Nunani: Song (Part two)

RACHEL QITSUALIK

Due to its social and psychological power, song can easily be wielded by one human being as a weapon against another. Consider the fact that, despite the popularity of visual media today, songs of social/political satire are more common than ever — one can continually hear them on the radio, late night talk shows, comedy specials, popular music, and numerous other sources.

History shows us that one of the first things a tyrant will do, once coming to power, is censor musical lyrics. There is just something about song that drives messages into our brains more effectively than any other medium, and those who would become targets of it often realize this.

Just as the attribution of power to song is an ancient concept, so is the idea of using it aggressively. As an example, the most famous of Celtic (Welsh) bards was Taliesin, who is thought to have flourished in the sixth century. While there is a great deal of lore that is thought to have derived from a real Taliesin, there are many more legendary deeds attributed to the folkloric Taliesin.

Thought by many scholars to be the figure upon which Merlin (the magician from the tales of King Arthur) was based, Taliesin’s beginnings are too long to describe herein, but suffice it to say that he is a figure of many incarnations, having come to own a vast body of lore.

When his adopted father is imprisoned by the wicked King Gwyddno, the youthful Taliesin appears at the king’s court, demanding his father’s release. As a bard, a master of songs and poetry, he is challenged by the bards residing at the king’s court (these were the times when Europeans kept books, but still greatly relied upon their oral traditions). Taliesin confounds the court-bards by singing riddles to them, such as,

“Do you know what you are in the hour of sleep?

A mere body, a mere soul, or a secret retreat of light?”

When they can’t answer, he taunts them with the verse,

“I marvel that in their books they know not with certainty

the properties of the soul, or what form are its members;

Into what part, or when, it takes up its abode,

Or by what wind or stream it is supplied.”

Taliesin then confuses and horrifies them by singing of his numerous incarnations: that he has stood with God in the highest heaven, alongside Lucifer in the lowest hell. He sings of his time in India, of when Rome was built, and of his three residencies in the castle of a goddess. He sings of his times as many animals, many men, many women, and that after all this he has ended up here as Taliesin.

By now, King Gwyddno’s bards are in such confusion that their attempts to answer Taliesin have reduced them to babbling idiocy. With that, Taliesin’s final song is a spell that summons a great windstorm, ripping through the court and terrifying all within it — including the king. Thus does Taliesin secure the release of his father.

This Taliesin story is of interest to me because I love to note concordance between different cultural traditions. For the events in the story make perfect sense in Inuktitut. Inuit have always believed that preternatural powers can be expressed through song, and most important of all: Inuit have an ancient tradition of song-duelling.

Song-duels seem to have been especially popular among Eastern Arctic peoples, who used them as a way to resolve interpersonal conflict in a non-violent (at least, non-physically violent) fashion. The tradition was encouraged, not only because of its non-violent nature, but because it was great entertainment for the listeners.

The idea was very simple: each contestant would have a turn at inventing a song (sort of the Inuit equivalent of an evening at the improv) with lyrics that would humble, belittle, satirize, denigrate, revile, and generally humiliate the opponent.

The song was made up off the top of the singer’s head, its dual purpose to poke fun at the subject while also amusing listeners. The subject himself could do nothing but sit and stew while the gibes were sung out, and listeners laughed aloud. And laughter was the critical factor in the contest, since it would determine the winner. The rule was “anything goes” — as long as it was funny.

(Concluded in Part Three.)