This chapter explores the multi-decade career of Tangerine Dream and their founder, Edgar Froese, with an equal emphasis on the band’s practices during the 1970s and 1980s. We situate Tangerine Dream’s prolific discography within multiple styles such as kosmische Musik, ambient, techno/trance, and synthwave, while highlighting the band’s influences and legacies in live music and Hollywood film scores. First, Tangerine Dream’s evolution during the 1970s is traced, involving the group’s central role in the ‘Berlin School‘ of electronic music. Classic albums on Ohr, from Electronic Meditation to Atem, led to success particularly in Britain and France. With the signing of the band to Virgin Records, the subsequent sections explore landmark albums such as Phaedra and Rubycon, and the important roles of Christopher Franke and Peter Baumann in the group’s classic configuration. We then highlight Tangerine Dream’s iconic live tours, stretching from Australia to America, as well as influential concerts in Eastern Europe. The band’s extraordinary career in film music, especially in 1980s Hollywood, forms the focus of our conclusion, where the mark of Tangerine Dream’s major influence can be seen in media as diverse as the bestselling video game Grand Theft Auto 5 and the Netlix hit series Stranger Things.

In the epoch of global capitalism, writers must be hypervigilant to the usage of their medium of choice –the written, printed word – readily aware of the proliferation of the grapheme and the saturation of visual signage in the media environment. Product advertisements that once depended on the enlarged-type appeal of slogans invariably stating the brand name have given way to an iconic Esperanto, equally legible to anyone around the globe. As a literary author, Don DeLillo recognizes that the image in our visual culture has become the dominant medium of our time. Despite this displacement of the writer from a central position in mass culture, DeLillo’s novels, such as White Noise, Mao II, and Underworld offer considerations as to how the post-war author might evade absorption by visual media and global capitalism, and whether it is possible to maintain a resistant, if marginalized, position in society.

This chapter examines Ellison’s interest in visual art from his college days at Tuskegee Institute to the end of his career. By tracing Ellison’s evolving interest in visual media ranging from sculpture to painting to photography, I demonstrate his consistent attention to visual art. Most importantly, I consider how Ellison’s attention to the world of the visual influences his narrative technique. From his early experiments with short stories and novellas to his work on Invisible Man, essays, and Three Days Before the Shooting. . ., Ellison’s engagement with visual art reflects his sophisticated experimentation with presenting black identity.

I posit that it is time to rethink the taxonomic, epistemological and heuristic values of the visual arts by applying magical realism as an interdisciplinary theoretical tool to analyses of cinematic narratives attempting to capture and to relay the ineffable of traumatic memories. Where the written word struggles to recreate a traumatic reality, the visual image artistically insinuates itself as reality. By applying the concept of intermediality to verbal and nonverbal forms of magical realism, the present argument foregrounds the ekphrastic synergy between word (novels and screenplays) and image (films and photographs), and between cinema (words, sounds and images) and other visual media (paintings, photographs, drawings and sculptures). Events that did not register with the psyche at the time of their occurrence may be represented /recreated by the power of suggestion inherent in the magical realist image, in both its verbal and nonverbal forms, as well as in their intermedial hybrids.

Questions of genre, of the commodification of genres and of genres as commodities, of their specialization and marketability, questions central to the institutionalization of creative writing in the academy over the past several decades, preoccupied Bolaño early on when the idea of making a living from writing appeared beyond reach. Written in 1980 but only published in 2002 (its English translation not appearing until 2010), Amberes/Antwerp has aptly been called the “Big Bang of the Bolaño universe.” Recalling Mikhail Bakhtin’s distinction between the novel’s characteristically dialogical, heteroglossic investments and poetry’s more monological tendencies, Antwerp pursues a consistently dialogic, heteroglossic self-questioning. Oscillating between minimalist narrative and meta-lingual, meta-fictional, meta-textual gestures, it continually stages its own suspension and recommencing. Torn between the pleasure and urgency of a “tax-free” poetic discourse and the commercial viability of the detective novel, the Bolaño of Antwerp aspires to write not “novels that are copies of other novels” but a genreless text in which he can affirm, without reserve, that “‘the only beautiful thing here is the language.’” Positioned roughly halfway between Baudelaire’s Le Spleen de Paris and Rimbaud’s Illuminations, Antwerp remains Bolaño’s most disjunctively Rimbaldian performance.

Questions of genre, of the commodification of genres and of genres as commodities, of their specialization and marketability, questions central to the institutionalization of creative writing in the academy over the past several decades, preoccupied Bolaño early on when the idea of making a living from writing appeared beyond reach. Written in 1980 but only published in 2002 (its English translation not appearing until 2010), Amberes/Antwerp has aptly been called the “Big Bang of the Bolaño universe.” Recalling Mikhail Bakhtin’s distinction between the novel’s characteristically dialogical, heteroglossic investments and poetry’s more monological tendencies, Antwerp pursues a consistently dialogic, heteroglossic self-questioning. Oscillating between minimalist narrative and meta-lingual, meta-fictional, meta-textual gestures, it continually stages its own suspension and recommencing. Torn between the pleasure and urgency of a “tax-free” poetic discourse and the commercial viability of the detective novel, the Bolaño of Antwerp aspires to write not “novels that are copies of other novels” but a genreless text in which he can affirm, without reserve, that “‘the only beautiful thing here is the language.’” Positioned roughly halfway between Baudelaire’s Le Spleen de Paris and Rimbaud’s Illuminations, Antwerp remains Bolaño’s most disjunctively Rimbaldian performance.