Anang Binesi

Introduction

Throughout the majority of my formative years, music presented itself as distinct yet concurrent worlds. My musical journey began with formal instruction in Western classical piano before eventually transitioning to percussion studies where I engaged with structured compositions and disciplined practice routines that emphasized technical precision and adherence to established musical canons. Conversely, my engagement with Powwow culture placed me within a vibrant world where the drum and my community surrounded me, creating an environment where music served as both artistic expression and a crucial connector of identity, tradition, and strength. Within my conscious mind these unique musical experiences functioned as separate entities; I rarely pondered their potential intersections or broader meanings beyond personal enjoyment and cultural participation. The realization of music's intricate integration into political structures and historical narratives only dawned upon me during my second university year through my enrollment in a course about music and the Truth and Reconciliation of Commission (TRC) of Canada. This scholarly engagement compelled me to conduct a critical examination of the ways colonial legacies have influenced musical pedagogy alongside power structures within both Western classical traditions and Indigenous practices. Viewed through this perspective, music evolved from a simple individual activity into a politically significant space where themes of representation alongside cultural sovereignty and resistance intersect. The intricate process initiated deep personal explorations regarding my dual identity as both a formal music education participant and an Indigenous community member whose musical traditions face marginalization yet demonstrate persistent resilience. This awakening brought forth an understanding that music possesses a dual nature which allows it to sustain colonial frameworks while also functioning as a tool for cultural validation and decolonial resistance.

Encountering Colonial Frameworks in Music

Through the examination of colonial influences in music, the underlying power structures that dictate musical tradition development and their subsequent valuation became apparent. The designation of Western classical music as the global benchmark for musical achievement perpetuates a Eurocentric legacy that systematically excludes and devalues diverse musical expressions such as Indigenous practices. This hierarchical structure emerges not only as an aesthetic construct but also as a result of historical processes during which colonial authorities enforced their cultural standards while actively suppressing Indigenous identities. The existing framework often categorized Indigenous music as mere folklore or ethnographic curiosity instead of acknowledging it as a dynamic and developing art form (traditional indigenous music). I once took a class focusing on Music and Indigeneity which revealed the ongoing impact of colonial legacies on modern musical interpretations. Formal music education systems place Western notation, theory, and repertoire at the forefront while simultaneously marginalizing Indigenous soundscapes through exclusion, exoticization, or tokenism. The deliberate omission of certain music forms strengthens a division between "high art" and "traditional" or "folk" music which reflects extensive societal disparities originating from colonial history.

The colonial paradigm becomes evident through the disparate valuation of musical instruments where Western contexts prioritize technical proficiency and individual virtuosity in instrumental instruction while Indigenous practice remains misinterpreted beyond its communal and ceremonial functions. The distinctions in artistic evaluation represent both aesthetic preferences and epistemological differences regarding the nature of knowledge and artistic value. The recognition of these disparities compelled me to question my former beliefs about neutrality in music-making while demonstrating how ostensibly non-political practices are deeply rooted within systems that sustain cultural dominance.

This critical perspective also brought attention to issues of appropriation versus respectful engagement, how non-Indigenous musicians might adopt Indigenous musical elements without acknowledging historical injustices or ongoing struggles for cultural sovereignty. The encounter with colonial frameworks highlighted the necessity of placing musical experiences within their socio-political contexts instead of treating them as standalone artistic events. The necessity to comprehend the role of music emerges from the need to engage with historical narratives of oppression alongside stories of resilience which are deeply embedded in Indigenous communities through their ongoing practices and sharing of musical heritage.

Pedagogy and Power

An exploration of pedagogical power dynamics reveals how music education systems have historically favored Western classical traditions while simultaneously excluding Indigenous musical practices from their curricula. The educational programs for Western classical music often adhere to strict curricula which focus on developing technical skills through standardized notation and established repertoire. The system operates to establish a musical knowledge hierarchy while simultaneously sustaining cultural supremacy through the promotion of Eurocentric aesthetics as the standard norm. Indigenous musical traditions exemplified by Powwow culture disseminate through oral histories and communal participation alongside embodied practices which actively resist codification into standard academic frameworks. The foundational teaching methods in these two distinct musical realms demonstrate radically divergent epistemological frameworks and value systems regarding what is deemed legitimate musical knowledge.

The institutional environments where music education occurs frequently mirror extensive colonial power structures. Institutions such as universities and conservatories function as cultural gatekeepers by endorsing specific musical forms which simultaneously causes other music types to become marginalized or completely disregarded. The dynamic under examination transcends simple curriculum content discussions to encompass the instructional methods and assessment techniques utilized by educators. A tendency exists within Western classical pedagogy to focus on individual success as measured by universal standards, while Indigenous pedagogies place importance on relationality and community involvement along with spiritual elements present within performance contexts. The divergences serve as indicators that educational systems operate as cultural assimilation tools or resistance platforms based on the knowledge they choose to promote or marginalize.

The existence of these disparities encourages an essential examination of power dynamics in educational practices that define identities and determine access in the musical domain. The existing educational framework demands both teachers and learners to critically examine their preconceived notions regarding musical worth and authoritative standards. This action creates opportunities for inclusive methodologies that respect diverse expressive forms without placing them beneath prevailing standards. The examination of pedagogy as a power-enactment space uncovers its pivotal function in maintaining or deconstructing colonial legacies that permeate musical practice and education.

Personal Reckonings

Engaging in a deep personal confrontation, I examined how my musical experiences revealed identity complexities alongside privilege and cultural duties. During my developmental years the structured education I am receiving in Western classical percussion presented itself as a pursuit of technical skill and artistic discipline which remained disconnected from any cultural context. My engagement with my own culture manifested as direct lived experience which was inherently intuitive and communal while being deeply rooted in traditional practices. My journey into understanding the interconnectedness of these musical worlds began when academic research led me to critically reflect upon how these worlds were deeply enmeshed within wider sociopolitical forces.

The process of this forced me to examine and question my previously held beliefs about music's supposed neutrality. The realization dawned upon me that Western classical music constituted a canon built through colonial structures which consistently sidelined Indigenous voices and knowledge systems. At the same time, I faced the intricate challenge of expressing my Indigenous identity within a prevailing societal framework that often made it invisible or reduced it to stereotypes.

This introspection required an emotional reckoning in addition to intellectual understanding. A complex sense of guilt developed over the advantages granted by Eurocentric formal training systems when observing the systemic obstacles Indigenous musicians face to achieve recognition through their own cultural standards. Periods of discord emerge when musicians attempted to maintain genuine traditional practices while simultaneously exploring modern musical expressions shaped by Western educational methods.

This personal reckoning led to an expanded consciousness regarding the manner in which music functions as a space where identity is contested and power dynamics are performed. The necessity arose for me to develop an integrated personal identity which transcended simple participation in distinct musical traditions to become an artist whose work reflects intricate intersections of heritage, educational background, and political awareness. This journey established the foundational elements necessary for subsequent awakenings to the inherently political aspects of music within Indigenous contexts.

Awakening To Political Dimensions Of Music

The moment I understood music as an inherently political force represented a significant transformation in how I perceived its societal and cultural functions. Before experiencing this awakening, my engagement with music remained focused on its aesthetic qualities and personal expression while intentionally disconnected from wider socio-political contexts. My intensive study of Indigenous scholarship together with the historical narratives found in musical traditions led me to understand that music operates as a platform for resistance and identity building while ensuring cultural continuity. Our powwow music transformed from a simple rhythmic element of community events into a powerful symbol of Indigenous resilience against centuries of colonial suppression in my understanding. The acknowledgment of this recognition forced me to reconsider my previous tendency to separate musical experiences into distinct categories where I perceived Western classical music as formal and apolitical while viewing Indigenous music as cultural without inherent political elements.

My studies have provided insights into how colonial legacies have influenced both the creation and perception of various musical genres. Through intricate examination music emerges as deeply intertwined with power structures revealing its dual capacity to sustain dominant narratives while also functioning as a decolonization instrument. The engagement with Indigenous music performance evolved into an inseparable political declaration through which we, as Indigenous artists reclaimed our voices and spaces in contexts that historically aimed to erase or marginalize our presence. The traditions of Western classical music were redefined to show them not as unbiased art forms but as creations deeply rooted in Eurocentric perspectives which have frequently marginalized or overlooked non-Western viewpoints.

The politicization phenomenon transcended historical study to affect modern practices by demonstrating how decisions regarding musical repertoire selection, performance settings, and teaching methods have significant consequences for cultural representation and sovereignty. The dual nature of my musical background changed my view from seemingly parallel paths into intersecting stories filled with intricate and extremely complicated power dynamics. The realization of these political aspects forced me to reevaluate my position as both a musician and an engaged contributor to continuous discussions about identity, history, and justice within musical environments.

Conclusion

Through an intricate examination of my musical experiences using both colonial frameworks and Indigenous perspectives, I continue to widen my understanding of music's societal function. My education in Western classical music combined with my cultural upbringing represented two separate domains that each maintained their unique values and practices. Through critical engagement with the historical and political contexts that surround these musical forms, it becomes apparent how music interconnects deeply with power structures and cultural identity. Through my exploration of how Western classical teaching methods sustain colonial narratives I found it necessary to question both the musical content delivered and the pedagogical approaches used to teach and assess music. This realization initiated a profound personal reckoning that forced me to examine my internalized biases while simultaneously developing an appreciation for the inherent resilience found within Indigenous musical expressions and practices. Additionally, the realization of music's political aspects revealed how auditory expressions function as arenas for opposition while also supporting the maintenance of communal autonomy. Music has evolved beyond being merely an aesthetic or leisure activity to become a medium that represents collective histories, struggles, and aspirations which extend beyond personal experience. This examination of musical traditions through comparative reflection reveals the essential requirement to engage with these traditions by applying critical awareness while respecting their sociopolitical backgrounds. The necessity arises for a perpetual conversation that connects disparate realms while simultaneously respecting their distinct cultural heritages. My exploration through this process has led me to realize that music serves as both an artistic expression and a potent tool for decolonization and collective empowerment. Or at least it should be.

I was in grade three when I decided I wanted to take piano lessons. My oldest sister was already playing, and that was a good enough reason for me, I wanted to do what she was doing. My first piano teacher welcomed me with the kind of warmth that makes a beginner feel at ease. She kept lessons lighthearted, even when I stumbled through a passage or clearly hadn’t practiced enough that week. In her studio, mistakes weren’t moral failings; they were just part of the process.

My first recital (the only one I would ever do on piano) took place in the gymnasium of Donald Young Public School in Emo, Ontario. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, rows of chairs faced the front. I don’t remember the piece I played, but I remember the weight of all those eyes. My hands felt heavy, my mind unsteady, and I couldn’t help comparing myself to the older students who seemed so confident, so accomplished. That performance anxiety stayed with me, shaping and continue to shape my relationship with classical music.

I stopped taking lessons not long after, only to return to them in high school. This time, I tried two different teachers, and while my skills grew, my approach to practicing still wavered. What didn’t waver was my love for band class. That was different, more collaborative, more energizing. It was music as a shared endeavor, where the joy of playing together outweighed the pressure to play flawlessly.

Alongside this structured, Western classical training was another kind of music entirely: the music of powwows. These were spaces where I felt at home, moving through crowds with a bannock burger in hand, watching children dance in handmade regalia, feeling the bass of the grandfather drums through my chest. Sometimes I danced; sometimes I camped out with friends or spent the day with family. The evenings were alive with competition specials and the quiet camaraderie of people who had known each other for a long time.

The powwow circle was not a stage, and the music was not a performance in the Western sense. It was participatory, relational, and embedded in community. You didn’t play for people, you played with them. The song belonged to the people who carried it, and everyone there was part of its life.

As a child and teenager, I didn’t consciously connect these two musical worlds. They were distinct, self-contained spaces in my mind. I could move from a Beethoven sonata to a powwow weekend without giving much thought to how different they were. Each had its own rules, its own expectations, and I adapted without question.

That separation lasted until I began my university studies. Enrolling in courses on music and Indigeneity, engaging in discussions with professors and peers about ethical research, cultural protocol, and colonial structures in music education. It's safe to say my perspective began to shift. I started to see not only the gap between these worlds, but also the historical and systemic forces that keeps them apart.

At the same time, I began to feel this quiet and persistent guilt. Guilt towards my studio and my practice. Here, I was surrounded by instruments from all over the world, yet we rarely discussed their origins, cultural meanings, or the responsibilities that come with playing them. This dissonance between my Indigenous worldview and the dominant culture of Western classical training VERY quickly became impossible to ignore.

Seeing other Indigenous musicians in classical spaces was both encouraging and challenging. On one hand, it was affirming to know I wasn’t alone; on the other, it underscored my own uncertainty about how to bridge these worlds for myself. I began to ask myself difficult questions: What does my bridge look like? How do I hold space for my teachings while continuing to learn within a system that doesn’t always make room for them? What does it mean to participate in a tradition that has, in many ways, excluded or appropriated the music of others?

I don’t yet have all the answers. In fact, I feel I'm just at the beginning and I suspect building this bridge will be lifelong effort. This is work that involves listening deeply, questioning assumptions, and resisting the urge to rush toward a “tidy” resolution.

Growing up between two musical worlds taught me adaptability, but adulthood has shown me that adaptability is only the starting point. The real task is learning how to connect them without erasing the uniqueness of either and to create a space where both can exist in conversation, not competition.

Sincerely,

anang binesi

When I talk about “listening differently,” I don’t just mean hearing music in a new way, I mean shifting how we approach it.

Aaniin! I’m Anang Binesi. I’m an Anishinaabe percussionist, composer, and musician from Manidoo Bawitigong, Treaty #3, and I grew up in two very different musical worlds. On one hand, I had the structure of classical piano lessons, scales, exams, metronomes ticking away (although I didn't stick with it for too long). On the other, I had the fortunate opportunity to attend a lot of powwows and experience my community's songs that have been passed.

For a long time, I didn’t think much about how these worlds collided. But the deeper I go into Western classical music through studies, rehearsals, juries, endless hours in practice rooms, the more I noticed how much focus is on “perfection”, and how little we talk about the relationships behind the music.

Listening differently, for me, means slowing down and asking:

Where does this music come from?

Who carries it?

What’s my responsibility to it?

It means holding space for both the precision I continue to learn from my classical training and the reciprocity I learn from my community. It means respecting that some music is meant to be shared, and some is meant to be protected.

That’s what this blog is about… finding ways to bridge my two worlds. I’ll share personal thoughts on decolonizing music and music education, and on what it looks like to treat music as a living connection instead of just a performance or object. 

If you’re here, I hope you’ll stick around, join the conversation, and maybe start listening a little differently too :)