Western traditions of art and music have shifted dramatically—from communal, participatory practices to spectacles designed for passive consumption. This transformation is central to how audiences are positioned: as active contributors or as silent observers.
From Participation to Spectacle
In ancient Greece and the Middle Ages, music and ritual fostered communal involvement. Yet, over time, patronage systems and aesthetic philosophies reinforced a division between artists and audiences. The emergence of museums and concert halls framed art as something to be contemplated rather than enacted, cultivating passive spectatorship.
Technological advances accelerated this divide: recording, broadcasting, and large-scale electronic performances expanded access but also consolidated artistic authority, often turning live events into immersive spectacles rather than collective acts.
Counter-Traditions of Participation
Other cultural traditions demonstrate alternative logics. Arabic tarab relies on reciprocal interaction between performers and audiences; West African rhythmic practices embed music in communal participation, where meaning arises only through collective action (Chernoff 1979). These examples foreground co-creation over individual display.
Modern Re-Emergence
The 20th century saw artists reclaim participation—Fluxus, Happenings, and participatory performance art redefined roles, while thinkers like Bourriaud (1998) and Small (1998) theorized art as shared social practice.
Capoeira as Model
Capoeira exemplifies a participatory structure: the roda collapses divisions between audience and performer, with everyone contributing through movement, rhythm, and song. This ethos resonates directly with the project’s attempt to reimagine electronic music beyond passive spectatorship.
Introduction
Capoeira is a Brazilian practice blending martial arts, music, dance, and ritual. Emerging from Afro-Brazilian histories of resistance, it carries both cultural resilience and spiritual significance. Scholars debate its origins—some trace it to African martial traditions carried through the slave trade (Assunção 2005), others emphasize its hybrid development within Brazil (Talmon-Chvaicer 2008). By the 20th century, two main forms emerged: Capoeira Angola, emphasizing ritual and subtle play, and Capoeira Regional, a modernized, athletic style codified by Mestre Bimba. Once criminalized, Capoeira was later institutionalized and celebrated as a national art, before spreading globally in the 1970s as a practice of community and cultural identity.
Music and the Bateria
Music is the foundation of Capoeira, guiding the pace, mood, and energy (axé) of the roda (circle). The ensemble, or bateria, includes instruments such as berimbau, pandeiro, and atabaque. The berimbau, Capoeira’s iconic symbol, produces three distinct voices—gunga (bass), médio (mid), and viola (treble, improvisatory). Together they set the rhythm (toque) that dictates the style of play.
Songs unfold in a ritual sequence:
• Ladainha (narrative solo) sets a reflective tone.
• Chulas (call-and-response) engage the group.
• Corridos sustain energy while players enter the circle.
Lyrics may recount history, give instruction, or send coded warnings (e.g. cavalaria, once used to alert of police raids). Through these structures, music is not accompaniment but dialogue—between instruments, singers, players, and the circle itself.
Participation in Music
Capoeira music relies on participation rather than virtuosity. Repetition, simple call-and-response, and rhythmic layering allow even newcomers to join quickly through singing and clapping. Lewis (1992) highlights how slight variations and “imperfections” generate vitality, encouraging collective groove rather than polished precision.
Teaching is oral and experiential: beginners imitate, repeat, and gradually integrate into the roda. Some groups once restricted novices from leading instruments like the berimbau, but many mestres today encourage inclusive learning, emphasizing participation over mastery. Silence, too, carries meaning—an absence of voice or rhythm can shift the energy and signal discontent.
Ritual and Axé
The roda is not a stage but a ritual space. Deeply linked to Afro-Brazilian religions such as Candomblé, it draws on the concept of Axé—a vital energy generated through collective action. Songs often reference Orixás (deities), connecting Capoeira to ancestral and spiritual lineages.
The circle only comes alive when all present contribute. Clapping, singing, or simply being attentive sustains Axé; withholding participation causes energy to “leak,” weakening the ritual (Merrell 2005). Participation here is not optional—it is a communal responsibility. Unlike most contemporary performances, the success of the roda depends on the group’s active engagement.
This cluster gathers materials that situate the project within a broader landscape—social, cultural, and methodological. Rather than documenting specific practices, it provides surrounding frames and conditions that informed how the work emerged.
This project is framed by two overlapping traditions: ritual and participatory art. Rituals are collective practices that generate symbolic meaning and embodied energy; participatory art emphasizes shared agency and dissolves the boundary between artist and audience. Their convergence here is guided by the spirit of Vadiar—a Capoeira term evoking relaxed attentiveness, openness, and playful engagement with the present.
Ritual Frameworks
Anthropologists such as Turner (1969) and Bell (1992) describe rituals as liminal spaces shaped by participants’ embodied actions. Through rhythm, repetition, and shared gestures, rituals create collective focus and energy. In Capoeira this energy is called Axé—a palpable force sustained by full participation. This project adapts such principles, using rhythm, movement, and symbolic actions to foster collective presence.
Participatory Art
Participatory art critiques passive spectatorship, redefining audiences as co-creators. Bourriaud’s Relational Aesthetics (1998) frames art as social interaction, and artists such as Rirkrit Tiravanija exemplify this by transforming galleries into social spaces—his shared meals turning art into lived communal experience. These practices demonstrate how art can prioritize interaction and shared authorship over finished objects.
Shared Principles
Rituals and participatory art converge on several points:
• Collective energy: sustained by active participation (Axé in Capoeira, interaction in art).
• Fluid roles: boundaries between leader and participant remain flexible.
• Rhythm and symbolism: repetition and gesture synchronize collective action.
• Openness (Vadiar): a playful, improvisational ethos underpins both traditions.
Application in This Project
The project integrates these frameworks into a hybrid model: ritual provides structure and symbolic resonance; participatory art brings openness and co-creation; technology supports interaction and accessibility. The spirit of Vadiar unifies these elements, cultivating a flexible, collective space where participants are not passive observers but co-creators of shared experience.
Fractal structures—patterns of self-similarity and recursion—are widely present in African cultural practices, from architecture to music (Eglash 1999). Their cyclical, layered qualities resonate strongly with Capoeira’s rhythms and the flexible structure of the roda, where repetition and variation sustain collective energy. In this project, fractal principles are referenced as an underlying framework for designing participatory performance: simple motifs that can be repeated, scaled, and layered by participants, generating complex textures through collective action. A more detailed exploration of fractal theory and its cultural manifestations is provided in the Appendix.
Technology is central to this project, both as a practical tool and as a site of critical reflection. While often celebrated for democratizing creativity—through platforms like YouTube, SoundCloud, or the accessibility of digital audio workstations—technology also introduces new barriers. Advanced systems can obscure their workings, operate as closed “black boxes,” and shift agency from users toward designers and corporations (Winner 1986; Zuboff 2019). This paradox defines the terrain in which contemporary music-making unfolds.
Supporter vs. Controller
Two paradigms help clarify technology’s role:
• Supporter technologies extend human gestures and creativity, preserving immediacy and agency. Tools such as contact microphones or gesture-based controllers maintain a direct relationship between body and sound (Collins 2006).
• Controller technologies reduce agency by embedding creativity into pre-programmed systems—sample packs, algorithmic composition, or preset triggers—that turn participants into operators rather than creators (Keil 1987; Eglash 1999).
The difference lies not in the tool itself but in how power is distributed. Supportive technologies reinforce embodied agency, while controlling ones consolidate authorship in the hands of developers and designers.
Embodied Logic
Capoeira demonstrates how tightly movement and sound can be linked: every clap, stomp, or strike produces an immediate sonic effect. Much contemporary electronic music, by contrast, often breaks this link, abstracting gestures into triggers for complex, pre-recorded outcomes. This project seeks to preserve the embodied loop between movement and sound, ensuring that technology enhances rather than replaces human presence.
Guiding Principles
The project adopts four principles for technological design:
• Direct mapping between bodily action and sound.
• Transparency, keeping systems understandable and adjustable.
• Accessibility, inviting participation regardless of skill level.
• DIY aesthetics, drawing from Capoeira’s resourcefulness by building instruments from available or repurposed materials.
Technology as an Ethical Choice
Technology is never neutral—it encodes decisions about control, access, and authorship. Thinkers such as Debord (1967) and Zuboff (2019) warn that tools designed for liberation can reinforce hierarchies of control. This project positions technology as a supporter, reclaiming immediacy, agency, and embodied knowledge as central to participatory creation.
While this section introduces the key concerns, the following clusters expand them further, situating technology’s role in practice and performance design.
What follows is an early research diary from the project’s starting phase. It reflects my personal context, why I turned to capoeira as inspiration, and marks the beginning of my engagement with the question of cultural appropriation
Why I choose Capoeira as the method? Why not choose other models from my own origin?
Why am I doing this project? To put it simply, it stems from my observation of how audiences in contemporary musical activities are often placed in passive, consuming roles. At the same time, technology seems to limit people’s agency to create music. I want everyone to possess this agency—the ability to experience the joy of creating music. But why am I using Capoeira as both a method and a tool? Capoeira is certainly not the only possibility. I could achieve similar results through other cultures or methods, including my own cultural traditions. Chinese culture, for instance, holds many traditions of participatory music. So why haven’t I used Chinese culture and instead chosen Capoeira?
In this choice, there are some objective reasons, but more importantly, it is my own subjective decision. This might explain why, as a Chinese person, my discussion of the context so naturally focuses on the contrast between traditional Western culture and Brazilian/African culture, while I haven’t engaged much with my cultural origins.
Objectively speaking, there are many reasons I haven’t chosen Chinese culture. Within Chinese traditions, there is a clear divide in attitudes toward music and the performing arts. Historically, music in China has been categorized into “elegant music” (雅乐, yǎyuè) and “folk music” (俗乐, súyuè), and the attitudes toward participation in these two types are strikingly different. Elegant music has long been regarded as refined, something to be admired and upheld. However, it was also seen as requiring significant cultural knowledge and education to access, making it the exclusive domain of royalty, the nobility, and literati. Ordinary people, lacking this education, were often considered incapable of appreciation. Elegant music became naturally associated with appreciation rather than participation, and the ability to appreciate it became a symbol of power. In contrast, folk music encouraged and naturally fostered participation within the community. Perhaps my project holds the potential to build a bridge within this historical divide. However, while elegant music gained prestige for its refinement, it also became heavily controlled by centralized power and used as a tool for ideological dissemination. Meanwhile, the participatory nature of folk music was still subject to limitations. As participation grew, it often became regulated and eventually absorbed into elegant music, transforming into yet another tool of power. In the current Chinese political context, everyone is, metaphorically speaking, dancing in shackles. Moreover, within Chinese folk traditions, audience participation has primarily manifested in dance, rather than the creation of music itself. The musical aspect has always been tightly controlled by professional folk musicians, whose skills were guarded by strict rules of secrecy. The concept of “技不外传” (skills must not be shared outside) enforced a system where one had to apprentice under a recognized master to gain the ability to perform. Even then, the apprenticeship itself was deeply entangled in hierarchical structures and various discriminatory practices. Thus, Chinese folk music, at its core, isn’t necessarily a viable model for my project either. Of course, it’s undeniable that within certain Chinese ethnic minority traditions, there are highly participatory musical practices. However, much like Capoeira, these traditions are not part of the culture to which I belong.
Subjectively, why didn’t I choose Chinese culture? The answer is quite simple: throughout my life, I have lacked a sense of belonging to mainstream Chinese culture. My cultural nourishment has primarily come from Western influences. Growing up in these cultural environments, I have always felt like an outsider within Chinese culture. This might also explain why I naturally adopted a Western perspective to compare with Brazilian/African culture, rather than viewing it through the lens of my Chinese heritage. Of course, this has been made possible by the internet. In a pre-internet era, cultural exchange would have been far more constrained by geography and politics. Technology has given me the chance to embrace this “outsider” identity.
As for why I subjectively chose Capoeira, the simple answer might be that it is a culture I am familiar with. But upon deeper reflection, the reasons are much more complex. Over a decade ago, by chance, I watched a culinary travel documentary. I enjoyed the program so much that I began following the host on social media. Through his posts, I learned that he trained in Capoeira, and this name became etched in my memory. However, I didn’t pursue it at the time because I wasn’t living in the city where his group was based—coincidentally, it was also my hometown. Fast forward to just over two years ago: I moved back to my hometown, and around that time, a Japanese anime featuring a Capoeira-practicing character (Ms. Llama) was airing. This reignited my earlier memories, and I decided to give it a try. Encouraged by family and friends, I attended my first trial class—which, as fate would have it, was with the very group that the documentary host belonged to. After the first class, I didn’t immediately commit. Yet about six months later, I found that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I decided to immerse myself in this culture, and to my surprise, I quickly became fully integrated into it. It felt as though it had always been a part of me. Since then, every aspect of my life has become intertwined with Capoeira. Most of my friends are from Capoeira. The person I have a crush on is from capoeira. My life has started to revolve around it. During my first major Capoeira event, I experienced a profound sense of spirituality—a precious experience within the culture. A Mestre once shared with me that it seemed like I was destined to be in Capoeira. From my personal experience, I have naturally felt accepted as part of this culture. This recognition has moved me deeply. As such, I never even questioned whether Capoeira is my culture; I have always intuitively considered it a part of me.
That said, I must acknowledge that from certain perspectives, Capoeira may not be considered my culture. But if members of the Capoeira community recognize me as belonging to it, isn’t that enough? Moreover, Capoeira itself carries the traits of being an outsider’s culture. Let us not forget that Capoeira was created in Brazil by African slaves who were forcibly brought to South America. It was born out of their memories of home and their resilience. Fundamentally, this is a culture of outsiders—a culture of the displaced. This intrinsic characteristic resonates deeply with me, as an outsider myself. In this sense, Capoeira is my culture. It is a culture that has welcomed me, accepted me, and helped me grow. Though I have only been part of it for two short years, I have grown so much—physically, intellectually, and spiritually. It is my home.
Of course, I have gradually come to realize that certain traits in me are undeniably influenced by Chinese culture, shaped by specific historical periods unique to China. Even though I have long considered myself an outsider to Chinese culture, I am not truly an insider to any other geographically rooted culture either. With the rise of the internet, people now have ways to connect and gather beyond geographical limitations. In this context, how should we perceive cultural belonging? Why do we value cultural belonging so much? Perhaps one reason is to prevent cultural appropriation, to ensure that every culture is treated with due respect. But who has the authority to judge whether someone respects a culture? And what constitutes respect? Every culture is in a constant state of evolution—what is considered respectful today might have been offensive yesterday. So how do we navigate these conflicts?
Truthfully, I haven’t figured out all these questions. What I can do, perhaps, is to keep an open mind, to learn and understand as much as I can about each culture, and to avoid making decisions based on incomplete knowledge.