An aboriginal is a born mimic. Nothing delights him more than to reproduce from Nature incidences and scenes before an appreciative and visionary audience. But in the same sense as detail of design in his drawings or carvings is often deemed unnecessary by his vivid imagination, so to the outsider his acting might seem tainted with an air of becoming vagueness which makes it appear pantomimic. Yet, as a conversationalist, an aboriginal is usually so animated by the recollections of his experience that he unconsciously becomes a dramatist, and his narration an epic. Granted the necessary perception, however, the feelings and emotions which actuate the performer are readily grasped by those observing his dances, and whose sympathy he is courting. He lets himself go, without mock-modest constraint, endeavouring by every action to interpret with his body the impulse he has received. Lured by the glint of an inspiration, his nearer vision is blinded, his musculature quivers involuntarily, and his only desire is to catch, to imitate, and to give expression to his exalted feelings. Held in a rapture, his feelings transcend anything he ordinarily perceives, his staid personality has vanished, and all that the inner individual attempts, or can attempt, is to externalize by his movements those sensuous, but illusive, impressions his soul is imbibing.

To many the real interpretation of such movement would be impossible; but the aboriginal lives for his dances, of which he possesses an almost inexhaustible variety, the outcome of tradition and invention. He has learned to make his dance a medium of sensual expression, and to combine an instinctive impulse with movement. By his dancing he impersonates both friend and enemy, he copies the hopping of a marsupial, or the wriggling of a serpent, or the strutting of an emu, and he emulates the legendary practices and sacred ceremonials of his forefathers. In his dances lives the valour of his warriors, and dies the evil magic of his foes. Through his dances he endeavours to commune with the spirits of his dead, he hears the voices of his mythical demigods, and he beseeches his deities to protect his person and to bless his haunts with an abundance of game.

The magnetical charm about a tribal dance lies in the rhythmic motion of the performers, in the harmonious way their naked bodies sway to the accompaniment of crude but effective music, and in the clever association of sound with motion and silence with rest. The dancers are mute during their performance, the music being supplied by a band or chorus of either men or women, or both, who squat near by. A performance without musical items is practically unknown. The dancers keep their movements and steps in such remarkably true accord with the vocal and instrumental parts that it is difficult to dissociate one from another; in addition, the rhythm for each new dance is usually set by the audience and followed by the dancers to the instant.

The beating of time is usually done by hand, especially if women are attending the performance. In most tribes, the person squats on the ground, holding the thighs together, and strikes the cleft thus produced with the palm of a hand. More commonly both hands are used together, with the inner side of one laid over the back of the other, and the fingers of the lower one placed together in such a way as to form a concave surface. By this means, loud, explosive sounds are produced.

On Melville and Bathurst Islands, and on the Victoria River, the palms of both hands are struck against the buttocks, one on either side of the body, while the person is standing. Along the coast of the Northern Territory, the natives, as often as not, simply clap the hands in rhythmic order, or they slap the palms of one or both upon the ground; occasionally one even notices mothers gently slapping the buttocks of their babies-in-arms, all under the impulse of a catchy air which is striking their ears.

A peculiar sort of sound accompaniment is rendered by the women dancers of the Katherine and Victoria River districts of the Northern Territory. As each of the dancers hops forwards in a straight line, with her heels together and her feet turned outwards, she jerks her body in mid-air and whacks the muscles of her thighs together, an act which produces a loud, sharp sound. In this way she moves both forwards and backwards, making a similar noise with every hop, whilst her feet make a track in the sand which is to represent the female turtle coming on shore to lay its eggs.

In the same districts, as well as on the Daly River, the dancing gins use skeins of string stretched between the thumbs of their hands, which they sway to and fro like the bow of a fiddle. Although this manoeuvre does not produce a sound, it is here mentioned because the movement takes place in perfect rhythm and in unison with the singing which is going on; and one is reminded of a modern conductor using his stick.

If we now turn our attention to the consideration of the accompaniment produced with musical instruments, there is a small choice at our disposal. We find that certain of the southern tribes, along the River Murray, made use of skins, which they stretched across their thighs, as they sat upon the ground, and struck with their hands or a stick like beating a drum.

In the Kimberley district of Western Australia, the large nuts of the boabab, when dry, are used after the style of the European toy known as a baby’s rattle by the children, but curiosity soon leads to the destruction of the shell, when the pithy matrix and the seeds are eaten. Occasionally these nuts are introduced into ceremonial dances by the men; they are then elaborately and beautifully carved as previously referred to.

In the same district, and in fact all along the north coast, large convoluted sea-shells with a small pebble inside of them, or even a number of smaller shells threaded upon a string, serve the same purpose of noise-making.

Bundles of gum leaves, fresh or dry, tied round the ankles or arms of the performers, produce a rustle which imitates the noise produced by the wiry feathers of a romping emu. Most of the tribes adopt this scheme, especially in connection with sacred festivals and ceremonies having to do with the emu.

Among the central and northern central tribes, the boomerang is extensively used as a musical instrument. The operator, taking up a squatting position, holds a boomerang at half-arm’s length in each hand, so that the concave edges are turned towards his body. Then by bringing the instruments near each other, with their surfaces parallel, he claps their ends together in quick succession, and by so doing produces rhythmic clanks to suit the step of any dance or the time of any song (Plate LII).

The Larrekiya, Wogait, Berringin, and other Northern Territory tribes make use of “music sticks.” Two of such are required. One is of hard “iron-wood,” about nine inches in length, flatly cylindrical, and bluntly pointed at one end; the other, which is the beating stick, is simply a smaller rod, of circular section, made of light mangrove wood. The former stick is held firmly in the left hand, whilst it is struck by the latter, not far from its end. The beating stick is held in the right hand with one end of it pressing either against the third or fifth finger. The sounds produced by the percussion are ringing, sub-metallic clanks; and any alteration in the length of the free end of the beating stick naturally tends to vary their pitch.

The instrument which is capable of producing the loudest, and, at the same time, most weird sound, when correctly manipulated by an aboriginal, is the bamboo trumpet, otherwise known as the drone-pipe or “didjeridoo.” This consists of a piece of bamboo, of the stout, tropical variety, from four to five feet long, the septa of which have all been burnt out with a fire-stick. The outside surface is decorated with engraved designs. Drone-pipes are used by all coastal tribes living between the Gulf of Carpentaria and Cambridge Gulf, and as far inland as Wave Hill on the Victoria River. Where the bamboo is not available, the instrument is made out of a long hollow limb of the woolly-butt eucalyptus; this is the prevailing type in the western portion of the area mentioned. To serve the requirements of a single night’s performance, a green stem of a native hybiscus bush might be cut off and the thick bark removed in toto in the form of a pipe.

When using the “trumpet,” the operator blows into the end having the smaller diameter, with a vibratory motion of the lips, and at the same time sputters into the tube indistinct words which frequently sound like “tidjarudu, tidjarudu, tidjaruda” (Plate LIII). The effect, though rhythmical, is a monotonous, plaintive, and humming sound which is continued uninterruptedly throughout the proceedings. The native, while he is blowing into the pipe, continues to breathe normally through his nostrils, after the same style as one does when using a blow-pipe in the laboratory. In the stillness of the tropical night the droning noise can be heard for miles around. The wording of the accompaniment on the bamboo trumpet during a Larrekiya performance sounds much like the following refrain: “Didnodiddo diduadu didnadiddo diduadu ... didnarib.”

In addition to music and dance, a unique, and certainly most effective, pyrotechnical embellishment of a nocturnal ceremony is supplied by the Dieri. Along the Cooper Creek, travellers have occasion to notice the great number of large beetles which fly towards the camp-fire at night-time. When a dance is on, a collection of these beetles is made and short glowing embers inserted into their anal apertures; whereupon they are released again. As the naked figures of the men are moving to the sway of song, these little fire-balls buzz and flit in among them, and, cruel as the invention may seem, greatly add to the weirdness of the din. The Dieri call these artificial fire-flies “turapitti.”

Vocal productions consist of recitals of notes which are frequently encased in articulations without definite meaning or significance, the notes alone expressing the sentiment which prompts the song. It is the combination of these notes which gives rise to the simple melodies, and the repetition of the melodies in regular sequence makes the song. In his songs the aboriginal portrays the hate for his foe with vehemence, the love for his child with affection, the spirit of the chase with lustfulness, the cunning of his prey with counter-deception, and the dignity of his forbears with veneration. As the pulsations of his temperament and passion sway his mind, so his voice rises or falls in harmony with the flush of joy or the gloom of sorrow.

When singing in chorus, the monotony of a melody is frequently re-animated by one of the principal singers, who, with a stentorian inflection of his voice, leads off anew. In this way, the pitch of a melody is repeatedly altered by one or two of the recognized vocal experts; but at all times the pitch relations remain in perfect concord with each other.

It is considered distinctly artistic to be able to frequently change the pitch of the voice from a deep bass to a shrill falsetto at will, and only the most experienced singers attempt it. A new tune is introduced by one of the older men, and the same person will later infuse new vitality into it by picking up the strain at different stages by a clever inflection of the voice, after the style of a rondo.

The rhythm throughout the proceedings remains excellent, but great variations are met with during the rendering of different items; it is always in keeping with the dance, if the latter is indulged in, even at the risk of running away momentarily from the time of the music.

Performances which include dances as well as songs in the way of entertainment are generally called corrobborees; events of a ceremonial, ritual, or religious nature are termed “boras.”

The notes included in the songs of tribal performances are often imitative of the voice of Nature, and among them we find allusions to the calls and cries of birds, animals, reptiles, and mythical creatures. At the same time, any characteristic actions or attitudes are faithfully reproduced as special features of the dances.

In the crocodile ceremony of the Cambridge Gulf natives, a number of men stand in a row, one behind the other, with their arms extended and their legs asunder, whilst the individual impersonating the crocodile ancestor wriggles along the ground between their legs. When he comes abreast of the foremost man, he lies flat on the ground, with his legs and feet held closely together to imitate the reptile’s tail. To further mimic the crocodile, he extends his arms sideways, strongly bent at the elbows, and with the hands flat upon the ground. Retaining this position, he next elevates his body by straightening his arms, and, when fully erect, opens his mouth and emits a harsh, booming note resembling that of a crocodile.

In the same district, the great emu man, during his ceremony, walks within a human circle, his body prone from the hips, with one arm held forwards to represent the emu’s neck and the hand of the other held over his stern to indicate the tail. As he walks around bowing his body, after the fashion of a strutting emu, he eructates deep, guttural noises, resembling the grunting note of the bird.

How the caw of a crow is embodied in the musical programme of a ceremony will be apparent from the following episode which was transacted at the Forrest River. A number of men stood in a ring, and, at a given signal, lowered their bodies between their knees. They let their heads fall forwards, and at the same time lifted their arms, which they bent in the elbow to resemble wings. The latter they moved lithely to and fro after much the same way as a young bird does when it is being, or wants to be, fed. At this moment a chant was started in imitation of the crow’s call: “A wa, a wa, a weh!” and was ofttimes repeated. Then they all hopped around like so many birds in search of food, and two men entered the ring. Still in the same posture, these two hopped towards each other and extended their arms until each pair crossed the opposite pair. In that position they swung their bodies backwards and forwards, whilst their arms sea-sawed in front of them. Then they re-joined the group, and all continued the hopping. In the next act, an old man lay flat on his back, in the centre of the ring, with his arms and legs stretched from him. He represented a carcase. The “crows” hopped around him and cried: “A, a, a, la, la, la-la-la,” and it sounded very much like the caw of a crow. This item was repeated. One of the crow men then hopped to the “dead” man. He lifted one of the arms from the ground, held it up, and let it go. The limb fell “lifelessly” to the ground. Immediately this had happened, all performers jumped into an upright position, rushed towards the man feigning death, and carried him from view. Apart from the imitation of the crow’s call, no regular song accompanied the act, but all the onlookers were beating time, to correspond with the hopping, by slapping their hands against their thighs.

The vocal accompaniment at a ceremony of welcome on Bathurst Island is in the form of a trill, a rapidly repeated “i, i, i, i, i ...,” changing occasionally to “hi, hi, hi, hi ...,” which is very cleverly reproduced in imitation of the note of the great stone plover.

In the corrobboree of a frog, the Larrekiya sing the following refrain:

Then they pause for a moment, and, continuing immediately, mimic the croaking by crying:

The singing is assisted by an accompaniment on the bamboo trumpet which sounds like: “Tip bu, tip bu, tip bu, tip pau-a, tip pau-a, tip pau-a.” Music sticks are used by all taking part in the corrobboree, the percussions being equally timed and of uniform strength.

A little performance, melodramatic in a way, which is very popular with the Larrekiya and Wogait in the Northern Territory, is designed to scoff at the wailing of women. It is introduced by the following refrain:

“Arada kadji mara uda kayan yan; arada kadji mara uda kayan mölle ulpululu mölle, jangaji karra kanjin mada da nga la ulmin ja jandadbi karra kun kun mukale la enbulukdi bana mölle mara kanjinmada da buluk di bölle arada kadji balla.”

Then the wailing begins. With a pathos and sincerity so cleverly feigned that one might easily be led to believe they are genuine, the men strike up a lament which is thrilling. Monosyllabic sounds pierce the air, which terminate with a sob:

Then a burst of laughter ends the solemnity; and the refrain is continued amidst much hilarity:

“Kanjin mada danö wüdningi juan madji karra kunkul mukana mölle enbuluk di bana mälle kanjin mada.”

At the conclusion, a general criticism takes place of the skill displayed by the different performers in the reproduction of the effeminate sounds. Throughout the proceedings an accompaniment is played on the bamboo trumpet sounding like: “Tib bu, tib bu, tib bu-a”; whilst a number of men beat their music sticks in a rhythm represented by one long and three short taps.

The Bathurst and Melville Islanders are famous for their impressive ceremonies. At most of them, a group of men stand in a semi-circle and supply the accompaniment by clapping one or both hands against thigh or buttock, producing dull, drum-like sounds by the impact; they further supplement the rhythmic sounds by crying, “brr, brr, brr” in unison with the beating. Any actors who enter the ring in front of these men frequently ejaculate a sound like a short “poop,” and this immediately solicits a concerted “iah” from all taking part.

In their corrobboree of the jungle fowl, an old man rushes into the ring, bending his arms at the elbow and holding them close against his body, while he rests his closed fists upon his chest. His attitude resembles that of a professional runner, although in reality his arms are supposed to represent the wings of the bird. The man looks about the ground, from side to side, as though in search of something. Presently he imitates the familiar call of the bird, with a shrill penetrating voice, which sounds like “he-r-r-r-l.” In answer to this, the chorus surrounding him spontaneously gives utterance to a number of short, non-articulate noises which sound like “brrl, brrl, brrl,” and are claimed to be the call of the bird’s mate. From now on the performer intermittently cries “he,” and, every time he does so, the rest of the men respond with a loud “yeh.” Then he throws sand and clouds of dust behind him with his feet, with the object of imitating the way a jungle fowl throws up earth into large mounds in which its eggs are deposited.

When the kangaroo ceremony is announced, one or two men jump into the ring, with their legs slightly bent at the knees. Their arms are held forward, bent vertically at the elbows, their hands being kept prone and partly closed. The whole posture is to resemble that of the hopping marsupial of Australia. In jumping round the space, the actor turns his head from side to side, face downwards, as though in search of food. When such is supposed to have been found, his hands may assist to support his body and the hopping ceases. His legs are then bent strongly in the knees, so that his body sinks and his buttocks come to rest immediately above the heels, or, indeed, he may squat entirely upon the ground. He now holds his hands together and passes them between his thighs to the ground, from which he scoops a quantity of sand and lifts it to the level of his mouth. Suddenly dropping the sand, the performer bounds to his feet and runs round the ring, vigorously stamping his feet and making a peculiar hissing sound. The act is frequently interrupted by cries of “poop” from the mouths of the saltant men, which are immediately responded to by the crowd with a boisterous “iah.” Then the hopping re-commences, the actor frequently stopping to scratch his leg with one of his hands held like a claw. Occasionally he lifts an arm to his mouth to lick it just like the animal itself does. The pace of the time-beaters at this stage quickens, and the actor begins to scratch all accessible parts of his body as if possessed. An unexpected “poop,” followed by a hearty “iah,” terminates this part of the performance amid loud shrieks and applause.

It is not long before two performers again leap into the ring, each armed with a light reed in his hand, resembling a spear. The above demonstration is partly recapitulated, being, however, slightly modified in that one man, at intervals, takes the part of a hunter endeavouring to drive his spear into the enraged “kangaroo” on the opposite side of the ring.

The corrobboree of a fight is presented by an imaginary spear duel between two angry men. They are “armed” with a light reed each, and upon entering the arena, composed of the time-beating chorus, place themselves in defiance of each other and cut all sorts of antics. They brandish their imaginary weapons, roll their eyes, and throw their bodies about wildly. Then they start running around the ring, slapping their thighs together, with their heads thrown back and their arms upwards.

As an instance of the clever way in which aborigines mimic special happenings or striking episodes, and also hand on the records to subsequent generations, the ship-of-war corrobboree is here briefly outlined. This is a reproduction of events which happened at Fort Dundas about a century ago, but the present day natives still enjoy looking at it and include it among their favourite turns. After the usual preliminaries, a performer rushes into the ring and stands with one leg in front of the other and slightly flexed in the knee. Throwing his head back and looking upwards, he starts a vigorous “hauling action” by alternately throwing one arm out in the direction he is looking, closing the fist and making an imaginary pull right down to his loins, while at the same time the other arm is thrown out and returned in a similar way. This act is in imitation of the hauling in of a sail on a European man-of-war, and is rhythmically followed by the time-beaters. Running to the opposite side of the ring, the same act is repeated. Then the same hauling motion is continued, but this time pulling from below upwards towards the body, in a manner suggesting the heaving of an anchor. During this performance, several sharp and harsh interjections are heard, which suggest a skit on the orders of the commanding officers; in fact, the whole ceremony is to be looked upon as a travesty of naval discipline.

During several of the performances described above, the following chant was heard, in perfect accord with the rhythmic smacks produced by the hands of the chorus:

and

At Fowler’s Bay, the men like no dance so much as one which caricatures a woman on a collecting excursion. The performer walks from the darkness of night into the bright glare produced by the camp-fire, with an exaggerated bend of the knees and a loudly perceptible stamp of the feet. Over one of his shoulders he carries a collecting bag, and as he moves forwards and sideways, his eyes are rivetted to the ground in front of him; he is supposed to be looking for food-stuffs. Suddenly he stops, stoops, and feigns to be picking up something, which is assigned to the bag. Then he hurries on and repeats the same performance. Whilst he is acting thus, the audience, grouped at one side of the fire, is diligently beating time to his steps by knocking two boomerangs (“kaili”) together.

In another act he walks quickly into the light, stops suddenly, and looks hard at the ground in front of him. Presently he lifts his right foot, only to immediately bring it back to the ground again with a thud. Emitting a squeal like that of a dying or wounded bandicoot, he stoops and makes out he is lifting his prey triumphantly into the air.

Yet another performance portrays the slaying of an enemy. A second actor, who represents the vanquished foe, is requested to lie in the centre of the arena, whilst the victor dances around him, wildly flourishing and swinging his club. Every now and then the ground is bashed with the heavy weapon as near to the prostrate figure as possible; and after every blow the fallen warrior is seen to writhe his body between the legs of the victor as if he were really suffering terrible agony.

An aboriginal often sings to himself for no other purpose than for his own entertainment, in which occupation he manifests considerable pleasure, and repeats the tune to his heart’s content, at times almost to the verge of physical exhaustion. In his endeavour to become a noted singer amongst his tribespeople, a man at every opportunity stimulates his ambition. He listens with envy to the tireless chirping of a cricket and suggests to himself the advantages of acquiring such powers of vocal endurance (as he imagines them to be). The Larrekiya youths admire the large Cicadae for similar reasons; and they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to catch one or two of the winged music-makers and suck their viscera, hoping thereby to acquire increased musical talent.

When singing ensemble, the musical productions have widely varying purposes and meanings. The performance might be purely convivial and entertaining, when a number of refrains are hummed or sung, solo and collectively, to the combined accompaniment which is rendered by most of the others present. Any attempt at harmony is wanting. Boisterous music can always be counted upon at tribal war-dances, when the excited and infuriated mobs almost lose control of their reason, and by singing to their ancestral fathers endeavour to bring destruction upon the enemy by the wildest imprecatory acts.

At initiation ceremonies, the old men, at the time of spilling the novice’s blood, are no less excited; and the musical items are reduced to hoarse, rude utterances of a decidedly disquieting flavour. Under these conditions the soul of a true savage unmasks itself. It speaks in coarse, disconnected sounds which are hardly recognizable as human, but, at the moment, none the less in sympathy with his inner feelings.

On the other hand, the music which is produced at religious ceremonies is quieter and of a more ding-dong style. The natives present their sacred chants, which they have inherited from their forefathers, for the purpose of getting into communion with the spirits surrounding them; and, although such proceedings may be extremely monotonous, the solemn colloquy is nevertheless musical.

It is a common practice, for that matter, among the tribes of Australia, for one individual to carry on conversation with another by singing the words. When, for instance, it is the intention of the persons engaged in conversation to make the matter as little noticeable as possible, or when they want to impart information to each other without attracting the attention of a third party, they clothe their words in song. And the same is also done when a third party is to be criticized. Moreover, it is for exactly similar reasons that all communications which are supposed to be carried on with superhuman beings are chanted or crooned, in order that the Evil Spirit’s attention may not be drawn to the fact.