Rolling Stones Research Articles

"A Jury ye young fools is nothing. What's to be done with Public Opinion!": True Crime, Individual Responsibility, and Two Averys on Trial

Abstract: Articles from BBC, Times , and Rolling Stone have commented on the recent rise of the true crime genre in the United States; however, interest in crime and criminality is anything but new. Nineteenth-century public interest in crime drove the press, leading to an explosion of printed material. Textile operative Sarah Maria Cornell's 1832 murder by Methodist minister Ephraim K. Avery was a media sensation that brought together readers in industrial New England and led to journalistic investigations, broadsides, lithographs, a touring show of wax figures, and a threat on P. T. Barnum's life. Those following the case became invested in understanding the lives and motivations of both victim and perpetrator, as the genre's subjective interpretation of objective facts was used to influence consumers' responses. Today, the fascination with the murder of young white women is reproduced in the United States by binge consumption of both serialized and episodic investigations in podcasts and mini-series. The investigation and trial of Steven Avery for the 2005 murder of Teresa Halbach drew international interest after the release of Netflix's Making a Murderer in 2015. The popularity of true crime relies on a perennial fascination with violence, a desire to avoid a similar fate, and the sense of community created between fellow consumers. Connecting coverage of the nineteenth-century Ephraim K. Avery with that of today's Steven Avery reveals that true crime media's obsessive focus on white female victims perpetuates an emphasis on personal responsibility that hides systemic violence.

Introduction: Representing the Jewish American Woman in Popular Culture

Introduction: Representing the Jewish American Woman in Popular Culture

Drowned, Washed Up, and Left for Dead: Hyperbolic Irreverence in “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”

ABSTRACT One of the most celebrated hits of all time, “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” (1968) took the Rolling Stones back to the Rock Olympus after a musically modest 1967. The song is a by-product of the turmoil of the late 1960s across the world, a statement of rebellious youth against the values of their parents. However, the song has never been approached from a linguistic or poetic point of view. The present study explores the semantics of the verses and the inflections of their vocal performance to unearth a coarse figurative language blasphemously employing Biblical parallels with Jesus to create a demonic antagonist.

#1plus1plus1is3

#1plus1plus1is3

A Map of the Heavens: Selected Poems, 1975–2017 by Janet Hamill

Reviewed by: A Map of the Heavens: Selected Poems, 1975–2017 by Janet Hamill Jane Rosenberg LaForge (bio) a map of the heavens: selected poems, 1975–2017 Janet Hamill Spuyten Duyvil http://www.spuytenduyvil.net/a-map-of-the-heavens.html 213 pages; Print, $18.00 Of all the nostalgias for the before times—before the pandemic, the internet, even before MTV and the Reagan Revolution—the art and musical movements born out of the 1970s downtown New York scene are among the most potent. The late Keith Haring’s works are ubiquitous on greeting cards and billboards. David Byrne of the Talking Heads, which rose to prominence during the golden age of New York City nightlife, performs now on Broadway as an elder statesman of rock ’n’ roll. Patti Smith, poet, performer, songwriter, and winner of a National Book Award for her memoir, is regarded as a national treasure. The poet Janet Hamill witnessed the birth and nurturing of these scene-makers and their styles, particularly the ascent of Smith, her friend since college. (They once stayed up past midnight to hear the first FM radio broadcast of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, a night Smith documented in an introduction to All the Songs: [End Page 135] The Story Behind Every Beatles Release.) But Hamill did not use the fame of her friends, nor her proximity to it, to ingratiate herself. Nor did she remain on the sidelines; she painted, took photographs, and wrote eight books of poetry and fiction, work that has been recognized by Publishers Weekly and nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the William Carlos Williams Award. In her latest collection, A Map of the Heavens: Selected Poems, 1975–2017, Hamill documents her navigation of the multiple worlds she inhabits with nostalgia and innocence. It’s a combination that could overwhelm a lesser poet, but one Hamill rides to spectacular effect. Smith’s remembrance of that fateful night she and Hamill shared tags Hamill as the more innocent of the two; she was the Beatles fan, while Smith favored the harder-edged Rolling Stones. A preference for the Beatles does not foretell a career in poetry, but Hamill has maintained a stance of wonderment before her subjects. “I run my hand across your chest / It comes away with diamond dust / destined to be scattered / wide among the stars when we die / returning to our source in the sky” is how Hamill concludes her poem “Aria.” The poem is not only an earnest and instructive attempt to capture a particular moment in the vastness of cosmological time, but it also describes Hamill’s relationship to the words and work of poetry. Celestial bodies are frequently used in her poems, which speaks to the type of innocence and nostalgia that suffuses these works. For stargazing is a journey into the past; the stars we perceive today are the record of light from hundreds of thousands of years earlier. This fact continues to startle Hamill. Rather than whitewash social problems of another, “better” era, her nostalgia celebrates moments of individual emotional clarity. Hamill has been called a trance poet, a surrealist and science fiction writer, and a post-Beat curator, or inheritor, of the original tradition. She is name-checked with the likes of Anselm Hollo and Tom Disch. In this volume, Hamill reveals herself as a poetic polymath, exploding the restraints of one aesthetic to plumb the freedoms of another. She began her career, as it’s depicted in this volume, as a romantic, though not necessarily with a capital “R.” Her earliest verses are centered in locations and situations exotic yet familiar. The dusty Third World village, alternately luxurious, or hellish hotel rooms; a transporting view of the ocean or from the top of a mountain; the doubt that rises and falls within the artist contemplating where she belongs: [End Page 136] these works conjure youthful expeditions to foreign soils in search of the self, the auditioning of potentially annihilating ideas, and the discovery of sensuality in the ordinary. A comparison of two poems from relatively early in her oeuvre reveals how Hamill progressed from a poet seeking authenticity in the usual settings...

The Cambridge Companion to Video Game Music Melanie Fritsch and Tim Summers.

Video games are perhaps the primary pop cultural differentiator between myself and my parents’ generation. In the early 1960s, my grandad would order his 9-year-old son to turn off the unfamiliar noise produced by four long-haired louts from Liverpool emanating from a tiny monochrome TV set. Thirty years later, the pattern repeated itself and it was my mother’s turn to beg me and my brother to turn off Pokémon on our Gameboys or Ocarina of Time on a newly acquired N64. We had been brought up alongside such technology as it developed, with memories of Doom and Fun School on cumbersome desktop computers, London’s SegaWorld, and the aesthetics of digital imperfection. There were exceptions, of course. My maternal grandfather rather liked the Beatles, and owned records by The Rolling Stones, The Who, Santana, Eric Clapton, and George Benson. Similarly, my parents remember playing the iconic Atari game Pong in pubs and arcades during the early 1970s. But what tends to unify each generation as it falls in love with the definitive icons of its own era is the sense that it is privy to something entirely new and bemusing to outsiders. For Baby Boomers, it was the sound of the British Invasion; for Millennials, it was video games.

#FreeBritney and the Pleasures of Conspiracy

#FreeBritney and the Pleasures of Conspiracy

Rock Trolls and Recovery

Rock Trolls and Recovery

Said the Hooker to the Thief

Said the Hooker to the Thief

Editorial

Although the phrase “please allow me to introduce myself” can perhaps no longer be uttered without calling forth the Lucifer figure that the Rolling Stones sing about in “Sympathy for the Devil,” I can’t think of a better line to greet Transfers readers and tell you a bit about myself as I assume editorship of the journal. Whatever you think of that Satanic scamp, one must admit that he got around, geographically and temporally, and that traveling with him was almost certainly never boring.

Lower paleolithic butchery knives and carpentry tools: MODE 1 industry of “El Pino” (Campos del Paraíso, Cuenca, Spain)

This paper contains the results of the archaeological campaigns carried out at the El Pino Site (Campos del Paraíso, Carrascosa del Campo, Cuenca, Spain). The stratigraphy belongs to the Valdejudíos River floodplain and is rich in Mode 1 prehistoric industry made from quartzite rolling stones. The site has been dated by Optically Stimulated Luminescence (OSL) and Electron Spin Resonance (ESR), giving the last technique a terminus ante quem of 1 Ma for this technological horizon. The excellent preservation of the lithic surfaces has allowed us to discover the use given to the instruments through traceological methods. An effective usage of retouched and unretouched flakes (not the cores) for butchery, and rabots for processing wood is verified. The manufacturing operational systems of Mode 1 pieces have been studied and subsequently evaluated as being similar to the oldest ones of the Oldowan industries in Africa (2.6 Ma); however, they showed more “archaism” than other contemporary worldwide examples. The ineffectiveness of the idea of a linear evolution of material culture “from simplicity to complexity”, to assess the lithic technology of the European Lower Paleolithic, is revealed.

A species by any other name would sound as sweet.

David Smith argues against the prevalent practice of naming newly discovered species after human beings.

A crucial phase in plants - it's a gas, gas, gas!

A crucial phase in plants - it's a gas, gas, gas!

"The Spy Who Came in from the Cold" by John le Carré: the Ironic Story of the Spy Who is Crushed by "The Rolling Stone" of his own British Agency

"The Spy Who Came in from the Cold" by John le Carré: the Ironic Story of the Spy Who is Crushed by "The Rolling Stone" of his own British Agency

Crossing Borders: My Journey in Music by Max Baca and Craig Harris

Reviewed by: Crossing Borders: My Journey in Music by Max Baca and Craig Harris Jason Mellard Crossing Borders: My Journey in Music. By Max Baca with Craig Harris. (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2021. Pp. 184. Illustrations, notes, references, index.) Crossing Borders: My Journey in Music delivers much more than a memoir of a working musician, employing Max Baca’s experience to sketch an [End Page 334] entire history of the Mexican American musical traditions he has done so much to further during his time with storied groups the Texas Tornados, Los Super Seven, and Los Texmaniacs. It makes sense that Baca could thread this needle of the personal and historical. As Daniel Sheehy of Smithsonian Folkways states in the foreword, “Max doesn’t just typify tradition: he is tradition” (xi). It is a simplifying claim, surely, but one that rings true throughout the book. Southwestern music’s syncretism comes through from the outset, as the Grammy-winning Baca reveals that the first two songs he learned were Bill Boyd’s “Monterrey Polka”—a country artist invoking Mexican culture through a German genre—and the swing standard “In the Mood” by Glenn Miller. By age twelve, he was in the recording studio with a band led by his father, Max Baca Sr., and he grew into his own in Los Hermanos Baca with brother Jimmy on accordion. Through these family bands in 1970s New Mexico, Baca charted his path to becoming one of the modern masters of the bajo sexto, a twelve-string guitar that is the traditional accompaniment to the accordion in conjunto. Crossing Borders interweaves many themes well, and the way the book becomes a biography of the bajo sexto as much as Max Baca is one of its best turns. Baca and Harris recount the history of this instrument that is little known outside the southwestern borderlands, tracing its links to related string instruments such as the Middle Eastern oud and the mariachi guitarrón. In other words, there is a great deal going on in this short, rollicking account. The authors succeed in balancing historical breadth and biographical focus partially through the deployment of the Texas Tornados, the band that took Baca from the New Mexico scene to the global stage when he stepped in for his mentor Oscar Tellez on a 1991 tour. Complementing Baca’s own story, the middle chapters sketch the careers of Tornados Doug Sahm, Augie Meyers, Freddy Fender, and, especially, legendary accordionist Flaco Jiménez. The Tornados chapters open up brief but essential discussions of the independent record labels and nightclubs of mid-twentieth century San Antonio, Freddy Fender’s dealings with the notorious producer Huey Meaux, and the origins of conjunto recording with Flaco’s father Santiago Jiménez Sr. The Tornados’ crossover success also takes this regional account into the wider arena of popular music, featuring episodes with artists such as Peter Rowan, Lyle Lovett, Los Lobos, and the Rolling Stones. Shortly after the passing of Doug Sahm and Freddy Fender, the remaining Tornados stopped performing as a unit. Baca picked up the preservationist torch as a member of Los Super Seven and bandleader of Los Tex-maniacs, whose mission is to keep traditional conjunto alive and on stage. Nevertheless, his art is about looking forward as much as it is reflecting on what has come before. At one point, bluegrass artist Peter Rowan reflects on “heading towards the ultimate Tex-Mex twang music” in collaboration [End Page 335] with Baca (147), and at the book’s end the reader is inclined to believe that Baca will reach it. More than just music, though, the arc of his career recounted here also aims at a broader understanding of the crossings and hybridity of modern southwestern culture. This readable, poignant, and rich memoir is an essential building block in that larger project. Jason Mellard Texas State University Copyright © 2022 The Texas State Historical Association

Tú Te Vas

Tú Te Vas Sandra Del Rio Madrigal (bio) When the US invaded México,nuestra gente became foreigners to their own tierra. Theirrivers, arches, canyons, lakes, and frosted hillswere stripped of the soil that kept the greenery growing,all while their voices withered away to the soundof a white man’s destiny. And when I broughtmy daughters to a place I had heardto give a different kind of hopethan the ones we could find at church, Ionly thought of the fields nuestra gente walkthrough to get to a state we all know could be home. ________ Mariana never listened to the Rolling Stones. She didn’t listen to Nirvana, Guns N’ Roses, nor Hall and Oates. Billy Joel, the Beatles, Frank Sinatra, the Smiths . . . No—other musicians played through her parents’ car radio and home stereos when the day came through to make her family work. Mariana, then, had those other musicians to listen to when she needed a place to stay. When she needed to nestle into spaces the eighth-notes made when they rose and sank for each other, and where they slanted to take her home. Those notes gently nudge narratives into one another, lifting the last one into a dance. Mariana’s music was alive and unbounded. Her musicians didn’t think about music genres’ borders. They demolished limitations while forging their wreckage into a modest labor: moving stories forward. [End Page 191] She had Juan Gabriel when she broke up with Micah. “Yo No Nací para Amar” still hurts. Still heals. Juanga knew how to make the young girl cry. Mariana mourned losing love with Selena, too, through “No Me Queda Mas.” No other artist could relay such pain like Selena and Juan Gabriel. Their voices came not from the throat, but from their entire beings. Breakup songs were cliché, sure, but as Mariana would argue, us dreamers are dramatic at best. She listened to Shakira’s sweet yearning when she fell in love with Cece (“Día de Enero” was their song!) and Vicente Fernandez’s soul-splitting ballads when she had realized Frank would never be the one to tether her to a better world. “Por Tu Maldito Amor” was so theatrical, even the violins sang in anguish. There was Rocio Durcal for when she lost her abuelita. Who would have thought Abuelita Clara would later pass the anthem for grieving her husband, “Amor Eterno,” to Mariana for her own grief? Who knew dark loneliness could sound so beautiful? There was Luis Miguel, also, for when it was safe to dream. Soothing melodies provide the best backdrops for romanticizing futures. Vivacious melodies provide the best backdrops for feeling rich in struggling times. Luis Miguel provided it all for Mariana. Now that Arizona had abandoned her, she can’t find the right CD to nod her head to, nor the best playlist on her phone to get her through the day. It’s hard to say whether Arizona was ever there for Mariana, but at least the state felt like it would accept her at some point. As a child, she never imagined the many ways her life would have been uprooted. Disillusion began when Mariana couldn’t get her driver’s license. Then she wondered if she could figure out a way to get a worker’s permit to save money for college. When tuition rates for the schools in her community became too difficult to look at, Mariana knew her future depended on her ability to leave everything behind. Her immigration status would make her tuition equivalent to that of an out-of-state student. Slowly, Arizona stopped looking like the place she had learned to call home. She ran her hands across the vinyl records she’d be leaving behind for her soon-to-be-born sobrino. He’d listen to her music while she was in Mexico. He would grow up knowing the turntable’s needle running across a record’s grooves. He’d know how the needle strengthened the depth of beats. She thought about taking a few, but one look at her sister’s panza made guilt rise at the...

Matt Brennan, When Genres Collide: Down Beat, Rolling Stone and the Struggle between Jazz and Rock.

Matt Brennan, When Genres Collide: Down Beat, Rolling Stone and the Struggle between Jazz and Rock. New York and London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017. 256 pp. ISBN 978-1501326141 (pbk). £17.49.

Generic Norms, Irony, and Authenticity in the AABA Songs of the Rolling Stones, 1963–1971

AABA form was in decline in popular music in the 1960s, yet the Rolling Stones made extensive use of it at a crucial point in their career. In this article I examine the relationship between Jagger-Richards AABA songs released between 1963 and 1971 and established AABA norms. I use a corpus of 138 AABA songs (112 by other artists and 26 by Jagger-Richards) to compare the Stones’ approach to elements such as starting and ending bridge harmonies and verse melodic form with existing defaults. The analysis shows that the band’s approach to AABA in this time period bifurcates into two strategies, each associated with a tempo extreme: either (1) using the form ironically to critique wealth and privilege, or (2) employing it in a sincere way that invokes soul and gospel artists and thereby claims authenticity for the band.

Review essay: Between the Material and the Ephemeral

Review essay: Between the Material and the Ephemeral

The Musical Language of Rock

The Musical Language of Rock