Legend has it that the notes of the flute
Are the voices of two brothers
Singing and humming atop a mountain,
Where the wind blows
Elder brother leading the younger
Younger harmonising with the elder.
Legend has it that the notes of the
Flute are two brothers chanting
Music originating from the birds, the bees, the wind
Two brothers singing
About yearning, loneliness, and life’s recollections.
- Etan Pavavalung, Itja Sa Marekaka Milimilingan, (2011)
Indigenous Taiwanese music is generally vocal, with the flute being the only aerophone instrument. Among the different types of musical instruments, the palingedr (Paiwan flutes), also known as lalingedan (double-piped nose flute and double piped mouth flute) and pakulalu (single pipe mouth flute), have grown in prominence internationally. Its twin-pipe iterations are well-known amongst people familiar with Taiwanese indigenous music, as it is allegedly the only double-barrel bamboo flute in the world. The twin-pipe iterations are composed of one pipe possessing a tuned finger-hole system and the other, a hole-less pipe that creates a droning sound that is tuned to the root note of the equal-length pipes.1 These flutes can be found in both the Vuculj and Ravar tribes and are easily distinguishable. Features that set them apart include the sound of the flute, species of bamboo, and the length and octave of the instrument – with the Ravar flute possessing a brighter timbre, a higher octave, a shorter length, and a lighter weight and colour. The regional and site-specific preference for the materiality of the instrument is largely determined by environmental factors.
The average key signature of Ravar flutes resemble the western diatonic scale of F, although the scale does not follow the equal temperament tuning system. The flute can also achieve microtonal intervals through a partial covering of the finger-holes and has a range of three octaves. Ravar nose-flute master Pairang Pavavaljung (b. 1935 – d. 2023) told me that as a child, the flute had always consisted of either a single or two pipes with finger-holes ranging between two to five. Over time, more holes were included in the design to incorporate different tuning systems and by extension, increase the range and repertoire of the instrument. Currently, the largest number of holes added to the flute is seven, mimicking the western diatonic scale.
Pairang Pavavaljung (Paridrayan village, Ravar Paiwan) was a key knowledge custodian of the Ravar flute. In his life, he held the title of 國寶guóbǎo (national treasure). This title was officially bestowed on him by the Taiwanese government in 2011. Pairang was one of the few Paiwan elders whose knowledge of the flute was held in high regard nationally and among performers, enthusiasts, and researchers. He was the last living Ravar representative for the flute.
Hu Tai-li, one of the most notable anthropologists in Taiwan, had researched and published many articles on the Paiwan flute. Her field sites were in the Vuculj Piuma and Kuljaljao communities. Due to this, much of her written work had focused on the Vuculj flute. In 2000, however, Hu had also directed an ethnographic film on the instrument called Sounds of Love and Sorrow where she had included the Ravar flute, featuring Pairang as its sole representative. The favourable reception of this film, according to ethnomusicologist Wang Yin-Feng, had transformed the Paiwan flute into a “totem” of Paiwan culture, especially among researchers and locals.2 Nonetheless, pre-existing literature on the flute discusses the instrument exclusively from a Vuculj perspective.3 This might be due to the fact that there was only one Ravar ‘national treasure’ left. With Pairang’s passing last year, there is no longer a Ravar representative holding the title.
Wang writes that the colonial Japanese musicologist, Kurosawa Takatomo, in his 1943-1945 survey of indigenous communities in Southern Taiwan, had documented and recorded instances of other groups such as the Drekai, Tsou, and Amis who have similar flutes that are played by both the mouth and nose, but are no longer commonly played today. The flute’s current “totemic” status and strong association with the Paiwan, is due to the Paiwan having the most vibrant flute teaching and performing culture today, with teachers taking in both Paiwan and non-Paiwan students. Historically speaking, the Vuculj limited flute-playing to mazazangiljan (noble class) men while all Ravar men were taught the flute. The absence of a class restriction in its pedagogy, is one of the distinguishing factors between the Ravar and Vuculj flute pedagogy. Today, everyone can play the Ravar flutes – even an amerika (foreigner) like myself. In addition, many Paiwan women have started learning the flute. An outstanding advocate for the teaching and performance of the flute is Sauniaw Tjuvelievelj. She is a teacher and a published author from the Vuculj village, Sinavudjan, located in the South of Pingtung County.
I was one of these non-Paiwan, amerika, students of Pairang in 2019. In my second week in Paridrayan, I was invited to join Pairang’s weekly flute classes, of which there were already three students: Zaletj Rupunayan, Dremedreman Talumiling and Sutipau Tjaruzaljum. During my first lesson, Pairang begun with a basic description of the cultural and pedagogical philosophy passed down to him. He emphasised that a player must know how to make a flute along with being able to play one and that there was no exception to this rule. As a result, each lesson consisted of teaching both the construction and performance of the flute. Back then, Pairang had lent me one of his flutes to practice with. It was made in 2018 and contained carvings of Paiwan iconography. He had let me borrow his flute for his lessons and then offered me to sell me his flute upon conclusion. I keep it today as a memento of Pairang’s sound, and reflect upon it as evidence of his physical mark in this world.
The making and performing aspects of the Ravar flute are always taught in tandem, establishing the musical and material relationship the community and the instruments share. The general materials used to make a Ravar Paiwan flute comprise of bamboo, rattan, hard wood (such as the wood from the orange jessamine murraya paniculate ) and gum as an adhesive, although originally, the pipes were bounded together without an adhesive. Sourcing for bamboo only occurs in winter, because moisture in the wood would be at its lowest, an ideal condition for high-quality material and sound.
The flute that I acquired from Pairang is tuned closer to what is typically a western G in the diatonic scale. It was created in 2018, when Pairang was 87 years old. As with age, a person loses muscle mass in their body, especially their fingers – thus making the measurements different from flutes made in his younger years, in turn altering the sound of the flute. The different tuning of the flute (including its length and hole placements) is what I term the maker’s mark, which carry with it a specific point in time in the maker’s life. These markings monumentalise the maker’s biography as well as the bamboo grown in a location where exposure to the wind is at its peak.
Flutes are historically made in the absence of a ruler. The distances between each hole are equidistant from each other and is measured through the middle phalanx of the maker’s index finger. The distance between the lowest hole from the base of the flute is measured by grabbing the flute from its base and making sure there is a four-finger spacing (excluding the thumb) from the base of the flute to the first qivuivu (finger-holes or ‘to speak’). On multiple occasions I observed that Pairang would use these ways of measuring rather than a ruler. Such a method of measuring produces interesting relations between the maker and the instrument. It indicates that each flute is unique to the maker’s hand, therefore imbuing a ‘made in Paridrayan’ agency that cannot be contested.
Over time, the Ravar flute has evolved greatly with an ever-expanding repertoire, alongside alterations to its design and social function. What had remained relatively the same for the Ravar are the materials, performance techniques and the signature glissando style. According to Pairang, the Ravar incorporate much more glissando in their melodies as compared to the Vuculj. The glissando style of the Ravar repertoire is often described to imitate the aesthetic of the natural environment at Paridrayan: the wind, birds, bees, and the winding roads. This description contrasts the Vuculj perception of the flute intended to only mimic the sound of the hundred-pacer snake, making the Ravar flutes more exclusive than the Vuculj flutes.
One early exchange with Pairang about Ravar sound and its resonance with the surrounding environment comes to mind. It was a rainy day on the sixth of August, the monsoon season. It was a Tuesday morning, and I was attending my second flute lesson at Pairang’s house. Pairang, three other students (Dremedreman, Sutipao, Zaletj) and I sat on his veranda around a round slate table for our lesson. The sub-tropical rain was hammering down on the zinc roof and the asphalt road, sounding like ping-pong balls falling from the sky – I could barely make out the sound of the flute. I asked Pairang if we should move inside to avoid the noise. He proceeded to say that it was unnecessary because the sound of the flute represents the natural environment. Playing in the open, with the rain, would make the flute’s sound become even more ‘authentic’.4 What defines ‘authenticity’ is specific to the community that ascribes these delineations. Space, in this sense, has specific functions that affect the way people behave, utilise, perceive, and comprehend ‘authenticity’ based on its social contexts.
The environment acts as a foundational axis that shapes and frames the way the Paridrayan community makes sense of the world. ‘Authenticity’ to Pairang did not exclusively privilege the sounding of the flute. The ambient sounds produce an insight into how the spirit of place is not exclusive to human activity but includes human activity. The flute should be played outdoors, regardless of external factors or weather conditions. The sound of the flute is merely an inclusion within the Paridrayan landscape that symbolically represent the “spirit” of an enduring space.
The Paiwan flute is both a perceptual and aesthetic artefact. Its tangibility is based on a site-specificity exclusive to Paridrayan makers, while its aesthetics aim to emulate the environment, possessing a repertoire that sonically embodies this genius loci. These qualities move in tandem with the community who designed, tuned, and contextualised the instrument according to a spirit of place that is derived from a unique sensibility of place and space-making. In fact, each song of the Paridrayan community has a specific memory attached to it. Some songs have unknown provenance or meanings while others had been developed over multiple generations. Nonetheless, each song represents a part of the collective memory of the community. As long as the zemingrau (drone) is sounded, ancestors that had once performed these songs are activated. Through these relations, playing the flute can be seen as a symbolic evocation of ancestors and their infinite continuity. Playing the songs Pairang once played symbolically returns him to Paridrayan.