Analytical Approaches to World Musics
ISSN 2158-5296
Howard_2025
AAWM Journal 13/No. 1 (2025)
Revisiting Korean Kaein changgu nori: Rhythm Writ Large
Keith Howard
Korea, percussion, drumming, archetype models, rhythmic grammar, tradition and urbanisation
Rhythm is central to Korean music and is most developed in pieces for the Korean changgu, an hourglass-shaped double-headed drum. This paper revisits a danced piece for solo drum, Kaein changgu nori, created by Kim Pyŏngsŏp (1921–1987), and my own experience of learning and performing it. Kaein changgu nori is a 15-minute piece of around 260 units (karak) sequenced together through motivic development in five sections (or movements) each based on a foundational archetype model (changdan). Kim’s piece attracted much attention from both Koreans and foreign scholars and students in the 1970s and 1980s, and it continues to have a dedicated preservation society. Old and new performances and workshopped classes of it proliferate online. However, although thoroughly grounded in the percussion bands of the North Chŏlla region, Kim was considered by some to have moved too far from “tradition,” leaving his piece and its practitioners outside the well-established South Korean intangible heritage preservation system. In retrospect, his piece can be considered to mark a transition from the music of rural percussion bands (nongak/p’ungmul) of old to a repertoire more suited to today’s urban stages. Its importance is that it changed the rhythmic grammar of drumming, replacing the static models and surface improvisation of bands of old with the linear development of motifs which move away from and back to an archetype model. However, Kims was never a completely fixed piece; adjusted and recomposed elements during performances and in his teaching. In revisiting it, I analyse its rhythmic grammar, turning on its head the evolutionary theory that holds melody and harmony as more significant than rhythm. I outline its development and discuss the people who have connected through it, documenting its reinterpretation in recent years. The article includes a full notation, based on Kim’s performance and teaching in autumn 1985.
Keith Howard is Professor Emeritus, SOAS University of London (kh@soas.ac.uk). Formerly Associate Dean at the University of Sydney, he has held visiting professorships at Monash University, Ewha Woman’s University, the University of Sydney, Hankuk University of Foreign Studies, and Texas Tech University, and in 2017-2018 was a Fellow of the National Humanities Center, North Carolina.
Click for DOI, citation, PDF version, and Appendix.
Introduction
Historical time often melts into the amorphous concept of “tradition” with the result that commentators commonly identify musical modernity with loss. Some commentators decry the “invention of tradition” but, surely, all traditions are invented, somewhere and at some time. Musical traditions, and other artistic traditions, tend to be “culturally indigenised” so that those who own them in the present find no “radical disconformity, let alone inauthenticity” (Sahlins 1999, xi). They are discursive, because they embed symbolic action, and they are entextualised, since they make discourse extractable (after Geertz 1973; Bauman and Briggs 1990; Silverstein and Urban 1995). The Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983) distinction between “genuine” and “invented” traditions too readily imposes, as Otto and Pedersen (2005, 14) note, a false “contrast between real continuity and a constructed sense of permanence.” Rather, a tradition must be “understood as a wholly symbolic construction,” as Handler and Linnekin write (1984, 273), not least because (and even though Killick (2001, 2010) attempts to identify the “traditionesque” in Korean music) reconciling a largely untraceable tradition from the past with what is observable today presents, if it is indeed possible, a formidable challenge. And in the contemporary world, where change is constant, commodification has made music formerly of the people music for today’s people.
[2] It is as urban modernity lifts local music from its home and makes it part of conservatoire curricula and staged performance that discussions of the loss of traditions and the standardisation of repertories become more frequent. But, as every year passes, so more of humanity lives in a highly urbanised world. Hence, if we are to respect the skills of musicians we encounter today we need to recognise that teaching, learning, and performing music constitutes work, and that the professionalism required of those who teach us and those who perform on our stages sidesteps the egalitarianism or “communitarianism” that definitions of tradition tend to assume were once characteristic of pre-modern rural society.[1] It is no surprise that the rhetoric now surrounding music as intangible cultural heritage argues for conserving the past. But the reality is that musicians live in the present. They need to earn a crust from their work activities, and they therefore need to promote themselves to paying audiences. Those who commentate on music should not, therefore, neglect the vitality of music as a living art form because, increasingly, sustaining musical traditions as heritage requires identifying—to vamp on the South Asian cultural critic Rustom Bharucha (1993, 21)—ways of capturing the past with a fresh spirit.
[3] Kaein changgu nori (개인 장구 놀이; kaein = individual, nori = play) or Sŏl changgu/changgu nori (설장구/설장구 놀이; sŏl = solo), a drum dance for the Korean double-headed narrow-waisted drum, the changgu (장구, or장고 changgo[2]), which is my subject here, captures the past and remakes it for contemporary South Korean audiences.[3] It recasts the music of Korea’s age-old percussion bands (nongak 농악/p’ungmul 풍물[4]) into a piece that stands testament to the takeaway intimated by my title: percussion-based music can be as complex, and as rewarding to research, perform, and watch or listen to, as any harmonic or melodic music.[5] This, of course, is nothing more than a percussionist worth their salt will claim about their own practice.
[4] Although I here frame my comments in the present tense, it could be argued that I should use the past tense, since Kaein changgu nori was, and remains, associated with a specific master musician, Kim Pyŏngsŏp (김병섭; 1921–1987[6]) (Illustration 1). But, as will become clear as my article unfolds, the piece did not die with its creator. In its complete form, Kaein changgu nori has a duration of between 12–15 minutes and consists of approximately 260 rhythmic units (가락 karak, lit., “fingers”) sequenced together within five sections (or movements; marked as “A” to “E” in the Appendix). Before the piece proper, a variable prelude of up to six rhythmic units may be added which functions either as a transition where the piece is played as an episode in a larger percussion band performance, or to allow the drummer to walk to the centre of the stage when given as a stand-alone piece. Within the piece proper, three sections form a central core, while the first movement comprises an extended introduction with considerable scope for repetition and expansion, and the fifth movement is essentially an extended coda. Each section is based around a single foundational archetype model—tasŭrŭm (다스름), hwimori (휘모리), kutkŏri (굿거리), chajinmori (자진모리), and yŏnp’ungdae (연풍대)—although tasŭrŭm and yŏnp’ungdae are distinctive evolutions of the chajinmori model. The piece confirms the dynamism of rhythm within contemporary Korea (after Lee 2018). And, since Korean rhythmic structures have recently generated considerable interest beyond Korea, notably among jazz improvisers (e.g., Barker 2015; Hale 2025), my aim in this paper is to contribute to the global understanding of Korean musical grammar.
Illustration 1. Kim Pyŏngsŏp (1983) (Credit: Keith Howard).
[5] This article is my personal reflection on the piece, and is intended to consolidate my previous research. I began to study with Kim Pyŏngsŏp in summer 1981; I was introduced to him by Robert Provine, who bears considerable responsibility—and my heartfelt thanks!—for introducing me to Korean music during my Masters’ degree study in composition at the University of Durham. In 1981, exactly two weeks after my first daily lesson with Kim, the phone rang, and Kim booked me to dance and play a version of the piece on MBC TV. After six weeks of daily lessons, I danced the piece for a contest for foreigners co-sponsored by the Korea Herald newspaper and KBS TV, winning the “most outstanding” (제일 우수상 cheil ususang) prize. That performance was rebroadcast during the harvest festival (추석 ch’usŏk) holiday in subsequent years, but the recording has now been lost.[7] I soon began to perform with Kim in Seoul and elsewhere in South Korea, and on my own in Europe, North America, and Australia: a video of one of my performances, given at the Museum für Völkerkunde in Berlin in 1991, is included with this article (Video 1).[8] Over the last 40 years, Kaein changgu nori has continually informed my understandings of Korean rhythm, although my understanding has evolved as my learning, teaching, and performing of it has irrevocably become ever more distant, and as I have become more aware of parallels and differences with other musics as my career as a musicologist, ethnomusicologist, and anthropologist has progressed. As I reflect on the piece here, then, Gadamer’s (2013) notion of shifting horizons, and more broadly Ricouer’s (1981) and Heidegger’s (1962/1992) phenomenological hermeneutics (which I take from Rice 1994, 1997), is pertinent.[9]
Video 1. Kim Pyŏngsŏp and Kaein changgu nori
[6] Kaein changgu nori stands witness to a transition within Korea’s modernity, as, to use a phrase by Nathan Hesselink (2012, 68), the local shifted to the “extra-local.” Elementary forms of Kim’s piece were associated with drummers active earlier in the twentieth century, or perhaps slightly before,[10] and among Kim’s musical ancestors were Ch’oe Hwajip (최화집), born around 1870 in Changsŏng, South Chŏlla province (전라남도 장성군), and Kim Hongjip (김홍집), Yi Chŏngbŏm (이정범) and Kim Haksul (김학술), all from Chŏngŭp, North Chŏlla province (전라북도 정읍군). Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s home village was Sangyu (상유, also known as Notchŏm 놋점), in the northern district of Chŏngŭp county, and two extant videos recorded in 1966 and 1967 feature Yi Chŏngbŏm, the first including a four-minute solo drum piece and the second a piece lasting less than three minutes embedded in a larger percussion band performance.[11] An undated notation of Yi’s piece also exists, written most likely around this same time by the Seoul National University composer Chŏng Hoegap (정회갑; 1923–2013); the drum solo is given on two pages within a 14-page manuscript of a local band performance.[12] It appears that musicians prior to Kim Pyŏngsŏp recycled the oral repertoires of bands from their home locale to create drum solos which could be given as crowd-pleasing episodes in larger band performances.
[7] Local percussion bands once played for ritual, work, and fund-raising activities, but drum solos became celebrated parts of p’an’gut (판굿), a type of band performance that substituted entertainment for more fundamental local functions. Whereas a village ritual (typically known as매구 maegu, or매굿 maegut) might last several days, allowing a band to visit and play in each household, communal and ritual space of a village, p’an’gut performances compressed elements—marching, making camps, dissolving camps, with acrobatics and theatrical elements—into a restricted timeframe. The term “p’an’gut” may be modern, since the first known mention in print dates to 1967 (Lee et al 2018), but the form is older, since this type of performance functioned as the final, celebratory part of local rituals. However, the type of performance represented in p’an’gut became typical of the percussion bands that played at the festivals and contests which mushroomed after Korea’s liberation from the Japanese colonial yoke in 1945. As the folklorist and festival judge Im Sŏkch’ae (임석채, Im 1993 as cited in Yang Jongsung 2003, 28–29) notes, festivals served to delineate regional folklore. They divided the percussion bands of the Chŏlla region into udo nongak (우도 농악) and chwado nongak (좌도 농악)—“right-style nongak” and “left-style nongak”—formalising distinctive elements. Curiously, “right” and “left” were applied as if looking southwards from Seoul, so that “left style” prescribed the bands of hilly inland regions to the east, and “right style” those of coastal plains to the west. Solo drum pieces were more typical of udo nongak, although as bands performed at festivals, and as musicians watched each other and competed for prizes, so cross-fertilisation broke down the distinctions that festivals were intended to promote.
Illustration 2. Kim Pyŏngsŏp with the Chŏngŭp percussion band, at the 1959 National Folk Arts Contest (Credit: Copy of photo hung on the wall in Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s studio)
[8] Kim Pyŏngsŏp received prizes for his performances at festivals and contests in 1956, 1959, 1964, 1967 and 1970 (Illustration 2).[13] He had been born into a farming family but in 1937 was sent by the Japanese colonial administration to work in the Aoji mine near the border between today’s North Korea and Manchuria (then, the Japanese-controlled Manchukuo). When he returned home after 1945, farming quickly decreased in importance to him, both as opportunities as a drum performer and a percussion band teacher increased, but also after much of his village (and its agriculture) was destroyed in fighting during the Korean War. Among the bands he latterly taught were, in 1971, the Arirang women’s percussion band (아리랑 여성 농악단), of which an LP was made, the Paekchu band (백주 농악단) in 1972, the Honam band (호남 농악단) in 1973 and the Hanmi Women’s band (한미 여성 농악단) in 1974.[14] In the early 1970s, and still living mainly in Chŏlla, he came to the attention of Peace Corps volunteers, and quickly established a reputation for teaching not just Koreans but foreigners. Janice McQuain was one of those he taught, and she wrote about performing alongside both Kim and Yi Chŏngbŏm:
Play we do! We have some famous people here today, old-timers … Plus, from far away across the Pacific … an American who drums with us. Sometimes her friends show up too: two American men who play the ching [징, large gong] and hojŏk [호적, shawm] … Our playing season began with rice planting and ended with the harvest (McQuain 1973/1974, 43–6).[15]
[9] Kim temporarily set up in Seoul in 1968, and continued to visit to teach, but it was when he travelled to the capital to perform with his band during the winter of 1974 that an informal group connected with the Peace Corps, notably Gary Rector (1943–2018; Illustration 3) and Brian Berry (1945–2016),[16] but with others such as the writer and teacher Barbara Mintz (1934–2015), funded a studio in Seoul’s north-eastern suburb of Tonam-dong (돈암동) where he could settle and teach. The studio doubled as a place where Kim and Rector slept until finances improved to allow both to find apartments. Kim later taught from studios near Seoul’s eastern railway station at Ch’ŏngnyang-ni (청량리) and, latterly, in the central district of Chong-no (종로).
Illustration 3. Kim Pyŏngsŏp and Gary Rector playing Kaein changgo nori at a lineage hall ancestral celebration, autumn 1982 (Credit: Keith Howard).
[10] Kaein changgu nori documents Kim’s journey from village to province to Seoul. He started from what his seniors knew, added elements lifted from other music and dance genres, and devised a rhythmic grammar that fused all the materials together. The key change was grammar. Earlier percussion band musicians and, indeed, others of his generation, organised their rhythmic material through a vertical alignment in which each unit, typically repeated many times, related as a variant to an archetype model. This created long periods of stasis followed by quick shifts as musicians moved from one unit to the next. In contrast, Kim introduced linear development, which gave a more even flow of material. In 1983, I compared his piece with the changgu pieces of his contemporary Yi Tongwŏn (이동원; b.1922), and the three-year younger Kim Hyŏngsun (김형순). The occasion was Yi’s hwan’gap sixtieth birthday celebrations, held in Puan, North Chŏlla province (전라북도 부안군), in October 1982. Kim Pyŏngsŏp was invited to play and in turn invited me to join him. A month before, I had also watched Kim Hyŏngsun, who had studied with Yi Chŏngbŏm in Chŏngŭp as well as with Yi Tongwŏn, lead the local percussion band he had founded in the 1960s after moving to Iri (전라북도 이리; today’s Iksan 익산) further north in North Chŏlla.[17] I noted how in their solo drum pieces both Yi Tongwŏn and Kim Hyŏngsun stayed on one unit for a considerable length of time, then moved to another that was also repeated many times. Between models, rapid sequences of different units functioned as transitions (Howard 1983a, 22–3), although the transitions could be extremely brief or be omitted completely. The unpublished notation of Yi Chŏngbŏm made by Chŏng Hoegap, based on a performance of his solo drum piece in Iri, reveals much the same, as does the drum solo premiered in September 1980 within the entertainment form, p’an’gut, created by Kim Tŏksu (김덕수; b.1952), one of the founders of the popular samulnori (사물놀이) genre.[18] However, and possibly influenced by Kim Pyŏngsŏp, a 1972 recording made in Chŏnju, North Chŏlla (전라북도 전주시), by the Japanese ethnomusicologist Koizumi Fumio of the female band musician Na Kŭmch’u (나금추) suggests a greater focus on transitions between archetype models.[19]
[11] In Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s piece, units are joined end-to-end to create motifs. Motifs move away from and back to an archetype model, or to and from a variant of an archetype model. Note, though, that I base this comment on the musical content of the piece; Kaein changgu nori is typically danced, and foot movements retain the metric identity of an archetype model even when motifs occupy territory distant to it.[20] The shift to linear development which I identify matches how melodic genres work at the professional end of what Koreans refer to as “folk” music, rather than maintaining local band musician practice.[21] It is mirrored in sanjo (산조, “scattered melodies” for melodic instrument and drum accompaniment), which, in a co-authored text, I explore utilising the concepts of milieux, territories and assemblages from Deleuze and Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaus (1987). Essentially, sanjo is structured through articulations of a small corpus of melodic strands, the strands recurring with different articulation so that the music proceeds by way of involution (Howard, Lee and Casswell 2008, 73–88). Much the same argument can be applied to Kaein changgu nori, though with archetype models replacing melodic strands and rhythmic units marking articulation.
[12] Once Kim had settled in Seoul, Kaein changgu nori attracted considerable attention. Video recordings survive that feature several non-Koreans, including Rector, Berry, Ed Canda, Christine Loken Kim, Mary Jo Freshley and myself. Recordings made in 1985 by Mary Jo Freshley are archived in the Halla Pai Huhm Dance Collection Archive at the Centre for Korean Studies, University of Hawai‘i (as DVD #309 and #310), my tapes are archived at the British Library Sound Archive, and additional materials have been uploaded at the University of Kansas by Ed Canda.[22] The piece has been explored in articles and books (Provine 1975, 1982, 1985; Chŏn 1979; Chu 1981, 1985; Howard 1983a/b; Cho 2018; Pak and Cho 2019; Canda 2023). A Korean translation by Kim Yusŏk of Provine’s 1975 account and notation appeared in 2006. Although he only settled in Seoul in 1975, by 1983, based on what he told me in personal interviews, Kim had been asked to teach by four universities in Seoul. He had given private lessons to students from five universities and had taught at two high schools and three junior schools. He had worked with the Little Angels, an institution with links to the Unification Church renowned for sending its students on international tours. He had also led his own band for festivals at the Sejong Cultural Center in 1978 and 1981, and at the National Folk Village (한국 민속촌, Han’guk Minsok Ch’on) in Seoul’s southern suburb of Yongin (용인) in 1982.
[13] Although Kim died more than 35 years ago, his son with his second wife, Kim Hogyu, established the Kim Pyŏngsŏp School Sŏl Changgu Preservation Society (김병섭류 설장구 보존회 Kim Pyŏngsŏp-ryu sŏl changgu pojonhoe), which continued to function until his son died in 2019. And the piece continues to be maintained as he played it by members of a second society, the Kim Pyŏngsŏp School Sŏl Changgu Study Association (김병섭류 설장구 연구회 Kim Pyŏngsŏp-ryu sŏl changgu yŏn’guhoe; Illustration 4), of which the authors of the 2019 text, Pak Ch’ŏl and Cho Miyŏn, are, respectively, president and director. At times, the preservation society and the study association worked together during the existence of the former. Again, YouTube contains a multitude of videos of performances of the piece featuring Korean musicians, as well as workshops and lessons about it.[23]
Illustration 4. The preservation society for Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s Kaein changgo nori (Credit: Pak and Cho 2019, 62).
[14] Some commentators, including Chŏn (1979) and Chu (1981), argue that Kim’s piece is a model of Korean percussion grammar, as do those who continue to promote it within Korea today. But, at least by the time I began to study with Kim in 1981, detractors recognised that something had changed, and that Kaein changgu nori had evolved beyond local percussion bands. This posed a challenge for those who had bought into the then-fashionable preservation of inherited traditions. Kim’s immense skill was recognised, and he was considered for appointment within the Korean state preservation system both in the late 1960s and late 1970s. Indeed, the latter coincided, I suspect intentionally, with him setting up a preservation society for the “authentic” percussion band heritage, the National Authentic Percussion Band Preservation and Inheritance Institute (전국 원형 농악 보존 유전회 Chŏn’guk wŏnhyŏng nongak pojon yujŏnhoe).[24] Again, he was invited to dance his piece at a showcase recital at the National Theatre (국립극창 Kungnip kŭkch’ang) in Seoul in 1983[25] as scholars and researchers at the Cultural Properties Management Bureau (문화재관리국 Munhwajae Kwalliguk) explored how to revitalise local percussion bands as an important intangible cultural property (중요 무형 문화재 chungyo muhyŏng munhwajae).[26] He returned to the National Theatre in June 1985, leading his band in a showcase of the Chŏngŭp area style.[27]
[15] Kim was, however, never honoured within the state system,[28] and nor was the Chŏngŭp band recognised at the state level. Briefly, local percussion bands had first been appointed as important (or national) intangible cultural property 11 in 1966, recognising a single band from Chinju in Korea’s southeastern Kyŏngsang province (경상남도 진주시). This was at a time when it was politically expedient to identify a genre with the province where the South Korean president, Park Chung Hee (박정희; 1917–1979), and most of his cabinet, came from. But local bands had once been ubiquitous across the Korean countryside, with, arguably, a concentration in the southwest. To acknowledge this, in autumn 1985 the appointment was adjusted.[29] The cultural property would henceforth be shared between bands in the southwest, centre and east coast—Iri (North Chŏlla province, southwest), P’yŏngt’aek (Kyŏnggi province, near Seoul, 경기도 평택) and Kangnŭng (Kangwŏn province, east coast, 강원도 강릉시). Subsequently, Chinju was re-appointed (in 1986), Imshil Pilbong (임실 필봉) was added in 1988 (both North Chŏlla),[30] and Kurye (South Chŏlla, 전라남도 구레) in 2010.
[16] Chŏngŭp’s unsuccessful claim for inclusion as an “important” or “national” cultural property rested on its historical importance at the centre of the Mahan (마한) confederation, and on its role as a centre for local percussion bands in the early twentieth century.[31] However, it was one of two dozen additional bands appointed at provincial and city level—one of five lumped together within North Chŏlla Provincial Property 7. Hence, when nongak was added to the UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in November 2014, the Chŏngŭp band was listed as one “element,” along with the other six appointed important/national and 23 regional styles.
Korean Percussion Grammar
[17] Before embarking on my analysis of percussion grammar, it is important to note that Korean accounts of percussion bands tend to notate what is played, without offering substantial analysis. Indeed, discussions of the structural scaffolding that enables a band to function and maintain unity in performance are rare.[32]
[18] Archetype models are my starting point for analysis. These are fundamental to virtually all Korean traditional music (국악 kugak), including to percussion bands, and the Korean term for archetype models, changdan (장단), literally translates as “long [and] short.” Here, I follow Australian jazz percussionist Simon Barker (2015, 26) in adopting the term “archetype models” to replace what I and many others have previously translated as “rhythmic cycles” or “rhythmic patterns.” According to Lee et al (2018, 322), defining changdan is not easy, but it might be more accurate to state that definitions are contested. This is partly because, from a Western viewpoint, archetype models are metric (as, from my perspective, they always are in local percussion bands, in Kaein changgu nori, and in the contemporary percussion genre, samulnori) and are frequently framed within a single metric unit. Some Korean musicologists disagree; hence the pertinent question is to what extent metricity is a Western concept.
[19] In the Garland Encyclopedia of World Music, Robert Provine sets out four main characteristics (although, he refers to “rhythmic patterns” rather than archetype models): rhythmic patterns are contained within a length of time short enough to be held easily in memory; they impart a sense of speed; they are metrical; and they contain characteristic events within their progression (Provine 2002a, 842). Drilling down on Provine’s characteristics—but for clarity, hereafter, I refer to “archetype models” rather than “rhythmic patterns”—models are marked by initial downbeats (the hap changdan) which provide vertical alignment for a band (or any number of musicians in an ensemble) to all “come together.” Within each model, an inner code features accented and stressed pulses (Provine’s “characteristic events”), and the code provides identity. Hence, citing common archetype models found across Korean traditional music, the ninth pulse of the 12/4 walking pace[33] chungmori (중모리) and 12/8 medium fast chungjungmori (중중모리) archetype models are accented, as are the thirteenth and sixteenth pulses of the 18/8 slow chinyangjo (진양조) (Figure 1). In addition, each archetype model comprises a set of cells, each cell containing a set of pulses (Figure 2). Cells are typically compound/ternary, iambic (i.e., ♪+♩) or trochaic (i.e., ♩+♪) in structure,[34] but may also be simple/binary (♪+♪). An example of the latter is Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s treatment of the archetype model hwimori (휘모리) in the second section of Kaein changgu nori.
A. Chinyangjo (18/8) [♩. = 30–35]
B. Chungmori (12/4) [♩ = 84–92]
C. Chungjungmori (12/8) [♩. = 80–96]
Figure 1. Chinyangjo, chungmori, and chungjungmori archetype models.
Figure 2. Archetype models, cells, and pulses.
[20] Cells have been referred to as “beats” (e.g., Hesselink 2012, 97), which can be correct within, say, a fast 12/8 archetype model (that is, matching the Western understanding of a compound metre of four triplet-subdivided beats), but I prefer the term “cells” to avoid confusing “pulses” and “beats.” Consider chinyangjo: the 18 pulses (marked in 18/8), played at around ♪≃30, are grouped in sets of three (triplets), that is, in six cells (hence, an alternative to 18/8 would be to consider the archetype model to have six very slow “beats” (6x ♩., where ♩.≃10), with accents on the fifth and sixth beats—that is, on the thirteenth and sixteenth pulses (♪).
[21] Changgu drum technique requires me to drill down further on the concept of a pulse. The changgu has two skin drumheads, one of which is tightened to produce a higher pitch than the other using collars (가락지 karakchi, or other terms) operating on a cord or thin rope (쑥파 ssukp’a, or other terms) that criss-crosses from head to head and attaches to a padded metal ring (원철 wŏnch’ŏl) that holds the head taut, and thereby holds the heads tight to the wooden drum body (통 t’ong). In both contemporary percussion bands and Kaein changgu nori, the drum is played with two sticks. The first is the whip-like yŏl ch’ae (열채), which strikes the rim and centre of the higher-pitched head (the 열편 yŏlp’yŏn). The second is the mallet-shaped kunggul ch’ae (궁굴체, a.k.a. 궁체 kung ch’ae, 꿍체 kkung ch’ae, etc), which primarily strikes the lower-pitched head (the 북편 pukp’yŏn or 궁편 kungp’yŏn) but is able, by a simple 90-degree twist of the elbow, to strike the higher-pitched head (Illustration 5).[35] Acciaccature are common and are often used to increase stress or accent, and the result is that by adding acciaccature to strikes by both sticks a single pulse can consist of up to six individual strikes. The six would be commonly rendered onomatopoeically as “kidŏk kidung kidŏk” (기덕기둥기덕; to get an idea of the sound, just say this fast!). In this, “ki-” is an acciaccatura, “-dŏk” a strike on the higher-pitched head and “-dung” a strike on the lower-pitched head. Kim in his teaching rendered this sequence slightly differently, as “tattak tak’ung tattak” (다딱다쿵다딱; again, say it fast, with the plosive “tt”).[36] Note, though, that acciaccature played by each stick use distinct wrist and arm movements: a single movement of the arm allows the whip-like stick to link a light acciaccatura (ki- or ta-) to the stronger strike that follows (-dŏk or -ttak), catching the rebound by tightening the grip on the stick; in contrast, two distinct movements, each consisting of a pull and release on the stick by the fingers, are needed for an acciaccatura ([also] ki- or ta-) and the strike it precedes (-dung or –k’ung) played by the mallet-shaped stick.
Illustration 5. Kim Pyŏngsŏp holding the two changgo drumsticks: kunggul ch’ae, kunggul ch’ae striking on higher-pitched head with yŏl ch’ae, yŏl ch’ae (loose grip), yŏl ch’ae (tight grip). Note: most contemporary players hold the sticks in the opposite hands (Photos: Keith Howard)
[22] As one would expect, boredom can set in if an archetype model is repeated endlessly, hence percussion bands—and all competent drummers in Korea—add variant patterns to provide interest. Variant patterns have been described as “rhythm/sticking cells” (Barker 2015, 28), reflecting the same structural process I have outlined above for drummers such as Yi Tongwŏn and Kim Hyŏngsun. The plural, “cells,” is appropriate, because variant patterns follow the archetype model structure hence each variant pattern consists of a set of cells. Barker notes that variant patterns are either “corresponding,” that is, matching through serial amplification the archetype model code, or “non-corresponding” when embellished (Barker 2015, 29). During my doctoral fieldwork research, exploring local percussion bands on the southwestern island archipelago of Chindo (전라남도 진도군) taught me that variants were felt to be delicious and tasty (멋 mŏt, and 맛 mat from the verb 맛있다 mashitta) when they broke an archetype model’s inner code (Howard 1991, 26–8).[37]
[23] Two processes created variants, namely filling in the spaces (adding more and more notes until a pattern could be said to have no rests—늘받는 가락 nŭlbannŭn karak) and—and this is the process that broke the inner code—adding hemiola (in which a binary cell replaced a ternary cell, two ternary cells became three binary cells, and so on). However, the need to keep the archetype model length and to come together on each hap changdan (합장단) initial downbeat indicates that variants were interpreted in reference to the model. This would ensure that the background was never lost in the foreground; if it was for some reason lost, the resulting cacophony was described as mu changdan (무장단)—“without archetype model,” that is, without rhythm. Although mu changdan could be considered perceptual, order was ensured by maintaining a set of mechanical rules. The rules, learnt through practice, governed relationships between archetype models and variants, and between units and cells (Howard 1991). I note that a more recent text on Chindo local percussion bands (Kim Hyŏnsuk et al 2009) suggests change occurred after my research, although this may simply be the unintended consequence of notating surface patterning rather than looking for structural grammar. Nonetheless, I will here use the past tense to outline the rules as I (still) understand them …
[24] In local percussion bands, the whip-like stick on the changgu drum fuses the patterning of the small hand gong (꽹과리 kkwaenggwari, also known as 쇠 soe, “metal”) of the band leader, with elaborations on the mallet-shaped stick of large gong (징 ching) patterning; the fourth percussion instrument, the squashed barrel drum (북 puk), plays elaborations around large gong patterns (the quartet structure, using the archetype model of ch’ilch’ae (칠채) as played in the samulnori piece “Uttari p’ungmul” (웃다리 풍물), is illustrated in Figure 3). Referencing the cosmic forces of East Asian philosophy, the two metal gongs are considered yang (양) to the two wood and leather drums’ ŭm (음, C. yin), but within archetype models the drum balances yang and ŭm within both cells and units. The two gongs provide the basic architecture and keep the entire band playing within the correct archetype model: the small hand gong announces model archetype models but also plays variants, while the large gong, often referred to as the “head” (머리 mŏri) of the band, strikes on the hap changdan downbeat and at the accented points of the archetype model.
Figure 3. The relationship of instrumental parts, using Ch’il ch’ae (“seven strikes”) archetype model, from the piece “Uttari p’ungmul:” the changgo drum patterns fuse those of the small hand gong (kkwaenggwari) of the band leader, played by the changgo whip-like stick, with elaborations of the large gong (ching) played by the “head” (mŏri) of the band (by the author; previously published in Howard 2015, 47).
[25] With the above general information in mind, I turn to the rules used by Chindo bands, as explored during my doctoral fieldwork (as previously published in Howard 1991, 15):
1. The small gong added accent through a trochaic (♩+♪) cell or removed it through an iambic (♪+♩) cell.
2. In the common archetype models of “one strike” (일채 il ch’ae), “two strikes” (이채 i ch’ae), and “three strikes” (삼채 sam ch’ae), the small gong distinguished the downbeat of the second measure of two-measure archetype models with an iambic (♪+♩) cell heard against the long gong strike (Figure 4).
3. In complex archetype models such as “four strikes” (사채 sach’ae) and “five strikes” (오채 och’ae), the first measure constituted an elongated upbeat, with the second containing the hap changdan. “Four strikes” and “five strikes” each comprised two parts, the two balancing yang and ŭm (Figure 4 (bottom)).
4. Stress occurred when the large gong and small gong were struck simultaneously.
5/6. An accent without dynamic intensification occurred either when the small gong was struck and quickly damped on the beat or when the small gong was not played on a beat on which the large gong was struck.
7. On the final beat of a measure, a damped small gong strike signalled the conclusion of an episode built from multiple repeats of the archetype model and/or variants.
Figure 4. Representative Chindo percussion band archetypal models: il ch’ae (일채 “one strike”), i ch’ae (이채 “two strikes”), sam ch’ae (삼채 “three strikes”), sa ch’ae (사채 “four strikes”) and o ch’ae (오채 “five strikes”), notated for small hand gong (꽹과리 kkwaenggwari) and large gong (징ching).
[26] Note that Figure 4 uses dots to indicate points of stress and accent, based on Lerdahl and Jackendoff’s (1984, 231–5) system to indicate rhythmic structural levels, showing that the archetype model name correlates to the second structural level. The fundamental difference between local percussion bands, where the background was never lost in the foreground, and Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s Kaein changgu nori, is that in the latter the background often separates from the foreground. Hence, Provine observes that, after learning Kim’s piece, he felt he had:
… acquired a collection of individually through-composed passages that were loosely, if elegantly, connected by transitions that consisted of an indefinite number of repetitions of a single phrase (Provine 1985, 450).
[27] Provine speaks to using sequences of variants—motifs—to create linear development. My 1991 account of the process has been refined by Simon Mills, who explores through-composed motifs and episodes in Korea’s East Coast shaman ritual percussion to identify what is involved in reproducing repertoire (Mills 2007, 39–56, 62–5, 75–8; 2008), and by Simon Barker (2015), who characterises linear development in terms of archetype streams as he deconstructs the rhythmic patterns to facilitate his (and other musician’s) new jazz creativity. Taken further, Christopher Hale (2025) adds the concept of “rhythmic diamonds”. My observation is that linear development was not unique to Kim Pyŏngsŏp. Kim Haesuk, a performer, university professor, and former director of the National Gugak Center (국립국악원 Kungnip kugagwŏn) in Seoul, has distinguished between “stereotyped” and “scattered” phrases in the instrumental genre of sanjo. Much as with what Barker describes as corresponding and non-corresponding, she regards “stereotyped” as typical of shaman rituals (Kim Haesuk 1987, 81) and “scattered” as largely improvised and more common to secular performances. Her distinction reflects a commonly held religious origin theory for sanjo and, indeed, for much Korean traditional music,[38] although Korean musicologists typically analyse sanjo in terms of motifs that have been imported not just from rituals but also from p’ansori (판소리 epic storytelling through song[39]) and minyo (민요, folksongs). As with p’ansori, modal characteristics are analysed by Korean musicologists (the modes being 계면조 kyemyŏnjo, 우조 ujo, and so on), while sonic imitations of nature, such as galloping horses, are also identified. Similarly, in the chajinmori fourth section of Kaein changgu nori, Kim Pyŏngsŏp identified one motif as an imitation of a magpie (까치 kkachi; Provine 1975, 34 and 37; and below), and another that he had knowingly taken from the crane dance (학무 hangmu or 학춤 hakch’um; Pak and Cho 2019, 219).
[28] The third and fourth sections of the piece, based on the kutkŏri (6/8+6/8) and chajinmori (12/8) archetype models, illustrate how motifs alternate with the underlying archetype model or variants of it (Table 1). In this, I refer to the unit (가락 karak) numbers typical of Kim’s teaching and performing in 1985, as given in the Appendix, identifying metric divisions using standard Western practice:
| Units (가락 karak) |
Explanation, with Western time signature/metric organisation of each unit |
| [null] | [null] |
| Kutkŏri (굿거리, Third Section) | |
| 1–2 | Introduction |
| 1&2=12/8 | |
| 3–4 | Kutkŏri archetype model |
| 5–8 | Motif 1, extending from archetype model |
| 5=6/8+6/8; 6=3/4+6/8; 7=12/16+6/8; 8=6/8+6/8 | |
| 9 | Kutkŏri archetype model |
| 10–12 | Motif 2a |
| 10=6/8+6/8; 11=3/4+6/8; 12=6/8 (1/2 of archetype model)+12/16 | |
| 13–20 | Motif 2b |
| 13=6/8+3/4; 14=12/16+12/16; 15=3/4+6/8; 16=3/4+6/8; | |
| 17=12/16+3/4; 18=6/8+10&2/16); 19=3/4+6/8; 20=6/8+6/8; | |
| 21=6/8+68 | |
| 22 | Kutkŏri archetype model |
| 23–28 | Motif 3, kutkŏri variants |
| 23=6/8+12/16; 24&25&26&27=6/8+6/8; 28=6/8+12/16 | |
| 29–30 | Motif 4, semach’i or yangsando (세마치 or 양산도, a compound triple archetype model associated with the central Kyŏnggi region and further north, as used in the folksong “Arirang”) |
| 29&30=9/8+9/8 | |
| 31–32 | Cadence |
| 31&32=12/8 | |
| 33–38 | Motif 5, extending from cadence |
| 33&34&35&36&37&38=12/8 | |
| 39–42 | Motif 6, kutkŏri variants |
| 39&40&41&42=6/8+6/8 | |
| 43–46 | Motif 7, tongsalp’uri (동살풀이, primarily associated with shaman ritual music from Korea’s eastern seaboard, but also found in Ssikkim kut (씻김굿), a ritual associated with Chindo) |
| 43&44&45&46=6/4 | |
| 47 | Motif 8, ŏnmori (엇모리, an archetype pattern used—sparingly—in p’ansori, shaman rituals, and some sanjo performance schools) |
| 47=(5/8+5/8)+(5/8+5/8) | |
| 48–55 | Motif 9, maedoji (매도지, a cadential archetype model shared by local percussion bands as well as itinerant troupes and shaman ritualists) |
| 48=6/8+12/16; 49=3/4+12/16; 50=3/4+6/16+3/8; 51=6/8+6/8; 52=3/2; | |
| 53=12/8; 54=3/4+6/16+3/8; 55=12/16+12/16 | |
| Chajinmori (자진모리, Fourth Section) | |
| 1–5 | Introduction |
| 1=6/4; 2=6/8+6/8; 3=6/4; 4&5=12/8 | |
| 6–7 | Chajinmori archetype pattern |
| 6&7=12/8 | |
| 8–13 | Motif 1, samch’ae (삼채), extending from archetype model |
| 8&9&10&11&12&13=12/8 | |
| 14–20 | Motif 2, ttakukung (따구궁, based on a drumstick alternation) |
| 14&15&16=12/8; 17=3/2; 18&19=12/8; 20=6/8+3/4 | |
| 21–25 | Motif 3a, maedoji cadence |
| 21=6/8+6/8; 22=3/2; 23=12/8; 24=3/2; 25=12/8 | |
| 26-27 | Motif 4, hududuk (후두둑, onomatopoeic rendering of “pitter-patter”) |
| 26=12/8; 27=3/2 | |
| 28–29 | Motif 3b, maedoji cadence |
| 28=3/4+6/8; 29=6/8+3/4 | |
| 30–34 | Motif 5, kkachi (까치 magpie) |
| 30&31=4/4; 32=6+2/8; 33=3/2; 34=12/8 | |
| 35–36 | Motif 6, tongsalp’uri and chajinmori variants |
| 35=6/4; 36=10+2/8 | |
| 37–39 | Motif 3c, maedoji cadence |
| 37&38=6/8+3/4; 39=12/8 | |
| 40–45 | Motif 7, hakmu (학무 crane dance) |
| 40&41&42&43&44&45=12/8 | |
| 46–50 | Motif 3d, Maedoji variants |
| 46=6/4; 47&48=12/8; 49=6/8+3/4; 50=12/8 | |
| 51–56 | Motif 8, ch’auch’igi (차우치기, literally, “left right play”, striking left then right drumhead in alternation using the mallet-shaped stick) |
| 50&51&52&53&54&55&56=12/8 | |
| 57–63 | Motif 3e, maedoji variants and cadence |
| 57=3/2; 58=12/8; 59=3/2; 60=6/8+3/4; 61&62&63=12/8 | |
Table 1. Motifs in the kutkŏri and chajinmori sections of Kaein Changgu Nori.
Evolution Over Time: Cosmetic Change
[29] Provine compares Kaein changgu nori to the versions of Ives’s Concord Sonata, succinctly characterising the evolution of Kim’s piece as being situated within the “grey area” between a finished composition and extemporisation (Provine 1985, 441). He argues that gradual evolution brought cohesiveness, linking this to Kim’s age (that is, his ever-growing experience) and his personal vision (as a performer but also as a teacher, and particularly after he moved to Seoul). Evolutions constituted modifications, and modifications sub-divided into three types: accretions, omissions or substitutions, and variations. Provine concludes that Kim’s decision to constantly refine his piece was deliberate, noting that in later years he was able to recall changes made some years before. My own understanding is that evolutions between 1975 (when Provine notated the piece as he had then recently learnt it) and November 1985 (the last occasion when I played with Kim) did not significantly change Kaein changgu nori’s structure (that is, the five sections or movements), its overall length (between 12 and 15 minutes in duration), or the relationship between units that were repeated (that is, the vertical organisation inherited from the past) and units that were through-composed (that is, based around linear progression).
[30] I first discussed my understanding in print in 1983, arguing that the evolution of the piece was little different to how much traditional music throughout the world retains its vitality and relevance (Howard 1983b, 29–30). At that time, I was influenced by John Blacking’s socio-contextual view of musical change (Blacking 1978, 17), whereas today I would probably reframe my understanding more fashionably in terms of sustainability, that is, as an effort by a musician to maintain and develop the appeal of the piece to concert promoters, audiences, and paying students.[40] The fundamental point to make is that little significant change occurred after 1975, although the surviving materials recorded and notated in the mid 1960s suggest that much had changed in the decade before 1975 (that is, up to the point when Provine notated the piece). To me, the evolutions after 1975 are best considered adjustments at the surface level, involving (1) the addition or deletion of a grace note, or a single pulse or a cell; (2) more considerable development within a unit, retaining the overall structure; (3) the replacement, deletion, or addition of units. Such adjustments are little different to applying lipstick or mascara to improve one’s looks, hence in 1983 I labelled them as “cosmetic changes.”
[31] An exception to surface level adjustments, though, occurred in 1982, when Kim added a motif based on the ŏnmori (엇모리) archetype model into the third section of Kaein changgu nori. He first added it to his own performances, then at the beginning of 1983 he introduced it to his teaching.[41] Whereas kutkŏri, the archetype model for the third section, is in a 12/8 compound metre subdivided into two 6/8 halves, ŏnmori follows a 10/8 metre. In interview on April 3, 1983, he told me he had lifted ŏnmori from the genre of sanjo and from the literati-originating instrumental piece Yŏmbul t’aryŏng (염불 타령).[42] Conceived of by the senior Korean musicologist Lee Hye-ku (1908–2010) as five beats (Lee 1981), Kim, in contrast, subdivided each 10/8 ŏnmori unit into two 5/8 halves. This enabled him to match each 5/8 to a 3/8 section of kutkŏri (that is, each 10/8 to each 6/8 of kutkŏri). The effect was an apparent sudden increase in tempo. He switched between trochaic (♩+(♩+♪)) and iambic ((♩+♪)+♩)5/8 half units. However, he struggled to stop students elongating the quaver/eighth note in each half to give three more or less equal beats (♩+♩+♩) that more simply extended from the 5/8 half ŏnmori to match each 3/8 (♪+♪+♪) segment of kutkŏri.
[32] Ensuring that ŏnmori fit the archetype model length proved even more troublesome because Kim inserted it immediately after a motif based on the 6/4 rhythmic cycle tongsalp’uri (동살풀이), which maintained the quaver/eighth note length between the 12/8 kutkŏri and 6/4 tongsalp’uri but shifted from a compound/triple-subdividing to a simple/duple-subdividing metre. Students found ŏnmori difficult to smoothly transition into and out of, and Kim himself took some time to settle on a dance sequence. He first tried two steps per 5/8 (as reported in Howard 1983b, 31), but this did little to help students avoid drifting from 5/8 towards a more even 3/4 subdivision. So, he introduced a waddling step, L♩+R♪+L♩, R♩+L♪+R♩, a variant of which was already part of the “magpie” unit. This seemed to help students, although Kim still tended in his performances to revert to the two-step-per-5/8 pattern. The motif proved controversial, and during the summer of 1983 I witnessed two heated discussions when Mr Lee, a percussion band friend of Kim, and Gary Rector petitioned for Kim to abandon ŏnmori completely.
[33] I detect an equivalent introduction, but of dance movements and holds (where the drumming is paused), in a recording made in 1976 in Namsan Park, Seoul, where Kim plays with the American Fulbright student, Christine Loken Kim, although these movements and holds disappeared from the piece by the time I began learning it in 1981. In 1976, Kim was working with dance students at Ewha Woman’s University, where Kim Paekpong (김백봉; 1927–2023) maintained a staged female drum dance devised in the 1930s by the celebrated Ch’oe Sŭnghŭi (최승희; 1911–1969?) as part of what Korean choreologists refer to as “new dance” (신무용 shin muyong). In this, the drumming component was minor and very much subservient to dance, and Kim Pyŏngsŏp was employed to develop it with the intent to better suit contemporary audiences.[43]
[34] Some evolutions occurred as Kim taught. In autumn 1982, I watched a fellow student struggle with the second half of a unit near the beginning of the kutkŏri section. Kim replaced an awkward alternation cell played between the two sticks and made the two sticks strike simultaneously (or more accurately, virtually simultaneously[44]). This same cell occurred three times, and he changed each from alternating strikes to simultaneous strikes. However, the two (alternating and simultaneous) were actually interchangeable “fills” Kim always used when playing the Chŏngŭp local band processional section O ch’ae chil kut (오채 질굿 “five beat road ritual”). Over the following weeks, I observed him struggling to keep the “new” simultaneous strikes of the two sticks: he kept reverting to the alternating pattern.
[35] Again, some evolutions occurred during a performance. One was introduced during one of the first performances for which Kim invited me to join him, when he played what I initially thought was a mistake in the fourth section, chajinmori. I vamped as he worked through his “mistake” and then gradually picked up what he had introduced as we played the piece end-to-end several times to allow the “mistake” to bed in. As he thought through his new material, he replaced two units with six and coupled the replacement sequence to dance: a turn with arms stretched (first and second units), lifting first one foot then the other (third unit), and a static hold (fourth to sixth units). This sequence received further attention in November 1985, when I performed with Kim and two of his Korean colleagues to celebrate the opening of a New Village[45] hall at Sannae, Pyŏnsan district, on the western coast of North Chŏlla (전라북도 변산면 산내), where Brian Berry had earlier served as a Peace Corps volunteer. We played Kaein changgu nori multiple times and, again, I was expected to pick up the changed section and to repeat it as we settled it into the piece (Video 2 reproduces Mary Jo Freshley’s recording of one play-through.[46])
Video 2. Reproduction of Mary Jo Freshley’s Recording of One Play-Through
[36] Compared to other drummers of his generation, Kim Pyŏngsŏp had replaced improvisation and spontaneity with a piece that was, in the main, fixed. In addition to the full Kaein changgu nori though, Kim taught and played shorter three- and five-minute versions; these were also, in the main, fixed (Howard 2015b, 241–9 notates a three-minute version based on a recording I made in Kim’s studio in 1983). By the 1980s, he preferred to charge students not per lesson but per piece, regardless of how many lessons were required, although both for me in 1981 and for Mary Jo Freshley in 1977 he initially agreed a price for a month’s daily lessons. Students were encouraged to choose which version they would learn, with shorter versions tending to attract those lacking sufficient time, energy, or money to study the full piece. Also, Kim would routinely adjust his performances to fit either the required time frame requested by venues or the time he thought appropriate for punters, choosing in advance what to omit from the full piece. Canda thus tabulates the varying lengths found in video recordings of Kim performing his piece: 11’30”, 12’25”, 15’, 7’, 6’, and 12’4” (Canda 2023, 91). I have done much the same in my own performances of the piece, and my 1991 performance in Berlin (in Video 1) was just shy of eight minutes in length.
[37] Many Korean musicologists refer to the practice of improvisation in the “folk” tradition, although cutting a piece to size for a particular performance, as Kim did, particularly when determined in advance, stretches any definition of improvisation. To illustrate, and taking English-language accounts as examples, Hwang (2011, 29), in the opening paragraph of an article on sanjo, reiterates the importance of improvisation before going on to analyse the alternation of fixed units; Song (1986, vii) remarks that, in sanjo, “… the arts of performance and creation are fused into one through improvisation … within a formal frame.” Squaring the circle, Lee (2000, 92) notes that, chiefly because of the use of notation, much that was once improvised has become fixed. Certainly, as canons are created, so traditional repertoires become fixed, and it is apparent that, in general terms, the prism of canonic construction found elsewhere seems to be compressed in Korea. Intense periods of creativity tend to be followed by extended periods of stasis (Howard 2015a, 62–5), hence, there are just five p’ansori epic storytelling through song repertories recognised as a national intangible cultural property within Korea and globally on the UNESCO Representative List. Again, there are six sanjo schools recognised for the 12-stringed zither, kayagum (가야금), all of which inter-connect and track back to a single piece associated with a single creator, Kim Ch’angjo (김창조; 1865–1919). I put this point forward to offer an explanation of why Kaein changgu nori underwent little if any significant change after 1975, and why it has remained fixed since Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s death in 1987.
Notating Kaein changgu nori
[38] Appendix 1 notates the piece as Kim taught and played it in 1985. Kim never used a written notation—indeed, he struggled with literacy—but taught by rote, using a mirror technique in which students stood facing him, his right-hand stick matching the student’s left-hand whip-like yŏl ch’ae stick, and his left-hand stick the student’s right-hand mallet-shaped kunggul ch’ae stick.[47] Although he refused to allow notation to be used in lessons, he was content for notations to be used by students as memory aides when practicing. Notations were, however, produced, beginning with Provine’s (1975) (Figure 5) and continuing to Western-derived and Korean-derived comprehensive treatments by Pak and Cho (2019, 285–321). Notations present some challenges. In respect to the Korean changgu, notators have, first, to determine the relationship between surface and background, and, second, at the detailed level, should differentiate core drum strikes from acciaccature. In general, whereas some recent Korean notations attempt to maintain the background structure of archetype models, Provine’s notation is concerned primarily with the surface structure of cells and units. To this end, Provine’s stylesheet adopts Western staff notation principles.
[39] Although widely used, and in many respects allowing something approaching universal accessibility, the challenges Western notation raises for ethnomusicologists have long been recognised and, indeed, Provine (2002b, 935–9) has discussed its challenges when notating Korean music. Not surprisingly, though, his use of elements of it has been critiqued, notably by David Hughes (1989). However, and as I explored in response to Hughes (Howard 1989a/b), it is important to recognise that Provine’s precedents for adopting Western staff notation came from Korea and from Korean musicological practice rather than simply constituting a foreign scholar’s etic interpretation of an unfamiliar musical system.[48] To me, Provine’s stylesheet has great utility. It uses a single line to replace the five-line stave, and it distinguishes the two drumsticks by notating the whip-like yŏl ch’ae (striking the higher-pitched head) above the line with stems up, and the mallet-shaped kunggul ch’ae with stems down, its dominant strikes on the lower-pitched head below the line but above the line when striking the higher-pitched head. Hence, Appendix 1 is based on Provine’s 1975 notation, updated to present the piece as I played it with Kim in 1985. However, because of the variations in tempo evident in recordings of Kim that survive, reflecting on my own experience of learning and playing with him, and having noted differences in Provine’s (1975) and Pak and Cho’s (2019) notations, the metronome/tempo markings I give are approximate rather than precise.
Figure 5. A page from Provine’s 1975 notation of Kaein changgo nori.
[40] It must be stated that Korean notation systems (that is, other than Western staff notations) created and used prior to 1975 struggled to capture the intricacies of Kaein changgu nori. Verbal notations based on drum-strike onomatopoeia were common. Verbal notations tend to work best, however, when fast and complex units can be slowed down, and Kim resisted slowing down units as he taught, possibly because of how acciaccature were (and are) played: the yŏl ch’ae stick uses a single flowing movement of the wrist to strike an acciaccatura followed by a firm strike, and this cannot be done when the tempo is slowed. Still, beyond the fact that Western notation was never designed for Korean music, a stylesheet based on Western practice has limitations when applied to Korean drumming. First, Korean musicians consider an archetype model, together with its metric identity, remains in place at the vertical level even when lost in the foreground as variants are played or when linear development occurs. Second, the durations of drum strikes are not indicated in Western notation. This may not be an issue, since duration relates primarily to effort and to whether the drumhead is damped or allowed to reverberate (—but how can effort be adequately notated without adding complexity akin, say, to Labanotation for dance?). Third, unless additional symbols are introduced,[49] a notation based on Western practice struggles to distinguish different strikes. The strikes can be readily given in onomatopoeia, although in Korea, and as illustrated above with the sequence “kidŏk kidung kidŏk” vs. “tattak tak’ung tattak,” specific onomatopoeia vary from musician to musician.[50] Indeed, in historical notations for music genres favoured by literati, although onomatopoeia for the drum are given in the 1561 scorebook Kŭm hapchabo (금 합자보), these are not the same as those given in the early twentieth-century Hakp’o kŭmbo (학포금보).[51]
[41] In the early 1990s, three workbooks were produced and distributed for the genre samulnori. These sought to create an appropriate Korean notation system for the changgu drum (Korean Conservatorium of Performing Arts/Han’guk chŏnt’ong yesul yŏnju pojonhoe 1990, 1993, 1995, with the first of these republished using only English text in 1992). These offer the following onomatopoeia: “kung” (궁) for a single stroke of the mallet-shaped stick, “kugung” (구궁 [or, separating the two syllables, “ku kung”]) for a double strike, and “kurŭrŭrŭ” (구르르르) for a trill;[52] “ttak” (딱) or “tak” (닥) for a strike of the whip-like stick that is damped by pressing the stick onto the head rather than allowing it to rebound, “tta” (따) for a strike where the stick rebounds, “ta” (다) or “ki” (기) for a light stroke played with the tip of the stick allowing a rebound, “tŏk” (덕) for a damped light stroke, “kittak” (기딱) for a short grace note followed by a damped strike, and “tarŭrŭrŭ” (다르르르) for a trill;[53] and “tong” (동) for a simultaneous strike by both sticks.
[42] The workbooks reflect my observation above that metric indicators, including Western time signatures, are problematic for some Korean musicians. Samulnori first premiered in February 1978 as a quartet of percussionists playing the four core instruments of local percussion bands. The first samulnori quartet emerged from a larger group, the Folk Music Association Shinawi (민속악회시나위 Minsok akhoe shinawi), which was associated with the Korean Traditional Music Arts School (한국국악예술학교 Han’guk kugak yesul hakkyo) where musicians from the “folk” tradition taught. Nine years later, in summer 1987, the first samulnori quartet performed as part of a student rally for democracy at Yonsei University in Seoul,[54] and the immediate effect was that student demand for samulnori workshops multiplied. To serve this demand, the quartet turned to the pianist and composer Lim Dong Chang (임동창; b.1956) to devise suitable notations.
[43] In an effort to avoid Western time signatures and the metricity that these implied, Lim introduced three numbers within three interlocking circles to the left of the stave specifying, first, the total archetype model length (원 wŏn—circle; one or more metric units), second, the number of cells (방 pang—square) per pattern length, and third, the number of pulses (각 kak/-gak—triangle) within a cell (Figure 6). What in Western orthodoxy would have the time signature 12/8 in the workbooks becomes 1 + 4 + 3 (see also Lee et al 2018, 49). Lim allied the tripartite schema to an ancient Chinese geomantic concept that had first been articulated in print for the circle and square—the circle standing for heaven and the square for earth—but which added a triangle or trysquare in the mathematical text Zhou bi suan jing (Mathematics Classics of the Zhou Gnomons) around 2,000 years ago. During China’s Han dynasties, the third element was associated with humankind, as it was during Korea’s Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1910) (Hesselink 2012, 88–91, citing others including Allan 1991 and Deuchler 1992). Adding the third element had benefit for Korea, since it promoted a national identity, matching to the Korean sam t’aeguk (삼태국), the three interlocking commas painted on the doors of Korean temples and on the walls of buildings rather than the Chinese two interlocking commas. The latter constitute the cosmological forces of yin (K. 음 ŭm) and yang (양). For a parallel idea to circle-square-triangle one could consider Leonardo’s Vitruvian man, but in Korean terms the changgu drum offers a perfect illustration: the lower-pitched drumhead (북편 pukp’yŏn or 궁편 kungp’yŏn, struck only by the mallet-shaped stick) signifies earth, the higher-pitched drumhead (열편 yŏlp’yŏn, struck primarily by the whip-like stick) signifies heaven, and the centre of the player’s body (인 in, man), the human component, is situated between the drumheads.
Figure 6. Wŏn-pang-gak (circle, square and triangle), and Im Tongch’ang’s samulnori Notation.
[44] Although samulnori-lore credits Lim with applying the wŏn-pang-gak (원방각 circle-square-triangle) concept to Korean music, the concept had already been promoted by the senior musicologist Lee Hye-ku (이혜구; 1908–2010) in his teaching at Seoul National University. Lee used it to analyse court ritual music (아악 aak) and literati music (정악 chŏngak) in notations that employed the fifteenth century-originating square-box notation system known as chŏngganbo (정간보). That notation is read in vertical columns rather than horizontal lines, right to left across the page rather than left to right. To Lee, each vertical chŏngganbo column constituted a wŏn, each division within a column a pang, and each square a kak. The implication, given that many historical notations survive, is that Lee was simply interpreting common practice, and in fact, from the 1960s onwards, multiple workbooks of traditional instrumental repertoires compiled by the composer, performer, and teacher Kim Kisu (김기수; 1917–1986) had adapted chŏngganbo, marking out the wŏn-pang-gak divisions. It may also be relevant that Han Myŏnghŭi (한명희), a student of Lee who in turn taught Lim, for many years had a personal research institute, the Imishi Munhwa Sowŏn (이미시문화소원)—the meaning of “i-mi-shi” matches that of wŏn-pang-gak.
[45] As was already apparent in the 1493 treatise Akhak kwebŏm (악학궤범 Guide to the Study of Music), chŏngganbo was able to differentiate hand strikes on the changgu lower-pitched head (that is, long before any evidence exists for the kunggul ch’ae being used in place of the hand) from whip-like stick strikes on the higher-pitched head, the former using circles and the latter vertical lines and dots. Lim’s samulnori notation stylesheet flips the vertical columns of chŏngganbo through 90 degrees to give a horizontal system. This can, but does not always, divide the horizontal stave into two rows of boxes, higher-pitched drumhead strikes above lower-pitched drumhead strikes. It uses circles to prescribe different strikes: small circles for ku- in kugung and ki- in kittak, large circles for -gung in kugung and –ttak in kittak (hence, small circles within large circles for kugung), filled-in circles for damped strikes, and so on. But Lim’s notations are expansive, and although not inherently difficult to master, require a student to commit great amounts of time to learn from. Hence, the three SamulNori workbooks published through to 1995 notate a single piece, “Samdo sŏl changgu,” the equivalent to Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s Kaein changgu nori, and consist, respectively, of 199 pages of text and notated exercises (Korean Conservatorium of Performing Arts/Han’guk chŏnt’ong yesul yŏnju pojonhoe 1990/in English, 1992), 185 pages of notation (1993), and 54 pages of adapted chŏngganbo transnotated as 36 pages of single line staff notation (1995).
[46] The expansiveness of Lim’s system, and its tendency to visually strengthen the vertical alignment of units, restricts any indication of linear development. Although it can be argued that the vertical is most important, not least since dance tends to retain the archetype model throughout, no comprehensive choreographic notation of Kaein changgu nori has been published that might provide appropriate evidence.[55] Provine (1975) offers minimal dance information, and my 1983 account does no better; the accounts by Chu (1981) and Pak and Cho (2019) merely show the direction of movement and foot placement. Dance in Kaein changgu nori, however, involves not just foot placements in directional space (forwards, backwards, to the side…), but up-and-down shoulder movements, leg bends, and the occasional clicking together of sticks or passing sticks behind one’s back. Indeed, Chu remarks that when the drumming pauses, so dance becomes central, as “music of the heart,” using curvilinear motion and swinging shoulders (Chu 1981, 290)—these are characteristic features of the “motion in stillness” (정중동 chŏngjungdong) concept peculiar to Korean dance, which positions each element within a continuous flow, and which, in turn, has been adapted to become a core aesthetic of samulnori (Howard 2015a, 122).
[47] Pak and Cho’s notation of Kaein changgu nori attempts to resolve many of the notation issues. It offers both an adapted chŏngganbo notation that is admirably compact (Pak and Cho 2019, 285–95; Figure 7 gives their version of the introduction (tasŭrŭm)) and an updated version of Provine’s notation (Pak and Cho 2019, 296–321). The compactness of the former is achieved by modifying Lim’s stylesheet, omitting the three numbers in a circle but including archetype models on a separate line, specifying repeats rather than writing them out end-to-end, and duly dividing each unit into cells and pulses. Each unit occupies a single row, with motifs separated by double horizontal lines, bold vertical lines indicating the changing metric structure of cells. In the accompanying text, some notations gain an additional row for onomatopoeia. Not all acciaccature are notated, and complex structures (such as ŏnmori) are—at least to this commentator—difficult to read. The updated version of Provine’s notation (Pak and Cho 2019, 296–321) introduces a second line to Provine’s single line which permits horizontal separation between the two sticks, reserving the space between the lines for mallet-shaped kunggul ch’ae strikes on the upper-pitched head. Mallet-shaped stick strikes on the lower-pitched head are notated below the lower line and whip-like stick strikes on the upper-pitched head above the upper line. This, though, creates a spatial distinction between the two sticks when they strike the same higher-pitched drumhead.
Figure 7. Adapted chŏngganbo notation for Kaein changgu nori used by Pak Chŏl and Cho Miyŏn. Source: Pak and Cho (2019, 285).
Beyond Kaein changgu nori
[48] What has Korean percussion become since Kim Pyŏngsŏp died in 1987? Koreans asked this question will most likely refer to samulnori. The first quartet, SamulNori, created a set of pieces with, at its core, an inner canon of three pieces, all of which premiered within a period of 15 months in 1978 and 1979: Uttari kut (웃다리굿), Yŏngnam nongak (영남농악), and Honam udo nongak (호남우도농악). The three reflect the regional background (and experience) of the quartet members in the central Kyŏnggi (경기도) and north Ch’ungch’ŏng (충청북도) regions, in the southeastern Kyŏngsang region (경상남도), and in Taejŏn (대전) at the northern extremity of the southwest (that is, north of the border with 전라 Chŏlla). To this, an outer canon of four additional pieces was added between 1979 and 1982 to create repertoire sufficient to fill a complete concert: Samdo nongak (삼도농악), P’an’gut (판굿), Pinari (비나리), and Samdo sŏl changgu (삼도설장구). The third of these came from the more professional end of percussion bands, that is, from itinerant bands who before the 1960s were typically known as sadang p’ae (사당패), namsadang p’ae (남사당패) when male and yŏsadang p’ae (여사당패) when female (Shim 1974, 1997). And the first, third and fourth of the additional pieces assembled and blended material characteristic of regional styles. Essentially, the inner canon references the regional style idea while the outer canon fits the notion of percussion band music as national heritage, as implicit in the post-1985 nomination of regional styles within national intangible cultural property 11, and as this intersects with the post-2014 designation of local percussion bands on the UNESCO Representative List.
[49] SamulNori’s Samdo sŏl changgu, as notated in the three workbooks (Korean Conservatorium of Performing Arts/Han’guk chŏnt’ong yesul yŏnju pojonhoe 1990, 1992, 1995), uses linear development similarly to Kaein changgu nori but makes the connection to the “folk” instrumental genre of sanjo explicit. This is not surprising given that SamulNori emerged from a larger ensemble, the Folk Music Association Shinawi. That ensemble was key in developing staged versions of “folk” music that would complement the inherited genres of the court and literati which, through the National Gugak Center, were used to promote Korean traditional music both within and beyond Korea. However, the six canonic samulnori pieces other than Samdo sŏl changgu retain the vertical alignment rules of percussion bands, as well as the two processes of filling in the spaces and introducing hemiola to create variant units. What marks them apart from percussion bands of old is the sequencing of archetype models. Models are juxtaposed that originated in different locales or which once had distinct farming, fishing, or ritual functions. As the models were fused together in samulnori pieces, so their sequencing created structure. That structure was flexible in terms of duration, hence musicians could decide how long to play each model. The result is that shorter and longer versions of each piece exist, many now recorded, lasting from the pop song standard of a few minutes to almost half an hour.
[50] In the mid 1980s, and as the first iteration of the SamulNori quartet fractured, other samulnori groups emerged. Initially, most retained the canonic pieces. Workshops, contests, and festivals were held, encouraging ever more groups to emerge (Howard 2015a, 107ff). Some began to stamp an independent identity on the repertory, creating new pieces or changing the instrumental line-up. Today, then, there are multiple Samdo sŏl changgu pieces. I notated part of the first quartet’s version in 1988 (Howard 1988, 155–62), but then learnt a second version from the National Gugak Center’s samulnori quartet in 1990. There are several extensive notations of the latter (e.g., Ch’oe and Ch’oe 1992; Ch’oe 2000), and I have used a two-page schematic notation of that version for teaching (given in Howard 2015a, 120–1). The multiplicity of samulnori groups and samulnori pieces means that today, for many both within and beyond Korea, samulnori is regarded as Korea’s most authentic percussion tradition. Made massive, it formed part of the opening ceremony for the 1988 Seoul Olympic Games (Dilling 2007, 29–31). With a focus on mass drumming, it was also central to the opening ceremony of the 2018 Pyeongchang Winter Olympics.[56]
[51] In 1993 a national conservatoire was established, the Korea National University of Arts (한국예술종합학교 Han’guk Yesul Chonghap Hakkyo; KNUA, a.k.a. K-Arts), where Kim Tŏksu, the SamulNori drum maestro, was appointed professor. KNUA also hired the well-known East Coast shaman ritual drummer Kim Chŏnghŭi (김정희; 1961–2019) and the Chindo ritual musician and dancer Pak Pyŏngch’ŏn (박병천; 1933–2007),[57] encouraging students to gain a mastery of inherited percussion genres that previous generations could only dream about. Graduates of KNUA, seeking to establish their careers and to attract new audiences, and to capture the past with a fresh spirit, have long since begun to experiment with multifaceted percussion ensembles, and the result is that a kaleidoscope of creative percussion marks out Seoul’s concert culture today. Doubtless much will be written in the coming years about what the many new and vibrant percussion maestros achieve, but for the moment I conclude with a simple observation: although Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s Kaein changgu nori was and is a transitional piece in Korea’s adoption of modernity, Korean rhythm is no longer in the process of shifting from the local to the extra-local. It has established itself as something quite special, arguably, something quite remarkable.
References
Allan, Sarah. 1991. The Shape of the Turtle: Myth, Art, and Cosmos in Early China. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. https://doi.org/10.2307/jj.18252150.
Barker, Simon. 2015. Korea and the Western Drumset: Scattering Rhythms. Farnham: Ashgate. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315251042.
Bauman, Richard. 1992. “Introduction.” In Folklore, Cultural Performances, and Popular Entertainment, edited by Richard Bauman, xiii–xxi. New York: Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780195069198.001.0001.
Bauman, Richard, and Charles Briggs. 1990. “Poetics and performance as critical perspectives on language and social life.” Annual Review of Anthropology 19: 59–88. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.an.19.100190.000423.
Bharucha, Rustom. 1993. Theatre and the World: Performance and the Politics of Culture. London: Routledge.
Blacking, John. 1978. “Some problems of theory and method in the study of musical change.” Yearbook of the International Folk Music Council 9: 1–26. https://doi.org/10.2307/767289.
Canda, Edward R. 2023. Gripped by the Drum: The Inspiring Artistry of Master Percussionist Kim Byeong Seop in the Korean Tradition of Nongak. Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas Libraries. https://hdl.handle.net/1808/34564.
Chang Sahun 장사훈. 1969. Han’guk akki taegwan 한국 악기 대관 [Comprehensive Account of Korean Musical Instruments]. Seoul: Han’guk kugak hakhoe 한국 국악학회/Munhwajae kwalliguk 문화재관리국.
Chie Kamino치에 가미노. 2017. “1970-nyŏndae ilbon yŏn’guja Koijumi Humio charyo chung Na Kŭmch’u sŏl changgu nogŭm punsŏk 1970년대 일본 연주자 코이즈미후미오 자료 중 나금추 설장구 녹음 분석” [Analytical research on a 1972 recording by Koizumi Fumio of Na Geum-chu’s Seoljanggu performance]. Tongyang ŭmak 동양음악 41 (June 2017): 11–38.
Cho Miyŏn 조미연. 2018. “Udo nongak sŏl changgu ŭi myŏngin Kim Pyŏngsŏb-e kwanhan yŏn’gu 우도농악 설장구의 명인 김병섭에 관한 연구” [Study of master musician Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s right-style local percussion band solo drumming]. Kugagwŏn nonmunjip 국악원논문집36: 11–74.
Ch’oe Pyŏngsam 최병삼. 2000. Samulmori paeugi: wŏlliesŏ yŏnju kkaji 사물놀이 배우기: 원리에서 연주까지 [Samulnori study: from fundamentals to performance]. Seoul: Hangminsa 학민사.
Ch’oe Pyŏngsam 최병삼 and Ch’oe Hŏn 최헌. 1992. Samulnori. Han’guk ŭmak 27 한국음악 27 [Samulnori. Selections of Korean music, vol. 27]. Seoul: Kungnip kugagwŏn 국립국악원.
Chŏn Inp’yŏng 전인평. 1979. “Kutkŏri changdan ŭi yŏn’gu pangbŏp: Kim Pyŏngsŏp changgu nori-e kihayo 굿거리장단의 연구 방법: 김병섭 장구노리에 기하요” [The method of performing kutkŏri archetype model in Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s changgu nori]. Minjok ŭmakhak 민족음악학 3: 77–96.
Chŏng Hoegap 정회갑. 1964. “Sŏl changgo, Kim Yundŏk yŏnju, Chŏng Hoegap ch’aebo 설장고, 김윤덕 연구, 정회갑 채보” [Sŏl changgo, Kim Yundŏk’s performance, Chŏng Hoegap’s notation]. Ŭmdae hakpo 음대학보 2 (8 pages, no pagination).
Chŏng Hoegap 정회갑. 1968. “Kyŏnggido nongak ŭi yŏn’gu 경기도 농악의 연구” [The performance of Kyŏnggi province percussion bands]. Ŭmdae hakpo 음대학보 4: 18–23.
Chŏng Hoegap. 정회갑 “Yi Chŏngbŏm changgo karak (Chŏnbuk Chŏngŭp-kun Naejang-myŏn) 이정범 장고 가락 (전북 정읍군 내장면)” [Yi Chŏngbŏm’s drum variants (Naejang county, Chŏngŭp district, North Chŏlla province]. Chŏnbuk Iksan’gun Nangsanmyŏn Sŏkkyeri hojŏn purak nongak 전북 익산군 낭산면 석계라 호전부락 농악 [Local percussion band music of Sŏkkye village, Nangsan district, Iksan county, North Chŏlla province], 13–14. Undated manuscript.
Chŏng Pyŏngho 정병호, Yi Pohyŏng 이보형, Kang Hyeshik 강혜식 and Kim Chŏngnyŏ 김정려. 1982. Han’guk minsok chonghap chosa pogosŏ (Nongak, p’ungŏje, minyo p’yŏn) 한국 민속 종합 조사 보고서 (농악 풍어제, 민요편) [Comprehensive reports on Korean folk culture (Local percussion bands, fishing rituals, folksongs)]. Han’guk minsok chonghap chosa pogosŏ 한국민속 종합 조사보고서 13 [Comprehensive report on Korean folk culture, vol. 13]. Seoul: Chŏnt’ong muyong yŏn’guso 전통 무용 연구소/Munhwajae kwalliguk 문화재관리국.
Chŏng Pyŏngho 정병호 and Yi Pohyŏng 이보형. 1985. Nongak. Muhyŏng munhwajae chonghap chosa pogosŏ 농악. 무형문화재 종합 조사 보고서 164 [Local percussion bands. Comprehensive reports on intangible cultural properties, vol. 164]. Seoul: Munhwajae kwalliguk 문화재관리국.
Chu Yŏngja 주영자. 1981. “Han’guk changgu ŭmak ŭi nat’anan rhythm-gwa movement yŏn’gu 한국 장고음악의 나타는 rhythm과 movement” [The rhythm and movement of Korean drum music]. Han’guk munhwa yŏn’guwŏn nonch’ong 한국문화 연구원 논총 38: 217–90.
Chu Yŏngja 주영자. 1985. Minsogak rhythm yŏn’gu 민속악 rhythm 연구 [Study of folk music rhythm]. Seoul: Han’guk munhwa yŏn’guwŏn 한국 문화 연구원, Ihwa yŏja taehakkyo 이화대학교.
Chun, Kyung Soo. 1984. Reciprocity and Korean Society: An Ethnography of Hasami. Seoul: Seoul National University Press.
Cooper, Grosvenor and Leonard B. Meyer. 1960. The Rhythmic Structure of Music. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. 1987. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Translated by Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota. https://doi.org/10.2307/3684772.
Deuchler, Martina. 1992. The Confucian Transformation of Korea: A Study of Society and Ideology. Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University.
Dilling, Margaret Walker. 2007. Stories inside Stories: Music in the Making of the Korean Olympic Ceremonies. Korea Research Monograph 29. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California.
Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 2013. Truth and Method. Translation revised by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. London: Bloomsbury.
Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Culture. New York: Basic Books.
Grant, Catherine. 2016. “Music sustainability: strategies and interventions.” In Sustainable Futures for Music Cultures: An Ecological Perspective, edited by Huib Schippers and Catherine Grant, 19–41. New York: Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780190259075.001.0001.
Hahn, Man-young. 1975. “The religions origins of Korean music.” Korea Journal 15 (7): 17–22.
Hale, Christopher. 2025. Ritual Diamonds and Bass Hohŭp: Strategies for Creative Engagement with Korean Traditional Rhythm. Abingdon: Routledge. (Originating in PhD dissertation, “Ritual diamonds and bass hohŭp: strategies for cross-domain creative engagement with Korean traditional rhythm,” University of Sydney, 2018; http://ses.library.usyd.edu.au/handle/2123/20305).
Handler, Richard, and Joycelyn Linnekin. 1984. “Tradition, genuine or spurious.” Journal of American Folklore 97: 273–90. https://doi.org/10.2307/540610.
Hatto, Arthur T, editor. 1980. Traditions of Heroic and Epic Poetry. Publications of the Modern Humanities Research Association 9. London: Modern Humanities Research Association.
Hatto, Arthur T, with J. B. Hainsworth, editors. 1989. Traditions of Heroic and Epic Poetry 2. Publications of the Modern Humanities Research Association 13. London: Modern Humanities Research Association.
Heidegger, Martin. 1962. Being and Time. Translated by John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson. New York: Harper. Republished, 1992, Oxford: Blackwells.
Hesselink, Nathan. 2006. P’ungmul: South Korean Drumming and Dance. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hesselink, Nathan. 2012. SamulNori: Contemporary Korean Drumming and the Rebirth of Itinerant Performance Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terence Ranger, editors. 1983. The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hong Hyŏnshik 홍현식, Kim Ch’ŏnhŭng 김천흥and Pak Hŏnbong 박헌봉. 1967. Honam nongak. Muhyŏng munhwajae chosa pogosŏ 호남농악. 무형문화재 조사 보고서 33 [Southern local percussion bands. Comprehensive reports on intangible cultural properties, vol. 33]. Seoul: Mun’gyobu 문교부/Munhwajae kwalliguk 문화재관리국.
Howard, Keith. 1983a/b. “Nongak, the changgu, and Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s Kaein changgu nori.” Korea Journal 23(5): 15–31 and 23(6): 23–34.
Howard, Keith. 1988. Korean Musical Instruments: A Practical Guide. Seoul: Se-kwang Music Publishing.
Howard, Keith. 1989a/b. “East meets West? Korean notation systems and the use of Western notation for Korean music.” Bulletin of the International Council for Traditional Music (UK Chapter) 23 (Summer 1989): 16–28, and 24 (Autumn 1989): 38–44.
Howard, Keith. 1990 (orig. pub. 1989). Bands, Songs, and Shamanistic Rituals: Folk Music in Korean Society. Seoul: Korea Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society.
Howard, Keith. 1991. “Why do it that way? Rhythmic models and motifs in Korean percussion bands.” Asian Music 23(1): 1–59. https://doi.org/10.2307/834377.
Howard, Keith. 2006a. Preserving Korean Music: Intangible Cultural Properties as Icons of Identity. Aldershot: Ashgate.
Howard, Keith. 2006b. “Memories of fieldwork: understanding “humanly organised sound” through the Venda.” In The Musical Human: Rethinking John Blacking’s Ethnomusicology in the Twenty-First Century, edited by Suzel Ana Reily, 17–35. Ashgate: Aldershot.
Howard, Keith. 2015a. SamulNori: Korean Percussion for a Contemporary World. Farnham: Ashgate.
Howard, Keith. 2015b. Korean Musical Instruments: A Practical Guide. Second edition, rewritten. Seoul: Minsokwon.
Howard, Keith. 2020. “Blowing and hitting: Korean envoys, processionals, and martial music.” In Transcultural Music History: Global Participation and Regional Diversity in the Modern Age, edited by Reinhard Strohm, 143–59. Berlin: Verlag für Wissenschaft und Bildung.
Howard, Keith, Chaesuk Lee, and Nicholas Casswell. 2008. Korean Kayagŭm Sanjo: A Traditional Instrumental Genre. Aldershot: Ashgate.
Howard, Keith, and Saparbek Kasmambetov. 2011. Singing the Kyrgyz Manas: Saparbek Kasmambetov’s Recitations of Epic Poetry. Folkestone: Global Oriental.
Hwang, Jun-Yon. 2011. “The dialogue structure of sanjo.” Perspectives on Korean Music 2: 29–40.
Hughes, David W. 1989. “ICTM/UK one day conference 1988—notation as a tool for ethnomusicology: extension of roundtable.” Bulletin of the International Council for Traditional Music (UK Chapter) 23 (Summer 1989): 3–12.
Hughes, David W. 1991. “Oral mnemonics in Korean music: data, interpretation and a musicological interpretation.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 54(2): 307–35. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0041977X00014816.
Im Sŏkchae 임석재. 1993. In’gan Im Sŏkchae 인간 임석재 [The human Im Sŏkchae]. Seoul: Pigyo minsok hakhoe 비교민속학회.
Killick, Andrew. 2001. “Ch’angguk opera and the category of the ‘traditionesque’.” Korean Studies 25 (1): 51-71. https://doi.org/10.1353/ks.2001.0005.
Killick, Andrew. 2010. In Search of Korean Traditional Opera: Discourses of Ch’anggŭk. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. https://doi.org/10.21313/hawaii/9780824832902.003.0008.
Kim Haesuk 김해숙. 1987. Sanjo yŏn’gu 산조 연구 [Sanjo study]. Seoul: Segwang ŭmak ch’ulp’ansa 세광음악출판사.
Kim Hyŏnsuk 김현숙, Pak Kangyŏl 박강열, Yi Yunsŏk 이윤석 and Hŏ Sunsŏn 허순선. 2009. Chindo ŭi nongak-kwa puk nori 진도의 농악과 북놀이 [Local percussion bands and barrel drum dances of Chindo]. Seoul: Kungnip namdo kugagwŏn 국립남도국악원.
Korean Conservatorium of Performing Arts/Han’guk chŏnt’ong yesul yŏnju pojonhoe 한국 전통 예술 연주 보존회, editors. 1990. SamulNori: Kim Tŏksu p’ae SamulNoriga yŏnju hanŭn changgu karak haksŭp p’yŏn 사물놀이: 김덕수패 사물놀이가 연주하는 장구가락 학습편 1 [SamulNori: Kim Tŏksu troupe SamulNori and drum rhythm performance study, vol. 1]. Seoul: Samho ch’ulp’ansa 삼호출판사.
Korean Conservatorium of Performing Arts, editors. 1992. SamulNori. Korean Traditional Percussion SamulNori Rhythm Workbook 1: Basic Changgu. Seoul: Sam-ho Music Publishing.
Korean Conservatorium of Performing Arts/Han’guk chŏnt’ong yesul yŏnju pojonhoe 한국 전통 예술 연주 보존회, editors. 1993. Samdo sul changgu karak. Kim Tŏksu p’ae SamulNoriga yŏnju hanŭn samdo sŏl changgu karak haksŭp p’yŏn 삼도 설장구 가락: 김덕수패 사물놀이가 연주하는 삼도 설장구가락 학습편2 [Samdo sŏl changgu variations: Kim Tŏksu troupe SamulNori and drum rhythm performance study samdo sŏl changgu variations, vol. 2]. Seoul: Samho ch’ulp’ansa 삼호출판사.
Korean Conservatorium of Performing Arts/Han’guk chŏnt’ong yesul yŏnju pojonhoe 한국 전통 예술 연주 보존회, editors. 1995. Samdo sul changgu karak. Kim Tŏksu p’ae SamulNoriga yŏnju hanŭn samdo sŏl changgu karak yŏnju p’yŏn 삼도 설장구 가락: 김덕수패 사물놀이가 연주하는 삼도 설장구가락 학습편3 [Samdo sŏl changgu variations: Kim Tŏksu troupe SamulNori and drum rhythm performance study samdo sŏl changgu variations, vol. 3]. Seoul: Samho ch’ulp’ansa 삼호출판사.
Kwon, Donna Lee. 2005. “Music, movement and space: a study of the madang and p’an in Korean expressive culture.” PhD dissertation. Berkeley: University of California.
Kwon, Donna Lee. 2015. “‘Becoming one’: embodying Korean p’ungmul percussion band music and dance through site-specific intermodal transmission.” Ethnomusicology 59(1): 31–60. https://doi.org/10.5406/ethnomusicology.59.1.i.
Kwŏn Ŭnyŏng 권은영. 2012. Yŏsŏng nongaktan yŏn’gu 여성 농악단 연구 [Study of women’s local percussion bands]. Seoul: Shina ch’ulp’ansa 신사출판사.
Lee, Byong Won. 2000. “Western staff notation and its impact on Korean musical practice.” Tongyang ŭmak 22: 89–102.
Lee, Hye-ku. 1981. “Quintuple meter in Korean instrumental music.” Asian Music 13(1): 119–29. https://doi.org/10.2307/834090.
Lee, Katherine In-Young. 2018. Dynamic Korea and Rhythmic Form. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press.
Lee, Kwan-ho, Kyoung-pyo Kang, Sa-bin Lee and Hye-young Kim, editors. 2018. Encyclopedia of Nongak. Encyclopedia of Korean Folklore and Traditional Culture 5. Seoul: National Folk Museum of Korea. http://folkency.nfm.go.kr/api/file/download/dictionary/141. (Korean version: 이관호, 강경표, 이사빈 & 김혜영 편, 2018. 한국농악사전. 한국민속대백과사전 V.)
McQuain, Jan. 1973/1974. “Travelling in a farmers’ band.” AWC Journal 2: 43–8.
Mills, Simon. 2007. Healing Rhythms: The World of South Korea’s East Coast Hereditary Shamans. Aldershot: Ashgate.
Mills, Simon. 2008. “Playful patterns of freedom: hand gong performance in Korean shaman ritual.” Musiké 4: 145–70.
Otto, Ton, and Poul Pedersen. 2005. “Disentangling traditions: culture, agency and power.” In Tradition and Agency: Tracing Cultural Continuity and Invention, edited by Ton Otto and Poul Pedersen, 11–49. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press.
Pak Ch’ŏl 박철 and Cho Miyŏn 조미연. 2019. Honam udo sŏl changgu: Kim Pyŏngsŏp ŭi saengaewa yesul segye 호남 우도 설장구: 김병섭의 생애와 예술 세계 [Southern right-style sŏl changgu: Kim Pyŏngsŏp’s life and art world]. Seoul: Han’gŭl midiŏ 한글미디어.
Park, Chan E. 2003. Voices from the Straw Mat: Toward an Ethnography of Korean Story Singing. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. https://doi.org/10.1515/9780824865504.
Provine, Robert C. 1975. Drum Rhythms in Korean Farmers’ Music. Seoul: private publication. 2006, transl. into Korean by Kim Yusŏk 김유석, “Chŏnbuk nongak changgo changdan 전북농악장고장단 [North Chŏlla province local percussion band drum archetype models]. Han’guk akkihak 한국악기학 4 (2006): 157–215.
Provine, Robert C. 1982. “Die rhythmischen strukturen in der koreanischen folklore.” Korea Kulturmagazin 1: 156–75.
Provine, Robert C. 1985. “Drumming in Korean farmers’ music: a process of gradual evolution.” In Music in Context: Essays for John M. Ward, edited by Anne Dhu Shapiro, 441–52. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Provine, Robert C. 2002a. “Rhythmic patterns and form in Korea.” In The Garland Encyclopedia of World Music 8, East Asia: China, Japan, and Korea, edited by Robert C. Provine, Yosihiko Tokumaru, and J. Lawrence Witzleben, 841–5. New York: Routledge.
Provine, Robert C. 2002b. “A few thoughts on Western music notation in Korea.” In Kugakhak nonmunjip 국악학 논문집 (Essays in Musicology; an offering in celebration of Kim, Chong-Ja on her sixtieth birthday), 935–9. Seoul: Minsogwŏn 민속원.
Rice, Timothy. 1994. May It Fill Your Soul: Experiencing Bulgarian Music. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Rice, Timothy. 1997. “Toward a mediation of field methods and field experience in ethnomusicology.” In Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology, edited by Gregory Barz and Timothy Cooley, 101–20. New York: Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780195324952.003.0003.
Ricouer, Paul. 1981. Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences: Essays on Language, Action, and Interpretation. Edited and translated by John B. Thompson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781316534984.
Sahlins, Marshall. 1999. “What Is anthropological enlightenment? Some lessons of the twentieth century.” Annual Review of Anthropology 28: i–xxiii. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev.anthro.28.1.0.
Schippers, Huib. 2015. “Applied ethnomusicology and intangible cultural heritage: understanding ‘ecosystems’ of music as a tool for sustainability.” In Oxford Handbook of Applied Ethnomusicology, edited by Svanibor Pettan and Jeff Todd Titon, 134–57. New York: Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199351701.001.0001.
Shim Usŏng 심우성. 1974. Namsadang p’ae yŏn’gu 남사당패 연구 [Study of itinerant troupes]. Seoul: Tonghwa ch’ulp’ansa 동화출판사.
Sim Woo-sung [Shim Usŏng]. 1997. “Namsadang: Wandering Folk Troupes.” Koreana 11(2): 44–9.
Silverstein, Michael, and Greg Urban. 1996. Natural Histories of Discourse. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Song Bang-song. 1986. The Sanjo Tradition of Korean Kŏmun’go Music. Seoul: Jung Eum Sa.
Van Zile, Judy. 2001. Perspectives on Korean Dance. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press.
Yang, Jongsung. 2003. Cultural Protection Policy in Korea: Intangible Cultural Properties and Living National Treasures. Seoul: Jimoondang.
Yi Pohyŏng 이보형, Yi Chuyŏng 이주영, Yi Tongyŏng 이동영 and Chŏng Ch’unja 정춘자. 1995. Hyangje p’ungnyu. Muhyŏng munhwajae (ŭmak) chosa pogosŏ 향재 풍류. 무형문화재 (음악) 조사 보고서 6 [Literati ensemble music. Comprehensive report on intangible cultural properties (music), vol. 6]. Seoul: Munhwajae kwalliguk 문화재관리국/ Munhwajae yŏn’guso 문화재연구소.
Yu Shihyŏn 유시현 and Kim Kira 김기라. 2009. Kungjung muyong mubo 궁중 무용 무보 13 [Court dance notation, vol. 13]. Seoul: Kungnip kugagwŏn 국립국악원.
[1]. The notion of “communitarianism,” taken from John Bennett, was adapted and used in Korean anthropology by Chun (1984, 168) for his ethnography of Chindo, an island archipelago to Korea’s southwest. Chindo was the fieldsite for my doctoral research (and first book, Howard 1990), and Chindo percussion bands will be referred to below.
[2]. Today, Koreans tend to prefer changgu over changgo, arguing that the Sino-Korean character ko/-go (고) should be pronounced as if it marks what, putatively, is a purely Korean syllable, ku/-gu (구). Note that this paper uses the McCune-Reischauer romanization system for Korean terms, which is the system favoured by most scholars and academic libraries outside South Korea (the current South Korean government romanization system would render the drum janggu or janggo, the musician I discuss here Gim Byeong-seop, and the piece—usually without breaks between syllables, rendering it largely impossible for non-Koreans to read—gaeinjanggunori or seoljanggunori). Also, Korean han’gŭl (한글) is given the first time a Korean term is introduced and when the term reappears after an absence; I have chosen not to give Sino-Korean characters in deference to the preference not to do so that is now prevalent among many Korean “folk” musicians.
[3]. As per the conclusion to my 1983 account, with what on reflection includes somewhat dubious grammar: “Kim keeps his feet firmly planted in folk music tradition, utilising these characteristics that are constantly found in folk music, but he has harnessed their forces to serve a new environment, the urban, where rates of change, teaching methods, audience expectations and performer virtuosity are different” (Howard 1983b, 34). Note that this article is concerned with the Republic of Korea (South Korea) which, for simplicity, I hereafter refer to simply as “Korea.”
[4]. The first of these terms, nongak, uses Sino-Korean characters, but in common usage the second term, p’ungmul (풍물, or풍물굿 p’ungmul kut) has over the last three decades become more common as the genre designator. Although claimed by many Koreans, although without substantiation, to be a term imported from Japan during the colonial period, nongak continues to be used in official documents, and for the genre as it is listed on the UNESCO Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Lee et al (2018, 23–25) explores the history of the terms, associating “p’ungmul” with the 1970s and 1980s student movement and tracking “nongak” back to the seventeenth century.
[5]. Percussion bands of old did feature a melodic instrument, the shawm (known as the 호적 hojŏk, 날라리 nallari, or 쇄납 swaenap), but this largely decorated what percussionists played, typically standing to one side and improvising around folksong melodies. Historically, the use of a shawm over percussion was common in court processions and military marching bands, from Korea westwards to the Ottoman Empire (for which, think of the Ottoman janissary). Howard (2020) explores the Korean use, based on Korean iconography and Japanese depictions.
[6]. Kim tended to give his date of birth as 1921. This is how the report by Hong Hyŏnshik, Kim Ch’ŏnhŭng and Pak Hŏnbong (1967, 123) has it, stating he was born on 3 December 1921 in the solar calendar; in interview with me in April 1983, Kim confirmed that 1921 was when he had been born. However, it was common for Koreans of his generation not to know their exact birth date, and if they did, they would commonly give it based on the lunar calendar (if so, for Kim, lunar December 1921 would have been solar January 1922).
[7]. A few years ago and after a few shared beers, Yoon Seok-ho (윤석호), the director of “겨울연가 Kyŏul yŏn’ga/Winter Sonata,” decided to search the KBS TV archives for the recording of my performance, but found the tape had been wiped and re-used.
[8]. Part of a concert with Tran Quang Hai and Inok Paek (Festival Saitenklänge ’91, 2: Musik aus Vietnam und Korea. Haus der Kulturen der Welt, Berlin and Museum für Völkerkunde Berlin, Statatliche Museen PK, 1991).
[9]. My comment here grows from a previous article in which I explored the ethnomusicologist John Blacking’s changing perceptions over 35 years of the music, dance, and cultural practices he had documented during fieldwork. In that article, I coupled phenomenological hermeneutics to my personal experience of flying gliders (often referred to as “soaring”), constantly assessing altitude, tilt, and position, in relation to the ever-shifting horizon (Howard 2006b).
[10]. Korean sources tend to suggest the late nineteenth century but, not least because we have no evidence of the use of a second drumstick, the mallet-shaped kunggul ch’ae (궁굴채)—which facilitates more complex archetype models and variants—until the mid-twentieth century, this may be too early.
[11]. http://archive.gugak.go.kr/portal/detail/searchVideoDetail?clipid=20888&system_id=AV&recording_type_code=V and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EuEycoozizw. On the second of these recordings, the drum solo starts at 5’39”.
[12]. I thank Robert Provine for introducing me to this manuscript.
[13]. For a comprehensive account of Kim’s work and the prizes he was awarded in Korean, see Pak and Cho (2019, 70–72); for an English account, see Canda (2023, 1–23).
[14]. See Kwŏn (2012) for a discussion of women’s bands during and after this period.
[15]. The Korean American Chan E. Park, a professor known primarily for her p’ansori (판소리, epic storytelling through song) expertise, also studied with Kim. Park explores the implications of a Caucasian woman (that is, McQuain) performing in a percussion band to Koreans and “going native”, concluding that such “‘outsider’ cross-racial, cross-cultural, and cross-societal adventures … [are] part and parcel of the overall shaping of Korean folk music today” (2001, 126–7).
[16]. The American Peace Corps were active in South Korea between 1966 and 1981. Gary Clay Rector, after graduation in the US, worked briefly for the Gibson guitar company before being sent for six months to Ch’ilgok near Taejŏn in Korea’s southeast as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Later he moved to Seoul, where he took various jobs and for a while helped run a language school (where Berry taught and, later, Mintz directed). In 1994, Rector took South Korean citizenship. See https://digitallibrary.usc.edu/asset-management/2A3BF1OA80FIW?FR_=1&W=1324&H=975 for an interview with Rector recorded shortly before his death; for an overview of his life and work, see Canda (2023, 85–88). Berry and McQuain were sent to North Chŏlla as Volunteers; Berry, like Rector, settled in Korea, where he spent much of his post-Peace Corps life studying Buddhism.
[17]. Hesselink (2006) gives an account of the Iri band (the more recently established of two in Iri according to Lee et al 2018, 72).
[18]. Based on personal observations, particularly when tour managing for the original SamulNori quartet in 1985 and 1987.
[19]. As discussed by Chie (2017).
[20]. Arguably, Kim was a better musician than he was a dancer, although given my suspect dancing ability—Kim used to laugh at what he called my “disco steps”—I may not be the best judge. For dance, the drum is held to the body by either one or two sashes (tti 띠), one around the waist and the other over one shoulder (usually the right shoulder).
[21]. “Folk” (민속) as in the common East Asian understanding, where the Little Tradition contrasts the court, aristocratic, and literati Great Tradition (Bauman 1992).
[22]. At http://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/17GiWcTtVS6k1fVCVo4e7LEEkLQr7NUkT.
[23]. E.g., http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dX3bt71uk8M; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KN8VfG18ShQ; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHDteE8Fo58; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FE_nQNkhofc; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cx1EW7RygPw; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jW86rXEK9CA.
[24]. Canda reproduces the document that established this, and lists its members (2023, 10 and 128–9).
[25]. A recording of which is at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bMxedT9lIs.
[26]. In 2015, “important” (중요 chungyo) was reclassified as “national” (국가 kukka), distinguishing national appointments from those made at provincial and city levels.
[27]. The pamphlet from the June 1985 performance, containing Kim’s brief biography and a list of the names of his team, is reproduced by Pak and Cho (2019, 49).
[28]. I picked up a resistance to acknowledge him from several academics close to the preservation system. One, the late Han Manyŏng (한만영; 1935–2007), then a professor at Seoul National University and who for many years served on the Cultural Properties Committee (문화재위원회 Munhwajae Wiwŏnhoe), denigrated Kim as merely an “illiterate farmer” when I asked him to intervene in a 1981 argument between Kim and an Anglican/Episcopalian priest I had been renting a room from (both Kim and the priest wanted the colour television I had just won at the Korea Herald/KBS TV contest for foreigners…). Some have suggested that the refusal to appoint Kim within the preservation system was, although Kim never told me this, because his brother had been a left-wing activist who fell foul of the South Korean regime in the late 1940s.
[29]. Two reports were issued prior to the adjustment that indicate some of the discussions that took place (Chŏng et al 1982; Chŏng and Yi 1985).
[30]. Note, that the Iri style as appointed was partly recent in terms of its development, and that Imshil P’ilbong had been re-established post-1945 and added training facilities to support the appointment only in the 1980s. For Iri, see Hesselink (2006); for Imshil P’ilbong, see Kwon (2005, 2015).
[31]. Mahan was one of the “Three Hans” (삼한). It flourished until the fifth century CE, when it was assimilated into the state of Paekche (벡제). Lee et al (2018, 359) suggest that percussion bands congregated in Chŏngŭp during the Japanese colonial period because it was central to a new religion, Poch’ŏn’gyo (보천교, Vault of Heaven).
[32]. For a list of published accounts up to 2015 see Howard (2015a, 7–9).
[33]. That is, Italian (and Western art music) andante.
[34]. Using Cooper and Meyer’s (1960) terminology, which in turn are based on Greek poetic feet.
[35]. In other Korean music genres, and for accompaniment, an open hand is used rather than the kunggul ch’ae, striking the lower-pitched head only; this can explain the onomatopoeic alternative term for the head, pukp’yŏn. For a fuller discussion of drum construction and techniques for playing see Howard (2015b, 220–30).
[36]. Gary Rector’s listing of Kim’s onomatopoeia, as ipchangdan (입장단, “vocalised rhythms”), is given in Canda (2023, 37).
[37]. In 1983 and 1984 I worked with more than 200 Chindo residents, including with many who had in earlier times participated in bands that had become defunct, although I worked particularly closely with five extant bands. For one extant band, in Sop’o village (소포리), I was invited to lodge in the village for a month during the winter school holiday; each morning, children came to learn English, and each evening, band members came to talk, play, and teach me. Sop’o’s band (소포 농악단) has since 2006 been designated as South Chŏlla provincial intangible cultural property 39. Again, when I was staying in the market village of Shibilshi (십일시), a woman’s band was being developed and I attended its rehearsals. During stays in Inji village (인지리) and Tonji village (돈지리), to the west and east of the island respectively, bands rehearsed to accompany local folksong groups; and in Sangman (상만리) and the neighbouring Chungman village (중만리), I observed and participated in a four-day ritual played by the band.
[38]. For which, see Hahn (1975)—Hahn published this argument in several different iterations.
[39]. My use of “epic” in this gloss, which I first adopted in 1983, remains somewhat controversial, but it follows the broad exploration of epics in Hatto (1980) and Hatto and Hainsworth (1989). I have discussed p’ansori in relation to Central Asian epics in Howard and Kasmambetov (2011, 78–80).
[40]. Blacking, like other ethnomusicologists of his time, argued that as societies change, so music must change. He was sceptical of efforts to preserve musical traditions. Today, we have a greater understanding of the challenges of preservation not least due to the efforts of UNESCO, and because the zeitgeist of contemporary ethnomusicology has seemingly shifted to attempting to sustain traditions (see, e.g., Schippers 2015, 141; Grant 2016, 19–37).
[41]. I took daily lessons with Kim until early December 1982, then left Seoul for Chindo, returning in late February 1983. When I left, ŏnmori was not part of lessons, but when I returned it was.
[42]. One of the movements in a court suite commonly titled Yŏngsan hoesang (영산회상, after the first four Sino-Korean characters of a chant accompanying it in early scores) although often known to local literati across Korea as the repertoire of p’ungnyu (풍류) or, more fully, hyangje chulp’ungnyu (향제 줄풍류). Kim’s knowledge may have reflected how local musicians are reputed to have been asked to join local literati when rehearsing or performing the repertoire (Yi et al 1985).
[43]. Video 1 at https://kuscholarworks.ku.edu/handle/1808/34564; as discussed by Loken Kim, 3 September 2023, in a Zoom meeting with Canda, Provine, Freshley and Howard.
[44]. This is a somewhat contentious issue. Striking both heads simultaneously is thought by many to blur the sound, since the vibrations counteract each other at the centre—the thin waist—of the drum, so players will often try to strike the higher-pitched head fractionally ahead of the lower-pitched head.
[45]. A hall built within the “New Village Movement” (새마을 운동 Saemaŭl undong), a campaign begun in 1971 with the twin objectives of improving the rural environment and boosting farming incomes, thereby to reduce the increasing disparity between (backward) rural and (modernised) urban populations. The movement had the result of increasing government control of rural communities, and by the early 1980s its political nature was recognised as problematic.
[46]. Reproduced with the permission of Mary Jo Freshley.
[47]. Kim’s technique was not because of left-handedness, but rather was common among changgu drummers who played in local percussion bands in previous times: using the mallet-shaped stick in the right hand matched the way that the large gong and the barrel drum were struck by sticks held in the right hand. Refer to Illustration 5 above. The switch to mallet-shaped stick in the left and whip-like stick in the right hand has today become normal and may reflect how the changgu drum was (and is) played as an accompanying instrument, where the whip-like stick was (and is) held in the right hand.
[48]. Provine was aware of several transcriptions of percussion band music made by the Seoul National University professor Chŏng Hoegap during the 1960s, including two published in the university journal Ŭmdae hakpo (volume 2 (Chŏng 1964, unpaginated) and volume 4 (Chŏng 1968, 18–23)) and the undated manuscript notation discussed above. In an email to me (5 August 2023), Provine recalled that Chŏng was “…probably introduced by my friend [the Korean American composer] Donald Sur, who was the first person to mention sŏl changgo [changgu] to me, which in turn was why I attended a performance by Kim Pyŏngsŏp and started with the drum… [Chŏng] used ordinary five-line staff paper, with generally western tempo indications and meters”. In the 1980s, I also met Chŏng, and had the opportunity to discuss with him and with other Korean musicologists how and why they adopted Western notation for Korean repertoires. I needed their advice as I decided on what notation to include in my practical guide to Korean instruments (Howard 1988; second edition, Howard 2015b).
[49]. Contemporary composers have, of course, spent much of the last 100 years introducing additional symbols, including for extended techniques devised for both percussion and melodic instruments.
[50]. The model proposed for pitch by Hughes (1991), based on the pitch of vowel formants, does not in my experience match the variety of onomatopoeia used by Korean musicians, as I explore elsewhere (Howard 2015b).
[51]. The onomatopoeia used in these scorebooks were tabulated by Chang (1969, 130).
[52]. Given in the 1992 English version of the workbook without diacriticals.
[53]. Given in the 1992 English version without diacriticals.
[54]. In 1987, the quartet performed alongside the dancer Yi Aeju (이애주; 1947–2021) at a rally that memorialised two students killed by the police as they stamped down on dissent. Yi danced to pacify the souls of the dead. A video, shot outside the campus around this time and featuring a larger percussion band (silent, because the video features a protest song, “Ach’im isŭl/Morning Dew,” dubbed over it) is at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDoxRBs1khE. Lee (2012) discusses the adoption of percussion bands, including samulnori, at protests later that same year.
[55]. To my knowledge, no Labanotation or equivalent has been attempted, unlike e.g., notations for court music (e.g., Yu and Kim 2009) or shamanic dance (Van Zile 2001, 148–66).
[56]. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7eiNnw6Kwc, see 23’30”–26’30”.
[57]. Kim was a key informant for Simon Mills’ research, and features in the film directed by Emma Franz about Simon Barker’s journey in Korean percussion, Intangible Asset Number 82 (2008). I have written extensively on Chindo music and shaman rituals, including on Pak and his family (e.g., Howard 2006a, 99–158).