This article explores how human curation and algorithmic recommendation are figured in cloud-based streaming platforms. In promoting their services as alternatives to illicit file-sharing, platforms such as Spotify, Deezer, and Apple Music have long touted the access they provide to a massive database of music. Yet the effectiveness of appeals to musical plenitude have been thrown into doubt, as high rates of user turnover threaten streaming's economic viability. Curation and recommendation have thus been posited as solutions to this problem, as means of producing and reproducing consumer desire. By attending to the fantasies woven around streaming and music recommendation more specifically, this article highlights the peculiar form of subjectivation at work in the way recommendation hails listeners. The normative listener constructed through such modes of hyper-personalized address is ideally one that is as dynamic and adaptive as the algorithmic systems that adjust to their fluctuating needs, dispositions, and desires.

Can we any longer usefully speak of spectral music, beyond a very particular moment in Paris in the 1970s? Though the label still has a currency, the validity of the term has long been disputed even by its key practitioners. Gérard Grisey preferred to speak of liminal music, music on a threshold, and of spectralism as an attitude rather than a set of techniques. Yet a shared curiosity about the inner life of sounds, stimulated by an engagement with technology, certainly enabled a radical rethinking and renewal of how music could speak. Spectral thinking enabled composers to re-engage with time, with listening, with memory. Through this spectral node flowed all other kinds of music, which flowered in all sorts of new and varied directions. A heightened awareness of the properties of sound prompted new modes of musical thought and expression. Spectralism also represented a renewal of what might be understood more broadly as modernist thinking in the music of the later twentieth century. Spectral thinking – rather than merely the science of the spectrum of sound – acknowledges the importance for so-called spectral music of a wider set of concerns that engage with time, space, listening, nature, and society.

Wolfgang Rihm's is one of the more radical – which is to say ‘deep’ and ‘rooted’ – relationships towards tonality among all post-war composers. In this article, I concentrate on the role psychosis plays in this relationship, arguing that tonality for Rihm often assumes the operations of what Jacques Lacan called a symbolic order: a network of laws and codes which sustain the world of subjects and others. In Lacanian terms, it is the subject's unsuccessful installation in the symbolic which triggers psychosis – a state organized by mimetic rivalries, the body's invasion by jouissance, and the de-hierarchization and loss of control of the drives. Tonality, for Rihm, is a poorly installed symbolic order, from which music ‘breaks’ psychotically. But it would be a mistake to pathologize Rihm's music. Rather, Rihm's is one of the more cunning, problematic, ‘neurotic’ solutions to one of modernism's oldest challenges: how to function creatively in the absence of (a) language. Both the challenge and the solution are themselves as old as aesthetic modernism; they can be understood as the two sides of modernism's ‘fundamental fantasy’, in which madness becomes a practicable sanity, and psychosis a saving symbolic order.

Work on this article began as a contribution to a wider discussion of twentieth-century music theatre, and in particular a genre in the category of twentieth-century musical monodramas – one-act staged monologues with, or in music for, one performer.1 My current research focuses on the genesis and performance tradition of works composed for solo female singer, and raises questions about the creative agency of the performer in the making of such works, reflecting on matters such as subjectivity, voice, and identity.2 If this outlook may slightly drift from a conventional narrative springing from the composer's voice, a critical investigation of the collaborative process foregrounding the genealogy of some of these works is compelling, especially since every composer who embarked on this ‘genre’, or compositional topos, inflected it in idiosyncratic ways. In works such as Erwartung, La Voix humaine, The Testament of Eve, Neither, and La machine de l’être, the performative voice of the female soloist to whom the work was tailored became a generative element capable of shaping the formal, musical, and dramaturgical material.3 Examination of selected case studies, focusing especially on the creative and performative processes surrounding these works, triggers an array of questions about gender politics. More importantly, transversal insight into the making of these works and their performativity reveals the interconnected nature of the two phases of creation and performance. In musical monodrama, more than in larger forms of music theatre, the two processes interweave and depend on each other; reconstructing the performative genealogy of the ‘work’ reveals an intrinsic impasse in the very notion of the musical ‘text’ associated exclusively with the compiled score and its literary sources.

It is tolerably well known that Gérard Grisey's first instrument was the accordion, but little has been written about the influence the pioneering spectral composer's main instrument had on his compositional language. The decade of the 1960s was marked by the centrality of the accordion and saw the completion of his first youthful compositional essays, most of which were scored for the accordion. It was also the period in which he studied at a school devoted to the accordion, in Trossingen. Later, when studying with Messiaen in Paris, Grisey distanced himself from the accordion, writing in 1969 that ‘I am not playing accordion anymore. My way is another one.’ After establishing the chronology of Grisey's engagement with the accordion, this article assesses the extent to which the spectral composer's training on the accordion left traces in his mature compositions and raises questions about the standard historiographies (and geographies) of French spectral music.

‘You can hear everything? You can hear my voice?’ The scratchy recording that opens REwind: A Cantata for Voice, Tape, and Testimony prefigures the questions of memory and performance that underlie Philip Miller's multimedia exploration of testimony from South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). In this article, I adapt Diana Taylor's concepts of the archive and the repertoire to questions of musical communication. I posit that Miller's collage of testimonial ‘shards’, images, and historic audio recordings disrupts the TRC's official narrative by replacing the archive's narrative of completion with one comprising deliberately disjointed moments of individual suffering. The result is an audiovisual creation that sutures together disparate elements to reflect the complexity of the South African truth-telling process. I suggest that in performance, Miller's work re-animates the TRC archive, bringing it into the contemporary repertoire where it re-inscribes the experiences of TRC testifiers for contemporary audiences.

With the appearance of opera videos in 2013 (DVD) and 2015 (YouTube), Paul Dukas's Ariane et Barbe-Bleue (1907) has been revived for twenty-first-century audiences. Not only has this formerly obscure work migrated to a mass-media landscape of personalized digital consumption, but its cultural recontextualization has also been extended to the interpretations staged in those opera videos. Both challenge historical, feminist readings of Ariane. Updating the action to modern scenes of abduction and captivity, these productions recast Ariane as victim and reframe the opera as part of the present discourse on sexual violence. As these recent productions of Ariane resonate with broader aesthetic tendencies in current popular culture, I trace parallels between the opera and three such examples from 2015. Selecting works that exemplify the trend of repackaging the Bluebeard tale as contemporary drama, I cite the films Fifty Shades of Grey and Room, and the Netflix series The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.

Following the aesthetics of pure continuity in the late 1970s, Grisey moved on to compose for unpitched percussion in Tempus ex Machina, focusing on pure rhythm. Shortly afterwards he elaborated on his theory of temporality in a talk and article of the same title; one decade later, he included Tempus as the first movement of Le Noir de l’Étoile. Grisey insisted on the significance of the perception of musical time, of the skin of time – as opposed to its skeleton or flesh. This article puts forward an interpretation of Grisey's thinking of temporality, drawing on concepts from French philosophy. It further provides an analysis of two sections of Le Noir, tracing these concepts in the structuring of musical time, with a view to providing a possible direction towards a re-definition of spectral time.

The traditional narrative of the development of musique concrète and elektronische Musik tells a story of esoteric, academic branches of musical modernism emerging out of Paris and Cologne in the 1950s. But this narrative clouds our understanding of the unique ways this music developed in Britain, largely filtered through the BBC, as a relatively populist, accessible iteration of Continental techniques. This article explores how British reactions to contemporary music and, in particular, musique concrète and elektronische Musik, reflected on the one hand continued suspicion towards Continental music and on the other a deep insecurity about Britain's musical position in the world. The predominantly hostile attitude towards electronic music from within establishment musical cultures betray profound concerns about trends that were seen to exert a harmful influence on British musical society.

This article investigates music in the modern transmedial franchise. Popular culture franchises flow across different forms of media, taking the audience, and often the music, with them. Music plays an important role in articulating and developing textual relationships, while adapting to the possibilities of each particular medium.

To focus on the role of music, a case study that emphasizes audio is chosen, a transmedial franchise founded upon a rock album. Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of the Worlds (1978) has served as the basis for several (very different) video games that also prioritize music. The article traces how musical materials are selected, transformed, and deployed as media boundaries are traversed. It ultimately argues that music is an important part of how media consumers engage with transmedial franchises.

Discourse surrounding spectral music frequently makes reference to nature and related language. Practitioners, theorists, and musicologists have discussed different aspects and perspectives on the idea of nature in the relation to this music and it is not always clear that these terms are used in the same way. This article examines the different meanings of ‘nature’ applied to various concepts and techniques in spectral music, the extent to which these descriptors may be misleading, and the cultural context and possible motivations for the use of this kind of rhetoric. Through a discussion of the derivation structure in spectral music, a focus on human perception, metaphorical references to nature, the rhetoric surrounding the harmonic series and instrumental (re)synthesis, and finally mimetic references to nature in music using spectral techniques (including a discussion of the music of François-Bernard Mâche), the article endeavours to provide a thorough survey of the subject.

In 2013, trucks and vans were driving across London, bearing the message ‘In the UK illegally? Go home or face arrest.’ These mobile billboards declared the number of arrests that had taken place ‘in your area’ in the previous week and provided a number to which people could text the message ‘HOME’ to initiate voluntary repatriation. In 2016, Theresa May, who had organised this scheme as home secretary, became prime minister, following the upheaval caused by the country's plebiscite to leave the European Union. One of the main strands of argument of the successful ‘Brexit’ campaign centred on the ‘deep public anxiety . . . about uncontrolled immigration’ and promised to reduce numbers of immigrants to the country. This desire to control the nation's borders continued to dominate the official soundscape of Britain's government. At the 2016 annual Tory conference, May endeavoured to draw clear lines on issues of belonging, territory, citizenship, and the fuzzy notion of British values, discursively excluding not only migrants, but also anyone with an international(ist) outlook from the national debate: ‘If you believe you are a citizen of the world’, she posited, ‘you are a citizen of nowhere.’

Soon after Debussy's death in March 2018, Stravinsky began work on a memorial, the Symphonies d'instruments à vent (1920). This piece was to become iconic both for music-theoretical reflection on modern approaches to musical time and for musicological archaeologies of Stravinsky's debts to ‘Russian traditions’. Along both avenues, particular emphasis has long been given to the work's closing chorale, initially published separately in the 1920 Debussy tombeau issue of La Revue musicale.

This article argues for a radical reappraisal of the Symphonies, which builds anew on Stephen Walsh's 1996 study of the sketches and shifts the emphasis onto temporal questions long neglected under pitch-focused analysis. Exposing ‘thematic’ concerns of rhythmic and metrical parsing (as distinct from unifying motives or pitch sets), and interpreting Stravinsky's hommage in light of Debussy's famous 1907 definition of music as ‘de couleurs et de temps rythmés’, I ultimately bring fresh metacritical perspective to fundamental questions of analytical method and purpose long entertained (e.g.) by Joseph Kerman, Carl Dahlhaus, Kofi Agawu, and Robert Walser.

This article examines Haas's politically programmatic work in vain in relation to a later essay wherein Haas disavows politically motivated composition. The first section investigates Haas's allegation that in vain’s ideological failure is due to its politically inappropriate semantic richness. Yet multiple interpretive passes through the piece show that in vain fails to be ideologically straightforward only because of a deeper ethical commitment to an aesthetics of defamiliarization. In the second section, I show how the basic political narrative is complicated by the estranging effect of darkness; in the third section, I align Haas's aesthetics with a post-Spectral ethics, and consider how the narrative meaning of overtone chords is complicated by their potential for challenging preconceived categories of listening. The final section returns to the essay and its blind spot for this deeper ethical aesthetics that obscures in vain’s ideological clarity, speculating that Haas's omission betrays hidden anxieties about the modernist ethical project.

The appearance of the corps sonore at a key dramatic moment in Rameau's Pygmalion (1748) opens up an espace sensible (a term borrowed from Michel Leiris) where sounds derived from the harmonic series can articulate transformed temporal and spatial environments. The corps sonore – rediscovered and repurposed by the spectral movement of the 1970s – reappears in a number of twenty-first-century operas in order to animate a late-modern sense of the espace sensible. Instead of crossing a threshold towards the transcendent, the seemingly immobile corps sonore can now represent a modernist sense of loss, death, exile, ruin, and failure. Michaël Levinas's 2010 operatic reinterpretation of Kafka's Metamorphosis stands as an exemplar of the ways in which the spectrum of sound (here the voice of the ‘becoming-animal’ Gregor Samsa metamorphosed by electronic means) can create a ‘deterritorialized’ space of alienation. Liminal, spectral spaces in works by Dufourt, Grisey, Haas, Harvey, Murail, and Saariaho are also discussed.