Created as a hybrid of African and European models by enslaved Africans in the 17^th century Caribbean, the banjo--so-called “America's Instrument”—uniquely illuminates the history of slavery, race and class relations, the rural-urban divide, folkness, nationalism, and commercialization of popular culture. With minstrelsy and the subsequent northern manufacturing boom, the banjo is the first major example of White appropriation of Black musical resources for profit in the U.S. By the mid-twentieth century the banjo was almost completely associated with southern White “folk” culture, its Black roots largely forgotten but for the work of a growing group of scholars beginning with Dena Epstein in 1977. As an index of southern folks, the banjo invokes both nostalgia for and the actualization of good family and community life in the rural south, and among a variety of old-time “revival” and bluegrass scenes across the country which are primarily White, urban and middle-class. Finally, in the past decade a Black Banjo Reclamation Project has arisen underlining tensions that have been there all along. Here I summarize how the swirling trajectories of the banjo's history, its musics and public meanings, disturb essentialist readings while recognizing the often passionate claims of legitimate cultural ownership and authenticity of different types of players and the musics played. I focus, finally, on the social value of old-time music scenes I have been a part of, various notions of authenticity, and the peculiar essentialist policing within these scenes.

In this presentation, I problematize processes of being for young Balinese artists in the United States during negotiations of cultural sharing, arguing for a reformation of how cultural sustainability is performed. My family came to the United States to teach gamelan and share Indonesian culture because of opportunities provided by efforts of cultural diplomacy between Indonesia and the U.S. I grew up falling asleep to college students hacking away at interlocking patterns in basements of music programs. I experience a certain privilege defined by my family’s collaboration with ethnomusicologists to create gamelan communities but also face certain cultural weights. I am not the only one. Much of my diasporic network is disparate and rarely convenes. Many have gone back to Bali. At this point, the existence of gamelan in higher education is arguably canonical, but there is an epistemological paradigm shift that uncovers growing intracultural frustrations of younger Balinese artists. How are younger Balinese artists carving unique identities when their predecessors are so revered? How are we to liberate artistic voices when we are met with, “that’s not the way I was taught by your uncle” discourse? Concepts of marginalization in ethnomusicological studies have become generically synonymous with BIPOC practitioners. The discourse surrounding marginalization discounts voices of younger generations interested in participating and problematizing legacies of music studies. This overlooks layers of complex negotiations of syncretic identities and often creates gatekeeping neo-exoticization. I aim to critique these ideas of marginalization in favor of a less essentializing performance of creativity.

The history of ethnomusicology is partially defined by a fundamental paradox. Firstly, it asserts that musical meaning emerges primarily from culturally specific and historically salient contexts. Secondly however, it often decontextualizes musical practice it demonstrates this meaning by decontextualizing music and bringing it into ensembles and classrooms of higher education. This paradox grows more and more difficult to resolve as the politics of identity, emphases on equity, and unresolved legacies of racism and colonialism grow undeniable. How can we as educators, performers, and musical guests resolve this paradox? I’ve played the mbira from Zimbabwe for almost thirty years, but I’m not Zimbabwean; I’ve played the guqin from China for over five years, yet I’m not Chinese; and I’ve sung Christian liturgy for most of my life but am not Christian. How should I feel about these realities? Are they morally redeemable? In this talk I offer potential paths towards harnessing the obvious benefits of participation in these practices while also working against accompanying legacies of essentialism, racism, and colonialism. By centering ethnomusicology’s defining paradox and exposing the double-edged “benefits” of cross-cultural performance like empathy, communitas, and the formation of mutual indebtedness, I argue that it is only by embracing the risks and responsibilities of musical practices such as these as much as the rewards that we can overcome ossified understandings of identity to serve justice and community rather than appropriation and self-indulgent freedom.

When Mantle Hood wrote the “Challenge of ‘Bi-musicality’” in 1960, he could not have foreseen all the extramusical ramifications that were set in motion by encouraging generations of ethnomusicologists to deeply engage with, learn, and teach world music in the academy. When I entered graduate school as a younger Asian American, it was my dream to teach Korean music ensemble performance at the college level. Now, two decades later, I am still grappling with the complex dynamics that can occur when teaching non-Western music ensembles in an academic setting, even as I remain committed to performance and practice as an extension of research. Drawing on my experience as well as interviews with other scholar/performers who are teaching Korean music in academic settings, I will examine some of the various challenges that can occur while also considering how the nuances of one’s positionality can greatly impact one’s experience. I am interested in attending to the gap between teaching in community settings versus academic ones, where the student or member make-up and motivations can be radically different and where the dynamics of essentialism and the politics of representation can play out in unexpected ways. For example, I began learning Korean drumming in a Korean American community-based group with strong ties to political activism. In trying to stay true to this experience, I aim to explore how to best reckon with the gaps between academic and community/activist environments especially during a time when engaging with politics has become increasingly tenuous.