FIRST NATIONS MUSIC OF THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST COAST: KWAKWAKA'WAKW (KWAKIUTL)

Ida Halpern (revised by Paula Conlon)

Ida Halpern was a pioneering ethnomusicologist who documented many of the musical cultures of the Pacific Northwest Coast. This essay is derived from the notes she wrote to accompany recordings she made of the Kwakwaka'wakw (Kwakiutl), released in 1981 on Folkways 4122 as Kwakiutl: Indian Music of the Pacific Northwest. The material was updated by Paula Conlon, who teaches ethnomusicology at the University of Oklahoma, where she specializes in Native American music. Her primary research/performing interest is the Native American flute in both traditional and contemporary contexts.

The First Nations people of the Pacific Northwest Coast are among the most varied and complex to be found north of Mexico. Their tribes include the Kwakwaka'wakw (Kwakiutl), Nuu-chah-nulth (Nootka), Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian, Nuxalk (Bella Coola), and the Coast Salish. In 1770, on the arrival of the white man, the Pacific Northwest Coast Native population was estimated to be about 70,000 people, while the Kwakwaka'wakw population was between 7,000 and 8,000. In 1882, through infectious diseases, the Kwakwaka'wakw had dwindled to about 3,500. In 1924, there were slightly under 2,000. Since that time, however, the trend has been reversed, and by the late 1970s the Kwakwaka'wakw numbered about 4,000.

The Kwakwaka'wakw occupied territory on the northern corner of Vancouver Island, ranging from Johnstone Strait to Cape Cook. The Kwakwaka'wakw were composed of four phratries (clans): Raven, Eagle, Killer Whale, and Wolf. They were not allowed to marry within the same phratry. The political unit of the Kwakwaka'wakw was the village, which was self-supporting. Only luxuries, including slaves, were traded. The chiefs, who lived in Big Houses, possessed names that, with other rights, titles, and privileges, were handed down from generation to generation. These could include ownership of a song, a crest, a special seat at the potlatch, or the right to membership in one of the secret societies, such as the Hamatsa, or "cannibal society." The Kwakwaka'wakw culture was greatly enriched by totem poles, masks, regalia, and a variety of origin stories and legends. Their masterful artwork included carvings in wood, stone and metal.

Both religion and society placed great emphasis on prestige, rather than power. Much importance was given to wealth, family possessions, and the ownership of slaves, with social climbing and the denigration of rivals acting as strong motivators. Complex rituals and ceremonies were kept according to strict rules and guided by shamans (priests who used magic to communicate with the supernatural, cure disease, and foretell the future). Goals included the acquisition of supernatural power, spirit quests, the establishment of contact with the spiritual world, and initiation into the secret societies.

HAMATSA

Hamatsa ceremonials were a central part of Kwakwaka'wakw secret societies, with music playing a central role. The Hamatsa secret society was evolved by the Kwakwaka'wakw, and later spread to the surrounding Haida and Nuu-chah-nulth tribes. Initiation as a Hamatsa was a great honor, accorded only to those of high rank, and compulsory for chiefs. Details of the Hamatsa ceremony differ from one tribe to another, as can be seen in the following accounts:

MUNGO MARTIN

An eligible young man was sent alone into the woods where he must stay for four years. [The time varied in different descriptions, sometimes as little as four months.] Then he was sought out and brought back. On his return he jumped at people and bit them. Everybody pretended to be afraid. He then started to dance, getting wilder and wilder.

The ceremony obliged him to dance around the house four times, and to climb the pole four times. At his first appearance he wore nothing but parts of fir trees. At the second dance—the initiation—the Hamatsa wore a mask, like the head of a bird painted in strong colors, and growled instead of speaking because he had lost the power of speech through his long stay in the woods.

There were three Hamatsa costumes: (1) a headdress [mask] with a long beak that opened and shut; (2) no headdress, Hamatsa clad in cedar only, on a naked body; (3) the complete attire [headdress and cedar].

Before the Hamatsa comes out the drums are vibrating quickly. The Hamatsa song "Mosquito" is an initiation song. Mosquitos come from the ashes that are blown out of the chimney before the Hamatsa arrives. Therefore, mosquito bites come from the Hamatsa. When the Hamatsa approaches, the chimney pipes are blowing. The smoke scares them away. The smoke has different colors with different meanings: white smoke, mountain goat; brown smoke, grizzly bear.

After the spirit talks, the Hamatsa is sometimes paralyzed for two years. Whenever he tries to enter, the drums announce him. He tells all about the changes. The women and children in the villages are running about, announcing that the Hamatsa is here. There are feast songs for the Hamatsa. Nobody likes the Hamatsa.

A small Hamatsa accompanies him. Old people believed in small Hamatsas. It was called Hamasanos (small people).

When the Hamatsa is dancing everybody is told to be quiet and to watch. One man stands up. There is no more talking. He wants to try to talk. The young man who is a Hamatsa cannot talk. Only an old man who is a Hamatsa can talk. He no longer swears, and he is not angry any more.

The first part of the Hamatsa's initiation was held in secret, with only the members of the Hamatsa society in attendance; the second part was public, with the entire community taking part. Sometimes there were female Hamatsas. The rank was hereditary, and a woman, being the only daughter of a Hamatsa, had to abide by the same rules and remain in the woods, just as a man would have done. Mrs. Sam Webber, the aunt of Tom Willie, was the only woman Hamatsa in Kingcome. Mungo Martin's wife gave him a Hamatsa song she brought into the marriage, which he planned to give to his sons. His wife inherited the song from her uncle, Johnny Klaotsi of Teina Island, which is fifty miles from Alert Bay.

BILLY ASSU

The Hamatsa must dance around the Big House four times. He climbs up the Hamatsa pole four times to attract the people and make the pole sway. When he first comes out he wears nothing but branches. He must stay four years in the woods. People go there to round him up. He jumps down, fifty feet. He runs away again. This is done to attain a higher standard among the people.

TOM WILLIE

The Hamatsa ceremony lasts from eight to twelve days. The first part of the initiation, there is not yet the Hamatsa. The guests expecting new Hamatsa from the woods are singing eight to twelve songs at the time. Then, after the fourth day, the Hamatsa appears through the roof of the building with hemlock branches. Many boys, about ten, are holding him down to tame him with the smoke of the blanket four times. The big man is asked to bring the Cedar Bark and to change the Hamatsa into the Cedar Bark costume. For four days he is there dancing with the Cedar Bark. After four days, he gets the mask, Long Beak, Crooked Beak, Raven. After the mask is taken off, bearskin comes on [is put on]. The last dance is when the Cedar Bark is washed off. They are singing the whole night and are putting the Cedar Bark away for the next time.

The Kwakwaka'wakw generally use bearskin for the last ceremony, although Chilkat blankets are used when there is a relationship with a northern tribe (Tlingit), as in the case of Stanley Hunt. The Cedar Bark ring on the Hamatsa's head can be worn for four months or even a whole year after the ceremony.

STANLEY HUNT

Hikeles is the first man of the olden days to be a Hamatsa. Hamatsa gives to his own tribe, but he doesn't know the words anymore. Hikeles, old man from Blunden Harbor, he knew how to make that song. It is the first Hamatsa in the world, Pole, when first come out of the woods. Dance. Got pole in the midst of the community. He climbs up on the pole. The old man gave the Hamatsa to all the tribes who wanted it.

Henry Hunt, the son of Johnny Hunt, nephew of Stanley Hunt and Mungo Martin, and grandson of George Hunt (the famous collaborator with Franz Boas and Edward Curtis), gave the following description of the Hamatsa ceremony. His account is based on his recollections of one of the big celebrations his father gave, together with Ed Whonnuck, in Fort Rupert about 1930.

HENRY HUNT

First part, the Hamatsa appears in hemlock branches as a wild man untamed. He dances with hemlock for four days, disappearing and appearing again.

Second part is when he dances with the masks. That means that the masks are put out. There are three dancers in the three-sides mask consisting of a Raven, a Hukuk (Hagok), and the Crooked Beak.

Third part, the people try to put the Cedar on the new Hamatsa, consisting of two rings of cedar on the neck and head and hands and legs, on the naked body. For four days he dances in this Cedar attire.

Fourth part, the Chilkat blanket is then put on top of the Cedar and the new Hamatsa dances slowly, because he is already tamed, with a woman ahead of him, leading him.

Afterwards, the Hamatsa sits on the floor in the Chilkat blanket when the washing-off ceremony begins. They bum the hemlock, and put the Cedar away for next year. Then they go four times around the house.

[At the Fort Rupert event in 1930] only two special Hamatsas were allowed to fulfill that part of the ceremony: Ed Whonnuck and Alfred Scow [the brother of Billy Scow of Alert Bay].

Nowadays they shorten the ceremony to four days and sometimes even one day, omitting the washingoff ceremony completely. The last time everything was done properly was fifty years ago.

JAMES SEWID

One had to have the right to a name and proper position from his ancestors or his wife's ancestors. The initiation of the Hamatsa took two weeks. In the first ceremony he was clad in evergreen hemlock branches. During the second ceremony he wore Cedar Bark, dyed red, every night. For the third ceremony he was given the mask. The fourth costume was Chilkat blanket and mask. After the final ceremony they took off the Cedar; then comes the bath ceremony, the rubbing down with branches.

CHARACTERISTICS OF HAMATSA SONGS

With regard to melody in the Hamatsa song genre, three basic melodic types are used:

1. descending melodies,
2. melodies with angular leaps but no overall descending or ascending contour, and
3. "pendulum-like" melodies that undulate approximately similar distances around a central note or notes.

From a study of the Hamatsa song genre, it appears that there are somewhat regular "norms" of each unit assessed: contour, range, scale, and certain intervals. The nature and use of syllables in the Hamatsa songs is of particular interest. The characteristic syllables in the Hamatsa genre are of clear lexical origin. Song texts often refer to the "cannibalistic" eating of "food." The syllables that are characteristic of Hamatsa songs are HA, MA, MAI, and AM or AN. In their language the word "food" is expressed as "Hama," thus the derivation of the remaining syllables, HA-MA-MAI. Certain syllables or syllable combinations are prefix syllables, others can be used as infixes, and still others appear as suffix syllables. Specific numbers of repetitions and even highly organized patterns of syllables occur in these songs, and definite formal patterns are made by the syllables alone. The syllables, which began as fragments from lexical units in the songs, have become so extended and extensive in the Hamatsa songs that they have an almost independent life, a life that complements the melody and beat, but one which only rarely bonds with these other elements.

POTLATCH

The Potlatch was the celebrated nucleus of the activities of the First Nations people of the Pacific Northwest Coast, the cultural artery of all facets of their traditional life. The word is derived from the Nuu-chah-nulth word patshetl, which means "giving" or "a gift." It was customary for the chief of a tribe to host a potlatch and to distribute to his guests nearly all of his possessions, with the exception of his house. The more he could give away, the greater his honor and prestige became. In return, he could expect to receive even more worldly possessions at future

potlatches given by rival chiefs. The Kwakwaka'wakw tribe carried rivalry and distribution of property to a unique extreme in that they would even destroy possessions in order to indicate superior wealth.

Potlatches were held in the fall, when, after the long season of hunting and fishing, the people were free to participate in winter dances and in the ceremonies of their secret societies. Occasions such as marriage, birth, and death were all marked by the potlatch, but it could also be called in vengeance, to save face, to repay an insult, or to establish rights to certain dances, songs, legends, crests, or regalia. The raising of a totem pole, the building of a house, and the legalization of new titles were considered worthy of the potlatch. It was also held to celebrate the acquisition of a "copper," a large copper plaque indicative of the highest status, sometimes ritually destroyed at potlatches.

A chief might give a "feast" for the men in his household in order to ratify a new decree or ordinance, then the whole community would unite in a potlatch to sanction the new laws for the clan. Within his own house, the chief could celebrate minor occasions, such as the bestowing of minor titles on his children, through the medium of the potlatch. But when he wished such honors for himself, outside chiefs must be called to the potlatch. There was fierce competition for distinguished titles and honors; their acquisition always had to be recognized through the potlatch. In this way, a chief gained the approval of his own house and the respect of others. The greater the title, the greater the potlatch.

It was possible for even commoners to climb the social ladder by giving potlatches, for no sharp line existed between chiefs and commoners. Oral history contradicts the assumption that only a chief could give a potlatch. Titles were graded, the highest belonging to the chief who owned more rights than the others. Although the chief held great influence and prestige, he had no legal authority, except over slaves. His influence over the people of his house, as well as their support, was gained through the giving of "feasts." In honoring visitors, he depended on the help of other chiefs in calling a potlatch.

Everything connected with the ceremony had historical precedent, and stringent rules regarding dress and ceremony were followed. At funerals, significant objects were displayed, and people would pay for the opportunity of seeing them. At winter dances, gifts were given with the understanding that they would be returned with added value, according to set rules. Guests of the potlatch were welcomed by the chief and led, each to his appointed place, according to rank and tribe. Each procedure was accompanied by ceremonial singing, appropriate dances were performed by the host chief, and speeches and orations were made glorifying his own position.

The order of the potlatch songs, according to Tom Willie, was:

1. Mourning Song (if it was a memorial potlatch),
2. Cedar Bark song,
3. Klasela song, and
4. Feast song.

In traditional times, potlatches took from four to six months. "Everybody got really fat," according to Mungo Martin. In more recent times, the potlatch was compressed to two or three weeks. Mungo Martin remembered when he was a little boy on Teina Island. A chief called a potlatch and he stayed for six months. Then he went away to another potlatch for another six months, being away altogether a whole year. "They had dried salmon, dried berries, dried clams, and sometimes five fires in one house." The only indulgence, in addition to food, was tobacco, smoked in a pipe called a "calumet." Alcohol was unknown until introduced by the white man.

In potlatch ceremonies, custom demanded that everything be repeated four times—each song sung four times, each dance performed four times—because four is a sacred number for the Kwakwaka'wakw, as well as many other First Nations and Native American tribes. At the time of the potlatch, families brought out all their crests to impress the audience. Entertainment played a major role, and many stunts were performed, such as pretending to bur a woman alive or to behead the dancers. Such sleights of hand were pure theater, but, as Chief Billy Assu said, "The white man misunderstood such tricks, and so forbade them, thinking the Indians were cruel."

During the feasting, they told of all the glories of the past and present. The Grease Feast was a very important one during which they gave away olichan (candle fish) oil, one of the most highly valued commodities. On the last night of the potlatch, they took off their headdresses and danced and sang a last song to declare that the potlatch was over. The chief got up and started to sing and then everybody joined in. The potlatch was the social and cultural anchor of their lives. In all of its aspects (as a present-day chief has aptly summed up), "It was a cold war between families because one wants to outdo the other."

In traditional times, animal furs were given away at the potlatch—sea otters, etc. Because animals have the role of intermediary between the supernatural power and man, and are man's guardian spirits, the First Nations people of the Pacific Northwest Coast considered the furs of the animals to be venerable. Therefore, furs at the potlatch were an important trading item. Later on, Hudson Bay blankets obtained through the fur trade were substituted for furs. In more recent potlatches the value of canoes, "grease," etc. were evaluated in terms of these blankets, much like currency. Before Hudson Bay blankets were in vogue, they used dog hair for weaving general-use blankets. One special kind of blanket, the Chilkat blanket, made from mountain goat wool and dyes, was the sole preserve of the chiefs. The potlatch can be considered on one level as a financial system and likewise as a law-abiding and law-confirming institution.

The potlatch also reflected First Nations spiritual belief. To the original inhabitants of the West Coast, there were three distinct levels to the universe: the spiritual world, the animal world, and the world of man. In this cosmology mankind occupied the lowest level. Animals were often cast as the mediators between the purely spiritual forces; they, being closer to nature, were thus nearer to these powers than humans, and were treated with great respect.

REMARKS ON MUSIC

The music of the Kwakwaka'wakw tribe, one of the most complex tribes of the Pacific Northwest Coast, is based on strict sociological rules, which pertain especially to the performance and ownership of songs. Songs are literally "given," for they are "owned" by individuals or families who have paid for them in full. The songs then assume hereditary importance according to established tribal laws.

After the coming of Christianity, First Nations people were reluctant to relinquish, or even to reveal their songs, which were part of their hereditary lineage. So strong was this feeling of ownership that no chief or member of his family would sing a song belonging to another; by doing so, he would be treated as a thief, shamed and scorned by his own people. The chief could inherit a song, acquire it by marriage, or commission it for an important occasion in order to give himself and his clan added prestige.

Songs originated with the songmakers of the tribes and were conceived in a state of spiritual trance, in visions and in dreams. Members of the tribes believed that by learning the song and ritual, they could reproduce the vision. First Nations people derived great strength from their songs, turning to them for supernatural help when they felt the limitations of their own power. Singing was not a trivial matter. Originally the power of the songs was bestowed only upon chosen people. First Nations oral history tells of many great men who were given songs by supernatural powers.

Strict rules were kept in the oral tradition of teaching the songs. Great stress was placed on passing songs on to subsequent generations in the proper manner. If a singer were to make a mistake, the consequences would be very serious for him. Mungo Martin said that he "would have to pay very much for one mistake." Certain songs fitted specific occasions, and were meant to convey particular meanings. They would not sing a Winter Dance song in summer, or a Ghost Song except at the time of death. Love songs, crest songs, and some Hamatsa songs are of a hauntingly beautiful quality, while potlatch songs are declamatory. Yet all reveal great dramatic impact and an impeccable sense of timing.

In Kwakwaka'wakw music, there is evidence of a distinct variation principle, not in the Western sense, but in an idiomatic First Nations sense. After the first melody has been sung, the repetitions show slight changes of pitch in a persistent upward or downward direction. The voice production of First Nations people is noticeably different from that of Western singers. Their intonation might appear to Westerners to be out of tune, but this is certainly not so. It is not unvarying intonation but, once begun, follows in strict melodic pattern and variation. They vary their melodic material by a slight raising or lowering of pitch, which is a consistent feature of their singing. This raising or lowering of pitch continues several times in a song, often three or four times. This rise or fall may, in our system, amount to only a half-tone altogether or as much as one-and-a-half tones. We should never assume, however, that they are out of pitch. Careful analysis and measurement by the collector have proved this. These slight rises or lowerings of pitch represent their variation technique. (When defining intervals, the terms "major, minor, perfect," etc., are not used in this study because they are measurements of the Western well-tempered scale and are accordingly not pure intervals).

An important characteristic of these songs is the use of syllables instead of entire words and texts. These syllables have been referred to as "meaningless" or "nonsensical." In the First Nations music of the Pacific Northwest Coast area, one finds text and syllables interspersed. The generally accepted understanding was that these syllables have no meaning or connection with the song. On the contrary, it was found that the syllables have a specific relationship to the song. They represent part of the meaning and content and are meaningful abbreviations of words referred to in the song. One finds that even the most important part of the song is often given over to the syllables.

The author has already published one study dealing with these so-called meaningless syllables in First Nations music. In the paper "On the Interpretation of the 'Meaningless Syllables' in the Music of the Pacific Northwest Indians" (Ethnomusicology 20[2], 1976), the author reported a breakthrough in 1974 dealing with these syllables and their relation to song texts. Research into the enigmatic relationship between these syllables in First Nations song types continues; the syllables are of paramount importance in the songmaking process, a fact confirmed by discussion with a Native songmaker. The syllables are of critical importance to the songs, and further research on this topic has added numerous further examples, confirmed by many other scholars.

In First Nations music, titles do not exist; instead songs are classified by type or specific genre, such as Hamatsa, Potlatch, etc. By establishing conclusive compositional principles as to genre, one can then establish the basis of their music theory, the rules and regulations for the respective genres. For example, all Potlatch and Hamatsa songs, no matter who composed them or who sang them, have strict rules and compositional techniques in common. In-depth formal analysis shows complexities that are, in turn, found in all of the songs in the same genre. Songs from each genre were analyzed, revealing a different format for each of the genres studied. To be sure of the generic form, many comparable songs sung by different chiefs were examined, revealing complicated formulas for the respective genres. Discovering these principles was especially rewarding after the discovery of a myriad of original expressions within what appears to be a rigid framework.

Similarly, individual songs are characterized by specific properties. One can distinguish the various types of songs by the manner of singing, voice quality, intensity, vibrato, tremolo, and glissandi, along with their individual rhythmic pulse or the specific syllables employed.

RHYTHM

Of all the various enigmas encountered in the study of Pacific Northwest Coast First Nations music, none has caused more of a problem that the complex issue of rhythm. Before we may begin to clearly understand the nature of this complicated music, we must come to terms with this fundamental issue. Many musicians attempted, without success, to find a solution to this riddle. The author consulted with professional musicians, conductors, and composers in an effort to find a solution to this problem, but to no avail. None of the methods of notating rhythm in transcriptions was particularly successful. For a demonstration of this problem, one may refer to the film Potlatch, which shows Barbeau and Macmillan grappling without success with this problem.

In 1961, the author suggested that melody and the simultaneous percussive beating of sticks, rattles, etc. represented two separate musical events which flow independently in parallel courses. If we assess each event separately, we can understand the individual nature of the two events and then develop a composite picture of these two events' subtle interrelationship. It must be stressed that the rhythm of the sung melodic part is in no way subjugated or influenced by the rhythmic patterns presented in the beat.

In discussions with First Nations songmaker-chiefs, the author learned many interesting details relating to rhythm, including performance practices. Chief Mungo Martin stressed the independence of the sung melodic material. He emphasized that the rhythmic beat must begin before the singing, or after the singing, but never simultaneously with the start of the singing. To do so was forbidden. This was confirmed by another songmaker, Chief Tom Willie, who talked about the underlying importance of the beat patterns that form, in essence, the skeleton of the song. The beat is the central musical aspect of the songs, and is of greatest importance.

The author came to feel that the most efficient way to treat the beat might be to approach it, not in terms of our present western musical notation, but rather to try rhythmic modal notation, the traditional patterns of poetic scansion, modified as needed to reflect First Nations practices. This worked very well, and more detailed study supported this method as being the most effective way currently at our disposal of reflecting the true nature of the beat. (This theory was arrived at by following the development and evolution of early western music in the medieval period, from free neumes to modal rhythmic notations.)

Often only a one-beat pattern is used in a given song. However, there are also examples of complexes of two and even three different beat-patterns used within the same song. Further study indicated that within the framework of a specific beat-pattern, there is great musical definition. The specific number of beats is often logically controlled and regular in repetition. For example, if one of two specific sections of a song is completed in the first occurrence within the time span established by seven modified iambs, this time span and that specific number of iambs will remain consistent in subsequent repetitions of the material. Specific numbers of beat patterns form a containing frame for the (parallel) overlaid sung melodic material. Though the beat patterns may be continuous and may be presented without breaks or interruption, it is possible to define melodic sections of songs by stating that they are completed within the time of, for example, five modified iambic beat patterns.

In many songs, the interrelationship of the independent melodic and rhythmic parts is very sophisticated; this is especially true in songs where there is a break or change in the beat pattern. These breaks or changes invariably reflect significant formal changes in the melodic material, the syllables or the text. In this way, there is interplay between beat and melody, though it would be entirely wrong to say that there is direct synchronization. Rather, there are some carefully worked out relationships between these independent entities.

TEXT AND SYLLABLES

In the First Nations music of the Pacific Northwest Coast, one finds text and syllables interspersed. These syllables have a specific relationship to the song, representing part of the meaning and content of the song. Often they are abbreviations of words referred to in the song or representative of an animal sound. In many songs, these descriptive, quasinaturalistic syllables are used to represent and evoke the animal spirit, the GKA GKA of the Raven, the HO HO of the Wolf, or the NA NA of the Grizzly Bear. In other songs, the abstract evocation of the supernatural power is verbalized in a single sung or spoken expression. The words Glugwala and Nawala are used to represent the supernatural power in Hamatsa and Mourning songs, etc. The syllable HAI appears in the Mountain Goat songs to represent the supernatural power. Syllables that are imitative or descriptive of animal sounds can be considered as a religious mediator between man and the supernatural power. M. Schneider explains that "the language of the animal is closer to nature and therefore nearer to the gods" (Fodermayr 1971, p. 94FF). The author believes that this, in essence, is the explanation of First Nations totemism. First Nations people do not consider animals as gods, per se, and did not pray to them. Rather they regarded them as supernatural beings whose guidance they respected and implored. The syllables are of great importance in the songmaking process, as confirmed by discussions with Kwakwaka'wakw chief Tom Willie.

TOM WILLIE INTERVIEW

Ida Halpern:

How do they come to make these syllables? They are very interesting syllables; how can you remember if they don't come out of any words of the song?

Tom Willie:

When you make songs, … Feast Songs or Party Songs, you start with WO JI A—I can make a Party Song—they start out with the WO JI A. We find a tune, we start singing the words.

IH:

So you know these syllables and then you start the tune?

TW:

We start with that WO JI A first and try to find something. Like a Hamatsa song, we start with HA MA MAI. And when we find good words, we put the words in that, you know. That's what it means, the WO JI A.

IH:

Who taught you this?

TW:

Well, lots of old people sing together, you know. I've listened ever since I was six years old, I used to listen to those people singing. [Willie then explained how the song was composed after the syllables were selected.]

IH:

You said that first come the syllables, is that right?

TW:

Yes. The syllables are always first, first in every song. Then, when the syllables are finished, you repeat those syllables over and over again. And after they finish the syllables, you make the words of the songs. After the words of that song, they start making the songs.

IH:

Where do you get the inspiration for the syllables?

TW:

Well, the oldest people know how to make songs. Some of these people dream about the songs they want to make. These men know how to sing and make songs. Sometimes they get it from dreaming; they remember their dreaming, and when they wake up the next morning they start singing again, then finish by making the song up. Some of them make songs out of rain blowing. When you hear that blowing, you sing it. When it rains so hard in winter that water drips down from the roof on the comer of the house, it's something like singing. And when you lay down in the boat and you hear the water dripping in the side of the boat, it's like singing.

IH:

So after you have your words, then you make the music, the melody to it?

TW:

Yes.

IH:

Then the melody combines with the rhythm, the beat, or the beat goes independently?

TW:

The beat always goes its own way. If we lose the words of the song, then we do a different beat now. Lots of songs have a really difficult beat and difficult words and syllables of the songs.

IH:

You put great importance on the beat.

TW:

Yes, we can't put any [other] kind of beat besides this beat because [the old] men found this beat for these words. We tried to put different kinds of beats, but we can't sing very well to that.

IH:

I see, you have the music, you have your song, then you try to find a beat that will fit, and the beat is the last thing that comes in?

TW:

Yes.
[Tom next described how the songs were performed.]

TW:

Well, one man starts a song, and all those singers come forward after the first one, on the first verse and the second verse.

IH:

And after the third verse he tells what the next verse will be as a solo, alone, and then they follow?

TW:

Yes.

IH:

You see we found that, and we were just wondering if that is only in the Hamatsa or is it always like that, is that the custom with other songs?

TW:

All these songs, it doesn't matter what—Kasella songs, Potlatch songs, Women's Dance songs—they're all the same thing.

IH:

Who established [the songs], are you taught these rules and regulations, who teaches you that?

TW:

My Granduncle Weber in Kingcome. My father [also] used to be good on the songs, used to make songs, used to be a songmaker.

IH:

And the leader tells them when they have to go higher and lower?

TW:

Yes.

IH:

How does he say that, or does he start singing it, or what?

TW:

Well, he just talks, you know….

IH:

He makes a sign, or what?

TW:

With a sign sometimes, Indian syllables are "beni."

IH:

Is lower?

TW:

Lower.

IH:

And what was the word for higher?

TW:

"Iki" is higher.

IH:

So they make the movement with the hand?

TW:

Yes, they move the hand.

IH:

Higher or lower. That is like our conductors doing it.

TW:

Just like that.

IH:

We found that it is such a rule, such a straight rule always, so I just wanted to have your documentation on it, if we were right, you see. That is why I asked you for it. It is interesting to find out.

TW:

That is a difficult thing to find out. Some people do not find out what it means …

IH:

That is it, you see. Some people might think, oh well, you just sing like that, but that is what we are doing, to find out the rules and regulations. How long were they teaching you?

TW:

Well, I started singing with my old man ever since I was about sixteen. I [would] go sit down and listen to the singing. But he noticed that I am going to know how to do the singing because I never miss the beat, even [though] I didn't watch that beat, the big drum on one side, [I] follow the beat of the people …

IH:

At the ceremony the singers are separate and the drummers are separate, or are you beating your drum at the same time?

TW:

Yes, same time.

IH:

You are singing and beating the drum.

TW:

Yes.

IH:

Just as you are doing here, beating with a stick. Well, now we have it, we have figured it out.
[Finally, he described how the singer chose the pitches for the songs and varied them in the performance:]

TW:

In Potlatch songs, sometimes the high … keeps on high and did not go down; some songs go way down in the second verse, they come up again and do the same thing as they did before in the first verse, and after that it goes lower… .

IH:

Still lower?

TW:

Still lower, and it comes up again… . some people didn't go any lower; some people always go lower [on] some songs.

IH:

Some songs always go lower and lower?

TW:

Yes.

IH:

It is a variety.

TW:

Yes.

IH:

To make it more interesting, the songs?

TW:

Yes, it makes it interesting, that's what it is.

IH:

To make it interesting, so they go lower. All the tones always go lower, or some tones always stay the same?

TW:

Some tones go higher, some tones lower, then they stop, and get higher and higher, then stop and sing. Some songs go lower and lower.

IH:

And if a melody starts going lower, do all the tones go lower or are there some tones which don't move, which stay the same, and others go lower? Are there some fixed tones? You know what I mean?

TW:

Yes, you know that Potlatch song and the Feast song, they always go a little bit higher and a little bit lower because [of] the change in the beat. In the Potlatch and Feast songs, they always go higher and they stop, then they come down a little lower. Sometimes they start lower and come higher on the beat.

IH:

So, that is also possible, that the whole little melody changes down, or are there some tones which don't go lower, which are always the same?

TW:

There are some tones [that] don't go lower, don't move … stay the same level.

IH:

Some tones don't go lower, that is interesting. Some are fixed. How do you…which tones do you choose to stay fixed?

TW:

I know that, for instance, Ghost songs didn't go lower, didn't go higher sometimes. That is all I know. These melodies stay the same.

IH:

The Ghost songs stay at the same level, they don't move.

TW:

Don't move.

Every phase of First Nations life is portrayed in songs and dances. The First Nations people have a song for each occasion and endow it with great importance. The author has chosen some specific phases of their lives that can be portrayed or understood as part of a great Potlatch, the mainspring of First Nations existence. The explanations of the songs and their meaning came directly from the informants themselves, focusing mainly on the Hamatsa and Potlatch songs of the Kwakwaka'wakw tribe.

The music of the Kwakwaka'wakw tribe is based on strict sociological rules that pertain especially to the performance and ownership of their songs. For this reason, Kwakwaka'wakw music has always presented a problem to the collector. First Nations chiefs are not impressed by the social or professional status of white people who come to hear them sing. They will not give the collector their songs unless he or she can win their complete confidence during years of personal association and by many small tokens of genuine interest and goodwill. It is considered "giving" because they "own" their songs. In permitting the collector to listen and set up a tape recorder, they give him or her a present, a personal privilege. The author gratefully acknowledges that honor.