Essential Song: Three Decades of Northern Cree Music

Essential Song

Three Decades of Northern Cree Music

Lynn Whidden

This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Aid to Scholarly Publications Programme, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program for our publishing activities.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Whidden, Lynn, 1946–

      Essential song: three decades of northern Cree music / Lynn Whidden.

Accompanied by a compact disc.

(Aboriginal studies series)

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN: 978-0-88920-459-1

1. Cree Indians—Québec (Province)—Music—History and criticism. 2. Cree Indians— Manitoba—Music—History and criticism. I. Title. II. Series: Aboriginal studies series (Waterloo, Ont.)

ML3563.9.W572 2007           781.62973071          C2007-901535-2

Cover design by Gary Blakeley. Text design by Catharine Bonas-Taylor.

© 2007 Lynn Whidden

This book is printed on Ancient Forest Friendly paper (100% post-consumer recycled).

Printed in Canada

Every reasonable effort has been made to acquire permission for copyright material used in this text, and to acknowledge all such indebtedness accurately. Any errors and omissions called to the publisher’s attention will be corrected in future printings.

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Published by Wilfrid Laurier University Press

Waterloo, Ontario, Canada

www.wlupress.wlu.ca

Contents

Table of Figures

Foreword

Acknowledgements

Prologue: The Cree Come to Campus

The Early Years—1970s and 80s

The Last Decade—The 1990s

Introduction

Musical Profiles of the Contributors

William Jack • George Pepabano • Robert Potts • Abraham Martinhunter • Samson Lameboy • Joseph Rupert

1 Song and Ceremony

The Drum and the Rattle

The Goose Dance

Healing Songs

Song in Hunting Ceremonies

The Shaking Tent: A Sound Event

Songs about the Shaking Tent

Songs, Sounds, and Silence

2 Song and History

Missionary Influence

Fiddle Music

Dances

Music and Education

Music and the Media

3 Song and Survival

Communication with Animals

Knowledge and Power in Songs

Women’s Songs

Personal Elements in Song Content

The Words • Trout Song

Song Presentation

Presentation • Rhythmic Elements • Form • Melodic Elements

The Cree Sound Ideal

4 Hymns and Hunting Songs

Missionaries and Cree Song

Adapting Hymns to Suit Tradition

Gospel Music

Amazing Grace

5 Country Music: How Can You Dance to Beethoven?

Cree Contributions to Country Music

6 Powwow in the Subarctic

Round Dances

Powwow Song Characteristics

7 The Powwow: From the South to the Subarctic

The Way He Walked Was Different

Powwow: The Popular Music for the Native American

Conclusion

Afterword by Stan Louttit

Appendix I

Frequently Sung Hymns in Chisasibi, Quebec

Appendix II

The Eighty-Six Songs, with Topics and Commentary, of the 1982 and 1984 Collections

Notes

List of Sources

Bibliography

Index

CD Track Listing 176

Table of Figures

1 William Jack

2 George Pepabano

3 Robert Potts

1.1 Map of Canada, study sites highlighted

1.2 Song of Wenabojo

2.1 Soldiers’ Joy fiddle tune

3.1 Trout Song, by Joseph Rupert

3.2 Partridge Song, by George Pepabano

3.3 Iashow’s Song

3.4 Iashow’s Song, continued

3.5 Trout Song—Song 4 (1982) and Song 58 (1984), by William Jack

4.1 The Great Physician hymn and syllabary (and English translation)

5.1 Trapline Blues, by Jack Brightnose

6.1 A 49er

6.2 Cree drummer’s diagram of powwow song

6.3 Music notation of a northern powwow song

7.1 Demonstration powwow in Thompson, Manitoba, 1981

7.2 Demonstration powwow in Thompson, Manitoba, 1981

Foreword

As a valuable resource of musical heritage for the Cree Nation, this book offers an opportunity for all readers to gain an awareness of the struggle, strength, and wisdom of Indigenous people. It also supports the need to include, respect, and preserve Indigenous cultures as an integral part of human heritage and the cultural landscape of this country.

The loss of oral traditions has proven to be greater with increasing advancements in technology over the past century. However, with the new technologies and tools readily accessible to our youth, future generations may be able to record and retell our fragile traditions and preserve our endangered culture.

Essential Song presents a culturally significant outline of the musical history of my people known as Northern Cree First Nations. Lynn Whidden traces the unique and poignant story of traditional Cree songs, within the context of their history and natural environment, through their evolution and abandonment due to the impact and imposition of western values, culture, religion, and music.

Eric Robinson

Eric Robinson, born in Norway House Cree Nation and a member of the Cross Lake Cree Nation and Treaty #5, currently serves as Minister of Aboriginal and Northern affairs for the Province of Manitoba. Eric’s vision, strength, and tireless commitment to improving the lives and opportunities of his people are based on his continued practice of traditional values, language, and ceremonies. Part of his continuing role as traditional teacher and leader includes facilitating ceremonies and celebrations as well as serving as a master of ceremonies for powwows. His first introduction to the author occurred through a music class taught by Lynn Whidden while he attended Inter-Universities North in 1979.

Acknowledgements

This book owes its existence to the Cree people to whom music means so much: the Cree hunters and their wives; my students from whom I continue to learn; and all the contemporary musicians who seek not just to be entertained, but to make life meaningful with music. I am particularly grateful for the work of three Cree interpreters—Elizabeth Kitty and Violet Bates of Chisasibi, Quebec, and Edna Voyageur of Misstassini, in northern Manitoba—and for the able translations of Stella Bearskin and Matthew Rat, of Chisasibi. My gratitude goes also to the young people I talked to in the 1970s about identity and the powwow who continue their search for a rightful place for indigenous people in Canadian society and remain willing to talk with all those truly interested. Ed Azure was outstanding in his efforts to help me understand the problems and potential of his people. You can read in some detail here about his dedication to teach others through the oral narratives. I have tried to show their devotion to, and affinity for, the realm of sound. To the Cree, music is an imperative, and hence the book’s title, Essential Song.

Most authors set out to write a book, but in my case I realized that after several decades of intense interest in the songs of Canada’s subarctic Cree, I had a book. After talking with people, recording songs and sounds, and reading all the relevant articles and books I could find, I had many files of notes—and many more not-so-filed notes too. Such an unplanned procedure does not make for the easy assembly of information, and this book would never have happened without the encouragement of Robert Brock-way and Catherine Brockway, and especially the hands-on help of Katie, who became my patient copy-editor. Many others have lent scholarly and technical support. David Westfall contributed to my knowledge of Woods Cree, Brian Craik to my knowledge of Eastern Cree, and Larry Fisher to my understanding of northern music history.

And finally, thanks goes to Richard and Rachel, who were with me all the way.

Prologue: The Cree Come to Campus

To my students

The Early Years—1970s and 80s

In the 1970s and 1980s, there was one thing that I could be certain of on the first day with a new class of northern Native students: no one would interrupt my lecture. I had taught Native student teachers from remote areas for over twenty years, and, while I noticed small changes over this time in the people’s demeanor and their knowledge about the rest of the world, I marvelled at the stability of the Cree personality. And I stress marvelled because their approach did not fit the on time, bottom line system of the western world, and this caused them no end of trouble as they trained to be teachers.

Non-Natives have set out to make Aboriginals into westerners since their first encounters. Contact history shows wars, missionary work, bureaucracy, and residential schools designed for assimilation. Indian leaders complied with, and supported, some of these attempts; they were particularly approving of education. Another slimmer chapter of this history is unfolding with the teacher education projects begun in the 1970s by several Canadian universities. The projects have names such as Project for the Education of Native Students (PENT) and Brandon University Northern Teacher Education Program (BUNTEP). These access projects have lower university entry requirements but intend, through supplements to the regular programmes of studies, to have equivalent exit standards. Many elementary school teachers have graduated from these projects, and now teach in Native communities across Canada.

It is interesting to note that the Native presence changes the content and structure of the university programs, despite the efforts of educators to keep the courses and course content by the book. Each class of Native graduates changes the system and the approach of the teachers, bringing to mind Robert Pirsig’s observation in his book Lila that it is the Aboriginal population that has made North America quite different from Europe:

The slips went on and on detailing European and Indian cultural differences and their effects, and as the slips had grown in number a secondary, corollary thesis had emerged: that this process of diffusion and assimilation of Indian values is not over. It’s still with us, and accounts for much of the restlessness and dissatisfaction found in America today. Within each American these conflicting sets of values still clash. (1991,46)

Unfortunately, the Native personality has been a poor fit with an institution where performance is assessed largely by ability to meet deadlines. Our systems are unforgiving when it comes to meeting individual needs and personal upsets: while this may be a hurdle to the non-Native, it has often been a complete block to Native students who may opt to quit a situation so alien to their inclination. The aforementioned access programs do operate in a more flexible way within the university structure, but, even so, interacting with the university bureaucracy is often difficult and dependent on individual compromise.

Overall, non-Native institutions, designed to deal with large numbers of people, have a structure that has been inimical to the Aboriginal. For example, I have had Native students successfully complete all but the last week of a course, and then disappear without explanation. No number of practical considerations, such as the time and money invested, or their future career, convinced them to finish. Naturally curious about this behaviour, I discovered a group of students who did not compartmentalize their emotional lives: a personal problem could diffuse through all aspects of their lives and immobilize them until it was resolved. They reacted in entirety, and did not show a stiff upper lip.

They did the task when the time and the feeling were right, and they did it well, without rushing. For example, no matter my resolve, my classes did not begin at the specified time; they began when everyone had arrived. Wise educators in those days soon learned to ignore the clock and use the beginning of lessons for joking and informal education. (Coffee breaks repeated this pattern on a smaller scale.) The behaviour brings to mind Philips’ observation:

If it is possible to speak in terms of choices having been made without the implication of an active collective conscious making the choices, then it would be appropriate to suggest, as I have already in greater detail elsewhere (Philips 1972), that the Warm Springs Indians repeatedly made organizational choices that maximize the possibility that everyone who wants to participate is given the chance when he or she chooses to and in the way he or she chooses to. (1974, 107)

The instructor had more control over classroom space, yet Native mothers must be the originators of on-site child care. Many of my classes had at least one child clinging to a mother or young grandmother. Often a different child did this every day, so there was clearly behind-the-scenes coordination. These children were invariably quiet and undemanding of their caregiver. They did not need to be entertained, and spent much of their time watching, listening, and apparently creating. One time, at the end of a day observing my music class, a three-year-old Inuit child knew very well how to set up the xylophone, putting the bars in the correct slots. When he took one apart, and I suggested he put it together again, he said, No—racetrack, and proceeded to put the bars on sideways so that he could run his toy car along them!

Individuals had no desire to stand out from the class, and it was rare to see a hierarchy develop. There was palpable disapproval for individual grandstanders and there were few answers proffered or questions asked. When they spoke to each other or the instructor, their voices were quiet. Their clothing reflected the desire for conformity—it was informal and tended towards subdued, dark colours. It was not unusual for many to wear their coats throughout class, in a room which many would consider overheated. There was no hustle and bustle at entry and leave-taking. In fact, economy of effort was very much a part of the students’ way of presenting themselves. Like their children, the students watched and listened. They offered little facial expression or body language to indicate they were engaged, except for jokes, in which they participated wholeheartedly.

English was a second language for many Native students. This, and the cultural differences in communication cues, challenged me to modify my teaching techniques. For example, I tended to use different vocabulary and sentence structure, and repeat ideas more than usual. Questions were built into course outlines to encourage students to think uniformly about the materials they were required to read. Some non-Native teachers overcompensated for cultural differences with an unusually vivacious and/or aggressive teaching style which did appear to engage minds and hearts, temporarily at least, but I have often wished that I could ask the recipients of this sometimes outlandish behaviour what they thought! All in all, non-Native teachers have been perplexed by the lack of feedback from students, which makes it difficult to fine-tune their teaching.

I sometimes think there was no harder job than teaching western music to Native students in the teacher access programs begun in the 1970s.

About two-thirds of the student teachers were women. This resulted in unusually silent music classes, for women were shy before non-family members. This was evident to me early in my career when I recorded songs in their communities. While the men would decide upon a song, describe it to me, and then sing it, the women would make many nervous attempts and often the song would dissolve into giggles. For example, one hunter had to urge his wife, Mary, to sing her songs for me, and she finally did so nervously, in a high clear voice.

Women sang constantly to their infants as they worked, but they worked alone and sang only for themselves and their families. Hence, evaluation in a university music course had to be structured differently from the usual public display of skills such as singing a melody, or clapping a rhythm. I had to plan music activities as group work, and evaluate students privately or with group listening rather than individual performance tests.

Moreover, our concept of music evaluation was foreign to Native students with whom I worked. The hunters stressed the importance of getting the words right. It was a way to get the job done, and in the case of the hunters, absolutely essential for a successful hunt. The value of a song was in its correct use, not in an ability to manipulate certain elements of the song. As I shall show, this holistic acceptance of music applies to contemporary music wherein the emotional response evoked is valued more highly than the technical skills of the musicians.

For the non-Native, evaluation and analysis of music go hand in hand. But for the Native people I encountered in the 1970s, music, like all phenomena of nature, made sense only in its context; it was not considered an object which can be pulled apart for study. Instead, music was a living process with great power, and the analysis of music into durational, melodic, and other structural elements for study caused problems for the students. Furthermore, written music, while acknowledged as a useful memory aid, had no roots in a culture that was transmitted orally. It was extremely difficult for adult students, many of whom played music by ear, to learn music notation.

Administrators asked me to train choirs to sing in harmony and to develop high-voiced singing, telling me, It’s been done before. But the Cree had no tradition of blended part-singing upon which to build and, in the North, the outer limits of vocal ranges, such as soprano and bass, were rarely used or heard in the 1970s and 80s. Music lessons teaching these techniques were not often available (and still are not), partly due to lack of funding but also, I suspect, due to a lack of interest.

On the last day of a music course, it was not uncommon for students to leave behind their books, notes, and even instruments. Many teachers saw this as evidence that the course had little meaning for them, but another interpretation is that the students were living in the present: they had no desire to collect and store items that had no immediate use. The Native lack of acquisitiveness extended to learning itself. Few students were greedy to learn more than necessary, to acquire knowledge for knowledge’s sake. They did not display an active, aggressive approach to learning, and never asked direct, hard-hitting questions. They learned what was required (again, economy of effort). Nor, in my early teaching days, was there a desire for higher grades, although this is fast changing now that student funding may be related to grades.

Despite the educator’s attempts to offer a course that fitted both Native predilections and university requirements, one suspected that the students were merely going along with demands, and that the music taught had little relevance to their lives. Instead, students loved the music their people had made their own over the generations. Many of them played by ear on portable instruments such as fiddles or guitars. In fact, most male students did play or at least had tried to play these instruments.

Even the introduction of indigenous music to make the curricula more relevant did not ring true in the classroom. Traditional song in a classroom was so far removed from its original function that it had little meaning and gave scant satisfaction; it lived only when it fulfilled the somatic mood for which it was intended. To them, it was no longer a living, meaningful message, and certainly not a powerful medium used to hunt and to heal. My students saw the scholarly study of their own traditions as a white pursuit. As late as 1998, one wrote the following:

The music and the dance deserve a study because many white people would want to find out about the music and dance in the community and how it started back then. These whites would want to know what kind of music is played in the ceremonies that occur in Hollow Water, and how the drum and the rattles sound while singing with the instruments. (Ashley Bushie, Hollow Water, Manitoba, 1998)

The Last Decade—the 1990s

By the 1990s, the northern students had changed in ways that now appear to be lasting. I could be interrupted by an outspoken question or comment. Native students, women noticeably so, spoke with assurance before the entire class, and in standard English. Students wore brighter clothing and more adornments. Classes began more or less on time, with noisier discussion and more energetic exchange. Now there was a choir that sang louder, and with enthusiasm