Village music itself can be divided into a number of genres and styles too numerous to examine in the present work. The epitome of village music, however, is the ahwash (lit.: dance), which is found in one form or another all over the High Atlas and Sus. The details of performance vary from village to village, but in general, the ahwash is sung and danced by two large antiphonal choruses, accompanied by an ensemble of frame drums (tallunt, pl.: tilluna; cf. the Arabic bendir). The performance emphasizes successively improvised poetry, choral song, dance, and drumming.

The rwais (sing.: rais) perform in small groups of up to a dozen musicians. The rwais travel and perform not only in the tashlhit-speaking regions, but throughout northern Morocco and Europe as well. Their music is distinguished from the ahwash, and, indeed, from all other genres of Moroccan music, by the use of the rebab, a monochord fiddle, and the lotar, a four-stringed lute [1]. Rhythmic accompaniment is provided by the naqus (lit.: bell), a piece of steel beaten with metal rods. A performance by the rwais includes instrumental music, dance and comedy. The essential element of their act, however, is sung poetry (amarg, lit.: yearning, longing), which may be improvised or pre-composed.

A comparative study of these two styles would be interesting in itself. However, the purpose of this paper is to show the ways in which village and professional music illuminate opposing tendencies within Berber society in general.

The Ishlhin are divided into numerous sedentary tribes, which include anywhere from a few hundred to several thousand members each [2]. Tribal boundaries are basically determined by geography, but, in theory, membership in a tribe is based on descent, through patrilineal segmentary lineages, from a putative common ancestor.

Traditionally, each tribe maintained a measure of independence both from other tribes and from the central government. Tribal organizations bore the earmarks of what we call democracy. The majority of the population consisted of land-holding peasants, who participated, again in theory, in the administration of justice and the selection of a village council. Positions of power within the tribe were meant to rotate between the various member villages or factions. There were, however, certain elite groups. From time to time, crafty or charismatic individuals succeeded in monopolizing political and economic power over several adjoining tribes; on very rare occasions, the entire region was unified under one leader. Some groups, notably saints (igurramen) and descendants of the Prophet (shorfa) had a disproportionate share of spiritual power, which often brought with it temporal benefits as well. To balance the elites, there were disfranchised classes as well: slaves, tenant farmers, and Jews [3]. The few specialized craftsmen in the region, such as blacksmiths, silversmiths, and well-diggers, were also held in low regard.

The region is intensely cultivated. Rainfall is scarce even in the High Atlas, and in the Sus it reaches only a scant 12-16 inches per annum. The Ishlhin make every effort to maximize productivity from their limited resources of arable land and water by maintaining elaborate systems of irrigation and terracing.

The meagre resources of these regions have never been sufficient to maintain the population. Migration, both within Morocco and abroad, has long been seen as a means of relieving population pressure and providing additional income for those who stay behind. In this century, temporary migration, for trade or labour, has become a way of life, and in some villages it involves over 60% of the adult male population.

The Ishlhin, like the vast majority of Moroccans, are Muslims. The conversion of the tribes took place gradually, between the 6^th and l2^th centuries C.E. Yet, even after centuries of adherence to Islam, their belief system is not entirely devoid of pre-Islamic ideas.

At the same time, purist Islam has also attracted many Ishlhin. The High Atlas and Sus have produced a number of eminent religious and legal scholars. Today, the region is still famous for its tolba (Qur'anic scholars). Outside of the High Atlas and Sus, the fame is largely due to the tolba's reputed skill at the occult arts, but within the tashlhit-speaking regions, the tolba enjoy a reputation for religious orthodoxy and a superabundance of zeal for spreading Islam and the Arabic language.

The influence of Islam is manifest among the Ishlhin, the influence of Arabic language and culture, markedly less so. The tribesmen could embrace the religion with an open heart, but they were loath to accept the authority and taxation of the central government. Whenever possible, the Ishlhin resisted the Sultan's armies, while recognizing the spiritual sovereignty of the Sultan himself. For its part, the central government was seldom able to push very far into the mountains, nor yet to maintain for long its power in conquered territories. As a result, contact between Arab and mountain Berbers was limited. The Arabic language never came to replace Berber in the highlands, as it had in the plains. Yet inevitably, Arabic, as the language of religion and trade, has had a tremendous impact on the language and thought of the Ishlhin.

It should be apparent from the above description that there are many contrasts within the texture of the Berber society. The tashlhit-speaking region as a whole is unified by a common language and culture, yet each tribe has its own social and political customs, and its own local variant of tashlhit. Theirs is essentially an egalitarian peasant society, yet above and below the mass of small landowners, we find, on the one hand, religious and political elites and, on the other dispossessed classes. Throughout the region, there is an opposition between purist and syncretist Islam, between the internationalism of orthodox Islam and the tribalism inherent in the devotion to local saints. And finally, while most of the present generation of Ishlhin were born and grew up in mountain villages, an urban-rural dichotomy has developed within Berber society, between those who have been urbanized and Arabized by temporary or permanent migration to the cities, and those who have stayed behind to work the fields.

A comparison of ahwash and the music of the rwais reflects these and other opposing tendencies in Berber society. We should first note, however, that both village and professional musicians share a common underlying system of music and poetry, just as all Ishlhin share a common language. Melodies are set, for the most part, in anhemitonic pentatonic modes, varied with the introduction of an occasional semi-tone. The melodies leap up and down in fourths and fifths over a range of an octave and a half. As one rais put it: "Our melodies are like the road over Tizi-n-Test (a pass through the High Atlas): lots of sharp curves and steep slopes."

Compound duple meters (6/8 and 12/8) predominate in both genres, permitting binary and ternary rhythms to be played simultaneously or successively, and thus producing the rhythmic tension which gives Berber music its vitality. Melodic structure assumes a variety of shapes, but in the majority of cases, the melody is built up of two to four short phrases, adding up to a total length of eight or twelve cycles of 6/8 rhythm. This structure lends itself well to responsorial singing, the dominant formal principle in Berber music.

In their poetry, rwais and village musicians use similar metric frameworks (based on the rhythmic structure of the music) and imagery (based largely on the vocabulary of hunting and farming). More important, both groups have much the same attitudes about the role of music and poetry in society; that is, among the Ishlhin, a song is not meant to be mere entertainment. Rather, it should contain a message, either a lesson about human nature and life in general, a commentary on a specific situation, or both.

Despite the underlying similarities between the two styles, village and professional music serve quite different social functions. These functions, and the social dichotomies behind them, are clearly reinforced by the apparently superficial differences, such as group size, instrumentation, and status of musicians, which separate ahwash from the music of the rwais.

For example, an ahwash requires large numbers of participants - no fewer than twenty for a respectable performance, and up to one hundred and fifty dancers for a truly successful one.

It goes without saying that such a large group is not easily transported over large distances, greater than a half day's walk, or, in more recent times, a couple of hours by truck. As a result, the ahwash style of each tribe has developed in relative isolation from that of its neighbours. Two or three large style regions of ahwash are perceptible in the High Atlas and Sus. The tribes within each of these regions share the same overall style, but each tribe, and indeed each village, has its own particular variation of style and terminology. In short, village music, like so many other aspects of village culture, displays certain general traits throughout the region, yet varies, like dialects, marriage rites, or customary law, from tribe to tribe.

The rwais, on the other hand, are as mobile as ahwash is stable. The use of stringed instruments means that each individual rais is potentially a complete performer unto himself; that is, he can fulfil the fundamental structural requirement for call and response by responding with his instrument to his own vocal line. This independence gives the rwais the freedom to perform whenever and wherever they choose. At the same time, as professionals, the need to pursue their fortune forces the rwais to travel in search of an audience.

During their travels, the rwais continually gather new material for their act. They incorporate events they have witnessed or been told about into new song texts. If, on a trip through the mountains, they should happen to see an ahwash, musical and poetic material from that performance may very likely find its way into their composition. Thus, the repertory of the rwais has become an amalgam of village styles from every part of the High Atlas and Sus.

Mobility has also had a unifying effect on the professional repertory. Since the individual rwais are all potentially independent of one another, in both musical and social terms, groups form and dissolve continually in a matter of days. By the end of his career, a rwais may have played in hundreds of different groupings, with musicians from all over the tashlhit-speaking region. The fluidity of group formation thus demands a large common repertory shared by all members of the profession, and a uniform performance style which will allow a musician to come quickly to a musical understanding with strangers in his group.

An ahwash is, above all, a celebration of, as well as by, the local community. The village-specific traits of any ahwash performance emphasize the uniqueness of each separate community, while song texts glorify communal unity:

When relatives and in-laws are present, what need is there to worry?
When relatives and in-laws are present, what more could one ask?

At the same time, within each community, there is little room for individuality. In a subsistence economy, cooperation between neighbouring families and villages is necessary. A single recalcitrant farmer can bring disaster to an entire village. Only those with extraordinary political, economic or spiritual power can afford to flaunt their individuality; but anyone who projects his personality too strongly risks criticism, ostracism, and the damaging effects of envy. Ahwash exemplifies the submission of the individual to the community, and, again through song texts, helps to enforce the code of social behaviour.

The rwais are concerned primary with those things most often neglected in the ahwash - individual accomplishments and the world outside the village. A performance by professional musicians can never have quite the emotional impact of a good ahwash, but the rwais offer other attractions. "I am a journalist, just like you", a rais once told me.

"When I travel, I pay attention to what I see, and then
put it all in a song. But tell me, which is better,
an article like the ones you write, which can be read
by one person at a time, or records like mine, which
can be heard by hundreds?"

In more general terms, the rwais might be considered as mediators. Their song texts are often informative, offering political, religious and moral commentary, as well as personal accounts of their own travels. Furthermore, as often as the rwais borrow melodies from ahwash, village musicians borrow parts of the professional repertory; the rwais thus help foster the circulation of musical ideas among the Ishlhin. Finally, as we shall see, the role of mediator carries the rwais far beyond the physical confines of the High Atlas and Sus, and far beyond the cultural boundaries of the Ishlhin.

The rwais have a natural constituency in the emigrant labourers and merchants so important to the Berber economy. As professional musicians, the rwais must go where they can find paying work, and abundant ready cash is to be had only in the cities. For their part, the emigrants long for the joys of home, among them the ahwash. To recreate the atmosphere of an ahwash in Paris, Brussels, or even Casablanca, would be impossible; but the rwais offer a portable ahwash, as it were, as well as bringing news of home.

Separation is hard, very hard, and the distance is great.
Letters are necessary, or a trip to Paris.
I have made a proper song, that I might bring the news [4].

Not all rwais have the opportunity to travel to Europe, but in recent years most of them have settled in the Moroccan cities which have the largest colonies of Ishlhin - Casablanca, Agadir, and Marrakech, so that they may be ready at any time to perform at a private party, cabaret, or in the marketplace. The cities, particularly the latter two, actually give the rwais good access to all parts of the High Atlas and Sus, so that should the occasion arise, they can carry their messages from town back to the mountains.

The rwais also act as intermediaries between the Ishlhin in general, and outside political and cultural groups. The professionals have, for example, been a force in the spread of Islam and the Arabic language in the High Atlas and Sus. Many rwais are literate in Arabic; some actually started out to become tolba, and most have attended Qur'anic school for at least a time. This is reflected in their song texts, which often deal with religious topics. Occasionally, a Qur'anic exegesis in song may even include direct quotations from the Book, in classical Arabic. In more general terms, the rwais' poetic vocabulary is peppered with Moroccan Arabic. Often the dictates of meter demand that an Arabic word be substituted for tashlhit; but the use of Arabic is also a result of the rwais' greater exposure to the language in their travels, and of their need to establish a poetic lingua franca to overcome local dialect differences in tashlhit.

The mediation may go the other way as well. The rwais are often called upon to perform before representatives of the central authority, in symbolic expression of the allegiance of the Ishlhin to the government. The rwais have modified their repertory to cover this eventuality. A few older rwais still remember one or two special songs in Arabic, but generally, the musical tribute has been instrumental. For example, many rwais know selections from khamsa u khamsin (Fifty-Five), the music of the Royal Army band, based on classical Andalusian music. Similarly, during the period of the French Protectorate (1912-1956), the rwais picked up several examples of French and Spanish bugle calls. The latter pieces have remained a stable part of the professional repertory, undoubtedly because their pentatonic melodies conform nicely to the musical system of the Ishlhin.

The adaptation of military music might be regarded as an instrumental song of praise. lndeed, praise singing is an important part of the rwais' act in general. In improvised verses and, more rarely, precomposed songs, the rwais single out those members of the community noteworthy for their individual accomplishments: qaid-s (local officials) and other political figures; saints and their descendants; and merchants and other wealthy members of the community. The praise singing is net altogether altruistic, of course. As professionals, the rwais hope to gain something from their songs - spiritual or temporal protections, or, more specifically, money.

The rwais should not be thought of as mere mercenaries, however. They are quite capable of expressing biting social criticism and protest in their songs. For example, during the French Protectorate, several rwais were jailed, and one was supposedly shot by a collaborator, for singing out against colonial policy. Today, the musicians often serve as a moral conscience for some of their benefactors.

Finally, it should be noted that village and professional musicians represent opposing spiritual as well as social and political tendencies within Berber society. The Ishlhin recognize a component of the supernatural in all their music. In the eyes of many Moroccans, including the Ishlhin themselves, the ahwash has pre-Islamic overtones. Local religious figures, like tolba or shorfa (descendants of the Prophet), may refrain from participating with the ahwash dancers because, in the words of one local scholar, "The Devil makes them dance". Whether or net the Devil is actually there, the atmosphere at an ahwash is highly charged, and the concentration of energy of an entire community seems to produce supernatural effects. Many accounts from the High Atlas and Sus indicate that some singers in an ahwash have the gift of clairvoyance. In most areas, an ahwash is still performed before the saint's tomb during a musem. In a few tribes, however, the ahwash may actually be forbidden in the villages surrounding a saint's sanctuary, either because the pre-Islamic associations of the dance would offend the spirit of more orthodox saints, or because the confluence of the power of the ahwash and the power of the saint could have devastating effects on the community.

Wherever ahwash is ritually restricted, the rwais can be expected to fill in. As we have noted, the rwais are great defenders of orthodox Islam, as they perceive it. They are not without their own syncretist beliefs: many consider sacrifice to a local saint a necessary step in preparing for a career in music they also take certain precautions against the evil eye, which they are sure to attract in the course of their performances. They seek justification for these practices, however, in terms of the teaching of orthodox Islam.

In summation, we have noted a series of dichotomies in the society of the High Atlas and Sus, between the individual and the community; between each community and Berber society as a whole; between emigrant labourers and sedentary peasants; between outside influence and Berber tradition. The dichotomies have perhaps been overdrawn for the sake of argument, and because space does not permit examination of the subtleties of each case. In any event, the dichotomies are complementary more than contradictory, both sides contributing to the character of Berber society, rather than defining two clear factions within in.

Few Ishlhin would line up consistently on the same side of all the dichotomies. However, in terms of musical performance, it does seem that village musicians and rwais inevitably represent opposite ends of the spectrum. of course, as we have seen, the rwais are actually intermediaries between the opposing poles; for example, they are viewed in the country as emissaries from town, and in the city as messengers from the mountains. On the whole, however, the ahwash exemplifies stability and tradition, while the rwais are more open to internal change and outside influence.

In the end, ahwash may survive better in the modern world than the music of the rwais. There will long be a village culture in which to nurture ahwash, but the rwais' role as intermediary may be coming to an end. The radio has largely replaced the rwais as a medium of news and opinion. With its relatively vast resources, the government can transport entire ahwash groups to Marrakech, or even to Tokyo, so that the villagers may speak for themselves, as it were. Finally, the urban-rural dichotomy is broadening rapidly, and soon the rwais may no longer be able to bridge the gap. Urbanized Berbers are returning less and less to the village. A new generation of Ishlhin is growing up in the city. They have no need of the rwais to remind them of the mountains, because they have no memories to stir. Their musical taste runs more to Western popular music than to traditional Moroccan genres. The past few years have seen the growth of electrified Berber bands, with names like Usman (Lightning) and lzenzarn (Thunder), playing modified traditional tunes on western instruments. The new groups claim that, since city dwellers will listen only to European-style pop music, the best way to preserve Berber music in a modern urban context is to repackage it in Western form. It remains to be seen if they are right.