Musicking in Dayton

It was an event that almost defied description.  As the participants arrived, it was difficult to tell what they had in common.  And yes, they were participants, not an audience.  Some were dressed for a formal event, men in the obligatory black bow tie and cuff links, ladies in black sequined dresses.  Others were men well passed retirement age, with shoulder length hair, boots, jeans and cowboy hats. Musicians came with instrument cases.  Parents came with children.  As they entered, they were greeted by a well-dressed doorman, a rented security guard, and a man with dreadlocks playing a steel drum. 

            The inside décor was every bit as eclectic.  In the entrance were tiki torches on either side of a giant stone face that could have come from the statue of Ozymandias.  The wall to the left was decorated with a variety of musical instruments that ranged from primitive folk instruments to death metal guitars.  They were hung over one bad ass West Coast custom motorcycle.  The right wall featured tombstones being the names of the establishments that had previously inhabited the building, but had gone out of business.  The date of the last departure was 2011.

            The  diversity of the people and the décor served to give context to the performances that were taking place in the room.  Only a few of the performances were happening on the stage.  On the left side of the room, the man behind the bar was engaged in making an ice sculpture.  Simultaneously, a fire dancer was entertaining the guests on the dance floor.  Simultaneous performances in fire and ice? Perhaps it bordered on cliché, but it was compelling nonetheless. On the balcony to the right an older lady was rendering a seaside Italian villa in oil paint.  Next to her a younger lady was painting the Tardis from the Dr. Who series.  Most of the guests would have been able to identify both paintings.

            The onstage performances were meant to be the aural expression of the other activities and they succeeded in doing so.  The beginning sequence was approximately as follows:  a tenor aria from an Italian opera, followed by Native American flute and drums, followed by a young female singer/songwriter.   After her performance the guests were brought to their feet by a blues band featuring a Dobro player, a guy playing harmonica, and an accordion player.  At one point in the performance, a slightly inebriated young female participated by pounding on the large ceremonial African drum that was placed in the middle of the room as part of the décor.  Blues jam meets drum circle, and the musicking cycle is complete.  Christopher Small would have been proud.  Unfortunately, Christopher Small passed away on September 5, 2011.

            In the beginning paragraphs of this paper, I purposefully chose to use the word “participants” and “guests” as opposed to such words as “audience” or “spectators,” for this is what they were.  In a Christopher Small inspired ethnographic analysis of a musical event, the question must be asked, “What exactly is going on here?” Simple observation would not have revealed the common thread that united the financiers and the fashionistas with the roofers and the rockers, but there was a relational connection between them.  That relational connection was Greg.

            Greg is the owner of the venue and the host of the event.  Greg is a lover of art and music.  Greg was also the guy playing the Native American flute and the guy playing harmonica with the band.  If Christopher Small was right, if music is all about how we structure relationships, then Greg had succeeded in creating his ideal world, if only for one evening.  He was surrounded by the art, the music and the people he loved, and all of those elements were interacting with each other.  Whether he knew it or not, Greg was musicking.

            The remainder of this paper will consist of an attempt to lay the philosophic foundation and academic structure behind the event the reader has just experienced vicariously.  Greg, the host of the event, was just following his heart and pursuing his passion, but in doing so he was engaged in an activity that has deep roots, and a promising future.  Hopefully, this paper will satisfy the curiosity of the scholars and feed the appetite of the sociomusicologists who value such events and long for them to be more commonplace.  

Audience Response: Winning Over the Holdouts

This week's musical adventure was at Hidden Meadows Day Camp in Centerville, OH.  The high point of the show for me was that a kid who saw my show two years ago remembered that GNIROB is BORING spelled backwards.  For more information on this concept, go to www.mrmusicmaker.com

Notice the little girl in the yellow outfit.  Look at her body language in the first picture.  She has decided she is NOT going to be participating.  This was during a song where everybody makes animal noises. (technically, pet sounds, with references to Elvis and the Beach Boys)  By the second picture, she has soften a little.  This song is a dance contest between the grown-ups and the kids.  The adult leaders at the camp were GREAT and made it fun for everybody. (note:  They were great leaders, not necessarily great dancers.)  By the third picture she is in full motion.  Yes, the accordion is out and they are dancing to the Beer Barrel Polka.  What can I say, it's effective in multi-generational settings.

I point this out to support my idea that audience response is significant.  There are some artists who are so into their music (and themselves) that they probably wouldn't notice if the audience left while they were playing.  And some audiences enjoy being musical voyeurs; watching, but not participating in intimate exchanges between an artist and his music.  But for me, I'm looking for some response to let me know the music is getting through.  I'm trying to win over the holdouts who have walls of resistance to whatever effect I am trying to produce with the performance.

If you are going to music to benefit others, you have to participate in a circle of response.  You put your music out there and notice the audience response.  Then YOU respond to the feedback you are getting from your audience.  This puts the music in the context of social interaction and makes it more than just entertainment.  I believe this gives live music a greater therapeutic advantage than prerecorded music.

GoodTime Accordion Band at Bethany Village

Whenever we play for a senior center, we bring a lyric sheet so that the audience can sing along.  The tunes include Tennessee Waltz, Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue, Love Me Tender, You are My Sunshine, and other old favorites.  I usually lead the singing.  Today something unusual happened.  I usually sing the songs and expect that the audience will sing along.  But this group responded differently.  When I sang, they sat back and listened; passive observers of a reasonably entertaining show.  The songs they participated in the most were the songs that I didn't sing.  When it was just them singing they sang more loudly and enthusiastically.

The picture below shows the audience at the beginning.  They were waiting for lunch to be served and for us to start playing.  By the end of the show almost everyone was talking, smiling, and laughing.

We don't really feel like we've done our job until somebody gets up and dances.  This time it took us the entire show to make it happen.    We ended the show and were doing an encore performance of Beer Barrel Polka as they were walking out, when one couple finally started to dance.  It might have taken so long because it was a Ladies Luncheon and all the men were in the kitchen cooking and serving.  But Garrison Keillor would probably say it's because they were Lutheran.