Petition in favour of the return of live music within the dance classes.

Dear everyone, 

Why do we dance? Why do we play for dancing? 

Everyone has their own story to tell — the only connection is the involvement in the Balfolk, the French phenomenon that fascinates us all. Starting from Balfolk, one arrives at the Breton repertoire, then Scandinavian and gradually that of Europe and the World — a diverse and colourful dance universe that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to properly get to know as a whole. No one expects anyone to delve deep into each dance and the history that comes with it. What one can expect is a certain approach towards dance and the musical danceability, as it involves a repertoire that draws from tradition. Whether that tradition is more or less of recent doing, it is still meant as such, and therefore includes a series of details that characterise it.

Originating from village squares and festivals, traditional dances are often misjudged to be quite approachable, since they’re not always so easy to pick up. Part of teaching a traditional dance involves passing on a passion, as well as one's inclination in permitting the continuity of a specific repertoire, with its own rhythms and accents. As you get to know more of it, the hardest part is paying attention to the melodic and rhythmic line, nurturing an active listening.  

An active listening is something that is gradually being lost — in some cases, the reason is clear, in others, not necessarily. This letter does not aim to point fingers at anyone, but rather to suggest a circular collaboration. A collaboration between the dance classes and local musicians, based on the relationship between live music, teaching, and the continuity of traditional dances. 

It is worth considering how much difference the renewal and increase of recorded music has made within this genre: the more accessible it got, the more each course got the opportunity to renew its playlists. Fine, but at what cost?

The recorded repertoire does not set limits on how, how much, and in how much time one can explore a series of dances. Approaching the dancing environment through renewable playlists —that can meet any request and whim — unlikely educates to listen and connect with the music, but rather it deepens the dances only at a stylistic level.  

At the same time, the recorded repertoire does not allow a teacher to have the rhythmic line separated from the melodic one — a fundamental process in educating both newbies and experienced dancers to focus on the elements that make up a dancing repertoire. 

Relying exclusively on recorded music, both during the teaching and the free dancing moments of a class, can backfire easily. How? Because it develops either in a continuous search for "new" repertoire to update one's playlists — repertoire that some often do not have the time to get to know or become familiar with, depending on the regularity of their participation — or a series of tracks that are repeated in rotation and in closed playlists, obsessively. Regardless, there is also a risk of normalising the recorded repertoire, limiting it to a source of entertainment — like a jukebox —, hence backfiring against a process meant to pass on a passion.

Including live music alongside teaching, means considering a process of transmitting dance, sharing a passion, and potentially encouraging an active listening. Having the opportunity to work with musicians, teachers can ask for specific technical details — such as different time divisions, separating the rhythmic line from the melodic one, varying approaches to dancing, including a brief history of their instruments within the tradition. On the other hand, this direct interaction allows musicians to practice and renew their repertoire — which in turn refreshes the local repertoire within jam sessions —. Bearing in mind that transitioning now and then to recorded music may help to appreciate it more.

Whether teaching a dance or playing music, the goal is to share personal experiences and nurturing a passion. The hope is that this process can continue to be — or once again become — shared among all parties involved. It's an ideal purpose to strive for.

The aim of this letter is to reflect on today’s folk dance courses primarily focused on Balfolk. 

It excludes the long-lasting courses focused on local and world traditional dances, simply because over the years these have often led to or founded folkloristic groups that have kept live music alive — even though, in those cases, the repertoire is often selective.

With this disclaimer been said, let's try to contextualise the current situation within the Balfolk world in Italy, and compare it with the experience abroad: with France as a source to draw from and be inspired by, with festivals across Europe and the new musical trends that are prevailing, in what seems to be a fourth dancing generation.

Why "generation"? Because, depending on the periods and the more or less strong expectations of the dancers, many, if not most of the groups have rethought their repertoire so to keep up with time. For now, avoiding delving too much into each hypothetical generation one by one, they could be summarised as follows:

[… one by one, the hypothetical generations, whose names have been created specifically to make this line of reasoning as clear as possible]

Origins - first-generation: centuries of repertoire, of creations, where dance and music played a central role in daily life, also as a sign of belonging to a territory, alongside the minor arts 

Revival - second-generation: the establishment of Balfolk (1970s), as a macro-genre in identifying multiple French dance repertoires; many followed the revival, researching from region to region directly from what remained of the oral, written, and dance tradition; researching from the old and innovation began to go hand in hand, establishing a dance repertoire that is partly strictly traditional and partly not — either remaining tied to a specific region, or gradually becoming universal within the community —; those who took part in it became the pioneers of the genre

Travellers - third-generation: once the phenomenon spread to the neighbouring countries,  dancers and musicians from all over Europe began to travel to connect directly with the Balfolk scene at its source; gradually, the festivals got bigger and people often became attached to a region, specialising in its repertoire, to then perhaps move on and explore other ones — getting to share with the locals and fellow travellers —; a new musical repertoire is being created, inspired by both tradition and one’s experience from their "native" or "cross-genre" musical styles

Baby travellers - between third and fourth-generation: an actual generational shift, alongside the young bloods from the past fifteen years; following in the spirit of the travellers, drawing inspiration from tradition and maintaining contact with it, regardless not having witnessed the Balfolk “golden days” until the early 2000s, especially the early growth of the festivals

NeoWhat? - fourth-generation: a push in creating entirely new music repertoire, mainly drawing inspiration from other repertoires than tradition, from world music to jazz, from pop to electronica; however, these genres tend to prevail rather than simply influence Balfolk — unlike what’s been said for the travellers —; Balfolk starts to be considered primarily for its dances, specifically in its universal non-region-specific repertoire, accompanied by compositions inspired by just the time division and the rhythm of the dance itself, not considering the accents and the musicality intrinsic to the area where it once originated; the stage is undeniably established as a dedicated space for the artists, on par with most other musical genres worldwide

Except for the first-generation, now gone, travellers, baby travellers, Neo, and partly pioneers are peers to each other; they share — depending on the events — the same spaces, but often have distinctly different views on Balfolk as a music and dance universe.

The question that naturally arises is:

Do we consider it as a community or as just a social environment?

At the heart of traditional dances, what’s captivating is the intrinsic sense of community — which remains to this day one of, if not the main, element that draws most in getting to know them better. Following the explosion of research enthusiasm, what was initially thought of as a dance repertoire representative of a small area, soon expanded to include more peoples, who often also had their own cultural heritage to share in exchange. Originating from rural villages, quickly spreading to the squares of larger cities, eventually reaching the stages across Europe and beyond, it did not take long to establish Balfolk as an internationally recognised genre, considering that the pioneers began working hard from the 1960s and '70s.

The creation of something new, inspired by and strongly connected to tradition, soon led also to rediscover antique instruments — not only making them more accessible, but also rethinking them accordingly to the needs of each musician, extending the research to luthiery, broad and patenting parts of some instruments. Just a few decades earlier, these instruments were indeed fascinating and central to many folk repertoires, but they were gradually being lost, as they lacked a fully developed range of notes — often arranged without following a conventional logic, thus limiting the performance alongside other instruments. With the advent of both WWI/II in the first half of the 20th century, most of these instruments ceased to exist in many European regions, making way for more complete instruments that were accessible to a broader range of musical repertoires.

In this historical context, the revival of traditional music led to the rediscovery and reaffirmation of instruments such as the hurdy-gurdy, diatonic accordion, piffaros, bombards, bagpipes, the Gascon tambourine, and so on, providing the opportunity to delve into a universe of dense, warm, harsh sounds — voices that cry out with joy and sorrow. A common voice that often has no borders, a common voice for a new and rediscovered tradition to share.

At the core of art in general, and even more so between music and dance, the goal — implicit or explicit — is to tell a story and to be part of one. When the story is considered as collective, not just the story of an individual standing out, the outcome is often overwhelming: the communion of multiple experiences, the urge to create with others, the dance completing the experience; a resonant drone, a simple musical form on which endlessly modulate, leaves space to any musical expression — vocal, dancing, instrumental; the strength of a common voice; a rite.

However, Balfolk does not primarily concern itself with ritual, although it inherently possesses it. Of a ritual it must retain its sacredness, the inclination to cherish and preserve what for some peoples their repertoire must always integrate — wherever it is presented, indiscriminately. We’re talking about a circular exchange, maintaining a continuous balance between gift and gratitude: dance and music can be thought of as a point of connection between a land and the outer world; it is up to the recipients to accept it as a gift and pass it on. This concept doesn't turn out to be so utopian or romantic within the Balfolk, despite the fact that it cannot be idealised or made into a constant.

Exchange, gift - passing on, continuity. The environment under consideration is rather atypical compared to many other dancing genres, because it does not consider a strict set of rules and involves numerous facets and variations, depending on its region of origin. It is a macrocosm of many small realities, making it difficult to explore it with a common denominator. It’s a challenge to pass it on, since many are able to convey a sequence of steps, a choreography, a structure from which to start creating, but infusing character and colour is a completely different matter. One might settle for pure form, but inevitably in doing so it would gradually be normalised, leading to a complete loss of meaning.

Leading, following - giving, receiving. Connections that are triggered regardless of the context; still, when applied to a group of people, they require the presence of one or more guiding figures. This is especially the case for dance classes, where there is a need for someone to guide without limiting the repertoire to a sequence of steps, rhythms, or melodies to memorise. A great deal of trust is placed in the hands of those who propose themselves to teach this repertoire. Depending on the context, what colours and emotions you may evoke, there is more or less of a chance to reach people's hearts and make them feel part of what they are experiencing.

In recent years, the relationship between musicians and the dance floor has changed significantly, particularly with the transition to the stage as an exclusive space dedicated to the artists. The stage, which has long been a scenic tool designed to offer art to an audience, had not always been considered in Balfolk — quite the opposite, in fact. Originating from village squares and later moving on to district halls, this genre allowed musicians to be in close contact with the dancing public, learning firsthand the limits and nuances of a specific dance repertoire. Unlike many other environments, here the relationship between music and dance is intrinsic; one is not fully complete without the other. This need has almost made it a prerequisite for musicians to immerse themselves in the spirit of the dance, even before they bring their instruments into play. It’s a process of mutual learning, a continuous discovery that, for a long time, saw many artists playing amidst the crowd, blending with it, and animating the dancing. The direct interaction with the dancers created a unique atmosphere of equality, treading on common ground and turning it into a sharing space.

At the same time, the transition to the stage has provided greater recognition to the artists, enabling them to develop more complex sounds, further harmonising their music thanks to amplified settings. The refinement of the repertoire also arose from this gradual change, which saw most musical groups gain confidence and begin to promote themselves also in non-dancing environments - naturally favouring their career.

On one hand, then, there’s a need to merge with the dancers to create a unique atmosphere, working closely together, to build and learn from shared experiences; on the other hand, there’s the stage, a dedicated space for those who play, a professional recognition.

However, it's essential to remember that within Balfolk music and dance are mutually dependent. Once the shift to the stage is made, there’s no turning back. But how can the relationship with the dance floor be rethought?

In this genre, the stage will never become a pure podium for artists to be worshipped and spurred to deliver their best performance. In most cases, musicians have transitioned from being an integral part of the dance floor, mingling with the crowd, to experiencing it from a third-person perspective. From the artist's point of view, the stage might merely be a raised platform from which to observe — observe the effects their music has on the dancers. If the stimulus is not received, and the connection with the dance floor is lost, the show falls apart and becomes mere performance. Anyone can make a living out of mere performance, even the first unfortunate passersby, without needing a context, a story, or an experience to share. However, one cannot simply skim the surface in an environment that, although recent as a revival of tradition (understood as recovered, reimagined, and newly choreographed repertoire), still deals with the preservation of it. What we’re talking about is a phenomenon that has now spread beyond Europe, and the fuel that has made all of this possible is largely composed of the relationship between musicians and dancers. Music is created, and the dance takes shape; the dance is perfected, and the music adapts. It is a continuous flow of communal creation, in which leading is central, both ways.

To keep this experience genuine, one cannot settle for a sequence of steps, a figure, a score — it is essential to invest in, deepen, and share a passion. A passion to be cultivated, starting from the dialogue between artists and dancers; a dialogue that should be as direct as possible, otherwise one of the two sides will lose out. This cannot be applied to every context, it would be asking too much, but keeping it in mind as a final goal harms not. If rhythm, energy, or accent are lacking in the music, the atmosphere in the dance fades; conversely, if there is no listening, feedback, or harmony from the dancers, musicians feel excluded, and struggle to motivate themselves working on their sound.

Culture is collective, not individual.

To ensure continuity of a repertoire, one must first consider the context from which it originates, without limiting oneself to a sequence of notes and steps to memorise; otherwise, we can easily talk about cultural appropriation. 

A main challenge often arises: "How much time or how deep can one afford to delve into, based on their direct experiences?" It’s not a matter of feeling limited or inferior, but rather about continually reminding oneself of a primary cultural reference: it’s not a culture that inherently belongs to us — unless one was born and raised in currently active communities in France — but one that can be assimilated and nurtured over time. Nothing excludes the possibility of being part of the Balfolk history from Italy, provided there is respect for the origins of the repertoire it encompasses. 

It is possible to extract figures and choreographies from a traditional genre, to create something personal, but it cannot be passed off as the repertoire from which it was drawn. A stylistic virtuosity remains personal, and has to be shared as such. To present a dance as traditional, to then teach it with alterations that were not assimilated from the direct source, is controversial. Both musically and dance-wise, everyone is obviously free to explore different genres and styles, but only to enrich and add a nuance to a repertoire they have internalised.

Contaminations serve as a stimulus to expand one’s creativity, which is very different from the gradual transition to a genre that of Balfolk retains only a sequence of steps and figures. 

In traditional repertoire, steps and figures are not meant to be isolated from well-defined rhythms, accents, and sounds, which are all mutually dependent on each other.

It is also true that the majority of the repertoire in question has never been purely codified; however, the research began in the 1970s, and the oldest sources we have belong to that period, so what was derived from it it’s what we can consider traditional today. Fifty years later, altering these dances can end up damaging the “new” tradition.

[Note: Do not confuse “new” tradition with “NeoTrad,” a concept that is quite unclear and which I will not delve into due to personal choice]

The most important work — perhaps the only one — is nurturing a passion and conveying curiosity towards this multifaceted genre. Stimulating one's curiosity is not easy, and even more considering the apparent simplicity of the sequences and figures of these dances. Nevertheless, it is fundamental, whether we are talking about the dancers or the future musicians of the genre. Only by stimulating curiosity towards the various elements of a dance, can we gradually hope to cultivate an active listening — since the often simple step sequences are strictly bound by well-marked accents, that are not so equally easy to connect with. Whether leading or following in the dance, an active listening is a prerequisite; it cannot be induced in people, but it can be cultivated. At the same time, seemingly simple melodic-rhythmic lines, played over and over, can often provoke boredom, especially among beginners, but the repertoire is what it is, and if one wants to carry the torch forward, one must start from the basics.

Any process of musical creation is a challenge of one's talents, where determination and feedbacks play a key role. In the specific case of Balfolk, interaction, support, and external stimuli are crucial for the continuity of the repertoire — the more sub-genres one wishes to explore, the more essential it becomes for musicians and dancers to engage with each other, sharing their experiences and knowledge. It’s important to remember that the repertoire in question is composed of specific rhythms, accents, and sounds, all of which are inseparable from each other and intrinsic to the dancing as much as to traditional instruments. As a result, musicians must practice by learning to dance and engaging with the dance itself, before offering a finished product to the public. When it comes to recording, the final product is merely a testament to one's research; it can be a goal to achieve, but it will never be a final destination. 

While a studio recording might offer a more refined harmonic output, live performances allow musicians and dancers to interact, engage and create something new together. The gap between live and recorded music often becomes subtle, with the former being a part of the research process leading to the latter. A recording introduces the performer and evokes a memory; live, people engage and influence each other, expanding and nurturing their knowledge.

Petition in favour of the return of live music within the dance classes.

Dear everyone, 

Why do we dance? Why do we play for dancing? 

Everyone has their own story to tell — the only connection is the involvement in the Balfolk, the French phenomenon that fascinates us all. Starting from Balfolk, one arrives at the Breton repertoire, then Scandinavian and gradually that of Europe and the World — a diverse and colourful dance universe that a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to properly get to know as a whole. No one expects anyone to delve deep into each dance and the history that comes with it. What one can expect is a certain approach towards dance and the musical danceability, as it involves a repertoire that draws from tradition. Whether that tradition is more or less of recent doing, it is still meant as such, and therefore includes a series of details that characterise it.

Originating from village squares and festivals, traditional dances are often misjudged to be quite approachable, since they’re not always so easy to pick up. Part of teaching a traditional dance involves passing on a passion, as well as one's inclination in permitting the continuity of a specific repertoire, with its own rhythms and accents. As you get to know more of it, the hardest part is paying attention to the melodic and rhythmic line, nurturing an active listening.  

An active listening is something that is gradually being lost — in some cases, the reason is clear, in others, not necessarily. This letter does not aim to point fingers at anyone, but rather to suggest a circular collaboration. A collaboration between the dance classes and local musicians, based on the relationship between live music, teaching, and the continuity of traditional dances. 

It is worth considering how much difference the renewal and increase of recorded music has made within this genre: the more accessible it got, the more each course got the opportunity to renew its playlists. Fine, but at what cost?

The recorded repertoire does not set limits on how, how much, and in how much time one can explore a series of dances. Approaching the dancing environment through renewable playlists —that can meet any request and whim — unlikely educates to listen and connect with the music, but rather it deepens the dances only at a stylistic level.  

At the same time, the recorded repertoire does not allow a teacher to have the rhythmic line separated from the melodic one — a fundamental process in educating both newbies and experienced dancers to focus on the elements that make up a dancing repertoire. 

Relying exclusively on recorded music, both during the teaching and the free dancing moments of a class, can backfire easily. How? Because it develops either in a continuous search for "new" repertoire to update one's playlists — repertoire that some often do not have the time to get to know or become familiar with, depending on the regularity of their participation — or a series of tracks that are repeated in rotation and in closed playlists, obsessively. Regardless, there is also a risk of normalising the recorded repertoire, limiting it to a source of entertainment — like a jukebox —, hence backfiring against a process meant to pass on a passion.

Including live music alongside teaching, means considering a process of transmitting dance, sharing a passion, and potentially encouraging an active listening. Having the opportunity to work with musicians, teachers can ask for specific technical details — such as different time divisions, separating the rhythmic line from the melodic one, varying approaches to dancing, including a brief history of their instruments within the tradition. On the other hand, this direct interaction allows musicians to practice and renew their repertoire — which in turn refreshes the local repertoire within jam sessions —. Bearing in mind that transitioning now and then to recorded music may help to appreciate it more.

Whether teaching a dance or playing music, the goal is to share personal experiences and nurturing a passion. The hope is that this process can continue to be — or once again become — shared among all parties involved. It's an ideal purpose to strive for.

Enjoy your continued journey!!