Cuba ranks among the world's least connected and most repressive nations for information and communication technologies. To circumvent these restrictions, technologists and entrepreneurs have developed an alternative to the internet called el paquete semanal (EP) or "the weekly package." Cubans across the country use el paquete semanal to share digital content without cables or modems. Through a nation-wide, underground "sneakernet"-the transfer of electronic information by physically moving media between computers, rather than transmitting it over a computer network-this 1-terabyte collection of music, movies and software applications is delivered discreetly to participants' USB drives ostensibly without the knowledge of the Cuban state. Though officially illegal, I argue that el paquete semanal acts as a dynamic, grassroots form of virtual communication that is more equitable to artists and their audiences than the globally accessible, high-bandwidth internet models propagated by application-based music streaming platforms.Among other media, EP makes available an unprecedented range of musical choices to consumers, including reggaetón reparto (or Cuban-style reggaetón), which is otherwise banned from the nation's state-owned media platforms. Due to official biases regarding the perceived vulgarity of reggaetón reparto, these artists-almost all of them Afro-Cuban-are censored from broadcast over official media channels. For Cubans without internet access, this means that their work is only accessible through EP. This seeming limitation, however, does not impose limits on artists' popularity. EP, in fact, provides a platform whose scope and frequency allows artists the opportunity to disseminate music throughout the nation without requiring the support of state media or other cultural gatekeepers. Artistic activity is instead centered around make-shift music recording studios that often serve dual roles as both bedroom and digital recording setup. In these intimate spaces, music is created, contested and shared across virtually accessible public spaces.In this paper, I employ ethnographic observations, informal interviews and material analysis of the informal methods of "sneakernet" circulation of several artists and producers working in and around these Havana-based bedroom recording studios. From these private spaces, producers use el paquete semanal to participate in both ends of music circulation: Pirated software is first downloaded from the device, allowing artists the means to generate new musical material. Finished products are then distributed through subsequent releases of el paquete semanal. Lastly, through increasing access to social media platforms, artists promote their music virtually across the world. How does this production cycle contest the authority of popular music streaming platforms accessed throughout the Global North (e.g. Spotify, Tidal and Apple Music), and how is the increasing adoption of internet-capable devices shifting the way in which Afro-Cuban artists distribute and promote music through social media platforms? I situate pirated sonic technologies employed at Havana-based recording studios as central to the production and circulation of music, and connected to an emerging network society existing outside Cuba's official media sphere. Against the assumption that media piracy produces only copies, el paquete semanal sounds new possibilities.

Scholarship around the YouTube platform has often centered the bedroom as metonymic for the platform's aesthetics and participatory practices more broadly: low-quality video and audio production, a modality of intimacy and unscripted direct address, and harvestable as content for response or remix. In this paper, I analyze how users on the late-2010s platform TikTok build on this framework and savvily deploy the bedroom (and other individualized domestic enclosures, including the home and car) as performance space-the location of displaced and asynchronous collaboration, instruction, and display. A decade past the rise of YouTube, TikTok performers complicate simple collapsings of intimate space with amateur aesthetics; the platform's own built-in filtering and editing features encourage the creation of content that uncannily sutures high and low production values. The TikTok bedroom is necessarily porous, honeycombed together with others across the app, modules linked through music and dance. A popular platform feature enables "Duets"-split-screen video responses that amplify both original creator and new collaborator. Similarly, dance challenges abound, linked by the musical tracks that accompany them and supplemented by a tutorial subgenre in which skilled dancers demonstrate popular choreographies. On TikTok, moreso than on any preceding platform, music and sound function as fundamental components of contagion and spread. Crucially, each video's sound file is made visible as a metadata hyperlink; when clicked, the file assembles an archive of all other videos using the same sound--and the viewer can easily tap a button within that archive to contribute to it, making a video accompaniment of their own. With music as an architectural platform feature designed to condense participation around sound files as hooks, performing along with a popular sound functions as a gateway to visibility, affording guaranteed inclusion in a potentially-viral archive. Across videos, sound and music thus serve as sites for both sink and sync, ensnaring user attention and behavior as they construct digital communities of shared affect and practice.I situate this centering of the microsoundtrack as a culmination of longer histories of digital virality, in which sound and music have been widely instrumentalized to render surveillance, advertising, and the mechanics of digital platform capitalism more palatable. TikTok, I argue, functions as an accelerated YouTube-in the duration of its videos, the speed of its production and exhaustion of memetic content, and in its blatant absorption of the bedroom into the sphere of digital aspirational labor.

In 2011, Alex Heitlinger, then a senior at New England Conservatory (NEC), uploaded the video "The Lick" to Youtube. A 1:34 compilation video, it excerpted different performances, from John Coltrane to Stravinsky, that each deployed the same seven-note musical riff (a "lick" in colloquial jazz terms). Heitlinger was in a Facebook group of mostly NEC students where users would post instances of the lick that they found, but his particular gathering of the videos went viral: it was retweeted by Questlove and NPR and currently boasts nearly three million views. While the lick had an offline presence as a famous jazz cliché because of its common presence in many solos, as well as a life online that preceded Heitlinger's video, the lick's online trajectory accelerated at the moment the video went viral. The lick was inserted as punchline into stock visual and sonic meme formats, from five- and ten-hour videos where it was repeated, to instances of the lick in classical music or played as different genres, to its use as the conclusion to a solo. This paper looks at the widespread digital dissemination of jokes, videos, and memes that feature the lick, focusing on Facebook and Youtube in particular, and suggests that it functions as a mimetic device that individual users can deploy to signal both their belonging and their individuality within a larger jazz community. I argue that recognizing and using the joke becomes synonymous with belonging to the group of those who possess jazz knowledge. Those who do not recognize it become outsiders--they have not learned their history well enough, and remain disconnected from communities that could clarify the lick and its iterations, and so they are excluded in their non-recognition of the sonic signifier. By examining the circulation of the lick across different communities of jazz knowledge, I use this paper to open new possibilities for tracing jazz discourse and practice within such communities. The lick, in its formulaic deployment within these "insider" spaces, suggests the death of improvisation, the use of a set riff over spontaneity. It becomes a calling card for performers and listeners alike to determine who was a legitimate participant on and offline--who gets the joke? Using Sianne Ngai's concept of the gimmick as a labor-saving device, I suggest that the lick's online proliferation runs to the point of gimmick intentionally through its repetition, pointing to both the lick's hyper-presence and the way that complaints about the excessive posts of the lick are themselves recycled into copy-pasted, over-repeated jokes. In doing so, I argue that the lick serves as the basis for a study in intracommunity dynamics and specifically the use of humor and gimmickry in identity formation. I note how the lick becomes a shorthand for participation in and recognition of a larger jazz community via its repetition, and a signifier individuals can use to make formulaic contributions to that community within a pre-built humor structure that allows for infinite variation. 

On a common view, phonography offers acoustic presence, amplifying sound, even as it highlights absence--the loss of immediacy that live performance should provide. This paper confronts that paradox through recourse to recordings made to preserve castrato vocality at the very moment of its demise, in Rome 1902-04, when acoustic capture of the last castrato Alessandro Moreschi sought to preserve a vanishing performance tradition.How might an archaeology of Moreschi's vocality uncover those material remains? How might it give purchase on Moreschi's idiosyncratic and bewildering vocal habits as acoustic shards of past practices that surface in the form of the trace, above all laryngeal catches in the throat manifested as unpitched phonations, aspirates, upward scoops, and even sobs?My paper addresses these questions by following Moreschi's vocal tics backwards in several forking traditions, each with separate but overlapping residues: 1) a bel canto and castrato tradition described by Pierfrancesco Tosi (1723), Domenico Corri (1810), Manuel Garcia Jr. (1840), Paolo Pergetti (1850), and others; 2) a longstanding Sistine tradition documented by chapelmaster Giuseppe Baini (1806) and Felix Mendelssohn (1831); and 3) a romantic but ultimately verismo tradition that sounded in the opera houses of Moreschi's time. Pursuing the first two, the paper augments evidence first adduced by Robert Buning (1990). For the third, it combines new archival findings with a wealth of early and neglected phonographic evidence of opera singers Moreschi would have heard, as established in oral histories I have taken from Moreschi's living descendants, who describe him as having been a regular attendee at the opera. The last aligns with his documented second life as a salon singer of female arias and illuminates his vocal affinities with operatic divas staged during Moreschi's Roman years (1871-1922), including Ernestina Bendazzi-Garulli, Cesira Ferrani, and Emma Calvé. The paper ends by rethinking the Derridean trace and Certeau's "vocal utopias" in relation to what I call a "sacred vernacular" that tempered verismo's raw emotionality with nineteenth-century religious sentimentality and that can be tracked through the quirky aural tattoos of the upward appoggiatura and the sob as historically embedded phono/graphic plays of difference.

In 2013, Italian archaeologists exhumed the remains of singer Gasparo Pacchierotti (1740–1821). They hoped his desiccated bones would reveal how castration had affected his physical body, enabling us to "understand the secrets behind his sublime voice" (Zanatta et al., 2016). In seeking a material basis for culturally contingent aesthetics, the researchers were pursuing a methodological premise that had gained new currency during the singer's own lifetime two centuries earlier: the study of human history through its material remains. Classical archaeology was supposedly "invented" in the 1760s by German art historian J. J. Winckelmann, who limned an aesthetic-stylistic history of Greece through the vases, statues, and ruins littering Southern Italy. By taxonomizing and narrativizing fragments of the past into an ideology of the present, Winckelmann's archaeology offered eighteenth-century Europeans a framework for adumbrating the cultural concerns of their own mid-Enlightenment moment.This paper uses Pacchierotti as a case study to argue that histories of the castrato are necessarily cultural archaeologies, albeit grounded in scores, reviews, and other textual inscriptions rather than potsherds. From the late eighteenth century onward, Pacchierotti's interlocutors portrayed him in music and writing as a mediating figure who had balanced such dichotomies as materiality and ephemerality, intimacy and monumentality, and neoclassicism and protoromanticism (e.g., anon., 1792; Stendhal, 1824; Cecchini, 1844; Lee, 1880) All told Pacchierotti was mythologized as having materially embodied and envoiced multiple aesthetic and epistemic shifts, becoming an emblem of different historically-situated cultural tensions.More recently, the figure of the castrato writ large has provided a similar site for historians, opening the way for considering pre-modern notions of queerness (Wilbourne, 2018), disability (Law, 2015; Crawford, 2019), racialized difference (Crawford, 2019; Gordon, forthcoming), voice and embodiment (Davies, 2014; Feldman, 2015; Peritz 2019), even music history itself (Bergeron, 1996). Unlike earlier castrato archaeologies, however, in such studies the traces of voices and bodies function not as evidence for presentist ideologies, but rather as fragments of histories that have been ideologically effaced. In thus exhuming the remains of embodied sonic practices, whether skeletons or scores, castrato excavations expand the epistemological possibilities of cultural history.

       It's no secret that even those who found the castrato voice ravishing blamed someone else. The French blamed the Italians who blamed the Spanish who blamed the Moors and the Turks. This paper unpacks this endless displacement by arguing that the voice of the European castrato, who often migrated north and west from southern Italy, sonically marked the edge of the European and English geographical imaginary and a place of nostalgic recovery. This builds on Serena Guarracino's understanding of "the castrati's mutilated sexual organs" as the "Other of Western reason and modernity."  I begin with two performances by Marc Antonio Pasqualini in Paris that were staged by Cardinal Jules Mazarin in 1645 and 1647. The paper is less about Pasqualini himself than an archaeology of his voice, purposefully reading between the lines of fact and fiction. Pasqualini, born in Imola, near Bologna, was nevertheless assimilated to the imaginary of the Global South. One of the most famous singers of the seventeenth century, he was by the 1630s regularly celebrated by travelers to Rome but was also at the center of satirical attacks on the Barberini and on the Italians. In Paris, a massive pamphlet attack on Mazarin suggested the Cardinal have his balls cut off and, in short, blamed him for the moral degeneration of France. By 1706, before a castrato had even performed publicly in England, critics already objected to the alien nature of Italian opera and warned against the southern loss of liberty as a result of degeneracy and corruption. John Dennis's "Essay on the Opera's after the Italian Manner" situated Italian opera all told as monstrous.Rather than reading castrati through the English-speaking Enlightenment, this remapping hears them through their early and pre-modern migrations and ask how their real and imagined incarnations formed part of larger inscriptions of alterity and processes of globalization. Doing so means de-centering the erotic politics that have dominated Anglo-American recoveries of castrato song and hearing their sounds in the context of European fascinations, fears, and desires in which song embeds ideologies of speaking and writing, reason and civilization. 

Thanks to the relatively recent research of a few scholars, we now know that the keyed trumpet was used for far more than just solo playing. Rather, the instrument was employed in a variety of contexts during the early nineteenth century, including military bands, chamber ensembles, church orchestras, and the opera pit. My research both corroborates and builds upon that of earlier scholars, and, to date, my catalog of keyed trumpet works has grown to include around 460 surviving musical sources that employ the instrument. However, one area of music-making that the keyed trumpet is not widely discussed as being a part of is purely instrumental music for orchestra. While I have yet to find a full symphony that makes use of the keyed trumpet, I have cataloged 58 works for dance orchestra that make use of the instrument, most of which either do not appear in currently published catalogs or are not listed as having keyed trumpet parts.After spending three months conducting research in the Wienbibliothek im Rathaus, where the majority of Joseph Lanner and Johann Strauss Sr's original musical manuscripts are held, I discovered that 48 of their works composed between 1826-1832, including marches, galops, potpourris, cotillons, and waltzes, make use of the keyed trumpet. Being that these two gentlemen are considered the fathers of the Viennese waltz, the fact that they both employed the keyed trumpet so extensively in their dance orchestras during their early careers is a particularly exciting revelation. While both composers made use of the keyed trumpet in slightly different ways, they both mainly employed the instrument for brief but prominent solos; typically, during just one of a dance's numbers. Both composers also required their trumpeters to be able to quickly switch between playing the keyed trumpet, natural trumpet, natural horn, and post horn over the course of a single work.

Glowing over-the-top instrument endorsements-especially for cornets-make ubiquitous appearances to the point of banality in nineteenth- and early-twentieth century band periodicals. Seemingly every virtuoso and bandmaster testified to the superior traits of at least one maker's craftsmanship. The unseen negotiations between manufacturers and musicians demonstrate a delicate balance of power that sometimes backfired. This paper will examine the process by which endorsement deals resulted in carefully-worded advertisement letters and will use case studies to elaborate on instances where unforeseen complications resulted. It will be argued that despite the apparent uniformity of these deals, both the makers and the performers took the endorsements quite seriously-to the point of mirroring many of today's athletic endorsement arrangements.            In 1891 David Blakely delicately negotiated an endorsement of C. G. Conn's instruments with John Philip Sousa. Sousa, who still led the Marine Band, refused to write a satisfactory letter in the way the P. S. Gilmore had done the year before, arguing his position as a government employee made profiting from an endorsement unethical. In a series of letters between Blakely, Sousa, and Conn, the three parties became increasingly exasperated with each draft of the proposed letter, to the point where Blakely threatened to withhold part of Sousa's contractual earnings. Sousa modeled his initial letter on Gilmore's earlier endorsement, and he eventually acquiesced to a compromise wording.            Bandmaster endorsements proved particularly problematic because they often required the entire band to play on one make of instrument. Such was eventually true of Conn's relationship with Sousa's Band-until cornetist Frank Simon started playing a Holton cornet without asking permission in 1918. Sousa attempted to keep the choice private, but within a year both Simon and Herbert L. Clarke were publicly endorsing Holton despite soloing for an all-Conn band.            The manner in which the "world's greatest cornetist" Jules Levy manipulated the system provides remarkable insights into the stiff competition over the largest endorsement deals. Levy originally endorsed Henry Distin's cornets but abruptly switched to Conn in 1888. Distin made public accusations and a lawsuit nearly ensued when he continued to print Levy's original endorsement letter. Conn too would later sue Levy for breach of contract.            Taken as a whole these sources demonstrate the extent to which the seemingly generic endorsement letter was actually a delicate exercise in business acumen for musicians wishing profit from their choices and to design or refine the instruments they played. By the same token, instrument manufacturers showed little regard for ethical practices-paying cash and providing custom-built instruments as necessary to gain an endorsement, regardless of preexisting agreements between the musicians and other manufacturers.

With one of the highest concentrations of black people in the Americas and a thriving Afro-diasporic culture, the city of Salvador in Bahia has earned the reputation of being Brazil's "African Rome." As Fryer (2000), Henry (2008), Pinho (2010) and others have demonstrated, for over a century, Bahian musicians have sonically and discursively asserted this image through a range of carnival, folk, and Afro-religious musical genres. This presentation, for the first time, documents an intensified expression of this phenomenon where musicians deploy symphonic sounds, Christian songs, and the Afro-Brazilian Candomblé religion to portray Bahia as being more African than Africa (i.e., having preserved a purported African essence more purely than in the African continent itself). As Pinho (2010) and I (Diaz 2014) have shown, in Bahia this essence often aligns with essentialist views of Africa: being predominantly rhythmic, percussive, spiritual, embodied, and spontaneous. To this end, I conducted an in-depth ethnographic study of a collaboration between the Orquestra Afrosinfônica (a Bahian symphony orchestra taking inspiration from Candomblé music) and Angolan gospel singer Dodô Miranda, who visited Bahia in 2012 invited by Bahian black activists. For the occasion, the orchestra's director arranged Angolan Christian song "Nabeleli Yo" to be performed by his orchestra and Miranda. My analysis of the stylistic features and performance practices of this piece, in conjunction with data collected ethnographically (interviews with musicians and audiences, participant observation, and field recordings), press reports, concert reviews, and online videos, demonstrate how the musicians' and audiences' varied associations to Candomblé, Evangelicalism, and symphonic music contribute to the construction of Bahia's hyperreal Africanness. Of particular importance is the composer's view of Candomblé and African traditional religions as embodiments of an African essence and of Evangelicalism (particularly, neo-Pentecostalism) as their nemesis. This religious battle, mirroring broader debates in Brazil and Angola about African authenticity and religious intolerance, is played out in a symphonic soundscape that, I argue, raises the perceived value of African and Afro-Brazilian music in the eyes and ears of Bahian people.

The term samba, originally used to describe generic musical gatherings of enslaved and freed Black Brazilians during the nineteenth century, became associated with a specific commercial genre of popular music in the 1930s. Samba, the genre, became one of the essential symbols of national identity and was celebrated for its ability to represent the fraternity between white and Black Brazilians. Historians have documented the constant musical exchanges between Rio de Janeiro's white and Black communities, as well as the development of non-segregated neighborhoods where self-manumitted Africans and poor European immigrants lived in shared spaces. Musical styles that later became associated with samba were shaped in such spaces, and white and Black musicians often performed together in events or ensembles. Yet, Rio de Janeiro's periodicals shows that audiences continued to perceive distinct forms of the genre based on race. Drawing from archival research that includes dozens of periodicals from Rio de Janeiro and commercial recordings of music from 1900-1930, this paper examines how audiences and musicians in the city reinforced or challenged racialized notions of sound and music. I identify practices of white musicians, critics, and audiences that narrowly defined samba as a strategy aimed at racializing music and its black practitioners. The work of whiteness was characterized by discourses and practices that reinforced notions of white superiority, not only by rejecting specific aural elements that were perceived as black, but also appropriating those elements while attributing its "improved" character to white musicians. Black musicians, on the other hand, made constant artistic interventions that asserted samba's historical connections to Black aesthetics. These interventions did not result in an essentialized expression of blackness. Rather, Black music constantly defied models, and maintaining a commitment to improvisatory practices, allowed Black musicians and communities to explore the many expressions of their lived experiences. This paper builds on Nina Eidsheim's concept of the Race of Sound to argue that "race-ing" sound as "black" is a historically contingent act, that can be used either as a strategy to maintain racial hierarchies, or as a way to reinforce connections with African diasporic practices. 

Ever since Menotti del Picchia described Heitor Villa-Lobos as "um índio de casaca" (literally: an Indian in a tuxedo) in 1927, this characterization of the composer has gone unchallenged. It has framed in fact discussions of his life and works in films, documentaries, dance events, and scholarly essays (Manchete Video 1980, Schic 1987, Wiese 2009). As is well-known, Villa-lobos adopted this identification and profited from it in the 1920s while living in Paris, shocking audiences with the exoticism of his Nonetto and Choros No.10. This latter was received not only as an example of "brutality" in music, but also as an embodiment of his exotic musical identity. Villa-Lobos went as far as appropriating the experiences of Hans Staden, using the history of a captured sixteenth-century German explorer who survived the threat of cannibalism to be propagated it as his own (Mariz 1989, Appleby 2002).My recent discovery of previously unexamined archival materials at the Villa-Lobos Museum complicates Behague's assertion that "the extent of indianism in [Villa-Lobos's] works has been largely overstated … he probably sensed the inappropriateness of Indian music as a potential expression of national music, since it remained until recently outside the mainstream of Brazilian music." Evidence illustrates that Villa-Lobos's initially appropriated indigenous music and images as exotic and othering features in his music from an early age. After the Estado Novo (1937-1946), however, his appropriation of indigenous music and image adopts a more political tone. He used early typological studies, as well as historical and anthropological accounts of contact to justify both his nationalism and the formation of the Brazilian nation. In doing so, he composed massive works such as O descobrimento do Brasil (1937), Symphony No. 10 (1952-54) and music for the film Green Mansions (1958) that glorify the imagined other, while reinforcing the policy of forced assimilation.

Music encoding is a way to create machine readable data about music documents and it has many applications, including long-term preservation, computational analysis, digital editions, and digital publishing. While there are a number of music encoding standards available, this workshop will focus on encoding music documents according to the Music Encoding Initiative (MEI) guidelines. The Music Encoding Initiative (MEI) community has created a schema, guidelines, and other resources that encourage collaboration, interoperability, and open data sharing. MEI has found traction in digital musicology because of its model's ability to capture scholarly findings together with the notation, for example through its richness of metadata fields and expressions. Additionally, it serves a primary role in the creation of scholarly digital editions through its elements for source transcription and textual scholarship. This Music Encoding Pedagogy workshop has two objectives. First, we will provide a brief overview of what music encoding is by using use cases and project examples from the MEI community. These examples will help us explore questions about why encoding music is a necessary or useful approach for music students and scholars and how they might approach developing assignments for teaching music encoding in a classroom environment. The use cases and projects will enable us to demonstrate how encoding can 1) enable close reading and music analysis; 2) be used to create digital scholarly, interactive editions; 3) encourage experimentation through critical engagement; and 4) explore data modeling for computational inquiry or analysis (Flanders, Bauman, et al. "TEI Pedagogy and TAPAS Classroom," 2019).We will lead participants in a document analysis exercise during the first part of the workshop in order to encourage discussion around form, structure, critical commentary, analysis, and other features found in the musical document that they might consider encoding based on several different use cases. Best practices, strategies, and challenges will also be considered.The second aim of this workshop is to briefly introduce participants to a straightforward workflow through which they can generate an MEI file using music notation software, create metadata in the MEI header section, and render an MEI file in a modern browser. Participants will use open source tools during this workshop, including MuseScore notation software, Atom Editor or VSCode editor, and Verovio. By the end of the workshop, participants will have a better understanding of the various use cases and applications of music encoding, including why, and how it might be applied for pedagogical purposes. Participants will also be able to generate an MEI file from a music document and create a metadata header. This workshop will not provide in-depth coverage of the MEI guidelines, software programming or schemas, optical music recognition (OMR), other encoding standards, or in-depth details of the encoding of the music notation itself, which in this case is left to automatic conversion.

Andrea Swennson is a host and writer at Minnesota Public Radio's The Current, where she helms "The Local Show," a weekly show dedicated to exploring the Minnesota music scene, and the "O.K. Show podcast," which investigates the intersection between music and wellness. She has covered Minnesota music actively since 2005. Prior to joining MPR she was the music editor of City Pages, where she founded the AAN AltWeekly Award-winning "Gimme Noise" music blog, and edited and contributed to online music sites Reveille Magazine and HowWasTheShow.com. She recently created a four-part podcast called "Prince: the Story of 1999" and is the author of the book Got to Be Something Here: The Rise of the Minneapolis Sound (Minnesota, 2017). In the talk, she will discuss R&B in Minneapolis before Prince, incorporating oral history and archival research about several important spaces, the most important of which was a community center called "The Way."

Often overlooked in histories of electronic music are the contributions of Egyptian-born composer Halim El-Dabh (1921-2017), who first experimented with wire recorders in 1940s Cairo and extended related projects at the Columbia-Princeton Electronic Music Center (CPEMC) from 1959 to 1962 (Seachrist 2002).  The CPEMC was founded in 1958 as a hub for cultural diplomacy, supported by a massive Rockefeller Foundation grant (Patterson 2011). This event testified to an era when public and private agencies scrambled to invest New York City with a cultural infrastructure befitting its global status as a symbol of ascendant U.S. power.  At mid-century, Columbia University's longtime nickname "the acropolis" gained new value in public discourse, including in Rockefeller-funded projects of philanthropy. The term "acropolis" captured the desire to transform the university into "the spiritual, cultural and intellectual center of the world" and thus to defend "Western civilization" inherited from the traditional learning centers of Europe, as one report put it (Zipp 2012).  "Acropolis" figured the university in a contradictory way as both a cosmopolitan center and a fortress, an emblem for both U.S. democracy and dominion during the Cold War.Globally the CPEMC attracted visiting and immigrating composers such as El-Dabh who pursued projects of cultural diplomacy.  Similar to early 20th-century European sound laboratories, the CPEMC's earliest ventures included an underexplored ethnographic dimension fraught with questions of racialized self-representation.  Although these topics figure little in the sparse existing literature on the studio, they surfaced repeatedly in interviews I conducted with El-Dabh in 2014. His own journey followed a path from elite Egyptian emissaryship in 1950 to U.S. citizenship in 1961, enmeshing a story of soft power strategy with one of minoritarian belonging.  Drawing on interviews, archival research, El-Dabh's electronic oeuvre, and reception history, I examine the CPEMC's contradictions as a lively cultural crossroads and a defensive bastion for restrictive ideas of "Western culture." As such, the CPEMC emerges as more than just an incubator for the "uptown" composition scene, but rather as a sound laboratory at the heart of imperial circulations of labor, expertise, and subjectivity.

In the fall of 1952, members of the Tokyo-based Fujiwara Opera Company, led by the charismatic Japanese tenor Fujiwara Yoshie, performed a bilingual production of Puccini's _Madama Butterfly_ in Japanese and Italian with the singers of the New York City Opera. After two performances, the Japanese company headed to another engagement in Salt Lake City. The following year, the company embarked on more extensive tour, stopping at Honolulu, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, and New York. In their third tour in 1956, they performed both Puccini's opera and Gilbert and Sullivan's _The Mikado_. The company's repeated visits coincided with the period in the U.S.-Japan relationship shaped by the lasting memories of WWII, the U.S. occupation of Japan that followed it, and the emergence of the Cold War. Drawing on archival materials, media coverage of the tours, and Fujiwara's own recollections, this presentation explores how the members of Fujiwara Opera and their American collaborators positioned themselves in this new cultural landscape and how their efforts were interpreted in the U.S. and in Japan.Cultural historian Christina Klein (2003) has demonstrated the influential role that Puccini's opera played in the formation of what she terms "Cold War Orientalism" in the U.S. Musicologists such as Fujita Fumiko (2015) and Danielle Fosler-Lussier (2015) have examined the active part that musicians played in the U.S. cultural diplomacy toward Japan in the postwar years. However, the activities of Japanese musicians in the U.S. operating outside of the officially sanctioned diplomatic framework have attracted less attention. The documents related to Fujiwara Opera's U.S. tours demonstrate that Fujiwara relied heavily on the professional connections he had cultivated with western musicians prior to the war. At the same time, Fujiwara forged new relationships with the leaders of Japanese American communities and American promoters. Together, these individuals navigated the tumultuous political and cultural shifts that took place in the early years of the Cold War refashioning the network of musicians, promoters, and community leaders of the two nations.

_Paulus_ was Mendelssohn's most successful work during his lifetime, establishing him as a German, Romantic, and Christian composer following in the footsteps of the "great masters." Yet critics were sharply divided over Mendelssohn's lyrical approach. My reconstruction of the 1836 premiere with Cantus Domus in Berlin for an April 2020 performance--made possible by my discovery of the premiere's choral parts--has raised further questions about Mendelssohn's compositional choices, since the _Urfassung_ seems far more gripping. Based on reviews, letters, and my comparative analysis, this paper posits that Mendelssohn deliberately opened himself up to criticism, realizing the need to offer a composition that would stand in stark contrast to "fashionable" works. In the process, Mendelssohn seems to have written himself into the oratorio, self-identifying with Paul, as his own personality had found expression in his revised portrayal of Paul.Contemporaneous reviews present a complex cultural landscape. _Paulus_ is hailed by _Elegante Welt_, _Musical Times_ , and _NZfM_ as an epoch-defining work that represents the best of German, Christian culture, while three reviews in the _Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung_ criticize Mendelssohn's lyrical approach, the use of chorales, and his reliance on Bach. Yet all reviews recognize the importance of _Paulus_ for the future of modern music. In correspondences about _Paulus_ Mendelssohn frequently shared his concerns about the prevalent "Philistine" culture of empty virtuosity, cheap entertainment, and disregard of history. Based on his firm belief that reforms are enacted by musicians rather than critics, Mendelssohn used _Paulus_ to share his strongly held aesthetic beliefs.Tracing the revisions from premiere to print uncovers a seeming paradox: Mendelssohn heightened the unfolding dramatic narrative with clearer delineations of scenes, yet Paul's role as assertive protagonist is diminished in favor of an introspective representation of events. Paul's far less righteous indignation in the printed version as the recipient of heathen worship further deflects the attention away from the messenger: no self-gratifying display, clear focus on the truth, and an acknowledgment of past teaching. Having discovered a congruent message and messenger in Paul's ministry as "Heidenapostel," Mendelssohn had also found himself artistically in his role as "Philisterapostel."

Unlike well-behaved Victorian children, Mendelssohn's oratorio _Elijah_ – a steadfast favorite in British concert halls from its rapturous 1846 Birmingham premiere onwards – was increasingly both heard and seen, enjoying a steady stream of UK staged performances. Up until the Second World War, touring professional troupes performed dramatized versions of the oratorio to great acclaim. Amateur companies also mounted Elijah's commodious chariot, attempting to supplement what was fast becoming their standard diet of Gilbert and Sullivan with something more serious and supposedly uplifting. But there were striking musical differences between amateur and professional performances that went well beyond expense and expertise. The former substituted size and enthusiasm for agility and precision – a 1930s Sheffield performance featured a chorus of over 500 voices – while the latter sometimes relied on an almost Baroque ensemble of around 25 instrumentalists and 30 singers. Extensive cuts were common in both types of production, which nevertheless did not preclude the inclusion of additional material borrowed from Mendelssohn's most popular piano and orchestral pieces, as well as from his unfinished opera _Die Lorelei_. Based on a host of primary sources that have hitherto lain largely undisturbed in local archives, this paper chronicles and contextualizes the hidden history of _Elijah_ on the British stage.  It concludes that although dramatized oratorios may have been condemned by some historians as a sideline in musical history – a tastelessly inept practice that can only result in leaden choral operas, or pointlessly active oratorios, it would seem that performers, and indeed audiences, mostly begged to differ.

When an admirer wrote to Robert Schumann in 1851 encouraging the composer to attempt an oratorio on a sacred subject, Schumann responded with the declaration, "To turn one's energies toward sacred music surely remains the highest goal of the artist." During the final years of his productive career, Schumann increasingly turned to composing choral works with religious texts and subjects, culminating in his _Missa Sacra,_ Op. 147, and _Requiem,_ Op. 148, both written in early 1852 without any commission or explicit occasion. Schumann's pivot towards sacred music was interpreted by his earliest biographers as a harbinger of his eventual institutionalization-a trope that continues to influence even some recent scholarship. In this paper I seek to complicate this narrative, asking two key questions: what drew Schumann to the composition of sacred music in the 1850s? And what might these works reveal about the changing role of religion in the society in which he composed? To address these questions, this paper focuses on a work that never actually came to fruition, but which Schumann spent two years intermittently planning: an oratorio based on the life of the sixteenth-century reformer Martin Luther. The plans for this unrealized oratorio, preserved in letters between Schumann and his librettist Richard Pohl, as well as a series of planning documents held at the Robert-Schumann-Haus in Zwickau, give valuable insight into what drew both composer and librettist to this subject. Analyzing these sources, I argue that the plans for the Luther oratorio offer a prime example of what Alexander Rehding has called "historical monumentality," characterized by the harnessing and fashioning of historical figures into symbols of collective political, religious, and social identity. In this sense, Schumann's interest in Martin Luther exemplifies the complex interweaving of historicism, confessional legacy, political revolution, and emergent nationalism that guided his compositional efforts during his Düsseldorf years (1850-1854). More broadly, this paper seeks to contribute to recent reinterpretations of Schumann's later works not as symptomatic of the composer's supposed creative withdrawal, but rather as evidence of active engagement with religious and political debates in the years following the 1848 revolutions.

Puppets are silent. Materially speaking, their wooden, leather and felt bodies make no intentional sounds, only accidental ones, caused by the rustle of fabrics or slap of lifeless limbs against one another. Yet puppet performance involves all sorts of sounds and sonic practices. Not only do puppets speak, sing and dance, but they inhabit soundscapes rich with intentional sound and ambient music. Moreover, puppeteers adopt a kind of musical sensibility: they focus in particular on breath and rhythm, and often describe playing with puppets as comparable to playing a musical instrument. This paper carves a space for puppetry within musicology by taking seriously this analogy between puppets and musical instruments. Drawing on discourses in organology (such as Dolan and Tresch, 2013) and performance (including Szendy, 2015; Moseley, 2016), this paper examines the symbolic and material dynamics between these two species of performance object as they are cast in the puppet theater of Viennese artist Richard Teschner (1879-1948). Teschner's unique brand of puppetry is governed by a distinctive sound parameter: his puppets are speechless. Rejecting the prevalent fusion of puppet bodies and human voices, Teschner deemed puppets fundamentally gestural creatures. Accordingly, he endowed his puppets with a highly nuanced physical vocabulary by combining the rods of Javanese _Wayang golek_with the strings of European marionettes in an innovative control mechanism. Underscoring the puppets' mime is Teschner's musical instrument of choice, the commercially manufactured Polyphon. This gramophone-cum-music box plays punched metal discs, with so-called Indian songs (minus voices) prominent amongst Teschner's collection. Crucially, the partiality of the discs' reproduction is compounded by Teschner's attempt to "thin out" their musical textures by arbitrarily scratching the metal tines. While his puppets are mute, the Polyphon is mutilated, and their contrapuntal dynamic, as my analysis illuminates, raises all sorts of questions concerning creativity, authenticity, and representation. The tension between Teschner's cross-cultural technological hybrids, which resonates across myriad puppet-musical encounters, might be productively described, I argue, as "polyphonic," capturing the vital oscillation between puppetry's material silence and its performative musicality, and analogously, music's ephemerality and its deep-seated, inescapable, heterogeneous materiality.

Following the immensely successful premiere of Maurice Bouchor and Paul Vidal's _Noël, ou le Mystère de la Nativité_ at Paris's Petit-Théâtre de la Marionnette in 1890, numerous critics observed an increasing fondness for religiously-themed theatrical productions on the city's stages. But whereas both the text and music of Noël were hailed as exemplars of religious sincerity, the premiere of another such production on the same stage, Bouchor's _La Légende de Sainte-Cécile_, was an all-around disaster, due in large part to the perceived "secularity" of Ernest Chausson's incidental score.Though these works have received scant musicological attention, scholars often credit the success of these works to the rise of Symbolism during the 1880s, citing the Symbolists' fondness for the realm of the metaphysical as a step toward a universally-spiritual world that could only be revealed through non-representational signs. Contemporaneous reception of these works, however, suggests that audiences understood them not as exemplars of a burgeoning aesthetic movement but rather as a nostalgic return to the Catholicism of their youth, regardless of-and likely despite of-their skepticism of the Church as an institution.I propose a new reading of _Noël_ and _La Légende de Sainte-Cécile_ that reveals that Symbolism, as an interpretive framework, falls short of the musical and political complexities within these works. Through analyses of poetic texts, musical scores, and critical responses, I examine the roles that such puppet productions played in the heretofore overlooked enfolding of Catholicism into the "secular" Republican mindset. While successful works eschewed the intellectual aura of Symbolism in favor of a traditional and "sincere" engagement with Catholic heritage, failed productions embraced the complexities of modern music and drama-authorial decisions that, in the end, rendered them unable to be perceived as truly religious. In the end, the successes and failures of such productions reveal an unexpected insight into French Republicanism: while anticlerical critics and Republican audiences confronted the complex task of rendering Catholic subjects appropriately religious in decidedly avant-garde settings, they ultimately faced the vexing task of reconciling their desires for Catholic sincerity with their supposedly secular world views. 

This lecture travels the arc of Porgy and Bess's fraught representational and formalistic history-from novel to drama to hybrid opera and musical theater production-by way of bringing to the fore the undertheorized thematic, aesthetic, and ideological immanence of mythically-conceived, wayward Black womanhood in Heyward and the Gershwins' series of racial experimentations and collaborations. This lecture recuperates the "secret history" of sonic strategy and counter-archiving deployed by a luminous array of Black women stage actors, composers, playwrights, ethnographers, and visual artists across multiple generations who inhabited or creatively critiqued the role of "Bess" and effectively dissected, disassembled, and redesigned the sound and aesthetics of Black womanhood precisely by way of wrestling with this thing that we might call the "Gershwin and Heyward problem."

Samuel Felsted's Jonah, written in Jamaica and published in London in 1775, was rediscovered in the final decades of the twentieth century. It is widely considered the first oratorio composed in the Americas, yet initiatives to perform and record such a significant creole work have tended only to situate it on the fringes of the European musical canon. Scholarship on Felsted has not sought to comment on the musical soundscape and social contexts in which the composer, a white Jamaica-born and Kingston-based organist, conceived his music. Clues about the world of Samuel Felsted can be found in the surviving subscription list included with the published score of Jonah. This list positioned Felsted and his music at the heart of a network spanning both sides of the Atlantic. Naming some two hundred individuals, from municipal organists and clergy, to physicians, plantation owners, and merchants of Jewish Iberian descent among others, the list offers a fascinating insight into the shared musical activities of Jamaica's colonial elite.Absent from the Jonah subscription list, however, are the Black inhabitants of Felsted's world, enslaved and free, who have so far remained silent in modern discourses about his works. Seeking to interrogate the liminal space in which Felsted's oratorio was created, performed and interpreted, this paper attempts to enunciate perceptions of both the white Euro-Jamaican musical activity evidenced by Felsted's creative output, and the Afro-Jamaican musical activity preserved in the musical discourses of Felsted's contemporaries.Using a rare collection of contemporary song and dance music transcriptions surviving in the Edward Long papers held by the British Library, this paper investigates how musical activities around the period of Jonah's composition intersected with (and shaped) contemporary theories of race, as well as shedding light on Afro-Jamaican responses to European musical activity. Through a nuanced understanding of how Felsted's contemporaries rationalised, interpreted and encoded performative experiences involving music, I therefore offer a framework for interrogating questions of creole identity, Afro-Jamaican alterity, and Jamaican musical life at the time.

Searching for enslaved Black women in traditional archives often requires patience, creativity, an eye for detail, and an ear that can listen for the things unspoken but still present. Sources representing enslaved women need to be disentangled from the white colonial logics through which they were produced, while being open to the possibility that enslaved women may have practiced dissemblance both to shield themselves from the very real violence inherent in chattel slavery as well as the epistemological violence of being represented without consent or possibility of reply. Colonial logics operate in the most seemingly sympathetic iconographic sources as much as they do in the perfunctory lines of plantation records. In this paper I take as my starting place two such images of enslaved Black women in Jamaica created in the early decades of the nineteenth century. In one, four Black women dance freely to the music of a distant British military band, each dancer absorbed in her own gestures. In another, an enslaved woman pensively plays a violin for her companion, a dancing woman draped in white muslin with her back turned to the viewer. What can these depictions of enslaved Black women pursuing music and dance tell us both about how enslaved women may have experienced music in the British colonial Caribbean, and about how Black women's musical thinking has been underexamined and underplayed in histories of music in America?            Fortunately, these are not questions that I have to grapple with alone. Black women have been theorizing music since their forced arrival on American shores, and though the violence of slavery meant that theories of enslaved women are overwhelmingly unwritten and irrecuperable, we inherit a rich legacy of over one hundred and fifty years of Black women in America writing about music as practice, strategy, and metaphor. Inspired by recent work by Marisa Fuentes, Brittney Cooper, and Saidiya Hartman, this paper imagines what narratives might emerge about the intersections of race, gender, and music in scenes of slavery through a Black feminist-centered reading of colonial sources.

Mr. Baptiste was a musician living in late seventeenth-century Jamaica who transcribed music portraying African traditions as they were performed by enslaved musicians on the island. These three compositions, "Angola," "Papa," and "Koromanti" were published in Hans Sloane's influential travelogue and natural history of Jamaica (1707). Until recently, scholars assumed that Baptiste was a white French colonist of elite standing like Sloane, but I argue he was far more likely to be a free person of African descent native to the West Indies. Mr. Baptiste is, to my knowledge, the first published Jamaican composer of written music, and may also be one of the earliest published Black composers in the world. His compositions also represent a significant record of early African diasporic music and potentially the earliest notated record of African genres. However, the records documenting Baptiste's life that I uncovered in the Jamaica National Archives challenge each of these categories, making it all the more difficult to substantiate his contributions and legacy. Baptiste's biography raises important questions about how to study early Caribbean music history. By considering the textual records of Baptiste's life alongside recent interpretations of his music, I construct a preliminary portrait of Mr. Baptiste that emphasizes the abundant and diverse legacy of enslaved and free performers of the British Caribbean. (Contemporary interpretations of Baptiste's pieces are available online at a website I co-created with Laurent Dubois and David Garner, www.musicalpassage.org.) Mr. Baptiste's story demands that we reexamine colonial sources with a fresh eye and ear to the role that marginalized performers had in creating them. 

The word "archaeology" occurs repeatedly in Meredith Monk's program notes, interviews, and titles (e.g., American Archaeology No. 1). It is also a dominant image running through her many operas and intermedia pieces. (The construction workers who explode a brick wall and thereby open a portal to a medieval French village at the beginning of Book of Days are archaeologists of a sort.) The term has even become a kind of cliché in the critical reception of her work, and has been associated in one way or another with the many versions of the past featured therein, from Neolithic Dolmens to the Holocaust. Yet the specific significance of this trope for Monk and her commentators has been scarcely elaborated. This talk digs up sources that informed Monk's conception of archaeology and explores broader aesthetic and social currents that these refracted. Indeed, during the 1970s archaeology attained a "new prestige," in the words of Michel de Certeau, pervading both the popular imagination--owing in part to the tremendous success of the touring Treasures of Tutankhamun exhibition--and theoretical discourse, most notably in Michel Foucault's Archaeology of Knowledge. Ultimately, however, I argue that for Monk the archaeological was not just a faddish theme but a musical-theatrical technique intended to resolve antinomies within New York avant-garde art practice.             Drawing on archival documents from the collections of the NYPL and interviews, the talk opens with a consideration of Monk's Vessel (1971), a site-specific "opera epic" about Joan of Arc performed in "reality spaces" around lower Manhattan (including a vacant parking lot). I read the tension between the work's fantastical imagery and the gritty, even abject, urban environment in which it was staged as indicative of a transitional moment in the New York avant-garde. The layer of "reality" was an inheritance of the anti-illusionistic aesthetics of the intermedia "life-art" scene in which Monk first emerged in the mid-1960s. The magical/pseudo-medieval imagery was an early attestation to the return of subject matter and narrative in performances of the 1970s. I interpret these competing impulses through another dichotomy: on one hand, Monk explained her version of archaeology as fundamentally visual ("a way of seeing"); on the hand, as sonic ("I'm almost a musical archaeologist"), and, moreover, as specifically vocalic ("uncovering voices from an ancient past"). Monk's increasing gravitation toward a poetics of the primordial voice sought to resolve these various conflicts and yielded a distinct archaeological practice. This was an archaeology founded on the presumed magical power of the voice to bridge the gulf between past and present, to suture together representation and reality, and to elide the distinction between the symbolic and the expressive. I advance this argument through musical, phonemic, and choreographic analyses that are sensitive to the many intertextual allusions in Monk's work, from Roman Jakobson's discussion of infant babble to Julia Kristeva's theories of the pre-symbolic voice, and from Carl Jung's primitivist travelogue-memoir to the burgeoning of "world music." 

In 1970, a performance of Pauline Oliveros's _In Memoriam: Nikola Tesla, Cosmic Engineer_ found three musicians executing "simple practical experiments" in order to determine the resonant frequency of a theater. Though many musical works around this time invoked the language of science, the analogy with scientific research has been vigorously contested on the grounds that such works do not conform to the framework of testing and confirmation that characterizes the individual scientific experiment (Brooks 2012; Mauceri 1997). Yet recent scholarship in the history of science suggests that the single experiment may not be the most salient reference point in experimentation per se, prompting a reconsideration of the comparison between the activity of music and the activity of science.In this paper, I evaluate the extent to which musical compositions by Pauline Oliveros and David Tudor from the period 1968-1973 can be understood not as experiments, but as "experimental systems" as characterized by Hans-Jörg Rheinberger. The experimental system refers to the loose coherence of objects, instruments, and technologies through which research questions are materialized, and within which context individual experiments become meaningful (Rheinberger 1992). Through performance analysis and close reading of composer and performer accounts, I contend that the open-ended, technologically-mediated musical works by Oliveros and Tudor place the performers in a role analogous to that of the scientist, whose possible research questions are guided more decisively by the material qualities of their experimental system than by theory.In each work discussed, sound is presented as a way of knowing about the world in that the production of sound correlates with the production of new knowledge. In David Tudor's _Rainforest_, for example, the performer observes an object's resonant qualities by causing it to audibly vibrate. Just as the experimental system is designed to allow for the emergence of what Rheinberger calls "epistemic things"-the unexpected and ambiguous harbingers of new knowledge-I argue that these compositions are oriented towards the production of epistemic sound. Furthermore, this reading emphasizes Tudor and Oliveros's divergence from the Cagean conception of experimental activity, in which the material role of the system-and scientist-is diminished (Piekut 2012).

In the 1980s, the pro-industry agenda of the Reagan administration sparked a revitalization of environmental organizations. While most modern environmental movements were primarily concerned with the conservation of the natural world for human use, the deep ecology movement, spearheaded by philosopher Arne Naess, argued that the natural world has intrinsic value unto itself, independent of its human-use value. Deep ecology writers including Bill Devall, George Sessions, and Warwick Fox argue that nature's intrinsic value can be fully realized through a cultivation of ecologic consciousness, in which humans become aware of the actuality of the natural world and no longer perceive a boundary between human consciousness and the surrounding environment. Like deep ecologists, composer and performer Pauline Oliveros shows a preoccupation with consciousness and the environment in her meditative deep listening practice. Since her foundational Deep Listening album, recorded in 1988, Oliveros' practice of deep listening has widely influenced sound artists, musicians, and composers for decades. A practice which includes body work, interactive performances, and listening, both to the environment and one's own body, deep listening enables an expansion of perception in order to "cultivate a heightened awareness of the sonic environment." For Oliveros, the expanded consciousness facilitated by deep listening allows one to connect intimately with the "whole of the environment and beyond."In this paper, I argue that Oliveros' practice of deep listening is the sonic enactment of deep ecology theories. I demonstrate that Oliveros and her work belongs in dialogue with philosophers and environmentalists working in 1980s North America to cultivate a deeper understanding of ecological consciousness. Ultimately based in sonic meditation, deep listening requires the listener to become performer, interpreter, and audience simultaneously in order to perceive "the whole space/time continuum of sound" and encounter the "vastness and complexities" of the universe. By considering Oliveros' philosophies of deep listening in the context of deep ecology, I argue that she was a part of a larger movement flourishing in the 1980s North American that was concerned with expanding human consciousness to include the the whole of our environment. 

Ralph Vaughan Williams's "A Musical Autobiography," written for and included in Hubert Foss's pioneering study of his music, provides valuable insight into the roles played by English folksong, Anglican hymnody, and specific individuals in shaping his creative growth up to about 1908. Notably absent, however, is any significant discussion of the music that he wrote during that period, much of which he had either withdrawn from performance or had declined to publish. Foss himself made explicit what Vaughan Williams had only implied: that those works lacked any particular value, dismissing their study as "at best a task for a prying biographer, at worst a task for a musical resurrection-man" (Foss 1950, p. 80).This perspective dominated the larger historiographical record until the end of the twentieth century, when Ursula Vaughan Williams finally allowed her husband's withdrawn or obscure early works to be published and recorded. The creative diligence, competence, and professionalism that Vaughan Williams practiced throughout his career are all on display in these pieces, but so too is evidence that foreign models played far more crucial roles in shaping Vaughan Williams's early compositional idiom than typically acknowledged-arguably more significant ones than the conspicuously "English" influences often emphasized (either by the composer or researchers).This historiographical gap has had long-term ramifications on the perception of Vaughan Williams's musical development. A review of works written between 1891 and 1908 reveals the composer exploring an array of idioms and techniques, punctuated by occasional glimpses of practices that would come to define his mature style. His disinclination to revisit these works makes sense, given his philosophical commitment to the importance of local cultural influences in the development of an individual style, as well as his reluctance to draw attention to pieces that did not meet his later creative standards. Taken as a whole, however, these early compositions reshape our understanding of Vaughan Williams's creative development. They reveal a greater level of technical facility than previously assumed, suggest that their suppression was motivated by ideological concerns as much as aesthetic ones, and undercut narrowly nationalist readings of his artistic legacy. 

Among the many projects Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) left unfinished is a Christmas Sequence, a drama in the spirit of _Noye's Fludde_ (1958). While little original music for the project survives, Britten had thoroughly planned for the inclusion of audience carols―in the manner of the hymns sung in _Noye's Fludde_ and _Saint Nicolas_ (1948), and the audience songs in _The Little Sweep_ (1949)―and extensively annotated his second draft libretto with carol choices and harmonizations. Britten's congregational hymn-singing has drawn critical attention for its ambivalent relationship to ideas of Britten as a musical modernist: the singing has been read as a site of cultural nostalgia (Rupprecht, 2013, Wiebe, 2012), or of collective expression verging on "coercion" (Sheppard, 2001). In organizing his Sequence around these congregational carols, however, Britten draws on precedents of audience participation both within his own oeuvre, and in modernist theatre performance (such as Brechtian _Lehrstück_). Moreover, part of the complexity of assessing Britten's modernism arises from the persistence with which he employed elements not typically associated with the modernist project: his dedication to composing for children and amateurs, his use of audience participation, and his engagement with tropes and narratives drawn from the Church of England. Insofar as it engages with all of these elements, Britten's unfinished Christmas Sequence, I contend, offers much to encourage a more nuanced understanding of Britten's ongoing commitment to an individual and idiosyncratic modernism in the last years of his career.I begin by contextualizing English musical modernism in Britten's final years. Next, I examine critical discourses which have considered Britten's uses of congregational singing, to illustrate the distance such criticism has reified between his works on sacred themes and his engagement with modernism. Finally, I examine the composition history, sketchbook materials, and draft libretto of the Christmas Sequence, highlighting their similarity to elements of his _Children's Crusade_ (1969), with its Brecht libretto and modernist commitments. I argue that Britten's congregational singing, like much of his engagement with the sacred, is in fact an important aspect of his musical modernism, rather than an instance in which he evades or retreats from the modernist.

Ralph Vaughan Williams espoused a practical aesthetic, as he believed that composers must first address national concerns before reaching out to the international. Although too old to serve in the Armed Forces during the Second World War, Vaughan Williams was determined to serve his nation in its fight against fascism. Anxious for war work, he mentioned to his friend Arthur Benjamin that he would like to try his hand at film music. Benjamin contacted Muir Mathieson, the musical director of the wartime Ministry of Information, who quickly offered Vaughan Williams the opportunity to score the 1941 Michael Powell film, _49th Parallel_. Shortly after, Vaughan Williams scored the transnationally filmed documentary-drama _Coastal Command_, a Crown Film Unit production made in 1942; it was directed and scripted by J.B. Holmes. ¶  The men and women of the Coastal Command protected allied shipping from the Arctic Circle to the coast of West Africa, and from the Baltic Sea up to a thousand miles out into the Atlantic Ocean. The dramatic story created for the film consisted of re-enactments of everyday routines for the flying crews, tactical officers and ground staff of the RAF Coastal Command. Although there has been virtually no previous scholarship linking _Coastal Command_ to the Sixth Symphony, musicologists have speculated on links between the symphony and another wartime film. This paper posits that the music for _Coastal Command_ directly anticipated the general idiom and, in several instances, thematic material for Vaughan Williams's Sixth Symphony, which he worked on throughout the Second World War. This research examines and compares the musical phrasing and harmonic structuring between the audio and visual scores of both the film score and symphony. In addition, this paper tracks the history of revisions to both the film score and symphony, as well as the editorial notes of Vaughan Williams's wartime views on his music for this transnationally-made morale-boosting documentary.    

Amid the burgeoning opportunities of modern life, choices are often assessed in hindsight with mixed feelings. Modifying the tragic "too-late" trope of melodrama (as in La Traviata) movies sometimes deploy bittersweet songs or musical underscoring to express how characters mitigate retrospective regret by alleviating loss with solace, guilt with atonement, or sacrifice with redemption.Before delving into a case study, I will sketch the anatomy of bittersweet music and its effects, based on ongoing empirical research at the intersection of music and social psychology (including controlled studies of musical stimuli as well as big data analysis of sentiments in online responses to musical selections). Within a semantic field demarcated by nostalgia, wistfulness, and melancholy, music's bittersweet spot can be located in a matrix of modal mixture, modulations with secondary dominants, usage of major and minor seventh chords, soft timbres and dynamics in midtempo, and topical references to genres such as the slow waltz, piano ballad, or farewell song.   Critics applauded Damien Chazelle's romantic comedy-drama-musical La La Land (2016) mostly for its bittersweet ending to the story of aspiring actress Mia and struggling jazz pianist Sebastian. After helping each other realize their dreams, they part ways to pursue divergent careers. Years later, a famous and happily married Mia chances upon Sebastian in his own jazz club. Accompanied by a valse triste that pairs up with Sebastian's bittersweet theme for Mia, the film closes with a sequence in the style of a classical dream ballet where the former lovers imagine a life they might have had together-a scenario alluding to the heart-tugging ending of Back Street (1932) whose 1941 and 1961 remakes where both scored by Frank Skinner.Within the history of emotions, bittersweet music has become both a symptom of and remedy for one of modernity's most vexing predicaments: the counterfactual fantasy. Its mixed emotions not only underwrite the persistent premise of melodrama as providing public access to "the unprotectedness of one's feelings" (Thomas Elsaesser), but also lend a voice to the "cruel optimism" (Lauren Berlant) of imagining unattainable outcomes.

Headphones have become a ubiquitous, if disconcerting, means of musical consumption. Isolated listeners continually surround us, ensconced within a sonic world of their own choosing. In effect, headphones turn us all into film composers, selecting the underscore for our lives. This feature of modern musical life has curious implications for film. In movies like _Back to the Future_, _Guardians of the Galaxy_, or _Baby Driver_, the music pumping through the protagonist's headphones provides an inner soundtrack that the audience can somehow hear. Headphones thus traverse the line between non-diegetic and source music, allowing us to eavesdrop on characters' musical psyches even as they deafen themselves to the outer world. This paper draws on both film-music and disability studies to explore this peculiar construction of subjectivity.Headphones provide the turning point in _The King's Speech_ (2010), in which the future George VI (Bertie) visits a speech therapist to overcome a stammer, the result of trauma inflicted by an overbearing father and sadistic nanny. The breakthrough comes when Lionel Logue covers Bertie's ears with headphones blasting the overture to _The Marriage of Figaro_. The bombastic music drowns out Bertie's inner demons, allowing him to deliver a flawless rendition of Hamlet's soliloquy. Mozart continues to accompany Bertie's sessions as the Clarinet Concerto now moves into the outer, non-diegetic soundtrack. Throughout the film, Lionel appeals to music and the preverbal _choric_ realm to unlock Bertie's speech, having him dance, sway, and sing.The Viennese classics return at the climax of the film as the king delivers his first wartime address. The Allegretto of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony accompanies Bertie's speech, which grows in confidence as the music swells. Although plausible as BBC source music, the Allegretto is clearly non-diegetic, falling silent during cutaways and pausing obligingly when Bertie hesitates. Classical music has reordered both the inner and outer soundtrack, allowing the king to integrate himself within the world of speaking subjects. The film ends with the serene Adagio of Beethoven's "Emperor" Concerto, aptly by a deaf composer, sealing the therapeutic process begun when Bertie donned the headphones and reclaimed his musical self.

In 2012, the National Rifle Association's Wayne LaPierre inaugurated a now-ubiquitous political slogan that happens to double as the sketch of a thriller plot: "The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun." Such is the premise of _Non-Stop_ (2014), in which Liam Neeson plays an air marshal suspected of being a terrorist. But when the film plays out LaPierre's melodramatic formula, it encounters what philosophers call a skeptical problem (Cavell 1979): in the temporal and spatial experience of contemporary terrorism, in which threat can come suddenly from anywhere, how do you determine (quickly, collectively) whether the "guy with a gun" is good or bad?The film solves this problem by having Neeson's character deliver a sentimental speech ("I'm not a good man … but I'm not hijacking this plane. I'm trying to save it"). When he begins, the underscore switches from the repertory of horror/suspense--undampened stroked piano strings, a tense background pulse--to a held string tone that gradually replaces the percussive suspense effects with a warm aural cradle for his confession. Within seconds, a once-suspicious passenger immediately hands him a gun, even though the passengers have not conferred, or even looked at each other, before this decision is made. The time of democratic deliberation is replaced by a tone that stands for consensus of feeling.Traditional approaches to narrative film music emphasize that the underscoring of sentimental confessions--one of music's paradigmatic uses in cinema--is emblematic of commercial film's enduring attachment to the melodramatic mode (Gorbman 1987; Singer 2001). Yet the use of film music in _Non-Stop_ to substitute a feeling of consensus for the time of decision-making suggests that the melodramatic solution proposed by LaPierre is inadequate to the pacing of contemporary panics. By locating the function of film music in an era of what Brian Massumi calls "ambient threat"--since 9/11, the sense that ordinary life is vulnerable to the unpredictability of the terrorist event--this paper argues that _Non-Stop_'s soundtrack, rather than demonstrating the persistence of melodrama, instead marks its wearing out as a symbolic framework that is adequate to contemporary crises. 

The Musicians Club of Women (MCW) is one of the oldest musical clubs in the United States, formed in Chicago in 1875 as the Amateur Musical Club. From its beginnings as a women's social group for music-making, the Club hosted musical gatherings and raised money for charities and philanthropic causes. It afforded its members opportunities to perform for other members, to expand their social and musical networks, and to hear high-caliber classical concerts in a sociable setting. The musical women of MCW were both professional and amateur: some led distinguished careers in music and others worked to enrich the culture of music-making and music appreciation in Chicago. As the Club grew, it programmed works and performances by noteworthy composers and performers from Chicago and beyond, with a particular focus on women composers and contemporary American works. In the second half of the twentieth century, a series of generous bequests from the estates of former members furnished ample scholarship opportunities for young women musicians and vocalists and informed the modern mission of the Club. The history of MCW charts the intersection of music-making, education, women's rights, and philanthropy in Chicago, illuminating the social connections and career paths afforded to women through their membership with MCW.Drawing from the new collection of MCW archives housed at the Newberry Library in Chicago, this paper will highlight the Club's varying social and professional purposes and how they informed the Club's concert programming and community service outreach. My archival research will be supplemented by a historical monograph written by MCW member Ruth Klauber Friedman to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the Club in 1975, as well as a series of interviews I will conduct with current long-time members. Club leadership has continually negotiated the needs of members, honed their mission as a non-profit organization, and promoted young women musicians and philanthropic organizations around Chicago. In supporting women's causes and facilitating women's representation in musical professions, the Musicians Club of Women has sustained a long legacy of women advancing women as musical performers, composers, conductors, teachers, and scholars.

During World War II, American media created and fueled stereotypes that portrayed the typical teenage female Frank Sinatra fan as hysterical, immature, distracted, and obsessed. What contemporaneous critics and current scholars have generally not acknowledged, however, was how Sinatra fandom provided American teenage girls with a multitude of benefits and tools to help navigate their stressful and often confusing wartime lives. In Sinatra fan clubs specifically, these benefits included having a safe space to discuss ideas surrounding music, politics, and civil rights with people of the same ages and interests, opportunities for career preparation, a way to express their creativity and explore their sexuality, and a chance to interact with an international fan community in the midst of worldwide conflict. Driving this examination are Sinatra fan club newsletters and correspondences authored by these teenage girls from the archives of the Hoboken Historical Museum, the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library at Emory University, and the Margaret Herrick Library. These printed materials demonstrate a notable level of professionalism and creativity, marking these girls not as mindless cultural consumers, but engaged cultural producers.In dialogue with the work of scholars in fan, gender, and popular music studies, this study will demonstrate how consulting texts produced by teenage girls as opposed to primarily professional criticism leads to insight into how the creative objects produced by this fan community served them as war-era Americans. These texts reveal a form of music criticism that addresses popular music not so much as a cultural product that reflects larger society, but as a highly personal tool for understanding and encouraging intimate desires for both individuals and peer groups of teenage girls. Furthermore, these artifacts shed new light on the war-era persona of Frank Sinatra, who was heavily criticized by much of adult society during the years of World War II, by revealing how teenage fans responded to specific aspects of his voice, performance style, appearance, and social beliefs.

Though largely overlooked by musicologists, the Pacific Northwest region of the United States has been long-identified by scholars as a historically progressive place for women. Washington State, for example, allowed women to vote as early as 1883 and officially granted women's suffrage in 1910, a full decade before the Nineteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified. In 1926, with the election of civic activist and women's club member Bertha Knight Landes, Seattle also became the first major U.S. city to have a woman mayor. Musicologists have also recently highlighted the Pacific Northwest region as a place that allowed women more freedom to pursue musical roles such as conductor, professional musician, composer, and impresario, roles that would have been less available to them elsewhere in the United States in the early twentieth century. Yet, while correctly categorizing the region's climate as progressive for musical women, most current scholarship does not address some crucial debates that occurred in Seattle over women's roles in the public and private spheres during this time. As a result, some of the multifaceted ways that women used music and music clubwork to participate in these debates have been overlooked. This paper illuminates these debates by examining the Ladies' Musical Club of Seattle's (LMC) complex role as a prominent all-volunteer, all-women music club, and by exploring how issues of gender, class, and ethics were navigated by, and through the work of, these musical clubwomen. Utilizing the LMC's extensive archival holdings, and expanding on existing research on Seattle women and music by myself, Elizabeth Knighton, and Maurine Weiner Greenwald, I focus on two key issues that emerged as contentious in Seattle: women's suffrage, and women's right to earn a wage. These two topics were especially pronounced around World War I, when issues arose as men returned from war to find that many women had taken jobs in their absence. Ultimately, this paper shows how musical clubwomen's engagement with these issues, both explicitly and tacitly, helped shape the progressive musical landscape for women in Seattle.

On February 22, 1781, the Acadèmie Royale de Musique gave a performance of a new work called _La fête de Mirza_. This was the most lavish and expensive production at the Paris Opera in recent memory, combining a 4-act ballet, a complete symphony by Gossec, and a 1-act opera by Grétry into an avant-garde staging that was centuries ahead of its time. According to the traditional narrative, audiences and critics were not amused by its length or its novelties, and the following morning the Acadèmie announced that _La fête de Mirza_ had been withdrawn for revisions. The ballet would return in time, but Grétry's contribution – entitled _Émilie, ou la belle esclave_ – would not be staged again until 2020. In his memoirs, the composer omitted all mention of _Émilie_, and Grétry biographers passed over it as nothing more than an embarrassing failure.A completely different narrative emerges from new discoveries in the Archives Nationales de France. This presentation uses documents from the Acadèmie, the finance ministry, and the royal households to show that _Émilie_ was originally written for Marie Antoinette and her Troupe des Seigneurs, but was repurposed as a propaganda piece for a massive wartime fundraising campaign masterminded by the queen and finance minister Jacques Necker. The opera thus has a triple and heretofore unrealized significance. First, it is the only musical-theatrical work known to have been composed expressly for the Troupe des Seigneurs, filling a conspicuous gap in their performance history. Second, the work's musical construction provides detailed insight into the musical abilities of the performers for whom it was originally written – an ensemble including Marie Antoinette and the future Charles X – and serves as a lens for re-evaluating conflicting contemporary accounts of their proficiency. Third, the actions relating to the opera's creation and performance provide new insights into Marie Antoinette's political savvy, statesmanship, and activity as a commissioner of opera well before her later patronage of the Comédie-Italienne.This presentation includes live performances of musical excerpts and is linked to Really Spicy Opera's proposal to stage  _Émilie_ at AMS-Minneapolis.

In late-eighteenth century Madrid, musical theater composer Blas de Laserna aspired to be a critic and to edit his own journal. His ambition to join the Republic of Letters was never fulfilled, and he remained a public servant composing for the city theaters all his life. Nonetheless, he channeled his critical voice through the hundreds of tonadillas–short satirical entr'acte pieces–he wrote over more than two decades. This presentation focuses on Laserna's 1784 solo tonadilla El lente (The Lens), based on Discourse 54 of Spanish enlightened journal El Censor (1781), based in turn on Discourse 275 ("Dissection of a Beau's Head and of a Coquet's Heart") of The Spectator (1712). In El lente, the actress-singer shows the audience a prodigious lens through which she can see the truth of Madrid's people, beyond external appearances. Because this lens gives her the power of surveillance, she fears the public's backlash, so she presents her findings coyly. Through this example I discuss the transmedia nature of social critique in Enlightenment Spain, with special attention to the role of musical theater in the formation of the modern public sphere. I also present El lente as a concrete instance of Enlightenment ideas and formats that circulated between England and Spain, a path much traveled during the eighteenth century, but little studied so far in musicology. Finally, I propose that the gender switch from the male-dominated English and Spanish periodical press to the female-dominated musical stage made social criticism less threatening for the general public and for Laserna as a critic. Thus, the fictional character of this moral story goes from a coquet having his heart dissected in Addison's text to a coquette scrutinizing the hearts of others in Laserna's tonadilla.Drawing on original archival research and newly discovered manuscript music, this paper contributes a new perspective about the interrelationship of music, print media and other technologies to emerging ideologies of gender and the public sphere in Enlightenment Europe.

Henri-Montan Berton's Les rigueurs du cloître was an immediate hit when it premiered at Paris's Opéra-Comique in 1790. The opera tells the story of a young nun who is condemned to be entombed alive by a tyrannical Mother Superior, but is saved at the last minute by a timely intervention from the Revolutionary National Guard. The success of Berton's opera launched a trend for operas, plays, and pornographic parodies involving Revolutionary forces rescuing young women from corrupt religious figures. It has been widely assumed that these operas capitalized on the anti-clerical sentiments which emerged as a key political facet of the Revolution. Indeed, Berton's opera followed a slew of unpopular religious policies passed in the early months of the Revolution, including the confiscation of church lands, the banning of monastic vows, and, most controversial of all, the Constitution civile du clergé, which rendered clergymen elected state officials. Examining the critical reception of these convent-themed opéras-comiques, it becomes clear that, although these works may be read as "anti-clerical" today, they were rarely understood as such at the time. Instead, these operas opened up new debates around genre and representation in revolutionary opera, revealing a degree of circumspection around portraying clerical figures on the operatic stage. Most critics ignored the political implications of these opéras-comiques altogether, focusing instead on the aesthetic implications of such terrifying and violent plots surfacing on Paris's comic stages. Others asserted that the despotic fanatics depicted in these operas bore no resemblance to the actual French clergy, urging readers not to conflate operatic fantasy with reality. Furthermore, the authors of these works held varied political allegiances, which colored the reception of their operas, drawing them into wider debates around revolutionary politics.Although these convent-themed opéras-comiques may have capitalized on the scandal and fervor which surrounded the religious policies of the Revolution, this did not necessarily define what made them political or topical to their audiences. Instead, these works emerged as sites of aesthetic and political contention, demonstrating that the connections between operatic representation and revolutionary legislation were not always straightforward. 

The Italian film La dolce vita (1960) became internationally famous after it won the Palme d'Or (Golden Palm), the highest distinction, at the 1960 Cannes Film Festival. It was the sixth close collaboration between director and writer Federico Fellini (1920–93) and composer Nino Rota (1911–79), whose creative process involved sitting together as Rota composed original music and arranged previously composed songs. Before Rota began working on the film, Fellini selected composer Pérez Prado's (1917–89) song "Patricia" (1958). Rota's arrangement of the chart-topping hit accompanies pivotal narrative moments as protagonist Marcello, a journalist, gallivants in the worlds of Rome's most jaded rich and famous.            By using autograph sources that include Rota's arrangements of "Patricia" (housed in the Nino Rota Collection at the Giorgio Cini Foundation in Venice), my paper explores the song's structural and dramatic role in the film, Rota's compositional techniques and approach to arranging, and Fellini's use of the song within the context of the film's sound. Previous literature, like Peter Bondanella's The Films of Federico Fellini (2002) and Richard Dyer's Nino Rota: Music, Film, and Feeling (2010), just briefly explains the film's structure and use of "Patricia." Fra cinema e musica del novecento: Il caso Nino Rota: Dai documenti (Between Cinema and Twentieth-Century Music: The Case of Nino Rota: From the Documents, 2000), edited by Francesco Lombardi, discusses Rota's work and "Patricia" within the context of the film's narrative. This paper is the first to offer an analysis that considers the film's music, visual, and sound tracks. It is also the first to give attention to the history of "Patricia," in addition to Rota's scoring, Fellini's overdubbing the film's sound with Rota's arrangements, Fellini's sound sources (for example, a jukebox and an RCA album), as well as Fellini and Rota's sense of play with music.

Timbre constantly plays on our understandings of physical space (Butler, 1973). This phenomenon is all the more interesting in fantasy films, which break the laws of physics to portray the fantastical. How does musical timbre, which can narrate the film _or_ emanate from the story world, play into the cinematic physics of magic-making? Drawing on embodied theories of music (Chattah, 2015; Cox, 2016) and specifically musical timbre (Leydon, 2012; van Elferen, 2017; Wallmark, 2014, et al. 2018), as well as embodied film theory (Sobchack, 2004), this paper takes spellcasting in the eight-film Harry Potter saga as a case study to explore how musical timbre collides with sound effect, dialogue, and motion to convey magic.The paper offers three ways musical timbre structures magic-making in the Harry Potter films. First, in response to a spell being cast, musical timbres often cross the diegetic/non-diegetic boundary. The soft, fluid, airy tones that accompany the rising feather after Hermione casts _Wingardium Leviosa_, for example, function not only as musical underscore (non-diegetic), but also as the sounds we might expect a magically floating feather to produce (diegetic). That the musical timbre emanates from the story world _and_ narrates it suggests that music and magic exist in the same narrative and physical space – a space that lies just outside of the characters' tangible world. Second, musical timbre can articulate the specific qualities of different spells. _Wingardium Leviosa_'s airiness, for instance, contrasts with the resonant warmth of Expecto Patronum_ and the iciness of _Immobilis_. Finally, the musical timbre of spells also shows how the significance of performing magic gradually changes over the course of the series. In the early films, the timbres of spells are much more sustained and musical, reflecting the awe of young witches and wizards first learning magic. As political tensions escalate and the characters gain a more technical working knowledge of magic, spell timbres become increasingly reflective of magic's utility.By studying the ways musical timbre structures the performance of magic in cinema, we stand to gain a deeper understanding of how music works its magic both within and beyond the screen.

Oscar Wilde's novel The Picture of Dorian Gray introduces the titular character as a pianist, often playing a "nocturne" by Frederik Chopin. In the 1945 film of the same name, the composer's Prelude Op. 28, No. 24 can be heard diegetically and nondiegetically accompanying the character on his moral descent. Despite the prominence of Chopin's work in Herbert Stothart's score, few scholars have addressed the music to The Picture of Dorian Gray. Susan Felleman has examined the visual art prominently featured throughout the film, while Michael Long briefly noted the key relationships in Stothart's cuts of Chopin's prelude. However, none of these scholars have discussed the function of the music, particularly since Chopin's prelude is not heard in its original form or keys anywhere throughout the film. My paper, therefore, will consider the original conductor's score and its close relationship with the film's diegesis.Stothart's piano reduction of the orchestral score provides a more detailed reading of both the film and the music, particularly with the precise cue sheet titles that correspond to dialogue and themes in the film. Stothart uses this Chopin piece as thematic material in his score, a practice that was not unusual for composers of many other classic Hollywood horror films, according to recent research by Sarah Reichardt Ellis and Michael Lee. Like the transformations in the novel, the thematic material from Chopin's prelude is arranged in different ways as the filmic narrative plays out, heightening Dorian's emotions and state of mind. In this paper, I map the transformation of this prelude onto Dorian's moral and mental decline throughout the film. Drawing upon Chopin's reception history in Victorian England, adaptation theory, and my analysis of this piano reduction, I will consider why Stothart decided to use this particular piece to argue a distinct connection between Frederick Chopin and Dorian Gray. 

Dimitri Tiomkin began his score for High Noon (1952) with the ballad "Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darlin'" and integrated segments of it as leitmotifs, revolutionizing the way film composers approached the Western. Although it was not the first film score to rely on a popular song for structural coherence and cross-promotional marketing, its success swiftly made it almost obligatory for film composers of Westerns to follow suit. The theme-song score has attracted insightful attention from scholars from musicology and film studies, including Jeff Smith, Will Straw, Deborah Allison, Corey K. Creekmur, and Mariana Whitmer, many of whom have emphasized the theme song's power to guide viewers' expectations. Close analyses of individual scores, however, have tended to focus on the idiosyncratic example of High Noon, which has obscured a broader understanding of the phenomenon. Film composers did follow Tiomkin in composing theme songs that became leitmotifs, yet most did not return to the sung theme song so obsessively. At issue here is the staying power of the lyrics: just how "sticky" are the words after the theme song sheds them?I argue there are limits to the theme-song score's ability to maintain these extramusical connections by analyzing a repertoire which features a tense relationship between theme song and leitmotif: the mid-1950s cycle of Westerns starring gunslinging women. After the wartime upheaval of gender roles, middle-aged actors like Barbara Stanwyck found success playing active female characters in the Western. Using Victor Young's score and theme song for The Maverick Queen (1956) as a case study, I explore how the theme song--particularly its sexist lyrics--establishes gendered expectations for Stanwyck's character during the opening credits sequence and how these connotations erode when the theme song melody transforms into her heroic leitmotif. I argue this transition from theme song to leitmotif weakens its original objectifying function, subjectifying the female hero's emotional state instead. Ultimately, I suggest that by expanding our focus beyond High Noon, we might better understand the Western theme-song score's constellation of possibilities and the boundaries of its narrative power, with consequences that extend beyond the Western.

The session is aimed at conference attendees who are interested in applying for tenure-track jobs and those in the midst of fulfilling duties for tenure to be awarded. Panelists will include members from several universities that use different models for tenure. These models look beyond the Research vs. Teaching colleges, to examine state institutions, private institutions, colleges with liberal arts design, conservatory design, and colleges with religious affiliations. Panelists will discuss the different models for achieving tenure at their institutions as well as how important it is to apply for a job and go to an interview while keeping the idea of being "tenurable" at that institution in mind. This will be a 90 minute session that will include time for a question and answer period.

A series of escalating controversies in recent years has brought unprecedented international attention to the Hungarian State Opera House and the historically marginalized repertoire of Hungarian opera. Major press outlets have scrutinized the overt and multifaceted relationship of the isolationist, right-wing government of Viktor Orbán and his Fidesz party to opera, a genre into which it has invested hundreds of millions of dollars. Critics and reporters have focused on the most scandalous cases, such as _The New York Times_ coverage of the now infamous all-white _Porgy and Bess_production and its fallout; however, such reporting obscures how the regime has effected a comprehensive political stranglehold over operatic performance in Hungary. The goal of this paper is situate opera in current Hungarian cultural politics and to analyze Orbán's opera project more thoroughly by examining specific production choices at the Hungarian State Opera House. I take as a case study Péter Galambos's tendentious 2013 double-bill production of two Hungarian opera staples: Béla Bartók's _Bluebeard's Castle_and János Vajda's _Mario and the Magician_. This production is now firmly established in the State Opera's repertoire, yet both operas present ideological challenges to the political establishment; _Bluebeard's Castle_has been politically problematic in Hungary since its premiere in 1918, while Vajda's opera has become so only recently due to the anti-fascist agenda of the Thomas Mann source material. Rather than risk the potential backlash of outright banning these popular operas, the production instead manages to erase the unsettling social and psychological issues raised in each work via directorial choices and manipulation of mise-en-scéne. I argue that without changing a word of the libretto or a note of the score, Galambos nonetheless significantly reconfigures these cultural landmarks, aligning them with current Hungarian political orthodoxy. Although this case is specific to Hungarian political exigencies, the analysis offers a holistic approach to ongoing debates over opera's relationship to national politics by directing attention away from the score and onto the stage. 

Each June, the hip hop diplomacy program Next Level concludes its new artist orientation with a public cypher. This cypher--an informal hip hop performance--has grown from a spontaneous session held in a U.S. State Department lobby in 2014 to performances at the Lincoln Memorial. In recent years, the cypher has attracted a robust audience and generated positive feelings among artists and audiences alike. But behind the virtuosic dancing and energetic rapping, the collaborations that underlie this event remain delicate, even uneasy. The cypher is critical to a number of stakeholders, but ideas about what constitutes a successful cypher vary considerably. For Next Level artists, the cypher is an opportunity to build and bond with one another while showcasing their skills. Employees at the U.S. State Department's Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs (ECA) view the cypher as an opportunity to reach diverse audiences, from passersby who are unfamiliar with cultural diplomacy to State Department officials who may be skeptical of government-supported hip hop programs. In 2019, the cypher took place in front of an iconic statue of Albert Einstein in Washington, DC. When Next Level artists and staff were told that the cypher needed to focus on science, some embraced the challenge, but others felt that their artistic labor had been exploited and the integrity of the cypher compromised. The statue's proximity to the State Department made it easy for employees to attend, but the oppressive summer heat made it challenging for artists, particularly dancers, to participate. Throughout the performance, one question hovered in the air: what purposes, and whom, did this cypher serve? Drawing upon scholarship on cultural friction (Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing) and cultural diplomacy's institutional underpinnings (Danielle Fosler-Lussier), and based on interviews with many of the cypher's participants, this paper examines the complex collaborations within this performance and cultural diplomacy programs more broadly. I use this cypher to complicate monolithic conceptions of cultural diplomacy programs and the institutions that administer them, illuminating the ways in which state and non-state actors carve out spaces to achieve their own objectives. 

As the British Empire continued its labored decline in the early 1950s, its successor, the Commonwealth, remained somewhat ill-defined for the public. In response, governmental and cultural institutions launched numerous programs designed to teach the world about Britain's new geopolitical position and the Commonwealth's importance in mitigating the spread of communism. Scholars in Sound and Media Studies have observed the significance of radio and television networks in transmitting Commonwealth ideology during this period (Bailkin 2014, Potter 2012, Schaffer 2014), though their studies have mostly overlooked music as a conduit of identity. Considering the influence of BBC music programs in conveying Britishness to listeners in the early-twentieth century (Baade 2012, Doctor 2008), what are musicologists to make of music broadcasts designed to promote the Commonwealth? In this paper, I use records from the BBC Written Archive Centre and the UK National Archives to detail the complicated history of the BBC radio program _Commonwealth of Song_ (1953-61). Intermittently broadcast on the Light Programme and the General Overseas Service, this transmission featured musicians from across the British world--from Abuja to Australia--performing a mix of light-classical fare and music from their homelands. BBC administrators and government officers alike judged the series as instrumental in reinforcing the idea that the Commonwealth was a friendlier, more familial version of the Empire. Yet the program was plagued with behind-the-scenes debates concerning race and class representation, as well as the looming threat of Americanization. Which performers and repertoire should count as symbolic of the Commonwealth? I use archival records to analyze critical broadcasts in the program's history and their reception, demonstrating the shifting nature of ideological conflicts concerning the Commonwealth. I contend that anxieties surrounding _Commonwealth of Song_ mirrored broader disagreements encompassing British imperial identity in the mid-twentieth century, both among cultural elites and everyday Britons. Indeed, the musical Commonwealth was just as fraught as its political counterpart. By charting and contextualizing these disputes over artistic illustrations of the Commonwealth, I demonstrate the importance of music broadcasts as tools for teaching British geopolitical identity in the era of decolonization.

Recent engagements with graphic notation by Indigenous experimentalists from across media bring into relief the settler-colonial logics of mid-twentieth century breaks with staff notation. In their 2017 exhibition _Soundings: An Exhibition in Five Parts_ (currently on tour), curators Dylan Robinson and Candice Hopkins asked Indigenous artists to frame their contributions to a gallery environment as "scores": that is, as prompts to bodily and sonic performance. These material scores include beadwork, Indigenous belongings long held in settler archives, regalia and clothing, or videos of the texture and scars on drum skins. Framing the materials as scores and placing them within a gallery setting raises questions about Indigenous ontologies and epistemologies of performance, relationality, permanence, and the work.Working from my settler listening and writing positionality, I outline how the scores were read as prompts for performance before devoting substantial attention to the orthography of graphic scores by the Navajo artist and composer Raven Chacon. Both mid-century norms of graphic notation-as explored in critical work on Morton Feldman (Boutwell 2012, Cline 2016), Earle Brown (Alden 2007, Gresser 2007), Udo Kasemets (Strachan 2017), and in contemporaneous writing by Cage (1969), Cardew (1961), and others-and contemporary decolonial critiques of settler aesthetics would suggest skepticism towards the inclusion in graphic scores of the symbols and syntax of Western art music notation. However, Chacon's scores place these symbols front and center, littered about among crucifixes as the refuse of colonial culture. My reading draws extensively upon Indigenous studies and decolonial scholarship (Robinson 2020, Coulthard 2014, Mignolo 2011, Lyons 2010) to reflect on how Chacon's graphic scores enact a network of communicative assumptions entirely different from those of graphic scores by mid-century modernists. In those works, the limitations of staff notation became metonymic of the limitations placed on authorship, but the freedoms achieved by composers through their liberation from notational norms was solely their own. Despite ensuring the same basic causality as the Euro-American ideal of the score-in which a permanent trace is "read" as a direction or prompt to action-the _Soundings_ scores, including Chacon's, challenge the terrain of this liberation by placing long-term relationships at their core.

"I have always been troubled by the degraded role of sensuous immediacy in the relative values ascribed to music," wrote the composer, artist, and instrument inventor Lucia Dlugoszewski in 1973. Throughout the fifty years of her career, Dlugoszewski argued for an extreme attention to sonority through radical reinventions of musical form and innovative ways to notate them. Her approach to music as three-dimensional material and multimodal experience worked in tandem with the choreographer Erick Hawkins, her longtime partner and primary artistic collaborator, and reflected a dialogue with fellow composers and visual artists working in New York at the mid-century, including Edgard Varèse, John Cage, Ad Reinhardt, Robert Motherwell, and Helen Frankenthaler. Dlugoszewski described the ideal of listening as a "flash," an experience of instant sensation and knowing that she likened to a kind of aesthetic epiphany. She located the greatest possibility for this experience in the employment of everyday objects and acoustic inventions as instrumentation. A retention of the rawness and tactility of sound after its organization into musical structure remained at the core of the composer's balance of material and form – what she called sonic Eros and Logos.Due in part to professional complications at the end of her life and her death without a will in 2000, Dlugoszewski's work has lain rather dormant for the last twenty years – though it is now experiencing a revival in scholarship and performance. This paper will draw on the author's development of Dlugoszewski's papers and scores held at the Library of Congress (2016-ongoing) to discuss the composer's construction of musical form and innovations in graphic notation, which combine drawing, choreographic description, maps, and prose instruction. In particular, the author will examine Dlugoszewski's score for _Song for the Poetry of Everyday Sounds_ (1952), a pioneering example of graphic notation for instruments from the quotidian space; _Here and Now with Watchers_ (1958), a piece for one of Dlugoszewski's invented instruments, the "timbre piano"; and _Angels of the Inmost Heaven_ (1971), a monumental score for orchestra that combines traditional musical notation with sculptural sound maps.

There is no single genre more characteristic of the seventeenth-century French harpsichord school than the so-called "unmeasured prelude," with its unique and enigmatic white-note notation. Most studies of the genre focus on its apparent relationship to improvisation, attempting to situate it within the broader field of lute and harpsichord preluding. Davitt Moroney, Paul Prévost, and subsequent writers have established connections between lute preludes of the early seventeenth century, the quasi-improvisatory Italian toccata, and the French unmeasured preludes of Louis Couperin and others. That line of interpretation emphasizes the flexibility of rhythm suggested by certain visual aspects of the preludes' notation, while making assumptions about the function of – or completely ignoring – certain signs, which in some performances results in a nebulous, sometimes amorphous performance. Moreover, modern editions that claim to transcribe the preludes faithfully in fact introduce an extra degree of separation between the repertory and modern performers, fundamentally altering the relationship of notes and symbols on the page. In addition, scholars often apply principles for interpreting Italian toccatas to the unmeasured prelude, based on the influence of Johann Jacob Froberger in seventeenth-century France. Do we truly understand the construction of these pieces?I argue that a new, systematic approach to the interpretation of unmeasured preludes is necessary. Rooted in French harpsichord technique, the native French approach to _basse continue_, and a structured comparison of French harpsichord preludes in white-note (unmeasured) and standard (measured) notation, my interpretive approach yields a strikingly different realization of these preludes which is more in keeping with our current understanding of seventeenth-century French musical culture. My conclusions suggest that unmeasured preludes preserve a more definite harmonic and rhythmic (pseudo-metrical) structure than previously supposed, expressed through ornamented chords and other gestures idiomatic to the seventeenth-century French harpsichordist. A comparison of the notational systems employed by a range of composers – Louis Couperin, Jean-Henry D'Anglebert, Elisabeth-Claude Jacquet de la Guerre, Nicolas Lebegue, and Gaspard Le Roux, among others – and a contrast to the measured preludes by François Couperin reveals previously unrealized notational functions and underlying structures in the unmeasured prelude repertory.

In his forty years as a Jesuit missionary in China, Joseph-Marie Amiot (1718–93) devoted much of his time to intellectual activities. Between 1751 and 1781 he completed four large manuscripts in French on Chinese music, in two of which he described the Chinese system of music notation known as gongchepu, which employs Chinese characters for pitches and special ideograms for rhythm. Through an examination of these two manuscripts, my paper demonstrates Amiot's novel system, combining gongchepu with Western staff notation.In his manuscript De la musique moderne des chinois (Paris, Bnf, Rés. Vmb. 14, 1754), Amiot explains the symbols used in gongchepu and also transcribes into Western staff notation the Chinese "air" Lieou ye king, later used by Carl Maria von Weber in his music for Friedrich Schiller's Turandot (1809). Five additional Chinese airs are presented exclusively in gongchepu. Amiot's most comprehensive work on gongchepu, however, appears in Paris, Bnf, ms Bréquigny 14 (1779). Bréquigny 14 consists of four cahiers, the first three devoted to Divertissements chinois, the fourth, to Musique sacrée, recueil des principales prières mises en muisque chinoise. In each cahier the music is presented first in mixed notation, placing gongchepu characters representing specific pitches in their appropriate positions on a five-line Western staff, with rhythmic symbols below the barlines. At the end of a cahier, each piece is repeated, entirely in gongchepu notation. Amiot's manuscripts of 1754 and 1779 represent a tradition begun by previous missionaries in China, some of whom, like Tomás Pereira and Teodorico Pedrini, were accomplished musicians who introduced Western musical instruments and music theory to the Qing court. Amiot's hybrid system of music notation reflects the continuing efforts of Jesuit missionaries in China to bridge the gaps between Chinese and European culture.

This digital exhibit showcases projects developed by members of the musicological community. The exhibit is intended to inform the larger community about the range of exciting digital project in which musicologists are engaged. Envisioned as a hands-on poster and technology demo session, attendees at this session can browse and engage with the various projects and the project teams, and learn about the technologies and tools that were used to build each project. The various technologies and software tools demonstrated in this session are listed below.Anne MacNeil, Isabella d'Este Archive, http://isabelladeste.web.unc.edu/Luisa Nardini, Chant, Hypertertexts, Prosulas, http://www.chanthypertexts.org/homeTechnology/Tool: Caspio for the database and Digital Mappa for the music editionJoshua Neumann, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau project: Creating Die Winterreise in PerformanceTechnology/Tool: Sonic VisualizerSarah Williams, Katherine Larson, Scott Trudell, Raffaele Viglianti (co-PIs), Early Modern Songscapes, songscapes.orgTechnology/Tool: TEI/MEI editions of early modern English ayres, audio and visual examples of performance, pop-up windows to explore variant editionsChairs: Mollie Ables and Matthew Vest

Additional document: (includes audio and video links, bio, narrative, recital program):https://drive.google.com/file/d/1_2Ret16kAqhkJyKga60ecZrRH5rV25Hk/view?usp=sharingAbstract: This 60-minute "Bach to Black" concert features suites by J.S. Bach (1685-1750), as well as two composers of African descent: British composer Samuel-Coleridge Taylor (1875-1912) and American composer James Lee III (b. 1975).  Considering the two fields of Performance Practice and American music, this recital is representative of my current research, and is my contribution to growing discussions regarding inclusivity of underrepresented composers and diversity in Classical music.  The recital will feature complete performances of J.S. Bach's English Suite no. 2 in A minor, Samuel Coleridge Taylor's Four Characteristic Waltzes for Piano, Op. 22, and James Lee III's Souls of Alkebulan (2012).The overarching theme of all three pieces is the treatment of the dance form in the piano suite.  Stemming from my passion of researching and performing J.S. Bach's keyboard works, as well as music by Black composers, it is my intent to offer a reimagining of programming piano suites from the Baroque to the present.  I have always had a strong interest in both Baroque music and American music, as well as underrepresented music from different eras.  When programming, I strive to bring scholars, performers, and all audiences together through celebration of our similarities and differences.  In addition, I enjoy collaborating with living composers, as well as reintroducing music that is often forgotten.  Much has been discussed about the beauty, transparency, and elegance of the J.S. Bach's English Suites, and I aim to pair one of the suites which exhibit similar features to that of the two works by Coleridge-Taylor and Lee III.  I have also chosen English Suite No. 2 due to similarities in key relationships with the other two compositions.  Coleridge-Taylor's piece is of the 19th-century tradition, explores waltzes at different tempi, and utilizes harmonies often seen in music late-Romantic British composers.  Lee III's five-movement work Souls of Alkebulan incorporates rhythms and dance from Africa with the use of Western idioms.  As the composer states in the score's program notes, he "intended that Souls of Alkebulan would be a set of piano pieces that would display imagined African rhythms and memories from Africa’s past. Alkebulan is the indigenous name for the continent of Africa."

Much relevant scholarship on French organ music from the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries (Barrera 2017, Cockburn 2011, Douglass 1995, etc.) refers to the repertoire as "French classical," despite "Baroque" being the common term for the period. In this paper I trace that anomaly to Norbert Dufourcq (1904-90), a specialist in the repertoire who vehemently rejected the label "Baroque," viewing it as an inappropriate descriptor of French music. I argue that Dufourcq's defense of "French classicism" emerged from his nationalistic approach to musicology and from his adherence to an old ideological approach to aesthetics-popular in France earlier in the twentieth century-that viewed classicism as a quality intrinsic to the culture of the French nation. As Fulcher (1999, 2005, 2018), Iglesias (2015), and Pasler (2009) have shown, classicism became associated with "Frenchness" in the early twentieth century, and the idea evolved through changing political contexts in subsequent decades. Dufourcq espoused this ideology throughout his career, pitting "balanced" and "orderly" French classicism against "fantastical" and "disordered" German romanticism in early publications. For example, he highlighted "classical" qualities in Bach's music in an attempt to remake the German musical hero as French in spirit. As the concept of a "Baroque" period became more common in the 1950s-60s, Dufourcq increasingly framed the opposition between "baroque" and "classical" aesthetics as representative of the same German-French binary, describing "Baroque" as "German terminology" and defending "our [French] classicism" (Dufourcq 1965, 1971). He further argued that the label "Baroque" obscured France's musical achievements during its golden age under Louis XIV (Dufourcq 1961). Dufourcq's defense of "French classicism" thus fits into a career-long trend-documented in published materials and archival records such as such as lesson plans from the Conservatoire National and reports to the French Ministry of Fine Arts-of the scholar using musicological work to promote his nation's cultural heritage within a German-dominated field. Because organ scholarship continues to employ Dufourcq's preferred label, this case study exemplifies the subtle influence of nationalistic projects on musicology today.

Exoticism as Musical Vernacular:Eugène Bozza's Woodwind _Solos de Concours_ for the Paris ConservatoireWhen creating woodwind _solos de concours_, or exam solos, for the Paris Conservatoire in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, numerous composers followed an extensive tradition of associating woodwinds with the pastoral and oriental exotic. For centuries, European composers had used Western woodwind instruments to stand in for Pan's _syrinx_, shepherds' pipes, and the instruments of distant lands. In part as a result of this tradition, scholars such as Jean-Pierre Bartoli, János Kárpáti, Myriam Ladjili, Ralph Locke, Deborah Mawer, Susanna Pasticci, and Curt Sachs have primarily regarded exoticism as an aesthetic attribute of music. However, as much as _solo de concours_ composers may have been inspired by this aesthetic tradition, it was not their only consideration when relating woodwinds to the exotic in music for the Conservatoire. There were practical concerns associated with creating commissioned works for the state institution as well. By drawing upon the 1930s and 1940s woodwind _solos de concours_ of French neoclassical composer Eugène Bozza (1905-1991), I argue that, in addition to fulfilling possible artistic aims, state-commissioned _solo de concours_ composers applied exoticist tropes in the form of a musical vernacular to satisfy diverse utilitarian and extramusical requirements. In this regard, their employment of exoticist elements paralleled the application of musical topics by artisan composers during the Classical Era. Like many working composers of the eighteenth century, French craftsmen composers in the early decades of the twentieth century juggled continuous compositional deadlines alongside outside musical responsibilities. These intense working conditions required an efficient and effective compositional method, which exoticism could provide. Bozza's music provides an ideal case study of this concept. Although Bozza was not the only composer to use exoticism as a pragmatic compositional tool in this manner, his use of such was extensive and successful, as is evident by his repeated Paris Conservatoire _solo de concours_ commissions.In sum, by providing an alternative history of exoticism, this paper will challenge the notion of exoticism as solely an aesthetic feature, instead revealing it to be a slippery, polyfunctional attribute with practical applications. 

Over the past twenty years, historians such as Katharine Ellis have disentangled the complexities of the nineteenth-century Palestrina revival, while James Garratt and others have explored its impact on German-speaking composers from Mendelssohn to Bruckner. By comparison, the 'neo-Palestrinian' vocal polyphony that French composers produced as early as 1840, mainly for the Catholic liturgy, remains little-known. This music, and the theoretical reflection that it generated in large quantities, fixated on a basic goal of transcending mere pastiche and reconciling old and new, a concern also central to German Palestrinianism, as Garratt shows. Yet French Palestrinianism proliferated only after encouragement from Rome in 1884, 1894, and especially 1903, by which time concepts of musical modernism, progress, and innovation were themselves evolving rapidly and no longer equated straightforwardly to chromaticism and elaborate orchestration at antipodes to Palestrinian purity.  My paper investigates French Palestrinianism, in its theory and compositional practice, in relation to the broader field of early twentieth-century discourse on modernism. I use music by Charles Koechlin, Charles Bordes, and Guy Ropartz and critical and historical writings propagated in composition manuals, the press (especially the specialist church-music press), and church-music congresses, including those of Vincent d'Indy, Fernand de La Tombelle, and other associates of the Parisian Schola Cantorum. Drawing on longstanding fears of exhaustion of "the musical language", these apologists of Palestrinianism construed the remote musical past as a deposit of musical "resources" that could sustain formal innovation and tonal expansion within the bounds of what "the ear" could tolerate. In postulating a move towards austerity as the next stage demanded by musical progress, they retained the imperative of innovation but re-conceptualised it in non-linear terms. Collectively, this literature made up a vital element of French debates over musical evolution after the turn of the century, which topic has, since Jann Pasler's prospectus in 1991, received less than the attention it deserves. 

In 1965, Paul Celan published as a limited folio a collection of twenty-two poems under the title "Atemkristall" ["Breath Crystal"] that also included etchings by his wife, Giséle Celan-Lestrange. Two years later the same poems were included as the first book in the collection _Atemwende_ ["Breath turn"]. The poems can be seen as a sustained meditation on the relationship between humanity and nature--or perhaps humanity and inhumanity--and, moreover, they bear striking resemblance to Wilhelm Müller and Franz Schubert's 1827 _Winterreise_. Thematic connections in both works evoke a barren landscape of ice and snow, both feature the prominent image of walking and traversing a northern landscape, and both ponder the relationship of their subjects to an often-antagonistic humanity.I propose, however, that the connections are not merely thematic, but also material. Imprints of Celan's extensive knowledge of the musical canon are found throughout his work, as in his "Anabasis," which contains a textual quotation from Mozart's Exsultate Jubilate. My reading of "Atemkristall" finds tangible traces of Schubert's _Winterreise_, reported by Celan's son to be one of his favorite works, embedded throughout the collection. At key moments the fragments of _Winterreise_ burst through the surface of Celan's poems, notable especially in the poem "In der Flüßen" (Celan, "In the rivers") and the song "Auf dem Flusse" (Schubert/Müller, "On the river"). Rhythmic similarities coupled with the testimony of his son suggest that Celan's model was Schubert, and not Müller, though he would have had an intimate knowledge of both. I posit, then, that "Atemkristall" was written over the surface of _Winterreise_ such that it remains concealed save for a few points where, like the geological fault mentioned in the poem "Harnischstriemen," it emerges with utter clarity.This paper asks two competing questions at the intersection of these two works. First, in what way does knowledge of the material source (_Winterreise_) for Celan's poems aid in an interpretation of those poems? Second, how might we see Celan's poems as a performative interpretation of _Winterreise_ and might Celan's _Winterreise_ provoke novel musicological and theoretical interpretations of Schubert's work.

Anton Webern is pervasively valued as an agent and representative of European musical modernism. His compositional career is commonly portrayed as a narrative from youthful beginnings in the creation of a musical avant-garde under the mentorship of Schoenberg, which was followed by his distinctive ventures with the twelve-tone method that carried him to compositional maturity. This narrative, however, is incomplete because it omits the decisive impact of Webern's interactions with and settings of poetry by Hildegard Jone in his late vocal works.In these works, Webern set only texts by a single author, his contemporary, Hildegard Jone (1891-1963), a female poet and painter who was known in Vienna at the time, but has been neglected in the historiography of Austrian literature and marginalized in much of the scholarly literature on Webern (e.g., Kolneder, 1974; Rognoni, 1977; Bailey, 1991). Webern developed a close personal alliance with the poet that was rooted in mutually held aesthetic values associated with Viennese modernism and Christian existentialism. He discovered features in Jone's poetry that resonated with his broad artistic beliefs and his commitment to the twelve-tone method. For her part, Jone found in Webern a kindred spirit who shared her philosophical interest in the transcendent act of creation, devotional aspects of modernism, and connections between the arts. Their relationship was truly a creative partnership.The cherished bond between the two artists enriched the lives and artistic work of both. With a brief examination of selections from Webern's Jone settings, this paper reveals expressive synergies of music and text in terms of metaphor, imagery, and rhetoric that illuminate Webern's sensitive response to Jone's texts. The paper concludes with three reflections: on the manner in which we build biographical narratives; on the nature of creative partnerships; and on the impact of this creative partnership on the narrative of Webern in the context of musical modernism.

The appropriation of musical climax as an act of subversion has become a frequent claim in feminist analysis of music by women composers. Goal-oriented narratives of tonal classical music imply a linear and teleological development; this myopic focus on the tension and release of climax has been called out by feminist music scholars, most notably McClary, as overtly masculine and even violent. Some scholars have argued that when women composers approach musical climax differently than their male counterparts, it is based on gender-specific differences, or differences in sexual experience, and is inherently subversive. Macarthur contends that musical climaxes falling at the divine ratio are not representative of female sexual experience. Hisama, who discusses climax within the framework of feminist double-voiced discourse, demonstrates how even a conventional musical climax can be subversive. In this paper, I argue that perceived differences in Alma Mahler's musical climax are not based in gender as much as they are a product of her commitment to expressing poetic text and composing in a late-tonal style.In order to understand if musical climax is gendered in the work of Mahler, I first identify where the climaxes fall in her published songs and consider the musical climaxes in relation to textual climaxes. By measuring and analyzing this data, I challenge the assertion that she subverts tradition and expectation with "top-heavy" climaxes. Additionally, by measuring climaxes in the contemporaneous work of her composition teacher Alexander Zemlinsky, I investigate whether the timing and number of climaxes should be considered gender-specific or related to the extended chromaticism and formal diversity of late nineteenth century Lieder.Scholars and performers increasingly champion Mahler's works and provide interesting ways to reconsider them. It is important to investigate the accuracy of claims made about the composer's intent; the assertion that Mahler deliberately subverted gender and genre norms is problematic. She composed songs within an established and admittedly masculine tradition and hoped for them to flourish within it. Normalizing forces of genre, canon, and tradition are evident in her Lieder, and unruly elements may be better understood as expressive, and not subversive.

The Beloved of early-Romantic lieder goes by many names and none. One name that appears time and again, however, is "Laura", the famous muse of Petrarch. While there had been a steady circulation of Petrarch's work in German-speaking lands from the late-sixteenth century on, Laura's name began to feature frequently in many German poems in the 1780s. Friedrich Schiller and Friedrich von Matthisson in particular each contributed their own contrasting re-imaginings of the beloved Laura, attracting settings by a host of composers over the next 40 years. In nearly all these poems Laura is positioned as a mediator of the noumenal, placed in the liminal space between subject and object, through whom the poetic persona can glimpse the heavens. Both poets conceptualize this moment of mediation musically, with references to angel's harps (Matthisson) or to Laura's piano performance (Schiller). Such musical sounds are often expressed topically by composers, particularly in the use of the learned style at the invocation of the beyond. After outlining the reception history of Petrarch's _Canzoniere_ in late-eighteenth-century Germany, this paper begins by examining Laura's particular network of historical, religious and gendered associations for poets and composers in the decades around 1800. I adopt Siskin and Warner's understanding of mediation in _This Is Enlightenment_ (2010) in order to contextualize Laura's distinctive liminality in these texts. In this frame, the figure of Laura can be understood to enable a channel between the poetic subject and an otherworldly space. This becomes the basis for a comparative analysis of settings of Matthisson's Laura poem "Die Betende" (published in 1781), many of which feature passages in the learned style. The learned style here, as often indexical of strict compositional practices and the noumenal, has a similar mediating function. This paper thus shows how the use of the learned style does more than signify religiosity in settings of this poem; rather, composers use it to perform in music the processes of sonic mediation central to the German re-imaging of Laura. 

In 2014, at AMS Milwaukee, a well-attended roundtable discussion provocatively titled "The End of the Music History Survey?" raised questions about the function and objectives of undergraduate music history survey courses. Articles subsequently published by roundtable participants in the _Journal of Music History Pedagogy_ further inspired movement toward curricular change in some U.S. music departments. The most highly publicized change was Harvard's replacement of required survey courses with non-survey core courses in 2017. But what about conservatories and schools of music, where undergraduates typically audition with classical repertoire and ostensibly train for professional careers in musical performance, composition, and music education? In such institutions, where "Music" often means Western classical music, it is often assumed that musicologists must teach the history of the established canon. Picking up where the 2014 roundtable left off, we question the assumption that a chronological study of canonic composers, works, and style should be positioned as core. What if, instead of retelling-or at best problematizing, complicating, and deconstructing-the established narratives of Western classical music, we started from a different premise entirely? Participants in the roundtable will include Melanie Lowe of Vanderbilt University's Blair School of Music, Sara Haefeli of the Ithaca College School of Music, Andrew Dell'Antonio of the University of Texas's Butler School of Music, and members of the musicology faculty at the Lawrence University Conservatory of Music. We will discuss how we have implemented new courses and new pedagogical approaches in our respective departments; we will reflect on our experiences proposing and justifying these changes to colleagues; and we will share observations about how the new courses have reshaped students' engagement with music both in and outside of the musicology classroom. Ultimately we aim to stimulate a broad conversation about what could be considered "core" musicological study, in particular for undergraduate students in schools of music and music conservatories. If music is meant to be a lifelong pursuit for the students who take our required musicology courses, then what we position as central, as essential, may shape their view of what is possible. To offer one example from among the new approaches to be presented: one might organize a course that includes case studies drawn from a wide array of musicological and ethnomusicological topics and methodologies, intended not only to give students tools to engage more deeply in subsequent topics courses and seminars, but also to provide opportunities for students to use critical lenses they glean from published music scholarship to examine their own values and their own theories of musicking; to draw new connections and pose new questions; and to rethink the relationship between scholarship and performance. A shift away from repertoire-as-core and towards engagement with issues, ideas, discourses, and ideologies would empower undergraduate students to engage more actively with the diverse musics they encounter on a daily basis in all facets of their experience and training, ultimately positioning musicological approaches and questions not as a separate, purely academic pursuit, but as essential to all musicking.

Business meeting for the Ecocriticism Study Group, we welcome all attendees of both societies who are interested in issues related to the intersection of "music, culture, sound, and nature in a period of environmental crisis." Anyone wanting to learn more about ecomusicology is especially encouraged to attend. Our meeting will begin with a panel and subsequent discussion (around 45 minutes total) featuring a number of short presentations on (auto)ethnographic approaches to the "soundscapes of COVID-19," with panelists examining how our relationship to sounding nature has changed due to quarantine, lockdowns, etc. We will then hold elections for officers as well as discuss plans for the upcoming year. For anyone unable to attend in person, or should circumstances require an online meeting, we will also broadcast the meeting on Zoom.

In articulating Spanish musical nationalism, musicologists have historically pitted autochthonous genres and Spanish performers against foreign music and musicians. Although numerous studies have revised problematic tropes such as the notion of the "Italian invasion," a late nineteenth-century construction of musical nationalism based on unique musical markers of Spanishness still dominates and colors narratives and discussions of early nineteenth-century musical production in Spain. In this talk, using the Real Conservatorio de Música de María Cristina (1830) and the Liceo Artístico y Literario de Madrid (1837) as case studies, I highlight contemporary attitudes and voices that challenge these historiographic approaches and demonstrate how the promotion of foreign styles and models by both the state and the liberal elite was part of nation-(re)building processes during this decade. By focusing on the language used in related founding documents, I demonstrate a contemporary view that saw music itself as universal in nature yet national in execution. Considering recent studies on nineteenth-century cosmopolitanism, ultimately, I suggest that "cosmopolitan nationalism" may be a fitting term to describe these contemporary attitudes toward musical production during this turbulent decade in Spain's history. 

On November 1910, in Mexico City, recording scouts of the Victor Talking Machine Company recorded a duet of comedians performing "Casamiento de indios", a parody of an indigenous wedding filled with jokes, special effects, and references to popular culture. Three years later, another group of scouts recorded a similar number in Colombia, titled "Viaje de un indio a Bogotá", a phonographic comedy accounting for the adventures of a rural traveler through the urban setting of Bogotá. During the acoustic era, recording companies pursued local musics from all over the world, but their commercial ventures were not limited to music. A diverse assortment of spoken performances, from jokes and recitations to historical reenactments and dramas of various kinds flooded their recording sessions and catalogues. In this brief paper, I will examine some of those recordings made by Victor in the course of its expeditions throughout Latin America. My analysis focuses on their production, considering both the technological challenges posed by the acoustic equipment and the way in which some of these performances functioned as acts of phonographic ventriloquism in relation to indigeneity and popular culture in Latin America.

The exceptional reception of Pietro Metastasio's works during the eighteenth century, all over Europe and in the Iberian Peninsula in particular, is well documented. Due to that unparalleled success, it is now possible to compare large numbers of diverse musical settings of the same aria texts. While the common belief points to shared procedures among composers to express specific emotions, the traditional and computer-assisted analysis of ca. 500 arias of versions of Didone abbandonata and Demofoonte points in a different direction, ie. towards an enhanced variability in composers' musical treatment of particular aria texts. Furthermore, the analysis of the settings especially written for Iberian theatres, in comparison to the average data extracted from the whole corpus, indicates that some particular usages regarding key, metre, rhythmic features and vocal part treatment – especially range and leaps– were significantly conditioned by geographically-determined and gender-associated tastes. Through big-data analysis, this paper will eventually place eighteenth-century Iberian music production and consumption in the context of European opera seria, while setting forth that their unique musical characteristics may have also been related to issues of gender construction. 

The song "Alfonsina y el mar" was first recorded by vocalist Mercedes Sosa in an album called Argentinian Women (1969). Félix Luna's lyrics evoque modernist poet Alfonsina Storni's suicide, occurred in 1938 by drowning, incurring in romanticized and infantilized female representations. Ariel Ramírez musical setting adds Nationalistic and rural connotations by setting the verses to a zamba, an Argentinian folk dance. Thus, the resulting gender and cultural cues contrast strongly with Storni's identitarian self-representation as an independent and urbanite feminist writer. This paper argues that Sosa's nuanced and powerful rendering of the song achieves a feminist performance, coherent with Storni's gendered behaviour. Combining Butler's gender theory, Cusick's reflections on feminist theory and Hall's representation concepts, this paper deconstructs poetic, musical, iconographic and audiovisual materials to reveal underlying cultural preconceptions, while positing the power of musical performance to subvert discursive identity cues embedded in popular songs' constituent materials. 

This presentation describes my involvement in a multidisciplinary historical memory project, "Surviving Memory in Post War El Salvador" and the challenges I confront as a music historian participant. Our team strives for a decolonial, collaborative, and horizontal methodology that recognizes the interconnectedness of historical memory with contemporary social issues and neocolonial challenges, as we work to document the history of campesinos and campesinas' experience of the Salvadoran civil war (1980-92). I work, in the music project, to create an archive of revolutionary songs, and to explore and document, through historical memory workshops, the political, social, and psychological function of music-making in the Honduran refugee camps to which many campesinos and campesinasfled. As I began gathering songs, many of which document brutal massacres and the hardships of the refugee experience, I turned to theories of trauma to better understand their function. I began to realize, however, that trauma scholarship from the global North offers surprisingly little to help us understand music that seeks to bolster psychological resilience and political resistance simultaneously. This talk seeks to encourage conversation about decolonizing one's research practice, both in the field and during analysis, and about the challenges of adapting Participatory Action Research to Musicology. 

Over recent decades, a number of intertwined seismic shifts have occurred or are impending, which have come to inform humanities scholarship. Driven by global neoliberal capitalism, developments in technology and ecology have reached a point whereby humanism and even the concept of the human are called into question. On the one hand, a small group of tech companies such as Facebook and Google are pushing the frontiers of AI development in search of profit. On the other hand, the fossil fuel industry ignored its early discovery of climate change, opting instead to discredit climate science, giving more weight to shareholders's interests than to the planet's habitability. Collectively examined in the interdisciplinary field known as "posthumanism," the various systemic factors of capitalism, technology, and ecology have led to divergences from conventional conceptions of human subjectivity and agency. The musical impact of these developments are not often at the center of public awareness, but it is precisely the arts which present questions that provoke a re-evaluation of human agency, autonomy, creativity, and musicality. This panel brings an East Asian focus to explorations in posthumanist musicology, which is already exhibiting signs of emergence. A recent spade of musicological work in animals studies, biocultural evolution, and vitalist philosophy of sound points to ecological posthumanism, while early experiments in musical AI (e.g. David Cope's computer-generated Bach music in the 90s, which was misrecognized as actual music by Bach) already point to technological posthumanism. An East Asian focus is timely because of the region's position at the frontier of technological developments, and its outsized ecological impact-both of these factors indicate that the emergence of the musical "posthuman" will be deeply affected by the region. On the one hand, Yamaha has invented musical AI--its Vocaloid program has naturalistically replicated and resurrected the voice of deceased Japanese singer Hibari Misora (1937-1989). On the other hand, ancient Taoist and Buddhist philosophies are precursors of post-Anthropocenic thought which decenters the human. A central Buddhist tenet, for instance, is the recognition of animal suffering, which translates into the practice of vegetarianism-this is broadly related to the notion of the Buddha's "passion," which is explored in music by Tan Dun and others. With increased attention on the musicality of AI and animals in a posthuman, post-Anthropocenic framework, the uniqueness of the human, one of whose special traits was thought to be his musicality, is called into question. With the deterritorialization of the human musical expression of emotions, and reterritorialization onto AI, what, we might ask, exactly is it that distinguishes human nature? How does the decline of the concept of human autonomy over the human, animate, and inanimate worlds affect our critical frameworks? What does this mean for human creativity in general?

Evolving from its far-right origin of complaining about widening class divisions in South Korea, the portmanteau Hell Joseon ("Korea is Hell") has entered public discourse, indexing a multiplicity of discontents with Korea's progress towards the future. In emphasizing the social ramifications of Korea's rampant post-1997 neoliberalization (Song 2009, Yang 2018), this paper highlights how growing intensifications of neoliberal subjectivity-individualization, competition, and self-cultivation-that engenders the actual life of Hell Joseon discourse has now pushed precarious Korean young adults to probe for optimism in virtual forms of life. Drawing from ongoing fieldwork regarding English language study, autotuning engineering labs, and noraebang (karaoke rooms), I posit the neoliberal means of auditing vocal cultivation in the realms of language and musical sensibility is perpetually oriented towards a standard of impossible unmediated reproduction. Noting the inextricable relation between voice and neoliberal ideology (Inoue 2012, Weidman 2014), I highlight how these young adults-subjectivity reduced to "carbon-based computers," and increasingly disillusioned with a perpetually altered teleology of vocal progress-subvert their self-cultivation in this narrowly-defined form of life progress. Engaging in sensorial acts of second-language complaining, unmediated singing, and intensified vintage pop music listening, I consider how their voice comes to function beside itself. Noting the existence of virtual presents and futures that exist simultaneously alongside the durational actualization of life (Bergson 1944, Deleuze 1991), I argue these analog modes of voicing allows for the unbecoming of neoliberalism's corporealization, and in turn projects a virtual optimism amid the vocal realization of Hell Joseon.

The rise of transnational media networks has transformed the exchange, preservation and digital redistribution of popular music recordings especially in the economic interfaces between local media markets in East and Southeast Asia and broader consumptions and circulations in North America and Europe. In this presentation, I will focus on the historicization of Southeast Asian popular music through emergent projects of sound collection and digitization, by documenting material histories of independent labels, institutional archives, file-sharing blogs, and online streaming platforms that link Cambodia, Indonesia, Thailand, and the United States. Examples include the physical collections of cassettes and records at the Museum Musik Indonesia in Malang, the digitization of vinyl records on the Jakarta-based streaming archive Irama Nusantara, and the restorative online projects of the US-based Cambodian Vintage Music Archive, which digitizes and recirculates rare Cambodian recordings to relate the story of Phnom Penh rock music before and after the Khmer Rouge. By taking seriously the notion that these collectors, traders, and "crate-diggers" are actively producing musical counterhistories of global popular music, music scholars can recognize different perspectives on the politics of preservation and accessibility, the ethical implications of "crate-digging" as neo-colonial extraction of regional media resourses, the critique of "world music" (directed from the Global South), and the transactional histories that construct both institutional and informal archives.

During the Cold War, musical performance became a battleground between capitalism and communism (Fosler-Lussier 2015; Tomoff 2015). But what exactly did being better at the piano have to do with ideological rivalry? In order to answer this question, this paper moves backward in time to the end of the 1930s, when the Soviet Union, under the auspices of the World's Fair in New York, attempted to send its first large delegation of musicians across the Atlantic. Though cancelled at the last minute and often treated by scholars as footnote, these tours, this paper argues, are key to understanding the politics of virtuosity as it would later develop during the Cold War. Drawing on previously unexamined planning documents – negotiations, contracts, budgets, advertising, and programs – this paper reconstructs the tours as they would have been and recovers how each side envisioned their sense.The paper first situates the Soviet side's vision within a larger Soviet discourse on virtuosity. Reanimating Romantic anxieties about the social role of the virtuoso in response to the political ferment of the 1930s, Soviet critics explained the success of their musicians in terms of a commitment to social justice. Whereas Western performers, operating under the logic of capitalism, alienated the mass listener through overly pathological subjectivity and dehumanized objectivity, Soviet performers, critics held, came from the people and served the people. In going to the World's Fair, Soviet performers would actualize this argument, linking technical and interpretative superiority to workers' rights and state intervention in the arts. While such rhetoric could play well to Depression-era leftists, other parties on the American side had their own ideas, urging the Soviets to instead embrace a depoliticized idea of fun and spectacle. The tours, in other words, both summarized concerns of the preceding decade and anticipated ways of thinking about virtuosity that would characterize the coming Cold War. In recovering this collision of agendas, then, this paper not only sheds light on an important episode in the history of Soviet-U.S. musical exchange, but also helps to construct a genealogy of virtuosity's politics, expressed between capitalism and communism.

Sergei Prokofiev (1891–1953) was no stranger to the habit of recycling his own musical themes for use in later compositions. One of the most famous examples is the "Fateful Road" theme from his film score to _Ivan the Terrible_ (1945, Op. 116) which was later transformed into the main heroic theme "Majestic in the Sunbeams" in his opera _War and Peace_ (1948, Op. 91). Prokofiev added the recycled theme to the opera under pressure to add a new central theme which would serve as the "musical image of Russia [and its] victory" against the French in the War of 1812, and by extension, the Soviet Union's recent defeat of Nazi Germany in the "Great Patriotic War." After a decade of revisions, the revised opera now featured the General Kutuzov and the Russian people as opera's main protagonists, with Prokofiev's recycled theme serving as their main heroic theme and final choral apotheosis.While many scholars have documented the use of Russian and Soviet art music for nationalistic purposes under Stalinism (1924-1953) (Taruskin, Frolova-Walker, Morrison, Bullock), the use of Soviet classics to assert nationalism in the twenty-first century remains relatively unexplored. In this paper I demonstrate how Prokofiev's music, namely his theme "Majestic in the Sunbeams" from _War and Peace_, continues to be used for patriotic purposes in Putin's Russia. In a stirring, new arrangement, Prokofiev's setting of "Majestic in the Sunbeams" took the prominent place as the finale of the closing gala concert of the 2018 FIFA World Cup in Moscow. Performed by Dmitry Ulyanov and the Bolshoy Opera Choir, the arrangement was sung against the backdrop of the Russian national flag and has accumulated tens of thousands of views on the internet. The use of this Soviet classic in 2018 demonstrates a parallel as yet unacknowledged between the political use of music under Putinism and Stalinism, and shows that a nostalgic connection to the victory of the Great Patriotic War is still powerful tool in Putin's Russia. Moreover, the use of the theme demonstrates how Prokofiev's music continues to shape––and itself be shaped by––Russian musical identity.

From the first days of Hitler's invasion of the Soviet Union, twenty-two Leningrad cameramen filmed life in Leningrad and at the front. Their images became the basis for the 1942 Soviet documentary film Leningrad in Battle. The final version of the documentary was highly sanitized: instead of documenting the extraordinary, inhuman conditions in the besieged city, it presented a propagandistic narrative of heroic resistance meant for both local and foreign consumption. Dmitriy Astradantsev provided the music for the otherwise silent film by compiling excerpts from Russian classics. A near absence of contemporary Soviet music signals that the constructors of the siege narrative had no intention of engaging with the real soundscape of the city. The everyday sounds of besieged Leningrad, which ranged from deadly silence to earsplitting explosions, from the monotonous ticking of the siege metronome to cheerful operetta tunes broadcast through the one-channel radios mandatory in every Leningrad apartment, stood in stark contrast to the heroic sound-track of the film with which the authorities tried to block out reality. Like Dmitri Shostakovich's "Leningrad" Symphony, which was turned into the sonic emblem of the siege, Leningrad in Battle served to overwrite the actual soundscape of the starving city. Using archival material related to the creation of Leningrad in Battle, I show the mechanism of shaping the heroic narrative about Leningrad's defense. Based on diaries written in the besieged city and Polina Barskova's and Alexis Peri's siege studies, I reconstruct the real sound of the siege, exploring how the constructed sound of Russia in war managed to cross seemingly impenetrable borders while the actual sounds of the siege remained hermetically sealed, first in the besieged city and then in survivors' memories. By showing state-imposed music for what it was-incidental music that was supposed to control the narrative of the siege-I intend to crack the heroic veneer of the official siege narrative, which turned dystrophic, half-dead people into heroic defenders of the city of Lenin. 

Dance theorists have long sought to record their art form, and the systems they develop must define and clarify the relationship between time, space, and the body. This paper examines a treatise on dance notation, Vladimir Ivanovich Stepanov's _Alphabet des mouvements du corps humain_ (1892), as a musicological, aesthetic, and medical text as well as a dancerly one. Stepanov notation looks like music notation, and has recently been employed in the creation of new productions of ballets from the Russian Imperial Theatre such as _The Sleeping Beauty_ and _Harlequinade_. While its value as a reconstructive tool has been explored by scholars and practitioners including Alexei Ratmansky and Doug Fullington, the system's conceptual framework has gone largely unexamined in secondary literature. Notation can only ever record an art form incompletely, and strategies of notation reveal the ideological agendas of their creators. In the treatise that describes his system, Stepanov shows a desire for a new, objective dance theory, modeled on music theory, that could be both generated and documented by notation.The _Alphabet_ draws on a vibrant cosmopolitan discourse centered not in Saint Petersburg, where Stepanov trained and worked, but in Paris, the city of the document's publication. Stepanov makes little mention of Russian ballet, but instead justifies his notational system through reference to the ideas, words, and inventions of two French scientists, Étienne-Jules Marey and Jean-Martin Charcot. The scientists that Stepanov admired rejected language as an accurate means of communication. They inspired him to break from earlier dance notators, whose interest lay in creating a linguistic framework for dance. Instead, these scientists preferred graphs, which Marey called a form of "natural writing," to describe physical phenomena. Not content to simply notate dance, Stepanov proposes his system as a way to record all human movement, from gymnastics to the convulsions of choreic patients. He posits a theorization of the body modeled on kinematic principles, and his work flirts with objective and physiological aesthetics. Following Marey, Stepanov also indicates that musical rhythm can express the temporal organization of bodily motion, and that music and anatomy interact in ways of which we are only dimly aware.

In Act II of _The Limpid Stream_, the male dancer emerges on stage in long white tutu and tiny wings. He is the image, in parody, of the Romantic sylph. This moment, evoking ballet's Wilis and sylphs, signaled a new experiment in Soviet dance. Commissioned in 1935 as _The Two Sylphs_ for the Malïy Theatre in Leningrad, _The Limpid Stream_, as the ballet came to be called, was a collaboration of Dmitri Shostakovich and Fyodor Lopukhov. The work was set on a collective farm in the North Caucasus, where farmers and artists came together in a quixotic comedy of switched identities and romantic upsets. The ballet was hugely popular, and in a move that seemed to seal the work's fortunes, the Bolshoi Theatre commissioned a Moscow production within months. But in 1936, _Pravda_ published a devastating review accusing _The Limpid Stream_ of disregard for "verisimilitude" to Soviet life. The work was withdrawn from the repertoire. Lopukhov lost his position at the Malïy Theatre, and Shostakovich never again composed for ballet._Pravda_'s accusations reflected the increasing political constraints and impossible demands that ideology placed on music and dance (Scholl 2007; Iakubov 2008; Ilichova 2008; Ross 2015; Morrison 2016). Yet _The Limpid Stream_ is not just another example of artistic repression. It also illuminates the competing creative impulses that shaped Soviet ballet in this period. Based on archival sources in St. Petersburg and Moscow-scores, photographs, libretti, sketches,musical ephemera-my paper explores the new questions that _The Limpid Stream_ took up, prompted by emerging Soviet ideology, and perennial questions of realism and narrative to which this ballet returned. I suggest that _The Limpid Stream_ was Shostakovich and Lopukhov's attempt to reimagine Romantic ballet as Soviet modernism. In doing so, they responded to the pressures of a genre whose legacy extended deep into the Imperial period, and beyond, yet whose essentials had been fundamentally challenged by developments at home and abroad. In subverting balletic tropes, _The Limpid Stream_ offered a model for negotiating the transnational nature of ballet during a moment in which the genre's national identity was truly in crisis.

Revivals of Gluck's operas ­­__Orphée__, __Iphigénie en Tauride__, __Alceste__, and __Iphigénie en Aulide__ at the Opéra-Comique in the 1890s and 1900s marked an important moment in the history of French music. As William Gibbons has shown, these Gluck productions were integral to nationalist debates about the past and future of French opera and central to the creation of a museum of French masterworks. They were also key works in director Albert Carré's mandate for the Opéra-Comique, which in 1898 had become the focus of debates about what role the city's second national lyric theater should play in French culture.Now long forgotten, the Gluck revivals included new divertissements by the eminent choreographer Madame Mariquita. These ballets were not eighteenth-century dances, as audiences would have expected, but free-form choreographies that recalled Ancient Greek statuary. Created shortly before Isadora Duncan arrived in Paris with her Greek dances, and a full decade before Nijinsky created __L'Après-midi d'un faune__ with the Ballets Russes, Mariquita's Gluck divertissements were the first modern ballets seen in Paris. This paper situates Mariquita's Grecian ballet modernism within the context of fin-de-siècle Paris's vogue for all things Greek, and discusses what role her ballets played both in the reception of the Gluck operas and in furthering Carré's vision for the Opéra-Comique. If Greek dances in Gluck operas now seem odd, at the time they were a perfect fit. Greek dances could be appropriated as French (the French considered themselves the inheritors of Ancient Greek culture), they evoked a glorious past, and they were modern –– an important positioning when casting Gluck as one of the founders of modern French opera and the Opéra-Comique as a museum and a modern theater. They could also be framed as serious art while appealing to a public primed on erotic exoticism.Mariquita's Greek divertissements proved extremely popular and whetted audiences' appetites for novel forms of ballet. In drawing attention to these forgotten modernist ballets, this paper sheds light on a repertoire central to the history of French opera and dance.

In 1983, George Balanchine's death plunged his company, New York City Ballet (NYCB), into crisis. Weeks after his passing, the troupe premiered Glass Pieces, a new work by Jerome Robbins to the music of Philip Glass. Robbins's ballet successfully convinced critics and audiences alike that NYCB could move past Balanchine's legacy and into the modern era. Glass Pieces set a new model for the company and for American ballet more broadly; in the decades since, almost a quarter of new works premiered at NYCB have been choreographed to minimalist music. Yet neither musicologists nor dance scholars have addressed the growing relationship between minimalism and dance in this period.In this paper, I show how Robbins used minimalist music in order to remake NYCB's image for the 1980s. The choreography took advantage of minimalism's dual time structures. Over the rapid pulse, Robbins encouraged the corps to act like rushing crowds or cogs in a machine. At the same time, to the music's glacially slow rate of change, Robbins staged achingly expansive dances for his soloists. Glass Pieces is thus both a celebration and criticism of the 1980s, a paean to the brutal exhilaration of Wall Street set over a lyrical dirge for neglected workers. As such, Robbins's work provides a way of understanding the relationship between an embodied experience of minimalist music and twentieth-century city life. I argue that Robbins's continual juxtaposition of faceless masses with calm, powerful soloists evoked the audience's feelings of subjectivity while living in a dense, mechanized city. The ballet thus addressed similar themes to Godfrey Reggio's film Koyaanisqatsi, released in the previous year and also featuring music by Glass. But unlike Reggio, Robbins consistently pulled away from the dehumanizing elements of minimalism and moved towards a subjective, even Romantic, interpretation of the score. Drawing on archival sources at the New York Public Library, including Robbins's extensive diagrams of Glass's music, correspondence with the composer and his agents, and rehearsal footage from the ballet's creation, I show how Robbins used Glass's music to stage what it felt like to be a New Yorker in the 1980s.

In a 1957 High Fidelity review of Columbia Records' The Complete Music of Anton Webern, an album that included the first recordings of most of Webern's oeuvre, Alfred Frankenstein registered his surprise at the "heavy emphasis on the voice." "Singers avoid him because of the difficulty of his music," Frankenstein noted, "but roughly half of his total output is vocal." Many others made similar remarks. In the decades since, Webern's vocal music has achieved a somewhat higher profile, but it remains overshadowed by the aphoristic miniatures and rigorously organized twelve-tone works-both largely instrumental genres-for which he is best known.Yet vocal works and the vocalists who perform them have played a key role in the reception of Webern's music. Chief among the latter group are sopranos, since fourteen of Webern's seventeen published works for voices feature a soprano soloist. In the 1950s, as the "instrumental" image of Webern was being refined at Darmstadt, an alternative view of the composer was emerging from the United States. Bethany Beardslee gave posthumous premieres of three Webern works in New York and drew acclaim for the "astonishing accuracy and style" of her recordings for Dial Records. Marni Nixon and Grace-Lynne Martin split Webern's fifteen works for soprano on the Columbia album, accomplishing what one critic had previously thought impossible: singing Webern's "cruel vocal lines neatly, accurately, with expression and without screaming."In this paper I present new findings on how the response to these performances shaped the reception of Webern's music-for better and for worse. At times, the lyricism and religiosity of Webern's vocal works paved the way for favorable reappraisals of his music more generally, anticipating the richly nuanced approaches to Webern that emerged in the scholarship of the 1990s. At other times, ideas about what vocal music and female vocalists should sound like dominated the discourse. Beardslee, Nixon, and Martin earned praise for weathering the extreme technical challenges of Webern's soprano lines, but those same challenges led some to recoil at a perceived harshness which reflected poorly on composer and vocalist alike. I conclude, then, with a consideration of how performing Webern's music shaped these vocalists' artistic and professional lives. 

Known today for recording country music and R&B/soul artists such as James Brown, in its early years, Syd Nathan's King Records also recorded jazz. After the demise of an artistically satisfying if not financially lucrative association with Moe Asch and his eponymous label, pianist-composer Mary Lou Williams sought to secure a regular, long-term recording contract. Hopeful, she recorded eight sides for King Records in 1949 and 1950. My paper examines this time in her career through detailed study of the archival evidence. Letters, contracts, royalty statements, and business and personal correspondence document what transpired between Williams and King Records. Nathan and her manager, Joe Glaser, tended to dismiss Williams as troublesome and to ignore her concerns. Yet, seeking to maintain both artistic integrity and freedom, she pushed back against both. Her struggle with King is illustrative not just of her alone, but of a paradigmatic shift then taking place in jazz. The record industry and consumer tastes were changing: independent labels like King filled a niche, recording emerging musics such as jump blues, rhythm and blues, and rock'n'roll. Through Williams's interactions with Nathan and Glaser, we see her own agency. We also come to understand Williams's complex negotiation of the power imbalances between performer and the producer and label, and the intersections of race and gender in three key areas. First, despite pressure to record more accessible material, Williams recorded bebop tunes, including the experimental "In the Land of Oo-Bla Dee." Second, as King lacked the distribution and promotion networks required for jazz recordings, Williams resorted to promoting these recordings herself at personal expense. Finally, by demanding full financial accounting from her label, she challenged King's and industry business practices that exploited musicians.

It is a cliché of the history of recording that the first phonographs favored middle-register sounds and that female singers and speakers were not reproduced well by the technology.  It is certainly the case that women played little part in the early American and European recording industries, which during the 1890s and early 1900s centered on a noisy boys' club of brass band ensembles, male monologists, and tenors and baritones singing popular hits.In this paper I will draw on a long-forgotten historical episode and ideas from sound studies and technofeminism to propose a new way of thinking about early recording's "woman problem".  The episode concerns the inventor-entrepreneur Gianni Bettini, who for fifteen years in turn-of-the-century New York City and Paris made and sold recordings of opera singers.  He did so using a specially-designed stylus attachment, the "micro-phonograph," and from the first his activities were bound up with gender and specifically the idea that he had found a way to "successfully record and reproduce the Female Voice".  Bettini's claims are borne out by the surviving evidence, which shows that he worked with a large number of female performers, and produced recordings of them that were acoustically rich and detailed.  Bettini's case reveals the true nature of early recording's "problem", which was not in the end with women but with the recording industries themselves and their practices and values.  These practices and values were limited and rooted in the phonograph's past as a scientific, historical-archival, and/or stenographic device.  Bettini and his team sought to promote other ways of interacting with recorded sound, a project in which they were ultimately only partly successful.

During the 1950s artists working in the genre of exotica (e.g. Les Baxter and Martin Denny) incorporated "jungle" sounds into their music through non-verbal expressions such as birdcalls, amphibian croaks, primate sounds, whoops and grunts, along with programmatic themes of Africa, Hawai'i, the Harem, the Orient, and the Jungle. This technique of exoticizing both standards and original songs is recognized as an identifying characteristic of the genre, which is often held up as an example of post-war kitsch. Thirty years later, during the 1990s, a nostalgic impulse generated the "lounge music" revival in which easy listening mid-century styles such as exotica were hailed as an antidote to mainstream "alternative" music. Participants in the lounge revival tended to emphasize the weirdness of this music, often portraying it as a generic anomaly that was in direct opposition- generationally and aesthetically-to other styles of the 1950s. Scholarly approaches to understanding what exotica was historically have situated it in the Western art music tradition by drawing attention to not only the use of birdsong, but to other compositional techniques as well. Rebecca Leydon (2003), Phil Ford (2008), and Philip Hayward (1999), provide a range of useful analytical models, but rarely have the connections between exotica and other popular music genres been made. My paper counters the retroactive revival narrative and broadens the discussion by drawing attention to similarities between exotica and other popular styles such as rock 'n' roll, rockabilly, rhythm and blues, doo-wop, and surf, through their related use of exotic novelty sounds and themes. That these sounds traversed a crowded landscape of diverse styles and artists challenges the accepted historical narrative of exotica as a type of unique outlier, and places it in a relational network of circulating sounds and discourses. Drawing from theories of genre (Brackett 2016; Fabbri 1982), and tracing the genealogy of select musical exoticisms, I examine the preoccupation with the exotic during the 1950s which afforded a standardized way of communicating cultural and transnational exchanges as artists leaned into the search for "new sounds." Broadly, I will explore how musical boundaries are constructed and how these boundaries can be reevaluated thereby allowing new connections to emerge.

Liberace entered the sprawling scene of US pop culture in 1952 emceeing a TV show that initially garnered higher ratings than _I Love Lucy_. _The Liberace Show_ presented staples of the classical piano repertoire in abridged versions that cut the "dull parts" and liberally added orchestrations. Liberace's heterodox practices predictably outraged prominent music critics, who ridiculed his performances and eventually deemed him the incarnation of kitsch. Turning from aesthetic criticism to an archaeological analysis of media, I examine the presentation of classical music in _The Liberace Show_ through the theory of remediation formulated by Jay Bolter and Richard Grusin. As per Bolter and Grusin, remediation entails the "representation of one medium in another," a transmedial process predicated on a "double logic" that seeks to "erase all traces of mediation in the very act of multiplying them."Analyzing archival videos, I show how the radical alterations exerted on piano music by Beethoven, Schubert, Chopin, and Liszt were inextricably tied to the telegenic mise-en-scènes staged for each episode, adapting the music to the syntax of television within the new media landscape emerging in the 1950s. Applying Bolter and Grusin's theory, I discuss how the show remediated not only the classical pieces performed by Liberace but more importantly, his live entertainer persona to nurture an intimate bond with home viewers that became captivated by the host's charming presence. I contend that this dual remediation of musical text and televisual persona drastically collapsed the specificity of performance medium that modern critics construed as immanent to the work-concept. This collapse of medium specificity substantiated an audiovisual conception of piano performance that dramatized the musical continuum in the cinematic fashion of Hollywood Golden Age's melodramas. My analysis concludes by scrutinizing how the show cut and reshuffled the form of each piece, manipulating the sensuous temporality elicited by the music to deliver the new kind of domestic immediacy enabled by television. I ultimately argue that in their iconoclastic difference, Liberace's audiovisual remediations disclose that musical form itself is a technology that manipulates time through sound and media in order to afford memorable experiences of immediacy.

There is nothing inherently gendered about stereo equipment. Midcentury issues of _High Fidelity_ magazine, however, would have the readers believe differently. An advertisement for Pilot Stereo in January 1960 proclaims that, "Pilot Stereo components are all 'men.' Each is a strong link in any system. Each is as responsive an instrument as you could demand." This quip correlates modular audio technology, masculine strength, and the male homosocial bonding opportunities that emerged through engagement with high fidelity (hi-fi) technology. Modular audio systems-or systems in which components such as the amplifier, receiver, and speakers are sold separately-permitted hi-fi enthusiasts to mix-and-match equipment and customize their home listening experience. Advertisements for components appealed to the reader's ability to discern quality equipment and encouraged audiophiles to audition, discuss, and tinker with devices. Rhetoric throughout _High Fidelity_ points to the formation of audile techniques specific to home audio. These techniques privileged listening to systems that could produce a wide frequency range at a high volume, but with minimal noise from the equipment. Audio enthusiasts considered hum and distortion annoyances that required repair, either by adjusting settings or replacing components. Despite the apparent normalization of hi-fi sound, magazine contributors also encouraged development of individual listening preferences and framed hi-fi systems as an expression of a man's skills and tastes.   In this presentation, I analyze the rhetoric and images used in advertisements for modular components to shed light on the masculinized listening techniques that formed around home audio equipment. I argue that the techniques modeled in _High Fidelity_ reproduced a constellation of masculinist constructions that emerged in the U.S. midcentury. A "Hi-Fi man" was affluent, technologically skilled, had refined taste, and the way he listened was a performance of these traits. Advertisements in _High Fidelity_ not only served to sell products, but also demonstrated how, when, where, with whom, and to what music the "Hi-Fi man" should listen. Drawing on work by Keir Keightley, Tim Anderson, Jonathan Sterne, Marc Perlman, and Michael Kimmel, I conclude that these constructions continue to influence gendered rhetoric and sound technology consumption today.

Janelle Monaè's _Dirty Computer: An Emotion Picture_ (2018) presents an operatic drama of queer capture and fugitivity in a dystopian near-future America. Jane 57821 (Monaè), a bisexual black woman and political dissident, has been arrested along with her lovers Zen and Chè, classified as a "dirty computer," and subjected to a "cleaning" procedure that will erase her memories. As Jane lies strapped to an operating table, helpless against the administration of "Nevermind" gas, we are exposed to rich audiovisual vignettes of queer black sex, love, and friendship, which resonate and then dissapate into the sterile silence of the cleaning facility. But Jane manages to hold onto some of her own memories, ultimately escaping from the facility with the help of Zen and Chè. Responses to Dirty Computer have reinscribed celebratory liberal rhetorics of multiculturalism, creative self-expression, and reformative politics, overlooking the film's more nuanced semiotic interrogation of white liberal personhood itself. This paper mobilizes feminist psychoanalyitic theory and Afropessimist critiques of subjectivity to approach Dirty Computer as an allegorical 'return of the real,' in which whiteness is ultimately destroyed through the encounter with the black female abject. My treatment of the raced and gendered psychodynamics of Dirty Computer contributes to an ongoing project of addressing feminist analysis and queer-of-color critique to the performative and political conditions of operatic form, broadly concieved. Through an intertextual reading of Kristevan and Afropessmimist discourses on primary abjection, lack, refusal and disidentification, I consider how the materialities of voice, instrumentation, sound design, image, and choreography function to disrupt symbolic logics of whiteness and heteropatriarchy in Monaè's Dirty Computer and other recent intermedia works that join black radical politics, popular musical conventions and operatic narrative structure into a synergistic semiotic assemblage. In this unstable space of genre crossings and aesthetic ruptures, we may seek for the resistance of the object and the possibility of queer black liberation.

From an elaborately decorated music room in Harlem – overflowing with scores, scrapbooks, and busts of Beethoven and Wagner – the African American composer Harry Lawrence Freeman wrote opera after opera. Ambitious and prolific, Freeman wrote his first opera in 1893 and continued to compose until his death in 1954. His twenty-plus operas are conceptually rich works that explore the African diasporic past in epic registers. Yet there is a sharp tension between the scale of Freeman's ambitions and the reality he faced. He struggled to secure performance opportunities due to financial challenges, racist dismissals, and a lack of interest from both black and white audiences. Most of his operas never left that room.Building upon work by David Gutkin, Kira Thurman, and Naomi André, I argue that nonperformance became a crucial factor in shaping Freeman's operatic imagination – but not necessarily a limiting one. Perhaps counterintuitively, the marginalization of his work enabled an unusually generative relationship to opera's characteristic qualities of artifice, extravagance, and grandeur. I first analyze one of Freeman's earliest operas, The Martyr. An original story that revises grand-opera conventions to engage substantively with issues of racial and religious difference, The Martyr exemplifies Freeman's aesthetic and intellectual commitments; additionally, its checkered performance history illuminates Freeman's ongoing struggle to reach the operagoing public. I then show how Freeman used print culture – writing, scrapbooking, and archiving – to secure his legacy. Print became an expressive vehicle more accessible than the operatic stage and, as such, a means of self-creation through which he could insist upon his own historical significance.Ultimately, Freeman's compositional trajectory complicates a dominant narrative of African American composition in which early-twentieth-century composers are described primarily in terms of unrealized potential. Samuel Floyd, for instance, wrote that Will Marion Cook and William L. Dawson "had ambitions and talent that transcended what they accomplished," and Alex Ross characterizes these and other black composers as the "absent center" of American composition. Attention to Freeman's life and legacy helps reorient analyses of early-twentieth-century African American musical culture away from centers and mainstreams, and toward the many musical possibilities that, beyond such spaces, thrived and flourished.

The name of Sissieretta Jones, the "Black Patti," moved trains, illuminated marquees, and filled theaters across the United States in the early twentieth century. Jones began her career as a concert singer in the mid-1880s, and, from 1896-1916, headlined the Black Patti Troubadours, an African American theatrical troupe that performed comic sketches and opera scenes on the vaudeville stage. I will examine how Jones created her prima donna persona through archival holdings including those at Howard University, the Schomburg Center, and the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, some of which are heretofore unexplored. Jones has not often been connected to the tradition of the operatic prima donna, likely because she only performed on the concert and vaudeville stages. I argue, however, that she assumed the role of the diva – both talented and demanding, balancing femininity and independence – in order to craft a career singing opera on concert and vaudeville stages. This study adds to recent research on black opera performance by Naomi André (2018), who largely focused on the 20th century, and Kira Thurman's European work (2013) with my focus on the 19th-century United States, as well as work on prima donnas and performer agency in "classical" music by Katherine Preston, Susan Rutherford, and Hilary Poriss by examining how a black woman inhabited the role. Jones knew that she would never be given a fair hearing in her time: foregrounding her agency illuminates how she was able to make choices and create a stage for herself nevertheless.

Over the course of its nineteen-year existence, the Philadelphia-based American Music Theater Festival (AMTF) garnered a national reputation for fostering and presenting innovative, often experimental, works that blurred the lines between opera, theater, and musical theater. Its location was key to its success: far enough from New York City to cultivate a spirit of creative independence, but close enough to take advantage of the larger city's talent pool. This geographic and institutional balancing act was part of AMTF from its inception in 1983, when the festival's co-founders Marjorie Samoff and Eric Salzman threw their support behind Anthony Davis's nascent opera X: The Life and Times of Malcolm X, which went on to receive its official premiere at New York City Opera (NYCO) in 1986.This paper uses AMTF and the development history of X to examine the role of festivals and institutional networks in the creation of new American operas, as well as the inter-institutional politics, mechanisms, and aesthetics of contemporary opera production. Over the course of its four-year gestation, X (or portions thereof) was developed through The Kitchen, Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM), NYCO, Springfield Symphony, and AMTF. The heterogeneity of these institutions perhaps is best illustrated by the fact that when X came to NYCO, Davis and the opera's creative team became the first artists to--in effect--racially integrate NYCO's nearly all-white orchestra by requiring the inclusion of Davis's jazz ensemble, Episteme.Drawing on new interviews with Davis, Samoff, and others, as well as archival materials held at BAM, the New York Public Library, and Davis's personal files, I argue that AMTF functioned as an artistic incubator whose dedication to aesthetic experimentation was matched by an equally strong commitment to political progressivism. This latter, unstated element of AMTF's mission resulted in a short-term transfer of institutional values, one with significant economic ramifications for NYCO. Ultimately, I build on Naomi André's work on black opera and William Robin's studies of new music institutions to reveal and critique the racial topography of American opera in the 1980s and its legacy today.

The National Negro Opera Company (NNOC) was founded in 1941 to provide performance opportunities to African American singers who were denied roles in mainstream opera houses. My paper argues that the NNOC, which survived until 1962, reflects aesthetic and political conflict over the following question: should African Americans embrace the western canon in adherence to the principle of racial uplift associated with the Harlem Renaissance or create art that addresses their racial heritage? To support this argument, I examine the NNOC's mission statement, concert reviews, and programming. In the 1903 book, _The Negro Problem_, W.E.B. Du Bois promoted racial uplift, according to which elite well-educated African Americans – the "talented tenth" – would improve the cultural level and public perception of their people by consuming and imitating Western European fine art. The NNOC's mission statement supports this strategy with its aim to "Establish the proper appreciation and cultural background that Opera offers." However, the NNOC did not meekly accept the white bourgeois values transmitted through opera. The mission statement also urges composers to "create more interest in composition in the Operatic field using the background of Negro Folk Tunes," thus advancing a definition of fine art that includes African American cultural products and pushes opera to be more black.Reviews from mainstream newspapers show the difficulty of fulfilling this two-pronged aim. The _Chicago Tribune_ criticized the company's production of _La Traviata_ for copying white man's opera instead of "breaking its own ground in search of something racial." The reviewer wanted the NNOC to create a 'racial' opera held apart from Grand Opera. This would fulfill the NNOC's stated goal of performing art with ties to the racial heritage of the performers without challenging the coding of opera as exclusively white. Growing disillusionment with racial uplift and the integration of mainstream opera houses produced changes in the NNOC's programming. Initially, the company established its legitimacy through operatic classics by Verdi and Gounod, whereas later it concentrated on works by African American composers. Examining the NNOC renders visible the strategies and challenges of deconstructing the hegemonic whiteness of classical music. 

For cloistered religious during the European Middle Ages, sacralized narrations of the tortures of virgin martyrs facilitated erotic display under the cover of disavowal. David Frankfurter (2009) has considered "prurience into sado-erotic violence" in early Christianity, arguing that violence depicted in saints' vitae permitted "masochistic identification with victims' eroticized brutalization and dissolution." During the late Middle Ages, music was a primary vehicle by which the vitae of virgin martyrs were meditated upon, and its role in heightening the erotic impact of violence must be brought to bear on the history and reception of liturgical cults.Unique among plainchant liturgies for saints, an office for St. Katherine of Alexandria composed in England around the turn of the twelfth century directly quotes a woman's speech as Katherine declares Christian doctrine; her female embodiment is highlighted through text and expansions in melodic range; her social disruption is mirrored by musical instability. Communities performed Katherine's speech, identifying with her gendered transgressions but simultaneously reveling in her punishment as the precocious woman was tortured for her crimes against both civic and gender normativity--an increasing concern for ecclesiastical writers steeped in the Gregorian Reforms during the twelfth century. The sung delivery of these texts resulted in a communally performed voyeurism, but also a performance of transgression and torture, as singers contended with the musical and physical demands of the melodies.  The depiction of speech and authority linked with female bodies would become all the more pertinent during "the Anarchy" in England when the Empress Matilda claimed the throne as regnant queen. This paper concludes with a consideration of how the this Office could be read in relation to the gendered political discourse of the mid-twelfth century, examining it in light of anxieties about ruling women.

Although Advent was a time of penitential preparation, its solemn mood was often inflected by joyous anticipation of Christ's nativity, especially in the streets of medieval Paris. No saint exemplified the festive aspects of clerical and lay celebrations more than the ever-popular patron of clerics and schoolchildren, St. Nicholas, whose highly-feted 6 December feast fell toward the beginning of Advent. As a saint also praised for abstinence and moderation, St. Nicholas was an ideal role model for the simultaneously festive and penitential  season. Yet, despite the importance of Advent and its banner saint within liturgical and extraliturgical practices, musical accretions for season and saint are rarely discussed. In this paper, I look to thirteenth-century Parisian sources of polyphony for musical and poetic evidence demonstrating not only a link between saint and season but also the reconciling of Advent's inherent tensions between penance and rejoicing through the figure of St. Nicholas.           Pulling together narrative strands from St. Nicholas's vita with the Advent liturgy and popular customs in medieval Paris, I connect the devotional framework of one motet for the saint, Psallat Chorus-Eximie-APTATUR, to the dichotomous Advent season. In so doing, I reveal previously unnoticed intertextual relationships between two additional motets on the tenor DOCEBIT ("he will lead") and Psallat chorus-Eximie-APTATUR. My identification of textual and theological themes shared among these motets and the Advent liturgy highlights a thematically and textually integrated collection of polyphony commemorating saint and season in equal parts. Moreover, I argue that the seasonal themes of spiritual leadership and festive celebration narrated in these motets are intimately tied to cultic veneration of St. Nicholas. Through examination of this tightly woven complex of music, text, and liturgy in thirteenth-century Paris, Nicholas emerges as a saintly and musical beacon of Advent and its dual poles of repentance and joy. 

The late medieval church of Sint-Jan in the Netherlandish town of 's-Hertogenbosch cultivated unique local devotions to the widely venerated apostle, St John the Evangelist.  Most notable are the five annual feasts, two of which are unknown elsewhere in Western Christendom-John's Exile on the Island of Patmos (27 September) and Return from Exile (3 December).  While Patmos figured prominently in the Western iconography of John's prophetic vision and writing of the Apocalypse, this event was largely overlooked in the Western Johannine liturgy, with but a cursory reference in two antiphons from the modally-ordered series sung at Matins across medieval Europe.  In dedicating two high-ranking feasts to John's exile, the 's-Hertogenbosch clergy thus faced a problem: How to embellish the standard Western liturgical narrative in sufficient detail?   By quoting excerpts from a fifth-century text of Syrian origin-the Acts of John by Prochorus-in the Matins lections and composing new verse and music for the accompanying responsories, the 's-Hertogenbosch clergy effectively synthesized Eastern and Western narratives of John's evangelical and prophetic activities on Patmos.  My analysis of a previously-ignored liturgical book-the Festorum compositorum ecclesie collegiate sancti Ioannis-sheds new light on local reception of the Prochorus Acts, widely disseminated in Byzantium but little known in the Latin West.  Through careful study of the eight extant Latin copies, I identify the probable source for the Sint-Jan lections and consider what the hagiographic context in which this text circulated might reveal about its local significance.  While the lections contradict the Western prophetic association of Patmos by imagining this island as the locus for John's preaching and writing of the Gospel, the corresponding responsories call on John as both an apostle and a prophet-attributes that merge in the musical form and melodic embellishment of these previously unstudied chants.  I argue that by giving equal voice to John's twin identities, the clergy of Sint-Jan may have sought to position themselves as mediators between the priestly and monastic vocations.  More broadly, this case study explores Eastern influence on the Western liturgy and considers how conflicting hagiographic narratives might be reconciled through liturgical song.

Scholars of nineteenth-century German music have documented discourses of art religion (_Kunstreligion_), in which wordless music assumed a spiritual dimension that could transport listeners to a transcendent, absolute realm. Performers and composers functioned as transmitters of this transcendence, supposedly subsuming their subjectivity in service to a higher good. Arguably this discourse was best exemplified in the reception of Clara Schumann (1819--1896) and those in her circle, construed by Eduard Hanslick as a "priesthood of art" in 1869. In studies of Schumann and her colleague, singer Amalie Joachim, scholars investigate how contemporary notions of gender influenced their reception (Klassen, Borchard, Stefaniak); however, no studies to date explore how the art-religious category of priesthood, malleable as it was, functioned as an example of gendered discourse.I argue that the artistic priesthood offered a kind of alternative gendered space---neither fully masculine nor feminine---that could accommodate exceptional performing mothers such as Schumann as well as the bachelor composer-pianist Johannes Brahms. The notion originated during the Romantic literary movement of the early nineteenth century, which, according to literary scholar Lothar Pikulik, equated normality with failure. Given intellectual and social developments in German-speaking lands around 1850, Romantic discourses of the artist-priest should have faded away as outmoded, yet they persisted in spite of critical backlash. The gendered exceptionality also persisted in the face of an increasingly prescriptive masculine-feminine dichotomy, which in turn developed thanks to the burgeoning movement for women's rights.In the case of Brahms, my analysis reveals gendered nuances and ambiguities that have been overlooked in earlier studies that focus on his masculinized reception (Citron, Gerards). Rather, I argue that this masculinized reception developed with the ongoing nineteenth-century polarization of gender roles, particularly the reduction of public emotional display for men, and in response to the very gendered ambiguity of the artistic priesthood. Whereas Brahms's reception in the 1860s aligns more with the art-religious rhetoric of priesthood like that of Schumann, by the later 1880s, this ambiguity is replaced by a reception that positions Brahms as a masculine representative of bourgeois heteronormativity.

With the release of her album Switched-On Bach in 1968, Wendy Carlos brought widespread attention to the Moog synthesizer, helping to popularize the use of electronic instruments outside of academic circles. Several authors have written about the importance of Carlos's work in the history of electronic composition (e.g., Vail 2000, Holmes 2002, Miller 2004); however, scholars have only recently begun to discuss her use of technology from a sociocultural perspective.Previous scholarship has drawn associations between Carlos's technological proficiency and transgender identity. Judith Periano, discussing the association of gender, sexuality, and synthesizers, suggests that Carlos, "being herself a product of technology, must have felt an affinity with the synthesizer" (Periano 2014 p. 300). Sasha Geffen, drawing on Donna Haraway (Haraway 2004), characterizes the technologies behind Carlos's synthesizer and vocoder compositions as "disrupt[ing] the natural voice… in favor of a gender-disobedient cyborg voice" (Geffen 2018). Both authors suggest a movement away from a purely human state towards a technological one; however, Carlos's discussions of her own compositional philosophy appear to be at odds with this interpretation of her music.In this paper, I argue for a conception of Carlos's music as moving toward a human state from within the domain of electronic composition, rather than the other way around. Drawing upon Carlos's frequent references in interviews and other first-hand sources to a "human element" in her music, I focus on three primary factors of her compositional philosophy. First, Carlos associated humanity with parameters traditionally valued in Western classical composition; she believed that most early electroacoustic composers lost touch with humanity by severely undervaluing these parameters. Second, the high degree of importance Carlos placed on orchestration led her to favor precise control over timbre as a means of better approximating the nuance of a seasoned acoustic performer. By contrast, she lamented the loss of human performative nuance brought about by prepackaged synthesizer patches and drum machines. Finally, her more experimental works, such as the album Beauty in the Beast (1986), still value the musical parameters Carlos associated with humanity, even as they overturn certain fundamental assumptions of the Western classical tradition.

Most studies of professional European concert orchestras consider women players to have been a rarity before World War II. While resistance to female string players had all but vanished by the turn of the century, the numerous women graduating from Europe's conservatories posed a challenge to the concert orchestra's ideals. Émile Vuillermoz noted the so-called "Peril rose" (1912) which threatened to undermine the seriousness of orchestras should women be admitted: the conspicuous presence of women's bodies, their "pretty profiles" and "fine white hands" revealed recent music's loss of masculine "vigor" and "intellectualism." Literature on women's orchestras and other ensembles similarly reveals the gendering of orchestras, where women's professional orchestras were often regarded as popular entertainment or visual spectacle. [Santella 2012; Ellis 1999.] However, as Marie Daubresse revealed in 1904 ["La femme musicienne d'orchestre"], women played in two prominent Paris orchestras: that of the Schola Cantorum, and the Concerts Colonne. Drawing on program books, iconography and journalism, this paper extends earlier studies of these orchestras and their repertoire [Pasler 2012, 1998] to explore how women's bodies were positioned in these mixed-gender concert orchestras. Through an examination of discourse on the physical requirements of instrumental performance, women's clothing, comportment, and orchestral reception, I explore how the bodies of women orchestral players were alternately eroticized and disciplined in the context of French ideals of femininity, modernity, and nation. The orchestral body's idealized collectivity and its historical emphasis on work over worker have led it to be largely overlooked in musicological embodiment studies, but consideration of women's roles in the orchestra reveals the very ambiguities between individual embodied experience and the social body that have characterized body histories [Canning 2006]. This paper thus not only renders visible women whose contribution to orchestral history has long remained obscure, but also invites us to reconsider the terms on which that history has often been constructed.

In the late 1930s, clarinetist and bandleader Benny Goodman (1909–86) represented the epitome of swing music and the American entertainment industry. Around the same time, he also added classical repertoire to his performance and recording portfolio, even commissioning numerous composers to write new pieces for him (counting compositions by Bartók, Milhaud, Hindemith, Copland, and others). In this paper, I examine a yet unnoticed but crucial figure in that context: Eric Simon (1907–92), a Viennese-born clarinetist and conductor who fled the Nazi regime in 1938 and, along with multiple other activities in the New York music scene, became Goodman's teacher for classical clarinet technique in 1940. Although scholars such as Walter Pass, Gerhard Scheit, and Wilhelm Svoboda (1995) as well as Horst Weber and Manuela Schwartz (2003) have described elements of Simon's biography in the context of migration studies, his relationship with Goodman has not yet garnered more than a footnote in the literature.In 1941, Goodman turned to Simon for recommendations on which composers to ask for new clarinet concertos. Drawing on his own involvement in European immigrant networks, Simon suggested Paul Hindemith and Darius Milhaud, and then negotiated the contractual terms with them in Goodman's name. Newly found sources, in the form of fascinating correspondence preserved at UCLA and the Hindemith Institute Frankfurt, shed light on Simon's position as an intermediary in these collaborations and reveal how Simon balanced diverse interests: Goodman's, the composers', and, not least, his own. A major part of Simon's career was dedicated to the promotion of new music and European modernist composers. Bringing these together with an icon of American music served this purpose very well.In addition, I compare the Hindemith/Milhaud projects with Goodman's very first classical commission: Bela Bartók's Contrasts (1938/39). This was mediated by the violinist Joseph Szigeti, aiming to support the financially struggling composer, as recently shown by Bartók scholars Tibor Tallián (2017) and Vera Lampert (2018). Goodman's early commissioning projects, as I argue, were primarily instigated by intermediaries, using their own networks and realizing their own agendas. Taking up on Howard Becker's socio-cultural concept of art worlds (1982), I not only present a new perspective on the described examples but also more generally on artistic collaborations and labor division in the sphere of Western art music in the twentieth century.

Founded with an aim to "reimagine the expressive potential of the human voice," the vocal octet Roomful of Teeth has ventured into non-Western and non-classical singing traditions. The group's occupation with idiosyncratic singing techniques requires its singers to work closely with composers to collaboratively design compositions that suit individual vocalists' technical abilities and preferences. This close interaction between the singers and composers often results in compositional details that are present in performances but absent from the score. On the surface, such devoted collaboration seems to challenge the ideal of Werktreue (Goehr 1992), since a written score and composer's intentions do not necessarily stand as authoritative. Yet, William Robin argues that under the conditions of neoliberalism, specially devised pieces serve as a significant brand identity for an ensemble to distinguish itself from others in a crowded marketplace (2018). Such conditions thus authorize Roomful of Teeth's performances and recordings of compositions written specifically for the group, while hindering other vocal ensembles from delivering sanctioned interpretations. In this sense, collaborative working relationships between composers and performers lead to practices that re-subscribe to, instead of denouncing, the Werktreue ideal. This paper examines the power dynamics between contemporary composers and performers through the compositional and rehearsal processes of composer Mary Kouyoumdjian's Mustard Sweatshirts are Forever (2019) for Roomful of Teeth. My research combines score and recording analyses with an ethnographic study of the group's residency at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art in 2018, as well as interviews with the group's composers, singers, and music director. Such close collaboration between composers and performers create complexities of authorship, when the authenticity of a work depends on its "original" performers as much as its composer. It presents an alternative mode of musical creativity in the new-music scene, suggesting different pathways toward producing, presenting, and canonizing classical music in the early twenty-first century. 

This paper concerns musical composition as intellectual practice on the Swahili coast. The late Kenyan Swahili musician Zein l'Abdin (1932-2016) developed an "Arabic" (kiarabu) style of the Swahili taarab music that blended elements of Egyptian, Yemeni, and coastal African musics. During the 1970s in the Kenyan port city of Mombasa, Zein developed his "Arabic" repertoire in collaboration with a fellow transplant from the northern-coast island of Lamu, the renowned Swahili poet Ahmed Sheikh Nabhany (1927-2017). Zein and Nabhany shared a vision of Lamu as the wellspring of an authentic Swahili culture that was fast disappearing. Anthropologist Kai Kresse (2007), drawing on indigenous Swahili conceptions of philosophy (falsafa), has described Nabhany's efforts to "preserve" (kuhifadhi) Swahili culture through poetic composition as a form of "philosophizing." In the first part of this paper, I argue that the musical settings that Zein composed in collaboration with Nabhany constitute a musical strand of Nabhany's philosophical project, and should therefore be understood as works of musical philosophizing. My ethnographic data reveal that Zein articulated a theory of Swahili culture in sound that was fully comprehensible to his collaborators and fans, even if it was not translatable into words. The second part of this paper works to bring Zein's musical philosophizing into dialogue with written scholarship. Taking a hermeneutic approach to his compositions, I describe how he situated musical style as a medium for reflecting, and reflecting on, what may be called, borrowing a coinage from Jean-Loup Amselle (1998), the "originary syncretism" of Swahili culture.

In March 2019 Janelle Monáe inducted Janet Jackson into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  During her speech Monáe spoke about Jackson's third album _Control_ (1986) saying, "Working with her trusted collaborators, her tribe, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, she created a unique and unforgettable sound…it was like a big bang happened…_Control_ is one of the greatest breakout moments in music history..."  _Control_ blended elements of pop, R&B, hip hop, electro, industrial, and funk into something fresh that crossed over genre lines and appealed to diverse audiences.  Thematically the album tied messages of personal and artistic control to a strong feminist philosophy.  This presentation traces the intersection of two musical journeys and examines how diverse experiences and sounds allowed the musicians' involved to finally assert their "control."Janet's story thrust her into the limelight when she was only seven years old, appearing on television with her brothers in The Jackson Five.  She signed a recording contract at sixteen, but the "Jackson" label overshadowed her own artistic vision.  During a now infamous appearance on _American Bandstand_ in 1984, Dick Clark talks to her about her family before telling her, "I think you're just the sweetest little thing I ever saw."  Janet looks uncomfortable - that's when she goes to Minneapolis.  The second story traces James "Jimmy Jam" Harris III and Terry Lewis through several bands in their hometown of Minneapolis, MN, and into the orbit of rising superstar Prince as members of the band The Time.  While there, Jam and Lewis further developed the "Minneapolis Sound," a synthesizer fueled musical stew that sidestepped musical and racial stereotypes.  Once Jam and Lewis left Prince, they worked on their own sound, producing artists including Climax, The S.O.S Band, Cheryl Lynn, and The Force M.D.'s.  Then they connected with Janet.A final analysis of two key songs from the album, "Control" and "Nasty," demonstrates how Jam and Lewis refined their songwriting and production into a perfect counterpart to Janet's lyrical and melodic mastery – combining elements of both musical journeys and asserting their own destiny.  This is a story about control.  Are we ready?

In recent years, musicologists have turned to music education as an object of historical study, illustrated by an uptick in dissertations, conferences, and articles addressing pedagogical topics. Inspired in part by contemporary efforts to rethink the curricular organization of music departments, an interest in the historical roots of our pedagogical present has opened up rich arenas of investigation that have thus far received little scholarly attention.As historians of science have long recognized, pedagogy is essential to the production and circulation of skill and knowledge, and therefore to generating and sustaining expert communities. In this regard, music is no exception. Music pedagogy, like the musical practices that it makes possible, is subject to considerable historical and geographical variation. From this perspective, analyzing music pedagogy can help explain not only the reproduction of musical knowledge and practice, but also how novel modes of musicking, thinking, and feeling come into being. We suggest that analyzing pedagogical cultures will spur musicologists to expand the purview of music-historical inquiry and to rethink established disciplinary problematics. These include the emergence of Werktreue as the dominant paradigm of musical performance during the late nineteenth century, discourses of the musical mind and body, and relationships among ideology, canon formation, and musical institutions. Relatedly, music education has functioned as a critical point of contact between musical practice and other ideological, epistemological, and technical formations, such as the human sciences and state-led projects of public reform.Comprised of six position papers, this workshop takes stock of these developments, considering the potential conceptual, historiographical, and empirical problematics that this newfound interest in the history of music education may generate. Focusing on Chopin and Liszt, Michael Weinstein-Reiman examines the nineteenth-century piano étude in light of changing conceptualizations of touch and virtuosity, theorizing the genre as an artistic mediation of physiological and spiritualist notions of musical training. Fanny Gribenski analyzes the Paris Conservatory as a laboratory of our sonic modernity, focusing on how the institution promoted new acoustical standards during the mid-nineteenth century that continue to shape global soundscapes to this day. Joshua Navon discusses shifting modes of assessing human musicality in German music conservatories in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Beginning by suggesting that most modern music pedagogies are classic forms of what Bernard Stiegler has called psychopower, Benjamin Steege questions the necessity of this status by turning to the case of early Dalcroze instructor Gustav Güldenstein, whose early career demonstrated an unusually critical stance toward psychological knowledge during the Weimar Republic. Taking up a tension at the core of James M. Trotter's 1878 treatise Music and Some Highly Musical People regarding the racialized nature of musicality, Lindsay Wright examines the historical relationship between music education, whiteness, and discourses of citizenship in the United States. Finally, examining body-based music pedagogies in the German Democratic Republic, Anicia Timberlake shows how abstract ideals such as "socialism" took on emotional, experiential meaning, and proposes a link between mature political citizenship and the process of learning to be musical.

This panel brings together scholars with a broad expertise in Jewish music topics to discuss how we can approach the study of Jewish music in the classroom and what role the Jewish Studies and Music Study Group should play in the future of Jewish music scholarship. The session will include remarks from our panelists and then an open discussion on such topics as ways to incorporate Jewish music into our standard music history curriculums, what the place of Jewish music scholarship is in musicological discourse, and how our study group should play a part in those areas and in promoting Jewish music studies as a whole.

In this paper, I investigate the sounded urban liminality of the 2016 promenade performances of The Passion by Streetwise Opera in Campfield Market in Manchester, England where performers, listeners, and composers metaphorically (and literally) co-perform in what I call a Third Sound Space. As an abridged English-language version of JS Bach's St. Matthew Passion, the one-hour production calls for eight Jesuses, employs theatrical action, mixes amateur and professional singing, includes new music by James Macmillan, contrasts video projection with up-close staging, and requires performers and listeners (who stand) to move throughout the venue. Moreover, the production engages homeless and formerly homeless Manchester residents alongside the singers of The Sixteen, a professional modern-instrument orchestra, and early-music conductor Harry Christophers.  Emphasizing subjective perceptions of this soundspace, I provide a close reading shaped by my interviews with performers, directors and audience members, and draw conceptual connections between early musicking and Thirdspace thinking through Soja, Lossau, and Fischer-Lichte's rereadings of Lefebvre and Bhabha's postmodern geographies. Through a performative lens calibrated by my interviews, I unpack the spatial, temporal, vocational, and thematic liminality of The Passion as experienced within fixed polarities ranging from mobility-immobility to liveness-reality to closeness-distance to amateur-professional. Within these multiple liminalities, The Passion signifies to listeners two juxtaposed storylines: the explicit Passion of Christ with the more implicit one of the Manchester homeless.

Pleasure gardens first came to prominence in early eighteenth-century London as venues where visitors from diverse social strata could promenade about the walks, enjoy entertainments, and see and be seen. Writing in 1709, Daniel Defoe distinguishes seven social classes in England, including a group he describes as "the middle sort . . . who live the best, and consume the most . . . and with whom the general wealth of this nation is found." Recognizing the potential to profit from the newfound wealth of the "middle sort," entrepreneurs marketed new leisure activities to them, including trips to London's three chief pleasure gardens: Vauxhall, Ranelagh, and Marylebone. Although garden refreshments were notoriously overpriced, the modest admission charge enabled even those from the poorer classes to attend at least occasionally. At the other end of the social spectrum, the attendance of royal family members enhanced the prestige of the gardens. Music presided over all, facilitating exchanges amongst the classes and providing unprecedented opportunities for social emulation--whereby the "middle sort" could imitate their social superiors, and could themselves be admired and imitated.Per contemporary newspapers, Haydn was one of the most frequently featured composers in English pleasure garden performances during the second half of the eighteenth century. Although advertisements for instrumental pieces rarely referenced keys, titles, or other identifying characteristics, London's Vauxhall Gardens advertised performances of Haydn's Symphony "La Chasse" ("The Hunt") throughout the 1780s and 1790s. Taking Vauxhall performances of this symphony as its primary case study, this presentation will explore how sonic evocations of the hunt interfaced with the dynamic musical and social atmosphere of the pleasure gardens. While music on the continent functioned primarily as an instrument of the court and aristocracy, music in eighteenth-century England expressed and catered to the values of a broader public. Departing from extensive previous scholarship on the hunt as a musical and cultural topic on the continent, this presentation will consider the hunt's musical and cultural significance in an English context. Ultimately, Vauxhall performances of Haydn's symphony brought the hunt--an activity emblematic of social status--to the ears and minds of diverse audiences.

Orlando Gibbons's _The Cries of London I and II_ (c. 1610), one of many pieces emulating the cries of vendors in marketplaces, provides a rare glimpse into the sonic landscape of early modern London and its working people. His use of melodies employed by hawkers and street vendors left a record of lower-class people's voices lost to history. At times the music's vocal parts imitate each other, but often they sing unique tunes and texts to advertise their products. Gibbons's work differs from the earlier piece by Clément Janequin, _Voulez ouyr les cris de Paris_ (c. 1530), which utilized far more imitation and punctuating cadences. The resulting aural effect of _Cries of London_ provides listeners with an experience of walking through a street market.Music scholars such as Lucy Broadwood and A.G. Gilchrist -- and more recently Nors S. Josephson and David Fiala -- have explored the history and musical style of this repertoire. However, this music takes on new meaning when placed in the context of scholarship on sound and urban geographies, such as the work done by Jennie Middleton and Eric Wilson. This paper uses _The Map of Early Modern London_ (MoEML) and recent scholarship on London's street markets to show the distribution of markets and areas of industry, locating sites of street cries such as those in _Cries of London_ and charting the sonic territories of the city. I then use works by visual artists and writers such as Marcellus Laroon, William Hogarth, Samuel Pepys, and Henry Mayhew -- including Mayhew's rare interviews of London's poor from 1851 -- to provide further detail about the environment of London's streets and the people that Gibbons, Pepys, John Gay, and others writing about street life might have encountered.While this paper covers a broad time frame, it reveals commonalities and continuities between the street life of the early modern city and the early nineteenth century. Its people experienced similar hardships and participated in separate yet lively street cultures. In these works of art, music, and literature, the voices of those anonymous street people lingered long after they passed into history. By mapping these sonic territories, I hope to illustrate how their labor and voices marked London's pre-industrial soundscape.

Opera pervaded Parisian salons during the nineteenth century. At residential concerts pianists improvised fantasies on favorite opera themes and singers performed popular arias that sustained public focus on successful works. Operas in progress were also routinely previewed in the salon to measure the audience's response. In this regard, the salon is traditionally viewed as venue for curating operatic ideas, but not for staging operas themselves. This premise, however, is complicated by salon opéra, one-act musical comedies specifically created for residential performance that proliferated between 1850 to 1870. Patrons such as Gioachino Rossini, Madame Gaveaux-Sabatier, and Princess Mathilde Bonaparte played an important role in propelling the popularity of the genre, cultivating works by composers Jean-Baptiste Weckerlin, Gustave Nadaud, and librettist Gallope d'Onquaire, among others. While salon opéra was a seemingly transient fashion, its history has broader ramifications in salon and opera studies. In this paper, I contend that the genre sparked innovation as librettists and composers reimagined the operatic stage in residential space. Using the material decorations and interior architecture of the hosting residence as the theatrical set, salon opéra creators sought to surround the audience in the dramatic action. Moreover, the opera scenes routinely required characters to communicate from adjacent rooms, to sing across closed doors, and even to speak through open windows, as exemplified in D'Onquaire's compendium of libretti entitled Le spectacle au coin de feu (1865). These immersive elements were not only novel, but the multidimensional staging was incorporated into the plot development. A close analysis of Nadaud's Docteur Vieuxtemps (1854) shows how interspatial scenes are used as a dramatic device, providing the circumstances for misunderstanding and the opportunity for veiled trickery. As salon opéra resonated widely in Paris, metropolitan theaters, such as Offenbach's Bouffes-Parisiens, seemed to take a cue from the residential genre, presenting works with similarly deconstructive approaches to staging and musical comedy. This study not only sheds light on a branch of opera that has warrants further historical attention, but it illustrates how the material space of the salon ultimately played an important role in propelling generic innovation. 

Born in Palermo, Sicily and trained under Nicola Zingarelli in Naples, Errico Petrella was the most-performed living composer in Italy after Verdi throughout the 1850s and 1860s. His operas featured in the seasons of both major and minor theatres, and selected numbers were performed by wind bands and travelling opera companies all over the world. Based on Edward Bulwer-Lytton's historical novel The Last Days of Pompeii (1834), Jone was his most popular opera. Virtually unknown today, it premiered at Milan's La Scala in 1858 and was produced on countless Italian stages (and elsewhere) well into the early twentieth century. By the time of the composer's death in 1877, Jone's Act 4 marcia funebre had achieved something of an iconic cultural status. Originally composed for a banda sul palco, the piece, which announces the doom of the young Athenian Glauco as he is led to the circus to be devoured by the beasts, had an extensive circulation in manifold wind band contexts. Its main role in late nineteenth-century Italy was in funeral rituals, as contemporary descriptions of their variegated affective landscape attest. Not only that, however, for it also grew into a central feature of the Holy Week processions-specifically the Good Friday re-enactment of Christ's Passion-that have for centuries taken place in areas of Southern and Central Italy, accompanied by municipal bands. At a time when Italian wind bands were on the rise and their original military roles were being rewritten and expanded in new civic contexts, I suggest that the dissemination of Jone's march sheds light on key aspects of shifting Italian musical and death cultures. At once a common denominator of grief and mourning across the peninsula and an object of emerging ethnographic investigations, in the final decades of the century Petrella's marcia funebre served as an "emotional arena" (to borrow Mark Seymour's terminology) in which tensions between public and private, the everyday and the exotic, and bodily discipline and emotional excess were again and again negotiated through music.

Ecphrasis is the depiction of a visual work of art in a piece of literature, as in Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn"; its rhetorical power comes from attempts at persuasion and emotional evocation (D'Angelo, 1998). Further, ecphrasis allows the writer to assume some authorship of the depicted object, reinterpreting it through emotional, biased description. Siglind Bruhn (2000) approaches musical ecphrasis as a post-program-music form, developed only in the twentieth century. I apply the term more widely, conceiving of musical ecphrasis not as a genre but as a tool, just as traditional ecphrasis is a literary device and not a poetic genre.In music, narrative theories argue for the validity of emotional description as a means of analysis, for the importance of the distinction between story and discourse, and for relevance of social and cultural implications of narrative (Maus, 1991; Almén, 2008). Despite the root of opera fantasias in text-based music, issues of narrative in textless instrumental music bleed into opera fantasias, and issues of the analysis and manipulation inherent in narration also offer helpful lenses for examining fantasias. In this paper I argue that opera fantasias illustrate an "ecphractic" impulse both to depict a work of art in a different genre and to reassign authorship of a work through interpretation. In an opera fantasia, a composer reuses and alters not only Verdi's or Donizetti's music but also his characters and structure. I use fantasia composer Antonio Pasculli as a case study, contending that his manipulation of opera plots often reclaims a happy ending for the leading female character. His combination of the oboe (a "female" instrument), a female character, and "male" virtuosity perhaps lends these operatic women some agency. Because of the distinctions that can be made within narrative theory between the composer and the narrator, narrative theory offers a helpful means of avoiding issues of composer intentions when writing about how music can both reflect its context and critique it, offering a lens with which to look at the ways in which fantasias fit into or struggle against the society and culture in which they were composed. Fantasias, for example, can reflect contemporary gender norms, both reinforcing traditional associations between instruments and gender characteristics and offering means of escape from or subversion of constrictive gendered opera plots, without the composer making an overt or even purposeful statement. Simultaneously, narrative theory offers a way to discuss the form of fantasias, which resist analysis along traditional structural lines. For fantasias traditional formal and harmonic analyses are not particularly fruitful as interpretive tools, yet generic paradigms play an important role in understanding fantasias and their reception. It is selectivity that gives ecphrasis its power, offering the possibility of deepening or subverting characteristics of the original work, and that raises ecphrastic descriptions and opera fantasias alike from reporting to reinterpreting. I argue that ecphrasis offers a useful lens for approaching opera fantasias, explicating frequently critiqued partiality and inaccuracy and revealing narrative trajectories within these works.

Chaya Czernowin and Wieland Hoban's monodrama _Algae_ (2009) teems with life and lurches toward death, flora "crumbling into bloom" as a narrator torn by "inner voices" shuffles toward self-destruction. Similarities to Lieder of Schubert, Robert Schumann, Gustav Mahler, Wolf, and others abound, in both the nature-fixated text and the relationship between inhuman yet narrating piano and despondent, voiced persona. Yet given Czernowin's post-tonal idiom, saturated with breath and other sounds of indeterminate pitch, the harmonic twists that render the nature-human divide and the dissolution of subjectivity audible in Romantic song lie beyond reach. One solution: to exaggerate differences between the wailing solo Bass and mechanistic piano through divergent means of sonic flux. The pianist can, and does, bend time. Feathered beaming and "drunken rhythm" pervade the part. The singer bends pitch, landing in the cracks between the piano's equal-tempered gamut. In this talk, I argue that Hoban's updated poetic Romanticism finds vivid musical expression in Czernowin's score, in particular her microtonal vocal writing.Composers of the nineteenth century seldom called for microtonal effects, yet they lived and worked in a time of acoustical research that raised its specter, and against a backdrop of cultural obsessions with nature that included the harmonic series. Drawing on the work of David Trippett, Francesca Brittan, and Holly Watkins, as well as my and others' interviews with the composer, I make a case for reading Czernowin as an artist of new-complexity means toward hyper-Romantic ends. Microtonality plays an integral part in this drama of musical fixity and flux. Just as Romantic artists explored mysteries of microscopic life, the sublimity of flora and mountains, and the constitution and dissolution of inner life through new timbres, textures, and techniques, so does Czernowin explore ideas of nature and selfhood, life and death, and rationality and madness through moments of microtonality. Ultimately, I look back to Czernowin's training, influences, and entire oeuvre as part of a broader, more speculative inquiry, to plumb the depths of the composer's organic and – to borrow from Watkins – "biotic aesthetics" of musical creation.

Musicologists have reflected on Adorno's writings for nearly five decades but given scant attention to the German sociologist Norbert Elias, whose essay "Kitschstil und Kitschzeitalter" (1935) analyzes kitsch as a relational, not a pejorative, category. In Elias's conception, Kitschstil, exerting its force on nearly all works of art after the later eighteenth century, affected not only popular music, but also canonical works from Beethoven to Wagner and beyond. Elias and Adorno both worked in Frankfurt between 1929 and 1933 but produced their writings on kitsch independently of one another. Elias traced the emergence of kitsch to the decline of court society and the dilution of craft traditions. Kitschstil belongs to an industrial society where artistic forms are unstable and increasingly individualized. "Kitsch" points to the constant risk of formlessness in romantic and modern art; it is a germ latent within even the greatest works, and indeed, its strongest potential for development lies in compositions created out of originality unconstrained by prescribed tastes and traditions--precisely the sorts of works Adorno would exclude from the domain of kitsch (for Adorno, originality and independence are alien to kitsch).I argue that in comparison to Adorno's contemporaneous writings on kitsch, Elias offers a heuristic alternative and a broader historical range. Adorno tends to re-enforce our received ideas about post-Enlightenment music and therefore also flatters our confidence in definitions of kitsch and what may be excluded from it. Because Elias weakens the evaluative dimension of the word, associating it instead with changes in social conditions, his conception instills radical doubt about the scope of kitsch, compels us to ask questions about the social inflection of forms, and truly invites us to re-imagine the historiography of nineteenth-century music. This paper will propose examples from symphonic music by Gounod and Mahler to explicate the tension between these two disparate concepts of kitsch in music. Contrary to Adorno, Elias would have detected the residue of the "form-creating strength of court society" in Gounod; whereas Mahler's symphonic work shows the true compass of "the kitsch style, with its specifically new greatness and smallness."

The 2018 publication in Women & Music of a group of articles that emerged from the 2016 symposium "Race-ing Queer Music Scholarship" heralded some new possibilities for a queer/trans of color music studies. Within this special issue, Stephan Pennington and Elías Krell in particular laid the groundwork for what could be a trans music studies that places racial formations on equal footing with gender subjectivity. In this paper, I consider the possibilities of such a trans music studies that is also hemispheric in scope, centering transnational flows and diaspora in its critical approach. Drawing on long-term ethnographic research, I examine the ways that transgender transformistas (gender performers) in Cuba describe their racial and sexual subjectivities in relation to their creative practice. Through their performances and their self-narration, these cultural workers suggest a complex and dynamic relationship between performance and subjectivity, one that complicates the often neatly drawn lines between gender performers and transgender people in both Cuban studies and scholarship on drag performance. Following these transformistas' lead, then, I attend to the transnational discourses of race and sex that link the history of gender performance to contemporary understandings of transgender subjectivity. In particular, I consider certain transformistas' engagement with the term travesti, a category of femme transgender subjectivity that is deployed throughout Latin America, to explore some meaningful relationships between performance, gender subjectivity, and racial formations throughout the hemisphere. Through this work, I wonder what scholarship on drag performance would look like if it centered transgender subjectivities, and I point to discussions in transgender studies that have emerged from analyses of performance and performers. Finally, I consider what future directions this encourages for music studies and suggest that further dialogue between transgender studies and music might invigorate ongoing discussions about historicity, transnationalism, and performance in both fields.

The highlight of the camp calendar comes each May, with the glorious glitter of the Eurovision Song Contest (ESC). In 2014, the ESC was won by Conchita Wurst--the bearded drag persona of Austrian singer Thomas Neuwirth--whose song 'Rise Like a Phoenix' is widely regarded to be the greatest Bond song that never was. The win firmly established Conchita as part of the queer canon of the ESC's historical highlights, a pantheon that includes space-queen Verka Serduckha (Ukraine, 2007) and trans woman Dana International (winning for Israel, 1998) among many others. In this paper, I will explore the intertextual web of vocal queerness triggered by 'Rise Like a Phoenix.' Taken by critics as a signal of deviant masculinity, Conchita's ESC-winning performance leads us directly to Shirley Bassey and the classic Bond canon. From there, we are catapulted into a long history of vocally excessive femininity, champions of which include not only Bassey--an African/English mixed-race Welshwoman--but also Barbra Streisand, Liza Minnelli, Sophie Tucker, and a rich tapestry woven of complexly racialised strands. The more recent Bond song repertoire, though, also features songs by Adele (who has been accused of 'blackvoicing' [Edgar 2014], of vocally appropriating the likes of Aretha Franklin, who in turn has covered Adele's 'Rolling in the Deep') and Sam Smith (who "had to grab [his] balls" in order to reach the highest notes of 'Writing's on the Wall,' and who has recently come out as non-binary). Meanwhile, Conchita's second studio album, From Vienna with Love (2018) is explicitly inspired by "mature ladies" such as Bassey, Cher, and Tina Turner; it includes covers of songs by Bassey and Streisand, unsurprisingly, but also of Smiths 'Writing's on the Wall.' Drawing on Elizabeth Freeman's notion of temporal drag (2011), I propose that Conchita opens up a vocal drag that ricochets temporally and racially through an intricate network of intertextual references, and that queer vocality needs to be read through always-already intersectional contexts of gender, race, and age.

As evident in Lil Nas X's public coming out in the summer of 2019, openly queer artists are garnering increasing acceptance within mainstream hip-hop. Discourses surrounding gender and sexuality in both the popular press and music scholarship, however, have largely ignored the role of openly queer Black women, especially those with masculine gender presentations. In recent years, female artists such as Young M.A and Syd have spoken openly about their experiences being queer rappers while simultaneously achieving commercial success, a rare feat in the genre. And yet, writing on queer hip-hop artists has continued to focus on men. In this paper, I examine lesbian rapper Young M.A's recent studio album, Herstory in the Making (2019) to demonstrate how she navigates hip-hop as a Black butch. Unlike other women rappers who balance a feminine gender presentation with a hardened, "masculine" lyrical approach (such as Nicki Minaj), or artists who are often read as queer but are not out (Queen Latifah, Missy Elliott), Young M.A. is explicit about her love for women, but often positions herself in performance as just one of the guys - a rapper who shares the aesthetics of her cisgender heterosexual male counterparts, but who just happens to be a woman. Cheryl L. Keyes positions black female rappers in a lineage with black women blues singers of the early twentieth century who rearticulate and redefine black female identity and use music as a site from which to "contest, protest, and affirm working-class ideologies of black womanhood" (2004, p. 187). I argue that rappers such as Young M.A also fit into this lineage as Black queer women - they exist on a continuum of Black queer music-making practices, but specifically articulate the intersections of race, gender, and sexuality for Black butches.

English Church Music studies have remained so predisposed towards an established historiographical narrative of the master-composer ideal that entire eras have been treated as decayed by scholars, mainly for a failure to produce a singular figure that could rival London's imported musicality from the European continent. One of the most notable victims of this historiographical tendency is the Georgian-era, and specifically the musical culture, including its music, that existed and flourished within many Anglican Cathedrals. Therefore, how cathedral foundations fared during this period effectively remains elusive in published scholarship, given the lack of detailed study on institutions. To remedy such treatment, this study examines York Minster as an institutional model, thus establishing a template for detailed inquiry on English cathedrals' administrative practices and musical functionality over an extended period. Detailed examination of this cathedral's Chapter Acts, treasury accounts and vicar choral papers demonstrate not a moribund institution but, rather, one that took great pains in regulating ecclesiastical and musical discipline. Furthermore, the administrative work of the cathedral's precentor, William Mason (1762-1797), demonstrates musical vitality through the piloted use of a music scheme, whereby a regular rotation of canticles and anthems would be sung, and mandatory choir rehearsals instigated-authenticated by extant part-books and manuscripts which show the implementation and use of this musical rotation. What is more, Mason's music scheme provides tangible evidence that a printed musical rotation system was in practice over 100 years before John Stainer (1840-1901) supposedly instituted a similar arrangement at St Paul's Cathedral in the late-nineteenth century. Through the detailed examination of York Minster from 1760-1800, this study provides documentable ecclesiastic and musical ingenuity in the face of the challenges of this era, thus contesting the existing generalised narrative in previous published scholarship. 

The reconstruction of performance practice in early modern Italy is hampered by extant musical sources that are often incomplete and omit instrumental parts other than continuo. Therefore, the re-creation of this repertory involves a combination of detective work, archival study, and a great deal of conjecture. Tim Carter and Stephen Bonta, among others have shown that performance practices in early modern Italy relied on the mixed use of voices and instruments. Archival records show that Bergamo employed an unusually large number of instrumentalists, though their activities and repertory remain shrouded in mystery. No surviving scores from early _Seicento_ Bergamo indicate trombone, for example, but the basilica Santa Maria Maggiore regularly employed up to five trombonists. What did they play and how often were they expected in the church? Drawing from the rich archives of Bergamo's Biblioteca Civica Angelo Mai, this paper engages an unexpected source from the early _Seicento_: musicians complaining about their salaries.For example, in an effort to negotiate a raise, the trombonist Sedio Aresio wrote to the confraternity Misericordia Maggiore in 1606, the governing body of Santa Maria Maggiore. To support his claim, he listed every day he was required by maestro di cappella Giovanni Cavaccio (d. 1626) to perform with the singers. The list included thirty-four specific days and that bass trombone was called for "every time they perform music for two choirs, as commanded by the maestro di cappella," confirming this instrument's designation for polychoral repertory, and also outlining the frequency of this type of music in Bergamo. Other letters, all of which contain grievances of low pay amidst economic turbulence brought on by external crises, could be quite specific, including which instrument doubled which written part according to the type of music and ensemble. Cross-referencing these letters with financial records, musician rosters, receipts, and previously unknown printed music from maestro Cavaccio, a picture emerges of performance practice for music that, on paper, is purely vocal. Additionally, based on the regularity of polychoral performance, Bergamo surfaces as a neglected site of almost unparalleled large-scale polyphonic spectacle in early _Seicento_ Italy.

This paper asks what the In Nomine tradition can tell us about the network of musicians who produced them. Built on a _cantus firmus_ from a section of a mass by John Taverner, the In Nomine emerged rapidly in mid-sixteenth-century England as a form cultivated exclusively by church musicians. The In Nomine has been characterized in modern scholarship, most importantly by Ian Woodfield, as pedagogical, serving as a "test piece" to exercise young musicians. I offer an expanded account: the In Nomine is a response by a community of musicians (mature musicians included) to the dramatic changes of the Reformation. Drawing on mobility theory and following Stephen Greenblatt's admonition that mobility must be taken literally before it can be extended metaphorically, I explore both the geographical networks (traversed by people, manuscripts, and instruments) and the more ephemeral social and performative networks among post-Reformation English church musicians. These networks, I argue, fostered the emergence and growth of the In Nomine.The In Nomine differs from other _cantus firmus_ traditions, such as the _Miserere_, in two respects, both of which point to the form's network-forming abilities. First, an In Nomine connects its composer not only to pre-Reformation practices but also to John Taverner specifically. Secondly, the In Nomine tradition is extensively intertextual, providing composers opportunities to converse covertly with each other within an insular and self-conscious network that traverses geographical and generational divides. Osbert Parsley, a singer who spent his entire career at Norwich cathedral, illustrates the strength of these networks. Too old to have been a choirboy when he wrote his In Nomines and far from the geographic center of London, Parsley nonetheless participated in the mobile network of In Nomine production. Expanding discussions of the social and ritual functions of post-Reformation _cantus firmus_ polyphony, I propose that the In Nomine emerged as a specific outlet for musicians whose daily embodied interactions had centered on the memorization and polyphonic elaboration of Sarum melodies. At a moment of what Andrew Gordon terms "memorial crisis," the In Nomine offered itself as a potent act of performative remembrance. 

            The _Berkeley Barb_ was an underground newspaper established by Max Scherr in Berkeley, California and published from 1965 to 1980. As one of the most influential newspapers produced by the ongoing counterculture, the _Berkeley Barb_ was instrumental in reporting on news and propagating writings concerning the anti-war movement, the Civil Rights movement, and the Free Speech movement. The purely historical value this newspaper provides is immense: it affords us intimate, ground-level insights into the cultural zeitgeist of the Bay Area during a period of intense ferment and activity. The _Barb_ was not, however, strictly dedicated to political news and commentary. It also provides exciting avenues from which to observe the ongoing development of the Bay Area musical culture from the mid-1960s to the end of the 1970s.            This paper provides an overview of the diverse and colorful cast of composers, artists, ensembles, and performance spaces covered in the pages of the _Berkeley Barb_ by drawing on voluminous pieces of criticism, concert calendars, and interviews that attest to the richness of the musical environment. I focus on such figures as Ben Jacopetti, Roland Young, and the San Francisco Mime Troupe; venues such as the Open Theater; and criticism relating to such watersheds as Woodstock, Altamont, and the failed Wild West Festival. These many and varied examples are illustrative of how the musical culture developed-as well as how it sometimes faltered-in the Bay Area of the 1960s and 1970s.

Around 1750, various elements came together to turn Berlin from a musical backwater to one of the leading European centers of music in both practice and theory. First, there was Frederick II's ascension in 1740 to the Prussian throne, which soon drew many notable musicians to the court. But equally important (and less recognized) was the creation of a robust public sphere of music theorizing and criticism, largely thanks to various periodicals issued by Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg. Marpurg's periodicals helped create a public sphere in which people of various walks of life could discuss and criticize music openly. From the beginning, Marpurg worked energetically to promote a national style for the German nation by heralding the music of influential contemporaries who were active in the German-speaking lands. In order to maximize the outreach of his periodicals, Marpurg appealed to amateurs as well as professionals, male and female readers alike. Over the following generation, the music-literary scene in Berlin soon became one of the most dynamic in all of Europe, covering all aspects of contemporary musical life while using the language and tools of the most progressive musical theories circulating in Europe.  The Seven Years' War (1756-63) serves as a useful dividing point between two distinct phases of this literary activity.  First, there was the pre-war generation of critics (e. g., Marpurg and Kirnberger) who reflected the conservative aesthetics of the court of Frederick II and looked upon operas by Graun and Hasse as the best models for contemporary music. After the war, there rose a newer generation of critics (e. g., Reichardt and Spazier) who extolled the works of Gluck and Mozart. Yet, these schools were united in the broader mission of advocating for a German national style that set itself apart from French and Italian models. While Forkel's 1802 biography of Bach is often cited as the beginning of the connection between music and nationalism in Germany, music theory and criticism can be seen to have functioned as a nation-building agent in periodicals in Berlin for at least half a century.

Published music criticism has played a disproportionate role in the historiography of opera in Russia in the first half of the nineteenth century. In addition to harvesting opera reviews for indications of the nation's musical self-awareness, scholars have mined them for factual details about opera troupes active in Russia, singer biographies, performance practices, day-to-day theater operations, and public perception of distinct national operatic traditions and of specific composers and their works. For the reign of Nicholas I (1825-1855)-I contend-this methodology is flawed and unsustainable, because the "facts" transmitted by the sources are, by and large, fictitious. Reviews systematically distorted the reality. Some reviews were state-commissioned; all were state-sanctioned. Even when written by writers from outside the official network, the censorship mechanism ensured that what reached the reading public reflected the political needs of the state. With the state imposing the narrative, opera reviews served to communicate Nicholas's cultural policy to the masses, in the process controlling public opinion of various state initiatives, shaping reception of operas and composers, manipulating expectations over new troupes and censored librettos, and projecting a sense of accomplishment.In this paper, I interrogate the nature of historical evidence contained in published music criticism from this period, while exploring the function of opera reviews in the context of Nicholas's cultural policy. To build my case, I first examine the state's philosophy of theater criticism as it was codified in Russia's censorship statutes of 1826 and 1828. I then present case studies, strategically selected from different junctures in Nicholas's ever-evolving opera project (e.g., importation of Italian opera troupes and modernization of the operatic repertoire), reading published reviews generated in these moments against corresponding state documents preserved in the Russian State Historical Archive. Such a juxtaposition affords a unique view of an inverse relationship between what was being reported in the press and the reality as captured by official documents. These documents make transparent the state's view of theater criticism as a tool for propaganda.

Johannes Ockeghem's chanson _Presque transi_ has sparked scholarly interest and debate for decades. Roediger recognized a correspondence between the first seven pitches of the Tenor voice and _Petite camusette_, a motivic affinity discounted by Reese for having no apparent effect on the remainder of the composition. The same motive plays a role in the contested identification of _Presque transi_ as the model of Ockeghem's equally enigmatic _Missa Mi-mi_ (Miyizaki, Fitch, Godt, and Picker). It also informs ongoing discussion of the solmization and influence of the chanson on later compositions (Besseler, Brown, Plamenac, Picker, Miyazaki, Duffin, and Rodin). While Plamenac and Wexler cite the lack of its apparent lack of imitation in _Presque transi_, Fitch describes surprising unifying devices which, notable in light of Ockeghem's reputation as an "anti-rationalist", illustrating Bernstein's description of Ockeghem's desire to obscure the underlying rationality of his compositional process. Another enigmatic element of the chanson is its lack of apparent musical contrast between refrain and couplet (Woetmann Christoffersen). Considering the unresolved questions raised about _Presque transi_, one might well echo Irving Godt, who in his analysis of _Missa Mi-mi_, calls for continuing "to search for a guiding principle behind any composition of this period". This paper identifies just such an underlying principle in _Presque transi_. Reducing its individual voices to the level of pitch-by filtering out rhythms and note repetitions-reveals a numerical and melodic structure that is simultaneously surprisingly simple and complex. Tenor and Cantus consist of an identical number of pitches, and all three voices share melodic patterns and permutations that yield with remarkable ease to numerical, symmetrical, and palindromic analysis. Each voice contains extensive passages that function as consonant counterpoint against themselves and other voices in retrograde and retrograde-inversion, with each of the melodic patterns forming the kernel of retrograde canons. Moreover, those those first seven pitches of the Tenor play a key role in its larger contrapuntal structure._Presque transi_ is not alone, for it shares melodic patterns and concealed symmetries with _Missa Quinti toni_, _Aultre Venus_, _Il ne m'en chault_, and _Au travail suis_ (strengthening the case for Ockeghem's authorship). Intriguingly, the same formal devices, seemingly endless circular motives, formal devices, and references to Fortune and Death that inform Ockeghem's _Presque transi_ are found in a small group of anonymous chansons in the manuscript El Escorial MS. IV.a.24. Symbolic links between their "endless" motivic circles and and unceasing Fortune are virtually inescapable.The identification of these underlying melodic and numerical patterns in Ockeghem's works not only sheds light on his compositional process and reputation as a mathematician, it argues for a fundamental reconsideration of the role of melodic patterns in the compositional process of fifteenth-century song and Mass.

While troubadour songs are commonly performed today with instrumental accompaniment, especially the vielle, there are only three troubadours famous enough for playing this medieval fiddle that it was recorded in their vidas. Some scholars, such as John Stevens and Christopher Page, associate instrumental accompaniment with a popular or "low style" of music contrasted to the "high style" of the court. Elizabeth Aubrey argues that this is an oversimplification of the complex and variable system of troubadour genres. In this study, I take an interdisciplinary approach to understanding the "low" status of instruments. With methods from sociology, art history, literary studies, and musical analysis, I look at the surviving evidence to consider the role of instruments within the troubadour repertory, and how this role changed over time. The concept of "three estates" provides a useful narrative frame because it illustrates a social hierarchy with static social mobility. As we follow the social life of the vielle, we see these categories blur and bend. The first estate, oratores (those who pray), consists of educated clergy who developed musical notation, wrote treatises on music quoting ancient authorities who marginalized instrumentalists, and preached against fraternizing with such performers. The second estate, bellatores (those who fight), includes aristocrats who patronized the troubadours or, in some cases, were also troubadours. The third estate, laboratores (those who work), comprises instrumentalists and joglars who worked closely with troubadours as messengers, carrying their songs from court to court. The three troubadours, known for playing the vielle, traverse these categories in interesting ways. Perdigon (fl. 1195-1220), son of a poor fisherman, earned land and rents through his musical skills. Elias Cairel (fl. 1204-1222), a gold-smith turned troubadour, fought on crusade. Both provide examples of the way music opened opportunities for social mobility. Pons de Capduelh (fl. 1190-1220), however, was a troubadour-baron during a time when aristocrats were not known for playing instruments. Using Actor-Network Theory as a basis for conceptualizing these multifaceted relationships, I suggest that the vielle helped establish these troubadours' reputation, and conversely, the status of the vielle was elevated by its role in fin'amor (courtly love) to the degree that it became acceptable for members of the aristocracy to play.    

The carol was a genre in flux during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries--a public spectacle, a sinful abomination, a fervent expression of piety. It appears to have been the most popular form of French social dance at the time of Chrétien of Troyes (Page, 1989, 111). Yet the sight of young men and women of every social class dancing the carol in churchyards and cemeteries sent contemporary preachers into fits. The Dominican Guillaume Peyraut derided the dance as a sin of physical contact, while in England John Bromyard decried caroling as a social evil. Some called it a Processio diaboli, others denounced it as a disgusting expression of lust and luxury (Page, 120). But by around 1300, Johannes de Grocheio would extol the virtues of caroling as a source of civic pride and moral rectitude (Ars musice, 12.2–3). We argue this sea change may be attributed to the wave of Franciscan preachers who in the 1220s washed into the urban European landscape, bent on a mission to interpret scripture, and preach penance with songs that were current and appealing.On the continent Franciscans typically adapted to local taste, reforming  dance songs like the carol, lauda, and cantiga. But William Herebert's English chant translations reveal a broader range of taste at play in late-medieval England. Over the past sixty years, scholarly debate concerning the songs of the  Franciscan theologian and preacher William Herebert (c. 1270–1333) has yielded several restrictive observations that have been stubbornly influential: that the poetry is ungainly; that his English chant translations could not have been sung; and that none of them should be classified as carols. In this presentation, we endeavor to refute all three of these totalizing statements, showing how Herebert manipulates his chant models, creating exegesis in song to use in his preaching.None of the nineteen English chant translations in the autograph copy of Herebert's Commonplace Book includes music (BL, Add. 46919). Yet nine of them may be adapted to the original chant melody without modification to yield strophic songs, one in the form of a carol. The remaining texts fall into place as irregular contrafacta when one follows the clues in Herebert's versification, together with corroborating evidence in the songs of other Franciscan composers active in late-medieval France, Germany, Spain, and the Netherlands. Studying William Herebert's irregular contrafacta gives one a glimpse of the creative genius, exploring programs of Christian exegesis while experimenting with verse forms that run the gamut of contemporary fashion: tail rhymes, frons and cauda forms, and carols. It might seem an impossible challenge for Herebert to have streamed together musical genres as seemingly diverse as the carol and chant. But this was the modus operandi for Franciscans. Placed in their proper historical context as exegesis and commonplaces of preaching, we argue that Herebert's English lyrics should be considered in the vanguard of taste and style among the wave of Franciscan songs designed for the urban masses of late-medieval Europe.

The Calabrian composer Giandomenico Martoretta's third book of madrigals (Venice: Gardano, 1554) is best known for its connections to Cyprus, which have recently been explored in work by Balsano, Pecoraro, and Kitsos. The book is dedicated to the Cypriot nobleman Piero Singlitico, with whom Martoretta reportedly stayed while returning from a trip to the Holy Land, and ten of its twenty-eight compositions are dedicated to important members of the Cypriot nobility. It also contains a musical setting of a Petrarchan poem in Cypriot Greek dialect, with a concordance in an important MS collection of Cypriot Petrarchan poetry.  Although Martoretta's time in Cyprus clearly dominates the volume, comparatively less attention has so far been paid to the book's other contents. The dedicatees of the non-Cypriot madrigals-aside from several reprints from Martoretta's first book (1548)-clearly lay out the rest of Martoretta's travel itinerary from Cyprus back through Venetian holdings in Crete, Dalmatia, and Istria to the city of Venice itself, where the composer was reportedly present at the time of its 1554 publication. The importance of the geographic and dedicatory elements as organising principles for the collection is further underlined by the publication history of Martoretta's only long madrigal cycle-a setting of Luigi Tansillo's canzone 'Amor, se vôi ch'io torni al giogo antico'. The cycle was split up for publication between the composer's second (1552) with the parts out of sequence. This paper examines the circumstances that likely led to the the piecemeal publication of the cycle, which was likely initiated without Martoretta's permission while he was away on his voyage to the east, and treats the cycle analytically for the first time as a complete work.

Scholars have known that sixteenth-century Venice was highly cosmopolitan, but the city's spoken environment has proven difficult to recover, not least because the output of Venetian presses projects a linguistic monoculture: Of the 15,000 Venetian vernacular editions printed from 1500-1600, very few were in Spanish (120), French (78), or German (3) (ustc.ac.uk). Consequently, the printed record obscures a vibrant soundworld of polyglot residents, travelers, and foreign merchants, drastically flattening our understanding of cultural diversity in the capital of this multi-ethnic empire. As Mikhail Bakhtin framed the problem, heteroglot realities were being suppressed by moves "toward the critical monoglossia characteristic of modern times" (_Dialogic Imagination_).Vernacular songs are an exception: the hundreds of greghesche, moresche, villancicos, tedesche, French chansons, and multilingual songs printed in Venice aptly channel the city's verbal riches. But they are rarely read as evidence of local speech communities. What if we follow Emily Wilbourne's lead (_JAMS_2010) and take these songs to be a "sonic record" of past voices? Instantly, they bring into earshot Venice's large minority communities-Greek, German, Jewish-and the "intense interanimation of languages" that fascinated Bakhtin. I begin by charting the social geography of Venice, but I also argue against simply identifying splintered constituencies and assigning songs to them, for more complex questions are raised by the totality of this generic hodgepodge: How did people communicate across languages in the city? How are heteroglot realities registered in song? In answering, I turn to sociolinguistics, showing how the verbal strategies of specific songs mirror the urban polyglottism currently being theorized as "metrolingualism": "the ways people of different and mixed backgrounds use, play with, and negotiate identities through language" (Otsuji/Pennycook_2015). In another group of songs by Janequin, I show how nonsense passages communicate using sonic codes and cospeech languages defined as "grammelot" (Jaffe-Berg_2001). By crediting early moderns with the linguistic resourcefulness of metrolinguals, we can understand why vernacular songs circulated beyond the linguistic borders of proto-nation-states and begin to invent critical frameworks that-likewise-go beyond "national" languages and literatures. Boisterous and polyvocal, metrolingualism promises big gains for future studies of cultural mobility and song.

Much has been written about the role Venice assigned to music in her ceremonial life (Bryant, Cumming, Fenlon, Rosand). This discussion has concentrated on the "myth of Venice," whose magnificent expressions in civic ritual stemmed from a sense of invulnerable self-government and grandeur. This confidence, however, was not immune to threats. The century-long fight against the Turks can surely be listed among the historical circumstances that corroded the Venetian spirit, deeply affecting the social and cultural life of the whole state. The escalation in the conflict during the 1560s generated an atmosphere of collective apprehension that was only reversed when the Turks were defeated at Lepanto in 1571. In his research on the repertory of celebratory pamphlets, poems, and music that followed the long-awaited victory, Iain Fenlon identified two recurrent _topoi_: the interpretation of Lepanto as Christ's victory and the assimilation of the Venetians to the Israelites as the "chosen people." My paper aims to extend this investigation to the period that preceded the victory, when the Serenissima was gripped in gloomy foreboding. Between 1569 and 1570, Venice experienced dreadful calamities, such as a terrible famine that exacerbated the anxiety around the growing Turkish pressure. In this desperate situation, the publication of a book of masses by Ippolito Baccusi and Giovanni Battista Falcidio (1570)-whose collaboration continued with two canzoni to celebrate Lepanto-can be seen as a response to contemporary events. All four masses, in fact, manifest non-casual insistence on the two aforementioned _topoi_ discussed by Fenlon, sometimes associated with images of ruin and despair. In Baccusi's mass _Aspice Domine_, based on a motet by Nicolas Gombert, the text of the model replaces the text of the Agnus Dei in the cantus and alto. A paraphrase of excerpts from the Lamentation of Jeremiah and Zechariah, _Aspice Domine_ is a prayer for the salvation of Jerusalem, desolate city once mistress of nations. The resulting modified Agnus Dei is a polytextual motet that combines this Old-Testament reference with the litanic prayer to Christ from the Gospel of John, providing a profound musical expression of Venice's spiritual dismay. 

In Richard Wagner's music dramas, voices and bodies often exist at the limits of hearing and presence, appearing only half visible on the stage and singing from afar or above the drama as it unfolds. Such is the case with Erda at the end of _Das Rheingold_, the young sailor who opens _Tristan und Isolde_, and the mysterious "voice from above" at the end of Act I of _Parsifal_. These characters sing prophetic visions, often of future crises. In some cases, these double as interpretations of music drama itself, especially in Erda's case ("alles was ist, endet!"). These characters and their sung passages, due to their liminality, offer different experiences of the time and space they share with other dramatis personae, particularly the protagonists with whom they directly interact.Wagner's philosophical theories of music drama make little mention of such personae. Often, their function in the plot is minor and short-lived. They push along a narrative point by momentarily guiding or warning the protagonist. I argue that these roles carry greater dramatic and ontological burdens, specific to the nature of Wagnerian music drama and its imagined limits of time and space. For example, in Erda's appearance in _Das Rheingold_, scene 4, she offers Wotan new knowledge-not only of the end of the gods-but of new spatial and temporal limits to the drama they inhabit. Her appearance, half on and half off the stage, troubles the boundaries of the stage-world. Similarly, the slow, primordial music that accompanies her ascent expands time by referring back to the beginning of the work; later in the same scene, she introduces music that foreshadows the ending of _Götterdämmerung_.The young sailor and the "voice from above" come to Isolde and Parsifal respectively from a similar _dramatic elsewhere_. Similar phenomena in Wagner have been noted by Adorno and Abbate, but their arguments center on the changing abilities of protagonists (Wotan, Brünnhilde, etc.) without conceptualizing the source of those abilities. That source, I argue, is the elsewhere, the edge of the stage and the limit of proscenia, where only minor dramatis personae dwell.

In 19th-century European literature, visual arts, and public entertainment, a fascination with an unstable, insubstantial, and sometimes invisible physical presence prevailed. I argue that this interest in an ambiguous body-or the lack thereof-was not merely a visual phenomenon. The challenges of portraying an ambiguous body inspired some composers to explore novel treatments of timbre, and to re-consider music's relationship to space and even the legitimacy of its alliance with sight in the case of offstage music. Overlapping with scientific interest in explaining visual and auditory perceptions, such explorations offer a productive angle from which to discuss artistic approaches to the intangible and the supernatural. In this paper, I show how composers' reading of the fluctuating body responded to developments in visual and auditory cultures in the 19th century. Taking Jonathan Crary's theory of suspended perception and selected philosophers' definitions of ontology as my theoretical reference points, I begin with presentations of the insubstantial body in magic lantern shows, silhouette painting, and literary works belonging to the genre of the grotesque, showing their appeal to readers and audiences. I analyze Thomas Young's and Hermann Helmholtz's writings on sound and auditory perception in the context of the culture of listening, especially changes in audience's behavior at concerts. I conclude with selected scenes from _Das Rheingold_, _Les contes d'Hoffmann_, and _Die Frau ohne Schatten_. I show how Wagner, Offenbach, and Strauss dramatized physical transformation and the disjunction between vision and music, and how this challenged Young's analogy between sight and sound, which has been taken too literally in scholarship on music and science.  Scholarship on music and the problematized body has been largely limited to opera studies. Here, I set this topic in a broader cultural context, in which composers' translations of physical fluctuation reflect their engagement with major trends in other disciplines. This approach enriches the discussion of music's relationship to iconography. In examining some composers' renderings of metamorphosis, an important topic in medieval cultural studies, I also offer a fresh perspective on medievalism in Romantic music. 

The De Bellis Collection at the San Francisco State University Library is a treasure trove of untapped resources for the study of eighteenth-century music. Among its highlights is an uncatalogued and hitherto unexplored group of some 40 manuscripts and librettos owned by Cecilia Davies, the first English soprano to triumph on the Italian opera seria stage. The musical material, some of it in Davies's own hand, is mostly unidentified. My initial sleuthing has yielded findings that help us approach an array of questions surrounding performers' lives and experiences during this era. Some pieces represent works by the era's leading composers for which no other materials are known to be extant. The ones she performed help us learn more about her voice, which, given Davies's famous European tours with her glass harmonica virtuosa sister, Marianne, reveal a striking element of her persona and point to its impact on her opera career. Davies was active as a music copyist, and comparing the De Bellis sources to others bearing her hand sheds light on this activity. A libretto in the collection documents an all-female production of an oratorio by Johann Adolf Hasse, Davies's teacher, in which she sang during her Naples sojourn that coincided with her debut as a prima donna. Scoring in some pieces attests to the particular strengths of local theatrical orchestras and offers new evidence on how collaboration must have worked. Contextualizing these findings within correspondence involving Benjamin Franklin, Pietro Metastasio, Davies's Venetian contact Giammaria Ortes, Hasse, and others, amplifies our view of celebrity's mechanisms.Davies evidently collected and carefully preserved music from throughout her career. This important new corpus, a type that is rare among eighteenth-century materials, helps us build bridges between the milieus of earlier star singers (such as rival sirens Faustina Bordoni and Francesca Cuzzoni) and that of the nineteenth century's divas. Representing more a closet than a suitcase, from which Davies drew insertion arias and other pieces, the collection and its myriad contexts enrich our understanding of celebrity culture and its function within Enlightenment-era Europe. 

As universities demand more of their faculty in teaching, research, and service, those who are teaching have increased responsibilities among already heavy teaching loads. Even contingent faculty without research and service expectations may teach across several institutions or have a large number of classes in one institution. Combined with all of this, faculty likely have family and personal responsibilities and the desire for self-care. For this reason, teaching and preparation can sometimes be stressful for faculty. This panel will present strategies for teaching methods that can be used by contingent and non-precarious faculty alike. Topics include tricks for giving students the tools they need to write better, quick grading strategies, handling heavy teaching loads within and across various institutions, ways to spread out and streamline the labor of grading and student feedback while maintaining high standards for that work, presenting diverse (and perhaps novel) ways of approaching the work such as student collaboration throughout the semester to create an on-line text/Wiki for the class, and negotiating work-life balance without sacrificing instructional integrity. Each panelist will give a short talk followed by an audience discussion of methods that they may have and wish to share.Panelists:Samantha Bassler (New York University and Rutgers University - Newark)Molly Breckling (University of West Georgia)Matilda Ertz (Youth Performing Arts School/University of Louisville)Luis-Manuel Garcia, (University of Birmingham)Brandi Neal (Coastal Carolina University)

Terri Lyne Carrington is the Artistic Director of The Berklee Institute of Jazz and Gender Justice, which she founded to address equitable practices in jazz education and the jazz community at large. Distinguished William B. Ransford Professor of English & Comparative Literature and African American Studies, Dr. Farah Jasmine Griffin, will discuss with Carrington the work and implications of challenging inequality and forging a new legacy for a more egalitarian jazz future.

Founded in 1900, the Berlin-based _Phonographische Zeitschrift_ was the leading German-language periodical devoted to the early sound recording business. Prior to the First World War, its house critic was the now little-remembered Max Chop (1862-1929), whose voluminous _PZ_ output included coverage of industry news, instructional consumer features, and weekly recording reviews. One subject to which Chop devoted special attention was the problem of the reproducibility of so-called "hypermodern" music-above all, that of Richard Strauss, whose _Elektra_ was then still new. In a series of columns discussing some of the earliest orchestral Strauss recordings, Chop went so far as to argue that his idiom precluded successful phonographic inscription. In a word, Strauss was not _plattenmöglich_ ("recordable").Informed by recent scholarship on auditory cultures and the senses, this paper examines Chop's 1911-13 reviews of Strauss opera extracts, concentrating on the argumentative sleights of hand by which he made that claim. Though Chop framed the problem in terms of the "acoustic membrane" and its technical affordances, his reasoning often shaded unmistakably into aesthetic valuation. This licensed a revival of older tropes about Straussian _Nervenkunst_: given the shared "tympanic function" linking human ear and acoustic membrane (Sterne 2003), the "unhealthy" nerves Chop located in Strauss's scores were, I show, effectively displaced onto the latter. For Chop, the acoustic membrane thus proved a discursive-material arbitrator of pathology, and so, musical value. It was, to use Carolyn Abbate's (2016) label, a technological "fabulist"-but one, I argue, whose tall tales ought not to be dismissed as mere misguided ideology.In excavating Chop's journalism, then, I contribute not only to Strauss reception history, as it pertains to the understudied collision between early modernism and early phonography. Above all, I indicate that Chop's curious ontology of the acoustic membrane is best understood as a symptom of the initial epistemic uncertainty surrounding the analog mediation of music. If subsequent technological advances would soon enough render Chop's complaints moot, his deployment of recording practice as aesthetic legitimizer reflected a moment in phonographic history when the ontology of musical reproduction was still up for grabs.

Between 1945 and 1952, the General Headquarters of Douglas MacArthur, Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (GHQ/SCAP), promoted political and cultural reforms to demilitarize and democratize post-war Japan. The Civil Information and Education Section (CI&E) was established as a non-military staff section of GHQ/SCAP to disseminate democratic values to the Japanese people. The music section was created under the Motion Picture Branch of CI&E to address a wide range of issues, including music education of the general public. With the cooperation of the Library Branch, they offered a weekly record concert series at CI&E libraries in major cities in Japan. For these concerts, they must have adopted the policy of the United States Office of War Information, advocated by Henry Cowell during World War II: spread both American music and music performed in American concert halls and theaters. Seiji Choki (2010) discussed the impact of such concerts on young artists and composers who later created an avant-garde art movement called Jikken Kobo [experimental workshop]. Choki also argued that these concerts allowed the public to access Western music, although American contemporary music did not take root in Japan, as GHQ/SCAP had originally planned. Regarding the concert program, however, Choki consulted secondary sources such as journal articles which focus on the repertoire at CI&E library in Tokyo. In this study, I examine declassified GHQ/SCAP documents that reveal the concert program at CI&E library in Sendai, the largest city in the northeast region in the main island. Examining the program notes for their weekly concerts, which have never been studied, I demonstrate that their repertoire consisted of "music performed in American concert halls" rather than "American music," from Domenico Scarlatti to Dmitri Shostakovich. This differed from the situation at the library in Tokyo, where American contemporary music was frequently heard. After speculating the reasons for these differences, I discuss the impact of CI&E library record concert series on the Japanese musical landscape today.

The commercialization of the phonograph as a domestic "musical instrument" at the turn of the twentieth century assigned to the United States a new place in the world's musical map. If the country's longstanding reliance on the transatlantic import of music and musicians had created a sense of cultural inferiority toward Europe, U.S. recording companies leveraged the American origin of recording technology and the technical skills and methods associated with it to stake a claim in the definition of an autochthonous form of art. These nationalistic undertones especially emerged after World War I, when phonograph manufacturers like Victor Talking Machine Company and Columbia Records sought to demonstrate their contribution to American culture through their involvement in Americanization campaigns and community pageants describing the history of specific cities. As several music scholars (Katz, Leppert, Seifert, Suisman) have discussed, recorded music could be depicted as an authentic American product because it was put on an ontological level separate from that of live performance. This separation, in turn, has been described as the result of an aggressive marketing strategy planned by recording industrialists and implemented by distributors and dealers acting on the local level. Yet, at a time when the market for home phonographs had just begun to consolidate in the country, the success of such a strategy could hardly rely only on a top-down organizational model. Rather, it also depended on the personal investment of local actors in the recording business and on their "improvisational" capacity to seize profit opportunities (Ospina Romero) and communicate with the management of recording companies in a relationship of mutual exchange. In this paper, I investigate the personal stakes of record dealers and distributors in the nationalistic project crafted by American recording companies in the first decades of the twentieth century. Drawing upon archival resources and contemporary trade publications and building on previous contributions in sociology and developmental psychology, I argue that different individuals who entered the music business as record and phonograph dealers used this professional experience to integrate their own personal life stories into the narrative of the phonograph as an American cultural product. 

The term "popular music" is as mysterious as it is common. Should we define it according to stylistic hallmarks? Should we define it in terms of audience demographics? Or the goals of its creators? The problem becomes particularly acute when we attempt to come up with a definition that incorporates music of the distant past.From a commercial standpoint, the most successful collection of music published in Leipzig during Johann Sebastian Bach's long tenure in that city was Johann Sigismund Scholze's _Sperontes Singende Muse an der Pleiße_ ("Sperontes' Singing Muse on the Pleiße [River]"). The first installment of 100 songs with figured bass appeared in 1736 and its immediate success inspired the production of three sequels of 50 songs each. The collection was imitated by many other composers and frequently reprinted over the next two decades. Individual songs survived in cultural memory well into the nineteenth century.A few of the most widely circulated songs from the _Singende Muse_ are strikingly misogynistic. Though its preface is addressed to "friends of my art, of both genders," the overwhelming majority of its songs imply a male speaker, who often opines on the insatiable sexual appetites and other alleged foibles of women. Some of the songs celebrate prostitution while others explicitly mock women who wished to enter the university or even earn doctoral degrees. The few songs featuring a female speaker were apparently intended to be delivered by a man in drag, ventriloquizing a woman's voice and attempting to illustrate the faults asserted to be characteristically feminine. The _Singende Muse_ has often been described as "popular music" of Bach's time and place but this characterization has never really been considered closely. My presentation will reexamine this collection in light of a hitherto unknown source: the primary author's manuscript estate catalog, prepared upon his death in 1750. Beyond offering a rare glimpse into the life of an extraordinarily successful eighteenth-century songwriter, this 100-page archival document offers insight into the identities of those with whom he collaborated, including students who helped J. S. Bach perform his sacred vocal music on Sunday mornings. The recognition that these young men (and no doubt others like them) performed passions, cantatas, and other large-scale vocal works in public and sang misogynistic songs in their free time invites us to reconsider the complex relationships between popular and elite musics. Bach's sacred vocal works functioned as the musical voice of church and state, speaking ostensibly for the majority in his community and thereby affirming values of solidarity, obedience to authority, respect for fellow Christians, and a view of women as idealized, fragile creatures requiring protection. The _Singende Muse_, by contrast, aimed to fulfill the fantasies of a subgroup, offering male university students an opportunity to share private desires that few were willing to publicly espouse. The equation of anti-social values and popularity here is worth considering as we seek to define the term "popular music."

Drug consumption has been linked with music making in Euro-American popular consciousness since the psychedelic '60s, but the interdependence of these activities has been in evidence well before this pivotal moment. Despite the relative dearth of scholarship on the matter, Western art music's history and aesthetics are inseparable from the cosmological, legal, and philosophical problems raised by drugs and their consumption. Embracing the mutability of the concept of a "drug," this paper seeks to open a space for what might be called a narcomusicology.Building on the work of drug historians such as David Courtwright and the decolonial theories of Sylvia Wynter, I draw on methodologies from the history of medicine and consciousness studies to explore the interdependence between late eighteenth century German musical aesthetics and contemporaneous coffee culture. Alternately hailed as a medicinal panacea and vilified as a dangerous drug, coffee exhibits all of the indeterminacy of a _pharmakon_-an ancient Greek word that means, among other things, both "medicine" and "poison." By the time Johann Georg Sulzer published his widely-read _Allgemeine Theorie der Schönen Künste_ in 1771, coffee drinking had spread to all classes of German society, even as its ethical and medicinal value continued to be debated. In his 1781 treatise on coffee entitled _Abhandlung vom Kaffee_ the German physician Franz Joseph Hofer articulates the representative concerns of his profession regarding the widespread consumption of the drug. This paper offers a comparative reading of Sulzer's _Theorie_ and Hofer's _Abhandlung_. I show how Sulzer's theorization of music's effects on mind, body, and spirit is virtually identical to Hofer's characterization of coffee's psychosomatic powers. Both texts present their respective objects of study as volatile _pharmakae_ in need of careful regulation: music, like coffee, is described as a nerve stimulant with the potential to incite both ethical behavior and moral degeneration. I ultimately argue that both Sulzer's _Theorie_ and Hofer's _Abhandlung_ leverage the discourses of sensibility and lifestyle medicine to enact what Wynter calls "the overrepresentation of Man," i.e. the naturalization of middle-class, male standards of behavior such that they come to represent human nature in general. 

All roads lead to Vienna. Or at least that is the impression conveyed in many studies of late eighteenth–century German music theater, as the operas created for the city have long been the benchmark for evaluating such works. But when, in 1786, the Mannheim concertmaster Ignaz Fränzl (1736–1811) arrived in the city having traveled those very roads to see "every theater in Germany," he "considered Vienna's...among the worst." If Fränzl is to be believed, his journey was no small feat, for the Holy Roman Empire was too diverse for a single _Nationaltheater_ and instead contained hundreds of theaters. His contemporaries made sense of their kaleidoscopic operatic world in periodicals, such as the _Theater–Kalender_ (1775–1800), in which theaters shared their activities and the latest operatic developments. Scholars have more recently confronted this issue by positioning Vienna as _the_ center of late eighteenth–century German opera. Yet in so doing, not only are they at odds with Fränzl's estimation, but they also fail to account for the underlying theatrical network to which he alluded in his letter and against which he measured Vienna's theaters.This paper reconstructs and investigates the realm of German–language music theater during the late eighteenth century. Through an examination of archival documents and periodicals, and aided by digital tools, I reveal that around 330 German–language companies performed in 266 locations throughout Central Europe in the decades leading up to 1800. I argue that this complex theatrical system spread evenly across a vast polity. Facilitated by an efficient postal network, many companies traveled to perform for both court and public audiences, informing one another of their activities in the process. Thus, my investigation not only forces reconsideration of traditional sites of eighteenth–century German opera, but also calls into question supposed divisions between elite and popular cultures. Given this vast and transcendent operatic space, it seems unlikely that Fränzl could have seen _every_ German theater. But he also did not need to: by considering the circulation of theatrical knowledge through missives and periodicals, he–like us–would be able to understand more fully the interconnected operatic world of late eighteenth–century Central Europe.

Gender, racial, social, historical, and cultural biases surround research and teaching of music theory and music history in multiple ways. While many of these biases have been acknowledged for several decades and have given way to various critical traditions in our disciplines, the musical repertory of research projects, publications, and theory and history classes often remains restricted to works of Western, white, and classical canon. This panel discussion therefore aims at suggesting and scrutinizing ways of "decentering" research and teaching methods in the area of 20th- and 21st-century music. In the past 150 years, various processes of globalization, transnationalism, and hybridization have made the cultural origins, codes, and affordances of musics fluid and unstable as established tropes of musical exoticism or Orientalism have been increasingly rejected and challenged in musical composition and music practices. More specifically, such processes are reflected and transformed in certain trends of pre- and especially post-1945 art, popular, and traditional musics that have been described, among others, as examples of musical interculturality. By bringing together scholars from historical musicology/history, ethnomusicology, and music theory, the panel discussion shall result in proposals for current/future readjustments of research and curricular goals. In order to frame the discussion, the participants will give short papers (10-15 minutes each) that explore the scope, methods, and approaches to musical interculturality, placing the focus on methodological and terminological questions within and across the disciplines of musicology, music theory/analysis, and ethnomusicology. These papers will be followed by 30 minutes of questions and answers.participantsYayoi Uno Everett (University of Illinois at Chicago)Christian Utz (University of Music and Performing Arts Graz)John Winzenburg (Hong Kong Baptist University)Nancy Yunhwa Rao (Rutgers University) Martin Scherzinger (NYU Steinhardt) Philip V. Bohlman (University of Chicago) Anna Maria Busse Berger (University of California Davis) Tobias Janz (University of Bonn)Larry Witzleben (University of Maryland)

What might it mean to hate music, or for music to be a site of hatred? What is hate, such that it can affect, or be affected by, music? The Music and Philosophy Study Group invites submissions for fifteen-minute papers on the topic of "Hatred and/of Music." Longstanding traditions of musical thought and practice have associated music with feelings and affects. But what is the place of hate among these feelings, and how has music's relationship with hatred been theorized historically? To what extent has our ethical aversion towards hatred in society produced a bias against a better understanding of how music can be linked to hatred? In recent years, many humanities disciplines have raised productive critiques of their objects of study framed in terms of hatred, or related feelings of disgust, contempt and anger. These critiques can take on added significance within music studies in light of recent challenges to the disciplinary habits that have limited or defined the field's proper object of study.If scholarship sometimes uses powerful language to perform a kind of love for the music it studies, can this kind of love bring with it the risk of subsuming any sounding practice under the label of "music," thus reproducing forms of sonic colonization via claims of emotional or intellectual ownership? And if there is a risk to this love, what might be the place of hate in the delineation of disciplinary objects? Attempts to discipline music's elastic borders can also join up with affective responses to music that are rarely discussed, as when listening to particular music leads to feelings of genuine disgust or hatred-or feeling nothing at all, as in musical anhedonia. Given that many musicologists pride themselves on loving music, and given how that emotion can be rewarded, celebrated, and considered reason enough to enter the discipline, we ask panelists to reflect on potential hatred(s) towards music as sounding practice and as disciplinary object.

What makes a given encounter between sound and movement an "experiment"? What assumptions are challenged, what is put at risk, and what is "discovered" about the nature of music, of dance, and of their relationship? This session brings scholarly perspectives on the relationships between music and dance into dialogue with contemporary artistic practice, pedagogy, and historical experiments in combining music and movement.The 15-minute, individual papers may be viewed ahead of time. In order to focus our discussion, we will divide the session time as follows:6:00-6:30 - Q&A/Discussion with Panel #1Caitlin Schmid, St. Olaf College - Listening to Dance Music: Pedagogical Experiments in ChoreomusicologyNavid Bargrizan, Texas A&M University-Commerce - Corporeal Witchery and Criticism of the Contemporary Culture in Harry Partch's Postdramatic Dance-Satire The BewitchedKate Galloway, Renssalaer Polytechnic Institute - Sound Doesn't Always Have to Be Heard: Productive Reuse and the Aurality of Movement in Nick Cave's Soundsuits6:30-7:00 p.m. - Q&A/Discussion with Panel #2Jay Arms, University of Pittsburgh - "Sound as a Physical Reality": Object and Gesture in Malcolm Goldstein's ImprovisationsKeir GoGwilt - Rhythm, Balance, and Affect: Working with Choreographer Bobbi Jene Smith7:00-7:30 p.m. - Q&A/Discussion with Panel #3Farrah O'Shea, University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) - "Material Realities: Dancing Decreation in La Passion de Simone"Wayne Heisler, The College of New Jersey - "Show me slowly what I only know the limits of": Music-Dance Relationships in Les Ballets Jazz de Montréal's Dance MeSophie Benn, Case Western Reserve University - "…humble marionettes / The wires of which are pulled by fate…": Dance and Comedy in Le Piano irresistible

Recent scholarship in music studies has demonstrated the central roles that technology and mediation played in shaping musical practices since 1945, as well as our understanding of these practices during the Cold War and its aftermath. This alternative-format panel is a joint session of the Cold War and Music Study Group of the AMS and the Post-1945 Music Analysis Interest Group of the SMT. It features paired lightning talks from music scholars across sub-disciplines, who engage with these topics across different geographic regions and cultural-political contexts. Together, the panelists will offer new perspectives on, and prompt dialogue about, analyzing the role of mediation and technology in musical life during the Cold War. In the first pair of talks, titled "Innovation and Collaboration at CLAEM," Eduardo Herrera and Noel Torres-Rivera discuss creative practices at the Electronic Music Laboratory at the Centro Latinoamerican de Altos Estudios Musicales in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Herrera provides an overview of the studio's cultural politics, while Torres-Rivera offers an analysis of a work realized at this studio: Rafael Aponte-Ledée's Presagio de Pájaros Muertos (1966). The second pair of papers focus on the circulation of musical objects and ideologies in the Cold War United States. Ryan Gourley focuses on the politics of record circulation, analyzing American record labels run by Russian expatriates. He draws attention to how music and musicians from the USSR became participants in discourses of U.S. internationalism during the Cold War. George Adams offers an analysis of Maryanne Amacher's City Links (1967–), arguing that the logistical and theoretical difficulties of Amacher's work can be understood as expressions of a developing American cultural consciousness during the Cold War era. Following the paired lightning talks Gabrielle Cornish and Jennifer Iverson will offer reflections from the disciplines of musicology and music theory, respectively, and open up a discussion with panelists and audience members. 

In May 1946, the United States Military invited the Ex-Concentration Camp Orchestra to perform for the Allied attorneys and staff of the Nuremberg Trials.  For their concert at the Nuremberg opera house, the orchestra of Eastern-European Jewish survivors donned recreations of their striped camp uniforms and stood beside props of barbed-wire fences and Stars of David (Figure 1).  In her 1990 recorded testimony, Henny Durmashkin, a singer with the orchestra, recalled that the performance carried a special weight: "Everybody was there listening to how the Nazis were being tried…the main thing is that we did appear there, and we did play the usual potpourris of the Yiddish songs, and Hebrew songs, and Ghetto songs."[1]  As Durmashkin's interview makes audible, the evidence presented at Nuremberg was not only visual, but also aural.This paper concerns female Jewish musicians after World War II who gave witness to their experiences of Nazi persecution by performing songs of the ghettos and camps.  Music's auditory and affective qualities enabled these survivors to begin voicing their traumas, offering them a rare public platform in postwar Germany.Although scholarship on Holocaust testimony has largely focused on oral and literary accounts, I argue that music can also be a testimonial medium by bringing together research by historians, psychoanalysts, literary theorists, and musicologists with accounts of female survivor music-making.  As Zoë Waxman and Atina Grossmann have shown, Holocaust survival was fundamentally affected by gender, and so, too, was the manner in which postwar musicians recounted their experiences.  Female musicians testified in largest numbers through song, rather than composition, as musicians like Lin Jaldati, Fania Fénelon, and Henny Durmashkin toured postwar Europe.  Jaldati's repertoire was shaped by her internment in Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, as well as her acquaintance with Anne Frank, whom she met in the final days of the diarist's life.  After surviving Dachau, Durmashkin gave hundreds of concerts between 1945 and 1949 with the Ex-Concentration Camp Orchestra.  And although discussions of Fénelon's career have largely focused on her controversial memoir (Playing for Time), her years living and performing in East Berlin critically informed her advocacy on behalf of other survivors.  These female musicians reclaimed the repertoire of the camps and ghettos in an effort to empower their persecuted communities by providing sonic evidence of Nazi crimes.[1] "Henny G., Holocaust Testimony," Fortunoff Video Archive for Holocaust Testimonies, HVT 1774, 35:12, Yale University, New Haven, CT.

British heavy metal band Iron Maiden are unique in the extent to which their music has referenced historical events. From the life and conquests of Alexander the Great, to the Viking raids on the British Isles, to the Crimean War, to the First and Second World Wars, Iron Maiden's recorded catalogue has addressed a wide range of historical topics. World War II, in particular, features prominently in Iron Maiden's music, with the band having written more songs about it than any other single historical event. However, both the significance of this topic for the band's members and how it fits in thematically with Iron Maiden's larger use of historical subject matter has yet to be explored. This paper examines three songs Iron Maiden have written and recorded about World War II: "Aces High," "The Longest Day," and "Brighter Than a Thousand Suns." In doing so, it demonstrates how Iron Maiden's treatment of World War II was influenced by the collective memory of the war to which the members were exposed growing up in Great Britain. Additionally, it shows how these songs, and Iron Maiden's engagement with historical subject matter, relate to larger issues and themes such as British identity, the use of visual media and performance elements to frame the historical content of their lyrics, and the broader context of Iron Maiden's overall repertoire. Much of the scholarly writing on Iron Maiden's music, including multiple articles published in the journal Metal Music Studies (see, for instance, Elliott 2018 and Roberts 2017), has tended to focus on single songs or albums, rather than tracing long-term topical trends throughout their repertoire. By examining historical subject matter as a recurring theme in Iron Maiden's recorded body of work, this project aims to take a holistic and "big picture" approach that is currently absent from the existing scholarship on Iron Maiden's music. Finally, this research contributes to the field of metal studies, through its examination of a significant trend within the work of a long-lasting and influential band whose music represents an important and understudied repertoire within the heavy metal genre.

In Arnold Schoenberg's _A Survivor from Warsaw_ (1947) the eponymous survivor relates and reenacts a telescoped account of Jewish suffering in Nazi-occupied Europe, culminating in the choral singing of the _Shema_, the central confession of Jewish faith. This artistic encounter between Schoenberg and the Holocaust has been the subject of a vast amount of scholarship and commentary. From the very first of these (List, 'Schoenberg's New Cantata') a recurring sticking point has been that the work 'evokes Hollywood, whether intentionally or not' (Feisst, _Schoenberg's New World_), a possible connection that is usually seen as troubling (e.g. Adorno, 'Arnold Schoenberg') or disqualifying (e.g. Taruskin, 'A Sturdy Musical Bridge').Taking my cue from Kurt List's detailed 1948 review, which is severely critical of the text and narrative of the work, I propose to compare _A Survivor's_ plot to a number of early popular fictional representations of the Holocaust and the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, starting with the now mostly forgotten Columbia B movie _None Shall Escape_ (1944). Arguably the first Hollywood movie to deal with the Holocaust, _None Shall Escape_ details Nazi atrocities through testimony offered at a postwar Allied trial of a single Nazi officer. Its depiction of the massacre of the Jews of one Polish village, in which they suddenly turn to fight, culminating in their rabbi's dying recital of the Kaddish, has striking parallels with the climactic conclusion of _A Survivor_, I suggest. Beyond this striking similarity, however, I argue that Schoenberg's plot follows a common Hollywood mode of depicting fortitude and sacrifice in the face of the Nazi enemy, as seen in war films such as _Mrs. Miniver_ (1942) and _The Moon is Down_ (1943), as well as in radio plays such as _The Battle of the Warsaw Ghetto_ (Morton Wishengrad, NBC, 1943).I conclude, however, with Schoenberg's objection to the Hollywood comparison (Schoenberg to List). Drawing on it as well as Clement Greenberg's classic distinction between 'Avant-Garde and Kitsch' I attempt to elucidate some of the aesthetic assumptions that can explain why the conjunction Schoenberg, Hollywood, and Holocaust seems impossible or objectionable to so many commentators.

Among the tens of thousands of attributed articles in Diderot and d'Alembert's Encyclopédie, all, famously, are signed by men. The most prominent contributions by a woman author-and, indeed, the only pieces of confirmed, extended writing-are the illustrations and technical explanations that accompany an extract in the fifth volume of plates, entitled "Gravure en lettres, en géographie et en musique" ("The engraving of words, maps, and music"). This description of the tools and practices of music production is by a certain "Madame de Lusse"-an engraver who left scant trace in the biographical record, but whose imprint survives in several key musical texts of the French Enlightenment. (In addition to her illustrations for Diderot and d'Alembert's compendium, de Lusse prepared the examples for Rousseau's Dictionnaire de musique, as well notable scores from the repertory of early opéra comique.) If Madame de Lusse represented an exceptional case within the frame of the Encyclopédie, her example is far from unique in the wider domains of music printing and commerce in eighteenth-century Paris. Surveys suggest that during this period roughly half of French music engravers were women, as were the heads of several important publishing houses. This paper draws on new archival evidence to reconstruct this network of entrepreneurs–and to unpack the logistical conditions and critical assumptions that enabled them to occupy this niche in the male-dominated musical landscape of the French capital. Practically speaking, women were accepted as graveuses because of legislative loopholes that allowed them to take over family-run enterprises; they succeeded, more generally, by exploiting the ambiguous status of engraving-as an activity poised between "feminine" craft and "masculine" creative art. In recuperating these tangible aspects of  musical production, my paper situates both women and music as agents in France's "artisanal" Enlightenment (Bertucci 2017), adding to a growing body of literature addressing the material underpinnings of this century's modernizing mentalités. 

Between 1607 and 1621, no fewer than seven atlas-sized luxury choirbooks emerged from the print shop in Salamanca owned by the Fleming Artus Tavernier (the son or nephew of Plantin's punchcutter Ameet), his wife Susana Muñoz, and their successors, in printruns of up to 130 copies. Three of these magnificent polyphonic choirbooks were devoted to music by Sebastián Vivanco (ca. 1550-1622); three were devoted to music by Juan Esquivel (c. 1563-after 1612), and one - whose unique surviving exemplar was recently discovered - to music composed by Diego Bruceña (1567-1623). As a corpus, the seven books contain about 288 Latin liturgical works scored for between four and twelve voices printed on a total exceeding 2,370 pages. One of these books, Esquivel's Tomus secundus, is the largest choirbook ever printed in Spain.Today, a mere 24 exemplars, only half of which are recorded in RISM and almost all of which have suffered mistreatment, are known. They are preserved in 14 locations in 5 countries. The findings presented here are the result of in situ research in 12 of these locations. When notarial records and other archival documents are correlated with the extant exemplars, the figure of Susana Muñoz emerges as the driving force behind this unexamined explosion of printed Latin polyphony. Through her marriages to Artus Tavernier, Francisco de Cea Tesa, and Antonio Vásquez, all of whom she survived, she built the most prodigious press for the printing of polyphonic choirbooks in Early Modern Spain. And while only once is she referred to in colophons - and then merely as the 'widow of Cea Tesa' - it is clear from the number of printing contracts, bills of sale, and other legal documents that she signed that she was much more than an appendage to the men whose names are found in contracts, on title pages, and in colophons.In addition to offering a picture of the woman behind the printing press, this paper offers revised printing dates, newly-verified physical and repertorial descriptions, and further information on the seven polyphonic choirbooks and their distribution in the 17th-century and their survival into the 21st.

In eighteenth-century Britain, composers and others in the music trade increasingly turned to the subscription method to cover production costs, alleviate financial risk, improve sales and profit, and provide a reliable network of distribution. The subscription method generally involved a buyer's payment (or promise of payment) in advance of publication.  In return, subscribers were often rewarded with a discount on the retail price and their names inscribed in the work's first edition on a list of subscribers.  Although the subscription method accounted for a fraction of total music sales in eighteenth-century Britain, the transactions recorded by subscription lists provide useful demographic information about buyers in the marketplace.This paper assesses the effectiveness of the subscription method using a first-hand examination of lists of subscribers from roughly 550 musical works, representing 350 individual composers and nearly 100,000 subscribers.  With a relative absence of business records from the music trade of that era, subscription lists provide modern historians with valuable (though imperfect) data on social trends and the economics of music publishing.  Detailed examination of subscription lists may be used, for example, to sharpen our knowledge of women's achievements in the musical life of eighteenth-century Britain - as composers, consumers, performers, and publishers.  In addition to examining gender as a basis of analysis, subscription list data allow for market comparisons based on factors such as locale of publishing, genre, the nationality of composers, prices for music, and the 'social quality' of subscribers.Despite the burden of recruiting subscribers and the risk to one's bank account and reputation, the subscription method seems to have been a successful approach for those who wished to bring large, expensive, and specialized music books into print.  The subscription method held promise of substantial profits for well-established composers, and also served as a useful entrance into music publishing for relatively unknown musicians.  In addition, the subscription method provided opportunities for producing high-quality music books, and served as a check against violations of an artist's intellectual property.

Recent events have improbably brought together two historical milestones that began in the seventeenth century in different parts of the world.1619 saw the first enslaved women and men from the African continent arrive on a continent that was being overrun by Europeans. The history of the United States in particular chronicles slave catchers, lynchings, and the "New Jim Crow" war on drugs (including the overly high incarceration rates for Black and Brown bodies), all predicates to the police violence that has become an inescapably trenchant issue today.At the moment that enslaved Africans were making their Middle Passage, opera-a genre that routinely links political themes with passion and emotion-saw its birth on the Italian peninsula. The "grand tradition" was initially considered to end with the death of Puccini in 1924; since then, Benjamin Britten, George Benjamin, and other British composers have brought forth new English-language operas. American composers have also been at the forefront of this renaissance of the operatic tradition over the last one hundred years.While opera has always had connections to contemporaneous politics, recent operas have told new stories about unrepresented groups. Centering the experience of opera inside the Zeitgeist of the Black Lives Matter movement is Blue, a two-act chamber opera composed by Jeanine Tesori with the story and libretto by Tazewell Thompson. Blue tells the story of a comfortable Black family where the entrepreneur chef Mother and police officer Father await the birth of their first child, a son. As the Son grows in his teenage years to become an artist, he is killed by a White policeman at a peaceful protest gone wrong. The opera traces this family and their community through the joy of birth and the horror of funeral rites for a murder.This special session, organized by the AMS Committee on the Annual Meeting and the SMT Program Committee, brings together a panel consisting of Thompson, Naomi André (AMS), and Richard Desinord (SMT); Steve Swayne (AMS) serves as moderator. Their conversation explores how musicology and music theory can engage real-life experiences to bridge some of the gaps between the compositional genesis, the analytical work of scholars, and the power music brings to multiple audiences.

Hans Werner Henze felt personally attacked at the 1957 Donaueschingen Festival. The festival provided high-profile visibility for his new vocal work _Nachtstücke und Arien_, which set poetry by his close friend Ingeborg Bachmann. While pleased with soprano Gloria Davy's performance, Henze recalls that "after the first few bars, Boulez, Stockhausen, and also my friend Nono, got up together and left the auditorium, making sure everyone saw them. They weren't even prepared to listen to this music that sounded so different from theirs." Because they had identified Henze's music as compositionally regressive, the trio did not listen to how the performance challenged their largely white, heteropatriarchal artistic community. Walking out prevented them from hearing the first work with text written by a woman and the first performance featuring an African American woman in the festival's history. As much as histories of Donaueschingen and similar festivals tout the aesthetic diversity of the music they supported, these narratives often occlude collaborative efforts behind works like _Nachtstücke_ and ignore the dynamics of coalitions built by minoritized artists. In this paper, I draw on original archival research to expose the rift between the premiere's political optics and Henze, Davy, and Bachmann's individual investments in _Nachtstücke und Arien_. I argue that correspondence and other ephemera document a series of conflicting intimate relationships rather than a coordinated effort to unsettle or diversify high modernist hegemony. Instead of resuming the aesthetic battles waged at Donaueschingen, I trace how Bachmann and Davy were brought to the festival through a series of decisions made in the name of love, money, and beauty. Cumulatively, these decisions make up what I suggest is Donaueschingen's intimate economy-the patterns of investment that prioritize the material and emotional support of specific relationships over others. Focusing on intimate relationships rather than fixed social identities, I account for the incorrect and, in some cases, injurious assumptions Henze, Bachmann, Davy, and the festival's management made about each another during their collaboration. Thus, this paper considers the "how" rather than the "who" of the intersections of identities to develop a mode of political redress beyond individual recognition.

Tom Stoppard's play _Travesties_ portrays confabulations among James Joyce, Tristan Tzara, and Lenin in Zürich, 1920. Although in reality the three never met, the fictional characters' lofty and light discourse on global history, art, and politics is a detailed portrait of the ideological and cultural agendas on offer at the time. And although Stoppard weaves his narrative through a historical actor from Joyce's theater troupe, there was a real witness to the diorama of post-war Zürich: a teenaged Otto Luening.A bright young composer and flutist from Milwaukee, Luening had come to Switzerland to study with the influential Italian composer and pedagogue Ferruccio Busoni; once there, he came into the orbit of Joyce, performing in one production with his English Players. In his autobiography, Luening describes Joyce's fascination with the fundamentals of composition, and his finely-grained poetic sensibility. In the cafes of Zürich, Joyce interrogated Luening on sonata form, counterpoint, and religion. Luening in turn gained from Joyce an appreciation of the "great warmth that [a] sharp intellect could radiate," sensing that monstrous precision and humane, sympathetic understanding were not opposed but allied talents.In this paper, I use biographical and manuscript evidence to argue that Luening's prompt incorporation of tape technique in 1950 stems from a Joycean drive: an avaricious compulsion to know every detail by describing, and capturing it. As he absorbed diction from Joyce and counterpoint from Busoni, Luening internalized an encyclopedism that drew him to the radical new potentials of magnetic recording technology. Luening's musical biography, in other words, connects otherwise distant historical scenes, closing a circuit between the aesthetic ontologies of Italian Futurism and modernist prose on one hand, and that of the proliferating tape music practices of international post-1945 avant-gardes, on the other.

The slow movement of Ruth Crawford's String Quartet 1931 is undoubetdly her best-known work, often performed in concert as a string-orchestra arrangement titled Andante for Strings. Examining long-overlooked sources in the Seeger collection at the Library of Congress, this presentation shows that the currently available scores for these pieces--originally edited by Henry Cowell and currently published by Theodore Presser Co.--contain several significant errors. In particular, I focus on the case of Andante for Strings, where most of the double-bass part is missing, and the remainder is incorrect. Using reproductions from the Seeger collection, I show that Crawford wrote two drafts of Andante for Strings' double-bass part, neither of which corresponds to the publicly-available score. Presser's published materials contain only the final third of Crawford's early (and incomplete) sketch of the bass; her final version bears no resemblance to this abandoned draft, yet the draft version has been performed and recorded several times. While other scholars (Hisama 2001, Straus 1995) have noted some smaller errors in these scores, the defective double-bass part seems to have been overlooked.The results of this research were performed in concert by the Philadelphia Orchestra under Michael Tilson Thomas in 2017, who premiered my revised score. I have since signed a contract with Theodore Presser to print this revision; however, Presser currently seem to be in breach of this contract, and are ignoring all communication. In this context, my presentation reflects on some of the challenges inherent in securing republication of new editions of comparatively lesser-known composers like Crawford.

Vahdah Olcott-Bickford (1885-1980) was an established guitar virtuoso and a prominent writer and contributor to plucked-stringed journals, such as _Cadenza_and _Crescendo_. During the Interwar period, in 1923, the American Guitar Society was established as the first guitar society in the United States; Olcott-Bickford was one of its founding members and became its musical director, a position she held until her death. In this paper, I propose­ that Vahdah Olcott-Bickford - known popularly as the "Grand Lady of the Guitar" - defined the American landscape of guitar musical culture and institutions between 1910 and 1980. She did so through her published writings, lectures, performances, concert hosting, concert organization, social network, and activities as the founding member of the American Guitar Society (AGS) and the Guitar Foundation of America (GFA). Her vision to champion the classical guitar resonated throughout the country, and local guitar societies were established in many cities after 1923. Her correspondence shows how she became a sought-after source for guidance about establishing such societies. Indeed, a close exploration of her work unveils the construction of the modern American guitar landscape and the role that Vahdah Olcott-Bickford played in the establishment of the institutional umbrella that has successfully championed the classical guitar during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. This research contributes to growing scholarly discourses about both musical patronage and the contributions of women to the development of American musical life. Since my focus is to analyze the contributions of women musicians emerging in the first decades of the twentieth century, I show how certain professional activities influenced and informed others within an artist's trajectory. Moreover, contextualizing the rise of the elaborate California suffrage campaign contributes to fully understanding how Olcott-Bickford forged a multifaceted career, achieving recognition as a professional concert artist, composer, patron, teacher, and pioneer in her lifetime.

In the opening of Carlos Saura's 1995 Flamenco (https://youtu.be/-dW-uFO1AIQ 00:00 – 00:35), before "La Paquera de Jerez" steps forward to sing in the 6/8 rhythm of bulerías, one guitarist strums out a rhythm, and all the accompanying palmeros (hand-clappers) answer him instantly, putting their hands together in a gesture that pulls all the musicians into a tightly-integrated rhythmic stream. Paquera growls and shrieks into a virtuosic vocal warm up, called the "salida" (entrance). She hits the end of her first line with a guttural exhale (on the same beat that the palmeros had accentuated, the "10" in flamenco counts) and, breathing with her in perfect rhythm, the accompanists all respond with an ¡ole! on the next accent (the "12" in flamenco counts), thus propelling the music onward. I call the gesture of bringing the hands together on the flamenco "10" a "pellizco," which means "pinch." I think of it as an opening, a moment in which the decision of whether to extend or close the phrase is held in suspension. We know that many flamenco rhythms are in 6/8 and that this time signature has been used to represent Spanishness in compositions spanning from "Vaya de Fiestas" from Le Bourgeoise Gentilhomme (Jean Baptiste Lully, 1670) to "America" from West Side Story (Leonard Bernstein, 1957). But in contrast to the horizontal amalgam of 3/4 and 6/8 these composers use, the hemiola in bulerías is vertical, an overlay of two threes with three twos. In the resulting interplay, the triple must punch forcefully into the duple accents, standing out in its opposition, yet leading up to the upward motion and improvisational potential of the "10," our pellizco.The trajectory of Paquera's brilliant salida is too rhythmically complex to transcribe adequately, and it is equally complicated in terms of pitch, emotional tone, and literary and cultural reference. But everyone in the scene uses a common gestural lexicon-the group's common conceptualization of the music has a gestural component. It is a signal done always, and by everyone: singers, guitarists, dancers, hand-percussionists, and listeners alike. This movement dimension is the focus of this presentation.

If, as was famously said, the Congress of Vienna "did not march, it danced," it waltzed its way through the negotiation of power and territory to the music of Italian-born guitarist Mauro Giuliani (1781–1829), a figure typically marginalized in a musicological historiography that has prioritized the Beethovenian symphonic tradition. However, Giuliani's status as a foreign guitar virtuoso with footholds in Vienna's public and private music cultures suggests that surveying this momentous event in the history of diplomacy from the vantage point of his sphere offers new insights into a range of cultural activities associated with the Congress. Such an alternative Congress narrative touches on the small-scale and the private, offering insight into the less mainstream aspects of Vienna's music culture. This paper will analyze the musical events surrounding the Congress of Vienna through the lens of Giuliani's career, while exploring the broader political implications of Congress-related music. While Giuliani's creative activity is not associated with the monumentality typically attributed to the Congress's large public events, I argue that his performances alongside Vienna's other most notable instrumentalists nonetheless served as musical embodiments of the Congress's mandate of international cooperation and conversation. Giuliani's public Congress activities included his participation in the "ducat concerts"-public performances, held in small venues, which could be attended for the price of one ducat-and subsequently, a series of evening serenades hosted by Count Palffy at the Schönbrunn Palace gardens. To complement his performances, Giuliani published numerous pieces which-with their references to the musical traditions of France, Austria, and Russia-tapped into the market for Congress memorabilia. In this paper, I will consider how some of Giuliani's performances and publications during the period 1814–1815 engaged with aspects of the Congress's political agenda. Although music was associated with some of the more frivolous activities that took place during the Congress, it played an integral role in communicating the goals of the Congress, as well as those of the emerging Austrian state.

Bob Miller is known as one of the most prolific early country music songwriters. He was also a significant blues composer in the 1920s, and his songs were recorded by several of the classic female blues singers from the early part of that decade-Clara Smith, Viola McCoy, Lizzie Miles, and others. His first "hillbilly" song, "Eleven Cent Cotton-Forty Cent Meat," became a Depression-era hit that was recorded by multiple artists including Miller himself. As a recording artist, he recorded many of his songs, but many were also recorded by early country greats such as Vernon Dalhart, Carson Robison, and Frank Luther. Like many country musicians from that early time period, Miller used numerous pseudonyms under which he both wrote and recorded, which can mask the true total of his output. While he did not write over seven thousand songs as he claimed, he did write a high number.Part of what contributed to Miller's exorbitant number of songs was that he was adept at tweaking preexisting songs and making them his own. Much of his output was modeled after other songs. Like fellow one-time Memphian W. C. Handy, Miller referenced using "snatches" of folk music in his compositions. For example, "Duck Foot Sue," one of Miller's early hillbilly recordings, was rooted in a nineteenth-century English folk song. Likewise, his first published blues, "Uncle Bud," had roots in a folk song that circulated the South in the early twentieth century. But it is one of his biggest hits, "Eleven Cent Cotton-Forty Cent Meat" that has one of the most interesting origins. The song copyrighted by Bob Miller and Emma Dermer in February 1928 has roots in a poem that appeared in Southern newspapers in early 1927. There is conflicting information regarding the authorship of this poem. In some newspapers, this poem was attributed to a teenager named Virginia Brown; others attributed it to Mrs. S. C. Ford from Frisco, Texas. Analysis proves that Miller came across both versions of the poem. He then crafted what became an early populist country song that made its rounds at the onset of the Great Depression. This paper will correct inaccuracies in the narrative of Miller's life, while analyzing and discussing his borrowings in songwriting and the roots of "Eleven Cent Cotton-Forty Cent Meat."

Commentators on Benjamin Britten have tended to treat his engagement with English folksong--the seven books of arrangements, works like _The Golden Vanity_ and the _Suite on English Folk Songs_ entirely based on folksong, and the many folk references and episodes in his English-themed operas--as something highly personal and idiosyncratic, even _sui generis_.  Given that folksong in England was closely associated with Ralph Vaughan Williams and the "pastoral school," and that Britten viewed musical nationalism askance as something provincial and anachronistic, this is unsurprising.A closer investigation problematizes this view, however, and shows that Britten was in fact directly influenced by the English Folk Revival.  Admittedly, some of this was negative, as he consciously challenged the mainstream promoted by Cecil Sharp, the hardline purist and acknowledged head of the Revival.  But much was affirmative too, as he engaged creatively with 'alternative' figures of the Revival like the composer Percy Grainger and the song collectors Frank Kidson and Lucy Broadwood.  All three were critics of Sharp, a fact often forgotten in the historiography of the Revival, and their broadminded and non-purist opinions about folksong origin and transmission gave Britten what he needed to reject Sharpian orthodoxy and express an alternative "Englishness" more to his taste.This paper examines Britten's few essays touching on folksong and his editorial handling of folk materials in demonstrating his debt to this "forgotten" tradition of folksong research.  Ultimately, I seek to uncover links between this tradition and the use of folk themes by interwar British modernists like W.H. Auden and Tyrone Guthrie, associated with the Group Theatre and powerful forces on the young Britten.  Influenced by modern conceptions of myth taken from Frazer, Jung and the anthropological work of Malinowski, these artists extended the concept of "folk" well beyond earlier definitions, declaring that even literate segments of modern industrialized society embodied aspects of folk tradition.  Their capacious reformulation laid the groundwork not only for Britten's cautious embrace of select aspects of the Revival but also for his eventual creation, in his work at Aldeburgh, of a cosmopolitan "Englishness" rooted in the local and the particular.

In psychedelic rock of the 1960s, the role of world music appropriations as psychedelic signifiers is well established, but Indian and Moroccan culture are not the only touchstones that contributed to the idealistic alterities of the hippie aesthetic. This "visionary" music (Rob Young 2010) grew from the second British folk revival, which in turn was based upon nineteenth-century revivals by Cecil Sharp et al. Nineteenth-century folk revivalists' efforts to capture the _volksgeist_ of Britain and Ireland intertwined with medieval revivals, and folk music developed a veneer of the medieval that has persisted to the present, even though most surviving traditional British music is Early Modern. In this paper, I look at progressive and psychedelic folk artists of the sixties and how orientalism coincides with a Celtic other supported through neo-medievalism. Ethnomusicologists McCann and Ó Laoire identify the Celtic as "an internal other" for the UK ("Raising One Higher Than the Other," 2003), and through Derridean slippage, the perception of the Orient as an inherently spiritual Otherworld extends to shared traits of medieval, Celtic, Indian and Moroccan musics, in which open and parallel fifths, chanting, and the harmonic stasis of heterophony allow for musical signification of spirituality. To begin, I look at significant examples of neo-medievalism in the work of influential progressive folk artists Burt Jansch and John Renbourne, particularly how these medievalisms coincide with Celtic music. I explore how Celtic history is used to express familiarity and alterity simultaneously, vis-à-vis Göran Sonesson's model of _Alter_ ("you") and _alius_ ("it") in cultural semiotics, with examples from Donovan and the Incredible String Band. Finally, I consider how this Celtic alterity aligns with orientalism, where the exotic appeal of medieval Europe as an inherently spiritual, pre-modern place overlaps perceptions of India and Morocco as the same. Ultimately, it is not the Indian that signifies the psychedelic, but the capacity of Hindustani classical music to go on infinitely, which it shares with forms of early music, such as organum, or Celtic styles such as sean-nós. Better understanding of these topics will enhance genre studies in a key part of rock history.

Francis Gummere's theory of folksong origins didn't age particularly well. Around the turn of the twentieth century, Gummere was one of the more prominent American advocates of British balladry. Central to his appeal was the theory of "communal origins." In short, he asserted that each authentic ballad had originated, not with any individual author, but in a primitive process of group improvisation--that the songs had, in a literal sense, arisen spontaneously from the collective rhythms of the homogenous "festal throng." As the century progressed, scholarly developments rendered this theory effectively obsolete. Its wild conjectures of primeval cultural evolution--attempting to historically reconstruct, with almost no hard evidence, the socio-musical events of an imagined "primitive"--increasingly came off as speculative and patrician.Histories of folk scholarship are quite effective in chronicling the demise of Gummere's theory: it being supplanted by approaches of anthropological diffusion and oral re-creation. But these histories tend to sideline aspects of the communal theory's enduring influence: in spite of its intellectual dismantling, the theory's _aesthetic_ frameworks have had a surprisingly long half-life. In this paper I assess Gummere's communal origins theory, not in the historical or anthropological viability of its premises, but in the type of aesthetic experience it conjured in the reading of printed folksong. I examine echoes of this experiential framework among a selection of published folksong popularizers from 1910–1930: John Lomax, Cecil Sharp, Dorothy Scarborough, and Robert Winslow Gordon.This paper reveals a communalist aesthetic in which a printed folksong evokes not only a melodic story with its sequence of characters and actions; the text spurs the reader to imagine a premodern setting of song creation--to vicariously experience centripetal processes of social cohesion. Perhaps even more potently, according to Gummere, an authentic song allows a reader to actually inhabit the "primitive" mind--to cast off the dead-weight artifice of civilization, modern specialization, and individualist striving. Folksong popularizers capitalized on these antimodern sensibilities. In this way, the communalist approach helped shape the aesthetic stakes of folksong reception in the decades that set the foundations for mass-mediated American folk revivalism.

Black gospel music in the United States has historically articulated an African American identity, with emphasis on themes such as suffering, resistance, perseverance, and survival (Maultsby, 2010). While scholars have discussed how gospel music has traditionally reflected the existential concerns of black life (Burnim, 1985; Burnim, 1988), less critical attention has been given to how gospel artists are attempting to dismantle racial/ethnic barriers by promoting multiculturalism. I argue that a multicultural theology has infused the lyrical and sonic imaginations of several gospel artists who proclaim that racial inclusion reflects the divine mandate of God. In constructing multiculturalism sonically, I argue that gospel artists utilize a variety of musical techniques, including the conflation of musical styles from diverse genres (e.g. funk, rock, and Caribbean, among others), multilingualism, dramatic alterations in vocal timbre, and hallelujah chants. Hallelujah chants involve repeatedly singing the word "hallelujah", as this word is understood to have the same universal meaning in every language. "Hallelujah" thus functions as a lyrical semiotic code to signify multicultural solidarity. To further legitimize their multicultural theologies, I also argue that gospel artists engage in an eschatological discourse – a discourse that focuses on the kingdom of heaven as an imagined future egalitarian community (Ingalls, 2011). By emphasizing that there will be no racial divides in heaven, gospel artists imagine an ideal system of social relations on earth. While their discourses emphasize multicultural unity, such professions are inseparable from expressions of black particularity. That is to say, their attempts to discursively deconstruct racial difference are often in tension with what is occurring musically and performatively, as much of their stage performances-including the music, lyrics, and moments of intermittent theological rhetoric-are heavily informed by a black aesthetic. Drawing upon critical analyses of the music, lyrics, CD liner notes and images, participant observation at gospel conferences, and observed interviews of gospel artists, I analyze the multicultural albums of two gospel artists: Israel Houghton and Donnie McClurkin. Through their multicultural albums, these artists are attempting to extend the gospel message to a multicultural community and thus expand the commercial platform and appeal of gospel music. 

The American popular music business has long been segregated. This was apparent in a number of structural ways during the 1960s, including things like differences in record store location and radio station demographics. Perhaps the most notable area of separation was in performance venues. This paper profiles the live work of singer Marvin Gaye between 1962 and 1964, interrogating the relationship between the "black" market in a variety of concert environments during this time. As a marquee member of the Motown stable of artists in the early 1960s, Gaye performed many times at a loose grouping of theaters and movie palaces in black neighborhoods, often called the Chitlin' Circuit. Dating back to the TOBA circuit of the 1920s, these venues almost exclusively featured African-American performers and catered to young, black audiences. As he rose in popularity, Gaye then ventured into nightclub bookings at venues like Leo's in Cleveland, the Royal Peacock in Atlanta, and the 20 Grand in Detroit. These clubs served older audiences and demanded a different sort of stage show, employing customs from the jazz world in addition to the Middle-of-the-Road sector of the mainstream. Race, class and venue were not always neatly aligned in these clubs, and their complex interminglings tell an important story about the R&B market during an era in which black performers reached wider audiences with increasing regularity. Drawn from period newspapers, corporate press releases and a variety of interviews and biographical writings, my research uses extensive primary source materials to portray aspects of race and class in these shows and the venues where they happened. Secondary writings that inform the paper include work by scholars such as Keir Keitley, Mark Burford, Robert Fink and Charles Hughes. Central to the presentation itself are two main elements: a mapping initiative that helps to provide a deeper sense of the geography involved in my discussion, and a series of unreleased archival sound recordings from Gaye's performances at these venues that give invaluable sonic evidence to support claims about similarities and differences between audience makeup, performance style, and repertoire.

Scat-solos, swung rhythms, and saxophones hardly may be expected features of a performance Handel's Messiah, but Too Hot to Handel: The Jazz-Gospel Messiah includes all of these and more. A project commissioned by conductor Marin Alsop in 1993, Too Hot to Handel rearranges and recuts Handel's ubiquitous Christmas classic, capturing "the essential core of Handel's famous piece and reinterpreting it with chords of R&B, jazz, and gospel." A stylized image of Handel, adorned with black sunglasses and a gold chain complete with blingy "H," proclaims that the piece is "breaking the classical sound barrier."  Unlike other attempts to "hip up" Handel for modern audiences in the late 1980s and early 1990s, however, Too Hot to Handel has displayed astonishing staying power. For the last fifteen years, it has been performed at Chicago's Auditorium Theater as part of their Martin Luther King Jr. Day programming, with promotional materials describing it as embodying King's vision of "beloved community." It has inspired outreach programs for high-schoolers to "rearrange their own masterpieces," poetry contests, community-building initiatives, and live-streams in Illinois prisons, with self-congratulatory press articles citing its power to overcome differences. In this paper, I place Too Hot to Handel at the intersection of marketing, taste, and race. I analyze its use of African-American musical idioms and racialized promotional language as a way of marketing the piece as both an entry point to "real" classical music by virtue of its Handelian provenance and as what one critic calls "an inspiring object lesson on the genius of black music in America," despite being arranged by an entirely white musical team. I unpack the relationship between these problematic origins and the reality of the performances, which often engage with issues of music education and outreach in the Black community, and- in Chicago particularly- have garnered a loyal and diverse following. Finally, I discuss the performances themselves, which often feature prominent Black soloists from the worlds of classical music, gospel, and jazz, as acts of potential reappropriation, highlighting the unstable and constantly changing relationship between classical music, performance, and identity.

Alice Cooper, the Shock Rock character, has died on stage thousands of times during performances since the early 1970s-via guillotine, electric chair, hanging, or otherwise- but he has never had to get "old". Alice Cooper, the musician formerly known as Vincent Furnier, however, has just seen his 72nd birthday (an age many of his fellow rock stars never got to see). The concert show he currently tours holds these seemingly antithetical sides of a persona up and makes one ponder what horrors Alice really thinks of now when the spooky voice ominously begins his show each night: "Welcome to Alice Cooper's Nightmare Castle".A theatrical piece that seems to center equally on bringing together influences from Universal-esque classic monster movies and on celebrating the age-centric youth anthems Alice Cooper has become known for, the "Ol' Black Eyes is Back" tour foregrounds caricatures of all sorts. However, with the menagerie of grotesque creatures that feature in the set list– such as FrankenAlice, giant inflatable scarred babies, a teenage Frankenstein's monster, Jason Voorhees, and Mademoiselle Guillotine – it's important to look critically at which personas are being put forward as "nightmare-fodder" and why.In this paper, I analyze whether or not age(ing) is one of the grotesqueries of Alice Cooper's Nightmare Castle. By listening to changes in Cooper's vocal technique, discussing fan interpretations, and highlighting the differences in the performance of the song "I'm Eighteen" (1970) from the early 1970s vs 2020, I offer up a reading of this show as a resource through which we may question the intersection between tropes of horror and those of age(ing); and even further- understand where those lines might get tangled. This work- building on Mikhail Bakhtin's ideas about "the grotesque", the research done by Anne Basting on the sociology of age in theatre, and a combination of musicological influences in disability studies and the aging voice in opera – serves as an opportunity to consider how rock music and its fans have been contending with and re-presenting the genre's founding themes through decades of musicking.

Dominick Argento's 1979 opera _Miss Havisham's Fire_ concludes with a thirty minute solo epilogue performed by the title character. This scene clearly belongs to the long tradition of operatic mad scenes, featuring the exaggerated coloratura and stylistic fragmentation that are hallmarks of the more famous bel canto mad style. Miss Havisham, however, despite her 1860s literary origins, is a demonstrably late-twentieth century madwoman, and her mad scene is organized around a series of extended auditory and visual hallucinations, which are often made audible as orchestral lines. The centrality of these hallucinations to Miss Havisham's characterization roots her in the explicitly twentieth-century construction of madness, schizophrenia, for which auditory hallucinations are a hallmark symptom.As this paper will demonstrate, Miss Havisham is just  one of many mid- and late-twentieth century mad opera characters for whom hallucinations are a defining but under-studied aspect of their madness. The rising importance of auditory hallucinations in mad opera reflects the concurrent adoption of schizophrenia by the psychiatric community and subsequently by popular culture, while also placing schizophrenia in dialogue with centuries-old understandings of disembodied voices as supernatural. Schizophrenia was first defined in 1911, and obtained medical and cultural prominence beginning in the 1930s. By midcentury, the schizophrenic woman had "become as central a cultural figure for the twentieth century as the hysteric was for the nineteenth." (Showalter 1985 p. 204). Existing models of operatic madness, focused as they are on operas composed before 1910, have generally understood madness in terms of hysteria. Twentieth-century mad opera demands a new model that reflects its negotiation between the traditional operatic construction of madness as hysteria, and a contemporaneous construction of madness as schizophrenia. My paper will examine Argento's _Miss Havisham's Fire_, Britten's _Curlew River_(1964), and Menotti's _The Medium_ (1946) to demonstrate mid-twentieth century tensions between psychiatric and supernatural interpretations of disembodied voices. I thereby propose a new, historically sensitive framework for twentieth-century mad opera that accounts both for the operatic tradition to which they contribute and the contemporaneous medical and popular culture in which their composers and librettists lived and worked.

Since its inception in 2004, the burgeoning field of music and disability studies has led to numerous insights surrounding the lives, works, and social contexts of numerous composers. Recent paradigm-shifting examples include Joseph N. Straus's work on modernism (2018) and Robin Wallace's revisiting of Beethoven's deafness and compositional practice (2018). Scholarship on Joseph Haydn has largely remained absent from this discourse, a surprising omission given that Haydn's rising international fame coincided with his increasing infirmity and physical impairment. While articles by Floyd Grave (2016) and Nancy November (2007) focus, respectively, on disabled narrative in the composer's late string quartets and melancholy in his English songs, scholarship has yet to fully engage with the ways disability characterized Haydn's life and oeuvre, as Sarah Day-O'Connell has noted (2019). I address this gap in scholarly discourse by contextualizing Haydn's biography and late oratorios through the lens and language of disability studies. By analyzing primary documents, including Haydn's correspondence and Dies's and Griesinger's biographies, I demonstrate how Haydn appears to have mediated both his compositional process and aspects of his public persona through his increasing age and impaired corporeal state. Yet biographical studies from Haydn's lifetime through to the present show an ongoing trend of either overlooking or pathologizing his comments rather than critically evaluating them. This practice suggests the need for scholarship to reassess the role that disability played in his life and late works. In this presentation, I contribute to such a discussion by joining biographical research to a cripped reading of Haydn's late oratorios, noting how the two works' musical and textual narratology shift from demonstrating a form of inverted narrative prosthesis in _The Creation_ (the premature ending of which 'cures' the Christian concept of original sin) to offering insights into disability gain in the "Winter" section of _The Seasons_. By considering Haydn's late oratorios - works he knowingly wrote for posterity - alongside the composer's and his contemporaries' comments about his increasing impairment, we might glean stronger insight into how disability impacted Haydn's compositional work, and, in turn, how that compositional work reflects disability. 

The early nineteenth century witnessed a profound shift in how music writers and critics perceived the profession of the composer. Whereas writers from previous eras often acknowledged the technical excellence of certain established masters, by the early to mid-1800s the greatest composers were frequently being described as exceptional, even quasi-divine individuals, whose groundbreaking works changed the course of music itself. At times, however, a composer's identity, and even their status as a great genius, could be enmeshed with personal traits such as their intellectual pursuits, work ethic, physical appearance, mental health, or disability. While scholarship has explored the philosophical and aesthetic forces driving the sacralization of "great" composers in the nineteenth century, as well as the ways in which illness, disability, or mental state can influence a composer's identity and oeuvre, there has been less exploration of how a composer's personal lifestyle, moral character, or physical condition could color future generations' evaluations of their greatness.The pianist-composer Jan Ladislav Dussek (1760-1812) was one such individual whose legacy was tarnished by narratives which linked his lifestyle with perceived immorality and physical disability. Several writers and music critics during his lifetime and after his death viewed him as a musical genius, but they also believed that he squandered his higher creative powers through his pursuit of hedonistic pleasure at the expense of his natural gifts. In particular, Dussek's gluttony, obesity, and death from gout were frequent tropes in his reception, and many writers invoked these details to reinforce an image of Dussek as a lazy wastrel, claiming he was more interested in indulging his body through food and drink than enriching his mind and dedicating himself to his art. These narratives on Dussek's gluttony and obesity resonated strongly with theories of physiognomy propagated by Johann Kaspar Lavater and Thomas Cooke, and the connections they forged between mental aptitude, an individual's moral compass, and certain physical ailments and disability. Additionally, while Dussek's apparent decadence and lifestyle were perceived as antithetical to contemporary archetypes of a "great artist," many writers also concluded that his presumed neglect of his musical genius ultimately made him less worthy of veneration and historical prestige. When studied from this perspective, Dussek's reception broadens our understanding of what constituted a "great" composer in the nineteenth century, but it also illuminates how one's body, purported immorality, and physical health could become intertwined with perceptions of their genius, creativity, and even their place in music history.

On June 7, 2019, pop provocateur Miley Cyrus released "Mother's Daughter," the lead single from her EP _SHE IS COMING_. Throughout the song, described by Cyrus as a "feminist anthem," the singer characterizes herself in rapid succession as "a witch," "a Nile crocodile," "a piranha," "nasty," and "evil." Yet her introduction of these slurs with the exclamation "hallelujah!" indicates that Cyrus, who has publicly identified as pansexual and gender-fluid, intends to reclaim them in celebration of her rejection of heteronormativity.  In addition to such textual allusions to Christianity, the music video for "Mother's Daughter" draws on medieval iconography: in moving portraits, a crowned Madonna breastfeeds her child and Cyrus, dressed in armor and raising a sword aloft, rides a saintly white stallion. Here, Cyrus' femme knight plays not only on the familiar image of a Christian crusader or Prince Charming come to rescue a damsel in distress, but also that of the genderqueer warrior-saint Joan of Arc. Although Joan is not referenced explicitly in the lyric, this paper will argue that her inclusion in the video invites a reading of the entirety of the song as medievalist. In addition, the music video includes close-up shots of Cyrus' tear-tracked face, her anguish laid bare as she weeps. These close-ups appear to reference Carl Dreyer's 1928 silent film The Passion of Joan of Arc, in which actress Renee Maria Falconetti conveys Joan's suffering through similarly framed shots of her stricken face. Cyrus' self-identification with Joan of Arc frames her experience as the target of homophobic, misogynist media scrutiny as a kind of martyrdom, using the language of medievalism as a feminist vocabulary.

Touted as the world's most successful "girl group" TLC's three singers present epitomal musico-sexual roles: Left Eye's raunchy raps contrast both with Chilli's sweet feminine lyricism as with T-Boz's lower "husky" belting. The singers' relative stability is compounded and confused by the multiple personae each performer suggests lyrically, often keeping the same vocal quality while exchanging pronouns and even self-referencing. In this sense, TLC's vocals tug at the limits of what, in the 1990s, would have been socially acceptable for black girls. Collectively, TLC therefore articulate many possibilities of performing girlhood that are irreducible to the contributions of any one of the three performers.This paper revisits the track "I'm Good at Being Bad" off TLC's _FanMail_ (1999), valorized today as "one of the first pop records to aestheticize the internet." Featuring a sample of Donna Summer's "Love to Love You Baby" (1975), the song exemplifies TLC's typical singing roles but simultaneously problematizes any stereotypical one-dimensionality that could be distilled as Black women's sexuality--a one-dimensionality central to Patricia Hill Collins' critique in _Black Feminist Thought_, whose second edition was issued a year after _FanMail_'s release. Donna Summer's and TLC's respective hits each capture a moment of the "Love to Love" youthful energy, such that the continuity between Summer and TLC could be, as Robert Fink and Jon Stratton have independently shown in analyses of Summer, a matter of succession via what listeners imagine as their sexual proximity extended via musical sampling. And yet, with each incarnation the message is given new meaning.This presentation will show how Summer composed her tune and how it was developed in TLC's subsequent adaptation. The paper then problematizes previous analyses of Summer's song premised on the performer's presumed sexual availability by incorporating Black feminist scholarship regarding sexual choice and refusal. In distinction from previous analyses exploring a notion of "inherited" sexuality, my analysis focuses on samples of _sex_, i.e. sexual acts (perceived or real), that do not necessarily amount to any understanding of how these behaviors typify any particular demography or qualification of "sexuality" as a kind of identifying or orientational category. That is, the notion of sex I examine is not dependent on any singular interpretation of how performers engage in sex; rather, this analysis identifies many simultaneous and competing co-constructions of how, by whom, and for whom sex sounds are created and performed.

This paper examines how Beyoncé Knowles Carter's and the Dixie Chicks' "Daddy Lessons" disrupts country music culture and practices. Through intertextual references to country music's traditions and musical heritage, the song, video and subsequent performance at the 50th-anniversary celebration of the Country Music Association Awards critique the racial politics that govern the genre's history. The CMA performance effectively "schooled" the industry on country music's origins through its cross-genre collaboration between Black and white female musicians- musically and visually departing from the industry-promoted narrative of "southern exceptionalism" (Malone 1985/2017). Audiences responded negatively to this performance, questioning the place of an R&B/hip-hop artist on their sacred stage (Hudak 2016). These reactions were magnified by Beyoncé's choice of the Dixie Chicks as collaborators: a trio ostracized by the industry for their political beliefs (Watson & Burns 2010). Genre theory (Frow 2006; Holt 2007; Brackett 2005) offers a critical foundation for considering reactions to "Daddy Lessons" within the framework of white fragility (DiAngelo 2011). By moving outside of the genres she is "supposed" to perform, Beyoncé's musical actions function as a form of feminist "talking back" (hooks 1989) to white audiences and the country industry, both showing discomfort, even rage, at this performance. At its core, the debate surrounding whether or not "Daddy Lessons" is country concerns genre identity, and who is "permitted" to perform country music. Through an examination of intertextual references in the song, video, and collaborative performance, this paper addresses how "Daddy Lessons" challenges the raced and gendered constructs of country music culture. 

Sometime in the 1760s, an orchestral musician named Jean-Jacques Ducharger sent the prince of Condé a proposal to found a new concert organization in his provincial capital, Dijon. It begins with an amusing story about a Russian traveler who is sent to France to learn how things are done in the West. He meets the _premier violon_ of a local concert society who has just been injured in a carriage accident. He therefore goes to a performance alone. Returning, he recounts a series of disasters, and the Frenchman explains how things could have been better managed. Two chapters in a more serious vein follow: one on the principles of concert administration, and one on the state of music and the arts in Dijon.A presentation copy of Ducharger's manuscript is preserved in the Musée Condé at Chantilly, the prince's ancestral home; parts of it were later published. Since the concert description is clearly satirical, it has rarely been used in musicological research on performance practice, the history of conducting, reception, organology, or the Mozarts, whom the prince invited to Dijon in 1766. Yet Ducharger's work is rich in details: thirty pages on a fictional performance by a good-sized chorus and orchestra; six on behind-the-scenes arts administration, four on _subordination entre les musiciens_, and a highly insulting description of the director's poor taste, autocratic methods, and narcissistic personality. Our problem in using it as a historical source is to distinguish fact, exaggeration, and fiction.I propose a framework, based loosely on methodology articulated by the cultural historian Jacques Barzun and political historian Henry Graff, for extracting reliable facts from literary satire. I test it first on Ducharger's passages that describe different forms of conducting for symphonies, concertos, vocal solos with orchestral accompaniment, and opera choruses, then on better-known musical satires such as Baron Grimm's _Le petit prophète de Boehmischbroda_, and finally, on non-fiction by opinionated and/or otherwise unreliable writers such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and Charles Burney.

Brazil underwent intense change during its belle époque, as it became a republic, abolished slavery, and adopted positivist ideas of progress and civilization. The aristocratic monarchy gave way to a new social order founded on bourgeois values. Rio de Janeiro, then the nation's capital, rapidly urbanized. Clubs, often segregated by gender, were significant socialization spaces for the new bourgeoisie, who gathered there to play chess or sports, read European periodicals, and listen to (and play) the most up-to-date music. The era ended in 1922 with the Week of Modern Art (February 11-18 in São Paulo), which ushered in Brazilian Modernism. The first radio broadcast in Brazil also happened that same year, marking shifts in the modes of music consumption in the country.This paper examines how the creation and proliferation of music clubs actively contributed to the building of a concert culture in Rio de Janeiro. Prior to the belle époque, recitals and other musical practices were circumscribed to events sponsored by royalty, to Italian opera and light music theaters, or to private spaces where parlor piano music was the primary option. The advent of music clubs enabled members of Brazil's growing middle class to experience a diversification of repertory, following European tendencies that preferred "serious" German music over easy-listening arias and songs. They chose this repertory due to its alleged civilizing powers in a society perceived as an evolving organism (based on theories by Charles Darwin and Herbert Spencer). Given limitations of funding and physical space, these clubs also initiated a system of patronage that privileged chamber music. In addition to drawing on archival records in Brazil, the paper will cite Brazilian musicologists Avelino Pereira, Cristina Magaldi, Maria Alice Volpe, and Monica Vermes, as well as contemporary periodicals to illuminate the belief that cultivating music had an elevating influence in society, and to show how the clubs stimulated the establishment of official music schools, created a market for professional musicians, and built an audience for concert music in the city.

The production and consumption of culture has been a central theme for researchers of the long eighteenth century. Hume and Milhouse focus on the business practices of opera in London during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, while McVeigh explores the benefit and public concert series of the same period.  However, the business practices of one of Georgian London's most prestigious subscription concerts series, run by two of its most formidable musicians - Johann Christian Bach and Carl Fredrick Abel - has received little scholarly attention over the past three decades.  A set of account ledgers held at the Royal Bank of Scotland Archives in Edinburgh relating to the Bach-Abel concerts for the period from 1773 to 1775, and J. C. Bach's personal account ledgers from 1767 to 1780, provides a unique opportunity to look inside the books of one of the most important musical business ventures in late eighteenth-century London.This paper provides the first in-depth critical analysis of the information contained within these underexplored financial documents: investigating the economic realities of cultural production, such as who could truly access this cultural product and who the composers wanted to have access; how much the jobbing musicians earned compared to the 'star' performers; and whether Bach and Abel made a profit (and if so, how big was that profit? And was it all about profit?).  As part of the research, I will draw on new thinking put forward by Hume on the buying power of money and the employment of spread-figure multipliers to convey more realistic approximations of value. Hume's work applies this methodology to books, collections of plays, and chapbooks; I will be extending this in a new direction to subscription concerts, and with the existence of the Bach-Abel account ledgers there is an exciting opportunity to apply this methodology to one of the most significant cultural events of the period and place. This information is valuable not just for itself but for what it tells us about the wider cultural and economic realities, and how and by whom various forms of culture were acquired and enjoyed.

The silence that gradually descended on nineteenth-century concert halls is normally presented as an indication of newly attentive forms of public listening. Musical experience, the story goes, became more intense, more personal, increasingly defined by rapture and transcendence (Johnson 1995). In telling such tales, we make nineteenth-century listeners more virtuous than ourselves. With few exceptions (e.g. Newark 2013; Ellis 2019), our accounts of these listeners rarely do justice to the slipperiness of aural attention, which may ebb and flow, giving us not only moments of consuming rapture but also extended periods of mind-numbing tedium.My paper examines how, in the midst of new attentional demands from concert-hall regimes built on complete works and strict silence, oratorio audiences in Britain began reading cheap vocal scores during concerts. Among the many motivations for this behavior - enhancing literacy with staff notation, increasing familiarity with choral parts for popular pieces, a sense of proximity to the work as a scriptural entity -  I focus on the more archivally submerged, because less virtuous, uses of the vocal score as an attentional prop for the severely distracted. Drawing on scattered evidence from adverts, journalism, and diaries, I examine how scores offered listeners the chance to use sight to control their wayward aural attention over the protracted hours of oratorio performances. At the same time, these scores also offer the possibility of absorbing that attentional energy themselves, as visually stimulating aesthetic objects, often attached to abundant paratextual elements of catalogues and prefaces. Crucially, holding one of these books in one's lap offered a range of attentional possibilities – extending from daydreaming to devotion - while always broadcasting a bodily pose of dutifully reverent listening.I reveal listening with a score to be an understudied "audile technique" (Sterne 2003) practiced by huge numbers of music-lovers in nineteenth-century Britain. The use of vocal scores as listening tools adds to an increasingly detailed and complex cultural history of these scores and other reductions (Christensen 2000; Lockhart 2012; Daub 2014). By approaching this audience behavior from the perspective of boredom, I contribute to a more rounded, realistic portrait of nineteenth-century listeners.

Recent years have seen intensive critical engagement across the humanities with questions of decoloniality (e.g. Quijano 2000, Mignolo 2011, Mignolo and Walsh 2018, Bhambra et al. 2018). This engagement has had profound implications for the academy, not least for music research and teaching. As in the rest of the humanities, the coloniality of knowledge production is now widely acknowledged. The collective interrogation of cultural paradigms and their perpetuated structures of power are reflected in the growing development of decolonial approaches, methods, and pedagogies that focus explicitly on the ways in which sonic and embodied practices can be (re)appraised through neglected voices and communities (e.g. Stanton 2018, Robinson 2020). Indeed, the engendering of dialogue between music historians, theorists, and educators has been instrumental in further articulating the decolonial concerns of the twenty-first century, in particular the "liberation" of knowledge, as demonstrated by the many related symposia and panels at AMS, SMT, and SEM. These decolonial concerns have dovetailed, moreover, with considerations of social justice, indigenous cultures, and scholarly efforts in producing counter-histories and "histories from below" in order to confront and rethink the influence of Eurocentric epistemologies stemming from Enlightenment models, notably the so-called musical canon and the ways it is researched and taught. Building on these various discussions of power and decoloniality, our proposed workshop for music historians, theorists, and educators introduces an important third element, "local archives," which we define as alternative sites for the production of knowledge to contest and further democratize existing ways of knowing. In doing so, our workshop aims to foster new perspectives on decoloniality in music, exploring the local archives' multiple possibilities for decolonizing practices as a shared advocacy on the one hand, and as a contextually understood mandate on the other. More specifically, the speakers will each examine what local archives mean in their research and public engagement, and the extent to which these archives are imbricated with institutional agendas. Together, the speakers will also think about the potential scope of bringing varied archival research methods as well as indigenous perspectives into productive dialogue, thus enabling them to probe the prospects and challenges of engendering global dialogue amid broader questions of decoloniality in research and teaching. This exploratory workshop aims to reach out to scholars in both the AMS and SMT communities, and consists of music historians, theorists, and educators from a range of cultural backgrounds, career stages, and global perspectives. After introductory remarks by the chair, the four presenters will each deliver a 10-minute position statement, to which the two respondents will each provide a 5-minute response. There will then follow an open-floor moderated discussion. It is envisaged that this workshop will attract a diverse range of participants, particularly graduate students and early career researchers. At a deeper level, the workshop will also provide a timely forum for its participants to deliberate on the problems and possibilities of practising decoloniality, in an effort to bring together archival voices and communities as a form of collaborative action. 

At the court of Leopold I, operatic spectacles functioned as a primary medium for monarchical iconography. These spectacles often contained far more explicit political messaging than the _tragédies en musique_ of Philippe Quinault and Jean-Baptiste Lully, which presented panegyric through veils of allegory and allusion. The idiosyncratic political role played by operas and ballets in Vienna constitutes an important and still underappreciated facet of the history of musical theater in the age of absolutism. In this paper, I discuss how the spectacles of Leopold's Vienna prominently staged certain types of monarchical iconography that were treated as sacrilegious in other contexts. The devout emperor exemplified the Habsburg emphasis on Catholic tradition and modesty, and cultivated an image that precluded self-glorifying public monuments like Louis XIV's equestrian statues. However, stage monuments of Leopold and his family appeared frequently in the operas and ballets of his court, often as objects of worship in _balletti_. Even more surprising, the librettists frequently described these monuments with terms typically linked to sacrilege, including "Idol" and "Simolacro." Remarkably, these terms never occur in any livret that Molière or Quinault penned for Lully (though both authors used the terms in their non-musical dramatic works).The inclusion of idolatrous language and imagery in Viennese spectacles evinces a decades-long (and unparalleled) strategy to use the musical language, supernatural settings, and ephemeral nature of lyric theater to insulate such elements from controversy. Such imagery also reflects the influence of Spanish theater (in which idolatry is often a theme or character), Arcadian debates about visual and sonic representation, and the underlying cultural difference between French preferences for euhemerist understandings of pagan mythology as compared to the Viennese emphasis on allegorical interpretation. To illustrate the unusual nature of these scenes, I compare the strikingly different uses of idolatrous imagery in Lully's _Bellérophon_ (1679) and Viennese works including _L'Almonte_ (1661), Penelope (1670), _Il Tempio d'Apollo in Delfo_ (1682), and _Pigmaleone in Cipro_ (1689). Such comparisons demonstrate an unrecognized radical difference between the operatic spectacles of Vienna and Versailles.

My paper interrogates a little-known sacred concerto, "Ich bin schwarz, aber gar lieblich" ("I am black, but beautiful"), published in 1664 by Württemberg kapellmeister Samuel Capricornus, as a composition that illuminates early modern German views on blackness. As historian Kate Lowe has shown, the text on which this concerto is based (Song of Songs, Chapter 1, Verses 5-6) was not only read as a spiritual allegory of the Christian Church's love for Christ, but also emerged as an influential religious and cultural model through which black Africans were viewed. In particular, the adversarial character of the formulation "black, but," Lowe argues, has significantly contributed to the history of racial formation through its implied contrast between blackness and beauty. While historians of race have begun to examine religious and literary texts adopting this formulation, they have not yet considered musical settings as equally revealing sources.  As I will demonstrate through my analysis of textual and musical aspects, comparison with other composers' settings, and discussion of the piece's courtly context, Capricornus conceived his concerto primarily as a musical commentary on blackness. The composer chose to set only those parts of the verses to music that are entirely concerned with this theme, and further emphasizes its importance by repeating the word "schwarz" no less than twenty-two times. Musically, the piece enforces the contrast between "black" and "beautiful" through the means of its musical rhetoric and highly unusual scoring for solo bass voice, five recorders and continuo. The word "schwarz" is represented by off-beat rhythms and melodic fragmentation through rests (abruptio), echoing a common association of blackness with deformity, and timbrally by the low register of the solo voice, contrasted with high-pitched, overtone-rich instruments. I argue that this concerto's musical rhetoric resonates with the deeply ambiguous views on blackness prevalent in seventeenth-century Germany, oscillating between the extremes of desire for and abjection of black bodies. These views become tangible in the "collections" of black court servants, especially musicians, as exoticized commodities that were assembled not only in Württemberg, but also at other German courts during Capricornus's lifetime.

Across his oeuvre, Dieterich Buxtehude exhibits strong interest in canon and learned counterpoint, techniques that David Yearsley has proven synonymous with seventeenth-century alchemical practice among Hamburg-School contrapuntists. We find explicit artifacts of such "Hermetic" musicianship in Buxtehude's immediate circle: in the 1670s, his close friend Johann Theile compiled a _Musikalisches Kunstbuch_, a collection of contrapuntal riddles and puzzle-canons demanding a gnosis of composition as transformative magic. This work's format, epigram, and canonic technique closely resemble Michael Maier's seminal alchemy treatise _Atalanta fugiens_ (1617), whose _unio mystica_ exegesis hangs on geometrical concepts demonstrably apparent in Buxtehude's craft. An intersection of seventeenth-century philosophy, number theory, and Lutheran mystical theology, this study examines interactions between textual content and structural proportion in Buxtehude's _Sicut Moses exaltavit serpentum_ (BuxWV 97). An analysis alongside writings of Robert Fludd, Michael Maier, and Andreas Werckmeister illuminates the cantata's geometrical design: major division points consistently align with the Pythagorean ratios 1:2 and 3:4, while these philosophers' most championed "figural" numbers form the foundation for Buxtehude's embedded motivic, musical-rhetorical, and _ostinato_ schemes. The textual _unio mystica_ climax accompanies an extended musical quotation from Buxtehude's setting of Psalm 73--a thematically related cantata in which he "solves," through identical dimensional juxtapositions, the infamous mathematical impossibility of "Squaring the Circle," the favorite alchemical symbol for divine unification.For scholars of Buxtehude's vocal music, speculation about his mystical tendencies typically focuses not on geometry or alchemy, but on the German Pietist movement. Olga Gero's 2018 discovery of the unique, previously unidentified text of _Fallax mundus_ (BuxWV 28) in a Jesuit emblem book deepens existing questions about Buxtehude's and his patrons' religious proclivities. Ultimately, my discovery of extensive Rosicrucian, not Pietist, textual and numerical tropes in _Sicut Moses exaltavit serpentum_--as substantiated by a little-known Rosicrucian manuscript in the Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Hamburg--provides a new bridge between elements of Christian theology, alchemy, and counterpoint already well established within Buxtehude's milieu. Recognizing esoteric aspects of Buxtehude's work as conceptually foundational refocuses his image within exoteric historiography and challenges prevalent Enlightenment-bound notions of intellectualism during the Age of Exploration.

In Tobias Kratzer's production of Meyerbeer's L'Africaine at the Oper Frankfurt (2018), the titular African woman appears as a blue alien out of James Cameron's Avatar; the opera's European explorers are a modern space agency. This is one of many recent "director's theater" productions which have translated an earth-bound opera into an interstellar experience, a concept I dub "space opera." In this paper, drawing on Joy Calico's analysis of estrangement in director's theater, I will investigate this "alienation" in light of opera's interlocking signification of music, words, and visuals. In particular, I am interested in how despite their surface novelty and complexity, space operas ultimately reinscribe a nostalgic and, for opera studies, familiar longing for pure voice. Like the deathless voices recently examined by Michal Grover-Friedlander, space opera seeks a space where the operatic voice can echo in a vast nothingness, signifying only itself. Considering the space opera opens up new intersections of operatic production with voice, the canon, and coloniality. Particularly in its more family-friendly forms, space opera can play on the divisions between high and low art, juxtaposing trashy sci-fi with the purportedly high art of opera (such as in the Berkeley Opera production The Riot Grrrl on Mars). Other productions, such as Claus Guth's La bohème (Paris, 2017) use technology and lunar landscapes to cast opera itself as an emotionally pure relic of a prelapsarian world. Finally, Kratzer's L'Africaine seeks to decolonize its nineteenth-century operatic text by recasting its exotic people as an imaginary alien population. Drawing on the work of Sara Ahmed, I put these productions in the context of modern institutional diversity, arguing that what Ahmed calls "the messy work of 'againstness'" can only exist in the context of a preserved, conventional operatic culture. Particularly in their estranged longing for a world before post-colonial theory and modernity, space operas are uneasily self-aware exhibits in the museum of musical works. 

In typical testimonies of rock concert bootlegging, interviewees describe their motivation for illicit recording as a dedication to the preservation of cultural heritage beyond the hegemony of record companies, concert venues and even artists themselves. Similarly, the gay opera enthusiast Leroy Allan Ehrenreich (1929–2016), whose daytime job as scriptwriter at the New York stock market enabled him to finance his evening passion as an opera bootlegger, agreed with this viewpoint. As a self-proclaimed "pirate-queen", belonging to a network of like-minded bootleggers, he compiled an impressive collection of over 2000 reel-to-reel tapes comprising around 10,000 hours of private bootleg recordings made between 1965 and 2010 at the major opera venues in New York. After his death, his lifework was donated to the Bern University of the Arts (HKB) with the specific request of making available for research any contents valuable for posterityWhile bootlegging has traditionally featured in popular music genres, the Ehrenreich collection affords an unrivaled opportunity to investigate this cultural practice with respect to opera. Due to its unauthorized and transgressive nature, bootlegging practice has until recently been bypassed or ignored in scholarly literature. In the field of popular music studies, the importance of bootlegging has received some attention in recent years (Heylin 1995, Marshall 2005), but in opera discourse the quality and relevance of such recordings as documents of musical cultural practice have yet to receive any sustained critical attention.  In this paper I contextualize this unique collection within the social phenomenon of bootlegging, focusing specifically on aspects of listener/audience experience and value by considering the unique qualities of these recordings. Utilizing notably Eric Clarke's ecological approach to the perception of music (Clarke, 2005), I examine the affordances of the virtual spaces and audience sounds captured in the Ehrenreich tapes. Specific attributes of these recordings, such as the reverberation of the vocal and instrumental music, the distance from the stage, as well as the quality of the murmuring, coughing, grunting, shuffling, clapping and shouting noises of audience members, vary over time and between the different New York venues which Ehrenreich used for his bootlegging. The collection as a whole, therefore, provides unrivaled evidence of the experience of opera as embodied participatory event in which the audience plays a key part (Burland/Pitts 2014). I explore how the distinct sounds of musical experience contained within these bootlegs enrich and enfold our understanding of operatic practices, social networks and audience identities both past and present.This study fills important knowledge gaps in the area of bootlegging practice with respect to classical music and, by extension, the acousmatic character of audience behavior in the construction of meaning. The almost unexamined phenomenon of opera bootlegging reveals fresh insight into how the opera listener can become a co-creator of the event, thus placing the production and consumption of 20th/21st-century opera at the intersection between recording practices, the ephemerality of performance and the democratization of art.

Recent histories of opera and media have made much of the establishment of the théâtrophone service in 1890: a quintessential late nineteenth-century communications technology. Yet a longer narrative might instead begin with Antonio Meucci, who developed a prototype telephone while working at Florence's Teatro della Pergola during the 1830s (Pelosi, 2011). Developed from shipping technologies, Meucci's device enabled communication between the stage and control room, reflecting evolving theatrical design in Italy during the mania for theatre construction across the 1820s and 1830s (Sorba, 2001). Within a Florentine context, the inventor's work also intersected with wider developments in the natural sciences – signalled by the Regio Museo di Storia e Fisica Naturale (1775) and Conservatorio delle Arte e Mestieri (1809) – as well as the renovation of the Pergola's technological infrastructure around 1826-8. Meucci later refined his device at Havana's Teatro Tacón, supplementing operatic experiments with medical and engineering feats (Price, 2014). Moving from internal to external communication, Meucci thus affirmed the theatre as a uniquely multi-dimensional site for technological research, encompassing activity within, behind and beyond the stage.This paper takes Meucci's experiments as an entry point to consider opera's relationship with the 'telephonic' more broadly during the mid-nineteenth century. I address this firstly with regard to the crucial role of Italian theatres in changing productions of sonic experience: from backstage technologies to newly forceful modes of vocal use that challenged conventions of human 'projection'. In the paper's final section, I then consider links between these emerging stage technologies (broadly conceived) and the increasing use of acousmatic sounds in Italian operatic works, focusing on Donizetti's _Parisina_ (Florence, 1833): an opera in which, I suggest, distant sounds and physical enclosure are regularly juxtaposed. In so doing, I investigate the role of both the opera house and of Italian operatic works in defining acoustic practices and modes typically identified with later communication technologies, engaging with recent scholarship on opera and nineteenth-century science (Martin, 2012, Schwartz 2016; Davies & Lockhart, 2016, Trippett & Walton, 2019). What might be gained, I ask, from an alternative operatic history of telephonic listening?

US singer-songwriter Tori Amos's 1996 album, _Boys for Pele_, directly invokes Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of volcanoes and fire. This title of Amos's highest-charting release is one example of the album's abundant mythological references. Amos's previous albums foregrounded musically- and lyrically-straightforward autobiographical songwriting that catalyzed listeners' identity exploration, a musical discourse that guided the feminist politics of her teen girl fans. For Amos, mythological references were another way to tether identity-construction to music-making and -listening. Amos told Performing Songwriter (1996), "Personality becomes these myths, and we all see ourselves in whatever and whoever we want to." In _Pele_, Amos expands "whatever and whoever" beyond mythology by recruiting other female characters for this same purpose, including celebrity, religious, and historical figures (e.g. Judy Garland, Mary Magdalene, Anne Boleyn) whose biographies are likewise marked by myth and mystery. Amos was known for her metrically- and tonally-straightforward songs for voice and piano, and _Pele_ departed from this signature sound. In this paper, I argue that _Pele_ merges the stories of mythic figures with equally mysterious sonic landscapes in ways that led to myth-building around Amos herself, ultimately galvanizing feminist activism among new listening audiences in the 1990s.To analyze the myths of Amos as queer and heretical icon, I interpret Amos's music and reception through queer and religious frameworks informed by Cusick's proposal for "embodied music criticism" (1999) and Häger's theory of religious icon-construction in popular music (2018). I begin with musical and lyrical analyses that show how _Pele_ invited listeners' myth-building around Amos. _Pele_ eschews straightforward musical and narrative storytelling with mysterious sonic profiles, and lyrics that mediate Amos's autobiographical story with those of others. As a result, listeners' understandings of Amos's persona are left to speculation. I next show how this invitation for speculation precipitated communities of faith-questioning and queer women's myth-building around Amos, which led to Amos's centrality in how both communities challenged contemporary patriarchal power structures. Finally, I analyze Amos's reception in present-day popular culture, revealing how the mythic Amos indelibly shaped feminist musical activism in the US.

Sexual violence is common fair on the opera stage and, in its most misogynistic narratives, works to complicate the male protagonist and dehumanize the survivor. Rape-related pregnancy, however, is a perspective on gendered violence that has been absent from the opera repertoire, that is until the 2006 premiere of Kaija Saariaho's _Adriana Mater_ (2005). In the feminist musicological discourse that addresses sexual violence in opera (i.e. Gordon 2015, Hartford 2016, Cusick and Hershberger 2018), there is a surprising lack of scholarship on this opera that concerns rape and pregnancy. I argue that  _Adriana Mater_ has emancipatory potential in its critical handling of rape-related pregnancy, which not only works to deconstruct rape culture by interpollating spectators into the experience of survivors, but also disrupts the subject-object binary of which misogynistic and patriarchal hierarchies depend. Rape culture theory was first developed in the 1970s, but it wasn't until after the turn of the century that its theoretical framing of gendered violence gained critical momentum, most notably in 2017 by the Twitter-sphere's invention of a discourse on rape via #metoo. The emergence of compositions like  _Adriana Mater_ and movements like Me Too, (and later #metoo), signals an unprecedented cultural shift towards the perspective of the survivor that is, to this day, drastically affecting art, media, and spectatorship.In considering the libretto and music, as well as the intent, staging and reception of  _Adriana Mater_, my paper is divided into four topics that align with each character: those who reject rape culture myths but still suffer assault, those who adhere to rape culture scripts, those who commit acts of sexual violence, and those who are impacted by the trauma of their parents. In my analysis I draw from the growing field of critical masculinity studies, and build on Michael Kimmel's work on men and anger (2013), alongside Kate Manne's work on misogyny (2017). Through these methodologies, I theorize  _Adriana Mater_ as a sonic discourse of dramatized assault that foreshadowed #metoo and offered a feminist alternative to a genre that still too often indulges and beautifully orchestrates rape culture.

This paper begins by examining Clara Schumann's early studies with Friedrich Wieck, who boasted in 1861 that she was the "best proof of what his method could produce." In order to assess the degree of Schumann's adherence to and liberation from her father's method throughout her career, the first half of the paper explores her engagement within the broader socio-musical networks from the time: on one hand, in relation to heroic virtuosi such as Franz Liszt, Adolf von Henselt, and Johannes Brahms, each of whom garnered fame for their pianistic idiosyncrasies and technical originality, and on the other, in connection with the plethora of keyboard technologies, self-help hand devices, and other technological gimmicks that commodified piano technique and codified bodily discipline in the early nineteenth century. The initial question surrounding Schumann's integration of the Wieck method concerns the gendered mechanisms of nineteenth-century piano pedagogy, which decreed that young female pianists passively internalize techniques taught to them by (male) pedagogues, while maturing male pianists actively mold their virtuosities as they saw fit. In order to investigate the limits of this virtuosic economy, the second part of the paper presents the seldom discussed story of Schumann's recurring hand injuries post-1840s and asks whether the pain was a by-product of other nineteenth-century female constraints such as the corset. Specifically, I discuss how several pieces Brahms wrote in his most extreme virtuosic idiom may have intensified Schumann's "chronic rheumatism," and work through the (im)possibility of (re)constructing gender from piano-technical rhetoric: was the clash between Schumann's technical capacity and Brahms's piano pieces indicative of how his "masculine" music was incompatible with her "feminine" physiognomy? In trying to conceptualize a nineteenth-century female pianism, I assess the ways in which these gendered frameworks prevented or enabled "freedom" in the performing experiences and haptic realities of female pianists. My most unique piece of evidence emerges from my own experiments playing virtuosic nineteenth-century music while wearing an historically-approximate steel corset: critically reassessing the ethos of carnal musicology as historical reenactment, I also seek to ask how and why nineteenth-century female pianism is still culturally relevant for contemporary perfumers and non-performers alike. 

The assertion that Johann Bernhard Logier's patented chiroplast was the cause of Robert Schumann's right hand disability lingers in the composer's afterlife. This paper examines known connections between Logier, Friedrich Wieck, Clara Wieck Schumann, Robert Schumann, and the notorious chiroplast. Wieck sold Logier's device among others in his Leipzig music shop. Logier spent three years in Berlin (1822–25) training other teachers to implement his system of group music instruction. Whether Wieck studied personally with Logier is uncertain, but he chose to use the group method for Clara's earliest lessons at age four. Even after developing his own pedagogical approach, Wieck had positive regard for Logier as teacher and keyboardist. The two men visited together as late as 1844, according to Marie Wieck, and Clara was acquainted with Logier's son Theodore.Already practicing hours a day, Schumann noted numbness or lameness in his right hand as early as January 1830, even before he moved into the Wieck home. In May 1832 his diary mentioned the use of a _Cigarrenmechanik_; six months later Schumann told his mother that his finger was incurable. The nature of Schumann's "cigar mechanism" has never been confirmed, but some biographers refer to it generically as a "chiroplast." Logier's chiroplast or hand-shaper was a static positioning frame with slots to insert the fingers to maintain one or both hands in stable five-note positions. The apparatus was only useful for beginners since the hand was fixed over five keys. Wieck deemed such devices unnecessary and advised Schumann against using one. The mechanism does not match Dr. Moritz Emil Reuter's 1841 medical affidavit that alluded to "a machine that pulled these fingers strongly toward the back of the hand." A French design concocted by Félix Levacher d'Urclé (published 1846) better fulfilled Reuter's description and thus has been passed along and ultimately misidentified as "Logier's 'Chiroplast'"  (Perrey 2007 p. 12).Speculation has only increased over time regarding diagnosis of the injury. The simple explanation of overuse-which Schumann himself suggested in 1839-has often been dismissed in preference for a physical malady or a suspect gadget.

With the flourishing of public concert life and widening educational opportunities since the late eighteenth century, more and more female musicians, particularly virtuoso pianists, broke through the social confinement of their public activity and achieved professional success. Titled by the Princess Louise of Prussia as the "Chamber Virtuoso of Her Royal Highness" and nicknamed by Paganini as "The Queen of the Piano," the highly esteemed German virtuoso pianist Anna Caroline de Belleville (1806-1880) was often greeted with enthusiasm by music critics during her concert tours starting in the 1820s. While a few biographical entries (Wenzel 2009; Goebl-Streicher 2011 and 2016) provide a general introduction to her life and career, there is a lack of critical examination of Belleville's playing style within the context of early nineteenth-century musical culture. Drawing on periodicals, magazines, correspondence, memoirs, and contemporary writings, this paper aims to reconstruct Belleville's early virtuoso career and understand her virtuosity by examining her strategic programming and evaluating her role in the changing performance practice in the early nineteenth century, a period when Belleville's touring career was at its height.I argue that Belleville's concert repertoire before around 1833 featured almost exclusively contemporary virtuosic works, mostly variations and concertos by Herz, Hummel, Pixis and herself. Music critics during this period mainly interpreted her virtuosity in terms of her technical prowess, masculine qualities, expressive depth, and distinctive playing gestures. In the mid-1830s as Belleville started performing more works considered Classical or serious, some critics began to comment on her relation to the musical works she performed, particularly her interpretive strength. During this so-called "virtuoso era" (1830-48) when the performance-centered concert was still at its height, Belleville might have been one of the earliest virtuosos whose interpretive strength was favorably perceived by music critics. This newly added critical focus on Belleville's virtuosity, along with her change of repertoire, anticipated the larger paradigm shift of performance practice from composer/virtuoso-performer to interpreter-performer in the second half of the nineteenth century.

The AMS Ludomusicology Study Group will host a hybrid interactive poster session and lightning talk panel at AMS/SMT Minneapolis 2020. All AMS or SMT members, regardless of familiarity with (or previous research of) video games, are welcome to submit and assist us in broadening the scope of game music studies. This year, we are creating two mini sessions: a series of lightning talks followed by a multimedia 'poster' session that can include nontraditional-format presentations, posters, and other interactive demonstrations. Our focus this year is on female and non-binary [womxn] characters and creators (to include composers, sound designers, visual designers, narrative designers, etc.) We welcome proposals for 8-minute lightning talks or multimedia 'posters' on topics including but not limited to: Case studies of video game soundtracks composed or compiled by womxn artistsAnalyses of representation of womxn characters or avatars in video gamesAnalyses of representation of womxn artists or creators in the video game industryExaminations of feminine features in video games, such as the female voice

This paper puts recent scholarship on sound and violence, sound studies work on emplacement, and emerging work on sonic care ethics in conversation with Marxist political philosophy and activist-scholarship in public health, environmental justice, and racial equity to envision a path towards sonic justice and just sound policies in the United States. It will ask what is an equitable "sonic good life," and how might musicologists (those with relative personal and institutional privilege inherited from and often affirming white settler colonialism) support frontline communities in their quest for a sonic good life?This project is borne from the knowledge that the good life does not arise from negative freedom alone: the absence of violence is not peace, the lack of injury is not care. Likewise, lack of sound annoyance or violence is not synonymous with a sonic good life. Instead, real freedom, as political philosopher Philippe Van Parijs has written, would ensure equitable distribution of access to resources or capacities for one's needs and desires. By putting Van Parijs' work in dialog with our field(s), we can work towards an idea of real freedom in sound.In the past few decades, music scholars have focused on histories, cultural studies, and ethnographic accounts of sound and violence, all of which provide useful diagnostics of sound annoyance and injuries from which to make claims for repair. In his field changing work Just Vibrations, Will Cheng moved beyond the diagnosis of the how, what, when, and why of sound violences and began a conversation about sonic care ethics, which he called "reparative acoustemology." This neologism brings together Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick's call for a queer feminist scholarly praxis with a quarter century of anthropology and sound studies work on sound in/as environment, embodiment, and emplacement and brought activist-musicology into the present moment.The next step in this work is to move from Cheng's focus on personal microremedies towards larger domains of public intervention on sound injury and towards an equitable sonic good life. In this paper I will uplift stories of frontline communities who experience sound violence "first and worst" in order to diagnosis, discuss, and work towards policy choices that would create a positive freedom in each study. In the United States, these are communities of color and low-income communities whose environments involve over-crowded living conditions, over-policing, proximity to industrial and state facilities, and lack of access to green, healthy and/or natural spaces. By looking at case studies of the environmental and racial equities movements, who have successfully moved towards centering frontline affected communities both as leaders of movements and as policy makers for just change, I will trace the possibilities for musicologists in coalition, companionship, and support of frontline communities in their struggles for a sonic good life within larger systems of just social transformation.

Through a regular commissioning program, gay choruses contribute a large amount of new music to the choral repertoire. New songs and multi-movement works are vital to outreach in that they allow choruses to make commentary on relevant issues impacting LGBTQ+ people. For this very reason, the repertoire of newly commissioned music is ancillary to choruses' approaches to activism. This body of music functions as a text, documenting painful aspects of LGBTQ+ history – the assassination of Harvey Milk in 1978, the AIDS epidemic from the early 1980s and up through medical advancements, the 1998 murder of Matthew Shepard, countless instances of suicide among LGBTQ+ youth because of bullying, and more. New music speaks to chorus singers' individual and shared experiences, often in profoundly personal ways. Consequently, some singers often consider dropping out of a concert cycle containing new music that might hit too close to home, so to speak. Drawing from research interviews and fieldwork, this paper first looks at instances where singers overcame ambivalence about such music and took part in performance because of a felt obligation to their chorus. Then, drawing from these interviews (with singers, conductors, and administrative staff of these choruses), this paper will examine the role of this music in shaping the perceptions of singers on their work as agents of social change. In relation to this, questions arise as to which pieces of new music continue to be performed by choruses, and which have been abandoned (mainly due to perceptions of continued relevance), and why. The ways in which new music contends with pain and trauma in LGBTQ+ history, informing community music-making driven by activism, carries strong implications for musicological research.

Since the early days of the AIDS epidemic, the artistic response has revealed the complexity with which the disease and its sufferers were perceived by communities both inside and outside the plague's circle. One of the largest and earliest to do so was a Requiem Mass premiered in May 1989 by Kansas City composer Christopher Lacy and performed by the Kansas City Symphony Orchestra with massed community and church choirs. Modeled after Britten's _War Requiem_, Lacy's work intersperses Latin texts with poetry by Thomas Wolfe in eight movements. While not the first work written in response to the AIDS crisis, it was by far the most ambitious up to that point, anticipating, for example, John Corigliano's Symphony Number One by a year. Through the efforts of several prominent Kansas City society women, the performance succeeded in raising nearly $100,000 for a local AIDS Hospice.In this paper, I examine the position of Lacy's Requiem within the history of music and AIDS. Like many gay children raised in isolated surroundings, Lacy sought refuge in the fantasy and "elevated" world of opera and classical music. Rather than explicitly attempting anything political or modernist in his Requiem, he depicts rage, sorrow, and agony through a postmodern mélange of irony and sincerity. Significantly, Lacy incorporated a variation of the "Adagietto" from Mahler's Fifth Symphony, but as a reference to Visconti's use of the music in his adaptation of _Death in Venice_ (1970). Aschenbach's cholera, as depicted in the film, had been romanticized by some gay men in the 1970s for idealizing a devotion to beauty without moralizing judgement. That this same plague could be understood as a metaphor for AIDS in the 1980s was not lost on those same gay men. Lacy's unapologetic "borrowings" can be understood, ironically, as an insertion of his own complex experiences with the disease. His Requiem issued a challenge to the city's cultural elite, bridging the gulf between communities; on the one hand, Lacy's work nostalgically evoked an accessible, discarded musical language, on the other, a cry of mourning for an emerging gay culture profoundly altered by unimaginable loss.

The failed rescue missions of the Iran hostage crisis, in particular, "Operation Eagle Claw," during which helicopters malfunctioned and eight American service members were killed, is the subject of Laurie Anderson's multimedia piece "O Superman" (1981). The piece featured the innovative use of an Eventide Harmonizer, a studio processor first released in 1975 with pitch-shifting, delay, and feedback capacities among other effects, and a vocoder, a speech synthesis encoder, which originated in Bell research laboratories and developed as a voice encryption military technology. The song charted internationally the year of its release and has continued to circulate widely and in uncommon settings to frame public anxiety regarding the intersection of technological advancements and international political strife, such as amassing attention again after the Iran-Contra affair in the mid-1980s and following the 9/11 attacks in NYC, and, in 1988, the Italian Health Ministry employed it in a television campaign for AIDS awareness and education. More recently, at the 2016 PEN World Voices Literary Festival in New York City, Anderson appeared alongside Chelsea Manning, queer and transgender rights activist and famed military whistleblower. While discussing Anderson's piece "O Superman," Manning suggested that Anderson's work encourages a necessary re-evaluation of past failures of the American government. This paper investigates "O Superman" as a case study to consider the genealogy of voice processing as a military encryption technology and the politics of failure from its inclusion on the album _Big Science_ (1982) to _Homeland_ (2010). Situating the piece within musicological discourse on the subversion of teleological forms (McClary 1991), the tension of drastic/gnostic divides (Abbate 2004), and voice as a mechanism of political constitution (Eidsheim, 2015, 2019; Ochoa Gautier, 2014) I take up "O Superman" through the lens of failure, both as a queer method (Halberstam, 2011) and a frame of war (Butler, 2009; Puar 2007, 2017). I re-evaluate the circulation of "O Superman" to demonstrate how failure is encrypted into expressions of national security and imperial logics in the context of public health, social hygiene, and the promise of endless war. 

How many voices do we hear in a five-voice madrigal?  The relationship of the polyphonic madrigal to the singular speaking subject of its lyric texts, and to the dramatically represented persona of opera, has long stood at the center of madrigal scholarship.  Recent studies have posited the madrigal's rendering of an individual subjectivity through the distinction of a single voice with register, texture, offset phrasing, and other means, sometimes interpreting these effects as quasi-dramatic and as prefiguring the motivations that led to opera and solo song. Others, however, have situated the genre in a lyric, Petrarchan, and sometimes pastoral court tradition in which the first-person voice represents a collective, plural identity.This study further explores these questions of voice, perspective, and interpretation in the madrigal through a selection of revealing treatments of dramatic dialogues.Relatively few madrigals set texts that involve dialogue, and only a fraction of these dialogues come from dramatic texts. The task of treating texts with multiple speakers and psychological states seems to have posed distinctive challenges to composers, which they often handled not only with specialized compositional techniques involving texture, form, and mode, but also in certain cases by incorporating textual annotations both within and external to the musical works themselves for instructive purposes. These textual insertions, in effect, create an additional layer of dialogue between the printed work and its readers that serves to shape the performance and interpretation of the madrigal's rendering of its poetic discourse.  This paper focuses on three selected examples of such dual-dimensional dialogues:  the settings of Tasso's _Aminta_ in Simone Balsamino's _Novellette_ (1594), and those of Guarini's _Pastor fido_ in Philippe de Monte's Second Book _a 7_ (1600) and Monteverdi's Fifth Book _a 5_ (1605). This analysis reveals how these works grapple with their dialogic texts musically and textually in very different ways, yet reinforce a common mode of realizing the subjective voices in a collective, lyric (i.e., non-mimetic) fashion.  Together, these works offer compelling, complementary new perspectives into the madrigal's means of conveying the first-person speaker and into composer's means of upholding this mode of interpretation in the unconventional setting of multi-speaker texts.

Max Kalbeck described Johannes Brahms's op. 31 vocal quartets as "higher entertainment-music or more properly chamber music for voice and piano." Kalbeck's description distilled a key strand of critical reception of all Brahms's vocal quartets: namely the conflict between the works' generic designation as Hausmusik, or works intended for domestic performance by amateurs, and the considerable technical demands and complexity that seemed to preclude such performance. Both positive and negative reviews consistently called attention to Brahms's difficult writing for the voices and the works' harmonic, formal, and contrapuntal complexity. What these writers seemed to object to was Brahms's use of chamber style in works understood to be Hausmusik, but more was at stake here than genre aesthetics. After midcentury an extensive published discourse in German-speaking lands connected Hausmusik to conservative conceptions of German identity, advocating for it as an alternative to Salonmusik and other domestic repertoires linked to cosmopolitan liberalism. Chamber music was similarly suspect because of the elite and liberal milieu associated with it. Within this context, criticism of Brahms's vocal quartets was a response not only to the works' thwarting of generic expectations, but more importantly, to the perceived intrusion of an elite, liberal musical style into what was regarded as a fundamentally conservative genre.I begin with a summary of the distinction nineteenth-century authors made between Hausmusik and chamber music based on the genres' differing musical styles and their attendant social and political associations. Chamber music's refined style was connected to its origins in aristocratic courts and continued cultivation by connoisseurs whereas Hausmusik's simple musical language appealed to all classes. Next, I demonstrate how reception of Brahms's quartets emphasized musical features associated with chamber style seen as antithetical to Hausmusik and the political implications these aesthetic breaches had. Focusing on several particularly negative reviews, I explore how criticisms of Brahms's quartets as "artificial" and "decadent" reinforced associations between class, economic liberalism, and cosmopolitanism present in much discourse about Hausmusik. For these critics, Brahms's use of chamber style in his vocal quartets not only flouted generic and stylistic conventions, but also challenged their conservative conception of German identity.

In America, during the 1920s and 1930s, adults expressed concern with the types of music and radio shows that children consumed in the home. Enmeshed in discourses of racial uplift and juvenile delinquency prevention, women's clubs and local branches of the National Parent Teacher Association sent letters of disapproval to NBC radio executives. They disparaged radio shows with violent and corrupting content, advocating for an increased number of music appreciation and children's theater programs. Contemporaneous publications, including _Parents' Magazine_, urged parents to help their children cultivate an understanding of "good" musical taste through early exposure to Western art music. Amid these concerns, educators, parents, and journalists lauded a group of popular songs for children by Tin Pan Alley songwriters Irving Caesar and Gerald Marks that were featured on the radio and at venues such as Carnegie Hall. But what historical conditions allowed for these popular songs to be considered appropriate music for children?Taking Caesar and Marks's _Sing a Song of Safety_ (1937) as its primary case study, this paper argues that it was not only the promotional tactics employed by Caesar and Marks which framed the songs as good music for the consumption of children, but it was through the writing of educators and journalists and the gendered labor of mothers that the songs gained their worth. While scholars such as Mark Katz (1998 and 2010), Christopher J. Washburne and Maiken Derno (2004), and John J. Sheinbaum (2018) have examined the historical and cultural conditions of musical value and taste, no one has seriously examined Caesar and Marks's songs or the broader potential of children's music to nuance our understanding of the attribution of value to music. Drawing on archival research, reception history, and tracing the incorporation of Tin Pan Alley stylistic elements with regard to contemporaneous pedagogy, this paper demonstrates that parents and educators were tastemakers. It examines the historical conditions of and boundaries for what was considered appropriate music for children, investigating when music and media technologies became safe, and how this transfiguration arose. 

From the formative years of radio broadcasting in the 1920s until the 1950s, when television superseded it, radio's "golden age" in the United States was a period of scripted programming that embraced a broad scope of formats and genres, and reached an astonishingly wide cross section of the American public. Due to the aural context, music functioned as an integral element of radio: as program content, as advertising jingles, and as "background" in radio drama.One well-explored avenue of scholarship centers on music's role in developing goodwill within the broadcast audience in order to persuade consumers (e.g. Taylor, 2003, 2012; Asai, 2016; Russo, 2016). Yet, advertising concerned itself not merely with the promotion of products, but also of lifestyles and, by extension, of lives. The molding of subjectivity is key to 20th-century advertising. I argue that it is this interest in subjectivity-communicating how it would feel to have a product in one's life-that cultivated an aesthetic of kitsch in commercial radio, and that a primary role of music was to provide the emotional connection necessary for this form of persuasion.Drawing on Svetlana Boym's (2002) explication of the "restorative" and "reflective" tendencies in nostalgia, this paper focuses on two long-running series programs to situate radio drama in the context of the commercial broadcast system and theorize the ways in which the music of radio drama participates in the aesthetic of kitsch. Although Boym does not lavish much attention on the kitsch aesthetic, she connects kitsch to nostalgia, noting that both have been commonly viewed as ethical and aesthetic failures. Rather than evaluating nostalgia and kitsch as parallel failures, a view that implies that the producers of culture are always seeking to produce "Art," examples from _Dr. Christian_ and _Death Valley Days_ suggest that nostalgia and kitsch were deliberately entwined due to their success in communicating specific attitudes. Music relayed meaning beyond the level of text, and thus can be seen as central in establishing a uniquely American form of the kitsch aesthetic in a nascent consumer society.

Shortly after radio took hold in the United States in the early 1920s, several large film theaters installed radio broadcasting stations and began airing a variety of programs: performances by theater orchestras and organists, speeches from the theater's stage, even narration of select feature films. Perhaps most famously, Samuel "Roxy" Rothafel and his Capitol Theater Gang started offering weekly programs featuring musical numbers and backstage conversation in 1922. Yet radio receivers and amplifiers were far more ubiquitous in U.S. theaters than broadcast stations. Theater managers across the country played all sorts of radio broadcasts for their audiences as "radio numbers" in presentation programs, and also used radio music to accompany segments of short and feature-length films. More complex experiments emerged, too. In 1921, the film _Heliotrope_ (dir. George Baker) was shown simultaneously at two Omaha theaters, and audiences heard, in alternation, accompaniment by their theater's orchestra and the other house's musicians over the radio. The following year, when _The Storm_ (dir. Reginald Barker) was shown at the Central Theater in New York City, the accompaniment included sound recordings of a forest fire broadcast into the house by Newark station WOR. Quickly, movie theaters across the country began working with local radio stations to receive carefully-timed broadcasts of music, sound effects, and even dialogue to "accompany" and augment their film programs.In this paper, I examine the complex relationships between the emergent radio industry and silent film exhibition in the early 1920s. Many theater managers integrated radio into their programs as a novelty by which to attract new and expanded audiences; others adopted it in an attempt to absorb a potential competitor and demonstrate film's ongoing relevance in an ever-expanding entertainment culture. Yet radio also quickly came to be understood, I argue, as means of radically re-envisioning silent film music and sound more broadly. The "synchronization stunts" described above, for example, threatened-or promised- to alleviate the need for individual theaters to employ musicians and musical directors; might radio also serve as a means for film studios or theater chains to standardize the music and sounds of film presentations? Placing a series of film-radio experiments from the early 1920s in dialogue with archival materials about their reception and broader debates about the soundscapes of silent films, this paper traces and theorizes radio's challenge to-and in some cases significant reshaping of-the aesthetic, technological, and economic realities of silent film music and sound.

Commencing with the 1931 Christmas Day transmission of _Hänsel und Gretel_, the Metropolitan Opera radio broadcasts became a media phenomenon-by the late 1930s, around ten million listeners tuned in every weekend. Eighty-nine seasons later, consumers can continuously stream historic broadcasts via Sirius XM. Despite extensive scholarship on Met stage productions, the radio programs have received little critical attention. Incorporating a range of broader questions-from liveness versus mediatized performance to how broadcasts messily intertwined the "public space" of the opera house with listeners' domestic spaces-this paper centers on how the Metropolitan radio programs offer a unique opportunity for analyzing music and identity.I begin with materiality, considering how collection and dissemination of broadcasts complicates existent scholarship on operatic listening. The Met began officially releasing the Historic Broadcast Recordings series in 1974; thus for over forty years, radio programs typically circulated via bootleg recordings. Leroy Ehrenreich's collection, for example, contains hundreds of broadcasts copied on reel-to-reel tapes. There is an intimate aspect to how these unofficial materials circulated among creators, consumers, and friends-Andrea Bohlman has described other tape cultures as "user-driven, decentralized networks of creative exchange." Such networks of exchange add additional layers to preexistent work on operatic listening subjectivities by scholars such as Mitchell Morris. In a second case study, I examine a pivotal decade spanning Marian Anderson's 1955 broadcast through early 1960s programs by Leontyne Price, George Shirley, and Martina Arroyo. As millions listened in their living rooms, what kinds of assumptions did they make about race, voices, and opera? In dialogue with Nina Sun Eidsheim's recent theories about the "acousmatic question," I argue these radio broadcasts offer particularly compelling examples about how listeners (mis)understood the operatic voices of performers of color.Drawing on institutional documents, bootleg collections, memoirs, and press coverage, the two case studies incorporate theory from voice studies, work on gender, sexuality, and race, and scholarship connecting collecting, intimacy, and material culture. Ultimately, I demonstrate that the Metropolitan Opera radio broadcasts are not only a long-lived media product, but also a crucial source which uniquely illuminates ties between music and identity.

Millie and Christine McCoy (1851-1912), African American conjoined twins, billed in the singular as Millie-Christine, were among the most successful freak show performers in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Across America and Europe, they delighted audiences with their dancing, conversational prowess in multiple languages, and above all, their singing, which earned them the title "The Two-Headed Nightingale" ("Rossignol à deux têtes"). In this essay, we study Millie-Christine's 1873 debut in Paris, at the Cirque des Champs-Elysées. Their stay in the French capital was filled with intrigues, including rival frauds, accusations of forgery, and an unusual amount of intervention on the part of the French medical establishment. Medical luminaries such as Paul Broca, Paul Bert, and Jules Fournet eagerly studied the conjoined sisters or, in their taxonomical language, "le monstre double," and their scientific findings were entangled with sensational press narratives to maintain a tension between obfuscation and clarification that was at the heart of Millie-Chrstine's allure. This tension allowed the sisters to cultivate various kinds of performative mysteries and illusions with their persona: are they a genuine phénomène or merely a fake; are they two persons or one; are they ladies or monsters?  Imbricated in these mysteries was Millie-Christine's voice, an unusual polyphonic instrument capable of generating various kinds of sonic illusions that worked in tandem with their freakshow persona. At one level, their polyphony confused audience perception of the singularity or duality of their persons, thereby enhancing their freakishness. At another, their repertoire of parlor songs and genteel singing subverted expectations of grotesque bodies and black female performers, creating an illusion of identity constituted around an oral/aural "miscegenation."Our study of Millie-Christine and their voices reveals the "double-ness" of their monstrosity in a specifically Parisian context; the Two-headed Nightingale was created by the convergence of the two discursive systems of disability and race by which alterity was established, at a time of increasing interest in evolution and colonial exhibition in France. 

Between the 1880s and World War I, African Americans usually performed in minstrel-style song-and-dance acts in white vaudeville. The typical vaudeville bill (or program) also generally contained at least one "song act"-when one or more entertainers sang three or more popular numbers. Song acts with operatic vocalists who programmed opera arias were not nearly as common, but were prized by vaudeville managers because the genteel connotations of the genre reassured skittish customers that high-class vaudeville was an appropriate pastime for respectable middle-class people. I have identified six African American women operatic singers through accounts in the white and black press who performed on otherwise white vaudeville bills before 1915, but who have, thus far, gone largely unnoticed in vaudeville scholarship.Often nicknamed "Creole Nightingales," they were transgressive in almost every way, breaking social, theatrical, and musical norms. Building on the work of Graham, Kibler, and McAllister on race and gender in popular entertainment, and on the insights of André and Eidsheim on black vocality, I argue that black opera singers in white vaudeville challenged Jim Crow ideology by locating the sounds of European (that is white) opera in black bodies. At once a source of pride in the black community, and of puzzlement and anxiety to white people, these operatic singers performed the same excerpts from canonic operas, such as _Faust_, _La Traviata_ and _Il Trovatore_, as their white counterparts. Moreover, some of the singers "whited up" during their acts, perhaps in a bid to separate themselves from the racially stereotyped song-and-dance acts, as well as to connect their performances to white aesthetic practices. Although vaudeville was saturated in cross-racial masquerade, according to extant managers' reports and press coverage, many white people rejected this challenge to white operatic hegemony. The presence of African American operatic singers in white vaudeville was a moment of integration amidst the deepening segregation of Jim Crow America-a challenge that was contained by the episodic structure of the vaudeville bill and ultimately erased after World War I when black operatic singers no longer appeared in white productions.

This panel aims to open a frank conversation about, and recommend concrete proposals for, improved educational infrastructures at the graduate level.Graduate programs tend to operate under a myth of certainty. Curricular designs, passed on from year to year, reflect received ideas about which skills will best position students to embark on successful academic careers. The "success" that beckons in these inherited curricula is measured according to a narrow set of disciplinary requirements. Operating following the logic of a zero-sum game, graduate educational structures-the cycle of seminars, seminar papers, qualifying exams, introductions to the discipline, and mentorship protocols-are meant to ensure mastery in a field that is understood to be as strictly organized as it is competitive. The myth of certainty rests on several foundational assumptions that the ubiquitous signs of precarity do little to dislodge: that disciplinary coherence is pre-given, that the system will be kind to those who conform to it (while paradoxically also valuing radical upheaval and disobedience), that a relationship with a single all-knowing advisor produces best results, that the pressures of the job market are best answered with specialization, and that "the funnel" is all there is. A single-track/tenure-track mentality prevails.  We mean that phrase "teaching precarity" to refer as much to the situation of faculty teaching graduates, as to the situation of the precariat themselves: students consigned to below-minimum-wage teaching, often justified as "training" for post-graduate tenure-track positions in which they will be appropriately compensated. The numbers of graduate programs in music and the numbers of students admitted to those programs continue to grow, even as hiring priorities at institutions of higher learning shift away from ladder positions and towards contingent labor. At stake here is the wider adaptation of university systems to conditions of uncertainty and the contingencies of part-time labor, short-term contracts and temporary teaching gigs, internships and job insecurity in the concierge economy. If old curricular structures are ill-suited to these conditions, it is in part because of the persistence of the assumptions-the infrastructures-that undergird them. How, then, might we build new infrastructures, and what would they look like? Questions for the panel include, but are not limited to:What kinds of graduate courses are useful/advisable to program now?How do we mentor for positions outside of academia? When does labor in the sonic disciplines qualify as "precarious"? How do we – and should we – negotiate the neoliberal conversion of universities from "ivory tower" institutions (fighting over the structures of knowledge) to utilitarian accreditation agencies (training for the instrumental purposes of the market)? What does a "defunneled" curricular structure for graduate students look like? What systems could be put in place to better address student/instructor anxiety? How do we mentor in times of precarity? The panel, proposed in order to share resources and practical ideas about preparing graduate students for a wider set of employment options, looks forward to wider "beyond academia" initiatives at our AMS Chicago meeting in 2021.

Music-oriented meme accounts litter social media spaces. These are populated with images that pair a visual subject with a short text that-due to the oblique, ironic, or unexpected juxtaposition of the image and accompanying text-results in something humorous, clever, absurd, critical, wise, etc. Endlessly iterable, the in-jokes that inform the humor of memes function as shibboleths among cultural insiders that establish, normalize, and maintain the beliefs and values of a community. This paper investigates a recent event wherein meme culture engaged with a recurring crisis around the term "jazz"; a crisis whose stakes reach beyond the aesthetic into racialized power dynamics associated with Black American Music.As have many prominent musicians before him, trumpeter Nicholas Payton has identified the term "jazz" and its attendant industries as constructs whose persistence manifest contemporary forms of blackface minstrelsy. In December of 2019, an Instagram meme account popular among "jazz bro" culture (a subculture informed by demographics and values of institutionalized jazz education) meme-ified Payton, lampooning his criticism of "jazz" and naming him a "jazz" musician. While the perpetrators of this act painted it as celebratory and light-hearted, Payton-himself engaged in social media spaces-responded: "To suggest they have the power to call me 'jazz' despite what I've said, reflects a colonialist mindset and is racist…tantamount to calling me the N-word." Mixed responses to Payton's reaction demonstrate that the political and aesthetic dynamics informing it are ill-understood by many people invested in contemporary "jazz" culture - particularly along color lines.My paper agrees with Payton and works to unpack his claim that the meme-ification of great black artists is engaging in exploitation as much as celebration. The tone deafness of memes that deny sponsorship of white supremacy while uncritically implicated within artistic histories of love and theft demonstrate a crucial disconnect; a larger culture of supposedly post-racial neutralization that reconstitutes raced histories of performativity and spectatorship. This paper examines ways in which connections between educational institutionalization, markets, and isolating silos of social media sometimes unwittingly engage in the normalization of racialized exploitation in their presentation and maintenance of "jazz." 

In 1970, a television-show dance contest in a small California town ended abruptly when the studio was briefly plunged into darkness because of an apparent power failure. The media coverage of the event eventually helped uncover criminal activity at the studio; over the course of this reporting, the narrative was accompanied by select genres of music, mostly popular, which became noticeable for their signification of the contest's participants as young, urban, white teens. In reviewing earlier footage of youth-focused events from the same source, it is clear that the studio engaged in a practice of both identifying and catering to specific demographic groups through the use of select musical genres and forms of music in the service of creating a single, demographically-limited "look" and "sound" of California youth. A representative sample of this coverage provides a case study on the ways in which television music directors and arrangers denoted race, age, gender, and other demographic and cultural identities in a microcosm of the televisual medium. I focus on several instances from the 1970s in which music was used to suggest preferred, "normate" class, age, and race in several California cities and towns: media coverage of Chinese New Year, showing white youth engaging (at times problematically) with Asian cultural practices; a segment on rural livestock rustling; a cultural feature on Hawaiian music in the community; and the dance contest described above. Using methods drawn from sound and media studies and comparative musicology, I will outline the systematic use of pleonastic and selective scoring techniques in the media, as well as the effects of the media's use of metadiegetic, nonsimultaneous, and acousmatic music and sound in creating cultural and ethnic profiles of both individuals and entire cultures and ethnicities. I demonstrate that despite national and local attempts to be inclusive in covering cultural diversity, the cultural environment of the news media in the late 1960s and early 1970s was one in which difference and Otherness was not only marked by cinematography and broadcaster language and speech bias, but also by deliberately anempathetic music that privileged middle and upper class white youth culture.

This paper documents shifts in jazz pianist and composer Joe Zawinul's autobiographical narrative, as presented in interviews in _Down Beat_ and other prominent music magazines, and shows how his self-image changed from the 60s to the 70s. A reception history of Zawinul's American career also reveals how his persona and music was framed differently by the white and the black press in the U.S. Initially, he downplayed his own whiteness and Austrian nationality in favor of a universal musical aesthetic and a politics of musical assimilation. Later, he constructed a cosmopolitan "gypsy" heritage from which he sought to forge racial solidarity with African Americans, and he toyed with stories of reverse racial passing (from white to black).The paper builds on recent work on race and genre in jazz and popular music studies (Brackett 2016; Hamilton 2016; Brennan 2017) to show how Zawinul's improvisation and composition cultivated a "soul jazz" persona in the 1960s through the use of essentialist black musical tropes (most prominently "soul" and "blues") and how he, in the 1970s, sought to position fusion jazz as authentically black against the perceived sell-out and whiteness of rock music. White critics dreaming of a post-racial world in the wake of the Civil Rights Era, used Zawinul as an argument for colorblindness and as an example to hold up against black nationalism. However, my research also shows that black critics and musicians accepted Zawinul's "soul." They did so, not because Zawinul proved that jazz was racially universal or colorblind, but because he exemplified the anti-anti-essentialist (Gilroy 1993) power of black music and aesthetic markers like "blues" and "soul."The paper highlights the necessity for a more sustained engagement with critical whiteness studies in jazz scholarship and musicology. Ultimately, I argue that Zawinul's politics and practice of race shows the fluidity and instability of race that goes beyond essentialism, but nevertheless mobilizes race through appropriation and the privilege of whiteness.

Detailed engagement with R. Murray Schafer's _Music for Wilderness Lake_ (1979) is currently lacking in the scholarly literature regarding site-specific art. The work is briefly mentioned by Alan Licht in _Sound Art Revisited_ (2019) and in _Spaces Speak, Are You Listening?_ (2007) by Barry Blesser and Linda-Ruth Salter. Instead of discussing any of Schafer's compositions in depth, Licht, Blesser and Salter, and other authors including Brandon LaBelle in _Background Noise_ (2015), Emily Thompson in _The Soundscape of Modernity_ (2002), and contributors to _Music, Sound and Space_ (2013) and _The Routledge Companion to Sound Studies_ (2019) discuss Schafer's written work, namely _The Tuning of the World_ (1977). This paper is a detailed investigation of the available archived materials and personal recollections that seeks to unpack the significance of _Music for Wilderness Lake_, Schafer's first environmental composition.The work is scored for twelve trombones stationed around a lake, and the premiere performance was recorded for film and radio broadcast. Decisions made by individuals involved in the premiere as well as acoustic features of the landscape can all be seen in the notation of the published score, released by Arcana Editions, but this is not the only version of the score in existence. Drafts and other related score materials are housed in the R. Murray Schafer collection at the National Archives of Canada in Ottawa. I also gained access to additional versions of the score shared from the private collections of trombonists involved in the premiere. By coordinating all of these materials, I present a narrative of how both land and people have left traces in the published score.The goal of this score study is to unpack the progression, development, or rejection of notated ideas. This identification process occurs in two ways. First, I highlight key ideas present in the work in its various stages. For example, all of the score versions contain moments of animal depiction by the trombones, though the precise notation changes depending on the version. Second, I undertake a specimen analysis of the start of the first movement, informed by the narrative uncovered through engagement with all the sketch material. My analysis reveals how early drafts have an improvised opening before a lengthy solo trombone melody, ideas that would be rejected in later score versions. On the whole, Schafer's musical compositions are typically overshadowed by his written work. This paper is a first step toward inserting his first environmental work into the ongoing scholarly discussion regarding the challenges of making and documenting site-specific environmental art.

In 1972, Jerry Goldsmith told an interviewer for _Cinefantastique_ magazine that he did not want his landmark film score for _Planet of the Apes_ to be "gimmicky" or "obvious." The obvious, to Goldsmith, were scores from the 1950s, the Golden Age of Science Fiction, where electronic sounds dominated. While Goldsmith's scores often rely on strange and noisy timbres (unusual percussion, extended techniques, muted brass, prepared pianos), he chose to explore the acoustic avant-garde for his brand of science fiction. Focusing on _Planet of the Apes_ (1968) and _Alien_ (1979), I argue that Goldsmith used serialism, dissonance, and idiosyncratic instrumentation to create two distinctly different sonic impressions of outer space as disorienting and dangerous. In _Planet of the Apes_, serialism functions as an allegorical tool. I show that Goldsmith represents the "alien" planet with I-0 and uses prime rows in scenes showing humans and the environment, alluding to the revelation that the "alien" planet is actually Earth. In _Alien_, Goldsmith works within the New Hollywood sound, as defined by Frank Lehman and other film music scholars, following in the footsteps of John Williams's leitmotivic score for _Star Wars_, but remains firmly in the avant-garde-director Ridley Scott's preference-, by employing dissonant intervals, such as augmented fourths and major sevenths, and dense cluster chords to echo _Alien_'s menacing setting.As humans finally entered into orbit and landed on the Moon at the climax of the Space Race, newspaper headlines stressed the American obsession with space as an environment rich in possibilities that, in turn, would greatly benefit life back on Earth. However, Goldsmith's music for these two films works against this romantic perspective and mirrors more conflicted attitudes toward futuristic technology and modern colonialism.

In 1979, Musicians United for Safe Energy (MUSE) held a series of concerts to advocate against the use of nuclear energy, using profits from the event to benefit grassroots environmental groups across the United States. The event took place in New York City shortly after the accident at the Three Mile Island nuclear plant in Pennsylvania, a crisis that validated a decade's-worth of anti-nuclear protests. According to press from both the live concerts and the album, critics described an unusual tune as the movement's anthem, Jackson Browne's "Before the Deluge." Unlike typical protest songs, Browne's song barely mentions the cause at hand and is confessional in tone, describing experiences of personal loss. How did confessional songs become the soundscape of the environmental movement? And how did "Before the Deluge" communicate a generation's desire for social change?In this paper, I argue that confessional songs encapsulated the views of the environmental movement in the 1970s by showing how singer-songwriters used romantic loss as a metaphor for the degradation of nature. Using archival and ethnographic research, I lay out a history of how three singer-songwriters-Joni Mitchell, Phil Ochs, and Jackson Browne-became involved with activist groups that each viewed the proliferation of nuclear energy as a major force disturbing ecosystems, including Greenpeace, the Clamshell Alliance, and finally the formation of MUSE. This research draws on work about environmental protest songs by David Ingram and Travis Stimeling and further adds to discourses within ecomusicology about the relationship between musicians and the natural world. Through this history, I challenge perceptions of the singer-songwriter movement as apolitical and theorize how confessional songwriting articulated the anthropocentric views of environmental activists. 

An air of mystery surrounds a collection of sixteen missionary music books from around 1600. These "Huehuetenango manuscripts," copied for tiny communities in a remote and mountainous region of Guatemala, contain polyphonic music in the European tradition-but the villages in question never had missionaries in regular residence. The musical tradition that these choirbooks facilitated must therefore have been heavily supported by Indigenous practitioners. Often judged from a European perspective, the books have been deemed banal on the basis of their repertory. And yet I argue that the evidence of the manuscripts, along with historical chronicles and missionary correspondence, points to a vibrant, localized, and possibly syncretic practice. Using two villancicos-a genre of multi-voice music popular in the Hispanic world around 1600-as case studies, I adopt a heterogeneous analytical approach that attends to the notated music, scribal hands, and genre while also drawing on missionary chronicles and studies of the region by historical geographers. I explore how music supported the goals and expectations of the Spanish missionaries working in these rural reaches of New Spain's Guatemala region. In the process, I investigate the cracks through which the story of the music's Indigenous contributors emerges. This multi-faceted approach builds on the work of Ana Maria Ochoa Gautier, who has demonstrated how rebuilding soundscapes from sources other than musical scores can help give voice to non-normative or non-hegemonic music practices, and on a study by Leonardo Waisman that uses music manuscripts as a basis for uncovering colonial culture-building ideologies. Adopting this approach allows us to consider these villancicos as more than simple or banal examples of the genre, and as more than mere vehicles for disseminating "Spanish-ness." Instead, these works can be shown to respond to their local environments through a process of ongoing cultural negotiation. These findings invite us to place Indigenous contributors alongside their urban European counterparts as equal creators and participants in what must have been a dynamic-and distinctive-musical tradition. 

This paper explores the performance of indigeneity in the Canary Islands through adaptations of autochthonous sound ecology in contemporary popular music. Named after an interlocutor's composition, I explore the performative and sampled use of precolonial and modern lithophones hewn from the archipelago's volcanic rock to voice indigenous perspectives that continue to be silenced, while highlighting the importance of archeoastronomy and Afrofuturism in establishing both historical precedents and creative inspiration for present-day Canarian indigeneity. The primary case study involves musical settings of precolonial Guanche inscriptions-first published by Leonardo Torriani in 1590. For example, in 2011 Rogelio Botanz, an influential popular musician originally from the Basque Country, invited Amazigh vocalist Khalid Izri of the Rif region, to perform with Botanz's group Puntos Suspensivos at the Teatro Leal in La Laguna, Tenerife. The composition on which they collaborated was "Aica Maragá," Botanz's musical setting of one of the pre-colonial inscriptions dating from the era of Spanish conquest; the inscription calls for emergent alliances among the archipelago's indigenous groups to confront and resist colonization. These alliances and the collaboration between Botanz and Izri are two instantiations of _ínsulo-amazig_ identity, just one of the many conceptions of indigenous _canariedad_. In the performance of "Aica Maragá," this diversity is enacted through a plurality of musical sounds and languages: pre-colonial Canarian, Tamazight, and Spanish are intermixed with traditional Afro/Canarian and Amazigh musics and contemporary Canarian jazz-rock fusion in a dynamic performance that transcends historical time and musical genre in an effort to break out of historiographical canons that have relegated the Afro/Canarian, Basque, and _rifeño_ cultures to the margins of the region's past and present. Additional examples highlight the diversity of historical, ideological, and musical perspectives that seek to recover Canarian indigeneity from its status as prehistorical myth through reference to local ecology, histories of scientific inquiry, and indigenous language.

In 1671, the Catholic Wendat (Huron) Congregation of Our Lady in Quebec gathered to celebrate the Christmas season. As they paraded with a waxen form of the baby Jesus, the Wendat sang songs of the Nativity in their own tongue. Jesuit missionaries describing the scene emphasized the Catholic piety of the Wendat congregants, referencing the way that French Catholics from surrounding communities were moved by the devout Wendat singing. Taking their cue from contemporary Jesuit claims, historians have long presumed that such scenes articulated a Wendat submission to Catholic social norms, political structures, and cosmological understandings. This simplistic reliance on Jesuit propaganda has rendered the Wendat experience in this context mute. The colonial archive has, of course, been troubled as a source of Indigenous experience; we have been left to assume that the only perspective that we may glean from colonial sources will be European. My way out of this impasse comes from a previously unexplored late 17th century manuscript of Catholic Wendat devotional songs, the "Cantiques Hurons." By unpacking the layers of practice inscribed in this colonial musical source, I will reveal that the Wendat Christmas worshipers were continuing to practice a matriarchal musical politics rooted in Wendat spiritual relationships. In fleshing out the connections between musical practices inscribed in the "Cantiques Hurons" and material histories, such as wampum belts, this paper will demonstrate how Wendat communities maintained their existing relationships to land, language, and power through matriarchal practices centered on music making and alliance building. Conceiving of mother Mary as an active, birthing, nurturing, and guiding being, Wendat matriarchs sang in communion as they constructed wampum belts for their distant French allies. While recent postcolonial musicology has demonstrated how colonial peripheries actually defined European identities, these studies have remained centered on European actors. My research seeks to push the methodological envelop by unearthing Indigenous voices in the archive. This paper will thus forward a methodology for attuning to the Indigenous participation in the production and life of colonial musical archives such as the "Cantiques Hurons."

A trend in recent productions of Strauss's _Salome_ sees directors using stage action during the Dance of the Seven Veils to position Salome as a victim of sexual abuse. This paper analyzes the Salome-as-rape-victim trope as it occurs in a group of _Salome_s produced between 2008 and 2018 in Europe and North America. My analysis of the productions is organized around two poles: Salome's agency in the events of the story, and the stylistic modes through which acts of sexual violence are represented onstage.The productions in my collection share the goal of finding rational motivations behind Salome's monstrous desire for Jochanaan's head. By making the story about what or who _caused_ Salome to take the actions she takes, this trope minimizes Salome's agency. But within the framework of this trope, a number of productions leverage this history of sexual violence to transform their Salomes into avengers, wreaking humiliation and violence on their abusers.There is a tension in the group of productions that stage Salome's rape between two contrary tendencies theatre scholar Lisa Fitzpatrick has recognized in stage representations of sexual violence: methods focused on showing the harsh reality of sexual violence, and methods that seek "to present the subjective embodied experience of sexual violence affectively" (Fitzpatrick 2018). Whereas realism risks exploiting Salome's suffering and exposing her body to a potentially eroticizing audience gaze, a highly aestheticized representation risks transforming rape into a beautiful spectacle. At its best, the addition of sexual violence to Strauss's _Salome_ encourages us to sympathize with a complex heroine, and makes a powerful argument about the repercussions of childhood sexual abuse. At its worst, it renders one of the most compelling female monsters of the operatic canon a traumatized victim, and transforms her suffering into erotic spectacle. While there is not a single right way to ethically represent sexual violence on stage, in this paper I model a way of thinking through the effects that introducing sexual violence can have on operatic stories and characters, and the work these representations do in the world around us in terms of contemporary feminist frameworks.

The demonic sorceress-seductress has a fixture in opera throughout the genre's history. In recent years, contemporary operas have sought critically to re-examine classic representations of the "dark feminine," turning to both contemporary and historical figures for inspiration. With music by Peter Eötvös and a libretto by Albert Ostermaier, _Paradise Reloaded (Lilith)_, premiered at the Neue Oper Wien in 2013, looks to mythology, literature, and philosophy in reclaiming the quintessential "witchy woman." The opera draws primarily on the _midrash_ in Jewish mythology of Lilith, Adam's first wife before Eve, and her many subsequent manifestations as seducer of men and abductress of children; in Siegmund Hurwitz's words, "divine whore, terrible mother" (1992). Its narrative adapted from Imre Madách's epic poem _The Tragedy of Man_ (1861), and Milton's _Paradise Lost_, the opera reimagines Adam's journey through time after the Fall with Lucifer, now aided, abetted, and thwarted by Lilith's presence. This paper explores Lilith's insertion as the central power into this voyage in _Paradise Reloaded_, wherein she offers Adam and Eve a utopian (and illusionary) "greater Paradise." I explore two fundamental ideas: firstly, that the opera situates Lilith as a positive disruption to traditional narratives of humanity's origins and history. Based on my interviews with the composer, I also read partly against Eötvös's disavowal of feminism as a guiding ideology for the opera, proposing, especially given her significance in modern feminist movements, that Lilith represents a utopian and empowering alternative "eternal feminine," confronting and satirizing paradigmatic _femmes fatales_. Secondly, I contrast Lilith's utopian embodiment of truth with dystopian scenes experienced in the opera: from space and hellish landscapes to a futuristic _Phalanstère_, I analyze Eötvös's music articulation of operatic dystopia, focusing on his techniques of satire, parody, and manipulations of texture and timbre in depicting the cosmos, especially in parodic pastiches of Bach's chorales. I explore the opera's soundscape of the uncanny and the grotesque as woven into subtle commentaries on contemporary politics, from refugee crises to Putin's Russia. Ultimately, I suggest that _Paradise Reloaded_ embodies an operatic dialectic of utopia and dystopia, reinvigorating Lilith mythology for the twenty-first century.

Long regarded as Hollywood's first sex symbol, silent film star Theda Bara left an enduring mark on American popular culture. Though today she is known primarily as a legend from the early days of Hollywood, her role as the vampire or "vamp"-slang for a predatory and sexually voracious woman-in the 1915 film _A Fool There Was_ became an archetype for the cinematic femme fatale. Her legacy, and by extension that of the vamp, is also evinced by a trove of previously neglected musical material: popular novelty songs from about vamps from Tin Pan Alley. In a period marked by the emergence and rapid development of new mass media, more established forms of entertainment had to adapt quickly in order to sustain themselves. Tin Pan Alley was of course highly attuned to the whims of popular culture and was quick to capitalize on the success of the cinematic vamp. This path from cinema to song sheds light on a larger process of remediation taking place during a period of critical development in American popular entertainment, whereby one form of media borrows material from another, thus transforming it to suit the secondary medium. Taking as a point of entry Bara's vamp and the numerous Tin Pan Alley songs that were written about her, I will show how the vamp's remediation in music gave her a new, sonic dimension in which she, and the mode of femininity she represented, could be defined. In popular song, this figure took on additional signifiers for youth culture and modernity, specifically jazz. Both jazz and the vamp were of dubious propriety, and their pairing served to increase the marketability of the vamp song. A discussion of Bara's filmography and press representation in tandem with an analysis of the sheet music will show how Bara and the vamp as a cinematic phenomenon was the original focus of the songs. As jazz supplanted the references to film, the vamp's popularity also piqued with her as a personification of the social and moral transgressions associated with the genre. 

In February 1922, the Chicago Civic Opera Association's "Friends of Opera" approached the leadership of the city's eminent Fortnightly Club for a financial contribution, to which the club's board replied: "though interested, the Fortnightly as a Society was unable to act in the matter." Indeed, the Fortnightly's policy was to support the educational and cultural wellness of its wealthy clubwomen with lectures, recitals, and occasional operatic concerts from members of the Civic Opera itself, and not to directly "solicit contributions for charitable or civic causes." Nevertheless, throughout the 1910s and 1920s, its individual members routinely contributed organizing efforts and vast sums of money to the often-unstable opera company via this selfsame "Friends of Opera" organization. Philanthropic clubwomen such as heiress Edith Rockefeller McCormick, composer Eleanor Everest Freer, and socialite Grace Murray Meeker utilized publicly recognized leadership positions within the organization to further their interests and, in doing so, achieved forms of social and financial agency within the larger social web of Chicago.Using contemporaneous press coverage, extant boxholder and subscriber records, and the Fortnightly Club's institutional documents, this paper assesses the ways in which some of Chicago's wealthiest women worked to maintain a permanent operatic institution in their city. Often dominated by narratives of male impresarios, financiers, and governing boards, American operatic histories fail to adequately highlight the density of female civic engagement with operatic life and the financial processes associated with it, from private donations and benefits to public advocacy and promotion. This research contextualizes opera as a public genre that was deeply ingrained in the Chicago's social consciousness and reconsiders the ways in which women's organizations maintained social influence over prominent cultural institutions. To be sure, with season deficits of upwards of five hundred thousand dollars, the Chicago Civic Opera Association had to rely on the work of its Fortnightly benefactors for continued existence, and the operatic advocacy of these elite clubwomen makes an important case study of the significant role of women's clubs in American opera production and promotion writ large.

On December 6, 1942, the German-American Anti-Axis League held a rally at Chicago's St. Michael's Catholic High School in an effort to formally decry Nazism among German-Americans and declare their fealty to the United States. Three musical groups performed: the Anti-Axis Singers, the St. Michael's High School Band, and the Veterans of Foreign War Post 3582's Drum & Bugle Corps. Local newspapers like the _Northtown Economist_ commended the band and drum & bugle corps for providing a patriotic and inspiring backdrop for the rally. Although this was the first large-scale rally of its type, it was but the latest instance wherein bands aided in legitimizing a political movement and helped to garner support from Chicago's German-American community since Adolf Hitler had come into power. On the opposite end of the political spectrum, the Chicago's chapter of the German American Bund, an American Nazi organization, maintained a marching band. Perhaps most notably, the German American Bund Band donned their Sturmabteilung [Stormtrooper] uniforms for a performance during Chicago's 1937 German Day Celebrations at Soldier Field. Despite the frequency with which bands have performed at political events within Chicago's German-American community, scholars have yet to chronicle the activities of these ensembles, much less explore how they could bridge, or create, political and cultural divides. In this paper, I examine how the bands and drum & bugle corps of two disparate movements served as cultural brokers (Geertz 1960) whose prevalence in both German and American cultures allowed them to appropriate sonic space in a familiar way and draw immediate attention to their group's messages. Applying theories of sonic mediation (Revill 2015) and cultural brokerage to the archival materials I obtained from the United States National Archives, as well as eight Chicago libraries, archives, German cultural associations, and churches, I reveal how Chicagoans were embroiled in a sonic battle over German-American's political allegiances. I ultimately call for further investigation into how amateur bands and drum & bugle corps have shaped sonic, social, and political landscapes during moments of intra- and intergroup conflict.  

The history of modern music in America is often told from the perspective of New York City. Carol J. Oja's monograph _Making Music Modern: New York in the 1920s_ (2000), for instance, unpacks the network of composers and ideologies at the heart of the city's budding modern music scene. Similarly, dance scholars rarely look beyond New York, the country's undisputed dance capital, when considering American ballet. Yet Chicago, a metropolis better recognized for its bootlegging gangsters, Union Stockyards, and soulless skyscrapers, experienced a burst of modern music-making during the jazz age – and it came by way of ballet.This paper examines the Chicago Allied Arts, a ballet organization active from 1924 to 1927, as a nexus for modern music. Unlike New York's composer-driven modern music societies, the Chicago company was directed by a dancer, the Russian émigré Adolph Bolm, who asserted that America's musical enlightenment was best served through dance. Their intermedial productions offered an eclectic variety of contemporary music mediated by choreography, pantomime, and _mise en scène_. I highlight three productions: _The Flapper and the Quarterback_, set to a jazzy score by local composer Clarence Loomis; a semi-staged version of Arnold Schoenberg's melodrama _Pierrot lunaire_; and a ballet parody for anthropomorphic instruments called _Tragedy of the Cello_ by Polish composer Alexandre Tansman. Despite the diverse musical and choreographic styles represented by these works, they share the underlying principles of institutional cooperation, internationalism, and championing Chicago composers over their east-coast counterparts.I also explicate how the Chicago Allied Arts found its unlikely home in the Midwest. Its organizers, which included local businessman-composer John Alden Carpenter, employed Chicago's infamous booster rhetoric to inspire local cultural philanthropists to invest in the "cultural progress" of their so-called second city. Moreover, influenced by Progressive-era ideals, the enterprise was conceived in the image of a civic institution; an aspiration, I argue, it failed to fulfill. Nevertheless, the Chicago Allied Arts' short but impactful existence ultimately recalibrates our understanding of the locales of musical modernism, giving ballet and its actors agency in the shaping of a city's musical landscape.

Responding to Richard Wagner's "Judaism in Music" from 1850, scholars and critics have long debated the extent to which the composer's racism could be located within his musical dramas. In the last quarter century, David Levin, and others, have redirected the analytic focus and proposed, instead, "to seek out the traces of antisemitism in the aesthetic register rather than the political or biographical." (Levin 1996 pp. 128-29). In this paper, I build on Levin's methods, but rather than focus on readings of Wagner's operas, I use Wagner's "Judaism in Music" as a lens through which to read Wagner's celebrated pamphlet from 1869, _On Conducting_. Wagner's treatise has received most of its attention from conductors, who aspire to imitate (or reject for its paradigmatic representation of Romanticism) the interpretive aspirations and techniques espoused by the author. Additionally, historians have turned to the work as a way to understand the reception history of certain compositions (especially Beethoven's Ninth Symphony) or the changing styles of interpretation over the 19th century. Little attention, however, has been paid to how Wagner's writings about performance and interpretation conflate aesthetics and German nationalism in ways that resonate with the philosophical values espoused in his antisemitic essay. Ever the self-promoting egotist, Wagner, in _On Conducting_, takes aim at multiple performers for failing to live up to his musical standards. But his commentary on the "Jewish" Felix Mendelssohn's conducting extends beyond the criticism of the individual (as does his critique of other Jewish musicians). Read through the lens of "Judaism in Music," Wagner's appraisal of Mendelssohn clearly applies an aesthetic of antisemitism to tempo and all methods of interpretation. The Jew, Wagner writes in 1850, no matter how assimilated, speaks German as a foreigner; the Jewish musician is inexpressive, superficial, imitates without understanding, and is more concerned with commercial successes than with true artistic creation. Mendelssohn, the conductor, Wagner writes in 1869, is similarly cast, his performances indifferent to musical substance and superficial, his preference for fast tempi a reflection of his greater attention to societal fashions and financial concerns ("time is money "). Yet Wagner is dependent on Mendelssohn as a foil, the negative other, against whom to frame the ideals of a true German performing artist. Wagner needs Mendelssohn, whose presence dominates Wagner's book on conducting, in order to dispense with him, a Beckmesser to his Walther, a Mime to his Siegfried. Building upon the work of Nina Eidsheim and others, I suggest that most conversations around the aesthetics of performance, as manifest in the criteria used to evaluate performers or shape new performances, fail to recognize the latent, or in the case of Wagner, unsubtle racism, that undergirds many dominant aesthetic claims. Instead we often presume that aesthetic reactions are either individually subjective or abstract, and thus separate from the topic of identity politics. Only by exploring the foundations and myriad manifestations of this bigotry might we begin the process of examining more critically the way we read and write about performance aesthetics.

Takarazuka, an all-female musical revue troupe based near Osaka, Japan, appeared on the entertainment scene in the 1910s amidst a wave of popular entertainment from abroad that included cabaret, silent cinema, musicals, and opera. As Arthur Groos (1989; 2016) illuminated in his studies of Takarazuka's interpretations of Madama Butterfly, the creative teams of the Japanese troupe sought to mitigate Puccini's exoticism. The troupe has produced adaptations of other operas that deftly interrogate existing norms of gender performance and tropes about romance. For example, the Takarazuka troupe's interpretations of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, produced in the tumultuous decades following the end of WWII, tackle issues of romantic love, gender roles, and androgyny. These issues are at the heart not only of various Takarazuka productions but also, as Jean-Jacques Nattiez (1993) has pointed out, Wagner's operas.  Takarazuka's first adaptation of Tristan appeared in 1951, but it was not until the next decade that the story found a true foothold within the troupe's repertory. Part of this had to do with the Bayreuth Festspiele's visit to Osaka in 1967. Birgit Nilsson and Wolfgang Windgassen sang the title roles and Pierre Boulez took the podium, performing Wieland Wagner's production of Tristan und Isolde. Japanese critics lauded the production. Riding on the coattails of this tour, Takarazuka premiered a new adaptation of Tristan the following summer. In the case of Takarazuka's 1968 Torisutan to Izorude, the famously sensual tale, which starred two actresses in the eponymous roles, provided a way for the predominantly female audience members to imagine, and by extension, desire romantic relationships on their own terms. Despite the fact that it was written and directed by men, the show's musical nuances complicated traditional gender hierarchies. An analysis of the recurring numbers "Kogane Kami no Izorude" (Golden Haired Isolde) and "Kimi yue ni" (Because of You) reveals the ways Takarazuka's Torisutan functioned at the nexus of gender performance, popular music, and opera in Japan. Ultimately, Takarazuka's adaptations of canonical Western operas such as Wagner's Tristan und Isolde provide a valuable insight into the global flow of music culture and adaptation.

My paper focuses on François Delsarte's (1811-1871) "Course in Applied Aesthetics" as an unacknowledged source of Richard Wagner's aesthetic writings. I argue that much of what Wagner wrote about the interconnectedness of dance, music, and poetry as the "three primeval sisters" is derived from Delsarte's aesthetic theory, whereby gesture, vocal inflection, and articulate speech correspond to a concept of the Holy Trinity that is itself based on the spiritualist philosophy of Victor Cousin (1792-1867) and the theological writings of St. Augustine of Hippo (354-430). Delsarte began teaching his course in May 1839 in Paris, a few months prior to Wagner's first arrival in the city later that September.A professor of singing and declamation for more than forty years, Delsarte was also celebrated as one of the greatest tenors of his generation, second only to Duprez. Camille Saint-Saëns, in _Musical Memories_, wrote of him: "Delsarte, a singer without a voice, an imperfect musician, a doubtful scholar, guided by an intuition which approached genius, in spite of his numerous faults played an important role in the evolution of French music in the Nineteenth Century" (186-187).Known in his own time as "The Great Delsarte," "The Master of Masters," and "The Newton of Aesthetics," Delsarte is remembered today mainly by theatre and dance historians for the gestural "system of expression" he created, which still bears his name. First and foremost, however, Delsarte was a musician, but because he failed to publish his work prior to his death in 1871, which was hastened by the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War, his influence on nineteenth-century musical aesthetics remains unknown.Wagner, of course, never credited Delsarte as a source for his aesthetic writings. Nevertheless, an analysis of historical documents, along with a comparison of manuscript drawings by both artists – unpublished in their own lifetimes – will show an undeniable connection between Delsarte's aesthetic theory and Wagner's writings.

The successful reception of Tristan und Isolde in Madrid after its 1911 premiere asserted a pressure to include Wagnerian elements into Spanish opera, which prior to this historical moment revolved around three tendencies: first, considering the genre of Zarzuela as the only legitimate Spanish lyric theater; second, following the Italian opera tradition but using the alternate Latinate language of Spanish; and finally, introducing Spanish folk music into an international operatic style, the so-called «Nationalism of the Essences». Regarding the latter, Wagnerism was assumed to be the best global language for creating an attractive hybrid idiom that would play well on the international stage.This paper studies the first opera of Conrado del Campo (1878-1953), El final de don Álvaro (1910-1911), which epitomizes the value of using Wagnerian elements in Spanish opera. Del Campo was, together with Manuel de Falla, one of the most important composers of the time, not only because of the quality of his output, but also due to his pedagogical influence as a professor of composition at the Conservatory of Madrid. He also absorbed many of the best features of the Wagnerian idiom but avoided the excesses that mar many other Wagner-influenced works. To demonstrate my claim, I start with examples of the operatic structure to show that the way he develops small- and large-scale harmonic and tonal relations is consistently engaging. Next, by analyzing some sections devoted to the important character of Leonor, I argue that Del Campo's employment of leitmotivs is dramatically and expressively effective. Finally, I emphasize how he uses hexatonic poles to represent the uncanny and to create a stark contrast with the Spanish folk music.History was unfair to this opera, since the outbreak of World War I in 1914 brought to Spain an animosity against all things German. Subsequently, this side of Spanish identity was muted, and Falla, highly influenced by French music, became the symbol of Spanish nationalism. Hence, this study is a part of an ongoing project which aims to revive El final de don Álvaro at the Royal Theater of Madrid in order to support the broader academic movement that seeks to reclaim this unfairly muted side of early twentieth-century Spanish culture.

As numerous scholars have argued, Phish fans make up a significant subcultural group in the United States (Allaback 2009; Blau 2010; Yeager 2011). Many elements serve to construct this subcultural identity, including communal experiences (e.g. festivals), style, musical aesthetics, shared mythology, insider knowledge, and issues of race, class, and religion. Although these aspects may constitute identity formation in many kinds of musical affinity groups, Phish fans are unique in that they have also created an analytical tradition around improvisation as part of their identity. This discursive practice, which has unfolded online and in person for over twenty-five years among fans, is not only an example of music theory used by laypeople in the public sphere, but it is a rare example of music theory contributing to the construction of (sub)cultural identity.This paper argues that Phish fans construct their identity around an analytical discourse that fosters an affective connection between fans and the homemade language and visual objects of their theories of improvisation. Fans privilege improvisational exploration that moves through a variety of keys and grooves as the highest form of musical expression, and therefore invented their own vocabulary to explain the music. A variety of analytical methods–including the creation of improvisational typologies and nomenclature for jamming styles, visual representations of improvisations, and analytical videos–show that a rich and thorough engagement with the band's music is part and parcel of Phish fan identity formation and experience.Some of these approaches incorporate traditional musical terminology (e.g. Roman numerals) with which many fans are unfamiliar, yet these analytical methodologies still resonate with the fandom because they represent a notion of musical journeying that is fundamental to the Phish experience and musical aesthetic. This discursive practice, what Bakhtin might call a "speech genre," creates an affective connection between Phish fans and the analytical language, and can function as a point of access to subcultural knowledge and as a way of performing subcultural belonging. As Jensen (1992) argues, taking a close look at fan praxis reveals that fandom is a rich site of intellectual activity and human identity formation.

Thoughtful musicological discussions are common among Phish fans despite a general lack of formal musical training. Discussions typically involve the band's live improvisations, which fans divide into two types: "Type 1" and "Type 2." These categories were first introduced in a 1997 online forum by fan John Flynn, who described Type 1 as "jamming that is based around a fixed chord progression," and Type 2 as "jamming that improvises chord progressions, rhythms, and the whole structure of the music." For over two decades, fans have widely accepted and freely referred to these categories when discussing live versions of the band's songs, but this terminology is far too simplistic to accurately describe Phish's wide range of improvisational strategies.Since Type 1 jams are essentially standard rock solo episodes, this paper focuses on Type 2 jams, which are divided into several sub-categories. While a Type 1 jam may simply circle around a basic two-chord progression (common examples are I – bVII or I – IV), a Type 2 jam might use the same progression but deviate from it in the following ways:1) Consensual Dissonant Jamming (CDJ). Here, individual performers may stray from a song's harmonic progressions, typically leading other members to deviate as well.2) Resistant Dissonant Jamming (RDJ). In this sub-type, an individual band member resists the basic progression, playing dissonant melodies or chords against their fellow musicians who adhere to the progression.3) Mayhem Jamming (MHJ). In this rarest of sub-types, all players deviate from the progression using individual dissonant musical ideas.Replacing the two basic jam-types with these three broad categories not only accurately describes the complexity of rock improvisation, it also reveals that jamming styles are at least in part determined by each member's reaction to dissonance as a way to venture into new harmonic spaces. Audio examples from across Phish's career demonstrate each type. By examining the improvisations of a single rock band, we can create a framework in which to hear other band's jam styles, serving as a springboard for further studies of other improvisational rock music.

This presentation is a case study that springboards off of Laurel's taxonomy of dissonant jamming, showing how in a May 7, 1994 performance of the song "Split Open and Melt," Phish's improvised deviations from its established groove create moments of climax. In doing so, the presentation adapts existing theories of groove, such as the importance of both expressive micro-timings (e.g. Keil & Feld 1994; Iyer 2002) and the bodily pleasures of listening to repetition (e.g. Butler 2006; Zbikowski 2004; Garcia 2005; Witek 2017). Notably, many such studies position themselves in explicit opposition to narratives of music governed by delayed gratification and subsequent release (Meyer 1956, 1967); here, Phish's performance does both, and the paper thus suggests a model for synthesizing these competing modes.Phish first establishes a default groove: a four-measure loop with a repeating chord progression where the final measure features an added half beat preceding a cadential "hook" that leads into the next loop. After repeating this groove several times, the musicians begin to strip away its constitutive elements. An "intensity chart" indicates whether each player affirms, conflicts with, or does neither, with respect to one of four parameters of the groove, and it both serves as a visual representation of an aural experience of the jam as well as enumerates an intensity value for each loop; these values are then plotted on an "intensity curve." When Phish almost entirely abandons the groove, a chaotic, unpredictable cacophony–a kind of "structural fog"–dominates, creating an intense musical effect that persists until they "snap back" into the groove. Peaks of intensity occur when few parameters are present, and concomitantly, greatest resolution occurs when they are restored. The listener is asked to perceive the groove persisting through the disorienting brume, and I propose that the experience creates in an attuned fan the kind of pleasurable pain that Lacan calls jouissance. Understanding fan attachment to dissonant jamming in Lacanian terms reveals a particular shared value among the fan base to Phish's musical journeying and experimentation.

Among English-language writers on Western art music few have produced prose of such constant delight to musicologists and theorists as Donald Francis Tovey (1875–1940). Yet despite the numerous insights Tovey's published writings have yielded, particularly for studies of music in the Austro-German canon (Kerman 1967, Rosen 1971, Webster 1978), the sources of his avuncular charm and prodigious musical knowledge remain poorly understood. While several recent publications have offered perspectives on Tovey's intellectual world (Spitzer 2005, Kramer 2005, Comen 2019), these investigations have generally been conducted without reference to Tovey's own rich and revelatory collection of books and musical scores.In this paper I draw on methodologies from material history to ponder Tovey's multi-facetted, loving, and energetic engagement with the music of J. S. Bach by examining his personal copies of the composer's works held in the University of Edinburgh Library. The surviving volumes include Hans Bischoff's critical edition of Bach's keyboard works, various miniature and vocal scores, and the complete Bach-Gesellschaft Ausgabe - the latter handsomely bound in green leather and stamped with the initials "D. F. T." Collectively these tomes afforded Tovey the opportunity of making Bach's works his own and they would have been his companions in several impressive feats of intellect and creativity: in the writing of important essays on Bach's music, in the research for his _Encyclopædia Britannica_ article on Bach's life and works, and in composerly tasks such as his production of continuo realizations and his completion of the unfinished fugue from _Die Kunst der Fuge_. The majority of Tovey's Bach volumes carry pencil markings from their former owner and these annotations mix scholarly acumen with witticism and wonderment, variously providing thoughts on performance practice, sharp-tongued complaints about idiotic editors, personal memories of past performances, and penetrating critical commentary. Inspired by approaches to the study of annotations pioneered by historians of the book (The Multigraph Collective 2018), I ask what it means to 'hear' Bach's music through these markings, and seek more generally to comprehend the experience of early twentieth-century musicians attempting to grasp Bach's style through bookish rather than aural encounters with his oeuvre.  

Louis Moreau Gottschalk is the first American musician to earn an international reputation as a legitimate composer in the European art music tradition. Nineteenth-century critics and subsequent scholars alike have routinely considered Gottschalk's incorporation of Afro-Caribbean rhythmic idioms to be the most original aspect of his music (Starr, 1995; Pruett, 2007; Shadle, 2015). His most acclaimed works are those based on the pronounced rhythmic ostinato patterns he encountered in the multicultural New Orleans of his youth and during subsequent residencies in Latin America. We recognize such patterns, often marked by percussive timbres and syncopated rhythms, as "grooves" in subsequent musical styles (Keil and Feld, 2005). As central as grooves are to much of Gottschalk's music, there has been no focused analysis of Gottschalk's rhythmic innovations, nor has any work on Gottschalk been informed by the growing scholarly literature on rhythm, percussion, and groove. I offer a critical analysis of these elements to illuminate how they function in Gottschalk's music. Furthermore, I consider how Gottschalk's problematic "creole" identity, commonly associated with his rhythmic inventiveness, has shaped his performance and reception history, often colored by racist tropes.Much of Gottschalk's piano music employs what Richard Taruskin (2009) describes as a "hocketing hands-exchange technique," but which might better be considered drumming at the piano. Several works, including _Bamboula_ (1848), _The Banjo_ (1854), and _El Cocoyé_ (1854), engage hand exchange patterns identical to those used in traditional rudimental and Afro-Caribbean drumming. Gottschalk was also the first to bring Latin American percussion instruments into the realm of orchestral music, as in his first symphony (_La nuit des tropiques_, 1859). But the nature of those percussion parts, not fully scored in Gottschalk's manuscript and almost certainly improvised by the _tumba francesca_ ensemble engaged for the symphony's Havana premier, remains unclear and has evaded musicological scrutiny. Recordings of the symphony demonstrate little effort on the part of Western orchestras to understand the nuances of Afro-Caribbean drumming, rhythms, or grooves, resulting in uniformly sub-standard performances. While this study has significant ramifications for performance practice (and informs Laura Moore Pruett's forthcoming edition of _La nuit des tropiques_), it also highlights problematic aspects of Gottschalk's musical borrowings and his subsequent legacy.

Maurice Maeterlinck's play, _Pelléas et Mélisande_, inspired diverse musical settings following its French premiere in 1893, including those by Claude Debussy, Gabriel Fauré, Arnold Schoenberg, and Jean Sibelius. Debussy's opera, in particular, has enjoyed sustained critical recognition in the United States over the years, since its New York premiere in 1908. However, it was actually Fauré's setting with which Americans first became acquainted in the early-twentieth century, in both its original context as incidental music, and as an orchestral suite (op. 80). Audiences in New York and Boston first heard the score in 1902 as part of an English-language production of _Pelléas_, starring famed actress Mrs. Patrick Campbell. (Fauré had composed this music for her London production four years earlier.) It stimulated a particularly warm response in Boston, a Francophile city that had openly embraced many of Fauré's compositions since the 1890s, to an extent not observable in any other American city. The Boston Symphony Orchestra performed the suite for the first time in 1904, and continued to program it. This offered critics various opportunities to discuss Fauré's approach to Maeterlinck's text, eventually in comparison to Debussy's opera, and, in some cases, to express a clear preference between the two.This paper considers the American reception of Fauré's _Pelléas_ music, with a focus on activities in Boston and New York, 1902–1912. Contemporary critical writings illustrate divergent responses to Fauré's setting, first as stage music, then as a concert suite. Such discussions expanded to encompass Debussy's opera, upon its introduction to the American stage. For Boston, the ten-year anniversary of Campbell's production offered a unique point of comparison, as _Pelléas_ was featured prominently at the Boston Opera House in January 1912. That month alone brought three performances of the opera, a new staging of the play (in French) with Fauré's score, and a concert featuring the related suite. Indeed, a comparison of these musical interpretations was seemingly encouraged at the time, through shared physical elements of both sets and performers (a novelty underlined by the appearance of Maeterlinck's companion, Georgette Leblanc, as Mélisande in both productions.)

Since 1900, Berlin has occupied a position of international musical prominence, home to multiple orchestras, opera houses, conservatories, and venues for jazz, techno, experimental music, and musical theater.  Ironically, Berlin managed to sustain its musical life throughout some of the most challenging periods in its history, surviving two world wars, a failed democracy, a dictatorship, physical destruction, division, and reunification.  Attempts to explain how Berlin maintained its musical vitality throughout these turbulent times are further complicated by its failure to meet the standards for musical greatness upon which we typically rely: it was never able to rival Vienna, Leipzig, or even Mannheim as an incubator of compositional genius, nor did it benefit from reliable sources of financial support from benevolent rulers. Traditional music-historical approaches that privilege cities known for their iconic composers or long traditions of court or civic patronage fail to shed light on Berlin's unique situation.  Instead, we need to approach Berlin by considering how its musical achievements depended on another force, namely entrepreneurship. Unable to rely on sustainable patronage that could attract renowned musical innovators, this bleak garrison town instead gave rise to a diverse network of salons, amateur societies, military bands, for-profit ensembles, innovative subscription series, publishing houses, and talent agencies.  This entrepreneurial spirit built a firm foundation for Berlin's resilience that allowed the city's musical ventures to withstand the social, political, and economic turmoil of the twentieth century.This paper, part of a larger project on twentieth-century Berlin as a music metropolis, looks to the enterprises of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that contributed to making Berlin more of a leader in musical re-creation than in creation, rivaling all others in performance, education, popular entertainment, management, and distribution.  Frederick the Great's bold step to erect a free-standing opera house in 1742 stands out as a reminder of the monarch's preoccupation with music as both patron and creator, but also of his fleeting interest in the city's musical growth once he retreated to Potsdam shortly thereafter.  The absence of steady court patronage left room for the development of private concert societies, amateur choral groups (most notably the Singakademie), opera theaters, entertainment complexes, and conservatories, all of which came to compete with, and ultimately outpace, what the court could offer.  In 1848, Berlioz famously marveled at the ubiquity and diversity of Berlin's musical activity, and the loosening of theater regulations in 1869 opened the floodgates for commercial musical theater to proliferate. Berlin's future reputation as a music capital was secured with the establishment in 1882 of the city's most famous and enduring musical organization, the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, itself created in the unique form of orchestra-as-corporation.  By tracing the complex interactions of production, consumption, demographics, public and private investment, technological advances, and tourism, we can begin to understand how the city's musical life could endure the perpetual cycle of construction, destruction, and renovation that the tewntieth century would bring. 

During his so-called exile in Paris (1839-1842), Richard Wagner supported himself and his wife by arranging operas by other composers for publisher Maurice Schlesinger. Such piecemeal labor in nineteenth-century music publishing has largely gone unstudied due to an absence of evidence. In the 1830s and 40s, operatic arranging was either quasi-anonymous work relegated to younger musicians, or the provenance of virtuoso fantasies and variations. While the latter repertory has received more scholarly attention of late (Davies, 2014; Kregor, 2010), the utilitarian task of producing piano reductions and other arrangements can prove difficult to document.  Wagner's letters and autobiography provide important sources that have been hidden in plain sight. Often dismissed due to Wagner's notorious unreliability as a narrator, these documents nevertheless provide enough information (with some corroboration from related primary sources such as letters, diaries, and contracts from other composers) to reexamine some basic questions about the scope and nature of the music publishing industry.My paper reassesses the documentation surrounding Wagner's work as a skilled laborer. Building on the foundation established by Mark Pottinger (2015)-who examined how this work may have impacted Wagner's later compositions-I consider here how the pay and timelines he reports can provide detailed information on the scope of Schlesinger's business. I focus specifically on his accounts of his work with Donizetti's _La Favorite_ (1840), Halévy's _La Reine de Chypre_ (1842), as well as his attempts to self-finance the publication of his setting of Heine's "Die beiden Grenadiere." The numbers he provides, when contextualized, give us a clear enough sense of the costs involved to estimate with greater confidence the relationship between print runs and financial solvency for a given score. These estimates-when considered alongside Schlesinger's full catalog-can provide a more accurate sense of the size and financial power of the music publishing world. More generally, this information may in turn help establish the foundations for further discussions of a labor theory of value in nineteenth-century music history.

In this presentation I will contextualize and analyze Ethel Voynich's cantata _Epitaph in Ballad Form_ as a musical response to the 1916 Irish Easter Rising and the execution of Roger Casement. As a successful author, Voynich expressed her revolutionary ideology and keen sense of justice through art. Today Voynich is remembered primarily as a novelist while her musical compositions have largely been ignored. Voynich's unpublished cantata, _Epitaph in Ballad Form_, however, stands alongside her novels as a work filled with revolutionary themes. Roger Casement, the cantata's dedicatee, was executed in 1916 for his involvement with the Easter Rising. Unlike the other rebellion leaders, Casement was subjected to an extremely public trial, during which the British Cabinet leaked pages from his diaries (thereby revealing his sexual relationships with other men) in an effort to turn public support against him. The majority of early artistic responses to Casement's execution fixated on forgery theories regarding the diaries, but Voynich's cantata probed for a deeper meaning behind the events. Rather than focusing on Casement's guilt or innocence, Voynich's unique and visceral musical response contemplated the dignity of the dead and the brotherhood of the deceased with the living.

William Billings's _An Anthem, for Fast Day_ ("Mourn, mourn") was published in _The Continental Harmony_ (1794) and became one of his most iconic works, especially through its use in William Schuman's _New England Triptych_ (1956) and later in Robert Russell Bennett's bicentennial tribute, _The Fun & Faith of William Billings, American_ (1975). The original publication, however, presents a number of problems and the edition in Billings's _Complete Works_ introduces substantial editorial changes. No previous analysis or discussion has taken into account Billing's text, with its alterations of and additions to the biblical texts. Following earlier research by Barbour, McKay and Crawford, Kroger, Schrader, and Brewer, a closer reading indicates that the anthem was composed somewhere in the period between the Boston Port Act of 1774 and the revolutionary events of 1775 during a very difficult period for the then British colonies.The new dating raises essential questions about the criteria for the alterations made in the _Complete Works_ edition. Billings's preface to _The Continental Harmony_ suggests his dissatisfaction with an earlier minor-key anthem's setting of the word "Hallelujah" (_Hear My Prayer_) but this reflects a stylistic viewpoint more evident in his later compositions. The evidence indicates that Billings did not have much editorial involvement in typesetting or proofing the music published in _The Continental Harmony_, perhaps due to illness, and it appears that his original manuscript was being followed unaltered. When the anthem is compared with his earlier anthems, following Billings's changing musical styles as delineated by Kroger, the unaltered version in the 1794 edition is not anomalous. A more detailed analysis demonstrates that it has clear musical parallels in _The New-England Psalm-Singer_ (1770) and _The Singing Master's Assistant_ (1778) and in anthems by William Tan'sur that would have served as Billings's models. The new dating and restoration of the music as printed in _The Continental Harmony_ demonstrates how Billings composed this anthem as a direct response to the events that affected Boston following the Boston Tea Party which would soon lead to open rebellion.

In a letter from Warsaw dated 1982, electroacoustic composer Bohdan Mazurek requested that Françoise Barrière forward tapes of his new _Polnische lieder ohne worte – dedicated to Anka Kowalska_ (1982) to experimental music centers and radio studios in Stockholm, Italy, and Urbana-Champaign, Illinois. Mazurek worked at Polish Radio Experimental Studios (PRES), a hotbed of electronic music innovation in postwar Poland under the direction of Józef Patkowski. In the letter, Mazurek alluded to the dangers of publicizing this music, writing that Patkowski could not know about this distribution of such music realized at PRES. Despite PRES's stature as a leading center of uncensored music in the 1960s-70s, the 1981 declaration of martial law in an attempt to squelch democratic groups precluded PRES artists from composing freely and circulating their music at a time when political messages were needed most. Certainly, Mazurek's work in dedication to Anka Kowalska, imprisoned poet and leader of the anti-communist Workers' Defense Committee, would have been problematic in martial law Poland. Barrière, a Parisian electroacoustic composer and founding member of the International Federation of Electroacoustic Music often involved in distributing new electroacoustic works across channels, ensured that Mazurek's tape – and more crucially his message in opposition to the government –  reached supportive colleagues at the Experimental Music Studio at University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. In light of scholarship revealing the importance of PRES in postwar Poland (Crowley, ed. 2019) and Polish composers' navigation of political environments in the 1970s-80s (Bylander 2010, 2012), I suggest that Barrière's dissemination of _Polnische lieder_ enabled Mazurek's message to resonate outside of Poland, despite the government's silencing of political art, as an element of what James Scott calls a "hidden transcript" created within oppressed groups (Scott 1990). These materials, part of a larger collection of artifacts shared between PRES and the Illinois Experimental Music Studio during the Cold War, demonstrate a moment of solidarity among electroacoustic centers. This calculated operation helped propagate a space for the circulation of controversial cultural products, one of many strategies of resistance that Polish composers used to shirk oppressive government policies.  

In August 2019, I collaborated with dance community organizers in Hong Kong to teach partnered blues dancing workshops and attend a dance party featuring local blues musicians. The evening's final song was an original 12-bar blues by guitarist Ram Cheung sung in Cantonese and responding to the protests happening nightly in Hong Kong's streets. During the song's final chorus, I witnessed a moment of catharsis among Hong Kong dancers as the room collectively erupted in impassioned cheers when Cheung's tune reached its climax: a break-time phrase in the style of Muddy Waters in which Cheung's lyrics offer explicit, direct opposition to Hong Kong's police force. Cheung punctuates this formal shift with an equally forceful linguistic one, switching from a formal written Chinese intended for florid poetic songs to spoken "street" Cantonese. The strength of this climactic moment comes from Cheung's manipulation of conventions from both American blues and Cantonese pop song traditions, the sort of cross-cultural blending upon which Hong Kongers have long prided themselves. However, while the song has been performed multiple times since, my Hong Kong interlocutors report it has not reproduced the energy of that special moment in August.This paper thus employs Judith Becker's work on Deep Listeners to situate this shared experience as a specific, momentary site of confluence where partnered blues dancing and the cross-cultural play of Cheung's song yielded a moment of community catharsis deeply tied to the specific context of Hong Kong's pro-democracy protests during summer 2019 and to the subcultural micro-community that Hong Kong blues dancers have built over the past several years. Since the "Umbrella Movement" of 2014, some Hong Kong social dancers have gravitated away from swing dancing and the "blind euphoria" they say it offers and toward blues music and dance as these forms' relationship with African American protest traditions resonates more strongly with their experiences and goals. In this moment, Cheung's music served to "add oil" (a common protest chant meaning to add fuel) to dancers battling to preserve the uniqueness of their city and the culture they have built over generations.

In Hong Kong's 2019-20 Pro-democracy Protests, deep-seated and conflicting values between Hongkongers and the Chinese sovereignty are seen and heard from street spaces to shopping malls. Tear gas, pepper spray, injured bodies, raging roars, and the striking sounds of road signs, traffic cones, umbrellas, and molotov cocktail are assembled. Particular sounds and their musicality take on a vital role in the protest sphere--as they are heard and performed in certain ontological conditions, sounds exist as subversive _sound acts_. The echoing of protest sounds offers support to protestors in the sonic sphere through their reverberating presence in the pungent mists of tear gas. Slogans and striking sounds enable a dialogue-like exchange between empowered protestors and riot police, the two now unified as physical, sonic, and political oppositions through the making of their own sound acts. The sonorous assemblage of the protests, then, constitute an emerging disharmony among sonically-related opposites. At the same time, everyday mundane urban sound acts are muted in this new sonic and spatial experience, where the entanglement between fleshy beings and the newly emerged urban environment is restructured. Borrowing LaBelle's words, the agentive potentiality of slogans and the striking sounds legitimizes an "escape route" through "affective processes intrinsic to finding place," enabling the emergence of "new social formations" that depart from the city's mundane, everyday harmony. Taking the sonic assemblage of the Hong Kong Pro-democracy Protests in 2019-20 as a case study, this paper theorizes on-site fieldwork and first-person experience to discuss: (1) how the complex entanglement of human beings, sound and the protest sphere explains the experience of protest sound as action; and (2) the possibility of the subversion of an "old Hong Kong" (the mundane everyday) and the values attached to it via emerging sonic activism in public gatherings.

SMT Music and Disability Interest GroupAMS Study Group on Music and DisabilitySMT Global Interculturalisms and Musical PeripheriesSMT Scholars for Social Responsibility Interest GroupOrganized by Jeannette Jones, Stefan Honisch, Chantal Lemire, Miriam Piilonen, and Gavin Lee Ryan Weber, Dismantling Narratives of (Dis)Ableism: Tracing Discourse of Belonging in the Era of COVID-19Tekla Babyak, Saint-Saens' Suite Algerienne and President Trump's COVID-19 rhetoricAndrew Chung, Music and the Maiming of the New World at the Orbis Spike, 1610Anna Gatdula, Einstein's Einstein, on Opera's Hegemonic Assimilation of DisabilityJames Deaville, Colonizing the Coronavirus in China: Quarantine, Media Representation, and the Sounds of Neoliberal BiopoliticsHow does music's troubled relationship to bodies, senses, and minds, legitimize the inequalities buttressed by neoliberal capitalism, and its empty forms of "inclusionism?" Going further, how have such inequalities been sustained within Disability Studies? Recently, the emergence of Critical Disability Studies, encompassing postcoloniality, and intersectionality demonstrate how affirmative gestures of collective identity through disability culture, founded upon universalizing rights-based discourses ignore the global, structural, and material inequalities that circumscribe the lives of disabled people around the world, and in particular, the GlobalSouth. This critically nuanced work confronts difficult questions about who is able to participate, and who is excluded in neoliberal rhetorics of empowerment, diversity, and inclusion.Embracing a Critical Disability Studies framework that centers the work of queer, trans, disabled activists, educators, and scholars of color, this joint meeting of the AMS Study Group on Music and Disability and co-sponsoring SMT Interest Groups interrogates how the "social model" of disability reinforces Euro-American definitions of what is valuable in music, and whose knowledge about music counts. Topics include, but are not limited to, disability representation in music, performance and performativity, identity, ability and virtuosity, intersectionality, transnationalism, globalization, and postcoloniality; our discussions will also touch on the current COVID-19 pandemic. We encourage presentations to move within and around the Critical Disability Studies framework outlined above. 

In 2012, the National Football League (NFL) hired pop superstar Madonna to headline its Super Bowl Halftime Show. Her spectacle of hits and guest artists attracted the most viewers ever recorded. But because the annual event catered to disparate audiences-football fans and those more interested in its musical performances and commercials-viewers disagreed about the quality and purpose of Madonna's show: some criticized it as bland and confusing while others called it bold and revolutionary. As this paper discusses, the ensuing debate suggested implications beyond Madonna's own reception: it signaled the extent to which the event's pop programming confronted and challenged the hegemonic norms that govern the NFL game and the sanctity of its "turf."   In this talk I historicize why Super Bowl programmers have, since the mid-1990s, strived to attract new audiences with pop performances, and use the reception of Madonna's show to theorize how the game and its musical interludes operate within what I have termed their own "circuits of spectacle" to communicate specific and often polarized values. By combining studies of media and cultural theory (Hall 1996, 1997; Kellner 2003; and James 2010) and music in sports (cf. McLeod, 2011), with musical and visual analysis, I show that the overlapping of these circuits causes their opposing ideological frameworks to become incendiary: the program thus becomes most provocative when the game's displays of violent, masculine athleticism, and nationalism occur in the same space as the politics of musical performances featuring marginalized bodies otherwise unwelcome into the sport. I therefore argue that the criticism received by Madonna and other Super Bowl acts-artists of color, LGBTQIA, women, disabled, black, and aging-boils down debates about whose bodies are permitted on the field and what politics they (should) endorse, mirroring larger problems that "play out" in US society.

"A Night-Club Map of Harlem" (E. Simms Campbell, 1932) shows a network of about two dozen venues (including the Savoy Ballroom and Cotton Club), noting in one section, "there are clubs opening and closing at all times-There's too many to put them all on this map." It is a vibrant mapping of one of the most important times and places for jazz. Mapping music community networks like this has recently received attention, including Sara Cohen's Popular Musicscapes (Liverpool) and John O'Flynn's Mapping Popular Music in Dublin projects. In this paper I map out how rock first arrived and then flourished in downtown New York City. Focusing on venues and social contexts, including low rents, bohemianism, political radicalism, and alternative newspapers, I examine the terrain as a landscape with historically dynamic, socially constructed places, each a unique phenomenological space. I contrast Greenwich Village with the newly christened East Village citing two homegrown bands beginning in the summer of 1965: the Lovin' Spoonful, and the Fugs. Their musical differences clearly reflect their home turfs: the Night Owl (Spoonful) in the West; and the Bridge Theater (Fugs) in the East. The Lower East Side also provided the home and staging ground (the Dom) for the Velvet Underground in 1966 (and the rise of CBGB almost a decade later). Jimi Hendrix straddled the geocultural divide, struggling in Greenwich Village clubs (1966) and producing Band of Gypsys (1970) at the East Village Fillmore East. The Café Au Go Go (capacity 375) shifting from jazz to rock in 1965 was key, laying the groundwork for the Fillmore (capacity 2,650) in 1968. The scene declined when Bill Graham closed the Fillmore in 1971 as rock had momentarily outgrown downtown sensibilities. This paper is part of a larger project mapping downtown New York music culture.

The "British Invasion" of the 1960s and "Second British Invasion" of the late-1970s/early-1980s are both celebrated moments in the history of American popular music. Both came about through the influence of Black musical aesthetic priorities, from the Western hemisphere, on white British youth. This paper explores the impacts of British identity on the reception of popular music performed by Black British artists (specifically working at the juncture of R&B and Pop) during the 1980s. While the influence of American R&B/Soul on white British acts has been well documented-David Brackett (2016), for example, shows how the chart successes of these artists destabilized categories used to index African American popular music-far less attention has been given to Black British artists. I am interested in examining how the intersections of racial and national identity shaped not only stylistic decisions but also their reception in the American music market. In particular, I consider how this mixing of race and place disrupts notions of performative authenticity that center R&B's Blackness in the American South or urban Midwest-resulting in skewed standards for musical evaluation. This paper focuses specifically on the Black British R&B/Pop group, Five Star, and their inability to break into the American market despite astounding success in the U.K. In spotlighting Five Star as a Black British R&B/Pop group that intentionally chose to downplay their Caribbean connections-aiming instead for a more mainstream (Black American) R&B legibility-I argue that the group represent a particularly illuminating case study for unraveling the connections between race, place, musical authenticity, and genre formulation.

In 1951, the jazz musician Herman Blount co-founded the Thmei Research group, a secret society that studied a variety of esoteric literature, including classic Theosophical writings, lost continent narratives, and UFO testimonials. In 1952, Blount began performing as Sun Ra, an Egyptian space god returning to earth to offer musical salvation to black Americans suffering from racial injustice. This paper takes a closer look at how the imaginary landscapes proposed by Theosophy shaped Ra's performing persona and his construction of a secret spiritual trajectory for black Americans.Theosophy identified Egypt and India as the sources of a universal ancient wisdom-religion, displacing Christian Euro-American claims to superior spiritual enlightenment. Theosophy's anthropogenesis across imaginary locations such as Lemuria and Atlantis provided a compelling alternative to mainstream scientific race theories used to justify social inequality and colonialism. Theosophists aimed to create a "universal brotherhood" involving all humanity, and their anti-colonial activity in India and Ghana had already established a link between esotericism and political action in the early twentieth century.Ra's notes from his esoteric preaching in Chicago's Washington Park and his album Atlantis (1967-9) reveal his engagement with Theosophical texts. Ra believed American blacks had not come from West Africa, but rather had descended from the Atlanteans, a lost civilization of giants who used advanced technology to build pyramids in Egypt and the Yucatan. Ra believed his music could bring about an "altered destiny" for black Americans, fulfilling Theosophy's prophecy of the World Teacher. Ra's film Space is the Place (1974) concludes with a performance of his Intergalactic Arkestra that dematerializes human bodies and transports them to another planet, where they form an Edenic colony free from earth's racial oppression. Ra's creative reception of Theosophy illustrates its generative potential, but his rejection of "universal brotherhood" reveals its limitations.

Through oral history, I document in this paper how Texas-Mexican popular musical practices-or música tejana, after Manuel Peña-created a space through which Tejana/o migrant laborersin Michigan and the Midwest could maintain a cultural connection to their Tejana/o roots.Initially performed and enjoyed in Michigan by Tejana/o migrants as a respite from the toils offarm labor or factory work, as these workers settled out of the migrant stream a network ofTexas-Mexican musical communities emerged in Michigan. Local bands formed andenterprising migrants established radio programs, record labels, and a circuit of dancehalls andcantinas. Though still connected closely to the evolution of música tejana back in Texas throughcontinued migration, tours of the Midwest by Texas-based musicians, and distribution of recordsfrom Texas, by the late-1960s to early-1970s a distinct industry for Texas-Mexican music hadmanifested in Michigan, which I call música michicana. Employing Josh Kun's (2005) notion of"audiotopias," or "small, momentary, lived utopias built, imagined, and sustained through sound,noise, and music" (p. 21), I argue that música michicana functioned and continues to function asa means by which Texas-Mexican migrants and their descendants in Michigan maintain ties toTexas and reinforce a shared sense of Tejana/o identity.

Tin Pan Alley. Bluegrass. Paisley Park. The Ryman. Popular musics play a significant role in shaping people's concepts of place, whether a place becomes a marker of a particular sound or a musical genre becomes a stand-in for an entire region. Popular musics additionally create spaces for the listener, and factors connected to a performance space can radically alter the meaning of a song.This panel welcomes presentations that use geography, local oral history, genre formation, and media studies to uncover the interactions between music, place, and space. Together, the presenters explore how popular music has constructed a number of place-based identities––ranging from regional to national, and even intergalactic––and how the sites of popular music performance become spaces where issues of race, ethnicity, and gender are contested and reinforced.Richard Cruz Davila (Michigan State University), "Música Michicana: A Texas-Mexican Audiotopia in the Midwest"Anna Gawboy (The Ohio State University), "Place, Race, and Space: Sun Ra's Esoteric Geographies"Joanna Love (University of Richmond), "Turf Wars: Hearing Resistant Bodies at the Super Bowl"Anthony Kwame Harrison (Virginia Tech), "I Didn't Know They Were British: The Impacts of British Identity on Black R&B Success"Eric Charry (Wesleyan University), "Mapping Rock History in Downtown New York, 1965-1975"

Historical studies of viceregal Naples offer a portrait of colonial exploitation, of fraught relations between Neapolitans and their Spanish rulers, and of a burgeoning desire for independence (Galasso, Storrs). These elements are strikingly absent from musicological studies of seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Naples (Fabris, Robinson). There, foreign viceroys are depicted as magnanimous patrons and opera is viewed as either political propaganda (Bianconi) or a means of self-representation (Stein, Domínguez Rodríguez) on behalf of the viceroy.  By situating opera in the actual context of unequal power relations and giving voice to the Neapolitan experience of foreign rule, I offer a different interpretation of the political role of opera in viceregal Naples. Despite a superficial adherence to the dominant ideology, these works expressed subversive positions towards foreign rule through their libretti, music, casting, and performance history. This becomes apparent when we recognize the political agency of opera's creators and performers instead of treating them as mere executants of their ruler's views.In this paper, I consider the case of _Comodo Antonino_ (1696), by Alessandro Scarlatti and Francesco Maria Paglia, based on Antonio Sartorio and Giacomo Francesco Bussani's _Antonino e Pompeiano_ (Venice, 1677). Paglia and Scarlatti's modifications of _Antonino e Pompeiano_ tie _Comodo Antonino_ to contemporary critiques of empire and to theories of monarchomachy (justifying rebellion against a ruler if his behaviour warrants it), both linked by historians to the rupture between Naples and Spain (Musi, Villari). The libretto also creates a parallel between the tyrant Antonino and the Duke of Medinaceli, the newly appointed viceroy, by using the Hispanicised form "imperador" to address him and by attributing to him traits for which Medinaceli was contemporaneously ridiculed in primary sources (Confuorto, Carafa). Finally, the casting of Maria Maddalena Musi in the role of the male hero Pompeiano opposite the soprano castrato Domenico Cecchi in the role of Antonino creates an opposition between villainous male heroes representing Spain and heroic female _primi uomini_ symbolizing Naples in light of the city's mythical ties to the siren Partenope, thus offering a political explanation for the Neapolitan tradition of casting women in heroic male roles (Knaus).

In the mid-sixteenth century, Neapolitan dialect songs began to circulate in print music collections, manuscripts, and pamphlets of popular poetry throughout Europe. These recreational genres depicted scenes of street life in Naples, and parodied the city's lower classes through carnivalesque themes of sexual promiscuity and violence. In publications of _canzoni villanesche alla napolitana_, Neapolitans such as Giovanni Domenico da Nola and Giovantommaso Cimello composed in a consciously "rustic" musical style for three voices, providing models for arrangements by northern Italian and Franco-Flemish composers. Previous scholars have rightly pointed out the difficulties in distinguishing "authentic" elements of popular musical expression within these songs, which were often performed by circles of aristocratic men as comic accompaniments to the madrigal. However, there have been few attempts to relate these works to the Neapolitan historical context itself, and more specifically, to the conditions of life among the urban lower classes that they represent.This paper positions sixteenth-century Neapolitan dialect song within a contemporaneous demographic explosion, in which migrants from the surrounding provinces and beyond arrived to pursue work opportunities in an expanding Spanish viceregal capital. These communities were broadly considered _forastieri_ (foreigners), and thus comprised part of the immense class of non-citizens, collectively termed _plebe_. Focusing on works by composers active in Naples during this period, I examine the linguistic and musical techniques through which they depicted members of the Neapolitan _plebe_ and negotiated differences of gender, class, race, and ethnicity. I explore the relationships between these songs to understand how such strategies of distinction developed in response to local conditions in an increasingly cramped urban space. The complex soundscape presented in this repertoire concords with recent research that has demonstrated the tension between, on the one hand, official government stances towards the legal restriction and evacuation of religious and ethnic minorities, and on the other, the amorphous realities of a Mediterranean port city. I argue that careful attention to the politics of difference in Neapolitan dialect song reveals the diversity of _plebe_ communities in Spanish Naples, and contributes to a growing scholarship on cross-cultural interaction in the Mediterranean world.

The late-fifteenth-century Kingdom of Naples was a complex socio- and geo-political territory encompassing an expansive range of rural and urban spaces throughout southern Italy. In an effort to centralize power, the Aragonese dynasty that ruled this territory worked methodically to divest feudal barons of their lands, consequently forcing them to relocate from the rural provinces into the capital city, which had its own urban aristocracy. The broad reach of this centralizing policy, originating from what historian John Marino has called "a kind of 'colonial' occupation," disenfranchised and marginalized the feudal aristocracy in favor of a foreign and universalizing monarchical government. With the Kingdom's traditional social hierarchy in crisis, a practice of singing vernacular lyric developed as a poignant expression of local southern Italian identity--one that stood in subtle opposition to an oppressive foreign government.In this paper, I address the cultural prominence of the Kingdom's rural provinces, and the idealization of rural life, by analyzing the surviving repertory of Neapolitan lyric song in light of the complex socio-political circumstances of the day. Of the music scholarship on Aragonese Naples, only one scholar--Carlo Galiano--foregrounds a cultural center other than the capital city: Potenza (Basilicata). Yet, a substantial portion of the Neapolitan lyric repertory, both with and without extant musical notation, emphasizes a nostalgic and often embittered focus on rural, wild, and untamed settings, and many of the manuscripts that preserve these works can be connected to provinces well outside of Naples's orbit.Drawing upon the work of historians John Marino, Maria Antonietta Visceglia, and Giuliana Vitale, I argue that such pastoral and naturalistic imagery had clear political implications related to the shifting power structures at the heart of the social hierarchies under Aragonese rule. In so doing, I consider representative works from the Neapolitan song repertory, preserved in late-fifteenth-century literary and music collections, alongside the Neapolitan humanist and urban aristocrat Iacopo Sannazaro's pastoral romance _Arcadia_ as contrasting, yet complementary, examples of a cultural impulse to both lament and reassert the feudal aristocracy's land ownership and rural cultural identity, lost to a destabilizing foreign power.

The history of Beethoven's late quartets tends to be told by separating (and trying to redeem) the composer's aesthetic priorities from the difficulties encountered by the works' early performers and listeners. This paper weaves together Beethoven's interests with those of his publisher Maurice Schlesinger and the violinist Pierre Baillot, whose ensemble first performed the pieces in Paris in 1827. One issue these different agents had to face, whether in presenting the quartets to the Viennese public (Beethoven), selling them in Paris (Schlesinger) or performing them (Baillot), was that the late quartets seemed to call for a new kind of ensemble rehearsal. The genre's proverbial sociability, which supported an almost immediate and shared grasp of the performers' interplay, was compromised by a loss in topicality. The extreme erosion of topical references and familiar textures in Beethoven's late quartets made it harder, for performers reading through their parts for the first time, to predict how to coordinate their moves. Musical topics, I argue, used to work also as a means of communication between performers within an ensemble, not just with listeners. In contrast, the sociability of Beethoven's late quartets had to be patiently engineered in dedicated rehearsals, a step that increased this music's distance from past quartet cultures.I propose an object-oriented ontology of the late quartets and their affordances (what this music made people do) to avoid considering historical agents within the specialism: consulting Beethoven's sources for matters of composition; the publishers' correspondence to understand how editions were produced; and the players' annotations to discuss how they might have played. Specialist scrutiny has been a hallmark of Beethovenian research that, in time, has provided a model for how musicologists work on music we take seriously. However, well before the quartets got in the performers' hands, both Beethoven and Schlesinger capitalized on or tried to conceal the difficulties of ensemble coordination. In gathering these histories of "performance before the performance", I bring into relief a strand of discourse that suffered deliberate historical erasure, for what it reveals about topics and cultures of ensemble rehearsal at a time when scores were largely unavailable.

The French romance tradition of the mid nineteenth century has long been dismissed as aesthetically thin or outrightly commercial. Frits Noske calls the romance "banal," while David Tunley characterizes it as "bourgeois" and "mawkish." Yet, the centrality of domestic song to French audiences of the period cannot be overstated. As many as 250,000 scores were sold each year during the July Monarchy, and they were widely performed by operatic stars, professional salon singers, and amateurs. Many contemporaneous critics lauded the genre, including Paul Scudo, who wrote, "[the romance] is a mine that holds many treasures… [and] will be more respected by time than many weighty scores." So why does the romance seem so vacuous to modern eyes and ears? Why are we unable to recapture the meaning, emotional immediacy, and sophistication attributed to the genre by nineteenth-century critics? In this paper, I suggest that our gap in understanding has much to do with a paucity of knowledge around performance cultures and practices. Period sources – including Gustave Carulli's Méthode de chant (1838) and Antoine Romagnési's L'Art de chanter les romances (1846) – describe a subtle singing tradition that prioritized restrained ornamentation and affective declamation achieved through constantly-shifting vocal timbres. This sentiment-driven approach, divergent from operatic practices where virtuosity and volume reigned, thrived in salons. As Paul Thiébault (1813) argues, "expression being the principal goal, when singing a romance, one must observe the least nuances and never glorify the voice when expression must win out." In contemplating these performance practices, I shift scholarly focus away from the operatic soundworlds of famous figures like Gilbert Duprez and Laure Cinti-Damoreau, shining a light on the likes of Loïsa Puget, Clément Richelmi, and the myriad amateurs who sang romances. In so doing, I show how these performers, with their simple strophic songs, enchanted nineteenth-century Parisian audiences and safeguarded a rich French tradition-one which has much to teach us.   After all, as Théophile Lemaire and Henri Lavoix write in 1881, to neglect the romance "would be to neglect one of the most characteristic parts of our French school of singing."

Much of the scholarship available on 19th-century historical performance focuses on virtuosi, conductors and composers; consequently the historical performing characteristics of large ensembles have been largely neglected. This paper considers several related questions: How and why did 19th-century string sections sound different to those of modern and 'period-instrument' orchestras today? What can we know of the artistic priorities and decision-making processes of 19th-century orchestral string players? What are the challenges for 21st-century performers as they experiment with 19th-century approaches to individual agency within string sections? How do such approaches affect timbre, timing, technique and expression?One particular challenge of 19th-century orchestral performance practice is expressive asynchrony – the deliberate misaligning of instrumental lines to communicate urgency, passion, melodic freedom, or to create a distinctive sound. Ensemble precision and 'togetherness' became primary aspirations only in the mid-20th century. I argue that differing artistic priorities meant that 19th-century musicians would have regarded performances with exact alignment in ensemble, mathematically accurate realization of rhythmic notation, and non-fluctuating tempi as strangely inexpressive. The sound of both modern symphony orchestras and period-instrument orchestras performing 19th-century repertoire bears little resemblance to that evidenced in early recordings, and seems at odds with 19th-century written accounts. I argue this is partly because historical approaches towards (a)synchrony, expressive timing and individual agency are no longer understood or employed. My research team and I devised an experimental research project to investigate how common characteristics of timing, expression and timbre in 19th-century ensembles might be realized by instrumentalists today, with the aim of contributing to innovative and engaging performances of 19th-century repertoire. I directed an ensemble of 22 professional string players who have specialist knowledge of, and interest in 19th-century historical style, as we rehearsed, performed and recorded late 19th-century serenades by Robert Fuchs and Tchaikovsky specifically to explore and collect empirical data on the effect of expressive asynchrony on string-section sound. This paper documents the journey from historical research to practical preparation, public performance, and finally the creation of a studio recording, as we questioned whether 'together' is always the most historically apposite or artistically interesting expressive option for orchestral musicians.

Literature on symbolic reparations and restitution has primarily focused on artifacts or gestures that are visible, confirming the recently established critique of ocularcentrism (Ochoa Gautier, 2014). In Transitional Justice, Culture, and Society, UN Human Rights Council's Special Rapporteur Pablo de Greiff (2014) invites "making the invisible [victims of armed conflicts] visible" through the arts. Nevertheless, sound and music have an important role in memorializing the past, a process that is essential in rebuilding democracies and guarantees the non-repetition of wars' atrocities. In observing the Colombian conflict (ca. 1964-2016), I posit that sound artifacts and music can be "Audible Memorials" that emerge from civic efforts and actions to repair the social fabric. In this sense, I analyze the case of César López (1973-), a musician and activist who has comforted victims of the Colombian civil war throughout his career. His songs, albums, and artistic-social projects memorialize painful events of Colombia's recent history. I consider that his compositions are not only sonic memorials but are also "musical gifts" (Sykes 2018). Musical gifts are meant to be given, or to give something to the receiver (either a sound or a feeling), and also to circulate; they are a token of reconciliation between peoples. Hence, musical gifts are "Technologies of care" that, as I argue, require equipment to be produced. I call this equipment "Apparatuses for care." They can be as ordinary as musical instruments (a violin, a guitar). Some others, however, are unique and have extraordinary ontologies, like the Escopetarra (a portmanteau for rifle, escopeta, and guitar, guitarra, in Spanish). Created in 2003 by López, the Escopetarra is intended to transform the sounds of war into sounds of peace. Lopez's Escopetarra's ontology is one of multiple ways of being. The Escopetarra is an object that is important because of what it attempts to achieve (repair, memorialize, create reflections, in other words, to provide care) rather than what it is. Moreover, the Escopetarra itself is a musical gift. This is evident as it has been gifted to Shakira, Paul McCartney, and Calle 13, the latter of whom performed a protest-song against censorship and the conflict in the Middle East using the escopetarra. I support these claims with data gathered through netnography of several online-concerts and talks, interviews with López, reading journalistic sources, and observing Lopez's interventions' online records. I conclude that César López has used musical projects, artifacts, and sounds as techniques in the Colombian caringscape of the arts. Ultimately, the way López uses music and the conception of the Escopetarra galvanizes destabilizing epistemic regimes that consider human actions as a product of one's 'essence' but not of one's will to do good (or evil), a paradigm shift that is essential to peacebuilding. 

When Rosalía's flamenco-pop opus El mal querer was released in November 2018, an outcry of appropriation could be heard from the Spanish gitano community. In particular, Rosalía's regional class position as Catalan left her open to charges of commodification of tropes associated with the southern Spanish lower classes. Alongside these claims, I demonstrate how Rosalía's innovative adaptation of flamenco is a feminist expression, examining how El mal querer critiques machismo and gendered oppression inherent to both flamenco and Spanish nationalist ideology, thereby reanimating female contribution to an art form and culture in which women have systematically been displaced. Through this investigation, this paper asks how we reckon with notions of individual artistic agency while at the same time addressing questions of musical ownership and cultural appropriation. In this way, I highlight the possible limits of intersectional approaches to analyses of modern instantiations of musical folk traditions.Flamenco's deep-seated basis as trauma expression engenders a reticence among Spaniards toward modernization for fear of commercial dilution of what many consider a sanctified art form. While flamenco has long served as a hybrid musical product that typifies Spain's multifaceted cultural history, it has simultaneously fueled fierce debate regarding historical genesis and ownership. Many scholars dispute the origin of flamenco, but most agree that the art form communicates and embodies marginality. This manifests aurally in the Quejío ("cry of pain"); a vocal poetics of deep sorrow, which acts as a sonic conduit reflective of the history of oppression of the southern Spanish underclass since the fifteenth century. Because of Rosalía's privileged heritage, her album is situated in a problematic aesthetic space that I probe deeply in this paper. Yet, critically, I also examine how flamenco reflects female oppression at both regional and national levels. As such, I suggest that Rosalía's technical craft and poetics realize flamenco's pain aesthetics for her own trauma expression, and that El mal querer destabilizes the notion of discrete origin of flamenco authorship while maintaining awareness of the art form's intrinsic conventions.Through musical analysis, I demonstrate how Rosalía wields a deft synthesis of traditional stylings such as the compás of siguiriya and tango alongside modern techniques within songwriting, visual presentation, and production. I call particular attention to the aspects of her songs that use and perhaps misuse tropes common to gitano traditions and the ethical consequences of such sonic borrowings. My analysis thus sheds light on how Rosalía situates herself within the lineage of flamenco history and further how her artistry serves as a bifurcation of flamenco's trauma narrative by way of her gendered positionality. In this way, Rosalía's El mal querer serves as a fecund realm in which to examine the costs of intersectional demands on contemporary musical expressions.

Harry Partch (1901-1974) would be amused by the way musicologists today talk about voices. The recent musicological turn to voice has tilted the disciplinary ear toward the material effects, and paths of identity-making, implicated by the sounds people make. Sound, and voice more particularly, is proving to be a useful tool in leveraging meaning out of everyday sonic experiences, to say nothing of specifically _musical_ experiences. Partch likewise heard in the voice a kind of material affirmation of individual subjectivity. He was motivated throughout his life by an elusive and evolving theory he called One Voice. Voice also was for Partch an essential metaphor of truth in music: the atomic level of music-making, the grainy essence of who a person was and how he was connected to others, and the pure reason for musical development from the ancient Greeks through the seventeenth century. After which, composers-and especially scholars-began to get things horribly wrong.The nineteenth-century musicological prizing of abstraction (epitomized for Partch in the music of J.S. Bach) de-centered voice from the historical record. The story of music history became in the hands of musicologists one of clanging sounds of musical abstraction which, to Partch, drowns out the natural resonance of the human voice. Partch arguably found a lacking not only in the historical record, but also in the historiographical modality; the voice-including his voice-heretofore silenced by musical "progress," would remain obsolete so long as the power of the historical pen remained in the firm grip of Giant Musicologists (as he called them), anesthetized by conventional means of story-telling. What passes as history-writing for Partch was no more than antimacassars protecting musicological self-interests lying beneath the discourse. Gauging the temperature surrounding voice in several disciplines today and a return to historiographical curiosity within musicology, Partch's scattered thoughts about voice might have currency. This paper picks up the threads of Partch's historiographical musings and situates One Voice within the current transdisciplinary discourse toward voice. I take seriously Partch's advocacy of a voice-centered music history to question specifically musicology's historiographical habits. Why has the voice been eliminated from music history? How has that affected the practice of musicology today? What have been the implications of scrubbing out, as Partch called it, the "juice of a given identity" from the means by which the present is constructed? In addressing this line of questioning, I conclude that a practice of music history defined by a "vocal historiography" gives vibrancy and context to the current flourishing of voice discourse and helps better define what this conversation might actually be saying.

          The concept of viriditas pervades Hildegard of Bingen's mystical writings. This malleable term roughly translates to verdure, growth, and vitality, though perhaps its dynamic usage manifests the very dynamism it signifies. The dynamism implicit in viriditas is aligned with Constant Mew's (1998) observation that Hildegard disputes static categories like being and truth. Other scholars have demonstrated her tendency towards processes, fluxes, and instability in her music (Holsinger 1993) and cosmology (Dronke 1998, Marder 2019). Research on Hildegard has however so far evaded what Gary Tomlinson might call a "cantological" intervention, preventing us from seeing the centrality of voice and singing in these verdant cosmos.          In this paper, I argue that for Hildegard, voice serves a key cosmological role by uniting the human body with the universe, filling God's creation with essential viriditas, and maintaining the stability of the chaotic universe. To this end, I draw from Julia Kristeva's semiotic chora in a series of readings of passages from Hildegard's mystical theology (Scivias and Liber divinorum operum) and correspondence. Reading Hildegard through the semiotic chora, I describe viriditas in terms of pre-symbolic fluxes and articulate the relationship between voice, body, cosmos, and subjectivity in her theology. In particular, I view Hildegard's reorientation of the cosmos around the maternal body and dynamization of the traditionally static "cosmic egg" model as an externalization of the dialectic between the semiotic and symbolic registers of language and its attendant issues of gender. We can observe this dialectic not only in her cosmology, but also in the formal structure of the mystical texts themselves. By viewing Hildegard's universe as a cosmologization of the Kristevan chora, I demonstrate the agential power of voice as the creator of a verdant geno-cosmos anterior to encounters with God's voice and ecclesiastic authority.          This reappraisal of Hildegard's theology gestures towards broader questions of semiotics and twelfth-century conceptions of sound and voice. In particular, by interpreting Hildegard's voice as an organizer of pre-symbolic fluxes of meaning, I present one means of shaping the epistemological valences of sonus or uox that Andrew Hicks (2017) has observed in many twelfth-century texts. It is hoped that this paper stimulates similar inquiries into the semiotics and acoustemologies of twelfth-century cosmologies and mystical experiences beyond Hildegard.

Film music, particularly in the era described by James Wierzbicki as the Post-Classic Period, has displayed a magpie-like propensity for borrowing from musical fashions. Why, then, is there only one a cappella score in the history of cinema, specifically that for Lady in the Lake, Robert Montgomery's 1947 adaptation of Raymond Chandler's novel? After all, a cappella performance has its own rich history and continues to enjoy popularity. The answer, I argue, is a consequence of particular properties of the voice.The voice has proved to be a fruitful topic in both musicology and cinema. Theorists such as Roland Barthes, Michel Chion, Guy Rosolato, Didier Anzieu and, more recently, Mladen Dolar are regularly cited. Yet all of these approaches have focused on the solo or individual voice, while collective voices have received little attention. This is particularly true of film music histories, despite composers' regular use of vocal ensembles as a supplement to the orchestral palette.Considered in terms of genre, such voices fulfil different though related functions: as heavenly voices in melodrama; as a choral army in epics; as a snarling, threatening synecdoche of supernatural presence in horror. Irresepctive of such diversity, a common feature of choirs in the film-music context is the attenuation of language. Singers are required to sing in dead or invented languages – faux Latin, Elvish, random assemblies of vowels and consonants – or merely to vocalise. At face value, these "unheard melodies" performed by "unsung voices" simply render singers as instruments, reducing choral sounds to colour or timbre. However, the variant generic applications suggest that something else is at work.I argue that, unlike instruments, voices strongly imply human agency, a feature that necessitates the downplaying of language; voices connote a human or superhuman presence in a way that instruments do not. In turn, this explains the exceptional a cappella score for Lady in the Lake, which I relate to the film's "experimental" first-person camera approach. Drawing on my experience as a session singer for films, I offer this paper as a consideration of timbre, instrumentation and agency in film music and, more generally, as a contribution to the semiotics of film music and cinema.

In his memoirs, African-American jazz trombonist Herb Flemming (1898?-1976) wrote that he "sang in 1936 for Adolf Hitler in the Chancellery of his 'Reich'." No evidence of such a performance has yet been found, but Flemming did, astoundingly, live and work in Berlin from 1935 to 1937. While jazz historians have demystified many of the ways that jazz endured in Nazi Germany, Flemming's story reveals unrecognized strategies for jazz musicians and other entertainers of color to avoid official censure and extra-legal repression. Drawing on immigration records, diaries, memoirs, and historical press coverage, I argue that Flemming exploited cracks in the supposedly absolute categories of black/white and Semitic/Aryan in Nazi racial ideology. He curated a racially ambiguous public identity, claiming to be Turkish, Egyptian, Tunisian, South Asian, or a mixture of African American and one or more of the above, while playing at an Egyptian-owned and –themed bar.Flemming's time in Germany coincided with the 1936 Berlin Olympics, an event that revealed grey zones in Nazi racial categories when the governments of Egypt, Turkey, Iraq, and Iran requested clarification of the categories Aryan and Semite before agreeing to participate in the games. Flemming credibly occupied these ambiguous spaces by drawing on associations in interwar Germany between jazz and the Orient, including a decades-old tradition of Ottoman- and Arab-themed entertainment venues and scholarly theories that jazz originated in Arab music brought to America by enslaved African Muslims. A similar approach was taken by circus entertainers of sub-Saharan African descent in Nazi Germany, who reinvented themselves as Moroccan. While such a strategy was not sustainable in the long term, it provided effective cover during the early years of the Nazi dictatorship. Nazi racial laws were modeled on American Jim Crow, and, tellingly, Flemming's ambiguous racial identity continued to be moderately effective at evading legal discrimination after he returned to the United States in 1937. This paper thus brings a new perspective to recent jazz scholarship that investigates the nuances of race in jazz beyond a black/white dichotomy and how racial ambiguities can be used to subvert oppression.

For James M. Trotter's famous book Music and Some Highly Musical People (Boston, 1880), only 13 pieces of music were selected for inclusion. One of these pieces was by African-American composer Jacob J. Sawyer (1856-1885). The inclusion marks Sawyer as an exemplary and well-known composer, despite his young age at the time. His early death from tuberculosis let him sink into oblivion. The author of this paper recently discovered Sawyer's birth and death records as well as numerous newspaper articles from the late 1870s and early 1880s that provide biographical information and information about Sawyer's work as a musician and composer. This will specifically focus on Sawyer's collaborative work with famous musicians of his time and on his leadership in well-known Black Minstrel ensembles of the time:1877-80           Pianist for the Hyers Sisters1880                Sawyer performs as pianist with Louisiana Jubilee Singers1880-81           Musical Director, Haverly's Colored Minstrels1882                Sawyer performs as pianist with ("assists") the Virginia Jubilee Singers, the Sam Lucas Jubilee Songsters, and the Maryland Jubilee Singers1883                Pianist of the Slayton Ideal Company1884-85           Musical Director of the Nashville StudentsThe Hyers Sisters were well-known singers and pioneers of African-American musical theater, while Haverly's Colored Minstrels was a successful black minstrelsy group owned and managed by Jack H. Haverly (1837-1901). The Slayton Ideal Company was a jubilee troupe by well-known and – at the time widely celebrated – African-American actor and singer Sam Lucas (1840-1916). Lucas had also performed with the Hyers Sisters; it is not yet known whether Sawyer met Lucas through the Hyers Sisters, or vice versa, but Sawyer performed with Lucas throughout his career. Finally, the financially successful and very popular Chicago-based "Original Nashville Students" was managed by H. B. Thearle; it toured nationally, performing vocal and instrumental music, dance, and comedy.This paper will provide information about Sawyer's work and specifically about his collaborations with some of the most well-known African-American musicians during the 1880s, their touring schedules, and geographic coverage. A Geographic Information System (GIS) was used to analyze the geographic data of music performances.

Jazz historians have long recognized the importance of spirituals and the black church in shaping jazz aesthetics. The most familiar aspects of this influence--call-and-response tropes, the metaphor of "preaching" on an instrument--index key stylistic and social aspects of African American history and culture (Berliner 1994, Monson 1996, Reed 2003). The repeated invocation of call-and-response and "preaching," however, can have the effect of circumscribing jazz-religion relations too narrowly, and confining them to earlier periods (urban blues, swing, hard bop, 1960s Coltrane). As Jason Bivins has argued, jazz has been so deeply entangled with religion as to form "a powerful, if elusive, form of American religious experience itself" (2015, p. 14; see also Stowe 2010).This paper concentrates on jazz of the past four decades--a period usually ignored in discussions of jazz and religion--to demonstrate that the black church continues to be a major force in the production of jazz talent, and to explain how recent conditions of marketing and management, as well as changes within the black church, have transformed the genre's religious expressions. Artists such as Cyrus Chestnut, Russell Malone, Kenny Garrett, Sean Jones, and Tia Fuller, in collaboration with agents and promoters, avow Christian faith as part of their public personas and recording projects, a trend that parallels the growth of the mass popularization of gospel music in the same era. My main case study, Brian Blade Fellowship (later, Brian Blade and the Fellowship Band), commands particular interest because its key members (Blade, Cowherd, Butler) are overtly devout and their music is often perceived as intensely "spiritual," yet the music lacks most of the traditional markers of "churchiness." The religious element manifests, rather, as an understated, linear ebb and flow, led from the drums and rising and falling between the junctures of long, extended forms. It is also projected in Blade's visually arresting performance manner, which embodies what Ashon Crawley (2016) calls the "choreosonics" of blackpentacostal performance. The final part of the paper shows, through ethnographic work with African American students at the Berklee School of Music, how younger jazz musicians today are relating their creative work to their religious experience and modeling themselves after musicians such as Fuller, Jones, and Blade.

            In 1968, Rabbi Charles D. Mintz commissioned a Jewish cantata from an unlikely source: Dave Brubeck, a white jazz musician and newly-minted composer of large-scale works. _The Gates of Justice_ (1969) premiered at the dedication of the new Rockdale Temple in Cincinnati following the Temple's move from a predominantly black city neighborhood to an overwhelmingly white suburb. The work was intended to mend the growing divide in Black-Jewish relations by addressing themes many Reform Jewish communities understood as central to this relationship: 1) that both communities had experienced shared histories of suffering and oppression; and 2) that Jews had a moral imperative to become involved in the civil rights movement. However, the cantata's texts and themes, Brubeck's wide-ranging musical references and ensemble decisions, and its premiere at Rockdale Temple's new, suburban location, also reveal aspects of Black-Jewish relations that some black activists found to be increasingly toxic; according to black writers like James Baldwin and Julius Lester, these include race and class privilege, gradual white assimilation, white flight, and unequal partnerships. In other words, _The Gates of Justice_ was intended as an intervention, but it also serves as musical documentation of the often complicated relationships between black and Jewish communities, and between Jewish communities and mid-century American whiteness.             Drawing on musical analysis and archival material, I focus on the cantata's initial Cincinnati premiere, revealing the ways in which the leaders of the Reform Jewish community of Rockdale Temple used the cantata to re-solidify a Jewish identity within the context of the late civil rights movement. In selecting Brubeck for the commission and by framing the cantata as a work with specific resonance among Jewish audiences, I argue that the commissioners of the cantata used Brubeck's own well-established performance of whiteness to complicate the black/white racial binary, drawing a greater contrast between Jewishness and whiteness. While much musical discourse on jazz and Jewishness focuses on particular musicians and their relationship to and performances of "black music," this paper examines the extent to which Reform Jewish communities performed in, outside, and against whiteness.

When the Marx Brothers interrupt the prelude of Verdi's _Il Trovatore_ with "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" in _A Night at the Opera_ (1935), they are following a comic script about Jews and opera that can be traced at least as far back as B. Kovner's 1914 "_Yente in Metropolitan Opera-Hoys_" ("Yente at the Metropolitan Opera House"). This short story features Yente Telebende, who goes to the Metropolitan Opera to see Donizetti's _Lucia di Lammermoor_, but gets unceremoniously thrown out when she falls asleep, and has such a terrible nightmare about her son falling off the roof that she wakes up screaming. Findings from the Florida Atlantic University, Dartmouth College, and University of California Santa Barbara sound archives reveal that sending a Jewish immigrant on a disastrous visit to the opera became a popular comic device for American Jewish humorists. By the time this plot reached the Marx Brothers, it had already enjoyed two decades of development in Jewish dialect sheet music, records, and talkie films.The following study traces the evolution of this plot and explores the reasons it resonated with Jewish creators and audiences. Intertwining comedy, Jews, and opera, it is premised upon the reality of a complex American Jewish relationship with opera in the early twentieth century, one that musicologists have not yet explored. My paper assesses the plot's precedents, and follows its transformation across the lines of media, language, and gender from 1914 through 1935. Throughout, I draw on studies of Jewish humor, history, and opera popularization to argue that the expansion and perpetuation of this plot emerged from deeply-rooted Jewish anxieties about gaining acceptance in America during a period of heightened xenophobia. I further suggest that, in the process of employing the opera as a subject in Jewish popular culture products, the genre became a stand-in for all the institutions where many middle- and lower-class acculturating Jews were made to feel like imposters. By embracing rather than refusing the role of disruptive outsiders in the imagined opera house, American Jews at once acknowledged and laid bare their own cultural difference for the pleasure of their community. 

The Bauhaus influence in Israel is profound, as the country hosts hundreds of Bauhaus buildings, designed in the International Style. These structures were erected rapidly to respond to the needs of the Fifth _Aliyah_ (mass immigration from Central Europe), and as such, housed many refugee Jewish composers fleeing Europe. The Bauhaus ideology not only sheltered them physically, it also shaped their modernist aesthetics of music, which they brought from their homelands: clean lines with no extraneous ornaments; volume (spans of intervals) as opposed to mass; regularity (stratification and interlock of ostinati) without symmetry; and technically perfect use of materials without applied decoration or patterning (Clendinning on modernism in architecture and music, 2002). An overlapping modernist dictum of the Bauhaus-"there is no essential difference between the artist and the artisan" (Gropius)-assumed a musical interpretation in the Hindemithian Gebrauchsmusik concept, and in Palestine, it received its Zionist incarnation. The only notable Bauhausler composer to arrive to Palestine was Stefan Wolpe: "not as a Zionist, but as a stateless Jewish refugee" (Clarkson, 1999). Between 1934 and 1938, however, he disseminated not only his Webern-inspired modernist techniques, but also his version of the Gebrauchsmusik ideology (the social responsibility of art music composers to serve their culture also with utilitarian music)-in his "amalgamated" music at the service of a fervent Zionism (Brigid Cohen, 2012; Barry Wiener, 2019). This paper analyzes the aesthetic cross-fertilization between the Bauhaus of the 1920s and musical modernism in four Palestinian works from the late 1930s and 1940s. First, I assess Wolpe's often overlooked arrangements of Hebrew children songs (e.g., _Saleinu al ktefenu_) and his melody for Alterman's pacifist protest poem, _Al titnu lahem rovim_ (Don't give them guns). I also examine two works by Tel Aviv composers from the Russian-French (rather than German) approach, which reflect facets of the Bauhaus ideology and its Russian counterpart, _Vkhutemas_: Verdina Shlonsky's Lied _Zemer_, and Mordecai Seter's influential  _Sabbath Cantata_. The latter uses liturgical Mizraḥi (Jewish-Arab) melodies reworked in a neonationalist style, where the regularity without symmetry and the technically "perfect polyphony" (Max Brod, 1941) are its salient traits.

Tomás Bretón (1850-1923) was mostly renowned for some popular zarzuelas, above all La verbena de la paloma (1894). However, few know that, in a time when Spain was energetically redefining its national identity in music and debating the merits of Italianate vs. Wagnerian operatic models, Bretón's importance lay more in his contribution to the long-debated discourse on ópera española rather than his participation in the trend of the Spanish zarzuela chica (light operetta). Engaging in a number of querelles, Bretón, the "imperfect Wagnerite" (as described by Clinton Young), advocated the use of poetry over prose in opera, thus rejecting Wagner's "infinite melody," and he considered the Spanish language to be the most distinctive feature of a Spanish national opera. I propose a re-assessment of Bretón's contribution to Spanish musical theater by arguing that his opera La Dolores (1895) represents a first operatic prototype transitioning towards a new model of Spanish opera, a model likewise developed by a handful of ensuing composers, such as Albéniz (Pepita Jimenez, 1896), Granados (María del Carmen, 1898, and Goyescas, 1915), Falla (La vida breve, 1913), Penella (El gato montés, 1917), and Moreno Torroba (La virgen de mayo, 1925). Traditionally considered realistic operas with some Spanish color, upon closer examination, such works share unique features that distance them from both the hybrid zarzuela-opera model and the tout court Italian model:  namely, an emphasis on realism, the use of national language, and the unique confluence of both Italianate elements (in terms of melodic invention) and Wagnerian ones (in the distinctive use of Leitmotive and treatment of the orchestra). In short, these operas present the peculiar topoi of Italian verismo opera.Approaching La Dolores from a verismo perspective, and relating it to the aforementioned operas, allows us to shed new light on a Spanish work whose importance goes beyond its folkloric musical numbers, and to identify its pivotal position in the complex nineteenth-century discourse on ópera española. I maintain that if there was a Spanish national opera at the crossroads of the centuries, it was a Spanish verismo opera, and that La Dolores represents a leading and paramount contribution to this endeavor.

Modern-day scholars of Claude Debussy's Pelléas et Mélisande often dismiss the opera's debut stage setting as a curiosity at odds with the Symbolist and Impressionist aesthetics of the opera's text and music.  The "folly" of strikingly detailed forests and interiors was seen as being corrected by later, avant-garde design.  Today, abstract sets are common.The original set designers, Eugène Ronsin and Lucien Jusseaume, were well-regarded artists, and Jusseaume in particular found fame not only in Paris, but across France and abroad.  Jusseaume's designs were informed by research trips and photographs of foreign lands; his dedication to Realism, an aesthetic rising during the emergence of cinema and photography, made him a highly respected figure in the Parisian theatre world.Realism as an artistic philosophy in this era was not merely material that seemed "real": instead, it fed off of the everyday, the familiar, to depict its artistic truth. In opera, Realist set design enabled a particularly enlivened interaction between literary, musical, and theatrical truths; the visual, the aural, the emotional.  While other attempts at such vérité have received much study, such as the contemporary Italian verismo movement, the Parisian Realist settings of operatic works are less explored.This presentation will examine Realism in Parisian operatic set design c. 1900, centered on Pelléas et Mélisande but informed by other productions by Jusseaume and the Opéra Comique.  My argument will focus on the choice of Realism, which enabled operas to evoke a more familiar, intimate drama for their audiences.  It will embrace recent research on the Opéra Comique and its director Albert Carré, by Michaela Niccolai and Philippe Blay; contemporary, technical developments of Parisian theatres, by Rémy Campos and Aurélien Poidevin; and resources such as the museum of the Opéra de Vichy and the Gaumont Pathé film archive.The Opéra Comique's productions from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries-including Pelléas et Mélisande-depended on Realist design for their success.  Contemporary accounts make this fact clear.  This presentation will consider the role of such design and how it was integral to the audience's acceptance and adoration of these productions. 

This paper considers the circuitry of analog music technology as material texts that can be "read" for traces of the sounding and listening practices they inscribe. I develop this methodological approach to demonstrate how all listening practices are mediated by both material affordances and ideological discourse. Specifically, I investigate the Klon Centaur, a guitar overdrive pedal manufactured in Cambridge, Massachusetts throughout the 1990s and currently one of the most expensive and sought after collectibles in guitar mythology. At the heart of the pedal's circuit--physically inaccessible beneath an impenetrable layer of epoxy--are two germanium diodes, known among collectors as the "magic diodes." Due to the diodes' clandestine nature, guitarists have attributed to them all aspects of the pedal's sound, even those produced elsewhere in the circuit. For guitarists, tone is always an ideological pursuit that yields contradictory listening practices. By following a 2009 crowdsourced project to reverse engineer the Klon, I read the poetic and ideological nature of the pedal's circuit alongside its materiality, tracing the process by which a pair of ordinary circuit components became affixed with an aura of magic, enchanting the act of listening itself.  This intervention situates this project within the material and organological "turns" in recent music scholarship that redirect critical inquiry away from abstract musical syntax towards the technologies that facilitate music's mediation. Relatedly, structuring this case study around the matter of timbre, I connect the above turns with emerging research into the socially constructed nature of tone, especially in guitar-based music. More broadly, as analog electronics comprise the infrastructure for most musical practices since the 20th century, this novel methodological approach of reading an interface's mise en circuit for traces of sounding and listening practices would unearth a whole set of archives newly available for musicological inquiry. By opening the black box that is the Klon's circuit, I show how the poetics and particularities of the Klon's construction condition novel ways of commodifying and engaging with timbre-both real and imagined.

Nicolas Collins's Broken Light (1992) explores the limits of a digital innovation that infamously promised "perfect sound forever": the digital audio compact disc (CD). Collins's work "for string quartet and modified CD player" rehabilitates the distinctive skipping sound of a CD player failing to read audio data from the medium's surface. For Broken Light, Collins modified-in his words, "hotwired"-the electrical circuits inside a Sony Discman D-2, allowing him to recycle the sounds excised by the circuitry in CD players during the course of their normal operation.Kelly (2009) places Collins's compositions in a Cagean lineage of experiments with sound-recording media, while for Hainge (2013) and Thompson (2017) they illustrate how technology can autonomously judge something "noisy", independent of a listening subject. In this paper, I offer a complementary hearing of Collins's work that draws primarily on recordings and technical documentation, arguing that it reveals how our experience of even a high-fidelity, uncompressed digital audio format is mediated by manifold algorithmic policies of sonic control.Although the international standard that specifies the CD determines the disc medium in detail, it does not completely dictate how standard-compliant players present the audio that discs contain to listeners. Most manufacturers elected to mute the signal emitted by the laser pickup when their players perform the cueing operations enabled by the CD's digital makeup: when paused, seeking, or skipping instantaneously between tracks. In Broken Light, Collins's hardware modification inhibits this policy and causes the Discman to emit fragmentary skipping CD sounds when "paused".In early advertising that describes these digital cueing features, manufacturers strove to mitigate a loss of control felt by some consumers at the dawn of digital audio. The microscopic pits and lands of CDs foreclose the kind of tactile manipulations afforded by pre-digital recording media like vinyl and tape. Ironically, the new features they introduced were implemented deep within each individual player's microprocessors; the policies of sonic control they enforce remain practically inscrutable to most owners. As demonstrated by the lengths to which Collins went in engineering his hotwired players, they could only be exposed, modified, and subverted by their most adventurous users.Works citedHainge, Greg. Noise Matters: Towards an Ontology of Noise. Sound Studies. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013.Kelly, Caleb. Cracked Media: The Sound of Malfunction. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2009.Thompson, Marie. Beyond Unwanted Sound: Noise, Affect and Aesthetic Moralism. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017.

The 2009 integration of Max and Live software into a single interface, Max for Live (M4L), signaled a remarkable convergence of two historically distinct paradigms in computer-based music; namely, patch programming languages and digital audio workstations (DAWs). Representative of the former, Max incubated within an academic context that catered to a high-art aesthetic, and its "blank canvas" interface strives to project an aura of artistic neutrality as it places a premium on authorial agency (Puckette 2002 p. 39). By contrast, Live emerged from the late-nineties techno milieu of Berlin, and its orientation around grid-based, pulse-oriented, multi-track sound has contributed to its present status as the most widely used DAW in popular music production (Butler 2014 p. 65–95). In combining affordances of both, the hybrid M4L program brings together diverse cultures of use, reconfiguring relationships between software users and makers through its instantiation of a new cultural commodity - the M4L "device," a digital object used to create custom sound effects, instruments, and external hardware configurations.This paper examines how the online circulation of M4L devices provides a decentralized model for both sharing and selling encapsulated bits of music-theoretical knowledge within virtual communities. Drawing on paratextual analysis and in-person interviews with software developers, tutorial writers, and device makers, I argue that M4L devices contain voluminous input from a wide array of actors, framing the enlarged scale and accelerated pace of musical cross-pollination within device-centered communities in relation to Georgina Born's notion of distributed creativity (2005). Moreover, I argue that the exchange of M4L devices - whether via free open-source forums such as maxforlive.com, small vendors in what has become a third-party cottage industry, or directly through Ableton's online store - has engendered an emergent form of networked capital, thus blurring the line between consumption and production as software users are assimilated into an inexhaustible pool of immaterial labor (Lazzarato 1996, Terranova 2000). My paper aims to shed new light on this timely theme by opening a dialogue between contemporary music research and parallel discourses in software studies, media archaeology, and socioeconomic theory.

_To Rita Steblin, in memoriam_Theoretical discourse on key choice has, since the advent of tonality, typically based its claims on keys' alleged emotional properties. In fact, music theorists have largely agreed on keys' emotional characterizations (Steblin 2002). _Opera seria_ arias are considered to be 'emotional weather reports' (Taruskin 2005 vol. 2 p. 154) on characters' actions. Therefore, given the privileged status of the genre in the eighteenth century, they are a most pertinent repertoire for the study of key ascription in that period. Whereas most analytical research on the topic is based on very specific repertoires (eg. Dalla Vecchia 2012), this paper expands insights by exploring a notably larger and richer corpus through a big-data approach. Results obtained from the analysis of ca.600 arias (from ca.60 musical settings of Metastasio's _Didone abbandonata_ and _Demofoonte_) challenge the traditionally-assumed, straightforward correlation between key and emotion.Musical settings of specific aria texts do not significantly coincide apropos the keys to which they were composed (average match: ca.16.5%, the exception being the marked tendency -ca.50%- for versions of _Demofoonte_'s 'Misero pargoletto' to be in E flat major). Likewise, composers employed each key to set emotionally-divergent texts (average match: ca.7%). As could have been expected, practical and stylistic considerations, such as country of première (which may suggest influence of tuning practices), date of composition, and scoring appear to have been more determinant. Flat keys as a whole predominate in association with the clarinet; this tendency towards flat keys starts to be clearly noticeable in the 1760s, particularly in Germany, but also, and perhaps earlier, in Italy. More strikingly, role types also seem to have underlain composers' key choices. In particular, almost ca.60% of arias written for the _prima donna_ have a flat key signature, whereas the proportion is reverted -in favour of sharp key signatures- in arias for the _subordinato_ and the _terzo uomo_. This paper will eventually contribute a subtler and, at the same time, more comprehensive understanding of eighteenth-century key semantics to both music theory and history. 

This paper addresses the controversial application of Simon Sechter's theory of fundamental bass to the analysis of Anton Bruckner's music.  Owing to its conservative nature, _Die richtige Folge der Grundharmonien_ was deemed obsolete already at the time of its publication in 1853, and Sechterian fundamental bass has long met with widespread skepticism vis-à-vis the analysis of nineteenth-century tonality.  Given the central role that Sechter's fundamental-bass theory played in the training and teaching endeavors of his most illustrious pupil, however, in recent years scholars have revived it as a tool for the examination of Bruckner's tonal language.My paper challenges the analytic application of Sechterian fundamental bass to Brucknerian harmony on the basis of the composer's view of Sechter's theories and his compositional strategies as mutually exclusive.  To be sure, the anecdotal and documentary evidence for Bruckner's stance on the subject is self-contradictory, and his conflicting statements have been interpreted as an indication of ambivalence on the issue.  In making a case for the analysis of Brucknerian tonality from a Sechterian perspective, scholars have been selective in the accounts they use as evidence.  Consequently, the literature has focused on a few of Bruckner's remarks that seem to support a theory/composition reconciliation while overlooking recollections by his erstwhile students Guido Adler and Heinrich Schenker and his one-time composition teacher Otto Kitzler-recollections that suggest a rift between the two realms in the composer's mind.In order to draw a cogent narrative from Bruckner's changing views on the relationship between tonal theory and free composition, my paper explores four interrelated issues: the psychological dimension of his thoughts on the subject, a plausible timeline for the remarks that he reportedly made about it, the differing motivations of students and friends in his circle of supporters, and the changes that his tonal language underwent in the 1880s.  Based on fresh scrutiny of the extant evidence, I propose a scenario in which Bruckner embarked on an inner journey that took him from initial belief in the compatibility of Sechterian theory and his compositional practice to complete acceptance of a disjunction between the two.

Our interaction with any musical work is inevitably shaped by how we understand its membership in various _categories_. Containers like 'form,' 'genre,' and 'epoch' give us important clues to the contexts of a work's creation and how it relates to other works that are similar or different in meaningful ways. However, those works we find outstanding enough to warrant deeper engagement tend to chafe at the constraints of formal and stylistic norms, thus representing their containing categories less faithfully than more unremarkable works that are nonetheless closer to the center of conventional practice. Thus, paradoxically, when we invoke categories like form (i.e., 'sonata'), genre ('opera'), or epoch ('Baroque'), the supposedly exemplary members that we tend to call to mind may in fact be less representative of the category's identity. If a part is askance from the whole, which may indeed prove crucial to its identity and power, how are we to understand the ways in which it "stands for" that whole?In this paper, I work to better navigate the slippery terrain of "standing for" through the case study of John Adams' 2005 opera _Doctor Atomic_.  One of the landmark operas of the 21st century, Adams' work is drawn from the true events surrounding the Manhattan Project and the creation of the atomic bomb. At the end of Act I, something curious happens. The opera's protagonist, J. Robert Oppenheimer, finds himself alone with the bomb, and, departing from the conversational, "continuous-melody" _arioso_ style permeating the opera to that point, sings the John Donne sonnet "Batter My Heart, Three-Person'd God," set as a tonal _da capo_ aria. Beyond the surprise of this moment, the aria is arresting for both its beauty and dramatic intensity. It justly features prominently in the press and interviews surrounding the piece, mentioned more than any other specific sections of the work combined, and appears on various artist and compilation albums recorded since. As the entry point, climactic apex, and chief takeaway from the opera, in many ways "Batter my Heart" could be said to "stand for" the opera metonymically, and yet it does so not as an exemplar but as a dynamic contrast to the rest of the opera's music and libretto. Thanks to the strength of this work and other topically-driven operas such as _Nixon in China_ and The _Death of Klingoffer_, Adams has risen to prominence as the de facto doyen of contemporary American opera, while his works, with their current-event politics and idiosyncratic musical language, stand more "apart from" than "exemplary of" the category they tend to represent.  Through my exploration of the complexity of these dynamics, I propose a pragmatic solution to the seeming paradox. Music gets its prime position in our imagination and hearts through the power of its outliers, and the inadequacy of our categories in has more to do with the obscured artificiality of their construction than anything to do with the musical work itself. 

Recent scholarship about Gombert has not addressed the relationship between counterpoint and melodic entries, but has focussed on _musica ficta_ (Urquhart, 2015), text-music relations (Newcomb, 2015), and the texture of his large multi-voice pieces (Neal, 2011). The application of Peter Schubert's presentation types (Schubert, 2007) provides new ways of describing Gombert's contrapuntal approach to composition. This method takes into account types of imitation standardised according to time and pitch intervals, the repetition of contrapuntal combinations or modules (Owens, 1998), and musical "heightening" (Lester, 2001).I analyse Gombert's _Magnificat Tertii et octavi toni_ according to an expanded version of Schubert's theoretical framework that includes _fuga_ and stretto _fuga_ (Milsom, 2005). Stretto _fuga_, according to Milsom, is a specific set of 'rules' governing melodic intervals that guarantees correct counterpoint after one set time interval. In Gombert's Magnificat, I show that his compositional plan for many of the verses has a recurrent structure based upon the same sequence of presentation types. Most notable is Gombert's use of stretto _fuga_ prior to the conclusion of the Tertii toni. The composer employs this technique in all polyphonic verses with the exception of the fourth and the twelfth-the twelfth being a two-from-four double canon. In verses six, eight, and ten, Gombert uses the same _soggetto_-what Urquhart terms a Flemish cambiata figure (Urquhart, 2015)-in tandem with stretto _fuga_ patterns at the octave below and the fifth above to create what I term stretto complexes. I similarly show that Gombert's use of this specific stretto _fuga_ pattern is not limited to this Magnificat alone but can be found at the conclusion of his other five and six-voice sacred and secular music: an example of this is the Agnus II of _Missa Media vita_. Finally, I argue that this technique was a "musical commonplace" for the composer (Schubert, 2010), characteristic of his compositional style.My approach gives greater insight into Gombert's compositional process and his musical style, further deconstructing what Cosimo Bartoli (Haar, 1988) first described of Gombert's music as "harmoniousness that gives you a marvellous delight."

Barking Abbey, one of the oldest and most prominent monastic houses in England, nurtured a female community with vibrant musical and liturgical creativity. The surviving sources from this monastery show tantalizing evidence of the cultivated expansion of the expected Gregorian repertoire through the composition of hundreds of unique hymns, antiphons, responsories, and sequences. Similarly, the detailed rubrics give performance practice indications unlike anything else seen in medieval, monastic sources. Even more intriguing are the many unique chants found in these sources that venerate local female saints. All the surviving musico-liturgical manuscripts are from the turn of the fifteenth century, a time when the once-wealthy abbey had become destitute due to natural disasters and a changing political landscape. This presentation aims to analyze the music of these manuscripts and present how Barking's largely anonymous women composers used music, liturgy, and ritual as an agent to craft the identities of the female saints they celebrated as well as an identity for Barking Abbey in a time of political and financial turmoil.            A close reading of the texts of these female-centric songs will form the central methodology for this presentation, but musical evidence from the hymnal, Cambridge Trinity College 1226, will also provide support. I then compare the rhetorical choices of the chant texts with historical evidence from local contemporary sources such as cartularies, patent rolls, and account rolls which will give a complete picture of Barking's role in local and national politics and the nuns' financial situation. Together, this research demonstrates that the nuns at Barking relied upon musical agency to create identities for their female saints, which served both to spread awareness of their miraculous women and to define femininity on their own terms. The music also fashioned an identity for Barking Abbey itself by insisting on their authority as a house of royal affiliation and, more importantly, by reinforcing their Englishness in times of increased nationalism and resistance to Norman culture. 

The Cistercian nuns of Beaupré in Grimminge (modern-day Belgium) used, edited, and supplemented their antiphoner (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, W. 759-762) for over 500 years after its production in 1290. The manuscript provides a rare opportunity for such a long view of a continuous musical tradition. The thoughtful alterations made to the antiphoner reflect changing understanding of the nuns' religious identity and the authority on which their liturgical tradition was based. Moreover, the bottom-up perspective offered by the antiphoner reveals a significant discrepancy between major events and developments in the history of chant, such as pronouncements by the General Chapter, papal edicts, or publications of new editions and their adoption in particular communities, perhaps especially of women.This paper will describe three later revisions to the antiphoner in the fifteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries. Whereas the nuns in the thirteenth century sang primarily standardized Cistercian chant, remnants of non-Cistercian assignments and several _unica_ that they may have composed were permitted. During the Observant reform of the late fifteenth century, all local particularities were expunged and the authority of the "Bernardine" recension of Cistercian chant was rigidly enforced. So convinced were the nuns of the musical superiority of Cistercian chant that they led the first house of Benedictines in the region to adopt the Cistercian liturgy. Others followed and formed a small confraternity of Cistercian and Benedictine women's communities united by their common use of Cistercian chant. Pressure to Romanize the liturgy in the post-Tridentine era and growing discontent among Cistercians with aspects of the twelfth-century melodies finally toppled Bernardine musical authority and splintered the liturgical uniformity of the Order. Print culture and the destabilization of medieval chant traditions fostered a profusion of variants that appeared in steady succession throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Efforts to standardize chant according to Roman use instead had a centrifugal effect. Yet, evidence from the Beaupré Antiphoner demonstrates that the nuns retained their medieval tradition well into the late eighteenth century. Print did not supplant their thirteenth-century manuscripts. Rather, printed versions were eventually copied into them.The long view of chant in the Beaupré Antiphoner affords a dynamic picture of Cistercian chant from its origins in the twelfth century until the French Revolution. It raises questions including the role of gender in the reception of changes and the particular local implications of those changes. It also demonstrates the tenacity and adaptability of some medieval institutions and traditions into the modern period. The nuns viewed their carefully considered revisions as a necessary condition of continuity, not a threat to it.

Music was an integral part of dying in late medieval Europe. For some groups of nuns in German-speaking areas, music played such an important role in death that they worked it into stories about the members of their communities which they recorded in manuscripts and these stories circulated for centuries after their composition. The stories, recorded in the Sisterbooks of the Dominicans and the _Legatus divinae pietatis_ from Helfta, relate various aspects of the sisters' lives and, often, their deaths (Meyer 1995, Jaron Lewis 1996, Harrison 2009). My paper will demonstrate for the first time how the sisters' understanding of the liturgy, its music and texts, and their relationship with Christ intersect to make death a welcome thing. In these stories, music both comments on the life (and death) of the sister and conveys her community's understanding of what happened to her after death. The stories intersperse the memories of the liturgical and musical action of death and burial with mystical visions of the deceased sisters – many of whom quickly proceed to Christ in heaven. The visions, which often occur during or directly after sung liturgy, give us an insight into how the sisters navigated the liminal spaces between death, purgatory, and the afterlife. Surviving ritual books from Dominican and Cistercian convents show how they navigated the gendered liturgy of death and burial itself, with death marking one of the few occasions in which a priest was allowed into the women's enclosure, but in which the sisters also had significant roles to play. The writings by Dominican and Cistercian sisters leave us with the impression that death was not to be feared, and significantly, they link this idea with the music of their liturgies. Despite the prevalence of music in the texts, they have seen little musicological attention: I offer a new analysis of the role of music and liturgy in texts from German women's convents.

Since its appearance nearly fifty years ago, Roland Barthes' essay _Le grain de la voix_ (1972) has inspired a steady stream of scholarship on the ways in which bodies-or more properly, body parts-inhabit vocalized sound. Less attention, however, has been given to Barthes' brief attempt in the same essay to relate the notion of _grain_ to instrumental sound. It is notable that, even when Barthes did turn his attention to instrumental music, he focused his comments exclusively on the bodies of instrumentalists rather than on the bodies of instruments themselves.  In this paper, I examine the potential of Barthes' _grain_ to illuminate aspects of instrument materiality. Drawing on theories from Barthes and others, I attempt to account for the relative ability of sounds to convey to listeners a sense of instruments' material presence and virtual proximity. While similar attempts are not unprecedented, they have most often drawn on nineteenth- and twentieth-century repertoires, and to some degree on contemporary popular music. I turn instead to the evolving discourse of the Historically Informed Performance movement, seeking to interrogate the verbal and visual tendencies of that discourse to fetishize instruments, physical locations, and other material foci. I argue that these tendencies are in part vestiges of the poetics at work in specific repertoires to which many HIP performers have gravitated.Finally, I conclude that the senses of virtual proximity and sonic intimacy potentially conveyed by sounding instruments provides a compelling point of resonance with the physical distancing measures to which we have lately been subject.

Demand is high today for instruments that appear older than they actually are. Prominent luthiers bang chains against violins and rip off varnish with masking tape. Electric guitar builders copy instruments from the 1950s, complete with scratches, cigarette burns, and "belt-buckle rash." These intentional imperfections deceive. The mimicry of "golden age" Fenders and "golden period" Strads produces aural and visual illusions of history. Why do respected instrument makers intentionally distress and damage their creations? Does the distressing process change the way instruments feel and sound? Why do these creations capture imaginations and command high prices?Although a substantial body of scholarship exists on musical authenticity, counterfeiting, and the aesthetics of imperfection, these notions have seen minimal application in the context of musical instruments. This paper examines the process and implications of making new instruments appear old, with attention to the cultural appeal, sonic metaphysics, and commodification of (false) antiquity. Drawing similarities between two divergent musical worlds-violin luthiery and electric guitar building-we trace developments beginning with the replication of specific famous instruments and resulting in assembly-line manufacturing of (in)authentic "relics." Capitalizing on a sense of "technostalgia" (Pinch and Reinecke 2009) among players and collectors, distressed guitars typically cost several thousand dollars more than their untarnished counterparts. Antiqued violins can range upwards of forty thousand dollars, their value inflated by socio-professional expectations and the hero-worship of famous luthiers, instruments, and performers. While one practice began in the nineteenth century and the other circa 1995, we argue that the two mirror each other, reflecting similar, ongoing desires for the feel, look, and sound of oldness.We begin the paper by detailing various methods of distressing, turning to historical and modern trade magazines, instructional manuals and videos, and interviews with makers. The second section then explores perception, asking whether the process actually affects the tactile and sonic qualities of the instruments in addition to their appearance. In the final section we consider distressed instruments as commodities, investigating how oldness and nostalgia merge with auras of luxury and authenticity to produce the demand for manufactured history.

On 28 August 1822, the India Gazette announced that several of Clementi & Co.'s musical parts, including "the best Roman gut strings" made from the filo membrane of Roman lamb entrails, had arrived in Calcutta. Running London's largest music-publishing and instrument-manufacturing business, the Roman-born pianist and composer, Muzio Clementi, and his English partners provided military band instruments to the East India Company and targeted merchants throughout the British colonies, selling products such as scores, pianofortes, and instrumental parts that could withstand tropical climates. This paper examines the circulation of such Anglo-Roman products, as situated within the "New Rome" music industries of London, in the context of shifting English perceptions of the Eternal City, and assesses the agency that these products exercised in cultivating a web of global trade relationships. The study of the trade of musical materials, I show, broadens our understanding of Britain's transformation from an energetic maritime and commercial force into an imperial and colonizing power. Thematizing the power of il filo, the composer's "cognitive thread" in the partimento tradition, I use the reception of Clementi's last keyboard sonatas (1821) to show how the joining of the modular and collaborative components of the galant style served a transnational enterprise in which, as one reviewer of the sonatas put it, "parts that are the most remote from each other are connected with such art as almost to escape detection." The stringing-together of partimenti by il filo was at once a style of executive musical assembly and the material basis for political and economic exchange. Clementi's style profited off the obfuscation of the processes and sites of production.Drawing on letters, travel diaries, shipping records, advertisements, and company catalogues, I reconstruct the workshop production, marketing, importation, and recirculation of Anglo-Roman musical products, in particular Clementi & Co.'s gut strings, and describe a network of cognitive and material relationships, threaded together musically by agents at once human and nonhuman. My claim is that the aesthetic power of these commodities was an aural manifestation of what I theorize as "Anglo-Roman musical culture."

This paper focuses on how musical numbers are used in two contemporary animated action-comedy programs marketed primarily toward children: _Over the Garden Wall_ (2014) and _Steven Universe_ (2013-). Although the shows differ in terms of tone and format, both make notable use of musical numbers not merely as a vehicle for jokes, but as a way of developing characters and plot.I analyze these songs not only to look at how musical numbers are shaped by animated television, but also as a means of placing these shows in the context of animation's historical treatment of racial, sexual, and gendered difference. Drawing on the work of scholars such as Daniel Goldmark, Michel Chion, and Jack Halberstam, I argue that _Over the Garden Wall_ and _Steven Universe_ both rely on a miniaturized musical scale to deliver musical numbers. In spite of these similarities, the musical segments of these shows are ultimately used to very different ends. The songs in _Over the Garden Wall_ are often linked to a problematic nostalgia for the "Golden Age of Animation," an era in which animation was heavily influenced by the tropes of blackface minstrelsy. On the other hand, _Steven Universe_ relies on musical numbers as a means of subverting the conservative standards of "family" television through the covert representation of LGBTQ characters. This shines a new light both on the technical form of the musical number on animated television and both the radical and reactionary potential of the animated musical.

Greta Van Fleet's debut LP, _Anthem of the Peaceful Army_, was one of 2018's most anticipated albums, debuting at number 3 on the _Billboard_ charts, selling over 80,000 copies in its first week, and setting the stage for their successful 2019 tour. But the album was not without controversy. _Pitchfork_'s now infamous review wrote that Greta Van Fleet "are a new kind of vampiric band who's there to catch the runoff of original classic rock using streaming services' data-driven business model… They make music that sounds exactly like Led Zeppelin and demand very little other than forgetting how good Led Zeppelin often were." In this paper I use the assumptions of this now-canonical critique-the band's supposed similarity to Led Zeppelin, and its status as an attempt to algorithmically game listeners' sense of nostalgia-to explore questions fundamental to the analysis of "classic" rock music in the twenty-first century. How similar are Greta Van Fleet and Led Zeppelin, and in what aspects and under what criteria can such a determination be made? How does the current status of rock and its relationship to mainstream commercialism create a nostalgia industry? How do different groups of listeners interpret what the music sounds like?Using Greta Van Fleet's music and applying pop music topic theory developed by William Echard, I analyze how sounds and timbres can signify the past and how that signification causes nostalgic debate among different groups. I begin by discussing the rise of "classic rock," and how rock created its imagined past. I then discuss how Greta Van Fleet fits into what Nicholas Russo coins "retro rock," and examine how the sounds, devices, and timbres the bands use link them with the past. Building upon work by Svetlana Boym, I finish by considering narratives of rock's "death" and the role played by nostalgia in modern rock. I conclude that how one hears the music depends on one's context; those who believe that rock is dead hear a positive nostalgia, while those who are engaged in modern rock scenes indeed hear the vampirism described by Pitchfork.

A 1956 recording of Emilio Balcarce's tango _La Bordona_ summons the specter of an instrument no longer considered a part of the genre. Ensemble pianist Osvaldo Manzi evokes the guitar in the rising and falling musical gestures of his left hand, playing a haunting bassline. The music elaborates on the tango's title, a reference to the lowest string of the guitar, by alluding to the romantic image of a lone guitarist playing a melancholy piece. Horacio Ferrer has described those tangos that suggest the once emblematic instrument as expressing the "ghostly moans of guitars in exile" (Ferrer 1980). Tango historiographies consistently assert the disappearance of the guitar from _orquestas típicas_ (tango ensembles) during the 1910s. _La Bordona_ not only references Argentine cultural nationalism but functions to discursively combine both _gauchesca_ nationalism and the early tango. Drawing on archival research conducted in Argentina, I will argue that "ghostly" tangos employ nostalgia, after Svetlana Boym's eponymous theory (2001), which is at once restorative, referencing national symbols (e.g., the gaucho), and reflective, demonstrating the cultural memory of the imagined exile of the guitar. Moreover, I build on Melanie Plesch's work on topic theory and the topos of the guitar in Argentine art music by expanding its application to the popular music of tango and argue that tangos like _La Bordona_ evoke both nationalist nostalgia and nostalgia of an earlier tango. Through the connection of these cultural symbols, the defamiliarization of the guitar and sense of temporal distance allows for "ghostly" tangos to reconcile narratives of the past (the gaucho) and present (the tango). More broadly, this paper contributes to the work of William Echard (2017) in expanding the methodologies of topic theory beyond Western art music and deepening the case for its use in the study of popular musics.

The collegiate Church of St. Donatian in Bruges in the late fifteenth century entrusted the performance of polyphony to four choirboys and a small group of adult singers known as the socii de musica.  These clerics might be expected to follow the same general career path, moving from choirboy to singer to chaplain, and subdeacon to priest.  In fact, their personalities and foibles, no less than their superb voices, led to considerable variation in outcomes. Status and income differed with the kind of positions entered and the amount of outside work taken on.  The singers had to manage their clerical careers within a broader social and political environment that created serious violence, dissension, and poverty, attendant upon civil war.           Brief biographies of three ordinary singers who worked with the composer Jacob Hobrecht, or Obrecht, demonstrate a wide range.  In October 1490, Petrus Zouburch and three others accompanied Hobrecht to a peace parley in Sluis between the principals in the civil war.  But after Bruges fell to siege in November, he was absent with leave for weeks or months on three different occasions, whether for political or economic reasons. Gregorius Mijs offered two skills highly prized at the church:   he was both a singer and a lawyer.   Released along with Hobrecht on 12 January 1491, he was soon reinstated.  But in December 1498, Mijs spied the sheriff of Bruges praying in the church during the Salve service, seized the sheriff's staff of office, and carried it outside.   He was soon apprehended, faced trial, and was sentenced to the church prison in the dead of winter.  There he fell ill and eventually died in July 1499.  Petrus de Corte earned a succession of responsible posts, including distributor of bread in 1494.  His life began to unravel in March 1500, when Barbara, a widow and bakery owner, sued the canons for £348 16s that she claimed de Corte had failed to pay her for bread.  Although he lost his place in choir for forty months, he finally was readmitted, and against all odds became a canon of the church himself in 1516.

The purpose of this study is to gain a deeper understanding of female song culture from the Dutch Republic. Melodies that once frequently sounded in 17th-century Dutch ears have not been sung for hundreds of years. Dutch song culture was primarily an oral tradition that left few written traces of musical notation and experience, but surviving songbooks created by women present intimate insight to personalized, gendered song practices of the past. One such book by Dutch artist Gesina ter Borch (1633 – 1690) contains song lyrics, water color illustrations, poems, and aphorisms that reveal the circumstances under which women could "sing the songs of their desire." An analysis of this multifaceted manuscript showed that Gesina likely participated in music in an environment deemed appropriate for her gender and social class, namely, the private sphere. This notion is supported by the large size of her carefully preserved manuscript, which evidently was not carelessly used in public settings like the smaller, portable printed books of her time, as well as the manner in which she presented herself as an upstanding, virtuous woman of the upper class in the self-portrait included at the front of the document. Evidence for the use of her manuscript lies within the genre of the song lyrics she included, as well as marks left by a man with whom Gesina was romantically involved, Henrik Jordis. 83% of Gesina's songs are love songs and Henrik's amorous contributions to the manuscript bare a strong resemblance to printed songbooks known to be used for courtship. Thus, the results suggest that private courtship was a primary means by which Dutch women such as Gesina could actively engage with music in the 17th century.

George Antheil's assertion that his infamous composition _Ballet Mécanique_ (1924-26) "expresses America, Africa, and Steel," has frequently been read as an acknowledgement of the piece's parallel debt to two dominant aesthetics of the 1920s – a confirmation of _Ballet Mécanique_'s status as a musical emblem of both Machine Age and Jazz Age culture. Scholars such as Carol Oja, Julia Schmidt-Pirro, and Christine Fena have connected the trio of nouns to the two musical styles that Antheil called upon to evoke America and modernity. The overtly mechanistic characteristics of Antheil's composition (its relentless, pounding beat and the starring role of the player piano/s in the ensemble) signify "America" as a locus of technical innovation and mechanical mastery ("Steel"), while the jauntily syncopated ragtime interludes identify the U.S.A. as the home of jazz (thus "Africa" or "Africa-America").This reading is broadly accurate, but closer consideration reveals that the triad of America – Africa – Steel is merely the surface layer of a triangulation that tethers Ballet Mécanique within a broader web of contemporary racial, cultural, and aesthetic politics. And while the noun at each point of the triangle summarizes the concepts in play, it is the sides of the triangle – the relationality between the concepts – that demonstrates the complexities and contingencies of their interaction. One side presents a particular problem of signification. If "America-Steel" represents the mechanistic, hyper-modern elements of _Ballet Mécanique_, and "Africa-America" represents the jazz-like elements, what role is left for "Africa-Steel"?In this paper, I will examine the "Africa-Steel" side of _Ballet Mécanique_ as a potent metaphor for the cultural paradox that jazz presented to white artists and critics in the 1920s and 1930s. Jazz was construed as being at once hypermodern and ultra-"primitive," sounding both the hustle and clatter of New York City and the deep voice of the jungle, signifying the dance of modernity with a primal beat. Antheil's writings on jazz, and his use of ragtime elements in his most overtly modernistic piece, reveal a deep ambivalence about modern American society and a belief that the appropriation of jazz by white artists and intellectuals could potentially rescue it from the threat posed by the increasing empowerment of women and African Americans. 

            For a composer who claimed little affinity for jazz, John Cage periodically found himself collaborating with improvisers from the jazz tradition. Three occasions are particularly notable in his biography: a 1965 concert with saxophonist Joseph Jarman, a 1967 film with multi-instrumentalist Rashaan Roland Kirk, and a 1986 performance with afro-futurist trailblazer Sun Ra. Despite these events, numerous scholars have traced how Cage maintained views on jazz and black experimentalist traditions that were, at best, ambivalent, and often outwardly dismissive (Kim, Lewis, Born/Hesmondhalgh, Corbett). Many of his criticisms stemmed from the suggestion that jazz improvisation places too much emphasis on intentionality, virtuosity, and voice-themes that Cage saw as antithetical (at least on the surface) to his own interests in non-intentionality, aleatoricism, and environmental sound.             This presentation revisits Cage's interactions with jazz artists through a slightly different lens, though one all-too-familiar to Cage scholarship: the lens of silence. In addition to his reservations surrounding jazz's intentionality, all three of Cage's jazz collaborations find the composer using silence as a sort of cudgel to distance his contributions from those of his interlocutors. Rather than framing silence as a Zen-influenced acceptance of any and all sonic material-an interpretation often foregrounded in Cage's other writing-the performances find Cage using silence to erect a pointed binary; through various means, each presents a presumably enlightened (white) silence that attempts to undercut the impact of a presumably unenlightened (black) voice. Instead of conceiving silence as an opportunity to accept the contributions of others, it functions instead as a grounds to dismiss them.             The presentation concludes with an alternative example in composer/trumpeter Leo Smith's 1969 composition Silence. The piece emerges in dialogue with Cage's oft-cited views on silence, but offers a radically different alternative by presenting silence not as a perceptual impossibility (as in Cage's oft-quoted dictum "there is no such thing as silence"), but instead as communally constructed affective presence within the performance sphere. Rather than being silent/ced, Smith and his collaborators employ and deploy silence as a part of their own artistic/aesthetic/political/black voices.

Erroll Garner (1921-1977) was a prolific, Grammy-nominated, Pittsburgh-born, African American jazz pianist and composer. He performed and recorded with some of the most widely-published names in jazz's history, including Charlie Parker, John "Dizzy" Gillespie, and Don Byas. He was admired and befriended by an even longer list of jazz legends - Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughan, and Thelonious Monk, among many others. However, Garner has been notably underrated in the jazz canon, and the reason has yet to be thoroughly addressed.One possible explanation for Garner's exclusion is that his signature sound did not quite fit into any of the characteristic sub-genres of jazz, such as bebop, hard bop, and avant-garde. His performances were defined by inventive, solo piano introductions that cut suddenly into driving melodies with drum and bass accompaniment. During his introductions, the audience as well as the bassist and drummer were held in states of suspension as Garner buried the melodic clues and tonal center of ensuing songs deep within his improvised prefaces. Bruno Latour's revelatory stance that "we have never been modern" and George Kubler's _The Shape of Time_ (1962) provide sociological and anthropological lenses to investigate historical time, which parallels the overarching dichotomies of jazz as a music that seeks modernity by looking back into the past. In this paper, I argue that Garner's performance practices rejected a linear passage of time, challenging us to rethink the teleological progression which has traditionally played a role in canonization and making sense of the periodization of jazz.Descriptively analyzing Garner's musical output provides an opportunity to insert him into current discourse related to improvisation. Focusing on the temporality of his piano introductions will add a dimension to the valuable work of scholars Lee Brown, David Goldblatt, and Theodore Gracyk who highlight the distinction between composition, work-performance, and spontaneous creation. In addition, this project seeks to understand how Garner resolved the conflict between his unique creative process and the external influences that tried to write him out of a canon to which, in some ways, maybe he did not wish to belong.

Scholars of abolitionism in Britain have long known that songs in support of the anti-slavery cause were popular in public settings and the print market, especially from the early 1780s onwards.  Many of these songs, in an emblematically sentimental mode, sought to envoice enslaved Africans, and so promoted forms of performance that were – so new information about popular abolitionist musical events of the 1780s and 1790s shows – continuous with early stage minstrelsy.  Meanwhile, as the popular press of the period amply demonstrates, the consumers of abolitionist publications, many of them women, performed such songs domestically as a form of sentimental role play.Incredulity with the sentimental politics of these practices has a long history – stretching from present-day scholarly analyses of the surplus value extracted from the spectacle of the black body in pain, back to contemporary campaigners, such as Barbauld and Coleridge, who were quick to observe that the sentimental register reinforced rather than eroded the division between unfortunate objects and virtuously sympathizing subjects.   Much of this anti-sentimental history has turned on the ethically fraught status of voices and objects – on the idea that the political project of envoicing occludes the voices of Others, and that the sentimental transmutation of Others' pain into something fit for aesthetic contemplation turns persons into objects: abolitionist songs were nothing if not musical commodities, and, I show, shared the formal characteristics of the many other diminutive popular songs alongside which they circulated.  With this in mind, Fred Moten's widely read reinterpretation of Marx's uncannily speaking commodity against the backdrop of slavery – in which the scream of the enslaved person disrupts the violent colonial conversion of people into things – might prompt scholars of eighteenth-century culture to reevaluate their long-running preoccupation with cutesy, proto-surrealist stories of "speaking objects," which supposedly familiarized and domesticated the period's newly vibrant world of commodity circulation.And yet, expanding arguments about the rhetoric of abolitionist verse by Lynn Festa and others, I show that an oscillation between musical personification and objectification was foundational to the period's aesthetic of small, seductive musical objects.  Examining popular English songs by Dibdin, Haydn, and Hook, I argue that -- as scholars of race such as Anne Cheng have recently suggested -- the space between personhood and objecthood mapped out by the commodity form may in fact be the precondition for the liberal project (still continuing today) of listening for racialized voices.  

Following major territorial losses in the Seven Years' War and the successful Haitian Revolution in Saint-Domingue, France's _Vente de la Louisiane_ (1803) marked the end of the empire's colonial ambitions in the United States. Nevertheless, America remained in the French cultural imagination through novels, travel writings, and social histories. So, too, did American settings and characters appear on the nineteenth-century Parisian stage in a variety of theatrical works. One of the most successful was Saint-Georges and Monpou's _Le Planteur_, premiered at the Opéra-Comique in 1839 and revived at the Fantaisies-Parisiennes in 1867. Set in antebellum New Orleans, _Le Planteur_ featured the popular mid-century trope of the "tragic mulatta": a light-skinned woman of mixed race is raised in her white father's household, but upon his death and/or financial ruin, her Black ancestry is discovered and she is sold into slavery.This paper contextualizes _Le Planteur_ within the French anti-slavery movement and explores the contradictory implications of its "tragic mulatta" figure. For, while this character type was usually intended to foster sympathy for the abolitionist cause and emphasize slavery's rampant sexual exploitation, I argue that the perceived "injustice" central to _Le Planteur_ relies on the invisibility of heroine Jenny Makensie's blackness, thereby upholding ideologies of colorism and white supremacy. After all, postrevolutionary French representations of Black women tended to fetishize and demonize their bodies as sites of hypersexuality and disease, as historian Robin Mitchell has shown. Moreover, as Hazel Waters posits in her study of blackness on the Victorian English stage, "tragic mulatta" narratives ultimately reframed slavery and racism as individual tragedy rather than pervasive social evil. Drawing on contemporary press reception, Barbara Cooper's critical edition of the libretto, and the published score and mis-en-scène, I analyze two numbers from _Le Planteur_ – Jenny's Act I "Chant du Bengali" and Act II "chansonette créole" – to demonstrate how the character's "transformation" from heiress to slave amounted to little more than exotic role-play for a white singer and sentimental pleasure for white audiences within the safe, conveniently distanced fictional world of opéra-comique.

Historians and musicologists often acknowledge that song helped build the case against slavery in Antebellum America from the 1830s to the Civil War, but despite the plethora of surviving anti-slavery songsters, few musicologists have examined the repertoire carefully, perhaps because of the non-original music frequently used or general lack of music notation in the published songsters. Joshua Simpson's Original Anti-Slavery Songs published in 1852 is worthy of careful study. It is both representative of the genre and unique. Like others, it is a portable size intended for use at anti-slavery gatherings and in homes and contains only lyrics with references to prescribed melodies. Unlike most other known songsters which were compilations of poetry from a several authors, Simpson authored all the poetry in his collection. As an African American man, his perspective in the field dominated by white editors is also especially valuable.From the broadside ballads of Revolutionary era to the contrafacta made famous by the Hutchinson Family singers in the 1840s, the practice of writing new, timely, and often politically-oriented lyrics for a popular melody was well-established by the time Simpson published his work. He conformed to the practice not merely for convenience or efficiency, but to enhance the moral and political influences of the songs. Simpson employs a variety of song types reflecting popular music of America in the 1850s (hymns, patriotic anthems, sentimental ballads, and minstrel tunes), chosen deliberately to reflect the mid-century expansion of the anti-slavery movement from its religious and moral roots toward the arena of political activism and transatlantic cooperation. Simpson is attentive to time and pitch organization, as evidenced by his vivid text-painting that powerfully invokes two texts simultaneously and reveals poetic resonances that directly engage issues historically important to the growing movement, from Liberian colonization to the Fugitive Slave Law. His pairings of text and music are witty, ironic, irreverent, clever, and motivational. Historians remember Simpson as a poet, but his profound cultural work is done through music; melody binds two texts together for the purpose of complicated, deeply resonant abolitionist messages that encouraged expansion of the movement.

According to the first and only Russian Imperial census of 1897, less than half of the empire's population used Russian as a native language. To increase awareness of the musical cultures of Russian inorodtsy (or virtually all non-Slavic population), many Russian composers contributed to the large-scale programme of "Ethnographic Concerts" that often performed arrangements of folksongs from remote corners of the empire. Organized by the Music-Ethnographic Committee (MEC) under the auspices of Moscow University, these concerts reflected Russia's urgent efforts towards establishing its national identity as a unified multiethnic state. This paper focuses on the representation of Taranchi (modern Uyghur) people in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Russian literature and Ethnographic Concerts and aims to answer how and why Russian ethnographers and musicians presented an image of the newly acquired ethnic minorities living on the Russian-Chinese boarder as people worthy of imperial attention. Many Russian writers claimed racial, religious, and social affiliations with Taranchis on the basis of their Aryan race, common civic morals, and Nestorian Christianity practiced in the past. My archival research demonstrates that some Russian composers deliberately presented a domesticated image of the Taranchis by stressing elements associated with musical Russianness, including Dorian mode and avoidance of the leading tone, which both created modal harmony. However, because of the growing anti-western sentiments in China and Russia's infamous defeat in the Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905), some Russian composers and/or editors, in order to avoid diplomatic tensions with its south-eastern neighbors, distorted the facts about Taranchi history. For example, a comparison of Reinhold Gliére's manuscript for his arrangement of the song "Nozgum" with its published version reveals that, the composer initially planned to introduce a complex political situation in Eastern Turkestan (now called Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region of PRC). In the manuscript, he wrote an explanatory note that indicated Taranchis constant confrontation with Chinese authorities. Yet, when the song was published, the Taranchi–Chinese inter-ethnic, -cultural, and -religious struggles were presented as an internal Chinese affair. The Taranchi song conveying a symbolic meaning of freedom and resistance was thus stripped of its particular historical context and political connotation, translated into Russian musical vocabulary, and entirely transformed the representation Russian-Chinese bordering minorities.   

The Bolshevik revolution of 1917 displaced millions of Russians from their homes and created the largest European refugee crisis of the twentieth century. Much of interwar musical modernism emerged as a direct result of the stark realities of this refugee crisis. Indeed, modernism served as an aesthetic avenue offering émigré composers (Stravinsky most notably) both a way to craft a new musical "home" and a means to critical legitimacy in their new hostland. While critics and scholars have celebrated the originality of the modernist Russian émigré composers, other émigrés who chose to retain a more "conservative" style often suffered critique as mainstream sellouts (e.g. Rachmaninoff), nationalist epigones (Grechaninov), or moralistic reactionaries (Medtner).My paper offers a more nuanced examination of the place of conservative composers in the cultural history of the Russian diaspora. I take up the music of Nikolay Medtner (1880-1951) and the music criticism of his friend, the philosopher and Russian nationalist Ivan Ilyin (1883-1954). Medtner and Ilyin thought of the modern world as one fractured by Bolshevism and modernism, which they viewed as similar movements characterized by godlessness, individualism, and the rejection of the spiritual basis of society and of music. In opposition to modernism Medtner developed a poetics of music based in the act of divine contemplation and adherence to the "laws" of tonality. Elaborating on this poetics, Ilyin wrote of Medtner's music as commanding the immense spiritual power to bring renewal to the world. He furthermore lauded Medtner as a musical prophet of future Russia built from conservative values and strong against the pernicious influence of the West-whence sprung Bolshevism and modernism. I argue that Medtner's late Violin Sonata, "_Epica_," Op. 57, is an attempt to write the music of a new Russia imagined in exile-one built out of a renewal of old elements and based in deep Orthodox religiosity starkly differentiated from the modern West. While such conservative nationalist art is often associated with authoritarian governments, here it nevertheless emerged as an attempt by marginalized refugees to fight what they perceived as destructive political and aesthetic regimes. 

Western classical programming of the 21st century is marked by a tension between the predominant body of older, canonized works and newer repertoire using alternative compositional approaches that challenge central principles of the canon. Interculturality has been one prominent counter-canonic force to emerge over the past century as a result of shifting ideological-aesthetic preferences. This paper examines early approaches to interculturality in the "Eurasian" compositions of Russians Alexander Tcherepnin and Aaron Avshalomov during their China sojourns before 1945. Tcherepnin was an internationally renowned composer-performer originating from the pre-Soviet St. Petersburg elite. He explored Chinese features using pentatonic scales in programmatic solo piano works, including _Five Concert Studies_, that could serve both pedagogical and performance functions. The Russian-Jewish Avshalomov incorporated Chinese themes into numerous symphonic works, such as _Beiping Hutungs_, and experimented with mixed theatrical genres as a result of his upbringing along the Siberian-Chinese border and extensive Chinese music research. Both composers joined the scores of Russians who scattered across the globe after the Russian Revolution; and both experienced lifelong transformations in their musical identity as a result of their years spent in China.In this paper, I critically evaluate the musical and historical circumstances driving their intercultural transformations. First, I trace the composers' migration against the early 20th-century backdrop to demonstrate how socio-political instability presented them with unique opportunities for adapting Chinese cultural features into Western genres. Second, I analyze how their intercultural approaches both decenter and reify the Western piano, symphonic, and dramatic genres in which they composed. Third, I highlight the impact that cross-cultural musical engagement and interaction with Chinese artists had on their future collaborations in the U.S. and Europe after 1945. Newly accessed archival materials are used to document the intercultural complexity permeating the private lives and professional achievements of both Tcherepnin and Avshalomov. As interculturality has further challenged monolithic notions of Western centrality in music of the past seventy-five years, the early experiments of these composers reveal how genre, culture, and history intersect and transform musical practices across continents in the modern era.

In the early twentieth century, Russian performers increased their work abroad in unprecedented ways, travelling more frequently, farther, and in greater numbers. Focusing on Western European centers such as Paris and London, scholars have found the work of artists such as Serge Diaghilev's Ballets Russes reflecting a conscious awareness that Russian performers were vital emissaries of Russian culture to Western audiences (Garafola, 2005; Taruskin, 2012). As informal cultural diplomats, they influenced foreign understandings of Russia, presenting it as an emerging center of composition and performance-indeed, they attested, Russia could be the next great national musical power. This narrative, however, often minimizes the Americas, where Russian artists had also been performing.  I argue that a crucial but largely neglected institution, the Russian Symphony Society of New York (RSSNY), reveals a deliberate and persistent intervention into discourses of Russian music in the United States. Using archival documents and a critical analysis of the organization's reception, I demonstrate how-years before Diaghilev's Paris seasons-RSSNY founder Modest Altschuler developed a transnational space in the United States in which to curate and present a modern musical Russia. Operating from 1903 to 1918, the RSSNY acted as self-appointed advocate for Russian music and musicians in the U.S. Though critics demanded that a professional organization endorse only the "finest" music, the RSSNY selected lesser-known works with the express purpose of increasing the presence and variety of Russian musical offerings. The RSSNY's repertory illustrates a conception of Russian music expanding beyond the _kuchka_ [Mighty Handful] or even Stravinsky, the "new great Russian composer" (Taruskin, 2016), including American premieres from such composers as Alexander Glazunov, Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov, and Vasily Kalinnikov.Favorable to new compositions and catholic in style, Altschuler's programming and invited soloists reflect the strategic reproduction of the Russian conservatory networks from which he had come. The RSSNY featured fellow conservatory students and professors, including Sergei Rachmaninoff, Alexander Scriabin, and Mischa Elman, the latter two giving their U.S. debuts with Altschuler. The expression of these networks through the RSSNY highlights the conscientious labor that music performed in nationalist constructions of culture among émigré organizations. 

When Pier Francesco Tosi (in 1723) and Friedrich Melchior von Grimm (in 1753) wished to satirize excessive vocal display, they both likened it onomatopoetically to gargling. But since ancient times, gargling has also been advocated seriously as a remedy for vocal problems suffered by orators and singers alike. In this paper I explore this practice through medical, pharmacological, and other sorts of treatises, and also through an episode in 18th-century Tuscany in which music, pharmacology, and castration intersected. A ledger kept by the apothecary of the hospital in Pescia during the year 1733/4 shows the thirteen-year-old castrato Lazzaro Paoli being prescribed concoctions "p[er] Gargarismo" (for gargling) on three occasions. That these preparations (each slightly different) were meant to aid his singing is suggested by the fact that the _spedalingo_ (hospital administrator) signing off on payment for them, Bartolomeo Nucci (1695-1779), was also Paoli's singing teacher.Nucci's ready access to medical knowledge and personnel, over the four decades of his tenure as _spedalingo_, and the fact that in 1766 he was accused of attempting to persuade parents to have their sons castrated for musical purposes, raise the suspicion that he had facilitated Paoli's castration. Whether or not that was the case, his involvement with his young student's gargling prescriptions is in keeping with the widely reported tendency of singing masters of castrati to be much concerned with their students' health, as well as with their training. Contemporary descriptions of the properties of the ingredients used in Paoli's gargling solutions, and of their therapeutic application, afford some notion of their intended effect on his vocal apparatus. We gain a good idea of Paoli's voice itself from six arias he sang in 1742 in two Roman operas, which he presented to his teacher (in the actual partbooks from which he had learned his roles) for inclusion in a manuscript anthology of arias (a volume among the Nucci materials now at the University of California, Berkeley). The gift of these manuscripts suggests that Paoli remained on good terms with his teacher even into adulthood.This episode in rural Tuscany fills in useful details in the wider picture of medicine's entanglement with _bel canto_ singing -- from the "medicina per la voce" provided to Farinelli before his 1732 debut at the imperial court in Vienna, to the ministrations of Francesco Bennaci, doctor to the Théâtre des Italiens during the 1830s.

Joseph Haydn arrived in England on 1 January 1791 and began the first of two London sojourns (1791–92, 1794–95). Although fame garnered him a flattering entrée to the city, the musical world was quick to critique his skills. Reviews met Haydn with a mix of excitement and disenchantment; critics claimed that he "did not possess the merit of novelty" (_Morning Chronicle_) and that he was "but a poor performer" (_Gazetteer_).  The strained reception itself was noted, and a reporter remarked on 13 January–less than two weeks into Haydn's visit–"Haydn, though a stranger and a sojourner, has become the butt of scurrility and detraction, and even his compositions, the object of a dashing _Critic's sport_" (_The World_). Evidently, Haydn was under some pressure to present novel material to maintain acceptance. This demand was met by a triumphant presentation of secular cantata _Arianna a Naxos_ (Hob XXVIb:2, Vienna 1789/90) on 18 February 1791 at the Ladies' Concert, performed by castrato Gaspere Pacchierotti as princess Ariadne, with Haydn himself accompanying at the pianoforte. Pacchierotti was immensely popular in London, his unusual and delicate voice favoured by numerous members of the musical profession, including Charles and Susan Burney and violinist Giovanni Giornovichi. Pacchierotti's interpretation of Ariadne in Hob XXVIb:2 was highly affective, the cantata so "exquisitely captivating in its _larmoyant_ passages, that it touched and dissolved the audience" (_Whitehall Evening Post_). His dramatic portrayal of the Cretan princess's abandonment on the island of Naxos helped to revitalize Haydn's positive reception in London, and is evidence of the castrato's popularity and power in small and exclusive concert settings. In this paper, I examine the performance circumstances at the Ladies' Concert series in 1791 and offer a refreshed view of London's musical world through the success of Haydn's _Arianna_. Expanding upon work on the castrato (Feldman 2015; Freitas 2009) and on London concert life (McVeigh 2018; Brewer 2013), I consider the musical place of castrati in late eighteenth-century England, the political implications of opera and musical alliance for Haydn, and the power of social networks to support–or dissolve–a musician's success.

By listening across sound media -- the many objects, materials, bodies, and technologies involved in music making and listening -- serious attention is paid to media that is not clearly musical. The aurality and materiality of sound documents is inscribed into the ecologies of performance and the narratives we craft about music cultures. This series of lightening talks collectively address the objects, things, material culture, and technologies of musical performance, circulation, consumption, and perception. Sound documents are multimodal: audiotape, film, typed transcripts, handwritten posters, artist books, personal diaries, radio programs and transcripts, maps, album covers, instruments, hard drives, and more. This roundtable asks, how musical sounds, practices, and meanings inform and are informed by relationships between musicking people and musicking things. This roundtable is concerned with fostering an awareness of the materials, objects, and things used to create and experience music, where they come from, and where they end up in the ecology of performance. We will collectively examine the relationships among musical objects, music, musicians, and media.Roundtable Lightening Talk Speakers Christina Baade (McMaster University) "The BBC's Programmes as Broadcast Logs" María Edurne Zuazu (Queen's College, CUNY) "The Ceremonial Bugle as an (Afterlife) Artifact" Erik Broess (Penn) "Reading Knob Interfaces: The Archaeology of Electric Guitar Tone" Landon Morrison (Harvard) "Towards an Analytic of Transduction for Musical Media" Ryan Bunch (Rutgers-Camden) "Musical Playthings: Children's Toys and Instruments in the Ludic Archive" Kate Galloway (Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute) "Indigenous Knowledge Transmission, the Turntable, and the Fibrous Beats in Turning Tables" Victoria Aschheim (Dartmouth) "Freedom and Anna Clyne's iPhone" Session Chairs: William O'Hara, Reba Wissner, Julianne Grasso, Katherine Reed, and Kate Galloway

In Believing in Opera, Tom Sutcliffe described the rise of directorial initiative as the absence of "a bundle of conventions," allowing for an "unfettered imagination". Some two decades later, opera's imagination seems rather less unfettered: a visual code has presented itself, with a set of shared elements recurring between Lehnhoff, Bieito, Neuenfels, Guth, and others. Particularly salient among them is a penchant for fetishist fashion and BDSM paraphernalia. It is to such stagings that this paper attends: so often is director's opera condemned as a perversion of opera that they come across a paraphilic paradigm of current opera culture. While Regietheater re-interpretations may seem to call for hermeneutic explication within the frame of the individual opera (i.e. a reading of the staging in relation to text and music), this paper takes a different approach: after establishing the existence of the tendency with snapshots from some forty performances in two minutes, it attempts to tease out the significance of this staging style as a distinct and widespread phenomenon in opera culture today. On a basic level, this overview supplies some basic data on the gender politics of Regietheater (e.g. the ratio of male and female directors, or the gendered distribution of "top" or "bottom" roles). But beyond this, it allows for BDSM to be treated as an optics through which opera's configurations of sex, gender, and violence, as well as the physical interaction between singing bodies and listening audiences, can be perceived. The image that emerges is that of opera as hyperbolic role play, aimed at the sensual pleasure of the participants and based on the safe, sane, and consensual enactment of scenarios intertwining desire and power. Its politics, like those of BDSM, are torn between the performative subversion and normative reproduction of misogynist tropes. Taken together, these productions stage the notion (familiar from Clément) that opera depends on taking sensual pleasure in the suffering of the other. In the wake of the performative turn and the Me-Too movement, opera criticism must attend to them to engage with the genre's predication of aesthetic enjoyment on power and powerlessness.

The synthesis of litero-linguistic theories within musicological study has resulted in a fruitful body of work (see Paley 2000, Almen 2003, Neumeyer 2009, and Allis 2017). However, such studies in the realm of opera remain relatively rare. Opera's musical/narrative commixture provides a rich phenomenological ground that aptly harnesses the powers of literary critical theory and semiotics. While Everett (2015) has exhaustively applied such a multivalent analysis to contemporary opera, the field of Weimar-era Expressionist opera--conceived within a plethora of socioeconomic, societal and aesthetic anxieties--is as rife with overt symbolic and parodic elements as modern works and deserves further philosophical consideration. For the scope of this paper, I will focus on Paul Hindemith's one-act opera _Sancta Susanna_ (1921). To begin to uncover the opera's underlying structural elements, I propose a synthesis of Lacanian psychoanalytical approaches to opera (see Everett, 2015, and Fink, 1995) with György Lukács's normative model of realism (Murphy, 1999). Everett draws on the three Lacanian objects: the _objet petit a_, S(A), and Φ, which connect the realms of the Imaginary, the Real, and the Symbolic. Briefly, the _objet petit a_ represents the unattainable object of desire, S(A) represents a "lack" of signifier in the Other, and Φ represents the symbolic phallus--the "signifier which does not have a signified" (Lacan, 1975). Conversely, Lukács provides a set of adaptable schema by which one may grasp a narrative structure. One may comprehend the "essence" (_Wesen_) of a given narrative reality through the complementary processes of "opening up" (_Aufdecken_), uncovering the underlying laws of the reality, and "covering over" (_Zudecken_), bringing these abstract laws together and giving them artificial unity. Through this paper, I demonstrate how the aforementioned Lacanian objects complement Lukács's narrative operations throughout _Sancta Susanna_. Central to my thesis is the semiotically rich concept of the Crucifix, which becomes the _objet petit a_ of Susanna, articulating multiple valences of the Imaginary, Real and Symbolic. Ultimately, it is through the musical/narrative processes of _Aufdecken_ and _Zudecken_ that Susanna grasps her own Otherness as a _lack_ of signification, unmasking the _Wesen_ of the opera (and herself) _in toto_.

Scholars such as Lowerre, Eubanks Winkler, and Sirapoulos have explored the composer Andrew Lloyd Webber's engagement with conservative aesthetics in terms of the subject matter of his musicals and the musical language he deployed in the 70s and 80s. In this paper, I complicate the picture, as I consider the ways Lloyd Webber's shows musically treated sexuality during this period. In a general sense, the 70s were a time of increased sexual freedom, but conservatives on both sides of the pond longed for the restoration of the pre-1960s sexual order. Conservatives sought to limit women's reproductive choices and the AIDS crisis of the 1980s led to increased homophobia in both nations. Reagan did not publicly address the AIDS epidemic until 1985 and he was openly hostile to gay rights. The environment was similarly unwelcoming in the UK. A Conservative Party billboard showed men with gay pride badges and declared, "This is Labour's camp," while the notorious "Section 28," was passed in 1988, which barred teachers from "promoting homosexuality" in the classroom. Lloyd Webber may have been an aesthetic and fiscal conservative, but his approach to sexuality does not neatly align with contemporary conservative politics and ideologies. In _Evita_ (1976/9), he and librettist Tim Rice paint a conflicted portrait of Eva Peron: admittedly her exchange of sex for power is viewed with a jaundiced eye by the narrator Che and others, but Lloyd Webber's emotive ballads for Eva encourage the listener to sympathize with her. Other shows include openly queer characters--unusual in the 80s. Electra, the androgynous train in _Starlight Express_ (1984), may be one of the show's antagonists, but his song, "AC/DC" playfully celebrates his bisexuality in synth dance pop, a genre sometimes associated with gay culture in the 80s. Similarly, _Aspects of Love_ (1989) centers on a series of entangled romantic relationships including one between two women; musically, Lloyd Webber does not distinguish the women's same-sex desire from that of the heterosexual couples in the show, for he accords all the lovers some of the same motivic material to express their passions.

In the first half of the seventeenth century, thousands of German- and Czech-speaking Protestants in the Holy Roman Empire were subjected to exile and forced migration. Beginning at the end of the sixteenth century, Catholic rulers in Hapsburg Austria and Bohemia began to "re-Catholicize" territories that had gone the way of Protestantism since the 1555 Peace of Augsburg. Protestants living in these lands were faced with a difficult decision: abandon their faith and convert to Catholicism, or leave their homelands. Many chose the latter option. In an effort to comfort these religious refugees, Lutheran preachers reminded audiences that, while they might be subjected to forced migration, _all_ humans were ultimately pilgrims in exile from God's eternal Paradise, expelled from the Garden of Eden at the first humans' sin. All of life, therefore, was a temporal exile from and continuous pilgrimage toward God's permanent homeland, attainable only at the moment of death. During this era, a number of musical collections by German Lutheran composers elaborated on this life-pilgrimage topos, including funerary compositions by Heinrich Schwemmer (1621–1696), Melchior Franck's _Dulces Mundani Exilij Deliciae_ (1631), and Michael Franck's _Geistliches Harpffen-Spiel. Das ist: frommer Christgleübiger Pilgrim_ (1657). In this paper, I contextualize these musical works within Lutheran discourses about exile, both earthly and heavenly. Drawing especially on recent work in pilgrimage studies and the history of emotions, I focus on music's experiential and affective affordances, highlighting the discursive and aesthetic means by which composers dramatized notions of spiritual pilgrimage and its concomitant affects of earthly suffering, desire for death, and heavenly joy. While historians such as Dee Dyas have defined spiritual pilgrimage in opposition to physical "place pilgrimages," I suggest that musical performance blurs these imposed boundaries-spiritual exile and pilgrimage, though metaphorical, become embodied realities in the sensorial, affective experience of musical performance. By considering the ontology of spiritual exile as it manifested itself through music, I ultimately argue that one can gain clearer insights about the emotional and experiential frameworks available to religious refugees in worldly exile during the era of re-Catholicization.

Tragedy and political unrest have grown alongside the career of Italian rapper Ghali (Ghali Amdouni). Desperate and deadly attempts by asylum-seekers to migrate into Europe via the Italian peninsula in the past decade have stoked the flames of far-right politics, exacerbated racial tensions, and staged new grounds for xenophobia. Given the backdrop of violence, prejudice, and the dehumanization of marginalized groups, Ghali's music sparks the question: what happens when habitual life becomes hostile? If Ghali wants his influence to resonate with disillusioned youth, then this hostility must be addressed. On January 24th, 2018, Ghali posted an open letter to Italy on his Instagram. It began with "Cara Italia" (Dear Italy), a salutation and a signal to the title of a new single released shortly thereafter. Ghali wrote his message to encourage Italians to value themselves in a global space while continuing to reflect on the flaws and frustrations that he felt went overlooked. This was a hopeful intervention aiming to spark productive dialogue and social change. Sensing power in the generational shift, one that he called "the true short circuit," Ghali's "Cara Italia" imagined a future Italy that recognized children as complex and compassionate subjects whose present social neglect needed critical attention. His multimedia hip hop performance hinged between reality and imagination-an interplay that revealed the anxieties that youth experience in their everyday lives. Analyzing Ghali's work alongside interviews I conducted with the artist in May 2019 reveals an emotional subject whose artistic approach communicates empathy. I draw from recent research in social psychology to consider how Ghali's own empathic stance engenders social responsibility (Batson 2011 and Segal 2011). "Cara Italia" represents Ghali's provisional step into a more public display of social empathy where his focus on child subjects highlights the moral responsibility that celebrity culture has stirred within him. By recognizing children as archivists of knowledge (Alim 2009), victims of violence, and agents of radical kindness, Ghali's "Cara Italia" remains a poignant example of how hip hop interpellation (Rollefson 2018) folds empathy into the process of creating its subjects. 

Just over fifty years ago, in 1969, West Germany was abuzz with anticipation of the approaching Beethoven bicentennial. To commemorate this momentous occasion, the State commissioned Mauricio Raúl Kagel, a composer and experimental filmmaker born in Argentina to Russian- and German-Jewish parents in 1931 and who had lived in Cologne since 1957. What resulted, however, was a film that surely no West German official had anticipated. Entitled _Ludwig van: Ein Bericht_[Ludwig van: A Report], Kagel's film critiques the fetish object that Beethoven himself and his music had become in twentieth-century West Germany, music which was used to assert a curated German identity and cultural patrimony just twenty-four years after WWII. At the center of the film stands an extended spoken-language scene, in which Kagel channels his migrant background to demonstrate the absurdity of Western European Beethoven fanaticism. In a parody of the West German television news show, _Der internationale Frühschoppen_ [International Morning Drinks Show], the moderator Werner Höfer, playing himself, invites his guests to discuss the question, "Is Beethoven misused in the world?" This "international" setting affords Kagel, portraying himself, the opportunity to use this central scene to stage a performance of his own immigrant identity and utter a searing critique of his essentialization by his adopted countrymen.While _Ludwig van_ has been recognized for its sendup of bourgeois music culture, it has yet to be analyzed from the perspective of transatlantic diaspora. Simultaneously a love letter to and deconstruction of Beethoven's cultural legacy, _Ludwig van_ asks its audience to consider the complex diasporic experiences of avant-garde artists in the wake of WWII. Drawing on recent work by Brigid Cohen and Seth Brodsky, I argue that _Ludwig van_ is a case study that demonstrates the centrality of migration and displacement for the analysis of avant-garde artistic production in the postwar era. Finally, I also consider how _Ludwig van_ might pose a productive way to engage with the legacies of the classical canon in anniversary years such as 1970, or more pressingly, 2020.

Writing in 1908, French philosopher Albert Bazaillas reflected on the musical proclivities of Schopenhauer: "In little-known fragments, he offers church music as the base of all serious musical culture. The joy of contemplation is what he always sought out and that made musical symbolism invaluable to his eyes: it is the interior life that he was pleased to find through the procedures of this grave and profound art." He explained that since Schopenhauer wrote his epoch-defining aesthetic theory, it had become possible to get outside of symbols, to consider musical expression as "an original experience of sensibility." Contemporary scholars have identified many camps and schisms–from nationalism and modernism to Wagnerism and Debussyism-that fractured the complex and contentious musical landscape of 20th-century France. Yet despite these divisions, Bazaillas attempted to capture the whole spirit of his time. A student of Bergson and a proponent of the ideas of the libre-penseurs, he wrote _Musique et inconscience_ in 1908, and in it he proposed a theory of what all art music composers were seeking.In this paper, I uncover the crucial element of Bazaillas's theory, that not only does music generally tap into the unconscious, but that composers active during his life specifically pursued themes related to the mystery of the unconscious. Though Bazaillas has recently come to the attention of Alexandra Kieffer because of his comments about Debussy, I argue that his writings are additionally of use in identifying a spirit can be found in the music of nearly all composers active in early-20th-century France. Thus, I consider an early song by Nadia Boulanger, "Prière" (1909), and its engagement with the mystery of the unconscious mind. Boulanger was a Debussy acolyte, but she did not share many of his political opinions or social affiliations, and the poetry of the song expresses a spirituality inspired by Catholicism but rendered personal. The song stands as an example of how French composers integrated seemingly divergent modes of thought, avoiding aesthetic, political, and religious dogmas. These findings contribute to a reconsideration of French modernism and its changing musical forms, aesthetic goals, and social meaning.

                 Although Robert Schumann is not remembered chiefly as a composer of imitative counterpoint, his intense engagements with fugal writing are well documented. The first, marked by his 1837 reacquaintance with Wilhelm Friedrich Marpurg's _Abhandlung von der Fuge_, resulted in the detailed commentaries contained in what is now referred to as the "Fugengeschichte" document. The second, in 1845, notably on the heels of his mental breakdown of the previous year, resulted in his first major compositions in strict contrapuntal forms: the _Vier Fugen_, op. 72, the _Sechs Fugen_, op. 60, and the _Sechs Studien_ for pedal piano, op. 56. Yet aside from these deliberately 'absolute' exercises in handling imitative counterpoint, both fugues and fugato passages abound in Schumann's music throughout his career. Such textures are predictably common in his Mass and Requiem (both from 1852), but Schumann also featured imitative writing in his secular oratorical works _Das Paradies und die Peri_ (1843) and _Der Rose Pilgerfahrt_ (1851), his dramatic poem _Manfred_ (1852) and the ambitious _Szenen aus Goethes Faust_ (1853).                   By the time Schumann was writing in the first half of the nineteenth century, fugal writing had acquired a multiplicity of potential significations. Although in topic studies fugues are most often limited to suggestions of 'religious' or 'learned' styles, composers such as Hector Berlioz had expanded the possibilities greatly by employing fugues to represent chaos, the grotesque, or even landscapes. Adapting the terminology of Raymond Monelle and others, I suggest that fugues in the nineteenth century signify meaning in one of three ways: topically, indexically, or iconically, and that these methods could lead to a number of ultimate significations. Yet Schumann's use of imitative counterpoint as a meaningful texture is remarkably consistent: fugato invariably evokes a topos of the sacred, associated with themes of redemption and spirituality. Nowhere is this meaning as fully dramatized as in _Das Paradies und die Peri_, in which the narrative is reflected by the progression of topical styles throughout the oratorio. It is in the light of this emphatic identification of fugue with the spiritual that Schumann's dramatic works of the 1850s must be understood. 

During the nineteenth century the summer camp was a popular religious and cultural fixture in the United States. Wishing to escape the city and the ensuing summer heat, attendees to these rural gatherings could expect a variety of activities from religious and spiritual lectures to secular entertainment. This paper recreates the soundscape of a Spiritualist camp established at Lily Dale, NY during the summer season of 1901. Lily Dale is a particularly valuable case study because, though its activity increased in summer, it was a year-round settlement and Spiritualist community. Residents came for vacation and retreat-one punctuated by spirit communications and séances. The soundscape of the summer camp is indicative of the many reform movements precious to attendees as well as shifting understandings of the relation between spirituality and the secular. I argue that the Spiritualist context of Lily Dale is important because there was a layer of spirit sounds and spiritual hearing that needs to be taken into consideration. I use a variety of resources obtained at the Lily Dale archives-including camp programs, local newspapers, songbooks, and present-day understandings of Lily Dale's sonic landscape-to recreate the community's sounds and music-making. Spirit communication and listening to the dead adds a unique element to concepts of a soundscape as the purely audible. As a result, Spiritualist acoustemologies must be taken into consideration. In order to process the sounds and social activities of the community, I begin with understandings of soundscapes as developed by R. Murray Schafer and Emily Thompson and merge them with Spiritualist theories of sound and listening.The camp meetings represent a center of community formation and development during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Each summer Spiritualists came together to exchange ideas of the afterlife, participate in spirit communication, and socialize with like-minded practitioners. This environment was not only important to Spiritualists, but was also influential in other religions such as Methodist, Presbyterian, and Baptist sects across the U.S. The summer camp not only provides insight into the communal nature of nineteenth-century religion, but also demonstrates the important role sound played in facilitating these communities. 

Recent monographs by Gary Tomlinson (2016) and Ian Morley (2013) on the prehistories of musical behavior in early humans have challenged musicology to think beyond the familiar chronologies of our discipline. While these studies expand our knowledge of the earliest humans' musical resources and aptitudes, neither claim to discover or reconstruct prehistoric music. That has not deterred musicians and scholars from creating new compositions based upon scientific knowledge of early human musical culture from the upper paleolithic period. This paper explores these musical imaginations of prehistory as part of a larger project on "extreme" early musics to understand how modern musicians, researchers, and filmmakers create new music using experimental archaeological methods and historically-informed performance practice. I examine two reimaginations of these ancient sounds. I investigate the sources and methods that scholars, musicians, and engaged-amateurs use to imagine and recreate sounds from the earliest musical cultures drawing on material and experimental studies conducted in prehistoric European caves. After briefly outlining the sources and methods used by anthropologists and archaeologists to understand upper paleolithic musical cultures (i.e. bone flute artifacts) I turn to two sonic examples: Ernst Reijseger's music for Werner Herzog's documentary, _The Cave of Forgotten Dreams_ (2011) exploring the art and culture of the people who lived in the Chauvet caves; and Anna Friederike Potengowski's 2017 album of new music for replica bone flutes. These musical projects constitute an imagined early music repertoire influenced as much by archaeological evidence as contemporary expectations of performance. These examples allow me to illustrate and critique methods of creating "extreme" early music: 1) a rich dialogue throughout the process between researchers and practitioners; 2) experimental usage of musical instruments; 3) the development of written and/or unwritten guidelines for composition derived from historical and archaeological sources; and 4) engagement with methods and theories of historically informed performance practice.I conclude with reflections on modern musicology's fear of music's prehistory, and how extreme early music can provide new ways of viewing traditional HIP and early music repertoires and methodologies ultimately calling into question some of our disciplines' notions of authenticity and musical reconstruction. 

Instruments are in.  A call has been sounded for a "new organology," and recently conference sessions and articles have been dedicated to the role of instruments in the history of music theory.  This research has advanced our understanding of music and its history by illuminating previously overshadowed ways in which musical instruments, in all their physicality, have affected music theorizing.  Yet pace this important corrective, I argue that the importance of one instrument, the monochord, has been inflated for generations, and that this inflation has distorted our interpretations of many music theories from the premodern world.Any Pythagorean-influenced account of intervals in which larger numbers represent lower pitches, like Jean-Philippe Rameau's _Traité de l'harmonie_ (1722), can be "updated" by reciprocating the numerical relationships to represent acoustic frequencies, just as Rameau effectively did in his _Nouveau systême_ (1726).  This simple reciprocal move, which appears to recast dowdy theorizing in a scientific-seeming light, continues to tempt us to interpret all premodern numerical descriptions of intervals as string lengths on a monochord (and implicitly as frequencies), even when those numerical descriptions are actually incompatible with physical string lengths.  I focus on three premodern texts which scholars of the past two generations have misinterpreted due to monochord-fueled presumptions: Boethius's _De institutione musica,_ the anonymous _Alia musica,_ and Marchetto of Padua's _Lucidarium._  Boethius describes some scalar systems using a segment of a number line to represent pitches, yet this description has been "corrected" to refer to an entire monochord string.  Marchetto, by contrast, uses single numbers to represent intervals (a whole tone is nine, for instance), but the monochord mindset has led to charges that he abandoned Pythagoreanism for geometric thinking.  The Alia musica's use of numbers has most perplexed scholars, but the text's numerical operations are clearer when viewed as manipulations of the terms of the harmonic mean, not string lengths.  Thus, by denying the temptation to familiarize pre-modern texts by reading string lengths into their theories we are better able to understand their authors' arguments and the multifarious roles that number and music played in their worlds.

Film scholars use the term "visual music" to describe animated films with abstract imagery of colorful, moving shapes. As the term implies, music is essential to these films, many of which feature recordings of classical compositions on their soundtracks. In the 1930s, the genre came into its own in Germany, England, and North America, when filmmakers such as Mary Ellen Bute, Oskar Fischinger, Len Lye, and Norman McLaren harnessed sound-on-film technology and new color formats to blend sound and moving color into a unified aesthetic experience. Nonetheless, film scholars have been one-sided in their evaluations of the relationship between visual and aural components. Representative of this tendency is William Moritz's (1974) claim that the visual imagery stands on its own, while music plays a subservient role of merely promoting the films: these films, he argues, are most effective when viewed in silence. Rather than viewing the soundtracks as dispensable, my paper aims to explore music's critical role in informing the animations themselves. Leveraging dance scholar Inger Damsholt's (2005) concepts of choreomusical counterpoint and music visualization, I argue that visual parameters (editing, shapes, colors, types of movement) respond to musical aspects (rhythm, phrasing, form, melodic contour) of the underlying composition. To illustrate these audiovisual relationships, I analyze films by Mary Ellen Bute (1906– 83), who produced several animations of classical music whilst navigating the largely male- dominated art scene in New York City. Her early film Rhythm in Light (1934) attends to the rhythm and phrase-structure of "Anitra's Dance" from Grieg's Peer Gynt suite. In the later Color Rhapsodie (1948), the visual design is in dialogue with the large-scale form of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. By discussing her films in audiovisual and choreographic terms, my paper conceptualizes visual music as an art form born from the cross-pollination of abstract painting and music in the first half of the twentieth century. In doing so, I hope to construct a narrative of experimental cinema that is premised not on medium-specificity, but on an intermediality in which music was a structural component.

Sexuality and mortality are central to understanding the presence of music in two of German artist Hans Baldung Grien's most enigmatic painted diptychs. Created almost twenty years apart, both pairs of pendant images include musical instruments and notations in the left panel. The first pair of paintings, from 1529 and now in Munich at the Alte Pinakothek, depicts two allegorical representations in the form of beautiful, nude women, identified as either "Music" and "Prudence" or "Vice" and "Virtue." In the larger pair, painted in 1547 and now at the Prado in Madrid, each panel features a group of three standing figures that are surrounded by infants and toddlers on the ground near their feet. Both diptychs are set in natural landscapes that feature animals and foliage. Musical sound is signified in each by the presence of string instruments as well as music books clearly displaying mensural notation. Although only one or two partbooks are represented in each image, the inclusion of mensural note values indicates the performance of complex polyphonic music by the women and a curiously singing swan. In counterpoint to the rampant sexuality of the musical left panels, the images on the right arrest the viewer with stark reminders of mortality and death. For instance, in the pair now at the Prado, a tear drips down the cheek of a silent young woman, while an older woman beats the downward stroke of the musical tactus on her bare shoulder and Death prepares to lead the group off the canvas.Despite the fact that each of these pairs of paintings feature remarkably similar representations of music and mortality, there has been little attempt by modern art historians or musicologists to draw connections between these diptychs or to employ the meaning of music and performance to further our understanding of the ideas represented in these pendant images. This paper first looks at how musical information is employed in a similar way in contemporary Italian paintings of the vanitas and Ages of Man tradition, and then to examines what sort of musical knowledge and experience Baldung may have had as an upper-middle class person living in early sixteenth-century Strasbourg. Musical time was regularly used in contemporary Italian paintings as well as in conduct manuals like Castiglione's Il libro del cortegiano (1528) to evoke the transience of youth and the dangers of sexuality. Music was also an important part of an education in the liberal arts, something Hans Baldung and his patrons enjoyed as members of the wealthy, educated elite. What did Baldung's humanistic knowledge of music contribute to these representations? By drawing upon evidence of contemporary musical performance and sociability we can enhance our understanding of the cryptic messages encoded into these mysterious images of musical women and augment these diptychs' lush visual imagery with the rich soundscape signified by their musical symbols and scores.

The opera _Mathis der Maler_ (1935), based on the sixteenth-century German painter Matthias Grünewald and his Isenheim Altarpiece, is arguably Paul Hindemith's most iconic work. This status largely rests on the belief that the opera encapsulates his experience under, and resistance to, the National Socialist regime. Scholars have traditionally considered _Mathis_'s message of retreating from the world to focus on one's art an allegory for Hindemith's alleged "inner emigration" and its book-burning scene a veiled critique of the Third Reich. In particular, Hindemith's choice of Grünewald as a topic has recently been interpreted as a defense of "great German art" against Nazi appropriation (Schubert 2018).I suggest that Hindemith chose Grünewald and his altarpiece precisely because it _was_ great German art-and would therefore fit in with Nazi rhetoric about revitalizing German culture. Using previously unpublished letters, I show how Hindemith's publishers repeatedly praised the work's "fundamentally German material," believing _Mathis_ would become "a German opera for the German people." The Isenheim Altarpiece itself embodied German pride and national identity. Originally displayed in the Alsatian town of Colmar, the altarpiece was moved to Munich during the First World War for its protection, where scores of reverent visitors filed past it daily. When Alsace reverted back to France after the Armistice, Germans unsuccessfully tried to keep what had become a symbol of German _Kultur_. By composing an opera about Grünewald and his altarpiece, Hindemith could thus capitalize on those feelings of patriotism and the topic's Germanness, while simultaneously appearing to reclaim it from the French. Given the lack of a coherent policy about what constituted acceptable art under the Third Reich (Potter 2016), I conclude that, rather than an antifascist manifesto, _Mathis der Maler_ instead represented a safe, non-controversial choice during a time of political upheaval.

This paper examines saxophonist Sonny Rollins's yoga practice and its influence on his music. I present new archival evidence from the Sonny Rollins papers, held at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in New York City, to discuss details of Rollins's yoga practice for the first time and situate Rollins within a broader yogic musical movement in the postwar United States. I show how along with contemporaries like Steve Reich and Jerry Garcia (both of whom described music as a form of yoga in the 1970s), Rollins participated in a broader movement to use non-Western somatic practices to transform music into a force for personal transformation and social reform. While we usually associate such ideas with the US counterculture, generally considered a white movement, black American yogis like Rollins force us to rethink this racialized history. Moreover, the shared yogic musicality of musicians like Reich, Garcia, and Rollins underscores that we cannot effectively narrate music history according to conventional boundaries of musical style and scene.One reason few have examined Rollins's yogic musicality is that when it comes to the history of jazz musicians and non-Western spiritual practices, scholars tend to focus on John Coltrane, his family, and followers. Evidence suggests, however, that in this regard, Rollins and Coltrane influenced one another. Another reason the history of Rollins's yoga practice is so little known is that Rollins himself often claimed that it did not impact his music. Newly available evidence, however, indicates otherwise. My analysis focuses on Rollins's personal notebooks, which document the influence of yoga on Rollins's practice habits, aesthetic ideals, and ideas about the role of music in society. By the 1970s, I argue, Rollins considered himself a kind of yogi of the saxophone. I conclude by offering a new way of narrating the history of US music since the 60s, a narrative centered on how musicians working in a range of styles drew on newly popularized somatic practices like yoga to reimagine musical creativity and its role in society.

For more than five decades, Meredith Monk has combined vocal music, physical movement, and visual media to create genre-defying, interdisciplinary performance art that critics and scholars struggle to define. Monk has consistently referred to her work as a "spiritual practice" and critics often follow suit, describing her performances as more of a religious ritual than musical composition. Yet, her scant musicological coverage largely glosses over the spiritual component of her work, the teachers she studied with, and the particular Buddhist lineage she claimed. This paper illuminates Monk's path to Buddhism and its profound influence on her 1991 opera _Atlas_.Monk's exposure to Buddhism began in 1960s and 70s New York City as a member of the Cagean avant-garde and an American counterculture steeped in Eastern philosophy. In the mid-1970s, Monk was invited to teach and perform at the Naropa Institute, a Buddhist training center in Boulder, Colorado. Naropa's founder, Tibetan monk and artist-guru Chögyam Trungpa, created the Shambhala Training Program, a secularized Buddhist meditation practice to which Monk first subscribed in 1985. Rather than seeking to transcend the body, Shambhala insisted on the fundamental unity of body and mind, a belief directly reflected in Monk's compositional process that eschews written notation and depends on music encoded in physical gesture recalled through muscle memory.It was during her early formal Shambhala practice that Monk received the Houston Grand Opera commission that resulted in _Atlas_––a piece inspired by the life of Alexandra David-Nèel, the first Western woman to reach Tibet. While scholars such as Janice Mowery and Ryan Ebright have previously examined _Atlas_ as embodied sound, this paper augments their work by examining Monk's specific Buddhist lineage and life as a feminist. In choosing David-Nèel as _Atlas_' guiding figure and performing the role herself, Monk reflected her own overlapping identities as a woman and a spiritual seeker. This enriched view of the feminist, body-centered, Buddhist underpinnings of Monk's work asks us to consider other manifestations of the mind-body connection in music and the impact of intersectional identities for composers and the performers who reproduce their work.

The psychoacoustic phenomenon of sounds eliciting an autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR) in listeners has inspired a burgeoning field of creative exploration and scientific study over the past decade or so. Through the hyper-intimate amplification of voice, breath, and touch to heighten a sense of their presence and proximity, these sounds can trigger an auditory-tactile synesthesia with physical and psychological manifestations. This primarily audiovisual artform centered around Youtube videos has obvious antecedents in 20th-century electroacoustic music and compositions using amplified contact, such as John Cage's Child of Tree (1975). It has also inspired some contemporary composers, producers, and performers to use audio transducers in innovative ways to bring the vibrations of a sounding body much closer to listeners than before. As one example, Ashley Fure's The Force of Things (2018) immerses its audience in a choir of subwoofers so one can hear and feel the sounds through one's body and the objects in the room. This paper considers how the sonic aspects and musical applications of the ASMR phenomenon relate to more traditional compositional and performance parameters (such as dynamics, texture, and timbre) and interpretive instructions (sotto voce, parlando, carezzando, etc.) in cultivating a heightened sense of somatic and affective intimacy for listeners. It takes the aesthetics of ASMR "noise," as discussed by digital media scholar Rob Gallagher in terms of information theory and Michel Chion's concept of "rendering," to explore the ways "experiences of aesthetic plenitude emerge from sensory flux" in this music as "mediated bodies 'touch' ours across spatiotemporal gulfs." It also analyzes the experience of "porous listening" that ASMR productions encourage, the highly receptive awareness of the sensation of sound's vibrations on the skin and through the body. As Nina Sun Eidsheim questions in Sensing Sound, "If we understand our bones and flesh as participating in forming the music we experience, are they not as much a part of the music as the so-called musical work?" The emerging field of ASMR-inspired music challenges us to find ways to describe and theorize how it can stimulate feelings of bodily intimacy through our headphones.

Video games are an international phenomenon-not only in terms of global popularity, but also in how they are created and consumed by a broad range of cultures around the world. Despite this diversity, however, games are seldom identified as products of a specific geographic region. Instead, developers often deliberately eliminate or minimize region-specific identifiers through a process called localization, in which games are adapted to accommodate perceived cultural norms and preferences of a target market. As Carlson and Corliss (2011) note, the core concept of localization is that "products must appear as if they were manufactured domestically, suggesting that consumers only want goods that feel familiar and 'local.'"The localization process can also have a profound effect on game music and how players perceive it-an important element that ludomusicological scholarship has been slow to address. For example, popular music soundtracks may be radically altered depending on geographic region, or a newly composed score might be written to be as "culturally odorless" as possible, to maximize its international appeal. At its best, localizing music can enable a diverse range of players to connect with games in a personally meaningful way. At its worst, however, the practice can obscure the artistic achievements of international composers and sound designers, and homogenize diverse musical cultures. Offering examples of several Japanese to North-American exports, this paper draws on both sociological research (e.g., Iwabuchi 2002) and translation/localization scholarship (e.g., Thayer and Kolko, 2004) to construct a model for analyzing the impact of localization on game music. In doing so, I encourage de-universalizing games and their music, challenging notions of a stable (Western) text and instead situating game music as a product of place.

This paper will examine three areas of global commerce – management agencies, the telegraph, and ocean-going steamships – and will discuss their role in the expansion and support of western music in 19th century North India. It will focus on blackface minstrel shows and parlour music, and in this process it will build upon previous literature on western music in India that has concentrated on classical forms (see esp. Ian Woodfield 2000). To begin, it will overview intercolonial telegraph networks that connected Australia, New Zealand, and India to pacific ports in the United States. Here it will examine the scope of information available to musicians and performing groups in San Francisco via the telegraph, especially material related to the potentials, possibilities, and practicalities of traveling to and performing in India and other locations along the Pacific Ocean. It will then outline the role of steamship transportation systems in supporting the movement of performers and other commodity items (such as sheet music and musical instruments) to and from India via Australia, New Zealand and San Francisco. To finish, it will address the role of North Indian managing agencies in the early- and middle-1800s. Managing agencies encouraged investment and channeled capital into all sorts of industries throughout India, including in less-developed interior areas. Here it will contextualize music commerce within the practice of business entrepreneurship in India at the time, and will more generally provide another example of the role of international industry in the global spread of music.

National styles of music were potent symbols of collective cultural identity in old regime Europe. However, the term "European music" – expressed as a contiguous adjective and noun, or vice versa – does not seem to be recorded in western European languages before the 1680s. With the concept of "Europe" in constant flux, people wrote more commonly of regions or nations when invoking a collective musical identity. Comparisons with musics worldwide from c.1500 onward led some European scholars to write reflexively of "our music," but the earliest identifiable reference to "European music" entered public European historiography in 1687, in a widely read Jesuit account from China. From that point, "European music" was used interchangeably with "our music." For around a century it appeared almost exclusively in contexts of comparison with "radical Others," as Europeans of diverse national origins observed different music systems around the world and considered how other peoples reacted to "European music." These comparisons gradually began to be made against the emerging cosmopolitanism of repertory that circulated within Europe and further afield, and from the 1770s the term "European music" became a commonplace in English, French, German, Spanish, and Italian, implying a supranational aesthetic framework. This popularization of "European music" in discourse was, of course, contemporaneous with reforms that are traditionally attributed to the quelling of quarrels between national styles of opera; yet critical analysis of the term during its first century suggests that its origins stem from reflexive self-fashioning, in contexts of intercultural comparison, rather than from dialectical resolution of aesthetic disputes within Europe. In this paper, I argue that the "European music" concept must be seen from a global history perspective, given that it emerged primarily in contexts of intercultural engagement and required a "radical Other" against which a supranational music could be defined. Taking into account the heterogeneity of musics in old regime Europe, I further contend that the term risks anachronism if applied indiscriminately – or without careful qualification – to musics before or during the long eighteenth century, since it can imply degrees of homogeneity and essentialism that cannot be retrospectively projected.

Machaut's _Aucune/Qui_ (M5) features a tangled web of musical and textual borrowings. Scholarly opinion is divided as to whether these are integrated successfully: Daniel Leech-Wilkinson (1989) understands M5 as a flawed and overambitious work by a novice composer, while Jacques Boogaart (2001) sees it as "a brilliant showpiece of Machaut's art to conjoin different elements into one whole." At the center of this disagreement is the motet's complex mensural scheme. Pervasive coloration, alternately present in its lower voices, precludes an analysis that conflates notated and experienced mensuration (Desmond 2018). Similarly, the motet's essential contratenor rules out a _contrapunctus_ reduction that proceeds from its tenor alone (Bent 2002). In Leech-Wilkinson's view, Machaut's combination of borrowed materials and rhythmically complex four-part texture was the source of unavoidable and sometimes inadvertent contrapuntal problems. Boogaart instead interprets the motet's confrontation between perfection and imperfection as reflecting both contemporaneous debates on notation and the contrast between true and false lovers staged in the motetus text.This paper considers the experience of singers performing M5 from its original notation. From this perspective, features of M5 that seemed erroneous or inexplicable from a top-down, atemporal point of view appear instead as deliberate and contrapuntally well-controlled responses to the motet's _materia_ (Zayaruznaya 2018). By staging situations in which notational, rhythmic, and contrapuntal cues induce the singers of the motet's different parts to parse the same passage in mutually incompatible ways, Machaut complements the motetus's wish that the affections of ladies and lovers were aligned. Similarly, the disorienting effect of singing the "misaligned" portions of the lower voices reflects the motetus's complaint that love is "without measure." By examining interactions between sonority (Hartt 2010), notation, and metric induction, my analysis aims at recuperating the multiple ways in which fourteenth-century musicians could have understood mensural theory and its relationship with contrapuntal structure, bringing together strands of scholarship that have thus far remained mostly separate. In offering an approach that centers plurality and disagreement, this framework offers a new direction for exploring a repertory that is more frequently analyzed than experienced.

Sarah Fuller's 1985 suggestion that Philippe de Vitry never wrote a treatise called "Ars nova" has recently been overturned by Karen Desmond, who recuperated the _Ars vetus et nova_ as a lost rather than a phantom treatise (2012, 2015). But the text's survival only in later copies makes it hard to gauge the nature of Vitry's interventions, and it has been suggested that his theory was more practical than that of des Murs (Bockholdt 1963; Earp 2018). This paper explores the status of Vitriacan composition as itself a speculative enterprise, attending to the role of motets as testing grounds for new theoretical concepts. Desmond (2018) and Anna Zayaruznaya (2020) have injected temporal distance between the earliest formulation of _ars nova_ theory in _Notitia_ books 1–2 (now dated 1319) and the missing _ars nova_ ancestor text, now dated to c. 1330 or later. With this new chronology in hand, many of Vitry's compositional decisions can be productively viewed as methodical explorations of problems not yet worked out in treatises-as a site of what Thomas Christensen (2011) has called "hidden theory." This is especially true of Vitry's experiments combining the ternary and the binary, whether in single voice-parts through coloration (first in _Garrit/In nova_), in different voices simultaneously (as in the lower-voice pairs in many of his four-voice motets), or in more intricate ways, as in _Douce/Garison_, where the complexity of simultaneous binary and ternary relations necessitated ad-hoc notational distinctions to help singers navigate the piece. No wonder, then, that Vitry's theoretical formulations of the 1330s depend so heavily on motet citation: these treatises function as guides to the theory as laid out in the motets, which in turn authorize the codification of the system that is undertaken in the written theory. These must be the kinds of transgression the conservative theorist Jacobus had in mind when he complained that some of the foremost ars nova composers confounded the ends of theory and practice, converting their compositions into theoretical speculation through the use of excessive subtleties (Harne 2008).

Music as a Mirror to Reality: Johannes Vetulus de Anagnia's Book About MusicIn the mid–late fourteenth century, Italian theorist Johannes Vetulus de Anagnia wrote a Latin music treatise about mensural notation entitled _Liber de musica_ [A Book about Music]. In his book, Vetulus set out an explicitly atomistic method for the subdivision of the mensural hierarchy based on the Italian _trecento_ divisions, culminating in six tree diagrams. Like other medieval music theorists educated in the quadrivial branches of knowledge, Vetulus justified his beliefs about the organization of music notation in accordance with concepts discussed by medieval and ancient philosophers. These include the idea that humans are composites of body and soul, just as matter relates to form, and that a mediating force exists between the two (goodwill). According to Vetulus, this process was mirrored in the relationship between overlapping hexachords.In the Middle Ages, commitments to philosophy influenced not only theorists' textual descriptions of music, but also into their visual representations of music in notation (Desmond 2018&2018a, Tanay 1999, Stone 1994). For example, Vetulus cited the Ockhamite maxim "it is pointless to do with more what can be done with less" to justify his use of only the five standard fourteenth-century noteshapes-the larga, longa, breve, semibreve, and minim. Yet, his beliefs about the atomistic measurement of time also led him to invent a novel way of organizing the mensural hierarchy that far exceeded the norms of some of his contemporaries in rhythmic intricacy. His choice to use simple noteshapes to depict rhythmic complexity sits in contrast with composers of the so-called _ars subtilior_, who would use invented noteshapes, coloration, and proportion signs for similar ends.Studying the conceptual underpinnings of theoretical descriptions of music both in text and notation can reveal how medieval people made sense of the world around them, providing tangible evidence of the relevance of music-theoretical precepts to medieval life. This, in turn, compels us to reassess the concepts that undergird our own modes of representation.

As isolation increases amid a global health crisis, people who teach and write about music look increasingly to their screens as a window into the classroom, the concert hall, the studio, and the world. In Spring 2020, many in our community were asked to seamlessly move an entire semester of work into a new format within a matter of days. These crises pull into focus the ways in which the speed of academic life is a product of culture in urgent need of resistance. Berg and Seeber call into question current practices of academic writing, teaching, research, and even community building, noting that-much like the culture of social media-we rush to publication at the risk of leaving out what is most human about our experiences. And we have learned this praxis based upon how we are assessed.The Committee on Women and Gender proposes a robust discussion comprised of AMS members who are willing to join us in this community read of The Slow Professor. The issues brought forth in Berg and Seeber's book are not strictly limited to those who teach in brick and mortar colleges and universities, but connect to the ways in which the practice of musicology across the professions can be affected by unconventional kindness, a shift in the sense of time, and a renewed love of one's research. The session will begin with lightning talks (of five minutes or less) by members of the committee and guests, followed by a discussion of the four chapters in break-out sessions ("Time Management and Timelessness"; "Pedagogy and Pleasure"; "Research and Understanding"; and "Colleagiality and Community"). The final product will be a "Slow Musicologist Manifesto" comprised of the work gleaned from the individual sessions.

When comparing musical works in a federal copyright lawsuit, putative similarities between original elements of each work are often legally treated as more indicative of copying. In cases heard since the mid-nineteenth century, such emphasis on originality has led to case outcomes that hinge on melocentric comparisons. Although often necessary, bass line melodies and chord progressions instead serve a more contextual role, being legally treated as unoriginal, and thus unprotectable, musical building blocks. Yet in some cases, these elements have proven critical to defining the essence of a copyrightable work or the musical style of its creator(s). Balancing these seemingly opposite interests raises a perennial question in music copyright: can a chord progression be copyright protected?Contemporary lawsuits have presented circumstances in which chord progressions might constitute copyrightable subject matter. After a gloss of federal copyright jurisprudence surrounding the contours of similarity analysis, this presentation surveys available court records from cases in which chord progressions became a significant point of forensic comparison as conducted by musical expert witnesses. For most of the twentieth century, judges presiding over such cases dispensed with harmonic discourse, instead determining legal outcomes based on melodic and formal grounds. Yet in two more recent cases, chord progressions have been considered legally original enough to be copyright protectable. In _Tempo Music v. Famous Music Corp_ (1994), the Billy Strayhorn estate successfully staked claim to earlier copyright registrations for the Ellington Orchestra standard, "Satin Doll," based on Strayhorn's contribution of the song's distinctive chord progression. Although still on appeal, in _Skidmore v. Led Zeppelin_ (2018), a chord progression could be considered original when analyzed in the context of its bass line. In both cases, forensic musicological analysis prepared by experts provided critical evidence to separating original melodic and chordal elements from unoriginal harmonic practices. Through its interdisciplinary investigation, this presentation emphasizes the subjective nature of copyright infringement and the impact that originality of chord progressions can have on assessments of similarity and copyrightability. In so doing, it highlights the evolving nature of music copyright and the significance of forensic musicology on analysis of music as intellectual property.

Even when there is little dispute over the similarity of the musical expression at issue in a copyright case, disagreements inevitably arise over its substantiality. Legal precedent has established that musicological analysis focus on the relative importance of the contested musical expression to the original composition, rather than the allegedly infringing work. For example, in Newton v Diamond (2003) a three-note sequence that appeared once in the original work was deemed _de minimis_ even though it was "looped" throughout an entire Beastie Boys' song. In this later work, the resulting ostinato would not have been dismissed as insubstantial. In infringement matters, when enlisted as experts to provide comparative analysis, musicologists are asked to opine on the quantitative and qualitative significance of the similar expression. But how does substantiality analysis play out in works that contain little in the way of foregrounded melodic content? Does the traditional melocentric approach in copyright that prioritizes melody, and, to a lesser extent, harmony, rhythm, and form, become less relevant? In hip hop and rap, for example, the lead vocal resists transcription of definite pitch sequences basic to melodic analysis. Harmony can be minimal or non-existent. As regards structure, the only differentiation of the chorus or "hook" from the verse may be the return of a lyric referencing the song's title. This paper looks at several contemporary pop songs and the sparse texture of their underlying tracks or "beats" before turning to a recent highly publicized case, _Gray v. Hudson_ (2019). Here a jury found that singer Katie Perry's song "Dark Horse" infringed on a Christian rapper's work "Joyful Noise" by using a similar ostinato based on six notes of an eight-note pattern containing only three different pitches. I examine several instances where vocalist/songwriters unsuccessfully attempted to assert infringement based on similarities in rap vocals. I conclude by discussing whether "Dark Horse" and other recent cases signal a lowering of the bar for protectability in music copyright. If there is a new threshold, is it a product of our litigious environment or could standards be changing as minimalist textures become more prevalent in hit songs?

Kofi Agawu (2004) responded to Joseph Kerman's (1980) critique of music analysis by stating that "analysis is most productively understood and practiced as a mode of performance and as a mode of composition" (273). In Agawu's hunt for the meaning of Adorno's "truth content," he comes to the conclusion that "the truth content is not necessarily a literal, empirical truth but rather a dynamic, motivating truth designed partly to anchor listening in specific sociocultural and historical moments even while…releasing the analyst from the dubious responsibility of having to establish the authenticity of the analysis." In other words, analysts do not engage in empirical truth finding when analyzing music.Recent court cases (_Williams v. Gaye_[2018], _Gray v. Perry_[2019]) have shown how competing testimony from forensic musicologists creates confusion for the jury tasked with ruling on copyright infringement. As Booth (2016) states: "Chief among the typical problems is that experts [forensic musicologists] will often aggregate their objective findings to arrive at a subjective conclusion that is outside the scope of their duties as an expert" (123–24). While certain aspects of a musical work are objective (such as the key and time signature), most debates about "substantial similarity" inside the courtroom ask forensic musicologists to engage in interpretation of subjective musical elements. But as Booth noted, this is outside the scope of the expert witness within the courtroom. Debates over these subjective musical elements and their impact on "substantial similarity" often leads the judge to declare a "battle of the experts" and let the competing testimony be heard in trial. Such "battles" often confuse the layman jury and offer little help in resolving the case. In exposing the paradox between the act of analysis and the role of an expert witness, this paper suggests ethical guidelines for forensic musicologists to consider when testifying in a case. Through neutral language, emphasis on objective musical elements, and clear indication of subjective interpretation, forensic musicologists can navigate the ethical minefield of the paradox between music analysis and expert testimony.

Throughout the twentieth and twenty-first century, regulations on expert testimony have sought to minimize the impact of disagreeing experts. Yet, as seen in recent cases like _Williams v. Gaye_ (2018), _Skidmore v. Led Zeppelin_ (2018), and _Gray v. Perry_ (2019), disagreements between forensic musicologists still play a large role in contemporary music copyright decisions. This paper suggests that the disagreement between partisan experts is due, in part, to confirmation bias rather than ethical or financial allegiance. Confirmation bias is defined as "a cognitive tendency to search for and evaluate information in ways that are partial to an already formed hypothesis" (Lidén, Gräns, & Juslin 2018). It has been observed in fields such as cognitive psychology (Rajsic, Pratt, & Wilson 2015), economics (Charness & Dave 2017), legal studies (Lindén et al. 2018), and forensic science (Moser 2013). Investigating confirmation bias in music analysis can shed light on challenges in both forensic musicology and the broader field of music scholarship.             Because music analysis is a subjective act rather than an objective one, there is certainly risk for confirmation bias in forensic musicology. An expert hired by a plaintiff, or the party alleging copyright infringement, may start their analyses by searching for similarities between two works. For example, during her deposition in _Williams v. Gaye_ (2018), expert witness Judith Finell explained her analytical methodology: "I listen to the two recordings and determine what if anything sounds related and similar between them, and if I identify certain elements then I usually have to provide a transcription of those particular elements or portions of the music. And then I compare those transcriptions" (Finell deposition 2014). On the other hand, an expert retained by the defendant, or the party denying infringement, may start their analysis by searching for differences. Given the multiple musical components present in even the "simplest" musical work, both starting points will lead to valid observations about the work, allowing for expert disagreement. This paper proposes that appointing a panel of third-party musicologists to conduct forensic analyses from a neutral starting point could minimize the effect of confirmation bias in such cases. 

Among recent music copyright cases, few have received as much public attention or provoked as much debate as _Williams v. Gaye_. The case, which centered on an infringement claim by Marvin Gaye's estate against Robin Thicke's controversial hit "Blurred Lines," concluded in 2018 with the Gayes prevailing. Yet debate is sure to continue for a long time to come: the case ended in a split decision, and recent court filing by the Gaye family claiming that Williams perjured himself all but guarantees that the conversation around "Blurred Lines" is far from over.             Several _amicus curiae_briefs were filed in connection with the case. Among them, two offered opinions, on opposing sides, of expert "musicologists" concerning the expert testimony that was presented. Both were joined by some of our profession's most visible and distinguished music theorists, musicologists, and ethnomusicologists, and articulate sharply different positions with respect to the testimony provided by the Gayes' musicological expert witnesses, Judith Finell and Ingrid Monson. The Thicke _amici_ contended that this testimony was misleading on the one hand, and irrelevant on the other (Thicke Amici, 1-3). The Gaye _amici_ argued that the testimony was "fully consistent with the accepted Musicological standards and methods" (Gaye Amici, 1) and attacked the Thicke amici's analysis as little more than "an interminable catalogue of nits, ornamentations and other insignificant variations" (25). Intriguingly, the _amici_seemed to fall along familiar disciplinary lines: in general (and with notable exceptions), the Thicke _amici_ had a markedly higher representation of music theorists, the Gaye _amici_a markedly higher representation of musicologists or ethnomusicologists. This paper revisits this dispute among experts without the adversarial frame in which it was initially cast, and inquires whether and to what extent ideas about similarity in music-and, more broadly, about the proper scope and application of copyright-reflect disciplinary orientation. Insofar as this is so, the umbrella term "musicologist," which courts have tended to use without regard for disciplinary specialization, brings to these public proceedings a misleading connotation of objective neutrality. 

According to sociologist Nira Yuval-Davis, belonging is the result of emotional attachment that causes an individual or group to feel "safe" or "at home" in a particular context; the politics of belonging, on the other hand, comes into focus when this feeling of safeness or at-homeness is threatened, resulting in a collective response that constructs not only belonging but also the collective itself (2011). For many diasporic Kurdish communities, the politics of belonging is a result of having been displaced from their nations of origin, targeted in acts of state aggression or even genocide, and relocated to places in which their fellow Kurds might not even speak the same language. Given the importance of radio and other broadcasting technology in the formation of a transnational Kurdish "listening public" (Blum and Hassanpour, 1996), how has Kurdish popular music reflected the unique challenges of a Kurdish politics of belonging, and how has it created space through which to draw together such vastly differing experiences of "home"? In this paper, I attend to this question by analyzing the 2013 pop song "Take Me Home," featuring Kurdish artists Li Dinê and Dashni Morad. On their group's website, the three members of Li Dinê, who have ties to Turkish Kurdistan, describe their music using a Kurdish word that suggests the combination of all colors. The group goes on to describe this new genre as a blend of "eastern" and "western," as well as old (Kurdish folk) and new (R&B/hip-hop), traditions. Including Dashni Morad (originally from Iraqi Kurdistan) in "Take Me Home" allows the group to craft a musical politics of belonging that, through its very inclusiveness, aims to represent the vast majority of the Kurdish homelands. Analyzing the visual and musical features of the song and its music video, I show how its politics of belonging reflects the struggles of a Western-oriented, transnational Kurdish listening public. In particular, I highlight the song's use of themes such as nostalgia, rurality, and lovesickness to emphasize a shared, pan-Kurdish past, even as others of the song's sonic and visual markers suggest an affiliation with urban centers of capital and feminist critiques of contemporary Kurdish society. I argue that the resulting image of "home" created by the song represents not so much a geographic home for Kurds as a reimagining of the diasporic Kurdish community itself.

In May 2018, a ten-year-old Russian girl wearing the latest in children's military couture belted out a pop cover of Viktor Tsoi's "_Kukushka_/cuckoo" (released posthumously in 1990) before an audience of construction workers gathered for the opening of a strategic bridge linking Russia to Crimea. As she sang, television audiences witnessed an infamous, nationalistic biker gang leading a symbolic charge over the bridge into the Ukrainian territory controversially annexed by Russia in 2014. The combination of sound and patriotic imagery underscored conquest as the collective destiny of the Russian people. Yet this rousing pageantry stood in stark contrast to the struggle with creative doubts laid bare in the late-Soviet original by the understated Viktor Tsoi (1962–90), the famous lead singer of the seminal Leningrad rock group Kino.  This paper traces the transformation of "_Kukushka_" across a number of recent cover versions by such female artists as Olga Kormukhina, Polina Gagarina, and Yaroslava Degtyareva, among others. It draws from an eclectic ethnographic data set collected from the under-explored comment sections of Russian social media as well as from informants within Russia and across the post-Soviet diaspora. Transformed through generic and stylistic shifts--achieved by new performance venues, changes in performance practice, the addition of conspicuous costuming, and incorporation into state-funded cinema--these latest iterations more closely resemble the theatrical aesthetics of hard rock and certain strains of Soviet variety song, or _estrada_, than the brooding new wave aesthetic his band members faithfully replicated from a demo tape Tsoi made before his untimely death. What emerges from the many Russian cover versions of "_Kukushka_" produced between 2012 and 2019, which predominantly appear in concerts or projects funded by the Russian Ministry of Culture, is arguably a new song, entirely divorced from Tsoi's pacifist philosophy. "_Kukushka_" has become a militant anthem calling the nation to shed its wounded pride and defiantly take back what was ostensibly stolen from it after the breakup of the USSR. This paper contributes to musicological discourses concerning music's relationship to power as well as its role in building (and rebuilding) often mythical national identities. 

The discussion on the image of a "Pan-Chinese" cultural identity (Sheppard, 2013) has lately increased (Ho, 2017). However, these studies have not discussed the associations that arise from the multivocality, particularly with regards to the fusion of styles of the West and Chinese music as presented in Chinese Idol-type shows. Indeed, more than two-thirds of the cover reproductions are adapted from Gangtai music (Hong Kong, Taiwan) and sampled with selected Western pop or classical music to illustrate China's global landscape (Appaduai, 1996). The preference for Western-Chinese fused music in China lies in entertainment-oriented aspects that disseminate transcultural values and attract global audiences.Conversely, music in China has adhered to the state's policies in order to establish the socialist collectivism, and reflect the notion of a socialist patriotism through entertainment (Jones, 1992). A social change occurred when the laypeople exhibited favor of multivocality in Idol-type shows, which allocated pop-culture formulating from the bottom tier of society (Kloet, 2012). Thereafter, a new symbolic sentiment was created, excluding collectivism to enhance the immersion of emotional responses found between the performers and their audiences. This response produces a type of intimacy, which "involves an aspiration for a narrative about something shared" (Berlant, 1998: 281).Taking an analytic approach from performance practices (Meizel, 2010; Cook, 2013) to examine the intimacy found on-stage of these Chinese Idol-type shows, I categorize these intimate musical moments into estrangement, sentiment, and love dialogues. Adopting a fusion of styles for the covers from Taiwanese Luo Dayou, Jay Chou, and Hong Kong's Lowell Lo to form references, I demonstrate the notion of multivocality. As such, the integration of transcultural sounds, which acts as a catalyst for disseminating intimate moments, becomes evident. Nonetheless, the question arises as to whether those moments relate to the performers' social identity, or the sound itself when defining how audiences perceive musical intimacy. This paper concludes that while each moment of intimacy could be random, the most intimate moments occur when the cover tunes express an artistic identity that is inherent within the performers, or exudes a Pan-Chinese cultural identity that underpins support found across the globe.

In early May of 1892, two very different kinds of villages went on display in Prague. At the National Theater, audiences could experience idealized Bohemian village life as portrayed in Bedřich Smetana's opera _The Bartered Bride_ (1866). A new production opened on May 8 with quasi-ethnographic sets and stage action that reflected urbanites' visions of country villages, and it proved hugely successful in both Prague and the imperial capital of Vienna. Across town, in the recently incorporated suburb of Holešovice, a new exhibition had also just opened one week earlier. Czech explorer Emil Holub's South African Exhibition displayed animals, plants, tribal artifacts, and even model villages for the consumption of Prague audiences. Czech newspapers and officials heralded the exhibition as an educational and scientific opportunity, and lauded Holub for his discoveries of new natural resources, potential new crops and trade routes, and even "new sites for colonization."I argue that these village displays, ostensibly quite different, both point toward the same underlying issue: music as a means to place Czech culture and ethnicity on as high a plane as possible within the ever-shifting hierarchy of ethnoracial value in Europe. I draw on the work of scholars like Annegret Fauser, Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Anil Bhatti, and Dipesh Chakrabarthy in order to situate my investigation of late nineteenth-century Prague cultural life within larger discussions of how empire and colonialism shape music history. By engaging in a close reading of contemporary periodicals and little-known archival sources, I explore the relationship between Holub's project and other exhibitions, its imperial Habsburg context, operatic displays like _The Bartered Bride_, and popular music. In particular, I examine a commemorative song published in honor of the exhibition that recruited music to familiarize Czech audiences with Africa, combining tunefulness with references to display, to Holub's Czech transliterations of tribal names, and to colonialist spectacles like the Hottentot Venus. Music helped implicitly position Czech audiences as superior to a racialized, Othered population, even as they sought to free themselves from what they perceived as imperial domination-it helped position them as Westerners, contemplating the possibility of colonization.

In The Deepest Border (2018), Pack calls for an integral study of the western Mediterranean that attends to the ways in which "The region's many borders [...] became key sites of negotiation in the regional dialectic of territoriality and mobility." He argues that only by focusing on the borderland politics of what he calls "trans-Gibraltar," is it possible to account for the political, economic and cultural processes relevant to the states and populations of this region. Jonathan Shannon and Jonathan Glasser have studied music as an integral part of the human and cultural flows that have shaped trans-Gibraltar since the nineteenth century; yet, a few questions still need to be raised about the traffic of sounds and musics in this area: how has this traffic helped to consolidate or undermine trans-Gibraltar's outer and inner borders, and to negotiate the ways in which they perform their liminality? How can musicology help to accomplish the interconnected study of the geographies and temporalities of trans-Gibraltar?This paper aims to stimulate critical discussion around these questions by looking at musical practice and musicology in the context of the Franco-Spanish Protectorate in Morocco (1912-1956). France and Spain invoked real and imaginary borders to prompt the colonial populations to re-imagine themselves in ways that facilitated their being controlled. In scholarship and propaganda, the Mediterranean was imagined as a porous border that carried influence from Spain to Morocco. The myth of al-Andalus was invoked in Spanish scholarship to articulate a Hispano-Moroccan ethnic bonding or "brotherhood" with which to justify the colonial occupation. Scholars in anthropology (Mateo Dieste), history (Calderwood) and the visual arts (Bollorinos-Allard) have analysed constructions of race in this context and their effects on borders, yet their impact on music scholarship and musical practice remains largely unstudied (Pasler). What role did Arab-Andalusian music and music scholarship play in making the Mediterranean border in the context of colonial Morocco? Does music deserve special consideration in the light of its "ability to animate imaginal spaces and […] to penetrate and traverse margins and boundaries" (Shannon)?

In 1739, an anonymous author drew on a transnational patchwork of source materials to create a comedy with singing, dancing, and spectacle. Titled _Arlequin magicien_, this play was representative of the wide-ranging genre of early _opéra comique_, which consisted of plays with spoken dialogue and music. As the preface explains, the play was created by piecing together a _commedia dell'arte_ play performed by a French troupe in Italy and an English pantomime by another unnamed author. This work thus speaks to the confluence of European cultures in the early modern era: published in Amsterdam with French text and music, Italian characters, and an English plot, _Arlequin magicien_ reads as a palimpsest of multidirectional foreign inspiration and adaptation. While scholars have focused on the effects of one-way influence on the development of early comic opera and theater, such as the impact of Italian _commedia dell'arte_ on French _opéra comique_, they have yet to explore the multidirectional networks of influence that undergirded how musical comedies were often created. My examination of _Arlequin magicien_ reveals how the transnationality of these texts emerged out of a larger history of cross-Channel theatrical exchanges between England and France, which were in turn shaped by the international dissemination of Italian _commedia dell'arte_ theater since the Renaissance. By examining the cross-border roots of musical comedies, this paper disputes the common narrative of early eighteenth-century theatrical history, which has come to be told through the national categories of French, German, English, and Italian. By tracing the performance history of _Arlequin magicien's_ varied sources, and by comparing the different versions of this play, I reveal its dependence on a broader network of theatrical circulation. This network was made possible by the mobility of comic acting troupes, which traveled back-and-forth between "home" and "abroad," and in circuits across Western Europe and beyond. This paper ultimately challenges the notion that these productions had a single national origin, or a concomitant single foreign influence. Such exegesis exemplifies the complicated international origins of comic musical stage works that have otherwise been erased by long-entrenched national narratives.

As one of the main satellite cities of the Spanish empire during the seventeenth century, Milan was a catalyst for the reception of the Habsburg cultural politics. Similar to the case of Naples, Milan's system of governance was such that the local aristocracy internalized a structure of entertainment in perennial conflict with a distant and absent monarchy. This led to an "arena of power" (Pissavino) which was formed by the relocation of Spanish aristocrats to work with local militia and intellectuals in an effort to build a form of governing praxis which also included the production of opera. Thus, Milan as a "case" was analyzed by historians of opera either as the product of peripheral resistance to the occupying foreign forces (most of the nineteenth-century literature), the pale attempt at imitating the successful Venetian model (Vianello, Barblan, and most of the general histories of opera still circulating), or the peculiar product of Spanish administration and supervision (Costantini-Magaudda, Daolmi, Carpani). All in all, "Milan" was always represented in comparison to an absent "other" (the Spanish empire, the projected superiority of Venetian opera, the bureaucratic apparatus).Focusing on the last decade of the Spanish dominion-i.e., the traumatic passage to the house of Bourbon, as a consequence of the War of Spanish Succession (1701-1714)-this paper examines a few revealing moments in the history of opera in Milan to unveil the politics behind opera production in relation to the presence (or non-presence) of the empire. In light of new archival findings (a set of sonnets dedicated to the royal family during their visit to Milan in 1702, with Philip V attending operas without being seen), and with the study of a few operas first staged in Milan and then exported, I put into perspective the enormous relevance still attributed to Venetian opera. Finally, Milanese operas' afterlives at the Spanish court (with the emperor listening to music taken from them) will serve as a prompt for the rethinking of the relationship between opera, memory, and the cultural policies of empires. Using language elaborated in performance studies (Roach) and theories of early modern empires (Elias, Griffin), I argue that Milan as a peripheral city (un)consciously elaborated both a unique operatic system and a peculiar representation of its history as part of a strategy to deal with the absent power of a transitioning empire and with the specters of its emperors listening to their past colonies. 

Often seen as no more than a transitory step towards the belated consolidation of Italian opera in national Mexico, the operatic activity of the Spanish tenor and composer Manuel García in Mexico City from 1827 to 1829 calls today for a more nuanced analysis. Recent research in transnational and global history, as well as the redefinition of cultural borders triggered by postcolonial studies suggest new routes and perspectives to address García's Mexican career as a key moment in the spread of Italian opera in Latin America at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Drawing on these theoretical premises, my paper will aim to rethink the activity of García in Mexico City as one of the first and most problematic cultural encounters between Europe and the young Latin American nation after its emancipation from Spain. Before independence, the perception that Mexico had of Europe and vice versa were both distorted by the intrusive cultural politics of imperial Spain. Later, when Mexico and the Old World came into closer contact, these misperceptions at first came still more to the fore, especially on the stages of Mexican theatres. Italian opera in this context, perceived as one of the purest, most familiar expressions of Europeanness, became the ground where these issues of identity and otherness were played out on stage. A focus on the first operas composed and staged by García for Mexican audiences in 1827 (_Un'ora di Matrimonio_ and Rossini's _Il Barbiere di Siviglia­_) will help us to understand how Italian opera absorbed and reflected the multiple postcolonial tensions in Early National Mexico.

When Joseph Redding accepted the invitation to set "The Land of Happiness" (1917) to music, he embarked on a journey that would span continents-real and imagined-and would blur boundaries between genres, genders, and styles. The resulting score, retitled _Fay-Yen-Fah_ (1925), is an oddity: an American opera on a faux Chinese theme, conceived as an amateur outdoor drama for an all-male cast, but premiered at the Opéra de Monte Carlo with a newly prominent prima donna. By exploring how this opera came to be, I shed light not just on a forgotten work, but also on the redwood "Grove Plays" of the elite San Francisco Bohemian Club; the multifaceted intertwining of amateur and professional performance in and around US opera; and a species of westward-looking, Pan-Pacific orientalism more ethically and aesthetically complicated than its European and East Coast counterparts.Founded in 1872, the all-male Bohemian Club was famous for its midsummer encampments in the redwood forests of northern California.   Despite its name, it catered to the wealthiest Americans and has therefore been studied mostly by sociologists and conspiracy theorists.  Redding-best known to musicologists as the librettist for Victor Herbert's _Natoma_ (1911)-and his collaborator Charles Templeton Crocker were members. Both were enriched by the California railroads, which relied heavily on Chinese labor, and perhaps surprisingly, both fancied themselves environmentalists, participating in a variety of conservation efforts and scientific expeditions.  Their imperially fraught attitudes both toward East Asia and toward the natural world shaped _Fay-Yen-Fah_'s pretensions to oriental "authenticity" in music and costume, and its climactic scene in which an illuminated tree–a key feature of open-air Grove Plays but the bane of Raoul Gunsbourg's Monte Carlo production team–brings about divine redemption.  As businessmen, Redding and Crocker documented virtually every step in the process that brought _Fay-Yen-Fah_ to the Riviera and home again.  Most notably, the archives reveal how their strenuous efforts and elite networking eventually recruited a suitable soprano, provided her with a "proper" love duet, and shifted the opera's stereotypical balance of power from masculine ambition and clemency to feminine allure and entreaty.  By the time _Fay-Yen-Fah_ reached San Francisco for a gala opening performance in January 1926, the forest drama had been domesticated and musical transformations had created a society-page heroine out of the Chinese maiden whose role had originally been filled by a young male dancer, performing for men alone.

In this session, participants will bring internet-enabled devices and engage in self-assessment and career exploration using Imagine PhD, a career exploration and planning tool for humanists and social scientists. The Imagine PhD project, sponsored by the Graduate Career Consortium, addresses the pressing need for resources that help people with doctoral training in the humanities explore a broad range of diverse careers. The tool provides guidance for career exploration and planning based upon an individual's self-assessment of their interests, skills, and values, and provides resources for learning about diverse career paths.This interactive workshop, facilitated by Rob Pearson and Danielle Fosler-Lussier, will consist of an overview of ImaginePhD, including a hands-on demonstration of the tool's self-assessments and career exploration resources. Participants will apply ImaginePhD's resources to their own career exploration process and faculty will learn strategies for utilizing ImaginePhD in their own work with graduate students. The facilitators will build in time for participants to create their own profiles and explore the tool's features for themselves while engaging in a focused discussion about the diverse careers available to individuals with graduate degrees in fields of music scholarship. 

The Organology Reading Group will hold a group discussion of three pre-circulated readings selected in response to discussions held at our 2019 panel session: Eliot Bates, "The Social Life of Musical Instruments," Ethnomusicology 56, no. 3 (Fall, 2012): 363–95, Maria Rose van Epenhuysen, "Beethoven and his 'French Piano': Proof of Purchase," Musique-images-instruments 7 (2005): 110-122, and Tilman Skowroneck, Beethoven the Pianist (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 85-141. The readings will not be summarized during the session; rather, we will use them as conversation starters to actively dismantle the language barrier between subdisciplines and give voice to diverse perspectives through conversation.

In the summer of 1972, jazz artist Miles Davis released On the Corner, his first jazz-fusion studio album that deliberately sought to address African American political consciousness of the early 1970s. For example, the album art depicted men in red, green, and black as well as black leather coats and berets, serving as visual allusions to Pan-Africanism and the Black Panther Party, respectively. Along with these visual signifiers of 1970s black politics, the music of On the Corner emphasized funk rhythmic patterns that were reminiscent of James Brown, Sly Stone, and The Last Poets, all black power cultural icons of the late 1960s/early 1970s. And yet, despite these visual and musical expressions of early 1970s black political thought, there were two elements of On the Corner that ran antithetical to dominant discourses of blackness and black politics at this time: queerness and South Asianness. Indeed, South Asian music and musicians played a central role in the album; and the album cover art also gestured to black male queerness. How, then, might we make sense of these sonic and visual elements of On the Corner that do not align with dominant representations of black politics and life at the time? This paper addresses this question by revisiting the music, visual art, and sociohistorical context of On the Corner, and argues that the album linked and expressed South Asian sound and alternative sexualities as constitutive formations-formations that dually animated and expanded notions of blackness and black politics of the early 1970s.

This business meeting for our newly formed study group will be used to elect elect co-chairs, maintain our mailing list, plan our website, and discuss plans for the future.

Long before the pandemic's rush to online teaching, social media content creators were doing useful work explaining musical ideas in ways that students and non-specialists could understand. In music history, Linda Shaver-Gleason's "Not Another Music History Cliché!" blog was well-received by specialists and non-specialists alike. In memory of her untimely passing, our session will focus on the pedagogy of outreach, bringing together a panel of content creators and public scholars in both disciplines. We seek to demonstrate how we can make musicology/theory more accessible, both to college students and to the public. The session will comprise two 75-minute panel discussions, each with four presenters. The first discussion will explore "Media Methods," with presentations on the pedagogical aspects of podcasting, the critical evaluation of media claims, Instagram, and digital literacy. The second discussion will focus on "Creating a Channel," with presentations on community engaged scholarship, "explainer" videos, establishing a YouTube presence, and creating music theory materials for a broad audience. Session Chairs: Leigh VanHandel (University of British Columbia) and Matthew Baumer (Indiana University of Pennsylvania)Media MethodsAndrew Granade (University of Missouri-Kansas City) and David Thurmaier (UMKC), "A Pedagogical Approach to Podcasting"Kristin Franseen (University of Ottawa), "Fake News Then and Now: Bringing Public Media Literacy to the Musicology Classroom"Malia Jade Roberson (California State University, Channel Islands), "#MusicTheory: How I use Instagram Marketing in my #musictheoryclass for Student Success"Stephen Gomez-Peck (The Graduate Center, CUNY) and Samuel Teeple (The Graduate Center, CUNY), "From Consumer to Producer: Cultivating Digital Literacy in the Music Appreciation Classroom"Creating a ChannelAaron Grant (Missouri Western State University), "Cultivated Career Skills Though Public Music Theory"Alex Ludwig (Berklee College of Music), "The Explainer Video"Kent Cleland (Baldwin Wallace University), "What I Wish I Had Known Before Starting a Music Theory YouTube Channel"Toby Rush (University of Dayton), "Music Theory for Musicians and Normal People"