ISBN 0-292-77740-X (pbk.). Pp. viii, 250. $35.00 (cloth), $15.95 (pbk.).

1.      Marc Schade-Poulsen’s discussion of raï—a genre of popular music that has become significant in Algeria and throughout the North African diasporic community—is important because it constitutes an example of how politically engaged musical ethnography might be done, as it contributes to a growing list of works in the field of ethnomusicology that combine traditional ethnographic methods with a critical impetus informed by scholarship in gender and postcolonial studies. Moreover, the strength of this work lies in the way in which it foregrounds the constructedness of raï's narrative, the way in which its meanings are differently negotiated and interpreted by its producers, its consumers, the Algerian media, the French media and so forth, occupying different roles as it emerges from its early position as a locally known tradition to become part of the ubiquitous amorphousness known as "world music."
2.      Schade-Poulsen refuses to treat raï as a self-contained social entity, using it instead as a lens through which to view the totality of social, religious and political life in Algeria. His analysis delves into a diversity of issues, inquiring into the unique configuration of the Algerian music industry, while also engaging with individual listeners in extensive dialogue about their own critical appraisal of various raï songs. The only area where I felt the book could have extended its reach is in terms of the discussion of the music of rai. Schade-Poulsen argues that the "unspeakableness" of music, its resistance to verbalization, requires him to read around raï, through its texts and its social context. My feeling is that what he refers to as the "pure sound" of raï might itself be subject to scrutiny, in the sense that it, too, is involved in the production of social meanings.

   Dale Chapman
   University of California, Los Angeles

1.      The recent boom in scholarly texts devoted to jazz and its corollary traditions has consisted, in the main, of two broad categories of works: on the one hand, numerous scholars have sought to combine straightforward, linear narrative accounts of the genre and its individual musicians with formal analyses of the music, thereby attempting to provide authoritative statements defining what jazz "is"; on the other, a number of scholars and critics have employed various strategies—assembling compilations of competing texts, interviewing musicians, and so forth—to raise not necessarily the question of how jazz should be defined, but rather, the question of how such contention over the definition of jazz comments productively upon jazz, musical culture, and American society.
2.      O’Meally’s anthology addresses the question of jazz by means of this latter approach. As his title indicates, he views jazz not as an isolated, specifically musical entity but as a sensibility—a manner of living that extends beyond the bandstand to permeate all aspects of American culture. To this end, after an initial section ("What is jazz?"), in which he presents a variety of essays articulating contending ideas of how jazz should be defined, each subsequent section is devoted to the ramifications of jazz culture for an area of inquiry that has conventionally been situated outside the reach of "music." "Part 2: One Nation Under a Groove," for example, brings together perspectives as varied as those of Amiri Baraka and Stanley Crouch to bear upon the issue of how jazz operates as a metaphor for American democracy. "Part 4: Jazz is a Dance" includes Michael Eric Dyson’s "Be Like Mike? Michael Jordan and the Pedagogy of Desire," an insightful discussion of the cultural site of basketball, which shares with jazz the uneasy co-existence of African-American culture and issues of mass commodification. The sheer diversity of materials brought together here—including pieces by Zora Neale Hurston, Wynton Marsalis, Benny Golson, Ralph Ellison, Bill Evans, scholars Allan Merriam, Eric Lott, Scott DeVeaux, Lawrence Levine and many others—justifies the admittedly steep cost of this weighty tome.

   Dale Chapman
   University of California, Los Angeles

1.      This Time marks seven years and counting since the rebirth of one of L.A.'s proudest musical exports. In 1992, with the release of Kiko, The Wolves had packed in the roots rock that had become their signature sound and headed on down the highway of the subconscious. The five musicians who had started out playing weddings were suddenly masters of the way-out, stream-of-consciousness frontiersmen who layered sonic experiment after sonic experiment over conventional songcraft.
2.      With This Time, Los Lobos continue their odyssey toward the far reaches of modern music. Only thing is, coming hot on the heels of a slew of spin off projects and solo releases (Latin Playboys, David Hidalgo's Houndog, and Caesar Rosas' Soul Disguise), the album reveals a band that increasingly rids itself of conventional songcraft altogether. Open-ended, allusive lyrics ("How come the days do what they do?") give way to a tangle of rhythms that involve the listener like never before. Take the Colombian shuffle of "Cumbia Raza" or the Nawlins stagger that is "Oh, Yeah." Oh no, background music this is not; it's a long-player that pleads to be engaged with at every level. This time that's what The Wolves demand. And it's worth the investment.

   Steven Chean

1.      When World Circuit released The Buena Vista Social Club, they turned the world on to a group of Cuban musicians that had been languishing in near-obscurity (at least in the United States). In no time, several more albums appeared, featuring the likes of Ibrahim Ferrer, Rubén Gonzalez, and Compay Segundo in new solo recordings. World Circuit's newest release, however, is a look back to the 1960s, into the world of Cuban pop doo-wop-the music of Los Zafiros ("the sapphires"), on Bossa Cubana.
2.      A vocal quartet formed in Havana in 1962 by two singers ("Kike" Morúa and "Miguelito" Cancio), Los Zafiros combined the sweet harmonies popularized by American doo-wop groups like The Platters and The Ink Spots, and the unique arrangements used by The Flamingos and others with the craze for rhythms of South American origins, including the bossa nova and the calypso. With two other singers-Eduardo Elio "El Chino" Hernandéz and Ignacio Elejalde, the latter's high, silky-smooth ultra-tenor voice dominating the ballads-and a guitarist, Manuel Galbán, Los Zafiros produced a string of pop hits in Cuba. These alternated between doo-wop infused with rhythmic and harmonic complexities and with slow love songs featuring Elejalde's vocal cord-defying range. Fusing a variety of musical ideas, Bossa Cubana surprises the listener: be ready for a unique experience.

   Daniel Goldmark
   University of California, Los Angeles

1.      One might not expect the newest album from one of the most innovative and unpredictable DJs to have a special acknowledgement to "the Lomaxes and all of the archivists and music historians whose field recordings made this record possible." Yet on his latest album, Play, which comprises several fast dance numbers and house tunes, Moby (born Richard Melville Hall, a direct descendant of Herman Melville) samples work by the likes of Spoony G, but also draws from archival recordings made by Alan Lomax (an ethnomusicologist and folk-song collector) in the first half of the century. He includes melodies performed by Bessie Jones and Vera Hall, both women who sang for Lomax's collections, for sampling sources on several of the tracks.
2.      Repeated listenings of this album (listen to an excerpt) reveal how skillfully Moby can evoke different moods through his music. Each song is relatively short, giving him the chance to firmly develop one idea or impression, whether through his own spoken poetry through the songs, a slow "Guitar flute & string" riff, or the sampled voices of the Lomax legacy. By bringing the bluesy field recordings together with modern rap and hip-hop beats, Moby makes us hear how closely related these genres are, and how something as advanced and modern as techno can be even more compelling when infused with some good old-fashioned blues

   Daniel Goldmark
   University of California, Los Angeles