Diversidad cultural

The Sonorous Language of Yagua Flutes

jean-pierre chaumeil

Translated by José Antonio Kelly Luciani

Recent anthropological literature on Amazonia has shown that one of the specific ways of communicating with spirits (or with some categories of spirits) entails the choice of a nonverbal sound medium (most commonly an acoustic register, the tone of a voice, whistling, and music) rather than a linguistic one (the possible combination of the two forms notwithstanding). This is typically the case of the Yagua of the western Amazon, who are the main focus of this essay.¹ In fact, Yagua shamans impose on themselves several voice-deforming exercises in order to reach a very high pitch they say corresponds with the way spirits “speak.” Their chants always begin with whistling sounds, which could be inter-preted as “tuning into” the acoustic frequency of the spirits. The content of the chants, which varies little from one to the next, seems here to be less relevant than the tone or the register of the voice in which they are sung.²

Curiously, the study of sound types and acoustic registers em-ployed in exchanges with spirits (mythical beings, animal mas-ters, and other entities) has up to now received little attention on the part of specialists. The purpose of this essay is to portray the process of interaction with spirits through an analysis of the com-plex play of musical forms and other vocal expressions produced by the ritual flutes of the Yagua. According to the Yagua, the en-tities incarnating these instruments (representing “the voice” and

“the bones” of certain spirit categories) play a significant role, not only in the management of natural resources (hunting, gath-ering, and fishing) but even more so in the growth and fertility of beings and things in the world.

An analysis of the types of sounds and acoustic registers em-ployed in communicating with nonhumans should allow us a bet-ter characbet-terization of these modes of inbet-teraction and the types of relations (or of actions) that these sounds induce. With the objec-tive of reflecting on the nature and status of these sonorous “dis-courses,” we will also be drawing on data from other Amazonian cultures. In doing so, we are following the path opened by sev-eral Amazonianist colleagues who study the musical repertoires of aerophone rituals, particularly the work of Rafael Menezes Bastos, who also contributes to this volume.

I

Perhaps one of the most salient features of communication with entities we call “spirits” is the use of special linguistic forms, some-times referred to as “ritual,” “secret,” or even “esoteric” languages, that, being different from the language spoken in everyday cir-cumstances, are normally unintelligible to most people. There are several means by which these differences are marked: using dif-ferent languages or archaic words (that have fallen into disuse), or using stylistic procedures and other modifications that affect the lexico (metaphor), the syntax, or the morphology of words (by adding syllables or suffixes, the use of repetition, parallelism, mythical references, etc.). All these are well-known procedures generally referred to in the literature as the “spirit languages”

used by shamans and ritual specialists (see, for example, Civrieux 1974, on the “magic language” of the Kariña of the Venezuelan Guiana). It would seem to be that what is being stressed is above all the act of communicating rather than the content of a dialogue (which varies in degree of intelligibility). As Cédric Yvinec (2004:

35) suggests, it is the fact that this discourse is different from

hu-man language that matters, not the information it may commu-nicate. In the end, the message is that one “is communicating.”

It is also common for this “language of the spirits” to be per-ceived as a radically different one, reinforcing its distance from common language. In these cases, this language can be a matter of “pure sounds” (blowing sounds, noises, and other sound ef-fects) or music (Yvinec 2004: 57). References to these musical or sound effects occur frequently in myths and tales of encoun-ters with ancestral entities and spirits. In Yagua mythology, for instance, we can find formulae (a kind of acoustic code) intro-duced by the teller that could almost be understood as a “sono-rous language” constitutive of these encounters and that seem to be reinforcing the reality or the presence of such entities: for example, ró róno ró óóó (indicates the voice of the Palm Grove spirits), núñunútapu núñunútapu . . . (reproduces the voice of the spirits of Colpa, sites where animals go to lick salt), trananá (the voice of Thunder), tsi iii (the voice of Wind), fi fi fi fi fi (whis-tles associated with the voice of the forest spirits whose arrival is announced with the exclamation pó!), etc. It is also in this fash-ion that the spirit Norón (yagua equivalent of the ancient Tupi’s Kurupira spirit) “deafens” and “disorients” his victims—usually individuals wandering in the forest—by means of strident whis-tles fi fi fi and the banging tó tó tó sounds of his percussion on tree trunks (Chaumeil 2000). The ability to control and resist the effect of powerful sounds is presented in the myth of the twins as conditioning human social order: the twins must learn to domi-nate the powerful “breath” of the flutes of their dead parents so as to avoid defeat and secure victory over their enemies (Chau-meil 2001: 87). In similar fashion, Yagua hunters must learn “the language of animals” to locate their prey. The ability to imitate the call of a female or offspring of an animal in order to hunt it is called “to make the animals sing,” uñachanu awanu teetaú (Chaumeil 1993: 416–17). For example, when tracking howler monkeys, the hunter imitates the call of the young owé owé owé,

to which the parents (male and female) quickly respond úu úu úu hum hum, looking for their young and approaching the hunter in-stead. In the case of the panguana bird (Crypturellus undulatus), the hunter imitates the threatening call kokóbweno kokóbweno thought to be a generic threat used by enemy animals (an onomato-poeia that also designates the panguana bird itself, kokóbweno).

The bird is supposed to respond with the same call, indicating its desire for combat and hence walk toward the hunter. In sha-manism, the typical sound of the chacapa (rattle made of a bun-dle of dry leaves) che che che, used by the shaman in curing ses-sions, has a particularly soothing effect on spirits, who indicate their satisfaction by replying with a fu fu fu fu sound.

We could continue multiplying examples (and by the way dem-onstrate the need for a detailed study of onomatopoeic expression within Amazonian anthropology), yet what we want to highlight here is the importance of the acoustic code in relationships with spirits, even more so when we consider that each class of spirit is often conceived of as having a “voice” of its own. We will return to the possible meaning of this multiplicity of “voices.”

II

The Yagua maintain at least two levels of formal relations with spirits both requiring a specialized apprenticeship, namely, sha-manism and the flute ritual. We will briefly comment on the first, for it is to the second that we will devote most of our attention in this essay.

A large part of the shamanic initiation ritual consists of fa-miliarizing oneself with the spirits and, above all, learning (re-producing) their “language” or, more specifically, their “voice,”

mbayántu niquieyanu. In the majority of cases, the initiate uses concoctions of hallucinogenic plants (where Banisteriopsis caapi vine is the main ingredient) to enter into audible and visual con-tact with vegetable spirits. Once concon-tact is attained, this allows for a “linguistic” exchange—an exclusive prerogative of shamans—

with these renowned entities who are known to be the real owners of shamanic chants and powers. Even when vegetables are con-ceived of as “mute,” ne niquie, those who know how can enjoy their beautiful whistled melodies. In fact, each category of vege-tal spirits is known to possess a chant to which a specific tone of voice corresponds. Shamanic chants, which always begin with acute whistles, are primarily meant to reach the very high acous-tic frequencies of the spirits, in such a way that their efficacy de-pends less on their content or the meaning of their words than on an indigenous theory of sounds and sonorous language. To reach these tones, Yagua shamans spend months performing vocal ex-ercises and scraping their tongues with the sharpened blade of a shell in order to transform their voice and extract, as they say, the phlegm, worapóndi, the “foam” of the tongue that, in ordinary circumstances, hoarsens the voice. The diversity of the registers reached contrasts with the similarity in content of these incanta-tions. These registers constitute the usual mode of communicating with the spirits that “emit” and “receive” on the same frequencies, not unlike the way a two-way radio functions. This acoustic lan-guage—a sort of metalanguage shared by shamans and plants—

acquires a semantic value, producing meaning as it emits sounds.

Two notions are worthy of further comment. The first is that among the Yagua, shamanic chanting is conceived of as a veritable physiological capacity, inasmuch as its efficacy is conditioned by a physical procedure (the scraping of the tong). The second is that it is possible to obtain (control) another’s agency and knowledge (whether spirits or any other being) by imitation, that is, identi-cally reproducing their acoustic frequency. Hence the secret char-acter of shamanic chants is always a source of tension between shamans competing for control over spirits.

Let me comment on two more aspects regarding shamanism that will be of use to us later on. During the most intense episode of initiation, shaman initiates undergo a process of bodily dis-sociation or fragmentation, experiencing the separation of their

extremities and of flesh from bones only to recombine later on (a classical phenomenon found in many descriptions of this type of experience). This scheme of corporeal dissociation—which we will find again in our discussion of the ritual flutes—seems to be a constitutive aspect of the encounter and relationships with spir-its in numerous Amazonian societies (on this subject see Yvinec 2004). The other interesting aspect refers to the field of the senses.

If we refer to what various Yagua shamans have told us about their specific initiations (Chaumeil 2000), we notice that the first contact with the spirits is auditory rather than visual: always be-ginning with a series of noises and voices, becoming louder yeeeee EEEE as spirits get closer. Only later do the zoomorphic, and then anthropomorphic, images become discernible along with the first chants: vocal sequences that we also find in the flute rit-ual to which we will now turn our attention.

III

Until recently the Yagua used to celebrate each year, during the fruiting period of the Bactris gasipaes palm, a grand male initia-tion ritual called ñá. Without entering into too much detail, this ritual—in many ways reminiscent of the Yuruparí ritual charac-teristic of northwestern Amazonia—could last several weeks and hence required enormous preparation in terms of procuring food and drink reserves (particularly game and manioc beer) and cre-ating artifacts (Chaumeil 2000–2001).

Male initiation consisted precisely of presenting young men—

those pertaining to the clan of the “owner” of the feast—for the first time with the hunting spirits represented by five pairs of aero-phones, the sight of which, in accordance with a rather classic standard in Amazonia, is strictly forbidden to women and non-initiates. (For more details on these instruments, the interdictions they are subject to, and their distribution in Amazonia, see Piedade 2000; Mansutti 2006; Chaumeil 1997 and 2007.) In the Yagua case, there are three types of instruments: bark trumpets,

speak-ing tubes, and duct flutes with stops and with a partly covered sound orifice, always played in pairs in hocket style (on this sub-ject see Hill 2001: 64). These instruments embody the “voice,”

niquiejada, and the “bones,” ndu, of the hunting spirits that reg-ulate this activity. In this way, they are understood as autono-mous entities, different from the animal masters, each with its own character, voice (although all spirits understand each other, for they “share the same language”), odor, sensibility, and way of being played, with the added peculiarity of also being consid-ered as great drinkers. (They are always thirsty!) During the rit-ual, the instruments are hence “fed” large quantities of manioc beer that spills over from their “mouths” (the mouthpiece of the tubular instruments) in exchange for the game that their inter-vention has allowed. The lack of this beverage (which is a female product) enrages the spirits, who then will not “deliver” more animals. The instruments are also beautifully “decorated” with headdresses and paint, exhibiting the motifs of the clan of the owner of the feast. Several authors have commented on the very

5. Owner of the feast offering unfermented manioc drink to the spirit instruments. Photo by Jean-Pierre Chaumeil.

sensitive personality of the ritual flutes, which can easily feel dis-respected. It is because of this sensitivity that, according to Mur-phy (1958: 63), the sprits of the karökö flutes among the Mun-durucu get angry if they are not frequently “fed” and “played”;

similarly among the Cubeo Hehénewa, the flutes must be treated with considerable care and respect (Goldman 2004: 224).

Among the Yagua, every type of spirit-instrument is associ-ated with a relatively precise category of animals. The main in-strument, Rúnda (a pair of bark trumpets), called yátí, “leader,”

is related to birds and terrestrial fauna, in particular with the ndusu/kachuno monkey (Lagotrix lagotricha).³ Rúnda has three forms of vocal expression or “voices,” each having two modal-ities, one of a lower tone than the other, which are produced in alternate fashion:

Strident cries hú hu hú hu hú hu (representing its “laughter”);

A rhythmic series (march) of grave sounds, associated with the “voice of Thunder,” in which one can identify “words” (that is, the human vocal system transformed by the instrument): for example, hihihihu hihihihu, “I am arriving,” or wiwi hihi hihi, “I am leaving”;

Reiterated roars ended by gurgling sounds huwuwuwuwo oooo, mean-ing “I am requestmean-ing to drink manioc beer,” where the gurglmean-ing spe-cifically means “I am already drinking” (see Chaumeil 1993: 409–

20, for further details).

These voices form sequences (that can be repeated at will) fol-lowing this pattern beginning with the cries and ending with the gurgling sounds (the latter played standing up). Whilst the Rúnda exhibits a fundamentally binary musical pattern, the tempo in-creases considerably at the end of the second sequence, form-ing more complex rhythmic structures that the Yagua liken to a

“speech.”

The second spirit-instrument, Wirisihó (a pair of speaking tubes) also called rimitiu’, “the old one” (because it is represented as a hoarsely voiced elder), is associated with chelonians and

cai-mans. It has the reputation of coming with turtles, which in this context are called wichótu, meaning “stool”—the allegoric name given to this turtle due to the resemblance between the shape of the turtle’s shell and the stool. The usual name of this turtle is notiu. This spirit-instrument produces two sound sequences lik-ened to the “jaguar’s voice” that are audible from a large distance:

Series of five or six grave sounds followed by five or six produced one tone higher;

Successive roars (the instruments are played standing up) amongst which, nonetheless, the rudiments of words can be discerned, for ex-ample tititititiri, “I am going to begin walking,” or yiwó yiwó wó wooo, “I am walking.” Wirisihó is in essence rhythmic, and his voice is an evocation of the manner of walking of the mythical jaguars, wu wu wu wu. However, the name could well be derived from wirisi, the name of a species of fish locally known as carachama, and dis-tinguished by its shell-shaped scales.

The three other spirit-instruments, Wawitihó, Yurihó, and Si-pató (three pairs of identical yet different sized duct flutes with stops and with partly covered sound orifices), are associated with aquatic fauna and certain species of terrestrial animals. The me-lodic sounds they produce contrast with the vibrating, hoarse, and chopped sounds of the preceding instruments. The “music”

of these flutes consists of long concatenations of rising and de-scending notes played alternatingly in hocket style by the “male”

flute (the longer one) and the “female” flute (the shorter one).

Wawitihó is reputed to arrive with peccaries and fish species and is given the responsibility of organizing the handling of the meat in the ñá ritual. He has up to three vocal manifestations, varying from a free melodic phrase to a quasi-rhythmic one:

A wawa wawa wawa signals the arrival of the spirit;

Rising and descending wuwuwuwuwuwuwuwu expresses the spir-it’s happiness;

A meme meme meme indicates his departure.

The Yagua refer to these sonorous manifestations with the word chacún (Powlison and Powlison 1976; Powlison 1995).

The name Wawitihó is perhaps derived from wawitiu, a class of hawk. If this were the case, the chacún onomatopoeia would then correspond to the “voice” of the hawk. We would hence be faced with another example of the distinction noted by Stephen Hugh-Jones for the Tukano (Hugh-Hugh-Jones 1979: 146) between, on the one hand, the sounds of bark trumpets associated with the noise of thunder and the roar of the jaguar, and on the other hand, the sounds of flutes associated with the call of birds. This identifica-tion of the “voices” of the ritual flutes with the “cries” of differ-ent animal species is relatively common in Lowland South Amer-ica (see, for example, Mansutti 2006 on the Piaroa and Hill 2004 on the Wakuénai).

On their part, Yurihó and Sipató produce only one sound se-quence melodically similar to that of Wawitihó. The Yagua re-fer to them with the yuri yuri yuri and sipa sipa sipa onomato-poeias. The term sipa designates the grated manioc-based drink given to the hunting spirits as a farewell beverage. Sipató spirit receives this name because it drinks enormous amounts of grated- manioc juice. This is indicated by its voice, which constantly de-mands this beverage, sipa sipa sipa. Occasionally, Sipató can ap-pear as the wife of Rúnda in which case a linguistic marker for the feminine form is added, Sipatónda. The name for the Yurihó spirit comes from the term yuri, which probably refers to ancient enemies of the Yagua, historically located to the north of their territory, who are the subject of several series of ritual songs. It is said that Yurihó comes with the howler monkey (kánda), which is allegorically referred to in the flute ritual as ramanujú, or “aya-huasca vine” (Banisteriopsis caapi), by analogy between the shape of the monkey’s tail and the hallucinogenic vine.

The musical arrangement of the instruments is, as far as we can tell, relatively free. There is apparently no synchronization be-tween the instruments: the voices can be superimposed, played as

a solo, or even used to initiate a “dialogue” (deformed voice)

a solo, or even used to initiate a “dialogue” (deformed voice)