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Every Korean knows that Namwon, in Chollabuk-do Province, is the
home of p'ansori, a vibrant "mono-opera" performed to the beat of a
drum The area has produced some of Korea's finest p'ansori performers,
myongch'ang like Song Hung-nok, a renowned master from the early eighteenth
century, his grandson, Song Man-gap, and Yi Hwajungson, a female singer during
the Japanese colonial period (1910-1945). It is also the backdrop for The Tale
of Ch'unhyang, a heartbreaking story of chastity and marital fidelity.
At the center of town, we find the historic Kwanghallu, the pavilion where
Ch'unhyang, a young woman struggling against the unwelcome attentions of a
powerful magistrate, and her beloved met. Directly to the east of Kwanghallu
stands Ch'unhyangsa, a shrine erected in 1931 to honor the spirit of
Ch'unhyang. On the first day of April, what is believed to be Ch'unhyang's
birthday, the Ch'unhyang Festival attracts thousands of p'ansori aficionados to
the shrine to listen to and participate in singing contests, including the Miss
Ch'unhyang Pageant, which selects a young singer to represent the spirit of
Ch'unhyang.
p'ansori can be performed anywhere; it doesn't require an elaborate stage.
Traditionally, p'ansori singers travelled around the country performing where
and when they could. Their stage could be an empty lot in a seaside village
during fishing season, a country market around harvest time, the home of a
wealthy scholar-official celebrating his son's success on the prestigious civil
service examination. Sometimes they were even invited to perform before the
king.
Since their audiences were so varied, the p'ansori performers were prepared for
any occasion. They had to be able to express the anguish and grievances of the
lower classes and at the same time be sure they didn't offend the sensibilities
of the ruling elite. They could do this because they were uniquely skilled
performers who could express a variety of emotions.
In the old days many p'ansori singe were born to a life of entertaining. They
were often kisaeng, female entertainers, similar to the Japanese geisha. In
1921, the Kwonbon, a kisaeng organization which operated during the Japanese
colonial period, established a school inside the Kwanghallu in Namwon. There,
kisaeng were taught kayagum (long 12-string zither), p'ansori, tansa (small
vertical bamboo flute), and other traditional musical skills. The school was
soon driven from Kwanghallu by the Japanese colonial police, and a new school
was set up in a private home. In 1977, the traditional music institute now
operating across the street - from Kwanghallu was founded.
Rigorous Training
The word p'ansori literally means "vocal music(sori) performed at a place
where people are enjoying themselves (p'an)." It is called sori because in
it, music and literature are fused in a single performing genre. That is to
say, p'ansori combines music and drama. P'ansori is also known as ch'ang-ak
(literally "vocal music"), kukka ("dramatic song") or
ch'angguk ("dramatic vocal music") in Chinese characters.
P'ansori is performed to the beat of a single drum which sets the rhythm of the
piece. The singer and drummer work in tandem, the drummer setting the
tone--sometimes solemn, sometimes cheerful, sometimes playful. This changing
rhythm reflects the development of the narrative and gives p'ansori a variety
rarely found in other traditional vocal music.
P'ansori's unique sound is borne of a long and rigorous training process. The
performer, traditionally known as a kwangdae, the term used for itinerant
entertainers who wore masks as they performed, studies under a teacher,
painstakingly imitating each passage, then spends years practicing. It is not
uncommon for a dedicated singer to practice for days beneath a thundering
waterfall, for it is by developing a voice that projects dearly through any
audience that one becomes a true virtuoso. Unlike simple folk songs or shijo,
which almost anyone can perform with a little practice, p'ansori requires
extended and sophisticated training.
P'ansori plots are generally tragic. The Tale of Hungbu tells the story of the
impoverished Hungbu, plagued by a rich but greedy older brother. The Tale of
Ch'unhyang, based on a theme of marital fidelity and female chastity, portrays
the trials and tribulations of Ch'unhyang, daughter of a lowly female
entertainer, who struggles to protect her virtue from a lecherous government
official. The Tale of Shimch'ong depicts the tearful story of Shimch'ong, a
filial daughter who sacrifices herself to the Dragon King of the Sea so her
blind father can see again. A broad variety of characters and situations are
portrayed in each narrative, but audiences can be sure that good will always
battle evil and beauty will always be tormented by a hideous foe. What makes
p'ansori truly remarkable is one singer portrays ail these emotions with
nothing more than a skilled pair of lungs and a fan.
This is the challenge and the joy of p'ansori. A single singer must portray
distinct characters, as well as a rich narrative, through careful vocal modulation
and a skilled command of rhythms. At one moment, the singer may be a sprightly
fairy, the next a horrible goblin. At times, the singer must exude the stem
majesty of the Dragon King, and moments later the desperation of a filial
daughter stumbling toward her death.
Voice, Drum and Fan
The fan is a versatile tool. When folded, it is a sword, a walking staff, even
a person. Open it and it symbolizes the power and prestige of the ruling
yangban, the bashfulness or chastity of a young woman. Here lies the charm of
p'ansori - the ultimate in minimalist drama - epic tales told with a fun, a
voice and a drum.
When the beat of the drum slows, the audience senses the sorrow of the story;
when it speeds up, they are drawn into the excitement of the tale. Each rhythm
has its own name - chinyang, chungmori, chungjungmori, chajinmori, hwimori -
and is used to weave an intricate fabric of human pain, forgiveness and
reconciliation.
While these tales can be tragic, they are also full of boisterous humor and nearly
always have a happy ending. In this way, p'ansori provides us the wisdom to
overcome life's tragedies, to persevere in the race of its challenges, and
always with a smile. In The Tale of Hungbu, Hungbu responds to his brother's
avarice and maltreatment with seemingly defenseless kindness, but in the end he
becomes far richer than his brother ever was. In The Tale of Ch'unhyang, the
stoic Chunhyang endures the lascivious advances of the despicable local
magistrate, Pyon Hak-do, to be rescued by her dashing lover. In The Tale of
Shimch'ong, Shimch'ong's filial piety wins over the gods, while the secondary
characters spar for laughs.
These tales are so long and involved, they are generally performed in parts.
That is, a singer will perform only a scene or two. p'ansori is constructed in
such a manner that the story can be divided and the parts performed separately.
Often, a singer will specialize in a particular scene, for example, the scene
when Shimch'ong throws herself into the sea or when Ch'unhyang goes to jail for
refusing Pyon Hak-do's advances. On the other hand, a few determined performers
like Pak Tong-jin have been known to perform the full 5-hour Tale of Hungbo or
8 hour Tale of Ch'unhyang without Slopping to rest.
Shin Che-hyo: A Pioneer
P'ansori is a form of popular literature dating back to the latter part of the
Choson period. According to Prof. Cho Tong-il (Seoul National University,
Korean Language and Literature), "the cennal ideology behind p'ansori is
the condemnation of the inconsistencies in the rigid conceptual outlook of the
ruling yangban elite and the inequalities of the existing society through the
expression of the experiences of the common people. Nevertheless, p'ansori was
enjoyed by ail levels of society, from the king down to the lowliest vagabond.
This popularity suggests the breadth of p'ansori's social base, and at the same
time reveals a fluidity aimed at overcoming Choson's rigid social
structure."
Scholar generally agree that p'ansori developed in the early eighteenth
century, although there are no detailed records of its evolution. Any
discussion of its history would be incomplete without mentioning Shin Che-hyo
(1812-1884), p'ansori's foremost patron.
Shin was born to a well-known and relatively affluent family in Koch'ang,
Chollabuk-do. Shin served as a low-ranking official in his home county until
the age of forty when he gathered a group of p'ansori devotees and began the
long, painstaking process of compiling the lyrics and scores of the extant
p'ansori works. Shin made a crucial contribution to the systematic arrangement
and transformation of a previously chaotic genre into an advanced musical form
enjoyed by the highest levels of Choson society.
As a member of a mid-level class - neither a yangban nor a man of humble
origins-Shin was acutely aware of the contradictions and conflicts of his
society. Indeed, he had experienced both the demands of the common man and the
avarice of the ruling, elite in his work, and we can find hints of his own
concerns in the scores he compiled; on the one hand, in a compassion for the
lower classes, and on the other, in his portrayal of man's determination to
improve his own social status.
P'ansori owes its continued popularity to Shin Che-hyo's careful compilation.
Before Shin embarked on this project, there had been no effort to study or
understand the lyrics of the various p'ansori pieces, not even among the
singers themselves. Shin realized this, as well as the importance of
maintaining consistency in lyrical content He edited out discrepancies in
content and form and replaced extremely crude expressions that might offend
audiences with more elegant language. Shin's well-written lyrics fortified the
oral p'ansori tradition and have become famous for their burlesque flavor and
realistic portrayals of life in Choson society.
Shin's childhood home still stands beside the entrance of Moyangsong Fortress
in Koch'ang. Every October the Koch'ang Cultural Institute hosts the Moyangsong
Festival, featuring a p'ansori contest in which Korea's finest singers
participate, but the rest of the year Shin's home is quiet, the grove of trees
behind the house, apparently planted during Shin's time, whispering softly in
the wind.
The Tongni Institute of Traditional Music, built in 1990 to carry on the rich
tradition Shin did so much to promote, is located next to his house. This
school and the one established in Namwon in 1977 form the hub for the
transmission and preservation of Tongp'yonje, the "Eastern' school of
p'ansori.
Two Stylistic Schools
Lineage is extremely important in p'ansori. Technique has always been handed
down from singer to singer, and over time, distinct styles have developed, as
is apparent in the broad schools of Tongp'yonje and Sop'yonje, the
"Western" school. At first, these stylistic schools developed within
a single region, but as time passed, a system of actual lineages developed.
Thus, p'ansori originating in Unbong, Kurye, Sunch'ang, Namwon and other areas
of eastern Cholla-do are generally included in the Tongp'yonje school, while
that from Kwangju, Naju, Posong and other counties along the southern coast are
called Sop'yonje.
Tongp'yonje, which originated in the eastern Cholla-do region and later spread
to the Chongop and Koch'ang areas, is known for its free and open style. It
often starts in a reserved and dignified manner and ends quite abruptly, while
Sop'yonje, which developed in the western Cholla-do region and later spread
south to Posong on the southern coast, is very elaborate, usually starting out
softly and ending in a lingering manner.
Some say these two musical styles may be related to the geographical
characteristics of each region. Eastern Cholla-do is famous for its rough
terrain and towering mountains, while western Cholla-do is relatively flat.
P'ansori performers learn their music from nature, so there may be some truth
to this theory.
It's not easy "acquiring" a voice. (One of the many intriguing terms
used among p'ansori performer is tuksong, literally the "acquisition of
voice.") It can take 10 or 20 years for a singer to cultivate their vocal
cords and learn all the lyrics to the various pieces. As mentioned above,
singers often sing for hours beneath waterfalls, inside caves, on ocean
beaches. At first, nature swallows the voice, but the singer persists, and
after days, months, even years of practice, they conquer nature's voice with
their own. The next order of business is developing their range so they can
move freely between the bass notes and the soprano.
It is not uncommon for a singer to go hoarse from all this practice. This is a
sign that they are approaching their goal. Only by pushing their vocal chords
to the limit, by challenging the forces of nature, can they finally achieve the
resonant sound unique to p'ansori. Indeed, it is in this challenge and
reconciliation with nature that a singer learns to express the fury, of a
billowing wind, the melancholy of a sunset, the brightness of a spring day, the
darkness of the sea at night. Nature's unparalleled diversity gathers in the
voice, and the lessons in patience and pain are over. The singer is finally
ready to stand before an audience.
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