The politics of music, 2007

An interesting turn in interdisciplinary studies has been the attention paid to the politics of music. Construed narrowly, this phrase might refer to issues from how many times and how we might change the words of our national anthem; to public policy support for Canadian recording artists; or to the constant battle to protect and enhance music education in provincial pedagogy.

More broadly, it refers to the ways in which music alters and reflects changes in our political culture. It can be argued, for instance, that jazz and the blues were central vehicles for the emancipation and integration of Afro-Americans, though it remains plain that on issues of social justice music can’t do all the work and that we have some considerable way to go to racial equality and recognition.

In a similar vein, the throat singing of the Innu and First Nation drumming and singing are central to protecting cultural integrity and identity.

I’ve noted in earlier columns that the connection between music and politics has a long lineage from Plato, who argued that listening to today’s equivalent of Bach was central to the excellence and justice of the human soul and the best form of politics. Rousseau (who got into a whole heap of trouble in Paris in the 17th Century, arguing that Italian Opera was superior to French) said that singing together, especially when the harmony was simple and the lyrical line dominant, was essential to a well-knit political community.

It can be argued that the music of the times had an impact on shortening the American war in Viet Nam and the relative absence of popularized anti-war songs today may be as interesting a phenomenon.

There are those who insist it was jazz and rock and roll, not Ronald Regan, who brought down the wall. Some read hip hop as a vehicle for the reconstitution of misogyny for a new generation of young men and women while others read it as subversion, radicalizing those who consume it to the reality of life for far too many Americans.

At the very least, each generation captures a form of musical expression as a way of defining itself. Accordingly, reading the music of the times can provide a revealing entry to the politics of the times and playing the music of other generations and societies is one way of binding meaning across division.

Viva Los Cubans!

It was with such thoughts in mind that I sat in Denton Hall last week, riveted to the sounds of Los Primos, an outstanding young big band from Cuba. Unlike a surprising number of Nova Scotians who have traveled to Cuba, some for the seventh and eighth times, I have not yet found my way to this persistently interesting island.

Even at this distance, however, it seems sensible to conclude that when balancing economic equality and liberty the Cuban regime leans strongly to the former; that while women work in some of the most important fields of endeavour, machismo is far from dead; and that with the abandonment by the old Soviet regime, Cuba struggles daily with economic challenges.

What most interested me at the concert, though, was the degree to which music continues to be championed in Cuba and the degree to which a drive for excellence can be associated with an egalitarian experiment.

Music reveals a lot about those who play it and these young folk were passionate about their art and the way it reflects the best of their values as a culture. They were proud of their abilities and revealed a joy of life that belies American Republican jingoism.

We might indeed have things to learn here in Nova Scotia, where the promise of our first fully established performing arts high school remains a pipe dream.

In the meantime, we have the efforts of Ardith Haley and Jeff Goodspeed, coordinators of the fine jazz camp at Acadia, to thank for reminding us that the passion for musical excellence knows no boundaries. And for those who missed this opportunity to read Cuba through the musical expression of its young, Los Primos play at the Atlantic Jazz Festival in Halifax on the 20th of July.