While many rock artists explored the compositional possibilities of the concept album in the 1960s and 1970s, Nashville's country music community largely ignored the format. But a few artists working on the fringes of country music – and who, notably, aligned themselves with the countercultural images and attitudes of the time – did begin to experiment with the format in the first years of the 1970s. Chief among them was country songwriter and recording artist Willie Nelson who, by the dawn of the 1970s, was on the verge of breaking away from Music Row to seek more lucrative opportunities in Texas. This article explores the role that Nelson's experimentation with the concept album played in his efforts to adopt a countercultural image, develop a younger audience and challenge the hegemony of the country music industry. Moreover, close examination of Nelson's compositional approach to three albums – Yesterday's Wine (1971), Phases and Stages (1974) and Red Headed Stranger (1975) – reveals that Nelson consciously blended the singles-based approach to songwriting that predominated in 1960s and 1970s Nashville and the extended narrative and musical forms of contemporaneous rock music to create musical products that suited the needs of country radio and rock fans alike.

This article reports on a study of participants in a Weekend Warriors Program for ‘lapsed’ rock musicians in Melbourne, Australia. It observes musicians over a six-week period that included a jam session, coaching sessions and a gig (concert). It examines the learning pathways of participants and their goals and experiences alongside those of the programme organisers within the comparative context of music learning practices among young and older musicians and in the light of academic research into the midlife ageing process. A question that arises from the data is the extent to which the experience and actions of middle-aged women musicians coincides with the literature on gender in youth rock music scenes and the literature on music, ageing and gender. The article concludes that the Weekend Warriors Program draws on the learning practices that the musicians involved had adopted in their youth and which act as a catalyst for their further musical and social participation and self-directed group learning. Age appeared to create no barrier to their enjoyment or their achievements; indeed in many ways it seemed to make them less inhibited and self-conscious in realising individual objectives that were further encouraged by working within a supportive if loosely bonded group.

This special issue of Popular Music has its origins in a seminar organised at the University of Stirling in 2004. This meeting, one of a series on cultural policy, brought together researchers from a number of European countries who were asked to describe state music policy in their respective countries and to reflect on what differences, if any, such policies had made to recent national music history. As the seminar’s organisers, we were interested in a couple of issues: first, how policy approaches to popular music had changed since it first began to appear on the European political agenda in the 1970s; second, how local political and cultural conditions had affected ideas of what popular music policy could or should be.

Mainstream hip hop videos have long been known for their images of scantily clad women, extreme materialism, and misogynist and homophobic lyrics. In this article I focus on how rapper 50 Cent's masculinity is constructed and expressed through music, lyrics and images in his video ‘Candy Shop’ from 2005. This is a classically modelled hip hop video, replete with markers of hypermasculinity: fancy cars, ‘bling’, and lots of beautiful, sexually available women. Several scholars have discussed how women are exploited in videos like this and reduced to props for the male star. However, few have explored how this macho masculinity is constructed. Through a close reading of this video, using socio-musicology and audiovisual analysis as my approach, I propose that the macho masculinity presented here is threatened when the male body is on display, but 50 Cent reassures himself (and his audience) through selective framing, involving both other performers and the music.

In urbanised Britain by the nineteenth century, the long symbiosis of the oral tradition with songs transmitted at least in part through printing was turning firmly in favour of the latter. Despite this — and largely because of the welcome rediscovery of industrial folk song — our picture of popular song between 1800 and 1850 is currently dominated by music in the survival of which oral transmission has played the greater part. Even when the music we hear can be shown with any certainty to have been in circulation at that time, a major cirticism of this emphasis arises. The oral tradition is a sifting process; what survives has passed ‘the test of time’, and this can only obscure the picture.

In 1993 several of the British national newspapers published obituaries of a Liverpool schoolteacher, Alan Durband. He had been a key figure in the establishment of the Everyman Theatre in the city and he was the former head of English teaching at the Liverpool Institute, the school which is shortly to be reopened as the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts. Among Durband's students in the 1950s were Paul McCartney and George Harrison. ‘His love of the English language was infectious’, wrote one of Durband's obituarists and it is tempting to imagine a link between this enthusiasm and the lyricist who produced ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and ‘For No One’.

Popular music is sometimes discussed from a rather ethnocentric viewpoint, lacking awareness of, or not acknowledging, influences assimilated from non-Western musics, while in the field of ethnomusicology, issues such as the preservation of traditional styles (see Baumann 1992, pp. 11–15) remain important, but there is an increased interest in the processes of change and the effects of technology (see, for example, Wallis and Malm 1984). As Western and traditional styles interact, changes occur, and as Frith puts it: ‘popular music study rests on the assumption that there is no such thing as a culturally “pure” sound’ (1989, p. 3).

Until the late 1970s rock music in Poland was hidden behind many different labels, such as ‘music of a young generation’, ‘youth music’ or ‘big beat’, usually meaning something, if not pejorative, at least suspicious. Having the flavour of a forbidden fruit, genuine rock functioned quite successfully, mostly through independent circulation, not only as a specific form of art, but, first of all, as a symbol of protest against an existing political and social order (it does not matter if we call it ‘communistic’ or ‘capitalistic’); it was a symbol of independence and freedom.

Late at night, in a discotheque in a Latin American country whose political system is dominated by the military and is not particularly known for its respect for human rights, a crowd is dancing salsa, a generic term covering Caribbean dance music. The song is Willie Colón's ‘El general’. It starts with a roll of drum beats and a sarcastic description of the general getting up in the morning to put on his uniform and dictate orders to the president. A thrill of fifes follows and a stentorean shout: ‘To the right!’ The verse describes citizens as delighted not to have a free press and a dangerous democratic system with its tricky politicians. The military gazette is very enjoyable and it is reassuring to have a regime which puts men with strange ideas behind bars. In the discotheque, the crowd continues dancing. The next stanza says the general is rumoured to be about to retire: What will happen to the country and the people without him? ‘For a long time I've wanted to thank you,’ is the refrain, ‘goodbye and thank you, my general.’

From her time as a young performance poet in New York in the late 1960s to her current position as punk rock's éminence grise, Patti Smith has foregrounded the image of the poet as privileged seer. This essay seeks to read Smith's romantic impulses within the context of her activity in the Poetry Project at St Mark's Church, the pre-eminent public face of the Lower East Side poetry scene of the 1960s and 1970s. Ultimately, this essay will argue how Smith's complex negotiations between her understanding of the Poet as Visionary and the adamantly playful, diffuse and collaborative aesthetic characterising downtown New York's poetic community fed into the development of Smith's performative stance as proto-punk rock icon.

Based on ethnographic interviews, this paper examines how Japanese hip-hop DJs distinguish themselves in the global marketplace in ways that reflect on Japan's two self-images: its impenetrable uniqueness and its adeptness at assimilating other cultures (cf. Ivy, Iwabuchi). Following the autoexoticist strategies of Takemitsu and Akiyoshi, DJ Krush and Shing02 draw on Japanese uniqueness by integrating Japanese instruments (e.g. shakuhachi, shamisen, taiko), genres (biwa narrative), and aesthetics (ma, imperfection) into their works; Evis Beats takes a more parodic approach. At the DMC World Championships, Japanese DJs including DJ Kentarō have competed on the basis of eclecticism and originality in assimilating multiple sound sources. While countering the stereotype of the Japanese as imitators, this emphasis on originality may place some contestants too far from prevailing trends, putting them at a disadvantage. Both strategies imply that Japanese artists experience anxieties regarding their authenticity, necessitating strategies to differentiate themselves.

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.

This article explores the admissibility and use of rap music as evidence in English criminal trials. It presents findings from an analysis of over 30 appeal cases. As well as unpacking the link between rap, race and gangs that is prevalent in these cases, the article challenges the categorisation of rap as ‘bad character evidence’, and critiques the way in which questions of relevance and prejudicial effect have been addressed by the courts. In particular, when making admissibility decisions, the courts appear to give little consideration to the cultural context, artistic conventions or social influences within the rap music genre, or the racialised nature of rap evidence. It is argued that, if rap is to be admissible evidence, a much more rigorous and informed approach is required.

There is a striking variance between the sounds of highlife music recorded in the 1950s and 1960s and that of the 1970s. This difference can be attributed partly to the advancement of recording technology, a shift from shellac to vinyl records as well as the advent of multi-track tape recorders in Ghana. The 1970s had a unique highlife sound that can be situated within and explained by the socio-cultural context of recording approaches embraced by studio engineers. This paper investigates the technological approaches to the production of highlife songs at the Ghana Film Studio (GFS) and how they reshaped the highlife soundscape in the 1970s. It also draws attention to the influence of Francis Kwakye, the then resident recording engineer of GFS as a case study to explore highlife sound on records within this period. Employing document review, audio review, observations and interview for data collection, the paper reveals that the engineering techniques and tools employed on the recordings were socio-culturally influenced and constructed to resonate with the Ghanaian identity of the time. It further argues that the recording activities have been guided largely by a new imagination of the highlife sound recordings framed within a certain Ghanaian nationalistic context. The paper concludes that the methods employed to record highlife music of the 1970s were masterminded essentially from a Ghanaian socio-cultural sound perspective.

Timbre is a key aspect of musical practice and aesthetics. Artists use instrumentation, vocal technique, and production technology to create precise tone colours; listeners are able to identify genres, artists and connotations through timbre. However, critical assessment of its ephemeral musical agency is scarce. This article develops a theory of timbre. Goth music, which privileges tone colour in production, performance, and aesthetic, is a case in point for the ungraspable agency of this musical parameter. Timbral analyses of two goth tracks, Veil of Light's ‘Cold skin’ and Sopor Aeternus and the Ensemble of Shadows's ‘Dreamland’, will assess tone colour's relation to identity and difference (Walser), signification and corporeality (Barthes, Ihde), and the surplus of meaning and embodiment (Dolar). The article will argue that timbral aesthetics are characterised by the paradox of present absence: it indicates corporeality and meaning but simultaneously exceeds both. Tangible but also disembodied, immersive but also meaningless, it is no wonder that goth exploits timbre's dark agency.

Television is one of the earliest ways that children gain access to popular music. The child's early experience of both music and television does not necessarily separate out ‘music alone’ from his or her evolving musical appreciation. The co-operation of television and popular music encourage particular modes of attention and expression for the child as both viewer and listener. Movement, gesture, and the response of the body to the visual and aural cues of music-television may be seen to inform this appreciation. The child learns, feels and demonstrates that they have done so. This is guided and inspired by what they hear and see.

The East of Germany, the Bundesländer of the former GDR, is an important centre of Goth activity. The Goth scene is remarkably large in this part of Germany, and one of the most important yearly Goth festivals, the Wave-Gotik-Treffen, takes place in Leipzig. This article investigates the specific characteristics and internal dynamics of East German Goth subcultures after German reunification. Combining subcultural theory and Gothic criticism with Derrida's notions of spectrality and hauntology, the potentials of Gothic as a form of cultural criticism are explored in an investigation of the psycho-social wasteland of the undead GDR. It will be argued that post-Cold War unification has not only led to a new political order, but has also given rise to a new type of Gothicism, as East German Goth subculture is haunted by ‘spectres of Marx’ that provide a critical engagement with globalised capital and media. As a specifically German version of the worldwide Goth scene, moreover, it marks the local boundedness of globalised subcultures.

Hip-hop studies have historically centred on issues of the ‘street’ or virtuosic lyricism and flow, foregrounded as evidence of the ‘seriousness’ of the genre. While these have undoubtedly been valuable theoretical approaches, the prominence of social networking in the 2010s (with its vast implications for communication and identity politics) has sculpted a generation of rappers whose vocal style and self-representation disintegrate prior assumptions about hip-hop identity. These artists, who have flourished in tandem with the rise of streaming services, have been disparagingly dubbed ‘mumble rap’ by traditionalists owing to the apparent indecipherability of their vocals and a lack of emphasis on observational or poetic lyricism. In this article I argue that this myopic label undervalues the groundbreakingly post-verbal nature of the music being created by these rappers, and highlights the innovations of mumble rap, exploring the centrality of social media, memes and streaming to its existence while critically examining its protagonists’ unconventionally stylised vocals. After analysing the impact of streaming, information overload and audience participation (through social media hype and memes) on contemporary hip-hop, I survey the growth of melodic Auto-Tuned vocals and repetitive lyricism in the work of pioneering mumble rappers such as Future, before turning to an extended examination of Atlanta's Young Thug, whose controversially malleable vocal style, which prioritises experimentation with vocal textures while confounding the rules of hip-hop flow, is mirrored by his impulsive exploitation of social media and androgynous fashion sense, establishing him as the most revolutionary archetype of so-called mumble rap.

‘The Girl from Ipanema’ – or, in Portuguese, ‘Garota de Ipanema’ – is without doubt the song that turned bossa nova into a household term the world over. It was written by Antônio Carlos Jobim and Vinícius de Moraes one afternoon in 1962, as they sat in the Veloso bar – now renamed ‘Garota de Ipanema’ – on Montenegro Street, where they had watched the young Helô Pinheiro walk past them on her way to Ipanema Beach. The song was first recorded in 1963 by Peri Ribeiro (Odeon) (Machado 1971), and since then over 300 other recordings have appeared on the market, both in Brazil and abroad (Cabral n.d.c, p. 10). When it was first launched in America on the ‘Getz/Gilberto’ album (Verve), interpreted by Astrud and João Gilberto in 1964, ‘The Girl from Ipanema' posed a serious challenge to the Beatles’ hegemony over the charts, rapidly moving to second place. With 4.2 million registered performances, it was only in the last four years that its ratings began to fall, but it is still among the world's most widely aired popular songs (Anon 1994c, pp. 124–5).