COMPUTERS, FIELDWORK, AND THE ANALYSIS OF CULTURAL SYSTEMS
Dr. James Kippen Leverhulme Research Fellow Department of Social Anthropology and Ethnomusicology The Queen's University of Belfast
BICA Issue No. 7: January 1989
Microcomputers have become virtually indispensable pieces of office equipment for those who have come to rely either on databases to organise and store information systematically or on word processors to help write articles and lectures. Current advances in information technology suggest that in future computers may have an even more central role to play in work, not just in its organisation and presentation but more particularly in formulating and testing ideas. Therefore, it is important firstly to consider some of the benefits of this technology, and secondly to appreciate how certain kinds of technological development can be plotted by demonstrating that specific problems require specific solutions. For instance, the exigencies of the research project I shall shortly describe have led my research partner, Bernard Bel (of the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, Marseille), to create a number of computer systems incorporating new programming techniques that I have arguably been reciprocally beneficial to computer science in general.
The journal Current Anthropology has recently carried articles by Bernard and others on the usefulness of microcomputers in managing qualitative and quantitative data (e.g. storing field notes, filing coded information for sub sequent processing, statistical analyses, etc.) [(.bernard construct 1986.)] and by the Dyson-Hudsons who provided technical information regarding portable systems that can be operated even under inhospitable fieldwork conditions [(.dyson-h comput anthro fieldw.)]. The latter is an important article in that it amply demonstrates how the kinds of data management described in the former may be performed in the field itself, with all the attendant advantages that such immediacy implies. Unquestionably, word processors and databases are useful tools, especially when the user is fully aware both of their restrictions as well as of the compromises that need to be made in order to exploit them properly. However, in a recent article prompted by the Dyson-Hudsons' work [(.Kippen forthc.)], I point out that the nature of these compromises raises major theoretical and methodological issues relating to the ability to construct valid, reliabe, and accurate primary data. For example, inflexible record structure and/or space limitations on a disc may force researchers to filter information with the result that contradictory, ambiguous, or incomplete statements that defy classical computation methods will be set aside or discarded altogether. Yet it is possible that these statements may ultimately prove to be the very keys to understanding patterns of thinking. So, when faced with ambiguous or contradictory statements, is it to be assumed that there has been some mistake on the part of the informants, or should the inadequacy of the conceptual models be questioned? What implicit classifications of concepts are involved in the way statements are translated to the fields of records in a data base? Is the structure of the representational model imposed from outside by the researcher or by limitations in the structure of the database itself? Furthermore, can such model reflect faithfully the knowledge models of the informants?
Until now, few programmers have been aware that a failure to investigate in detail the analytical assumptions inherent in the representational models of knowledge programmed into databases may lead to misguided and possibly ethnocentric conclusions. Work with knowledge-based (i.e. Artificial Intelligence) computer systems has shown quite dramatically that much of the information so far considered to be `evidence' is inadequate for a machine. A knowledge-based system incorporates a body of usually incomplete information which is most commonly represented as a set of rules that describe relations between elements in a specific domain of knowledge. The computer `thinks' in the sense that it uses the knowledge base to infer qualitative statements about the information with which it has been fed, following which the results are relayed back to the researcher. These statements can then be assessed for their degree of correctness; incorrect statements imply inadequate data input. By contrast, qualitative feedback is missing from the output of databases (i.e. graphs, tables, and charts) and hence inadequacies in the data are unlikely to be detected.
Knowledge-based systems have, until recently, been available only on main frame computers, or at least on microcomputers with large memory capacities. However, many are now being specially designed for use with portable microcomputers, some with as little as 64 or 128 kilobytes of memory. Thus their potential as useful fieldwork tools with the power to change the way in which researchers operate is gradually being realised. Firstly, a knowledge-based system offers a valuable method of quality control by means of its ability to reconstruct and feed back data. Secondly, informants can themselves become co-workers and analysts by assessing the quality and accuracy of the feedback. And thirdly, this in turn promotes dialectic in the relationship between analyst and informant by enhancing the interactive process exchange of ideas and the construction of new hypotheses.
My current research project focuses upon the music of the North Indian tabla (two-piece tuned drum set) as played by certain groups of hereditary master musicians. Although drummers possess vast repertoires of fixed compositions handed down orally from generation to generation over at least two hundred years, tabla music is perhaps more appropriately characterised by structures that incorporate rhythmic themes which lend themselves to improvisation. Although some authors (see, for example, (.Gottlieb tabla indian), and indeed some musicians to whom I have spoken, have suggested that the extempore elaboration of variations involves highly systematic and orderly procedures based esseentially on repeating and permutating phrases, my own analyses of performances show that individuals rarely improvise in this step by step fashion, and are in fact much more adventurous and much less systematic (see {(.Kippen lucknow cambridge{:\0161-8}.)}). Nevertheless, musicians are still using some kind of system, and of course are acutely aware of right and wrong ways in which to improvise. This investigation centres on that system of knowledge underlying improvisations: in other words, the cognitive and affective apparatus needed in order to construct acceptable pieces of tabla music. The thirty or so component strokes and sounds of the drums can, for the purposes of memorisation, transmission, and occasionally performance, be represented by a set of largely onomatopoeic syllables, called bols (from the Hindi/Urdu verb bolna meaning `to speak'), with no semantic meaning, such as dha, ge, tite, tirakita, and so on. This provides a convenient set of symbols that can easily be manipulated by a computer; much more easily than, say, musical sound itself.
The type of knowledge-based system being used is an `expert system' (so named because it is used to formalise expert knowledge) called the Bol Processsor [(. Kippen internation 1985 , Kippen bulletin 1986.)]. It was designed by Bernard Bel for use on an Apple IIc microcomputer with a portable flat panel display (the same machine used recently by Chris Bonnington on an ascent of Mount Everest).
The Bol Processor acts as an extra partner during a series of experiments which take place, as far as possible, in cultural contexts familiar to the musicians and not in laboratories. The machine has two main functions: to generate pieces of music which are transmitted to informants for their assessment, and relay back to the analyst its own evaluation of pieces provided by informants. (See Fig.1) The analytical process itself begins with the elaboration of statements about the music and its structure at a general level using techniques derived from the theory of formal languages, a development from Chomskian theory. These statements, presented in the form of a transformational/generative grammar, reflect both verbally articulated musical theory (for example, relating to the metric cycles in which pieces are set, the repertoire of strokes to be used, etc.) as well as non-articulated, intuitive knowledge gleaned from analyses of performances (feasible combinations of strokes, the counterbalancing of fixed and improvised material, etc.). Once entered as a knowledge base of formal rules, it is the grammar that modifies the behaviour of the computer. (Incidentally, there is no direct interaction between the analyst and the internal workings of the machine itself; that area of programmng is left to a computer-scientist.) The knowledge base constitutes, in effect, an initial hypothetical model of musical structure.
A detailed explanation of how the hypothetical model is built and tested will be given with reference to Fig. 2. Obviously, not only the music but also this kind of formal analysis is unfamiliar to most people, and so I have chosen a very simple example in its preliminary stages of development. Displayed on the left hand side of Figure 2 is a transformational/generative grammar (this one relates to a piece dictated by an informant and classified as a qa`ida) in which statements about musical theory and observations of performance practice have been reduced to sets of formal rules. Sub-grammar 1 (GRAM#1) defines the length of the whole piece in units, one unit corresponding to one stroke or syllable, while sub-grammar 2 offers a choice of two structures that determine precisely where fixed patterns and varied strings will appear1
. The fixed patterns, such as A32, are finally replaced with syllables in sub-grammar 7, but the units that undergo variation are firstly divided into blocks (sub-grammar 4) which are then replaced with a choice of phrases containing syllables (sub-grammar 6). The process of generating complete variation will be better understood by studying the right-hand side of Fig. 2 and following the progression of a starting symbol (S) on its journey through the grammar.
- S is transformed to S64 (GRAM#1 [2]), denoting that the piece will contain 64 units, or syllables.
- 2. 5 S64 has been randomly transformed as A32 V8 A'24 (GRAM#2 [2]). Eight units of variation will be interposed between fixed patterns of 32 and 24 units respectively.
- 3. 5 V8 is broken down into a string of Vs (GRAM#3 [3]).
- 4. 5 The first four Vs have been randomly chosen as a block V4 (GRAM#4 [4]).
- 5. 5 The second four Vs have similarly been chosen as a block V4 (again GRAM#4 [4]). Note that sub-grammar 5 will not be invoked because all Vs have not been transformed in sub-grammar 4. Had blocks been chosen that transformed only the first seven Vs, say V4 V3, then the remaining V would need to be absorbed into the preceding blocks (using GRAM#5 [3] or [4]) because a block comprising a single unit does not exist here.
- 6. 5 The first V4 is randomly transformed into tirakita (GRAM#6 [7]).
- 7. 5 The second V4 is randomly transformed into dhinagena (GRAM#6 [9]).
- 8. 5 The fixed pattern A'24 is replaced (GRAM#7 [3]).
- 9. 5 The fixed pattern A32 is replaced (GRAM#7 [4]), leaving us with the variation:
dha-ge-@tirakita@dha--dha@genadha-
tirakita@dha--dha@genadhage@tinakena
tirakita@dhinagena@dha--dha@genadha-
tirakita@dha--dha@genadhage@tinakena
A number of other devices are available to the analyst should it prove necessary to elaborate the grammar to force it to generate more acceptable pieces of music. For example, all rules in sub-grammar 6 are context-free except for rule 4 which carries a negative context denoted by the hash (#) sign. Rule 4 states that a block of two units (V2) can only be transformed into gena if it is not preceded by ge. Furthermore, coefficients of likelihood, or `weights', may be attributed to rules in order to increase or decrease their chances of being invoked. In sub-grammar 2, a choice is offered between two rules that transform S64 into structures defining the positions of fixed and varied patterns. Weights of 60 and 40 have been assigned to rules 2 and 3 respectively, implying that rule 2 will be used in 60% of variations and rule 3 in 40%. Weights can be used to channel the generative process along paths more likely to be used by particular individuals.
Once the procedure for the synthesis of variations has been grasped, the machine's analytical mode can be easily understood as it is essentially the reverse of what has been described above. A variation created for a specific piece is in effect subjected to a membership test that determines whether it belongs to the `language' expressed by the grammar. Firstly, the fixed patterns are replaced by symbols representing their length and position in the piece; note that larger strings must be considered before smaller strings, because if a smaller string (GRAM#7 [3]) is a subset of the larger string (GRAM#7 [4]) and is replaced first, then there is the possibility that a number of syllables will remain untransformed, or that incorrect sequences of structural symbols will be generated. In either case, the analysis will break down. A successful analysis will ultimately terminate with the starting symbol (S).
It takes a number of minutes to synthesize and analyse simple variations by hand, and variations derived from or belonging to elaborate grammars full of complex structural information contextual rules and weights, can involve hours of calculation. The Bol Processor reduces this process to one or two seconds for any synthesis or analysis, however intricate, and has the added advantage that it can store and later recall the paths it took, so allowing for a detailed reconstruction of particular pieces that may have proved to be of special interest.
Experiments with the Bol Processor begin with the construction of a simple, initial hypothetical model for a piece agreed upon by the analyst and the informant. This model is entered into the machine and activated in order to generate variations. An important principle that must be observed is that the grammar should be capable of analysing everything it creates, thus displaying internal consistency. The new variations are then submitted to the critical ear of the informant, who may comment on them using a simple set of semantic categories (good, bad, indifferent), or instead may choose to alter or correct them. Interestingly, when asked to repeat pieces generated by the machine, informants often inadvertently altered or corrected them anyway. Armed with this new data the analyst then sets about modifying the grammar in an attempt to make it reflect the various musical values expressed by the informant. The updated grammar is then tested and remodelled until a point is reached where, by means of this constant interaction of analysis and synthesis, the grammar is capable of generating a high proportion of musically acceptable variations.
Despite the fact that the theory of formal languages is incapable of describing certain aspects of the musical process under investigation, it can be used to simulate those aspects of music generation and evaluation that are procedural: in other words, surface structures as manifest in individual pieces of music. By controlling the Bol Processor in many more experimental situations in which musical patterns are generated and recognised, it is hoped that it will be possible to highlight the non-procedural, underlying structures of musical thought by systematically testing the power of hypothetical models to predict correct and aesthetically acceptable pieces of music; acceptable, that is, to the informants who had a crucial role in shaping the models. So, the role of the Bol Processor is to disprove very rapidly previous hypotheses and to allow for increasingly valid hypotheses of musical thought as represented through musical structure to be built, tested, and, in turn, disproved and replaced.
Unquestionably, the Bol Processor has been a great success in many respects. It has enabled me to focus at a deep level on a cultural system that has not so far lent itself to systematic investigation, where the onus is on informants themselves to make the analytical decisions. Furthermore, it has been an object of great interest to musicians, many of whom were inspired to comment that they had never before been posed the kinds of questions that the machine raised during the course of experiments, and that this forced them to consider their music and, moreover, their musical decisions in a new light. From a slightly different point of view, many months of experiments have produced dozens of floppy discs filled with musical grammars that indicate some interesting details about the music and which can perform quite well. Indeed, I can quote one informant as saying recently: `In some respects, the machine has improved on the variations I created for this piece'. But apart from showing that it is possible to replicate with considerable accuracy the products of a complex musical system, the Bol Processor has not so far thrown much light on any of the underlying cognitive processes that generate them. No doubt this situation will improve when considerably more data have been collected and tested, and I, as operator, have developed greater efficiency and expertise in both manipulating the machine and constructing formal models.
So just how far will it be necessary to go before the anticipated results become apparent? Or are these expectations futile anyway? For example, despite the fact that a number of models were developed during a series of experiments to a relatively high degree of sophistication, they were palpably inadequate to account for musical creativity as manifest in subsequent performances that were transcribed and fed into the Bol Processor for analysis. These new improvisations simply smashed the models to pieces. Therefore, it appears that to create a description of the music sufficiently general enough to encompass all possibilities is as huge a task as it is thankless. It would evidently be more useful to restrict the investigation to specific structural or combinatory problems that can be isolated and examined systematically. But this is not to say that Bel and I should refrain from considering the wider socio-cultural explanations for the variability of models designed for the same pieces of music. For example, when teaching their students, master musicians seem to be aware that their material will be memorised, practised, performed, and thus preserved for posterity. Although novices are themselves encouraged to improvise, they nevertheless retain throughout their entire lives repertoires of `fixed improvisations' dictated by their teachers. In view of the fact that a master is remembered as much by the quality of his students as by his own ability, the musical information he imparts must in these contexts be correct and uncontroversial. He therefore tends to follow step by step procedures, so adhering more to a simple, idealised model. The same would presumably be true of recordings which are likely to be replayed many times and would doubtless be subject to detailed scrutiny. Conversely, performance situations in the presence of knowledgeable listeners offer musicians greater licence to explore new channels of creativity and to stretch the limits of musical accept ability.
It has become apparent that some of the problems currently being encountered in this research may be due to the fact that I have fallen into precisely the same sort of trap to which I alerted the database programmers earlier: namely, that have failed to investigate in detail the assumptions inherent in the initial hypothetical models of musical structure I programmed into the Bol Processor before subjecting them to musicians' scrutiny. Sometimes I found that models, though obviously inadequate, nevertheless developed very little during experiments, probably because I disregarded empirical evidence and instead formalised my own intuitions (particularly regarding syllable combinations) as a type of short-cut: intuitions which were possibly several steps ahead of what might have been expected during preliminary stages. Alternatively, a number of procedural problems could perhaps be put down to incorrect assumptions on my behalf. Naturally, the more accomplished one becomes at operating the system one is studying, the more difficult it is to conduct an objective investigation. I have learned to play tabla music to a reasonably high standard, and have become a sort of evolue\*' in reverse: one who has come to grips with a sophisticated, but essentially foreign, cultural system. But, of course, I must not assume that I have the same kinds of musical ideas or that I use the same cognitive processes as my informants, in spite of the fact that I can produce similar results during performance.
One solution may lie in the further automation of the process of analysis. This would present two major advantages: firstly, a machine cannot assume that which it does not already know, and therefore must act only on empirical evidence; and secondly, it would promote a more direct inter-action between informant and computer, so reducing the researcher's role as `interpreter'. This last point is important because, as time goes by, I am faced more and more with credibility problems: the musicians know that I know most of the answers to the questions put to them, and thus they steadily become less cooperative. Software programs that facilitate greater automation now exist, or at least are at present being developed. Bernard Bel has created Segmentation, a program that will chunk syllables into compound blocks solely on the evidence of the ways in which they have been combined and juxtaposed in examples provided by informants. Another, as yet prototypical, program, called Formal, will incorporate Segmentation in an attempt to build its own initial hypothetical grammar. Both have been written in Prolog for the Apple Macintosh computer system, and are consequently not as yet transportable to small, portable systems like the Apple IIc. That may be only matter of time, because rapid technological advances in computer design ensure that more powerful and compact systems will become available in the next few years, if not months. But in the meantime, there is a strong argument for conducting a series of experiments in computer laboratories, a move I have until now resisted and argued against strongly on the grounds that such situations are culturally insensitive. However, it should not be thought that I am proposing to pluck informants from low-technology societies and dump them in totally bewildering high technology environments; my informants belong to large, North Indian conurbations, shave with electric razors, use automatic cameras, and occasionally listen to Glenn Miller on Sony Walkmans. Many have even travelled to Europe and the Middle East on concert tours. Moreover, they have become habituated over the last seven or so years to eccentric researchers wielding sophisticated tape recorders and portable computer systems. Thus, in order to develop more adeqate research tools for the field in the course of what is, after all, an experimental project, the Western laboratory seems to be the most likely scenario for the next stage in Bol Processor research.
Although I have been describing the analysis of a musical system, it should be realised that, like other `expert systems', the Bol Processor is not restricted to work within one specific domain of knowledge but may be used to process other kinds of cultural data as well. Experiments with expert systems have been conducted in what may be termed the more mainstream areas of anthropology: for example, in Fischer's study of Punjabi arranged marriages, a machine digested a body of information relating to a number of variables such as caste, consanguinity, education, beauty, size of dowry, and the location of families before it pronounced on the suitability of a possible marriage [(.fischer 1986.)]. Studies of kinship systems is another domain that stands to benefit from computer-aided research methods, though conversely belief systems might prove less amenable to codification and formal representation. The results of further experiments with machines like the Bol Processor will determine the extent to which computer-aided research can contribute constructively to techniques and methodologies for the analysis of cognitive systems as representations of cultural systems. Both anthropology and artificial intelligence stand to benefit enormously from mutual interaction in the ways in which they attempt to delineate broad representational and operational models of knowledge and reasoning.
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