This article investigates how the concrete sound of and recording process behind a pop tune relate to the possibilities and constraints of its electronic media. After a brief presentation of some theoretical issues related to the question of mediation and materiality, we address the claim that digitisation erases the material aspects of mediation through an investigation of contemporary popular music. Through a close analysis of the sound (and the silence) in Madonna's song ‘Don't Tell Me’, from the album Music (2000), as well as in a handful of related examples, we argue that one can indeed identify specific aural qualities associated with digital sound, and that these qualities may be used to achieve different aesthetic effects as well as to shed light on mediation and medium specificity as such.

In this essay, I explore the use of rap and hip-hop conventions as they have developed within the self-consciously contemporary American Jewish ‘hipster’ scene between c. 1986 and 2006, framed particularly around the way these genres have addressed the discourses of masculinity within Jewish culture. By exploring the works and actions of such artists as Matisyahu and the Hip Hop Hoodíos within the context of both American Jewish masculinity discussions and the historical relationship of Jews with commercial hip-hop performance, I attempt to explore how a population’s attempts at musical ‘change’ act as a crucial part of the religious and ethnic transmission and preservation process. Although outwardly seen as based on mimesis and even novelty, ‘Jewish’ hip hop, I suggest, instils a deep sense of identity into a population often characterised as iconoclastic, dynamic, politically inclusive and culturally mutable. Masculinity therefore serves largely as a vessel for young Jews to fashion a sense of self into a conversation from which they had previously been largely absent: one of several strategies used both to unmoor and to redefine what it means to be a ‘new’ Jew.

Although a wheelchair-user and permanently disabled through polio, the southern American singer Connie Boswell was one of radio and vaudeville's biggest stars in the 1930s. She and her sisters were a compelling force in American popular entertainment for the first half of the decade; and when the group split in 1936, Connie carried on a solo career in radio, recording, film and television for another twenty-five years. Connie's unique position as the only visibly disabled ‘A-list’ female popular entertainer for most of the twentieth century – and one whose voice, both physical and musical, shaped the sound of jazz and popular music – makes her an obvious focus for any study that links popular music and disability. This essay is concerned with how disability may have operated as a discourse about and within Connie's chosen medium, jazz; and how disability studies can illuminate why the ways in which difference is figured in her work, initially a source of anxiety, could have also been a significant reason for her success.

Much of the discourse surrounding sampling practice has been couched in an archaic rhetoric of originality and creativity, predicated on the reproductive mode of creation rather than the practice's own creative logic. These notions have emerged from a metaphysics which privileges the origin as the centre of semantic production. However, this discursive preoccupation with the past is not entirely irrelevant in sampling practice. Rather, the historically inscribed aura of the original holds a redefined, but necessary, place in the practice.

This essay examines the theoretical underpinnings of the discussion so far, then reconciling these with the specific culture of sample-based hip-hop production. Through close readings of some musical examples, it posits a theoretical framework for sampling practice which takes its unique properties into account. By mapping the trajectory of several samples from source to new incarnation, the sample is revealed as the space of simultaneous play and rupture, where the past both defines the present and is effaced by it. As such, sampling creates a tradition that involves the past without deferring to its structures and limitations, restoring a revised mode of agency to the practice.

The American Johnnie Ray (1927–1990) is best known for his emotional rendition of Churchill Kohlman's song ‘Cry’, a tune that Ray recorded with Mitch Miller in 1951. This song, along with Ray's own composition, ‘The Little White Cloud That Cried’, earned Ray nicknames such as ‘The Nabob of Sob’ and ‘The Cry Guy’. Although wildly popular in the mid-1950s, Johnnie Ray was soon overshadowed by his contemporaries and has been virtually ignored by scholars.

This essay situates Ray's music and his hearing impairment in the material and mediated conditions of his life. In addition to interpreting Ray's signature performances, the essay deals with Ray's childhood musicality, his appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show, the influence of televangelism on Ray, cinematic contexts for his life and art, and the hearing aid technology of the 1940s and 1950s.

This article closely analyses the rhythmic components in John Lee Hooker’s boogie. We show how Hooker recasts a signature riff from a ternary to a binary beat subdivision, paving the way for the triple-to-duple shift that characterised mid-century American popular music. Further, we attribute the boogie’s ‘hypnotic’ feel to two psychoacoustic phenomena: stream segregation and temporal order misjudgement. Stream segregation occurs when the musical surface is divided by the listener into two or more auditory entities (streams), usually as a result of timbral and registral contrasts. In Hooker’s case, these contrasts occur between the guitar groove’s downbeats and upbeats, whose extreme proximity also blurs their temporal order. These expressive effects are complemented by global and gradual accelerandos that envelop Hooker’s early performances.

Even though electronic and computer-based technologies are commonly used in music composition, performance and recording, this field of technology use has, with a few exceptions, remained fairly unexplored within social studies of technology. In this article, the role of technology in music production is investigated by applying the notion of script (Akrich 1992) to an empirical study of users of the Roland MC303 Groovebox, a self-contained instrument for making techno, rap, jungle, hip-hop, acid and other styles of electronic (dance) music. The study focuses especially on individual differences between users' perceptions of the musical-stylistic directedness of the Groovebox and how they construct different user scripts and more advanced needs as they become more familiar with the instrument. The latter observation highlights the relevance of a user trajectory, the notion that enthusiast technology users may keep on using a specific technological artefact through various usage modes or scripts over time.

At the level of micro-intonation, singing provides an object for intimate corporeal identification for the listener. In fact, the listener can, by way of vocal identification, achieve a direct corporeal relationship with the vocal performance. Similarly, the researcher can use his/her own purposeful identification and imitation as a means of observation. ‘Once in a century’ is a description often attached to the legendary singer Olavi Virta (1915–1972), who had a significant impact on Finnish popular music during the 1950s and is considered a cultural icon by many Finns. In this article, the vocal performance on the novelty recording ‘Luonasi jos oisin (‘If I were there with you’)/Isn’t it Romantic?’ is studied in order to map out its gestural content. Olavi Virta was in possession of a rich arsenal of vocal gestures. The gestures shared a relationship with the semantic content of the lyrics – not always mimetic but often contrapuntal, polarising, or estranging.

This article looks at a remarkable cluster of popular musicians who contracted and survived poliomyelitis (‘infantile paralysis’) epidemics through the twentieth century, and ways in which they managed and, to varying extents, explored their polio-related impairments and experiences in their music. Drawing on medical history and disability studies, it focuses largely on the pop and rock generation of polio survivors – the children and young people from the 1940s and 1950s who were among the last to contract the disease prior to the successful introduction of mass vaccination programmes (in the West). These include Neil Young, Steve Harley, Joni Mitchell, and Israel Vibration. The article then looks in detail at the work of Ian Dury, who was for a while the highest profile visibly physically disabled pop artist in Britain, and who produced a compelling body of works exploring the experiences of disability.

This article looks at the popular music industry in Singapore and argues that there exists a ‘cultural cringe’ for domestic English-language music, which is considered as inferior to English-language music from Western countries. Singaporean consumers of popular music use the English language as a signifier of authenticity and consequently quality of musicians. Local musicians are deemed ‘inauthentic’ because consumers perceive the local variant of English spoken in Singapore is inferior to other variants of English spoken in Western countries. There is thus an underlying sub-text of an inferiority complex coming out of the post-colonial experience that effectively diminishes the possibility of success as English-language musicians. Yet, such a phenomenon is not observed in the vernacular Malay and Chinese-language music industries. In the final analysis, this article suggests that modernisation and modernity for Singapore is neither completely localised nor completely imposed: there exists a negotiation in the popular cultural sphere based on historical (colonial) baggage.

In this article we examine the relatively new use of disability as a marketing device in pop music. Our analysis makes specific reference to how the career of Ian Curtis and Joy Division has become overshadowed by his epilepsy, depression and subsequent suicide, with comparison between early press and promotional materials from 1979–1980 and more recent materials created to promote reissues and films about Curtis. It also references other relevant individuals from the pop music sphere and marketing campaigns created around them that ignore or highlight issues of disability.

Using these examples, we examine the ways in which messages about disability are packaged and presented within pop marketing discourses and discuss the issue of ‘acceptable’ and ‘unacceptable’ disability identities in pop, which have been created through a largely marketing-driven discourse. Finally, we briefly explore how the deployment of ‘disabled’ identities impacts on the musicians so identified, as opposed to on the sales of products.

‘Alternative’ publications challenge the conventional discourses of rock journalism. In particular, the dominant discourses of authenticity, masculinity and mythology might be countered by publications that emphasise historical and (sub)cultural framing, and that present radicalised ‘spaces of listening’. Using Bourdieu’s field theory to identify autonomous and semi-autonomous sites for rock criticism, the paper compares how a fanzine (the Sound Projector) and what Frith has termed an ideological magazine (the Wire) construct their reviews. The findings suggest that, whilst there is no evidence for an absolute break with the dominant conventions of reviewing, there is a remarkable polyglottism in alternative music reviewing. The paper emphasises differing cultural and social practices in the multiple ways the publications write about music, and argues for the value of such polyglottism.

Disability culture is a site within which social and positional identities are struggled for and dominant discourses rejected; in which mainstream representations of people with impairments – as victims of personal tragedy – are held to the light and revealed as hegemonic constructions within a disabling society. Drawing upon styles that range from jazz, blues and folk to reggae, performance poetry and punk, disabled singers and bands in the Disability Arts Movement in Britain have been central to the development of an affirmative disability discourse rooted in ideas of pride, anger and strength. Examining lyrics by Johnny Crescendo, Ian Stanton and the Fugertivs – performers emerging as part of this movement in the 1980s and 1990s – this article considers the dark humour which runs through much of this work. It is suggested that these lyrics' observational reflections on everyday experiences of being oppressed as disabled people have been overlooked within critical disability studies to date, but are important in developing an understanding of positive disability identity as a tool available to disabled people in order to make sense of, and express themselves within, the world in which they find themselves.

This article examines the cultural biases embedded in critiques of Mandopop (Mandarin Chinese pop music). Contemporary commercialised Mandopop is generally recognised as beginning around 1980, drawing on musical traditions from the early twentieth century. In the 1980s and early 1990s, Taiwan’s popular music swept across China and many in the PRC government reacted to the values embedded in Taiwan’s lyrics with mistrust and disdain, expressing a fear that Taiwan and Hong Kong’s cultural incursion would result in the PRC’s loss of national identity. On the other side of the strait, people in Taiwan complained of Mandopop’s fast pace and changing nature and linked this to similar trends in Taiwan’s society. More recently, several of Taiwan’s scholars have critiqued Mandopop for promoting patriarchal gender roles, and English language publications complain of a lack of individualism in that songs are produced in teams of composers, lyricists and performers. I examine the cultural contexts of these critiques in order to come to a better understanding of the most popular Chinese language music in the world.

During the early 1970s the American songwriter, musician and producer Van Dyke Parks completed work on a series of albums exploring the musical contours of the circum-Caribbean region and, through them, broader patterns and issues in twentieth-century US–Caribbean relations. Focusing on the connections between the United States and the (former) British colony of Trinidad and Tobago as articulated via the latter's calypso and steel band traditions, these recordings (two solo albums and two productions) not only explore the grammar, vocabulary and subject matter of a new world music before the phrase ‘world music’ was conceived; they also invite a range of scholarly interpretations. Drawing on a selection of theoretical concepts – notably cultural imperialism, the Black Atlantic, minstrelsy, and world music itself – this article offers a set of formalist and contextualist readings intended to rehearse Parks' Caribbean work as both a case study in (and a challenge to aspects of) the inter-disciplinary analysis of popular music.

This paper focuses on the musical discourse of nostalgia evidenced in the songs of Dana International, an Israeli transsexual singer who took First Prize in the 1998 Eurovision Song Contest. It is organised around several songs featuring various compositional strategies, beginning with remakes of older songs and leading into new ones. Through quotation of music and/or lyrics, and the alteration and departure from the original, Dana premiers, transforms and renews songs in a way unique to her: she forces the audience to rethink what is natural and what is historically constructed, blurs distinctions between the sexes, past and present, the national and international, and draws on nostalgia as a powerful device to unsettle and question received truths. Her songs often mock and parody the masculinist, nationalist myths of mainstream Israeli culture, exposing the ideology of its artefacts. By promoting various types of blending, Dana challenges the notion of fixed borders. Despite the musical surface of popular song, which sounds international and without specific identity, the deep structures of these songs are in fact very much about complex questions of identity.

This paper examines the recent historical trajectory of the idea of citizenship in Brazil through the perspective of Tom Zé, a composer and musician noted for his juxtaposition of avant-garde poetics and popular music. My study begins with his participation in the watershed Tropicália movement of the 1960s, focusing on his critique of consumer society and its implications for popular citizenship. In the early 1970s, the figure of the bourgeois citizen, or senhor cidadão, appears in his work as a caustic critique of those who benefited most from the expansion of capitalism during the period of authoritarian rule. With the re-emergence of civil society and redemocratisation in the 1980s, Tom Zé's work reveals a more affirmative notion of citizenship premised on the discourse of self-represenation among working-class subjects. Finally, this paper discusses Tom Zé's most recent work and its contribution to insurgent forms of citizenship in contemporary Brazil involving historically marginalised and impoverished urban communities within the context of neo-liberal globalisation.