So it is that in his songs he debases idealism, does not elevate realism. His poetry is on a par with that of the music-hall comedian who conceals a mass of filth under avowedly innocent words—but the intention is very different. The Indian possesses no other verbal vehicle, knows no other source of inspiration. His imagination is bound by his vocabulary, as his vocabulary is limited by his imagination. Curiously enough the effect upon his audience is gained by the same means as those employed by the red-nosed singer in the places of entertainment south of the Bridges, and is almost identical in degree. Some of the Londoners of the County Council schools have advanced ethically but little beyond their naked brothers of the Amazonian bush.
These Indians cannot be said to love music for its own sake. The use of music in any form is almost entirely ceremonial. They neither sing nor play instruments as a rule merely for pleasure. On the occasions of their festivals and dances, though, they give evidence of the possession of voices of considerable flexibility. They also display much ingenuity in the manufacture of their instruments, and, next to their weapons, the pan-pipes, flutes, and drums are most carefully fashioned and preserved. In fact, these take precedence over all domestic implements, and even most ornaments.
The native singing voice is loud, high, and shrill. The male leader—as a rule it is a man who is appointed, and he may be any one who knows the old songs—sings the solo, to give the chorus their cue, in a high falsetto which is very penetrating, and marks both time and tune for the others to follow in canon. The song is started softly, and gradually increases both in volume and speed. According to the circumstances, the subject, and the occasion, the men sing alone, the women sing alone, or the men and women combine as in the tribal dances. Most of the singing is done in unison, with a regular drone accompaniment from those not actually articulating the words. The songs are sung in regular time, to the accompaniment of stamping, but not with hand-clapping. The melodies are simple, and in the definite tribal songs consist of little more than a single phrase that seems to admit of no variation, and is repeated ad libitum, as, for example, Mariana Keibeio, a Boro tribal song. The tune of this, notated from memory, and in part from a phonograph record, runs approximately, so far as it can be rendered in our notation:
What this implies no Indian now knows, for with all tribal songs the natives offer no explanation of their meaning or their origin. They are the songs that their fathers sang, and one can find no evidence of the amendation or emendation of the score on the part of their descendants. These tribal lays are so old that the words are obsolete and no longer understood by the singers; what is of importance is the rhythm, and to that, as is common with uncivilised peoples, the music is largely subordinated. It is but an accompaniment to the dancing. “The sense of time” in the Indian, as Stevenson noted among the South Sea Islanders, “is extremely perfect,” and one might complete the quotation and add, “I conceive in such a festival that almost every sound and movement fell in one.”[335] It is not an easy matter to discuss, because the English and the Indian standpoint are so diametrically opposite. So far as I could judge the tunes are usually in a minor key, both melody and harmony being of the simplest.
There are no love-songs among the Indians, for the poetic conception of love does not exist. Sacred songs and nursery songs are equally lacking. A mother never croons to her baby; she does not understand a lullaby. War-songs are merely the expression of the war-dance; they depend for their significance upon the words and for their ferocity upon the grim accentuation of the chorus.
At the time of the harvest of pine-apples, when the great dance is held, the men sing the challenge, and the women reply in their own defence. The songs are similar to that sung at the manioc-gathering dance, and I have previously tried to give some idea of such a song.
Apart from the traditional songs of the tribes, which are sacred and unchangeable, the Indians are very fond of a form of song which is really a game rather than a musical effusion. More correctly, perhaps, it should be called a ballad.[336] A leader of acknowledged fertility of imagination and fluency of expression is appointed, as for the Muenane riddle dance, and will collect the members of the tribe for what is actually an impromptu dance. He, or she, will chant to an improvised air with a simple rhythm, while the chorus repeat each line or its burden as a refrain. Such songs give opportunity for all the wit of the tribe. They are designed either to honour or to ridicule the subject of the ballad. In reality a composition of this description takes hours to sing. The first wit propounds the question, the chorus repeat it, and the second wit then suggests the answer, which is again repeated by all amid much laughter, and the repetition is continued not once but twenty times, until the first wit breaks in with a new query. This is a very favourite game among the women.
The following is an attempt to suggest the song-words of a dance performed by some Witoto for my benefit, though I do the Indians too much justice, give too great an idea of continuity, in this version. There is no cohesion in their productions, and reiteration is the salient feature of all. The sound and the rhythm suggested to me at the time the metre of Hiawatha, so I give this song in an attempt at Hiawathian measure. But the adaptation is really too varied for the Indian original. I was outside the maloka when the women started—no men took part—and they danced in front of me. After a time I went inside, and the performers promptly followed me, and continued to dance in the central space of the house. Naturally not one word would have been sung if these dancers had known it would be interpreted to me.
To our tribe there comes a stranger,