Popular Music Studies Today: Julia Merrill Editor

Systematische Musikwissenschaft
Julia Merrill Editor
Popular Music
Studies Today
Proceedings of the International
Association for the Study
of Popular Music 2017
Herausgegeben von
J. Hemming, Kassel, Deutschland
Systematische Musikwissenschaft richtet ihr Erkenntnisinteresse häufig auf Zeit
punkte statt auf Zeiträume. Dies ermöglicht es, Prozesse musikalischer Produktion
und Rezeption detailliert in den Blick zu nehmen – von akustischen Messungen am
Instrument bis zur Hirnforschung am Musikhörer, von einer Problematisierung
des Begriffs der „Musikalität“ bis zur Einbeziehung musikbezogener Geschlechter
oder Globalisierungsforschung. Entsprechend vielfältig sind die Anforderungen an
methodische, häufig empirische Innovationen sowie an die dazugehörige Theorie
entwicklung. Zugleich werden bevorzugt aktuelle oder gesellschaftsrelevante mu
sikkulturelle Phänomene thematisiert. Die Reihe Systematische Musikwissenschaft
hat es sich zur Aufgabe gemacht, durch Veröffentlichung von Überblickswerken,
Monographien und Diskussionsbänden das Spannungsfeld zwischen Theorie und
Empirie in der Systematischen Musikwissenschaft mit neuen Inhalten zu berei
chern.
Herausgegeben von
Jan Hemming
Kassel, Deutschland
Julia Merrill
(Ed.)
Popular Music
Studies Today
Proceedings of the International
Association for the Study
of Popular Music 2017
Editor
Julia Merrill
Kassel, Deutschland
The conference was supported by the German Research Foundation (DFG).
ISBN 978-3-658-17739-3 ISBN 978-3-658-17740-9 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-17740-9
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Table of Contents
Preface............................................................................................................. 9
Natural Highs: Timbre and Chills in Electronic Dance Music ........................... 11
Nino Auricchio
The Monkey is Amused to Death: Roger Waters’ Masterpiece and its
Commercial Failure ........................................................................................ 25
Navid Bargrizan
Popular Music Studies in the Context of Post-Communist Historiography
in the Czech Republic ..................................................................................... 35
Jan Blüml
Popular Music Analysis and Social Semiotics: The Case of the Reggae Voice .. 43
Benjamin Burkhart
The Presentation of the Self in the Popular Song ........................................... 53
Pedro Cesar Pires
“Chinese Got Talent”: Popular Music Singing Competitions in Taiwan and
China.............................................................................................................. 61
Ya-Hui Cheng
Unpacking Performance in the Pop-Rock Biopic ............................................. 67
Maurizio Corbella
From Earth Angel to Electric Lucifer: Castrati, Doo Wop and the Vocoder ...... 75
Virginia Dellenbaugh
Crowdfunding is Not for Everybody: Performance in the Art of Asking .......... 85
Beatriz Medeiros, Natalia Dias
When I’m (Not) ‘Ere ....................................................................................... 97
Stan Erraught
Binaurality, Stereophony, and Popular Music in the 1960s and 1970s ......... 103
Franco Fabbri
Adele’s Hello: Harmonic Ambiguity & Modal Inflection in Contemporary
Pop .............................................................................................................. 111
Grant Davidson Ford
6 Table of Contents
Mapping Popular Music Studies in Turkey Onto Studies in the Anglophone

World ........................................................................................................... 119
Ali C. Gedik
Power and Resistance in Iranian Popular Music ........................................... 129
Amin Hashemi
‘Gear Acquisition Syndrome’ – A Survey of Electric Guitar Players ............... 139
Jan-Peter Herbst
Performing Disorder..................................................................................... 149
Peter Hinrichs, Oleg Pronitschew
From Psychedelia to Djent – Progressive Genres as a Paradox of Pop
Culture ......................................................................................................... 159
Andrzej Mądro
The Resonances of Political Disputes in Hong Kong China – Case Studies
of Canto-pop ................................................................................................ 169
Ivy Man
African Manifestations in Brazil: The Crioula Drum Dance ........................... 177
Regina Meirelles
Mach Schau!: The Contribution of The Beatles to the Development of
Visual Music in Magical Mystery Tour.......................................................... 187
Emilio Mendoza Guardia
Shaping the pancadão: Improvisation and Studio Creativity on Rio Funk
Independent Recordings from the Early 1990s ............................................. 203
Alexei Michailowsky
“What Difference Does it Make?” Studying Urban Popular Music from
Before the Generalization of the Gramophone: The Example of the First
World War Repertoire.................................................................................. 213
John Mullen
Hearing Sexism – Analyzing Discrimination in Sound ................................... 225
L. J. Müller
Genre Modulation as Sectional Divider ........................................................ 235
Taylor Myers
Table of Contents 7
Groenemeyer – A Case Study on Situative Singing Styles ............................. 243

Hendrik Neubauer, Tobias Marx
The Music of Samba Schools: A Challenge for Popular Music Studies .......... 253
Yuri Prado
Who said we were over it? On Nationalist Nostalgia and a Specter
Haunting Europe: Popular Music and the Melancholic Presence of the
Past .............................................................................................................. 261
Melanie Schiller
What Lessons can Higher Popular Music Education Learn from Art School
Pedagogy?.................................................................................................... 271
Simon Strange
Global Patchbay: Developing Popular Music Expertise Through
International Collaboration .......................................................................... 281
Mark Thorley, Gerhard Roux
Musicology of Listening – New Ways to Hear and Understand the Musical
Past .............................................................................................................. 291
Martha Ulhôa
Preface
This volume presents selected contributions to the 19th edition of the biannual
conference of the International Association for the Study of Popular Music, titled
“Popular Music Studies Today”. These proceedings cover a wide variety of stud-
ies, focusing on present and future developments in popular music studies: Re-
searching Popular Music, Analyzing Popular Music, Teaching and Learning Pop-
ular Music, Remapping Popular Music, Narrating Popular Music and Technology
and Popular Music. Authors from all over the world contributed, representing dif-
ferent countries and cultures.
Conference contributions were peer-reviewed by the academic committee
which consisted of the following members: Jacopo Tomatis (chair), Jonathan Eato,
Dafni Tragaki, Ádám Ignácz, Olivier Julien, Cecilia Björck, Hyunjoon Shin, Isa-
belle Marc, Danijela Spiric Beard, María Luisa de la Garza and Steve Waksman.
Articles are in alphabetical order of the first author. Color figures can be
found in the online version, to be accessed via http://link.springer.com/. For the
first time, the proceedings were prepared in advance, making them available at the
time of the conference, held in Kassel, Germany, from June 26–30, 2017.
Julia Merrill (editor)

Jan Hemming (conference convener)
Kassel, February 2017

Natural Highs: Timbre and Chills in Electronic Dance
Music
Nino Auricchio
University of West London, London College of Music, Ealing, London, United Kingdom,
nino.auricchio@uwl.ac.uk
The composition of contemporary electronic dance music (EDM) requires consid-
erable technical expertise and finesse in the creation and manipulation of sound
timbre. The function of timbre in this type of music is critical for creating dynamic
structure, tension and release in a work to provide the conditions for a listener to
be emotionally moved in the manner intended by the composer.
The analysis of existing compositional works will seek to gauge the extent of
emotional impact through the psychophysiological response to music known as
musical chills or frisson. This response is often felt by the listener as a tingle or
shiver which may spread down the back, neck, arms or legs. Current research into
physiological responses to music and their relationship to emotions, along with
traditional musical analysis of chill response sections of music, rarely takes tim-
bre into account. This paper intends to draw attention to and explore the
relationship of timbre to the chill response in EDM, with reference to specific
sound creation and manipulation production techniques.
Keywords: EDM, chills, timbre, physiology, composition
Introduction
Music has the ability to manipulate mood in the listener to extremes. Perhaps the
most intense of these is the feeling of transcendence beyond what people perceive
as physical reality, into a deep sense of bliss, euphoria and what is often termed,
the ‘chill response’. This physiological reaction can often take the form of goose
bumps, shivers down the spine or a tightening of the chest as the adrenal gland
releases adrenalin to counteract increased serotonin levels. In EDM the creation
and morphology of timbre can often be more important to the composer as a tool
to aid the manipulation in the listener than tonal events. This paper will look to
identify and describe shared characteristics of timbre that help to evoke feelings
of euphoria within EDM, and production techniques that accomplish this.The
power of music to evoke euphoria as a psycho-physiological reaction in people
has intrigued musicologists for a very long time (Guhn et al. 2007: 473). This

J. Merrill, Popular Music Studies Today, Systematische
Musikwissenschaft, DOI 10.1007/978-3-658-17740-9_1
12 Nino Auricchio
desire to understand the manner in which music evokes emotions has driven pub-
lished music research in the field of music cognition over the last thirty-six
years (Goldstein 1980: 126-129; Juslin, Sloboda 2001: 73).
Defining the chill response
Music and emotion is an area of research, which has preoccupied musicologists
and psychologists since the times of ancient Greece (Juslin, Sloboda 2010: 3).
Composers of EDM want to recreate deep emotional reactions within them-
selves and the listener, thus the manner as to which these conditions come about
is important.
The conditions under which certain emotions, and more specifically, the chill
response are created, need to be understood. The chill response is defined as when
a listener has a psychophysiological reaction to music (Guhn, et. al. 2007: 473).
Hairs stand up on the back of the neck, shivers go down the spine, and an increase
in heart rate may occur. This type of intense and pleasurable experience where
dopamine is released into the brain, is usually associated with certain primal stim-
uli such as eating, having sex, acquiring money and taking recreational drugs (Sal-
impoor et al. 2013: 62). This internal reward mechanism can also be stimulated
by music and art, which is not vital to life and abstract in nature. The amount of
variation in how these abstract stimuli are embedded into cultures and individuals
is vast. Dubé and Lebel (2003: 287) demonstrate that music is a powerful tool
humans use to help affect their emotional state and that the chill response is a clear
indication of peak emotional response to music (Panksepp 1995). Chills are also
indicated by well defined patterns in the autonomic nervous system, which allow
for objective psychophysiological measurement in the listener (Salimpoor el al.
2009: 1).
John Sloboda, whilst at Keele University undertook at study in 1991 into what
he termed “thrills” as part of the experience of listening to music. The study in-
volved carrying out a questionnaire, asking people if they felt “shivers” and
“chills” when listening to a predetermined set of extracts from the Western classi-
cal music repertoire. There were eighty-three respondents (primarily musicians)
who described their experiences when listening to the musical extracts, such as
lumps in the throat, tears and shivers. Sloboda then analysed these responses and
looked to establish some correlates between the responses of the participants and
the music, with regard to specific musical attributes. These included shivers cor-
relating to dramatic and quick changes in harmony and dynamics. Jaak Panksepp,
whilst at Bowling Green University in 1995 undertook a similar study to Sloboda,
also looking into the source of “chill” induced by music. Panksepp found that a
particular passage of Pink Floyd’s The Final Cut (1983) elicited a large number of
chill responses in his undergraduate psychology students. The passage contained
Natural Highs: Timbre and Chills in Electronic Dance Music 13
a number of different elements changing simultaneously, including a drastic dy-

namic change upwards.
It seems plausible therefore that altering the timbre of sounds dramatically
and suddenly in the context of an EDM track, in a similar manner to dynamics and
tonality, may also help to elicit the chill response. The study of electronic music
and dance music in particular, tends to focus on the rhythmic patterns, arrange-
ment and resulting drug-induced euphoria (Reynolds 1999; Brester et. al. 1999;
Neill 2002: Butler 2006). Whilst this is central to understand how these forms of
music have developed and progressed culturally over the last thirty years, it rarely
returns to conclude whether and how the timbre of the music impacts the listener
emotionally. Another pertinent question is to progress analysis of electronic mu-
sic towards how it impacts upon the listener in a psychophysiological manner.
External factors relating to how people respond to music are undoubtedly far be-
yond the realms of the music itself. The impact of greater cultural and personal
experiential factors is possibly the greatest with regard to how people respond
emotionally to music. Factors can take the form of associations with certain styles
of music (Levitin 2006: 236), or a personal experience, such having a ‘special’
song for a loved one. It is therefore important to attempt to separate these external
factors from the chill response, and hypothesise as to whether this is in fact possi-
ble.
It is first important to consider how the listener perceives EDM, being
style within the broader realm of electronic music, with relation to musical cog-
nition. It seems appropriate that the cognitive aspects of electronic music should
be discussed initially. Acoustic instruments are by their very nature, sound pro-
duction devices that are operated and articulated by people and therefore have
‘real-world’ gestural characteristics. The perception when someone listens to a
recording of an acoustic instrument is that the mediator is the person playing the
instrument. This in turn means that the gesture of the player is far more concrete
in the listener’s mind and invokes more mimetic associations. However, in elec-
tronic music the link between sound production and articulation can often be dis-
tanced or detached. This disassociation consequently means that any implied ac-
tion or excitation of the electronic device by a person, are poor at echoing the
often-intricate formation of electronic sound. Electronic instruments are not con-
strained by the physical ability of a human performer to directly play the instru-
ment, allowing more freedom for performance. Gesture and the sound output
are no longer linked (Leman 2008: 164) with seemingly insignificant move-
ments producing very significant sound outputs.
Listeners of EDM can often enjoy the lack of direct gestural mediation be-
tween how a sound is produced and the sound itself. It allows for the abstraction
of sound to take place in the listeners mind, enabling the evocation of images,
14 Nino Auricchio
narratives or movies. The constructs of reality, the constraints of objects, en-

vironment and actions can be put to one side. It is true that people have an excel-
lent ability to gauge the action being taken through listening to a recording of
it (Rocchesso and Fontana 2003: 31), and have a need to understand the source
of a sound. However, the perception of electronic music to not be constrained by
gestural feedback is what can make it liberating as a stlye of music. Leman (2008:
166) postulates that as the listener is not focused on the manner of a sounds pro-
duction in electronic music, as they can instead focus on organisational properties
of sound such as pitch, amplitude envelopes and timbre. An example could be a
focus on anything from a subtle change in the tone of a synthesized string sound,
to the shifting of a hi-hat pattern in the stereo image. Indeed, Eric Clark (2005:
89) states that morphology and proprioception of electronic music provides the
listener with the experience of “impossible worlds” (Clark 2005: 89).
The stratification of elements in electronic music tends to point toward a per-
ception that the sound of a track might be taken in whole. However, when
listening to electronic music, mentally dismantling the various layers of sound into
distinct streams is a natural response (Bregman 1990: 47) and encourages the kind
of intense and deep listening, which can then help lead to a chill response due to a
change or resolution in that stream.
Chill response catalysts and their link to timbre in EDM
Studies into what characteristics of music evoke a chill response are varied,
however there are some common ones that studies have identified as being partic-
ularly pronounced. John Sloboda in his 1991 study into musical structure and
emotional response indicated that the musical structures that provoked the chill
response most reliably were sudden changes in harmony, dynamics and texture
(1991: 115). Jaak Panksepp in his 1995 study (revised in 2002) indicated that a
solo instrument emerging from the background of an ensemble, a high-pitched
sustained note, or intense and dramatic crescendos would more likely evoke a chill
response (2002: 143). Oliver Grewe et al. in their 2005 and 2007 studies also
found that the entrance of a new instrumental part, change in loudness and con-
trasts between two voices would evoke chills more frequently than other musical
structures (2007: 303). These studies focus predominantly on harmony and mel-
ody as opposed to timbre, however timbre is always directly linked to these
elements by association.
The following section will explore the structures and features of timbre as a
catalyst for the chill response though the analysis of two EDM tracks. The pa-
rameters by which the tracks will be analysed must first be established however.
It is also important to make clear that timbre cannot be considered in total isolation
from the other aspects of musical composition, such as tonality, harmony, melody
and rhythm. Gestalt theory dictates that our perception of music as humans
means we group these aspects of composition together (Jackendoff and Lerdahl
2006).
The arrangement is often clearly defined with section demarcation made ob-
vious through the often-sudden change of tonal, rhythmic and sonic elements. A
prominent kick drum pattern is often utilised as a common characteristic of EDM.
Bass line patterns often use single notes for extended periods in a track, before
moving to follow a new harmonic progression. Chord progressions can vary from
one or two repeating chords to more complex progressions with half bar changes,
an irregular number of chords in the progression loop and use of inversions. Chord
progressions are sometimes performed with an arpeggiator, often playing a syn-
thesized staccato like sound, or in conjunction with a sustained string/pad sound.
The arrangement can takes the form of a rhythm only opening section,1 before the
bass line is introduced, followed by a higher tonal riff or pad. This exposition
will often include an introduction of other rhythmic elements, perhaps the occa-
sional tonal element and soundscape textural elements. A breakdown is common
after the exposition, where a main melody and chord progression can introduced.
This section is likely to build with the introduction of other elements, both tonal
and rhythmic, before the main driving rhythm returns and the track then enters its
climactic section. This climactic section represents the summit of the track with
additional tonal and rhythmic elements to enhance the overall soundscape.
Following this all-out section a gradual elimination of parts takes place in
the coda, often only leaving a single rhythmic part to end the track.2
Figure 1. Arrangement overview of a typical EDM track.3
1
This is designed to assist DJs in mixing the track into a longer set.
2
This is for the same reason as note 1.
3
The shading indicates the number of layers for the respective rhythmic and tonal parts.
Lighter indicates less components, darker indicates more components.
16 Nino Auricchio
The points at which the chill response is more likely to be experienced in an EDM
track can be named as: the start of the breakdown, the start of the climax, the in-
troduction of a chord progression or a specific change within it and the movement
of a static bass line. There may be other moments where the chill response will
occur, such as the introduction of chords (as an arpeggiation or as static pads), or
the introduction of a melody.
Figure 2. Arrangement overview with most likely locations of the chill response.
The locations indicated where the chill response is most likely to occur is based
upon the introduction of characteristics identified by Sloboda (1991), Panksepp
(1995/2002) and Grewe (2007). These chill response characteristics being sudden
changes in harmony, dynamics, texture, the entrance of a new instrumental part,
crescendos and contrasts between two voices.
You’re The Worst Thing In The World by Telefon Tel Aviv (2008)
The first extract from an EDM track to be analysed containing what will be
referred to as a chill response point (CRP) is the Sasha Invol2ver remix of the
Telefon Tel Aviv track You’re The Worst Thing In The World (2008) at 1 minute
40 seconds.4 The track at this point has been through its initial exposition. A
four-on-the-floor drum pattern opens and a synthesized arpeggiator pattern quietly
enters after 16 bars, before building up over 32 bars with increasing amplitude and
a gradually opening resonant low-pass filter. In the 6 bars before the CRP there is
a gradual fade in of a sweeping (high to low) band-pass filtered pad sound playing
a chord.5 The bass line entered from the beginning and immediately followed the
root notes of the chord progression implied by the arpeggiated chords later on. At
1:40 there is a sudden drop of the pad and arpeggiator producing a dramatic change
in dynamics and texture.
4
This is a CRP which was also experienced by the author.
5
This pad sound seems to be made by an Elka Synthex synthesizer, which was only of
the few polyphonic synthesizers in the 1980s to be fitted with a band-pass filter.
Figure 3. Spectrogram of chill response point (white line) in You’re The Worst Thing In
The World (2008).
It is important to consider why this point in the track has elicited a chill response
and not another point of timbral energy change. In this case this is the first major
change in timbral density and supports the conclusions of Panksepp (1995: 193)
who confirmed that dynamic crescendos help stimulate the chill response, but
equally that a sudden dynamic change could also achieve the same. This particular
section of the track exhibits both these characteristics, but in the crescendo and
subsequent sudden drop of timbral density. There are two overall characteristics
of the track leading up to and following the CRP that dramatically change.
Firstly, there is a shift from gradually increasing suggestions of expanding ambient
spaces of varying sizes for different parts, to no ambience for the drums and bass
after the CRP. Secondly, a dramatic shift in the overall texture of the track
from an increasingly dense spectrum to a relatively minimal spectrum, with only
the kick and snare sounds, bass and filtered single note pattern. The charac-
teristics of specific parts work to create a sense of an instantaneously changing
space and proximity of the music, thus potentially inducing a chill response due
to these sudden and dramatic changes. This change implies a shift from a
vast extension of the sound environment using artificial reverberation, to a
null extension where the sound environment shrinks as if to place the music inside
18 Nino Auricchio
the mind of the listener.6 The relationship to timbre in this CRP is the change from
a more to less complex spectrum. The arpeggiated chords having been made
brighter in the buildup with a rising low-pass filter, closes in the final bar
before the CRP. This is the only element that does not change immediately
change before the CRP, which reduces the frequency content the sound takes up
between 64Hz and approximately 10kHz. This spectral space allows the sweep-
ing band-pass filtered chord to be unmasked as its amplitude increases in the bar
before the CRP. The pad is playing a minor chord, but there is increasing inhar-
monic saturation in the sound during the bar before the CRP. Inharmonicity in
this context refers to Denis Smalley’s discussion on spectra in his writings on
Spectromorphology (Smalley 1997: 120). This contrary motion of timbres be-
tween the arpeggiated pattern receding and the relatively inharmonic pad helps to
create a sense of harmonic tension and suspension, before the CRP to just bass
and drums. The attenuation of the kick drum in the bar before the CRP also
aids this sense of suspension and resolution being created.
Panksepp (1995) noted that the powerful peak emotional state of a chill could
only be precipitated through an established background mood or sense of nostal-
gia. In this example the track has only just established itself and a few elements
introduced, which indicates a specific reaction to the timbre of the sound as op-
posed to a link with previous musical parts. A CRP at this point does however
support the findings of Salimpoor, et. al. (2013: 261) that temporal phenomena of
surprise are associated with dopamine release.
One Day Out by André Sobota (2009)
An example of a CRP due to a crescendo is during One Day Out by André Sobota
(2009). The section leading up to and after the CRP contains an element
similar to a sustained high note, which correlates with Pensepp’s findings (2002)
of such structures helping to induce chills.
6
There are no apparent reflections from an implied environment, therefore anechoic in
nature and implies no source bonding (Smalley 1997: 123).
Figure 4. Spectrogram of CRP (white line) in One Day Out (2009)

The CRP takes place at the transition between a second exposition section and a
more climactic section. This CRP does not introduce any new or alter any existing
melodic or harmonic components, only the kick drum pattern is suspended for four
bars before the CRP. Instead, only the timbre of the existing sounds is manipu-
lated to invoke the chill response. The two parts that are altered in the section
leading up to the CRP is a synthesized arpeggiated sound and a sustained pad
sound. Both these parts become louder and brighter with increasing higher fre-
quency spectral energy, which is achieved though a gradually rising cutoff fre-
quency of a low pass filter and increasing the release time on the arpeggiated
sound. These two sound manipulation techniques work together to produce a
spectral swell, which is an example of a graduated continuant as described
by Smalley (1997: 113). This climaxing of intensity is carried over past the CRP
with the arpeggiation and pad both continuing to take up a large part of the upper-
mid spectrum. There is considerable overlap of the various perceptual streams
as the different parts intrude into each other’s spectral space. The consequence
of this is that the perceptual boundaries become ambiguous with the listener no
longer following individual pitches and instead, tracking spectral growth of the
sounds as one motion. This is an example of the sound moving from the note point
on the pitch-effluvium continuum (Smalley 1986: 65) towards a node, where tex-
ture becomes a more important feature of the sound. This shift of perception
enables the listener to not be grounded by the harmony, even though the bass part
is still present throughout the section. This then allows the listener to focus on the
20 Nino Auricchio
grouped ascent of the parts and allow the overall soundscape of the track to gen-
erate the euphoric wave, which may then precipitate a chill response. Smalley
discusses texture-carried (1997: 114) as an example of when texture dominates
the work as opposed to the mixture of gesture and texture, which usually work
together in a piece. It could be said that at this CRP, texture has become dominant
over gesture. You’re The Worst Thing In The World exhibits this change of focus
from gesture, or gesture-framing, to texture-carried.
Conclusions
The purpose of the analyses is to explore how timbre and the manipulation of it,
contribute to the conditions necessary for the chill response to take place within
the listener. Specific changes in aspects of harmony, dynamics, instrumentation
and arrangement have been identified, in the studies previously mentioned, as the
musical structures that predicate the chill response. It therefore seems appropriate
that a similar description of structures relating to timbre that predicate the chill
response should also be established as basis for further research. Through the
analyses of the tracks in this article, there is a common type of timbral change
that seems to occur. This common change involves a movement from harmon-
icity to inharmonicity, or visa versa, which seems to be present at a probable chill
response point. This shaping of sound can be also expanded to include distinct
layering of harmonic and inharmonic sounds running concurrently during a chill
response point.
The overriding sound pallet used in EDM is of electronically synthesized
sounds, or samples that are manipulated using synthesis techniques (such as gran-
ular time stretching) to such an extent that their source and gestural character-
istics are removed. The use of filter sweeps to directly control the spectral content
of a sound and reverberation to increase the spectral density of a sound, serve to
further reduce associative characteristics. These types of sounds embody less as-
sociated meanings with particular real-world sound sources and allows our per-
ception of the music to become less rooted in conscious or subconscious
associations. This makes the timbre of the sound become far more important in
the perception hierarchy of the music and consequently makes any change in
timbre far more pronounced. It also allows for the various parts within the track
to be perceived as individual or combined streams when listening, which enables
the listener to create their own timbre pallet depending on which individual or
combination of parts they focus on at any one time. The gradual rising frequency
cutoff frequency of a low-pass filter for example, could work to bring out a part
in the mix and help to create the conditions for the chill response, such as those
discussed by Panksepp (1995).
As the distinctiveness of a particular sound is altered through the application

of reverberation or the movement of the cutoff frequency control on a filter, there
it still a strong link maintained to its origin by the listener. Some sounds, espe-
cially pads and arpeggiators in EDM can start with a degree of source bonding
being apparent to the listener, which can then be reduced with subsequent manip-
ulation. This in turn creates a disassociation from the potential mimetic and con-
crete nature of the sounds, thus leading to a more abstract perception of the music
by the listener. Perception of sound on a more abstract level helps the listener to
detach themselves from more culturally established associations and allow more
basic emotions to surface, such as chills. Emotional Contagion suggested by
Juslin (2001) relates to the manifestation of emotions expressed by a piece of mu-
sic, then being induced within the listener. This contagion, although still relatively
uncorroborated, demonstrates how when the listener is more free in their percep-
tion of music and sound, can experience the intended emotion more easily. Pan-
nese (2012) has looked to explore the idea that all aesthetic responses to music are
based upon deeper automatic biological reactions to music. The reactions of chills
and other physiological responses are universal, as opposed to cultural and social
associations, which are not. There are obviously wide ranges of specific musical
features that vary from culture to culture.
The current research into physiological responses to music and their relation-
ship to emotions, along with traditional musical analysis of chill response sections
of music, rarely takes timbre into account. Considering timbre specifically
within electronic music proposes an important aspect of aesthetic thinking that is
useful when considering the implications of electronic music production tech-
niques, which often looks to override contextual boundaries.
References
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about it?” Cognition. 100: 33-72.
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Oxford University Press.
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search, Applications. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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MIT Press.
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London: Atlantic Books.
Neill, Ben. 2002. “Pleasure Beats: Rhythm and the Aesthetics of Current Electronic Music”.
Leonardo Music Journal. 12: 3-6.
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Discography
André Sobota. 2009. Outside. Proton Music. (MP3): PROTON0108.
http://www.discogs.com/Andre-Sobota-Outside/release/2837031
Sasha. 2008. Ivolv2er. Global Underground Ltd. (CD): GUSA002CD.
http://www.discogs.com/Sasha-Invol2ver/release/1435345
The Monkey is Amused to Death: Roger Waters’ Mas-
terpiece and its Commercial Failure
Navid Bargrizan
University of Florida, Music Department, Gainesville, Florida, USA, nbargrizan@ufll.edu,
www.navidbargrizan.com
Despite the compelling concept, music, and the scope of Roger Waters’ 1992 solo
album Amused to Death, the critics and the public received it negatively. In fact,
Waters’ polemical approach to the cultural and social consequences of the techno-
logical developments demonstrated a poor commercial performance, compared
with Pink Floyd’s projects such as Dark Side of the Moon, or The Wall. Disputing
the opinions of the pundits and the fans, in this paper I argue that the foremost
reason for the negative reception of Amused to Death was Waters’ unprecedented
socio-political criticism of the mass media and warfare, where he articulates that
the broadcasting of war has become a form of entertainment in the television news.
Following his path in writing Pink Floyd’s seminal concept albums, in Amused to
Death Waters declares his harshest and gloomiest pacifistic and socialistic mes-
sages, which have evoked the adverse reactions to it. He not only denounces the
superficial entertainment industry, but also tears apart the idea of war. Exploring
Waters’ conceptual, lyrical, and compositional genius, as well as album’s
Grammy-winning mix and sound-effects, I assert that Amused to Death stands out
as Waters’ highest achievement both in the musical content and its extra-musical
manifesto.
Keywords: Roger Waters, Amused to Death, Concept Album, Pink Floyd, Socio-political
Criticism, Rock
Introduction
Imagine an apocalyptic scenario, where, once upon a time in the future, an ultra-
intelligent alien species examines the cause of the extinction of the human race.
After much investigation, the extraterrestrial anthropologists infer that the logic
for the demise of the life on earth is the fact that the humans have amused them-
selves to the point of annihilation. Depicting homo sapiens doomed “last hurrah,”
Roger Waters conceives such phantasmagoric synopsis in the closing song of his
1992 solo concept album Amused to Death, his polemical assessment of the cul-
tural and social consequences of the technological developments.

26 Navid Bargrizan
Alluding to Aldous Huxley’s 1931 dystopian novel Brave New World, where
he insinuates that “the Western democracies will likely come to adore the technol-
ogies that undo their capacities to think,” in Amused to Death Waters declares his
harshest pacifistic and socialistic messages to articulate that the broadcasting of
war has become a form of entertainment in the television news. He criticizes the
superficial entertainment industry, tele-evangelism, mass media, the greed of cap-
italistic market, and most importantly the idea of war; in particular, the First Gulf
War: the sensational exposition of America’s eminent combat technologies, por-
trayed by George H. W. Bush as a holy war (Postman 2006: xix). According to
communication scholar, Phil Rose: “Waters’ primary concern in the album is the
potentialities that the confluence of advanced weapons systems, war, and televi-
sion have for mass desensitization (Rose 2015: 192). Waters warns us of “aestheti-
cized warfare through technological fetishism” and expresses his fear of war being
normalized as television entertainment as follows:
A lot of the songs on this record developed from watching television and just checking
out what’s been going on around the world in the last few years. I have this sense of
a lot of human and political disasters being exacerbated if not caused by a need that
we have in the western civilized countries to amuse our populations, in the exercise of
dramatic foreign policy, i.e. one of the things that we find most amusing is to have
wars, hopefully in distant lands, and it’s a concern to me to see war as entertainment
on the television. (Rose 2015: 194-209)
Despite the compelling concept, music, and the scope of the record, however, sev-
eral critics, such as Andy Gill, Charles Shaar Murray, or Tom Hibbert received it
negatively and described Waters as holding “darkly cynical views of life and the
human condition, projecting a ‘grim misanthropy’, and writing ‘rock’s most neu-
rotic lyrics’” (Weinstein 2007: 81). Hibbert says:
Roger Waters is the one whose doomy sound ‘anthems’ about ‘alienation’ and how
awful everything is have worried listeners all over the world for several years. He is
thought by many to be the gloomiest man in rock. The wall was gloomy and his solo
albums the Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking and Radio K.A.O.S. were gloomy, and his
latest work, Amused to Death, is frightfully gloomy. Waters’ voice drones along to
warn us that: […] everything is horrible, especially television, war, the entire universe,
and Andrew Lloyd Weber. (Hibbert 1997: 145)
While Amused to Death performed poorly in commercial sales and charts, partic-
ularly compared with Pink Floyd’s projects such as Dark Side of the Moon, or The
Wall, some critics have gone so far to name Waters “mister glum,” the “gloomiest
man in rock,” or even “the ranting crank” (Weinstein 2007: 81). Hibbert argues
that “Waters, the Mr. Glum, who refuses to even sniff at his brimming beaker of
The Monkey is Amused to Death 27
beer, is the gloomiest man in rock, he is enough to depress a gadfly” (Hibbert

1997: 147).
Disputing the opinions of these pundits, I argue that the foremost reason for
the negative reception of Amused to Death was Waters’ unprecedented socio-po-
litical criticism of the mass media and warfare, where he highlights the absurdities
of our existence in the age of technological progress. In the words of the sociolo-
gist, Deena Weinstein: “critics see Waters as a depressive pessimist mainly be-
cause his view of existence and his understanding of the function of rock run coun-
ter to theirs” (Weinstein 2007: 81-82). She maintains that since most rock critics
favor the message of hope, they adore, for example, John Lennon’s “Imagine” or
“Give Peace a Hand,” whereas, on the other hand, Waters is an existentialist; His
words are not hopeful at all. As many existential philosophers, critics have misun-
derstood Waters labeling him as nihilist, when nothing could be further from the
truth (Weinstein 2007: 82). Analyzing Waters’ conceptual, lyrical, and composi-
tional genius, as well as album’s Grammy-winning mix and sound-effects, I assert
that not only does Amused to Death stand out as Waters’ highest achievement both
in the musical content and its extra-musical manifesto, but it is also a milestone of
the genre.
Waters’ Pacifism and the Connotations of the Album
In this album Waters portrays an allegorical monkey as the principle role, implying
Stanley Kubrick’s 1968 depiction of tribal man-ape, in his groundbreaking sci-
ence-fiction picture 2001: A Space Odyssey, originally a short story by Arthur C.
Clarke called Sentinel (1948). Being a predecessor of homo sapiens, the monkey
encounters various cultural, political, and entertainment programs, while gazing at
the television’s screen and randomly switching the channels. Constructing an in-
tricate fabric of various sound-effects, throughout the album Waters constantly
refers to Kubrick’s Space Odyssey. In the second track “What God Wants, Part I”
for example, we here a growling wild cat attacking the man-ape, a feasible meta-
phor for the existential danger of the technologies. Not only does Kubrick present
the same scenario in his Odyssey, but also Kurt Vonnegut in his 1985 novel Galá-
pagos, another viable literary inspiration for the album. Waters lists Isaac Asimov,
Arthur C. Clarke, Ray Bradbury, Theodore Sturgeon, Aldous Huxley, Hermann
Hesse, Thomas Mann, and Kurt Vonnegut as his favorite authors, which affirms
the assumption of Galápagos being a source of inspiration for Amused to Death.
He mentions: “I still love Kurt Vonnegut. I’ve read all of his novels several times.
He’s one of my great heroes” (Rose 2015: 235).
Using parts of an old British Television documentary, the opening track, “The
Ballad of Bill Hubbard,” features the sober voice of Alf Razzaell, a First World
28 Navid Bargrizan
War veteran, recounting the real story of him and his comrade Bill Hubbard meet-
ing up on the front lines during the war. The wounded Bill, to whom Waters has
dedicated Amused to Death, forces Alf to leave him behind and escape. This ex-
perience has clearly had such a profound influence on Alf’s life that he condemns
wars (Rose 2015: 201). Bill Hubbard also represents Waters’ own grandfather,
whom he lost in the First World War, and his Father, whom he lost in the second.
His losses have also had such an extreme effect on his life, such that he has repeat-
edly invoked their memories in Pink Floyd’s The Wall, The Final Cut, and clearly
in Amused to Death. In fact, The Final Cut (1983), subtitled: A Requiem for a
Postwar-Dream, is dedicated to Waters’ father, an allies’ army soldier, who was
killed during the last months of the war in Italy.
Not only in The Final Cut, but also in Amused to Death, Waters ascribes the
notion of loss the function of an idée fixe, which unifies multiple layers of his
cultural discourse. In the song “Late Home Tonight” for example, Waters depicts
the 1986 US bombing of city of Tripoli in Libya, an operation named El Dorado
Canyon with forty casualties, in retaliation for Quaddafi’s alleged role in Berlin
discotheque bombing. As revealed later, however, there was not enough explicit
evidence for his involvement. In Waters’ words:
I think it was just an exercise of entertainment, and trying out a few weapon systems,
and little bit of training for the guys…I found it deeply upsetting at the time, particu-
larly because my country was involved in it, which I disapproved of enormously.
(Rose 2015: 211)
The bombing raids started exactly at seven PM, the time of the nightly news on
the American national networks. According to Noam Chomsky, this was the first
bombing in the history staged for prime-time television (Rose 2015: 211). Waters
illustrates the notion of loss also in the song “Watching TV,” referring to the 1989
massacre of the protesting students in the Tiananmen Square in China, well-known
as “June Fourth Incident.” He articulates the notion of loss to contemplate the
detrimental effect of politics, violence, and war as television entertainment, enun-
ciating the devastating fact that according to Ronald Reagan: “Politics is just like
show business” (Rose 2015: 207).
In the last and title track of Amused to Death, Waters reprises Alf’s voice
expressing his haunting nightmare of abandoning Bill. Alf’s narrative, hence,
frames the album as a leitmotiv, presenting Waters’ avid and outspoken pacifism.
Alf’s last word points to the year 1984, the year that according to George Orwell’s
prophecies in his infamous novel of the same name, the Western democracies
should have experienced an imposed oppression by a demagogue, who “would
ban books and deprive them of information” (Postman 2006: xix). According to
Neil Postman, the late media theorist and author of “Amusing Ourselves to Death:
Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business,” instead of an Orwellian catastro-

phe, however, a Huxelyan one has come true. In Postman’s words:
Huxley believed that it is far more likely that the western democracies will dance and
dream themselves into oblivion than march into it, single file and manacled. Huxley
grasped, as Orwell did not, that it is not necessary to conceal anything from a public
insensible to contradiction and narcotized by technological diversions. (Postman
2006: 111).
Waters wrote Pink Floyd’s 1977 records Animals loosely based on Orwell’s 1945
Animal Farm, transfiguring Orwell’s socio-political examination of Stalinism to a
critical satire about capitalism. In Amused to Death, however, Waters alludes to
Orwell’s metaphorical 1984, although his cultural criticism takes on a vivid Hux-
leyan course.
While Waters intertwines his other literary interests in his polemical discourse,
Postman’s acclaimed 1985 book “Amusing Ourselves to Death” underpins Wa-
ters’ whole conceptual structure. Postman claims that his book is about “how our
own tribe is undergoing a vast and trembling shift from the magic of writing to the
magic of electronics” (Postman 2006: 13). He argues that “a great media metaphor
shift has taken place in America, with the result that the content of much of our
public discourse has become dangerous nonsense” (Postman 2006: 13). He further
argues that “a television-based epistemology pollutes public communication and
its surrounding landscape” (Postman 2006: 13). Postman discusses the concept of
“pseudo-context,” a fragmentary informational structure, which impose a “culture
overwhelmed by irrelevance, incoherence, and impotence,” and which amuses us
immensely (Postman 2006: 76). Waters signifies the pseudo-contextual format of
the television in different ways: Not only the allegorical monkey switches the tel-
evision channels stumbling upon seemingly unrelated programs, but Waters’ scat-
tered use of metaphorical sound-effects from real historical events also implies
Postman’s concept of pseudo-context. At the turn of the second track, right after
Alf Razaell’s voice, the monkey abruptly switches to an interview with a teenager,
expressing in the aftermath of the First Gulf War that “I don’t mind about the war.
That’s one of the things I like to watch…if it’s a war going on…cause then I know
if my side’s winnin’… if our side is loosin’” (Rose 2015: 202). Juxtaposing the
fragment of teenager’s remark experiencing the First Gulf War as entertainment
on the television, and Alf Razaell’s caustic testimony of his direct dismal experi-
ence of First World War, is striking and cathartic.
About the innovative and dazzling broadcasting of the 1990’s Gulf War, the
first war that we have experienced live on Television, Waters says:
30 Navid Bargrizan
Nobody was being blown apart and yet here…was America at war. […] And ‘There
goes another Patriot [missile],’ and ‘Isn’t this terrific? Aren’t we all having a whale
of time?’ And we did have a whale of time… and they showed…interminably…com-
puter imagery of laser targeting this and that and other and we could all get involved
in the sexiness of the hardware. […] CNN has been selling itself upon the basis of
those few days…saying ‘hey look, this is better than game show,’ […] and they make
very little attempt to actually disseminate news…their whole thing is “Here we are, a
global news service!’ And they’re not, it’s an entertainment channel… it’s pure enter-
tainment. (Rose 2015: 206)
Waters draws a clear lineage between commerce, war technologies, and our per-
ception of them as entertainment in the television news, what Phil Rose calls “the
financial-military-industrial-media complex” (Rose 2015: 207).
Musical Representation of the Interrelationships of Commerce,
Technology, war, and Entertainment
The notion of “financial-military-industrial-media complex” is, in fact, the crux of
“Perfect Sense,” a thought-provoking and conceptually-compelling song in the
record, which comprises two parts. The beginning of “Perfect Sense I” returns to
Kubrick’s Odyssey, where the astronaut attempts to shot down the tyrant artificial
intelligent. This hyper-computer, which has taken the control of the space craft,
soberly expresses: “my mind is going…I can feel it….” The machine’s ironic ex-
pression of its feelings epitomizes human’s doomed destiny amused by the ma-
chines to death. As another implication to Kubrick’s film, the lyrics portray the
monkey having a bone in his hand, a primal weapon which in “Perfect Sense II”
is replaced by the ravishing nuclear weapon, a juxtaposition of the technological
state of the past and the future. While the monkey hears the sounds of a Viennese
string quartet, a cultural product of the elite-art associated with certain social class,
we understand that in the age of television, for the monkey the time is linear:
meaning that the history does not repeat itself; that he believes the history is for
fools; and that he is estranged from the memory.
The monkey becomes, hence, a nihilist; he does not seek education; he does
not learn from the history; he is mesmerized by the mass media; he is captivated
by watching an unequal battle between a nuclear submarine and an oil rig, meta-
phorically casted as an enchanting basketball game commentated by the legendary
American sportscaster Marv Albert. The monkey stands for the humans, who, as
passionate spectators of the basketball game, commence the battle and joyfully
sing “our global anthem:” “It all makes perfect sense. It’s expressed in Dollars and
Cents, Pounds, Shillings, and Pence. Can’t you see that it all makes perfect sense.”
The cynical “global anthem” highlights the interrelationship between com-
merce, technology, and entertainment. The meticulous metaphorical presentation
of these connotations in a basketball stadium exemplify Waters obsession with

juxtaposing diverse, yet meaningful, soundscapes in the album: the pre-historic
environment of the man-apes, the peaceful country-side neighborhood where the
amused monkey lives, the sport stadium, the nuclear submarine, and church are
merely a few examples of Waters’ allegorical use of soundscapes and sound-ef-
fects. Subsequently, his soundscapes and sound effects has brought the re-mixed
and re-mastered version of the record a Grammy Award in 2015.
Waters grants a recurring role to the soundscape of church throughout the
album. He does so to address the tool of religion as propaganda for war, entertain-
ment, and market greed. In the song “What God Wants, Part II,” for example,
Waters tears apart the concept of tele-evangelism and the phony for-profit business
of tele-evangelists. Expanding his use of church-soundscape in the song “It’s a
Miracle,” the droning and meditative organ, choir, and electronic sounds embod-
ies, in Phil Rose’s words, a “culture saturated by consumerism, self-interest eco-
nomics, and technological theology” (Rose 2015: 223). In his analysis, Rose ob-
serves that a tone of world-weariness pervades “It’s a Miracle;” it is Waters’ sa-
tirical celebration of the wonders of production (Rose 2015: 224). While Waters
conceptualizes the song around the theme of “the pressure of the marketplace” as
the unethical core of the entertainment industry, he brutally criticizes Andrew
Lloyd Weber’s musicals as instances of superficial art which undermines any cul-
tural discourse. Regarding Phantom of the Opera, Waters says: “I could not be-
lieve how mediocre the stuff was. I knew it was going to be because I have seen
him being interviewed on TV, and you can tell just by looking at him” (Rose 2015:
225).
Conclusion
Having gone a full-circle through analysis of Waters’ postdramatic narrative, we
return to the last and title track of the album, where, prior to the fictional scenario
of the alien anthropologists examining the reasons for the demise of the human
race, Waters re-iterates the essence of his polemic by asking: “Doctor, Doctor,
what is Wrong with me? Why Am I so Out of Breath? This Supermarket is Getting
Long… What is the heart life of the Color TV? What is the Shelf Life of a Teenage
Queen?” In this song, while lamenting the possible destiny of the amused human
species, Waters demonstrates empathy toward the treatment of women in the
Western culture. Ironically, Waters has been described by critics as a “mere mi-
sogynist,” which based on his discourse seems highly unlikely (Weinstein 2007:
81). Yet there is no doubt that the dark and cynical image that Waters has illus-
trated of the world, plus his long-lasting feud with Pink Floyd’s other members,
boosted the unfavorable reception of Amused to Death.
32 Navid Bargrizan
As I have argued in this paper, despite these adverse reactions, however, Wa-
ters sheds light on the personal and social irrationalities of our existence and ac-
tions, reinforced by the mega-powers which control and manipulate our lives. Jeff
Beck’s virtuosic guitar, a web of complicated sound-effects, and catchy, yet cyni-
cal, lyrics play a major role in the success of Waters’ concept. As one of the fewest
positive reaction to Amused to Death, Mason Munoz, Columbia’s east coast mar-
keting director states that:
it’s the best stuff that Waters has ever written, and he’s written some great stuff. If we
could call this a Pink Floyd instead of Roger Waters, I’d be willing to bet—and I’m
not a betting man—that it would sell ten million in this country alone. It’s really in-
credible. You’ll understand when you hear the first 30 seconds of the first track. […]
All I can say is, for anybody who was ever struck by anything that pink Floyd did,
this will really blow their mind. (MacDonalds 1997: 142)
Neil Postman supports this argument by mentioning:
Roger Waters, once the lead singer of Pink Floyd, was sufficiently inspired by a book
of mine to produce a CD called Amused to Death. This fact so elevated my prestige
among undergraduates that I am hardly in a position to repudiate him or his kind of
music. (Postman 1996: 167)
Waters, in fact, exploited his intellectual and artistic power, furthering Postman’s
discourse, even if meant poor reception and financial loss.
To summarize my analysis of Waters’ existential concerns in Amused to
Death, I end this paper in Postman’s words:
Television is the command center of the new epistemology. There is no audience so

young that it is barred from television. There is no poverty so abject that it must forgo
television. There is no education so exalted that it is not modified by television. And
most important of all, there is no subject of public interest—politics, news, education,
religion, science, sports—that does not find its way to television. Which means that
all public understanding of these subjects is shaped by the biases of television. […]
Embedded in the surrealistic frame of a television news show is a theory of anti-com-
munication, featuring a type of discourse that abandons logic, reason, sequence and
rules of contradiction. In aesthetics, I believe the name given to this theory is Dada-
ism; in philosophy, nihilism; in psychiatry, schizophrenia. In the parlance of the the-
ater, it is known as vaudeville. (Postman 2006: 105-111)
Transferring Postman’s thesis to the twenty-first century, we could, however, ar-

gue that in the last twenty years the meta-medium of Internet has overtaken tele-
vision and has become the new “command center of the new epistemology.”
References
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Orwell, G. 1949. Nineteen Eighty-Four. London: Secker & Warburg.
Postman, N. 2005. 20th Anniversary Edition of Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Dis-
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Discography
Pink Floyd. 1977. Animals, Harvest and Columbia Records, 23 January, UK and USA.
Pink Floyd. 1973. Dark Side of the Moon. Harvest. 1 March, UK.
Pink Floyd. 1983. The Final Cut, Harvest and Columbia Records, 21 March, UK and USA.
Pink Floyd. 1979. The Wall, Harvest and Columbia Records, 30 November, UK and USA.
Roger Waters. 1992. Amused to Death, Columbia Records, 1 September, USA.
Roger Waters. 1984. Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking, Columbia Records, 30 April, USA.
Roger Waters. 1987. Radio K.A.O.S., EMI and Columbia Records, 15 June, UK & USA.
Videography
2001: A Space Odyssey.1968. Dir. Stanley Kubrick, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
Popular Music Studies in the Context of Post-Com-
munist Historiography in the Czech Republic
Jan Blüml
Palacký University, Department of Musicology, Olomouc, Czech Republic,
jan.bluml@upol.cz
The contribution focuses on the transformations of the field of Popular Music
Studies in the Czech Republic within the transition to a post-communist historiog-
raphy, both in academic and non-academic discourse. Attention is paid to the
changes of the contents of the field of Popular Music Studies, specifically its con-
ception and interpretation of popular music history, including thematic preferences
and evaluative standards. In this respect, the paper will discuss the key determi-
nants of Czech post-communist popular music historiography, especially in the
form of the impact of authority figures, such as a dissident, writer, philosopher and
president Václav Havel, who strongly influenced Czech humanities by his holistic
concept of the function of art and music, based on the dialectical relation of aes-
thetic, noetic and ethical aspects, namely, relation of an artistic beauty, a true re-
flection of a specific reality and a service to a moral good.
Keywords: History of Popular Music, Czech Republic, Post-Communist Historiography,

Interpretation of Popular Music History
Although the word “history” often raises an abstract idea of the “story” of the
objective truth, the fact is that our past exists primarily in its written form, which
is largely an interpretation or reinterpretation conditioned by many factors. The
shape and character of Czech popular music historiography, hence the popular
music history of the last seventy years, was determined mainly by general political
events associated with the rise of the communist regime to power in 1948 and its
fall in 1989.
If we look at the development of Czech research into popular music during
the two historical phases, or more precisely during the Communist phase and the
so-called Democratic one, naturally we see a number of differences at various lev-
els. As far as the institutional base is concerned, under the influence of a general
decentralization of culture after 1989 the existing structures went through a deep
transformation, with popular music as a subject of academic research moved from
the original domain of musicology into a sphere of interest to historians of con-

36 Jan Blüml
temporary history. Correspondingly, the scholarly attention turned to different is-

sues, themes and genres of music as such, including their aesthetic, ethical and
ultimately also political assessment. As today's perspective shows, general efforts
after 1989 to revise the communist historiography of popular music – with its ra-
ther one-sided and selective interpretations of (not only domestic) popular music
history – acquired an ideological flavour themselves, in certain respects; the very
feature they had been fighting against since the beginning. The following text aims
to illustrate the development of the study of popular music in the Czech Republic
after 1989 by a comparison with the previous situation, including consideration of
the mentioned “post-communist” or “anti-communist” tendency that was the key
determining phenomenon of the Czech humanities in the last twenty-five years.1
Since the turn of the fifties, the development of a consistent and systematic
theoretical reflection of popular music in Czechoslovakia was marked by para-
doxes. Especially in the “Stalinist” fifth decade, popular music inspired by jazz
and other Anglo-American forms was severely restricted, criticized and criminal-
ized by the communist regime as an unwanted cultural import. However, under
the influence of “scientific communism”, efforts towards the academic study nec-
essary for the better understanding and potential regulation of the given phenom-
enon grew immensely. An important role in the relatively early establishment of
the academic discipline of the musicology of popular music in Czechoslovakia
was played by, among other things, the national conference O malých hudebních
formách (“On Small Musical Forms”), organized by the Union of Czechoslovak
Composers in 1961, whose participants unanimously declared the need for sys-
tematic and professionally informed research into popular music from the histori-
cal, aesthetic, sociological, psychological, economic, and other viewpoints (Ka-
rásek 1962). Consequently, a separate department devoted to research into popular
music was established within the newly founded Institute for Musicology at the
Czechoslovak Academy of Sciences in 1962. Its task, fulfilled over many years by
the most significant Czech musicologist in the field of popular music – Josef Kotek
– was to create the fundamental concept, system and methodology for the new
discipline (Poledňák 1980: 303).
Although the Czech musicologists who focused on popular music had to face
many obstacles during the sixties to the eighties period, in the form of censorship
and limited publishing opportunities, they finally left a number of important
works. In a similar manner to German musicologists, the Czechs paid great atten-
tion to general theoretical issues such as terminology and definitions,2 but also to
aesthetic, psychological, educational, economic and other issues. With regard to
efforts to understand and control the phenomenon of popular music, sociological
research developed extensively; an example of a huge collaborative and interdis-
ciplinary project was the survey Průzkum postojů české veřejnosti k populárním
Popular Music Studies in the Context of Post-Communist Historiography 37
zpěvákům3 (“An Examination of the Czech Public’s Attitudes towards Popular

Music Singers”), which was conducted under the supervision of Vladimír Hepner
by the Institute for Research into Culture of the Czechoslovak Academy of Sci-
ences in the early seventies; seemingly paradoxically, during the time called nor-
malization, after the occupation of Czechoslovakia by Warsaw Pact troops in
1968, when communist repression struck popular music to the highest degree. In
parallel with the systematic and theoretical research into popular music, a number
of historically oriented studies and monographs also originated prior to 1989. In
the 1980s, the outlined trends of Czech musicology resulted in the creation of an
academically conceived four-volume Encyklopedie jazzu a moderní populární
hudby4 (“Encyclopaedia of Jazz and Modern Popular Music”). The comprehensive
work, by a team of dozens of domestic researchers led by renowned musicologists
and exceeding 2000 pages in total length, to this day still represents the most sig-
nificant Czech output of its kind. At the time of the release of its first substantive
part in 1980, the book aroused attention internationally, not only on the basis of
its somehow atypical analytical approach, with numerous musical examples, but
also thanks to its expanded focus outside of the usual Anglo-American sphere (Fu-
kač 1984: 1).
As has been noted, long-term systematic and conceptual musicological re-
search into popular music in communist Czechoslovakia, which led, despite a se-
ries of communist ideological barriers, to valuable scientific syntheses, was re-
placed by the rather uncoordinated efforts of individual entities to reflect previ-
ously neglected or banned topics in the institutionally decentralised nineties. In
light of social demand, as well as the natural and immediate desire to cope with
the “criminal” or “totalitarian” past, rock music – specifically its alternative or
underground forms, which before 1989 were the strongest carrier of the functions
of the political opposition, hence the main subject of communist repression – be-
came the focus of the Czech humanities. Actual musicological research generally
retreated in favour of the activities of historians of contemporary history, or simi-
larly focused researchers of cultural and music journalism, who paid most atten-
tion to the discovery and collection of the primary sources, which could clarify the
operation of the communist state’s cultural policy, its relationship to “rebellious”
rock, further significant political causes, procedures regarding dissidents, and so
on.5
The extensive television series Bigbít (“Rock”), produced by Czech Televi-
sion between 1997–2000, which within forty-two hourly episodes gives the au-
thentic testimony of more than five hundred eyewitnesses to the rock era in Czech-
oslovakia from 1956 to 1989, represents the most significant achievement of the
Czech study of popular music in the nineties, and not only in terms of primary
sources research.6 A massive collection of documents, in addition to the hundreds
38 Jan Blüml
of interviews, including among other things “unofficial” audio-visual recordings,

government edicts regulating the function of popular music, etc., finally gave birth
to the idea of establishing an institution which would systematically secure these
kinds of documents and make them available to the public. In 2000, the Museum
and Archive of Popular Music (Popmuseum) became that institution.7
Of course, new trends in popular music research in the post-communist era
of the nineties also brought their own standards of evaluation and interpretation of
the observed phenomena, which over time became entrenched in general narra-
tives of the contemporary history of Czech music and culture; including in the
context of school education. However, in retrospect not all of these standards seem
timeless and factually unchallenged. A basic survey of the existing literature sug-
gests, for example, the problem of inadequate interpretations of musical phenom-
ena whose social and artistic significance was evidently smaller than claimed; this
is related to a very common problem of post-communist studies of art, namely the
inability to differentiate between aesthetic meanings and ethical or political ones,
or the lack of interest in doing so. In this sense, the way of looking at music history
before 1989 was without a doubt influenced by the personal experiences of its
actors, who in the post-revolutionary era became the interpreters. In the long-term,
the post-communist humanities, including the historiography of popular music,
were fundamentally determined by the voice of authorities, specifically “cult” fig-
ures of the so-called Velvet Revolution of 1989; in particular the legacy of the
writer, philosopher, dissident and first post-communist president, Václav Havel
(1936–2011).
Václav Havel appeared in the second half of the sixties as a leading critic of
the communist regime. In the following decade, under the influence of the specific
conditions of the totalitarian state, the interesting association of his opposition po-
litical activities with alternative rock music occurred (Jirous 2008, 152). It started
with Havel's public defence of the avant-garde underground band The Plastic Peo-
ple of the Universe within a fabricated communist trial in 1976, which soon en-
couraged the creation of a broader organized anti-regime opposition movement
called Charter 77. Ground-breaking historical events of the time as well as fasci-
nation with the power of rock strengthened Havel's holistic way of looking at art
and its function – its essence should be the dialectical bond of aesthetic, noetic and
ethical aspects, namely the bond between artistic beauty, a true picture of reality,
and service to a moral good. This requirement, already present in the tradition of
Czech leftist thinking, could have been successfully fulfilled by artists with natural
political inclinations, including avant-garde rock group The Plastic People of the
Universe, for instance, or protest folk singers, or “rebellious” punks; however, it
could a priori exclude and aesthetically disqualify certain genres with a tendency
to “apolitical” and “non-opinion” expressions.
Havel presented his views on art and music powerfully, not only in his rich
creation of essays, but also in the context of his philosophical reflections on con-
crete recordings. The romantic way of looking at music of the group The Plastic
People of the Universe, which in certain of its principles resembles the sentiments
of representatives of the Czech National Revival of the nineteenth century towards
cultural “heroes” such as the composer Bedřich Smetana, is illustrated by Havel's
philosophical commentary on the recording Hovězí porážka (“Beef Slaughter”)
(recorded 1982–1984) from February 1984. There he wrote:
I have often wondered what actually the miraculous “trick” by which the Plastics
achieve their disturbing magic is. [...] [The explanation might be] that this group,
probably far more strongly than others, suck into their work something of the spirit of
the strange space where they live. It's not just a “genius loci”, as people say. It is a
certain specific experience of the world, as it has been shaped by history for decades
and perhaps even centuries in these places; it is a spiritual and emotional atmosphere
belonging to this place and typical for it more than we, who breathe it every day, can
realize. The Plastic People live in Prague. In Czechoslovakia. In Central Europe. (Ha-
vel 1990: 240)
In connection with the persecution and criminalization of group members, Havel

further recalls:
More important, however – at least from a cultural point of view – is something else:
namely, that for which it was so hard to pay, and which was the truest motive of the
will of the victims: truth, which, although experienced personally, was not by any
means just private; the truth of an artistic expression of the authentic feelings of life
and experience of the world; the truth, comprehensible to the environment in which it
was pronounced, and with sovereign autonomy testifying about it. (Havel 1990: 243)
The thought is concluded by a somewhat one-sided and unsubstantiated assess-

ment of the history of domestic rock:
[...] perhaps it would even be possible to say that it was the Plastic People who, a few
years ago, started – alone – to clear a path by which now goes almost all Czechoslovak
rock music that's worth something. As if they were the only ones within Czechoslovak
rock music who first started to map some dominant feelings and the experience of a
man of this moment, and to search for a way of expression adequate to the local envi-
ronment, its tradition and language. (Havel 1990: 243)
Regardless of the small social relevance of the musical underground (including

The Plastic People of the Universe) during the communist period compared to
other rock areas – such as hard rock, progressive rock, jazz rock and new wave –
and also to folk, pop and so on (due not only to political persecution, but to a great
extent also the eccentricity of the music itself), post-communist historiography,
40 Jan Blüml
with its concentrated interest and in the spirit of Václav Havel's thinking, in a sense
elevated the movement to be a measure of all the popular music of the previous
decades. This is confirmed, among other things, by the most comprehensive aca-
demic book on the topic of Czech popular music history written after 2000, spe-
cifically in 2010 by the historian of contemporary history Miroslav Vaněk and
titled Byl to jenom rock'n'roll? Hudební alternativa v komunistickém Českoslov-
ensku 1956–19898 (“Was It Only Rock 'n' Roll? Musical Alternatives in Com-
munist Czechoslovakia from 1956–1989”). The book subscribes to the topic and
“values” of the underground not only by its very title, but also by having its preface
written by Václav Havel. It remains to add that the anticommunist political con-
notations ensured the musical underground, especially the group The Plastic Peo-
ple of the Universe, a superior position not just within current academic discourse,
but also in the art world itself; after 1989, the band had an opportunity to perform
at unusual places, such as the seat of Czech presidents at Prague Castle; Mejla
Hlavsa, the front man of the band, performed on the grounds of the White House
in Washington to considerable media interest during a meeting of presidents Bill
Clinton and Václav Havel in 1998, and so on.
Relatively strong tendencies of Czech historiography of the past twenty-five
years to canonize popular music artists on the basis of anti-communism as the
aesthetic category sui generis can be observed in the context of other musical
spheres as well. This is particularly true regarding folk music, which, based on its
tradition and genre identity, to a certain degree gravitates a priori towards political
functions. An interesting example is one of the largest cases in Czech popular mu-
sic in recent years, namely the discovery of evidence incriminating the widely
known and critically acclaimed singer-songwriter Jaromír Nohavica of collabora-
tion with the communist secret police in the eighties. The 2006 case became the
subject of reflection of historians9 as well as other representatives of Czech culture,
whereas the ethical judgments of certain of these figures often took on the nature
of artistic evaluation itself. An illustrative example can be found in a statement of
the music therapist, long-term organizer of musical life, and former representative
of the Jazz Section institution, Libor Gronský, who opposed to the “morally cor-
rupted” Nohavica offers the persecuted folk singer Jaroslav Hutka, quite regard-
less of the incomparably lower level of artistic significance of the latter, as if this
musicological aspect par excellence plays no role whatsoever. In 2009 Gronský
said:
Look at Hutka, for instance, when he returned from exile [in the time of the so-called
Velvet Revolution in November 1989] and played the first concert at Letná [in Prague]
for millions of people on his way from the airport. [...] This has changed rapidly. At
the moment, concerts of these musicians are attended by a few tens, perhaps hundreds
of people. It is paradoxical that these artists, who really have something behind them
– persecution by the regime, exile, jail – did not get any satisfaction. While Jarek
Nohavica, who collaborated with the secret police, is the most successful of them.
And that is something I will be never reconciled to. (Lešikarová 2009)
As mentioned in the introduction, the present study focuses on the key trends in
Czech research into popular music in the context of post-communist historiog-
raphy. These trends are also illustrated by comparison with the situation in the
previous, communist era, specifically before 1989. When talking about the com-
parison of these two periods, one cannot ignore an interesting fact. Despite a num-
ber of significant differences in the structure of the institutional background, the
concepts of different academic disciplines, their thematic selection and research
motivation, certain common principles at the level of evaluation criteria can be
detected. A characteristic feature of Czech Marxist musicology before 1989 was
the accentuated demand for the social engagement of art – in line with communist
cultural policy, of course. On this basis, so-called mass songs were emphasized in
the fifties; in the seventies, in the same way, the genre of folk songs or protest
songs was generally promoted; in the next decade, even punk rock aroused a pos-
itive response among Czech academics in the name of the idea of social engage-
ment. This fact is evidenced by the popular book by musicologist Ivan Poledňák,
Sondy do popu a rocku (“Probes into Pop and Rock”), prepared in the late eighties
and published in 1992. From the perspective of punk rock fans, the book was a
welcome contribution to the topic; however, it also caused considerable contro-
versy due to its devastating critique of several other areas of music – particularly
heavy metal, which, being “boring”, “primitive”, “infantile”, “fundamentally stu-
pid”, and “escapist”, the author judged a negative counterpoint to “revolutionary”
punk (Poledňák and Cafourek 1992: 48). The same approach, albeit in the context
of a different genre and political background, persisted even in the post-communist
era of the Czech academic exploration of popular music, including all its conse-
quences. As mentioned, in the last twenty-five years a series of studies and books
on rock music in the political underground have been published. Similar academic
interest is aimed at anti-communist protest songs and folk in general. Research
into subcultural and other issues related to punk has been increasing in recent
years, too. Conversely, scholarly reflection on genres such as progressive rock,
jazz rock and metal as well as on the whole set of pop subgenres is nearly com-
pletely missing within academic discourse. The significance of these areas of mu-
sic has yet to be discovered by current Czech scholarship. This concerns especially
the field of musicology, which at the moment, after a long pause, is attempting to
recreate its once-successful past.
___________________________
42 Jan Blüml
1
With regard to the official state organization, in the period of 1918–1992 we are talk-
ing about Czechoslovakia; since 1992, the independent Czech Republic, or Czechia
for short. In the course of the 20th century, Slovakian scholarship and culture was to
a great extent subject to Czech influences.
2
With regard to the study of popular music, Czech (or Czechoslovak) musicology was
significantly influenced by scholars such as T. W. Adorno, H. H. Eggebrecht, C.
Dahlhaus or T. Kneif.
3
The survey was published under the title Průzkum postojů české veřejnosti k popu-
lárním zpěvákům in 1975 by the Institute for Research into Culture.
4
Encyklopedie jazzu a moderní populární hudby, Antonín Matzner, Ivan Poledňák,
and Igor Wasserberger (eds); the individual four volumes were published in 1980,
1986, 1987, and 1990 by Supraphon in Prague.
5
This is illustrated, for instance, by the huge academic interest in issues relating to the
political processing of the institution “Jazz Section” (banned by the communists in
1984). As was also emphasised at the colloquium on “Jazz Section” of the 21st Sep-
tember 2016 at the Institute for the Study of Totalitarian Regimes in Prague, it is an
unfortunate imbalance that an institution with great artistic impact on Czechoslovak
popular music culture has been academically reflected to this day nearly exclusively
from the “oppositional-political” perspective. However, the imbalance also grows just
from the existence of the new socially and politically influential institutes established
primarily to deal with the communist past – the Institute for the Study of Totalitarian
Regimes is the best example.
6
The official website of the series is available at http://www.ceskatelevize.cz/spe-
cialy/bigbit/bigbit-na-ct/
7
The official website of the institution is available at http://www.popmu-
seum.cz/about/about.php?l=en
8
Byl to jenom rock'n'roll?: hudební alternativa v komunistickém Československu
1956–1989 (Praha: Academia, 2010).
9
See, for instance the book Intelektuální protest, nebo masová zábava? by historian
Přemysl Houda (Praha: Academia, 2014).
References
Fukač, J. 1984. Encyklopedie. Opus musicum 16 (6): 1.
Havel, V. 1990. Do různých stran. Praha: Knihovna Lidových novin.
Jirous, I. M. 2008. Pravdivý příběh Plastic People. Praha: Torst.
Karásek, B., Ed. 1962. Pro zpěv a radost lidí. Praha: Supraphon.
Lešikarová, L. 2009. Gronský: Chtěl bych se setkat s Hieronymem Boschem. Olo-
moucký deník, 6 September. http://olomoucky.denik.cz/kultura_region/gronsky-chtel-
bych-se-setkat-s-hieronymem-boschem.html. Accessed: 20 December 2016.
Poledňák, I. 1980. Nonartificiální hudba. In Encyklopedie jazzu a moderní populární hudby,
Volume 1, Substantive Part: 293-304.
Poledňák, I. and Cafourek, I. 1992. Sondy do popu a rocku. Praha: H&H.
Popular Music Analysis and Social Semiotics: The Case
of the Reggae Voice
Benjamin Burkhart
University of Music FRANZ LISZT Weimar, Institute for Musicology Weimar-Jena, Weimar,
Thuringia, Germany, benjamin.burkhart@hfm.uni-weimar.de
Social semiotics is a new school of semiotics that has over the years been applied
to the study of visual and multimodal communication in particular. As the study
of signifying practices within certain cultural groups is one of the main fields of
interest within social semiotics, it appears safe to assume that these ideas will be
of interest in the analysis of popular music. In this article, I will present some
preliminary results of my ongoing doctoral research on reggae and dancehall aes-
thetics as negotiated in Germany. Using methods drawn from cultural sociology,
social semiotics, and musicology, I aim to empirically describe the genre’s discur-
sive, visual, and sounding phenomena. In this context, musical diversity is identi-
fied as an essential part of the aesthetic discourse – both generally speaking as well
as with regard to the singer’s voice. Using the song “Taking Over” by the vocalist
Sizzla as an example, I would like to show how vocal expression can be interpreted
aesthetically. In general, the intent of this article is to illustrate ideas of popular
music analysis as inspired by social semiotics.
Keywords: Reggae, Popular Music Analysis, Social Semiotics, Vocal Expression
Popular music analysis and social semiotics

In his article “Popular music analysis: ten apothegms and four instances”, Robert
Walser states: “[…] I argue that any cultural analysis of popular music that leaves
out musical sound, that doesn’t explain why people are drawn to certain sounds
specifically and not others, is at least fundamentally incomplete” (Walser 2003:
21-22). Walser’s statement, made over a decade ago, pinpoints what is still one of
the major issues in popular music studies today. According to Peter Wicke, de-
scribing both musical practice and musical sound is a fairly essential aspect of
analyzing popular music (Wicke 2003: 124). In accordance with authors such as
Walser and Wicke, it would be advisable to, on the one hand, explore musical
sound but also to try to explain people’s reactions to certain sounds on the other.
In doing so, it is essential that one is aware that meaning, rather than being inherent
to the musical sounds, is instead negotiated by the listeners and musicians accord-
ing to their respective cultural and personal backgrounds. That is, we must find

44 Benjamin Burkhart
out how music signifies within specific cultural and societal contexts for specific
social groups. Musicological analysis can help explain why specific sounding
structures matter to certain groups of listeners. As popular music studies are highly
interdisciplinary, methods drawn from a wide variety of academic disciplines have
already been applied to musical analysis. The methods of social semiotics have,
however, been largely ignored up until now. The aim of this article is to demon-
strate how social semiotics can serve as an inspiration for popular music analysis.
Social semiotics can be described as a new school of semiotics and it is espe-
cially aimed at distancing itself from the universalist principles of structuralism.
This means, first of all, that the study of signs is focused on so-called ‘semiotic
resources’ in certain societal or cultural areas (Stöckl 2014: 155). The term ‘semi-
otic resource’ describes the sign material used communicatively and convention-
alized historically within various societal contexts – it can refer to speech, music,
gestures, colors, and many other modes (Meier 2014: 336-337). Secondly, indi-
vidual sign systems are not studied independently from others: on the contrary,
one main focus is on investigating the multimodal entanglements of different se-
miotic phenomena. And thirdly, semiotic resources are viewed as changeable, as
a product of human interaction – certain signs can mean different things to differ-
ent people over time and within different societal contexts (Stöckl 2014: 155-156).
To sum up: “Social semiotics is an attempt to describe and understand how people
produce and communicate meaning in specific social settings” (Kress and van
Leeuwen 1996: 266).
Originating in the linguistic work of M.A.K. Halliday (1978), the methods of
social semiotics have over the years also been applied to sign systems other than
language, e.g. visual communication (Kress and van Leeuwen 1996), sounds (van
Leeuwen 1999), or popular music (Machin 2010; 2013; Caldwell 2010; 2014).
What makes social semiotics interesting for popular music analysis is the assump-
tion that people in certain societal regions interactively produce semiotic re-
sources: that is, sign material with specific meaning potential. Social semiotics
explicitly does not promote the existence of naturally fixed meanings. It is gener-
ally assumed that there cannot be an overall “set of rules for connecting signs and
meanings” (Jewitt and Oyama 2001: 134). For social semiotics, it is instead essen-
tial to investigate the discursive practices in which the sign material comes into
use. As Theo van Leeuwen puts it: “Semioticians not only inventorize semiotic
resources, they also study registers. They also study how semiotic resources are
used in the context of different social practices, and how people regulate their use
in these contexts” (van Leeuwen 2005: 14). And according to van Leeuwen, we
need discourses “as frameworks for making sense of things” (ibid.: 95).
There are clear similarities to statements made by popular music scholars
such as Walser or Wicke. Researchers should not try to explore popular music in
Popular Music Analysis and Social Semiotics: The Case of the Reggae Voice 45
a normative fashion. Instead, they would be well advised to focus on the aesthetic
discourses surrounding genres of popular music. Knowledge about the discursive
practices can form the basis for further investigation, e.g. musicological analysis.
Speaking with social semiotics, we have to find out which semiotic resources are
used by people in certain contexts to communicate certain ideas.
The authors of the few existing publications on popular music and social se-
miotics (e.g. Caldwell 2010; 2014; Machin 2010; 2013) usually draw on Theo van
Leeuwen’s (1999) approach to music and sound. Fundamental to van Leeuwen’s
writings are the categories ‘provenance’ and ‘experimental’ which – according to
the author – give meaning potentials to sounds. ‘Provenance’ can be described as
“meaning through cultural accumulation of associations” (Machin 2013: 124), for
example the sound of instruments associated with certain countries. ‘Experi-
mental’ refers to sound qualities that may “derive from associations of things in
the real world” (ibid.) – musical sounds resembling the sound of thunder might, as
David Machin assumes, communicate power or violence (ibid.: 125).
As the ideas of social semiotics were developed by linguists, it is hardly sur-
prising that writings on popular music from a social semiotic point of view often
focus on the singing voice – pop voices are regarded as “new semiotic resource[s]”
(van Leeuwen 2009: 432). In these cases, the authors for the most part draw on the
idea of ‘experimental meaning potentials’. It is generally assumed that experi-
mental meaning potentials of singing voices are connected to the physical activi-
ties that are necessary to produce vocal expressions. Van Leeuwen describes ‘ex-
perimental meaning potential’ as follows: “The idea that our experience of what
we physically have to do to produce a particular sound creates a meaning potential
for that sound” (van Leeuwen 1999: 205). Citing Johson’s and Lakoff’s (2014)
metaphor theory, van Leeuwen claims that metaphorical transference can only
work on the basis of “our concrete experiences” (van Leeuwen 2009: 426). In pop-
ular music studies, Johnson’s and Lakoff’s ideas have also been applied to discus-
sions of musical sound (Pfleiderer 2003).
In linguistically inspired approaches to popular music analysis, the vocal
sounds metaphorically described as ‘rough’ or ‘hard’ are sometimes called ‘para-
linguistic features’ (Lacasse 2010). These vocal features may communicate spe-
cific meanings as conventionalized within certain cultural contexts (ibid.) – they
form meaning potentials. Van Leeuwen defines six of these features – pitch range,
level, rough/smooth/breathy voice, nasality, articulation, resonance – and states:
“[…] meaning derives from all of these features, in their specific combinations”
(van Leeuwen 2009: 427). Such categorizations could be widened by a musico-
logical terminology of vocal expressions (Hähnel 2015) and methods of sound
analysis (e.g. Hähnel et al. 2014). One consensus between social semiotics and
popular music studies could be formulated as follows: vocal features such as
‘roughness’ are understood to be signifying utterances that communicate “cultural

patterns” (Pfleiderer 2010: 3). In general, the use of metaphors when describing
musical sounds is a common practice in musicology, and many metaphorical de-
scriptions of sound refer to bodily experiences – sounds are described as warm,
sweet, bright, or hard (Pfleiderer 2003: 26).
One central issue in many writings on music inspired by social semiotics is
the lack of data corpora. David Caldwell, whose study on Kanye West is indeed
based on a corpus of 30 songs, claims: “A primary concern for social semiotics is
to not only describe semiotic systems, but to investigate how these systems are
actually used in real-life social contexts” (Caldwell 2010: 246, italics in original).
What Caldwell criticizes here has been mentioned by other authors as well. Alt-
hough social semiotics aim to “to describe and understand how people produce
and communicate meaning in specific social settings” (Kress and van Leeuwen
1996: 266), many studies investigate only individual artifacts while ignoring the
discursive context. What is missing is the reference to discursive and aesthetic
practices – this kind of contextualization is necessary in order to achieve the re-
search goals formulated by social semiotics (Spitzmüller 2013: 160-162). When
analyzing vocal expression in individual musical genres, it is advisable to firstly
explore how people talk about singing qualities – this can be done by undertaking
a discourse analysis. In a second step, certain features of vocal expression can be
described and interpreted based on information about the aesthetic discourse. It is
essential to collect and describe musical features occurring in certain musical gen-
res – that is, semiotic resources – and to explore how they are used and valued by
the listeners. In the following, I aim to show how we can interpret reggae voices
by drawing on sociological discourse analysis, social semiotics, and musicology.
The data corpus
The main aim of my current research project is to empirically describe the aesthet-
ics of reggae and dancehall – Jamaican popular music – as negotiated in Germany.
In doing so, I decided to combine methods drawn from cultural sociology, social
semiotics, and musicology in order to analyze the genre’s verbal discourse, visual
phenomena, and sound aesthetics. First of all, I decided to use the German reggae
and dancehall magazine Riddim as a source for a discourse analysis. Applying
methods of cultural sociology, Rainer Diaz-Bone (2010) has shown that printed
music magazines with a focus on individual genres of popular music are highly
suited for this kind of research. In these magazines, professional critics as well as
musicians, and to some extent even fans, discuss musical styles and the cultural
values linked to the music, and negotiate what can be understood as bad or good
music. Since Riddim is a German magazine, we must be aware that certain discur-
sive details may differ in other country’s scenes. Furthermore, Riddim contains
quite a lot of colored photographs of musicians as well as CD covers. These pic-

tures are always linked to the articles, that is, to the verbal discourse – they can
tell us more about the genre’s visual aesthetics. Using qualitative empirical re-
search methods, I analyzed all articles contained in the 2014 volume (6 issues, 620
articles). In a second step, I systematized and analyzed all 920 pictures contained
in the 6 issues using methods taken from social semiotics (see Caple 2013). The
analysis led to a category system of c. 5200 marked verbal passages and c. 15000
marked visual details. The third step is to interpret the musical sounds while draw-
ing on the empirical results of the verbal and the visual discourse analysis. In the
articles published in Riddim, journalists, musicians, and fans make it relatively
clear which artists they believe to be the most significant for reggae and dancehall.
This is very helpful, since relevant examples for musical analysis have to be cho-
sen carefully. The next step then, is to attentively explore the discography of the
chosen artists and to collate conspicuous features, similarities, and differences.
These steps formed the basis for the following interpretation – the musical analy-
sis.
Musical diversity: a decisive aesthetic category
The discourse analysis showed that musical diversity is a central aesthetic category
in both reggae and dancehall. Out of 2264 marked text passages directly referring
to musical expression, 293 passages discuss aspects of diversity – only the song
lyrics (493) and the musical sound in general (302) are discussed more frequently.
The singing voice can also be identified as an essential part of the aesthetic dis-
course (280). Furthermore, this category contains a subcategory labeled ‘diversity
in vocal expression’ (43). ‘Diversity’ is thus the most relevant aspect of discus-
sions concerning vocal expression. Of similar relevance are categories such as
‘rhythmicity and flow’ (41), rather vague descriptions of ‘good singing voices’
(37), and ‘extraordinary singing’ (29), as well as ‘soulful singing’ (22).
In the articles in Riddim, musical diversity is described as a key element of
Jamaican music culture. German reggae singer Gentleman claims that while reg-
gae always functions as a point of reference, drawing inspiration from other mu-
sical styles is of similar importance (Krämer 2014: 7). Journalist Simon Kramer
argues that reggae music has always been a highly eclectic art form (Kramer
2014b: 78) and Swiss singer Elijah highlights the relevance of new musical influ-
ences for the composition process (Bücheler 2014: 25). In the case of reggae and
dancehall voices, it is generally appreciated if one singer is able to combine dif-
ferent qualities of other vocalists (Bortot 2014: 8). Furthermore, singers are posi-
tively valued for their ability to sing in different ranges (Nowak 2014: 75) and to
combine various timbres (Kramer 2014a: 71).
Interestingly enough, some scholars argue that the appreciation of diversity

in general is deeply rooted in Jamaican society and can thus be explained histori-
cally. Kingsley Stewart claims:
Jamaicans throughout history have a heritage and legacy of creating multiple, dy-
namic selves to survive and make sense of their realities. From the slaves brought
from Africa, to Indians and Chinese who came at the turn of the century, to those who
came from the Middle East, Jamaicans have long had to create and juggle dynamic,
fluid selves. (Stewart 2002: 26).
Regarding musical diversity, Kwame Dawes further notes: “Dialectic, rather than
dualism, then, is elemental to the reggae psyche and to the aesthetic that emerges
from it” (Dawes 1999: 110). He also mentions that “[r]eggae is constantly reinter-
preting the work of other musicians” – and this musical eclecticism might be “the
most telling argument of a reggae aesthetic” (ibid.). Thus, aesthetic categories such
as ‘diversity’ are journalistic descriptions on the one hand, but we can also connect
these positive evaluations to more general cultural concepts.
This means that if the aesthetics of reggae and dancehall are to be explored
empirically, musical diversity should be included in the analyses. There is one
vocalist among the most relevant artists frequently mentioned in Riddim whose
ability to vary vocal expressions becomes quite evident when one listens to his
many recordings: Sizzla Kalonji.
The voices of Sizzla Kalonji
Sizzla Kalonji (Miguel Orlando Collins) has been one of the most prominent Ja-
maican vocalists ever since the 1990s. Like many other reggae and dancehall art-
ists, Sizzla was up until now largely ignored by academia. Only few articles focus
on the singer’s international image (Skjelbo 2015) and on the role he plays for a
new generation of Rastafarians (Bernand 2012). Sizzla is especially well known
for his falsetto as well as for his rough screams. But his huge artistic output – he
released more than 50 albums – also includes balladic singing or fast deejaying; a
vocal technique similar to rap practiced in dancehall music. Besides a number of
songs and albums that refer stylistically to roots reggae, he also released quite a
lot of music that can be defined as dancehall. In accordance with the musical di-
versity mentioned earlier, many Jamaican singers have released both reggae and
dancehall songs or albums. What makes Sizzla interesting for an analysis of mu-
sical diversity is his ability to combine several vocal expressions within a single
song or even a single line. In the following, I will demonstrate how Sizzla uses his
different singing styles in the song “Taking Over” (VP Records 2001). For a vis-
ualization of the vocal sounds, I used a spectrogram in order to illustrate details of
the timbre. I would postulate that these sounding phenomena can be described as
small signifying utterances – or, in terms of social semiotics, as semiotic resources

used by musicians to communicate aesthetic values.
“Taking Over” was released in 2001 on the album of the same title. Here,
Sizzla is singing to the “911”-riddim, an instrumental number produced by Philip
“Fatis” Burrell. The term ‘riddim’ (Jamaican patois for ‘rhythm’) refers to the ac-
companying tracks of reggae and dancehall music, which consist of rhythmic and
melodic patterns. The “911”-riddim is composed mainly of a guitar melody over
four bars, a steady drum beat, a single-tone bassline, and piano chords accentuat-
ing the eighth notes. The instrumental lacks the rhythmic patterns typical for both
reggae and dancehall; “Taking Over” can be described as one of Sizzla’s songs
that were inspired by contemporary R&B or rap music.
Figure 1. Sizzla, “Taking Over”, spectrogram, 3:13-3:19.

In the spectrogram, we can see a six second segment of “Taking Over” from c.
3:13 to c. 3:19 (x-axis), with a frequency range of c. 20 to c. 12000 hertz (y-axis).
The vertical lines illustrate the onsets of the drums and the thick horizontal lines
at the bottom of the spectrogram mark the bassline. The various horizontal lines
over a wide range of the spectrogram visualize Sizzla’s vocals. The lowest lines
represent the basic frequencies, the following higher lines the harmonics and sub-
harmonics. We can clearly see that the spectrum of harmonics and subharmonics
is constantly changing. That is to say that Sizzla’s vocal expression varies as he
uses different timbres: a ‘rough’ voice, for example. In spectrograms, roughness
becomes visible if, in addition to the harmonics, there are further oscillations
caused by amplitude modulations. Secondly, ‘roughness’ can be caused by a uni-

form distribution of the spectral energy, which means that the structure of harmon-
ics is not discernible (Hähnel 2015: 64-67).
Clearly, Sizzla constantly changes his vocal timbre. At the beginning, the
curved line on the syllable ‘down’ illustrates a trembling voice and a rather neutral
vocal expression; there are no subharmonics. The following syllables ‘mis-te-ry’
display no significant change regarding the structure of the harmonics. Then, ‘Ba-
by’ demonstrates a slight change while ‘-lon’ is articulated more roughly – we
cannot see the structure of harmonics –, ‘dem’ displays various subharmonics, and
‘ha-ffi’ again is sung fairly roughly. The syllables ‘go’ and ‘down’ are sung with
fewer harmonics, while the number of harmonics constantly increases until ‘mi’.
‘Dem a huff dem a puff’ is sung in a very fast tempo; Sizzla is demonstrating his
deejaying skills as well. The syllables ‘mi buil-ding dem’ are again sung, similar
to ‘down’, in a trembling voice. Then, the last three syllables ‘cyaan blow down’
illustrate a higher register of Sizzla’s voice. We can clearly see that the spectrum
of harmonics changes significantly, and the frequencies are visible to approxi-
mately 12000 hertz. Additionally, what also becomes apparent in the spectrogram
is the microrhythmic flexibility. Sizzla’s vocals are accentuated quite unregularly
in comparison to the metronomic drumbeat.
In summary, Sizzla uses a wide variety of vocal features typical for reggae
and dancehall over a few seconds, as he does in several other songs. I assume that
such vocal features can be used by singers to communicate aesthetic values that
are highly appreciated by their listeners – in this case: musical diversity. This kind
of interpretation draws on empirical results of the discourse analysis I undertook
before. Hence, it is possible to analyze how musical sounds become meaningful.
These sounds can be interpreted as semiotic resources, as small signifying utter-
ances. Of course, singers in other genres use a variety of vocal expressions as well.
But when drawing on popular music analysis and social semiotics, we have to
analyze the aesthetic practice in certain musical genres – similar vocal features can
mean different things in different contexts. Additionally, the vocal expression of
Sizzla could be further investigated, e.g. regarding the connection between lyrical
aggression and rough timbre. In general, it would be advisable to empirically ex-
plore these links between cultural meaning and sounding structures.
Conclusion and Outlook
The aim of this article was to show how we can interpret popular music voices
based on aesthetic values held by both listeners and musicians. Furthermore, I tried
to illustrate how ideas of social semiotics can be adapted to an analysis of popular
music. One essential goal of both popular music studies and social semiotics con-
cerning popular music is to investigate how music signifies in certain societal set-
tings for certain people. Further combinations of methods from different research
areas would be useful in order to carefully describe the meaning potentials of pop-
ular music. Bringing together approaches from sociology, social semiotics, and
musicology may be one way of achieving these research goals.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the Ernst-Abbe-Stiftung (Ernst Abbe foundation) for the fi-
nancial support that made the work on this article possible.
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Discography
Sizzla, 2001. “Taking Over”, Taking Over, VP Records, 3 July, USA.
The Presentation of the Self in the Popular Song
Pedro Cesar Pires

Universidade de São Paulo, Department of Sociology, São Paulo, SP, Brasil,
pedrogiovanetti@hotmail.com, pedro.pires@usp.br
This work aims to explore the potentialities of Erving Goffman’s theory about the
presentation of the Self in everyday life for the sociological study of popular song.
Our argument is that, as other social expression forms, the popular song operates
a stylization of every day’s life materials to create representations of social char-
acters and situations. As Goffman identified self-representation codified forms in
quotidian situations, there is in the popular song arrangements of representational
codes to give a convincing form to the Self that is depicted in popular songs.
Therefore, we can analyze the procedures used to create an “illusion of real” in the
song (in the sense of convincing the listener of the authenticity of feelings and
facts depicted) by using Goffman’s concepts such as “definition of the situation”,
“performance”, “expression equipment” and “behavior display”. This way, it is
possible to observe the popular song under the perspective of a reconstruction of
the social life through the organization of expressive resources, which can consist
of sounds, words or gestures. That makes from it a rich resource for the sociolog-
ical study of self-representations.
Keywords: Self Representation, Erving Goffman, Popular Song, Performance
Goffman’s potentialities for the popular music study7

In the book The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Erving Goffman uses the
theatrical performance as a metaphor and as a guide for the comprehension of co-
presence situations, that is, when individuals find themselves face-to-face: how do
the individual presents itself and its activities to others, which ways he uses to
control and guide the impression that others make of him and the kinds of attitude
that he can or cannot sustain during his performances in front of others. In those
interactions, it is crucial that the individual expresses itself in a way that success-
fully defines the situation that manipulates the impression of the audience and
sends information that allows others to predict his behavior. Once that, during the
7 This work was accomplished thanks to the support of CNPq.

54 Pedro Cesar Pires
interaction’s time, there is not enough time to obtain conclusive evidences regard-
ing the individual, it is necessary that he express himself and that the audience be
impressed in such a way that the interaction develops itself satisfactorily, that is,
according to his interests. .
But in the case of the popular song, can we speak of interaction between lis-
tener and music? The answer would obviously be affirmative in the case of live
performance, where the premise of the co-presence of actor and audience is main-
tained. It would not be so obvious in the case of audition mediated by any media.
Even in this second case, the movement of expression on the part of the sender
and impression of the receiver, which characterizes the representation in daily life,
exist, even if intermediated. In contemporary society, it is common for an artist
and audience to interact through the mediation of the mass media and the market,
which leads the number of people involved in the interaction to reach colossal
proportions when compared to face-to-face situations. Nevertheless, we can affirm
that the songs are composed and worked to cause certain impressions on the lis-
teners, characterizing a movement of expression and impression analogous to the
situations of co-presence studied by Goffman.
Now, as far as the definition of situation is concerned, what is being defined
in the listener-music interaction? To answer this question, we can turn to Bour-
dieu: « to discover something of your taste is to discover yourself, is to find out
what you want ('that's exactly what I wanted'), what you would have to say but
you did not know how to say and therefore was not known. » (Bourdieu 1984:
162)8. In a successful interaction between listener and song, we would say that the
music has pleased the listener, that it is suited to his taste. In the context of the
music industry, we would call such a relationship defined favorably by the sender
as "success" when, more than the listener as an individual, music is appropriated
by the listener as a collective.
Thus, we might say that the manipulation of the impression made by the artist
seeks, at least to some extent, the acceptance of the listener, the recognition of the
listener. The sender satisfactorily defines the situation when there is a meeting of
his work with the listener’s taste. This brings us once again to Bourdieu's reflec-
tions on taste. For Bourdieu, taste, understood as the set of practices and properties
of a person or group, is the product of the meeting between an offer and a demand,
between a expectancy and its fulfillment, between a habitus in an incorporated
state and another in an objectified state (Bourdieu 1984: 162). Precisely because
8 Translated by us from French: "découvrir une chose à son goût, c’est se découvrir, c’est décou-
vrir ce que l’on veut ( 'c’est exactement ce que je voulais'), ce que l’on avait à dire et qu’on ne
savait pas dire, et que, par conséquent, on ne savait pas.” Pierre Bourdieu.1984. La méta-
morphose des goûts. In: Questions de Sociologie. Paris : Les Éditions Minuit, p. 162.
The Presentation of the Self in the Popular Song 55
of this encounter, where to discover something of its taste is to discover itself, or

to discover its own incorporated habitus in an objective state, the relation with the
works of art is lived in such an intense and sacralized way. It is not by chance that
Bourdieu retrieves the weberian image of the prophet, one who is able to put into
words the expectations of a people.
In regard to the micro and macro social spheres, we could point out another
way in which songs can intervene in both, not only because of the medium of
diffusion, but also in function of the content itself. As we have seen, in the listener-
music interaction there may be an encounter between the content of the song and
the expectation of the listener, his "taste," which, in Bourdieu's words, is what we
would like to say but we did not know how to say. In Goffman's terms: when a
song, defines the situation satisfactorily, it puts words in the listener's mouth, gives
a forceful and unequivocal expression to experiences that are not yet clearly for-
mulated. It follows that songs have considerable effectiveness in naming and de-
fining situations. It is not by chance that they are widely used for political pur-
poses, for the affirmation of national, ethnic, or any other social strata. But also in
micro situations, the songs can assume a function analogous to what Goffman re-
fers to the portraits of advertising: the formalization and stereotyping of the be-
haviors. They provide a clear picture of what is dispersed and unformulated in the
experience of everyday life, as well as offer behavior models that guide viewers
about their own social role (Goffman 1976). It would not be absurd to suppose
that the stereotype of behavior that appears in love songs, songs that talk about
friendship, or any other social role can serve as a model and orientation for the
listener in his or her representation of Self in everyday life. Therefore, the song as
an expressive form has the capacity to define situations, both micro and macro
social, as for example in the affirmation of national identities or in the stylization
of personal behaviors.
Given this potential of the song to serve as model and guide in macro and
micro social situations, we can also reflect about its suitability to function as an
auxiliary medium in the expressive reaffirmation of moral values of a community,
the role of music in ceremonies - social characteristic which Goffman recovers
from Durkheim (Goffman 1976). It is no coincidence that music is an almost com-
pulsory element in the most varied types of celebration, both religious and civil.
But we could also emphasize the role of music not only in great ceremonies, where
great social units are celebrated (as in national anthems), but also in the celebration
of small social units or particular social positions. By doing so, we could under-
stand the segmentation of the listener public as analogous to the segmentation of
social values ritualistically celebrated in the different musical styles.
To justify this point, we must recover here Goffman's argument about the
condition, position and social place. For this author:
A condition, a social position or place are not material things that are possessed and
then exhibited; they are an appropriate, coherent, adequate and well-articulated model
of conduct. Representing easily or clumsily, with conscience or not, with malice or
good faith, it does not cease to be something that must be staged and portrayed and
needs to be realized. (Goffman 1985: 74)9
Therefore, such social attributes are much more the result of a sustained perfor-
mance before an audience than a material attribute that one possesses. We can
trace a parallel to Goffman's notion of social attributes as models of performance,
of practice, with the Bourdieu's notion of habitus. This concept can be understood
as the internalization of structured relations in the form of dispositions. Since this
incorporation of dispositions takes place in a space of structured relationships, and
that such incorporation tends to function as a "structuring structure", generating
future dispositions and positions; we can say that each social position will be pref-
erably occupied by a corresponding habitus, and that the dramatic performance of
the position - which, according to Goffman, is its own constitutive material - pre-
supposes this incorporation of dispositions that enable the actor to play his role.
Social positions are, in daily praxis, a performance, and such performance requires
the actor to incorporate certain dispositions, a habitus.
Since habitus is the determining attribute in the formation of taste and aes-
thetic judgments as a consequence of the incorporation of dispositions, we can
now understand the role of music as an element of ritualistic celebration of the
different social positions. The consecration of any musical style carries with it the
consecration of social positions and the corresponding habitus of the position’s
occupants. It is not to be overlooked that music brings with it a whole series of
bodily dispositions, which are crucial attributes in the appropriate performances
of the various social positions. We cannot forget also the aspect that Goffman calls
idealization: the most prestigious social positions are those closest to the most
prestigious moral values of society. Consequently, the individual will tend to in-
corporate and exemplify in his practice these socially recognized values. The
knowledge of certain established musical styles is a fundamental part of the ex-
pressive repertoire of prestige social positions. In the same sense, Bourdieu tells
us about "noblesse oblige" (Bourdieu 1984: 169), when high school diploma hold-
ers find themselves "obliged" to read certain authors, listen to certain composers,
consume certain products; in short, they must live up to their social position by
means of coherent practices, among which music is certainly an important aspect.
9 Translated by us from Portuguese.

The song’s expressive equipment

We would now reflect on some of the equipment and expressive features we can
find in popular songs and how they interfere in the listener-music interaction. In
the first place, we must think of the figure of the sender, the artist, and the role that
he has to play before the audience. Goffman defines the personal facade as the set
of expressive attributes, the vehicles of the actor's transmission of signals
(Goffman 1985: 31). Among them is the appearance: the set stimuli that inform
about the social status of the actor; and the manner: the signals that inform us the
role that will be represented in the interaction. Every audience demands con-
sistency between appearance and manner, between the social status of the actor
and the role he plays in interaction. This fact of daily life also extends to the world
of spectacle. Every listener carries the expectation of a coherence between the
sender and the message, between the actor and the role, however naive and some-
times unjustified this expectation may be. For example, the fan of an aggressive
rap group, who tells the cruel reality of the ghetto in his lyrics, would certainly be
disappointed if the author of these lyrics was a rich boy, although this fact in no
way diminishes the literary merit of their songs. We can think of less extreme
examples: the author of romantic songs need not necessarily to be in love or to be
an inveterate gallant, although his performance will be much more convincing if
he can make the audience to believe so. Such an expectation of coherence between
the actor and the role leads us to the question of illusion - the audience longs for
and demands to be convinced about the reality of representation. A sociological
study of the song could show us what rhetorical procedures are mobilized to sup-
port the impression of reality in the feelings and facts portrayed in the song.
The expectation of coherence between appearance and manner also refers to
two other characteristics of representations in everyday life. The first of these is
the need for dramatic achievement. It is not enough to carry out an activity, it is
necessary to dramatically highlight confirmatory signs that accentuate the impres-
sion one wishes to convey. It is not enough that the singer perfectly interprets a
song, it is necessary that the audience is convinced that it is snatched by the content
of the letter. The second characteristic is the full compatibility between man and
activity, as Goffman says:
Individuals often foster the impression that the routine they are presently performing
is their only routine or at least their most essential one. As previously suggested, the
audience, in their turn, often assume that the character projected before them is all
there is to the individual who acts out the projection for them. (Goffman 1985: 51)
Such compatibility becomes something much more delicate in charismatic activi-

ties such as art.
We could also think about musical expressive resources. Just as the physical
facade of a representation, the scenario, is composed of a small number of ele-
ments that are repeated in a great number of different representations - which
makes stereotypes arise - we also have in musical harmony a limited number of
structures that serve as the basis for a great number of songs. In particular, there
is a four chords structure - I, V, VI, IV - that is repeated in numerous songs of
success. If we consider the harmonic basis to be the "skeleton," the foundation of
the musical work, it is somewhat surprising to note that seemingly distinct songs
as Let It Be (Beatles), No Woman No Cry (Bob Marley), Under the Bridge (Red
Hot Chili Peppers), With Or Without You (U2) and so many others are essentially
the same. We call attention to this fact because it shows us how an attentive soci-
ological study of this relatively simple artistic form can reveal us a series of ex-
pressive codes widely used. We could thus unveil an expressive language of the
songs, which would not be without interest for the understanding of a cultural
phenomenon widely diffused in the contemporary world. Another illustration re-
garding the song as the agency of an expressive code can be found in the function
of the introductions. Popular music aimed at the mass media needs to convey,
within a very short span of time, a few seconds or less, musical information that
captivates the listener, "convince" them to listen to the entire song. But do not just
make him listen to the song once, but it must also be something easily memorable,
that makes the listener recognize the song in a fraction of a second the next time
he listen to it. A sociological study of such formulas would not be without interest.
The song as "display" of expressive behavior
We would like to approach, as a last point, something we have already mentioned
regarding the appropriateness of music to perform in celebration ceremonies. To
clarify this point, we need to take back what Goffman understands by ritualizing
a behavior. Goffman understands the formalization and stereotyping of gestures
by ritualization of behavior, with the intention of highlighting their informative
aspect (Goffman 1976: 1). That is, for an actor to convey his audience a friendly
disposition, he can perform a smile or a handshake at the moment of his appear-
ance, thus transmitting the desired information. This social feature of formalizing
behaviors to facilitate and enhance their reporting content allows Goffman to an-
alyze them as a display. Social life is permeated by displays, since such exhibitions
function as guides to perception, transforming the attitudes of agents into some-
thing easily perceivable and understandable. The ritualization of behaviors pos-
sesses the property of making palpable what is unfolding, giving an intelligible
and manipulable interpretation of social situations, which otherwise would remain
opaque and polysemic. The displays are, therefore, guides of perception.
Behavioral displays can occur not only in face-to-face situations. Goffman

dedicates the text Gender Advertisements to the study of the ritualization of gender
behaviors in advertising portraits. What is interesting in this study is the argument
that advertising not only offers portrayals about what it is to be a man or a woman,
but that such portraits serve as role models and guidance for what it is to be a man
or a woman. They are a sort of ceremony where ideal descriptions are offered as
to how each of the genres should behave, which are the ideals that we must con-
firm in our daily exhibitions. It is a significant issue that behavior displays offer
stereotypes that guide individuals in everyday life, and induce individuals to give
meaning and a readable form of their own identities. This brings us to the final
paragraphs of The representation of the "Self" in everyday life. Although the char-
acter is usually associated with the individual who represents him, Goffman main-
tains that the "Self" does not originate from its possessor, but from the entire scene
of its action. The attribution of a "Self" to the character is a product of the scene,
a dramatic effect that comes out diffusely: the "Self" is a collaborative construc-
tion.
The popular song surely can be understood as a display of behavior and, in
addition, as a form of expression of the "Self". That means, it can also be seen as
one of the forms of collaborative construction of the "Self". It can be understood
as a display because, like other displays of behavior, we have in the song an agency
of expressive materials (linguistic, gestural or sound) that compete for a stereo-
typed representation of a character or fact of daily life.
The expressive efficacy of the song and its celebratory function of the social
"Self" expressed in it comes from its use of the same "ritual language" that society
uses in other spheres of representation and attribution of meaning. It is worthwhile
for the song as a display of behavior, as Goffman says about advertisements: pub-
licity and society have the same task of infusing ritual and ceremonial signals into
situations, transforming opaque situations into easily readable forms (Goffman
1976: 27). This is not because of an extraordinary coincidence between popular
song and publicity, but because all forms of portraying and symbolizing social life
face this function and challenge. The interest in a sociology of music that adopted
Goffman's perspective would be precisely to capture the particularities of the
codes and tools of ritual representation and celebration of the "Self" in popular
songs.
Conclusion: for a sociological idiom of the popular song
Throughout this paper we have only tried to map the potentialities of Goffman's
sociology for the study of popular song. The concepts of "definition of the situa-
tion", "performance", "expressive equipment" and "behavior displays" open the
door for the sociological analysis and its main challenge: how to overcome the
dilemma between an internal and external analysis of art works. The possibility
opened by Goffman lies in the homology between the ritual language of represen-
tation in the various social forms. Such ritual language consists precisely in the
formalization and stereotyping of behaviors, in order to highlight its informative
content. In advertising portraits, Goffman identifies this language in the small-
scale spatial metaphors of hierarchies and social structures: the relative size of
people, the ranking of their functions, the various types of touch and body expres-
sions. In the song, we can begin to grasp this language in the harmonic forms, the
performances of expressive behavior and the social values celebrated in the dif-
ferent musical genres.
References
Bibliography
Bourdieu, P. 1992. Les règles de l’art. Paris: Éditions du Seuil.
Bourdieu, P. 1984. Questions de Sociologie. Paris: Les Éditions Minuit.
Goffman, E. 1985. A Representação do Eu na Vida Cotidiana. Petrópolis: Vozes.
Goffman, E. 1976. Gender Advertisements. New York: Harper and Row Publishers.
“Chinese Got Talent”: Popular Music Singing Compe-
titions in Taiwan and China
Ya-Hui Cheng
University of South Florida, School of Music, Tampa, Florida, USA
Popular music industries in Taiwan and China were once disconnected when the
Chinese Civil War separated the republican and communist leaderships. It wasn’t
until 1987 that both leaders signed the agreement allowing people from opposite
sides of the Taiwan Strait to reconnect. Afterward, musicians in Taiwan and China
have cooperated to dominate this new Chinese mass market. However, only few
musicians were able to succeed in both places. When “British got Talent,” the
singing competition, became internationally popular, similar programs were rep-
licated in Chinese society. Those competitions soon received overwhelming suc-
cess in Taiwan and China because they were the first live television shows that
invited singers from Taiwan and China to compete alongside one another. Conse-
quently, more than ten million views and discussions were registered on Youtube.
Furthermore, singers from those shows received rapid national success. Scrutiniz-
ing performances from those competitions, this paper discusses the way they re-
flect the altered social structures from Taiwan’s republican and China’s com-
munist governments. Through categorizing those performances into: Chinese
Rock, Pentatonic song, Folk music and Hip Hop, I argue that social background
acts as a catalyst to transform the way singers interpret music. It also affects the
way audiences respond to the live performances.
Keywords: Taiwan, China, Republican, Communist, Pop-Culture
Almost thirty years after Republican Taiwan and Communist China resumed rela-
tions following suspension of the Chinese Civil War, the popular music industries
of both countries began a positive interaction across the Taiwan Strait. Musicians
benefitted greatly from the artistic collaborations that flowed between the two
sides, but this smooth musical transaction did not happen as a matter of course.
Long-term social challenges in the reconnection between Taiwan and China still
had to be resolved. A turning point in the acceleration of cultural understanding
came from the popularity of musical singing competitions derived from the “Brit-
ish Got Talent” shows of a decade earlier. These televised shows provided musi-
cians from Taiwan and China an opportunity to compete as well as collaborate

62 Ya-Hui Cheng
with each other on stage. The interaction of these two competing groups of musi-
cians received overwhelming approval from both Taiwan and Chinese audiences.
These interactions changed the way people in both Taiwan and China perceived
each other, facilitating the ability of both populaces to understand and sympathize
with similar and contrasting social conditions. As such, Chinese audiences can
now better accept their different social systems through the mutual fondness of
Chinese popular music. Although other factors such as economic and political dy-
namics have also contributed to a positive interaction, this study will focus on
musical factors derived from Chinese singing competitions and examine how they
smoothed the sociopolitical paths between Taiwan and China. Before one can
understand the significant quod hoc of these singing competitions and how they
changed Chinese popular music culture, a brief portrait of popular music history
across the Taiwan Strait is needed. In this conference’s proceeding paper, I will
present an overview of the popular music industries of Taiwan and China prior to
this current development.
When Chiang Kai-shek lost the Chinese civil war to Mao Zedong, the popular
music industries of Republican Taiwan were abruptly disconnected from those of
Communist China. In 1949, Chiang evacuated his Nationalist party to Taiwan. In
the same year, Mao founded the People’s Republican of China in mainland China.
The hostile political tensions between Taiwan and China were sustained for dec-
ades. It was not until 1987 when Chiang Ching-kuo, son of Chiang Kai-shek, ac-
cepted the Three Links proposal, offered by Deng Xiaoping of China, that allowed
people from opposite sides of the Taiwan Strait to connect with each other. This
new relationship between Taiwan and China changed corporate business models
and marketing strategies. Many international companies launched their invest-
ments in Taiwan, where the majority of consumers were Mandarin speakers who
shared cultural affinity with China, in order to explore business opportunities and
extend commerce in Communist China. The popular music industry of Taiwan
was a particularly attractive international investment for companies such as Sony,
EMI and Warner.
Unlike the popular music industry in Communist China, which was vastly
underdeveloped during the Chinese Cultural Revolution (1965-1976), the popular
music industry in Taiwan had consistently absorbed the latest in global popular
music, producing the fashionable styles in music that were well received by Chi-
nese audiences throughout the world. During that time, Taiwan had become a lead-
ing center for Chinese popular music. Around the 1980s, the only Chinese popular
music industry that could compete with Taiwan was in Hong Kong, where the
majority of audiences listened to Cantonese songs. However, the Cantonese pop-
ular music market was much smaller than that of music sung in Mandarin, which
“Chinese Got Talent”: Popular Music Singing Competitions 63
was the official language of China. Thus, Taiwan’s popular music industry pos-
sessed greater business potential than Hong Kong’s. Around the 1990s, many Can-
tonese singers such as Jacky Cheung and Sandy Lam learned Mandarin and re-
leased their Mandarin-language albums in Taiwan. Only a few Mandarin-language
singers such as Lo Ta-yu of Taiwan released Cantonese songs. This occurred dur-
ing a time of economic and industrial growth in Taiwan, during which it was
named one of the Four Asian Dragons alongside Hong Kong, Singapore and South
Korean.
These advanced marketing enhancements attracted international music cor-
porations seeking to establish business partnerships with musicians in Taiwan. By
joining such international companies, local Taiwanese singers and songwriters had
greater opportunities to collaborate with musicians from China, or even with mu-
sicians outside of Chinese circles. These outside influences accelerated the growth
and diversity of the Taiwanese music business. Songwriters and signers in Taiwan
embraced a broader global outlook to produce a variety of musical styles. Taiwan’s
growing music market contrasted markedly with China’s, which was recovering
from the Chinese Cultural Revolution. Although China’s popular music was ex-
periencing a renaissance and beginning to embrace influences from Western pop-
ular culture, its market was still young. The musical interaction between singers
and consumers in Taiwan and China was still uneven in terms of marketing ac-
ceptance in the Chinese world. It was usually easier for Taiwanese singers to par-
ticipate in musical performances or be accepted in China or elsewhere; but it was
difficult for Chinese singers to occupy the Taiwanese market. Musical familiarities
were the main issue because popular music in Taiwan had been transmitted to and
was well recognized by audiences in China since the 1970s, but audiences in Tai-
wan had rarely heard of Chinese popular music from the mainland, except for
Mandarin songs from the early treaty port of Shanghai. Social divisions and stere-
otypic misconceptions also caused Taiwanese audiences to believe that popular
music in China was inferior and uninteresting. However, even though the musical
environment in Taiwan was unfriendly to musicians from China, many Chinese
musicians still craved a career in Taiwan. Success in Taiwan, the leading Chinese
popular music market, almost guaranteed a career in the entire Chinese music in-
dustry. In the 1990s, Na Ying and Wong Faye were the only two divas from China
that were able to break the social stalemate and succeed in Taiwan. Na Yin came
to Taiwan from China and published her first Mandarin album there in 1994, alt-
hough she had to accommodate her style to be accepted by Taiwan audiences.
Wong Faye was born and raised in China and migrated to Hong Kong. She had
become famous in the Cantonese popular music market before she produced her
Mandarin album in Taiwan. While these two singers were exceptional cases, many
other ambitious musicians would fail. Only a very few – perhaps those who were
64 Ya-Hui Cheng
already well-established in Chinese society such as Jacky Cheung (of Hong Kong)
and Wong Faye – could make successful careers in Taiwan, China, and Hong
Kong.
When the singing competition “British got Talent” became internationally
popular in 2006, similar programs were replicated in Chinese society. The most
successful was “One Million Star,” produced in Taiwan in 2007. The format of
the show was similar to “British Got Talent,” in which a group of selected amateur
singers competed on a weekly basis. Each performer was required to present var-
ious styles of music such as jazz, rock, rap, or hip hop. Singers would be elimi-
nated if they failed to measure up to each week’s expectations. The reward for the
final winner was one million Taiwanese dollars (hence the title, “One Million
Star”) and an album contract from a top-tier music company. The show’s judges,
famous musicians in the popular music business, commented, tutored or per-
formed with the contestants. It was not the first singing competition program in
Taiwan; similar programs were produced decades ago. “Five Lights Award” was
an earlier singing competition and the longest-running TV program in Taiwanese
television history, broadcasting for 33 years from 1965 to 1998. It was thus known
that audiences in Taiwan have long been in favor of watching singing competi-
tions. However, “One Million Star” differed from previous programs in that it in-
vited judges and/or guests to interact with the singers in competition. Audiences
were interested in seeing not only how the contestants competed but also in how
the professional singers were able to transform amateurs into accomplished per-
formers. Also, in addition to providing comments and critiques, the show adeptly
highlighted the drama and sentiment of the weekly interactions between contest-
ants, judges, guests and audiences. Capturing on-camera glimpses of the person-
alities of the show’s participants created an intimacy between them and the TV
audience. The rapport between professionals and amateurs made the audience feel
that each performance was not a competition but a joyful musical game that invited
everyone to experience.
The success of “One Million Star” in the Chinese world went viral. Similar
programs such as “Voice of China” or “Duets” (which derived and obtained cop-
yrights from ABC’s “Duets”) were produced in China. These singing competitions
had huge budgets for design concepts and stage sets to create high-quality shows.
For instance, in the show “Voice of China” was well financed to invite superstars
from Taiwan and China to judge and tutor competitors selected from Chinese com-
munities around the world. While the content of this show was similar to Taiwan’s
“One Million Star,” in which the sentiments and excitement of each participant
were adroitly presented, “Voice of China” was the first successful program that
introduced performers and superstars from Republican Taiwan and Communist
China to compete. Consequently, each episode was viewed by an average of more
“Chinese Got Talent”: Popular Music Singing Competitions 65
than ten million people on Youtube, not counting viewers on other social media.
The drama or excitement presented by the show’s competitors and the superstars
were usually broadcast on the news the next day or headlined in the Chinese me-
dia. Discussions about the performances spread throughout the Chinese social me-
dia. Singers from the shows rapidly became national successes. These singing
competitions thus provided a fast-track for singers to be recognized throughout the
entire Chinese world. They also facilitated these superstars to promote their ca-
reers and to extend their influence in the vast Chinese music market. More im-
portantly, these shows connected Chinese people from China, Taiwan, Hong
Kong, or elsewhere around the globe to the language of Chinese popular music.
References
Bibliography
Baranovitch, Nimrod. 2001. China’s New Voices: Popular Music, Ethnicity, Gender, and
Politics, 1978-1997. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Covach, John. 2009. What’s that sound? An Introduction to Rock and Its History, 2nd ed.
New York: Norton.
Craig, Timothy J., and Richard King, ed. 2002. Global Goes Local: Popular Culture in Asia.
Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.
Jones Andrew. 1992. Like a Knife: Ideology and Genre in Contemporary Chinese Popular
Music. New York: Cornell University.
Taylor, Timothy. 2015. Music and Capitalism: A History of the Present. Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press.
Yang, Fang-chih Irene. −
1993. A Genre Analysis of Popular Music in Taiwan. Popular Music and Society 17 (2):
89-112.
1994. The History of Popular Music in Taiwan. Popular Music and Society 18 (3): 53-66.
Unpacking Performance in the Pop-Rock Biopic
Maurizio Corbella
Independent Scholar, Milan, Italy, corbellamaurizio@gmail.com
Pop-rock biopics have developed a range of strategies to render historicized per-
formances, especially those considered as pivotal in a musician’s biography. The
goal of such films is not merely to narrate the historical impact of live events, but
to “re-perform” them for a composite audience, partly familiar with, yet partly
experiencing the music for the first time. By highlighting that performance scenes
have constituted moments of technical virtuosity throughout the genre’s history, I
suggest that pop-rock biopics be regarded as witnessing devices to shifting para-
digms of performance affordance in film. In translating live musical experience
into an audio-visual narrative medium, these films reactivate the performative po-
tential of past events and allow us to reflect on their intermedial constituents. I
draw on examples taken from different stages of the genre’s history, showing how
they variously include combinations of constructive devices, which, going beyond
issues of verisimilitude, conjure up hyper-real experiences that trigger notions of
presence, memory, and nostalgia.
Keywords: Musical performance, Popular music biopic, Performativity, Intermediality,

Popular music and film
Representing, documenting and authenticating musical perfor-

mance in pop-rock biopics
In this paper, I trace the general theoretical lines of a project entitled “Represent-
ing, documenting and authenticating musical performance in pop-rock biopics”,
which was supported by a grant by the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst
(DAAD) in 2015. The goal of the project is to shed light on the strategies for ren-
dering performance in fiction biographical films (i.e. biopics). Fictionalized mu-
sical performance has lately received growing interest in film music studies (cf.
Conrich and Tincknell 2006, Herzog 2010, Dyer 2012, Doyle 2013, Winters
2014). In this respect, my choice of biopics descends from the need to interrogate
cinematic performance as a means for re-mediating music making and to gain in-
sight into the production of a given musician or band. As much as cinema has
influenced ways of producing, listening to and thinking of musical performance,
a recent body of scholarly work has shown that rock ’n’ roll and its ramifications

68 Maurizio Corbella
have deeply affected cinema’s ways of representation (e.g. see Donnelly 2015,
James 2016).
Music scholars who do not have preconceptions towards biopics (e.g. Inglis
2007, Tibbetts 2005), have preferentially addressed the genre as to its (danger-
ous?) liaisons with music history. Scholars from fields other than musicology have
intersected problems of stardom, gender and race representation in biopics in con-
nection to musical genres (Dyer 1998, Babington 2006, Spirou 2011, Muldoon
2012, Varriale 2012). Only tangentially have their studies emphasized the per-
formative potential that such films set forward in the very moment they render
music-making on the screen. Musical performance in biopics can be interpreted as
triggering processes of authentication of the aura of historicized events. This hap-
pens not so much by positing historical accuracy as priority, but rather by drawing
on the relation of trust established between the spectator and the film. If we under-
stand what occurs in a movie theater as a kind of mediatized performance, the
bond that is created between the film and the audience can be seen as a counter-
balance of the plot taking license with historical facts. In general, the kind of au-
thentication biopics seem to seek through filmed musical performance aspires to
convey a sense of embodied affectivity. This shares communalities with Allan
Moore’s definition of “‘second person’ authentication, or authenticity of experi-
ence, which occurs when a performance succeeds in conveying the impression to
a listener that that listener’s experience of life is being validated, that the music is
‘telling it like it is’ for them” (Moore 2002, 220; emphasis in the original).
Performance scenes have always played a central role in the genre of the mu-
sical biopic, starting with its origins in the silent era. The centrality of performance
is self-evident in The Jazz Singer (Crosland 1927), which, albeit not a biopic in
the strict sense, can be considered a prototype for later musical biopics. In Cros-
land’s film one witnesses a diverse array of performance scenes, each of which
positing a different setting, from clubs to Broadway theaters, from liturgical to
domestic spaces. Al Jolson’s extemporary spoken words during his acts and espe-
cially his double interpretation of “Blue Skies” in the intimate space of a private
home, somehow set the tone for the shades and possibilities yet to come in filming
musical performance.
With the advent of the so-called pop-rock biopic, which Inglis (2007) con-
ventionally dates to the release of The Tommy Steele Story (Bryant 1957), musical
performance unsurprisingly gained the upper end, catalyzing the performative at-
tributes of the new musical style of rock ’n’ roll. In terms of screening rock ’n’
roll performance, this film was in fact preceded by the success of Rock Around the
Clock (Sears 1956), which “renovat[ed] the conventions of the classic show mu-
sical” (James 2016).
Unpacking Performance in the Pop-Rock Biopic 69
In the first phase of pop-rock biopics until approximately the early 1980s,
thus in an era that was yet to be affected by the MTV model, it is quite common
to detect the attempt of using the movie theater as a plain extension of a music
venue, be it a ballroom, a club, or a rock arena. A recurrent trope consisted in
ending films with rather long and uncut musical acts, which would mark the apoth-
eosis of the star’s celebration. Most importantly, these long performance scenes
allowed cinematic and musical time to coincide, thus positing a conjunction be-
tween the movie theater audience and the performers. This phenomenon can be
found in such movies as the mentioned The Tommy Steele Story, The Buddy Holly
Story (Rash 1978), Elvis (Carpenter 1979), Birth of the Beatles (Marquand 1979),
to name a few.
Film scholars generally agree in placing a chronological watershed in the his-
tory of the biopic genre, distinguishing productions of the last fifteen to twenty
years from earlier examples. One of the shared features of contemporary (not nec-
essarily musical) biopics is identified by Belén Vidal (2014, 21) as a new attitude
towards historical media materials: “At a time of veritable visual-media saturation,
available archival materials (and their digital reconstructions) often crowd the
screen, standing side by side or blending with dramatic reenactment. Archival im-
ages and sounds form the textures of memory, whether individual or collective”.
Lucy Fife Donaldson (2014, 15) adds that contemporary biopics exhibit “self-con-
scious awareness of their subjects and the biopic as a form” and that “[t]he genre
is uniquely placed to address the role of performance, including the extent to which
lives are performed”.
In recent and contemporary pop-rock biopics, performance scenes are highly
exposed in their meta-reflexive function: they exhibit music as music and almost
inescapably foster assessments as to the value music entails in the represented bi-
ography. Biopics may newly invent or re-imagine scenes of music making for
which there is few or no historical evidence or documentation. They may on the
other hand refer to canonized events, for which several different kinds of docu-
mentation (anecdotal, written, photographic, audio and audiovisual, etc.) exist.
They may use pre-existing audiovisual documentation in various ways, by inter-
polating it directly or by restaging it, or they may disregard it due to different
factors, spanning concrete problems (e.g. copyright licensing) to abstract aesthet-
ical reasons (e.g. the wish to propose a different take on a highly auratic event).
Finally, they may creatively combine pre-existing audio tracks (e.g. an official
recording) with newly devised versions of songs and sound design interventions.
Biopics, as much as documentaries, make the media archive meaningful to
audiences. In the potentially unlimited and centrifugal access to music we have
today, contemporary musical biopics and documentaries may serve the purpose of
organizing, selecting, and configuring musical meaning in the space of a film,
while securing new markets for old music in a phase of unprecedented uncertainty
in the music business. However, differences between the two genres persist, to
such an extent that a production company like Jagged Films in the same year in-
vested in a documentary and a biopic about James Brown, namely Mr. Dynamite:
The Rise of James Brown (Gibney 2014) and Get on Up (Taylor 2014). While, in
general, documentaries and concert movies tend to privilege informative attitudes,
i.e. setting footage in the frame of pertinent accounts (e.g. interviews) or historical
context, biopics prefer a performative attitude towards the archive. When it comes
to rendering a musical performance, biopics do not merely document historical
exhibitions and embed them in a biographical narration, but “re-perform” them for
a composite audience. Therefore, the attitude towards pre-existing documentation
of a given past performance entails actualizing its affordance.
The idea of “performing the document” is indebted to Philip Auslander’s the-
orization of “The Performativity of Performance Documentation” (2006). For
Auslander, photography and phonography (but the concept lends itself to be ex-
tended to cinema) can be regarded as “species of mediatized performance” (8) that
may alternatively adopt a documentary or a theatrical attitude. This dualism re-
fuses an ontological divide between “documentation” (as unmediated record of
reality) and “fiction” (as creative invention).
By translating live musical experience into an audio-visual narrative medium,
biopics allow us to reflect on the performative and intermedial constituents of mu-
sical performance (Corbella 2015). My work has thus started by singling out the
constructive layers of filmed musical performance in biopics—e.g. the use of orig-
inal/re-edited/re-staged documentary or televised footage, real audiences reacting
to actors performing, newly performed/covered/playback acts, and enriched/re-
mixed/re-spatialized pre-existent audio tracks through the means of sound de-
sign—and their entrenching relationship with live musical experience.
Case studies: synopsis
The following synopsis enlists the case studies I am currently working on and pro-
vides a synthetic description of the features that characterize the path of canonized
performances from their historical occurrence to their rendering in biopics.
The Buddy Holly Story (Rash 1978)
EVENT: Buddy Holly’s last gig @ Surf Ballroom, Clear Lake, ND, Feb 2, 1959.
DOCUMENTATION: Anecdotal.
FILM RENDERING: Live lead vocals and guitar (Gary Busey) and live band on stage;
raw aspects and “mistakes” in the performance are kept to enhance liveness.
The Doors (Stone 1991)

EVENT: The Doors performing the first extensive version of “The End” @ Whisky
a Go Go, LA, August 1966.
DOCUMENTATION: anecdotal.
FILM RENDERING: The song’s official studio recording (Elektra 1967) is used in
the first part combined with newly recorded parts; the second segment of the song,
corresponding to the live act at the Whisky a Go Go, is a cover version by a band
consisting in the surviving Doors members without Ray Manzarek, and post-
synced to the actors; vocals of the second part are the result of a combination be-
tween post-synced and live vocals by Val Kilmer and vocals from Jim Morrison’s
studio version; visually, the scene is reminiscent of “The End” live performance
at Hollywood Bowl in 1968, first featured in Feast of Friends (Ferrara 1970).
Walk the Line (Mangold 2005)
EVENT: Johnny Cash’s concert @ Folsom Prison, CA, January 13, 1968
DOCUMENTATION: Official live album At Folsom Prison (Columbia 1968) and
several re-issues with extended track lists.
FILM RENDERING: Live lead vocals (Joaquin Phoenix) and live band; the audience
is formed by locals and not by professional extras; visually, the scene is reminis-
cent of the TV-film Johnny Cash in San Quentin (Darlow 1969) broadcast by Gra-
nada Television.
Control (Corbijn 2007)
EVENT: Joy Division performing “Transmission” live on the program Something
Else, BBC, 1979.
DOCUMENTATION: Original TV footage.
FILM RENDERING: Live lead vocals (Sam Riley) and live band (Joe Anderson and
James Anthony Pearson); visually, the scene conflates a restaging of the original
televised footage with the restaging of Tony Wilson’s introduction of the band
when appearing on Granada Television performing “Shadowplay” in 1978.
I’m Not There (Haynes 2007)
EVENT: Bob Dylan @ Newport Folk Festival 1965.
DOCUMENTATION: Footage shot by Murray Lerner and first issued in Festival!
(Lerner 1967); previously unreleased scenes are featured in No Direction Home
(Scorsese 2005), containing also anecdotes and interviews; the integral perfor-
mance is featured in The Other Side of the Mirror (Lerner 2007).
FILM RENDERING: Playback leading vocals (Cate Blanchett play-backing to Ste-
phen Malkmus) and band (play-backing to The Million Dollar Bashers); visual
references to Murray Lerner’s footage are no evident, while references to fan’s
interviews in Dont Look Back (Pennebaker 1967) and Eat the Document (Dylan
1972) are almost literal. The whole segment is constructed on the palimpsest of 8
½ (Fellini 1963).
Jimi: All Is by My Side (Ridley 2013)
EVENT: The Jimi Hendrix Experience performing (“Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts
Club Band” @ Saville Theatre, London, June 1967.
DOCUMENTATION: anecdotal.
Film rendering: post-synced lead vocals (André Benjamin), playback guitar
(Waddy Wachtel) and playback band. References both in the visuals and in the
audio track are primarily to the amateur film of the song performed at Olympia in
December 1967 and secondarily to Jimi Hendrix at the Isle of Wight (Lerner 1991).
Get on Up (Taylor 2014)
EVENT: James Brown performing @ Boston Garden, April 5, 1968, on the day
after Martin Luther King’s assassination.
DOCUMENTATION: WGBH-TV footage (James Brown: Live at the Boston Garden
[Atwood 1968]), later reissued as a concert movie in 2008, in the TV documentary
The Night James Brown Saved Boston (Leaf 2008), and in the documentary film
Mr. Dynamite: The Rise of James Brown (Gibney 2014).
FILM RENDERING: Playback lead vocals (Chadwin Boseman) and band. The audio
of “I Can’t Stand Myself (When You Touch Me)” is taken from the official live
album Say It Live and Loud: Live in Dallas 08.26.68 (Polydor 1998). Visually,
there are references to the WGBH-TV footage.
References
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and London: Yale University Press.
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cians in Hollywood Biographical Films. Jazz Research Journal 6 (1): 27-46.
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ences in Screen Fiction. New York and London: Routledge.
Discography
James Brown. 1998. Say It Live and Loud. Live in Dallas 08.26.68, Polydor Records, 11
August, US.
Johnny Cash. 1968. At Folsom Prison, Columbia Records, May, US.
The Doors. 1967. “The End”, The Doors, Elektra Records, 4 January, US.
Videography
8 ½. 1963. Dir. Federico Fellini. Cineriz/Francinex.
BBC. 1979. Something Else. “The Jam / Joy Division”, 15 September.
Birth of the Beatles. 1979. Dir. Richard Marquand. Dick Clark Productions.
Bob Dylan: The Other Side of the Mirror. 2007. Dir. Murray Lerner. MLF Productions.
The Buddy Holly Story. 1978. Dir. Steve Rash. Innovisions/ECA.
Control. 2007. Dir. Anton Corbijn. Becker Films/CINV/Claraflora et. al.
The Doors. 1991. Dir. Oliver Stone. Bill Graham Films/Carolco Pictures/Imagine Enter-
tainment et al.
Dont Look Back. Dir. Donn Alan Pennebaker. Leacock-Pennebaker.
Eat the Document. 1972. Dir. Bob Dylan. Pennebaker Associates.
Elvis. 1979. Dir. John Carpenter. Dick Clark Productions.
The Jazz Singer. 1927. Dir. Alan Crosland. Warner Bros.
Feast of Friends. 1970. Dir. Paul Ferrara. Crystal Productions.
Festival! 1967. Dir. Murray Lerner. Patchke Productions.

Get on Up. 2014. Dir. Tate Taylor. Imagine Entertainments/Jagged Films/Wyolah Films.
Granada Television. 1978. Granada Reports. “Joy Division”, 20 September.
I’m Not There. 2007. Dir. Todd Haynes. Killer Films/John Wells Productions/John
Goldwyn Productions et al.
James Brown: Live at the Boston Garden, 1968. Dir. David Atwood [uncredited]. WGBH.
Re-issued on DVD by Shoot! Factory (2008).
Jimi: All Is by My Side. 2013. Dir. John Ridley. Darko Entertainments/Freeman Film/Su-
botica Entertainment et al.
Jimi Hendrix at the Isle of Wight. 1991. Dir. Murray Lerner. Castle Music Pictures/Experi-
ence Hendrix LLC/MLF Productions.
Johnny Cash in San Quentin. 1969. Dir. Michael Darlow. Granada Television.
Mr. Dynamite: The Rise of James Brown. 2014. Dir. Alex Gibney. Jagged Films/Inaudible
Films/Jigsaw Productions.
The Night James Brown Saved Boston. 2008. Dir. David Leaf. David Leaf Productions.
No Direction Home: Bob Dylan. 2005. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Spitfire Pictures/Grey Water
Park Productions et. al.
Rock Around the Clock. Dir. Fred F. Sears. Clover Productions.
The Tommy Steele Story (aka Rock Around the World). 1957. Dir. Gerard Bryant. Insignia
Films.
Walk the Line. 2005. Dir. James Mangold. Fox 2000 Pictures/Tree Line Film/Konrad Pic-
tures et al.
From Earth Angel to Electric Lucifer: Castrati, Doo
Wop and the Vocoder
Virginia Dellenbaugh
The New School: Eugene Lang College, Contemporary Music, New York, NY, USA,
dellenbaugh@newschool.edu
The transformed, angelic voice is in a precarious position—between corpus and
void, heaven and earth. As “sacred monsters” of the Baroque, the castrati had
voices described as otherworldly and “strangely disembodied.” An amalgam of
male, female and childlike qualities, the castrato voice is angelic in its liminality,
a kind of tonal apotheosis. The 1950s, a time preoccupied with heaven, from
winged cars to airwave Earth Angels, saw a curious renaissance of this Baroque
ideal. With doo-wop, the seemingly sexless voice of the singer shares the trait of
sounding angelic with the mythic androgyny of the castrati—both blur gender
lines through vocal manipulation. Technology also allows the transformed voice
to lose all traces of the body, as in Bruce Haack’s psychedelic song cycle The
Electric Lucifer, “a battle between heaven and hell” which employs a voice put
through a prototype vocoder to represent both angel and devil. Here, the voice is
free to achieve multiple unearthly identities. This presentation will examine the
imbrication of heavenly narrative and transformed voice in popular music, focus-
ing on how this disjunct between voice and body can be understood as prism
through which to explore shifting socio-political anxieties and desires.
Keywords: Castrati, Doo-wop, Vocoder, Angelic, Voice Manipulation
Thomas Carlyle, the Scottish philosopher and essayist, noted that “music is well
said to be the speech of angels; in fact, nothing among the utterances allowed to
man is felt to be so divine. It brings us near to the infinite.”
In Baroque paintings, philosophical treatises, in cinema and on theater stages,
in museums, songs and books, the angel is a constant in our history. Like us, angels
are fallible—they have no divine tenure. An angel can ascend but also fall; can
intend good and create bad. In search of redemption, both angels and humans sing
an appeal to the heavens. In scripture, in glass, and on walls, singing is the angel’s
premiere mode of operation, or even their reason for existence. One interpretation
of angels in the Talmud speculates that they come into existence only to sing; that
is, they are born, sing God's praises, and then they vanish. They are song and noth-

76 Virginia Dellenbaugh
ing more, a link that affiliates reality with celestial possibility. Fleeting and intan-
gible, the angel as pure song is much a reflection of the voice itself, emerging to
express, to transmit, and then gone.
Beyond a purely liturgical context, the intersection of music and the divine
emerges at various times in secular music history. I will briefly discuss three very
different instances where the angelic or heavenly raises its head: transmitted, in
the form of doo-wop; perceived, as with the reception of the castrato voice; and
metabolized, through the construction of the mechanical voice as in Bruce Haack’s
The Electric Lucifer.
In the 1950s, the world’s eyes were turned towards the stars. In 1957, the
Soviet Union launched Sputnik, the first artificial satellite, into orbit. In the same
year, the International Atomic Energy Agency was founded, seeking to promote a
peaceful use of atomic power after a decade of violence and fear. Crowds gathered
in the Nevada desert, watching the spectacle of nuclear tests through tinted glasses.
On the airwaves, small amateur a cappella groups sang “Earth Angel,” “Golden
Angel,” “Angel of Love,” “Heavenly Night,” “Pretty Little Angel Eyes” and “The
Angels Listened In.” Astronauts were launched into orbit, and The Velvetones
crooned that “seven men have gone into outer space—I wouldn’t want to be in
their place.”
Doo-wop’s unmistakable sound has come to define the atomic era—close
harmonies, predictable chord progressions, vocal articulations that seek to emulate
the rhythms and gestures of instruments like the plucked upright bass and bowed
strings. Recordings are often marked by poor miking and amateurish production
quality—the quintessential doo-wop anthem, “Earth Angel” by The Penguins,
was, in fact, a demo made in a garage. The tightly harmonized voices, predomi-
nantly male, are cast in a liturgical glow when conjoined with lyrics that focus on
heaven, transformed into a naïve choir supporting a soaring, solo voice in a kind
of pop Pie Jesu.
Vocals in doo-wop span all ranges of the voice, spreading like a peacock tail
of sound from bass to falsetto. Of all the colors and timbres, however, it is most
often a lyric tenor that pushes into the falsetto range and takes the lead. In contrast
to a classical singer, high tenors in doo-wop focus the sound and flow of air into
the hard palette while singing, raising the back of the tongue and narrowing the
resonating cavity of the mouth so that the resulting sound is nasal and penetrant,
brassy and bright in color and timbre. This singing technique has, at its root, a
simple acoustic function—the spreading of vowels in a higher range of voice
makes the voice stand out, sonically, from the saturation of the backing choir.
However, much of doo-wop is marked by an exaggerated form of this high whine,
almost a wail that exceeds the necessary technique to be noticed above the rest of
the voices. The voice becomes pathologically cheerful, almost hysterical—the
From Earth Angel to Electric Lucifer: Castrati, Doo Wop and the Vocoder 77
frantic timbre makes it hard to pin the voice to an identifiable body. The voice
thrives in this liminality, hovering somewhere between childlike and mature, male
and female, happy and insane. As the voice that makes the appeal to the celestial
other, this ambiguity functions as a kind of sonic lure, attempting to approximate
that which it desires. The appeal lies in the making, repeated over and over again,
never fulfilled, each song one in a seemingly endless loop of unpolished petitions.
The music is doomed to a perpetual adolescence, mirroring the atomic infancy of
the United States in the 1950s, eyes to heaven in hope and fear. The period was
brief—by the mid-1960s, rock ’n’ roll would bring the public’s ears very much
back down to earth.
Where doo-wop is a secular transmission, the roots of the castrati are inextri-
cably entwined with the Catholic Church. For over 200 years the castrato was a
hegemonic figure in Europe’s cultural life, from the first opera, Jacopo Peri’s
Dafne in 1597, until the mid-19th century. A central factor for the rise of the cas-
trati was a liturgical problem, and the influence of the church in the development
of the castrati was manifold. Rome was not only the center of all opera life, but
more importantly the heart of Catholic power, and women were prohibited from
performing onstage. Moreover, religious ritual helped cultivate a preference for
the pure, flute-like timbre of young boy’s voices. Catholic-run conservatories,
originally founded in the 16th century as charitable institutions that housed and
educated orphans, became the source for boy-singers. The slow acceptance of an
ostensibly forbidden practice, castration, was both fiscally and aesthetically moti-
vated. Conservatories loaned the boy singers out to funerals and other religious
services but puberty made this a short-lived investment—castration became a nec-
essary evil in supplying the demand for what was, naturally, only a short phase of
vocal development.
Castration was risky, but the rewards were enormous. If successful, the sur-
gery preserved not only the clear, pure timbre of young boys’ voices, it also had a
transformative effect on the body that further augmented the voice. As singers
grew older, the vocal cords elongated without the influence of testosterone, re-
maining thin and flexible. The same could be said of the body; it continued to
mature, but the lung capacity remained elastic, as if continuously waiting for the
onset of puberty to harden and fix the bones and cartilage. This produced voices
of unique strength and agility, capable of sustaining elaborate, improvised flights
of virtuosity that very few non-castrated singers could imitate. The voice was be-
tween a child, a contralto, and a young man—something silvery, metallic, and
compelling. Operatic soprano Emma Calve spoke of the castrato Mustafa’s voice
as “strange, sexless, superhuman, uncanny” (Heriot 1975: 22). Others wondered
at its “metallic, penetrating timbre” (Feldman 2015: 108).
By the 18th century, nearly 70 percent of all male opera singers were castrati.
Their fame was defined by a social marginalization and aesthetic exceptionality
that both restricted and liberated. The Catholic Church forbade them from marry-
ing, for example, and yet the castrati enjoyed an international mobility not experi-
enced by any other form of artist. The castrato voice transcended language barri-
ers, making them the first international cult celebrities. For the first time, as histo-
rian Angus Heriot notes, the castrati were artists discussed, “compared and criti-
cized from Russia to Portugal and from Ireland to the borders of the Ottoman Em-
pire” (Heriot 1975: 13).
Eighteenth-century opera became synonymous with the castrati, and yet the
voice never seemed to deviate fully from its liturgical origins; the popularity of
the castrato voice in opera drew the heady incense of the sacred into the realm of
the profane. In the cultural imagination, it also forever linked the castrato voice to
a perception of what Michel Poizat calls the “angelic function” desired in liturgy,
even lending it, in the extreme, a kind of palliative magic. In 1737, the Spanish
court invited Farinelli, perhaps the most brilliant castrato of his time, to the royal
bedside. The king was bedridden with debilitating melancholy and the court was
in despair—but when Farinelli sang to him from behind a curtain, the voice was
enough to cure where medicines had had no effect. For the next decade, until the
king’s death, Farinelli sang the same four arias every evening, a sonic poultice for
spiritual wounds.
For both doo-wop and castrati, elevated pitch is equated with celestial
heights—when an angel falls, so does the voice. The devilish is in the depths:
Boito and Gounoud’s Mefistofeles, Mozart’s Commendatore, and Dvorak’s Mar-
buel are all sung by basses. In many medieval texts, the devil is even excluded
from any musical dimension. Hildegard von Bingen denies the devil a voice in her
Ordo Virtutum, a musical morality play composed in the early 12th century detail-
ing the struggle over the human soul. Lucifer can only grunt, growl, and whistle—
he is denied the harmonies of heaven.
The 20th century would lend the devil another timbre. In 1970, composer
Bruce Haack released his one major work, The Electric Lucifer, on Columbia Rec-
ords. Haack, a Juilliard dropout, earned his living from composing music for ad-
vertising and pedagogy, and even today, he is still mostly known as a composer of
psychedelic “children’s music.” The Electric Lucifer was conceived as an apoca-
lyptic dialogue between heaven and hell set in 2001, the first part in a triptych that,
due to Haack’s early death, was never fully realized.
The album is a sonic circus—homemade synthesizers and Moogs layered
with effects-laden loops of natural instruments and sounds. Pieces of “Twinkle,
Twinkle, Little Star,” “The First Noel,” and other hymns mix with fragments of
Bach-like counterpoint and carousel polkas. The resulting cacophony is a collage
of cultural touchstones and psycho-pompic grandeur that would make a fitting

soundtrack for the late, Gnostic-revelatory novels of Philip K. Dick. It is partially
the psychedelic eclecticism of Haack’s composing that resigned the album to its
current obscurity; part-psychedelic prog-rock, part avant-garde classical, part jazz,
it eluded a classification that might have given it a marketable identity.
Haack created almost all of the electric instruments himself, including a key-
board called “adam 2,” and what is purported to be the first vocoder, or vocal
transformer, created for musical purposes, a machine called “Farad,” named after
the 19th-century English electro-magneticist Michael Faraday. It is Farad who
plays the role of Lucifer. The machine is given curious autonomy on the album,
receiving equal credit as an artist in the liner notes, where he is listed alongside
the other singers and instrumentalists. Haack notes that Farad is “difficult to work
with.” As Lucifer, Farad’s voice is a tinny, nasal chirp devoid of nuance, breath,
and color, a human voice manipulated through a machine that strips it of its bodily
qualities.
The advance of technology has had a remarkable effect on how we perceive
the voice, if only because the advent of recording meant that the voice, in some
way, could be preserved, leaving its fleshly body to be transplanted into another,
technical one. The voice without its human origin has become commonplace; in
everyday life, it is likely that we hear far many more disembodied voices than we
do actual ones. Beyond the body/voice disconnect, technology has created a whole
new realm of voices that have never had real bodies; stripped of its corporeal im-
print, the voice through the machine is dehumanized, denied implicit human har-
monies. The voice produced by Haack’s vocoder, Farad, becomes something en-
tirely other, another being—in this case, a voice with a new, technological body.
The fallen angel falls not into hell, but into the machine.
Music itself can foreshadow certain sociological shifts—the international
stardom of the castrati, which overcame the borders of language and performance
practice, was a harbinger of the growth of international trade and colonialism in
the Baroque period. In the mid-18th century, criticism of the castrato voice re-
flected a growing discontent with frivolities and excess of the ruling class. The
music was perceived as “florid and choked with ornament … a guise [where] their
arias resemble the ladies of France” (Feldman 2015: 186). Haack’s use of Farad
to transform the voice anticipated the later acceptance of vocal transformation in
pop idioms, from Cher’s deliberate auto-tune hiccough in “Believe” to the “T-Pain
effect” now so ubiquitous in hip-hop.
On an introspective level, an angel can also function as an abstract way to
understand society in flux. Walter Benjamin was obsessed with Paul Klee’s paint-
ing Angelus Novus, one of his most prized possessions until he had to leave it
behind when escaping the Nazis. Benjamin referenced the work frequently in his
writings, as a symbol of “true actuality” (Scholem 2001), and as the “Agesilaus

Santander,” his individual angel or devil. The angel appears to him as both female
and male, benevolent figure and devil. According to Scholem, Benjamin imagines
the angel as a way to understand his Judaism, as a personal oracle, and as a guard-
ian. Benjamin’s last reference to the angel appears in his “Theses on the Philoso-
phy of History,” written only months before his death. For Benjamin, after seven
years in exile and scarred by the traumas of the Second World War, the Angelus
Novus has morphed from personal angel to watcher over history—powerless, it
looks to the past, unable to intervene on behalf of mankind.
Music spliced with heavenly themes can reflect more than just the permuta-
tion of cultural norms; the affiliation with the divine offers a cultural prism through
which to examine societal anxieties and desires. In doo-wop, the repetition of the
format of the angel ballad is like rocking an infant, sucking a thumb—cultural self-
soothing on a national scale. The reassuring thrum of the ever-present choir sur-
rounds a worshipful, sometimes pleading lead voice that teeters on the brink of
vocal hysteria. Ever-present underneath the naïve, supermarket choir superficiality
is a vibration of repressed anxiety, even morbidity. The lead of The Five Stars
sings cheerfully of love as destructive as fission in 1957’s “Atom Bomb Baby” as
the doo-wop chorus chirps over an uptempo swing beat. On “Angels Say,” The
Four Fellows croon, “We’ll go to that place in the sky someday, and nothing will
hurt us at all.”
The heavenly adjectives so often used to describe the castrato voice, on the
other hand, have little to do with heavenly escapism, rather, they articulate a more
acute friction caused by the confrontation with, and simultaneous allure of, an
earth-bound human voice that exceeds its natural limits. This imbues the castrato
voice, and the manipulated body that produces it, with flexible, metaphysical sym-
bolic potential. As an elision of the sacred and the profane, the castrato voice
moves beyond mere beauty, as defined by Kant, into the limitless magnitude, cre-
ating the frisson of attraction and repulsion that defines the sublime. As such it is
feared and prized, perceived as an uncanny synthesis of human ambition and di-
vine intervention that embodies “the ascension of a soul into the infinite on the
wings of … sentiment” (Panzacchi, in Heriot, 36).
The voice of Farad, a machine voice that speaks the role of a fallen angel,
comes much closer to contemporary anxieties and desires surrounding advances
in technology. The machine voice, quite literally characterizing the angelic and/or
demonic, sings and speaks with an authority beyond human control. As a poten-
tially autonomous being, in Haack’s account, Farad combines the uncanny quali-
ties of the in/animate machine, like that found in Hans Bellmer’s puppets or in the
singing automaton of Villier de l’Ilse Adam’s Future Eve, with a spark of other-
worldly anima.
Music, as Carlyle noted, does bring us closer to a feeling of the infinite—seen

through an historical lens, the infinite is a chimera that nonetheless remains a locus
of both desire and fear. Music that collides with the angelic, in particular outside
of dedicated religious function, is a potential shibboleth for decoding and inter-
preting the ever-changing boundaries of human self-awareness as it has changed
through time. Without using words—in fact, beyond words—it can reveal another
cultural current from the time that created it, revealing projections of anxiety, long-
ing, and desire that go beyond a traditional exploration of historical and cultural
context.
Acknowledgments
This essay derives from a talk originally presented at the 2015 EMP Pop Confer-
ence in Seattle, Washington. Thanks to the EMP committee and their chair, Eric
Weisbard, as well as Courtney Rubin and Markus Schinwald.
References
Bibliography
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W. Jennings Eds. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
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of California Press.
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Appendix A: Some doo-wop titles

This list is in no way authoritative, but is provided to illustrate the many angel-
and heaven-themed songs I came across in my research. I am indebted not only to
print and online catalogues, but to the many doo-wop fans who have uploaded rare
tracks, unreleased material, and b-sides to YouTube. Where possible, I have in-
cluded dates and label information.
Nolan Strong & The Diablos. 1956. “A Teardrop from Heaven” (Fortune 522).
Bobby Helms. 1957. “My Special Angel” (Decca 30423)
covers: Bobby Vinton. 1963; Frankie Avalon, 1963; Bill Haley & his Comets, 1960.
The Penguins. 1954. “Earth Angel” (Dootone 348).
The Capitols. 1958. “Angel of Love” (Pet 807).
The Five Pastels. 1962. “You’re Just an Angel” (Dome-249).
The Chuck-A-Lucks. 1958. “Heaven Knows” (Bow 307).
The Interiors. 1960? “My Darling Little Angel” (Worthy 1008).
The Shells. 1957. “(What’s in an) Angel’s Eyes” (Johnson 104).
The Ravens. 1956. “A Simple Prayer” (Argo 5621).
Curtis Lee and The Halos. 1961. “Pretty Little Angel Eyes” (Dune 2007).
The Academics. 1957. “Heavenly Love” (Ancho 101).
Donnie and The Del Chords. 1963. “I Found Heaven” (Taurus 363).
Rosie and The Originals. 1961. “Angel Baby” (Highland 5001).
The Four Epics. 1963. ”Summertime Angel” (unreleased).
The Collegians. 1957. “Heavenly Night” (1-tra 108).
The Orients. 1964. “Queen of the Angels” (Laurie 3232).
The Sultans. 1962. “God Made an Angel” (DeCade 101).
The Montclairs. 1957. “Golden Angel” (Hi-Q 5001).
The Claremonts. 1957. “Angel of Romance” (Apollo 3628).
The Condors. 1960. “Sweetest Angel” (Hunter 2504).
The Rockin’ Dukes. 1957. “An Angel and a Rose” (OJ 1007).
The Cosmos. 1962. “Angel, Angel” (Big L 502).
The Schoolboys. 1958. “The Angel of Love” (Juanita 103).
The Neons. 1956. “Angel Face” (Tetra 4444); 1959 (Gone 5090).
The Chanters. 1958. “Angel Darling” (DeLuxe 6172).
The Capris. 1954. “God Only Knows” (Gotham 304).
The Crests. 1957. “The Angels Listened In” (Coed 515).
The Intentions. 1963. “Summertime Angel” (Jaime 1253).
The Prisonaires. 1953. “My God is Real” (Sun 189).
The Esquires. 1954. “Only the Angels Know” (HiPo 1003).
The Velvetones with Tommy Hudson and The Savoys. 1950. “Space Men” (D-1072).
The Royal Jesters. 1960. “My Angel of Love” (Harlem 105).
Jerry Stone & The Four Dots. 1958. “It’s Heaven” (Freedom 44002).
The Five Stars. 1957. “Atom Bomb Baby” (Kernel 002).
Donald Woods and The Vel Aires. 1954. “Death of an Angel” (Flip 306).
The Twilighters. 1956. “Eternally” (Cholly 712).
The Continentals. 1956. “Dear Lord” (Whirlin' Disc 101).
The Bop Chords. 1956. “Castle in the Sky” (Holiday 2601).

The Rivileers. 1954. “Eternal Love” (Baton 205).
The Curly Bridges & the Motley Crew. 1961. “A Prayer of Love” (DC 0436).
The Goldentones. 1961. “If I had the Wings of an Angel” (YRS 1001).
The Kings. 1958. “Angel” (Jalo 203).
The Four Fellows. 1955. “Angels Say” (Glory 202).
The Harptones. 1953. “A Sunday Kind of Love” (Bruce 101).
The Dubs. 1958. “Chapel of Dreams” (Gone 5046).
The Clovers. 1956. “Devil or Angel” (Atlantic 1083).
The Selections. 1959. “Guardian Angel” (Antone 101).
The Solitaires. 1956. “The Angels Sang” (Old Town 1026).
Randy & The Rainbows. 1963. “She’s My Angel” (Rust 5073).
Lewis Lymon & The Teenchords. 1957. “Please Tell the Angels” (Fury 1003).
The Dells. 1955. “She’s Just an Angel” (Vee-Jay-unreleased).
Crowdfunding is Not for Everybody: Performance in
the Art of Asking
Beatriz Medeiros, Natalia Dias

Federal Fluminense University, Post Graduation of Communication, Niteroi, Rio de
Janeiro, Brazil, biamedeiros44@gmail.com
This paper has as main goal to understand the importance of performance inside a
process of crowdfunding, from the video produced by the independent musician
Amanda Palmer, for the platform Kickstarter, to promote the project for launching
her album, Theater is Evil. One of Kickstarter's main requirements are audiovisual
productions that assist in the dissemination of artists and their projects. Such vid-
eos seem to be the leading engagement products to attract "backers". However, the
hypothesis is that this is not the ultimate persuasion of this model. Resorting to
Reception Studies as methodological basis and using internet ethnographic as in-
spiration, comments relating the video of Palmer’s project, present at the Youtube
and Kickstarter platforms, were analyzed. Thus, it was possible to observe that not
only the audiovisual performance is important to move "backers", but also there's
a need of previous knowledge of the artist by these financiers.
Keywords: crowdfunding; performance, video, music, Amanda Palmer
Introduction
This paper will analyze the comments made by fans and supporters of the per-
former and musician Amanda Palmer at the platform Kickstarter and at the site
Youtube. Both places contain Palmer's video where she asks money for the backup
of her crowdfunding project, the album Theatre is Evil. We aim to understand if
there's importance at the audiovisual production for the promotion of Kickstarter's
projects or if Amanda's prior engagement with the public is enough to guarantee
the quantity she asked.
Our trouble starts with the knowledge we acquire by studying Amanda
Palmer, her project and the Kickstarter. First, the artist wrote on her book, The Art
of Asking (2015), "my backers (...) had been following my personal story for
years" (Palmer, 2015: 13). We also discovered on her profile page at Kickstarter
that the artist had two other creations before the Teatre is Evil (one EP and one
event she promoted with her husband, writer Neil Gaiman). Second, the Kick-
starter itself made us think of the importance of as audiovisual production to ex-
plain a project. The platform states that they "strongly encourage but not require"

86 Beatriz Medeiros, Natalia Dias
the making of a video. It also says that "More than 80% of projects have videos,
and those that don't have a much lower success rate"10. Because of these reasons,
we ask if a well made video can solely make a crowdfunding succeed.
We believe that, as Amanda wrote on her book, previous knowledge from the
audience is important for a musician to launch a project. To corroborate or refute
this hypothesis, we'll be analyzing comments at Youtube and at Kickstarter, look-
ing for people that a) said they'll be donating because of the video; b) said they'll
be donating because they 'love', 'adore', or have positive affection for Amanda
Palmer; and c) talk solely about the video.
This article is an initial study around Amanda Palmer and her online perfor-
mance, as well as study around the crowdfunding process. We aim, in the future,
to understand how the online performance and the crowdfunding can benefit each
other.
Queen of "Use What You Can"11
Amanda Palmer is an American musician and had her first contact with the artistic
scene when she made The Eight Feet Bride, a living statue. She would perform at
Harvard Square, in Boston, when not working at a nearby ice cream shop (Palmer,
2015). Later, Palmer joined drummer Brian Viglione to form the band The Dres-
den Dolls. Entitled themselves as punk cabaret (a gender with small market, and
even smaller fame outside de Boston scene), Brian and Amanda made loud rock
music, with political discourse and very dramatic live performances (Piik, 2011).
As a way of promoting concerts, music and low budget videos, Palmer and
Viglione started to see the internet as a useful gadget. Palmer, after every Dresden
Dolls' gig, would get the emails from the people on the audience that liked the
band and signed them at an email list, with the purpose of advertise all the infor-
mation about the band and also facilitate contact between the two musicians and
the public. After some time, when the email list got too extensive, Amanda created
a forum to supply de demands of communication and interaction, The Shadow
Box12.
The online activity of Amanda Palmer became a constant and, when The
Dresden Dolls dissolved, she continued her daily online updates13 to promote her
solo work as well as concerts and public appearances.
10 See the advice on the instructions given by the platform at:

https://www.kickstarter.com/learn?ref=home_start, last access: 10/12/2016.
11 Term taken from Palmer's book (2015, 94).
12 The forum is still active through the link: http://www.theshadowbox.net/forum/index.php, ac-
ceded in: 10/12/2016.
13 Mostly on her blog, http://blog.amandapalmer.net/, acceded in: 10/12/2016.
Crowdfunding is Not for Everybody: Performance in the Art of Asking 87
Therefore, we could affirm that Palmer goes beyond her musician self; she is
a performer and an active blogger, using many social media and networks14 to post
not only about her career, but also about her personal life, giving the fans a sense
of proximity and familiarity. Amanda Palmer shows herself as an artist that does
not have fear of the exchange with the public; on the contrary, she sees these con-
tacts as an inspiration and assurance of her career as an artist.
The link she creates with her followers goes beyond Twitter, she asks for help
of her followers to create lyrics, or for places to spend the nights when touring.
She writes, "Explaining how I use Twitter to those who’ve never used it is diffi-
cult. It’s a blurry Möbius strip of love, help, information, and social-art-life ex-
change." (Palmer, 2015: 134). Palmer, most and foremost, knows how to ask.
What's Crowdfunding
Crowdfunding is a form of collective fundraiser in favor of a project with a short-
medium time duration. It is a virtual phenomenon, since it uses digital platforms
to connect the creator of the project with the funders (Gerber; Hui; Kuo, 2012). As
the name itself gives a clue, crowdfunding came from the concept of "crowdsourc-
ing" which is according to the dictionary Merriam-Webster,
The practice of obtaining needed services, ideas, or content by soliciting con-
tributions from a large group of people and especially from the online community
rather than from traditional employees or suppliers (Merriam-Webster, 2006)
The crowdfunding will focus on the idea of "funders" backing up projects
with money and receiving in return some sort of recompense. The money-raising
format will start with previously set values that will correspond to the "recom-
penses" the backers wishes to receive. Usually, the values start from lower, to
higher, in a crescent/most valuable gradation. This means that there can be many
people financing small quantities and making a production happen.
Crowdfunding happens from the consolidation of the collaborative internet, hav-
ing online social interaction as the main space for exchanges. These spaces are
formed by actors (Recuero, 2011) with common interests, affective connections
and struggle for symbolic power (Bourdieu, 2009). Its organizational format lights
up for a new aspect – as in seen the usage of these interactions beyond the symbolic
exchange –, the insertion of the currency within the social connections. It is im-
portant to highlight that the money presence does not eliminates the symbolic ex-
changes (Recuero, 2011; Bordieu, 2009), but it seems to complement them bring-
ing new visions to the connections made through the crowdfunding process.
14 Palmer makes full use of Facebook <https://www.facebook.com/amandapalmer>, Twitter

<https://twitter.com/amandapalmer>, Tumblr <http://amandapalmer.tumblr.com/> and Insta-
gram <https://www.instagram.com/amandapalmer/>, acceded in: 10/12/2016.
The methodology for the usage of fundraising is very similar in different plat-
forms; Kickstarter is one of the many, except being one of the pioneers and is more
consolidated than other crowdfunding platforms15. Its arrival on the internet was
in 2009 and, since then, more than 12 million people funded some project, getting
to 2.8 million dollars with more than 116 thousand projects succeeding.
Kickstarter project itself to the world does not limit itself on only United
States territory. Technically every person that desires to subscribe its project or
fund someone else's can do it. That is if this person gets to understand one of the
four languages provided by the site – English, Spanish, French and German. The
interactions and funding, therefore, are not limited by a physical territory, as we
could observe with the case this paper discuss. The connection established be-
tween funder, platform and other agents involved with the project promotion, need
to be in sync not only with the language spoken, but also with the form of payment,
as much as the currency chosen. It is only convenient that Kickstarter accept not
only credit cards payments, but also uses the PayPal system, that converts currency
automatically16.
Amanda and the Kickstarter
Knowing that fundraising platforms, and especially Kickstarter, have characteris-
tics to facilitate participation all over the globe, we saw Amanda Palmer's Theatre
is Evil project as a representation of this kind of globalization. As we can see on
the Figure 1, the leading funders of the musician's project are United States – her
motherland –, United Kingdom, Australia, Canada and Germany.
15 Nowadays, we can count with plenty of platforms. The Forbes online magazine made a list with
the top 10 crowdfunding sites, the first one is Kickstater.com, being followed by Indiegogo and
Crowdfunder.com. See list at: <http://www.forbes.com/sites/chancebarnett/2013/05/08/top-10-
crowdfunding-sites-for-fundraising/>, acceded in: 11/12/2016.
16 As it is explained on the PayPal website, < https://www.paypal.com/uy/webapps/mpp/about>.
Figure 1. Table of the leading countries backing the project17

At the project's period, Palmer's work were largely known at these five countries,
where the artist had already made concerts and that – with the exception of Ger-
many – has English18 as first language.
Amanda Palmer requested 100 thousand dollars to press and release her al-
ready produced, album; Theatre is Evil, a creation featuring the band The Grand
Theft Orchestra (Palmer, 2015). One week after Amanda posted the project at
Kickstarter, she already had hit the target of the requested amount. By the end of
the campaign, she had made more than ten times the expected, reaching 1.192.793
dollars, from more or less 24 thousand backers19.
17 Information taken from https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/amandapalmer/amanda-palmer-

the-new-record-art-book-and-tour/community, acceded in: 11/12/2016
18 It's interesting to notice that the 3th, Australia, and the 6th, New Zealand, countries at the Table
are from the same continent. Amanda Palmer is largely known at Oceania, she even made an
album after a tour she had over there that is entitled Amanda Palmer Goes Down Under (2011),
in which she feature two songs, Australia and New Zealand.
19 Information taken by the campaign page, https://www.kickstarter.com/pro-
jects/amandapalmer/amanda-palmer-the-new-record-art-book-and-tour/description, acceded in:
11/12/2016.
How to ask: the video and how it is worked

According to Knoblauch, Schnettler and Raab (2006), videos are an important part
of contemporary life. We use it to express ourselves through art, to record im-
portant moments, to communicate with each other. Maybe that is why a platform
like Kickstarter chose to stimulate this kind of gadget to obtain attention of back-
ers. For this reason, we believe it is important to go through the production of
Amanda Palmer.
The artist creates a "work of art"20 of her pledging video. The soundtrack of
the audiovisual production is made of music from the already recorded Theatre is
Evil, giving the fans and the backers a first contact with the material, that she asked
for help to promote. The request comes through lots of huge paper cards, hand
written by Amanda herself (Palmer, 2015), explaining why she needs public help
to launch her new production. This is an interesting choice, the person watching
the video does not listen to Amanda's voice but instead to the music she made and
asked people to buy. Even so, the viewer can also understand the message Palmer
wants to deliver, since she wrote it clearly and – as long as the person understands
English – is possible to read it. Therefore, for every effect, you read what she is
asking, while listening what you ought to buy.
Comments section – Analyzing fans words
Using the theories discussed above, we will analyze the comments to understand
the responses Amanda Palmer's video performance engendered. We also aim to
clarify if a video is essential to promote a crowdfunding project, or if prior en-
gagement with public is enough to get successful results. We understand, of
course, that one thing does not nullify the other; we believe a conjunction between
these two factors of promotion is fundamental. Therefore we will be analyzing
comments on the Kickstarter platform21 (with 1.361 comments), where Amanda
posted her campaign, and on Youtube platform22 (with 115 comments), where the
video from the campaign was posted.
To choose how many comments we would use, we made a cut of, more or
less, 10% in the total of each platform. Of these, we selected some comments to
illustrate the categories that emerge from the qualitative analysis. We will be ex-
posing comments of people that, through the internet discourse – if this can be a
20 We don't intent on judge what is art or not, this term is a mere force to state how Palmer sees her
works, even if only pledging for money.
21 It can be acceded through the link <https://www.kickstarter.com/projects
/amandapalmer/amanda-palmer-the-new-record-art-book-and-tour>.
22 The video can be seen through the link < https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TveAzAs6NAY>.
useful term – express their affections, or the choice of supporting an artist as

Amanda Palmer.
This methodology was preferred, because, in this way, we could look more
carefully through comments, applying the theories in discussion and, in the end,
listing these posts in categories. We analyzed 56 comments that can be divided as:
a) people that said will be donating because the video "convinced" them; b) people
that said will be donating because they have positive affection for Amanda Palmer;
and c) people that talk solely about the video. These categories are important, be-
cause they will configure this paper as a qualitative work, while we make a textual
analysis of the comments posted by the backers of Amanda. We intend doing a
cognitive process of "comprehending, synthesizing, theorizing, and recontextual-
izing" (Morse, 1994: 25, highlights by the author).
Categorization
Seeing this as a qualitative work, we will be doing a data analysis (Morse, 1994).
The comments – and the data analysis of them – generate three categories. Even
if we are not arriving at the qualitative results by interview, this method seemed
applicable, since we could arrive at the three categories listed above.
In category (a), we could see the importance of the video to publicize the
crowdfunding campaign more practically. The comments of this category belong
to people that clearly said they will be donating, because they were convinced by
the audiovisual production, as we can see exemplified on Figure 2.
Figure 2. Comment on category (a).

This category had 28, 6% of the total comments analyzed, as a response of appre-
ciation of the video performance. On the other hand, comments on the categories
(b) and (c) represented, respectively, 60, 7% and 10, 7% of the total.
Even holding only 10, 7% of the comments, the category "people that talk
solely about the video", every post seemed to react positively with the project,
supporting and encouraging its success. The video is praised a lot (Figure 3), and
those praises eventually are directed to Amanda Palmer's performance as a work
of art itself, not a merely art mediation (Figure 4).
Figure 3. Comment on category (c).

Figure 4. Comment on category (c) – 2.

The category (b) has, mainly, comments exulting Amanda Palmer and talking
about the influence of the artist in the life of their fans, as in Figure 5. We sense
some sort of gratification and the fan on the comment in question, seem to feel the
need in donating, because of the time she knows the artist, as well as the good
Palmer made in her life by inspiring and uplifting her when needed.
Figure 5. Comment on category (b).

We can discuss, then, how connected the fans of Amanda Palmer feel with the
artist. Palmer constructs this kind of connection – which we can observed in most
of the comments on category (b), as she states on her own book.
When I reflect on the last fifteen years of my life in music—all (...) variety of
eye-to-eye, soul-to-soul, hand-to-hand connection I’ve shared with the members
of my crowd—I see it as a net. (Palmer, 2015: 75)
She sees her fans as part of her connection "net". There's such a familiarity
between them that the fans feel oblige to go and "help" the person that create art
for them, and with them, and that was part of their personal daily life, even if they
don't personally know each other.
We can understand this as an exchange between Palmer and her fans, she
offers them music and a sense of proximity – creating the "net" – and they offer
her their support, financial and emotional.
Figure 6. Comment on category (b) – 2.

Some comments, as the Figure 6 also shows the knowledge of Palmer's fan base
on mentioning the musician birthday, wishing her well and congratulating her.
This gives a larger sense of the familiarity these people have with the artist. Some
of them even states that the contribution is a present for Amanda, as her birthday
gift, and it is also a present from the artist to the backer, as we can see on Figure
7.
Figure 7. Comment on category (b) – 3.

It's worth pointing out that this work doesn't concern with negative comments,
because we intend in only analyze the content created by the public that has a
dialogue with video performance and Amanda Palmer as a proponent of the
crowdfunding project. The comments on the listed categories that we choose didn't
show any hateful content, or negative critics' remarks.
At last, we didn't use Fans Studies, but we couldn't put aside the fact that the
comments at the Theatre is Evil project seem to be another space of mediation
between the artist and every person that has some sort of affection link with her.
That means that the project are more than just another crowdfunding, it is also a
place to expand dialogues, demonstration of affection and unite fan and artist on a
sense of common contribution.
Conclusions
The qualitative research we made appointed specific numbers for each of the three
categories we could place the comments on Kickstarter and Youtube. These num-
bers are very representative in a way that shows the important focus the audiovis-
ual production can have in a crowdfunding project, although it also tell us that the
video can't maintain the campaign by itself. The public that will be backing up the
crowdfunding project need to know who is the person they'll be supporting and
have some type of affection tie. Of the 56 comments analyzed, only 10, 7% related
solely to the video, while 60, 7% belonged to the affection group.
Simmel (2006) will point society as a group of individuals that join for com-
mon interests, no matter what those interests are. From Simmel's perspective on
society, we can affirm that Amanda Palmer already has her own "society" and,
maybe for that reason, we could watch her great success on the Theatre is Evil
campaign. Those fans – her "net" – admire her and her work, they form some sort
of society around and with Palmer. They support each other as well as their target
of affection.
We have to highlight that Palmer's figure goes beyond an artist figure or the
materialization of the production of art, she represents as art itself. Her perfor-
mance is directly toward the public, she intends to cause reaction, responses, like
performer artists from 1970's and 1980's. She tries to connect with her public
through her songs (Piik, 2011) and through the interaction she establishes online
(Palmer, 2015), creating a sense of familiarity and intimacy, as we could observe
in some of the comments.
Although apparently "true" and "authentic"23, we cannot forget that – like
everyone else and mainly public figures – Amanda Palmer performs. That doesn't
mean she's less "real" than other is, but it does mean that she'll only show what she
truly wants (Schechener, 2013), may it be her strength or fragility, as only a human
or as an artist.
To conclude, this paper had the intention of comb through the questions of
performance construction and its importance – specially, video performances – on
crowdfunding projects. This is an initial work, to entice discussion on the matter,
because the process of creation and mainly independent creation are very peculiar
and difficult to understand (at least to understand why they do or do not work). As
we could observe, the crowdfunding project proponent and the backer seem to
bring in this exchange other links, might they be affective or of interest. They
belong to the same society group, which means the financing goes beyond the
video production. The audiovisual shows itself as an important gadget and only
another form of communication between people that already have some sort of
connection. This link is the most important key to a successful crowdfunding cam-
paign.
References
Bibliography
Bourdieu, P. 2009. A Economia das Trocas Simbólicas. São Paulo: Perspectiva.
Gerber, E, Kuo, P., Hui, J. 2012. Crowdfunding: Why People are Motivated to Post and
Fund Projects on Crowdfunding Platforms. https://www.researchgate.net/publica-
tion/261359489. Accessed: 10 October 2016.
Knoblauch, H., Schnettler, B., Raab, J. 2006. Video-Analysis. Methodological Aspects of
Interpretive Audiovisual Analysis in Social Research. In: Knoblauch, H., Schnettler,
B., Raab, J. Ed. Video-analysis: Methodology and Methods. Qualitative Audiovisual
Data Analysis in Sociology. New York: Peter Lang.
Merriam-Webster, s.v., “crowdsourcing”. https://www.merriam-webster.com/diction-
ary/crowdsourcing. Accessed 16 December 2016.
Morse, J. M. 1994. “Emerging From the Data”: The Cognitive Processes of Analysis in
Qualitative Inquiry. In: Morse, J. M. Ed. Critical Issues in Qualitative Research Meth-
ods. Los Angeles: Sage.
23 We understand the term is complex and requires a long discussion around the individual, public
eye and so on. However, we won't be channeling this discussion right now. We chose the term
for lack of better options.
Palmer, A. 2015. The Art of Asking: or how I learned to stop worrying and let people help.
New York/Boston: Grand Central Publishing.
Piik, J. 2011. “If the slipper fits, you wear it, whore”: The Construction of Female Gender
in Amanda Palmer’s Lyrics (1995-2009). Pro-Gradu Thesis. University of Jyväskylän:
Department of English
Recuero, R. 2011. Redes Sociais na Internet. Porto Alegre: Editora Sulina.
Schechner, R. 2013. What is Performance? In: Schechner, R. Performance Studies: An In-
troduction. New York: Routledge
Simmel, G. 2006. Questões Fundamentais da Sociologia - indivíduo e sociedade. Rio de
Janeiro: Editora Zahar.
When I’m (Not) ‘Ere
Stan Erraught
Buckinghamshire New University, Dept of Media and Creative Industries, High Wycombe,
UK, stan.erraught@bucks.ac.uk
In Aesthetic Theory, Adorno repeatedly posits what might be called the place-
holder thesis; the notion that autonomous art keeps open a space for ‘a praxis be-
yond the spell of labour’ (AT 12) or functions as a ‘plenipotentiary of a liveable
world’ (AT 40). Popular music, of course, for Adorno, has no such function,
merely affirming the ever same of domination.
In this paper, I would like to suggest that
1) Certain places, both as locations and as names, have functioned as metonyms
for the utopian in popular music: the locations we go to, or go back to, New
Orleans, Kansas City, Cali etc. and
2) Despite Adorno’s strictures, we can use his notion of the ‘non-identical’ as ex-
emplified in the place-name to interrogate this power.
Keywords: Adorno, Utopia, Place-names
The Sabbath
To children returning from vacation, the home is new, fresh, festive. But nothing has
changed in it, since they left. Only because the duties were forgotten, of which every
piece of furniture, every window, every lamp is otherwise a reminder, does the Sab-
bath peace once more repose, and for minutes one is at home in the multiplication
table of rooms, chambers and corridors, as it will appear for the rest of one’s life only
in lies. Not otherwise will the world appear, nearly unchanged, in the steady light of
its day of celebration, when it no longer stands under the law of labour, and the duties
of those returning home are as light as vacation play. Minima Moralia #72
Adorno’s account of the jubilee, the day of the world’s redemption from the law
of labour, often recalls the bourgeois Sabbath, the day of rest utterly separate from
the everyday and yet where ‘nothing has changed’ except the law under which it
operates.
In the above fragment from Minima Moralia, the Sabbath, the day of return
from vacation is the one day when one is truly at home, the brief moments before
the claims of the world reassert themselves. Our access to this is conditional and
fleeting and this modality is echoed in many of Adorno’s characterisations of the

98 Stan Erraught
role of art in a world subject to the totalising effect of instrumental reason. Art can
never directly paint a picture of the world redeemed; all it can do is point, and that
somewhat indirectly, to the possibility of a state of exception.
Art is the plenipotentiary […] of a better praxis […] beyond the spell of labour (AT12)
Modern art [must inhabit] a no man’s land that is the plenipotentiary of a liveable
world (AT40)
And finally:
Artworks are plenipotentiaries of things that are no longer distorted by exchange,

profit, and the false needs of a degraded humanity (AT227)
The work of art cannot describe a utopia ‘beyond the spell of labour’; it can
(merely) present an image of what objects might look like under such a regime.
This indirection is essential as a truth condition. The representational capacity
of a ‘plenipotentiary’, an ambassador from another time and place is limited to
imperfect translation.
The passage we began with suggests that ‘home’ in a Sabbath light is the
image of redemption, but elsewhere in Minima Moralia, Adorno argues that
‘homelessness’ is the only available ethical position;
One can no longer dwell any longer (MM18)
Ethics today means not being at home in one’s house (Ibid)
‘Home’ has been subsumed into the system that produces a ‘degraded humanity’.
Degraded through equivalence and exchange, where one home is much like an-
other, where the familiar is replaced by the standard.
Nevertheless, embedded in proper names, and more especially, in place
names, is a power that, as it were, pierces through the veil of conceptual language
to things as they are in the light of redemption (Adorno is greatly indebted to Ben-
jamin here). A passage from Negative Dialectics illustrates this:
What is metaphysical experience? If we disdain projecting it upon allegedly primal

religious experiences, we are most likely to visualise it as Proust did, in the happiness,
for instance, that promised by village names like Applebachsvilles, Wind Gap, or
Lords Valley. One thinks that going there would bring fulfilment, as if there were such
a thing. Being really there makes the promise recede like a rainbow. (ND 373)
And yet it is not exactly an illusion – or rather, as appearance, it is both illusion

and the image of the true; the ‘true’ being, in this case, ‘absolute, indissoluble
When I’m (Not) ‘Ere 99
individuation’ that ‘fulfils the concept of the concept’ without betraying it to the
generic.
For Adorno then, both art and that in experience which points beyond the
‘damaged life’ are characterised by indirection, and by the combination, in a single
overdetermined word or object of the ‘existing and non-existing’
What he did not Say…
Adorno of course, hated popular music; instead of pointing to the ‘beyond’ as art
does, it affirms the ever same, the brute facticity of domination by the forces of
production. To attempt to read the promise that he finds in ‘autonomous’ art into
the products of the culture industry would, I suspect, appear to him as a symptom
of a world that has finally and irrevocably succumbed to barbarism.
I do not propose in this paper to mount a defence of popular music against
Adorno’s critique; I will assume that we accept either that some popular music is
of enduring interest, or that the very notion that cultural value and aesthetic auton-
omy are entirely predicated on occupying a narrow and shifting terrain on the
edges of ‘high’ culture is itself complicit with the domination they profess to prob-
lematise.
The place name as shorthand for various modalities of desire, loss, aspiration,
and deliverance is a well-established convention in popular music; possibly rooted
in the immigrant experience that was the shared background of both the producers
and the audience in the early days of mass popular song. The emotional punch of
a place name in Ireland or Italy or in the Southern USA for audiences torn from
these localities by economic forces was obviously an easy win for the songwriter
– to the point where even nostalgia for life ‘upon the old plantation’ could be prof-
itably turned to song.
Later though, place names began to perform a different function as the per-
sonal or ethnic reference point was replaced by a kind of collective desire for forms
of life represented by geographical particulars. So, ‘New Orleans’ became, for
those who never had, and never would, get anywhere near Basin Street, a short-
hand for, variously, authentic performance and lineage of jazz and jazz performers,
a sort of permanent bacchanal, a model of tolerant race relations and essentially a
projection of all that we desire music to be and to do. Likewise, and a little later,
California became the promised land, the place where the poor boy could be de-
livered via Pan Am, chewing a ‘T-bone steak a la carté’ from the constraints of
life in Norfolk, Virginia, and where, in the Beach Boys Mythos, there were ‘two
girls for every boy’.
Another function of the place name in pop songwriting was as an index of
resistant localism. This is the Trenchtown of Bob Marley, the Compton of NWA
– the place that underwrites the author as the authentic expression of a collective
100 Stan Erraught
identity, rooted in a site of conflict. It is a voice that says there are things you can
only know if you come from here, and things you are authorised to say because of
that.
Taking these three functions of the place name in song – the recall in absentia
of the place from which one has been torn, the name for a kind (or kinds) of im-
possible jouissance and the index of authentic authorial voice – can any or all of
this be supported as having the utopian potential represented by the artwork and
indexed to the proper name in Adorno?
As I said, I don’t propose to try and rescue pop from Adorno; however, a few
short correctives to the accepted view of his work within popular music studies
will be asserted. Firstly, Adorno does not posit popular music as the opposite of
‘classical’ – this is to misunderstand his dialectical method which itself represents
an inversion of the Hegelian dialectic, usually understood through its Marxian in-
version, but one which differs substantially from Adorno’s method. Lukacs was
the origin of the notion that the dialectic was a method by which we understand
history, and not, pace the ‘vulgar’ Marxist view, the essence of the historical pro-
cess itself. An epistemology and not a teleology. Furthermore, for Adorno, bor-
rowing heavily from Benjamin, redemption would come not through the ‘working
out’ of history, but through an eschatology, through the instantiation of the
Jetztzeit the now time’, the suspension of historical time and the arrival of an ec-
static eternal now. This time is not futural but eternal and thus embedded – ‘chips
of messianic time’ in Benjamin’s (1992:255) phrase – in every instant.
The famous line about popular culture and high culture being ‘torn halves of
an integral freedom to which however they do not add up’ (Adorno et al1977: 123)
can only be understood in this light; the dialectic is not one of opposites producing
a synthetic compromise, but one in which the concept is shown to be inadequate
to the real by the non-identical, a non-identical which cannot, by however be raised
to the category of a concept, since to do so is to betray it. This principle of indi-
viduation is what, for Adorno, distinguishes the authentic artwork; the popular
work, in this relation is not the opposite of the authentic work, but closer to a
replicant, a terrifyingly close simulacrum of the ‘real’ thing. And yet, for Adorno,
the ‘real’ work of art itself is constituted at least in part from a mimetic subjectiv-
ity.
Art, then is parasitic on life, and the culture industry is parasitic on both art
and life. However, that which saves the authentic artwork from redundancy is non-
identity, the extent to which it exceeds the form from which it springs. For Adorno,
this is what popular music fails to do – in place of the principle of individuation,
we have instead a ‘pseudo-individuality’ a series of tricks to fool the lazy and
unwary into thinking something approaching the subjective comportment that in-
dividuates high art is present. The artwork is not a subject, but it is an object in
When I’m (Not) ‘Ere 101
which the forms – the schemata – of subjectivity are replayed ‘objectively’. The
pop song, by contrast, simply reproduces the schemata of the culture industry,
mechanical and entirely predictable tropes that barely disguise the machines that
made them.
I wish to argue that this is not, as Adorno would appear to have it, a categor-
ical distinction, but one of degree, and one, furthermore, that has less and less
traction as ‘classical’ music begins, more and more, to import the techniques of
the culture industry. Finally, I will argue that the sublimity that Adorno identifies
as produced by the separation of the artwork from industry and utility can equally
be found in works that frankly admit such complicity.
The receding promise of fulfilment that Adorno discerns in the magical place
name, only to dissolve when one comes too close is, I argue, a feature of much
popular music lyricism and one that points, as surely as any of Adorno’s examples
to an outside of the time of production, reproduction and death.
Pure immediacy and fetishism are equally untrue (ND 374)
For Adorno, of course, the lure of the place name in popular song would be the
latter; a fetishized substitute for a no longer existing home. I would argue that
ability of pop songs to exceed the conditions of their existence rests in the degree
to which they can hold open exactly the same portal to the ‘now time’ that Adorno
sees as being the exclusive function of the modernist artwork.
References
Bibliography
Adorno, Theodor −
1997. Aesthetic Theory, trans. Hulot-Kentor, London and New York: Continuum (AT in
Text)
2005. Minima Moralia: Reflections on a Damaged Life, trans. Jephcott, London: Verso.
1973. Negative Dialectics, trans. Ashton, New York, Taylor & Francis. (ND in text)
Adorno et al. 1977. Aesthetics and Politics, trans./ed. Jameson and Taylor, London: Verso
Benjamin, Walter 1992. Illuminations, trans. Zohn, London: Fontana.
Binaurality, Stereophony, and Popular Music in the
1960s and 1970s
Franco Fabbri
Conservatorio “Arrigo Boito”, Parma, Italy, & Manchester Metropolitan University,
Department of Contemporary Arts, Crewe, UK, prof.fabbri@gmail.com
Stereophonic headphones were first marketed in the USA in 1958. Binaural listen-
ing (via headphones) became one of the favorite ways for fans to listen to rock
albums in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Stereophonic mixes, however, were not
meant for binaural listening. Sound engineers rarely used headphones, and gener-
ally refused to mix wearing headphones, explaining they couldn’t get a proper
balance if they didn’t listen to the studio monitors. Often they would listen to the
result of a mix with cheap shelf loudspeakers, or even car loudspeakers, claiming
that those would be the most common sound sources used by the audience;
strangely enough, headphones were not used for this purpose in the studio. While
the association and historical overlap of stereophonic mixes, advances in studio
technology and consumer audio, and the rise of psychedelia and progressive rock
have been commented (more in accounts on or by individual artists/bands/produc-
ers than in general terms) the issues of binaurality, of stereophony, and of their
relations with popular music has seldom been explored. The paper focuses on the
musicological aspects of binaurality and stereophony, both at poiesic and aesthesic
levels.
Keywords: Stereophony, Binaurality, Recording studios, Sound, Listening
Binaurality vs. Stereophony

Binaural listening is normal listening (or hearing), as we all have two ears, and
this feature of human (and other animals, especially mammals) auditory system is
responsible for our ability to locate sound sources in space: binaurality started be-
ing studied by anatomists and physiologists, and its early applications were in the
field of medicine. But in audio professionals’ jargon binaural listening acquired
(in the first half of the twentieth century) a meaning related to the exposure of both
auditory channels to two independent audio signals, isolated from one another
(Taylor 1980: 268-270), the paradigmatic example being that of stereophonic
headphones. “Stereophonic headphones”, as we shall see, is to some respect a mis-
nomer, as in the history of audio stereophonic listening was conceptualized differ-
ently from binaural listening: binaural listening is listening through headphones,

104 Franco Fabbri
stereophonic listening is listening from loudspeakers. A recent promo (publicizing

an audio plug-in) clearly shows the difference (Waves 2016).
Summing up, in physiological and psychoacoustic terms binaurality is the
anatomic and neuronal structure that allows for the stereophonic effect, in audio
engineering terms binaural sound and stereophonic sound are different concepts
and techniques.
However, in the early experiments for the development of stereophonic sound
in cinema, in the 1930s, headphones and binaural sound were considered first, as
the best technical solution to create (or re-create) the perception of direction of
sound sources: all previous research indicated that binaural sound was considered
more “realistic” by listeners. But many reasons prompted the cinema industry to-
wards another direction, that of multichannel loudspeaker sound, first imple-
mented in Walt Disney’s Fantasia (Samuel Armstrong et al. 1940): headphones
in cinemas would create practical problems (how to distribute, recover and clean
them), and would isolate viewers from one another, interfering into their social
relations. When magnetic soundtracks became available after the war, multichan-
nel loudspeaker stereo became a standard, as a complement for cinematic tech-
niques also aimed at an illusionary involvement of spectators, like Cinemascope
and Cinerama (Grajeda 2015).
When, in turn, stereophonic recordings became commercially available in the
second half of the 1950s, first on reel-to-reel tape, then on LPs, the meaning of
stereophonic sound as two-channel sound propagated in a room by two loud-
speaker sets was established firmly: the record industry and the audio equipment
industry advertised stereo as the ultimate step towards hi-fi “realism”, targeting
upper middle class families who could buy big stereo sets for their living rooms,
and enjoy music (or even sound effects) socially, within the family or with friends.
Stereophonic headphones were launched on the market by Koss as early as 1958,
but the rhetoric of stereo did not consider them: rather, a great educational effort
was made to make customers aware of the correct placement of loudspeakers, of
the way to locate the “sweet spot” for ideal stereophonic listening, and adjust the
living room’s design accordingly.
Between 1957 and the mid-1960s control rooms in recording studios were
adapted to stereo, at a faster pace in the United States than in Europe, and – on
both sides of the Atlantic – according to production needs: small and cheap studios
mainly used for pop bands remained fitted with a mono setup, with a single large
loudspeaker set placed right in front of the mixing desk (like in radio studios), at
least until the mid-1960s, while bigger studios used for orchestras were converted
to stereo much earlier. Among the reasons that drove such changes was a principle
of uniformity between the control room’s setup and the audience’s average listen-
ing conditions: pop singles were listened to mostly in teenagers’ sleeping rooms
Binaurality, Stereophony, and Popular Music in the 1960s and 1970s 105
or college dorms, on small mono Dansette gramophones (or similar devices), or

on mono transistor radios, in AM or mono FM, while classical music, or jazz, or
light music albums were played on expensive stereo hi-fi systems, usually located
in larger rooms. It is well known that George Martin opposed to mixing Beatles’
recordings to stereo until 1964, based on the assumption that Beatles fans wouldn’t
care about stereo, and that stereophonic records broadcast on mono radio could be
spoilt by phase cancellation problems; it is also well known that even Sgt. Pepper’s
was mixed in mono (with the Beatles attending the process), and only later in ste-
reo (without any band member attending). In the United States, popular music
records were mixed to stereo earlier in the decade, with instrumental rock albums
(like The Ventures’) among the pioneers.
The shift to stereo in the second half of the 1960s was the result of many
different converging forces: the availability of cheaper stereo systems targeted at
youth audiences, the growth of FM stereo stations, and the launch of car stereo
systems (1966); on the production side, improvements in multitrack technology
(from four tracks, to eight, to sixteen), and the availability of mixing desks with
an increased number of channels, and pan-pots on each channel. A positive feed-
back was initiated between the growing complexity of recordings and develop-
ments of audio technology that allowed, but were also prompted by, such com-
plexity.
Headphones
Headphones came on stage on popular music’s mass market exactly at the same
time. In 1966 the Koss Corporation launched the Beatles Tribute Stereophone; in
his short cameo appearance in All You Need Is Cash (Idle and Weis 1978) Paul
Simon says that “of course the main thing that comes to my mind [about] the Sgt.
Rutter’s album [Sgt. Pepper’s] is getting stoned and listen through earphones, par-
ticularly to the chord that lasted forever...”. If I may add a personal memory, I
didn’t own headphones in 1967, but I had a small stereo record player with remov-
able loudspeakers, and I used to listen to Sgt. Pepper’s (Parlophone 1967) and
other albums holding the loudspeakers next to my ears; after a while my parents
bought me a pair of headphones.
Apart from my own memories and, luckily, Paul Simon’s, I don’t have much
evidence that many people used to listen through headphones in the late 1960s and
in the 1970s (before the advent of the Walkman, which was headphone-based, in
1979), except from sales reports – not actual sales figures, but statements about
the growth of companies like Koss in those years. Of course, most people from
my generation remember listening through headphones, or sitting down in a room
with their peers, in front of a Japanese stereo set, but there are almost no photo-
graphs about such listening habits: very few photographers would consider the
106 Franco Fabbri
subject worth a single shot. We have photos of famous musicians with headphones
(while recording), or portrayed while listening in the control room (without head-
phones), but few music fans, or groups of music fans, were committed to history
in the act of listening to a record. Simon Frith once suggested to me to consider
ads for hi-fi equipment, but even in that category it seems that there were other
priorities: equipment, first. Anyway, let me maintain – albeit in the absence of any
empirical evidence – that music fans in the late 1960s and 1970s listened through
headphones.
If it is so, then, we come to the main point of my argument, because listening
through headphones is binaural, not stereo (in the specific meaning accepted in
audio engineering). One of the immediate implications of this fact is that such
listening practice creates an exception to the above-mentioned principle of uni-
formity between the control room’s setup and the audience’s average listening
conditions, because studio engineers and producers generally didn’t use head-
phones (and still don’t use them, with few specific exceptions). Again, my evi-
dence is personal memory, having been a recording musician and producer from
1966 to the early 1980s, and having stepped into control rooms now and then, until
very recently. I could also claim that even on professional magazines from those
years very few photographs can be found showing anybody in a control room
wearing headphones (in my collection of dozens of such magazines – especially
Studio Sound – I was able to find just one, in a Sony ad, where the engineer actually
wears headphones, but across his neck), although musicians singing or playing in
the recording room always wear them. Why?
Engineers I worked with wore headphones, briefly, only to check levels in
the monitoring circuit, to test if musicians in the studio could listen to one another:
this was before small individual mixers were made available to musicians in order
to create their own mix. Otherwise, engineers (those I worked with, of course)
didn’t want to wear headphones, as they were worried about listening fatigue and
possible hearing loss. Mixes were made listening from the main monitors, and
checked with the aid of near field monitors (smaller high quality loudspeaker sets,
placed on the mixing desk’s frame, whose sound is more direct and relatively in-
dependent from the control room’s acoustic response), and smaller car stereo loud-
speakers (used as a reference for the lowest end in consumer equipment). The fact
that most listeners would use headphones never was an issue for the engineers I
worked with, as well as the fact that many listeners would listen in their car, yes,
but with loudspeakers placed in very funny positions, not just in front of them.
Usually, after a mixing session was over, I asked for a copy of the tape, went home
with it, and listened to the mix with my headphones. I suspect that many other
musicians and producers would do the same.
Which are the reasons for favoring binaural listening? Some are of practical
or economic nature. Very few people can afford an audio system comparable to
those available in professional control rooms, not to mention the fact that control
rooms are acoustically designed for the purpose, while even very expensive hi-fi
or esoteric equipment is often installed in normal living rooms: therefore, the au-
dible result will rarely be comparable to that of the original master in the studio.
Even if a listener owns a good hi-fi stereo system, placed correctly in a room which
isn’t too resonating or too dampened (by curtains, carpets, furniture, etc.), she may
not be able to use that system at full power, depending on the time of the day, the
presence of neighbors, or other people in the family: binaural listening, on the
other hand, is not intrusive. But why listen loud? Not only because big orchestras
or jazz or rock bands are loud: before the CD was introduced, commercial records
and cassettes had a lower dynamic range compared to that of the studio masters,
and the resulting reduced perceived loudness could be overcome by “tricks”, like
pumping up the volume (or using the “loudness” control even at high volume):
again, headphones allowed to listen at high volume at any time. To many respects,
these reasons aren’t just practical. But some others are more clearly of an aesthetic
nature.
An obvious difference that can be easily detected comparing stereo and bin-
aural sound (from the same recording) is that the perceived, imaginary geometry
of the acoustic space is changed. The stereophonic “space” is a consequence of the
long-established aim of high-fidelity advocates to present recorded sound as if the
“real” source was listened to; the “sweet spot” corresponds to the best seat in a
concert hall (or a night club, or any other venue relevant to the genre). Therefore,
stereophonic sound is frontal: left and right are actually front-left and front-right,
although a portion of the perceived sound is derived from reflections on side walls,
on the wall behind the listener, and on the floor and the ceiling. On the other hand,
while listening binaurally to a “true” binaural recording (a two-channel recording
made with microphone capsules placed in the same spatial configuration as human
ears) offers a great degree of spatial illusion, listening binaurally to a stereophonic
mix changes the perceived space from frontal to bi-lateral, and fully immersive. It
could be said that the listener is not in the “best seat” anymore: she is moved
straight to the centre of the stage, or even a bit beyond it. With recordings of the
symphonic repertoire from the late eighteenth century onwards, it means to be
placed almost exactly on the conductor’s podium (with exceptions for piano con-
certos, as I will argue); with chamber music from the same period, it is like being
in the centre of the semicircle or arc where instrumentalists are seated (the same
point where in many cases a pair of microphones are placed, in a Y-shaped con-
figuration), but with other repertoires or genres there is no conventional spatial
arrangement for musicians, or, if there is one (like for opera) individual producers
108 Franco Fabbri
have different approaches to the issue of “staging”. Let me comment on piano

concertos and opera first, as a useful premise before moving to popular music and
progressive rock. For a concert goer, the piano is located somewhere on the left of
the conductor, or in front of him, near the centre of the stage. But it is seldom heard
in recordings just as a single, albeit wide and powerful, source near the centre, as
it is in reality. Some producers or engineers like to record the piano in a concert as
they would do for a solo recording, as if the listener was placed just behind the
pianist: sounds in the high register are placed right, sounds in the medium register
are placed in the centre, sounds in the low register are placed left. When both the
piano and the orchestra are playing, if the listener is behind the pianist, she should
have violins on her back, cellos and double basses in front, and altos, woodwinds,
percussion and brass somewhere on the left: nothing (except from the piano’s high
pitches) should come from the right. But some stereophonic mixes create a space
that does not actually exist, where the listener is behind the pianist, but the piano
is facing the orchestra: an impossible position in a real concert, as the pianist and
the conductor could not look at one another. With opera, the problem can be sum-
marized with just a single question: where is the orchestral pit? I do not think that
a full description of the average spatial arrangement in an opera house be needed
to make clear that the widespread rhetoric of “realism” in classical music and opera
recordings, in comparison with popular music recordings, is not to be taken at face
value: sound engineers and producers of classical recordings have been creating
“unreal” spaces, or at least “enhanced spatial reality” since the beginning of stereo,
and well in advance with respect to psychedelia.
Binaurality and Popular Music
But let me go back to the spatial shift implied in binaural listening. With pop and
rock recordings that shift means being located in the centre of the imaginary space
created by a stereophonic mix: in the most usual arrangement of that space emerg-
ing in the mid-1960s (see Moore 2012: 29-44), the centre is somewhere near the
drum kit and the lead singer, with other instruments placed to the left and right
(extreme left and extreme right in early stereo – due to the lack of enough channels
on the mixer).
The resulting feeling of immersion into the band’s sounding space is gradu-
ally (should I say “progressively”?) enhanced by innovations in the placing of im-
aginary sound sources, made possible by the availability of more tracks, more
channels, and by pan-pots. “The Best Way to Travel”, on the Moody Blues album
In Search of the Lost Chord, released in July 1968 (Deram 1968) is a showpiece
for the (then) recently installed mixing desk at Decca Studios, with pan-pots on
each channel. When listened to from a pair of loudspeaker sets, sounds move back
and forth from left to right, and some (faster and shorter) even seem to travel
around the room. With headphones, movements are clearer and deeper: when
sounds go from left to right or vice-versa they seem to travel within the head, and
rapidly circling sounds move all around it. An astounding experience, maybe too
easily conceived, but also easy to surrender to (most likely, if one follows Paul
Simon’s prescriptions for listening to Sgt. Rutter’s).
In the same months, early attempts to mix the drum kit in stereo were accom-
plished and released in rock albums, like in Cream’s Wheels of Fire (Polydor
1968); stereo drum kits could be found in jazz records since the early 1960s, but
were a novelty in pop and rock in the late 1960s. Probably one of the first albums
(or maybe actually the first) where the drum kit is mixed in stereo throughout is
Chicago Transit Authority’s eponymous album (Columbia 1969): it is quite an
unrealistic staging in stereo (the drum kit plus other percussions extending over
the same space as the whole band, exactly in the same way as pianos with sym-
phony orchestras), but listening binaurally one finds herself right on the drum-
mer’s stool: an ideal position for feeling inside the music, and for air drumming.
While examples like the above (Moody Blues and Chicago) seem to point in
the direction of an emotional involvement of the listener, in a “special effects”
fashion similar to early stereo or Cinerama (or to more recent cinematic surround
sound), other examples – also by the same musicians and producers – suggest an
intent to use stereophonic and binaural staging as a way to master and clarify the
music’s growing complexity. To this respect, listening through headphones allows
an intensified focusing on compositional features, especially polyphonic devices:
good examples are offered by Frank Zappa’s “Dwarf Nebula Processional March”,
from The Mothers’ Weasels Ripped My Flesh (Bizarre 1970), and by Gentle Gi-
ant’s quodlibet in “The House, the Street, the Room”, from Acquiring the Taste
(Vertigo 1971): in the liner notes, band members claimed that it was their goal “to
expand the frontiers of contemporary popular music at the risk of being very un-
popular”. What prevented them, and others, from becoming unpopular – at least
for a while – was probably the way their music was listened to.
Conclusions
With few exceptions – like Pink Floyd’s “Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast” from
Atom Heart Mother (Harvest 1970), a “true” binaural recording – binaural listen-
ing to stereo recordings is to some respect an unwanted accident. It became a mass
phenomenon after the launch of the Walkman, in 1979, and it is still extremely
widespread, even in an age when the presence of two ear buds connected to a
smartphone or an iPod is interpreted by teenagers as a convenient way to share
music. Nonetheless, the usage of headphones or ear buds is usually commented on
only for practical or ethical reasons (moral panic being behind the corner, like
when a Russian ballerina from La Scala was hit by a tramway in Milan some time
110 Franco Fabbri
ago, as she – “lost” in her ear buds – couldn’t hear the car approaching). For an
excellent summary on such perspectives, see Everrett 2014. Rather curiously,
other scholars approaching headphone listening also from an aesthetic point of
view, failed to address stereophony/binaurality at all.
I hope I have shown – briefly – the aesthetic and musical implications of
binaural listening, and suggested convincingly that the new intense and compli-
cated popular music emerging at the end of the 1960s and early 1970s could ben-
efit greatly of the magnifying lens, of the emotional and experiential intensifier,
provided by binaural listening.
References
Bibliography
Everrett, T. 2014. Ears Wide Shut: Headphones and Moral Design, PhD Thesis, Carleton
University, Ottawa, Ontario.
Grajeda, T. 2015. The “Sweet Spot”. The Technology of Stereo and the Field of Auditor-
ship. In P. Theberge, K. Devine and T. Everrett Eds. Living Stereo. Histories and Cul-
tures of Multichannel Sound. New York and London: Bloomsbury: 37-63.
Moore, A.F. 2012. Song Means: Analysing and Interpreting Recorded Popular Song. Farn-
ham: Ashgate.
Taylor, D. 1980. Speech and Drama. In J. Borwick Ed. Sound Recording Practice. A Hand-
book compiled by the Association of Professional Recording Studios. Oxford: Oxford
University Press: 252-270.
Discography
Chicago Transit Authority. 1969. Chicago Transit Authority. Columbia, 28 April, USA.
The Beatles. 1967. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Parlophone, 1 June, UK.
Cream. 1968. Wheels of Fire. Polydor, August, UK.
Gentle Giant. 1971. “The House, the Street, the Room”, Acquiring the Taste, Vertigo, 16
July, UK.
Moody Blues. 1968. “The Best Way to Travel”, In Search of the Lost Chord, Deram, 26
July, UK.
Pink Floyd. 1970. “Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast”, Atom Heart Mother, Harvest, 2 October,
UK
The Mothers of Invention. 1970. “Dwarf Nebula Processional March”, Weasels Ripped My
Flesh. Bizarre, 10 August, USA.
Videography
All You Need Is Cash. 1978. Dir. Eric Idle and Gary Weis, Broadway Video.
Fantasia. 1940. Dir. Samuel Armstrong et al., Walt Disney.
Waves. 2016. Mixing on Headphones with Nx Virtual Mix Room.
http://www.waves.com/plugins/nx#mixing-on-headphones-with-nx-virtual-mix-room
Accessed: 27 November 2016.
Adele’s Hello: Harmonic Ambiguity & Modal Inflec-
tion in Contemporary Pop
Grant Davidson Ford

British & Irish Modern Music Institute, Music Production & Theory, Dublin, Ireland,
grantford@bimm.ie, grantford@me.com
Composed by Adele Adkins and Greg Kurstin, Hello displays a highly developed
semiotic aesthetic, through which nuanced emotional messages are passed. This
emotional subtext is sophisticated and signifies a departure from earlier conven-
tions by the continued abstraction of its cultural references. Not only is the lan-
guage of contemporary pop straying from earlier forms, it is establishing new lex-
icons of emotional signification, which draw on aural references interior to the
genre to transmit and qualify emotional meaning. Attributes of this new language
include:
1. The diminishing role of the V chord and conventional V-I cadence
2. The weakening presence of Major Diatonic Tonality or Ionian mode
3. The increased importance of tonic and subdominant relationships
4. The increased use of modal inflection and secondary harmonic colour
In this paper, I will explore ways in which the harmonic and melodic language of
Hello creates an emotive subtext, imbuing the vocal narrative with heightened
feeling, enhancing the sense of intimacy between artist and listener and ultimately
acting as a filter through which the educated listener interprets the song and gauges
its authenticity. In the process, I will attempt to rationalize these semiotic aspects
of the music in relationship to global pop’s evolving aesthetic.
Keywords: Modal Inflection, Harmony of Secondary Colour
The convergence of lyrical, melodic and harmonic elements

The production of Hello is very stripped down. It doesn’t contain any of the sonic
fireworks one might associate with innovative pop. Rather, it is built on the rela-
tionship between the vocal melody and a cyclical chord progression played in the
lower register of the keyboard. In the absence of other defining timbral or rhythmic
devices, this relationship becomes the defining characteristic of the song and the
subtle emotive nuances created between these elements colour the entire listening
experience. In fact, the straightforwardness of the production lends the song an un-
gilded authenticity, which serves to reinforce our belief in the sincerity of its lyri-
cal narrative.

112 Grant Davidson Ford
The harmonic vocabulary of Hello is built on the relationship between four

chords: Fm, Ab, Eb and Db. These are looped to create regions of fixed harmonic
activity. Although these regions may be described as harmonically static, they are
rarely explicit and often hover between potential tonal centers. Much of the song’s
musical interest is generated through alterations to the sequence of these chords.
By changing their metric placement in the loop, the composers change the result-
ing progression’s harmonic character by a means of implied modal inflection. The
balanced periodicity and continuous recycling of the chords combine with changes
in the modal implications of the vocal melody to create a rich harmonic ambiguity,
or harmony of secondary colours.
The verses of Hello unfold over the first of three repeated four-chord progres-
sions: Fm - Ab - Eb - Db. The music is modal in character and exists within the
context of F Aeolian as: i - bIII - bVII - bVI. (Middleton 1990) The progression
lacks a prominent cadential gesture. In fact, the addition of the D b chord in the
second half of the last bar actually serves to weaken our sense of finality by intro-
ducing a second 3rd relation between the end of the sequence and its restatement.
Adele’s melody further encourages a sense of harmonic ambiguity by remaining
within he confines of F Minor Pentatonic. The level of harmonic ambiguity en-
joyed here is, ‘only possible within a repetitive framework.’ (Moore 1992: 77)
The continued reiteration of the progression creates the stability upon which
the internal dynamic of the chord changes plays out. Incidental colour-tones oc-
curring in the melody are used in symmetry with the lyrics for expressive power.
Adele’s vocal is sincere and confessional. The first line of the song, ‘Hello, it’s
me’ is sung in her low register over four notes, (bb - c - ab - bb) each syllable of the
phrase taking one note. This occurs over the entire two bar progression, allowing
time for the words to resonate with the listener. An affective poetic dislocation
takes place between lyrical motif and harmony. The word, ‘Hello’, sung in antici-
pation to the downbeat of Fm, rises from bb to c. It is cautious and questioning. The
words ‘it’s me’ then rise from ab to bb. This return to bb reinforces the statement,
lending it credence. Initially, this is confirmed in the harmony with the Eb chord,
but as Eb descends to Db, the bb of the melody hovers in the silence to imply a
major 6th over Db, imbuing the statement with an air of vulnerability. The lyric,
‘its me’ suddenly assumes the quality of one who is apart or alone. This coales-
cence between lyric, melody and harmony is likely an unconscious event. But it
exposes the deep level of sensitivity that exists between the artist and her material.
I would venture to propose that this is an attribute her listeners place a high value
on.
Adele’s Hello: Harmonic Ambiguity & Modal Inflection 113
Harmonic ambiguity and modes of secondary colour

The importance of Db as a structural harmonic element becomes evident in the lift
to the chorus. At the lift, the progression is altered to become: Fm - Eb - C - Db.
This may be understood as a rewrite of the verse progression. (Steedman 1984)
Adele’s melody rises to an eb over the C and then descends, db - c - bb - ab over the
Db. The introduction of db into the vocal coincides with a subtle shift in modal
colour towards Ab Ionian mode. This is more evident in the second statement of
the progression, when the C chord is omitted and we land on Db for the entire
second bar: Fm - Eb - Db - Db. There is a strong sense of suspension, and this break
in the established harmonic rhythm certainly implies a cadence. In the Classical
idiom, Db might descend to Fm/C, forming a i6/4 chord and then descend again to
C Major, the V chord, before resolving resolve to Fm. But of course this never
happens and the Db resolves directly to Fm. Any forward motion through the Dom-
inant is by-passed entirely. Instead, Db can be understood as moment of secondary
harmonic colour, an allusion to the Ionian mode, which is not yet fully realized.
This interpretation is supported by the vocal melody, which descends in a stepwise
motion to the tonic of Ab, (c - bb - ab) reinforcing the feeling of a temporary cadence
to the IV chord of Ab Ionian. Db represents a temporary subdominant of Ab Ionian,
which then resolves in a deceptive cadence to the VI chord Fm.
There is certainly precedence for this kind of harmonic ambiguity in earlier
popular music. Perhaps the most iconic is, A Day in the Life by the Beatles. A
similar set of conditions occurs in the verse sections of this song, where there is a
pervading ambiguity of harmonic center between Ionian and Aeolian modes. This
is caused by divergences in modal suggestion between the melodic contour of the
vocal, which implies E Aeolian, and the harmonic progression, which implies G
Ionian. (Pollack) This song is also characterized by a marked absence of dominant
harmony.
The ambiguity between modal centers increases in the chorus of Hello, where
friction between melody and harmony leads to a blurring of the harmonic center.
With the arrival of the chorus, the harmonic rhythm returns to a cyclical progres-
sion. This employs the exact same chords as the verse, but their sequence is altered
slightly: Fm - Db - Ab - Eb and can be understood within the context of Ab Ionian
as a: vi - IV - I - V progression. This progression carries allot more forward mo-
mentum, but once again there is no real point of repose and the tempo of harmonic
change means that the melody can be filtered through multiple modal perspectives.
The vocal melody of the chorus is organised into two sections. The first half
remains firmly in F Minor Pentatonic, as Adele climbs from f to bb in classic blues
pentatonic style with the words, ‘Hello from the outside’. Once again, there is a
beautiful semiotic symmetry between harmony, melody and lyric, as the word
‘outside’ is sung on a bb over the Db chord, a major 6th extension, lying just ‘out-
side’ the pervading harmony. The vocal line makes full use of Adele’s powerful
contralto and there is a hint of vexation in her voice. The second half of the chorus
is much more conciliatory, however, as she softens her tone, leaping across the
bridge of her voice between a high eb, ab and c, before climbing down from the ab
in stepwise motion a low eb. The first appearance of g in the vocal melody signals
a further shift in modal inflection. There is a strong poetic alignment between lyric,
vocal timbre and modal colour. As the melody transitions towards Ab Ionian, the
lyric attempts to reconcile, ‘To tell you I’m sorry for breaking your heart.’ This is
the first real appearance of a major tonality, but even here it is incomplete. As the
vocal descends from ab to eb, melody and harmony converge momentarily in a half
cadence on Eb, the V chord of Ab. A full resolution to the tonic Ab is subverted via
a deceptive cadence at the return of Fm. The lean towards major in the second half
of the chorus is illusory. The leading tone, g, plays a functional role in the har-
mony, but in the vocal it appears merely as a passing tone on the way to the tonic
of Eb, and as we return to the verse, the presence of Ionian sinks once more into F
Aeolian, as Adele climbs back down the F Minor Pentatonic scale. The presence
of Ionian is unmistakable, however; it acts upon the ear like a secondary harmonic
colour, influencing our interpretation of the lyric by subtly altering the emotional
subtext of song in a very sophisticated manner.
Subdominant sequences & Mixolydian modal inflection
Understood within the context of Ab Ionian, the harmonic progression of the cho-
rus may be described as: vi - IV - I - V. It is a very common pop cliché, and known
in certain Internet circles as the ‘Sensitive Female Chord Progression’. (Manzo
2016) This progression is, in turn, very closely related to the: I - V - vi - IV pro-
gression, a darling of contemporary pop, made most famous perhaps in the song
With or Without You by U2.
There can be no doubt of the potential for a song as culturally significant as
With or Without You to unconsciously colour the listener’s experience of music
built on the same basic harmonic foundations. Only the reaction of the listener is
unpredictable. An inspired retelling of the progression could evoke similar depths
of sentiment as those associated with U2’s iconic hit, just as a superficial realiza-
tion could easily provoke cynicism in an educated listener. In fact, Hello’s greatest
accomplishment may lie in creating a meaningful musical passage from a progres-
sion that is so successful it has already become a pop cliché. It manages this by
transitioning into and out of the progression through its relative minor. This
changes the complexion of the music, lending it renewed vitality, while still trad-
ing on the listener’s strong unconscious associations with its iconic predecessor.
Two principal features distinguish all of these progressions. They subvert the
conventional Dominant to Tonic resolution through a deceptive cadence and they
utilize a chain of subdominant relations as their primary harmonic driver. I would
argue that both of these features serve to weaken the presence of the Ionian mode:
the first through a metric displacement of the Tonic and the second through modal
inflection. Combined with Adele’s dramatic shift in vocal register, it is the har-
monic movement in the chorus of Hello that infuses her blues tinged vocal with
real power and momentum. This motion in fourths is very much a feature of mod-
ern rock, as inherited from bands like The Rolling Stones and The Who. But it has
recently become the defacto power progression in contemporary pop and it is de-
rived from the Mixolydian mode.
Sympathy for the Devil, released by The Rolling Stones in 1968, is one of the
most seminal expressions of Mixolydian mode in Rock music. The progression is
often conceived as: I - bVII - IV - I, which is a classic Mixolydian progression. But
if one thinks about it in terms of the bVII chord’s relationship to the following
harmony, it can also be explained as a chain of applied secondary subdominants.
Viewed in this way, the bVII becomes IV of IV, and the progression reads: I - (IV
of IV) - IV - I.
Another iconic use of the Mixolydian mode in rock can be found in David
Bowie’s Heroes. The harmonic design of Heroes represents a tonicisation of the
V chord. Bowie achieves this largely through metric assertion. (Everett 2004) He
places the V chord at the most important metric points of the musical phrase and
approaches it through a sequence of plagal cadences. If we analyze the progression
through the lens of D Mixolydian, the implied tonic, the functional harmony looks
like this:
[ I - - - IV - - - I - - - IV - - - ] [ bVII - IV - I - - - v - ii - I - - - ]
All of the defining features of Mixolydian are present: the minor v and bVII chords,
the extended chain of subdominant relations, bVII - IV - I - v - ii. If we view the
same progression through the lens of its related Ionian mode in G, however, the
functional harmony looks like this:
[ V - - - I - - - V - - - I - - - ] [ IV - I - V - - - ii - vi - V - - - ]
Portions of this progression look suspiciously like a well-mannered Tonal caden-

tial phrase played in retrograde: I - V - ii - vi. This makes perfect sense. In the
Mixolydian mode, the defining elements of the Major scale, the semitone between
the leading tone and the tonic, (7-1) are harmonically displaced to the 3rd and 4th
degrees of the scale. In the absence of a leading tone, the defining harmonic reso-
lution is reversed and becomes a 4 - 3 plagal cadence. Understood within these
terms, the chain of subdominant relations that distinguish the chorus progression
of Hello, IV - I - V or Db - Ab - Eb are an allusion to Mixolydian harmony, and
represent a momentary tonicisation of the V chord. The contour of Adele’s melody
at the close of the chorus would seem to confirm this reading. It is strongly caden-
tial, descending in stepwise motion, (ab - g - f - eb) from the tonic of Ab to the tonic
of Eb.
Viewed in this light, the harmonic motion that plays out in the chorus of
Hello, may be understood as a kind of usurpation of Major tonality by the Mixo-
lydian mode. This Mixolydian coup d’état is being echoed throughout contempo-
rary popular music. In fact, subdominant relations have become so much a part of
our sonic landscape, it is easy to forget that they are actually a profound subversion
of the Classical tendency to move by descending 5th towards a perfect cadence,
and a retrograde of one of the most established tropes in early popular music based
on this aesthetic and commonly known as the Circle of Fifths: iii - VI - ii - V - I.
By inverting this graceful chain of resolutions in on itself, the purveyors of Classic
Rock, through their assimilation of blues language, have set into motion one of the
greatest deconstructions of established musical ethos ever perpetrated.
Although this progression is stylistically re-contextualized in Hello, I believe
it continues to exert a latent ‘Rock’ connotation on the musical narrative: ‘I am
talking to you; I am serious and you had better listen to me.’ For someone who
shares this listening history, it provides the track with an emotional edge that is
not necessarily reflected in other aspects of the production. It is a modal metaphor
expressed through the introduction of Mixolydian cadential movement and a
muted interior cultural reference working at a deep semiotic level of the music’s
structure.
At the end of the second chorus, a final shift of modality occurs during a brief
instrumental vamp, when the same four chords of the verse and chorus are rear-
ranged once more into a new sequence: Fm - Db - Eb - Ab. The final two chords of
the sequence are inverted from the chorus and a perfect authentic cadential gesture
to Ab Ionian makes a sudden and conspicuous entrance into the song: vi - IV - V -
I. The shift in modal colour is striking. In fact, it almost feels out of place within
the established harmonic context. Tellingly, Adele does not even sing over the
passage. It exists in stark contrast to the main body of the song, and is almost
nostalgic in tone, like a childhood memory from a time when life was simpler and
easier to understand.
Ionian mode & the contemporary ear

Hello is a cleverly designed work of pop, but there is nothing unique about its
compositional material. It is one of several cyclical harmonic schemes currently
in use and part of a larger evolving aesthetic that comes directly out of a conscious
or unconscious recycling of previously successful musical tropes. The most inter-
esting thing about the song is its intelligent use of harmonic ambiguity and this is
reflected in the music of other successful artists.
The tonal language of Hello is fiercely economical. The entire piece exists
within a diatonic F Natural Minor scale, but it uses this harmonic palette in a very
sophisticated way to express subtle and complex shades of emotion. These areas
of modal inflection exists in-between what might be described as Tonality’s pri-
mary harmonic colours. I use this metaphor to describe Western Tonality because
it is such an overarching influence on our perception of consonance, much of what
we understand as novel or exotic is governed by the inherited primacy of the Major
scale. If harmony can be described through the metaphor of colour, Hello inhabits
a world of secondary colour. There are no grand cadential gestures, no drive to-
wards the tonic, hardly any primary harmonic colours at all. As our relationship
with modality in music becomes more fluid, however, the principle of harmonic
secondary colour may come to be understood as any temporary displacement of a
pervading tonal center through the coincident manipulation of harmonic rhythm
and melodic contour.
The amount of modal interplay in Hello suggests a qualitative shift in the
tastes of contemporary listeners towards new paradigms of consonance and disso-
nance. Like many of the most interesting songs being produced today, Hello ex-
udes two core qualities: modal nuance and emotional intelligence. On a surface
level, the musical complexity of contemporary pop is not quantifiably different
from its earlier incarnations, but perhaps its capacity to manipulate harmonic and
melodic relationships in conveying emotional nuance is growing in sophistication.
And this may suggest a developing emotional intelligence in its listenership. Could
the highly nuanced semantic language of Hello actually be a reflection of changes
in the social awareness of the culture that gave rise to it? Pop’s internationalism
allows its listeners to shed geographical, historical and ideological backgrounds
and reinvent themselves in light of the artists they endorse. It creates open shared
spaces, in which established cultural morays no longer define its participants. Is it
possible that the moral and ethical ambiguities of modern culture are finding ex-
pression in the nuanced harmonic language of contemporary pop?
References
Bibliography
Dunbar-Hall, P. 1991. Semiotics as a Method for the Study of Popular Music. International
Review of the Aesthetics and Sociology of Music 22 (2): 127-132.
McDonald, C. 2000. Exploring Modal Subversions in Alternative Music. Popular Music
19 (3): 355-363.
Middleton, R. 1990. Studying Popular Music. Philadelphia: Open University Press.
Moore, A. 1992. Patterns of Harmony. Popular Music 11 (1): 73-106.
Steedman M.J. A Generative Grammar for Jazz Chord Sequences. Music Perception 2 (1)
(1984) 52–77.
Web Sources
Everett, W. 2004. Making Sense of Rock’s Tonal Systems. MTO 10 (4).
http://www.mtosmt.org/issues/mto.04.10.4/mto.04.10.4.w_everett.html 10/10/2016.
Manzo, V. 2016. Cliché progressions. http://vjmanzo.com/clicheprogressions/index.php?ti-
tle=Main_Page 18/04/2016
Pollack, A. Notes on, ‘A Day in the Life’, Notes on Series 117b. http://www.icce.rug.nl
28/05/2016
Discography
Adele. “Hello”, 25, XL, Columbia, 20 November 2015.
The Beatles. “A Day in the Life”, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Parlophone,
June 1967.
Cold Play. “Paradise”, Mylo Xyloto, Parlophone, 19 October 2011.
David Bowie. “Heroes”, Heroes, RCA Records, 14 October 1977.
The Rolling Stones. “Sympathy for the Devil”, Beggar’s Banquet, Decca, December 1968.
U2. “With or Without You”, The Joshua Tree, Island Records, 9 March 1987
Mapping Popular Music Studies in Turkey Onto Stud-
ies in the Anglophone World
Ali C. Gedik
Dokuz Eylul University, Department of Musicology, Izmir, Turkey,
cenk.gedik@gmail.com
This paper tries to map studies in Turkey onto studies in the Anglophone world.
First, we briefly discuss the historical differences between studies based on shift
from the sociology of arabesk in Turkey and the sociology of rock in Anglophone
popular music studies to the sociology of popular music. Then, we mainly focus
on similarities by a critical look toward a parallel shift in theoretical premises from
various Marxisms to postmodern theories, gradually from the 1990s onwards. We
try to argue that such a shift corresponds to a discernable lack of critical discourse
on the destructive results of neoliberal political, economical and cultural policies
in popular music studies. Neo-Ottomanism as the new official ideology of Turkey
has been applied for the neoliberal transformation and Islamization of society, for
more than a decade. However, popular music practices neither supporting this pro-
cess nor resisting it could hardly find their place within studies. Similarly, studies
in the Anglophone world have also been far from its past critical discourses in a
certain degree which could be regarded as a point of convergence between studies
in Turkey and the Anglophone world.
Keywords: Republic of Turkey, popular music studies, Islamization, Neo-Ottomanism, ne-

oliberalism
Introduction
People living in the Republic of Turkey since its foundation in 1923 are experi-
encing some of its hardest days recently. Hundreds of civilians were killed by ter-
rorist attacks, soldiers were killed abroad, political party leaders, writers and mu-
sicians are jailed and thousands of public employees, including academicians were
either fired or arrested. The decisive moment for this rather recent process was an
unsuccessful military coup organized by a religious community, Gülen Cemaati
which was in a coalition with the Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve
Kalkınma Partisi, AKP), in ruling the country for more than a decade. Besides the
members of this community, even the oppositional movements, whom also stand
against the military coup, could not escape from the harsh response of the govern-
ment of AKP.

120 Ali C. Gedik
This was a result of a long process consisting of neoliberal transformations

and Islamization of society. In short, this policy was called the Neo-Ottomanism
and promoted against past official ideology of the Republic, especially towards its
nationalism, westernization, secularism and peaceful policies in international re-
lations. Although, Neo-Ottomanism was not an invention of this government – in
fact marriage of neoliberalism and Islamism was started up by the 1980 military
coup – it was the current government which could find a chance to apply it, in an
extreme way.
These years witnessed one of the most interesting cultural transformations,
as well (Gedik 2017a):
Even jazz has been used in the context of this ideology by the organisation of an im-
pressive annual event during the holy month of Ramadan in Istanbul where foremost
international jazz musicians have played since 2009. Another recent event was the
concert of the Anadolu Filarmoni Orkestrası (Anatolian Philharmonic Orchestra) at
the AKP’s Izmir congress in 2015. This Western-classical orchestra, founded by the
government, performed two pieces composed for the President with religious lyrics.
… Politically rather neutral figures such as Orhan Gencebay, the king of arabesk,
Teoman, a rock star and Sertap Erener, a pop star, all to some extent supported AKP
policies. Even some mostly mainstream performers from the left such as Yavuz Bin-
göl, Onur Akın, Bülent Ortaçgil, Feryal Öney and Sezen Aksu, also to an extent sup-
ported the AKP. ...Interestingly, the AKP did not particularly support Islamic (or yeşil)
pop even though it is musically compatible with its ideology.
Nevertheless, it should be added that a large number of Ottoman military bands,

musical symbols of the Ottoman Empire, were founded and became apparent in-
comparably both in public life and state ceremonies. Oppositional movements,
mainly consist of left-wing movements were never absent throughout this long
process. As a result, an uprising of 10 million people against the government took
place in the summer of 2013. A declaration of support from popular music scholars
in relation to the current demonstrations in Turkey, summarizes the role of music
in this uprising (IASPM, 2013):
All kinds of music, such as jazz, folk, classical, traditional and Latin, are both per-
formed live at the demonstrations and recorded as video and published on social me-
dia. However, the mainstream musical practices of rock and pop stars of Turkey are
almost absent from the demonstrations, in any way. Amateur musicians are mainly
heard at the demonstrations, especially in İstanbul and İzmir. These amateur musi-
cians perform as small rock groups, marching brass bands, percussion groups, protest
music groups, polyphonic and monophonic or heterophonic choruses. However, there
are also a very few cases where professional musicians perform, such as the Gezi Park
Philarmony concert or the Gezi Band on the stage in Gezi Park. Some well-known
professional music groups also publish their recent professional recordings composed
Mapping Popular Music Studies in Turkey 121
for the resistance on the web. Anyway, the most ubiquitous sound is the ‘music’ of
pots, pans and whistles performed by the people of Turkey resisting the authoritarian
approach of the government.
However, popular music practices neither supporting this process nor resisting it
could find their place within popular music studies in Turkey. Briefly, I will try to
look for answers about this fact by mapping popular music studies in Turkey onto
studies in Anglophone world.
Politics
Various disappointments about the development of popular music studies were
expressed by some of its foremost names, which lead to discussions. One of them
was started up by a pioneering name, Lawrence Grossberg (2002), based on his
disappointments about the development of popular music studies. His main argu-
ment was that popular music studies were still far away from developing an ade-
quate theory for the subject matter, despite its history of 40 years. Response of
another leading colleague, Simon Frith (2004a) formulated the discussion as a ten-
sion between low and high theory. Frith concluded that Grossberg’s main motiva-
tion was his unsatisfied expectation of popular music studies to become cultural
studies. May be due to the stress of theory by Grossberg, his following critique
on politics took less attention (2002: 30):
In fact, youth has become the most devastated battleground in the war being waged
against the postwar status quo (and the baby boom rearticulation of that formation) by
a tense alliance between neoliberalism and neoconservatism. The “state” of youth and
children has to be obvious to anyone studying popular music culture, and my question
is simple: Where are the outraged and articulate voices that attempt to make sense of,
give voice to, and intervene into these struggles?
Although I stand on the side of popular music studies in this discussion on theory,
I share Grossberg’s political critique, especially for studies in Turkey. However, I
think that studies in the Anglophone world have also been far from its past critical
discourses in a certain degree. Therefore, despite the different origins of these two
studies such as the sociology of arabesk in Turkey and the sociology of rock in
Anglophone studies, the decline of critical discourses in both studies could be re-
garded as a point of convergence. As a result, I would like to argue that this con-
vergence is an outcome of a parallel shift in theoretical premises from various
Marxisms to postmodern theories, gradually from the 1990s onwards.
122 Ali C. Gedik
Histories
One of the most striking historical difference between studies in Turkey and the
Anglophone world is not only their subject matter, arabesk and rock, respectively,
but the position of scholars toward their issues (Gedik 2011). While studies on
arabesk were carried out by scholars who dislike arabesk, studies on rock were
carried out by scholars who were fans and even performers of rock as stated by
Frith (2004b: 1). Despite the apparent Marxist orientation of both studies, I tried
to explain this difference toward their subjects as follows (Gedik 2011: 51):
While rock music was initially considered at IASPM conferences in relation to youth
and sub-culture as well as the ideological position against mainstream popular com-
mercial music, in Turkey arabesk music was considered in relation to lower social
classes and the associated “low culture” with an ideological position in favor of main-
stream popular commercial music.
It is interesting to note that the critique of arabesk was shared by both left-wing
cultural policies and the official ideology of the State, which was governed by
either right-wing parties or military juntas who were both against the left. Thus,
Marxists were eliminated from academia as a result of successive 1971 and 1980
military coups. Another difference was the theoretical positions of Marxist schol-
ars; while, studies in the Anglophone world were developed in arguments with
Adorno and the Frankfurt School (Frith 2004b: 2), both were prevailing in Turkey.
It was only possible by the pioneering study of Özbek on arabesk in 1991
that British cultural studies found its way in popular music studies in Turkey. Nev-
ertheless, the Marxist breakthrough of Özbek had not been followed much except
by herself (e.g. Özbek 1997).
Marxism had already become an old-fashioned theory and left the intellectual
scene to postmodernist theories worldwide by the 90s. Therefore, popular music
studies in Turkey established and flourished under these circumstances, which also
gradually cover a wide range of disciplines, popular music genres, topics and the-
oretical approaches and thus became apparent internationally (Gedik 2011). In this
sense the book by Ayhan Erol (2002) became a reference textbook which pre-
sented both the international history and state-of-art of cultural studies and popular
music studies, comprehensively.
Despite such enrichment, critical discourses of past studies, whether faulty or
not, diminished considerably. In this sense, studies in Turkey have converged with
the studies in the Anglophone world. Yet, it would be unfair to claim that neither
Marxism nor critical discourses completely disappeared in the Anglophone world;
Publications, such as Keith Negus (1996), Frith (1996), Middleton (1997), Shep-
perd and Wicke (1997) and Reebee Garafalo (1996) , and more recent ones such
as Regula Qureshi (2002), David Hesmondhagl (2002), Adam Krims (2007) and
Timothy D. Taylor (2016) “…show that popular music studies did not shift com-
pletely to a postmodernist position but either adopted only some concepts and ap-
proaches of postmodern theories or preserved their Marxist position.” (Gedik
2011: 53-54)
Practices and Theories
Despite the existence of Marxist or Marxism influenced studies, it seems to be that
both theories of postmodernism and globalization have prevailed not only popular
music studies, but also cultural studies as a whole, as well as other disciplines. It
is generally accepted that the failure of the 68 movements worldwide was a mile-
stone for the retreatment of Marxism and the appearance of theories that would
take its place, such as post-structuralism and then postmodernism. It is clear that
the fate of Marxism is closely related with revolutionary working-class move-
ments, communist parties and countries. Therefore, the gradual disappearance of
Marxism was a result of a gradual disappearance of these factors. Although, revo-
lutionary working-class movements and communist parties were already started to
retreat before, the decisive moment was the dissolution of the Soviet Union in
1991.
Neither today, nor before is it possible to claim that Marxism disappeared
completely from the scene by its capacity to renew itself with new theoretical
sources. In this sense, the foundation of the Centre for Contemporary Cultural
Studies (CCCS) in 1964, represented such a strong renewal and then became a
center for Marxist cultural studies under the directorship of Stuart Hall by 1972,
even after the failure of the 68 movements. Of course, a strong tradition of British
Marxism represented most influentially by E.P. Thompson and Raymond Wil-
liams was not only at the background but Hall also joined them to publish the
foremost journal of Western Marxism, the New Left Review. All three were once
members of the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB) and Hall was still con-
tributing to the party journal, Marxism Today through the 70s and 80s.
Cultural studies were closely connected with politics in the sense of strug-
gling for socialism. The definition of popular culture by Stuart Hall (1981: 239) is
one of the most cited text, with usually missed relevant last sentences:
It is partly where hegemony arises, and where it is secured. It is not a sphere where
socialism, a socialist culture - already fully formed - might be simply 'expressed'. But
it is one of the places where socialism might be constituted. That is why 'popular cul-
ture' matters. Otherwise, to tell you the truth, I don't give a damn about it.
The same year of publication of these words by Hall, IASPM was founded in Am-
sterdam with an apparent Marxist-bias as stated by Frith (2004b: 2). Although
124 Ali C. Gedik
CCCS had a strong influence on popular music studies, there was also already a
certain Marxist literature on the subject, by both Anglophone colleagues such as
Charles Keil, Charles Hamm, Wilfrid Mellers and colleagues from continental Eu-
rope such as Janos Marothy, Günther Mayer and Peter Wicke. The influence of
CCCS was not only limited to music sociologists but also included musicologists
such as Middleton (1991) and ethnomusicologists such as Peter Manuel (1993).
It is also important to remember that Marxism was not the only theoretical
source for popular music studies as stated by Brackett (1997: 510): “…other the-
oretical approaches, also originating in Continental Europe, have been of arguably
equal importance. These include writings informed by poststructuralism as prac-
ticed by Barthes, Kristeva, Foucault, and Lacan, none of whose work is explicitly
Marxist.”
Furthermore, even the Marxism of CCCS also benefitted from post-structu-
alism, as well as “symbolic Marxism” of Bourdieu, later on. However, any theo-
retical source including Marxism and post-structuralism became to be used so ec-
lectically that central concepts of these sources seriously decontextualized as a
result of the dominance of postmodernism. In other words, this fact was quite com-
patible with main postmodern thesis announcing the death of meta-narratives/the-
ories and thus promoting such a theoretical eclecticism. In response to another
discussion on the development of popular music studies started up by a pioneering
name, Tagg (2011), Bates (2013: 19) mentions a similar decontextualization and
selective appropriation of theory in popular music studies:
Within popular music studies journal articles, particularly following the cultural stud-
ies/critical theory turn, one finds citations of the sorts of literature often cited by an-
thropologists (for example, Bourdieu, de Certeau), … For example, Bourdieu’s theo-
retical writings on distinction, habitus, field and cultural capital make numerous
cameo appearances, but in only one article (Dawe, 2003) does the author provide a
genealogy of the terms themselves…
Neoliberalism
An anarchist anthropologist and a leading figure in the Occupy Wall Street Move-
ment, David Graeber (2001) expresses his disappointment about the silence of uni-
versities in the USA on neoliberalism and movements against it while they were
so busy with postmodernism. According to Graeber (2001: xi), this was due to the
success of postmodernism in describing the effects of neoliberalism while skip-
ping to criticize or call for a struggle against it. As a result, Graeber (2011: x)
presents common arguments of postmodernism which are quite similar to the ones
he listed on globalization:
The world has changed; no one is responsible, it simply happened as a result of inex-
orable processes; neither can we do anything about it, but we must simply adopt our-
selves to new conditions. One result of our postmodern condition is that schemes to
change the world or human society through collective political action are no longer
viable. Everything is broken up and fragmented; anyway, such schemes will inevita-
bly either prove impossible, or produce totalitarian nightmares. While this might seem
to leave little room for human agency in history, one need not despair completely.
Legitimate political action can take place, provided it is on a personal level: through
the fashioning of subversive identities, forms of creative consumption, and the like.
Such action is itself political and potentially liberatory.
Although Graeber admits that postmodern and globalization theories are infinitely
more complex, he argues that these theories “almost invariably did share some
version of these three themes”.
As a result, I have searched all articles of three primary Anglophone popular
music studies journals: Popular Music and Society (since 1971), Popular Music
(since 1981), and the Journal of Popular Music Studies (since 1988). In order to
understand the place of neoliberalism in these journals, I simply looked for the
number of articles which include either “neoliberal” or “neo-liberal” words via
search engines of these journals and presented the findings in Table 1 in compari-
son to the total number of articles.
name of journal total # of articles # of detected articles

popular music and society 1743 47
popular music 1106 25
journal of popular music studies 670 47
Table 1. Number of articles including word “neoliberal” in comparison to total number of
articles for three primary Anglophone popular music studies journals.
This is a similar method applied by Bates (2011), except I only applied a quanti-
tative analysis. The total number of articles for each journal is detected by looking
for word “music” via search engines of these journals. Finally, there is no doubt
that such a simplistic method could reveal neither a great interest toward neolib-
eralism for detected articles nor an indifference to the issue for the rest.
It is more easy to detect articles on neoliberalism in studies in Turkey due to
the small volume of publications in comparison to studies in the Anglophone
world. In this sense, besides the studies of Özbek (1991; 1997), there is a study of
Yarar (1998) and a number of articles by Lyndon Way (2013; 2015), a Turkish
citizen of Scottish descent born and raised in London who then has been living
and working in Turkey for more than a decade.
It is also interesting to find much more critical discourses in publications by
popular music critics rather than studies by scholars in academy (see Gedik
126 Ali C. Gedik
2017a). However, it would be unfair to claim that critical discourses are com-
pletely lacking in the rest of the studies. On the contrary, the number of studies
with critical discourses have gradually increased but these discourses usually crit-
icize the past official Republican ideologies which are somehow convenient with
the ideologies of the government, AKP. This is somehow similar to the critical
discourses of past studies based on Adorno and Frankfurt School, in the sense,
being convenient to the past official ideology, again.
The Case of Turkey
As aforementioned, one of the fundamental reasons for the convergence of studies
in Turkey to studies in the Anglophone world is due to the theoretical shifts, world-
wide. I argue that the other fundamental reason is twofold, political and theoreti-
cal, depending more on the peculiarities of Turkey. The political side is about a
cliché as summarized by Stokes (2010, 8): “Modern Turkey has routinely been
understood as a secular modernizing state imposing reforms on a ‘traditional’ and
Islamic periphery.” Thus the history of Turkey is conceived as a product of strug-
gles between an authoritarian (secular) center, and a liberal (Islamic) periphery
(Stokes 2010, 9), excluding class struggles.
Consequently, AKP’s power was considered as the success of a liberal (Is-
lamic) periphery against an authoritarian (secular) center. Besides neoliberal trans-
formations and Islamization, the policies of AKP included the goal of being a
member of the EU and downplaying the role of the military forces, which acted as
a real political party in power, even in democratic periods. Therefore, these poli-
cies were appreciated as a democratization process by a wide range of political
actors from some extreme left to whole liberal right. The Kurdish movement dom-
inating the left-wing movement was also supporting this process due to the explicit
Turkish nationalism of past official ideology which in turn applied against the left
in the form of successive military coups following long periods of totalitarian re-
gimes. While the EU and the bourgeoisie supported the neoliberal side of these
policies, extreme Islamists were supporting the Islamization side. Only a minority
of oppositional actors such as communists and socialists both struggled against
neoliberal transformations and Islamisation.
In fact, the theoretical side is mainly about the nature of capitalist social for-
mation in Turkey, which lies behind this political cliché. Turkey is considered
“…either as abnormal capitalist formation as a consequence of a bourgeois revo-
lution without a bourgeois class, or as a social formation where capitalism is not
the dominant mode of production due to a lack of a real bourgeois revolution.”
Gedik (2017b). Ellen M. Wood (2012: 33) called such approaches as a bourgeois
paradigm: “Nowhere was capitalism the simple outcome of a contest between a
(falling) aristocracy and a (rising) bourgeoisie, and nowhere was it the natural
product of a fatal encounter between urban dynamism and rural idiocy.”
As a result, I think that these theoretical and political premises are closely
connected with the peculiarities of Turkey, in addition to worldwide theoretical
shifts which paralyzed left-wing movements intellectually. Now, it is revealed that
the cost of this paralyzation is revealed to be too expensive for whole political
actors who once supported the so called democratization process of AKP, ranging
from some extreme left to the Kurdish movement to the liberal right, nowadays,
more than any other oppositional actors.
I think that these peculiar conditions lead to the decrease of critical discourses
on Neo-Ottomanism and thus neoliberal transformations and Islamization in pop-
ular music studies in Turkey, much more than studies in the Anglophone world.
No doubt, neither any critical discourses nor any theoretical premises would guar-
antee better studies. In this sense I believe that popular music studies both in Tur-
key and the Anglophone world have an impressive state-of-art with its every kind
of plurality. Therefore, I think such a plurality with applying critical discourses as
once done by pioneering names of our community would likely contribute to a
more just and equal world.
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank Lyndon Way for editing the English.
References
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Power and Resistance in Iranian Popular Music
Amin Hashemi
SOAS, Centre for Media Studies, London, UK, amin_hashemi@soas.ac.uk
The case of popular music of post-revolution Iran is believed to be so controversial
since being advocated as a challenge towards religious structures, political power
and social injustice and gender issues by some officials, media and academics.
This paper looks at wider opportunities of studying popular music – as a form of
popular culture – with respect to the social relationships of power and resistant in
comparison to some other literature that were limited to state political conceptual-
isation of power and resistant, amalgamation of popular music and art music, Eu-
rocentric analysis over popular music in the Middle East as the production of so-
cial classes, as well as other pathological studies inside Iran concerning generation
gap and youth culture. Alternatively, this paper revises repeatedly mentioned facts
and events in literature and then (re)contextualises and reinterprets the concept of
popular music, power and resistance in contemporary Iran. The result is a wider
understanding of the social struggles over several discursive representation of pop-
ular culture beyond politics, social classes, religion, etc.
Keywords: Iran, Popular Music, Power, Resistance, Discourses, Differentiation
A Brief Review on the Most Cited Events

Since 1905, an emerging middle class influentially broached different lifestyles
and social demands such as civil rights, higher education, limitation of monarchy’s
and clergy’s political determination through parliamentary and the constitution.
The form of popular music that employed western instruments, circulated by mar-
ket, performed in public, advocated by mass media and had spatial connections to
bars and dance floors with a majority of young listeners – commonly middle clas-
ses – appeared since the 60s in urban areas – especially Tehran. Although it was a
blend of several Iranian and western musical elements, but it has been labelled
generally as ‘pop’ music. However, prior to this, ‘koucheh-bazari’ (literarily ‘of
streets and bazaar’) music was popular in urban areas – especially among lower
and working classes immigrants from other smaller cities or rural areas to Tehran.
(Breyley and Fatemi 2016) This type of music was different from pop music in
terms of market and media from one hand, and fed from a lower class Tehran slang
culture fused with classical Iranian instruments from the other hand. Daily life of
poor people, their financial, personal and sexual desires along with their belief in

130 Amin Hashemi
their fate and community principles that hold them together against those hard-
ships formed the major context of such music. With the rise of pop music, kou-
cheh-bazari employed electric keyboards and synthesisers in order to bring a fresh
layout over the same context.
The 1979 revolution mobilised lower classes along with leftist intellectuals
from middle classes. However, Islamic discourses took over left movements grad-
ually and this led to the integration of more religious lower class masses into the
uprising. Together with shifts in economy, previously semi-established social clas-
ses amalgamated even further into a fresh social (dis)order as the result of the
revolution. Both major left and Islamist discourses of the revolution created many
motivating and honours choral songs before, during and also after the event. The
Islamists later called their musical productions as ‘soroud’ (literarily ‘songs’) to
distinguish them from ‘pop’ and leftist songs. However, the Islamist revolutionary
discourses who alarmed the ‘westernisation’ of the popular culture, interpreted
pop music as a representation of ‘cultural colonisation’, ‘koucheh-bazari’ as of the
‘decayed’ low culture – against Islamic transcendent social values – and Western
classical music as of royal aristocracy. The establishment sought to recognise mu-
sic only if it was beneficiary towards their Islamic ideology. Between (the late)
1979 and 1992 broadcasting services and public performances were restricted. In
addition, music educational institutions (including universities) and music market
(including instrument shops) closed down. A huge social absence of the produc-
tion and consumption of popular music emerged consequently.
As the founder of the Islamic revolution, Ayatollah Khomeini’s (1902-1989)
first public response to pop and koucheh-bazari music was fabricated five months
after the revolution in his political – rather than religious – rhetoric that “music
prevents youth from productivity and political consciousness”. (Khomeini 1979)
His message was an excuse against the westernisation of lifestyles during Shah.
However, He had a dynamic approach towards music through time. In 1980 he
indirectly asked a group of musicians to make a soroud against the USA – to praise
the ‘conquest’ of the USA embassy (they called it as ‘the nest of espionage’) in
Tehran. (Raoufi and Nassiri 2008) Later in 1988, his unexpected reply to a ques-
tion about the religious sentence over the business of music instruments that could
be employed in making sorouds became controversial. He condemned “illiterate
clerics and stupid sanctimonious people” who ‘generally’ ban music for no reason
since Islam did not restricted music directly. (Khomeini 2010) According to reli-
gious reference texts, restrictions are ambiguously over the practices attached to
music such as dance, gambling and drinking (Meisami 2007) Although it seems
to be in contrast with what he had advocated at first, but there has been a sharp
transformation happened between politics and religion since 1979 that explains
the floating and vague nature of the establishment in front of popular culture.
Power and Resistance in Iranian Popular Music 131
Since 1980, a significant number of pop and koucheh-bazari musicians left

Iran in order to resume their music career. They formed the so called ‘Losanjelesi’
(literarily ‘based in Los Angeles’) community in the USA. Soon, Caltex Records
– a professional recording label – united them altogether. However, they lost their
spatial and social ties gradually and even blended into musical styles of each other.
Despite the fact that this kind of music was strictly forbidden, but it sold a lot in
Iran, illegally, on smuggled cassettes and video tapes for more than a decade be-
cause of the vacancy of social presence of popular music inside Iran. It was out-
reached even more by the raise of Losanjelesi (and other) Farsi satellite stations
since the 90s. (Arghavan 2013) The popularity of having satellite receivers in or-
der to access uncensored music and news at home – where the establishment could
hardly intervene – increased while the ‘sale’ was decreasing because of its access
free broadcasting nature.
Despite the fact that major forms of popular music were socially absent, but
classical Iranian music – as ‘high art’ music – broadcasted for several years on the
ground of having least connections to the interpretations of Khomeini’s political
framework of westernised popular music and the Islamic framework of deviation
and aristocracy. That explains why it gradually became another form of popular
music – that sounds beautifully relaxing and matched the upheavals of war as well.
At first, radio and TV – as the only mass multimedia in Iran that are under surveil-
lance of the conservative leader Ayatollah Khamenei (1939- ) – broadcasted all
the sorouds and classical Iranian music. After a while Ershad24 controlled the (re-
introduced) market of music cassettes since 1981. The war stopped overnight in
September 1988 and a huge vacuum occurred for radio and TV since social rela-
tivity and appropriation of such music vanished. However death of Ayatollah Kho-
meini in June 1989 delayed his dilemma for a couple of months. Meanwhile, a
lighter style of classical Iranian music emerged that benefited from electronic key-
boards and a touch of pop arrangements; similar to developing pattern of koucheh-
bazari.
Mohammad Khatami (1943- ) – who later became the president – was in
charge of Ershad from 1982 and resigned in1992 due to political pressures from
conservatives. He is closer to later ideas of Khomeini on Islam’s social capabilities
– such as limited freedom of music. However, it was between 1992 and 1995 that
the authorised market experienced pre-revolution pop music of whom turned
against the Shah somehow – such as Farhad Mehrad (1944-2002). However,
24 Ershad refers to ‘the ministry of Islamic culture and guidance’ that is in charge of cultural sur-
veillance. It was called as ‘the bureau of Islamic guidance’ during the early months of the 1979
revolution. It replaced ‘the ministry of culture and art’ of the Shah’s period.
132 Amin Hashemi
broadcasting services attempted to propagate fresh faces in the production of pop

style25 music against Ershad in order to maintain the control of popular music in
the hands of conservatives. But the social demand for the practice of pop music –
by remembering the huge impact and popularity of Losanjelesi music – was to an
extent that the leader publicly criticised government of Rafsanjani (1934- ) and
expressed that “the propagation of music is not in line with the high goals of the
Islamic system of Iran”. (Jomhouri-e Eslami 1995)
However, such political disagreement between conservative leadership and
the selected (by vote) government could not repress popular culture any further.
Since 1993, because of widespread popularity of Losanjelesi music, radio and TV
invited potential musicians to coup. At first, it was nothing more than an amateur
blend of classical Iranian music with synthesisers and electric beats that was the
basic arrangement in Losanjelesi music. This sounded more ‘pop’ in comparison
to the previous light classical Iranian music. But since 1995, a more sophisticated
pop music appeared to closely imitate Losanjelesi music vocal and sonic while
avoiding common love songs – which were too sexual for the establishment. Nev-
ertheless, the social demand dominated and a new generation of pop musicians
e.g. Shadmehr Aghili (1973- ) introduced fresh sonic in arrangements and unor-
thodox content of love songs. They sidestepped imitating Losanjelesi music and
gradually pulled back from broadcasting services supports while impatiently
struggled with Ershad to gain necessary permissions for publishing directly into
the authorised market. This marked the beginning of current day pop music market
in Iran.
If pop music was a sign of an alternative urban culture (from previously ex-
isted musical cultures e.g. koucheh-bazari) in the 60s, then rock music did the
same since the 90s in Iran. Rock music had a small room in music market before
the revolution with a majority of imported cassettes and vinyl besides a tiny mi-
nority of Iranian bands. Post-revolutionary restrictions delayed the social presence
of rock music for a longer period of time in comparison to pop music. It was so
hard for rock musicians to detach from being labelled as ‘Western’– especially
with the electric guitars as a concrete sign of cultural invasion to authorities. Yet,
with public performances of e.g. Kourosh Yaqmaei (1946- ) in Kish Island in
1993, rock music – and later metal – started to reappear publicly.
Apart from rock, the production of rap music – as another alternative to pop
– appeared so much later since 1999. Iranians were familiar with rap style music
25 Pop style music sounds similar to Iranian pop music before 1979 while runs on slower tempo
beats – to avoid the capability to dance with – and different content – that does not address
sexual desire, western lifestyle, etc. As a form of music, it appeared officially since the early 90s
in Iran.
with through Losanjelesi rap imitations since the late 80s along with listening to
American rap. This was to an extent that TV employed the style as the soundtrack
of some programmes to attract more young audience. The practice of rap and rock
music both started in Tehran. Unlike rock music that was more associated with
higher social classes, rap was mainly associated with the lower social classes –
both as a practice of production and consumption. The reasons vary from afforda-
bility to purchase instruments and to have private tutors as well as association of
rock music to left movement that was a popular antithesis against the Shah among
educated upper and middle classes since the 70s.
Discursive Articulation of Resistance
The majority of literature on Iranian popular music has been focused on the state
political restrictions on its practice. The other side of this argument dealt with
emerging forms of popular music such as rock and rap, as new social phenomenon
regarding youth ‘resistant’ culture. Therefore, these literatures marked the practice
of popular music – especially away from surveillance – as extraordinary unortho-
dox. For example, such emphasis on the state political agenda resulted in radical
polarisations that divide the practice of pop music into two types of Losanjelesi
and the ‘legalised’. (Nooshin 2005a) These researches unconsciously broached
that the political agenda has been defined prior to the social production and con-
sumption of popular culture whereas the reality has been completely the reverse.
In fact, Ershad recognised an existing popular culture at first, and put surveillance
afterwards. This issue has been recognised recently, however. (Nooshin 2016a)
Comparing rock and rap music of Tehran to the Western peers is critically
doubtable since they do not share similar social, economic and political back-
grounds as well as lived experiences. The term ‘underground’ music is often as-
sociated with these two forms of music mainly because Ershad hardly recognises
them as ‘suitable’ and ‘proper’ forms of popular music. Literatures generalised
rock music to an alternative for youth’s lack of social freedom (Nooshin 2005b)
and reduced its analysis only to the content of lyrics (Nooshin 2008). It became
more exaggerated when underground music of youth mentioned as an extremely
educated population with a strong voice of dissent against the establishment.
(Rastovac 2009) However, these limited perspectives reassembled as the ‘fet-
ishisation of resistant’ in popular music recently. (Nooshin 2016b)
Although Rock music succeeded to have a share in the authorised market, but
rap has not. The Iranian popular music is not as variable as in the West. It is dom-
inated respectively by pop, classical Iranian, rock and rap. Here lies a forgotten
issue. Looking back at the policies on popular music in post-revolution Iran re-
veals that it is essential to entertain the public with domestic products to coup with
134 Amin Hashemi
the Western culture. Even though it might get so close to a Western form of pop-
ular music, but it is still controllable. While the aforementioned literatures only
paid attention to the presumed antagonism between authorised and Losanjelesi pop
music, the lack of variety has always been fulfilled with Western popular music.
A mixture of ‘legalised’ pop, unauthorised domestic music, Losanjelesi music as
well as Western music has being played at home-based mix-gender parties of Teh-
rani youth – who formed the majority of that so-called ‘resistant’ phenomenon.
Some literatures approached the power dynamics in Iranian popular music
more carefully. Robertson approached this issue of Tehrani youth resistant culture
differently by addressing the spatial absence of rock music. Her sceptical overview
on the political nature of the so-called underground scene illustrated the interest
of musicians to be labelled as ‘underground’ in media while they reject this label
in discussions with academics and prefer to be labelled as ‘unofficial’ or ‘illegal’.
(Robertson 2012) Although this issue has been argued earlier (Nooshin 2005b),
but Robertson critically explained Tehrani rock as an embodiment of “fear, frus-
tration, waiting, the desire for freedom and the entrapment of state and society”.
(Robertson 2012) On the other side of the argument that is about the share of state
political agency, Siamdoust questioned the religious appropriation of the music in
post-revolution Iran produced through the authorised and controlled market. She
believed that the resulting popular culture is neither a pure cultural democratic
production, nor a pure state propaganda. (Siamdoust 2013, 2015)
Apart from these, the term underground music in literature published inside
Iran tends to refer to rap music, whereas in diaspora literature it refers to rock as
well. Due to feasibility of audience research in Iran, most of these domestic liter-
atures are based on surveys. They are concerned with the relationship between
cultural capital and music consumption (Fazeli 2005), appropriation of vulgar di-
alect of rap among listeners (Alikhah 2013) and failure of the cultural policies to
articulate au urban cultural hegemony for youth (Shakouri and Gholamzadeh Na-
tanzi 2010) as well as the relationship between youth culture and social norms,
aggression and education (Samim 2007; Samim and Ghasemi 2006a, 2010), the
construction of identity through the consumption of conflicting types of official
and unofficial music (Samim 2013), the underground music and the issue of re-
sistant and imminent fame (Kowsari 2009), masculinity in rap music (Kowsari and
Mowlaei 2013) and differences between youth generations in Iran (Kowsari 2008).
Although they deliver more details on the nature of youth culture in contrast
to the previously generalised perspectives, but a majority of them have a patho-
logical approach towards the issue. Stealthily, they all share the idea of separation
and alienation of popular music from the younger generation’s lifestyle in contrast
to an invisible social norm – which these literatures are also parts of it. This idea
is also against the exaggerated refusal and resistant agenda of youth that has been
mentioned in diaspora literature.
Reframing the Questions and Concluding Remarks
Most of these researches based the questions on some unquestionable assumptions
(e.g. youth resistant culture, impact of music as an external agenda, etc.). It is bet-
ter to “re-describe social motives and meanings, and the situations in which they
occur” (Blaikie 2009, 19) in order to have a better explanation while keeping an
eye on the validity of the questions rather than to take only one of the arguments
– of domestic and cross-cultural – in the analysis. In other words, it is suggested
to start with least presumptions on the field of study – here power and resistance
in popular music – and continue with more sceptical observations and conceptual
awareness.
The next step is rethinking the concept of resistant by deconstructing the
meaning behind the term ‘power’. By broadening these two concepts outside of
state political and into social realm of everyday life, ‘power’ proposes to articulate
‘meaning’ – through which understanding happens – while resistance opposes or
even proposes different rearticulations. (Jørgensen and Phillips 2002) Resistance
could either pre-exist before the domination or develop further gradually as an
alternative. It is also to say that due to plurality of social discourses is not to be
seen as a simple binary, but as a network of power and resistant relations. Power
and resistant actually have the same nature, a struggle over redefining everything:
If power dominates completely, then resistant has been vanished. However, since
there is no struggle, then there is no need for power (to push for domination).
Power and resistant are both productive and restrictive at the same time. Now due
to several disputes and changes in Iranian society since 1905, the line by which
‘us’ and ‘them’ supposedly defined is too much ambiguous and illusionary.
Putting power and resistance through vigorous social dynamics affirms that
none of them could be understood without the other. In the case of Iranian popular
music, political restrictions are as much important as the production and consump-
tion of popular music. In general, literatures covered several issues of market, me-
dia, youth (sub) culture, social classes, surveillance, censorship, national identity,
gender issues, religion and education as impressive factors on popular music.
However, the issue of power was more associated with the established political
power while on the other hand, resistant with the reactionary agency of the sup-
pressed – generally youth. This is more evident when the history of popular music
has been (or sometimes forced to be) narrated chronologically in respect to politi-
cal changes e.g. the 1979 revolution, presidency of Mohammad Khatami, 2009
elections, nuclear deals. However, the political system is only one part of the social
formations of meanings and the identities.
136 Amin Hashemi
The plurality of several discourses – of Islam and European modernity that

have never been established completely – led made current Iranian society to float
between these two. It is the most essential then to reframe research questions apart
from polarised stereotypes. In terms of Iranian popular music, to understand the
power and resistance it is crucial first to understand and to explain the meaning of
popular music in Iran. In more details, instead of looking for trouble zones, it is
better to look for the discourses that formed the popular music of Iran, its support-
ing facts and the way they have been represented, hidden or censored.
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‘Gear Acquisition Syndrome’ – A Survey of Electric
Guitar Players
Jan-Peter Herbst
Arts and Music Education, Bielefeld University, Bielefeld, Germany, info@janherbst.net
In 1996, Steely Dan guitarist Walter Becker coined the term ‘guitar acquisition
syndrome’ to describe the guitarist’s compulsive and unrelenting urge to buy and
own instruments. As this tendency applies to other musicians as well the term soon
became what now is called G.A.S. – Gear Acquisition Syndrome. Although pop-
ular music research has emphasized the relevance of music technology, this cul-
tural practice, shared by amateur and professional musicians alike, has not found
any considerable attention yet.
By following a quantitative design with a sample of 418 electric guitar play-
ers, this article contributes to an empirical foundation of G.A.S. from a music tech-
nology perspective. It evaluates the dimension of the syndrome and explores the
musicians’ intentions and aesthetic ideals behind their use of technology. The
study found indications for the guitar players’ tendency to be afflicted with G.A.S.,
and provides insights into person-related factors like age, experience, profession-
alism and genre affinity.
Keywords: G.A.S., gear acquisition syndrome, electric guitar, genres, music technology
Introduction
“You’re sweating, you haven’t slept properly in days, and you’re pretty sure that
you’ve been talking to yourself. Your search history is an endless stream of forums
and reviews, and you’ve discovered that against all odds you’re able to carry multiple
completely opposing opinions in your head at the same time. You’re pretty sure that
you’re about to lose it completely, possibly in a public place. You’re scared.” (Power
and Parker 2015)
This phenomenon has a name: G.A.S. The abbreviation stands for ’gear acquisi-
tion syndrome’ and can be traced back to Steely Dan’s guitar player Walter Becker
who in 1996 wrote an editorial for the Guitar Player magazine. Initially, Becker
wrote about the ‘guitar acquisition syndrome’ that he observed in the Los Angeles
music scene and suspected for many of the magazine’s readers. Because other mu-
sicians as well as producers showed similar tendencies, the term changed to ‘gear
acquisition syndrome’. It describes the compulsive and unrelenting urge, triggered

140 Jan-Peter Herbst
by the endless search for the ’magic tone’, to buy an own gear as an anticipated
catalyst of creative energy and bringer of happiness (Diiorio 2016). Photographers
and other artists were ’infected’ by G.A.S too (Kim 2012).
Needless to say, G.A.S. is not a “clinical condition”, as stated by the not quite
serious Wikipedia (2015) definition; it is rather a cultural phenomenon that af-
flicted persons joke about. Humorous illustrations and discussions in musicians’
boards are all over the internet, and merchandise is sold online and in music stores.
Many video platforms showcase musicians’ precious instrument collections, and
the website www.guitaracquisitionsyndrome.com presents documentaries of most
’serious’ cases. Jay Wright (2006) published the book GAS. Living with Guitar
Acquisition Syndrome with confessions of 200 ’afflicted’ enthusiasts from 23
countries to scare off musicians not yet affected. Similarly, countless videos on
how to treat the syndrome are online. There even exists a 50-minute video docu-
mentary (Diiorio 2016). Furthermore, numerous blogs and online articles address
G.A.S. (Kwisses 2015; Power & Parker 2015; Robair 2015; Leonhardt 2016).
The musicians’ habit of collecting instruments and exploring new ways of
expression, e. g. by modifying their instruments, is by no means new. Music his-
tory has many examples of prestigious instruments of desire; doubtless, a Stradi-
vari is one of them. In popular music, there also are instruments much sought-
after, e. g. Gibson’s Les Paul models between 1958 and ’60 (Greenwood & Hem-
bree 2011). Among the guitar modifications, Edward Van Halen’s Frankenstrat –
a combination of Les Paul and Stratocaster type guitars – and his tweaked valve
amplifier (Walser 1993) are most prominent. Academically, research on popular
music has emphasized the central role of technology. As Théberge (2001: 3)
rightly claimed, “[a]ny discussion of the role of technology in popular music
should begin with a simple premise: without electronic technology, popular music
in the twenty-first century is unthinkable“. The list of respective research is long
(Belz 1972; Frith 1986; Moore 1993; Gracyk 1996; Théberge 1997; Waksman
1999). However, the phenomenon of G.A.S. has not received any considerable
attention in popular music studies and musicology yet.
This article is less concerned with adopting cultural studies theories on com-
modification (Simmel 1968), branding strategies (Jentetics 2012) or psychological
mechanisms (Sarinana 2013) related to G.A.S. It rather aims to contribute to an
empirical foundation from a music technology perspective by evaluating the di-
mension of the syndrome in terms of guitar players’ number of instruments and by
exploring aesthetic ideals and motifs behind the musicians’ use of technology.
G.A.S. may seem to be a playful issue but it does represent a cultural practice
shared by professional and amateur musicians alike which, in turn, affects musical
cultures. By gaining insights into the practices of using music technology, conclu-
sions can be drawn about genre aesthetics and how they are shaped by musicians’
‘Gear Acquisition Syndrome’ – A Survey of Electric Guitar Players 141
characteristics. The empirical data of this article is based on a recent study on

electric guitar players’ equipment and how they use their gear (Herbst 2016). This
data will be analyzed regarding its potential to explore G.A.S. It is expected that
personal factors like age, gender, experience, level of professionalism, and musi-
cal preference affect the philosophy on gear. Hence, the study focuses on how
these factors interact and take effect on attitudes and ideals concerning musical
equipment.
Method
The data is part of an extensive book project (Herbst 2016) on guitar distortion in
rock music including issues related to technological development, music aesthet-
ics, and the effects of sound on playability and expressiveness. An empirical study
added a further perspective next to historical, philosophical and acoustical ap-
proaches.
Data collection
The quantitative survey was published on SoSci Survey. It was promoted in five
German-speaking online musicians’ boards, and in four musicians’ groups on so-
cial media, with the intention to collect data from a wide range of guitar players
with different experiences and preferences. Online for three weeks, 24 August to
13 September 2015, the survey had 866 clicks. With 418 completed forms (48%),
the response rate was high.
Sample
97% of the sample were male; only nine females participated. The age spectrum
was between 15 and 64 years. The largest groups were the 25 to 29 (16%) and the
20 to 24 (15%) year olds. Each of the five-year-groups between 30 and 54 ranked
around 12%. Less represented were the youngest (15 to 19 years, 3%) and oldest
(55 to 59 years, 6%; 60 to 64 years, 3%) participants.
In compliance with the age structure most participants were experienced on
the guitar. The majority played fifteen or more years (58%), a small number less
than one year (0.3%) or between one and three years (3%). The other groups (4 to
6 years, 9%; 7 to 10 years, 14%; 11 to 15 years, 15%) were of similar sizes.
Concerning the level of professionalism, 12 persons (3%) considered them-
selves amateurs, 216 (54%) intermediates, 134 (34%) semi-professionals, and 38
(10%) professionals. The level of professionalism correlated with experience (rs
= .384; p < .001) but not with age.
Regarding the preferred genres played on the electric guitar (Figure 1), an
average of 3.56 (SD = 1.82) out of eleven was selected by multiple answer choice.
More traditional genres like blues, classic rock and hard rock were most popular
in contrast to many metal genres. The ’no rock/metal genres’ included music com-
monly played with little or no guitar distortion such as jazz, soul, funk or reggae.
The genres selected by the participants were stylistically close, e. g. blues, classic
rock and hard rock on the one hand, alternative rock, grunge and punk on the other
hand, plus all metal genres.
18%
16%
14%
12%
10%
8%
6%
4%
2%
0%
Figure 1: Preferred genres of electric guitar playing (N = 1,090)

Some genres demonstrated greater flexibility concerning the number of genres
preferred to play. With correlations between .400 and .600 (p < .001), hard rock,
alternative rock, heavy metal, classic rock and grunge were most flexible. Blues
was medium (r = .337; p < .001), and all metal genres were least open with corre-
lations around .180 (p < .001). No rock/metal genres were slightly more flexible
(r = .240; p < .001), yet only rock and metal genres could be selected. Otherwise,
the flexibility might have been greater.
Players of all age groups played blues and classic rock, but particularly those
older than 35 years. Hard rock was favored by all generations. Metal genres were
preferred by younger musicians with heavy metal on the older and extreme metal
and metalcore on the younger end.
Data analysis
The items of the survey relevant for this study were either ordinal (age group,
experience, professionalism) or parametric (attitudes, number of instruments). At-
titudes were measured on a five-point Likert scale with labels at the anchors, sign-
ing left (1) as total disagreement and right (5) as total agreement. Since the genres
were selected with multiple answer choice, they were saved in dichotomous vari-
ables. Hence, comparing genres was only possible indirectly by comparing “se-
lected” with “not selected” genres. This was achieved with parametric point-bise-
rial correlation (r). Spearman correlation (rs) was applied to ordinal relations. In
the following summary of the results, the significance of the correlation will be
marked by asterisks for better readability: * < .05, ** < .01, *** < .001. When
interpreting genre correlations, it must be kept in mind that effect values may be
underestimated due to the participants’ average selection of 3.56 genres.
Results
By definition, G.A.S. requires the accumulation of music equipment. Only 7% of
the players possessed just one guitar, 15% two and 20% three instruments. 20%
indicated having more than five and further 16% even possessed more than ten
guitars. Regarding person-related factors, the experience was the crucial factor for
owning several guitars, followed by age and level of professionalism (Table 1). A
significant trend towards a big guitar collection was found for blues and traditional
rock genres as well as for no rock/metal players. By tendency, all metal genres
except heavy metal had a negative relation.
Number of electric guitars Number of amplifiers

Age (rs) .292*** .231***
Experience (rs) .402*** .356***
Professionalism (rs) .259*** .148***
Genres (r) blues .158***; classic rock .145**; blues .208***; no rock/metal .196***;
no rock/metal .142**; hard rock .100* classic rock .193***; metalcore −.162 ***;
extreme metal −.129**
Table 1: Correlations regarding size of equipment

The participants owned less amplifiers than guitars: two devices (31%), four and
more (25%), one and three each (22%), more than ten (1%). Here too, the experi-
ence was the most important factor even though the number increased with age
and expertise as well. Just as with the guitars, blues, classic rock and no rock/metal
players had the most amplifiers, metal players the least. For choosing amplifiers,
the sound quality was the main reason (72%), followed by flexibility (33%) and
transportability (31%). The cost was of minor relevance (17%). Apart from am-
plifiers, all participants, regardless of personal factors, indicated to be willing to
spend money for good quality (M = 4.34; SD = 0.86). Regarding flexibility, play-
ing more genres correlated with the number of amplifiers (rs = .147**) and guitars
(rs = .200***).
For contextualizing the number of instruments, and for obtaining insight into
G.A.S., the players’ attitudes and aesthetic, ideals concerning their equipment
were evaluated. In general, the guitar sound was very important for most players
(M = 4.69; SD = .067), especially for the more proficient ones (r = .123*). Closely
related, most had a clear vision of a good sound, and it advanced with higher ex-
perience and level of professionalism (Table 2). Participants reported a personal
sound (M = 3.80; SD = 1.04) to be more relevant than an innovative sound (M =
2.71; SD = 1.22). Both criteria increased with higher professionalism (personal rs
= .176***; innovative rs = .119*). The genres differed only slightly. For most
metal players, having a personal or an innovative sound was less relevant. These
ideals, however, were important for players of grunge and alternative rock, who
seemed to be valuing individual sounds, for instance by means of effects pedals
(Herbst 2016: 290ff). What is more, most players acknowledged different equip-
ment to affect their playing (M = 4.00; SD = 1.01). A general orientation towards
aesthetics of the 1960s and ‘70s could not be confirmed. This was more likely in
age and for blues musicians and, by tendency, by players of classic rock and no
rock/metal genres. All metal genres rather disliked such an aesthetics.
Clear vision of a Orientation towards Preference for tradi- Interest in testing

good sound aesthetics of 1960s tional guitars gear in music store
and ‘70s
Means (SD) 4.18 (0.83) 2.59 (1.24) 3.52 (1.37) 3.04 (1.32)
Age (rs) .110* .242*** .120* −.347***
Experience (rs) .204*** .029ns 0.26ns −.314***
*** ns ns
Professionalism (rs) .234 .013 .015 −.059ns
*** *** ***
Genres (r) hard rock .158 blues .305 blues .310 metalcore .178***
classic rock .278*** classic rock .138** hard rock .157**
no rock/metal .134** heavy metal −.138 ** nu metal .127*
heavy metal −.110* nu metal −.175*** heavy metal .104*
nu metal −.176*** extreme metal no rock/metal
extreme metal −.181*** −.243*** −.134***
metalcore −.261*** metalcore −.244***
Table 2: Abilities, aesthetic ideals and interests regarding guitar equipment

Testing gear in music stores, an activity potentially related to G.A.S., was not fa-
vored by the average player. Especially older and more experienced guitarists did
not enjoy it (Table 2). By tendency, players of harder genres liked public testing
whereas no rock/metal players did not. Guitarists of blues and traditional rock gen-
res were fond of informing themselves about guitar equipment online or in maga-
zines. Generally, this activity was of medium interest (M = 3.76; SD = 1.21) and
lost attractiveness with more experience (r = −.140**).
To shape the sound, the players experimented more with different guitars (M
= 3.60; SD = 1.28), pedals (M = 3.34; SD = 1.46) and amplifiers (M = 3.23; SD =
1.38) than with pickups (M = 2.99; SD = 1.41), speakers and cabinets (M = 2.87;
SD = 1.39). Experimenting with speakers and cabinets increased with greater pro-
fessionality (rs = .165***) and experience (rs = .167***).
Discussion
The study was based on a sample of electric guitar players and aimed to contribute
to an empirical foundation of the G.A.S. phenomenon. The guitar seemed a valid
starting point since the term emerged in the context of this instrument, and because
guitarists were expected to be particularly ’vulnerable’ to the syndrome. This work
confirmed the guitar players’ close connection with their equipment. On average,
the musicians had five electric guitars, a third five to ten, and a sixth even more
than ten – not to mention acoustic guitars, recording gear and other tools. Even
though they owned less amplifiers, the findings still indicate a big equipment col-
lection. The size of the collection grew with age and experience, probably as a
natural accumulation over the years. It could well be that this trend was related to
income. Younger players may also be ‘afflicted’ but lack the economic means.
As expected, the stylistic flexibility correlated with the size of the equipment
(Leonhardt 2015). The results indicate that flexibility was of little relevance for
choosing amplifiers. Electric guitarists seem to use specialized gear for certain
genres, probably leading to accumulating devices. This explanation is supported
by the finding of players agreeing to different sounds taking influence on their
playing, which again is an inevitable result of diverse equipment. The main study
of the author (Herbst 2016) complies with this hypothesis. There, an acoustic anal-
ysis proved sound to take effect on the instrument’s playability and expressive-
ness, and this assumption was confirmed in the succeeding survey (Herbst 2016).
Hence, G.A.S. may be a result of increasing expertise and professionalism, espe-
cially when involving the extension of the stylistic repertoire. Players sticking to
a limited stylistic range may be content with fewer but not less specialized equip-
ment of high quality.
The participants of the sample believed the guitar sound to be highly im-
portant, without any reservations. The majority also had a clear vision of a good
sound, which indicates a high awareness when dealing with music technology.
With this vision advancing with age, experience and professionalism, compe-
tences in using technology deliberately may be understood as part of a guitar-spe-
cific expertise complying with the importance of the sound for guitar players found
in academic literature (Gracyk 1996: 110ff). However, it is surprising that a per-
sonal sound was of little importance, and an innovative one even less. Conse-
quently, competences in music technology may rarely lead to creating utterly new
sounds, but neither are traditional aesthetics intended by most musicians. Having
diverse role models could be an explanation. As debated in music education, pop-
ular musicians learn with role models trying to imitate their sounds (Green 2002;
Ahlers 2015). This assumption was confirmed by professional players increasingly

valuing more personal and innovative sounds. Professionals probably develop
their own sound through disengaging from their models.
Against the widespread opinion in popular music research of rock musicians
being reactionary and tradition-conscious (Grossberg 1992; Moore 1993; Gracyk
1996), the participants were very hesitant in agreeing to an orientation towards
aesthetics of the 1960s and ‘70s, the time when the potential of the electric guitar
had fully emerged and taken influence on the development of rock and metal gen-
res (Elflein 2010). The results indicate a clear line between the genres; blues, clas-
sic and hard rock were more traditionalist than grunge, alternative rock and metal.
Regarding G.A.S., being tradition-conscious does not counter the desire for addi-
tional instruments. On the contrary, the traditionalists more than other players
owned the highest number of guitars and amplifiers. One possible reason could be
the urge to collect famous models in guitar history, inevitably leading to more
equipment than necessary for musical practice (Leonhardt 2015; Diiorio 2016).
In his pioneering article on G.A.S., Walter Becker (1996) also described the
Guitar Modification Syndrome as a “dangerous complication to the original syn-
drome that seems in more advanced cases to be doing most of the damage”. The
findings show that even though players experiment with different guitars and am-
plifiers, they seldom alter the electronics by replacing pickups or speakers. The
correlations indicate such activities mainly for professionals who are probably try-
ing to optimize their equipment with subtle modifications. Hence, Becker’s ‘wor-
ries’ cannot be confirmed for most guitarists and may concern professional touring
or studio players primarily.
Quite a few issues arise from the current study that should be addressed in the
future. First, theoretical work on defining and conceptualizing the phenomenon is
needed. The not quite serious journalistic and encyclopedic literature does not go
beyond criteria such as the “urge to acquire and accumulate lots of gear” (Wikipe-
dia 2015) and the addictive compulsion to buy more gear than necessary (Leon-
hardt 2016). Empirical approaches require a more sophisticated definition for bet-
ter operationalization – in general and for specific instruments. Closely related,
cultural studies oriented research could explore issues like commodification and
power structures in the industry. Aspects worth considering were the effect of role
models and the ever-expanding market of signature equipment. Another field
worth exploring was the process of how values are passed on within musical cul-
tures, potentially explaining the prestige of certain instruments and how they shape
sounds of genres (Brockhaus 2015). Such research may identify diverse intentions
and desires behind G.A.S. (Leonhardt 2016; Power & Parker 2015; Kwisses
2015), classify groups of musicians, and determine the effect of using specific
technology on genre aesthetics.
Conclusion
This article addressed the largely unexplored issue of G.A.S. from a music tech-
nology perspective with the attitudes and intentions of practicing musicians in
mind. Tendencies of guitar players’ urge to accumulate gear could be confirmed,
and person-related factors were explored. As expected, age, experience, level of
professionalism and genre affinity proved significant for attitudes towards using
technology and for aesthetic ideals. Evaluating gender effects was practically im-
possible due to the low number of female participants. Yet, the survey points to
G.A.S. being a phenomenon affecting many electric guitar players.
The study is subject to several limitations. Based on the survey of another
study, the data could not be specifically tailored to the scope of the article. Like-
wise, since the focus of the original dataset was on rock music, genres other than
rock and metal were rarely considered. Furthermore, the study only addressed
electric guitar players. Future studies may concentrate on different instruments
common in popular music and compare instrument-specific practices. Taken to-
gether, such research could greatly contribute to an understanding of how the cre-
ative production process works in different genres, and how person-related factors
are involved.
References
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Performing Disorder
Peter Hinrichs, Oleg Pronitschew

University of Kiel, Department of European Ethnology, Kiel, Schleswig-Holstein,
Germany, hinrichs@volkskunde.uni-kiel.de, oleg.pronitschew@googlemail.com
The presentation is focusing on the dialectics of agency and structure, encompass-
ing social and cultural practices in the context of popular music studies. The idea
of this contribution is to highlight a cultural anthropologist’s perspective on col-
lective interactions. We want to exemplify this methodology on the situations of
heavy metal and hard rock concerts. Our approach is centered around German and
Anglophone enquiries and literature on metal and hard rock shows. Concerts are
highly performative events combining practices of creativity, attention and recog-
nition that manifest in the synergies between artists and audience. The evocation
of atmospheres through sound and motion produces a space for distinction and
identification. Thus the concert as a cultural event allows to observe the processes
of signification and subjectification. This approach can be seen as an orientation
for ethnographic works in qualitative research.
Keywords: Praxeology, cultural anthropology, rock music, recognition, agency
Introduction
The impartial sociological and culturological research on popular culture as a le-
gitimate expression of societal development has widened in the academic field in
Germany since the 1980s. Amidst this deployment new research topics came up,
that have been either ignored by scientific interest as self-evident parts of every-
day-life or inspected through a lens, distorted by resentments. Especially the vari-
ous styles of metal music transferred their polarizing potential from a public dis-
course into the academic debates. While the research on this subject is meanwhile
established in various forms among the international ‘metal studies’, this topic is
still not equally pronounced in all disciplines participating. Although the Cultural
Anthropology/European Ethnology gave important stimuli on this subject, there is
still no specific discipline related approach to certain fields of research, a few ex-
ceptions exempted (Roccor 1998, Brill 2009, Trummer 2011, Hinrichs 2011). The
metal studies generally indicate deficits in the cultural anthropological perspective
on popular culture in terms of artistic production, material culture or social events,
which have a state of research in other areas such as folk music. Meanwhile the

150 Peter Hinrichs, Oleg Pronitschew
metal studies atimes lack an emphasizing subject-related perspective, concentrat-

ing on super-ordinate procedures and categories like politics, styles or scenes. As
cultural-anthropologists with a lifeworld-connection to metal music, we wondered
how our disciplinary approach to phenomena of the metal culture would be if we
had a look at one of its social events and how it may differ from other points of
view. As a constitutive point of the metal genre in terms of communion and dis-
tinction the concert appeared to us as appropriate for this purpose. We asked us
the following questions: How is the metal concert shaped as a specific part of this
culture? And as such, can it be understood as an event of multiplicity instead of
just an interplay of manifested roles or prefigured schemes?
In order to base our findings on empirical material we carried out an ethnog-
raphy at a concert on the 4th of December 2016 at the Markthalle in Hamburg,
Germany. This show was part of the so called Headbangers Ball Tour, an interna-
tionally operating serial of concerts. As a significantly scene-related event it ap-
peared to us to be an appropriate opportunity to find answers for our questions. In
this presentation we would like to highlight the sequences, notices and findings of
our participatory observation in a constructive manner.
The spatial frame of the live-concert
In comparison to major acts of rock and pop music, the prices for heavy metal-
concerts, even with a famous line-up of bands, are quite moderate. Thus heavy
metal concerts are in general accessible to different peers and not limited to a cer-
tain degree of income. The popularity and reputation of the bands are the major
factors for the calculation of the price. Referring to the concert we visited for our
empiric approach the price for four internationally known bands was forty euro.
The concert took place in a well-known metal location, the Markthalle. Although
it can’t be seen as a specific metal-location due to the fact, that other various kinds
of music take place at this venue. The live concert can be described by two con-
cepts of space that differ in their function: A lounge area for people to chat and
consume beverages and check out the merchandise. It’s a place for the gathering
of friends as well as to meet new people. Occasionally artists and attendees meet
here and have a conversation. This space can be considered as a refugium, a place
for leisure and communication. The other concept of space centers around the live
performance. It is generally separated into the stage area, where the artist perform
their music and an area for the audience, which is spatially opposed to the artists.
The view is restricted to actions that take place in the visible area. Within this live-
area is a place for lights and sound engineering as well as small bars left and right
of the room. The forms of interaction that can be observed within this space will
be the focus of the next chapter. During this concert this area was for stances. The
stage build the main fixing point during the live situation and the majority of the
Performing Disorder 151
audience, that gathered at this evening was in a mode of concentrated reception,

therefore not dancing or expressing their participation differently.
Modes of participation
The modes or participation we are trying to outline here, are based on our field-
experiences and the form of interactions we could observe at the Markthalle. The
different modes we want to highlight here can be understood as schemes of praxis
in live situations. In order to understand the specific interaction between the bands
and the audiences we need to differentiate the four bands by genre and their indi-
vidual approach to music. Although we can’t describe the specific musical style
of every band in depth, we can briefly explain the significant attributes of the four
genres. The first band of the evening was Unearth from Massachusetts, the band
was founded in 1998. Unearth can be considered as one of the pioneers of the
metalcore-genre. Metalcore as the name implies is an amalgamation of metal and
hardcore music. The hardcore aspect of the music conveys in the specific intensity
of the live shows, initiating forms of collective turmoil-like actions within the au-
dience. Other bands of the metalcore genre are Killswitch Engage, Caliban or
Parkway Drive (we will name a few famous acts to contextualize the mentioned
artists in the following genre-descriptions).
The second act, the Canadian band Kataklysm, can be categorized as an ex-
treme metal band, namely death metal (Cannibal Corpse, Obituary, Death). With
more than 20 years of a band history, the four-piece is one of the internationally
widest known death metal bands. Keith Kahn-Harris discussed the difference be-
tween heavy metal and extreme metal by differentiating several aspects of these
kinds of music (Kahn-Harris 2007: 30ff.). The idea of a live concert is influenced
by the genre's history and – of course – the music. Extreme metal genres usually
employ screamed or growled vocals, very fast guitar work and drums. The rhyth-
mic patterns resonate with the crowd’s movement in the shape of pogo and circle
pits. Forms like the circle pit and Walls of Death are more likely to happen on
shows of Hardcore, Metalcore and extreme metal genres.
The third band Ensiferum can be categorized as folk metal (Skyclad, Kor-
piklaani, Finntroll). Due to distinct melodies, defined choruses and a light-hearted
performance, Ensiferum's music seemed less aggressive and severe compared to
the two previous bands thus making it the act that mostly orientated on entertain-
ment or utility music of the evening. This feeling of entertainment however, is
something Metalheads may refuse because it does not refer to the set of cultural
values they connect with their overall idea of metal. This conflict about the mean-
ing and values had its consequence in the concept of trueness. Trueness can be
understood as an idea of authenticity within the metal culture (Irtenkauf 2014:
51ff.).
The band to which the label ‘true’ applied the most, was the US-American
group Iced Earth. Founded in 1984, this act can be categorized as melodic or
power metal, genres specified by using high-pitched vocals and a rather melodic
songwriting. It can vaguely be described as oriented around the classic versions of
heavy metal that are often associated with band of the New Wave of British Heavy
Metal, like Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and Saxon, while also adapting sonic features
of the thrash metal genre (Metallica, Slayer, Testament).
The artist on stage
The artists are defining the focus of attention in the heavy metal concert situation.
The entire economic and symbolic frame of the concert is centered around their
musical performance. Just like the audience the musicians are bound to conven-
tions and cultural norms that relate them to codices of the metal genres and signify
the event as a heavy metal concert. All bands observed had a specific stage behav-
ior. The singers, guitarists and bass guitarists, as the mobile actors of the perfor-
mance, build a line close to the front edge while the drummers’ actions were lim-
ited through the position of his drum set. The mentioned mobile actors of all bands
were mostly varying their positions and using the entire space given on the stage.
A fluid movement of the relocating musicians illustrated an experienced musician-
ship thus demonstrating the mastering of simultaneously playing an instrument
while combining it with actions like walking, running or headbanging as well as
maneuvering around the other band members. It also demonstrated routines in the
stage performance: The interactions within the band are kept hidden, as commu-
nication was held just by gestures, eye contact or unnoticeable dialogues, that
couldn’t be heard by someone from the audience due to the high volume off the
stage. Except some tricky technical passages on their instruments the musicians
always kept eye-contact with the audience. Likewise the majority of the visible
performative acts were just addressing the concert crowd. Some band members
were performing types of the so-called showmanship, as so acts that are not needed
in the general play of the instrument to achieve a certain sound or melody, but
demonstrate a certain level of virtuosity through acrobatic acts or unusual playing
styles to impress peers in the audience. The term showmanship has an theatrical
origin and is describing an public appealing and entertaining action, while in this
context it is used to specify a special dimension of virtuosity within the metal-
genre (Lehmann/Kopiez 2011: 198ff.). During one song Ken Susi, one of the gui-
tar players of the first band Unearth, flipped his guitar around his body, which was
only attached to him through the guitar strap. This actions can be seen in the con-
text of fan persuasion on the stage to strengthen the relation to the existing fandom
and convince new listeners (Lehmann/Kopiez 2011: 203f.). The performers tried
to encourage active participation of the audience by employing gestures that an-
ticipate a specific reaction like getting the attendees to sing-along or clapping their
hands. This way the vocalists acted like conductors and guided the collective ac-
tions of the crowd. Especially Maurizio Iacono of the second band Kataklysm em-
bodied this position by emphasizing moments of some songs with theatrical ges-
tures like raising his hands up in the air for building up tension.
Another challenge of the vocalists is to build up a narrative around the per-
formance of their bands that offers a pattern of interpretation for the recipients
(Davidson 2002). This process happens through the announcements that filled
gaps between the songs. We specified three functions of announcement during our
observation, that appeared separately and in mixed variations: 1) The self-referen-
tial announcement, in which the vocalists refer to certain topics of the band’s bi-
ography or anecdotes. This type is used to outline the specifics of each ensemble
like the time of their existence or particular elements that signify their shows as a
vivid mosh pit or, to put it in the words of the Kataklysm-vocalist, “massive vio-
lence in the pit”. 2) The contextualization within the genre: In this manner the
vocalists use certain semantic schemes around the metal scene to describe a topic
of their music. Once more the Kataklysm-front man gave the best example for this
type. As an introduction to one song he made a distinctive statement about their
appearance: “Hamburg, we want you a little bit more crazy. This is not the Back-
street Boys. This is fucking metal.“ By marking the difference to musical acts of
other genres and naming specific elements of metal music like ‘craziness’, he is
referring to codes, that are part of metal as a cultural system (Kosic 2011). 3) The
function of unification: Just like outlining the specific state as a metal-concert the
bands try to build up a community atmosphere by referring to them and the crowd
as ‘metalheads’ or the ‘metalscene’. This reference is also made by a representa-
tive gratitude to the concertgoers. The specific handling of these stage actions
marked the characteristic of each band aside of the music they were playing.
Active and passive participation
The audience’s schemes of praxis vary in regard to the band on stage. The four
Bands represented four styles of metal, which were not only very different in their
sound but also in their performance. First of all we can distinguish between two
patterns of participation: active and passive. Active patterns of participation within
the audience refer to certain forms of movement and dancing: headbanging, pogo,
circle pit, wall of death, stagediving, quires and the horns gesture. While not all of
these actions could have been observed at the concert in the Markthalle, these
forms can be considered the possible schemes of active participation. In what in-
tensity and frequency they occur is dependent on the motivation of the recipients.
Headbangig can be seen as the basic mode of active participation at every heavy
metal concert. It can be carried out by a single person, whereas pogo, circle pits
and walls of death only work if executed by a group of people.
As schemes of passive participation we consider the critical view/focused lis-

tening, the nodding and the filming of the live concert. The critical view and the
focused listening coincide. It is a concentrated perception of the performing band.
For those who are not familiar with the band on stage, this can be seen as a form
of evaluation. Nodding can be considered the light version of the headbanging. It
is the minimum of visible rhythmic interaction that can be executed. Filming pre-
serves moments of the show, so that the concertgoer gets an audio-visual souvenir.
A scheme of praxis that marks the contrary to the modes of participation is
the retreat from the live show, the rejection of bands by turning away and waiting
for the other bands to get on stage. In our opinion this neglection also needs to be
summarized under the various forms of praxis in a live situation. To choose not to
watch a band although you've already paid for it, is a sign of disinterest and can
be seen as a devaluation. The decision not to show up in front of the stage also
conveys a lack of attention for the performing band, because the amount of people
with which the band could possibly interact decreases. This is especially important
if we consider that some of the more active forms of participation need a certain
amount of people in front of the stage in order to work.
A legit question that needs to be concerned in this perspective on a metal
show is, if the outlined patterns of interaction only apply to the metal scene. Are
there even significant attributes that stand out as specific aspects of metal concerts
in comparison to live shows of other musical genres?
The division between passive and active schemes of participation can be
transferred to almost all types of live concerts. But we would argue that the prac-
tices of active participation – and to a lesser extent the passive schemes as well –
differ in reference to the scene's culture. Due to the diversity of heavy metal, the
different genres represented by the four bands bring about their own logic of live
interaction. The second band Kataklysm was not explicitly trying to initiate any
formations of the audience, but the action in front of the stage increased, because
more fans crowded there. A lot of people pogoed and headbanged which lead to
intense movement in the room. From a spectator's perspective the activities in front
of the stage resemble more to a turmoil than to any sort of dance. Thus the intensity
of the live situation is highly dependent on the number of fans that actually per-
form practices of active participation. Kataklysm managed to gather a bigger
crowd which directly influenced the atmosphere of the live concert. A basic for-
mula can be outlined for the live concert: the more people are willing to participate
actively, the more intense the live experience. The way active participation takes
place is linked to the tacit knowledge of a scene or musical genre.
Artist-audience interaction
The artist-audience interaction is divided into two types of practices: Specifically
modeled actings, that are part of the scene knowledge and spontaneous acts that
define variations of the basic symbolic structure of the concert. The participants
on stage and off stage have certain methods to demonstrate the success of the in-
teraction. The musicians for example appreciate the audience for their presence
and support during the live situation by articulating their gratefulness verbally or
throwing small parts of their equipment like sticks or guitar picks as regalia into
the crowd. These kinds of interactions rely on the knowledge of the involved actors
about the norms of the metal genre. Just to make a comparison: In a concert, set in
the context of classical or jazz music, it is not a regular behavior of musicians to
throw parts of their equipment into the audience nor asking them to demonstrate
more ‘craziness’. It has to be noted, that not all interactions succeed. Especially
the bands of this evening, related to extreme metal music styles, had some diffi-
culties to animate the audience to give in into maneuvers like circle pits or pogo
dance. As we watched the Band Unearth, we noticed some attempts of their singer
Trevor Phipps to initiate a circle pit but due to the lack of eager fans in front of the
stage, the circle pit was only very small and did not grow to a room-sized extent.
We concluded from this point, that they just lacked a certain amount of their spe-
cific peers at this concert. The execution of collective forms of active participation
(pogo, circle pit, wall of death) by a large amount of attendees can be understood
as sign of acknowledgement for the bands. We also consider cheering, singing
along as well as requesting an encore as forms of acknowledgement.
During our observation we witnessed various acts of barrier-crossings be-
tween the musicians and the audience. On a spatial level, the difference between
performers and recipients is inscribed into the vast majority of the venue architec-
ture, sharing the least common element, that there is a stage and an area for listen-
ers. In concerts of a certain size or genre the physical contact between the musi-
cians and their crowd is limited through regulative mechanisms as crowd control
barriers or a security guard. Despite the reasonable purpose to avoid harm from
the performers and the audience, this control mechanisms build up a distance be-
tween the actors involved in the concert situation. In each of the live situations in
the ethnography, this setting was handled individually. The guitar player for Un-
earth just jumped down from the stage at one moment, encased a willing fan with
his guitar, holding it in front of him, while still playing it. Also the Kataklysm-
singer used the chance a few times, to shake hands with people from the audience
and even hugged a stage-diver one time. These acts demonstrate a closeness be-
tween the actors involved. Although the majority of the participants lack a per-
sonal contact they get in close contact to each other to outline the status of a (even
if temporary) community. Especially the musicians have the opportunity to not
just underline their outstanding position, but also to become part of the crowd as
well. At this concert, due to their high level of interaction with their peers, bands
with a far more aggressive sound and performance appeared far closer to the au-
dience than bands, which music seemed more accessible for regular listeners
through clean vocals, moderately disturbed guitars and/or the use of non-metal
music elements. Depending on the individual musicians this topic is handled dif-
ferently. Some artists go in close contact, while others hold a distance, even if they
have full motivity on the stage. Therefore the symbolic agenda of the concert was
also used for creative adaptations on all areas of participation.
Theoretical frame
What really marks the difference in the atmospheric and spatial effects of the ac-
tive and passive modes of participation is the degree of physical involvement per-
formed by the attendees. The music’s affective impact on the recipients can be
considered as the driving force behind these modes. During the live performances
we could observe practices of spacing that shape the space of the concert. The term
spacing was brought up by Anthony Giddens (1988) and later adapted by German
sociologist Martina Löw, who integrated this idea in her sociology of space. Spac-
ing refers to the placement of subjects and objects within a spatial frame. The
practices of spacing arrange the given space in relation to the subject’s intentions
and the specific qualities of the involved objects (Löw 2001: 158ff.). The spatial
processes that are set free within the live situation can be thought of as ways of
agency (Bethmann et al 2012) if we consider the practices of spacing that yield
them as relatively autonomous. Although the temporary space of the live concert
is structured and limited by its’ physical qualities in which it takes place as well
as its’ institutionalised frame that occurs in the need for security, technicians and
a timetable for the bands, there are still possibilities for the attendees to “go
crazy”. Agency then refers to a capacity to act under given circumstances. The
potential of this capacity is expressed in various practices of participation that
range from rather passive behaviours to ecstatic actions in the moshpit. The per-
ception of this actionability as relatively autonomous refers to the subjective un-
derstanding of the actors involved in the social setting of the live-concert. Metal
shows are also structured around narratives and symbols of the scene’s culture that
make the interactions intelligible for metalheads. The gestures employed by the
artists can lead to the described patterns, because the attendees are able to com-
prehend them on the basis of a shared knowledge. By using certain symbols people
show each other that they belong to a community or at least have attributes, atti-
tudes or ideas in common (Mead 2009: 375f.).
Therefore a main attraction of the concert is to fulfill images and imaginations
about metal music for a temporary period (Castoriadis 1984). The entire event is
based on the connection to the topic of metal culture that sustains all actions. All
participants relate to this frame and form the basic imaginations for their specific
profile. This can be seen as characteristic for any type of entity involved: bands,
their peers, the audience as a whole and even the entire show itself. Given this
multidimensional component, the metal studies research might benefit from taking
more aspects of intersectionality into account while investigating in concert live
situations. For example: How do aspects like gender, disability or ethnicity influ-
ence the participation and individual concert experience? We see the main poten-
tial of a Cultural Anthropology perspective in a comparative approach to the con-
cert situation, relating prefigured institutions and situative modifications to each
other. It has been the aim of our observation not to just examine this social event
as a linear procedure, but to be aware of cultural fractures, that indicate differ-
ences, asymmetries and thus specifics of this setting. Referring to our title “Per-
forming Disorder” the term disorder may be overemphasized, given that the live-
concert is structured and confined by several organisational aspects. In comparison
to concerts of other musical genres the modes of active participation witnessed on
a metal show stand out in regard to their physical involvement. The same could be
said for concerts of punk or hardcore music. The live-action of a metal concert
may be perceived as uncontrolled, but it is rooted in the scene’s culture. Therefore
the modes of participation follow implicit guidelines of this culture’s tacit
knowledge. In relation to these semantics, the concept of agency points to the
scope of action and perception every single person has within this prefigured set-
ting.
References
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From Psychedelia to Djent – Progressive Genres as a
Paradox of Pop Culture
Andrzej Mądro
Academy of Music in Kraków, Music Theory and Interpretation Department, Kraków,
Poland, andrzej.madro@amuz.krakow.pl
Progressive rock has, as a popular music genre from the very beginning, separated
itself from pop culture extensively. It wanted to be the elite, the modern, and the
innovative in new forms of art. Ideas of “art rock” do not expire and with time
gave rise to the new, transgressive trends: neo-progressive in the ‘80s, progressive
metal and mathcore in the ‘90s, and, recently, djent. At the expense of greater
commercial success, many bands still cut off from the rock-metal mainstream and
operate independently, incessantly exceeding stylistic and aesthetical boundaries.
Moreover, poetics of their music often reveal a tension between elitism and egali-
tarianism, intellect and corporeality, individuality and convention.
During the last few decades, classical music has also crossed the limits of the
traditional, even modernistic aesthetics. If nowadays we were to consider music
that is minimal, electronic, neoromantic or containing other postmodern trends as
“classical”, how should we regard progressive genres? Can they be seen as syn-
thesis of two worlds – classical and rock, or are they being created amidst a thick
frontier between art and pop culture?
Keywords: psychedelia, progressive rock, art rock, progressive metal, djent
Psychedelia
Virtually, rock as a scene from its beginning was not a united front. At the end of
the ‘60s, after the ubiquitous British Invasion, there appeared musicians who
wanted to develop rock to the likes of modern and innovative form of art. They
started to separate themselves from pop culture extensively, just like Third Stream
and bebop extended beyond swing jazz in ‘40s. Progressive rock musicians pre-
ferred to create music to listen to instead of music to dance to. Therefore, the late
end of the ‘60s had placed more value on composition and recordings than perfor-
mance (Fisher 1998: 120), just like the Beatles had done before them (after 1966
they stopped touring). Unconquerable pop-rock stars denying the ideas of pop cul-
ture? The whole scenario sounds like a paradox.
Moreover, it is ironic that the most innovative and inspiring things in rock
were created through the assistance of drugs. Despite the tragic consequences for

160 Andrzej Mądro
many musicians, psychedelic rock opened music to incorporate new means; longer
improvisational solos, extensive forms with stretched temporality, and recording
technics with curious sound effects. It also encouraged musicians to learn from
different founts, mainly The Far East cultures, high modernism, and jazz. It would
be an oversimplification to think that such creativity was reserved only to drug
addicted youth. Only recalling on this time period do we see that the effects of
psychedelics nurtured and expanded the minds that were in its presence.
Psychedelic rock quickly became popular because of all the weird and fresh
sounds that appeared fanciful and ingenious for the average listener, and because
it was legitimized by the band with the largest reputation at the time – The Beatles.
This way, psychedelia brought ideas to pop music that have seemed unacceptable
to the wider audience, and as a result nowadays psychedelic rock does not limit to
be music only for “hippies” and “junkies”. Decades later, works from artists like
Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin or Jimi Hendrix remained iconic into the 20th and 21st
centuries. They proved to be timeless, inter-generational, and universal, sealing
their music as canonical and near biblical.
Progressive rock
Aesthetically and stylistically unprejudiced psychedelia, regardless of the artistic
value of such output, proved that popular music can go far beyond rock’n’roll
schemes. Therefore is not surprising that mind-expanding experiments soon
evolved into a more explicit and potent genre called progressive rock. Unlike psy-
chedelia, it stated against amateurism and fortuitousness, while trying to promote
itself as a new art form. Progressive rock was to become elite, inaccessible, in-
comprehensible, and, as Jérôme Melançon and Alexander Carpenter rightly noted,
“classic prog-rock bands were reacting – at least in part – to the kind of popular
music that Adorno would have characterized as regressive, passive, and funda-
mentally meaningless: formulaic, mass-produced, throw-away songs that were es-
sentially childish.” (Melançon and Carpenter 2015: 135)
One of the first progressive bands that was able to find commercial success
within, and later beyond, the psychedelic scene was Pink Floyd. A turning point
for the band was 1969 – when they released Ummagumma, and 1970 – in which
Atom Heart Mother was created. This 24-minute long suite bears no resemblance
to a standard single, which is a rather avant-garde musical collage. Thanks to col-
laboration with Ron Geesin – pianist and composer, Roger Waters’ colleague from
golf pool – the work gained a highly extensive arrangement. Besides the band it-
self, a brass section and choir had been used alongside non-musical “concrète”
sounds; the trampling and neighing of horses, the explosions, and the roar of a
motorcycle engine or a passing train. Critical reaction to the suite has been mixed
(even some band members have expressed negativity toward it in recent times).
From Psychedelia to Djent – Progressive Genres as a Paradox of Pop Culture 161
For some Atom Heart Mother was a masterpiece – the pinnacle of Pink Floyd’s
artistic achievements, while for others it was considered rubbish and a dead end.
Surprisingly, despite all whimsicality, the work was commercially successful and
became first Floyd’s album which reached the top of the chart in the United King-
dom. The recording’s popularity in present time and its current time could be seen
as a paradox, considering that in our current musical atmosphere this seems im-
possible to sell. Nevertheless, there is no place for such bizarre experiments in
commercialised pop music – it is much too expensive and uncertain.
At the beginning of the ‘70s, Pink Floyd, with their next compositions like
Echoes, and of course, Dark Side of The Moon, took over the title of the most
important rock band after the Beatles decade. They proved successful in terms of
show business, while at the same time, denying aesthetics and ideas of popular
music. Pink Floyd was not the only band which vilified mass-oriented production,
standardized behaviour, and other demands of the music industry. For many rock
groups commercial success was not a primary goal (yet many musicians spend o
lot of money than earn). Already in the ‘60s there began to appear more and more
artists that did not fit into pre-established categories of the pop culture, like
the Velvet Underground, Frank Zappa and Brian Eno.
For some artists, the request to make an ordinary single was an unappealing
requirement. As an example, no one believed that Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody
could have been a radio hit – it appeared too long and compound compared to
industry singles at the time. Furthermore, the medium of a single song ceased to
suffice to enclose a more substantial artistic message, hence the development of a
concept album and rock opera (or rock theatre, as in the case of Genesis), of which
its genre and form can be interpreted not only as a cluster of songs, but also like a
cycle and integral musical drama. Thanks to that progressive rock at some point
becomes far more complex than new classical music trends of that time like min-
imal, aleatoric, conceptual, or sonoristic output. It defied all standards and values
while showing that rock does not have to answer to any laws and rules, that true
artistic statement above everything is possible.
Prog metal
Despite the fact that many progressive records were challenging for listeners, they
grew into classics not only to rock, but also to popular music in general. Unfortu-
nately, after the punk revolution, progressive rock temporarily became the most
hated of all rock genres and, irretrievably, fell out of the mainstream. But ideas of
“art rock” do not expire, and in the ‘80s gave rise to the so called neo-progressives
(Marillion, Pendragon, IQ and others). It appeared that there was still part of the
listeners and musicians who appreciated the purposefulness of that kind of crea-
tivity.
162 Andrzej Mądro
The important moment for progressive genres occurred at beginning of the

‘90s, when bands appeared heralding a new trend – progressive metal. These bands
were Queensrÿche, Fates Warning, and by far the most important – Dream Thea-
ter, whose members set new standards of musical skill and technical imagination
pulled out of professional music studies. Promoting their second album, the band
decided to choose their shortest and “lightest” song, Another Day, as their single,
but sadly did not see success. Surprisingly, their second single, an eight-minute
long and heavier, Pull me Under, received much more positive reception, espe-
cially in radio, and quickly rose to tenth place in the charts of the US magazine
Billboard. With this success, the group recorded a music video that hastily became
an unexpected MTV hit. Consequently, sales of their album Images And Words
reached Gold Record status in the US (over 500,000 copies sold) and Platinum
Record status in Japan (250,000 copies sold).26
The musicians of Dream Theater not only significantly raised the threshold
for technical virtuosity, complexity of form, harmony, and rhythm, but they also
broadened the range of emotions. New means such as symphonic-like instrumen-
tation resulted in a variety of timbres, colours and textures. Of course, traditional
metal sounds still had to affect the listener’s body directly and are meant appreci-
ated non-intellectually.
Typical notions of popular music garnish thoughts of “light music” and “mu-
sic for entertainment”, both of which do not fit to the prog metal genre. Despite
this, Dream Theater gained popularity among a wider audience by the fact that
their style of highly complex compositions is a strange synthesis of different traits;
rhapsodic form and content compensated with catchy melodies in choruses mar-
ried with heavy-sounding guitars balancing clear leading vocals. Poetics of their
music often remained as transgressive and subversive musical tropes, revealing a
tension between elitism and egalitarianism, intellect and corporeality, individual-
ity and convention. The listeners are often not even expectant these great laby-
rinths of composed codes and symbols are hidden behind the veil of complex struc-
tures.
So far, the greatest commercial success achieved in progressive metal as a
genre belongs to the American band Tool.27 The group has won three Grammy
Awards and topped the charts in several countries. They achieved their first award
26
Slightly lower success Dream Theater achieved by song On the Backs of Angels
(2011), originally released as a single for their album A Dramatic Turns of Events,
which received nominations for the best Rock/Metal Performance. This nomination
seemed to be itself inconsistent because of the song’s non-commercial and anti-capi-
talistic subject matter.
27
In relation to this band often uses the term “alternative metal”.
in 1996 via the album Ænima, which debuted at No. 2 on the Billboard 200 upon
its initial release. The title track won the Grammy Award for Best Metal Perfor-
mance in 1998. Following their success, their album from 2001 called Lateralus
debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart (sold more than 500,000 copies in its
first week of release) with its single Schism (Received a Grammy Award for Best
Metal Performance in 2002). Although the band took complicated conceptual ap-
proaches to their music (particularly to the rhythm - in Schism time signature
changes almost 50 times) as well as debuting total abstract and surreal music
video, the band still managed to reach a wider audience.28
Because of the harshness of sound, there is likely no chance for prog metal to
garnish such popularity as Pink Floyd or Yes. But, thanks to digital global media,
it will be easier to reach new loyal fans, mainly musicians, who are hungry for
new inspiration and bored with the commercialized and dull heavy metal main-
stream.
Djent
Being truly original and progressive for many artists seems impossible nowadays.
Although, at the expense of greater commercial success, many bands still want to
cut off from the rock and metal mainstream. They remain seeking and experiment-
ing, colliding various influences while incessantly exceeding stylistic and aesthetic
boundaries. In this way, at the beginning of the 21st century djent was developed
from progressive metal and mathcore. Specific features of this “metal geek's mi-
crogenre” (Thomson 2011) is a very low sound of 7 or 8-string guitars and intri-
cate, “broken” rhythm. These prog metal factors often are opposed to subtly am-
bient backgrounds and others modern electronic effects.
Djent, in general, is metal. But paradoxically, because of abstract, grotesque
syncopations with polyrhythmic and polymetric structures, sometimes even so
called “head banging” is quite difficult. Through technical and formal difficulties
in seeking mastery of musical material and decisively detaching itself from social
dance and toward the intellectual listening, the genre seems just like progressive
rock in ‘70s.
One of the pioneers of the djent, besides such extremely heavy examples such
as Meshuggah and the lighter Animals as Leaders and TesseracT is Periphery, a
band formed in 2005 by guitarist, drummer, and composer Misha Mansoor. First,
he gained a reputation under the nickname “Bulb” as a solo Internet artist thanks
28
The third Grammy Award Tool received in 2006 for Best Recording for the album
10,000 Days. Also two single songs was nominated.
164 Andrzej Mądro
to his activity and own audio production on websites like SoundClick or seven-
string.org. Any person could listen, comment, and share his audio samples. Some
of the best examples from that interactive library of musical ideas formed the basis
for the compositions of Mansoor’s projects and bands, mainly – Periphery. There
was no support from managers, major record companies, advertisers, or even pro-
fessional recording studios, only the dedicated penetrating online community. All
sound-samples used had been personally written, performed, and produced en-
tirely by himself29 with only a few amps, sound effects, and home computer. How-
ever, the growing popular style of Periphery is still constrained by technology ra-
ther than markets. Perhaps bands consciously do not want to be associated with
the limelight, and yet they still seek to construct songs differently just to reach
audiences differently than through the repetitiveness of radio.
Djent, just like progressive metal, remains highly eclectic and inclusive. And,
as a heavily transgressive genre, wants to cross both the aesthetics of metal with
cultural boundaries. Supposing progressive rock was mainly British and progres-
sive metal American, in so much ways djent is a transcultural and truly global
phenomenon. It became popular not by radio or television, but by websites (par-
ticularly got.djent.com) and YouTube, for which geographical boundaries do not
really exist. Among many30 groups we can find bands hailing even from Poland,
like the increasingly popular and talented Disperse with its excellent guitarist and
composer Jakub Żytecki. Again, Misha Mansoor proves a good example, being
Mauritian and Jewish by descent, but born and raised in the US.
Today, Periphery is perhaps the most popular and significant band in the
genre. In December 2016 they had been nominated for a Grammy for Best Metal
Performance with such known alongside more mainstream bands like Korn and
Megadeth. And yet another idiosyncrasy revealed itself: by not targeting the mar-
ket laws was bringing them unprecedented success. Mansoor comments this: “I
guess it’s just very surreal, it’s definitely not the kind of thing we ever even
thought we would be considered for, we just kinda assumed we wouldn’t ever be
on their radar” (Storm 2016).
So far, Periphery has released five studio albums and two Eps with all musical
material being self-produced by the members of the band.
29
He also produced albums of other significant djent bands: Animals as Leaders, Veil
of Maya or Born of Osiris.
30
Among most important: Intervals from Canada, Meshuggah and Vildhjarta from Swe-
den, Northlane from Australia, Skyharbor from India, Textures from Netherlands.
Conclusion
During the few decades following World War II, all avant-garde musical trends
like serialism, sonorism, and aleatoric music, electronic and new media art, and
performance art had crossed every limit of the traditional and even modernistic
paradigm. It resulted in prominent aesthetical confusion, which was further im-
pelled by post-modern tendencies. Simultaneously, musical tastes of listeners, ei-
ther more or less versed, had radically changed. Rampant avant-garde artists
opened the public for more unusual forms. Perhaps this gives reason as to why
progressive rock was able to dominate the mainstream for several years in ‘70s.
But simultaneously, it was increasingly difficult to clearly define the boundaries
of pop and art. After all, if we consider minimal, electronic, neoromantic, or other
postmodern musical trends as “classical”, how should we regard progressive gen-
res? Can they be seen as synthesis of two worlds - classical and rock, or have they
forged a thick frontier between art and pop-folk culture? Many progressive songs
and albums go beyond the standardization of popular music and can be read like
classical pieces (Covach 1997: 23). Moreover, they are difficult in reception for a
mass audience, but successful in the terms of the music industry. Sometimes the
modernistic nonconformist approach becomes some kind of ‘music reserved only
for musicians’. Perhaps these contradictions and ironies are expressions of the in-
congruities of society.
After all the examples we might beg the question: does the idea of progres-
siveness serve only to the pretending elite, committing rock snobbery? Jérôme
Melançon and Alexander Carpenter claimed that “progressive rock shares some
of the same concerns we can find in Adorno’s writings on modern and popular
music.” (Melançon and Carpenter 2015: 125) That is why progressive genres still
remain a challenge to critics. Sometimes, it is so sophisticated that superficial in-
terpretation does not fully reveal its message. Therefore, there is a necessity to
interpret beyond the superficial sound and synergise the legacy of musicology and
research new perspective shaped by popular music studies.
If the complexity of progressive music is too difficult to be read by unquali-
fied mass listeners, then it cannot be described and judged only in the perspective
of a popular music aesthetic. Progressive outputs, just like classical, can be a music
for deeper listening, encouraging audiences to think, interpret, and seek for hidden
meanings (Davies 1999: 193). Nevertheless, rock opera could be interpreted as a
cluster of songs but also as a musical drama.
If progressive genres find its place in the middle of the narrow gap between
the art and folk-pop culture, then the postmodern paradigm seems to be the suitable
meta-aesthetic concept, in which the discussed issues can be caught in their spe-
cific. Let us note that prog-songs seem to become popular exclusively by their
166 Andrzej Mądro
inclusion of multi-layered messages while still remaining attractive for listeners

(prog never gave up tonal language) without the level of engagement, deeper in-
terpretation, and understanding. Therefore, prog trends still seeming to be just
postmodern art, characterised by so called “double coding” (“inscribing and chal-
lenging differing tastes and opposite forms of discourse”, Jenck 1992: 13), giving
reason to all the paradoxes and contradictions surrounding its concept.
Progressive genres could be interpreted on several levels simultaneously, all
with different contexts and perspectives. Beyond momentary entertainment and
“cool” sounds lie complex structures and colourful textures – plainly accessible
pleasure forms laid only a surface under which more profound meanings and cul-
tural references are hidden.
References
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The Resonances of Political Disputes in Hong Kong
China – Case Studies of Canto-pop
Ivy Man
The Hong Kong Polytechnic University, College of Professional and Continuing Education,
Hong Kong Community College, Hong Kong, man_ivy@hotmail.com
Albeit technically in a more convenience way than previously, the production of
Cantonese popular songs in Hong Kong, also known as Canto-pop in international
context, has demonstrated its geographical uniqueness.
Hong Kong, located at the southern tip of China, is believed to be a place
where ‘East meets West’. Such feature lends it great versatility in the handling of
different situations including the production of popular music. While Chinese
Confucian belief and Buddhist philosophical idea are in the heart of local people,
the westernized value of democracy and freedom still exert great influence.
Focusing on the crucial political crisis experienced in Hong Kong, namely,
the Sino-British negotiations in the Eighties, the transformation of sovereignty in
the Nineties and the recent pro-democracy Umbrella Movement in 2014, the paper
attempts to reveal how Canto-pop has made cultural references to a changing po-
litical situation as well as adding to its repertoire about the political changes with
local cultural and musical sentiments.
Keywords: Canto-pop, Chinese philosophical culture, political disputes, Umbrella Move-

ment, Hong Kong China
Hong Kong Idiosyncrasy

Hong Kong was a British colony. Politically speaking, the sovereignty of which
was due to pass back to China in 1997. Official talks on Hong Kong’s return to
China commenced in early 1982. In 1984, Britain and China agreed that Hong
Kong would become part of China yet Hong Kong was allowed to keep its lifestyle
and laws almost unchanged for at least another fifty years until 2047. As was
confirmed by the signing of the Joint Declaration in 1984 between British and
China, this prospect filled many Hong Kong people with anxiety. The political
uncertainty regarding the future of Hong Kong was further increased by the out-
break of the June Forth Movement in 1989.
The uncertainty continued to affect Hong Kong in the Nineties. Without there
having been any consultation of Hong Kong citizens during the Sino-British ne-
gotiation process, Hong Kong would become a Special Administrative Region of

170 Ivy Man
China on 1 July 1997. However, the consequences of the June forth democratic
movement severely shook the confidence of Hong Kong people in the Nineties
which made Hong Kong people even more nervous about their future.
Twenty years after the returning of sovereignty to China, Hong Kong, under
the principle of ‘one country, two systems’ stipulated in the Joint Declaration, is
still having a different political and capitalist economic systems as well as inde-
pendent judiciary functions from China. Subject to the interpretation of the Stand-
ing Committee of the National People’s Congress (NPCSC), the autonomy, civil
rights and freedoms are still protected in the Hong Kong Basic Law.
As far as the popular music is concerned, musical and socio-political ap-
proaches are attempted to map out a number of important musical and ideological
developments that took place in Hong Kong in the course of its history until the
Umbrella Movement in 2014. In this paper, I am going to give an account of se-
lected Canto-pop songs against the grid of a number of political developments
and milestones in the history of Hong Kong, in particular the ways in which they
respond to the political milieu.
The Eighties: Echoing the Negotiations
Do You Still Love Me
Since World War II, Hong Kong had proved to itself that survival in conditions of
restricted contact with China was possible. In terms of culture, political climate
and economic development, Hong Kong gradually developed a very different
route from that adopted in China.
Undeniably, Hong Kong experienced a decade of political transformation in
the Eighties. One of the crucial disputes was the return of the territory to China.
As mentioned, Sino-British negotiations at governmental level on the issue com-
menced in early Eighties. Expecting the termination in 1997 of the colonized Hong
Kong, the negotiations centered on the transfer of sovereignty. Unfortunately the
prolonged negotiations resulted in great anxiety among Hong Kong residents.
These feelings were underpinned by a fear that conflict would result from the in-
compatibility of Hong Kong’s capitalist system and China’s socialist government.
Justifiably, there were mixed feelings on the issue among Hong Kong people. To
echo the political environment, a number of Canto-pop songs were composed to
express the sentiments of local Hong Kong people around that period. “Do You
Still Love Me” (PolyGram 1988) was one of them.
Released in 1988, “Do You Still Love Me” implicitly voices Hong Kong peo-
ple’s uncomfortable feelings about the Sino-British negotiations. While Hong
Kong people continued to experience the various frustration times about its future,
the public felt gradually concerned about its cultural identity since the issue was
felt to be directly related to the autonomy state in Hong Kong. Canto-pop band Tat
The Resonances of Political Disputes in Hong Kong China 171
Ming Pair undertook to reveal the sentiments of the general public through the
song.
Literally speaking, the song is a love song in which the singer wonders if he
and his lover are still in love, as there is so much uncertainty in their seemingly
steady and stable relationship. He seems certain that their relationship faces a cri-
sis. Symbolically speaking, the song in fact comments on the British-Hong Kong
relationship. As mentioned already, the negotiations between British and China
started in early Eighties and Hong Kong had taken a very different economic and
political route of development from China, the signing of the Joint Declaration
became an unhappy reminder of Hong Kong people’s uncertain future. While a
great number of people preferred colonial rule to continue, the beginning of Chi-
nese rule was an inevitable fact. During a critical period for the negotiations, Tat
Ming Pair vividly signified the British-Hong Kong relationship as lovers. Since
Britain had governed Hong Kong since 1842, this ‘loving relationship’ had a
steady and long history behind it. Unfortunately, since the transfer of power was
negotiated secretly by members of the British and Chinese governments, the Hong
Kong general public remained totally passive and helpless during these vital mo-
ments. As the singer’s worries and queries signified Hong Kong people’s, his fear-
fulness over whether his lover still loves him represented the mixed feelings of
Hong Kong people (Me) toward the British government (You).
In sum, the popularity of the song was increased partly because it rightly ech-
oed the feelings of the general public during the frustrating years. These uncertain,
insecure feelings were further complicated by the violent suppression of the dem-
ocratic movement in Beijing in 1989. In the Nineties, the trend towards cautious
political commentary continued.
The Nineties: Anticipating the Inescapable Future
The Heaven is Near (You Should Play Games)
Political uncertainty continued to affect Hong Kong in the Nineties. Negotiations
between Britain and China stalled for almost a year after June Fourth Movement
in 1989. Official statistics predicted that the emigration levels would rise higher
in the Nineties (HKG 1990: 5). A number of Canto-pop songs addressed the trend
of emigration and gloomy future at the time. Discussions prior to 1997 about Hong
Kong’s future brought home to the population how little they were able to influ-
ence their own future.
“The Heaven is Near” (Go East 1995), sung also by the singer of former Tat
Ming Pair, was one of the Canto-pop songs that addressed political issues in 1996.
While ‘heaven’ represents Chinese sovereignty, the song signified the sentiments
of the Hong Kong people who had to stay to face the approach of 1997.
172 Ivy Man
Similar to the mainstream Canto-pop songs that are set at quadruple time in
ballad style, the song portrays the disappointed sentiments of Hong Kong people
in an indirect manner. While British government (the playground) is where Hong
Kong people place the ‘trust’, ‘hope’ and ‘love’, the inescapable fact of Hong
Kong return to China implies that the territory will no longer share its ‘happy’
moment with the British government. Although local people would be very happy
to continue to be ruled by the colonial government and ‘kiss you more’, the una-
voidable fact is that they will not see each other again. On the other hand, Hong
Kong people have to convince themselves to believe that the coming of China
should be imagined as ‘heaven is near’. Even if at a deeper level this ‘heaven’ is
pictured negatively as an unavoidable and sad truth.
By 1997, the Hong Kong-British colonial relationship would be over. Alt-
hough there was a widespread wish to preserve the status quo, the signing of the
Joint Declaration destroyed the dreams of many. Worse still, Hong Kong people
had never truly possessed the right of abode in Britain. Having no other choice,
Hong Kong people had to, however unwillingly, face the reality of the upcoming
of Chinese sovereignty.
In fact, the Nineties saw a popularity of Canto-pop songs addressing the po-
litical issues and wave of emigration in Hong Kong. The above example contains
reference to the sentiments of Hong Kong people and changes of political situa-
tion. The immediacy with which the songs reflect up-to-date events and make cul-
tural references to a changing society highlights the cultural and historical value
of Canto-pop in that period.
The 21st Century: Fighting for Political Reform
Upholding an Umbrella
The identity of the Hong Kong Chinese has undergone changes after the transfer
of sovereignty. The mixture of traditional Chinese culture and modern cultural
traits that has characterized Hong Kong’s cultural development has also fostered
corresponding change in perceptions of political demand. In the 21st century, the
political process became more democratic. Debates over civil rights and autonomy
were generated. These have been the conditions under which Canto-pop songs re-
lated to Umbrella Movement developed in 2014.
The Umbrella Movement, also known as Umbrella Revolution, was a 79 days
of pro-democracy street occupation in Hong Kong from September to December
in 2014. The protests started after the Standing Committee of the national People’s
Congress (NPCSC) endorsed a decision on 31 August 2014 regarding the Hong
Kong electoral reform. Theoretically agreeing to universal suffrage, the decision
imposes that the Chief Executive of Hong Kong shall be ‘a person who loves
China and loves Hong Kong’. Besides, the method for selecting the Chief Execu-
tive by universal suffrage must offer equivalent institutional safeguards for the
purpose. Hong Kong Government would then propose a draft for the 2017 one-
person-one-vote Chief Executive election. Following the Chief Executive election
and with the authorization of Beijing Government, a new system to elect the Leg-
islative Council via universal suffrage would be developed. While only 36.1%
considered the proposed reform acceptable (So 2014: 4), the reform was widely
regarded as restrictive in the eyes of the Hong Kong general public. Students first
started a strike on 22 September. On 28 September, the Occupy Central Campaign,
later accelerated to become the Umbrella Movement, began.
The use of tear gas and force by police on protesters led more Hong Kong
people to come out and join the protest. It is believed that because photos of protest
using umbrellas as shields disseminated rapidly on the Internet, the term Umbrella
Movement was created. Echoing the Movement was a group of pro-democracy
Canto-pop singers who supported the students and protesters. The song ‘Uphold-
ing an Umbrella’ was composed within 2 days and released on the Internet on 4
October, 2014.
The song was well-known as the theme song of the Umbrella Movement. The
song characterized with a Western musical language that employed a ballad style
and tonal harmonization, it, as claimed by the singers, was composed to support
the local young people and protesters who selflessly devoted their time to safe-
guard the city’s political destiny in the Movement. The lyrics stated, ‘standing at
the very front, courage will not be subdued’, ‘upholding and umbrella, let’s sup-
port each other’. It is apparent that the song openly encouraged the protesters to
continue to face bravely in times of darkness. As the copyright of the song was not
reserved, it was widely sung and promptly became popular.
As one can imagine, a local patriotism surfaced in numbers of Canto-pop
songs during and after the Umbrella Movement and a vogue for politically related
Canto-pop songs arose, responding to widespread feelings of patriotic dedication
and political awareness.
Canto-pop: Revealing Local Sentiments
A Place Where East meets West?
Finally, it is said that Hong Kong is a place where ‘East meets West’. A closer
look shows that Chinese traditions exert very great influence in Hong Kong. For
instance, the hierarchy of Chinese family as a tight-knit unit is still carrying out in
Hong Kong nowadays. The younger generation is also expected to have the re-
sponsibility for taking care of the older generation. Younger children are expected
to show respect towards their parents and to adults. Interestingly, Hong Kong peo-
ple also agree that Confucian philosophical beliefs imagined systems in which
174 Ivy Man
preferably no conflict should appear, western intellectuals viewed political sys-

tems as inevitably containing conflict (Kuan 1995: 56). The strong need for social
stability is apparently recognized everywhere in the world. Similarly, in the minds
of Hong Kong people, democracy and freedom are vital; the stability in the society
is equally important. The emphasis on social order and harmony, without doubt,
persist strongly.
As mentioned, Canto-pop had started to taken up political posture since the
Eighties. With reference to these unique combinations of Confucian philosophical
beliefs and Westernized political beliefs, Hong Kong’s popular music has demon-
strated an authentic expression of ‘East meets West’ local sentiments. In terms of
lyrics, it is the fact that the composition of some Canto-pop songs has made cul-
tural references to changing political situations and local demand for universal
suffrage. Musically speaking, these Canto-pop songs still cling persistently to
some normal stylistic configurations such as Western tonal harmonization and
steady tempo. Once a tempo is established, it seldom changes although a ritar-
dando may occurs at the end of a song. The rhythm is also dominated by regular
and predictable four-square patterns that employ mainly crotchets, quavers and
dotted rhythms. The reason for these steady musical arrangements may in large
part be due to the influence of traditional Confucian features in Hong Kong.
To sum up, the Canto-pop’s unique combination of traditional Chinese fea-
tures and colonial/post-colonial status set Canto-pop on its distinctive pathway.
They also add to the repertoire about the political changes with local cultural and
musical sentiments. 20 years after the transfer of power, these unique features are
still found in Canto-pop songs, and may continue to be found in Canto-pop for a
while.
References
Bibliography
Ho, W.C. 2000. ‘The Political Meaning of Hong Kong Popular Music: a Review of Socio-
political Relations between Hong Kong and the People’s Republic of China since the
Eighties’. Popular Music 19 (3): 341-353.
Hong Kong Government information Service. 1990. Hong Kong Annual Report. Hong
Kong Government Publishing.
Kuan, HC, S.K Lau (eds). 1995. The Ethos of the Hong Kong Chinese. Hong Kong. Chinese
University Press.
Discography
Anthony Wong. 1995. “The Heaven is Near”, The Latter, the More Beautiful, Go East 1
December, Hong Kong.
Tat Ming Pair. 1988. “Do You Still Love Me”, Do You Still Me, PolyGram, 21 June, Hong
Kong.
Newspaper and Magazine Articles

Chow, Vivienne. 2014. Umbrella Revolution: More Designs on Hong Kong Protest Move-
ment. South China Morning Post, 30 September. Accessed: 19 December 16.
Griffiths, James. 2014. How Occupy Central’s Democracy Push Turned into an Umbrella
Revolution. South China Morning Post, 09 October. Accessed: 19 December 16.
Ong, Larry. 2014. 79 Days of Occupation: Umbrella Movement Interactive Timeline.
Epoch Times, 28 September. Accessed: 19 December 16.
Videography
ClarinetFLY Aviation. Umbrella Revolution
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEyG46wL-UE Accessed: 22 December 16.
Web Sources
So Clement, 2014, Chinese University of Hong Kong Public Opinion & Political Develop-
ment in Hong Kong Survey Results http://www.com.cuhk.edu.hk/ccpos/im-
ages/news/20141022-eng.pdf. Accessed: 22 December 16.
African Manifestations in Brazil: The Crioula Drum
Dance
Regina Meirelles
Rio de Janeiro Federal University, Department of Musicology, Rio de Janeiro, RJ, Brazil,
reginamariameirelles.santos@gmail.com.
This study analyses the musical manifestation of African origin in Rio de Janeiro,
the Crioula Drum Dance, presented at the Quilombo Samba School’s Recreational
Black Arts Association in Acari, in the city’s metropolitan area. The Quilombo,
founded by the composer Candeia promotes artistic activities at its headquarters
such as capoeira, jongo dance, percussion music for the community, handicrafts,
academic support for public school students and the alphabetization of adults. Res-
idents consider it a place that is theirs, a social space where they share the soci-
ocultural activities it promotes, such as samba and drum dances held at the birth-
day celebrations of Candeia, at the party and prayers night for Saint George and
other festivities. The Crioula Drum Dance is a circle dance that includes singing
and drum playing by afro-descendents to honor Saint Benedict. Brought to Brazil
in the eighteenth century by slaves from different ethnic groups, it is a form of
entertainment or the paying of promises to the saint or to entities in the sites where
Afro-Brazilian cults are celebrated. Currently, the Crioula Drum Dance is the ex-
pression of a social and ethnic group: the representation of an ethos seeking to
keep its identity in Brazilian society.
Keywords: crioula drum dance, percussion, Quilombo, voduns
The slave policy in the XVII century

The Amazon region has always provoked great curiosity in the colonizers, and the
Portuguese struggled to keep their hegemony. The unification of the crown in 1580
made it possible for the Portuguese to infiltrate the region, thus expanding the
imaginary borders formerly established by the Todesilhas Treaty (1494). How-
ever, for many years to come, the Portuguese monarchy ignored the North of Bra-
zil.
The Amazon territory was extensive and unpopulated, and the conquering of
the region at this time was characterized almost exclusively by the war against the
other foreigners who also wanted the region. The campaign against the Europeans
who operated trading posts in the lower Amazon region, neglected by the Spanish,
resulted in the incorporation of the Amazon territory into the geographic space

178 Regina Meirelles
occupied by the Portuguese. The city of São Luís, on the island of the same name
in the Province of Maranhão, a city that offered pirates shelter, was founded by
the French in 1612 and taken over by the Portuguese in 1614. Belém, in the Prov-
ince of Grand-Pará, currently the state of Pará, was founded in 1616.
Historians have described the Portuguese efforts to bring settlers, who would
begin agricultural work in the region, where missionaries, especially Jesuit priests,
were already converting the Indians in the proximity.
The disagreements between the settlers and the priests resulted in the intro-
duction of African slave labor into the region. According to Vicente Salles (1971:
5), “The introduction of slavery from Africa promoted by the Jesuits represented
an agreement. […] The black slave was accepted to occupy the place of the Indian
in the work in the fields.” Also, according to the author, the Jesuits defended "the
introduction of slaves from Angola on behalf of the crown, the absolute prohibi-
tion to buy Indians, the development of the Missions, and turning over the Indian
villages to the priests of the Company of Jesus”, with the justification that “the
native race was weak and that negroes had always been slaves, even among Afri-
cans” (ibidem).
Before the end of the first century of Portuguese colonization in Amazonia,
the metropolis tried to regulate the African slave trade to Maranhão, first through
the Maranhão Commerce Company (1662-1680) and then through other compa-
nies. References are made to two royal provisions about the introduction of blacks
from Africa, one dated March 18, 1662, which regulated the entry of blacks from
Angola. The other, dated April 1, 1680, established the bringing of blacks, every
year, from the coast of Guinea to the neighboring provinces of Maranhão and
Great-Pará, the borders of which were still not clearly defined.
The slavery experience did not prevent the blacks in Maranhão from recreat-
ing traditions, rituals, and the most varied artistic forms. The slaves’ natural way
to search for freedom consisted invariably of flight to the forest, where the blacks,
with solidarity, gathered and formed communities known as “quilombos,” where
they learned to get organized and to defend themselves. Edson Carneiro (1964:
36) admits that the quilombo was a rare phenomenon in the national experience:
“as a form of struggle against slavery, as a human settlement, as a social organi-
zation, as a reaffirmation of the values of African cultures; in all these aspects, the
quilombo was a new, unique, special fact — a dialectical synthesis"
The Crioula Drum Dance and the Minas’ House
The Crioula Drum is a circular dance of African origin involving singing and per-
cussion drums. This Afro-Brazilian manifestation occurs in the majority of the
municipalities in the state of Maranhão, located in the North of the country. Listed
by UNESCO as an intangible cultural heritage in Brazil, the dance, which can be
African Manifestations in Brazil: The Crioula Drum Dance 179
performed in religious or lay spaces, outdoors, associated or not with other events
or manifestations, is a musical and choreographic expression of African descend-
ants. It can be considered a game, entertainment, or ritual dance, or payment of a
promise, usually in honor of the black Saint Benedict. Participants in the dance
include the “coreiras” or dancers, who are guided by the intense rhythm of the
drums and by the singing of the tunes produced by players and singers, culminat-
ing in the “punga” – bumping into another participant with the naval or stomach,
understood as a salutation, invitation, or exchange of partners.
Without pre-determined dates, the dance belongs to the category of the
dances of naval or stomach bumping that take place throughout Brazil, but it has
its own characteristics, such as being danced only by women. Three drum players
or beaters provide the music by using a large drum, a medium drum, and a small
one, called “crivador” Each drum has its own rhythm, attuned to the beat of the
other drums. The dancers wear wide, colorful skirts, loose white blouses, neck-
laces and “torso” on their heads.
One dancer at a time swirls in front of the drums, while the others, completing
the circle of players and singers, move to the left and to the right, waiting for their
turn to receive the punga to substitute the one in the middle. When the one who is
dancing wants to be replaced, she moves in the direction of a fellow dancer and
gives her a punga. The chosen participant goes to the middle of the circle and
dances for each of the players, twisting and turning in front of the big drum, the
medium drum, and the small one, repeating her movements until she chooses a
substitute.
The dance is a benchmark of the identity and cultural resistance of the Mara-
nhão blacks, who shared a common past. The ritual elements of the Drum dance
are associated with the Jeje-Yorubá cults practiced in the African saint houses,
which even deterritorialized, remain alive and present, providing associations with
popular Catholicism, creating bonds of belonging and reiteration of Afro-Brazilian
cultural values.
According to historians, scholars, and travelers, only at the end of the 1930s
did there appear studies and publications about black religion in Maranhão. In
1936, the ethnographer from Maranhão Raimundo Lopes and his brother Antonio
Lopes gathered noteworthy documentation about fetishist associations of Daomé
origin taking place in the Minas’ House, in São Luís.
In this first phase, the work of Edmundo Correia Lopes (1939) stood out. A
Portuguese historian, he drew attention to the state of Maranhão, where the blacks
were more isolated from contact with other cultures and where the studies of Afro-
Brazilian relations should be concentrated, especially in the religious communities
of African origin. A scholar of the cultural elements of Daomeana origin in Brazil,
he published articles making reference to Afro-Brazilian cult groups and to the
Minas’ House. Correia Lopes (1944: 126) also points out that in the eighteenth
century, a large number of blacks in Brazil came from the “Costa de Mina” (Gold
Coast in Guinea, Africa) and were taken to Minas Gerais state and other regions.
From various nations with different languages, they communicated in a native lan-
guage from the country of exportation: Daomé. He points out that the languages
Fon or Gun predominated in the chants in the Minas’ House.
Professor Yeda Pessoa de Castro, studying the vocabulary of these African
groups in Minas Gerais, states about a document she analyzed:
[...] it is the most interesting linguistic document we have from the era of slavery. It
is a notebook filled with a text meant to teach the African vocabulary commonly used
among slaves in the region (Minas Gerais). This vocabulary has Ewê as its basis, and
among the 831 terms contained in the document, 80% can be identified as Fon, while
20% are Mali, Gun, Mina, and Ewê, although in the Ewê group of languages, Mali,
Gun, and Fon are quite similar. The dialect of Ewê basis, with others that may have
arisen in the same century, in different places and for the same reasons, is called the
Minas dialect. (Castro 1980: 20)
In 1938, the writer Mario de Andrade took research trips throughout the North and
Northeast of Brazil, in the so-called Folkloric Research Mission, collecting and
recordings songs and material of musical folklore in these regions. The material
from São Luís, only published in 1948 by the musicologist Oneyda Alvarenga,
includes recordings in records of the Mina Drum and Crioula Drum dances. The
author states that she identified the frequent use of the word “vodum” — Jeje di-
vinity grouped in families or pantheons with specific characteristics. The voduns
are considered interceptors between the superior God and humans. During the
trance, they incorporate the vodunsi or “saint’s daughters” (Ferreti 1986: 303).
According to Oneyda, the word, which appears in several chants, reveals in the
Mina Drum dance “a possible Deomeana origin” (Alvarenga, 1948: 5).
The registers recorded in the meeting place “Faith in God,” led by the priest-
ess (“mãe de santo”) Maximiliana Silva, born in São Luís in 1873, contains infor-
mation about the twenty-two participants, with identification data and the tran-
scription of 103 chants, most from the Mina Drum Dance and a few from Crioula
Drum. There are 74 songs in Portuguese and 29 in African or a mixture of Portu-
guese with African words. Mario e Andrade (1963) calls the two “chants of wiz-
ardry” without making a clear distinction between Mina Drum and Crioula Drum
dance.
Nunes Pereira (1979: 24) considers the Minas’ House “an African society
transplanted to Brazil” and comments on innumerable aspects of the organization
of the House and the cult. He refers to family cohesion, the matriarchal regime,
and the terminology of kinship related to the voduns. He states that “it was since
the beginning a place for social, political, and religious meetings” (ibidem). He
describes the parties, dances, chants, food, duties, and other aspects of the cult,
which he considers a syncretism of Mina, Jeje (Ewê), Nagô (Yorubá), and
Muçulmi influences. Also, he rejects the significant presence of indigenous, Cath-
olic, or spiritualist elements in the cult.
Costa Eduardo (1948) dedicated himself to the study of the religion, espe-
cially in the Minas’ House, identifying in the religious practices the cult of the
ancestors of the Abomey royal family in Daomé until the end of the eighteenth
century. Based on this idea and on research in Africa, Pierre Verger (1956: 157-
162) hypothesizes that the Minas’ House was founded by members of the Abomey
royal family, sold as slaves to Brazil, in the reign of Adonzan (1797-1818). There-
fore, it is one of the oldest houses of Afro-Brazilian cult that have survived until
today, where voduns from the royal family are worshipped.
It is difficult to identify the historical origins of the Maranhão dances because
the Portuguese colonizer was religious, introducing from the beginning certain
principles, such as rest on Sundays and some holy days established by the Church.
On these days, the blacks honored their saints, danced, or played freely. Even
today, in small localities, formerly quilombos, such as the cities of Cururupu and
São João Lázaro, one can encounter groups of Crioula Drum dancing and paying
promises to the patron saint of the blacks. As the master drum player Felipe de
São João explains in his testimony in the Cultural Heritage of Brazil video: the
Maranhão Crioula Drum Dance (02/04/2012): "[…] Saint Benedict, who is a black
saint, is the owner of the Crioula Drum Dance, made by axe, heated by fire […].
Saint Benedict is like this in faith: I adopt him, and he adopts me."
The Minas’ House, located in the neighborhood Madre de Deus (Mother of
God) in São Luís, consists of two attached identical mansions on a large walled-
in lot with many trees. The House does not have a lining and shows the old wooden
structure, covered with colonial shingles. According to Sérgio Ferreti, the date of
the founding of the House has been lost in the oral memory of the participants. It
was probably founded almost two centuries ago.
[…] The oldest known written document is a property deed of the building dated 1847,
in the name of Maria Jesuína and her companions. Oral memory goes back further,
but without great precision. The current daughters say that this is the second house,
for a former house functioned on Rua de Sant’Anna (Sant’Anna Street), on a low lot.
[…] Mother Andressa, on her way to mass in the Igreja (Church) of Carmo, passing
by the lot, showed her sisters several times where the older women said that the first
House functioned. […] The founders were Jeje (Ewe) black Africans brought to Ma-
ranhão as slaves. (Ferreti 1986: 58)
Mother Andressa told Nunes Pereira (1979: 24) that those who founded the House
were “smuggled” Mina Jege Africans who brought “pegi” (sacred objects which
are buried on the site to found the house). In Brazil, the slaves who arrived after
1831 were considered “smuggled” because in that year the first law prohibiting
slavery was passed (and violated for about 20 years).
Verger (1956) concluded that the cult of the Abomey royal family’s ancestors
was established in the Minas’ House by Nan Agontime, widow of the king An-
gongolo (1739-1797) and mother of the future king Ghézo (1818-1859). She was
probably sold, with part of the family, as a slave to Brazil. Many believe that she
was the same Maria Jesuina, saint Zomadonou’s daughter, who founded the
House. The first “mothers” founded the House for Zomadonou, and his voduns
must have come to complete the founding. For a house to be complete, it is nec-
essary to have the voduns from all the groups, for the house preserves the history,
keeping the names of the people and of their protecting entities, as well as the
names of the family members.
The “mothers” were responsible for preparing the “daughters,” who are then
called vodunsi-gonjaí and receive a child-like spirit called tobossi. Only the vo-
dunsi who are submitted to the complete initiation process can become the house’s
"mothers".
Crioula Drum Dance at the Quilomba Samba School’s Recrea-
tional Black Arts Association (GRANES) in Rio de Janeiro
The proposal to study the Crioula Drum Dance at the GRANES came from the
interest shown by the Vice President of the Samba School, the musician and com-
poser, Edson Batista Andrade, known as Dinho, who had the idea to make it part
of the project SAMBA – the Reinvention of its Tradition, begun with the
Quilombo GRANES in the Acari/Fazenda Botafogo, in partnership with the Music
School of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro.
The Samba School promotes artistic activities of African origin at its head-
quarters in Acari, with capoeira classes for children and young people, groups of
jongo and percussion for the community, and classes of handicrafts and academic
support for students at local municipal schools, besides a course in alphabetization
for adults. Workshops have been created to fulfill the requests of residents, who
see the Quilombo headquarters as a place of belonging, of entertainment, and as a
social space, shared with the family, friends, and followers of the founder — the
composer Antonio Candeia Filho, in the various sociocultural activities the asso-
ciation promotes. These include “Rodas” of Samba and Drum, which take place
on the school’s courtyard, the celebration of Candeia’s birth and death, the party
and prayer night of Saint George — patron of the School, and other festive dates.
The Quilombo’s GRANES represents local history of great value to the com-
munity for being a former quilombo and to its residents, natural heirs of slaves at
the former farm of the region (Botafogo Farm). The area is currently very danger-
ous because of the violence related to the drug traffic. The musical activities are
presented on the School’s courtyard, which holds 300 spectators and where 65
children, affectionately called “quilombolas” e “batukerês” — children who play
percussion instruments, take part in the activities.
The Crioula Drum Dance at the GRANES consists of three drummers, three
singers, who sing calling chants, and eight dancers. The dance can include other
dancers, who enter the circle spontaneously, joining the group. The men are the
ones who make the drums for the performance. Guided by the phases of the moon,
the player chooses in the woods the appropriate tree for the handmade drum: pref-
erentially trunks of “pau d’arco,” “pequi,” or another noble wood. After the trunk
has been carved, the hollowed area is covered with an animal skin, usually cow,
horse, or deer leather, previously soaked in water, and then the drum is baptized,
consecrated to a godfather or godmother, generally a superior divinity. Before the
dance performance, a bonfire is made for the drums to be tuned, and immediately
the presentation of the group begins. According to Ferreti:
In the Minas’ House, most of the public ceremonies consist of parties in honor of
voduns, taking place on the dates of important Catholic saints. It is said that the day
of the party is “dia de toque,” meaning that on this day the drums are played accom-
panied by songs and dances of the divinities, incorporated into women initiated into
the cult. Therefore, they are important cult rituals, as well as moments of joy, com-
munication, and devotion. They are moments when the devotion to a Catholic saint
happens, at the same time, to an African divinity is ritualistically manifested, because
they have some attributes in common (Ferreti 1986: 130).
At the GRANES, the presentations of the Crioula Drum Dance take place at the
festivities for Saint George on April 23, at the celebration of Our Lady of Con-
ceição on December 8, and on Candeia’s birthday in August. All the Afro-Brazil-
ian cults have a public part open to the public and a secret part in which few people
participate. At the Quilombo, the preparation of the drums is done privately, only
with the presence of those initiated into the cult and the drum players.
It is often said that the celebration is “a game,” entertainment with food and
drink and, above all, a moment of communication among the members of the cult,
who meet with friends, with those who frequent the House, and with cult entities.
On these days, the voduns communicate with the faithful, visit their children, sing,
dance, give advice, and indicate medicines, thus fulfilling their mission. It is dur-
ing the dancing to the sound of the drums that the voduns, incorporated into their
dancing daughters, manifest themselves. The festivities begin at dusk, after a long
preparation, finish around mid-night, except for the Saint George festivity, which
only ends after the prayer night of the saint and the fireworks at dawn of the fol-
lowing day. The music begins with the calling tune made by the singer, who also
sings litanies and songs with improvised themes of the type Call-Response, in
which all the participants answer to the improvised stanza. The rhythm of the
dance is determined by the middle drum: a continuous countermeasure rhythm.
Figure 1. The middle drum (meião) gives the rhythm of the dance.
Figure 2. The large drum marks the beat, and improvises.
Figure 3: The small drum (crivador) does the counterpoint.
Currently the sacred chants are presented more commonly in the Minas Drum
Dance and in the devotional cults, and the more profane chants are sung in the
Crioula Drum Dance.
References
Bibliography
Andrade, Mário de. 1963. Música de Feitiçaria no Brasil. São Paulo, Livraria Martins
Editora.
Alvarenga, Oneyda. 1948. Tambor de Mina e Tambor de Crioula. Registros sonoros do
folclore musical brasileiro. São Paulo, Discoteca Pública Municipal.
Caneiro, Edison. 1964. Ladinos e Crioulos. Rio de Janeiro, Editora Civilização Brasileira.
Costa Eduardo, Otávio da. 1948. The Negro in Northern Brazil. A study in acculturation.
New York, JJ Augustin Publisher.
Ferreti, Sérgio.1986. Querebentan de Zomadonu: etnografia da Casa das Minas, São Luís,
EDUFMA.
Nunes Pereira, Manuel.1979. A Casa das Minas. Culto dos voduns jeje no Maranhão. 2ed.
Petrópolis, Editora Vozes.
Pessoa de Castro, Yeda. 1980. Cultura Africana nas Américas: um esboço de pesquisa
conjunta na localização de empréstimos. Salvador. Afro-Ásia.
Salles, Vicente. 1971. O Negro no Pará. Rio de Janeiro, Fundação Getúlio Vargas,
Universidade Federal do Pará.
Verger, Pierre. 1956. Les Cultes de Voduns d’Abomey aurait-il été apporté à Saint Louis
de Maranhon par la mére de roi Ghéso. In: Les Afro-Americains. Dakar, IFAN.
Videography
Patrimônio Cultural do Brasil: Tambor de Crioula do Maranhão.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhtHsZniyIE&ab_channel=TVNBR
Tambor de Crioula do Mestre Felipe.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvTi3AZqYE8&ab_channel=DannyMeireles
Tambor de Crioula no São João do Maranhão.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yxPjluzjlw&ab_channel=Maranh%C3%A3o%
C3%9Anico
Mach Schau!: The Contribution of The Beatles to the
Development of Visual Music in Magical Mystery Tour
Emilio Mendoza Guardia

Universidad Simón Bolívar, Social Sciences Department, Caracas, Venezuela.
Gastkünstler, Zentrum für Kunst und Medientechnologie (ZKM), Karlsruhe, Germany,
emiliomen@gmail.com, http://www.ozonojazz.com/emilio/
The Beatles are recognized mainly by their successful musical production and
business in the global music industry. However, their use of visual and audio-vis-
ual expressions forms a constant and important catalyst for their wide outreach
and sales, as their music acquired a visual dimension, functional primarily for pro-
motional purposes. The early training of the Beatles in Hamburg, where they met
a high-level photographer Astrid Kirchherr, and were required to 'make a show' in
the clubs (Mach Schau!), contributed to their treatment of the visual act as a vehi-
cle for experimentation distinctly from the mass-marketing strategy. As a result,
they produced video-art such as Magical Mystery Tour (1967), among many other
audio-visual forms for TV and feature films. The specific experimentation in this
'failure' film with the music Flying is contextually analyzed within the framework
of contemporary achievements in visual music.
Keywords: The Beatles, visual music, video-art, audio-visual development, Magical Mys-
tery Tour, Flying
Introduction
The initial influence globally exerted by rock 'n roll music through the film indus-
try can be accounted by the screening in 1955 of the film Blackboard Jungle
(Brooks 1955). It offered the opportunity for teenagers to repeatedly hear Bill Ha-
ley & His Comets (at the beginning and at the end of the film), and eventually see
the emotion of this new music in the subsequent films Rock Around the Clock
(Sears 1956), Don't Knock the Rock (Sears 1956), The Girl Can't Help It (Tashlin
1956), and all the Elvis films to follow. The onset of rock 'n roll happened simul-
taneously in different parts of the world where these films could be seen, such as
in Caracas, Venezuela, where the local history of rock 'n roll starts with the films
(Montiel Cupello 2004: 9), as well as in Liverpool, UK. In Paul McCartney's own
words:

188 Emilio Mendoza Guardia
Once, George and I had gone to see the film The Blackboard Jungle. It starred Vic
Morrow, which was good, but more importantly it had Bill Haley's 'Rock Around The
Clock' as its theme tune. The first time I heard that, shivers went up my spine, so we
had to go and see the film, just for the title song. (The Beatles 2000: 21)
In this case, the audio-visual media through film and television, was effective in
providing a global dissemination of rock 'n roll music at the will of the viewer,
richer in its contents than the radio, and cheaper and more frequently accessible
than a live performance.
The Beatles' use of visual and audio-visual expressions will be outlined to
understand their significance as a constant characteristic of their musical output
and as an important catalyst for their global expansion. They succeeded in extend-
ing the artistic and commercial possibilities of the visual and audio-visual media
to new territories, with a diverse menu in the use of identifying, iconographic and
symbolic elements. Despite the almost exclusive function of this medium for pro-
motion and increase of sales, The Beatles allowed themselves under special his-
toric circumstances to experiment with video-art, providing a result in the film
Magical Mystery Tour of the visualization of the piece Flying which constitutes
an important contribution to the art of visual music.
Beatles in Audio
The Beatles are recognized for an astonishing production of music in songs per-
formed by the group in live concerts, songs recorded and published as single rec-
ords, LP records, EP records, songbooks. All their recorded material has been pub-
lished in musical notation (The Beatles 1989), and their influence has lasted more
than fifty years with re-releases in compact discs, digital downloads and in stream-
ing. Their music coexists with versions made by other artists in 'revival' groups
and in arrangements of a great variety of styles. They have been an unprecedented,
worldwide success in sales numbers, distinctions, awards, world records and
lately, as subject-matter of academic research with many books, articles and 'gos-
sip' books about them.
Their only instrumental piece recorded for Parlaphone, Flying, and first com-
position by all four members of the group (Dowlding 1989: 195), does not belong
to their star list, nor does the double EP release with a color booklet, the Magical
Mystery Tour soundtrack album that contains it, with the exceptions of the tracks
I am the Walrus and Fool on the Hill (Spitz 2005: 732). The appalling rejection
that the experimental TV film suffered from almost all critics after its screening in
black and white by BBC1 on Boxing Day, December 26th, 1967, seems to have
been transferred onto the music by critics and musicologists alike, despite of its
overwhelming financial success in sales (Everett 1999: 132), (Spitz 2005: 733):
Nº 2 in the British singles charts (with Hello Goodbye at Nº 1), and Nº 1 for eight
Mach Schau!: The Contribution of The Beatles 189
weeks in its US album version with the singles from 1967 (Dowlding 1989: 191).
The wheels of the Beatles' market-machinery worked equally well regardless of
its admitted 'official' disastrous lunacy. Perhaps part of the market success was due
to its packaging with a 24-page colorful booklet, adding the visual component
which could only be delivered by TV with no commercial video technology yet
available. To John Lennon, "Magical Mystery Tour is one of my favourite albums,
because it was so weird" (The Beatles 2000: 273), and was the "...top TV show."
(Dowlding 1989: 193).
Flying is a slow twelve-bar blues with no lyrics, instrumented for guitars,
bass, drums, maracas, Mellotron and chanting by all four (Everett 1999: 142).
With only one exception in the references examined, the composition has been
considered as the worst music from the group, a failure, and this paper will attempt
to understand it from a visual perspective to reassess its historical value. Neil As-
pinall, schoolmate and road manager of the group, points out:
There was a whole flying sequence, a beautiful little tune where clouds all change
colour, but in black and white there are obviously no colour changes. So I could un-
derstand why an audience would say, 'What's this?' and be a bit disappointed. (The
Beatles 2000: 274)
Beatles in Visual
From their early engagements with Hamburg clubs from August 17th, 1960 (Mac-
Donald 2005: 399), the scruffy young lads from the English North Country made
contact with Astrid Kirchherr (The Beatles 2000: 50), a refined and sensitive pho-
tographer, and with her circle of artistic friends who were attracted by the boys'
energetic shows and by the social contrast of savoring the underworld of Ham-
burg's St. Pauli district. This fortunate interaction between The Beatles and the
German artists around Astrid was a key element for the musicians to visually grow
and mature, despite of coming from different social and cultural representations
and being war enemies just a decade and a half behind.
Apart from the intense musical training they underwent, the close friendship
resulted in a series of portrait photographs of the band by Astrid, (The Beatles
2000: 52), as well as individual takes. In the second trip to Germany from April
1st, 1961 (MacDonald 2005: 400), further polishing for the group took place by
Astrid in defining their mop-top hairstyle and the all-black leather outfits with
cowboy boots (The Beatles 2000: 58). Their mop-top was to become an unmistak-
able, identifying visual-card for the Beatles. It also established for a decade the
long-hair look for young men: a visual, differentiating reference for the young
generation.
The faces and body figures of the Fab Four appeared in all the UK album
covers, whether on their own (Please Please Me, With the Beatles, A Hard Day's
Night, Beatles for Sale, Help!, Rubber Soul); within a more complex context,
drawings, disguise or collage (Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,
Magical Mystery Tour, Yellow Submarine, Abbey Road, Let It Be), and in the LP
collections of released singles (A Collection of Beatles Oldies, Hey Jude) (Russell
2006: 41-156). The only exception, of course, is the white album (The Beatles),
which made the intention of having no cover at all: "After the elaborate Sgt. Pepper
sleeve The Beatles decided to have the simplest possible plain white sleeve..."
(Russell 2006: 118). American albums maintained throughout the same facial ico-
nography as well as nearly all post-Beatles releases, adding another important vis-
ual symbol in three albums (20 Greatest Hits, Past Masters • Volume One, Past
Masters • Volume Two) (Russell 2006: 244, 259, 269), which is the name 'Beatles'
with a large 'T', the 'drop-T' logo drawn on the bass drum by Ivor Arbiter which
has become a font called 'Bootle' by Northen Fonts (Font Meme 2016).
There are three boring exceptions of post-Beatles albums releases with no
trace of coherent visual iconography: The Beatles Historic Sessions (1981), The
Beatles collection (1978) and The Beatles "Rarities" (1979), the second one saved
by including the Beatles signatures on a plain blue cover (Russell 2006: 32, 179,
181).
Iconographic developments and influences from the album covers, from ob-
jects converted into Beatles-symbolic items to font styles, must be mentioned as
additions to the visual system created around The Beatles, apart from their omni-
present four faces: The absurdity of a yellow submarine flying in midair, and to a
lesser extent the flying glove and the fonts used in the title of this film. The zebra-
crossing from the cover photograph of the Abbey Road album, that has become a
significant Beatles-related touristic attraction for London, incorporating in its es-
sence the action of crossing it, the movement from left to right of a straight row of
people. The renaming of left-handed streets in cities around the world, usually
designated as an 'English street' that becomes a local 'Abbey Road' (see the 'Abbey
Road-World Project' in Soveb 2015). The NHS eyeglasses that John Lennon used,
with its transformation into the round-lens of the hippie era with its reuse in the
face of Harry Potter. The military jackets worn by the four Beatles in the album
cover of Sgt. Pepper's, turning fashionable all military gear even within the strong
counter-war period of the late Sixties. The droopy moustache grown by Paul to
cover a scar and adopted by all four in the cover of Sgt. Pepper's (The Beatles
2000: 236-237). The shift towards the culture of India as a whole, stemming from
the cross-over by George Harrison with the classical music of India in the hands
of Ravi Shankar on the sitar, (The Beatles 2000: 233), which included clothing,
sandals, jewelry and longer hair.
The enhanced visual expression around 1967, helped produce a new façade
for the group as well as the famous cover of the album Sgt. Pepper. The difference
in the state of mind was influenced by the popularized consuming of LSD at the
times and was part of the psychedelic-hippie language of colors, flowers, liquids,
germs, live light-shows, within a complex, symbolic culture specially involving
music (MacDonald 2005: 185-193). Imaginary visual associations to the text of
Beatles' songs were edited in the Beatles Illustrated Lyrics by Alan Aldridge
(1969), with different artists and styles within a visual aesthetic stemming partially
from the Yellow Submarine cartoon film.
The Beatles were constantly in photographic sessions, always the four to-
gether in multiple sceneries, positions, costumes and roles. There is an extensive
list of magazines, newspapers, books and book covers that contain largely many
Beatles photographs (Hill 2004, Clifford 1991, The Beatles 2000), with their faces
or figures always present in an exact fashion as in the album covers, to remind us
of their music and performances.
Summing up, we have from The Beatles an extraordinary production of mu-
sic, rich and varied, accompanied by a huge amount of still-visual information of
which contents and subject-matter is limited mostly to their four faces for obvious
promotional intentions. The exceptions to this fixed tendency, in the various forms
mentioned above, become the interesting aspects of their visual output. As Wom-
ack and Davis express it: "The myth-making machinery of fame and fortune..."
would not allow The Beatles to "...explore different artistic [...] forms" as in the
case of the surreal 'butcher' LP-cover for the US release of Yesterday...and Today,
withdrawn after five days (Womack and Davis 2006: 103).
Beatles in Audio-Visual
The time element in this medium makes it possible for the simultaneous perception
of music, with multiple forms of moving visuals. The live show at any concert of
The Beatles was already an audio-visual performance, be it recorded or not. It was
their main impact activity as a group of young musicians in Liverpool and Ger-
many in the early Sixties, until their last concert on August 29th, 1966 in San
Francisco (MacDonald 2005: 436).
On their first trip to Hamburg referred above, The Beatles were under a con-
tract with Bruno Koshmider to perform in a small, depressing club, the Indra Cab-
aret, which he had planned to turn "...into a balls-out rock 'n roll club, optimally
another Kaiserkeller. All the place needed was a hot British band to generate a
buzz, ..." (Spitz 2005: 208). Despite a large repertoire of rock 'n roll songs, the
Beatles' stiffness in their stage act did not help attracting any clients to walk into
the club. It was not until their English representative Allan Williams exhorted
them to 'make a show' (Spitz 2005: 209), or the local manager Willi Limpinsel
shouted Mach Schau! (Lewisohn 2013: 359), followed by Koschmider incessantly

repeating Mach Schau! Mach Schau!, that The Beatles learnt the formula of per-
forming on stage which in a few weeks crowded the place (Spitz 2005: 209):
Once agonizingly inert, the Beatles now leaped off the stage in bursts of manic exhil-
aration. They were in perpetual motion, and in no time they transformed their sorry
sets into something primitive and exciting. (Spitz 2005: 210)
Their shows included an increase in volume, "frisky stage pranks", becoming more
"agitators" than music performers, playing many long sets with short or no breaks
every night of the week, where a song could be extended in time or changed on
every performance "which made it so exciting to watch", "their shows [were] in-
sanely unpredictable." (Spitz 2005: 212, 213, 217).
The Beatles were moved to The Kaiserkeller on October 4th, 1960 (MacDon-
ald 2005: 397), after the Indra club was closed down due to complaints of loudness
from the neighbors (Spitz 2005: 214). Here they had to compete against other Eng-
lish groups which sharpened their act further: first Derry and the Seniors and then
Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, playing for six hours each band alternating be-
tween each other every hour (The Beatles 2000: 48). Amphetamines, free beer and
the adrenaline from long stands worked into the craziness of these performances,
in John's words:
The things we used to do! We used to break the stage down – that was long before
The Who came out and broke things; we used to leave guitars playing on stage with
no people there. We'd be so drunk, we used to smash the machinery. [...] 'We will
brake the stage, we will wear a toilet seat round our neck, we will go on naked.' (The
Beatles 2000: 50)
The experience of performing so much time together in Germany, the acquired

consciousness of presenting a live, impacting audio-visual show (Mach Schau!) in
addition to just playing music, and the increase in repertoire of loud, hard rock 'n
roll with black leather jackets, matured The Beatles as a band with a new sound,
new look, new show. When they went back to England on December 1st, 1960,
they took the Mersey scene by surprise with a famous gig at the Litherland Ball-
room on December 27, 1960, which established them as "Liverpool's most excit-
ing group" (MacDonald 2005: 398). George Harrison adds:
He [Wooler] tried us out one night and put an ad in a paper: 'Direct from Hamburg:
The Beatles'. And we probably looked German, too; very different from all the other
groups, with our leather jackets. We looked funny and we played differently. We went
down a bomb. (The Beatles 2000: 56)
A simple icon that was linked directly to their music was the movement of Paul's
head, rapidly shaking left to right, associated with a high ooooh! in the melody of
some songs (e.g.: She Loves You), and with the high and loud screaming from the
crowd triggered by it (MacDonald 2005: 85). Similarly, the bow in appreciation
to the public became a Beatles' characterization in gesture and dance, with the
accompanying tidy, matching suits on. Although The Beatles were physically very
active in their stage performances as well as running around in their films, dancing
was not a priority. Nonetheless, there is a wonderful exception right at the end of
Magical Mystery Tour, a big ball dancing in quartet!.
The audio-visual production of The Beatles as a whole is numerous and abun-
dant with remarkable achievements. Most of it was intended as part of a promo-
tional machinery guided by Epstein, but in a lesser extent and nevertheless im-
portant, the audio-visual media provided an opportunity outside this industrial mu-
sic system for uncompromised creativeness, true experimentation and political ex-
pression.
After Brian Epstein signed up with The Beatles as their manager on January
24th, 1962, he started to arrange constant radio and TV appearances on top of the
intense concert-touring schedule of the band. During the years to come, the num-
ber of monthly concerts progressively diminished and, in the other hand, radio and
TV dates, as well as studio recording-time increased (MacDonald 2005: 404-436).
Their first TV appearance was the filming of a performance at The Cavern by
Granada TV (Manchester) on August 22nd, 1962. Step by step, Epstein master-
fully worked out a marketing strategy to conquer USA and in the first of the two
TV live concerts and interviews in the Ed Sullivan Show, New York, in February
9th and 16th, 1964, The Beatles accomplished a record-breaking estimated audi-
ence of 73 million.
In the promotional agenda for the release of the single Paperback Writer and
Rain in June, 1966, The Beatles were too busy touring Germany, Japan and the
Philippines, as well as recording Revolver (MacDonald 2005: 434), so as a re-
placement for their absence at the ensuing Ed Sullivan Show, they sent a promo-
tional film of the songs recorded on May 19th, 1966, becoming the first video-
clips. George remembered: "...so I suppose in a way we invented MTV." (The
Beatles 2000: 214). The clip of Paperback Writer showed their silent faces stand-
ing in a garden, then they appear lip-syncing and playing the song with their gui-
tars unplugged but no drum kit for Ringo, in the similar face-marketing as ex-
plained above. The innovation achieved with this solution to scheduling, that is,
the binding of music to a visual counterpart, became in 1981 the standard MTV
cable-TV music channel and in 2005, the YouTube phenomenon through the in-
ternet, where in both cases all music needs to be seen as well as heard, magnified
today by the audio-visual communication through Internet and cell phones that
dictates our complete behavior in society. In a certain way, it closed the 'blind-
music era' of listening to radio- and recorded-music without its visual presence.
(Mendoza 2008: 60).
They stretched the concept further into a 'global happening' through the re-
cently-installed satellite-TV communication, when they appeared in the BBC's
Our World global TV broadcast in June 25th, 1967, with an estimated audience of
400 million, as they recorded live the last tracks of All You Need is Love (Mac-
Donald 2005: 407, 416, 443). This magnificent happening involved the viewers
around the world participating live, not in a concert but in a recording session.
Since The Beatles had stopped touring for a year and their recorded music
could not be reproduced live, being studio-products, John confirmed that, "...if
stage shows were to be out, we wanted something to replace them. Television was
the obvious answer" (The Beatles 2000: 272). A week after Epstein's death on
August 27th, 1967, McCartney directed the group into making a film all by them-
selves, Magical Mystery Tour, which became the last outstanding achievement for
TV with an estimated 20 million audience in England (Spitz 2005: 734).
Beatles audio-visuals in motion pictures consisted of four feature films: A
Hard Day's Night (1964), Help! (1965), Yellow Submarine (1968) and Let It Be
(1970). Yellow Submarine is a beautiful animated movie which
...featured little actual input from the band. [...] ...[they] contributed four new songs,
a few script alterations, and a brief appearance at the end of the movie. Yet the finished
product clearly exceeded their expectations. (Womack and Davis 2006: 105)
The other three films functioned as an efficient vehicle for the promotion of their
music, as it was discussed in the 'Introduction', with visual exposition of the four
Beatles in actual performances in different situations or in multiple activities,
speeded-up, as nonsense movements to fill up the time-space of the images while
the music was being heard. A Hard Day's Night and Help! have their own partic-
ular 'excuse' plots but, more importantly, become at the same time 'fictional' doc-
umentaries in high quality from which the viewer can appreciate the context, sur-
roundings and technology in a given time-placement of the Beatles development,
in which the music was happening. In the other hand, Let It Be is a 'real' documen-
tary of the group's final stages before breaking up. It contains at the end footage
of the Roof-top concert on January 30th, 1969 (MacDonald 2005: 454), which, as
a musical happening in a London street and because of its innovative location,
deserved to be separately mentioned. The performance of 'roof-top' concerts has
become another Beatles' distinctive icon duplicated by many artists (see the Roof-
top Concert Series 2010). There exists many takes on film of their performances,
but one stands out as a documentary of special interest because of the record-
breaking attendance of 55.600 fans screaming in the midst of Beatlemania: The
Beatles at Shea Stadium (August 15th, 1965), overdubbed on January 5th, 1966,
because no music could be heard in the whole concert due to the screaming (Mac-
Donald 2005: 454, 425, 429).
The Beatles participated as actors in many third-party films, especially Ringo
Starr (Clifford 191: 172-179), and they also worked as producers and directors.
Important artistic visual expressions by John Lennon and Yoko Ono, well outside
of the frame of face-marketing, were the political happenings as the 'Bed-In' for
peace in a hotel room in Amsterdam and later in Montreal (March, 25th-31st; May
25th-June 2nd, 1969), the 'War is over..' posters in eleven cities (December 16th,
1969), and a daring lithograph exhibition raided by the police on January 16th,
1970. (MacDonald 2005: 455, 457, 462, 463).
Beatles in Visual Music
The two Beatles' feature films, A Hard Day's Night (1964) and Help! (1965), posed
an interesting challenge for its director Richard Lester in the tradition of film mu-
sicals or musical films (Gammond 1993: 404, 497). He was surrounded by two
monumentally successful pictures and their corresponding soundtrack LP's: West
Side Story (1961) and The Sound of Music (1964) (Gammond 1993: 406), consist-
ently high in the music LP charts in the UK for the times of the Beatles' filming
(MacDonald 2005: 417, 423). He may have asked himsel, how to portray music
on screen, an abstract concept and structure in time, in other ways that does not
involve representing the musicians performing it?
Common answers that fill MTV and YouTube music-videos, is to describe in
moving images the concrete, real contents of the lyrics, if that is the case of the
music, or just to put anything on the moving visuals that coincide rhythmically
with the time structure of the music, specially in the form as of loops, graphical
representations of pitches from left to right in growing lines or geometric objects.
A last resource is to visualize the ambiance or mood that the music stimulates in
the perception of the director, since this sensation can be widely different in every
listener. Apart from the plot in the film A Hard Day's Night, Lester approached
the song parts with the customary 'face and figure' style of marketing, but tried to
escape from it through a non-performance appearance of the four Beatles running
around. He instead increased the speed of their nonsense movements, synchronic
with the music and hence escaped reality as such. In this way, these parts of the
film become musical in essence for its tendency towards unreal or abstraction–the
world where music belongs. There are two brief moments in which visual abstrac-
tion is almost achieved in the visualization of Can't Buy Me Love when they step
outside and shout "Free!' (Lester 1964: 36:37-41, 36:43-46), but he does not repeat
such adventure again in the whole film. In Help!, Lester unfortunately did not ex-
tend this innovation, falling short of producing a professional nonsense-sequence
of beautiful sceneries à la James Bond for face-market purposes.
The question is the core of visual music: "...the purposely search for the close
connection between the music and the moving visuals" (Mendoza 2008: 51), in
order to achieve the translation and visualization of music structures. Additionally,
[it] ...has been a long-standing challenge to artists, theorists and entertainers, produc-
ing in the process many symbolic and personal solutions, theories, instruments and
devices, entertainment and art. (Mendoza 2008: 51)
This sensation happens naturally to some people with 'synesthesia': "...a neurolog-
ical phenomenon that occurs when a stimulus in one sense modality immediately
evokes a sensation in another sense modality." (van Campen 1993: 1). It includes
seeing colors when music is heard. "Similar experiences have been reported in
healthy individuals using mescaline and LSD..." (Robertson and Sagiv 2005: 3).
In the production of visual music in the history of Western culture, there have
been concentrated peaks, a rich example being around the turn of the 20th Century:
composers like Aleksandr Scriabin, Olivier Messiaen, composers-painters such as
George Gerschwin and Arnold Schönberg, painters such as Wassily Kandinsky
and painter-musician as Paul Klee, seeking the parallels between music and visual
arts (Düchting 2005: 9). One of the main search lines for translation has been
through rhythmic coincidence, visual abstraction and the color-note match follow-
ing Newton's "...formulas to equate the vibration of sound waves to a correspond-
ing wavelength of light" in 1704 (Cytowic 2002: 7). For a brief outline of the de-
velopment of visual music, see the 'AVIA Project' (Mendoza 2013).
In another major peak of visual music, the psychedelia from mid 1965, the
LSD-induced synesthesia characterized the live, liquid light-shows with most rock
concerts, among many other expressions of the hippie aesthetics reigning. The film
2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick 1968), included a considerable long ending of
audio-visual color-trance to György Ligeti's Atmosphère: its visual abstraction
(namely 'special-effects') in the 'stargate corridor' sequence was conceived by
Douglas Trumbull using John Whitney's techniques, (Brougher et al. 2005: 133),
opening a window of promotion for the first time in a feature film to the visual
music work that James and John Whitney had been producing, among many other
lesser-known visual music artists. The ending of Antonioni's Zabriskie Point
(1970), after a visual delight of dessert landscapes, reaches abstraction through a
moving-collage of exploding household appliances to the music of Pink Floyd,
when it becomes longer than reality would expect it to be, and it is then assumed
as artistically by the viewer.
Flying from the film Magical Mystery Tour (1967), had the working title
'Aerial Tour Instrumental' (Everett 1999: 142), and was produced by filming from
an airplane different and wide landscape sceneries from Iceland slowly moving
and shifting (The Beatles 2000: 274), and by applying different monochrome color
changes. The sequence is introduced in the film by inviting the guests in the bus
to look to the right as an alternative from the boring English countryside on the
left, as traces of Jaynes' 'Bicameral Mind' concepts of 1976 (Jaynes 1993).
Its near-to-abstraction visuals are maintained for the whole length of the mu-
sic composition (McCartney 1967: 17:52-19:45), reaching an ending with only
plain colors and no image at all (McCartney 1967: 19:14-31), to the sound of pure
electronic music "put together by Lennon and Starr using tape loops." (Dowlding
1989: 196). Using images of recognizable clouds, the film then jumps back to re-
ality. Clouds, a favorite tool for visual music videos, had been used before in the
film as a short transition from the end of Fool on a Hill (McCartney 1967: 8:39-
50), and at the beach-to-sky sequence (McCartney 1967: 43:46-51), as Ankün-
digung and reiteration procedures used in contemporary composition. Other real-
to-abstract alterations to be noticed, are the short color changes of the group play-
ing in I am the Walrus (McCartney 1967: 26:43-44 and 26:47-48), as well as in
Blue Jay Way (McCartney 1967: 39:38-42), with addition of super imposed im-
ages. In feature films today, abstract visual music continues to be commonly in-
serted in openings and transition passages, and especially when a mental disturb-
ance or acid-trips are to be portrayed. They always appear in short sequences lest
their lack of objective, semantic understanding may lose the viewer's interest.
As a déjà vu of the wild Mach Schau times in the Hamburg clubs, the Beatles
dared to include a battered strip-tease in a club to the music of crazier-than-crazy
friends, the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band, having finally a Beatles' audio-visual prod-
uct in all their history without them performing their music! It radically contrasts
to the following formal, kitschy and glamorous ball-room dancing in the final se-
quence (McCartney 1967: 48:15-50:45), two social sides of the same coin. The
end is a real big show on stage with the seldom image of the Beatles, not perform-
ing but dancing together in a line of four to the music of Your mother should know.
The music of Flying, far from being another Beatles' chart-buster, is a sub-
dued, timid, light "beautiful little tune" (The Beatles 2000: 274), but perfectly
functional for the empty mood of the visuals that it served: no Beatles faces nor
figures nor symbols, no musicians performing, no lyrics to represent, no senseless
running around at double speed pretending to be funny, no promotional marketing.
For the harmonic structure, they borrowed the blues sequence, common in their
rock days, to detach the music even further away from any sign of detectable Beat-
les' current styles. The video-art Flying, as it should be righteously addressed, is a
complete and utter exception to the whole Beatles output and in this light, it is
unique, highly innovative and original.
It needs to be asked: Which came first, the music or the visuals? Where did
they get the ideas from to submerge in visual abstraction? Disney's Fantasia
(1940), a half-toned but equally important stepping-stone of visual music's history
with the influence of Oskar Fischinger, does not seem to have left any trace of
influence in them. McCartney and Antonioni had met in London in 1966 to share
the former's home-movie takes (MacDonald 2005: 256), but the present paper
lacks referential materials on their relationship and possible mutual influences.
Similarly and most importantly, the liaison between Kubrik and the Beatles, if
any, has not been established in this research despite the fact that they were filming
at the same time in England (Spitz 2005: 724), and "...the color-filtered aerial shots
of Iceland..." were "...supposedly outtakes from [Kubrick's] Dr. Strangelove."
(Everett 1999: 131).
The whole film had many technical errors which assigns it the subtitle, in
George's words, of an "elaborate home movie. We just had fun." (The Beatles
2000: 274). It was rough and unprofessional, hard to match to the highest standards
set by the Beatles in music. It was a beginning, it was an experiment, sincere and
direct. It was a show, the Beatles were 'machschauing' high on LSD this time on
film and it was fun for all of them after Epstein death, being free from the card-
board-puppet role that the market machinery had dressed them all these years. (The
Beatles 2000: 274). The author of this paper remembers watching it in London on
Boxing Day as a fourteen-year old hippie in a room full with friends in a party
mood, and 'it was just a big laugh'.
One of its faults was the name Flying, since it describes simply the way it
was made, slightly abolishing with it its wonderful 'ballet' abstraction, although
the name may be also associated with the 'high' experience of the LSD-trip.
Second, its length (52:36) was not enough for a feature film so it could not
be distributed to cinemas, nor was it short enough for a promo clip, unless the idea
was being stretched to become a promo clip for an album or for a soundtrack al-
bum: "Magical Mystery Tour was way ahead of its time. It is one long music
video." (Dowlding 1989: 193). No, it was not another promotional audio-visual at
all. There was no VHS, Betamax, DVD at the times so the film would find no
place to be seen but only once through a TV program. The head of BBC1, Paul
Fox, admitted "...I saw it four times before I began to understand it", finding mo-
ments to be "...quite fascinating..." and "[he] thought it was worth showing." (Spitz
2005: 734). Although the offer for it was a meager £9,000, Paul accepted it, stating
"Sod it, that's not really the important thing." (Spitz 2005: 734).
The problem of screening visual music is still a major format inconvenience,
since public screenings of a series of short, abstract videos can be stressing to
viewers. The Internet video formats are usually in low-resolution for their visual
demands and the artists are reluctant to sell DVD's or post them in full lest they be
grabbed for any other use. Congresses and video festivals seem to be the only
platforms available to appreciate this art today.
The third fatal error, on behalf of the BBC, was to show it in black and white,
in which case Flying was destroyed. Ringo stands out in the whole film as a natu-
ral, gifted actor, whose later career in films supersedes the other three Beatles by
far. He was the director of photography in Magical Mystery Tour and stated:
In a weird way, I certainly feel it stood the test of time, but I can see that somebody
watching it in black and white would lose so much of it – it would make no sense
(especially the aerial ballet shot). (The Beatles 2000: 274)
Fourth and last, Paul had his hands tied-up with the only screening possible
through the BBC of the most bizarre, unconventional product they had ever made.
The temptation of grabbing with it an audience of 20 million on a traditional Brit-
ish family-day included a dangerous contrast and its resultant rejection of which
the four Beatles were not seemingly aware of in their 'fun' condition, a mortal
media-jump into social/cultural free-fall. It had only been four years back in 1963,
that Nam June Paik within the fluxus movement in Germany, had his 'Exposition
of Music – Electronic Television' in Wuppertal. "The relation between video and
television was not a productive interchange during the first years of the existence
of video." (Martin and Grosenick 2006: 8, 9). Paul, being the man in charge of all,
resumed on this problem: "At the same time I'm quite proud of it. It was daring,
even though back then it was certainly shown at the wrong time to the wrong au-
dience." (The Beatles 2000: 274).
A deeper look then was only taken by Keith Dewhurst of The Guardian (Mac-
Donald 2005: 255), and Ian MacDonald's thoughts remain perhaps as the most
reflective commentary on the film:
...the subversive agenda of Magical Mystery Tour – sending up consumerism, show-

biz, and the clichés of the media – was very much their version of the counterculture's
view of mainstream society. (MacDonald 2005: 256)
Critics and musicologist maintain to the day an unfair negative assessment of Mag-
ical Mystery Tour and even worse on Flying (e.g.: Riley 2002: 240), forgetting
that it was not music, but 'visual music' within video-art.
References
Bibliography
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Clifford, M. 1991. The Beatles. New York: Smithmark.
Cytowic, R. E. 2002. Synesthesia A Union of the Senses, 2nd ed. Cambridge, MA: The MIT
Press.
Dowlding, W. J. 1989. Beatlesongs. New York: Fireside.
Düchting, H. 2005. Paul Klee: Malerei und Musik. München: Prestel.
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Oxford University Press.
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MacDonald, I. 2005. Revolution in the Head. London: Pimlico.
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search in the Arts and Humanities Symposium Proceedings – Vol. II. Canada: The In-
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61.
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nojazz.com/emilio/avia/avia.html Accessed: 3 September 2016.
Montiel Cupello, G. 2004. El Rock en Venezuela. Caracas: Fundación Bigott.
Riley, T. 2002. Tell Me Why A Beatles Commentary. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press.
Robertson, L. and N. Sagiv. 2005. Synesthesia perspectives from Cognitive Neuroscience.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Rooftop Concert Series. 2010. The Rooftop Concert Series, Provo, UT, USA.
http://www.rooftopconcertseries.com Accessed: 2 September 2010.
Russell, J. 2006. The Beatles Complete Discography. New York: Universe.
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nojazz.com/soveb/ Accessed: 3 September 2016.
Spitz, B. 2005. The Beatles The Biography. New York: Little, Brown & Co.
The Beatles. 1989. The Beatles Complete Scores. Milwaukee: Hal Leonard.
The Beatles. 2000. The Beatles Anthology. San Francisco: Chronicle Books.
van Campen, C. 2007. The Hidden Sense: Synesthesia in Art and Science. Cambridge, MA:
The MIT Press.
Womack, K. and T. F. Davis. 2006. Mythology, Remythology, and Demythology The Beat-
les on Film. In K. Womack and T.F. Davis Ed. Reading The Beatles Cultural Studies,
Literary Criticism, and The Fab Four. Albany: SUNY Press: 97-110.
Discography
The Beatles. 1967. Magical Mystery Tour, Capitol, 27 November, USA.
The Beatles. 1967. Magical Mystery Tour, Parlaphone, 8 December, England.
Videography
2001: A Space Odyssey. 1968. Dir. Stanley Kubrick, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
A Hard Day's Night. 1964. Dir. Richard Lester, United Artists.
Blackboard Jungle. 1955. Dir. Richard Brooks, Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer.
Don't Knock the Rock. 1956. Dir. Fred F. Sears, Columbia Pictures.
Help!. 1965. Dir. Richard Lester, United Artists.
Let It Be. 1970. Dir. Michael Lindsay-Hogg, United Artists.
Magical Mystery Tour. 1967. Dir. Paul McCartney, Apple Films.
Rock Around the Clock. 1956. Dir. Fred F. Sears, Columbia Pictures.
The Girl Can't Help It. 1956. Dir. Frank Tashlin, 20th Century Fox.
The Sound of Music. 1964. Robert Wise, 20th Century Fox.
West Side Story. 1961. Dir. Robert Wise, United Artists.
Yellow Submarine. 1968. Dir. George Dunning, United Artists.
Zabriskie Point. 1970. Dir. Michelangelo Antonioni, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
Shaping the pancadão: Improvisation and Studio Cre-
ativity on Rio Funk Independent Recordings from the
Early 1990s
Alexei Michailowsky
Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Escola de Música, Belo Horizonte, MG, Brazil,
dralexei.ca@gmail.com
The Rio Funk movement emerged from the hands of disc jockeys who worked on
a thriving dance scene in the suburbs of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. In 1989, some of
them decided to try producing original tracks instead of merely spinning foreign
music. Whilst DJ Marlboro, one of the pioneers, moved towards the big national
media and the mainstream record industry, a group of DJs composed of Angelo
“Grandmaster” Raphael, Clay Chavarri and Carlos Machado chose to go inde-
pendent. They taught themselves the basics of their work – synthesizer and com-
puter programming, digital sampling, audio tracking, mixing, editing, mastering
and vinyl cutting – while making records. And counted on sound systems and ded-
icated radio shows for promoting the music. This paper explores the making of
their records between 1989 and 1995, focusing on the original techniques and so-
lutions developed out of improvisation and creativity in the studio and also on their
contribution to establish an independent recording scene and shape the distinctive
pancadão sound. It is mostly based on interviews conducted by the author with
the two remaining members of the team.
Keywords: record production, funk carioca, electronic dance music, Brazilian electronic
dance music, disc jockey
Introduction
The Rio Funk movement, also known as funk carioca, started as a dance scene in
the Rio de Janeiro periphery. In big events, organized by the local equivalents of
sound systems (the equipes de som), people danced to soul, funk, R&B and later
to electronic dance music records spun by their favorite DJs. For more than a
decade there were no attempts to create original music for the scene. This started
to change in the eighties, when the rise of Miami Bass triggered a phenomenon
of local appropriation and resignification of foreign music. That subgenre of hip-
hop often features sticky call-and-response choruses on its repertoire. This ele-
ment can be found in some African Brazilian music genres. When the tracks hit

204 Alexei Michailowsky
the dance floor, attendees felt the urge to sing along. They did not bother with
language barriers, which made it possible for their creativity and irreverence to
emerge with Portuguese versions. Sometimes the words were meant to sound as
close as possible to the original and made no sense, while others were porno-
graphic or played with curse words. Anyway, as anthropologist Hermano Vianna
(1987) remarks, the choruses were a distinguishable aspect of the bailes in the
mid-eighties. They would break out in a specific venue and stay restricted to its
regulars until someone introduced them somewhere else. After a while, thousands
would be singing it all around.
The choruses and the DJ mixes performed in the bailes laid the path for the
writing of original music with distinguishable melodies and intersections with
Brazilian music genres, encouraging some funkeiros to approach the recording
industry. In 1989, Cidinho Cambalhota (a popular TV host and record promoter),
persuaded Polygram Brazil to produce the Funk Brasil series, where each release
would highlight the work of a different DJ. But after Cambalhota was murdered
in May, the project was taken over by DJ Marlboro (Fernando Luís Mattos da
Matta), an ambitious young man who played a key role on Vianna’s writings. The
first volume, DJ Marlboro Apresenta Funk Brasil, was released that same year.
Concurrently, other DJs from Rio started to make records. Unlike Marlboro,
who counted on a team of industry professionals for studio work and nationwide
promotion, they went independent and adopted a do-it-yourself ethic. Angelo
Raphael (“Grandmaster Raphael”), who worked for the biggest sound system in
Rio, was the most prominent name of the group. Other active members were Car-
los Machado (“DJ Nazz”), Tony Minister and Clay Romero Chavarri (“Amazing
Clay”). Except for Machado, who had some experience as a studio engineer, their
background on record production was none. Nevertheless, they had a strong desire
to produce the same kind of music their North American heroes made and felt that
making records could be a successful enterprise. In Raphael’s own words, “we
thought: gee, let’s do what those guys are doing! I can’t accept we’re unable to
make it!”. Their first album, Equipe Super Quente, was also released in 1989. In
the following years, they added new members on their production team, invested
in studio equipment and kept producing tracks. Their efforts were consolidated
with the Beats, Funks e Raps series (1993-1994), which featured the first MCs
who actually came from the favelas. D’Eddy was the first with “Rap do Pirão”, a
milestone hit track recorded in 1992, and he would soon be followed by MC Galo,
Marcão & Med, MC Mascote, MC Nenem and many others. And with the build-
ing of a recording studio, where the group established its main headquarters.
Some questions arise from this scenario. From their everyday studio practice,
have they developed their own techniques and defined standards that were
adopted by other funk carioca producers? And how has their work in the studio
Shaping the pancadão 205
affected the aesthetics of funk carioca as a music genre? Although funk carioca
has been explored under a musicological perspective – particularly by Carlos Pal-
ombini – the importance and influence of record production on the shaping of that
music has not been profoundly discussed so far. Palombini approaches some rec-
ord production aspects here and there, particularly when discussing the three quin-
tessential beats used in funk carioca recordings – Volt Mix, Tamborzão and Beat-
box – but as a supporting element for musicological or morphological analysis.
Production techniques and tools are not his main focus. It is necessary to approach
funk carioca under the perspective of record production because, as an electronic
dance music genre, the grammar of the genre can be directly related to the tools
used to create the phonograms. Although a good portion of its repertoire is based
on a leading melodic line connected to words and can be sung without the instru-
mental parts, the vocals on a funk carioca piece are usualy manipulated by pro-
ducers in the studio.
Given the absence of scholarly literature, the many controversies created by
DJs and producers themselves – they usually try to rewrite the story to have a
prominent role, even though Carlos Machado (2014b) claims that the creation of
funk would be better attributed to several people who gave small individual con-
tributions through the years – and the scarcity of general texts relating funk cari-
oca and the art of record production, this study is fundamentally based on primary
source interviews. Many of the pioneers are still alive and working actively in
Rio. I started with Carlos Machado, whom I had met some years before at a DJ
festival. Grandmaster Raphael was next, and then I did another interview series
with Machado.
Making the first independent funk carioca recordings
The long-play records released by Raphael’s team featured DJ mixes, background
tracks for live performance, loop tracks with beats for people to store on their
rudimentary sampling mixers, and complete songs with lyrics. Then they could
sell the final products to fellow DJs as well as to the general public in the bailes.
And they had a popular radio show for promoting the music.
One of the biggest challenges for producing electronic music in Brazil in the
late eighties were the official import restrictions created to protect a nonexistent
local industry. They made the purchase of electronic musical instruments and DJ
equipment impossible, as imports were subject to very high custom duties when
not strictly prohibited. Nevertheless, funk carioca producers set a scheme where
one of them would travel abroad, purchase equipment and records and smuggle
them into the country for resale. Tony Minister made some money with the
scheme; but the most frequent traveler was Carlos Machado. In 1986, he was
asked by a sound system boss to fly to New York and buy records. It was the first
of approximately two hundred profitable trips in eleven years. Machado eventu-

ally became the top record and DJ equipment supplier in Brazil. In any case,
smuggling made it possible for Brazilians to own up-to-date equipment and stay
tuned with the global dance music tendencies.
In addition to their turntables, Raphael and Minister had only two pieces of
equipment to create the music for their first release Equipe Super Quente: an En-
soniq synthesizer and a drum machine which became one of the favorite tools for
funk carioca production in the nineties: the Roland R-8 Human Rhythm Com-
poser. At least in this first release, there are no digitally sampled drum loops: all
beats were sequenced on the R-8 running the SN-R8-R4 Electronic sound card
(which included sounds from the classic TR-808 drum machine). After the duo
did most of the programming and sequencing for the album, they packed their
gear and travelled to São Paulo to work at a studio owned by Cuca, a hip-hop DJ
who remixed hits for radio stations. In the end, they completed eight tracks: five
mixes and three original songs with lyrics. “Bananeira Rap”, “Melô da Violeta”
e “Melô da Funabem” – which is heavily borrowed from Southside Coalition’s
1975 track “Get Off Your Seats and Jam”, including the chorus melody.
It is possible to find in Equipe Super Quente an important sound feature that
has remained through the years in the genre: the pancadão, composed of thump-
ing kick drum sounds. According to Carlos Machado (2014), it was directly in-
fluenced by Miami but can be rooted to a deeper global phenomenon:
The bass sound of the drums – I’m talking about magic – has an effect on our basic
chakra. It’s connected to our sexuality, so it affects our blood circulation […] that
sound is printed on your mind, on your DNA, and you just don’t know […] something
primitive within you that makes you want to move, and dance…
After all the one thousand copies of the album were sold, Raphael invested in a
proper studio and created a bigger production team. He also started to search for
singers and rappers amongst the baile attendees: “we tried looking for new artists
in the Madureira region. But we haven’t found anything. The first generation,
when we started organizing Festivais de Galera, was really bad (…) But when
the festival reached the city of São Gonçalo we found some talented guys” (Raph-
ael op. cit).
The studio could be rented by hopeful kids, sometimes financed by drug
lords, to record their tracks:
For one hundred Brazilian reais, everyone could record a track there. People lined up
at the door. Raphael and Clay would play a drum loop and they would sing. Then they
would call the next person in line. I remember when a man came, started to sing and
stumbled on words all the time. Raphael simply said: “Next!” The studio gave a voice
to funk carioca. At Grandmaster Studios, those kids found a place to express them-
selves. And Raphael, who worked for Furacão 2000, could always play those tracks
on his radio show (…) (Machado op. cit)
The team members used their personal savings for funding their projects. When-
ever money ran out, they raised monetary contributions from friends: “Some guys
helped me with money […] We would later share the record sales profits, as rec-
ords generally sold really fast”. (Raphael op. cit)
After releasing Super Quente, Grandmaster Raphael kept his drum machine
and purchased a Roland W-30 keyboard workstation, which featured 12-bit linear
mono sampling, an internal sequencer and a floppy disk drive. He then started
developing rudimentary sampling techniques:
I used to sample the loop and then slice it manually. On the first recordings, I preferred
to sequence the beats on my drum machine instead of using loops. I used loops as a
complement to my drum machine sequences, because the R-8 was awesome! I would
create a pattern on it and then listen to decide what I would remove. “No hi-hat here!
And here, no snare drum!” Then I would create a song sequence with those patterns
and synchronize it with the W-30 via MIDI. The W-30 sequencer was the brain of my
system. (Raphael op. cit)
By 1992, Raphael increased the use of sampled audio loops on his productions.
This practice started on the bailes as attendees would often ask for the chance of
rapping and needed a background track that needed to be improvised by the DJs.
As improvised performances became more and more frequent in the events, some
records started to be favored for background tracks. In the early nineties, one of
Raphael’s (and of many other DJs) dearest background tracks for those moments
was “BPM 122” (1982), produced by the Willesden Dodgers for the Jive Rhythm
Trax compilation. The other top picks of the time, according to Carlos Machado
(2014a), were Afrika Bambaataa’s “Planet Rock” (1982), Shantell & Dwayne’s
“Ring My Phone” (1988), Hassan’s “Pump Up The Party” (1987), Stevie B’s
“Spring Love (Come Back To Me” (1988), Samuel’s “Open Your Eyes” (1988),
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde’s “The Challenge” (1982), and DJ Battery Brain’s 1988
single “808 Volt Mix (Beatapella Mix)” (1988). This track would become the first
quintessential funk carioca beat thanks to its crude nature (it is merely a drum
machine track), which made it easy to rap or sing over it.
For “Rap do Pirão”, Raphael synchronized a sampled Jive beat with his drum
machine sounds – the kick drum, snare drum and hi-hat sounds came from the R-
8 – and sequenced a bassline on his keyboard workstation. After completing that
stage, he rented Moinhos (a recording facility in downtown Rio) to transfer the
sequenced parts to analog tape and record vocals. Most of the times, the MCs
would record their parts without punch-ins or editing.
Sometimes, the tracks were not mastered. Raphael recalls that
only a few people worked with mastering in Brazil in the eighties and nineties. It
would not be financially viable for us. So, we simply released the album without mas-
tering! (…) Things just started to get better after I made some friends at the pressing
plants. I could be there when they were cutting the lacquer, so I asked them to preserve
bass frequencies… “This is the sound of the bailes! Please keep it!” (Raphael op. cit)
After “Pirão” hit the charts in 1992, the first Beats, Funks e Raps album was re-
leased the next year. It was the first volume of a four volume album series. At the
same time, Grandmaster Studio was massively upgraded with a Roland A-30
MIDI controller keyboard, two rackmount samplers, an Atari 1040ST, a 32-chan-
nel mixer, four Alesis ADAT digital recording machines, a pair of studio moni-
tors, and three synthesizer modules. Nevertheless, when Carlos Machado joined
the team, he realized that the gear was being underused and tried to implement a
technical quality leap:
Raphael and Clay did not know that their MIDI instruments could respond to velocity,
so I came and programmed them. I also took care of the computer… They couldn’t
operate it! I bought a sustain pedal for the studio, because they did not have one. They
were basically creating beats. […] However, it is not true that I taught them how to
operate the gear. They were already doing it somehow. What I did was showing ways
to get the best out of their gear. (Machado op. cit)
The team kept producing tracks and releasing albums for a while after the Beats,
Funks e Raps series. It also made records for third-party clients, particularly
midsize and small sound systems. However, the market was changing and com-
petition from other independent producers like DJ Adriano and Jorge “Pigmeu”
Nogueira was increasing. Funk carioca was heading towards the mainstream; as
a consequence, there was a bigger demand for professionalism in the movement.
Raphael eventually ran into financial troubles after having to deal with financial
personal and family issues, and shut the studio.
Conclusion
The work of the first independent funk carioca record producers between 1989
and 1995 reveals a do-it-yourself ethic motivated by a sense of urgency to follow
their North American heroes, and produce original music to supply a growing
market that the major recording labels seemed to be slow to comprehend. While
DJ Marlboro has established consistent channels between the movement and the
mainstream recording industry, the media and even the academia, his peers gen-
erally describe him as someone trying to rewrite the movement’s history on his
own terms and legitimate himself as its one and only pioneer. But the other pro-
ducers would not sit and wait for an opportunity. Instead, they would produce
their records with complete control over their music. The lack of financial support
from a major recording label had a positive aspect on the work of Raphael’s team
members. They did not necessarily have to conform their sound to imposed aes-
thetic or technical standards. Poor sound quality never stopped them. The strong
sense of urgency that is part of the essence of the movement has led to a rare
context of freedom in the studio, where multiple approaches and sounds can co-
exist and where some producers will be making records no matter if they have
any previous knowledge or experience or not. Probably, the only general rule
when it comes to funk carioca in the studio is: there are no rules. Making records
gave Raphael’s team a sweet sense of accomplishment.
Regarding studio techniques and standards, the fact that pioneer independent
funk carioca producers learned their skills by doing has eventually created many
possibilities which would be unthinkable in other genres. Giving special attention
to bass frequencies and test the limits of dynamic compression effects, they would
allow imperfections like clipping sounds and bad audio loops with noticeable
glitches, pops and clicks on their final products. Also, the sampling culture in funk
carioca came to a point where some specific audio loops spread out of the control
of their creators and copyright holders. Someone would spend hours sampling,
truncating and time stretching an audio loop to use on a production, and then it
would be possible to save it as a digital file, and then easily and quickly transfer
it to another machine or record an audio loop on CD or Mini Disc. Then someone
else would make another track with the same loop without bothering to edit or
change it or caring about its technical quality, and in a short period you could
have hundreds of different tracks featuring new combinations made over that
same unaltered audio fragment.
Funk carioca represents one of the most notable early attempts to establish
a new order on the recording industry and on the cultural market of Brazil, where
the major players would not have the same amount of power over creators. But
the most important contribution of Raphael, Minister, Clay and Machado was
showing people in the periphery and slums of Rio (and later all over Brazil) that
they had a voice to express artistically their everyday life where discrimination,
the prohibition of bailes, violence, the drug business, police brutality and poverty
are real.
References
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Willesden Dodgers. 1982. Jive Rhythm Trax. Jive, USA.
Videography
Fernandes, E. 2014. MC Deeddy – Rap do pirão – Xuxa Hits – (por DJ baiano de caeté).
YouTube video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5zhnQ0WENs
Saraiva Conteudo. Entrevista com DJ Marlboro. YouTube video,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrJtzpirO10
Interviews
Machado, C. –
2014a. Interview with Alexei Michailowsky. Rio de Janeiro, October 1.
2014b. Interview with Carlos Palombini and Alexei Michailowsky. Rio de Janeiro, Novem-
ber 22.
2016. Interview with Alexei Michailowsky. Ottawa and Niterói, May 16.
Raphael, A.A. 2014. Interview with Alexei Michailowsky. Rio de Janeiro, October 16.
“What Difference Does it Make?” Studying Urban
Popular Music from Before the Generalization of the
Gramophone: The Example of the First World War
Repertoire
John Mullen
Université de Rouen, France, Research group ERIAC, john.mullen@univ-rouen.fr
Popular Music Studies has often concentrated on music since 1945, and a wide
range of tools and concepts have been developed to aid in the analysis of text,
music, production, reception, performance, scene or star. How far can these ap-
proaches also be applied to the commercial musical practice of earlier times? This
paper will look at my own specialized field: music hall from 1880 to 1918, mostly
in Britain but also elsewhere, and particularly at the First World War period. It
will examine the work which has been done on musical repertoires, industrial pro-
cesses and ideological constraints, and compare and contrast this work with vari-
ous Popular Music Studies approaches. The limits of our sources, and differences
in the nature of the musical material will be examined. In addition, the similarities
and differences between the study of songs and of other objects of cultural history
from the same period will be examined.
Keywords: Music hall, popular music studies, cultural history, United Kingdom, First
World War
For the last ten years, I have been working on popular song, mostly in Britain,
between 1880 and 1918, and often concentrating on the songs and the music hall
industry of the First World War (See Mullen 2015a, 2014, 2012, 2008). Taking up
this work, I found it to be wedged between two different traditions. There existed
a number of analytical books on the Victorian music hall (Bailey 1986, 1987,
1998; Bratton 1986, Maloney 2003, for example), but very few on the twentieth
century, and on the other hand there was a tremendous amount of work being done
on popular music produced since 1950.
One of my objectives was to explore to what extent the work on the Victorian
age had produced conclusions which could still be applied to the repertoires and
processes of the early twentieth century, and, moving in the other direction, what
analyses and perspectives on late twentieth century and early twenty first century

214 John Mullen
popular music might already apply to the products and industries of a hundred
years ago.
Working specifically on the popular song of the First World War, I also had
to fit my work in with the field of First World War history. This could be delicate.
Like other researchers in popular music, I had to justify my object of study: in a
period of total war, in which deaths and injuries were counted in millions, it might
be considered trivial to study products of entertainment. Such pressure was rein-
forced by the sacralization and the politicization of Great War memory in a num-
ber of countries, and particularly in Britain, where the centenary commemorations
have been the occasion for a full-scale political debate (Mullen 2015b). Might the
study of popular song, in order to help understand the worries, fantasies and pri-
orities of ordinary people, threaten an established national narrative of unquestion-
ing mass jingoism?
In this No-man’s land between First World War history and Popular Music
Studies, two questions in particular seemed important to me.
Firstly, what was the specificity of a popular song as an object of historical
study: what difference did it make that one was studying a song rather than another
object or process? And, secondly, what was the specificity of songs from a century
ago as objects of Popular Music studies: what difference does it make that these
songs were hits before the generalization of the gramophone?31
First World War History
To deal with the first of these questions, I first need to explain a little about the
historiography of the First World War, a conflict which has produced tens of thou-
sands of books. Jay Winter (2005), describes the historiography of the war as being
marked by three main types of history, each dominating in turn academic and pub-
lishing interest. Firstly, military and diplomatic history ruled the roost for thirty
years after 1918. Secondly, in the post-war boom, social history rose to the top.
And finally, from the 1980s on, cultural history (somewhat more difficult to de-
fine) was the key player.
31 Many readers will be unfamiliar with the songs I am speaking of. These three available on
Youtube can serve to give a very general idea of the sounds involved: Marie Lloyd’s “A Little
of What You Fancy Does You Good” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6P_zU5oxF8;
“Goodbyee” by Courtland and Jeffries https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVavtX80m3Q;
“Keep the Home Fires Burning” John McCormack
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5P8UokgVqWs; There is a wider selection here:
http://www.firstworldwar.com/audio/1915.htm
“What Difference Does it Make?” Studying Urban Popular Music 215
These types of history can mostly be distinguished by the kinds of questions

they considered as a priority. Diplomatic and military history was, in its early dec-
ades, very much “history from above”. Its key questions turned around leadership
strategies of governments and generals, and how they might have been improved.
The questions of how the war was won, and who was to blame for the outbreak of
the war, were much explored. The aim of justifying policy was often present and
there was little interest in ordinary people or ordinary soldiers. The lived experi-
ence on the ground was simply not considered to be a suitable subject of historical
study, to such an extent that the great French historian, Pierre Renouvin, seriously
wounded in the war, never mentions his own experience in his historical works.
Later military history (and there continue to be over a hundred books of mil-
itary history of the First World War published every year), put, on the contrary,
much emphasis on the lived experience of the individual soldier, nurse, priest, ma-
chine gunner, officer, prisoner of war etc. This is the type of book which far out-
sells any other sort on the First World War.
After the Second World War, the multiplication of the number of universities,
the further progress of the democratic spirit in society, the decline of deference,
the possibility given to some working-class youngsters to become historians and
the growing influence of Marxism in university circles, led to the rise of social
history. New questions were asked about the war, questions about the transfor-
mation of social structures, the changes in women’s lives, the effects on civilians.
Books would be published about women munition workers or women footballers,
about the life of political parties, voluntary organizations or churches.
Finally, twenty years later, the third type of history would come to dominate
First World War studies: this is cultural history. Vast (indeed the number of histo-
rians was still growing rapidly) and difficult to define precisely, cultural history
shared with social history an interest for the ordinary folk. Its rise to pre-eminence
reflected a reduction in the influence in Marxism in academic circles, concomitant
with the collapse of the Soviet bloc, but also a rise in interdisciplinary approaches,
which borrowed from many other scholars who were not historians (cultural stud-
ies people, literary analysts and the like).
Cultural history’s strongest point is no doubt its capacity to massively extend
the range of what could be considered as an object of historical study. Its weakest
point is a tendency to minimize the role of the state and of collective organization
in the course of history and in the forging of individual consciousness.
The study of the constitution and uses of collective memory make up a con-
siderable part of cultural history concerning the First World War, and more gen-
erally, the history of representations has been on the rise.
216 John Mullen
The rules of studying cultural production

But also, within cultural history, we find the study of cultural expression in war-
time, be it theatre, literature, postcards, war monuments, soldiers letters, letters to
the press etc. And, fortunately for my career, ten years ago, no one had seriously
studied the history of British popular song in the First World War.
Studies of these cultural expressions have some characteristics in common.
They concern themselves with what might be called the grammar of their objects
of study. For example, those who studied the thousands of commemorative mon-
uments to the war dead needed to know who financed the building of the monu-
ments, who made the key decisions, and so on. Researchers found, for example,
that families of dead or wounded had little say in the decisions about the content
of monuments: local elites took over these policy options. The researchers went
on to analyse the repertoire of visual symbols, texts, ceremonies etc., used for the
establishment of the monuments.
To take another example, those who studied postcards produced during the
war on war themes (often comic or sentimental) collected information about the
situation and priorities of the producers (general very small businesses). The close-
ness of the producers to their customers meant that the images they felt would sell
reflected the opinions, worries and fantasies of the millions of ordinary people
who bought them.
Is it the same for songs?
It would seem, then, that there are many points in common between this research
on means of cultural expression and the study of commercial wartime songs. These
songs had a similar need to follow closely developments in fantasies, anxieties and
opinions of their mass audience, at the same time as avoiding excessively repeat-
ing previous productions.
To understand the song repertoires and the music industry processes of the
First World War, it was necessary to identify the different actors (theatre chains,
touring artistes, publishing companies, freelance lyricists), the legal and economic
framework (no royalties for lyricists in the UK at this time, legal dangers attached
to ‘vulgar’ songs), traditional and newer forms of musical spectacle and their con-
straints (music hall, revue, pantomime, musical comedy), ideological parameters
(patriotism, respectability or the expression of working class identity) and so on.
An important specificity concerning the study of song resided no doubt in the
tremendous amount of emotion and identity tied up with musical repertoires.
Whether in 1916 or 2016, there are few people who are as attached to monuments
or postcards as they are to their favourite songs and performances of songs.
Popular Music Studies and the First World War repertoire

Coming at the same question – “What difference does it make?” from the contrary
point of view, I will now evaluate what methods and approaches current in Popular
Music Studies today can be fruitfully applied to the First World War repertoires
and processes. Bennet, Shank and Toynbee’s influential Popular Music Studies
Reader (2006) helpfully divides the field into the following nine sections.
Music as sound, music as text
Making music
Subculture scenes and tribes
Popular music and everyday life
Musical diasporas
Music industry
Popular music and technology
Popular music media
Popular music, gender and sexuality
How can each of these apply to the music a hundred years ago? There is not
space in this paper to discuss all of them, but let us explore some.
Musical material and the music industry
Certainly, the music can be analysed as sound and text. For the texts, if the British
wartime repertoire is generally not complex (partly because lyricists sold songs
for a small one-off payment and didn’t receive royalties), that of some other coun-
tries such as France is sophisticated in theme and lyric, exploring a wide variety
of problems and dreams of wartime experience (infidelity, disfigurement, hatred
of the enemy, national morality etc.) And any repertoire, including the British, can
be studied for its ideological implications (hits included a few racist and anti-Se-
mitic songs, many songs about respectability and dozens expressing worry about
how women’s roles had changed, for example).
The analysis of lyrics from the point of view of the position of the narrator, a
semiotic approach - what is being communicated by whom to whom?- is also fruit-
ful. The work done by Bradby and Torode (1984) on narrator positions in the rock
song “Peggy Sue” was useful to me when analysing some wartime songs, which
position the narrator in ambiguous positions: for example in the song “The Con-
scientious Objector’s Lament” where the anti-war narrator seems to be both
mocked and envied.
The music of the British wartime repertoire could not be innovative. The ar-
tiste was generally on tour and the local house orchestra had to learn, on Monday
morning, the artiste’s songs for the first performance Monday evening. Innovative
218 John Mullen
or difficult music would likely have resulted in an artiste not being hired. In addi-
tion, there was of course no studio work we can analyse, as there is today. The low
level of musical control and musical ambition would make it difficult to carry out
analyses of the sort Susan Fast (2015) executed on Led Zeppelin’s classic hit.
Some elements of musicological analysis proper have nevertheless supplemented
political and social analyses of First World War songs in some publications (such
as Gier 2016). Such analyses are not without their difficulties, in that the technical
language of music is not generally available to readerships of First World War
history books, be they academic or wider audiences. Since the historian, in addi-
tion to being a researcher, is also a storyteller, this can be problematic.
There was one element of sound content, the most intimate element, over
which the artiste retained much control: the voice, and I have been researching
recently the use of voice in the music-hall. The lack of microphones in a hall of
two or three thousand seats obviously limited the repertoire of voices that could
be employed. Choices tended to be made on a theatrical rather than a technical
basis, to project a character the audience could love or laugh at or both. The choice
of a voice slightly the worse for drink,32 a voice of operetta,33 a cockney working
class voice,34 or a gendered voice35 (for the many cross-dressing artistes) allows
the study of the ideological and social underpinnings of these options.
Music-making as an industry is certainly a very fruitful domain to examine a
hundred years ago. The sector was being transformed in Britain at this time by the
concentration of capital, which led to the domination of chains of theatres which
were able to maintain profits by making economies of scale, and by signing exclu-
sive contracts with the bigger stars, denying access to talent for independent local
theatres. These chains were quoted on the Stock Exchange and could pay out hefty
dividends to their shareholders. Many local theatres went bankrupt or were bullied
into joining the chains. Regular crises of overproduction occurred in the industry,
as local markets for shows were flooded by newly opened theatres, before some
went bankrupt or were converted into cinemas.
Pre-industrial traditions, based on the exchange of goodwill and gifts, were
slowly disappearing, but the position of the music hall owner or manager as some-
one only recently accepted in local elites ensured the continuance of some of these
traditions (free use of the theatre for charity shows was almost obligatory, for ex-
ample). The rise of trade unionism, in particular after the music-hall strike of 1907
32 Sam Mayo, “Bread and Marmalade” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6o_5FogG2Vk

33 Gertie Gitana “My Dear Marie” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnF6CnaHlcI
34 Gus Elen “Wait till the Work comes round”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MO1E9GUs9Ak
35 Vesta Tilley “Bit of a Blighty One” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WVE9OHxKsA
in London, had very much influenced the industry, establishing minimum wage
rates for orchestra players, and an arbitration board in collaboration with the gov-
ernment to mediate in industrial disputes. The union journal The Performer allows
the researcher a privileged insider’s view (Mullen, forthcoming). The music-hall
artistes’ trade union, the Variety Artistes Federation, considered itself very much
part of the wider trade union movement, and its paper carried for many years on
its front page the motto “the greatest enemy to freedom is not the tyrant, but the
contented slave”.
One of the most interesting areas to research is to try to tease out the links
between economic developments in the industry and artistic content, which mutu-
ally influence each other. The rise of the revue, a single all-evening show, threat-
ened, after 1911, the older music-hall evening made up of individual and con-
stantly changing turns. The revue benefitted from economies of scale and made it
possible to hire dancing troupes and other new groups of skilled workers. The re-
vue could then tour nationally or even internationally as a unit. The revue was a
result of the concentration of capital, and it integrated many music-hall stars and
content, but it also transformed the artistic content. Centralized artistic control al-
lowed more considered experimentation with the building up of atmosphere, for
example, which had been all but impossible for the music-hall singer who had his
or her fifteen minutes after the elephant act and before the acrobats. One of the
results was the huge rise in romantic content in the revue compared with the music
hall.
Questions of identity
A priori much less productive for our period is the approach based on “Subculture,
scenes and tribes”. The teenage market did not and could not exist, leisure time
and education were very much less developed. The choice of music for working-
class people often boiled down to going to the music hall, attending the cheap
classical concerts at the town hall, or being satisfied with listening to street singers
or sitting at home attentively “When Uncle Sings the Only Song he Knows”.36 The
popular music market was far less segmented than today: twelve-year-olds and
sixty-year-olds went to the same shows. And the infrastructure and leisure time
for fan clubs, fanzines, or Facebook groups around musical tastes was not availa-
ble.
Nevertheless, the use of musical production to express and reinforce identi-
ties is well worth looking at a century ago. At the time, it was mostly a question
of class identities. The music hall stars sang in theatres whose furnishing imitated
36 The title of a 1904 music-hall song.

220 John Mullen
the homes of the bourgeoisie, but, for the most part, sang in working-class accents
about everyday, working-class life. Numerous songs and practices try to situate
working-class identity in relation to such ideological parameters as respectability
or vulgarity. Other identities counted too: attitudes to the colonized Other in the
racist songs of the music hall deserve study, as do the contradictory attitudes to
Irishness in the repertoire.
As for the domain of “popular music, gender and sexuality”, gender identities
were already omnipresent. Many dozens of songs of the British wartime repertoire
express anxiety concerning the changing roles of women. The songs do not usually
either denounce or celebrate the new roles, but express ambiguous attitudes: “it’s
wonderful and dangerous”, a point of view which was certainly very prevalent
among both women and men at the time. The French wartime repertoire is char-
acterized by an exploration – often through melodrama- of fears around gender
roles and couple relationships. Songs about the soldier who receives a letter dis-
closing that his wife has been unfaithful, about the soldier returning on leave after
twelve months to find a baby in the house, about women replacing men as head of
the household after the war, or about the worries of a disfigured soldier about the
loyalty of his fiancée, are typical examples (Simon 2014).
“Popular music media” and “technology and popular music” are two themes
which would be much less fruitful for the historical research we are dealing with.
Critical discourse about popular music was very little developed. Specialized mag-
azines such as Phono Record contain fascinating anecdotes such as the shock peo-
ple at a funeral experienced on finding that the deceased had recorded himself
singing a hymn to be played at his own funeral, but articles were mostly about the
industry or about technical questions. Reviews of shows in the national or local
press tended to be uniformly positive and cheerful, and the expert audience re-
quired to sell sophisticated critiques of popular music did not exist.
Conclusion: What difference does it make?
What, then, is different when one works on songs from a century ago? Firstly, the
repertoire, though large, is smaller: one can more easily construct a representative
corpus of five hundred songs from 1916 than from 2016.
Secondly, there is the question of archives. When one works, as I am doing
at the moment, on the 1970s, the problem is that there is far too much archival
material: recordings, videos, people to interview, press coverage and so on. For
the 1900s, much has been lost. In some countries, like France, the existence at the
time of an official censorship of songs, whose offices kept a copy of every song
examined as well as the decision taken, make life easier for the historian. In other
countries, most of the repertoire has disappeared forever, or can only be reconsti-
tuted by having access to plenty of time and money. The British case is interme-
diate: there are 1200 songs from the war years in the British Library and at least
300 recordings of songs are available. Nevertheless, many British songs have been
lost.
This brief paper has, I hope, clarified some of the main issues in historical
popular music studies. There are many archives of popular song from a century
ago which have never been studied and which would benefit immensely from the
skills and insights which have been developed in popular music studies, so this
paper is also something of a call to arms! In conclusion, I would like to open up
the question of comparative work. What might be the usefulness of a comparative
study of the top twenty most popular songs from 1918 and from 2018 in a given
country? It might shed light on what is relatively permanent (the three-minute
song, the singalong chorus, the showcasing of virtuosity, the centrality of the trans-
gressive) and on what is ephemeral, in this mass activity which interests us so
much.
Bibliography
Bailey P. Ed. 1986. Music hall, the Business of Pleasure. Milton Keynes. Open University
Press.
Bailey P. 1987. Leisure and Class in Victorian England: Rational Recreation and the Con-
test for Control, 1830-1885. London. Methuen.
Bailey P. 1998. Popular Culture and Performance in the Victorian City. Cambridge. Cam-
bridge University Press.
Bennett A. Shank B. Toynbee J. Eds. 2006. The Popular Music Studies Reader. Hove. Psy-
chology Press.
Bradby B. and Torode B. 1984. Pity Peggy Sue. Popular Music 4. 183-205
Bratton J. S. Ed. 1986. Music Hall: Performance & Style. Milton Keynes. Open University
Press.
Fast S. 2015. “Stairway to Heaven”. Myth. Epic. Ritual. In M. Woodworth and A. J. Gros-
san Eds. How To Write About Music… with advice from industry-leading writers. New
York. Bloomsbury Academic. 221-236.
Gier C. 2016. Singing Soldiering and Sheet Music in America during the First World War.
Lanham. Lexington.
Maloney P. 2003. Scotland and the Music Hall, 1850-1914. Manchester. Manchester Uni-
versity Press.
Mullen J. 2015a. The Show Must Go On: Popular Song in Britain during the First World
War. Farnham. Ashgate.
Mullen J. 2015b Experiences and Contradictions: How the British Celebrated the Centenary
of 1914. Revue française de civilisation britannique XXI-1.
Mullen J. 2014. Patriotic Palaces of Pleasure? The Music Industry in Britain in 1900. Civi-
lisations 13. 179-201.
Mullen J. 2012. Anti-Black Racism in British Popular Music 1880-1920. Revue française
de civilisation britannique XVII-2. 59-79.
222 John Mullen
Mullen J. 2008. Velours rouge et piquets de grève – la grève du music-hall à Londres en

1907. Cahiers victoriens et édouardiens 67. 457-473.
Simon A. 2014. Chanter la Grande Guerre: les Poilus et les Femmes. Paris. Champ Vallon.
Winter J. 2005. The Great War in History: Debates and Controversies. Cambridge. Cam-
bridge University Press.
Periodicals
The Performer. Journal of the Variety Artistes’ Federation. London. 1906-1918.
Phono Record. London 1912-1918.
Websites
A small selection of First World War song recordings:
http://www.firstworldwar.com/audio/
YouTube videos
Sam Mayo. “Bread and Marmalade” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6o_5FogG2Vk
Gertie Gitana. “My Dear Marie” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnF6CnaHlcI
Gus Elen. “Wait till the Work comes round”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MO1E9GUs9Ak
Vesta Tilley. “Bit of a Blighty One” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WVE9OHxKsA
Marie Lloyd. “A Little of What You Fancy Does You Good”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6P_zU5oxF8
Courtland and Jeffries. “Goodbyee” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVavtX80m3Q
John McCormack. “Keep the Home Fires Burning”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5P8UokgVqWs
Hearing Sexism – Analyzing Discrimination in Sound
L. J. Müller
Institut für Musik- und Medienwissenschaft, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Germany,
LJMueller@hu-berlin.de
Sexism is obviously relevant in popular music, still until now no theory or method
exists to analyze sexism in the sound of popular music itself. In this paper I argue
that and how sexism can be analyzed in the sound of popular music, especially in
voices, applying the concept of the “male gaze” developed by Laura Mulvey for
feminist film critique. Therefore different “auditive pleasures” that relate to the
“visual pleasures” discussed by Mulvey are analyzed in popular music. My find-
ings suggest that popular music not only partakes in the reproduction of sexism
but also that it communicates cultural conceptions of gendered embodiment,
meaning the relation of the gendered subject to her/his own body. All this is ex-
emplified in the analysis of parts of the current popular song “Closer” by the DJ-
Duo The Chainsmokers featuring Halsey (Disruptor Records/Columbia 2016).
Keywords: gender studies, feminism, political critique of sound, psychoanalysis, embodi-

ment, discrimination
Can Sexism be Heard?

In my PhD-Project I am analysing how gender is performed in the sound of pop-
ular music. Gender, as many feminist scholars have shown, is not only defined by
special attributes (e.g. softness vs. hardness) but is marked by special positions in
society: Femininity therefore is famously produced as the position of “the other
sex” that differs from a normative male body and subject and by this naturalises
the normativity of masculinity and its privileges (Beauvoir 2012). This process of
positioning female bodies and subjects as “the other” is often called “othering”
and has been analysed as well in relation to other processes of discrimination like
racism, heterosexism or ablism.
In this text I want to propose ways of analysing “othering” in the medium of
popular music. I will therefore refer to similar analysis done by feminist scholars
in other media, especially to the concept of the “male gaze” that Laura Mulvey has
developed for the medium of film. As far as I am aware similar analysis of the
sound of popular music has not yet been done. Still it is to be mentioned that Susan
McClary’s has famously conducted analysis of narratives and desire in classical

226 L. J. Müller
music (McClary 2002: 12-17) which is another source of inspiration for this ap-
proach. Nevertheless although the “male gaze” and gendered positions are often
discussed in relation to music videos, performances, and lyrics, an application of
the concept to sound itself is still missing.
In this text I will explain how the concept of the “male gaze” can be useful
for popular music analysis that focusses on sexism. I will show that something
similar to the “male gaze” can be heard in popular music and I will therefore give
an example of a corresponding analysis of a current popular song.
“Male Gaze” and Visual Pleasures
The concept of the “male gaze” was introduced by Laura Mulvey in 1975. In her
most famous text “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” she uses psychoanaly-
sis as a “political weapon” to analyse patriarchal hegemonic strategies of 'othering'
in Hollywood-productions. I want to give a short summary of her argument.
In Mulvey's text as the title already suggests the “male gaze” is based on dif-
ferent visual pleasures. These are related to psychic processes. First there is iden-
tification that is related to the Lacanian concept of the mirror stage: In the “male
gaze” we are motivated to identify with male protagonists who normally take con-
trol within the diegesis or develop this control throughout the narrative. At the
same time the camera gaze is identified as male, as it often takes the position of
the male protagonist and has the power to control and objectify visual objects.
Identification according to the Lacanian mirror stage gives pleasure as it makes
one identify with someone more perfect than oneself and thereby lets one imagine
to have all the seen powers. This process is not primarily cognitive but relates to
the Lacanian imaginary and can be understood much more as an affective involve-
ment with the position one identifies with and its powerful capacities to act.
The second pleasure is scopophilia that takes pleasure in the objectification
of those things that are seen. This pleasure is in Freudian thought strongly related
to voyeurism and in many cultural artefacts produces women as erotic objects.
Women in film are for example often fragmented, presented from different angles
and according to Mulvey are thereby reduced to flat surfaces. These flat surfaces
produce desire in a Lacanian sense as they function as veils or screens that make
one want to see what is behind. The female main character therefore becomes a
secret, which is often important to the development of the film as this fleeing secret
often makes up the motivation of the male protagonist's action.
The third pleasure that Mulvey talks about relates to the suppression of cas-
tration. It is two-sided with one side trying to repeat castration and thereby fixing
it on the female body which results in a sadistic pleasure in seeing women violated.
This pleasure is already at work in processes of fragmentation of female bodies,
as these bodies are thereby made into objects of the gaze. In films this pleasure is
Hearing Sexism – Analyzing Discrimination in Sound 227
also at work in narratives that regularly show women in situations of extreme pow-
erlessness or as victims of violence (e.g. abduction, torture, abuse). This female
powerlessness can thereby be seen as the necessary counterweight to male power
in the identification process. On the other hand side fear of castration can provoke
a fetishistic pleasure that tries to cover over the lack that results from castration by
idealising the female star. She thus still becomes an erotic object but now the secret
she seemingly possesses is not aimed at but denied and the surface that she pre-
sents is idealised instead.
In Hollywood-films all these pleasures work together to privilege male per-
spectives and produce women as others to men. In the following section I will
discuss how this can be applied to sound.
Applying the “Male Gaze” to Sound?
The “male gaze” was developed by Mulvey for film as a narrative and visual me-
dium. To apply it to music it is necessary to reflect on the specific properties of
popular music and the differences of listening and seeing. In the following I will
therefore argue how auditive pleasures can be analysed in popular music that are
similar to the visual pleasures Mulvey developed.
In his reflections on the voice Mladen Dolar describes the phenomenon of
hearing oneself speaking (“S'entendre parler”). He relates this to the Lacanian
mirror stage and thereby interprets the identification with one's own voice as an
equivalent to the identification of the infant with its image in the mirror (Dolar
2014: 54-58). As the identification of the visual mirror stage can be used as re-
source for the visual pleasure of identification with powerful protagonists in films
a similar pleasure can be assumed in listening as pleasurable identification with a
voice.
In Dolar's discussion of the voice there can be found as well something sim-
ilar to the objectifying gaze, when he discusses singing: In singing the voice be-
comes a fetish-object that is marked by an excess of articulation that overlaps ver-
bal meaning (Dolar 2014: 45-48). This fetishism is related to the capacity of the
voice to express words and therefore intentional human expressions (Dolar 2014:
23) and implies castration as a wound produced by the entry of humans into the
symbolic order of language (Dolar 2014: 47). The focus on vocal sound instead of
verbal expression therefore covers over the lack produced by language. And in
psychoanalytical logic whenever there is fetishism there also exists desire (to see
the lack hidden by the fetish). In consequence there must be a mode of listening
that relates to desire and objectification and has an analogous structure to the vo-
yeuristic gaze of scopophilia.
Still some differences between the voice and the image of a person have to
be discussed. Especially relevant in this context is that the voice in difference to
228 L. J. Müller
the image almost automatically is three-dimensional, meaning that it produces a

singing or speaking subject whenever it produces voice as intentional expression:
Someone we hear using his/her voice – in contrast to someone we look at – is
never passive but always acts. (This is already what Dolar points at, when he re-
lates castration in the voice to language.) Furthermore Suzanne Cusick in her text
“On Musical Performances of Gender and Sex” argues that voice performs the
relation of inside and outside of the human body. It thereby produces cultural con-
ceptions of the interior of the body, of its inner truth and of subjectivity as inner
life (Cusick 1999: 30). Cusick is furthermore relating the performance of sex/gen-
der to the performed cultural penetrability and disciplination of the inner body in
singing.
With this in mind it is hard to imagine that something similar to the “male
gaze” in sound could produce feminity as two-dimensional object as the “male
gaze” in film does. Still I want to show in my music example that and how objec-
tification happens in sound. I want to further argue that voices in popular music
produce cultural conceptions of embodied interiority that might have much more
severe consequences than visual images as they thus are able to shape not only the
normative image of the relation of the gendered subject to society but even the
relations to its own body.
In the next section I want to show this in an example. I therefore use the
method of close listening, meaning intensive and repetitive examination of a song
or parts of it. In my argument I will focus mainly on the voices.
Music Example: “Closer” by the Chainsmokers Feat. Halsey
Overview
The song “Closer” by the DJ-Duo The Chainsmokers was released in summer of
2016. It features the female singer Ashley Frangipane who uses the alias Halsey.
Reasons for my choice of this example are: (1) The song held the top position in
the Billboard Hot 100 charts for more than two months (September and October)
in 2016 and still was top position when I started working on this paper in Novem-
ber 2016. It can therefore be seen as a suitable and relevant example of current
mainstream popular music. (2) The song has a male and a female singer (Andrew
Taggart who is part of The Chainsmokers and Ashley Frangipane, also known as
Halsey) who sing passages of very similar lengths and structure in the song which
allow for comparative analysis.
The song can be described as a current EDM song with a very regular struc-
ture (see table 1). It is harmonically based on a circling chord repetition of two-
bar length (D-flat-Major, E-flat-Major, f-minor, E-flat-Major) that is only inter-
rupted during the bridge, where the harmonic fundament is reduced. With about
95 BPM it has quite a relaxed tempo.
In the following I will focus strongly on vocal performance. As this can

hardly be described exactly in a written text I strongly advise to listen to the song
to follow my descriptions in this section.
Form Time Length Bar Singer

Intro 0:00-0:10 4 bars 1-4 –
Verse I 0:10-0:30 8 bars 5-12 Taggart
Pre-Chorus I 0:30-0:50 8 bars 13-20 Taggart
Chorus 0:50-1:10 8 bars 21-28 Taggart
Instr. (plus vocal) 1:10-1:31 8 bars 29-36 Taggart
Verse II 1:31-1:51 8 bars 37-44 Halsey
Pre-Chorus II 1:51-2:11 8 bars 45-52 Halsey
(plus Taggart in the end)
Chorus 2:11-2:31 8 bars 53-60 Both
Instr. (plus vocal) 2:31-2:51 8 bars 61-68 Both
Bridge/Break 2:51-3:12 8 bars 69-76 Taggart
Soar-Section 3:12-3:32 8 bars 77-84 Both
Instr. (plus vocal) 3:32-3:52 8 bars 85-92 Both
Outro 3:52-4:03 4 bars 93-96 –
Table 1: Formal structure of the song.
Comparison of Verse I and Verse II: Othering in Sound
I will now first compare the first and the second verse which differ only in the
singer and in the vocals. I will first describe Taggart's singing in the first and then
Halsey's singing in the second verse. Then I will continue with a comparing inter-
pretation of the differences.
Verse I: At first listening Taggart's voice in verse I seems to be very unspec-
tacular. One tends to focus attention on the lyrics rather than on the sound of the
voice. Therefore in my analysis it was necessary to focus consciously on the sound.
What is striking still already in first listening is that the voice is mixed very close
and central; especially under headphones one can thus get an impression close to
hearing one's own voice. For me that felt a bit transgressive on first listening but I
got used to it quite soon.
Vocalization can be described as relaxed: It is not really a (classical) singing
voice that aims for a clear sound without vocal noises. Instead vocal noise espe-
cially produced in the throat is audible as something between a slight fry, breathi-
ness and huskiness. This is present throughout the passage but can probably best
be heard as some husky friction in the phrase “but I'm OK”. Furthermore rhythm
and ambitus are very close to a speaking voice. Therefore the vocalization could
230 L. J. Müller
be described as 'melodic speaking' instead of singing, which gives a possible ex-

planation for my observation that the focus of attention is almost automatically
more on words than on sounds. Suzanne Cusick interprets a similar vocal perfor-
mance of masculinity as a way of showing that one's body is not disciplined by the
cultural norms of (classical) singing (Cusick 1999: 35-36). While I would not
agree with Cusick that classical norms of singing can simply be applied to current
popular music I still agree that this is a performance of “naturalness”, meaning that
Taggart performs in this section that he is not disciplining the sound of his voice.
Reading this voice in this way means that Taggart's relaxed voice is an expression
of a relaxed feeling of the singer: If he is not disciplining his voice, the voice must
present his inner feelings without filtering. (Please note: This is not an assumption
about the “real feelings” of Andrew Taggart, but only regards the performative
effect of his voice.)
Verse II: Halsey's voice in verse II almost immediately gives a different im-
pression: It is clearly a singing voice that is strongly controlled by the singer. Vo-
cal noises like for example the very distinct vocal fry on the word “insane” do
occur but seem to be not signs of carelessness or relaxation but to be consciously
applied as effect to make the sound of the singing more interesting. As well her
very soft articulation that slurs words into one another – for example on
“met'ch'you” – has the same effect: It produces a very noticeable noise – a voice-
less palatal fricative (IPA-sign: ç) – that seems to be induced intentionally. The
impression that in this passage the sound is much more centred can be further
supported by the sound effects that are used in the second part of the verse: First
the word “stay” is followed by an echo and in the final phrase of the verse her
voice is doubled. Nothing similar happened in the first verse.
Interesting is as well what parts of Halsey's body we can hear in this section:
While we could hear the throat of Taggart in verse I hear her throat is almost not
hearable. Instead her articulation gives impressions of the movement of her teeth
and her tongue, which can be heard on different dental and alveolar sounds like
“s”,”th”, “t”, “sh” and “j/y” in the phrase “look as good as the day I met you I
forget just why I left you”. As well we can hear her smile which is most obvious
in the phrase “play that blink one-eighty-two song”. In terms of Cusick all this
can be interpreted as a performance of body boarders.
Comparison: One of the main differences between the two vocalizations of
Taggart and Halsey is the performed execution of control over their own bod-
ies/voices. While Halsey seems to monitor her voice closely Taggart's relaxation
expresses a 'natural' voice that is unfiltered. The process of monitoring implies that
something is suppressed while the unfiltered natural voice of Taggart implies un-
restricted access to his interior. Furthermore Halsey performs body-boarders in her
voice. Therefore Halsey's voice can be seen/heard to produce surfaces, boarders,
limits and restrictions for the listening ear: Her interior is not fully accessible. This
almost automatically places her in difference to the listener and her interior be-
comes a secret behind these different acoustic surfaces, therefore this mode of
singing can even produce desire for (more) access to her inner self. (Please note:
For the production of surfaces in many female popular voices it is not necessary
where the limit of access is placed – it might just as well be produced by the vocal
fry in the larynx – but that through performed control over the voice this restriction
is performed at all.)
Taggart's voice on the contrary produces the impression of an unrestricted
access that in the process of listening is taken for granted without further reflec-
tion. His voice communicates inner feelings, therefore performing a three-dimen-
sional inner subject. The relation of the listener to the singer thereby becomes one
of identification, meaning in this case that one does not listen for his voice as a
sounding object but much more shares his expressed feelings (here: relaxation)
and thereby takes up his position.
Similarities to the “male gaze” are now obvious: Listeners are encouraged
through the sound of these two voices to identify with the male position and to
listen to the female voice from a desiring distance. But there is one very notable
difference: Halsey does not become a passive object but is acting intentionally to
create and control not only her own body and voice but also the desire that she
thus produces. Therefore she seems to be in a position of power and control. (But
still she is 'othered' as she becomes placed in difference to the listening subject.)
Further the desire that is produced by this singing is based on the acceptance of
her subjectivity as the desiring process aims for a revelation of the 'real self' of the
singer.
Also these different vocalizations present different forms of embodiment:
Halsey's singing performs a strong self-surveillance which can be interpreted as
an objectifying relation to her own body. She therefore in this performance can
not be her body but only control it. On the contrary Taggart naturally performs
being his own body. Therefore he as embodied subject is placed within the world
while she as body-controlling subject is somewhere within her body that thereby
becomes an object-like container. Objectification therefore does not apply to the
female subject but only to her body.
Sadism and Fetishism: The Revelation of the 'Real Female Self'
I just argued that in the auditive version of the “male gaze” the female subject is
not objectified but actually gains a lot of control and power. I will now show how
this power in this song is broken. This happens first in the end of the second pre-
chorus and then again at the climax of the soar-section.
In the end of the second prechorus on the repeated phrase “I can't stop” Tag-
gart's voice can be heard in the background while Halsey sings a melisma on the
232 L. J. Müller
prolonged pronoun “I”. Particularly interesting is the voice of Halsey on the final
word “stop” that she in both occurrences does not sing through but ends with a
breathing sound before the final plosiv “p”. That gives the impression of a cry or
a lack of breath making the voice break.
I would interpret this repeated unfinished word as an ambivalent sign that on
the one hand seems to be produced again on purpose and therefore can be heard
as adding to the desiring process already discussed (just being one more interesting
sound effect). On the other hand this sound can be understood as a sign of help-
lessness, meaning that Halsey seems to lose the control over her voice she per-
formed until then because she is overwhelmed by either emotion or bodily re-
straints (breath). (Please note: This loss of control differs from the non-control of
Taggarts voice-performance, because it is based on the objectifying self-relation
that I argued in the last part of this text. It does not perform something seemingly
natural but the breaking of the cultural.)
I think it is significant that this happens in close relation to the moment when
Taggart's voice recurs as a soft support in the background. If we interpret this voice
as a loss of control then she sort of seems to fall into his arms, giving up the con-
trolling self-surveillance, that she performed until then, finally showing her 'fe-
male vulnerability'. This can be related to the sadistic part of Mulvey's “male gaze”
that needs to reinscribe repetitively castration (here: loss of control) into the female
body to save masculinity from any potential loss of power.
The soaring climax in the end of the song repeats a similar performance that
now is even much more acoustically staged through the musical accompaniment
and audio editing of Halsey's voice. The rise of tension in this section is mainly
produced through her singing that includes the intensification of a growling fric-
tion in her throat – a sound that seems to be produced with much effort. Still this
body-involvement does not imply identification in the listening process but is
acoustically staged as a spectacle she performs for the audience.
On the climax on the prolonged “a-a-a” at Min. 3:32 Halsey's voice finally
seems to break free from bodily tensions. This liberation implies a separation of
Halsey's voice from her body; it now seems to become a disembodied voice – an
impression that is further supported by the repeated echo of this sound in the fol-
lowing section. This separated voice then can be objectified and made into an ide-
alized fetish. This fetish covers over a lack that is produced exactly in the moment,
when the fetish comes to replace it: This can be seen in Halsey's loss of control
over her voice that consequently is implied in the separation of voice and body.
Summary: In the end of the prechorus as in the climax of the soar-section
Halsey performs a loss of self-control in her singing. Especially the second time
this is staged as the climax of the whole song. This loss of control can be seen as
related to the voice-control that the female singer was performing in the verse (and
other parts of the song). It then functions as a counterweight that satisfies the desire
for revelation that is induced by the auditive production of different resisting sur-
faces in the vocal-performance. But as the revelation of the desired object in psy-
choanalysis inevitably leads to disappointment this revelation is either covered up
so that only a fetish is revealed to keep pleasure alive or it results in the devaluation
of the until then desired object that then has to be somehow punished (here: by
loss of control) for its unacceptable production of desire. This then results in a
sadistic pleasure that is caused by the revelation of 'real' inability.
Conclusion
“It is said that analysing pleasure, or beauty, destroys it. That is the intention of this
article.” (Mulvey 1999: 835)
In this paper I hope to have shown that and how sexism and especially the process
of 'othering' can be analyzed in the sound of popular music. According to my ob-
servations similar processes are at work in most popular music, although not every
song may contain all the different auditive pleasures I described in my example.
Also of cause there are examples that do not simply reproduce these positions but
already work with them as material – as when female singers use very obviously
feigned voices with erotic innuendo to deconstruct this position or when male sing-
ers use seemingly unnatural voices for the sake of irritation.
Still I want to emphasise that in my view popular music partakes strongly in
the re-/production and naturalisation of gendered social positions (= women as
other and men as norm). This normally functions on an unconscious level thus
working especially effective as critical reflection is normally not possible. Further
this reproduction is working through the initiation of pleasures that we experience
in listening to popular music and that might be relevant at least partly for the ex-
perience of popular music in general.
Furthermore I argued in this paper that the different vocalizations that pro-
duce these effects (self-controlled voice vs. seemingly 'natural' voice) relate to dif-
ferent body concepts (one's own body as controlled object or as extension of the
subject). Popular music therefore might be seen as a medium that transports and
implements cultural conceptions of gendered embodiment. This might be even a
relevant function of popular music in modern and postmodern western societies
that has not yet been recognized in popular music studies.
Although I do not believe that these problematic pleasures can be as easily
destroyed as Mulvey suggested about 40 years ago in the above-mentioned quote
(The “male gaze” still seems to be working very well in mainstream movies.) I
hope that my analysis enables at least conscious reflection and critique. In addition
I think it is necessary to develop ways of analyzing the sound of popular music in
234 L. J. Müller
general as closely entangled with social power relations. This might very probably
be relevant for the critical reflection of other forms of discrimination (e.g. racism
or heteronormativity) as well.
References
Bibliography
Beauvoir, S. d. 2012: Das andere Geschlecht: Sitte und Sexus der Frau. 12. Auflage. Rein-
bek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt Taschenbuch Verlag.
Butler, J. 2014: Das Unbehagen der Geschlechter. 17. Aufl., Erstausg. Frankfurt am Main:
Suhrkamp.
Cusick, S. G. 1999. On Musical Performance of Gender and Sex. In: Barkin,
Elaine/Hamessley, Lydia Eds. Audible Traces: Gender, Identity, and Music. Zürich/Los
Angeles: Carciofoli Verlagshaus: 25-43.
Dolar, M. 2014: His Master’s Voice: Eine Theorie der Stimme. Berlin: Suhrkamp.
McClary, S. 2002: Feminine Endings: Music, Gender, and Sexuality. Minneapolis: Univer-
sity of Minnesota Press.
Mulvey, L. 1999: Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema. In: Braudy, Leo/Cohen, Marshall
Eds. Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. New York: Oxford UP : 833-
844.
Discography
The Chainsmokers feat. Halsey 2016: “Closer”, Closer, Disruptor Records/Columbia, 29
July, USA.
Genre Modulation as Sectional Divider
Taylor Myers
Rutgers University, Music Theory, New Brunswick, New Jersey, United States of America,
taylor.myers@rutgers.edu
Recent scholarship on popular music has emphasized the importance of sectional-
ity, analyzing formal, metrical, tonal, and timbral contrasts between the sections
of songs. While these approaches have yielded considerable insight into structural
compositional techniques, such focused and disparate approaches invite the ques-
tion of overarching stylistic or generic contrasts within songs. Genre modulation—
the practice by which a number of musical parameters within a song may signal a
change in genre—can be perceived in much popular music since 1950, and may
be an important factor in perceptions of sectionality within popular music.
In this paper, I argue that analysis of genre modulations within songs may
lead to a more comprehensive understanding of sectionality in popular music.
Through examples from the Beatles and Taylor Swift, I show how genre modula-
tions may be identified through a variety of musical parameters, and discuss how
these genre modulations effectively create contrast between the sections of a song.
These analyses challenge the convention of classifying songs by genre, suggesting
instead that there may be considerable fluidity of genre within a single song, and
that artists may consciously exploit genre modulation when seeking distinctive
sectionality in their songs.
Keywords: Genre, Style, Modulation, Beatles, Taylor Swift
Recent scholarship has studied the numerous ways a popular song is parsed into
unique formal sections. Guy Capuzzo (2009) has noted the sectionality of pitch
centricity, Nicole Biamonte (2014) has explored the sectionality of rhythmic and
metric elements, and there has even been exciting work regarding the timbral sec-
tionality of popular music by Lori Burns (2014). Within this scholarship, formal
sections are considered tonally, metrically, and timbrally unique. In this paper, I
argue that these parameters, along with others, are combined to create the effect
of a modulation to a new genre between a song’s different sections. I will use two
examples to create a vocabulary for this phenomenon, which occurs frequently
throughout popular music history.
It is important to outline a definition of “genre” when engaging in this task.
While a conference presentation does not have the capacity to delve into defini-
tions of these terms and still speak to an analytical problem on the subject, I can

236 Taylor Myers
form a working distinction. I find Fabian Holt’s definition of genre to be the most
comprehensive. To Holt, genre is “a constellation of styles connected by a sense
of tradition.” (2007: 18) This is substantiated by David Brackett’s distinction be-
tween genre and style: “Musical style... refers to a bundle of characteristics that
may be linked to a particular musician or recording and that participate in a so-
cially recognized musical genre.” (2002: 65) Each genre contains multiple styles,
including instrumentation, vocality, lyric content, etc. Examples of genre include
Rock, Top-40 Popular, Disco, Speed Metal, et al. Music may also be sorted into
meta- and micro- genres, e.g., “Speed Metal” might also be categorized as a sub-
genre of “Rock.”
It is crucial to note that I am strictly addressing musical events; no extramusi-
cal characteristics of genre will be discussed. Some definitions of genre promi-
nently include extramusical characteristics, in which case the main thesis of this
paper would make little sense. If that is your current state, I ask you to suspend
that aspect of your definition for the time being.
The term “modulation” also requires explanation. In the following paper, I
use the term to refer to the practice of changing genres during a song. Modulation
has many connotations in musical scholarship, and the term’s use in this presenta-
tion accepts those connotations. The term typically describes a movement from
one key area to another. For my purposes, the term “key” can be replaced with
“genre,” which has benefits for my analysis. For example, the conventional under-
standing of direct and sequential modulations, pivot elements, and tonicization can
be adapted to genre and provide a faster assimilation to the new ideas.
Genre modulation occurs when one section of a song is performed in one
clear, distinct genre and a consequent section is performed in a new, noticeably
different genre. The study of genre modulation therefore investigates how and why
genres change between sections.
To exemplify these ideas, we can consult The Beatles' 1967 “Lucy in the Sky
with Diamonds.” (Parlophone 1967) The verse begins with the exoticism com-
monly featured in Psychedelic Rock and passes through another subgenre of Psy-
chedelic Rock for the prechorus. By the end of the chorus’s first line, listeners are
firmly placed within the Classic Rock genre. This is an abrupt change, and one
that deserves to be examined. At the end of the prechorus, John Lennon sings
“...sun in her eyes and she’s gone.” At the word “gone,” the instruments drop out,
immediately yielding to three unaccompanied drum beats.
These three drum beats serve several functions. First, they are used to change
the meter; The constant beating of the instruments in the prechorus marked a ten-
tative 6/8 (or 3/4 or 12/8). These three beats act as an anacrusis to 4/4, a meter
more frequently found in Rock. Second, they act as what Philip Tagg (1992) calls
Genre Modulation as Sectional Divider 237
a style marker, with the timbre of the drum signifying Rock. Third, they signify a
section change.
Why do the Beatles change the meter and use a style marker to change the
section? The answer lies on the new downbeat, when the rest of the instruments
enter for the chorus. Complete with electric guitar and bass, standard rock beat in
the drums, and rock harmonies, the genre of this section is clearly Classic Rock.
In fact, there is a change in compositional technique as well. This portion of the
song is much more vertically composed. The chords become the central accompa-
nying feature as opposed to the contrapuntal, melodic instrumentation and texture
in the verse and pre-chorus. Considering all the factors, it is evident that the drum
beats are also what Tagg (1992) refers to as an episodic marker.
It is not clear, however, at what point a listener fully recognizes the new genre
area, just as it is possible to recognize some ambiguity when investigating tonal
modulations. It is hard to objectively select an option because we are likely all
familiar with the song and therefore know what to expect during the transition
from prechorus to chorus. If one is to consider this anew, three possibilities arise.
First, there is a possibility the audience recognizes Rock with the change of
timbre that arrives in the solo drum beats, given the contextualization thus far.
However, the sound of an isolated drum is not exclusive to Classic Rock.
A second argument may be made in which the new genre commences on the
first beat of the chorus, after the three drum beats, when all instruments appear on
the first syllable of “Lucy”. Here, we gather the second affect of John Lennon's
voice. Whereas Lennon was carrying much of the resonance in his nasal cavity for
the prechorus, the chorus brings a new timbre as he accommodates for the higher
notes.
A third possibility would not recognize the genre as Rock until the first state-
ment of the song’s title had been completed. This proposition leaves the listener
ample time to hear and acclimate to the chorus’s new instrumentation and the new
rock beat. In addition, there are effects in need of resolution. For example, this
possibility allows the guitar to complete the ascending scale it began in the first
beat.
Imagining the implications of these options can give us a vocabulary with
which to better understand genre modulation. Based on the decontextualized tim-
bre alone, the first option is least likely. The drum could as equally be found in a
Verdi opera or 2017 top-40 song. Thus, the emergent genre (the audible, de-con-
textualized collection of styles) would not have modulated with just this sound.
However, if one considers an inherent genre, the idea that artists are expected to
perform within a certain genre based on previous experience, the genre would cer-
tainly change with the first drum beat. The emergent genre is what one hears upon
listening to a song. It is the amalgamation of all the stylistic elements the artist has
238 Taylor Myers
combined. The inherent genre is the genre of the artist generally. It is the expected
merging of styles when one only hears the artist’s name or sees their picture. This
idea is usually garnered through public perception or outward image.
Contextual and extramusical clues can certainly be used when discussing an
artist’s inherent genre. This piece does not exist in a vacuum. If one hears “Lucy”
knowing it is performed by the Beatles, and knowing the Beatles’ aesthetic, espe-
cially if one is aware of the piece’s context, it becomes clear that this drum hit
does signify Classic Rock. An avid listener in 1967 would have been familiar with
this sound from songs like Elvis Presley’s “Jailhouse Rock” (1957) or the intro-
duction to the Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t it be Nice” (1966). This specific drum hit
is a learned indicator for Rock music. In addition, when used in an isolated context
in this familiar repertoire, it may serve an anticipatory function.
In fact, if one considers the inherent genre of the Beatles, it is helpful to retreat
farther and admit that the verse is the song’s prominent peculiarity. The Beatles
do not absorb Psychedelic Rock as their inherent genre at any time. They often
incorporated Eastern music influences, but categorically operated in the Rock
genre (their music includes Rock signifiers far more frequently than Eastern ones).
Therefore, I argue that the “home genre” (as related to “home key”) of “Lucy” is
Rock, and the verse and prechorus are the portions of the song that stray from that
normative position. The drum hits indicate to the listener a modulation returning
to musical characteristics well known to Beatles fans. For that reason, I would
argue the drum beats act as Tagg’s (1992) genre synecdoche for Rock in this case.
Because the timbre of the new section heralds the genre, I call this a timbral indi-
cator.
Even if the listener chooses to hear the genre change at a point after the drum
beats, there is still a weighty case supporting ambiguity in this area. Emergently,
the first syllable of “Lucy” indicates Rock by changing the instruments and tim-
bres, as in my second proposition. Alternatively, if one is strictly listening for the
syntax, that indicator arrives at the first phrase’s conclusion, when all instruments
have completed one cycle, as in the third argument above. Though both contain
technical indicators, I assert that the inherent genre can be inferred with the first
solo drum hit. My goal is to establish this as a question one can ask, but with
caution, as clearly some aspects of this question and its answer are subjective.
For our purposes, it may be best to compare “Lucy’s” timbral indicator with
a syntactical indicator. This functions in the same way the as the third option
above. A syntactical indicator needs several beats for the listener to adjust to the
new genre.
Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” (Big Machine Records 2012) is
another good example of genre modulation serving as a formal divider. The song
features a plethora of genres, representative of Swift’s changing inherent genre.
Because of the song’s unconventional formal sections in relation to the chorus, I

have chosen practical sectional names but they are not definitive by any means.
Their labels have little bearing on my analysis except to distinguish them as dif-
ferent sections.
The verse begins with electric guitar, unmodified voice, and bass guitar. All
instruments are “real,” meaning that any listener can easily picture their physical
equivalent. The rhythmic style, along with Swift’s pseudo-adolescent timbre,
make this section fall under a sort of 2000s Top-40 subgenre, likely bubblegum
Pop or Pop-Rock (as signified by the electric guitar). A prechorus adds harmonies
and vocal twang reminiscent of Country music, and this hint is confirmed when
the chorus approaches. The chorus, which unusually subdues the intensity, hints
wildly at the genre of modern Popular Country, which has great deal of overlap
with modern Pop and R&B.
Country is a genre that relies heavily on semiotics. The twang in Swift’s voice
in the phrase “when you walked in” and the yodeling effect of the octave leaps in
addition to the acoustic guitar are some of the requisite signifiers of Country mu-
sic. In addition, the colloquial phrase, "I knew you were trouble when you walked
in," has connotations of American Southern culture. The current top-40 audience
might argue that the elements like twang give the section a Country inflection.
Yet, the chorus’s genre whether best defined as Pop or Pop Country is nebulous,
as the post-chorus finally provides a full genre modulation. Under the surface ac-
tion of the chorus, the instrumentation, featuring the salient guitar, grows increas-
ingly electronic and the synthesizers’ volumes are raised until the downbeat of the
post chorus.
At the post-chorus, a synthesizer plays a minor chord, which could be accom-
paniment in any other kind of Pop or Pop Country. It is not until the second beat
that we recognize that this synthesizer chord was the beginning of a melody. This
melody institutes a pattern for the chorus. This pattern is one of the main signifiers
of Dubstep music, a genre far from Swift’s Country home. If there were any doubt,
the synthesizer soon plays triplets after a large descending leap, one of the primary
signifiers of Dubstep.
During this transition, the timbre of Swift’s voice also changes from that of
soft Country to loud Pop, modified electronically. No “real” instruments can be
discerned anymore, including the human voice, which is now distorted. Although
the instruments, along with Swift’s newly modified vocals, enter on the downbeat
of the post-chorus, the new genre is not established until several beats later, when
the listener has heard a pattern in full. The chronological argument in this case is
less debatable. The genre needs more time to become settled. The listener can hear
that the intensity has changed based on volume and vocal timbre, but the actual
240 Taylor Myers
genre modulation requires several beats to crystallize, making it a syntactical in-

dicator.
The tonality and meter remain the same for the entirety of “Trouble,” some-
thing that cannot be said for “Lucy.” For these reasons among obvious others, it is
easy to contrast these two, but it is also important demonstrate their similarities.
One notable parallel is the lyricization of these different genre sections. The Beat-
les begin with a story in the verse in which there are many distinct words. The
chorus only contains six distinct words, not including a vocalized “Ah”.
Similarly, Swift’s song, up until the post-chorus, sets up a story. The post-
chorus, where the genre change is most notable, consists of two distinct words, a
vocalized “Oh” and the word “Trouble”. This lyrical simplicity is common for a
chorus or post-chorus section of any song. The lack of plot development in these
chorus and post-chorus sections indicate to me that the artists are highlighting the
music in these sections, rather than the story. These sections are used to portray
intensity. They, among others I have analyzed, prove to me that genre modulation
is most frequently utilized to heighten intensity. Often, the sections with the most
pointed genre modulation remain in a listener’s memory.
The differences between the two songs include way in which Swift’s genre
modulation relies on a musical, rhythmic, syntactical signifier as opposed to the
Beatles’ instrumental, timbral signifier. Swift does change instrumentation, but
that instrumentation is also found in the Pop and Country styles which she incor-
porated in previous sections. One of the only notable instrument changes is that of
Swift’s vocals. Throughout the verse and chorus, Swift’s vocal timbre and orna-
mentation fits with the genre. It moves from Pop to Country with the music. When
the post-chorus occurs with the genre change, the timbre is much more aggressive.
One could argue that a listener would take longer to respond to the modula-
tion in “Trouble” because the genres used are more similar and intertwined with
each other than in “Lucy.” Because the listener is acclimated to the instrumenta-
tion and rhythm, it is harder to hear the difference between the genres. To draw a
further analogy between genre and key relations, it is much more marked when a
composer moves to the mediant key than the dominant key. An equivalent propo-
sition exists in the realm of genre. Moving to a closely related genre will be less
noticeable than moving to a distant one. An audience may not perceive modulation
to a closely related genre; Movement to a more distant genre will likely provoke a
greater reaction.
These are just a few initial observations on genre modulation. This effect in-
dicates that genre is not a rigid entity, but a fluid and multifaceted element that is
capable of being utilized to an end (in this paper, as an energizing feature, but
certainly to other ends as well). This study is hopefully able to initiate a dialogue
on the subject. Regardless of one’s personal definition of genre, this effect exists
throughout Popular music and necessitates a sufficient descriptive vocabulary.
References
Bibliography
Biamonte, N. 2014. Formal Functions of Metric Dissonance in Rock Music Music Theory
Online 20(2).
Brackett, D. 2002. “(In Search of) musical meaning: genres, categories and crossover” In
David Hesmondhalgh and Keith Negus ed. Popular Music Studies New York: Oxford
University Press 65-83.
Burns, L. –
2005. “Meaning in a Popular Song: The Representation of Masochistic Desire in Sarah
McLachlan’s ‘Ice.’” In Deborah Stein ed. Engaging Music: Essays in Music Analysis.
Oxford: Oxford University Press 136-48.
2014. Sculpting a Vocal Narrative across the Concept Album: Vocal Delivery and Treat-
ment in P!nk’s The Truth About Love. Society for Music Theory Conference, Milwau-
kee WI Nov 7, 2014.
Capuzzo, G. 2009. Sectional Tonality and Sectional Centricity in Rock Music Music The-
ory Spectrum 31(1): 157-174.
de Clercq, T. 2012. Sections and Successions in Successful Songs: A Prototype Approach
to Form in Rock Music Ph.D. Eastman School of Music, Rochester, NY.
Doll, C. 2011. Rockin’ Out: Expressive Modulation in Verse-Chorus Form Music Theory
Online 17(3).
Fabbri, F. 1981. “A Theory of Musical Genres: Two Applications” from Popular Music
Perspectives ed. D. Horn and P. Tagg; Göteborg and Exeter: International Association
for the Study of Popular Music p. 52-81.
Holt, F. 2007. Genre In Popular Music. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Tagg, P. 1992. “Towards a Sign Typology of Music” In R. Dalmonte and M. Baroni ed.
Secondo Convegno Europeo di Analisi Musicale. Trento: Università degli studi di
Trento. 369-378.
Discography
Beatles, the. 1967. “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts
Club Band. Parlophone Records, 1 June, UK.
Swift, T. 2012. “I Knew You Were Trouble” Red. Big Machine Records, 22 October,
United States.
Groenemeyer – A Case Study on Situative Singing
Styles
Hendrik Neubauer, Tobias Marx

Kassel’s Academy of Music, Kassel, Germany & Kassel University, Kassel, Germany, kon-
takt@hendrikneubauer.de, Tobias Marx, tobiasmarx@gmx.net
From personality psychology it is known that certain traits appear to be stronger
in certain situations. The same might apply to the personal style of musicians. The
aim of this paper is to present the situative singing styles of German singer Herbert
Groenemeyer regarding the distinctions studio – live, German – English and early
– late career phase. Twenty four snippets of approximately 10 to 15 seconds each
been analysed that have been considered typical for the singer after a phase of
immersion into the material. The analysis was using the vocalmetrics software
version 1.1 and nine dimensions of singing traits. Results show differences be-
tween studio and live performances as well as differences in the use of roughness
in regard to articulation and increased articulation over time.
Keywords: popular music analysis, voice and singing, personal style
Context & Aim

Results from personality research constitute the starting point for the current mu-
sical performance analysis of German popular music singer and performer Herbert
Groenemeyer. From personality psychology, it is known that certain traits appear
to be stronger in certain situations (f.i. Ostendorf & Angleitner 2004: 69ff.,
Fahrenberg 2010, Asendorpf 2007: 270ff.). Musicology persues to fixate personal
styles of artists without taking situational influences into account (cf. Pfleiderer et
al 2015, Just 2016). The aim of this paper is to present the situative singing styles
of German singer Herbert Groenemeyer in regard of the distinctions studio – live,
German – English and early – late career phase.
The activity of singing is related to many different aspects like repertoire,
anxiety, enjoyment, the voice, physical image, face expressions, mental processes
(intentions, TM) and body movement (Coimbra et al. 2001: 20ff.). Outer processes
of voice production cover many aspects relating to either technical features like
‘clear diction and good articulation’, ‘language pronunciation’, ‘language skills’,
‘connect pitch and tuning’, ‘singing in tune’ or expressive features like ‘vocal rich-
ness and colour’ or ‘vocal expression’ (Coimbra et al. 2001: 22).

244 Hendrik Neubauer, Tobias Marx
However, what makes the singer an artist is the unique musical contribution that
he/she brings into the performance. It is in our opinion the complex special way of
dealing with the musical piece filtered through the singer’s individuality that may ul-
timately lead to the production of memorable singing performances. The attempt to
attract the listeners’ attention and interest by making their voice heard seems to be the
emergent core theme in the analysis of our data. All our findings regarding the inner
physical and mental preparation of the singer, his/her psychological state through the
various stages of the performance, from its preparation to its completion, as well as
the outer visible and audible processes utilized during the actual performance, are in-
deed the active components of the singer’s objective to make his presence captivate
the audience. (ib.: 29)
Due to Grönemeyer’s style of working differences between studio and live perfor-
mances and between German and English studio performances can be assumed.
While in regard to his German studio singing he spontaneously decides for lyrics
to replace the fake lyrics from the rehearsals, the live performances as well as the
English studio performances are prepared with the actual lyrics in advance. Hoff-
mann (2003) in his biography of Groenemeyer provides rich data on utterances of
Groenemeyer himself and colleagues about his use of voice and singing. Follow-
ing statements have the most impact on the current analysis:
x “Herbert Grönemeyer hat eine ungewöhnliche Arbeitsweise. Er schreibt zuerst

die Musik, nimmt diese dann mit seiner Band auf, und erst “wenn ich dann den
Druck habe, Texte zu schreiben“, so Grönemeyer, “dann muss ich das auch
machen. Ich mache aber immer die Platte komplett fertig, was die Musik an-
geht, und fange dann an zu texten.“ (ib.: 74) Groenemeyers style of creating
songs always starts with the use of nonsensically English lyrics which will be
replaced with German lyrics only shortly before studio recordings are made
(see ib.: 9). This means in the process of creating music Groenemeyer uses his
voice as instrument and the tunes are hardly influenced by the German lyrics.
x “Es ist leicht für Grönemeyer einen Song zu schreiben, weil er über alle Facet-
ten verfügt. Er hat eine enorme Bandbreite. (…) Er klang nicht immer gleich,
er hat diese enorme Musikalität, mit der man spielen konnte. Er ist so begabt,
dass wir ihn einfach singen lassen konnten, wie er wollte.“ (Jürgen Triebel
after Hoffmann 2003: 42f.). English: “For Groenemeyer it is easy to write a
song, because he owns all facets. He has an enormous spectrum. He does not
always sound similar, he owns this enormous musicality that we could play
with. He is gifted in a way, that we could just let him sing the way he wanted
to.“ This producer’s compliment can be interpreted as Groenemeyer having no
trouble with pitches and rhythms.
Groenemeyer – A Case Study on Situative Singing Styles 245
x “Der Text muss auch auf die Zeile passen. Die Worte müssen eckig und kantig
sein, dass sie eine Emotion ausdrücken, ohne dass man inhaltlich verstehen
muss, worum es eigentlich geht.“ (Groenemeyer after Hoffmann 2003: 75).
English: “The lyrics have to match the lines. The words must sound square and
angular to express an emotion without the need for everyone to understand the
actual content.” In regard to German lyrics Groenemeyer puts as much emo-
tions as possible into his singing rather than articulating clear lyrics.
x “Ich kann sogar ganz hervorragend singen. Ich kann auch vom Blatt singen.
Wobei ich in Deutschland halt eher so gesehen werde, dass ich schreie.”
(Groenemeyer after Hoffmann 2003: 82). English: “I can sing excellent. I can
sing from the sheet. But in Germany peple consider my singing rather as
screaming.” Several times Hoffmann emphasises that Groenemeyer can sing
very well and very high, in choirs for instance. Consequently he has never had
any problems with pitch.
x “Ich wollte ausprobieren, ob ich die Ausdruckskraft der deutschen Texte ins
Englische transportieren konnte. Bei manchen Songs hat’s geklappt, bei ande-
ren nicht.” (Groenemeyer after Hoffmann 2003: 108). English: “I wanted to
try to transport my power of expression into the English language. Some songs
worked well, others didn’t.” Groenemeyer clearly states that when he sings
English, he has to put a lot of planning and practice into the making of the
lyrics.
x “Er hat gesagt, das mache er sozusagen ‚extra‘, mit anderen Worten, man muss
die Texte kennen. Ich erinnere mich an eine Tour, da ist die Platte unmittelbar
vor der Tour rausgekommen, die Leute konnten die Platte vielleicht eine Wo-
che lang hören. Und trotzdem haben sie alle Texte mitgesungen.“ (Jahnke after
Hoffmann 2003: 135). English: “He told me he does it on purpose and you
have to know the lyrics. I remember one tour in which the album was released
directly prior to it and you could listen to the songs for about a week. And
everybody did sing along.“ The tourmanager explains Groenemeyers approach
to singing lyrics in live performance situations: from a linguistic point of view
they do not have to be understood by the audience.
x “Der war immer sehr schlecht zu verstehen mit seinem gepressten Knödelge-
sang, jetzt meidet er das hohe C, und man kann jede Silbe verstehen.“ (Jour-
nalist after Hoffmann 2003: 176). English “It was never easy to understand
him with his pressed singing. Now he avoids the high c and one can catch every
line.“ There seemed to be a break in the singing approach in regard to
Groenemeyers articulation at one point which were known to be bad before.
x “Ich habe entdeckt, dass ich auch impulsiv singen kann, ohne rumzuschreien.”
(Groenemeyer after Hoffmann 2003: 177). English: “I discovered I could
sound impulsive without screaming.“ Groenemeyer states that he developed

his singing to a further level of expression.
Method
This paper uses an exploring analysis approach with the aim of deciphering
Groenemeyers personal singing style and his situative differences (studio/live,
German/English, early/late) in the use of voice and singing. Biographical catego-
ries of interest in analysing Groenemyers voice and singing are displayed in figure
1: Each song can be assigned to one of the four categories and in addition is asso-
ciated with a year of publication and therefore the data can be examined for devel-
opmental differences through time.
Figure 1. Biographical categories of interest of Groenemeyers voice and singing.

The analysis uses the software tool Vocalmetrics 1.1 (Hähnel & Pfleiderer 2014,
Schönfeld et al. 2014, Berndt et al. 2015) which was developed by the research
project Voice and Singing in Popular Music in the U.S.A. (1900–1960) (see
https://www.hfm-weimar.de/popvoices/vocalmetrics/vm1_1_en.htm) and can be
downloaded at http://felix.courages.net/vocalmetrics. In Vocalmetrics 1.1 the rat-
ing process has been optimised in several respects and the software has been
opened for free use and any project using the rating process (Schönfeld et al. 2014:
3).
The Audio samples have been chosen by the authors in regard to resembling
typical examples of Groenemeyers voice and singing on the basis of being regular
Groenemeyer listener (first author) and expert listener in the domain of voice and
singing (second author). One aim was to provide each category with approxi-
mately the same number of audio samples (see table 1: Table of audio samples).
Title Year of recording Performance Language

(reference) Situation of Lyrics
Was soll das 1988 (1988b) studio german
What’s All This 1988 (1988d) studio english
Was soll das 1988 (1988c) live german
Was soll das 2012 (2012g) live german
What’s All This 2013 (2013) live english
Flugzeuge im Bauch 1984 (1984a) studio german
Airplanes In My Head 1988 (1988a) studio english
Flugzeuge im Bauch 1984 (1984b) live german
Airplanes In My Head 2012 (2012a) studio english
Flugzeuge im Bauch 2011 (2011a) live german
Liebe liegt nicht 2007 (2007) studio german
Liebe liegt nicht 2012 (2012c) live german
Land unter 1993 (1993) studio german
Lead Me Home 1995 (1995b) studio english
Land unter 1993 (1995a) live german
Land unter 2011 (2011c) live german
Mensch 2002 (2002) studio german
Mensch 2003 (2003) live german
Mensch 2012 (2012d) studio english
Mensch 2012 (2012e) live german
Mensch 2012 (2012f) live english
Glück 2008 (2008) studio german
All That I Need 2012 (2012b) studio english
Glück 2011 (2011b) live german
Table 1. Table of audio samples.
All audio samples have been provided with information on artist (for later com-
parissons), title of the song, label (record company of publication), year of publi-
cation, performance situation (studio vs. live) and language of lyrics (German vs.
English). For the rating process of Groenemeyers voice and singing we reverted
to the original nine dimensions of singing in popular music, identified by the de-
velopers of the vocalmetrics tool. The nine dimensions of voice and singing are
vibrato, glissando, intensity, roughness, breathiness, register, articulaition, rubato,
off-beat. The two authors rated all 24 audio samples individually in regard to the
nine dimensions.
Results
First of all, it became clear that Groenemeyer never sings off-beat, never changes
registers and almost never sings with a breathy voice. Also vibrato and glissando
are very seldom to find and it seems Groenemeyer uses these, if ever, deliberately.
Most of the time Groenemeyer is rather exclaiming words than actually singing
them but still always with accurate pitch and high expression. After having sorted
out the five mentioned dimensions of voice and singing to be of no interest there
remain articulation, rubato, roughness and intensity determining the personal sing-
ing style of Groenemeyer. Since intensity is a conglomerate of different impres-
sions like the amount of loudness, vibrato and roughness (see Schönfeld et al.
2014: 2) this category will be left aside in the following analysis. These four char-
acteristics have been checked against English versus German lyrics as well as stu-
dio versus live performances. Three findings can be reported so far.
First: A plot of articulation per year (figure 3) shows the tendency of better artic-
ulation in later years. A check on the performance situation confirms what can be
assumed: live performances do have less values for articulation (highlighted sam-
ples in figure 2).
Figure. 2: 24 samples with 48 ratings, x: year, y: articulation, live performances are high-
lighted in red circles, the blue dots are the medium values for the performance situations.
Second: A plot of articulation per roughness (figure 3) shows the tendency of
Groenemeyer to loose precision in his articulation with increase of rough singing.
A check on the language does not show any differences in the use of roughness
between German and English lyrics.
Figure 3. 24 samples with 48 ratings, x: roughness, y: articulation, German lyrics are high-
lighted in red circles, the blue dots are the medium values for the language of the lyrics.
Third: A plot of the use of rubato through the years (figure 4) does not show any
development worth mentioning but when highlighting the performance situation
studio performances appear to be rated with lower values for roughness in general.
Figure 4. 24 samples with 48 ratings, x: year, y: roughness, studio performances are high-
lighted in red circles, the blue dots are the medium values for the performance situations.
Limitations and outlook

In general it has to be taken into account the fact that the analysed concepts of the
singing voice are negotiable and uniform uses of terms will always be dissented
by the musical material itself (see Just 2016). Another problem is the rater’s indi-
viduality: “Finally, the weighting of the components might depend on the listeners'
individual preferences and listening biography, and the musical and singer's con-
text, in which the feature in question is embedded.” (Berndt et al. 2015: 2).
Future research should make use of more audio samples of Groenemeyers
singing to make sure the found results are consistent. Participation of more raters
would, of course, increase the inter-rater reliability. A visualisation of Grönemeyer
in contrast to the approximately 200 samples of singers and genres from the orig-
inal Vocalmetrics v1.0 tool would be of high interest.
References
Bibliography
Asendorpf, J. B. 2007. Psychologie der Persönlichkeit. Heidelberg: Springer.
Berndt, A.; Schönfeld, F.; Groh, R.; Hähnel, T.; Marx, T.; Pfleiderer, M. 2015. Vocal-
metrics. Ein Software Tool für das Visualisieren, das Rating und den Vergleich von
Musik-Datensätzen. In: W. Auhagen, C. Bullerjahn & R. v. Georgi Ed. Musikpsycho-
logie – Anwendungsorientierte Forschung. Jahrbuch der Deutschen Gesellschaft für
Musikpsychologie, 25. Göttingen: Hogrefe: 254-262.
Coimbra, D.; Davidson, J. W.; Kokotsaki, D. 2001. Investigating the Assessment of Singers
in a Music College Setting: The Students' Perspective. Research Studies in Music Edu-
cation 16 (1): 15-32.
Fahrenberg, J. 2010. Konstruktion und methodenbewusste Anwendung von Persönlich-
keitsfragebogen. In: J. Fahrenberg, R. Hampel & H. Selg Ed. Freiburger Persönlich-
keitsinventar. Göttingen: Hogrefe. http://www.jochen-fahrenberg.de/filead-
min/pdf2009/Methodenkritik von Persoenlichkeitsfragebogen.pdf. Accessed: 22 De-
cember 2016.
Hähnel, T; Marx, T.; Pfleiderer, M. 2014. Methoden zur Analyse der vokalen Gestaltung
populärer Musik. Samples 12 (2014). http://www.gfpm-samples.de/Sam-
ples12/haehneletal.pdf. Accessed: 22 December 2016.
Hoffmann, U. 2003. Grönemyer. Biografie. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe.
Just, S. 2016. Martin Pfleiderer / Tilo Hähnel / Katrin Horn / Christian Bielefeldt (Hg.).
Stimme, Kultur, Identität. Vokaler Ausdruck in populären Musiken der USA, 1900–
1960. Samples 14 (2016). http://www.gfpm-samples.de/Samples14/rezjust.pdf. Ac-
cessed: 22 December 2016.
Ostendorf, F.; Angleitner, A. 2004. NEO-Persönlichkeitsinventar nach Costa und McCrae.
Revidierte Fassung. Göttingen: Hogrefe.
Pfleiderer, M.; Hähnel, T.; Horn, K.; Bielefeldt, C. Ed. 2015. Stimme, Kultur, Identität.
Vokaler Ausdruck in der populären Musik der USA, 1900–1960. Bielefeld: transcript.
Schönfeld, F.; Bernd, A.; Hähnel, T.; Pfleiderer, M., Groh, R. 2014. Vocalmetrics: An in-
teractive software for visualization and classification of music. Proceedings of the 9th
Audio Mostly: A Conference on Interaction With Sound.
Discography & Videography
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1984a. “Flugzeuge im Bauch“. 4630 Bochum. CD Album. Köln:
EMI, Track 3.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1984b. “Flugzeuge im Bauch“. [Live in Bochum 1984]. Herbert Grö-
nemeyer Live beim Rockpalast. Köln: Westdeutscher Rundfunk Köln, 41:25-45:53.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1988a. “Airplanes In My Head“. What’s All This. CD Album. Köln:
EMI, Track 3.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1988b. “Was soll das“. Ö. CD Album. Köln: EMI, Track 1.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1988c. “Was soll das“. [Live in Köln 1988]. TOUR ‘88. Herbert Grö-
nemeyer + Band. VHS. Köln: EMI, Track 13.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1988d. “What’s All This“. What’s All This. CD Album. Köln: EMI,
Track 1.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1993. “Land unter“. Chaos. CD Album. Köln: EMI, Track 3.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1995a. “Land unter“. [Live in Wien/Dortmund/Berlin 1993/94].
Grönemeyer Live. CD Album. Köln: EMI, Track 7.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 1995b. “Lead Me Home“. Chaos. CD Album. Köln: EMI, Track 3.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2002. “Mensch“. Mensch. CD Single. Köln: EMI, Track 1.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2003. “Mensch“. [Live in Gelsenkirchen 2003]. Mensch Live. DVD
1. Köln: EMI, Track 10.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2007. “Liebe liegt nicht“. 12. CD Album. Köln: EMI, Track 12.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2008. “Glück“. Was muss muss. CD 1. Köln: EMI, Track 3.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2011a. “Flugzeuge im Bauch“. [Live in Leipzig 2011]. Grönemeyer
– Schiffsverkehr Tour 2011. Live in Leipzig. DVD. Köln: EMI, Track 22.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2011b. “Glück“. [Live in Leipzig 2011]. Grönemeyer – Schiffsver-
kehr Tour 2011. Live in Leipzig. DVD. Köln: EMI, Track 23.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2011c. “Land unter“. [Live in Leipzig 2011]. Grönemeyer – Schiffs-
verkehr Tour 2011. Live in Leipzig. DVD. Köln: EMI, Track 20.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2012a. “Airplanes In My Head“. I Walk. CD Album. Berlin: Grön-
land, Track 9.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2012b. “All That I Need“. I Walk. CD Album. Berlin: Grönland,
Track 2.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2012c. “Liebe liegt nicht“. [Live in Montreux 2012]. Live at Mon-
treux 2012. DVD. Köln: EMI, Track 17.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2012d. “Mensch“. I Walk. CD Album. Berlin: Grönland, Track 1.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2012e. “Mensch“. [Live in Montreux 2012]. Live at Montreux 2012.
DVD. Köln: EMI, Track 15.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2012f. “Mensch“. [Live in Potsdam 2012]. I Walk Live. DVD. Berlin:
Grönland, Track 12.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2012g. “Was soll das“. [Live in Montreux 2012]. Live at Montreux
2012. DVD. Köln: EMI, Track 10.
Herbert Grönemeyer. 2013. “What’s All This“. [Live in New York 2013].
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a-SU0J0xayY. Accessed: 14 December 2016.
The Music of Samba Schools: A Challenge for Popular
Music Studies
Yuri Prado
Universidade de São Paulo (USP), CMU, São Paulo, Brazil, yuri_prado@yahoo.com.br
The music of the samba schools of Rio de Janeiro, the samba-enredo, is a topic of
much interest to the popular music studies. One of its most striking features is the
fact that most of the composers who are dedicated to this genre does not have any
formal musical education, which provides fertile ground for studies on music
learning processes and oral memory. At the same time, this music has a prominent
position in the brazilian phonographic market, besides being broadcasted by the
country's major television station, which lead us back to the reflections of Theodor
Adorno on standardization in popular music. Added to this, the samba-enredo have
its own performance circuit (the samba schools) and media coverage (blogs and
websites specialized in Carnival), which contributes to the existence of a mode of
production and reception that has no parallel anywhere else in Brazil and, I believe,
abroad. Therefore, this article aims to discuss the challenges of analyzing this
music genre, whose uniqueness lies precisely in being in the middle ground of a
mass production and a musical craft still strongly marked by orality and self-
taught.
Keywords: Samba, Samba school, Orality, Culture industry
Samba schools: a universe of contradictions

At each carnival, repeating and renewing a tradition begun in the late 1920’s,
samba schools in Rio de Janeiro move from their neighborhoods to downtown to
participate in a competition in which each school parades in an avenue called Sam-
bódromo.
The complexity of the aspects involving the parade of the samba schools can
be verified by reading the judgment criteria of this competition: bateria (the rhyth-
mic group of the samba schools); harmony (the relationship between the singing
of the main interpreters and that of the school as a whole); evolution (animation
of the components of the school and fluency of the parade); enredo (conception
and development of the theme proposed by the school); allegories and props; cos-
tumes; comissão de frente (a choreographed wing that opens the samba school

254 Yuri Prado
parade); Mestre-Sala and Porta Bandeira (couple of dancers who lead and present
the school flag) and samba-enredo (the song of the samba schools).
Since its foundation, the samba schools are marked by a series of contradic-
tions present in many aspects of their constitution. Their own trajectory, from a
form of sociability between marginalized individuals until its elevation to the sta-
tus of a national symbol, was marked by constant negotiations between the sam-
bistas and the government, the first ones with the intention to preserve their way
of expression and the latter assuming the role of imposing “order in disorder”
(Augras 1993) and, ultimately, promote a “domestication of the urban mass”
(Queiroz 1985).
Another set of contradictions is related to the economic aspect. Some sectors
of the samba schools are marked by a full-heart dedication of its members, as it is
the case of the passistas (highly trained samba dancers) and the musicians of the
bateria, who are not remunerated by their activities. At the same time, profession-
als such as the Mestre-Sala and Porta-Bandeira, the bateria director and, above
all, the carnavalesco (the artist who conceives the enredo and all the costumes and
allegorical floats of the parade) earn wages and are disputed by the samba schools.
Another problem is related to the financing of the parade: samba schools are ver-
satile enough to receive money from the government; from private companies that
sponsor the making of plots related to their brands; and sometimes by mobsters
related to the Jogo do Bicho, an illegal gambling game (Jupiara and Otávio 2015).
In many poor neighborhoods in Rio de Janeiro, samba schools still exercise
a strong community role, since they are one of the few leisure and socializing
spaces available to people of all ages, who are involved in the samba school activ-
ities not only during the Carnival period, but throughout the year. At the same
time, since the parade is broadcasted by Rede Globo, the largest television network
in Brazil, celebrities of all kinds, strangers to the community, see the samba
schools as a way to show up their well sculpted bodies. It is necessary to emphasize
that the samba schools themselves are interested in attracting these people, since
they pay high sums of money to obtain costumes of prominence in the parade.
It is also possible to see a contradiction in their discourse itself: at the same
time samba schools claim to be the guardians of the samba traditions, by preservat-
ing, for instance, the velha guarda (the group of elderly members of each school),
they stand in a race for innovation of the visual aspects of the parade through the
use of pyrotechnic and technological elements, so that the Carnival of Rio de
Janeiro does justice to the slogan "the greatest spectacle on Earth”.
The Music of Samba Schools: A Challenge for Popular Music Studies 255
Samba-enredo
Samba-enredo, the music genre produced by the samba schools, is not immune to
these contradictions. In the article titled “The Disc is not the Avenue”: Schismo-
genetic Mimesis in Samba Recording, Frederick Moehn reports that, from the end
of the 1990’s, the tendency to try to reproduce in the studio the performance in the
avenue was being left aside by the producers of the samba-enredo albums, who
happened “to see these two spheres as oppositional, with certain of the performa-
tive practices of the avenue hindering the commercial market-ability of the record-
ing” (Moehn 2004: 48). Subordinated to this dichotomy were the oppositions be-
tween the clean sound of the CD and the “dirty” sound of the avenue; the vocal
performance of the singers, which require a more melodic style on the CD, as
opposed to the shouting of the avenue; and the opposition between a much stronger
presence of voice on the CD than on the avenue, where the percussions play a
predominant role. Moehn points out, however, that “these differentiated values,
aesthetics, and practices are not necessarily always in tension with each other”
(Moehn 2004: 49).
One of samba-enredo’s most striking features is the fact that most of the
composers who are dedicated to this genre does not have any formal musical
education. It is possible to see from testimonies of older composers that the process
of learning the repertoire was done in an autodidact way, from the observation of
the most experienced samba musicians:
I was a child and then accompanied my brothers to samba. My brother Jorge had at-
tended the Cacique de Ramos since he was a child, and he attended the [samba school]
Imperatriz Leopoldinense when it still rehearsed in [club] Paranhos. My brother-in-
law, Trajano Russo, who is considered one of the greatest partideiro [samba impro-
viser] of Brazil and of Rio de Janeiro, went there too and I also used to accompany
them. I was always lurking, always waiting for an opportunity, listening to one, lis-
tening to another. Another brother-in-law, Denir Lobo, went there and along with
them I began to meet, when I was still a child, composers of the Imperatriz
Leopoldinense, who frequented a corner, on which there was the bar called El Fer-
nando, which on Sundays promoted a samba with the people of Imperatriz
Leopoldinense and people related to samba. And as my brothers also went there, my
brother-in-law etc, I would go there and listen to them. I loved listening to them
(Tuninho Professor 2015, video).
In addition to the learning of the repertoire, it was common that the very learning
of musical instruments took place on rodas de samba (samba meetings). Accord-
ing to the composer André Diniz, it is possible to see that even in the 1990’s, when
he began to compose sambas-enredo, the transmission of knowledge occurred in
these informal situations:
256 Yuri Prado
I joined Raça (ultra), from [the football team] Flamengo, and at the entrance door of
Raça’s head office there was a pagode (samba meeting). So, I would see Bocão play-
ing tan-tan and there was a boy named Marquinhos, who is Marquinhos do Banjo, a
composer of União da Ilha, who played the banjo, and I kept looking at them. Then I
started learning to play the cavaquinho (Diniz 2013, video).
However, samba-enredo has a singularity: since 1968, the songs of each samba
school are recorded in discs released annually. Although the basic motivation of
the recording is to obtain profits for the record companies and the samba schools,
this practice gave rise — and here we have another contradiction — to a well-
documented repository of sambas that makes possible to successive generations
of composers to have a vast and profound knowledge of the tradition that precedes
them. The statement of the composer Diego Nicolau is revealing of this:
My learning was all by disks. I have LPs, I have all the CDs. I was always in love with
samba-enredo. I was a kid who loved samba-enredo. When I took the taste for it, I
went to search for older sambas (Nicolau 2015, interview).
The learning through discs is so important that Diego Nicolau reached the status
of a respected composer in Rio de Janeiro even without playing an instrument:
I never studied music. It’s a native musicality. A lot of people find it odd that I do not
play any instruments. Usually those who do not play any instrument make only lyrics
or make simple melodies. They find it odd that I make richer, more elaborate melodies
without playing an instrument (Nicolau 2015, interview).
For a music genre in which the idea of tradition and belonging to a community is
a fundamental part of its self-affirming discourse (Trotta & Castro 2015), to note
that someone can somehow get the knowledge of the samba traditions by listening
to discs is a fact of a remarkable contradiction. Therefore, evaluating the weight
of the transmission of knowledge in person or through discs is a task of consider-
able interest to the popular music researcher.
Mainstream versus Alternative
The fact that samba-enredo is based on orality may explain the existence of certain
structures that are recurrent in this music genre, as it is the case of what I call
paradigma de início, a rhythmic-melodic structure used at the beginning of several
sambas (Figure 1):
Figure 1. Paradigma de início

However, as Frederick Moehn asserts,
in the case of samba-enredo, contextual linkages to participatory and community-

based music making are, in fact, manifest and highly meaningful, but they are
continually challenged and redefined through interaction with commercial and market
forces (Moehn 2004: 50-1).
It is therefore necessary to remember that samba-enredo is a music genre fully

inserted in the culture industry. As far as the phonographic record is concerned,
the sales of the samba-enredo discs reached their peak in 1986, when more than 1
258 Yuri Prado
million copies were sold (Cavalcanti 1995: 85). Although the samba-enredo’s ex-
pressiveness as carnival music has diminished over the last twenty years37, data
from the Brazilian Association of Record Producers (ABPD) indicate that the al-
bum Sambas de Enredo 2016 was the 7th best-selling album of 201538, which rep-
resents attractive copyright for the composers. In this process, it is possible that
many of the harmonic, melodic and formal repetitions of samba-enredo originated
as a result of the search for ready-made formulas to achieve success, which lead
us back to the process of standardization of popular music described by Theodor
Adorno39 (1986).
Before reaching the mainstream, the sambas-enredo are presented in an alter-
native circuit, far from the eyes of the large public. Months before the carnival,
each school makes internal disputes to choose which samba-enredo will be taken
to the parade. Dozens of works are registered and after weeks of qualification the
official samba is chosen. In this process, each partnership must bear the costs of
musicians and singers who will play the samba on the quadra (the space where
samba school rehearsals are performed), as well as the costs of paid crowds, flags,
confetti and all kinds of devices to call attention of the judgement comittee to the
song that is being presented. It is a consensus that today it is necessary to spend
some tens of thousands of dollars in order to win an internal dispute of a samba
school.
The growth of the expenses led to the emergence of so-called samba offices,
groups of composers who have the financial structure to compete in various samba
schools. Although the samba offices are viewed negatively by many samba com-
posers, there are others who see this phenomenon in a more pragmatic way:
You can say what you want about us, but we play the game with their rules. We do
not play outside the norm. Do we have to bring a crowd? There will be a crowd. Do
we have to bring people? So we’ll bring people. Do we have to bring a good singer?
I’ll take the best. I’m in the game. Do we have to buy a table in the finals? I’m going
to buy it. Do we have to buy a VIP area? I’m going to buy it. I will not let someone
buy it before me (Diniz 2013, video).
If in the previous years the losing sambas of the internal disputes were relegated
to the so-called sambas cemetery (Goldwasser 1975), being prevented from being
37 Among the reasons cited for this phenomena are the loss of the quality of the compositions and
the esthetic stagnation of the genre, besides the national success of axé in the second half of the
1990’s.
38 The data are available at http://abpd.org.br/home/numeros-do-mercado/ano-2015/
39 In a recent article, I discussed the most common melodic, harmonic, and formal patterns in
samba-enredo produced since the 1980’s (Prado 2015).
played again in the quadras, nowadays the competing sambas are divulged in sites
specialized in Carnival40. In addition to providing to the researcher a much greater
panorama of the different aesthetics of samba-enredo than the audition of the of-
ficial discs of samba schools could suppose, this new channel of communication
has given these sambas the opportunity to transcend the not always honest deci-
sions of the internal disputes of the samba schools and to make themselves known
by new generations that will come.
Conclusion
If at the elaboration of my Undergraduate Research at the Department of Music of
the University of São Paulo (Souza, 2010) I only proposed to make a musical anal-
ysis of the samba-enredo through the identification of its melodic, harmonic and
formal patterns, the complexity of elements that surround the modes of production,
reception and circulation of this music genre has forced me, now in my doctorate,
to use concepts that came from linguistics (Souza 2014), musical cognition (Prado
2016), sociology (Prado 2015), oral memory, among other fields of study. Besides
that, the interviews with composers of samba schools are a fundamental part of the
research, since they provide valuable testimonies both on issues related to their
creative processes and on concrete issues (financial, for example) of the samba
school’s universe.
It is this complexity that makes it necessary to create methods of analysis that
account for a very characteristic feature of Brazilian music: the conciliation be-
tween traditional and mass production modes. Rather than importing ready-made
models of Anglo-American musicology, I believe it is possible that Latin Ameri-
can musicology provides insights into similar problems faced by analysts of cer-
tain popular genres of popular music of the United States and the United Kingdom
(the blues, for example).
References
Bibliography
Augras, Monique. 1993. A ordem na desordem: a regulamentação do desfile das escolas de
samba e a exigência de 'motivos nacionais'. Revista Brasileira de Ciências Sociais 8
(2): 90-103.
Cavalcanti, Maria Laura Viveiros de Castro. 1995. Carnaval carioca: dos bastidores ao
desfile. Rio de Janeiro: Ed. UFRJ.
Goldwasser, Maria Julia. 1975. O Palácio do Samba: estudo antropológico da Estação
Primeira da Mangueira. Rio de Janeiro: Zahar Editores.
40 SRZD Carnaval (http://www.srzd.com/carnaval/) and Carnavalesco (http://www.carna-

valesco.com.br/), among others.
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and Technologies in Sonic Cultures. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press: 47-83.
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Videography
André Diniz. 2013. Memória das Matrizes do Samba no Rio de Janeiro. Interviewers: Aloy
Jupiara and Rachel Valença. Museu do Samba.
Tuninho Professor. 2015. Memória das Matrizes do Samba no Rio de Janeiro. Interviewers:
Aloy Jupiara and Rachel Valença. Museu do Samba.
Interviews
Diego Nicolau. 2015. Interviewed by Yuri Prado. Rio de Janeiro, 01 April.
Who said we were over it? On Nationalist Nostalgia
and a Specter Haunting Europe: Popular Music and
the Melancholic Presence of the Past
Melanie Schiller
University of Groningen, Arts, Culture and Media, Groningen, the Netherlands,
m.m.schiller@rug.nl
As Europe is facing its most severe crisis since the end of World War II Second
World War, populist nationalism is on the rise again all over the continent. Parties
like the AfD, Ukip, the Dutch Party for Freedom or Front National refer to nostal-
gic imaginaries of their respective countries, while emphasizing the divisive char-
acter of national idiosyncrasies. Simultaneously, a shared European heritage and
cultural values are mobilized as uniting factors against a shared Other: Islam.
These constructions of both, disjunctive and shared European pasts, however oblit-
erate rather forgotten memories of its origins – memories of colonialism and fas-
cism. By referring to the German context in particular, and by drawing on and
expanding Homi Bhabha’s conception of national temporalities, this article argues
for a melancholic character of Europe in its relationship to the past – a Europe that
is nostalgic for its lost Empire(s) and anxious about its fragile territorial as well as
ideological borders. Giving the example of the popular song “Wir sind Wir (Ein
Deutschlandlied)” by Paul van Dyk and Peter Heppner, utilized as its anthem by
the German AfD in its 2015 election campaign, I will exemplify how the unre-
solved past is tantamount to the present, both on a national as well as the European
level.
Keywords: European Identity, German Identity, Nationalism, Populism, Popular Music,

Post-Colonial Theory
In a Europe that is facing its most severe crisis since the end of the Second World
War, national identity is high on social and political agendas all over the continent
(and beyond). Amid the migrant crisis, sluggish economic growth and growing
disillusionment with the European Union, right-wing parties in a growing number
of European countries have made electoral gains. And finally, considering the un-
certain consequences in the wake of Britain’s historic popular vote to leave the
Union, the idea(l) of a shared European identity is more distant than ever. Europe
seems to be on the verge of disintegration as a spectre is haunting Europe – the
spectre of nationalism.

262 Melanie Schiller
Meanwhile, Europe is undergoing two seemingly paradoxical trends simulta-

neously: Firstly, the rapid rise of divergent nationalisms all over the continent
threatening its union (with Brexit being the most prominent example), while na-
tional traditions and particularities function as grounds for reciprocal demarca-
tions. Secondly, ideological arguments for the multiple nationalisms in different
countries refer to shared “European” political values and legacies. Both of these
trends, on the one hand “regionalized” and divisive nationalism by populist parties
like the Alternative for Germany (Alternative für Deutschland, AfD), The Dutch
Party for Freedom (Partij voor de Vrijheid, PVV) or Marine Le Pen’s National
Front (Front National, FN) and UKIP (UK Independence Party) - to name just a
few – highlight national idiosyncrasies, and on the other, a transnational identifi-
cation with so-called “European values” like democracy, Christianity, secularism
and modernity, are mobilized as ideological grounds for the xenophobic narrative
of “us” civilized Europeans versus “them”, the barbaric and uncultured Other.
Both of these trends, however, essentializing nationalism and transnational xeno-
phobia, refer to specific nostalgic constructions of a (shared) past.
According to Homi Bhabha (1990), national identities function like narratives
– and as any “text”, these narratives are always open to reinterpretation. As op-
posed to Benedict Anderson, who in his Imagined Communities highlights the
simultaneity of national temporality as “a sociological organism moving calendri-
cally through homogeneous, empty time” (Anderson 1991: 26 my emphasis), Bha-
bha argues that national narratives are always constructed in two disjunctive tem-
poralities. The first is the pedagogic past, which “look[s] to the legitimacy of past
generations as supplying cultural autonomy” (Giddens 1985: 216) and “founds its
narrative authority in the tradition of the people, […] encapsulated in a succession
of its historical moments” (Bhabha 1994: 147). The pedagogic past hence func-
tions as anchorage for a shared cultural legacy and roots for national unity. Sec-
ondly, the nation consists of what Bhabha calls the performative present, in which
the narrative of national unity can be challenged in the everyday practices of its
people. Bhabha emphasizes the potential of challenging national narratives of ho-
mogeneous identity in the performative present by those who are excluded from
essentialist pedagogic narratives of the past. However, as I will demonstrate, even
the most pedagogic narrative of the nation – aiming at manifesting a unitary his-
tory of shared traditions and legacies – can be multiple in disjunctive temporal
identifications. Furthermore, pedagogic rhetorics, celebrating the nation as an
ideal homogeneous people with one history, cannot effectively obliterate the traces
of practices of exclusion from its narrative. Even the most celebratory narratives
of national pride based on history are haunted by their unspoken past: the past of
violence and barbarism that lies at the heart of any national formation.
Who said we were over it? On Nationalist Nostalgia 263
In the following, I will first briefly discuss the disjunctive pedagogies and
constructions of the past as a source of identification in discourses of nationalistic
populism – from separatist rhetoric of essential differences in national characters
to a shared European legacy as source of differentiation from the threat of the
Other - and subsequently I will lay out how thinking in terms of a twofold tempo-
rality of the pedagogic past and performative present conceals the melancholic
character of a repressed past as always haunting the present. I will briefly exem-
plify this point by illustrating the temporal doubling of past and present in the case
of a sonic German national narrative as favored by the AfD and used in its electoral
campaign in 2015. Considering the scope of this text and its spatial limitations, I
will only be able to sketch some preliminary ideas in general terms; further inves-
tigations surely will need more nuanced analyses and conclusive comparisons.
However, I hope to tentatively open up a discussion about the multiple temporali-
ties engaged in European populist nationalisms, and how these are related to the
continent’s “forgotten” pasts.
National pasts as separatist rhetoric
Populist nationalism, as it has been on the rise all over Europe in recent years,
highlights its respective national traditions and idealized pasts as justification for
promoting essentialist ideas of Englishness, Germanness, Frenchness, Dutchness
etc. Ukip, for example, refers to English identity as viewed in the rear-view mirror
with a “heart-felt nostalgia for the lost Britain of their imagination”, an English-
ness that “remembers” a formerly great nation that was once more in peril, a nos-
talgic re-imagining of a disappearing English heritage (Kenny 2015). In France,
the FN similarly promotes nostalgic ideals of French heritage: Marine Le Pen has
promised a return to a time when the French had their own currency and monetary
policy, when there were fewer mosques and less halal meat, when “no one com-
plained about nativity scenes in public buildings” (Polakow-Suransky, 2016), and
when French schools promoted a republican ethos of assimilation (ibid). The AfD
in Germany is nostalgic for a less distant past; their nation-state nostalgia “remem-
bers” both the GDR and the Federal Republic as sovereign nations without Euro-
pean interferences (Neuerer 2013), and backward-looking utopias of national de-
marcations and a clearly defined “Heimat” (Schmidt 2016).
These different nostalgic nationalisms function as essentialist unifications of
their respective people as homogenous entities, national characters that ostensibly
oppose and exclude each other. The Dutch Freedom Parties’ Frits Bolkestein sum-
marizes this argument most emphatically by highlighting the fundamental differ-
ences in divergent national value systems, undermining the myth of a shared Eu-
ropean identity: “Every attempt to definitively define ‘European values’ inevitably
encounters a jumble of diverse national, regional, ethnic, sectarian and social con-
victions” (HpDeTijd 2016a)41; an “integral European value system does not exist”
according to this rhetoric. Hence, a pedagogic national past is used as legitimiza-
tion for constructing a “national people” that populists claim to represent (Müller
2016), a national people whose uniqueness is positioned against non-national “oth-
ers”. These exclusionist narratives promote separatist and anti-European politics,
and their rhetorics are directed at the dissolution of the Union.
Simultaneously, however, these patriotic populist movements not only share
a nostalgia for their respective imagined national pasts, they also share the under-
lying argument of the “greatness” of a shared and essentially European cultural
legacy of Christianity, secularism, democracy, modernity and liberalism, and all
national nostalgias imagine the pedagogic past to be white. These “European”
markers of identity are explicitly directed against a common Other: Islam. In an
open letter agitating against a visit of the Turkish president Abdullah Gül in 2011,
Geert Wilders and Wim Kortenhoeven from the PVV repeat their nationalist Eu-
roscepticism, only to immediately refer to a shared European value system: “The
Party of Freedom recognizes that the European States form a liberal-democratic
community of values, rooted in the Jewish, Christian and Humanistic traditions”
(Wilders and Kortenhoeven 2011).42 This community, the argument continues, is
opposed to Islam as its antithesis. Hence, a different shared European past is con-
structed to define itself collectively against the Other of immigrants and Islam in
particular. In this narrative, Europe shares a pedagogic past of cultural superiority,
while the Other is presented as conservative, barbaric, backwards and an uncon-
trollable threat to European civilization.
Nostalgia for the empire
From this perspective, the national populist restorative nostalgias, however sepa-
ratist and Eurosceptic in their rhetorics, are in fact the result of the far progressed
processes of European integration. The imagined past their nationalist rhetoric is
based on, and the construction of a shared “us” versus “them” narrative, is rooted
in a deep nostalgia for the (European) empire. Boris Johnson, Nigel Farage and
41 My translation. Original: ”elke poging ‘Europese waarden’ vast te leggen stuit onvermijdelijk
op een baaierd van uiteenlopende nationale, regionale, etnische, sektarische en sociale
overtuigingen.”
42 My translation. Original: ”Maar de PVV onderkent wél dat de Europese staten een liberaal-
democratische waardengemeenschap vormen, die geworteld is in de joodse, christelijke en
humanistische tradities. In die gemeenschap is geen plaats voor islamitisch Turkije. De islam is
fundamenteel intolerant ten opzichte van jodendom, christendom en humanisme.”
Conservative MEP Dan Hannan for instance have expressed preferences for eco-
nomic ties with developed nations of the Commonwealth as opposed to the Euro-
pean Union – and Eastern Europe in particular, because “people from India and
Australia are in some ways more likely to speak English, understand common law
and have a connection with this country, than some people that come perhaps from
countries that haven’t fully recovered from being behind the Iron Curtain” (Mason
2015). Marine Le Pen expresses the desire of “bringing back the Republic” and its
“lost territories” (Nougayrède 2015) and in the Netherlands, Geert Wilders refers
to the “glorious” past of the Dutch Golden Age. In a photoshoot for a popular
magazine, he posed as an admiral from the 17th century, not coincidentally remi-
niscent of Michiel de Ruyter, the Dutch national hero who gained important vic-
tories against the English and French during the Anglo-Dutch wars. In a recent
tweet, Wilders reposted the picture of him as warrior with the caption “re-conquer-
ing the Netherlands” (HpDeTijd 2016b). It is also no coincidence that Europe is
ever more often referred to as the “fortress”, a keyword referring to the vocabulary
of Nazi Germany describing the Third German Empire (Schmitz-Berning 2007).
As Ernest Renan (1990), Stuart Hall (1996), Benedict Andersson (1991),
Homi Bhabha (1994) and others have conclusively argued, the construction of the
nation-state is always the result of violence: “Most modern nations consist of dis-
parate cultures which were only unified by a lengthy process of violent conquest—
that is by the forcible suppression of cultural difference […] and each conquest
subjugated conquered people of their cultures, customs, languages and traditions
and tried to impose a more unified cultural hegemony” (Hall 1996: 616). Hence,
each national narrative is also always structured by deaths, exemplary suicides,
poignant martyrdoms, assassinations, executions, wars and holocausts, subse-
quently, however, to serve the narrative purpose, these violent deaths must be for-
gotten (Anderson 1991). The homogenous pedagogic time of the nation “entails a
huge ‘effort’ of forgetting, the forgetting of the real origins of the narrative of the
Western nation, which excludes the violence of imperialism and the role of ‘Oth-
ers’ in the creation of the nation” (Pisters 2009: 302). However, the nostalgic ref-
erences to disjunctive pedagogic pasts - either nationalistic and divisive, or uniting
and highlighting communality - all explicitly exclude the dark sides of Europe’s
modernity and that of the nation-state: the barbarism of colonialism, and fascism.
“We are who we are” as melancholic anthem
Germany has been relatively immune to extreme right-wing populism until re-
cently, and it is notable that the AfD’s nostalgia mostly reaches back a few dec-
ades. While populist nationalism in England, France, the Netherlands and other
countries constructs a pedagogic past that is nostalgic about the loss of its colonial
empires, recent German populist nationalism exemplifies the problem of referring
to a pedagogic history as unifying factor. Patriotic cultural memory and German

celebrations of pride are always troubled by the legacy of the rather “forgotten”
national past that undermines its affirmative narrative. In the German case, the
Holocaust represents the most extreme example of the perpetual incompleteness
of the “forgotten” past – a traumatic national history that cannot be fully grasped
by representation, nor fully forgotten and overcome. Yet, this element excluded
from pedagogic constructions of the past constitutes a fundamental aspect of the
creation of the nation: an aspect that cannot be rectified retroactively nor fully
obliterated. In the following, I will briefly discuss one example of how German
patriotism is haunted by its past before continuing to argue for the doubling of
temporalities – of the past in the present – as exemplary for Europe’s melancholia.
The Alternative for Germany (AfD) has recently been successful in regional
elections, particularly in counties of the former GDR. One of the popular songs
the AfD used as its anthem in the 2015 election campaign for the state parliament
of Thuringia in central Germany was Paul van Dyk and Peter Heppner’s single
“Wir sind Wir (Ein Deutschlandlied)” (Universal).43 This trance-pop song was
first released in 2004 and re-recorded for the official celebrations of the German
Reunification in 2005 (Zeitgeist), together with the Deutsche Filmorchester
Babelsberg. The song tells a narrative of post-war Germanness, highlighting na-
tional achievements and successes. The accompanying video, directed by Jörg
Heitmann, who has also been collaborating with Rammstein on various occasions,
begins with images of a destroyed nation, the Reichstag lying in ruins and a sign
warning of its collapse. The lyrics present Germany as defeated rather than liber-
ated and in the following, singer Peter Heppner is shown as a live eyewitness to
significant events in German history while they are unfolding. Throughout the
video, a particular version of German history is not only narrated, but reenacted:
The reconstruction of the country by the rubble women, winning the 1954 men’s
football championship in Bern, the tragic split of the country into the FRG and the
GDR, the economic miracle of the fifties and the heroic revolution of 1989 - the
fall of the wall. Finally, as the presented endpoint of this national narrative, the
video closes its circle: Heppner adores the reconstructed modern, majestic Reichs-
tag building that stands in all its (previous) glory (again). The song tautologically
highlights national communality: we have achieved a lot in the past, a past that
binds our common experience as a nation; achievements in the past make us a
nation, and being a nation shapes our view of history. Finally, our version of his-
tory is told from a contemporary point of view (reconstructed by a time-traveling
43 The title “Ein Deutschlandlied“ is an explicit reference to the official national anthem of
Germany: “Das Lied der Deutschen”, also called “Das Deutschlandlied”.
eyewitness observing past events “live”): “We are who we are”. Moreover, an-
other circular movement is significant: the “forgotten” past of this pedagogic nar-
rative of achievements and unity is haunting the nation: when the newly modern-
ized Reichstag is adored by Heppner as a symbol of power and national stamina
at the end of the video, the images very briefly tear into an uncanny reappearance
of its ruins as its foundation. The unwanted past briefly superimposes on the pre-
sent, the difference between pedagogic past and performative present collapses
and the repressed past is tantamount to the present. As I have argued in more detail
elsewhere (Schiller 2017), this brief, uncanny moment reveals the melancholia of
German national identity, the ever-present “forgotten” past. This always incom-
plete process of “retrospective illusion” (Balibar 1991: 86) of a selective peda-
gogic past in national narratives may be predominant in German discourses of na-
tional identity; however, other nationalist populisms share the melancholia of an
unmourned history that can neither function as a pedagogic past nor successfully
be eliminated from collective unconsciousness – a past that perpetually reappears
in the present as uncanny reminders of the collectively forgotten (Schiller 2014).
Germany and Europe, the melancholic continent
Paul van Dyk has meanwhile enjoined the AfD from using his music (Zeit Online
2016), but the proximity of “Wir sind Wir”’s national narrative of achievements
and endurance is noticeably similar to the populist’s rhetoric and restorative nos-
talgia - be it Germany, England, France, or the Netherlands. And also the melan-
cholia of an incomplete history is discernable in the rhetoric of parties like the FN,
VVD and Ukip. Britain’s melancholia is triggered by the loss of colonial power
and the inability to come to terms with it: “The vanished empire is essentially
unmourned”, Gilroy (2005) writes about Britain, and Peter Gratton argues the
same for France (2007). The example of Geert Wilders posing as Michiel de Ruy-
ter is a literal example of Dutch melancholia - “Yesterday does not go by”, Sarah
de Mul (2011: 20) explains how the colonial past is not simply long gone and
finished, but continues to spill over into the present and determine it. However
divisive populist nationalists’ pedagogic narratives may be, they also share not
only the reliance on allegedly European values, but also the explicit exclusion of
strategically “forgotten” elements in the origins of Europe.
As Edward Said famously argued, the so-called “Orient” functioned as a
marker of European self-identification, the reduced and totalized “other” against
which a shared Western “we” could be constructed. Implicit to this orientalist fab-
rication of “us” and “them” is the idea that Western society is developed, rational,
flexible, and thereby superior, whilst “oriental societies” are inferior for being un-
developed, irrational, and inflexible (Mamdani 2004). These imagined cultural op-
posites then justified the crimes of colonialism and the brutal exploitation of the
so-called “Third World”. And as Franz Fanon reminds us, Europe is not only ide-
ologically the result of its self-definition against the cultural “other”, but “Europe
is literally the creation of the Third World. The wealth which smothers her is that
which was stolen from the underdeveloped peoples.” (Fanon 2004: 58, my empha-
sis). Europe being the product of its colonial history, both symbolically as well as
materially, and the contemporary European nation-states predominantly being the
results of the Second World War, it can be argued that with the recently increased
presence of migrants in Europe and its struggle to define and secure its territorial
as well as ideological boundaries, Europe is reminded of its rather forgotten, ex-
cluded and repressed past. Its individual member states are confronted with the
anxiety of having their identity based on an Other that suddenly reappears and
reminds both Europe and the nation of its unspoken pasts and its fundamental fra-
gilities. The recent populist nationalisms are hence examples of the melancholic
state of Europe, a continent whose very existence is based on the violent exclusion
and exploitation of the Other, on acts of violence and brutality that now haunt the
continent. A past that is unresolved and tantamount to the present, the collapse
between (pedagogic) past and (performative) present.
References
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Discography
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5 September, Germany. Cd Single.
What Lessons can Higher Popular Music Education
Learn from Art School Pedagogy?
Simon Strange
Bath Spa University, Institute of Education, Bath, State, England,
s.strange2@bathspa.ac.uk
I benefited enormously from five years at Art School – in fact I can't quite imagine
how my life might have turned out without it, for, although much of my career has
been in music I feel that most of what I learnt about being a composer I learnt there…
When you went into the studio, you could put a sound down, then you could squeeze
it around, spread it all around the canvas. Once you’re working in a multitrack studio,
you stop thinking of the music as performance and you start thinking of it as sound
painting. (Brian Eno)
The first UK based Popular Music degree courses appeared in 1993 and there are
now forty-seven different UK universities or institutes who run popular music de-
gree courses (Cloonan and Hulstedt, 2012). Have these courses helped or at-
tempted to develop creatively successful artists who have had an important impact
on the popular music industry? From the 1960’s to the 1990’s one of the main
academic pathways for aspiring musicians was through Art School (AS) educa-
tion. These have produced luminaries such as David Byrne, Brian Eno, David
Bowie, John Lennon, Pete Townsend and I have listed other key graduates (Ap-
pendix 1). This research is the first part of my PHD thesis, where I will ascertain
whether there are elements of AS ethos and pedagogical practices that helped to
develop this rich vein of creative popular music artists. The study will examine
specific practices of AS pedagogy that appear to be key to the development of
creative popular music practitioners, with creatively successful musicians being
defined as those who have managed to sustain a career within music, while regen-
erating and maintaining a key voice in the culture. Are these practices and institu-
tional ethos replicated in Higher Popular Music Education (HPME) and could they
be developed and implemented within popular music departments? As outlined in
the Encyclopedia of Popular Music of the World:
A number of the teaching and learning methodologies traditionally employed
in Art Schools are transferable and mirrored in the process and production of pop
– for example, practical studio-based, project-centred work, experimental ap-
proaches to media and exploration of the self, presented for critique by the peer
group. (Shepherd et al., 2003: 153)

272 Simon Strange
Keywords: Art Schools, Creativity, Critical Pedagogy, Brian Eno, John Cage, Popular Mu-
sic Education
The landscape
Cloonan and Hulstedt recognised that there is an element of confusion as to the
variety of offerings within HPME and that tutors often felt unsure about what
should be taught under the banner of popular music performance. They state that
‘The field is characterised by its variety and there is no clear ‘core’. Expectations
over what should be taught, how, and with what aims in mind can be vague.
(2012). As one of the lecturers who completed the research questionnaire com-
mented; ‘As a relatively new HE discipline, and the (largely) orally transmitted
nature of the music, the teaching is still, I feel, being explored and developed
(Cloonan and Hulstedt, 2012: 21).’
The popular music industry is completely distinct from the classical ‘art’ mu-
sic industry so it seems perverse to try and replicate traditional music teaching
within it. The industry, from the pop art movement of the 1960’s, has had more in
common with visual arts industries, with AS considering popular music to be art.
This is a crucial point, as the aesthetic of popular music has had a varied and in-
distinct history and if popular music is to be considered as an artform then maybe
it should be taught in a different way to that of current HPME practices. Kant
regarded ‘aesthetic experience as any sense experience that encourages a free play
of imagination and experience (Gracyk, 2007: 31).’ He recognised that popular
music had an aesthetic value related to its social and political outlook but that it
must be examined in a different manner to traditional art music. Table 1 lists a
selection of some well- known creatively successful artists and their relevant
schooling, which gives an idea of the impact of AS educated popular musicians.
What Lessons can Higher Popular Music Education Learn 273
Schooling Artist or band name
Art School Brian Eno, John Cage Bryan Ferry

John Lennon Pete Townsend Syd Barrett
The Sex Pistols Joe Strummer Gang of Four
Vivian Stanshall Freddie Mercury Devo
Pink Floyd Nick Cave Mick Jones
Kanye West Franz Ferdinand M.I.A
Michael Stipe Damian Kulash Alex James
James Keenan Ron Wood Chuck D
Green Gartside Django Django Ian Dury
Graham Coxon Tina Weymouth Wire
Chris Stein Joni Mitchell Pulp
Chrissie Hynde Kim Gordon Travis
Malcolm McClaren Alice Cooper Alt J
Talking Heads John Lennon Karen O
HPME Damon Albarn James Bay Ed Sheeran

George Ezra The Kooks Tom Odell
Go Go Penguin Everything Everything Bjork
Badly Drawn Boy
Table 1. AS and HPME educated musicians
Creativity
In defining the creative development of successful musicians it is useful to observe
the different theoretical tranches of creative theory. Sawyer (2012) outlines the
systems approach as defined by Czsikmentmihayli and Bourdieu; the markets ap-
proach outlined by Becker (1982); and the traditional psychological aspect where
creativity comes from flashes of inspiration. The market and systems views of
creativity were apparent in Art Schools, in the 1960’s, where different departments
such as graphic design, fine art and sculpture came to work together. Keith Sawyer
(2012) outlined eight stages of the creative process: Find and formulate the prob-
lem, acquire knowledge relevant to the problem, gather information, the incuba-
tion period, generate lots of ideas, combine ideas in unexpected ways, select the
best ideas, and externalise them.
Defining the systems model of creativity is a crucial outpost in the quest for un-
derstanding how creative arts pedagogy could be re-aligned. The three main sec-
tors are person, field and domain. The Person is the original creator of the product
and they have to present this to the field to see if it can gain access to the domain.
274 Simon Strange
The Field is the group of experts who allow the creative artefact to enter into the
domain: Amabile stated that ‘a product is creative when experts in the domain
agree that it’s creative’ (cited in Sawyer 2012: 214). Within popular music the
landscape of the field has changed over the last twenty years, as the gatekeepers
have evolved over many levels. There is the combination of a more disparate group
of tastemakers, who are the experts in their relevant genre, and a more commer-
cialised level of control over what is allowed to enter the domain of the popular
music charts. An essential area like radio play is now more controlled by commit-
tees working on focus group data and the radio stations are becoming increasingly
corporate. The time when a few relatively lone voices such as John Peel, Tony
Wilson or Alan McGee could make such an impact on the products that are al-
lowed to enter the domain, no longer exists.
Is there music that is not entering the domain of popular music due to issues
in the field? As Pete Townsend said in 1965, ‘what we are trying to do in our music
[is] protest against “show biz “stuff, clear the hit parade of stodge (Jones 1965,
cited in Wicke, 1991: 98).’ Maybe popular music needs to have a re-evaluation of
the relationship artists have with their record companies and how this has effected
the field, as in previous decades there were specific conditions that allowed bands
the time and space to develop. This included record companies, Art Schools, the
dole and community centres. This makes it crucial that HPME is an area where
band and artist development is maximised and takes over the artist development
area previously assigned to record company A & R teams.
Some Art School techniques
‘I’m not interested in good guitarists. I’m in the game […] of concept and philosophy,
ways of life, and whole movements in history.’ John Lennon (Shepherd et al., 2003)
The key AS characteristics that I will start to explore are; problem-solving/ prob-
lem-finding, ‘Blank Canvas Theory’ (BCT), tutor and student equality of rights,
student artistic communities, taste and the process of revision, teaching a world
view, and the importance of the learning space.
Problem - Solving/ problem- finding
Art Schools concentrate on the problem-finding rather than the problem- solving now-
adays (Sawyer, 2012: 306)
Brian Eno looked at the idea of creating problems to help develop his music and
artistic work, with his development of Oblique Strategies being inspired by John
Cage and his use of I Ching. Both musician artists saw this as a way of creating
problems but also as a means of taking the self away from the composition of art
production. They felt that this element of chance and problem creation helped the
creative process. This resonates with the critical pedagogical philosophy of Paulo
Freire:
When viewed through the lens of Freire’s theoretical framework, Cage’s pedagogi-
cal method is a clear example of co-intentional education and problem-posing edu-
cation. (Muller, 2015)
It is important to observe different kinds of problem-finding and Sawyer (2012)

describes the importance of tutors setting less well defined problems. He states
that there is the possibility of increasing levels of creativity when challenges set
to students are more open-ended and involve deeper levels of thought and greater
resolving processes: ‘Solving well-defined problems involves primarily conver-
gent thinking; solving ill-defined problems involves a higher degree of divergent
thinking.’ (Sawyer, 2012: 90-91)
This links in with the idea of ‘Blank Canvas Theory’ (BCT). Students crea-
tivity could increase if they search for problems, try and eliminate previous teach-
ing and learning from their minds, and are more receptive to any stimuli that they
receive. Sawyer (2012) describes how the art teacher, Michell Cassou, asked his
students to forget any preconceived notions, or artistic ideas, and to create some-
thing that they have not considered before that specific moment. He felt that this
would have greater impact in problem-finding and would ‘open themselves to the
moment (Sawyer, 2012: 93).’
Blank Canvas Theory
Within AS pedagogy there is evidence of the technique outlined above, whereby
tutors encourage their students to forget about previous artistic thoughts and teach-
ing, so that they can be more receptive to new ideas and modes of operating. In
the 2014 Radio 4 documentary ‘Art School, Smart School’ it is described how
various Art Schools utilised the first few weeks of their courses to set specific
challenges that aimed to realign student thought processes. These challenged stu-
dents to try and find out what kind of character or artist they were and to then
attempt to lose that persona. Schools felt that this allowed tutors to impart their
ideas on students without them being incumbent and restrained from previous
teachings. As performance artist Maria Abramovich states:
In performance, acting is such a big obstacle. If a performer was a dancer before, we

must reprogram them. If they were actors, we must make them forget what they have
learned in order to be able to deal with a real performance attitude. We have to de-
dance them, de-act them, somehow take it away. (Abramovich cited in Madoff, 2009:
194).
276 Simon Strange
Different challenges allow the student artist the space to develop their self without
the pressure to produce a piece of their own art work. The student becomes a blank
canvas who can explore their own artistic self from an open perspective, and the
tutor can utilise this to explore creative expression. As Kinchloe emotes in relation
to critical pedagogy:
Understanding the student’s being and experiences opens up the possibility for the
teacher to initiate dialogues designed to synthesise his or her systemised knowing with
the minimally systematised knowing of the learner. Thus Freire argues that the teacher
presents the student with knowledge that may change the learner’s identity. (Kinchloe,
2008: 74)
By becoming a blank canvas, students are more likely to be able to see what they
can create from their own perspective and be able to develop art that more truly
reflects self-expression.
Equality of rights
There are AS tutors who believe in developing young artists by working together
on projects. They view students as equals and believe that they will develop and
learn more effectively by working on ‘live’ projects that actually have a focus
within the art world. By employing practical professional artists, an AS can in-
crease its status and appeal to students, while the artist will be able to develop their
work and ideas. This, again, links in with critical pedagogical thought as outlined
by Katrine Hjelde (2012) where theorists see the importance of lecturers and stu-
dents learning together in a deschooled world. This equality of rights between stu-
dent and teacher is a more egalitarian version of the apprenticeship model. They
could work together on product for galleries and exhibitions so that students get
an understanding of the production of work for a commercial outcome. This model
could become utilised within HPME, where professional musicians often work as
lecturers.
Artistic Communities
For a band or artist to be creatively successful there is often the need for a perfect
storm in the creation of a group. This was exemplified by David Bowie’s Berlin
era where he was supported by Brian Eno, Toni Visconti and RCA Records or Joy
Division with Martin Hammett and Tony Wilson. Some tutors at certain AS could
choose the make-up of their class so that they could develop an artistic community
that they felt worked effectively. They were given licence to refuse entry to some
students to their sessions, if they felt that they did not add anything creative to the
group. This would be difficult to recreate in the current Higher Education system
as students are regarded as clients. It might be possible, though, to develop proce-
dures through recruitment processes where there is thought and understanding
about building a community of compatible creatives. As outlined in Propositions

for the 21st Century:
A great faculty attracts interesting students, who teach each other. It’s about partici-
pating in a collective sphere of challenging and critical exchange rather than being
taught specific techniques (even if knowing certain techniques can be helpful).
(Madoff, 2009: 253)
Taste and the process of revision

Two key areas of creativity that have been utilized within AS pedagogical tech-
niques are those of taste and revision. There are a multitude of choices when you
create something, and deciding which choices to follow and engage with are those
that define the artifact. The creator will make these decisions based on their own
view of the domain that they are working within which also defines how the crea-
tive object is refined and revised through the process. As outlined in ‘Explaining
Creativity,’ ‘Evaluation and revision contribute directly to creativity by leading to
greater originality and impact (Lonergan, Scott and Mumford, 2004 cited in Saw-
yer, 2012).’ Eno felt a kindred spirit within Winchester School of Art as he felt the
artists there ‘knew how to work within a medium that required continual revisiting,
where the elements were mutable, could be scraped off and replaced the next day
(t.magazine, 2013).’ This shows, as outlined by J. P Guilford, that divergent think-
ing was an important part of creative and AS ethos.
Teaching a world view
Art students need access to training in other disciplines, combining what we may iden-
tify as the very best of historical and contemporary drawing, painting, sculpture, pho-
tography, and installation art with conservation, ecological, and environmental ef-
forts; ethics; cultural anthropology; urban sociology; behavioural psychology; global
political science and economics; robotics; and media theory, among other fields
(Madoff, 2009: 5).’
It is this idea of teaching a world view that seems to polarise music and art teaching
at undergraduate level. There are modules on music culture and history within
HPME, but the depth and variety of learning, and teaching students to be world
citizens seems to be more imbedded within AS ethos and pedagogy. Many artists
believe that it is important to have a political voice, rather than just a general ide-
ology, that defines their creations, but is it as important for musicians to have a
political and culturally relevant voice as it is for artists? According to Eno ‘That
kind of slightly-outside-looking-in approach that art students brought to music
meant that they were completely able to accept a lot of new possibilities, whereas
music students were not interested in them at all (t magazine, 2013).’
278 Simon Strange
Learning Spaces
Art Schools were very aware of providing an individual studio space for their stu-
dents so that they had a creative home where they could nurture their artwork. This
was to allow them to ‘feel more at ease and to bring what they have, naturally, in
themselves to bear. (Craig-Martin cited in Madoff, 2009:42).’ Art can and has tra-
ditionally been taught in a variety of locations that often just require space. Popular
music requires this but also a level of equipment that makes it more prohibitive to
provide an individual studio space for each student. There have been attempts,
such as in the Boom Town Music Education (Gullberg, 2006) experience in Swe-
den, to give musicians individual studio, rehearsal and compositional spaces. The
financial situation within Art Schools is also starting to change their creative
spaces, as these become smaller, shared and also more computer based, as is the
case with the new Central St Martins building in Kings Cross.
HPME
Popular music study at university is a relatively new discipline and there is the
possibility to reimagine some of the ethos and teaching philosophies within it. As
Haddon (2106:46) mentions, it is important that ‘Creating music […] has rele-
vance to culture and society and people.’ She also shares the view that there could
be more extensive teaching in other subject areas in HPME so that there is
Knowledge [..] through the assimilation of discipline–specific information and from

‘material that comes from outside the discipline of music…from psychology, from
physics, technology’ in studio-based projects and from phonetics and linguistics in
others. (Haddon, 2016: 45)
Smith and Parkinson (2015) outline the four p’s of creativity as person, process,
product and place. This can be related back to the AS ethos and techniques out-
lined above with: Person relating to problem-finding, developing the artists’ own
expression of ‘self’ and ‘Blank Canvas Theory;’ Process being demonstrated by
artists’ working alongside the tutor to create an artifact and operating as a team of
peers; Product reflecting taste and the process of revision, so that the product is
as defined as possible. Also the cultural, political, philosophical, and environmen-
tal relevance of the created work; and Place is the studio space, how imbedded
students are into their own communities, and how much access time they have in
their creative space.
Overall there seems to be a difference between how art and music students
are perceived and treated within their schools. David Ashworth, a UK based music
education consultant, described how ‘Art students are treated as artists and the
students of music are treated as…well, students (Ashworth, 2015).’ There has been
a consistent link between AS and creatively successful popular artists which my
future research will investigate in great detail. It is interesting to note that Leeds
College of Art are developing a popular music course for implementation in 2018,
which shows that there are elements of the art community who still feel that pop-
ular music is an aesthetic art form, that has a commonality with art, rather than just
within traditional music institutes.
References
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worth.wordpress.com/page/2/ (Accessed: 4 April, 2016)
BP1 (2015) Music Market Report 2015. Available at: https://www.bpi.co.uk/home/bpi-
2015-music-market-report.aspx (Accessed 4th November 2016)
Burnard, P, Haddon E, E Dobson, J Bennett et al. (2015) Activating Diverse Musical Cre-
ativities. Bloomsbury
Burnard P. (2012) Musical Creativities in Practice. OUP Oxford
Cloonan M, Hulstedt L (2012) Taking notes: Mapping and teaching popular music in
Higher Education. HEA
Freire P (1996) Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Penguin
Frith, S, Horne, H (1987). Art into Pop. Routledge.
Gracyk, T (2007) Listening to Popular Music: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and
Love Led Zeppelin. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.
Gullberg, A-K (2006) Boom Town Music Education – a co-creating way to learn music
within formal music education. ICMPC9 Proceedings.
Haddon E, Burnard P et al (2016) Creative Teaching for Creative Learning in Higher Music
Education. Sempre.
Hjelde K (2012) Constructing a Reflective Site: Practice between art and pedagogy in the
art school. PHD Thesis UAL
Kincheloe, J L (2008) Critical Pedagogy Primer. Peter Lang
Kosierek, R (2016) The new leader: harnessing the power of creativity to produce change.
Business Expert Press
Kostelanetz R (2003) Conversing with Cage. Routledge
Madoff, S. H (2009) Art School: Propositions for the 21st Century. MIT.
McIntyre, P (2012) Creativity and Cultural Production: Issues for Media Practice. Pal-
grave Macmillan.
Muller, O (2015) That Entertainment Called a Discussion: The Critical Arts Pedagogy of
John Cage. Action for change in musical education. Mayday
Mumford, M.D (2003) Where have we been, where are we going? Taking stock in crea
tivity research. Creativity Research Journal, 15 (2&3), 107-120.
Parkinson, T. & Smith, G.D. (2015) Towards an Epistemology of Authenticity in Higher
Popular Music Education. Action for Change in Music Education. 4 (1), 93-127
Philpott, C, Spruce G (2012) Debates in Music Teaching. Routledge
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Sawyer, R.K. (2012) Explaining Creativity: The Science of Human Innovation. OUP USA
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280 Simon Strange
t.magazine (2013) Brian Eno on the best use of a television, why art students make good
pop stars and the meaning of ‘visual music.’ Available at: http://tmagazine.blogs.ny-
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Discography
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Global Patchbay: Developing Popular Music Expertise
Through International Collaboration
Mark Thorley, Gerhard Roux

Coventry University, Faculty of Arts and Humanities, Coventry, UK,
m.thorley@coventry.ac.uk
Stellenbosch University, Department of Music, Stellenbosch, South Africa
The practice of music production is by nature, collaborative (Negus 1992, Kealey
1979). Furthermore, the connection which emerging technology now facilitates
means that increasing numbers of practitioners collaborate with others around the
world (Watson 2014). The way in which they do this is in keeping with Tapscott
and Williams’ (2006) concept of peer-production. The collaborative and techno-
logical skills to do this are now needed to work in Popular Music production. Fur-
thermore, learning through collaboration with others is an established and effec-
tive concept (Bruffree 1999, Gaunt et al. 2013). However, it is rarely practiced in
Universities due to a variety of organisational and cultural barriers. This paper
shares the practice of Global Patchbay, an initiative aimed to bring together Uni-
versities and practitioners around the world and to exploit the potential of collab-
orative learning in music. The project initially involved partners in the UK and the
US, and continues with others from South Africa, Australia and New Zealand.
Learners have collaborated on recording projects, mixing projects, acoustic design
projects and sound design projects using cutting edge participatory technologies
as well as common audio production technologies.
Keywords: Online collaboration, Emergence, Music Production, Popular Music, Peer Pro-
duction
Introduction
Global Patchbay is a virtual community and environment designed to facilitate
collaboration in and around the practice of music production. It involves those
formally looking to develop their skills (such as music technology students), prac-
titioners who can see the benefit of collaboration to develop their work, and or-
ganisations ranging from Universities to Recording Studios. Organisations and in-
dividuals can manage their profiles on the site, and communicate using typical
social networking features. Furthermore, previous projects are hosted on the site,
and a series of 'templates' provide organisations and members with practical

282 Mark Thorley, Gerhard Roux
frameworks which can be used to collaborate on projects. Organisations can post

projects, which members then join, the result of which is new working methods
and new creative outcomes otherwise not likely to take place.
Theoretical Framework: The Case for Global Patchbay
Collective creation lies at the heart of most musical productions (Negus 1992,
Kealey 1979). Until recently, musicians and technical personnel had to inhabit the
same space in order to work together, though recent technological advances have
enabled unimpeded collaboration across vast networks. In working together over
networks, direct sensory input and output is replaced by electronic interfaces that
do not allow for the same level of richness of direct communication. Considering
these challenges, why do we consider Global Patchbay as a powerful vehicle to
facilitate creative collaboration and to develop expertise? The barriers introduced
by interfacing via networked technologies are not necessarily a handicap. The ex-
pression ‘necessity is the mother of invention’, hints at the potential of limitations
to serve as a catalyst of novelty.
Facilitates Emergence
Complexity theory shows that a system can produce results beyond the capabilities
of a single agent (Cilliers 2000: 25). Termite mounds are an example of this: no
single termite has the knowledge and skills to construct a nest, yet these impressive
structures emerge through simple interactions of a large number of agents (Turner
2011: 19). The South African writer Eugene Marais (1934) was the first person to
consider a termite colony as a single organism. He incorrectly assumed that there
is some form of executive control being exercised that coordinates the efforts of
the individual termites. In fact, termite mounds arise through the indirect coordi-
nation that Piere-Paul Grassé (1959: 41) dubbed stigmergie. The construction of a
termite mound starts with the random aggregation of grains of sand by a single
termite. As soon as this heap reaches a critical height, other termites are attracted
by the increasing concentration of pheromones that were deposited with the sand.
The implication hereof, according to Bonabeau et al. (2000: 14), is that “the reg-
ulation of the building activity does not depend on direct interactions among work-
ers but on the nest structure”.
Global Patchbay relies on a similar mechanism to facilitate projects: project
proposals serve as conceptual structures that either succeed or fail to attract col-
laborators. Unlike traditional music production that is managed though executive
control, the projects on Global Patchbay rely on self-organisation as a control
mechanism. The remarkable aspect about self-organisation around a simple struc-
ture is that it can lead to end results above and beyond the potential of the agents
involved. The paradox of an ecosystem like Global Patchbay, and other online
Global Patchbay: Developing Popular Music Expertise 283
collaborative platforms like Wikipedia, is that complex coordinated activities can

exist in the absence of planning, project management, or even a shared vision
among collaborators (Heylighen 2016: 4).
Encourages Scientific Method
In the absence of direct executive control, self-regulating systems rely on feedback
to shape the future course. According to Forrester (1958: 39): “A feedback control
system exists whenever the environment causes a decision which in turn affects
the original environment.” By using the output of a system to modify the input of
future behavior, the system `learns’. Sterman (1994: 292) describes this phenom-
enon:
All learning depends on feedback. We make decisions that alter the real world; we
receive information feedback about the real world, and using the new information, we
revise our understanding of the world and the decisions we make to bring the state of
the system closer to our goals.
In the case of online collaboration via Global Patchbay, a platform is provided

where data is shared, evaluated, revised and communicated. The structure of the
collaboration effort, where participants are far removed from each other, requires
an approach where progress is regularly shared. This type of peer-production nat-
urally evolves into an orderly method for scientific enquiry. This is achieved be-
cause a hypothesis is formed. For example, a collaborator might envision that a
creative goal might be achieved through either creative signal processing or rear-
ranging the musical structure through editing. The data generated as a result of this
process is evaluated by the production peers. If not found in accordance with the
creative objective of the work, a new hypothesis is formed and the cycle is repeated
until the product satisfies the goal. Since the collaboration is online, the commu-
nication of any results, which is the important conclusion of any scientific enquiry,
is built into the process and therefore facilitates learning.
Real World Relevance
While audio production is often described in literature (Hepworth-Sawyer 2008:
xvi; Zager 2012: 11; Izhaki 2013: 28), as a functionally divided process of pre-
production, tracking, mixing and mastering, this model no longer holds. In the past
a tape recording had to physically move to different studios for subsequent steps
in the production. Nowadays networks have fundamentally transformed the crea-
tion and consumption of music (Leyshon et al. 2005: 177).
Aided by networks, music production for broadcast has shifted to a file-based
model of production (Kovalick 2013; Pizzi & Jones 2014: 160). This approach to
production is described by Hoffmann, Kouadio and Overmeire (2009: 380):
The file-based media production paradigm has established an innovative, content-cen-

tric pull-based work model in broadcast production, by replacing the old concept of
linear push tape-based production. Production systems are no longer self-sufficient,
independent islands that are rigidly interconnected with each other in a sequential pro-
duction chain. Instead, they can now be highly integrated with each other, such that
the same media can be accessed and processed in parallel by multiple clients.
The advantage of Global Patchbay is that the nature of the platform necessitates a
shift towards file-based production. When used in an educational context this ap-
proach is much closer to the methodologies currently employed in the industry,
and therefore, students are better prepared for the future challenges they might
face.
Agile
While the structure of Global Patchbay facilitates creativity to emerge through it-
erative cycles with real world relevance, it is noteworthy that it does this without
being rigid. The platform is remarkably agile and does not place limits on the kind
of creative production that can be facilitated as is evident by the diverse projects
that have been hosted by Global Patchbay in the past.
Case Studies and Practical application
The approach facilitated by Global Patchbay includes practitioners and Universi-
ties from around the world, collaborating over music production and related activ-
ities such as acoustic design. The overall initiative involves a number of projects
each of which aims to reflect the practice of collaboration in real world music
production practice. Each project is designed to develop the expertise of those in-
volved, and also to interrogate the practice of collaboration—particularly with re-
spect to any outcomes achieved through this approach.
A variety of projects have presently been undertaken including two-way crit-
ical listening, three-way critical listening, recording/remixing projects, sound de-
sign projects and acoustic design projects. Furthermore, the work continues to find
new ways of replicating the collaborative element of music production by way of
future project initiatives. In the three-way critical listening project, music pro-
duced by one cohort was critically appraised by a second cohort in another country
in real time using videoconference. The initiating cohort were able to see the im-
mediate response of the evaluating cohort on screen, as well as discuss the finer
points of the work after playback. The three-way critical listening work took a
similar approach but with the addition of a world-leading record producer who
provided the principal critical listening evaluation expertise. In this activity, the
record producer evaluated material from two cohorts and discussion took place
between the three sets of participants, again using participatory technologies. With
the recording/remixing projects, an initiator (University or industry practitioner)

provided material to a project ‘actor’ to work with—this typically involved multi-
track session masters which could be mixed or remixed as appropriate. Commu-
nication could take place between the project initiator and the project actor, ulti-
mately resulting in the project initiator giving feedback on the work produced. The
sound design project involved project initiators in the form student music technol-
ogists in the UK providing finished sound design work for a cohort of film pro-
duction students in Australia. The Australian cohort critiqued the work and pro-
vided feedback to the project initiators. With the acoustic design projects, an Aus-
tralian recording studio which was to be rebuilt provided the back-drop for a group
of UK students to re-design.
For the purposes of this paper, three of the projects are provided as case stud-
ies. The first is what may be considered to be a ‘remix’ project, where an orchestral
recording from South African was used by a student in the UK. The second was a
mix project where the source material came from a student and music producer in
the US which was then mixed by a UK-based student. The third is a further ‘mix’
project, though in this case, the material came from a commercial studio for mix-
ing by a UK student. Clearly, using just three cases cannot address fully the issues
with collaboration. However, these three cases have been chosen because they ef-
fectively interrogate the typical ‘barriers’ or interfaces which effect successful col-
laboration. For example, the first case study centres on the interface between clas-
sical music (with its established culture) and contemporary music production tech-
niques (in the case here, the genre of ‘Trap’). The project undertaken in the first
case study also has to overcome cultural differences between South Africa and the
UK. The second case study centres on the differences between the US and the UK.
Finally, the third case study explores the interface between the professional re-
cording world and that of the aspirant.
Case Study #1: South African orchestral recording remixed
With this project, the session master of a high quality orchestral recording pro-
duced in South Africa was provided for a music technology student in the UK (the
project actor). The project actor used very small elements of the recording and
imported them into PropellorHeads Reason software to be manipulated and moved
around for the purposes of producing a remix.
In interview, the project actor described the source material as attractive to
him because it provided an opportunity to do something abstract, and to undertake
work which no-one else was likely to do. He also decided to use Reason for its
ability to generate what he describes as ‘abstract sounds’ quickly and easily. Out
of the complete recording, only nine second of the audio was used. As an influ-
ence, he described aiming to emulate the work of DJ Rashad, a pioneer of the
Chicago-originated ‘Footwork’ genre and part of the Teklife crew. This sound was
described as typically consisting of ‘short stabs over a rolling 808 drum’ and in-
terestingly, often featuring compound time signatures (unlike most other dance
music). In using Reason to bring about the remix, he described making it more
rhythmical and using filter gates and panning to achieve the desired effect.
When the project initiators listened to the remix, their main comments were
that of the missed opportunity to use more of the original source. Artists such as
Norman Cook and Moby were cited as practitioners more adept at being ‘true to
the original’. The suggestion was made that the many ‘percussive elements and
timbres’ could be used more, typically reversing them or octave shifting to pro-
duce an interesting result.
The main outcomes from this collaboration are therefore that the project ini-
tiator chose to produce a style which rarely uses sampled orchestral recordings in
its pallet and for this reason, it deviated a long way from its source. Whilst it could
be argued that the orchestral recordings provided a novel ingredient, this was not
something which was recognised to the project initiator (it would be interesting to
hear the views of typical ‘Footwork’ music listeners on this point). The manner in
which the project actor used the material exposes how, when working virtually,
appreciating source material and the intention of the producer/initiator can be more
difficult.
Case Study #2: jazz mix
With this project, a student and aspirant music producer in the US provided the
session master of a jazz recording which was mixed by a music technology student
originally from Bulgaria now based in the UK. The original session was recorded
with the band in one room with the use of an omnidirectional microphone in the
centre and additional close miking on all of the instruments. The drum overheads
were described as the ‘basis of the sound’, and in the originator’s own mix, the
room sound provided a small element to give ‘flavour’.
In describing the mixing process, the project actor firstly referred to the time-
consuming process of moving some tracks into time. He also described the chal-
lenge of mixing a track when not having been in control of the recording – for
example, the choice and placement of microphone and placement effectively pre-
defines the mix. The experience showed him how underdeveloped his mixing
skills were, the need to pay more attention to his own recordings bearing in mind
how they may be mixed by others, and how much more difficult it is to deal with
acoustic instruments rather than electronic.
After listening to the mix, the project initiator stated that the project had
taught him much about ‘intention’. He quoted Victor Wooten’s point that a child
picking up a bass guitar may produce sounds which he had never thought of – the
project was the mixing equivalent of this. The result was something different from
his own intention, and coming from a different angle.
The main outcomes are therefore how the mix process cannot be fully dis-
connected from the recording process, and working with other people’s material
challenges ways of working and can teach a great deal. However, it also showed
how bringing in new collaborators can push a project to produce new results pre-
viously unthought-of.
Case Study #3: ‘Trap’ remix of an acoustic singer
With this project, the project initiator was a professional music producer who pro-
vided the session masters for an acoustic singer. A music technology student in
the UK (project actor) remixed the track into a ‘trap’ style.
When interviewed, the project actor described the material as attractive to
him partly because of the clear strong vocals which would provide a good basis.
He observed that lots of work had gone into the recording process, with extensive
instrumentation. When doing the remix, he described how undertaking this process
had meant him taking longer over the project. For example, he had started several
different versions and given up on them before focussing on finishing his final
version. This was mainly because of the need to understand the existing recording,
to appreciate what the artist and producer had done, and what their intention was.
Partly for this reason, the ‘electronic/trap’ influence was toned down considerably
compared with other tracks which had been previously produced.
The project initiator was very positive about the remix both in terms of its
technical proficiency and stylistic approach. For example, he was complimentary
of the manner in which hooks were used and repeated, parts coming from left and
right and used of interesting processing. He did provide some further ideas for
developing the ‘front to back’ of the mix through use of reverb, delay, modulation
or tape saturation. However, overall he was very positive over the fact that the
‘urban’ style had not been over-hyped and that the approach whilst taking the art-
ist’s music in a new direction was sensitive and suited her style.
The main outcomes here then, are how, when working with other people’s
material, it takes time to understand the artist, producer and their approach. When
compared with constructing a track from scratch, sensitivity and thought is needed.
When it is done well though, it can push the material into new realms as happened
here.
Summary
In summary, these projects explore a number of themes and some key common
outcomes emerge. Firstly, the novel approach which the platform facilitates ena-
bles new ways of working which deviate from the well-worn path of pre-produc-
tion, recording, mixing etc. Just as producing music with a group of people gath-
ered in a studio has been the standard approach for over fifty years, the new con-
struct of a virtual production path changes what is possible. This produces value
to the project initiator in the delivery of novel new recording masters. The project
actor needs sensitivity and understanding of the ‘intention’ of the project initiator
though. Where this is not considered (and case study 1 is perhaps the most poign-
ant example of this), the results may not work for the project initiator. They may
be hugely creative but not sensitive to the original in a way in which working in
the same room would be. Where appreciation and sensitivity exists though, results
can be good for both parties in case study 3. There are many challenges for project
actors though. They need to take time to understand the recordings and the inten-
tion of those involved. They may also need to work hard to understand how the
recording process has taken place as part of this. Lastly, these projects all expose
the value of exegesis and the value of being able to explain approach taken in a
project.
References
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Musicology of Listening – New Ways to Hear and Un-
derstand the Musical Past
Martha Ulhôa
Universidade Federal do Estado do Rio de Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil,
mulhoa@unirio.br
Research in music from the perspective of musicology has in listening its main
tool for knowledge production. When the object of research is the music of the
past, we are talking about a chain of successive receptions to which the musicolo-
gist needs to exert some "historical imagination" (Treitler 1989), that is, to explore
the signs of "presentification" - music is always listened to in the present – rec-
orded in (usually written) documents they have access to. Additionally, successive
receptions mean also a chain of listening practices or “audile technique” (Sterne
2003) that historically mediated what is music or noise. My hypothesis is that new
listenings can be made by an “acoustically tuned” (Ochoa Gautier 2014) investi-
gation, not only of canonized historical narratives, but also by revisiting primary
sources. The case study is entertainment related musical practices recorded in Rio
de Janeiro nineteenth century newspapers, especially after Brazilian proclamation
of independence from Portugal. Preliminary results show the imperial capital as a
cosmopolitan city, consuming a wide variety of music, among them waltzes and
exotic dances such as the Spanish Cachucha. The transmission/reception of the
later will be the focus of the presentation.
Keywords: Listening; Music transmission, Recorded music, barrel organs, music boxes
The Musicology of Listening

Music research from the perspective of musicology has listening as its main tool
for knowledge production. When the research object is the music of the past, we
are talking about a chain of successive receptions to which the musicologist seeks
to listen while exercising a kind of effort that Leo Treitler called "historical imag-
ination", i.e., exploring evidence of "presentification" - music is always heard in
the present – inscribed in the registers (usually written) to which one has access.
For Treitler, "the meaningfulness of music through all its presents, from the mo-
ment of its creation to the historian's present, is the content of historical thought
about it. And the presence of music in the historian's consciousness is the condition
under which such thought can take place" (Treitler, 1989: 1). That is, the music
historian must "listen" in the present, recreating the materiality of the sound, to

292 Martha Ulhôa
understand and talk about the music of the past. Additionally, these receptions also
mean a chain of listening practices or "audile technique" (Sterne, 2003), which has
historically mediated what is music or noise. In the case of Rio de Janeiro in the
first half of the nineteenth century, for example, the sound of the street organ in
the streets was received much more like noise or a curiosity than as music.
My hypothesis is that new listenings can be made from an "acoustically
tuned" investigation (Ochoa Gautier, 2014) – not only from canonized historical
narratives, but also from visits to primary sources. This is a type of study that can
require a detective's approach (suggested by Umberto Eco), bringing together scat-
tered fragments of evidence, an effort that the Italian historian Carlo Ginzburg
(1989) identified as an “evidential” paradigm.
The case studies are musical practices related to entertainment recorded in
nineteenth-century periodicals of the city of Rio de Janeiro, especially after the
proclamation of independence. The sound image that is gradually constructed
shows the imperial capital as a cosmopolitan city, consuming a variety of period
music and curious novelties such as music boxes and street organs whose sounds
were ignored or lost in the buzz of the city's intense urban life. The transmission
and reception of the caxuxa (cachucha in the European version), a Hispanic dance
known since the early years of the nineteenth century, are among the sounds that
seem lost in the past. The caxuxa was presented on Rio stages alongside other
exotic dances, including the lundu, with which it shares a partner dance choreog-
raphy in Brazil.
Of course, any research is not restricted to only one type of source. In musi-
cology, depending on the type of music and its transmission process, it is necessary
to mix several sources: sheet music, manuscripts, descriptions in travel writings,
song lyrics recorded in songbooks, and recordings, etc. In the case of the oral tra-
dition, in which music has an ephemeral survival and a physical listening is not
possible, the more necessary it is to seek any evidence, minimal as it may be. Thus,
in the case of research on the sonorities of Rio de Janeiro in the first half of the
nineteenth century, O Diário do Rio de Janeiro (the first informative daily news-
paper in Rio de Janeiro, which existed between 1821 and 1878), had theatrical ads,
specific news, sales and auctions, and descriptions of social life in serialized sto-
ries that are all research sources. So too is consulting travel literature written by
foreigners passing through Brazil, a close observation of the existing iconography,
and, of course, the examination of the few musical examples written down in con-
temporary sheet music.
Lundu, to be incorporated into Brazilian music, underwent a process of styl-
ization and smoothing of its African elements, while cachucha (like the waltz and
the polka) was appropriated. When I submitted the abstract for 2017 IASPM, I
was going to focus on the appropriation of the waltz into the Brazilian serenading
Musicology of Listening – New Ways to Hear and Understand 293
sung waltz, but considering the discovery made during the research process – with
implications for the History of Recorded Music in Brazil – I decided to focus on
the transmission/reception of the cachucha.
There are several versions of cachucha to investigate. There is the dance and
song “Americana (Chanson et danse américaines)” from 1813 and “La Cachucha,
as Danced by Madlle Elssler” from 1836. Also, the caxuxa was danced on Rio
stages starting in 1823, interpreted by young dancers like Estela Sezefreda (1810-
1874). Also, there is the course of oral transmission of the song through the Iberian
Peninsula and Brazil. Finally, there is the mechanical repetition in the repertoire
of street organs and music boxes. And one excerpt of the “Maria Cachucha” mel-
ody also appears, almost literally, in the first part of the nineteenth century Brazil-
ian lundu “Lá no Largo da Sé” (There on the Cathedral Square, 1837-38), with
lyrics by Manoel de Araújo Porto Alegre (1806-1879), and music by Cândido
Inácio da Silva (1800-1838). The intriguing question for musicology is, what kind
of musical transmission occurs in these various paths of cachucha?
The cachucha/caxuxa reception allows a reflection about oral, written and
aural/audile transmission from the perspective of musicology. There is evidence
of written transmission in the case of the melody, which stays the same in almost
all examined examples. But there is also evidence of oral transmission, in relation
to variants with the lyrics. Above all, there is evidence of aural/audile transmis-
sion, long before the invention of the “talking machine” (the phonograph and
gramophone) in the late nineteenth century.
Written Transmission of Cachucha / Caxuxa
When writing about music's past, we must deal with a series of receptions, listen-
ings and mediations. In addition to the investigation of various layers of meaning
given in the consulted documents and representations, we see our own mediations
and limitations in front of them. The first mediation must do with the audile tech-
nique mentioned above, the type of transmission of the remote or recent past (oral,
aural or written). The second level of mediation is the musicologist's own theoret-
ical/perceptual apparatus. In other words, you need a high degree of intimacy both
with the musical repertoire under study and with the analytical tools available or
to be adopted, the research methods and techniques that we acquire through living
and the reading of specialized literature. There are successive listenings, where the
growing understanding of the processes of musical transmission produced by the
scientific community makes room for the reinterpretation of the musical practices
of the past.
Written transmission depends on writing techniques and musical notation,
while oral transmission handles [biological] memory and performance. Writing
has limitations in recording some features of music such as timbre or nuances of
294 Martha Ulhôa
tempo and articulation (Rice, 2016). It is in fact a guide to performance, as certain

genres of written music require a long period of oral enculturation for the musi-
cians to have a minimally satisfactory performance. With the help of the score the
trend is that, within the limits of individual interpretations, musical performances
of the same work maintain certain elements intact, such as harmonic, rhythmic and
melodic structure.
In the case of oral transmission, the dependence of biological memory im-
poses some restrictions, especially in the size of phrases that cannot be very long
and the frequent use of structural repetitions, for example the chorus or "theme"
with a repetition of at least one expression (in our case "vamonos china del alma"),
or a standard metric structure for verses (verses of seven syllables, also called ma-
jor redondilha, are common), or even the rhyme scheme (xaya, present in several
versions of sung cachucha). In the oral tradition, lyric fragments appear to be the
identifying element of the song. For example, Casa Edison (first Brazilian record-
ing company) recorded two versions of the famous lundu “Isto é bom” (This is
Good) in the early twentieth century, each with a very different melody, each with
dissociated verses, but both with the refrain “Isto é bom, isto é bom que doi!” (This
is good! It is so good it hurts!) (Ulhôa, 2011). I am referring here to "Isto é bom"
recorded by Bahiano (Manuel Pedro dos Santos, 1870-1944) in 1902 (Zon-o-
phone 10.001) and by Eduardo das Neves (1874-1919), between 1904 and 1911
(Odeon 108.076).
In addition, while in written transmission some elements are transmitted
orally, in the latter case musicians frequently have registered their repertoires in
some form of notation as a memory aid, as happens with cancioneiros (song-
books), most with the songs' lyrics. Sometimes, there are also versions or parodies
of well-known songs, as we see in the case of cachucha.
Oral and Aural/Audile Transmission - Maria Cachucha and “Lá
no Largo da Sé.”
As mentioned, significant portions of the excerpt of the “Maria Cachucha” lyrics
use the instrumental first part from the “Cachucha” versions found in the National
Library of Spain, like the manuscript with the arrangement for voice and orchestra
by Ramon Carnicer, who was also the composer of the Chilean National Anthem
(the mentioning of the song is not irrelevant, as we shall see below).
Regarding the caxuxa/cachucha dance, the differences in choreography ap-
pear to be in the solo or partner dance, but the use of the same melody in the sheet
music is notable, both in the instrumental and sung versions. Regarding the song,
notes from the opening melody of “Maria Cachucha” can be found in the lundu
“Lá no Largo da Sé”, a coincidence that draws attention, which is shown in the
paradigmatic comparison made by Luiz Costa-Lima Neto (English 2017 version
forthcoming) as part of his thesis Música, teatro e sociedade nas comédias de Luiz
Carlos Martins Penna (1833-1846). According to Costa-Lima Neto, “The first
melodic phrase of the lundu “Lá no Largo da Sé” (bars 1-5) refers to the beginning
of the melody of the Portuguese popular song “Maria Caxuxa” (bars 1-8), referred
to by Martins Penna in the comedy O diletante...” (Costa Lima Neto, 2014: 191-
192).
That is, due to prosodic adequacy, the lundu “Lá no Largo...” and the melody
of “Maria Cachucha” seemed to me to be (and are) different works. The connec-
tion only begins to take shape in laboratory conditions, using musical writing soft-
ware for a transcription and a transposition of the two melodies to the same key to
facilitate comparison. It is important to reiterate that the researcher's reception is
mediated by enculturation and intimacy with the musical material. While I did not
notice any resemblance between the lundu and the cachucha, so naturalized both
tunes were to me, Luiz Costa Lima Neto, not so familiar with that repertory, im-
mediately realized the similarity of melodic contour when he heard me sing “Lá
no Largo da Sé”.
The Cachucha in Street Organs and Music Boxes
Through research on the lundu and cachucha, we have had evidence of the two
being played on street organs in Rio de Janeiro, probably by wage earning slaves
(Ulhôa & Costa Lima Neto, 2013, 2015). However, it remained to be seen which
songs were played. Of course, old street organs would not have survived the rav-
ages of time, given the fragility of the material used in their construction. The
street organs of the first half of the nineteenth century were adaptations of pipe
organs (in Brazil as well as in the Hispanic world, where street organs are called
“organillos”). Inside them, a crank simultaneously activates a bellow and a cylin-
der having metal protrusions that open the tubes of corresponding musical notes.
Luckily, music boxes – using a Swiss watch mechanism – were also widespread
in the first half of the nineteenth century in Rio de Janeiro. However, there was no
proof of the real identity of the soundtrack heard by Cândido Inácio da Silva, “Lá
no largo da Sé” composer, in the Rio de Janeiro streets. An ad in a periodical
recorded the theft of a music box containing “Cachucha” among other songs, in
1841, i.e., after the Fanny Elssler version. Was the similarity of melodic contour
between “Lá no Largo da Sé” and the “Cachucha” a mere coincidence?
So, I continued to search. With the help of the Internet, without which this
research could never have done, I found two examples of music boxes including a
cachucha. Initially, I managed to get a Ducommun-Girod n. 33064, from 1865,
with “Cachucha” (along with the national anthem of Chile, two waltzes, one “Hats
Polka” and the aria “Spargi d'amaro pianto,” of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lam-
mermoor). The history of the box is worth mentioning, since it shows some of the
296 Martha Ulhôa
paths that music takes, confirming Paul Gilroy’s moto “better considering routes
than roots”. Anyway, the former owner of it is the collector Randal Hayno (New
Orleans, U.S.), who in turn acquired it from the estate of Colonel Paul Wimert
(1922-2005), a U.S. military attaché in Chile around the 1970s. Originally, the
music box was a gift to someone in the government of Chile, when it was built in
1865. (Email on November 5, 2015).
As mentioned above, since the national anthem of Chile (1828) is a Carnicer
composition, it is not surprising that music box also contains “Cachucha,” a song
for which he made the arrangement for voice and orchestra. But we're talking
about 1865, when the model could simply be the standard version used by Fanny
Elssler.
At the same time, through the “Mechanical Music Digest” list, I learned of
the existence of a small musical snuffbox from 1824 (or 1829, depending on the
clarity of the date of the instrument registration), purchased in Spain, with two
songs, “Allemande”—in Europe, the generic name for a partner dance since the
eighteenth century – and “Cachucha.” Its owner, the collector Luuk Goldhoorn (of
Utrecht, the Netherlands) generously allowed the filming of a performance of Ca-
chucha for research. And, thanks to IASPM’s network, and Koos Zwaan
(Hogeschool Inholland, Amsterdam) kindness to lose a whole day traveling to
Utrech to obtain the video, I can safely say that a likely source of inspiration for
the composition of “Lá no Largo da Sé” has been the Spanish cachucha.
Conclusion - Implications for the History of Recorded Music in
Brazil
The path from cachucha in a music score to street organs and music boxes in the
nineteenth century is one of written transmission. However, the path between the
“Maria Caxuxa” of street organs to the lundu “Lá no Largo da Sé” goes through
what is now called ubiquitous music or, as the subtitle of the collection edited by
Anahid Kassabian and Marta García Qiñones (2013), explains, “The everyday
sounds that we do not always notice." Ubiquitous music functions as background
music or music to accompany everyday activities, such as Cosmorama sound-
tracks and mechanical teatrinhos (little theaters), so common in nineteenth century
Rio de Janeiro.
Today sounds gush from the radio, public establishments, film and television,
among other sources, while in nineteenth century Rio de Janeiro one could hear
yells advertising goods, songs of slave laborers and of course street organs. Even
if there is no effort of attention, there is an involuntary listening in most cases to
sonorities of the soundscape that surrounds us. These sounds can be repeated so
much that they end up “sticking” in our ears, almost mechanically, turning into
what Lawrence Kramer called “brainworms” – music stuck in the head. This rep-
ertoire will be recorded in medium-term memory, as part of our internalized sound
baggage, ready to emerge at the time of creation or performance.
Here now operates a kind of aural/audile transmission – where there is a com-
bination of written and oral transmission processes, the first by relative fidelity to
the original composition and the last using biological memory – and the music that
was “frozen” in the recording can be, finally, released to an active reception.
And in practical terms, the musicologist can say: the history of recorded mu-
sic in Brazil has its first milestone with the mechanical transmission of street or-
gans and music boxes, around the 1830s, that is, long before the introduction of
the phonograph and gramophone in the late nineteenth century.
References
Bibliography
Costa Lima Neto, Luiz de França. Forthcoming Feb. 2017. Music, Theater, and Society in
the Comedies of Luiz Carlos Martins Penna (1833-1846) - Amidst the Lundu, The Aria,
and the Alleluia. Lexington Books.
Costa-Lima Neto, L. 2014. Música, teatro e sociedade nas comédias de Luiz Carlos Mar-
tins Penna (1833-1846): entre o lundu, a ária e a aleluia. Tese (Doutorado em Música)
– Universidade Federal do Estado do Rio de Janeiro, Rio de Janeiro.
Ginzburg, Carlo. 1989. Sinais: raízes de um paradigma indiciário. In: ______. Mitos, em-
blemas, sinais: morfologia e história. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras, 1989. p. 143-
179.
Kassabian, A. & Garcia, M. 2013. Ubiquitous Musics: the everyday sounds that we don’t
Always notice. Surrey: Ashgate.
Ochoa Gautier, A. M. 2014. Aurality: Listening and knowledge in nine-teenth-century Co-
lombia. Durham and London: Duke University Press.
Rice, T. 2016 Transmission. In: Grove Music Online. Oxford Music Online. Oxford Uni-
versity Press. http://www.oxfordmusiconline.com/subscriber/article/grove/mu-
sic/46823.
Sterne, J. 2003. The Audible Past: Cultural Origins of Sound Reproduction. Durham, NC:
Duke University Press.
Treitler, Leo. 1989. Music and the Historical Imagination. Cambridge, Mass.; London,
England: Harvard University Press.
Ulhôa, M. T. & Costa-Lima Neto, L. 2013. Memory, History and Cultural Encounters in
the Atlantic: the Case of Lundu. The World of Music (Wilhelmshaven), v. 2, p. 47-72.
Ulhôa, M. T. & Costa-Lima Neto, L. 2015. Cosmoramas, lundus e caxuxas no Rio de
Janeiro, 1821-1850. Revista Brasileira de Música, 28, 33-61. Retrieved from
http://rbm.musica.ufrj.br/edicoes/rbm28-1/rbm28-1-02.pdf.
Ulhôa, M. T. 2011. Lundu e prosódia musical: caminhos de pesquisa. In Música e História
no Longo Século XIX, ed. by Herculano Lopes et al. Rio de Janeiro: Fundação Casa de
Rui Barbosa, 69–95.
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Scores and manuscripts

Carusi, S. (1830s). La cachucha: as danced by Madlle. Elssler / arranged for the guitar by
Saml. Carusi. Baltimore: Published by the author, [be-tween 1830 and 1849]. Source:
Harry Ransom Center Book Collection, University of Texas at Austin Libraries.
Cachucha: chanson et danse américaines… (1813?). In: Deuxième collection d'airs es-
pagnols avec accompment de piano et guitare: cette collection est composée de vingt
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Carnicer, R. (1810-1855). [Cachucha (Manuscrito original)], 1 partitura ([6] p.) ; 22 x 32
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Groenemeyer – A Case Study on Situative Singing Styles ............................. 243

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narratives or movies. The constructs of reality, the constraints of objects, en-

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As the distinctiveness of a particular sound is altered through the application

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beer, is the gloomiest man in rock, he is enough to depress a gadfly” (Hibbert

Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business,” instead of an Orwellian catastro-

of these connotations in a basketball stadium exemplify Waters obsession with

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temporary history. Correspondingly, the scholarly attention turned to different is-

zpěvákům3 (“An Examination of the Czech Public’s Attitudes towards Popular

of interviews, including among other things “unofficial” audio-visual recordings,

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quite a lot of colored photographs of musicians as well as CD covers. These pic-

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small signifying utterances – or, in terms of social semiotics, as semiotic resources

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7 This work was accomplished thanks to the support of CNPq.

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of this encounter, where to discover something of its taste is to discover itself, or

9 Translated by us from Portuguese.

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of cultural touchstones and psycho-pompic grandeur that would make a fitting

writings, as a symbol of “true actuality” (Scholem 2001), and as the “Agesilaus

Music, as Carlyle noted, does bring us closer to a feeling of the infinite—seen