Pub Date : 2022-08-01DOI: 10.1017/s1752196322000244
Kwami Coleman
Ornette Coleman (1930–2015) and seven other musicians participated in a recording session on a cold December day in 1960 for Atlantic Records that was released as Free Jazz: A Collective Improvisation. That album title and the experimental, heterophonic group improvisation that comprised the nearly 38-minute performance, became the metonym for Coleman’s entire creative practice—and that of other experimentalists—for decades to come, forever casting him and subsequent “free jazz” musicians as abdicators of stylistic conventions and harmonic rules. Coleman, and what music journalists in the 1960s called “the new thing,” are now understood by students of jazz history as either an alternative branch or a break away from the jazz tradition. That purported “break,” however, was created in a fraught political moment. When Coleman moved in 1959 from Los Angeles to New York City (where his professional career took off), protests were erupting all around the country to demand full citizenship and civil rights for African Americans— a cause that overlapped with a burgeoning youth-led movement against the status quo. He arrived in town for an infamous weeks-long run at the Five Spot Café, a well-known club in Manhattan’s East Village, and it was that string of gigs (effectively a residency) that attracted influential figures in the New York music industry, from Leonard Bernstein to Miles Davis. The music he played there was experimental, and the sound of his piano-less quartet and white plastic alto saxophone convinced local journalists that a “new thing” in jazz had indeed arrived, but not that it—or Coleman himself—were “serious,” or capable musicians. Nevertheless, he became an emblem of the jazz avant-garde in the 1960s and, as the decade progressed, some music journalists suspected that this more experimental improvised sound was a kind of protest music. Though he did not have the same angry Black musician reputation as Cecil Taylor or Archie Shepp, the almost exclusively white-male field of music journalism in the 1960s debated Coleman’s unique instrumental tone and improvisational style, and some critics and musicians openly doubted whether he and those in his groups were legitimate players. However, after succeeding in Europe and receiving a Guggenheim grant in 1967, Ornette Coleman became regarded worldwide as an eccentric—probably genius—and unmistakably idiosyncratic musical force. Maria Golia’s recent monograph of Coleman makes a subtle yet powerful intervention into the reputation of eccentricity and subversion that follows his legacy today, 7 years after his death. He is an iconoclast to be sure, but one who was more of an explorer than an insurgent; someone committed to a journey of musical imagination and possibility that took him to the far reaches of his own creative vision and also into the grasp of unsuspecting and uninitiated listeners. For Golia, Coleman the artist cannot be separated from Coleman the Texan, so the narrative arc of her
{"title":"Ornette Coleman: The Territory and the Adventure By Maria Golia. London: Reaktion Books, 2020.","authors":"Kwami Coleman","doi":"10.1017/s1752196322000244","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/s1752196322000244","url":null,"abstract":"Ornette Coleman (1930–2015) and seven other musicians participated in a recording session on a cold December day in 1960 for Atlantic Records that was released as Free Jazz: A Collective Improvisation. That album title and the experimental, heterophonic group improvisation that comprised the nearly 38-minute performance, became the metonym for Coleman’s entire creative practice—and that of other experimentalists—for decades to come, forever casting him and subsequent “free jazz” musicians as abdicators of stylistic conventions and harmonic rules. Coleman, and what music journalists in the 1960s called “the new thing,” are now understood by students of jazz history as either an alternative branch or a break away from the jazz tradition. That purported “break,” however, was created in a fraught political moment. When Coleman moved in 1959 from Los Angeles to New York City (where his professional career took off), protests were erupting all around the country to demand full citizenship and civil rights for African Americans— a cause that overlapped with a burgeoning youth-led movement against the status quo. He arrived in town for an infamous weeks-long run at the Five Spot Café, a well-known club in Manhattan’s East Village, and it was that string of gigs (effectively a residency) that attracted influential figures in the New York music industry, from Leonard Bernstein to Miles Davis. The music he played there was experimental, and the sound of his piano-less quartet and white plastic alto saxophone convinced local journalists that a “new thing” in jazz had indeed arrived, but not that it—or Coleman himself—were “serious,” or capable musicians. Nevertheless, he became an emblem of the jazz avant-garde in the 1960s and, as the decade progressed, some music journalists suspected that this more experimental improvised sound was a kind of protest music. Though he did not have the same angry Black musician reputation as Cecil Taylor or Archie Shepp, the almost exclusively white-male field of music journalism in the 1960s debated Coleman’s unique instrumental tone and improvisational style, and some critics and musicians openly doubted whether he and those in his groups were legitimate players. However, after succeeding in Europe and receiving a Guggenheim grant in 1967, Ornette Coleman became regarded worldwide as an eccentric—probably genius—and unmistakably idiosyncratic musical force. Maria Golia’s recent monograph of Coleman makes a subtle yet powerful intervention into the reputation of eccentricity and subversion that follows his legacy today, 7 years after his death. He is an iconoclast to be sure, but one who was more of an explorer than an insurgent; someone committed to a journey of musical imagination and possibility that took him to the far reaches of his own creative vision and also into the grasp of unsuspecting and uninitiated listeners. For Golia, Coleman the artist cannot be separated from Coleman the Texan, so the narrative arc of her ","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-08-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46096675","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-08-01DOI: 10.1017/s1752196322000268
{"title":"SAM volume 16 issue 3 Cover and Back matter","authors":"","doi":"10.1017/s1752196322000268","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/s1752196322000268","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-08-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49668427","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-08-01DOI: 10.1017/s1752196322000153
Douglas W. Shadle
{"title":"The Padrone By George Whitefield Chadwick. Edited by Marianne Betz. Music of the United States of America. Madison, WI: A-R Editions, 2017.","authors":"Douglas W. Shadle","doi":"10.1017/s1752196322000153","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/s1752196322000153","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-08-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"41555422","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-08-01DOI: 10.1017/s1752196322000219
A. Mcgraw
{"title":"American Gamelan and the Ethnomusicological Imagination By Elizabeth A. Clendinning. Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2020.","authors":"A. Mcgraw","doi":"10.1017/s1752196322000219","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/s1752196322000219","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-08-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"44565048","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-08-01DOI: 10.1017/S1752196322000165
Alexandra Krawetz
Abstract Amid nationwide discussion on the importance of accident prevention and safety education, Tin Pan Alley songwriters Irving Caesar and Gerald Marks wrote and advertised Sing a Song of Safety (1937), a book of songs that taught children domestic, playtime, and traffic safety lessons, illustrated by Rose O'Neill. Caesar secured a recurring guest segment to perform the songs on the variety program The Royal Gelatin Hour in 1938. Focusing on Caesar's segments, this article examines the role of children's music on the radio in the 1930s. Placing these songs in their historical context, I show how they both portray and challenge citizenship and community roles with regard to age, gender, and race. After unpacking the context of The Royal Gelatin Hour and the relationship between protection and innocence in safety education, I describe the portrayal of parenting in the segments. Taking one of Caesar's segments as a case study, I examine boyhood and race in the program's adaption of the safety patrol. By investigating the role of children and the construction of childhood in these initiatives, this paper addresses the relationship between children and media and early uses of media as a surrogate for parenting. It examines the use of popular culture in public safety efforts, the synergy of and tensions between service and profit, and the use of music to convey societal duties in everyday life as they shift throughout the life course.
{"title":"Sell a Song of Safety: Children, Radio, and the Safety Patrol","authors":"Alexandra Krawetz","doi":"10.1017/S1752196322000165","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/S1752196322000165","url":null,"abstract":"Abstract Amid nationwide discussion on the importance of accident prevention and safety education, Tin Pan Alley songwriters Irving Caesar and Gerald Marks wrote and advertised Sing a Song of Safety (1937), a book of songs that taught children domestic, playtime, and traffic safety lessons, illustrated by Rose O'Neill. Caesar secured a recurring guest segment to perform the songs on the variety program The Royal Gelatin Hour in 1938. Focusing on Caesar's segments, this article examines the role of children's music on the radio in the 1930s. Placing these songs in their historical context, I show how they both portray and challenge citizenship and community roles with regard to age, gender, and race. After unpacking the context of The Royal Gelatin Hour and the relationship between protection and innocence in safety education, I describe the portrayal of parenting in the segments. Taking one of Caesar's segments as a case study, I examine boyhood and race in the program's adaption of the safety patrol. By investigating the role of children and the construction of childhood in these initiatives, this paper addresses the relationship between children and media and early uses of media as a surrogate for parenting. It examines the use of popular culture in public safety efforts, the synergy of and tensions between service and profit, and the use of music to convey societal duties in everyday life as they shift throughout the life course.","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-08-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45780628","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-07-13DOI: 10.1017/S1752196322000190
Liz Davis
Abstract In 2015, musician and non-profit director Isaías Gamboa and filmmaker Lee Butler sued The Richmond Organization (TRO) and its offshoot Ludlow Music over their copyright to the anthem of the civil rights movement, “We Shall Overcome.” The copyright had initially been registered in 1960 and named four white folksingers: Guy Carawan, Frank Hamilton, Zilphia Horton, and Pete Seeger. Suspicious of the white names on the copyright, Gamboa wanted to liberate the song from what appeared to be corporate control. The suit was ultimately successful and the song was placed in the public domain. However, while Gamboa and Butler celebrated their win in a Manhattan court, activists across the South took it as a loss. Although overseen by TRO and Ludlow, the copyright's royalties had long gone to the Highlander Research and Education Center (formerly The Highlander Folk School), a pre-eminent and decades-old grassroots organizing hub best known for its work with such icons as Rosa Parks, Septima Clark, and Dr. Martin Luther King. The money was housed there in the We Shall Overcome Fund, which had been created by cultural workers of the civil rights movement in collaboration with those named on the copyright to facilitate the redistribution of royalties to Black artist-activists across the South. Far from facilitating theft, the copyright had strategically scaffolded Black-led community organizing for nearly 60 years. This article traces the history and work of this remarkable effort to turn the civil rights movement's anthem into its most lasting cultural tool.
{"title":"All Rights Reserved: Behind the Strategic Copyright of “We Shall Overcome”","authors":"Liz Davis","doi":"10.1017/S1752196322000190","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/S1752196322000190","url":null,"abstract":"Abstract In 2015, musician and non-profit director Isaías Gamboa and filmmaker Lee Butler sued The Richmond Organization (TRO) and its offshoot Ludlow Music over their copyright to the anthem of the civil rights movement, “We Shall Overcome.” The copyright had initially been registered in 1960 and named four white folksingers: Guy Carawan, Frank Hamilton, Zilphia Horton, and Pete Seeger. Suspicious of the white names on the copyright, Gamboa wanted to liberate the song from what appeared to be corporate control. The suit was ultimately successful and the song was placed in the public domain. However, while Gamboa and Butler celebrated their win in a Manhattan court, activists across the South took it as a loss. Although overseen by TRO and Ludlow, the copyright's royalties had long gone to the Highlander Research and Education Center (formerly The Highlander Folk School), a pre-eminent and decades-old grassroots organizing hub best known for its work with such icons as Rosa Parks, Septima Clark, and Dr. Martin Luther King. The money was housed there in the We Shall Overcome Fund, which had been created by cultural workers of the civil rights movement in collaboration with those named on the copyright to facilitate the redistribution of royalties to Black artist-activists across the South. Far from facilitating theft, the copyright had strategically scaffolded Black-led community organizing for nearly 60 years. This article traces the history and work of this remarkable effort to turn the civil rights movement's anthem into its most lasting cultural tool.","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-07-13","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43428232","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-07-08DOI: 10.1017/S1752196322000189
Leta E. Miller
Abstract The Century Club of California (CCC), founded in 1888, was San Francisco's most prestigious women's club in the early twentieth century. The club's aim was to promote intellectual growth and amplify female voices to help women enter the public domain with confidence. Weekly presentations featured renowned public figures and women who had achieved success in traditionally male fields. Rather than raising money for benevolent organizations, the CCC aimed to effect foundational social changes by informing women of the latest developments in all fields, thus empowering them to engage in political and social activism. Music played a critical role in furthering this ambitious goal; it had its own programming committee, which operated on an equal basis with those devoted to art, science, education, and current events. This article, based on the club's extensive collection of unpublished materials, looks at the CCC's first three decades, when the club promoted “the art of forceful speech” through modeling of successful women, providing opportunities for members to project their musical voices, elucidating new musical research, and supporting organizations such as the all-female Saturday Morning Orchestra. The CCC's activities underscore the significant role female musicians played in advancing the New Woman movement of the time.
加州世纪俱乐部(Century Club of California, CCC)成立于1888年，是20世纪初旧金山最负盛名的女子俱乐部。该俱乐部的宗旨是促进智力发展，扩大女性的声音，帮助女性自信地进入公共领域。每周的演讲都有著名的公众人物和在传统的男性领域取得成功的女性。CCC的目标不是为慈善组织筹款，而是通过让女性了解各个领域的最新发展，从而使她们能够参与政治和社会活动，从而实现根本性的社会变革。音乐在实现这一宏伟目标的过程中发挥了关键作用;它有自己的节目编制委员会，与那些致力于艺术、科学、教育和时事的委员会在平等的基础上运作。本文基于该俱乐部大量未发表的材料，回顾了该俱乐部成立的前三十年，当时该俱乐部通过塑造成功女性的形象，为成员提供展示音乐声音的机会，阐明新的音乐研究，并支持全女性周六早晨管弦乐团等组织，来推广“有力演讲的艺术”。音乐中心的活动强调了女性音乐家在推动当时的新女性运动中所起的重要作用。
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Pub Date : 2022-07-04DOI: 10.1017/s1752196322000232
Julianne Grasso
In 2005, game developer Harmonix rose to prominence in North America after releasing Guitar Hero. Guitar Hero allowed players to emulate live performance as the guitarist or bassist in a virtual rock band. Part of the draw of the game was its method of interaction: Instead of using the standard hand-held controller with a few buttons and a joystick, Guitar Hero used a nearly full-sized plastic guitar, with buttons placed along its neck as frets and a toggling lever on its body to imitate a strummable string. Successive variations on this game (most notably Rock Band [Harmonix, 2007] and its successors) added a microphone, plastic drum kit, and miniature keyboard, filling out this band simulation. In 2010, the game DJ Hero (FreeStyle Games, 2010) was developed as a spin-off of the Guitar Hero franchise and featured a turntable controller to simulate the remix and mashup possibilities of DJ turntablism. These games—which defined a new rhythm game genre premised on the simulation of a musical performance—were commercially and critically successful. However their popularity soon waned in the 2010s. Shared-space multiplayer gaming, the primary mode of play in these sorts of games, was more or less overtaken by online multiplayer gaming, and the significant added cost of those instrument controllers was a barrier to entry for many players. Harmonix and others nonetheless continued to develop games in the genre of music performance. In 2017, Harmonix partnered with Hasbro to capitalize on the mobile market with the game DropMix, which used physical chip-embedded cards as songs that could be scanned by a mobile device to create musical mashups. In 2020, Harmonix developed this mashup idea further into a full game, releasing their DJ Hero-style game, Fuser. Unlike prior titles, Fuser requires no additional physical objects—the game and all of its component songs and upgrades can be downloaded directly. Moreover as it is available on Windows PC, Nintendo Switch, PlayStation 4, and Xbox One, it is the most accessible major music performance game to date. Fuser lets the player become a DJ. In the main single-player “campaign,” players perform musical sets to increasingly discerning audiences at different festival-style venues. With a virtual turntable overlaid on the screen, the player “drops” discs that contain the instrumental or vocal tracks isolated from a variety of popular songs spanning several decades. For example, the player can hit one button to drop the percussion from 50 Cent’s “In Da Club,” another to add on the bass from Billie Eilish’s “bad guy,” another for the strings from Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” and then yet another to layer on the vocals from Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.” Players can also add filter effects and digital instruments atop these mixes, increasing the possibilities for musical creativity. Importantly, the game—not the player—does the work of synching the tempo and key of any track that the
2005年，游戏开发商Harmonix因发行《吉他英雄》而在北美声名鹊起。《吉他英雄》允许玩家在虚拟摇滚乐队中模仿吉他手或贝斯手的现场表演。这款游戏的部分吸引力在于它的互动方式:它没有使用带有几个按钮和操纵杆的标准手持控制器，而是使用了一把几乎全尺寸的塑料吉他，吉他的琴颈上放置了按钮，琴身上有一个切换杆，模仿可拨动的琴弦。这款游戏的后续版本(游戏邦注:最著名的是《摇滚乐队》及其后继者)添加了麦克风、塑料鼓包和微型键盘，以充实乐队模拟。2010年，游戏《DJ Hero》(FreeStyle Games, 2010)作为《吉他英雄》系列游戏的衍生产品被开发出来，并突出了一个转盘控制器来模拟DJ转盘的混音和混搭可能性。这些以模拟音乐表演为前提的游戏定义了一种新的节奏游戏类型，在商业和评论界都取得了成功。然而，在2010年代，它们的受欢迎程度很快下降。共享空间多人游戏，这类游戏的主要玩法模式，或多或少被在线多人游戏所取代，而这些仪器控制器的显著增加成本成为许多玩家进入这类游戏的障碍。尽管如此，Harmonix等公司仍在继续开发音乐表演题材的游戏。2017年，Harmonix与孩之宝(Hasbro)合作，利用移动市场开发了游戏DropMix，该游戏使用物理芯片嵌入卡作为歌曲，可以被移动设备扫描，以创建音乐混搭。2020年，Harmonix将这种混搭理念进一步发展成一款完整的游戏，发布了他们的DJ英雄风格游戏《Fuser》。与之前的游戏不同，《Fuser》不需要额外的物理对象——游戏及其所有组件歌曲和升级都可以直接下载。此外，由于它可以在Windows PC，任天堂Switch, PlayStation 4和Xbox One上使用，它是迄今为止最容易访问的主要音乐表演游戏。《Fuser》让玩家成为DJ。在主要的单人“战役”中，玩家在不同的节日风格的场地向越来越挑剔的观众表演音乐。屏幕上有一个虚拟的唱机转盘，播放器可以“放下”包含几十年来各种流行歌曲中分离出来的器乐或人声曲目的光盘。例如，玩家可以按下一个按钮来放下50 Cent的《In Da Club》中的打击乐，按下另一个按钮来加入Billie Eilish的《bad guy》中的贝斯，按下另一个按钮来加入Rick Astley的《Never Gonna Give You Up》中的弦乐，再按下另一个按钮来加入Otis Redding的《the Dock of the Bay》中的人声。玩家还可以在这些混音上添加滤镜效果和数字乐器，增加音乐创造力的可能性。重要的是，游戏(而不是玩家)会同步玩家想要使用的任何音轨的节奏和键。这种同步工作相当好，除了偶尔令人难以忍受的缓慢或调性尴尬的换位。考虑到这款游戏是一款混搭式的应用，《Fuser》非常有趣。作为一名DJ，我的目标是创作出一些经过深思熟虑的歌曲混合，这些歌曲可能会很好地搭配在一起，但后来我发现自己仍然会因为按错按钮而产生偶然的混合。由于节奏和键是由游戏控制的，所以很难做出听起来很糟糕的东西
{"title":"Fuser. Harmonix. Windows PC, Nintendo Switch, PlayStation 4, and Xbox One. 2020","authors":"Julianne Grasso","doi":"10.1017/s1752196322000232","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/s1752196322000232","url":null,"abstract":"In 2005, game developer Harmonix rose to prominence in North America after releasing Guitar Hero. Guitar Hero allowed players to emulate live performance as the guitarist or bassist in a virtual rock band. Part of the draw of the game was its method of interaction: Instead of using the standard hand-held controller with a few buttons and a joystick, Guitar Hero used a nearly full-sized plastic guitar, with buttons placed along its neck as frets and a toggling lever on its body to imitate a strummable string. Successive variations on this game (most notably Rock Band [Harmonix, 2007] and its successors) added a microphone, plastic drum kit, and miniature keyboard, filling out this band simulation. In 2010, the game DJ Hero (FreeStyle Games, 2010) was developed as a spin-off of the Guitar Hero franchise and featured a turntable controller to simulate the remix and mashup possibilities of DJ turntablism. These games—which defined a new rhythm game genre premised on the simulation of a musical performance—were commercially and critically successful. However their popularity soon waned in the 2010s. Shared-space multiplayer gaming, the primary mode of play in these sorts of games, was more or less overtaken by online multiplayer gaming, and the significant added cost of those instrument controllers was a barrier to entry for many players. Harmonix and others nonetheless continued to develop games in the genre of music performance. In 2017, Harmonix partnered with Hasbro to capitalize on the mobile market with the game DropMix, which used physical chip-embedded cards as songs that could be scanned by a mobile device to create musical mashups. In 2020, Harmonix developed this mashup idea further into a full game, releasing their DJ Hero-style game, Fuser. Unlike prior titles, Fuser requires no additional physical objects—the game and all of its component songs and upgrades can be downloaded directly. Moreover as it is available on Windows PC, Nintendo Switch, PlayStation 4, and Xbox One, it is the most accessible major music performance game to date. Fuser lets the player become a DJ. In the main single-player “campaign,” players perform musical sets to increasingly discerning audiences at different festival-style venues. With a virtual turntable overlaid on the screen, the player “drops” discs that contain the instrumental or vocal tracks isolated from a variety of popular songs spanning several decades. For example, the player can hit one button to drop the percussion from 50 Cent’s “In Da Club,” another to add on the bass from Billie Eilish’s “bad guy,” another for the strings from Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” and then yet another to layer on the vocals from Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.” Players can also add filter effects and digital instruments atop these mixes, increasing the possibilities for musical creativity. Importantly, the game—not the player—does the work of synching the tempo and key of any track that the ","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-07-04","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48820308","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-06-20DOI: 10.1017/S1752196322000177
Kelli Smith-Biwer
Abstract Advertisements for audio equipment in midcentury magazines, such as High Fidelity and HiFi Review, shaped the constructions that determined how masculinity was modeled, embodied, and fashioned in the United States at midcentury. A hi-fi setup was a material expression of self and masculinity that could be ever tweaked, refashioned, and adjusted. Tonearms, however, were (and still are) delicate, troublesome, and, when improperly calibrated, capable of destroying record grooves. Manufacturers, advertisers, and magazine contributors who strategically gendered other technologies as masculine—such as amplifiers and speakers—struggled to imbue tonearms with the same virility, toughness, and power. If the hi-fi system served as an embodied simulacrum of the masculine self, then the tonearm was a necessary and omni-present symbolic point of gendered questioning in masculine identity formation. In this article, I argue that the tonearm is a site of fluidity and ambiguity within a modular masculine system, and I demonstrate that the discourses around tonearms in 1950s hi-fi magazines provide an alternative window into discussions of gender and sexuality in United States print culture. Through image analysis and close reading of advertisements and equipment reviews, I decentralize hegemonic masculinity and make room for readings that draw upon feminist and queer theory. More broadly, I submit that mid-twentieth-century hi-fi discourses do not produce a single brand of anxiously conforming maleness, but rather an array of modular masculinities.
{"title":"“The Silent Partner”: Tonearms and Modular Masculinities in U.S. Midcentury Hi-Fi Culture","authors":"Kelli Smith-Biwer","doi":"10.1017/S1752196322000177","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/S1752196322000177","url":null,"abstract":"Abstract Advertisements for audio equipment in midcentury magazines, such as High Fidelity and HiFi Review, shaped the constructions that determined how masculinity was modeled, embodied, and fashioned in the United States at midcentury. A hi-fi setup was a material expression of self and masculinity that could be ever tweaked, refashioned, and adjusted. Tonearms, however, were (and still are) delicate, troublesome, and, when improperly calibrated, capable of destroying record grooves. Manufacturers, advertisers, and magazine contributors who strategically gendered other technologies as masculine—such as amplifiers and speakers—struggled to imbue tonearms with the same virility, toughness, and power. If the hi-fi system served as an embodied simulacrum of the masculine self, then the tonearm was a necessary and omni-present symbolic point of gendered questioning in masculine identity formation. In this article, I argue that the tonearm is a site of fluidity and ambiguity within a modular masculine system, and I demonstrate that the discourses around tonearms in 1950s hi-fi magazines provide an alternative window into discussions of gender and sexuality in United States print culture. Through image analysis and close reading of advertisements and equipment reviews, I decentralize hegemonic masculinity and make room for readings that draw upon feminist and queer theory. More broadly, I submit that mid-twentieth-century hi-fi discourses do not produce a single brand of anxiously conforming maleness, but rather an array of modular masculinities.","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-06-20","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45180564","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-05-01DOI: 10.1017/S1752196322000128
{"title":"SAM volume 16 issue 2 Cover and Back matter","authors":"","doi":"10.1017/S1752196322000128","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1017/S1752196322000128","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42557,"journal":{"name":"Journal of the Society for American Music","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.4,"publicationDate":"2022-05-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42372358","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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