Nunani: Song (Part one)

RACHEL QITSUALIK

And the birds cry out “ying-ying!”
Regard that bird: bird as it is,
Seeking with its voice its companion!
And shall a man not seek his friends?
Spiritual beings will then harken to him:
He will have harmony and peace!

— Inuit song recorded by Knud Rasmussen in the 1920s

If you are anything like me, you have wondered from time to time why people (in the West, anyway) tend to sing “Auld Lang Syne” at New Year.

I had heard that it was Scottish, but that was all I really knew about it until I did some research. When I did, I was surprised to learn that the ancient Scottish (that is, Gaelic, or Celtic) attitude toward song was more than a little reminiscent of pre-colonial Inuit beliefs.

First, about “Auld Lang Syne.” For a long time, this Scottish song has traditionally been sung at the end of social gatherings, participants holding hands in a circle, arms crossed in front of the body — especially throughout the first verse, chorus, and last verse. It first started to pop up in 17th century ballads, and the song’s original author is unknown.

But the version we know today is a 1788 reworking by Robert Burns. Being sung at gatherings, it was only natural that Scots sang it at New Year, and the tradition has stuck over the years, with the addition that it has crept outward to other cultures based on those in the U.K.

While I was interested to learn all of this, I was far more intrigued when I dug deeper into some of the ancient traditions of the Scots — in other words, of the Celts. As with most cultures, the Celtic peoples (who included the Gaels of Scotland) held song as both a form of entertaining self-expression, as well as a learning tool. But even more strikingly, they believed that song could affect their environment — and if used to ill-purpose, could be lethal.

This is not unlike the traditional Inuit perception of song. But then again, the Celts were Qallunaat (white folks) as they were in ancient, tribal times, when their lifestyle was somewhat closer to that of pre-colonial Inuit than it was by the time their descendants first began to visit the Arctic.

The Celts tended to avoid written language. They viewed it as untrustworthy, the hallmark of untrustworthy civilized folk — the kind that lived in cities, like the Greeks. Instead, theirs was an exclusively oral tradition. And, in time, they produced a class of person whose sole expertise was mastering this oral tradition.

Such people were known as bards, and the task of every bard was to memorize the thousands of songs, stories, and riddles of their culture, as well as the secret names of every kind of bird, beast, flower, and tree.

And just as with Inuit angakkuit (shamans) who held similar lore, such knowledge caused a certain amount of supernatural power to become associated with the bard.

Now it is important, at this point, to bear in mind that humanity has ever regarded song as holding power. A song is an expression of will, and its use of rhythm and repetition can elicit an altered state of consciousness in both the singer and the listener.

Everyone has felt the direct impact of music upon their mind, their very nervous system, and nothing can so mould human emotion like music. The words themselves hold the same influence that words ever have, which is why poetry and writing — which are about the right choice of words, about how best to state something — is so influential. With words and music combined well, in a song, their power is increased exponentially.

For this reason, song is still perhaps the most powerful spiritual tool humanity owns. All-encompassing, yet deeply personal, it has been fundamental to worship since the most ancient of times.

(Concluded in Part Two.)