Cultural Convergences: Traditional Māori Flutes and Contemporary New Zealand Classical Music
Hannah Darroch McGill University, Montreal, May 2020
A paper submitted to McGill University in partial fulfillment of the requirements of the degree of Doctor of Music Performance Studies. © Hannah Darroch 2020
ii Abstract
This paper considers the connections between traditional Māori flutes and contemporary New Zealand compositions for the Western, Boehm-system flute. First, the context of Māori music is discussed, with a particular focus on the revival of the traditional flutes that has occurred during the past thirty years. Three existing works for flute by New Zealand composers Helen Fisher, Gillian Whitehead, and Philip Brownlee are then analyzed, zooming in on their convergences with the timbre and playing styles of traditional Māori flutes. The final part of the paper details a research-creation collaboration with New Zealand composer Chris Gendall, who was commissioned to compose a new work for solo flute that incorporates research on traditional Māori flutes and emulation of their sounds.
Résumé
Ce document traite des connexions entre les flûtes traditionelles Māori et les compositions contemporaines Néo-Zélandaises pour la flûte-Boehm. Dans un premier lieu, le contexte de la musique Māori est abordé, portant particulièrement sur le renouveau des flutes traditionelles durant les trentes dernières années. Trois oeuvres pour flute par les compositeurs Néo-Zélandais Helen Fisher, Gillian Whitehead, et Philip Brownlee sont ensuite analysées, accordant une importance spéciale à leur rapprochement avec le timbre et le style du jeu des flutes traditionelles Māori. La portion finale de ce document discute les détails d’une collaboration avec le compositeur Néo-Zélandais Chris Gendall, auquel a été passé commande d'une nouvelle œuvre pour flûte seule qui incorpore la recherche sur les flûtes traditionnelles et l'imitation de leurs sons.
Research Ethics Board File #: 20-02-010 Approval Period: April 6, 2020 – April 5, 2021
iii Table of Contents
1. Introduction 1
2. Overview of Māori Music and Taonga Pūoro 3 Māori cultural traditions and instruments 5 The Kōauau 6 The Pūtorino 9 The Nguru 11 Early European commentary 13
3. The 19th- and 20th-Century New Zealand Context 16 The decline of Māori instruments 16 Strengthening of Māori culture 19
4. Revival of a Māori Flute Tradition 22 The Haumanu group 22 Cultural sensitivities 26 Current Musical situation 31
5. Analysis of Existing Flute Works by New Zealand Composers 35 Helen Fisher: Te tangi a te Matui for solo flute (1986) 36 Gillian Whitehead: Taurangi for flute and piano (1999) 45 Philip Brownlee: Harakeke for solo flute (1999) 54
6. The Creation of a New Work 60 Chris Gendall: Silk Bridge for solo flute (2020) 60 Playing techniques used on Māori flutes 62 Discovery techniques used by the Haumanu group 64 The collaborative process 65
7. Conclusion 71
8. Bibliography 75
iv 1. Introduction
This research project explores contemporary New Zealand flute compositions written in the past thirty years and their links to traditional Māori flutes. It has three main research objectives:
1. To examine the context of New Zealand composition in the 20th and 21st centuries,
taking into consideration the factors that have assisted in the development of a unique
compositional identity with ties to indigenous Māori culture.
2. To analyze selected existing works for solo flute by New Zealand composers,
focusing on the use of extended techniques on the Boehm-system flute to emulate the
timbre and playing techniques of traditional Māori flutes.
3. To commission a new work for solo flute by a New Zealand composer that reflects
the aforementioned context and newly discovered convergences of timbres and
playing techniques on the Western and Maori flutes.
Chapter 2 offers an overview of Māori culture and music, and introduces three of the primary
Māori flutes: the kōauau, pūtorino, and nguru. European settlement in New Zealand and the subsequent decline of Māori music and traditional instruments is described in Chapter 3, followed by an outline of the factors leading to the strengthening of Māori culture in the late twentieth century. Chapter 4 focuses on the movement to revive the use of Māori flutes, including information on how the traditional instruments have been incorporated into the classical and mainstream musical context of New Zealand during the past thirty years. The analysis section of this paper (Chapter 5) looks at three existing works for flute by New
Zealand composers – Helen Fisher’s Te tangi a te Matui (1986), Gillian Whitehead’s
1 Taurangi (1999), and Philip Brownlee’s Harakeke (1999) – and considers the ways in which they utilize extended techniques to allow the Western flute to emulate the sounds of traditional Māori flutes. Finally, Chapter 6 discusses the commissioning of a new work for solo flute by New Zealand composer Chris Gendall, and details the reasons for selecting
Gendall, and our collaborative process in terms of how research informed the composition and the relationship between performer and composer.
This research serves several purposes, including the creation of a new work for solo flute.
The cultural context of New Zealand contemporary classical composition has been previously addressed, but not with specific reference to flute works written during the past thirty years.
Furthermore, there has been no in-depth examination of the intersection between the Boehm- system flute and Māori flutes, and this project makes new connections in this sphere. This research also provides a case study and framework for other performers wishing to commission new works in the context of cross-cultural research, and will also inform future performance practice of the repertoire analyzed. Additionally, this project will offer composers a set of musical examples regarding extended techniques and how they emulate
Māori flutes, which could influence future compositional activity. Finally, it also offers New
Zealanders – and indeed anyone who seeks to learn more about the cultural context of the country – valuable insight into the development of the current compositional style, with a focus on the incorporation of indigenous influences in flute composition.
2 2. Overview of Māori Music and Taonga Pūoro
It is widely understood that Polynesians began arriving in New Zealand more than one thousand years ago (McLean, 1982, 124), accompanied by their own traditions of Pacific
Island instrument-making. They would have been able to meld their existing knowledge of instruments from other locations throughout the South Pacific with a selection of new materials native to New Zealand – materials that would eventually form the basis of a distinctly Māori musical sound (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 26). These included a range of flora, bones, shells, stones, and native wood.
Māori musical instruments, or taonga pūoro, have existed within Māori culture for centuries, and Brian Flintoff states that the instruments are “best appreciated and understood when the cosmogony that guided their creation is known” (Flintoff, 2004). In Māori mythology, a number of gods control the various natural realms, including Ranginiui, the sky father;
Papatūānuku, the earth mother; Tangaroa, the god of the sea; and Tāwhirimātea, god of the winds (Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 140). Flintoff categorizes taonga pūoro according to their whānau (their extended family), asserting that melodic instruments come from the family of
Ranginui “the sky father to whom music drifts up,” and that rhythmic instruments link to the heart beat of Papatūānuku, the earth mother (Flintoff, 2014). Composer Hirini Melbourne elaborates on the intrinsic link between music and spirituality within Māori culture: “Our music started when the gods created the universe…musical sound was an extension of thought into the physical world and a potent force for weaving together the flax of the spiritual and the material” (Shieff, 2002, 141).
3 Due to the spiritual function of Māori instruments, they are treated with great respect. As creations from the gods, even inanimate musical instruments are given personal names
(Flintoff, 2014); this personification leads to the understanding that each instrument will be different, and have its own unique voice. The traditional music they played was based on the emotions displayed by the gods of Māori mythology: songs of sorrow, anger, lament, loneliness, desire, joy, peace, and love (Flintoff, 2014).
Taonga pūoro were a fundamental part of traditional daily Māori life, with different instruments utilized to attract birds, to accompany chants and singing, to mark events and make announcements, and for healing and communication between people and the spiritual world (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 50). Melbourne describes traditional Māori instruments that could summon rain, lure lizards, relieve a child of a cold, or alleviate arthritic pain
(Shieff, 2002, 141). Music was considered to be a vital element of the Māori community’s wellbeing.
In addition to Flintoff’s aforementioned categorization of Māori instruments according to their familial relationships to the gods, other researchers have offered different classification methods. Mervyn McLean’s inventory in a 1982 edition of Man published by the Royal
Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland takes an approach from organology, putting forward three categories: idiophones, aerophones, and chordophones (McLean, 1982,
124). A more recent and culturally-linked classification system originates from Melbourne: he has explored the relevance of whakapapa (genealogy) in terms of grouping instruments made from similar materials – gourd, shell, wood, stone, bone – and “using the material as an indicator of the line of descent of the instrument from the appropriate god” (Nunns and
Thomas, 2005, 76).
4 The Māori Flutes
The Māori flutes were traditionally used to complement words – both spoken and sung – and had important functions beyond musical entertainment, present at events including childbirth, healing rituals, and funerals (Flintoff, 2004, 66). It has been said that traditionally “all tunes had words; there were no tunes without” (Andersen, 1934, 233). This traditional vocal music was often combined with instruments or dance to further embellish the melody. A group of people might sing in unison to the sound of the flute, but softly so that both the words and the soft flute timbre could be heard. Andersen states that two or more flutes might play in a concert, but always in unison, or with similar flutes: “all played together, but each had its special quality of tone” (Andersen, 1934, 233).
There are three main Māori flutes that will be referenced for the purposes of this research:
The kōauau, a small end-blown flute with three finger holes that is held on a diagonal angle, commonly made from human leg or albatross wing bone; the pūtorino, a longer flute that elicits many different timbres by using both the end and middle holes of the instrument as a blowing edge, and is often made from native wood; and the nguru, a short and round cross- blown flute with an enclosed bore, made from bone, wood, or stone.
Common features between these three flutes include a limited range, a microtonal scale, and a breathy timbre, due to both the natural materials used and the unique blowing techniques to be outlined below. Sometimes the flutes were held on a diagonal angle while blowing into only a corner of the embouchure hole. These flutes were traditionally made from a variety of bone, wood, and stone; with specific examples listed in the sections to follow. Notably, there was an expectation that each flute would be manufactured to sound unique. The flutes were the only traditional Māori instrument with a fixed pitch, “agreeing in pitch and tonal divisions
5 only incidentally,” (Andersen, 1934, 183) and were either constructed to play the melody of particular songs, or had specific songs composed for them on the pitches they could play.
Andersen states that “no two flutes that I have tried agree in their intervals; and the reason for this is not faulty manufacture; the ear of the Māori was too keen for that” (Andersen, 1934,
183).
The Kōauau
Kōauau are cross-blown flutes that were traditionally made from albatross bone, moa bone, or human bone; a variety of soft or hard woods; and occasionally stone (Flintoff, 2004, 66).
Approximately one-third of the kōauau in New Zealand museum collections are made from human bone, and “paradoxically, such bones could come from a hated enemy or from a revered ancestor” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 28). Other common materials for kōauau include stone, and pounamu or greenstone (nephrite jade) that produces a deep and resonant flute sound (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 28).
Figure 1: A kōauau made from wood, unknown carver 1750/1850. 39mm (width), 181mm (length) 39mm (depth) (Te Papa Collections WE001609).
Traditional kōauau range in length from a small wing bone of less than 10cm, to a longer wooden flute of up to 38cm (Flintoff, 2004, 66). Most have three finger holes, with an additional hole for the purpose of attaching a cord to wear the flute around the neck. An
6 article on taonga pūoro player Richard Nunns quotes him during an explanation of the three finger holes:
The holes are called wene wene, and the hole closest to the blowing end is te mea
whakangā or the gentle one. Next te mea whakakaha is the strong one, and the third
one is a bit of a riddle – it’s te mea whakatehe, the right or correct one – the hole that
corrects the others” (Triegaardt, 2010, 30).
This explanation suggests not only the uniqueness of each flute in terms of finger hole placement, but also the experimental nature of the performance practice – a sharp contrast to the extremely measured and uniform finger hole positioning on Western Boehm-system flutes.
The blowing technique on the kōauau has one very important feature: it is cross-blown with a diagonal angle. The flute is held slightly downward and to the right, with the right-hand edge of the blowing end resting on the lips, with sound created by a stream of air striking the left- hand edge (McLean, 1996, 186). Brian Flintoff states that there are two variables to master:
“the angle of the kōauau to the lips, and how far towards the centre of the lips to hold it”
(Flintoff, 2004, 92). These player-driven decisions ultimately result in the presence of more or less air in the sound, due to the amount of air that escapes over the blowing edge rather than entering the tube. This manipulation of embouchure and air angle is analogous to the playing technique required in the contemporary classical flute literature.
In addition to the breathy timbre, there are also specific methods for varying the pitch on the kōauau by making slight movements of the tongue and lips to produce the microtones
7 essential to traditional Māori music. Flintoff also alludes to more complex playing techniques involving breath vibrato, vocalization while playing, and adding ornamentation through the use of specific finger techniques, but hastens to add that these can take years of study to master (Flintoff, 2004, 92).
Waiata (songs) were traditionally accompanied by the kōauau, which suggested the number of notes employed in each waiata. According to Mervyn McLean, the kōauau should be capable of the same notes as used in waiata (McLean, 1996, 189). Large-scale testing on traditional flutes by McLean in 1982 showed that the intervals possible on many of the kōauau correspond to the equivalent of an approximate minor third in range, and that “these turn out to also be the most commonly used intervals in traditional vocal music” (McLean,
1982, 132-133). The microtonal nature of each flute is achieved through manipulation of the embouchure, and the use of partially-covered finger holes to alter pitch.
Important to note is the fact that although the kōauau would dictate a small scale of notes, rarely were the waiata sung on all four notes (McLean, 1996, 189), and instead, often only one note would be used. Valance Smith discusses the European reaction to this phenomenon:
“the monotony of this type of singing often did not draw much praise, with several journal entries by European visitors describing waiata as discordant and boring…many early observers observed waiata from the vantage point of their own European ways of knowing music” (Smith, 2017, 127). He goes on to suggest that the beauty of Māori music is found in the many semitones and microtones within the four notes, and that “the Western scale was musically incompatible with the tonal systems of the waiata” (Smith, 2017, 127). Awhina
Tamarapa backs up this statement about microtonal playing enhancing the beauty of Māori vocal music, stating that the kōauau was “played in sorrowful microtones, complementing
8 mournful song” (Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 140). This suggests that indeed the use of subtle microtones was a way to convincingly portray the emotion and mythological meaning of the traditional songs.
The Pūtorino
This highly-esteemed flute has been called a “bugle-flute” due to its unusual combination of two instrumental elements – a flute timbre and trumpet sound – and a voice modifier (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 69). These flutes have one large central hole in the centre of the body, and smaller openings at each end.
Figure 2: Pūtorino, wood. Unknown carver, 1700-1850. 29mm (width) 510mm (length), 37mm (depth). (Te Papa Collections, ME023994).
The pūtorino’s two distinctly different timbres are referred to as the male and female voices.
The softer female voice is created by playing the instrument as a flute (Flintoff, 2004, 74), in the same diagonally-blown way as the kōauau flutes, or by blowing over the top of the middle hole while blocking one of the end openings with the hand. The male voice is played as a trumpet through the top hole; a sound traditionally used to summon people or make an announcement. This trumpet playing technique involves a similar playing approach to the lip buzz on a brass instrument: “keeping the lips together with the tip of the tongue just showing, and exhaling while withdrawing the tongue quickly, which creates a fast stream of air that
9 will make the lips vibrate to create the sound” (Flintoff, 2004, 95). Partially covering the middle hole to various extents at the same time as playing with a trumpet embouchure allows for adjustments to the pitch of this trumpet sound (Flintoff, 2004, 95). The “voice modifier” mentioned by Nunns and Thomas refers to singing and playing, and is outlined further below.
Pūtorino can vary in length from 22cm to 65cm, and were traditionally made by splitting a length of hardword, often Matai, shaping the inside, and binding the two halves back together with a sealant commonly found in harakeke (flax) or tarata sap (Flintoff, 2004, 77).
One critical element to understanding the shape and sounds made by the pūtorino is the traditional Māori myth that accompanies it. According to folklore, the Goddess of Flute
Music was Raukatauri, who lives in a casemoth cocoon: “she loved her flute so much that she wanted to live inside it” (Flintoff, 2004, 74). The fact that the pūtorino is inhabited by a goddess provides context for why this particular flute is held in such high-esteem (Nunns and
Thomas, 2005, 73). This myth also explains the cocoon-like shape of the flute, which creates interesting acoustic properties that allow the pūtorino to emit a wailing sound, or partially uncontrolled sounds akin to the harmonic series on the Western flute. On some instruments, a third voice emerges through these ‘unexpected’ sounds, and that was thought to be Wheke, the daughter of Raukatauri, who is “sometimes heard but never seen” (Nunns and Thomas,
2014, 56). These unexpected notes and instabilities were previously considered a defect by early European observers and ethnographers judging the instrument by a European standard, but by understanding the mythology and the voices of Raukatauri and Wheke, it is possible to view these sounds “are an intended part of the music, and that the instrument has a role in replicating spirit voices” (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 73). Nunns stresses the importance of this myth in understanding the instrument:
10
“I came to realise that instead of struggling with the difficult, often unrepeatable and
unpredictable voices of this instrument, I needed to turn 180 degrees and embrace the
inarticulate and mysterious voices as a manifestation of a highly significant sound-
world, that of Wheke and Raukatauri. I now consider the pūtorino, with its multiple
voices, to be at the pinnacle of all indigenous instruments” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014,
56).
While the range in terms of a Western scale may appear limited to the European ear, the sounds can be varied to create a wide spectrum of effects and shades due to the unusually broad scope of playing techniques available. There is also a recording of a musician singing and playing at the same time on the pūtorino (Flintoff, 2004, 74), which would have occurred years prior to the notion of singing and playing simultaneously in the extended techniques literature of the Western Boehm-system flute. This is what Nunns and Thomas refer to when they call the pūtorino a “voice modifier” (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 69). The breadth of playing techniques allow for a range of timbral possibilities and microtonal shifts, including sliding a finger over the embouchure hole that is not in use to alter the pitch.
The Nguru
The nguru is a small semi-closed cross-blown flute that is also unique to the Māori. Its enclosed bore gives a rounder sound than the kōauau, and with four finger holes it has a slightly extended range. The materials used for nguru were often whale ivory, a soft stone such as limestone or sandstone, various woods, or clay (Flintoff, 2004, 72). Richard Nunns notes that “a significant number of the museum-held nguru were constructed from the softer,
11 more easily worked sandstone, and that these nguru in turn appear to have been modified into kōauau” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 58).
Figure 3: a nguru made from ivory, tooth. Unknown carver, early 19th century. 32mm (width), 99mm (length) (Te Papa Collections, WE001888).
Many of the timbral charateristics cross over with those of the kōauau – the ratio of breath in the sound, the microtonal shifts, and the differences between each individual flute. However, the history of the playing technique is worth noting, as there is evidence that the nguru was played as a nose flute, similar to other flutes in early Polynesia, as observed by earlier
European explorers (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 75). Master carver Brian Flintoff refers to an occasion during his research when he performed a song twice on a nguru using air from the mouth and from the nose respectively, and Te Aue Davis – a kuia who is an expert in traditional songs – said that the extraneous air sounds that occurred with the nose-blown method “made her feel like she was with the ancients” (Flintoff, 2005, 72). She elaborated to him that in Māori culture the breath of the nose is sacred, and the audible air sounds created by the nose playing technique are perceived as “the accompaniment of the spirit voices of the winds” (Flintoff, 2005, 72). And indeed, it has been said that breath from the nose is a manifestation of life force, as supported by the traditional Māori greeting called the hongi – a greeting made by pressing noses together (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 75). The distant sounds
12 emitted by the nose-blown nguru are reminiscent of whistle or ‘whisper’ tones in the contemporary classical extended technique literature.
Early European Commentary
European discovery of New Zealand first occurred in 1642 by Dutch navigator Abel Tasman, who had “a brief and deadly encounter with the Māori people that involved a musical dialogue between a Māori wood or shell pūtātara (trumpet) and a European baroque trumpet”
(Keam and Mitchell, 2011, xii). Following Tasman’s landing, no further contact is known to have taken place until Captain James Cook’s first voyage in 1769. European settlement began during the first decades of the nineteenth century, and large-scale colonization occurred from
1840 onwards (McLean, 1982, 124).
Primary source material from voyages to pre-colonized New Zealand in the late eighteenth- century provides valuable evidence of the European view of Māori instruments. Johannes
Andersen’s book Maori Music, first published in 1934, examines commentary from Captain
Cook’s sailing voyages to New Zealand, including this report from March 1770:
“…they have also other songs which are sung by the women, whose voices are
remarkably mellow and soft, and have a pleasing and tender effect; the time is slow
and the cadence mournful; but it is conducted with more taste than could be expected
among the poor ignorant savages of this half-desolate country […] they have
sonorous instruments, but they can scarcely be called instruments of music; one is a
shell…the other is a small wooden pipe, resembling a child’s ninepin, only much
smaller, and in this there is no more music than in a pea-whistle. We never heard any
13 attempt to sing to them, or to produce with them any measured tones that bore the
least resemblance to a tune” (Andersen, 1934, 9).
Ethnographer Mervyn McLean assumes the “small wooden pipe” Cook describes to be the nguru, but goes on to disagree with Cook, asserting that the nguru was in fact “a flute at least as versatile as the kōauau” (McLean, 1996, 190). Cook’s Eurocentric view shows the extent to which the instrumental characteristics were vastly different to what he was used to, thus he could not understand or appreciate the music. This is combined with his lack of understanding of Māori mythology, and the powerful context of the traditional instruments as they pertained to everyday life for pre-colonized Māori communities.
Another example can be found in French explorer Julien Crozet’s observations made during his voyage to New Zealand in 1783:
“Besides the destructive war instruments they have two or three varieties of flutes
from which they extract fairly sweet but at the same time discordant sounds by
breathing into them with their nostrils. I have heard them play on these instruments
especially in the evenings… and it appeared to me they sometimes dance to the sound
of the flutes” (Crozet, 1783).
Crozet’s use of the descriptor “discordant” also suggests the bias of his European assumptions in evaluating Māori music, although his observation of the nose-breathing technique is useful in piecing together information regarding traditional playing techniques.
14 The first text to be published entirely on the subject of a New Zealand voyage was in 1807 by
British surgeon John Savage (1770-1838). On route from Sydney to London his ship detoured in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands for repairs in 1807, and he wrote down his observations:
“Here every man is his own musician, and the instrument he plays upon being
conveniently portable, he is never at a loss for the means of entertainment… the flute
is an instrument in almost universal use… the music produced by this instrument is
simple but pleasing, and when a number of performers unite their efforts, by sitting in
the open air in a native village, it will be found to be very interesting” (Savage, 1807,
80-85).
Savage’s observation depicts a society where music is ever-present and portable, and the flute is an everyday feature of daily life, rendering the subsequent decline of traditional Māori instruments even more noteworthy.
15 3. The Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century New Zealand Context
The Decline of Māori Instruments
The Treaty of Waitangi was signed in 1840 as an agreement between indigenous New
Zealand Māori chiefs and the colonizers, representatives of the British crown. With the arrival of British colonists came their instruments and musical culture, and within fifty years of the treaty being signed, Māori instruments were rendered “silent artefacts of a dying race… curiosities to be viewed through the Western lens of the museum” (Van Rij, 2018,
226). Andersen stated in 1934 “not only have I never met a Māori who could sound the kōauau, but I have never seen one in the possession of a Māori; all are now in private hands or in museum collections” (Andersen, 1934, 231). The late ethnomusicologist Allan Thomas references some instruments that were made as tourist items during the early twentieth century, but these were largely unplayable (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 69).
Richard Nunns likens the situation in New Zealand to similar events in other colonized non-
European cultures, stating that there had been a “decline and demise in the face of a dominant
Western musical tradition, and the decay of traditional life connections that are essential to the maintenance of unique, sophisticated, rich, traditional sounds” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014,
12). And perhaps most importantly, notable authority Te Rangi Hiroa, also known as Sir
Peter Buck, declared in 1949 that the traditional instruments were no longer played, and would be “forever mute” (Buck, 1949, 270). Only decades later, in 1965, Terrence Barrow refers to the last surviving Māori flute player: “Modern Māori have forgotten how to play these instruments with the notable exception of Mrs Paeroa Wineera of Porirua Pa,
Wellington, who learnt the art of playing the kōauau when she was a young girl” (Barrow,
1965, 20). It has been important to the more recent revival of the instruments that surviving
16 performers such as Paeroa Wineera were able to pass on critical details from a largely oral tradition to researchers. McLean discusses the oral methods used by Māori leaders to teach songs to a group, and the breakdown of knowledge over time: “at this point it becomes possible to recover only fragments of the singing tradition from a few scattered individuals until, with their death, the song tradition of the area comes entirely to an end” (McLean,
1996, 278).
There were several ethnographers of note during the early twentieth-century, including
Johannes Andersen and Eldon Best, although it has been since reported that despite observations and interviews, “they were constrained by their own limited musical experience, understandably only reporting on instruments familiar to them” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014,
20).
Richard Nunns has attributed the post-settler decline of taonga pūoro to the fact that the instruments generally only had a few notes, which would have sounded monotonous to the uninformed European ear. Also, the concept of individuality between flutes was entirely foreign to European scholars. For example, in his 1932 publication Maori Music, Johannes
Andersen considered the diversity in the size and shape of the kōauau to be “so great that it is difficult to see how any uniformity of sound could have been obtained from the various kinds” (Andersen, 1934, 229). Based on his prior knowledge of European instruments, he was baffled by the concept of no two flutes sharing the same intervals.
Nunns also suggests that the instruments’ significant links to Māori spirituality was another reason that they were destroyed by missionaries (Triegaardt, 2010, 28), to be replaced with
Western flutes and bugles. Barrow refers to the “Missionary Period” as lasting from 1814-
17 1870, and describes it as the most significant period of transformation in terms of culture and music (Barrow, 1965, 26). The arrival of the first white settlers in New Zealand led to an intertwining of Māori and European musical forms, first with hymns and other forms of church music brought by missionaries, until eventually classical musical forms took over, shifting from utilitarian forms of music to a more self-conscious art music focus (Mitchell and Waipara, 2011, 4). Māori may also have chosen to destroy some of their instruments themselves in order to retain their sense of worth, “because they were deemed too precious and special to be denigrated” (Van Rij, 2018, 241).
During the years following World War Two, the Māori population underwent rapid urbanization due to rural unemployment. This caused a dramatic shift in the traditional structure of Māori society, and led to a further disconnection of Māori from their language and culture (Smith, 2017, 132).
At the same time as this rapid post-world war urbanization of Māori, Pākeha (of European descent) composers were beginning to publicly challenge colonial ties to Britain, as they increasingly sought a uniquely ‘New Zealand’ identity. Composer Douglas Lilburn (1915-
2001) stated in 1946 that the identity of New Zealand composition was “only in the process of becoming” and went on to emphasize “the necessity of having a music of our own, a living tradition of music created in this country, a music that will satisfy those parts of our being that cannot be satisfied by the music of other nations” (Lilburn, 2011). Parallels also exist in the visual arts: Francis Pound’s The Invention of New Zealand: Art and National Identity
1930-1970, speaks of “a straining desire in literature and painting to cut free at once from the colonial past and from a maternal England” (Pound, 2009).
18 Therefore, a context emerged where Māori instruments had been all but erased, but the wheels were in motion for the development of a distinctly New Zealand musical identity. It is necessary to look at further late-twentieth-century developments in the incorporation of
Māori culture into New Zealand society in order to have context for the classical music for flute created in more recent decades.
Strengthening of Māori Culture
From around 1975 there was a gradual strengthening and reemergence of Māori culture in
New Zealand. Existing research by the likes of Jane (2002), Shuker (2008), Volkerling
(2010), et al. elaborate on the key factors that assisted in this reemergence, and this section will survey significant governmental policies and other events that further enhanced the emergence of a New Zealand identity in classical music during the past thirty years. An article outlining cultural policy in New Zealand between 1999-2008 describes the fourth
Labour party government’s (1984-1990) actions in “presiding over an era of emerging national self-consciousness” in an effort to “redefine New Zealand’s identity as a Pacific nation” (Volkerling, 2010, 97).
One of the initial steps in the recognition of Māori history in New Zealand occurred in 1975, when the government recognized for the first time in official law the 1840 Treaty of Waitangi between the British Crown and the Māori people. A Waitangi Tribunal was empowered in
1985 to investigate breaches of the Treaty, to make amends for the suffering indigenous people had endured due to “alienation of their traditional lands as a result of a mix of sharp commercial practice, war, and attendant land confiscations” (Volkerling, 2010, 97). This certainly played a substantial role in the renaissance of Māori culture that followed, including a resurgence of traditional arts and cultural practices. The Māori language became an official
19 language in 1987, further contributing to a renewed sense of the country’s bicultural history.
Following a steep decline in Māori language since around the time of post-war Māori urbanization, this recognition allowed the language to be actively encouraged in schools and the wider community (van Rij, 2018, 254).
A new national museum of New Zealand was opened in 1992, with core values including an acknowledgement of Māori culture and protocol. The Museum of New Zealand Te Papa
Tongarewa Act of 1992 states that Te Papa would be “a partnership between Tangata
Whenua (Māori, the indigenous people of New Zealand) and Tangata Tiriti (people in New
Zealand by right of the Treaty of Waitangi” (Te Papa, 2020). Mana Taonga became one of their core principles, which is “a recognition of the power of taonga (cultural treasures) to communicate deep truths about our people” (Te Papa, 2020). By the nineties, there was a notable shift in focus to the reconnection of people to their tribal taonga: Māori knowledge, language, and customs.
The nineties were also a period during which several leading government-funded organizations and policies were born. In 1994, Creative New Zealand, the Arts Council of
New Zealand, was established, with main guiding principles including “recognizing and upholding the cultural diversity of the people of New Zealand; and the role in the arts of
Māori as tangata whenua (the people)” (Creative NZ, 2020). Additionally, the country’s public broadcaster, Radio New Zealand, launched the Radio NZ Act in 1995, and this included a commitment to services that “stimulate, support, and reflect a wide range of music, including NZ composition and performance, that reflect NZ’s cultural identity, including Māori language and culture” (Parliamentary Counsel Office, 1995).
20 All of these events and policy-making decisions strengthened the position Māori culture held in everyday New Zealand society, and Māori music proved to be an ideal vehicle for championing the cause. A noteworthy example of Māori culture reaching the general public through music can be found in the song Poi E, which reached number one on the New
Zealand music charts in 1984. It was a Māori action song by the Patea Māori Club, written as part of a twelve-song musical aimed at teaching young Māori to be proud of their language and culture (Mitchell and Waipara, 2011, 5). This song was the first of its kind in terms of using Māori waiata with breakdancing; a sign that the ways of expressing Māori culture were shifting and melding with other elements of New Zealand culture. This iconic song was also used more recently by director Taika Waititi in the 2010 film Boy, hybridized with Michael
Jackson’s Thriller, and Waititi’s influence led to Poi E re-entering the NZ music charts again that year.
21 4. Revival of a Māori Flute Tradition
At the same time as Māori culture was gaining a better position within the cultural landscape of modern New Zealand, the reemergence of the Māori instruments began, led by the key figures of the Haumanu Group, Hirini Melbourne, Richard Nunns, and Brian Flintoff.
Awhina Tamarapa calls their work “an extraordinary resurgence of taonga pūoro, now a distinctive part of contemporary New Zealand” (Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 142).
The Haumanu Group
Hirini Melbourne (1950-2003) was from the iwi (tribal affiliation) Tūhoe and Ngāti
Kahungunu, and Māori was his first language (Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 142). As a teacher, composer, and self-taught musician, his work was used by students in Māori language learning programs, and by his students in the Māori Studies program at Waikato
University. Richard Nunns was born in Napier, New Zealand in 1945, into a musical family of Scandinavian descent. While training to become a school teacher in the 1960s, he moved to the Waikato region and formed strong ties with the local Māori community, setting in motion a life-long fascination with and dedication to Māori culture (Tamarapa and Tikao,
2017, 143). Brian Flintoff, born in 1943, grew up in a rural, remote area of the South Island.
As well as working as a school teacher he honed his skills as a bone carver in his spare time, and an interest in the making of tāonga puoro grew out of his interest in Māori bone carving
(Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 143).
The three men met at a Māori Artists and Writers Society hui (meeting) in 1985, and this was the beginning of a movement that would become Haumanu, meaning both ‘breath of birds’ and ‘revival’ (Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 142). Their primary intention was to create “a
22 human resource that would foster the revival of making and playing the instruments” of the
Māori tradition (Flintoff, 2014), drawing support from elders and Māori communities from around the country.
As Haumanu, the trio began holding wānanga (meetings) in marae (meeting houses) around the country at the invitation of local people, playing the instruments that were being newly recreated, and reconstructing the tradition from existing Māori knowledge (Tamarapa and
Tikao, 2017, 144). Melbourne and Nunns gathered recollections from elders, and Flintoff was responsible for the creation of new instruments based on the fragments of knowledge that were being gradually pieced together. Further to this information gathering from the Māori people, in 1995 the Haumanu group also began what would become a long-term relationship with the National Museum of New Zealand (Te Papa), to “share the knowledge and philosophy of tāonga puoro and to normalize the practice within the culture of the museum”
(Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 145).
During the initial years of the Haumanu revival group, workshops and performances involved primarily the kōauau, as it was the easiest instrument to recreate in workshops with modern materials, generally native timbers. The kōauau was also the only flute that had recordings available of the last player who learned in a traditional way. The more distinctive form of the nguru and pūtorino rendered them more difficult to incorporate into public workshops
(Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 75). Nunns elucidates that “the reconstruction process has been far from easy. Even simple shapes and sonorous materials pose acoustic problems, and complex instruments like the pūtorino even greater ones. Some of these would take decades to resolve” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 38).
23 Richard Nunns speaks of the methods they employed to acquire knowledge of traditional flute techniques and musical concepts from such fragmented information: “some survives in the memories of the people, some in the ancient instruments themselves, and in traditional songs, proverbs, stories, and carvings, and some is recorded in the observations of ethnographers” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 9). It is interesting to consider how the group ensured that the taonga pūoro performers of today would have an idea of whether the sounds they produce on their instruments are similar to those produced in earlier centuries. Nunns states that “the response from the older members of the Māori community has been of special value to me and other players. The tears, the excitement, the recognition and the memories suggest that the sounds are genuine, and that they fit within the aesthetic of Māori performing arts” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 45).
Richard Nunns describes the process of finding a voice for each instrument they re- constructed in this statement from his early experimentation in 1978, years before the
Haumanu group first met:
“My first efforts were with a bone kōauau. The distinctive end-blown technique
proved elusive. Gradually by experimentation a voice began to emerge. Doubts
persisted. Was it the right sound? Did one blow hard or soft? What about all the edgy
tones and assorted sounds that accompanied my efforts? Having achieved a sound,
what then was the fingering system? The finger holes to a flute player of the modern
woodwind instruments suggests a linear system of discrete and exact pitches. How
could a waiata be achieved using only the three holes of the kōauau when the
melismatic slides between pitches is required? […] It did not sound like the European
concert flute, but had many more edgy tones and assorted breath sounds. Searching
24 for the right sound for the kōauau then, meant letting other musical experience fall
away to reveal a bright, individual, and unique sound” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014,
40).
Following this early solo experimentation process, Nunns had many interactions with Māori elders and performers, and was educated on the strong links between the flutes and the human voice, including the fact that the purpose of a particular song had great influence over the resulting sounds from each flute. He recollects hearing a Māori kōauau player “sing into the instrument, aware of the closeness between singing and playing, and the way in which a waiata (song) can activate the instrument” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 40).
The success of the Haumanu group was greatly assisted by their specific skill-sets: Flintoff created the instruments, Melbourne assisted in making the initial connections with Māori communities and wrote the music, and Nunns played the songs: “together they created repertoires that soon had kuia (female Māori elder) in tears. The melodies unlocked long- forgotten memories and fragments of suppressed experiences for the older people”
(Triegaardt, 2010, 29).
It is also important to note the group’s approach in not solely relying on historical nineteenth- century ethnographic accounts as the basis for the revival. The testing and reconstructing of instruments, and the playing of them within the Māori community allowed for the emerging instruments to be “understood in relation to traditional values and aesthetics…raising new questions and possibilities in the revival of the instruments” (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 70).
The following section will outline in more detail the sensitivities required in reconstructing a traditional indigenous cultural practice.
25 Cultural Sensitivities
The issue of cultural appropriation cannot be ignored when it comes to the subject matter of this research, the emulation of traditional Māori flutes on Western flutes, or indeed the over- arching process of reviving a tradition led by key figures of both Māori and European descent. This research does not deliberately gloss over New Zealand’s colonial past, nor its ongoing issues with inequality to this day, but instead seeks to zoom in specifically on the restoration of an authentic practice within the bicultural context of New Zealand, in order to better understand the rediscovery of the Māori flutes by the Haumanu group and the subsequent output by contemporary classical composers in New Zealand during the past thirty years. It is also important to briefly consider the word “bicultural” in the current New
Zealand context: biculturalism has been promoted in New Zealand since the final decades of the twentieth century, “as a means of acknowledging the significance of Māori as an equal partner with Pākeha and fulfilling obligations laid out in the treaty” (van Rij, 2018, 226).
However, it is worth noting that this bicultural model can also be challenged with a multicultural model, in acknowledgement of today’s very diverse immigrant populations in
New Zealand, and furthermore, that both of these models in fact “overlook the iwi (tribal) element of Māori identity, and instead reduce Māori to a monolithic group” (McCarthy,
2001, 230). Regardless of the scope of these various models, my research has uncovered a number of primary sources that address the idea of cultural appropriation in regard to the methods used in the revival process, from a range of Māori sources from throughout the country.
The revival group were united through their combination of relevant skills – musicianship, a knowledge of and heritage in Māori culture, and a skill with bone and wood carving – and one of the most important common threads to note is their strong and ongoing connection
26 with Māori communities, and to those with deep roots in the culture. Nunns is open about his own European heritage in his book Te Ara Puoro, and states that “the difficulty of working as a Pākeha in the Māori world was especially intense in my generation. Māori had had enough of being studied and written about by others.” He goes on to acknowledge the importance of their collaboration with Hirini Melbourne: “Brian and I were greatly helped by Hirini… later, working alone [following Hirini’s death in 2003], I have found that the instruments speak more loudly than the ethnicity of the player. The younger generation of Māori almost universally accept the playing of a Pākeha, and I am humbled by this, and glad that there are younger Māori players coming on” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 18). Māori elders, due to the spiritual nature of the culture, were said to have seen the work of Nunns, Melbourne, and
Flintoff as “gifts that had been given…not something individually crafted or learnt, but skills that were inspired, gifted, and guided in spiritual terms” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 17).
Nunns acknowledges the importance of the elders’ perception of their gifts, as it speaks to their acceptance within the culture, and to the importance of the work being carried out.
Te Karaka magazine, of the Ngāi Tahu tribe in Christchurch, featured an article about the taonga pūoro revival in 2010. Author Kaituhituhi Kim Triegaardt reported from a monthly taonga pūoro workshop group, where they wanted to find out more information and thus
“approached the acknowledged authorities in taonga pūoro” (Triegaardt, 2010, 28). Here,
Triegaardt is referring to Nunns, Flintoff, and Horomona Horo, who has played an increasingly important role as a leading practitioner since Melbourne’s death. It is certainly noteworthy that a tribal publication referred to these men as authorities of the genre, again speaking to a sentiment of acceptance, and not one of cultural appropriation. In the same article, Horomona Horo articulates his thoughts on perceptions that the group was stealing
Maōri culture: “it’s sad, because the only reason Richard [Nunns] has that knowledge is
27 because he went through our people. That knowledge he holds was gifted to him from our tīpuna (ancestors) – our kuia (female elder) gifted it to him to continue breathing the beautiful spirituality of our cultural music” (Triegaardt, 2010, 30). This statement from
Horomona Horo, an important figure in the second generation of the taonga pūoro and a student of Hirini Melbourne’s, is significant as it addresses the issue of cultural appropriation from the Māori perspective. Again, the collaborative aspect of working with Māori communities is apparent, in addition to the general acceptance from kuia or elders of the work carried out by the Haumanu group.
There have been several published statements in recent years regarding the revival of taonga pūoro as an act of decolonization. The late New Zealand ethnomusicologist Alan Thomas views the work by Melbourne, Nunns, and Flintoff as:
A new kind of research that placed the instruments and the community at the centre of
the investigation, respecting the musicality and memories of the elders. There was no
preaching from the old ethnographic studies, no assertion that it had to be this way or
that. Just a readiness to work with the people and the sounds. This was one of the
most profound ‘decolonizations’ of Ethnomusicology which has occurred (Nunns and
Thomas, 2014, 21).
Similarly, Ariana Tikao outlines her work researching Māori instruments and re-housing the taonga pūoro collection of Whanganui Museum in 1996, affirming that “the revival of the
Māori instruments was part of a wider movement of decolonization in New Zealand”
(Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 148).
28 Richard Nunns states in the introduction to his book Te Ara Puoro that the rediscovery of the sounds, roles, and functions of Māori instruments is best described as a journey, drawing together numerous contributions: “the memories of the elders expressed at marae performances, the qualities suggested by the instrument materials themselves, the acoustic and musical realities discovered through experimentation, and interaction with our colleagues in the Māori and musical worlds” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 8). He is philosophical about why the process of revival worked for the Haumanu group, and how important it was to have a consultation process over a long period of time:
Our success, I believe, came from the investment in making and actively playing the
instruments, and then in our obvious desire to consult and share. Being open about
our journey, and sharing the achievements and challenges of it over nearly thirty
years, has put all of us together on the same side. Consulting the community, and
having faith in their memories, has been a strong determinant and important guiding
principle in our research (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 18).
A useful parallel in terms of sharing and community consultation can be found in Australian composer Liza Lim’s article Patterns of Ecstasy, where she discusses her experience investigating Australian Aboriginal aesthetics and ritual as part of her compositional work:
“as a non-indigenous person in Australia, making references to Aboriginal culture often brings up problematic political issues. Given Australia’s brutal colonial history and the continuing inequality faced by Indigenous people, there are major sensitivities in relation to any kind of cultural transaction in this area” (Lim, 2012, 28). Lim goes on to address the issue of how artists from outside an indigenous culture who interact with it can return something to the source cultural context, rather than merely appropriating something into a
29 Western musical setting. She visited the women elders of the Gumatj clan as part of her fieldwork within Aboriginal cultures, and following this Lim invited a singing group of
Gumatj women to perform at the Adelaide Festival in 2006, where Lim states “the group used its cultural authority and seniority to assert their leadership in the area of women’s knowledge…the cultural exchange from my part involved supporting a safe space in a non- indigenous context in which highly emotional and previously hidden material could be presented in a form determined entirely by the group of women themselves” (Lim, 2012, 43).
This idea of a cultural exchange with ongoing interactions in both directions is crucial, and is very much applicable to the taonga pūoro context.
There are also several notable commentaries from taonga pūoro practitioners of this generation that further support the level of sensitivity applied to the rediscovery of the traditional instruments, in terms of how it has provided a renewed sense of identity for Māori.
Awhina Tamarapa states that “in today’s world, taonga pūoro not only have the ability to heal people through their sounds and music, but can also heal on another level, through restoring cultural pride, knowledge, and identity. Reclaiming traditions is a healing process in reclaiming identity” (Tamarapa and Tikao, 2017, 146). This concept of identity-strengthening through the revival process has also been touched on by taonga pūoro maker and performer
Rob Thorne: “As I played, I gathered a deeper sense of what it was for me to be Māori. I had finally found a way into this part of my identity that until then had remained unfulfilled. As I made and played the instruments I communed with my ancestors in the breath, with the land in the stones that brought rhythm, with the forest in the woods that vibrated, with the sky in the melodies I created” (Thorne, 2012, 8).
30 Current Musical Situation
By the turn of the twenty-first century, the sounds of taonga pūoro were once again prevalent in New Zealand. Allan Thomas described taonga pūoro in 2014 as “a national musical icon played in virtually every musical circumstance including diplomatic and state occasions and also to audiences around the world in cultural exchanges, music festivals, and concert tours”
(Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 69). The traditional flutes have been incorporated into performances with orchestras, string quartets, and jazz ensembles; film scores; and opening ceremonies for sporting events (van Rij, 2018, 224). Almost thirty years from the start of his work with Melbourne and Flintoff, Nunns describes the instruments as a “community treasure and a national symbol, increasingly finding an international voice” (Nunns and
Thomas, 2014, 9). Perhaps Lilburn’s 1946 speech calling for the discovery of a unique New
Zealand identity in composition has been answered to some extent.
In contemporary classical music, there have been numerous collaborations between composers and practitioners of taonga pūoro, including many that combine Western instruments with anything from one traditional Māori flute to an entire collection of taonga pūoro. The instruments have become increasingly part of standard musical practice, for example, in 2001 the inaugural taonga pūoro concerto competition was held, won by
Horomona Horo, a student of Hirini Melbourne (Mitchell and Waipara, 2011, 16). The standardization of taonga pūoro is apparent in the compositional categories listed for the
2020 International Society for Contemporary Music World New Music Days which was to be held in New Zealand and hosted by the Composers Association of New Zealand (CANZ) prior to cancellation due to COVID-19. Their compositional categories include works with taonga pūoro in the same list as established ensemble genres such as piano trio, string quartet, and orchestra (World Music Days, 2020).
31
The collaborative process of the revival itself is very much mirrored in the music-making process within organizations around the country. The Christchurch Symphony Orchestra commissioned the co-composed work Ko te tātai whetū in 2015 with Ariana Tikao and Philip
Brownlee, where Tikao composed the waiata and Brownlee composed the music around the waiata for the orchestra. A smaller revised chamber version was premiered in 2017 by the contemporary music ensemble STROMA (SOUNZ, 2020). One year prior, Tikao was also involved in a new commission by the Auckland Philiarmonia Orchestra, Kenneth Young’s In
Paradisum for choir, Māori vocal soloists, and orchestra. The non-profit organization
Chamber Music New Zealand hold a Mātariki event annually, showcasing new works by
Māori composers and performers, often melding Western instruments and taonga pūoro with
Māori stories around the Mātariki folklore.
It is remarkable, given the short period of time, that young New Zealand composers are also now incorporating the sounds of taonga pūoro into their works. For example, Salina Fisher
(b.1993) was the winner of the 2017 SOUNZ Contemporary Award for her work Tōrino, which was written for the New Zealand String Quartet, based on pūtorino improvisations by
Rob Thorne (Victoria University of Wellington, 2017). This year the New Zealand
Symphony Orchestra went on to commission Fisher to compose a pūtorino concerto to be performed by Rob Thorne during their regular subscription season.
Commercial album releases in other genres have also become commonplace, especially thanks to local labels such as Rattle Records, who have championed the sound of taonga pūoro. The album Te Ku Te Whe (The Woven Mat of Sound) released on Rattle Records by
Hirini Melbourne and Richard Nunns in 1993 featured just voice and a range of taonga
32 pūoro, and by 2003 it had reached gold status in terms of commercial sales. The label heralds it as “one of Rattle’s most important and successful releases, one of the very first albums to feature taonga pūoro” (Rattle Records, 2003). Rattle Records is also renowned for its array of jazz albums featuring New Zealand performers and composer-performers, and Richard
Nunns has featured on a number of these, including playing both kōauau and pūtorino with
Auckland-based saxophonist Chris Mason-Battley’s sextet, on the 2005 album of collective improvisations entitled Two Tides that “explores the territory between the two words of taonga pūoro and European jazz” (Mitchell and Waipara, 2011, 3).
Contemporary artists in local bands including Fat Freddy’s Drop, Tiki Taane, and Salmonella
Dub are also incorporating the sounds of traditional Māori instruments into their music
(Triegaardt, 2010, 28). The band Little Bushman explores aspects of Māori culture on a track on their 2007 album Pendulum entitled Karanga (to call), featuring a saxophone imitating the female call from a traditional Māori welcome, using microtonal slides and wailing (Mitchell and Waipara, 2011, 12). The pop singer and guitarist Dave Dobbyn’s famous song Welcome
Home incorporates Māori elements including traditional flutes, and “has become something of a patriotic national song that represents cultural diversity” (Keam and Mitchell, 2011, xv).
New Zealand films have been another place for taonga pūoro to shine, and Hirini Melbourne and Richard Nunns provided recordings of taonga pūoro for locally-produced films including the cult classic Once Were Warriors (1994), and Whale Rider (2002), based on the book of the same title by Witi Ihimaera.
Funding structures put in place by institutions such as Creative New Zealand, the Arts
Council of New Zealand have allowed for a number of these new musical commissions and collaborations to come into fruition. Not only have they supported the ongoing development
33 of new works that further highlight taonga pūoro, they have also assisted in the revival process in other ways. For example, in 2011 they funded a research project by taonga pūoro practitioner Jerome Kavanagh, who gained access to a number of the British Museum collections, and was able to play a selection of taonga pūoro from their collection, giving a voice to instruments that were taken from New Zealand around 150 years ago. This project was made into a recording entitled Oro Atua: A Pūoro Māori Sound Healing Journey
(SOUNZ, 2011).
From the above examples it is apparent that this is an incredibly fruitful time for composition in New Zealand, particularly in relation to the incorporation of taonga pūoro. The following section will look more closely at three flute works that have been strongly influenced by
Māori flutes, relating the sounds to specific extended techniques standardized in the contemporary flute extended technique literature.
34 5. Analysis of Existing Flute Works by New Zealand Composers
Extended techniques on the flute were first codified by Bruno Bartolozzi in his 1967 treatise
New Sounds for Woodwinds. At the beginning of the twentieth century there was a new-found interest in developing a wider palette of tone colours and new sounds on the Boehm-system flute, an instrument whose mechanism and acoustic properties allowed for a wider range of timbral possibilities than previous flute designs. A number of composers had already included these techniques in their works prior to any published treatise, including flutter tonguing in Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire (1912) and Varèse’s Density 21.5 (1936), which was also the first work to use the percussive effect of key clicks, as well as extended fourth octave notes and extreme dynamics. Jolivet’s Cinq Incantations (1936) includes glissandi and microtones, Boulez’s Sonatine (1946) has flutter tonguing, and Villa Lobos’ 1950 work
Assobio a jato for flute and cello has the jet whistle effect (Moorhead, 2012, 18-19).
Bartolozzi sought to include further clarification and fingering charts for techniques including multiphonics and timbral fingerings.
Bartolozzi argues that “[the traditional system] has been satisfactory as long as the musical requirements were limited to the purity and beauty of sound obtained through uniformity of timbre. But such ideals have become more and more inadequate to the needs of contemporary music…[it] requires a means of expression that can no longer be exclusively provided by beauty of sound or tunefulness” (Bartolozzi, 1982). These new extended techniques included a range of altered timbres on single pitches, the creation of a microtonal scale using alternate fingerings, the production of multiphonics, and a selection of percussive techniques (Toff,
1979, 204). A number of further flute-specific methodologies and treatises were published in the years that followed Bartolozzi’s, and this section will utilize these references as source
35 material. They include Howell’s The Avant-Garde Flute (1974), Dick’s The Other Flute
(1975), Artaud and Geay’s Present Day Flutes (1980), and Levine and Mitropoulos-Bott’s
The Techniques of Flute Playing (2003).
In this section I will analyze three works by New Zealand composers written since the time of the taonga pūoro revival. Each composition demonstrates significant links to the traditional Māori flutes, emulating their breathy timbre and microtonal capabilities through a range of extended flute techniques. The techniques employed can be divided into categories according to how they alter the flute’s timbre and pitch, and how they layer additional pitched sonorities and percussive effects into the resultant sound:
Timbre Techniques Pitch Techniques Multiple Sonorities Percussive Effects
Air sounds Microtones Multiphonics Consonant attacks
Whistle tones Pitch bends Singing and playing Key clicks
Flutter tonguing Vibrato effects
Timbral trills
Table 1: Extended flute techniques as categorized by their changes to timbre, pitch, multiple sonorities and percussive effects
Helen Fisher: Te tangi a te Matui for solo flute (1986)
Helen Fisher was born in Nelson, New Zealand in 1942, and in addition to her career as a composer she also worked in high school education, both in her home country and in Canada.
Her music has been performed around the world, and her publisher states that “in her work she has contributed towards the study of relationships between Māori and Western musical styles, collaborating extensively with Māori performing artists” (Promethean Editions, 1986).
36 Her 1986 work Te tangi a te Matui for solo flute is an early example of a work that incorporates elements from traditional Māori waiata (song) into a solo flute work with predominantly standard Western notation. It is based on a Māori karakia (incantation or prayer), and translates to “the call of the matui,” which is an extinct New Zealand bird. This well-known karakia was gifted to Fisher in 1986 by her Māori language teacher, Teariki Mei of the Tuhoe tribe.
As a composer of European descent, Fisher was aware of the sensitive issue of cultural appropriation in composing this work, and Glenda Keam states that Fisher dealt with this “by developing personal links with specific Māori communities, thus establishing the means for exchanging ideas and creating new forms of creative collaboration” (Keam and Mitchell,
2011, 229). This allows the work to incorporate waiata elements while being attentive to cultural sensitivities. In 2000, Fisher wrote an article for the journal Music in New Zealand where she talks about the bicultural nature of New Zealand under the agreement of the Treaty of Waitangi:
My personal views on how this bicultural partnership relates to composition have
evolved over twenty years working with Māori, who have become my friends and
extended whānau (family)…for me it’s all about journey, a process, embarking on a
time of apprenticeship…being bicultural is about walking alongside another culture,
about sharing, laughing, crying together, spending time together, caring about the
issues my Māori friends worry about, for example the great amount of poverty and
unemployment in this country. Basically, it is about the gradual building up of
knowledge, understanding, and practical experience in the Māori world (Fisher, 2000,
13).
37
In Te Tangi a te Matui the flutist is required to sing direct quotes from the karakia, and in several places the vocal line seamlessly morphs into the flute line using singing and playing techniques. Simple extended techniques including air sounds and pitch bends are also utilized in ways that link to the playing techniques of the traditional Māori flutes. The score stipulates that “the flautist should ideally be a female alto – the part is not to be sung by another performer. It would be of great advantage in the successful realization of the vocal component of the work for the performer to consult either a Māori performer or recordings of
Māori waiata to understand the style of vocal delivery intended” (Fisher, 1986). The first twenty measures of the work consist only of singing, and although it is precisely notated, it also states “in the style of a waiata” suggesting that the phrasing can in fact be rather rubato.
In terms of performance practice, it is important to acknowledge that the human voice was the primary instrument of traditional Māori music, and to honor the strong connection between the Māori flutes and their traditional use as an accompaniment to speaking and singing. It is understood from elders that “when the best players performed, listeners could hear the words of the waiata as they played, or the karakia or messages they were enunciating into the instrument” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 54). This concept of Māori music mirroring and incorporating language assists the performer of Fisher’s Te tangi a te
Matui in understanding why the flute and vocal parts are written in such an intertwined fashion.
The importance of waiata and song is very much linked to the history of the Māori people, with music not serving purely entertainment purposes but being very much woven into the welfare of society, spirituality, and ancestral links. A recent confirmation of this point can be
38 found in a program note from Tama Waipara, Creative Director of a 2019 Auckland Arts
Festival concert entitled Tōku Reo Waiata that celebrated the richness of Māori song:
Waiata are taonga (treasures). Precious in history, waiata carry whakapapa…
ancestral and genealogical links to knowledge passed down through generations,
holding moments of longing and remembrance to the biting pain of loss. Waiata are
our universities, classrooms, and photo albums. In today’s Aotearoa, our waiata are
more potent and pertinent than ever (RNZ, 2019).
Having prior knowledge of the cultural context is imperative in a work such as Te tangi a te
Matui, because of the direct musical quotes from waiata. The first example is taken from the first page of vocal writing, and the most noteworthy detail is the downward-direction pitch bend in measure 20:
Example 1. Helen Fisher, Te Tangi a te Matui, mm. 14–20
This gesture of pitch bending in a downward direction has been described as “the sound most indicative of traditional Māori music” (Eade, 2003, 65). The falling sound is commonly used in Maori vocal music, where songs might be lullabies, laments, or love songs. The Māori culture considers this drop in pitch to be the whakataanga or floating, spirit voice (Flintoff,
2004, 35).
39 The first use of a notated extended technique for flute comes at the flute entrance in measure
21, in Example 2 below, where the opening note with a fermata is to be played with breath sound only (no discernable pitch), changing gradually to a normal tone by the following measure. It is telling that Fisher has chosen to utilize this breathy timbre from the outset of the flute line, as it is extremely suggestive of the traditional kōauau sound she is emulating:
“in some traditional Māori flute playing, the breath is heard more than the actual pitch of the flute (Eade, 2003, 60). Richard Nunns discusses the playing technique of taonga pūoro, and his strategies to breathe as softly as possible in order to achieve a quiet sound: “if you are getting a good strong sound, dial it down a bit, you want to maintain the sound and not run out of air” (Triegaardt, 2010, 30).” The flutist in Fisher’s work can also use this advice on the first held flute note to achieve a similar breathy quiet sound before the crescendo to normal tone.
Example 2. Fisher, Te Tangi a te Matui, mm. 21–25
Later in Example 2, in measures 24–25, Fisher stipulates that the flute must slide down and up by a quarter-tone from the held E. This writing also clearly points to the emulation of the kōauau, and rather than leaving this assumption up to the performer, Fisher explains in the score’s preface that “the ornate flute style, including the use of quarter-tones, is inspired by that of the small Māori flute, the kōauau”(Fisher, 1986). Traditional Maori instruments cover a small range in terms of Western-equivalent tones and semitones, but are very flexible in terms of having microtones between the available pitches (Eade, 2003, 63). In Barrow’s
40 Traditional and Modern Music of the Māori he discusses this small range in terms of its nuance: “we now know that the Māori sense of sound was so delicate that a tune could be played within the compass of a single tone” (Barrow, 1965, 10). This is essentially what the flutist is replicating during these measures, shifting either side of the E pitch.
Extended techniques resources have a range of approaches to the microtonal scale: Bartolozzi first provided a partial quarter-tone scale in his 1967 treatise using fingering combinations that have since been dismissed as “such poor approximations as to render them useless”
(Toff, 1979, 209). Howell’s 1974 publication The Avant-garde Flute: A Handbook for
Composers and Flutists lists a more accurate but also incomplete quarter-tone scale. It was
Robert Dick’s method The Other Flute published the following year that provided a full quarter-tone scale for both closed and open holed flutes. The more recent resource The
Techniques of Flute Playing written in 2003 by Levine & Mitropoulos-Bott offers a further refinement of a full microtonal scale.
Example 3 covers measures 33–44 and includes further note bending and sliding over larger intervals up to a minor third, in addition to the utilization of singing and playing simultaneously. The voice is notated at the same pitch as the flute: Dick states that “if the pitches of the voice and the flute are very close to each other, the difference tone created by their modulation will cause pronounced beating, and these combinations are very difficult to sustain” (Dick, 1975, 135). The singing and playing effect is what creates interest in this section, but it is necessary to avoid this beating: Howell affirms that “humming in unison with the blown pitch results in strong acoustical reinforcement of the fingered pitch so long as the pitches are perfectly matched” (Howell, 1974, 135). And indeed, the flutist must be wary of the intonation of the sung line, as it drastically affects the resulting timbral effect and
41 volume if the pitches are not in tune. This sound also links to the fact that the Māori flutes were traditionally played using a singing and playing technique, and that an additional “spirit voice” is known to appear unexpectedly, associated with this idea of multiple voices.
Example 3. Fisher, Te Tangi a te Matui, mm. 33–44
Example 4 depicts a more ornate writing style, where the climax of the work takes the flute up into the third octave for the first time in the piece. Singing and playing melding into flute playing with pitch bends can be seen in measures 61-63, followed by the introduction of a soft, light staccato passage in measure 64. The trills employed in measures 65-66 are half- step trills, and coupled with the half-step grace notes that follow, also assist in suggesting the closer intervals of the Māori flutes as opposed to the whole-step classical Western flute trill.
The wide downward pitch bend in 66-67 is again suggestive of the mournful Māori glissando, as written initially in the sung part in measure 20, and additionally, covers a range similar to what would be found on a kōauau. In terms of extended techniques, pitch bends are possible with both sliding ring keys and/or the embouchure. Downward pitch bends are easier to achieve with embouchure shifts than those in an upward direction (Howell, 1974, 9).
42
Example 4. Fisher, Te Tangi a te Matui, mm. 61–69
The final four measures of the work (Example 5) also contain several elements found in
Māori flute playing and singing, that relate directly to standard extended techniques on the contemporary Western flute and bring the piece to a gradual diminendo into niente:
Example 5. Fisher, Te Tangi a te Matui, mm. 98–101
A downward pitch bend – this time on an E-flat, a half-step lower than the first example’s pitch bend gesture – is heard in measure 100, which might suggest an overall lowering of pitch as in the downward melodic style of Māori music. The end of that measure dictates a gradual widening of vibrato, and a whistle tone. Fisher lists in her performance instructions that the line written in measure 100 under the fermata is to be a “slow vibrato, becoming
43 slower,” written in tandem with a diminuendo. Vibrato became an experimental technique often used by later twentieth-century composers. Toff calls vibrato “the most important variant of pitch and timbre, one of the most controversial aspects of traditional performance technique,” (Toff, 1979, 212) linking back to the French school of flute playing in the early twentieth century and their contentious debates regarding the use of vibrato. Howell categorizes modern flute vibrato as an “intensity rather than a pitch vibrato” where vibrato serves to emphasize the ‘brightness’ or ‘darkness’ of a tone obtained through manipulation of the embouchure. In the case of Fisher’s work, the slowing down of the vibrato speed towards the final whistle tone is an effective way of reducing the intensity of the sound, in combination with softening the timbre and altering the pitch, in the interlinked way described by Toff. On the kōauau the vibrato can be altered in a very similar way to the Boehm-system flute. In terms of performance practice, when the flutist has an understanding of the breathy timbre of the vibrato on a Māori flute, it is possible to obtain a similar ratio of breath to sound in combination with the alteration of pitch on this note, directly emulating the traditional flute technique.
The final E-flat of the work, written at pianississimo and fading into silence, has a “whistle tone” instruction. Fisher stipulates in the score more specifically that this can include “a range of whistle tones (harmonic effect), rising from E-flat and returning to E-flat repeatedly.” Whistle or whisper tones are high, clear pitches produced by blowing extremely gently with a slow air stream across the embouchure hole (Toff, 1979, 213), with each fundamental note creating the harmonic series above. Their lack of projection can be an issue depending on the compositional context, and in this case the soft and delicate whistle tone not only works at the specified dynamic level, but is very much the sound that is produced on a small Māori flute such as the kōauau.
44
By lightly blowing across the embouchure hole, it is possible to produce a number of very high pitches, that are soft and extremely delicate. The airstream must be carefully controlled and gentle for whistle tones to be successful, and the embouchure shape and pressure is paramount to their successful sounding. Robert Dick explains that whistle or “whisper” tones can be produced with every fingering, and depending on the fingering used, “from five to fourteen whisper tones can be sounded…they are only heard at extremely low dynamic levels and are difficult to sustain individually, for they have a strong tendency to oscillate one to another” (Dick, 1975, 132). This explanation relates directly to the way Fisher has used the whistle tone in this work: at a soft dynamic and with the freedom to move between overtones that appear.
The sounds produced by some traditional Māori instruments “are so quiet as to be almost inaudible at times” (Eade, 2003, 2) similar to the effect of the whistle tone technique. It is also notable that early European voyagers landing in New Zealand commented on the whistle-like, breathy sounds of the Māori instruments, along with the delicate sounds of the nose-blown flutes. Richard Nunns discusses the efforts in making Māori flutes that would allow these whistling sounds to appear, as they were central to the traditional timbre: “my sense is that a range of whistling, multiphonic, drone, and overtone sounds were the ones being looked for” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 58).
Gillian Whitehead: Taurangi for flute and piano (1999)
Gillian Whitehead (b. 1941) is a New Zealand composer who “gains inspiration from her
Māori heritage, and also from her European-based musical training” (Eade, 2003, 3).
Whitehead is from a very musical family – her mother was a piano teacher, and her father a
45 choral conductor and an enterprising importer of music who introduced New Zealand musicians to the scores of Stockhausen and Boulez in the late 1950s and early 1960s (Kerr,
1994, 305). She has lived and worked in Australia and the United Kingdom, and thus her music weaves together an interesting tapestry of musical influences, returning often to her
Māori roots. Glenda Keam discusses Whitehead’s method of exploring her bicultural heritage through “a systematic move away from a primarily European way of making music towards one that embraces the sounds and concepts of Māori sonic expression” (Keam and Mitchell,
2011, 229).
Taurangi for flute and piano was commissioned by the New Zealand International Festival, where it was premiered by Principal Flutist of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra Bridget
Douglas and pianist Rachel Thomson in 2000. In the score, Whitehead outlines several points that are important to the compositional context and overall meaning of the piece from a performance practice standpoint:
I began writing this piece in the shadow of both the East Timor crisis and the death of
my good friend and sometimes mentor of many years, the musicologist and historian
John Mansfield Thomson. These events modified both the original formal ideas and
the detail of the piece (Whitehead, 1999).
The title Taurangi has a number of meanings in the Māori language that link to these events in her life: unsettled, changing or changeable; incomplete, unsatisfied, unfulfilled; to grieve for; and wanderer (Whitehead, 1999). The work uses the flute in entirely traditional, melodic ways, and also incorporates a number of extended techniques, including flutter-tonguing, whistle tones, pitch bends, and multiphonics, to allow for the exploration of a palette of
46 timbres found in traditional Māori flutes. The piano part also features several finger glissandi inside the piano, and a section where the pianist is required to roll a ping pong ball around on the lower strings, while depressing the pedal.
One of the first extended techniques featured in the work is a fast passage with flutter- tonguing (Example 6). This timbral technique allows the flute notes to blur together very effectively with the piano clusters. Toff refers to flutter-tonguing as “the most distinctive form of articulation, analogous to the string tremolo. The resultant sound ranges from a slight pulsation similar to vibrato to a loud buzz” (Toff, 1979, 214). Howell goes so far as to say that on the flute “its sound is often indistinguishable from string tremolo in orchestration…flutter-tonguing should in general not be used as an intensifying device on flute” (Howell, 1974, 25). In this example it creates an interesting texture when combined with the rhythmic and accented piano line, and the flutter creates a stronger sound than an alternate technique such as double-tonguing.
Example 6. Gillian Whitehead, Taurangi, starting at figure E
47
Example 7 begins at figure G with the instruction for “breathy,” strongly articulated notes.
The “T” indication is referring to the hard articulation on each note, using a strong tongue and very fast air to achieve an articulation similar to an accent. This should also lead the performer’s ear back to the breathy sound of the traditional Māori flutes, and perhaps more to the varied, sudden, and somewhat raw-sounding articulations possible on the pūtorino.
Example 7. Whitehead, Taurangi, starting at figure G
In Example 7 there is a trill on a second-octave D the measure after figure G, where the instruction is for “alternative fingerings.” The notes have also been arranged on the staff in a way that suggests a gradual accelerando into a faster, more stable trill in the following measure. Whitehead is referring to timbral trills when she writes “alternative fingerings” – rather than a whole- or half-step trill, a timbral trill uses alternate fingerings to create sounds that are close to the written pitch but have a variety of timbres. Dick’s The Other Flute
48 categorizes a list of timbral fingerings: “normal, bright, diffuse, and muted” (Dick, 1975, 15), are the descriptors he uses, which he came to by looking at the relative strength of the harmonics found in each fingering.
The tempo libero indication allows the performer room to feel as if this section is semi- improvised; a conversation between flute and piano. This improvisational element is also in keeping with the ethos of traditional Māori music.
Example 8 includes the first of two sections with multiphonics in this work. Whitehead uses a series of soft ascending fundamental notes that merge into multiphonics:
Example 8. Whitehead, Taurangi, starting four measures after figure G
She said of this particular section: “I was looking for something that gave me a series of G’s or around about that pitch” (Eade, 2003, 61). Armed with the knowledge of the pūtorino’s unexpected pitches, and the spirit voice of Wheke, the daughter of the Goddess of Flute
Music, it is possible to interpret this section as an interesting parallel between the
49 contemporary Western extended technique of multiphonics and Māori mythology. Eade discusses the performance of Taurangi in her dissertation on two of Whitehead’s flute works, and suggests that this section is indicative of the spirit voice, and also of the very quiet sounds possible on the traditional Māori flutes (Eade, 2003, 62). It also provides a certain flexibility to the performer, as often multiphonics can be somewhat temperamental as they depend on a specific direction and speed of air, and the concept of spirit-voice notes appearing unexpectedly can be written into the overall character of this section, at the same soft volume as a traditional flute.
Robert Dick calls the development of playing multiple sonorities “perhaps the most singular outgrowth from traditional flute playing in recent years” (Dick, 1975, 81). Similarly, Toff attests that they are “perhaps the most astonishing aspect of avant-garde flute technique”
(Toff, 1979, 219). The execution of multiphonics requires alternate fingerings and a specific combination of air speed and direction. Bartolozzi coined the term “sound amalgams” in his extended techniques treatise, where he outlines ways in which it is possible to pass between single sounds and multiphonics, exactly as Whitehead does in her multiphonic progression.
He states that “lip and breath control are of paramount importance” (Bartolozzi, 1982). In this example the multiphonics used are a combination of those with fundamentals and harmonics of equal volume (for example, the final C-G harmonic fingering), and those with “partials of distinctive timbre and volume” (for example, the first three sets with alternate ring-key fingerings) (Toff, 1974, 220).
Example 9 includes a whistle tone on a first-octave G, reminiscent of the final whistle tone note in Helen Fisher’s work. In this instance however, the aim is to hold the same steady pitch throughout, rather than fluctuating between the harmonic series. It is effective in
50 combination with the soft piano chord in the low register, as the whistle tone is more audible when isolated in a register away from the piano. Eade states that “when performing this I had the sound of a kōauau or nguru in mind and tried to emulate the whistling or breathy sound that they make” (Eade, 2003, 63).
Example 9. Whitehead, Taurangi, starting 2 measures before figure H
Example 9 also includes two pitch bends, from a D and a C# in the first octave respectively.
On the modern Western flute, pitch bends can be achieved through a combination of embouchure and fingering shifts. On the pūtorino, kōauau, and nguru pitch bends – so central to the characteristic sound – are created by varying the embouchure angle and air pressure, aided by the diagonal blowing angle they employ that allows a great deal of freedom
(Flintoff, 2004). In this example the pitch bend can be made using the embouchure, the incremental sliding of the fingers on the right hand, and can also be taken one step further by slightly rolling the flute in and out at the same time as moving the lips. As Māori flutes are designed to have different pitch ranges between instruments, it could be argued that the exact end point of the pitch bend is not important; it is the flexibility of the gesture itself that is of primary importance.
51 Example 10 includes two important timbral details: a trill involving alternate timbral fingerings on a third-octave D (one octave above the previous timbral trill that was also on a
D), followed by a tremolo between two harmonic fingerings. The resulting aural effect is one of varied tone colours, especially when combined with the ping pong ball being rolled on the lower strings of the piano. The use of a timbral trill here links strongly to the variation of tone that is not only possible but also desirable on Māori flutes (McLean, 1996). In the third octave, there are increased possibilities for the timbral trill, due to the more open fingering not using the right hand. The right hand can cycle through using each finger to create a different sound; altered in both timbre and also slightly in pitch.
Example 10. Gillian Whitehead, Taurangi, starting seven measures after figure J
Example 10 also has a “falling off of breath” instruction accompanied by a downward arrow.
As noted earlier in regard to Fisher’s work, this is a common sound in traditional Māori vocal music. Within the context of this piece however, it could be a reflection of the program note where Whitehead talks about the passing of her mentor John Mansfield Thomson, and the sadness of the East Timor crisis, as traditionally songs of lament were often given this pitch drop at the end of a phrase to suggest a sense of melancholy (Flintoff, 2004).
52 The final Example 11 from Whitehead’s Taurangi is from the end of the work. The piano at this point is playing glissandi inside the piano with the fingernails, in the upper registers of the keyboard only. This, in combination with depressing the pedal, creates much sonic potential in terms of interacting with the flute. If the flutist leans with the end of the flute into the open piano, the soft melody creates an echo with the piano overtones. As the flute plays the final melody, some notes are replaced with harmonic pitches. This creates more tonal variety, especially when blended with the overtones made present by the pedal in the piano.
The final two notes – an E-quarter-flat resolving to an E-flat – are like a written out version of the downward pitch bend. This, in combination with a harmonic fingering at a very soft dynamic, is also reminiscent of the breathy, soft sound possible on the Māori flutes.
Example 11. Whitehead, Taurangi, final three lines
53 Philip Brownlee: Harakeke for solo flute (1999)
Philip Brownlee (b. 1971) is a New Zealand composer and sound artist whose compositional work and research explores the structural role of timbre (SOUNZ, 2020). He has worked in a range of traditional and electronic music settings, and is also known for several works that combine traditional taonga pūoro with classical instrumentations in interesting ways, including a commission by the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra for a co-composed work with Māori vocalist and tāonga puoro performer Ariana Tikao in 2015 (as mentioned in
Chapter 4).
Harakeke was commissioned by Bridget Douglas, principal flute of the New Zealand
Symphony Orchestra in 1999 with funding from Creative New Zealand, the Arts Council of
New Zealand. It is a work for solo flute that utilizes a full spectrum of modern extended techniques throughout, and also demonstrates a range of ways in which the modern flute can transmit the same timbres as the Māori flutes. Extended techniques form a central feature of this work, with very little solely traditional writing. The title is the Māori word for flax, which is a perennial plant native to New Zealand, and commonly used in Māori culture for practical and artistic purposes. Brownlee says of this work in the score:
While not directly pictorial, it suggests flickering, swaying movement, and a
fascination with dry, rustling sounds. These sounds and movements are not self-
sustaining, but set in motion by the agency of air, of wind and, in this case, of human
breath. These activating forces suggest echoes of the environments in which the plant
grows. On another level of human agency, the place of flax as a raw material for
intricately woven objects also intersects with the music. The flute's capacity for
timbral modification, for the simultaneous manipulation of multiple aspects of the
54 sound production, would seem to invite a sonically directed musical form (Brownlee,
1999).
In terms of context, it is notable that within the Māori tradition, the art of weaving with flax is a highly regarded skill, strongly linked to spirituality in the Māori culture, akin to the spiritual links found within the traditional music itself. In the above quote, Brownlee suggests that the flute’s ability to produce a range of timbres, including using the breath to create sounds akin to the rustling of the flax plant in the wind, makes it a suitable instrument for this work. In the score’s opening instructional section, Brownlee states that most of the techniques such as multiphonics were taken from Robert Dick’s The Other Flute, although
Brownlee does say that they can be substituted if they are not producing the desired result.
The extended techniques employed throughout are much more frequent than those found in the works by Helen Fisher and Gillian Whitehead, and there are many occurrences of multiple extended techniques happening simultaneously: for example, singing and playing while using key clicks, or playing a timbral trill while also altering the shape of the embouchure to create a diffuse sound. In many cases, these then can relate on multiple levels to a range of taonga pūoro characteristics.
Example 12. Philip Brownlee, Harakeke, mm. 1–3
55 Example 12 is the opening of the work, which demonstrates a clear link to Brownlee’s program note regarding harakeke or flax, and the way it reacts with wind. The use of the diamond note head in measures 1–3 indicates playing with air sound only, similar to the resultant effect of a kōauau flute played with the diagonal blowing angle allowing for the stream of air to strike the mouthpiece with air escaping (McLean, 1996, 186). Throughout this work, Brownlee is very specific with indications for air sounds and half-air/half-pitched sounds, which add to the timbral variety.
The opening section also contains the consonant attacks of “k” and “p” in measures 1 and 2, along with the percussive effect of the key click in measure 3. These effects all enhance the kinds of sounds available on the Western flute, and also create raw percussive sounds more synonymous with an instrument made from natural materials such as wood and bone. Since
(unlike other woodwinds) playing the flute involves no reeds or hardware in the mouth, the use of other consonant attacks is very effective on the flute (Howell, 1974, 25).
Example 13. Brownlee, Harakeke, mm. 4–5
Example 13 incorporates elements that are also present in Whitehead’s Taurangi, such as the downward-direction pitch bend at the end of the phrase to the C-three-quarters-sharp an important element of traditional Māori music, and the use of harmonics to produce a timbre
56 more in keeping with a bone or wood flute as opposed to silver or gold due to the ability to have more air in the sound. In measure 4, a trill accompanies an air sound, at a soft dynamic.
This correlates very strongly to Brownlee’s idea of wind and flax plants, as it oscillates between full and half air sound, which creates additional timbral movement. In terms of relating to Māori flutes, these also pertain to breath, and to spirit voices: “A curiosity of the kōauau, and also of the pūtorino, is an often repeated belief that words could be breathed through the instrument” (McLean, 1996, 186). The changes between diffuse sounds can be created through a gradual shift in aperture size and volume of air.
Example 14. Brownlee, Harakeke, mm. 107–110
Example 14 is a good example of gradual shifts of both the embouchure shape and the angle of the mouthpiece, affecting both timbre and pitch, which are a feature of this work. This once again can refer to both the natural wood and bone flutes of the Māori, and to the notion of flax leaves moving in the wind, as the title suggests. The 90-degree-angle shifting U symbol in measure 107 indicates to “turn the flute inward to the point where the sound becomes diffuse,” and the 45-degree-angle versions in measure 109 translate to “turn the flute inward, lowering the pitch” and “turn the flute outward, raising the pitch” (Brownlee,
1999). In this measure the square symbols above refer to a diffuse sound gradually becoming a normal sound. In terms of learning this work from a performer’s perspective, it is useful to single out melodic and rhythmic content first, and subsequently add the pitch- and timbre-
57 related physical adjustments in order to layer the extended techniques. Dick’s The Other
Flute is a useful resource in terms of the headjoint angle techniques, as he includes tables that outline parameters including angle, lip opening, lip position, and breath pressure, and how they apply to colour shifts to create “edgy” or “diffuse” sounds (Dick, 1975, 49).
Example 15. Brownlee, Harakeke, m.152
Example 15 at measure 152 includes a microtonal segment of multiphonic fingerings, producing a very interesting effect. Māori flutes are known for their very small, subtle microtonal scales, and here the microtonal segment also only covers a small range of the
Western flute. Dick states that “composers may find microtonal segments the most interesting of all microtonal possibilities…they can be used as presented, or taken as a source set for the construction of unique pitch sequences” (Dick, 1975, 58). He constructed these short scales by leaving one hole partially open, while fingering downward as if a regular chromatic scale was being played – in the segment used by Brownlee above, the second finger of the left hand is vented while the other chromatic fingerings are executed as normal.
These examples all demonstrate extended techniques used by Brownlee to create a sound world very linked to that of Māori flutes. His approach involves the layering of extended techniques to fully explore the timbral possibilities that arise when using multiple sounds at once.
58
When considering all three of these works by Fisher, Whitehead, and Brownlee, it is possible to compare their use of extended techniques for timbral effect. Fisher’s early work employs an approach involving direct quotes from Māori waiata in the vocal line, followed by an elaboration of it on the flute. The use of extended techniques is the most minimal of the three examples, but those that are featured (microtones, whistle tone, breath sound, singing and playing) are directly linked to the timbral features of a kōauau. Whitehead uses a broader range of extended techniques in her work dating from thirteen years later, branching into multiphonics and timbral trills as well as whistle tones and breath sound, but they are still used very sparsely throughout the work when compared to Brownlee’s saturated use of extended techniques. Whitehead’s European training is evident in both the melodic flute writing and chordal piano sections, which contrast with the sections utilizing more contemporary piano techniques such as finger glissandi and stopped strings. Brownlee’s interest in instrumental timbre is evident through his requests for particular ratios of air to sound, and angles of the headjoint to change the timbre, in a much more specific way than the other two works. The three examples demonstrate a range of compositional methods used by contemporary composers, from utilizing just a few extended techniques as in Fisher’s, to very few standard notes, as is the case with Brownlee’s. Each work appears to have prioritized the extended techniques that are most convergent with the sounds of Māori flutes, but there is a clear distinction between the generations of composers. Fisher and Whitehead were born one year apart at the beginning of the 1940s, and Brownlee thirty years later in 1971– thus his musical training came at a time when the use of extended techniques were already in wide circulation.
59 6. The Creation of a New Work for Solo Flute
The research-creation section of this project was an opportunity to further explore the convergent sounds between Māori flutes and extended techniques on the Western Boehm- system flute, while also adding to the repertoire of solo flute works by New Zealand composers. Working from a starting point of research into the taonga pūoro revival has led to the creation of a work that comes from a position of understanding the overall context of
Māori music and its influence on contemporary New Zealand composition and performance.
Chris Gendall: Silk Bridge for solo flute (2020)
Chris Gendall (b. 1980) is a New Zealand composer who has worked around the world. He is currently based in Auckland, New Zealand, where he teaches composition at the University of Auckland. He has participated in a number of festivals including the Wellesley
Composers’ Conference, the Royaumont Voix Nouvelles Composition Course, the Britten-
Pears Contemporary Composition Program, the Aspen Music Festival, and the Aldeburgh
Festival. He was a 2018 Civitella Ranieri Fellow, Mozart Fellow at the University of Otago, and resident composer with Orchestra Wellington and the New Zealand School of Music. He won the 2008 SOUNZ Contemporary Award for his work Wax Lyrical, and in 2019 released an album of his compositions on the New Zealand-based record label Rattle Records entitled
Tones (Rattle Records, 2019).
Several factors influenced my choice of Gendall for this commission. Since he had already written a work for solo flute that consists of a number of layered extended flute techniques –
Inward Goes, written in 2017 for flutist Luca Manghi – I knew Gendall was experienced in the realm of extended techniques. This prior knowledge allowed us to start from a similar
60 position in terms of exploring the timbral possibilities of the piece, particularly in relation to
Māori flute sounds. Another consideration was his background: as is the case with the vast majority of New Zealand musicians, Gendall carried out musical training in both New
Zealand and abroad: he has a PhD in composition from Cornell University where he studied with Steven Stucky. This gives him an interesting perspective and set of influences similar to mine, including both a knowledge of the New Zealand context and high-level overseas training. Gendall has a deep knowledge of New Zealand music through his work as a composition professor and also from years working as a producer at Radio New Zealand
Concert, the country’s public service broadcaster with a charter requirement to promote the music of New Zealand including Māori content. He is also currently the president of the
Composers Association of NZ, which was set to host the International Society for
Contemporary Music World Music Days event in 2020.
We began with several discussions about what form the piece might take, and how our research might inform the composition, including finding methods that could be used for the research-creation project. It was decided early in the process that the work would be gestural in nature and closely linked to timbre, more in keeping with Brownlee’s work than the direct quotations of waiata in Fisher’s work. Early ideas for timbral characteristics included the breathy sound of the kōauau and the trumpet embouchure technique of the pūtorino. We also discussed the possibility of using consonant attacks to shape words during the work. Gendall carried out his own research at Te Papa, the national museum of New Zealand that has an ongoing relationship with Haumanu and the rediscovery of taonga pūoro: he found recordings of pūtorino that are archived there, and transcribed them in order to carry out a spectral analysis. This gave him a better understanding of the range and characteristics of the
61 instruments as a starting point. Gendall has also recently used taonga pūoro recordings in his university-level composition classes to work with students on transcription techniques.
During my own research into the revival of the flutes in particular, there were two distinct categories of elements I thought would be interesting to explore in this work: the playing techniques used on Māori flutes that converge with extended techniques, and the discovery techniques that were used by the Haumanu group throughout the country during their own investigations.
Playing Techniques used on Māori Flutes
One of the most obvious convergent playing techniques between the Māori flutes and extended flute techniques are the different ways to create more or less air in the sound. The diagonal blowing angle employed on the kōauau, for example, creates more air in the sound due to the air escaping around the blowing edge. In the case of the nguru, a very distinct air sound can be created through the use of a nose blowing technique. On the Boehm-system flute, an increase in air in the sound can be created through the alteration of the size of the aperture, the widening of the oral cavity, and the change in direction of the air to decrease the focus of the air stream against the blowing edge. I was interested in including a range of sounds in this new work using different ratios of sound to air.
Pitch bending involves the rolling of the fingers across the finger holes, covering more or less of each hole to change the intonation, and is another standard playing technique used by
Māori flute practitioners to create interesting microtonal shifts: “the rolling of the finger pad over the third finger hole of the kōauau created a scalloped sound, and numerous trills and glides could all be performed to enrich an instrument’s sound” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014,
62 40). Gendall and I discussed the possibility of achieving this rolling and “scalloped” sound, interpreting Nunns’ use of the word “scalloped” to relate to the scope for shifting the intonation and timbre of a single starting pitch. We focused on extended techniques including not only microtonal fingerings but also entire microtonal segments as outlined in Dick’s The
Other Flute. These microtonal segments in a downward direction became a gestural feature of the work, combined with other techniques including “pizzicato” articulation and key clicks that will be discussed in the section below detailing our collaborative process.
A further standard playing technique employed by Māori flute players are alterations to the vibrato – both in terms of oscillation speed and amplitude – to create changes to both the pitch and timbre of any given note. This is particularly effective given the small range of notes possible on some of the Māori flutes. I was drawn to the idea of utilizing vibrato as a way of exploring the range of possibilities available on any given note, to replicate the methods used by players of flutes with only a limited range in order to find delicate nuances on a melody of limited pitches.
One final interesting playing technique on the pūtorino that links to a slightly more obscure contemporary extended technique is the trumpet embouchure. We experimented with several iterations of this technique in terms of how it sounded on its own, and how well it could be incorporated into a musical phrase. Howell states that the concept of “blowing like brass” was used in two early works during the 1960s that employed extended techniques by Patrick
Purswell and Robert Cantrick (Howell, 1974, 28). The idea is that the flute embouchure hole can be buzzed into with the lips together like a trumpet mouthpiece. In my own experimentation I discovered that when fingering a low E-flat, the note that sounds when played using a trumpet embouchure (headjoint turned in, and lips buzzing together inside the
63 embouchure hole) is the B above. Howell goes on to state that there are some difficulties that inhibit the use of this technique, including the fact that the partials are inharmonic: “first and foremost, the design of the tube, which gives harmonic partials with the embouchure end of the instrument open, yields an extremely inharmonic series with that end closed. Hence we get a lack of harmonic reinforcement leading of uncertainty of pitch placement on the order of a semitone or more either way, as well as to a kind of timbre that can only be described as extremely vulgar” (Howell, 1974, 29). Gendall and I concluded after some experimentation over several online conversations that in fact the trumpet embouchure technique on the flute is difficult to play consistently and to integrate into a work in a cohesive manner around other musical material. These experimentations will also be outlined further below.
Discovery Techniques used by the Haumanu Group
One of the very interesting methods that Melbourne, Nunns, and Flintoff experienced during their discovery process was the use of singing and playing by the elders into the flutes. This immediately came to mind as a technique that overlapped with contemporary extended techniques, and would create a range of other timbral possibilities for this new work. Nunns discusses their methods with Māori elders during their process of rediscovery:
I listened while Wharehuia Milroy, at Te Hāpua, sang into the instrument, aware of
the closeness between singing and playing, and the way in which a waiata can
activate the instrument. That confirmed for me that our main guide in the search for
the appropriate and authentic performance for all the melodic instruments is the
human voice. In former times the playing of kōauau, nguru, and pūtōrino and other
instruments closely matched the manner in which people sang…[the songs] may have
64 been partially sung into the instrument, the player’s mouth framing each of the words
(Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 40).
Gendall and I experimented with various ways of incorporating this, including singing in unison with the played pitch (similar to the technique used in Fisher’s work), and singing with a downward pitch bend while holding one flute pitch, and vice versa.
Another technique developed by the Haumanu group during their process of rediscovery was note bending during the instrument-making workshops carried out by Flintoff and groups of interested practitioners. Nunns states that “in workshops students play the nearly completed instrument before the finger holes are bored through, so that they may first learn the required microtonal scales as well as the all-important technique of bending the note, essential for replicating the human voice” (Nunns and Thomas, 2014, 40). This concept of practicing bending notes without moving any fingers or using specific microtonal segment fingerings was another element I was interested in including in the work. As the work developed, it incorporated both a recurring feature of notated microtonal segment fingerings and this idea of note bending in a singing style using only the embouchure and air direction as an aid.
The collaborative process
Following our initial discussions about the playing and discovery methodologies and how to incorporate these into the work using specific extended techniques, an ongoing dialogue between Gendall and myself allowed each individual effect to grow into gestures and then eventually into longer phrases.
65 Some of the first sound fragments that I played over Skype for Gendall were microtonal segments from Dick’s The Other Flute (Example 15), followed by several of Gendall’s combinations of extended techniques (Example 16). These combined techniques included our initial experimentations with the trumpet embouchure, and how it might work blending into other techniques including a tongue ram or jet whistle – both seemingly good options given their similar requirement to have the flute headjoint rolled inwards. It was eventually clear that in fact the trumpet embouchure was not going to be included in the work, but this step was a crucial part of the compositional process. It was important that he was able to hear these in terms of their effectiveness or closeness to the sounds he had in mind, in combination with learning more about their general playability. In several cases the suggested fingerings from The Other Flute method were in fact easier to execute using other fingerings that I had prior knowledge of, so we were also able to discuss these and make changes to the fingering charts that accompany the score.
Example 15 (left). Dick (1975) The Other Flute, microtonal segment p.59 Example 16 (right). Chris Gendall, Silk Bridge, excerpt from preliminary experimentations
The next online conversation came after Gendall sent a first draft of a longer section of the work (Example 17) where the microtonal segments starting on an E had been incorporated
66 into the phrase structure. The ‘breathy’ instruction, microtones, use of wide vibrato changing into no vibrato, and a timbral trill are all in keeping with the taonga pūoro playing techniques we had initially discussed. The overall soft dynamic is also in line with the qualities of the small Māori flutes, along with the repeated return to the same downward-moving microtonal segment, suggesting the small yet nuanced range of the traditional flutes and the standard downward phrasing-off of Māori vocal music.
Example 17. Gendall, Silk Bridge, preliminary draft section, mm. 3–8
When the next section of the work arrived, we scheduled a further discussion and demonstration regarding the use of pizzicato, key clicks, and accents while using these techniques, as in Example 18. We concluded that the use of tongue pizzicato using a light ‘t’
(as opposed to a ‘p,’ which was also experimented with) was a more effective way of creating the small crescendos, as the key clicks are subtle and soft in volume. The accents used on key
67 clicks are almost superfluous, as the keys only have a limited dynamic range, but the accents do assist in guiding the performer’s phrasing of these gestures.
Example 18. Gendall, Silk Bridge, extended draft, mm. 51–52
Gendall also incorporated the transition of a jet whistle into a tongue ram, thus keeping the percussive sound element, despite not using the initial trumpet embouchure idea (example
19). I also experimented with several iterations of this: one that seamlessly went from a jet whistle into a tongue ram in one linked gesture, and one that had a slight gap, allowing for a stronger jet whistle using more air. It was decided that the joined version was more effective in the phrase, so the slur joining the effects together was added.
Example 19. Gendall, Silk Bridge, extended draft, mm. 59–60
The alterations of vibrato speed were also something we discussed and Gendall notated very clearly into the draft versions, using either specific rhythmic pulses with accents, or clear written instructions. Example 20 shows the use of these rhythmic accents and changes to a wide vibrato or no vibrato. The use of a wide vibrato in combination with a decrescendo and
68 pitch bend downward all tie in with the characteristics of Māori flutes and with the vocal tradition of Māori music.
Example 20. Gendall, Silk Bridge, extended draft, mm. 37–41
Gendall supplied a program note for the work at the same time as he was finishing the first draft:
During initial discussions with Hannah on this work and its particular focus, I
immediately thought of the pūtorino – a flute that sings with three different voices.
I designed my work to exploit the changes in colour and articulation available to the
flute, using material derived from melodic transcriptions and spectral analyses of
pūtorino recordings. This synthesis of inspiration and musical material unfolds in a
way that make the flute sing with a multitude of voices, similar to those of the source.
The above examples demonstrate the extent to which this was a collaborative process that included initial research into the cultural context and traditional flutes, and a dialogue around the effectiveness of specific techniques on the Boehm-system flute and how they best link
69 together to create phrases and the piece as a whole. This research-creation project gave great insight into the value of working with a composer towards a common goal, with constant attention to how each musical detail relates to the overall project.
70 7. Conclusion
This research project has brought to light three particularly important principles: performance practice of Māori flutes and its emulation on the Western flute, the strength the flute revival has offered to Māori culture as a whole, and the direction of new music being written by New
Zealand composers.
Firstly, from a performance practice standpoint, the importance of contextual understanding is evident from this research, and has been a strong takeaway for my own performing and teaching of works that include elements of cultural exchange and exploration. For example, the singing in Fisher’s work – even with provided explanations regarding pronunciations and general vocal style in the score – is only effective and appropriate when the performer understands both the meaning of the musical tradition as a whole, and the playing techniques and contexts of the flutes we are seeking to emulate. This quote from Home, Land and Sea:
Situating Music in Aotearoa New Zealand sums up this importance:
To appreciate the breadth and depth of Māori music is a challenge that can only be
met by widening the understanding of what it incorporates and encompasses… By
examining the links and ties of ideologies and philosophies, we are able to explore it
in a way that truly expresses the vibrancy of a living and developing culture, one that
celebrates the diversity of its influences as much as the foundations of its traditions
(Mitchell and Waipara, 2011, 16).
From the performer’s point of view, this quote links to the idea that we must understand the tradition and its links to mythology and spirituality within the culture, but must also consider
71 it a living tradition, not one that is merely encased in a museum. Now that the flutes are in widespread use again, they will naturally continue to collect a range of new influences and develop in a variety of directions as we move further into the twenty-first century. Arguably this also gives composers and performers the confidence to respectfully incorporate traditional cultural influences without a sense of exploitation or appropriation, provided that ample and ongoing attention is given to the context.
There is another significant conclusion to draw from this research, regarding the bicultural historical context of New Zealand, and what the rediscovery of the Māori flutes has meant for society at large, especially as society has become more multicultural in recent decades.
Horomona Horo believes that as New Zealand becomes a melting pot of culture, it is important that taonga pūoro are respected as a Māori tradition to be enjoyed by everyone
(Triegaardt, 2010, 30). To me, this use of “everyone” can refer to the instruments’ incorporation within the canon of classical music, using a methodology of ongoing collaboration similar to that set out by Melbourne, Nunns, and Flintoff during the initial revival of the instrumental tradition. With this approach, New Zealand classical music can continue to develop its own unique identity that reflects contemporary society, while empowering all New Zealand musicians regardless of ethnicity. A further commissioning project of interest to me following this paper could involve the incorporation of both Western and Māori flutes, where sections could even be co-composed by various composers in collaboration with performers of each of the flutes. This would further explore the intersections of the tradition and the resultant sounds. With a growing number of people –
Māori and Pākeha – attending workshops about the traditional instruments, Horo emphasizes that “the instruments can be fused and collaborated with many genres of music – only
72 through learning and sharing the knowledge of all of our generations will taonga pūoro flourish” (Triegaardt, 2010, 30).
Finally, the process of commissioning the new work by Gendall in tandem with investigating existing flute works by NZ composers allowed me the opportunity to consider what kind of music we are creating by taking inspiration from our indigenous culture. I conclude that we are not just replicating an existing tradition, but are creating new, connected, and informed music that reflects the reality of New Zealand’s history, and our diverse musical influences through both traditional music, local training in Western music, and overseas training carried out by performers and composers. Ethnomusicologist Allan Thomas reflects on the taonga pūoro revival by saying that “in exploring new ways of using the instruments the revival is not seeking to simply replicate historical playing, but to understand the music and instruments sufficiently to create music today in classical, jazz, and popular idioms which is connected to the music of former times” (Nunns and Thomas, 2005, 70). And indeed, this sense of connection through the creation of informed new music is evident in this research project’s commissioning process.
73
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