International discourse on Yaogun Yinyue (mainland Chinese rock music) has been coloured by the early identification of Chinese rock ‘n’ roll with the aborted student democracy movement of the late 1980s. This has led to a simplistic valourisation of Western representations of rock rebellion by the global mass media, characterised by a lack of awareness of changing social circumstances within the People's Republic of China over the past decade. Originally, Yaogun Yinyue did indeed share a generational root with student radicals who expressed frustration with the severely limited life choices in a Chinese Communist Party (CCP) controlled state. However, in response to the periodic political crackdowns during the post-Tiananmen massacre era, most current mainland rock musicians have consciously avoided rhetoric which might lead to unhealthy repercussions for their careers. ‘Empathetic’ Western rock critics may be disillusioned to learn that recently many Chinese rock musicians not only reject popular reifications of rock ‘n’ roll but also express vehemently anti-foreign sentiments (Barme 1996, p. 202). Historical Sino-Western antagonisms have combined with individual resentments of foreign record companies' exploitative practices to create genuine suspicion about the West as a cultural and economic hegemon. This article offers a social and historical analysis in an attempt to reframe the meanings of Chinese rock as cultural product.

While the notion of the ‘rock revolution’ of the 1960s has by now become commonplace, scholars have rarely addressed the racial implications of this purported revolution. This article examines a notorious 1968 blackface performance by Grace Slick, lead singer of Jefferson Airplane, to shed light on a significant tendency in 1960s rock: white musicians casting themselves as political revolutionaries by enacting an idealised vision of African American identity. Rock, a form dominated by white musicians and audiences but pervasively influenced by black music and style, conveyed deeply felt but inconsistent notions of black identity in which African Americans were simultaneously subjected to insensitive stereotypes and upheld as examples of moral authority and revolutionary authenticity. Jefferson Airplane's references to black culture and politics were multifaceted and involved both condescending or naïve radical posturing and sincere respect for African American music. The Airplane appear to have been engaged in a complex if imperfect attempt to create a contemporary musical form that reflected African American influences without asserting dominance over those influences. Their example suggests that closer attention to racial issues allows us to address the revolutionary ambitions of 1960s rock without romanticising or trivialising them.

One evening in Leeds, in about 1913, the young J.B. Priestley had a brush with modernity:

… hot and astonished in the Empire, we discovered ragtime … It was as if we had been still living in the nineteenth century and then suddenly found the twentieth glaring and screaming at us. We were yanked into our own age, fascinating, jungle-haunted, monstrous … Out of these twenty noisy minutes in a music hall, so long ago, came fragmentary but prophetic outlines of the situation in which we find ourselves now, the menace to old Europe, the domination of America, the emergence of Africa, the end of confidence and any feeling of security, the nervous excitement, the frenzy, the underlying despair of our century … here was something new, strange, curiously disturbing … (Priestley 1962, pp. 66–7)

Most of the existing literature on metal approaches the subject from a sociological, anthropological or historical perspective, dedicating more attention to the surrounding musical (sub)cultures and their transformations than to the songs and music itself. This essay addresses this gap in recent metal scholarship by examining issues of sound, text and identity in one of the most influential and popular metal bands of the post-grunge era, Korn. I interpret possible meanings within ‘Hey Daddy’, a track from Issues (1999), based on the relationships among the music, both as pitch and sound/timbre, and the text. In addition, I explore different processes of identification, offering an assessment of identification in the genre of metal and challenges in respect to listener identity in ‘Hey Daddy’.

The trend in popular culture away from idealising mature, strong ‘men’ in favour of young, androgynous ‘boys’ can in part be traced to how pop music impresarios such as Lou Pearlman present sexuality to their huge market of young listeners. During their time under the management of Wright Stuff, 1996–1998, the Backstreet Boys were the most popular manufactured boyband in the world, and as such influenced the sexual development of millions of young women and men. This paper examines how, during this period, the presentation and marketing of the Backstreet Boys, and their youngest member Nick Carter in particular, encouraged queer readings, and how those subtle queer subtexts in the music and videos may have affected their (mostly) young, uncritical audience.

In this article we report some findings of our research into the inter-relationship of social and musical change among Jewish Oriental ethnic groups in Israel. This research is based on a broad approach to the ethnomusicological study of change which can be conceived as follows: the ethnomusicological study of musical change endeavours to analyse musicologically significant processes of change in terms of anthropologically or sociologically significant variables. This approach resembles that of J. Blacking who argued that ‘… we must “explain music and music-making with reference to the social, but in terms of the musical”’ (quoted in Kaeppler 1983, p. 359).

The analysis presented in this paper is one result of my interest in embodiment, and its potential role in the semiotic analysis of popular music. In cultural studies and symbolic anthropology, theorists often read the body as a carrier of codes, a surface for the inscription and negotiation of meaning. In popular music studies, this viewpoint often appears in fairly simple ways, and it also sometimes appears in a more subtle fashion. Richard Middleton, for example, considers the body both as a code-bearing surface, and as the ground for musical feeling, exploring how embodied experiences generate and interact with other levels of code (Middleton 1990, 1993). Similar things are done by Frith (1996), Walser (1993), Brackett 1995), and others.

Since its emergence in the early 1970s, glam rock has been theoretically categorised as a moment in British popular culture in which essentialist ideas about male gendered identity were rendered problematic for a popular music audience. Drawing on a Bourdieusian theoretical framework, the article argues that while this reading of glam is valid, insufficient attention has been given to an examination of the relevance of educational capital vis-à-vis the construction of self-identity in relation to glam. It is therefore concerned with raising questions about social class in addition to interrogating questions of gender. The article draws on the ethno-biographies of a sample of glam's original working class male fans: original interviews with musicians and writers associated with glam, as well as published biographical accounts. In doing so it contends that glam's political significance is better understood as a moment in popular culture in which an educationally aspirant section of the male working-class sought to express its difference by identifying with the self-conscious performance of a more feminised masculinity it located in glam.

This article looks at a particular moment in the relation between popular music and social protest, focusing on the traditional (trad) jazz scene of the 1950s in Britain. The research has a number of aims. One is to reconsider a cultural form dismissed, even despised by critics. Another is to contribute to the political project of cultural studies, via the uncomplicated strategy of focusing on music that accompanies political activism. Here the article employs material from a number of personal interviews with activists, musicians, fans from the time, focusing on the political development of the New Orleans-style parade band in Britain, which is presented as a leftist marching music of the streets. The article also seeks to shift the balance slightly in the study of a social movement organisation (the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, CND), from considering it in terms of its ‘official’ history towards its cultural contribution, even innovation. Finally, the article looks at neglected questions around Americanisation and jazz music, with particular reference to power and the past.

This article proposes that the recent history of the live solo multi-instrumentalist, more conventionally known as the ‘one-man band’, might serve as a useful window onto broader transformations in postmodern culture. If the one-person band has historically been understood as a humorous, culturally devalued phenomenon, with its practitioners occupying marginal race and class positions, the recent visibility of solo multi-instrumentalism in indie and experimental rock attests to its altered status in contemporary culture. The present discussion situates the shifting fortunes of the one-person band in relation to the contemporary hegemony of neoliberal conceptions of subjectivity. In their performance of nimble, flexible and omni-competent self-reliance, artists such as Theresa Andersson, Robert Fripp and Andrew Bird model some of the key qualities idealised by theorists of a free-market ‘entrepreneurial selfhood’.

The purpose here is at once simple and complex – to show that both academic and popular perceptions of the origins of jazz are wide of the mark, though still sustained by both scholarly and musical communities. On a very general level jazz is construed as a quintessentially Afro—American music form that originated in widely disparate locales across the United States at roughly the same time, and perhaps the only indigenous American art form of world significance. My purpose is not to challenge this vague characterisation in all its particulars, but to elaborate upon a query occasionally broached in social history, namely – what kind of society could have produced the phenomenon of pre-recorded jazz music? I shall suggest that in its early stages, during the late nineteenth century, jazz could not be accurately characterised as even ‘American’.

Robert Johnson (1911–1938) is the most venerated of all pre-war blues musicians; the veneration borders on hagiography. Recently published revisionist literature has constructed a sociologically realistic portrayal of a professional musician working among other musicians for a contemporary audience in a specific historical context. This has left unexplained, however, the veneration granted to his music by the audience for his records from the 1960s to today. This paper presents the case that these two bodies of fact can be connected and the one serve as an explanation for the other. As Robert Johnson learned his craft from records and radio, and polished his songs to be recorded, he effectively developed a ‘for-the-record’ aesthetic that made his music sound different to that of his Delta contemporaries and many others who used musical techniques honed in performance for an audience. Decades later, when a ‘for-the-record’ aesthetic was the taken-for-granted standard in popular musical culture, Robert Johnson's records sounded better than those of his contemporaries, and the audience from the 1960s to today has had a reason to think that he and his music were special.

Although the canzone napoletana (Neapolitan song) is the best-known Italian popular music in the world, it is also the most misunderstood. It is mostly associated with operatic or quasi-operatic vocal styles, but all the other Neapolitan popular voices, the performance features and even the history of this musical genre are less well known. This essay in particular considers how the porous Neapolitan voice is a ‘space’ for complex negotiations between different musical styles, and how through this voice (that admits within itself the existence of other vocal styles) Neapolitan composers, musicians and singers articulate different relationships between music, history and nostalgia.

Research exploring the relationship between misogyny and music has been divided between those who argue that certain music causes, confirms or is a manifestation of misogyny. Yet this often takes for granted the link between certain genres (predominantly hip hop, rap and metal) and misogynistic 'messages'. Instead of asking what types of music might be misogynistic, this article instead asks how music is discussed amongst those who actively espouse misogynistic views. Through content analysis of 1173 posts, from 6 ‘misogynistic antifeminist movement’ (MAM) forums, it shows that whilst hip hop, rap and metal genres and artists are the most commonly mentioned, there is significant variation in terms of musical preferences and justifications. Whilst masculinist lyrics were the main reasons for music preferences, this study shows how MAM communities’ musical judgments are a confluence of sonic and extra-musical discourses which are shaped and amplified within these online communities.

The field of popular music studies has long been interested in the relationships between record labels and the music they make available to consumers. At the micro level, research on record labels provides insight into the tensions between art and commerce and those between individuals and institutions. At the macro level, this research illuminates changes in socio-economic trends, music industry structures and structural inequalities. A meta-analysis of this literature reveals an ‘indie prejudice’: a preference for (and even a bias in favour of) independent labels coupled with a dismissive approach to the study of major labels and musical mainstreams that impacts our ability, as a scholarly field, to speak with authority about the largest segments of the commercial record industries. What larger implications for our scholarship might confronting this prejudice reveal? What master narratives have structured popular music studies’ preference of independent over major record labels? In this article, I argue that the art/commerce dichotomy has remained influential, although it can have unintended and dangerous side effects if it becomes a guiding assumption.

Although canon formation has been discussed in popular music studies for over a decade, the notion of what constitutes ‘the popular music canon’ is still vague. However, considering that many scholars resent canon formation due to the negative effects canons have exerted on other academic fields, analysis of canon formation processes in popular music studies seems desirable: awareness of these processes can be a valuable tool for scholars’ assessment of how their academic choices contribute to canon formation. Based on an examination of the reception history of Queen in the popular mainstream, music criticism and academia, this article argues that a universally valid popular music canon does not exist and that canon formation in popular music is based on the same criteria as in the ‘high’ arts, i.e. transcendence, historical importance and ‘greatness’, although the latter is replaced by ‘authenticity’ in the popular music context. While canons can be theorised in various ways, a model that distinguishes between canonic strata according to listeners’ relationship to music is particularly useful as it reveals the relative importance of the three canonic criteria within different strata and how they are applied.

The French rock group Carte de Séjour rose to national fame in 1986 with their Charles Trenet cover ‘Douce France’, a North African-inflected song that provided an ironic commentary on the ties that bind Maghrebi immigrants and their descendants to France. Journalists and academics have hailed Carte de Séjour as the first example of an empowered beur music group in French popular culture, but their lack of extended success tells a different story. This article is the first full-length academic study to examine Carte de Séjour's exact contribution to French popular music and to the so-called beur and anti-racist movements of the 1980s. By questioning the common view regarding the ‘subversive’ power of French-Maghrebi artists, this article argues that Carte de Séjour's lack of success was due to their controversial representation of ‘Arabness’ in music and performance, their instrumentalisation by the Socialist Party, and their conflictual relationship with France's intellectual and political establishment at the time.

The New Zealand popular music scene has seen a series of high points in recent years. Published in 1989 were John Dix's labour of love, Stranded in Paradise, a comprehensive history of New Zealand rock'n'roll; an influential report by the Trade Development Board, supportive of the local industry; and the proceedings of a well-supported Music New Zealand Convention held in 1987 (Baysting 1989). In the late 1980s, local bands featured strongly on the charts, with Dave Dobbyn (‘Slice of Heaven’, 1986), Tex Pistol (‘The Game of Love’, 1987) and the Holiday Makers (‘Sweet Lovers’, 1988) all having number one singles. Internationally, Shona Laing (‘Glad I'm Not A Kennedy’, 1987) and Crowded House (‘Don't Dream It's Over’, 1986) broke into the American market, while in Australia many New Zealand performers gathered critical accolades and commercial success.

In 2003, Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks denounced President George W. Bush from a concert stage in London, England leading to serious career consequences for the country music trio. In response to three years of public criticism and radio boycotts, the Dixie Chicks released their single ‘Not Ready to Make Nice’, with an accompanying video critiquing the oppressive institutional power that sought to silence them. Through an analysis of music, text and images in this song, this paper explores how the Dixie Chicks responded to the backlash and regained their voice in the music industry. The paper offers a critical summary of the political incident, an interpretation of the images of symbolic containment and resistance that are prevalent in the video, and an interpretation of the musical elements in relation to the lyrics and images. Through the intersection of lyrics, music and images the Dixie Chicks create a platform of resistance to the social and institutional oppression they experienced.