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Why Translation Matters: Global Musicologists Speak Out
Global musicology is like a puzzle always in construction, its pieces constituted by multiple research circles around the world, using myriad global languages in the course of study and publication. In this article, we asked global musicologists with varied positionalities to speak to the necessity and challenges of translation in their work.
In the spirit of this article, readers will be able to translate this page (enabled by GTranslate) by selecting a language of their choice:
Would you like to see a translation function on every Brainfood page? Let us know! We encourage you to leave comments in any language at the bottom of this page. We also welcome readers to recommend alternate, open-source translation AIs for consideration.
Some of the global musicologists we talked to provided their thoughts in English and another language; you can see the latter version by clicking on the link below their respective paragraphs.
I often feel linguistically incompetent, a lack shown up by my multilingual research subjects: the world of Black South African choralism (performed in any of the nine Black languages, such as isiXhosa, that are officially recognized in South Africa); and Paul Robeson, the African American singer-activist and noted polyglot. Linguistic incompetence compounds the truism that the historian can only ever access the worlds of their subjects incompletely. And so, translation has been crucial to my work; in my study of Robeson this has involved translation from Russian, Ewe, Spanish, and Japanese into English. Translation is of course not neutral. It gives us access to “content” and knowledge, teaching us about interpretation and loss of meaning—matters urgent to consider in the age of automatic internet-based translation services. However, in thinking about researching multilingually, Alison Phipps in her article “Linguistic Incompetence” critiques the limitations of the competency model, arguing for a “capabilities approach” that allows “us to speak of what we have become through not knowing, or not being able to speak the language.”1
I can’t describe here Phipps’s argument in detail which rests on her experience that linguistic incompetence enables certain capabilities: we are capable of becoming beginners again. When linguistic fluency does not permit access, a capability for attentiveness and a heightened corporeal (and sonic) capability arise; the result is the capacity for de-centering one’s own subject position, of the inversion of relationships. These are values to which researchers—and teachers—working in a multilingual musical world should aspire.
Historical projects are typically literary in their orientation, searching for authority in written sources. Within the South Asian context, the fascination with historical Sanskrit treatises and translations during the colonial period led to the disenfranchisement of the oral practitioners, the Muslim Ustads, and the creation of a new elite of music connoisseurs and practitioners who took their literary privilege to become spokesmen for Hindustani musical cultures at different levels—a process that continues to date with the growth of music academies and diminution of the Ustad-shagird form of one-on-one apprentice learning and understanding. Within the Ustad-shagird settings, the music history is foremost passed on by outlining the music lineage of the Ustad and anecdotes constitute a form of history-making that were documented within the pre-modern manuscript culture in the form of hagiographies.
The colonial degradation of oral cultures also occurred within the Sufi settings whereby the dervishes who were part of the pre-colonial manuscript culture were reduced to mere singers of the tradition after the Shah jo Raag—oral poetry sung by the Raagi faqirs at the Sufi shrine of Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai in Sindh, Pakistan—was printed by a German philologist, Ernst Trumpp, in the late-nineteenth century. Trumpp later also printed Guru Granth, the sacred texts of the Sikh.
One of the challenges of a global music history project invested in the translation of texts is to ask itself who the source is, whether the source material prioritizes the ideology of a certain religious or ethnic group within a specific cultural context and whether it privileges a certain class or kinship in society. More importantly, how can a project in translation serve to include the voices of the disenfranchised traditional musicians rather than become a mere neo-colonial tool for domination and further aggrandizement at the expense of disenfranchised groups in late modernity?
As an Argentine musicologist who went to university in Argentina and continued graduate studies in the UK, I realized that most of the research written in Spanish goes unnoticed in the Anglophone musicological world, unless the researcher is an expert on a Spanish-speaking area, where the knowledge of sources written in Spanish becomes essential to their own work. At the same time, while there might be an interest in translating into English the work written by Spanish native speakers about their own cultural contexts, there is a complete unawareness and/or disregard for the scholarship written in Spanish, coming from Spain and Latin America, devoted to the analysis of (European) Western art music from medieval times to the present. The fact that for these researchers the sources are usually remote and that they have less access to the latest publications in the field are some of the causes for this neglect. Translation can be transformative. By making this scholarship available in English and teaching it in Anglophone academia, we will be able to provide new perspectives on how Western and non-Western music is perceived, in this case, from a multiplicity of Spanish-speaking approaches.
The author’s own words in Spanish
I date the beginning of my career as a “professional” translator to around 2008, when I was approached by a samba musician in Brazil to translate from Portuguese to English some promotional material for her samba group. But I had already loved the art of translating before that. For me, translation has always been an excuse to indulge in the intricacies and quirks of language that I love. An exercise in connotation, precision, and elegance, translation is to me as freeing as poetry and as satisfying as math. And for years, because of the practical utility of a translation—not to mention the self-righteous feeling of “giving back”—it seemed particularly easy to justify investing my precious time into translating the words of others. However, the more I translated, and the more translation theory I read, the more I began to realize that translation is far less transparent or neutral than we make it out to be. Indeed, because a translator uses their own words to present the words of the so-called “original” author, when we read a translation we are getting the voice of the translator in addition to that of the “original” author. And there is more. When we read a translation, we are also immersed in an author-less discourse that has emerged from the dialogic relationship between the translator and the “original” author, resulting in the marked polydiscursivity of translation that belongs to no one in particular. As I see it, translation’s authorial ambiguity, then, gives it a particular power and urgency at this decolonial moment, for it serves as a vehicle by which to challenge the Enlightenment notion of what Foucault called the “author function,” that is, the individualized subjectivity we associate with discourse. Consequently, translation is not just a practical means of “giving back” but also a practical means of embracing collectivity and the dialogic construction of knowledge.
The author’s own words in Portuguese
Like many other academic conventions, the habit of undervaluing translation is an enculturated practice that is learned during the PhD. Ironically, it is at the most opportune juncture to convey the significance of translation—the PhD secondary language requirement—that the opposite is often accomplished. In many institutions, the language requirement is treated as bureaucratic formality that is fulfilled once a student translates a scholarly text in the secondary language. But the preselected texts are often generically musicological and peripheral to the student’s field of research. Hence, removed from the site-specific concepts and lexical articulations in which students are intentionally cultivating an expertise, the worth of translation is inevitably hollowed out. What if translation were introduced under different terms? Imagine if the second language requirement instead asked students to contribute a translation (into one’s home language or another research language) of an as yet untranslated source that the student identifies as critical to their chosen field. In this context, translation would have students performing the creative work of defamiliarizing, recontextualizing, and relearning a set of hyper-situated categories in order to render them legible across locales. Translation would push students to lean further intentionally and analytically into the myriad notional threads looming behind the most richly referential concepts from their domains of study. And, if these brief translations were then published on a multilingual online database of doctoral translations—a gift to the global scholarly community to mark the beginning of one’s dissertating years—then far from a stale and insulated program requirement, translation would enliven a renewed culture of knowledge-making in which due fanfare is given to the connective, world-opening intellectual work that is critical intercultural interpretation.
The author’s own words in Chinese
That is a great suggestion, and I hope the multi-lingual bibliography project will be realized! While such a project is beyond the scope of Brainfood, I can share with you my own bibliography for Chinese historical musicology (below) — Gavin https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Xzc8ZXrC0YhQSX3LEmAb4nwBb5dktwFtFomsV3KyfIk/edit#heading=h.3pypfyhh3n9q
I think it would be interesting to have a kind of list of selected writings from different parts of the world that have not been translated into English yet, to let “linguistic incompetents” know what we are missing out. Some sort of “unmissable musicological classics from all over the world” list (with titles translated into a couple of other languages?). Maybe such a list could entice us to study new languages or to engage more in translating each other’s work…