Gender, Ideology, and Structure:
Pedagogical Approaches to the Music of Karin Rehnqvist1
Beware, my friend, of the signifier that would take you back to the authority of a signified! Beware of diagnoses that would reduce your generative powers. "Common" nouns are also proper nouns that disparage your singularity by classifying it into species. Break out of the circles; don't remain within the psychoanalytic closure. Take a look around, then cut through!
(Hène Cixous, "The Laugh of the Medusa," 274.)
In his article "Introductory Courses, Student Ethos, and Living the Life of the Mind,"2 my former colleague, Butler University English professor Marshall Gregory argues that one-hundred-level courses at universities can do more than provide elementary pieces of the puzzles that eventually reveal a sense of the particular field in question. Introductory courses often focus on the foundations of disciplines. Gregory argues instead that "introductory courses cannot teach disciplinary content [ . . . ] as effectively as most teachers would like them to do without first improving [ . . . the students'] general intellectuality." By "general intellectuality" Gregory refers to a basic academic attitude and a general set of skills—skills necessary to grasp the fundamental problems of a topic, as well as skills that can be applied outside of the topics of the course. He suspects that most teachers stick to what they often call the "nuts and bolts" because they think that beginning students with a fresh high-school diploma just aren't ready for academic intellectuality. It's probably true that many students are not prepared for the intellectual environment of a university, but, as Gregory points out, "six-year-olds are capable of intellectuality if the opportunity is presented to them in the right way."3 Gregory is absolutely right, the students need to develop an appreciation for intellectuality itself as well as for learning. The earlier this process starts, the better.
Gregory argues that perhaps the most important attitude is the recognition of ignorance. Most students come from an environment that scorns ignorance. If they have the answer, they are proud; if they are ignorant of the answer, they are ashamed. Students have been taught to consider ignorance to be a void that needs to be filled with knowledge. This view creates a mechanical account of knowledge that is devastating for curiosity—curiosity being the fundament of knowledge, wanting to know, rather than having an answer. As Gregory so well puts it: "Students tend to think they have measured what they know when they have counted up their stockpile of A+ answers. Delaying the gratification of an A-plussed answer in favor of dwelling longer in a state of nonplussed ignorance where a range of answers may be considered before marrying one of them is usually not seen as an option."4 In fact, to the contrary, it could be damaging for the academic career.
I would now like to turn to music theory and eventually to the music of Karin Rehnqvist. I will do three things in this text: first, I will argue that Gregory's comments have relevance for the domain of music theory pedagogy; second, I will discuss the ways in which Rehnqvist's music can be used pedagogically; and third, I will present Rehnqvist, who is probably completely unknown in North America, to judge from the handful of university libraries in America that own her most famous scores and recordings.5 My discussions are aimed at presenting topics for discussion in class, rather than detailed analytical discussions of Rehnqvist's music.
To return to Gregory, to me, his article was a revelation. In music theory, there's so much material to be studied—so many nuts and bolts—before we can expect the students to do some kind of independent and intellectual work. Often we feel that we're denying the students important tools for a professional musical life if we don't expose them to every theoretical concept we can think of from the main canon of masterworks and pedagogical literature. The introductory courses in music theory, by which I mean the two first years of theory, have become a vast territory of chord relations to be mastered.
I recall an old joke. A man is found under a streetlight during the middle of the night looking for his wallet. A passing person asks where he dropped it. "Over there," he answers and points into the dark. "But why aren't you searching there then?" the stranger replies. His answer was: "It's much easier to search under the light." Often we expect the students to do nothing but to fill in the blanks in the workbook. We teach the students to look for musical features under the streetlight of well-known theories. Of course, I don't deny the fact that music theory is about the nuts and bolts, but I see a problem when music theory ignores questions other than those related to pitch manipulations or rhythm. Even though a well-taught "nuts-and-bolts" kind of theory course will stimulate curiosity, I think we need to be curious about music in other senses as well, to allow time for fundamental questions that perhaps don't have straight answers—to dwell in, and explore our ignorance, that is.
I try to provide alternatives not by abandoning traditional theory, but by spending some class time on issues not related to or reflected in musical notation. I let the students write response papers to music they hear, I tell them about and discuss my recent scholarly activities, or I spend time on any topic that might have been raised in class. Thus, I want to open the theory gate to a world that is slightly larger than the narrow scope of the textbook—to stimulate curiosity for music and music theory. I use the particular exercise I will discuss in this paper in Music Theory 4, during the sequence that includes twentieth-century techniques. It fits quite well following the unit on set theory, as it provides a constructive contrast to a unit largely centered on mathematical relationships and music that many students consider difficult, including that of the Second Viennese School. Since the discourse on early atonal and twelve-tone music traditionally focuses on pitch relations, it is beneficial to provide examples of highly expressive music with a focus less on pitch. Depending on how much time is devoted to twentieth-century practices (Bowling Green State University, for example, devotes an entire semester), I spend from one class meeting to one week on this material. The more class time devoted to twentieth-century material, the more readings I am able to assign to the students.
There is one composer whom I seldom fail to include in these discussions, Swedish composer Karin Rehnqvist, born in 1958. Rehnqvist's music is very useful for a number of reasons: first, it is different from virtually all other Western art music with regards to timbre and structure; second, there is often a text that invites discussions; and finally, the composer offers challenging comments about her works. One of her most interesting pieces is Puksånger—Lockrop [Timpanum Songs—Herding Calls], which I often play in class (see example 1, for the beginning of the piece). In contrast to the score, the recording is quite striking, featuring high-pitched, penetrating and loud voices.6
Example 1. Karin Rehnqvist, Timpanum Songs—Herding Calls, beginning. © Edition Reimers, Stockholm, 1989. Used by kind permission.
Timpanum Songs Herding Calls
The initial responses in class are often something like: What is this piece about? What kind of voices are there? What went through the composer's mind when she composed this piece?
Important questions indeed, but they are only the beginning. After we find out that the vocal technique is called kulning—Scandinavian herding calls used to gather goats or cows, and even used for communication between people in remote areas as the high-pitched sound can carry miles between the valleys—and that this piece requires trained folk singers (classically trained opera singers won't do), we turn to the texts. The texts, provided in example 2, are drawn from Swedish folk poetry and from the writings of William Blake and of Mexican Shaman Maria Sabina, and also include a non-semantic text.
Example 2. The text of Timpanum Songs—Herding Calls. © Edition Reimers, Stockholm, 1989. Used by kind permission.
Trad. Swedish hymn
Two white doves went
all the way to the vault of heaven
and when they came back
they'd been turned into three.
Maria Sabina, Mexican shaman (Henry Munn, trans.)
I begin in the depths of the water
I begin where the primordial sounds forth, where the sacred
What is of value is the ceremony, what is of value is gold, says
I am a woman who looks into the insides of things and investigates, says
The tracks of the feet, says
The path of sap and dew, says
In this way it is taught to the children, says
In this way is taught to our people, says
It is health and life, says
We don't want anyone to break our bonds and our root, says
Root of sap and of dew, says
Root of greenness and clarity
The woman has long hair and short mind
The woman's laughter and the song of the chicken bode ill
The woman first in the snowdrift or on thin ice
If the woman spends firewood, porridge meal goes with it
As little ones lives the women's property as between noteful day and Christmas
The woman's wrath is like in warm blankets
If a woman comes to marriage with a shovel of oats, she grinds it between her teeth for the rest of her life
One laughs at women's advice, but never at men's
Woman's possessions are eaten up under the crane beams
Women and magpies have the same lust for all that glitters
The woman marries the one she laughs at, the boy his jeer path
When the woman is chairman the devil is the first mate
The woman must to the man and the field be fenced
The woman is never so ugly as when she darns stockings
The woman's reins must be fastened to the tree stump
When the woman whistles, the devil laughs
Woman's opinion, dog's fart
[Naisell on pilkä tukko ja lyhyt mieli/Naisen nauru ja kanan laulu ei tiä hyvää/Naiset ensin vaikka umpilumeen ja heikkoihin jäihin/Jos nainen on hauska holleen, se on hupa huttujauhollen/Naise omaisuuell ei eletä ku tuomaapäiväst jouluu/Naisten vihas on kun lämpysis vällyis/Jos naine tuop kapan kauroi miehelää tullessaa, ni hää jauhaa niitä hampaisssan koko ikääse/Naisten neuvot naurattaa, miesten ei millonkaa/Naisten tavarat kurkihirren alla syyvään/Naisilla ja harakoilla on yhtä suuri halu kiiltäviin/Nainen naipi nauramansa, poika pilikkapolokusa/Kun on nainen pubemiähenä, niin on piru perämiehenä/Nainen miehetoon ja pelto aidatöön/Ei missään ole nainen niin ruma kuin sukkaa parsimassa/Naisel pittää oll ohjakset kannos kii/Jos nainen viheltää, niin piru silloin nauraa/Naisen miel, koeran pier]
Trad. Swedish Song
A lily grew up in the green valley,/like a floral maid it sprang up/I paused and looked at this maid,/till tears down on my cheeks did run.
My dear one has deserted me,/because I'm so poor,/so now he has found himself another,/who is richer and better than me.
But Lazarus must have been far too poor,/which is why he had to suffer so hard,/and why he had such a grand funeral,/and the angels in Heaven did sing.
William Blake "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell"
The Eternal Female groan'd! it was heard over all the Earth.
However, the most striking section consists of condescending traditional Finnish proverbs about Women ("naisen" in Finnish), such as "The Woman has long hair and short mind" and "Woman's opinion, dog's fart," "Naisell on pilkä tukko ja lyhyt mieli," "Naisen miel, koeran pier." The somewhat coarse Finnish language combined with the fast recitative-like narration in one voice, the vocalise in the other, and the crotales accompaniment create a surreal atmosphere, turning these sections into highly effective satiric attacks on misogyny (see example 3).
Example 3. Timpanum Songs—Herding Calls, the beginning of the section that contains the Finnish proverbs. © Edition Reimers, Stockholm, 1989. Used by kind permission.
Later follows an intense development section with animal-like vocal techniques representing a rebellion against the ideas raised in the text and demonstrating the power of woman (see example 4).
Example 4. The "Development" of the Finnish proverb section. © Edition Reimers, Stockholm, 1989. Used by kind permission.
I have never heard any objections to Rehnqvist's use of this text. The notion of irony's edge resonates with the students. They get it and laugh at the ancient representations of women. Rehnqvist's work is a fantastic illustration, or rather extension, of Judith Butler's idea of parody—to muddle and transgress the customary gender representations. This piece also gives ample opportunities to discuss text and music in general. An ironic text like this one is rare in the canon of Western music where seriousness is the norm (a notable exception is some of the music of Ligeti).
Several commentators, including Susan McClary, have argued that throughout history, and particularly in opera, wide-range female vocal parts have denoted female madness and loss of control. But, of course, that's not an interpretation of modernist vocal techniques, which in the use of Electric Phoenix, Swingle Singers, or Cathy Berberian instead have been considered utterly expressive and virtuosic. I would argue rather that there is something superhuman about kulning, a vocal technique used exclusively by women—it is as if the performer were able to talk to the animals: It signifies strength and control. Skilled shepherds could even produce separate calls to attract goats or cows in the same area.
Rehnqvist's approach is novel in another respect. The use of folk music has not been much appreciated within the art-music community in Sweden, at least not among the young composers. Folk music has served as a source for composers of art music throughout Swedish music history, but the circumstances surrounding its use during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were quite different. During the first half of the twentieth century in Sweden, the trend toward the incorporation of folk music was referred to as national romanticism and became highly controversial during the 1940s and 50s. In fact, it was an important target for modernistically-oriented composers during the 1950s and onwards. Particularly they reacted to Hugo Alfvén's Rhapsodies on Swedish folk tunes, which took folk melodies and spruced them up using romantic harmony and orchestration, but they also objected to Bartók-inspired neo-classical works departing from Swedish folk music. This mode of composition was perceived to be outdated in the post-War era. Needless to say, any implications of a nationalist agenda were viewed as inappropriate at the time.7
Although the use of Swedish folk-music material became taboo early on for the young generations of progressive composers, influences from non-European art- and folk musics were a different matter. Such sources of inspiration were used frequently by radical composers (Messiaen and Stockhausen, for example). It was not until Karin Rehnqvist's remarkable breakthrough with Davids Nimm that folk music would again occupy an important and respected role in instrumental and vocal music. She didn't depart from volumes of published collections of folk melodies, but from working music that was transmitted orally—and, most importantly, used by women. Davids Nimm was received with skepticism at first, it was not even accepted for a Scandinavian student festival for new music, but was later celebrated as highly original and striking.
Davids Nimm for three voices (with an optional choir) departs from a Swedish folk dance, a polska, the text and melody of which were transcribed backwards and were then elaborated upon. The title reads backwards the beginning of this polska, "Minns Du Vad . . . ," "Do you remember what . . ." Often the piece sounds as if the tape were being played in reverse. The original melody cannot be recognized, as would have been the goal for the national romanticists. The sound is something completely different: As in Timpanum Songs, the singers, two sopranos and one alto, should be trained in folk music. Their voices should have no vibrato and should produce a loud and penetrating sound. The intonation, including micro intervals, corresponds to the traditional mode (see example 5 for the beginning of the work).
Example 5. Davids Nimm, beginning. © Edition Suecia, Stockholm, 1988. Used by kind permission.
Davids Nimm is a very different piece compared to Timpanum Songs. The examples hint at the fact that this diatonic piece uses an almost modernist process form, beginning soft with only two voices, developing until about three-quarters of the way through the piece, where there is a loud climax (see example 6), followed by a calm codetta ending with the only words of the entire composition that make any sense, "men icke mig"—"but not me." This formal structure is interesting from a gender perspective, worth some elaboration, and the topic invites interesting class discussions. The climax is almost insane in its expressivity and leaves no student untouched.
Example 6. Davids Nimm, climactic section. © Edition Suecia, Stockholm, 1988. Used by kind permission.
The use of this formal developmental structure is not surprising in Rehnqvist's work since she studied with systematic modernistic composers, including Sven-David Sandström and Brian Ferneyhough, and Rehnqvist has explained that she puts great efforts into logical forms. However, neither the formal development nor the diatonic modal structure is the most notable feature of this work; instead, it is the reversed articulation and dynamics. In the classroom I let the students elaborate the different parts of this work, to see how the original polska could have sounded. It is also a departure for a discussion about articulation in general, something that we often take for granted.
In the light of these two works it comes as no surprise that Rehnqvist has frequently argued in favor of a particular female attitude towards life and composition. In an interview in 1987 she pointed out that "Women give birth and often do have a different perspective on life than do men." Following this statement she suggested that "it would be strange if this did not show up in the music in some way—just as one often seems to be able to tell if a text was written by a man or a woman."8 This was of course highly controversial in the contemporary art-music world dominated by men—a world considered and desired by many to be hermetically sealed from impulses from other musical genres and from everyday life.
Her notion of gender differences is normally met with resistance among my students, and rightly so, I believe. In this context, I introduce my students to ideas of the French author and scholar in the post-structuralist tradition Hélène Cixous and to the writings of Susan McClary to problematize Rehnqvist's statement. Feminine writing, écriture féminine, is in Cixous's words: "a place [ . . . ] which is not economically or politically indebted to all the vileness and compromise. That is not obliged to reproduce the system."9 The dreamlike mode of writing, a mode that appeals to the unconscious is the feminine way of writing for Cixous. In different contexts she advises someone who wants to pursue a feminine mode of writing: "Let yourself go, let the writing flow, . . . become the river, let everything go, open up, unwind, open the floodgates, let yourself roll."10 Those statements explain her own free-flowing writing style, but don't exactly explain écriture féminine—with which topics, for example, is this kind of writing concerned? This question does not seem to be an important one to Cixous.
In her well-known article "Getting Down Off the Beanstalk" from Feminine Endings, McClary explains what a feminine sense of composition might be, and what such a music could sound like. Her argument departs from the notion that a woman's music rejects what she calls a "standard narrative of tonal striving, climax, and closure."11 As an example of a woman's approach to composition, McClary chooses the piano trio Genesis II by American composer Janika Vandervelde. This piece avoids what McClary sees as a male mode of composition that manifested itself through the centuries: the developmental formal structure and a climax three quarters of the way through the piece, followed by a recapitulatory section. Instead it features minimalist cyclical patterns, over which more agitated structures are superimposed creating a sense of timelessness but also resonating with the patterns of nature. Genesis II, in McClary's words, "provides us with another erotic image: one that combines shared and sustained pleasure, rather than the desire for explosive closure."12 McClary used this piece in class and found that the students' reactions corresponded to her theory, that there actually was a gender correlation in the students' perception: the female students appreciated the sustained "clockwork" patterns while the male students preferred the more violent outbursts that are occasionally juxtaposed.
McClary takes an empiricist approach. She has traced what she conceives as a major thread in western art music, a sense of necessity in the goal-oriented structural approach to composition, and made this a representation of the male mode of composition since most composers in history were men. Her claim is also well-supported in the historiography of western music.13 The alternative, a female attitude, is characterized by a mode of composition that sustains one particular mood—and also a sustained mode of pleasure (since music in McClary's world presumes sexual connections—McClary's reading is a kind of musical Freudianism). She argues that music, or at least Vandervelde's music, mirrors the external world—that is, sexual pleasure. This reading is then confirmed in the classroom. But could this be seen as a general trait of female composers? It seems to be that way, although McClary does not exclude other possibilities, nor does she exclude the possibility of male composers writing this kind of music, the minimalists come to McClary's mind.
In class, we can see the obvious similarity between Cixous and McClary. Feminine writing is something different from the canonical writing. It has a different structure, it transgresses the boundaries—it includes other kinds of experiences. But Cixous strongly emphasizes that her theory is not a realistic one—it's a metaphorical one—she argues that "it is impossible to define a feminine practice of writing, and this is an impossibility that will remain, for this practice can never be theorized, enclosed, encoded, coded."14 In other words, there is no checklist that one can apply to determine the gender of the creator of an artwork. And male artists also have a part in what she refers to as the feminine economy. But Cixous adds that it doesn't mean that a feminine mood of writing doesn't exist.
Cixous's main theorizing of écriture feminine was done during the 1970s, and later she acknowledged that écriture feminine is a problematic concept.15 Theories are encoded expressions through which one can market things within academia, she argued. She now thinks theories in general are meaningless, since the content should be made obvious in the text by the author. Today Cixous talks about la poétique de la différence sexuelle, the poetics of gender difference—a concept with a rather different ontological status than écriture feminine—an impermanent discourse versus a fixed object. The self-critique comes through Derrida who argued that the same moment a concept has been formulated, it is dead. "Derridean deconstruction will have been the greatest ethical critical warning gesture of our time: careful! let us not be the dupe of logocentric authority. We are not 'pure' I."16
Writing, to Cixous, is pleasure, which is exactly the way Rehnqvist describes her compositional process. Composition is a joyful pursuit; it's a flow, rather than a meticulously calculated process, although Rehnqvist emphasizes the formal aspect of the finished composition as an important one. We can see another obvious similarity with Cixous. Feminine composition is something different from the male canonical writing. It has a different structure, it transgresses the boundaries—it includes other kinds of experiences.
In my classes I also introduce the question of intentionalist interpretation—if it really matters what the composer says about his or her work. Within aesthetics, this question has been discussed intensely. When I was virtually done writing this paper, I called Karin Rehnqvist and asked if she knew about any recent scholarly works on her music that I might have missed. She mentioned one text in press, but volunteered her strong anti-intentionalist opinion that she was tired of musicologists and journalists asking her about a feminine mode of composition. Why should she have to interpret her work, shouldn't the musicologists do some part of the job? She, too, was tired of the authority of the notion of a woman's music, of the logocentric authority of the concept that she herself had initiated.
I believe that Rehnqvist's major contribution is her ability to extend the notion of folk music: she wants it to be an extension of folk music rather than a fusion of folk and art musics. Timpanum Songs—Herding Calls has been performed at folk music festivals as well as in art-musical contexts—the piece was commissioned by and premiered at the Folk Music Festival in Falun, Sweden—and thus has shown itself capable of functioning as a cross-over. Her music also reaches into the very core of the twentieth-century art music: Timpanum Songs was performed at the ISCM World Music Days in Stockholm in 1994 and created some turmoil. The general audience was touched and enthusiastically praised the work, but some of the ISCM delegates and official guests from the contemporary music sphere yelled and shouted in protest.17 Indeed, this piece was really heard as something different than the normal, perhaps male, modernist tonal language, so common at these kinds of festivals. This description of the audience's reaction is significant and follows Andreas Huyssen who in his article "Mass Culture as Woman: Modernism's Other"18 argues that since the early modernism of the nineteenth century, mass culture has been associated with a female sentiment. Modernism, he explains, is firmly founded upon an idea of exclusion: modernism is autonomous and should be kept separate from the realms of mass culture and everyday life.19 Real modernist art should be exclusive and free from mass appeal. In the case of Timpanum Songs, it does not mean that art music should be kept free from folk-musical influences, that's not a major problem per se. The problem with Timpanum Songs is that it displays these influences overtly. There is no masking à la Stravinsky, Bartók, or Ligeti. The everyday life is left bare, so to speak.
As we have seen, outlining the feminine mode of musical composition is a complicated task. There is no straight path, no map one can follow. We are not even sure that there is a feminine mode. It has to go beyond mere musical structure, it has to include choice of text, compositional process, reception history, and ideology. At the end of the Rehnqvist segment of my course, I want my students to realize that both the notion that there must be a difference between male and female composers because of biological differences and the notion that gender does not matter are deeply problematic. Instead, we can create discourses around this question. Together these focal points will indeed help us come to terms with issues of gender differences. We have to remember, however, that theories are not given once and for all, they fluctuate with time, and change meaning. These kinds of discussions have proven quite fascinating to my students. Gender differences are more than a ready-made discourse; they are about everyday experiences. Fundamental questions such as these help us focus our listening, but also our imagination and curiosity, even in a required course in music theory.
Moreover, many of my students have begun to realize that what we do in class reaches outside of the limited scope of the course material, that music theory can be important in many ways, and that there is a world out there to discover for the curious mind. To conclude with yet another quote by Marshall Gregory, "Because answers are what students give in response to teachers' questions, most students think that questions belong to teachers. They tend to think that answers belong to teachers also, only they know that paying their tuition gives them the right to make their own mental photocopies."20
1This paper was presented in different versions at the College Music Society annual meeting in Santa Fe, NM, November 15-18, 2001, and at the Society for Music Theory annual meeting in Philadelphia, PA, November 7-11, 2001. I am grateful for the comments I received from colleagues at these occasions, as well as for comments by Nora Engebretsen, Bowling Green State University.
2Marshall Gregory, College Teaching 45, no. 2 (Spring 1997), 63-71.
5There is a notable exception in Rebecca Seeman's excellent dissertation, Feminist Musical Aesthetic in the Choral Music of Karin Rehnqvist 1983-2000 (DMA Diss., the University of Iowa, 2002).
6The work is included on two commercial recordings, Davids Nimm (Phono suecia: PSCD 85) and Solsången, Sunsong (BIS: CD 996).
7See a discussion in my chapter "New Music of Sweden," in New Music of the Nordic Countries, ed. by John White (Pendragon Press, 2002), 445-588.
8Sven Kristersson, "Nutida musik i folklig tradition: Karin Rehnqvist porträtteras i en intervju," Nutida Musik 31, no. 4 (1987/88), 44-46. ["Kvinnor föder barn och har ofta ett annat perspektiv pålivet än män. Det vore väl underligt om det inte på något sätt visade sig i musikenlikaväl som man ofta tycker sig kunna se om en text är författad av en man eller en kvinna."]
9Hélène Cixous, The Hélène Cixous Reader, ed. by Susan Sellers (New York, NY: Routledge, 1994), xxix, originally appearing in Cixous's The Newly Born Woman (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986), 72.
10Cixous, "Coming to Writing" and Other Essays, Deborah Jenson, ed. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), x.
11Susan McClary, Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1991), 114.
12Feminine Endings, 130.
13This thread is particularly well-developed in her Georges Bizet: Carmen (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992).
14"The Laugh of the Medusa," French Feminism Reader, ed. by Kelly Oliver (Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2000), 264.
15Nina Björk, "Stora filosofer är också poeter," Dagens Nyheter June 1, 2000.
16Cixous, The Hélène Cixous Reader, xvii.
17Erik Wallrup, "Listening, Dismissing, Welcoming," In the Plural: Institutions, Pluralism and Critical Self-Awareness in Contemporary Music, papers from three seminars on contemporary music organized by the Department of Musicology, University of Copenhagen, as part of ISCM World Music Days 1996, ed. by Søren Møller Sørensen (Copenhagen: Department of Musicology, University of Copenhagen, 1997), 57-59.
18Andreas Huyssen, After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture and Postmodernism (London: The Macmillan Press, Ltd, 1988).