British Forum for Ethnomusicology

"Whole New Worlds": Music and the Disney Theme Park Experience
Author(s): Charles Carson
Source: Ethnomusicology Forum, Vol. 13, No. 2 (Nov., 2004), pp. 228-235
Published by: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. on behalf of the British Forum for Ethnomusicology
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Ethnomusicology Forum
Il Routledge
I % Taylor & Francis Group

Vol 13, No. 2, November 2004, pp. 228-235

"Whole New Worlds": Music and the

Disney Theme Park Experience
Charles Carson

One can easily discover the value of music in the "Disney Experience" by tracing its role
throughout the history of the company, from its early use in cartoons to its current
incarnation as a stand-alone product (for example, soundtrack recordings). In this paper,
I explore some of the ways in which music operates in the Disney theme park experience.
In the context of Walt Disney World, my belief is that music functions in at least three
specific capacities: 1) music links current Disney experiences to (often romanticized)
experiences of the past through nostalgia; 2) music defines the boundaries which separate
"same" from "other" in terms of both geography and, ultimately, identity; 3) and music
serves as an index for the "Disney Experience" in general; an experience which itself is
built upon a commixture of the aforementioned modes of identity and nostalgia.

Keywords: Disney; Tourism; Post-Tourism; Theme Park Music; Nostalgia

In a recent commercial for the Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando, Florida, Disney
pointedly elucidates the role of music in its project. A young girl in an elementary
school spelling bee attempting to spell "microphone" gets only as far as "M-I-C"
when she is interrupted by an older audience member's interjection of "K-E-Y".
Immediately, the audience of parents and grandparents bursts forth in song, dancing
around the auditorium while singing the "Mickey Mouse Club Theme" - much to
the confusion of the children on stage. It is no surprise that this commercial
references the "Mickey Mouse Club Theme", a song that marks what is perhaps
Disney's first use of music as a consciously self-referential device. Through its
connection with the 1950s television show, this music is clearly intended to remind

Charles Carson is a PhD student in music history at the University of Pennsylvania. His research interests
include twentieth-century art music; jazz and popular music, including issues of analysis and performance;
anthropology of music; film music; the construction and representation of race, class and gender in American
concert and popular musics; and American musical subcultures. He is currently at work on his dissertation,
which explores the ideas of blackness and masculinity in the Hard Bop idiom. Correspondence to: The
University of Pennsylvania Department of Music, 201 South 34th Street, Philadelphia, PA 19104, USA. Email:
ccarson@sas.upenn.edu

ISSN 1741-1912 (print)/ISSN 1741-1920 (online) ? 2004 Taylor & Francis Ltd
DOI: 10.1080/1741191042000286220

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 Ethnomusicology Forum 229

the "first generation to grow up with Disney" of their childhood dependence upon
the complex and self-reflexive simulacrum that can be labelled simply the "Disney
Experience".
As Buckingham points out, Disney's success rests in its "dual address.. .Disney
both constructs and speaks to elements of children's lived experiences, while
providing adults with opportunities for nostalgic fantasies about their own past"
(1997, 286). I would add that the two aspects of Disney's "dual address" have become
somewhat conflated, for, as the "first generation to grow up with Disney" moniker
implies, the "nostalgic fantasies" these adults are hoping to recapture were, in fact,
originally constructed by Disney. Instead of simply referencing abstract images of
princesses, fairy tales and fantastic animals, the "Disney Experience" now references
its own versions of these tales, versions that have been seamlessly integrated into the
consumers' own constructed nostalgic narratives. As the use of the theme song in this
commercial suggests, music plays a central role in this circular construction.
This circularity does not end at the park's gates. Once inside, the "guest" (as Disney
calls its resort customers) continues to be bombarded by innumerable musical events
that simultaneously refer to earlier Disney experiences and create new ones. There are
essentially three types of musical events on display in the Disney parks: 1) "piped in"
background music (in the form of themed "area" music, but also the theme music for
individual rides and attractions); 2) live music (including music performed by roving
musicians, as well as certain live music performances on stage); and 3) pre-recorded
performances which may or may not include a live element (such as parades,
character-based shows, filmed attractions or "special effect" shows).
Exhibiting all three of these uses is Main Street USA, a re-creation of a circa-1900
pre-industrialized American town square. This avenue serves as the gateway for the
Magic Kingdom park in Florida (as well as Disneyland in California and, interestingly
enough, Disneyland Paris), and is an "experience.. .designed to evoke nostalgia for an
Age of Innocence" (Salamone and Salamone 1999, 85). Broadcast from hidden
speakers is a generic ragtime march, played by a turn-of-the-previous-century
"Dixieland" band, complete with "tailgate" trombone. Serving to delineate the
boundaries of the area while contributing to its general theme, this is similar in
function to the "background" music in the park's other "-lands". The styles of these
background musics are generally immediately recognizable; their generic traits
operate as a signifier for their corresponding areas.
As with most areas of the park, the background music of Main Street USA is
generally kept at a modest volume so as not to interfere with the various live music
performances taking place. Along this short stretch of road, the visitor is able to
observe, for example, a ragtime piano player inside the corner restaurant, a
barbershop quartet at the barbershop and - completing this early American
soundscape - a strolling Dixieland band. The presence and high level of musicianship
of the musicians attests to the attention to detail many come to expect from the
"Disney Experience", and this detail is not wasted on Main Street audiences. People
regularly approach the performers, surprised by the fact that they are "really" singing

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230 C. Carson

or playing. The reaction is one of amazement at the degree of excellence - not so

much of the musicians themselves as of the "Disney Experience". Crowds constantly
surround the performers, although individuals rarely stay for more than a few
moments before leaving, only to be replaced by the next passing family.
What draws people is undoubtedly not the Dixieland music but the propinquity of
the live performance. Cypher and Higgs note that contemporary relationships with
music are often marked by what Albert Borgmann (1984) describes as the "device
paradigm", where "things which affirm bodily and social engagement with things that
matter deeply to us [are reduced to] two constituent parts: a commodity and
machinery" (Cypher and Higgs 2001, 414). Essentially, musical performances are
commodified through the machinery of recording, playback and amplification. Thus,
the immediacy of the live performances in the park has an effect upon guests that can
perhaps best be described as uncanny. The fact that these performances are "free" -
rather, that the performers cannot accept compensation from the guests - further
serves to distance this experience from the audience's normal mode of engagement
with musical performances. The choice of genre is important as well, because of the
specific (yet largely constructed) associations that these genres have with an idealized
early 20th-century America.1
This mixture of "uncanny" experiences and specific historical references (and their
nostalgic overtones) enables and encourages guests freely to build associations with
earlier places and times in their own (imagined) experiences. This "sanitized" view of
Anytown, USA, becomes a template onto which individuals may transpose their own
hometowns - the memory of which then becomes somewhat "sanitized" itself. What
results is an idyllic image of America in which "everything is the way we wish we
remembered it" (Salamone and Salamone 1999, 86).
A similar project is undertaken in the World Showcase at the EPCOT Center, albeit
here the goal is not so much the creation of an ideal American experience as the
exoticizing of the "other". The World Showcase is comprised of a number of world's
fair-style pavilions, each representing the culture of an individual nation. Every
pavilion includes at least one type of the three aforementioned forms of musical
events (a fact which attests to Disney's awareness of music's role as a cultural
signifier), but live music performances are arguably the most ubiquitous.
Mexico is the first pavilion you encounter as you begin your journey around the
showcase from the left. The pyramid that houses the Mexican Pavilion "is an
amalgam of elements familiar to many who have toured Mexico's archaeological
sites" (Fjellman 1992, 233). Mayan, Aztec, Spanish Colonial and modern Mexican
cultural forms mix freely. Similarly, musical elements are blended in performance as
an interactive Aztec/Mayan song, dance and storytelling troupe alternates with
EPCOT's resident mariachi, Mariachi Cobre.
Mariachi Cobre is an interesting example of how music is situated in the context of
this complex simulacrum. In addition to its ongoing job at EPCOT, the ensemble
remains a popular professional Mariachi group (Fjellman 1992). Thus, a sense of the
authenticity of the musical performance is evoked in a process similar to that

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 Ethnomusicology Forum 231

discussed by Frank Salamone in his comparison of the pavilion's Mexican restaurant

with its sister establishment in Mexico City (1997). Fjellman argues that such
performances place elements perceived as authentic within a constructed, touristic
context and, in doing so, confuse the "actual" (relatively speaking) with the "virtual"
(1992, 234). This effect is essential to Disney's "snapshots" of the various nations;
expressive forms (from art to architecture) must fit into the guests' often limited
knowledge of the country represented, while at the same time allowing room for
Disney to abbreviate or "improve" upon them. An actual professional Mariachi
ensemble, perceived by many as an "authentic" icon of Mexican culture, serves to
anchor Disney's representation of Mexico to collective knowledge, while more liquid
signifiers like Aztec and Mayan culture enable Disney to reshape the image of Mexico
in the collective imagination.
Moving beyond the Mexican example, the German Pavilion is notable not only for
what is shown but also for what is missing. Live music in this pavilion takes the form
of a Bavarian "Oom-Pah" band at the park's Oktoberfest restaurant. As Frank de
Caro (1997) points out, Disney is clearly drawing upon our ideas of the "folk" in such
representations, just as it is in the Mexican example discussed above. My question is
- why? What does Disney gain by evoking the "folk"? As a classically trained
musician, I feel that my own experiences with this culture are more informed by the
Western art music tradition than by such folk elements, and the absence of this aspect
of Austro-German cultural heritage is, for me, somewhat conspicuous. This seems
especially to be the case when one considers the influence this art music tradition has
had upon Western musical development in general. That is not to say that the
omission of art music is an error. Rather, it serves to highlight the effect my own
subject position has upon my "Disney experience".
However, inclusion and community, not individuality, are central to this
experience. Regardless of my individual perspective or preferences with respect to a
given cultural representation, the success of the park is predicated upon my
willingness to participate in its illusions - I must want to believe. What motivates
me to "believe" is the idea that, through my participation in this fantasy, I will
become a member of a broadly defined community of Disney fans. It is this
community, not the individual, that Disney celebrates. Thus, it is somewhat
contradictory to speak of my "Disney Experience", since Disney ensures that I
want the same "experience" as everyone else.
Generally speaking, what results is a contract between Disney and the guest.2 The
guest agrees to "believe" the Disney versions of these experiences as long as Disney
continues to present them as "believable". This is the value of the "folk" in Disney's
cultural attractions. Aside from the fact that these folk representations enable Disney
to appeal to a broader public - ostensibly one for which, in Disney's estimation, any
references to art music could appear "highbrow" and alienating - such "folk"
depictions fulfil the guests' expectations with regard to the cultures on display. The
Bavarian folk music, the Mexican Mariachis and countless other examples not
mentioned here (Chinese acrobats, Moroccan belly dancers, etc.) would all seem to

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232 C. Carson

represent the guests' idealized visions of other cultures cultivated and reinforced by
endless popular media representations - including Disney's.3
On another level, however, they also represent idealized visions of guests' vacation
experiences of those cultures. It is not enough that a visitor to a Disney theme park
should experience (what s/he believes to be) a foreign "land"; Disney ensures that
what visitors see of that land is what they would want to see on an actual vacation
there. For example, many vacations in Germany would not centre on the experience
of going to the symphony; they would more likely centre on a more festive Biergarten
experience. Here, it seems another level has been added to the illusion - the tourist
experience of another culture has become a tourist experience in itself.
For me, the situation described above - where my idea of a culture conflicts with
Disney's portrayal of it - fractures my experience. Because of my level of familiarity
with this culture, I am hypercritical of its representation. However, this knowledge
has unsettled me. My initial reaction upon encountering this scene was that I had
been "lucky" this time; I had spotted the "mistake". But, then, I ask myself: what am I
not catching? What "mistakes" am I missing in the other pavilions due to my
unfamiliarity with their cultures (or worse, because o? my familiarity with the Disney
versions)? Ultimately, the success of the "Disney Experience" depends upon these
questions not being asked in the first place.
By the time I arrive at the German Pavilion, I have unquestionably accepted the
manner in which several other cultures were depicted in the park. Why? Perhaps
because I have less knowledge of, say, Morocco than Germany. And besides, as I noted
above, Disney has made it "believable". The attention to detail - the disorienting
maze of Morocco's bazaar, the aged fa?ade of Venice's St. Mark's in the Italian
Pavilion ? works to convince me of the "truth" of the experience. By painstakingly
reproducing the minutiae of the cultures on display, Disney is able to distract its
guests from problems with the representations. After all, one asks, why would they go
through all of that trouble if it were not true7. Fractured experiences such as mine
enable guests to step outside the illusion and ask themselves, as I did: what am I seeing
and why? Such questions can potentially ruin the "magic"; therefore, the "seams" of
the experiences are carefully concealed by attention to detail and control of the
individual's encounter with the park.
It is this element of control that is central to Ritzer and Liska's view of the tourist

experience. Building on Maxine Feifer's idea of "post-tourism" (Feifer 1986), they

argue that current trends in the tourism industry reflect tourists' needs for
experiences that are highly "predictable", "efficient", "calculable" and "controlled"
(Ritzer and Liska 1997, 99). This phenomenon, which they label "McDonaldization"
(or "McDisneyization" in the case of Disney), is dependent upon certain continuities
between the tourist experience and "real life". As a result of the general
homogenization of society, differences inherent in the tourist experience must
necessarily be slight in order to lessen the individual's feeling of anxiety in the face of
the "other", yet the experiences should be unique enough to appear "authentic". This
is the secret of the success behind the "Disney Experience". It skirts the border

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 Ethnomusicology Forum 233

between "same" and "other", highlighting the uniqueness of each cultural experience
while minimizing difference through idealized representations. This reorganization of
the "actual" world into a "virtual" experience of it is problematic in its rehearsal of
colonial power structures, essentially constituting a "safe haven" for the "glorifi[ca
tion of] the colonial adventure" by both Disney and park guests alike (Kirshemblatt
Gimblett 1998, 136). This point is made even clearer when we note the often
essentialist nature of the representations of the various nations.
At several points in the parks, music performance takes on a slightly different guise.
Costumed actors and actresses recreate scenes from Disney movies in live action, lip
synching to recordings of Disney songs extracted from their original context and re
woven into simple plots that are formulaic reductions of the (formulaic) originals.
Many scholars point to Disney's attention to selected details of the "original", as well
as Disney's obsessive need to "improve" upon it, as creating a heightened sense of
reality - or "hyperreality" (Cypher and Higgs 2001, 407). This new sense of reality,
propagated through individual experiences with Disney in the form of commercials,
products and, most importantly, film, is sustained inside the park as scenes are
enacted and re-enacted by cast member and guest alike.4 In this way, real events -
such as an actress dancing and singing or a child hugging a costumed character - are
supplanted by their imaginary predecessors until "reality is changed into image"
(Marin 1984, 245; quoted in Cypher and Higgs 2001, 416). In this setting, music
simply becomes a referent for other modes of the "Disney Experience" (such as a
film), which, as "McDisneyized" versions themselves, refer back to other "Disney
Experiences". Thus, the cycle continues, ad infinitum.
While Cypher and Higgs point out that many - inside and outside their park
experience - are complicit in this process, I believe that guests are far more active
than may at first be apparent. Guests (of all ages) actively seek out opportunities to
interact with the familiar scenes portrayed in the performances. This, I believe, shows
a level of engagement beyond a "willing suspension of disbelief" (Cypher and Higgs
2001, 416); it is more of a willing employment of make-believe. Moreover, the
knowledge demonstrated by acting or singing along can serve as a type of cultural
currency, one which identifies individuals as "insiders" and therefore as deserving of
the status that such a designation brings. For adults, this bid for authenticity has two
sides: by proving to be an "authentic" Disney fan you are attempting to convince
others that you possess a particular (valued) type of middle-class American
upbringing; and, as a parent of an "authentic" Disney fan, you are attempting to
convince others that you are providing your child with a similarly privileged
upbringing.
Ultimately, the Disney theme park experience hopes to create (and re-create) a
whole new world. The individual's ability to participate in this act of creation is
dependent upon his or her active engagement in a complex and circular network of
images, sounds, events and commodities. Music's role in this is made clear through
the millions spent every year by both Disney and the public in the production and
consumption of music-related products. The theme park soundscape is but one

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 234 C. Carson

aspect of this, but, judging from the wide circulation of various recordings of music
from the theme parks themselves, a very important one. Through these recordings,
individuals are able to remember (or, more aptly, re-imagine) past trips while
simultaneously imagining future ones. If, as Jeremy MacClancy asserts, today's
tourists have opted to "turn postmodernist" and "become tourists of tourism" (2002,
428), thanks to the connections forged between Disney music and the theme park
experience they are able to re-experience the simulacrum that is WDW simply by
sitting in front of their CD player and pressing "play".

Acknowledgements
An earlier version of this article was presented at the 2003 British Forum for Ethnomusicology
Annual Conference in Bangor, Wales. I am deeply indebted to Caroline Bithell, Janet Topp Fargion
and Laudan Nooshin, as well as the anonymous readers, for their help in preparing this paper for
publication. Furthermore, I am grateful for the comments and suggestions offered by Carol M?ller
and Jennifer Ryan at the University of Pennsylvania throughout my early work on this project.
Special thanks go to Heather Carson for her assistance in the field.

Notes
[1] For a discussion of the realities of turn-of-the-century main streets, see Francaviglia (1981).
[2] On power relationships in tourism, see Cheong and Miller (2000).
[3] For a discussion of the politics of music and tourism, see Hutnyk (1999).
[4] On theme parks as a form of mass media, see Davis (1996).

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