The grooving bilma (clapsticks): Enlivening ancestral narratives through new connections

Call for Papers: ICHCAP Heritage Alive – Traditional Musical Instruments UNPUBLISHED DRAFT The grooving bilma (clapsticks): Enlivening ancestral narratives through new connections Dr. Samuel Curkpatrick Adjunct Research Fellow, Sir Zelman Cowan School of Music, Monash University Research Collaborator on Indigenous projects with the Australian Art Orchestra Melbourne, September 2020 Bilma are hardwood clapsticks used in the traditional manikay (song) of the Yolŋu (or Yolngu) people from Arnhem Land, Australia. The rhythmic patterns of the bilma form the core of ceremonial performance that has been passed down for countless generation, encoding narratives of foundation, legal frameworks and connections between language groups. Yet bilma do significantly more than carry patterns for song and society: the bilma groove, generating momentum that draws families together in song and dance, shaping community and interactions between people and the environment. Bilma are a dynamic node of stability and change. For Wägilak people—one language group within the Yolŋu nations—confronted with language loss and social disintegration, the bilma foster cultural resilience and development: just as the ancestral mokuy (ghost) made new connections as he danced through the land, the bilma give impetus to new relationships, sustaining the manikay (songs) of old within contemporary Australian society. Bilma (clapsticks) illustrate the phenomenological excess of intangible cultural heritage, which extends beyond relatively simple material forms. On their own, bilma are nothing more than a pair of carved, hardwood sticks, struck together and providing the rhythmic structure of song. While their essential material form is simple—indeed, a ready replacement might be made of an empty coke bottle or flip-flop—leading Wägilak singer and ceremonial leader Daniel Wilfred asserts, “Everything comes out of the clapping sticks: you think they are just sticks but they have a song.” (Curkpatrick, 2020, p. 93). To consider bilma (clapsticks) as significant cultural heritage is to approach these sticks as they generate song, movement, relationship and life. As Djiniyini Gondarra asserts, heritage conceived as an inherited custom or material object is anathema to the concept of madayin, the legal processes and social constitution for Yolŋu society. Such ideas about tradition “do not fit or make any sense to us; in fact they are repulsive” (Gondarra, 2011, p. 24). Rather than treating bilma as a derivative artefact, representative of intangible aspects of culture, bilma bring inherited forms to life. In performance, the rhythmic patterns of song that carry narrative and law draw families together in living community, strengthening the intricate connections of people, ecology and place. More than representing or carrying intangible culture, life itself is sustained by the grooving bilma. The ŋaraka (bones) of ceremony The bilma form the essential core of the manikay (song) tradition of the Yolŋu. They are fashioned by whittling away the outer skin and flesh of a tree—often lancewood or acacia shirleyi—to reveal its ŋaraka (bones). Used in ceremonial performances and gatherings, the bilma carry what is considered essential about the past into the future: ancestral identity and law is encoded in rhythmic patterns that remain unchanged through the generations. Manikay (songs) were first sung and danced by ancestral mokuy (ghosts), who established the homeland of each Yolŋu clan, as well as extensive associations between different family groups. Retelling the journey of a clan’s mokuy (ghost), the rhythmic patterns of the bilma bring these stories of foundation to life in song and dance. For the Wägilak, whose hereditary estates lie in the low, rocky hills of Ŋilipidji, the journey of the mokuy Djuwalpada is invoked through rhythmic patterns that mimic the movements of walking, running, hunting, spear throwing and dancing – a progression of scenes which structure song, and underpin vocal improvisation and dance. Tapping his bilma as he walked, Djuwalpada bestowed sacred names to the country, establishing custodianship for ensuing generations of Wägilak. At sacred sites, he also left bilma “in the ground,” constituting a place of ringitj (parliamentary) gathering for decision making and dispute resolution. At these sites, different families and language groups gather for ceremony, to hunt and eat together, and to form new relationships with one another. Certain rhythmic patterns are shared between groups that form close relational ties, structuring patterns of kinship and marriage, the management of natural resources and social responsibilities, such as decision making within ceremonies, initiations and funerals. For example, establishing an important connection between Wägilak people from the Ŋilipidji and Wulku homelands, the song “Birrkpirrk–Dudutudu” tells of an interaction between the plover and the frogmouth owl, represented by two different rhythmic patterns. The plover from Ŋilipidji meets the owl from Wulku and they dance together. The bilma alternate between the different patterns of these closely related families. The performance of this song strengthens reciprocal obligations to look after the country named in the songs. If the bilma sustain the essential ŋaraka (bones) of ancestral identity and narratives, this is more than the repetition of social structures encoded by rhythmic patterns. Significantly, the bilma draw people together into the living interactions of ceremony, to dance and sing. Through the grooving bilma, multiple generations are enfolded in song, to be shaped by the narratives of the past. For Yolŋu elder and singer Mandawuy Yunupingu, the ceremonial tradition is this dynamic process of making “new connections and new separations” with one another as living communities (Yunupingu, 2003, n.p.). In other words, the intangible heritage that the bilma sustain is not only a pattern of social structure but a way of interacting with the world, constituted through the narrative connections of song. On this view, the essential ŋaraka (bones) of heritage cannot be sustained through static representations. Ancestral tradition, which forms what Howard Morphy has described as a ‘metaphysical core’ at the heart of Yolŋu social life, is ‘never merely said because it is itself complex and intertwined with social practice. It cannot be condensed in a single sentence; rather it is performed, painted and danced, for if one tries to reduce it, it becomes oversimplified and loses its connections.’ (H. Morphy 2008a, 137). As representative of this tradition, the bilma are “not just sticks” – they have a song that grooves, drawing people together to form new connections and responsibilities. Keeping culture strong To be led by through life by the bilma is to be given an identity and purpose, constituted as a people with meaningful relationships to the country and the people that inhabit it. That each family group maintain their own distinct ceremonial narratives and responsibilities is necessary to the flourishing of all. Yet in many places the bilma are now silent, the songs that give life to the people and land forgotten. Many Wägilak live in the community of Ngukurr, some 200km from their ancestral homelands. Ngukurr is a town made up of around eight different language groups from the surrounding regions. Traditional languages and ceremonial practices have largely been forgotten, due to various mission settlement and government policies, and the decline of traditional social structures – a situation made worse by the passive welfare economy and alcohol abuse. In Ngukurr, the Wägilak are some of the few remaining practitioners of traditional ceremony and grow weary of leading the seemingly endless funerals that burden the community. This situation is replicated across the country, something expressed by the National Recording Project for Indigenous Performance in Australia’s “Garma Statement”: “Performance traditions are the foundation of social and personal wellbeing, and with the ever-increasing loss of these traditions, the toll grows every year. The preservation of performance traditions is therefore one of the highest priorities for Indigenous people … These ancient musical traditions were once everywhere in Australia, and now survive as living traditions only in several regions. Many of these are now in danger of being lost forever.” (National Recording Project, 2002, n.p.) The responsibilities placed on those ceremonial leaders who still carry the bilma, from one generation to the next, is great. These leaders perform significant roles in the communities in which they live, seeking to “keep culture strong” but also to “keep people strong,” bringing the community together around ceremonial narratives that emphasise mutual obligation and participation. For singers like Benjamin Wilfred, the bilma foster resilience. He recalls a dream in which his grandfather gave him a pair of bilma: “My grandpa told me, ‘I’m going to give you the buŋgul (ceremony), for the Wägilak. You have to keep it now’ … I have followed my grandpa and I want to be like him … And I’m here; a strong man … these songs are keeping me strong” (Wilfred and Ulman, 2010, n.p.). As life throws up new challenges and configurations, the responsibility to carry the bilma down the generations engenders purpose and responsibility, but perhaps more importantly, belonging. Heard ringing through the community at the beginning of a funeral, the bilma call people together, to enfold loss and grief into the manifold connections of living community, which persists through the ages, as persistently as the striking of the bilma. Travelling sticks If bilma entail stability and resilience, they also generate change. As new challenges confront Wägilak, the desire to retain the identities of manikay (song) is of utmost importance. Over the past decade, Wägilak singers have sought to sustain the manikay tradition by incorporating the bilma into new musical collaborations. Just as Djuwalpada travelled with the bilma, making new connections as he danced through the land, the grooving bilma today give impetus to new relationships, in which the manikay (songs) of old take on new significance. Since 2005, Wägilak manikay has been invigorated through various collaborative projects with some of Australia’s leading improvising musicians and composers, under the auspices of the Australian Art Orchestra (see Curkpatrick, 2020). For Daniel Wilfred, collaboration has expanded his awareness of musical styles and his capabilities as a manikay singer, inspiring new compositions and aesthetic approaches. Daniel reflects on his approach to collaboration: ‘‘I share the song with them. But the song doesn’t change, it just travels further. Listen carefully to the song. If you step back, then the song won’t know you” (Wilfred and Bell dir., 2019, n.p.). For Daniel, to be known by song is to allow the stories and patterns of old to expand into new connections. This is culturally permissible where the bilma remain a persistent core that underpins creativity and collaboration. While the process of composition in manikay always retains the rhythmic forms of the bilma, these forms are readily enriched with additional layers of narrative and metaphor. The Wägilak song “Wäkwak” (Black Crow) is characterised by the stilted patterns of the bilma, imitating the strutting rhythms of a crow looking for food. In 2013, while camping at One Arm Point in Western Australia, on a tour of the collaboration Crossing Roper Bar, Daniel dreamt a new song that has now been incorporated into the established manikay narrative. “I saw five crows coming towards me, from the sea. And I was asleep. And I started singing, singing. In behind me I heard a bass [guitar], lead, drum, keyboard. They were playing. And when it stopped, I woke up, and I look around. And I saw a bird under the tree, talking: ‘Wäk wäk wäk’ [crow cawing]. And I went up to tell David [Wilfred], ‘Hey, I dreamt last night. I saw five crows come towards me. And I heard it all start up from those instruments.’” (Curkpatrick, 2020, 114) Inspired by the music of the Australian Art Orchestra, Daniel imagined the song Wäkwak accompanied by a steady ‘reggae’ groove with a minor chord vamp and characteristic off-beat 'skank' from the guitar, fulfilling the role of the bilma. This was no juxtaposition of the contemporary with the classical. Instead, the AAO have become entwined within the movements of manikay as a living process, an intricate network of connections that is continually expanding to narrate new experiences within the forms of the old. This is active and involved, a process that readily incorporates improvisation and creativity. Carried by the bilma, “the song doesn’t change,” explains Daniel, “It just travels further” (Wilfred and Bell, 2019, n.p.). The grooving bilma generate new relationships through song, allowing ancestral identities to be retold and expanded, and the Wägilak narrative of foundation and identity to be performed in new situations. Manikay is a dynamic tradition, in which form and experience, identity and relationality, inheritance and continuance, are indivisible. When the bilma strike, manikay come to life: Djuwalpada starts to walk and the ŋaraka (bones) of manikay sing. Summary for translation Bilma are hardwood clapsticks used in the traditional manikay (song) of the Yolŋu people from Arnhem Land, Australia. The rhythmic patterns of the bilma encode narratives of foundation, legal frameworks and connections between language groups. Bilma are fashioned by whittling away the outer skin and flesh of a tree to reveal its ŋaraka (bones). Used in ceremonial performances and gatherings, the bilma carry what is considered essential about the past into the future. Manikay (songs) were first sung and danced by ancestral mokuy (ghosts), who established the homeland of each Yolŋu clan. Retelling the journey of a clan’s mokuy, the rhythmic patterns of the bilma bring the story to life in song and dance. As he walked through the land, Djuwalpada, the ancestral mokuy of the Wägilak, bestowed sacred names to the country, establishing custodianship for the ensuing generations. Certain bilma rhythmic patterns are shared between groups, structuring patterns of kinship and marriage, social responsibilities and the management of resources. To be led by through life by the bilma is to be given an identity and purpose, constituted as a people with meaningful relationships to the country and other families. That each group maintain their ceremonial narratives and responsibilities is necessary to the flourishing of all. Yet bilma are significantly more than the conceptual patterns they carry: the bilma groove, generating momentum that draws families together in song and dance. To consider bilma as significant cultural heritage is to approach theses sticks as they impel song, movement and life. The essential ŋaraka (bones) of heritage cannot be sustained through static representations. For ceremonial leader Daniel Wilfred, the bilma are not just sticks – they have a song. For Wägilak people confronted with language loss and social disintegration, the bilma foster cultural resilience and development. Wägilak singers have been invigorated through various collaborative projects with some of Australia’s leading improvising musicians and composers, under the auspices of the Australian Art Orchestra. For Daniel Wilfred, the stories and patterns of old expand into new connections; while the process of composition in manikay always retains the essential rhythmic forms of the bilma, these are enriched these with additional layers of narrative and metaphor. Just as Djuwalpada made new connections as he danced through the land, the bilma give impetus to new relationships, sustaining the manikay (songs) of old within contemporary Australian society. Reference list Curkpatrick, Samuel (2020). Singing Bones: Ancestral Creativity and Collaboration. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Gondarra, Djiniyini (2011). “Assent Law of the First People: Views from a Traditional Owner.” National Indigenous Times, 3 March, pp. 24–6. National Recording Project for Indigenous Performance in Australia (2002). “Garma Statement on Indigenous Music and Dance. Drafted by Marcia Langton, Alan Marett and Mandawuy Yunupingu. http://www.aboriginalartists.com.au/NRP_statement.htm (accessed 27 August, 2020). Wilfred, Benjamin (2010). Interview by Jane Ulman and Samuel Curkpatrick for the Australian Broadcasting Commission’s Radio National. Canberra, 13 July. Wilfred, Daniel and Nicola Bell (directors) (2019). Djuwalpada (film). Ngukurr, Australia: Ngukurr Arts Aboriginal Corporation and Ngukurr Language Centre. Yunupingu, Mandawuy (2003). “Bringing Our Pasts into Our Futures.” Paper presented at Charles Darwin University, Darwin, 21 May.