Can we use music to understand migration?
A research interest explained to my good old friend Michael Saffle

Dear Michael,

We have been good friends for so many years, and constantly felt a keen and sympathetic interest for each other’s endeavors. I remember with great pleasure all the opportunities I had to exchange ideas with you, information, and encouragement. That is why, on the occasion of your birthday, I am delighted to join this group of friends and colleagues of yours, and give you an update on what I am doing right now, why am I doing it, and why I hope to be able to do much more of it in the near future. I will be waiting with anticipation for the next opportunity to meet you and, while sitting in a good restaurant, with a bottle of good wine in front of us, talk some more about this, and gain the benefit of your feedback and advice.

The title you just read at the beginning, as you surely guessed, is in the form of a rhetorical question; indeed rhetorical because I am quite sure the answer must be an unconditional “yes.” We can use music to understand migration, and I truly believe we should.

Of course, it is only natural. Cultural and national traditions have so far been investigated mainly in the territory in which they developed. However, I am convinced that no less indicative of their deep-seated attitudes is the study of how such traditions react to transplantation. That is because immigrant groups often reveal aspects of their original culture that are not as easily visible in their land of origin. In fact, an immigrant community often finds itself in a condition in which the new environment challenges its traditional forms of behaviour. When this is the case, the choice is usually either to abandon or adapt them. It is precisely at moments such as these that people become aware of which elements of their original culture are to be regarded as essential, (i.e., not amenable to compromise) and which, on the contrary, should be open for negotiation. Research in ethnomusicology has often revealed that music found in the host country (just like the new language) is more easily accepted when there is a strong desire to become part of and adapt to the new environment. At the same time so-called “marginal survival” is often detected: when immigrant communities retain culture and behavior patterns (i.e., language, music, cuisine, etc.) in older forms that do not undergo the evolutionary process taking place in their land of origin.

“Marginal survival” is a fascinating phenomenon. It is not to be confused with the concept of Rückzugsgebiet. In older days, in the early twentieth century, vergleichende Musikwissenschaft (or “comparative musicology”) utilized the term Rückzugsgebiet to indicate territories in which older (or supposedly older) forms of tonal relationships and polyphony had survived (e.g. singing in parallel fifths in Iceland, possibly a survival of Medieval Organum; pentatonic melodic structures in the traditional music of Eastern Europe, etc.). So-called “marginal survival,” on the contrary, occurs in what anthropologists call a “defined” population: a group of people somewhat geographically self-contained – an island would be an extreme example – and where people do not generally go outside of their area, except for very short periods of time. Other factors besides geographical isolation may help in keeping a population self-contained, for instance intermarriage and/or a strong sense of ethnic identity (e.g. ethnic neighbourhoods that have existed for a long time in the USA and in Australia, and now in several Central-European cities).

Intriguingly though, no oversimplification is ever possible; every case is a little different and a substantial body of literature exists (in ethnomusicology, sociology, and immigration studies, etc.) that deals with such questions. This extensive literature notwithstanding, our comprehension of migration, from an anthropological and musico-anthropological point of view, remains quite sketchy. I found that the Australian city of Melbourne, with its diverse human landscape, is ideally suited to furthering this understanding. Some fifty national groups are represented within the city and its inner suburbs, and almost any anthropological process conceivable can be witnessed there. Among them, musical processes of all kind: marginal survival, as well as “emphasized memory and mannerism,” “revival and reconstruction,” “fusion and hybridising,” “substitution/replacement,” “imitation/innovation,” “compartmentalization,” “modernization,” etc.

Music, I do not need to remind you, is an especially significant part of human culture. However, even social scientists often fail to realize how important its role in society really is. Anthropologists, who traditionally deal with religions, power structures, family relations, etc., often do. I believe, in contrast, that it is hardly possible to overestimate the social importance of music. And when migration occurs, the experience of migration does not make music any less relevant for the people involved – quite the opposite. That is why I would like to suggest that musical behaviour should always be considered in any study of immigration, because musical tastes and practices (and how they change over the course of time) are especially revealing and may help gauge how easy or difficult it is for immigrant groups to strike a functional balance between assimilation and co-habitation on the one hand, and the maintenance of a sufficient number of cultural traits that make their national origin still worth identifying with on the other. Each one of us always carries along a personal collection of sounds and music that are part of the fundamental layer of our memory and constitute a significant element of our sense of identity.

That is why I believe that musical memories tell us a lot about people, not only because memory is the foundation of identity (if I do not remember who I was, then I do not really know who I am either), but also because memory is an active and selective process (a work in progress) affected by factors capable of gradually re-shaping it in the course of life. Musical memories, just like memories of other kinds, are not at all like photographs, stored forever in our brain, but rather dynamic configurations susceptible to change according to condition and convictions of recall. Such dynamic configurations can even be complemented or replaced by others that are completely invented and yet similar to and as believable as the true ones. Needless to say, such factors have a lot to do with the way people feel about their present self and their past. I will give you just one example: it is not at all uncommon to find people who were so poor and destitute in their home countries that they do not wish to remember much of their past life once they find a new home abroad, and they especially do not wish to remember traditional songs, which may associate to memories of hard work and starvation. Needless to say, memory can also be reshaped by a number of factors, including renewed contact with the homeland through successive waves of immigration and communication or a deliberate cultural policy of the homeland to keep in touch with its citizens abroad, or even the possibility of visiting the country of origin once in a while. These are all elements capable of influencing the form and content of cultural memory. All that goes to show, if it still were necessary at all, that what we call “identity” is not a stable condition but rather the result of continuous and not so conscious work on our part.

That is why I see enormous potential in the study of musical memories, tastes, and activities among migrant groups. I am trying to do that in Melbourne, going there every time I get a chance.

This is my update, dear Michael. I really hope to be in touch very soon with you and learn what you are doing!

A big hug from your friend

Marcello

Marcello Sorce-Keller