In an April 1962 article previewing the First International Webern Festival, Hans Moldenhauer promised that Anton Webern's music would one day be known as ‘the music of the space age’. Moldenhauer chose his words carefully. The Webern Festival was set to take place in Seattle at the same time as the World's Fair (an event also known as the ‘Century 21 Exposition’ and ‘America's Space Age World's Fair’) and its opening night concert would be held on the grounds of the World's Fair. Yet the two ‘W.F.s’ made for an awkward pairing. Far from space-age music, the lush textures and sweeping gestures of the Webern's Festival's posthumous premieres revealed a young Webern rooted in nineteenth-century Romanticism. Critics and scholars’ responses to these premieres reveal much about the contested place of Webern's music – and modernist music more generally – within mid-century mainstream culture.

In the song cycle Libro de cantares (1987), Spanish-Cuban composer Julián Orbón (1925–91) entered into a dialogue with the work of two other men who, like him, were displaced under the Franco regime: he re-used Asturian folk songs compiled by Eduardo Martínez Torner in 1920; and he followed compositional models deployed by Manuel de Falla in Siete canciones populares españolas (1914). In this article I argue how, by doing so, Orbón engaged in individual and collective memory-building processes that matched to an extent but also diverged from similar processes that were then underway in Spain in the 1980s (following the end of the Franco regime in 1975) and, particularly, in Orbón's natal region of Asturias. I also argue that Orbón's understandings of memory and modernity are unique within the context of displaced twentieth-century Spanish composers, and as such afford us opportunities to reconsider these crucial categories.

In Janet Cardiff's The Forty Part Motet (2001, 40Part), ‘a reworking of Thomas Tallis's Spem in alium (c. 1570)’, the forty voice parts of the motet are played back via forty speakers. Visitors walk through and around the encompassing speakers arrayed in eight groups of five. Still in constant demand, 40Part enjoys unparalleled success in the contemporary art scene. This article shows how 40Part became associated with New York City's rituals of remembrance and healing after 9/11 and Hurricane Sandy, and considers the politics of the installation's stagings as part of those commemorations. Here, 40Part took on a specifically comforting function that speaks to larger tendencies in twenty-first-century auditory culture, American cultural responses to trauma, and commemorative uses of music, which are built on white bourgeois sentimental attachments and the techno-social production of imagined spaces and times of privilege.

Iannis Xenakis visited Argentina as a professor of the Centro Latinoamericano de Altos Estudios Musicales (CLAEM) of the Torcuato Di Tella Institute in 1966 where he discussed his interdisciplinary interests – mathematics, architecture, and computer-aided composition. Using archival resources and oral history, this article explores three aspects of Xenakis's trip to Argentina. First, the way the media framed the visit of the European composer and the reception of the events organized around it under a modernist discourse. Second, the direct impact that this visit had on some of the composers at CLAEM, particularly Graciela Paraskevaídis. Finally, the exchanges that Xenakis had with engineer Fernando von Reichenbach, who had been working on transforming graphic material into sound, something that crystallized with the development of Reichenbach's Convertidor Gráfico Analógico (1969), and Xenakis's Unité Polyagogique Informatique CEMAMu (UPIC 1977).

Utilizing the ideas of convivencia (convivial interaction) and Barbara Tomlinson and George Lipsitz's framework of ‘accompaniment’, I suggest that the ‘modern-urban’ mariachi, often characterized as an expression of standardization and commodification, has established a capacity for facilitating culture that contributes to the development of convivial communal spaces. In the midst of marginalization and systemic oppression, migrant and aggrieved communities throughout Greater Mexico engage in cultural practices and actions to reaffirm a sense of belonging, to which mariachi musicians have contributed and at times served as cultural bearers. I examine mariachi practices of apprenticeship learning and chambas (contractual gigs), the emergence of the Misa Panamericana (the mariachi mass) in Cuernavaca, and the integration of Mexican cultural expressions in San José, California to illuminate the convergence of political, cultural, and religious action and how the mariachi expression has played a role in these intersections.

Singled out as one of the finest and most original works by the leading film-music composer Alberto Iglesias, the score for Pedro Almodóvar's The Skin I Live In (2011) stands out for its inclusion of a (neo-baroque) virtuoso part for solo violin with key symbolic functions in the film. This part is largely derived from the composer's post-minimalist string trio Cautiva (c. 1990). The present article analyses Iglesias's reconfiguration of key materials from Cautiva to express the relationship of domination, violence, and desire between the film's villain and the heroine as well as the role played by violin virtuosity in establishing links to the (gothic) horror genre and in the exaltation of the artist's power as creator that Almodóvar ultimately reflects upon in The Skin I Live In. The article adds to recent studies on the centuries-old symbolism of the violin as a topos of the demonic and otherworldly by analysing these meanings in one of the finest contemporary film scores. The study is part of a recent upsurge of critical assessments of Almodóvar–Iglesias's work from cultural and musico-analytical perspectives.

While it is often assumed that flamenco is strongly oriented towards the past, thus far, few scholars have explored the roles of flamenco in voicing memories of the Franco dictatorship (1939–75). During the second half of the dictatorship, a series of natural disasters, combined with new economic and political developments, led to the forced displacement of a number of flamenco artists and their wider communities in various Spanish cities. This article will explore how memories of this episode have impacted the flamenco dance repertoire associated with the Triana neighbourhood in Seville, focusing on three interrelated case studies: the performance and documentary film Triana pura y pura, and recent productions by the flamenco dancers Pastora Galván and Israel Galván. By analysing these performances alongside their historical, social, and institutional contexts, this article conceptualizes the intersections between dance, nostalgia, and festivity as a meaningful scenario of embodied memory in post-Franco Spain.

In the 1930s, the Iron Foundry, a short orchestral piece by the Soviet composer Aleksandr Mosolov, became hugely popular with audiences across Europe, North America, and beyond. Reassembling the fragmented archives of its performance and reception histories, this article sets out to follow the work on the circuitous routes that ensued. Addressing issues including programmaticism, the reception of Soviet music, and the history of comedy, I show how Mosolov's composition became a lightning rod for larger debates about concert music's relationships with modernity, politics, and mass entertainment. The case of the Iron Foundry, I suggest, illustrates how the pleasures of machine aesthetics – and, more specifically, a stylized idiom of mechanized gesture distinctive to the period – became widely assimilated into what we might call the vernacular internationalism of the interwar middle classes.

This article reinterprets the tension between sound and music in Pierre Schaeffer's 1966 Treatise on Musical Objects. Schaeffer famously insisted that the Treatise did not address music or composition; scholars have therefore engaged with it primarily as a theoretical text on sound and listening. In this article, however, I argue that the denial and deferral of music throughout the Treatise should be considered a discrete and key part of its theoretical contributions. By the early 1960s, Schaeffer's aesthetic frustration with the practice of musique concrète had blossomed into something of an ethical imperative and paradox. He saw it necessary to suspend all musical activity in the present, so as to salvage music's future. This dynamic is key to understanding Schaeffer's controversial and influential calls for the deferral of cultural responses to sound in the Treatise, as illustrated by the practices of ‘deconditioning’ and ‘reconditioning’.

Valentin Kruchinin was the first major ‘Soviet sci-fi’ composer, writing the music for Yakov Protazanov's silent film Aelita: Queen of Mars in 1924. While his score is regrettably lost, evidence of Kruchinin's musical vision for Aelita remains, including a two-page piano piece, ‘Aelita’, seemingly designed to promote the film. Lacking any ‘space-age’ musical tropes, this brief work instead showcases Kruchinin's affection for ‘eccentric dance’. Resembling a slow foxtrot, Kruchinin's piece brings Aelita's cinematic world into contact with ‘light-genre’ popular fare, much of it borrowed from American jazz and maligned by critics for its ‘bourgeois’, ‘Western’ connotations. Within the context of Protazanov's anti-New Economic Policy film, Valentin Kruchinin's ‘Aelita’ comments on both the imperial past and the decadent allure of the Western present.

During the 1930s, Heitor Villa-Lobos concentrated his efforts on coordinating Brazilian musical education. As such, he changed his compositional style and did not travel to Europe again until 1936. This article examines Villa-Lobos's trip to Europe in 1936, drawing on Florencia Garramuño's call to ‘incorporate avant-garde voyages as founding moments’ for an autochthonous national character in music. During his journey, Villa-Lobos represented Brazil in different settings: as a deputy at the International Congress of Music Education in Prague and as a composer in under-the-radar political negotiations with Nazi Germany in Berlin. Considering the authoritarian Vargas Regime, Brazilian modernism, and the dialectical relation between nationalism and internationalism, I argue that this trip served as a catalyst for a new creative phase, culminating in the series of Bachianas brasileiras, a resignification of J. S. Bach's music and legacy in the context of his interpretation of Brazilian Antropofagia (cultural cannibalism).