PERFORMER TRAINING WORKING GROUP, TAPRA 2013, GLASGOW
‘Between Preservation and Renewal: the Use of Recording Devices in Modern
Pansori Training’1
By Dr Konstantinos Thomaidis, University of Portsmouth
NOTE: I chose to present this in the format of a rough draft towards an article and not in the
condensed version of a paper. The main points I wish to discuss with the Working Group appear after
page 6, so I would recommend that most colleagues focus on that second half. Still, any comments and
suggestions for the first, contextual part of this piece of writing would be welcome. Many thanks.
This is paper is designed as a first public sharing of my current research on the use of
technology in the pedagogy of Korean pansori. Following a brief introduction to the
genre and its current landscape of practices, I will present a short survey of existing
views on the ‘impact’ of technology on pansori. However, my primary focus, as will
become explicit in the second part, is a critical interrogation of these perspectives. To
this aim, I will use as my main lens ethnographic observations derived from my
fieldwork in South Korea in the summer of 2009.2
1
As far as my pansori training and fieldwork in South Korea are concerned, thanks go to Jiwon Yang for helping
me in my preparation, for pointing me towards the resources of the Seoul Arts Center, the Korean National
University of Arts, the National Museum and the Folk Museum as well as for being such remarkable company in
Seoul. I also wish to thank my teachers, Noh Hae Yang and Moon Soo Hyan, for their passion and dedication to
the principles of pansori, their insights into their training and teaching as well as for granting me permission to use
extracts from my interviews with them. Likewise, I am grateful to pansori master-singer Ms Lee for finding the
time in her loaded schedule for an interview. I would also like to thank all the members of staff at the National
Center for Korean Traditional Performing Arts for their multiple assistance in my research—in particular Kim Jooyoung and Baweon Li for their exceptional guidance and translations. I am also indebted to Peter Hulton for
sending me a copy of Dr Tara McAllister-Viel’s ‘Inside/Out’ lecture, as documented by the Arts Archives. Thanks
go to the Leventis Foundation for funding my fieldwork, my supervisors Prof David Wiles, Prof David Williams
and Alison Hodge for their help, guidance and support, as well as to the Association of Asian Performance for
useful suggestions when I presented my fieldwork as part of the ATHE 2010 conference in Los Angeles.
2
As part of my doctoral project, I conducted fieldwork in South Korea during June and July 2009. This consisted
of group classes (for Koreans, instead of the classes for foreigners) at the National Center for Korean Traditional
Performing Arts and private pansori lessons under young pansori singer Moon Soo Hyan (twelve two-hour
sessions at the NCKTPA and eleven 80-minute sessions with Moon Soo Hyan). Through these, as well as long
everyday practice, I acquainted myself with all rhythmic patterns of pansori (jangdan). I also learnt two traditional
folksongs from the area where pansori originates (Jeolla Province), one introductory song (danga), three songs
from Simcheongga, two versions of the same songs from Chunhyangga, and the introductory narration (aniri) of
Heungboga, as well as the first half of a song from the same sung narrative. In addition I attended two full-length
pansori performances: Heungboga at the NCKTPA, and Simcheongga at the National Theater. Moreover, I
watched three performances of traditional Korean music and dance, all of which included pansori extracts: the first
at the Korean House (where an extract from Chunhyangga was performed), and the other two at the NCKTPA (in
the second one, there was a gayageum byeongchang [self-accompanied by a 12-stringed zither] rendition of an
extract from Jeokbyeokga). I also watched on Korean national television a full performance of the changgeuk (fullstage, ‘Westernised,’ operatic version of a pansori narrative) version of Simcheongga and a documentary with
pansori extracts. Additionally, I conducted research at the video archives of Seoul Arts Centre, the music library of
the Korean National University of Arts as well as the library of the museum of Folk Music. Moreover, I visited the
1
Introduction
Let me begin with a short, and for the purposes of brevity rather simplifying,
introduction to pansori. Pansori, a Korean traditional genre, is a one-person vocal
performance of a narrative, usually lasting several hours. The singer performs
accompanied by a drummer (gosu), and portrays moments of the plot with the aid of
gestures and the movement of a fan. The audience, stimulated by the drummer,
participates with cries of encouragement, known as chuimsae. From the point of view
of etymology, pansori is composed by two words, pan and sori. Pan are the
performance spaces, traditionally straw mats laid out on market places or, in the
‘golden era’ of the late 18th and 19th centuries, the houses of the aristocracy during
special occasions. Sori is the distinct, frequently described as harsh and husky, voice
quality of the genre, alternating between sung (chang) and spoken (aniri) parts.
Historically, the (much debated) origins of pansori go back to indigenous rites of
female shamans and the songs of low-class travelling entertainers (gwangdae). The
first literary accounts of pansori performances date back to the mid-18th century.
Transmission of the narratives was effected through vigorous one-to-one training
under master singers, inside a clan-type training system of distinct schools, called
yupas, each one of which safeguarded a particular version of the songs. Traditionally
training was largely mimetic, with the student imitating the master and absorbing one
of the five canonical songs/narratives over a period of several years.
Nowadays, pansori is not only performed in its entirety but also extracts feature
in concerts and TV or radio broadcasts; performances tour abroad, happen in villages,
traditional music collection of the National Palace Museum, the Museum of Folk Music and the National Folk
Museum. Also, in April 2006 I participated in a private workshop/discussion at the Central School of Speech and
Drama on the intercultural work undertaken by Tara McAllister-Viel with students through her understanding of
pansori, and throughout this project I attended lectures, exhibitions and workshops at the Korean Cultural Centre
UK.
2
big festivals, concert halls, or university sites, extend to include newly composed
repertories, are discographed, fertilise such experiments as changgeuk (MT/operainspired stage versions of the solo songs), transnational renditions and intercultural
approaches to training. Chan E. Park (2008), in her discussion of pansori, relates that
‘an antique heritage, its folkforistic, nationalistic, and transnational imagination
frequently intersects with contemporary music, media, and film’ (129). Although
academic discussions of the on-stage life of the genre have managed to grasp the
complexities associated with modern pan in its encounter with sori, there seems to
still be a general tendency towards understanding its pedagogy as virtually
unchanged. However, with the advent of discography, the expanded use of printed
material and audiovisual aids within multiplied training contexts, and the abundance
of relevant online resources, the hitherto established microcosm of the teacherdisciple dyad has radically shifted. Therefore questions on orality, composition,
authorship, and transmission ask for further probing through the lens of new takes on
localised and international pedagogies of pansori.
Park suggests that for voice training purposes we should turn to the past
(‘Literature’ 159). Kim also states that ‘[o]rally transmitted arts exist, without
exception, as a form of local type’ (Kee Hyung Kim 9). However, the influx of
Western culture, the technological advancements and the centrally organised contexts
of training have influenced the way pansori is transmitted today. Even though pansori
has for long existed in close-knit relationship to its distinct local seedbeds, nowadays
the Traditional Performing Arts High School, the most influential colleges, the
NCKTPA and the National Changgeuk Company are all located in cosmopolitan
Seoul. In 1993, Seopyeonje, a film by Im Gwontaek following the training of a
pansori singer’s daughter made a new box office record in Korea and attracted
3
worldwide attention to the genre.3 In 2003 pansori was designated a Masterpiece of
Oral Tradition and Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO. Korean academic
inquiry ranges from such suggestions as that ‘it is highly necessary to overcome the
dependence on the Western-oriented musical viewpoint’ (B. Song 28) to Kwon Ohsung’s polemic vision: ‘Korean traditional music should no longer try to keep its
traditional identity but have to find a way to be part of this global music scene’
(‘Globalization’ 90). In such shifting contexts, it seems to me that it is imperative that
we take a closer look at the branches, expressions and possibilities of today’s pansori
training.
Nowadays, pansori is not only taught in private studios or through the traditional
lines of masters. In a movement fostered by the Korean government, pansori has
become the centre of attention of many Korean institutions and courses (not to
mention the immense interest expressed by the scholars, foreigners as well).4 In these
courses, the norm is that students do specialise, but they are given the chance to enrol
in a variety of related subjects, both theoretical and practical (Moon Soo Hyan,
personal interview, July 2009). In addition, as Howard observes, ‘pansori clubs
operate on many university campuses, and pansori performances are quite frequent
and reasonably attended” (Guide 87). Outside university-level tutelage, governmentsubsidised training takes place at NCKTPA on a termly or yearly basis and at the
Traditional Performing Arts High School in Seoul. The overwhelming majority of the
3
The movie was the first to focus on the han of the traditional training process. The changgeuk presenting the life
of Im Bangul (1904-1961), staged by the National Changgeuk Company in 1987, could be seen as a precursor of
the concept.
4
Among the most important pansori courses are those of Seoul National University (1963), Hanyang University
(1972), Ehwa Women’s University (1974), Chugye Arts College (1974), the Academy of Korean Studies (1981),
Yeongnam University (1982), Kyeongbuk National University (1982), Pusan National University (1982),
Cheonnam National University (1982), Chungang University (1983), Danguk University (1983), and Korean
National University of Arts (1993), where, apart the specialised pansori course at the Department of Traditional
Arts, pansori classes are taught to acting students as well.
4
latter’s students enroll in relevant university courses or embark on professional
careers. As a consequence, learning for many teachers has become the norm in
present-day pansori, as verified in all interviews I conducted with teachers, trainees
and master singers (Moon Soo Hyan; Lee Jueun; Noh Hae Yang: July 2009), starting
with the first teacher in a studio in childhood, attending later the High School of
Traditional Performing Arts, and, most frequently, enrolling in a university (possibly
for postgraduate study too).
‘The old ways of today’s pansori masters’5
Although pansori as a performance practice is constantly evolving in relation to
the new platforms created by electronic media (see all works by Howard), scholarly
narratives on the connections between technology and the pedagogy of the genre are
largely underpinned by disparagement and indignation. This discursive attitude cannot
be understood outside the matrix of current policies aimed at the preservation of the
genre’s traditional praxis.
Following the suppression of pansori during Japanese Colonisation (19101945), academic interest and fears of extinction of the genre among practitioners
nourished a movement towards preservation, which reached its apogee, and legislative
expression, during the 1960s. In 1962, the first Cultural Asset Law was voted and two
years later the first group of Intangible Cultural Assets (Muhyeong), including pansori
as Number 5, was designated. Since then, several badi (‘versions of the five existing
songs’) have been nominated and/or designated by the system of Muhyeong. The
Cultural Properties Bureau of the Ministry of Culture appoints performers of the
selected versions as ingan munhwajae (‘human cultural treasures’) or muhyeong
5
From a description of a late-Joseon samilyuga celebration, found in H. Song (111).
5
munhwajae ‘intangible cultural treasures,’ generally known as poyuja (‘holders’ or
‘preservers’).6 However, the official term used in the legislation, after several
changes, has been, since 1994, ‘Person who Completed the Course.’ The pedagogical
preoccupations of the law date back to the justification of the first designated songs as
‘educational materials for future singers’ (Kee Hyung Kim 20). But what is the reason
for this apparent emphasis on the training process? Training in its new legislative
context is seen as the main guarantor of preservation; holders receive a monthly
stipend in order to perform and teach the chosen version of a song in their entirety.
Among other educational duties, such as officially commenting on the progress of
their students and awarding certificates, holders are obliged to appoint one of their
students as their selected successor.
Up to today, the training of sori has been in a constant dialogue with the system
and practices of holders. On one hand, the system contributed largely to the postColonisation survival of the known repertory and the preservation of its traditional,
mainly mimetic, pedagogy. However, the 2001 revision of the law required that the
holders be ‘able to preserve the exact format’ (Kee Hyung Kim 22-23). As implied in
the use of such derogatory terms as sajinsori (‘photographic sound’), the officially
endorsed approach to transmission can lead to a rigidification essentially opposite to
the traditional practices, which were largely improvisational and relied heavily on the
individual.7 Furthermore, since the system privileges versions with distinct (and
proven) local origins, other versions have become extinct or their continuation has
been endangered. Nowadays, similar scorn surrounds performance practices outside
6
The only drummer designated was Kim Myeonghwan, in 1978.
7
A well-grounded discussion of the system of ‘holders’ can be found in Yang’s thesis.
6
full-length performances, such as ‘[s]egmental episodic singing [which] came to be
denigrated as t’omaksori, “piecemeal sori”’ (Park, Straw Mat 107).
Exactly the same, tripartite criticism is applied to the effect of technology on
pansori. The younger generation of singers is thought of as photographically
reproducing the sound of older masters as this has been ‘captured’ in recordings;
marketing and recording strategies are blamed for the promotion of some singers to
the detriment of other important performers (see Heekyung Lee 132); and the younger
generation of singers is criticised for selectively learning extracts of several songs and
styles, a practice regarded as more suited to the marketing needs of recording
companies than to the traditional field of live performance. Overall, it seems that the
market-targeted practices of discography and the government-subsidised movement
from the fluctuant mimetic training d’antan towards (what is seen as) replicative
transmission has guaranteed the uninterrupted voicing of the earlier voiced pansori,
but simultaneously endowed the living community of pansori singers with the firm
belief that its present-oriented creative force is suppressed, regulated and/or
controlled.
Rethinking technology, negotiating tradition-making
Crucial as these criticisms may be, my interest here lies more on the discursive
domain from which they emerge. My first observation in this respect is that these
criticisms are inextricably connected to the advent of modernity in Korea, which from
an emic perspective was experienced as a continuation of national narratives of
invasion and imposed adoption of foreign trends. In N. Lee’s words, ‘the sense of
modernity as negative has shaped postcolonial consciousness and […] this sense
permeates and structures contemporary practices and representations’ (‘Madang-
7
geuk’ 557). And it is in this light that B. Lee’s observation that ‘[t]he music history of
Korea up to the early 20th century is characterized by gradual evolution over time
rather than drastic reform in the process of transmission’ (Styles 8) can be fully
understood.
What I however see as the most important reason for the scepticism with which
the use of technology as part of the training is treated is because it seems to break
away from a culturally specific notion of hardship, known as han. This is a Korean
ideology resulting from the ‘grief’ accumulated through years of war, invasions, and
separation. Scholarly research of the last decade has linked all aspects of pansori
training to han, from the forceful use of the breath and the intentional damage of the
vocal folds to the hierarchical relationship between master and discipline and the
lifelong dedication to a single narrative and style (see all works by McAllister-Viel
and Willoughby as well as my own publications). Hardship and struggle are
considered as integral aspects of the pedagogy. What the use of technology effectively
challenges is this widespread understanding of han. It comes as no surprise then that
Park regards the use of recording devices and audiovisual material as exceptional in
her description of training (158-63)—these facilitate memorization, allow the trainee
to become acquainted with more styles and narratives, and offer ‘alternatives’ to the
master’s way.
What I observed, however, some twenty years after Park’s training, is a radically
different training praxis. The possibility of drawing from multiple teachers, affecting
the once strictly separated styles and schools, is enhanced by the rapid development of
the pansori discography—and, given the fact that the core of the training is still
mimetic, this is not an exaggeration. Aspiring singers are able to select from a large
number of releases. These range from those of modern mater singers (Seong
8
Changsun, Park Dongjin, Kim Yeonsu, Ahn Sooksun) in either selections
demonstrating their personal style and abbreviated versions of pansori songs (Pak
Jowol, Seong Changsun) or full-length renditions, early recordings re-released in the
Great Voices of Pansori series, changgeuk versions of songs (for example, Kim
Yeonsu's Changgeuk Chunhyangjeon), as well as CDs celebrating pansori as an
important cultural asset or CDs accompanying scholarly publications (see Howard,
Guide and ‘Recording’). Nowadays there are also DVDs of performances available
either in the market or specialised libraries, such as the Arko Arts Library and
Information Audiovisual Center. Discographic releases cannot only be accessed in the
market but also in relevant archives or the museum in Incheon.
What will (perhaps?) be never exhibited is what I define as the ‘unreleased
discography’ of pansori training: the analogue or digital recordings carefully
preserved by pansori students since the advent of the tape-recorder. During the
summer of 200 I conducted fieldwork in South Korea, part of which consisted of
intensive pansori training both within the state-sponsored programme of the Korean
Center for Traditional Performing Arts, as well as under the private tuition of Miss
Moon Soo Hyan, a young pansori performer. Having read in advance the thoroughly
researched monographs by Pihl and Chan E. Park, I was aware that imitating, taking
notes and creating personal scores was indispensable to the training. What I did not
expect, however, was the extent to which modern-day training is permeated by the use
of the latest technological advancements. Already during my first meeting with Moon
Soo Hyan, she asked, in a rather rhetorical tone, whether I was in the possession of a
tape recorder. During our lessons she would start by recording the entire section of
Simcheongga (one of the songs) and, frequently, she would record separately the
pronunciation of linguistically difficult passages or cycles of the rhythmic pattern
9
(jangdan) peculiar to the song at hand, either by clapping, or counting carefully in
front of my recorder’s mike, or, more often, performing the jangdan in the barrelshaped drum. Moreover, she would ask me to record myself while practising and
listen back to my efforts and compare them to her version. In addition, she would
download online translations of the extracts and email them to me, or before
embarking on a new passage, she would suggest recordings and explain the
differences between each singer’s timbre pedagogical affiliation or the quality of the
recorded material.8
This extended, in-training, use of new media was not limited to the private
pansori lessons I undertook. The majority of my classmates at the NCKTPA were
using recorders of some sort—usually, digital Dictaphones or i-phones, by far more
advanced than my old-school journalist’s tape recorder. Similarly to Moon Soo Hyan,
our tutor, Miss Noh Hae Yang, would record the song in its entirety for us and,
occasionally, she would do the same for rhythmic patterns or difficult melismatic
turns that she managed to break down for us into manageable bits. She, or some
collaborator of the Center, would frequently point us in the direction of information
related to the songs, collated and published by the Center’s research team on its web
pages. Also, I recollect very vividly our penultimate class, during which one of my
Korean classmates brought into the class a CD, and, after comparing the recorded
song to how we were taught to sing it, we attempted both versions, once singing along
with our teacher, and once with our newly introduced, ‘mediatised’ tutor. Last, but not
least, I have to admit that in the hours spent repeating and rehearsing at home, the tape
recorder proved to be the most helpful device, especially for a foreigner, in that it had
8
Let me clarify that these strategies had nothing to do with the fact that I was a foreigner, since I know how to
read Korean and my teacher was aware of the fact. Moreover, when asked, she remarked that she uses this method
of teaching with all her students.
10
captured not only the musical or narratological identity of the songs (which I could
also find elsewhere), but also the specific phonating mannerisms of my teachers
which I struggled to absorb through scrupulous mimetic repetition. In my search for
addressing the technical details and ideologies surrounding the genre, I was further
aided by the wide variety of online videos and music tracks available mainly on
YouTube, as well as by information presented on blogs kept by researchers or novice
trainees like myself.
Discography also influences training by dictating new trends and styles (thus more
versatility for future singers); in other words, the use of technology in training cannot
be dissociated from the new ‘horizon of (performance) expectations.’ As Kostelanetz
observes, ‘[b]y expanding the range of audio experience, these new technologies also
implicitly suggested ways of non-technological innovation. As Bob Cobbing judged,
“Where the tape recorder leads, the human voice can follow.” (66) Therefore, it
comes as no surprise that over the last twenty years pansori has been released in rap,
hip hop, jazz and musical theatre versions, as well as partaken in the recent trend of
fusions and crossovers. What is more, there are already documented instances of
training of professional singers directly ‘inspired’ by / related to discography. For
example, in 1992, Jo Sanghyeon related to Keith Howard: ‘I enjoyed listening and
singing along to the songs. We have a saying, “near ink one is stained black,” and so,
since I liked listening to music, it was my destiny that music would become my life’
(‘Recording’ 166).
Pansori has also fascinated worldwide audiences in festivals, concert halls, or
even carnivals, and the subsequent interest of foreign academics and practitioners can
be evidenced in the wealth of bibliographic material available in foreign languages, as
well as the increasing number of foreigners travelling to Korea to undertake shorter or
11
longer periods of training. In this opening of pansori training to the globalised arena,
two have been the most important contributions: Chan E. Park’s cross-cultural /
transnational pansori and Tara McAllister-Viel’s intercultural approach to training.
The use of technology in the intercultural incarnations of pansori training is
pervasive; even a cursory perusal on the internet would reveal a wealth of online
blogs documenting the fieldwork and training of international students, amateur
recordings of private singing sessions, visual analyses of melodic lines and vocal
qualities through spectograms, and detailed commentary on PaR projects derived
from pansori.
The very notion of training has also been called into question. In 2003, the
Ttogang Kkangdae Konteseuteu (‘Ditch Clowns Contest’), brought to the fore a new
trend in the history of pansori, that of non-training. For the first time, amateur
performers, encouraged by the breadth of electronic resources available,9 organised a
contest for singers without official training, instigated the pansori street performances
in Insa Dong in 2002, issued their National League of Ttarong Gwangdae in 2004,
and released their own recordings. The needs of the genre, nevertheless, still seem to
privilege training, since, in relation to their contest performances, ‘the number of
participants and the quality of the works were not satisfactory’ (Kee Hyung Kim 27).
Pansori training has been even transferred outside the sphere of performance.
Launched by the International English and Culture Association (IECA) in 2005
attempted to ‘demolish strongholds of envy, jealousy, and insecurity among Koreans
9
Besides online video- and audio-recordings, interviews, photographs and reviews, one can easily access the
websites of the above-mentioned universities offering degrees in pansori, such governemnet sites as that of the
NCKTPA (www.ncktpa.go.kr) or the Cultural Heritage Administartion (www.ocp.go.kr), as well as the sites of
institutions [the Academy of Pansori (www.pansori.or.kr), the Pansori Museum (www.pansorimuseum.com), the
Gugak Recordings Museum of Roh Jaemyeong (www.hearkorea.com), the Gugak Recordings of Jeong
Changgwan (www.kukakcd.pe.kr), and the Gugak FM Broadcasting System (www.gugak.co.kr)] and blogs of
researchers, e.g. Heather Willoughby’s http://heatherbywillow.blogspot.com/2008/04/pansori-extraordinaire.html,
or trainees (e.g. http://jeremah.wordpress.com/tag/pansori/).
12
by giving participants an opportunity to vocalize their feelings and thoughts on what
they think can hamper harmony among peoples’ (dela Rosa Yoon). It is true that these
efforts express a genuine interest in the genre and create new platforms where pansori
can be discussed and promoted. They nonetheless fail to recognise the crucial distance
between the daily and the extra-daily voice, the voice that is culturally acquainted
with pansori through informal training and the systematically trained voice.
Last but not least, there is no need to lament over the loss of the knowledgeable
audience (a common argument goes that audiences are silenced in recordings [see
Yeonok Jang]). In the distant past, pansori may have been performed in front of the
refined aristocracy of the capital city or as part of the festivities in Jeolla province.
Nowadays, as showcased in the performances I attended, the systematised high-school
and university-level education and the proliferation of discographed material of the
last four decades has slowly but steadily produced a new knowledgeable
“aristocracy”: the generations of students, teachers, practitioners, academics and
aficionados that follow today’s performances. Hence, it is of paramount importance to
understand that pan as the essential environment of pansori does not belong to a
fading past but is still shaping the encounter between the en-actor10 of the traditional
form with the knowing audience that is able to enliven even traditionally inhospitable
venues.
Final thoughts
Park insists that the genre ‘thrives much less on improvisation or new composition
than on collective tradition and confirmation of its past’ (Straw Mat 15). This,
10
The use of the coined term is intentional, since, from my point of view, performers of such codified performance
practices as pansori always fulfill a double function: on one hand they act the character(s) or the story, while at the
same time they enact a long-established tradition.
13
however, depends on how one defines pansori. Because, if sori is taken as the very
essence of the genre, then one is able to see that the pansori landscape (including
existing batang and their never-ending evolution through performative contexts,
changgeuk, new compositions, concerts, adaptations and the similar), as opposed to
an imagined pansori locus, still thrives on improvisation and composition, and is
indeed future-oriented. To my surprise, the community of pansori, usually lamented
over as being on the verge of extinction, was encountered as varied and dynamic. The
fact that performance and training contexts alike do change is no reason for dead-end
introspection. Pansori teachers and performers have already managed to take
advantage of the opportunities that new media and technologies offer and the common
denominator of this wide range of efforts is simply the transmission and inperformance sharing of the pansori voice. Despite the above-mentioned criticisms,
there are Korean scholars that warn that ‘[u]nless pansori finds a new path, and not
holding stubbornly onto traditional pieces, pansori cannot remain viable as a “living”
art’ (Kee Hyung Kim 29). As I hope it was shown in this brief discussion, the
discursive and praxical fermentations instigated by the friction between traditional
pedagogies and new technologies could be seen as an opportunity to democratise
training. All concerns about stylistic authenticity taken into account, it seems to me
that there is a chance here to place the emphasis on the trainee (facilitating rote
learning, creating opportunities for a rich and pluralistic interaction with the material)
and to extend preserved modes of transmission to embrace current needs for musical
experimentation, international communication and application of training models to
the wider community.
Thank you.
14
LIST OF WORKS
dela Rosa Yoon, Rowena. ‘“Chuimsae Movement” Inpsire Peace, Harmony.’ The Seoul Times N.d.,
‘Arts and Living’ sec.: n.pag. Web. 11 Apr. 2011.
Jang, Yeonok. ‘P’ansori Performance Style: Audience Responses and Singers’ Perspectives.’ British
Journal of Ethnomusicology 10.2 (2001): 99-121. Print.
Howard, Keith. ‘Recording Pansori.’ Yong-Shik Lee, ed. 163-90.
---. Preserving Korean Music: Intangible Cultural Properties as Icons of Identity. Aldershot: Ashgate,
2006. Print. Perspectives on Korean Music 1.
---. Korean Music: A Listening Guide. Seoul: The National Center for Korean Traditional Performing
Arts, 1999. Print.
Kim, Kee Hyung. ‘History of Pansori.’ Yong-Shik Lee, ed. 3-29.
Kim, Kichung. An Introduction to Classical Korean Literature: From Hyangga to P’ansori. New York
& London: M. E. Sharpe, 1996. Print. New Studies in Asian Culture Ser.
Kim, Kyung-Hee. ‘Theory of Pansori.’ Yong-Shik Lee, ed. 31-69.
---. ‘The Structural Characteristics and the Performance Style of Epic Music.’ Studies in Korean Music
32 (Dec. 2002): 215-46. Print.
Lee, Byong Won. Styles and Esthetics in Korean Traditional Music. Seoul: The National Center for
Korean Traditional Performing Arts, 1997. Print.
Lee, Namhee. ‘Between Indeterminacy and Radical Critique: Madang-gũk, and Protest.’ East Asia
Cultures Critique 11.3 (Winter 2003): 555-84. Print.
Lee, Yong-Shik, ed. Pansori. Seoul: The National Center for Korean Traditional Performing Arts,
2008. Print. Korean Musicology Ser. 2.
---. ‘Introduction.’ Yong-Shik Lee, ed. 1-2.
Lee, Younghee. Ideology, Culture, and Han: Traditional and Early Modern Korean Women’s
Literature. Seoul, Korea: Jimoondang International, 2002. Print. Korean Studies Ser. 18.
McAllister-Viel, Tara. ‘Voicing Culture: Training Korean Actors’ Voices through the Namdaemun
Market Projects.’ Modern Drama 52.4 (Winter 2009): 426-48. Print.
---. ‘(Re)considering the Role of Breath in Training Actors’ Voices: Insights from Dahnjeon Breathing
and the Phenomena of Breath.’ Theatre Topics 19.2 (Sept. 2009): 165-80. Print.
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