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Orkestra Rumpilezz : musical constructions of Afro-Bahian identities Diaz Meneses, Juan Diego 2014

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  ORKESTRA RUMPILEZZ:  MUSICAL CONSTRUCTIONS OF AFRO-BAHIAN IDENTITIES  by    Juan Diego Diaz Meneses     A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF  THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF   DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY   in   The Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies  (Ethnomusicology)     THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA  (Vancouver)    March 2014   © Juan Diego Diaz Meneses, 2014     ii Abstract  This dissertation examines the relationship between music and politics of black identities in Salvador, Bahia (Brazil), an epicenter of Afro-Brazilian culture. It focuses on discourses of blackness and on the role of grooves, instruments, symbolism, and perceptions of carnival music, candomblé, and jazz in the contruction of black identities in Bahia.  I propose a model that integrates discourses of black primitivism and empowerment with seven notions commonly associated with black and African music: rhythmicity, percussiveness, spirituality, communalism, embodiment, traditionalism, and closeness to nature. My contribution uses a Foucauldian interpretation of these notions to explain how they work together to form discourses of blackness, not on the notions themselves for they are all widely known. The model accommodates a wide range of interpretations of these themes offering more flexible views of blackness. A Bahian big band called Rumpilezz that blends jazz with various forms of Afro-Bahian music (such as candomblé and samba-reggae), serves as my laboratory for applying this model. Aspects of public self-representation, performance practice, music structure, and musical reception are analyzed. Taking a constructivist approach, this study aims to respond to the following questions: 1) How do the most influential preconceived ideas about “African” music and culture impact musical activity in Bahia?;  2) What opportunities emerge when musical forms perceived as Afro-Brazilian encounter others seen as foreign?; and 3) How does music in Bahia express discourses of blackness?   This work, based on ethnographic research, historical, cultural, and musical analysis, demonstrates that, in promoting black empowerment, Rumpilezz emphasizes the themes of rhythmicity, percussiveness and spirituality, and downplays the notions of closeness to nature and embodiment. In doing so, the orchestra reinforces the place of Bahia, and particularly of Bahian candomblé, as diasporic centers of black tradition. Finally, Rumpilezz is located in a broader tradition of jazz bands in the diaspora that appropriates African-diasporic music to promote black pride.    iii Preface  This research project was designed and executed by the author under the supervision of Professor Michael Tenzer. The various phases included writing a research prospectus (between September and December 2011), conducting fieldwork in Salvador, Bahia (between January and June 2012), analyzing data (from July 2012 to July 2013) and writing (from October 2012 to February 2014). Date collection in a provious visit to Salvador between June and August 2009 is also used.  The dissertation is a significant elaboration of a paper written by the author in 2012: “Orkestra Rumpilezz: Reinventing the Bahian Percussion Universe.” ICTUS, Journal of the School of Music of the Federal University of Bahia, 13 (1): 6-40.   Ethics clearance to conduct fieldwork in Salvador, Bahia for this project was approved on December 8, 2011 by the UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board (ID: H11-02541) and completed on December 12, 2012. The title of the approved project was “Musical Africanization and Re-Africanization: Strategies for Producing Locality in Bahia” with the Principal Investigator being Professor Michael Tenzer.  Images and citations in this dissertation are used with permission of the owners as stipulated by the Theses and Dissertation section of Copyright UBC. All music examples and charts are produced by the author.    iv Table of Contents Abstract .........................................................................................................................................ii Preface ......................................................................................................................................... iii Table of Contents.........................................................................................................................iv List of Tables................................................................................................................................ix List of Figures ...............................................................................................................................x Glossary ..................................................................................................................................... xiii Acknowledgements .....................................................................................................................xv  1. Introduction ..............................................................................................................................1 Delimitation of the Research Project ......................................................................................3 Evolution of the Research Project...........................................................................................5 The Object of Study................................................................................................................6 Hemispheric Views of Jazz ......................................................................................................7 Defining Key Concepts.............................................................................................................8 Power, Politics and Identity..................................................................................................10 Blackness: Race and Ethnicity .............................................................................................11 Culture as a Resource ...........................................................................................................13 The Local and the Global: Producing Locality ....................................................................15 “Africa,” “Europe,” and the “West”.....................................................................................16 Research Methods ..................................................................................................................16	  Semi-Structured Interviews and Informal Conversations ....................................................17	  Cultural Analysis ..................................................................................................................17	  Bi-musicality: Music Lessons ..............................................................................................18	  Transcription and Music Analysis........................................................................................19 Embodied Listening..............................................................................................................20 Participant Observation ........................................................................................................20 Following the Path of the Orixás..........................................................................................20 Studying Orkestra Rumpilezz...............................................................................................22 Composition of the Dissertation ............................................................................................22  v  2. Bahia in the African Diaspora...............................................................................................25 Circulation in the Diaspora ...................................................................................................25 Placing Bahia in the Black Atlantic ......................................................................................27	  Africanism, Creolism, and Essentialism...............................................................................32 Diasporic Identity Formation: Nationhood and Double Consciousness ...........................35 Music as Representative of Black Atlantic Culture ............................................................37 Afro-Diasporic Religions as Representatives of Black Tradition ......................................39 Outspoken Black Empowerment: Movements and Ideologies...........................................42 The African American Civil Rights and Black Power Movements .....................................42 The Rastafari Movement ......................................................................................................45 De-Colonization of African Countries .................................................................................48 A Word on Pan-Africanism and Afrocentrism.....................................................................50 Products of Afro-Bahian Culture..........................................................................................53  3. Discourses of Musical Africanness........................................................................................55 My Use of the Term Discourse ..............................................................................................46 African Music as African Groove .........................................................................................58 A Model for the Analysis of Discourses ................................................................................61 Theme 1: African Music is Centered in Rhythm and/or Rhythmically Complex............65 Theme 2: African Music is Dominated by Percussion ........................................................68	  Theme 3: Groove as a Metaphor of Participatory Communalism ....................................72	  Theme 4: African Music and Culture is (Very) Embodied ................................................76	  Theme 5: Emphasis on Spirituality.......................................................................................81	  Theme 6: Emphasis on Tradition, Past, and Respect for the Ancestors ...........................87	  Theme 7: Closeness to Nature ...............................................................................................88  4.  Musical Encounters: Constructions of Otherness in Bahia...............................................92 The Difficulties of “Us” and “Them”....................................................................................92 The Other in Western Art Music ..........................................................................................93 The Other in (the Discourse of) World Music......................................................................95 The Other's Others: Samba in Brazil ....................................................................................96  vi The African Diaspora's Other...............................................................................................98 Jazz in Brazil and Salvador .................................................................................................100 Jazz Becomes Bossa Nova .................................................................................................102 A Bahian Style of Jazz .......................................................................................................103 Perceptions of Jazz in Brazil and Bahia .............................................................................105 Combinations with a Purpose .............................................................................................108 Concluding Remarks............................................................................................................116  5. Reinventing Afro-Bahian Music Through Public Discourse and  Performance Practice ...............................................................................................................117 Orkestra Rumpilezz .............................................................................................................118 Self-Representation: Public Interviews ..............................................................................120 “Our Music has Strong African Roots”..............................................................................120  “We Dignify Afro-Bahian Music” ....................................................................................121 “This Is How We Do It”: Describing A Compositional Method .......................................124  “The Alabê Plays As In The Terreiro”: Centrality of Candomblé ....................................126 Self-Representation: On the Stage ......................................................................................129 Choice of Instruments.........................................................................................................130 Positioning of the Musicians on the Stage .........................................................................133 Color and Style of Clothing................................................................................................134 Approaches to Musical Notation ........................................................................................135 Bodily Movement While Playing.......................................................................................137 Speech Between Pieces ......................................................................................................139 Discussion ..............................................................................................................................142  6.  From Candomblé and Carnival Grooves to Big-band Grooves:                                            A Method of Analysis ...............................................................................................................143 A Method of Analysis for Afro-Diasporic Grooves ...........................................................143 Timelines ............................................................................................................................146 Layering..............................................................................................................................151 Improvisation and Variation...............................................................................................151 Microtiming........................................................................................................................153  vii Candomblé Grooves and Melodies .....................................................................................155 The Ceremony ....................................................................................................................155 Instrumentation and Normative Roles................................................................................157 Forming Candomblé Grooves ............................................................................................159 Timelines ............................................................................................................................159 Layering..............................................................................................................................160 Improvisation and Variation...............................................................................................161 Microtiming in Candomblé ................................................................................................163 Other Layers: Songs and Melodies.....................................................................................164 Bahian Carnival Grooves: Blocos Afro and Samba-Reggae ............................................166 Instrumentation...................................................................................................................168 The Groove: Samba Reggae ...............................................................................................168 Timelines ............................................................................................................................169 Layering..............................................................................................................................169 Improvisation and Variation...............................................................................................170 Microtiming: O Suingue Bahiano ......................................................................................170 Form ...................................................................................................................................171 The Groove in Jazz Big-Bands ............................................................................................172 Timelines in jazz.................................................................................................................178 Improvisation......................................................................................................................179 Microtiming: Jazz Swing....................................................................................................181 Orchestral Black Grooves....................................................................................................182  7. Reinventing Afro-Bahian Music Through Musical Structure .........................................185 Timelines ...............................................................................................................................185 Layering in “Floresta Azul” ................................................................................................191	  Maintaining the Heterogeneous Sound Ideal .....................................................................195	  Playing Drums with the Horns ...........................................................................................196	  A Word About Melodies ....................................................................................................199 Improvisation and Variation ...............................................................................................200 Rum Solos ..........................................................................................................................201 Melodic Solos .....................................................................................................................205  viii Free Jazz Solo.....................................................................................................................206 Microtiming...........................................................................................................................208 How Does Swing Impact the Horns? .................................................................................212 Concluding Remarks............................................................................................................214  8. Embodied Politics in the Reception of Black Music..........................................................216 Listening with the Body .......................................................................................................218 Somasthetics .......................................................................................................................219 A Somaesthetics Centered in Candomblé ..........................................................................221 Listening to “Floresta Azul”...............................................................................................224 The Politics of Black Grooves..............................................................................................229 Discussion ..............................................................................................................................232  9. Conclusion .............................................................................................................................234 Themes of Africanness .........................................................................................................208 Black Identities Beyond Binaries: Is it Possible?...............................................................238 The Role of Jazz....................................................................................................................241 Areas of Future Research ....................................................................................................244 “Africa” Producing Locality ...............................................................................................247  Bibliography..............................................................................................................................248     ix List of Tables Table 3.1 Key for drum notation in Figure 3.1.............................................................................61 Table 5.1 Steps of atabaque players in “Floresta Azul” .............................................................139 Table 6.1 Common timelines in Bahian Ketu candomblé..........................................................160 Table 6.2 Key for drum notation in Figure 6.4...........................................................................162 Table 6.3 Variations of mojo in Santos’ compositions ..............................................................175 Table 7.1 Toques and timelines associated with each piece of the Rumpilezz's repertoire .......186 Table 7.2 Alignment of vassi, vassi's inversion, and timeline of “Das Arabias” .......................190 Table 7.3 Key for drum notation in Figures 7.5 and 7.12 ..........................................................192 Table 7.4 Form of “Floresta Azul” and corresponding rum phrases..........................................204 Table 7.5 Flute solo in “Floresta Azul” (6:28-7:22)...................................................................207 Table 7.6 Subtle oscillations of tempo in “Floresta Azul” .........................................................209 Table 7.7 Difference between metronomic and actual onsets of subdivisions                                    in percussive passage of “Floresta Azul” (1:08-1:14) ................................................................210 Table 7.8 Difference between metronomic and actual onsets of subdivisions                                    in percussive passage of “Floresta Azul” (6:10-6:29) ................................................................211 Table 7.9 Difference between metronomic and actual onsets of subdivisions                                    in two passages of “Floresta Azul” ............................................................................................212    x List of Figures Figure 2.1 Bloco afro Olodum parading in Salvador and Olodum’s logo exhibiting the colors of the Rastafari movement ...........................................................................................47 Figure 3.1 Structure of toque Barravento .....................................................................................61 Figure 3.2 Model of discursive formation applied to blackness ..................................................64 Figure 5.1 Representation of Letieres Leite’s model of musical Afro-Bahian heritage.............120 Figure 5.2. Performance of Rumpilezz and Neojiba Youth Symphonic Orchestra                             at Teatro Castro Alves, Salvador, Bahia ....................................................................................123 Figure 5.3 Rum patterns in ijexá and in “Feira e Sete Portas” ...................................................127 Figure 5.4. Brass instruments playing in “percussive” ways. Fragment of                                     “Floresta Azul” (5:54-3:05)........................................................................................................132 Figure 5.5 Spatial configuration of Orkestra Rumpilezz on the stage .......................................133 Figure 5.6. Closing cue used in samba duro and samba afro .....................................................141 Figure 6.1 Reference structure implied by an Afro-Cuban clave timeline.................................148 Figure 6.2 Typical swinging of tresillos in Afro diasporic music ..............................................154 Figure 6.3 Toque ijexá................................................................................................................159 Figure 6.4 Series of rum phrases in toque ijexá .........................................................................162 Figure 6.5 Song “Okê Odé” for Oxossi and agogô pattern ........................................................165 Figure 6.6 Two rum variations for toque aguere ........................................................................166 Figure 6.7 Samba-reggae groove................................................................................................167 Figure 6.8 Form of bloco afro performances..............................................................................171 Figure 6.9 Samba-reggae convenção..........................................................................................171 Figure 6.10 Samba-reggae paradinha at fast tempo ...................................................................172 Figure 6.11 Samba-reggae closing cue.......................................................................................172 Figure 6.12 Brass vamps, voice, and timeline in “Saudação ao Rei Nagô”...............................174 Figure 6.13 Moacir Santos’ mojo pattern...................................................................................174  xi Figure 6.14 Mojo in “Kathy”......................................................................................................176 Figure 6.15 Main theme of “Manteca” aligned with clave.........................................................177 Figure 6.16 Opening groove of “Mamteca” aligned with clave.................................................177 Figure 6.17 Swung eighth-notes in “Autumn Leaves” (Birk's Works, 1957) ............................182 Figure 6.18 Two versions of ramunha in Ketu candomblé ........................................................183 Figure 7.1 Relationship of timelines of “Anunciação” and “Adupe Fafá”  to the vassi pattern ......................................................................................................................188 Figure 7.2 Timelines of ijexá and “Feira de Sete Portas” ..........................................................189 Figure 7.3 Relationship between timeline of “Das Arabias” and the vassi pattern....................189 Figure 7.4 Relationships between aguere, ijexá and ramunha timelines....................................191 Figure 7.5 Two percussive grooves in “Floresta Azul” .............................................................192 Figure 7.6 Melody A of “Floresta Azul” with accompaniment (0:57-1:09) ..............................193 Figure 7.7 Melody B of “Floresta Azul” with accompaniment (2:20-2:41) ..............................193	  Figure 7.8 Melody C of “Floresta Azul” with accompaniment (2:41-3:05) ..............................194	  Figure 7.9 Horn basslines in “Floresta Azul” aligned with a rum variation ..............................197	  Figure 7.10 Aguere pattern for agogô, lê and rumpi with more salient strokes .........................198	  Figure 7.11 Melodies of “Floresta Azul” signaling positions 1&, 2& and 4 .............................199 Figure 7.12 Catalog of rum variations in “Floresta Azul” with implied timeline ......................201 Figure 7.13 Rum variations echoing and matching tuba phrasing in “Floresta Azul”...............203 Figure 7.14 Trumpet solo in “Floresta Azul” (3:05-4:29)..........................................................205 Figure 7.15 Sound waves of tuba and rum notes in “Floresta Azul” using the bass                      boost tool of Audacity (0:36-0:37) .............................................................................................213 Figure 8.1 Letieres Leite and “aura” Rumpilezz ........................................................................221 Figure 8.2 Fragment T1 of “Floresta Azul” (1:21-1:26) ............................................................225 Figure 8.3 Changes of texture in melody A of “Floresta Azul” (1:44-2:00)..............................227 Figure 8.4 Images of Oxum in Sandra Lima's Facebook public profile.....................................228  xii Figure 8.5 Picture of Sandra Lima in her Facebook public profile ............................................228 Figure 9.1 Discourse analysis applied to Leite’s statement about brass polyrhythms ...............236 Figure 9.2 Discourse analysis applied to Sandra’s statement about brass polyrhythms ............237     xiii Glossary  Afoxé: Carnival ensembles from Bahia that use candomblé instruments (atabaques, agogôs, and gourds covered with beads) and play candomblé derived grooves, particularly ijexá. Agogô: A double-mouthed bell used in Ketu candomblé drumming ensembles, capoeira, and other Afro-Brazilian ensembles. In candomblé it is also known as ferro or gã. Aguere: A Ketu candomblé groove for orixá Oxossi. Alabê: A title given to initiated male master drummers in Ketu candomblé traditions. He usually plays rum. Angola: Neo-African nation of Congo-Angola origin in Bahia.  Atabaque: Generic name of sacred drums in Ketu candomblé ensembles. There are three types with different sizes and functions: rum, rumpi and lê. Atabaques are also featured in other Afro-Bahian groups such as capoeira, samba de roda and afoxés. Bloco Afro: Purely percussive carnival ensembles from Bahia linked to black consciousness. Typically featuring fundos, surdos, caixas, repiques and timbaus, they parade in Salvador's streets throughout the year.  Caixa: snare drum used in bloco afro ensembles. Candomblé: A generic name given in Bahia for various types of syncretic Afro-Brazilian religions. Candomblé-de-caboclo: is a syncretic religion where Amerindian spirits (caboclos) are worshiped in conjunction with orixás. Although candomblé-de-caboclo and umbanda are considered as separate cults, some claim that the former is the Bahian version of umbanda, a generic term applied to other syncretic cults across Brazil (Carvalho 1993:9).  Capoeira: An Afro-Brazilian art mixing dance, martial arts, music, and ritual.   Capoeira Angola: A style of capoeira developed in Bahia that is considered by practitioners as more traditional and closer to African culture.  Caxixi: A rattle used in capoeira and other Afro-Brazilian ensembles. Ketu: Neo-African nation of Yoruba origin in Bahia.  Lê: One of the accompanying drums in Ketu candomblé drumming ensembles.  Ijexá: A candomblé groove for orixá Oxum in various candomblé houses and also by carnival afoxés. Jejê: Neo-African nation of Ewe-Fon origin in Bahia.  xiv Mestiço: A term used in Latin America for people of mixed ancestry whose traits are not “obviously” traceable to a single African, Amerindian, or European heritage. The perception of mestiços varies form place to place. Sansone (2004a) documented dozens of mixed categories in Salvador and Rio de Janeiro, how different labels are used or imposed, and how they may overlap (or not) with black identities in specific contexts. Orixá: Generic name of Ketu deities Oxalá: A oldest orixá in the Ketu tradition who represents wisdom and fatherhood.  Oxossi: The Ketu orixá of the forest and hunting. Oxum: The Ketu orixá of beauty and fresh water. Ramunha (or avaninha): A toque used at the beginning and ending of Ketu candomblé ceremonies. Also the timeline pattern (x..x..x…x.x…) played by the agogo in this toque.  Rum: The lowest sounding and lead drum in Ketu candomblé drumming ensembles.   Rumpi: One of the accompanying drums in Ketu candomblé drumming ensembles.   Samba de Roda: A traditional style of samba indigenous from Bahia. Although instrumentation may vary according to the occasion, it frequently features atabaques, pandeiros, and agogô. Songs in call-and-response, verse improvisation, and dance in the middle of a circle are integral to the style. Surdos: The lowest sounding drums in bloco afro carnival ensembles. Terreiro: A compound where candomblé communities store ritual objects and celebrate ceremonies. Timbau: A light conical drum with plastic head used in carnival ensembles. Not to be confused with timbal or timbales, a set of two shallow single-headed drums with metal casing used in salsa and other Afro-Caribbean music.  Toque: Groove in Afro-Brazilian styles such as candomblé, capoeira, and carnival music. Umbanda: an Afro-Brazilian religion blending candomblé with Catholicism, spiritism, kardecism, and Amerindian religious practices. Despite enjoying more national popularity than other Afro-Brazilian religions, umbanda is sometimes criticized by black activists and purists for being considered a “whitening” of the African tradition in Brazil (Carvalho 1993).    xv Acknowledgements  This dissertation is the result of a long journey in which I have been blessed by the company and support of countless individuals. Hence, these lines inevitably confront me with the anxiety of leaving names out. I must begin with my supervisor, Professor Michael Tenzer. It is impossible for me to imagine a better mentor than him. With patience and kindness, he provided me with invaluable guidance throughout my doctoral program. I felt challenged and stimulated by his curious and penetrating mind, constructively confronted by his bald honesty and criticism, and kindly guided in the moments of darkness.  I am also grateful towards the members of my committee, professors Nathan Hesselink, Gage Averill, Kevin Mcneilly, and Alejandra Bronfman as well to external examiner, Professor Jason Stanyek, for enriching this dissertation and my perspectives with their generous and astute comments and suggestions. Other professors at UBC contributed in various ways to forging key analytical and musical capacities for this project, notably Kofi Gbolonyo, Fred Stride, and John Roeder. In general, the entire UBC School of Music with its vibrancy and diversity provided an ideal environment for my intellectual development. Many thanks to my peers I Wayan Sudirana, Rodrigo Caballero, Juliane Jones, Jonathan Adams, Robin Attas, Tyler Kinnear, and Maisie Sum for sharing their Ph.D. journeys with me.  I am eternally indebted to dozens of musicians and informants in Salvador, Bahia, who not only offered me their friendship, but also helped me with patience to understand their music and what it means for them. I am particularly grateful to my friend Sandra Lima who opened the doors of her house for me and introduced me to the sacred world of candomblé. Mestre Cobra Mansa's wisdom was a vast source of knowledge of Afro-Brazilian culture. Most of what I know about candomblé and carnival music comes from my music teachers Gabriel Guedes, Macambira, and Renato Kalile towards whom I am also very grateful. Professor Laila Rosa of the ethnomusicology program at Federal University of Bahia and fellow graduate students Flavia Diniz and Tiago Maia provided a space for academic reflection while in Salvador. The International Capoeira Angola Foundation led by Mestre Valmir provided a family-like environment where I trained capoeira on a weekly basis.   xvi The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and the Killam Trusts provided generous funding to complete my dissertation and allowed me to move between Canada, Brazil, and Norway, where I spent one year writing. The Department of Musicology of University of Oslo with its rich mixture of historic musicology, music theory, and ethnomusicology, provided a friendly, supportive, and stimulating environment. I am especially grateful to professor Anne Danielsen, who generously took me under her wing and assumed the role of local supervisor. Her intellect, productive criticism, and knowledge are spread throughout the pages of this dissertation. Kjetil Klette Bøhler, who read the text and offered valuable suggestions, stimulated me with deep discussions and soothed me with his friendship and kindness.   Words can hardly express my gratitude to my family and friends. Quietly my parents have followed my steps throughout this process in full support and loving presence. I am also immensely grateful to my Canadian family Eliane Michel, Georgia Marvin, and Jeff Chernoff for providing me with the warmth and love of home. Special thanks to Amanda Procter for encouraging me to better myself and for believing in me. Last, but not least, thanks to Yerina Rock for being my teacher and student in what is most important in life.     1  Chapter 1: Introduction  This is something that comes from my mother, my great-grandfather, my grandfather who was a slave. From my godfather from Ilha de Itaparica who was an ojé1 at the candomblé de ogum house which I never saw. Therefore, my blood is a great mixture. The mixture of Africa. I am Africa! I am Bahian Africa!  (Macambira, p.c. Salvador, Bahia, March 31, 2012)2  This dissertation is about the relationship between music and the politics of black identities in Salvador, Bahia. My interest in this topic dates to 1998 when I began practicing capoeira3 in my hometown of Medellin, Colombia. Soon after I realized that capoeira belonged to a larger Afro-Brazilian cultural complex that shared songs, dance moves, instruments, and ritual elements with candomblé,4 maracatu,5 samba de roda,6 baião,7 and other Afro-Brazilian styles. But it was not until my first encounter with Mestre Cobra Mansa8 in 2005, and particularly my visit to Brazil in 2006, that I experienced the importance of these forms as mobilizers of black identity, especially in the state of Bahia.   One of the things that fascinated me most were the stories portraying capoeira as a tool of resistance developed by enslaved Africans against Portuguese colonizers, particularly those stories staged at the iconic Quilombo dos Palmares9 in the 17th century. Fragments of these stories were built into capoeira song texts and integral to many practitioners' discourse. Studying in Bahia, the “cradle” of capoeira, I realized that these stories are not always historically documented. Furthermore, many of the narratives of capoeira's origins seemed to rub against each other, such as the way capoeira is portrayed as a direct continuation of a particular combat                                                 1    Ojé or odé is a title held by helpers of priests in the Yoruba-derived egungun cult (cult of the ancestors) in Bahia.   2 All personal communications by Macambira took place in Salvador, Bahia. 3    Capoeira is an Afro-Brazilian practice mixing dance, martial arts, music, and ritual. 4 Candomblé is an umbrella term used in Bahia and other places in Brazil to refer to various Afro-Brazilian cults. 5 Maracatu is a term referring to two distinct performance genres of Afro-Brazilian origin found in the northeastern state of Pernambuco: maracatu de nação (nation-style maracatu) and maracatu rural (rural-style maracatu). 6 Samba de Roda is an Afro-Brazilian folk style of samba indigenous from Bahia. 7 Baião is a term used in northeastern Brazil to refer to a common rhythmic formula (x..x..x.) and to a wide range of genres that feature it, including forró, coco, and embolada. Its origins are traced to native peoples in the northeast incorporating indigenous, mestiço, African, and European musical influences. 8 Mestre Cobra Mansa's family name is Cinézio Feliciano Peçanha. In capoeira Mestre is a title held by prestigious senior practitioners.  9 Quilombo dos Palmares was a community of runaway slaves located in the mountains of the Northern state of Alagoas throughout most of the 17th century. It was the largest and most organized of such communities and considered today as a symbol of black resistance in Brazil.   2  game in Angola (e.g. N'golo),10 or as a martial art disguised as dance developed by enslaved Africans in Brazilian territory. The discourse that connects capoeira with black history and identity thus combines myths and historical facts.   In Capoeira: The History of an Afro-Brazilian Martial Art (2005), Matthias Röhrig discusses six competing master narratives about the origins of capoeira that he claims reinforce national identities, and local and diasporic black identities. For him these narratives are set forth by a combination of facts and myths. For instance, he points out that many practitioners claim that maroons (runaway slaves) invented capoeira in Quilombo dos Palmares, “transforming for instance Zumbi, the famous icon of black resistance, into a capoeira fighter” (Röhrig 2005:6). While it is a fact that Palmares was “a federation of maroon villages that resisted colonial authorities for almost a century in the mountains of Alagoas in North-Eastern Brazil” (ibid), there is no evidence that capoeira existed or was used as early as in the seventeenth century in this or any other part of Brazil. Linking capoeira and maroon resistance is, however, a powerful strategy to support Afrocentric narratives and boost Afro-Brazilian identities (ibid: 20-27). Most interestingly, he points out that the mixture of facts and myths is not restricted to “a close knit group of practitioners uninterested in historical research” but “frequently reproduced in magazine articles, books and even academic journals and dissertations” (ibid:5). He sees myths as a   crystallized, quintessential form of pre-conceived ideas about the development of  capoeira or history in general. A myth is one of several available resources to reinforce  the attraction of a particular master narrative, supporting the latter through its apparent  logic and naturalness. (ibid:9)   Such preconceived ideas also shape how African diasporic music is created, performed and perceived. For instance, African and Afro-diasporic music is often portrayed by musicians, audiences, and authors as rhythmically complex. The central hypothesis of this dissertation is that these idealized notions of what is “African” and “African diasporic” music reinforce discourses of black identity. Instead of seeing these notions as a combination of facts and myths (per Röhrig), I treat them as “performative utterances” used to perform a certain kind of action (Austin 1962). They thus have no truth-value (ibid), but act to reinforce black identity.                                                 10 The hypothesis that Angolan dance-fight N'golo is the single ancestor of Brazilian capoeira was first put forward by Angolan artist Albano Neves e Sousa during his first visit to Bahia in 1965 (Röhrig 2005:22-23, 49). It was quickly embraced by most Bahian capoeira Angola masters and also supported in scholarship (e.g. Cascudo 1967 and Obi 2008).   3   Like Röhrig, I deconstruct these notions to understand their significance for the formation of black identities and the circumstances of their emergence. My deconstruction, however, is not meant to “free the art with such a rich past and complex traditions from the rigidity that these versions of its origins and history impress on it, and that can turn its practice into a superficial performance of platitudes” (Röhrig 2005:8). Rather, I see discourse surrounding these ideas as integral to the agency that allows musicians, audiences, authors, media, and others to maintain and revitalize tradition. In this sense my work connects with Patricia de Santana Pinho’s “myth of mama Africa,” which establishes that “black people around the world are connected to one another as much as they are to an imaginary entity from which the past, the traditions, the characteristics, and the ‘character’ of all afro-descendants purpotedly emerge” (2010:2). My objective is to examine how this entity (whether it is real or imaginary) impacts (and is constructed through) contemporary black musical activity.    Delimitation of the Research Project The principal question guiding this dissertation is: What is the relationship between Afro-Brazilian music and the politics of black identity in Salvador, Bahia? Three subsidiary questions reflect dimensions of the inquiry:  1) What are the most influential preconceived ideas about “African” music and culture in Bahia and how do they impact musical activity?;  2) What possibilities emerge when musical forms perceived as Afro-Brazilian encounter others seen as foreign?; and 3) How does music in Bahia express discourses of blackness?   I systematize ideas circulating among authors, activists, musicians, and audiences to see how they work as a whole reinforcing the idea of blackness. Identity is always context-determined, malleable, and motivated by ideologies of difference. Blackness is certainly no exception. My strategy combines social constructivism in the Brazilian context with acceptance of the idea that much was inherited from Africa. As for the former, Paul Gilroy (1993) and Livio Sansone (2004a) and many others point out that black identities in the diaspora are largely constructed by reappropriating symbols and elements from what is perceived as “African” and “Western.” However, this does not deny the fact that some cultural and musical practices were “retained” in the diaspora as many authors have thoroughly demonstrated (e.g. Kubik 1979, Ortiz 1940, Herskovits 1941), and that they are important in contemporary experience. My approach is   4  aligned with Gilroy's anti-antiessentialist approach and with Pinho’s. Both argue for a social constructivism that still acknowledges the importance of essentialist positions for the affirmation of black identities (Gilroy 1993:100, Pinho 2010:1-2). Although decontructivist, my approach tries not to neutralize discourses of black empowerment.  A study of the interactions of musics perceived as Afro-Brazilian and others perceived as foreign is central to my overall project as these musical contexts evidence how categories of otherness are negotiated, how discourses of blackness are played out, and how hybridity and mixture may serve the formation of black tradition. Relying on historical, musicological, and ethnographic accounts I discuss how the perception of “foreign” forms has evolved in Brazil and Bahia since their inception, and their role in the construction of Afro-Brazilian music.   A contemporary Bahian big band called Orkestra Rumpilezz that combines jazz with various forms of Afro-Bahian music is my laboratory for applying these models of discourse formation. I consider aspects of its musical structure (e.g. grooves and melodies) and of performance practice (e.g. instrumentation, approaches to music notation, and so on). I am particularly interested in the process of creation and performance of musics used to mobilize Afro-Brazilian identities in today's Salvador to see if and how players, arrangers, and composers rely upon idealized notions of Africanness. I am also attentive to how these notions register in audiences' discourses.    Overall, I am more interested in how “Africa” is imagined than in tracing traits (Africanisms) of contemporary Afro-Bahian music practice back to colonial times or to other nodes of the black Atlantic network. African retentions are, however, seen as part of a discourse of blackness emphasizing tradition, past, and respect for the ancestors.     As mentioned, my arguments engage with those of Pinho (2010) who studied the various narratives and discourses that enable the production of blackness in Bahia. In her book Mama Africa: Reinventing Blackness in Bahia, she argues that “reinventions of Africa have been tremendously important for black communities in the diaspora and have frequently spurred black resistance, but they simultaneously helped perpetrate preestablished notions of blackness” (Pinho 2010:1). These notions of blackness and their relationship to “Africa” constitute the center of my inquiry too. Pinho and others (such as Sansone 2004a, Johnson 2002) deconstruct notions like   5  embodiment and closeness to nature in the conventional context of candomblé terreiros and carnival music. My works takes a different route, as I look at seven popular notions of blackness both within and outside these context. My aim is to deconstruct the music of a big band to see how these notions funtion in a more overtly contemporary cosmopolitan setting.  Evolution of the Research Project Inspired by authors who have studied the revival of black popular culture of Bahia (Crook 1993, Sansone 2004a, Sigilião 2009), I at first tried to frame the musical changes and Afrocentric discourses that I observed during visits to Bahia as part of the so-called process of re-Africanization of Carnival in Bahia. This was aligned with how other revivals of African culture in the diaspora were treated by authors (such as Feldman's study of Afro-Peruvian music, 2006) and seen by some as an important ethno-political ideal across the diaspora (Sansone 2004a). Ingrid Monson, for instance, wrote that “people of color are very interested in trying on the musical, cultural, and spiritual tropes from diverse regions of the African diaspora and finding themselves through intersections with others with whom they believe they have an entwined destiny” (1999:57-58), a clear reference to Pinho’s “myth of mama Africa.” However, many in Salvador reacted strangely when I mentioned the term re-Africanization because they challenged the assumption that Bahia ever stopped being “African” (as the prefix of the term suggests). Consider Macambira's (one of my percussion teachers in Salvador) declaration in the epigraph. For him, once Africa was planted in Bahia by his ancestors, it could not be uprooted because it survives in all their descendants even if racially mixed.   This kind of reaction, also common among many capoeira and candomblé practitioners, led me to reconsider my approach. Sansone (2004a) was useful as he points out that African revivals in the diaspora are ideologically linked to an Afrocentric discourse that emphasizes spirituality, respect for the ancestors, and participatory communalism. From my conversations with musicians in Salvador I realized that there is a fuller set of notions underpinning this discourse. Instead of taking them as mere strategies to Africanize or re-Africanize black culture, I framed them as themes in the discursive formation of blackness. After all, Africanization is just one of many strategies to reaffirm blackness.     6  The Object of Study As for the object of study, the most obvious choice seemed to be Bahian carnival ensembles like blocos afro or afoxés,11 given their long relationship with black activism dating to the late 19th century when the first afoxés paraded in Salvador promoting black pride.12 Many have shown the crucial role that blocos afro played in the dissemination of the Unified Black Movement (MNU) in Bahia since the late 1970s and how their grooves contributed to denouncing racism, raising black self-esteem, and construct Afro-Bahian identies (Carvalho 1993, Guerreiro 1999, Sigilião 2009, Filho 2004, Pinho 2010). Another plausible choice was a style associated with black tradition in Bahia such as capoeira, samba de roda, or candomblé. These forms are also linked to black activism and embody the most idealized notions of Africanness, largely because they were used as models of Africanness in the first place.   In 2010-2011 I composed the “Suite Afro-Brasileira,” a five-movement piece where I set up a jazz big band with the instruments and syntax of capoeira angola, candomblé, and samba-reggae as interlocutors.13 Shortly after the performance on April 5th, 2011, I wrote a paper reflecting on the potential of the project as a tool for research.14 I became aware that composing the Suite reflected bi-musical “moments of... subject shift, when one acquires knowledge by figuratively stepping outside oneself to view the world with oneself in it, thereby becoming both subject and object simultaneously” (Titon 1995:288). The deconstruction and combination of multiple musical syntaxes allowed me to see my knowledge reflected in the score as a patchwork with each thread of the music fabric embodying my understanding of each style. Cross-cultural                                                 11  Blocos afro and afoxés are purely percussive carnival ensembles from Bahia linked to black consciousness. Afoxés are characterized for useusing candomblé instruments and playing secularized versions of ijexá, a candomblé derived groove. According to Patricia de Santana Pinho, these carnival associations are among the major producers of discourses of blackness in Bahia (2010:2).   12  The afoxé Embaixada da África was the first black ensemble parading Salvador, Bahia in 1885. In their first appearance they wore clothes imported from Africa. Pândegos da África, another famous afoxé ensemble, was founded in 1886. 13  The “Suite Afro Brasileira” was written and revised between Sep. 2010 and Mar. 2011, rehearsed between Jan. 2011 and Apr. 2011, and performed at the Recital Hall of the School of Music of the University of British Columbia on April 5th, 2011. Over fifty musicians participated in the performance, including the UBC jazz ensemble led by professor Fred Stride, the samba school Sambata led by Paul Bray, fifteen members of the UBC Capoeira Angola study group, singer Anna Baignoche, and cavaquinho player Aquizamin Garcia. The name of the five movements are “Ladainha,” “Samba Estrela,” “Funky Capenga,” “Caboclagem,” and “Fechando a Roda” and are inspired respectively by capoeira angola, samba-reggae, funk, candomblé, and capoeira angola. The performance can be seen at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbglARfcgnc, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aQrwEKfjjw , http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6HFjcBmaeJw, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWHZ3ZZh4Fg, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjzHvRcIHMg. 14  Diaz M., Juan Diego. Unpublished “Reflections on the Composition of the Suite Afro-Brasileira: Another Way of Doing Ethnomusicological Fieldwork.” This paper was part of my comprehensive examination on July 27/28, 2011.   7  composition thus appeared the most effective way to internalize Afro-Brazilian musics. This is particularly true when one of the styles involved is perceived as foreign, which in contrast allows one to see the origin of each element more clearly and indicate the composer's aesthetic and political motivations.   With these ideas in mind I traveled to Salvador in January 2012, when I discovered Orkestra Rumpilezz. I decided to work with them after hearing a performance, which included the same types of cross-cultural composition as my Suite Afro-Brasileira. Letieres Leite, the founder, composer, and conductor, is very outspoken about his compositional method––something rather unusual in Brazil––and proved to be an excellent collaborator. Through Rumpilezz I have been able to incorporate analysis of candomblé and carnival music from Bahia with their stylistic, aesthetic, and political elements, yet in the environment of a jazz big band.  Hemispheric Views of Jazz In his article “The Jazz Tinge in Dominican Music: A Black Atlantic Perspective” (1998), Paul Austerlitz wrote “The two world wars spread North American popular culture along with U.S. hegemony, and jazz was subsequently domesticated worldwide” (Austerlitz 1998:1). He continues, “Especially fertile fusions of jazz and local music’s developed in African-influenced music cultures” (ibid). He situates his research on jazz and Afro-Dominican music alongside the work of Averill (1989) on Haitian dance bands, Coplan (1985) on South Africa, Pickney (1989) in Puerto Rico, and those who have studied Afro-Cuban jazz in the U.S. This dissertation can be situated within this broad scholarly tradition. Orkestra Rumpilezz relates to jazz that explicitly utilizes the music and symbolism of African diasporic religions such as Afro-Cuban jazz and various forms of Brazilian jazz. Such use of black sacred music in jazz settings is related to a broader diasporic discourse that imputes maximum authenticity to ceremonial and sacred music (see for example Averill 1989:208).   Rumpilezz has many predecesors that combined jazz with grooves, songs, and instruments of candomblé and umbanda.15 This includes Abigail Moura’s Orquestra Afro-Brasileira, a big band that operated in Rio de Janeiro between 1942 and 1970 with an explicit Africanist agenda; and Moacir Santos’s jazz compositions, particularly his works from the 1960s (like his album Coisas                                                 15 Umbanda is a syncretic cult blending elements and symbols of candomblé, Catholicism, native Brazilian belief systems, spiritism, and occasionally kardecism.   8  [Forma, 1965]), which exhibited a more hemispheric view toward blackness (Dias 2010, Vicente 2012). More loosely, Rumpilezz also connects with the bossa nova movement in Brazil and the U.S. of the late 1950s and early 1960s, which mixed samba (an Afro-Brazilian style) with jazz. In their collaboration with Brazilians, American jazz musicians like Stan Getz, Charlie Byrd, Quincy Jones, Cannonball Adderlay and many others contributed to a style that, among other features, was rhythmically guided by timelines (such as the so-called bossa nova pattern: x..x..x…x..x..). As will become clear, this emphasis on timelines is central to Rumpilezz’s project.  Afro-Cuban jazz, arguably the earliest form of Latin jazz, emerged in the early 1940s with New York-based Cubans Mario Bauzá and Frank Grillo “Machito.” Bauzá’s arrangements included Afro-Cuban instruments such as congas, bongos, and cowbells, and rhythms like the guajeo and clave. He is credited by many to have been the first to write an original jazz piece overtly based on clave (“Tanga” 1943) and laid the foundations for jazz based on Afro-Cuban timelines (Salazar 1997). Thus, Leite’s timeline-based compositional method (and his rhetoric around it), have antecedent in Machito and Bauzá’s music in New York’s 1940s. In subsequent years Machito, Bauzá and other Cuban musicians like Chano Pozo collaborated with American jazz musicians such as Charlie Parker (e.g. “Mango Mangue,” 1948 and “Okidoke,” 1949) and Dizzy Gillespie (e.g. Afro-Cuban Jazz Moods, Pablo 1975), contributing to Afro-Cuban jazz in the U.S. David Garcia (2007) explains that the relationship of bebop to Afro-Cuban jazz was not only driven by shared artistic interests, but also commercial, ideological, and political ones. This relationship helped black musicians from both styles to “challenge the status quo in American racial politics following World War II” by developing the technical and compositional complexity of their music (thus elevating their status), while at the same time asserting their connection with African diasporic culture (ibid). With regard to the famous collaboration of Pozo and Gillespie, Pozo was quoted saying: “Dizzy no speak Spanish, I no speak English, but we both speak African” (Gillespie and Fraser 1979:318).  More overtly, Rumpilezz connects with Dizzy Gillespie and Cuban Chano Pozo’s collaborations in 1947 as they were, perhaps, the first to feature instruments and grooves of Cuban santería in the rhythm section of a jazz big band. In pieces like “Manteca” (1947)16 they combined the                                                 16 “Manteca” was released as a single in 1947 by RCA Label.   9  mentioned instruments and Afro-Cuban principles of rhythmic organization with bebop. I imagine that if Pozo and Gillespie could listen to Rumpilezz’s music today, they would agree that Leite “speaks African” too. Rumpilezz’s connections with Afro-Cuban jazz become even more patent by looking at Cuban band Irakere, founded in 1973 by Chucho Valdés and Armando de Sequeira. Drawing more explicitly on grooves, songs, and instruments of Cuban santería, maintaining close observance of jazz aesthetics, and experimenting with odd metric structures, Irakere helped establish and popularize Afro-Cuban jazz in the island. Both Rumpilezz and Irakere glorify the African heritage of their countries with jazz and Yoruba religious music. A crucial difference between the two is the political environment surrounding them and the types of strategies they designed in order to create, perform, and disseminate their music. The degree of official control over musicians in Cuba during the 1960s through the 1980s posed challenges that Rumpilezz has not faced in Brazil since its foundation in 2006. Arturo Sandoval, a former member of Irakere declared in a recent interview “We wanted to play bebop, but we were told that our drummer couldn’t even use cymbals, because they sounded ‘too jazzy.’ We eventually used congas and cowbells instead, and in the end, it helped us to come up with something new and creative” (Meredith 2007). Jazz has been seen as a threat to nationalism in various moments of Brazil’s history too: when Pixinguinha mixed it with choro in the 1930s, during the first years of bossa nova (late 1950s and early 1960s), and during the first phase of the military dictatorship (late 1960s). Moura enjoyed some official support for his fusion project during the 1940s and 1950s because his overt references to Afro-Brazilian culture were well regarded by the highly nationalist governments of Getulio Vargas (Alberti et al. 2006:144). But Moura’s project was also supported by black enthusiasts, activists and intellectuals (Dias 2010).  Although varied, perceptions of jazz in today’s Salvador are generally positive with many according it art music status: “the classical music of America” (Leite, p.c. Salvador, Bahia, April 27, 2012).17 It is thus no surprise that Rumpilezz’s fusions have been well received, both in Bahia, and across the country. But due to a convoluted history of slavery, racism, struggle for social inclusion, and recent revivals of African culture in Bahia, artistic creation that makes reference to the Afro-Brazilian heritage is often highly politicized. The creation, performance and reception of Rumpilezz’s music is thus tightly linked to discourses of blackness. Through the lens of Afro-Bahian jazz, this dissertation discusses the particularities of these discourses in Bahia.                                                  17 All personal communications by Letieres Leite took place in Salvador, Bahia.   10   Defining Key Concepts In this dissertation I examine how music reaffirms black identities and generates black culture. This relationship between music and culture locates this project in contemporary ethnomusicological research. According to Timothy Rice,   When ethnomusicologists think about the relationship between music and culture there  has been a kind of shift. When we first started out we were trying really to link up  musical structures to culture... and we used the expression that music reflected culture...  Now we are in a different mode. We are trying to really make claims about the ways in  which music generates culture. The way it constructs culture.   (ArtisticHouseMusic 2012)   Since the advent of postmodernism, however, many have questioned the usefulness of culture as “a unifying rubric for ethnomusicological research” (Pegg et al. n.d.), mainly because of its wild dynamism and the difficulty of establishing clear boundaries between cultures in an interconnected world. Politics, power, identity, race, ethnicity, globalization are problematic concepts, too. While each term has distinct characteristics, we should pay more attention to the places where they overlap, to their dynamism, and to the processes governing change. In this section I explain my understanding of these concepts, as well as, “Africa” and the “West,” two charged conceptual geo-political spaces.    Power, Politics, and Identity Power is the ability to influence people and its exercise is inseparable from human sociality. Foucault sees power as an everyday phenomenon and ubiquitous, as it is “diffuse rather than concentrated, embodied and enacted rather than possessed, discursive rather than purely coercive, and constitutes agents rather than being deployed by them” (Gaventa 2003:1). This view of power as horizontally distributed transcends traditional conceptions of state politics and Marxists views of power as concentrated in the hands of ruling classes. Despite seeing power as available for everyone, Foucault also recognized asymmetric distributions of power, particularly when linked to knowledge: “the exercise of power perpetually creates knowledge and, conversely, knowledge constantly induces effects of power” (Foucault in Gordon 1980:52). Ian Hacking (1986) explains that for Foucault, power creates knowledge in two senses: 1) particular institutions of power make certain forms of knowledge historically possible; and 2) institutions of power determine the conditions under which scientific statements come to be counted as true or   11  false. Thus, institutions where knowledge is legitimized conentrate a form of power. Foucault's views are pertinent for me because they allow the integration of embodied aspects of power such as the creative self-fashioning and the pursuance of pride and dignity, both central to discourses of black empowerment in Bahia and other places of the diaspora. I foreground analysis of discourse because I assume that discourse underlies all forms of power and political action as “discourse transmits and produces power; it reinforces it, but also undermines and exposes it, renders it fragile and makes it possible to thwart” (Foucault 1998:100-1).   I see politics as the negotiation of positions of power. Because power is ubiquitous, embodied, and discursive, political participation possesses these same attributes and is also available for all members of society. Political action may take place consciously, like when bloco afro Ilê Aiyê performed “Que bloco e esse” in the streets of Salvador in 1974 demanding a privileged space for blacks in Bahian carnival; or in less deliberate ways, like when percussionist Macambira performed candomblé-inspired grooves with his bloco afro “Da Cor” in Pelourinho in 2006. Although this project was primarily driven by aesthetic motivations, many Afro-Bahians celebrated seeing candomblé in a secular context (Macambira, p.c. May 2012). Despite Macambira's focus on aesthetics, many received his grooves politically as candomblé is the strongest symbol of black identity in Brazil. Though it was not his intention, I interpret his use of candomblé as a political act.  Blackness: Race and Ethnicity  The fact that a person is born in the heart of a particular community or society, or from the womb of a mother with a specific physical appearance, does not necessarily force that person to have a predetermined identity linked to any of those dimensions (Paixão et al. 2008:27).   This quote by Marcelo Paixão and Luiz Carvano illustrates the difficulties of defining identity exclusively in connection to race (physical appearance) or ethnicity (culture).  Ethnicity is an expression of group affiliation based on a shared social experience, cultural heritage, ancestry, history, homeland, language, and so on. Although anthropology has tried for a   12  century to swap ethnicity for race as categories of analysis, Brazilian anthropologist Osmundo Pinho claims that in Brazil “race, as a category of sociological analysis as well as an emic concept, still persits” (2008:9). Race and ethnicity, however, are frequently hard to distinguish from each other. Silvio Sansone, for instance explains that instead of calling themselves pretos, pardos, escuros, mulatos, or morenos, (shades of the term black in Bahia) as it was typical of their parents, most Bahian black youth today choose the term negro (black) as a way of self afirmation (Sansone 2004:56-60). In adittion to generation, Sansone found that in Bahia class, education, and gender also influence these changes of terminology: “calling oneself as negro, preto, pardo, or escuro does not depend exclusively of color, but also of age and, to a certain extent, of level of instruction” (ibid:87). On the other hand, Pinho points out that in the eyes of others, black complexion may sometimes override cultural aspects of an individual’s identity: “social ascension, university education, and consumption of goods do not immunize subjects identified as negros of racism” (2008:14, italics added).   I see blackness and black identities as contingent ethno-racial categories in the sense of being both discursively constructed, and experienced through the lens of racialized perceptions of physical appearance.   While black identity is tightly linked to Afro-Brazilian identity, I do not equate the two. Many Bahians, Letieres Leite included, identify themselves as Afro-Bahians but not necessarily as blacks and vice versa. In Bahia neo-African nations such as Ketu (linked to the Yoruba), Jejê (linked to the Ewe and Fon) and Angola (linked to the Congo and Angola), are considered by many as ethnic variations of the Afro-Brazilian identity, but rarely outside of the Afro-religious context (Parés 2004). In Bahia blackness is sometimes linked to these nations. For instance Ilê Aiyê, a carnival association linked to black consciousness in Bahia, often invokes the Ketu nation to boost their legitimacy.  Although axiomatically based on ideologies of difference, black identities also overlap depending on the context. For instance, José Jorge Carvalho (1993) argues that various forms of black identity are expressed through music. He argues that Afro-Brazilian religious musics such as candomblé and particularly umbanda (a more syncretic version of the former) establish the most inclusive models of blackness where membership is not necessarily dependent on racial or color   13  distinctions but on ritual knowledge (ibid:4). Congadas18 offer a symbolic construction of blacks in opposition to whites according to a colonial model of black slaves and white masters (ibid:5). And Afro-Bahian carnival music expresses a more exclusive model of blackness by asserting black pride (ibid:14). These models are part of a broader blackness that stresses “Africa”, the diaspora, Brazil, and Bahia when aserting identity. Reaffirming black identities in Bahia is thus concerned with local, national, and international ideas of blackness, whiteness, Bahianness, Brazilianness, and Africanness. It is a political activity as it involves negotiations of power among contrasting and––most frequently––overlapping groups.  Carvalho's work also demonstrates that Brazilian black identities might be constructed beyond the white/black binary. In the more syncretic (and inclusive) Afro-religious cults of umbanda and candomblé-de caboclo,19 for instance, elements and symbols of Amerindian spirituality are central. The scope of this dissertation, however, is limited to African and European or Western.   Culture as a Resource I stress a view of culture as socially constructed by actors ranging from grassroots individuals to hegemonic institutions and subjected to the forces of prevailing political and socio-economical structures. In The Expediency of Culture (2003) George Yúdice articulates a vision of culture that stresses performativity, empowerment, and economic benefit. He sees culture as expedient (suited to the matter at hand) because it is used to empower communities or to multiply commodities in local and global markets (2003:25). He argues that the context of globalization, which brings different social norms into contact with one another, “underpins perfomativity as the fundamental logic of social life today” (ibid:28) because an emerging logic of cultural economy speculates that the creativity of diverse cultures will bring economic improvement (ibid). For Yúdice, culture now occupies a central role in political and economic relations because the ascendance of the neoliberal doctrine promotes the exclusion of the social from direct governmental policy. As a consequence, nation states tend to increasingly relinquish programs                                                 18 Congada is a folk drama of northeastern Brazil developed by enslaved Africans in the 17th century which “expresses the conciliation between the social sponsor (the white man) and the devotee (usually, humble descendants of slaves and mulattoes)” (Carvalho 1993:5). The celebration involves music, song, street parades, elegant costumes, and the reenactment of royal scenes in ancient Congo which portray the theme of African resistance to Portuguese domination (ibid). 19 Candomblé-de-caboclo is a syncretic religion where Amerindian spirits (caboclos) are worshiped in conjunction with orixás. Although candomblé-de-caboclo and umbanda are considered as separate cults, some claim that the former is the Bahian version of umbanda (Carvalho 1993:9).   14  for the Arts, opening space for the market to use culture to manage the social through education programs, ethno-racial harmony work, cultural tourism, job creation, crime reduction, and profit (ibid). Yúdice also points out that the management and funding of cultural projects, once an exclusive territory of the state, is coordinated today by corporations and international NGOs too, and that this has created a transnational culture with homogenizing effects (ibid:17). For him national and regional differences of that transnational culture are instrumental for global commerce and activism (ibid).  This view of culture as a resource for empowerment has been used by authors who have studied black culture in Bahia such as Sansone (2004a) and Pinho (2010). Yúdice himself applied it to study the appropriation of funk by disenfranchised youth in Rio de Janeiro. Local artists, activists, and cultural producers from Bahia are also aware of this political dimension of culture. Bloco afro Olodum from Salvador, for instance, began as a grassroots artistic and activist carnival association in 1979 and developed into one of the most successfully organized cultural enterprises of northeastern Brazil. This transformation was due not only to the creativity, hard work, and commitment of its leaders, but mainly to their ability to establish effective partnerships both with the national government and transnational corporations. Through their artistic, educational, and activist work, largely funded by Petrobras (a powerful Brazilian multinational energy corporation), Olodum promotes black pride among disenfranchised black youth in Salvador. But this also means that Olodum has to harmonize its goals with those of funding corporations (e.g. by making emphasis on broader topics such as the promotion of citizenship), demonstrate palpable results within specific time frames, commit to ideals of efficiency, and adopt bureaucratic practices.   Over the last thirty years Olodum has been one of the main actors molding the new black Bahian culture. They created samba-reggae, a groove synthesizing local and international musics that came to represent the new black Bahian culture. They embraced diasporic ethno-political ideals and helped embed them into local black aesthetics. But as part of a global network of cultural associations that rely on state and corporate funding, they are subject to a certain degree of institutional homogenization. As Yúdice points out, they are also expected to perform a distinctive Bahian culture, as diversity is believed to bring socio political and economic improvement to all. Black culture as constructed by Olodum is thus tied to local, national, and   15  international politics, power relations, identity, and to the discourses that shape them.   The Local and the Global: Producing Locality In Modernity at Large (1996) Appadurai proposes that various types of cultural forms flow rapidly across national boundaries, influencing and being influenced by local cultures. He argues that global, regional, or national hegemonic cultural forms are locally transformed into elements to produce difference or locality. Locality for him is a “property of social life, a structure of feeling that is produced by particular forms of intentional activity that yields particular sorts of material effects” (ibid:182). Although the production of locality is strongly rooted in an ideology of situated community, it is importantly affected by translocal processes including 1) the efforts of the nation state to define all neighborhoods under its jurisdiction; 2) a disjuncture between territory, subjectivity, and the consequences of mass migration; 3) the erosion of the relationship between spatial and virtual neighborhoods brought about by electronic media; and 4) the role of imagination (ibid:189). The latter is not mere fantasy or escapism but   An organized field of social practices... and a form of negotiation between sites of agency  (individuals) and globally defined fields of possibility... The imagination is now central  to all forms of agency, is itself a social fact, and is the key component of the new global order. (ibid:31)  Imagination is thus an intangible but valid social practice where power is negotiated. In this sense imagination is akin to discourse, with the difference that the latter happens between people and the former is mainly individual (although imagination can also be shared or overlapping).  For Appadurai locality is produced by reliable local subjects who use local (situated) knowledge to negotiate ideologies of situated community in the context of translocal interactions. Local subjects organize and recognize themselves within a community and thus “properly” belong (ibid 179).   Appadurai's concept of production of locality offers a framework for understanding how the politics of black culture and identity in Bahia are entrenched in local, national, and international networks of power. To this end he stresses postnationalism, the idea that nation states and national identities lose importance in relation to supranational identities. This approach has been used by other theorist of the African diaspora such as Gilroy (1993), Monson (2000), and   16  Sansone (2004a). Musicians, dancers, listeners, and commentators who effectively assert Afro (and other types of) Bahian identities become local subjects. The effectiveness of their actions is dependent upon local knowledge––socially valid references, symbolism, discourses, and ways of music making. For instance, the particular ways in which symbols and traits from Brazil, the diaspora, Africa, and the West are reappropriated for the construction of blackness in Bahia are forms of local knowledge. Constructing black identities musically is thus a dimension of the production of locality in Bahia.   “Africa,” “Europe,” and the “West”  When I write “Africa” and the “West” between quotation marks, I do not refer necessarily to them physically but rather as imagined spaces constructed discursively. “Africa” provides a common narrative of slavery and despair for black Atlantic communities and serves as a source of symbols from which cultural traits are creatively extracted (Sansone 1999:5). Sansone contends that “Africa” and interpretations of things and traits held as being of “African” origin have been crucial to the making and commodification of black culture in Latin America because they evoke a romantic past that contrasts with the ideals of Western modern progress (ibid). This contrast is strategic in some discourses of blackness as “Africa” is constructed as a polar opposite of the “West.” In this dichotomy the “West” is associated with “whiteness,” “Europe,” colonialism, hegemonic power, industrialization, and modernism with its ideals of progress, organization, individualism, and secularism. The “West” is thus the abstract locus of the global with its alienating ideas––cultural homogenization or unscrupulous multinational markets. Despite this polarization, Paul Gilroy indicates that black culture also appropriates “Western” symbols and traits. He adapts the concept of double consciousness from W.E.B. Du Bois (1903) to explain that contemporary black culture is simultaneously within and out of “European” modernity (Gilroy 1993).  Research Methods This dissertation combines research methods used in ethnomusicology such as musical ethnography, literature review, and music analysis. I also adapt theories and methods of cultural and musical analysis proposed by others. Empirical data was gathered through fieldwork in Salvador, Bahia in mid-2009 and between January and June 2012. I also had follow-up email and skype conversations with some of my informants after I left Brazil. I collected information   17  through participant observation, informal conversations, interviews, music, dancing, and singing lessons, and stored it in video and audio recordings, field notes, and music transcriptions. Since this work is not only concerned with the discourse of musicians and audiences, but also with that of scholars, activists, and institutions, review of selected texts concerned with African and Afro-diasporic culture is key. Music analysis relies on existing and proposed methods as well as on transcription of excerpts recorded in the field or commercially available.    Semi-structured Interviews and Informal Conversations I conducted semi-structured interviews with key informants in Salvador such as my music teachers, the conductor of Orkestra Rumpilezz, audiences of Rumpilezz, black activists, and directors of Olodum. The open format of this type of interview allowed me to explore specific topics of my interest and to have the flexibility to divert in the directions desired by the interviewee. This flexibility was crucial as it permitted me to revise certain ideas and concepts I brought to the field such as re-Africanization. I usually prepared a set of questions or a guide in advance that I adapted according to each case. The interviews were audio or video recorded and subsequently transcribed and translated into English by the author. In this dissertation I quote them and paraphrase them and refer to them with the designation p.c. (personal communication).  In the more quotidian interaction with my drumming teachers, capoeira colleagues and teachers, Rumpilezz's audiences, and candomblé devotees I also obtained valuable information that I recorded in my field notes. In these cases I had less control of the themes discussed and was mostly attentive to the ideas brought up spontaneously by my informants and occasionally followed up with remarks or questions. Since none of these exchanges was recorded, or transcribed verbatim, they are paraphrased and also referred to as p.c.    Cultural Analysis I adapt Michel Foucault’s (1972) method of discourse analysis for the study of blackness in the diaspora and particularly in Bahia. The method presupposes the existence of themes that are strategically used to reinforce a discourse and of a set of rules or “preconditions of possibility” that allows expressions to gain discursive meaning. I also use with Roberto DaMatta’s idea of displacement as the basis for symbolization (1991) to discuss different degrees of evocative power in Rumpilezz’s music. In my method I identify two discourses with seven themes and   18  discuss link the preconditions of the discourse to locality in Bahia.   Bi-musicality: Music Lessons  I took lessons in candomblé drumming and singing, carnival drumming, and of capoeira angola. For most of my time in Salvador in 2012 I studied candomblé drumming and singing with Gabi Guedes, an experienced private teacher, professional percussionist, and alabê (master candomblé drummer) at the well known Ketu20 (Yoruba-based) terreiro21 Casa do Gantois. During our weekly lessons we studied the ostinato patterns and variations of each of the toques, generally one per week. The method consisted mostly of rote learning and involved Guedes demonstrating patterns and correcting me while I tried to imitate them or play them against contrasting patterns. Although most of our sessions were one-on-one, several times we had group lessons. Being accustomed to teaching foreigners, Guedes was familiar with such concepts as meter and “the one (beat one),” and with counting and even subdividing complicated patterns in various ways. On a few occasions he even pulled out his “bad friend”––an electronic metronome––to regularize my tempo. He allowed me to audio record all of our two-hour (sometimes longer) sessions. After each class I transcribed the materials for further analysis and follow up questions. This relationship with Guedes was extremely productive because, being also the main drummer of Orkestra Rumpilezz, he could explain aspects of music creation, rehearsal, and performance. Through him I learned how toques were adapted by the orchestra.   I also took percussion lessons with Macambira22, a teacher I worked with in 2009, and also with Ricardo Costa, a master drummer of the Angola nation23 and professional percussionist. With Macambira I studied both carnival and candomblé percussion in a group environment with a less systematic pedagogy than that provided by Guedes. Macambira is a professional percussionist who played with big names of the popular music scene in Brazil and toured occasionally in Europe. Macambira leads a percussion studio at the heart of the historical district of Salvador and thus is specialized in teaching foreigners. He is attached to the Egungun tradition (a version of candomblé that focuses on the cult of the ancestors), but like most candomblé drummers, he                                                 20 Yoruba-based neo-African nations are referred to in Bahia as Ketu or Nagô. In this dissertation I use Ketu because this was the designation used by most informants in 2009 and 2012.  21 Terreiro is a compound where candomblé communities store ritual objects and celebrate ceremonies. 22 Macambira's family name is Marivaldo Pereira de Brito. 23 Angola is a neo-African nation linked to the Congo-Angola spiritual heritage.   19  knows the repertoire of the Ketu, Angola and Jejê nations24. With him I learned slightly different versions of the orixá25 toques that Guedes taught me, plus samba de roda, ijexá, samba-reggae, and samba duro grooves. We developed an intimacy that afforded long informal conversations about candomblé, black culture, and the meaning of “Africa” and blackness in Bahia. Macambira also allowed me to record lessons.   Transcription and Music Analysis I transcribed grooves and melodies from lessons, street performances, recorded rehearsals and shows, and commercially released albums. Following Danielsen (2010a), I assume that all musical phenomena is buried in musicians', dancers', and audiences' minds in the form of silent reference structures such as time signatures, modes, and tonalities. Transcriptions are visual representations of actual musical sounds but accommodated to some of those structures. There are, however, some structures that are hard to notate like patterns of microtiming for which I used a digital audio editor (Audacity 2.0.0) to zoom into sound waves and read note attacks with a precision of one hundredth of a second. Since Rumpilezz's music is groove-based and constructed upon timeline patterns, I designed a method of analysis based in timelines, layering, improvisation, and microtiming. All transcriptions are mine, unless indicated.   For musical analysis I adapt Christopher Washburne’s (1997) discussion of clave in Afro-Cuban music and jazz, to the Afro-Bahian context and to particularly to Orkestra Rumpilezz. I rely on Brazilian scholarship to justify the relevance of Washburne’s method in Bahia (Oliveira Pinto 1999 and 2001, Sandroni 2001, Lopes Carvalho 2011, and Lühning 1990). With their help and with ethnographic accounts I adapt terms and concepts. Based on authors specializing in African-derived groove based musics (such as Nketia 1974, Keil 1987, and Danielsen 2006), I propose a method of groove analysis with four categories: timelines, layering, improvisation, and microtiming. Letieres Leite’s descriptions of his own compositional method served to verify the relevance of these four categories.                                                    24 Ketu, Angola and Jejê are the names of the main neo-African nations reconstituted in Bahia by Afro-descendants. The former is linked to Yoruba, the second one to the Congo-Angola, and the latter to the Ewe-Fon. 25 Orixá is a generic name of African deities in Yoruba-derived religions, including candomblé Ketu.   20  Embodied Listening  For the discussion of the aesthetics of musical reception of Rumpilezz I adapt Richard Shusterman’s (1999) concept of somasthetics, which focuses on the embodied experience. In order to assesss somastetics’ relevance in the Afro-Bahian musical context I rely on ethnographic accounts as well as on the phenomenological discussions of Afro-Brazilian religious music by Luis Nicolau Parés (1997) and consideration of capoeira by Angelo Cardoso (2006) in, and of Flavia Diniz (2011) and Decanio Filho (2002).  Participant Observation Capoeira was my entry point into Afro-Brazilian culture and, in many ways, the lens through which I have come to understand it. Despite not being the main focus of this dissertation, I decided to immerse myself in the Bahian capoeira angola community in 2009 and 2012, not only because it allowed me to maintain contact with practices and discourses but also because being active in this community opened many doors, like when fellow angoleiros26 who are also candomblé devotees took me to candomblé shrines or introduced me to percussion teachers.   As in 2009, during my visit of 2012, I chose Mestre Valmir's International Foundation of Capoeira Angola (FICA-BA) as my host capoeira group and from this vantage point I interacted with other groups. I also studied carnival music by taking music lessons, attending rehearsals and performances, dancing in street parades, and transcribing the patterns of blocos Afro that I recorded in the streets. One of the venues I attended consistently was the Festa da Benção at the Pelourinho district where blocos Swing do Pelô and Dida performed every Tuesday evening for a mixed audience of tourists and locals. Here local black dancers led choreographies of Danca Afro that large crowds followed to the beat of the drums. I alternated between observing dancers and percussionists, sometimes recording them, and mainly joining the collective dance. Through group dance I experienced grooves iconically associated with Bahian carnival and also to the slogan beleza negra or “black beauty.”   Following the Path of the Orixás One thing was new in my visit of 2012, contact with candomblé. Thanks to Mestre Cobra Mansa,                                                 26 This is how practitioners of the capoeira Angola style identify themselves. capoeira angola is perceived by most capoeira adepts as the most traditional style and closer to African roots, thus many angoleiro masters are seen as “guardians of the tradition.”   21  I stayed with Sandra Lima, an Afro-Bahian dancer, former capoeirista and candomblé devotee who introduced me to the world of candomblé that had been elusive to me previously. Although most candomblé ceremonies are public, finding one's way to terreiros may be difficult as many are in hard-to-find places and disguised as (or behind) family houses, perhaps due to the official persecution they faced until forty years ago. The first terreiro I visited was located in Mussurunga, a suburb in the north of the city where public transportation is poor, particularly at the late hours of night when ceremonies usually finish. The house, which belongs to the Ketu nation, is located in a sloped secondary street, hidden from the main street and looks from outside like a regular family house. With Sandra I attended five ceremonies at this terreiro. Though observation and conversation I learned the protocol of participation, including dress codes, how to greet elders, where to sit, and when to clap, sing, or stand up. Since in most candomblé houses video or audio recording is forbidden and taking notes is inappropriate, I had to rely on my memory to record the innumerable details of the ceremony that included polyrhythmic drumming, antiphonal songs, dance, possession, costumes, ornamentation, etc. With the help of the literature (e.g. Carneiro 1991 and Cardoso 2006) and mainly through conversations with Sandra I was able to put most information in context. With her I also attended a ceremony at one of the most prestigious candomblé houses of Brazil, Casa Branca, a national epicenter of the Ketu tradition. Gabi Guedes, my candomblé drumming teacher, also opened to me the doors of Casa do Gantois, a terreiro to which he belongs.   Through contacts with members of the black community I visited other terreiros in the city. In the event Africa por Africa held in Salvador on May 23, 2012 for instance, Pai Raimundo invited me to an umbanda ceremony at his terreiro in Brotas and from there I was invited to the Ketu terreiro Alaketu in the same neighborhood. By this time I was more familiar with the protocols of these ceremonies and on some occasions, managed to pass as regular audience.   One of the most remarkable aspects of these ceremonies is the phenomenon of ritual possession. Sandra, who was still not initiated at the time, fell into trance or “received the saint” as she puts it, several times while in the audience. Our conversations along with the Ph.D. dissertations of Luis Nicolau Parés (1997) and Angelo Cardoso (2006) constitute my main frames of interpretation for this phenomenon.     22  Studying Orkestra Rumpilezz After my first contact with Orkestra Rumpilezz at Teatro Vila Veha on February 2, 2012, I attended their rehearsals at the Xisto Bahia auditorium of the Barris public library every Monday evening. I sat quietly in the back of the room and took notes while observing the dynamics between the musicians, the negotiations of new rhythms, their approach to music notation, and the comments of the conductor and director Letieres Leite. I audio recorded most of the rehearsals. In addition to that first performance at Teatro Vila Velha I also attended and audio recorded performances at Teatro Castro Alves (February 10), Lauro de Freitas park (April 27), and a dress rehearsal at the Xisto Bahia auditorium (June 4). This last one was also videotaped. Letieres Leite conceded me a personal interview at his house in Itapuã (a neighborhood in Salvador) that I videotaped, transcribed and translated into English. I also had informal conversations and semi-structured interviews with audiences of Rumpilezz, particularly with Sandra Lima; with Makota Valdina, a candomblé spiritual leader and activist; with fellow capoeira practitioners; and also with Airton Moura, the Municipal Secretary of Reparation in Salvador. In these interviews and conversations I asked about Rumpilezz's music and what it represents for them.   My relationship with Guedes allowed me to ask more technical questions about the rhythms of the orchestra and their relationship to candomblé drumming. Guedes demonstrated patterns to me, deconstructed them, talked about his role, and gave opinions about the music and the idea of using candomblé rhythms outside the terreiro.   Having no access to scores for musical analysis, I transcribed the examples used in this dissertation directly from their album (Letieres Leite and Orkestra Rumpilezz, Biscoito Fino, 2009). Given the high density of the textures (20 instruments) I also relied on notes taken while observing their rehearsals and performances for these transcriptions.   Composition of the Dissertation Of the eight chapters that follow, the first three provide a theoretical and historical background for the analysis that follows in the next four. The last is a final discussion. Chapter 2 theorizes African diasporic culture, identity, and political activism. With the help of Gilroy (1993) and Sansone (2004a) I define the African diaspora as a cultural space of social construction shared by   23  descendants of enslaved Africans in networks of communities across the Atlantic rim and beyond. I discuss how Bahia emerged as a historic center of black tradition, and the implications of this for Brazilian discourses of nationhood. A review of the debate of African retentions versus that of hybrid adaptations (and essentialism, anti-essentialism, and anti-antiessentialism) as discussed by Gilroy is followed by discussions of diasporic identity formation and a survey of Africanist and diasporic discourses of music. Finally, I analyze how the African American Civil rights movement, Rastafarianism, and the struggle for independence of African countries in the 1960-70s shaped cultural and political activity in the diaspora and particularly in Salvador. The chapter is meant to catalog the loaded political baggage linked to the adjective Afro-Brazilian.   Chapter 3 introduces a Foucault-inspired model linking seven idealized notions of Africanness to two discourses of blackness: primitivism and empowerment. In this model these notions are themes strategically emphasized or downplayed to reinforce these discourses. It thus shows how musical activity molds the politics of black identity. The chapter begins explaining my understanding of discourse, which I based on Austin's How to Do Things with Words (1962) and particularly on Foucault's The Archeology of Knowledge (1972). Subsequently I discuss the possible implications of reducing African music to African groove. After introducing the discourses of black primitivism and empowerment and the mechanics of the model, I examine how each of the seven themes is present in academic and oral discourses, what structural qualities and aesthetic values are frequently idealized, how are they socially performed, and how they operate in specific musical cases in Salvador.   Chapter 4 is devoted to understanding how ideas of otherness are negotiated musically in Brazil and particularly by blacks in Bahia. Despite their veritable indigenization in Brazil, Western art music and jazz are perceived by some Afro-Brazilians as music representing a dominant and imperial other. This otherness, while problematized by many, has been fertile soil for the musical construction of Afro-Brazilian culture. Encounters featuring Afro-Brazilian music and jazz receive special attention as these comprise Orkestra Rumpilezz's project. A reception history of otherness in the various genres Rumpilezz fuses allows me to depict how, in various combinations, they help construct black identity. This closes the theoretical section and opens the analysis.     24  Chapter 5 offers an interpretation of Orkestra Rumpilezz's public discourse and performance practice. Mixing jazz, candomblé, and carnival grooves, Orkestra Rumpilezz proclaims itself as a dignifier of Afro-Bahian music and claims that its music is “very close to its African roots.” I examine how this message is articulated in public interviews and talks, and performed on the stage. Performance practice––including instrumentation, approaches to musical notation, layout of musicians on the stage, color and style of clothing, speech between pieces, and bodily movement while playing––all have symbolic value.  Rumpilezz's influences and its own repertoire are analyzed in terms of four categories: timelines, layering, improvisation, and microtiming. This analysis is brought to bear in Chapter 6 on candomblé drumming and songs, Bahian carnival percussion, jazz big bands, and in Chapter 7 on Rumpilezz's own repertoire. While every track on their first album27 is given some consideration, “Floresta Azul” (track 4), serves as focus for more in-depth reading.  Chapter 8 addresses Rumpilezz' reception in Salvador. How are aesthetics and politics intertwined and linked to discourses of blackness?. Given that candomblé is crucial to Rumpilezz's music and considered the most traditional Afro-Brazilian practice, it receives particular attention. I suggest that Rumpilezz's performances are received with a somaesthetics (Shusterman 1999) that allows some candomblé adepts to have embodied experiences of similar quality to those leading to ritual possession. Somasthetics is a theory of aesthetics centered in the embodied experience (ibid:1999:302).  The final chapter discusses how Rumpilezz and its audiences construct black identities in Bahia and within the white-black binary and beyond it. Rumpilezz is placed in the context of other jazz groups that appropriate Afro-diasporic music. Differences and similarities are analyzed in terms of locality.                                                    27 Leitieres Leite and Orchestra Rumpilezz (Biscoito Fino, 2009)    25  Chapter 2: Bahia in the African Diaspora  This chapter discusses processes molding cultural expressions in the African diaspora and their impact in Bahia. I make a broad review of the history, discourses, theories, and activism relevant to such a discussion. Given the complexity of these topics, and the large body of literature available, this review is necessarily selective. The chapter begins considering models of cultural circulation within the black Atlantic and locating Bahia within this transnational cultural network. Key approaches to the study of how black culture is maintained and reproduced are also discussed. This is followed by a review of the discourses linking music and diasporic religions to black tradition. I continue with discussion of the most influential movements and ideologies of black empowerment in the African diaspora and how they mold black activism and the production of locality in Salvador.   Circulation in the Diaspora  The Atlantic African diaspora is a group of scattered communities throughout the Atlantic rim that are descended first from the historic movement of peoples from Africa to the Americas and Europe, and later in all directions. Although the term technically covers dispersal through voluntary and forced migration at any point in history, it has been historically applied specifically to the descendants of the victims of the transatlantic slave trade, which uprooted millions from their homelands in West and Central Africa between the 16th and 19th centuries.  In The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (1993), Paul Gilroy proposed that the classic model of diaspora which sees black communities dispersed throughout the Atlantic longing to return to a homeland in the African continent is insufficient to understand the reality of blacks and other African descendants in modernity, partly because today cultural flows are more multidirectional than ever. For him Africa should not be culturally or politically separated from its diaspora. He coined the term black Atlantic to refer to a de-centered space of transnational and cultural construction shared by the descendants of those who experienced slavery on either side of the Atlantic. Gilroy’s black Atlantic thus emphasizes the connectivity of black communities across the Atlantic.28                                                 28   Gilroy’s term black Atlantic excludes black communities in the Pacific and the Indian Ocean. Expanding upon Gilroy’s model, Heidi Feldman sees the black Pacific as a “newly imagined community on the periphery of the black Atlantic” (2005:206). For her, much of what Gilroy said about the black Atlantic applies to the black   26   This dissertation is concerned with Salvador, Bahia, a historical center of black culture in South America in direct contact with the Atlantic ocean. As will become clear, the politics and aesthetics of black music production and reception in Bahia are multiply linked to those of other black centers across the black Atlantic, including Africa itself. I use the term black Atlantic in the same way Gilroy does (a network of black communities in direct contact with the Atlantic rim), and the term African diaspora for black communities spread across the Americas and Europe.    Livio Sansone and Gilroy propose two different models for the study of cultural flows specific for the black. Sansone (2004a) argues that international flows within the black Atlantic tend to follow specific patterns: centers of production located in the U.S., the U.K., and Jamaica export black products perceived as modern. The periphery mainly imports modernity and, in some cases, exports black products perceived as traditional. In this picture black centers like Salvador, La Havana and others in the Southern hemisphere––including those in Africa––are receptors of modernity and producers of tradition. Crucially, he adds that local versions of black culture often assert their identities by appealing to both modern globalized and traditional cultural products. This is similar to Appadurai's model of indigenizing translocal cultural forms. In other words, the locality and black tradition produced in the periphery also have a flavor of “Western” modernity.   Gilroy uses the image of ships in motion crossing the Atlantic to propose a more balanced model of circulation where cultural forms flow multidirectionally, both during the transatlantic slave trade and now:  Ships were the living means by which the points within that Atlantic world were joined. They were mobile elements that stood for the shifting spaces in between the fixed places  that they connected. Accordingly they need to be thought of as cultural and political units  rather than abstract embodiments of the triangular trade. They were something more––a   means to conduct political dissent and possibly a distinct mode of cultural production.  (1993:16)  In Gilroy's model there are no political or economic centers exercising overwhelming cultural                                                 Pacific. She claims that, in seeking inspiration from Afro-Cuban and Afro-Bahian music, the protagonists of the Afro-Peruvian music revival of the 1950s-70s “constructed the black Atlantic as a surrogate of Africa” (ibid:207). A vision of the black Atlantic linked to the black Pacific enriches the understanding of black politics. In this study I restrict my analysis to the black Atlantic due to the little historical connection of Afro-Bahian culture to the black Pacific.   27  influence over peripheries, because even in the most restricted circumstances (e.g. slavery or urban marginalization) blacks have demonstrated an “indomitable” capacity to assert human, democratic, and oppositional agency (ibid:219). Consequently, he attributes political agency to each node of the black Atlantic network valuing their cultural contributions accordingly. This position has been criticized by pragmatics who argue that Gilroy attributes more agency and power of choice to slaves and their descendants than what they actually enjoyed (Dayan 1996). The critique is, however, only valid if one understands power as concentrated, coercive, and being exclusively deployed by socially privileged agents. Drawing on Foucault, Gilroy sees power as discursive and embodied in quotidian life and thus available, even in the most disadvantageous circumstances. This does not mean that Gilroy or Foucault himself did not recognize asymmetrical distributions of power. As explained, Foucault saw power greatly affected by institutions where knowledge is legitimized. Despite granting agency to former enslaved Africans, Gilroy recognizes how their restrictions in comparision with their dominant masters molded black identity.  Sansone's and Gilroy's models of cultural circulation in the black Atlantic offer two different foci. Gilroy underscores political and cultural agency distributed across the black Atlantic. Sansone emphasizes the impact of economic and political power differences (particularly North-South). Real differences in control and access to mass media, entertainment industries, use of hegemonic language, position within the national context, and direction and amount of migratory flows among diasporic nodes, also have an impact on musicking. Chapter 3 shows how these forms of power and agency are negotiated discursively through music in Salvador and some other black Atlantic localities.  Placing Bahia in the Black Atlantic Salvador houses one of the largest populations of African ancestry in the diaspora––some claiming that eighty percent of the three million soteropolitanos29 share this heritage (Garcia 2010). Most authors agree that Brazil is the country that received the most enslasved Africans and according to Peter Fryer “the most generally accepted modern estimate puts the total number of Africans transported to Brazil, over a period of 350 years, at about 3,600,000 ” (Fryer                                                 29 This is how people from Salvador, Bahia are called.   28  2000:6).30 Estimates of the number of Africans that arrived through Bahian ports in the last century of the slave trade are also varied. According to the Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics), 409,000 Africans reached Bahia between 1781 and 1850 (19% of the total that arrived to Brazil in that period).31 Referencing David Eltis’s databases, João o Reis and Beatriz Momigonian say that 184,722 African reached Bahia between 1801 and 1856, (15% of the all arrivals to Brazil in that period) (Reis et al. 2004:77,79). The same authors assert that in this period, Bahia received most of the Africans of Yoruba origin sent to Brazil (ibid:78). For this and for other reasons discuss later, Bahia became one of the main Yoruba centers of Brazil and the Americas. Once in Bahia Africans were forced to work in a variety of settings including sugar plantations, mines, cattle handling, or domestic services. Some managed to develop their own economic activities with which they bought their freedom. During this colonial period a diverse and vibrant Afro-Brazilian culture developed in Bahia influencing virtually all aspects of life.    Sansone (1999:8-10) divides the post-abolition history of blacks’ struggle for socio-economic inclusion in Bahia in three periods. The first lasted from Abolition (1888) to the beginning of the Vargas Era32 in 1930. This period is characterized by scarce opportunities for social mobility for blacks resulting from a highly polarized society with a white elite and a massive black lower class, and official discourses and policies of cultural whitening. The second one stretches from 1930 to the last part of the military dictatorship in the late 1970s. Blacks entered the formal labor market in great numbers and movements of black conciousness emerged. The last period goes from the late 1970s to now. Here old channels of social mobility were shut as new forms of segregation emerged in an environment of modernity, free market, and recession. Access to mass electronic media and higher levels of education raised both expectations and nonconformity among many blacks. Somewhat paradoxically black culture became more prominent in official discourses of Brazilianness and Bahianness.                                                   30   Sansone asserts that authors offer estimates ranging between three and fifteen million Africans transported to Brazil I this period (1999:7). However, the figure given by Fryer actually matches many other contemporary estimates like those of Reis et al. (2004) and  31   http://brasil500anos.ibge.gov.br/en/estatisticas-do-povoamento/desembarques-no-brasil, accesed on May 6, 2014. 32 The Vargas Era is the period in the history of Brazil between 1930 and 1945, when the country was under the leadership of populist president Getúlio Vargas. The period was characterized by deep political changes, exacerbated nationalism, and authoritarianism. Various cultural forms including samba and capoeira were officially promoted as symbols of Brazilianness.    29  Bahia has long played a central role in the making of “Africa” in Brazil and in the black Atlantic. Sansone explains:  In the past, this State (Bahia) and the region around its capital Salvador (Recôncavo)  attracted the attention of travelers who depicted it in their accounts as the ‘Black  Rome’—the largest concentration of what was considered African cultural traits and  traditions outside of Africa, if only for the sheer size of its black population. Later,  starting from the turn of the century, Bahia took a central place in the ethnographic  prehistory of Afro-Brazilian culture through the work of Nina Rodrigues, Manuel  Querino and Manuel Bomfim. From the thirties, it also took a pivotal position in the  formation of modern Afro-American anthropology (cf. Ramos 1939; Frazier 1942,  Herskovits 1943). Inspired by the pursuit of ‘Africanisms’ in the New World, several  anthropologists and sociologists (Herskovits 1941; Pierson 1942; Verger 1957 and 1968;  Bastide 1967) held Brazil, in particular the coastal region of the State of Bahia, as one of  the areas in which black culture had maintained African traits to a greater degree than  elsewhere. Hence, it was on Bahian soil that the debate among sociologists and  anthropologists about the origin of black culture started in the thirties: is contemporary  black culture a surviving Africanism or a creative contemporary adaptation to hardship  and racism? In fact, Bahia has been historically central, not only in high-brow discourses, but also in popular constructions with regard to ‘Africa’ and Africanisms in Brazil. (1999:8)   Another important source of authority of Bahia in the diaspora is related to a former perceived hierarchy of authenticity that placed Yorubas at the top and the predominance (and performance) of Yoruba-based culture in Bahia. The first contingents of enslaved Africans that arrived to Bahia in the 16th century came mostly from the Congo-Angola area where the Portuguese established their first trade ports. Towards the end of the slave trade Bahia received most of the enslaved Africans coming from West Africa. Reis and Mamigonian assert that “For the best-documented period, 1801 to 1856, it is estimated that West Africa supplied just under 10 percent of the total number of slaves imported by Brazil. . . 88 percent of slaves leaving the Bight of Benin for Brazil landed in Bahia” (Reis et al. 2004:78). The main origin of slaves exported from West Africa (present-day Nigeria, Togo, Benin, and Ghana) was Yoruba, and to a lesser extent Fon and Ewe. The Yoruba were known in Bahia as Nagôs. Their cultural dominance over previous African groups in Bahia was due to their later arrival in great numbers, their continuous renewal, and the existence of trading routes between Bahia and West Africa at least since the early 19th century (Crook 2005:111-12 and Johnson 2002). The perceived superiority of the Yorubas in Bahia registered in the evolutionist writings of Nina Rodriguez of the turn of the 20th century and later on in the works of influential writers of Afro-Brazilian culture––Edison Carneiro and Artur   30  Ramos (Parés 2004:191). Nicolau Parés argues that this perceived superiority led many creoles and Afro-descendants From Bahia who were not of Yoruba ancestry to “choose to define themselves as Nagô” and to mold some of their cultural practices accordingly (Falola et al. 2004:10). This led to what Parés calls a “Nagôization of Candomblé” (ibid). All this contributed to the perception of Bahia as mainly Yoruba, and thus as a more authentic diasporic center.  The cultural dominance of the Yoruba in Bahia began to be counterbalanced by capoeira angola practitioners since the 1940s when they started to vindicate Angola ancestry (Rohrig 2005). The force of capoeira adepts' claims was endorsed and reinforced by national governments since the Vargas Era when capoeira was promoted as a symbol of nationhood (ibid). Samba, another national symbol of Angola origin, helped to establish the Angola nation on equal terms to the Ketu (Yoruba) one.   In the discourse of academics, musicians, activists, and governmental institutions from Brazil and the African disapora, Bahia plays the role of “Africa.” When I asked percussionist Macambira his opinion about the growing interest of candomblé, capoeira, and carnival musicians for “African” elements, he responded laughing “what do you mean?. . . I am Africa! I am Bahian Africa!” (p.c. Mar. 31, 2012). Now let us see some of the implications in the context of discourses of Brazilian national identity.   In The Mystery of Samba (1999), Hermano Vianna noted that during the period of the First Republic in Brazil (1889-1930) racial mixture and samba gradually gained acceptance in academic, official, and popular discourse as “genuine” expressions of nationhood. The discourse tri-ethnic mixture asserts that Brazilian is the result of Amerindian, African, and European mixture. Vianna explains how this controversial discourse was theorized and developed during the first half of the 20th century by Brazilian intellectuals, most notably Oswald de Andrade and Gilberto Freyre, through writings and encounters between musicians and intellectuals. Since the Vargas Era (1930-1945) this discourse was adopted by Brazilian governments to implement cultural and economic policies, and marked the history of etho-racial relationships in Brazil, especially in Bahia. In some interpretations the strength of Brazilians comes from a racial mixture where “the best” of each component was filtered throughout history (Andrade 1928). Freyre (1933) proposed that Brazil is historically and culturally characterized by a racial democracy   31  where amicable relationships predominated among all, including between black slaves and their white masters.  Racial democracy, however, has been deemed a myth by Bahian black activists who stress the persistence of inequality and racism as proof of its faults. Furthermore, they claim that a discourse of tri-ethnic mixture does not apply to mostly black Bahia. Over eighty percent of people in Salvador are of African descent, including blacks and mestiços, and most live in poorly served areas, earn low incomes, and still struggle against discrimination (Garcia 2010). Better served areas and higher incomes are mostly in the hands of a slim sector who look whiter and seldom identify as African descendants (ibid). Racial democracy is considered an imposed and politically incorrect myth that needs to be unpacked if one is to implement a fair and ethnically congruent society. Black Bahians claim that the condition of the black Brazilian is either not recognized in national discourse or mystified in the discourse of racial democracy.  The nation-state has somewhat responded to Afro-Bahian demands, but just like anywhere else, the demands at the local level are greater than those the nation-state can afford. Since 2004 mandatory courses of African and Afro-Brazilian culture and history were included in the Federal public educational system.33 A system of quotas for Afro-Brazilian university students was introduced in 1999 as a way to raise levels of education among blacks. Several public institutions at municipal, state, and federal levels have been created to deal with issues specific to Afro-Brazilians.34 The Federal government has promoted university level student exchanges between Brazil and Africa, especially Portuguese-speaking African countries, with bi-directional flows of dozens of thousands over the decades. However, many blacks see these Federal efforts as small triumphs in a longer battle for true social inclusion.    Responses to Bahian black activism have been accompanied by further official discourses about black culture. The struggle for African decolonization of the 1960s triggered more positive official views of Afro-Brazilian culture resulting in a transition of Bahia's image from “melting                                                 33 The law 10.639 of January 9, 2013, establishes the topics “History of Africa and Africans, the black struggles in Brazil, Brazilian black culture, and [the role] of blacks in the formation of the national society” as mandatory in the official national educational curriculum. Olodum was one of many organizations that lobbied extensively to pass this law.  34 Among such institutions are the Secretary of Reparation of Salvador (SEMUR), the Secretary of Promotion of Racial Equality of the State of Bahia (SEPROMI), and the Secretary of Citizenship and Cultural Diversity of the Ministry of Culture of the Federal Government.   32  pot” to national epicenter of black culture and tradition (Teles 2005:22, 34). In fact, the international image of Brazil is today replete with references to Afro-Brazilian culture and Bahia. However, oftentimes these images are stereotyped, exploited, and hijacked by the entertainment and tourism industries. Therefore the so-called re-Africanization of carnival in Salvador could be seen either as a local strategy to boost black identity or a process of cultural exploitation whereby the nation-state and the private entertainment industry capitalize on blackness. The nation-state functions both as promoter and suppresser of locality.  Because of its historic, political, economic, and media national predominance, Rio de Janeiro's carnival is considered a manifestation of a national Brazilian culture (DaMatta 1991). While Rio's carnival has influenced carnival expressions across the country, peripheral cities like Salvador and Recife have developed more regional versions of it by reinterpreting national symbols like samba duro, boosting local forms like candomblé or maracatu, and embracing diasporic styles like reggae. As discussed by Almeida (2008), Henry (2008), and Sigilião (2009), since the 1970s carnival in Salvador underwent a process of re-Africanization that challenges the tri-ethnic nationalistic ideal in favor of a local black identity.   As Pinho (2010) argues, the idea of “Africa” as understood by scholars, national governments, activists, Brazilians, and Bahians themselves is central to the construction of identities and the production of locality in Bahia. Bahia negotiates its position as a center of black tradition with Brazil and national governments by embracing aspects of Brazilianness, by adapting symbols of nationhood such as samba and carnival, and sometimes by challenging the myth of racial democracy. A strategy in negotiating with the nation-state (and also with scholars and the diaspora) has been emphasizing Yoruba ancestry (Nagôization as per Parés) in the first half of the 20th century as it was perceived as a “purer” Afro Brazilian tradition. Later on Bahians redeemed the Angola ancestry as it is considered the origin of two important symbols of nationhood: samba and capoeira. These forms of negotiation are also part of the production of locality.  Africanism, Creolism, and Essentialism  The cultures and identities developed by African slaves and their descendants throughout their trajectory from slavery, abolition, marginalization, and struggle for social inclusion in contemporary societies have been subject of lengthy academic debate. Once slaves reached   33  American shores their socio-economic and political realities varied greatly both geographically and chronologically. For instance, in Bahia some slaves remained confined for most of their lives to sugar plantations while others worked in urban centers where they had more mobility and contact with other groups. In addition, through the centuries Africans and their descendants intermixed among themselves and with Europeans, Amerindians, and mestiços creating hybrid ethnicities that mixed cultural practices and sometimes adapted them to new socio-historical contexts. Nevertheless, some African descendants at different points in history have demonstrated keen interest in preserving musical practices perceived as traditionally “African.” This is attested by survivals of technology of instruments, patterns of music structure, or the language of certain ritual songs. The coexistence of cultural diversity and survivals across black communities has fueled debate between those who give more importance to African cultural retentions and those who underpin creativity, change, and hybridity when talking about contemporary black culture.   Stefania Capone (2011) explains that the modern study of African American religions developed around a debate on the origins of New World black cultures between Melville Herskovits and Franklin Frazier in the 1940s. While Herskovits (1941 and 1943) defended the existence of West African cultural survivals in the formation of African American cultures, Frazier (1942) endorsed the prevailing view of the epoch, arguing that enslaved Africans had been totally deprived of their own culture by the experience of slavery. Ever since, interpretations of African American cultures have been oriented by two major trends: on one side, the “Africanist school,” positing the continuity with African cultural heritage, generally identified as West African (e.g. Yoruba) or West Central African (e.g. Kongo, Angola), brought by African slaves to a given colony; and, on the other side, the “Creolist school,” stressing social constructivist approaches to identity.  Over time both Africanist and Creolist approaches have evolved toward an intermediate point. At the beginning, Herskovits, the champion of African survivals, proposed a scale of intensity of African cultural elements in the Americas, based on the extent to which retained Africanisms were evident in the cultural behavior of African descendants (Herskovits 1941:25). Authors of the Africanist school have questioned Herskovits “Africanisms” for being too literal and have proposed that instead of music forms or elements as such, what was transferred from Africa to the Americas were principles of musical organization (Maulstby 1979, Ferreira 2007, Burns 2010), or cognitive orientations (Wade 2009). Mintz and Price (1992), whose work is considered the   34  main example of the Creolist school, questioned Herskovits’s idea of the unity of West (and Central) Africa as a broad cultural area, precisely arguing for the existence of cognitive orientations and grammatical principles underlying and shaping behavioral response in African American cultures. In fact, many contemporary scholars like Falola et al. (2004) combine the Africanist and Creolist approaches arguing that the experience of African descendants has been shaped by the culture they brought during the slave trade and the creative ways in which they adapted it to new contexts and mixed it with other cultural forms.   Both Africanists and Creolists were committed to demonstrating that blacks in the diaspora had a valuable culture, be it for retaining aspects of their African past or for adapting it creatively to the new circumstances they faced in their forced relocation. They evaluated both continuities and creativity in positive terms as a way of counteracting negative stereotypes. But, as Matt Sakakeeny points out, “in so doing, they created their own stereotypes of what musical practices constituted black music and what did not” (2011). He continues:   The later anti-essentialist arguments that arose in Africa (Agawu 1995, 2003) and the diaspora (Gilroy 1993, Radano 2003) are not about denying the fact that cultural practices were “retained,” they are about demonstrating that scholars and other observers emphasized select practices with roots in Africa, de-emphasizing both the heterogeneity of “African” music (so thoroughly demonstrated by Kubik) and the heterogeneity of black music in the diaspora. Retention theories are selective and cannot account for the full spectrum of musical circulations, nor can they account for the re-circulation of stereotypes of black music “back” to each new generation of musicians. (ibid)   Besides these essentialist (focusing on retentions and ethnic absolutism) and anti-essentialist (focusing on social construction) approaches that have dominated debates of black music, Gilroy proposes a third position: anti-antiessentialism. While holding on to a social constructivist view of blackness, this approach criticizes antiessentialism for moving “towards a casual and arrogant deconstruction of blackness while ignoring the appeal of the first position's [essentialist] powerful, populist affirmation of black culture” (Gilroy, 1993:100). Gilroy continues:   Black identity is not simply a social and political category to be used or abandoned  according to the extent to which the rhetoric that supports and legitimises it is persuasive  or institutionally powerful. Whatever the radical constructionists may say, it [black  identity] is lived as a coherent (if not always stable) experiential sense of self. Though it  is often felt to be natural and spontaneous, it remains the outcome of practical activity:   35   language, gesture, bodily significations, desires. (ibid:102)    The anti-antiessentialist approach thus lies somewhere between essentialism and antiessentialism as black identity is understood “neither as a fixed essence nor as a vague and utterly contingent construction to be reinvented” (ibid). This approach promotes a type of deconstructivism that is careful not to neutralize black experience and black empowerment.  My approach, which stresses a view of black culture and Afro-Brazilian culture as resources, is primarily antiessentialist.35 This instrumentalization implies that individuals who identify as black or African descendants in Bahia use their creativity and local knowledge to adapt their cultural practices to new (often disadventageous) socio-economic, historical, and political circumstances, be it for individual, communal, political, or economic benefit. They also use black culture for counteracting a long history of racism and for the assertion of ethnic and racial pride in environments of social repression—in other words, for empowerment. But as Sakakeeny, Maultsby, Mintz, Price, and many others have claimed, this does not deny that certain Africanisms may have been retained. My analysis does not aim to render black culture or black music as a mere social construction, but to understand how the mechanisms and discourses of black empowerment relate to black experience and to idealized notions. In that sense it aspires to be anti-antiessentialist.    Diasporic Identity Formation: Nationhood and Double Consciousness Hybridism has been a paradigm for the construction of nationhood in Latin America and the Caribbean since the formation of modern nation states in the region—in most cases around the beginning of the 19th century. Promoted by governments and celebrated by intellectuals south of the Rio Grande (e.g. Andrade 1928 and Freyre 1933), the idea of ethnic mixture was used to establish the necessary difference between emerging nations and their former European                                                 35   By taking this stance, I embrace the notion that all cultural forms have a degree of hybridity. Thinking of cultural forms as hybrid, however, may lead lead to using them for purposes of deconstruction or reification. As Sakakeney (2011) explained, many authors have challenged and deconstructed negative stereotypes associated with black culture, but simultaneously created others that are also presented as stable and normative features. Equally, hybridity or mixture may help individuals to adapt practices to new socio-political contexts, as candomblé and santería synctretism attest, or not. For instance, the practice of the Afro-Cuban combat-dance mani, somewhat related to Brazilian capoeira, almost faded out for decades despite its hybridism, before being revived by folkloric groups in Cuba. The survival of this dance was not necessarily due to hybrid adaptations, but to the efforts of Cuban ethnographers such as Fernando Ortiz who documented their existence (1951), and artists interested in reviving Cuban African heritage.   36  colonizers and to symbolize social inclusion, too. Consequently, discourses of national identity in the region have relied on the celebration of new mestiço cultures arising from the combination of three encompassing ethnic groups: Europeans, Africans, and Amerindians (Freyre 1933, Carpentier 1972, Wade 2000). However, since the early stages of these nation-states, many people who identify as African descendants have viewed these discourses with skepticism because the national promise of social inclusion and ethnic equality neither changed racist attitudes towards them nor ameliorated their economic disadvantages. Instead, many blacks have found it more useful to adopt and celebrate diasporic identities, sometimes in pan-Africanist forms and others linked to specific homelands in Africa (e.g. Nagô, Jejê, Angola, Arará, Lukumí, Rada, Petwo, and so on).  Matthias Röhrig explains that within the realm of African derived religion, “slaves and their descendants did not primarily build pan-African, black or Brazilian (mestiço) identities, but rather associated with particular, neo-African nations 'nações' that seemed more suited to express their aspirations” (2005:37). These choices, he explains, are the result of the ethnic composition of African slaves, patterns of internal geographical distribution, the social organization of former black Catholic brotherhoods, and a struggle to maintain and adapt traditional African religious practices to an environment dominated by Portuguese Catholicism (ibid:38). Analogous processes characterized the scene in Cuba (see Ortiz 1940 and Cabrera 1993) and Haiti (see Deren 1953 and Dayan 1998) with their own particularities. In other Afro-Brazilian contexts like capoeira, angoleiros have used the Angola nation as a reference to reinvent their style since the 1940s by emphasizing the differences with more contemporary styles (e.g. capoeira Regional), thus asserting a position of authority as guardians of the tradition (Röhrig 2005). Conversely, practitioners of contemporary styles of capoeira who have enjoyed more official acceptance in Brazil since the 1930s tend to embrace Brazilian mestiço identities. Ideas ranging from hybridism to African “purity” are all available for African descendants' identity formation.    As stated, Africanist and Creolist authors have contributed to different degrees to reify a view of black Atlantic identities in binary opposition to white European identities. While some of them like Herskovits (1941) have problematized aspects of this dichotomy, it is postcolonial authors like Agawu (2003) and Radano (2003) who have criticized this view more categorically. They emphasize that the dichotomy was constructed by the “West” to justify and perpetuate   37  colonialism and unequal relationships of power and was subsequently internalized by Africans and their descendants. Social constructivists like Sansone (2004a) and Liv Sovik (2009) claim that with time blacks in the diaspora began to perform that difference (e.g. by emphasizing behavior constructed as “African”) as they struggled for social inclusion. However, these authors notice that this performance also includes emphasizing behavior constructed as “European.”   Gilroy offers a nuanced analysis of black Atlantic identities that de-essentializes this dichotomy. His anti-essentialism is deployed against the absolutisms of identifying racial categories (black and white) that pigeonhole people's cultural attributes. For him the experience of slavery, racism, and “ambivalence towards modernity” constitute the most distinctive forces shaping black Atlantic politics (1993:73). Andrew Blake summarizes Gilroy's argument:    The legacy of slavery, and the continuing pervasiveness of racism, means that black  consciousness cannot depend (solely) on one of the pilars of modernism: nationalism.  Instead feelings of placed identity are both local and African, mediated by the Atlantic as  both the historic site of the middle passage and the current site of cultural interchange  between the Americas, the Caribbean, and Europe. (1997:229)  Gilroy understands Du Bois’ double consciousness as this tension between national identities attached to modern Western nation-states, and “African” identities linked to a real or imagined black Atlantic community. While the nationalist side of blackness strives to embrace modernity largely following Euro-American cultural and political models, the Africanist one is more interested in translocal connections and in shared histories with other communities of African descendants. Part of the ambiguity comes from the fact that modernity itself is also based on translocal connections.  Music as Representative of Black Atlantic Culture  In most academic and popular discourse music is seen as the most authoritative representative of Black Atlantic culture. Ingrid Monson wrote:   Music, more than any other cultural discourse, has been taken as the ultimate  embodiment of African and African diasporic cultural values and as prima facie evidence  of deep cultural connections among all peoples of African descent. One reason for this  perception of the centrality of music surely lies in its ability to coordinate several  culturally valued modes of expression, including song, verbal recitation, dance, religious  worship, drama, and visual display. (2000:2)    38   For Gilroy music in the black Atlantic allows the expression of the unsayable, particularly the “unspeakable terrors of the slave experience” which were “kept alive –carefully cultivated– in ritualised, social forms,” and the identity dilemma inherent to black double consciousness (1993:73). For him this dilemma generates a type of anxiety difficult to express verbally because it has been sublimated. Being the only expressive mode that unseats “language and writing as preeminent expressions of human consciousness,” and in continuing and immediate contact with the sublime, music becomes the ideal means to express this condition (1993:74).   Gilroy also points out that “the self-identity, political culture, and grounded aesthetics that distinguish black communities have often been constructed through their music” (1993:102, italics added). He assumes that music became central to the construction of identity, because “Music and its rituals can be used to create a model whereby identity can be understood neither as a fixed essence nor as a vague and utterly contingent construction to be reinvented by the will and whim of aesthetes, symbolists, and language garners” (ibid). Despite his bitter criticism of essentialism and endorsement of social contructivism, Gilroy recognizes that one cannot fully understand black Atlantic identities without considering some form of “African” survivals because they are integral to the black experience (ibid). In other words, black identities are fed both from real and imagined worlds whether present, past, local, or foreign. Music, for its integrative nature, becomes the multimedia canvas on which strokes coming from each of these worlds may be painted.   I argue that the centrality of music also stems from its ability to accommodate idealized notions of Africanness at the service of discourses of blackness. However, the claim that music is the ultimate cultural expression of the African diaspora poses the risk of essentializing it. Ingrid Monson notes:    The idea of a unified black musical ethos, consequently, is partially dependent on the  continuing experience of racism. The forging of a collective identity through opposition  to a common enemy contributes, in turn, to the ease with which the complexities of the  African diaspora dissolve into a binary opposition between black and white. (2000:2)   The very idea of a “black musical ethos” implies that people who identify as black or Afro-something have approaches to music making that are distinct from those who do not. The fact that   39  black music may reinforce dichotomous views, even in their damaging manifestations, however, does not debilitate the arguments of Gilroy and Monson. It rather forces us to examine them in the light historical particularism. Peter Wade's (2000) suggestion that black music in Colombia is imagined as a space where multiethnic tension can be negotiated resonates in certain historic moments of Cuba and Brazil. However, research in these three countries demonstrates that black music did not necessarily dissolve racism. This is not to say that musicians are responsible for solving structural social problems, but that characterizing the uniqueness of black music is problematic.  Afro-Diasporic Religions as Representatives of Black Tradition Candomblé is an umbrella term referring to a group of syncretic Afro-Brazilian religions with––at least––West African, Catholic, and Amerindian influences. The main difference with their African counterparts is that in Brazil the cults of various deities originally separate in Africa were combined. Despite these amalgamations and the multiple syncretisms, candomblé houses in Brazil usually organize themselves into three main neo-African nations formed along imagined ethnic lines linked groups in West and West-Central Africa: Ketu (associated with Nigerian Yoruba), Jejê (linked to the Fon and Ewe from Benin and Togo), and Angola (from the area of Congo and Angola) (Röhrig 2005:22).36   For most Africanist scholars, Brazilian candomblé and other Afro-diasporic religions rank highest on the scale of Africanisms (Herskovits 1941, Ortiz 1940, Verger 1957). Why? Here is Sansone's answer:  In Bahia... from the 1920s to the 1950s, black culture was constructed as a religious culture and commodified mainly around the symbolic universe of the Afro-Brazilian religious system and its ‘African’ objects. It was largely due to the presence of candomblé, and to interpretations of black culture and even social life in general in Bahia as revolving around this religious system, that Bahia gained its prime position in Herskovits’ scale of Africanism in the Americas: together with the Surinam interior and Haiti, it was the region in which African traits had supposedly been most retained (Herskovits 1941:27). This centrality of candomblé was given a most important further boost by the Afro-Brazilian Museum in Bahia founded in 1974, the first of its sort in the country. The collection has basically consisted of images and statues of orixás (deities),                                                 36 These are not the only names used to refer to neo African nations in Bhaia. In his survey of candomblé terreiros in Salvador, Jocelio Teles documents 48 different nations (Teles 2008:22). However, most of them (42) combine names such as Ketu-Angola or Angola-Caboclo that include one of the three nations mentioned by Rohrig, and many others authors: Ketu, Jejê or Angola (ibid).   40  accessories, garments and music instruments used in candomblé. These objects are exhibited beside their West African ‘counterparts’—from ‘Yoruba’ cults—selected in Dahomey by the French photographer-ethnographer Pierre Verger, who settled in Bahia in 1942. (1999:20-21)    The centrality of candomblé is based on several facts and arguments. First is the indisputable fact that contemporary candomblé practice retains elements of slave culture traceable to West Africa (Africanisms). This is due to the inherent secretiveness of religious practice and an emphasis on preservation evidenced by the use of eighteenth-century Yoruba in contemporary ritual songs in Brazil and Cuba, where this language ceased to be spoken over a century ago. Second, scholars, enthusiasts, and local institutions posited parallels between religious objects from Salvador and West Africa. Carefully selected ceremonial objects from present-day Benin (Buarque de Holanda 2000) and Salvador were exhibited next to each other at the Afro-Brazilian Museum in Bahia to reinforce the idea that candomblé and contemporary West African religious practices share a common “African” ancestor. Third is the role of candomblé in fostering Bahia's link to a Yoruba heritage, which was considered a more pure African tradition. Not only were many candomblé houses of the early 20th century actually derived from the Yoruba culture, but candomblé was a domain used by many Afro-Bahians to seek and negotiate authenticity its so-called “Nagôization” (Parés 2004). Fourth, the argument that black cultural activity in Brazil always touches upon the sacred through an Afro-Brazilian religious concept called axé (Henry 2008). And fifth is the underlying idea that religion/spirituality is a strong marker of cultural difference that sets “Africa” apart from its putative nemesis: the “West.” Emphasizing the uniqueness of African music through a religious model is highly effective, as religion is an all-encompassing category that supposedly reflects deep, distinct cultural sensibilities. Clifford Geertz reminds us of the centrality of religion in culture:    [religion is] a system of symbols which acts to establish powerful, pervasive, and long- lasting moods and motivations in men by formulating conceptions of a general order of  existence and clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that the moods  and motivations seem uniquely realistic. (1973:90)   When compared to the “West,” the uniqueness of “African” religion/spirituality is then taken to be emblematic of its otherness.  Nicolau Parés argues that in the early 20th century religious affiliation was more important than   41  ethnicity or kinship in defining one's membership to neo-African nations in Bahia (Pares 2004:186). He points out that some black or mestiço From Bahia identified themselves as Nagô “by virtue of their religious initiation, regardless of their ethnic ancestry” (ibid). He concludes “the concept of nation gradually lost its political connotation, becoming an almost exclusively theological concept” (ibid).    Candomblé and other Afro-diasporic religions are, in fact, excellent examples of black tradition not only because they are sources of Africanisms, but furthermore for their syncretic history of adaptations. Frigerio, for instance, documents that members of Afro-diasporic religions in southern Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina visit shrines in Bahia and in West Africa to renew their knowledge and gain legitimacy back home (2004). He labels this process as a “Re-africanization in second religious diasporas” (ibid). Candomblé, santería, vodou, sango, and many others developed to a large extent in black colonial Catholic brotherhoods where the simultaneous worship of African and Catholic deities testifies to their syncretic character. Despite the existence of so-called neo-African candomblé nations in Bahia that claim to follow traditions attached to specific cultural homelands back in Africa, syncretism among them with Catholisism, Spiritualism, and Amerindian spirituality always existed. Parés, for instance, shows that the Nagô (or Ketu) liturgy in Bahia was shaped by both Yoruban and non-Yoruban groups (Falola et al. 2004:10). Although perceived as a space where old traditions are maintained unchanged, candomblé is, in many ways, more about hybridity and adaptation than retention.  The role of African diasporic religions as places of black tradition can be interpreted following Herskovits' model of continuities or Gilroy's model of hybridity. In this work both are relevant. The former is the source of idealized notions of musical Africanness, which are reflected in actual black experience, for instance in how candomblé devotees experience the relationship between drumming, dance, and possession. As Gilroy's himself concedes, although the Africanist approach is “often felt to be natural and spontaneous, it remains the outcome of practical activity: language, gesture, bodily significations, desires” (1993:102). The model of hybridity, on the other hand, allows the deconstruction of idealized notions for the understanding of, for instance, how musicians use sacred drumming for black empowerment. In both cases, African diasporic religions are understood as adaptable practices embodying a model of black tradition and as repositories of local knowledge.   42   Outspoken Black Empowerment: Movements and Ideologies This section discusses aspects of the most influential movements and ideologies of black empowerment that expressed and shaped the politics and aesthetics of culture in the African diaspora during the second half of the 20th century, a crucial period in the revival of black culture in Salvador and Brazil. The focus will be on how the African American Civil Rights Movement, the Rastafari Movement, the struggle for independence in African countries, and their associated aesthetics provoked a reassessment of African ancestry in Bahia. This reassessment brought ideas of black nationalism, Afrocentrism, and Pan-Africanism to the table, boosted black identity, and ultimately contributed to produce a sense of locality that was more internationally minded.   The African American Civil Rights and Black Power Movements The African American Civil Rights Movement refers to the social and political movements in the U.S. aimed at outlawing racial discrimination against black Americans and restoring voting rights. The movement, which occurred between 1955 and 1968, was characterized by major campaigns of nonviolent forms of civil disobedience such as marches, boycotts, strikes, sit-ins, and voter-registration drives. By 1965 the emergence of the Black Power Movement, which lasted roughly from 1966 to 1975, enlarged the aims of the Civil Rights Movement to include black dignity, self-determination, economic and political self-sufficiency, and freedom from oppression by white Americans. Although its institutions disappeared during the mid 1970s due to officialist campaigns of condemnation as a separatist and anti-white movement, Black Power contributed significantly to improve social and political conditions of African Americans and its focus on cultural autonomy and self-esteem has survived.  Martin Luther King Jr., Stokely Carmichael, and Malcolm X were notable political figures who supplied the rhetoric, style, and attitude of the movement. While Reverend King defended  unconditional nonviolence and the “integration power” aims of the Civil Rights Movement, black nationalists Malcolm X and Carmichel condoned self-defense and opposed the idea of black integration on favor of separatism. Integration for them would lead to assimilation into U.S. mainstream society and subsequently to a diminishment of the “true roots of black identity” which they believed were contained in African American culture heritage and history.    43  In Freedom Sounds: Civil Rights Call out to Jazz and Africa (2007), Ingrid Monson illustrates how debates of the Civil Rights and Black Power movements shaped aesthetic debates and exerted a moral pressure on black jazz musicians to take action during the 1950s and 1960s. She shows how jazz musicians such as Art Blakey, Max Roach, and Randy Weston drew on influences of African diasporic musics, Western art music, and popular music to negotiate subjectivity and black political activism.   During the 1960s Black Power helped generate the Black Aesthetic Movement which subordinated aesthetic aspects of music to the political aims of Black Power (Danielsen 2006:28). Addison Gayle summarizes this aesthetic: “The question for the black critic today is not how beautiful a melody, a play, or a novel [is], but how beautiful the poem, melody, or novel made the life of a single black man” (1972:xxii). For Danielsen the central points of this movement are: 1) opposing the “white” mainstream; 2) the “encouragement of the black artist to give up working with the white public in mind”; 3) a literary style that partly took black music as a model; and 4) linkage with “African” culture (2006:29-30). Black Aesthetics during the 1960s were thus clearly anti-integrationist. Prominent black American musicians of the epoch including Aretha Franklin, Harry Belafonte, Nina Simone, Ray Charles, Dizzy Gillespie and Paul Robeson engaged with the political ideals of Black Power and contributed to aspects of its aesthetic ideals.  James Brown, often credited as the creator of funk, the “Godfather of Soul,” and an icon of Black Power, was skeptical of the radicalism of anti-integrationists as it made him lose white audience.  Danielsen opened her book Presence and Pleasure with a quote of Brown saying that he worked hard to become as American “as apple pie” and that soul can be played by white and black artists because “nobody has a monopoly on soul” (2006:3). This statement is striking because soul was perceived as black par excellence. For Brown, however, American and black identities were not mutually exclusive because he was integrationist. Danielsen notes that since funk fits easily into the “African” model espoused by black activists, Brown's music was “often used to substantiate the linking of Africa and African American music” and ironically used as a model by black separatists (ibid:32). In negotiating this political tension, Brown wrote the funk “Say It Loud––I'm Black and I'm Proud” (1968) which became an unofficial Black Power anthem. In subsequent years the work of Brown himself, Stevie Wonder, and others contributed to the association of the all-encompassing R&B style with Black Power.    44   Soon after the movement developed in the U.S., the political ideals of Black Power and its associated aesthetics expressed via soul, funk, and R&B traveled to other black Atlantic locales. and eventually contributed to the formation of a hegemonic global black popular culture (Sansone 2004a). This is evident, for instance, in the Jamaican Rastafari movement since the 1960s, which conflated the ethno-political messages of Black Power and the aesthetics of R&B, funk and soul with Marcus Garvey’s pan-Africanist ideas of the 1920s.   The Black Aesthetics Movement has been particularly prevalent in Brazil, especially in Rio de Janeiro and Salvador. Here is Claudia Sigilião's account of the process:  The black movement in Salvador was ideologically influenced by North American  black movements. The soul music movement was created in the U.S. during the 1960s.  Its music, meant primarily for dancing, was made by blacks and for blacks and  celebrated blackness. That movement reached Brazil via Rio de Janeiro and soon was  transformed into the Black-Rio movement. [Brazilian] funk, a more aggressive version of  soul, was created by black-mestiço youths who gathered in the North side of Rio de  Janeiro to dance to it . . . [T]he black movement contributed to reaffirm identities in Brazil  as it triggered a new interest in Afro-Brazilian culture among blacks. In the first half of  the 1970s, the Black-Rio movement arrives in Salvador, intensifying the relationship  between Rio and Bahia. As most blacks and mestiços in the country reinterpreted black  as afro, in Salvador soul was connected with ijexá. James Brown's soul, Jimmy Hendrix's rock, and Jackson Five's dancing choreographies were strong influences. A new black model was formed. Black Bahians who created Ilê Aiyê in 1974, used that North American aesthetic as an affirmative discourse, although rhythmically they maintained the mixture between samba and ijexá. (2009: 216-217, translated from Portuguese by the author)37   Vovô do Ilê, one of the founders and central figures of Ilê Aiyê, unsuccessfully tried to name the bloco Poder Negro in clear reference to Black Power (Canal Petrobras n.d.). After Ilê Aiyê's first appearance in carnival in 1975, a movement of blocos afro with similar aesthetics and politics emerged in Salvador. This movement strengthened their political stances by connecting with the Brazilian Unified Black Movement (MNU), a more strictly political institution created in 1978 to centralize the struggle of Afro-Brazilians against racism. In her Ph.D. dissertation Claudia Sigilião claims that the significance of the bloco afro movement is that they understood that the Bahian public was not very interested in protest songs, and thus invested more in the                                                 37 All quotations of Sigilião are the author’s translations from Portuguese.    45  experimentation with rhythms to advance their political agenda (2009:15).38 In order to support this claim she argues that in disseminating messages coming from social and political movements, music in Brazil often “takes a bigger dimension than the ideology of the movement itself” (ibid). Her evidence is that in the 1980s bloco Olodum began criticizing social and racial inequality explicitly in their lyrics, only to distance themselves later from engaged lyrics (ibid). Whether or not this evidence is valid, her argument reflects the discourse of music-centrism in the diaspora and demonstrates how, during process of indigenization of North American politics and aesthetics, musicians and activists used local knowledge to produce locality in Salvador.     The Rastafari Movement Rastafarianism is an Afrocentric spiritual and ideological movement that arose in Jamaica in the 1930s inspired by African and Christian themes. Despite a great diversity of beliefs, practices, and political affiliations, the literature suggests the following as a Weberian ideal type:  1) the idea that Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie (ruled 1930-1974) is the living God  (Jah Rastafari); 2) belief that Marcus Garvey prophesied Selassie’s crowning; 3)  emphasis on “livity”––righteous living in accordance with Jah and mother earth; 4)  struggle against the racism and oppression of the west or “Babylon”; 5) wearing  dreadlocks; 6) ritual use of marijuana; 7) belief in the transformative power of the  spoken or sung word; 8) belief in the idea of Africa as home and/or repatriation to Africa; 9) symbolic use of red, yellow and green, and other symbols such as the Lion of Judah;  and 10) an “ital” diet (generally vegetarian and a prohibition of the use of salt).   (DeCosmo 2008:60)   Although Jamaican black nationalist Marcus Garvey did not identify himself as a Rastafari, many of his sociopolitical ideas deeply influenced the early Rastafari movement. Garvey was unique in advancing a Pan-African philosophy to inspire global mass movement and economic empowerment towards Africa (Jacques-Garvey 1986). The intent of his ideas and activism, at times perceived by other black intellectuals as radical and potentially damaging for the common cause of blacks, was for those of African ancestry to redeem Africa and for the European colonial powers to leave it.  The work of Jamaican singer/songwriter Bob Marley during the 1960s/70s was instrumental for                                                 38 Sigilião's claim that black musicians where more interested in rhythm than in song text clashes with Carvalho's assertion that “Words are very important in Brazilian popular music in general. People tend to follow texts quite closely, especially in romantic genres. Obviously, some genres are more wordy than others” (1994:3-4).    46  the world-famous association of the Rastafari movement with reggae music. Marley, who connected to Rastafarism during this period, was influenced by Garvey and by Black Power (Thompson 2002:159). Through his music and activism he promoted Rastafari values, particularly the ideas of repatriation of black people to Africa and the support of the struggles of blacks, in Africa or in the diaspora, against the oppression from “Babylon” (Survival 1979). His reggae was a synthesis of Afro Caribbean styles like mento and North American black music, particularly the soul style popularized by James Brown (his albums Soul Rebels [1970] and Soul Revolution [1971] are good examples). Marley's “My Cup” in Soul Rebels, for instance, is a cover of James Brown's “I Guess I'll Have to Cry, Cry, Cry” (I Guess I'll Have to Cry, Cry, Cry, 1968).  As in other parts of the world, the Jamaican Rastafari movement was introduced to Bahia during the 1970s via Bob Marley's reggae music. Despite not singing or promoting Rastafari ideas per se, Jimmy Cliff, another Jamaican reggae artist, greatly contributed to the diffusion of reggae in Bahia. During the 1980s and 90s he toured, recorded, and collaborated with renowned black Bahian artists linked to black consciousness such as Gilberto Gil, blocos afro Olodum, and Araketu. Bahian singer/songwriter Gilberto Gil, a black activist and promoter of Afro-Brazilian culture, began the indigenization of reggae music with his first Portuguese covers of Marley's songs (Realce 1979). Subsequently local black activists and artists like Lino de Almeida and Neguinho do Samba, who felt empowered by the Rastafari culture, helped to establish a long-lasting relationship between reggae music, Rastafari ideologies, and black politics and aesthetics in Salvador (Boyce-Carole 2008:633-34). A local circuit of reggae artists emerged, reggae bars opened, some Rastafari ideas became popular, many blacks and mestiços started to wear dreadlocks and colorful clothes associated with Rastafari, and Olodum created samba-reggae, a rhythm that became a signature of Bahian carnival.     47        Figure 2.1 Bloco afro Olodum parading in Salvador and Olodum’s logo exhibiting the colors of the Rastafari movement (source: http://socialearth.org/socially-conscious-music-video-3-michael-jackson-meets-olodum, and http://www.mariapreta.org/2011/04/joao-jorge-presidente-do-olodum-na.html).   Rastafari and reggae music brought about a revaluation of the African heritage in Salvador that is unique to its condition as a producer of black tradition and to the ambivalent relationship Rastas have with Afro-Bahian spirituality (DeCosmo 2008:52). While Rastafari and reggae music in Bahia represent black cultural resistance, it does not necessarily represent the views of orthodox or “ideal” Rastafari. For instance, Jamaican Rastafari hopes of return to Africa iconically celebrated by Bob Marley did not find fertile soil in Salvador, as local interpretations of Rastafari reinforced the view of Bahia as an alternative diasporic “home” (ibid). DeCosmo identified a large group of “cultural” or “political” Rastafari in Bahia who do not believe in the divinity of Haile Selassie, do not use marijuana ritually, and are not vegetarian. Instead, they use reggae and the symbols of Rastafari to assert black identity (ibid:61). In sum, Rastafari and reggae intensified the transnationalization of blackness in popular culture initiated by the Black Power movement. This deepened the ethno-political ideals of reparation already present in Bahia and provided more aesthetic possibilities for their realization.   Referring to Bahians' preference of reggae over other Caribbean diasporic music styles, Sigilião explains:   A first contact was already established between Brazil and Cuba during the 1950s and  1960s, as salsa was introduced and popularized into the Bahian music repertoire...  Contrary to salsa, reggae was received as protest music. Despite the language barrier, its   48   essence was captured by black Bahians. Before reggae was significatively disseminated  in Salvador via radio, black youth who were creating the blocos afro, appropriated the  Jamaican rhythm with samba reggae. (2009:217-18)   Sigilião's citation suggests that the local knowledge used in Bahia to indigenize musics perceived as foreign was aligned with black aesthetics. Being perceived as committed to improve the conditions of blacks, reggae was better received than other black Caribbean musics.   De-Colonization of African Countries  All Afro-descendants around the world were deeply affected by the fight for independence of African countries of the 1960s and 1970s. You keep hearing that Angola is battling colonialism, that Ghana got freed... I believe that generated a type of pride and rebellious feelings because you realize what happened. All that manifested in specific ways, for instance in the poetry of Agostinho Neto, which was very popular among members of the MNU here in Brazil as well as in that African poet who became president... Léopold Senghor!  (Mestre Cobra Mansa, p.c. Valença, Bahia, Feb. 2012).    After a devastating history of European colonialism—initiated by Portugal in the 15th century, and continued by England, France, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany, and Italy between the 16th and 20th centuries—, strong independence movements arose in Africa. After World War II, several African territories became independent from their European rulers, but former Portuguese colonies (Angola, Guinea, and Mozambique) were rebranded “Overseas Provinces” in a firm attempt by Portugal's authorities to preserve its African possessions and refuse any claims of independence. By the 1960s, organizations throughout Africa emerged to support Portuguese provinces’ claims to independence. Nationalist guerrilla movements created to combat Portuguese colonizers, received support from communist states and adopted Marxist-Leninist and Maoist ideologies. The Portuguese Colonial War became one more stage of the Cold War conflict as the U.S. stepped in to supporti these guerrillas in order to neutralize the growing communist influence in the region.   There is a long tradition of black intellectuals and activists advocating the involvement of the diaspora in African affairs since at least the 18th century. African American abolitionists Prince Hall, Martin Delany, Henry Highland Garnet, and Edward Wilmot Blyden were followed by W.   49  E. B. Du Bois, Marcus Garvey, Frantz Fanon, Malcolm X, Aimé Césaire, Léon Damas, Molefi Asante, Abdias do Nascimento and many others in their efforts to improve the living conditions of black peoples around the world. To this end some of them founded and supported organizations such as the Universal Negro Improvement Association and African Communities League (1914) and the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People (1909).   Several internationally recognized musicians from Africa and the diaspora like Fela Kuti, Hugh Masakela, Harry Belafonte, and Paul Robeson used their music to support African nations’ independence. Monson (2000 and 2007) points out that various African American jazz musicians in the 1960s who were negotiating positions with the Civil Rights movement, found inspiration in the African struggles for independence. Bob Marley was one of the most influential in Brazil and Bahia. Survival (1979), a defiant and politically charged album, features tracks such as “Zimbabwe,” “Africa Unite,” “Wake Up and Live,” and “Survival” in which Marley is explicitly supportive. His appearance at the Amandla Festival in Boston in July 1979 showed his strong opposition to South African apartheid, which he already had shown in his song “War” (Rastaman Vibration, 1976). In 1980 he also performed at the celebration of Zimbabwe's Independence Day.   Brazil, the first country to recognize Angola's independence in 1975, closely followed the struggles for independence in Africa, particularly in Portuguese-speaking countries. Since the early 1960s Brazil had sought to develop South-South relations as a way to gaining international recognition in a world largely dominated by a Soviet/U.S. dichotomy (Sansone 1999 and Teles 2005).39 Brazilian governments strengthened relations with African countries, built more positive official views of African and Afro-Brazilian culture, and provided unambiguous support for African decolonization and independence. This official support endorsed a growing sympathy for the African cause among black activists from the MNU like Abdias do Nascimento and from Afro-Brazilian artistic groups such as the Teatro Experimental do Negro and Ilê Aiyê.   Samba-reggae was one of the main vehicles used by Bahian musicians to engage with African                                                 39 Brazil’s sympathy with African independence has a direct parallel in Cuba in the 1970s. The Cuban government engaged explicitly in the Angola’s independence struggle by sending thousands of troops in 1975 to support the People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola against the U.S. backed interventions by South Africa and former Zaire (Lowental 1977:3). According to Abraham Lowental, members of Castro’s governent saw this intervention as “strengthening Cuba’s alliance with the USSR while increasing our own autonomy,” “strengthening Cuba’s ties with Latin America and the Caribbean,” “strengthening Southern solidarity and bargening power,” and “normalizing Cuba’s relationships with the U.S.” (ibid:6-8).   50  politics. Blocos afro Olodum and Ilê Aiyê, the most popular carnival associations, hold annual contests to choose the song that will represent them in carnival. We know that the popularity of African themes in these competitions comes from a desire to assert diasporic black identities (Filho 2004:68). Olodum's 1987 album Egito Madagáscar mixed romanticized references to African Arabic countries (e.g. Egyptian pharaohs are presented as dignified ancestors of Afro-Bahians) with political statements denouncing apartheid and calling for liberty and equality. In Canto Negro (1989), Ilê Aiyê combines celebration of Congo and Senegal's culture with denouncement of colonization in West Africa.  A Word on Pan-Africanism and Afrocentrism  Like the three movements discussed above, Pan-Africanist and Afrocentric strongly impacted 20th century black Atlantic culture and politics. The following account summarizes the main ideas related to these two ideologies and the flavors they acquired in Bahia.  Pan Africanism emphasizes the unity, solidarity, and political integration of African people and their descendants. Imanuel Geiss links the “pre-history” of Pan-Africanism at the end of the 18th century with three pivotal developments:   In America the effective beginning of organized abolitionism and of organized activities by free Afro-Americans; in Britain the beginning of abolitionist agitation; and in West Africa, as an indirect result of abolitionism, the foundation of Sierra Leone, which was to make a significant contribution to the formation of the modern intellectual elites in British West Africa. (Geiss 1969:187-8).  Most authors place the official beginning of the Pan-African movement at the Pan-Africanist Conference held in London in 1900, which had the goal of connecting people of African descent all over the world and to fight for the freedom and independence of blacks (Geiss 1969 and Fergus 2010:32). Subsequent conferences (Pan-Africanist Congresses) in 1919, 1921, 1923, 1927, 1945, and 1958 solidified the ideology of the movement (ibid). Among its most prominents advocates were W.E.B. du Bois, Marcus Garvey, and Kwame Nkrumah. The positions of these intellectuals and activists were not always unified. While sharing a preoccupation to “refute the charge of the Negro’s unchangeable racial inferiority, and to claim full equality for Africans and   51  African-Americans,” one group focused on demanding “full equality with whites and nothing else,” and the other promoted a type of reversed racism, claiming that “most great men and most achievements of civilization were essentially or at least partly African” (Geiss 1969:189). Garvey, who espoused the latter view, was very influential worldwide, but created divisions and was accused by Du Bois and others of making the achievement of political goals more difficult because of his radicalism (ibid:191).   In the early 20th century Marcus Garvey promoted the ideas of “a voluntarily united Africa under one government” and repatriation to Africa “as a Caribbean response to the exploitation of people of African descent inherent in the globalization forces of slavery, racism and colonialism” (Fergus 2010: 29). To this end he founded the Universal Negro Improvement and Conservation Association in 1914 in Jamaica with the express intention to:   Establish a Universal Confratenity among the race; To strengthen Commisaries or Agencies in the principal countries of the world for the protection of al Negroes, irrespective of nationality; to establish Universities, Colleges and Secondary Schools for the further education an culture of the boys and girls of the race; To conduct a worldwide commercial and industrial intercourse (Mackie 1987, Garvey 1986, and Martin 1983 in Fergus 2010:31)  Althugh Pan-Africanism does not necessarily promotes a homogenized view of African people, Pan-African unity is important in various diasporian communities. This is especially so in the U.S. because the African ancestry of Afro-Americans is difficult to associate with specific identifiable African ancestral homes. Therefore, it has become necessary to minimize the differences between the various peoples of Africa in favor of a generalized heritage (Shivji 2008). As we have seen, groups like Olodum in Salvador invoke Pan-African themes of African unity that include Egypt, an undocumented source of black Atlantic culture. In contrast, candomblé houses and some capoeira groups prefer neo-African nations to unified Pan-African identities. DeCosmo suggests that this Afro-Bahian preference is due to the fact that: 1) abolition in Brazil occurred relatively late (1888); 2) African cultural practices were constantly renewed with newly-arriving captives replacing those who had died before they had a chance to reproduce; 3) Portuguese Catholicism was relatively tolerant to African religious practices as they shared belief   52  in saints as mediators between the human and the divine and acceptance of religious objects' mystical sacred powers; and 4) many Afro-Bahians went to West Africa after abolition to renew their ancestral knowledge (2012:107-108).40 For DeCosmo these conditions set Bahia apart from others places of the diaspora like Jamaica or the U.S.  More radical Pan-Africanisms advocate a racial redefinition of national identity, as opposed to multiculturalism. While rooted in 19th century abolitionist thought, particularly Martin Delany’s, black nationalism was prominent in Garvey’s thought and later among some anti-integrationists during the Civil Rights movement like Malcolm X. It accents themes of black unity, self-determinism, and repatriation of diasporic black communities to Africa. The modern North American version of it stresses the need to build separate communities that promote strong black pride and collectivize resources. As explained by DeCosmo (2012), the idea of repatriation to Africa has not been popular among black Bahians.41 However, ideas of black nationalism expressed in racial segregation are patent in the black-only membership policy of Ilê Aiyê and other blocos afro.  Afrocentrism (or Afrocentricity), in its American form, proposes an Africa-centered reassessment of world history and culture in which African heritage is glorified and European (and sometimes Arab) cultural influences denied or minimized. According to David Covin, Afrocentricity was officially created by African American scholar and activist Molefi Asante. In Asante’s                                                 40 In explaining the 19th century bi-directional flux between Bahia and West Africa, Parés writes: “The trans-Atlantic communication between Bahia and the Mina Coast had been under way since the late eighteenth century but increased after 1835, with hundreds of African returnees settling along the Mina Coast each year, many of them in Lagos, contributing to the above-mentioned Yoruba renaissance, and others regularly traveling and doing business between both shores” (2004:193). These trips to Africa to obtain “authentic” objects and knowledge to recover religious tradition, became a foundational narrative to some Bahian candomblé houses and increased the prestige, religious efficacy and power of religious experts (ibid).  41 On February 24, 2012 I attended the theater piece “Namíbia, Não!” at Teatro Castro Alves in Salvador, Bahia. The fictitious piece is based on an eponymous book by Aldri Anunciação (2012) and features two male Afro-Brazilians who face forced repatriation to Namibia by the Brazilian government in 2016. After debating the socio-political conditions in current Brazil and Africa, they conclude that life in Brazil is preferable. The piece was “the most seen theater piece in Bahia” in 2011 and the book received the Jabuti Award of Literature in Brazil in 2013 (Namíbia, Não n.d.). The piece was performed before the publication of the book.    The Film “Quilombo” (Diegues 1984), set in 17th century northeastern Brazil, focused on enslaved Africans who revolted and escaped plantations and who weighed returning to Africa versus joining Palmares. Most chose Palmares because they considered Brazil their new motherland: “I was born here and I don't know other lands. Africa is too far away.” In the film others asserted that “it is better to speak the language of whites so that we can understand each other” which underscores the idea of African unity under colonialism. The future leader of Palmares and icon of black resistance, Ganga Zumba, was one of the freed slaves who chose to stay. Therefore, the idea of choosing to stay in Brazil and resist colonial domination, as opposed to returning to Africa, is implicit in discourses of black empowerment that take Palmares as an example of black pride.     53  formulation “Afrocentricity is a way of life undergirded by a value system and a religious orientation, Njia” (Covin 1990:126-7). Njia (“The Way”) is a religious practice advocated by Asante, which involves a ritualistic ceremony that acknowledges the value of African cultural heritage (Assante 1968). According to Covin, Njia is designed specifically for the reality of black people in the U.S. and thus does not apply to the case of Brazil (Covin 1990:127).        From Asante and other Afrocentric thinkers, Covin distilled five features characterizing the movement:     1. People of African descent share a common experience, struggle, and origin.   2. Present in African culture is a nonmaterial element of resistance to the assault upon  traditional values caused by the intrusion of European legal procedures, medicines,  political processes, and religions into African culture.   3. African culture takes the view that an Afrocentric modernization process would be  based upon three traditional values: harmony with nature, humaneness, and rhythm.   4. Afrocentricity involves the development of a theory of an African way of knowing and  interpreting the world.   5. Some form of communalism or socialism is an important component of the way  wealth is produced, owned, and distributed.   (Covin 1990:127-8)  Covin claims that these features are shared by “Asante’s Afrocentris, Karenga’s Kawaida, Nascimento’s Quilombismo, Negritude, Pan-Africanism, African socialism, Ujamaa, and various streams of Black nationalism” and the Black Unified Movement in Brazil (ibid).   The MNU was organized in units called Centers of Struggle which were formed in work areas, villages, prisons, candomblé and umbanda temples, samba schools, afoxés, blocos afro, churches, favelas, capoeira groups, and the like (ibid:131). Afrocentric ideas flowed in both directions: from the MNU central organization to its Centers of Struggle and vice versa, as Covin attests. Bloco afro Ilê Aiyê already exhibited Covin's parameters by the time of its foundation in 1974, four years before the birth of the MNU. Its founders claim that they learned about these ideas directly from the Black Power and Rastafari movements (Canal Petrobras n.d.).   Products of Afro-Bahian Culture I use the qualifier Afro-Bahian for cultural products that help people who identify as black or Afro-descendant to produce locality in Salvador. This covers the cultural forms that are locally   54  perceived as representatives of local black tradition (e.g. candomblé, capoeira, samba de roda) or as part of the new Bahian black culture (such as samba-reggae). But more crucially, it includes creative adaptations and reinterpretations of global, diasporic or Brazilian cultural forms––whether they are perceived as black or not––to create the necessary difference of locality.   Focus on a big band that takes inspiration in candomblé and samba-reggae offers the possibility to study how local musicians produce black culture and locality mixing the most idealized black tradition with new Bahian black music and with a global musical form that has been already indigenized.     55  Chapter 3: Discourses of Musical Africanness   The rhythm of the white minister's speech was more halting than that of the Negro  minister, and shaped to a less vigorous melodic line. The movements of the white  congregation were more convulsive and jerky than those of the Negroes. This general  contrast corresponds to the popular feeling that Negroes have greater sense of rhythm  and greater freedom in bodily movement than white people. Such motor differences do  not necessarily arise from differences in physical makeup, but may be to a large extent  socially conditioned. (Herskovits 1941:42)   In 1941 Melville Herskovits published The Myth of the Negro Past, one of the most influential books about African descendants in the Americas. He argued that blacks in the Americas retained aspects of a culture that was as worthy of respect as that of their former oppressors. To this end, he tried to deconstruct negative assumptions that portrayed black culture as inferior, barbaric, and lacking a past. Herskovits was well intentioned and intended to break stereotypes, but he ended up reinforcing some and creating others. For instance, one commentator wrote “...the failure to grasp subjective ideas, the strong sexual and herd instincts with few inhibitions. . . , the tendency to seek expression in such rhythmic means as music and dancing... all these and many other things betray the savage heart beneath the civilized exterior” (J. E. Lind in Herskovits 1941:23). In contrast, in the epigraph the very same notions of the rhythmicity and physicality of “African” culture allowed Herskovits to portray blacks positively when compared to whites. Both Herskovits and Lind rely on the notion of African rhythmicity to articulate contrasting discourses.  Like Herskovits, other scholars, musicians, audiences, and activists also use popular notions about black culture and music to reinforce their intellectual or political agendas. The fact that these notions are, in Herskovits' own terms, “popular feelings” and “socially conditioned,” does not imply that they are unreal or that their impact in music activity is insignificant. For these reasons I call them idealized notions as opposed to features or traits of Africanness. This chapter discusses seven prevalent themes about “African” music circulating in the diaspora and proposes a model in which they feed two discourses of blackness: primitivism and empowerment. This interpretation, and not the notions themselves, constitute what I bring to the table for they are all commonly known in literature and popular circles. My analysis sees these discourses as constructions supporting an ideology of difference. My overall idea is to create a theoretical model that explains the relationship between musical activity and the politics of black identity.    56   After introducing my use of the term discourse, this chapter discusses how the popular reduction of African music to African groove sets an aesthetico-political framework that underlies discourses about black music and politics. This leads to the presentation of my Foucauldian model of discursive formation of blackness. In the final section I examine how each theme is present in academic and popular discourses, what structural qualities and aesthetic values are frequently idealized, how are they socially performed, and how they operate in specific musical cases in Salvador.   My Use of the Term Discourse A thorough understanding of any cultural expression requires both the study of its defining properties as well as the forces that shape its transformation. As stated, I do not deny that some contemporary Afro-diasporic music forms retained a certain amount of African musical elements, cognitive orientations, or principles of music organization through conscious or unconscious effort of their practitioners as many authors have suggested (Ortiz 1940, Herskovits 1941, Waterman 1952, Mukuna 1979, Kubik 1979, Maultsby 1979, Burns 2010). However, here I am more interested in music as a social construction and resource for empowerment as I believe that music is a cultural and political space where people place themselves on the world map, fight their battles, and reinvent themselves. By emphasizing Afro-diasporic musics as social constructions, I focus on their contingence, flexibility, performativity, and dependence on the dynamics of black identity formation rather than on any inherent quality that they may possess or have retained. In other words, with this stance I give more weight to the way people imagine and portray Africanness through discourse than to the “actual” Africanness.  I treat musical expressions as “performative utterances” used to support discourses of blackness. For Austin (1962) performative utterances are types of expressions that are not used to describe reality but to perform a certain kind of action. They have no truth-value and thus can only be judged as either “happy” or “infelicitous” depending upon whether the conditions required for them to succeed have been met (ibid). Somewhat elaborating on this idea, in the Archeology of Knowledge (1972) Michel Foucault proposes a method of discourse analysis particularly useful for me because 1) it allows an understanding of the logic followed by individuals in determining the inherent boundaries of black identity; and 2) it renders visible the specific frames of   57  interpretation that emerge when expressions are uttered. Additionally, a focus on discourse allows more nuanced understandings of black empowerment as discourse may reinforce, undermine, and expose power (Foucault 1998:100-1).   Generaly speaking discourse is a mode of organizing knowledge, ideas, or experience that is rooted in language and its concrete contexts. For Foucault discourses are systems of thought and knowledge governed by rules, beyond those of grammar, which operate in the consciousness of individuals and define a system of conceptual possibilities that determines the boundaries of thought in a given domain and period (Foucault 1972). The rules of the discourse are preconditions for establishing the meaning of expressions (ibid:45). An expression thus has relative meaning depending on the particular discourse within which it is deployed and the particular rules that emerge. These rules or preconditions for Foucault must have a referent, a subject, an associated field, and a materiality. The subject is the producer of the utterance (e.g. members of Orkestra Rumpilezz) and the materiality is the means through which it is expressed. In my analysis I consider the following types of materiality: public rhetoric, performance practice (aural, visual, and kinetic expressions), and music (grooves and melodies).42 Referent is the specific element, located on an external domain (or domains), to which the utterance alludes or hints, for instance candomblé or capoeira are two possible domains to which Rumpilezz’s atabaques may refer. The associated field is the surrounding statements that attract a specific referent for interpretation; It is what makes us associate the atabaques of Rumpilezz with candomblé and not capoeira.  The themes of a discourse are strategic topics contained tacitly or explicitly in expressions. They are brought into being by the deployment of one or more strategic options on the part of the discursive subject. For instance, Lind, the racist commentator cited by Herskovits, reinforces a primitivist barbaric discourse of “African” culture by emphasizing the themes of rhythmicity,                                                 42   Although Foucault’s method is based on language, here I adapt it to other forms of expression such as music, movement, and imagery, as they all share a basic communicative function: they all may convey meaning in the sense of Saussure’s model of signifier (the material form of the sign) and signified (the concept it represents) (1983). Although Foucault’s approach departs from Saussaure’s dyadic model focusing on the preconditions that allow expressions to have meaning within a specific discourse, the fact remains that the meaning of a music phrase or a sentence is contingent upon the discursive formation within which they are deployed. It is clear, however, that the mode of signification of language is, in general, more denotational (precise) than music, movement, and imagery, which are more indexical.     58  embodiment and communalism. In the context of early 20th century psychoanalysis43 a tendency to use rhythm, dance, and to act collectively were effective choices to claim that blacks were uncivilized and thus primitive. As we will see, a century later the same themes were strategically reinterpreted by Afrocentric writers to reinforce black empowerment.  The ensuing analysis shows how discourses of musical Africanness influence musical activity through various themes that are creatively and strategically reinterpreted by musicians. Because these ways of interpretation depend on their context to succeed, strategies must be informed by local knowledge––what is culturally valid and appropriate. Although I try to report when discourses and their themes either match or diverge from “real” situations as corroborated ethnographically, I do not attempt to identify their points of incompatibility or assess their historical, philosophical, or structural validity. Unveiling “true” musical or cultural links between Africa and its diaspora (a theme over-studied in ethnomusicology; see Butler 2010) would be the proper aim of comparative music analysis or historical research. My focus, by contrast, is on how these discourses and their associated themes are socially and musically performed, on understanding the contexts where they thrive, and on discovering how they help to create a sense of locality.   African Music as African Groove In the last chapter I defined music of the African diaspora as that used by musicians, audiences, activists, or producers to mobilize black identities––musics used to reinforce ideologies of blackness as difference. Under this perspective, not all music activity by people who identify as black or Afro-descendant is necessarily “African,” like when Afro-Bahian classically trained trumpetist Joatan Nascimento plays a Beethoven symphony at the Symphonic Orchestra of Bahia. Of course, someone could make a case arguing that his approach to the performance of Western classical music is “African,” whatever that might mean. On the other hand, when the same musician plays at Orkestra Rumpilezz, a big band that tries to glorify Afro-Bahian music with candomblé and carnival inspired arrangements, one could more comfortably argue for such an “African” approach. By the same token, some music styles more overtly associated with the African diaspora are not always performed or received by each individual politically. For instance, despite its recognized African heritage, there are various narratives of capoeira that                                                 43 Herkovits' citation was taken from the publication: Lind, J.E. 1917. "Phylogenetic Elements in the Psychoses of the Negro." Psycho-Analytic Review, 4:303.   59  emphasize a Brazilian origin and downplay the African one (Röhrig 2005). A capoeira contemporânea44 master thus may claim that the music he plays and teaches is purely Brazilian and may not consciously subscribe to any black socio-political agenda or identity. In short, the rubric “music of the African diaspora” is not an obvious one as it may include or exclude debatable styles and ways of music making. It depends more on the context than in the sounds themselves.    Nonetheless, whenever the qualifier “African” or “black” is applied to a genre or a song, what one usually hears is a type of groove structured as a composite ostinato with variations. This common reduction of music to groove has a number of implications. In general terms, groove refers to musics where pulse entrainment results in strong embodied responses. Groove-based musics thus prioritize aspects of musical time over other music parameters such as melody, harmony, or form. In other words, grooves presuppose a centrality of rhythm and, by extension, of embodiment. In her study of funk grooves, Anne Danielsen argued that the accumulated intensity of the experience of being in funk groove may lead to sublime experiences where time seems to dissolve (2006:192) and where one feels that “one is fully present in time and space” (194), provided that one “surrenders to the event” (193). From a more culturally situated perspective she contends that “funk has been regarded as an expression as well as a means, of spiritual upheaval, of achieving strength and pride” (ibid: 204). These aesthetic and cultural interpretations of funk, and by extension of many black grooves (funk is considered as a quintessential form of black American music), suggest that the groove experience implies certain connections with the metaphysical or spiritual. She also claims that the groove experience requires and encourages full participation (ibid: 193), indicating that the notion of communalism is also central to the experience of grooves.  One does not need to take many steps to find parallels between this characterization of black grooves––rhythmic, embodied, spiritual, and participatory––and the more emblematic black grooves which are seen as models of black tradition in the diaspora: the Afro-religious grooves in Brazil, Cuba, and Haiti. In these paradigmatic cases, music ensembles are composed almost exclusively of percussion and singers, codified drumming patterns lead dancers to ritual spirit possession, elements of nature are used ritually (for the construction of instruments, animal                                                 44 Capoeria contemporânea refers to contemporary styles of capoeira that do not follow strictly the capoeira Angola or capoeira Regional traditions.    60  sacrifices, ornaments, or healing) and symbolically (each deity symbolizes a natural element like the sea or the forest), communal participation is essential for celebrations and performances, and there is a strong emphasis on past repertoires, ancestry, and tradition.   Since the rhythmic structure of black grooves will be examined in detail in Chapter 6, here I will limit myself to an example of the multilinear structure of Barravento, a typical Bahian candomblé toque (groove) where various repetitive contrasting layers are temporally organized around a timeline that defines a period of four pulsations (refer to Figure 3.1). According to the Aurelio dictionary, toque Barravento accompanies the dance of inkice Zazi in the Angola candomblé tradition45. When Gabi Guedes taught me this groove, he emphasized how important it was for him as a master drummer of the Ketu candomblé tradition to know how to play it correctly when spiritual leaders of Angola candomblé houses visited his own shrine. It was a show of respect for them and for their ancestors (p.c. Salvador, Bahia, May 2012).46 When performed at public ceremonies, dancers execute choreographies related to stories of this deity. As intensity grows with the rhythmic variations of the master drummer, dancers enter into deeper states of groove (possibly as described by Danielsen) and eventually get possessed by Zazi. At this point possessed dancers embody more unequivocally the character of Zazi, a warrior who rules over lightning and fire. A fuller discussion of the context of these ceremonies and of the embodied experience of possessed dancers will be provided in Chapters 6 and 8.                                                              45 Inkice is the name of spiritual entities in the Angola candomblé pantheon. They are analogous to orixás in Bahian candomblé Ketu. Zazi is the inkice of lightning and fire. 46 All personal communications by Gabi Guedes took place in Salvador, Bahia.   61    Figure 3.1 Structure of toque Barravento (source: Gabi Guedes, Salvador, Bahia, Feb. 2012).     Table 3.1 Key for drum notation in Figure 3.1  Toque Barravento illustrates how notions of rhythmicity, percussiveness, embodiment, traditionalism, communalism, closeness to nature, and, of course, spirituality underlie Afro-religious grooves. Now let's see what implication this may have in the arena of discourse formation.   A Model for the Analysis of Discourses     In Representing African Music (2003), Kofi Agawu critiques the ways in which African music has been constructed by Western scholars and writers since the 19th century, and subsequently by African scholars themselves. These scholars for him follow an ideology of difference between   61  timeline that defines a period of four pulsations (refer to Figure 3.1). According to the Aurelio dictionary, toque Barravento accompanies the dance of inkice Zazi in the Angola candomblé tradition48. When Gabi Guedes taught me this groove, he emphasized how important it was for him as a master drummer of the Ketu candomblé tradition to know how to play it correctly when spiritual leaders of Angola candomblé houses visited his own shrine. It was a show of respect for them and for their ancestors (p.c. Salvador, Bahia, May 2012).49 When performed at public ceremonies, dancers execute choreographies related to stories of this deity. As intensity grows with the rhythmic variations of the master drummer, dancers enter into deeper states of groove (possibly as described by Danielsen) and eventually get possessed by Zazi. At this point possessed dancers embody more unequivocally the character of Zazi, a warrior who rules over lightning and fire. A fuller discussion of the context of these ceremonies and of the embodied experience of possessed dancers will be provided in Chapters 6 and 8.                  Figure 3.1: Structure of toque Barravento (source: Gabi Guedes, Salvador, Bahia, Feb. 2012).                                                    48 Inkice is the name of spiritual entities in the Angola candomblé pantheon. They are analogous to orixás in Bahian candomblé Ketu. Zazi is the inkice of lightning and fire. 49 All personal communications by Gabi Guedes took place in Salvador, Bahia. Figure 3.1: Structure of toque Barravento (source: Gabi Guedes, Salvador, Bahia, Feb. 2012).      Open stroke on the agogô with a metal stick   Slap on the head of the drum with bare hand   Open stroke on the head of the drum with bare hand   Ghost note on the head of the drum with bare hand  Table 3.1 Key of atabaque strokes for Figure 3.1    62  Africa and the West that impedes productive comparisons and helps to perpetuate unequal North-South power relations (ibid). Whenever the adjective “African” is used to qualify black music, one can almost always find implicit or explicit references to an opposite “Western” attribute. Therefore, any idealized notion about African music bears force only when compared to its nemesis. For instance, the “Africanist” claim that African music is mainly rhythmic depends on an assumed “less rhythmic” Western counterpart. This difference is supplemented by the notion that Western music is more elaborate melodically and harmonically than African music. But does this notion hold when “complex” African rhythm is compared with a metrically unstable Western art piece such as Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring?   Identity formation is based on an ideology of difference. Black identity is not an exception. However, as Agawu warns us, it is imperative to unpack the assumptions underlying that ideology. I thus provide the following model that encompasses the two main discourses reinforcing this ideology. The first is the primitivist, which portrays African culture and life as simple, in a “natural” environment, and related to earlier periods of human history.47 This discourse, based on orientalist views of the other, is largely entrenched in a European urge of self definition by negation (Danielsen 2006:21), which sets in relief binaries of nature/culture, tradition/modernity, communalism/individualism, body/mind, and so on.48 Primitivism has been associated to a variety of ideas ranging from barbarism to the positive idea that living closer to a natural environment is best. The second realm of discourse is black empowerment rooted in diasporic activism, which focuses on black agency. Following Foucault's views on power,                                                 47 The primitivist discourse of blackness considered here is in principle different to the Western art movement that borrows visual forms from non-Western or prehistoric peoples. As an artistic movement, primitivism is an expression of a larger discourse that portrays non-Western cultures as not-yet-modern. Sieglinde Lemke, however, sees modernism as the “interplay between black and white” and argues that “several expressions of modernism assumed their form only through the incorporation of black forms” (1997:4). Given that black culture was often associated with primitivism, he re-named modernism as “primitivist modernism.” He also points out that “in the racist discourse of the nineteenth and early twentieth century, it [primitivism] was infused with negative connotations and indiscriminately applied to peoples and objects worldwide (as well to African Americans, of course), but when referring to human conduct or manners, “primitive” was the antonym of discipline, order, rationality -the antithesis of civilized. The racist imagination conflated these two versions of alterity and defined people of African descent as irrational, uncivilized, and not-yet-modern” (ibid:4-5). Houston Baker Jr. introduced the notion of “African American modernism” to claim that the criteria used by Anglo-American and Irish writers to define modernism is antithetical with black art and culture (1987:xvi-xvii). 48 Defining oneself by other is not specifically European or African. The point is that Eurocentric anthropologic discourses have tried for centuries to justify an assumed cultural superiority of Europe over the non-European world, particularly over the formerly colonized non-white Southern Hemisphere where Africa is located (Said 1978, Agawu 2003). African descendants in other places of the Atlantic basin are frequently lumped in the same category. One of the main strategies used by European and American writers and scholars has been emphasizing or inventing, as some postcolonial authors claim (Agawu 2003), certain differences and presenting them in the form of dichotomies.    63  empowerment here not only includes organized activity aimed at attaining reparation, antiracism, or improvement of material conditions, but also more embodied aspects like pride, dignification and even positive interpretations of the primitivist discourse.   The discourse of black primitivism with its assumed dichotomies between “Africa” and “Europe” was well established by the time black empowerment writings, movements, and ideologies solidified in various places of the diaspora around the mid-20th century. 49 Some of the most influential writers and intellectuals of the early 20th century who gave positive value to black culture in the diaspora were W.E. Du Bois (1903), Marcus Garvey, Gilberto Freyre (1933), Melville Herskovits (1941), Fernando Ortiz (1940), Jean Price-Mars (1928), and Frantz Fanon (1952). However, Herskovits' quote in the epigraph of this chapter demonstrates that by the time empowerment discourses took force in the 1960s, African and African diasporic music was assumed to be as primitivists depicted it: rhythmic, percussive, close to nature,  and so on, and this vision was not necessarily problematized. Even Afrocentric intellectuals like Amiri Baraka, Molefi Asante, and Abdias do Nascimento, linked to black movements in the U.S. and Brazil, recycled the same primitivist notions at the service of their new discourses. For instance, writings of the Brazilian Unified Black Movement state that “African culture takes the view that an Afrocentric modernization process would be based upon three traditional values: harmony with nature, humaneness, and rhythm” (Covin 1990:127). At the level of idealized notions of musical Africanness, black empowerment was not necessarily a subversive gesture. This is reflected in the overlapping area shown in Figure 3.2.  I have identified seven commonly known themes of the primitivist discourse that have been appropriated, reinterpreted, and reassessed by scholars, media, local subjects (musicians, audiences and activists) to advance discourses of black empowerment. They are rhythmicity, percussiveness, spirituality, traditionalism, communalism, embodiment, and closeness to nature.50                                                 49   The writings and movements of black empowerment following the ending of WWII are preceded by a long history of activism at least since the 18th century. Denouncement of slavery and racism and calls for change and unity of black communities existed since the very inception of colonialism, for instance in the writings of abolitionists like Prince Hall (1735-1807), Martin Delany (1812-1885), Henry Highland Garnet (1815-1882) from the U.S.; Félix Varela 1788-1853), José Antonio Saco (1797-1879) and Anselmo Suárez y Romero (1818-1878) from Cuba; Luiz Gonzaga Pinto da Gama (1830-1882), Antônio Frederico Castro Alves (1847-1871), Joaquim Nabuco (1849-1910) and Rui Barbosa (1849-1923) from Brazil; and Haitian Toissaint Louverture.  Various revivals of African culture took place in the early 20th century in the U.S. (the Harlem Renaissance) and Brazil (Valoration of Things Black as per Freyre).  50 Each of these themes is emphasized in the film “Quilombo” (Diegues 1984) to portray African culture positively   64  Reinterpretations of these themes support the creation of the difference that black communities need to reaffirm identity.51 Since these reassessments are based in local knowledge, they also depend on, and help to produce locality across black Atlantic communities. In Foucaldian terms this means that we are dealing with two discourses that share seven themes. Each theme may reinforce either discourse, or both, depending on the strategic choices and the context (see Figure 3.2).    Figure 3.2 Model of discursive formation applied to blackness.                                                  but also in sharp opposition to whites: “how is it possible to be friends with the enemy if the happiness of whites depends of black slavery?” The soundtrack of the film features rhythm prominently; when musical activity is shown, blacks sing and play drums; Ganga Zumba, the leader of the community is shown dressed and possessed by orixá Xango and defeating the Portuguese with capoeira moves; Palmares is shown as sharing a communal system where “things and the land belong to those who need it”; all the members of the community are shown as having a harmonious relationship with flora and fauna; and members attempt to reinstate “African” traditional systems of trade, kinship, and so on. 51 Black identities not only assert their identities in contrast with white European or Western identities. In Bahia, black identities are also negotiated with Indian, mestiço, Bahian and Brazilian ones. In fact, black identities often overlap with these others. The proposed model makes emphasis on black and white because most of my informants highlighted this dichotomy, writers see double consciousness as a defining feature of black identity, and Rumpilezz's music influences are strongly associated to Afro-Brazilian or Western culture.   !"#$%&'(()*+,+-+.+(, /,012'*,'&-!#*3#*+(, 4"-'*&#-+.'5-15,16'*&+(,7+8&+9+$#-+1&)*+6':'0#*#-+1&;,0*1.','&-5"+9'<-#-','&-((=3>'$-*'9'*'&-,#-'*+#"+-?4((1$+#-'659+'"6)*'$1&6+-+1&(!"#$#%&:@?-@,+$+-?55555555555555)'*$=((+.'&'((<0+*+-=#"+-?5555555555555555A1,,=&#"+(,/,316+,'&-5555555555555B*#6+-+1&#"+(,A"1('&'((5-15&#-=*'  65   The following section examines how these themes reinforce primitivist and empowerment discourses in the context of Bahia and, occasionally, in other places of the diaspora. To see how this is done, I analyze academic and oral discourses as well as examples drawn from Bahian candomblé, capoeira angola, and carnival music and put them in the context of local, national, and diasporic interactions.   Theme 1: African Music is Centered in Rhythm and/or Rhythmically Complex The idea that rhythm is the most salient feature of African and African diasporic music is so widespread that African music is often equated with African rhythm. The epigraph of this chapter shows that this notion has been used in the literature for over a century to reinforce positive and negative primitivist views. In fact, Agawu (2003) claims that this notion was constructed during the twentieth century, first by Western scholars who studied African music forms and after by African scholars themselves who internalized the idea that African music is fundamentally different than Western music, a tradition, in turn, portrayed as predominantly melodic or harmonic. As Western scholars (mostly anglophone) struggled to orient themselves while listening to dense polyrhythms in various parts of Sub-Saharian Africa, Latin America, and the Caribbean, they invented the idea that the treatment of rhythm in all forms of African music is more complex and more sophisticated than in Western music. The underlying assumption was that “the complexity of African rhythm is emblematic of the otherness of Africans” (ibid:389). Agawu claims that this is a neo-colonial idea that other-fies Africans and justifies unbalanced power relationships rooted in centuries of colonialism (ibid).   Although there are multiple examples of writers and activists using the theme of African rhythmicity to reinforce black empowerment, this does not necessarily imply that certain primitivist views are neutralized. The already mentioned quote by Covin is instructive: “African culture takes the view that an Afrocentric modernization process would be based upon three traditional values: harmony with nature, humaneness, and rhythm” (1990:127). Although Afrocentricity is inherently linked to black empowerment, here rhythm and harmony with nature are seen as positive values of African culture, endorsing the primitivist view that a life closer to a natural environment is best.      66  Music can be rhythmically complex in many ways. It can be extremely dense, have very long periods, lack a sense of pulse, or be metrically unstable. However, the so-called complexity of African musics, as constructed by scholars, refers particularly to the multilayered textural processes inherent to grooves. This is a consequence of the assumption that African music is groove-based. In his article “Black Atlantic Rhythm...” (2002), Jeff Pressing borrowed the concepts perceptual rivalry and multiplicity from the field of optics to explain how an aural experience may unleash a process of cognitive dissonance where various interpretations of the same phenomenon (such as groove) seem to compete or even contradict each other, generating tension (298-99). A classic example is the perception of contrasting streams of pulse in a given groove. While a competent listener may enjoy moving between different foci,52 an inexperienced one may lose a sense of pulse based in the composite texture when focusing on a salient layer. Innumerable Africanists have reported these types of experience while studying African music, contributing to the notion of rhythmic complexity (Hornbostel 1928, Jones 1959, Koetting 1970, Pantaleoni 1972, Chernoff 1979, Merriam 1982, Locke 1982, Kauffman 1980, Stone 1985, Arom 1991, Berliner 1978). African diasporic musics have received similar assesments (Ortiz 1940, Herskovits 1941 and 1943, Carpentier 1972, Evora 1997, Seeger 2008, Béhague 2008).  Without subscribing to discourses of primitivism or empowerment, Pressing emphasized the theme of “African” rhythmic complexity. For him “perceptual rivalry and multiplicity are established foundations of African rhythmic design”; among the devices he mentions are asymmetric timelines, syncopation, overlay, displacement, off-beat phrasing, polyrhythm, hocketing, heterophony, swing, speech-based rhythms, and call-and response (2000:300-301). These are precisely the attributes that served scholars, Western and otherwise, to construct the complexity and centrality of African rhythm. French ethnomusicologist Simha Arom (1991) claims that the complexity of polyphony and polyrhythm in the Central African Republic comes from the way superimposed parts are interlocked in the structure of ostinato with variations. For him African and Western polyphony are opposed: the first is based on rhythm and the second on melody (ibid). Ghanaian Nketia seconds Arom by claiming that in African music rhythmic interest compensates for the absence of melody and that such rhythmic interest is manifested in timelines, hemiolas, cross-rhythms, overlapping, interlocking, and offbeat phrasing (1974).                                                  52 Ghanian musician and scholar Kofi Gbolonyo demonstrated that an educated Ewe listener may comfortably subdivide the so-called standard pattern (x.x.xx.x.x.x) in 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, or 12 pulsations, switch from one to other, and listen to variations without experiencing any cognitive dissonance (p.c. UBC African ensemble, Vancouver, BC, Nov. 2010).   67   Toque Barravento, used in candomblé de Angola ceremonies in Salvador, fits quite literally the type of rhythmic complexities attributed by Pressing to Black Atlantic music. In Figure 3.1, the patterns of lê, rumpi, and rum53 suggest three different pulse streams dividing the bell cycle in four, six, and three pulses respectively. As I was learning these patterns with Gabi Guedes, my candomblé drumming teacher in Salvador, I felt those pulse streams competing and often became disoriented. Gabi was amused to see me struggle to maintain my part because the coexistence of various beats does not pose any challenge for him. A more emic argument for the centrality of rhythm is that dancers, before and after possession, respond more to codified drummed rhythmic patterns and their variations than to songs, the other relevant musical element in ceremonies.54 Dancing and possession are crucial in candomblé as they are the main ways devotees experience and relate to their gods (the orixás) and thus the treatment of drumming patterns is of paramount importance. In Gabi's words, “in candomblé music is primarily meant for orixá dancing” (p.c. May 1, 2012).    The fact that the repertoire of candomblé drumming patterns has a variety of complex rhythms is, in fact, a source of pride and empowerment for Gabi:    In candomblé you have a variety of rhythms, songs and melodies. Even, odd, broken  rhythms. Everything. Therefore, when you play a piece of music outside [of the terreiro]  after having such encyclopedia of rhythms in your head... academic music becomes very  easy. Also music played around the world [popular music or world music]. You can play  now any piece of music you want and I will follow you. It is just a matter of listening  and playing. It is very easy. Really. (ibid, translated from Portuguese by the author)55  In addition to being a candomblé master drummer and teaching private percussion lessons, Gabi is a professional percussionist in the local circle of popular music. He is aware that his knowledge of “complex” black grooves from candomblé increases his prestige, value, and employability in the music market. Independently of (or in addition to) the symbolic and social importance of candomblé for Afro-Brazilian identity, rhythmic complexity is a source of empowerment for Gabi as professional percussionist.                                                    53 Rum, rumpi, and lê are the names of the three sacred atabaques in candomblé Ketu. The former is the largest, lowest-sounding, and leading drum, and the other two are smaller and have accompanying roles.   54 Although songs strongly evoke orixás in dancer's minds and thus contribute to emotional responses, it is drum patterns that are believed to induce possession (Cardoso 2006).  55   All quotations of Gabi Guedes are the author’s translations from Portuguese.   68  At a broader level, the theme of rhythmic centrality and complexity as expressed in polyrhythmic candomblé grooves was also strategically used by black musicians to support black empowerment discourses during the so-called process of re-Africanization of Bahian carnival of the 1970s and 1980s. Afoxé carnival ensembles absorbed much of the aesthetics and symbols of candomblé by adopting toque ijexá (a sacred groove associated to orixá Oxum) as a signature rhythm, bringing atabaques56 and agogôs57 to the streets and combining them as in terreiros (i.e. following the same normative roles). Blocos afro, the other major Bahian carnival ensemble, also brought rhythmic elements from candomblé to the streets but less literally than afoxés. For instance, rum variations inspired rhythmic lines for repiques and surdos. By introducing these changes bloco afro and afoxé grooves not only evoke a local expression of Africanness based in candomblé and “sound” like it, but also accompany black activism. That is, they support black empowerment by being rhythmically “complex” as per Pressing.   This re-Africanization of carnival rhythms in Bahia can also be interpreted as way of producing locality. Samba duro, the signature groove of nationally dominant escolas de samba, is perceived as a style representing the tri-ethnic heritage of Brazil but with stronger emphasis on its African than on its Amerindian or European components. This style, from which afoxés and blocos Afro departed in the 1970s, is structured as an ostinato with variations and features aspects of the so-called African rhythmic “complexity,” but its links with candomblé are weaker. Blocos afro and afoxés re-Africanized themselves by maintaining this structure and by strengthening its rhythmic connections with candomblé, the main symbol of black tradition in the country.  Sigilião points out that blocos afro and afoxés consciously chose grooves over other forms of social discourse to advance their political agendas, as they understood that black Bahians were more interested in rhythms than in protest songs (2009:15). Choosing the theme of African rhythmicity was thus instrumental for those committed to black empowerment.  Theme 2: African Music is Dominated by Percussion   Drums made vibrate the most secret fibers of his [the black’s] sympathy.   (Carpentier 1972:150).                                                 56 Atabaque is a generic term for the sacred drums in Ketu candomblé ensembles. 57 Agogô is a single or double-mouthed bell used in various Afro-Brazilian ensembles, including candomblé, afoxés and capoeira.   69    African drums have entirely disappeared in the United States, yet one who is familiar  with African music in its original forms cannot hear “boogie-woogie” piano rhythms  without realizing that there is little difference between the two except in the medium of  expression.   (Herskovits 1941:143)   Most of what has been said about “African” rhythmicity applies to percussiveness for these twin notions almost always reinforce each other. However, assigning a particular set of instruments, or ways of playing them, to a cultural area has certain implications. The most obvious one, is that with the exception of santería bata drums, West African talking drums, xylophones, and other pitched-percussion instruments, percussion is more limited than other types of instruments in the production of a range of distinct pitches and thus of melodies and harmony.   Herskovits' quote suggests that percussiveness does not always  imply the presence of drums but also ways of playing non-percussive instruments. With regards to the use of piano in “African” music, Nigerian composer Akin Euba stated that “the piano, being partially a percussive instrument, possesses latent African characteristics” (Omojola 2001:157). In talking about other “Western” instruments he claims that:    A number of Western instruments have been adopted by Africans and may be on the way  to assuming new identities as 'African' instruments. The behaviors of the lead guitar,  rhythm guitar and bass guitar in neo-African types of pop music in Western, central and  southern Africa are examples of the successful Africanization of Western-originated  musical instruments. The Western piano is to my mind, another instrument that may well  assume African characteristics. (ibid)    For Euba these “African characteristics” are the stylistic ingredients of African pianism, a style of playing the piano ostensibly reflecting an “African” sensibility. According to him these ingredients are:   Thematic repetition, direct borrowings of thematic material (rhythmic and/or tonal) from  African traditional sources, the use of rhythmic and/or tonal motifs which, although not  borrowed from specific traditional sources, are based on traditional idioms and  percussive treatment of the piano (ibid).    Euba's African pianism represents an indigenization of Western art music where the themes of   70  rhythmicity and percussiveness are strategically emphasized.  The notion of African percussiveness is intimately linked to that of rhythmicity and dates back to the first centuries of European colonization in Africa when colonial functionaries and missionaries began to report the large percussion ensembles they saw in parts of West Africa (Agawu 1995:394). Since the 1950s some anglophone scholars like Jones (1959), Koetting (1970), Pantaleoni (1972), Chernoff (1979), and Locke (1982) deliberately focused their studies on Ghana, particularly on the Ewe tradition, as it was the area where they found what was reported by earlier writers, what sounded more rhythmically complex in an “African way” (e.g. as per Pressing's perceptual rivalries), reinforcing the view that percussive instruments dominate African music. According to Kofi Gbolonyo, Ghana has been a common destination for anglophone ethnomusicologists, not only because of the existence of large polyrhythmic drumming ensembles, but also because of the language (Ghana was a former British colony) and its relatively stable socio-political situation (p.c. Vancouver, B.C., Nov. 2009). Despite other anglophone scholars who have focused on other parts of the continent where percussion is less prevalent (e.g. Tracey 1969 and Berliner 1978 studied mbira in Zimbabwe, Blacking 1967 on singing in South Africa, and Knight 1971 on kora in Gambia), the notion of African percussiveness put forward by Jones and company prevailed in the Americas and the Africanness of diasporic music forms started to be assessed using that yardstick.58 Percussion ensembles from the Americas' portion of the black Atlantic (Cuba, Haiti, Brazil, and the Caribbean coast of Central and South America) which featured aspects of that “African rhythmic complexity” were deemed “authentic” survivals.    The notion of percussiveness is also prevalent in Bahia. In a conversation with Bahian dancer Sandra Lima she asserted that rum, rumpi, and lê––the three sacred drums of Ketu candomblé––are the instruments that best represent Bahian music (p.c. Salvador, Bahia, May 14, 2012).59 This is, of course, consistent with the centrality of percussion in this Afro-religious tradition where the instrumental ensemble is exclusively composed by drums and bells, and with the generalized perception of candomblé as a genuine representative of black tradition. The important point is that these instruments and the rhythms they produce are a source of black pride for her (ibid).                                                  58 Ethnomusicologists writing in other languages constructed their discourse of rhythmic centrality and complexity mostly based on the study of non-drumming African music traditions. French scholars, for instance, focused on horns and singing (Arom 1991 and Rouget 1956). 59 All personal communications by Sandra Lima took place in Salvador, Bahia, unless indicated otherwise.   71   During the 1970s and '80s Bahian blocos afro appropriated quite literally the theme of African percussiveness, to distance themselves from escolas de samba. The new black styles of carnival music in Bahia had to be played mostly by drums if they wanted to vindicate an African identity linked to the candomblé model of tradition. Blocos afro maintained the drums (surdos, fundos, caixas, and repiques)60 and ruled out guitar-like cavaquinho, popularly associated with the Portuguese heritage (Crook 2009:30), as well as other Brazilian emblematic idiophones such as cuicas, reco-recos, ganzas, chocalhos, cabaças, pandeiros, and pratos, many of them of demonstrated African origin (Kubik 1979, Mukuna 1979). The agogô, a candomblé instrument, appeared only sporadically in the street performances I attended in Salvador in 2006, 2009, and 2012. This emphasis on drumming was furthered with the inclusion of the timbau, a conical hand drum.   Although blocos afro parade most of the year with this purely drumming format, many famous blocos like Olodum began in the late 1980s to include a typical pop music rhythm section (keyboards, electric guitar, bass guitar, and trap set) and a set of horns (typically tenor sax, trumpet, and trombone). These sections of non-percussive instruments play riffs and vamps much like North American funk bands of the 1960s and '70s did in the U.S., a style that Danielsen (2006) characterized as  “highly percussive.” With this mixed formation they perform carnival songs on street stages with themes referring to Africa (“Madagascar Olodum,” 1987), to Afro-Brazilian history (“Samba do Recôncavo” [Samba from the Bahian Recôncavo], 1997), or to the diaspora (“O Reggae não Pode Morrer” [Reggae Cannot Die], 2000), all explicitly referring to black empowerment. Though the emphasis in this context shifts to a lead singer, percussion predominates as drummers are placed in the center of the stage executing flashy choreographies and often outnumbering musicians playing melodic/harmonic instruments.   Blocos afro's establishment as “politically minded” and “authentic” black Bahian (as opposed to national) drumming ensembles has two phases with two distinct interpretations of the theme of percussiveness. Initially they purged their ensembles of everything but drums to distance themselves from escolas de samba and to resemble candomblé baterias. Once established, blocos afro became more flexible and opted to include non-percussive instruments that were played in                                                 60 Fundos and surdos are large drums providing low notes in blocos afro; repiques are smaller drums playing high-pitched timelines; and caixas are snare drums.   72  “percussive” manners.    The example of Olodum, which is representative of other blocos afro such as Ilê Aiyê, Araketu, Muzenza, and Malê Debalê, shows that various interpretations of the theme of percussiveness allowed musicians to challenge nationalistic ideals of tri-ethnic origin and to connect with ideals, symbols, and aesthetics of an international black community. They reinforce discourses of blackness.  Theme 3: Groove as a Metaphor of Participatory Communalism  In characterizing the Afrocentric perspective as articulated by its main proponents (Assante, Nascimento, Ujamaa), David Covin listed five points, the last of which was “some form of communalism or socialism is an important component of the way wealth is produced, owned, and distributed (1990:127-28). Although communalism here does not refer specifically to musical activity, it clearly emerges as one of the sides of the binary individualism/communalism.   The idea that African music is highly participatory in its production, performance, and reception and that this produces a strong sense of community and reflects egalitarian societies is very popular in scholarship (e.g. Chernoff 1979, Keil 1995). Based in his study of Ewe and Dagomba Ghanaian drumming, John Miller Chernoff wrote “music is essential to life in Africa because Africans use music to mediate their involvement within a community” (1979:154). He proposed analogies between the structure of Dagomba polyrhythmic drumming pieces (he thought of them as polymetric) and the structure of their society. For him music and community are formed by diverse rhythms and personalities that must remain distinct and in ritualized opposition, because “African sensibility” tends to situate conflicting and opposite forces in mediated communication (ibid).   Chernoff's model of music and community reinforces the themes of African percussiveness and rhythmic complexity as expressed in the structure of ostinato with variations. If the layers of a polyrhythmic texture are conceived as conflicting forces in permanent tension, one is safe to assume that the listener experienced the perceptual rivalries that Pressing attributes to Black Atlantic rhythm. Chernoff argues that African music is characterized by a sensibility that mediates social conflict through rhythmic tension. In the words of Alan Merriam, Chernoff boiled   73  down African music to rhythm and thence to drumming (1980:560). He reduced it to communalism, too.  Charles Keil's theory of participatory discrepancies (PDs) offers a rather different explanation of the way African grooves relate to communalism. For him musical grooves are places of democratic participation because they are flexible structures that, escaping from Western standardization, allow musicians to play slightly out of tune or out of time and still be in the groove (1995:4). According to Keil, the key element that makes African grooves communal and participatory is precisely these subtle variations (PDs), and the more they appear the “groovier,” more danceable, more communal, and thus more enjoyable, the music would be. But he also claims that this is antithetical to Western music standardization (e.g. metronomicity or perfect pitch) suggesting that the grooviest grooves (i.e. African grooves) are removed from “Western” aesthetics (ibid). Said differently, African grooves are highly participatory because they oppose “Western” music standards.   One of the problems of Keil’s formulation is that it requires the existence a “non-groovy” Western music, which does not exist. Problematicaly, his argument implies that the participatory nature of (African) grooves opposes “Western” individualism. Individualism is a fundamental feature of Western modernity and has been defended by cultural theorists such as Theodor Adorno (1941) as a “Western” ideal to inspire music creation and appreciation. Coming from a historical context where immersion in a collectivity meant fascism, Adorno found the participatory qualities of repetition in a groove to be problematic because “continuing and continuing to join in are given as justification for the blind persistence of the system, and the net result is the abolition of the individual” (Adorno in Monson 1999:51). However, the “excessively repetitive” popular music to which Adorno reacted has come to represent Western music as much as European classical music does. Besides, one does not have to dig deep to find aspects of communalism in “Western” art music ensembles. Adorno's position on repetition and individuality in Western music is the opposite of Keil's and Chernoff's on African grooves. However, once again, a notion attributed to African music––in this case African grooves––stands in opposition to Western music ideals. Adorno, Keil, and Chernoff used the theme of communalism to reinforce negative and positive aspects of the primitivist discourse of African music.   74   Let's see how Keil and Chernoff's ideas about groove (specifically grooves structured as ostinato with variations) and participatory communalism apply (or not) to Bahian capoeira, candomblé and samba-reggae grooves. Keil suggests that the simplicity, brevity, and literal repetition of each of the layers of the composite ostinato plus a degree of flexibility in the performance coming from a preference for subtle deviations facilitates participation. Consider an ensemble of capoeira angola in Salvador composed of eight instruments (three berimbaus or musical bows, one atabaque or low hand drum, two pandeiros or tambourines, one agogô or bell, and one reco-reco or scrapper), a vocal leader, and a choir. While berimbaus, pandeiros, atabaque, and lead singing are reserved for seasoned practitioners, playing the agogô, the reco-reco, or singing in the choir are not only allowed for newcomers but strongly encouraged. Patterns played by agogô and reco-reco are short, and aligned in obvious ways with the composite texture of the groove (i.e. “on the beat”), as if designed for any outsider to pick them up on the spot. In addition, there is great flexibility of pronunciation, pitch, and rhythm of the choir response, thus enhancing beginners’ participation even at their first roda.    This capoeira groove, which Keil would probably label as democratic, nonetheless is not free of differences in power and prestige within the capoeira community. Ingrid Monson critiqued the idea of egalitarian grooves, arguing that while an African groove may create a strong sense of community, the social organization of its production and circulation is not necessarily immune to differences in power, money, and prestige (Monson 1999:52). Berimbaus are reserved for capoeira masters and advanced students as from these positions they can control the flow of the performance. Beginners or visitors would only rarely be allowed to play this instrument, unless they demonstrate proficiency on the spot. Improvising and introducing subjectivity are symbolic ways to experience and express freedom in the capoeira groove (Lewis 1991), and are also reserved for a select group: mestres (Larrain 2005). In addition, PDs may add flexibility to the capoeira groove but they are not arbitrary. While playing the atabaque at a roda de capoeira angola in Salvador, I was repeatedly frowned upon by a berimbau player who finally approached me to demonstrate my part. He played with a type of swing that I could not match, even when I consciously moved away from metronomicity, and explained that my playing was simply fora do ritmo: “off rhythm” or “out of the groove.”     75  Capoeira grooves reflect only partially Chernoff's and Keil's hypothesis of music and communalism. The most popular groove in capoeira angola––toque de Angola––, for instance, composed by eight different instruments plus call-and-respond singing, does not place all layers in opposition as in Chernoff's model of African communal grooves. Five instruments (atabaque, agogô, reco-reco, and two pandeiros) play basically the same rhythmic pattern in unison, and the basic patterns of berimbaus do not contrast sharply either among themselves or with the rest of the ensemble. It is only during berimbau variations or singing when rhythmic tension emerges as a possible enactment of social conflict. The idea of communalism in capoeira thus does not imply egalitarianism but acceptance of hierarchy and authority as it allows every member to know their place and interact harmoniously with the rest.   As in capoeira, in candomblé instruments may change hands, but in this case among a selected group of men who usually stand around the atabaques ready to take over when a drummer voluntarily, or sometimes forcibly, gives his instrument away. The repertoire of drum rhythms is larger and more elaborate than in capoeira as drummers are expected to memorize long sequences of toques (sometimes up to sixteen); to maintain their parts against a dense, and sometimes quite fast, polyrhythmic background; to play with specific swing feels; to start and stop playing several times on subtle cues; and to adjust to the flow imposed by the master drummer, dancers, lead singers, or the mãe de santo (spiritual leader). The rum (lead drum) is reserved only for initiated male master drummers or alabês, who conduct the music in close interaction with dancers and eventually with the orixás manifested in their bodies. There is also some degree of flexibility, but much smaller than in capoeira. Although some agogô players get away with shifting the orientation of timelines during ceremonies, most of the time a player who makes an obvious mistake is immediately replaced.  Candomblé is widely perceived as a space where everyone has a place and a function (Faria 2005) and where distinctions based on color, social class, and nationality are irrelevant, provided that “he or she shows to be linguistically, ritually, melodically, rhythmically and choreographically competent” (Carvalho 1993:4). Arguing for the universality of candomblé, Carvalho stated:    From the point of view of ethnic identity, therefore, candomblé and shango cults do not  establish social, racial or color distinctions: everyone is a potential member, since all  human beings have orishás. So, blacks or non-blacks, Brazilian or non-Brazilian, are   76   oppositions that do not make sense in the world of the orishás; they are just African, on  the mythological level; and on the level of individual identification, they are simply  universal. (1993:4)   In contrast to candomblé's supposedly color-free inclusiveness, Ilê Aiyê interpreted the theme of communalism rather differently. Since its foundation, Ilê Aiyê has maintained an only-black membership policy reflecting a desire to identify their music and activism with the Black Aesthetic Movement ideal of opposing the white mainstream (Danielsen 2006:29). Carvalho claims that the use of the word negro (black) by Ilê Aiyê and other racially minded groups in Salvador refers to a liberated African in Brazil and contrasts with preto, a term associated in other Afro-Brazilian contexts such as umbanda with “the oppressed and unliberated Afro-Brazilian who still calls a white man his Master” (1993:14).    Keil and Chernoff provide models to frame candomblé, capoeira, and bloco afro grooves as highly participatory. The theme of musical communalism is reassessed––rather paradoxically––by some blocos Afro to symbolize black liberation and to support black empowerment. By restricting participation to blacks, Ilê Aiyê embraced Africa and the diaspora and challenged the Brazilian tri-ethnic discourse.   At a more literal level, capoeira groups, candomblé houses, and carnival associations perform communalism by running social projects in impoverished areas of Salvador. These projects range from professional educational initiatives fully funded by transnational corporations to grassroots projects where capoeira mestres teach freely to black and mestiço street kids. Throughout my visits to Brazil I witnessed increasing interest of these artistic groups in engaging with this social work. This instrumentalized use of culture is clearly strategic to reinforce the discourse of black empowerment and is, at least partly, influenced by Afrocentric ideals of communalism.  Theme 4: African Music and Culture is (Very) Embodied   Nor is it possible here to do more than make mention of the dance, also a fundamental  element in aesthetic expression everywhere in Africa. Dancing takes multitudinous  forms, and all who have had firsthand contact with the area of our special interest speak  of the many varieties of dances found there. These may be ritual or recreational, religious  or secular, fixed or improvised, and the dance itself has in characteristic form carried  over into the New World to a greater degree than almost any other trait of African  culture... since analysis must also await the utilization of motion pictures as an aid to the   77   study of these special aspects of motor behavior, we can here but record the fact of its  prominence in the culture, and its pervasiveness in the life of the people.  (Herskovits 1941:76)  According to Patricia de Santana Pinho, “The body has occupied a central place in black cultures of the diaspora. Because it was one of the main resources of the enslaved and to a certain extent their descendants, strategic use of the body has been of great importance in the Afro-diasporic production of culture” (Pinho 2010:101). However, the black body has been constructed in particular ways. She explains that historic dominance of Eurocentric aesthetics in Salvador has stigmatized the black body by assigning the worst side of the binaries such as beauty/ugliness and cleanliness/dirtyness (ibid:102, 107). Since the 1970s and 80s blocos afro in Salvador have contributed to challenge negative perceptions of the black body by “inventing” an aesthetic where elements perceived as “African” such as dark skin and curly hair, are considered beautiful (Pinho 2010:102). Pinho also points out that such aesthetic does not imply that former racist ideas of “whitening” or “taming the black body” have completely disappeared, even among blacks (ibid:111). For good or for bad, the black body is thus a quintessential “locus of affirmation and inscription of blackness” (ibid:102).   But it is the relationship of the black body with music what interests me most. In discussing the embodiment of African grooves, Simon Frith adds another binary to the stigma mentioned by Pinho: the idea that the black body is less controlled or mediated in its response to black grooves music that its “Western” counterpart (1983:19). This unmediated response (linked to hypersexualized dance), which he contrasts with controlled “Western” dance, arises due to the fact that “the sound and beat are felt rather than interpreted via a set of conventions” (ibid).   Many times, I have heard that African musics are to be felt and enjoyed with the body, not just heard quietly. Most formal and informal depictions of African based musics like the one cited above indicate that their most important function is to facilitate dance. Authors (such as Frith and Keil), musicians, and audiences attribute to African grooves an irresistible force that provokes spontaneous bodily response. However, modern cognitive theories applied to music show that embodiment is inherent to the perception of any type of music, be it African, Western, or Chinese (Iyer 2002, Becker 2004). Emphasizing music embodiment––a universal––in one culture while downplaying it in another thus highlights cultural difference and reinforces dichotomizing views.   78  Furthermore this emphasis on black embodiment is linked to the theme of closeness to nature and the discourse of primitivism as the black body response to music is seen as free of cultural or “civilized” mediation.    Using theories of embodiment and situatedness, Vijay Iyer demonstrated that music cognition is structured not only by the mind and the sociocultural aspects that contribute to its development, but also by the body, its sensorimotor systems, and its physical environment (2002:391). For him musical cognition is both a social and a biological phenomenon that enforces interaction between the agent's body and its environment (ibid).  However, Iyer, as well as Downey (2002), argue that there are certain aspects of musical embodiment that are not universal, but culturally specific because “every culture 'constructs' the human body differently thereby tempering any claims to universality” (2002:388). Here it is pertinent to ask: what is specific or characteristic about the embodiment of African or Afro-diasporic musics? Iyer argues for the groove with its minuscle time deviations from metronomicity as the answer. The groove is a structure where aspects of musical time (rhythm, microtiming) override other elements (melody, timbre, harmony, tone, form). These temporal aspects are paramount to musical embodiment as the act of listening to rhythmic music involves the same mental processes that generate bodily motion (ibid:392). For Iyer, “groove gives rise to the perception of a steady pulse in a musical performance... (and is what) engages the 'walk' (locomotor) channel of the listener's sensorimotor system” (ibid:398). Microtiming deviations, on the other hand, reflect specific temporal constraints imposed by physical embodiment in the performer and constitute powerful communicative devices that musicians and listeners pick up and react to more physically than intellectually. In Iyer's words: “Short-time rhythm cognition might include physical sensation, visual entrainment, and sonic reinforcement, unmediated by a symbolic representation” (ibid:396).  Iyer's work on embodiment was centered on West African and Afro-diasporic musics because they “have a cultural aesthetic that foregrounds the body,” are based on grooves that feature microrhythmic expression in isolation from the possible interference of tempo variation, and tend to involve percussive timbres that facilitate precise microrhythmic analysis (2002:411). In other words, Iyer demonstrated what he assumed: that African music is groove-based (thus centered in   79  rhythm), percussive, and more embodied than others, particularly than Western art music. In fact, he suggests that these traits are found to varying degrees in all world music except in European classical music, where microtiming implies tempo variation and where embodiment is not necessarily seen as integral to music perception (ibid:388, 411).   But placing African music as more embodied than European art music reminds us of old prejudices around the body and the mind. Aware of this, Iyer wrote:     It is worth reminding ourselves that the study of African-American culture has been  plagued by racist mythologies surrounding the idea of the body. Historically, African- American cultural practice has been seen by mainstream Western culture as the realm of  the physical, the sensual, and the intuitive, in diametric opposition to the intellectual, the  formal, and the logical. As outlined in McClary and Walser (1994, p. 80), I must stress  that “to discuss the bodily aspects of cultural texts or performances is not to reduce  them,” but rather to elevate the crucial role of embodiment in all aspects of cultural and  perceptual activity. An enlightened treatment of black music that draws from theories of embodiment can get beyond the old mind-body binary, particularly in its racialist  manifestations. Such an approach affirms the African diasporic aesthetics that  engendered this powerful body of music, while illuminating aspects of all world music.  (2002:397)   I am not in a position to say if elevating the role of embodiment in African music “can get beyond the old mind-body binary in its racist and other ideologically harmful manifestations.” What it does is to turn the tables on the binary. While Iyer's analysis provides tools to understand the role of the body in playing and listening to African grooves, it makes me suspicious that the glorification of African derived music still comes at the cost of disparaging the “West.” With this in mind, let us turn to Afro-Bahian music where embodiment is also assumed to be integral.   Many authors and musicians have pointed out that the most emblematic black musics from Bahia follow an aesthetic centered in the body that manifests itself in particular forms of dance, emotional responses and even altered states of consciousness. Angelo Cardoso (2006), Nicolau Parés (1997) and Gabi Guedes (p.c. May 1, 2012), for instance, point out that the ultimate goal of candomblé music is summoning African deities who come through the body of initiated dancers.   With the help of drumming patterns and other ritual elements, dancers go through various physical, mental, and emotional stages until full possession takes place (Parés 1997). In the same   80  spirit, Decanio (2002) and Diniz (2011) claim that the acute state of alert that capoeira dancers experience during the roda is akin to a ritual trance. Downey (2002) demonstrates that apprenticeship of dance moves, berimbau playing techniques, and images of bodily interactions with another dancer condition the way capoeira adepts listen to music while performing. For these authors capoeira grooves only make sense when embodied. As Pinho and Sansone explain, Bahian carnival music, one of the main expressions of the “new black Bahian culture,” is centered in the exhibition of the “black body” which manifests itself in forms of sexualized dance, ways of dressing, hairdos, and so on (Pinho 2010, Sansone 2004a). Both authors link this process to the re-Africanization of carnival in Bahia in the 1970s and––at least partially––inspired in the African American slogan of black is beautiful (ibid).  For Sansone the embodiment of Bahian carnival music adheres to a locally developed, but internationally-minded black aesthetic that stands in opposition (at least symbolically) to national or “white” aesthetics. Samba afro, the dancing style associated with samba-reggae, the signature groove of blocos Afro, resulted from a combination of orixá dances, reggae, funk, and contemporary dance moves. Here we see references to what Sansone calls the main sources of inspiration for the new black Bahian culture: the local traditional black culture represented by candomblé and globalized symbols of blackness represented by diasporic styles like reggae and funk. Interestingly enough, samba afro is also influenced by contemporary dance, a more “Westernized” dancing idiom (at least not typically associated to blackness) but not by samba itself, the style perceived as “embodying the nation” (Vianna 1999).  Musical embodiment is universal, particularly in the case of groove-based music’s, because the very concept of groove is characterized by the production of a sense of pulse to which physical entrainment happens. At a universal level candomblé, capoeira, and bloco afro grooves are powerful examples of this type of pre-cultural embodiment but at another level, the experience of these grooves is conditioned by the sociocultural situatedness of the body (per Iyer). Musical embodiment is thematized by musicians in Salvador to support discourses of empowerment but without challenging primitivist views. They comply to a generalized vision of blackness aligned to a “bodily-centered Africa” and opposed to the “intellectually-centered West,” while also reflecting a desire to affirm a sense of black identity that transcends national boundaries.  This emphasis on black embodiment is linked to the theme of closeness to nature and the   81  discourse of primitivism as the black body response to music is seen as free of cultural or “civilized” mediation.    Theme 5: Emphasis on Spirituality   For underlying the life of the American Negro is a deep religious bent that is but the  manifestation  here of the similar drive that, everywhere in Negro societies, makes the  supernatural a major focus of interest. It is because of this, indeed, that everywhere  compensation in terms of the supernatural is so immediately acceptable to this  underprivileged folk and causes them, in contrast to other underprivileged groups  elsewhere in the world, to turn to religion rather than to political action or other outlets  for their frustration. (Herskovits 1941:207)   What continues to link Brazil with West Africa and other African diasporic areas is a  sacred/secular connection and widespread belief in a power/creative energy source that  many Brazilians refer to as axé. (Henry 2008:3)   Black cultural activity is almost always imagined and portrayed as connected with the metaphysical, the supernatural, or some type of spirituality. In Chapter 2 we saw that the world of African spirituality as experienced and portrayed in Afro-diasporic religious circles functions as an aesthetic and symbolic model of black tradition. All the idealized notions of musical Africanness discussed in this work are featured very literally in diasporic religions such as candomblé and santeria because they were taken as models in the first place. The fact that the ideology of blackness as difference relies on notions linked to a supposed African mode of spirituality suggests that spirituality is seen as a strong and effective marker of cultural difference.  But what is African spirituality? Dutch philosopher Wim Van Binsbergen wrote that African spirituality has become a “globally recognized social fact” that “features prominently in the increasingly vocal expressions by intellectuals, political and ethnic leaders, and opinion-makers who identify as African or who can claim recent African descent” (1994). For him “African spirituality consists in a political scenario, and in that context the minutiae of contents of a specific cultural repertoire, and a specific biologically or socially underpinned birth-right, are largely or even totally irrelevant” (ibid). Leaving aside the discussion of authenticity, Binsbergen's views on African spirituality match what I observed in Bahia: a strong connection between candomblé and the politics of black identity. This view is more nuanced than that of   82  Herskovits, who claimed that blacks choose religion over politics. Religion is political.  An important dimension of this theme of spirituality is the assumption that in African cultures the sacred and the secular are not as “neatly separated” as in Western culture. Clarence Henry (2008) argues that the sacred and secular Afro-Brazilian musical landscapes in Salvador are unified by the Yoruba religious concept of axé. For him Brazilian axé is a reaproppriation of Nigerian asè, a concept from the heritage of African religiosity linking West Africa and the diaspora. It refers to a powerful and creative energy emanating holistically from all things, influencing all aspects of social life and allowing musicians to connect with the spiritual world (ibid). He contends that religiosity, via axé, always influences black music production creating a connective flow of the sacred and secular in the black experience (ibid). Many other authors have also proposed the existence of sacredness in secular black music activity––Jackson (2000) did it with jazz and Obi (2008) with capoeira.  The discursive power of these characterizations of African or Afro-diasporic musics comes from its contrast with the idea that in Western modernity there is a clear separation of the sacred and the secular in socio-political activity. This idea of promoting a sharp separation between religion and the nation-state is rooted in the French Revolution and is one of the pillars of Western modernity. Arguing that musical, social, or political activity in African derived cultures is simultaneously influenced by both the sacred and the secular may be interpreted as denying Africans entrance to modernity, which amounts for denying black double consciousness––to be simultaneously inside and outside European modernity.   Clearly one could find many Western musicians who do not identify themselves as African descendants and yet who look for transcendence, or bring elements of their own religious practices into their musical experiences. There is a historically lengthy set of discourses in Western music about its inspiration in god, or the “spiritual” connection Western musicians feel when playing “great” works (Forman 1984). A prominent example is the link to transcendence that many musicians and composers claimed to experience during the romantic period. In other words, one could selectively invent Western music as spiritual, too. One need not deny the possibility that musicians who identify as African or black share a special connection with the supernatural when they play or listen, but claiming that this sets African musics apart from   83  Western music only reminds us of primitivist discourses and the ideology of difference denounced by Agawu.   The theme of African spirituality emphasizes qualities that ostensibly allow musicians, dancers, or listeners to experience heightened emotion, alterations of consciousness, or transcendence. Of course these are types of embodiment and as such may be partially explained in terms of the microrhythmic expressions of black grooves. That was covered above. Here I will focus on three new aspects. The literal and accelerated repetition of short rhythmic cells has been claimed to induce spatial and temporal disorientation in dancers and to prepare them for possession in Afro-religious ceremonies (Carneiro 1991). Specific buildups manipulating the dynamics, tempo, and layering of black grooves are also considered responsible for elevated emotional response (Attas 2011). Finally, in several traditions, people may link codified rhythms and songs to supernatural entities like African gods or spirits of ancestors (Cardoso 2006).   Repetition  Repetition is pervasive in music but holds a special place in groove-based musics, as it enables the creation of the layers that form composite ostinatos and support temporary departures for communicative and ornamental purposes. Repetition is featured in groove-based musics in very explicit ways.  For Monson the use of simultaneous but differing periodicities in the structure of ostinato with variations is not only a shared musical process among musics of the African diaspora, but also what facilitates music circulation within it (1999). Furthermore, she claims that it is possible to use aspects of repetition in black musics (e.g. particular ways to combine riffs) to understand some of the specific cultural complexities of the African diaspora including cultural hybridity, economic domination, and agency. In her work she criticizes negative views of repetition in Western modernist critical theory, where it has been associated with musical monotony, stasis, and lack of interest (Schuller 1989:253), or even with “industrial standardization, loss of individuality, military marching, and hence fascism” (Adorno 1990:61).   Most assessments––favorable or not––of African music, engage its repetitiveness. As a musical universal, repetition has been used as a parameter to analyze and classify music, sometimes for   84  the study of culturally informed expressions of that universality (Tenzer 2006 and Tenzer and Roeder 2011), other times adding value judgments like Kramer (1988) and Adorno (1941). Michael Tenzer proposed a model to classify musics of the world based on their periodicity with three categories including: 1) isoperiodicity, when strict repetition dominates; 2) sectional periodicity, when larger periodic structures appear; and 3) linear composition in periodic contexts, where repetition is harder to feel (2006). Tenzer classified two African derived cases as isoperiodic and sectionally periodic, and three pieces of art music from China, India, and Europe as linear (ibid). Jonathan Kramer characterized linear and circular musics as polar opposites using metaphors of movement and stasis (1988), and the much-criticized Adorno idealized a trend of Western 20th century art music––dodecaphony––as the freest, more sophisticated, and best suited for the expression of true individuality, mainly because of its avoidance of repetition (1941).   In recent studies grooves are no longer seen as merely repetitive, circular, static, or provoking mechanic and predictable responses. With the help of Christopher Hasty's processual approach to meter (1997), Robin Attas demonstrated that groove buildups, where periodic layers enter the groove consecutively, create a sense of intensification and forward motion towards a sectional boundary rendering “an intriguing combination... of linear and circular time” (2011:189). She also points out that although grooves may induce coordinated response, “individual expression is possible with additional responses such as specific and unique bodily motions and personal emotional responses tied to past experiences” (ibid:17).  Buildups  This connects with the second aspect of African grooves held responsible for enhancing emotional response. Buildups are common processes of musical intensification in grooves that generate sustained expectation and a sense of motion towards a goal. This is typically achieved by gradually adding periodic layers one by one to the groove, by breaking from a fixed pattern of the composite ostinato to phrases that augment the density, or by increasing tempo and dynamics.  Codified Rhythms  The third element associated with spirituality and particularly possession is the use of codified rhythms and songs. In Ketu candomblé ceremonies in Salvador drummers play specific toques and sing songs for each orixá that dancers recognize and respond to with energetic movements,   85  bodily gestures, and screams, eventually entering into trance (Cardoso 2006). Drawing on Rouget (1996), Cardoso argues that drummers can induce possession in dancers not because the rhythms or songs they play have any intrinsic musical element that unleashes the trance, but because they share with the dancers the codes of the message carried by drum rhythms and songs (ibid:238-239).   These musical qualities that ostensibly allow transcendence or other forms of embodied spiritual experience are present almost by definition in capoeira, candomblé and carnival music given their groove-based nature. Chapter six discusses the groove structure in the latter two including the techniques of layering repetitive and varying patterns, various forms of buildups, the symbology of codified rhythms, and the microtiming. In capoeira angola the case is not very different as the groove is formed by short repetitive cells called toques and berimbau players increase tension gradually towards a climax (e.g. when a dancer is hit) by augmenting the density of variations, by playing louder, and particularly by accelerating the tempo61 (p.c. Mestre Cobra Mansa, Salvador, Bahia, July 2009). Each toque is also associated with the spirit of the game. While toque de Angola is associated with slow, sad, introspective game, in toque jogo de dentro dancers are more playful, jumpy, and closer to each other (ibid). Ritual possession a la candomblé is not a feature of capoeira, but some dancers claim these toques can provoke a capoeira trance, an altered state of consciousness related to focused alert during the dance (Decanio 2002, Diniz 2011).   Candomblé spirituality is thematized by capoeira adepts in many other ways. Many mestres are candomblé devotees and perform many candomblé related rituals for protection including the use of amulets, making offerings to their orixás, making signals at the foot of the berimbau before a game starts, singing for the orixás, and invoking axé in prayers and songs. For Larrain (2005), this emphasis on candomblé spirituality stems from a belief that both practices share African ancestry.  For instance, the berimbau, like candomblé atabaques, is believed to carry the voice of African ancestors (ibid).   Other academic discourses connect capoeira to “African” spirituality, yet in a more abstract ways. Desch Obi (2008) claims that the use of physically inverted positions in capoeira (e.g.                                                 61 All these features are near universals in ritual performance, with or without possession.   86  hand stands) evidences the retention of a key West/Central African ancestral and spiritual concept called kalunga that links aspects of the natural and supernatural worlds. For Obi the perception of the Atlantic crossing by many African slaves was strongly influenced by the kalunga paradigm as they conceptualized the ocean as a bridge connecting the lands of the living and death. This bridge, which was believed to be crossed by ancestors walking with their feet up, gave hopes of return to slaves across the Americas. Obi argues that, through physical inversion, capoeiristas symbolically gain the ancestral and spiritual power required to return to Africa with honor (ibid). Although in a more abstract way, Obi uses the theme of spirituality to promote dignification and empowerment.  Carnival percussion ensembles strengthened their connection with candomblé for the same purpose as capoeiristas. Afoxés, for instance, appropriated toque ijexá, a groove linked to the orixá Oxum for street performances. Many of these groups are under the protection and spiritual guidance of specific candomblé houses. Such is the case of bloco Ilê Aiyê, which was founded by devotees of the terreiro Ilê Axé Jitolu and inaugurated its signature educational project inside this candomblé house in Salvador. Explicit references to candomblé in this group range from offerings to orixás (despacho para exú62) to song lyrics (“Que Bloco é Esse”) and public speeches (Canal Petrobras n.d.).   Although escolas de samba from Rio de Janeiro and their main groove, samba duro, emphasize racial and cultural mixture, their performances also reference African religiosity and Bahia. From the very beginnings of Rio's carnival (1930s) a section called ala das baianas was included. It concerns the tias Baianas, black Bahian ladies linked to candomblé who immigrated to Rio during the 19th century. Sambistas argue that samba was developed then, in an environment of official repression and in close proximity to Bahian candomblé (Vianna 1999). Here the theme of African religiosity is strategically performed by carioca sambistas in a Brazilian style representing nationhood, not to challenge the discourse of tri-ethnic heritage as blocos afro do, but to reassert the presence of one of the three components of the ethnic national mixture.   Capoeira groups and carnival associations assert their blackness and Africanness by emphasizing various types of African spirituality. This is why strengthening their connections with candomblé                                                 62 Despacho de Exu is a ritual performed before public candomblé ceremonies to ensure the favor of exu, the orixá that opens paths.   87  has been central to their empowerment agendas. Nonetheless, this “sacralization” or “candomblé-zation” of secular black music often relies on dichotomous views that support primitivism. It reflects a desire to distance Afro-Brazilian music from Western secular music, which is perceived as lacking emotion and spirit.   Theme 6: Emphasis on Tradition, Past, and Respect for the Ancestors  The idea of tradition has a strange, mesmeric power in black political discourse. (Gilroy 1993:187)  Traditionalism and eclecticism are contrasting positions in contemporary debates about identity, culture, and politics of the black Atlantic (Gilroy 1993:100). The former view sees black music as the primary means to reproduce politically an ethno-racial essence of blackness. Afrocentrists and ethnic absolutists typically use a relationship of black music to tradition, cultural continuity, and the memory of an African past as a central argument to support their totalizing views (ibid). From this Afrocentric perspective tradition is seen as an element of black resistance to the intrusion of Western values and a dignified base to model modern black culture. Eclecticism and hybridity, on the other hand, represent pollution and impurity. Eclecticism sees black music as a cultural manifestation that is emblematic of the “processes of cultural mutation and restless (dis)continuity that exceed racial discourse and avoid capture by its agents” (ibid:2). Under this view, music hybridity and mixture are inescapable as they are inherent to cultural dynamics and do not necessarily prevent a musical product from “being used as a potent sign and symbol of racial authenticity” (ibid:107). Traditionalism here is seen as reductionist, simplistic, and thus insufficient to explain the role of black music in larger contexts.  In Bahia, a place populated by millions of African descendants and perceived as a diasporic center of black tradition, these contrasting positions may operate separately or together. Traditionalists, on one hand, stress the importance of preserving practices locally perceived as traditional like candomblé, capoeira, and samba de roda and advocate for modeling contemporary black culture over them. Non-traditionalists, on the other, believe that the new black culture in Bahia must also embrace modern international black cultural products like reggae, funk, soul, and hip-hop. Local musicians like Macambira claim that Bahian musicians, particularly drummers, are best in appropriating rhythms from other parts of the world (p.c. Mar.   88  31, 2012). For him blocos afro and popular music like axé music are ideal contexts to demonstrate one's creativity by making these mixtures (ibid). On the other hand, there is a strong emphasis on preservation in candomblé (Carvalho 1993:3). This was separately confirmed by Gabi and Macambira himself who agree that in candomblé the alteration of old drumming traditions threatens the efficacy of music in the ceremonies (p.c. Salvador May 2012). Drummers may act in one of those contexts or in both, as Gabi, Macambira, and many others do. Musicians in Salvador have flexible interpretations of the theme of traditionalism to reassert black empowerment interpreting the theme of traditionalism.  Traditionalism is related to the maintenance of past repertoires, instruments, performance practices, and techniques ostensibly associated with the history and culture of African descendants (p.c. Gabi Guedes, May 1, 2012). Having the oldest documented histories tracing to colonial times, candomblé, capoeira, and samba de roda are considered Afro-Bahian musics par excellence. Therefore, most of what is considered musically traditional in Afro-Bahian culture is related to them, particularly candomblé, the most idealized of them all.   This model of black tradition, which has inspired projects of musical re-Africanization in Bahia and across the diaspora, has, nonetheless, a long history of changes and internal struggles for authenticity. As Pares and Crook illustrate, a perceived superiority of the Ketu candomblé nation in Bahia and the diaspora led to important changes in candomblé traditions during the beginning of the 20th century. Many adepts of Angola and Jejê nations incorporated Ketu elements, some time seeking them in West Africa itself (Parés 2004:193). This view of the Ketu nation as the purest representatives of black tradition in Brazil has gradually changed. The Angola nation is now seen by black activists, musicians, and scholars as an equally valuable source of black tradition. Capoeira angola, for instance, was putatively re-Africanized since the 1940s, inspired by candomblé Angola (Röhrig 2005).   Theme 7: Closeness to Nature In Latin America blackness is frequently associated with images of nature (Sansone 2004a). Danielsen (2006), Pinho (2010) and others have pointed out that nature usually opposes culture in Western discourse. The study of how this dichotomy is embodied, both externally (through physical appearance) and internally (through the “soul” or a supposed essence) by blacks in   89  Bahia has been sufficiently discussed (see Pinho 2010). Here I rather focus on the relationship of nature to spontaneity, minimal mediation or transformation, as opposed to organization, and planning. In a way, I thus focus on in what Frith sees as the “unmediated” black physical response to African grooves.  Within primitivism, nature refers to the intrinsic qualities that an object or process develops on its own with minimal intervention by civilization or artificiality––in other words, what is more spontaneous and less obviously mediated by human consciousness. Typical examples are the world of the living things and the outdoors (e.g. animals, plants, forests, mountains, oceans), and the human body, emotions, and temperament. This contrasts with the planned and artificial, that which has been deliberately brought into being by human consciousness. Even though the line between these is not clear even at the extremes, the dichotomy helps to understand the effects of assuming black music as removed from the intervention of human minds and technologies.   Closeness to nature in the sense being distanced from technology should not be seen as the opposite of modernism for modernism has an ambiguous relationship with technology. On one hand, modernism affirms the power of human beings to transform their environment using practical experimentation, knowledge, or technology (Berman 1988:16) but on the other, high modernists questioned the use of technology because of its devastating effects in World War I, and a perceived collision between aesthetic introspection and technology (Danius 2002). By the same token, in discourses of black empowerment sometimes stress the theme of closness to nature and sometimes challenge it.   But how do we interpret “nature” so that it can be used as a criterion of musical Africanness? Gabi Guedes and Macambira, two musicians from Salvador, provided a list of musical elements ostensibly related to nature: 1) an extensive use of the unamplified human voice and instruments hand-made out of “natural” materials like wood, leather, and vines; 2) flexible music structures and performance styles that allow the expression of spontaneous sentiment through improvisation; 3) reliance on human memory in learning, creating, performing, and storing musical repertoires; and 4) symbolism associating certain instruments with elements of nature (p.c. Gabi Guedes, April 2012 and Macambira, May 2012).     90  Not surprisingly, these ideas are neatly featured in the Bahian model black traditions: candomblé, capoeira, and samba de roda. capoeira angola performances follow protocols, but the structure is flexible and allows for improvisation and spontaneity. The ritual begins with a song-type called ladainha, but its specific content and duration is up to the lead singer. Once physical games start lead singers choose from a large repertoire of call-and-response songs and change them at will. The groove structure also allows rhythmic improvisation, especially for berimbau players. Capoeiristas learn songs orally and are supposed to memorize them and encouraged to improvise verses in performance. There are no scores or written aids. Singing is central and there is never electronic mediation during performances. Instruments are mainly made out of local wood, vines, leather, and seeds.   Berimbaus, the main instruments, are made out of an indigenous tree called beriba and are often referred to directly as beriba or madeira (wood). Capoeiristas assign many kinds of domestic uses to beriba, but the most noble is the construction of berimbaus, as capoeira songs attest. The relationship of berimbaus with a particular tree has special relevance for capoeiristas for three main reasons. First, berimbaus are the leaders of the bateria and are to be played by mestres most of whom are berimbau luthiers themselves and thus understand better the mechanics of the instrument. Second, in certain circles they are believed to channel the voice of capoeira ancestors for which an instrument as “natural” as possible is better. And third, berimbaus have come to symbolize the art and Afro-Bahian music as a whole, reinforcing a connection between African diasporic culture and nature.   Countless black grooves, however, elude and even seem to lean towards the inverse of my informant's characterizations. In Bob Marley's iconic reggae pieces electronic riffs and effects interact with amplified instruments built with synthetic materials. His songs were written beforehand and clearly structured in a typical song form that alternates verses with a refrain, sometimes with improvised electric guitar interludes played over fixed chord progressions. Although people recognize the indebtedness of Marley's grooves to American soul, funk, and R&B and the strong transformations he introduced to Afro-Jamaican music, few would challenge the Africanness of his music. But does it come from the fact that his music is perceived as “close to nature,” or from the appropriateness of its political message which elevated it to iconic status among black communities across the Atlantic? Although one could dig into Marley's music and   91  make arguments for references to nature in his lyrics and in the cover pictures of his albums, or more abstractly in the way music was performed (say featuring Thompson's aesthetic of the cool, 2011) that compensate for artificiality (i.e. an excessive use of technology in music production), the reality is that there is a high degree of disjuncture between Marley's grooves and my informants' associations of “nature” and African music.  The primitivist interpretation of black culture and music as removed from civilization and modernity is in fact problematized by black activists and institutions themselves in Salvador. Referring to their partnership with Orkestra Rumpilezz, Ailton Ferreira, the director of the Municipal Secretary of Reparation of Salvador (SEMUR), a governmental institution created to “promote affirmative policies and reparation for black communities” (p.c. Salvador, Bahia, May 24, 2012), stated that “We promote the mixture of modernity and ancestry. Respectfully we take advantage of the best they offer. There is no clash. We can be a terreiro de candomblé, afoxé and internet. We can also be twitter and much more” (ibid). In addition, the Cultural Fundation of the State of Bahia (FUNCEB) offers since 2012 a music program for the study of ancestral Afro-Bahian music that emphasizes the use of tools coming from contemporary technologies. These institutional efforts to integrate modern technologies into the traditional model of Afro-Bahian music challenge the view of many local musicians regarding the theme of closeness to nature, but they compensate by emphasizing their symbolic relationship with candomblé.    92  Chapter 4: Musical Encounters: Constructions of Otherness in Bahia  The introduction of music forms perceived as foreign into the Brazilian cultural scene reconfigured local, national, diasporic, and regional identities, particularly during the second half of the 20th century. Jazz, perceived by some in Bahia as a music representing the other due to its use of European harmony and brass instrumentation, and by others, as a distant relative because of its African American roots, offers an excellent example of the ambiguities of drawing clear cut lines between what is perceived as local and foreign. This chapter discusses the impact of North American jazz and its cultural baggage on the production of locality through black music in Salvador. To this end, I will first review how postcolonial theories may help to address the difficulties of defining the categories “us” and “them” in modernity and postmodernity, particularly in the realm of music representation. This is followed by a brief outline of the history and politics of jazz's adoption in Brazil and Salvador, the local and national perceptions of jazz, and the attributes emphasized or downplayed in its indigenization. Last, I study how certain combinations including North American jazz, European art music, and black music serve to legitimize what it is being hybridized.  The Difficulties of “Us” and “Them” Identity is based on a sort of difference that is creatively constructed by individuals who negotiate between chosen and received social labels, according to their socio-political position, needs, and possibilities. The challenge with identities is that: 1) they always imply negotiations between self-imposed and enforced labels; 2) there is also negotiation, and possible conflict, between individual and collective identities; 3) several contradictory identities may coexist in the same individual; 4) individuals arbitrarily foreground certain identities according to their convenience; and 5) people change the way they see and identify themselves and each other over time. However, this does not mean that a person cannot see some aspects of his/her identity as fixed. For instance, a person born and raised in Brazil by “Brazilian” parents may see his/her Brazilianness as a more rigid, essential or even inescapable aspect of identity. Thus, states of both “authentic” and “essential” identity and more fluid postmodern relations of desire and proto-identification coexist in many individuals, producing a state of fragmentary and multiple identifications (Born et al. 2000:33).    93  This problematization of identity is fundamental to understanding how musical practices and ideas express and construct the categories of “us” and “them” in Salvador, a crucial node of the black Atlantic located in a former European colony. Since “African” and black Atlantic identities have been largely constructed in opposition to white “European” or “Western” identities, largely through primitivist discourses, it is useful reviewing the ways in which otherness has been negotiated between the “West” and other former European colonies. To this end I discuss: 1) how exoticized views of an often racialized other manifest themselves in two “Western” musical spaces, namely art music and World Music; and 2) how two particular others of the “West”––Brazil and the black Atlantic––negotiate and construct their own categories of otherness.   The Other in Western Art Music In Western Music and its Others (2000), Georgina Born and David Hesmondhalgh examine how popular, Western and non-Western folk, and non-Western art musics have been represented in 19th and 20th century Western art music through appropriation or imaginative figuration. They explain that in their relationship to the other, modernist composers held two contrasting positions, the first taking active interest in various aesthetic properties of musics of other time and space for experimentation and innovation. This turn to other musics was motivated by a “desire to reinvigorate the present by reference to principles of earlier musics” (e.g. neo-classicisms of Stravisnky and Hindemith) or curiosity and fascination with foreign sounds, rhythms, musical forms, and ideas (e.g. Copland, Gershwin, Bartok, or Vaughn Williams).   The second position is represented by composers who were engaged in the expansion and eventual break from tonality, particularly by Schoenberg's serialism. Serialism and other atonal systems strived for an absolute and autonomous aesthetic rigour which refused the representation of other musics. Given that most popular music is tonal or modal, serialist principles prescribe an aesthetic that is antithetical to these other musics. As for how the ideas of the other evolved among modernists of the first position, Bartok's case is instructive. In the same volume, Julie Brown explains how Bartok's conceptions of gypsy and peasant musics evolved in his Hungarian nationalist cultural project. Initially he idealized an “authentic” peasantry and contrasted it with a degenerate and “impure” gypsy culture because of the presence of oriental elements (Brown 2000:120). For Brown this racist position was “allied to a progressive Western modernity and progressive nationalistic elements, which must be purged of putatively non-Western, antimodern,   94  inauthentic marks of Hungarian gypsy music” (Born et al. 2000:14). As Bartok recognized the existence of hybridisms in peasant music, “his classification shifted to an opposition between the 'bad hybridity' of gypsy music versus the 'good hybridity' of peasant music” (ibid). Later on with the threat of Americanization of the 1930s, Bartok came to value gypsy music as “authentic” Hungarian urban popular music (ibid:15).  Born and Hesmondhalgh also explain that postmodern thought of the late 1960s and 1970s questioned the hierarchies of musical value and authority of earlier modernism. For these authors the dominant ideas of postmodernism are: 1) old divisions between high, low, art, and popular culture, the commercial and the autonomous in culture, are now redundant and superseded; 2) there is no distinction between the economic and institutional foundations of commercial and art musics; 3) an unparalleled drive to hybridize intensifies aesthetic crossovers between popular, non-Western, and art musics; and 4) this cross-cultural empathy and its aesthetic “reconciliation” equalizes musics of formerly unequal status and power, and erases erstwhile differences of legitimacy (ibid:18-19). Nonetheless, Born and company argue that these ideas are deceptive and that cultural postmodernism as expressed by Western art composers “can be seen as an ideology of a cultural system that conceals domination and inequality” (ibid). In the same volume John Corbett points out that John Cage's experimentalism, conceived as emblematic of posmodernity, is not free of modernist representations of the other as “exoticisms and orientalisms continue to proliferate and mutate in the imaginaries and aesthetics of many contemporary art musics of West and East” (ibid:20)  The postcolonial critique, inaugurated by Edward Said's orientalism, has been fundamental to the study of Western notions of the other. Orientalism (1978), about Western depictions of the “East,” is an analysis of colonial discourses and their contemporary subtle legacies. Said argues that the otherness of the “East” was systematically reinforced in 19th century European literary texts through images of exoticism and primitivism. Musicologists inspired by Said interpreted these images of the other as strategies of 19th century Western composers to proclaim European superiority and to suggest the weakness of the “East” when faced with European might and efficiency. Locke (1991) and Taruskin (1998) contend that the “East” is constructed in 19th century orientalist operas63 as mysterious, dark-skinned, deeply emotional, brutal, tribal, blindly                                                 63 The analysis is based on Saint-Saens's Samson et Dalila (Locke 1991) and Borodin's Prince Igor (Taruskin 1998).   95  obedient, savage, appealing but dangerous, erotic, exotic, hedonist, decadent, and ultimately as a degenerate counterpart through the use of “pentatonicism and other unusual or purposefully constrained musical procedures” (Born et al. 2000:8-9). With their rejection of simplistic binaries of hegemony and resistance, postcolonial authors have contributed to the deconstruction of Western art music's representations of the oriental and, by extension, of the exotic or primitive colonized other.  The Other in (the Discourse of) World Music In “The Discourse of World Music” (2000), Simon Frith explains that during the 1980s, sounds yet unclassifiable in Western terms began to be repackaged and offered to “Western” audiences as an exotic product with which they could have the more real, authentic, and unmediated experiences that “Western” civilized (and corrupt) popular musics could not provide. Music producers exploited images of exoticism associated by “Western” audiences with the sounds of the other (i.e. the “non-Western”) and redefined them in positive terms of authenticity in clear reference to “the long European romantic celebration of the native (the peasant and the African) as more real (because more natural) than the civilized 'Western' “ (Frith 2000:308