A couple of decades ago, it would have been regarded as non-academic to pursue research, which involved not only being closely associated with a given field but also doing the activities within that field as a member of the studied community. The scholar was expected to be a respectful outsider and ensure that their presence did not alter the phenomenon they observed. It would not have been considered ethnography if the investigator acknowledged that their presence, decisions and personage were to be branded upon the outcome. The assumption was that the author should act like a camera and not assume the role of a film director. Their duty was to observe anything and everything in the form of thick description, audio-visual documentation or analysis, using one or a selection of the habitual tools of social sciences. In one of the core textbooks of ethnomusicology, Helen Myers admits that ‘the act of anthropological observation is obtrusive, inevitably altering the behaviour of the observed’.¹

Practice-led research, the method used in this chapter, proclaims to do almost the opposite. This method, at times, formulated with slightly different wordings, such as practice-based research, practice as research or artistic research, lends itself useful when researching any discipline that involves creativity or artistic expression. In her research, Lyle Skains puts forth that pursuing art as research does not only offer insights into art and the practice of art as it occurs, but can shed new and unexpected light on a range of topics, including cognition, discourse, psychology, history, culture and sociology.² In this sense, practice-led research is ‘a targeted combination of autoethnomethodology, reflection applied to cognitive composition and creativity models, and post-textual media-specific analysis of the creative artefacts’ akin to similar methods used for medicine and engineering’.³ Accordingly, the creative process is both artistic and analytical: practice-led research is thus reminiscent of a hard-sciences researcher working in their laboratory. However, within humanities, perhaps due to the quest of presenting the research outcomes in a more ‘scientific’ sense and having as many shared attributes with hard sciences as possible, the use of practice-led research is relatively new.

This chapter is constructed around the mainly diachronic story of the Turkish metal band Listana. Metanarrative, used in the title, is a term developed by Jean Francois Lyotard to denote a grand narrative that seeks to connect separate events in a timeline to plausibly explain phenomena, such as social contexts and experiences.⁴ A metanarrative must be grounded in the context of universal truth, similar to a causal chain, explaining and organising knowledge. In the context of the present chapter, metanarrative describes a ‘self-directed form of ethnomethodology’⁵ encompassing field notes, audio-visual material, formal and informal input of the involved parties and the musical products created to constitute the basis for analysing the creative process. The documentation is thus intertwined with the process itself, enabling a deep, subjective record of the entire procedure. Scholars who map out practice-led research as a method seem to agree upon not considering subjectivity as a problem. In this chapter, the intention is not to artificially elevate the band experience to the theory level by abstracting it or forcing generalisations. Instead, it gives a first-person account of a female-fronted metal band in Turkey.

Listana’s Formative Period

Listana was founded in 2011 as a five-piece female-fronted metal band in Istanbul, Turkey, by amateur musicians who sought to develop their musical skills through exact covers. The initial aim was to perform known bands’ music as close to the original as possible before turning to compose original songs. Despite being marginalised as a female-fronted band in the male-dominated metal music industry, Listana managed to survive the emerging phase, achieving the level of supporting international metal artists at domestic festivals and abroad in a relatively short time. Experiencing both setbacks and support, like many new metal bands, it became part of the vibrant Turkish metal scene Pierre Hecker describes.⁶

Initially, Listana performed the symphonic metal subgenre, common for female-fronted bands. Later, the band revised its playlist to form and occupy a niche of its own by turning to progressive metal, a technically demanding subgenre that is not very common or in demand in Turkey. Refraining from stereotypical themes of metal music, such as anger, violence, masculinity and promiscuousness, inevitably branded Listana also as an alternative metal band. Embracing being ‘progressive’, the band went on to create original music featuring daring harmonic effects, novel textures and odd time signatures. Despite drawbacks, such as frequent lineup changes, lack of experience in terms of producing and promoting original music, mediocre equipment and meagre stage experience, it was always possible to find gig opportunities and play to full venues.

Conflicts from Musical Socialisation

Having interviewed many metal performers with global careers, such as Zakk Wylde and Jordan Rudess, as well as some of the most prominent Turkish protagonists of the metal scene like Murat Ilkan during my research, I feel entitled to generalise that, unless they happened to grow up in a particularly musical environment (musicking parents, for example), most metal musicians pick up their instruments around the time they are in junior high school and start their musical career in their mid-teens. On the contrary, my exposure to metal music came at a later point in my life, when I was drawn to symphonic metal as a listener through its well-documented connection to classical music. I did not have any interest in performing metal until I received the offer to join Listana as a keyboardist and backing vocalist.

Unlike the other five members of Listana, I had no experience in amplified music at all, so I was much less skilled in the studio than my new colleagues. As a trained pianist and composer according to the Western Conservatory system, I never worked with musicians from diverse backgrounds. My musical experience consisted of classical music performances: solo piano, chamber music, accompaniment, acapella singing. Assuming that my newfound colleagues would have had at least some kind of musical education, I expected procedures I was familiar with through these settings. However, unexpectedly for me, adaptation and advancement became a difficult issue for everyone. Unfamiliar terms such as ‘riff’, ‘groove’ or ‘guitar tone’ seemed to belong to the genre we strove to perform, but I did not have any contextual grasp on them, my colleagues could not verbally define these to my satisfaction, and internet sources were in disagreement on their exact meaning. I was unable to communicate my knowledge, intentions or opinions through the musical jargon I was proficient with. Worst of all, I had limited skill and understanding of my new instrument: I had no notion at all of sound design or keyboard programming. Consequently, I was not able to use my entry-level Roland synthesiser to much effect, even though my keyboard technique was much more advanced than the parts I was required to play.

All in all, I found out that the expectations and performance standards of metal music differed from classical music. For instance, meticulousness and clarity were drowned in the noise during studio sessions at times, but colleagues did not seem to mind as long as the flow was not affected. I worked closely with the band’s semi-professional guitarist, who picked up the instrument at thirteen but never had any tutorage. Since both of us were required to play antiphonal, parallel or even unison solos, I constantly attempted to teach him music theory, notation and the ‘correct’ jargon, such as not calling lower strings ‘upper’ strings because they are vertically at a higher position. Yet, he did not show any significant interest, being content and successful with his mnemonatic and tactile musicianship; some issues of musical communication were thus forever left unresolved.

Reflections

When the problems described earlier affected my musical satisfaction, I felt it necessary to reflect on the reasons and began to analyse the experience. In Philip Bohlman’s words: ‘Thinking – or even rethinking – music … is at the base an attempt to claim and control music as one’s own.’⁷ Thinking along the lines, ‘I have the longest and most comprehensive musical training, so I should have the authority on musical decisions’ or ‘it is my bandmates’ shortcoming if they do not understand when I speak about third-degree modulations or thematic transformation’, did not solve any problems. It was a revelation to discover that performing metal, thus learning another genre’s performance practices, was a means to indulge in the pleasures of escapism for me. I was venturing into the realm of the musical ‘Other’,⁸ behaving like many classically trained musicians, enjoying the popular music experience but without adopting it or declaring it an integral part of my musical identity out of unacknowledged subconscious contempt. Even though I was devoting ample time and resources to learning conventions and performance practices, I was still the superior, justified ‘Self’, who was presumably able to direct the musical experience in the manner I was taught during my studies. In short, I failed to understand ‘one of the pillars of rock ideology: opposition to authority and discipline, and, by extension for musicians, opposition to a structured approach to the learning of music’.⁹

I needed to break with this attitude and accept that I had deficiencies and still things to learn in order to progress. For one, I discovered that I was completely insensitive to what popular musicians refer to as ‘sound’, and I only perceived the music through its quantitative parameters like pitch, rhythm or harmony. My approach was, in fact, very Adornian because I was seeking music’s meaning and significance exclusively in its formal characteristics, notated or otherwise prescriptive, instead of the elusive and mysterious ‘vibe’ my bandmates sought. They seemed to respect my knowledge but did not evaluate the rehearsal techniques or aims I offered as useful or efficient: I was simply not metalhead enough for guiding a metal band, in their opinion. From their rebellious stance, the rigour and discipline of my classical training rendered me stiff.

As my experience grew, I came to understand that it is actually those elements between the notes that are making the music ‘metal’. To a mind, which is programmed to use prescriptive Western notation to produce music, it is hard to accept the reversal of this idea. In the limited sense, notation gets to be used in metal music; it is an inadequate, descriptive tool. The idiomatic, instinctive ‘licks’ of the guitars, unwritten rules of composing bass and drums parts, timbral quality and treatment of scalar or modal material outside the conventional rules governing classical music are habitually captured by recordings. The composer and performer often being the same individual reinforces these characteristic properties to an extent few instrumentalists and composers of the Western musical canon, such as Chopin, ever achieve. Yet, again resulting from the seeming inadequacy and incompatibility of notation, if one is not skilled in treating a recording as a learning source, even an accurate transcription would not guarantee an authentic performance.

Becoming a Metal Musician

No study on metal music composition describes it as a standard procedure. Besides participant observation, I was able to gain some insight into how metal musicians and bands create music through interviews with professional metal musicians. It is unproven but potentially true that the stereotypical metal musician uses the ear more than the eye to create music. I eventually encountered a metal songwriter, who exclusively composes using Western staff notation and distributes this material among his band members, but new, original music arises from ‘jamming’ together for most bands. Michele Biasutti’s work depicts a similar process, the compositional procedures of an Italian progressive rock band.¹⁰ Biasutti analyses videotaped data to categorise his findings into five themes: context definition, experimenting, constructing, playing and evaluating. He uses an adaptation of the comparative ethnographic method to calculate how much time is spent on which respective compositional activity.

Returning to the microcosm of my own band, I can state that no Listana song was composed by the same band members in the same manner and employing the same procedure. Each song unfolded differently and took different amounts of time to write. Of the released numbers, the easiest to compose, ‘Elveda’ (2013), took only a few days, whereas some numbers, such as ‘Persona non Grata’ (2014), took a very long time, spanning a few months and undergoing drastic changes. As an active participant of the compositional sessions, I did not have the chance to employ similar data collection or analysis means as Biasutti did, who warns ‘when actions are driven by the researcher, the participants are not free to express all possible behaviors’.¹¹ I have observed that it took Listana about a year to bring a piece from scratch to the recording phase, but this time requirement varies considerably between metal musicians and bands.

Once a band’s endeavours reach the recording phase, its existence is confirmed. A ‘demo recording’ is an initial, usually technically flawed, sound or video recording that establishes the band’s existence: the first outlet of a band to its potential audience. Without a demo, a venue would not let a band perform, as its musical inadequacy could cause them to lose their customers and even damage their inventory of sound or stage equipment. Therefore, as soon as a garage band decrees itself ready, its members attempt to record their output. Recording together in such a manner is called a ‘rush’ session and is seldom a flawless, immaculate affair. The recorded song could be a cover, especially if the band intended to perform at a venue or plan to attract a social media audience that would place them in the metal oeuvre due to their similarity to existing bands. Recording is a challenge for any band, be it in the relatively comfortable environment of a home studio or a fully equipped professional studio, where time and expertise must be paid for. Usually, less proficient musicians can only focus on their own instruments when jamming or gigging, without paying much attention to what the others are doing or how the ensemble sounds together; recording is therefore essential as a self-evaluation tool as well.

During Listana’s existence, there have been innumerable recording sessions, some fruitful, others not. At the onset of the band, none of the members had enough proficiency with studio technologies or even minimum equipment to record at home, so even the earliest demo recordings had to be outsourced. From home studios with poor equipment to high-end studios where the hourly rent would be hundreds of liras, Listana explored many music production settings, gaining valuable insights. As the band members had day jobs, there were the financial means to hire professional studio staff and use proper equipment, but this did not ensure that a decent product emerged or that the resulting recording proved usable. Often, older recordings were discarded in favour of a newer recording that was meant to fix the flaws of the previous one. Another reason Listana’s earlier recordings had to be discarded is that the band had to change vocalists four times in its initial two and a half years. If the replaced member had been an instrumentalist, the recording could have still been used with the permission of the former and current member, but there is no way to redeem or alter a finished recording with vocals short of re-recording. To avoid such issues in the future and to align the musical mastermind and the ‘front’ of the band, I was eventually ‘promoted’ by my fellow band members to be the band’s lead singer as well as the keyboardist. For some time, to acquire live performances, we recruited a second keyboardist while I was using a keytar on the front stage.

For local metal artists, being on the stage of large-scale events is a rare occurrence. Metal artists, who must invest much time and capital to acquire their skills, equipment and networking, seldom make any money from gigging in Turkey. Metal clubs in Turkey usually have their selection of bands-in-residence that play covers of their regular customers’ favourite music. These bands are formed by professional musicians, expected to play every week on their designated day, for a previously agreed fee per performance, split among band members, independent of the revenue of that particular day. Very few of these house bands have their own compositions or follow the same path as original bands that seek to establish themselves as metal artists on the domestic and international music market. Therefore, metal clubs that have live stages hardly ever hire new bands with an original discography. Since the supply is greater than the demand, most metal musicians must call their performances ‘concerts with free entrance’, where the expected outcome is exposure, beer and fun, rather than a professional opportunity for which they would receive some payment in money.

During the time it was actively performing, Listana was a conspicuous band because of the female lead and technically demanding music it sought to perform, which was rarely, if ever, attempted by cover bands. In the first half of the 2010s, the band gigged very often: besides a lively club scene, there were also open-air metal festivals in Turkey in that period. The average live club performance lasted around an hour, but there were also shorter appearances, such as at university festivals, which typically had a stage time of half an hour, including changeover and sound check. For a few months, the band even performed weekly in DoRock Taksim, the largest live metal club in Turkey, as a paid house band that performs a two-hour program – a very competitive gig. Listana even made it to the big stage to support international bands, such as Orphaned Land, Dark Tranquillity, Sonata Arctica and Theatres des Vampires, among others. A major achievement was to perform abroad in Ukraine in the summer of 2013, supporting Overkill, Artillery and Dying Fetus. For an emerging band, an invitation to a festival meant that they would have to pay their travel and accommodation expenses themselves; such event organisations only have the budget to fully reimburse headliners and co-headliners. There is even a concept called ‘buy-in’, which means that a new band paying a certain sum might get a slot to perform at a festival or open for a more established band on tour. Major European festivals claim to shun this practice; I have witnessed the organisers of Hellfest state that a non-proficient band is not allowed on any of the festival’s nine stages, and no sum of money can change that.

Performing Live

Most studies detailing the experience of live metal concerts are from the viewpoint of a spectator present among the audience or backstage. When considered from the performer’s perspective onstage, there is next to no research available. I only encountered one other metal music scholar with a research design similar to my own: Jasmine Shadrack, who reports her experiences in black metal.¹² Acquiring the expertise to perform any music for an audience is a difficult task and more demanding with some music genres than others. For metal, the rules are clear: a performer must move and look representative enough on stage to communicate with and animate their audience. Inevitably, the focus is divided between performing well enough and interacting with the audience, verbally and nonverbally. Shadrack summarises: ‘Make no mistake, if you are in a metal band, remaining static whilst you perform negates the performance itself. The physicality, endurance and focus required to ensure precise playing whilst head-banging for example, takes practice.’¹³ No matter how much one practises on their own or with the band in the studio environment, genuine stage familiarity can only be acquired on stage in front of a real audience.

It was fortunate that I came to the front stage after being on the keyboards for two and a half years, which taught me how to connect with the audience to some extent. Learning to sing properly is no different from learning a new instrument, and it took me a long time to gain a semblance of confidence again. The audience walking in and out of the venue during performances, approaching to listen or going out for a smoke or chat, was not much of a concern for me before, but after I assumed the role of the vocalist, it often made me feel insecure. I kept asking myself if they were fleeing from my poor performance. The after-show adulations that I became used to in those first years of my metal musicianship were now replaced with some audience members avoiding eye contact with me or even ignoring me altogether, sometimes extending into anonymous derogatory comments on social media after shows. There would always be people charmed by my unusual voice, but I keep having detesters to this day.

A general procedure of a Listana concert was to arrive with equipment at the venue, sometimes several hours before the performance if we were the opening band, set up the rig, perform, disassemble our own gear and abandon the stage for a changeover. Although the stage mood resulted in extraordinary iconography in the form of photos and videos, there was not a single concert where everyone claimed to have been able to hear themselves and everyone else sufficiently and clearly, and where everything went smoothly. Performing meant all kinds of mishaps happening; very rarely everyone in the band would be satisfied with the outcome and leave the stage exhausted but satisfied.

Regardless of the genre they play, musicians have less time to devote to practise when they have day jobs. Lack of mental discipline, physical stamina or practice time compromises performing a distinctly virtuosic subgenre of metal through long playlists. During Listana performances, as with many other metal bands, we had instances of drummers rushing tempos that caused unclear passages or wrong entries in the case of instrumentalists. Irrespective of how much individual practice went into them, technically challenging parts sometimes became muddy with stage excitement.

When there are shortcomings among the internal factors that constitute the band’s sound, ‘outside’ factors gain visibility beyond control, putting the outcome at risk. A band needs at least one person with an appropriately trained ear, who must be proficient in determining if the guitar and keyboard are properly compressed to not mask each other in the sonic spectrum, but this is often not the case, Listana being no exception. Without sufficient aural awareness, there is simply no guarantee that even the most advanced equipment would deliver the desired results. Let alone hiring a professionally trained live sound engineer, few venues take on the expense of dedicated staff operating the audio console for underground metal bands performing gigs. Therefore, the musical outcome is seldom the intended balance in terms of the mix.

Status and Gender Experiences

For Auguste Comte, music is the most social of all arts.¹⁴ In the case of metal music, since it has a close and well-defined community, this statement rings even more true. Most metalheads I have made acquaintances with during my fieldwork decided to interact with me after learning about my band and performer status. My status as a researcher did not win them over, especially if they already had some dissatisfaction about their education or professional life. Some informants I attempted to interact with found it offensive that I was researching something like metal music, which is sacred to them, thus devaluing it. Fortunately, most of my informants made clear that I deserved their input since I was a metal musician as well as a researcher. In their eyes, my ‘fakeness’ and ‘being a poser’ was redeemed by the fact that I was performing metal.

As a musician and researcher, I disregarded the gender inequality in metal music as much as possible. There are two ‘allowed’ dress codes for a female metal figure: either to assume an utterly gender-neutral or even masculine dress code, or a hyperfeminine dress code.¹⁵ According to the subgenre performed, variations of these two basic templates are possible. I was not comfortable with masculine or gender-neutral attire, nor did I wish to draw attention to my sexuality, so I always targeted a middle ground of femininity in my stage costumes. Neither Listana members nor other metal musicians we performed with treated me differently for being a woman: what mattered was music, not privileged chivalric treatment. The audience was another issue, though: there was no way to avoid the male gaze, which ranged from fervent admiration to outright misogyny. Although I refused to acknowledge it, I represented the ‘Other’ in some audience members’ eyes: an anomaly, tolerated at best.

The initial two-year phase when I was solely the keyboardist, working hard on my live sets and performance skills, spared me from the negative end of this spectrum, but assuming the lead with a less-than-ready voice foregrounded my gender in the worst possible way. In Shadrack’s words, I was bold enough to occupy a male space in an overtly male genre.¹⁶ Considering that Listana performed progressive metal songs and most of these pieces are written for male voices, the initial reaction to my vocal performance was anything but favourable. We had performed some of those same numbers with our previous vocalists, but they were all more experienced singers than me, so the sexism they faced had a different nuance from what they told of their experiences. For me, the accusation was a gendered one: I was a poor vocalist who thought I could make up for my lack of talent by being an attractive woman and ‘enthraling’ my band members.

Interestingly, the strongest discouragement came from other women, who sometimes were not even musicians themselves or had projects in earlier stages than Listana. My interpretation is that the space for women is quite narrow in metal music performance, and competition is inevitable. From these female detesters’ perspective, it is utterly unfair that I get to ‘reign’ on the stage, performing with more than adequate musicians and commanding their respect despite my obvious shortcomings. The men were another matter: for some, there is always the attraction, and the flaws in my performance thus serve as a pretext to approach me. For others, it is sacrilege that a woman, who happens to be an inexperienced singer, is offending their musical senses by daring to perform progressive metal numbers. Undeniably, I had much encouragement from within the band, partially stemming from the members’ exasperation about the conflicts and problems we experienced with the four vocalists we tried. It is a cause of remorse for me that they had to endure the blows from the audience together with me; the process has been an eye-opener and led every band member to question musicianship and social pressure associated with metal.

Releasing an Album

The fertile environment and vibrancy of the Turkish metal scene meant that Listana could experience the thrill and driving motivation of an emerging band, similar to the accounts of comparable international bands. To consolidate this rising trend, an album was needed to be released: the presence of a solid recording of original music meant that Listana would be perceived as having enough identity and skill for large-scale events. However, such a band whose output was quite far from the Turkish mainstream had next to no chance of finding a local label willing to make a commitment in terms of promotion and digital distribution. Without the necessary know-how and connections to seek an international label, the decision was made to digitally release the Listana album Unveiled in 2013 as an indie band. Such an enterprise would have been immensely difficult without intermediaries just a decade ago, but online distribution companies such as CD Baby are now available to provide an artist’s track with the UPC/EAN code, which is a validation for use on the internet. It is thus possible to legally release an act’s output across the planet on a limited budget.

What is seldom mentioned in this bargain is that, without a proper marketing allowance, the visibility of any such release would be extremely limited. There is more than six centuries’ worth in time of available music in streaming services worldwide. According to Daniel Sanchez, 99 per cent of all music streaming on Spotify and Apple Music comes from the top 10 per cent of songs. Less than 1 per cent of streams accounts for music other than what is popular, according to charts and sales graphics.¹⁷ In essence, only those with the financial means to market a release by advertising on streaming platforms acquire visibility. Rather than implementing solutions for this discrepancy, music streaming platforms like Spotify and Apple Music admit to making money from advertising indie artists. Thus, listeners are put under the illusion of freely choosing what new music they would consume. The total production costs of Listana’s 2013 release, with its recording, mixing, mastering, promotion photography, artwork design, music video production and digital publishing costs, were roughly 1,200 times higher than all the revenue from the released music.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the metal band experience enriched me both as a musician and a scholar: the most important revelation is that the procedure itself is sometimes even more important than the product. Listana had to remain dormant for some years now due to the pressures of academic career, family obligations and the declining economic situation in Turkey. However, if a project is close to one’s heart, it can never be too far from the mind. I plan to resume both the work and the dream, armed with more skill and knowledge this time, of documenting the glocal and global metal music industry from within by doing practice-led research within the field.