Traditional Music of Southern Laos

Between the time when French musicologist Jacques Brunet recorded the music of Southern Laos in the early 1970s and the re-issue of these recordings on CD in 1992, Laos (by that time having become the People's Democratic Republic of Laos) had experienced war trauma, the flight of great numbers of people, isolation, and the beginning of healing. During the Vietnam war the United States dropped unimaginable quantities of bombs throughout the south (along the so-called 'Ho Chi Minh Trail') and in much of the northeast. In some provinces, virtually every town and sizable village were destroyed. Economic and social development were also stopped or rolled back. Provinces which once had running water and electricity, at least in the main town, ceased to have either. Where tourists formerly visited (e.g., Vat Phu near Champassak), there were only abandoned restaurants and a little-used hotel. In 1991 modern tourist hotels remained under construction just as they had been when workers walked off the job in 1975. Travel within Laos by both Lao and non-Lao was strictly regulated by the government; consequently, few were able to visit formerly familiar sites such as Luang Phabang, Vat Phu, or the Bolovens Plateau. Therefore, this set of recordings has a strange air of nostalgia, especially since it had been re-issued with the same notes used in the original Phillips recording of 1973.

Unfortunately, offering criticism of Jacques Brunet's mainland southeast Asian musical recordings has all the challenge of shooting fish in a barrel. As Jarernchai Chonpairot and I pointed out in a 1979 review ('Review-Essay: The Problems of Lao Discography.' Asian Music 11/1 (1979): 132-34), there were numerous problems with regard to both selections and annotations. These have not changed; indeed, considering the time gap, they are now greater. Southern Laos, which includes much of the lowland area of Laos (the terrain in which the mainstream Lao live) runs along the Maekong River just across from Thailand. To the east, however, is the Annam Cordillera, a chain of mountains which is both home to numerous non-Lao upland groups and the former site of the Ho Chi Minh Trail. A collection of music surveying this region should include several of the lowland Lao regional genres of lam (repartee) singing accompanied by khene and other instruments; it should also include music of representative upland groups. In this the collection falls short.

Of the eight selections, five represent the lam/khene tradition of the lowland Lao, two the survival of the court music tradition of the former kingdom of Champassak, and one the upland tradition. Among the first group, three are instrumental and two are vocal. All three of the Lao non-classical instrumental sections (1, 5, and 8) are played on the khene, a free-reed aerophone with fourteen or sixteen bamboo tubes arranged in raft form in a wooden windchest and sealed with a black insect product called khisut. Since khene players normally improvise within one or five (or sometimes six) modes called (in northeast Thailand) lai, it is odd to hear more than one player perform at a time, as we do in the opening selection, 'Pheng phi fa (this is evidently a fixed melody). Brunet remarks that 'The title of this piece, like many others, cannot be translated ..., [it is now only a string of] words ... handed down traditionally, the meaning of which is now forgotten.' To the contrary, pheng means 'piece' (of music) and phi fa is the animistic 'sky spirit.' In a ceremony, a medium singing to the accompaniment of a khene attracts the phi fa to inhabit her/his body and answer questions, usually as to why someone has become ill. The present performance, in which small cymbals called sing are also used, is the ceremony's accompaniment without a singer/medium.

Selection 5, played by the late master khene player, Thao Phet Sananikhone, is a medley of three pieces whose order Brunet has confused and whose titles are left unexplained. The first selection is his 'ma it thiet lo hat' (a small female dog walks along the beach), and improvisation which alternates between the two modes that both have a D2 as the 'tonic' pitch: lai noi (d fga c) and lai soi (de gab). The second piece should properly be called 'sut sa naen,' not 'sut sa men'; it uses pitches ga cde. The third piece, 'tit sut noi,' refers to closing a certain pipe, which is the drone common to both lai soi and lai noi (d), with khisut. The pitch system used here assigns pitch A to the lowest pipe, making the tuning system A, B, c, d, e, f, g/g, a, b, c', d', e', f', g', a' (See Terry E. Miller, Traditional Music of the Lao: Kaen Playing and Mawlum Singing in Northeast Thailand, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985). The third khene selection (8), 'lot fay tay lang [the train runs along the track], is puzzling; while this kind of piece used to be common in northeast Thailand where there are two rail lines (terminating at Ubon and Nong Khai), to my knowledge there has never been a railroad in Laos. Unless the player had travelled to Thailand (or had come from there), it seems unlikely that he could have imitated something he had never heard. Nonetheless, the performance is effective, with the addition of a convincing whistle.

Two selections claim to represent the vocal styles of southern Laos; however, only one does, in fact, do so. Although item 2, 'Lam sithandone,' should be the local style of Pakse and Champassak, the singers perform part of a lam klon cycle from northeast Thailand; they sing lam nyao, the second of three parts, and lam toey, the final one. Furthermore, the male singer has a memory lapse during the performance. The khene player, evidently not familiar with these singers, tried to lead them in both toey pamah and toey hua non tan, sub-types of toey; unfortunately, however, the singers did not know the songs and oculd not continue. The second selection, 'Lam of Savannaket' (7), is, in fact, genuine lam khon savan from Savannakhet. It is sung by one of the greatest singers of Laos, Bunthong Insixiengmai, but without his usual female partner, Somwang, who is mentioned in his poetry (Bunthong has lived in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, USA, since at least 1979). The khene player does not seem to be totally comfortable with the accompaniment; he may, in fact, have come from the other side of the Maekong.

The two 'classical' examples on this compact disc are both played by amateur musicians who live in village near the former Kingdom of Champassak. this small court, one of three such entities in Laos (the others being Luang Phabang and Vientiane), once controlled most of southern Laos and part of what is now Cambodia. this fomer kingdom of Champassak was under Siamese control in the nineteen century, before the French came to dominate Laos. The pinphat selection (3) reflects influence from Siamese court music in that the composition came from Bangkok. Some Cambodian influence is seen as well, however, since the ensemble's last teacher had come from Phnom Penh around 1960.

The following observations, made by a learned Thai classical musician/teacher Panya Roongruang, formerly of Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok, and who is currently a doctoral student in ethnomusicology at Kent State University, indicate how far this performance has deviated from its original source. According to Panya Roongruang (personal communication, 1993), while the performers seem skilled, they do not play the melody in the usual instrumental idioms (thang), which normally create heterophony or polyphonic stratification; instead, they play more or less in unison. the cymbal (sing) player has the pattern reversed, ending on a 'sing' rather than 'sap.' The musicians seem to have forgotten a good percentage of the piece; they have mixed sections and patched together a version of 'pheng kom' that is far removed from the Siamese/Thai one. The second piece, 'Pheng soysonthat' (6), is played by a wedding ensemble which, according to the notes, consists of two khene, so-duong (two-stringed cylindrical fiddle), and so-u. All play in unison and repeat the melody without variation. The drum pattern is nathap lao, but in Thai practice it would have been nathap brop kai song chan. These examples represent what certain surviving classical musicians play today, and, while their continued existence (I recorded the phinphat in 1991) testifies to their seriousness, they must technically be accepted in the context of an isolated Lao town and not compared to the great ensembles of Bangkok.

An annual buffalo sacrifice takes place at the ruined Khmer temple, Vat Phu, which is located eight kilometer south of Champassak, near the western bank of the Maekong. While this may be of importance to the lowland Lao, the music is evidently provided by the lao thung (upland Lao, formerly called kha, a pejorative label) from Salavan province in the interior. Lao thung is a collective term for people, 'who live on the slopes' (and not the highest mountains, such as the Hmong). In this case, it probably refers to either the Loven or Tauoi, both of which are Mon-Khmer groups (See Frank M. Lebar et al., Ethnic Groups of Mainland Southeast Asia, New Haven: Human Relations Area Files Press, 1964, pp. 143, 151). Their instruments are distinctly upland (drums and gongs), and the language of the singing is evidently upland Khmer.

In conclusion, I expect that having this album available is better than not having it at all; however, to reissue it without correcting the annotations seems a waste. The music of the little-known country of Laos remains shrouded in mystery; this is partly due to the lack of materials and partly to documents such as this which misrepresent and distort the traditions.

[This essay was written by Terry E. Miller and originally published in Ethnomusicology, Volume 39, Number 1, Winter 1995, pp. 162-65. It has been slightly edited for inclusion on TV Multiversity. Further information about the recordings discussed in the this essay can be found here and here, and there are numerous videos featuring the instruments mentioned in this essay, especially the khene, currently available on YouTube.]

A Film on Music in the Trobriand Islands

The Trobriand Islands are usually assumed to be well known, thanks to the research of Bronislaw Malinowski and numerous subsequent anthropologists. But in spite of the abundant documentation of other cultural components, the music of the area had been little studied and is almost inaccessible aurally to listeners outside of Papua New Guinea. Therefore, the film 'Kama Wosi' ('Our Songs' in Kilivila language), shot in 1975 by Les McLaren and released in 1979, was a very welcome addition to knowledge of this area. What immediately strikes the viewer familiar with Malinowski's photographs of Trobriand life from 1915-1918 is that few things seem to have changed in 65 years. Even traditional music had not been supplanted by string bands, as the opening credits reveal: 'Although some music was performed expressly for the film, it still functions integrally to Trobriand society.'

The commentary of the film relates basic information concerning the socio-political system, gardening, magic, intersexual relations, kula trade, and religion. Each of these subjects is illuminated by the music - either through its contextual importance to the topic being discussed or through the relevance of the song text. For example, the discussion of the kula trade is followed by songs performed at various stages during the voyage, as well as songs with textual references to kula canoes and concern about success during the trade. Kilivila texts can be very complicated metaphorically, as can be seen by examining annotated translations (as in, for example, those done by Baldwin 1945 and 1950, and also by Kasaipwalova and Beier at the Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies in 1978). Undoubtedly some of this was lost in translating song texts for the film, but the translators did a good job in conveying some idea of the poetry involved.

No attempt is made to conceal the fact that a camera is filming and that the people being filmed are aware of this. Such honesty can be an effective technique. Two young men sit on a veranda. One of them is carving an intricate design on the handle of a drum. While carving, he speaks to the filmmakers, and, ultimately, to all outsiders: 'Carving is nothing special - what are you taking pictures for? Day and night, day and night - taking pictures for nothing. You take these pictures and take them away - what about us? People will laugh at us.' 'Don't worry about him... I think that's their work. They go and get their pay.' 'I'll do this carving. I'll spoil my design.'

A variety of songs are presented throughout the film. The majority are those known as wosi baku, which are composed on numerous topics and sung while walking in the bush or sitting in the village. Quite a few different solo singers are heard, ranging from a very young boy telling how perfectly he will dance, to well-known singers. In fact, the people of the Trobriands have great respect for singers and composers. Sebwagau is one of the most famous. In June 1981, when I showed 'Kama Wosi' at the government headquarters of Losuia and at Tukwaukwa Catholic Mission, both in the Trobriands, everyone present knew Sebwagau, although his village was not nearby. In the film he sings a newly composed song about a caterpillar, asking it not to eat his taro. His song was learned by the audience from these showings. Additionally, wosi moyovau (kula songs) and valam (mourning 'cries') are heard. Regarding the latter, as in many parts of Papua New Guinea Trobriand Islanders do not classify their mourning as 'song,' even though poetic texts are included. Rather, it is considered a type of crying.

In the Trobriands, as in many other parts of Papua New Guinea, songs are much more important than purely instrumental music. We do, however, hear some examples of the latter, particularly the loloni, an end-blown flute made of a papaya branch. The distal end is alternately opened and closed to produce the corresponding overtone series.

At the end of the film, a portion of a choreographed usu mwaya dance called Bwetayobu is presented. The dancers (kasa), who are all male (and do not sing), wear women's skirts (doba) and hold pandanus streamers (biyala). They dance in a circle around drummers (towaisi kaisosau) and singers (towosi or tokaiwala), a group collectly known as kepou. Two sizes of drums are used: katuneniya (a small drum, which signals changes of dance movements) and kaisosau (a larger drum, which provides a rhythmic back-up to the katuneniya). The mweki (literally, 'go with') dance is commonly presented at national festivals on 'culture days,' although it has only developed in the Trobriands within the past 30-35 years. Boys hit their buttocks and both boys and girls thrust forward their pelvises while chanting sexually explicit texts. Mweki is disliked by elders, not because of its overt sexual references, but because it lacks the seriousness and poetic metaphors of other music. (Information contained in the three preceding paragraphs is the result of fieldwork undertaken by the Music Department of the Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies, 1974-1981.)

'Kama Wosi' suffers a bit from scenes included to conform to a Westerner's fantasy of the idyllic tropics, but they do not tarnish the overall sensitivity of the presentation.

[This is is an edited version of a review by Don Niles of the Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies, Boroko, Papual New Guinea. It was originally published in the journal Ethnomusicology (Vol. 26, No. 3, September 1982, pp. 505-506). Although Niles used a 16mm print and transcript to write the review, the film is now available on DVD from Documentary Educational Resources in the US and from Ronin Films in Australia. Further information on Melanesian music and the music of Papua New Guinea is available here.]

'Cannibal Tours' as Filmic Anti-Journey

Dennis O'Rourke is a Sydney-based filmmaker who has made a number of documentaries about people and situations in Australia, the Pacific and Papua New Guinea. His film 'Cannibal Tours' gives us insights into the phenomenon of tourism by Europeans and Americans to coastal Papua, and offers us a series of ironic episodic encounters between tourists and locals. The film is very definitely not an observational record of a single time-bound visit to a single identifiable place. It is quite difficult to form a sense of particular places (although a small number are mentioned) and there are no clues as to time. Although the film appears to start with an arrival and ends with a departure, almost everything happens in between has an arbitrary, unlocated, unspecific character to it. The only constant is that locals comment on the visitors, alternating with visitors commenting upon the locals. And there is a sense that the visitors' perceptions are usually countered with a specific anti-perception by a local. That is clearly a very deliberate construction even if it is made to look spontaneous, and balanced in a tit-for-tat exchange process.

Perhaps the opening of the film is intended to playfully evoke Conrad's Heart of Darkness, but it could equally well be a spoof on a Tarzan film. The film starts out in a boat, a little bit out from a coast. We hear bulletins of news from different radio stations around the world. We approach slowly by water through shots of enigmatic palm trees, a young boy who stares and drops his eyes and stares again. A local man is carving a ritual object. There is an atmosphere of Mystery.

Then a white man aims a camera at the landscape - is this to make us think of Conrad's description of the gun firing into a Continent? A white tourist is shown a place where he is told by a local that 'human sacrifices' took place. He wishes to photograph it. He is clearly enthusiastic about the idea of human sacrifice. He is a plump middle-aged man, German, Swiss or Austrian (?) who reappears throughout the film. he is weighed down with cameras. He turns out to be much travelled, articulate, and aware of the arguments against the very form of tourism he is enjoying. Is he Mr Kurtz? MacCannell (1990) seeks to link him to National Socialism, even though he could scarcely have been born by 1945. (Would National Socialists have chosen to spend their holidays on the Sepik?).

One theme of the film is mutual incomprehension - but with a difference. The tourists are 'informed' superficially about Sepik culture. They know there is no longer cannibalism of any sort. They know the people have been changed, and that they once lived in some sense closer to their local environment. But they are stuffed with preconceptions, such as that with the locals you have to bargain for what you buy. Or that the locals are happy as they are, still living a life in which they can easily satisfy their wants without money.

But the locals tell us that they feel poor, and are not happy as they are and that if they were paid more for the things they sell they too could be tourists and travel. And they tell us that they really do not understand the whites - particularly, why they take photographs, but more profoundly, who they are and where they come from.

The incomprehension is partly because of the differences of power, and also, we can see, because of the lack of common languages. The visitors cannot speak the local trade language, Tok Pisin, and few of the locals we meet can speak good German or American English. We come to appreciate the sense in which the contacts are inevitably superficial, and lead to little real insight.

On comment on the film deserves to be disputed. MacCannell has written, 'The tourists are most unattractive, emotional, self-interested, awkward and intrusive. It is difficult to imagine a group of real people [i.e. non-actors] simply caught in the eye of the camera appearing less attractive. This is not because of any obvious filmic trick...' (1990). This is in contrast to the locals who are 'attractive ... lightly ironic ... clear-sighted and pragmatic ...' I wonder how MacCannell would react to a documentary about the Khmer Rouge, or the Kray twins, if these tourists are the most unattractive people he can imagine? Surely, as documentarists are fully aware, the casting of central characters is crucial here, and the selection and discarding of material, equally so. Whether we call them 'filmic tricks' is a matter of taste, but there is no reason to suppose that these tourists are thoroughly typical of all visitors to the Sepik. They have been carefully framed, in several senses.

There is one crucial difference in the attitudes of visitors and locals. The locals are clear about what they do not know or understand, but the visitors are complacently sure that they know a good deal about whom and what they are seeing. They appear, then, to make an anti-journey which takes them nowhere and teaches them nothing. Such reflection as there is, is done by the locals, and, through further layers of irony, by the audience.

[This is a slightly edited excerpt from the chapter 'First Exits from Observational Realism: Narrative Experiments in Recent Ethnographic Films' by Peter Loizos, originally published in Rethinking Visual Anthropology, edited by Marcus Banks and Howard Morphy, Yale University Press, 1997, pp. 88-90. Three short excerpts from 'Cannibal Tours' can be viewed online here and further information on the film and filmmaker is available here.]