Ph.inisheD.

Well, it only took nine years* (and let's ignore the monetary cost, for the moment), but I finally did get through the whole system - wrote the dissertation (The Theory and Praxis of Makam in Classical Turkish Music 1910-2010**), defended it, filed. That makes me "Dr. Eric," I reckon. Now we'll see if there is any work available in the field of ethnomusicology - whee!

As with my last post, I do not really intend to post anything here ever again, but since I don't know how to make the thing go away, and in any case it serves as an interesting archive of the research period, well, here it remains. You can better keep up with me at "Eric Ederer dot com," if that is of interest - thanks for stopping by!

(*The 9 years included a prerequisite master's degree in the same subject - it was slow, but not that slow.)

(**Eventually the dissertation will be available at the UCSB Music Library, and through ProQuest/UMI; for now you can see the abstract here, anyway.)

Long Road in a Short Time

Well, hello again! Realizing that I'm not really keeping up with this blogging business, I thought I'd just mention where I am in the dissertation-writing process and note that I expect entries here to continue to be scarce, at least for the time being.

As you know, I'm writing a dissertation on the subject of taksim ('improvisaton') in classical Turkish music. Or more precisely, I'm comparing makam ('modal') theory of the 20th century with taksim (as the praxis of makam theory) as performed between 1910 and 2010, both in early 20th c. recordings and from videos I took of performers during my recent 42 week research trip to Istanbul. My hypothesis is that - whatever the theorists have been saying - there's an organic, performance-oriented makam theory manifest in the way taksim-s are played and understood by experienced performers; if so, my job is to delineate at least some of its principles.

The work is going quickly. I moved here to Evanston, Illinois about a month ago and I'm just heading into Chapter IV. It's broadly structured to have 3 sections: historical, ethnographic, and musicological, and the new chapter will begin the ethnography. My hope is that the winter... the dread Chicago winter - Leaf-Scourge, Freezer of Great Lakes, Bringer of Excess Weight to Squirrel and Man - will help me concentrate even more, get this thing moving toward Those Who are Interested.

Meanwhile, I'm playing music irregularly (mostly that lâvta, finally), some with the Bulbul Ensemble, and some with Lamajamal, and hoping to get something going with music I've constructed myself. And there are interesting talks on the Northwestern University campus, especially at the Roberta Buffett Center for International and Comparative Studies, which houses the Keyman Family Program in Modern Turkish Studies, and who are making me an 'affiliate,' which sounds right friendly.

As always, I'm grateful that you came by to check up on me, and I hope you're doing well. I have no idea when next I'll write here, but you can always drop me an e-mail to say hi and tell me what you're up to.



(Thanks to Bahadir Turan for sharing the above image via this website about Neyzen Sencer Derya.

“Blogging in the Field”: a Meta-Post

Hello again, and welcome to another cranium-vibrating blog session from “The Istanbulator.” In this installment we have an essay about keeping a blog while doing ethnographic fieldwork, so let’s dig in.

Veni, vidi, bloggy.

Firstly I should speak to the matter of motivation for keeping such a blog. I would be remiss to omit that a part of it amounts to personal vanity, which I find in moderation to serve as a useful medium for self-reflection. On a blog of one’s own one can put forward an idealized personal representation (whatever that may mean for each person) that in (inevitable) moments of doubt in the midst of fieldwork frustrations can remind the blogger that the research endeavor is not a total write-off. Although it is hoped that feedback from informants, neighbors, et al., in the field be mostly encouraging, it’s also the case that a researcher is generally “on his/her own” out there; posting items about the little victories and problems-solved that appear to confirm success and general life stability can be a booster for the self-esteem that’s necessary to keep it together and drive the project forward, and – just like in real life – even a lack of response may be taken as tacit approval (“maybe no-one’s throwing rocks at me because I’m doing alright!”). In any case, readers’ comments can be “moderated” (made public or kept hidden... see below) to suit the needs of the blogger. [1]

If for no other reason than the above, it is worth a reminder to read blogs as critically as you read anything else. A blog is like an ideology; what it refuses to say is as interesting and important as what it insists on saying. [2]

Know your audience?

I didn’t put a “visitor counter” on my blog so I have no idea how many people were following my little adventures, much less who they actually were. I got very few responses overall - just enough to make me think it wasn’t a totally solipsist endeavor – but that doesn’t bother me; I enjoy other people’s cultural produce all the time without commenting on it. Still, there is the potential for bizarre and anonymous comments; I wonder who it is who thought this (bottom of page) is the appropriate response to the news “my mother has a brain tumor” (and what shall I say about my strangely biblical fire-meets-fire response?). And what about my writing inspired this (anonymous, unpublished) "comment," I wonder?

It seems likely that most of my readers have been people who already know me, at least half of them not ethnomusicologists; especially since feedback may be sparse, deciding how much jargon and technical information to put up there is a factor in the writing. For the most part I just threw it all in and slightly over-explained everything, which seems to have worked fine.

It’s safe to assume, though, that some of the blog’s visitors may be informants or potential informants. This can make blog content great advertising for the project, especially if you can link to informants’ web-presences, or better, have something (like my videos of taksim performances ) that can be demonstrated rather than just mentioned on the blog. But be sure when you’re gathering/making such a thing whether or not the informant would want or allow you to put it up there; I had some who were very eager to share their taksim-s with the world via Internet (and gave them copies of the clips for their own use, which later appeared on Facebook, You Tube, etc.) and others who requested specifically that I not put them on the ‘Net — ask! [3]

There’s also the issue of keeping your bright ideas to yourself. On the one hand “publishing” something on a blog is a kind of claim to copyright; it provides date-stamped evidence of your first engagement with what you may take to be an original idea. On the other hand, it’s possible that someone else may scoop your idea and get it published in a more professionally noteworthy medium before you do, and all you’ve got is a claim and an old blog post no-one will remember (much less cite). [4]

Additionally, if colleagues are actually reading the blog, it can be a medium for discussing and perhaps even solving real issues that come up in the application of our art, although the only time I actually tried this (third paragraph) I got no response at all. Still, the potential is there.

Better than spam

Overall, I think keeping this “field blog” has been a good experience; less annoying to friends than mass e-mails, a fine distraction when one is needed, pretty good for keeping up morale (both for yourself and for worried relatives back home), potentially a forum for working out practical problems with one’s colleagues, and on balance more helpful than harmful to the research itself. I’m not exactly sure what to do with it now that I’m no longer “in the field,” but it seems as though these same qualities may be useful during the process of writing a dissertation, so I suppose I’ll just keep on posting.

One more note before I shuffle along, though – blogging is forever: for no particularly good reason, anything that goes up on the Internet is likely to be cached or archived somewhere else on the ‘Net and remain available for many years — possibly without end — even after you think you've taken it down; you really are publishing, here. Caveat blogator.

‘Til next time then… thanks for stopping by.

[Ever hear the saying, "people who like sausage should avoid seeing how it's made"? The footnotes in this post are for the sausage-makers in the UCSB Ethnomusicology Forum - don't worry, you're not missing much. These are not the 'droids you're looking for.]

A Month By Any Other Name

Hello, fans. It’s a month since I last posted anything here; a strange and strained month that seems to promise little more than another like it to follow, and that’s how that goes, though I’m looking forward to life in the Greater Chicago Area. I’m still in Santa Barbara, now, awaiting the official memorial for my mother, which we’ve set for Saturday, October 10th at Shoreline Park, near the wooden steps, 2 PM (come by, if you feel like it – very informal). Soon after I’ll pack up and drive to Evanston, Illinois, settle in for my first real winter, and get to assembling this dissertation.

As you may have heard, the University of California (along with the state budget) is broke, and they seem to think that they can make up some of the loss by increasing our fees and tuition by 40% (8% already, and another 32% coming up)(not to mention cutting professors’ pay 8-15%). Since I’ll be away I’m having to put more energy than I’d like into playing dueling-loopholes with the bureaucracy to keep my costs down, which also involves questions about my insurance and repayment of student loans. This is the least interesting part of the Graduate Student Game.

But the game’s not all bad. I’m getting a lot done on the writing already, and I think it’ll be a good dissertation. Some people dread the writing part, but I love it – I’m already up to nearly 90 pages (including front matter, two chapters, 5 appendices, and an ever-expanding bibliography). And I’ve enjoyed getting back to UCSB Middle East Ensemble rehearsals, seeing all the folk again, playing ud and cümbüş (though there’s no Turkish music this quarter, at least not yet).

And today at school we had our first Ethnomusicology Forum of the quarter; this is a regular weekly meeting of all the graduate students and professors to keep in contact, share research, ideas, complaints, host guest artists and speakers, etc. Today I met and welcomed the students who’ve joined while I was away, heard about research people did over the summer (I’ll present my Istanbul tale next Wednesday), and – I’ve been leading up to this – learned that the week after that there’s a subject for discussion in the Forum, “Blogging in the Field” – about researchers who blog during and about their research excursions (I guess this is a ‘thing’ – see here). Since I’ll be either on the road or in Evanston that day I thought I might post something here (that is, above, in the next post) about it… a sort of meta-post; blogging about the blogging.

I wonder if that’s such a good idea (not least because I have no idea who actually reads this), but marginally bad ideas seem to be a part of blogging, anyway, so we’ll see what comes up.

OK – thanks for stopping by!

Returnings

Well, I got home last night around midnight Santa Barbara time, having just by the skin of my teeth finished getting everything closed out and paid off and shipped away, all my goodbyes said, et cetera. The flight was long, of course, and I was glad to have been mysteriously bumped up to business class for the longest stretch of it, Frankfurt to San Francisco - better food and plenty of room for those who can sleep on such flights.

Sadly, I made it home just in time to see my mom off to the Next Thing. She had been declining steadily for the last few months and was really just waiting to see me again before letting herself pass away, which she did about 4 PM today. We got to talk a bit, and I played ud for her, which she loved, said she wished she could get it together to sing, but it would take too much energy. But she wasn't afraid; she had a fine life, did most of what she'd wanted to do (perhaps there's a simulacrum of Paris she can visit where she is, now), left a lot of love in her wake, and died surrounded by people who loved and appreciated her, so it's all turned out as well as it could have under the circumstances.

In response to my last post, my friend Gregory sent me the following poem, an old favorite and one I think is appropriate for this moment, for my mom and for me, and maybe for you too... Konstantin Kavafis' Ithaca. Enjoy - I hope to write again soon.

As you set out for Ithaca
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - don't be afraid of them:
you' ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon - you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbours you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind -
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaca always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.

Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithacas mean.

Ventilation

Well, hello yet again... I'm writing now only to report some of the difficulties I'm having shutting my little operation down, here. That is, to whine a bit... or let's be dignified and call it "venting."

As of today I have but a week left in İstanbul, leaving for California as I do on Wednesday the 26th of August. Last Wednesday the graphics card in my computer burned out (and I'm assured it would take only 3 weeks to repair) so I have been since then without access to any of the mountains of data, video, audio recordings, budgeting information, to-do lists, 'phone numbers and addresses etc. with which I could otherwise have continued the last of my actual research, not to mention the loss of internet access, which puts me here in a greasy internet café where - may the gods of ethnomusicology forgive me - the music is thoroughly awful, and to be honest, not actually improved by playing it at high volume.

But those losses turn out to be just as well since it seems as though I will need to spend more time than I'd anticipated closing out all my accounts and getting everything - books, several instruments, winter clothes, etc. - shipped "home," which in this case means a currently undisclosed location in Evanston, Illinois, where I myself won't arrive until some time in October. Not even the trans-Atlantic cargo ships are that slow, but I think I've got this part of it mostly worked out.

Am I wrong in my recollection that in the US one may call - by ordinary telephone! - one's utility companies to tell them that one is moving, arranging right there to have the service canceled upon a certain day in the future, the balance to be removed from a previously paid deposit, and the remainder to be forwarded to a new address? Oh, these clever Americans!

Here one must travel across town - in as many directions as there are utilities companies, all far away but in my case numbering only four - to stand for an hour in what might be mistaken for a line in order to get the first stamp to get permission to wait for the form that allows one to wait for the signature for the... like some rodeo clown in the Kafka Memorial Hoedown, all ending, for some reason no-one will explain, in additional fees obliterating the deposit left long ago and then some, and only then to get the bad news that, no, one can only cancel service the very day you will no longer need it, come back then to start the process over.

The ugly options, then, are either to spend my last day - if it could even all be done in a day - repeating this farce, or to cancel them all early and spend my last few days without water or electricity, and board the 'plane stinking a bit, perhaps having left some unwanted but inevitable gifts in the toilet as a tribute to the system.

Yes, I'll try to maintain my composure - thanks for your reminder - but a part of me rather does prefer the idea of simply leaving without a word to these tireless corporate servants (my debts having already been paid, and they with my deposits still), so that only a future generation of bureaucratic accountants will someday find my unfinished paperwork in a dusty archive, roll it carefully into the shape of a flute, insert it into a suitable orifice and wanly whistle my name in regret of our unconsummated relationship.

Thank you for your patience - if you will excuse me, I must leave to find a few cardboard boxes, and perhaps some adult diapers.