‘Music is the colour of my skin’ - The Story of the Murru Band

For a chapter to be featured in the ‘Captivating Audiences’ book.

Dudley Billing and Dave Palmer

Abstract

This chapter tells the story of Murru, a unique music collaboration that has evolved from a four-year prison and community programme run by arts and social change organisation Big hART in Roebourne, in the West Pilbara region of Western Australia from 2010 until now.

In 2010, Big hART’s work in Roebourne became possible with support from Woodside Energy through its Conservation Agreement with the Australian Government to support projects that work to protect, identify, manage and transmit knowledge about the heritage of the hugely significant Burrup Peninsula and Dampier Archipelago with its concentration of rock engravings, ceremonial standing stones, stone pits and circular stone arrangements. Big hART was funded specifically to create content that transmits this heritage in all its forms, including the ‘living heritage’ of story, ceremony, intergenerational exchange, song and dance. Both the residents of Roebourne and Big hART knew that in order to tell the story of the incredible cultural heritage of ‘the Burrup’, they also had to change the negative story of alcohol and substance abuse, domestic violence, poor educational performance, high levels of incarceration and a high profile death in custody in the 1980s that media loves to tell.

When they started what later became known as the Yijala Yala Project, Big hART was led by the community in what stories were to be told, what art forms they wanted to use to tell those stories and how inclusive the project needed to be, saying “Don’t you forget about our family down the road in that prison.” After listening carefully, Big hART began to run twice-weekly arts workshops in the prison, with the prisoners themselves asking that it be focused on music. From these humble beginnings the Roebourne Regional Prison programme grew until there were enough songs to produce and release an album dedicated to that young man known as Murru that died in police custody and to then turn this album into a music and multi media performance piece that saw ex-prisoners on stage alongside Wendy Matthews, Emma Donavon, Lucky Oceans and Archie Roach to open the 2014 Melbourne International Arts Festival in Federation Square in front of 6,000 people.

This chapter will outline the community-led, organic origins of this programme, what has been achieved, the processes utilised by Big hART’s mentors, some of the challenges faced, and the social consequences of the work. It is a story of how music has drawn men back into processes that have always been a part of the cultural and spiritual life of the Ngarluma, Yindjibarndi and Banyjima people right back to the ancestors who sang the pictures onto the rocks of the Burrup, through until the cultural revolution of now where a community is using music, theatre, film and comics to re-write a story and heal themselves and their families.

Prefacing story

This story begins four months into Dudley’s residency in Roebourne, at the office after a long day of drum lessons and set building. He had built a screen so a few of the local ladies could call around and watch a live webcast of Big hART's Namatjira theatre show. Lead actor Trevor Jamieson had been involved in much of the ground-work for the newer project in Roebourne and had been earmarked to play in the theatre production (later called ‘Hip Bone Sticking Out’) the company was developing. Central in the storyline was the life and death of local man John Pat who had died in custody at the Roebourne Police Station 28 years prior. His death had both sparked enormous national attention, the Royal Commission into Aboriginal deaths in custody and massive trauma within the community. One of the ladies present was a relative of John's. All of them knew him well.

After the session a fit young man in a baseball cap and baggy basketball singlet walked shyly into the office. He nudged his auntie and asked, "is anyone going past Wickham?" Dudley responded positively and while they waited auntie leant over and said quietly, "just keep an eye on your stuff".

In the car heading to Wickham the young man (we’ll call him "Stan") opened up with small talk about his aspirations to become a millionaire. A few seconds later his eyes lit up as the car passed a big glowing fortress on the left hand side. "Regional. All my boys are in there … You gotta do time in Regional man", he said with a kind of Indigi-gangster attitude. The message was clear, ‘you're not a real man until you've been to Regional’. Eager to build a conversation of more substance Dudley tried to change the subject by asking about his other aspirations. From his response it becomes apparent that to Stan, the idea of even having a job seems as fanciful as being a multi-millionaire. Within seconds Stan steered the conversation back to his relations in prison and his keeness to ‘get into Regional.’ It seemed as though being a prisoner was one of Stan's biggest and most achievable goals. He was 17.

Introduction

This chapter tells the story of Murru, a unique music collaboration that evolved from a four-year prison and community programme run by arts and social change organisation Big hART. The Murru Band and it's self titled album is the flagship product of an on going prison/community music programme. Murru operates as one spoke to the large and unique community project called the Yijala Yala Project. This work started in 2010 and has been based in Roebourne, in the West Pilbara region of Western Australia.

Big hART was initially funded specifically to work with local Aboriginal groups in the area to create content that transmits local heritage associated with the Dampier Archipelago (often referred to as the Burrup) with its concentration of rock engravings, ceremonial standing stones, stone pits and circular stone arrangements. The ‘living’ heritage of this place has long been transmitted via story, ceremony, intergenerational exchange, song and dance. From the earliest stages of the work it became clear to the community of Roebourne and Big hART that in order to tell the story of the incredible cultural heritage of ‘the Burrup’, they also had to change the negative story of alcohol and substance abuse, domestic violence, poor educational performance, high levels of

incarceration and a high profile death in custody that media loves to tell.1

When they started what later became known as the Yijala Yala Project2, Big hART was led by the community in what stories were to be told, what art forms they wanted to use to tell those stories and how inclusive the project needed to be. From these humble beginnings the Roebourne Regional Prison programme grew until there were enough songs to produce and release an album dedicated to a young man known as Murru. This album was then turned into a music and multi media performance piece that saw ex-prisoners on stage alongside Wendy Matthews, Emma Donovan, Lucky Oceans and Archie Roach to open the 2014 Melbourne International Arts Festival in Federation Square in front of 6,000 people.

This chapter will outline the community-led, organic origins of this programme, what has been achieved, the processes utilised by Big hART’s mentors, some of the challenges faced, and the social consequences of the work. It is a story of how music has drawn men back into processes that have always been a part of the cultural and spiritual life of the Ngarluma, Yindjibarndi and Banyjima people right back to the ancestors who sang the pictures onto the rocks of the Burrup, through to the present where a community is using music, theatre, film and comics to re-write a story and heal themselves and their families.

The background

Dudley pulled out from his personal journal the following set of reflections, written when he first arrived.

The Pilbara's checkered history of ‘race’ is so deafeningly recent that many of the towns seem almost aparthied at times. Very few local Aboriginal people reside in Point Samson, very few ‘whitefellas’ reside in Roebourne.

For many outsiders Ngarluma, who's country hosts the project, seem a very reserved bunch. A regular claim made is that local people look ‘broken’, ‘have lost everything’ and ‘live a life of dysfunction’. This reflects the kind of story that one reads in the state’s daily newspaper, the West Australian or frequently sees on various news and current affairs reports. It is also often assumed that the only things that remain of local heritage are material artifacts such as spearheads, other tools, rock art and recorded accounts in reports and in archives. It is assumed that local Aboriginal people who live in Roebourne are now without living culture. This couldn’t be further from the truth.

Law is held around November/ December every year just 10 minutes out of the Roebourne township in a little oasis known as Woodbrook. It is often reported that 30 years ago only a handful of people attended annual ‘law time’. Today the numbers are in the thousands. The masses descend upon the law grounds to sing, dance, hunt, teach and spend time with friends and family. Law is so strong in the area that many families from other parts of Western Australia bring their boys to Woodbrook to be "put through".

During the ceremonies it is clear that certain people are of importance in the running and organisation of the event. These are the song men and women. These people holding the

1 Visit Yijala Yala’s vimeo page to get a sense of the depth and beauty of the project’s work: https://vimeo.com/user53077822 Visit the Yijala Yala site: http://yijalayala.bighart.org

songs are regarded as important bearers of knowledge and are revered and respected throughout the entire community.

On the first day of Law ceremonies a mob of senior men will patrol the law grounds chanting and "grabbing" the boys who have been identified as ready to go through. The mob create a powerful sound producing quite a frightening spectacle when the boys are brought to the centre of the pack with their heads bowed as the men sing around them. The song leaders take pride of place at front and centre of the pack with all the biggest men.

The boys are then taken away for an evening of non-stop song and ceremony. With the entire community sitting in wait, at dawn the ceremonial party return from the creek still in full song. The young men are surrounded by friends and family all singing and weeping as they are brought to their humpy where they will rest up and spend time with tribal elders for the next four to six weeks, walking, talking, learning, and singing. They have emerged as young men.

This story comes from Roebourne, one of the oldest towns in the West Pilbara region of Western Australia. Roebourne sits about 1,500 km north of Perth, the state’s capital. From the late 19th century to the 1960s it was the biggest settlement between Darwin and Perth, created by an extended period of mining of resources such as gold, copper, tin, and iron ore. Due to the creation of larger towns since the 1960s, Roebourne has lost the majority of its non-Aboriginal population, maintaining itself as home to families with Ngarluma, Yindjibarndi and Banyjima heritage. Currently, the relatively young population is 813 (City of Karratha 2014). Until the 1960s, there were strict controls and curfews placed on Aboriginal people’s movement to and within the town. Indeed most of the senior people grew up confined to camps and reserves on the other side of the river.

Travelling through the town it is immediately apparent that despite the many years of resource booms, Roebourne had not benefited a great deal. Today, there is no shortage of challenges facing these same families (Edmunds, 2012). A range of studies have identified problems associated with alcohol and substance misuse, challenges associated with child safety and wellbeing, poor educational participation and school attendance, family violence, overcrowding of houses, poor health and life expectancy, low labour-market participation, and unsatisfactory access to land and heritage management, (Shanks, 2009).

At the same time there is a “second story” of extraordinary strength and resilience in and around Roebourne. Law and culture is healthy, many local organizations are taking on leadership in housing, education, land and sea management and heritage preservation. Locally produced fine art, media and business enterprises are on the rise.

The saddest and most painful part of the ‘first story’ is that Roebourne has a long and infamous history as a town synonymous with the perils of state sanctioned incarceration. Indeed during the first hundred years of non-Aboriginal influence in the Pilbara the town of Roebourne was a site of considerable pain through systematic incarceration of local Aboriginal groups. The historical legacy of this continues today. Although across the state Aboriginal people are disproportionately incarcerated (whilst only representing 3% of the State population, account for 39% of the adult prisoner population (WA Department of Corrective Services March 31, 2015).

This history came to a head in September 1983 with the death in custody of 16‐year‐old

Yindjibarndi young man John ‘Murru’ Patt at the hands of local police. This act was the symbolic event that later led to a Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. Less than a year after John Patt’s death, the new Roebourne Regional Prison was opened. The prison is located between the Roebourne and Wickham town sites, approximately 1572 kilometres north of Perth. It operates as the regional correctional facility for the remote Pilbara region and also takes in people

from outside the region. The prison was designed with a capacity is 116. However, from time to time it has managed up to 200 prisoners. It holds medium and minimum male prisoners either on remand or for sentenced periods. Prior to 2013 the prison also held female prisoners. Presently there are five beds reserved for women on short-term remand. More than 90 per cent of prisoners are Aboriginal people (Office of the Inspector of Custodial Services 2014, p. 1).

Yijala Yala’s music programme and the Murru Band

For five years Yijala Yala staff conducted music workshops in the prison every Tuesday and Thursday. The little crew of male prisoners quickly began to expand as word got around that the sessions had ‘no strings attached’ (pardon the pun). The initial group consisted of six guys, all in for a while. There was a long fingered blues piano man from the desert. Another was a teenage car thief from further south who adored writing songs. The third was a guitar slinger and songwriting virtuoso from the N.T. who was ultra sensitive to his surrounds. Another was a solid young Aboriginal man who was so strong he could ‘hold a bull out to piss’ and write ballads that make you cry. The fifth was a country gospel guy who had a habit of racing in late in his kitchen hair net only to blow the others away with his voice. The last was a sweet old Kurruma man with a ukelele tucked under his arm. Every one was an Aboriginal man, but that almost goes without saying at Roebourne Regional.

Some just wanted to learn the basics of guitar, some to learn the entire Eagles back catalogue, some wanted to write and record songs for loved ones on the outside, and some wanted to hear their recordings on the radio.

It would be impossible to imagine a scenario on the outside where people might bump into each other on the street, develop an instant rapport, and within four weeks know each other to the extent that they feel safe enough to share their deepest secrets and feelings. However, ‘inside’ and with the aid of music the lines of communication instantly opened up. For at least 6 hours a week people’s inhabitations and cultural differences got set aside so they could all just jam. As Lucky Oceans was later to write during his first visit some 18 months later music became a way of dealing with the colour of people’s skin.

The project became possible with support from Woodside’s Conservation Agreement. This agreement was made in 2007 between Woodside Energy Ltd., Australia’s largest oil and gas company, and the Commonwealth to support projects that work to protect, identify, manage, and transmit knowledge about the heritage of the Dampier Archipelago. The Burrup (as it has come to be called) and surrounding islands, contain one of the densest concentrations of Aboriginal rock engravings in the world with some sites containing tens of thousands of images. The rock engravings include etchings of birds, fish and animals, schematized human figures, figures with mixed human and animal characteristics and geometric designs. The area also includes many ceremonial standing stones, stone pits and circular stone arrangements. The richness of this “art” is unparalleled in Australia and is considered exceptional by international standards (Bird & Hallam, 2006).

During the early stages of the Yijala Yala Project staff set out to build relationships and “softly land”

in the community. It became immediately apparent that heritage transmission (the reason for the project) is not possible without strong relationships between the generations. Whilst meeting to determine the shape the work could take elders pointed out one of the area’s major cultural conundrums. There are not enough free, healthy men between the ages of 18 and 50. Too many men spent too much time in ‘Regional’.

After listening carefully the Big hART team began to run twice-weekly arts workshops in the prison. Although Big hART was open to offering workshops in various artforms, the prisoners were most keen on music and so the regular, twice a week music workshop program commenced in November 2010 and continued through until September 2014.

Yijala Yala staff began by undergoing cultural awareness training via a Roebourne based business. This allowed them to be better prepared with a level of knowledge and understanding about local cultural etiquettes and processes. Importantly this gave them a context for understanding the importance of music in local law and culture and the size of the culture gap that lay between them and the men with whom they were about to work. However, this did not tell them that Slim Dusty and John Foggerty could bridge that gap in a matter of minutes. It was not until sessions started that it became clear that it only took a slow strum of a G major on a guitar or a line of lyrics such as “Well ya wake up in the morning” to get things going. By the time those leading the session hit the second or third chord they would be joined by a guy on bass, someone on blues harp, two rhythm guitarists, four backing vocalists and a lead guitarist that knew every lick in the book. Although the men were in prison the cultural power of music quickly came out in the workshops. Soon the pattern of workshops emerged, keep the conversation to a minimum and keep the songs going.

Each year during ‘law business’ traditional forms of music are instrumental in helping people manage affairs, instruct young people and make sure that cultural knowledge and language are passed on. Christianity has also offered many local people both a venue and new styles of music in the form of hymns and gospel chorus. Many combine the rich traditions of the past with the introduced spiritually rich style of churches. The Pakham and Gumala radio networks are great and trusted means of communication in a lot of remote centres and country music has been on high rotation ever since. Kids from Roebourne can often be heard singing along in Yolungu or Nyul Nyul (languages from other parts of Australia) to the latest party favourites.

In all 430 men were involved in the music project. Each week they worked with core Yijala Yala staff. From time to time they were visited by musicians and producers from elsewhere, moving from jamming to songwriting; to rehearsing and polishing songs; eventually to recording three CDs for local distribution. This gave men many opportunities for mentoring with highly-skilled professional communicators, artists and arts-workers. Through the work men were able to participate in a range of processes, experiences and artworks that grew skills, inspired, healed, broke down prejudices, informed, re-set expectations, cultivated friendships, facilitated growth within individuals, redefined cultural heritage, gave incarcerated people a voice and replaced the story of Roebourne that people ʻout thereʼ have taken on for too long.

In 2013, Yijala Yala staff enlisted a range of talented musicians, singers and songwriters from elsewhere to visit Roebourne and collaborate with the community and prisoners on a compilation album to commemorate the 30th anniversary of the passing of 16-year old John Pat in a Roebourne police cell on September 28, 1983. This album is titled Murru – the nickname used by John’s family when he was a boy. The making of Murru proved to be a profound experience for all involved and has inspired the music prison programme to continue and grow. The outsiders who joined people from Roebourne were enormously struck by the local talent and poetics of locals.

There is so much history, so much to be done, so much that has been done, that each song and each lyric has a whole lot of history behind it; many loved ones, many families, so many songlines are behind the words on this album, I am truly proud to have been part of it. Shellie Morris

These songs are as true as they come. They have not been written so much as they have been lived. It was an honour and a privilege to be a part of their creation.” Harry Hookey

The theme of Murru is maragutharra, a Yindjibarndi word that means ‘working together’. This reflected local people’s desire to work across cultures, across generations, across genders and across country to facilitate mutual teaching and learning, and of thinking in a new way about the kind of future we want for Australia.

The public outcome of the project is the Murru Album3 and the Murru Concert, a collection of songs co-written with prisoners, community members and professional musicians. The album features performances by Archie Roach, Wendy Matthews, Bill Chambers, Harry Hookey, Lucky Oceans, Emma Donovan, John Bennett, Jae Laffer (the Panics), alongside musicians from Roebourne such as Angus Smith, Kendall Smith, Roy Evans, Patrick Churnside, Josie Alec and Tyson Mowarin. It was performed against a stunning backdrop of panoramic and animated images capturing the dynamic energy and strength of Roebourne. The Murru Concert opened the Melbourne International Festival of Arts in Federation Square on October 10th, 2014 to an audience of 6,000 people.4

During the project much occurred that continues to have benefits to the broader Aboriginal community. For example, Yijala Yala staff assisted prisoners to prepare for and provide entertainment at the two prison family events each year. NAIDOC family day in July and the Christmas celebration in December allowed those involved to create a powerful atmospheric environment for families who joined their fathers, brothers, uncles and sons in some of the healthiest ‘community’ events available. Apart from the annual law ceremony and at the new cultural centre there are not many venues where children, young people and wives enjoy with their men such a healthy, congenial and loving event, free of alcohol, grief and violence.5

As well as the success of the Murru tour the13-track album released as a CD was distributed to 1,500 and digitally sold via iTunes. The Murru CD links audiences to song-writing traditions, and the live performance includes visual imagery of the Burrup Peninsula and surrounds that represent internationally significant heritage and celebrates the importance of ‘maragutharra’ (working together).

The products or artworks that were created as a part of the Project are gifts both to and from the people involved. Even though the project has finished, this work continues to inform, entertain and connect people. The DVDs and the artworks created as a part of other Yijala Yala projects – the music, the comic, the Apps, the books, the theatre show – are all at once an expression of thanks, an archive, a way of keeping memories alive, and tools by which to share and teach tourists, visitors, government and anyone else who doesnʼt know the real Roebourne. It is a collection of documents that together tell an alternative story of life for people in Roebourne.

3 Download the album on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/au/album/murru/id7138967304 Check out the short video highlighting the Murru work: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JY8wJzlECRk5 Take a look at the Murru website: http://yijalayala.bighart.org/murru/

Other social consequences of the work

We can see some terrific social consequences already emerging from the Yijala Yala’s music programme. This is particularly the case in relation to assisting prisoners in their recovery from such things as alcohol abuse, the effects of intergenerational trauma, further pain associated with being away from family and their plans to change elements of their life and return to the community with hope for the future.

The work has also had a profound impact on the way that Aboriginal men spend their time in prison. The work demands high levels of men’s participation in the process of writing, rehearsing, recording and performing music. Not only does this use a great deal of time, (something these men and literally ‘doing’) it also involves them in ‘work’ that has many positive consequences. When the men make music they literally produce it note-by-note, line-by-line and chord by chord, creating the story, shaping the melody and crafting the quality of sound. In so doing they are not only building their musical repertoires they are also extending their literacies, verbal stock and emotional dexterity. The connection between this use of music, alternative pathways in education, economic development, development of literacies, intergenerational contact, work on-country and the recording, production and transmission of cultural and language has been carefullyresearched by Bartleet (2009). She concludes that working with music in this way opens up people’s social and cultural networks and relationships across the community. As a consequence, they find new ways of expressing themselves, often drawing upon old Aboriginal cultural forms but expressed using new tools and with contemporary finesse.

The process also opened up learning across musical and written literacy modes. For example, in order to start the process for writing a song such as ‘Burning Daylight’ (a song eventually featured on the Murru album) its writer got to use a word processor, experiment with a sound editing suite, test out chord progressions on ukulele and listen carefully to and control the timbre of their voice. In this way, the mix of techniques, skills and modes of music literally had them reflecting back to themselves, oscillating between modes. The process demanded that they shifted from standard English to Aboriginal language to Aboriginal English. They often worked across instruments and move from acoustic to digital platforms. They played among themselves and performed ‘publicly’ to family and others in the prison. Later, a few made it to the open stage with one man playing to the opening of the Melbourne Arts Festival at Federation Square.

Also important was the multiple benefits creating music offered in encouraging men creativity and ‘flow’. When asked to describe their experiences of making music a number of people offered similar descriptions to those who feature in psychologist Mihaly Csíkszentmihályi research on the state of being ‘in flow’. According to Csíkszentmihályi, flow is the mental state of being of a person who is involved in an activity that has them fully immersed and feeling focused, involved and successfully achieving what it is they set out to do. Flow involves being single-minded in relation to the task at hand, harnessing the attention, emotions and energy in the service of performing and learning particular tasks associated with the task at hand. A combination of focus, concentration and skill hold the key to achieving ‘flow’ (Csíkszentmihályi and Nakamura 2002, Csíkszentmihályi 1988).

Csíkszentmihályi’s work has demonstrated a clear correlation between ‘flow’ and a range of positive social consequences. This includes a connection between ‘flow’ and increased:

involvement, both in the activity that prompts flow and in the general act of complete focus

and concentration; delight, a sense of bliss and positive detachment from everyday realities that are

debilitating; clarity and understanding about the state of one’s affairs; confidence, particularly the sense that one can achieve success and that one’s skills are

up to a range of tasks; serenity and a sense of peace; sense of timeliness thorough a focus on the present; and motivation building people’s general ability to get things done.

At the same time ‘flow’ helps people contend with their feelings of anxiety, stress and trauma. For many of those involved in this project, playing music allowed them to be completely absorbed in a task that was challenging but not to the extent that they felt stressed or stretched beyond their skill level or point of frustration. Writing sounds, playing guitar, writing new songs, rehearsing covers, performing together and recording their work regularly instituted a state of being absorbed in the work, so much so that that a great deal of time elapsed without people’s consciousness.

There is also considerable evidence from elsewhere of the value that comes from exercising creativity by participating in contemporary cultural activities. For example, recent empirical work has identified a crucial link between involvement in cultural activity and positive outcomes in formal education and vocational training. This is particularly illuminating research for three reasons. It is important ‘given the claims afforded to education as a means to addressing Indigenous disadvantage’ (Dockery 2009 p. 7). In research their research Dockery and Milsom (2007, pp. 3–8), established that:

in non-remote areas, cultural attachment is complementary with ‘mainstream’ educational success and participation in vocational education and training;

cultural attachment itself is having an enabling effect on Indigenous people’s involvement in education and training;

people with stronger cultural attachment are more likely to make use of VET training; for those living in both remote and non-remote Australia there is not a trade-off between

maintenance of Indigenous culture and achievement in education and training; and both of education and training are often pursued together to enhance objectives relating to

cultural maintenance.

This research puts paid to the claim by some commentators that Aboriginal communities need to make a choice between maintaining culture or providing educational opportunities for their young. The research concludes that ‘whether individuals are living in remote or non-remote Australia, we can reject the view that there is a trade-off between maintenance of Indigenous culture and achievement in education and training’ (Dockery 2009 p. 3). This work also demonstrates the coexistence and mutual interdependence between formal education and training and traditional Aboriginal forms of ‘schooling’. Where education opportunities are available, ‘those with strongercultural attachment are more likely to make use of it’ (Dockery 2009 p. 9). This work found that involvement in cultural activity had ‘a pervasive effect upon VET participation and outcomes’. The data strongly suggests that those with a stronger attachment to elements of traditional culture achieve higher levels of ‘educational attainment and are more likely to have participated in a vocational training course in the year prior to the survey than those with weaker attachment’ (Dockery 2009 p. 37). This research provides a good indication that cultural practice and cultural education has an enabling effect across all forms of education, strengthening rather than jeopardizing young people’s future educational options (Dockery 2009 p. 40).

The work has also helped shape a new project called ‘Tjabbi’, a traditional music-based project that involves young people in learning old songs from the area. Tjaabi provides a unique glimpse into the living Aboriginal culture of the Pilbara, through songs, story and image performed by Ngarluma man Patrick Churnside. Tjaabi directly springs from the work of the Murru Project, this time staged inclusively with Patrick, involves young people from the community dancing with him on stage, elders in translation of songs, on film and surrounding the stage in support.

Each tjaabi has an original singer and comes from a specific place in the Pilbara, handed down to subsequent singers and family members. The original tjaabi singers were men and women of great strength and power from many nations across the Pilbara. Tjaabi represents an intersection between the old and new, with the transmission of language and culture from elders to Patrick, and from Patrick to young people as the performance was devised.6

There is also much that has been achieved that we will find more challenging to see at first glance. In part this is because of the way that music works, in subtle and nuanced ways, over time and at many levels. The ‘magic’ of music’ can allude those of us that insist on seeing a cause and effect relationship between things. Indeed it is only recently that science, researchers and others seeking evidence have taken seriously the social consequences of music. Unless one has a deep knowledge of Aboriginal ontology and practice it is impossible to understand the place music plays in the everyday life and the health of Aboriginal communities. Music is also one of those things that does its work over time. It is very difficult to see the significance of the impact of music if a project has a short life, with a limited funding cycle and with a reporting regime that demands immediate results. Therefore it is critical to take a look at evidence from elsewhere.

The work has also been very important in taking the stories of Roebourne to a national audience and helping bring local people together to work on other important agendas such as the transmission of culture across generations and managing local heritage places. It has also been central in helping shape other projects that have been part of the Yijala Yala Project such as the now nationally acclaimed theatre show, “Hipbone Sticking Out”.

Music and its general value

Since ancient thinkers started observing the value of music people have noted its ability to provoke strong responses, at times eliciting disturbing reactions, bringing on tears, trembling, even uncontrolled collapse. Many have commented on music’s overwhelming influence, even able to incapacitate listeners and sabotage their ability to exercise reason (Bicknell 2009, p. 23). There is also ample evidence from more recent research that music has great influence over the ‘soul’, the mind and the body of those who listen, even those who reluctantly listen (Bicknell 2009, p. 27).

There is now an impressive body of research that demonstrates the relationship between involvement with music and brain function. Indeed musical performance has been described as a ‘super skill’ in that it demands much of the mind and body, requiring concentrated attention, exercise and learning in “areas such as auditory focus and direction, motor movement and coordination, pattern recognition and decoding, sensory integration, and emotional communication” (Williamson, 2014, p. 37). Research from elsewhere shows that from the earliest of developmental stages children who take musical training do much better in things such as language, literacy, hearing discrimination, timing and motor skills control (Williamson, 2014, p. 41). This is because

6 Check out some of the work from Tjaabi: https://vimeo.com/178302699

music exercises neuronal function. The more neuronal stimulation, transmission and activity occurs throughout the brain, the more we become cognitively and emotional fit (Sennett, 2008, p 274).

As Williamson (2014 p. 109) notes, music “has the potential to mould the brain in multiple ways at any age.” Particularly when people play music (in contrast to those who more passively listen) they tend to show strength in mental self-regulation, intelligence testing, attention and focus, mental and physical arousal and dexterity (Williamson, 2014, p. 47, 54). In part this is because listening and playing music is not just something we do with our mind and ears, it is also motoric. As Nietzsche (cited in Sacks 2008,p. xii) wrote, “we listen to music with our muscles’.

Music is also critical in the development of one’s capacity for social and intellectual flexibility and improvisation. It helps exercise dexterity, allowing us to metamorphose and reconfigure socially across a range of different settings. For example, the ability to code-switch (a skill increasingly necessary in the global economy) and move between languages, work and cultural settings, is a specific consequence of involvement in many musical forms such as jazz, blues and country. Thus playing music helps people become better at negotiating borders, edges, dealing with unforeseen circumstances, following rules and conventions while experimenting with possibilities and creating new rules (Sennett, 2008, p. 237). All of these capacities serve people throughout their life, in and outside of work and play (Sennett, 2008, p. 269)

Music is also good for our mental health. Mood and emotion management is strongly shaped by music. The research backs up what most of us know from experience; that music can be very powerful in influencing feelings of happiness, sadness, excitement, peace and arousal (Bicknell 2009, p 57). The most cited research in relation to active involvement with music is its association with the relaxation response of the autonomic nervous system. Music, even in its passive use, has a well-established correlation with other associated body markers such as lowering of heart rate, breathing rate, blood pressure, muscular tension, oxygen consumption. This in turn leads to an established reduction in pain, anxiety and stress.

All of these combined benefits can lead to a range of other healthy outcomes. For example, research with people who have undergone spinal surgery established a correlation between the use of favourite music with the ability to control and limit pain medication (Williamson, 2014, p. 54). This is because music can aid with the release of neurotransmitters and natural opiates (for example dopamine), help with the reduction in the levels of cortisol and increase salivary immunoglobulin A, a natural antibody in our immune system (Williamson, 2014, p. 202-203). Not surprisingly music is now being used in a range of therapies, particularly associated with the treatment of depression, schizophrenia, substance use, learning difficulties, insomnia, acquired brain injury and various forms of dementia (Williamson, 2014, p. 218; Sennett, 2008, p. 269).

‘Active’ involvement in music is also directly correlated with other positive social outcomes such as community building, social solidarity and respectful treatment of others. This occurs in the earliest of stages in the human lifecycle where there is good evidence that music and musical activity helps build and buttress early attachment between babies, their parents and other caregivers. This follows earlier studies of animal and bird behavior that found a correlation between ‘song’ and the strengthening of pair bonds (Bicknell 2009, p. 97-98). Musical experience can set off certain neurotransmitters, such as oxytocin and endorphins, that are instrumental in ‘dissolving’ our sense of isolation. In this way, music acts as a ‘biotechnology’ for group formation (Freeman cited in Bicknell 2009, p 107)

Music is also very useful in helping encourage collective action and group dynamics.

Understanding this has led military leaders across millenniums to draw on song, beat and rhythm as tools for organizing their charges to march long distances, helping keep their minds, bodies and group cohesion in good order. Any fan of exercise will tell you of music’s value during ‘workouts’ (Bicknell 2009, p. 98). Studies of youth cultures and teenage behavior have also established music as an important tool in helping forge group solidarity and identity. Likewise, nation making would not be possible without the mobilization of music, in the form of anthems, slogans and folktale (Anderson, 1983).

In part this is because music is influential in encouraging social contact. It helps increase the capacity for communication and offers emotional and social support to families and communities undergoing trauma and hard times (Williamson 2014 p. 202-203). Recent research on the neurobiological foundations of attachment has established that music “affects the body, brain and mind in ways which connect listeners in groups and take solitary listeners out of themselves” (Bicknell 2009, vii).

Music is also remarkably powerful in assisting with the task of social reintegration. It can prove very useful in helping those who have been socially isolated (eg. intellectually disabled move from a history of institutional living to community living), those experiencing culture shock as they return or travel to a different setting (eg. workers returning home), those who are undergoing some form of rehabilitation (eg. prisoners returning to the ‘outside’) and those moving through some other life transition. As Bicknell (2009, p. 114) puts it,

Music is extremely well suited to the task of providing a commanding internal focus and facilitating the reintegration of the self. It has certain features which make it particularly attractive and deserving as an object of intense external focus.

Other research has established that music is a powerful conduit through which friends, loved ones and others have been able to re-learn how to communicate with people who have suffered from strokes, head injuries or other illnesses that restrict speaking (Williamson 2014 p. 220).

Music is also very important in assisting communication. It often helps people reduce barriers associated with language and cultural difference. Its power in evoking emotions and expressing non-verbal meaning makes it a perfect tool for those seeking to build relationships across cultures, age, gender, ability and learning. As Scrutton (cited by Bicknell 2009, p. 130-131) so poetically puts it, when we play music together we are forced to respond to others, moving with them and their timing, negotiating sound, pitch, timbre and melody, often building harmony.

Clearly music is many things to many people. People use it to feel better, to relieve boredom, to take them away to other places, to provide a rhythm, help them contend with physical effort, to meditate, to prepare the mind and to drive their desire. Music is also something that is in itself an object of aesthetic contemplation. Much of the time we listen to it, we play it just for the sake of listening and playing (Bicknell 2009, p. 141). Perhaps its breathtaking power is in its ability to influence on all of these levels, often at one and the same time.

The importance of music in maintaining healthy Aboriginal culture

As many have observed, singing, dancing, painting and performing ceremony has long been used to help maintain and build Aboriginal people’s connection to country and to each other. Indeed for many, country, community and ‘singing’ are inseparable. The practice of singing is literally a way of life, a way of bringing country to life and in turn the way one comes to life in country (Muecke

1997). As Catherine Ellis (1985) so clearly put it, for those Anangu old people she worked with, “music is the central repository of knowledge.” Ellis’s mentor Ted Strehlow made similar observations about Arentte. Outlining Strehlow’s poetics on song in Central Australia, Hill (2002, p. 44) said,

The whole life of the region was, in a sense, conducted according to song, the secrets of which were central to the laws of the culture ... the whole region was animated by song that gave almost everything – fauna, flora, much of the topography – meanings. The terrain was a narrative, and song, like rain, united the sky with the earth, and day with the stars of the night ... To sing the song was to transmit proprietorial responsibilities to others.

In this way, one’s status, one’s identity, one’s being in the world is ultimately linked to one’s ability to sing. Musical knowledge, in particular knowledge of the songs for country, status, influence and prestige are interlinked. Where communities still practice law and ceremony, one’s musical skills serve as a sign that one has successful negotiated ceremonial achievement. In this way music is both the marker of social standing and the means through which it is obtained so that the knowledgeable person is the person that knows many songs (Stubington, 2007 p. 111; Ellis, 1985 p. 1).

Not only do Aboriginal understandings of country see people as being brought into being by country, but their “daily and yearly interactions with country are communicative events” often expressed through song and music (Bird Rose et al 2002, p. 43). When traveling often Aboriginal people call or ‘sing out’ to country to announce themselves (Dunbar-Hall and Gibson 2004, p. 26). In part this works because country is seen as something that moves, that creates rhythms, that maintains a (heart) beat (Bird Rose et al 2002, p, 45-46). This process reflects longstanding cultural practices that link the act of ‘singing’ and making music with being on country and maintaining spiritual, economic and familial ties (Bird Rose et al 2002). Operating in this cultural time and space then demands that one finds the beat, paying attention to the tempo of country. In this way singing about a place allows people to both maintain the spirit of that place (sing up a place) and re-inscribe certain places with meaning and importance.

‘Singing for country’ also works because it offers a means of young people sharing the experience with elders. This is particularly important given the scale and speed of intergenerational dislocation (see MacCallum et al 2006). Increasingly the influence of new technologies, globalized economies and new forms of communication are changing the lives of young people, often in ways that are completely unrecognizable to parent and grandparent generations. Some of these conditions are having a massive impact on interaction between the generations, making it difficult for the maintenance of Aboriginal culture and language (McGrath and Brennan 2011 p. 344-345). This is particularly important in remote Aboriginal communities where music, storytelling, and other similar activities prove invaluable in encouraging interaction that might otherwise be in short supply.

As Ellis (1985, p. 54) points out, music is a very powerful force in bringing people together across the generations. In this way it acts as an important educative tool, allowing transmission of knowledge and tradition. She observes that an important feature in the ‘open song’ performed both in ceremonial and other social settings is that members of the family learn and participate simultaneously. Here, doing community, doing education, and doing song are not abstracted, instead tied up together through the production of culture (Ellis 1985, p. 112).

This is more profound than at first it may appear. Deborah Bird Rose (2004) observes that the process of being on country and singing for country not only involves the young and their living

elders “going along together,” but it also demands a shared relationship with elders and ancestors long passed away. It is little wonder then that people speak of country in the same way as they speak about their human relatives. As Bradley (2010, p. 228) puts it:

People visit country and listen to country; they sing for country and cry for country. They worry greatly about country and speak longingly of places they are unable to visit because it is now a part of pastoral property, a mining lease, or just too hard to get without transport … Country can also accept and reject, be hard or happy – just as people can be with one another. Close relatives will often address each other as country, and when people see animal or plant species that are their Dreaming they will often call out, ‘Hello country!’

In this way, singing out to country becomes a means by which Aboriginal people can recognize that their place in the world is shaped by the prior existence of other beings. This practice introduces to children and young people the importance of respecting the legacy that has been left by those (both human and the ‘inanimate’ environment, both alive and ‘dead’) who came before them (Muecke 2004 p. 69).

This nexus between ‘singing out’, performance or protocols and care for country, reflect long-established ontological traditions that connect the health of country to the health of persons. Bird Rose et al (2002 p. 14) puts it beautifully when she says:

In Aboriginal English, the word ”country” is both a common noun and a proper noun. People talk about country in the same way that they would talk about a person: they speak to country, sing to country, visit country, worry about country, grieve for country and long for country. People say that country knows, hears, smells, takes notice, takes care, and feels sorry or happy. Country is a living entity with a yesterday, a today and tomorrow, with consciousness, action, and a will toward life. Because of this richness of meaning, country is home and peace; nourishment for body, mind and spirit; and heart’s ease.

Music, in relying so heavily on aural senses, is also an important accompaniment to other social and cultural processes in Aboriginal life. Often music plays a critical role in the production of art, crafting and the making of important tools. For example, Watson (2003, p. 53) describes the interrelationship between song, sand drawing, body painting and rock art. Describing women’s sand drawing, she says that it always occurs in conjunction with the “making of sound through the action of the stick, or milpa, striking the earth … (so that) a chanted narrative accompanies the image-making process.” These sounds and the act of connecting with the ground is understood as a way to fix a bond between people’s bodies with the sentient land (Watson 2003, p. 53, Magowan 2005, p. 62).

Music’s role in assisting Aboriginal people to deal with conflict and difference has been acutely important. As many have observed, in Aboriginal traditions there is a need for constant negotiation (Fold 2001). For example when talking about Western Desert systems of governance Myers (1991) highlights the important balance needed in daily life to ensure that people can maximize their capacity for personal autonomy at the same time as manage communal interests. With so much tension, having groups arrive at any kind of cohesion and resolution is a major challenge. According to Bird Rose (cited in Stubington, 2007, p. 108) music can help with this. Indeed through practice and involvement with music people can, indeed have to, gain new perspectives, fresh insights and incorporate what appear to be opposing positions. Indeed, the act of making music demands that we take a variety of different sounds, notes, timings and rhythms (discordant

elements) and find ways to have them come together in a composition that is congruent, harmonious and pleasant-sounding (Ellis 1985, p. 54).

Conclusion

The influence and contribution of Aboriginal people to the Australian music industry is often poorly recognized. Longstanding songs and song cycles have crisscrossed the country for many thousands of years, investing places with powerful sounds and stories. These traditions continue to shape the continent in subtle but profound ways. Travelling in regional and remote Australia one frequently comes across the sounds of ancient law and culture where music features to help transmit language, traditions and knowledge. There is much evidence of a movement to reinvigorate law and ceremonial business in the north, centre and parts of the south. Music is smack in the middle of this movement. Contemporary Aboriginal forms are continuing to ‘invade’ the popular music industry thanks to the work of Jessica Mauboy, Archie Roach, Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunipingu, Christine Anu, Kev Carmody, Troy Cassar-Daly, Casey Donovan, Emma Donovan and Dan Sultan (to name but a few).

Since shortly after white pastoralists first appeared, Aboriginal men and women have drawn in others to their musical traditions and reconfigured their styles to draw upon outside musical forms. For example, the demand for Indigenous workers on the stock routes gave displaced Aboriginal men and women a chance to spend time combining their musician traditions with ‘country and western’ styles. During this time a lot of elements of Western cattle station culture began to seep into the Aboriginal cultural forms. The stars of the time were the likes of Chet Atkins, Slim Dusty and Hank Williams and by the time the radio waves started to penetrate these rural outposts, country music was spreading like wildfire. It soon became adopted as a new form of expression for the Indigenous station workers. This long running love affair for country music has resulted in the rise of artists such as Fitzroy Express, The Black Stone Ramblers, Peter Brandy and John Bennett who are all now household names across hundreds of different language groups.

The story of Yijala Yala’s music work, based in the Roebourne Regional Prison, and the formation of the Murru Band is but one of many examples of the tenacity of Aboriginal communities and their ability to not only survive but build strength across the generations and into the future. It also represents a practical example of how outsiders can work with local people to respond to some of the most difficult challenges. It represents a story of how prisons, local communities and outside groups can work together to replace discord and trauma with strength, spirit and song.

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