In Western music, Orientalist styles have related to previous Orientalist styles rather than to Eastern ethnic practices, just as myths have been described by Lévi-Strauss as relating to other myths. One might ask if it is necessary to know anything about Eastern musical practices; for the most part, it seems that only a knowledge of Orientalist signifiers is required. In the case of Orientalist operas, I had at first thought it might be important to understand where they were set geographically. Then, I began to realise that, for the most part, all I needed to know was the simple fact that they were set in exotic, foreign places. Perhaps I should have remembered Edward Said's advice that:
we need not look for correspondence between the language used to depict the Orient and the Orient itself, not so much because the language is inaccurate but because it is not even trying to be accurate. What it is trying to do... is at one and the same time to characterise the Orient as alien and to incorporate it schematically on a theatrical stage whose audience, manager, and actors are for Europe, and only for Europe.
Nevertheless, differences developed in the representation of the exotic or cultural Other, and that is my present concern. In this paper, because of its broad span, I am looking primarily for changes in representation. To find an example of such change, one might compare Purcell's young Indian with Delibes' young Indian.
Jack Westrup stated apropos of Purcell's The Indian Queen: "For all the music tells us, the action might be taking place in St. James's Park." His remark indicates that there is a historical specificity to musical Orientalism, and thus helps to establish its beginnings. Consider the music sung by the Indian Boy, which concerns `native innocence', part of a favourite colonising theme in which the indigenous peoples of conquered countries are looked upon as children (and here they are indeed a boy and girl). The minor key, although it later becomes a marker of ethnic difference, in this work can be used for contentment (for example, `Ah! Ah! How Happy Are We'); unhappiness, another later connotation of the minor, at this time was conveyed by chromaticism and dissonance (for example, `All Dismal Sounds' in the same work). Lakmé's `Où va la jeune Indoue' (the `Bell song' from Delibes' opera Lakmé, 1883) is a tale of a young Indian girl's seduction by the divine Vishnu. It begins with an unaccompanied vocalise. Carolyn Abbate remarks that "Such moments enact in pure form familiar Western tropes on the suspicious power of music and its capacity to move us without rational speech." A comparison of these two operas shows how developed exotic signifiers had become in the two centuries after Purcell.
The first type of musical Orientalism was the Turkish Style which, according to Jonathan Bellman, "evolved from a sort of battle music played by Turkish military bands outside the walls of Vienna during the siege of that city in 1683." He remarks that few had heard it and virtually no-one remembered it, and that "what became understood as Turkish Style was thus almost entirely the product of the European imagination." It clearly gave pleasure, but also a sense of superiority over the Turks. Why did the Turkish Style arrive as the first example of Orientalism in music? Was it because the Turks had dared to try to conquer the West? The successful lifting of the Siege of Vienna ended Turkish expansionism.
Typical Turkish Style of the eighteenth century would be: a 2/4 march with a bass of reiterated quavers (often asserting a tonic pedal); a melody decorated with grace notes (often dissonant) and insisting on the notes of the tonic triad, but with an occasional raised fourth; and `crude' harmony, such as root position triads and octave doubling of melody. The Chorus of Janissaries from Mozart's Die Entführung aus dem Serail (1782) is a good example. Alfred Einstein describes the unusual circumstances of the first performance of this work in London in 1827:
To our astonishment, the prelude to this `Turkish opera' begins with the solemn strains from the scene of the men in armour in the Zauberflöte... Next follows the flute and drum solo of the trial by fire and water. Only after this does Mozart's presto get under way."
Evidently, the Egypt of Die Zauberflöte and the Turkey of Die Entführung lacked distinguishing codes in England at this time. My argument, however, is that musical Orientalism has never been overly concerned with establishing distinctions between Eastern cultures, and that an interchangeability of exotic signifiers proved to be commonplace rather than astonishing.
In the genealogy of musical Orientalism, the next style to arrive after the
style turc was the style hongrois, which Bellman describes as
"derived from the exotic-sounding music played by Gypsy bands (not actual
Magyars) in Hungary and westward to Vienna."
When it emerged alongside the Turkish Style in the middle of the eighteenth
century, there was no clear line between the two. The following pieces
illustrate the cross-over: Haydn's Rondo `In the Gipsies' Style' (the
Finale of the Piano Trio in G major, Hob. XV: 25); the Finale of
Mozart's Violin Concerto in A major (known as the `Turkish'), K219; and
Beethoven's Alla Ingharese for piano (known as `Rage over a Lost
Penny'). The style hongrois is marked by syncopation, dactylic and
dotted rhythms, virtuoso violin or quasi-violin passages (the Gypsies were
Hungary's professional musicians), a more prominent raised fourth than in the
Turkish Style, and the melodic interval of the augmented second. It becomes a
more distinct style in the nineteenth century, and the augmented second is
increasingly used to connote `Gipsy'. The `Gipsy Scale'
is then theorised by Liszt, who emphasises difference by choosing the raised fourth degree and omitting the equally common diatonic fourth degree. Hungaria, Symphonic Poem No.9 (1854), has a conventional modulation to the dominant in bars 79-86 while retaining a transposed version of the `Hungarian' augmented second [ex.2].
What we have here is a spiced-up major-minor tonality rather than music based on a different ethnic scale pattern - unorthodox augmented seconds, but an orthodox modulation. In similar fashion, the old church modes were appropriated for representing the East, and treated as if they belonged to major-minor tonality. The Dorian mode beginning on D, for example, can be regarded as the key of D minor, but with the colourful foreignness of a B natural. Treating modes as inflected major and minor scales means that one can modulate from, say, an Aeolian-inflected tonic to an Aeolian-inflected dominant, as Berlioz does in `The Flight into Egypt' from L'Enfance du Christ (1854).
Rimsky-Korsakov's theme for Scheherazade is in the Dorian mode, as is the opening of the `Dance of the Priestesses' from Saint-Saèns' Samson et Dalila (1877). Ralph Locke suggests that the Bacchanale of Act 3 is based on the Arab Hijaz mode, which provides a lower tetrachord containing an augmented second (here the tetrachord is A, B flat, C sharp, D); then, for the upper tetrachord Saint-Saèns uses a transposition of this (i.e. E, F natural, G sharp, A). Locke says this is an option in Arab music (Hijaz Kar), but thinks it more likely that:
Saint-Saèns's repeated insistence on the augmented second in the Bacchanale can be seen as an instance of the standard Orientalist practice (described by anthropologist Francis Affergan) of emphasising the `[sedimentary] residues ... of what differs most' from Western practice; such an emphasis `reifies' the Easterner's `difference', thereby heightening rather than bridging the dichotomous gap between Self and Other.
If Saint-Saèns was, indeed, concerned with the accuracy of the Arabic mode, it may strike an Arab listener as odd to hear the sound of castanets accompanying this dance. The whole thing becomes more bizarre when one considers that it was originally written, though not completed, as a Marche turque.
Some nineteenth-century songs concerning Arabs, such as `I'll Sing Thee Songs
of Araby', `A Son of the Desert Am I', and `The Arab's Farewell to His
Favourite Steed' are basically Western European in style. The melody of
Caroline Norton's `No More Sea', on the
other hand, is described as an `Arab air'
It clearly signified religion at that time, no doubt because of associations with Biblical Palestine. Forty years later, arranged as the `Hootchy-Kootchy Dance', this same `Arab air' signified seductive sensuality. In other words, Orientalism does not simply take the music of the Other to represent the Other; it is used to represent our own thoughts about the Other.
The opening of Ravel's Shéhérazade overture (1899) illustrates the use of whole tones for exotic effect. They may have come from Russian exoticism or from the Indonesian music he heard at the Paris World Exposition in 1889. Rimsky-Korsakov was also at the Exposition performing rarely-heard Russian repertoire. Whole tone scales had been around in Russian music for some time; they appear as early as 1848 (in Glinka's Russlan and Ludmila). The opening of Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade has a whole-tone character. Russia was expanding into the Orient in the nineteenth century, occupying Samarkand and Bokhara in 1868, for example, and extending the Transcaspian railway.
Ravel's other Shéhérazade consists of settings of three poems by Tristan Klingsor (real name, Léon Leclère) for mezzo-soprano and orchestra (1903). Klingsor was stimulated by the recent French publication of J.C. Mardrus's translation of A Thousand and One Nights, and took the title of his hundred poem collection Schéhérazade (sic) from Rimsky-Korsakov's orchestral work. The very beginning of `Asie' from Ravel's Klingsor settings is a perfect summary of musical Orientalism at the turn of the century. Consider how the signification of the first bars is confirmed by the word `Asie'; this is a Western musical epitome of Asia.
Perhaps this was about as far as a Western composer could go with a conventional orchestra. Miklos Rozsa wanted to use the Ondes Martenot in his film score to The Thief of Bagdad [sic] of 1940 but, to his disappointment, Maurice Martenot, the only person able to play the instrument, was not available. It is obvious that Rozsa wanted a weird-sounding instrument; his priority was not to find an ethnically appropriate instrument, but then neither was Messiaen's in Turangalîla. Rozsa had his limits, though: he refused to use Adeste Fideles for the nativity scene in his score to Ben-Hur.18
Let us now turn to Spain, which seems to have been first characterised by
dance rhythms, especially the fandango, as, for example, in Gluck's Don
Juan ballet of 1761. For a development of the Spanish code, one could
compare Rimsky-Korsakov's fandango from Capriccio Espagnol with the
fandango from the Act 3 Finale of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro
which is, of course, set in Spain, though Mozart has borrowed the melody of his
fandango from Gluck. Felicia Hemans's `Mother, O! Sing Me to Rest', from a collection of Peninsular
Melodies dating from the early nineteenth century has nothing recognisably
`Spanish' about it in either words or music. Compare the `Spanish' signifiers
(quasi-guitar strumming and fandango rhythm) of Harper's `A Bandit's Life Is
the Life for Me!' of 1872
The fandango became associated with bandits - `I Am the Bandolero' is another example. It is noteworthy that when the plot of Beethoven's Fidelio was moved to Spain for censorship reasons, the composer felt no urge to make musical changes. This was not an option for nineteenth-century composers who located operas in Spain, for example, Bizet and Carmen (1875). So, it is significant that in Verdi's Un Ballo in Maschera which, to appease the censor, had its setting moved from royal Sweden to republican America, Swedes and Americans are either presumed to sound the same (be the same) or to be like Italians. In Puccini's La Fanciulla American cowboys are Italians (i.e. not the cultural Other), and Verdi's Hebrew slaves (Nabucco) are Italians, but not his Egyptians (Aida).
In his `canto gitano' from Cappriccio Espagnol (1887), Rimsky-Korsakov
opts for Phrygian inflections rather than an augmented second between B flat
and C sharp. However, Bizet's `fate theme' from Carmen has augmented
seconds, but moved around within Western-style sequences (they are not part of
a mode: they form a motive fit for transposing). Yet, the transposing is not
random: Bizet has the best of all worlds, using augmented seconds at all three
of the favourite places for signifying the cultural Other within the space of
an octave. He thereby produces a veritable Orientalist tone row
Debussy, on the other hand, decides that Liszt's Hungarian `Gipsy' scale is good enough for his Habañera La soirée dans Grenade (1903). Before leaving Spain, it is interesting to note that a TV advertisement for Spanish holidays (run in January 1996 on Channel 4) used an arrangement of Ravel's Bolero as background music. This must have been chosen because it was thought to signify Spain better than Spanish music does.
The next stop on our musical tour is North Africa. Rameau's L'Egiptienne (The Egyptian Woman) from Nouvelles Suites de Pièces de Clavecin (1736) has no obvious Egyptian connotations today. But, if we move once again to the nineteenth century and compare Ballet égyptien (1875) by French violinist Alexandre Luigini, we will find exotic signifiers are now in place. Moreover, the opening theme of No.8 has a whole-tone character, no doubt intended to convey stock notions of the mystery of Egypt. I recently received a leaflet inviting me to "Cruise down the Nile and experience the mystery and magic of Egypt." Egypt was summed up by a photograph of the Sphinx and three camels. Handel's Israel in Egypt is not `Egyptian', of course, but neither is Glass's Akhnaten. The latter may demonstrate a return to non-Orientalist treatment, that is using a musical style typified by its own contemporary cultural-historical context rather than a pseudo-geographical location. Andrew Lloyd-Webber's Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat is an example of a popular but non-Orientalist stage work.
The accepted genealogy of the `Egyptian' style is that Félicien David's La Perle du Brésil (note the location) of 1851 influenced Meyerbeer's L'Africaine (his last work, performed posthumously in 1865), which influenced Verdi when composing Aida in 1870.  Berlioz's `Flight into Egypt' has an Aeolian/Dorian modal character and prominent woodwind, especially cor anglais, to add to its `oriental' character. However, rather disconcertingly, he immediately reverts to the French pastorale for the Shepherds' Chorus. The French influence behind the construction of the `Egyptian' style is understandable when one reads Edward Said's comment that "for something more than the first half of the nineteenth century Paris was the capital of the Orientalist world." For the musical-technological world of today, Egypt would appear to be best connoted by an electronically `enhanced' Cor Anglais, which is what the `Egyptian Reed' setting on a Proteus synthesiser amounts to.
Characterisation of the Asian subcontinent emerged rather later in the
nineteenth century. John Pridham's descriptive fantasia for piano, The
Battle March of Delhi (1857), is without exoticisms, and even the
purportedly genuine `Indian air' sounds as if the missionaries have already
In 1902 we find that Amy Woodforde-Finden's music to `Pale Hands I Loved Beside the Shalimar' has an `Indian' introduction (whether this is the Phrygian mode or Rag Multani is irrelevant, of course, to a consideration of Orientalism) and is heavily perfumed elsewhere. There is an old recording of this song made by Valentino, and if you are unaware that he is the singer it may be tempting to describe the performance as poor. However, such a recording increases the impact of the song's Orientalism, because it adds Valentino's own persona to the music, thus affecting its reception for those who are familiar with Valentino as a sort of all-purpose exotic Other.
Finally, we move to the Far East, itself an ethnocentric label - it is far
from us, and therefore the term relies upon a metageography for its
meaning. Again, an interchangeability of signifiers is commonplace. For
example, the `Japanese' music of a late nineteenth-century drawing-room ballad,
`The Mousmee', was found by singer
Franklin Clive to be eminently suited to Kipling's `On the Road to Mandalay',
its `Oriental' character sufficient for Burma or Japan. In truth, by the end
of the introduction we have not even left Hungary (Kipling, himself, has a
vague idea of geography, being under the impression that China is across the
bay from Mandalay)
Sidney Jones made the more common move from Japan to China, when he followed up his musical success of 1896, The Geisha, with San Toy of 1899. Puccini moved just as easily from Japan to China (Madama Butterfly to Turandot). Ping, Pong and Pang (Turandot) are Chinese stereotypes. Note, especially, their Non v'è in China towards the end of Act II, scene 1, with its staccato chords, glittering timbre (harp, celeste, glockenspiel), pentatonicism, and singing in octaves rather than harmony. In accordance with the ideological assumption that the `lower orders' are more ethnically rooted than the `higher', lowly Liù is given the pentatonic treatment, but not the Prince: see Signore, ascolta! followed by Non piangere, Liù! from Act I. Puccini's augmented triads, gongs, etc. (from Butterfly and Turandot) are inherited by Ketèlbey and paraded in his In a Chinese Temple Garden.
Sir Edwin Arnold's Light of Asia is the inspiration for Fred Weatherly's `Nirvana' (1900, music by Stephen Adams). Here, chinoiserie is constructed by bare fifths, pentatonic melody and the rhythmic pulse of the piano accompaniment. The words feature the `fallen civilisation' theme of Orientalist writing ("The temples old decay"). The song's message is that the Orient has mystic Nirvana; the Occident has human love aspiring to the divine. `The Sheik of Araby' has a similar rhythmic pulse to Nirvana, but now, quickened in tempo, it is associated with the decidedly unholy fox trot. Pentatonicism and parallel fourths are the basic signifiers for chinoiserie; see Ravel's characterisation of the China cup in L'Enfant et les Sortilèges (1925), especially from figure 37 in the orchestral score. (That the parallel fourths are played on the celesta is also significant.)
The twentieth century's most successful Orientalist musical (prior to Miss Saigon) was Chu Chin Chow (music by Frederic Norton, 1916). The film version of 1934 opens with an image of an enormous cake in the shape of a domed palace or Mosque. The Orientalist stereotype portrayed here is that of decadence and monstrous appetite. A little later there is an argument between husband and wife over who is to wear the jewels. The Orientalist stereotype this time is effeminacy. The falsetto voice of one male servant or slave is the only hint we are given of the presence of eunuchs (it was obviously a delicate matter in 1934, but worth a quick laugh for the knowing member of the audience). Chu Chin Chow is a merchant Mandarin who is to visit Baghdad from China; on the way, he is robbed and killed together with his entourage by the forty thieves. By such ingenious means, the whole of the East is distilled into one plot.
Zahrat, the treacherous Egyptian slave girl is played by Anna May Wong, looking distinctly Chinese. All accents, however, are 1930s received English (for example, `dazzled' pronounced as `dezzled'), with the exception of the leader of the thieves, Abu Hassan (whose accent suggests simply `foreign villain'). The Orientalism of the music is inconsistent, too. The chorus `We Are the Robbers of the Woods' could be a song for Robin Hood and his merry men. A slave market scene was introduced that is not in the original Arabian Nights' tale. It provides another Orientalist stereotype: `they are sex mad'. The Orient is associated with sexual promise. Note its chocolate substitute in Fry's `Turkish Delight', which used to be advertised as "full of Eastern promise." During the musical's first run, the Lord Chamberlain's Office became involved in investigating a complaint of "near nudity and non controlled breast movement." Chu Chin Chow ran in London's West End for five years (1916-21) and was seen by nearly three million people. Oscar Asche, the librettist, said that he intended a "vision of the romance, the splendour, the inscrutable mystery of the East."
The Far Eastern Orientalist style soon passed into dance band music and film music. An example is Ambrose's recording of `A Japanese Dream'. Roy Prendergast has remarked of the `Chinese' music in films of the 1930s and `40s, "The Western listener simply does not understand the symbols of authentic Oriental music as he does those of Western music; therefore, Oriental music would have little dramatic effect for him." An example of more recent pop chinoiserie is David Bowie's `China Girl'.
There is a popular misconception to correct. Orientalist music is not poor imitation of another cultural practice: its purpose is not to imitate but to represent. Therefore, the Orient can begin in Spain, if the intention is simply to connote a cultural Other. However, a chain of signifiers may be assembled to represent a more defined other culture, in which case Spain may be connoted in a more specific manner. Even then, there may be no distinction made between Spain, Mexico, or South American countries. A further refinement would come if such things as the differing musical characters of the Spanish and Argentine tangos were distinguished, but this is about as far as Orientalism can go, because representations rely upon culturally learned recognition. The peculiar achievement of Orientalism is, of course, that it gives rise to misrecognition. Imitation aims to duplicate; musical Orientalism has little to do with the objective conditions of non-Western musical practices - rather, it brings something new into being.
Here is a list of Orientalist devices, many of which can be applied undiscriminatingly as markers of cultural difference: whole tones; Aeolian, Dorian, but especially the Phrygian mode; augmented seconds and fourths (especially with Lydian or Phrygian inflexions); Arabesques and ornamented lines; elaborate `Ah!' melismas for voice; sliding or sinuous chromaticism; trills, and dissonant grace notes; rapid scale passages (especially of an irregular fit, e.g. eleven notes to be played in the time of two crotchets); a melody that suddenly shifts to notes of shorter value; abrupt juxtapositions of romantic, lyrical tunes and busy, energetic passages; repetitive rhythms, and repetitive small-compass melodies; ostinati; ad libitum sections (colla parte, senza tempo, etc.); use of triplets in duple time; complex or irregular rhythms; parallel movement in fourths, fifths, and octaves (especially in the woodwind); bare fifths; drones and pedal points; `Magic' or `mystic' chords (possessing uncertainty of duration and/or harmonic direction); harp arpeggios and glissandi (Rimsky-Korsakov changes the connotation of the harp with a mythical past to one of oriental exoticism); double reeds (oboe and especially cor anglais); percussion (especially tambourine, triangle, cymbals and gong); emphatic rhythmic figures on unpitched percussion (such as tom toms, tambourine and triangle). The register of the melody can be important, for example the cor anglais connotes the East more than does the oboe. The use of a `frame' is often important: for example, Rimsky-Korsakov's canto gitano, mentioned earlier, is more than a song arrangement; its full title is Scena e canto gitano, and the appearances of the song melody are framed by such things as free cadenza passages and feroce strings, which hold its character and meaning within an Orientalist package. Whether or not any of the musical devices and processes listed in this paragraph exist in any Eastern ethnic practices is almost irrelevant. As Said explains, "In a system of knowledge about the Orient, the Orient is less a place than a topos, a set of references."
There are both positive and negative sides to some aspects of musical Orientalism. There is, on the one hand, the well-known use of the `foreign' for purposes of social critique, and the potential for delivering a Bakhtinian carnivalesque inversion of dominant values, and, on the other, a facility for encouraging notions not simply of ethnic difference, but of racial difference. Singaporean violinist Vanessa Mae, for example, was presented at fifteen years old as sexy and sensual. It would have been impossible to market a teenage, white, all-American female violinist like this without outrage. There is also the real danger of Orientalism fixing devil-may-care attitudes of the `they're all foreign johnnies' variety. Amnesty International advertisements that followed a television documentary concerning sales of torture equipment by British Companies were headed with the quotation, "I don't really fill my mind much with what one set of foreigners is doing to another." Said has described the limitations of Orientalism as those that "follow upon disregarding, essentialising, denuding the humanity of another culture, people, or geographical region."
So, how far have we travelled along the road of musical Orientalism since the eighteenth century? Let us return to Turkey and come full circle with the Pogues, whose mixture of punk and Irish folk is also able to embrace Orientalist musical constructions. In `Turkish Song of the Damned' (MacGowan, Finer) of 1988, an augmented second falls between the second and third degrees, and there is a flattened seventh in the upper tetrachord. These signs of cultural difference may not be identical to those used in eighteenth-century `Turkish Style', but we can conclude from the background screams and menacing lyrics of this song that their connotations are very similar. Thus, our survey would seem to indicate that, in one sense, we have not moved at all.
I conclude with a final example of the geographical vagueness of musical Orientalism, this time as it occurs in the labelling of `exotic' instruments. If we consult the Everyman Dictionary of Music for a definition of `Turkish Crescent' we find "see Chinese Pavilion."
 "a myth derives its significance not from contemporary or archaic institutions of which it is a reflection, but from its relation to other myths within a transformation group." Claude Lévi-Strauss, The Raw and the Cooked: Introduction to a Science of Mythology, trans. John and Doreen Weightman (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986, originally published by Librairie Plon as Le cru et le cuit, 1964), p.51, fn. 5.
 Edward W. Said, Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985, originally published London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1978), pp.71-2.
 J. A. Westrup Purcell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995; 1937; London: Dent), p.142
 Carolyn Abbate, Unsung Voices: Opera and Musical Narrative in the Nineteenth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), p.4.
 Jonathan Bellman, The Style Hongrois in the Music of Western Europe (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1993), pp.13-14; see also pp.31-2.
 ibid., p.14.
 For fuller discussion, see Whaples, Miriam Karpilow, Exoticism in Dramatic Music, 1600-1800 (Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana University, 1958; Ann Arbor: University Microfilms International, 1981), Bauman, Thomas, W. A. Mozart: Die Entführung aus dem Serail (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), and Bellman, The Style Hongrois in the Music of Western Europe, pp.33-42.
 Alfred Einstein, Essays on Music (London: Faber, revised edn., 1958, originally published 1956), p.211.
 Bellman, The Style Hongrois in the Music of Western Europe, p.14.
 The Gipsy in Music, trans. Edwin Evans (1881; reprinted London: William Reeves, 1960, originally published as Des Bohémiens et de leaur musique en Hongrie, 1859).
 Ralph P. Locke `Constructing the Oriental `Other': Saint-Saèns's Samson et Dalila', Cambridge Opera Journal 3:3 (1991), p.267. The work cited is Francis Affergan, Exotisme et altérité: Essai sur les fondements d'une critique de l'anthropologie (Paris, 1987), pp.103-4.
 Number 2 of her Sabbath Lays of 1853. The words of this song reflect upon a Biblical text, Revelation 21: 1 and 4.
 Supposedly composed by New York Congressman Sol Bloom for an Egyptian dance at the Chicago World's Columbian Exposition in 1893; see Derek B. Scott, The Singing Bourgeois (Milton Keynes and Philadelphia: Open University Press, 1989), p.106.
 Whole tone scales on trombones accompany the Act 3 chorus of followers of the evil magician.
 See Said, Orientalism, p.191.
 Alexander Korda, London Films, UK, 1940
 Roy M. Prendergast Film Music: A Neglected Art (New York: Norton, 2nd edn, 1992, originally published 1977), p.69.
18 Prendergast Film Music: A Neglected Art, p.126.
 `Mother, O! Sing Me to Rest' (1830), words by Felicia Hemans, music anon.
 `The Bandolero' (1894), words and music by Leslie Stuart.
 Interestingly, Italians almost become the cultural Other in Tchaikovsky's Cappriccio Italien, so that some people find the piece suggests Spain rather than Italy.
 Donald J. Grout A Short History of Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 2nd edn, 1965, originally published 1947), pp.321-2, 328. For the influence of Félicien David's `Oriental' works, see ibid., p.328, and Locke, `Constructing the Oriental `Other': Saint-Saèns's Samson et Dalila', pp.265-6.
 Said, Orientalism, p.51.
 `Kashmiri Song' from Four Indian Love Lyrics, words by L. Hope, music by A. Woodforde-Finden, 1902.
 `The Mousmee; Or, His Sweetheart in Japan', words by Douglas Sladen, music by Walter W. Hedgcock (1893).
 Said, Orientalism, 188-90, p.309.
 Oscar Asche, `Foreword' to Chu Chin Chow, reproduced in CD booklet (EMI 0777 7 899392 6, 1984), p.8.
 (Fields - McHugh) Ambrose 1930 (Matrix Bb-19329-3).
 Prendergast, Film Music: A Neglected Art, p.214.
 For example, Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade bars 8-13.
 See Tarasti, p.77; Scheherazade, 3rd movement, bars 162-4 provide an example.
 Said, Orientalism, p.177.
 Remark attributed to Alan Clark, ex-Minister for Defence, in Amnesty International advertisement (The Guardian, Saturday, 16 March, 1996, p.13).
 Said, Orientalism, p.108.