) side for the Apu. The red offerings, such as carnations and red were offered to Pacha Mama, because red is the most common color associated with warmi (darkness, earth), and Pacha Mama, as demonstrated by the dominance of red in all women’s skirts, shawls, and sweaters. White carnations and white alcohol were offered to the Apu, as white is associated with qhari (light, sky) and the snow-capped peaks.30 Two particular items caught my attention: qulqi (silver, female) and quri (gold, male) pinkuyllu. These were tiny silver and gold paper rods that represent the Q’eros’ pinkuyllu, which

27 Jacinto and Marcelino Huamán Qapa detailed the phiru pagu for me (15–16 November 2006). They believe that their animals used to be healthier and stronger with just the protection of pagus. Nowadays, chemical injections have been introduced and are used for external parasites. They explained that a pagu covers a range of illnesses and general health in a manner superior to modern chemical medicines.

28 Two types of pagus are performed for a wandering soul. In one, the alma is coerced inside the offering and then buried near the feet of the interred body, so that it will stay with the body and not wander. If that is not successful, another pagu is made facing east, so that the soul will go to hanaq pacha (the upper world) where the sun comes out. It is best if a woman makes and buries the phiru offering, because the souls are more humble with women (pers. com., Jacinto and Marcelino Huamán Qapa, 15–16 November 2006).

29A phiru pagu can also help clean fears; during fright a (live) person’s soul is most vulnerable and a mal espiritu can enter.

30 I also noticed warmi ingredients in the qhari (Apu, right) side of the offering, and vice versa, qhari ingredients in the warmi (Pacha Mama, left) side. An example of this was Raymundo’s separation of the three-leaf k’intu intended for the Apu into two columns, the left column for Ruwal (the mega-Apu of the Incarí myth) and the right for Qhaqya. Ruwal was offered pink flower petals (warmi) and Qhaqya white (qhari). In this case Ruwal, a mega-Apu that would normally be considered hanan, is now hurin (subordinate) to Qhaqya who has immediate effect on the herds; thus, this is the contextual focus of the offerings.

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the men play during Phallchay, Pukllay, and Machu Fistay.31 Raymundo placed these tiny flutes on the Apu (right) side of the offering, specifically for Qhaqya, the Thunder Deity, who is in charge of rain, snow, thunder, lightning, and hail.32 Raymundo explained, “We give him [Qhaqya] pinkuyllu to play, so that he is happy and his storms will not do damage” (pers. com., 18 August 2005). Raymundo’s nephew, Juan, added that the small flutes were “wahanankupaq,” “for calling” the Apu to bring good health to their animals (pers. com., ibid.). Still another version was that of Jacinto Huamán Qapa, who said that the Apu Sitima ask the altomisayoq (the ritual specialists who communicate directly with the Apu), “Where are my pinkuyllu and qanchis sipas (panpipes) so that I can play?” The altomisayoq communicates this expressed desire to the people, so that they know to put these tiny flutes in the offerings. The pinkuyllu are for the Apu Sitima to play and be happy (kusikunankupaq). In addition, the Apu Sitima uses the flutes to call in the good health of the animals (wahanankupaq) and to scare off the animals’ predators, like foxes and puma (pers. com., Jacinto Huamán Qapa, 15 November 2006). The tiny pinkuyllu in pagus appear to be multi-purposeful: for the Thunder Deity to play to keep him happy; for the people to invoke the Apu; and for the Apu Sitima to play to be happy, as well as protect the animals from disease and predators. In this way the little pinkuyllu offerings serve for the overall welfare of their animals. When Isaac completed the making of an offering, he folded the entire pagu with all of the specially-placed ingredients inside of the weaving it was made upon. He then lifted the offering bundle to his mouth and blew energetically on it up towards the Apu. He did this phukuy while invoking the Apu at the same time, “Hampuy, hampuy!” “Come quickly!” He called each Apu by name in intense rapid-fire delivery, the local ones as well as the larger ones in the greater region, adding words of supplication for the welfare of the herds. Isaac’s intention was just like the blowing on the coca k’intu earlier in the evening: to send the animu of the offering to connect with that of the Apu, through samay, so that the Apu could reciprocate. I watched three of the four offerings Isaac made, and then decided to rest. When I rose in the early dawn hours on Monday, I saw Isaac walking toward Apu Impernasqa (the main

31 When similar offerings are made during Sinalay (cow and sheep ritual), the same tiny silver and gold paper flutes are placed in the offerings, but in this context they are called qanchis sipas (the panpipes played for the cows and sheep) instead of pinkuyllu.

32 Qhaqya (also called Illapa in some areas) is a thunder-lightning spirit feared and revered throughout the southeast Andes. See Bolin, 1998, 44–53. 123

protector Apu of Ch’allmachimpana), carrying the four offerings he had stayed up all night making. Isaac disappeared in the wet morning fog toward the foot of this giant Apu, off alone to burn the pagu, as is the custom. The burning releases the energy of the offering so that the Apu can consume it via the smoke, and Pacha Mama can ingest the ashes. Satisfied and no longer hungry, the spirits would then be able to protect Isaac’s herds. With these thoughts and propitiative intentions, the people approach the ritual of Phallchay on Monday morning.

Phallchay Ethnography and Introduction to Grief-Singing Monday morning (6 February 2005) evolved into a sequence of rituals, one after the other, sometimes with juxtaposing aspects of Phallchay and the start of Pukllay. Around 9:00 a.m. or so, all of the men of Ch’allmachimpana met in a mullucancha, a stone corral used for ritual purposes, where they had gathered the llamas and alpacas that are communally-owned by the anexo.33 Upon entering the corral I received numerous warm greeting hugs and was invited to chew coca and drink with the men. I had somehow earned this right by being the ‘androgynous’ researcher, a woman who sang with the women, but also assertively asked questions, recorded music and video-taped, and learned to play the pinkuyllu, all of which were men’s domains.34 Because of this, I was often allowed in many all-male events where my comadres neither would nor could go. Most men sat in a single row against one wall of the mullucancha, with their misa carefully situated in front of them on the ground where they had placed some of the same ritual objects (khuya, inqaychu, coca offerings) that I had seen at Isaac’s the night before. With much jubilant commotion they shared coca, talked, laughed, played “Pantilla T’ika” on their pinkuyllu

33 Each anexo has its own herd of llamas and alpacas, as well as communally-farmed potato fields. They use these communal animals and potatoes in events that involve all families of the anexo, such as a feast or work projects. Jorge Flores Ochoa explains that mullucancha means, the cancha (enclosure) of the sacred shell (mullu) offering (pers. com., 5 March 2005). Mullu is a purple-red shell from the sea that was a highly-valued offering during Inca times. While the Q’eros do not use this shell, the name has remained to refer to the corral where rituals are performed. Every Q’eros family has two types of corrals: the common one where the animals often sleep at night, and the mullucancha, used only for ritual.

34 The men perform any activity that requires modern mechanical assistance. For example, the men operate the cassette players and radios used in the homes. In Cusco many men use cellular phones and even take photographs on them. A few have learned to video-tape as well, with the help from non-Q’eros Peruvians or foreigners who have facilitated the use of cameras. Many have e-mail accounts for use in Cusco and other urban centers.

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flutes, and drank aqha, cañaso (sugar-cane alcohol), and trago (pure alcohol) all at once. I too was offered large qero (wooden tumblers) of aqha and small shots of cañaso. At this point the communal ritual drinking had begun in earnest, and it would continue for the next nine-days of juxtaposed celebrations: Phallchay, followed by Pukllay, and ending with Tinkuy. Ceremonial drinking and the sharing of alcohol (aqha) among humans, animals, and spirit powers has been an essential element of ritual and celebration in the Andes since pre- conquest times. For example, the Incas would extend aqha libations to their mummified ancestors, and still today the Q’eros have their male llamas drink aqha during the male llama fertility ritual (see Chapter 7, subheading Machu Fistay Ethnography).35 In ritual, drinking takes on a sacramental quality, and is a way for people to express their communal obligations of ayni to one another, to their animals, and the deities. Anthropologist Barbara Butler comments that alcohol, like coca leaves, “carries a special capacity to mediate between humans and spirits, containing and activating the life force” (Butler 2006, 83). I saw this mediation continually in operation during Q’eros rituals: the way they shared drink with one another; with the khuya and inqaychu on the misa and the herded animals in the form of t’inka poured over them; and with the mountain spirits and mother earth by flicking alcohol in the air or on the ground to them in offering. After an hour or so of drinking, chewing, playing pinkuyllu, and socializing, they completed this reunion in the mullucancha by tying streamers around some of the llamas’ and alpacas’ necks. They threw libations of aqha on the animals and scattered handfuls of small red phallcha flowers on them as they simultaneously proceeded slowly out of the corral to wander freely. Like Isaac had explained the night before when he flicked tiny libations on the symbolic objects on the misa, these libations on the animals were ultimately intended for the Apu Sitima. The scattering of the phallcha flowers over the animals was the metaphoric realization of the

35 In addition, the Incas used aqha to mobilize communal labor, and made the production of aqha a central component of their administrative structure. In Q’eros, drinking is still used as a work motivator in community faenas. For sources on ritual drinking in the Andes, see Abercrombie 1998, Allen 2002, Butler 2006, and Cummins 2002. Some Q’eros complain that drinking distilled alcohol (cañaso and trago) has changed the nature of their rituals, when they used to drink only aqha and therefore not get as drunk. I believe the addition of cañaso and trago is a result of fewer families growing corn today than in the past, combined with the fact that cheap alcohol is available in nearby urban areas, so the Q’eros are now able to buy alcohol due to their greater mobility and closer attachment to the cash economy. Barbara Butler, in her book Holy Intoxication to Drunken Dissipation (2006) addresses the issue of drinking among the Quichua in Otavalo, Ecuador, in which the intent has changed from that of traditional, ritual use to excess in a way that the community considers detrimental.

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animals as flowers, and the people’s hope that the llamas and alpacas will multiply and be plentiful, just like the flowers. After herding the animals out of the mullucancha, the men dispersed to their respective homes. Soon all families gathered their herds individually near their homes to perform a similar Phallchay ritual. Some families started later than others, but throughout the morning I could look around to all the stone homes dotting the green grass of the Ch’allmachimpana valley and see gathered herds and families near almost every home. The people of each home had erected wooden with white flags on the ends, which I was told is simply costumbre (tradition). Flores Ochoa explains that white signifies purification, and a way of cleaning any impurities, bad moments, or untoward occurrences; this is consistent with the ritual’s primary focus of well- being of the animals (pers. com., 19 March 2008).36 Agustín told me he, and many others, prefer the llamas and alpacas they call yuraq luntu,37 which are the all-white animals, because there are more dying (and therefore selling) possibilities with the neutral-colored white fiber. He also added that more important than fleece color is that the herds are abundant (pers. com., 13 September 2005). Even though they gather the entire herd of llamas and alpacas, many Q’eros have told me that Phallchay is for the females, and others specified it is for the female llamas. I have also been told it is for all alpacas, particularly the females. Indeed, two other names I have heard for this ritual are Chusllu Phallchay and Paqucha Phallchay (Phallchay for all alpacas). In addition, many will say it is for the entire herd. I believe that all statements must be true, and are just different interpretations. In sum, considering that the Q’eros gather the entire herd, Phallchay seems to be for all llamas and alpacas. The ritual stresses the female element; however, females (animals and women) are associated with the fertility and ‘flowering’ of the herd (Flores Ochoa 1988, 240), as

36 Flores Ochoa relayed other uses of white in Andean ceremonies, such as placing white cloths in the corners of the mullucancha during animal rituals, or women dancing and singing with one. I did not see this in Q’eros, yet it shows that this custom of using white cloth is not unique to Q’eros. Henry Stobart discusses various meanings of the usage of white flags in Carnival in the Bolivian Andes (Stobart 2006, 254, 256, 265–6). Among the possible significances are representation of the soul of the dead which is made to dance (almata tusuchun), (Ibid, 253), and that “white flags have been related to a pact with the spirit world and bringing peace and abundant harvests” (from Oblitas Poblete, Enrique. 1978 [1960]. Cultura Callaway. La Paz: Ediciones Populares Camarlinghi, 214, in Stobart 2006, 265). In any case, all explanations point to a connection with the spirit world in some way, which is the essence of Phallchay, in as much as offerings and songs invoke the Apu and Pacha Mama.

37 Yuraq is white, and luntu is a common pronunciation of runtu, which literally is “egg,” but refers to the male animals’ testicles.

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the song text indicates (see “Pantilla T’ika” subsection below). Emphasis on the female element during this ritual, which focuses on fertility and procreation, is congruent with the widespread Andean myth that the llamas and alpacas are born out of the female aspect of the Apu (the springs and caves, i.e., the interior world of Pacha Mama) (ibid., 238).38 For this reason, the women, the main caretakers of the herds, are the principal singers throughout this, and all other, fertility rituals. I first heard “Pantilla T’ika” with Isaac and his family that Monday morning. Rosita, Isaac’s adolescent daughter, gathered the herd around the home, and the family came out to stand formally in front of the animals to begin the ritual, as did other families; however, the ritual for Isaac’s family that year took place in an atmosphere of crisis and tragedy. Víctor, then only nineteen years old, had just buried his young wife who had died only one week before. Víctor believed his wife died of mal viento, which indicates the power of these spirits, and the Q’eros’ urgent need to pay numerous offerings to the Apu for protection against them. His little son, Yover, was taken to live with Víctor’s mother-in-law one valley over, as men do not raise children on their own. Thus Víctor was suddenly bereft of both wife and child. Incredibly, Víctor’s sister, Juana, was also widowed only three weeks prior to her brother’s loss. I was dumbstruck by such dramatic bereavement the two siblings experienced simultaneously. The sudden death of two young adults spoke forcefully of the harsh, subsistence life in Q’eros, where illness and death are a more frequent part of daily life than I am accustomed to; deaths that the urban world with modern health care probably could have prevented. Not only was theirs a loss of heart and family, but also a severe economic loss as well, as every family member is needed to tend to the home, the fields, the animals, and other children. In addition, Juana had given birth to a third child only days after her husband died, a baby boy who entered the world in already bereft circumstances. He too died six months later. We stood facing the family’s gathered herd, Isaac flanked by his bereaved children. I noticed that they were not wearing the newly-woven bright red and pink ponchos and llikllas that were specifically woven for Phallchay and Pukllay, like other families who were with their herds in ritual that same morning. Instead, they were dressed in everyday traditional Q’eros clothes, out of respect for their mourning. Isaac was wearing a typical brown poncho, with an everyday

38 See Flores Ochoa 1988, for more discussion of the female element in animal myths and song. 127

black unku underneath, as was Víctor, along with his younger brother Elías, who stood to their father’s right side. Juana, standing to the left of Isaac, was in her daily skirt and sweater.39 Suddenly, uncontrollably, everyone began to cry. Here they were in one of the most important and sacred rituals of the year and half of their family was painfully absent. I was awestruck to see that through intermittent weeping they continued the ritual. Isaac began by singing the three-note, descending melody of “Pantilla T’ika” on his own, while Víctor played the complementary three-note melody on his pinkuyllu between wiping tears from his eyes. Juana eventually began to sing in the strong, assertive voice that I came to recognize and love.40 For the next half hour or so, Isaac and Juana continued their intense and sad singing, and Víctor continued to play pinkuyllu, while standing attentively before their animals. Intermittently, they drank alcohol in shared cups and threw libations on the llamas and alpacas. After much singing, crying, drinking, and t’inka, Juana handed each person generous handfuls of the tiny, red phallcha flowers she and her younger sister Rosita had gathered the day before. We herded the animals up the hill, scattering handfuls of the little red flowers over them, just as I had done with the men earlier that morning for the communal herd. As the animals were dispersing, we all knelt on the ground and bowed down, our foreheads touching Pacha Mama, in reverence to both the animals and the spirit powers that care for them. Following this portion of the ritual, with the animals still outside the home, we then continued the ritual inside their home, where the morning unfolded into a powerful outpouring of grief through song. They allowed me to videotape, and even though I had asked their permission, I was nervous about what, to me, might be an invasion of privacy. 41 And yet I saw and felt how they seemed to be quite comfortable. More than that—I sensed that they seemed to feel honored by my intense interest. I did not sense any inhibition, or self-consciousness on their part; rather the spontaneity of their singing and weeping continued to flow. This taping allowed me later to

39 Possibly this formation around the father force in the center, with the daughter (female members of household) to the left and son (male members) to the right, was purposeful adherence to the laws of yanantin, where female is left and male is right of center.

40 Normally Isaac’s wife, Cirila, would have been present and singing along with Juana, but she was tending to the younger siblings in community far from Q’eros (Mollepata) where Isaac, Cirila, and their youngest children had recently moved in order to educate the children. The singing of grief in Phallchay can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku, in the sequence titled “Carnival” (Wissler 2007).

41 For a full discussion of the ethics and challenges of taping this sequence, and the use of a small section of it for a public documentary on Q’eros music, see Wissler 2009.

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transcribe and translate the text they sang that morning, which I came to know was full of many moments of improvised text about their loss and feelings, in the midst of standard verses of “Pantilla T’ika” (see Song Text 6.3 below). Then, much to my surprise, amid the family’s pained singing of “Pantilla T’ika,” the pusunis conch shell blasted outside the door of the home. The Ch’allmachimpana Pukllay regidores and alwasires burst in (see Chapter 4, subheading Pukllay Ethnography) and sang “Thurpa,” the year’s newly-chosen song, and drank copious amounts of aqha that Juana had offered so generously and obligingly. Thus the intimate singing of “Pantilla T’ika” with the family suddenly gave way to the boisterous, drunken singing of the authorities for this year’s Pukllay taki, “Thurpa,” along with occasional verses of last year’s Pukllay taki, “Phallcha.” In this way, the animal increase ritual, the arrival of this year’s Pukllay and the departure of last year’s, were all represented aurally in the singing of their respective songs within a very short time span, and the latter two were often juxtaposed. I noticed that touchingly, one-by-one, the authorities hugged and tried to comfort Víctor, who was still crying inconsolably. In this way it seemed that members of his local community now acknowledged and shared his pain. After the authorities left, the family began preparations for the afternoon Phallchay ritual. We walked to an area higher up the valley from the homes, where many families’ mullucancha were variously placed on either side of the river that flows through the valley. As with the morning ritual, many families gathered their herds independently yet simultaneously for ritual, which was very similar to the one I had participated in with the men and the communal herd first thing in the morning. Isaac spread out the family misa with the ritual objects on the ground. The family sat down next to it, the men leaning against the wall and the women facing the men with the misa situated between them. We spent about two hours seated in the corral, chewing coca and drinking with the animals before us, while Víctor, Isaac, and Elías intermittently played “Pantilla T’ika” on the pinkuyllu and Juana sang. The singing and playing was spontaneous, sporadic, and overlapping; that is, Juana did not coordinate her timing of the singing with the pinkuyllu. It all felt like a very casual ‘hanging out’ with the herd and the family together. At one point Víctor’s wife’s aunt arrived. She was very drunk, and her extreme grief about her niece’s death seemed to have transformed into rage. She was sharing her thoughts aggressively, first addressing Juana, then Isaac, and finally Víctor. In this case, she was not improvising verses to express her rage (which I later learned after transcribing a majority of this

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visit that I also taped) like the threesome had improvised verses to express their sadness earlier. But interspersed between her statements of deploring anger, she regularly sang the refrain of “Pantilla T’ika,” so that the song was never forgotten . Once again I was stunned to see this use of the song—that is, how it was continually interwoven with expressions of profound sentiment. Similar to the morning, the afternoon’s ritual continued amid great emotion of sadness and rage, with the song ever-present. The ritual ended when we scattered the phallcha flowers on the animals as they wandered off, out of the mullucancha and into the green valley. That evening many families continued to sing “Pantilla T’ika,” seated in the home next to their misa, while drinking, chewing, and offering t’inka to the khuya and inqaychu, Pacha Mama and the Apu. This was also the night every family did watukuy in their respective anexo, the Eve of Pukllay, when they sang “Thurpa” in full anticipation of Pukllay the following day (see Chapter 4, subheading Pukllay Ethnography). In the early evening the host family sang “Pantilla T’ika,” while the visitors sang “Thurpa,” often simultaneously. By late evening, the singing of “Pantilla T’ika” had subsided, and “Thurpa” sounded until the dawn hours. In this way, the change in song signaled the passage of one ritual to the celebration of the next. The Phallchay ritual took place again on the Saturday after Pukllay, with all of the same elements as Monday, along with some additional ones. This day is sometimes called Mama Tarpay, “to reach/arrive at the mother [animal].” After gathering the herd in the mullucancha, reproduction was encouraged in the form of malta mayt’uy, when the legs of some choice young female animals (malta) were bound (mayt’uy) so that the hayñachu (stallions) could mount and mate easily.42 Mating is often human-assisted, in that certain male animals are pushed and encouraged to mate with certain females. During malta mayt’uy, people ate three types of sweet and gooey phiri, pastes made of corn and wheat flour, and a sort of (sara phiri, hak’u phiri, arroz phiri, respectively). The eating of the phiri was an enactment of a young llama or alpaca offspring suckling its mother’s teats. People jammed their fingers into the piles of sticky puddings,

42 There is a song for the female alpacas (not “Pantilla “T’ika”), which is performed on the qanchis sipas (panpipes) during a separate ritual of malta mayt’uy, which is held in November or December, after Todos los Santos (November 1st). In Hatun Q’eros, music is not played during this ritual anymore, and indeed during the one malta mayt’uy I saw in December 2005, they did not sing or play any music. I did not hear the female alpaca song during my time in Q’eros at all, and my only knowledge of it is on the recordings by John Cohen (now on the Smithsonian Folkways recording 40020, 1991[1964], tracks 24 and 25). This song, which the Q’eros call “Paqucha Taki,” song for the alpaca, is in the same pentatonic style as the songs for the cows and the sheep, also played on the qanchis sipas. 130

scooped out large globs, and sucked the paste off their fingers. Everyone had a lot of fun eating this way, making loud suckling sounds to imitate the animals amid much laughter. This enactment is precisely what they want for the offspring: plenty of healthy sustenance to thrive on. Like the previous Monday afternoon, we sat in the mullucancha for a couple of hours, drinking, chewing coca, eating phiri, and playing/singing “Pantilla T’ika.” Toward the end of the afternoon, the family selected a female/male pair of young alpacas, and serpentine ribbons were tied around their necks. This was the representative couple, the symbolic yanantin that will produce many generations of healthy offspring. The father of the family did t’inka libations and and coca leaf offerings gently on the animals’ backs, intended for the Apu in effort to secure a procreative future. Then around sunset everyone once again scattered the phallcha flowers on the herd as they were ushered out of the mullucancha, and that Saturday night, like the Monday night before, people continued to sing and play “Pantilla T’ika,” sitting next to the misa in their own homes.

Figure 6.2. Isaac Flores Machacca throwing libations of aqha on the herd; white flag in back.

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“Pantilla T’ika”: Song for Llamas and Alpacas In this section I present some commonly-sung verses of “Pantilla T’ika”43 to show the meaning of the song as the Q’eros explained it to me, with some added observations and analyses of my own. This is the first of two discussions of two complementary fertility songs, the second to the male llamas (Chapter 7, “Machu Fistay: Male Llamas”). The text of both songs details the significance of the animals for the people and lends insight into cosmological meaning and associations, usually through metaphor. This section and chapter closes with some specific excerpts of Isaac, Víctor, and Juana singing their grief as I heard it during my first Phallchay participation in 2005. A brief analysis follows, which serves to show the significance of and reasons for grief-singing in the community in general, as expanded upon in Chapter 8. The Q’eros only sing “Pantilla T’ika” on two days in the annual ritual calendar: the Monday of Phallchay and the following Saturday of Mama Tarpay. Many Q’eros have told me that they sing the fertility songs for the animals (animalpaq) simply because “we love them.” Juliana told me, “We sing for the animals for a good life (sumaq sawsaypaq), for good health (qhaliya kananpaq), because the animals are loved (animalkuna munaspa), and so they will flower (t’ikarinanpaq) (pers. com., 2 August 2006). The song text expresses the love and familial relationship people feel for their llamas and alpacas. The musical aesthetic of wide, overlapping vocal and pinkuyllu melodies during the performance of “Pantilla T’ika” in Phallchay is very similar to that of the performance of Pukllay taki in Pukllay, but on a more intimate scale, since this is a family and not communal event. Audio Example 6.1 is a short excerpt of Isaac, Víctor, and Juana singing “Pantilla T’ika” inside their home, which shows this aesthetic of wide overlap and individuality in singing and playing. Musical Transcription 6.1 shows the first stanza (ABA1) of Audio Example 6.1. I notated this transcription in its originally sung ‘key’ or pitch range, but moved the pinkuyllu melody so that it lines up with the vocal part, to show the pitch relationship between the two parts more easily.

43 Another less common name sometimes used for the song is “Chullumpi Taki.” Chullumpi is a term that sometimes refers to the female llamas and alpacas. This term is discussed in Chapter 8, “Machu Taki”: Song for the Male Llamas.”

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Audio Example 6.1

Audio Example 6.1 and Musical Transcription 6.1 show that the melodic contour of both the vocal and pinkuyllu parts have a similar descending tritonic pattern as in all Pukllay taki. The pitch relationship between the two parts is also like that of Pukllay taki, with both parts ending on the interval of a fifth in aysariykuy (see Chapter 5, subheading Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets). In this particular example, with Isaac singing and Víctor playing pinkuyllu, the pinkuyllu part descends to the pitch of “E” while the vocal part stays on “G,” (“voice crossing” in Western terms); however, interpretations vary and sometimes the vocal part also descends in parallel motion down to an “E,” like the pinkuyllu part in this example. In any case, the main pattern of the vocal and pinkuyllu parts in “Pantilla T’ika” is that the melody in the former moves between sol and mi in the verses, and then always descends to do for aysariykuy in the refrain, while the latter moves la, sol, and mi in the verses and then ends on sol for aysariykuy. The main musical difference between “Pantilla T’ika” and Pukllay taki is the song form, which is ABA1 or verse-refrain-verse for the former, as opposed to the ABAB1 verse-refrain structure of the latter. In the case of “Pantilla T’ika,” aysariykuy is not held on every other refrain, but on the second verse of the stanza, or ABA1 group.

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Musical Transcription 6.1: “Pantilla T’ika” notated in a five-line staff. (Isaac Flores Machacca, Víctor and Juana Flores Salas, recorded 6 February 2005, Ch’allmachimpana, Q’eros)

[A Verse ][B Refrain _ _][A1 Verse __ ]

Verse: Chayllachu manan ukayuyusun How are we not going to drink? Refrain: Pantilla t’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki [falcon] Verse: P’unchayllayniyki, p’unchayniyki Today is your lovely day, your day

Description of Audio Example 6.1: The recording begins with Isaac singing alone. The melody is roughly a descending C Major triad (C, E, G). Víctor soon follows on the pinkuyllu, also in the same pitch level as Isaac’s singing (‘C Major’), but an octave higher. The pitch relationship of the two parts is like that of Pukllay taki: the voice sings do, mi, and sol, while the pinkuyllu part plays mi, sol, and la. Víctor soon joins Isaac in singing. The singing overlaps for awhile, but with different texts, and then, interestingly, Isaac drops his pitch level about a ‘third’ (at 0:50), to the major triad of A, C#, E. Both singers end together on aysariykuy, with their pitch levels a third apart. Juana begins singing (1:05) in same key that Víctor just sang in (‘C Major’). Víctor plays the complementary pinkuyllu melody. The pinkuyllu and vocal parts sustain aysariykuy a ‘fifth’ apart (the pinkuyllu ends on ‘G,’ the voice on ‘C’) for three consecutive stanzas (at 1:20–22, 1:38–42, and 1:54–58). At 1:59 Víctor begins singing, and both of them line up their text on the final verse and sing aysariykuy together. The final verse is “wakcha pubrilla runallaqa,” “The people, poor and orphaned.”

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The musical aesthetics in this short excerpt of intimate singing among three people are similar to those of large group singing in Pukllay: there is a continual overlapping of voice and pinkuyllu parts that are all sung/played individually yet simultaneously, and in a congruent tempo. Sometimes people sing in the same pitch level, sometimes not, and occasionally they line up on aysariykuy and text (see Chapter 5, subheading Musical Aesthetics of Pukllay taki Performance). In a small group like this is it is much easier to match the pitch level of the voice to that of the single pinkuyllu (versus numerous pinkuyllu in Pukllay), so that aysariykuy creates the interval of a ‘fifth.’ I begin the discussion of the song text of “Pantilla T’ika” with the refrain, as I believe it encompasses the essential meaning of the song and of the fertility ritual in general, to which all verses (and ritual actions) point. The refrain has four common variations, as Song Text 6.1 shows. It is common practice for one singer to use the same refrain, or at the most two, and the choice is based upon individual preference.

Song Text 6.1: Four Common Variations of the Refrain of “Pantilla T’ika”

Refrain 1. Pantilla t’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki [hawk/falcon]

Refrain 2. Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely, pink phallcha flower, wamanki also Scatter the pink phallcha flower, wamanki

Refrain 3. Pantillachay wamanki My lovely phallcha flower, wamanki

Refrain 4. T’ikay wamanki(s),44 wamanki My flower, wamanki, wamanki

Two metaphors comprise the refrain; the first refers to phallcha flower/animals, and the second refers to raptor birds (hawks/falcons)/Apu. In the first part of the refrain, the words panti (pink), t’ika (flower) and phallcha (the red gentian, Gentiana luteomarginata) all refer to the phallcha flowers, which are scattered on the animals in the Phallchay ritual. I have also heard the Q’eros use the work phallchay in daily speech for the act of throwing the flowers: animal phallchankupaq (for scattering flowers on the animals), so that another translation of the refrain is

44 The “s” at the end of wamanki is sometimes employed for ease of pronunciation. I heard this commonly in sung texts. It has no meaning in this case.

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“scatter the pink phallcha flower, wamanki.” The act of scattering the flowers is the physical representation of what the Q’eros want for their herds: many healthy offspring. Thus the flowers are a metaphor for the animals, particularly the females, which are the progenitors of procreation. The relationship between the flowers and the animals has everything to do with pacha: space and time. The place where both the flowers and the animals flourish is up high, on the flanks of the Apu, which gives the flowers a particularly potent association. The flowers are the offsprings of the Apu, who cared for and raised them.45 Juliana told me, “We love the flowers because they live together with the animals” (pers. com. 15 August 2007). Phallcha bloom only in these heights during the rainy season, amid the high grasses where the llamas and alpacas graze every day, and not down in the valleys where the people live. Thus place and season in the life cycle conjoin the flowers and the animal; they are daily companions on the Apu, taken care of by these powers when both are in their fertile prime and simultaneously flourishing. Just like the refrains of the Pukllay taki, the affection for the phallcha flowers is shown through the various suffixes employed (lla for lovely, cha for dear/little, and y for my) and various names for the flower itself (pantilla t’ika, pantilla phallcha, pantillachay, t’ika wamanki). In addition, the phallcha flower is associated with its curative properties (infusions for curing coughs, flu, and toothaches), which are particularly important in a time that focuses on new birth and health. The second part of the refrain, wamanki, refers to waman, the common name for large birds of prey, mainly falcons or hawks, which live in the high Andes. The Q’eros call the falcons in their area waman.46 In other areas of the Andes, waman are associated with the red-backed hawk (Buteo polyosoma). Thus, the term waman is a generic name for the particular raptor that is regularly sighted in a specific area and community in the Andes. The important, defining characteristic of waman is that these impressive birds fly and live up high near the Apu. Waman,

45 Because of the phallcha’s association with the Apu up high, the Q’eros like to use this flower as ingredients in pagu that are made for the Apu that live in the monte. The mixing of elements from far-reaching zones is believed to add potency to an offering. Francisco Quispe Flores told me that the lowland Apu enjoy feeding on flowers from far away places, because it “makes them happy” (pers. com., 28 July 2007).

46 The falcons in Q’eros are the peregrine falcon (Falco peregrinus) and the aplomado falcon (Falco femoralis).

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along with the condor, are among the most venerated birds in past and present Andean culture, and both nest and fly in the mountainous regions of Q’eros.47 The Q’eros call the falcons wamancha (little falcon) in daily speech, but in singing they add the suffix “ki” to waman, which also shows affection, much like “cha.”48 Lucio explained that “wamanki” is a respectful way for people to greet the animals, but he clarified that this type of greeting is mostly expressed in song and not daily speech (pers. com., 23 April 2007). Waman are also associated with bringing good luck, as indicated in one of Victor’s statements: It will always bring luck wherever you go—when we meet with the waman, when you have to go to Cusco or anywhere. If you see one, it is surely for something good. It is always with luck (ibid.).

Just like the phallcha flowers, the potency and luck associated with waman is because they live up high, near and with the Apu. Lucio added to Víctor’s comment, explaining that when a wamancha is spotted flying and circling around the herd it is a sign that the herd will be well protected. Lucio said, “Cuidaq llamakuna, paqochakunapaq,” “They are the caretakers of the llamas and alpacas” (ibid.). In this way, the birds are agents for the Apu, as the Apu essentially controls the quality of care of the animals. In the same conversation with Víctor and Lucio, Agustín directly stated the sacred quality of these birds: “Wamanpuni, sakradu. Wamanpuni espirituchaqa kashan, riki,” “The waman is always sacred. The waman is always a little spirit, right?” (ibid.). Waman are the “little spirits” of the Apu, considered special and distinct from other birds because they serve as intermediary herders for the Apu. Allen and Garner also express this idea of agency and intermediary status of birds, “Birds serve as intermediaries between human beings and Sacred Places” (Allen and Garner 1997, 103). The kiyu is another example of a bird with intermediary powers; it carries the message to a living person about her/his death (see

47 Waman, along with the kuntur (condor, Vultur gryphus), mamani, (black-chested buzzard eagle, Geranoaetus melanoleucus) and puma (cougar, Puma concolor) were all deified birds/animals during the time of the Inca Empire. These became surnames of noble families and are surnames today, sometimes spelled Huamán, Condori and Poma (pers. com., José Luis Venero Gonzales, 10 March 2008, Cusco, Perú). One of the most magnificent Inca temple sites just outside of Cusco is Saqsaywaman (“replete falcon”), believed to be named after the falcons that live in the area. Guamán Poma de Ayala in his 1615 chronicles (Nueva corónica y buen gobierno) writes accompanying prose to one of his drawings that is shouted by an imprisoned Inca woman who is being punished by the Spanish: “Master Condor! Take me away! Brother Waman! Guide me!” She wants these birds to deliver messages about her plight to her father and mother, indicative of the belief in the supernatural power of these birds since ancient times (Guamán Poma de Ayala, 1993 [1615], Book III, 186–7).

48 Another example of a similar suffix to ki for showing affection, is “ku,” such as “Isiku” and “Antuku” for the names “Isidro” and “Antonio.” 137

Chapter 4, subheading Kunan Pukllay Taki: Topics of Currently Active Carnaval Songs). Referring to waman in song is therefore a reference to the Apu. In other areas of the Andes, the term waman or wamani directly refers to the Apu, instead of a type of bird. Billie Jean Isbell, in her work in the Andes of the Ayacucho region, writes about her understanding of wamani: “Owners of all plants and animals, the wamanis are the most powerful indigenous deities of the Pampas region” (Isbell 1977, 84). She adds, “The most propitious time to make payments to the awesome Wamanis [sic] is in February and August, when Earth Mother is open and receptive (Isbell 1978, 154–5). The “Wamanis” are analogous to the Apu in Q’eros that also need to be fed during these two times of year, which happens most prolifically in the form of multiple offerings during Phallchay and Machu Fistay. Isbell also indicates the bird association with the deities when she states, “the wamanis transform themselves into condors and are associated with crosses and chapels” (Isbell 1977, 84). Waman, therefore, is an interchangeable term for both the mountain deities and the birds that are the “intermediaries” and agents of them, or the “poultry of the Apu,” in the words of Flores Ochoa (Flores Ochoa 1986, 138). Flores Ochoa, in his emic classification of local nomenclature for llamas and alpacas in the southern Andes, reports that one of the commonly-used nicknames is waman t’ika, which he translates as “falcon flower” (Flores Ochoa, 1986, 143). In this specific name we see the bird/Apu analogy (waman) connected with the flower (t’ika) in a single name: waman t’ika. Like this nickname, I suggest that the entire refrain of “Pantilla T’ika” is really one expanded analogic association: the flowers are the animals that the birds take care of, and the birds in turn are agents of the Apu. In other words, the flowers, the animals, the birds, and the Apu are all associated analogies, because they are connected intimately with one another in time, space, and relationship. Ultimately all are references to the Apu, which is primordial and supreme in the interconnection among all four elements. The translation of this refrain is not only (literally) “My lovely pink flower, dear falcon,” but it could also be interpreted as “My lovely animals, dear Apu,” and even, in its most essential form, “Apu, Apu,” by way of metaphorical association. This refrain therefore holds the quintessential meaning of the entire ritual and every action in it: propitiation and offering to the Apu (first and foremost) for a healthy herd. In Song Text 6.2, I present and analyze some standard stanzas (ABA1) of “Pantilla T’ika,” to detail the significance of commonly-sung texts. My transcriptions, translations,

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analyses, and conclusions are based directly on discussions of these verses with the Q’eros. As with all songs in Q’eros, the number of verses I heard during ritual, and recorded, seems infinite to me, so I choose to include just a few of the ones I heard most regularly. I choose not to translate wamanki because the word holds deep significance, as explained above; rather, I write it in its original Quechua to let the word stand for the meanings discussed above. I have interspersed the four common refrains throughout.

Song Text 6.2: Six common stanzas (ABA1) of “Pantilla T’ika”

Stanza 1 (this is the first stanza sung by Isaac in Audio Example 6.1) Verse: Chayllachu manan ukayuyusun How are we not going to drink? Refrain: Pantilla t’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki [falcon] Verse: P’unchayllayniyki, p’unchayniyki Today is your lovely day, your day

Stanza 2 V: Waman Lipallay rektoy urqu My beloved Apu Waman Lipa, erect mountain R: Pantilla t’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki V: Ñawch’i k’uchullay, kutiq panti The phallcha changes color on the skirts of the peak

Stanza 3 V: Sayaykullayña mamallay My dear mother, take pause R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki V: Hamuy Mamallay qaynaykusun Come, my beloved Mother, let’s rest

Stanza 4 V: Wakcha pubrillay runallaqa The people, poor and orphaned R: Pantilla t’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki V: Imaynayaraq kaykunqa How will it be?

Stanza 5 V: Algodonkamalla ch’uslluqa Alpaca, of pure R: Pantilla t’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki V: Arrozchakamallay mamaykuna My mothers, of pure rice

In Stanza 1 the Q’eros sing that they will certainly drink in Phallchay (“how could we not?”), which is a form of ritual sharing amongst the people, with their animals, and the spirit powers. The animals are sung to directly on their special day, by singing “today is your day.” Stanza 2 addresses place, which is individualized and changes according to the singer. Apu Waman Lipa is the protector mountain deity of the anexo of Qocha Moqo, and the largest

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Apu in Q’eros; therefore, it is on the top of the hierarchy. Rektoy comes from the Spanish recto, or straight. These powerful places are regularly named in song, as these deities directly impact the life of the herds and the people. A description follows the naming of Apu Waman Lipa, because the people are acutely aware of all geographical features in their landscape as a result of their daily herding and walking lifestyle. In the second verse of Stanza 2, the singer (herder) describes the landscape, observing how the phallcha flowers have made the mountainside a deep red as they come into full bloom. Red is also the color of the warmi element: it is the color associated with Pacha Mama and the color all women wear. In Stanza 3 the singer asks the female animals to “take pause” and to “rest” when they gather together in the mullucancha on this auspicious day. Mamallay, “my dear mother,” is an endearing reference to the female animals. This is a texted example that supports my earlier description of daily life and how the people develop loving, kinship-like relationships with their animals as a result of daily interdependence and living (see this chapter, subheading Daily Herding: The Importance of Llamas and Alpacas). “My dear mother” is also a reference to regeneration and lineage, as the female is associated with birth and offspring. Flores Ochoa writes that song verses about “Mother” are directed to the “generative mother, as archetype,” where “feminine intervention is required for the reproduction and increment of the herd” (Flores Ochoa 1988, 248, my translation). Because the mothers and daughters in Q’eros families are the herders, the relationship between the women and the animals is interdependent, when the human lineage takes care of animal lineage, and the animals provide the humans with necessary life-sustenance. Thus “mother” also references the human mother who cares for the animals, and for her own children. Stanza 4 is a commentary or query about the precariousness of life, and about how the people are poor (pubri is from the Spanish pobre). The verses of Stanza 4 are a subtext that expresses the people’s fears about how they would be “poor and orphaned” if the animals they so depend on were not plentiful and healthy, ending with an expression of doubt about the future should that be the case: “How will it be?” Based on my participant observation with the Q’eros, I paraphrase and expand the last phrase as follows: “How would it be if our animals are not healthy, if we were to be without our animals, if the Apu will not provide?” These basic fears expressed in song drive the people’s intention in the Phallchay ritual: to propitiate the Apu for healthy herds.

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In Stanza 5, the singer comments on the white color of the ch’usllu, which is another name for the alpaca. The alpaca is all white, or as the Q’eros say “algodonkama, “completely cotton,” and “arrozchakama,” “completely rice.” I speculate that singling out all-white, female alpacas indicates the aspiration for strong, unmarred offspring from a pure strain. It is not that the people want all white animals; rather, the metaphor is desiring a herd with strength and unerring health, with white as the symbolic color of such vitality. This idea is related to the significance of the white flag that is always erected near the herd during ritual, which Flores Ochoa informs is a reference to purity. The song texts underscore the daily observations and principal concerns the Q’eros have, naming some of the very motivations that underpin fertility rituals: the importance of powerful place (Apu); the ayni of shared drink (with humans, animals, powers); human and animal lineage (“Mother”) and fears around the continuation of it (“How will it be?”); and the desired purity (“all-white”) that would help maintain the lineage. The words show the Q’eros’ basic concern for the continuance of life (social reproduction), which is premised on maintenance of good relationship with the Apu (cosmic reproduction). In Isaac’s household that morning, the very ritual that is about life and reproduction was ruptured by the deaths of Juana’s and Víctor’s spouses. The bereaved widow and widower used the fertility song, which is normally employed for the supplication of life, to express their profound loss about the death of their spouses. Song Text 6.3 is an excerpt of sung verses with interspersed dialogue that I heard Isaac, Víctor, and Juana sing and speak that morning.49 This is a selected, condensed version of a twenty-minute sequence I shot on video tape, which I later transcribed and translated with Isaac, Víctor, and my tutor Gina Maldonado, in my apartment in Cusco. Isaac and Víctor generously discussed the meaning of the transcriptions (that is, the meaning of what they had sung that morning), which is what I base my ensuing analysis on.

49 To view some of this original footage see the sequence titles “Carnival” in Kusisqa Waqashayku” (Wissler 2007). Víctor specifically requested that his singing about his wife’s death be included in the documentary.

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Song Text 6.3. “Pantilla T’ika,” Excerpt of Grief-Singing. (Isaac Flores Machacca, Víctor and Juana Flores Salas, recorded 6 February 2005, Ch’allmachimpana, Q’eros)

Víctor speaks, remembering his brother-in-law, Juana’s husband Ichaqa nuqapas hoq timpukunaqa sut’intayá But I, in other times, spoke the bare imatapas rimani, ni pitapas manchakunichu. truth. I was not afraid of anyone. Kurakniytapas imatapas caraju, chayaramunkiyá To my elder, dammit, you arrive tumasun. Kaypi ukyashasun nishani. and we will drink. We will drink here, I am saying. Juana responds Arí, hinapuniyá, riki Yes, it was always like that, right?

Víctor sings about his brother-in-law Verse: Mayllataq kunan kaykunchu How is it that you are not here? Refrain: Pantilla t’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki

Juana speaks Ukyashan, riki, ukyashan, ukyashan, riki. He is drinking. He is drinking. [speaking about him as if he is still living.]

Víctor sings V: Imallapaqtaq saqiywan Why did you abandon me? R: Pantilla T’ikay wamanki My lovely pink flower, wamanki

Víctor speaks, remembering a visit from his brother-in-law Santiagu p’unchaypi chayaramun, riki. He arrived for the day of , right? Noqata kasuwanpuni, nuqatapuni kasuwan. He always listened to me, always listened Nishutapuni machayuyku, riki to me. We got drunk a lot, right?

Víctor sings V: Machaq ukyaqlla runallaqa The man who drinks R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki

Juana sings V: Paucarchallallay runallaqa Paucar, my beloved husband R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki V: Nuqallataqa saqiyukuwan He left me all alone [Paucar is Juana’s husband’s surname]

V: Cuchuqiñachay chakillanman At the foot of Chuchuqiña [he left me] R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki V: Mamallay sayaykushallay My lovely Mother, standing tall

V: Wawallataqa uywaykuni I raise the children R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki

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Víctor sings V: Apasachallay warmiqa My dear wife Apasa R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki V: Nuqallataqa saqiykuwan You have left me alone [Apasa is Víctor’s wife’s surname]

V: Mamallay sayaykushallay Rest, my little mother

Victor speaks Yuvercha . . . Little Yuver [Yuver is Víctor’s son’s name]

Victor sings V: Yuverchallay puñuy My little Yuver, sleep R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the pink flower, wamanki

Juana sings V: Tiyasqachayki panpapas The floor you used to sit on R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki [remembering her husband]

Juana sings V: Wawallataqa uywaykuni I raise my children R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki V: Uhaq mikhuqta uywayuni Children who need to drink and eat

V: Mamallay thaskirqushanki My lovely Mother, you are walking slowly R: Pantillachay Wamanki My lovely phallcha flower, wamanki

Isaac sings V: Ayllu runaytaq inimigo As if there were an enemy in my community R: T’ikay wamankis wamanki My flower, wamanki, wamanki V: Nuqaqa tiyaykushani I am living

In this session of extended expression of loss, Víctor and Juana juxtaposed set verses (ones known and sung by many in ritual) and the continual refrain of “Pantilla T’ika,” with their own improvised and personalized verses. The singing, in turn, was interspersed with dialogue, so that all expression was a connected flow of singing and speaking intertwined. At the beginning of Song Text 6.3 Víctor was remembering Jorge Paucar, his brother-in- law (“kurakniy,” elder family member). He simultaneously wept and spoke about how Jorge used to visit, how they used to drink together, and how Víctor felt more confident then. He

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followed his dialogue by singing his feeling of loss about Jorge: “How is it that you are not here?—Why have you abandoned me?” Juana attempted to console him by saying, “he is drinking.” The Q’eros (and most Andeans) believe that souls continue to live after the body dies, so that Jorge must still be drinking. Víctor spoke more about Jorge, and how they drank together on Santiago (Machu Fistay). Families unite during ritual, so Jorge’s absence was more acute on this Phallchay morning. Víctor then sang a set verse about “the man who drinks.” This commonly-sung verse refers to drinking in ritual, yet I have noticed in subsequent analyses of grief-singing that a person will often follow a spoken thought with a set verse that is related to that thought. I believe this is the case here. Víctor remembered drinking in ritual with Jorge, so it was natural for him to choose a verse related to drinking. In cases such as this, the set verses are used improvisatorially; they are spontaneously selected for their connection to the specific context. Juana then sang her husband’s name, Paucar, and how he left her alone at the foot of the Apu Chochuqeña. This is the protector Apu of the anexo of Chuwa Chuwa, her husband’s home, one valley over from her childhood home of Ch’allmachimpana, where she had naturally moved in with his family to start their own. Juana was remembering the specific powerful landmark of her new home, and how she is now alone there. She follows this improvised verse with two set verses. The first, “Lovely Mother,” is about the female alpaca or llama who stands tall, indicative of a healthy animal, and the second, “I raise the children,” is about that mother raising the young. This may be a case like Víctor’s above, when Juana’s previous thought (“I am left alone”) led into the selection of these verses about the mother who raises children, as she now is a mother on her own with three young children. Following Juana’s lead in singing her husband’s name, Víctor next sang his wife’s name, (Dominga) “Apasa,” followed by, “you have left me alone.” Next he sang a set verse about the female animals: “Rest, my mother.” Then, having named his wife, he softly spoke his child’s name, “Yuvercha,” “Little Yuver,” followed by singing the name and pleading for his little boy to “sleep.” Simultaneously, Juana sang about the place on the floor where her husband used to sit, followed by the set verse “I raise my children,” and an improvised verse, “Children who need to eat and drink,” again expressing concern for her young children. Isaac discussed his opinion of two possible meanings of verses about “children.” One meaning, he said, refers to people rearing their children. Isaac says, “When we are drunk we remember our deceased parents and sing this

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to them” (pers. com., 7 July 2007). Another meaning concerns the llamas and alpacas. Isaac informed that in this case, people are the “children” to the animals, who “carry our food and supplies, give us meat, and provide us with clothing and cooking fuel” (ibid.). The animals are the mothers that provide for their children, who are the people. So these verses express both the people as caretakers of their own children, and also the animals as caretakers of the people. The overarching idea is that all relationships, human and animal, are familial, and that verses about children address animal/human lineage and the continuance of it. Juana ended with a set verse about the primogenitor of lineage continuance: the mother alpaca that “walks slowly.” Lastly, Isaac sang, “As if there were an enemy in my community, I am living.” He relayed to me that this was an expression of intra-family conflicts that had arisen as a result of the deaths (ibid.). The anchor and point of continual return in their singing was the refrain, the bedrock of the song, which contains the essence of Phallchay. There was a seamless flow between dialogue and song, and improvised words seemed to emerge effortlessly and naturally, fitting neatly into the rhythm of the short verses. Sometimes they sang what they had just been speaking about. It was as if the song was there, hovering, to be dipped into as wanted or needed, which is what I also felt with the aunt’s bereaved singing that afternoon. Music was the constant thread that allowed Isaac, Juana, and Víctor to unfold shared pain and deep sadness, a processing of grief through song.50 I asked myself, “Is this some kind of magnificent, gut-wrenching anomaly I have just been privy to, or do other Q’eros families do this?” This question became seminal to my research, and in the next three years I came to know that animal fertility rituals were the space for the vulnerable expression of profound loss. In the next chapter I describe Machu Fistay, the complementary ritual to Phallchay, where I also witnessed numerous outpourings of grief and anxiety in the ritual song. Analysis of the complementary rituals illuminates the reasons for the emergence of loss specifically during these times, and how this expression of grief contributes to social renewal (Chapters 8 and 9). Analysis of the fertility songs also led me to understandings of the delivery of songs as cosmic reproduction (Chapters 8 and 9).

50 Many scholars have published about sung forms of grief amongst indigenous cultures (Feld, 1982 and 1995, Urban, 1988, Briggs 1992,). Unlike these sung forms of grief, however, the Q’eros’ singing of loss in this way is not a distinct and separate song form, such as the “melodic sung-texted weeping” genres of the Kaluli of Papua New Guinea (Feld 1982:86–129), or the “ritual wailing” of Brazilian Amerindians (Urban 1988, 931), dirges, keens, Mediterranean lament forms, etc. Grief-singing in Q’eros is either momentarily or extensively expressed through spoken conversation and/or improvised song text in existing fertility songs, and sometimes the sung improvisation of sadness, is not expressed at all during an entire fertility ritual. 145

CHAPTER 7: MACHU FISTAY: MALE LLAMAS

Nishu importante urqu llama. Chanin importante. Guanuta, muhuta cargashayku, papata cargashayku, sarata cargashayku. Cargallapipuniyá llama urqu. Chay machayku, takiyku, tusuyku.

The male llama is very important. His importance is unmatched. He helps us carry fertilizer, seeds, potatoes, and corn. The male llama is always carrying. This is why we drink, sing, and dance. Juliana Apasa Flores, 2 August 2006.

This Chapter focuses on the complementary ritual to Phallchay: Machu Fistay. Similar to Chapter 6, this chapter begins with an ethnography of Machu Fistay, followed by an in-depth analysis of the aesthetics and text of the ritual song, “Machu Taki.” The chapter closes by showing the yanantin relationship between the fertility songs of both rituals. These two chapters complete Part III on animal fertility rituals, followed by Part IV, which delves deeper into the role of fertility songs in social and cosmic reproduction, and the role of grief-singing in social reproduction.

Machu Fistay Ethnography Singing to llamas in the Andes has its origins in pre-conquest times, as evidenced in the royal mestizo chronicler Guamán Poma de Ayala’s famous drawing (ca. 1615) labeled “The Inca Singing to his Red Llama.”1 In the drawing, an Incan ruler sings “y-y” in imitation of his beloved llama, which is a sound I have heard regularly when the Q’eros herd their llamas.2 The ritual of singing to the llamas in Q’eros is one that has most likely endured since pre-Hispanic times, as it

1 The term royal mestizo comes from colonial rule in Peru when there were established and legal hierarchical definitions about race that determined issues of privilege such as land distribution and payment of tribute. The hierarchy was as follows: peninsulares (Spanish from the “peninsula” or Spain); criollos (born of Spanish parents in Peru); and royal mestizo (male Spaniard and female indigenous). Indigenous people were on the bottom of the hierarchy (Mendoza 2000, 13). Needless to say, distinctions in this system became unclear after a few generations, which resulted in many legal cases of people trying to prove their bloodlines, as well as institutionalizing prejudice and marginalization.

2 This stylized “y-y” sound for herding can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequence titled “Carnival” (Wissler 2007). The young girl herder is calling “y-y” as she herds the animals for Phallchay, reminiscent of Guamán Poma de Ayala’s 1615 drawing.

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centers on the harvesting of corn that the Q’eros have cultivated in the lower of their three ecological zones for centuries.

Figure 7.1. “Inca Sings with his Red Llama.” Drawing by Felipe Guamán Poma de Ayala, ca.1615. From: Guamán Poma de Ayala, Felipe. 1993 [1615]. Nueva coronica y buen gobierno. Lima, Peru: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 238.

The Q’eros choose their strongest, heartiest male llamas to carry up the corn harvest in the peak of the dry season, which is followed by celebration. The Q’eros tell me they sing for the male llamas (takikuyku llamapaq) in Machu Fistay: “Fiesta of the Macho (male).”3 The date of the harvest is coordinated with Santiago (July 25),4 which is why the celebration is sometimes

3 The “y” literally translates to, “My Fiesta of the Machu,” but in general “y” is added to connote affection and invocation for the llamas.

4 Nowadays significantly fewer families cultivate corn, whereas in the past the majority did. Only forty- nine of the one hundred and twenty families in Q’eros descended in 2006 (figure given from the secretary of the 147

called Santiago. Other various names are Aqhata Ukyachiy (“to make [the llamas] drink corn beer”), Machu T’ikachay (“to adorn the llamas with flowers/ear tassels”), and Machu Phallchay (“to scatter the flowers on the machu”—in this case phallcha flowers are not thrown; rather, the phuña [Senecio canescens] leaves are; more below). Unlike Phallchay, Machu Fistay does not have a fixed date when all families celebrate simultaneously; rather, it is up to individual families, and is usually anytime in the months of August or September.5 The cultivation of corn is an important complement to the high altitude potatoes, and the making of ceremonial aqha is fundamental to Q’eros rituals.6 The people recognize their dependence on the llamas for carrying this vital secondary crop from the lowlands to their homes up high, on the precarious and often muddy trails. Juliana stated the basic reasons for celebrating the llamas simply and succinctly: “The male llama is very important. His importance is unmatched. He helps us carry fertilizer, seeds, potatoes, corn. The male llama is always carrying. This is why we drink, sing, and dance” (pers. com., 2 August 2006). Machu Fistay takes place on one single day (and usually goes all night), unlike Phallchay, which is celebrated on two days, the Monday before and the Saturday after Pukllay. My first Machu Fistay (on 27 August 2005) was also in the anexo of Ch’allmachimpana like Phallchay, when extended families joined in celebration. A few family members who had moved to the anexo of Qocha Moqo came over the pass to the Ch’allmachimpana valley to participate, reuniting with their family. The ritual began in the morning, in the home of Francisco Quispe Machacca. We sat around the machu misa (altar of the macho), drank aqha that was freshly- made from the newly-harvested corn, shared coca, and many men played “Machu Taki” (song for the macho) on the pinkuyllu, while women sang. In usual Q’eros custom, the singing and playing was simultaneous, yet individual and overlapping.

directive committee at the time, Juan Quispe Calzina (pers. com., 15 September 2006). Today, many buy wiñapu (sprouted corn) that is used for making aqha. As a result of this decline in numbers going for the corn harvest, the song, “Sara Taki” (“Corn Song”), is also in decline. The current young adult generation has heard of the song, but most cannot sing it. Therefore, I feel it is one song, along with the Ñawpa Pukllay taki, that is slowly ‘disappearing’ with the older generations. Indeed, only the older people sang the song for me when I asked for it. This song has many lovely verses about places, rivers, animals, birds, plants, and activities that are found only in the monte.

5 The corn harvest and Machu Fistay can be viewed in the documentary Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing”), in the sequences titled “Corn Harvest” and “Animal Veneration” (Wissler 2007).

6 Other important harvests from the monte include corn, squash, tubers, wood, bamboo, and various medicinal plants. The Q’eros make llipta in the monte, a concentrated ash from the burnt resin of certain lowland plants, which is put in coca during chewing to extract the stimulant.

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Usually the Q’eros make pagus to the Apu the day before Machu Fistay, but not all-night- long as on the eve of Phallchay, which may be related to the male element of “day,” instead of the female element, “night.” Like Phallchay, they placed the powerful inqaychu and khuya that represented the male llamas on the machu misa near the waylla ch’ampa, where they are meant to graze on. In addition, significantly on the machu misa were the bells and cargo ropes that the head llamas of the family used. Every family has one dominant male llama that leads all others, called tilantiru (from Sp. delantero, front/forward) or capitán (captain). The tilantiru is the strongest, most assertive male of all, and around his neck are numerous bronze bells decorated with a colorful fringe. The tilantiru has the most elaborate set of bells and fringe, and the two or three llamas behind him have some bells as well. The bronze bells continually ring and clang as he walks, signaling the other llamas to follow him. The bells, fringe and all, are referred to as rusayu, but only in Machu Fistay and its song text, and not in daily speech.7 Everyday names for the bells, not used during Machu Fistay, are sinsiru (from cencerro/cowbell/animal bells), purunsi (from bronce/bronze), and San Pablo, because they are often purchased in the town of San Pablo, near Sicuani, south of the Cusco region. I noticed that regularly throughout the morning, people individually poured aqha libations on the rusayu, and then requested permission formally from Francisco to pick them up. The common way of asking permission, which I heard regularly for ceremonial acts, such as chewing coca, t’inka, and drinking a cup of aqha that had been offered, was Lisinsaykismanta (with your permission/license). Francisco told me that requesting license in this way is ultimately a request for the Apu, and not Francisco per se (pers. com., 27 August 2005). A traditional response, which Francisco used that morning, was quri misa, qulqi misa, lisinsanmanta (gold altar, silver altar, with permission). In Francisco’s response, the two parts of the altar, gold/male/Apu and silver/female/Pacha Mama, were granting permission. I was beginning to understand, after participating in Phallchay earlier in the year, that any ritual action is ultimately intended for the Apu and Pacha Mama, even though the immediate appearance is that one is offering the libation to the bells, or coca and aqha to a neighbor.

7 Rusayu sounds close to rosario (rosary). Possibly this name was adopted as representation of using the string of bells (like a string of beads), which are used in Machu Fistay like ‘prayers’ that call and invoke a healthy herd.

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The person who had been granted permission would then lift up the bells and shake them a few times, and gently place them back on the misa. I noticed that continual sounding of the bells seemed to be important throughout the day. The bell-sound began sporadically in this way, with someone shaking them over the misa, and then built throughout the day in intensity and frequency of use. Phuña leaves (Senecio canescens) venerate the male llamas (as well as the sheep in Sinalay). The fuzzy-white, long, and thin phuña leaves represent the llama’s (and sheep’s) ears, just like the tiny red phallcha flowers are the offspring of llamas and alpacas in Phallchay. One line of the song text in “Machu Taki” is “Ninrichallanpas, phuñuy phuñuy,” “Also his little ears, like the phuña phuña.” When a llama’s ears are tall and straight, it is a sign of strength and good health; therefore, tall phuña-like ears are desired. In this regard, the machu misa is sometimes called the phuña misa. The family regularly flicked t’inka of alcohol on the objects on the machu misa with phuña leaves. Also on the machu misa, which was different from the Phallchay misa, were many pululu (small carved gourds, each with an opening on the top). The pululu served as both drinking and divination vessels (see Figure 7.2). The woman of the household regularly served everyone two pululu of aqha for drinking, and often a person would dip a phuña leaf inside the vessel and then flick some aqha on the misa. In one instance I heard a similar request as the one explained above, just before the t’inka was flicked on the misa: “lisinsaykismanta, pañaladoman, lloq’eladoman,” “With your permission, to the right and to the left.” This person was asking permission to offer the t’inka to the right (Pacha Mama) and the left (Apu) before offering the libation. In this manner, the person addressed the two most powerful components of yanantin that were represented on the machu misa: the Apu and Pacha Mama.

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Figure 7.2. The machu misa with the llama’s bells, ropes, and fringe, gourd pululu, two qero cups, and phuña leaves. Someone has left his pinkuyllu resting against the qeros.

At one point Francisco lifted a pululu and held it tenderly in both hands while pressing the open hole up to his mouth. With a bowed head, he spoke his desire for a healthy, strong herd of male llamas directly into the hole of the gourd, in soft and fast delivery. This was the same manner of speaking I had heard during Phallchay when Isaac held up the pagu and summoned the Apu to come, invoking the names of the many Apu in rapid-fire delivery one after the other. Sometimes Francisco would do phukuy into the gourd. While he was beseeching earnestly into the mouth of the gourd, his wife, Juliana, reached across and cupped her hands over his, so that the couple together supplicated the Apu for the health of their herd. Francisco told me later that he was specifying what he wanted for the year to come, such as white llamas, brown with black markings., and in particular, a strong tilantiru or capitán. The pululu was often referred to as awki pululu; awki is a reference to the deities of lesser hierarchy than the Apu, indicating the emissary status of the pululu to the world of the powerful spirits that were being invoked. After prolonged supplication into the mouth of the gourd, Francisco did machuta kachariy, “To toss/drop/release the male llama.” To my surprise he tossed the gourd across the room; it hit the back wall with a loud “tak” sound, ricocheted off, and came rolling back toward the people seated on the floor. Everyone waited to see how it would come to rest. Francisco indicated that if the pululu lands with the hole-opening up then it is a good omen for the year to come; his llamas will be healthy and productive, thus a good chance exists that his expressed wishes will come true. The opposite is also possible: if the pululu lands with the opening down

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toward the floor, the llamas may be unhealthy, or one may die suddenly from the elements, such as a puma attack or lightning storm. Francisco told me that people can then try to prevent these bad things from happening by making more, and specific, pagu to the Apu. Fortunately, Francisco’s toss resulted with the open-end up, which was a good omen that his supplications would manifest. The energy and activity increased throughout the morning, as people became more inebriated, the numbers of people singing, playing pinkuyllu, and ringing bells grew, and volume intensified. The family continually tossed many pululu, sometimes two or three at a time, creating much sound, commotion, and excitement as people laughed with anticipation to see how the gourds would come to rest and what it might mean for them. Some people threw a pululu many times, so that the same person performed multiple. This is just like the reading of coca leaves that one person will also toss in a specific manner multiple times for divination about one particular issue. In this way, machuta kachariy was a continual and communal supplication and divination about the future of the llama herds. After about two hours, the ritual reached one of those moments I have come to know as an organic punctuation, when everyone seems to know that the time has come to move on to the next phase. All family members helped carry the machu misa, all ritual items, the large containers of aqha, and their personal belongings out to the mullucancha (ritual corral).

Figure 7.3. A woman receives a coca k’intu over the Figure 7.4. A pululu has been tossed into the llama herd machu misa as the people are seated around the misa and rolls back from the animals towards the people. in the mullucancha.

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The people gathered the llamas into the sacred corral, and, much like Phallchay, the men sat against one wall, with the women facing them and the misa between both. The herd was behind the women, occupying most of the mullucancha. Similar ritual actions continued, though even more heightened in energy now that we were among the llama herd. There was the simultaneous sharing of drink and coca, singing and playing “Machu Taki,” and tossing pululu high and far, right out into the herd, with the gourds rolling back downhill towards the misa and the seated people (see Figures 7.3 and 7.4). Instead of gently shaking the bells over the misa as they had done in the home, the people now demonstrated urgency as they shook the bells vigorously over the misa while singing and rotating energetically from side to side in swaying dance movements. Sometimes individuals, mostly women, would take the rusayu out into the central area of the mullucancha among the llamas. A woman would hold the bells near the chest or belly, and zealously shake them while weaving in and out in large circular formations among the llamas. She shook the bells in a regular rhythm coordinating with her forceful steps, so in effect she was dancing with the bells. Sometimes she would do a full-body turn in the middle of the larger circle that she was weaving among the herd. She would sing “Machu Taki” during the entire dancing, weaving, and shaking of the bells among the herd, This was an embodiment of the male element, just as they had embodied the female element in Mama Tarpay when people ate the phiri paste as if they were young offspring suckling the mother animal’s nipple for milk. In Machu Fistay the people became the male llamas, using the bells to move and sing with the same strong and robust grace they would want their llamas to have. The ringing of the bells was the powerful tilantiru leading the herd, continually at work for the people. Besides embodiment, the people (also simultaneously) seemed to be celebrating their llamas’ strength, dancing in honor and gratitude to the males that had just carried the harvest up some 8,000 feet to their homes in the puna. The following year, after I had learned to sing the “Machu Taki,” I too participated in singing and dancing with the lead llama’s bells while standing over the machu misa with two other women. My experience of this embodiment of the male llama, and the loud ringing of the bells combined with forceful singing, were both powerful and emotional. An excerpted section from my fieldnotes conveys the sensation I felt, which may lend insight into the power of the experience for Q’eros women:

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Fieldnotes, 2 September 2006, Machu Fistay: Many women, and some men but more women, were singing with the bells over the machu misa—standing over and singing with full force, shaking the bells with extreme force. I noticed a trance-like quality about the people as they were doing this. There was an intoxication, and not just drunk, but one of being altered by the action. All inhibitions were gone; it was full, intense expression. I too joined in with Dominga and Rosa, singing over the misa while shaking the bells. I was completely enveloped in the loud clanging of the bells, the vibration going through my body, the full-bodied singing, all of which was very powerful and altering. I felt swept away by the sound and sensation. The sensory overload was overwhelming, and I felt tears come forth, surface, and eventually flow.

Juan told me in a subsequent conversation that not only is ringing the bells the sound of the male llamas at work, but it is also “wahananpaq,” “for calling [the Apu]” (pers. com., 15 September 2005). The sounds of the bells, with the ever-present song, were invocations to the Apu, for the health, strength, and continuance of the herd (see Figure 7.5). In sum, the action of becoming the male llama, and the associations of the bell-sound with the continuance of his labor, was an embodied communion with the animals the people depended on. It was also an enactment of the central concern in this ritual: namely that all llamas, and particularly the males, reproduce and be strong to continue their work, ultimately for human subsistence.

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Figure 7.5. Woman dancing with the rusayu (lead llama bell and fringe). Men play pinkuyllu on both sides, and another woman sings.

The climax of the series of rituals in the mullucancha was the interaction with the llamas that began after a few hours of drinking, chewing, playing, singing, doing machuta kachariy, and dancing with the rusayu. One man holds a male llama while another opens the mouth to serve a full bottle, and often two, of aqha. The Q’eros often add barley flour to the aqha, which Víctor explained is alimentación (nutrition). He added, “We give them the aqha so that they will be strong” (pers. com., 2 August 2006). Juana told me, “The male llamas carry the corn from the forest below. This is why we drink, from what they have carried, and we have the llamas drink the corn beer too” (ibid.). And Raymundo said, “We get the llamas drunk because they carry our corn and potatoes” (ibid.). The people share their important annual corn harvest in its most ceremonial form (aqha) with their beloved llamas, which shows their gratitude towards them for carrying up the harvest. But this sharing is more than just gratitude; it is necessity. It is ayni payment to their llamas towards which they harbor kinship-like feelings. The ayni is direct and immediate: after the llamas carried the harvest, the people reciprocated with drink. Ayni is the necessary circulation of aid and goodwill that is the grease of all community and cosmic interactions, and the failure to continually reciprocate can have severe consequences, such as marred social relations, the Apu not reciprocating with a healthy herd, and llamas stubbornly not complying to carry the loads the

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next time around. 8 (This idea of social and cosmic circulation of ayni is expanded upon in Chapter 8). Immediately following the force-feeding of aqha to a llama, that particular llama would have his ear tassels replaced (see Figures 7.6 and 7.7). Last year’s tattered and sun-faded tassels were changed for bright, new red or pink ones. The women prepared the tassels by threading them through large needles, while continuing to sing “Machu Taki.” They then handed them to the men, many of whom also sang while they inserted and tied the new tassels in the llama’s ears. The Q’eros call this t’ikachay, “to make flower.” The tassels are the new flowers, the markers of renewal, and sign of fertility and procreation like in Phallchay.

Figure 7.6. A man feeding aqha to a llama. Figure 7.7. Men replacing the llama’s ear tassels (t’ikachay).

This was the climax of the series of ritual actions in the mullucancha, both in regards to level of activity and sound. Quite often the man who held the llama for drinking aqha or receiving the t’ika swayed from side-to-side as he sang, totally enraptured in song, inebriation, and the moment. Often the aqha from the llama’s mouth and blood from his ears spilled onto the people, down their sweaters and ponchos, and onto the ground. Singing was spontaneous and effusive. Both men and women’s voices broke as they welled-up with sentiment and tears. A young man occasionally rambunctiously wrestled with a llama, playing with his ‘brother llama’

8 See Abercrombie 1998, 373–383, Allen 2002, 140–3, and Mamani 1990, 3–4, for a description of similar animal fertility rituals in K’ulta, Bolivia, in Sonqo, Paucartambo region, Peru, and in Aymara communities in Chile, respectively.

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while women danced with the ringing bells, in and around the herd, fervently shaking them and singing in full voice. Everyone was involved, including the children as they re-filled the bottles of aqha and ran them back and forth to the adults for serving to the llamas. The movement, sound, and activity were full; co-consumption was replete. It was at this point that I noticed that many of the women, and some of the men, began to cry. The crying was a part of the whole, and not separate; it was also done openly and communally. Weeks later, when I later transcribed some of these tender moments of crying and singing that I had videotaped, I discovered brief moments of personal articulations of loss and anxiety. Francisco’s wife, Juliana, sang, “My dear, youngest llama,” which she told me later was a reference to a baby llama that had died earlier in the year (pers. com., 15 September 2005). Juana sang the same line I heard her sing at Phallchay earlier in the year, “I raise children who need to eat and drink,” while wiping tears from her eyes. The following year, at this same point in the ritual, Juliana from Qocha Moqo cried and said, “When my father was alive, I made him cry so many times” (pers. com., 2 September 2006). She also sang a verse longing for her daughter Sonia, who had recently moved to Cusco to study in school (ibid.). Another woman sang very assertively, and through much weeping, “I raise my children” (ibid.). In sum, by the close of the ritual in the mullucancha, all singing, pinkuyllu playing, bell shaking, and talking/shouting were uninhibited and passionate. I felt overwhelmed at the intensity of emotion as many women were both crying and talking to one another in full voice and openness of heart and emotion, allowing themselves to be fully vulnerable with one another. There was an urgency in expression of raw emotion, much like I had experienced on a more intimate level with Isaac, Víctor, and Juana during Phallchay, except that now, instead of intimate family grief, the sadness was expressed in numbers. And instead of prolonged focus on one specific loss (the death of the two spouses), many people sang and spoke one or two phrases about a particular personal memory, and often the memory was in the more distant past. Yet, the sentiment was similar: it was one unabashed expression of profound sadness and anxiety that had again surfaced during animal fertility ritual, and it was the song that was used to express and sing this sentiment. At this point I began to know that the space of animal fertility rituals nurtured the emergence of such emotion, and that the ever-present fertility song was the vehicle for expressing these emotions effectively (topic of Chapter 8).

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In the late afternoon as the sun was setting, and after all llamas had received their share of aqha and had their t’ika replaced, the animals were herded out of the mullucancha. As the llamas walked off, each person took off her/his hat, hugged one another, and extended well-wishes, such as “May you have a good year,” and “May your llamas be plentiful,” just like they did in Phallchay. Then everyone danced in a line back into the mullucancha, men first, and the women following, all shaking the bells. By now it was dark and people gathered their q’epiy (the belongings carried on their back), and tenderly packed up the machu misa, to make their way back to the family home and continue the celebration all night long. That night, the family continued the ritual, seated around the machu misa on the floor of the home. They ate a meal of potatoes and alpaca meat, which was followed by drinking, singing, and playing pinkuyllu until early dawn. Everyone continued to be fully engaged in the power of the rituals, and expression was demonstrative and uninhibited. The bells were danced with in almost trance-like singing, but this time not in and around the llamas; rather, just standing over the machu misa in the dark home (as I described in my fieldnotes above, from 2 September 2006). Additional enactment took place as some men became herders, singing, whistling, shouting, and dancing with whips. In a recent conversation with John Cohen, he remembers his experience of a similar night back in 1974:9 I felt they were duplicating the practice of whipping/prodding the llamas. In the hut that night it was wonderful to not know who was the animal, who was the person. I re-live that evening many times. Also, there was this young guy standing there shaking the ropes and bells, and giving out syllables . . . not song or words. I felt he was feeling the llama’s spirit (pers. com., 13 March 2009).

Francisco explained that the whipping was often related to horse enactment. Because this is the celebration of male or qhari elements, they sometimes enact a stallion horse, and sing “Cawallo Taki,” “Horse Song.”10 I neither saw nor heard this whipping in any of the Machu Fistay rituals I attended, but they described the action as a man ‘riding’ another person (his ‘horse’) while

9 This night that Cohen describes can be viewed in his 1979 documentary, “The Shape of Survival.”

10 Machu Fistay is roughly concatenated with Santiago, the feast day in honor of the patron saint of horses, which is why horses are included in this ritual. I recorded the “Cawallo Taki,” “Horse Song,” out of context, which has a noticeably different scale and melodic style from the “Machu Taki.” The scale is minor pentatonic (do, re, mi, sol, la), and the melody is more connected and lyric. The difference in song style may be related to the fact that the horse is a European-introduced animal, and was probably subsequently added to the ritual. 158

whipping him. This singing, drinking, and embodiment of the animals and herders continued until early dawn.

“Machu Taki”: Song for the Male Llamas This section presents four audio examples (7.1–7.4) of “Machu Taki,” in order to aurally show the musical aesthetics of ritual performance as I described in the above ethnography, as well as the change and evolution of performance aesthetics as the ritual progressed, and the significance of the song texts for the Q’eros. The four examples were recorded throughout various stages of the ritual, so that the progression shows increasing energy and changes in interpretation of the song throughout the day. The various textual and aural shifts in song production throughout the day give insight into the role music plays as a vehicle of personal expression, which leads to both individual and group healing, and therefore transformation and renewal of social relationship, as well as the reproduction of cosmic beliefs and connections. These issues of the song’s role in social and cosmic reproduction are expanded upon in Chapter 8. The four audio examples are from two separate Machu Fistay celebrations, yet are clear examples of the various phases that occur during the day in Machu Fistay: the first two are from early (7.1) and late (7.2) mornings respectively, and the second two from earlier (7.3) and later (7.4) in the mullucancha in the afternoon. The text transcriptions, translations, and interpretations were done with select Q’eros compadres and comadres who are in the recordings, along with my Quechua tutors, in my home in Cusco. In this way, text translations, analyses, and interpretive summaries are based directly on responses from the Q’eros. Audio example 7.1, Musical Transcription 7.1, and Song Text 7.1 are from Machu Fistay in Francisco’s home as described in the ethnography (27 August 2005). Juana Flores Salas is the single singer, and two men play pinkuyllu. In this preparatory stage, people are beginning to drink and chew coca while seated around the machu misa, but the pululu have not yet been tossed. Below is the five-line staff Musical Transcription 7.1 of Audio Example 7.1, followed by transcription and translation of this excerpt in Song Text 7.1. The notes with the up stems are the pinkuyllu melody and the down stems are the vocal melody. Both melodies are notated to line up exactly in order to show the pitch and rhythmic relationships between the two parts, even though in performance the two melodic lines rarely coincide.

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Audio Example 7.1

Musical Transcription 7.1. “Machu Taki” notated in a five-line staff. (Singer Juana Flores Salas, 27 August, 2005, Ch’allmachimpana, Q’eros).

[A Verse ] [B Refrain ] [A’ Verse ___ __ ]

Song Text 7.1. “Machu Taki,” excerpt of morning singing in Machu Fistay. (Transcription from Audio Example 7.1. Recorded in Ch’allmachimpana, 27 August 2005).

Stanza 1, Juana Flores Salas sings Verse: Sayasqallayki sankhapi In the promontory of rocks where you stand Refrain: Taytayllay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama Verse: Surallaykiwan mikhuykunki11 You who eats the humid grass

Stanza 2 V: Awsanqatichay luntuqa My little white snow of Awsanqati R: Taytayllay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama V: ‘Hali taytallay’ nisqapas Even saying “stop, my dear father” . . .

Stanza 3 V: Uyariqllapas tukunki You pretend you do not hear R: Taytayllay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama V: Kunan p’unchaytaq p’unchayniykiqa Today is your day

11 Juana’s pronunciation of mikhuykunki is a typical example of the difficulties I, and even my Quechua tutors, often encountered in transcribing song texs, which is why I found it imperative to do all transcriptions and translations with the Q’eros, and with the specific singer(s) of the recording, whenever possible. 160

[Two pinkuyllu play alone here]

Stanza 4, Víctor Flores Salas sings V: Imapunitaq kayri kaykunqa And this, what surprise will there be . . . R: Wífala taytallay Victorious dear father! V: Sayaykunkitaq thakyaykunkitaq Now you are resting, now you are calm

The thin texture of the sparse, solo singing in Audio Example 7.1 indicates the preparatory stage that leads up to going out to the mullucancha for the main part of the ritual with the animals. Even though other women were present, Juana sings alone, and only two men play pinkuyllu. The voice and the pinkuyllu sing/play in classic Q’eros overlapping style (see Chapter 5, subheading Musical Aesthetics of Pukllay Taki Performance), and the melodic lines of voice/pinkuyllu line up for brief moments only on ayasariykuy. Musical Transcription 7.1 shows that the vocal melody of “Machu Taki,” like that of “Pantilla T’ika” and all Pukllay taki, has a descending, tritonic melody, which is based on a ‘major triad’. Juana sings the pitches of approximately D-flat (nearly a quarter flat), F, and A- flat. The two men, Víctor and Juan, play pinkuyllu that are nearly ‘in tune’ with one another, indicative that both have similar size pinkuyllu, which Juana has ‘tuned’ her singing to. Such alignment of pitch relationship is easier in such a situation when numbers are much fewer than, say, Pukllay, when fifteen women sing to fifteen pinkuyllu that are all tuned individually. The pitches of the pinkuyllu are F, A-flat, B-flat, so that the pitches of the vocal and pinkuyllu lines also have the same pitch relationship as that of “Pantilla T’ika,” and all Pukllay taki, which form the interval of a ‘fifth’ on aysariykuy. Therefore, the structure and pitch relationship between the voice/pinkuyllu melodies of the llama/alpaca songs of these two calendric rituals and the corpus of Carnaval Songs is congruent: all are tritonic melodies aligned in yanantin relationship with one another. I discuss the refrain of “Machu Taki” first, because, like “Pantilla T’ika,” it is the continual returning point of the song, and contains the essential meaning of the Machu Fistay celebration. Also like “Pantilla T’ika,” there is more than one possibility of refrain for this song, and choice of refrain is up to the individual singer. The two most common refrains I heard are “Taytallay Machullay” and “Wífala Chullumpi.” In Audio Example 7.1 Juana sings the refrain, “Taytallay Machullay,” which translates to “My dear father, my lovely male llama.” “Taytallay” in “Machu Taki” is the counterpart to “Mamayllay” in “Pantilla T’ika,” which references the

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female alpacas and llamas. Machu refers to the male llama, but implies a male that is valiant, virile, and vigorous. The meanings of taytay and machu are multifarious, just like the meanings of phallcha and waman in “Pantilla T’ika,” which have various interpretations and metaphoric associations (see Chapter 6, subheading “Pantilla T’ika”: Song for Llamas and Alpacas). Taytay is a term for father, grandfather, and any elder male, yet specifically it connotes much respect and even reverence. In daily usage, the Q’eros’ word for father is “papay,” and the word taytay connotes special occasions involving the veneration of a male force or being, such as male deities, and even a powerful Apu. In this case referring to the male llamas as taytay/father articulates their respected and venerated status. Machu is not only the word for “male,” but also specifically refers to a male elder who has much wisdom and experience. Machu also refers to ancient lineage and past ancestors, such as the Ñawpa Machu of the Inkarí origin myth (see Chapter 2, subheading Identity: La Nación Q’eros, and Q’eros and/or Inca?). In this way, while the text is a direct reference to lineage of male machu llamas, it simultaneously invokes lineage of people. This connection between lineage of animals and people comes from the kin-like sentiment the people hold for their animals, which is particularly highlighted during this ritual that focuses on lineage increase. In sum, the complete refrain Taytallay Machullay holds layers of meaning, from beloved, llama/father who is young and virile/old and wise, to lineage of llamas/male ancestors, as well as a divine reference to the supreme male of Apu Taytay. The second commonly-sung refrain, Wífala Chullumpi (which is heard in Audio Example 7.2), is equally layered with meaning. Wífala is a celebratory superlative that roughly translates to “Long live!”, “Victorious!” or simply “Hooray!” Chullumpi refers to any type of aquatic bird in the high Andes with the markings of black on top and white underneath. It is more commonly a reference to diving birds that live near fresh water lakes, particularly grebes (white-tufted: Rollandia rolland, and silvery: Podiceps occipitalis).12 Wallata, though not diving birds, are also in the category of chullumpi because of similar markings and the water association of living near lakes.13 The black marking on the back of all these water birds resembles a small cargo load,

12 Jose Luis Venero, pers. com., 10 March 2007.

13 Because of this, the term chullumpi is sometimes used in the Pukllay taki “Wallata” to refer to the wallata (see Chapter 4, subheading Kunan Pukllay Taki: Topics of Currently Active Carnaval Songs). 162

which is one reason chullumpi is nomenclature for cargo-carrying llamas that have similar markings, both in Q’eros and elsewhere in the Andes. Because of this, the male llamas are referred to as chullumpi in the refrains of “Machu Taki,” in specific reference to the corn (and other) cargo that they carry; however, in “MachuTaki,” the name chullumpi extends to all llamas, not just the ones with these particular markings. Jorge Flores Ochoa explains that llama seed animals (stallions) in general are called chullumpi in many Andean communities (Flores Ochoa 1986, 139).14 Another significant connection between the water birds and the animals is the birds’ fresh water dwelling areas, which are the mythological birth places of the llamas and alpacas (Flores Ochoa 1988, 238). The birds’ habitat is the chawpi between the Apu and Pacha Mama, which gives them a special status, as Flores Ochoa explains: “Aquatic birds that are called chullumpi represent the existing relationship between these beings and the lakes and springs, which are the means of communication that connect this world with the interior” (Flores Ochoa 1988, 243).The animals, then, are associated with the birds not only because of the black and white markings, but because of the powerful places they reside (birds) and originate from (animals), which connects both to the supernatural world of the spirit powers. In addition, some Q’eros said that the term chullumpi refers to all (male and female) llamas. This difference in interpretation is similar to what I encountered in regards to Phallchay, when I was informed the ritual is for all animals, while others said it is for the female llamas, and still others said the female alpacas. All interpretations of course are true, and I believe the underlying gist is that both Phallchay and Machu Fiestay celebrate all animals, but the former focuses on the female element, and the latter on the male. These focal points reflect the yanantin relationship between the two rituals; the rituals are a yanantin pair, with Phallchay as warmi and Machu Fistay as qhari, but both have elements of warmi/qhari in the other, with neither one completely female or male. The gist of the translation of Wífala Chullumpi, therefore, is something like “Long live the male/female/all llamas!”

14 Flores Ochoa cites song text in the llama fertility ritual in Santa Barbara (south of Cusco), in which they sing to the “chullumpillay” (Flores Ochoa 1988, 243). Denise Arnold and Juan de Dios Yapita also write extensively about animal fleece markings and bird feather associations in the animal songs from Qaqachaka, Potosí area, Bolivia (Arnold and de Dios Yapita, 1999 and 2001). Song texts about chullumpi are on pages, 270–2 (of the 2001 English version), and Chapter 9 of their book (2001, 303–46) is dedicated to songs about the male llamas.

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In sum, the refrains of “Machu Taki” are polysemous, just like the refrains of “Pantilla T’ika.” The various interpretations and metaphorical associations of the two refrains of “Machu Taki” reference any/all of the following: male/female/all llamas, but in particular the stud llama as seed animal and cargo carrier; current/past lineage of young/virile or wise/old male humans and llamas; the supreme male deity, Apu; birds with connections to animal birth origins; and associations of the animals with the supernatural. The texts Juana sings in Audio Example 7.1 (Song Text 7.1) are common, set verses, which mostly describe the llama and the person’s impressions of him. In Stanza 1 the singer is the herder describing the male out in the high grasses, which is “standing in rock promontories (sankha), eating the humid grass (suray).” The first verse of Stanza 2 opens with the machu/Apu analogy. The whiteness of the male llama is compared to the snow of Awsanqati (also Ausangate, Sp.), the largest, most powerful Apu in the entire southeast region of the Peruvian Andes. The term awsanqati is part of the Q’eros’ nomenclature for the llamas that are of a particularly clear shade of all-white. Apu Awsangati is about a two-day walk from Q’eros, and its mention in conjunction with the llama’s whiteness places the llama in utmost esteem. Apu Awsanqati is taytay of the highest order, the most prominent “Father” in the world of mountain spirits, and holds sway over all other Apu in the greater southeastern region of Peru, which includes the Apu of Q’eros. The second verse of Stanza 2 and the first verse of Stanza 3 are testaments to the stubborn character of the lead llama. Together the verses describe that even when the llama is called to stop, he “pretends not to hear.”15 This narrative relays what it is like to walk with the tilantiru as he carries the corn cargo up from the monte. It shows how the people regard the llama as an individual, with human-like characteristics. That is, he is not just a “work animal” that “sometimes does not hear,” but he has his own willful personality that “pretends not to hear.” The second verse of Stanza 3, “Kunan p’unchaytaq p’unchayniykiqa,” “Today is your day,” is a common one in both “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika.” It points out that “we are celebrating you today,” and, like the previous, the llama is spoken to personally: “it is ‘your’ special day.”

15 Uyariq tukuy is an expression in Quechua that translates to “pretending to be deaf” (literally, “to finish that which/the one who hears.”)

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In Stanza 4, Víctor sings in the low, “qhari” voice as he calls it (pers. com., 15 September 2005). This is a vocal style that is often affected by men often in animal fertility ritual, which John Cohen asserts may be in imitation of the male animals (pers. com., 20 August 2005). The imitation of animal sound seems probable as this qhari voice is used specifically in animal fertility ritual; however, this has not been articulated to me as such. Certainly it is a sound associated with “maleness,” the central theme of the ritual. Víctor sings of the fun surprises that might be in store on this day of celebration, now that the llama has now done all of his carrying and is “resting and calm.” I recorded Audio Example 7.2 and Song Text 7.2 in the home of Agustín Machacca Flores in the anexo of Qocha Moqo on 2 September 2006. Even though Audio Examples 7.1 and 7.2 are from two separate Machu Fistay celebrations (the former in 2005, the latter in 2006), they were both recorded during the morning preparations in the home just before the family moved to the mullucancha for the rituals with the llamas. This excerpt shows how energy increases as the morning progresses, which is partly a result of increased inebriation. I’ve been told, and heard many times, that being drunk is a criterion for “good singing”; the heightened energy results in singing that has more life and vitality, so that the song is filled with more samay. In Audio Example 7.2 we hear spontaneous improvisation on the part of Juliana Apasa Flores, about a fear that she and many others have regarding the safety of their llamas against puma attacks. This is the beginning of personalized expressions of anxiety that often leads to grief-singing by that person, and many others, in the mullucancha later that day, as described in the above ethnography.

Audio Example 7.2

Song Text 7.2. “Machu Taki,” excerpt of late morning singing in Machu Fistay. (Transcription from Audio Example 7.2. Recorded in Qocha Moqo, 2 September 2006.)

Stanza 1 Verse: Viajerowan kumpustaykunki With your fellow travelers, you will get along

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well Refrain: Taytayllay chullumpi My dear father, chullumpi Verse: Pasajerowan kumpustaykunki With your fellow passengers, you will understand one another Stanza 2 V: Pacha phuyuwan kushkalla Together, with the clouds [we travel] R: Wífala chullumpi Victorious chullumpi V: Taytaychay thaskiykushanki My dear father, you are walking slowly Juliana Apasa Flores speaks Aynatapuni. Amaña wachacha kacharisunchu, carajo! Pampa pillunqa, hamushanmi. Qunqachikuqhina, qunqachikuqhinata.¿Amaña, kunan p’unchaymantachu wañurunaqrí?

It is always like this. Now, young herder, we won’t let [the llamas] loose, dammit! The puma is coming—the one that makes others forget; that distracts us. Now, will he [the llama] die in only one day?

Stanza 3, Juliana sings R: Wífala chullumpi Long live the chullumpi! V: Chayllapiñachu qidachikunki Just there, you are made to stay

Juliana shouts ‘Hina’ nishachun Inca arrieroq. Waqashachun, waqanman. ‘It is like that,’ you will say to the owner. Like that he is crying, why would he cry?

Stanza 4 V: Wífala chullumpi Victorious chullumpi! R: Taytachay tukaykushanki My dear father, you are playing

Stanza 5 V: Pachalla phuyu laqhaykumuqtin When the fog casts its shadow R: Wífala chullumpi Long live the chullumpi! V: Taytachay tukaykushanki My dear father, you are playing

In this recording, two women and one man sing, on the same pitch level: approximately B-flat, D, F. Sometimes they sing the same text simultaneously, other times not. In Stanzas 1 and 2 the women and man sing somewhat together, with some overlap. The text of both stanzas describes the llama trains as they ascend from the monte with the corn cargos. Kumpustay is from the Spanish verb componerse (to consist of, to comprise), and its uses in this context refers to fellow travelers who understand one another, get along well, know how to pass one another on the trail, walk in line together, and so forth. The llamas walk slowly uphill with the clouds, because the clouds always come from the forest below and rise into upper Q’eros.

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Then, suddenly Juliana breaks into speech, as if she is living a moment that did or could happen, probably both. She talks to an imaginary young girl herder, rather harshly saying “dammit, we won’t let the llamas loose!” Juliana continues, not wanting to let the llamas free to graze out of the corral because the puma, “pampa pillunqa,” is a trickster, “qunqachikuq,” “one that can make others forget,” and it could distract the people and attack and kill a young llama. Juliana calls the puma by a name that is a classificatory name for a brown llama: pampa (brown color of flat grassy areas or pampa) and pillun, from the Spanish pellón (pelt).16 Juliana told me that because of the puma’s mischievous nature, it would more likely come on the day least expected, that is, during Machu Fistay, rather than on an ordinary herding day. Because of this it is necessary to address the puma with affection on this day, the same way they address their llamas, so that it is pacified (pers. com., 15 September 2006). She completes this idea by saying that the llamas will not die just because we have kept them in from grazing for one day. In Stanza 3 Juliana sings a refrain of praise for the male llama, and then sings an improvised verse that follows what she was just talking about: the llamas are “made to stay” in their corral, for protection against the puma.17 Juliana then speaks again, directly to the male llama, instructing him to say to his owner (Inca arriero) that “this is the way things are,” in order to pacify the owner’s concern about the puma. Then she comments that the owner is crying, but that he should not cry, adding “why should he cry?” because “it is like this” in Q’eros. In Juliana’s brief monologue, she has created a scene that regularly happens in Q’eros: the attack of a puma, which temporarily traumatizes a herd and is devastating for the owners. The girl (wacha) could be her youngest daughter, Rina, who herds with Juliana regularly, or perhaps she is remembering her own childhood when, as she told me, she herded daily with her grandfather, or both. She addresses the loss and crying that she and any herder feel about the death of a llama. In this way, she is articulating her own anxiety and fears, which are communal fears. Inca arriero (literally “Inca muleteer”) is a formal name the Q’eros use in ritual to refer to the llamas’ owner. The name Inca arriero is used in a myth they used to recite regularly during Machu Fistay in the past, but it rarely occurs anymore. The myth has many versions that

16 The qa suffix on pillunqa is for emphasis.

17 The verb she sings is qidachikunki from the Spanish quedar (to stay).

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basically tell of a llama or llamas that help the Q’eros win a moonlight battle against the Spanish. The myth glorifies the strength of the llamas and connects them to the mythical past.18 In this way, the ancient and heroic lineage of the llamas is evoked. Stanzas 4 and 5 address the llama as he “plays,” in the sense of playing/sounding an instrument. Tukay comes from the Spanish tocar. Juliana told me this refers to the llama “playing” his high-pitched “y-y” natural sound that he makes—the very sound that mestizo chronicler Guamán Poma de Ayala drew in the scene of the Inca singing with his llama in the early seventeenth century, as depicted in Figure 7.1 (ibid.). In sum, Audio Example 7.2 and Song Text 7.2 show the beginnings of personal expression of fear and anxiety in the reenactment of the possible arrival of the life-threatening puma. Juliana addresses the crying and sadness anyone would feel over such a loss. Later on, when people go to the mullucancha for drinking with the llamas and replacing their t’ika, the personalized expression of anxiety and loss reaches its peak. Audio Example 7.3 shows the sound aesthetic during this peak ritual time, as people are in the height of inebriation and singing fervently and continuously.

Audio Example 7.3

In Audio Example 7.3 it is obvious from the outset that there is more urgency in the singing and an increase in overall energy and intensity of sound when compared to the morning singing (Audio Example 7.1 is from the same day, people, and place, but just earlier in the day). In this excerpt, many people sing simultaneously, but rarely line up the melodies ‘together’ except on aysariykuy. They sing in different pitch centers simultaneously, and dance with the

18 John Cohen recorded extended discourse that references “Inca arriero” and the myth, in an older version of “Machu Taki” that is no longer sung. This can be heard on track 28, “Woman with Bells” (1964), in 1991 [1964], Mountain Music of Peru, Smithsonian/Folkways. Up until about twenty years ago, sections of this myth were regularly retold in Machu Fistay, and discourse was quite extensive. Francisco Quispe Machacca explained that “we used to talk a lot like this while singing the ‘Ñawpa Machu Taki,’ (old version of ‘Machu Taki’) but no longer” (pers. com., 15 September 2006). He believes it has something to do with the change in the character and quality of drunkenness. “We used to drink just aqha, but now we drink [pure] alcohol, and we cannot recite [the myth] like before” (ibid.).

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llama bells among the llamas. The people’s overall intentions in the ritual to reach the Apu, and their filling the song with samay, are heard in the intensity of the people’s singing. The singing is at its peak as people interact with their llamas, having them drink aqha and changing their t’ika.

Song Text 7.3. “Machu Taki,” excerpt of afternoon singing in the mullucancha in Machu Fistay. (Transcription from Audio Example 7.3. Recorded in Ch’allmachimpana, 27 August 2005).

Stanza 1, Juana Flores Salas sings Refrain: Taytallay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama Verse: Kayllapiñachus chayllapiñachu It will be only here, it will be only there

[Another woman joins Juana during the aysariykuy; she sings approximately a ‘minor third’ lower. People dance with bells.]

Stanza 2, Juan Quispe Calcina sings (in same pitch center as Juana) V: Antisuyullay pachay phuyu The cloud from the antisuyu (monte) R: Taytallay wawqellay My dear father, my dear brother V: Qanqa taytallay thaskiykuy You, my dear father, walk carefully

Stanza 3, Juana overlaps with Juan at this point and sings V: Pasa wawqellay, pasa mistillay Just walk my brother, just pass my misti (mixed) R: Taytallay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama V: Sayasqallayki pampapi In the meadow where you rest

[A woman joins Juana on aysariykuy, singing a ‘fifth’ below.]

Stanza 4, Juana sings V: Taytallay sayaykushanki My dear father, you are standing tall R: Taytallay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama V: Kunan p’unchaytaq p’unchayniyki Today is your day

Stanza 5, A woman sings simultaneously under Juana’s last verse V: Wífala Machullay Victorious llama! R: Qucha ulayraq ulaykusun Like the waves of the lake, we will make waves

Stanza 6, Another woman sings V: Wífala Machullay Victorious llama! R: Huqlla, iskhalla machuqa Only one, only two llamas

Stanza 7, Juana sings V: Awsanqatichay lontoqa My little white snow of Ausangate R: Taytallay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama V: Piqpa maypalla machuntaq Of whom, from where is this valiant llama

Stanza 8, Juana sings and cries

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V: Apasa runallaq machuntaq It is the llama belonging to the man Apasa R: Taytallay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama [Juana begins to cry here] V: Kayllapiñachus chayllapiña(chu) It will be only here, it will be only there

Stanza 9, Older woman sings, about a ‘fifth’ below Juana V: Q’uncha punkuman sirvuykunata You serve us even to the stove’s door R: Wífala Machullay Victorious llama! [verse difficult to discern; not translated]

Stanza 10, Older woman again V: Piyunchallaykis harriyasunki Your peon is herding you R: Wífala Machullay Victorious llama! [verse difficult to discern; overlapping voices here]

Stanza 11, Juana sings V: Apasachallaq runallaqa It is the llama belonging to Apasa R: Wífala Machullay Victorious llama! V: Rumi k’aspiwan harriyaykuna You are herded with sticks and stones

Juana adds a second refrain R: Lluq’illamanpas, pañallamanpas To the left, and to the right

[Here an older woman sings in aysariykuy a ‘fifth’ below Juana]

Stanza 12, strong woman’s voice V: Manyarikullay, haywarikullay Please partake, please serve yourself

Stanza 13, Juan sings V: Taytallay wawqellay My dear father, my dear brother R: Mayraqchá uhaykushaswan For how long will we be drinking so much? V: Taytallay wawqellay My dear father, my dear brother

[verse difficult to discern]

Stanza 14, Sebastiana Machacca Apasa sings V: Kunan p’unchaychu p’unchayllay Today is your day R: Taytallay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama V: Ausangatillay lontoqa My little white snow of Ausangate

Stanza 15, Sebastiana sings V: Wawqechallantin xx Two brother llamas together (xx indiscernible) R: Wífala Machullay Victorious llama! V: ‘Hali’ Taytallay niykuwaq “Rest, stop my father” you shall say

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Stanza 16, Sebastiana sings V: Uyariqllapas Tukunkichu You pretend you do not hear R: Wífala Machullay Victorious llama!

Stanza 17, Juan sings softly Taytallaykiqa uhaysun Your dear father, we will drink

Juana Flores Salas is the first singer. Her pitch center from the morning to the afternoon shifts from approximately D-flat to E. This rise in pitch of about a minor third is indicative of heightened energy and emotion. Right away at the beginning of this example the individual nature of the communal singing of “Machu Taki” is obvious when two women sing at different times, in different pitch centers, and with different texts. They sing as they stand next to the llamas, threading the bright pink or red yarn into needles, in order to hand the t’ika to the men who will thread it into the llama’s pierced ears. Many people play the rusayu and dance with them in the mullucancha. In Stanza 2, Juan describes the familiar scene of clouds as they roll up from the humid monte below (just like Juliana described in Stanza 2 of Audio Example 7.2), which is an effect caused by the rising warm humidity of the lowland cloud forest as it meets the drier cold air above. This is the typical and nearly daily weather pattern in Q’eros. The term antisuyu (anti/eastern and suyu/section or partiality) is from pre-Hispanic times, and the best-known use is by the Incas to refer to the eastern quarter of the empire, which was essentially the lowland area of the Amazon cloud and rain forest.19 The Q’eros use of the term antisuyu, then, refers to their land in the monte, and is more commonly used in song or ritual and not daily speech. The following verse describes the llama as he walks slowly and “carefully,” ascending the narrow path on the journey up from the monte. In the first verse of Stanza 3 Juana refers to the movement of the “brother” llamas as they pass each other on the busy trail. This verse is a general one referring to “brother llama,” and not a personal one, improvised by Juana, because she uses the word “wawqey” (the term a man calls his brother), and not turay (the term a woman calls her brother). The misti (mestizo) that is on the trail refers to a llama and alpaca hybrid, or “mix.” The second verse of Stanza 3, “In the meadow where you rest,” refers to the single large meadow on the trail, qirispampa, which is the only place the hundreds of simultaneously

19 Anti is the origin of today’s name of the mountains: Andes. 171

ascending and descending llamas have room to pass each other during the day’s ascent/descent. All people and llamas arrive on the pampa sometime mid-morning (usually between 9:00–10:00 a.m.), for a large communal rest when they eat karmu (food carried for the trail) and socialize. There may be a few hundred llamas in the pampa at any given time, and they sometimes get mixed in with those of other groups. It is wonderfully exciting to see the people laughing and shouting as they run around separating their llamas, and herd them onto the appropriate up or down trail. The people’s singing about qirispampa highlights the importance this place plays in a successful corn harvest. In this verse, Sayasqallayki pampapi, we hear another woman line up her melody with Juana’s, but with a different text. She holds her aysariykuy approximately a ‘fifth’ below Juana’s pitch on aysariykuy. Pinkuyllu playing is heard in the background. There is much overlapping in singing here, with Juana’s voice in the foreground. In Stanza 4 Juana sings “My dear father, you are tall,” which some Q’eros say refers to the llamas as they stand and wait for the corn cargos to be loaded on their backs. It is also a general comment on the stature and comportment of the llamas. The second verse in Stanza 4 is a common one, exclaiming that “today is your day,” the day to celebrate the llama. The woman who sings “Like the waves of the lake, we will make waves” in Stanza 5 is referring to the waves of drinking and dancing that the people make throughout the celebration. This is a floating verse that is found in many songs, including Pukllay taki. There is one brief, yet fascinating moment, which I believe shows how the Q’eros have their own sense of ‘relative pitches’ or ‘keys’; that is, pitch levels that are comfortable for singing in relation to one another while simultaneously singing in his/her own comfortable range. Between 1:01–1:03, three women line up their aysarikuy on three distinct pitches that together comprise a ‘major triad’. On Juana’s second verse of Stanza 4, kunan p’unchaytaq p’unchayniyki, she holds her aysariykuy in the pitch of E. The woman who sings qucha ulayraq ulaykusun in Stanza 5 holds her aysariykuy on the pitch of A, a fifth below Juana’s pitch level, and still a third woman sings the refrain Wífala machullay simultaneously in the background on the pitch of C#. So, their combined pitches (A, C#, E) comprise the intervallic relationship of the tritonic pattern that is foundational in “Machu Taki,” “Pantilla T’ika,” and all Pukllay taki. It makes sense that when people sing in different ‘keys’, they would naturally sing in a pitch center that has some pitches in common with the one that his or her neighbor is singing in (and

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therefore is more comfortable for singing). In other words, a person’s sung ‘triad’ will have some of the same pitches as their neighbor’s ‘triad’, in intervals of a fifth or a third above or below. This example supports my suggestion of certain communal criteria and boundaries within individualized singing, such as an agreed-upon tempo and relative pitch levels or ‘keys’ among the singers (see Chapter 5, subheading Musical Aesthetics of Pukllay taki Performance, for a discussion of ‘relative keys’). The verse “only one, only two llamas” in Stanza 6 comments on how the Q’eros must select the strongest llamas from all the males in a herd to carry the corn up from the monte, because all are not capable. This highlights the special status of the ones that are selected. In Stanza 7 Juana sings about the llama that is white like the snow of Apu Awsanqati, and in the next verse she queries, “To whom does this one valiant llama belong?” Then, in Stanza 8, she answers her own question “it belongs to the man named Apasa.” This is a fixed verse, and in this case does not refer to a particular Apasa (as it did when Víctor sang his wife’s last name); rather, the verse is generically associating the llama with any Q’eros person, as Apasa is a common name. At this point in the ritual, the emotional intensity begins to cause people to cry, which we hear in the breaking of Juana’s voice as she sings the refrain of Stanza 8, Taytallay Machullay. The intensive sharing of aqha with the llamas and changing of their t’ika, one by one many women and some men begin to cry, as described in the above ethnography. Their continued singing is that of the known verses, with an occasional personal improvisation. In Stanza 9, an older woman sings, “You serve us even to the stove’s door.” The llamas not only carry many loads to the homes, but, figuratively, to the very hearth of the home, the “stove’s door,” where the corn (that the llama carried) is cooked on the fire that their very dung fuels. The perception is one of how the llamas serve the people, carrying and providing so many sustenance items that keep the people fed. On this matter, I heard one woman say precisely, “We are served by the llamas.” Stanzas 10 and 11 describe herding the llamas on the return trip from the monte, and daily herding in general. A herder is sometimes referred to as piyun (peon, Stanza 10) who sometimes herds with “sticks and stones, to the left and to the right” (Stanza 11). These verses are also sung in “Pantilla T’ika,” because they are about herding in general, and not specifically to the llamas.

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In Stanza 12 Juana sings, “Please partake, please serve yourself” respectfully to the llama, inviting him to enjoy and abundantly drink the aqha that is being served to him on his special day. Juan follows in Stanza 13 when he also addresses the ritual drinking by singing an open-ended question that acknowledges the intensity and enjoyment of Machu Fistay, “For how long will we be drinking so much?” The remaining verses have been sung before, with the exception of Stanza 15 and “two brothers together,” which refers to two strong male lead llamas. Using the term wawqe (brother) to refer to the llamas, like taytay, shows the kinship-like feelings they hold for the animals. The song is a discourse about the llama’s labor and the people’s strong feelings about him; significant places and typical scenes along the trip to and from the monte are named; the llama’s strength, colorings, slow gait, and stubborn personality are detailed; familial kinship and lineage of ‘father’ and ‘brother’ are acknowledged; and celebratory drinking is referenced. The refrains are repeated allegories of praise to the male llama, expressions of gratitude to him and his lineage for service rendered, and feelings of kinship toward him. The expressions are affectionate and familiar, while simultaneously respectful and reverent. In many cases the words are specific moments, a sort of sung story (“two brothers,” “just walk and pass,” “you pretend you do not hear”). The song text is a narrative of lived moments and true feelings, a window into the people’s interdependence with and respect for the male llamas. And, finally, the song is the vehicle that is used to express personal sentiments of loss, fear, and anxiety. The fourth and final recording in this sequence is Audio Example 7.4, which was recorded in the anexo of Qocha Moqo, like Audio Example 7.2 from the same morning, except the recording is from late afternoon. This recording is two sequences in one, the first one earlier, with a short fadeout (00:30), which is followed by another example that was recorded about an hour later. They are both from the latter part of the ritual in the mullucancha, when the llamas are made to drink aqha and their t’ika is being replaced. This audio example focuses particularly on the sound of the bells as the people dance and sing with the rusayu when they embody and celebrate the revered lead llama.

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Audio Example 7.4

In both sequences of Audio Example 7.4, the bell sound is in the foreground with much animated talking, singing, and pinkuyllu playing in the background. The two selections, one after the other, show how intensity builds throughout the afternoon. In both, all women sing in the same pitch center, yet this center rises over the course of the afternoon. In the first part of the recording from earlier in the afternoon (0:00–0:30) the pitch center on aysariykuy is an approximate B-flat, which changes to an approximate D-flat in the second recording. This rise in pitch of a ‘third’ is the aural representation of increased energy in the ritual as the afternoon progresses. Furthermore, in the second recording the women’s voices are fuller and more assertive, and the singing has a heightened fervor that is somewhat like a forceful shout. In the same vein, the talking among the women is more intense, with vocal quality equally as intense and forced. The shaking of the bells in the first part is more rhythmic and with a steady pulse, and the latter is more continual with a trance-like feeling to it. I observed this progression physically as well as aurally: the women who sang standing over the machu misa earlier in the afternoon moved in a more regular, pulsating dance-like fashion that later was transformed into more of a passionate trance-like swaying from side-to-side. At this latter point in the ritual many of the women were crying and expressing personal sentiments, in spoken or sung discourse. The song texts in Audio Examples 7.1, 7.2, and 7.3 with their accompanying Song Texts 7.1, 7.2, and 7.3, show the deep significance the male llama holds for the people, how he is revered and loved, and how he plays an integral role in the people’s lives. The verses richly detail the llama’s personality and physical traits, important place names, and specific moments of interaction in the corn-carrying journey. The refrains celebrate male llama and human ancestry, and have metaphorical connections with male virility and wisdom, the Apu superpowers, and the bird/supernatural/birth origin associations. The singing and playing undergoes an evolutionary process throughout the ritual, from that of formal expression early in the day (Audio Example 7.1) to one of full and open passion by the end (Audio Examples 7.3 and 7.4). This open passion is often transforming, and fosters

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the release of great emotion, when crying about loss emerges and is expressed through dialogue, enactments, and song, as heard in Juliana’s ‘puma’ sequence, Audio Example 7.2. I expand more on reasons for this emergence of emotion in the next chapter.

Yanantin Relationship between the Songs “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika” “Machu Taki” is very much the brother-song to its sister-song, “Pantilla T’ika.” The texts of both songs, especially the refrains, encompass the meaning of both rituals: reverence of male and female camelids respectively, with metaphorical associations to human lineage, birds, and the supernatural (see Chapter 6, subheading “Pantilla T’ika: Song for Llamas and Alpacas). The former song focuses on the male animals in the qhari dry season time of year, and the latter on the female animals in the warmi wet season time of year. In addition to paired textual and contextual relationship, I argue that the coupling of these two songs is manifested in their shared melodic structure and song form which are distinct from all Pukllay taki, and all other animal fertility songs (to the cows and sheep). “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika” are very similar in melodic and rhythmic structures, as well as overall song form. Both songs have a verse-refrain-verse (ABA1) form, which differs from the verse-refrain (AB) form of all Pukllay taki; however, the melodic relationship between the vocal and pinkuyllu parts of the two songs is like that of all Pukllay taki, with the tritonic melodies in a yanantin relationship to each other (see Chapter 5, subheading Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets). That is, the vocal and pinkuyllu melodies begin in a shared-pitch area (chawpi: mi and sol), and then the two verses and the refrain end with clear warmi/qhari distinction that forms an interval of a ‘fifth’ (warmi on do, qhari on sol). Audio Example 7.5 and Musical Transcription 7.2 shows the yanantin relationship between “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika” in regards to shared musical traits: ABA1 form, duple meter, and rhythmic length of melodic lines. These two transcription excerpts can be heard back-to-back in Audio Example 7.5, so that by reading the transcriptions combined with listening to the songs the resemblance of both songs is apparent. In the first example, “Machu Taki,” I have transcribed the pinkuyllu part (upper notes) even though there is no pinkuyllu in this particular audio excerpt.

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Audio Example 7.5

Musical Transcription 7.2. The Yanantin Relationship of “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika” 1) “Machu Taki”: Excerpted from field recording in Ch’allmachimpana, 27 August 2005. Singer, Juana Flores Salas; pinkuyllu player, Víctor Flores Salas.

1) “Machu Taki”:

[A Verse______] [B Refrain ] [A1 Verse ]

A) Sayasqallayki sankhapi In the promontory of rocks where you stand B) Taytayllay Machullay My dear father, my valiant llama A1) Surallaykiwan mikhuykunki You who eats the humid grass

2) “Pantilla T’ika”: Excerpted from a 1984 recording by John Cohen (Track 38 on 1991 [1964]. Mountain Music of Peru. Smithsonian/Folkways CD), Singer, Monica Apasa Vargas; pinkuyllu player is Monica’s cousin, Enrique.

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Musical Transcription 7.2, continued:

2) “Pantilla T’ika”:

[A Verse ] [B Refrain ] [A1 Verse ]

I ma cha ma nta fal ta ta --- Pantillaphall chay wa ma nki Chayllachuma na u hay ku(saq) ---

A) Imachamanta faltata I want for nothing B) Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely, pink phallcha flower, wamanki A1) Chayllachu mana uhaykusaq How am I not going to drink?

The ABA1 form is obvious in both songs, with the refrain centered between the verses. The straight-forward duple pulse of “Machu Taki” and “Pantilla T’ika” contrasts with the triple- compound rhythm of all Pukllay taki (see Appendix B). This rhythmic contrast between the two genres I believe is related to the songs’ contrastive functions: the animal fertility songs are for direct supplication to the super powers, and the Pukllay taki are for playful fun. The duple pulse feel of the former is more declarative, while the triple compound meter of the latter is more dance-like. The two songs have the same number of ‘measures’ and therefore the same number of rhythmic pulses or beats in both songs. Every other beat is stressed in the singing, so that there are four strong pulses in each of the three sections. Therefore, the three sections of both songs are uniform: A) verse of four strong pulses, B) refrain of four strong pulses, and A1) verse of four strong pulses, with aysariykuy at the end. In addition to having the same pulse organization, the pitches of the sung melodies are also organized the same within these pulses. The first pulse of each of the three sections in the vocal melody begins on the higher pitch of sol, then the second pulse moves to mi, and the third and fourth pulses are held on do. “Machu Taki” is slightly more syncopated than “Pantilla T’ika,” which is one minor difference between the two melodies. Other than that, the melody, rhythm, and form are strikingly similar.

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For many reasons, both musically and functionally, these two songs are mirror images of one another: similar melodic, rhythmic, and formal structure; the female/male, animal/human lineage, bird/supernatural textual associations; the alternating female/male focus in ritual and season; and, finally, intent of song function as propitiation for healthy herds (this last reason is expanded upon in the next chapter). Just as Tom Cummins states that “Yanantin takes a pictorial form in queros, because when a toast is offered the two cups held up to each other produce a mirror image” (Cummins 2002, 260), the same is true with these two songs, except the ‘mirror’ in this case is aural, and not visual. Furthermore, I argue that it would not be too far-fetched to say that, in essence, they are really the same song, one being the female aspect or warmi version, and the other the male aspect or qhari version. This is like the powerful force of Pacha Mama and the Apu that has female and male aspects one within the other, and are not conceived of separately, as Agustín demonstrated when he exclaimed “I cannot talk about them separately. Warmintin qharintinpuni! (woman/man inclusively, always!)” (pers. com., 22 May 2006). I remember asking Luis, “What would happen if offerings were made only for the Pacha Mama and not the Apu?” He responded that the Apu would not receive the offering, that the offering must be to both; that they are inseparable (pers. com., 7 August 2007). Catherine Allen describes the interconnected nature of the Andean world: “Pacha (World), the prototypical body, is not a simple or passive thing but rather a specific configuration of matter, activity and a moral relationship, a state of shared and materialized experience” (Allen 2008, 8). This “state of shared and materialized experience” is comprised of female and male aspects, with Pacha Mama and Apu as the grandest and most powerful. In this light, perhaps the songs should not be thought of as two separate songs for two separate rituals; rather, their relationship to one another is indicative of a complementary duality that is more appropriately considered (in Q’eros perception) as a complete whole. Another way to put it is that it can be no coincidence that the two songs are so similar to one another, and not to the other Q’eros autochthonous songs; and that whenever these songs came into being, they came from the perception of viewing the world within a yanantin whole. Indeed, the songs for the cow and bull also have similar melodic traits to one another, and the songs for the ewe and the ram have the very same melody, but different texts.20 Therefore, with all Q’eros animal

20 These are pentatonic songs sung and played on the panpipes during Sinalay, which is the ritual to the cattle and sheep held just before Todos los Santos in October. 179

fertility songs, the yanantin relationship of the animals and the fertility rituals is also manifested in the yanantin musical relationship between the corresponding female/male animal songs. This yanantin pairing, as expressed in musical mirror images, supports the argument I posited about the yanantin relationship between vocal and pinkuyllu melodies in all Pukllay taki (see Chapter 5, subheading Yanantin in Song Structure and Paired Pusunis Conch Shell Trumpets), as forms of cultural insistence (Urton 2003, 44 referring to Robert and Marcia Ascher), refraction (Guss 1989, 4), and habitus (Allen 2002, 179, referring to Bourdieu). By extension, my argument evolves beyond that of melodic relationships in the internal structure of songs to that of yanantin relationship between two songs (which also have the internal yanantin structure). This yanantin relationship between the two songs, just like the yanantin relationship between vocal and pinkuyllu parts in all Pukllay taki, “Machu Taki,” and “Pantilla T’ika,” and the continual cyclical performance of them, is a musical re-creation of the Q’eros’ worldview and cosmological perception. The cyclical performance of the paired songs represents the continual cyclical return that characterizes Andean time and space (pacha). Just like Cummins reminds us that “. . . although they [the cups] are made in pairs, there is a slight difference in size, such that one is Hanan and one Hurin,” the songs too have a hanan-hurin relationship that fluctuates according to season (ibid., 260). During the Incan Empire the terms hanan and hurin referred to predominant status and subordinate status, respectively, and status was continually fluctuating depending on context. For example, during times of war or battle, Cusco’s higher, larger square of Awqaypata or Waqaypata (place of war or weeping), and its associated moiety held predominant status (hanan), while the lower, smaller one Kusipata (place of joy or happiness) with its moiety was subordinate. In times of celebration or feasts this status was reversed, such that the Awqaypata was subordinate to the Kusipata. Similarly, the year goes through seasonal cycles, when the dry season is hanan to the wet, and then transition occurs (chawpi) when the rains come, and the wet season becomes hanan to the dry. In this way, during Machu Fistay, “Machu Taki” has hanan status to the hurin status of “Pantilla T’ika,” and conversely, during Phallchay, “Pantilla T’ika” has hanan status to the hurin status of “Machu Taki.” 21 Machu Fistay and Phallchay, with their

21 Ideas for this section drawn from Randall 1982b, 51. 180

mirrored focus on male/female animals with male/female-oriented songs, are in continual cyclical return with a male/female seasonal relationship to one another. Andean cosmology is premised on such cyclic relationships and returns. The presiding sense is one of cyclical return of equilibrium, punctuated by interim periods of transition, which is the relationship inherent in yanantin. In this sense the paired elements of the songs’ form, melodic, and rhythmic relationships, as well as seasonal performance, are musical synecdoche of cyclical return that Andean pacha is premised on. That is, the pairing of musical elements is the small scale, musical version of what occurs on the large scale. The musical aesthetics of Machu Fistay and Phallchay, in particular the continuous overlap and prolonged aysariykuy in the singing and playing, are aspects of musical production that serve in the re-establishment of an ayni relationship with the cosmos. In the next chapter I address the vocal technique of aysariykuy performed in continual overlap as intention to re- create good relationship with the cosmos, and grief-singing that can result when this relationship is breached.

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PART IV SOCIAL AND COSMIC REPRODUCTION IN THE PERFORMANCE OF INDIGENOUS Q’EROS SONGS

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CHAPTER 8 TOWARD AN INDIGENOUS ANDEAN THEORY OF MUSIC: RITUAL BLOWING OF SONGS, AND THE SINGING OF GRIEF

Why do you “pull” the songs?

Chayanankupaq, Uyarinankupaq So that they [the songs] arrive; so that they [the spirits] hear. Hilário Machacca Apasa, 28 July 2007, and Juliana Apasa Flores, 4 August 2007.

Why do you often cry when you sing?

Waqaspapuni asta awiluykumanta. Waqaspapuni takishayku. Kusisqa, kusisqa waqashayku. We have always cried, since the time of our grandfathers. We always cry while singing. Joyfully, joyfully we cry. Juliana Apasa Flores, 4 August 2007.

Aysariykuy: So that the Songs Arrive The vocal technique of aysariykuy is one musical element that reveals the Q’eros’ intention to fulfill ayni obligations with the Apu. The anxiety inherent in the uncertainty of fulfillment of ayni obligations often results in personalized singing of grief, along with other factors such as the power of embodiment, inebriation, and the intimacy of the family-animal environment during fertility rituals. A particular intention in this chapter is to highlight the Q’eros’ point of view about aysariykuy, ayni with the cosmos, and grief-singing and its effects, which then lends insight into an indigenous, Andean theory of music. During my first two years of intense fieldwork when I was constantly immersed in Q’eros life, I inquired many times about the particular vocal and playing technique of aysariykuy: the prolongation on the last syllable of certain phrases, when the air is accelerated and fully expelled, often resulting in a slight rise in pitch at the very end. I found this way of ending phrases to be very beautiful, unusual, and intriguing. Common responses to my queries about it were: SAllin tunuyuq,” “It is with a good tone,” and “Takirayku aynatapuni,” “We have always sung that way”; one of my favorite responses was “sumaq aysariykuy,” “It is beautiful pulling.” I had repeatedly been told that a

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good singer is someone who sings “kallpa sapayoq,” “full of strength,” and “manan manchakunchu,” “is not afraid.” So I understood that assertive, strong singing, and the long “pulling” of the ends of phrases, were all desired aesthetics, considered beautiful, and markers of good musicianship. Agustín elaborated on these points by comparing good and bad pinkuyllu players. He said that blowing with full strength was preferred to a weak sound, and that one should play slowly and not too fast. He also mentioned, as did many others, that a good pinkuyllu player was one who was not shy, but played with loud enthusiasm (pers. com., 12 September 2005). Likewise, when Víctor was teaching me to play pinkuyllu, he pointed out that I was not fully pushing out the air of the final tone. I sustained the tone while playing, but was not expelling it with vigor, which is what he indicated I needed to do. From these teachings, I learned that assertive and slow playing, breathy timbre that is rich with overtones, and full and forceful exhalation at the end of held phrases were desired aesthetics. But even though I knew that a strong aysariykuy was the correct way to sing and play in Q’eros, I still did not know why. After I sang and participated in rituals through a full year’s cycle (2006), I felt intuitively that there was more to it than just “beautiful pulling.” In both Pukllay and animal fertility ritual I sensed a strong intention that undergirded the way they “pulled” the ends of verses. So I began to query again, specifically pinpointing this aspect of singing I was interested in: “Why do you pull the song?” I still continued to receive many of the same answers, “It is good singing, we have always done it that way, etc.,” but one day I received a response that was substantially different, which I immediately sensed to be significant because it pointed to their cosmological perspective. Hilário succinctly replied: “Chayanankupaq,” “So that they [the songs] arrive” (pers. com., 28 July 2007). Then, only days later, Juliana said: “Uyarinankupaq,” “So that they hear” (pers. com., 4 August 2007). And I asked, “Who? So that who hears?” And she simply said, “Apu, Pacha Mama” (ibid.). A few days later I watched Luis hold up an offering, and call to the Apu with the usual stream of invocatory words I had heard numerous times over the previous two years. He said that the purpose of his invocation was: “Uyarinankupaq, uyarinankukama,” “So that they hear, until they hear” (pers. com., 7 August 2007). In one of my last discussions with Agustín before leaving for the U.S. to write this dissertation, he confirmed, “Chayananpaq Apuman, Pacha Mamaman,” “So that it [the song] arrives to the Apu and Pacha Mama” (pers. com., 12 December 2007).

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Suddenly I was able to make connections between this specific vocal technique and the numerous times I had seen coca leaves and offering bundles held up and blown in the direction of the Apu: aysariykuy was also a phukuy—a ritual blowing. Of course it was the same with song! This action of blowing the song was one of a stream of overlapping and continuous ritual actions: phukuy on the pagu and coca leaves; libations on the khuya, inqaychu, the entire herd; speaking, blowing into, and tossing the pululu; the shaking of the bells that were wahananpaq (“to call”); along with aysariykuy in singing and playing pinkuyllu. Songs are a part of this huge bundle of offerings and supplications, and one of the many actions employed to send energy or samay out, just like alcohol and flowers are thrown. Isaac told me “Takipas samaymantan, hatun ofrenda,” “Also songs, which are from samay, are a big offering” (pers. com., 4 August 2007). An analysis of the Q’eros’ name for this action helps illuminate the intention inherent in the vocal and playing technique. Quechua is a language in which multiple suffixes are added to basic verb roots, which change or add to the meaning. The root of aysariykuy is aysay: “to pull,” “to drag,” “to haul,” and “to throw.” Added to aysay are three suffixes: the first, ri [ru],1 indicates an action with speed and urgency; the second, yu, implies an action performed with intensity; and lastly, ku, is an action executed with much enthusiasm, affection, and in quantity. For ease in pronunciation, ri-yu-ku becomes riyku, so the final word is aysariykuy. Thus, the essence of the full translation is something like “The song is pulled or thrown with urgency, intensity, and affectionate enthusiasm” and “with much quantity of breath.” More than just simply infusing the song with samay, or life essence, that samay must be moved and “thrown” in a particular way, with “urgency, intensity, and affectionate enthusiasm”—so that the sound arrives and so that they hear. Upon receipt and hearing, the Apu can then reciprocate with healthy herds, so that the people’s lives will thrive. Many scholars who have researched in the Andes, the Amazon, and other rainforest areas of South America, have shown how people are agents in the intentional and causal movement of breath for interaction with the spiritual, or invisible and intangible forces around them. Catherine Allen comments on shaping the flow of samay, based on her work in the community of Sonqo in the Peruvian Andes: “While everything that has material existence is alive, the intensity of a thing’s liveliness varies and can be controlled, at least to some extent. This flow of enlivening

1 The suffix ri is really ru, but in this case the u changes to i for ease of pronunciation, based on the subsequent suffixes. 185

spirit, inherent in all matter, bears conceptual similarities to our ideas of energy and divine grace. Andean ritual works at holding, controlling, and directing the flow of sami” (Allen 2002, 34, my emphasis). To Allen’s statement I add, the Q’eros “hold, control, and direct” the flow of samay through aysariykuy in song. Michael Uzendoski, in his work with the Napo Runa in Amazonian Ecuador, states, “Among Amazonian (and Andean) peoples, substances are understood to give life as they flow through various domains: human, natural, and spiritual” (Uzendoski 2005, 18). Uzendoski shows that the circulation of samai (spirit or breath) is an essential substance in the causai (life force) that connects both consanguineal and affinal relations, even through multiple generations (ibid., 149–50, 166). Ritual blowing is described by Dale Olsen in the curing songs (hoa) of the Warao shamans of the tropical Orinoco Delta rainforest in Venezuela, in which a shaman both sings and blows on his patient in order to effect healing (Olsen, 1996, 288). Similarly, David Guss, in his work among the Yekuana in the upper Orinoco River regions, explains the ritual blowing of chants that detoxify objects so they will be rendered safe for human cohabitation: “Powered by the breath that animates them, the words of the chants are blown or “taled” to the forces they are meant to influence. Words are not simply uttered or sung but are infused with the actual spirit of the chanter who, breaking at certain points in the performance, disseminates them with short, rapid blowing” (Guss 1989, 66–67). The goal of the “short, rapid blowing” is “the communication with the supernatural forces animating each object, without whose submission it cannot be safely incorporated into the life of the community” (ibid., 67). Guss supports his discussion by citing Audrey Butt’s work among the Akawaio people, nearby to the Yekuana: “When a person blows, it is that person’s own spirit or vitality which is projected in the breath and which is sent to perform certain work” (Butt 1956, 49, quoted in Guss 1989, 67). In all of these examples we see how the movement and manipulation or blowing of breath affects connections and livelihood among many domains: human, spirit, physical, metaphysical, through generations, and for detoxification and healing. Similarly, the Q’eros connect their own spirit or animu to the spirit powers, via libations, phukuy, and aysariykuy through the energized substances of alcohol, coca, and song. If the song is not infused with the people’s samay and correctly moved through aysariykuy, the song’s effectiveness is diminished, and the animals’ well-being, and therefore that of the people, is at risk. Rituals are saturated with

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these non-stop actions, because these offerings and connections via samay and substance are so vitally important. This explains why Luis said “uyarinankukama,” “until they hear”; all actions must be continually repeated to ensure their “arrival” and receipt. A primary intent in Q’eros music-making is therefore the continual projection of samay in payment or offering to the Apu, with aysariykuy as the technique employed to “throw” the song out in offering. The reshaping of samay in the offering of song underpins the aesthetic of music-making, as opposed to any kind of focus on singing or playing in “unison.” This is why singing/playing “appears” so individualized; I say “appears,” because the projection of samay in song is the Q’eros’ musical coordination—the coordination of intention. This manipulation of samay in order to connect the animu of the various substances and entities results in the aesthetic of unbroken sound—the continual overlapping of singing and pinkuyllu playing that is so typical of Q’eros musical production. These continual offerings (musical and otherwise) are vital to the people’s renewal and maintenance of relationship with the spirit powers. In his work in Kalankira, Bolivia, Henry Stobart comments on this aspect of continuous music-making in Andean communities. He says that “habitual silence” is “replaced by perpetual sound, abundant food and copious alcohol” (Stobart 2006, 38). Likewise, Catherine Allen states about the rituals in Sonqo: “The sound should be continuous and properly shaped—for music, song and prayer identify the occasion and direct the flow of the sami. It matters more that the music flow continuously than it be well-played” (Allen 2002, 147). To this statement I would argue that, from an Andean perspective as shown in Q’eros musical production, music that “flow(s) continuously” fulfills one criterion of music that is “well-played” because of the intention inherent in the music. After having gained much insight into the intention of aysariykuy in the context of animal increase rituals, I inquired about how aysariykuy works with regard to the singing and playing of Pukllay taki, as Pukllay is not a celebration that is so overtly and obviously focused on offerings to the Apu. Francisco explained that samay is sent to the entity the song is about, such as the thurpa flower, so that it will be happy and healthy (pers. com., 7 August 2007). As he was explaining this, he even pointed to the ground, as if pointing to flowers, so that I sensed a specific directionality involved in the intention. Francisco explained that the samay is sent to the flowers as an offering, to engender beneficial effects. Jacinto confirmed the directionality of intention in singing when he said that “aysariykuy goes to the place of the wallata, to the spots of

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the thurpa and the phallcha” (pers. com., 10 October 2007). He clarified that in this case the song is “arriving for the protection of these plants and animals by the Apu and Pacha Mama” (ibid.). In addition, Hilário told me, “If we sing “Thurpa” well, then the Apu will be happy and the thurpa will grow” (pers. com., 7 August 2007). From these responses I understood that, ultimately, all Pukllay taki and fertility songs are sent out in a specific direction of intention (to the Apu, to the flower), and are sung/played in order to please the Apu, so that they can reciprocate beneficially to the people, animals, flowers, and birds, and basically everything in the Q’eros’ world as everything is connected by animu. I believe that when Agustín discussed the desired technique of playing slowly and not too fast, that he was referring to the intention that underpins the music. The song, like the pagu, should be rendered purposefully, carefully, and with love so that it will be better received. Jacinto and Marcelino Qapa Huamán were able to expand on this idea of desired slow playing. Marcelino said that it takes time for the animu of the encargo (Spanish “order” or “task,” which in this case means prayer, petition, offering), which is being sent via samay, to reach the Apu. He compared the encargo of the song to a pagu that has to burn for a long time in order for the animu of the offering to arrive. He explained that the “destination is far,” which is why they must sing slowly and always “pull” the ends of phrases (pers. com., 10 October 2007). Jacinto then added, “energía chayamunanpaq,” “so that the energy arrives” (ibid.). But in this case he was referring to energy returning from the Apu. Chayay is “to arrive,” but the added infix “mu” indicates the direction of arrival is from over there (i.e., Apu) to right here (i.e., people). Jacinto explained that “energy” refers to the animu of Apu Sitima. He then added, “energía muyushan,” “the energy goes around and around” and explained, “If there is no going around of energy, there is no force or strength and we would enter into ruin” (ibid.). Jacinto’s concise statement, “energía chayamunanpaq,” describes the process of the circulation of ayni, which is the driving force underlying all Q’eros’ interactions, be it from offering potatoes to a guest to singing songs for the Apu. In the former they are assured that the meal will eventually come back around to them, and in the latter, that the Apu will reciprocate with powerful energy, which is manifested in animal care, healthy crops, and overall good life.

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Origins of Music: Circulatory Ayni among People, Animals, and Spirit Powers For three days I discussed the role of music in circulatory ayni of energy among the people, animals, and spirit powers with Jacinto, his brother Marcelino, and their wives, Berta and Gracila.2 The amazing incident for me was that the seeds of this discussion sprang directly from my efforts to understand the transcription and translation of two particular lines of song text. Once all the layers of inherent significance in the text were explained to me, these two lines revealed the connection of ayni as it circulates among the people, the animals, and the Apu. The lines of text are from “China Ch’uru Taki,” the “Cow Song,” which is sung in Sinalay (the fertility ritual to the cows and sheep). I participated in Sinalay with Jacinto’s and Marcelino’s families, and others, in the anexo of Yanaruma in the Q’eros community of Hapu, in both 2006 and 2007. In Sinalay, the pentatonic songs to the cows and sheep are the counterpart to the tritonic songs for the llamas and alpacas, and likewise the single-unit panpipes, usually called qanchis sipas (“seven young single women”), accompany the songs instead of pinkuyllu. In “China Ch’uru Taki” two verses that are very similar: “Chuqiwankallaykichu apaymusunki” and “Quri phukuchaykichu apaymusunki,” both translate as “Your panpipe is bringing [herding] you.” Chuqiwanka (“golden echo” or “golden song”) and quri phuku (“golden blowpipe”) are also names for the panpipes, in addition to qanchis sipas. Jacinto told me that one meaning in the verse is that the cow is being herded to the sacred mullucancha by the men who play the panpipes as they walk slowly behind the cows. I then asked about the yki (your) suffix added to both chuqiwanka and quri phuku, which I understood to translate (literally) as “your panpipe.” Knowing that the songs are sung to and for the animals, I thought this would translate as the “the cow’s panpipe.” He confirmed that the panpipes do belong to the cow, so that the music that is guiding the cows is being played on the cow’s panpipes. In other words, “your pipes are bringing you” is another interpretation of this same line of text. Taking both interpretations into consideration, the panpipes belong to both the herder and the cow. At this point Jacinto and Marcelino reminded me how the Apu Sitima demands to play silver and gold flutes (pinkuyllu and qanchis sipas) in order to be happy, which is why these little quri and qulqi pinkuyllu must be placed in offerings (See Chapter 6, subheading The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Sitima, and Ritual Objects). Because the Apu Sitima is the

2 This entire discussion was from 10–12 October 2007, Cusco, Peru. 189

supreme caretaker of a given animal, Jacinto said “Sitima michiq kan,” “the Apu Sitima is the herder.” He explained that the animu of the Apu Sitima is also right there, along with the people, herding the cows, and then followed with a declarative statement: “In the heart of the runa, we know this.” He explained that because the specific Apu Sitima of a particular animal is the ultimate herder, that the Apu too is playing his panpipes as he herds. Jacinto added that the Sitima plays his panpipes to scare off predators such as foxes and pumas. Marcelino clarified that “the Apu Sitima gives his energía to make the panpipes sing.” Therefore, just like the people sing and play instruments with their energía or samay, so does the Apu. This concept also transfers to the pinkuyllu, which has traditionally been the principal instrument used for herding in daily life. In these various interpretations the panpipes therefore belong to the herder, the cow, and the Apu Sitima. Another way to say it is that the Apu is playing by way of the humans on the instrument that “belongs to the cow,” as the verses literally say. In this way, “energía muyushan,” “the energy goes around and around,” and the instrument, the people, the animals, and the Apu are all connected via the circulation of energy, or samay, on the panpipes (and pinkuyllu in the case of Phallchay and Machu Fistay). All entities are in interdependent energetic interaction, which is why the translation of these particular texts is that the panpipes belong to all three entities simultaneously. This is the circulation of ayni relationship and animu that continually interconnects everything. Yet another line of song text contributes to this same idea of interwoven energies: “hallpanallaypa iskinallanpi,” which translates as “in the little corner of my hallpana (coca leaf bag).” I knew that it was necessary for every person to have his/her own hallpana in ritual, and that people constantly exchanged and gifted leaves. In addition to the three-leaf k’intu exchanges, sometimes a person would literally take a handful of leaves from his/her hallpana and put the handful of coca offering directly inside another person’s hallpana. Marcelino explained that the text implies “the animu of the cow is in the small space (corner) of my hallpana along with the quri phuku.” He added, “So is the Apu Sitima,” which follows what he had described earlier about the animu of the panpipe, the animal, the herder, and the Apu Sitima in interaction with one another. This shows the circulation and interconnection of energies, and that the spirits of many beings are interacting in the hallpana, which is the carrier of the sacred and powerful coca that also has potent, interactive energy.

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The overarching point I came to understand from these three lines of song text is the Q’eros’ articulation of continual flow and interaction of energies, which guides their daily lives and actions, and is in the meaning of specific lines of song text. Everything—the Apu, the animals, the people, the instruments, the songs, the coca, the alcohol, the ritual items, and so on—are in constant interaction. This is consistent with Allen’s reference to “interactional techniques for changing the lived-in world” that are “premised on a principle of consubstantiality, the assumption that all beings are intrinsically interconnected through their sharing a matrix of animated substance” (Allen 1997, 75). In this same discussion, Jacinto and Marcelino also disclosed their interpretations of the origin of Q’eros music. Marcelino explained that it is the Apu that “put the songs and instruments in the people’s heads.” That is, the Apu renders the knowledge of how to make instruments and songs so that “we can make ourselves, the Apu, and the animals happy.” This was the first, and only, time I heard any discussion about the origin of Q’eros music, yet origins of music connected to the Apu made sense, as quality of life was ultimately interconnected with these supreme energies. In sum, the essence of animal fertility ritual is the intensified interaction of and peak exchanges of animu in the form of shared substance, symbolic actions, and musical production. The people must be in constant exchange with one another, with the animals, and most importantly with the Apu and Pacha Mama, which is the ultimate destination of all exchanges and offerings—unceasingly offering so that ayni “will arrive” and then be returned and quality of life ensured. The participation is cosmic and mutual. Consumption and musical production is extreme, and aesthetic saturation replete. Song is one of the many forms in synergetic exchange with all other forces and actions involved in the ritual. Through singing and playing, the people give to the spirit powers, who in turn give to the animals, who in turn give to the humans. This highly sensual environment of saturated consumption and energetic movement is conducive to transformation, in terms of an altered emotional state that often leads to the emergence and expression of sadness and anxiety through song. The swirling and intensified interaction of animu in fertility ritual often impacts in such a way that leads to the expected singing of grief.

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Fertility Ritual as Framing Metaphor for Grief-Singing Once when we were just beginning to sing “Pantilla T’ika” in the ritual of Phallchay, Rebecca turned to me and said, “Waqasunchisña,” “Now we will cry” (pers. com., 2 February 2006). Víctor told me that when he sings “Pantilla T’ika” he feels “preocupado,” “worried/ preoccupied” (pers. com., 31 December 2006). Juliana said, “We have always cried [in fertility ritual], since the time of our grandfathers. We always cry while singing” (pers. com., 4 August 2007). Víctor confirmed, “Always when we sing, we cry. This is the moment the heart feels sadness and preoccupation. Remembering our life, we cry” (pers. com., 31 December 2006). Raymundo explained, “Because the animals don’t grow, because the fox eats our animals, we cry.” To this his wife Julia added, “Because the llama, alpaca and sheep die, we cry when we sing.” Raymundo stated, “It is a costumbre (custom) to feel preocupado (preoccupied/worried) when singing this song” (pers. com., 7 December 2006). All of these statements suggest that crying while singing is expected during increase rituals. Because of this, I posit that grief-singing could be considered one aspect of the ritual itself, a “costumbre” as Raymundo articulated. Indeed, in my three years of participation in fertility rituals, I have witnessed so many short and prolonged episodes of grief-singing that it does seem to be an expected custom, as illustrated in Rebecca’s statement, “Now we will cry.” In my discussion with Juliana about aysariykuy, she provided some insight into reasons for emergence of grief during ritual. I asked her, “What happens if a song is not ‘pulled’?” She responded, simply, “The Apu will not hear” (pers. com., 4 August 2007). In other words, the offering would not arrive and ayni would be incomplete. Juliana’s straightforward and simple statement points to a breach in ritual of the gravest kind: what could happen if the people’s obligation of ayni payment is not sufficiently executed, and therefore the desired reciprocity from the Apu is at risk. Because the fertility rituals are centered on renewal of relationship to the spirit powers that directly impact the continuance and quality of life, they are therefore also about the opposite: death. It makes sense, then, that acute awareness and remembrance of loss surfaces during these rituals. All symbolic actions, musical and otherwise, must be executed properly and correctly to ensure continuance of the herd, and therefore that of the people. Musically, the desired continuance of and propitiation for life are expressed in song text (metaphoric meanings and associations), ayni payment in the repetitive sending out of animu to the Apu through songs

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(which results in overlapping musical aesthetic), and ensuring the songs’ arrival through aysariykuy. In regard to song text, the nature of metaphor allows for perceptual shifts and multiple interpretations so that life can represent death. Anthropologist Roy Wagner posits that metaphoric meaning and perception of it is ultimately unstable and constantly changing. He

asserts that as soon as meaning comes into being, it destabilizes . Once surfacing, this meaning is transformed or undermined by another, and no one metaphor can be put into a “forged absolute” (Wagner 1986, 24). Wagner states, “When this flow of perceptual change becomes an instance of seeing vital antithesis as differential perspectives through the same basic points of orientation, then the difference between life and death becomes a matter of what gestalt psychology calls ‘figure-ground reversal’” (ibid., 68). Life and death shift with one another in foreground and background status, so that in the “Figure ground reversal” of text about life, the overt meaning is obviated by what is in the background, and associations with death are foregrounded. The key points here are instability and flow, so that text interpretation and energetic experience (the flow and interconnectedness of animu) during ritual is a continual flow of analogies and shifts in meaning. Just as the ritual is “flowing” with the swirling energies of animu, so is the interpretation of song text in a changing flow of perceptual shifts that can trigger personal emotion and reaction. The refrains of “Pantilla T’ika” and “Machu Taki” are examples of meaning and interpretation invoking a stream of analogies. In the refrain of “Pantilla T’ika,” for example, one moment the phallcha are the flowers that reside near the Apu, the red blooms are markers of the Phallchay ritual, placed in people’s hats, and are beautiful in themselves. In the next moment, or simultaneously, they are the animals, and the abundant flowers that are scattered on the herd are the desired offspring. And next the flowers are lineage and family, which are loved and cherished. They are also associated with wamanki, the hawk that lives on the Apu like the flowers. This is an agent to the Apu and is also the Apu itself, which gives the animals and humans life. The flowers are therefore also the Apu, the life-givers. Similarly, this same stream of analogies is also present in “Machu Taki,” when animal origin places and male human and animal ancestry are invoked, along with similar bird/Apu associations. In addition to the refrains’ constant elicitation of life, the verses of fertility songs (including those to the cows and sheep) also portray images of vitality: the Machu is “standing

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tall,” he is valiant, to be celebrated, is brilliant white like the magnificent Apu Ausangate, eats healthy humid grass, and walks strongly and slowly as he carries his load and serves us all the way to “the stove’s door.” The embodiment of the tilantiru is also a metaphor for the desired strong lead males. Likewise, the Mamallay llama or alpaca is tranquil and resting on “her day,” and is healthy, pure white, like “pure rice.” The mother cow in “China Ch’uru Taki” is a “strong plant with firm roots” that “opens the mountain tops as she grazes slowly.” In a “figure ground reversal” the Machu cannot carry the corn, and the Mothers are not healthy, tranquil and strong, with firm roots. Juliana enacted a “figure-ground reversal” when she improvised her fear about a puma coming to kill the young llamas (see Chapter 7, Audio Example 7.2 and Song Text 7.2). The significance or felt experience of the various invoked analogies is not fixed, nor is a metaphor just a name reference; rather, as Wagner states, a metaphor “amounts to an encompassing of the entire symbolic continuum within the realm of analogic relations” (ibid., 30). That is, meanings fluctuate and move, and various connotations and embodied reactions to them are stimulated within the overlapping singing and saturation animu interaction in ritual. In the analogical flow of associations, singing about the flowers, as well as the act of scattering them on the animals can momentarily elicit what is in the background: flowers that do not bloom, decay, wither, die, or the baby animals that are stillborn, killed by pumas, frost, or mal espiritus. Because ritual stimulates analogic associations of what could happen or has happened when ayni is not fulfilled, it seems logical that emotions of grief, remembrances of loss, and anxiety emerge. The “figure ground reversal” was starkly present in the lives of Víctor and Juana on the Monday morning of the first Phallchay that I witnessed. They had just buried their spouses, and they dutifully showed up to perform a ritual that was meant to procure life. It was not just that Víctor’s wife and Juana’s husband were not present to participate in this intimate family ritual that caused profound sadness; it was also that the very essence of this vital ritual was precluded by the most extreme rupture possible—the sudden death of loved and needed family members. The fertility ritual then becomes the framing metaphor where people can insert their own personal experiences in regard to life, death, and loss. The ritual space is the identified “cultural reference point” and locus where loss is expressed, as metaphors and signifiers about life and death are already encased in this ritual (Wagner 1986, 7). In this regard, Cohen states specifically about the song “Pantilla T’ika” that “This combination of death with fertility and birth is the

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central theme of the song” (Cohen N.d. 1984, 9). This makes “Pantilla T’ika,” and its counterpart, “Machu Taki,” the appropriate musical context in which to express personal analogies of “figure ground reversal,” and intimate feelings and remembrances about loss and death, which nearly always surface during rituals that are about increase and life. Another factor that contributes to the surfacing of grief in ritual is the Q’eros’ awareness of and anxiety about the active role they have in procuring welfare to a certain degree. This role of fulfilling their part in ayni obligation, with its accompanying feelings of anxiety and loss, is an Andean way of life, as Bruce Mannheim eloquently articulates: And, as among their Inka ancestors, social relations—at least among Runa—are tinged with an ideology of reciprocity and an axiology of loss. Reciprocity is the fundamental guiding principle of everyday life, of social interaction, etiquette, ritual relations with the earth and the lords of the mountains, relationships between humans and their herds, and even—in the longest run, after the millennium—between Runa and their non-Runa exploiters. But a pervasive sense of sorrow and loss is reflected in rite and song, perhaps as an implicit recognition that every reciprocal action is always one-half of a cycle, that reciprocity requires an initial surrender of the self to the gift of labor or object, and that the cycle of reciprocity is ever liable to rupture (Mannheim 1991, 19).

The “implicit recognition” is the people’s knowledge that they have a certain amount of control and responsibility in ensuring their half of reciprocal obligation, through payment in offerings that must be executed correctly and sufficiently, which is accompanied by the awareness that the other “half” of this cycle may, or may not, be fulfilled, and is “ever liable to rupture.” This means that the Q’eros are not fatalistic; rather, they know they have agency and impact, which is why, for example, aysariykuy in singing and pinkuyllu playing is considered “beautiful” precisely because this technique is necessary in order to be effective. Ritual is the vulnerable, in-between space (chawpi) where the Q’eros, and runa in general, execute their agency and control in reciprocity via multiple offerings and manipulation of samay. The between or liminal status of the people rests in the awareness that their actions could be effective or not, that the Apu could bestow benevolence or not; or that, for example, malevolent spirits could cause harm, such as the mal espiritus that cause death to animals and people. Tristan Platt discusses the angst of this between status of the Aymara Macha people in Bolivia:

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Caught between the upper and lower divinities, the Macha must offer the appropriate dues to each (Purajman haywayku,” I was told “We give to both sides”), in order to maintain their precarious position as mediators. The fundamental structure of the cosmos is dual, and mankind must therefore face both ways at once in order to benefit from the complementary yet antagonistic forces around them (Platt 1986, 242).

Platt’s description is the ultimate yanantin of fertility rituals: life and death forces that impinge on runa who hold a between, or chawpi, status, in ritual with their intentions to affect those forces through directing and controlling the flow of their offerings. In addition, the fertility rituals are held in the most vulnerable times of the year, when Pacha Mama is the most open and the Apu most hungry; this compounds feelings of vulnerability as the Q’eros know they must feed the insatiable hunger of the Apu during these times. The resultant anxiety caused by the people’s awareness of their need to deliver effectively their half in the ayni cycle, the possible rupture of that, and their precarious middle position between “forces around them,” inevitably contribute to the sentiment underlying grief-singing. Embodiment and inebriation are two other powerful elements that encourage a transformative experience that leads to grief-singing. The Q’eros embody what they supplicate: they become the young animals suckling the mother’s teat and dancing with the bells as the strong, virile male llama.3 Embodied metaphors have a potent affect. Roy Wagner suggests that such enactments are not just metaphors, but that “human beings are vessels of its innovative power” (Wagner 1972, 172). The embodiments are a type of communication and powerful communion with their animals as they become them, and with the Apu who have the power to bestow what they are enacting. Ritual drinking, the consubstantiality and inebriation of it, also contributes to the emergence of strong and unbridled emotion that fosters both the desired singing/playing aesthetic and grief-singing. Michael Uzendoski discusses how, in fiesta, the “dangerous space of drunkenness allows for social transformations that would not normally occur” (Uzendoski 2005, 140). These emotional transformations are expressed in the form of grief-singing. Barbara Butler writes about ritual drinking in Native American traditions, “as devotion to God and other forms of divinity through the joint consumption of alcohol by men and spirits to the point of reaching a

3 In Sinalay they become cows and sheep, “mooing,” and “baaing” during singing, and enacting procreation. They also enact cattle rustlers who steal all the cattle and birds that come to prey on the newborns, while simultaneously one couple supplicates to the Apu to protect the herd. 196

mind-altering state of inebriation” (Butler 2006, 8). This shared drinking and the ensuing “mind- altering state of inebriation” is more than just drinking for the sake of drinking; it is reciprocal exchange with their loved animals and the powerful spirits. Shared drink is invigorating reciprocity with the Apu, Pacha Mama, the animals, and their fellow family members. Inebriation results in singing that has more vitality. Increased vitality means that aysariykuy is more samay-filled, and therefore more animu is circulated, so that the intention and efficacy of song is more impacting and can contribute more fully to ayni fulfillment. Drunkenness also encourages strong emotion to surface. Víctor stated that, in ritual, “When I am drunk, I remember, and I always cry” (pers. com., 31 December 2007). Juliana explained, “Fortunately we always celebrate our animals every year. It is then that we cry. Remembering our lives, we always cry. I remember the loss of my animals in Phallchay. When I am not drunk, I also cry for my animals” (pers. com., 13 September 2005). On another occasion Juliana stated, “When we sing, we always cry. Life is hard out here on the land, up here in the clouds, in Q’eros” (pers. com., 1 January 2006). And still another time she explained, “We have always cried, since the time of our grandfathers. We always cry while singing. Joyfully, joyfully we cry” (pers. com., 4 August 2007). Agustín explained crying and singing from his point of view: “It’s like that; sometimes we sing and cry from happiness, and we also cry from sadness. We always cry. When we get drunk, we always cry” (pers. com., 1 January 2006). Víctor, Juliana, and Agustín’s explanations suggest that being drunk in ritual encourages the expected occurrence of crying and singing in ritual. Another factor that contributes to the surfacing of grief is that the rituals are held within the intimate or extended family, and not the whole community like Pukllay. This space is likely to be more comfortable, familiar, and supportive for expressing vulnerable intimacies. Furthermore, it makes sense that intimate expression of loss is shared also as nearly every activity is communally shared within the family. I have seen that the communal sharing of profound emotion is a natural part of who the Q’eros are, and I believe that, conversely, crying and grieving alone would be perverted in the sense of straying from the societal norm. For example, I could not imagine Juliana or Juana crying while walking alone, herding her animals. The herding areas are really not ‘alone’ anyway, as the women and children from the entire anexo are involved in the same activity nearby.

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This explains the naturalness with which I experienced Isaac, Víctor, and Juana expressing their grief in ritual, and why they were equally as comfortable with my videotaping of it. They were neither shy nor exhibitionistic. They just were; they naturally expressed their profound loss in the familial space where anxiety is already a part of the ritual complex, and expression of this kind was the societal norm.

“The Song Above, the Sorrow Below” John Cohen and I have discussed the times when we have witnessed the beautifully rich and deeply anguished expression of grief through song. We both agree that the song somehow takes on a floating or hovering quality, which people dip in and out of it as they choose, among talking, shouting, crying, and pinkuyllu playing. Cohen poetically called it, “The song above, the sorrow below” (pers. com., 19 January 2007). The sense is that the song permeates all ritual activity, is ever-present, and not forgotten. The song is multi-purpose: it is sung for the animals because they are “loved”; it is ayni payment to the cosmos; and it is a vehicle of personal expression. Every fertility ritual is unique with regard to the degree of manifestation of personal sentiment and use of the song to express it. Sometimes crying comes quickly, at the very outset of the ritual. Indeed, crying often seems to be just another element of the ritual. Other times I have seen little or no crying, nor personal expression through song in terms of text improvisation (that I was aware of). In cases of extensive text improvisation, as I witnessed with Isaac’s family, the verses were always the points of personal disclosure, and the refrain, which expresses the essence of Q’eros life-sustenance and cosmology, remained constant. In this next section I present the text and transcription of a 1984 recording by John Cohen of such grief-singing in the song “Pantilla T’ika” from Phallchay. I have chosen to include this song because it is an exquisite example of the personalized expression of many core themes that are central to Q’eros lives: the imminence of life and death; the identification with and power of place; animal and family lineage; and speaking to the dead whose animu is very much alive. Audio Example 8.1 is a recording of Mónica Apasa Vargas, mother to Hilário, who disclosed so much information to me about aysariykuy and the pusunis paired conch shell trumpets. Audio Example 8.1 is transcribed and translated in Song Text 8.1.

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I played this recording for Mónica in July 2006, twenty-two years after Cohen recorded it. When the recording began and she heard her voice as a younger woman, she sat abruptly upright as if in stunned disbelief. She was riveted as she listened to her husband speak and her cousin sing and play the pinkuyllu, both of whom are now deceased. Mónica was able to guide me through some of the text, explaining that her father had died just prior to the making of this recording and that her mother had died many years before. She clarified her family’s place names that she sang. She became very sad when listening, and, I believe, was incredulous that such a moment that happened so long ago was even possible to listen to and discuss so many years later.

Audio Example 8.1

Song Text 8.1 and Audio Example 8.1. “Pantilla T’ika,” from Phallchay, 1984.4 (1984 Recording by John Cohen, from: 1991 [1964]. Mountain Music of Peru. Smithsonian/Folkways CD SF 40020, track 38. Singer: Mónica Apasa Vargas).

Stanza 1 Refrain: T’ikay wamankis wamanki My flower, wamanki, wamanki Verse: Hamuy Mamallay qhaynaykusun Come here my mother, let’s celebrate [in the corral]

4 The transcription, translation, and explanation of this selection were a joint effort with Agustín Machacca Flores, Juliana Apasa Flores from Q’eros, Gina Maldonado (Quechua tutor) and Holly Wissler in Cusco, Peru. Mónica Apasa Vargas (the singer) in Q’eros was able to confirm place names, and give information surrounding the circumstances of the song and what was occurring in her life at the time, and also clarify the meaning of some verses. Agustín and Juliana have particular and intimate insight into Mónica’s situation, since they are extended family and know one another well (Mónica’s current husband is Agustín’s older brother, and Juliana is Agustín’s wife’s sister). John Cohen also provided an English translation of portions of this recording in ca. 1984. An excerpt of this same event (though not the same portion) can be viewed in Cohen’s film Mountain Music of Peru (1984). Cohen’s translation and mine differ in sections, and I believe this is probably because Cohen relied on translators who, while native Quechua speakers, were not Q’eros. The gist and metaphor of both translations are similar, but nuance and detail differ. Discrepancies in transcription occur even in those done by native speakers because of the way the Q’eros pull and drop syllables, thereby making discernment difficult, especially when crying is also involved. Cohen acknowledged in a footnote these complications of translation (in the unpublished article). For this reason (among others) I included Q’eros in all transcription and translation sessions, and, when possible the singer or at least a relative of the singer who knows his/her singing. While it is beyond the scope of this dissertation, it makes for interesting and necessary observation about Quechua song transcription practices and methodologies. 199

Stanza 2 V: Wañunachallaykamalla Until my death arrives/Until I die R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki also Scatter the little pink flower, wamanki V: Hunt’asqachatan saqiyuwan He left me with all [the animals]

Mónica Speaks “Licinsaykismanta” with your permission/license…

Pinkuyllu plays

Stanza 3, Mónica Sings V: Imachamanta faltata I want for nothing R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Chayllachu mana uhaykusaq How am I not going to drink?

Stanza 4 V: Wañuq runalla uhaykunchu Do the dead people still drink? R: Panti phallchallay wamanki My little, pink phallcha flower V: Ripuq runalla uhaykunchu Does he who goes [dies] still drink?

Stanza 5 V: Chayllachu mana uhaykusun Like this why don’t we drink R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Q’ayay minchhalla wataman For the years to come

Enrique (Mónica’s cousin) speaks Tumaysun, tumaysun Let’s drink

Mónica speaks Lisinsaykismanta With your permission . . .

Stanza 6, Mónica Sings V: Wañuq ripuqllay runakuna The people who die, they go R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Quwasanillay p’asña kani. I am the young woman from Quwasani [Quwasani is her father’s birthplace]

Stanza 7 V: Yana Urqullay puka chiqchi My Yana Urqu, of red hail R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Huqpaqkamalla mikhuykuway Please eat me quickly [Yana urqu is another place her father lived]

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Stanza 8 V: Santu Duminguy paquy punchu My Santo Domingo, poncho of vicuña color R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Kusi wayq’ullay lichi phawsi White waterfalls of the Kusi Way’qu [Place names of her childhood]

Stanza 9 V: Llaqtachallaypis kaykushayman I would like to be only in my home R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V.Wawqichallantin panantin I would be with my family

Crying starts here . . .

Stanza 10 V: Imallapaqsi uywawanki(s) Why did you raise me? R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Amalla uywawankimanchu You should not have raised me

Mónica Speaks/Cries Qapaquchallay, Mamay allpa, xxx?, gustuchu puñuyushanki My dear Qapaqucha, [burial site of her mother], earth of my Mother, are you sleeping happily?

Stanza 11: Mónica sings what she just said, with much crying V: Gustuchallachu puñuyushanki Are you ‘sleeping’ happily? R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Apasachallay taytayqa My beloved Apasa, my father [Manuel Apasa was her father’s name.]

Mónica Speaks Qankuna, qankuna uhaqta qhawarimankichis You all are seeing that I am drinking Mana waturikamankichisman Would you not visit [me]? Lisinsaykismanta with your permission . . .

Stanza 12: Mónica’s sister–in–law sings V: Hamuy Mamallay qhaynaykusun Come here my mother, let’s celebrate [in the corral] R: Pantilla phallchay wamanki My lovely pink phallcha flower, wamanki V: Hukllatawanchu(s), hukllatawanchu(s) One and another time, one and another time

This recording begins in Stanza 1 with Mónica singing a common verse to the “Mother alpaca.” She beckons for the Mother alpaca to come and celebrate in the mullucancha (the verb

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qhaynay, implies “to celebrate” in special or ritual sense, and in this context refers to the ritual in the mullucancha). The text in Stanza 2 is autobiographical. Mónica describes how her father, in his recent death, left a large herd of animals (“He left me with all the animals”) that now she will have to care for the rest of her life (“Until I die”) (pers. com., 19 July 2006). The song provides the space for Mónica to express her current situation and anxiety about it. Mónica then asks permission from someone, “lisinsaykismanta” (and, therefore, ultimately from the Apu) for something, which is likely to chew coca or drink alcohol. In Stanza 3 she comments on her current situation of herd inheritance, singing “I want for nothing,” because she now has so many animals. The next verse is a fixed one that is commonly sung in “Pantilla T’ika,” about drinking in Phallchay. Drinking is an integral part, so “how am I not going to drink?” In Stanza 4 Mónica appears to think about her deceased father: “Do, perhaps, the dead people still drink?” and “Does he who goes [dies] still drink?” This idea is similar to a moment in the grief-singing that I first witnessed with Isaac’s family in Phallchay in 2005. Víctor sang: “Mayllataq kunan kaykunchu,” “How is it that you are not here?” as he remembered his deceased brother-in-law, Jorge. Juana tried to comfort Víctor by saying, “Ukyashan, riki, ukyashan, ukyashan, riki,” “He is drinking. He is drinking” (see Chapter 6, “Pantilla T’ika”: Song for Llamas and Alpacas). Juana was saying that her husband’s animu was there drinking with them, which is the gist of Mónica’s questions here. The questions are, in effect, comments about how dead people do drink. In a ritual such as Phallchay, when drinking is sacred and shared among the animu of the people, animals, symbolic objects, and the spirit powers, the Q’eros are also especially aware of the animu of their dead kin, particularly those who just recently died, as was the case with both Víctor and Juana in 2005, and Mónica in 1984. Particularly in the first year after death, a person’s soul is more vulnerable and susceptible to wandering, which is why an offering is often performed for that person to help put the soul to rest (see Chapter 6: “The Eve of Phallchay: Vesper Offerings, Apu Sitima, and Ritual Objects”), and why he/she is also considered to be present and drinking with the family. Mónica completes this idea in Stanza 5 by singing that she and her family will drink for years to come. Beginning in Stanza 6, Mónica sings a map of her father’s life, naming the important places he lived. She begins with a statement about how “the people who die, they go,” in

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reference to her father, and then begins remembering her father’s and her birthplace: Quwasani (near the anexo of Qolpa K’uchu, see Map 2.3). She is remembering when she was a young, unmarried woman (p’asña) there: “I am the woman from Quwasani.” In Stanza 7 Mónica sings about Yana Urqu where her father had also lived. She follows this with “Please eat me quickly,” which perhaps is a reference to the strength of the red hail she mentions in conjunction Yana Urqu, or perhaps it is a comment on her sadness, and a desire to die. In Stanza 8, like 6 and 7, she sings important places of her childhood: the Apu Santo Domingo, which is also in the Qolpa K’uchu valley, and Kusi wayq’u, which is a canyon with white waterfalls (lichi phawsi) near Apu Santo Domingo. In these three consecutive stanzas (6–8) Mónica sang a detailed map of important places in her father’s residence, and of her own childhood, which segues into her singing in Stanza 9 about how she would like to be “only in my own home, together with my family.” At the time of this recording, Mónica was living with her first husband in the anexo of Ch’allmachimpana. She had not lived in her childhood home area for some years,5 and therefore was reminiscing about childhood places from her somewhat distant past. These places may hold more distant and melancholic significance for her now that her father has died. Regarding these particular lines of song text when Mónica sings place names, Cohen comments, “This suggests that the precise place of one’s birth in Q’eros remains a factor in self- reference throughout one’s life. Since the Apus are considered important in affecting a person’s fortune or destiny, they are always kept in mind” (Cohen ca. 1984, 10). Because the concept of pacha refers to both time and place at once, Mónica’s remembrance of her recently-deceased father, and by extension her own past and childhood with him, is therefore to remember place as well. In other words, it is not just the memories of past times; rather, time (childhood, young adulthood) and place (Apu, canyons, waterfalls) are intertwined. In Stanza 10 Mónica begins to weep, and sings a question, probably to her parents, about why they raised her. This is perhaps a comment about the suffering of her life in general. She then begins to speak, and names the burial site of her mother (Qapaqucha). Mónica asks her mother directly, “Are you sleeping happily?” She then sings the very same words she had just

5 Mónica’s first husband has since died, and now she lives in the anexo of Qocha Moqo with her second husband. 203

spoken. I heard this similar segue from speaking an idea to singing it with Víctor in Phallchay 2005, when he first spoke about how Jorge used to come and drink with him, which he immediately followed up by singing, “How is it that you are not here?” and “Why did you abandon me?” This alternation between dialogue and singing gives the song its ‘hovering’ quality. The song is interwoven into monologues and dialogues that spontaneously emerge, and after extended or brief talking, the song is always returned to. Víctor’s wife’s aunt also interspersed the song amid her own monologues and extended reproaches to the family. In Stanza 11 Mónica continues to cry. In the first verse she sings a question to her long- deceased mother (“Are you ‘sleeping’ happily?”), which she immediately follows by singing her recently-deceased father’s name (Manuel Apasa), “Apasachallay taytayqa,” “My beloved Apasa, my father.” This is also similar to Víctor singing his wife’s surname, and Juana singing her husband’s (Song Text 6.3, “Pantilla T’ika,” Excerpt of Grief-Singing). In the case of the surname Apasa, this name is sung generically in both “Pantilla T’ika” and “Machu Taki” to represent the archetypical Q’eros man and lineage. An example of this is shown in Stanza 8 of Song Text 7.3, “Apasa runallaq machuntaq,” “It is the llama belonging to the man Apasa.” In both cases of Mónica’s and Víctor’s grief-singing, they personalized the verse by adding “my father” and “my dear wife,” respectively, to the name Apasa, thereby literally referring to their deceased loved ones.6 The excerpt finishes when Mónica speaks “would you not visit me?” as if in plea to her parents for a reunion in this intimate, family ritual. This interpretation shows layers of meaning that, while specifically autobiographical to Mónica in the moment, are also exemplary of themes expressed by any Q’eros woman or man in fertility ritual singing, so that the essence of the meaning is communal at the same time. Some of the communal themes expressed in both “Pantilla T’ika” and “Machu Taki” are references to the animal and human lineage, the world of the dead and drinking, focus on the power of place, and personal suffering. The refrains of both songs constantly point to metaphorical associations with animals, flowers, life, and the spirit world of the Apu, so that amid Mónica’s continual references to death, the “song contains an ongoing concern with birth and life-giving forces” (Cohen ca.1984, 9). In this case, Mónica’s singing constantly alternates between life and death; that is,

6 Apasa is a common name in Q’eros, and particularly Qolpa K’uchu, where both Mónica’s father and Víctor’s wife were from. 204

between life-giving forces and associations (Apu, phallcha, wamanki), and the rupture of them (her parents’ deaths). I believe “improvisation” as I use the term here in many cases means not necessarily the creation of completely new text; rather, it is the personalization of known and commonly-lived repertoire that is spontaneously drawn upon and personalized in the moment, according to the state of mind and memories of the singer. For example, any person from Qolpa K’uchu would generically sing about the local protective Apu of that anexo: Apu Santo Domingo (just like a person from Ch’allmachimpana sings about his/her local protective Apu Impernasqa, and similarly a person from Qocha Moqo about Apu Waman Lipa). The fact that Mónica’s cousin, Enrique, seems to sing along occasionally, but softly underneath, with a text that matches Mónica’s, is indicative of this shared, known text and frame of reference. In Mónica’s case she held a specific memory in her mention of Apu Santo Domingo, in the context of her remembrance of her recent father’s death and naming both his and her power places. Another example of personalization of place was heard in Song Text 6.3 (“Pantilla T’ika,” Excerpt of Grief-Singing), when Juana sang “Chuchuqiñachay chakillanman,” “At the foot of Chuchuqiña [he left me].” Apu Chuchuqiña is commonly invoked by anyone from the anexo of Chuwa Chuwa, but in this case, Juana had personalized it in remembering that she is alone at the foot of this great Apu, now that her husband has died. Similarly, the above example that uses of the archetypical name “Apasa” and is sung in a personalized way by both Mónica (“my father”) Víctor (“my dear wife”), exemplifies the personalization of a commonly-sung verse. Some texts, though, are completely new, such as “He left me with all the animals” and “Are you ‘sleeping’ happily.” In this way, singing in animal fertility songs is both communal and individual. The themes and texts are communal, but are often personalized in the moment according to the memory or sentiment of the singer at the time. Cohen alludes to this idea of communal/individual in his analysis of Mónica’s grief-singing: There seemed to be a hierarchy of realities invoked—some were direct references to the apus called forth by poetic combinations of specific Q’eros symbols such as the Palcha (sic) flower, huaman, mother—the lineage of alpacas, offerings to mother earth, mention of the mountain spirit Apu Santo Domingo. Others were anthropomorphic roles assigned to the alpacas, where they were given human qualities. And others were ideas framed by her own feelings of abandonment, of suffering and separation from her place of birth and the mountain spirit (Apu

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Santo Domingo) which guides her fortune. All these together seemed to constitute her state of mind which belonged to the ritual (Cohen, N.d., ca. 1984, 8, my emphasis).

Mónica’s “state of mind which belonged to the ritual” succinctly and accurately describes animal fertility ritual as the “cultural reference point” (Wagner 1986, 7) and framing metaphor where personalized sentiments are acceptably and expectedly expressed. Without the ritual and the fertility song, Mónica would not likely have expressed the multi-layered reality and profound loss that was current in her life; likewise for Isaac, Juana, and Víctor. The combination of interacting energies and intention, symbolic action and metaphorical association, sensory saturation, and the anxiety of rupture, encourage such a state of mind. She is a part of the energetic interactions, influenced by and belonging to the communal whole, while individually discharging her own personal experience through a commonly-known repertoire. Not only is fertility ritual the space to vent deep emotion, but this venting seems to affect many people in healing ways that are then incorporated into their daily lives once the ritual is over. Some Q’eros friends have described such release of emotion as having positive and unifying effects, both on the individual and communally. A common human experience is a sense of relief that results from the release of pent-up thoughts and feelings, and many Q’eros articulate this. Francisco explained that they cry “thak kapunaykipaq,” “so that there will be tranquility” (pers. com. 4 August 2007). This statement suggests a prior awareness that crying has beneficial results, and is therefore desired. Francisco added that afterwards they feel like “mosoq runa,” “new people” (ibid.). Similarly, Juliana stated that “waqaruspaña thak karushani,” “after crying I feel tranquil, clear” (ibid.). “Thak” is a descriptor that means tranquil, clear, calm, and rested. This may be why Juliana declared “joyfully, joyfully we cry” (pers. com., ibid.). Agustín told me, “There is no shame when crying” (pers. com., 1 January 2006). Beside the fact that crying is expected, it is done openly and communally, and it was this candid openness that so startled me the first time I witnessed it. Rebecca commented that they cry “llulanakuymi,” “to mutually console,” and “qoyunakuymi,” “to mutually give to one another” (pers. com. 15 September 2006). Rebecca’s response suggests that not only do the Q’eros recognize the personal benefits of crying, but also the mutual and communally shared benefits. All of these comments point to an awareness that crying has renewal and cleansing effects, that it is expected in ritual, and not something they are ashamed of. People speak of

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individual purging that results in feelings of tranquility (thak) and newness (mosoq), as well as shared consolation (llulanakuymi) and giving (qoyunakuymi). Thus not only does grief-singing in Q’eros animal fertility rituals have both individual and communal healing effects, but the Q’eros are aware of this and articulate it. Many scholars have documented the societal benefits of the singing of grief in various song forms of indigenous cultures (Feld, 1982 and 1995, Urban, 1988, Briggs 1992). The Q’eros’ singing of grief is not ritual mourning with a defined, stylized, and separate expressive form of its own, such as the “five named patterns of Kaluli crying” (Feld 1995, 87), or the “ritual wailing” of Brazilian Amerindians (Urban 1988, 385), or dirges, keens and Mediterranean lament forms. Q’eros’ grieving has its outlet through existing, potent songs in a specific and socially acceptable space (fertility ritual) and through appropriate means (enactment, monologue, dialogue, and song). Grief-singing in “Pantilla T’ika” and “Machu Taki” is the socialized musical expression of loss, sadness, and anxiety through song, just like the singing of Pukllay taki is the socialized musical expression of joy. While the fertility songs and Pukllay taki both serve to nurture sociability, they differ in that the fertility songs are sung forms of intense movement of samay and ayni circulation tinged with anxiety and fear of rupture, while Pukllay taki are sung forms of joyful celebration and temporary removal from and enjoyment of the lack of rupture. In the next chapter I show how both fertility and Pukllay songs are in a yanantin relationship to each other, and that the singing of the songs in their respective contexts serves in community balance and equilibrium. They are ultimately expressions of social and cosmic reproduction.

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CHAPTER 9 CONCLUSION: SOCIAL AND COSMIC RENEWAL THROUGH SONG

The Yanantin of Joy and Grief in Music as Social Reproduction The Q’eros’ Pukllay taki and animal fertility songs have inherent power and impactful meanings that are intricately bound to their respective contexts and functions, which the Q’eros sense as they sing them. In regard to inherent impact in the songs, I refer to anthropologist Robert Plant Armstrong who contends that art and ritual aesthetic has, what he terms, an “affecting presence.” Every symbolic object and action has an interior state and “affecting function” (Armstrong 1971, 5). It is not just what the people do (i.e., inebriation, offerings, and repetitive sound) and believe (i.e., reciprocity) that motivates and impacts, but the objects of the symbolic actions have their own innate power and presence, and therefore influence and affect. Songs are like receptacles of the significances and intentions of the celebrations they pertain to, which results in their having an “affect” that is associated with those specific meanings. This “affecting presence” is consistent with the Q’eros’ belief that all things have animu—an interactive energy that influences and affects. The Q’eros experience the differing sensational and emotional impacts of Pukllay and fertility rituals, and therefore the respective songs carry their own inherent sensations that impact the people’s experience of joy or grief, respectively. Armstrong maintains that sometimes objects are “in presence” and sometimes not (Armstrong 1981, 10). For example, the llama’s bells are “in presence” when they are used for singing and dancing over the misa in Machu Fistay. At that time the bells’ power invokes, even reaching the spirit powers (“wahananpaq,” “for calling [the Apu],” Juan Quispe Calzina, pers. com., 15 September 2005). The bells also symbolize the male llamas at work, as the people embody the strong, lead males they so desire. The powerful presence of the bells during ritual contrasts from times of daily use, such as when the people casually hang the same bells up on a cornstalk after the llamas arrive to the monte after their long descent. In this case, both the bells and the llamas are resting; they are not in ritual and performance, and therefore neither “in presence” nor impactful (ibid.). When an object is “in presence” it has power, efficacy, and affect.

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Armstrong adds that the “affecting presence” of any ritual object can be enriched and power increased (ibid., 15). Examples of this in Q’eros’ rituals are the increasingly fervent shaking of the bells throughout the day and into the night, and the more frequent blowing on coca leaves and offering of t’inka libations. These actions augment the efficacy of the bells for calling the Apu, and the arrival of the samay of the ritual blowing and powerful alcohol libations. I believe the animal fertility songs are always “in presence,” because they are only sung in ritual and with great intention. Thus these particular songs always hold impacting power and affect. The first time I requested a recording of “Pantilla T’ika” out of context, Víctor looked at me directly, and firmly said “Prohibido!”—these songs are “prohibited” from singing outside of ritual (pers. com., 15 February 2005). Similarly, later in the year my Q’eros friends also refused when I wanted to record “Machu Taki” out of context. I did record the cattle and sheep songs out of context (as did John Cohen), but usually the Q’eros do not sing these songs out of the fertility ritual context. In addition, the “presence” of the fertility songs increases as more and more people join in, because the overlapping singing is the continual manipulation and sending out of samay through aysariykuy. This increase in energy and presence of “Machu Taki” is shown in the progression of Audio Examples from 7.1 through 7.4 (see Chapter 7). Conversely, the rule about singing Pukllay taki differs from that of the fertility songs. Pukllay taki are sung in various contexts: in the festival of Pukllay; during daily herding and weaving; at drunken, impromptu social gatherings (versus ritual drinking); and most freely for my recording benefit. Pukllay taki then have multiple associations and intentions: for community cohesion during Pukllay; for companionship while herding and weaving; and for fun partying. This means that their level of “presence” and “affect” changes according to context. I also believe that the fact that the fertility songs are the same every year, whereas Pukllay taki change, impacts the presence of the songs. “Pantilla T’ika” and “Machu Taki” hold life/death connotations year after year. This contrasts with the communal fun and celebration during Chayampuy when the authorities choose a new song that the people eagerly await to sing for the first time at Pukllay. This act of the change in song is a joyous celebration, and denotes renewal. The songs, like the contexts they pertain to, serve complementary balancing functions in the community, as the differing rules of use between the two genres demonstrate. Pukllay and

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Pukllay taki have the affect of playful fun and therefore nurture community joy and cohesion, whereas the fertility songs have the affect of urgency and anxiety that fosters individual feelings of sorrow. Another possible way to state the difference between the song genres is “secular” and “sacred.” The playful presence of Pukllay taki is what makes these songs appropriate and permissible for daily herding and casual partying. The restrictive, ‘sacred’ use of the fertility songs permits the socialized expression of grief that the people do not show in daily interactions such as herding or weaving. I felt a difference in the “affect” between Pukllay taki and fertility songs in my first performances of them with the Q’eros. Below, I compare two excerpts from my (already quoted) fieldnotes in order to underscore the differences of “affect” between the two song genres that I experienced during performance. In my fieldnotes from Pukllay (2006) I wrote: The continual overlapping of sounds was invigorating, exhilarating, and even transporting I would say—in a wonderful way. Singing forcefully from the gut felt like natural and deep expression. With both the men and women I felt included, as a part of the community (excerpt from fieldnotes, 1 March 2006).

This contrasts with how I felt when I sang during Machu Fistay, singing and dancing with the bells over the machu misa: I was completely enveloped in the loud clanging of the bells, the vibration going through my body, the full-bodied singing, all of which was very powerful and altering. I felt swept away by the sound and sensation. The sensory overload was overwhelming, and I felt tears come forth, surface, and eventually flow (excerpt from fieldnotes, 2 September 2006).

Even though I am not from Q’eros, nevertheless I feel that my continual and deep immersion in the community and compassion for the people and their customs lends insight into the differing experiences in the performance of both song types. The experience or affect of Pukllay taki performance was one of playful joy, exhilarating release, and community inclusion, while that of Machu Fistay was trance-like, tear-inducing, and with intense sensory overload. I remember when I sang “Phallcha” in Pukllay (2006) I stood in a public line in Inlis Pampa with about one dozen women who all sang simultaneously; this differed from singing over the private family misa inside of a home with only two other women. Singing “Phallcha” was communal, while singing “Machu Taki” was private and intimate, with one family whom I

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knew well and felt comfortable with in letting my tears flow. The “presence” of “Machu Taki” was continually augmented through increased intention to reach the Apu, caused by repetitive infusion of samay and aysariykuy. The continual bell-sound evoked the strong, tearful emotion that singing “Phallcha” did not. This “presence” of the fertility songs, which hold the meanings of “figure ground reversal” (life/death), is what caused Rebecca to say to me “waqasunchisña,” “now we will cry” (pers. com., 2 February 2006) when we began singing “Pantilla T’ika,” and likewise Víctor to state that he always feels “preocupado,” “worried/preoccupied” (pers. com., 31 December 2006) when singing the same song. The known and anticipated “presence” of the song fostered Mónica’s release of her own grief about her parents’ deaths, as it also compelled Víctor and Juana to express theirs about their spouses’ deaths. Indeed, Víctor and Juana did not participate in Pukllay in 2005 (the day after their grief-singing about their spouses), both because of societal rules (they were in mourning) and their own personal states of being. “Pantilla T’ika” allowed Víctor and Juana to express what was current in their lives, which the performance of “Thurpa” the following day in Pukllay would not. Grief-singing in “Pantilla T’ika” was the acceptable musical context to express sorrow, so that Víctor and Juana could begin to heal, and sing in Pukllay the following year—which they did. The differing soundscapes and musical aesthetics of the performance of both genres indicate their complementary functions and affect (compare Audio Example 5.1 with Audio Example 7.3). The singing and playing of Pukllay taki is communally oriented: the length of time one group sang in any given watukuy was fairly regimented (about twenty to thirty minutes), as groups knew they needed to stop and move on in order to allow the next group to enter the home. This placed the focus on the joyful sociability of the song in constant, communal rotation from home-to-home versus the urgency and necessity of continual propitiation. The people retained a somewhat consistent high level of ecstatic energy throughout the all-night singing/playing, with everyone singing and playing continuously. Importantly, Pukllay taki are rarely improvised upon, as musical production is communal and not personalized within immediate family. Occasionally I heard a verse improvised here or there, but the text was not personalized emotion; rather, it seemed more action/community- based, such as “now we will chew coca.”

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By contrast, the singing of animal fertility songs is more intimate and family/individual oriented: each person shows her/his intention of sending out samay in urgent propitiation in continuous singing that results in more individual overlap than the performance of Pukllay taki. Individuals and families cry and sing their grief and anxiety, whether current or memories of the past; the performance increases in intensity over the course of the ritual, more so than in Pukllay, as the necessity and anxiety of fulfillment of ayni obligation to the spirit powers builds (Chapter 7, Audio Examples 7.1–7.4) . It is natural for emotion to be aborted if it is interrupted or diverted, so that spending uninterrupted time for three or four hours in the mullucancha (versus the stop-start of watukuy) encourages strong sentiment to surface and be expressed freely. The two song genres serve in complementary relationship to one another in their fulfillment of communal and individual needs. Pukllay taki are centered on fulfillment of ayni that is social, and fertility songs on fulfillment of ayni that is cosmic. The former impact joyfully, which is why Dominga said, “We remember Pukllay all year long; It makes us very happy” (p.c, 2 February 2005); the latter nurture anxiety, which is consistent with Raymundo’s statement, “It is a custom to feel preoccupied when singing this song” (pers. com., 7 December 2006). Pukllay taki serve for expression of communal joy and to renew, re-create, and strengthen social bonds; animal fertility songs revitalize bonds among people, animals, and spirit powers, and serve as individual release of pain and grief. The performance of Pukllay taki is the replete enjoyment of the temporary assurance of life, and the fertility rituals songs act on renewing and re-creating that assurance, and these carry the awareness of the opposite. In sum, Pukllay taki and animal fertility songs serve to fulfill community needs that are complementary in nature: the shared release of joy, and the shared release of sorrow. The two song genres are therefore in a yanantin relationship with one another, and their respective complementary communal/intimate and joy/grief aspects contribute to the balance, and even healing (thak) of social relations on individual, family, and communal levels. This yanantin relationship that is the necessary expression and sharing of joy and grief balances and nurtures social reproduction. Various aspects of musical production also reinforce social reproduction . The women’s and men’s musical roles are complementary, as they are in daily life, and the women state they cannot sing without the men’s pinkuyllu playing. Likewise, the men cannot play without the women’s singing. The women’s role as herders and caretakers of the children who necessarily stay close to home and do not travel far is re-created in Pukllay performance: they sing in line

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formation with no dance movement, and their melodic lines often line up on aysariykuy. They tend to sing in pitch centers that are either the same or related (in ‘thirds’ or ‘fifths’). Conversely, the men’s assertiveness and traveling (both in and out of Q’eros) are re-created in their stomping dance, and individual tuning and playing of pinkuyllu.

Musical Production as Cosmological Reproduction In addition to Pukllay taki and fertility songs serving as forms of social renewal and reproduction, both genres also re-create the Q’eros’ cosmological perceptions and relationships. The basic structuring principle of yanantin that drives Q’eros perception is re-created in many aspects of music and music-making. The female and male complementary relationship of yanantin is expressed in instrument pairs. The warmi pusunis is q’ompo (round, spherical, smooth) in complement to the qhari pusunis, which is ch’acha (“waqrachayoq,” “with horns”). The former has a ñañu (thin) voice to complement the latter’s rakhu (thick) voice, and both are necessary for balance in musical production and symbolism. Another example of instrument pairing is the Q’eros panpipes, qanchis sipas, which are played in Sinalay for the cattle and sheep. Many Q’eros state that the nearer, sounding row of pipes is qhari, and the farther silent row of pipes is warmi. This is similar to a ritual I observed in Chayampuy when the wives of the newly-installed authorities were required to be completely silent, even non-interactive, during the main feast, while their husbands were busy interacting and socializing. Yet, as Agustín reported, without the support of warmi, the qhari row of pipes cannot sound, and the authorities cannot conduct their roles properly (pers. com., 22 May 2006). The unequal halves are interdependent and both are necessary. The Q’eros articulate such yanantin relationships. Indeed, much to my surprise, when I asked Agustin why they held two rows of pipes and only played one, he answered energetically with one word: “Yanantin!” (ibid.). His one word answer was so simple and direct, yet profound in that it encompassed a perception that is foundational to the Q’eros’ worldview. This worldview is why the Q’eros necessarily employ couples of pusunis and qanchis sipas musical instruments. I have shown how yanantin is imbedded in the relationship between women’s and men’s melodies in Pukllay taki and the two complementary fertility songs. The Q’eros reproduce this

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cosmological perception in physical objects, such as instrument pairs, weavings designs, two piles of coca leaf offerings, and quri and qulqi pinkuyllu placed in yanantin offerings to the Apu and Pacha Mama. They re-create yanantin on the large, visible scale, such as community layout (ichiniku/castilla), and on the small and invisible, such as pitch relationships between melodies in song structure. The pitches of the two melodies are interactive in a way that is consistent with yanantin: the melodies interact in a middle or chawpi transition area (pitches of mi and sol) and then arrive at an established equilibrium in aysariykuy on the interval of a ‘fifth’, when the warmi and qhari relationship is clearly established (do and sol respectively). This equilibrium is momentary, and then the warmi/qhari dialectic starts anew (the song is continually repeated), which results in the dense overlapping texture that is a hallmark of Q’eros musical production. Even though the Q’eros do not articulate yanantin relationships in musical terms such as melody and pitch, I have argued that the presence of yanantin in song structure is one of cultural insistence, as this cosmological view is re-created in many other small and large aspects of daily and ritual life. In addition, I have argued that “Pantilla T’ika” and “Machu Taki” are also in a warmi/qhari relationship because their melodic structures, song form (ABA1), and duple rhythm mirror one another. This song pair has similar musical attributes that differ from those of Pukllay taki (ABAB1 in compound rhythm; see Appendix B), which sets them off as a pair. The songs exemplify and re-create the warmi/qhari relationship that their respective rituals encompass in the complementary seasonal cycles. Thus, the songs are sonic synecdoche of this larger relationship: “Pantilla T’ika”/Phallchay/warmi /female animals/wet season, which complements “Machu Taki”/Machu Fistay/qhari/male animals/dry season. The equilibrium of aysariykuy is not only musically stable (the interval of a ‘fifth’), but this vocal technique serves in the vital renewal of relationship with the cosmos: the Apu and Pacha Mama, which hold the greatest sway over Q’eros livelihood. Repeated aysariykuy sends the people’s samay and animu in continual offering to the spirit powers, “so that the sound arrives,” and so that the powers can reciprocate to the people and the animals with a good life and healthy herds. Song, infused with animu that is sent out through aysariykuy, then, is one of the many offerings that is necessary in re-creation and renewal of ayni relationship with the cosmos. When vital relationship with the cosmos is maintained, this allows the animals and the people literally to reproduce, so that cosmic reproduction is also social reproduction, in the most

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literal sense. Conversely, rupture in relationship with the cosmos results in rupture in animal and human lineage. Song, including the specific way song is produced, is one of the many energetic offerings that serve to maintain, renew, and regenerate cosmic and social reproduction. The song texts of both genres express what is both beautiful and vital to the Q’eros. The Pukllay taki text underscores social cohesion in its focus on what the community believes holds aesthetic beauty (adornments and decorations) and mystical import (wallata, kiyu, sirina). The texts are celebratory, and they illustrate the belief in animu in that topics are addressed as if they were living beings. The texts of the fertility songs focus on the cosmos (Apu) and the people’s desired outcome as a result of relationship renewal with the cosmos (plentiful herds). The numerous metaphorical associations embedded in the refrains (flowers, birds) are ultimately references to the Apu, and the verses focus on the attributes of the strong animals they beseech the Apu to bestow upon the people, their animals, and daily lives. Both Pukllay and animal fertility rituals employ songs that are noted to be uniquely and emblematically Q’eros, and they hold many musical aspects in common: tritonic vocal melodies with tritonic pinkuyllu accompaniment, the required vocal technique of aysariykuy, and the musical aesthetics of dense overlapping. The Q’eros sing Pukllay taki and fertility songs with similar intention: to renew and fulfill social and cosmic ayni obligations, respectively, and for successful fertility. Pukllay fulfills ayni relationships among people (cargo roles carried out, social obligations completed), and it focuses on human fertility in courtship and play, and in the performance of topical songs with texts of affectionate expression. Musical production has the affect of renewal, indulgence, communitas, celebration, and joy. Increase rituals fulfill ayni among people, animals and the spirit powers (symbolic actions in circulatory ayni among the three); they also focus on animal fertility. Musical production has the affect of urgency, energetic intention, sorrow, and loss. In order for the purpose of Pukllay and fertility rituals to be attained, they are necessarily musical; music holds essential emissary roles in the fulfillment and renewal of social and cosmic ayni relations. The texts, musical structure, and production of Q’eros songs re-create the most basic life tenets of Q’eros (and Andean) life—animu, yanantin, and ayni. Q’eros autochthonous songs serve in vital re-creation, renewal, and reproduction of social and cosmic relationships and cosmological perception that are fundamental to the Q’eros identity as runa in the Andean world.

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While the Q’eros share the beliefs in and re-creation of animu, yanantin, and ayni with many of their Andean neighbors, the musical specificities of Pukllay taki and the fertility songs—i.e., texts, melodies, rhythms, song structure, and aesthetics of musical production—reflect a musical style that is emblematically and authentically Q’eros.

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GLOSSARY

Alcalde: Sp. mayor. In Q’eros, this term is used for two separate offices: the political office of community mayor and the sponsor (carguyuq) of the Pukllay festival.

Ayllu: A term that refers to groups of people that are organized by a shared focus. In the case of Q’eros, the high altitude hamlets are ayllu, where people live and work in the same valley area. Today many Q’eros refer to these hamlets by their legal political term, anexo.

Apu: Mountain deity.

Aqha: Fermented corn beer.

Ayni: Reciprocal exchange, a fundamental tenet of Andean society.

Aysariykuy: Literally, “to pull.” Prolongation of pitch and breath at the end of sung/played phrases. This is the Q’eros’ active way to send the song out through breath so that it will reach the spirit powers.

Anexo: Spanish, “annex.” Hamlets (clusters of homes) that pertain to one community, which are usually far from one another (such as in separate river valleys), and have their own names apart from the community name. Modern-day Andean communities will have many anexos, which are often based on traditional ayllu relationships.

Bandurria: Sixteen-string lute in four courses.

Capitán: Spanish, “captain,” referring to the head male llama.

Castilla: The right two valleys of the Q’eros community when approached from above (includes the anexos of Qocha Moqo, Qolpa K’uchu, Charkapata, and Hatun Rumiyuq). It is also the name for the dance sling worn by the men in Pukllay.

Carnavales: Popular song genre sung and danced during Carnaval, often played on popular string instruments, such as the bandurria and the requinto.

Chawpi: “Center,” most specifically (in regards to this study) the center or meeting place of the two parts of yanantin.

Chullumpi: Water birds in the high Andes with the markings of black on top and white underneath, associated with the places of birth origins of llamas and alpacas.

Compadre/comadre: A familial tie created in the rural Andes by conducting the first hair-cutting ritual (chukcha rutuy) of a child, or in urban areas through Catholic baptism. The selected godparents and the parents become co-fathers (compadres) and co-mothers (co-mothers) through the hair-cutting ritual/baptism of a child.

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Comparsa: Folkloric dance group, usually comprised of numerous costumed-dancers and musicians.

Chuqiwanka: “Golden song” or “golden echo.” One name for the Q’eros’ panpipes (see qanchis sipas).

Ch’arki: Dried, salted meat. Origin of English word ‘jerky.’

Ch’uñu: Freeze-dried potatoes.

Despacho: Spanish, “dispatch”, meaning an offering bundle for the Apu and Pacha Mama.

Encomienda: Large tracts of territory allotted to the Spanish conquistadors (encomenderos), where the indigenous people who lived there worked it, similar to peasants in the European feudal system. This system was operative from the Spanish conquest until independence (1532– 1821).

Faena: men’s community work projects, such as planting and harvesting, bridge building, or roofing.

Gringo/a: Foreigner, which includes the city people from the capital city of Lima. More commonly these foreigners are called turistas (tourists) by the Q’eros.

Hacienda: Large territories of privately-owned land during the Republican Period in Peru (1821– ca. 1970s).

Ichiniku: The left two valleys of the Q’eros community when approached from above (includes the anexos of Chuwa Chuwa and Ch’allmachimpana).

INC: Instituto Nacional de Cultura

Inlis Pampa: Inlis is from the Spanish iglesia (church), and pampa refers to the large, open grassy area in front of the Church built by the large landowner (hacendado).

Justicia: Sp. justice. Another name the Q’eros use to refer to the alcalde, or head sponsor of Pukllay.

Kena: From Aymara, referring to a notched, vertical flute with six finger holes and one thumbhole.

Lliklla: Woman’s woven shawl

Machu Fistay: Festival for the male llama which occurs after the corn harvest. Other local names are: Santiago (after the Catholic feast of Santiago, July 25, most commonly the date of the corn harvest in Q’eros), and Aqhata Ukyachichis (“to make drink” the corn beer).

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Machuta kachariy: To toss/drop/release the male llama. Throwing of the pululu gourd for divination about llama herds.

Misa: From Spanish “mesa.” Offering space on the floor of a home used during animal fertility rituals, where the ritual objects are placed.

Mestizo/misti: An Andean person (urban or rural) who has incorporated influences such as formal education, Catholicism, speaks Spanish as well as Quechua, and wears factory clothes (pants, shoes, jackets).

Monte: The lowest of the Q’eros three ecological zones, where they cultivate corn, approx. 6,000–8,000 feet above sea level.

Montera: Wide, flat hat. This is the hat the Q’eros used to wear daily, that is now only worn during Pukllay.

Mullucancha: The ritual corral where animals are gathered for fertility rites.

Qhunqe: Dried, unsalted meat, which is naturally smoked by hanging from the rafters above the cooking area inside a home.

Pacha: Time and space.

Pacha Mama: Mother Earth.

Pagu: Ritual offering to the Apu and Pacha Mama.

Pallay: Weaving design; literally “to retrieve” or “to pick up,” referring to the motion of selecting individual threads, which results in a specific pattern.

Phallchay: Animal fertility ritual for all llamas and alpacas, with particular focus on the females, which occurs on the Monday before Ash Wednesday.

Phukuy: To blow. Ritual blowing.

Pinkuyllu: Four-holed, vertical, notched flute made of bamboo, played by the men in Q’eros.

Pitu: Transverse flute with six finger holes.

Pukllay: Literally “to play.” The Quechua name for Carnaval in Andean communities.

Pukllay taki: Literally “Carnaval song.” The indigenous Andean songs sung at Carnaval usually with voice and flute. Pukllay taki are distinct from the popular dance genre called carnaval in that the former tend to be indigenous and community specific, while the latter are more mestizo and regionally popular.

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Pululu: The carved gourd that is used for drinking and divination in Machu Fistay.

Puna: The highest of the Q’eros three ecological zones, where they raise llamas and alpacas, approx. 13,500–15,500 feet above sea level.

Pusunis: The Q’eros’ name for the conch shells the authorities use during Pukllay. Many Andean communities call these pututu.

Qanchis sipas: Literally “seven young unmarried women.” Name for the Q’eros’ panpipes composed of a double unit of seven bamboo tubes each. Only the nearer unit of seven pipes are sounded.

Qeros (also keros): ceremonial drinking vessels.

Qhapaq qolla: Folklore dance representative of people from the altiplano, or high plateau, which was first popularized at the Paucartambo festival the Virgin of Carmen, and later taken to the large pilgrimage of Qoyllur Rit’i.

Qhari: Literally “man.” The male half of yanantin.

Qheswa: The middle of the Q’eros three ecological zones, where they cultivate potatoes, approx. 10,500–13,500 feet above sea level.

Qoyllur Rit’i: The largest pilgrimage in the southeastern Andes of Peru, where people express their faith to a Christ image on a sacred stone (the Señor de Qoyllur Rit’i) through costumed dances and songs.

Qulqi: silver (female element).

Quri: gold (male element).

Quri phuku: Literally “golden blowpipe.” One name for the Q’eros’ panpipes (see qanchis sipas).

Requinto: Ten-string lute, with four single strings and two courses of three strings.

Runa: Literally “person.” who live a traditional, Andean lifestyle refer to themselves as runa.

Runasimi: The Quechua language.

Rusayu: The bells, ropes, and fringe of the lead male llama. This term is only used in ritual (Machu Fistay).

Samay: Animating essence.

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Sinalay: From Spanish señalar (to mark), referring to the animal fertility ritual for the sheep and cows. It is uiually held just before Todos los Santos on the liturgical calendar (1 November).

Tilantiru: From Spanish delantero. Lead male llama.

Tinku: Meeting place, commonly used for the confluence of two rivers.

Tinkuy: To meet; a meeting.

T’inka: Ritual alcohol libation.

Warmi: Literally “woman.” The female half of yanantin.

Waylla ch’ampa: Chunk of sod placed on the family altar during fertility rituals, for the animal statues to graze on.

Wayno: The most popular song/dance genre in the Peruvian Andes.

Wayri ch’unchu: A costumed dance that represents lowland Amazonian inhabitants, danced by the Q’eros (and many others) at the Qoyllur Rit’i pilgrimage festival.

Yanantin: Complementary duality. The working union of two contrasting yet congruent parts in search of equilibrium and balance, and with a meeting and overlap in a center.

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APPENDIX A AN OVERVIEW OF THE ANNUAL RITUAL CYCLE IN Q’EROS

Table A. An Overview of the Annual Ritual Cycle.

Festival Level/Location Time Music(s)/Performance Purpose(s) Elements Chayampuy Communal/ Saturday- Communal: Receipt of Hatun Q’eros Monday, Pukllay Taki cargos by 2 ½ weeks Specialized: incoming authorities prior to Ash Sargento songs/ Wednesday sung/danced by youth (usually early (genre of greater region) Selection of February) song for the year Phallchay Individual Lunes Suyu Song: Propitiation to Families/ (Monday of “Pantilla T’ika”/ spirits for At homes in Carnaval) Men: pinkuyllu healthy llama annexes and alpaca Women: voice herds (focus on females) Pukllay Communal/ Tuesday, Ash Communal: Renewal of (Carnaval) Hatun Q’eros Wednesday, Chosen Pukllay taki for the community ties Thursday year/ (usually mid- Men: pinkuyllu Festive release February to early March) Women: voice Tinkuy Two annexes meet Friday, Young People dance to Expression of on adjacent passes Sunday, recorded carnavales and courtship and Monday, waynos/played on cassette competition Tuesday tape w/ loudspeaker among young immediately adults following Pukllay Pascuas Communal/ Saturday Specialized musicians play Raise new (Easter) Hatun Q’eros Gloria and popular waynos/ on pitus weavings on Easter Sunday (transverse flutes), “Arku” (arch) (usually late tambores, (drums) for celebration March, early Procession of April) Catholic images Qoyllur Rit’i Communal Trinity Specialized dancers and Veneration at pilgrimage to the Sunday, musicians/ holy glacial Qoyllur Monday, -Wayri ch’unchu/ pitus, pilgrimage site Rit’i festival site, Tuesday, tambores a day’s walk from Wednesday -Qhapaq qolla/ kenas Participation Q’eros (usually late (notched flute), accordion, with larger May, early drum set Andean region June)

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Table A, continued. An Overview of the Annual Ritual Cycle.

Festival Level/Location Time Music(s)/Performance Purpose(s) Elements Corpus Communal/ Thursday and Same dancers and Participation in Christi Hatun Q’eros Friday musicians as Qoyllur Rit’i a regional following ritual at the Qoyllur Rit’i local level Procession of crosses

Machu Individual Up to the Song: Propitiation to Fistay Families/ discretion of “Machu Taki”/ spirits for Or: Aqhata At homes in the family. Men: pinkuyllu healthy male After the July llamas Ukyachichis annexes Women: voice (Santiago) corn harvest, Celebration of usually August corn harvest or September Sinalay Individual Up to Songs: Propitiation to (Santos) Families discretion of For cows and sheep/ spirits for At homes in the family. Men: qanchis sipas healthy cows Usually and sheep annexes Women: Voice October before Todos los Santos on November 1st

Notes about Table A: Most celebrations in Q’eros are now linked to the liturgical calendar. The only music not listed are the popular bandurria and requinto styles for enjoyment that the youth are starting to learn. The names in parentheses are the Catholic names for the festivals, which the Q’eros sometimes use, even though the rituals have minimal Catholic elements.

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APPENDIX B

KUNAN PUKLLAY TAKI (CURRENT CARNAVAL SONGS)

“Thurpa” Recorded out of context, September 12, 2005, Cusco, Peru. Voice: Juliana Apasa Flores, Pinkuyllu: Agustín Machacca Flores See Chapter 5, page 95, for alternate transcription that shows yanantin relationship.

Audio Example “Thurpa”

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“Thurpa” Transcription and translation Recorded out of context, September 12, 2005, Cusco Voice: Juliana Apasa Flores, Pinkuyllu: Agustín Machacca Flores Pukllay taki choice: 2005

Refrain: Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

1. Anantachallay, castilla puka My lovely Ananta, red like castilla Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[Ananta is a small ravine that is compared to the red castilla dress worn at Pukllay because of the thurpa in full bloom there.]

2. Qanchis p’alqaman, sinrukuna In seven strands, you are in line Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[The flowers are threaded and hung in strands to put on a woman’s hat.]

3. Walqachapaqchá kutimunki Perhaps you have come to be a necklace Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[Thurpa are not worn as necklaces; rather, hats are adorned with thurpa.]

4. Halwachapichá uywasqayki I will care for you, perhaps in a little cage Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[Halwa is from the Spanish jaula (cage). The expression means that the little flowers will be well-cared for.]

5. Kawsaq sunqulla waqaykuchiq You who make the vibrant hearts weep Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[The flowers are so lovely they can make a person cry. This can be a metaphor for a young woman too. This verse is a ‘floater,’ one that is sung in any Pukllay taki.]

6. Awas pushkasqa watuykuqlla To recount/remember what I have woven Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[This is a reference to the new weavings that are woven especially for Pukllay.]

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“Thurpa” continued:

7. Justiciachallaq alforjanpi In the saddle bag of the Justicia Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[Justicia is another name for the alcalde in charge of Pukllay. This verse is about the past Chayampuy, when the authorities rode horses laden with saddle bags from Paucartambo back to Q’eros.]

8. Chayllari kunan imanasuntaq . . . and now, what shall we do? Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

9. Qucha q’asallay, malwa panti My lovely Qocha Q’asa, where the pink malva grows Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[Malwa (malva in Spanish) is another flower that grows nearby that they use to decorate their hats. Qucha Q’asa is a high pass near the largest Apu, Waman Lipa.]

10. Sulterachallaq pallaykusqan Gathered only for the single women Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

11. Yana qaqallay, castilla puka In the dark, rocky places, red like castilla Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa flower

[Thurpa flowers turn the rocky places red, like the castilla worn at Pukllay.]

12. Pilluchallapaq sinrukuna For adorning with flowers, you are in a line Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[The flowers are placed in neat strands in the bands of women’s hats in Pukllay].

13. Anantachallay, malwa panti My lovely Ananta, where the pink malva grows Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

14. Pilluchallapaq sinrukuna For adorning with flowers, you are in a line Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

15. Ichuq sullunman sinrukuna Near the sprout of the ichu, you are in line Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[The thurpa flowers grow up high, where ichu grass also grows.]

16. Pichallan apaykumusunki Who is it that has brought you? Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[This is one of the most common ‘floater’ verses sung in all Pukllay taki.]

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“Thurpa” continued:

17. Asnaq t’urupi sarukuqpaq So that you will be stomped on in the foul-smelling mud. Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[This is a reference to the stomping dance and watukuy rounds the people do. If the thurpa flowers fall from someone’s hat, they will be stepped and trampled on in the wet mud that has a strong odor from much urination due to obligatory drinking.]

18. Pallaqchaykita ñakaykushay To whom has gathered you, speak badly Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[This verse goes with verse 17. The person who has gathered the thurpa and allowed it to fall and be stomped on should be reprimanded.]

19. Sanraruchallay pirqapichu By any chance are you on my sacred wall? Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[Sanraru is from the Spanish sagrado (sacred). “Sanraru pirqa” is “sacred wall” and refers specifically to the Church in Inles Pampa, where the main gathering takes place on Ash Wednesday. The question is more of a statement, saying, “you are not on the church wall.” This refers to the fact that thurpa is used for decoration in festivals, and not for Catholic religious celebrations.]

20. Qaqachallaymi niykullanki You, who are found in my lovely rocky places Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[Niykuy is to say something with much affection, so niykullanki could be translated as “Lovely you who is said to be found in my lovely, rocky places.”]

21. Q’asa wayrallaq uywaykusqan You who are raised only in the frosty wind Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

[Thurpa flowers grow up high, where the cold wind blows regularly.]

22. Chikchi parallaq saqtaykusqan You who are mistreated by the hail and rain Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

23. Timpuchallayki pasaruqtinqa When your time is passed . . . Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

24. Chikchi parachu saqtasunki The hail and the rain will mistreat you Panti Thurpachallay My lovely pink thurpa

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“Phallcha” Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) First half of recording: Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Santos Flores Huamán, Fortunato Chura Flores. Second half of recording: In context, Pukllay, Ash Wednesday, Hatun Q’eros, March 1, 2006

Audio Example “Phallcha”

Yanantin between both parts:

228 “Phallcha” Transcription and translation Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Santos Flores Huamán, Fortunato Chura Flores Pukllay taki choice: 2004, 2006, 2009

Refrain: Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha [phallchaysuyunki is one of the many endearing names for the phallcha flower]

1. Pichallan apaykumusunki Who is it that brought you? Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

2. Pilluschallaypaq munaykunacha You are loved for decorations on my hat Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

3. Sasachiqllunay khullu chupacha Difficult to gather, with your tiny tail Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

4. Pilluschallaypaq munaykunacha You are loved for decorations on my hat Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

5. Qucha umallay isqon colorcha Oucha Umallay, of nine lovely colores Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

6. Pichallan pallaykusunkiman And who was it that gathered you ? Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

7. Qucha ulayraq ulaykusun Like the waves of the lake, we will make waves Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

8. Challachu mana puriykusun And, so will we not go walking ? Phallchaysuyunki Phallchaschallay My dear “phallchasuyunki,” my little phallcha

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“Walqa Piñi” Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas

Audio Example “Walqa Piñi”

Yanantin between both parts:

230 “Walqa Piñi” Transcription and translation Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas Pukllay taki choice: 2007

Refrain: Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

1., 7., 17. Suchin qatipakusqayki I will always follow the suchiq dancer Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

[Suchin refers to the suchiq dancer, a custom that is no longer practiced in Q’eros. On Thursday, after Ash Wednesday, a young man wore a costume made of many green leaves, and danced and sang a song of farewell to the authorities. This was the last event before the people left the center of Hatun Q’eros to return to their homes up high].

2. Wahakunay lichi phawsicha Little white, milky waterfall, that I must invoke Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

3. Ch’uchuqeñay lichi phawsicha Apu Ch’uchuqeña, little white, milky waterfall Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

4. Chullupampay unuy rakicha My chullupampa, where the water divides Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

[Chullupampa is where the Ch’allmachimpa river valley meets the Chuwa Chuwa river valley.]

5. Walqachapaq munaykunacha You who are loved for adorning us Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

6., 16. Pillan apaykumusunki Who is it that brought you? Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

8. Inlispampay ramay q’achu In Inlis Pampa, branches of grass Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

Victor sings: 9. Wirkinkunaq munaykunan You who are loved by the young women Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

[Wirkin is from Sp. virgin, and is a general term for young women.]

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“Walqa Piñi,” continued:

Juana: 10. Qucha ulayraq ulaykusun We will make waves [dance] like the waves of the lake Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

Victor: 11. Takiqkunaq munaykunan You who are loved by the singers Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

Juana: 12. Chiri ima naykusuntaq Nothing makes you cold Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

[This is sung to the walqa beads; the cold does not bother you like it does the people.]

Victor: 13. Qucha ulayraq ulaykusun We will make waves [dance] like the waves of the lake Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

Juana: 14. K’uru kisay kallichapi In the street where there are stinging nettles Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

15. Sawku sawkuy kallichapi In the street of the elderberry trees Walqachay Walqay Piñichay My little walqa, my little beads

[Sawku is from sauco in Spanish; elderberry trees.]

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“Rinrillu” Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas

Audio Example “Rinrillu”

Yanantin between both parts:

233 “Rinrillu” Transcription and translation Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas Pukllay taki choice: 2008

Refrain: Rinrilluschallay My lovely, little “membrillo”

1. Pillan apaykamusunki Who is it that brought you? Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

2. Suqarachallay marijacha My lovely dance sling, hanging ribbons Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

3. Qucha ulayraq ulaykusun Like the waves of the lake, we will make waves Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

4. Pillan apaykamusunki Who is it that brought you? Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

5. Wahakunay lichi phawsi Who I should call, milky waterfall Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

6. Impernasqay lluqllay urqu Apu Impernasqa, eroded mountain Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

7. Salkantay chay lichi phawsi Salkantay, that milky waterfall Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

8. Chullupanpay unuy raki Humid pampa, full of water Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

9. Amalla llakikushawaychu Don’t make me sad Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

10. Uqhu patay asnaq t’uru Humid place, with mud that smells Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

11. Pillan apaykamusunki Who is it that brought you? Rinrilluschallay Mi lovely, little “membrillo”

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“Wallata” Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas

Audio Example “Wallata”

Yanantin between both parts:

235 “Wallata” Transcription and translation Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas

Refrain: Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata (Andean geese), wallata

1. Yana alqay wallata Black, speckled wallata Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

2. Pillan apaykumusunki Who is it that brought you here? Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

3. Sukharachay mariju My little loops of ribbon Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

4. Pillan apaykumusunki Who is it that brought you here? Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

5. Nawidaspin malqu uywaykuq You raise your young around Christmas-time Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

[The young wallata are born in the rainy season, around Christmas (Sp. navidad). The Q’eros do not celebrate Christmas, so this is an incorporated reference].

6. Malqulla uwaykusqayki The young chick that you raised Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

7. Khunkuna luru pallaykuqcha The khunkuna grass, with its tiny, parrot-like bud Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

8. Quchantaraq nicitanki You need/require the lake Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

9. Hatun kurus wichayta Above, the pass of Hatun Cruz Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

[Hatun Cruz (Big Cross) is a pass between the Q’eros annex of Chuwa Chuwa and the community of Ancasi. Many wallata live on Hatun Cruz).

10. Kutirinki chullumpi You will return, chullumpi Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

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“Wallata,” continued:

11. Ankaq puchun wallata The remains of the wallata, left by the eagle Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

(The anka bird [an accipiter - Gerancaetus melanoleucus] eats the young wallata)

12. Ankallapaq malqu uywaykuq You raise young chicks for the dear eagle Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

13. Qucha ulayraq ulaykusaq I will dance like the waves of the lake Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

14. Pillan apaykumusunki Who is it that brought you here? Wallatay Wallata My dear wallata, wallata

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“Sirina” Recorded out of context, February 14, 2005, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros) Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas

Audio Example “Sirina”

Yanantin between both parts:

238 “Sirina” Transcription and translation Recorded out of context, February 14, 2006, Ch’allmachimpana (Q’eros). Voice: Juana Flores Salas, Pinkuyllu: Víctor Flores Salas

Refrain: Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

1. Phawsi phawsichay sirenacha Little sirina, of my little waterfalls Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

2. Pichallan apaykumusunki Who is it that brought you here? Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

3. Impernasqallaq chakichampi At the foot of Apu Impernasqa Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

[Apu Impernasqa is the protector Apu of Ch’allmachimpana, Juana’s home. A singer from another anexo would sing about her nearest Apu.]

4. K’uru kisachay kallichapi In the little street of the wormy nettles Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

[K’uru kisa is the name of a walking path in the community center of Hatun Q’eros, named after a specific nettle. Kalli is from calle/street, in Spanish]

5. Suchillan qatipakusqayki You who follow in Carnival Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

6. Castillachallay turpachantin The group from the right side Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

7. Inlespampallay ramay q’achu Tall grass in my Inles Pampa Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

8. Quchay ulaycha ulashasun Like the waves of the lake, we will make waves Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

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“Sirina,”continued:

9. Wahakunachay lichi phawsi “My Little Invocation,” milky waterfall Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

[This is a waterfall in the anexo of Ch’allmachimpana]

10. K’uru kisachay kallichapi In the little street of the wormy nettles Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

Victor sings: Ichinikuchay turpachaqa The group from the left side Sirinay phawsintischallay My Sirina, my lovely little waterfall

Haku turpachay nishasunchá Surely we will be saying, “Let’s go, little group!” Sirinay phawsintischallay My Sirina, my lovely little waterfall

Castillachallay turpakuna The group from the right side Sirinay phawsintischallay My Sirina, my lovely little waterfall

Allinchallanta purikusun We will visit well [walk well] Sirinay phawsintischallay My Sirina, my lovely little waterfall

Juana sings: 11. Wawqellayuqchu panallayuqchu With my lovely brothers, with my lovely sisters Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

12. Castillachallay turpachaqa The group from the right side Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

13. Ichinikullay turpallantin The group from the left side Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

14. Turpachay qatipakusqaykichu My little group, I will follow you from behind Sirinaschallay phawsinti My lovely, little Sirina of the waterfall

[All of Víctor’s verses, and the last four of Juana’s describe the visiting rounds of watukuy, when groups walk from home to home and sing.]

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“Kiyu” Recorded out of context, August 18, 2005, Kiku Voice: Guillerma Machacca Zamata, Pinkuyllu: Jose Machacca Quispe

Audio Example “Kiyu”

Yanantin between both parts:

241 “Kiyu” Transcription and translation Recorded out of context, August 18, 2005, Kiku Voice: Guillerma Machacca Zamata, Pinkuyllu: Jose Machacca Quispe

Refrain: Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki [falcon/hawk – Apu association]

1. Chayri imanaykusun And now, what do we do? Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

2. Qhaswasqayki pampapi In the pampa, where you danced Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

3. Phuruchayki sinraykus(qa) With your feathers all falling Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

4. Aguila ankaq mikuykunan The eagle searches for you, to eat you Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

5. Suchinpichu hamurqan(ki) You have come as a messenger Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

6. Haku ripuykushasun Let’s go, we are leaving Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

7. Chayri imanaykusun(taq) And now, what do we do? Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

8. Maytan kunan ripuyman To where do we go now? Kiyuschallay wamanki My dear kiyu, wamanki

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APPENDIX C CHAYAMPUY: RITUAL RECEIPT OF CARGOS BY AUTHORITIES AND SONG SELECTION

Chayampuy used to be held in the district capital of Paucartambo before the establishment of the consejo menor (town council) in Hatun Q’eros in 1998. The name comes from chayay (to arrive), and refers to the “arrival” of the newly-inaugurated authorities on horseback from Paucartambo, which signals that Pukllay will begin two weeks later. In my opinion, this change in ritual location for Chayampuy has had a significant impact (among others) on song composition, so that the Q’eros no longer compose any new Pukllay taki. This issue is briefly discussed at the close of the dissertation, under the subheading “Looking Ahead: Are Q’eros’ Songs Endangered?” I witnessed Chayampuy in February, 2007, and believe I was the first foreigner to do so.1 This is because it is a cloistered event that only the incoming authorities and their assistants are permitted to participate in, meaning no women are normally allowed.2 The incoming festival alcalde that year was one of my closest compadres, so when he requested support for his cargo, I, in turn, requested to be allowed to witness Chayampuy in exchange for that support. I was quite aware of and grateful for the privilege he granted me. That Saturday night of Chayampuy was a fascinating series of all-night rituals among the authorities, which culminated in a type of song competition. In the first part of the evening the authorities officially received their cargos from the mayor (political alcalde) of the consejo menor, which they recorded in the community log book. Then from about 9:00 p.m. until about 2:00 a.m. they chewed coca, ate food, and bathed the official varas (staffs denoting power) in alcohol libations, which they then drank. The authorities punctuated each ritual event with loud blasts on their pusunis. Then around 2:00 a.m. the song competition began when each authority sang the Pukllay taki he hoped would be the song for the year. They did this in a jovial, but official manner; one

1 Chayampuy begins on the Saturday that follows the Thursday of “Compadres,” a popular Andean festival when the compadres of families are honored and mocked in festive fun. This places Chayampuy one and a half weeks before Ash Wednesday.

2 This is probably in imitation of the original format of the same event as it was in Paucartambo.

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person followed the other, first formally announcing and then singing the song of his choice. For the remainder of the night, amidst much inebriation, they sang all of the proposed songs simultaneously, in the overlapping texture so typical of Q’eros. This continued until mid- morning. It was a fascinating juxtaposition of simultaneous singing and pinkuyllu playing of some five or six songs all at once. Then, over the next two nights (Sunday and Monday), the community sang any of the proposed songs in watukuy visits from home to home. Each group chose the song they preferred, so that one group sang “Thurpa” in one home, while another group sang “Phallcha,” for example. To my knowledge, this is the only time any or all Pukllay taki are sung simultaneously on the communal level. These two nights seemed to aurally represent the transition from one year to the next, when no one song had yet been chosen. I have been given two interpretations about how the song is finally chosen; many Q’eros friends say it is the “people’s choice,” while others explain it is that of “the authorities.” In the former, the people choose through the process of singing in watukuy for two nights, when one song is sung with more energy and by more people, thereby rendering it the people’s choice. Others have told me that ultimately the alcalde decides which song he wants for choice of the year, which he announces on Phallchay Monday. It seems to me that it is the process of both the authorities and the people singing over the three-day, two-night period that leads to one song emerging as final choice, through the act of singing. Indeed, this was also one of the common descriptions I was told about this process: literally “one song emerges (lloqsiy).” My ethnography of Chayampuy, the process of song emergence and analogy of this process to that of weaving, constituted a full chapter in my first dissertation draft. It will remain for a future study in which I will address the uniqueness of this ritual, and discuss the possible role that animu and the inner life of songs play in the selection process, and the emergence of one song as winner. In addition to the simultaneous singing of Pukllay taki by the community during watukuy, a small group of Q’eros youth come together to sing and dance Sargento. Sargento is a popular song/dance genre with many local variations that is prevalent in the greater Ocongate and Paucartambo regions. It is danced, for example, in Sonqo, Paucartambo region (Allen 2002, 156– 158). It is also a style of Pukllay taki in many communities in the greater Ocongate region, such

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as Ancasi (near Q’eros) and Qoña Muru (near Tinki, Ocongate). Sargento songs celebrate the rainy season and the corn harvest in these areas, with song texts about corn. The Sargento costume represents water birds, which are prevalent during the rainy season, such as wallata (Andean geese). Costumes often have elaborate plumage and wings to represent these birds. The Q’eros youth don outer sleeves of long, white cloth that extend well beyond arm’s length; these are the ‘wings’ of the qewlla bird (Andean gull, Larus serranus). The Q’eros sing Sargento songs about corn and the qewlla, yet because the corn harvest in Q’eros is a half a year later in July, Sargento is exemplary of a regional style adopted by the Q’eros and performed only once a year at Chayampuy. The Q’eros say their particular variant of Sargento is unique to them. The Q’eros youth used to perform this dance as a welcome to the authorities in their arrival at Hatun Q’eros from Paucartambo. Nowadays, however, the small group (some ten men dancers, and five women singers) do watukuy alongside the authorities, entering a home to dance and sing in special tribute, while the authorities receive servings of food and aqha from the hosts. Sargento songs are based on a descending pentatonic scale, and are markedly different from Pukllay taki. Older versions of Sargento were recorded by John Cohen in Q’eros, and can be heard on Mountain Music of Peru (1991 [1964]), track 36. This particular recording has two different Sargento songs, with the common Sargento refrains of “saraschallay” (“my dear, little corn”) and “saray” (“my corn”). Tracks 41 and 42 on the same CD are also Sargento songs, not recorded in Q’eros but in Qolla, near Ancasi, one valley over from Q’eros. The typical “saraschallay saray” refrain is heard in track 42. This is also a typical refrain in the Sargento songs I recorded in Q’eros. Some Q’eros explained that Sargento began to be danced for Chayampuy about thirty years ago or so. Indeed, Yábar Palacios’ description of Chayampuy from 1922 confirms this. He recounts how the dancers, known as Wifala, along with many community people carrying an abundance of aqha, waited for the authorities at “two leagues” outside of Q’eros, to accompany them back to Q’eros with great enthusiasm (Yábar Palacios 1922, 21). These dances, then, are the youth’s way to celebrate the incoming authorities, then as now, and perhaps change according to what is popular at the time.

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APPENDIX D

ÑAWPA PUKLLAY TAKI: PAST CARNAVAL SONGS

Q’eros Pukllay taki are about their present world, daily life, medicinal flowers and plants, adornments, and landscape. When aspects of these various topics change, so do the topics and texts of the songs. In the natural evolution of oral musical traditions, older songs give way to newer, more pertinent ones. Because of this, many of the older Pukllay taki are not known to the younger generations of Q’eros, as they are no longer relevant to them. These Ñawpa Pukllay taki (Past Pukllay taki) are dying with the older generations who used to sing them in their youth. In addition, many of the younger generation consider the longer melodies of these older songs to be more “difficult” (sasa). Fortunately, I have been able to record a few of these songs (probably the more recent) which are remembered only by the elders. Following is a list of the eight Ñawpa Pukllay taki that are rarely, or no longer sung, that I have been able to record in Q’eros, along with one additional song that was recorded by John Cohen in 1964, which is also no longer active. According to my estimation, songs one and two are still sometimes sung, albeit rarely, and three through nine are no longer sung at all.

1. “Sortija”: a song from when the Q’eros lived in servitude to large landowners (hacendados) in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The text tells of the long journeys they were forced to make to the pass of Crucero near the Bolivian border. Crucero was a significant crossroads of trade in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, known for vicuña leather products. The song text describes the Q’eros’ llamas that were laden with agricultural products, which were used in trade for jewelry made of silver that came from Bolivian mines. The Q’eros had special rings made from this silver to wear at Pukllay.

2. “Ayirampu”: a native plant (Opuntia soehrensii) used for making red . The Q’eros cultivated this plant in the hacendado’s garden in Paucartambo. The text informs about the plant, and the places on the journey between Q’eros and Paucartambo.

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3. “Asusinas”: from the Spanish azucena (Lilium candidum). This song refers to the days before the consejo menor (town council) was established in Q’eros, when the incoming Pukllay authorities traveled to Paucartambo to receive their cargos from the prefect of the district capital during the festival of Chayampuy. During Chayampuy, the incoming authorities received azucena flowers from the hacendado, which the Q’eros also cultivated in his garden, like ayirampu. The authorities brought back the flowers to Q’eros so that the people could don their hats with them. In this way, the azucena flowers were symbols of the annual change in authorities and the arrival of Pukllay. Today the Q’eros authorities no longer receive their cargos in Paucartambo, nor do they work for an hacendado.

4. “Sinta Sinta Laurara”: from the Spanish Cinta, mi cinta labrada (“ribbon, my embroidered ribbon”). This song refers to the highly decorative ribbon both the women and men wear, suspended from their monteras during Pukllay. The Q’eros used money from alpaca fleece sales in Sicuani to buy ribbon for Pukllay. Even though this ribbon is still worn at Pukllay, the song is no longer sung.

5. “Pariwa”: a flamingo (Phoenicopterus chilensis) that lives near high altitude lakes. Luis Yábar Palacios describes a variety of birds and animals in Q’eros, many of which are now rarely sited. “Parihuana” is in his list, and these flamingos are no longer seen in Q’eros (Yábar Palacios 1922, 5).

6. “Lirio”3: literally a lily flower, but in Q’eros the term panti lirio is used as a generic name for many pink flowers; therefore, the exact reference of the flower in this song is vague. It could simply be another name for the important phallcha flower, or pink flowers in general, which are used to decorate hats at Pukllay.

3 “Lirio” is on a 1964 recording by John Cohen (cassette tape number 399), which is housed in the audiovisual archives of the Instituto de Etnomusicología de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (Lima). This indicates that this song was still active in 1964. Also on this same recording are the currently active songs, “Phallcha,” “Wallata,” “Thurpa,” “Kiyu,” “Walqa Piñi,” and an older version of “Wallata” (“Ñawpa Wallata”). 247

7. “Awanakus”: This song refers to the lovely, new weavings worn at Pukllay for the first time. The pallay (weaving design) most commonly woven for Pukllay are named in the song text: qocha inti and ñaqch’a ch’unchu.

8. “Wiqontuy”: a native bromelid (Tillandsia nana), which is used to cure internal and external parasites of sheep, llamas, and alpacas. It is also sometimes used to cure lice infestations, rheumatism, and flu among people as well.

9. “Waitu”: this is about the hand woven bayeta cloth, which anthropologist Steven Webster reports that the Q’eros used to receive from traveling Qolla merchants (from the altiplano of southeastern Peru) on an annual basis (Webster 1972, 42). The Q’eros used to make the aymilla shirts for the men and the women, and the men’s calsunas (Sp. calzón, short trousers) out of bayeta.4 Nowadays, shirts and sweaters are purchased and no longer made, and many of the men of the younger generation use factory pants instead of calsuna. I did not hear this song, nor heard mention of it during my time in Q’eros. This might indicate that the song declined from use previous to the above-mentioned songs that I was able to record. I have only heard this song in a 1964 recording by John Cohen, (1991 [1964]) Smithsonian/Folkways CD SF 40020, track 34.

4 See Cohen and Rowe 2002, 75, for photos and a brief description of these garments. 248

APPENDIX E HUMAN SUBJECTS APPROVAL

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Holly Wissler

Holly Wissler, originally from Iowa, holds masters degrees in both flute performance (MM, 1998) and (MA, 1999), from the University of Idaho. In 2007 she was awarded the Fulbright-Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Grant for field research in Peru. Wissler is the producer of two ethnographic video documentaries: Qoyllur Rit’i: A Woman’s Journey (1998, in English and Spanish), about the largest pilgrimage festival in the Peruvian Andes, and Kusisqa Waqashayku (“From Grief and Joy We Sing,” 2007, in English, Spanish, and Quechua), about the annual cycle of musical rituals in the community of Q’eros, Peru. Both documentaries have been shown internationally. Wissler has published several articles (in English and Spanish) on various aspects of Q’eros musical rituals and the ethics of documentary production in an indigenous, Andean community. She taught courses in music history (University of Idaho), world music, and Latin American music, and she directed “Aconcagua,” the Andean music ensemble (Florida State University). Holly has worked as an adventure travel guide in the Andes of Peru and the Himalayas of Nepal for over twenty years, and has taught and performed classical flute in both countries. In addition to her native English, she is fluent in Spanish and adept at Quechua and Nepali. She performs on various flutes from the Andes and the Himalayas, as well as the sixteen string bandurria with singing in Quechua. Holly is interested in pursuing research in Q’eros that will track the role of shifting musical choices as identity markers within the dynamics of urbanization, and how musical changes pertain to and are contextualized within the larger modernization processes of in Latin America. She intends to develop comparative studies on the musical production of cultures in the world’s highest mountain regions, the Andes and Himalayas, as a continuation and culmination of her long-term experience and research in both regions. A future project includes the organization of a three-week cultural and music program abroad in Cusco, Peru for the nonprofit organization, “Center for World Music” (headquartered in San Diego, California). The pilot program will launch in Cusco in 2010, with Holly as director.

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