Hey, blog. So I don’t know about you but when I used to think of academia it was usually associated with the words dry, drought, headache, tedious, a harmless drudge, as Bruno Nettl says of ethnomusicology. And this is what I feel when I listen to people whose field of interest is far removed from mine. This is also what I feel when the human element lacks in a piece of writing. I would not have survived as an ethnomusicologist in the positivist era, when they took a much more scientific approach towards collecting and analysing data, and the people themselves that were subjects were treated in a wholly different way from the current postmodern reflexive approach*. I’m not saying a more scientific approach to music research is of no value, but it tends to lacks the aspirations of application to society; it tends to encourage development only within and for itself. I had an argument with one of the lecturers the other week about WHY we make such an effort for the sake of academic rigour when we’re not going to make any sort of difference in the world outside of our field of study. His hodgepodge answer hid behind ‘epistemology’ jargon (“Why do we do anything? You could ask that of any discipline”) so I will take that up with him again when I’m more educated. For now, applied ethnomusicology is where I’m headed. Please remember this, future Bri.
The semester has well and truly begun, in fact it’s fairly nearly almost finished. We’re into week eight next week. I’m drowning in reading as I have been since this time last year, but I’ve done it to myself. I keep finding texts within the texts I’m reading that I want to read and it’s spiraling out of control in a beautiful, slow-motion kind of way. I’m not sure if I told you what started it all; what sparked my curiosity in the first place. Syair (pronounced sha-ear).

*insert audio, ideally*

Syair is a traditional Malay form of poetry with a rhyming scheme of a-a-a-a, probably developed from the Arabic form shi’ir*. In a particular part of Indonesia (called Kepulauan Riau) this poetic form is closely associated with a specific, recognisable melodic form. In Bahasa Malay and Bahasa Indonesia the verb “to read” is synonymous with the action of singing, as in Qur’anic recitation, where “recitation” of the Qur’an involves complex and ornamental vocalisation of the text in one of the many Middle-eastern music modes. While syair is strongly associated with Islamic vocal forms such as this, as well as Islam in general, syair in the nineteenth century was a key story-telling device created by and for women to challenge gender perceptions of that time. The vocal quality, although no recordings have survived, is said to have been tremendously emotionally evocative*.
Contemporary literature and recordings of syair are minimal as well, leading one to believe this particular style is dying out along with associated cultural traditions such as the Malay theatre style known as bangsawan. But there is also evidence that it has been disastrously overlooked in contemporary research because of its perceived simplicity (a-a-a-a? Just tells a story? May as well study pantun [a-b-a-b, develops metaphorically], which is much more theoretically rich in itself).

So there are two things driving me here. The first is obvious: my curiosity, the intrigue, the capacity of nineteenth century syair to empower the Muslim woman and subvert the status quo (i.e. context). The second is the meekest subtlest little moment that occurred a few months ago: I’d just found out about my Indonesia grant, one of the sessions had just rounded up at the Kepri conference in the auditorium, my head was full of this melody Dwi had sung the night before, and she was one of the first people I ran into.
“Dwi! I got the grant. I’m going to Indonesia,” over-excitedly.
“Oh, what are you going to study?” She was taken aback by my over-excitement and just basically stared back at me.
“Syair.”
“OHHH!”
And BAM. She got it, smiled wide to her ears, latched onto my exhilaration and pulled me into a photo (see previous post). So basically, my second driver is the glint in Dwi’s eye when I told her I’d be studying syair. Yes, I’m being driven by a mere instinctual inkling. But it means something to her, no matter about Western scholars who have their own idea of what’s important. I want to get to the bottom of that enthusiasm. This is what reflexive methodology means: giving the camera to the culture-bearer and seeing what they choose to film*. I’m going into the field without any (much) idea of a theoretical argument to make, which feels like the most organic way to do meaningful field research.

So you’re up to speed, then. I’m excited out of my wits. I’ll be in Kepri, Indonesia, between mid-June and the end of July.

*If y’all want further reading/ references, in some cases I can’t give it to you but in most cases I can, so feel free to contact me.