Academic literature on the topic 'School music, instruction and study, great britain'

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Journal articles on the topic "School music, instruction and study, great britain"

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Hash, Phillip M. "Music Instruction at Selected State Normal Schools during the Nineteenth Century." Journal of Research in Music Education 67, no. 4 (December 2, 2019): 413–39. http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/0022429419888740.

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The purpose of this study was to explore music instruction in selected normal schools of the United States during the nineteenth century. The sample consisted of all eighteen state normal schools organized before the end of the U.S. Civil War and provided insight into the earliest period of music at these institutions. Research questions focused on normal school music (a) faculty, (b) curricula, and (c) diploma/degree programs, as well as (d) influence on the teaching profession, normal school students, and society at large. Normal schools prepared future classroom teachers and eventually specialists to teach music to K–12 students throughout the United States. They also helped professionalize the role of music teacher, solidify music’s place in K–12 curricula, and improve the efficacy of instruction among America’s youth. The preparation normal schools provided contributed to the national culture and the ability of average citizens to experience music as both listeners and performers. Although teacher education has evolved a great deal since the nineteenth century, practices related to music instruction in state normals during this time might hold implications for solving current problems in music education and preparing generalists and specialists today.
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Mitch, David F. "Market Forces and Market Failure in Antebellum American Education." Social Science History 32, no. 1 (2008): 135–39. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/s014555320001395x.

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The international rise of mass education over the past few centuries is often seen by historians as due to the increasingly long arm of the state (see, e.g., Lindert 2004). On this view, the early rise and high level of mass education in the United States in contrast with its colonial ruler Great Britain reflects the ability of Americans to mobilize local and state government support for public education from the earliest days of the Republic. Indeed, institutions dating to the colonial era could have been at work. The articles in this special section are informed by the view that schools and the instructional services they offered during the antebellum period were subject to the choices of buyers and sellers of these services. The article by Kim Tolley provides a rich case study of this basic principle with her account of Mrs. Sambourne's foray into music teaching in early-nineteenth-century North Carolina.
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Postolenko, Iryna. "PRACTICAL IMPLEMENTATION OF EDUCATIONAL PROGRAMS IN MODERN SCHOOLS IN GREAT BRITAIN." Psychological and Pedagogical Problems of Modern School, no. 2(6) (December 21, 2021): 13–19. http://dx.doi.org/10.31499/2706-6258.2(6).2021.247507.

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The article considers the practical implementation of educational programs in modern schools in Great Britain. The main methodological approaches to the implementation of the content of educational subjects are studied. The peculiarities of the organization of the pedagogical process during the study of core and basic subjects in British schools are studied in detail, namely, English, mathematics, science, art and design, citizenship, technology and design, geography, history, ICT, modern foreign languages, music, physical education, personal, social, health education, religious education. The pedagogical process in terms of the educational component, organization of extracurricular work with students is also analyzed. It is noted that the involvement of students in extracurricular activities helps to improve their academic performance. Students are mainly involved in the following activities: Dance, Drama, Life-saving, Swimming, Gymnastics, Athletics, Volleyball, Netball, Football, Badminton, Aerobics, Basketball. They also have the opportunity to attend science and mathematics clubs, computer clubs, languages and technology clubs, additional Mathematics groups, participate in the choir and the School Orchestra. Leisure clubs allow students to unite in common interests, engage in music, dance, theater, scouting, sports, games, design, decorative jewelry, and more. In their free time, students visit other schools, industrial enterprises, and farms. Students also have trips to the sea, local churches, art galleries, museums, theaters, etc. In addition, students participate in sports competitions not only among students in the school but also students of other schools in the county. Keywords: educational programs; educational activity; methodological approaches; key stages of education; British schoolchildren; core subjects; basic subjects; extracurricular activities.
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Ryzhinsky, Alexander S. "British Choral Music at the Turn of the 19th and 20th Centuries: the Phenomenon of the English Musical Renaissance." Problemy muzykal'noi nauki / Music Scholarship, no. 2 (July 2023): 53–67. http://dx.doi.org/10.56620/2782-3598.2023.2.053-067.

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The article is devoted to the phenomenon of the English musical renaissance, little studied in Russian musicology — a movement under which presently the formation of the British national compositional school of the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries is comprehended. The author turns to the musical heritage of the leading composers of that period — Alexander MacKenzie, Hubert Parry, Charles Stanford and Sir Edward Elgar — with the aim of demonstrating the sources of the English musical renaissance and determining, what significance was exerted by the choral heritage by its main representatives on the subsequent evolution of choral music in Great Britain. Among the chief factors which influenced the English musical renaissance, the following are highlighted: the development of the choral festival movement, the establishment of the Royal College of Music, the directedness of the British professional education on the formation of the national school of composition, as well as Parry’s and Stanford’s active work in musical criticism and research. The peculiarities of the choral writing of each of the aforementioned composers are analyzed on the example of the most well-known works in the genres of the cantata and the oratorio. The author brings to light the general tendencies in the organization of the choral texture and timbre and the unique techniques the discovery of which is capable of making adjustments to the existent perceptions about the evolution of the choral music of the early 20th century. In particular, study of Elgar’s choral works makes it possible to confirm the composer’s interest in the textural and timbral techniques typical for the composers of the first and the second avant-garde in Europe, such as diagonal texture and non-standard unisons. The author’s conclusions make it possible to form a perception of the works by the composers of the “first renaissance trio” (Parry, Stanford, MacKenzie) and their younger contemporary Elgar as the greatest impulse of the formation of 20th century British choral music, which in the second half of the century became among the most on demand in world performance.
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Oja, Mare. "Muutused hariduselus ja ajalooõpetuse areng Eesti iseseisvuse taastamise eel 1987–91 [Abstract: Changes in educational conditions and the development of teaching in history prior to the restoration of Estonia’s independence in 1987–1991]." Ajalooline Ajakiri. The Estonian Historical Journal, no. 3/4 (June 16, 2020): 365–401. http://dx.doi.org/10.12697/aa.2019.3-4.03.

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Educational conditions reflect society’s cultural traditions and political system, in turn affecting society’s development. The development of the younger generation is guided by way of education, for which reason working out educational policy requires the participation of society’s various interest groups. This article analyses changes in the teaching of history in the transitional period from the Soviet era to restored independent statehood. The development of subject content, the complicated role of the history teacher, the training of history teachers, and the start of the renewal of textbooks and educational literature are examined. The aim is to ascertain in retrospect the developments that took place prior to the restoration of Estonia’s independence, in other words the first steps that laid the foundation for today’s educational system. Legislation, documents, publications, and media reports preserved in the archives of the Ministry of Education and Research and the Archival Museum of Estonian Pedagogics were drawn upon in writing this article, along with the recollections of teachers who worked in schools in that complicated period. These recollections were gathered by way of interviews (10) and questionnaires (127). Electronic correspondence has been conducted with key persons who participated in changes in education in order to clarify information, facts, conditions and circumstances. The discussion in education began with a congress of teachers in 1987, where the excessive regulation of education was criticised, along with school subjects with outdated content, and the curriculum that was in effect for the entire Soviet Union. The resolution of the congress presented the task of building a national and independent Estonian school system. The congress provided an impetus for increasing social activeness. An abundance of associations and unions of teachers and schools emerged in the course of the educational reform of the subsequent years. After the congress, the Minister of Education, Elsa Gretškina, initiated a series of expert consultations at the Republic-wide Institute for In-service Training of Teachers (VÕT) for reorganising general education. The pedagogical experience of Estonia and other countries was analysed, new curricula were drawn up and evaluated, and new programmes were designed for school subjects. The solution was seen in democratising education: in shaping the distinctive character of schools, taking into account specific local peculiarities, establishing alternative schools, differentiating study, increasing awareness and the relative proportion of humanities subjects and foreign language study, better integrating school subjects, and ethical upbringing. The problems of schools where Russian was the language of instruction were also discussed. The Ministry of Education announced a competition for school programmes in 1988 to find innovative ideas for carrying out educational reform. The winning programme prescribed compulsory basic education until the end of the 9th grade, and opportunities for specialisation starting in the second year of study in secondary school, that is starting in the 11th grade. Additionally, the programme prescribed a transition to a 12-grade system of study. Schools where Russian was the language of instruction were to operate separately, but were obliged to teach the Estonian language and Estonian literature, history, music and other subjects. Hitherto devised innovative ideas for developing Estonian education were summed up in the education platform, which is a consensual document that was approved at the end of 1988 at the conference of Estonian educators and in 1989 by the board of the ESSR State Education Committee. The constant reorganisation of institutions hindered development in educational conditions. The activity of the Education Committee, which had been formed in 1988 and brought together different spheres of educational policy, was terminated at the end of 1989, when the tasks of the committee were once again transferred to the Ministry of Education. The Republic-wide Institute for In-service Training of Teachers, the ESSR Scientific-Methodical Cabinet for Higher and Secondary Education, the ESSR Teaching Methodology Cabinet, the ESSR Preschool Upbringing Methodology Cabinet, and the ESSR Vocational Education Teaching and Methodology Cabinet were all closed down in 1989. The Estonian Centre for the Development of Education was formed in July of 1989 in place of the institutions that were closed down. The Institute for Pedagogical Research was founded on 1 April 1991 as a structural subunit of the Tallinn Pedagogical Institute, and was given the task of developing study programmes for general education schools. The Institute for the Scientific Research of Pedagogy (PTUI) was also closed down as part of the same reorganisation. The work of history and social studies teachers was considered particularly complicated and responsible in that period. The salary rate of history teachers working in secondary schools was raised in 1988 by 15% over that of teachers of other subjects, since their workload was greater than that of teachers of other subjects – the renewal of teaching materials did not catch up with the changes that were taking place in society and teachers themselves had to draw up pertinent teaching materials in place of Soviet era textbooks. Articles published in the press, newer viewpoints found in the media, published collections of documents, national radio broadcasts, historical literature and school textbooks from before the Second World War, and writings of notable historians, including those that were published in the press throughout the Soviet Union, were used for this purpose. Teachers had extensive freedom in deciding on the content of their subject matter, since initially there were no definite arrangements in that regard. A history programme group consisting of volunteer enthusiasts took shape at a brainstorming session held after the teachers’ congress. This group started renewing subject matter content and working out a new programme. The PTUI had already launched developmental work. There in the PTUI, Silvia Õispuu coordinated the development of history subject matter content (this work continued until 1993, when this activity became the task of the National Bureau of Schools). The curriculum for 1988 still remained based on history programmes that were in effect throughout the Soviet Union. The greatest change was the teaching of history as a unified course in world history together with themes from the history of the Estonian SSR. The first new curriculum was approved in the spring of 1989, according to which the academic year was divided up into three trimesters. The school week was already a five-day week by then, which ensured 175 days of study per year. The teaching of history began in the 5th grade and it was taught two hours per week until the end of basic school (grades 5 – 9). Compulsory teaching of history was specified for everyone in the 10th grade in secondary school, so-called basic education for two hours a week. The general and humanities educational branches had to study history three hours a week while the sciences branch only had to study history for two hours a week. Students were left to decide on optional subjects and elective subjects based on their own preferences and on what the school was able to offer. The new conception of teaching history envisaged that students learn to know the past through teaching both in the form of a general overview as well as on the basis of events and phenomena that most characterise the particular era under consideration. The teacher was responsible for choosing how in-depth the treatment of the subject matter would be. The new programmes were implemented in their entirety in the academic year of 1990/1991. At the same time, work continued on improving subject programmes. After ideological treatments were discarded, the aim became to make teaching practice learner-oriented. The new curriculum was optional for schools where the language of instruction was Russian. Recommendations for working with renewed subject content regarding Estonian themes in particular were conveyed by way of translated materials. These schools mostly continued to work on the basis of the structure and subject content that was in effect in the Soviet Union, teaching only the history of the Soviet Union and general history. Certain themes from Estonian history were considered in parallel with and on the basis of the course on the history of the Soviet Union. The number of lessons teaching the national official language (Estonian) was increased in the academic year of 1989/1990 and a year later, subjects from the Estonian curriculum started being taught, including Estonian history. The national curriculum for Estonian basic education and secondary education was finally unified once and for all in Estonia’s educational system in 1996. During the Soviet era, the authorities attempted to make the teaching profession attractive by offering long summer breaks, pension insurance, subsidised heating and electricity for teachers in the countryside, and apartments free of charge. This did not compensate the lack of professional freedom – teachers worked under the supervision of inspectors since the Soviet system required history teachers to justify Soviet ideology. The effectiveness of each teacher’s work was assessed on the basis of social activeness and the grades of their students. The content and form of Sovietera teacher training were the object of criticism. They were assessed as not meeting the requirements of the times and the needs of schools. Changes took place in the curricula of teacher training in 1990/1991. Teachers had to reassess and expand their knowledge of history during the transitional period. Participation in social movements such as the cultural heritage preservation movement also shaped their mentality. The key question was educational literature. The government launched competitions and scholarships in order to speed up the completion of educational literature. A teaching aid for secondary school Estonian history was published in 1989 with the participation of 18 authors. Its aim was set as the presentation of historical facts that are as truthful as possible from the standpoint of the Estonian people. Eesti ajalugu (The History of Estonia) is more of a teacher’s handbook filled with facts that lacks a methodical part, and does not include maps, explanations of terms or illustrations meant for students. The compendious treatment of Estonian history Kodulugu I and II (History of our Homeland) by Mart Laar, Lauri Vahtre and Heiki Valk that was published in the Loomingu Raamatukogu series was also used as a textbook in 1989. It was not possible to publish all planned textbooks during the transitional period. The first round of textbooks with renewed content reached schools by 1994. Since the authors had no prior experience and it was difficult to obtain original material, the authors of the first textbooks were primarily academic historians and the textbooks had a scholarly slant. They were voluminous and filled with facts, and their wording was complicated, which their weak methodical part did not compensate. Here and there the effect of the Soviet era could still be felt in both assessments and the use of terminology. There were also problems with textbook design and their printing quality. Changes in education did not take place overnight. Both Soviet era tradition that had become ingrained over decades as well as innovative ideas could be encountered simultaneously in the transitional period. The problem that the teaching of history faced in the period that has been analysed here was the wording of the focus and objectives of teaching the subject, and the balancing of knowledge of history, skills, values and attitudes in the subject syllabus. First of all, Soviet rhetoric and the viewpoint centring on the Soviet Union were abandoned. The so-called blank gaps in Estonian history were restored in the content of teaching history since it was not possible to study the history of the independent Republic of Estonia during the Soviet era or to gain an overview of deportations and the different regimes that occupied Estonia. Subject content initially occupied a central position, yet numerous principles that have remained topical to this day made their way into the subject syllabus, such as the development of critical thinking in students and other such principles. It is noteworthy that programmes for teaching history changed before the restoration of Estonia’s independence, when society, including education, still operated according to Soviet laws. A great deal of work was done over the course of a couple of years. The subsequent development of the teaching of history has been affected by social processes as well as by the didactic development of the teaching of the subject. The school reform that was implemented in 1987–1989 achieved relative independence from the Soviet Union’s educational institutions, and the opportunity emerged for self-determination on the basis of curricula and the organisation of education.
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Widiastuti, Indah, Cucuk Wawan Budiyanto, Towip Towip, Yuyun Estriyanto, Syed Ahmad Helmi Syed Hassan, and Devi Pratami. "Scaffolded cooperative problem-based approach in entrepreneurship education for vocational preservice teacher." Journal of Applied Research in Higher Education, April 1, 2024. http://dx.doi.org/10.1108/jarhe-11-2023-0528.

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PurposeThis study aims to comprehend vocational preservice teachers' recalled experiences with the Cooperative Problem-based Learning (CPBL) pedagogical approach in an entrepreneurship course and to reveal how these experiences will impact their future teaching practice. The course under study intends to improve preservice teachers' entrepreneurial attitudes while equipping them with the skills necessary to create a comparable teaching strategy at school after graduation.Design/methodology/approachThis study used the semi-structured interview data to triangulate the qualitative data collected from the students' reflection journals. The data were thematically analyzed whereas the codes with comparable elements were combined, resulting in themes that describe the relevance of scaffolding used with each component of the MUSIC motivational model.FindingsThe results revealed that the student teachers who took part in the research stated in their comments how the scaffolds used in the CPBL sessions impacted their learning. Additionally, they could articulate the experiences that strengthened their perceptions regarding entrepreneurs and entrepreneurship education.Practical implicationsBy implementing scaffolded CPBL in entrepreneurship course during the teacher preparation program, the preservice teachers would be able to put a similar approach into the practice of their future teaching profession in guiding students to accomplish instructional outcomes.Originality/valueThis study highlights the importance of providing more innovative practices for entrepreneurship education across teacher preparation curricula to help develop the skills necessary for entering the future profession. The findings also emphasize the value of scaffolding in PBL, including expert, peer and activity design scaffolding. It also completes the body of research indicating that PBL-based entrepreneur education instruction can help students develop their entrepreneurial skills and attitudes while also providing a great chance to improve their teaching abilities.
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Habron, John. "Dalcroze Eurhythmics in music therapy and special music education." Approaches: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Music Therapy 8, no. 2 (December 11, 2016). http://dx.doi.org/10.56883/aijmt.2016.331.

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Dalcroze Eurhythmics Music therapists, music educators and community musicians will be familiar with the primacy of enlivening musical consciousness in those with whom they work: clients, patients, learners, participants and fellow musicians. For it is through such consciousness that other types of awareness – of self and other, of time, space and energy, and of one’s environment – may be developed and interpersonal connections, and one’s relationship with music, established and deepened. Music used in this way becomes an adaptive tool, a bridge, a means to some sort of transformation, whether this is understood therapeutically, educationally or – more inclusively – pedagogically. One such resource is Dalcroze Eurhythmics, which foregrounds the role of movement in musical activity and understanding, and the usefulness of exploring and harnessing music-movement relationships in pedagogy, therapy and the performing arts. Émile Jaques-Dalcroze (1865-1950), who originated and gave his name to this approach, wrote, “Musical consciousness is the result of physical experience” (Jaques-Dalcroze 1921/1967: 39). He highlighted what, for him, was music’s best kept secret, but which was not much acknowledged, understood or used to its full potential in the practices he saw around him at the end of the 19th century: the movement of music and, as a consequence, the role of movement in music cognition. Jaques-Dalcroze and his collaborators, therefore, took a reforming attitude to pedagogy, dance and music making by experimenting with situations in which people could be music, through enacting their musical consciousness somatically and thereby simultaneously engaging thought, emotion, agency and creativity in a psychophysical means of expression. During the first decades of the 20th century, Jaques-Dalcroze developed his philosophy and practice, with the first Dalcroze schools springing up in Europe in the years immediately prior to World War I. To witness a Dalcroze session is one thing. One would normally see a group of people in a large space, in their bare feet, moving to music, either the piano improvisation of a teacher or a recording, or occasionally another instrument, such as a drum. The participants would be responding on their own terms or according to an instruction from the teacher/practitioner. They would be communicating non-verbally, as they made contact with others through vision, touch or via a piece of equipment such as a ball, stick, hoop, rope or a length of elastic, all the time synchronising their movements, dosing their energy and using space according to how the music moves. At times there would be singing or other forms of vocalisation, spontaneous or otherwise; at others the participants might be engaging in creative group work to devise movement sequences in response to a piece of repertoire. One might sense a deep connection between the movers and the music, even the desire to join in. However, to experience a Dalcroze session is quite another thing. As an actor, rather than an observer, one would be called upon to use one’s whole self creatively to analyse and solve problems, express thoughts or moods and react to musical challenges. One’s sensorimotor system would be gradually enlivened through preparatory exercises, bringing vision, hearing, touch and the voice into play, as well as the vestibular system, kinaesthesia, one’s spatial awareness and one’s own felt sense of self, or ‘body schema’. Over time, one would become aware of others in the space, finding ways to share it as participants moved around and engaged with each other. One’s movement – focusing on one part of the body or the whole – would be, to some degree, entrained by the music. One’s individual, or group, response to the music might focus on one parameter – metre, phrasing, harmony – or be more global. From these descriptions it might be possible to appreciate the types of learning typical in Dalcroze contexts as well as the multi-faceted, holistic nature of participants’ experiences, interweaving the personal with the social, the physical with the mental. It might also be evident that such a way of interacting and responding might have more than purely musical benefits. As Jaques-Dalcroze wrote: “Mind and body, intelligence and instinct, must combine to re-educate and rejuvenate the whole nature” (Jaques-Dalcroze 1930: vii). Indeed, his concern for the whole person led practitioners from the beginning to utilise the method in general education as well as in teaching children with special educational needs; an early example was set by Joan Llongueres, a Catalan Dalcroze teacher, who adapted it for blind children (Jaques-Dalcroze 1930). To other similar teachers, Dalcroze Eurhythmics seemed “a way of working half pedagogical and half therapeutic” (Van Deventer 1981: 28), or was “always a therapeutic experience” (Tingey 1973: 60).[1] Therefore, it may be surprising that it is only now that a special journal issue devoted to this topic should appear. Notwithstanding this, there are some outstanding individual studies that have recently made the case for the place of Dalcroze Eurhythmics in preventative medicine, particularly for older people at risk of falling, and also form a backdrop to this issue (Kressig et al. 2005; Trombetti et al. 2010). Dalcroze Eurhythmics is a practice with a long history and widespread geographical reach in the 21st century. Whilst Jaques-Dalcroze used the word ‘method’ (Jaques-Dalcroze 1906), Dalcroze Eurhythmics is not ‘methodical’ in the sense of teachers and students having to move in a set sequence of activities codified in books. Yet in the hands of its exponents, certain fundamental principles and a sense of rigour are maintained which might appear method-like. Another commonly used word is ‘approach’, which resonates with this journal’s name. It is apt in this context as the articles published here describe varied approaches to using the principles of Dalcroze Eurhythmics for different groups with different needs. This adaptability, inherent in the word ‘eurhythmia’, was understood by Percy Broadbent Ingham, who – along with his wife Ethel Haslam Ingham – founded the London School of Dalcroze Eurhythmics in 1913. Ingham, one of Jaques-Dalcroze’s close friends and intermediaries, wrote in his last letter to students: “Try and think of Dalcroze Eurhythmics as being not so much a method as a principle” (Ingham 1930: 3). However we conceptualise Dalcroze Eurhythmics, it is a fact that the practice has been adapted and reconfigured for various purposes throughout its history, a process that continues today. Jaques-Dalcroze spoke of the five fingers of Eurhythmics: “music, movement, the theatre, arts in education and therapy” (Tingey 1973: 60). This interdisciplinarity results from Eurhythmics’ origins in contexts where experiments in holistic pedagogy and the performing arts were deeply interwoven – such as the Geneva Conservatoire and his first, purpose-built school (the Bildungsanstalt Jaques-Dalcroze in Hellerau near Dresden) – and from Jaques-Dalcroze’s own interest in psychology and the philosophy of education. In contrast to Carl Orff, who did not imagine his method having a therapeutic application (Voigt 2013), for Jaques-Dalcroze his method “was always more than an education through and into music or a preparation for artistic work. Rather, it had wellbeing at its core” (Habron 2014: 105). Originally known as ‘les pas Jaques’ (Jaques’ steps), the terms ‘Gymnastique Rythmique’ (rhythmic gymnastics) and ‘la Méthode Jaques-Dalcroze’ soon became synonyms and were used in Jaques-Dalcroze’s own publications. Early in the method’s history, John W. Harvey – concerned that the method should catch on in Britain – coined ‘Eurhythmics’ as a term better suited to a more holistic practice than that suggested by ‘rhythmic gymnastics’ (Ingham 1914). Later Professor of Philosophy at the University of Leeds and one of Jaques-Dalcroze’s erstwhile English supporters, Harvey stated that the ‘Eurhythmics of Jaques-Dalcroze’ was “not a mere refinement of dancing, nor an improved method of music education, but a principle that must have effect upon every part of life” (Harvey et al. 1912: 5). This wider vision of Eurhythmics was reflected some years later by Jaques-Dalcroze with regard to the aptitudes required in the practitioner: “A true teacher should be both psychologist, a physiologist, and artist” (Jaques-Dalcroze 1930: 59), a description that will resonate with many readers, and which emphasises the multifaceted nature of both pedagogy and therapy as well as the points at which they interweave. The research Jaques-Dalcroze’s concern for the development of the whole person permeates his writings, as articulated by Ana Navarro Wagner in this special issue, who argues that whilst his occupation was music, “his preoccupation was the human being”. That is, although Jaques-Dalcroze’s experiments in pedagogy began with solving problems such as expressivity, time keeping and how students used their bodies whilst performing, his thought and practice evolved to encompass a much broader understanding of music’s role in human and social development. In this way, and through his own empirical approach to teaching and learning, he anticipated by generations some influential theories in ethnomusicology, music psychology, music therapy and music education such as the theory of musicking (Small 1998) and the concept of ‘communicative musicality’ (Malloch & Trevarthen 2009). Dalcroze Eurhythmics has recently been theorised with regard to these notions (Habron 2014) and Navarro Wagner’s article develops this line of thought in relation to the wellbeing of children and young people in Dalcroze contexts. A different foreshadowing is explored with regard to Neurologic Music Therapy by Eckart Altenmüller and Daniel Scholz, who outline the ways in which Jaques-Dalcroze’s discoveries about sensorimotor integration prefigure contemporary theories in neuroscience and current practice in neurorehabilitation using music and movement. In many ways, the neurological foundations of Eurhythmics have been hidden in plain sight, as it were, for many years and yet we know that Jaques-Dalcroze carried on extensive correspondence with doctors and psychologists, such as Édouard Claparède, and was influenced by them in his use of medical terminology and his understanding of the body-mind.[2] It has taken 110 years to pick up where Claparède, in 1906, left off when he wrote to Jaques-Dalcroze: “you have arrived, albeit by routes entirely different from those of physiological psychology, at the same conception of the psychological importance of movement as a support for intellectual and affective phenomena” (Bachmann 1991: 17). Sanna Kivijärvi, Katja Sutela and Riikka Ahokas provide a conceptual study of the role of embodiment in music and movement-based education for children and young people with physical or intellectual disabilities. In so doing, they use Dalcroze Eurhythmics as an example of practice. This opens out a philosophical area of debate that is new to Dalcroze Studies and ripe for further investigation, in particular notions of value around the ‘disabled body’ and how we understand the nature of embodied cognition for those with disabilities. The other studies in this volume are all empirical, relying on qualitative and/or quantitative data. Space does not permit detailed introductions and the articles will speak for themselves. What is noteworthy is the continual re-adaptation of Eurhythmics with groups from across the lifespan and in a range of settings: educational, medical and in the community. These research articles give details about the activities designed for the groups in question and provide either robust evidence for the use of Dalcroze Eurhythmics in music therapy and special music education, or the grounds on which to build further studies. The voices of experience Besides research articles, this special issue includes two annotated interviews with senior Rhythmics practitioners: Marie-Laure Bachmann and Eleonore Witoszynskyj. Both worked in the field of special music education and were apprenticed to important figures in the history of music therapy: Claire-Lise Dutoit and Mimi Scheiblauer respectively. Bachmann and Witoszynskyj also undertook other studies besides their Rhythmics trainings, demonstrating how their practical wisdom has developed alongside a commitment to lifelong learning. Together they embody the different traditions of Eurhythmics / Rhythmics training that emerged from Jaques-Dalcroze and Hellerau, and that were unintentionally spurred on by the ‘Dalcroze diaspora’ occasioned by World War I and the closure of the Bildungsanstalt Jaques-Dalcroze. Broadly speaking, one of these traditions became Dalcroze Eurhythmics (Bachmann) and the other, in German-speaking countries, became Rhythmik (Witoszynskyj).[3] Both women share their perspectives on these lineages, including colourful and detailed recollections of their teachers and mentors. There were times during these interviews when words clearly did not suffice and Bachmann and Witoszynskyj took to the floor to move, or sing, or otherwise show what they meant. These moments are mentioned in the transcripts and serve as reminders that, no matter how much material is written in the pursuit of knowledge, the know-how of educators and therapists is largely carried within and passed on (or not) via a pedagogical process. Bachmann and Witoszynskyj are, like all of us, living archives, housing precious storehouses of memory, both of fact and action, which can be accessed in oral histories like these. Kessler-Kakoulidis’s book on Amélie Hoellering (1920-1995), reviewed here by Ludger Kowal-Summek, is another welcome addition to constructing the history of Dalcroze-inspired therapy work. Taken together, all these stories point to a parallel history of music therapy, which is only beginning to be explored, alongside that of more well-known figures such as Altshuler, Alvin, Gaston, Nordoff, Priestley and Robbins. Dalcroze Studies and Open Access The rapidly expanding field of Dalcroze Studies is transdisciplinary, as evidenced by the wide cross-section of scholars, teachers, artists and other practitioners who present and perform at the International Conference of Dalcroze Studies (www.dalcroze-studies.com), now in its third iteration.[4] This special issue is part of that growth and, in a similar way, emerges from a wide spectrum of activity around the globe and from all levels of professional expertise: from doctoral students to eminent neuroscientists, from those implementing Dalcroze principles as students to highly experienced practitioners. Such widespread work, undertaken by such a variety of practitioner-researchers, is a sign of health for Dalcroze Studies and for Dalcroze Eurhythmics as a living practice. This special issue also highlights the power of collaboration between practitioners and specialists in other domains, with some studies providing insights that could only emerge from interdisciplinary investigation. Finally, the fact that this is an online, open access journal is worth noting and celebrating. Many Dalcroze, or Rhythmics, practitioners are not affiliated to academic institutions with access to peer-reviewed journal articles via password-protected databases. In this sense, Approaches is a gift. We offer this special issue in the same spirit, hoping that it will be useful, enlightening, and a source of inspiration not only for Dalcroze practitioners and scholars but also for music therapists, community musicians and music teachers who are exploring the endless resources of the music-movement nexus in their bid to facilitate positive change in individuals’ lives, their local communities and wider society. Acknowledgements My thanks to Dr Selma Landen Odom (Professor Emerita, York University, Toronto) and Dr Liesl Van der Merwe (Associate Professor, North-West University, Potchefstroom) for reading and commenting on an earlier draft of this editorial. References Bachmann, M-L. (1991). Dalcroze Today. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Habron, J. (2014). ‘Through music and into music’ – through music and into wellbeing: Dalcroze Eurhythmics as music therapy. TD: The Journal for Transdisciplinary Research in Southern Africa, Special Edition 10(2), 90-110. Harvey, J. W. et al. (1912). The Eurhythmics of Jaques-Dalcroze. London: Constable. Ingham, P.B. (1914). ‘The Word ‘Eurhythmics’’. The School Music Review (March 1 1914), 22(262), 215. Ingham, P.B. (1930). Mr Ingham’s last letter. Journal of the Dalcroze Society, November 1930, 3. Jaques-Dalcroze, E. (1906). Gymnastique rythmique (Rhythmic gymnastics), Vol. 1 of Méthode Jaques-Dalcroze: pour le développement de l’instinct rythmique, du sens auditif et du sentiment tonal [Jaques-Dalcroze Method: For the Development of the Rhythmic Instinct, Auditory Sense and Tonal Feeling]. Neuchâtel: Sandoz, Jobin. Jaques-Dalcroze, E. (1921/1967). Rhythm, Music and Education (Revised edition, translated by H. Rubinstein). London: The Dalcroze Society Inc. Jaques-Dalcroze, E. (1930). Eurhythmics, Art and Education, (Edited by C. Cox, translated by F. Rothwell). London: Chatto & Windus. Kressig, R. W., Allali, G., & Beauchet, O. (2005). Long-term practice of Jaques-Dalcroze Eurhythmics prevents age-related increase of gait variability under a dual task. Journal of the American Geriatrics Society, 53(4), 728-729. Malloch, S., & Trevarthen, C. (Eds.). (2009). Communicative Musicality: Exploring the Basis of Human Companionship. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Small, C. (1998). Musicking: The Meanings of Performing and Listening. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Tingey, N. (Ed.). (1973). Emile Jaques-Dalcroze: A Record of the London School of Dalcroze Eurhythmics and its Graduates at Home and Overseas 1913-1973. London: Dalcroze Teachers Union. Trombetti, A., Hars, M., Herrmann, F. R., Kressig, R. W., Ferrari, S., & Rizzoli, R. (2011 ). Effect of music-based multitask training on gait, balance, and fall risk inelderly people. Archives of Internal Medicine, 171(60), 525-533. Retrieved from http://www.sbms.unibe.ch/meeting_11/Trombetti2011.pdf Van Deventer, A. (1981). Annie van Deventer: The Hague. In H. Van Maanen (Ed.), La Rythmique Jaques-Dalcroze: Yesterday and Today (pp. 24-28). Geneva: FIER. Voigt, M. (2013). Orff Music Therapy: History, principles and further development. Approaches: Music Therapy & Special Music Education, Special Issue 5(2), 97-105.Retrieved from https://approaches.gr/orff-music-therapy-history-principles-and-further-development-melanie-voigt/ Suggested citation: Habron, J. (2016). Dalcroze Eurhythmics in music therapy and special music education. Approaches: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Music Therapy, Special Issue 8(2), 100-104. [1] Italics in original. [2] The letters between Jaques-Dalcroze and Claparède are in the Bibliotheque de Genève and would repay editing and detailed study to illuminate this historical thread within Dalcroze Studies. [3] ‘Rhythmik’ (translated here as ‘Rhythmics’) is also known as ‘Musik und Bewegungspädagogik’ or ‘Rhythmisch-musikalische Erziehung’. Readers will come across different usages in this special issue. [4] For a report of the 2nd International Conference of Dalcroze Studies, see Conlan (this special issue) and for information about the 3rd International Conference of Dalcroze Studies (Quebec City, 2017), see page 111.
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Patti-Signorelli, Anna, and José Javier Romero-Díaz de la Guardia. "CHAPTER 4: The biopsychosocial model and what it means for understanding inclusion in education - Brahm Norwich Introduction This chapter focuses on two specific pieces of Paul Cooper’s writing from 19 and 15 years ago respectively, namely his ideas about the biopsychosocial model and how he developed and used this perspective in unique ways to expand our thinking about inclusion and inclusive education. I believe this will give me the opportunity to show the detail of his analyses and way he engaged in the key debates going on in the field. It will also enable me to show the continuing relevance /of the arguments he voiced to current issues and concerns. Paul’s intellectual approach has been to oppose what he sees as false oppositions or dichotomies and this is something I have learned from and shared with him. The biopsychosocial model was for him a way to combine and bring together a more complex synthesis not just as an intellectual exercise, but as critical to enhancing educational practice, especially for those with disability and difficulties. A critical discussion of education, ADHD and the biopsychosocial (BPS) perspective Paul Cooper’s paper on the biopsychosocial perspective (Cooper, 2008) focuses on ADHD to propose a BPS model or what is called here a ‘paradigm’ as a way forward to address controversies amongst educationalists. Its argument had and continues to have much wider significance for the field of special educational needs and inclusive education. The main point in the paper was to show how the polarity between biological and social explanations for learning and behaviour problems had become redundant and unhelpful. ADHD it was stated was influenced by both biology and the social environment and indeed was ‘socially constructed’. But, this notion of social construction was not like the one adopted by the social model advocates referenced in the paper and still widely used in the 2020s. Shakespeare (2018, p. 68), for example, refers to the social model of disability as ‘the idea that people are disabled by society, rather than by their bodies’. What motivated Paul was the negativity towards the ADHD concept based on what he saw as: ‘outdated thinking and a lack of understanding of the diagnosis and the biopsychosocial paradigm through which it can be usefully understood’ (p. 457). Before examining the arguments about a social or a BPS model of ADHD, it worth exploring the usage of the terms in these models in written publications generally and in relation to academic research publications in education. Using the google ngram viewer system shows that the phrase ’social model of disability’ is used 114 times more in those texts covered within the google system than the phrase ‘biopsychosocial model of disability’ published in 2019. In addition, references to the phrase ‘social model of disability; increased 2.6 times from 2000 to 2019. By contrast, the use of the phrase ‘biopsychosocial model of disability’ increased more rapidly by 9.3 times, over the same period. Though this analysis is confined to those ngram accessed books in English, it does show that the ‘social model’ was used in this corpus considerably more than the ‘BPS model’. This is so even when the ‘BPS model’ had a greater increase in usage compared to the ‘social model’ over this almost two decade period. This picture is repeated when examining research literature references in education using the Education Research Complete database (ERC). In a search for literature with the terms ‘inclusive education or inclusion or mainstreaming or integration’ and either ‘biopsychosocial model’ or ‘social model’, it was found that there were 13 times as many references for social model than BPS model. It is clear from these analyses that Paul Cooper’s position has not been widely adopted since the 2000s and into the late 2010s, despite the international interest in the WHO International Classification of Functioning (ICF), which adopts a BPS model of disability (Hollenweger, 2012). My argument here is that this does not detract from the value and importance of the arguments in his paper. I am not going into the details of the case for the usefulness and risks in the use of medical classification systems that include ADHD as the most prevalent of childhood behaviour disorders. Cooper’s 2008 paper does this, and no doubt since then the current state of knowledge about ADHD has changed. What I will focus on is the argument made by Paul Cooper about the involvement of biological processes in functioning that comes to be identified as ADHD. Here he considered evidence for there being a problem in the response inhibition system, involving neuropsychological executive functioning mechanisms implicating physiological processes in the frontal lobes of the brain. In addition, he also implicates the genetic studies that have shown a much greater incidence of ADHD among identical than non-identical twins and among children who are biologically related as opposed to adopted. What he resists is the polarising between recognising these biological processes on human behaviour and the social processes; the either – or in favour of the both – and perspective. This is a central point in the commentary I am making of Paul Cooper’s positions and one which will be made too in relation to his ideas about inclusion in education below. The BPS model he is advocating rejects a biological determinism and represents biological factors as being mediated by psychosocial processes; the biological is subjected to social construction at various social and psychological levels. See Figure 4.1 which represents this kind of BPS model. In this respect the BPS model he advocates has strong links to Bronfenbrenner’s bio-ecological model (Bronfenbrenner and Morris, 2006). It is notable that many references to Bronfenbrenner’s ecological model have tended to also split the biological from the psycho-social (Tudge et al., 2009). Figure 4.1 Factors in interaction in the bio-psycho-social model of ADHD Critical reactions to ADHD have involved the dismissal of ADHD by some as a medical construct that individualises educational failure and disruptive behaviour. Part of the aversion to ADHD has been its use to legitimise the practice of using drugs as a form of social control of defiant children. Some argued this approach represented wrong-headed pseudo-science. The argument which Paul Cooper focussed on was the assertion that this individualised these problems, distract from how schools and teachers were involved in these problems, and so absolve them of responsibility to provide relevant opportunities for these groups. He countered this argument by claiming that the BPS model recognises that schools are a major setting through which institutional control and pedagogical practices contribute to the construction of ADHD. In his argument for a more complex BPS model, he countered the arguments of authors like Slee (1995) who were critical of what they portrayed as: ‘The monism of locating the nature of [classroom] disruption in the neurological infrastructure of the child is myopic and convenient’ (Slee, 1995, p. 74). Slee has continued this critical line of argument with his more recent views about the language of special educational needs in referring to: ‘the saturation of our discourse and thinking with the quasi-medical posturing of special educational needs. The conceptual foundations and usage of terms like special educational needs passes without a second thought’ (Slee, 2018; p. 78). Paul Cooper’s thorough response to four challenges from the critical perspective continue to be very relevant to the current circumstances. Firstly, it has been claimed that the ADHD diagnosis is somehow bogus or ‘illicit’ because there is an absence of neuro-scientific evidence. In this article he illustrates how this is ‘patently untrue’ (p. 463). Secondly, ADHD is sometimes claimed to be an example of biological determinism, a claim which expresses a fear of determinism and its associated denial of human agency. Here he has sympathy with this fear but shows how this is not well founded as regards developmental opportunities, given the interaction between biological inheritance and environmental factors in the development of behavioural difficulties. Paul Cooper argued that not only were there several biological pathways implicated in the development of ADHD, but that ADHD is not biologically determined in the simplistic sense suggested by some; see the Slee quote above. He turns the argument by ADHD critics about ADHD diverting attention from school factors against their position. He suggests that portraying ADHD as an example of biological determinism, itself diverts attention from converting a biopsychosocial account of ADHD into pedagogical and other interventions. By knowing more about the biological, psychological and social factors in ADHD enables us, he argued, to avoid aggravating experienced difficulties and promoting educational engagement. The third challenge he addressed was that an ADHD ‘diagnosis’ rests on value-laden, culturally-specific judgements about behavioural or cognitive norms. Here Paul Cooper adopts a perspective, not often found in debates about behaviour difficulties and school education norms. He recognised that children who are biologically predisposed to develop ADHD can be at a disadvantage by culturally based assumptions about appropriate school and classroom behaviour. But, this, he argues, does not reflect on the clinicians who identify ADHD, but reflects on the weaknesses of, what he called, ‘Western mass education’. This issue is about whether to change the educational environment to accommodate the student or to change the student to enable him or her to engage with an unchanging environment. As Paul Cooper recognised the attempt is often made to combine environmental and individual changes. He suggested that using medication can be seen as the failure of the school to make changes that enable the student with ADHD to engage effectively. The implications for those wanting to make schools more inclusive is to learn the lesson that ADHD teaches about shaping the educational environment to improve learning opportunities. In discussing how he approached this challenge, it is also notable that some psychologists have adopted more recently a BPS model of ADHD and supplemented the social aspects with a focus on the cultural aspects that relate to the mental health needs of culturally and linguistically diverse children and young people (Pham, 2015). The fourth challenge Paul Cooper responded to was that accepting an ADHD diagnosis ‘legitimise[s] the practice of drugging defiant children into docility’ (Skidmore, 2004, p. 4). To this he points out that informed opinion does not consider medication for ADHD as an essential treatment, and that whatever is decided is to be in the context of a multi-modal treatment programme that includes psychosocial and educational interventions. In his paper he refers to the UK guidance from 2000 and this is still the current guidelines (NICE, 2018). How parents participate in intervention selection is also illustrated in Pham (2015). The linked and final challenge he dealt with was that ADHD represents the wrongful medicalisation of defiance in school children. Here Paul Cooper questioned the link between defiance and the functional issues associated with ADHD. He suggested that defiance is better considered as a cognitive distortion affecting social engagement rather than a deficit in executive functioning associated with ADHD. So, not complying with parent wishes is seen as non-volitional and not to be confused with defiance. For him what was concerning was the ‘high moral tone’ (p. 470) which concealed limited understanding about ADHD that he believed could be dangerous. A crucial difference between the social and BPS models In defending the BPS model from critical arguments, Paul Cooper did not examine the ideological or value basis for the knowledge claims in these debates. From a critical perspective, it has been suggested by Slee & Weiner (2001) that it is possible to identify two groups of researchers, which they characterise in these terms, namely those who work within, what they call the ‘positivist paradigm’, accept the way things are, attempt to make marginal reforms and who criticise ‘full inclusion’ as ideological; and those who see inclusive education as cultural politics and call for educational reconstruction. This distinction between a positivist / technical versus cultural political position can be aligned with one between an investigatory versus an emancipatory perspective to research about disability (Oliver, 1999). Oliver frames the research-as-investigation as the dominant form of social research which is unacceptable to oppressed groups, such as those with disabilities, who aim to collectively empower themselves. In this perspective the social model of disability expresses the emancipatory stance which is pursued through cultural politics. This contrasts with a technical – interventionist perspective that derives from what Slee and Weiner (2001) call a ‘positivist paradigm’ and is associated with what is called a medical or a bio-medical model. It can be seen that this dichotomy between research stances embraces the splitting which Paul Cooper argued against. Figure 4.2 below represents these distinct research stances as adopting emancipatory or investigatory values, while showing their main focus and linked assumptions. With emancipatory values the main focus is on reducing the oppression of the vulnerable with this being done through collective socio-political action and in doing so entailing a causal assumption that it is the dominant social system that oppresses. With investigatory values, the main focus is on identifying complex causal models of a phenomenon and in doing so assumes that this knowledge can be used for subsequent improvement interventions. Figure 4.2 Value bases underlying different research stances One of the main arguments in this chapter is that there are links and common elements to these two basic value positions, so raising questions about the split and opposition between them. Both connect knowledge with action for social change, on one hand, and both assume some causal processes, on the other. The difference is in the assumptions of their main focus. Identifying complex causal processes (e.g. that includes social processes as part of a BPS perspective) is the primary focus of the investigatory stance, while change depends on applying this knowledge in interventions. This stance represents an outsider-spectator-intervenor perspective. By contrast, reducing the oppression of the vulnerable is the primary focus of the emancipatory stance, with this being through collective political and social action. This stance represents an insider-participator perspective. So, while distinct, there are connections to be recognised between them which can help to understand what the social stands for in these two models. The social in the social model stands for where change is to be focussed; in the socio-political arena. The social, by contrast, in the BPS model stands for the social factors that need to be understood in their interaction with bio-psychological causal factors. Making use of the distinction between insider-outsider role perspectives enables us to see how these different value stances can be connected and not seen as opposites to select between. As Paul Cooper argued in his 2008 paper, informed opinion does not consider medication for ADHD as an essential treatment / intervention; the BPS model implies multi-modal methods including psychosocial and educational interventions (NICE, 2018). Intervention / treatment acceptability is also an important consideration when considering individual children with identified ADHD from a BPS perspective, as illustrated in Pham’s (2015) case study. This implies that parents and young people will participate in action decisions, which gives them an insider role. However, the social model goes beyond insider participation at the individual level, to involve collective participation at institutional and societal levels too. This is where the BPS model could be open to insider participation beyond the individual level, to see the value of institutional and societal participation too. And, as the BPS can be open to the collective action of the social model, so the social model can be open to the outsider perspective’s recognition of multi-level causal processes (including the bio-psychological levels) and their associated interventions. Inclusion as a buzz-word In this 2008 paper Paul Cooper suggested that the use of insights from the BPS model in developing educational provision is likely to lead to a more genuinely inclusive education system. This was written after an earlier editorial he wrote in the journal Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties in 2004 (Cooper, 2004). Here he pointed to the overuse and misuse of the word inclusion, suggesting that it will lose its meaning and that the purposes for which it was coined will become neglected. One way of challenging this misuse, he mentioned, was to be vigilant about how it is used and to call for greater clarity. In this editorial he stated that social inclusion is about active participation and engagement with other people. With inclusive education, he continued, it is not just about social inclusion, but an individual’s active engagement in formal learning processes. Here Paul Cooper goes beyond common ideas about inclusion which are defined in terms of social and academic participation (as in the Inclusion Index; Booth and Ainscow, 2011), by clarifying that it is also about academic and social engagement. From this it was clear that inclusion was more than both location / placement and social interaction with other people; it was also about personal engagement with others and with formal learning. Paul Cooper was not alone in linking engagement with inclusion, he shared this with Mary Warnock, the chair of the Warnock Committee which in 1978 set out new policies about the education of children and young people with disabilities and difficulties (Warnock, 2005). In her 2005 policy paper she rejected the idea of educational inclusion as about ‘all children under the same roof’. She preferred a learning concept of inclusion, which was about: ‘including all children in the common educational enterprise of learning, wherever they learn best’ (Warnock, 2005). Though she does not use the term ‘engagement’ as such, her notion of learning where done best connects with ‘engagement’ and prioritises this over placement, a view which was also adopted later by Paul for the area of education of children and young people with social, emotional and behaviour difficulties (Cooper and Jacobs, 2011). Paul Cooper drew on the psychological ideas of Marjorie Boxall in the Boxall Profile (Bennathan and Boxall, 2003) to connect Inclusion with engagement, as he mentioned in his 2004 editorial. For him engagement was at the heart of educational inclusion from a cognitive perspective. He adopted the five subskills of what the Boxall Profile termed ‘the organization of experience’: whether the child gives purposeful attention, participates constructively, connects up experiences, shows insightful involvement and engages cognitively with peers. Within this framework he recognised that children with social, emotional and behavioural difficulties (SEBD) can have problems with some or all of these skills. So, it can be argued that the child who experiences SEBD is socially, emotionally and cognitively excluded from what is going in class lessons; with SEBD being framed as a barrier to inclusion. This concept of a barrier is very different to that proposed from a social model perspective as in the Inclusion Index (Booth and Ainscow, 2011), in which barriers are only external to the person. But, Paul Cooper does not draw the conclusion that children with SEBD can never be ‘included’. Here he makes the distinction between inclusion-as-location and inclusion-as-engagement, with the implication that in some cases when there is not mainstream class inclusion this does not mean there cannot be some engagement inclusion. He also reminded us that inclusion is such that nobody is ever fully included in any situation all the time. In this sense his ideas resemble Qvortrup and Qvortrup’s (2018) argument that inclusion and exclusion are connected through peoples’ simultaneous involvement in different social arenas. With social interactions involving negotiations in all situations, Paul Cooper argued that any episode can result in tensions and the rejection of the people involved . This is a feature of our lives and in this respect the child experiencing SEBD is no different from others. However, he pointed out that the child or young person with a SEBD is at greater risk of rejection or exclusion, which may be attributed to individual characteristics in interaction with social circumstances (in line with a BPS model). Using this notion of engagement, he also approached the questions of teaching children and young people with SEBD in terms of the BPS model. In avoiding a focus just on problems located in the student, he adopted an interactionist perspective that combined specialist teaching knowledge about individual differences with teachers’ practical thinking about decision-making that led to adapted teaching (Cooper, 2004). He reviewed in this 2004 chapter and in his later 2008 paper discussed above, the various teaching strategies that research had shown to promote further engagement for children with ADHD. It is useful here to compare his engagement perspective to a well-known ‘Inclusive Pedagogy (IP) framework for participation in classrooms’ developed by Florian and Black-Hawkins (2011). This framework in covering access, collaboration, achievement and diversity aimed to extend what was typically available in the classroom community to all. It avoided having learning activities for most being alongside different activities for some who experience difficulties. It also proposed differentiation by pupil choice for everyone while rejecting ability grouping. This is an approach that required flexibility to be driven by need and not curriculum coverage, while seeing difficulties in learning as professional challenges rather than learner deficits. Though Paul Cooper’s perspective agreed with some elements of this inclusive pedagogy framework (e.g. flexibility and responding to learning difficulties as a challenge), his does not accept the either-or polarity at the core of the framework with the adoption of only one option: differentiation by choice v. by grouping and only opting for the former, or seeing learning difficulties as a professional challenge v. learner deficits and opting only for the challenge option). This IP framework reflects the medical v social model polarity that he argued against while favouring a BPS model. Based on his approach of seeing social and academic engagement as being at the heart of educational and social inclusion, he believed that it followed that: ‘students are best placed in educational settings where they have access to and support for maximum social and academic engagement’. (Cooper, 2004, p. 222). In his view, this meant that there was no simple way to decide about the provision setting. For some pupils this meant access to various forms of provision, but always a detailed analysis of individual capabilities and needs as well as what provision affords should determine the decisions. Conclusion This chapter has focussed on two of Paul Cooper’s papers in which he explained and justified his ideas about the biopsychosocial model and how he developed and used this perspective in unique ways to expand our thinking about inclusion and inclusive education. Through relating and contrasting these with other contemporary and current ideas I hope to have shown his distinctive and insightful contribution. I have also tried to extend his adoption of a both-and rather than an either-or approach by discussing the epistemological and value bases of different models, on one hand, and how difference and distinction does not imply irreconcilable opposition between the key models in the field. References: Bennathan, M. & Boxall, M. (2003) The Boxall Profile. East Sutton: SEBDA. Booth, T. and Ainscow, M. (2011) Index for Inclusion: developing learning and participation in schools. 3rd ed. Bristol: CSIE. Bronfenbrenner, U., and Morris, P. (2006) The bioecological model of human development. In W. Damon & R. M. Lerner (Eds.), Handbook of child psychology: Vol. 1. Theoretical models of human development (6th ed., pp. 793–828). Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Cooper, P. (2004) Is ‘inclusion’ just a buzz-word?, Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties, 9:4, 219-222, DOI: 10.1177/1363275204051391 Cooper, P. (2004) ‘AD/HD’, in A. Lewis & B. Norwich (eds) Special Teaching for Special Children? Pedagogies for Inclusion. Buckingham: Open University Press. Cooper, P. (2008) Like Alligators Bobbing for Poodles? A Critical Discussion of Education, ADHD and the Biopsychosocial Perspective. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 42, 3-4, 457-474. Cooper, P. and Jacobs, B. (2011) From Inclusion to Engagement: Helping Students Engage with Schooling Through Policy and Practice. London: Wiley. Florian, L. and Black-Hawkins, K. (2011) Exploring inclusive pedagogy, British Educational Research Journal, 37, 5, pp. 813-828. Hollenweger, J. (2012) Using the International Classification of Functioning, Disability and health Children and Youth version in education systems. American Journal of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation, 91, 13, pp. 97-102. NICE (2018) Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder: diagnosis and management NICE guidelines. Published: 14 March 2018. Access on 23.5.23 www.nice.org.uk/guidance/ng87 Oliver, M. (1999) Final accounts and the parasite people. in Corker, M. and French, S. (eds.) Disability discourse. (eds.) Maidenhead: Open University Press. Pham, A.V. (2015) Understanding ADHD from a Biopsychosocial-Cultural Framework: A Case Study. Contemporary School Psychology, 19:54–62. Qvortrup, A. and Qvortrup, L. (2018). Inclusion: Dimensions of inclusion in education. International Journal of Inclusive Education, 22(7), 803-817. Shakespeare, T. (2018) Disability: the basics. London: Routledge. Skidmore, D. (2004) Inclusion. Buckingham,: Open University Press. Slee, R. (1995) Changing Theories and Practices of Discipline. London, Falmer. Slee, R. and Weiner, G. (2001). Education Reform and Reconstruction as a Challenge to Research Genres: Reconsidering School Effectiveness Research and Inclusive Schooling. School Effectiveness and School Improvement, 12:1, 83-98, DOI: 10.1076/sesi.12.1.83.3463 Slee, R. (2018) Inclusive Education isn’t Dead, it Just Smells Funny. London: Routledge. Tudge, J.R.H., Mokrova, I., Hatfield, B.E. and Karnik, R.B. (2009) Uses and Misuses of Bronfenbrenner’s Bioecological Theory of Human Development. Journal of Family Theory & Review, 1, 198–210. Warnock, M. (2005) Special Educational Needs: A New Look. London: Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain, Impact Series No. 11." International Journal of Emotional Education 15, no. 2 (November 2023). http://dx.doi.org/10.56300/esja4186.

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The present study aimed to determine the emotional characteristics of the Trait-Meta-Mood-Scale (TMMS-24) in music-oriented secondary school students in Italy. A 24-item self-assessment protocol was applied to measure the level of perceived emotional intelligence according to 3 dimensions: attention, clarity and repair. This tool represents one of the most widely used self-assessment measures of perceived emotional intelligence. The objective of the study was to conduct construct validation to examine reliability of the Italian version of the TMMS-24 in order to identify its feasibility for the assessment of emotional intelligence. Exploratory and confirmatory factorial analyses were conducted on a sample of music-oriented secondary school students in Italy (n=402). Exploratory factor analysis outcomes revealed that the three dimensions of the original scale (attention, clarity and emotional repair) are supported in the examined context, showing adequate internal consistency and describing 52.6% of overall variance. Outcomes were confirmed via confirmatory analysis, obtaining good fit indices (CFI=0.986; TLI=0.985; RMSEA=0.038). The TMMS-24 scale is a valid and reliable instrument for measuring the emotional intelligence of secondary school students in Italy. Keywords: TMMS-24, emotional intelligence, secondary school education, exploratory factor analysis, confirmatory factor analysis.
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Kabir, Nahid. "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?" M/C Journal 10, no. 4 (August 1, 2007). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2700.

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Introduction I am a transmigrant who has moved back and forth between the West and the Rest. I was born and raised in a Muslim family in a predominantly Muslim country, Bangladesh, but I spent several years of my childhood in Pakistan. After my marriage, I lived in the United States for a year and a half, the Middle East for 5 years, Australia for three years, back to the Middle East for another 5 years, then, finally, in Australia for the last 12 years. I speak Bengali (my mother tongue), Urdu (which I learnt in Pakistan), a bit of Arabic (learnt in the Middle East); but English has always been my medium of instruction. So where is home? Is it my place of origin, the Muslim umma, or my land of settlement? Or is it my ‘root’ or my ‘route’ (Blunt and Dowling)? Blunt and Dowling (199) observe that the lives of transmigrants are often interpreted in terms of their ‘roots’ and ‘routes’, which are two frameworks for thinking about home, homeland and diaspora. Whereas ‘roots’ might imply an original homeland from which people have scattered, and to which they might seek to return, ‘routes’ focuses on mobile, multiple and transcultural geographies of home. However, both ‘roots’ and ‘routes’ are attached to emotion and identity, and both invoke a sense of place, belonging or alienation that is intrinsically tied to a sense of self (Blunt and Dowling 196-219). In this paper, I equate home with my root (place of birth) and route (transnational homing) within the context of the ‘diaspora and belonging’. First I define the diaspora and possible criteria of belonging. Next I describe my transnational homing within the framework of diaspora and belonging. Finally, I consider how Australia can be a ‘home’ for me and other Muslim Australians. The Diaspora and Belonging Blunt and Dowling (199) define diaspora as “scattering of people over space and transnational connections between people and the places”. Cohen emphasised the ethno-cultural aspects of the diaspora setting; that is, how migrants identify and position themselves in other nations in terms of their (different) ethnic and cultural orientation. Hall argues that the diasporic subjects form a cultural identity through transformation and difference. Speaking of the Hindu diaspora in the UK and Caribbean, Vertovec (21-23) contends that the migrants’ contact with their original ‘home’ or diaspora depends on four factors: migration processes and factors of settlement, cultural composition, structural and political power, and community development. With regard to the first factor, migration processes and factors of settlement, Vertovec explains that if the migrants are political or economic refugees, or on a temporary visa, they are likely to live in a ‘myth of return’. In the cultural composition context, Vertovec argues that religion, language, region of origin, caste, and degree of cultural homogenisation are factors in which migrants are bound to their homeland. Concerning the social structure and political power issue, Vertovec suggests that the extent and nature of racial and ethnic pluralism or social stigma, class composition, degree of institutionalised racism, involvement in party politics (or active citizenship) determine migrants’ connection to their new or old home. Finally, community development, including membership in organisations (political, union, religious, cultural, leisure), leadership qualities, and ethnic convergence or conflict (trends towards intra-communal or inter-ethnic/inter-religious co-operation) would also affect the migrants’ sense of belonging. Using these scholarly ideas as triggers, I will examine my home and belonging over the last few decades. My Home In an initial stage of my transmigrant history, my home was my root (place of birth, Dhaka, Bangladesh). Subsequently, my routes (settlement in different countries) reshaped my homes. In all respects, the ethno-cultural factors have played a big part in my definition of ‘home’. But on some occasions my ethnic identification has been overridden by my religious identification and vice versa. By ethnic identity, I mean my language (mother tongue) and my connection to my people (Bangladeshi). By my religious identity, I mean my Muslim religion, and my spiritual connection to the umma, a Muslim nation transcending all boundaries. Umma refers to the Muslim identity and unity within a larger Muslim group across national boundaries. The only thing the members of the umma have in common is their Islamic belief (Spencer and Wollman 169-170). In my childhood my father, a banker, was relocated to Karachi, Pakistan (then West Pakistan). Although I lived in Pakistan for much of my childhood, I have never considered it to be my home, even though it is predominantly a Muslim country. In this case, my home was my root (Bangladesh) where my grandparents and extended family lived. Every year I used to visit my grandparents who resided in a small town in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan). Thus my connection with my home was sustained through my extended family, ethnic traditions, language (Bengali/Bangla), and the occasional visits to the landscape of Bangladesh. Smith (9-11) notes that people build their connection or identity to their homeland through their historic land, common historical memories, myths, symbols and traditions. Though Pakistan and Bangladesh had common histories, their traditions of language, dress and ethnic culture were very different. For example, the celebration of the Bengali New Year (Pohela Baishakh), folk dance, folk music and folk tales, drama, poetry, lyrics of poets Rabindranath Tagore (Rabindra Sangeet) and Nazrul Islam (Nazrul Geeti) are distinct in the cultural heritage of Bangladesh. Special musical instruments such as the banshi (a bamboo flute), dhol (drums), ektara (a single-stringed instrument) and dotara (a four-stringed instrument) are unique to Bangladeshi culture. The Bangladeshi cuisine (rice and freshwater fish) is also different from Pakistan where people mainly eat flat round bread (roti) and meat (gosh). However, my bonding factor to Bangladesh was my relatives, particularly my grandparents as they made me feel one of ‘us’. Their affection for me was irreplaceable. The train journey from Dhaka (capital city) to their town, Noakhali, was captivating. The hustle and bustle at the train station and the lush green paddy fields along the train journey reminded me that this was my ‘home’. Though I spoke the official language (Urdu) in Pakistan and had a few Pakistani friends in Karachi, they could never replace my feelings for my friends, extended relatives and cousins who lived in Bangladesh. I could not relate to the landscape or dry weather of Pakistan. More importantly, some Pakistani women (our neighbours) were critical of my mother’s traditional dress (saree), and described it as revealing because it showed a bit of her back. They took pride in their traditional dress (shalwar, kameez, dopatta), which they considered to be more covered and ‘Islamic’. So, because of our traditional dress (saree) and perhaps other differences, we were regarded as the ‘Other’. In 1970 my father was relocated back to Dhaka, Bangladesh, and I was glad to go home. It should be noted that both Pakistan and Bangladesh were separated from India in 1947 – first as one nation; then, in 1971, Bangladesh became independent from Pakistan. The conflict between Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) and Pakistan (then West Pakistan) originated for economic and political reasons. At this time I was a high school student and witnessed acts of genocide committed by the Pakistani regime against the Bangladeshis (March-December 1971). My memories of these acts are vivid and still very painful. After my marriage, I moved from Bangladesh to the United States. In this instance, my new route (Austin, Texas, USA), as it happened, did not become my home. Here the ethno-cultural and Islamic cultural factors took precedence. I spoke the English language, made some American friends, and studied history at the University of Texas. I appreciated the warm friendship extended to me in the US, but experienced a degree of culture shock. I did not appreciate the pub life, alcohol consumption, and what I perceived to be the lack of family bonds (children moving out at the age of 18, families only meeting occasionally on birthdays and Christmas). Furthermore, I could not relate to de facto relationships and acceptance of sex before marriage. However, to me ‘home’ meant a family orientation and living in close contact with family. Besides the cultural divide, my husband and I were living in the US on student visas and, as Vertovec (21-23) noted, temporary visa status can deter people from their sense of belonging to the host country. In retrospect I can see that we lived in the ‘myth of return’. However, our next move for a better life was not to our root (Bangladesh), but another route to the Muslim world of Dhahran in Saudi Arabia. My husband moved to Dhahran not because it was a Muslim world but because it gave him better economic opportunities. However, I thought this new destination would become my home – the home that was coined by Anderson as the imagined nation, or my Muslim umma. Anderson argues that the imagined communities are “to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined” (6; Wood 61). Hall (122) asserts: identity is actually formed through unconscious processes over time, rather than being innate in consciousness at birth. There is always something ‘imaginary’ or fantasized about its unity. It always remains incomplete, is always ‘in process’, always ‘being formed’. As discussed above, when I had returned home to Bangladesh from Pakistan – both Muslim countries – my primary connection to my home country was my ethnic identity, language and traditions. My ethnic identity overshadowed the religious identity. But when I moved to Saudi Arabia, where my ethnic identity differed from that of the mainstream Arabs and Bedouin/nomadic Arabs, my connection to this new land was through my Islamic cultural and religious identity. Admittedly, this connection to the umma was more psychological than physical, but I was now in close proximity to Mecca, and to my home of Dhaka, Bangladesh. Mecca is an important city in Saudi Arabia for Muslims because it is the holy city of Islam, the home to the Ka’aba (the religious centre of Islam), and the birthplace of Prophet Muhammad [Peace Be Upon Him]. It is also the destination of the Hajj, one of the five pillars of Islamic faith. Therefore, Mecca is home to significant events in Islamic history, as well as being an important present day centre for the Islamic faith. We lived in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia for 5 years. Though it was a 2.5 hours flight away, I treasured Mecca’s proximity and regarded Dhahran as my second and spiritual home. Saudi Arabia had a restricted lifestyle for women, but I liked it because it was a Muslim country that gave me the opportunity to perform umrah Hajj (pilgrimage). However, Saudi Arabia did not allow citizenship to expatriates. Saudi Arabia’s government was keen to protect the status quo and did not want to compromise its cultural values or standard of living by allowing foreigners to become a permanent part of society. In exceptional circumstances only, the King granted citizenship to a foreigner for outstanding service to the state over a number of years. Children of foreigners born in Saudi Arabia did not have rights of local citizenship; they automatically assumed the nationality of their parents. If it was available, Saudi citizenship would assure expatriates a secure and permanent living in Saudi Arabia; as it was, there was a fear among the non-Saudis that they would have to leave the country once their job contract expired. Under the circumstances, though my spiritual connection to Mecca was strong, my husband was convinced that Saudi Arabia did not provide any job security. So, in 1987 when Australia offered migration to highly skilled people, my husband decided to migrate to Australia for a better and more secure economic life. I agreed to his decision, but quite reluctantly because we were again moving to a non-Muslim part of the world, which would be culturally different and far away from my original homeland (Bangladesh). In Australia, we lived first in Brisbane, then Adelaide, and after three years we took our Australian citizenship. At that stage I loved the Barossa Valley and Victor Harbour in South Australia, and the Gold Coast and Sunshine Coast in Queensland, but did not feel at home in Australia. We bought a house in Adelaide and I was a full time home-maker but was always apprehensive that my children (two boys) would lose their culture in this non-Muslim world. In 1990 we once again moved back to the Muslim world, this time to Muscat, Sultanate of Oman. My connection to this route was again spiritual. I valued the fact that we would live in a Muslim country and our children would be brought up in a Muslim environment. But my husband’s move was purely financial as he got a lucrative job offer in Muscat. We had another son in Oman. We enjoyed the luxurious lifestyle provided by my husband’s workplace and the service provided by the housemaid. I loved the beaches and freedom to drive my car, and I appreciated the friendly Omani people. I also enjoyed our frequent trips (4 hours flight) to my root, Dhaka, Bangladesh. So our children were raised within our ethnic and Islamic culture, remained close to my root (family in Dhaka), though they attended a British school in Muscat. But by the time I started considering Oman to be my second home, we had to leave once again for a place that could provide us with a more secure future. Oman was like Saudi Arabia; it employed expatriates only on a contract basis, and did not give them citizenship (not even fellow Muslims). So after 5 years it was time to move back to Australia. It was with great reluctance that I moved with my husband to Brisbane in 1995 because once again we were to face a different cultural context. As mentioned earlier, we lived in Brisbane in the late 1980s; I liked the weather, the landscape, but did not consider it home for cultural reasons. Our boys started attending expensive private schools and we bought a house in a prestigious Western suburb in Brisbane. Soon after arriving I started my tertiary education at the University of Queensland, and finished an MA in Historical Studies in Indian History in 1998. Still Australia was not my home. I kept thinking that we would return to my previous routes or the ‘imagined’ homeland somewhere in the Middle East, in close proximity to my root (Bangladesh), where we could remain economically secure in a Muslim country. But gradually I began to feel that Australia was becoming my ‘home’. I had gradually become involved in professional and community activities (with university colleagues, the Bangladeshi community and Muslim women’s organisations), and in retrospect I could see that this was an early stage of my ‘self-actualisation’ (Maslow). Through my involvement with diverse people, I felt emotionally connected with the concerns, hopes and dreams of my Muslim-Australian friends. Subsequently, I also felt connected with my mainstream Australian friends whose emotions and fears (9/11 incident, Bali bombing and 7/7 tragedy) were similar to mine. In late 1998 I started my PhD studies on the immigration history of Australia, with a particular focus on the historical settlement of Muslims in Australia. This entailed retrieving archival files and interviewing people, mostly Muslims and some mainstream Australians, and enquiring into relevant migration issues. I also became more active in community issues, and was not constrained by my circumstances. By circumstances, I mean that even though I belonged to a patriarchally structured Muslim family, where my husband was the main breadwinner, main decision-maker, my independence and research activities (entailing frequent interstate trips for data collection, and public speaking) were not frowned upon or forbidden (Khan 14-15); fortunately, my husband appreciated my passion for research and gave me his trust and support. This, along with the Muslim community’s support (interviews), and the wider community’s recognition (for example, the publication of my letters in Australian newspapers, interviews on radio and television) enabled me to develop my self-esteem and built up my bicultural identity as a Muslim in a predominantly Christian country and as a Bangladeshi-Australian. In 2005, for the sake of a better job opportunity, my husband moved to the UK, but this time I asserted that I would not move again. I felt that here in Australia (now in Perth) I had a job, an identity and a home. This time my husband was able to secure a good job back in Australia and was only away for a year. I no longer dream of finding a home in the Middle East. Through my bicultural identity here in Australia I feel connected to the wider community and to the Muslim umma. However, my attachment to the umma has become ambivalent. I feel proud of my Australian-Muslim identity but I am concerned about the jihadi ideology of militant Muslims. By jihadi ideology, I mean the extremist ideology of the al-Qaeda terrorist group (Farrar 2007). The Muslim umma now incorporates both moderate and radical Muslims. The radical Muslims (though only a tiny minority of 1.4 billion Muslims worldwide) pose a threat to their moderate counterparts as well as to non-Muslims. In the UK, some second- and third-generation Muslims identify themselves with the umma rather than their parents’ homelands or their country of birth (Husain). It should not be a matter of concern if these young Muslims adopt a ‘pure’ Muslim identity, providing at the same time they are loyal to their country of residence. But when they resort to terrorism with their ‘pure’ Muslim identity (e.g., the 7/7 London bombers) they defame my religion Islam, and undermine my spiritual connection to the umma. As a 1st generation immigrant, the defining criteria of my ‘homeliness’ in Australia are my ethno-cultural and religious identity (which includes my family), my active citizenship, and my community development/contribution through my research work – all of which allow me a sense of efficacy in my life. My ethnic and religious identities generally co-exist equally, but when I see some Muslims kill my fellow Australians (such as the Bali bombings in 2002 and 2005) my Australian identity takes precedence. I feel for the victims and condemn the perpetrators. On the other hand, when I see politics play a role over the human rights issues (e.g., the Tampa incident), my religious identity begs me to comment on it (see Kabir, Muslims in Australia 295-305). Problematising ‘Home’ for Muslim Australians In the European context, Grillo (863) and Werbner (904), and in the Australian context, Kabir (Muslims in Australia) and Poynting and Mason, have identified the diversity within Islam (national, ethnic, religious etc). Werbner (904) notes that in spite of the “wishful talk of the emergence of a ‘British Islam’, even today there are Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Arab mosques, as well as Turkish and Shia’a mosques”; thus British Muslims retain their separate identities. Similarly, in Australia, the existence of separate mosques for the Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Arab and Shia’a peoples indicates that Australian Muslims have also kept their ethnic identities discrete (Saeed 64-77). However, in times of crisis, such as the Salman Rushdie affair in 1989, and the 1990-1991 Gulf crises, both British and Australian Muslims were quick to unite and express their Islamic identity by way of resistance (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 160-162; Poynting and Mason 68-70). In both British and Australian contexts, I argue that a peaceful rally or resistance is indicative of active citizenship of Muslims as it reveals their sense of belonging (also Werbner 905). So when a transmigrant Muslim wants to make a peaceful demonstration, the Western world should be encouraged, not threatened – as long as the transmigrant’s allegiances lie also with the host country. In the European context, Grillo (868) writes: when I asked Mehmet if he was planning to stay in Germany he answered without hesitation: ‘Yes, of course’. And then, after a little break, he added ‘as long as we can live here as Muslims’. In this context, I support Mehmet’s desire to live as a Muslim in a non-Muslim world as long as this is peaceful. Paradoxically, living a Muslim life through ijtihad can be either socially progressive or destructive. The Canadian Muslim feminist Irshad Manji relies on ijtihad, but so does Osama bin Laden! Manji emphasises that ijtihad can be, on the one hand, the adaptation of Islam using independent reasoning, hybridity and the contesting of ‘traditional’ family values (c.f. Doogue and Kirkwood 275-276, 314); and, on the other, ijtihad can take the form of conservative, patriarchal and militant Islamic values. The al-Qaeda terrorist Osama bin Laden espouses the jihadi ideology of Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966), an Egyptian who early in his career might have been described as a Muslim modernist who believed that Islam and Western secular ideals could be reconciled. But he discarded that idea after going to the US in 1948-50; there he was treated as ‘different’ and that treatment turned him against the West. He came back to Egypt and embraced a much more rigid and militaristic form of Islam (Esposito 136). Other scholars, such as Cesari, have identified a third orientation – a ‘secularised Islam’, which stresses general beliefs in the values of Islam and an Islamic identity, without too much concern for practices. Grillo (871) observed Islam in the West emphasised diversity. He stressed that, “some [Muslims were] more quietest, some more secular, some more clamorous, some more negotiatory”, while some were exclusively characterised by Islamic identity, such as wearing the burqa (elaborate veils), hijabs (headscarves), beards by men and total abstinence from drinking alcohol. So Mehmet, cited above, could be living a Muslim life within the spectrum of these possibilities, ranging from an integrating mode to a strict, militant Muslim manner. In the UK context, Zubaida (96) contends that marginalised, culturally-impoverished youth are the people for whom radical, militant Islamism may have an appeal, though it must be noted that the 7/7 bombers belonged to affluent families (O’Sullivan 14; Husain). In Australia, Muslim Australians are facing three challenges. First, the Muslim unemployment rate: it was three times higher than the national total in 1996 and 2001 (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 266-278; Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 63). Second, some spiritual leaders have used extreme rhetoric to appeal to marginalised youth; in January 2007, the Australian-born imam of Lebanese background, Sheikh Feiz Mohammad, was alleged to have employed a DVD format to urge children to kill the enemies of Islam and to have praised martyrs with a violent interpretation of jihad (Chulov 2). Third, the proposed citizenship test has the potential to make new migrants’ – particularly Muslims’ – settlement in Australia stressful (Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79); in May 2007, fuelled by perceptions that some migrants – especially Muslims – were not integrating quickly enough, the Howard government introduced a citizenship test bill that proposes to test applicants on their English language skills and knowledge of Australian history and ‘values’. I contend that being able to demonstrate knowledge of history and having English language skills is no guarantee that a migrant will be a good citizen. Through my transmigrant history, I have learnt that developing a bond with a new place takes time, acceptance and a gradual change of identity, which are less likely to happen when facing assimilationist constraints. I spoke English and studied history in the United States, but I did not consider it my home. I did not speak the Arabic language, and did not study Middle Eastern history while I was in the Middle East, but I felt connected to it for cultural and religious reasons. Through my knowledge of history and English language proficiency I did not make Australia my home when I first migrated to Australia. Australia became my home when I started interacting with other Australians, which was made possible by having the time at my disposal and by fortunate circumstances, which included a fairly high level of efficacy and affluence. If I had been rejected because of my lack of knowledge of ‘Australian values’, or had encountered discrimination in the job market, I would have been much less willing to embrace my host country and call it home. I believe a stringent citizenship test is more likely to alienate would-be citizens than to induce their adoption of values and loyalty to their new home. Conclusion Blunt (5) observes that current studies of home often investigate mobile geographies of dwelling and how it shapes one’s identity and belonging. Such geographies of home negotiate from the domestic to the global context, thus mobilising the home beyond a fixed, bounded and confining location. Similarly, in this paper I have discussed how my mobile geography, from the domestic (root) to global (route), has shaped my identity. Though I received a degree of culture shock in the United States, loved the Middle East, and was at first quite resistant to the idea of making Australia my second home, the confidence I acquired in residing in these ‘several homes’ were cumulative and eventually enabled me to regard Australia as my ‘home’. I loved the Middle East, but I did not pursue an active involvement with the Arab community because I was a busy mother. Also I lacked the communication skill (fluency in Arabic) with the local residents who lived outside the expatriates’ campus. I am no longer a cultural freak. I am no longer the same Bangladeshi woman who saw her ethnic and Islamic culture as superior to all other cultures. I have learnt to appreciate Australian values, such as tolerance, ‘a fair go’ and multiculturalism (see Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79). My bicultural identity is my strength. With my ethnic and religious identity, I can relate to the concerns of the Muslim community and other Australian ethnic and religious minorities. And with my Australian identity I have developed ‘a voice’ to pursue active citizenship. Thus my biculturalism has enabled me to retain and merge my former home with my present and permanent home of Australia. References Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London, New York: Verso, 1983. Australian Bureau of Statistics: Census of Housing and Population, 1996 and 2001. Blunt, Alison. Domicile and Diaspora: Anglo-Indian Women and the Spatial Politics of Home. Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. Blunt, Alison, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London and New York: Routledge, 2006. Cesari, Jocelyne. “Muslim Minorities in Europe: The Silent Revolution.” In John L. Esposito and Burgat, eds., Modernising Islam: Religion in the Public Sphere in Europe and the Middle East. London: Hurst, 2003. 251-269. Chulov, Martin. “Treatment Has Sheik Wary of Returning Home.” Weekend Australian 6-7 Jan. 2007: 2. Cohen, Robin. Global Diasporas: An Introduction. Seattle: University of Washington, 1997. Doogue, Geraldine, and Peter Kirkwood. Tomorrow’s Islam: Uniting Old-Age Beliefs and a Modern World. Sydney: ABC Books, 2005. Esposito, John. The Islamic Threat: Myth or Reality? 3rd ed. New York, Oxford: Oxford UP, 1999. Farrar, Max. “When the Bombs Go Off: Rethinking and Managing Diversity Strategies in Leeds, UK.” International Journal of Diversity in Organisations, Communities and Nations 6.5 (2007): 63-68. Grillo, Ralph. “Islam and Transnationalism.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 30.5 (Sep. 2004): 861-878. Hall, Stuart. Polity Reader in Cultural Theory. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1994. Huntington, Samuel, P. The Clash of Civilisation and the Remaking of World Order. London: Touchstone, 1998. Husain, Ed. The Islamist: Why I Joined Radical Islam in Britain, What I Saw inside and Why I Left. London: Penguin, 2007. Kabir, Nahid. Muslims in Australia: Immigration, Race Relations and Cultural History. London: Kegan Paul, 2005. ———. “What Does It Mean to Be Un-Australian: Views of Australian Muslim Students in 2006.” People and Place 15.1 (2007): 62-79. Khan, Shahnaz. Aversion and Desire: Negotiating Muslim Female Identity in the Diaspora. Toronto: Women’s Press, 2002. Manji, Irshad. The Trouble with Islam Today. Canada:Vintage, 2005. Maslow, Abraham. Motivation and Personality. New York: Harper, 1954. O’Sullivan, J. “The Real British Disease.” Quadrant (Jan.-Feb. 2006): 14-20. Poynting, Scott, and Victoria Mason. “The Resistible Rise of Islamophobia: Anti-Muslim Racism in the UK and Australia before 11 September 2001.” Journal of Sociology 43.1 (2007): 61-86. Saeed, Abdallah. Islam in Australia. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2003. Smith, Anthony D. National Identity. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1991. Spencer, Philip, and Howard Wollman. Nationalism: A Critical Introduction. London: Sage, 2002. Vertovec, Stevens. The Hindu Diaspora: Comparative Patterns. London: Routledge. 2000. Werbner, Pnina, “Theorising Complex Diasporas: Purity and Hybridity in the South Asian Public Sphere in Britain.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 30.5 (2004): 895-911. Wood, Dennis. “The Diaspora, Community and the Vagrant Space.” In Cynthia Vanden Driesen and Ralph Crane, eds., Diaspora: The Australasian Experience. New Delhi: Prestige, 2005. 59-64. Zubaida, Sami. “Islam in Europe: Unity or Diversity.” Critical Quarterly 45.1-2 (2003): 88-98. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid. "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>. APA Style Kabir, N. (Aug. 2007) "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>.
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Taylor, Steve John. "The Complexity of Authenticity in Religious Innovation: “Alternative Worship” and Its Appropriation as “Fresh Expressions”." M/C Journal 18, no. 1 (January 20, 2015). http://dx.doi.org/10.5204/mcj.933.

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Abstract:
The use of the term authenticity in the social science literature can be rather eclectic at best and unscrupulous at worst. (Vanini, 74)We live in an age of authenticity, according to Charles Taylor, an era which prizes the finding of one’s life “against the demands of external conformity” (67–68). Taylor’s argument is that, correctly practiced, authenticity need not result in individualism or tribalism but rather a generation of people “made more self-responsible” (77).Philip Vanini has surveyed the turn toward authenticity in sociology. He has parsed the word authenticity, and argued that it has been used in three ways—factual, original, and sincere. A failure to attend to these distinctives, mixed with a “paucity of systematic empirical research” has resulted in abstract speculation (75). This article responds to Taylor’s analysis and Vanini’s challenge.My argument utilises Vanini’s theoretical frame—authenticity as factual, original, and sincere—to analyse empirical data gathered in the study of recent religious innovation occurring amongst a set of (“alternative worship”) Christian communities in the United Kingdom. I am drawing upon longitudinal research I have conducted, including participant observation in digital forums from 1997 to the present, along with semi-structured interviews conducted in the United Kingdom in 2001 and 2012.A study of “alternative worship” was deemed significant given such communities’s interaction with contemporary culture, including their use of dance music, multi-media, and social media (Baker, Taylor). Such approaches contrast with other contemporary religious approaches to culture, including a fundamentalist retreat from culture or the maintenance of a “high” culture, and thus inherited patterns of religious expression (Roberts).I argue that the discourse of “alternative worship” deploy authenticity-as-originality as essential to their identity creation. This notion of authenticity is used by these communities to locate themselves culturally (as authentically-original in contemporary cultures), and thus simultaneously to define themselves as marginal from mainstream religious expression.Intriguingly, a decade later, “alternative worship” was appropriated by the mainstream. A new organisation—Fresh Expressions—emerged from within the Church of England, and the Methodist Church in Britain that, as it developed, drew on “alternative worship” for legitimation. A focus on authenticity provides a lens by which to pay particular attention to the narratives offered by social organisations in the processes of innovation. How did the discourse deployed by Fresh Expressions in creating innovation engage “alternative worship” as an existing innovation? How did these “alternative worship” groups, who had found generative energy in their location as an alternative—authentically-original—expression, respond to this appropriation by mainstream religious life?A helpful conversation partner in teasing out the complexity of these moves within contemporary religious innovation is Sarah Thornton. She researched trends in dance clubs, and rave music in Britain, during a similar time period. Thornton highlighted the value of authenticity, which she argued was deployed in club cultures to create “subcultural capital” (98-105). She further explored how the discourses around authenticity were appropriated over time through the complex networks within which popular culture flows (Bennett; Collins; Featherstone; McRobbie; Willis).This article will demonstrate that a similar pattern—using authenticity-as-originality to create “subcultural capital”—was at work in “alternative worship.” Further, the notions of authenticity as factual, original, and sincere are helpful in parsing the complex networks that exist within the domains of religious cultures. This analysis will be two-fold, first as the mainstream appropriates, and second as the “alternative” responds.Thornton emerged “post-Birmingham.” She drew on the scholarship associated with the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, glad of their turn toward popular culture. Nevertheless she considered her work to be distinct. Thornton posited the construction of “taste cultures” through distinctions created by those inside a particular set of signs and symbols. She argued for a networked view of society, one that recognised the complex roles of media and commerce in constructing distinctions and sought a more multi-dimensional frame by which to analyse the interplay between mainstream and marginal.In order to structure my investigation, I am suggesting three stages of development capture the priority, yet complexity, of authenticity in contemporary religious innovation: generation, appropriation, complexification.Generation of Authenticity-as-OriginalityThornton (26, italics original) writes:authenticity is arguably the most important value ascribed to popular music … Music is perceived as authentic when it rings true or feels real, when it has credibility and comes across as genuine. In an age of endless representations and global mediation, the experience of musical authenticity is perceived as a cure both for alienation … and dissimulation.Thornton is arguing that in this manifestation of youth culture, authenticity is valued. Further, authenticity is a perception, attached to phrases like “rings true” and “feels real.” Therefore, authenticity is hard to measure. Perhaps this move is deliberate, an attempt by those inside the “taste culture” to preserve their “subcultural capital,”—their particular sets of distinctions.Thornton’s use of authentic slides between authenticity-as-sincerity and authenticity-as-originality. For example, in the above quote, the language of “true” and “real” is a referencing of authenticity-as-sincerity. However, as Thornton analysed the appropriation of club culture by the mainstream, she is drawing, without stating it clearly, on both authenticity-as-sincerity and authenticity-as-originality.At around the time that Thornton was analysing club cultures, a number of Christian religious groups in the United Kingdom began to incorporate features of club culture into their worship services. Churches began to experiment with services beginning at club times (9.00 pm), the playing of dance music, and the use of “video-jockeying.” According to Roberts many of these worshipping communities “had close links to this movement in dance culture” (15).A discourse of authenticity was used to legitimise such innovation. Consider the description of one worship experience, located in Sheffield, England, known as Nine o’Clock Service (Fox 9-10, italics original).We enter a round, darkened room where there are forty-two television sets and twelve large video screens and projections around the walls—projections of dancing DNA, dancing planets and galaxies and atoms … this was a very friendly place for a generation raised on television and images … these people … are doing it themselves and in the center of the city and in the center of their society: at worship itself.This description makes a number of appeals to authenticity. The phrase “a generation raised on television and images” implies another generation not raised in digitally rich environments. A “subcultural” distinction has been created. The phrase “doing it themselves” suggests that this ‘digital generation’ creates something distinct, an authentic expression of their “taste culture.” The celebration of “doing it for themselves” resonates with Charles Taylor’s analysis of an age of authenticity in which self-discovery is connected with artistic creation (62).The Nine o’Clock Service gained nationwide attention, attracting attendances of over 600 young people. Rogerson described it as “a bold and imaginative attempt at contextual theology … people were attracted to it in the first instance for aesthetic and cultural reasons” (51). The priority on the aesthetic and the cultural, in contrast to the doctrinal, suggests a valuing of authenticity-as-originality.Reading Rogerson alongside Taylor teases out a further nuance in regard to the application of authenticity. Rogerson described the Nine o’Clock Service as offering “an alternative way of living in a materialist and acquisitive world” (50). This resonates with Charles Taylor’s argument that authenticity can be practiced in ways that make people “more self-responsible” (77). It suggests that the authenticity-as-originality expressed by the Nine o’Clock Service not only appealed culturally, but also offered an ethic of authenticity. We will return to this later in my argument.Inspired by the Nine o’Clock Service, other groups in the United Kingdom began to offer a similar experience. According to Adrian Riley (6):The Nine O’clock Service … was the first worshipping community to combine elements of club culture with passionate worship … It pioneered what is commonly known as “alternative worship” … Similar groups were established themselves albeit on a smaller scale.The very term “alternative worship” is significant. Sociologist of religion Abby Day argued that “boundary-marking [creates] an identity” (50). Applying Day, the term “alternative” is being used to create an identity in contrast to the existing, mainstream church. The “digitally rich” are indeed “doing it for themselves.” To be “alternative” is to be authentically-original: to be authentically-original means a participant cannot, by definition, be mainstream.Thornton argued that subcultures needed to define themselves against in order to maintain themselves as “hip” (119). This seems to describe the use of the term “alternative.” Ironically, the mainstream is needed, in order to define against, to create identity by being authentically-original (Kelly).Hence the following claim by an “alternative worship” organiser (Interview G, 2001):People were willing to play around and to say, well who knows what will happen if we run this video clip or commercial next to this sixteenth century religious painting and if we play, you know, Black Flag or some weird band underneath it … And what will it feel like? Well let’s try it and see.Note the link with music (Black Flag, an American hard core punk band formed in 1976), so central to Thornton’s understanding of authenticity in popular youth cultures. Note also the similarity between Thornton’s ascribing of value in words like “rings true” and “feels real,” with words like “feel like” and “try and see.” The word “weird” is also significant. It is deployed as a signifier of authenticity, a sign of “subcultural capital.” It positions them as “alternative,” defined in (musical) distinction from the mainstream.In sum, my argument is that authenticity-as-originality is present in “alternative worship”: in the name, in the ethos of “doing it themselves,” and in the deploying of “subcultural capital” in the legitimation of innovation. All of this has been clarified through conversation with Thornton’s empirical research regarding the value of authenticity in club culture. My analysis of “alternative worship” as a religious innovation is consistent with Taylor’s claim that we inhabit an age of authenticity, one that can be practiced by “people who are made more self-responsible” (77).Mainstream AppropriationIn 2004, the Church of England produced Mission Shaped Church (MSC), a report regarding its future. It included a chapter that described recent religious innovation in England, grouped under twelve headings (alternative worship and base ecclesial communities, café, cell, network and seeker church models, multiple and mid week congregations, new forms of traditional churches, school and community-based initiatives, traditional church plants, youth congregations). The first innovation listed is “alternative worship.”The incoming Archbishop, Rowan Williams, drew on MSC to launch a new organisation. Called Fresh Expressions, over five million pounds was provided by the Church of England to fund an organisation to support this religious innovation.Intriguingly, recognition of authenticity in these “alternative” innovations was evident in the institutional discourse being created. When I interviewed Williams, he spoke of his commitment as a Bishop (Interview 6, 2012):I decided to spend a certain amount of quality time with people on the edge. Consequently when I was asked initially what are my priorities [as Archbishop] I said, “Well, this is what I’ve been watching on the edge … I really want to see how that could impact on the Church of England as a whole.In other words, what was marginal, what had until then generated identity by being authentic in contrast to the mainstream, was now being appropriated by the mainstream “to impact on the Church of England as a whole.” MSC was aware of this complexity. “Alternative worship” was described as containing “a strong desire to be different and is most vocal in its repudiation of existing church” (45). Nevertheless, it was appropriated by the mainstream.My argument has been that “alternative worship” drew on a discourse of authenticity-as-originality. Yet when we turn to analyse mainstream appropriation, we find the definitions of authenticity begin to slide. Authenticity-as-originality is affirmed, while authenticity-as-sincerity is introduced. The MSC affirmed the “ways in which the Church of England has sought to engage with the diverse cultures and networks that are part of contemporary life” (80). It made explicit the connection between originality and authenticity. “Some pioneers and leaders have yearned for a more authentic way of living, being, doing church” (80). This can be read as an affirmation of authenticity-as-originality.Yet MSC also introduced authenticity-as-sincerity as a caution to authenticity-as-originality. “Fresh expressions should not be embraced simply because they are popular and new, but because they are a sign of the work of God and of the kingdom” (80). Thus Fresh Expressions introduced authenticity-as-sincerity (sign of the work of God) and placed it alongside authenticity-as-originality. In so doing, in the shift from “alternative worship” to Fresh Expressions, a space is both conflated (twelve expressions of church) and contested (two notions of authenticity). Conflated, because MSC places alternative worship as one innovation alongside eleven others. Contested because of the introduction of authenticity-as-sincerity alongside the affirming of authenticity-as-originality. What is intriguing is to return to Taylor’s argument for the possibility of an ethic of authenticity in which “people are made more self-responsible” (77). Perhaps the response in MSC arises from the concern described by Taylor, the risk in an age of authenticity of a society that is more individualised and tribal (55-6). To put it in distinctly ecclesiological terms, how can the church as one, holy, catholic and apostolic be carried forward if authenticity-as-originality is celebrated at, and by, the margins? Does innovation contribute to more atomised, self-absorbed and fragmented expressions of church?Yet Taylor is adamant that authenticity can be embraced without an inevitable slide in these directions. He argued that humans share a "horizon of significance" in common (52), in which one’s own "identity crucially depends on [one’s] dialogical relations with others" (48). We have already considered Rogerson’s claim that the Nine o’Clock Service offered “an alternative way of living in a materialist and acquisitive world” (50). It embraced a “strong political dimension, and a concern for justice at local and international level” (46). In other words, “alternative worship’s” authenticity-as-originality was surely already an expression of “the kingdom,” one in which “people [were] made more self-responsible” (77) in the sharing of (drawing on Taylor) a "horizon of significance" in the task of identity-formation-in-relationships (52).Yet the placing in MSC of authenticity-as-sincerity alongside authenticity-as-originality could easily have been read by those in “alternative worship” as a failure to recognise their existing practicing of the ethic of authenticity, their embodying of “the kingdom.”Consequent ComplexificationMy research into “alternative worship” is longitudinal. After the launch of Fresh Expressions, I included a new set of interview questions, which sought to clarify how these “alternative worship” communities were impacted upon by the appropriation of “alternative worship” by the mainstream. The responses can be grouped into three categories: minimal impact, a sense of affirmation and a contested complexity.With regard to minimal impact, some “alternative worship” communities perceived the arrival of Fresh Expressions had minimal impact on their shared expression of faith. The following quote was representative: “Has had no impact at all actually. Apart from to be slightly puzzled” (Interview 3, 2012).Others found the advent of Fresh Expressions provided a sense of affirmation. “Fresh expressions is … an enabling concept. It was very powerful” (Focus group 2, 2012). Respondents in this category felt that their innovations within alternative worship had contributed to, or been valued by, the innovation of Fresh Expressions. Interestingly, those whose comments could be grouped in this category had significant “subcultural capital” invested in this mainstream appropriation. Specifically, they now had a vocational role that in some way was connected to Fresh Expressions. In using the term “subcultural capital” I am again drawing on Thornton (98–105), who argued that in the complex networks through which culture flows, certain people, for example DJ’s, have more influence in the ascribing of authenticity. This suggests that “subcultural” capital is also present in religious innovation, with certain individuals finding ways to influence, from the “alternative worship” margin, the narratives of authenticity used in the complex interplay between alternative worship and Fresh Expressions.For others the arrival of Fresh Expressions had resulted in a contested complexity. The following quote was representative: “It’s a crap piece of establishment branding …but then we’re just snobs” (Focus group 3, 2012). This comment returns us to my initial framing of authenticity-as-originality. I would argue that “we’re just snobs” has a similar rhetorical effect as “Black Flag or some weird band.” It is an act of marginal self-location essential in the construction of innovation and identity.This argument is strengthened given the fact that the comment was coming from a community that itself had become perhaps the most recognizable “brand” among “alternative worship.” They have developed their own logo, website, and related online merchandising. This would suggest the concern is not the practice of marketing per se. Rather the concern is that it seems “crap” in relation to authenticity-as-originality, in a loss of aesthetic quality and a blurring of the values of innovation and identity as it related to bold, imaginative, aesthetic, and cultural attempts at contextual theology (Rogerson 51).Returning to Thornton, her research was also longitudinal in that she explored what happened when a song from a club, which had defined itself against the mainstream and as “hip,” suddenly experienced mainstream success (119). What is relevant to this investigation into religious innovation is her argument that in club culture, “selling out” is perceived to have happened only when the marginal community “loses its sense of possession, exclusive ownership and familiar belonging” (124–26).I would suggest that this is what is happening within “alternative worship” in response to the arrival of Fresh Expressions. Both “alternative worship” and Fresh Expressions are religious innovations. But Fresh Expressions defined itself in a way that conflated the space. It meant that the boundary marking so essential to “alternative worship” was lost. Some gained from this. Others struggled with a loss of imaginative and cultural creativity, a softening of authenticity-as-originality.More importantly, the discourse around Fresh Expressions also introduced authenticity-as-sincerity as a value that could be used to contest authenticity-as-originality. Whether intended or not, this also challenged the ethic of authenticity already created by these “alternative worship” communities. Their authenticity-as-originality was already a practicing of an ethic of authenticity. They were already sharing a "horizon of significance" with humanity, entering into “dialogical relations with others" that were a contemporary expression of the church as one, holy, catholic and apostolic (Taylor 52, 48). ConclusionIn this article I have analysed the discourse around authenticity as it is manifest within one strand of contemporary religious innovation. Drawing on Vanini, Taylor, and Thornton, I have explored the generative possibilities as media and culture are utilised in an “alternative worship” that is authentically-original. I have outlined the consequences when authenticity-as-originality is appropriated by the mainstream, specifically in the innovation known as Fresh Expressions and the complexity when authenticity-as-sincerity is introduced as a contested value.The value of authenticity has been found to exist in a complex relationship with the ethics of authenticity within one domain of contemporary religious innovation.ReferencesBaker, Jonny. “Alternative Worship and the Significance of Popular Culture.” Honours paper: U of London, 2000.Bennett, Andy. Popular Music and Youth Culture: Music, Identity, and Place. New York: Palgrave, 2000.Cronshaw, Darren, and Steve Taylor. “The Congregation in a Pluralist Society: Rereading Newbigin for Missional Churches Today.” Pacifica: Australasian Theological Studies 27.2 (2014): 1-24.Day, Abby. Believing in Belonging. Belief and Social Identity in the Modern World. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2011.Collins, Jim, ed. High-Pop. Making Culture into Popular Entertainment. Oxford: Blackwells, 2002.Cray, Graham. Mission-Shaped Church: Church Planting and Fresh Expressions of Church in a Changing Culture, London: Church House Publishing, 2004.Featherstone, Mike. Consumer Culture and Postmodernism. London: Sage, 1991.Fox, Matthew. Confessions: The Making of a Post-Denominational Priest. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1996.Guest, Matthew, and Steve Taylor. “The Post-Evangelical Emerging Church: Innovations in New Zealand and the UK.” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 6.1 (2006): 49-64.Howard, Roland. The Rise and Fall of the Nine o’Clock Service. London: Continuum, 1996.Kelly, Gerard. Get a Grip on the Future without Losing Your Hold in the Past. Great Britain: Monarch, 1999.Kelly, Steven. “Book Review. Alt.Culture by Steven Daly and Nathaniel Wice.” 20 Aug. 2003. ‹http://www.richmondreview.co.uk/books/cult.html›.McRobbie, Angela. Postmodernism and Popular Culture. London: Routledge, 1994.Riley, Adrian. God in the House: UK Club Culture and Spirituality. 1999. 15 Oct. 2003 ‹http://www.btmc.org.auk/altworship/house/›.Roberts, Paul. Alternative Worship in the Church of England. Cambridge: Grove Books, 1999.Rogerson, J. W. “‘The Lord Is here’: The Nine o’Clock Service.” Why Liberal Churches Are Growing. Eds. Ian Markham and Martyn Percy. London: Bloomsbury T & T, 2006. 45-52.Taylor, Charles. The Ethics of Authenticity. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1992.Taylor, Steve. “Baptist Worship and Contemporary Culture: A New Zealand Case Study.” Interfaces: Baptists and Others. Eds. David Bebbington and Martin Sutherland. Carlisle: Paternoster, 2013. 292-307.Thornton, Sarah. Club Cultures. Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Hanover: UP New England, 1996.Vanini, Philip. “Authenticity.” Encyclopedia of Consumer Culture. Ed. Dale Southerton. Los Angeles: Sage, 2011. 74-76.Willis, Paul E., et al. Common Culture. Symbolic Work at Play in the Everyday Cultures of the Young. Milton Keynes: Open UP, 1990.
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Dissertations / Theses on the topic "School music, instruction and study, great britain"

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Sequera, Hector. "House music for recusants in Elizabethan England : performance practice in the music collection of Edward Paston (1550-1630)." Thesis, University of Birmingham, 2010. http://etheses.bham.ac.uk//id/eprint/1028/.

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Edward Paston (1550-1630) was very skilled in liberal arts, especially music and poetry. His love of music is reflected in his having gathered one of the largest collections of music manuscripts from Elizabethan and early Jacobean times. The collection is very important as it holds unique copies of many compositions by some of the best-known composers from the Renaissance including Byrd. This thesis investigates the idea of the Paston collection as a performing collection within the historical, cultural, and musical context of 16th century England. The study presents Edward Paston as a personification of some of the ideals in Castiglione’s The Courtier, and it also discusses Paston’s role within his social milieu mostly formed by the recusants’circle. This is followed by a presentation of the musical traditions that Paston presumably knew as well as a study of the collection within this context. By presenting this socio-cultural and musical framework, the intent is to arrive at a better understanding of the collection in relation to house music making in Edward Paston’s household and within his circle. The final section of the thesis investigates how the collection was used and how it can be applied to current performance practice.
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Newton, Michael John. "GCSE music : year nine and ten students' perceptions and enrolment intentions in relation to music education rationale and government educational policy." University of Western Australia. School of Music, 2008. http://theses.library.uwa.edu.au/adt-WU2008.0126.

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The international drive among western countries to shift from industrial to knowledge economies has focussed considerable attention on education. United Kingdom government educational policy, influenced by the global knowledge economy, has shifted responsibility for learning work skills from the workplace to schooling and post-compulsory education. Government policy emphasises the importance of education's role in preparing students with the skills, knowledge and understanding required to enhance the United Kingdom's competitiveness in the global market. In contrast to the work-related emphasis of the wider educational context, music education emphasises the enrichment of experience. The value of music education is related to people's needs, and the functions it performs in their lives. Music education should be transformative, creative, enriching and relevant. Participation in music education is motivated by the intrinsic satisfaction of making music, rather than the extrinsic need for work-related competencies and qualifications. Music education competes for students with other subjects in the educational marketplace when the music curriculum ceases to be compulsory at age fifteen. Therefore, it is important to understand how students relate not only to music education, but also to the wider work-related educational context in which their subject participation choices are made. Therefore, the purposes of this study are twofold: (1) to establish an overview of how students perceive music education and the factors that influence their enrolment intentions, and (2) to establish an overview of how students perceive music within the wider context of education. Statements were chosen that were considered representative of the rationales for education presented by the government and the music education community. Questionnaires and interviews were developed using the statements, and were ii administered to a random sample of Year Nine and Ten (GCSE Music and non - GCSE Music) students Music was not a relevant subject for most students. However, the perceptions of a small percentage of students (mainly Music students) did find music education relevant in the ways the literature suggested it should be. The most common influences on enrolment were perceptions of ability and enjoyment (or lack of). Despite the strong emphasis on work-related skills and qualifications in the wider educational context, students generally agreed that Music was a subject better suited to enhancing life and lifestyle than career options. However, reflecting the wider educational context, Music was perceived as being more careers/future study orientated than transformative, creative, enriching and relevant.
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Books on the topic "School music, instruction and study, great britain"

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Department of Education & Science. Music from 5 to 16. London: HMSO, 1985.

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Department of Education & Science. Music from 5 to 16. London: The Department, 1990.

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Sturman, Paul. Creating music around the world. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000.

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Joanna, Glover, and Ward Stephen 1947-, eds. Teaching music in the primary school. 2nd ed. London: Cassell, 1998.

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1958-, Evans Julie, and Philpott Chris 1956-, eds. A practical guide to teaching music in the secondary school. New York: Routledge, 2009.

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Geraint, Thomas, ed. Cerdd-tastic!: Cyflwyniad i gerddoriaeth Cymru = an introduction to Welsh music. Talybont: Y Lolfa, 2005.

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Ockelford, Adam. Music for children and young people with complex needs. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press, 2008.

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Andrew, Maddocks, and Somerset Music Education Programme, eds. Growing with music: Key stage 1 : teacher's book. Harlow, Essex: Longman, 1992.

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Andrew, Maddocks, and Somerset Music Education Programme, eds. Growing with music: Key stage 2 : teacher's book A. Harlow, Essex: Longman, 1992.

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Stocks, Michael. Growing with music: Key stage 2 : teacher's book B. Harlow, Essex: Longman, 1992.

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Book chapters on the topic "School music, instruction and study, great britain"

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Schulenberg, David. "Bach the Teacher." In Bach, 284–331. Oxford University Press, 2020. http://dx.doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780190936303.003.0013.

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This chapter examines the works of Bach’s later years, including several published collections, in the context of his teaching. The latter, considered in its broadest sense, included not only instruction in the St. Thomas School but private lessons and mentorship for university students and younger professional musicians. To these activities Bach added the revision and publication of compositions that could serve as examples for study and emulation. Among the latter are the four volumes of Clavierübung, including the harpsichord partitas, Italian Concerto, and Goldberg Variations; the Schemelli Chorales and Canonic Variations for organ; and the Musical Offering and Art of Fugue. Also instructive, in a profound sense, are the great vocal works of these years: the passions, oratorios, and Latin church music, including the B-Minor Mass.
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