in the launching of the quartet and, later, the genre.
TWO
The Dynamics of Rhythmic Form
The word “dynamic” can take on many different meanings in English. We often use it as an adjective to describe people. A person with a dynamic personality is someone who is full of energy and vitality. A dynamic person leaves a lasting impression on others; she is active, quick with ideas, and commands a presence. We also use the term to describe processes of change. A dynamic economy is one that bustles with activity. It has exhibited significant change, perhaps in moving from import-led to export-driven, or in the larger shift from an agricultural to an industrialized economy. While this does not preclude the inevitability of hiccups and downturns, a dynamic economy is more commonly associated with indications of further development and growth. Here, “dynamic” signals active change and progress. And along similar lines, in academic discourse, the term dynamic can also describe “a force that stimulates change within a system or a process.”1
In music, there is a common usage for the term, which can either take the form of a noun or an adjective. Dynamics refer to the acoustic volume of a sound. Dynamic contrast in musical performance means performing at higher and lower levels of volume. Or, in other words, it is simply the contrast between loudness and softness. Composers incorporate dynamic markings in the score to indicate the desirable dynamic level for a passage. Dynamics are relative, rather than absolute designations for volume or amplitude. In standard notation for Western classical music, a marking of pianissimo followed by a fortississimo would instruct the performer to render passages in contrasting levels of amplitude—one passage played very softly and another delivered at an extremely loud volume.
Other fields also claim the word “dynamic.” In physics and classical mechanics, dynamics refer to the study of motion and the forces that produce it. In linguistics, dynamic verbs describe actions, whereas stative verbs describe a state of being. Sociologists and psychologists consider group dynamics to analyze social group behaviors and processes. And computer scientists deploy the term in relation to programming, systems, and web pages. While many more examples can be summoned, the point to draw out here is that there is a constellation of meanings for “dynamic.” The common ones include motion, change, action, energy, and volume in sound. Even despite the word’s multivalence, we know intuitively what dynamic does not mean. Dynamic does not mean static. Nor is it dull or monotonous.
I spend time parsing these different meanings because “dynamic” is a word that is commonly used to describe samul nori. First, it is a strikingly frequent descriptor found in books, CD liner notes, programs, newspaper articles, and concert reviews. It is also a word that many people have used when describing their own first encounters with a live samul nori performance. Third, as I explain in chapter 3, South Korea’s first national slogan—Dynamic Korea—became sonically linked to the genre in the early 2000s.2 After many years of hearing this word in relation to samul nori in my interviews and conversations with fans and practitioners, I began to wonder: what is so dynamic about this percussion genre? And does this help us to understand how a musical genre from South Korea has come to be adopted and adapted by amateur musical communities around the world? In response to the latter query, this book answers in the affirmative. As for the first, my interpretation unfolds in this chapter.
AN INTRODUCTION TO “YŎNGNAM NONGAK” AND SAMUL NORI
Here I examine a popular samul nori composition called “Yŏngnam nongak” and show how this music is organized. In so doing, I also build the case for how the piece exhibits distinct qualities in its formal structure—qualities that have lent it to circulation or travel across boundaries. I develop an analytic based on “dynamism” and demonstrate that “Yŏngnam nongak” is an example of a dynamic rhythmic form. Other compositions in the samul nori repertory (while they are not the focus of this chapter) share these same formal properties. Rhythmic form, I argue, is central to the samul nori genre, and it is a dynamic rhythmic form that has been central to its mobility.
My attention to form is deliberate. But I do not intend to narrate a story in which form is the sole protagonist, acting alone. This is the farthest from the case. As we have previously learned, the Space Theater was the creative seedbed for the SamulNori project and their explorations of Korean rhythm. SamulNori’s process of arranging, rearranging, and recontextualizing rhythmic patterns from p’ungmul led to what eventually would become known as samul nori. Thus, the form that I will describe is interleaved with the musicians who first breathed life into it, and who performed it with such verve and kinetic energy. My formal analysis of “Yŏngnam nongak” takes into consideration the other important actors of the story—the SamulNori quartet and, in particular, Kim Duk Soo. In this sense, Dynamic Korea offers an opportunity to witness the pairing of two distinct methodologies that are not usually cast together—ethnography and formal analysis. I contend that there is much to learn from this conversation.
Before moving to the analysis, however, I provide some general background on “Yŏngnam nongak” and its significance in the context of global samul nori. I select this piece for analysis because it is very often the first samul nori composition that beginning students will learn to play as part of an ensemble. (I also return to this piece in chapter 5.) Unlike the “Sŏl changgo karak,” which is played exclusively on the changgo hourglass drums, “Yŏngnam nongak” is a representative composition that features the interplay of the four primary instruments of samul nori. SamulNori Hanullim’s self-published notation books designate “Yŏngnam nongak” as the first or the “fundamental” piece of the series (Samul-Nori Hanullim 2004). In SamulNori Hanullim’s pedagogical system, students must learn “Yŏngnam nongak” before advancing to the more complex pieces known as “Uttari p’ungmul” and “Honam udo nongak karak.” The composition provides challenges for the initiate (for example, memorizing the different rhythmic patterns and the sequential order, “feeling” the rhythmic groove, and learning to play as part of an ensemble), yet it is surprisingly surmountable with the proper instruction and adequate practice. In short, “Yŏngnam nongak” is accessible, and it is likely the most performed samul nori composition by amateur ensembles within and outside South Korea.
First, a note on instrumentation. To form a standard samul nori ensemble, four percussion instruments are needed: a double-headed hourglass drum (changgo), a barrel drum called puk, and two gongs—one large (ching) and one small (kkwaenggwari).3 As earlier mentioned, these are the core percussion instruments (played with sticks called ch’ae) that are also featured in p’ungmul. Each instrument in a samul nori ensemble has a different role to play in the musical texture. While a minimum of four musicians on the four different percussion instruments is required for a piece such as “Yŏngnam nongak,” instruments such as the changgo and puk can be performed by multiple players. In a group consisting of beginners and intermediates, for instance, students of various levels can select instruments according to one’s respective level and strengths. A beginner might opt to learn an instrument such as the puk, which plays more of a supporting role in the ensemble. And a beginning-level student with a good sense of rhythm could take on the ching. Although it has the least active part, the ching serves a critical role in the ensemble by punctuating the primary beats of the rhythmic cycles. Intermediates or beginners could perform on the changgo, which requires some technical proficiency and a capacity for memorizing different rhythmic patterns, known as karak. Of the four, the kkwaenggwari part is typically reserved for the designated leader or the person with the most training. The kkwaenggwari player must keep track of the number of beats in a designated karak, the number of repetitions of this pattern, and think ahead toward successive patterns.4 It is also the job of the lead kkwaenggwari player to provide cues to the other members; these cues signal the last iteration of a cycle and the start of the next one.
