Journal articles on the topic 'Semi-open slot'

Ferrites and Different Winding Types in Permanent Magnet Synchronous MotorThis paper deals with design of permanent magnet synchronous machines with ferrites. The ferrites became popular due to their low cost and cost increasing of NdFeB. The progress in ferrite properties in the last decade allows the use of ferrites in high power applications. Three models of ferrite motors are presented. It is shown that also the type of stator winding and the shape of the slot opening have an important effect on the PMSM properties. The first motor has a distributed winding, the second motor has concentrated, non-overlapping winding and open stator slots. The third motor has a concentrated non-overlapping winding and semi - open slots. All models are designed for the same output power and they do not have the same dimensions. The paper shows how important the design of an electric machine is for excellent motor properties or better to say how the motor properties can be improved by an appropriate design.

In this study, a compact dual-band combined loop-slot planar antenna is proposed. (1) Background: multi-function antennas are desired for wireless communication to cover the desired frequency spectrum. (2) Methods: the proposed antenna consists of a semi-rectangular open-ended loop (OEL) operating at the lower frequency band 920 MHz, an open-ended slot (OES) transmission line that provides resonance at the higher band 2.4 GHz, and a feeding port using the asymmetric coplanar strip (ACS) line. The ACS is used to excite the antenna to achieve dual-band performance. The overall dimensions of the fabricated prototype are 32.5 × 53.5 mm2 (0.1λo×0.16λo), where λo represents the free-space wavelength at the lower frequency. (3) Results: from the calculations, the antenna shows two impedance bandwidths (estimated at −10dB) of 30 MHz (920–950 MHz) and 300 MHz (2.2–2.5 GHz) to cover the ISM band (920 MHz) and 2.45 GHz WiFi bands, respectively. Indeed, the antenna has stable radiation patterns and achieves peak measured realized gain of 1.8 dBi in the lower band and 4.2 dBi in the higher band. (4) Conclusion: the antenna shows the merits of low profile structure, single-layer, and low-cost fabrication. The proposed antenna not only achieves incremental increase in radiation efficiency, but also provides a lightweight, and small footprint.

A new ultra-wideband (UWB) multiple-input/multiple-output (MIMO) antenna system is proposed for future smartphones. The structure of the design comprises four identical pairs of compact microstrip-fed slot antennas with polarization diversity function that are placed symmetrically at different edge corners of the smartphone mainboard. Each antenna pair consists of an open-ended circular-ring slot radiator fed by two independently semi-arc-shaped microstrip-feeding lines exhibiting the polarization diversity characteristic. Therefore, in total, the proposed smartphone antenna design contains four horizontally-polarized and four vertically-polarized elements. The characteristics of the single-element dual-polarized UWB antenna and the proposed UWB-MIMO smartphone antenna are examined while using both experimental and simulated results. An impedance bandwidth of 2.5–10.2 GHz with 121% fractional bandwidth (FBW) is achieved for each element. However, for S11 ≤ −6 dB, this value is more than 130% (2.2–11 GHz). The proposed UWB-MIMO smartphone antenna system offers good isolation, dual-polarized function, full radiation coverage, and sufficient efficiency. Besides, the calculated diversity performances of the design in terms of the envelope correlation coefficient (ECC) and total active reflection coefficient (TARC) are very low over the entire operating band.

The planar laminar flow resulting from the impingement of two gaseous jets of different density issuing into an open space from aligned steadily fed slot nozzles of semi-width $H$ separated by a distance $2L$ is investigated by numerical and analytical methods. Specific consideration is given to the high Reynolds and low Mach number conditions typically present in counterflow-flame experiments, for which the flow is nearly inviscid and incompressible. It is shown that introduction of a density-weighted vorticity–streamfunction formulation effectively reduces the problem to one involving two jets of equal density, thereby removing the vortex-sheet character of the interface separating the two jet streams. Besides the geometric parameter $L/H$, the solution depends only on the shape of the velocity profiles in the feed streams and on the jet momentum-flux ratio. While conformal mapping can be used to determine the potential solution corresponding to uniform velocity profiles, numerical integration is required in general to compute rotational flows, including those arising with Poiseuille velocity profiles, with simplified solutions found in the limits $L/H\ll 1$ and $L/H\gg 1$. The results are used to quantify the near-stagnation-point region, of interest in counterflow-flame studies, including the local value of the strain rate as well as the curvature of the separating interface and the variations of the strain rate away from the stagnation point.

The effect of slit ribs on heat transfer and friction in a rectangular channel is investigated experimentally. The slit ribs are arranged in-line on two opposite walls of the channel. Three rib open-area ratios (β = 24, 37, and 46 percent), three rib pitch-to-height ratios (Pi/H = 10, 20, and 30), and two rib height-to-channel hydraulic diameter ratios (H/De = 0.081, and 0.162) are examined. The Reynolds number ranges from 10,000 to 50,000. Laser holographic interferometry is employed to measure the local heat transfer coefficients of the ribbed wall quantitatively, and observe the flow over the ribbed wall qualitatively. The results show that the slit rib has an advantage of avoiding “hot spots.” In addition, the heat transfer performance of the slit-ribbed channel is much better than that of the solid-ribbed channel. Semi-empirical correlations for friction and heat transfer are developed to account for rib spacings and open-area ratios. These correlations may be used in the design of turbine blade cooling passages.

A novel and miniaturized semi-elliptical 20-bit fully passive chipless RFID sensor tag is proposed in this article. The realized sensor tag is made up of semi-elliptical shaped open-end slots within the compact size of 25 mm × 17 mm. The multi-substrate analysis of the proposed tag is examined using non-flexible and flexible materials. The articulated tag configuration is capable of monitoring moisture levels when the largest resonator is covered by a heat-resistant sheet of Kapton HN (DuPontTM). The proposed tag functions in the operational frequency band of 4.1 GHz-16 GHz and possesses the overall bit density of 4.70 bit/cm2. The structure is composed of a thin passive substrate layer topped with an active layer of conductive path and is considered as a potential candidate for low-cost identification of the tagged objects. In addition to that, its moisture sensing property and flexible nature make it a reliable smart sensor for conformal applications.

<p>A 47-year-old man presented to our emergency department complaining of acute ocular pain and redness of his left eye. Ophthalmological antecedents included use of semi-rigid contact lens and primary open-angle glaucoma. Slit-lamp examination revealed a small central corneal ulcer associated with stromal inflammatory infiltrate. Scraping from the corneal ulcer was positive for <em>Elizabethkingia meningoseptica</em>. He was empirically treated with topical 0.5% levofloxacin and 0.3% gentamicin, and five weeks later the infection had resolved. In this case report we describe the uncommon association between contact lens and <em>Elizabethkingia meningoseptica</em>. Despite possible serious complications associated with this atypical agent, prompt diagnosis and adequate treatment lead to good visual prognosis.</p>

Analysis of brushless D.C. motor (BDCM) torque pulsations is an essential step in the diagnosis and control of vibration and noise generated by many electro-mechanical devices. The broad band spectral content of the torque pulsations, as predicted by a mathematical model which accounts for various complex effects, can often be obtained only by numerical integration which is time consuming while permitting little understanding of the dynamic interactions. Prior analytical approaches, such as the Fourier series technique or the d-q axis theory, are limited by the simplifying assumptions needed to compute the torque spectrum. This paper develops a new semi-analytical formulation for the analysis of nonlinear, time-varying BDCM’s which involve both spatial and temporal domains. A modified multi-term harmonic balance method, based on a transformation of the dual-domain problem to a spatial domain formulation, is developed here specifically to compute the magnitude of several harmonics of the pulsating torque. The interacting effects of key parameters, like dynamic eccentricity, magnetic saturation and open stator slots, on the time-varying inductances and rotor flux density distribution are included explicitly in the formulation. The predicted spectra compare very well with those obtained by direct time domain numerical integration. Yet, the proposed method is computationally efficient especially when the model dimension is reduced. It also provides better insight into the high frequency dynamics of the sample case.

IntroductionBetween February 2002 and January 2004, a total of 51 terrorism-related mass-casualty incidents (MCIs) occurred in Israel.ObjectiveThe objective of this study was to analyze data provided in After Action Reports (AAR) held by Magen David Adom (MDA), after each MCI.MethodsInformation relating to the type of MCI, location, number of ambulances dispatched in five-minute intervals from time of notification, and number of casualties evacuated by urgency in five-minute intervals from the start of the incident was analyzed.ResultsThere were 34 MCIs in 2002, 15 in 2003, and two in 2004. More MCIs (24%) occurred on Wednesdays, and more MCIs occurred during the 05:30–08:59 (18%), 12:00–14:59 (20%), and 17.00–19.59 (24%) time slots. More MCIs occurred in the Jerusalem (24%) area, followed by Tel Aviv (16%). Twenty-six percent of the MCIs resulted from explosions in open areas, 22% in buses, 20% from shootings, and 28% from explosions in semi-closed and closed areas. The mean dispatch time of the first ambulance after notification was 48 seconds. An average of 14.25 ambulances were dispatched in the first five minutes, followed by eight, three, and three in the five-minute slots following. An ANOVA indicated a significant difference in dispatch times by towns/cities (p = 0.05). The average arrival of the first ambulance was 6.4 minutes, and evacuation of the first urgent casualty was 13.6 minutes, the last evacuation was 26.5 minutes after arrival. More urgent casualties (45%) compared to 20% non-urgent were evacuated in first 15 minutes; the majority of non-urgent victims (79%) were evacuated after 16 minutes. The mean number of dispatched ambulances ranged from 37.9 to 26 in urban versus rural areas, respectively. The number of ambulances actually used for evacuation in urban and rural areas was 55% and 44%, respectively.ConclusionsInformation analyzed from AAR is useful for improving Standard Operating Procedures and structuring continuing education interventions for MCIs.

In order to investigate the difference of pore structure characteristics between mudstone and coal under different particle size conditions, samples acquired from Henan province were smashed and screened into three different particle sizes (20–40, 80–100, and >200 mesh) to conduct the experiments, using the high-pressure mercury intrusion porosimetry (MIP) and low-temperature N2 adsorption (LT-N2A) techniques. The results demonstrated that the proportion of open pores or semi-enclosed pores increased, and the pores became preferable contacted each other for both mudstone and coal during the crushing process. These variations of pore structure characteristics in the coal were beneficial to methane storage and migration. The total specific surface areas and pore volumes all showed a tendency of increasing continually for both mudstone and coal, as the particle sizes decreased from the LT-N2A test. The mudstone and coal were non-rigid aggregates with micropores, plate-shaped pores, and slit-shaped pores developed inside. The effect of the crushing process on the pore shape for the mudstone and coal was inappreciable. Moreover, the influence of the particle sizes on the mesopore was the most significant, followed by the macropore; and on the micropore, the influence was negligible for both mudstone and coal. The crushing process only had a significant impact on the pore structure of mudstone with a particle size of less than 100 mesh, while it could still alter the pore structure of coal with a particle size of larger than 100 mesh. It is believed that this work has a significant meaning to explore the diffusion and migration rules of coal-bed methane in coal.

Context Optimal management of invasive species should determine the interval between lethal-control operations that will sustain a desired population suppression at minimum cost. This requires an understanding of the species’ rate of recruitment following control. These data are difficult to acquire for vertebrate carnivores such as the red fox (Vulpes vulpes), which are not readily trapped or observed. Aims To provide a long-term evaluation of the effects of 1080 poison baiting on the abundance and extent of movement of red foxes in a semiarid environment. Methods We used non‐invasive DNA sampling of fox hairs in semi-arid Western Australia where the population was subject to two episodes of aerially delivered sodium fluoroacetate (1080) poison baits within 12 months. Sampling took place at ~45-day intervals and individual foxes were identified by genotyping eight microsatellite DNA markers and a gender-specific marker. Open-population and spatially explicit mark–recapture models were used to estimate the density, apparent survival and movements of foxes before and following baiting. Key results Following a severe reduction in density after baiting, fox density during the ensuing 12 months increased slowly (0.01 foxes km–2 month–1), such that density had only reached 22% of pre-baiting levels ~10 months after the initial baiting. Moreover, recovery was non‐linear as population growth was negligible for 6 months, then exhibited a nine-fold increase 7–9 months after control, coincident with the dispersal of juveniles in autumn. Fox movements between recaptures were on average 470% greater after baiting than before, in line with expectations for low-density populations, suggesting that the probability of encountering baits during this period would be higher than before baiting. Conclusions Baiting with 1080 poison significantly reduced the density of foxes, and the low density was sustained for more than 6 months. Foxes moved significantly further between recaptures after baiting when at low densities. Implications Control programs in this region may be carried out at low frequency to suppress fox density to a fraction of unbaited levels. The intensity of follow-up baiting may also be adjusted downwards, to take account of an increased probability of bait encounter in more mobile foxes.

The twist mechanism of the fiber strand in the condensing zone in compact spinning is complex. This paper proposes a dynamic model to evaluate the additional twist of the fiber strands. Based on the flow simulation in the condensing zone, the fiber trajectory in the suction slot was simulated and obtained. Several spinning parameters such as suction slot angle, suction slot width, negative pressure, and shape of suction slot, were varied to show their effects on the additional twist. The simulation results indicated that by increasing the suction slot angle from 5° to 10° the additional twist increased significantly. Higher negative pressure also leads to an increase in the additional twist. The suction slot width has a greater effect on the fiber trajectory than on the additional twist. An arc-shape suction slot increased the additional twist compared with a linear-shape one. An experimental test conducted revealed a precise agreement with the simulation results.

Weightlifter developed sudden diminution of vision after exercise with visual acuity in right eye (RE) HM and in left eye (LE) CF 1foot, Intraocular pressure (IOP) with Goldmann applanation tonometer (GAT) in both eyes were 34 mmHg with antiglaucoma medications. Slit lamp examination of both eyes showed edematous cornea, concave configuration of iris, semi dilated pupil, sluggishly reacting to light and pigment on corneal endothelium & on clear lens in RE, LE lens was clear. Gonioscopy showed open angle with increased pigmentation. Fundus examination showed cup disc ratio 0.8 in RE & 0.85 in LE. Anterior segment optical coherence tomography (ASOCT) confirmed concave configuration of iris. Patient was treated with antiglaucoma medications & peripheral iridotomy done with Nd: YAG in BE which decreased concave configuration of iris. Visual acuity improved to 6/6 in RE & 6/9 in LE. BE IOP with GAT 14 mmHg, Humphery visual field (HVF) 10-2 showed advanced field defects, Central corneal thickness 598µ, OCT showed retinal nerve fibre layer thickness in RE 75µ & 64µ in LE. Planned for trabeculectomy with MMC subsequently in BE. Conclusion: Weightlifters can need to remain cautious especially having Pigment dispersion syndrome or pigmentary glaucoma & should undergo regular ophthalmic checkup

My father killed the boar when he was 16. He’d dreamed of killing the boar for some time. My father’s brother had killed a boar when he was only fifteen. My father’s brother was five years older than him. Like most big brothers, he treated his little brother with intolerant contempt. He’d been saying for months that my father would never kill a boar. He was too weak. He was a girl. He was useless. And, just the day before, he told him he was so worthless he better finish the fence on the bottom paddock before dusk or he could expect a kicking. The family farm was gradually being cleared from the bush and the fencing slow and arduous. My father finished the fence. My father was very good with his hands and in truth a much better fencer than his brother, which didn’t help matters between them. That night my father didn’t go to sleep in the room he shared with his brother. Instead he went out into the bush past the bottom paddock, where the boars roamed, his rifle strapped over his shoulder and a knife in his ankle scabbard. The cleared ground was rough and uneven, a broken landscape created by the eruptions and outpourings of the volcanoes Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe and Tongariro. In the bush, the terrain was even rougher, jagged rises and deep gullies, all ripe with the verdant vegetation flourishing on the rich volcanic soil. My father found himself a niche in a cliff on the edge of the bush above a small clearing near the creek. He huddled there in his woollen coat and dungarees and waited. He’d brought the dogs with him and they drove the boar out of the bush and into the clearing among the tree ferns just before dawn. By then my father was hunched on a rock, out of the way. The dogs worried the boar. They grabbed its tail, snapped at its balls, sank their teeth into its legs. The boar fought back. It lashed at them with its tusks. It caught one and tossed it into a tree fern, the dog yelping from the pain of its ripped rib cage. The boar roared, stomping and rooting. The dogs continued to circle. My father had waited all night in the cold, his rifle loaded and the safety catch off. My father was a very good shot. Better than his brother. That was why his parents had splurged on his birthday gift and bought him a .303 rifle. His brother had a .22, but he couldn’t shoot pigeons or ducks. My father, though, could use his brother’s gun to bring down a brace of ducks. Another reason his brother treated him like a piece of dirt. But out in the bush he couldn’t shoot the boar for fear of killing one of the dogs. He slipped the catch on and laid the gun down beside him. He took a knife from the scabbard on his belt. He waited until the boar was facing away from him, dogs in front and behind it. He jumped from the rock, and kicked the boar’s right hind leg out. The boar went down. My father threw himself on its back and plunged the knife in between the shoulders. Deep, to cut the spine and throat. The boar squealed, thrashed and subsided. My father thrust himself upright, knife still in blood-soaked hand, and stood away from the boar. The boar rolled over, the dogs still nipping at it. My father used the knife again, slashing deep across the boar’s throat. It screamed and lunged at him with head and tusks. He leapt away, falling over one of the dogs. The boar didn’t die straight away. It thrashed about on the ground, snorting and sighing at first, then whimpering as blood gushed out, steamed on the cold ground and coagulated in the crushed ferns. Eventually it was just panting, and slowly at that. Finally it was dead. My father shooed the dogs away. He cut off the boar’s balls and pizzle and tossed them to the dogs. He slit the boar from arse to belly and began the process of removing its warm innards, first working with the bladder to attempt to keep its contents from having too much contact with his game. His hands reached right inside to disentangle the intestines. His shirt and jacket were soaked with its blood. His hands were greasy with blood and shit. He washed himself as best as he could in the freezing water of the creek. He manoeuvred the boar so that it was half sitting on the ground then he lowered himself down and backed between the boar’s front legs, his head under its chin. Taking the weight of the beast on his shoulders, he slowly stood and began to trudge out of the bush and through the rough paddocks towards his family home on the top of the rise. The dogs kept him company for a bit, but the lure of home was too much for them and they took off up the hill in a barking frenzy. All except the one that had been tossed by the boar. It slunk at his heels, blood on its flank where the tusk had ripped through. His father and brother were waiting for him on the veranda. His brother glared and yelled at him because he had missed the morning milking of the cows, but his father told him to take the boar to the meat shack. This was behind the house. It was a rough weatherboard structure on the cool, south-side. It was secure against dogs and vermin and big enough to hang several carcases. A sheep and legs of ham were already there. The shack had a smooth stone floor with drainage channels grooved into it. My father laid the boar on the floor of the shack. He cut the hock of each hind leg just behind the tendon to make a space for the gambrel hook. He inserted the hook then used the hoist in the shack to raise the boar up to the rail that ran down the centre of the room and from which the meat hung. My father then began to skin the boar, stripping back the black bristled outer flesh as much as possible in one piece. Once it was scrubbed of the bristles and tanned, the skin would be soft and supple, suitable for a purse or for covering a saddle. He washed the carcass. Later, when the day’s farm work was over, the whole family would work on preparing and preserving the boar. His mother had already fired up the copper to boil water for the cleaning and salting. Lastly, he sawed off the boar’s head. He placed it on the butcher’s block in the shack and worked at the tusks. On this big beast the tusks were almost five inches long, curved and very sharp. They were much larger than the tusks from his brother’s boar. Once he had the tusks out of the boar’s mouth, he stripped of all but his underpants and washed himself as best as he could at the tap of the water tank at the back of the house. The water was icy and there was a stiff breeze from the snow on the mountains. It was still winter. But my father hardly noticed. He was still warm from the blood of the boar and the sight of his brother’s face when he had seen the size of it. Two months later, he took the tusks into the town of Taumaranui. He sought advice from the jeweller in the main street, who had made a speciality of working with tusks. The jeweller was known all over the King Country. The jeweller talked about how the tusks might be mounted. He suggested a band of gold, edges engraved with delicate leaves, to join the tusks base to base, so that the points formed a semicircle. Just below the points, he suggested two gold bands joined with a delicate gold chain, from which the tusks could be hung. And that is what my father agreed to. The jeweller took one month then my father claimed his tusks and took them home to mount on his bedroom wall, where his brother was forced to see them every day. My father signed up for the Air Force when he was 18. He wanted to fly away from his brother and the cows and the fencing and digging the rocks out of the paddock and that is exactly what he did. He learned to fly, something he’d dreamed of doing, same as he had dreamed of killing a boar. My father was a great dreamer. He left the tusks at home with his mother. She took them out of the bedroom them and placed them on the wall of the family room to remind her of him. His brother would turn them back to front. My father sent home photographs of himself: one from Cairo with him in tropical gear, sparkling eyes and a jaunty smile under his new moustache; another from Waddingham in his Sergeant pilot’s uniform standing with his crew in front of their Lancaster as it is loaded with bombs; a last one from an unknown place but he is wearing his Flying Officer’s uniform for he had been promoted and there are ribbons on his chest, too, but his eyes do not shine and he does not smile. As they arrived from the other side of the world in the slow mail his mother placed these photographs on the sideboard in the family room under my father’s tusks. In a mood after the Sunday roast his brother would turn them face down, saying my father wouldn’t be coming back so why did he have to be reminded of him. But he did come back, which even his brother had to acknowledge. He was 23. He was a shell of the boy who had killed the boar. He had been gutted by the war, though he showed no outward signs of the mutilation. It was all within, deep within, embedded in him like tusks in the jaw of a boar. My father began studying to be a veterinarian when he was 25. As part of his repatriation package, he was paid to study at the University of Sydney. He took the tusks down from his mother’s wall and packed them into one of the suitcases he and my mother took with them on the flying boat to Sydney. The tusks hung on the wall of the semi in Enmore they lived in for the five years he studied. Then after he had graduated they went back across the Tasman and my father began his work with animals. The animals received his ministrations with passive indifference and helped resolve the horror in his head, an unremitting memory of the perilous flights under attack across black skies and terrain, the fires unleashed by the phosphorous bombs released from his plane’s bomb bay let alone the destruction from other ordnance, the morning briefings after what was left of the squadron had returned and he learned which of his mates was no longer. He drank a bit. Maybe too much, but nobody ever sat down with him and talk about what he had been through. He had some medals and his old flying jacket and it was expected that he just get on with life. Which he did, overall. Once my parents were back in New Zealand, he set up practice in Waikato, with dairy cattle his most frequent patients. The Waikato district lies to the north of the King Country where my father had killed the boar. His family were not so far away, but he didn’t visit them that often. His brother was running things down there. His brother held vets in contempt and made that clear on the rare occasions my father did visit. Then his father, my grandfather, died. The farm went to his older brother as was the custom of those times. His widowed mother moved up to Auckland, so my father had no reason to visit the farm or his brother any more. Maybe it was only a matter of moving away from his brother but he lost and found himself in Australia. Maybe it was also the fact that a few years after he had made the move, the phone rang one night and he found he was talking to his brother’s wife. His brother had shot himself down in the bottom paddock that morning. It seems my father’s brother was never a very good farmer. From that time on my father mellowed, relaxed and began to enjoy himself. The tusks, though, were always on his bedside table, reminding him of that night he spent out in the bush and killed the boar. My father died three weeks before he was to turn 80. His death was long and painful to those of us who had to watch it, though for him it was ameliorated by painkillers and palliative care given him. It was my job to arrange the details of his funeral. Since his death was no surprise, all of his family, his three sons and his two daughters, grandsons and grand-daughters and his great grand children as well, had already gathered to say goodbye to him. But everybody was now under pressure to get back to jobs and other commitments. I spoke to the undertakers. They arranged the funeral the day following my father’s death in their own chapel. My mother wanted an open casket so my father had to be dressed in his best clothes. My mother and I selected the clothes and I took them to the undertakers. The next morning, before the ceremony, the undertakers called me and asked me to come to their rooms behind the chapel. They asked me to check that my father looked as much as we wanted him to look. He lay in the coffin, only his head and hands showing, the rest of him expertly trussed and dressed for this last display. His hair was neatly brushed and there was a bristle or two of whiskers on his cheek and chin. His eyes were closed and the skin on his face waxy, but cold from wherever he had been stored. I kissed him on his forehead. Then I placed the tusks on his chest, just under his neck and over the tie and jacket my mother had decided he should wear. My father was ready. I drove my mother down to the chapel just before 2 pm. She and I were the last people to be seated. We were both to sit in the front row. She walked straight up the aisle past the other mourners to my father’s coffin and she stood there for a moment looking at her husband of nearly sixty years. She stretched out her arm and stroked the tusks on his chest. Then she turned and I reached out and guided her to her seat. “He’ll like having them,” she whispered to me. Then we sang “There’s a hole in the bucket”. My father always liked that song. The crematorium was miles away. My father travelled there alone. Just as he had faced the boar. References De Hek, Danny. “Hunting regions—King Country: The home of wild pig hunting in New Zealand.” New Zealand’s Information Network 16 Aug. 2010 . Dick, Tim. “The boar wars.” WAtoday.com.au 13 Nov. 2008. 16 Aug. 2010 . Rushmer, Miles. “Bush surfing: That’s a New Zealand pig hunt.” ESPN Outdoors 28 Apr. 2005. 16 Aug. 2010 . Walrond, Carl. “Pig hunting.” Te Ara: The Encyclopaedia of New Zealand 1 Mar. 2009. 16 Aug. 2010 .

Getting the Family Together: A Fieldwork Account The final gig of Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band’s 2013 tour is a hometown show at New Lambton Community Hall in Newcastle on the coast of New South Wales, Australia. The tour had already covered Newcastle and surrounds at various locations within 50 to 100km of the Newcastle CBD. In addition to lead singer and guitarist Bob Corbett, there are three main members of the Roo Grass Band, Sue Carson on fiddle and mandolin, Dave Carter on banjo, bass and bagpipes and Robbie Long on guitar, mandolin and bass. I enter the building and at the top of the stairs a tall, slim woman with a shock of red hair rushes to greet me with a hug, “It is so good to see you!”This is Veronica, Bob Corbett’s Mum. She’s been busy setting up the merchandise desk, taking tickets, and greeting almost every member of the audience by name. Veronica has functioned as de facto tour manager throughout the band’s Lucky Country Hall Tour. As well as running the merchandise desk and ticketing, she’s occasionally acted as roadie, and has supervised the packing of cars and trailers. These day-to-day jobs on the tour have been done with help from either her sister Roberta or, for most of the tour, a close friend of the band, Jenny. I deposit home-made chocolate brownies and biscuits in the kitchen, setting them up alongside fruit brownies made by Veronica for the audience. Bob’s wife, Kirrily, comes and says hello, followed by their son Marley, who heads straight for the goodies. Their daughter Matilda is running around with her best friend and next-door neighbour, Sophie. Dave, who plays banjo, bass and bagpipes in the band, greets his wife Karen as she arrives with their kids. The band’s fiddle player, Sue, is pacing around, looking fractious. I ask if she’s okay. “Yeah, it is just that my family is meant to be here already and they’re running late. They’re going to miss it.”Not long after, Sue’s partner, Michael (who is also Veronica’s brother, Bob’s uncle) arrives with their son Elijah and his son Gabe, in time for the show. This final gig of the tour seemed to have been largely arranged for the families of the band, and there was little advertising for it. In the way of family get-togethers a mix of tension and excitement fill the room. But once the band starts playing things calm down, a group of kids occupy the dance floor, twirling, swaying, skipping and running along with the music. Family, Authenticity, and Commercial Practices in Australian Country MusicI open with this fieldwork account to illuminate how the presence and involvement of family, through parents, spouses, aunts, uncles, children and even close friends are central to the experience of what it is to be a country music artist in Australia. In the case of Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band, for example, band members make choices to involve family in the activity of “being” a band—touring, performing, engaging with fans—and these choices have emotional value for them, but are also yoked to broader discourses of family which circulate in the field of Australian country music. This field story reveals that “family” is not something carved off from artists’ public engagement with the field of Australian country music but is central to it. Discourses of and around “family” are implicit in the practices of Australian country music artists and are strategically used by artists to define what country music is and what is valued in the field. Crucially, the discourse of family is used to support claims to authenticity within country music culture. Ideas about and associated practices concerning, “authenticity” permeate the culture of country music. The discourse reaches across all aspects of the field, and all participants in the scene are compelled to at least turn their minds to questions of authenticity, and develop strategies for dealing with them. Value is conferred on artists seen to convey so-called “true” and “genuine” personas. Indeed the country music community demands something referred to as “honesty” from performers. It needs to be noted that country music is a commercial popular music form and culture. Many agents in the scene have an uneasy symbolic relationship with the commercial aspects of country music, but it is a basic premise within the field: the music exists to make money. This is not to say that financial and popular success (in their quantifiable forms: money made, units sold, crowd sizes, radio spins) is the only thing valued in country music. As a form of cultural capital, authenticity is also valued. But within Australian country music a tension exists between the part of field underpinned by commercial logic and the idea of the popular and those underpinned by notions of creativity, independence and musical integrity. Authenticity is deployed to distinguish country music from other styles of music in a number of keys ways. Authenticity can be taken as an essential quality of music, which “honestly” reflects or expresses an identity or experience (e.g., Australian national identity, rural experience, heartbreak) (Watson, Volume 1; Watson, Volume 2; Sanjek); as a proper way of relating music, artist and audience (Smith); as a ideological watchword which tempers commerciality (Sanjek); or as something “fabricated” or constructed in the codification of the genre (Akenson; Peterson; Carriage and Hayward). I am not positing authenticity as a feature unique to Australian country music. A number of authors have highlighted the role authenticity plays in many forms of popular music to navigate, understand or obfuscate the functions of the commercial music industry and shape its output (Frith; Sanjek; Barker and Taylor). The scholarship on country music and popular music in general often explores how authenticity is inscribed in the products of country music, rather than the processes and practices behind those products: the everyday, extra-musical activities of participants in the scene. This article is concerned then with how discourses of authenticity are sutured to business, musical and promotional practices, and how such tropes function alongside discourses and practices concerning “family” in the negotiation of commercial realities in Australian country music. Rather than looking at end products, my research takes a ground-up approach, exploring what people are doing and how they talk about their practices and decisions. Discourses of “family”, and practices around kin, provide one of many possible entry points for this exploration. MethodologyThis article is based on ethnographic research on Australian country music. Between 2012-2014 I spent many months of focused immersion with Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band at festivals and on tour. This research was part of broader participant observation I conducted which included attending more than 150 country music events across New South Wales and Queensland. I also conducted hundreds of informal interviews at these events, as well as in-depth, semi-structured interviews with key informants, including band members Bob Corbett, Sue Carson, Robbie Long, and Michael Carpenter (sometimes drummer).Bob Corbett was recognised by the “mainstream” Australian country music scene in 2012 after winning the Star Maker competition. Since the win Bob and the band’s success within the field has increased—higher album sales, larger crowds, more airplay, recognition, sponsorships and nomination for Golden Guitar Awards (the main Australian country music industry awards). They play a mercurial mix of styles including bluegrass, Western swing, pop folk, and rock. At the core is a concern with storytelling and live, acoustic based performance is central. Bob and the band are primarily engaging with the field of Australian country music (through festivals, media, and self-identification), rather than the folk or bluegrass scenes, which, while related, are distinct fields with different logics, rules and relations.The conceptual framework for this article is indebted to Pierre Bourdieu. In using the term “field” to talk about Australian country music, I understand it as a discrete, relatively autonomous social microcosm, which is located within the social space of Australian society and the broader music industry, yet it is ruled by logics which are “specific and irreducible to those that regulate other fields” (Bourdieu in Bourdieu and Wacquant 97). Australian country music consists of systems of relations, which define the occupants of the field—country musicians, country music stars, or country music fans (to name but a few)—and shape the products and practices of the field. Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band are participants in the field of Australian country music, and work to differentiate their position, and gain a monopoly over authority and influence within the field—to be recognised as successful, authentic country music artists (Bourdieu and Wacquant 100). This framework allows analytic space for exploring and understanding a tension between authenticity, as a form of cultural capital, and the commercial imperatives of country music as a popular music form.Family Bands and the Family BusinessThe significance and foregrounded presence of “family” within Australian country music is a result of the history of the field in which family bands have been prominent. The practice of touring with your spouse, children or other kin has been connected to a discourse of the “Family Band” in Australian country music. Slim Dusty and his family, as pioneers in the Australian country music industry, and arguably the most commercially and culturally successful artists in the scene’s history, are held up as an example par excellence of the country music canon, and provide the model for how country music should or could be done as a family. Slim, his wife Joy, daughter Anne Kirkpatrick and other extended family worked as a “family band” touring, performing, songwriting, recording, and being country music artists. As the “first family” Australian country music band (Baker; Ellis) they dominate the social and cultural imaginary of Australian country music. They represent a tradition of family involvement in the business of country music as a way of dealing with the practical realities of touring, providing emotional support and enjoyment, and as a part of a relatively conservative set of values drawn from country life­. These features work together to discursively distance the “family band” from the commercial music industry and imbue integrity and naturalness in those artists’ engagement with the music business. Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band is a family band: fiddle player Sue is Bob’s aunty; her partner Michael Stove, Bob’s uncle, was an original member of the Roo Grass Band. But more than that, the band understands themselves as a “family”. Sometimes-drummer in the band, Michael Carpenter, talked at length about the “Roo Grass Family” when I interviewed him, including the affective value he places on those relationships:I love it when Bob says… ‘Michael’s been a part of the Roo Grass family for a long time’ … it’s a very country music thing to say … when Bob says it, it actually means something, there’s a certain level of weight to it, because I know the way he treats his bands, I know the way he treats the people who are involved ... it does make them feel like they are a part of something special and so, and that’s beyond just doing a gig … it kind of creates this sense of loyalty that is important to me.The other members of the band also understand and value their involvement with the band in a similar way, and it spills into the chemistry the band has on stage, and the enjoyment they derive from playing together. The idea of the family band opens out beyond the actual band as well: the “Roo Grass Family” includes friends, fans and others with strong ties and involvement with the band.Practical, on the ground support (both on tour and also at home) offered by family to artists in Australian country music is a significant source of capital for those artists. However, participants also talk about this family help as a chance to spend time together, and couch it within discourses of loyalty, love, fun and commitment. Practices and discourses of small, DIY business are also sutured to discourse of family, as a way of reinforcing the fierce independence from big business and record companies. The fieldwork account at the beginning of this article reveals some of the work done by family on tour for Bob and the band, mainly through the presence of Bob’s mum, Veronica, as defacto tour manager. During the gig Bob offered a series of acknowledgments for the tour. After thanking the audiences and tour sponsors, he moved on to family:Bob: I’d like to thank my aunty Roberta, she came along and helped us on a tour leg … Ah, I’m going to forget people, I’m going to leave the special ones to last … I would like to thank Kirrily personally, but as Sue said, all partners and stuff, so I love you Kiz. But the most special one of all: Mrs Veronica Corbett [loud applause and cheers]. She’s the backbone! Of the tour, so thanks mum, thanks for everything.Veronica: Absolute pleasure Bobby.Bob: It’s been, it’s been a pleasure. You love doing it.Veronica: I love it.Bob: Yeah, you do love doing it, it’s been great, you know. I don’t want to get too, too sentimental, but, um just before dad died, he turned to me and said ‘look after mum’, and I don’t, I don’t look after mum, but in a way, just sharing all these experiences, like, we’re looking after each other, so, thank you for doing that.In this account, I am interested in the ways in which Bob, Veronica and Sue talk about the labour provided by family. There are a number of ways that participants talk about the practice of getting family to help do the work of touring and performing country music, which emerge here, and are consistently used by Bob and the band. It is spoken of in terms of “spending time” with each other, and of loving that time. Discourses of enjoyment and sociality permeate Bob, Veronica, and others’ discussions of the practical reality of people giving up their time to help. This is part of the cultural capital of authenticity: being a professional country music band out on the road is about more than hard slog, making money and cold business; it is an enjoyable experience, underpinned with love. To be authentic, it should be about more than the dollars.While the involvement of family in the activities of the band is discussed and understood as a chance to spend time together, an enjoyable experience, there are also discourses of support and help tied to these practices by those in and around the band. It is often acknowledged as a practical reality that family members are involved in the activities of the band (or in maintaining the home front) as a source of free or cheap labour which makes touring and performing possible. Sue acknowledged the importance of family support to the band, particularly as an independent band, in the interview: Main sources of support? … the management from Toyota and everything … after winning Star Maker, that was really great, so they’ve really helped … and also family … you certainly need that support, because you can’t, you’ve got to get out there and do it, that’s the only way to do it … it’s very personal support in a lot of ways … we’re not at that stage where, we’re not at a bigger level where there’s plenty of money being thrown around by record companies, that sort of support.In acknowledging the role of family at home while the band tours, as well as the “personal support” given to the band, Sue binds the practices of individuals staying at home, minding kids and maintaining home life, to the discourse of family. She is also linking the practices to the band’s “independent” status and the lack of “money being thrown around by record companies” as the reason this support and other on the road, tour based work, is essential. Within Sue’s account here, and at other times during my fieldwork, there was a sense that she saw the need for family support as a sign of inadequacy, a sign that the band had not yet “made it” to the level where the support comes from record companies, and there will be money thrown around to support the activities of the band. This touches on a broader set of discourses that circulate in the country music community about professionalism and amateurism, which are also linked to ideas about family. While the foregrounding of family has value within the field of country music, there is something else going on here. A division is often drawn between “commercial” and “creative” endeavours in Australian country music. By linking practices involving kin and discourses of family, Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band position themselves as authentic, or real, grass roots, and with creative freedom, in contrast to being creatively constrained or selling out. Within this division, a reliance on one’s family can be understood in some ways as a rejection of the commercial, business networks of country music. In the case of Sue’s account above there is a sense that it is also a way of negotiating success when you do not have access to a record label or other big business support, which may seem the easier route. Sue’s view differs somewhat from Bob’s in this respect. Bob often expressed pride in the fact that they are “doing it on their own” and boasting an independent DIY model of music business (for example through ticketing, tour organisation and production); a business model that relies on the support of their family, but which is respected and valued within Australian country music. ConclusionArtists such as Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band all occupy “positions” in the field of Australian country music, and the discourses of “commercial”, “creative”, and “authentic” all work to categorise artists, and their position in the field. Economic and material circumstances limit, enable or influence the decisions to involve families or not: for Bob, a desire to remain in control of his creative output and career, and the need to maximise income to feed his family makes DIY ticketing, and taking his mum and friends on the road a good choice. But these material factors work with symbolic and cultural factors, in the game of cultural legitimisation about what it is to be a country music artist. The way in which Bob and the band invoked particular discourses of family, loyalty, fun and enjoyment, to talk about the on-the-ground practices of having family involved (or not) in their working lives as musicians is part of the work these bands and artists are doing to represent themselves to the country music community; they are attempting to establish themselves as adequately, legitimately and authentically “country”. In the process they are also shaping what it is to be a country music artist and what is valued within the field—in this case “family”. The constant struggles over what country music is, what is “authentic” country and what represents success, are struggles over the “schemata of classification … which construct social reality” (Bourdieu 20). Bob Corbett and the Roo Grass Band are using strategies in this struggle, in this case the strategies link practices involving kin to discourses of honesty and openness by collapsing public and private, heritage and tradition through the family band, and authenticity, professionalism, and success in the way family support can limit the need to rely on record labels and big business. ReferencesAkenson, James E. “Australia, The United States and Authenticity.” Outback and Urban: Australian Country Music. Ed. Philip Hayward. Gympie, QLD: aicmPress for the Australian Institute of Country Music, 2003. 187–206. Baker, Glen A. “Liner Notes - Annethology: The Best of Anne Kirkpatrick.” July 2010.Barker, Hugh, and Yuval Taylor. Faking It: The Quest for Authenticity in Popular Music. New York: W.W. Norton, 2007.Bourdieu, Pierre. “Social Space and Symbolic Power.” Sociological Theory 7.1 (1989): 14–25. Bourdieu, Pierre, and Loïc J. D. Wacquant, eds. An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. 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