Fiddle Grooves:

Identity, Representation, and the Sound of

Cape Breton Fiddle Music in Popular Culture

by

Jeffrey James Hennessy

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements

for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Graduate Department of Music

University of Toronto

© Copyright by Jeffrey James Hennessy 2008

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Abstract

Fiddle Grooves: Identity, Representation, and the Sound of Cape Breton Fiddle Music in Popular Culture

Doctor of Philosophy, 2008 Jeffrey James Hennessy Graduate Department of Music University of Toronto

This dissertation investigates Cape Breton fiddle music from a popular culture perspective. It introduces a conception of musical groove comprising two interrelated components: a social component wherein individual musical actors retain their own identities and relationships with the music while also uniting collectively in their response to the music, and a sonic component consisting of an acoustical repeating of a rhythmic idea that forms the metrical underpinning for a piece of groove music. Each of these two components is informed and mediated by the other. Cape Breton fiddle music is considered here as a form of groove-based popular music, similar to other groove musics. The two dimensions of the groove are analyzed in turn, revealing aspects of social identity, political and commercial representation, and processes of intercultural syncretism that have resulted in the evolution of the music within the pop culture mainstream.

The dissertation is divided into two large sections. The first section concerns the social component of the Cape Breton fiddle groove, considering aspects of cultural representation, social identity, globalization and perceived external threats, and intersections with popular culture. The second section examines the sound of Cape

Breton fiddle music as a form of groove-based music by first proposing a general model

ii for the analysis of groove-based musics, and then applying the model to the Cape Breton fiddle context.

The social and sonic components of Cape Breton fiddle grooves are treated as mutually reinforcing components of the same cultural product. Explorations of social identity and cultural representation of Cape Breton fiddle music determine those aspects of the sonic dimension of the music with the most social salience. In turn, analyses of the sound of Cape Breton fiddle grooves influence the understanding of the contemporary and historical socio-cultural community. Cape Breton fiddle music is therefore used here as a case study for combining the powerful modes of inquiry from the disciplines of music theory and ethnomusicology, leading to a richer and more nuanced understanding of musical traditions and cultures in general.

iii Acknowledgments

This dissertation is the culmination of a long journey involving many people. I arrived at the University of Toronto with only a vague notion of what I wanted to pursue for a research topic and soon realized that I was already behind most of my fellow students who had already chosen their thesis topics. My initial stress was soon relieved as the faculty in the Graduate Department of Music encouraged me to explore the seemingly divergent areas of musical interest that would eventually lead to this interdisciplinary thesis. The path to completion featured a number of detours including changing provinces twice, securing a faculty position at Acadia University in my third year, an Acadia faculty strike, dealing with the death of a close family member, and a very poorly-timed case of

Benign Positional Vertigo. Yet despite these hiccups, I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of my Ph.D. studies. I feel lucky to have been given the opportunity to learn from such an incredible group of scholars and musicians at the university and want to single out a few who were instrumental in bringing this dissertation to fruition.

My first contact with the University of Toronto was Robin Elliott who assured me that my areas of interest would receive support from the music faculty. It was after a conversation with Robin on the Toronto subway that I first began to think that Cape

Breton fiddle music could form the central case study of my research. Mary Ann Parker ran the first year Ph.D. seminar which would prove a pivotal course for me in providing assurance that I had the skills to succeed as an academic. In addition to this seminar, I took a course in theories of rhythm and metre with Ryan McClelland. It was through this course that I began to develop the theoretical model that would form a central component

iv to my research. Ryan also agreed to serve on my dissertation committee and provided invaluable analytical insight despite having little familiarity with the music. Knowing that I was interested in pursuing studies of rhythm in popular and non-Western music,

Mary Ann and Robin also advised me to consult Russell Hartenberger and Jim Kippen as potential advisors. Russell eventually joined my dissertation committee and provided substantial insight from his perspective as a performer. Russell also suggested that Jim

Kippen would be the best advisor for me. Jim is always in high demand as a graduate advisor but agreed to accept me as a student despite my barely half-formed ideas of what

I planned to pursue. After one meeting with Jim, my head swam with possibilities and our conversations would prove to be some of my fondest memories of my time at the

University of Toronto. I wrote the majority of this dissertation after I had moved back to

Nova Scotia, but Jim made this a lot easier on me than it could have been and I will always be grateful for his support.

I would also like to thank my son Rory for often having to share his daddy with a computer and for continuously reminding me for whom I was doing this. Finally, I would like to thank my wife Erin whose love and encouragement provided the extra fuel I needed to reach the finish line and whose companionship makes all of my life experiences worthwhile.

v Table of Contents

Abstract ii

Acknowledgments iv

Table of Contents vi

List of Examples viii

Chapter 1 – Introduction 1

Chapter 2 – Tartanism, Folk, and Fiddles: Cultural Representation in Nova Scotia 22

Tartanism and “The Folk” 23 Gaelic Fiddling 33 The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler 44

Chapter 3 – External Challenges: Globalization and the Perception of Cultural Imperialism in Canadian Popular Music 54

Cultural Imperialism 56 Theories of Cultural Evolution 61 Globalization of Popular Music 65 Popular Music and Social Identity in Canada 72 East Coast Music Industry 80 “Celtic” Music as Popular Music 88

Chapter 4 – Fiddle Pop: Cape Breton Fiddle Music in Popular Culture 94

Natalie MacMaster and Ashley MacIsaac 97 Cape Breton Music Online 113

Chapter 5 – An Analytical Model for Groove-Based Music 137

Theories of Musical Grooves 141 Groove States and Metrical States: The Case of Rock Music 158 “De Do Do Do” 167

vi “I Got You” 174 “Beautiful Day” 178 Electronic Dance Music 183 Rap Music 193 Simon Shaheen – “Longa Farahfaza” 199 Summary 206

Chapter 6 – Cape Breton Fiddle Grooves 209

Cape Breton Fiddling 210 Piano Accompaniment 221 “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” 230 Ian Hardie Set 238 “Catharsis” 254 “Sleepy Maggie” 260

Chapter 7 – Conclusion 269

Bibliography 276

Discography 290

vii List of Examples

5–1 Standard rock drum pattern (4-on-the-floor) 146 5–2 Standard rock drum pattern variant 146 5–3 Overlapping metrical structure, Lerdahl and Jackendoff 148 5–4 Additional standard rock drum pattern variant 161 5–5 “Small Town” opening drum pattern 162 5–6 “Small Town” main drum pattern 162 5–7 “Paper In Fire” verse rhythm pattern 164 5–8 “Paper In Fire” last line of verse 1 165 5–9 “De Do Do Do” instrumental intro 168 5–10 Electric guitar beat classes 169 5–11 Metrical dissonances between guitar and drum–kit 170 5–12 “De Do Do Do” verses 171 5–13 Comparison of electric guitar accents in verses and intro 172 5–14 “De Do Do Do” pre-chorus 173 5–15 “De Do Do Do” chorus vocal line 173 5–16 “I Got You” intro and first line 175 5–17 “I Got You” first chorus line 177 5–18 “Beautiful Day” introduction 179 5–19 “Beautiful Day” verses 180 5–20 “Beautiful Day” choruses 181 5–21 Underworld “Cups” (0:55–1:00) 189 5–22 Underworld “Cups” (0:59–1:13) 190 5–23 Composite rhythms from Underworld “Cups” 191 5–24 Underworld “Cups” (1:13–1:28) 192 5–25 Vocal rhythms for opening four lines of “MCs Act like they Don’t Know” by KRS-One 196 5–26 Vocal Rhythms for first verse, first couplet of “MCs Act like they Don’t Know” by KRS-One 196 5–27 Vocal Rhythms for two (plus) lines from third verse of “MCs Act like they Don’t Know” by KRS-One 197 5–28 “Longa Farahfaza” introduction 201 5–29 “Longa Farahfaza” refrain 205

6–1 Traditional Scottish strathspey 212 6–2 Traditional Scottish reel 212 6–3 Traditional Irish jig 213 6–4 Jerry Holland strathspey 213 6–5 Jerry Holland reel 214 6–6 Jerry Holland jig 214 6–7 Phrase from strathspey showing sixteenth-note flourish 218 6–8 Basic strathspey accompaniment pattern 222 6–9 Basic reel accompaniment figure 222

viii 6–10 Basic jig accompaniment pattern 222 6–11 Scottish piano accompaniments for jig and reel 223 6–12 Alternate jig pattern with right-hand syncopation 224 6–13 John Morris Rankin piano accompaniment 226 6–14 Sheamus McNeil piano accompaniment 228 6–15 Jerry Holland – “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” piano intro 231 6–16 Jerry Holland – “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” piano intro re-notated 231 6–17 Jerry Holland – “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” “Union Street Session Reel” – phrase 1 with piano accompaniment 233 6–18 Jerry Holland – “Union Street Session Reel” section 2 with piano accompaniment 234 6–19 Jerry Holland – “Union Street Session Reel” repeat of phrase 1 with piano accompaniment 235 6–20 Jerry Holland – “Rannie MacLellan” second half guitar rhythms 237 6–21 “The Poetic Milkman” first section 240 6–22 “The Poetic Milkman” alternate metrical interpretation 240 6–23 “Ian Hardie Set” bodhran entrance 241 6–24 “Ian Hardie Set” synthesizer entrance 243 6–25 “Ian Hardie Set” synthesizer accompaniment, fourth jig statement 244 6–26 “Mr. Moore’s Strathspey” with piano accompaniment 246 6–27 Strathspey to reel transition 247 6–28 “Kelsae Brig Reel” 250 6–29 “Kelsae Brig Reel” second half 250 6–30 “Humours of Tulla Reel” first half 251 6–31 “Humours of Tulla Reel” second half 252 6–32 “Catharsis” (Amy Cam) 255 6–33 “Catharsis” intro 257 6–34 “Catharsis” second half 258 6–35 “Sleepy Maggie Reel” (Ashley MacIsaac version) 261 6–36 “Sleepy Maggie” intro, mandolin and guitar parts 262 6–37 “Sleepy Maggie” intro, guitar and fiddle parts 263 6–38 “Sleepy Maggie” dance groove 264 6–39 “Sleepy Maggie” rhythm of first vocal line 265

ix Chapter 1

Introduction

In 1995, the annual Canadian East Coast Music Awards show was staged at Centre

200 in Sydney, Cape Breton, and broadcast via tape delay on CBC television. In many

ways, this was a pivotal moment for the burgeoning Canadian East Coast music scene:

the annual conference that preceded the awards show triggered a number of record deal

signings between major record companies (or their Canadian subsidiaries) and Atlantic

Canadian artists. The Sydney event moved from the previous smaller “soft-seater” venues

in Halifax and St. John’s to the 4000-seat arena that was then home of the oddly named

Cape Breton Oilers hockey team. For Cape Breton musicians, the Sydney production was

also viewed as a return to the true home of East Coast music, as many believed much of

the recent attention directed towards Atlantic Canadian music was the result of local

success stories such as The Rankin Family and The Barra MacNeils.

The CBC broadcast began with a text inscription indicating that the show was dedicated to the memory of PEI songwriter Gene MacLellan, who had surprisingly committed suicide a few weeks prior.1 As the text faded, an image of a snow-covered,

barren wasteland appeared – Cape Breton Island. This was an ominous beginning to a

supposedly celebratory event. The subsequent video montage featured images of the

Cabot Trail winding along the highlands, kilted pipers and pipe drummers, highland

dancers, a lone individual walking along a rugged beach, and an older woman dressed in

1 I wish to thank Moya Walsh from CBC Halifax for providing me with archival footage of this broadcast.

1 nineteenth-century garb, working at a spinning wheel. Underscoring this was the haunting voice of singer Mary Jane Lamond singing in Gaelic, with harmonic accompaniment provided by a processed synthesizer. At the end of the Gaelic song, another lone voice was heard – this time male: fiddler Kyle MacNeil leading his siblings

The Barra MacNeils in a call-and-response shanty called “Coal Town Road.” The group was dressed in elaborate and flashy formal attire, which contrasted the dark and dusty words they were singing:

We get up in the black Down the coal town road And we hike along the track Where the coal trains load And we make the ponies pull ‘Til they nearly break their backs And they’ll never see again Down the coal town road.

We hear the whistle call Down the coal town road And we take our towels and all Where the coal trains load In the cages then we drop ‘Til there’s nowhere left to fall And we leave the world behind us Down the coal town road.

We never see the sun Down the coal town road At a penny for the ton Where the coal trains load When the shift comes up on top We’re so thankful to be done We head home to sleep and dream About the coal town road.

2 There’s miners’ little sons Down the coal town road Playing with their cowboy guns Where the coal trains load But they’d better make the best Of their childhood while it runs There’s a pick and shovel waitin’ Down the coal town road.

If there’s a God for us Down the coal town road All the miners he can bless Where the coal trains load For we’re sweatin’ in the hole Suckin’ down that Devil’s dust Just to keep the fires blazin’ Down the coal town road.2

This sad song was known to most in the audience, but the sombre nature of the lyrics did not prevent the spectators from clapping and stamping their feet enthusiastically to the inferred beat. In the middle of the second verse, a loud cheer erupted as a line of bobbing white lights began to stream in from the back of the arena.

As the cameras closed in on the light sources, faces appeared on the television screen revealing that the lights were actually attached to the tops of miners’ helmets. The Cape

Breton chorus of coal miners known as Men of the Deeps assembled on the stage behind the four Barra McNeils and the massed group finished the song.

The crowd cheered, but was then immediately interrupted by sounds of an amplified fiddle, drums, and electric bass. The ECMA logo appeared on the television screen and an anonymous voice announced the venue and event. All cameras then focused on the main stage, with its expansive lighting and audio systems. A six-piece rock band, mainly consisting of older men, was providing a very non-traditional

2 Allister MacGillivray, “Coal Town Road” (Cabot Trail Music, 1979).

3 accompaniment to a well-known fiddle jig. The fiddler, by contrast, was a young woman

with flowing blond curls who bounced and danced around the stage as she played,

skillfully dodging the electric cable that drooped down from her violin: Natalie

MacMaster. The jig abruptly shifted to a reel, now accompanied by two pipers standing

stoically in the far back of the stage.3 MacMaster and band finished the reel, and the

crowd responded with enthusiastic applause.4

This somewhat bizarre opening sequence encapsulates the unique complexion of

Cape Breton culture and its many conflicting elements. The expected traditional Scottish

music was well represented with Gaelic song, pipers, and fiddle music, but the

synthesizer and rock band accompaniments suggested a more pop and less traditional

musical aesthetic. The rugged scenery, scenes of nineteenth-century spinners, and images

of kilted pipers and dancers implied a pre-modern culture, but the singing coal miners

reminded all of the omnipresent coal and steel industries that dominated the island

economy for most of the twentieth century. The television production, modeled after the

Grammy Awards, placed Cape Breton music (and East Coast music in general) firmly in

the pop-culture mainstream, far from its roots in the kitchen ceilidh.5

This dissertation will explore the many facets of this complex culture by analyzing

one important component – Cape Breton fiddle music. The aim, however, is not merely

to provide another social history or ethnography of the Cape Breton fiddle tradition.

Rather, I plan to use this case study as a springboard for a discussion of the complex web

3 The shift is indeed very abrupt and was probably the result of a poor video edit. The awards show was taped and condensed to fit a suitable broadcast timing. 4 I attended the 1997 awards show – all in the audience were prompted to applaud at particular times to enhance the television broadcast. 5 The word ceilidh actually means visit, an informal gathering for storytelling and music making at someone’s home.

4 of roles and meanings of ethnically-derived popular musics in Canadian society. I will explore issues of social identity construction, cultural globalization, the politics of musical representation, and the formation of local and global musical communities.

At its heart, this work is about the complex concept of groove. Cape Breton fiddle music is almost always treated as a form of traditional or ethnic music. To a large extent this is completely valid as the music has always been linked with its Scottish heritage. As

I will demonstrate though, this socio-cultural link is not as clear as is often portrayed. I believe many traditional dance musics of this sort suffer from a rather narrow frame of reference. Like many other ethnically-derived dance music genres, Cape Breton fiddle music is also a form of groove-based music. A complete discussion and analytical model of groove will be taken up in later chapters. For now, it is important to consider that the term groove carries with it two essential meanings: the acoustical repeating of a rhythmic idea that forms the metrical underpinning for a piece of groove music, and the effect this has upon individual people who respond collectively as a group to the sound of the groove. This second meaning of groove can be expanded to represent metaphorically the musical community or subculture that forms around the music. The community consists of individuals who maintain their own identities and relationships to the music but who also unite as a unit, with the music as the tie that binds them – a social groove. This dissertation will consider both of these dimensions of Cape Breton fiddle grooves.

I will show that groove-based musics like Cape Breton fiddle music retain essential metrical processes that cross many variant styles and genres. This is important for many reasons, as I will explain. If all groove-based musics have at their core a set of fundamental attributes, then this provides a frame of reference for examining the “cross

5 pollination” of styles that is becoming more rampant in the current globalized society. In

other words, rather than discussing polystylistic intersection of musical traditions due to

globalization as a form of cultural competition, the process can be understood more as a

syncretic dialogue between musics that share some common principles. The expansion of

global communications technology and digital information exchange in recent years has

accelerated the dissemination of popular music recordings throughout the world. Theories

of Western cultural imperialism have proven too simplistic to adequately account for the

complex web of roles and meanings associated with music in local popular cultures.

Some scholars such as Robinson and Erlmann argue that musical globalization eradicates

local music traditions, and results in a normalization of style commonly termed “World

Beat.”6 Others such as Taylor, Guilbault, and many non-Western musicians charge that,

in denying non-Western musicians the opportunity to react to and evolve with the

exposure to Western popular music, such critics of musical globalization are practicing

an inherent form of racism.7

This debate takes on interesting dimensions when considering Canada as a node in

the complex global cultural network. Canadian popular culture is heavily influenced by

the American entertainment industry, which is dominated by transnational corporations.

At the same time, local, ethnically-derived popular musics thrive, both in rural Canadian

monocultural communities and in multicultural urban centres. I wish to contribute to the

ongoing cultural globalization debate by investigating the social and political

6 Veit Erlmann, “The Aesthetics of the Global Imagination: Reflections on World Music in the 1990s,” Public Culture 8 (1996): 467-487; and Deanna Campbell Robinson, Elizabeth B. Buck, and Marlene Cuthbert, Music at the Margins: Popular Music and Global Cultural Diversity (London: Sage Publications, 1991). 7 Timothy D. Taylor, Global Pop: World Music, World Markets (New York: Routledge, 1997); and Jocelyene Guilbault, Zouk: World Music in the West Indies (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993).

6 implications of how local musical communities may adapt, dilute, sacrifice, hybridize,

create culture, preserve identity, and so on, in the face of the overwhelming control of

Canadian popular culture by American corporate culture. My focus will be Cape Breton

fiddle music, but I will spend some time discussing musical globalization in the overall

Canadian popular music context.

Popular music carries with it a complex web of roles and meanings in society and is

related to the identity, politics, and emotions of individuals and subcultures. Musical

subcultures are becoming increasingly de-localized as part of what sociologist John

Hannigan refers to as a global fluids model of cultural evolution, wherein a particular

musical community may transcend regional and national boundaries through digital

exchange of recordings.8 Furthermore, I contend that these recordings cannot be treated

in the same way as other pop-culture products such as television and cinema. While the

diverse musical styles may feature many culturally-specific attributes, they all share a

common currency of repetitive rhythmic grooves that permit exchange across stylistic

boundaries.

The ubiquity of riffs, repetition, and grooves in popular music requires that we

engage the musical groove itself as a link between musical style and social context in a

globalized musical system. Ingrid Monson has made this case when discussing African

diasporic music, but I believe this perspective applies to all groove-based music, and is

particularly instructive when examining cross-cultural collaborations.9 I contend that polystylistic intersection and cross-cultural collaboration in popular music essentially

8 John Hannigan, “Culture, Globalization, and Social Cohesion: Toward a De-territorialized Global Fluids Model,” Canadian Journal of Communication 27 (2002): 277-287. 9 Ingrid Monson, “Riffs, Repetition, and Theories of Globalization,” Ethnomusicology 43 (1999): 31-65.

7 takes place at the metrical level through the interaction of musical grooves. An investigation of this groove interaction and the resultant metrical processes may reveal more about the nature of musical globalization processes than may be afforded by a focus on the surface music elements that are potentially sacrificed in this type of exchange. It thus becomes increasingly important to develop analytical models that combine the approaches taken by ethnomusicologists who address music as culture and social interaction with those of music theorists who engage the sonic/textual musical structure.

I will therefore propose an analytical model for the study of groove-based music.

This model will draw from several key theories of musical rhythm and metre but will also integrate the socio-cultural aspects of musical groove. Grooves will be analyzed both as the rhythmic/metric underpinnings of the music and as the unifying element that binds members of a collective who participate in the groove. We will focus on the common constituents of musical grooves while allowing for the individuality of stylistically and culturally determined musical genres. Finally, we will model musical groove as metrical process, consisting of variable temporal states. This general model will then be applied to the specific case study of Cape Breton fiddle music in order to demonstrate the cross- cultural influences of other groove music genres on Cape Breton fiddle music, and the power of the music to unite members of this music community across a wide geographical and social spectrum.

Beyond this, we can also begin to understand the relationship between the sound of the music and its socio-cultural context. There is an essential social component to a musical groove. Indeed one could ask if a musical groove that affects only a single person has any meaning. For grooves are not merely a cerebral and abstract phenomenon; they

8 have the power to unite individuals who move in synchrony with each other and with the sound of the groove. This concept extends beyond the live audience or the dance floor.

As we shall see, it also has powerful ramifications for social identity. Members of a groove are individuals who think and move on their own, but are united by the groove to synchronize their individual movements and some aspects of their social identity.

Cultural identity on Cape Breton is a complicated issue informed by the island’s unique geographical location, its immigration history, the politics of its cultural representation, and its economic history. Studying Cape Breton fiddle music as a form of groove-based music provides a window into understanding this culture from both a cultural and a dynamic social perspective.

Cape Breton Island sits off of the northeast coast of mainland Nova Scotia. It maintains an artificial connection (some would say both literally and figuratively) to the mainland through a causeway bridging the Strait of Canso – the only access point to the island when arriving by road or rail. Cape Breton is often referred to in tourist literature as peaceful, quaint, idyllic, anti-modern, and predominantly Scottish. Automobile travelers are thus perhaps disappointed to arrive at the Canso Causeway only to discover large gypsum ships, petrochemical processing facilities, and pulp and paper plants instead of the quaint rural highland hamlets they were promised. A short drive from the causeway does lead to the picturesque village of Port Hawkesbury and beyond to the beautiful town of Baddeck on the Bras d’Or Lakes, and the renowned Cabot Trail takes drivers through the breathtaking Highlands National Park and eventually to beautiful

Inverness County, the home of the Cape Breton fiddling tradition. But on the way,

9 travelers may be surprised to see a prominent Acadian settlement at Cheticamp, as well as Whycocomagh, one of several Mi’kmaq reserves on the island. The Fortress of

Louisbourg on the Eastern Coast of the island reminds visitors that Cape Breton was once

Ile Royale, a French colony. On the way to Louisbourg one may pass through the industrial centre of Cape Breton – Sydney, Sydney Mines, New Waterford, Glace Bay,

Dominion, Whitney Pier – and be reminded that the island confronted the twentieth century and has indeed been left scarred. For the modern history of Cape Breton is, to a large extent, the tragic history of coal mining in Atlantic Canada.

The indigenous Mi’kmaq peoples still survive with their own unique cultural blend, combining their native ancestry, the imposed Roman Catholicism of their French colonizers, and adaptations of the customs and rituals of their multicultural neighbours.

Among these neighbours are the once exiled and returned Acadians, an early Irish settlement, descendants of British Loyalists, immigrants from across Europe, and of course the Scots. During the nineteenth century, thousands of Highland Scots emigrated to Cape Breton, purportedly bringing with them a rich cultural tradition that dominates the island to this day.

The generally accepted history of Cape Breton fiddle music begins with the arrival of these Scottish Highlanders. Though most agree that the Cape Breton tradition evolved into its own unique musical style distinct from contemporary Scottish fiddling, many argue that this is actually a result of decades of geographic isolation from other cultural influences. In other words, the Cape Breton style represents the pure, undiluted, Scottish tradition while fiddlers in Scotland have lost touch with their own heritage.

10 Like the Gaelic language, once the most prominent language on the island (and for years the primary language of many Canadians), the fiddle tradition was believed to have suffered with the introduction of radio (and later television) to the island culture. Outside musical influences, and competition for leisure time from other sources of entertainment were feared as the harbingers of extinction for the fiddle legacy. The CBC film The

Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler was produced in 1979 as a cry for help and a plea for survival of this important musical tradition. The result was a purported renaissance in fiddling beginning with an annual festival of massed fiddlers at Glendale in 1979. From that point on, fiddle music began to thrive again, attracting younger players and wider audiences.

During the 1990s, the commercial record industry began looking to Cape Breton as a rich source of new Canadian popular music, and many artists, including several young fiddlers, were signed to record contracts. The new, professionally produced recordings required that the traditional presentation of fiddle tunes with piano or guitar accompaniment be altered to include other popular music instruments such as drums and electric guitars. In addition, the music was packaged to fit more of a pop-music stylistic aesthetic, borrowing conventions from rock, country, bluegrass, and traditional Irish music (which was undergoing its own worldwide revival of popularity). Almost immediately there were cries from the traditionalists that their beloved ancient tradition was being threatened once again. At the same time, others saw Cape Breton music as a potential boost to the depressed island economy, with tourism perhaps supplanting the collapsed coal and steel industries.

11 This brief history of Cape Breton fiddling is the most widely disseminated story of

the musical tradition.10 As this dissertation will reveal, the real story is more complicated.

The idea of a pure musical tradition that is quickly being eroded by the power of the

transnational music industry carries a great deal of political and economic capital.

Tourists are lured to the island to witness a culture on the edge of extinction, while

governments are lobbied to produce more financial resources to save an important

cultural legacy. I will show that in many ways the music has always been evolving and

has borrowed extensively from other musical sources to become the unique style that it is

today. In addition, I will show that contemporary commercial arrangements of the music

have much in common with traditional modes of presentation. At the same time, the

actual technique of playing fiddle tunes has remained intact for generations. Young

fiddlers today learn techniques that have been passed down orally as a hereditary cultural

legacy similar to other oral musical cultures. So while the musical packaging of the tunes

(i.e., arrangements and accompaniments) has evolved, and while the sources of the tunes

themselves are widespread, the actual sound of Cape Breton fiddle playing has indeed

remained stable.

My work is preceded by some fine scholarship on the history and culture of the

Cape Breton fiddle tradition. Glenn Graham’s book The Cape Breton Fiddle: Making and

Maintaining Tradition provides a combination of historical perspective and an emic

account of the tradition as it exists today. Graham is a fiddler himself, and the bulk of his

field research comprised a lengthy survey of questions to a large number of respondents

who were fiddlers and/or accompanists. The survey results are interesting in that they

10 There are many sources for this. See Glenn Graham, The Cape Breton Fiddle: Making and Maintaining Tradition (Sydney, NS: Cape Breton University Press, 2006), for a complete history that follows this overall arc.

12 reveal the perceptions that fiddlers have of themselves and their tradition, and speak to

the cultural lore that surrounds this music. Virginia Garrison also conducted an

ethnographic field study of Cape Breton fiddling for her 1985 doctoral dissertation.11

Garrison’s work is very important in that it focuses on how the music is learned and

taught. We will see later how her results contradict some of the claims made in Graham’s

book. Heather Sparling’s 1999 dissertation does not specifically concern Cape Breton

fiddling as her research focuses on Cape Breton mouth music (puirt-a-beul), but her work

will provide important insights for my discussion of the fiddling tradition and the Gaelic

language.12 Marie Thompson’s 2003 dissertation deals with the notion of the “Vanishing

Cape Breton Fiddler” referred to earlier.13 Her work is very revealing in its challenge to

many of the claims made by the CBC documentary. Finally, Elizabeth Doherty’s 1996

dissertation as well as several articles by Burt Feintuch provide more objective, etic

analyses of Cape Breton fiddle music culture.14 All of this scholarship lays the

groundwork for my own research, which is concerned less with the history and

ethnography of the tradition and more with how this music is part of a larger discussion

regarding local popular musics, social identity, and cultural globalization.

11 Virginia Garrison, “Traditional and Non-Traditional Teaching and Learning Practices in Folk Music: An Ethnographic Field Study of Cape Breton Fiddling” (Ph.D. diss., University of Wisconsin, 1985). 12 Heather Sparling, “Puirt-a-Beul: An Ethnographic Study of Cape Breton Mouth Music” (M.A. thesis, York University, 1999). 13 Marie Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler” (M.A. thesis, St. Mary’s University, 2003). 14 Elizabeth Doherty, “The Paradox of the Periphery: Evolution of the Cape Breton Fiddle Tradition, c1928-1995” (Ph.D. diss., University of Limerick, 1996); Burt Feintuch, “The Conditions for Cape Breton Fiddle Music: The Social and Economic Setting of a Regional Soundscape,” Ethnomusicology 48 (2004): 73-104; and Burt Feintuch, “A Week on the Ceilidh Trail,” http://www.fieldworking.com/historical/feintuch.html.

13 I am an example of what is often referred to in local Nova Scotian parlance as a

“Come From Away” or CFA. This term is frequently accepted as a reflection of an

overall xenophobic tendency on the part of born and bred Maritimers, but I believe this

notion of an isolationist desire is often overplayed. The fact that there is a specific term

for those who move to the Canadian East Coast, when comparable terms seem to be

lacking in other parts of Canada, seems to me to be a reflection of the fact that there are

relatively so few of us as to make our existence remarkable. By far, the more prevalent

tendency in Eastern Canada is one of outmigration.15 We will examine how this

transplanting of Eastern Canadians results in a type of delocalized communal identity,

and particularly the ways in which music plays an integral role in establishing this social

diffusion. I myself have been periodically forced to move away from Nova Scotia,

mainly to pursue educational opportunities that were not locally available. However, I

have always found my way back East in search of some part of my identity that seemed

to be missing in other parts of the country.

Socio-cultural identity in a large multicultural country such as Canada is an

incredibly complex issue that we will explore somewhat in later chapters. In my case, I

was born in Ontario but moved frequently throughout my childhood to various regions of

the country, and so have no one region, town, neighbourhood, or house that I can refer to

as my original home. I first came to Nova Scotia as a teenager and left for university

immediately after high school with no pretense of returning. My early twenties brought

15 There are a vast number of statistical and cultural sources that document the Western emigration of East Coast Canadians. The 2005 Canadian census provides a number of measures of population shift. For one table that documents this see http://www40.statcan.ca/l01/cst01/demo33a.htm.

14 on the expected identity crisis16 following the completion of an undergraduate degree for

which I anticipated little in the way of future prospects.17 Oddly, my quest for identity

turned me back towards the place I had thought I had left behind for good. To be sure, I

had enjoyed some good times in Nova Scotia and had some friends who had remained,

but my family had since moved to the West, and so there were no umbilical ties to lure

me back to safety.

As I began to assemble the layers of my new identity, I realized that Nova Scotia

offered some essential building blocks for my new foundation. My decision to leave the

Maritimes for my education coincided with an early decision to not focus on music as a

career. A large part of the new identity I was constructing for myself involved a re-

dedication to music as a profession, and so I naturally felt a pull to the last place I had

lived before I had effectively removed the serious pursuit of music from my life. But I

was also in search of an ethnic or cultural identity, and Nova Scotia also offered an

opportunity to pursue my own perceived Celtic roots. That was the early 1990s, and a

Celtic renaissance of sorts was taking place in Western popular culture. I jumped right on

this bandwagon and began asserting the Irishness suggested by name and linked to great-

grandparents I had never met. The Nova Scotia tourism industry had always marketed the

province as a Celtic enclave, and the music (particularly of Cape Breton) was a recent

focus of these marketing efforts.

I did not grow up playing or listening to Cape Breton fiddle music, nor any other

form of Nova Scotian folk music. I was a classically trained pianist but in truth spent

more of my youth playing rock, blues, country, and jazz piano than practicing for my

16 For a fascinating discussion of youth identity crises, see Erik H. Erikson, Identity: Youth and Crisis (New York: Norton, 1968). 17 Bachelor of Science degree in Chemistry from Trent University.

15 conservatory exams. I was surprised therefore how easy it was to copy the piano

accompaniments of the Cape Breton fiddle music I began to listen to. This is not because

the piano accompaniments are in any way simplistic; the style seems to baffle many

classically trained pianists, but my experience playing rock and country piano and other

forms of groove-oriented styles proved a natural fit for the Cape Breton style. I and

several friends formed one of the countless Celtic rock bands that began popping up on

the East Coast, bands with suitably Maritime names such as Squid, Kilt, Clam Chowder,

Blueberry Grunt, and of course the pub act extraordinaire Great Big Sea. Bands of this

sort proved a staple of the local pubs, particularly in Halifax and St. John’s. Our

repertoire included many bad renditions of Cape Breton fiddle sets. My discouragement

with this scene began shortly around the time when a Halifax pub owner directed us that

“there are two things that sell beer in this town: fiddle and bass! Play more of those.”

This East Coast pub music culture in many ways attained a group identity of its

own that transcended its Maritime roots. In 1999 I moved from Wolfville, Nova Scotia to

the city of Vancouver to begin graduate studies at the University of British Columbia.

Shortly after I settled in my downtown high-rise apartment, a “maritime theme bar”

opened a few blocks away from me.18 I saw this as a good omen and convinced a friend

of mine, another transplanted Maritimer, to accompany me one night for a few drinks. A

waitress in a Nova Scotia tartan kilt served us Keith’s19 beer, while a “local East Coast”

band entertained the crowd. The group’s repertoire actually included very few East Coast

Canadian numbers and basically consisted of English and Irish folk songs such as “The

Wild Rover” (though they did perform a terrible rendition of “Farewell to Nova Scotia”).

18 Similar theme bars began appearing all over the West Coast at this time. I had a similar experience in Calgary a few months later. 19 Alexander Keith’s India Pale Ale brewed in Halifax.

16 At one point, one of the musicians began addressing the crowd, adopting a crude maritime accent (to my ears it sounded more like a cross between the Lucky Charms leprechaun and the Mike Myers Scottish persona Fat Bastard). He inquired: “How many of you out there are from Nova Scotia?” Perhaps not wanting to be singled out, my friend and I placed our hands under the table. To our astonishment, a sea of arms rose up and a cry of approval sounded. I had heard stories of thousands of East Coast migrants to the

West Coast, but was nevertheless astounded. My friend and I were about to begin introducing ourselves to our fellow Nova Scotians when the musician asked: “How many of you out there are from New Brunswick?” To our further amazement, the same arms shot up and an even louder cry emerged. Similar calls for Prince Edward Islanders and

Newfoundlanders received additional and louder voices of assent from the same people.

This story illustrates one crucial factor when examining Canadian cultural identity.

For many Canadians, social identity may be linked to cultural roots whether resulting from a colonial history, immigrant community, or Aboriginal heritage. To many other

Canadians, however, social identity may be more manufactured and fluid. The patrons of the maritime theme bar no doubt comprised a diverse range of ethnic and geographical lineages. They were also of course largely inebriated and may have reacted similarly to any other calls for encouragement from the stage, but there was an undeniable feeling in the room that, for that evening, the group itself assumed its own manufactured identity based on a perceived, superficial ideal of the Atlantic Canadian lifestyle.

I do not want to downplay the roles that cultural history and geographic location play in individuals’ ideas of their own identities, but I maintain that social identity in contemporary Canadian culture (and Western culture in general) is, to a large extent,

17 constructed or manufactured. As Krims, Taylor, and Walser have shown, music plays an

important role in the creation of social identity.20 The very notion of social identity construction itself is complicated by the rapid expansion of global communications technology and digital information exchange in recent years. Individuals have a choice of a wide variety of identities that pervade in pop culture. This is seen as a natural threat to societies that seek to preserve a sense of traditional cultural identity, with Cape Breton

Island being merely one example of such a society. The influence of mass-marketed popular culture is viewed as a threat to local traditional cultures. But my experience with learning piano accompaniments for Cape Breton fiddle suggests that the pending David and Goliath struggle between traditional and popular musics is not as simplistic as the cultural imperialism thesis would suggest.

I found great similarities in technique and playing style between the rock and country music I grew up playing and the Cape Breton piano masters I was attempting to copy. While the purists would eventually take offence, I found it a natural transition to hear Cape Breton fiddle music accompanied by less traditional instruments, including drums, bass, electric guitars, and Hammond organs. To my ears, these instrumental accompaniments were close to the driving piano grooves that are hailed by the traditionalists as being uniquely Cape Breton. There were two possible explanations for this: either fiddle accompaniments had naturally evolved over the decades to include elements from the various popular music styles permeating the radio and television

20 Adam Krims, Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); Timothy D. Taylor, Strange Sounds: Music, Technology, and Culture (London: Routledge, 2001), 136-164; and Robert Walser, Running with the Devil: Power, Gender, and Madness in Heavy Metal Music (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1993).

18 airwaves, or there had always been a common link between Cape Breton fiddle music and these other groove-based musical genres. I now suspect both to be true.

The remainder of this dissertation explores these relationships between musical grooves, social identity, and globalization as they affect popular music styles and subcultures in Canada, with a particular focus on Cape Breton fiddle music. The body of this work is divided into two large sections. Chapters 2 to 4 examine the social groove.

They provide the socio-cultural context for the consideration of Cape Breton fiddle music as a form of groove-based popular music; they also consider aspects of social identity and the politics of cultural representation of this music. Chapters 5 and 6 establish the theoretical framework for the analysis of the sound of the musical grooves, and then apply this to Cape Breton fiddle music.

Chapter 2 focuses on tourism, marketing and the politics of cultural representation in the province of Nova Scotia. I explore how manufactured ethnic and social identity are used as marketing tools of the tourism industry, and how cultural representation and ethno-tourism impacts the socio-political perspective of the province. The chapter concludes with an examination of the role of music in the marketing of Nova Scotian culture, and how Cape Breton music in particular is used in the tourist depiction of Nova

Scotia.

In Chapter 3, I discuss the various arguments pertaining to globalization, cultural imperialism, and cultural evolution. I begin with a summary of the cultural imperialism debate and then examine the effects of musical globalization on Canadian popular music.

The chapter then focuses on the role of popular music in social identity, particularly in

19 the Canadian context, and concludes with an analysis of the Canadian music industry’s brief attention to Cape Breton music (and Atlantic music in general) in the early 1990s.

Chapter 4 examines Cape Breton fiddle music from a pop-culture perspective and is divided into two main sections. Section one features a comparative analysis of two of the most famous Cape Breton fiddlers: Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster, each of whom has impacted the pop-culture mainstream differently. The second section provides a discussion of a virtual community that has been established with this music as a basis.

Virtual communities are themselves a recent pop-culture phenomenon. A study of the

“Cape Breton Music Online” community reveals some unique dimensions of the pop- culture aspects of Cape Breton fiddle music.

In Chapter 5, I propose a general analytical model for groove-based music. I begin with a discussion of various theories of musical groove, building toward a general conception of groove that combines both its sonic and social components. The chapter then examines some key theories of musical metre that will be adapted to form the fundamental tenets of the model. The model itself is exposed through analyses of several genres of groove music, beginning with Western rock music and including electronic dance music, rap, and Arabic-jazz fusion music. These analyses reveal a number of parameters that determine the metrical processes in an evolving musical groove.

Chapter 6 applies the analytical model of groove to the specific case of Cape

Breton fiddle music. Following a summary of the key stylistic features of the genre, I then look at the common accompaniment patterns that form the groove aspects of the music. The chapter then proceeds with several analyses of Cape Breton fiddle grooves with differing accompaniments to demonstrate that core fundamental groove elements

20 persist despite the perceived variability of arrangement styles, and that indeed this music features a number of common relationships with other forms of groove-based music.

Chapter 7 unites the two larger sections presented in the previous chapters, confirming the relationship between the sonic and social grooves. This dissertation closes with a brief discussion of how the interdisciplinary modes of inquiry in this study bear fruit beyond that which could conceivably result from a more traditional and focused methodological approach, and suggests other musical traditions and subcultures to which this model could be applied.

The interdisciplinary nature of this dissertation should be apparent by this point.

While music is clearly the background thread that unites the various thrusts of this study,

I will draw on the expertise and methodologies of social scientists and policy makers, as well as music theorists and ethnomusicologists. Cape Breton fiddle music is used in this case to provide a springboard for discussion from various disciplinary perspectives. I maintain that it is important to link the socio-cultural context of any music to the sonic/musical text itself. In many cases, this will involve my own transcriptions of recordings using conventional Western musical notation. In other cases, alternative graphic notation systems will be employed, or prose descriptions will suffice. Certain portions of this dissertation (notably Chapters 5 and 6) will employ the more technical methodologies common to the domain of music theory, but the analyses will consistently link musical structures and processes with their social functions and their cultural contexts.

21 Chapter 2

Tartanism, Folk, and Fiddles:

Cultural Representation in Nova Scotia

When the natural water dries up, it is human for people to try to drink at the mirage. Today there’s a Gaelic College at Saint Ann’s which teaches the old language, the bagpipes, and some of the old crafts. Every summer (since the war) there is a Highland Mod with Highland games, and chiefs are invited from the other side, most of them arriving with Oxford accents and not a word of Gaelic. Now there is a trade in tartans, and you occasionally see, as you never did thirty years ago, Cape Breton boys and girls wearing kilts. An older generation would have known, I think, that the romance about the kilt as a distinctive uniform of the clan was largely a Victorian invention, accepted among the old country Scots as a compensation for their near-annihilation in the mid-eighteenth century, after which the kilt was proscribed for years. I record it as plain fact that the kilt was never worn in Cape Breton before the tourists came.1

The marketing of music in Nova Scotia forms part of an overall strategy of cultural representation that emphasizes a manufactured “folk” identity linked to a largely mythical ancient heritage. Cape Breton fiddle music plays an important role in promoting the regional stereotypes that categorize Cape Breton (and Nova Scotia in general) as generally rural, backward, and anti-modern. I will demonstrate later that, despite its pre- twentieth century roots, Cape Breton fiddle music continues to evolve as a living, vibrant genre of groove-based music, making it ripe for cross-cultural and polystylistic collaboration. This chapter however explores the various ways in which Nova Scotian culture and Cape Breton fiddling have been branded as traditional and stagnant.

1 Hugh MacLennan, “The Scottish Touch: Cape Breton,” in The Other Side of Hugh MacLennan: Selected Essays Old and New, ed. Elspeth Cameron (Toronto: MacMillan, 1978), 221-222.

22 The chapter begins by recounting the invention of the Scottish identity in Nova

Scotia and the promotion of the idea of a “folk society”. This leads into an analysis of the

Gaelic language and its purported relationship with the fiddling tradition. The chapter

concludes with a discussion of the film The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler as the

ultimate example of “folk” representation.

Tartanism and “The Folk”

The province of Nova Scotia is routinely marketed through tourism promotions and

popular culture advertisements as a sort of living Scottish antique. Bagpipers meet

arriving tourists at border crossings and airports, greeters wear vests made from the Nova

Scotia tartan (signifying that Nova Scotians are all part of one ancient clan), and all

receive a welcome in Gaelic: Ciad Mile Failte.2 Tourism literature encourages visitors to

attend one of the local ceilidhs, which are often professionally staged concerts rather than

the informal gatherings the word implies. Recently, national advertising campaigns for

the Halifax-based Alexander Keith’s beer featured a loud, boorish drunk dressed in a kilt

and admonishing patrons of a local bar in a thick, fake Scottish accent that they are not

showing proper reverence to the beer and its history.3

The ascribed Scottishness is curious, considering that the population of Nova Scotia

comprises a diverse range of ethnicities and heritages. As Ian McKay points out in his

important essay “Tartanism Triumphant: The Construction of Scottishness in Nova

2 One hundred thousand welcomes. 3 These ads quickly disappeared when it was discovered that the actor playing the Scottish drunk had been arrested for possession of child pornography. The message was clear: Nova Scotians may be obnoxious Scottish drunks, but they are not pedophiles!

23 Scotia, 1933-1954,” Nova Scotia was not even the most Scottish province in Canada

when it began to be branded as a true “New Scotland”:

According to the 1921 census, the 148,000 Nova Scotians of “Scottish origin” represented just over 28 per cent of the provincial population of 523,837. They were outnumbered by 202,106 Nova Scotians of “English origin”, representing about 39 per cent of the total population. The remaining 173,731 Nova Scotians were assigned a wide range of “principal origins” by the census: Irish, French (i.e. Acadians), German, Black, “Indians”, and others. Not only was Nova Scotia not predominantly Scottish, but it was also not the most Scottish of Canadian provinces: Prince Edward Islanders of Scottish origin accounted for a larger percentage of their province’s population; 465,400 Ontarians of Scottish origin were about three times more numerous than those of Nova Scotia.4

McKay documents how the “Tartanism” movement in Nova Scotia began with the

popular and successful provincial Premier Angus L. Macdonald. Under Macdonald’s

premierships, Nova Scotia gained its official tartan, Gaelic motto, the Cabot Trail,

Highlands National Park (featuring a replica of a shieling5 from the island of Skye), the

Keltic (sic) Lodge Resort in Ingonish, and a Gaelic College in St. Ann, Cape Breton.

Macdonald’s Tartanism stemmed from a romanticized view of his own Scottish heritage,

shrewd political strategy, and a strong belief in the economic promise of ethno-tourism.

Though a third-generation maritimer, Macdonald often spoke publicly and in

personal letters about his proud Scottish lineage. This lineage was not portrayed as a

connection to a living, evolving, twentieth-century culture, but as a link to an idyllic

society from the past. Macdonald was a skilled politician and this portrayal of himself as

a descendant of a great clan from the old country enhanced his populist appeal. However,

Macdonald also saw the benefits of representing Nova Scotia to the world as a folk

4 Ian McKay, “Tartanism Triumphant: The Construction of Scottishness in Nova Scotia, 1933- 1954,” Acadiensis XXI (1992): 8. 5 A cabin.

24 society with ancient Celtic roots.6 Macdonald and his followers basically invented

symbols, fabricated events, and outfitted the representatives of the tourism industry to

appeal to American travelers who wanted to experience Scotland without crossing the

Atlantic. As McKay states:

Macdonald’s history of Nova Scotia was perfectly suited to tourism, because it was very much like that of many tourists: it constructed isolated monuments to a romantically conceived past. The history of the Scots in Nova Scotia now consisted of a series of discrete events which, like separate planets, derived their light from the distant sun of Scottish romance.7

The links to a Scottish identity are even more tenuous considering that the

representative tokens of Scottish Tartanism – kilts, bagpipes, tartans – have no real

foundation in ancient Highland Scottish culture, as is usually claimed. Hugh Trevor-

Roper explains how the Highland tradition of Scotland stems from the mid-eighteenth

century, and is not an ancient tradition passed down through the mighty Scottish clans. In

fact, Trevor-Roper argues that Highland culture owes much of its cultural identity to

Ireland.

6 For an insightful analysis of Scottish symbolism in the city of Halifax, see Monica Germana, “Historical Places of Interest, Books, Tourism and Advertising: Scottish Icons in Contemporary Halifax (Nova Scotia),” International Review of Scottish Studies 28 (2003): 22-46. 7 McKay, “Tartanism Triumphant,” 27.

25 [T]he whole concept of a distinct Highland culture and tradition is a retrospective invention. Before the later years of the seventeenth century, the Highlanders of Scotland did not form a distinct people. They were simply the overflow of Ireland. On that broken and inhospitable coast, in that archipelago of islands large and small, the sea unites rather than divides and from the late fifth century, when the Scots of Ulster landed in Argyll, until the mid-eighteenth century, when it was ‘opened up’ after the Jacobite revolts, the West of Scotland, cut off by mountains from the East, was always linked rather to Ireland than to the Saxon lowlands. Racially and culturally, it was a colony of Ireland.8

This connection between Scottish and Irish culture will become important later as

there is a tendency to downplay the Irish contribution to the Cape Breton fiddling

tradition. The Tartanism movement was clearly a false identity construct that has no real

basis in historical or cultural fact. Tartans, kilts, and clans do not extend from an ancient

past but are essentially modern inventions that simplify and stereotype Scottish culture

for contemporary society. Nova Scotia Tartanism appropriated these superficial Highland

Scottish tokens in the mid-twentieth century in a carefully crafted re-branding that still

persists to a large extent today.

Macdonald’s Tartanism also fit in with a post-Victorian antimodernist ideal

associated with the concept of “the Folk.” This concept developed as a byproduct of

nineteenth-century European Romantic nationalism wherein the social elite sought the

cultural “artifacts” of a preindustrial, undiluted society from a “Golden Age” of social

cohesion, untainted by the racial diversity and class complexity of modern, urban society.

This pure Folk society was and is, of course, a myth. As Ian McKay writes in The Quest

of the Folk: Antimodernism and Cultural Selection in Twentieth Century Nova Scotia:

8 Hugh Trevor-Roper, “The Invention of Tradition: The Highland Tradition of Scotland,” in The Invention of Tradition, eds. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 15.

26 The Folk did not exist either as a self-defined group or as an externally defined population; they existed in the mind of the interpreter. These interpreters, however, traveled in schools and shared a sense of history as entropy. And they all agreed that the real Folk did not live everywhere. The Folk did not generally frequent coal mines, steel mills, factories, or cities. Not only was cultural contamination rife, but the organic solidarities of the true Folk community were being undermined. The Folk did not belong to political parties or read newspapers or mount labour protests. They were the passive recipients of tradition, not its active shapers.9

This myth therefore had a powerful resonance for those of the elite who feared

modernism, multiculturalism, and socialism.

Folk Music was believed by many to lie at the heart of organic Folk Society.10

Authentic folk songs were considered to be the free, “uncomposed” musical expressions

of the Folk. American folklorist Francis James Child collected what he considered to be

the essential folk songs of the British Isles and published them as The English and

Scottish Popular Ballads.11 These “Child Ballads” acquired an authenticity from

subsequent twentieth-century scholars including Nova Scotian folklorist Helen

Creighton. Creighton’s quest for the Folk began on Devil’s Island off the coast of Halifax

in 1929. She considered the residents of this remote island a repository of the true folk

songs of Nova Scotia, unencumbered by any outside influence. To her delight, she

discovered that the repertoire of the Devil’s Islanders included a number of Child

Ballads. As with similar Child Ballads “discovered” in Appalachia, these versions were

considered more authentic than those that could be then found in Britain because they had

been preserved as part of an isolated Folk society. The Creighton collection exhibited a

9 Ian McKay, The Quest of the Folk: Antimodernism and Cultural Selection in Twentieth Century Nova Scotia (Montreal and Kingston: McGill and Queen’s University Press, 1994), 21. 10 As in McKay, I will capitalize the word when referring to the formal theoretical group that is being called the Folk. I will use the lowercase folk to refer to folk music or musicians. 11 Francis James Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads vol. 1-3 (Northfield: Loomis House Press, 2005). First published 1883-1898.

27 bias towards these “pure” sources, and she consciously disregarded any new songs, and particularly any songs that had modernist overtones: drinking songs, labour songs, and songs by Blacks.12 There is a similarity here to the notion of Cape Breton fiddle music as a “purer” form of Scottish music than exists in Scotland. This perception is supported by marketing strategies of fiddle music as the dance music of the Folk. However, as we shall see, new compositions and innovations were not shunned by fiddlers. On the contrary, fiddle music collectors and new composers of fiddle tunes were revered.

Television and radio broadcasting, as well as recording technology, provided powerful new modes of tourism promotion and utilized the province’s rich musical heritage as another element in the marketing package. “Don Messer’s Jubilee” was broadcast nationally from Halifax, and featured “down home” country music and dancing. Don Messer was a fiddler, though his style was more American “old time” than

Scottish. “Singalong Jubilee,” which ran nationally from 1961 to 1974, capitalized on the

American folk music revival.13 The show helped launch the careers of singers Catherine

McKinnon, Gene MacLellan and Anne Murray, and was therefore an important vehicle for the development of a music industry in Atlantic Canada. The show was originally intended as a television vehicle for American folk singer Pete Seeger; however Seeger’s involvement was cut short when his passport was revoked by the United States House

Committee on Un-American Activities.

While the American folk revival had direct ties to the communist movement,

Singalong Jubilee reinforced the Folk culture stereotype advocated by Creighton. Many of the songs from the Creighton collection were regularly performed, and there was a

12 McKay, Quest of the Folk, 113-119. 13 See Ernest J. Dick, Remembering Singalong Jubilee: The Story of the CBC Show that Launched East Coast Music (Halifax: Formac Publishing, 2004).

28 preference for songs of the simple Maritime life. The house band played banjo, guitar,

upright bass, and even a washtub bass. As the popular show evolved over its lifetime,

new songs were incorporated into the repertoire. However, a number of these added

further to the maritime Folk stereotype, such as Jim Bennett’s “Black Rum and Blueberry

Pie”.

We’re living in the age of space as everybody knows. Most everyone is in the race as this here country grows. But, down among the lobster pots you’ll find a funny crew. Us Maritimers don’t do things like other people do.

We just like fishin’, fightin’, getting tight’n starin’ at the sky. Chewin’, spittin’ and just sittin’ watchin’ things go by. Climbing rocks and drivin’ ox and learnin’ how to lie. Drinkin’ black rum & eatin’ blueberry pie.14

Singalong Jubilee was intended to be a more up-to-date, youth-oriented

replacement for the Don Messer show. As such, some of the women wore colourful

miniskirts and fashionable hairdos. However, the sets often depicted rural scenes of run-

down shacks, fishing nets, and granite boulders. The overriding theme of the show was a

depiction of Maritimers as simple, rural countryfolk.

Several mega-projects created through the provincial Department of Tourism15 have

also furthered this notion of a bucolic Folk society. A family theme park was constructed

by the Progressive Conservative government under Premier John Buchanan in the mid

1980s. “Upper Clements Park” was strategically located in the Annapolis Valley riding of

the then Minister of Tourism, Greg Kerr. Among the many attractions, the park featured a

replica shanty fishing village, a pirate island, and a prospector cabin. Craftspeople

14 Jim Bennett, “Black Rum and Blueberry Pie,” in The Nova Scotia Song Collection, ed. Allister MacGillivray (Sydney: Sea Cape Music Ltd., 1989). 15 The official name of this department actually changes with the governing party. Progressive Conservative party governments establish a Department of Tourism and Culture, while Liberal governments have lumped culture in with the Department of Education.

29 worked on site at weaving, spinning, soap-making and other folk crafts. The live

entertainment featured Victorian era clowns and bicyclers, a singing fisherman, a

storytelling pirate, a Victorian school marm and, most perplexingly, a group of characters

who lived in an old train shed and spoke with southern U.S. accents! A live band of

musicians performed material largely derived from the Helen Creighton collection.

In the 1990s, the provincial government began marketing Nova Scotian music

through a series of recordings titled Sounds of Nova Scotia. These recordings were simply compilations of tracks from previously recorded albums by local artists. The songs were largely folk-influenced adult contemporary tracks meant to appeal to a middle-aged tourist audience. Antimodernism and the fun, simple life were overriding themes with tracks such as “The Bluenose,” “Small Town Wind,” “Sound the Pibroch,” “Song for the

Mira,” “Jigging Medley,” and “Good Times.” “Good Times” is the first track on the

Sounds of Nova Scotia, Volume 1 recording, and is performed by John Allan Cameron, who is often referred to as “the godfather of Celtic music in Cape Breton.” Each verse of the song begins with: “You ask me what I like about the Maritimes?” and then proceeds to rhyme off a seemingly endless list of maritime stereotypes. Each verse culminates with a chorus that is meant to summarize East Coast life:

It’s a big feed of lobster It’s a cold Alpine16 in my hand It’s a quarter to one17 and the fun’s just begun Singing “Song for the Mira” with this good time band.18

16 Alpine Lager brewed by Olands in Halifax. The name of the beer actually changes with each chorus to highlight other local brews: Moosehead, Ten Penny, and Alexander Keith’s. 17 The time gets progressively later with each chorus. 18 John Allan Cameron, “Good Times,” Sounds of Nova Scotia, Volume 1 (Stephen MacDonald Productions: 1990).

30 The first two recordings in the series featured twenty-three tracks, nineteen of

which were by Cape Breton artists. If music was going to be used as a marketing vehicle

for tourism promotion, then Cape Breton with its perceived Scottish identity would be a

focus. Tartanism and the Folk concept combined to create an attractive cultural package

in Nova Scotia that served the political appetite to establish and expand an industry based

on ethno-tourism. Cape Breton Island became the logical hunting ground for cultural

wealth, as the traditional fiddle music served both the Tartanist and Folk ideals.

The “Cape Breton Summertime Revue” encapsulates all of the most blatant Cape

Breton stereotypes. This annual production was first staged in Sydney in 1986 in an

attempt to capitalize on the summer tourist season, though a smaller version of the show

known as “The Rise and Follies of Cape Breton” had been operating since 1977. The

production featured a combination of traditional Cape Breton fiddle music, and original

songs that conformed mainly to a contemporary folk or country style. The musical

performances alternated with various comedic sketches that highlighted the stereotypical

backwardness of Cape Breton Islanders. One of the more popular characters in the show

was Bette MacDonald’s “Mary Morrison”. Marie Westhaver describes a recurring inside

joke that is part of that act:

Bette as “Mary Morrison” walks onto the stage, purse dangling from her partially extended arm, and kerchief wrapped tightly around her head – an image Bette constructed from the many kerchiefed women she saw in church growing up. “Mary” looks intently at an imaginary acquaintance, pauses, and says, “Hello. How are you dear?” Then after a brief lapse, she responds with, “Good dear, good” and the audience erupts into laughter. They’re rolling in the aisles over Cape Breton’s version of an inside joke.19

19 Marie Westhaver, “‘Mary Morrison’: The Quintessential Cape Breton Character,” in The Centre of the World at the Edge of a Continent: Cultural Studies of Cape Breton Island, eds. Carol Corbin and Judith A. Rolls (Sydney: University College of Cape Breton Press, 1996), 94.

31 The use of the term “dear” features throughout MacDonald’s performance and

highlights a signature term of endearment frequently used throughout Cape Breton Island,

particularly by older women. By using this term in her act, MacDonald provides local

Cape Bretoners a harmless opportunity to laugh at themselves, but by combining this

term with her ridiculous dress, farcical stories, and thick local accent, she offers the

tourist audience a chance to experience an exotic, premodern “native.” The very

existence of this character in all her absurdity becomes the joke.

The “Cape Breton Summertime Revue” attained its height of popularity at the very

time that Canadian East Coast music was receiving national attention. The show actually

toured Canada several times, presenting an entertaining parody of the Maritime lifestyle

to audiences across Canada. This had positive economic spinoffs for the tourism industry.

As Judith Rolls explains, however, the national marketing of a stereotype only serves to

further undermine Cape Breton in its attempt to rise from economic depression:

[T]he Cape Bretoner we are taught to embrace is often a stereotypical caricature that perpetuates the more negative myths and connotations of who and what we are…. Cape Bretoners are often portrayed as loud, foul-mouthed, uneducated, and unrefined individuals. This distortion only adds to the lack of confidence that some Cape Bretoners suffer due to job loss or bleak economic forecasts. When the show tours across Canada, these myths are offered to broader audiences who lack insight into nuances that clarify a scene’s intention. That is, what gives meaning to a Cape Bretoner about Cape Breton may not necessarily be passed along to other audiences, and they leave with a limited and literal view of Cape Breton ways. Exaggeration of the Cape Breton vernacular further implants negative connotations as dialect users are generally not perceived as credible or intelligent.20

20 Judith A. Rolls, “Culture for Sale,” in The Centre of the World at the Edge of a Continent: Cultural Studies of Cape Breton Island, eds. Carol Corbin and Judith A. Rolls (Sydney: University College of Cape Breton Press, 1996), 82.

32 The “Cape Breton Summertime Revue” epitomizes the way in which a stereotypical Cape Breton culture could be used to further the Tartanism and Folk concept of Nova Scotian society. Rather than being recognized as a modern industrial society in all its complexity, Cape Breton and Nova Scotian culture were branded simply as an unchanging Folk society with strong ties to a perceived Scottish past. The next section will detail the role of Cape Breton fiddle music marketing and representation in furthering the Tartanist and Folk ideals.

“Gaelic” Fiddling

Throughout the 1990s and into the twenty-first century, Cape Breton fiddle music has been promoted through tourism literature as a pure legacy of Nova Scotia’s Scottish ancestry. In 1997, the official tourist guide for the province of Nova Scotia, dubbed the

“Doers and Dreamers Guide,” featured a picture of Cape Breton fiddle master Buddy

MacMaster on its front cover. The annual tourism theme for that season was “Celebrate

Our Music,” but rather than extolling the stylistic plurality of the province’s musical culture, which includes a thriving alternative rock scene, an urban hip-hop community, a professional orchestra, a fine chamber music program, a country music legacy, and active

Acadian and Mi’kmaq musical communities, the tourism industry focused predominantly on the “Celtic” music of Cape Breton as the main marketing vehicle. As will be seen in the next chapter, East Coast “Celtic” music attained a brief period of national popularity during the 1990s, and the province’s tourism industry was trying to capitalize on that appeal. It is interesting though that they chose a fiddler from an older generation as the cultural image for the province rather than one of the younger and more renowned

33 fiddlers such as Ashley MacIsaac or Natalie MacMaster. It should be noted that both of

these artists were signed to recording contracts with major record labels at the time and

so their images were not as freely available as Buddy’s would have been. Buddy was, and

is, a revered fiddle master on Cape Breton, but he was certainly not an international

household name. The use of the fiddle tradition as a marketing tool in this case relied on

the idea of the authentic Folk culture with ties to an older generation.

Recent provincial tourism campaigns have reversed this trend. I recently

encountered a startling ad for the province of Nova Scotia in the May 2007 issue of The

Walrus magazine. In a direct challenge to the Folk stereotype, the main caption reads

“tradition doesn’t always come with grey hair and a cane.” A picture of a good-looking

young man wearing a kilt with Converse sneakers, a black muscle shirt, and a bandana is

accompanied by satirical ad copy that pokes fun at Tartanism, claiming that since so

many men wear kilts today, you can “get a pretty good look at their legs.” The main

website for the Nova Scotia Department of Tourism and Culture also offers a more

balanced cultural approach now than promotional literature did in the 1990s, though there

are still significant sections devoted to the province’s Scottish origins and fiddle music.21

An article from the travel section of the Globe and Mail newspaper in 2006

confirms the marketability of the Celtic music identity over other thriving Nova Scotian

musical scenes:

Despite the relevance of Nova Scotia’s contemporary music scene (which includes popular indie rock bands the Joel Plaskett Emergency, Matt Mays and El Torpedo, and Wintersleep as well as events like the East Coast Music Awards and Halifax Music Week) traditional Celtic music remains as braided into the Maritimes’ energy, beauty, and personality as tartan is to kilts.

21 “Nova Scotia’s Official Tourism Website,” http://novascotia.com/en/home/aboutnovascotia/default.aspx.

34 Before you groan, consider the tartan-print bags filled with salt water taffy distributed to red-carpet prancers at the 2006 Juno Awards, held in Halifax this past February. (To add insult to injury, eTalk Daily host Ben Mulroney donned a tartan foulard for the occasion.) “Celtic is big business,” says Tara Thorne, arts editor of Halifax alternative weekly The Coast. “The tourism industry trips over itself pushing it; that’s our shtick. You know, Cape Breton is beautiful, it’s surrounded by water, and there’s the Celtic thing.… It can be frustrating. Two years ago, the logo for Nova Scotia Music Week was a lobster playing a guitar. And I believe the lobster was wearing sunglasses.”22

Newspaper and travel literature play a significant role in furthering this Scottish

Folk stereotype. An article from the Travel section of the Vancouver Sun in 2006 describes traveling back in time on a bus tour from Halifax to the town of Baddeck.

From Halifax, it was a pastoral drive to arrive in Cape Breton’s pretty town of Baddeck where we felt flashbacked to Leave it to Beaver days. The village, complete with a waterfront walk beside Bras d’Or Lake, brightly coloured homes, shops and galleries and lovely gardens, is only a few blocks in size. Everyone is unbelievably friendly and when we wandered into a ceilidh – pronounced ‘kay-lee’, the Scottish Gaelic word means visit and is a musical and story telling evening – it’s folksy and fun. A young woman plays foot-tapping fiddle music and an older gent gets up and gives a lesson in Gaelic. Remember, Nova Scotia means “new Scotland” and sometimes you’d swear you were in the old country.23 [My emphasis]

In Travels in the Celtic World by Rannie Gillis, Cape Breton Island is literally and pictorially linked to Ireland and Scotland. Descriptions and pictures of Kisimul Castle and Loch Morar are juxtaposed against those of Highlands National Park and the Mabou

Ceilidh. The book actually begins with the author’s tale of a Cape Breton dance where

fiddler Natalie MacMaster performed. The account features this astonishing description

of her:

22 Simona Rabinovitch, “Musical Capers,” The Globe and Mail (May 6, 2006). 23 Judi Lees, “Cape Breton, the Friendly Island,” The Vancouver Sun (May 17, 2006).

35 But Natalie MacMaster is not only one of the fastest rising ‘stars’ in the new firmament of Celtic music. Nor is she just an attractive blond who happens to play the fiddle. Along with her musical peers, she is the descendant of a long line of Celtic musicians who can trace their ancestry back to a time before the Roman Empire. To a time before Caesar.24 [My emphasis]

This patently ridiculous statement can perhaps be brushed aside as travelogue hyperbole. A perhaps less outlandish claim but one with similar claims to authenticity is this statement from the Nova Scotia Museum’s curatorial report in 2002 on Gaelic in

Nova Scotia:25

Claims downplaying the Scottishness of Cape Breton’s Gaelic traditions also ignore a huge body of Gaelic oral tradition (much of which has come into English), that discusses various aspects of those traditions from their earliest days in Nova Scotia and gives solid evidence of continuity with the time of migration from the Highlands. The current Minister of Tourism and Culture, the Hon. Rodney MacDonald, a traditional Cape Breton fiddler and step dancer, for instance, can identify 40 fiddlers, pipers, and step dancers in his lineage going right back to 18th-century Lochaber, Scotland. It is unfortunate that this oral tradition and the social context of life in Gaelic Nova Scotia and Scotland continue to receive scant attention in the formulation of theories about the province’s Gaelic musical tradition.26

This report is an extensive overview of the history and state of Gaelic culture and the Gaelic language in Nova Scotia. It was sponsored by the Nova Scotia Department of

Tourism and Culture under Rodney MacDonald, the very same fiddler mentioned above.

As of this writing, MacDonald is the current Premier of the province who rode to party leadership on a wave of populist appeal. The echoes of a former Premier Macdonald who used his own ascribed Scottish populism for political gains are interesting. During the

24 Rannie Gillis, Travels in the Celtic World (Halifax: Nimbus 1994), xii. 25 I will hereafter refer to this as the “Gaelic Report.” 26 Michael Kennedy, Gaelic Nova Scotia: An Economic, Cultural, and Social Impact Study (Halifax: Nova Scotia Department of Tourism and Culture, 2002), 194.

36 2006 provincial election, the Globe and Mail newspaper reported how Premier Rodney

MacDonald used his status as a fiddler to his advantage:

When one elderly man said he’s not voting because “politicians are all crooks,” Mr. MacDonald nodded, listening. Then he asked the man if he listened to “the fiddle music,” which elicited a grin from the cranky would-be voter. “Maybe we’re cousins,” Mr. MacDonald ventured.27

Michael Kennedy’s Gaelic Report is intended as a warning of the pending extinction of the Gaelic language from its previous bastion on Cape Breton Island. It is curious, then, that the language is perennially tied to a mythical ancient Celtic culture and not promoted as a potentially vibrant and evolving modern language. This echoes Angus

L. Macdonald’s own conception of Gaelic. The Gaelic College was established by

Macdonald in Cape Breton, not as a laboratory for a living mode of communication, but as an archive of a fossilized language that should be preserved as a museum exhibit. The result has been a language petrified from lack of use. This should act as a warning for similar attitudes towards Cape Breton fiddling. The fiddling tradition and the Gaelic language are routinely linked as symbiotic partners in a larger cultural package. But unlike the Gaelic language, Cape Breton fiddling continues to evolve despite how it is portrayed and marketed.

Glenn Graham discusses the influence of the Gaelic language on the Cape Breton fiddling tradition in his book The Cape Breton Fiddle: Making and Maintaining

Tradition. The bulk of his research relies on a survey that he distributed to a number of prominent Cape Breton fiddlers and accompanists. The issue of Gaelic is complex but most fiddlers generally agree that the sound of a correctly performed Cape Breton fiddle

27 Jane Armstrong, “Dull Joins Safe in N.S. Campaign,” Globe and Mail (June 10, 2006).

37 tune resonates with the sound of the spoken Gaelic language. This relationship does not involve the specific timbral or tonal properties of the spoken language but rather relates the rhythms of the language to the fiddle tunes and playing techniques. Several of

Graham’s respondents make this point although most are unclear as to the direct relationship between the rhythms of the language and the fiddle tune rhythms.28 Some fiddlers point to the perceived relationship between Cape Breton mouth music known as puirt-a-beul and the rhythmic articulations of Cape Breton fiddle music.

[M]outh music, puirt-a-beul in Gaelic, involves the singing of Gaelic words, called vocables, to certain melodies, those often being marches, jigs, strathspeys, and reels29 played on the pipes and fiddle. The Gaelic vocables don’t have to make sense but they must (and always do) convey the lively qualities of Gaelic speech. If a fiddler with a good ear learned some of those melodies, obviously the rhythm of their Gaelic phrasing would affect his or her tune interpretation.30

The decline of the Gaelic language in Cape Breton could therefore be perceived as a direct threat to the survival of the fiddle tradition. Once again, Kennedy’s

Gaelic Report makes this case.

More serious than the uneven distribution of the rejuvenated tradition is the concern expressed over the performance itself. Unlike their forbears, the fiddlers who have taken up the bow since the 1970s have not had the same strong Gaelic community culture to draw from. These young fiddlers from the 1970s, for the most part, did not grow up with anything like the exposure to Gaelic – particularly to puirt-a-beul and Gaelic song – that was available to the older generation – people like Donald and Theresa MacLellan, Alex Francis MacKay, Dan Hughie MacEachern, Dan R. MacDonald, Donald Angus Beaton, Dan J. Campbell, Angus Allan Gillis, Angus Chisholm, Joe MacLean, Theresa Morrison, and a large number of others, many of whom were fluent speakers of the language.31

28 Graham, The Cape Breton Fiddle, 62-63. 29 These are all Cape Breton fiddle tune types. I will describe these in some detail later. 30 Graham, The Cape Breton Fiddle, 62. 31 Kennedy, Gaelic Nova Scotia, 203.

38 Kennedy makes the clear case that the fiddle tradition, as practiced by his extensive list of

older generation fiddlers, depends on the exposure of the fiddlers to Gaelic language and

culture.

Several authors concur regarding the importance of puirt-a-beul (commonly known

as “jigging the tunes”) in the oral transmission of fiddle tunes. Jackie Dunn states in her

Bachelor’s thesis that “it is common knowledge among older generations that the first

fiddlers in Cape Breton learned their tunes from puirt-a-beul versions.”32 Elizabeth

Doherty concurs in her doctoral dissertation that

…several tunes with corresponding Gaelic words were transferred to the fiddle, ensuring in the process that a certain amount of correctness was maintained by the fiddler…. Inflections of the language were absorbed along with the tunes. It is these inflections that largely constitute the Gaelic expression as it shapes the fiddle style.33

Heather Sparling’s fine Master’s thesis “Puirt-a-Beul: An Ethnographic Study of

Cape Breton Mouth Music” traces the history of puirt-a-beul and its relationship to the

fiddle tunes. Her research refutes the relationship between puirt-a-beul and the learning

of fiddle tunes. She contends that puirt-a-beul is performed predominantly by singers, not

fiddlers. In certain cases, she notes that singers of puirt-a-beul actually learned the

correct rhythmic articulation and phrasing from listening to fiddle tunes, not the other

way around.34 To be sure, many fiddlers report hearing puirt-a-beul sung by their mothers

when they were children, which they say sparked their initial interest in Gaelic music.

However, most of these mothers were not fiddlers themselves, so the mouth music was

32 Jacqueline Ann Dunn, “Tha Blas na Gàidhlig Air a h-Uilie Fidhleir (The Sound of Gaelic is in the Fiddler’s Music” (B.A. thesis, St. Francis Xavier University, 1991), 16. 33 Doherty, 305-306. 34 Sparling, “Puirt-a-Beul,” 261.

39 not used to teach fiddle tunes in that case.35 Virginia Garrison confirms this. In her study of how Cape Breton fiddle tunes are learned and taught, she reported that “no student mentioned having learned from their mother’s singing,” and “no fiddle class student, in describing how he or she remembered tunes, mentioned ‘jigging’ them.”36

Despite this, it is probably true that there is an innate relationship between the sound of the Gaelic language and the sound of the fiddling. However, this is clearly not a result of a traditional teaching method using Gaelic vocables. Even for older generations of fiddlers where “jigging” the tunes before learning them may have been more commonplace, it was not the vocabulary or syntax of the Gaelic language that was linked to the music, but the rhythms of the speech. Indeed, many of the vocables used to “jig” the fiddle tunes were actually Gaelic-sounding nonsense words, and not actual Gaelic.

This connection to the rhythms of the language, though, is most likely true. But as Glenn

Graham states, many fiddlers of recent generations learn how to play tunes by ear using homemade cassette tapes of prominent fiddlers.

While it might be desirable to be able to speak Gaelic, it is still possible with something less than fluency to obtain sufficient experience of the language to gain a feeling for its distinctive equivalent violin sounds. For it is the cultivation of an intuitive recognition of the language’s rhythms and accents combined with digital ornamentation and bowing applications, that help to create a Gaelic sound in the fiddle, not the ability to speak it…. The newer form of Gaelic sound transmission – aural learning from house recordings of older players – has kept and can continue to keep the old sound alive to a certain extent. Indeed, there are younger players today who have as much a Gaelic sound as some of the…older players.37 [My emphasis]

35 Sparling, “Puirt-a-Beul,” 258. 36 Garrison, “Traditional and Non-Traditional Teaching,” 234-235. 37 Graham, The Cape Breton Fiddle, 64-67.

40 The Gaelic sound therefore refers to a particular stylistic attribute of the music

associated with rhythmic articulation. In addition, Graham also cites the influence of

Highland pipe music on the drones and ornaments used in the music and on the metrical

requirements of the step dancing associated with the fiddle music. Gaelic in this sense

does not refer to the language in particular. The concerns expressed in Kennedy’s Gaelic

Report seem unfounded. While the Gaelic language is certainly in decline or nearly

extinct, it is not dragging the fiddle music with it.

Efforts to associate Cape Breton fiddling with the Gaelic language as spoken in pre-

emigration Highland Scotland also echo other attempts by fiddlers and tourism vendors to

ascribe a pure Scottish lineage to the music. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the

attempts by many to downplay the influence of Irish music on Cape Breton music. The

repertoire of jigs in Cape Breton is largely a contribution of Irish traditional music, but

the influence of Irish music on the Cape Breton fiddling style is often ignored as it

weakens the argument for a purist tradition. Kennedy’s politically-influenced Gaelic

Report challenges the claims of Irish influence, citing research by Dunlay and

Greenberg:38

While at least closer to the realm of possibility, the claim of Irish origins for the Cape Breton fiddling tradition also demonstrates a serious lack of effort in analysis. Ethnomusicologist Kate Dunlay and her husband, David Greenberg, a noted Baroque-style violinist who has developed a fluent command of the Cape Breton violin style, have made a much more careful study of Cape Breton fiddling, concluding not only that it is fundamentally different from the Irish style, but that in some aspects it is less closely similar to it than is the modern Scottish style.39

38 Kate Dunlay and David Greenberg, Traditional Celtic Violin Music of Cape Breton (Halifax: Dungreen Music, 1996). 39 Kennedy, Gaelic Nova Scotia, 193.

41 This argument would be convincing if bowing technique was taken to be the only distinctive feature of the tradition, but surely the sources of the tunes and the accompaniment styles are just as important as the bowing. However even if bowing technique was seen as somehow the true test of stylistic purity, the Cape Breton technique is also quite different than the contemporary Scottish style (despite the fact the

Irish style is “less closely similar”).

Burt Feintuch’s fine article on Cape Breton fiddling suggests that the Irish influence is apparent, not only in the jig repertoire, but in providing a source of reels as well.

The Scots repertoire includes few jigs, at least in comparison to the Irish repertoire. But Cape Breton dances require a large store of jigs. Tune books and commercial recordings made Irish music available, and these days many of the dance fiddlers play a considerable number of Irish tunes, and many of the jigs in the Cape Breton repertoire are Irish. Referring to the influential Irish fiddlers, Michael Coleman, James Morrison, and Sean McGuire, leading Cape Breton fiddler and composer Jerry Holland spoke about this when I interviewed him:

“There’s so many Irish tunes that are in the Cape Breton repertoire here, that are not so much played with the Irish embellishments. I think if you were to take the Irish tunes out of the Cape Breton repertoire you’d have a pretty bare-looking skeleton. You’d be taking at least a minimum thirty-five to forty-five percent of the tunes away. You’d be taking the biggest part of the jigs away, and a lot of the reels. Again, people like Angus Chisholm and Winston Fitzgerald, who were very influential on the music of today, looked and learned tunes from the Coleman era, and Morrison, and McGuire.”40

Natalie MacMaster confirms the Irish influence, even going so far as to suggest that the groove aspect of Cape Breton fiddling derives from Irish fiddling.

Scottish music has had classical influence, and that classical influence has made the style a little bit more regimented and formed. Irish music is similar to Cape Breton in that it’s a little bit more of a

40 Burt Feintuch, “The Conditions for Cape Breton Fiddle Music,” 93.

42 hand-me-down style where it has become more of a tradition passed on from one generation and less learned. The Scottish are very strong at the technical side of playing the violin and the Irish are really strong at the groove, the feel.41

The 1999 re-release of A.A. MacKenzie’s The Irish in Cape Breton contains an

appended chapter by Cape Breton guitarist Paul MacDonald titled “Irish Music in Cape

Breton.”42 MacDonald also challenges the purist Scottish argument by tracing the contact between Scottish and Irish immigrants to Cape Breton and Newfoundland and providing examples of Irish contributions to the fiddle repertoire and the traditional step dancing that often accompanies fiddle performances.

The cultural origins of the step dancing traditions are as hotly debated as those of the fiddle tradition. Again the Gaelic Report argues for a pure Scottish tradition:

It is curious, considering how frequently Scots note the similarity between Irish step dancing and the Scottish Gaelic step dance style of Cape Breton that no one has apparently ever questioned whether the influence, if there was any, may have been the other way around. Since the only form of step dancing that actually overlaps in the two traditions is the reel – a relative latecomer to Ireland from Scotland – would it not be equally reasonable to ask whether it was Highlanders who may have introduced reel step dancing to Ireland or at least strongly influenced the manner in which it evolved? The Highlands, after all, were home to an integrated Gaelic social structure for 150 years after the old Gaelic society had collapsed in Ireland. Scotland, not Ireland, was enjoying a golden age of fiddling at the time of emigration, and dancing to the fiddle had a much longer history in Scotland than it did in Ireland.43

Once again, Kennedy applies circumstantial evidence that is difficult to prove in order to further his political argument. Indeed as stated earlier, Kennedy’s claims are at

41 Natalie MacMaster, quoted in Jim Newsome, “Portfolio Weekly,” http://www.jimnewsom.com/PFW2006/NatalieMacMaster.html. 42 Paul MacDonald, “Irish Music in Cape Breton,” in A.A. Mackenzie, The Irish in Cape Breton (Wreck Cove: Breton Books, 1999), 119-129. 43 Kennedy, Gaelic Nova Scotia, 216-217.

43 odds with those of Trevor-Roper who asserts that Highland Scottish tradition was highly

influenced by Irish culture. Sheldon MacInnes offers a different perspective:

Is it likely that step dance in Cape Breton is part of an “invented tradition” – an eclectic blend of various traditions and an anti- modernist search for roots? Even with scant evidence, one may be fairly certain that the practice was influenced by many different regional cultures.44

MacInnes’ question may be applied to the entire spectrum of Cape Breton musical

culture. While there is no doubt that the tradition has roots in Scottish culture, it is

equally apparent that there has been a range of other cultural influences. The purist

argument does not hold water, and therefore claims of the eradication of the tradition due

to influence from outside sources cannot be maintained.

The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler

The perception of a threat to the local tradition from outside influences has persisted as a

powerful identity myth on Cape Breton Island since the early 1970s. In 1971, Ron

MacInnis directed a CBC documentary titled The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler. The

main thesis of the film was the threat of extinction facing the fiddle tradition because of

the dying off of the older generation of fiddlers and a lack of interest from younger

musicians. The mainstream pop-culture influences of radio, television, and Hollywood

cinema were viewed as a powerful source of cultural competition, distracting young Cape

Bretoners from their true cultural roots.

44 Sheldon MacInnes, “Step dancing: Gach taobh dhe’n Uisge (Both Sides of the Water),” in The Centre of the World at the Edge of a Continent: Cultural Studies of Cape Breton Island, eds. Carol Corbin and Judith A. Rolls (Sydney: University College of Cape Breton Press, 1996), 115.

44 As with many documentaries, The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler takes a particular stand without any pretense to objectivity. The script, interviews, and images were carefully chosen to suggest a Folk culture from a bygone era with a unique musical tradition on the edge of extinction. Director Ron MacInnis casts himself in a primary role in the film as an outsider entering this strange world. In contrast to the rural countryfolk he interviews, MacInnis is presented as the model of contemporary urban life, sporting a trendy 1970s hair style with complementary “mutton chop” sideburns, and driving around the beautiful countryside in a convertible. Marie Thompson, in “The Rise and Fall of the

Cape Breton Fiddler,” analyzes many of the camera shots in the film for their potential symbolism, including the opening sequence of Ron MacInnis in his convertible:

The opening establishes that Ron MacInnis is on a journey through rural Cape Breton. We see him driving a convertible along the picturesque highway of the Highlands and we listen to the jaunty notes of Angus Chisholm playing Glengarry’s Dirk strathspey. One shot is interesting. It is the rear view mirror of the car seen on a diagonal with the road behind clearly visible. While some might suggest the cameraman was attempting to use the rear-view reflection as a visual metaphor of a journey into the past, I find the composition of the shot itself more intriguing. With the mirror crossing the frame on the diagonal it signals, to me at least, a notion that the director’s aim is to tell a story in a way that is slightly quirky and off-side: that what we will be seeing is different from our normal reality.45

The film intersperses shots of the director holding an old, unstrung fiddle, which is certainly meant to convey a dying art form, with interviews, shots of kitchen parties and fiddle performances. One prominent section in the middle of the film features several interviews with fiddle master Dan Rory (Dan R) MacDonald in his home. Dan R’s presence in the film adds an air of authenticity to MacInnis’s thesis owing to Dan R’s

45 Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 110.

45 stature as one of the great Cape Breton fiddlers. These interviews also reinforce the rural

Folk stereotype of Cape Bretoners as this segment features close camera shots of the large, older gentleman, talking with a thick, rural, Cape Breton accent between shots of whisky.

However, even these shots offer contradictions to the “vanishing” thesis. One of the more interesting clips features Dan R in the act of composing his own fiddle tune, followed by an explanation of this process. We therefore see a contemporary (though admittedly older) fiddler in the process of musical creation. He explains how he then gives the tunes to his fiddler friends: a striking contrast to the notion of a tradition on the brink of extinction.

The “vanishing” thesis maintains that during the 1960s rampant outmigration and the encroachment of pop-culture products onto the island lifestyle were quickly eroding the fiddle tradition as the dwindling population suffered from a lack of fiddle enthusiasts and youngsters willing to pick up a fiddle bow. Thompson challenges this claim with some economic and demographic data from the period in question:

People were leaving the backcountry area in droves, but not necessarily to leave the island. This is significant in light of subsequent events. The area on both sides of the Canso Causeway supported the new industrial complex at Port Hawkesbury and Point Tupper. Three mega-projects had come to the area: a heavy-water plant, a Gulf Canada refinery, and the Stora Forest Products pulp mill. Although the population of the country had been steadily declining since 1951, the trend was reversed in 1966. By 1971 the population of the country had grown from 18,152 to 23,375. Another trend developed too. Incomes almost doubled in Inverness and Richmond Counties thanks to the new industries…. Many of the country’s fiddling aficionados had not left. They were no longer in their old rural homesteads, but they were close by and ready to respond to the warning in Ron MacInnis’s TV show.46 [My emphasis]

46 Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 49.

46 Marie Thompson also notes that there is widespread disagreement among Cape

Breton fiddlers regarding the decline of fiddling in the 1960s. While several of the fiddlers she interviewed concurred with the “vanishing” thesis, others flatly denied that there was ever any decline. Fiddler Carl Mackenzie claimed that he “worked as an engineer at the pulp mill and I used to play five regular dances a week myself and one session I went eleven nights in a row, playing for dances. If that was vanishing, I don’t know.”47

In her research into the filming process of the Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler,

Marie Thompson also discovered that Ron MacInnis chose to ignore opinions and evidence that contradicted his thesis. Dan Rory MacDonald was not only featured in the film because of his reputation and the image he conveyed to the viewer, but also because he agreed with the “vanishing” thesis. As Thompson reports, Dan R’s own nephew, who was present during the shoot, was surprised to hear Dan R’s assertion that the tradition was dying:

Several years earlier Ron MacInnis had made the acquaintance of a man he would admire for the rest of his life. And it was the presence of this man in his documentary that gave the piece its power. The late Dan Rory MacDonald…is one of the most highly respected of the Cape Breton fiddlers…. The crew spent considerable time and effort in Dan R’s home interviewing him about his music. Dan R speculated quite openly that the future of fiddling was shaky. At the time of the filming, one of his nephews, John Donald Cameron, was present. He recalls being surprised to hear his uncle voice such an opinion. John Donald told Ron MacInnis he disagreed with the premise, but was asked not to speak his mind on camera.48

Moreover, for a film that was supposed to document a dying tradition, The

Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler features a great deal of fiddling by fiddlers of all ages.

47 Carl Mackenzie quoted in Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 55. 48 Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 92-93.

47 One clip shows the Broad Cove concert of Scottish music that had been staged annually since 1941. The concert clip shows a group of a dozen fiddlers performing in unison on the stage, accompanying groups of step dancers, while a fairly large audience expresses its appreciation. Later in the film, MacInnis makes a plea that the tradition will die if more young people don’t learn the fiddle. He then follows this with a segment featuring twelve-year old John Morris Rankin playing one of Dan R’s fiddle tunes. John Morris would, a decade or so later, become one of the most influential fiddlers and pianists of the new generation. The scene is curious because it features not only the young John Morris playing the fiddle with great skill for a boy of his age, but he is also accompanied by his brother Jimmy and two sisters Heather and Raylene playing guitar, ukulele, and piano.

This group would later form, along with their sister Carol (Cookie), the Rankin Family

Band that would eventually carry Cape Breton music to an international audience.

Clearly this group of young siblings was well versed in the fiddle tradition, as were a number of other youngsters at the time including Kinnon Beaton, Brenda Stubbert,

Arthur Muise, Rannie MacLellan, Kyle MacNeil, Dave MacIsaac, and Jerry Holland, all of whom would form a strong generation of fiddlers in the years to follow.49

The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler is therefore largely subjective in its attempt to portray a dying fiddle culture as a larger symbol of a loss of traditional values in North

American rural society. MacInnis himself admits this perspective in an interview with

Marie Thompson in 2002: “There’s a whole lot of world views and values that I could see slipping away. And I guess I didn’t think about it that much at the time, but in retrospect

49 Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 173.

48 that’s probably why I did that [production].”50 Thompson summarizes the motivation behind the Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler documentary:

[It] is easy to see that the CBC and its freelancer, Ron MacInnis, formed a powerful combination. The documentary contained images of Scottish Cape Breton heritage which it celebrated as a valuable part of Canadian culture. Yet at the same time, it announced, rather summarily, that one particular element of that culture, fiddle music, was vanishing. Ron MacInnis did his research in advance and the documentary “shoot” was organized in such a way as to obtain the evidence on tape to back up his thesis. The number of fiddlers in the younger age groups may very well have fallen off in the 1960s but…an infrastructure in the culture, built on elite institutions and shared history, was very strong. It resisted the reflection of itself as a quaint and fading community.51

As stated in Chapter 1, the generally accepted history of Cape Breton fiddling recounts the broadcasting of The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler as a seminal moment in the history of the fiddling tradition. Kennedy’s Gaelic Report for example claims that:

The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler caused a sensation in Cape Breton. Led by the redoubtable Rev. John Angus Rankin, a Gaelic- speaking traditional musician, fiddlers and lovers of the music rallied together, forming the Cape Breton Fiddler’s Association to help revitalize the art. They encouraged pride in the tradition, coaxing older tradition bearers to return to the fiddle and organizing instruction to bring younger fiddlers into the fold. The appearance of more than 100 fiddlers on stage at the Glendale Concert in 1973 was a testament to their success and to the latent strength still evident in the tradition, despite a serious decline for more than a generation. It demonstrated what the Gaelic community could do when properly motivated and marked a turning point for the fiddling tradition. Fiddling and the associated dancing traditions strongly rebounded in the 1970s.52

Fiddler Glenn Graham concurs with this interpretation claiming that:

Following this [broadcast], the island community (under the leadership of Father John Angus Rankin) reacted by forming the Cape Breton Fiddlers’ Association in 1972 and organizing a fiddling

50 Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 122. 51 Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 125. 52 Kennedy, Gaelic Nova Scotia, 199.

49 festival in Glendale in 1973 that proved to be a huge success; more than 130 fiddlers played on stage and 10,000 fans cheered them on. New interest was generated among the youth, and the fiddle music of Cape Breton was renewed with the aid of dedicated musicians, clergy, and enthusiasts. Since then, there are probably more youth learning Cape Breton fiddle than there have ever been.53 [My emphasis]

Burt Feintuch suggests however that this story is rather simplistic and contradicts the historical evidence. Feintuch states that he wonders

…at the convenience of this notion, especially when I realize that there are plenty of signs that the music was happening in public and private venues before Glendale. This, remember, is Broad Cove’s 41st year. At the very least, though, it seems that Fr. Rankin and the documentaries helped bring renewed public attention to the music.54

All three authors mention Father John Angus Rankin, who appears throughout the film The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler. Father Rankin’s interviews in the film make it clear that he is a passionate supporter of fiddle music who believes in the importance of maintaining the tradition. But, as Marie Thompson states, Father Rankin did not believe the tradition was dying out. In fact, Ron MacInnis recounts how he was “usually scolded” whenever he met Father Rankin after the documentary was first broadcast.55 Thompson’s research shows that the formation of the Cape Breton Fiddlers’ Association and the staging of the first Glendale Festival did not result because Cape Breton fiddlers believed in the premise of the film. Their true agenda was to demonstrate the strength and longevity of the tradition, which they believed was under no threat of extinction. Indeed, the very fact that 130 fiddlers played to over 10,000 fans at one concert in rural Cape

Breton is a testament to the fact that fiddling was thriving as a tradition in the 1970s.

53 Graham, The Cape Breton Fiddle, 100. 54 Feintuch, “A Week on the Ceilidh Trail.” 55 Thompson, “The Rise and Fall of the Cape Breton Fiddler,” 153.

50 Moreover, the film’s central concern that television, radio, and cinema were

threatening the fiddle culture is ironic given the oft-repeated claim that it was a television

broadcast of The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler that led to the tradition’s revival. We

have seen how this story makes for a fine dramatic cultural history, but is otherwise

overly simplistic. In subsequent chapters we will also see how technology and pop

culture have actually led to an additional resurgence in the fiddle tradition. Graham

asserts that the large number of young fiddlers today can be directly attributed to the

reaction to The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler, but it is far more likely that Cape Breton

fiddling attained a certain “coolness” during the 1990s due to the commercial success of

The Rankin Family, Natalie MacMaster, Ashley MacIssac, and The Barra MacNeils.

Cultural representation in Nova Scotia is clearly a complex issue, mitigated by the

necessity to enhance the tourism industry as a viable economic stimulator. Paradoxically,

the desire to strengthen the Nova Scotian economy and institute a period of progress

often relies on the marketing of Nova Scotian culture as being antimodern and regressive.

Hitchcock and McCannell both discuss the commodification of ethnicity as a tourism

product.56 McCannell’s notion of “Reconstructed Ethnicity” as “the maintenance and

preservation of ethnic forms for the entertainment of ethnically different others” is useful

here in the sense that the maintenance of the Scottish Folk stereotype flows from an

entertainment value that tourists place in the search for the exotic other.57 McCannell

develops this idea in relation to third world countries as tourist destinations. Yiping Li

56 Michael Hitchcock, “Tourism and Ethnicity: Situational Perspectives,” International Journal of Tourism Research 1 (1999): 17-32, and Dean McCannell, “Reconstructed Ethnicity: Tourism and Cultural Identities in Third World Communities,” Annals of Tourism Research 11 (1984): 375- 391. 57 McCannell, “Reconstructed Ethnicity,” 385.

51 applies ideas of ethnic tourism to a Canadian context, however his work concentrates on

Canadian Native communities, in essence Canada’s “third world.”58 Nova Scotia, by any

measure is a thoroughly modern, industrialized province and Cape Breton Island, though

certainly remote and poorer than much of the rest of the province, bears no resemblance

to any third world country. Indeed part of the appeal for the contemporary tourist in

visiting Cape Breton Island is the availability of chain restaurants, high-speed internet,

world-class golf courses, and a familiar language, joined with the experience a of a

slightly exotic “foreign” culture.

McCannell’s “reconstructed ethnicity” always suffers from a dearth of authenticity,

“an end to the dialogue, a final freezing of ethnic imagery which is both artificial and

deterministic.”59 Yet the issue is not as clear cut regarding Cape Breton because the culture is not localized to the island itself. In fact, the “reconstructed ethnicity” of Cape

Breton Scottish Folk culture is not only appealing for tourists but for displaced or

“wannabe” Cape Bretoners. The rampant outmigration referred to earlier has resulted in thousands of delocalized Cape Bretoners around the world who look for tangible ties to home as a means of preserving their cultural roots. As we shall see in Chapter 4, a large group of displaced Cape Bretoners forms its own delocalized cultural community with

Cape Breton music as the unifying element.

A significant part of the Cape Breton cultural identity concerns the notion of a

society under threat from external cultural forces. This “cultural imperialism” concept

also carries with it conflicting representational codes. It is politically expedient to portray

Cape Breton culture as being under threat as this results in more attention from

58 Yiping Li, “Ethnic Tourism: A Canadian Experience,” Annals of Tourism Research 27 (2000): 115-131. 59 McCannell, “Reconstructed Ethnicity,” 385.

52 government and academia, and ultimately more investment from governments and

cultural agencies. However, as with the Gaelic language, the preservationist tendency

leads to stagnation and belies the active and evolving nature of certain cultural sectors,

particularly that of music.

Despite the perceived threats to the survival of Cape Breton fiddle music, it has

survived and continues to evolve. I will show later how several Cape Breton musicians

have thrived owing to their ability to not only assimilate their own traditional musical

heritage, but also to syncretize the multiple musical styles that are seen as the very threat

to their existence. I contend that Cape Breton fiddle music is not merely a stale,

traditional, product of a past society, but has evolved into a form of groove-based music,

similar to other popular music styles and genres. It is this groove element that has

allowed it to flourish in the face of the encroachment of Western pop culture on the

perceived (though largely mythical) traditional Cape Breton society. In fact, it seems that

the larger threat to the survival of Cape Breton fiddle music is the false cultural

representation of Cape Breton and Nova Scotian society as an antiquated culture as

detailed in this chapter.

The next chapter will further examine this notion of “cultural imperialsm”

particularly as it pertains to Canadian music. I will show how the threat of pop-culture

encroachment as posited throughout The Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler represents a larger narrative of cultural nationalism that persists throughout the Canadian music industry. I will also explore how the brief period of national attention directed toward

East Coast music during the 1990s replicated a common pattern of industrial boom and bust, this time surrounding the local music industry.

53 Chapter 3

External Challenges: Globalization and the Perception

of Cultural Imperialism in Canadian Popular Music

We are a modern, industrialized country. Not an underdeveloped, rural country. An enormously large country and thus difficult and costly to cover with transmitters. We are committed to providing services in two languages. We have Government supported FM, AM and TV networks. In radio and television, we have a vast private sector. The most aggressive and fastest developing private cable television industry in the world. Finally, in terms of broadcasting, entertainment and information, we are next to the most powerful and richest nation in the world. Programs from four American networks pour into Canada directly or are picked up by community antennas.

Anyone thinking that this country, as a whole, runs the slightest risk of lacking a fair choice of American entertainment or information material, must have some trouble which perhaps a psychiatrist could identify.… If our mental landscapes, our creative aptitudes are not safeguarded and promoted I am afraid, the same fate awaits us as that which befalls a new TV show that doesn’t get enough rating points, and suffers a premature exit. Except that in this case, we will, in fact, cancel ourselves. Because to obliterate real works of the Canadian imagination is to obliterate ourselves.1

Pierre Juneau’s speech to the Empire Club of Canada in 1972 vehemently defended the

Canadian Content (CanCon) legislation that Juneau and the Canadian Radio-Television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC) had established two years prior. This controversial legislation imposed limits on the amount of non-Canadian media that could be broadcast on Canadian radio and television stations, limits that still persist today. I shall discuss the role of CanCon in greater detail later in this chapter. Juneau, in his

1 Pierre Juneau, “The Right to See Everything…Including Ourselves,” in The Empire Club of Canada Speeches 1971-1972 (Toronto: The Empire Club Foundation, 1972), 263-280.

54 speech, describes a nation under threat from its powerful southern neighbour. His rhetoric of self-annihilation evokes images of an assault through the airwaves of American information, ideas, and culture for which Canada must mount an effective defense. This perceived threat of American cultural imperialism forms a powerful cultural identity myth in Canada resulting in an unprecedented degree of government control over the radio-television industry.

This chapter will explore the rhetoric surrounding cultural imperialism and globalization in Canadian popular music and the impact this has on Cape Breton fiddle music. I will begin by discussing how the cultural imperialism thesis oversimplifies processes of cross-cultural exchange, particularly in the age of rapid digital communications. I will then contrast two theories of cultural evolution by Richard

Dawkins and Dan Sperber, showing how Sperber’s theory provides a more accurate description of how individuals effect cultural change. This will lead to a discussion of the globalization of popular music in general, and then more specifically in the Canadian context. Following this, I will explore the recent history of the Canadian East Coast music industry, which attempted to capitalize on the global popularity of Celtic music during the 1990s by commercializing Cape Breton Celtic music. The chapter will conclude with a discussion of Celtic music as popular music, which will provide the foundation for subsequent explorations of Cape Breton fiddle music as a form of groove-based popular music.

55 Cultural Imperialism

Sociologist Susantha Goonatilake defines cultural imperialism as the “imposition of a

cultural package against the informed will of the recipients.”2 This arises from economic

and power imbalances among and within nations. Historically, large imperial powers

actively asserted their cultural institutions on smaller nations through a process of

colonialism. Throughout the twentieth century, dominant superpowers exerted “soft

power” pressures through exports of cultural products and media manipulations as a way

of furthering social, religious, and political ideals. Recently, accelerated processes of

globalization have resulted in increasing trade in cultural products on the world market.

The United States, as the world’s current lone superpower, is the principal beneficiary of

cultural trade imbalances with smaller nations. American cultural exports such as

television programs, films, print media, fast food chains, music videos, and music itself

are disseminated widely and cheaply throughout the world, resulting in increasing

perceived threats to the viability of local cultural institutions.

The cultural imperialism thesis first gained currency among Marxist academics

and proponents of radical criticism in the latter half of the twentieth century.3 Among

these, Herbert Schiller and Matthew Fraser have been particularly critical of American

imperialism through media and popular culture. According to Fraser, American political

hegemony has resulted more from the assertion of cultural values than from military

interventions:

2 Susantha Goonatilake, “Cultural Imperialism: A Short History, Future, and a Postscript from the Present,” in Cultural Imperialism: Essays on the Political Economy of Cultural Domination, eds. Bernd Hamm and Russell Smandych (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2005), 33. 3 John Tomlinson, Cultural Imperialism: A Critical Introduction (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 3.

56 America’s global domination has been achieved largely through non-military means – in short, through the extension, assertion, and influence of its soft power. If hard power, by definition, is based on facts, soft power is based on values. American hard power is necessary to maintain global stability. American soft power – movies, pop music, television, fast food, fashions, theme parks – spreads, validates, and reinforces common norms, values, beliefs, and lifestyles. Hard power threatens; soft power seduces. Hard power dissuades; soft power persuades.4 [Emphasis in the original]

A collection of essays edited by German sociologist Bernd Hamm and Canadian

sociologist Russell Smandych was recently published under the title Cultural

Imperialism: Essays on the Political Economy of Cultural Domination.5 This collection

criticizes Western (mainly U.S.) cultural hegemony in areas as diverse as film,

economics, law, and science. The fact that these various facets of society are lumped

under the term “culture” is revealing. To these authors, culture represents a perspective, a

way of life, or a set of values. Thus when Christophe Germann writes about Hollywood’s

dominance over the international motion picture industry, he does not concern himself

with its effects on filmmaking techniques, acting styles, or narrative structures. Instead,

he maintains that the visual image content of the films themselves projects a

homogeneous American vision of the world, and that this has a deleterious effect on

cultural diversity outside of the United States.6

In Cultural Imperialism: A Critical Introduction, John Tomlinson takes issue with

this idea of media imperialism through dissemination of content. He cites research that

investigates the worldwide reception of the TV show Dallas, a frequent target of anti-

4 Matthew Fraser, Weapons of Mass Distraction: Soft Power and American Empire (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2003), 10. 5 Bernd Hamm and Russell Smandych, eds., Cultural Imperialism: Essays on the Political Economy of Cultural Domination (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2005). 6 Christophe Germann, “Content Industries and Cultural Diversity: The Case of Motion Pictures,” in Hamm and Smandych, Cultural Imperialism, 93-113.

57 Imperialist critics for its portrayal of American decadence, sexism, and capitalism.

Tomlinson demonstrates that the show’s worldwide popularity is largely a product of its melodramatic narrative structure and not from a desire to emulate what is in any case a hyper-real American millionaire culture.7 In certain cases, the research demonstrates that non-Western viewers actually interpret the social structure of the fictional society according to their own cultural values. In all cases, it is overly simplistic to assume that television content has a direct and unmediated influence on culture and values, supplanting those value systems already ingrained in the viewer.

All cultures, we must surely assume, will generate their own set of basic attitudes on issues like the relationship between wealth and happiness. Dallas represents, perhaps, one very forceful statement of such an attitude, informed by a dominant global culture of capitalism. But it would be absurd to assume that people in any present-day culture do not have developed attitudes to such a central aspect of their lives quite independent of any televisual representations. We clearly cannot assume that simply watching Dallas makes people want to be rich! The most we can assume is that agreement here, as with disagreement elsewhere with the programme’s message, represents the outcome of people’s ‘negotiations’ with the text.8

Tomlinson also criticizes the entire discourse of cultural imperialism as being itself imperialist. He rightly charges that academics and politicians who try to defend cultural diversity do so as representatives of national cultures. He details the various initiatives of the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Culture Organization (UNESCO) since the 1980s, with representatives defending national cultural sovereignty.9 These initiatives have culminated recently with a pact on cultural diversity which was sponsored by

7 Tomlinson, Cultural Imperialism, 45. 8 Tomlinson, Cultural Imperialism, 49. 9 Tomlinson, Cultural Imperialism, 68-101.

58 Canada, France, and the United Kingdom, and which was adopted by UNESCO in

October of 2005. Article 19 of the convention’s preamble states that while

…the processes of globalization, which have been facilitated by the rapid development of information and communication technologies, afford unprecedented conditions for enhanced interaction between cultures, [these processes] also represent a challenge for cultural diversity, namely in view of risks of imbalances between rich and poor countries.10

The Cultural Diversity pact is viewed by many as a type of trade protection protocol

intended to curb the threat of U.S. cultural imperialism. As members of the G8, the three

sponsoring nations can hardly be considered as poor countries, yet there is no doubt that

France, the United Kingdom, and particularly Canada view their close trade relationship

with the United States as a threat to cultural independence. Not surprisingly, the United

States represents a lone voice of dissent to the pact.

Yet, as Tomlinson argues, these countries are asserting a national culture that is not

easy to define. What exactly is the nature of Canadian culture for example? Do Canadian

UNESCO representatives speak for the plethora of ethnic, linguistic, and religious

subcultures that make up the national cultural fabric? Tomlinson makes a convincing case

for the incongruence of culture with nationhood. I would add to this criticism by also

pointing out that the cultural diversity pact does not respect the existence of diasporas

that transcend national boundaries. While it is certainly true that the experiences of a

member of the Montreal Haitian community differ from those of a Haitian New Yorker,

and that both differ fundamentally from the experiences of a native of Port-au-Prince, one

cannot ignore the fact that all three belong to a larger transnational Haitian network.

10 United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Culture Organization (UNESCO), “Preliminary Draft of a Convention on the Protection of the Diversity of Cultural Contents and Artistic Expressions,” (June 2005).

59 Furthermore, these members of the Haitian diaspora belong to a larger Afro-Caribbean

diaspora, which is a subset of a supra continental African diaspora. A complex

multicultural society cannot therefore be inscribed within the artificial cultural border of

nationhood, nor can a nation assert a generalized cultural idea of itself.11

Even this description of diaspora oversimplifies reality by positing a geographical

cultural locus. As Thomas Turnino argues:

Africans throughout the Americas and Europe are another widely accepted case of diaspora. Is Africa one place, one homeland? Whose conceptualization is this? Are white South African expatriates in London part of the African diaspora? In this instance, constructions of race, rather than geographical location, [are] the more salient feature.12

In other cases, religion, language, or a shared historical narrative may link members of a

diasporic community across remote geographical distances. Canadian culture consists of

a number of ethnic diasporic communities resulting from colonialism and immigration.

As we shall see, music plays an important role in this kind of intercultural dialogue,

acting as a type of language for articulating common social and political perspectives.

All of this is not to disregard the very real dominance of popular culture by U.S.

corporate culture, but the situation is clearly more complicated than the widely accepted

discourse on cultural imperialism. Sociologist John Hannigan suggests that the

globalization of culture should be viewed according to John Urry’s conception of a

“deterritorialized global fluids” model: “In this perspective, social identities are neither

exclusively tied to the nation state, nor are they determined by the commercial cultural

11 For a discussion of national identity, ethnicity, and place in music communities, see John Connell and Chris Gibson, Sound Tracks: Popular Music , Identity, and Place (London and New York: Routledge, 2003): 117-143. 12 Thomas Turino and James Lea, Identity and the Arts in Diaspora Communities (Warren, Michigan: Harmonie Park Press, 2004), 5.

60 milieu created by the global entertainment economy. Rather, they are characteristically emergent, hybridized, and both cosmopolitan and urban.”13 This deterritorialized global fluids model will provide a useful framework for investigating the role of popular music in establishing social identity beyond geographical and ethnic lines and is particularly constructive when examining the Cape Breton fiddle music community. I will explore this community further in Chapter 4. The cultural imperialism thesis essentially formed the basis of the “Vanishing Cape Breton Fiddler” idea. The previous chapter demonstrated how this notion vastly oversimplified the true state of the fiddling tradition in Cape Breton. The music was not threatened by the infiltration of other popular musical styles from outside of Cape Breton; instead it continued to evolve and gain in worldwide popularity.

Theories of Cultural Evolution

Several social scientific theories have been proposed to describe the possible mechanisms of cultural evolution. Evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins published a very influential book in 1976 entitled The Selfish Gene, which introduced the concept of the meme as a unit of culture or information pattern similar to a gene.14 Memes are hard- wired into the memories of individuals and manifest as individual cognitive processes or behavioral patterns. The study of memetics traces the replication and transmission of these memes as a way of transmitting cultural characteristics.

Examples of memes are tunes, ideas, catch-phrases, clothes, fashions, ways of making pots or of building arches. Just as genes propagate themselves in the gene pool by leaping from body to body

13 Hannigan, “Culture, Globalization, and Social Cohesion,” 278. 14 Richard Dawkins, The Selfish Gene (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976).

61 via sperms or eggs, so memes propagate themselves in the meme pool by leaping from brain to brain via a process which, in the broad sense, can be called imitation. If a scientist hears, or reads about, a good idea, he passes it on to his colleagues and students. He mentions it in his articles and his lectures. If the idea catches on, it can be said to propagate itself, spreading from brain to brain.… When you plant a fertile meme in my mind you literally parasitize my brain, turning it into a vehicle for the meme’s propagation in just the way a virus may parasitize the genetic mechanism of a host cell. And this isn’t just a way of talking – the meme for, say, ‘the belief in life after death’ is actually realized physically, millions of times over, as a structure in the nervous system of individual men the world over.15

In a Darwinian sense, the memes undergo mutations and the resulting variants compete for limited memory space with the most useful or “fittest” memes surviving.

Musicologist Steven Jan applies Dawkins’s theory to the evolution of musical style.

In the evolution of musical style, a mutant meme appears in the work of a composer, the level of intraopus style.… Providing it possesses high longevity, fecundity, or copying-fidelity, it may then be copied in other works of that composer, thereby moving to the level of idiom. Further imitation might disseminate the meme among the composers in a community, taking it to the level of the dialect, the configuration of which is slowly and subtly changed.16

Jan’s thesis clearly only applies to composers and music specialists within a limited stylistic framework, and his discussion of musical memes is limited to considerations of pitch. Thus, while attempting to account for the cultural evolution of music, Jan fails to consider music as an interactive element within a larger cultural network. This reveals one of the inherent flaws in the memetic model; the very concept of memes relies on the notion that culture is somehow an entity external to the minds of the people who passively permit its infiltration.

15 Dawkins, The Selfish Gene, 206-207. 16 Steven Jan, “Replicating Sonorities: Towards a Memetics of Music,” Journal of Memetics – Evolutionary Models of Information Transmission (2000): http://jom-emit.cfpm.org/2000/vol4/jan_s.html.

62 Anthropologist Dan Sperber, along with his colleague Deidre Wilson, proposes an alternative to the memetic paradigm. In Explaining Culture, Sperber posits the idea of an epidemiology of representations that differentiates the public presentations of culture

(melodies, images, instructions, etc.) with the mental representations of the individuals who form the cultural community.17 No two mental representations will be the same, and thus culture is defined by the distribution of mental representations, with cultural evolution resulting from the micro-processes of differentiation. This model seems much more attractive as it situates culture within the minds of the cultural actors themselves.

Stylistic stability results from “basins of attraction” within the culture that are affected by genetic, environmental, and historical factors. In other words, certain mental representations will be similar enough and useful enough within the cultural context to attain stability. Sperber’s theory is congruent with my concept of the “social groove.”

Individuals retain their own mental representations of a musical form, but gravitate in groups through basins of attraction which are ultimately linked to the power of the sonic groove to unify disparate individuals.

In the case of musical cultural evolution, Sperber’s model takes into consideration the complex semiotic associations that music may have for individuals. Thus, a particular musical public presentation (which could be one of Jan’s musical memes) results in a host of individual mental representations that ultimately link a musical style with its socio-cultural context. In terms of popular music, the model nicely explains mass- mediated musical styles. However, for my purposes, the epidemiology model does not go far enough to account for the proliferation and evolution of musical styles outside of the

17 Dan Sperber, Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach (Oxford: Blackwell, 1996).

63 mainstream. For this, I would go a step further to differentiate individuals within a

society who use music to form part of their identity from those who consume music as

simply part of a larger pop-culture product. Certain individuals within a society seek out

music, become invested in it, and work to promote and disseminate it. These are not

necessarily music specialists (musicians, critics, academics, etc.) though they may be.

They are individuals who form a subcultural identity with other individuals through

musical engagement and exchange. These individuals may be relatively small in number

but they can have a significant effect on musical culture through the global propagation

of non-mainstream popular musics, and thus form their own delocalized basins of

attraction. It is this process of popular musical globalization that most interests me.

Arjun Appadurai proposed five dimensions or “landscapes” of global cultural flow,

each of which is negotiated by the individual. “Indeed, the individual actor is the last

locus of this perspectival set of landscapes, for these landscapes are eventually navigated

by agents who both experience and constitute larger formations, in part by their own

sense of what these landscapes offer.”18 Ethnoscapes, mediascapes, technoscapes,

finanscapes, and ideoscapes are all interrelated “building blocks” of what Appadurai

terms “imagined worlds...constituted by the historically situated imaginations of persons

and groups spread around the globe.”19 This perfectly resonates with Sperber’s notion of

delocalized basins of attraction that depend of the mental representations of individuals,

and with my own conception of the social groove as binding individuals with their own

identities towards the common groove collective.

18 Arjun Appadurai, “Disjuncture and Difference in the Global Cultural Economy,” Theory, Culture, and Society 7 (1990): 296. 19 Appadurai, “Disjuncture and Difference,” 296-297.

64 In the case of Cape Breton fiddle music, I argue that the musicians, composers, and

active consumers of the music react to new musical sounds, styles, and ideas as

individuals with unique mental representations of the musical stimuli. The diverse

ethnoscape emerges from Cape Breton Island as a central locus but extends around the

globe through the influence of the technoscapes, mediascapes, and finanscapes that affect

the global flow of this culture. Individuals consume and react to these landscapes in their

own way such that the ideoscape of Cape Breton fiddle music commonly defined as rural,

traditional, Scottish, and unchanging becomes challenged. These individuals form basins

of attraction around their common reactions to the new musical ideas and thus help to

shape the evolution of the music. They are not passive consumers of American pop-

culture products, but are active integrators of new possibilities and directions that the

music can take.

Globalization of Popular Music

Wallis and Malm, in investigating the music industry in “small countries,” proposed four

distinct processes of cultural interaction: exchange or equal sharing; domination of a

more powerful culture over a weaker one; imperialism as domination involving the actual

transfer of money or cultural goods; and transculturation which recognizes a more

multidirectional interaction imposed by transnational corporations.20 Mary Louise Pratt

defines transculturation as the way “subordinated or marginal groups select and invent

from materials transmitted to them by a dominant or metropolitan culture.”21 This process

20 Roger Wallis and Krister Malm, Big Sounds from Small Peoples: The Music Industry in Small Countries (London: Constable, 1984). 21 Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London and New York: Routledge, 1992), 6.

65 concedes a certain amount of control to the marginal group actors in choosing those

aspects of the dominant culture that are most useful or resonant for them.

In 1991, a group of researchers and students led by Deanna Campbell Robinson

published Music at the Margins: Popular Music and Global Cultural Diversity, which

posits a fifth interactive possibility specifically concerning music: “that imported music

can stand side by side with locally originated music. Both musics are appreciated,

perhaps even by the same people.”22 Though conceived before the “digital revolution” gained its true momentum, Music at the Margins offers a prescient analysis of how technology would eventually accelerate this process.

Musics from other cultures, musics from one’s own culture (traditional, contemporary, and avant-garde), and technology can pick and choose various elements from a theoretically finite but incredibly vast array of musical tones, rhythms, instruments, and technologies, and juxtapose them in never before experienced combinations. Choices and juxtapositions depend not only on the possibilities, however, but also upon all the social conventions, musical codes, and personal influences (perceived and unperceived) acting upon an individual musician at a given time.23

Robinson et al go on to provide several in-depth case studies with data provided by

professional musicians from the “margins” of the music industry. The study offers an

overview of how the core of the music industry (namely the U.S. major record labels)

dominates the popular music periphery and creates conditions whereby musicians outside

of the mainstream struggle for survival. In spite of this, Robinson et al demonstrate how

local musicians overcome these obstacles of oppression and create culturally significant

and economically viable popular music products.

22 Robinson et al, Music at the Margins, 21. 23 Robinson et al, Music at the Margins, 25.

66 There are a number of problems with this study and its ensuing conclusions. First, each of these case studies was considered within an ironically Western narrative trope of

“rags to riches” or “American dream.” Simon Frith summarizes this in his critical response to the study.

The Romantic tradition of individual inspiration, carefully nurtured by the music industry in its packaging of “genius” and its exploitation of authorial copyrights, is now, apparently, a world music convention. Put together the researchers’ belief in the “authenticity” of world music and the musicians’ belief in their creativity and you get the underlying narrative of this book (despite the authors’ final disclaimers): the battle of Good (the scattered bands of committed musicians) and Evil (the corporate force of Time Warner, Sony-CBS, Thorn-EMI and so on). This is an interesting story and in some ways a satisfying one (the research conclusion is that the Davids will beat the Goliaths) but it is, nevertheless, a misleading one. The music world is not just made up of large companies, creative musicians, and questing fans; it is shaped in fact by a rich variety of go-betweens.24

In addition to this, Robinson et al admit that the scope of their study does not include listeners and non-professional musicians. In other words, by focusing on the professional musician trying to “make it” in a Western-dominated industry, this study neglects the use of music by individuals and groups within a society for establishing identity and furthering social and political ideals.

Despite these criticisms, I believe Robinson et al were correct in identifying the role of technology in creating a cross-cultural musical dialogue. Mark Katz’s fascinating history of the effects of technology on musical evolution culminates with an analysis of

Internet file sharing and Peer-to-Peer (P2P) networks. “File sharing not only makes it possible to find particular pieces easily, it also allows users to explore unfamiliar territory. If one can imagine a particular type of music, it probably exists; if it exists, it

24 Simon Frith in Robinson et al, Music at the Margins, 285.

67 can probably be found on the Internet.”25 He then goes on to describe his quick and

successful Internet search for Swedish funk music and Vietnamese hardcore rap.

Implicit in this account is how technology works to circumvent the perceived

corporate popular music hegemony suggested by Robinson et al. Not only does file-

sharing offer cheap (often free) access to millions of recordings through non-commercial

means (i.e., internet downloading), but inexpensive recording technology allows

musicians unprecedented freedom to experiment with their own sounds. It is difficult to

imagine, for example, any major record label investing the time and funds into recording

and marketing a Canadian Jewish rap act. Yet Josh Dogin from Montreal (a.k.a.

Socalled), “Montreal’s leading mixer of klezmer and hip hop,” has produced several

independent recordings in his basement studio that have gained worldwide recognition.26

His decision to combine these two seemingly disparate genres was not made out of

strategic market analysis but out of a personal, socio-musical connection. He discovered

that his affection for hip-hop music was not incompatible with his Jewish heritage, and he

could even construct for himself a creative link between the two genres, with differences

resulting only from historical and geographical origins.

I think [the difference is] almost purely historical…we had these new technologies of computers and keyboards. Well, people were going to try to make music with them, and the music that came out of it was this thing called hip hop. That’s sort of what was happening in Eastern Europe. They were taking the best parts of Ukrainian music and Romanian music and Russian music, and they were sampling it, basically, and looping it and making it their own. Hip hop just lays it bare – you see the cut and hear the cut.27

25 Mark Katz, Capturing Sound: How Technology has Changed Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 166. 26 David Coodin, “Jew Funk,” The Walrus http://www.walrusmagazine.com/article.pl?sid=05/08/13/2121251. 27 Dogin quoted in Coodin, Jew Funk, .

68 Whether or not this assessment is historically or theoretically sound, it clearly has

resonance for this artist and helps to situate his sound within a manufactured cultural

identity or new ethnicity that has currency for his many listeners.

This example demonstrates one of the central processes in the emergence of new

popular music styles. There is a widespread misconception that the major transnational

record labels employ legions of talent scouts who comb the world in search of new

sounds and new musical ideas. In reality, new musical styles often emerge through

recordings produced by independent, often artist-owned, record labels. Once an artist

attains a certain critical mass of local popularity, the major record labels may begin to

take notice. Often this results in a wider distribution and marketing deal of the original

independent recording. Future development and recording deals often depend on the

success (in terms of sales) of this initial arrangement.28 This success may depend on talent

but will ultimately be determined by marketability, with the large record companies

employing a limited number of local and international marketing strategies. As we shall

see shortly, the development of a short-lived music industry in Atlantic Canada was built

on the success of a few local independent acts that attracted major label attention because

of their high volume of independent sales.

Keith Negus, in his in-depth study Music Genres and Corporate Cultures, outlines the two essential strategies that major record labels employ when marketing popular

28 This is by no means a recent development. See Linda Martin, Anti-Rock: The Opposition to Rock and Roll (Hamden, Conn.: Archon, 1988) for a history of the gradual acceptance of rock and roll by the major record companies, and their ultimate takeover of the smaller independent labels that first began recording and promoting this music.

69 music internationally.29 Deterritorialization involves the identification of certain artists as being suitable for the international market based on their generic appeal across a wide spectrum.30

In re-imaging the world for ‘global marketing,’ international staff have drawn upon an often taken-for-granted reservoir of knowledge and a particular set of experiences, and use these to understand and make assessments about the world of music. This includes aesthetic judgments about the instruments, tempos, rhythms, voices and melodies that are able to ‘travel well.’ It incorporates semiotic judgments about the type of images that are more suitable for an ‘international audience’. It includes political judgments about areas of the world considered to be ‘unstable’ or where certain types of music are banned for moral or religious reasons.31

These artists are not branded as having any specific cultural or national affiliation

(though most are from the U.S.). Instead, they are marketed as global musical acts with universal cultural and musical appeal. This contrasts the ‘imperialist’ rhetoric that describes a more aggressive corporate marketing strategy of asserting American culture and values around the world.

Negus defines the second process as Reterritorialization whereby a marketing strategy emphasizes an artist’s cultural and ethnic ties. Thus “world music” recordings are packaged as tokens representing exotic cultures.

If the successful marketing of international repertoire requires the development of an accent and sound that cannot be placed, then world music requires accents, languages, and sounds that can definitely be ‘placed.’ By this I do not mean that such sounds and accents materially exist in or are intrinsically connected to particular places, but that the sounds of specific instruments, musical tones, rhythmic patterns, and voices signify a sense of geographical place

29 Keith Negus, Music Genres and Corporate Cultures (London: Routledge, 1999). Negus builds on the work of Nestor Garcia Canclini, Culturas híbridas. Estrategias para entrar y salir de la modernidad (México: Grijalbo Press, 1990). 30 See also Appadurai, “Disjuncture and Difference,” 301-303 for an additional discussion of deterritorialization. 31 Negus, Music Genres and Corporate Cultures, 156.

70 via various musical semiotic codes and connotations that have developed historically and which are usually recognized by listeners as ‘verbal visual associations.’32

A successful “world music” artist must offer a romanticized connection to a distant land

while at the same time performing in a musical idiom that is accessible to a wider world

market. The complete “world music” package therefore offers an exotic (but not too

strange) sound as well as access to a foreign lifestyle. It is not only major record labels

that have tapped this market using this marketing strategy. The Starbucks coffee chain

and the Putumayo clothing company have produced some of the most successful “world

music” recordings, each through their own subsidiary music labels.33

Both of these marketing strategies result in the sale of large volumes of somewhat

similar, often banal musical products that are saleable to a wide body of listeners. As we

shall see, deterritorialization and reterritorialization strategies also take place on a smaller

scale in Canada. Despite the middling effect that these corporate marketing strategies

have on their musical products, Negus emphasizes that a great deal of more diverse and

experimental popular music continues to be produced and disseminated around the world.

Despite all of these corporate constraints, there is an increasing amount of popular music moving across the world and it is traveling in ways which are not directed, controlled, or understood by the major entertainment corporations.… Such dynamism is not sustained by an identifiable corporate ‘culture industry’ but instead by the culture industry of enthusiasts, fans, and musicians.… This is industry as an effort of will, as a dynamic human quality rather than as a bureaucratized institution. Much music is moving across the world through human culture industry and not as a result of institutionalized corporate strategy.34 [Emphasis in the original].

32 Negus, Music Genres and Corporate Cultures, 165. 33Anahid Kassabian, “Would You Like Some World Music with Your Latte?: Starbucks, Putumayo, and Distributed Tourism,” Twentieth Century Music 2 (2004): 210. 34 Negus, Music Genres and Corporate Cultures, 171.

71 Popular music globalization must therefore be viewed as a multifaceted cultural

exchange that involves macro strategies of international marketing along with micro

strategies of dynamic local creativity. Timothy Taylor’s Global Pop provides many

examples of musicians from Africa, South America, and India who have embraced access

to Western popular music and who have found creative ways of adapting and reacting to

it while still preserving the essence of their own culturally-derived sound.35 As we shall

see, these macro and micro strategies also operate within Western nations.

Popular Music and Social Identity in Canada

Deterritorialization and reterritorialization processes in Canadian popular music are often

not clearly delineated, and may work together simultaneously. Canadian musicians who

attain international stardom offer a musical package that fits into the pop mainstream.

The Guess Who, Bryan Adams, Shania Twain, Celine Dion, and Anne Murray all

became internationally successful by first releasing recordings that became hits in the

U.S. Thus, the musical product was intentionally deterritorialized and was stylistically

similar to American releases in equivalent genres. However, even these internationally

famous musical acts become reterritorialized as Canadians when it enhances their

marketability. For example, press material for each of these artists usually makes mention

of their “humble Canadian roots.”36 A large part of the manufactured Canadian national

identity depends on the success of artists such as these (in addition to actors and

comedians) at “making it” as stars in the United States. Canadians take pride in these

35 Taylor, Global Pop, 1997. 36 See, for example, the official websites for each: bryanadams.com, shaniatwain.com, celineonline.com, and annemurray.com.

72 accomplishments despite the fact that the success results from the music’s deterritorialized American appeal. Ironically, these artists become reterritorialized as

Canadian success stories with their success depending on the effectiveness of their deterritorialization.

In other cases, musicians are first reterritorialized and branded according to region or ethnic identity. The Newfoundland band Great Big Sea first gained attention for their energetic live show consisting of Irish and Newfoundland folk songs as well as derivative original music. Initially a mainstay of the Atlantic university pub scene, the band benefited from the Canadian recording industry’s brief interest in East Coast music during the 1990s. The marketing campaign made every effort to juxtapose the musicians with their Atlantic, neo-Celtic roots. Television interviews and music videos were shot next to the Atlantic Ocean, and the first major label release Up displayed pictures of an accordion, a fiddle, and an old broken bridge on the CD cover, which was lined on its right side with a picture of the sea. The album largely contained a mix of traditional and original songs. However, the album’s first single was a “Celtic” cover version of the song

“Run Runaway” by the British glam-rock band Slade. The follow-up album Play featured a similar treatment of the popular R.E.M. song “It’s the End of the World As We Know

It.” The popularity of the original versions of these songs allowed the music to become deterritorialized as part of an international pop repertoire. Other East Coast acts applied the same strategy of reterritorialization of style and image, and deterritorialization of musical content. The Cape Breton band The Barra MacNeils released John Sebastian’s

“Darling Be Home Soon” as their first single on their first major label release Closer to

73 Paradise, while the Newfoundland band The Irish Descendants released Donovan’s

“Catch the Wind” on their breakthrough release Gypsies and Lovers.

This strategy was not aimed at increasing the appeal of this music for a potential

American audience. None of these cover recordings received widespread distribution or radio play in the United States. Rather, the decision to record recognizable pop standards was aimed at a national Canadian market. The artists increased their national marketability by releasing deterritorialized pop hits. Yet the stylistic aspects of the original versions of these songs were transformed to fit a reterritorialized ideal of Atlantic

Canadian culture. In the process, the lyrical content and the semiotic associations of the original releases were nullified, and the songs were refashioned as East Coast Celtic songs, with their implications of a rural seaside setting, party atmosphere, and quaint, simple lifestyle.

This process of what might be oxymoronically termed “delocalized regionalism” in

Canadian popular music has been supported by government-sponsored cultural protectionism initiatives. These policies have adopted a two-front strategy for combating the perceived threat to the Canadian music industry from the United States. Canadian

Content regulations are directed toward music presenters (typically radio), while subsidies are provided to the music makers and producers.

The Canadian Radio-Television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC) began enforcing CanCon legislation in 1971. In order to qualify for radio broadcasting license renewals, radio stations must play a minimum number of recordings to satisfy

CanCon requirements. The percentage varies according to format (AM, FM, CBC). To qualify as Canadian content, recordings are stamped with a MAPL (Music, Artist,

74 Production, Lyrics) designation, indicating whether or not the artist, composer, lyricist, or production location is Canadian. Two of the four MAPL criteria must be met to satisfy

CanCon requirements. This has resulted in the odd situation whereby non-Canadian mega-stars such as Aerosmith, The Neville Brothers, and Rod Stewart have qualified as

CanCon, but Bryan Adams, k.d. lang, and Anne Murray (all Order of Canada recipients) often have not.37

Regardless, CanCon legislation has created an environment where lesser-known

Canadian recording artists do have a better chance of receiving Canadian radio airplay.

As CBC journalist Laurie Brown has noted:

Canadian-content regulations, requiring a certain percentage of domestic music in radio programming, have meant that musicians who have not had the edges rounded off their regional backgrounds make it to Canadian airways. The history of Canadian culture is also inextricably linked to the advantage of having a state-owned broadcasting system, the CBC, with a mandate to promote regionalism on both radio and TV. To some extent, this has meant that artists in Canada, while they do not become stars and rarely become wealthy, nevertheless do get heard.38

For this reason, many regional artists rely on the CBC for local and national radio exposure. Those artists who wish to receive commercial radio airplay, however, must adapt their sound to fit the standardized radio playlist formats of commercial stations.39

The relevant U.S. Billboard record charts largely determine these formats, so while some

37 Robert Wright, “‘Gimme Shelter’: Observations on Cultural Protectionism and the Recording Industry in Canada,” Cultural Studies 5 (1991): 309. 38 Laurie Brown, “Songs from the Bush Garden,” Cultural Studies 5 (1991): 348. 39 The number and description of these radio formats depends on country and region although many have been standardized. The New York Radio Guide lists 24 different formats including “adult alternative”, “album-oriented rock”, commercial hit radio”, “Americana”, “Classic Rock”, “Oldies”, etc. There is also an “other” category. See New York Radio Guide http://www.nyradioguide.com/formats.htm for descriptions of these.

75 musicians emphasize regional ties to increase listener and media interest, they will adapt

the recorded sound to suit generic commercial radio playlists.

Federal subsidies have been channeled through the private-sector agency FACTOR:

the Foundation to Assist Canadian Talent On Record. FACTOR provides grants and

interest-free loans to qualifying musical acts for producing professional demo recordings

and commercial releases. This has drastically increased the economic viability of regional

independent record companies in Canada since its inception in 1982. In order to remain

viable however, the independents (indies) rely on export sales outside of Canada.

In most cases, export sales are…essential if Canadian-owned companies are to turn a profit on a recording project. Efforts must be made, therefore, to tour the artist internationally and to license Canadian products to recording and music-publishing companies in other countries.40

For this reason, FACTOR began streamlining its funding in 1990 towards artists who

were deemed to be more internationally marketable. The independent record companies

responded to this by again adapting their regional musical products to fit a more

mainstream pop audience. As Robert Wright has pointed out, this strategy on the part of

FACTOR has failed to produce the desired result of increasing international sales, but it

has had the effect of providing financial stability to a select number of independent

producers that have best adapted to the demand for increased commercial appeal.

Cultural protectionism could never have been expected to increase the Canadian indies’ share of the international market but what it has done – and this point should be underscored – is to broaden dramatically the volume and range of Canadian recorded product available to Canadian consumers. If all that such institutions such as FACTOR ever accomplish is keeping Canadian indies afloat – as a source of Canadian music for Canadian consumers, but also as a

40 Department of Communications, Vital Links: Canadian Cultural Industries (Ottawa: Government of Canada, 1987), 1953.

76 source of new talent for world markets – they will have succeeded admirably.41

These protectionist initiatives are still enforced today despite the drastic changes in popular media that have resulted from the so-called digital revolution. Internet exchange of digitally encoded music files through websites, online music stores such as mp3.com and iTunes, and peer-to-peer file-sharing networks have undermined the conventional album-based music commodity manufactured by recording companies. CanCon legislation does not apply to the worldwide web, and non-commercial satellite radio threatens the viability of the commercial radio model. In light of this, artists and music producers/presenters are increasingly regarding the CRTC as irrelevant. As Steve Maich writes in Maclean’s magazine:

Podcasts, digital music sites, online news services – all exist beyond the reach of Canada’s attempts to restrict cultural choice. And yet, the CRTC clings to its imaginary world of media protectionism, willfully blind to the reality that in a world where choice is unlimited, quality is the only protection for Canadian art. Our artists are proving they can thrive without the help of bureaucrats. To take just one example, the Arcade Fire from Montreal became one of this year’s biggest North American bands with virtually no support from this country’s system of CanCon quotas. And several independent musicians spoke in favour of the satellite radio companies this year, pointing out that U.S. services already play more Canadians, in a wider range of genres, than government-regulated commercial radio in Canada.42

Beyond the digital dissemination of music, technology has also changed the way popular music is created and recorded. As mentioned above, inexpensive software packages such as Sonic Foundry’s ACID and Apple’s Garage Band as well as more sophisticated products such as Cubase and Pro Tools, allow musicians to record

41 Wright, “Gimme Shelter,” 314. 42 Steve Maich, “Last Gasps of the CRTC,” Maclean’s 118 (2005): 42.

77 broadcast-quality music in their homes using desktop computers. The formerly prohibitive cost of renting a professional recording studio and engineer has been virtually eliminated. This affects not only the proliferation of recorded popular music but also the breadth of experimental styles, genres, and collaborations.

These technological breakthroughs also affect the relationship between music and the creation of social identity. Reterritorialization and deterritorialization no longer refer only to corporate marketing strategies; these terms now describe real social processes of musical creation and exchange. Canadian musical subcultures often rely on reterritorialized regional or ethnic ties for their identity. Yet these subcultural musical communities are becoming increasingly delocalized through digital exchange of recordings. The music thus becomes truly deterritorialized while still retaining its cultural essence. This allows for listeners outside of the original source community to participate in a larger virtual subcultural community, along the lines of Hannigan’s deterritorialized global fluids model. Members of this virtual music community may adopt socio-cultural identity traits as part of a manufactured social identity (as with the Maritime theme bar patrons referred to in Chapter 1). This manufactured social identity represents a new ethnicity that draws on those cultural traits of several communities that are most meaningful to the individual. In my opinion, this type of cross-cultural exchange and identity is a more important process of globalization in Canada than the more simplistic notion of the eradication of musical subcultures due to cultural imperialism. As Will

Straw writes:

Basing a politics of local or Canadian music on the search for musical forms whose relationship to musical communities is that of a long-term and evolving expressivity will lead us to overlook ways in which the making and remaking of alliances between

78 communities are the crucial political processes within popular music.43

We will see how Cape Breton fiddle music acts as a form of popular music for a

large community of delocalized “musickers.”44 Members of this group utilize the music in

different ways as part of their own individual identity formation and as a way of

participating in a larger group dynamic. While there is a common appreciation for the

musical style and sound itself, the music retains a myriad of semiotic associations for

individuals that are part of their identity formation. These associations include

connections with a place of origin (Cape Breton, Scotland, or a more general Celtic

derivation), ethnic group identity, or a sense of preservation for a marginalized tradition

and language. These are all examples of Sperber’s mental representations of the music,

with each individual retaining his/her own specific representation. We will examine this

community in greater detail in Chapter 4, but for now it is important to consider that the

usual discourse regarding the effects of globalization on the Cape Breton fiddle tradition

(i.e., the “Vanishing” thesis) fails to consider this epidemiology of representations

associated with this music that form delocalized basins of attraction outside of Cape

Breton. Globalization in this case actually adds stability to the musical tradition by

allowing individuals to form their own relationships with the music based on their own

mental representations.

This relationship between the sound of Cape Breton music and its potential for

social-cultural identity proved to be a powerful marketing resource for East Coast music

43 Will Straw, “Systems of Articulation, Logics of Change: Communities and Scenes in Popular Music,” Cultural Studies 5 (1991): 363. 44 This term is borrowed from Christopher Small, Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening (Hanover: University Press of New England, 1999).

79 during the 1990s that capitalized on a more widespread Celtic revival occurring in North

America and Western Europe. This resulted in an active local “scene” that resonated in the larger popular music marketplace. Despite the wide range of musical styles emerging in Eastern Canada during that period, we will see how the Celtic music style was nurtured at the expense of other musical genres owing to its ability to enhance a marketable

Atlantic identity myth.

East Coast Music Industry

The Atlantic region of Canada has produced a number of national and international popular music success stories. Hank Snow and Wilf Carter were each born in Nova

Scotia and achieved international recognition as depression-era country music singers.

Snow was also renowned as a country songwriter, having penned the country music standards “I’m Movin’ On,” and “I’ve Been Everywhere.” Carol Baker, Stompin’ Tom

Connors, Joan Kennedy, Ron Hynes, and Gene MacClellan were also successful

Canadian country artists. Rita MacNeil achieved national stardom as a singer/songwriter who combined elements of easy listening, country, folk, and pop music, as did Anne

Murray who became an international star in the 1970s, with many hit songs and gold records in the United States and Europe as well as in Canada. In addition to country music, Matt Minglewood and Dutch Mason were widely respected blues artists from

Nova Scotia, while the Nova Scotia band April Wine produced a number of hit rock singles in Canada in the 1970s, as did the PEI band Haywire during the 1980s. Halifax- native Sarah MacLachlan became a pop superstar during the 1990s.

Prior to the 1990s, however, there was very little in the way of music industry infrastructure in Atlantic Canada. Nearly all of the above-mentioned acts had to leave the

80 East Coast to pursue recording contracts in central Canada or the United States. There were no major record labels with satellite offices in Eastern Canada, and few of the independent labels had any distribution or development arrangements with any of the majors. “Celtic” music was very popular locally and, as discussed in the previous chapter, was a useful vehicle for the tourism industry, but most of the Celtic artists prior to the

1990s were not widely known throughout North America, though many were able to tour throughout parts of Europe. Perhaps the one exception to this was John Allan Cameron, the so-called Canadian “godfather of Celtic Music.” While Cameron never received any wide airplay on mainstream radio, he was popular throughout Canada from the 1970s until his death in 2007, and is seen by many as a trailblazer, bringing East Coast Celtic music to national (and to some degree international) attention.

The East Coast music scene began to attract an unprecedented amount of attention from the mainstream music industry during the early 1990s. In Halifax, indie rock bands such as Sloan, jale, Thrush Hermit, Hardship Post, and Eric’s Trip formed the core of a local “grunge rock” scene that paralleled a similar hub of underground music activity emerging out of Seattle, Washington. Sloan received a major recording contract with

DGC Records (David Geffen Company) in 1992 after self-producing an independent recording titled Smeared in a friend’s living room. After their success with Geffen, Sloan went on to form the independent label Murderecords as a way of developing other local rock bands. The American label SubPop eventually poached many of these bands from

Murderecords. In fact, most of the industry attention directed towards these indie rock

81 bands was from record labels in the United States.45 The Canadian music industry paid

relatively little attention to this activity compared to the emerging Celtic music scene

despite the fact that Sloan went on to receive critical acclaim and impressive record sales.

This confirms the importance of regional identity in Canadian popular music marketing.

Sloan and other indie rock bands defied the regional Atlantic stereotypes: there were no

songs about the sea, no songs about the past, and no fiddles. Sloan played to a young,

cosmopolitan, and urban market that was difficult to translate into commercial tourism

revenues – the kids who bought Sloan albums generally didn’t vacation in Atlantic

Canada.

The Rankin Family from Mabou, Cape Breton, also signed a contract with a major

record label in 1992. Various incarnations of this band had been performing at weddings

and dances in Cape Breton throughout the 1970s but by the late 1980s, five of the twelve

siblings in the family had formed the core of the band. Their music combined aspects of

folk, pop, and country music in addition to traditional Gaelic songs and sets of fiddle

tunes. Successful performances as part of the Cape Breton Summertime Revue and

Mabou Jig tourist productions in Cape Breton led to an independent eponymous

recording in 1989 with a follow-up independent record in 1991 titled Fare Thee Well

Love. These recordings were phenomenally successful for an independent band playing

traditional Cape Breton music. By 1992, they claimed to have sold nearly seventy-

thousand independent records.46

45 See Sloan’s official website for information about the band and Murderecords. http://www.sloanmusic.com/. 46 Larry LeBlanc, “It’s a Matter of Maritime for Rankin Family Act,” Billboard 104 (April 25, 1992): 38.

82 This success prompted the Canadian office of EMI/Capitol Records to sign the

Rankin Family to a Canadian recording contract with an additional agreement to nationally distribute the independent recordings. The title track to the Fare Thee Well

Love recording was also released to radio as a single in combination with a music video that received a coveted regular rotation spot on the Canadian music video network

MuchMusic.

Regular video airplay on MuchMusic was notoriously difficult to achieve for independent artists, and particularly difficult for regional music acts. It was common knowledge in the music industry at the time that independent bands would have to

“package” their video submissions in creative ways in order to get even a viewing by

MuchMusic programming staff. During the 1997 East Coast Music Awards conference, I attended a seminar on video marketing where this was confirmed by former MuchMusic

Programming Director and Vice President Denise Donlon. Donlon concurred that bands needed a “hook” in order to have their video viewed but also stressed that there was a limit, and then began to castigate the members of the local Celtic rock band Rawlins

Cross for including a box of live lobsters with their video submission!

The single and video to Fare Thee Well Love are examples of the delocalized regionalism strategy referred to earlier. The title and subject matter of the song suggests a bygone era, and the melody conforms to that of a typical folk ballad or Gaelic song.

However, the recording provides a contemporary easy listening arrangement for the song that easily transcends any regional style. There are no fiddles in the recording, and the piano provides surface melodic accompaniment along with an oboe, while the bulk of the sound is characterized by a thick synthesizer patch and a highly processed drum kit. The

83 video is neutral with respect to location and era except for the colour scheme, which is

brown and white, suggesting an old photograph. None of the band members play

instruments in the video and only appear as singers.

This deterritorialization strategy was immediately successful: the re-release of Fare

Thee Well Love achieved multi-platinum47 sales figures in Canada and resulted in four

Juno awards including Best Single for the title track and Group of the Year. The single

Fare Thee Well Love reached the number one spot on the Adult Contemporary Pop charts

in Canada and was licensed for the film soundtrack of the Disney movie “Into the

West.”48

However, while the hit single contained no regional references, the band parlayed

this success into future successful recordings and performance tours by promoting their

traditional Maritime roots. They appeared on MuchMusic and performed live at the 1994

Juno awards, each time performing a song in Gaelic. Their live concerts continued to

feature sets of fiddle tunes with step dancing, while they continued to record traditional

Cape Breton music along with maritime folk standards. Their first major label release

North Country was preceded by a release of the single “Rise Again,” a Cape Breton

anthem about overcoming hardship. Once again though, the instrumentation on “Rise

Again” featured the synthesizer, piano, oboe combination that was so successful on “Fare

Thee Well Love,” and avoided any sonic reference to Cape Breton music. The band

identity therefore had clear roots in traditional Maritime culture, but their music was

47 This term refers to a specific number of recordings sold in a particular country. Platinum indicates 100,000 units sold in Canada. In the United States, platinum certification requires sales of 1,000,000 units. For more information, see the Canadian Recording Industry Association website: http://www.cria.ca/cert.php. 48 Larry LeBlanc, “New and traditional mix in Canadian Maritimes. (Gaelic music),” Billboard 105 (August 28, 1993): 1.

84 skillfully packaged to better fit standard radio formats. They subsequently charted singles in Canada on country, pop, and adult contemporary radio.

Following the success of the Rankin Family with EMI, the other major record labels began scouring the East Coast for other potential success stories. Record industry lore began to spread regarding the untapped wealth of musical talent in Eastern Canada.

Over the next few years, each of the major record labels operating in Canada signed East

Coast acts: The Barra MacNeils (Polygram), Lennie Gallant (Sony), Great Big Sea

(Warner), Ashley MacIsaac (Universal/A&M), and Natalie MacMaster (Warner).

Local independent labels also signed agreements with major labels for marketing and distribution, as well as some artist development. Groundswell Records, which managed a small catalogue of East Coast acts including Rawlins Cross and Laura Smith, signed a distribution arrangement with Warner Music Canada. Halifax-based distribution company Atlantica Music signed a national distribution deal with EMI and formed a new

EMI-sponsored record label called Latitude Records to find and develop local artists.

This represented a high point in the development of the East Coast music industry, and there was great anticipation over who would be the first artist to sign with Latitude. As if to further add to the perception of a vast wealth of unspoiled East Coast talent, Latitude

Records first signed a junior employee of Atlantica Records named Damhnait Doyle, who was purportedly overheard singing in the mailroom. Doyle was to be developed as an “alternative pop” singer, but her clearly regional name and fairytale rise from obscurity provided just enough of a regional identity to appeal to the new market for East

Coast music. By 1997 however, Atlantica, along with Latitude, had folded, owing

85 thousands of dollars in sales revenues to local artists.49 The Latitude artists, including

Damhnait Doyle, were briefly picked up by EMI Canada before eventually becoming

independents again.50

The development of a music industry in Atlantic Canada beginning in the 1990s

was perceived by many as a potentially lucrative economic sector, particularly in Cape

Breton and Newfoundland where the coal, steel, and fishing industries had recently

collapsed. Local musicians hoped for record deals and high-profile performances, while

tourism vendors eagerly anticipated waves of new tourists who would come in search of

the music. Government agencies fuelled this speculation by providing funding for

industry initiatives. In Nova Scotia, much of this was directed to Cape Breton. The

provincial department of Tourism and Economic Development sponsored several projects

in Cape Breton, one of which we will examine in close detail in Chapter 4. The “Cape

Breton Music Online” website received nearly fifty thousand dollars in government funds

in 1999 to bring Cape Breton music to a worldwide audience. In the press release for this

initiative, Manning MacDonald, the Minister for Economic Development and Tourism

claimed that “music, and Celtic music in particular, has become a major industry on Cape

Breton Island and continues to encourage many people to visit here. By supporting

initiatives like Cape Breton Music Online, we're building exports, attracting tourists and

growing our economy.”51

49 Derek Toth, Canadian Press, May 13, 1997. 50 “Music Industry News and Events”, chartattack, http://www.chartattack.com/mine/1997_may.html. 51 Nova Scotia Department of Economic Development and Tourism, “Point and Click to Cape Breton Music”, Government of Nova Scotia Website, http://www.gov.ns.ca/news/details.asp?id=19990507011.

86 However, the expected economic boom never materialized. In fact, the East Coast

recording industry replicated a twentieth-century pattern of industrial boom and bust that

characterized the ship building, coal, steel, and fishing industries. Each of these industries

relied heavily on government subsidy and corporate investment from outside of Atlantic

Canada that dried up once profits proved scarce. The music industry followed suit, and

there are warning signs that Nova Scotia’s offshore oil industry may suffer the same

consequence. The Music Industry Association of Nova Scotia (MIANS) published a

report in 2002 titled “The Nova Scotia Music Sector Strategy” that summarized the

desperate state of the industry following the brief flurry of attention in the 1990s:

In recent years, core activities in the music industry have endured unstable conditions. A capricious retail environment, a changing market place, the absence of government incentives and deficiencies in intellectual property accounting principles are all factors which have caused the growth of the music sector in our Province to be stunted.52

Along with the hopes for a wave of economic prosperity arising from the music

industry, came a fear that commercialization of Cape Breton music would result in the

dilution or eradication of its traditional roots. This also never materialized. In fact, the

opposite occurred: a renewed interest in Cape Breton fiddling with more youth than ever

picking up the fiddle bow. In fact, Cape Breton fiddle music became part of a global

Celtic revival where Celtic musics in various forms attained an unprecedented degree of

international popularity.

52 Music Industry Association of Nova Scotia, “The Nova Scotia Music Sector Strategy,” (2002): 5.

87 “Celtic” Music as Popular Music

The deliberate focus on Celtic music in Atlantic Canada was understandable considering how easy it was to align this musical genre with tourism marketing initiatives. In addition, the 1990s witnessed worldwide a rise in popularity of various musics collectively termed “Celtic.” The touring stage spectacle Riverdance began in 1995, and featured high energy Irish dancing to contemporary arrangements of jigs and reels, becoming an international hit show. Riverdance was nominally rooted in Irish traditional culture, but was heavily infused with other musical styles and packaged as a Broadway song and dance production.

The concept of ‘Riverdance’ is both simple and adroit. A Celtic- looking rock-like setting (actually it seems more Druidically Stonehenge than anything else) with highly colored projections to vary the look, a load of Irish music and a lot of Irish dancing.… For, yes, in the final count, you do indeed go to ‘Riverdance’ primarily for the Irish dancing, always the matrix of the show, and for Bill Whelan’s wonderful score and the Irish musicians – who are indeed always splendid. Yet, there could well have been a snag here. The problem is that it is difficult to create and maintain a lively choreographic form out of Irish step dancing, which has a limited vocabulary, rigid arms, a stiff upper-body and an overall tendency towards exuberance rather than emotion. It is something like an Irish stew – awfully good in itself but as a constant diet it could get monotonous, which is why it was so smart to introduce into the mix Spanish flamenco and American tap dance, two dance forms with which the Irish steps have much in common, even to the extent of actual historic links.53

In addition to Riverdance, major motion pictures began utilizing “Celtic” music in the film soundtracks and “world music” record labels began releasing Celtic compilation recordings. The soundtrack to the Ron Howard film “Far and Away” featured an Irish- tinged soundtrack by John Williams, along with performances by the Irish New Age artist

53 Clive Barnes, “Riverdance Ten Years On” Riverdance – The Journey http://www.riverdance.com/htm/theshow/thejourney/index.htm.

88 Enya, and the Irish instrumental group The Chieftans. Mel Gibson’s Braveheart and

James Cameron’s Titanic also used Celtic-influenced film scores by composer James

Horner with resulting million-selling soundtrack recordings. The Putumayo record label released Celtic Tides in 1998 which blended recordings by Irish, American, and Cape

Breton artists, and the Realworld record label released several recordings under the intriguing name of AfroCelt Sound System. In all of these cases, the musical productions strived to link a sense of cultural antiquity with contemporary pop culture. For example, the promotional material for Celtic Tides states that

…over the years, the traditional music of the world’s Celtic regions has been woven into the fabric of contemporary music and culture around the world. Songs and melodies of Celtic antiquity from Ireland, Scotland and Cape Breton (on the east coast of Canada) have become an integral part of the soundtrack for the 21st Century.… Bringing it full circle, internationally renowned, Dublin- born singer Mary Black notes: “When Irish people left Ireland in the last century and emigrated to America, they brought with them their tunes and their songs and their music. That, in turn, has influenced much of American folk music, particularly country music, which can be very closely connected with traditional Irish music as well as Appalachian and Cajun music, all of which have strong Irish influences. Then it kind of came back around full circle and Ireland is listening to what’s happening in America and listening to female singers like Emmylou Harris, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell and Bonnie Raitt, among others. It somehow becomes an exchange of ideas rather than anything else.”54

All of these productions extend the range of musical styles that can be considered under the rubric of “Celtic” music.55 Scott Reiss correctly poses the question of what exactly is Celtic music.

54 “Celtic Tides,” Putumayo World Music, http://www.putumayo.com/en/catalog_item.php?album_id=54. 55 See Malcolm Chapman, “Thoughts on Celtic Music,” in Ethnicity, Identity. and Music: The Musical Construction of Place, ed. Martin Stokes (Oxford: Berg Publishers, 1997), 29-44 for a discussion of the processes of creation of a “Celtic” music cultural identity.

89 But what is Celtic music? Is it the traditional music of Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Brittany and other nations that share the heritage of the ancient Celts? Or is it something separate, that might be understood as interacting with those traditional musics and the communities that produce them?56 [Emphasis in the original]

Indeed, what is the relationship that allows the Scottish band Silly Wizard, the Irish band the Chieftans, the Breton musician Alan Stivell, the Cape Breton fiddler Natalie

MacMaster, and the Welsh harpist Robin Huw Bowen to all be considered “Celtic” musical acts? Their musical repertoires are largely different yet the music industry and, to a certain extent, the artists themselves embrace the all-encompassing term Celtic as a way of classifying the music for potential consumers.

Shannon Thornton states that the term Celtic is generally associated with Irish music more than other Celtic societies.

In terms of mainstream familiarity with the features of particular cultures, Ireland has long enjoyed a higher commercial and historical visibility than its Celtic neighbours. In popular, commercial contexts in Ireland today, there is a deliberate strategy at work that makes “Celtic” synonymous with “Irish” rather than inclusive of other traditions.57

Of course this linkage of “Celtic” and “Irish” does not refer to contemporary Irish culture or popular music styles. The Irish rock band U2 would therefore not be included in this overarching Celtic umbrella despite their own insistence that their music contains an intangible Irish essence.58 Instead “Celtic” signifies a perceived myth of antiquity with

56 Scott Reiss, “Tradition and Imaginary: Irish Traditional Music and the Celtic Phenomenon,” in Celtic Modern: Music at the Global Fringe, eds. Martin Stokes and Philip V. Bohlman (Lanham, Maryland: Scarecrow Press, 2003), 145. 57 Shannon L. Thornton, “Fanning the Celtic Flame: Music Patronage and Practice in Contemporary Ireland,” Western Folklore 57 (1988): 264. 58 See Classic Albums – U2: The Joshua Tree DVD, Sunset Home Visual Entertainment, 2000. In this documentary, lead singer Bono states, “I think The Joshua Tree is not Irish in any of the

90 powerful historical and spiritual identity constructs that have particular resonance in

Western culture. James Porter summarizes the potent semiotic associations of Celtic music that can be co-opted for the construction of an identity myth.

“Celtic music and song” as a blanket category may suggest to some, no doubt, a preoccupation with the decorative, the elemental, the erotic, the grotesque, the parodic, racy or satirical. On the one hand, it is true, the modes, textures and signs of Celtic music and song recount a harshly real, a bitter and often political world of subjection and suppression. On the other, they can conjure a world both evanescent and idealized, those “faery lands forlorn” dropped by the Romantic poets, like a semantic veil, between us and historical reality. 59

The AfroCelt Sound System recordings provide a fascinating “Celtic migration fantasy”60 that creates a spiritual and cultural connection between ancient Celtic and

African cultures that are reunited in a musical fusion that combines the individual traditions with their common contemporary offspring.61 The promotional material for

Volume 1 of the Afro Celt Sound System catalogue states:

The musics of Africa and the Celts display remarkably similar genes – the harp and the kora, the bodhran and the talking drum. Is this a simple coincidence? Ancient historians talk of ‘Black Celts’: were the first inhabitants of western Europe originally African? Sound Magic is no ungainly trawl through tradition, trying to weld different heritages together. The instruments may belong to history, but the music sits proudly at the forefront of modern dance. The beats and rhythms belong to today’s club culture: jungle nestles next to jigs and reels; African jazz flows into Gaelic eulogies.62

obvious senses, but in a much more mysterious way, it’s very Irish. The ache and the melancholy [are] uniquely Irish.” 59 James Porter, “Introduction: Locating Celtic Music (and Song),” Western Folklore 57 (1998): 219. 60 Thornton, “Fanning the Celtic Flame,” 264. 61 See Fintan Vallely, “The Apollos of Shamrockery: Traditional Musics in the Modern Age,” in Celtic Modern: Music at the Global Fringe, eds. Martin Stokes and Philip V. Bohlman (Lanham, Maryland: Scarecrow Press, 2003), 206-207 for a critical discussion of the Afro-Celt Sound System as a public relations myth. 62 “Volume 1 Sound Magic”. Afrocelts http://www.realworldrecords.com/afrocelts/.

91 These individual projects reveal interesting international marketing strategies for

Celtic music. There is a reterritorialization of the music that is not specific to any

particular geographical locus (though as stated above, there is a general perception of

Ireland as the centre). Instead the reterritorialization revolves around a mythical past with

a collective exotic cultural characterization that includes but is not limited to: druids,

faeries, ancient clans and kings, a society in perpetual struggle, and a natural affinity for

storytelling, dancing, and song. Thus the Celtic Tides compilation can include Irish traditional bands such as The Chieftans, “New Age” groups like Clannad, Scottish singer

Dougie MacLean, and Cape Breton fiddlers and singers such as Ashley MacIsaac, Natalie

MacMaster, and Mary Jane Lamond. And Riverdance can enlist the fiddling talents (and highly marketable look) of Cape Breton fiddler Natalie MacMaster for its Broadway production. At the same time, there is a deliberate attempt to package this music in contemporary stylistic dress, whether by means of “new age” synthesizers, or by using rock and dance beats. The music becomes a form of popular music both in its adoption of a mainstream sound and in its ability to unite large masses of people with a common popular identity.

This same ability for popular identity formation also applies to Cape Breton fiddle music, which figures prominently in the culture and identity of Cape Breton Islanders, many of whom no longer live on the island. Others who have no historical ties to Cape

Breton also identify with this music in their desire to connect with their own perceived

Celtic roots. The music is at the same time a type of traditional music and a form of popular music, though many Cape Bretoners would dispute the latter. It is certainly not pop music in the sense of the mass-mediated commercial radio, though several Cape

92 Breton fiddlers’ recordings have achieved “hit status” on Canadian and international commercial radio (and video). However this music carries with it the same power for identity formation that other popular music styles retain. The next chapter will explore

Cape Breton fiddle music as a form of popular music by first examining the careers of two of the biggest fiddle pop stars: Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster, followed by a discussion of the delocalized online music community that has formed around this music.

93 Chapter 4

Fiddle Pop: Cape Breton Fiddle Music in

Popular Culture

On July 14, 2007 the American rock band The White Stripes performed their tenth

anniversary concert at an unlikely location – the Savoy Theatre in Glace Bay, Cape

Breton. This concert was part of a world tour that featured performances in Barcelona,

Vienna, Rome, Paris, London and Madison Square Garden in New York City. The 750

available tickets reportedly sold out in twelve minutes. This concert was one of several

that the group performed in smaller Canadian centres, but the Glace Bay concert received

particular attention from the Canadian Press because of guitarist Jack White’s claim that

he has generational roots in Cape Breton.

[T]he rocker with the wild dark mane is also on a quest to discover his Canadian roots. White notes that family from his father’s Scottish side spent “a couple generations” in Nova Scotia before heading south to work in Detroit car factories. “There’s family all throughout there – all around Sydney Mines and Antigonish and all those places,” said White, whose family background is also half Polish. “Supposedly there’s ties from me to [fiddlers] Ashley MacIsaac, [and] Natalie MacMaster.” White admits he has no proof of this, so fans may want to take that claim with a grain of salt.1

This claim set off an interesting round of discussion on the “Cape Breton Music Online”

email discussion list. There were several posts debating the roots of the name “White” in

Cape Breton, until it was ultimately revealed that “White” was actually a married name,

1 Jack White quoted in “Roots, Childhood Fantasies Spark Cross-Canada White Stripes Tour,” Canadian Press (May 2, 2007).

94 and that his original surname was Gillis. Gillis is indeed a Cape Breton name and, as one

list member put it, could make him “related to three quarters of the island”.2

The claims of a family connection to Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster are,

of course, part of a rather clever marketing strategy to generate discussion and interest in

the tour. It is interesting that White/Gillis chose to emphasize his purported Scottish and

Cape Breton roots by claiming a hereditary link to two of the region’s most successful

musical stars. There are no stylistic elements of Cape Breton traditional music in the

White Stripes sound, yet White/Gillis is clearly making an attempt to gain musical authenticity in Canada by aligning himself with a region where the traditional music is so heavily tied to its socio-cultural identity constructs. Shortly after the concert, the band’s website began displaying the following advertisement; it seems in this case that Nova

Scotia Tartanism has evolved to become a marketing and merchandising strategy for million-selling American rock artists.

The White Stripes celebrated their aluminum anniversary on the 14th of July in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia. To further commemorate this occasion, the band have produced an array of specialty merchandise including traditional kilts, balmoral hats, kilt hose and flashes. These items are all hand-made from the Official Tartan of The White Stripes, available in both hunting and dress fabric.3 [My emphasis]

To further enhance the band’s ties to Cape Breton, they chose fiddler Ashley MacIsaac as

an opening act. We shall take a closer look at MacIsaac’s career and persona shortly, but

his reputation as a wild, rebellious, bad-boy fiddler provided the perfect bridge between

the White Stripes rock show and their attempt to assume Cape Breton roots.

2 Posted to “Cape Breton Music Online,” July 12, 2007. 3 Amber Easby, White Stripes News http://www.whitestripes.com/news/news.html.

95 Ashley MacIsaac’s website, like many pop-culture internet sites, contains a web

forum where fans can post messages, questions, criticisms, etc., in a virtual conversation

on the topic of MacIsaac’s music.4 Unlike most pop web forums however, Ashley

MacIsaac himself is an active participant in this virtual conversation, and regularly

provides answers to posted questions. There was a brief period of time in the summer of

2007 where MacIsaac announced to the web forum that he would thereafter cease posting

to the site because he had received too many personal and inappropriate messages.

However, prior to the White Stripes concert, MacIsaac began posting messages again and initiated his return by announcing an informal contest. He invited fans to suggest the pieces that would form his set list in the concert. He promised the winner “something –

I’m not saying something big but something.”5 What followed was a strange and

fascinating series of posts from fans suggesting tunes for the set, with MacIsaac’s

responses. The winning set list was never published on the forum and there is no

indication that MacIsaac actually followed through with awarding a prize for the winner,

but this virtual exchange reveals a level of intimacy (albeit a virtual intimacy) between

artist and fans that distinguishes pop stardom in Cape Breton fiddle music from other

pop-culture genres where the artists are separated from fans by managers, agents, and

publicists.

The previous chapters outlined the supporting context for the place of Cape

Breton fiddle music in contemporary pop culture. We discovered how this music played a

role both in regional ethnic tourism initiatives and in the music industry through the

combined strategies of deterritorialization and reterritorialization. The White Stripes

4 ashleymacisaac.ca 5 Ashley MacIsaac, post to the “Ashley MacIsaac web forum,” July 4, 2007, 5:21 AM.

96 event demonstrates, however, that there are many unique attributes to this form of pop culture that sets it apart from popular cinema, television, music, and youth culture. This chapter will explore some of these disjunct elements and is divided into two major sections. Section one examines the divergent careers of fiddlers Natalie MacMaster and

Ashley MacIsaac in order to situate Cape Breton fiddle music within the pop-culture mainstream and to provide background context for analyses of their recordings in Chapter

6. This will also reveal how non-musical factors influence the reception of these artists in the Cape Breton fiddle community and in the larger Canadian pop-music community.

This discussion is followed by an exploration of the virtual community that has formed and evolved around this music. This will demonstrate the unique attributes of the delocalized social groove that characterizes Cape Breton fiddle Music.

Natalie MacMaster and Ashley MacIsaac

On the surface these two Cape Breton fiddlers share a number of commonalities. Both were born in the early 1970s (MacMaster in 1972 and MacIsaac in 1975) and hail from small towns in Inverness County on Cape Breton Island (MacMaster from Troy, and

MacIsaac from Creignish). Both began playing the fiddle at a very young age and signed recording and distribution deals with major Canadian record labels in the 1990s. Both fiddlers incorporate popular music styles into their fiddling performances, but also retain certain traditional elements in their shows, including fiddling while step dancing. In fact, the two young fiddlers are third cousins and each count fiddle legend Buddy MacMaster

97 as a relation.6 Despite these similarities, the two fiddlers maintain vastly different public personae, and have embarked on completely divergent career paths.

Ashley MacIsaac first came to national attention in the mid 1990s, following a

remarkable series of events. In 1992, he was contacted by the American theatre director

Joanne Akalaitis after she and her husband, composer Philip Glass, had seen MacIsaac

perform at a Cape Breton square dance. Akalaitis and Glass were collaborating on a new

production of George Buchner’s Woyzeck and wanted MacIsaac to perform as part of the

play.7 MacIsaac’s initial period in New York would prove to be seminal for a number of

reasons that we will explore shortly, but his career would receive a sudden boost on a

subsequent trip. A few years after his performance in Woyzeck, MacIsaac visited New

York again, and he contacted Philip Glass while he was there. Glass invited MacIsaac

(and his fiddle) to a dinner party for a surprise guest who turned out to be the American

pop star Paul Simon. Simon was so impressed with MacIsaac’s fiddle playing that he

invited MacIsaac to play on a recording that Simon was producing for his wife, singer

Edie Brickell. When news of this reached back to Atlantic Canada, a media frenzy

resulted. As MacIsaac recounts,

…it’s not every day a Cape Breton fiddler gets asked to record with Paul Simon, after all…. Press releases went out, and within a couple of days, pretty much every newspaper and radio station in the Maritimes had said something about it.… [T]hat invite to record with Paul Simon did in a few days what often takes some acts years of touring to accomplish.8

6 Natalie MacMaster is actually Buddy MacMaster’s niece, while MacIsaac is a distant cousin. 7 See Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling with Disaster (Clearing the Past) (Toronto: Warwick Publishing, 2007), 70-89 for MacIsaac’s own recount of this story. 8 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 89.

98 Ashley MacIsaac’s good fortune fueled the notion of an untapped wealth of musical talent on Cape Breton Island. This was a true Cinderella story: a young, raw, musician was discovered in his remote “natural habitat” by a world-famous and well-connected

New York City composer who then graciously invited the fiddler into the inner sanctum of the musical elite. The story proved hard to resist for the local press.

Adding to this powerful rags to riches narrative trope was the fact that MacIsaac was and is rather unique for a Cape Breton fiddler. His young age of eighteen was not in itself unusual for a fiddler, but his prodigious talent, commanding presence, and individual sound was remarkable for such a young musician. His fiddling technique is also quite idiosyncratic in that MacIsaac plays left-handed but with a right-handed fiddle.

In other words, his fiddle is conventionally strung for a right-handed bowing arm, but

MacIsaac plays with the fiddle on his right shoulder and bows with the left hand, and therefore essentially learns all of his fiddle tunes backwards. This unusual playing technique reinforced MacIsaac’s persona as a rough, unrefined, and perhaps even freakish genius, an image which directly contrasted that of Natalie MacMaster.

Like Ashley MacIsaac, Natalie MacMaster began playing the fiddle professionally in her teens, making a decent living playing dances, weddings, and funerals all over Cape

Breton Island. However, MacMaster didn’t emerge from complete obscurity like Ashley

MacIsaac, as she descended from a fiddle family lineage that was well known on Cape

Breton. Her uncle Buddy MacMaster was perhaps the most famous fiddler on the island when Natalie was growing up, and the MacMaster family was respected in the fiddle community as purveyors of a distinctive style of fiddling that was smoother and more refined. According to Ashley MacIsaac,

99 …the MacMasters come from Judique and Port Hood, and they’re known as a very Catholic, upstanding, respectable family, and well to do by Cape Breton standards. As a result, their style (and I say ‘their’ style because family members tend to teach other family members to play music) is more refined and polished – prim and proper you could say.9

Natalie MacMaster’s talent was therefore well known on Cape Breton from the time she began excelling at her fiddle studies. There was no sudden event that catapulted

MacMaster into the spotlight however, as the Philip Glass and Paul Simon incidents had done with MacIsaac. In fact, while MacIsaac was in New York playing on a Broadway stage, MacMaster was completing a degree in Education from the Nova Scotia Teacher’s

College. Natalie MacMaster was used frequently by the Nova Scotia Tourism industry as part of its Celtic marketing strategy in the 1990s. Her picture was featured frequently in the provincial tourist guides, and she was a frequent performer in government-sponsored campaigns. Two of these, the “Coast of Difference” and “Sea Sell” productions were touring musical variety shows that placed MacMaster’s fiddling front and centre.10

MacMaster’s obvious beauty, refined demeanor, and wholesome image combined to create the perfect marketing character for Nova Scotia tourism. She provided pure, traditional, family entertainment which, despite her potential sex appeal, deliberately lacked any overt sexuality. Her persona symbolized conservative family values and resulted in appearances in effective television advertising campaigns for Tim Horton’s

Donuts, Farmer’s Dairy milk, and General Motors Pontiac automobiles.

By contrast, Ashley MacIsaac’s public image was anything but wholesome and traditional. He did often perform in a kilt, but augmented this traditional dress with t-

9 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 57-58. 10 See http://www.destination-ns.com/content/music/ for information on the Quincept Project that produced these shows.

100 shirts and toques more typical of the 1990s grunge rock scene. Following the news of his recording session with Paul Simon, Ashley MacIsaac was asked to perform at the 1994

East Coast Music Awards show in St. John’s, Newfoundland. This was not only televised regionally, but was observed by a number of record label representatives whose interested in MacIsaac had been piqued by the local buzz generated by his New York excursions. MacIsaac’s performance at the show was so energetic and chaotic that the backing band stopped playing while MacIsaac began improvising a wild solo. The performance eventually concluded with a fiddle version of the Bee Gees song “Stayin’

Alive” with the whole audience singing along. The performance was riveting and the record label representatives all began competing for the rights to sign the fiddler to a recording contract. Ashley MacIsaac had solved the record industry problem of how to market a Cape Breton fiddle act to the pop-music mainstream. MacIsaac’s energy and image bridged the gap between tradition and popular culture and added an element of danger and chaos that the music industry could rally behind.11

Unbeknown to the audience and the record label representatives, MacIsaac’s seminal performance on the East Coast Music Awards was not only the result of his exuberance and natural performing ability. Two other factors were at play that would later detract from his marketability. According to MacIsaac’s autobiography, his frenzied performance resulted in large part from an outbreak of scabies immediately prior to the performance. The overwhelming itch from the scabies was also exacerbated by the joint that MacIsaac had smoked directly preceding his stage entrance. Ashley MacIsaac recounts this event in Fiddling With Disaster:

11 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 93-94.

101 I heard the magic words: “Now, just back from a recording with Paul Simon in New York, from Creignish, Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia, Ashley MacIsaac.

Now I don’t know if it was the itching, or the nerves, or the excitement, or a combination of the three, but I went out and gave the most energetic, hard-stompin’, smack-happy performance I’d ever given in my life. I was so intense, people told me afterwards, that there were a few moments when I was so “in your face” it was almost scary.

The band, as good as they were, did their best to keep up with me, but I still managed to lose them a few times. At one point, at the end of one of the traditional Cape Breton pieces, the band stopped playing but I just kept right on going, doing some crazy solo thing right off the top of my head. The other guys just sort of stared at me as I danced wildly around the stage; I guess they were trying to figure out whether they should join in or just let me do my thing.

What they didn’t know was that I couldn’t stop playing or dancing around. If I had stopped, even for a moment, I would have put down my fiddle and started scratching myself like a monkey in the zoo. Eventually, I just started playing the next song in the sequence and the band had a chance to jump back in.

While my wild playing may have given the band a few confusing moments, the audience just ate it up.… Everybody was on their feet. Clapping and dancing and whooping at the top of their lungs. By the time we reached the end of the set, three thousand voices were singing in unison, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive.”… We brought the house down, no doubt about it.12 [Emphasis in the original]

Performing while on drugs would become part of Ashley MacIsaac’s regular routine. Addictions to cocaine and crack cocaine would eventually derail his career, but the scabies outbreak at the East Coast Music Awards was connected to a much more difficult short-term problem for MacIsaac’s image. He had contracted scabies from a series of sexual encounters with unfamiliar men in New York City. Unlike Natalie

MacMaster, Ashley MacIsaac’s public persona would ultimately be tied to his sexuality.

12 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 93-94.

102 The record labels knew how they could market a grungy rock fiddler, but a promiscuous

gay fiddler was another problem entirely.

Ashley MacIsaac signed his first recording contract with A&M Records and

released Hi! How Are You Today? in 1996. This recording was an unparalleled success

for a Cape Breton fiddle album and the single “Sleepy Maggie” became an international

hit song. MacIsaac’s rising popularity, however, resulted in increased media speculation

regarding his sexuality. He had been officially “outed” in Frank magazine in 1995, but

MacIsaac’s sexuality became a media obsession following a controversial interview with

Patricia Hluchy that was published in Maclean’s magazine in 1996.13 The article titled

“Ashley’s Indiscretion” was a singular piece of sensationalist journalism that castigated

MacIsaac for his outspokenness regarding his sexual practices, while at the same time dwelling on MacIsaac’s public comments. As Erna MacLeod notes, Hluchy’s article

“proffers a judgment insidiously posing as a description.”14

MacIsaac had previously given a candid interview to the gay magazine The

Advocate in which he was forthright in revealing details about his sexual proclivities.

Hluchy got the jump on the Advocate article and published the following paraphrase that would excite a firestorm of controversy in the Canadian media:

MacIsaac displays a stunning recklessness about his image. There was a certain bravery in his decision to go public about his sexual preference earlier this year. But the musician seems driven to put every aspect of his private life on display. In a lengthy, tape- recorded interview with Maclean’s last week in a downtown New York club, he noted that he had recently had a revealing, four-hour conversation with the Los Angeles-based gay magazine The Advocate (the article is scheduled to come out on Nov. 27). Among

13 “Ashley Maclsaac: Fiddler on a hot tin roof,”Frank (Fall, 1995): 12; and Patricia Hluchy, “Ashley’s Indiscretion,” Maclean’s (November 25, 1996): 120-121. 14 Erna MacLeod, “Ashley MacIsaac: Star Image, Queer Identity, and the Politics of Outing,” Topia 8 (2002): 20.

103 other things, the fiddler recalled having told The Advocate about his fondness for sex involving urination. “I talked about particular things that I like to do sexually, and why I like to do them, basically covering the angle of drawing energy from people and [being] almost like a vampire.”15

Later in the article, Hluchy would reveal that MacIsaac was in a relationship with a sixteen-year old boy. Following from Hluchy’s article, Maclean’s later dropped Ashley

MacIsaac from its annual honour roll of Canadians despite his commercial success.

MacIsaac speaks with particular resentment about this in Fiddling With Disaster:

I was pissed off that Maclean’s dropped me from their honour roll. Why the fuck shouldn’t I have been? I don’t know how many artists from Cape Breton, or even the East Coast of Canada, have played Carnegie Hall, but by the time I was 21 years old in 1996, I’d played Carnegie Hall three or four times, and with some of the biggest names in the music business. Then to have Maclean’s more or less say that the fact I was gay and had a younger boyfriend disgraced me in the eyes of the country, you’re damn right I was pissed off.16

Hluchy’s article implies that Ashley MacIsaac was deliberately reckless in his method of self-promotion. MacIsaac is portrayed as an outspoken provocateur, trying to achieve fame at any cost through his frankness and candor. Hluchy charges that “candor is one of the birthrights that Ashley MacIsaac wants to bring to the world. But he doesn’t seem to recognize where candor ends and folly begins.”17 The article’s portrayal of

MacIsaac was perhaps even more damning when considering that it appeared as part of

Maclean’s annual “University Rankings” issue. Thus MacIsaac was portrayed as a deviant in an issue that featured parallel stories of other youth overachieving as university students.

15 Hluchy, “Ashley’s Indiscretion,” 121. 16 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling with Disaster, 160. 17 Patricia Hluchy, “Ashley’s Indiscretion,” 121.

104 MacIsaac, however, recounts how it was the Maclean’s editors who chose to print the sensational statements regarding his sexuality instead of using other parts of the interview related more to MacIsaac’s music:

[I]t’s not like it was my idea that they publish in their magazine that I indulged in urination during sex. Their writer asked me about it because I told The Advocate about it, but The Advocate is a magazine written “by” the gay community “for” the gay community. The readers of The Advocate didn’t get upset about what I said to that magazine because they don’t consider sex between two young guys, however kinky it may be, abnormal. But I didn’t think my musings about my sex life had anything to do with my music or the fact that I deserved to be on Maclean’s honour roll. I certainly didn’t think Maclean’s would print it.

If you ask me, I couldn’t have been more polite and forthcoming than I was to the writer who interviewed me for Maclean’s in 1996. But the bottom line is, I didn’t offer any information that the writer hadn’t asked for. If all I was asked about was my music and growing up on Cape Breton, that’s all I would’ve talked about. But that’s not the way it went; I was asked very pointed questions about my personal life outside of my music and my heritage and I made the mistake of being very candid in my answers.

Obviously, when the editors back at Maclean’s heard the tape, they decided that candid answers about my personal life would sell a hell of a lot more magazines than candid answers about my music or my heritage. Of course, they were right – I just didn’t know that Maclean’s had suddenly turned into Canada’s answer to The National Enquirer. Either that, or they were trying to get me to say something provocative just so they could dump me from their honour roll.18

MacIsaac goes on to recount how he had grown accustomed to the goodwill and positive reinforcement he had received from the media and music industry to that point.

He believes that, following Maclean’s lead, the media turned on him because of his emerging success. He also feels that he was a convenient target because of Canada’s intolerance to openly gay celebrities.

18 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 160-161.

105 Unfortunately, lots of people, especially in Canada, like to pretend unashamed gay people don’t exist, so my outspoken personality made me a lightning rod for criticism. Just look at k.d. lang: she’s as homosexual as I am, but nobody shits on her in the Canadian media because she basically stays in L.A. and doesn’t push her sexuality in anybody’s face.19

MacIsaac misses the point with this comparison of himself to k.d. lang. In my opinion,

the media backlash against MacIsaac had more to do with the disjunction between his

open sexuality and the generic public conception of a Cape Breton fiddler. Singer k.d.

lang did in fact receive a degree of media and public scrutiny from her outspoken stance

against the consumption of meat. She recorded a number of television advertisements for

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) as part of a campaign called “meat

stinks.” Her vegetarianism conflicted with her image as an Alberta farm girl who began

her career by impersonating country singer Patsy Cline. Consequently she was ostracized

by her fans and the country music establishment, and her recordings were actually banned

by many country music radio stations. This break with country music allowed her to

make a stylistic shift into mainstream pop and adult contemporary formats and, in the

process, she was able to declare her lesbian status with minimal backlash.20 In k.d. lang’s

case, her vegetarian advocacy could not be supported by the pop-culture persona that had

been created for her. By shifting styles, she could become more generic and less

territorialized, with fewer negative consequences for her lesbianism.

Rufus Wainwright is another Canadian pop star whose openly gay sexuality is

accepted by the mainstream media and the pop music industry. Wainwright’s songs

directly address his sexuality and gay culture in general, and his public image

19 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 167. 20 Dan Matthews, “k.d. lang June 1992: Dan Mathews notes that k.d. lang came out as a lesbian only after first coming out as vegetarian - Bold beginnings,” The Advocate (November 12, 2002).

106 incorporates his lifestyle quite openly.21 Wainwright’s musical style, however, is much

more deterritorialized than Ashley MacIsaac’s. Wainwright is from Montreal and is

actually the son of two famous folk singers: Anna McGarrigle and Loudon Wainwright

III, but, unlike his parents, Rufus Wainwright’s music falls under the category of “art

pop” in which alternative lifestyles are prized.

Ashley MacIsaac’s openly gay lifestyle conflicted with the regionalized idea of the

Cape Breton fiddler in the same way that k.d. lang’s vegetarianism was rejected by the

country music mainstream. The excitement over MacIsaac’s music was built not only on

its novelty but on the idea that he was taking the tradition in new musical directions. His

homosexuality, however, destroyed the manufactured masculine, Folk, Scottish identity

normally associated with a male Cape Breton fiddler. Erna MacLeaod concurs:

His rural upbringing and Scottish heritage contributed to his status as an ambassador of Cape Breton’s Celtic folk culture. As a cultural icon, he embodied a specific form of European Canadian, white masculinity. MacIsaac’s queer image, however, contrasted sharply with heteronormative masculine notions and his associations with urban gay culture were both threatening and offensive to some followers.… MacIsaac’s promotion of a visible gay identity exposed the contradictions of heterosexual masculinity, undermining cultural associations of purity and simplicity in Cape Breton’s Celtic music tradition.22

This disjunction between Ashley MacIsaac’s musical identity and pop-culture

persona led to a series of public image blunders that would ultimately prove very

damaging to MacIsaac’s career. Compounding the media scrutiny directed towards

MacIsaac’s private life was his emerging addiction to various drugs, including crack

cocaine. Ashley MacIsaac achieved public notoriety in the United States after a

21 Jack Shamama, “An Interview with Rufus Wainwright,” http://www.gay.com/entertainment/interview.html?sernum=560. 22 Erna MacLeod, “Ashley MacIsaac: Star Image,” 23.

107 performance on the Late Night with Conan O’Brien show where his kilt flew up during his fiddling and step dancing routine, revealing his stereotypical lack of underclothes.

MacIsaac admits that the decision to reveal his genitals on national television was no accident: “I was just about fed up with running from the press and dodging sex questions.

I was right pissed off, in fact, and I had the attitude, ‘OK, all you bastards want is sex, I’ll give ya sex.’”23 In December of 1999, MacIsaac gave an interview for The New Yorker

magazine while stoned, and further added to his freakish mystique by claiming that he

intended to become “weirder than Michael Jackson.”24 MacIsaac’s media image reached

its nadir after a drugged-out millennium New Year’s Eve performance at a rave in

Halifax where he spent fifteen minutes hurling obscenities at the audience before he was

escorted from the stage without playing a single fiddle tune. MacIsaac defends his actions

as artistic expression, but this decision further alienated the media and his fans who

simply desired the energetic pop versions of Cape Breton fiddle tunes for which Ashley

MacIsaac had become known. 25

While it is true that Ashley MacIsaac’s experimentation with other musical styles

may have alienated advocates for the preservation of the fiddle tradition, I would argue

that it was in fact his controversial image as a promiscuous, openly gay man that resulted

in his media and industry backlash. In fact, a survey of MacIsaac’s recording catalogue

reveals that out of his nine solo recordings, five would be considered traditional fiddle

recordings, while three combine elements of traditional fiddle music and other popular

musical styles. His most recent release, Pride, actually features no fiddling at all. By contrast, Natalie MacMaster has released eight solo recordings of new material and one

23 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 168. 24 Rebecca Mead, “Sex, Drugs, and Fiddling,” The New Yorker 75 (December 20, 1999): 48-55. 25 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 218.

108 compilation recording of older material. For the most part, these recordings become progressively more experimental with each release, combining traditional fiddle playing with rock, dance music, country, bluegrass, and flamenco styles. Like MacIsaac’s more experimental recordings, MacMaster’s recordings also feature songs, though most feature guest singers with MacMaster accompanying on fiddle.

Natalie MacMaster’s career arc has taken on a much different shape than Ashley

MacIsaac’s. She too had her measure of local success, and signed a recording contract with Warner Canada following a performance at the East Coast Music Awards in Sydney in 1995, one year after MacIsaac’s breakout performance in St. John’s. She also received international attention when she received a call to perform on Broadway as part of the

New York production of the Celtic dance sensation Riverdance in 2000. However,

MacMaster’s career could be described as a slower and more steady ascent, devoid of any sensationalized media scrutiny. In fact, she is adored by the mainstream press. In contrast to Ashley MacIsaac, the following excerpt from an article titled “Sweetness and Light on a Fiddle” appeared in Maclean’s magazine in 2000. The article comically presents

MacMaster’s “dark side,” juxtaposing her wholesome image against the “headline- grabbing antics of Ashley MacIsaac”:

Cape Breton fiddling virtuoso Natalie MacMaster wants it known that she’s no goody two-shoes. Sure, she goes to mass every week and calls her mom back in tiny Troy, N.S., every couple of days -- no matter whether she’s touring in Europe or cutting an album in Toronto. But MacMaster has her demons too. When pressed by an interviewer for details, Canada’s Celtic darling hems and haws, then comes right out with the awful truth. The 27-year-old gets impatient when driving behind someone slow. Sometimes, she says things she doesn’t really mean to people she cares about. Occasionally, she gets a little weary of having to do her trademark step dancing while playing the fiddle. MacMaster, who, up close, has a flawless complexion to go with her cascading blond curls, even used to pick the skin around her cuticles until her fingers bled. “But I stopped

109 that at Christmas,” she says. “It was so gross – I’d be signing autographs and my frigging thumb would be bleeding. So no more.” It may have seemed, with the headline-grabbing antics of Ashley MacIsaac, that gifted Cape Breton fiddlers had to have a dark side. But MacMaster is doing just fine as the embodiment of sweetness and light.26

Where Ashley MacIsaac presented a dangerous, threatening countercultural public persona, Natalie MacMaster offered a safe, conservative, and sexually neutral image. In addition, despite the slick musical arrangements and professional marketing campaigns used to sell her music, there is far less deterritorialization associated with Natalie

MacMaster’s pop-culture product. Her music and image remain firmly tied to Cape

Breton, and her public identity relies on this perceived authenticity, combining rural roots and traditional values. In a Maclean’s interview with John Demont, MacMaster declares:

“I’m not going to try to be something I’m not comfortable with.” That means not using sex to sell her music videos and concerts. And, despite advice from marketing executives to lose her island accent, she still sounds unmistakably like someone from Cape Breton.27

Religion also plays opposing roles in Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster’s public images. MacIsaac discusses his Roman Catholicism as a force of oppression from which he ultimately had to escape:

I don’t think the fact that I’m gay is going to inspire other gay kids from Cape Breton to stand up and say, “Hey, Ashley MacIsaac’s from down the road and he’s gay, and you know what? I’m gay too.” They’ll just grow up in the closet and leave for Halifax or Toronto or wherever as soon as they get the chance, just like I did. The Catholic Church has got its claws stuck in so deep in that part of the world there are still people complaining that they dropped the Latin mass.28

26 John Demont, “Sweetness and Light on a Fiddle,” Maclean’s (March 6, 2000): 58-59. 27 John Demont, “Sweetness and Light,” 59. 28 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 197.

110 By contrast, Natalie MacMaster openly discusses her Catholic faith as a fundamental core

value:

I’m Catholic in every way.… It’s how I conduct my life. I base everything on God and the principles I learned from my Catholic upbringing.… [T]he church and her teachings, I believe, are perfect and are right, and that’s the important thing. The Pope guides us…he is just beautiful. I think this is the best Pope we’ve ever had…and I trust in all of his decisions.29

MacIsaac’s discourse on religious impression is more typical of urban pop-culture icons

and is at odds with the accepted Cape Breton fiddler persona. Natalie MacMaster’s

openly doctrinaire religious faith follows a more traditional and rural ideology that better

fits the idea of the Cape Breton fiddler. Her stated values are very conservative as she

claims to be opposed to gay rights, abortion, premarital sex, and public displays of

sexuality.30 Ashley MacIsaac is openly critical of the Catholic Church, with values that

are markedly more liberal.

Both Natalie MacMaster and Ashley MacIsaac utilize strategies of

deterritorialization in the musical packaging of their Cape Breton fiddle tunes. That is,

they present traditional Cape Breton music in non-traditional ways, creating

arrangements that borrow from other pop and world music styles. According to Ashley

MacIsaac, this idea of stylistic evolution is part of the tradition itself and was as much a

part of the previous generation of fiddlers as it is with his own. He explains how his

fiddle teacher (and Natalie MacMaster’s fiddle teacher) Stan Chapman stressed

individuality and stylistic evolution as part of his teaching:

29 Natalie MacMaster quoted in Angela Pacienza, “MacMaster Defends Faith; says she’s Catholic in Every Way,” Globe and Mail (July 26, 2002). 30 Angela Angela Pacienza, “MacMaster Defends Faith.”

111 Stan used Buddy, and various other fiddle players who came along over the course of the last half century, as an example of how you can take the traditional tunes and put your own stamp on them while still maintaining the traditional integrity of the music. In fact, Stan felt that fiddlers like Buddy MacMaster would ultimately have more relevance to what my generation of students were going to turn out to be in the world of fiddle players than the traditional players of the 19th century. That’s because he knew that although the traditional underpinnings will always be important, the music had to evolve and move with the times if it was going to survive.31

Both Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster have been remarkably successful at adapting tradition fiddle playing, presenting the tunes in new stylistic formats. As a consequence, I believe the public backlash against Ashley MacIsaac was not as much a result of his desire to take the fiddle tradition to new stylistic places, but was driven more by his deterritorialized public image. Ashley MacIsaac’s public persona and sensationalized actions and statements have certainly drawn increased public attention.

He is perhaps the most famous Cape Breton fiddler in Canada. However his career has attracted a large degree of media scrutiny and public backlash as his image has challenged the perceived cultural identity of the Cape Breton fiddler. Natalie MacMaster, by contrast, has remained culturally conservative and traditional while continuing to experiment with altering the stylistic arrangements of Cape Breton fiddle sets. While

Natalie MacMaster’s music is continually deterritorialized to an extent, her public image is constantly reterritorialized as safe, rural, traditional, and conservative, echoing the perceived idea of the simple Cape Breton lifestyle. MacIsaac’s urban, alternative, and rebellious image threatens while MacMaster’s image confirms the regional identity construct.

31 Ashley MacIsaac, Fiddling With Disaster, 56.

112 Cape Breton Music Online

The remainder of this chapter will examine part of the delocalized pop-culture community that has formed around Cape Breton fiddle music. This music has attracted a large following around the world, particularly in North America and parts of Europe. To some extent, this is the result of the popularity of more mainstream fiddlers such as

Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster. It also true that the proliferation of Cape

Breton fiddle music off of the island has resulted from the diffusion of Cape Bretoners themselves and other East Coast Canadians to more favorable work environments. This has produced a diaspora of Cape Bretoners eager to maintain ties to their home island and its culture. The internet has proved a valuable resource in connecting transplanted Cape

Bretoners and fans of Cape Breton music.

The Cape Breton music community maintains a significant presence online. There are various fan sites with “guestbooks,”32 an internet radio site,33 a Facebook site, and several newsgroups and email lists. A complete discussion of all of these online forums is beyond the scope of this chapter. I will examine one moderated email list group called

“Cape Breton Music Online” to which I have subscribed for the past two years.34 The main portal for this list group can be found at cbmusic.com/core which provides the following description of the list:

Those with a liking for the Gaelic/Celtic, fiddle, or ‘old tyme’ sound are already familiar with traditional Cape Breton music. The list

32 A sample of these include http://www.nataliemacmaster.com/guestbook/; http://ashleymacisaac.net/forum/viewforum.php?f=1; http://www.jerryholland.com/cctc.htm; and http://glenngraham.ca/gbook/gbook.php. 33 http://www.capebretonlive.com/. 34 This list is moderated by [email protected]. Though a moderated list, all postings are freely accessible to the public at http://cbmusic.com/core.html.

113 deals with all aspects of the past and future of Cape Breton music as well as our exciting current music scene, including Acadian, Mi- kmaq, blues, classical, neo-traditional and everything in between.

The CB-Music list has been active since 1995. Discussions revolve around performers, performances, history, discology/musicology, venues and Cape Breton music as a primary, natural and sustainable economic resource.

The literature dealing with online or “virtual” communities is extensive, and has led to its own branch of scholarship known as Computer-Mediated Communications or

CMC. I will examine some of this scholarship shortly. Samuel Wilson and Leighton

Peterson argue however for a more anthropological approach to studying these communities.35 In other words, rather than studying virtual communities as separate entities, they approach these virtual communities as logical extensions of “face-to-face” social groups. Wilson and Leighton state:

Our view, and one that seems most consonant with current anthropological theory and practice, is that the distinction of real and imagined or virtual community is not a useful one, and that an anthropological approach is well-suited to investigate the continuum of communities, identities, and networks that exist – from the most cohesive to the most diffuse – regardless of the ways in which community members interact.36

It is natural to assume that virtual communities are artificial, lacking the authenticity that comes with a person-to-person interaction in a real community. In many cases this is true, particularly when the virtual community exists for its own sake and not as an extension of some aspect of real society. The virtual reality world Gaia Online, for example, is an extreme example of an imagined community where participants invent a

35 Samuel M. Wilson and Leighton C. Peterson, “The Anthropology of Online Communities,” Annual Review of Anthropology 31 (2002): 449-467. 36 Wilson and Peterson, “The Anthropology of Online Communities,” 456-457.

114 persona or avatar that interacts with other imaginary characters over the internet.37

However many virtual communities, like the Cape Breton Music Online community are simply mediums for uniting members of an already existing community, albeit a delocalized one. Research that focuses on the fantasy element of online communities misses this crucial element of real and virtual social interaction. Information Studies scholar Philip Agre concurs:

[S]o long as we focus on the limited areas of the Internet where people engage in fantasy play that is intentionally disconnected from their real-world identities, we miss how social and professional identities are continuous across several media, and how people use those several media to develop their identities in ways that carry over to other settings.38

Sociologists Robyn Driskell and Larry Lyon have challenged the notion of community in general as it applies to these virtual social groups.39 They base this in part on George Hillery’s definition of community as requiring a specific geographical location, ties of common interest, and a degree of social interaction.40 Since virtual communities by definition lack the borders of a specific place, they conclude that virtual networks cannot be considered true communities.

By definition, the element of identification with place seems to exclude the concept of a virtual community. The latter can be defined briefly and initially as people who form communities through computer-supported social networks within a social structure in cyberspace after prolonged discussions. The virtual

37 gaiaonline.com. 38 Philip E. Agre, “Life After Cyberspace,” EASST (European Association for the Study of Science and Technology) Review 18 (1999): 3-5. 39 Robyn Bateman Driskell and Larry Lyon, “Are Virtual Communities True Communities? Examining the Environments and Elements of Community,” City & Community 1 (2002): 373–390. 40 G.A. Hillery, “Definitions of community: areas of agreement,” Rural Sociology 20 (1955): 134- 147.

115 community does not include identification with place, but it does require common ties and social interaction.41

Driskell and Lyon’s perspective may apply to most online communities but it

clearly does not characterize the Cape Breton Music Online community. While it is clear

that the members of this virtual community are themselves members of a disparate

number of “real” communities around the world, the virtual community itself is certainly

identified with a specific geographical location, Cape Breton Island. The previous

discussion regarding globalization has underscored the communal identity of cultural

diasporas following Hannigan’s global fluids model. This model certainly applies here as

the internet allows for members of the Cape Breton diaspora to maintain communal ties

through their email exchanges.

Driskell and Lyon also suggest that virtual communities lack the breadth of shared

interests that normally exist in traditional communities. They cite research by William

Galston, and Amitai and Oren Etzioni in claiming that virtual communities form around

one limited area of interest, and consequently maintain more superficial relationships

than real communities.42

The internet certainly provides the opportunity for associations based on all manner of shared interests. Yet, observers such as Galston (2000) contend that newsgroups, fan clubs, mailing lists, or chat rooms do not constitute a community because a true community must have more things in common than a narrowly defined topic. For example, Amitai and Oren Etzioni (2001) believe that people meeting for the first time in a chat room may have a shared interest, but they would not have the broader common ties that constitute a community. Common ties require commonalities; the group of

41 Driskell and Lyon, “Are Virtual Communities True Communities?,” 375. 42 William A. Galston, “Does Internet Strengthen Community?,” National Civic Review 89 (2000): 193-202; and Amitai and Oren Etzioni, “Can Virtual Communities be Real?” in The Monochrome Society, ed. A. Etzioni (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001), 77-101.

116 individuals on the Net must have a bond, a measure of commitment, a set of shared values, a culture, a history, and a shared identity.43

Once again, these claims may characterize most virtual networks but do not apply to the Cape Breton Music Online community. Members of this virtual community certainly share a culture, history, and sense of identity. Even members of the network who are not native Cape Bretoners have joined the community because of their affinity not just for Cape Breton music but also for the history and culture that this music represents. Furthermore, while Cape Breton music is the main topic of virtual conversation, individual threads often devolve into discussions of the Gaelic language, family connections, tourism, and genealogy.

The major weakness with the Driskell and Lyon thesis that virtual communities are not true communities is their conception of community as being bounded by the “close, emotional, holistic ties of Gemeinschaft.”44 Here they adopt Ferdinand Tönnies’ social distinction between Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft with the former social unit comprising individuals who are concerned with the larger association as much as with their own self interest, while the latter consists of individuals whose own self interest precedes any concern with the larger community.45 In general, Gemeinschaft associations tend to be more rural and homogeneous, while Gesellschaft groups are more urban and contain more disparate social elements. Gemeinschaft groups are therefore more predisposed to act as communities than Gesellschaft groups. From this perspective, virtual communities can be said to lack true community characteristics as they are much

43 Driskell and Lyon, “Are Virtual Communities True Communities?,” 377. 44 Driskell and Lyon, “Are Virtual Communities True Communities?,” 373 (abstract). 45 See Ferdinand Tönnies, Community and Society, C.P. Loomis (trans. and ed.) (East Lansing, Michigan: Michigan State University Press, 1957).

117 less centralized and may comprise individuals from a wide array of social backgrounds.

As Driskell and Lyon state:

The virtual community allows participants to increase both the number of community ties and the diversity of the people whom they encounter. While we are likely to resemble our family, neighbors, fellow worshippers, and co-workers in racial and social background, a chat room of Star Trekkers for example, may be of any racial category, education level, religion, political party, or income level. Of course the participant may also join groups discussing Star Wars, Spiderman, and Britney Spears, but the fact that one may belong to a large number of interest groups in cyberspace does not mean that any of them contain qualities of Gemeinschaft.46

This limited definition of community would indeed prohibit most internet social groups from being considered as communities. However, even here the Cape Breton

Music Online community in many ways conforms to the Gemeinschaft notion. One repeated concern through various email threads in the Cape Breton Music Online network is the desire for the preservation and dissemination of Cape Breton culture. In fact, by far the most frequent postings to the site are those that discuss the cultural community at large through its various festivals, dances, concerts, and meetings. In this sense then, the community itself takes precedence over the individual members. The main difference between this virtual community and a true Gemeinschaft is the lack of dependence on the community structure for the survival of the members. In other words, the Cape Breton

Music Online community could disappear and would no doubt provoke sadness and anger among the members, but would not threaten their individual livelihoods.

In my opinion, Driskell and Lyon fail to acknowledge the many different types of community that can exist, particularly in a globalized society. An urban church

46 Driskell and Lyon, “Are Virtual Communities True Communities?,” 381.

118 community for example may contain members from many different socio-economic, and

educational backgrounds but is still valued my many city dwellers as a true source of

community in an otherwise heterogeneous society. As I have stated previously, music

also unites individuals communally. In fact, the Gemeinschaft notion is a direct challenge

to my conception of groove as a unifying communal force. I believe that groove is both a

sonic/psycho-acoustical phenomenon, and a socio-cultural identity construct. Groove

unifies people into community who may move as individuals but who nevertheless

conform to the larger group motion of the groove. Thus, in my opinion, the Cape Breton

Music Online community is a true community that allows for individuality but is united

by the common experience of the musickers within the community. I contend that this

common experience is mainly characterized by the groove elements of the music. The

Cape Breton Music Online community is merely a delocalized extension of the parent

musical community.

Political Scientist David Elkins supports the idea of a virtual community as a

support network for previously-established ethnic community. He coined the term

“virtual ethnic community” whereby “the technologies which make feasible these new

virtual communities will allow existing dispersed ethnic communities to find new means

of support, persistence, and governance.”47 Elkins also addresses the notion of individuals

as members of multiple virtual communities and relates this to the post-modern (or in his

words “unbundled”) nature of contemporary identity. He writes:

[E]ach person has countless characteristics, interests, and values; and so each may use these features to become part of a great many communities. Involvement in a community represents and affirmation of a particular feature of an individual’s identity, a way

47 David J. Elkins, “Globalization, Telecommunication, and Virtual Ethnic Communities,” International Political Science Review 18 (1997): 141.

119 to “find oneself.” One may be limited to active involvement in only a few possible communities by energy, or time constraints, or one’s chosen balance between focus and diversity. One need not generally be limited, however, by incommensurable communities. That is, most unbundled communities may be added to an individual’s repertoire and identity rather than substituted one for another.48 [Emphasis in the original]

It is clear that the nature of contemporary postmodern identity permits membership

in multiple social networks, each of which could be considered a community. Personally,

I count myself as a member of several communities comprising various Canadian musical

communities (including Cape Breton Music Online) and academic communities,

members of my golf course, a network of university and high school friends, and my

current neighborhood community. In certain cases (such as some of the musical

communities and the academic community) the bulk of communication between

community members exists online, often with people whom I have never met. It is also

true that my personal identity is perhaps slightly altered depending on which community

I am participating in at the moment. My academic identity is certainly different than my

identity as a member of the Annapolis Valley music community, which certainly differs

from my golfer identity. Virtual communities may enhance this level of manufactured

identity but share this aspect of fluid identification with real communities.

Sorin Adam Matei provides an interesting perspective on the cultural origins of

virtual communities.49 He concludes that virtual communities originated as part of the

1960s and 1970s counter-cultural movement. Matei’s argument is convincing,

particularly as it applies to “alternative reality” communities such as Gaia Online. For my

purposes, what is most interesting about Matei’s argument is his characterization of the

48 Elkins, “Globalization, Telecommunication, and Virtual Ethnic Communities,” 149. 49 Sorin Adam Matei, “From Counterculture to Cyberculture: Virtual Community Discourse and the Dilemna of Modernity,” Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication 10 (2005): 1-23.

120 virtual community and its countercultural roots as a response to the modern need to balance individuality and communitarianism. Matei states that

…virtual community is a discursive and social subspecies of the counterculture that reflects the fundamental modern tension between individualism and communitarianism. Virtual communities are related to a number of phenomena that also reflect this tension: the small group, weak tie, individually-centered groups, molded by an expressive and instrumental individualistic ethos, which have generated social arrangements characterized by “networked individualism”.50

Matei’s description of the virtual community balance between individuality and group conformity perfectly align with my notion of groove as a socially-mediated musical phenomenon that permits individuality while uniting individuals to a common group identity. Matei argues that this tension fuels the existence of the counterculture where I maintain that groove forms an essential aspect of musical popular culture. These ideas are not incongruous however when considering that contemporary pop culture in many ways evolved from 1960s counter culture. I believe virtual communities like the

Cape Breton Music Online community are essentially branches of pop culture where individual identity may be manufactured and malleable, but where the larger group identity unites these individuals in all their volatility towards a communal purpose.

One essential caveat follows from any consideration of a virtual community as representative of any larger community. The Cape Breton Music Online community is fairly representative of the larger Cape Breton music community but its membership is distilled by the requirement for access to and expertise with internet technology, and enough free time for individuals to read and respond to messages. This is true for all virtual communities. As Elkins states:

50 Matei, “From Counterculture to Cyberculture,” 3.

121 Certain assumptions must be made explicit, since the technology underlying virtual communities does not determine its use by specific groups. One essential assumption concerns a willingness to utilize modern technologies. It is difficult to envision a virtual Amish community or one made up of other sects which eschew all modern equipment. Further, one must assume that the individuals feel a need for an ethnic support group. If individuals endeavour to leave the group, to assimilate, to “pass” as members of another society, they have no incentive to constitute a virtual ethnic community. Finally, one must assume that the people who want to form a virtual community have money, education, and sufficiently autonomous lives to make use of the technology. Slaves, literal or figurative, and people lacking certain background knowledge will not be likely recruits for virtual communities.51

In the case of the Cape Breton Music Online community, its membership may not include poorer, more rural, and less educated Cape Bretoners even though they may be members of the larger musical community. Older fiddlers are probably less likely to engage in the virtual communication exchange despite the fact that they may be prominent and even revered members of the music community. The membership is therefore limited to individuals with regular access to computers and internet connections, and who have the time and money to devote a portion of their day to email exchanges. As we shall see, this limitation does have some impact on the nature of the virtual community which may put it at odds with the larger music community. I therefore do not believe that the Cape Breton Music Online community offers a complete snapshot of the larger community in all of its complexity. I do, however, feel that the virtual community represents that portion of the larger musical community that intersects most with the world of popular culture. That is, its members are more likely to be more knowledgeable of the wider pop-culture world, and therefore more accepting of pop

51 Elkins, “Globalization, Telecommunication, and Virtual Ethnic Communities,” 147.

122 music innovations brought to the music by artists such as Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie

MacMaster.

As stated above, the literature on virtual communities is extensive and a complete survey is beyond the scope of this chapter. Just as there are many types of virtual communities, there are a myriad of opinions as to the nature of these networks. For the purpose of this dissertation, the Cape Breton Music Online community can be considered a type of “virtual ethnic community” that unites dispersed members of the Cape Breton diaspora, and more specifically musicians, fans, and students of Cape Breton music.

Members each have their own personal identification with that community, some of which is undoubtedly manufactured and fluid, but I will show that this online network represents a rich and unique community that demonstrates the dual nature of Cape Breton music as part traditional, ethnic music and part pop culture.

The Cape Breton Music Online community consists of a number of frequent posters from across North America. There are regular entries from Cape Bretoners and Nova

Scotians as well as participants from Ontario, Prince Edward Island, British Columbia, and New Brunswick. The community extends to various regions of the United States including a number of individuals from Boston, New York, Vermont, Wisconsin, Texas,

Louisiana, Pennsylvania, and California. Although the email list is primarily dedicated to the discussion of Cape Breton music in general, fiddle music seems to be the most frequent topic of virtual conversation. Members are extremely knowledgeable about the music, its history and practitioners. There are frequent threads discussing the origins of fiddle tunes, their variants, and finest performances. Concert announcements, tour schedules, press releases, media reviews, and member reviews appear weekly. In general,

123 most of these notices do not originate with artists’ management or public relations companies but are instead provided by the individual members for the benefit of the community.

In addition to the discussion of the music, other related topics have emerged including discussions of the Gaelic language (including frequent requests for translations), Cape Breton festivals and tourism, and the health and well-being of individual members, particularly well-known fiddlers. For the purpose of this dissertation, I am primarily interested in the online discussions that intersect the popular culture aspects of Cape Breton fiddle music. As we shall see, the Cape Breton fiddle community differs from other pop culture communities in a number of striking ways.

To begin with, the Cape Breton Music Online community acts not only as a type of fan club for the music and its artists, it is also a social network of people connected by the music. There is a general camaraderie among email posters, and new members are welcomed. One new member introduced herself to the community with the following:

Well, since this is my first post to this group, I should really introduce myself. I’m…from northern Wisconsin. I heard about this group from…(who my husband and I met last month at the Newark NJ airport while waiting for a very delayed flight to Halifax - on our way to the Celtic Colours Festival). My family’s first introduction to Cape Breton was through Natalie – who played a great concert at a northern Wisconsin venue back in 1999. She returned to that same venue for 4 years in a row – and we saw her every time. My daughter, who at the time of the first concert was about 12, fell in love with the music and decided to start fiddle lessons. 2 summers ago I took my daughter to Cape Breton to study at the Ceilidh Trail School of Music in Inverness. Then she and I went back for Celtic Colours in 2005. She decided she wanted to live there for awhile and take some private fiddle & step dancing lessons. So, I started to ask everyone I met on the island if they knew of a family who would host her. We found a wonderful family…and my daughter…lived with them from mid July of this year through mid October. She had a fantastic experience and learned so much. Her Dad and I went up for Celtic Colours last month to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary and she returned home to Wisconsin with us then.

124 We LOVE Cape Breton and all of us would go back in a heartbeat. We are very jealous that…get to go up there 3 times a year! We have a son who is 20 (who is an excellent piano player) and he has never been there – so I have a really good excuse to go again – to get him there!

I’m very glad I found this group. I love to hear anything and everything about Cape Breton.52

The response to this introduction was one of welcome and overall pride in the community

itself as the following short post will demonstrate: “Welcome to the world’s best mailing

list…! I do believe it’s one of a kind.”53

This overall pride and self awareness as a friendly community permeates through

the email list. In two years of observation and participation, I have never witnessed a

disagreement or controversial exchange among members. This may partially be due to

the list moderator who no doubt filters out spam or flame postings, but there also never

seems to be a difference of opinion among members and controversial topics are perhaps

avoided. This differs from most pop culture communities, particularly online. A quick

survey of the message board for the rock band Radiohead for example reveals that the

majority of postings have little to do with the band or its music but are mainly short,

sarcastic exchanges from bored fans. The following exchange among several members is

one example:

OK I just had sex. I think it was quite unmistakably about the same person as during the weekend. Same style, fast and all that. Or not, it wasn´t wasn´t with a pig. Oh dear I’m gone. i just arrive to read this, is insane :( bye

52 Posting to “Cape Breton Music Online” email list, November 10, 2006. As with all quoted postings, individual member names are kept anonymous. 53 “Cape Breton Music Online,” November 10, 2006.

125 so a threesome with a pig was it? you and you and oink

Are all your posts this good because I rarely read them?

Please don’t encourage kind of thing, i´ve just seen her leave this pc and came to see if she had been writing stuff like yesterday and i see this well, i´m going to go to

I don’t understand. I thought you were [original poster’s name]

no way. i´m her sister well, enough for today, bye ok?54

Clearly the Radiohead web forum differs markedly from the Cape Breton Music

Online Community. The Radiohead guestbook posters could belong to any pop-culture web forum but clearly do not feel a sense of community pride in the same way as the

Cape Breton Music Online community does.

The pride of the Cape Breton Music Online community became very apparent to me when I “approached” the list for permission to study their exchanges as part of this dissertation. I promised anonymity and fair treatment as a way to mitigate what I thought may be some resistance. On the contrary, the members I received responses from were enthusiastic about my research and expressed a desire to read the final product. Many simply offered encouragement, but one respondent actually offered the following advice based on his perhaps romanticized conception of the music culture:

54 http://www.radiohead.com/msgboard/dim.html?ID=261569846

126 I am not a member of the “delocalized” community; in fact I grew up in the heartland of CB music, Mabou, but I am a member of this list, have been fascinated with this music since childhood, have been dancing, listening to, and researching it for over fifty years. I discovered early on that to uncover any music’s innermost secrets you have to research three areas; 1. the science of music, [in this instance of vibrating strings] 2. the human auditory system and 3. the music genre in which you are interested. Parts of my research are contained in essays which I wrote which are currently used by Cape Breton University in the fiddling portion of a course in Celtic arts and culture. If interested, you can access them through the university’s website.

I believe that the “delocalized” community has become interested in this music now because it is sophisticated music, is and has been played at a high skill level for centuries but was largely unknown outside Cape Breton prior to circa the 1960s due to the Island’s relative isolation. The musicians in Scotland from whom we have inherited this music two hundred years ago were educated “trained” musicians; the best known were simultaneously the best “violinists” and best “fiddlers”. They set a very high playing and composition standard and handed down to us an incredible legacy of music; over 14,000 fiddle tunes published between circa 1750 and 1927.

The Scots have a long history of intense interest in their music. Here’s a quote from George Emmerson’s “Ranting Pipe and Tremblin’ String”; “The degree of attachment which is shown to music in general in this country exceeds belief. It is not only the principal entertainment, but the constant topic of every conversation; and it is necessary not only to be a lover of it, but to be possessed of a knowledge of the science, to make yourself agreeable to society”. That quote was from circa mid 1700’s. It is an accurate description of Cape Breton today.

I hope this is of some value to you. I will be very interested in reading your doctoral dissertation.55

This degree of passion and knowledge can be discerned on a daily basis through email postings to the list. Community members consider themselves less as fans of the performers and the music but as more or less equal participants in the community.

As stated previously, there is a degree of intimacy between performer and listener in this music community that does not exist in most pop-culture communities. To begin

55 “Cape Breton Music Online,” May 3, 2007.

127 with, most famous fiddlers are referred to simply by their first name. This is not only true in the email postings but in the larger music community. Ashley MacIsaac is simply called “Ashley” while Natalie MacMaster is almost always referred to as just “Natalie.”

All members know exactly who is being referred to. To some degree this affirms the pop- culture stature of these performers as household names. On the other hand, the deliberate use of the first name signifies a degree of perceived familiarity with the artists as friends and colleagues. In fact, many virtual community members have watched these famous fiddlers grow up from relative obscurity. Some of the more frequent email threads in recent months have included links to uploaded YouTube videos of Cape Breton fiddlers from past performances, including frequent footage of Ashley and Natalie when they were children.56 Responses to these videos often include identification of other more obscure fiddlers, dancers, and accompanists who also shared the stage. Members are proud to be “insiders” with a more extensive knowledge of intimate details about the performers. A few email threads will further highlight this level of intimacy.

On January 2, 2007 the following email announcement about Natalie MacMaster appeared with the subject line “Natalie on US TV tomorrow morning, 1/3/07.”

She will be on Good Morning America on ABC, which airs from 7 to 9 AM ET. She will play the tune she composed for Peter Jennings.57

After MacMaster failed to appear on the show, a flurry of email posts appeared on

January 4th expressing disappointment and concern:

What happened to Natalie? She wasn’t on in this Country.

I bounced out of bed and immediately turned on the “tube”. I was bummed after sitting there two hours!

56 YouTube is a free video sharing web forum. Videos can be found at youtube.com. 57 “Cape Breton Music Online,” January 3, 2007.

128 On Natalie’s website, it says “Postponed: TBA”.

Doggone it all, I’m sorry! I was afraid I’d slept through it, although I know they don’t have live music acts on in the first hour.

I guess we’ll have to keep an eye on her Web site.

I got UP just to watch her but she wasn’t on that morning.58

The following day this explanation from a list member appeared revealing a stunning degree of inside familiarity with the artist and her family:

Just heard from Natalie’s mom saying the reason for the GMA postponement appearance was due to the death of Gerald Ford...the appearance hasn’t been rescheduled yet but will send that news along when I hear, or keep an eye on Natalie’s website.59

The fact that a member could gain immediate access to MacMaster’s mother did not surprise most list members (except me). Another member responded with:

Thanks, …! I knew Minnie [MacMaster] would have the 5-1-1! I was betting the postponement was due to the Ford funeral and all the extra coverage.60

This degree of intimacy is not isolated to this one event or artist. A series of email posts with regards to Ashley MacIsaac’s surprise announcement of marriage to fellow violinist

Andrew Stokes during the 2006 East Coast Music Awards resulted in an outpouring of congratulations, and passionate defense of MacIsaac and his sexuality.61 The original email post was titled “Ashley wed at ECMAs” and simply contained a link to the front

58 “Cape Breton Music Online,” January 4, 2007. 59 “Cape Breton Music Online,” January 5, 2007. 60 “Cape Breton Music Online,” January 5, 2007. 61 To further underscore the intimate virtual connections that can exist, MacIsaac met Stokes online through a virtual forum on string instruments.

129 page article of the Halifax Daily News.62 Some of the responses to the article included the following:

I wish Ashley and Andrew (also a violinist) every happiness. I hope to catch Ashley at the Awards Gala tonight (or the after-party if I last that long!) to give him my congratulations. I’m so glad this was posted on the CB list! I hadn’t heard anything about it.

I went to the link and read the story. Then I started to read the reader comments. Some of them are wonderful. But some of them demonstrate exactly the kind of fear and reflex-immune response that tipped the last US presidential election and which continue to feed war and hatred on this planet. We need to evolve past these ancient tribal patterns or we’re lost. It isn’t “us” versus “them”... it’s all simply “us”. We are one species, and where we’re from... it’s called “Earth”. Either we learn to see how everything is inter- connected or we will slowly poison ourselves into extinction. The planet will continue, life will continue, but humanity won’t. Homosexuality isn’t the enemy; hatred is. The sad thing is that while homosexuality isn’t “catching” at all, hatred actually CAN infect people.

…the last sentence in your first paragraph says it all ! “Homosexuality isn’t “catching” but hatred and bigotry are. Best wishes out to Ashley and long live his talent and contributions to music!

I’ve been happy to see the progress that Ashley seems to be making in turning his life around over the last few years. I think this is a great step forward for him; I wish him and Andrew all the best.

That is exactly my feeling. I think some people have put him into a box labeled “weird” and simply don’t know what a great and generous person he really is. For them, it’s like Natalie is god and Ashley is the devil. I think the real situation is that early fame for any musically gifted kid can produce wildly different experiences and really stick with them for a long time.

Just back from ECMA’s and catching up on the email. I chatted with Ashley late saturday morning and he confirmed that the wedding was taking place. It was the worst kept secret in Halifax but knowing Ashley’s skill at generating publicity, many people assumed that it was the proposal rather then the wedding. It took place DURING a show at the Lord Nelson Hotel sponsored by Events Cape Breton. Not a bad way to go. It was a catered event with a great lineup of talent and over 500 guests. AND Ashley got paid for the gig!! (He played very well!) It was the hottest topic

62 http://www.hfxnews.ca/index.cfm?sid=11301&sc=89.

130 around town until Canada’s External Affairs Minister, Nova Scotia MP Peter MacKay couldn’t remember what city he was in (on national television). He actually said that he was happy to be at the ECMAs in Toronto. The world (or at least the East Coast music community) forgot all about Ashley’s wedding at that point.

Here we see that the virtual community is somewhat at odds with the industry and media backlash against MacIsaac’s sexuality as discussed above. This is an indication of the degree to which the virtual community represents a more distilled subgroup of the larger music community. The members of Cape Breton Music Online, being more affluent and educated as mentioned previously, are no doubt also decidedly more liberal in their views on marriage and sexuality. That said, it is still remarkable that there was not a single email posting of dissent against the host of well wishers in support of

MacIsaac’s rather sensationalized marriage ceremony. Once again, it is also astonishing to see the degree to which community members have an intimate connection with the pop star fiddler. Several postings indicated that the members were hoping to converse directly with MacIsaac, while one actually achieved this and reported back about it. It seems that even the most famous Cape Breton musicians are considered as friends and fellow members of a larger music community.

One other anecdote summarizes the close connection between artists and the community in the Cape Breton music scene. In February, 2007, the Rankins played to a large audience of Cape Breton fans in Sydney. During the performance, Heather Rankin apparently lost her watch when she reached down from the stage to shake the hand of one of the audience members. The following post appeared the next day on the Cape Breton

Music Online list:

131 Hi there,

I’m trying to track down, on Heather Rankin’s behalf, the person who picked up her watch at the Sydney concert Friday night. She’s told me the person was on her side of the stage with a group of friends and during “Mull River Shuffle” when everyone was at the front of the stage she reached down to shake her hand and her watch fell on to the floor. The girl picked it up and Heather thought she would turn it in after the show but hasn’t heard anything. If anyone knows anything about who picked up the watch could you contact me. Heather would really like to get it back as it was a present.63

The Rankins are one of the most successful and famous acts to come out of Cape Breton in recent years. Their concert performances rival that of most Canadian pop music acts in terms of stage presentation, musicality, and professionalism. In many ways, they are considered Canadian pop stars, and they would have appeared that way in the Sydney concert. Yet they also retain a level of familiarity with the Cape Breton music community that belies their music industry star status, allowing one of the artists to appeal to the fans/friends in the community for information about a lost watch.

Clearly there is a high degree of interconnection between artists, musical community, and virtual community with regards to Cape Breton music. One Cape Breton music band that is achieving some degree of prominence in Boston where it is based actually appealed to the Cape Breton Music Online community for help in choosing the band’s name. One of the band members posted this message to the list:

Howdy, Coming out of lurk mode to ask for everyone’s help.

We are a bunch of Boston area Cape Breton musicians who have played together infrequently over the years but are finally making it official. The problem is that we cant find a suitable name. We want it to be Scottish/Cape Breton but also let people know were from Boston and proud. We have a few names but no ones

63 “Cape Breton Music Online,” February 13, 2007.

132 happy with them.

I have a few neat DVD’s of CB music I filmed and would throw them the way of the individual who contributes the winning entry.

We’re desperate for a good name.64

There were many responses from list members with name suggestions such as “The

Bostonian Bretonians,” “Cape Breton Beantowners,” “The Boston States,” “Canso Tea

Party,” “The Boston Red Shoes Pubsters,” and “Great Boston Caper.”65 In the end, the band settled on “The Boston Kiltics,” a name offered by one of the list members.

Members of the band frequently post messages to the email list with concert dates and other live appearances, and list members offer messages of encouragement and support while several attend the events. Here the artists, community, and virtual community are completely integrated as the band owes a degree of its identity and survival to the community membership.

The Cape Breton Music Online community can be categorized as both an example of Elkins’ “virtual ethnic community” as well as a pop-culture community. It serves the purpose of connecting members of the Cape Breton diaspora, and more specifically the

Cape Breton musical subculture, providing a forum for cultural exchange and social networking. In addition, it also acts to promote the music as “traditional popular music,” ratifying the inherent star system while maintaining a unique intimate connection between artists and fans.

In summary, it is clear that Cape Breton fiddle music occupies a curious position in the pop-culture continuum. The music itself is prized for its authenticity and traditional

64 “Cape Breton Music Online,” June 7, 2006. 65 My own suggestion of “Capers ‘n Beans” was summarily rejected without comment.

133 roots, however musical innovation and pop music delocalization is encouraged and supported. As I have shown, polystylistic experimentation with the musical arrangements of fiddle tunes is accepted and has led to unprecedented levels of success with artists such as Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster. This deterritorialization of the music has allowed it to infiltrate the pop-music mainstream to a certain extent and has widened the fan base. Deterritorialization of an artist’s image, however, can lead to a loss of support and a consequent media backlash as was witnessed in the negative trajectory of Ashley

MacIsaac’s career following his initial success. While MacMaster’s image remained tied to her traditional, rural roots, MacIsaac adopted a more urban, contemporary image that backfired. It seems that a high degree of reterritorialization of image and persona is necessary to maintain connections between Cape Breton fiddlers and their fans.

The level of personal connection between artist and listener in the Cape Breton music community differs from that of most pop-culture communities, as is evidenced by the various email postings through the Cape Breton Music Online forum. Community members feel an intimate connection with the famous fiddlers – literally a first-name basis. While pop culture stardom is supported and even nurtured by the community, members take pride in their level of personal familiarity with the artists as if they are part of an extended family or community. The musical community and pop-culture community exist as one entity that maintains an online presence connecting members who are at once fans and colleagues of the artists themselves.

Individuals within the pop-culture community maintain their own identities, which are perhaps manufactured in the virtual environment. Yet they unite through their common identity as Cape Breton fiddle musickers, grooving together as one unit. As with

134 the musical grooves that characterize Cape Breton fiddle music, the socio-cultural groove that connects this community relies on individual freedom contained within a common substrate that binds the individuals to a common purpose. Like the musical grooves, the

Cape Breton social groove may appear to be locked into a fixed identity. We have seen how the musical culture is often misrepresented as purely traditional and perhaps even moribund. The reality is much different. The social groove and, as we shall see shortly, the musical grooves are constantly fluid, evolving along with the individuals who unite to form the collective groove identity. Individual fiddlers such as Ashley MacIsaac and

Natalie MacMaster incorporate a variety of musical influences in creating their fiddle arrangements. Listeners form their own mental representations of this music and relate in their individual ways to the changing sonic landscape. The result is a dynamic and evolving groove collective that may be localized at a dance or party, or delocalized as with the Cape Breton Music Online community.

This social groove mirrors that of the sonic groove that characterizes the sound of the music. In the case of the social groove, individuals react to the music’s political, cultural, and media representations and form a group identity based on individual negotiations with these representational codes. In the case of the sonic groove, these individuals move uniquely and spontaneously to the sound of the music, but also align collectively with the underlying, repetitive rhythmic grooves. I believe these two aspects of groove are mutually reinforcing. The dynamic socio-cultural identity informs the way individuals feel and react to the sound of the music. In turn, the constant evolution of the music as a form of groove-based popular music introduces new identity traits that are subsumed by the groove collective.

135 The remainder of this dissertation will examine the sonic component of musical grooves, and Cape Breton fiddle grooves in particular. Chapter 6 will examine some traditional and contemporary arrangements of fiddle tune sets and discover that, despite surface differences in instrumentation and accompaniment arrangements, there is an overall essence that is preserved in any arrangement of Cape Breton fiddle tunes that draws on their rhythmic and metric underpinnings. I maintain that Cape Breton fiddle music is, at its core, a type of groove-oriented music that allows for stylistic exchange with other groove music genres.

In order to provide a wider context from which to analyze Cape Breton fiddle grooves, Chapter 5 proposes a general analytical model for musical grooves. This chapter investigates several of the musical styles that have influenced contemporary arrangements of Cape Breton fiddle sets beginning with rock music, and including electronic dance music, rap, and one example of “world fusion” music. I will then apply this model to the Cape Breton fiddle context in Chapter 6.

136 Chapter 5

An Analytical Model for Groove-Based Music

The 2001 concert DVD of the rock band U2 recorded live from outside of Slane Castle in

County Meath, Ireland opens with a dark, grainy image shot from behind the massive sea of heads, with raised hands clapping in unison to a recorded excerpt of the then current hit song “Elevation.” 1 The recording attains the track’s signature groove as the camera shifts to a shot of the four band members making their way to the outdoor stage, followed by an entourage of bodyguards and assistants, and flanked on either side of the fenced walkway by supporters wishing them luck. We see them take the stage one by one as the audience erupts in screams and applause. The recorded loop shifts again to a sustained chord, with an electronic rhythmic texture and a tambourine preserving the remnants of the former groove. The band members take their instruments as lead singer Bono releases a primal yell into the microphone. The camera flashes to a shot from behind drummer

Larry Mullen Jr. as he receives a nod from bassist Adam Clayton. Mullen clicks his drumsticks together four times in sync with the recording and the three instrumentalists converge on the downbeat in an eruption of sound characterized by The Edge’s distorted electric guitar timbre. The song “Elevation,” suggested by the pre-concert recording, explodes into (re)existence. As if on cue, 80,000 fans begin to simultaneously jump up and down en masse with each other.

1 U2, U2 Go Home – Live From Slane Castle, DVD, (2002).

137 This opening ninety seconds encapsulates the complex social, cultural, historical, physical, and of course musical interactions associated with many of the rituals of popular music. The venue itself provides a litany of historical associations with Irish nationalism. Overlooking the Boyne River, Slane Castle is historically linked to

Williamite supporters during the Battle of the Boyne. In recent years, it has become an annual outdoor concert venue culminating in the return of the Dublin-based super group.2

Bono plays on this sense of Irish pride later in the concert when he proclaims, “this is our tribe.” The audience would have probably known that the concert marked the twentieth anniversary of U2’s first performance at Slane Castle opening for the Irish rock band

Thin Lizzy. The U2 fans may also have known that the group recorded much of their

1984 breakthrough album The Unforgettable Fire inside the castle. Finally, Irish nationalism had been fuelled earlier that day by the broadcasting of Ireland’s World Cup qualifying victory over Holland on a giant screen at the concert site.3

Actually the entire pre-concert ritual is reminiscent of a large-scale athletic spectacle like the Superbowl or a heavyweight boxing title bout. The four band members appear more like four prizefighters or gladiators than musicians. As a team, they adopt their roles/positions or their rock personae by their demeanor, clothing, position on stage, and instruments. As with a sports spectacle, the audience members imagine what it would be like to be on the inside, as part of the team. The band members exploit this connection through their actions, song choices, stage positions, and banter throughout the concert, suggesting an intimacy between performer and audience member that can only be artificial in a huge outdoor space with 80,000 people.

2 See “A Brief History of Slane Castle,” http://www.tourismresources.ie/cht/slane.htm. 3 See U2 DVD liner notes.

138 This fake intimacy is rendered more profound by the band’s power over the audience’s collective, spontaneous movement. Armed only with their own sonic groove

(admittedly aided by several million watts of electrical power), the four musicians are able to control the spontaneous movement of 80,000 others. The compulsion to jump up and down in time with the song’s main beat is palpable even while observing the phenomenon through a television screen. A collective metrical glue unites everyone involved with that musical moment, where musical perception and motor-physical response are combined in an interactive engagement. There is no particular cue for this movement; the audience is not mimicking the actions of the musicians here. Yet anyone who has attended a rock concert will recognize this spontaneous response. The rock listeners are perhaps culturally conditioned to react this way, but they are also responding to the abrupt change in sonic propulsion – the kick starting of the main groove. A great deal of the world’s popular music relies on repetitive rhythmic grooves. No matter where

U2 performs throughout the world, audiences recognize the compulsion to move in sync with beats of the main groove. Rhythmic grooves are thus a truly globalized musical process.

This collective response to an established groove is not merely a physical reaction to a perceived stimulus however. There is no direct mapping between the sounds emanating from the speakers and the jumping response (as there would be, for example, if the ground underneath the audience were to drastically rise in temperature at periodic time intervals). A musical groove is therefore not only a physical perceptual experience but also a socio-cultural and indeed a political phenomenon in the sense that a group of people become synchronized, bending to the will of the more powerful musicians. This

139 powerful connection between musical process and social interaction suggests that any

study of globalization processes in popular music must address the groove as the source

of cultural interaction.

This chapter will outline a general theory of musical groove. It begins with a survey

of extant literature on the topic of groove, pointing out areas of intersection or conflict

with my own ideas. I will also examine the key theories on the topic of rhythm and metre

that have helped shape my own theoretical ideas. The essence of my analytical model

will be exposed through a series of analyses of several works of popular music in various

genres. Picking up from the introduction to this chapter, I will introduce key definitions

and principles through an analysis of metrical process in rock music. I will then examine

seminal research by Mark Butler and Adam Krims into electronic dance music and rap

respectively, considering their very productive theoretical ideas within the context of my

analytical model. I will conclude by applying the model to a piece of “world fusion”4

music. The aim of this chapter is to establish a more general analytical model for groove-

based popular music. This will then be applied in the following chapter to an analysis of

grooves in Cape Breton fiddle music.

4 I prefer this term to “world music” or “world beat,” which imply a normalization of style that conflicts with my own observations and experience.

140 Theories of Musical Grooves

Music is a world within itself With a language we all understand With an equal opportunity For all to sing, dance, and clap their hands But just because a record has a groove Don’t make it in the groove But you can tell right away at letter A When the people start to move

– Stevie Wonder

As the above song lyrics from Stevie Wonder’s “Sir Duke” demonstrate, the term groove has a longstanding relationship with recorded popular music, simultaneously carrying physical, sonic and social meanings. Since the invention of the phonograph, the term groove has been used to refer to the actual sonic trace as manifested in the embossed imprint of a vinyl recording. This use of the term has lost some currency with the invention of new technologies. In digital recording environments that utilize computers, the sonic trace is presented graphically as waveforms, midi-rolls, or other icons that visually represent a sonic event. The related term “loop” refers to an exact repeating of a piece of musical information, and these loops can be created and displayed visually in the computer recording environment.

The computer term “loop” in many ways describes the second meaning associated with the term groove as a musical repeating – usually on some metrically apparent level.

Grooves have a delimited temporal component, usually represented as bars and beats. A groove also usually inscribes the rhythmic/metric underpinning of the music. Grooves may be formed from percussion instruments and other rhythmic accompanying instruments. In general, grooves establish a stable metrical framework, where metre itself becomes foregrounded. In groove music, metre is not merely counted as an abstract grid,

141 but actually asserts itself physically into the movements (whether spontaneous or

choreographed) of the various musical actors and participants.

This brings me to the third meaning of groove in popular music. The repetitive

physical responses to the music (dancing, clapping, bobbing the head, “air drumming,”

jumping, swaying, etc.) not only connect individuals physically with the musical groove,

but also unite members of a group in a common reaction (as with the U2 audience). This

group response may be direct, and spatially and temporally contained as a specific local

event such as a live performance or a dance, or this groove may be dislocated where

individuals experience the groove in solitude, but are still reacting to it in common with

other solitary members of their virtual group. In both cases, a group identity emerges that

is directly connected to a musical process.

All of these related meanings reify the term groove as a positive attribute applied to the

music, individuals, and groups, while the related term “repetitive” is connoted negatively.5 Allen

Farmelo outlines seven distinct ways that musicians from disparate genres and cultures speak

about groove:

1) a thing (“I heard a great groove”) 2) a quality that music can have (“that’s a groovy song”) 3) powers which people possess (“you’ve got a hell of a groove”) 4) an aspect of musical ability (“...and you sure can groove”) 5) something people generate (“we had a good groove going”) 6) an activity (“we were grooving”) 7) a modified state that people enter into (“we were in a deep groove”)6

5 The most oft-cited critique of repetition in popular music is Theodor Adorno, “On Popular Music,” Studies in Philosophy and Social Sciences 9 (1941): 17-48. 6 Allen Farmelo, “The Unifying Consequences of Grooving: An Introductory Ethnographic Approach to Unity Through Music,” Musicians United for Superior Education http://www.musekids.org/UCS.html.

142 In each of these cases, groove is viewed as something positive, innate, and unifying. It is

both a tangible, quantitative, mensural entity that can be created and controlled, as well as

a qualitative, transformative, experiential state that influences motive and emotive

response. As ethnomusicologist Steven Feld suggests, groove refers to “an intuitive sense

of style as process, a perception of cycle in motion, a form or organizing pattern being

revealed, a recurrent clustering of elements through time.”7

Feld, along with Charles Keil, published Music Grooves: Essays and Dialogues in

1994. 8 This important book examines the economic, political, social, and psychological

dimensions of music grooves. These authors advocate an analytical approach to music

that is less syntactical and more process-based. I fully agree with this and will shortly

propose an analytical methodology that models metrical processes in groove-based

musics.

Keil’s influential “Participatory Discrepancies and the Power of Music” asserts that

a powerful groove results from inconsistencies in timing and pitch among individuals in a

group. 9 This is an intriguing idea that will, in some ways, inform the way I approach

musical grooves in this study. Others have also responded favorably to Keil’s thesis.

Alén, and Progler reported these micro-timing discrepancies in Tumba Francesca and

jazz performance respectively.10 However, I believe these empirical results miss the point of Keil’s controversial yet powerful idea. As Cowdery, Ahrwood, and Kippen have

7 Steven Feld, “Aesthetics as Iconicity of Style, or ‘Lift Up Over Sounding’: Getting into the Kaluli Groove,” Yearbook for Traditional Music 20 (1988): 74-113. 8 Steven Feld and Charles Keil, Music Grooves: Essays and Dialogues (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 9 Charles Keil, “Participatory Discrepancies and the Power of Music,” Cultural Anthropology 2 (1987): 275-283. 10 Olavo Alén, “Rhythm as Duration of Sounds in Tumba Francesa,” Ethnomusicology 39 (1995): 55-72; and J.A. Progler, “Searching for Swing: Participatory Discrepancies in the Jazz Rhythm Section,” Ethnomusicology 39 (1995): 55-72.

143 demonstrated, participatory discrepancies (PDs) among performers are not only expected,

but are often desired.11 Taylor argues that the vitality arising from PDs results from those

moments when they actually disappear:

I think there is something of a dialectic between PDs and the longing for the moment when it all comes together and differences disappear, however fleetingly. The tension caused by this dialectic, wondering whether, when, the groove is going to kick in and the PDs disappear, is part of the experience, part of what makes it real and exciting.12

Matthew Butterfield builds on Keil’s idea to develop a more syntactically-based

model for “engendered feeling” in groove-based music. 13 Butterfield insists that musical grooves can be studied syntactically, by focusing on participatory discrepancies in drummers’ backbeat attacks.14 For this, Butterfield invokes the metrical theories of

Christopher Hasty who defines musical metre as the “projective potential” for a given

duration to repeat itself.15 Butterfield applies Hasty’s intriguing concept of “anacrusis” as

the driving force behind a rhythmic groove. Hasty categorizes rhythmic events as

beginnings, continuations and anacruses. Beginnings establish projective potential or, in

turn reinforce or destroy the projective potential initiated by a previous beginning.

Continuations serve to prolong an emerging durational event, while an anacrusis is

forward looking, leading to a new beginning. Anacrusis is not itself a beginning (i.e., not

11 James Cowdery, Dane L. Harwood, James Kippen, Michele Kisliuk, David Locke, Eddie S. Meadows, Leonard B. Meyer, Ingrid Monson, John Shepherd, Christopher Small, and Christopher A. Waterman, “Responses,” Ethnomusicology 39 (1995): 73-96. 12 Taylor, Strange Sounds, 173. 13 This term was also coined by Keil in his essay “Motion and Feeling Through Music” in Music Grooves. The term is intended as an alternative to Leonard Meyer’s term “embodied meaning” from Emotion and Meaning in Music (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1956). 14 Matthew W. Butterfield, “The Power of Anacrusis: Engendered Feeling in Groove-Based Musics,” Music Theory Online 12 (2006): http://mto.societymusictheory.org/issues/mto.06.12.4/mto.06.12.4.butterfield.html. 15 Christopher Hasty, Meter as Rhythm (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997).

144 metre-defining) but directs attentional energy toward the next beginning. To Hasty, anacrusis

…seems rather like a continuation released from its dependency on a prior beginning, unanchored, and (in some cases) seeming to come, as it were, “from nowhere.” Anacrusis points forward; it is anticipatory, directed toward a future event. Continuation in a sense points backward as a denial of ending for a prior beginning. 16

Butterfield believes, as I do, that this notion of anacrusis is constantly at play within a rhythmic groove. In other words, the directional energy established by anacrusis leads the groove toward the beats or pulses that are necessary to sustain the groove. However, I believe Butterfield’s ideas come off track when he applies the notion of anacrusis to the backbeat of a groove. His focus on expressive microtiming (i.e., participatory discrepancies) in a drummer’s articulation of the backbeat is not without great merit. He demonstrates quite convincingly that the character of a groove (laid back or rushed) is affected by a drummer’s consistent attack either slightly ahead or slightly behind the idealized backbeat pulse. I maintain however that there are other important factors at play here. Still, there is no doubt that backbeat timing is essential to establishing a particular groove.

Where I disagree with Butterfield is in his merging of the backbeat with the notion of anacrusis. From a syntactical perspective, the idea of backbeat as anacrusis makes sense. Example 5-1 below shows the basic “four-on-the-floor” drum pattern, ubiquitous in much rock music. It consists of two essential layers: a kick drum layer consisting of four equally-spaced attacks, and a snare drum layer with attacks corresponding to every second kick drum note. Example 5-1 shows that these layers are usually perceived as the

16 Hasty, Meter as Rhythm, 120.

145 kick drum outlining the four main beats in a 4/4 measure, and the snare drum defining beats 2 and 4. For this reason, the snare drum pattern is often referred to as the

“backbeat.” From a purely syntactical perspective, the backbeat snare drum attacks, falling on the weaker beats in the measure, would seem to lead toward the strong beats 1 and 3. The metre would thus be defined by the projective potential of the kick drum on these beats, with the backbeat acting as anacrusis.

Example 5-1: Standard rock drum pattern (4-on-the-floor)

It is interesting to note that nothing about this pattern itself preordains 4/4 as the metre. The essential atomic unit of the periodicity consists of two kick drum attacks and one snare drum attack coinciding with the second kick drum. 4/4 is therefore usually defined here by other contextual factors including melody, harmonic rhythm, and stylistic convention. Example 5-2 shows a variant on this pattern where the 4/4 periodicity is more clearly established.

Example 5-2: Standard rock drum pattern variant

146 Here, the projective potential of the kick drum is easier to perceive. Beats 1 and 3 clearly receive strong kick drum attacks. But the eighth note preceding the second kick drum attack is itself acting as an anacrusis, and thereby weakening the anacrustic quality of the snare drum.

Beyond the complexity induced by the presence of more than one rhythmic layer, I believe the syntactical treatment of backbeats falls short for other reasons. Groove music is essentially tied to movement. A rhythmic groove incites a regular movement in listeners and performers: a dance, a sway, a clap, a bobbing of the head, a weight transfer, or some other kinetic response. In almost all groove situations I have observed, those “in the groove” focused their motions toward the backbeat, not as a way of setting up a return to a perceived downbeat, but as a temporal destination itself. In some ways, the downbeats or “main beats” establish a metrical tension that is released on the arrival of the backbeat. In many cases, groups of people spontaneously align and intensify their motions along with the backbeat. This is of course culturally conditioned. Upon hearing a stream of equally-spaced attacks at a moderate tempo using a snare drum or finger snap, most rock and jazz listeners are culturally conditioned to assign these attacks to beats 2 and 4 with the intervening silences representing beats 1 and 3. Removal of one or more backbeat attacks in a periodic stream produces a palpable deceleration in momentum or propulsion. Therefore the projective potential of the backbeat itself is a propulsive force, with the groove established by a series of backbeats that reinforce this potential.

In some ways then, the oscillation of main beat and back beat in much groove- based music presents a challenge to a traditional conception of musical metre as comprised of adjacent, non-overlapping beats. Example 5-3 is taken from Fred Lerdahl

147 and Ray Jackendoff’s A Generative Theory of Tonal Music.17 Their principle of adjacency disallows the relating of every second point as overlapping streams of associated beats.

However, I believe this is precisely what happens in groove-based music where the main beats form one metrical layer and the alternating backbeats form a separate, but equally important metrical layer. The backbeats therefore do not act as anacruses to metrically projected durations, but are themselves durational projections that co-exist and overlap with those of the main beats.

....

Example 5-3 – Overlapping metrical structure, Lerdahl and Jackendoff

Butterfield’s conception of the role of participatory discrepancies in groove

character is useful, but in most groove music, a true groove is not merely established by a

single rhythmic stream. The feeling of a groove depends on a rhythmic counterpoint of

lines that are locked into a pattern. Butterfield successfully describes the “laid back”

feeling that results when a drummer plays slightly behind the beat in the backbeat attacks,

but this laid back feeling may be countermanded by other, more frenetic instrumental

layers which divide the time between backbeats in different ways. Regardless of my

criticisms, I do think Butterfield was correct in invoking Hasty’s metrical theories as a

way of accounting for groove. My own model also builds on Hasty’s ideas and those of

his doctoral student Eugene Montague. I will discuss this shortly.

17 Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1983), 20.

148 I also agree with Butterfield that Keil’s participatory discrepancies do profoundly affect the power and character of groove. The real power of participatory discrepancies lies in their inclusiveness, allowing the non-performers to become situated in the groove itself. In rock music, for example, the most powerful grooves are often created with distorted guitars, “fat” bass notes, and loose snare drum backbeats with spectrally expansive timbres. In each case, an individual performer produces a timbral/rhythmic layer where both the pitch and the rhythmic attack become slightly unfocused. This leads to a feeling of expansiveness that permits access to the groove for the non-performing participant, who can retain his/her individual sense of pitch and timing, while “grooving” as part of a group.

From this perspective, I disagree with Keil’s assertion that PDs and their consequent grooves are a sole feature of live music-making. He maintains that a recording represents a “classicizing, perfecting, dream-world thing, and that it takes it away from the dancers, which takes it away from the public space, the streets, clubs.”18

The implicit assumption here is that the PDs experienced by the performers are somehow translated to the non-performers. By asserting that recordings aspire for perfection and therefore eliminate PDs, Keil is actually privileging this perfection as a musical ideal. In other words, he implies that perfect pitches and precise beats are the goals of all music participants. This may be the case with some performers, but it is certainly not the case with listeners, dancers, and other types of “musickers.” In the case of rhythm and metre, I would argue that it is the time experienced between the beats that actually dictates the character of the groove. In other words, a group is connected and synchronized by the

18 Keil and Feld, Music Grooves, 158.

149 beats in a groove, but the time in between the beats allows for individual freedom and

expression – true participatory discrepancies.

Vijay Iyer also discusses aspects of expressive microtiming in his doctoral

dissertation on “embodied cognition” in West African and African American music.19

For my purposes, Iyer’s work is extremely important for the links it makes between the

perception and cognition of groove and the “embodied, situated role of the participant.”20

Rhythm and metre in groove-based music are not merely cerebrally calculated and

mentally attended to, but involve “the bodily coordination of limbs, digits, and for wind

instruments, breathing.” I would add to this the coordination of the head, shoulders,

knees, torso, buttocks, or whatever parts of the body surrender to the groove.

Iyer also believes that the embodied cognition of musical metre is culturally

conditioned. For music with a backbeat, Iyer posits an origin for the backbeat as a

replacement for the clap in a ring shout stomp/clap oscillation.21 This idea is intriguing

and reinforces my own sense that main beat and backbeat in groove-based music work

together, but that it is the backbeat that is perhaps most attended to. In a stomp-clap

oscillation, the clap involves the coordination of two limbs, and produces a louder sound

with a higher pitch and more spectrally expansive timbre.

The stomp-clap oscillation also adds a spatial dimension to the embodiment of

groove that I believe is vital to the nature and character of the groove itself. The stomp-

clap induces a feeling of “downness” vs. “upness” or legs vs. hands or ground vs. air.

This binary opposition lies at the heart of the physical connection to the sound of the

19 Vijay S. Iyer, “Microstructures of Feel, Macrostructures of Sound: Embodied Cognition in West African and African-American Musics” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1998). 20 Iyer, “Microstructures of Feel,” 1. 21 Iyer, 118-121.

150 groove. Another important binary state in the establishment of groove is “leftness” vs.

“rightness.” This is of course important for instrumentalists who regularly coordinate

both arms or legs – drummers and keyboard players. As we will see, many keyboard

grooves in Cape Breton fiddle music accompaniments feature this binary opposition.

Upness and downness is an important binary state for guitar players (strumming patterns)

and bowed string players (bowing patterns).

Timothy Hughes’ doctoral dissertation examines aspects of groove, metre, and

rhythm in the music of Stevie Wonder.22 Particularly productive are Hughes’ in depth

analyses of Wonder’s clavinet-based pop/funk crossover songs “Superstition,” “Higher

Ground,” and “You Haven’t Done Nothin’.” Hughes examines the various rhythmic

layers that form the core grooves of each song and sections within the songs, as well as

the harmonic structure and overall form, all within the stylistic context of early 1970s

funk music.

Hughes uses the term groove to refer to any repeating element in the musical

texture, including short signature riffs, the rhythmic backdrop of verses and choruses, or

even repeating formal units. Hughes’ only criterion for identification of a groove is that it

must be both self-sufficient and repeatable: “Whether the term refers to a short riff, a

phrase, or even an entire verse, a groove must be designed to function when played a

single time, when following itself, when preceding itself, or all of the above.”23 This clearly differs from other authors including myself. However, Hughes’ more open conception of groove allows for the consideration of the individual grooves of specific musicians, the group groove of the ensemble, as well as the overall groove of the song as

22 Timothy S. Hughes, “Groove and Flow: Six Analytical Essays on the Music of Stevie Wonder” (Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 2003). 23 Timothy S. Hughes, “Groove and Flow,” 15.

151 a collection of repeating structural units. My main issue with this concept of groove is

that it is too centred on the musical production itself. Hughes’ notion of individualism

within a grooving collective aligns with my own, but whereas he mainly considers the

musicians and producers of the recordings, I believe an idea of groove must also include

other musical actors including listeners, dancers, ipod-wearing exercisers, air guitar (or

keyboard) players, etc. All of these musickers act as individuals within a larger groove

collective. For my purposes, the groove creates the conditions for this individuality while

at the same time being formed by it.

Hughes also introduces the notion of “flow” in his analyses of these songs,

borrowing the term from hip-hop music. Adam Krims identifies “flow” as “rhythmic

style” or “rhythmic delivery.”24 Hughes adapts the term to refer to the perception of

forward motion that is created when a groove is repeated. This conception is similar to

Hasty’s notion of metre as rhythm in the sense that flow depends on the expectation that a

groove will follow itself. When the groove changes or ceases, the flow is therefore

interrupted or a new flow is established. This idea is similar to my own conception of

metrical state (to follow), but this notion of flow relies too heavily on changes taking

place at larger structural levels. In my theory, a groove normally persists throughout any

piece of groove-based music, but changes in certain elements within the groove affect the

overall sense of motion. I also hesitate to describe groove music as “forward moving.”

Certainly there is often an overall linear sense of construction in any given piece, but the

underlying groove itself induces a less goal-directed perception, and instead creates a

dynamic environment of changing energy states.

24 Adam Krims, Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 48.

152 Justin London’s important book Hearing in Time: Psychological Aspects of

Musical Meter is one of the few treatises on musical metre to consider the fluidity of

metrical perception.25 London presents metre cyclically to convey its temporal

delimitation as a “stable, recurring pattern of attentional energy.”26 Within these cycles,

London shows how beat subdivisions contribute to metre as “a dynamic system that has various modes of excitation or resonance.”27 While my model does not utilize London’s

metrical “N-cycles,” it does support the idea that beat subdivisions have profound effects

on the way we perceive metre, particularly in groove-based music where the metre is

foregrounded. In London’s theory, the cardinality (N) of a metrical cycle represents the number of metrical divisions within the cycle, while the beat cycle represents the tactus or basic pulse of the cycle. A 4-beat cycle with duple subdivisions, for example, would have an N value of 8 and be referred to as an 8-cycle. Triple subdivisions would constitute a 12-cycle. While the tactus (and of course the metre signature) remain the same in these examples, London describes these two cycles as metrically distinct. They are not simply surface rhythmic variations of the same metre, they are, in essence different metres; they “give rise to rather different attending behaviours, a different sense of motion, gesture, and so forth.”28 This type of metrical shift aligns with my notion of

groove state to be introduced shortly.

Harald Krebs’ notions of metrical dissonance have also informed my ideas of metre

and groove. Krebs defines two types of metrical dissonance: grouping dissonance and

displacement dissonance. Metre to Krebs is the “union of all layers of motion (i.e., series

25 Justin London, Hearing in Time: Psychological Aspects of Musical Meter (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 26 London, Hearing in Time, 64. 27 London, Hearing in Time, 67. 28 London, Hearing in Time, 67.

153 of regularly recurring pulses) active within it.” 29 Unlike many metrical theories, Krebs

defines the basic pulse layer as the surface level of the metre, or the most pervasive layer

of rhythmic attack. Interpretive layers move at a slower rate than the pulse layers,

organizing the pulse layer into larger units. Krebs uses the term cardinality to refer to the

number of pulses in each metrical layer.

In examples of metrical consonance, the pulse layer and interpretive layers align.

For example, a pulse layer with a cardinality of 16 would have interpretive layers of

eight, four, or two beats such that the interpretive layers would reinforce the pulse layer

and vice versa. Usually one of these interpretive layers emerges as the most metrically

distinct, and Krebs refers to this as the primary metrical layer.30 When the cardinalities of

superimposed layers are not multiples of each other, a grouping dissonance results. For

example, a 3-layer combined with a 2-layer produces a dissonance such that one layer

does not reinforce the other and instead conflicts with it. Hemiola is one type of grouping

dissonance. Displacement dissonance results when metrical layers of equivalent

cardinality are not aligned. For example, two 8-layers that are displaced in time produce a

dissonance because their beats never align. If these layers are displaced by one beat in the

8-beat cycle then Krebs refers to this as a D8+1 dissonance, with the D signifying a

displacement dissonance. Syncopations are one type of displacement dissonance.

Metrical dissonances will also form an important component of my theory of groove

states.

As stated above, my overall conception of metre in this music in general is most

informed by the theory of Christopher Hasty. To Hasty, metre represents a dynamic

29 Harald Krebs, Fantasy Pieces: Metrical Dissonance in the Music of Robert Schumann (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 23. 30 Krebs, Fantasy Pieces, 30.

154 attending to the potential for a given duration to repeat itself. This has profound

implications for the study of musical grooves, which are themselves based on repeating

isochronous durations whether we refer to these as beats, stresses, or pulses. In Hasty’s

theory, a metrical projection (perhaps a beat or pulse) is not a timeless event as it is in

many other theories, most notably that of Lerdahl and Jackendoff.31 Instead the “beats”

include and are defined by the durations that precede them. This notion has significant

ramifications for the conception of metre and groove. Hasty’s theory assigns temporal

dimensions to the beat itself. Instead of mentally attending to beats as timeless points in a

theoretical grid, listeners experience beats as units of time that can take on different

characters depending on how that time is filled. This is similar to London’s conception of

metre, but instead of considering the subdivisions of measures or other larger metrical

units, Hasty’s theory allows for the individual beat to be perceived differently depending

on how it is subdivided and filled.

Eugene Montague’s 2001 doctoral dissertation (supervised by Hasty) builds on

Hasty’s theory to develop a generalized theory of “moving to music.”32 Montague links

Hasty’s metrical projection to the physical movements (whether spontaneous or

choreographed) of the various musical actors and participants. This physical movement is

united with the sound that projects a duration as a dynamic and emerging temporal state.

Montague claims that, “in order to theorize how and why listeners move to music, both

31 See Lerdahl and Jackendoff, A Generative Theory, 18 for a definition of “beat” as a timeless point. 32 Eugene Montague, “Moving to Music: A Theory of Sound and Physical Action” (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 2001).

155 listeners and sound must be understood as radically temporal, engaged in an ongoing, processive, and collaborative project that creates a joint future.”33

Montague uses the term repeating to refer to this movement-inducing metrical projection:

As a technical definition, a repeating occurs when two non- simultaneous musical events create a projective duration for a listener who listens in order to move, thereby offering that listener a definite future time when movement might take place. A repeating does not, and cannot, assume that movement will occur (for this would be, in effect, to assume that it has already occurred, thus denying temporal reality). However, it must offer the real, physical, potential for movement, a potential rooted in the willingness of the listener to move to music. In this sense repeating is the theoretical ground for the possibility of movement to music, and the activity of listening to music in order to move depends on it.34

Montague goes further to claim that this repeating is not a purely mental state, and is perhaps not even a conscious event. Furthermore, the sound and the synchronous motion with the sound cannot be divorced from the physical actions required to move towards the sonic synchrony.

[A] fundamental aspect of any repeating is that its projective duration of a repeating is a time of physical activity. This requirement stems directly from the involvement of a body, and a concomitant necessity to include the physical. [T]he controlling influence in bodily movement to sound is temporal preparation. Before any particular movement in space can occur, particular physical actions must be performed – muscles must tense, tendons be readied. Not only this, in addition these preparatory movements must occur in enough time to allow the performed action to synchronize with the recurring sound. In order to achieve this, preparation must occur after an initial event has begun projecting a definite future, but before the repetition occurs. In other words, these movements must take place during the projective duration.35

33 Montague, “Moving to Music,” 41. 34 Montague, “Moving to Music,” 48. 35 Monatgue, “Moving to Music,” 50-51.

156 These projected durations are real slices of time that include the physical

preparation or movement required to produce or experience the beat, attack, stroke,

strum, clap, or weight transfer. While the “beats” of a groove may arrive equi-temporally

(important for the establishment of groove), the preparation for these beats may change.

While there is a spatio-temporal point of synchronization between sound and body, there

is great variability in how an individual can fill in or feel the intervening time of

preparation.

Using Montague’s and Hasty’s theories as a foundation, I have developed an

analytical methodology for modeling metrical process in groove-based music. The model

incorporates two variables that I term metrical state and groove state. I define metrical

state as the overall feeling of perceptual motion, energy, or propulsion at a given

moment. In a particular musical groove, this state is determined by the intensification and

drive towards the beat attacks of a particular groove. Groove state refers to the preparation for these beat attacks; the way the time is divided, accented, and felt leading up to the execution. Both metrical state and groove state rely on a number of parameters including: accent, syncopation, subdivision of beats, harmonic rhythm, instrumental layering, recording techniques, studio mixing techniques, polyphony, as well as a number of culturally-conditioned musical factors. These provisional definitions are deliberately open-ended at this point to allow for the wide variety of musical factors that may influence these variable states. The following section outlines the key concepts and introduces specific parameters that affect groove and metrical states through an examination of a particular genre of groove-based music – rock music.

157 Groove States and Metrical States: The Case of Rock Music

In recent years, rock music has received an increasing amount of attention from music

theorists.36 In general, analytical treatments have focused mainly on pitch relationships,

culminating in recent systematic treatments of harmonic structure by Walter Everett

using Schenkerian techniques, and Guy Capuzzo employing neo-Riemannian operations.

Some authors such as Mark Spicer and John Covach have addressed issues of form and

stylistic diversity, while others such as Ken Stephenson and Allan Moore have attempted

treatises outlining the key components of the complete rock text. 37

Issues of rhythm and metre have tended to be treated superficially or as subsidiary

aspects of other musical parameters such as texture and form. In many ways, this is not

surprising. Metre in rock music is often accepted as overly simplistic, externalized for the

listener as a metronomic drum-kit pattern. Rhythm, on the other hand, may be regarded

as too complex and free, lacking in any overall organizing principle. I will argue against

both of these preconceptions and posit a more inclusive conception of metre in rock

music that includes its various dynamic rhythmic layers.

36 I have elected to use the term “rock” in this chapter rather than the frequently used term “pop- rock” as the examples analyzed are all upbeat, and feature guitar, bass, and drums as the primary instrumentation. 37 Walter Everett, “Making Sense of Rock’s Tonal Systems,” Music Theory Online 20 (2004): http://www.societymusictheory.org/mto/issues/mto.04.10.4/mto.04.10.4.w_everett.html ; Guy Capuzzo, “Neo-Riemannian Theory and the Analysis of Pop-Rock Music,” Music Theory Spectrum 26 (2004): 177-199; Mark Spicer, “British Pop-Rock Music in the Post-Beatles Era: Three Analytical Studies” (Ph.D diss., Yale University, 2001); John Covach, “Progressive Rock, ‘Close to the Edge,’ and the Boundaries of Style,” in Understanding Rock: Essays in Music Analysis, eds. John Covach and Graeme M. Boone (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 3-31; Ken Stephenson, What to Listen for in Rock Music (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002); and Allan Moore, Rock: The Primary Text: Developing a Musicology of Rock, 2nd ed. (Burlington: Ashgate, 2001).

158 Groove is an essential aspect of rock music. Mark Spicer defines a rock groove as

“the complex tapestry of riffs – usually played by the drums, bass, rhythm guitar and/or

keyboard in some combination – that work together to create the distinctive

harmonic/rhythmic backdrop which identifies a song.”38 This very specific definition

limits itself to the sound of the rhythm instruments and, as stated above, groove refers to

much more than that. However, it is important to consider that rock music relies on a

combination of rhythmic/harmonic instruments to not only establish the “beat” of the

groove, but also to define its character or style.

We have been discussing concepts of metre and groove but these terms imply a

certain degree of intransigence – indeed groove is synonymous with rut. In rock music,

this is apropos when considering that there are relatively few examples in the rock

repertoire that feature changes in either metre (as it is traditionally conceived) or groove.

Certainly there are notable exceptions. Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” features a metre shift from

4/4 to 7/8 during the instrumental bridge. Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven”

represents an extreme example of a shift in groove (and tempo) as the slow “acoustic

ballad” gives way to the faster, electric-guitar dominated, “hard rock” groove towards the

end. In these examples and others, abrupt shifts in metre and/or groove result in sudden

changes to the previously-established rhythmic identities of the works in question. There

is a sense of disruption as the listener is forced to re-orient to the new temporal scheme.

In general, most rock music eschews these abrupt changes. Metre and groove tend

to remain constant throughout a given track.39 In other words, metre signature and phrase

38 Spicer, “British Pop-Rock,” 10. 39 From this point on, I will use the term “track” to refer to a specific piece of recorded music in recognition that the analyses and transcriptions are based on the recordings (i.e., album tracks) of

159 rhythm usually do not change once established, and the signature groove usually

determines the style of the track (i.e., funk, soul, straight rock, reggae, etc.) This does not

mean that there is no sense of temporal progression. The fixed metre and groove allow

for an interplay among various rhythmic and textural layers that results in shifts in

momentum, drive, and sense of motion. I will show that issues of temporality in rock

music are much more fluid than the terms metre and groove suggest, and will therefore

employ the terms “metrical state” and “groove state” to describe isolated rates of motion

at particular time points. I will provide clearer distinctions between these two terms

shortly.

Another important feature of most rock music is syncopation. Vocal lines in

particular often feature rhythms that accent “offbeats.” David Temperley has suggested

that these syncopated vocal lines are normally perceived as displacements from an

idealized “square” version of the melody.40 In certain cases and in certain styles, this may

be so, particularly during anticipations of “downbeats.” I contend that syncopation plays

a more integral role in delineating form in rock music. My conception of syncopation

here follows Krebs, and changes in displacement dissonances will be seen to take place at

key structural points that feature changes in musical motion. I also believe that

syncopation in groove music is tied to bodily motion. I will return to this concept later.

Rock music normally provides clear metrical cues to the listener in the form of

drum-kit patterns. Examples 5-1 and 5-2 above show two variants on a basic rock drum

kit pattern. It is interesting to note that, in general, the perceptual difference in terms of

the works in question, and not on the songs as abstract entities that may take many different performance forms. 40 David Temperley, “Syncopation in Rock: A Perceptual Perspective,” Popular Music 18 (1999): 19-40.

160 rate of motion between the patterns in Examples 5-1 and 5-2 is minimal. In other words, the decrease in number of kick drum attacks in Example 5-2 does not radically affect the overall sense of motion, nor does the introduction of an eighth-note beat division. This is because the essential kick drum attacks on beats 1 and 3 remain intact. If a particular track were to employ the pattern in Example 5-1 for a certain period of time, and then switch to the pattern in Example 5-2 at a later timepoint, there would be no overall perceptual shift in motion or drive, all other factors being equal. This is not to say however that the two patterns are essentially the same. Indeed, Example 5-2 outlines a finer subdivision of the beat than Example 5-1, and this will have ramifications for other textural layers. More will be said about this later. For now, I will define the difference between patterns 5-1 and 5-2 as a shift in “groove state.” That is, the essential groove remains intact (as does the metre) but the difference in kick drum rhythm between the two results in different ways of subdividing the constituent beats. Example 5-4 below presents yet another common variant of the kick drum pattern that still preserves the same sense of motion - an additional groove state.

Example 5-4: Additional standard rock drum pattern variant

Elimination of one or both of these kick drum attacks on beats 1 or 3, however, would result in a feeling of slowing down or suspension of motion. An example of this

161 effect can be heard in John Mellencamp’s “Small Town.” Example 5-5 shows the periodic drum kit pattern from the beginning of the track until the end of the first verse, while Example 5-6 shows the pattern from the second verse. Both patterns feature the regular snare drum backbeat, but Example 5-5 features a less propulsive kick drum pattern. Beat 1 is sounded every second measure beginning with the third measure in

Example 5-5, while beat 3 is attacked every fourth measure beginning with measure 2. In

Example 5-6, beats 1 and 3 are consistently attacked in all measures. As a result, the second pattern (and consequently the second verse) features a greater sense of drive and a feeling of fulfillment of the groove potential established by the consistent backbeat snare drum. I therefore define the shift between the opening drum pattern and that of the second verse as a shift in “metrical state” reflecting the change in perceptual motion and the resultant feeling of acceleration or arrival. It must also be pointed out that this arrival point coincides with an increase in instrumentation, most notably the bass guitar and the hi-hats. The effect of these new instruments would be greatly diminished however if the kick drum retained its previous pattern.

Example 5-5: “Small Town” opening drum pattern

Example 5-6: “Small Town” main drum pattern

162 While intensification of the kick drum layer in the previous examples results in an overall sense of acceleration or increase in drive, the effect is somewhat muted by the pervasive regularity of the snare drum backbeat. In actuality, the sense of propulsion in rock metre is defined more by the backbeat than by the kick drum’s main beat. Another example from the same artist will demonstrate this point.

Example 5-7 shows the opening rhythmic pattern from Mellencamp’s “Paper in

Fire.” I have included additional instrumental layers to show how their effect on metrical state is secondary to that of the snare drum. The “four-on-the-floor” kick drum pattern is accompanied in rhythmic unison by attacks on the rim of the snare drum, by a series of eighth-note attacks on the closed hi-hats and on the dominant pitch in the bass guitar, and by a sixteenth-note layer in the tambourine.

This pattern is used in each verse until the final line. For example, in the first verse

(below), the pattern persists until the line “Well the dream burned up like paper in fire.”

The structure of the verses reflects the shift in metrical drive. The first three lines of each verse set up a positive (though unstable) image: a dream, love, and the good life. In each case the image is burned up in the last line “like paper in fire.” Example 5-8 shows a transcription of the last line of the first verse.

She had a dream and boy it was a good one,

So she chased after her dream with much desire,

But when she got too close to her expectations,

Well the dream burned up like paper in fire.

163 Example 5-7: “Paper In Fire” verse rhythm pattern41

41 Tempo markings are only given for the first example of each analyzed track as the tempos remain consistent throughout each track.

164 Example 5-8: “Paper In Fire” last line of verse 1

Clearly apparent is a noticeable decrease in attack density in the second measure of

Example 5-8. The kick drum outlines a half-note pulse while the bass guitar decelerates from the eighth-note rhythm of the first three lines to a slower dotted-half pulse in the second measure. The tambourine sixteenth notes seem to disappear from the aural surface

(though they may just become buried by the entrance of other instruments). However, this decrease in attacks does not produce a corresponding deceleration of perceptual motion. In fact, the opposite occurs: the track settles in to its main groove at precisely this point. This effect is largely a product of the entrance of the snare drum backbeat. The accented snare drum attack on the fourth beat of the first measure propels the rhythm forward into the accelerated groove of the second measure where the backbeat becomes established. In this case, I would say that the shift in the second measure represents both a

165 change in groove state established by the decrease in attack density, and in metrical state established by the arrival of the backbeat.

It should be stated that the foregoing analyses are not entirely complete as they only focus on drum and bass patterns (the so-called rhythm section). Other factors also contribute to the perceived metrical shifts. In the case of “Paper in Fire,” the change to open hi-hats contributes to a feeling of expansiveness compared to the more-focused attacks of the previous measures. The crash cymbal on the downbeat of the last line of the verse also propels the music forward. Harmonic considerations are also important.

Throughout the first three lines of each verse, harmony is somewhat ambiguous. The bass outlines the dominant pedal while electric guitar alternates B and E chords, with the B noticeably lacking the third. Dobro, banjo, accordion, and fiddle provide surface melodic patterns that often feature syncopations against the pervasive eighth-note pulse. In the last line, the electric guitar establishes the tonality more firmly with A and E major chords, while there is a noticeable increase in guitar distortion and rhythm. My focus on drums and bass in these examples serves the purpose of exposing some definitions while also establishing the important role these instruments play in establishing groove and metre.

In the subsequent analyses, I will include other textural and harmonic factors where appropriate.

The following examples represent cases where there are significant shifts in metrical and groove state at prominent sections in the tracks. In most cases this will involve an established groove for the verses, an acceleration at the chorus, and a

166 deceleration during any bridges.42 It is important to consider that the terms acceleration

and deceleration are not used here to convey changes in tempo. Rather, they refer to

shifts in perceptible motion or energy. An analogy would be a switch in gears in a car or

bicycle while maintaining a constant speed.

In order to make this clear, I have used examples where these shifts are very

obvious and serve to define the structure of the tracks in question. I also choose to focus

on these more obvious examples to bring out a wider variety of rhythmic and metrical

factors, and to introduce the subject of metre and rhythm in this music. While most rock

music features changes in metrical and/or groove state, in many cases the effect is more

subtle than these examples suggest.

“De Do Do Do”

I begin with the track “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da” by the British rock trio The Police.

Changes in groove, groove state, and metrical state are common in much of this band’s

music, particularly in earlier albums. As Mark Spicer points out, this is often the result of

a stylistic plurality in individual tracks, with verses embodying one style such as reggae

or punk, and choruses outlining a contrasting style such as calypso or standard rock.43

This example follows the common pattern of a slower metrical motion during the verses,

and an acceleration at the chorus. The track opens with an instrumental introduction that

exposes the chorus groove. This is shown in Example 5-9. The drum kit is presented on

42 These terms are now widely accepted as structural divisions in rock music. For formal definitions, see Walter Everett, The Beatles as Musicians: Revolver through the Anthology (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 315-319. 43 Mark Spicer, “Ghosts in the Machine: Analyzing Style in the Music of the Police,” Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society for Music Theory, Toronto, 2000.

167 one stave for convenience and the electric guitar is shown in chord/slash notation owing

to its primarily rhythmic role.44

Example 5-9: “De Do Do Do” instrumental intro

This texture features the typical drum kit pattern from Example 5-2: a half note

pulse with an eighth-note subdivision in the kick drum, backbeat snare on beats 2 and 4,

and an eighth-note hi-hat layer. The electric guitar features greater rhythmic activity

during the first half of each measure with three eighth-note pulses, followed by two

attacks with longer durations of two and three eighth-notes respectively.

Example 5-10 shows the attacks of the electric guitar part using beat-class set

notation to label each of the eight eighth-note timepoints in a measure as beat classes 0 to

7 respectively. This methodology has been developed mainly by Richard Cohn and John

Roeder, and is used here as an efficient system of labeling timepoints in a periodic

44 In general, I will use chord/slash notation for these “harmonic” instruments unless the chord voicings or pitches played contribute to the overall rhythmic effect.

168 stream.45 I employ this notation system purely as a convenience as much of Cohn’s and

Roeder’s methodologies are not utilized in my metrical state/groove state model. Beat-

class notation also has the advantage here of differentiating the main beats as even-

numbered beat classes (0,2,4,6), from the “offbeats” as odd-numbered beat classes

(1,3,5,7), though I will still often refer to the most metrically salient divisions of a

measure (e.g., the four quarter notes in a 4/4 measure) as beats 1 to 4.

In beat-class notation, the electric guitar attacks corresponds to Beat Class Set

<0,1,2,3,5> with a modulus of 8 (eighth notes). Example 5-10 shows the accent profile of

the electric guitar part. Beat Class (BC) 0 initially receives an accent of beginning, which

then becomes a sub-collection shift (chord change) accent in subsequent repeats. BCs 3

and 5 receive durational accents, while BC 5 also receives a sub-collection shift accent.46

The result is a division of the 4/4 measures into three beats corresponding to a 3+2+3

division (Beat-Class Set <0,3,5>). This creates a type of grouping metrical dissonance

between the guitar and kick-drum parts as well as a displacement dissonance. This is

shown in Example 5-11.

Example 5-10: Electric guitar beat classes

45 See Richard Cohn, “Transpositional Combination of Beat-Class Sets in Steve Reich’s Phase- Shifting Music,” Perspectives of New Music 30 (1992): 146-177; and John Roeder, “Beat-Class Modulation in Steve Reich’s Music,” Music Theory Spectrum 25 (2003): 275-304, for an exploration of the use of beat-class sets in rhythmic analysis. 46 See Roeder, “Beat-Class Modulation,” for formal definitions of these types of accent.

169 Example 5-11: Metrical dissonances between guitar and drum-kit

The bass guitar mediates between the guitar and drum parts. As Example 5-9 shows, the bass and electric guitars proceed in rhythmic unison until BC 5. The bass guitar follows the attack on BC 5 with a subsequent attack on BC 6, aligning itself with the snare drum backbeat. This iambic rhythm at the end of the measure involving attacks on BCs 5 and 6 in the bass forms a rhythmic motive that will feature prominently throughout. Indeed, as shown in Example 5-9, this rhythm is sounded in rhythmic unison by all instruments to start the track. In many ways, the entire groove centres around this rhythmic motive. The first half of each measure features regular eighth-note attacks while the longer durations in the kick drum and guitar beginning on BC 3 create a “hole” in the last half of each measure. This isolates the iambic rhythm in the bass for the first three measures, which sets up the unison punctuation of this rhythm by all instruments in the fourth measure.

After four repetitions of the four-measure pattern outlined in Example 5-9, the first verse begins with an abrupt shift in metrical state. The first line of the first verse is transcribed in Example 5-12 below. An immediate metrical deceleration is felt at this

170 point despite the kick drum’s attainment of a regular quarter-note pulse and the increase in bass guitar rhythm to a regular eighth-note pulse. As noted above, the increase in bass and kick drum rhythms are overridden by the shifting of the snare drum backbeat to rim shots on beat 3 in each measure in place of backbeats on beats 2 and 4.

Example 5-12: “De Do Do Do” verses

The electric guitar provides a shift in groove state from the introduction. Example

5-12 shows that accents now appear on Beat Classes 1, 4, and 7, instead of 0, 3, and 5 as in the introduction. This results in a 3+3+2 division stretching across the barlines as shown in Example 5-13. The shift in groove state here is therefore not achieved through a change in subdivision of beats or measures, but rather in a displacement of the previous

3+3+2 pattern. Example 5-13 shows how the intro guitar rhythms established this pattern

beginning on BC 5, which is displaced to BC 1 for the verses (a T4 transposition).

171 Example 5-13: Comparison of electric guitar accents in verses and intro

The entrance of the first vocal line also establishes an eighth-note displacement

dissonance from the main beat, emphasizing BCs 5 and 7, with an initial attack on BC 3.

This establishes a loose parallel beat stream on the odd beat classes. 47 This metrical

displacement dissonance tightens during the pre-chorus. Example 5-14 shows how the

vocal line here features attacks on all odd beat classes. However, while the voice

intensifies the syncopation, we see that the guitar shifts yet again to a more metrically

consonant rhythm. This conflict between guitar and voice has the unsettling effect of

suspending the motion of the music at this point, preparing the way for the driving chorus

that will follow. A pervasive sixteenth-note guitar-scratching layer in the background (not

shown in Example 5-14) adds to the overall tension created by the conflicting metrical

layers.

The chorus re-establishes the metrical and groove states from the introduction (see

Example 5-9). The sense of accelerated motion is rendered more profound by the former

47 The term “beat stream” derives from John Roeder’s concept of pulse stream and was first used in his paper “The Craft of Hybrid Composition: Meter, Tonality, and Grouping in Michael Torke’s Adjustable Wrench,” Perspectives of New Music 41 (2003): 122-158.

172 floating metrical state of the pre-chorus which then leads into the chorus via the return of the iambic rhythmic motive heard previously. This intensification is also achieved by the change in syncopation of the vocal line (see Example 5-15). At the beginning of the chorus (corresponding to the lyrics “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da”), the vocal attacks shift to even-eighth beat classes, aligning themselves with the kick drum main beat. The next line of the chorus (“That’s all I want to say to you”) returns to the odd-eighth beat classes, and so the chorus features alternating indirect displacement dissonances between each line. Each two-line pair of the chorus is then punctuated with the iambic motive.

Example 5-14: “De Do Do Do” pre-chorus

Example 5-15: “De Do Do Do” chorus vocal line.

173 In summary, the track “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da” features shifts in metrical state due to dynamic intensification of the snare drum back beat. The verses and pre- chorus feature rim-shots on beat 3 of each measure (BC 4) while the choruses feature attacks on the snare drum head on beats 2 and 4 of each measure (BCs 2 and 6). Shifts in groove state between and within sections are achieved essentially by changes in displacement dissonances and surface accents in the electric guitar and vocal lines.

“I Got You”

Shifts in metrical state may result from other rhythmic cues besides the intensification or withdrawal of the snare drum back beat. The track “I Got You” by the former New

Zealand group Split Enz features a persistent backbeat and kick drum main beat throughout the duration of the recording. Despite this, there is a clear shift in metrical state between verses and choruses due to other factors.

Example 5-16 below shows the introduction and the first line of the first verse. The electric guitar plays muted dyads that establish an eighth-note pulse layer. Two measures later, the kick drum enters with the four main beats, followed in the next measure by a measure of eighth-note attacks on the snare drum. The simple four-on-the floor drum-kit pattern then establishes itself and persists throughout the rest of the track.

174 Example 5-16: “I Got You” intro and first line

In this track, the harmonic rhythm plays an important role in defining metrical state.

During the four-measure introduction, the harmony implied by the guitar dyads shifts every four eighth notes. This also establishes the B -implied harmony on the weaker third beats of each measure. When the first verse begins however, the downbeat shifts to

175 the B chords via an intermediary 2/4 measure, also establishing the B on the strong first measure of the ensuing four-bar hypermeasures that define each line of the verse.

The harmonic rhythm decelerates so that chords change on the downbeat of every measure rather than on beats 1 and 3, a subtle shift in metrical state. The verses also feature held synthesizer notes (not shown) that follow the harmonic rhythm. However the synthesizer attacks fall about an eighth note behind the downbeats of each measure. This, combined with the swelling electronic timbre of the synthesizer, increases the feeling of a slower and more sustained sense of motion.

The rhythmic texture established by the other instruments is metrically consonant with no grouping or displacement dissonances between metrical layers. Each vocal line of the verse is metrically dissonant with more attacks on the odd beat classes. This dissonance resolves at the chorus. Example 5-17 shows how the vocal line shifts to attacks on the main quarter-note beats for the first two measures of each line of the chorus. This resolution of the vocal metrical dissonance once again effects a subtle shift in groove state between verse and chorus.

The chorus also features a shift in metrical state. As noted above, this does not result from an intensification of the backbeat. In addition to its effect on groove state, the vocal line consonance also has the effect of adding strength to the main beats. The sudden shift to a higher vocal register and the addition of parallel harmony backing vocals also adds intensity and energy to the chorus. The hi-hats enter with a propulsive eighth-note layer in unison with the guitar rhythm, while the organ adds harmonic weight to the backbeat. These intensify the metrical state shift, which is primarily achieved through a return to the faster harmonic rhythm of the introduction. Once again, the chords switch

176 every two quarter-note beats for most of the chorus. Thus an acceleration in perceived

motion is achieved through an acceleration in harmonic rhythm, intensified by the

layering of additional rhythmic instrumental lines.

Example 5-17: “I Got You” first chorus line

The preceding discussion has examined formal sections (verses and choruses) as

isolated structures. “I Got You” however, is an example of a track that also features a

linear development or build-up throughout. Mark Spicer has applied the term “cumulative

form” to this type of process in rock music.48 The cumulative development in “I Got

You” results from a gradual increase in activity of keyboard and percussion instruments

(predominantly crash cymbals). During the second verse, a separate keyboard instrument

48 Mark Spicer, “(Ac)cumulative Form in Pop-Rock Music,” Twentieth-Century Music 1 (2004): 29-64. Spicer borrows this term from J. Peter Burkholder, All Made of Tunes: Charles Ives and the Uses of Musical Borrowing (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1995).

177 enters at a low volume with eighth-note melodic gestures. These become more prominent during the third and final verse. An instrumental bridge separates these two verses, and features a keyboard solo that introduces a sixteenth-note layer to the texture for the first time, a subtle shift in groove state. The snare drum picks up this sixteenth-note rhythm, leading into the final choruses. Also, on the downbeat of the final chorus section, a crash cymbal is heard for the first time. As the chorus repeats (and fades), crash cymbal attacks become more frequent, often arriving on offbeats. The end result is a feeling of a linear build-up from the opening guitar dyads to the final fading notes of the repeating chorus.

“Beautiful Day”

In the previous examples, metrical state is intrinsically linked to the presence and intensity of the backbeat. Even in the case of “I Got You” where the backbeat persists throughout, the addition of the organ on the backbeat in the choruses adds to the shift in metrical state. In certain cases however, the power of the backbeat in determining metrical state is superseded by other factors. Our final rock example will take us back to where we began this chapter. In the U2 concert video, the song “Elevation” referred to earlier is followed in direct succession by the hit song “Beautiful Day.” The song performance begins with a series of guitar chords that outline an ostinato rhythm pattern that persists throughout the song. Example 5-18 shows this rhythm in chord/slash notation. The audience recognizes the song immediately after only the first few chords and demonstrates their appreciation with enthusiastic screams and applause. The guitar rhythms in Example 5-18 represent the actual strumming attacks of the performer. The first and third measures outline a 3+3+2 division on BCs 0, 3, and 6 that will form the

178 main ostinato pattern throughout the song.49 All of the main sections of the song feature

this pattern with more or less intensity.50

The electric guitar rhythms are further subdivided through the electronic processing

of the electric guitar signal. Each attacked chord is followed by a processed delay effect

that repeats the chords at eighth-note intervals. Therefore each attack is further

subdivided into eighth notes. The eighth-note subdivision in the guitar sound is

reinforced by the kick drum beats that accompany the guitar introduction.

Example 5-18: “Beautiful Day” introduction

When the first verse begins, the drums enter with a typical pattern as shown in

Example 5-19. This pattern continues the displaced anapestic rhythms of the intro kick

drum part, but layers this with regular eighth-note attacks on the closed hi-hats, and

backbeat attacks on a tambourine (played with a drum stick). The bass guitar also enters,

providing a rhythmic support to the guitar ostinato, reinforcing the eighth-note

subdivisions previously offered by the guitar’s delay effect. I have beamed the bass

49 The ostinato pattern is actually eight measures as every second repeat of the four-measure pattern employs a variation with fewer attacks in the third and fourth measures. Regardless, it is the 3+3+2 rhythmic pattern that defines the introduction and, to a large extent, the entire track. 50 The song actually features a bridge where the main beats and rhythm patterns disappear. This produces a rather striking metrical state shift similar to the “withholding the beat” process in Electronic Dance Music that will be explored next.

179 according to the 3+3+2 groupings in the guitar chord rhythms as the pitch profile of the bass supports this rhythmic grouping. The backbeat is clearly present throughout the verses but the effect is somewhat muted by the use of the tambourine instead of the snare drum. In effect, the tambourine backbeat counteracts the uneven groupings in the bass and electric guitars. This provides a change in groove state from the introduction owing to the dissonance between the tambourine and bass/guitar groupings. Of course the entrance of the drums and bass guitar also provides a shift in metrical state as the ensemble essentially builds to another level of the groove when all of the instruments enter.

Example 5-19: “Beautiful Day” verses

When the chorus begins, there is an abrupt increase in energy, drive, and momentum, as evidenced by the audience’s hysterical response. Hands fly, screams erupt, and the jumping begins again. Yet, as shown in Example 5-20, the expected backbeat on beats 2 and 4 actually disappears. Instead all instruments align with each other to play a variation of the 3+3+2 ostinato rhythmic pattern, including the snare drum

180 and the bass guitar in its lower, more present register. The pattern actually expands to form a two-measure 3+3+3+3+2+2 pattern as reflected in the beaming in Example 5-20, and all of the instruments reinforce this grouping. Adding to the intensity is a change in register of the main vocal line, a change in guitar timbre with increased distortion, and a switch to open hi-hats. As in previous examples, this registral and spectral expansion of the instrumental texture heightens the intensity of the groove. The effect is also enhanced visually with a sudden change in stage lighting that contributes to the euphoric feeling.

The chorus therefore features a metrical state acceleration, despite the disappearance of the backbeat. The snare drum sound replaces the tambourine backbeat from the verses but instead aligns with the irregular grouping pattern of the other instruments. The regular oscillation of main beat and backbeat which is so ubiquitous in rock music is absent here. In addition, there is no change in chord structure from the verses to the chorus. However the synchronizing of all of the instrumental layers and the increase in sound intensity of each rhythmic stream elevates the groove to a more driving metrical state than the verses.

Example 5-20: “Beautiful Day” choruses

181 I chose to begin my discussion of groove states and metrical states with these rock

examples for several reasons. Groove is an essential component of rock music, which

privileges rhythm instruments above all others. The essence of rock is created by the

streams of rhythmic activity. Rock music performers and listeners are almost always

compelled to move in synchrony with the beats of the groove. In addition, this

dissertation concerns the influence of Anglo-American popular music on local music

communities, and more specifically on the Cape Breton fiddle music community. Many

of the components of rock grooves have permeated into the modern sound of the Cape

Breton fiddle style, and so it makes sense to use rock music as entry point in discussing

Cape Breton fiddle music grooves.

Before we return to Cape Breton, I would like to diverge even further away from

our eventual goal by considering other styles or genres of groove-based music to provide

a wider context for the groove state/metrical state model. It is my intention to develop a

more inclusive analytical model of groove than that afforded by a focus on rock music

followed by Cape Breton fiddle music. Ultimately I believe this will strengthen the

theory, and provide a better understanding of musical grooves in general. The next

sections examine grooves in electronic dance music and rap music. Mark Butler’s

Unlocking the Groove and Adam Krims’ Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity deal with both the sonic/textual aspects of their respective genres (specifically rhythm, metre, and groove) and the socio-cultural factors that relate the music to community construction and aspects of identity.

182 Electronic Dance Music

Mark Butler’s Unlocking the Groove: Rhythm, Meter, and Musical Design in Electronic

Dance Music provides an excellent model for the study of the interaction between the sound of a musical genre and its social context.51 Butler analyzes the various interweaving rhythmic textures that identify this music, but his analyses are also informed by the listeners, dancers, producers, and DJs who exist as members of this complex musical community. In many cases, he derives an analytical perspective for a particular track based on information gathered through interviews, observations, and through active involvement in the music community itself.

Electronic dance music (EDM) perhaps best illustrates the intrinsic relationship between the sound of a groove and the embodiment of the music in terms of physical movement. EDM is intimately tied to dance, and the foregrounded pervasiveness of beats in the musical texture provide a backdrop for groups to move in synchrony with each other. However, within this communal response to the established groove, individual dancers find freedom to express their individuality. Butler explains this dialectic between individualism and collective musical identity in EDM:

In a quite specific sense, the dancer’s motions are rhythmic; they add a counterpoint to the sounding patterns of the music. Moreover, to dance to this music is to interpret it. On the dance floor, motion is largely an individually determined phenomenon. There are no predetermined steps or choreography; instead, each dancer must shape his or her response to the music as it unfolds.… Some people dance in small groups or pairs, though the extent of interaction can vary considerably. “Dancing together” might mean simply dancing near each other, responding to each other’s motions without actually touching, or physically interacting through dance. Even when dancers do interact, however, the primary focal points of EDM dancing are physical and musical expression, rather than “ritualized

51 Mark Butler, Unlocking the Groove: Rhythm, Meter, and Musical Design in Electronic Dance Music (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006).

183 courtship”. The majority of dancers on the floor will be on their own, even though friends may be nearby.… The individualistic nature of EDM dancing should not be overemphasized, however. Being one among a crowd of dancers is clearly a communal experience, one that can bring on powerful emotions. Furthermore, there are common patterns of motion in EDM, and many dancers are influenced by the ways in which others around them move.52

This dialectic, which Butler describes as “individualism in the midst of a communal context,” perfectly aligns with my own notion of the true essence of Keil’s participatory discrepancies in groove-based music as well as my concept of the “social groove.” 53 The musical groove establishes the communal identity whereby the collective participants align their movements more or less in synchrony with the beat attacks according to the prevailing metrical state. However, between the beats there is great freedom for individual expression. In fact, EDM provides a challenge to the notions of Keil and others that participatory discrepancies as sound are the syntactical components that determine the musical groove itself. For, as Butler explains, beats in EDM are electronically sampled or synthetically produced with quantizable accuracy. There are no participatory discrepancies within the sounds and textural layers that produce the groove. Yet the sound of the instruments producing the beats and the rhythmic texture filling the space between the beat attacks induce an undeniable physical-motor response that unites a collective in the same way as musical grooves in other genres. This adds further weight to my thesis that participatory discrepancies are not syntactical deviations from an idealized metrical grid, but actually manifest themselves in this dialectic between individualism and collectivity.

52 Butler, Unlocking the Groove, 73. 53 Butler, Unlocking the Groove, 73.

184 Butler outlines the key components of an EDM groove and how this music

becomes metrically transformed throughout the evolution of a track. As with much

groove-based music, the metrical profile of EDM is much more complicated than would

initially appear. Butler describes how most people, including fans and practitioners of the

music, would automatically ascribe a quadruple feel to the music as if it were notated in

4/4, despite the fact that EDM tracks are rarely notated using conventional Western

musical notation.54 As with rock music, the 4/4 “measures” often consist of four evenly

distributed bass drum sounds, with backbeat snare or handclaps corresponding to every

second bass drum attack (see Example 5-1). Furthermore, Butler points out that EDM

metrical spans often conform to what Cohn would describe as “pure duple spans.” Pure

duple spans recursively group metrical units as powers of 2 (i.e., 2x).55 Thus, pure spans

invite only one possible division at successively smaller metrical levels. For example, a

pure span of sixteen units (measures, beats, etc.) divides evenly into smaller units of

eight, four, two, and one. Mixed complexes have both duple and triple layers. For

example, a span of twelve units may divide evenly into two groups of six, or three groups

of four, while the groups of six are also further divisible by two or three. Cohn therefore

ascribes a greater degree of ambiguity and possible tension to mixed complexes.

As with other metrical theories, Cohn’s ideas reinforce a more syntactical

interpretation of metrical events, with metrical units formed by cadences, harmonic

rhythm, and phrase structure. These are undoubtedly important in groove-based music,

but metrical tension and ambiguity are also achieved through less syntactical means.

54 Butler, Unlocking the Groove, 76-77. 55 See Richard Cohn, “The Dramatization of Hypermetric Conflicts in the Scherzo of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony,” 19th-Century Music 15 (1992): 188-206 for a definition of pure and mixed metric spans.

185 Although pure duple spans are not evenly divisible by three, they can be divided unevenly. For example, a span of eight units could be divided as 3+3+2, 3+2+3, or

2+3+3. We have already seen examples from the rock repertoire where these divisions abound in our study of “De Do Do Do” (see Example 5-12 above). Other groove-based musical traditions also make use of these possible divisions including African drumming,

Cuban son and, as we shall see, Cape Breton fiddle music.

As rhythmic divisions of 4/4 measures, the above triple groupings would often be described as syncopations, as attacks subsequent to the first triple division must align with “offbeats” in a 4/4 grid. However, I agree with Butler that these divisions are not syncopations in the sense that they work against the prevailing metre. Instead, they contribute to the overall groove and are part of the metre. As Butler says, these rhythms are “not heard as subordinate to an underlying metrical structure. Rather than being measured against an absolutely even, strictly regular norm, they create their own kind of evenness through their distinctive structural properties.”56 This contrasts with

Temperley’s notion of syncopation in rock music and aligns with my conception of groove state, with the triple divisions providing a distinct rhythmic identity to the persistent duple spans.

Butler also supports the notion of beats in EDM as “richly present” and “not only heard, but also physically felt, as well as enacted through bodily motion.”57 He further describes the common practice in EDM of “breakdowns” and “withholding the beat,” both of which involve the removal of the beat-producing instrument(s) (usually a bass

56 Butler, Unlocking the Groove, 89 (author’s own emphasis). 57 Butler, Unlocking the Groove, 91.

186 drum sound) at prominent points in the music. Butler describes the typical dancer’s reaction to “withholding the beat”:

The crowd seems to actively anticipate the return of the beat: during its absence, they look toward the DJ to see what will happen next, and their dancing becomes tentative or breaks off. When the bass drum comes back, however, they dance with greater energy than in any other portion of the track, while enthusiastically expressing their appreciation to the DJ.58

I would describe the transitions between sections where the beat is prominent and the beat is withheld as shifts in metrical state. Moreover, Butler’s observations suggest that metrical state shifts result not only from the sounds present in the tracks, but also from the juxtaposition of sections where beats are felt more or less prominently. After a period of “withholding the beat” the dancers feel the beat more intensely upon its return than they did before it was removed. Therefore, sections containing identical musical materials can nonetheless manifest different metrical states depending on the music that precedes them. This same effect was observed in the analysis of “De Do Do Do” above as the chorus metrical state was intensified whenever followed by the metrical suspension in the pre-chorus.

Many EDM tracks also begin through a process of accumulation whereby individual layers will be presented in succession, building towards a more complicated texture. Often a period of metrical ambiguity persists until enough beat-defining layers enter the texture to establish the main groove. This metrical ambiguity may involve a phenomenon that Butler refers to as “turning the beat around.” The following examples represent Butler’s transcriptions of the accumulative buildup near the beginning of the

EDM track “Cups” by Underworld. Example 5-21 shows two layers of repeating loops

58 Butler, Unlocking the Groove, 92.

187 created by a synthesized pitched drum sound and a hi-hat cymbal sound.59 Synth 1 begins

alone, repeating its figure four times before the hi-hats enter. The synth figure suggests a

4/4 metrical profile with stressed pitches (due to dynamic and durational accents)

occurring on the first three beats (BCs 0, 2, and 4) of a presumed 4/4 measure. The first

note of the synth figure is dynamically accented in the track, but it also receives a

durational accent (interonset duration) because it is always preceded by a note with a

longer duration (actually the longest duration in the figure). The second and third quarter-

note beats receive stresses due to duration. The synth plays a quarter note on the second

beat, which dynamically isolates not only this second beat, but also the third beat as this

entry fulfills the quarter-note projection induced by the accent on beat 1 and the quarter-

note duration on beat 2. The fourth beat (BC 6) is not sounded, and is only felt due to the

beat stream provided by the first three quarter-note pulses.

The hi-hat cymbal sounds confirm the suspected 4/4 metrical profile with attacks

on each of the four quarter-note beats, including the previously felt fourth beat (BC 6).

The cymbal and synth combination is also repeated four times establishing a normative

hypermetrical structure comprising groups of four.

59 Although the drum sound is clearly synthetic, it has a percussive timbre and sounds like a low- pitched drum with a frequency modulation sweep that gives it a higher overtone, bell-like quality.

188 X4 X4

Example 5-21: Underworld “Cups” (0:55-1:00). (Adapted from Butler, 2006, 142)

When the bass and snare drums enter (see the last measure of Example 5-21), the

metrical profile becomes more complicated.60 The first new drum attack seems to fall on

the last eighth note of the measure but, because EDM listeners are conditioned to hear the

bass and snare drums as the normative beat-defining instruments, the main beat shifts so

that the synth and hi-hats are now heard as off-beats. This is shown in Example 5-22.

John Roeder has demonstrated a similar phenomenon in Steve Reich’s music, where a

referential beat class “tonic” shifts at a certain point in the musical process. Roeder refers

to this as a beat class modulation.61 Though the Reich examples Roeder provides execute

this modulation in a subtler way than this EDM example, the phenomenon of “turning the

beat” around is essentially the same as a beat class modulation. Prior to the entry of the

bass and snare drums, the referential or “tonic” beat class would be BC 1 in Example 5-

60 Butler transcribes the bass and snare drum sounds as one layer. In the actual track, the snare drum sound articulates the second quarter note and the dotted-eighth sixteenth figure at the end of each drum pattern (I have added accent marks to indicate the backbeat stress provided by the combination of bass and snare drums on these beats). The bass drum simply articulates four quarter-note beats. 61 Roeder, “Beat-Class Modulation,” 275-304.

189 22. It then shifts to BC 0 once the drums enter the texture. From another perspective, the beat class mode prior to the drum entries would comprise pulses on the odd beat classes in Example 5-22, and would then shift to the even beat classes once the drums enter. I refer to beat class modulations such as this as another form of metrical state shift. This would be obvious when observing how dancers would react to the entry of the drum sounds. They would align their motions accordingly with the new beat class mode, confirming the main beats of the new mode. In this example, the new beat class mode is confirmed when a second synthesizer enters (after another four measures) with longer note values, and aligns with the beats established by the bass and snare drums. This is shown in Example 5-24.

D8+1

8

Example 5-22: Underworld “Cups” (0:59-1:13) (Adapted from Butler, 2006, 142)

In addition to a metrical state shift, this example of “turning the beat around” also exhibits a change in groove state. The original instrumental layers now produce a metrical displacement dissonance as shown in Example 5-22. Butler describes this as a

190 D8+1 displacement dissonance according to Krebs’ orthography. For our purposes, what is most important is that this metrical dissonance changes the way quarter-note beats are felt. This is shown in Example 5-23, which presents the composite rhythms produced by the layers in Examples 5-21 (beginning) and 5-22. At the beginning (shown as the first measure in Example 5-23), only beats 1 and 3 are further filled by shorter note durations.

Beats 2 and 4 (the backbeats) are left as pure projections. The result is a kind of “stutter- step” groove where the main beat durations are filled, but the backbeat durations are left hanging. When the drums enter, the new backbeats are reinforced by the snare drum sound, adding to the metrical state shift. In addition, a shift in groove state occurs as every quarter-note beat is filled with shorter note durations. It could also be said that the beat class tonic (beat 1 or BC 0) is further reinforced because the fourth beat in every repeating measure is filled in with greater density using four sixteenth-note attacks.

Example 5-23: Composite Rhythms from Underworld “Cups.”

A further shift in metrical state actually occurs when the second synth enters as shown in Example 5-24. This new instrument repeats a four-measure pattern notated in

Example 5-24 as sustained pitches. The actual synthesizer patch used contains many overtone pitches, similar to overtone stops on an organ. The result is the sound of sustained chords rather than focused pitches. This infuses a type of harmonic rhythm onto

191 the track at this point. The four-measure synth pattern conflicts with the one-bar units that have persisted in the track to this point. The four-bar patterns of Synth 2 do reinforce the four-bar hypermetrical scheme induced by the entry of a new sound every four measures as the texture builds. Complicating the texture further is the fact that the B 4 pitch in

Synth 2 assumes the state of referential tonic pitch so that the shift to G4 in the second measure sounds like a move away from the tonic. The return of B 4 in measure three of

Example 5-24 infuses the track with a two-bar hypermetrical reference. This sounding of the “tonic” pitch every two measures persists for a period following the first entry of

Synth 2. While the quarter-note beats remain intact, they become grouped into two-bar hypermetrical units consisting of eight beats. This does not destroy the overall tactus, and dancers will still align their movements with the main beat and backbeat, but the longer hypermetrical groupings seem to result in an overall metrical deceleration, a type of metrical state shift.

Example 5-24: Underworld “Cups” (1:13-1:28). (Adapted from Butler, 2006, 143)

192 Metrical state and groove state shifts fulfill a somewhat different role in EDM than in rock music, though there is great similarity in how these metrical processes are established. The main difference is that rock music tends to feature shifts at prominent structural points owing to its largely sectional nature. EDM consists of much longer and much less sectionalized structures. Metrical and groove state shifts contribute to an overall linear rhythmic and metrical development to a much greater degree than the cumulative formal processes observed in the rock music examples. The next section will briefly address a musical genre that features metrical state and groove state shifts both as structural transition devices and as cumulative developmental processes.

Rap Music62

Adam Krims’ Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity is a remarkable achievement in popular music scholarship. It weaves together a number of interconnected threads relating rap music to social constructions of identity, systems of style classification, transnational genre dialects, and relates all of these to the sounds that define the rap genre. At the same time, it makes a case for prominence of poetics in popular music scholarship; in other words, the analytical/theoretical study of the sounds as they relate to the socio-cultural construction of the musical genre.

As with EDM (and as I have made the case with rock music), processes of rhythm and metre play a prominent role in the formation of the various rap styles. Unlike EDM

(but like rock), rap grooves result not only from the layering of patterned instrumental

62 This section will refer to Adam Krims’ seminal work, Rap Music and the Poetics of Identity. I therefore use the term “rap music” instead of hip-hop to be consistent with Krims. Krims discusses the controversies surrounding these names on pages 10-12.

193 lines that create the groovy background, but also rely (to an even greater degree than

rock) on the rhythmic organization of vocal utterances. Indeed, as Krims explains, rap

music style results to a great degree from the type of rhythmic “flow” practiced by the

MC.63

The rhythmic styles of MCing, or “flows”, are among the central aspects of rap production and reception, and any discussion of rap genres that takes musical poetics seriously demands a vocabulary of flow. Rhythmic style marks several dimensions of rap music at once for artists and fans – history, geography, and genre all at once, not to mention the constant personal and commercial quest for uniqueness. It thus cannot be separated from an exposition of rap genres and styles.64

Krims defines three types of flow that are common in rap music production: sung

style, speech-effusive style, and percussive-effusive style. Sung style refers to vocal

rhythms that come closest to resembling those of sung pop or rock songs. This style

features regular couplet beat divisions, on-beat accents and pauses, more rhythmic

consistency between lines, and end rhymes (i.e., text lines with rhymes that fall typically

on the last beat of a measure). Speech-effusive and percussive-effusive styles by contrast

involve off-beat accents and pauses, smaller and more irregular beat subdivisions, and

irregular rhythm and rhyme schemes. Speech-effusive styles comes closest to resembling

free speech and tend to avoid any overt reference to the established metre of the “beat”

tracks.65 Percussive-effusive on the other hand involves staccato vocal attacks and a

deliberate attempt to play against the prevailing metre with frequent use of staccato

offbeat attacks and irregular rhythmic groupings that most resemble a soloistic percussion

63 The MC (from “master of ceremonies”) is the primary vocal performer in rap music. The MC’s partner is the DJ who plays the “beats” over which the MC performs. 64 Krims, Rap Music, 48. 65 To complicate matters further, “beats” in rap music also refer to the entire backing instrumental track over which the MC raps. My use of quotation marks is meant to contrast this definition of “beat” from the more generic usage that appears throughout most of this dissertation.

194 instrument. Each of these styles can be categorized as individual groove states. These states are not only performer-specific or song-specific but may also refer to the history and style of the rap track. “Old school” rap tends to be more sung style, but this flow is also characteristic of certain genre styles of rap, namely party rap and some jazz/bohemian rap. Speech-effusive styles are more contemporary and predominate in reality rap (including the sub-genre of gangsta). Percussive-effusive styles cross these generic boundaries. However, the genre boundaries are not always clearly defined. Krims provides a rhythmic analysis of the track “MCs Act Like they Don’t Know” by KRS-One which shows an evolution of rhythmic flow from the beginning of the track. Krims uses a beat-class grid to mark out the four quarter-note beats in a 4/4 measure as Beat Classes 0 to 3, with sixteenth-note subdivisions also identified as BCs 0 to 3 on a submetrical layer.

This is a variation on Cohn’s and Roeder’s Beat Class formalism but is productive in this case as it allows Krims to simply indicate vocal attacks with an x in the grid. Spaces represent sixteenth-note subdivisions in which there is no vocal attack. Example 5-25 represents the vocal rhythms for the first four lines of the track, with each line of the verse notated as a separate layer in the grid. 66

These opening four lines would be considered an example of “sung style.”

Although there is a great deal of syncopation and seeming rhythmic irregularity, Krims points out that the quarter-note BCs 0 and 3 are left empty for the first three lines, while

BCs 1 and 3 are consistently attacked through most of the example. The final line contains a vocal attack on every quarter-note beat class. In addition, the ending rhymes of lines two and four both occur on or near the fourth quarter-note beat (BC3) and sound

66 Krims, Rap Music, 59.

195 like an end-rhyme couplet. Example 5-26 shows Krim’s transcription of the next two lines which begin to deviate from the sung style.67

0 1 2 3 1/4s 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 1/16s x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Example 5-25: Vocal rhythms for opening four lines of “MCs Act like they Don’t Know” by KRS-One Text: Clap your hands, everybody / if you’ve got what it takes / ‘Cause I’m K-R-S, and I’m on the mike / and Premier’s on the breaks!

0 1 2 3 1/4s 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 1/16s x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Example 5-26: Vocal rhythms for first verse, first couplet of “MCs Act like they Don’t Know” by KRS-One Text: If you don’t / Know me by now, I doubt you’ll ever know me, I / never won a Grammy, I won’t win a Tony. But…

In this example, there is a clear increase in attack density from the rhythms in

Example 5-25 which contributes to a shift in groove state. However, Krims points out the overall rhythmic consistency between the two lines of Example 5-26 that preserve remnants of the previous sung style. BC 2 in the sixteenth layer of the last quarter-note beat remains empty in both lines, and each line also features unattacked beat classes in the middle of each line (offset by two sixteenth notes in the first case, and one in the

67 Krims, Rap Music, 60.

196 second). Example 5-27 below shows Krims’ transcription of a later timepoint in the track.68 Here the flow is much more speech-effusive. There is little similarity in the rhythms of each line. There is an even greater attack density than the rhythms of Example

5-26, as well as an irregular subdivision in the first quarter note, symbolized by the triplet

3 grouping in the closely spaced attacks that fill the first half of BC 0.

0 1 2 3 1/4s 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 0 1 2 3 1/16s - 3 - x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Example 5-27: Vocal rhythms for two (plus) lines from third verse of “MCs Act like they Don’t Know” by KRS-One Text: Comin’ around the mountain, you run and hide, hopin’ your de- / fence mechanism can divert my heat-seeking-lyri- / cism

Though these groove state shifts would appear subtle to the uninitiated, Krims maintains that rap audiences and musicians clearly recognize stylistic shifts such as this.

In fact, Krims claims that KRS-One deliberately engineers this shift in rhythmic flow to reinforce his authenticity as a rap veteran. The sung style at the beginning signifies his old school credentials as a rap pioneer, while the speech-effusive rhythms heard later in the track maintain his contemporary status as a relevant artist of today.

We have focused on groove state shifts in rap music to this point for good reason.

Metrical state shifts are not as relevant to rap music as they are to other forms of popular music. This is largely a result of the method by which rap “beats” are engineered. Rap

68 Krims, Rap Music, 60.

197 DJs typically combine loops sampled from pre-recorded sources, layering them to create the metrical texture that serves as the backing track for the MC. A typical rap “beat” could contain only one or two rhythmic loops, or a much larger combination of rhythms, chords, melodic riffs, and sound effects from a number of sources. The final product remains more or less intact for the duration of the song and hence metrical state shifts are not as pronounced in rap music. However, like EDM, rap tracks sometimes feature an accumulation of layers at the beginning of the track that eventually build towards the complete “beat.” This happens to a certain degree in “MCs Act like they Don’t Know” as the opening sung-style lines are accompanied only by handclaps that underscore the backbeat for the metrical backdrop. As the first verse proper begins, drums, a keyboard, and a bass loop enter which confirm the metre suggested by the handclaps, and also provide a two-measure harmonic rhythm to the “beat.” The effect is a shift in metrical state from the suggested beats of the handclaps to those confirmed by the other instruments.

Rap DJs also make frequent use of a similar technique to that of “withholding the beat” in EDM. However, instead of just leaving out the bass instruments, rap DJs will cut out the entire “beat” to leave the MC alone for a brief period. This is usually done to add emphasis to a particular line in the text. The result is a brief metrical state shift, as the main pulse becomes suspended. Dancers may or may not suspend their movements during these “beat suspensions,” but, like EDM, their motions will be more intense when the “beat” returns.

This brief examination of metrical processes in electronic dance music and rap confirms that the concepts of metrical and groove states have currency in a number of

198 divergent genres of Western popular music. Before returning our attention to Cape

Breton fiddle music, it is useful to explore how these groove-based metrical processes

also permeate non-Western groove-based musics to show the broad applicability of this

theoretical model..69 The following is an example of a polystylistic instrumental dance

piece. Simon Shaheen’s “Longa Farahfaza” is based on a Turkish dance form but is also

highly influenced by Arabic music as well as Western jazz fusion.

Simon Shaheen – “Longa Farahfaza”

Simon Shaheen is a master oud player and violinist, originally from Galilee, but now

residing in New York City. As the founder of the ensemble Qantara, and the Near

Eastern Music Ensemble, he has been active in combining Arabic music traditions with

Western jazz and classical music.70 The track “Longa Farahfaza” appears on his 2002

recording Turath. Shaheen describes the longa as a

…lively dance form usually in simple 2/4 metre (called fox). The longa is a Turkish/Eastern European style that evolved into Arabic music. It consists of two to four couplets (khanat) which follow a rondo like format with a recurring passage or refrain (taslim). Generally each khana and taslim consists of 8-16 measures, mainly in 2/4, except for the last which occasionally follows the 3/4 Samai Darij metre.71

69 I use the term non-Western here to refer to musical genres that are considered marginal in the West. The track “Longa Farahfaza” is indeed Western influenced and is considered by the performers to be a type of jazz fusion music. 70 An excellent resource for information about Simon Shaheen is the Teacher Resource Guide published by the University of Michigan Music Society (UMS) and available at http://ums.org/s_education_community/teacher_resource_guides.asp. 71 UMS resource guide, 18.

199 “Longa Farahfaza” follows this sectional structure and utilizes the maqam farahfaza as

the overall mode or scale.72

Example 5-28 shows my transcription of the track’s introduction. The top line

shows a simplified version of the main melody. This is played by a number of

instruments including violin, ney, and oud. Typically the individual instruments ornament

the melody with grace notes and trills, but despite the heterophonic clouding of the

melody pitches, the melody retains a clearly articulated rhythmic definition. A high-

pitched drum (possibly a darabuka) provides consistent offbeat attacks throughout the

introduction reminiscent of a backbeat in rock music. The backbeat effect is not as

pronounced here because of the fast tempo and the thin sound of the drum. The natural

inclination is to move in synchrony with the main beats of the 2/4 measures with the

offbeat drum attacks filling in the intervening space. The drum therefore makes a tangible

contribution to the groove state as the main beats are subdivided evenly by two.

The overall metrical state is determined not only by the clearly-defined beats in

each measure, but also by the hypermetrical organization of the passage. Similar melodic

beginnings at measures 1 and 4 divide the passage into three-bar hypermeasures. This is

confirmed by a cadence of sorts at the end of measure 6, followed by a new melodic idea

72 In Arabic music a maqam represents not only a collection of pitches that define a scale but also a subset of reference pitches and an overall mood that the maqam embodies. Although the maqam farahfaza is similar to the G Minor scale, it also makes use of microtonal inflections of the basic pitches corresponding to the rules of the maqam. The following notated examples are therefore not completely accurate as these microtonal variations are not represented.

200 Example 5-28: “Longa Farahfaza” - introduction

(an ascending scale) beginning at measure 7. The melodic parallelisms of the first two three-bar hypermeasures unite these into an overall six-bar grouping which divides the passage nearly in half. The second half of the passage is not as clearly metrically

201 delineated. It contains only five measures before the passage is repeated, and there is no clear subdivision into smaller hypermetrical units. This inconsistent hypermetrical organization leads to a reduced sense of drive in the introduction. Though the first half features regular three-bar units, this produces a conflict with the overall duple nature of the metre at the measure level. In the second half of the passage, the five-bar group adds a further level of conflict both with the duple metre and with the triple hypermetre.

The bass line also contributes to a reduced sense of metrical drive in the introduction. Here we see the influence of Western jazz and rock ideas on the structural organization of the track. The bass rhythms provide an overall sense of drive or momentum. For the most part, the bass highlights melody notes that fall on strong beats.

The bass begins in unison with the melody and repeats the two measure, three quarter- note pattern at various moments throughout the passage. This two-measure pattern highlights the hypermetrical conflict produced by three-bar melodic groupings. The bass repeats the two-measure pattern beginning in measures 1, 4, 6, and 8 outlining a consistent duple hypermetre with the exception of the single quarter-note attack in measure 3. While the natural inclination would be to move in synch with the main beats of the groove, the conflicting hypermetrical cues as reinforced by the bass weaken the overall sense of drive in the introduction.

When the introduction is repeated, the bass line is altered slightly. This is not shown in Example 5-28, but the two-measure, two-quarter-note groupings in the bass practically disappear after measure two. Instead, the bass highlights the downbeats of individual measures until the end of the passage where it repeats the initial bass line. This produces a very subtle metrical state shift as some of the hypermetrical conflicts outlined

202 above resolve themselves. After the repetition, the introduction is appended with two

additional measures that act as a bridge to the next section, which I will call the refrain.73

These two measures introduce a new bass rhythm that will feature prominently

throughout the refrain. The dotted quarter and eighth rhythm forms the essential rhythm

of the bass line in the refrain and it is introduced here as a kind of “pivot rhythm” leading

to the substantial metrical and groove state shifts that appear in the refrain.

Example 5-29 shows the refrain section of “Longa Farahfaza.” Here we see two

percussive layers: a stream of steady sixteenth-note attacks played by the riqq74 and new

bar-length periodicity played by the darabuka. The darabuka rhythm divides the duple

measures into sixteenth-note units of 3+3+2 which are in turn supported by the more

regular bass rhythms. These changes in the percussion and bass patterns produce a

palpable shift in groove state from that of the introduction. The groove state of the

introduction was greatly affected by the regular offbeat darabuka attacks while the

chorus dispenses with these in favour of the sixteenth-note stream in the riqq and the

3+3+2 pattern in the darabuka and bass. The eighth-note anacruses at the end of each

measure in the bass adds a new subdivision which also affects the groove state.

The disappearance of the offbeat drum pattern does not produce a metrical

deceleration as would happen if these attacks were perceived as a backbeat. Instead, a

more driving metrical state occurs in the chorus due to a number of factors. The

sixteenth-note riqq pattern contributes significantly to the metrical state acceleration. As

with shifts to open hi-hats and attacks on the snare drum had in rock music, the riqq

73 This refrain section acts in many ways a like a chorus in a rock song. I use the word refrain here, as there are no singers and because Shaheen also uses this term. The proper Arabic term would be taslim. 74 A riqq is a type of tambourine used in many styles of Middle Eastern music.

203 produces a more spectrally expansive timbre that heightens the sense of expansiveness of the groove, permitting more intense individualized movements. In addition, the hypermetrical ambiguity that pervades the introduction passage disappears during the refrain. Melodic parallelisms clearly divide the twelve-measure refrain in half as measures 7-10 are related melodically to measures 1-4. Two-bar hypermetre is also clearly delineated throughout the section. Each half begins with two-bar units that are directly repeated in succession, followed by a two-bar linking or ending unit. The regular hypermetrical divisions metrically reinforce the bar-length periodicities infused by the bass and drum patterns despite the fact that the melody retains the duple metrical character of the introduction. The alignment of the bass and drums into repetitive bar- length units and the combination of these single units into even hypermetrical units of two and six intensifies the groove as the instruments all become more metrically synchronized. In many ways, this is the same effect observed in the shift from chorus to verse in the U2 song “Beautiful Day” where the disappearance of the backbeat during the chorus was overridden by the uniting of the various instrumental streams into a synchronized 3+3+2 pattern.

204 Example 5-29: “Longa Farahfaza” refrain

“Longa Farahfaza” therefore features many of the metrical processes observed in the Western popular styles analyzed previously (and in the Cape Breton fiddle music to follow) despite being culturally and stylistically distinct. Shaheen’s exposure to Western

205 music no doubt influences his creative output and informs many of his musical arrangements and compositions. Yet Shaheen remains true to the musical traditions he explores, with much of his work dedicated to the dissemination of traditional Arabic music through the polystylistic conduit of jazz fusion. But more than this, Shaheen is interested in creating something new, blending styles and traditions into something greater than the sum of its parts. He formed the ensemble Qantara for this reason, gathering together expert musicians from various traditions to create music that defies stylistic and political boundaries:

For the past six years, Shaheen has focused much of his energies on Qantara. The band, whose name means arch in Arabic, is Shaheen’s vision of the unbridled fusion of Arabic, jazz, Western Classical and Latin music, a perfect alchemy meld where the music transcends the boundaries of genre and geography. “I want to create world music exceptionally satisfying to the ear and the soul,” says Shaheen, which is why I selected members for Qantara who are all virtuosos in their own musical form, whose experience can raise the music and performance of the group to the spectacular.”75

Summary

The above examples are by no means exhaustive, but are meant to demonstrate to flexibility of this analytical model as applicable to a multiplicity of groove-based musical genres and styles. Moreover, the preceding discussion has demonstrated that musical grooves share common elements that cross stylistic boundaries. The very fact that examples of groove-based music rely on a repetitive rhythmic underpinning renders any rhythmic and metrical changes more profound. Shifts in groove state and metrical state as

I have defined them provide a sense of temporal progression. A dynamic process of

75 UMS resource guide, 11.

206 shifting energy states unites members of the groove who experience a kind of dramatic journey together, while still retaining their individual characters.

It will be apparent by now that I have resisted any attempt to provide rigid, technical definitions for the terms groove, groove state, and metrical state. I have defined the metrical state of a groove as the sense of drive or propulsion towards the isochronous beats that establish the groove. Groove state is defined as the way the intervening time between beat attacks is divided or experienced. Each of these states, however, is treated as being variable and unique to an individual piece of music. This maximum flexibility may be frustrating to readers who prefer more general and quantifiable algorithms, but I believe that the variability of these states actually lies at the heart of the groove experience. Critics of groove-based music often point to the repetitive nature of the groove as a primary weakness in the music. However I have shown that this repetition actually induces a much more complicated temporal experience that is unique to each groove, with its own process of temporal progression involving groove and metrical state shifts. I therefore feel that is essential to determine what fuels these progressions on a case by case basis.

Despite this, our analyses of individual tracks in rock, electronic dance music, rap, and Arabic jazz fusion revealed a number of commonalities in the way groove and metrical state shifts are established. The following summarizes the musical cues we have extracted thus far, which establish metrical and groove state progressions. As we will see shortly, many of these factors feature prominently in the grooves that permeate Cape

Breton fiddle music.

207 The following musical cues were observed as having a tangible effect on metrical state:

1) Sound and intensity of main beats (including withholding the beat) 2) Sound and intensity of back beats 3) Harmonic rhythm 4) Spectral diffusion and expansive timbre of sound layers 5) Hypermetrical structure and regularity 6) Rhythmic synchronization of sound layers 7) Beat class modulations (turning the beat around)

The following musical cues were observed as having a tangible effect on groove state:

1) Subdivision of beats 2) Rhythmic and metrical dissonance 3) Transpositions of rhythmic patterns 4) Shifting accent patterns 5) Periodic use of rhythmic motives

In the next chapter, I will apply this analytical model to Cape Breton fiddle music. I will begin with an investigation of the rhythmic and metrical organization of individual fiddle tune types and then investigate the groove and metrical state progressions of the traditional accompaniment patterns and set constructs. This will be followed by four analyses of fiddle tune sets, including traditional arrangements and contemporary “pop” arrangements. Through this I propose to discover how the essential groove nature of the music is preserved regardless of the surface stylistic packaging.

208 Chapter 6

Cape Breton Fiddle Grooves

Somebody who doesn’t know the ins and outs of the music can certainly feel the rhythm.… It’s right there, the power and the lift in the tempo and the groove – the feel of the music is just so strong.1

People tend to forget that if you learn to work on a car and, the next year, you learn how to work on a truck, you haven’t forgotten how to work on a car. I’m brought up in more of a traditional sense than any of the kids today who are learning to play the fiddle. I heard disco and said, well hey, that’s 120 beats per minute. That bass drum sounds like my foot when I’m playing; I can play fiddle over this, and I went out and learned Stayin’ Alive on the fiddle. It was really in disco and dance music that I first thought about finding a different way to present the music I had been brought up with.2

Chapters 2 to 4 of this dissertation established the socio-musical framework for the

consideration of Cape Breton fiddle music as a type of groove-based popular music.

Chapter 5 outlined an analytical model for groove-based musics through analyses of

musical genres that have influenced or intersected with Cape Breton fiddle music: rock

music, electronic dance music, rap, and “world music.” This chapter will apply the

analytical model from Chapter 5 to Cape Breton fiddle music, considering a number of

different examples that range from more traditional arrangements to more recent pop

music recordings.

1 Natalie MacMaster quoted in Kerry Dexter, “Cape Breton’s Natalie MacMaster Let’s Her Hair Down. Firebrand Fiddler Puts On A Lively Show Of Dancing and Revved-up Traditional Tunes,” SonicNet (May 26, 2000). 2 Interview with Ashley MacIsaac in Martin Melhuish, Celtic Tides: Traditional Music in a New Age (Kingston: Quarry Press, 1998), 122.

209 The chapter will begin with a brief description of the Cape Breton fiddling

tradition, the fiddling style, and the types of fiddle tunes that define the music. This will

lead to a discussion of the piano accompaniments that are so closely linked with Cape

Breton fiddling. The bulk of the chapter will present analyses of fiddle tune

arrangements. This will begin with a more traditional medley by fiddler Jerry Holland,

followed with a more innovative set by the Barra MacNeils. The final two examples will

present analyses of pop-music influenced tracks by Natalie MacMaster and Ashley

MacIsaac. These analyses will reveal that despite the stylistic differences in arrangements

of fiddle tune sets Cape Breton fiddle music retains common metrical processes in

groove-based musics involving metrical state and groove state progressions.

Cape Breton Fiddling

Cape Breton fiddling differs from other Celtic fiddling traditions in sound and technique.3

To be considered a good fiddler, one must exhibit a solid command of the performing

technique, with the “correct” sound. This sound is predominantly characterized by timbre

and rhythm. Indeed, I have frequently heard fiddle performances that other fiddlers

considered strong and correct, but in which I noticed frequent problems with intonation.

In these cases, the correct rhythmic execution, ornamentation, and timbral qualities were

prized above that of flawless intonation. There is very little improvisation in Cape Breton

fiddling, and variations of the tunes involve only certain ornaments referred to as cuts,

3 I use this term here as an emic descriptor. Cape Breton fiddlers generally consider themselves as Celtic musicians. See Chapter 3 for a discussion the term “Celtic Music” and its inherent ambiguities and inaccuracies.

210 trills, and drones.4 The bowing style is often referred to as “driving,” with one note per bow and very little slurring. This differs from traditional Scottish and Irish fiddling, which feature many notes slurred under single bow strokes.

Tunes are performed at concerts or dances in sets that are constructed based on a

common key area. This key does not necessarily refer to a particular scale however, as

modal variants are common within a given set of tunes. A set is often referred to as being

“on” a certain key. For example, a set of tunes “on A” may contain major, minor, dorian,

and mixolydian modal variants within the common A tonic. Changes in mode may

happen from one tune to the next or within sections of the same tune. Occasionally a

modulation to another key area is effected. This is usually a related key such as the

relative minor/major, the fifth-related key, or the key one whole step higher.

Individual tunes have remained part of the tradition through oral transmission.

However, a number of fiddlers have learned to read Western musical notation in order to

augment their repertoires with tunes from published collections. Many of these fiddlers

also composed, notated and published their own tunes, and published transcriptions of

tunes that were originally learned by ear. Examples 6-1 to 6-6 below show six notated

fiddle tunes from Jerry Holland’s Collection of Fiddle Tunes. The first two are traditional

Scottish tunes, the third is a traditional Irish jig, while the last three were composed by

Holland himself.

4 For descriptions of these see Allister MacGillivray, The Cape Breton Fiddler (Sydney: College of Cape Breton Press, 1981), 5; and Jerry Holland, Jerry Holland’s Collection of Fiddle Tunes (Englishtown: Cranford Publications, 2000), iv.

211 Example 6-1: Traditional Scottish strathspey

Example 6-2: Traditional Scottish reel

212 Example 6-3: Traditional Irish jig

Example 6-4: Jerry Holland strathspey

213 Example 6-5: Jerry Holland reel

Example 6-6: Jerry Holland Jig.

214 One can see certain similarities in each of the tunes, despite their different origins

and tune types. Each of the tunes uses motives of two or three beats in length to construct

larger phrases. The tunes are not melodies in the classical sense, with many of them

simply arpeggiating triads or seventh chords. In essence then, the tunes are constructed as

rhythmically prolonged chords rather than as melodies to be harmonized. As instrumental

dance music, this is perhaps not surprising. However, as discussed above, certain authors

have taken great pains to link the fiddling tradition with more lyrical sources, such as

pipe music, and the waning Gaelic language. While these sources were undoubtedly

influential, it is more likely that the up tempo dance sets required tunes to be economical

with pitch distribution for ease of execution. Instead of elaborate melodic contours,

fiddlers create interest and energy through accents, syncopation, and ornamentation of

fairly simple triadic lines.

Tune types are identified by a combination of rhythmic and metric traits. The most

common tune types in the Cape Breton style are strathspeys, jigs, and reels with marches,

hornpipes, and waltzes used less frequently. Slow airs are often performed as part of concerts but are related more to Scottish and Irish songs, rather than dance music. Most tunes are divided into two sections (individual phrases or periods) that often feature a change in pitch register from one section to the next. Tunes are usually performed as sets that often feature a progression in drive or momentum from the beginning of a set to its conclusion. For example a march or group of marches may lead into a group of strathspeys followed by a group of reels. As we shall see, this follows an overall metrical state acceleration. Jigs are often performed in sets by themselves because they are

215 metrically distinct from other tune types, though a jig or group of jigs may precede a

group of reels.

Strathspeys are uniquely Scottish in origin and are very rarely performed in Ireland

where they are referred to as highlands. They are often notated in 4/4, though beat

groupings within measures often correspond to two beats per measure. However, fiddlers

performing strathspeys often stamp their right foot four times per measure at tempos of

150-160 stomps per minute, giving the strathspeys a distinctively driving characteristic

despite the slower performance tempo.We will explore this metric feature later. The most

distinctive rhythmic characteristic of the strathspeys is the “sixteenth and dotted eighth”

figures as shown in Examples 6-1 and 6-4, the so-called “Scotch Snap.” As shown in

Example 6-1, the Scotch Snap figure is often followed by its rhythmic retrograde (dotted

eighth and sixteenth). Typically, the“sixteenth and dotted eighth” or Scotch snap rhythm

occurs on strong beats instrathspeys, or may appear in the first beat of a phrase. The notation

implies an agogic accent on the longer dotted-eighth note, but the sixteenth note attack is not

anacrustic innature. In other words, it could not be re-transcribed as a grace note. Each note

in the two-note figure is bowed separately with the sixteenth note receiving a strong downbow.

It is therefore more accented than the dotted eighth that follows.

The strathspey is often referred to as “lilting” and is a common feature in “square

set” dances.5 The lilting effect is commonly attributed to the dotted figures, but these

dotted figures are executed differently depending on which figure is employed. The

dotted eighth and sixteenth rhythm is actually executed more like swung eighth notes (in

other words the sixteenth arrives slightly ahead of where it is notated). The sixteenth and

5 This is not to be confused with American “square dancing.” A Cape Breton square set involves two couples step dancing in a square. There is no “caller” dictating the step as in American square dancing.

216 dotted eighth figure is played more precisely as notated. This differentiation in feel

between the two rhythms is what infuses the strathspey groove with its unique character.

The swing feel of the dotted eighth-sixteenth figure establishes the lilting character

commonly associated with the strathspey. However, the “straighter” execution of the

Scotch snaps at the beginnings of phrases, downbeats, or other strong beats provides a

more of aggressive onset to the main beats of the groove, giving the strathspey its

corollary driving quality. As we shall see, accompaniments to strathspeys accentuate both

of these rhythmic aspects of the strathspey groove.

The sixteenth divisions of the beats in the Scotch snap figures set up the potential

for brief flourishes of sixteenth-note runs that often take place at key points in the tune

phrases. Example 6-7 below shows one such flourish ending a phrase in the very popular

Cape Breton strathspey “King George IV.” 6 We see here that a grouping of four

sixteenth notes is used to end the phrase. The four equal notes per beat during these

flourishes can foreshadow the typical reel rhythms of four notes per beat. A series of

strathspeys is almost always followed by a series of reels that end the set and the

transition may employ a bridging strathspey that contains many of these sixteenth-note

flourishes.

6 This example is taken from a transcription by David Greenberg and Kate Dunlay based on a recording by Willie Kennedy. The transcription can be found on Kennedy’s website: http://www.mustrad.org.uk/articles/kennedy2.htm.

217 Example 6-7: Phrase from strathspey showing sixteenth-note flourish

The use of triplet figures in strathspeys (see Examples 6-4 and 6-7) appears to be a modern convention as they are found far more frequently in twentieth-century composed strathspeys than in traditional Scottish ones. The triplets may reflect the modern influence of jigs, which are based on compound beat divisions. The triplet rhythms are not used in the same way as the sixteenth-note flourishes however, as a group of strathspeys rarely sets up a group of jigs. The triplet figures simply provide brief alterations to the groove state for rhythmic effect. The triplets integrate well into the overall strathspey rhythmic texture owing to the swing feel as mentioned above.

Reels are usually notated in 2/2 time (though 4/4 versions also abound) and feature a string of successive eighth notes as in Examples 6-2 and 6-5. As noted above, the typical reel therefore employs four eighth notes per beat. In other words, the fiddler would stomp in half notes, typically at tempos between 100-120 half note beats per minute. Longer notes may appear at key points in the reel sections. Most traditional Cape

Breton reels are either Scottish or Irish in origin though, as with all of the tunes, new compositions are continuously being created and performed. Reels are generally the most lively and driving of all tune types and normally are found towards the end of a set. A

218 series of strathspeys or marches typically ends with a set of reels on the same key or a related key.

The metrical relationship between reels and strathspeys is particularly interesting.

The shift from strathspey to reel results in the feeling of acceleration. However this is not simply a result of a tempo shift or as a result of the switch from common to cut time. The shift from the swung dotted eighth and sixteenth figure of the strathspey to the straight eighths in the reel alters the groove state. As noted above, the effect is often prepared by sixteenth-note flourishes in the strathspeys. A metrical state shift is also apparent when observing the fiddler’s foot stomps. During the strathspey, a fiddler will typically stomp every quarter-note beat as mentioned. During the reel, the stomps generally switch to every half-note beat. The “stomp rate” therefore normally decreases from strathspey to reel reflecting the metrical state shift. The reel’s extra drive is therefore achieved by the increase in attack density between beats (a groove state shift) during the reel: four attacks per beat vs. two attacks in the strathspey. For this reason, I would hesitate to describe the shift in metrical state from strathspey to reel as a deceleration. While the rate of foot stomping does decrease, there is an undeniable increase in the sense of momentum when a reel begins. This is an example of how the groove state shift resulting from the increase in attack density per beat from strathspey to reel also results in a metrical state acceleration.

Jigs are often performed at dances in sets by themselves, as they are metrically distinct from other tune types. A concert set, however, may feature a series of jigs followed by some reels. Jigs are considered to be in 6/8 time, and normally feature six articulated eighth notes per measure. At certain key points in the jig phrases, longer notes

219 may appear on strong beats as in the second measure of Example 6-3 above. Despite their clear notation in 6/8 and the general compound duple nature of the jig metre, metrical ambiguity arises quite frequently in jigs in the form of hemiola. As stated above, the

Cape Breton fiddle technique favours separate bow strokes for each note in a tune. The group of six eighth notes may become grouped as three pairs of eighth notes according to the bowing pattern, infusing a superimposed triple metre. In practice many fiddlers do execute more than one note per bow stroke when playing jigs. To emphasize a triple hemiola pattern, the fiddler may switch to single bow strokes. As we shall see, the accompaniment instruments often enhance this metric ambiguity, adding a layer of metrical complexity to the resulting jig groove.

The primary contribution of the Scottish fiddling tradition to that of Cape Breton is in the playing technique itself. As stated above, the tunes themselves have been preserved orally, and eventually through standard notation. Fiddlers all learn to play the tunes the same way, with the same techniques. Correct playing is revered and improvisation is not generally supported. The innovations in the Cape Breton fiddle style in the twentieth century have therefore been in the areas of arrangements and accompaniments. The piano has become the standard accompaniment instrument, with the guitar increasing in popularity in recent years. Pump organ, spoons, and knitting needles were once common accompaniment instruments, and the fiddler’s foot stomps persist today as a percussive time keeper.

220 Piano Accompaniment

A detailed field study of the history and practice of Cape Breton fiddle piano

accompaniments has never been undertaken. This is beyond the scope of this study, but I

will briefly outline some of the innovations and conventions of the playing technique to

demonstrate how it most likely has evolved from outside musical influences.

Contemporary Scottish fiddling also uses the piano, as do some American fiddling

traditions, but the Cape Breton style has become distinctive in many ways. The piano as

accompaniment instrument is primarily a twentieth-century addition to the Celtic fiddling

traditions.

As with the fiddling itself, piano accompaniments are often taught by oral

transmission, with few pedagogical training aids available for self-study. Pianist Tracey

Dares has self-published an instructional video that demonstrates the basic Cape Breton-

style accompaniment figures for each tune type, as well as some of the more common

embellishments.7 The instructions primarily concern the most common rhythms used and

there is very little treatment of chord selection and substitution. This reveals one of the

interesting aspects of the piano accompaniment tradition. A typical tune may be

interpreted harmonically in different ways by different accompanists. The modal nature

of the tunes themselves allows for varying chord substitutions as we shall see. Early

accompaniments mainly employed primary triads in root position. As the accompaniment

style has evolved, pianists have experimented with more adventurous chord substitutions

including seventh chords and chord inversions. The basic accompaniment rhythm

7 Tracey Dares, A’Chording to the Tunes: A Cape Breton Piano Accompaniment Lesson (Crooked Lake Productions, 1997).

221 patterns for the strathspey, jig, and reel are shown in Examples 6-8, 6-9, and 6-10, as demonstrated by Dares in her video.

Example 6-8: Basic Strathspey accompaniment pattern8

Example 6-9: Basic reel accompaniment figure

Example 6-10: Basic Jig Accompaniment Pattern.

8 Dares actually provides several alternatives to the right hand part of this pattern.

222 These patterns are of course only templates and are never maintained exclusively

throughout a performance. However even these basic patterns reveal some interesting

properties of the piano style. Scottish fiddle accompaniments typically employ alternating

left and right hand with the left hand playing the root bass note of the chord on strong

beats and the right hand following with the closed position triad on weak beats. Example

6-11 shows versions of this for the jig and reel.9

Example 6-11: Scottish piano accompaniments for jig and reel

The Cape Breton style also employs bass notes on strong beats but there is a

preference for a rolling or broken octave pattern in the left hand. I submit that the rolling

octave pattern is most likely a borrowed stylistic trait from American popular music

styles including country music, blues, rock, and boogie woogie. In fact, the left hand

accompaniment of a jig heard in isolation will strongly resemble the left hand of a typical

boogie woogie piano performance. The Cape Breton style also employs a rest in the right

hand on most downbeats, followed by a right hand chord on weaker beats at the

9 This is based on personal observation from listening to Scottish fiddle recordings. Examples of these include: Alasdair Fraser, Portrait of a Scottish Fiddler (Independent, 1984); and The Scottish Fiddle Orchestra, The Best of the Scottish Fiddle Orchestra (Rel Records, 2001).

223 beginnings of measures. At the end of a measure though, it is typical to feature right hand syncopations. This is shown in the strathspey and reel figures in Examples 6-8 and 6- 9 where the right hand plays offbeat chords around the bass notes. In effect, this is an accelerated form of the traditional Scottish accompaniment played at the beat level rather than at the larger metrical level. Example 6-12 shows a very common jig accompaniment pattern that also features this right hand syncopation idea. Here the right hand plays a hemiola against the broken octave bass pattern.

Example 6-12: Alternate jig pattern with right-hand syncopation

In addition to rolling bass note figures and right-hand syncopations, Cape Breton piano accompaniments feature other modern conventions that I believe have been incorporated from the wider popular music world. These include walking bass lines, glissandi, and certain rock chording patterns that will be shown shortly. In addition, aspects of bluegrass, country, old time fiddling, blues, rock, and jazz have influenced the modern piano style. This is not merely a commercial contemporary diluting of the traditional style. I believe these influences have always been part of the evolving tradition from the earliest recordings of fiddler/piano duos.

224 The earliest recordings (78 rpm records) of Cape Breton fiddlers with piano accompanists suggest that gender roles were prominent in the early fiddling tradition.

There are no early recordings of female fiddlers, but the majority of the piano players were women. As with the fiddling tradition, piano accompanists form a hereditary line of succession. Well-known accompanists such as Mary Jessie MacDonald, Betty Maillet,

Bess MacDonald, Margaret MacPhee, Marie MacLellan and Maybelle Chisholm are each credited with bringing some personal innovation to the style including introducing syncopated rhythms, more active bass runs, added-note chords, and substituted harmonies.10

These gender roles have, for the most part, disappeared today. Prominent female fiddlers such as Natalie MacMaster, Wendy MacIsaac, and Lucy MacNeil are often accompanied by male pianists such as Mac Morin and Seamus MacNeil. Recent innovators include pianists who are also prodigious fiddlers. Howie MacDonald and the late John Morris Rankin often swapped instruments with each other when performing and recording with the Rankin Family throughout the 1990s. These musicians’ innate knowledge of the tunes from the fiddlers’ perspective was most likely crucial in their abilities to develop the piano style into a more rhythmic, groove-oriented accompaniment. Most fiddlers recognize that the fiddler’s ability to “drive ‘er” is largely dependent on a solid groove from the pianist. John Morris Rankin is widely credited with bringing the “Rock and Roll” into the piano accompaniments. Example 6-13 below shows my transcription of one phrase of Rankin’s accompaniment to “Michael Rankin’s

Reel” from the Rankin Family’s debut recording. The transcription is given here in

10 See Dares, A’Chording to the Tunes, for recorded excerpts of these pianists.

225 chord/slash rhythmic notation for the right hand to emphasize the rhythmic aspect of the chordal accompaniment. As with all Cape Breton piano accompaniments, the exact pattern is never repeated the same way twice. This reel is appended to the group’s recording of the Irish traditional song “Mairi’s Wedding.”11

Example 6-13: John Morris Rankin piano accompaniment

We see that Rankin’s accompaniment features a very active left hand with a more walking bass line in rolling octaves. For the most part, the right hand emphasizes BC 2 in every measure as in most traditional piano accompaniments. The ends of measures feature successive eighth-note rhythms that surround the fourth beat of the measure on beat classes 5 and 7, which emerge from the texture as syncopations. Rankin emphasizes

11 The Rankin Family, The Rankin Family (Independent: 1989).

226 BCs 2 and 6 throughout in his playing and this provides a strong backbeat to the accompaniment groove. In fact, after several repetitions of the reel, a drum kit enters the ensemble with snare drum and hi-hat on BCs 2 and 6, giving even more weight to the backbeat. The strong backbeat in Rankin’s accompaniment patterns accounts for the more

“rockin’” sound associated with him.

In recent years, Cape Breton musicians have decided to pursue post-secondary studies in music at nearby St Francis Xavier University, which offers a degree program in jazz performance. Those seeking a more classical music education have attended Mount

Allison University in Sackville, New Brunswick. Among these include the four members of the Barra MacNeils. Pianist Seamus MacNeil actually studied pipe organ while at

Mount Allison, but his piano playing with the Barra MacNeils features many rhythmic and harmonic innovations. I believe many of these are the result of influences from jazz and classical music theory, as well as exposure to pop/rock musical grooves.

Example 6-14 below shows my transcription of MacNeil’s accompaniment to the reel “The Drunken Landlady.”12 There is a marked difference to MacNeil’s accompaniment figures as compared to those of other pianists. The left hand/right hand alternation common in most piano accompaniments is here replaced by unison block chords in both hands for the first phrase of the tune. In addition, chord lengths alternate in groups of 3 and 2 quarter-note length beats. During the second phrase of the tune,

MacNeil shifts his accompaniment pattern. He begins with a downward glissando and then executes a walking bass line in octaves with the left hand. The right hand follows a more typical rhythmic pattern with a strong BC 2 and offbeats at the ends of measures.

12 The Barra MacNeils, The Barra MacNeils (Independent: 1986).

227 Example 6-14: Seamus McNeil piano accompaniment

228 Certain measures feature a left hand/right hand alternating chord bass pattern at the eighth-note beat division level. MacNeil is slightly more adventurous than Rankin with his choice of chords. Throughout the first phrase, an A pedal note in the bass is maintained while A, D, and G chords are superimposed against the bass. Many of

MacNeil’s accompaniments feature added bass note chords, and also include major seventh chords and added sixth chords, more common in jazz and pop music.

It is clear that the Cape Breton piano accompaniment tradition has evolved and has profited from exposure to other groove-oriented musical styles. The traditional left hand/right hand alternating bass note and chord accompaniment is similar in many ways to many popular music grooves, with the bass notes on the strong beats and the right hand chords providing a kind of backbeat. This similarity in basic groove construction allows for the creative adaptation of the accompaniments, incorporating rhythmic ideas from

Irish music as well as rock, pop, blues, bluegrass, jazz, and country music. As we shall see shortly, fiddle music that has been mass marketed for commercial appeal has capitalized on the flexibility of this music to accommodate polystylistic arrangements.

While many argue that this commercial packaging is responsible for slowly eradicating the tradition, I believe it is part of an ongoing process in which Cape Breton fiddlers regard their traditional music as a living, vital source of creative renewal and experimentation. To underscore this, the rest of this chapter will pursue metrical analyses of several Cape Breton fiddle tracks using the groove state/metrical state model exposed in the previous chapter. We will begin with two more traditional sets by fiddler Jerry

Holland and The Barra MacNeils, and then examine more contemporary tracks by

Natalie MacMaster and Ashley MacIsaac.

229 “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley”13

Union Street Session Reel – Paul Cranford Rannie MacLellan Reel – Traditional Denis Lanctôt’s Reel – Jerry Holland Wake up to Cape Breton Reel – Brenda Stubbert

Jerry Holland’s “Wake up to Cape Breton Medley” is the first track on his 1999 independent recording Fiddler’s Choice. The medley is a set of traditional and contemporary reels including Paul Cranford’s reel “Union Street Session,” the traditional reel “Rannie MacLellan,” Holland’s own “Denis Lanctôt’s Reel,” and Brenda Stubbert’s

“Wake up to Cape Breton Reel.” The first three reels are on D while the last reel oscillates between E Mixolydian and E Dorian.

Holland’s fiddle recordings frequently employ both piano and guitar as accompaniment instruments. This set begins with a brief piano introduction that establishes the tonal centre of D.14 Example 6-15 shows my transcription of this intro.

Each measure begins with a full D chord in both hands on the downbeat. The second

chord arrives on BC 6 and then the right and left hands oscillate with the right hand

executing chords on odd beat classes 1 and 5 in the second measure, while the left hand

continues the quarter-note pulse. The full D chords in both hands at the beginning of each

measure establish the metrical state for the introduction. The second D chord arriving on

BC 6 in addition to the left hand duration pattern establishes an overall a 3+2+3 quarter-

note pattern. This pattern is easier to discern in Example 6-16 where I have re-notated the

13 Individual fiddle tunes and medleys of fiddle tunes may or may not append the words medley, reel, jig, etc. at the end of the name. In other words this medley may be referred to as the “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” or simply as “Wake Up to Cape Breton.” Likewise, the “Union Street Session Reel” may also be referred to simply as “Union Street Session.” 14 The instrument used is clearly a digital piano. These instruments are frequently employed by Cape Breton Fiddle accompanists to facilitate live performances and cheaper recording environments.

230 intro with the durations halved, forming two 4/4 bars. We see a clear grouping of 3+2+3 eighth notes in each measure establishing the groove state. This is reminiscent of some of the rock examples observed above, particularly “De Do Do Do.” The offset right-hand sixteenth-note divisions in this example also contribute to the prevailing groove state.

Although the groove state of this intro contradicts the regular quadruple time of the metre signature, the rhythmic profile would be perceived by most experienced Cape Breton fiddle listeners as a natural set up for a reel. Variations on 3+2+3 (normally 3+3+2) are common in Cape Breton reel accompaniments and the fast eighth-note beat divisions in

Example 6-15 are typical of reels in general.

Example 6-15: Jerry Holland – “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” piano intro

Example 6-16: Jerry Holland – “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” piano intro re-notated

231 When the reel proper begins however, this complex metrical scheme is abandoned

in favour of block piano chords. Example 6-17 shows the first phrase of the first reel

along with my transcription of the piano accompaniment.15 There is a subtle shift in

metrical state beginning with the fourth measure of Example 6-17 as the harmonic

rhythm accelerates here to two chords per bar. The overall metrical state of this first

phrase corresponds to the harmonic rhythm of the piano accompaniment, which outlines

a whole-note pulse for the first two or three measures of each line, followed by a half-

note pulse for the ending of each line. The former 3+2+3 groove state pattern disappears

completely in favour of a more straight-forward reel groove with regular eighth-note beat

divisions.16 This line is repeated with small changes to the accompaniment chords that

still preserve the same metrical and groove states as the first iteration.

15 See The Session website for transcribed versions of popular reels. This reel is found at http://www.thesession.org/tunes/display/5057. 16 In the recording, Holland ornaments some of these notes using sixteenth-note beat divisions but the overall reel groove is still characterized by the eighth-note divisions.

232 Example 6-17: Jerry Holland – “Union Street Session Reel” phrase 1 with piano accompaniment

The second phrase of the reel features a shift in metrical state due to the introduction of backbeat chord rhythms in the piano. This is shown in Example 6-18. In the first measure, the right-hand piano chords begin on the backbeat (BC 2) and appear on subsequent even beat classes 4 and 6, following the chord progression established by the reel. The typical broken octave pattern also reinforces the main/back beat scheme as the lower octave note coincides with the main beats, while the upper note reinforces the backbeat. The right hand D chords in this measure outline the backbeat, while the G chord on beat 3 provides a neighbouring harmonic embellishment in the right hand. The

233 left hand provides passing quarter notes at the end of the measure, leading to the downbeat A in measure 2. Though this sounds like a faster harmonic rhythm where chords change on the quarter note, the prevailing harmonic rhythm of this phrase of the reel returns back to one chord per measure until the end of the phrase. The metrical state does however accelerate due to the arrival of the backbeat chords. The backbeat piano chords persist through the rest of this phrase and remain for the repeat of the entire reel as will be shown in Example 6-19. The backbeat and neighbouring chords also provide a subtle shift in groove state as they subdivide the main harmonic beat groupings into four quarter-note divisions. In other words, while the metrical pacing accelerates because of the more driving backbeat, so does the sense of temporal division of the main beats.

Example 6-18: Jerry Holland – “Union Street Session Reel” section 2 with piano accompaniment

234 Example 6-19 shows the return to the first half of the “Union Street Session Reel.”

It is common practice in Cape Breton fiddling to repeat each phrase of a tune followed by a repeat of the entire tune. Often there are modifications to the accompaniment when the tune is repeated. In this case the piano accompaniment effects a shift in metrical state which combines the metrical state acceleration mechanisms of the previous sections. We see here that the backbeat piano chords and broken octave bass pattern persist while the harmonic rhythm accelerates again to two chords per measure. This is the most driving metrical state yet achieved.

Example 6-19: Jerry Holland – “Union Street Session Reel” repeat of phrase 1 with piano accompaniment

235 We also see the appearance of offbeat right-hand piano chords throughout. These are shown in Example 6-19 on BCs 5 and 7 in measures 4 and 8. These “offbeat” chords provide a shift in groove state as the quarter-note beats further subdivide into eighth notes. This groove state shift is perhaps most pronounced for the piano player as the pace of the left and right hand oscillations effectively doubles when the right hand plays these offbeat chords. This form of groove state shift is very common in Cape Breton fiddle accompaniments as we have seen, and it also abounds in certain rock piano styles. For example, many of Elton John’s faster piano rock tracks feature this type of accelerated left/right hand oscillation. In both cases, I believe the pianists shift their temporal perceptions, essentially feeling the tactus twice as fast at this point rather than deliberately calculating the metrical dissonance. In Cape Breton piano accompaniments, the groove is often determined by the alternation of left and right hands, which subdivides the main beats. Doubling the speed of this oscillation essentially further subdivides the temporal units.

The guitar enters when the second reel in the set (“Rannie MacLellan”) begins.

Besides providing a new timbre for the accompaniment, the guitar has a palpable effect on the metrical state by providing extra weight to the backbeat. The guitar’s downward strums emphasize quarter-note beats 2 and 4 in each measure. This is very typical of

Cape Breton guitar accompaniments.

The guitar affects the groove state in two ways. During the first half of the reel, the guitar provides rhythmic attacks on every eighth note, though the “offbeat” eighth notes are weaker as they are strummed upward. Regardless, the eighth-note subdivisions already persistent in the reel proper are reinforced by the guitar rhythms. During the

236 second half of the reel, the guitar shifts its accent pattern, as shown in Example 6-20.

Here the guitar accents BCs 1 and 4 in each measure. The emphasis on BC 1 adds a syncopation to the accompaniment which shifts the groove state from the previous regular accent pattern. This also modifies the metrical state as the first backbeat in each measure becomes obscured. There is a corresponding metrical state deceleration produced by a removal of the backbeat on beat 2.

Example 6-20: Jerry Holland – “Rannie MacLellan” second half guitar rhythms

“Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” is a typical example of a more traditional rendition of a set of reels. There is an overall metrical state acceleration from the beginning through to the second reel in the set. The rest of the set features several subtle metrical state shifts, but the overall driving character, once achieved, is maintained.

Groove state shifts also abound often between the two halves of the same tune or between the tunes themselves. The piano provides strong left hand beats with right hand backbeats, and the guitar normally reinforces the backbeat. As this set features only one tune type (reels), the shifts in groove state and metrical state are less drastic than would appear in a more heterogeneous set construction. The next example features a set comprised of a variety of tune types: jigs, strathspeys, and reels.

237 “Ian Hardie Set”

The Poetic Milkman Jig – Ian Hardie Mr. Moore’s Strathspey – Traditional Kelsae Brig Reel – Ian Hardie Hooded Goat Reel – Ian Hardie Humours of Tulla Reel – Traditional

This set of fiddle tunes was recorded by the Barra MacNeils on their 1990 independent recording Timeframe.17 The set contains a mixture of traditional fiddle tunes and

contemporary tunes by the Scottish fiddle composer Ian Hardie. While the fiddling style

and certain aspects of the set construction conform to traditional Cape Breton modes of

performance, there are many aspects to this track that defy common practice. These

include the order of tunes, the instrumentation, and the accompaniment rhythms.

The set begins with a jig and ends with a set of reels. As mentioned above, this is

not entirely uncommon in concert performances. This set, however, inserts a strathspey in

between the jig and reels. The metric disruption between the 6/8 jig and the 4/4 strathspey

is quite jarring, and there is also a deliberately rough transition between the strathspey

and reels later in the track. These transitions immediately remove the performance from

the dance floor and place it firmly on the concert stage. A typical dance set may feature

different tune types, but will normally employ a smoother transition between tunes. In

concert sets, more variety may be attained by deliberately juxtaposing tunes with

different metres or tempos. The “Ian Hardie Set” is an effective concert medley from this

perspective but would not be ideal for a dance situation.

The Barra MacNeils have added many innovations to the Cape Breton fiddle style

in their recordings, borrowing stylistic traits from Irish traditional music and from pop

17 As with the Rankin Family’s early recordings, this was originally released independently but was re-released by Polydor/Polygram after the band signed their recording contract.

238 music. In this set, the fiddle is accompanied by a bodhran drum, synthesizer, tin whistle,

and accordion as well as a piano. The use of bodhran and whistle in fiddle tunes is

commonly associated with Irish traditional music, while the accordion is more common

in Scottish music. The synthesizer of course infuses the track with a more contemporary

pop aesthetic.

The track begins with the solo fiddle playing Ian Hardie’s “The Poetic Milkman

Jig.” My transcription of this jig is shown in Example 6-21. As with the “Wake Up to

Cape Breton Medley,” there is some metric ambiguity to begin this track. The jig begins

with a dotted quarter note that could be heard as a pickup note to the beginning of the

more active eighth-note jig rhythms in the second half of measure 1. This alternate

hearing is shown in Example 6-22. As with electronic dance music examples of “turning

the beat around,” the listener can interpret this opening in one of two ways that will only

be confirmed with the entrance of another instrument. In this track the bodhran enters

after one pass through the jig’s first section. This entry is shown in Example 6-23. The

metre is confirmed by the bodhran, and the jig’s dotted quarter notes now clearly fall on the downbeats. As with the former examples of “turning the beat around” this confirmation of the downbeat can be heard as a metrical state shift. In other words, if one initially perceived the downbeat to fall on BC 3 in Example 6-21, or as floating between

BC 0 and BC 3, then its ultimate confirmation on BC 0 when the bodhran enters would

be heard as a beat class modulation, a type of metrical state shift.

239 Example 6-21: “The Poetic Milkman” first section

Example 6-22: “The Poetic Milkman” alternate metrical interpretation

The bodhran entrance also provides a clear shift in groove state as shown in

Example 6-23. The first two measures show the ending of the first pass through the jig’s first section. The beginning of the repeat of this section is transcribed beginning in measure 3 along with the bodhran entrance at the end of measure 2. In isolation, the jig conforms to a traditional duple metrical profile. The dotted quarter notes that begin the phrases reinforce this compound duple structure. However when the bodhran enters, it plays a rhythmic accompaniment that suggests aspects of a triple metrical profile. As

Example 6-23 shows, the accented bodhran notes appear on BCs 0 and 2 while BCs 3, 4, and 5 are played with less force. The first half of each duple measure is therefore separated from the last half keeping the duple character, but the accents on BCs 0 and 2 infuse a triple feel. This metrical grouping dissonance provides a clear shift in groove state from the unequivocal duple character of the solo fiddle opening.

240 Example 6-23: “Ian Hardie Set” bodhran entrance

The bodhran is played with the left hand placed in the back of the drum holding the

drum on its side so that the skin is more or less perpendicular with the ground. The right

hand strikes the skin with a beater in either an ascending or descending glancing blow

similar to a guitar strum. As with guitar strumming, the downstrokes naturally receive

greater weight and are more easily accented. A duple pattern of six strokes on a bodhran

requires extra effort to execute an accent on the fourth upstroke as the stroke pattern

would be as follows: D U D U D U.18 The natural accent on each downstroke produces a triple metrical pattern. Both duple and triple patterns are common in bodhran jig accompaniments. In the case of the “Ian Hardie Set,” the bodhran actually serves to suggest both triple and duple metrical division.

18 The D symbol is used here to represent a downstroke while the U represents an upstroke. Letters in bold indicate accent articulations.

241 The bodhran jig accompaniment demonstrates the binary motor-physical connection to groove referred to in the last chapter. The bodhran player helps shape the groove by alternating the physical connection with the metre. The 6/8 metre is divided equally into six eighth-note strokes, alternating as down and upstrokes. If the bodhran player chooses to emphasize the downstrokes, then a triple feel will emerge, alternating between an emphasis on the BC 0 downstrokes, and the BC 3 upstrokes will result in a duple feel. This physical influence on groove state is of course not restricted to bodhran accompaniments in Cape Breton fiddle music. Guitar accompaniments feature the same potential for groove state alternation by emphasizing down or upstrums. As we shall see next, keyboard accompaniments to jigs can also infuse a triple groove state division by emphasizing the right hand.

Example 6-24 shows the entrance of a keyboard synthesizer sound as part of the cumulative groove accompaniment construction. The synth enters during the third repetition of the jig. The first complete performance of the jig features only fiddle and bodhran, while the first complete repetition adds a whistle in unison with the fiddle. The jig is then repeated a second time with the synthesizer providing the groove’s first harmonic accompaniment stream. The synth sound is similar to the sound of a wooden mallet instrument like a marimba, with a sharp attack and a rapid decay.

242 Example 6-24: “Ian Hardie Set” synthesizer entrance

We can see from Example 6-24 that the synthesizer enhances the triple metrical division established by the bodhran in the previous example. Here there is no ambiguity in the synth part, which sets up a consistent metrical grouping dissonance against the duple jig metre of the fiddle tune. The last two measures of Example 6–24 do introduce eighth-note divisions in the synth part, but these simply divide the third quarter-note beat evenly. The synthesizer quarter-note beats are filled with triads performed with the right hand. The eighth-note attack on BC 5 in the last two measures usually features single lower pitches and would either be played with the left hand or the thumb of the right hand. For this reason, I believe the synth part attains a triple feel by emphasizing the right hand or right side of the right hand. This changes slightly during the fourth(!) pass through the entire jig.

Example 6-25 shows the shift in the synthesizer accompaniment that occurs during the next statement of the jig. Bass notes now appear in the left hand on BCs 0 and 2, doubling the bodhran attacks on these beat classes in each measure. The right hand maintains a stream of three quarter-note attacks in each measure, but these are shifted now to the odd beat classes. This change in accompaniment pattern results in a shift in groove state. As in the previous examples, duple and triple metrical aspects remain

243 superimposed. As stated, the left-hand bass notes reinforce the bodhran accented attacks that infused a triple feel into the groove. The right hand also maintains a sense of triple division, but the quarter-note length attacks now appear on what would be offbeats in a triple metre. In reality the second and third attacks of the synth right hand re-establish a traditional 6/8 duple feel as the attacks fall on BCs 3 and 5 and avoid BC 4. A strong attack on BC 3 is necessary to maintain the compound duple division of 6/8. In addition, the sense of “rightness” established by the previous synth accompaniment is here replaced with alternating left and right hand emphases. The downbeats of each measure feature a solid left hand attack (the sound is very thick and resonant in the recording), while the second half of each measure commences with a distinguishable right hand attack (the sound is much more focused and sharp in the recording). This right/left alternation not only affects the groove state, but also results in a metrical state shift as the right hand sound provides a weak backbeat for the first time in the recording. Metrical state is also affected by the establishment of a clear harmonic rhythm, which was unclear or absent during the first synthesizer accompaniment figure.

Example 6-25: “Ian Hardie Set” synthesizer accompaniment, fourth jig statement

244 The cumulative groove buildup reaches its climax during the fourth statement of the jig, but is then immediately followed by an abrupt shift to a traditional Scottish strathspey called “Mr. Moore’s.” This sudden change of gears is not only a result of the metre and tempo change required when following a jig by a strathspey, but is also reinforced by the disappearance of the accompaniment instruments that had been prevalent in the musical texture up until that point. Example 6-26 shows my transcription of the first half of the strathspey and the piano accompaniment. We see from the transcription that “Mr. Moore’s” strathspey begins with the solo fiddle and is then joined by a new accompaniment instrument with its own new rhythmic accompaniment figure.

The piano begins on measure 3 of the strathspey and provides a solid quarter-note beat typical of strathspey accompaniments. As noted earlier, strathspeys exhibit a relentless driving character that is obvious when observing the foot stomps of the fiddler. A fiddler normally stomps aggressively on every quarter-note beat in a strathspey while emphatically articulating the downbows on every quarter note in the tune itself. The piano mimics this quarter-note pulsation in measures 3 and 4 but then switches briefly to a main/back beat left/right hand oscillation in measure 5, with a concurrent shift in metrical state. The final two measures of Example 6-26 feature a further metrical state shift by combining the elements of the previous two states: the quarter-note pulses of measures 3 and 4, and the main beat and backbeat of measures 5 and 6.

This strathspey retains a consistent groove state throughout. Kyle MacNeil performs the dotted eighth and sixteenth figure with great precision in the recording, shunning the normal tendency to “swing” this rhythm. The result is a less lilting strathspey with a more driving groove. The brief flourishes of sixteenth notes in measures

245 4 and 8 do add brief alterations to the groove state, but as we shall see shortly, these

sixteenth notes do not assist in providing a smoother transition to the following reel.

Example 6-26: “Mr. Moore’s Strathspey” with piano accompaniment

Example 6-27 shows the typical tempo and metrical modulation that often occurs

between a strathspey and reel.19 As discussed previously, strathspeys commonly feature

four beats per measure as evidenced by the fiddler’s foot stomps. Strathspey tempos in

Cape Breton are typically fast, averaging around 160 quarter note beats per minute. When

a reel follows, the overall tempo does usually increase dramatically as shown below.

19 This is based on my own anecdotal observations arrived at after listening to a large number of recorded fiddle sets and live fiddle performances.

246 Example 6-27 shows a common tempo acceleration from 160 quarter note beats per minute to 120 half notes (or 240 quarter notes). However, the fiddler usually decreases his foot stomping rate to two (half note) beats per measure. This provides a curious combination of a reduction in the number of beats per unit of team, but an increase in overall drive and tempo. The increase in the attack density between each beat (from two attacks to four) shown in Example 6-27 contributes to a shift in groove state and also helps establish the heightened metrical state of the reel. The accompaniment also normally plays a big part in this transitional effect. As observed above, piano accompaniments for strathspeys often feature the right hand chords on beats 2 and 4 in the strathspey, acting as a kind of backbeat. This often distorts the four-beat pulsation of the strathspey to some degree. When the reel begins, these backbeat chords persist, but since the number of quarter notes per measure increases, the rate of the backbeat also increases. The transition from a strathspey to a reel in a Cape Breton fiddle set is one of the most effective moments in any fiddle performance. The arrival of the reel is often greeted with loud exclamations of approval, and usually prompts dancers and listeners to begin clapping along with the beat.

Example 6-27: Strathspey to reel transition

247 In the case of the “Ian Hardie Set” however, the transition from strathspey to reel is much more abrupt and the expected increase in drive is delayed somewhat. The strathspey is only played once through and is therefore not afforded the traditionally allotted time to establish the groove. The listener who is familiar with Cape Breton fiddle music expects to hear a repetition of the strathspey. Instead, the track switches immediately to a reel. The tempo of the strathspey conforms to the standard outlined above, but the consequent reel actually begins quite a bit slower (ca. 95 bpm) rendering ineffectual the usual transition outlined above. Also, when the reel begins, the piano accompaniment changes to a higher register; this provides more of a harmonic counterpoint to the fiddle tune than a rhythmic accompaniment.

The main groove accompaniment is provided by the re-entrance of single strokes on the bodhran at the beginning of the reel. This has the effect of halting the momentum established by the driving piano accompaniment in the strathspey. Example 6-28 shows the beginning of Ian Hardie’s “Kelsae Brig Reel” with piano and bodhran accompaniment.20 The bodhran attacks increase dramatically in measure 3 with a significant shift in groove state due to the accented bodhran attacks on every third eighth- note beat class. This creates a metrical grouping dissonance as the 3-stream in the bodhran conflicts with the 4-stream produced by the piano bass notes and the natural parsing of the reel measures into two groups of four eighth notes. The bodhran also introduces triplet beat divisions which also contribute to a gradual groove acceleration throughout these first four measures. 21 The first four measures of the reel are then repeated with the same piano accompaniment. During the repeat however, the bodhran 3-

20 The fiddle is also doubled in unison by the whistle. 21 In the recording it seems there is also a slight increase in the actual tempo here.

248 stream disappears and the bodhran rhythms become consonant with the piano and fiddle

rhythms.

During the second half of the “Kelsae Brig Reel,” the piano accompaniment

remains more or less consistent, but the bodhran rhythms change once again. Example 6-

29 shows my transcription of the second half of the “Kelsae Brig Reel” with bodhran accompaniment. There is a clear emphasis on quarter note beat 3 in each measure of

Example 6-29. Due to the fast tempo, this is felt as a type of backbeat producing a consequent metrical state acceleration. Contemporary reel accompanists often highlight beat 3 (at a tempo of 240 bpm) as the backbeat, which would correspond to beats 2 and 4 at the traditional rock tempo of 120 bpm. This demonstrates another pop-culture influence as the more traditional reel backbeat falls on beats 2 and 4 at a tempo of 240 bpm. Some contemporary fiddle arrangements, such as the “Ian Hardie Set” present both backbeat interpretations as a form of metrical state shift.

The downbeat remains emphasized every second measure, as it was at the end of

Example 6-28, but in Example 6-29 beat 4 is also emphasized in measures 1 and 3. The metrical dissonance provided by the 3-stream in the bodhran accompaniment in Example

6-28 does not resurface, but the triplet beat divisions become more numerous. The overall feel of the performance also changes slightly during the second half of the reel as the fiddler adopts more of a swing interpretation of the regular eighth-note reel pattern. The accompaniment instruments do not adopt the swing feel, and the conflict between the swung fiddle performance and the straight accompaniment produces an additional groove state shift.

249 Example 6-28: “Kelsae Brig Reel”

Example 6-29: “Kelsae Brig Reel” second half

Before leaving the “Ian Hardie Set,” we will explore one more reel in the set.

Example 6-30 shows my transcription of the first half of the traditional reel called

“Humours of Tulla,” while Example 6-31 shows the second half. We see from these examples that there has been a key change from B to D. In fact, this reel is preceded by another Ian Hardie reel called “The Hooded Goat” which is A-based. The modulation from B to A is achieved through an eight-measure transition that separates the “Kelsae

Brig” and “Hooded Goat” reels. The new key of A then serves as a dominant-functioning

250 key to the D-based “Humours of Tulla Reel” that follows. Such transitions are not common in Cape Breton fiddle sets, which normally feature direct shifts between tunes on the same key without any intervening music. This further confirms the “Ian Hardie

Set” as a specialized arrangement that strives for more variety than the typical fiddle set.

In the “Humours of Tulla Reel,” the bodhran reverts to more of a supporting role, with attacks on all eighth-note beat classes, and with accents on the four main reel beats.

Consequently the bodhran parts are not shown in either of the following examples. The bodhran does not contribute to a new groove state, but does reinforce the metrical state by providing the percussive drive on each beat in the groove.

Example 6-30: “Humours of Tulla Reel” first half

251 Example 6-31: “Humours of Tulla Reel” second half

Example 6-30 shows how the piano adopts the more standard rolling octave pattern in the left hand. The right hand plays block chords of decreasing duration throughout each repeated two-measure rhythmic pattern. These right-hand chords essentially define the groove state for this half of the reel. There is a durational acceleration throughout each two-measure pattern leading to a strong downbeat every two measures, and the two- measure spans are divided in such a way as to establish a feeling of tension due to the decreasing time spans of the chords. The left-hand octave patterns establish the metrical state with a change in bass pitch class on every second quarter-note beat, and with the upper octave in each octave pattern providing the backbeat. Example 6-31 shows how the backbeat becomes reinforced in the second half of the reel by the right-hand piano chords, which now attack only the backbeats on beats 2 and 4 of each measure. There is a consequent metrical state acceleration, as well as a change in groove state due to the disappearance of the irregular durational pattern in the piano during the reel’s first section. When the entire reel is repeated, the whistle which had formerly played in unison with the fiddle now provides a parallel counterpoint to the fiddle in rhythmic unison, but

252 pitched a third below the fiddle line. This provides a further metrical state acceleration, similar to the expansive feeling associated with the use of backing vocals in rock music.

I chose to examine the “Ian Hardie Set” in some detail as it is both a fine example of a high-quality recorded fiddle performance and set arrangement, while departing from a traditional fiddle medley in several ways. The set employs standard tunes from the repertoire, and Kyle MacNeil’s performance of them is stylistically flawless. The set also conforms to an overall Celtic aesthetic without attempting to fuse disparately related musical genres. This early recording by the Barra MacNeils is highly regarded in the

Cape Breton music community. However, we have seen how the accompaniments, arrangements, and overall structural design of the set defies the standard traditional practice. Unlike the “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley,” this is not a set for an informal dance. Instead this track is carefully crafted with an overall metrical dynamic curve of varying groove and metrical states. Many of the groove state and metrical state shifts are reminiscent of other groove-based genres as detailed in the previous chapter. Certainly the periodic appearance and disappearance of backbeats provides a connection to other groove musics, as does the use of changing accent patterns, instrumentation, and harmonic rhythm. I believe this track was designed to exhibit a cumulative metrical momentum that ebbs and flows in the same way as other groove and popular music genres. So while it may not be appropriate for the traditional dance floor, this fiddle track still allows for the formation of the groove collective I proposed earlier, as the set provides for that same dialectic between communal groove synchrony and individual expressive freedom.

253 The next two examples do depart from the traditional sound of Cape Breton fiddle

music in obvious ways, but still retain much in common with both Jerry Holland’s more

traditional fiddle set, and the Barra MacNeils’ more innovative one.

“Catharsis”

In 1996, following a recording contract with Warner Music Canada, fiddler Natalie

MacMaster released a recording titled No Boundaries. The recording consisted mainly of

traditional and contemporary Cape Breton fiddle tunes with more or less traditional

accompaniments. There were, however, a few tracks that stood out as departures from the

fiddle formula. One of these was titled “Catharsis;” it was based on a reel of the same

name composed by Amy Cam. This track was released as a radio single and a music

video that each received limited airplay in Canada. This track was also included in the

Celtic Tides compilation discussed earlier.

One obvious difference between this track and most fiddle tune recordings is that

“Catharsis” features only one tune. Example 6-32 shows Natalie MacMaster’s own

transcription of the complete reel.22 In many ways, this reel conforms to the standard reel structure and rhythmic character. As with most reels, “Catharsis” is a binary structure with each eight-bar half repeated. The second half of the reel features the change to a higher pitch register common to many traditional reels. However the second half also features a change in rhythmic organization. Beginning in measure 9, a descending melodic pattern from D5 to A4 is repeated three times. Each note in the descending pattern is separated by two repeated notes, with the repeated pitch also descending three

22 See http://www.nataliemacmaster.com/tunes/ for fiddle tune transcriptions of many of Natalie MacMaster’s recordings.

254 times over the course of this section. The descending melodic pitches with their two repeated pitches that follow create a triple rhythmic grouping that conflicts with the reel’s

4/4 metre. As shown in Example 6-32, each two-measure group is actually rhythmically divided as 3+3+3+3+4. The reel thus contains its own built in groove state shift between its two main sections.

Example 6-32: “Catharsis” (Amy Cam).

The track opens with an exposition of the groove that will support the first half of the reel. As we have seen in the previous chapter, this is a typical rock music convention.

Both “De Do Do Do” and “Beautiful Day” opened with the basic groove pattern for the choruses and verses respectively. The instrumentation of this opening immediately signals a departure from the traditional fiddle tune arrangement. Acoustic guitar, electric bass, drum kit, and congas combine to create the groove shown in Example 6-33. The

255 intro is repeated, adding electric guitar and Hammond organ before the entrance of the fiddle.

This is clearly a rock track to this point. It must be remembered that the tempo of this track (in keeping with that of a typical reel) is around 240 quarter notes per minute.

This is twice as fast as a typical rock track so the notation differs somewhat. We see that the kick drum presents a two-measure pattern 3+3+2 quarter notes which, at this tempo is identical to the 3+3+2 eighth-note patterns we have encountered in nearly all of the groove-based styles we explored in Chapter 5. The eighth-note hi-hats are very fast at this tempo and set up the eighth-note reel rhythm that will follow in the fiddle. The snare drum backbeat appears on beat 3 in every second measure, while the high conga adds a much weaker backbeat in alternation with the snare drum. The overall metrical state is thus determined by the drums and congas as the bass guitar only provides pedal bass notes when the chords change. The guitar also reinforces the 3+3+2 quarter-note pattern established by the kick drum. This overall pulse organization contributes to the groove state as does the rapid stream of eighth notes in the hi-hats, guitar, and congas.

As we have seen, the 3+3+2 pattern is very common in reel accompaniments, having been observed both in the “Ian Hardie Set” in the bodhran, piano, and guitar accompaniments, and in the “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” in the piano intro.

Actually the intro to “Catharsis” serves a similar purpose to that of the “Wake Up to Cape

Breton Medley.” It foreshadows the entrance of a reel due to the 3+3+2 pattern, while also establishing the groove and metrical states. “Catharsis” therefore uses this common groove pattern as a stylistic link between rock music and traditional fiddle music.

256 Example 6-33: “Catharsis” intro

The intro groove continues during the first half of the reel. During the second half of the reel however, there is a familiar shift in metrical state due to the doubling of the rate of the snare drum backbeat. As in rock music, the appearance of a strong backbeat on beat 3 (BC 4) in every measure (which would be equivalent to beats 2 and 4 at a tempo of

120) results in a metrical state acceleration. This is shown in Example 6-34, below, along

257 with the more active bass part and four measures of the reel. The electric bass aligns itself with the 3+3+2 quarter note pattern in the kick drum and guitar parts. This enhances both the metrical and groove states as both the harmonic instruments and kick drum now receive bass support. This alignment of the 3+3+2 pattern is similar to the metrical state acceleration achieved during the chorus of U2’s “Beautiful Day” analyzed in Chapter 5.

Example 6-34: “Catharsis” second half

Notwithstanding the rhythmic alignment of the accompaniment instruments into a

3+3+2 quarter note pattern, there is a clear shift in groove state owing to the irregular rhythmic groupings of the fiddle tune itself as shown earlier. The 3+3+3+3+4 eighth-note grouping is the most compelling surface rhythm in the groove to this point, and it dictates the way the beats are felt in between backbeat attacks. The triple groupings do not allow the fiddle surface accents to align with the backbeat until the end of each two-measure pattern. The 4-group at the end of each fiddle pattern coincides with the second backbeat in every pattern. This also has a tangible effect on the metrical state as the backbeats become weighted differently. The first backbeat of every two-measure pattern conflicts

258 with the fiddle rhythms and is therefore weaker than the second backbeat which is reinforced by the fiddle. The kick drum and electric bass also fail to align with the first backbeat in every pattern, but do align with the second backbeat. In effect, the fiddle actually reinforces the 3+3+2 quarter-note groupings of the bass and kick drum. The emergence of backbeat snare on beat 3 in the first of every two-measure pattern still results in a metrical state acceleration, but because of the difference in the two backbeats it is possible that the binary groove oscillation (left/right, up/down, etc.) may be perceived between the two backbeats, rather than between the main beat and backbeat in each measure.

After repeating both halves of the reel with the same essential accompaniment, a short bridge emerges, featuring the full rock backing band. At this point there is very little left to suggest that the track is actually a fiddle tune recording. The 3+3+2 quarter- note pattern does persist however in uniting the two styles with a common groove pattern. The fiddle re-enters playing the same reel while there is a brief metrical state shift once again resulting from a different backbeat placement. For the first half of the reel, the backbeat now appears on the downbeat of every second measure. Measures are now grouped as main beat on the downbeat of measure 1 and backbeat on the downbeat of measure 2. This also affects the groove state as the 3+3+2 pattern becomes distorted by the appearance of a strong beat (main beat or backbeat) every four quarter notes. This brief metrical and groove state suspension is short-lived, however, as the second half of the reel features the accelerated metrical and groove states discussed above. As with rock pre-choruses and bridges, the effect of the return to this accelerated state is more profound due to the suspended groove and metrical states of the preceding section.

259 As noted, this fiddle track clearly differs from traditional fiddle recordings, and I

am not attempting to downplay the clear stylistic departure from Natalie MacMaster’s

other, more traditional recordings. A close examination of this track as an example of

groove music reveals many similarities in groove and metrical state progressions to those

observed in the previous tracks. We have also seen how these metrical and groove states

provide some common links to other styles of groove music, namely rock music in this

case.

“Sleepy Maggie”

Before leaving this chapter, I wish to examine one more fiddle recording that

combines elements of electronic dance music, mainstream pop, rap, and traditional Cape

Breton fiddle music. Ashley MacIsaac’s “Sleepy Maggie” was released in 1995 on his

major label debut Hi, How are You Today? and later appeared on the Celtic Tides disc.

The single was a top 40 radio and video hit in Canada and, as a result, the album sold over three-hundred thousand copies.23 The recording contains many unorthodox

renditions of Cape Breton fiddle tunes, but “Sleepy Maggie” was carefully crafted to

appeal to a mainstream pop audience. According to MacIsaac:

Gordie Sampson24 came up with the idea to take a fiddle tune called “Sleepy Maggie” and put it in a dance groove. I was coming home from New York where I was hanging out in clubs all the time and I was looking for something with a dance vibe. It was basically four chords, like in a pop groove, around a fiddle tune, and from that a beat was put behind it. Eventually, he and Mary Jane [Lamond] put together lyrics in English and then she translated them into Gaelic.

23Ashley MacIsaac, http://ashley-macisaac.com/read_bio.php. 24 Gordie Sampson is a well-known Cape Breton guitarist, producer, and songwriter who co- arranged and performed on “Sleepy Maggie.”

260 It’s a typical disco song really. Dance, dance, listen to the fiddler, and dance some more.25

As with “Catharsis,” “Sleepy Maggie” features only one fiddle tune. Example 6-35

shows my transcription of Ashley MacIsaac’s version of the “Sleepy Maggie Reel.”26

Unlike “Catharsis” however, “Sleepy Maggie” does not merely present the tune with

varying rock accompaniment grooves. The tune is presented in fragments at first and then

in complete sections. Also atypical of most fiddle tune recordings is the fact that

MacIsaac continuously varies the reel with each repetition. These variations do not distort

the reel’s identity but are nonetheless a step beyond the normal ornamentation offered by

traditional fiddlers. The reel is one of a number of looped rhythmic samples that are

layered throughout the track in the same way that an EDM track is created. Among these

loops are various rhythm and bass tracks, guitar and mandolin riffs, and Gaelic singing

and mouth music.

Example 6-35: “Sleepy Maggie Reel” (Ashley MacIsaac version)

25 Ashley MacIsaac quoted in Martin Melhuish, Celtic Tides, 142. 26 This is a very popular fiddle tune in Cape Breton, Scotland, and Ireland with many different versions appearing in performances and recordings.

261 “Sleepy Maggie” opens with a brief looped synthesizer arpeggiation on the right side of the stereo field that quickly fades as a heavily processed rhythm sample emerges from the background of the left side, which then slowly pans to the right side as the rest of the texture builds. Parts of the synthesizer loop re-emerge periodically in the background throughout the rest of the introduction. Both the synthesizer and the rhythm loop appear as random fragments or background sounds that impart a sense of chaos from which the more focused rhythmic loops will emerge. The first of these is a foregrounded mandolin part that occupies the whole stereo field. This part is shown in Example 6-36 along with the subsequent looped parts that will follow. A softly strummed acoustic guitar part and a loudly picked electric guitar part then enter along with a sustained fiddle pitch from far in the background (not shown in the example). This four-measure intro is repeated twice before there is a small change in the acoustic guitar part which becomes more foregrounded at this point. The fiddle then breaks from its sustained pitches to repeat a fragment of the reel. The new guitar and fiddle parts are shown in Example 6-37.

Example 6-36: “Sleepy Maggie” intro, mandolin and guitar parts

262 Example 6-37: “Sleepy Maggie” intro, guitar and fiddle parts

The instrumentation and stylistic construction of this introduction contains very little to suggest that a fiddle tune will eventually emerge. This kind of cumulative buildup of small looped fragments is common in electronic dance music as we have seen, but is certainly atypical for Cape Breton fiddle music. Yet there are still aspects of this groove construction that are rhythmically connected to Cape Breton fiddle accompaniment grooves. I have shown, for example, that it is common for reel accompaniments to feature a 3+3+2 grouping periodicity in the accompaniment instruments. While this is not present in any individual instrument in the “Sleepy Maggie” intro, the mandolin and electric guitar together suggest this pattern at the beginning of Example 6-36. The mandolin opens with attacks on beats 1 and 4 in the first measure, while the electric guitar accents beat 3 in the next measure. Together this does provide a 3+3+2 stream, but this is quickly abandoned as the mandolin simply continues with attacks on beat 4 in every subsequent measure in the introduction. Despite this, the intro metre becomes established by this point and the listener becomes oriented to where the downbeat will fall, even if it is not overtly attacked by most of the instruments. Thus, the 3+3+2 stream still persists at the

263 beginning of every four-measure pattern, and is formed by the felt downbeat, the mandolin on beat 4, and the electric guitar on beat 3 in the next measure.

This sense of downbeat becomes even more pronounced later in the track when the bass and drums enter. The strummed acoustic guitar continues to stress beats 2 and 4 in each measure. This also connects the track to a more traditional reel accompaniment in which chords on beats 2 and 4 would provide a kind of backbeat accompaniment pattern.

The true backbeat, however, is clearly articulated with the entry of the drum loop in

Example 6-38. The snare drum clearly attacks beat 3 in each measure producing a definitive shift in metrical state from the introduction. This metrical state shift squarely places this track in the pop/dance genre. Also linking this track to the world of EDM and rap is Mary Jane Lamond’s vocalizations which begin as soon as the bass enters with its part in Example 6-38. The rhythm to Lamond’s Gaelic words is shown in Example 6-39.

Example 6-38: “Sleepy Maggie” dance groove

264 Example 6-39: “Sleepy Maggie” rhythm of first vocal line

When Lamond’s voice enters, there is no longer any trace of the fiddle, and this provides a subtle shift in groove state from the introduction. MacIsaac’s fiddle fragment shown in Example 6-37 foreshadows the eighth-note beat divisions that will feature prominently when the reel proper begins later. Lamond’s vocals are more laid back and emphasize quarter notes, with the exception of the second beat of every second measure.

Though more melodic in nature, Lamond’s vocal part is reminiscent of the sung rap style prominent in old school and party rap as discussed earlier. This is in direct contrast to the driving eighth-note and triplet rhythms that will appear in the reel and that also appear in

Lamond’s mouth music versions of the reel that also appear later in the track. This mouth music part is much more percussive sounding, and is closer to the percussive rap style.

These changing rhythmic divisions all provide shifts in groove state similar to those that occur in rap music. Though the fiddle and mouth music rhythms are much more straightforward than most rap rhythms, the changes in beat divisions have the same effect.

The complete track features several variations of the “Sleepy Maggie Reel,” which alternate with Lamond’s vocal parts. There are also two appearances of a kind of chorus part that features a more driving bass line and layered synthesizer and vocal parts.

Eventually Lamond and MacIsaac perform their parts at the same time as the track reaches its climax. Like most EDM, much pop, and indeed most fiddle tracks, there is a

265 continuous build of momentum toward a driving climactic section. This track is similar to a pop music construction in that the interspersion of verse-like, and chorus-like sections provides a continuous oscillation of momentum provided by groove and metrical state shifts. Also like EDM, there is a cumulative buildup at the beginning leading towards a basic groove that persists throughout the track while other musical layers pile up. Like many fiddle sets, there is a continuous buildup of momentum from the beginning to the climax, though in the end “Sleepy Maggie” cedes to pop convention by fading out to silence.

There is no doubt that “Sleepy Maggie” is stylistically remote from traditional Cape

Breton fiddle music, at least on the surface. The sound of this track bears little resemblance to Jerry Holland’s “Wake Up to Cape Breton Medley” analyzed earlier, for example. Yet we have seen common threads throughout each of the tracks analyzed when considering the fiddle accompaniments as grooves. It is also important to restate that it is merely the accompaniments and formal constructions of each of the tracks discussed that differ from each other. Each of the fiddlers presented here - Jerry Holland, Kyle MacNeil,

Natalie MacMaster, and Ashley MacIsaac - are all revered as exceptional fiddlers with correct technique and flawless interpretation. Despite being trained in the traditional style, Ashley MacIsaac considers his popular music renditions of fiddle tunes as simply a more commercially viable adaptation of the traditional dance-like piano and guitar grooves that normally support this music.

This chapter has shown that Cape Breton fiddle music is in essence a form of groove-based music that has much in common with other groove-based genres. The

266 examples analyzed have demonstrated how Cape Breton fiddle arrangements employ metrical state and groove state progressions similar to rock music, electronic dance music, rap, and world fusion music. Chapter 5 outlined factors that affected groove and metrical states in these genres of groove music. All of these factors were also shown to dictate metrical processes in Cape Breton fiddle music. Both traditional arrangements involving piano and guitar, and the more pop-influenced arrangements featured metrical state shifts due to varying intensity of main beats and backbeats. In “Catharsis” and

“Sleepy Maggie,” drums and bass instruments were used to affect main beats and backbeats the same way as in rock music, EDM, and rap. In the “Wake Up to Cape

Breton Medley” and the “Ian Hardie Set,” alterations to main beats and backbeats were achieved using the accompaniment instruments the same way as in “Longa Farahfaza.”

The analyses also presented examples of metrical state shifts due to changes in harmonic rhythm, changes in instrumentation and spectral expansion, hypermetrical structure, sound-layer synchronization, and beat class modulations. Metrical state shifts are also inherent in the way tunes are combined into medleys. Most fiddle sets are constructed so that an overall metrical state acceleration is achieved throughout the medley. Shifts in tune type within the medley also result in metrical state shifts, particularly in the transition from a strathspey to a reel where the shift is most palpable.

Groove state shifts in Cape Breton fiddle music also result from the same factors as demonstrated in the other groove-based genres. Certainly, subdivision of beats both in the accompaniments and in the fiddle tunes themselves result in changes in groove state as was shown in every example. Metrical dissonance and shifting accent patterns also play a role, and we saw how the 3+3+2 or 3+2+3 metrically dissonant accent patterns that are

267 common in rock music and many other groove musics also abound in Cape Breton fiddle accompaniments. “Catharsis” provided an example of groove state shifts due to transposition and augmentation of rhythmic patterns, and the fiddle tunes themselves all make use of periodic rhythmic motives.

Cape Breton fiddle music is unique in many ways, owing to its complex cultural history, its relationship with social identity on Cape Breton Island and throughout the

Cape Breton diaspora, and through the modes of representation championed by the tourism and music industries. It is therefore natural to think of this music purely as a form of ethnically-derived traditional folk music on the brink of extinction due to culturally imperialist forces. I have shown, however, that the groove-based nature of this music allows for a type of musical dialogue with other groove musics. This permits the music to retain its essential ingredients, namely the fiddle tunes and the playing techniques, while also being open to polystylistic intersections that continue to allow the tradition to evolve and thrive.

268 Chapter 7

Conclusion

This dissertation has traversed a number of different pathways towards a greater understanding of Cape Breton fiddle music and its intersections with Western popular culture. These pathways all spring from the common origin of what I have broadly defined as musical grooves.

Musical grooves have a complex social dimension – the way in which individuals unite in conformity with the groove while also retaining their sense of individuality. Within this social groove, aspects of identity become complicated. Individuals retain their own sense of identity (often manufactured) arising from their unique histories, conceptions of themselves, and negotiations with the larger group identity. This group identity is further complicated by the politics of representation, powerful cultural myths that may support a distortion of historical fact, and the market manipulations of the music industry.

The supposed history and practice of Cape Breton fiddle music has been utilized by the tourism industry and the government of Nova Scotia as part of an overall marketing strategy that represents the region as pre-modern, with ancient Scottish roots. The notion of a tradition on the brink of extinction, similar to the Gaelic language, forms a useful identity myth that lends political currency to Folk and Tartanist branding strategies. The reality is much more complicated. Cape Breton fiddle music is certainly a form of ethnically-derived traditional music, but is also an evolving contemporary musical form. Cape Breton fiddle musickers are united by their common affinity for the music, its sound and its history. Yet

269 they are also individuals with their own mental representations of the music, allowing the tradition to evolve.

Cape Breton fiddle music, like other forms of Canadian popular music, is often believed to be under threat from external pressures - namely the American-controlled, transnational entertainment industry. The cultural imperialism thesis was shown to be overly simplistic, denying the ability of individual musical actors to resist wholesale corporate manipulation while absorbing those aspects of other musical styles that most interest them.

The Canadian music industry, and particularly the East Coast music industry, also relies on identity politics as part of its marketing strategy. Deterritorialization of sound and reterritorialization of image was shown to be the preferred combination for optimal marketing of regional Canadian artists. The 1990s revival of Celtic music provided the opportunity for a brief music industry bubble in Atlantic Canada that shed light on the vibrant Cape Breton fiddle tradition, which proved adaptable and resilient in the face of external pressures of globalization.

Cape Breton fiddle music maintains a delicate balance between surviving as a form of traditional, folk music, and evolving as a form of Canadian popular music. Comparisons of the careers of Ashley MacIsaac and Natalie MacMaster confirmed the ability of this music to adapt to other musical influences while still retaining its core essence in the tune types and playing techniques. Deterritorialization of sound, particularly in the form of arrangements and accompaniments, is tolerated and encouraged, but deterritorialization of image and social identity is resisted. The “Cape Breton Music Online” community is an example of a pop- culture subset of the larger Cape Breton Music community. This delocalized, virtual community exemplifies the social aspect of the musical grooves in that the community

270 members are all truly individuals from disparate locations who unite around their common interest in this music. Relationships between “stars” and “fans” are blurred, with a level of intimacy not found in most pop culture music genres.

Cape Breton fiddle music certainly has its own stylistically distinct attributes, but as a form of groove-based music it retains many similarities to grooves in other genres. We saw how common metrical processes linked Cape Breton fiddle music to other forms of groove- based popular music: rock, electronic dance music, rap, and “world fusion” music.

Traditional presentations of the music and more contemporary pop music arrangements were shown to contain common musical grooves at their core, with similar types of metrical state and groove state progressions.

It is essential to consider that these two notions of groove are intrinsically related. The social groove that unites members of the Cape Breton fiddle music subculture is dependent upon the power of the sonic grooves that characterize the music. In other words, I believe that without the sonic grooves that form the metrical foundations of the music, the delocalized community that has formed around the music would not have the same level of cohesion. Cape Breton fiddle music continues to thrive and evolve because it is not simply an historical artifact or cultural curiosity but rather a vital, evolving, and regenerating musical form. Like all groove-based musics, it is tied to individual embodied cognition as well as the physical embodiment of the larger body politic through its sound.

This dual notion of groove, along with my analytical model, provides for a more nuanced way of examining cross-cultural musical interactions both in terms of the contemporary globalized society, and the possible historical origins of musical styles. Rather than examining the traits sacrificed at the interface of two musical traditions, more can be

271 learned about the socio-musical interaction when approached through the lens of their

similarities. Repetitive rhythmic grooves form the core of most dance or movement-related

musical forms worldwide and therefore provide that common entry point into understanding

the syncretic process of stylistic evolution. From a social perspective, musical genres and

traditions are not considered as rigid abstract entities, but as the culmination of the mental

representations of individuals who form basins of attraction – social grooves. Cape Breton

fiddle music has formed the central case study of this work, but this process may be applied

to any groove-based musical form. A few examples will highlight this point.

In Montreal, francophone hip-hop artists have emerged from the Haitian community

who triangulate the musical and nationalistic ideals of Quebecois, Haitian, and African-

American sub-cultures. Artists such as Muzion and Black Sunz combine elements of Haitian

Creole and Quebecois French in their lyrics, and the rhythms of these languages play an

important role in establishing the unique flows or groove states that characterize this music.

At the same time, the influence of African American hip-hop culture is ever present, leading

to a rich mix of cultural and musical traits with complex ramifications for social identity:

Young adults and adolescents share French as a common language through schooling. In Quebec, hiphop, a privileged literary-artistic and political medium for this generation, not only reflects its multilingual, multiethnic base, but also constitutes an active and dynamic site for the development of an oppositional community that encourages the formation of new, hybrid identities for youth.1

This hybridized musical style is directly linked to the formation new social identity

constructs for urban Quebecois youth. Analysis of the music from the perspective of the

common baseline of grooves that characterize hip-hop music with the rhythms of Haitian

1 Mela Sarkar and Dawn Allen, “Hybrid Identities in Quebec Hip-Hop: Language, Territory, and Ethnicity in the Mix,” Journal of Language, Identity, and Education 6 (2007): 117 (abstract).

272 Creole and Quebecois French may illuminate more about the process of identity formation

and stylistic evolution in this musical community.

From an historical perspective, James Kippen has provided a compelling case for the

rationale behind the evolution of the Hindustani tal system in North Indian tabla accompaniments.2 Kippen’s analysis draws on comparisons between Hindustani tals and folk grooves originating in Northern and Northwestern India. This has profound implications for the retelling of the cultural history of this music, particularly as it ascribes greater influence to Muslim sources and the activities of courtesans than the often proclaimed Hindu origins:

I suspect that ample evidence for a different kind of rhythmic/metrical thinking exists in folk models drawn from the tabla heartland of the North and Northwest of the Indian subcontinent.… There will be resistance to this view from those who would like to think that the tabla and its tals are ancient and neatly accounted for by theory; they will likely feel uncomfortable when challenged with the notion that its rhythms emerged organically from the songs and dances of a category of women modern society now brands as disreputable.3

Kippen’s approach is very similar to the one I have taken throughout this dissertation.

Investigations from a metrical perspective considering common grooves between musical

origins reveal more complex socio-cultural identity traits than are commonly perceived.

Kippen’s analytical methodology is different from mine, but this only serves to demonstrate

the potential for examining groove-based musics from the perspective of the grooves

themselves in providing a richer and more nuanced treatment of the complex societies that

form around the music. Analytical approaches may differ but the relationship between

musical grooves as sound and musical grooves as social construct is clear.

2 James Kippen, “Folk Grooves and Tabla Tals,” ECHO: a music-centered journal, 3 (2001): http://www.humnet.ucla.edu/echo/volume3-issue1/kippen/kippenframe.html. 3 Kippen, “Folk Grooves and Tabla Tals,” 13.

273 Other musical genres and subcultures may also benefit from this approach. Jacqueline

Warwick’s work on Bhangra music in Toronto and Gregory Dietrich’s research on Desi in

Chicago both deal with identity constructs involving Indian youth culture in multicultural cities.4 Both involve the interaction of Indian traditional (classical or folk) music with

Western electronic dance music. Applying the groove state/metrical state model to these hybrid forms would reveal interesting processes of the intercultural dialogue that defines this subculture.

The approach I have taken throughout this dissertation may also provide an additional perspective to the continuing debates surrounding the music of the African diaspora and its relationship to West African drumming, or to the understanding of the proliferation of hybrid musical styles in multicultural Canadian cities such as Toronto, Vancouver, and Montreal.5

The Toronto group autorickshaw (sic), for example, has created a unique sound combining aspects of Indian classical music with Western jazz, as well as blending Irish, African, and

Western classical influences. There is no normalization of style here resulting from Western cultural imperialism. Lead singer Suba Sankaran studied jazz extensively at York University

4 Jacqueline Warwick, “‘Make Way for the Indian’: Bhangra Music and South Asian Presence in Toronto,” Popular Music and Society (2000): http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m2822/is_2_24/ai_79573844 ; and “‘Can Anyone Dance to this Music?’ Bhangra and Toronto’s South Asian Culture,” M.A. thesis, York University, 1996; and Gregory Dietrich, “Desi Music Vibes: The Performance of Indian Youth Culture in Chicago,” Asian Music 31 (1999-2000): 35-61. 5 Some of the literature surrounding the African music debate includes: Kofi Agawu, Representing African Music: Postcolonial Notes, Queries, Positions (New York and London: Routledge, 2003); Shannon Dudley, “Judging ‘By the Beat’: Calypso versus Soca,” Ethnomusicology 40 (1996): 269- 298; James Koetting, “What do We Know About African Rhythm?” Ethnomusicology 30 (1986): 58- 63; David Locke, “Principles of Offbeat Timing and Cross-Rhythm in Southern Eve Dance Drumming,” Ethnomusicology 26 (1982): 217-246; Wendell Logan, “The Ostinato Idea in Black Improvised Music: A Preliminary Investigation,” The Black Perspective in Music 12 (1984): 193-215; Susan McClary, and Robert Walser, “Theorizing the Body in African-American Music,” Black Music Research Journal (1994): 75-84; Jeff Pressing, “Black Atlantic Rhythm: Its Computational and Transcultural Foundations,” Music Perception 19 (2002): 285-310; and David Temperley, “Meter and Grouping in African Music: A View from Music Theory,” Ethnomusicology 44 (2000): 65-97.

274 but was also trained in the South Indian classical tradition by her father, the mrdangam master Trichy Sankaran. The rest of the members of the ensemble also bring their own unique combinations of musical interests and expertise. An analysis of the groove interaction among the various rhythmic styles that combine to create their unique sound would highlight the similarities among these musics, similarities which obviously have resonance for the performers in the ensemble.

In closing, I want to emphasize the need for interdisciplinary inquiries such as this in understanding the rich and complex contemporary global musical landscape. My analysis of the sound of Cape Breton fiddle grooves influenced my understanding of the contemporary and historical socio-cultural community. In turn, peeling away the layers of identity and representation of Cape Breton fiddle music informed my conception of those aspects of the sonic dimension of the music with the most social salience. Too often, musical scholarship suffers from the unidimensional myopia of its sub-disciplinary enclaves. This is particularly true in the unnecessarily distant fields of music theory and ethnomusicology. I hope to have taken a step forward in bridging this gap. In an era of increasing globalization, it is more important than ever to consider musical cultures in all of their complexity, understanding both their sounds and their social constructs. For any examination of musical globalization must consider what is truly global about music – that it is simultaneously sound and thought, internal and physical, personal and social, spatial and temporal, art and science, unifying and polarizing, tangible and abstract – and that its power and meaning derive from a dynamic mixture of these dialectical syntheses.

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289 Discography

AfroCelt Sound System Volume 1: Sound Magic. Real World Records, 1996.

Barra MacNeils, The. Closer to Paradise. Polygram, 1993.

______. Timeframe. Polygram, 1990.

______. The Barra MacNeils. Independent, 1986.

Celtic Tides. Putamayo World Music, 1998.

Dares, Tracey. A’Chording to the Tunes: A Cape Breton Piano Accompaniment Lesson. Crooked Lake Productions, 1997.

Doyle, Damhnait. Shadows Wake Me. Latitude Records, 1996.

Great Big Sea. Play. Warner, 1997.

______. Up. Warner, 1996.

Holland, Jerry. Fiddler’s Choice. Odyssey/Fiddlesticks, 1998.

Irish Descendants, The. Gypsies and Lovers. Warner, 1996.

KRS-One. KRS-One. Jive, 1995.

MacIsaac, Ashley. Pride. Koch, 2006.

______. Fine Thank You Very Much. RCA, 1998.

______. Hi! How Are You Today? A&M, 1996.

______. Close to The Floor. Linus Entertainment, 1992.

MacMaster, Natalie. Blueprint. Rounder Records, 2003.

______. No Boundaries. Warner, 1996.

______. Fit as a Fiddle. Independent, 1993.

Mellencamp, John. The Lonesome Jubilee. Mercury Records, 1987.

______. Scarecrow. Riva/Mercury, 1985.

290 Police, The. Zenyattà Mondatta. A&M Records, 1980.

Rankin Family, The. North Country. EMI, 1993.

______. Fare Thee Well Love. EMI, 1992.

______. The Rankin Family. Independent, 1989.

Shaheen, Simon. Turath: Masterworks of the Middle East. Times Square Records, 2002.

Singalong Jubilee Vol. III. CBC Records, 1966.

Sloan. Smeared. Muderrecords, 1992.

Socalled. Ghettoblaster. JDub Records, 2007.

Sounds of Nova Scotia Volume 1. Stephen MacDonald Productions, 1990.

Split Enz. True Colours. Mushroom Records, 1980.

U2. U2 Go Home - Live From Slane Castle. Interscope DVD, 2002.

______. All That You Can’t Leave Behind. Interscope Records, 2000.

Underworld. Beaucoup Fish. V2 North America, 1999.

291